CHAPTER XII.

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THE

CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:

DEVOTED TO

LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY.

VOL. III.--MARCH, 1863.--No. III.

TURKEY.

The decline of the Turkish Empire has furnished an eloquent theme for

historians, who have ever made it the 'point and commendation of their

tale.' Judging from its decline, they have predicted its fall. Half a

century ago, the historian of the middle ages expected with an assurance

that 'none can deem extravagant,' the approaching subversion of the

Ottoman power. Although deprived of some of its richest possessions and

defeated in many a well-fought field, the house of Othman still

stands--amid crumbling monarchies and subjugated countries; the crescent

still glitters on the Bosphorus, and still the 'tottering arch of

conquest spans the ample region from Bagdad to Belgrade.'

Yet, how sadly changed is Turkey from her former self--how varied the

fortunes of her classic fields! The physical features of the country are

the same as in the days of Solyman the Magnificent; the same noble

rivers water the fertile valleys, and the same torrents sweep down the

mountain sides; the waves of the Ægean and Mediterranean wash the same

shores, fertile in vines and olive trees; the same heaven smiles over

the tombs of the storied brave--but here no longer is the abode of the

rulers and lawgivers of one half the world.

It has been said, and with some degree of truth, that the Turks are

encamped, not settled in Europe. In their political and social

institutions they have never comported themselves as if they anticipated

to make it their continuing home. Their oriental legends relate how the

belief arose in the very hour of conquest that the standard of the Cross

should at some future day be carried to the Bosphorus, and that the

European portion of the empire would he regained by Christians. From

this superstitious belief they selected the Asiatic shore for the burial

of true Mussulmans; nor was it altogether a fanciful belief, for in the

sudden rise of Russia, Turkey foresaw the harbinger of her fall, and

recognized in Muscovite warriors the antagonists of fate.

A nation to be long-lived must rise higher and higher in the scale of

civilization; must approach nearer and nearer its meridian, but never

culminate. The Athenians reached the zenith of their glory in the age of

Pericles, and lost in fifty years what they had acquired in centuries.

The Turks attained their meridian greatness in the reign of Solyman the

Magnificent--from which time dates their decline.

If we make a comparison between Turkey and her formidable neighbor,

Russia, we shall find that the latter adopted, while the former resisted

reforms. Turkey was in the fulness of her power when Russia had not yet

a name. The spirit of the Ottomans was remarkably exclusive. They

regarded themselves as a separate and distinct people; they were

conquerors, and as such thought themselves a superior race--men who were

to teach and not to learn. In their intercourse with other nations, they

borrowed nothing, and out of themselves looked for nothing. Their

feeling of national glory was not extinguished by national degradation,

but cherished through ages of slavery and shame. But the world is a

world of progress. A nation cannot remain stationary; she must advance

or retrograde. Turkey is not what she was, while Russia, with the rest

of Christendom, has advanced; her faults grew with her strength, but did

not die with her decay. It will not be sufficient for her merely to

regain her former power; she must overtake Christendom in the progress

made during her decadence. Her spirit of vitality is not yet extinct; it

wants guidance and development to strengthen and elevate it. There is

still hope of reforming the Turkish empire without that baptism of blood

which many have urged and are still urging. Indeed, Lord Palmerston

declared in Parliament that Turkey has made a more rapid advance and

been improved more during the last ten years (he made this statement in

1854, and Turkey has been rapidly progressing since) than any other

country in Europe.

Before considering the question of reform, it will be necessary to take

a cursory view of Turkish history and character.

While the monarchs of Constantinople were waging war with Persia, and

both empires were tottering; while the Christian religion gave rise to

different sects, hating each other with intense and fanatical hatred, a

silent power was rising among the Turks, which was destined to subvert

empires and found a new religion. Their original seat was among the

Altai mountains, where they were employed by their masters in working

iron mines. They rose in rebellion, threw off their allegiance, and made

incursions into Persia and China, proving themselves formidable enemies.

From being a weak and enslaved people they became the allies and

conquerors of the Byzantine emperors. 'With the Koran in one hand,' says

Macaulay, 'and the sword in the other, they went forth conquering and

converting eastward to the Bay of Bengal, and westward to the Pillars of

Hercules.' They became a terror to the nations that had beheld with

contempt their rising greatness. Amid the expiring glories of the Roman

world they made Constantinople the capital of their empire. It was all

that the oriental imagination could desire. Rendered by its

fortifications impregnable, and situated on the Bosphorus, whose dark

blue waters flow between shores of unrivalled beauty, where nature and

art had reared their grandest monuments, it surpassed in wealth and

grandeur Nineveh and Babylon.

From this stronghold, which had been the cradle of Christianity, and

which had witnessed the dying struggle of the Roman empire, the

conquerors, maddened with the victories and crowned with the wealth

which years of perpetual war had heaped upon them, mustered their armies

and sallied forth. They subjugated many countries, but copied none of

their virtues; and to-day their degenerate descendants still retain most

of their original traits of character. Their religious sense is deep,

but theirs is a religion which blunts and stupefies the intellectual

faculties, and makes man fit only to perform a score of prostrations

each day. It inspires courage in war, but it also teaches blind

resignation to defeat and disgrace: it teaches morality, but sensuality

and ferocity are not inconsistent with its doctrines. Eat, drink,

smoke--indulge all the passions to-day, for immortality begins

to-morrow! No Turk is so high that he has not a master, none so low that

he has not a slave; the grand vizier kisses the sultan's foot, the pasha

kisses the vizier's, the bey the pasha's, and so on. Yet their many

virtues half redeem their faults. They are proverbial for their

hospitality, and charity, which 'covereth a multitude of sins,' is an

oriental virtue. They have, too, great love of nationality. The beggar

who seeks alms of the Turk with cries and entreaties, will not ask a

single para of the Frank (a name applied to all foreigners).

Turkey in Europe, though smaller in extent than the Asiatic division of

the empire, is by far the wealthier and more important. It extends from

Russia to the Adriatic, and from Hungary to the Euxine sea, the command

of which it shares jointly with Russia. The Straits of Constantinople,

the Dardanelles, and the Sea of Marmora are free to all friendly

nations. The situation of the country, its numerous and safe harbors,

are all favorable to commerce. There is every variety of climate, and

the soil in every part of the empire is fertile, and, when cultivated,

yields productions in the greatest abundance. The agricultural, like the

manufacturing industry, owing to the indolence of the people, is much

neglected. This indolence is, in a great measure, the result of

oppression. Before Russia extended her protection over the provinces,

the Turks left agriculture to their tributaries, whom, when wealthy and

prosperous, they plundered.

Let us now consider the causes which led to the decline of the empire.

In the reign of Solyman, poetry, science, and art flourished. New

privileges were conferred upon the ministers of religion; the

Janissaries received increased pay; the coffers of the empire were

filled to overflowing; the condition of the rayas was ameliorated;

security to life, honor, and property was given to all, without

distinction of creed or race. But even then there were causes at work

destined to effect a decline. The sultan in person was ever at the head

of his troops. Thus the vizier, or prime minister, who remained in the

capital, became, by degrees, a more influential personage than 'the

grand seignior' himself. The intrigues of the eunuchs in the imperial

harem began to exert their baneful influences on the administration. The

seraglio--in which many hundred females are immured, the most beautiful

that can be found in the contiguous realms of Europe and Asia, wherever

the Turk bears sway--from being the most beautiful appendage, became the

moving spring of the Ottoman Porte. The inmates formed a faction hostile

to the ministers of religion. The administration was transferred to

Greeks, Jews, and Armenians, who filled the treasury of the sultan and

enriched themselves by impoverishing the people, who, since they could

no longer enjoy the fruits of their labor, became indolent. The army was

more eager for booty and captives than for glory; slaves were

multiplied; the higher classes revelled in wealth and luxury, while the

poorer classes with difficulty obtained a livelihood.

It would be strange, indeed, if in an empire so extensive and with an

immense and motley population, we did not find it difficult to introduce

reforms, and instruct the people in the arts of more civilized nations,

and remove old abuses, guarded by the fanaticism of the clergy.

Political reforms can be made only by those in high places of authority;

and to be sanctioned by the prejudiced and infatuated Ottoman they must

assume the garb of religion. The sultan himself, wielding the sceptre

over millions of subjects, uniting in his own person all the powers of

the state, claiming to reign by divine commission, and profanely styling

himself the shadow of God--even he dares not venture to vary one iota

from the teachings of the Koran and the Sunnah.

Selim III was the first royal reformer. While Europe was shaken to its

very centre, and the continental monarchs trembled on their thrones, he

applied himself assiduously to those civil and military reforms, which

his successors promoted, and without which Turkey could not have

maintained her position as a European power. Selim made a new

organization of the army, made innovations in the judicial and

administrative branches of the government, changed the system of

taxation, and gave a decidedly new organization to the divan, where

reform was most needed. He also attempted to make innovations in the

financial department, but by depreciating the coin, in order to fill an

exhausted treasury, signally failed. He deposed the then reigning

hospodars of the Moldo-Wallachian provinces, and established others more

favorable to his work of reform. Russia and England remonstrated at this

measure, and war was declared. The Turkish army was defeated and driven

across the Danube. The Janissaries, ignorantly attributing their defeat

to Selim's reforms in military discipline, rose in rebellion. The

well-meant but too mild sultan fell a victim to their violence, and was

succeeded by Mustapha, who had instigated the insurgents to revolt. His

short reign is signalized by the vigorous measures he took to destroy

Selim's reforms. Shortly after his accession to the throne, the defeat

of the Turkish fleet by the Russians spread consternation and terror

through the capital. It was at this critical juncture that an Asiatic

pasha, a friend of the deposed sultan, advanced with a powerful army,

and laid siege to Constantinople, which yielded to him after a vigorous

resistance of one year. Mahmoud ascended the throne. From Selim, his

cousin, he had learned the lamentable condition of the empire and the

necessity of reform. He had no sooner ascended the throne, than the

Janissaries began to manifest a feverish anxiety for revolt. No time was

to be lost; and Mahmoud acted with that energy which was one of the few

redeeming traits of his character. Mustapha, the murderer of Selim and

the destroyer of the work of a lifetime, was put to death; his son and

wives shared his fate. Mahmoud was now firmly established. He was the

last scion of the Othman race, and as such was vested with _sacrosancta

potestas_. He resolved to annihilate the unruly corps and anathematize

their name. He engaged the services of their aga, or commander-in-chief,

to whom he made known his plans. His next step was to issue an order

commanding each regiment to furnish one hundred and fifty men to be

drilled after the manner of European soldiers. The friends of Mahmoud

asked: 'Is he mad?' The soldiers exclaimed: 'Bismillah! he wants to make

infidels of us. Does he think we are no better than infidel dogs?' The

Janissaries reversed their kettles (the signal of revolt) in the

Byzantine hippodrome, and calling upon their patron saint, proceeded to

attack the royal palace. But Mahmoud was prepared to receive them. All

his other troops, artillery, marines, and infantry, were under arms and

at his command. The ulemas pronounced a curse of eternal dissolution

upon the insurgents. Mahmoud unfurled the sacred standard of the

prophet, and called on his people for assistance. A hundred cannon

opened fire upon their barracks, and in an hour twenty-five thousand

Janissaries were mowed down by grapeshot and scimitars. Their bodies

broke the lingering fast of the hungry dogs, or were cast into the

Bosphorus, and hurried by its rapid currents into the Sea of Marmora.

