BOSTON.
From New York we returned to Boston by Hartford, the capital, or one
of the capitals of Connecticut. This proud little State is composed
of two old provinces, of which Hartford and Newhaven were the two
metropolitan towns. Indeed there was a third colony called Saybrook,
which was joined to Hartford. As neither of the two could of course
give way when Hartford and Newhaven were made into one, the houses
of legislature and the seat of government are changed about, year by
year. Connecticut is a very proud little State, and has a pleasant
legend of its own stanchness in the old colonial days. In 1662 the
colonies were united, and a charter was given to them by Charles II.
But some years later, in 1686, when the bad days of James II. had
come, this charter was considered to be too liberal, and order was
given that it should be suspended. One Sir Edmund Andross had been
appointed governor of all New England, and sent word from Boston to
Connecticut that the charter itself should be given up to him. This
the men of Connecticut refused to do. Whereupon Sir Edmund with a
military following presented himself at their assembly, declared
their governing powers to be dissolved, and after much palaver
caused the charter itself to be laid upon the table before him. The
discussion had been long, having lasted through the day into the
night, and the room had been lighted with candles. On a sudden each
light disappeared, and Sir Edmund with his followers were in the
dark. As a matter of course, when the light was restored the charter
was gone, and Sir Edmund, the governor-general, was baffled, as all
governors-general and all Sir Edmunds always are in such cases. The
charter was gone, a gallant Captain Wadsworth having carried it off
and hidden it in an oak tree. The charter was renewed when William
III. came to the throne, and now hangs triumphantly in the State
House at Hartford. The charter oak has, alas! succumbed to the
weather, but was standing a few years since. The men of Hartford are
very proud of their charter, and regard it as the parent of their
existing liberties quite as much as though no national revolution of
their own had intervened.
And indeed the Northern States of the Union, especially those of New
England, refer all their liberties to the old charters which they
held from the mother-country. They rebelled, as they themselves would
seem to say, and set themselves up as a separate people, not because
the mother-country had refused to them by law sufficient liberty and
sufficient self-control, but because the mother-country infringed the
liberties and powers of self-control which she herself had given. The
mother-country, so these States declare, had acted the part of Sir
Edmund Andross, had endeavoured to take away their charters. So they
also put out the lights, and took themselves to an oak tree of their
own,--which is still standing, though winds from the infernal regions
are now battering its branches. Long may it stand!
Whether the mother-country did or did not infringe the charters
she had given, I will not here inquire. As to the nature of those
alleged infringements, are they not written down to the number of
twenty-seven in the Declaration of Independence? I have taken the
liberty of appending this Declaration to the end of my book, and the
twenty-seven paragraphs may all be seen. They mostly begin with He.
"He" has done this, and "He" has done that. The "He" is poor George
III., whose twenty-seven mortal sins against his transatlantic
colonies are thus recapitulated. It would avail nothing to argue now
whether those deeds were sins or virtues; nor would it have availed
then. The child had grown up and was strong, and chose to go alone
into the world. The young bird was fledged, and flew away. Poor
George III. with his cackling was certainly not efficacious in
restraining such a flight. But it is gratifying to see how this new
people, when they had it in their power to change all their laws, to
throw themselves upon any Utopian theory that the folly of a wild
philanthropy could devise, to discard as abominable every vestige of
English rule and English power,--it is gratifying to see that when
they could have done all this, they did not do so, but preferred to
cling to things English. Their old colonial limits were still to
be the borders of their States. Their old charters were still to
be regarded as the sources from whence their State powers had come.
The old laws were to remain in force. The precedents of the English
courts were to be held as legal precedents in the courts of the
new nation,--and are now so held. It was still to be England,--but
England without a King making his last struggle for political power.
This was the idea of the people, and this was their feeling; and that
idea has been carried out, and that feeling has remained.
In the constitution of the State of New York nothing is said about
the religion of the people. It was regarded as a subject with
which the constitution had no concern whatever. But as soon as we
come among the stricter people of New England we find that the
constitution-makers have not been able absolutely to ignore the
subject. In Connecticut it is enjoined that as it is the duty of all
men to worship the Supreme Being, and their right to render that
worship in the mode most consistent with their consciences, no person
shall be by law compelled to join or be classed with any religious
association. The line of argument is hardly logical, the conclusion
not being in accordance with, or hanging on the first of the two
premises. But nevertheless the meaning is clear. In a free country
no man shall be made to worship after any special fashion; but it
is decreed by the constitution that every man is bound by duty to
worship after some fashion. The article then goes on to say how they
who do worship are to be taxed for the support of their peculiar
church. I am not quite clear whether the New Yorkers have not managed
this difficulty with greater success. When we come to the old Bay
State,--to Massachusetts,--we find the Christian religion spoken of
in the Constitution as that which in some one of its forms should
receive the adherence of every good citizen.
Hartford is a pleasant little town, with English-looking houses, and
an English-looking country around it. Here, as everywhere through the
States, one is struck by the size and comfort of the residences. I
sojourned there at the house of a friend, and could find no limit to
the number of spacious sitting-rooms which it contained. The modest
dining-room and drawing-room which suffice with us for men of seven
or eight hundred a year would be regarded as very mean accommodation
by persons of similar incomes in the States.
I found that Hartford was all alive with trade, and that wages were
high, because there are there two factories for the manufacture of
arms. Colt's pistols come from Hartford, as do also Sharpe's rifles.
Wherever arms can be prepared, or gunpowder; where clothes or
blankets fit for soldiers can be made, or tents or standards, or
things appertaining in any way to warfare, there trade was still
brisk. No being is more costly in his requirements than a soldier,
and no soldier so costly as the American. He must eat and drink of
the best, and have good boots and warm bedding, and good shelter.