The annihilation of the Janissaries took place in 1826.

It is more than probable that Mahmoud could have effected a salutary

reform in the military system without resorting to extreme violence. He

was naturally of a cruel disposition, and was also deficient in prudence

and moderation. He gave the Janissaries cause to revolt; he made

frivolous innovations in their long-cherished customs, by commanding

them to shave their beards and forbidding them to wear the turban, a

beautiful headdress, an ornament at once national and religious. These

measures excited the disgust of all 'true believers,' while his enemies

called him an infidel, and his warmest supporters and the strongest

advocates of reform despaired of success. Innovations are expedient only

when they remove evil, and when men are prepared to receive them.

Command a Turk to shave his beard--by which he swears--the idol of his

life. As well bid him cut off his right arm or pluck out an eye--he

would obey one as soon as the other. The impolicy of changing the

customs and dress of a half-civilized, warlike nation, has been made

obvious in many instances--none more impressive than the mutiny of the

Anglo-Indian army at Velore in 1806.

Mahmoud in destroying the Janissaries took for his model Peter the

Great. Never were two sovereigns more unlike each other. Peter, generous

and humane, leaving his throne and travelling in disguise to educate

himself, stands in bold contrast with the parsimonious and cruel sultan.

Moreover, Mahmoud's was a more difficult undertaking. The Strelitzes

whom the czar annihilated were unsupported, were famous by no

illustrious victory, and had not an enthusiastic religious feeling. The

Janissaries, on the other hand, had strong family interests; they, too,

had decided the fate of the empire at the battle of Varna, where their

bravery established the Ottoman power, whose brightest triumphs were

clustered around their names; they had fought many a bloody battle, and

had never turned their backs to the foe; their leader was chosen from

their own ranks, and no nobility controlled their ambition or prevented

them from receiving the honor due to enterprise and valor; they held the

sultan in check; the ulemas gave sanction to their laws, and they in

turn sustained the authority of the ulemas with their swords. As long as

they experienced no change in their discipline and customs they were

invincible. But they too had participated in the universal degeneracy.

Like the Prætorian bands of Rome, they had become the absolute masters

of the empire. They pulled down and set up sultans at their will; their

valor had departed, but their unconquerable pride remained as part of

their heritage. Their ranks were filled with crowds of Greeks, Jews, and

Moslems, without discipline and without order. Many who had purchased

the privilege of being numbered in this formidable body, lived outside

of the barracks, and assembled only on pay day or in times of tumult and

rebellion. They despised all laws, civil and religious, and were a

constant source of annoyance to the people, whose lives and property

were at their mercy. Such were the subjects upon whom Mahmoud was to

operate. In the destruction of the Strelitzes and the Janissaries, Peter

and Mahmoud may be compared to two physicians: one practises on a

healthy savage, while the other attempts to cut out a malignant cancer

reaching the vitals, from the pampered sensualist. In annihilating these

troops, as in his other reforms, Mahmoud began where he should have

ended his labors; he mistook the end for the means.

Had he stopped with this act of violence, his supporters might defend

him on the doubtful ground of expediency; but he did not stop here. For

centuries the tyranny of the sultans had been restrained by the

derebeys, or lords of the valleys. They had been confirmed in the

possession of their lands by Mohammed II, from which time they had

continued to pay tribute to the sultan, and furnished him with quotas of

troops. The sultan had no control over their lives or property. The

subjects who tilled the productive lands of the valleys were suitably

rewarded for their labor. The happiest and wealthiest peasants of the

empire were found among the vassals of the beys, to whom they showed

great devotion. These feudal lords, at a moment's warning, could summon

twenty thousand men before their palace gates. They furnished the

greater part of the sultan's cavalry force in war; and, unlike the

pashas, had never raised the standard of rebellion; they had never

wished for revolutions, and had never sanctioned insurrections. The

possession of their property was guaranteed to them by inheritance, and

they had no need of money with which to bribe the Sublime Porte.

Mahmoud was bent on depriving them of their wealth and curtailing their

privileges. They were rich, did not bribe him, and held hereditary

possessions. These were unpardonable crimes in the sight of this

exemplary reformer. The beys, who never dealt in treachery, were

unsuspicious of others, and fell an easy prey. The peasants ceased to

cultivate the lands from which they could no longer profit; and many of

the wealthiest possessions became desolate. We must not think it

strange, therefore, that the military power was prostrated, when, after

having annihilated the Janissaries, Mahmoud deprived the derebeys of

their ancient authority; for the military power of the empire rested

chiefly in these two bodies. These innovations were made in the midst of

a destructive Greek war, and at a time when the Danube and the Balkan

were no longer formidable barriers to the Muscovite descendants of Ivan

the Terrible, who brought back memories of the past, and threatened to

avenge deeply treasured wrongs. Even at this critical period, when his

army was annihilated, his fleet defeated, and the legions of Russia

within a few days' march of Constantinople, Mahmoud threatened to feed

his horses at the high altar of St. Peter's, and proclaim the religion

of the prophet in the Muscovite capital. A threat that savored more of

the seraglio than of the throne!

His next step was to assail the privileges of the great provincial

cities, the inhabitants of which elected from their own number ayans, or

magistrates, distinguished for their wisdom and virtue. These

magistrates had much influence among the people; they had always

resisted exorbitant taxes and unjust decrees; their protection was

extended to Mussulmans and Christians without distinction. Their power

of veto was almost as effective as that of the _tribuni plebis_ of Rome;

they could point back to Solyman, the Solon of his time, as the author

of their protective system. But their power originated with the people.

To this Mahmoud would not submit. All power must emanate from him, the

all-wise and innovating sultan, who raised the low and humbled the

great, not as they were honest or corrupt, but as they fawned upon him,

or refused to yield implicit obedience to his nod.

In their endeavors to institute a new financial system, the predecessors

of Mahmoud reduced the standard of money gradually, in order not to

produce a panic. But he wished to accomplish in one day the work of

years. He issued a decree commanding the people to bring all their coin,

gold and silver, to their respective governors--where they would receive

less than half its value! He threatened the refractory with death. The

capital resounded with the dreaded cry of rebellion; and the exasperated

multitude that had surrounded the royal palace was not appeased until it

witnessed the public execution of the mint officers, whose only crime

was obedience to their master. This impolitic measure in the financial

department impoverished the people, and left the treasury still empty.

Foreign speculators bought the money--the circulation of which had

become illegal--and resold it to the sultan for sterling value!

Shortly after this he expelled about thirty thousand Christians from the

capital, which they had embellished and enriched by their labor. Their

fidelity had never been doubted. For this despicable act--their

expulsion--Mahmoud could adduce no better reason than that 'it was

solely on political grounds.' Strange politics this, for a sovereign,

who professed to have the magnanimity of Christian rulers! On the

expulsion of the Christians, Russia commenced hostilities, and a war

followed, in which the sultan paid dearly for his rashness.

In short, Mahmoud could not have given a better lesson to his subjects

than by reforming himself. He was cruel beyond measure--if the grand

seignior can ever be so called, who is taught that he may lop off a

score of heads each day 'for divine inspiration.' Still if he had been

as thoroughly skilled as he professed to have been, he should have shown

himself a humane as well as an innovating sovereign. Those who assisted

him in his reforms, he rewarded with the bowstring. His character was

blackened by ingratitude, an instinctive vice in oriental rulers.

Obstinate as he was suspicious, deceitful as he was cunning, he could

not rule his own passions, much less could he control the corrupt morals

of his people. He was to an extraordinary degree avaricious, a quality

everywhere odious, but especially in a land where generosity measures

love--where in the highest and in the lowest stations liberality is the

moving spring. While he mistook parsimony for economy, he did not

scruple to make war on trifling pretexts and waste his amassed treasures

in a hopeless cause.

In every attempted reform he wounded Ottoman pride and prejudice. Unlike

his cousin, he did not humor the faults of the people while making

innovations; he neither amused them with imposing shows, nor flattered

them by the pompous spectacle of his appearance in public--in one word,

he wanted the tact of a reformer. Selim, while he increased the navy and

established manufactories, built gorgeous palaces, and by his

magnificence dazzled the people, who were blind to his real designs;

they even permitted him to set up printing presses in the large cities,

on receiving assurance that the Koran would not be submitted to the

unholy process of squeezing!

Mahmoud thought, or pretended to think, that he could reform the empire

by imitating only the vices of Christianity, and manifesting a contempt

for Moslem virtues. While he drank wine--and in many other breaches of

the teachings of the sacred book provoked the faithful--his

proclamations breathed a most orthodox and fanatical spirit. He was a

sceptic; neither Mussulman nor Christian, but surprisingly inconsistent

and capricious. His, we fear, were 'hangman's hands,' and 'not ordained

to build a temple unto peace.'