There were during the Christmas of 1861 above half a million of
soldiers so to be provided,--the President, in his message made in
December to Congress, declared the number to be above six hundred
thousand--and therefore in such places as Hartford trade was very
brisk. I went over the rifle factory, and was shown everything, but
I do not know that I brought away much with me that was worth any
reader's attention. The best of rifles, I have no doubt, were being
made with the greatest rapidity, and all were sent to the army as
soon as finished. I saw some murderous-looking weapons, with swords
attached to them instead of bayonets, but have since been told
by soldiers that the old-fashioned bayonet is thought to be more
serviceable.
Immediately on my arrival in Boston I heard that Mr. Emerson was
going to lecture at the Tremont Hall on the subject of the war, and
I resolved to go and hear him. I was acquainted with Mr. Emerson,
and by reputation knew him well. Among us in England he is regarded
as transcendental, and perhaps even as mystic in his philosophy. His
"Representative Men" is the work by which he is best known on our
side of the water, and I have heard some readers declare that they
could not quite understand Mr. Emerson's "Representative Men." For
myself, I confess that I had broken down over some portions of that
book. Since I had become acquainted with him I had read others of
his writings, especially his book on England, and had found that he
improved greatly on acquaintance. I think that he has confined his
mysticism to the book above named. In conversation he is very clear,
and by no means above the small practical things of the world. He
would, I fancy, know as well what interest he ought to receive for
his money as though he were no philosopher; and I am inclined to
think that if he held land he would make his hay while the sun shone,
as might any common farmer. Before I had met Mr. Emerson, when my
idea of him was formed simply on the "Representative Men," I should
have thought that a lecture from him on the war would have taken
his hearers all among the clouds. As it was, I still had my doubts,
and was inclined to fear that a subject which could only be handled
usefully at such a time before a large audience by a combination of
common sense, high principles, and eloquence, would hardly be safe in
Mr. Emerson's hands. I did not doubt the high principles, but feared
much that there would be a lack of common sense. So many have talked
on that subject, and have shown so great a lack of common sense! As
to the eloquence, that might be there, or might not.
Mr. Emerson is a Massachusetts man, very well known in Boston, and
a great crowd was collected to hear him. I suppose there were some
three thousand persons in the room. I confess that when he took his
place before us my prejudices were against him. The matter in hand
required no philosophy. It required common sense, and the very best
of common sense. It demanded that he should be impassioned, for of
what interest can any address be on a matter of public politics
without passion? But it demanded that the passion should be winnowed,
and free from all rhodomontade. I fancied what might be said on
such a subject as to that overlauded star-spangled banner, and how
the star-spangled flag would look when wrapped in a mist of mystic
Platonism.
But from the beginning to the end there was nothing mystic--no
Platonism; and, if I remember rightly, the star-spangled banner
was altogether omitted. To the national eagle he did allude. "Your
American eagle," he said, "is very well. Protect it here and abroad.
But beware of the American peacock." He gave an account of the war
from the beginning, showing how it had arisen, and how it had been
conducted; and he did so with admirable simplicity and truth. He
thought the North were right about the war; and as I thought so
also, I was not called upon to disagree with him. He was terse and
perspicuous in his sentences, practical in his advice, and, above all
things, true in what he said to his audience of themselves. They who
know America will understand how hard it is for a public man in the
States to practise such truth in his addresses. Fluid compliments and
high-flown national eulogium are expected. In this instance none were
forthcoming. The North had risen with patriotism to make this effort,
and it was now warned that in doing so it was simply doing its
national duty. And then came the subject of slavery. I had been told
that Mr. Emerson was an abolitionist, and knew that I must disagree
with him on that head, if on no other. To me it has always seemed
that to mix up the question of general abolition with this war must
be the work of a man too ignorant to understand the real subject of
the war, or too false to his country to regard it. Throughout the
whole lecture I was waiting for Mr. Emerson's abolition doctrine,
but no abolition doctrine came. The words abolition and compensation
were mentioned, and then there was an end of the subject. If Mr.
Emerson be an abolitionist he expressed his views very mildly on that
occasion. On the whole the lecture was excellent, and that little
advice about the peacock was in itself worth an hour's attention.
That practice of lecturing is "quite an institution" in the States.
So it is in England, my readers will say. But in England it is done
in a different way, with a different object and with much less of
result. With us, if I am not mistaken, lectures are mostly given
gratuitously by the lecturer. They are got up here and there with
some philanthropical object, and in the hope that an hour at the
disposal of young men and women may be rescued from idleness. The
subjects chosen are social, literary, philanthropic, romantic,
geographical, scientific, religious,--anything rather than political.
The lecture-rooms are not usually filled to overflowing, and there is
often a question whether the real good achieved is worth the trouble
taken. The most popular lectures are given by big people, whose
presence is likely to be attractive; and the whole thing, I fear we
must confess, is not pre-eminently successful. In the Northern States
of America the matter stands on a very different footing. Lectures
there are more popular than either theatres or concerts. Enormous
halls are built for them. Tickets for long courses are taken with
avidity. Very large sums are paid to popular lecturers, so that the
profession is lucrative,--more so, I am given to understand, than
is the cognate profession of literature. The whole thing is done in
great style. Music is introduced. The lecturer stands on a large
raised platform, on which sit around him the bald and hoary-headed
and superlatively wise. Ladies come in large numbers; especially
those who aspire to soar above the frivolities of the world. Politics
is the subject most popular, and most general. The men and women of
Boston could no more do without their lectures, than those of Paris
could without their theatres. It is the decorous diversion of the
best ordered of her citizens. The fast young men go to clubs, and the
fast young women to dances, as fast young men and women do in other
places that are wicked; but lecturing is the favourite diversion of
the steady-minded Bostonian. After all, I do not know that the result
is very good. It does not seem that much will be gained by such
lectures on either side of the Atlantic,--except that respectable
killing of an evening which might otherwise be killed less
respectably. It is but an industrious idleness, an attempt at a royal
road to information, that habit of attending lectures. Let any man or
woman say what he has brought away from any such attendance. It is
attractive, that idea of being studious without any of the labour
of study; but I fear it is illusive. If an evening can be so passed
without ennui, I believe that that may be regarded as the best result
to be gained. But then it so often happens that the evening is not
passed without ennui! Of course in saying this, I am not alluding
to lectures given in special places as a course of special study.
Medical lectures, no doubt, are a necessary part of medical
education. As many as two or three thousand often attend these
popular lectures in Boston, but I do not know whether on that account
the popular subjects are much better understood. Nevertheless I
resolved to hear more, hoping that I might in that way teach myself
to understand what were the popular politics in New England. Whether
or no I may have learned this in any other way I do not perhaps know;
but at any rate I did not learn it in this way.
The next lecture which I attended was also given in the Tremont Hall,
and on this occasion also the subject of the war was to be treated.
The special treachery of the rebels was, I think, the matter to be
taken in hand. On this occasion also the room was full, and my hopes
of a pleasant hour ran high. For some fifteen minutes I listened, and
I am bound to say that the gentleman discoursed in excellent English.
He was master of that wonderful fluency which is peculiarly the gift
of an American. He went on from one sentence to another with rhythmic
tones and unerring pronunciation. He never faltered, never repeated
his words, never fell into those vile half-muttered hems and haws
by which an Englishman in such a position so generally betrays his
timidity. But during the whole time of my remaining in the room he
did not give expression to a single thought. He went on from one soft
platitude to another, and uttered words from which I would defy any
one of his audience to carry away with them anything. And yet it
seemed to me that his audience was satisfied. I was not satisfied,
and managed to escape out of the room.
The next lecturer to whom I listened was Mr. Everett. Mr. Everett's
reputation as an orator is very great, and I was especially anxious
to hear him. I had long since known that his power of delivery was
very marvellous; that his tones, elocution, and action were all
great; and that he was able to command the minds and sympathies
of his audience in a remarkable manner. His subject also was the
war;--or rather the causes of the war, and its qualification. Had the
North given to the South cause of provocation? Had the South been
fair and honest in its dealings to the North? Had any compromise been
possible by which the war might have been avoided, and the rights and
dignity of the North preserved? Seeing that Mr. Everett is a Northern
man and was lecturing to a Boston audience, one knew well how these
questions would be answered, but the manner of the answering would be
everything. This lecture was given at Roxboro', one of the suburbs
of Boston. So I went out to Roxboro' with a party, and found myself
honoured by being placed on the platform among the bald-headed ones
and the superlatively wise. This privilege is naturally gratifying,
but it entails on him who is so gratified the inconvenience of
sitting at the lecturer's back, whereas it is perhaps better for the
listener to be before his face.
I could not but be amused by one little scenic incident. When we all
went upon the platform, some one proposed that the clergymen should
lead the way out of the waiting-room in which we bald-headed ones and
superlatively wise were assembled. But to this the manager of the
affair demurred. He wanted the clergymen for a purpose, he said. And
so the profane ones led the way, and the clergymen, of whom there
might be some six or seven, clustered in around the lecturer at last.
Early in his discourse Mr. Everett told us what it was that the
country needed at this period of her trial. Patriotism, courage, the
bravery of the men, the good wishes of the women, the self-denial
of all,--"and," continued the lecturer, turning to his immediate
neighbours, "the prayers of these holy men whom I see around me." It
had not been for nothing that the clergymen were detained.
Mr. Everett lectures without any book or paper before him, and
continues from first to last as though the words came from him on the
spur of the moment. It is known, however, that it is his practice
to prepare his orations with great care and commit them entirely to
memory, as does an actor. Indeed he repeats the same lecture over and
over again, I am told, without the change of a word or of an action.
I did not like Mr. Everett's lecture. I did not like what he said,
or the seeming spirit in which it was framed. But I am bound to
admit that his power of oratory is very wonderful. Those among his
countrymen who have criticised his manner in my hearing have said
that he is too florid, that there is an affectation in the motion
of his hands, and that the intended pathos of his voice sometimes
approaches too near the precipice over which the fall is so deep and
rapid, and at the bottom of which lies absolute ridicule. Judging for
myself, I did not find it so. My position for seeing was not good,
but my ear was not offended. Critics also should bear in mind that
an orator does not speak chiefly to them or for their approval. He
who writes, or speaks, or sings for thousands, must write, speak, or
sing as those thousands would have him. That to a dainty connoisseur
will be false music, which to the general ear shall be accounted as
the perfection of harmony. An eloquence altogether suited to the
fastidious and hypercritical, would probably fail to carry off the
hearts and interest the sympathies of the young and eager. As regards
manners, tone, and choice of words, I think that the oratory of Mr.
Everett places him very high. His skill in his work is perfect. He
never falls back upon a word. He never repeats himself. His voice is
always perfectly under command. As for hesitation or timidity, the
days for those failings have long passed by with him. When he makes
a point, he makes it well, and drives it home to the intelligence of
every one before him. Even that appeal to the holy men around him
sounded well,--or would have done so had I not been present at that
little arrangement in the anteroom. On the audience at large it was
manifestly effective.
But nevertheless the lecture gave me but a poor idea of Mr. Everett
as a politician, though it made me regard him highly as an orator.
It was impossible not to perceive that he was anxious to utter the
sentiments of the audience rather than his own;--that he was making
himself an echo, a powerful and harmonious echo of what he conceived
to be public opinion in Boston at that moment;--that he was neither
leading nor teaching the people before him, but allowing himself to
be led by them, so that he might best play his present part for their
delectation. He was neither bold nor honest, as Emerson had been, and
I could not but feel that every tyro of a politician before him would
thus recognize his want of boldness and of honesty. As a statesman,
or as a critic of statecraft and of other statesmen, he is wanting
in backbone. For many years Mr. Everett has been not even inimical
to southern politics and southern courses, nor was he among those
who, during the last eight years previous to Mr. Lincoln's election,
fought the battle for northern principles. I do not say that on this
account he is now false to advocate the war. But he cannot carry
men with him when, at his age, he advocates it by arguments opposed
to the tenour of his long political life. His abuse of the South
and of southern ideas was as virulent as might be that of a young
lad now beginning his political career, or of one who had through
life advocated abolition principles. He heaped reproaches on poor
Virginia, whose position as the chief of the border States has given
to her hardly the possibility of avoiding a Scylla of ruin on the
one side, or a Charybdis of rebellion on the other. When he spoke as
he did of Virginia, ridiculing the idea of her sacred soil, even I,
Englishman as I am, could not but think of Washington, of Jefferson,
of Randolph, and of Madison. He should not have spoken of Virginia
as he did speak; for no man could have known better Virginia's
difficulties. But Virginia was at a discount in Boston, and Mr.