Under Solyman the Magnificent, at once the most warlike monarch and

munificent patron of literature and art, the constitution of the

Janissaries was wise and effective. The children of Christians, taken by

the Turks in war or in their predatory incursions, were exposed in the

public markets of Constantinople, whence any person was at liberty to

take them into his service, on making a contract with the government to

return them at the demand of the sultan. These children were instructed

in Islamism, and were trained by manly exercise and labor, calculated to

strengthen the body and give elasticity to the spirits. From these hardy

orphans the ranks of the Janissaries were recruited. They came eagerly

to the camp; for they had been taught to regard it as the theatre of

their future glory. From earliest infancy they looked forward with joy

to the time when they should be numbered among those brave soldiers,

whose arms had maintained for a long series of years the supremacy of

the crescent. There was no rank, no dignity in the Turkish army to which

a Janissary could not aspire--a strong incentive to the display of

bravery. Such was the constitution of the army when it was the most

powerful in Europe: then it gained its victories, not by force of

numbers, but by superior military discipline and valor. In the middle of

the nineteenth century the capture of Christian children was abandoned.

The land forces degenerated into a wretchedly organized army of less

than three hundred thousand men, drafted from the lowest classes.

Mothers put their children to death that they might be spared the pangs

of seeing them torn away to pass their days in scenes of shame and

dissipation.

Not till the army had become a laughing stock to the weakest European

power did the sultans perceive the necessity of military reform. Selim

III established a school for artillery and naval officers, and engaged

Europeans, especially Frenchmen, as instructors in military science. We

can readily comprehend the degeneracy of the Turkish army, when we

remember that since the establishment of the school at Sulitzi for

engineers, the Turks have learned from foreign teachers military tactics

of which their own ancestors were the inventors, and which had been

forgotten, although full accounts of them lay hidden in musty volumes in

their military archives.

Foreign officers were at first regarded with contempt by Turkish

soldiers, whose unconquerable pride has ever proved a great impediment

to the regeneration of the empire. Moslem talent was not equal to the

exigencies that arose from the impolitic measures of Mahmoud. We find a

parallel case in Russia. Had Peter trusted to Muscovite genius to form

and command the troops which superseded the Strelitzes, Charles XII

would have quartered in the Kremlin.

Kutchuk Husseyin, the relative and favorite of Selim, made valuable

additions to the navy in which his master took such pride. Husseyin, who

had the welfare of his country at heart, was liberal and disinterested.

Vested with the office of captain pasha, he sent to Greece for

architects and engineers, with whose assistance he fortified Stamboul,

Sinope, and Rhodes; he built arsenals and extensive docks, which he

supplied with the necessary equipments of a powerful fleet. In a short

time, twenty sail of the line, constructed on the newest European

models, rode at anchor within sight of his palace. He also erected

barracks for the troops, and greatly improved the naval school. The

sudden death of Selim paralyzed the navy, which soon resumed its

accustomed languor.

The events of 1821, in which the Turkish fleet was defeated by armed

merchant vessels of Greece, gave a fresh impulse to the navy.

Experienced officers were placed in command, who, as they grew in

strength, grew in confidence, and trusted more to their own resources

than to the protection of Allah. Six years after the defeat, the navy

was in a state of greater practical efficiency than at any other time.

After a protracted struggle of five years it had gained the undisputed

supremacy of the Archipelago; and had it not been for the disastrous

defeat at Navarino, it would have proved equal, if not superior, to the

Russian fleet in the Black sea. The Turkish navy, to-day, numbers about

sixty war vessels, six of which are ships of the line, and six steam

frigates, built partly at London and Toulon.

The standing army in times of peace consists of 150,000 regulars; 60,000

auxiliaries (such as the Egyptian forces); and those of the northern

provinces, 110,000; with a corps de reserve of 150,000--an aggregate of

470,000 men. The army is recruited by lot and conscription (as in

France), and not as formerly, by arbitrary compulsion. Christians are

excluded from service in the infidel ranks, but pay a military tax.

Partial infringements, however, have been made in this exclusion, by

employing Armenians in the marine service and at the arsenals. Active

service in the army continues for a period of seven years; and the

discharged soldiers belong to the reserved force for five years more.

The organization of the corps de reserve is the same as that of the

regular army. Their arms and equipments are kept in the state arsenals,

and are produced only when the soldiers are called out, which takes

place once a year, after the harvest season. During one month, the

members of this corps de reserve lead a military life, and receive

regular pay.

The army is divided into six divisions of 25,000 each. The artillery is

modelled after the most approved Prussian system, while the infantry and

cavalry drill according to French tactics, and use French accoutrements

and arms. Thus, Turkey, with a standing army of 150,000 men, can muster

a force of nearly 500,000 at a few hours' notice; provided, however, she

has money to pay the troops, for the religious prejudices of the

Osmanlee do not tolerate the system of loans. So that Turkey, though she

has neither the formidable land force of France nor the navy of England,

is not crushed by the weight of a public debt, the principal of which

can never be paid. This military system is the result of the labors of

Rija Pasha and Redschid Pasha, by turn rivals and colleagues, disputing

on matters of secondary importance, but ever cordially cooperating in

the regeneration of the empire.

More attention has been given to military than to political reforms. The

intolerant Moslem spirit manifests direct opposition to all innovation

in the administration. As their fathers were, so they wish to be. Before

the time of Selim no reform movements of importance had been made in the

administrative branches. For five centuries the sultans had received, as

an aphorism in their political education, that the subjects existed for

the good of the sultan, and not the sultan for the welfare of the

people. Selim proclaimed the rights of his subjects and their supremacy;

and his words were confirmed by his deeds.

The administrative system was purely oriental, and bore scarcely any

analogy to that of any other country. From the reign of Solyman to that

of Selim--the protector (from whom there is no appeal) was kept closely

confined in the seraglio walls; indeed, he was a state prisoner from his

cradle to the day when he girt around him the imperial sabre. As the

sultan reigned by divine commission, no education was considered good

enough for him. Moreover, since his power was absolute, it had been

received as a recognized principle of state policy that he should be as

ignorant as possible, in order that he might prove more faithful to the

will of Allah. Selim banished these antiquated notions, and instituted a

new system--not that he lessened his own power, but established

representative bodies to assist him in making laws, and tribunals to

pass judgment upon and execute them.

The sultan is assisted by a divan; or council of ministers, and others,

who are nominated to that dignity by himself. The grand vizier presides

over this body, and is responsible for all measures adopted by it.

The legislative as well as the military system is borrowed from the

French; but the sultan is the source of all law, civil and military; he

is the summit, while the municipal institutions are the base, of the

political fabric. In theory at least, these institutions are established

on the broadest principles of freedom. Each community, like the communes

of France, sends an aga, or representative, to the supreme council. By

the famous ordinance of Gulhana, Mussulmans, Jews, and Christians are

represented, without distinction, in proportion to their number.

The administration of the interior belongs to the prime minister, who

appoints civil governors to take charge of the general administration.

The pashas had hitherto been both civil and military officers; purchased

their appointments at extravagant prices, and repaid themselves by

extortions practised upon the unfortunate subjects over whom they ruled.

The appointment of civil governors removed this old abuse, and left the

pashas vested only with military power. Each of the military chiefs has

command of one of the six divisions of which the army is composed. All

these officers receive a fixed salary; and the people, no longer subject

to their avarice and tyranny, pay regular rates of taxation.

The reforms I have mentioned, great as they were, were only preliminary

to the publishing of the hatti-scheriff of Gulhana, the magna charta and

bill of rights of Turkey. The son of Mahmoud, Abdul Medjid, on ascending

the throne, published this ordinance, which was to effect a reform in

the internal administration more beneficial than any other, either

before or after the destruction of the Janissaries. The ulemas, state

officers, foreign ambassadors, and a vast multitude of subjects had

assembled on the plains of Gulhana. The illustrious writings (as the

name signifies) were read aloud in the presence of this solemn assembly

by Redschid Pasha. The sultan, 'under the direct inspiration of the Most

High and of his prophet,' desired to look for the prosperity of the

empire in a good administration. The ulemas addressed a thanksgiving to

heaven amid the acclamations of the assembled thousands. These reforms

were threefold: The first guaranteed security to life, honor, and

property; the second is a new system of taxation; the third, a

remodelled plan for levying soldiers, and defining their time of

service. The subject can best be illustrated by quoting a few extracts

from the hatti-scheriff itself:

'The cause of every accused person shall be adjudged publicly, in

conformity to our divine law, after due inquiry and investigation;

and as long as sentence shall not have been regularly pronounced,

no one shall, either publicly or privately, cause another to perish

by prison or any other deadly means.'

'It shall not be permitted to any one to injure another,

_whosoever_ he may be.'

'Every man shall possess his own property, and shall dispose of it

with the most entire liberty. Thus, for example, the innocent heirs

of a criminal shall not be deprived of their legal rights, and the

goods of the criminal shall not be confiscated.'

'The imperial concessions extend to _all_ subjects, whatever may be

their religion or sect; they shall reap the benefit of them without

exception.'

'As to the other points, since they must be regulated by the

concourse of enlightened opinion, our council of justice, with whom

shall assemble, on certain days to be fixed by us, the notables of

the land, shall meet together to lay down guiding laws on the

points that affect the security of life, honor, and fortune, and

the assessment of imposts.'

'As soon as a law shall be defined, in order to render it valid and

binding, it shall be laid before us to receive our sanction, which

we Will write with our imperial hand.'

'As these present institutions have no other object than to give

fresh life and vigor to religion, the government, the nation, and

the empire, we pledge ourselves to do nothing to counteract them.

Whoever of the ulemas or chief men of the empire, or any other sort

of person, shall violate these institutions, shall undergo the

punishment awarded to his offence, without respect to his rank, or

personal consideration and credit.'

'As all the functionaries of the government receive at the present

day suitable salaries, and as those that are not sufficient shall

be increased, a vigorous law shall be enacted against traffic in

posts and favors, which the divine law reprobates, and which is one

of the principal causes of the decline of the empire.'

As a pledge of his promise, the sultan, after having deposited the

documents in the hall that contains the 'glorious mantle' of the

prophet, in the presence of the ulemas and chief men, swore to them in

the name of God, and administered the same oath to the priests and

officers. The hatti-scheriff was published in every part of the empire,

and was well received, except by a few of the retrograde party, who

lived by the old abuses, and vigorously resisted all attempts at

reformation.