Everett was speaking to a Boston audience. And then he referred to
England and to Europe. Mr. Everett has been minister to England, and
knows the people. He is a student of history, and must, I think,
know that England's career has not been unhappy or unprosperous.
But England also was at a discount in Boston, and Mr. Everett was
speaking to a Boston audience. They are sending us their advice
across the water, said Mr. Everett. And what is their advice to
us? that we should come down from the high place we have built for
ourselves, and be even as they are. They screech at us from the low
depths in which they are wallowing in their misery, and call on us to
join them in their wretchedness. I am not quoting Mr. Everett's very
words, for I have not them by me; but I am not making them stronger,
nor so strong as he made them. As I thought of Mr. Everett's
reputation, and of his years of study,--of his long political life
and unsurpassed sources of information,--I could not but grieve
heartily when I heard such words fall from him. I could not but
ask myself whether it were impossible that under the present
circumstances of her constitution this great nation of America should
produce an honest, high-minded statesman. When Lincoln and Hamlin,
the existing President and Vice-President of the States, were in 1860
as yet but the candidates of the republican party, Bell and Everett
also were the candidates of the old whig, conservative party. Their
express theory was this,--that the question of slavery should
not be touched. Their purpose was to crush agitation and restore
harmony by an impartial balance between the North and South: a fine
purpose,--the finest of all purposes, had it been practicable. But
such a course of compromise was now at a discount in Boston, and
Mr. Everett was speaking to a Boston audience. As an orator, Mr.
Everett's excellence is, I think, not to be questioned; but as a
politician I cannot give him a high rank.
After that I heard Mr. Wendell Phillips. Of him, too, as an orator
all the world of Massachusetts speaks with great admiration, and I
have no doubt so speaks with justice. He is, however, known as the
hottest and most impassioned advocate of abolition. Not many months
since the cause of abolition, as advocated by him, was so unpopular
in Boston, that Mr. Phillips was compelled to address his audience
surrounded by a guard of policemen. Of this gentleman, I may at any
rate say that he is consistent, devoted, and disinterested. He is an
abolitionist by profession, and seeks to find in every turn of the
tide of politics some stream on which he may bring himself nearer
to his object. In the old days, previous to the selection of Mr.
Lincoln, in days so old that they are now nearly eighteen months
past, Mr. Phillips was an anti-Union man. He advocated strongly the
disseverance of the Union, so that the country to which he belonged
might have hands clean from the taint of slavery. He had probably
acknowledged to himself, that while the North and South were bound
together no hope existed of emancipation, but that if the North stood
alone the South would become too weak to foster and keep alive the
"social institution." In which, if such were his opinions, I am
inclined to agree with him. But now he is all for the Union, thinking
that a victorious North can compel the immediate emancipation of
southern slaves. As to which I beg to say that I am bold to differ
from Mr. Phillips altogether.
It soon became evident to me that Mr. Phillips was unwell, and
lecturing at a disadvantage. His manner was clearly that of an
accustomed orator, but his voice was weak, and he was not up to
the effect which he attempted to make. His hearers were impatient,
repeatedly calling upon him to speak out, and on that account I tried
hard to feel kindly towards him and his lecture. But I must confess
that I failed. To me it seemed that the doctrine he preached was one
of rapine, bloodshed, and social destruction. He would call upon the
Government and upon Congress to enfranchise the slaves at once,--now
during the war,--so that the Southern power might be destroyed by
a concurrence of misfortunes. And he would do so at once, on the
spur of the moment, fearing lest the South should be before him,
and themselves emancipate their own bondsmen. I have sometimes
thought that there is no being so venomous, so bloodthirsty as a
professed philanthropist; and that when the philanthropist's ardour
lies negro-wards, it then assumes the deepest die of venom and
bloodthirstiness. There are four millions of slaves in the southern
States, none of whom have any capacity for self-maintenance or
self-control. Four millions of slaves, with the necessities of
children, with the passions of men, and the ignorance of savages!
And Mr. Phillips would emancipate these at a blow; would, were it
possible for him to do so, set them loose upon the soil to tear
their masters, destroy each other, and make such a hell upon the
earth as has never even yet come from the uncontrolled passions
and unsatisfied wants of men. But Congress cannot do this. All
the members of Congress put together cannot, according to the
constitution of the United States, emancipate a single slave in South
Carolina; not if they were all unanimous. No emancipation in a Slave
State can come otherwise than by the legislative enactment of that
State. But it was then thought that in this coming winter of 1860-61
the action of Congress might be set aside. The North possessed an
enormous army under the control of the President. The South was in
rebellion, and the President could pronounce, and the army perhaps
enforce, the confiscation of all property held in slaves. If any who
held them were not disloyal, the question of compensation might be
settled afterwards. How those four million slaves should live, and
how white men should live among them, in some States or parts of
States not equal to the blacks in number;--as to that Mr. Phillips
did not give us his opinion.
And Mr. Phillips also could not keep his tongue away from the
abominations of Englishmen and the miraculous powers of his own
countrymen. It was on this occasion that he told us more than
once how Yankees carried brains in their fingers, whereas "common
people"--alluding by that name to Europeans--had them only, if at
all, inside their brain-pans. And then he informed us that Lord
Palmerston had always hated America. Among the Radicals there might
be one or two who understood and valued the institutions of America,
but it was a well-known fact that Lord Palmerston was hostile to
the country. Nothing but hidden enmity,--enmity hidden or not
hidden,--could be expected from England. That the people of Boston,
or of Massachusetts, or of the North generally, should feel sore
against England is to me intelligible. I know how the minds of men
are moved in masses to certain feelings, and that it ever must be so.