By this ordinance, the sources of the revenue consist of the frontier

customs, the tithes, and a property tax. In two of these three sources

of revenue there are great abuses. In collecting the taxes, the tax

gatherers make exhorbitant demands, for which (owing to the partiality

of justice) there is no redress, The salguin, or land tax, is also the

cause of constant complaint. It presses equally upon the richest and the

poorest provinces; in consequence of which many of the most fertile

districts have been deserted. The government is not ignorant of these

facts. Abdul Medjid, a short time previous to his death, ordered a new

registration of property to be made, which will, in a great measure,

remedy this evil. This new registration caused not a little astonishment

and fear among the peasants, who could not approve of persons taking an

inventory of their property and their flocks. We must not be surprised

at this, for a parallel case is close at hand. When the Emperor Joseph

endeavored to introduce the mode of distinguishing houses in the

principal streets of _Vienna_, by numbers instead of the antiquated mode

by printed signs, the people were impressed with the idea that the

numbers were affixed for the purpose of more conveniently collecting a

new house tax!

The new system of farming the revenue proved especially beneficial to

the Christians. Under the old regime the Turks had been greatly favored.

The poll tax formerly levied on all who were not professed followers of

the prophet, has been abolished.

The empire is wealthy--immensely wealthy; but the money is in the hands

of the few. If we except the province of Servia, feudal lords, and tax

collectors, the whole Turkish population consists of peasants, who till

the soil on an equality of wretchedness. Yet it is to these same

suffering peasants, the bone and sinew of the land, that reformers must

look for support. It was the peasantry of Servia, headed by George the

Black, that in 1800-1812, rose in rebellion, and whose success infused

life and vigor into the more passive provinces. They, too, were

peasants--those brave and resolute men who expelled from the provinces

the robber princes, and almost gained a national existence. Many of

these same peasants, men in whose breasts still lingered the valor that

made their ancestors famous, joined the Grecian army in the successful

struggle for independence; even Moslem peasants left their ploughs in

the furrow and their herds unattended, to join the insurgents, to whose

success they greatly contributed. The heroes of all Turkish rebellions

have been peasants--the men of strong arms and unswerving energy. They

are naturally of a passive disposition, but when once roused to action

by religion or patriotism, they are as firm and unyielding in their

purpose as their own

'Pontic sea,

Whose icy currents and compulsive course

Ne'er feels returning ebb, but keeps due on

To the Propontic and the Hellespont.'

In the hands of the peasantry lies the destiny of the empire, its

regeneration or its fall. By ameliorating their condition and gaining

their good will, the sultans cannot fail to succeed in their reforms. By

working in opposition to them and exciting their enmity, success is

impossible.

The social system introduced by the victorious Othmans among the

conquered nations was not as oppressive as is generally believed. The

Turks, unlike the Germanic nations, the Huns and Normans, did not take

forcible possession of private property and divide it among their

conquering hordes. From those who acknowledged themselves subject to

their rule, the Turks exacted tribute, but protected their liberties and

political institutions. The conquerors introduced their laws into the

country, but not forcibly. To those who still adhered to the Christian

religion, they extended the rights of self-government, subject, however,

to a military tax. This was very far from degrading the cultivators of

the soil to servitude; this did not deprive them of their possessions,

inherited or purchased. But by a gradual change in the government this

civil equality and liberty in the possession of property was superseded

by an aristocratic and almost absolute despotism. The Ottomans came in

contact with a people ruling under Byzantine law, of which (as of the

feudal system) they had but a confused knowledge. The feudal system

having taken root in Greece, and having been already introduced into

Albania, had necessarily much influence on the contiguous provinces of

Moldavia and Wallachia, Servia and Bulgaria. Here the Greek emperors,

with correct notions of right and wrong, had governed wisely and justly

in a simple administration, which gave place to a complicated system of

laws and refinements, as unintelligible as they were useless and

ineffective. In the double heritage of Greece and Rome, the conquerors

imitated only their faults, moral and intellectual, and thus made more

prominent the fall of the two countries. The Turks were not sufficiently

enlightened to understand the laws and customs of the Greeks and Romans,

and profit thereby; nor could they resist the charm thrown around

aristocracy and venality, but succumbed to their baneful influences. The

degeneracy of the laws caused the misery of the peasantry, and paralyzed

the energies of the empire. The pashas gained almost unlimited power,

founded on the ruins of civil liberty. They did not scruple to persecute

the suffering peasant, even in the sanctuary of his family--held in the

highest veneration by the Turk. The peasants in many instances had no

other alternative than to fly to the mountains for safety, and lead a

wretched existence by rapine and murder. Some left Turkey to settle in

Russia and Austria, in search of that liberty and protection which was

denied them at home.

The Turkish peasants are not insensible to the degradation in which they

are languishing. But accustomed, in suffering and privation, to find

consolation in fatalism--which teaches implicit acquiescence in and

obedience to the will of Allah--they drag out their days in passive

submission. Seditions are almost always excited by unbelievers, who feel

their wrongs more deeply. The devout Turkish peasant seeks no better

fortune than the means wherewith to build a little cabin, with windows

and doors religiously closed to vulgar eyes. He finds comfort in the

words of his holy book: 'He is the happiest of mortals to whom God has

given contentment.' He performs his daily labor, makes his prostrations,

smokes his chibouk, and lives oblivious of care. He is far from being

indifferent to reforms, but is loth to take the initiative in political

innovations and social wars. His heart is with the cause, but here also

he is resigned: 'God is great--His will be done.' This same spirit of

resignation and submission to the divine will, from being a virtue

becomes his greatest curse.

The Servians, a hardy and vigorous race, who pride themselves on their

victories over the Moslems, stand in the van of the reform movement. By

the new constitution given to Servia in 1838, there exists no longer any

distinction of classes. All pay taxes, in proportion to the value of

their property, to the municipal and general government. All the

peasants are proprietors, and all the proprietors are peasants. The

Servians and Albanians have never refused foreign aid. They gave a kind

welcome to the legions that Nicholas sent across the Pruth, and worked

in concert with the brave warriors of the north, in the hope of gaining

a nationality and a recognized name.

The moral condition of the Bulgarians does not differ essentially from

that of the Servians; but there is a wide difference in their political

organization. The Bulgarians are yet only peasants, unprotected against

the violence and exactions of the sultan. They are more enterprising

than the Servians, and, could they enjoy an equitable legislation, would

soon vie with them in wealth and prosperity. They envy the national and

democratic institutions of the Servians, who are related to them by

blood, by religion, and a common tongue. They are eager for reforms,

both social and political, which shall give them a constitution similar

to that of Servia. In this they must ultimately succeed. The two people

are one in their sympathies: one cannot enjoy privileges without

exciting the jealousy of the other. Unless concessions are made, the day

is not far distant when the Bulgarians will revolt, as the Servians did

under Tzerny George, and gain the right of self-government.

The Illyrian peasants have not as promising a future. They are divided

among themselves, both in politics and religion; the several clans and

parties are engaged in ceaseless strife and bickering. On the most

trivial pretence a community will rise in arms and carry ruin and

desolation to its neighbor. The face of the country everywhere shows

signs of the terror under which it groans. In many districts the

humblest dwellings are fortified citadels, gloomy and threatening;

observatories are stationed in trees and on high cliffs, to guard

against surprisals; the streets of the towns and villages are traversed

by gloomy figures of athletic savage warriors, with fierce and sinister

expression of countenance, and their right hand resting on a belt

garnished with its brace of pistols. They are in such a deplorable state

of ignorance, and so blinded by mutual hatred, that they are incapable

of perceiving their wants and obtaining their rights by concerted

action.

The Servians and Bulgarians, although by nature not less warlike than

the Illyrians, are more pacific. This quality is, to a certain degree,

attributable to a better government; but their great advantage consists

in their being friends of labor. They are not divided by internal

factions; their pistols serve for ornaments, not offensive weapons;

their rude exterior hides within a gentle, childlike nature. Though

laborious, they seek not to amass wealth; kind to each other, to

strangers they are hospitable and generous. They are extremely courteous

and polite, and theirs is not the humility of the Austrian peasant, who

kisses the scornful hand of his superior; it is the deference and

respect that youth bears to age, or the attention which the host gives

to a welcome guest.

In Servia and Bulgaria, Christianity has gained the ascendancy; the

light of the gospel imparts comfort and happiness to all; but the

Illyrians, through a blind zeal in their social dissensions, have

debarred themselves from its vivifying and soothing influence.

During the early part of the last century, the peasants of the

Moldo-Wallachian provinces were enfranchised, but have not yet obtained

the right of property legislation. Being contiguous to Poland and

Hungary, their attention is naturally called to all the noise of reform

and to all the social questions that agitate the two countries. Unless

concessions are made, unless the peasant is recognized as proprietor of

the soil of which to-day he is but the farmer, a revolution will take

place, in which the Sublime Porte will lose these provinces as

effectually as it did the pashalies. It is not absolutely necessary,

though it would be judicious, to give Moldavia and Wallachia the same

political organization as Servia enjoys. The question now, is not of

rulers, whether they shall be sent from the divan or chosen from the

people; but is of property legislation and municipal institutions.

In all his reforms, the sultan should remember that the material upon

which he is to operate lies in the peasantry.

The empire, however, cannot be thoroughly reformed merely by

enfranchising the peasants, by introducing European customs, by

organizing new armies, building barracks, and establishing custom

houses. These improvements are the sign of a vigorous national impulse

and prosperity; they are the result, not the rudiments of civilization.

The fact that the sultan wears French boots and supplies his seraglio

with the latest Parisian modes signifies nothing.

In its palmy days, Turkey relied for success on its courage and love of

military glory; now its welfare and very existence depend upon the

peaceful arts of civilized life. The prosperity of the people measures

the condition of the empire. But how can an ignorant people prosper? The

time has come when a reform in the educational system of Turkey is

emphatically demanded. There must be intelligence among the people, and

educated men in the cabinet as well as brave men in the field. The

innovating sultans of the last century have done much for the

reconstruction of the broken political fabric of the empire; they have

organized a new and powerful army and navy; they have facilitated

commercial intercourse, but have done scarcely anything for the

diffusion of knowledge among their subjects.