Men in common talk are not bound to weigh their words, to think, and
speculate on their results, and be sure of the premises on which
their thoughts are founded. But it is different with a man who rises
before two or three thousand of his countrymen to teach and instruct
them. After that I heard no more political lectures in Boston.
Of course I visited Bunker's Hill, and went to Lexington and Concord.
From the top of the monument on Bunker's Hill there is a fine view of
Boston Harbour, and seen from thence the harbour is picturesque. The
mouth is crowded with islands and jutting necks and promontories;
and though the shores are in no place rich enough to make the
scenery grand, the general effect is good. The monument, however,
is so constructed that one can hardly get a view through the
windows at the top of it, and there is no outside gallery round it.
Immediately below the monument is a marble figure of Major Warren,
who fell there,--not from the top of the monument, as some one
was led to believe when informed that on that spot the Major had
fallen. Bunker's Hill, which is little more than a mound, is at
Charleston,--a dull, populous, respectable, and very unattractive
suburb of Boston.
Bunker's Hill has obtained a considerable name, and is accounted
great in the annals of American history. In England we have all
heard of Bunker's Hill, and some of us dislike the sound as much as
Frenchmen do that of Waterloo. In the States men talk of Bunker's
Hill as we may, perhaps, talk of Agincourt and such favourite fields.
But, after all, little was done at Bunker's Hill, and, as far as
I can learn, no victory was gained there by either party. The road
from Boston to the town of Concord, on which stands the village of
Lexington, is the true scene of the earliest and greatest deeds of
the men of Boston. The monument at Bunker's Hill stands high and
commands attention, while those at Lexington and Concord are very
lowly and command no attention. But it is of that road and what was
done on it that Massachusetts should be proud. When the colonists
first began to feel that they were oppressed, and a half resolve was
made to resist that oppression by force, they began to collect a
few arms and some gunpowder at Concord, a small town about eighteen
miles from Boston. Of this preparation the English Governor received
tidings, and determined to send a party of soldiers to seize the
arms. This he endeavoured to do secretly; but he was too closely
watched, and word was sent down over the waters by which Boston
was then surrounded that the colonists might be prepared for the
soldiers. At that time Boston Neck, as it was and is still called,
was the only connection between the town and the main land, and
the road over Boston Neck did not lead to Concord. Boats therefore
were necessarily used, and there was some difficulty in getting the
soldiers to the nearest point. They made their way, however, to
the road, and continued their route as far as Lexington without
interruption. Here, however, they were attacked, and the first blood
of that war was shed. They shot three or four of the--rebels, I
suppose I should in strict language call them, and then proceeded
on to Concord. But at Concord they were stopped and repulsed, and
along the road back from Concord to Lexington they were driven with
slaughter and dismay. And thus the rebellion was commenced which led
to the establishment of a people which, let us Englishmen say and
think what we may of them at this present moment, has made itself one
of the five great nations of the earth, and has enabled us to boast
that the two out of the five who enjoy the greatest liberty and
the widest prosperity, speak the English language and are known by
English names. For all that has come and is like to come, I say
again, long may that honour remain. I could not but feel that that
road from Boston to Concord deserves a name in the world's history
greater, perhaps, than has yet been given to it.
Concord is at present to be noted as the residence of Mr. Emerson and
of Mr. Hawthorne, two of those many men of letters of whose presence
Boston and its neighbourhood have reason to be proud. Of Mr. Emerson
I have already spoken. The author of the "Scarlet Letter" I regard
as certainly the first of American novelists. I know what men will
say of Mr. Cooper,--and I also am an admirer of Cooper's novels. But
I cannot think that Mr. Cooper's powers were equal to those of Mr.
Hawthorne, though his mode of thought may have been more genial, and
his choice of subjects more attractive in their day. In point of
imagination, which, after all, is the novelist's greatest gift, I
hardly know any living author who can be accounted superior to Mr.
Hawthorne.
Very much has, undoubtedly, been done in Boston to carry out
that theory of Colonel Newcome's--_Emollit mores_, by which the
Colonel meant to signify his opinion that a competent knowledge of
reading, writing, and arithmetic, with a taste for enjoying those
accomplishments, goes very far towards the making of a man, and will
by no means mar a gentleman. In Boston nearly every man, woman, and
child has had his or her manners so far softened; and though they may
still occasionally be somewhat rough to the outer touch, the inward
effect is plainly visible. With us, especially among our agricultural
population, the absence of that inner softening is as visible.
I went to see a public library in the city, which, if not founded by
Mr. Bates whose name is so well known in London as connected with the
house of Messrs. Baring, has been greatly enriched by him. It is by
his money that it has been enabled to do its work. In this library
there is a certain number of thousands of volumes--a great many
volumes, as there are in most public libraries. There are books of
all classes, from ponderous unreadable folios, of which learned men
know the title-pages, down to the lightest literature. Novels are by
no means eschewed,--are rather, if I understood aright, considered
as one of the staples of the library. From this library any book,
excepting such rare volumes as in all libraries are considered holy,
is given out to any inhabitant of Boston, without any payment, on
presentation of a simple request on a prepared form. In point of
fact, it is a gratuitous circulating library open to all Boston, rich
or poor, young or old. The books seemed in general to be confided
to young children, who came as messengers from their fathers and
mothers, or brothers and sisters. No question whatever is asked,
if the applicant is known or the place of his residence undoubted.
If there be no such knowledge, or there be any doubt as to the
residence, the applicant is questioned, the object being to confine
the use of the library to the _bonâ fide_ inhabitants of the city.