All the knowledge in the empire is concentrated in the ulemas and

lawyers. The members of the Sublime Porte and other state officers, with

but few exceptions, are unlettered men, who owe their elevation, to

partiality or bribery. Under Mahmoud, beauty of person was the best

recommendation to favor and promotion!

But Turkey has had her golden age of letters as well as her age of

military glory. Her libraries and archives are filled with unread, musty

manuscripts, comprising treatises on philosophy and metaphysics,

histories, biographies, and poems, rich in the classic erudition of the

Orient. In 1336, Sultan Orkan found leisure from war and conquest to

establish, at Brusa, a literary institution, which became so famous for

its learning, that Persians and Arabians did not disdain to avail

themselves of its instruction. But with the death of its founder its

glory passed away. It was no longer the fountain head of learning in the

East.

The Turks, forgetful of the fact that antiquity is the youth of the

world, still follow Aristotle as their guide in philosophy and

metaphysics, and Ptolemy in geography! Missionaries have succeeded in

introducing modern text books into some of the schools, but owing to the

peculiar system of Turkish education, the result has not been so

favorable as was anticipated.

To each mosque is attached a school, where the pupils devote several

years in acquiring the rudiments of reading, writing, and arithmetic;

which completes their education. But few foreign instructors are

employed to teach in the schools, because the government is unwilling to

pay a suitable salary. While on state officers wealth is lavished with

the prodigality of oriental munificence, instructors receive only a

nominal recompense, often not exceeding six cents a day!

A few favored youths receive a European education, especially in French

and Austrian colleges. The oriental academy, established at Vienna by

Maria Theresa for the education of diplomatists to conduct intercourse

with the Porte, has formed many illustrious Turkish scholars. It is a

singular but not unpleasant commentary on the vicissitudes of fortune,

that Turkey should send her sons to be educated at Vienna, which only

two centuries ago a sultan besieged at the head of an army of two

hundred thousand men, and before whose gates he was defeated by the

combined Christian forces, who recovered eighty thousand Christian

captives, among whom were fourteen thousand maidens, and fifty thousand

children of both sexes!

The Christian subjects of the empire have made visible progress in their

educational system, although it is yet in a very imperfect state. In the

middle of the last century a body of Armenian monks formed a society for

promoting the educational interests of their countrymen. These pious and

benevolent men dwell alone on the little island of San Lazzaro, and

publish works on literature, science, and religion, which are

distributed among the Turkish Armenians.

Printing presses have lately been set up in the large cities, and books

are rapidly multiplying. In Constantinople several newspapers are

printed in French, Turkish, and Arabic; they are read in every coffee

house and barber shop, the common lounging places of the Ottoman, where

he smokes his pipe and discusses politics. Their columns are chiefly

devoted to the discussion of state affairs, and notices of public

functionaries. The sultan is the virtual editor, and consequently the

papers are popular, as containing opinions on state policy _ex

cathedra_. These presses were established with the reluctant sanction of

the ulemas, and the vigorous opposition of the scribes, an influential

body, protesting against the introduction of machinery, which was to

supersede the use of their fingers.

The council of public instruction at Constantinople has established a

medical and polytechnic school; in both, French, English, and German

teachers are employed. To the medical college is attached a botanical

garden and a natural history museum. The medical library consists

chiefly of French works. The implements used to experiment in the

physical sciences were made at Paris, London, and Vienna, and are of the

most approved kind. The number of students in attendance, on an average,

is seven hundred, comprising Turks, Greeks, Armenians, and Jews, all of

whom not only pay no tuition, but receive pecuniary assistance from the

government. As science cannot well be taught in Turkish, French is the

language of the school.

It should be borne in mind that Turkey, in her reform movement,

commenced this century, four hundred years behind Europe. When we

consider this, her advance in educational reformation appears in a

better light. The present law makes it a penal offence in a Turkish

parent not to send his children to school.

The universities, as well as the mosques and hospitals, are under the

control of the ulemas, who have always been a privileged and a

sanctioned order, and by their sanctity and great wealth are rendered

the most formidable body in the empire. Selim and his successors

somewhat lessened their power. By the innovations of 1854 an important

change was effected in the vacoof, or church property. The church had

hitherto held enormous possessions; and had not a check been placed on

the system, in the course of a few centuries all the lands would have

belonged to the priests. The property annexed to the mosques is held

sacred by all, both high and low. True believers, Greeks, Armenians, and

Jews, alike, by a reversion of their property on failure of male issue,

transferred it to the ulemas. The decree above mentioned restricted this

privilege of the priests. The entire system will soon be abolished.

As before stated, the ulemas have charge of the schools connected with

the principal mosques. The average number of scholars in each school, in

the reign of Mahmoud, was four hundred. They were, for the most part,

worthless, indolent fellows, and entirely under the control of the

ulemas, who used them as tools, and made them figure conspicuously in

all tumults and revolts. Their attempted assassination of Abdul Medjid

was their death warrant. Each ulema was restricted to four, in place of

four hundred scholars. This measure caused not a little ill feeling

among those opposed to reform; but as the most successful attempt at

restricting the despotic power of the religious order, the decree was of

vital importance, and gave the ulemas to understand that the power on

the throne was paramount to theirs.

The ulemas--whose functions do not differ materially from those of the

old doctors of the law among the Hebrews--have always claimed and

enjoyed both magisterial and ecclesiastical authority; and, indeed,

since the Mussulman's law and religion are convertible terms, we would

expect priests to be vested with the same powers, and performing the

same duties. Mohammed designed it should be so, and as long as war was

waged in the name of religion, as long as the Koran and the sword went

hand in hand together, the two professions were not incompatible; but

when Islamism had gained undisputed ascendency, there arose an obvious

discrepancy between the peaceful adoration of Allah and the settlements

of disputes between man and man. Priest and jurist, each had distinct

and qualified duties to perform. Before justice can be administered

properly the religious and legal professions must be separated; the

statutes must be distinct from the Koran and Sunnah, in the obscurities

of which they are at present involved. The sheik-ul-Islam (pontifex

maximus) is the head of the church and the bar; he appoints the bishops

and the judges; and in his twofold character of minister and lawyer, he

is the expounder of the Koran, the source of all laws, civil and

religious; his decisions serve as precedents, and are as

incontrovertible as the Koran itself.

By the late reforms, Christian testimony is admitted in courts of

justice. But this is merely a nominal privilege; for what avails it that

Christian evidence is received, if the Koran and Sunnah are to

constitute the law, and a Mussulman judge is to be the expounder? Is it

not evident that the 'true believer,' whether right or wrong, will be

shielded by the strong arm of prejudice at the expense of the Christian?

The purity of Turkish justice may be understood from the following

humorous account given by Dr. Hamlin:

'I once had a case of law with a Turkish judge. It was tried nine

times, and each time decided against me. After the ninth trial, the

judge sent me word that if I gave him 9,000 piastres (about $800),

he would decide the case in my favor, for all the world knew that

justice was on my side!'

I look, however, upon the religious toleration extended to Christians in

1854 as the most important of all reforms; it is the keystone of the

arch. Christianity has been on a gradual increase in Turkey; and it may

not be deemed extravagant to hope that when a few generations shall have

passed away, its supremacy will be acknowledged. As Constantine, finding

the Christian element predominant in the Roman empire, made the religion

of Christ that of his people, so some Selim or Abdul Medjid, urged by a

power behind the throne, and more potent than the throne itself, will

substitute the Bible for the Koran!

The fall of Islamism does not imply the downfall of Turkish rule. The

one is religious, the other a civil power; the one may wane, the other

rise.

The wars which brought the European powers in Turkish waters made a deep

impression upon the Turks, and convinced them that they had been rescued

from annihilation by foreign arms. This led to an important measure,

viz.: the promulgation of the imperial edict of 1850, which was

translated into all the languages of the empire, and read in all the

mosques and churches. Besides securing the freedom of conscience and the

equality of rights, it grants the right of apostasy, which had hitherto

been a capital offence: 'As all forms of religious worship are and shall

be freely professed in the empire, no person shall be hindered in the

practice of the religion which he professes; nor shall he in any way be

annoyed in this kind: in the matter of a man _changing_ his religion,

and _joining_ another, no force shall be applied to him.' The decree

bore directly upon Islamism. Turks, both private and official, now

discuss freely the doctrines of the New Testament. The Bible, to-day, is

widely circulated among the Turks. About seven thousand copies are sold

annually to Mohammedans, while ten years ago they would not have been

accepted as gifts. By all classes of people the Bible is purchased,

read, and made the subject of discussion. The sultan himself reads it.

Discussion leads to investigation, and investigation to the

establishment of truth. This is one of the causes that have been

silently at work, destined to effect the fall of Islamism.

In all parts of the empire, the Christian element is growing stronger

and stronger; the Mohammedan weaker. Even in Asia, the chosen abode of

the faithful, we find Christian cities and villages prosperous, and

Mohammedan cities falling to decay. In another century the Sublime Porte

will depend chiefly on the Christian element for its influence. To-day,

the Mussulman mosque, the pagoda of the Hindoo, the fire temple of the

Parsee, the Roman and Greek churches, meet together.

The adoration and prostrations of the Turk afford an imposing sight even

to the Christian. 'Praises be to God, for He is great,' resounds at

sunrise and at sunset, from ship to ship at sea, from kiosk to minaret

on land.

According to the Koran, there is a paradise for all true believers. This

paradise, Al Janat, signifies a pleasure garden, from which flows a

river, the river of life, whose water is clear as crystal, cold as snow,

and sweet as nectar. The believer who takes a draught shall thirst no

more. Even the oriental imagination fails to describe the glories of

this paradise--its fountains and flowers, pearls and gems, nectar and

ambrosia, all in unmeasured profusion. To crown the enchantment of the

place, to each faithful Moslem is allotted seventy-two houris,

resplendent beings, free from every human defect, perpetually renewing

their youth and beauty. Such is the Mohammedan conception of the future

world.

The Turks, in common with other Mohammedans, believe in angels, and in

the prophets Adam, Noah, Moses, and _Jesus_. One might suppose that such

a belief would assist missionaries in converting the infidel; but far

from assisting, its tendency is to make more difficult the inculcation

of Christian doctrines. When asked to accept the religion of Christ, the

Turk's ready answer is: 'We believe in Jesus! we believe in him already;

you know only a part of the true faith; Mohammed has superseded Jesus.'