Practically the books are given to those who ask for them, whoever
they may be. Boston contains over 200,000 inhabitants, and all those
200,000 are entitled to them. Some twenty men and women are kept
employed from morning to night in carrying on this circulating
library; and there is, moreover, attached to the establishment a
large reading-room supplied with papers and magazines, open to the
public of Boston on the same terms.
Of course I asked whether a great many of the books were not lost,
stolen, and destroyed; and of course I was told that there were no
losses, no thefts, and no destruction. As to thefts, the librarian
did not seem to think that any instance of such an occurrence could
be found. Among the poorer classes a book might sometimes be lost
when they were changing their lodgings, but anything so lost was
more than replaced by the fines. A book is taken out for a week,
and if not brought back at the end of that week, when the loan can
be renewed if the reader wishes, a fine, I think of two cents, is
incurred. The children, when too late with the books, bring in the
two cents as a matter of course, and the sum so collected fully
replaces all losses. It was all _couleur de rose_; the librarianesses
looked very pretty and learned, and, if I remember aright, mostly
wore spectacles; the head librarian was enthusiastic; the nice
instructive books were properly dogs-eared; my own productions were
in enormous demand; the call for books over the counter was brisk,
and the reading-room was full of readers.
It has, I dare say, occurred to other travellers to remark that the
proceedings at such institutions, when visited by them on their
travels, are always rose coloured. It is natural that the bright side
should be shown to the visitor. It may be that many books are called
for and returned unread, that many of those taken out are so taken by
persons who ought to pay for their novels at circulating libraries,
that the librarian and librarianesses get very tired of their long
hours of attendance,--for I found that they were very long;--and
that many idlers warm themselves in that reading-room: nevertheless
the fact remains,--the library is public to all the men and women in
Boston, and books are given out without payment to all who may choose
to ask for them. Why should not the great Mr. Mudie emulate Mr.
Bates, and open a library in London on the same system?
The librarian took me into one special room, of which he himself kept
the key, to show me a present which the library had received from the
English Government. The room was filled with volumes of two sizes,
all bound alike, containing descriptions and drawings of all the
patents taken out in England. According to this librarian such a work
would be invaluable as to American patents; but he conceived that the
subject had become too confused to render any such an undertaking
possible. "I never allow a single volume to be used for a moment
without the presence of myself or one of my assistants," said the
librarian; and then he explained to me, when I asked him why he was
so particular, that the drawings would, as a matter of course, be cut
out and stolen if he omitted his care. "But they may be copied," I
said. "Yes; but if Jones merely copies one, Smith may come after him
and copy it also. Jones will probably desire to hinder Smith from
having any evidence of such a patent." As to the ordinary borrowing
and returning of books, the poorest labourer's child in Boston might
be trusted as honest; but when a question of trade came up, of
commercial competition, then the librarian was bound to bethink
himself that his countrymen are very smart. "I hope," said the
librarian, "you will let them know in England how grateful we are for
their present." And I hereby execute that librarian's commission.
I shall always look back to social life in Boston with great
pleasure. I met there many men and women whom to know is a
distinction, and with whom to be intimate is a great delight. It was
a Puritan city, in which strict old Roundhead sentiments and laws
used to prevail; but now-a-days ginger is hot in the mouth there, and
in spite of the war there were cakes and ale. There was a law passed
in Massachusetts in the old days that any girl should be fined and
imprisoned who allowed a young man to kiss her. That law has now, I
think, fallen into abeyance, and such matters are regulated in Boston
much as they are in other large towns further eastward. It still,
I conceive, calls itself a Puritan city, but it has divested its
Puritanism of austerity, and clings rather to the politics and public
bearing of its old fathers than to their social manners and pristine
severity of intercourse. The young girls are, no doubt, much more
comfortable under the new dispensation,--and the elderly men also,
as I fancy. Sunday, as regards the outer streets, is sabbatical. But
Sunday evenings within doors I always found to be what my friends in
that country call "quite a good time." It is not the thing in Boston
to smoke in the streets during the day; but the wisest, the sagest,
and the most holy,--even those holy men whom the lecturer saw around
him,--seldom refuse a cigar in the dining-room as soon as the ladies
have gone. Perhaps even the wicked weed would make its appearance
before that sad eclipse, thereby postponing, or perhaps absolutely
annihilating, the melancholy period of widowhood to both parties,
and would light itself under the very eyes of those who in sterner
cities will lend no countenance to such lightings. Ah me, it was very
pleasant! I confess I like this abandonment of the stricter rules of
the more decorous world. I fear that there is within me an aptitude
to the milder debaucheries which makes such deviations pleasant. I
like to drink and I like to smoke, but I do not like to turn women
out of the room. Then comes the question whether one can have all
that one likes together. In some small circles in New England I found
people simple enough to fancy that they could. In Massachusetts the
Maine Liquor Law is still the law of the land, but, like that other
law to which I have alluded, it has fallen very much out of use. At
any rate it had not reached the houses of the gentlemen with whom I
had the pleasure of making acquaintance. But here I must guard myself
from being misunderstood. I saw but one drunken man through all New
England, and he was very respectable. He was, however, so uncommonly
drunk that he might be allowed to count for two or three. The
Puritans of Boston are, of course, simple in their habits and simple
in their expenses. Champagne and canvas-back ducks I found to be the
provisions most in vogue among those who desired to adhere closely to
the manners of their forefathers. Upon the whole I found the ways of
life which had been brought over in the "Mayflower" from the stern
sects of England, and preserved through the revolutionary war for
liberty, to be very pleasant ways, and I made up my mind that a
Yankee Puritan can be an uncommonly pleasant fellow. I wish that some
of them did not dine so early; for when a man sits down at half-past
two, that keeping up of the after-dinner recreations till bedtime
becomes hard work.
In Boston the houses are very spacious and excellent, and they are
always furnished with those luxuries which it is so difficult to
introduce into an old house. They have hot and cold water pipes
into every room, and baths attached to the bed-chambers. It is not
only that comfort is increased by such arrangements, but that much
labour is saved. In an old English house it will occupy a servant
the best part of the day to carry water up and down for a large
family. Everything also is spacious, commodious, and well lighted.