Notwithstanding this, many Turks in Europe and Asia believe that in a

long series of years, Jesus will return to earth, reanimate their faith

and ancient valor, and with one unbroken religion, give them dominion to

the end of the world. They, in short, expect Jesus--the same Jesus whom

Christians worship--in the fullness of time to accomplish the work which

their prophet only began. Christian missionaries should avail themselves

of this remarkable belief, and turn it to the spiritual advantage of

those who entertain it.

'Let the Turkish Government remain, if by her standing Islamism may

fall! that we may carry back a purer literature to the land of

Homer, a purer law to the land of Moses, and the Gospel of Christ

to the land of the apostles.'

It only remains for me to say one word in regard to the now reigning

sovereign. The ulemas--who have become what the Janissaries were, the

hotbed of fanaticism--in their endeavors to overthrow the late sultan,

Abdul Medjid, looked upon the present sultan as their champion. If he

permits himself to become a tool in their hands, Turkey will lose

during his reign what she gained in a century. If, on the other hand, he

has the energy of Mahmoud, the humanity of Selim, and practises the

conciliatory policy of his brother, a glorious future awaits the empire.

FALSE ESTIMATIONS.

As one, who under pay of priest or pope,

Painteth an altar picture boldly bad,

Yet winning worship from the common eye,

Is less than one, who faltering day by day

Before the untouched canvas, dreams, and feels

An unaccomplished greatness: so is he

Who scrapes the skies and cleaves the patient air

For rhyming ecstasies to cheat the crowd,

That sees not in the stiller worshipper

The truer genius, who, in heights lone lost,

Forgets to interpret to a lesser sense.

O there do dwell among us minds divine,

In which th' etherial is so subtly mixed,

That only matter in its outward mien

To the observer shows. Such ever live

Unto themselves alone, in sweet still lives,

And die by all men misinterpreted.

Within a churchyard rise two honored urns

O'er graves not far removed. The one records

The 'genius of a Poet,' whose fitter fame

Lies in the volumes which his facile pen

Filled with the measure of redundant verse:

Before this urn the oft frequented sod

Is flattened with the tread of pensive feet.

The other simply bears the name and age

Of one who was 'a Merchant,' and bequeathed

A fair estate with numerous charities:

Before this urn the grass grows rank and green.

I knew them both in life, and thus to me

They measured in their lives their effigies:

He who the pen did wield with facile power,

Created what he wrote, and to the ear

With tact, not inspiration, wrought the sounds

To careful cadence; but the heart was cold

As the chill marble where the sculptor traced

Curious conceits of fancy. Let him pass,

His name not undervalued, for his fame

Shall in maturer ages lie as still

As doth his neighbor's now.

Turn we to him.

He was a man to whom the general eye

Bent with the confidence of daily trust

In things of daily use: a man 'of means,

--Sagacious, honest, plodding, punctual,--

Revolving in the rank of those whose shields

Bear bags of argent on a field of gold,

His life, to most men, was what most men's are,--

Unceasing calculation and keen thrift;

Unvarying as the ever-plying loom,

Which, moving in same limits day by day,

Weaves mesh on mesh, in tireless gain of goods.

But I, that knew him better than the herd,

Yet saw him less, knew that in him which lives

Still gracious and still plentiful to me

Now he hath passed away from me and them.

This man, whose talk on busy marts to men

Teemed with the current coin of thrifty trade,

--Exchanges, credits, money rates, and all,--

Hath stood with me upon a silent hill,

When the last flush of the dissolving day

Fainted before the moonlight, and, as 'twere

Unconscious of my listening, uttered there

The comprehensions of a soul true poised

With elemental beauty, giving tongue

Unto the dumbness of the blissful air.

So have I seen him, too, within his home,

When, newspaper on knee, his earnest gaze

Seemed scanning issues from the money list;

But comments came not, till my curious eye

Led out his meditation into words,

Thought-winding upward into sphery light,

So utterly unearthly and sublime,

That all the man of fact fled out of sense,

And visual refinement filled the space.

Oft hath he told me, nothing was so blind

As the far-seeing wisdom of the world,

And none within it knew him, save himself,

And that so scantily, that but for faith

In a redeeming knowledge yet to come,

He would lie down and let his weakness die

In self-reclaiming dust.

After his death,

I searched his papers, vainly, for a scrap

Whereon some dropped memento might record

His inner nature; but he nothing left--

Nothing of that deep life whose wondrous light

Guided him onward through the realms of sense,

And in a world of practical self-need

Sustained him with a glory unexpressed.

And thus it is that round the Poet's urn,

The sod is beaten down with pensive feet:

And thus it is that where the Merchant lies,

The grass, untrodden, groweth rank and green.

THE BLUE HANDKERCHIEF.

I had passed my last examinations, and had received my diploma

authorizing me to practise medicine, and I still lingered in the

vicinity of Edinburgh, partly because my money was nearly exhausted, and

partly from the very natural aversion I felt from quitting a place where

three very happy and useful years had been spent. After waiting many

weeks--for the communication between the opposite shores of the Atlantic

were not then so rapid as now--I received a large packet of letters from

'home,' all of them filled with congratulations on my success, and among

them were letters from my dear father and a beloved uncle, at whose

instance (he was himself a physician) my father had sent me abroad to

complete my medical education. My father's letter was even more

affectionate than usual, for he was highly gratified with my success,

and he counselled me to take advantage of the peace secured by the

battle of Waterloo to visit the continent, which for many years (with

the exception of a brief period) had been closed to all persons from

Great Britain; he enclosed me a draft on a London banker for a thousand

pounds. My uncle's letter was scarcely less affectionate; my Latin

thesis (I had sent my father and him a copy) had especially pleased him;

and after urging me to take advantage of my father's kindness, he added

that he had placed a thousand pounds at my disposition, with the same

London banker on whom my draft was drawn. A letter of introduction to a

French family was enclosed in the letter, and he engaged me to visit

them, for they had been his guests for a long time when the first

Revolution caused them to fly France, and they were under other

obligations to him; which I afterward learned from themselves was a

pecuniary favor more than once renewed during their residence with him.

Ten thousand dollars was a good deal of money to be placed at the

disposition of a young man as his pocket money for eighteen months, even

after a large deduction had been made from it for a library and

professional instruments.

Before I quitted Edinburgh, I received a letter from the gentleman to

whom my uncle had given me an introduction; he acquainted me that my

uncle had informed him that I was about visiting France, and that he had

taken the liberty of introducing me to him. The Marquis de ---- (such

was his title--his name I omit for obvious reasons) expressed with

great warmth his delight at having it in his power to exhibit the

gratitude he felt to my uncle, and urged me with the most pressing terms

to come at once to his home, and pass away there at least so much time

as might accustom me to the _spoken_ French language (I could easily

read it), that my visit to Paris might be more profitable and

agreeable--and it should be both, he was so good as to say, at least as

far as it depended on himself and his friends. I wrote him by the return

mail to thank him for his kindness, and to inform him that I should at

once set out for his hospitable home. I shall never forget the six

months I passed away in the Chateau de Bardy: the happiness of those

days was checkered only by my departure and by the incident I shall

presently relate. And even after I quitted that noble mansion, the

kindness of its inmates still watched over me, and opened homes to me

even in that great Maelstrom of life--Paris.

It was toward the end of the month of October--the most delightful month

of the seasons in France--as I was returning on foot from Orleans to the

Chateau de Bardy, from a rather prolonged pedestrian exploration in that

interesting neighborhood, where I had accurately examined all of the

curiosities, thanks to an ample memoir of my noble host (in those days

'Handbooks' were unknown, and Murray was busy publishing Byron and

Moore), when I thought I caught a glimpse of some soldiers. I was not

mistaken: on the road before me a Prussian regiment was marching. I

quickened my pace to hear the military music, for I was extremely

partial to it; but the band ceased playing, and no sound was heard

except an occasional roll of the kettle-drum at long intervals to mark

the uniform step of the soldiers. After following them for a half hour,

I saw the regiment enter a small plain, surrounded by a fir grove. I

asked a captain, whose acquaintance I had made, if his men were about to

be drilled.

'No,' said he, 'they are about to try, and perhaps to shoot, a soldier

of my company for having stolen something from the house where he was

billeted.'

'What,' said I, 'are they going to try, condemn, and execute him, all in

the same moment?'

'Yes,' said he, 'those are the provisions of the capitulation.'

This word 'capitulation' was to him an unanswerable argument, as if

everything had been provided for in the capitulation, the crime and the

punishment, justice and humanity.

'And if you have any curiosity to see it,' added the captain, 'I will

place you where you may see everything. It won't be long.'

It may be from my professional education, but the truth is, I have

always been fond of witnessing these melancholy spectacles; I persuade

myself that I shall discover the solution of the enigma--death--on the

face of a man in full health, whose life is suddenly severed. I followed

the captain. The regiment was formed in a hollow square; in the rear of

the second rank and near the edge of the grove, some soldiers were

digging a grave. They were commanded by the third lieutenant, for in the

regiment everything was done with order, and there is a certain form

observed even in the digging of a man's grave. In the centre of the

hollow square eight officers were seated on drums; a ninth officer was

on their right, and some distance before them, negligently writing

something, and using his knees as his desk; he was evidently filling up

the forms simply because it was against the 'regulations' that a man

should be killed without the usual forms. The accused was called up. He

was a tall, fine-looking young man, with a noble and gentle face. A

woman (the only witness in the cause) came up with him. But when the

colonel began the examination of the woman, the soldier stopped him,

saying:

'It is useless asking her any questions. I am going to confess

everything: I stole a handkerchief in that lady's house.

THE COLONEL. What! Piter! You have been stealing! We all thought _you_

incapable of such a thing!

PITER. It is true, Colonel, I have always tried to pass as an honest

man, and a good fellow. Oh! I tell you, it wan't for me I stole the

handkerchief. 'Twas for Mary.

THE COLONEL. Who is Mary?

PITER. Mary? Oh! she lives yonder.... at home.... just outside of

Areneberg.... don't you remember the big apple-tree?.... Oh! I shall

never see her again....

THE COLONEL. I don't understand you, Piter; explain yourself.

PITER. Why, Colonel.... but read this letter.

He gave the colonel a letter, which the latter read aloud, and every

word of which was engraved on my mind, and still is as present to my

memory as though I heard them an hour ago. It was as follows:

MY DEAR, DEAR PITER:--I take advantage of recruit Arnold's leaving, for

he has enlisted in your regiment, to send you this letter, and a silk

purse I have made for you. Oh! I have hidden from father to work it, for

he is always scolding me for loving you so much, and is always telling

me that you will never come back. But you will come back, won't you!

Even if you never come back, I will always love you just the same. I

promised myself to you the day you picked up my blue handkerchief at the

Areneberg dance, and brought it to me. Oh! when shall I see you again?

The only pleasure I have is to hear that your officers esteem you, and

your comrades love you. Everybody says you are an honest man and a good

fellow. But you have still two years to serve. Serve them quickly,

because then we shall be married. Good-by, dear, dear Piter, and believe

me, your own dear

MARY.

P.S. Try to send me, too, something from France, not because I'm afraid

I shall forget you, but I want something from you to carry always about

me. Kiss what you send me. I know I shall find at once where you kissed

it.

* * * * *

When the colonel finished reading the letter, Piter said:

'Arnold gave me this letter last night when I received my billet paper.

For my life's sake I could not sleep; I lay awake all night long,

thinking of home and of Mary. She asked for something from France. I had

no money. I drew three months' advance last week to send home to my

brother and my cousin. This morning, when I got up to go, I opened my

window. A blue handkerchief was hanging on a clothes line; it looked

like Mary's; it was the same color, the same white lines; I was so weak

as to take it, and put it in my knapsack. I went out into the street; I

was sorry for what I had done; I was going back to the house with it

just when this lady ran after me. The handkerchief was found in my

knapsack. This is all the truth. The capitulation orders me to be shot.

Shoot me, but don't despise me.'

The judges could not conceal their emotion; but when the balloting took

place, he was unanimously condemned to death. He heard his sentence with

sang-froid; after it was passed on him, he went up to his captain and

asked him to lend him four francs. The captain gave them to him. I then

saw Piter go to the woman to whom the blue handkerchief had been

restored, and I heard him say:

'Madame, here are four francs; I don't know whether your handkerchief is

worth more, but even if it is, I pay dear enough for it to engage you to

knock off the rest.'

Taking the handkerchief from her, he kissed it, and gave it to the

captain.

'Captain,' said he, 'in two years you'll be returning home; when you go

toward Areneberg, ask for Mary; give her this blue handkerchief, but

don't tell her how dearly I purchased it.'

Piter then kneeled and prayed fervently; when his prayers were ended, he

arose and walked with a firm step to the place of execution. I forgot

that I was a scientific man, and I walked down into the woods to avoid

seeing the end of this cruel tragedy. A volley of musketry soon told me

that all was over.

I returned to the fatal spot an hour afterward; the regiment had marched

away; all was calm and silent. While following the edge of the grove,

going to the highway, I perceived at a short distance before me traces

of blood, and a mound of freshly heaped earth. I took a branch from one

of the fir trees, and made a rude cross.

I placed it at the head of poor Piter's grave, now forgotten by every

body except by me, and perhaps by Mary.

GOLD.

Gold, next to iron, is the most widely diffused metal upon the surface

of our globe. It occurs in granite, the oldest rock known to us, and in

all the rocks derived from it; it is also found in the veinstones which

traverse other geological formations, but has never been found in any

secondary formation. It is, however, much more common in alluvial

grounds than among primitive and pyrogenous rocks. It is found

disseminated, under the form of spangles, in the silicious,

argillaceous, and ferruginous sands of certain plains and rivers,

especially in their junction, at the season of low water, and after

storms and temporary floods. It is the only metal of a yellow color; it

is readily crystallizable, and always assumes one or more of the

symmetrical shapes, such as the cube or regular octahedron. It affords a

resplendent polish, and may be exposed to the atmosphere for any length

of time, without suffering any change; it is remarkable for its beauty;

is nineteen times heavier than water, and, next to platinum, the

heaviest known substance; its malleability is such, that a cubic inch

will cover thirty-five hundred square feet; its ductility is such, that

a lump of the value of four hundred dollars could be drawn into a wire

which would extend around the globe. It is first mentioned in Genesis

ii, 11. It was found in the country of Havilah, where the rivers

Euphrates and Tigris unite and discharge their waters into the Persian

gulf.

The relative value of gold to silver in the days of the patriarch

Abraham was one to eight; at the period of B.C. 1000, it was one to

twelve; B.C. 500, it was one to thirteen; at the commencement of the

Christian era, it was one to nine; A.D. 500, it was one to eighteen;

A.D. 1100, it was one to eight; A.D. 1400, it was one to eleven; A.D.

1613, it was one to thirteen; A.D. 1700, it was one to fifteen and a

half; which latter ratio, with but slight variation, it has maintained

to the present day. Gold was considered bullion in Palestine for a long

period after silver had been current as money. The first mention of gold

money in the Bible is in David's reign (B.C. 1056), when that king

purchased the threshing floor of Oman for six hundred shekels of gold by

weight. In the early period of Grecian history the quantity of the

precious metals increased but slowly; the circulating medium did not

increase in proportion with the quantity of bullion. In the earliest

days of Greece, the precious metals existed in great abundance in the

Levant. Cabul and Little Thibet (B.C. 500) were abundant in gold. It

seems to be a well ascertained fact, that it was obtained near the

surface; so that countries, which formerly yielded the metal in great

abundance, are now entirely destitute of it. Croesus (B.C. 560) coined

the golden _stater_, which contained one hundred and thirty-three grains

of pure metal. Darius, son of Hystaspes (B.C. 538), coined _darics_,

containing one hundred and twenty-one grains of pure metal, which were

preferred, for several ages throughout the East, for their fineness.

Next to the _darics_ were some coins of the reigns of the tyrants of

Sicily: of Gelo (B.C. 491); of Hiero (B.C. 478); and of Dionysius (B.C,

404). Specimens of the two former are still preserved in modern

cabinets. _Darics_ are supposed to be mentioned in the latter books of

the Old Testament, under the name of _drams_. Very few specimens of the

_daric_ have come down to us; their scarcity may he accounted for by the

fact that they were melted down under the type of Alexander. Gold coin

was by no means plenty in Greece until Philip of Macedon had put the

mines of Thrace into full operation, about B.C. 360. Gold was also

obtained by the Greeks from Asia Minor, the adjacent islands, which

possessed it in abundance, and from India, Arabia, Armenia, Colchis, and

Troas. It was found mixed with the sands of the Pactolus and other

rivers. There are only about a dozen Greek coins in existence, three of

which are in the British Museum; and of the latter, two are _staters_,

of the weight of one hundred and twenty-nine grains each. About B.C.

207, gold coins were first struck off at Rome, and were denominated

_aurei_, four specimens of which are in the institution before alluded

to. Their weight was one hundred and twenty-one grains. Gold coins were

first issued in France by Clovis, A.D. 489; about the same time they

were issued in Spain by Amalric, the Gothic king; in both kingdoms they

were called _trientes_. They were first issued in England A.D. 1257, in

the shape of a penny. Florins were next issued, in 1344, of the value of

six shillings. The guinea was first issued in 1663, of Guinea gold. In

1733 all the gold coins--nobles, angels, rials, crowns, units, lions,

exurgats, etc., etc., were called in and forbidden to circulate. The

present sovereign was first issued in 1817.

From the commencement of the Christian era to the discovery of America,

the amount of gold obtained from the surface and bowels of the earth is

estimated to be thirty-eight hundred millions of dollars; from the date

of the latter event to the close of 1842, an addition of twenty-eight

hundred millions was obtained. The discovery and extensive working of

the Russian mines added, to the close of 1852, six hundred millions

more. The double discovery of the California mines in 1848, and of the

Australia mines in 1851 has added, to the present time, twenty-one

hundred millions; making a grand total of ninety-three hundred millions

of dollars. The average loss by wear and tear of coin is estimated to be

one-tenth of one per cent, per annum; and the loss by consumption in the

arts, by fire and shipwreck, at from one to three millions per annum.

A cubic inch of gold is worth (at £3 17_s._ 10-1/2_d._, or $18.69 per

ounce) two hundred and ten dollars; a cubic foot, three hundred and

sixty-two thousand eight hundred and eighty dollars; a cubic yard, nine

millions nine hundred and seventeen thousand seven hundred and sixty

dollars. The amount of gold in existence, at the commencement of the

Christian era, is estimated to be four hundred and twenty-seven millions

of dollars; at the period of the discovery of America, it had diminished

to fifty-seven millions; after the occurrence of that event, it

gradually increased, and in 1600, it attained to one hundred and five

millions; in 1700, to three hundred and fifty-one millions; in 1800, to

eleven hundred and twenty-five millions; in 1843, to two thousand

millions; in 1853 to three thousand millions; and at the present time,

the amount of gold in existence is estimated to be forty-eight hundred

millions of dollars; which, welded into one mass, could be contained in

a cube of twenty-four feet. Of the amount now in existence, three

thousand millions is estimated to be in coin and bullion, and the

remainder in watches, jewelry, plate, etc., etc.

The Russian gold mines were discovered in 1819, and extend over one

third of the circumference of the globe, upon the parallel of 55° of

north latitude. Their product, since their discovery to the present

time, has amounted to eight hundred millions of dollars. The California

gold mines were discovered by William Marshall, on the ninth day of

February, 1848, at Sutter's Mill, upon the American Fork, a tributary of

the Sacramento, and extend from 34° to 49° of north latitude. Their

product, since their discovery to the present time, has amounted to one

thousand and forty-seven millions of dollars. The Australia gold mines

were discovered by Edward Hammond Hargraves, on the twelfth day of

February, 1851, in the Bathurst and Wellington districts, and extend

from 30° to 38° of south latitude. Their product, since their discovery

to the present time, has amounted to nine hundred and eleven millions of

dollars. The finest gold is obtained at Ballurat, and the largest nugget

yet obtained weighed twenty-two hundred and seventeen ounces, valued at

forty-one thousand dollars. In shape it resembled a continent with a

peninsula attached by a narrow isthmus. The annual product of gold at

the commencement of the Christian era is estimated at eight hundred

thousand dollars; at the period of the discovery of America it had

diminished to one hundred thousand dollars; after the occurrence of that

event it gradually increased, and in 1600 it attained to two millions;

and in 1700, to five millions; in 1800, to fifteen millions; in 1843, to

thirty-four millions; in 1850, to eighty-eight millions; in 1852, to two

hundred and thirty-six millions; but owing to the falling off of the

California as well as the Australia mines, the product of the present

year will not probably exceed one hundred and ninety millions.