I certainly think that in house building the Americans have gone
beyond us, for even our new houses are not commodious as are theirs.
One practice which they have in their cities would hardly suit our
limited London spaces. When the body of the house is built, they
throw out the dining-room behind. It stands alone, as it were, with
no other chamber above it, and removed from the rest of the house.
It is consequently behind the double drawing-rooms which form the
ground-floor, and is approached from them, and also from the back of
the hall. The second entrance to the dining-room is thus near the top
of the kitchen stairs, which no doubt is its proper position. The
whole of the upper part of the house is thus kept for the private
uses of the family. To me this plan of building recommended itself as
being very commodious.
I found the spirit for the war quite as hot at Boston now (in
November), if not hotter than it was when I was there ten weeks
earlier; and I found also, to my grief, that the feeling against
England was as strong. I can easily understand how difficult it must
have been, and still must be, to Englishmen at home to understand
this, and see how it has come to pass. It has not arisen, as I think,
from the old jealousy of England. It has not sprung from that source
which for years has induced certain newspapers, especially the "New
York Herald" to vilify England. I do not think that the men of New
England have ever been, as regards this matter, in the same boat with
the "New York Herald." But when this war between the North and South
first broke out, even before there was as yet a war, the Northern men
had taught themselves to expect what they called British sympathy,
meaning British encouragement. They regarded, and properly regarded,
the action of the South as a rebellion, and said among themselves
that so staid and conservative a nation as Great Britain would surely
countenance them in quelling rebels. If not,--should it come to pass
that Great Britain should show no such countenance and sympathy for
Northern law, if Great Britain did not respond to her friend as
she was expected to respond, then it would appear that Cotton was
king, at least in British eyes. The war did come, and Great Britain
regarded the two parties as belligerents, standing, as far as she was
concerned, on equal grounds. This it was that first gave rise to that
fretful anger against England which has gone so far towards ruining
the northern cause. We know how such passions are swelled by being
ventilated, and how they are communicated from mind to mind till they
become national. Politicians--American politicians I here mean--have
their own future careers ever before their eyes, and are driven
to make capital where they can. Hence it is that such men as Mr.
Seward in the cabinet, and Mr. Everett out of it, can reconcile it
to themselves to speak as they have done of England. It was but the
other day that Mr. Everett spoke in one of his orations of the hope
that still existed that the flag of the United States might still
float over the whole continent of North America. What would he say of
an English statesman who should speak of putting up the Union Jack
on the State House in Boston? Such words tell for the moment on the
hearers, and help to gain some slight popularity; but they tell for
more than a moment on those who read them and remember them.
And then came the capture of Messrs. Slidell and Mason. I was at
Boston when those men were taken out of the "Trent" by the "San
Jacinto," and brought to Fort Warren in Boston Harbour. Captain
Wilkes was the officer who had made the capture, and he immediately
was recognized as a hero. He was invited to banquets and fêted.
Speeches were made to him as speeches are commonly made to high
officers who come home, after many perils, victorious from the wars.
His health was drunk with great applause, and thanks were voted to
him by one of the Houses of Congress. It was said that a sword was
to be given to him, but I do not think that the gift was consummated.
Should it not have been a policeman's truncheon? Had he at the
best done anything beyond a policeman's work? Of Captain Wilkes
no one would complain for doing policeman's duty. If his country
were satisfied with the manner in which he did it, England, if she
quarrelled at all, would not quarrel with him. It may now and again
become the duty of a brave officer to do work of so low a calibre. It
is a pity that an ambitious sailor should find himself told off for
so mean a task, but the world would know that it is not his fault.
No one could blame Captain Wilkes for acting policeman on the seas.
But who ever before heard of giving a man glory for achievements so
little glorious? How Captain Wilkes must have blushed when those
speeches were made to him, when that talk about the sword came up,
when the thanks arrived to him from Congress! An officer receives
his country's thanks when he has been in great peril, and has borne
himself gallantly through his danger; when he has endured the brunt
of war, and come through it with victory; when he has exposed himself
on behalf of his country and singed his epaulets with an enemy's
fire. Captain Wilkes tapped a merchantman on the shoulder in the high
seas, and told him that his passengers were wanted. In doing this he
showed no lack of spirit, for it might be his duty; but where was his
spirit when he submitted to be thanked for such work?
And then there arose a clamour of justification among the lawyers;
judges and ex-judges flew to Wheaton, Phillimore, and Lord Stowell.
Before twenty-four hours were over, every man and every woman in
Boston were armed with precedents. Then there was the burning of the
"Caroline." England had improperly burned the "Caroline" on Lake
Erie, or rather in one of the American ports on Lake Erie, and had
then begged pardon. If the States had been wrong, they would beg
pardon; but whether wrong or right, they would not give up Slidell
and Mason. But the lawyers soon waxed stronger. The men were
manifestly ambassadors, and as such contraband of war. Wilkes was
quite right, only he should have seized the vessel also. He was quite
right, for though Slidell and Mason might not be ambassadors, they
were undoubtedly carrying despatches. In a few hours there began to
be a doubt whether the men could be ambassadors, because if called
ambassadors, then the power that sent the embassy must be presumed to
be recognized. That Captain Wilkes had taken no despatches was true;
but the Captain suggested a way out of this difficulty by declaring
that he had regarded the two men themselves as an incarnated
embodiment of despatches. At any rate, they were clearly contraband
of war. They were going to do an injury to the North. It was pretty
to hear the charming women of Boston, as they became learned in the
law of nations: "Wheaton is quite clear about it," one young girl
said to me. It was the first I had ever heard of Wheaton, and so
far was obliged to knock under. All the world, ladies and lawyers,
expressed the utmost confidence in the justice of the seizure, but
it was clear that all the world was in a state of the profoundest
nervous anxiety on the subject. To me it seemed to be the most
suicidal act that any party in a life-and-death struggle ever
committed. All Americans on both sides had felt, from the beginning
of the war, that any assistance given by England to one or the other
would turn the scale. The Government of Mr. Lincoln must have learned
by this time that England was at least true in her neutrality; that
no desire for cotton would compel her to give aid to the South as
long as she herself was not ill-treated by the North. But it seemed
as though Mr. Seward, the President's prime minister, had no better
work on hand than that of showing in every way his indifference as to
courtesy with England. Insults offered to England would, he seemed to
think, strengthen his hands. He would let England know that he did
not care for her. When our minister, Lord Lyons, appealed to him
regarding the suspension of the habeas corpus, Mr. Seward not only
answered him with insolence, but instantly published his answer
in the papers. He instituted a system of passports, especially
constructed so as to incommode Englishmen proceeding from the States
across the Atlantic. He resolved to make every Englishman in America
feel himself in some way punished because England had not assisted
the North. And now came the arrest of Slidell and Mason out of
an English mail-steamer; and Mr. Seward took care to let it be
understood that, happen what might, those two men should not be given
up.
Nothing during all this time astonished me so much as the estimation
in which Mr. Seward was then held by his own party. It is, perhaps,
the worst defect in the Constitution of the States, that no
incapacity on the part of a minister, no amount of condemnation
expressed against him by the people or by Congress, can put him out
of office during the term of the existing Presidency. The President
can dismiss him; but it generally happens that the President is
brought in on a "platform," which has already nominated for him his
Cabinet as thoroughly as they have nominated him. Mr. Seward ran Mr.
Lincoln very hard for the position of candidate for the Presidency
on the Republican interest. On the second voting of the Republican
delegates at the Convention at Chicago, Mr. Seward polled 184 to Mr.
Lincoln's 181. But as a clear half of the total number of votes was
necessary--that is 233 out of 465--there was necessarily a third
polling, and Mr. Lincoln won the day. On that occasion Mr. Chase and
Mr. Cameron, both of whom became members of Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet,
were also candidates for the White House on the Republican side.
I mention this here to show, that though the President can in fact
dismiss his Ministers, he is in a great manner bound to them, and
that a Minister in Mr. Seward's position is hardly to be dismissed.
But from the 1st of November, 1861, till the day on which I left
the States, I do not think that I heard a good word spoken of Mr.
Seward as a Minister even by one of his own party. The Radical
or Abolitionist Republicans all abused him. The Conservative or
Anti-abolition Republicans, to whose party he would consider himself
as belonging, spoke of him as a mistake. He had been prominent as
Senator from New York, and had been Governor of the State of New
York, but had none of the aptitudes of a statesman. He was there, and
it was a pity. He was not so bad as Mr. Cameron, the Minister for
War; that was the best his own party could say for him, even in his
own State of New York. As to the Democrats, their language respecting
him was as harsh as any that I have heard used towards the Southern
leaders. He seemed to have no friend, no one who trusted him;--and
yet he was the President's chief minister, and seemed to have in
his own hands the power of mismanaging all foreign relations as he
pleased. But, in truth, the States of America, great as they are, and
much as they have done, have not produced Statesmen. That theory of
governing by the little men rather than by the great, has not been
found to answer, and such follies as those of Mr. Seward have been
the consequence.
At Boston, and indeed elsewhere, I found that there was even
then,--at the time of the capture of Mason and Slidell,--no true
conception of the neutrality of England with reference to the two
parties. When any argument was made, showing that England who had
carried those messengers from the South, would undoubtedly have also
carried messengers from the North, the answer always was--"But the
Southerners are all rebels. Will England regard us who are by treaty
her friend, as she does a people that is in rebellion against its
own government?" That was the old story over again, and as it was
a very long story, it was hardly of use to go back through all its
details. But the fact was that unless there had been such absolute
neutrality--such equality between the parties in the eyes of
England--even Captain Wilkes would not have thought of stopping
the "Trent," or the Government at Washington of justifying such
a proceeding. And it must be remembered that the Government at
Washington had justified that proceeding. The Secretary of the Navy
had distinctly done so in his official report; and that report had
been submitted to the President and published by his order. It was
because England was neutral between the North and South that Captain
Wilkes claimed to have the right of seizing those two men. It had
been the President's intention, some month or so before this affair,
to send Mr. Everett and other gentlemen over to England with objects
as regards the North, similar to those which had caused the sending
of Slidell and Mason with reference to the South. What would Mr.
Everett have thought had he been refused a passage from Dover to
Calais, because the carrying of him would have been towards the South
a breach of neutrality? It would never have occurred to him that he
could become subject to such stoppage. How should we have been abused
for Southern sympathies had we so acted! We, forsooth, who carry
passengers about the world, from China and Australia, round to Chili
and Peru, who have the charge of the world's passengers and letters,
and as a nation incur out of our pocket annually a loss of some
half-million of pounds sterling for the privilege of doing so, are
to inquire the business of every American traveller before we let
him on board, and be stopped in our work if we take anybody on one
side whose journeyings may be conceived by the other side to be to
them prejudicial! Not on such terms will Englishmen be willing to
spread civilization across the ocean! I do not pretend to understand
Wheaton and Phillimore, or even to have read a single word of any
international law. I have refused to read any such, knowing that it
would only confuse and mislead me. But I have my common sense to
guide me. Two men living in one street, quarrel and shy brickbats at
each other, and make the whole street very uncomfortable. Not only is
no one to interfere with them, but they are to have the privilege of
deciding that their brickbats have the right of way, rather than the
ordinary intercourse of the neighbourhood! If that be national law,
national law must be changed. It might do for some centuries back,
but it cannot do now. Up to this period my sympathies had been
with the North. I thought, and still think, that the North had no
alternative, that the war had been forced upon them, and that they
had gone about their work with patriotic energy. But this stopping of
an English mail-steamer was too much for me.
What will they do in England? was now the question. But for any
knowledge as to that, I had to wait till I reached Washington.