Since 1792 to the present time, the gold coinage of the United States

mint has amounted to seven hundred and forty millions of dollars, of

which six hundred and fifty-five millions have been issued since 1850.

The gold coinage of the French mint, since 1726, has amounted to

eighty-seven hundred millions of francs, of which fifty-two hundred and

fifty millions have been issued since 1850. The gold coinage of the

British mint, since 1603, has amounted to two hundred and eighty

millions of pounds sterling; of which seventy-five millions have been

issued since 1850. The gold coinage of the Russian mint, since 1664, has

amounted to five hundred and twenty-six millions of roubles, of which

two hundred and sixty millions have been issued since 1850. The

sovereign of England contains one hundred and twelve grains of pure

metal; the new doubloon of Spain, one hundred and fifteen; the half

eagle of the United States, one hundred and sixteen; the gold lion of

the Netherlands, and the double ounce of Sicily, one hundred and

seventeen grains each; the ducat of Austria, one hundred and six; the

twenty-franc piece of France, ninety; and the half imperial of Russia,

ninety-one grains. A commissioner has been despatched by the United

States Government to England, France, and other countries of Europe, to

confer with their respective governments upon the expediency of adopting

a uniform system of coinage throughout the world, so that the coins of

one country may circulate in any other, without the expense of

recoinage--a consummation most devoutly to be wished.

The fact that the large amount of gold which has been thrown into the

monetary circulation of the world within the last fourteen years, has

exercised so little influence upon the money market or prices generally,

is at variance with the predictions of financial writers upon both sides

of the Atlantic. The increase in the present production of gold,

compared with former periods, is enormous; and it would not be

surprising if, in view of the explorations which are going on in Africa,

Japan, Borneo, and other countries bordering upon the equator, the

product of the precious metals within the next decade should be a

million of dollars _daily_. The price of gold has not diminished,

although the annual product has increased fivefold within twenty years.

LAST WORDS.

I am at last resolved. This taunting devil shall possess me no longer.

At least I will meet him face to face. I have read that the face of a

dead man is as though he understood the cause of all things, and was

therefore profoundly at rest, _I_ will know the cause of my wretched

fate, and will be at rest. My pistols lie loaded by my side--I shall die

to-night. To-morrow, twelve awestruck and trembling men will come and

look at me. They will ask each other: 'What could have been his motive

for the rash act.' Rash! my face will be calmer than theirs, for my

struggles in this life will be over; and I shall have gained--perhaps

knowledge, perhaps oblivion, but certainly victory. And to-night, as the

clock strikes twelve, there will be shrieks and horror in this room. No

matter: I shall have been more kind to those who utter them than they

know of, for they will not have known the cause until they have read

these lines.

And yet most people would esteem me a happy man. I am rich in all that

the world calls riches. I sit in a room filled with luxuries; a few

steps would bring me into the midst of guests, among whom are noble men

and women, sweet music, rare perfumes, glitter and costly show. My life

has been spent amid the influences of kind friends, good parents, and

culture in all that is highest and worthiest in literature and art; and

I can recall scenes as I write, of days that would have been most happy

but for the blight that has been upon me always. I think I see now the

pleasant parlor in the old house at home. Here sits our mother, a little

gray, but brisk and merry as a cricket; there our father, a

well-preserved gentleman of fifty, rather gratified at feeling the first

aristocratic twinges of gout, and whose double eyeglass is a chief

feature in all he says; there is Bill, poring over Sir William Napier's

'Peninsular War;' there is Charles, just rushing in, with a face the

principal features in which are redness and hair, to tell us that there

is another otter in the mill stream in the meadow; there is my little

sister, holding grave talk with dear Dollie, and best (or worst) of all,

there is cousin Lucy--cousin Lucy, with her brown hair, and soft, loving

eyes and quiet ways. Where are they all now? Charley went to London, was

first the favorite of the clubs, next a heartless rake, and finally,

being worn out, and, like Solomon, convinced that all was vanity, went

into the Church to become that most contemptible of all creatures, a

fashionable preacher; my father and mother are laid side by side in the

aisle of the old church on the hill, where their virtues are sculptured

in marble, for the information of anxiously curious mankind; sister Mary

no longer talks to dolls, though a flock of little girls, who call her

mother, do. Bill, poor Bill, lies far away in the Crimea, with the

bullet of a gray-coated Russian in his heart. And Lucy--but it is to her

I owe what I am, and what I am about to do.

I loved her--love her still. Will she _know_ what these words mean, when

she finds them here? I cannot tell. They are enough for me. Not for you

are they written, ball-room lounger, whispering of endless devotion

between every qaudrille; not to you, proud beauty, taking and absorbing

declarations as you would an ice; not for you, chattering monkey of the

Champs Elyseés, raving of your _grande passion_ for Eloise, so

_charmante_, so _spirituelle_; nor for you, Eloise aforesaid, with your

devilish devices, stringing hearts in your girdle as Indians do scalps;

not for you, dancing Spaniard, with your eternal castagnets, whispering

just one word to your dark-eyed señorita, as you hand her another

perfumed cigarette; not for you, lounging Italian, hissing intrigues

under the shadow of an Athenian portico, or stealing after your veiled

incognita, as her shadow flits over the place where the blood of Cæsar

dyed the floor of the Capitol, or where the knife of Virginius flashed

in the summer sun--not for one of you, for I have seen and despise you

all. To you all love is a sealed book, which you shall never open--a

tree of knowledge that will never turn into a curse for you--a beautiful

serpent that, as you gaze upon its changing hues, will never sting you

to the death.

I never told her. I would wait for hours to see her pass, if she went

out alone--but I never told her. I would trace her footsteps where she

had taken her daily walk; I would wait beneath her window at night, to

see but her shadow upon the blind, until she put out her lamp, and left

the stars and myself the only watchers there--but I never told her. I

would lay flowers in her way, happy if she wore them on her bosom, or

wreathed them in her hair, as she sometimes would--but she never knew

from whom they came. I sickened at my heart for her; I pined, oh! how I

pined for her, and worshipped her as a saint, the hope, the glory, the

heaven of my life--but I never told her.

Did she love me? No. And, while I loved, I feared her. She never made me

her companion, never took my arm; would always sit opposite me in the

carriage instead of by my side; if in a game of forfeits, I forced the

embrace I had won, she would struggle with tears of anger, though she

had given her cheek to William with a blush but a few minutes before. If

I had not been her abject slave, I could have torn her in pieces. Alas!

alas! we were but boys, and she a girl still. How many, long years I

have suffered since then!

One night I could not sleep, but sat up in my room thinking. Why should

she not love me? I am esteemed well-looking and intelligent, thought I,

looking into the glass, as if to confirm my satisfactory judgment of

myself. I gazed long and earnestly. Yes, certainly handsome, said I with

my lips, but--fool! fool! said my mocking eyes; for at that moment there

came out of their depths--there came a devil! Yes, a devil that glared

at me from the glass! a devil that was, and yet was not, myself! a devil

that had my form, and looked out of my face, but with its own cruel,

mocking eyes! And he and I confronted each other in that horrible glass.

I know not how long, but they told me afterward that I was found next

morning making ghastly faces at myself.

And then I was carried by spirits into a land of visions, where for a

hundred years, or for a moment of time, I was flying through space, and

clouds, and fire!--groping through dark caverns, millions of miles

long, crying wildly for light and air; now a giant, entangled in myriads

of chains that I could not break; now a reptile, writhing away from

footsteps that made the earth reel and tremble beneath their tread; and

at last waking, as if out of sleep, a poor, puny thing, with limbs like

shadows, laughing or crying by turns for very feebleness.

* * * * *

As I arose from that bed I knew that I was changed. It was a secret

thought, a secret that I have kept till now. I was not quite sure at

first, but it thus fell out that I knew it well:

One day William and I had been sitting for some time in the library, he

reading and I looking at the faces that glowed in the red-hot coal, and

thinking of Lucy and him.

'Where is Lucy?' said I, at length,

'Gone out into the village,' he answered, without looking from the book;

'first to buy gloves, then to see Miss Trip, the dancing mistress, who

is ill, then to Hurst Park to tea, whence I am to fetch her at nine

o'clock.'

'You seem to know all her movements,' I said, with a sneer.

'Certainly, he rejoined, 'she told me all that I have told you.'

'You always _are_ in her confidence,' said I, very angrily, as my blood

rose.

'I believe so,' said he, calmly; though he looked at me with some

surprise.

'And I never,' said I, between my teeth.

'That,' he said, 'is a matter with which I have no concern.'

I ground my teeth, but I kept quiet. I kept quiet, though every nerve in

my body tingled with rage, and my boiling blood rushed into my eyes till

I could hardly see. 'Do you know,' I shouted, 'do you know that I love

her--would die a thousand deaths for her?'

He clasped his hands with a quick motion, as he said in a low voice,

'And so do I; and so would I.'

'Beast, fiend!' I screamed, 'does she--does she----' I could not get out

the accursed words.

'We have been engaged,' he answered, divining what I would have asked,

'we have been engaged for some time, and----'

He did not finish the sentence, for I sprang at him, crushed him to the

floor, squeezed his throat till his face grew black and the froth oozed

out from his lips, beat his head upon the hearthstones till he lay still

and bleeding, and then sought my knife. It was up stairs. I flew to get

it. It lay upon my dressing table before the glass, and I snatched at

it. Great God! as I did so, another arm was thrust forth--not mine, I

swear, if I live a thousand years; and as I recoiled, I saw in that

glass a fiend step back. Not me, not me!--but a fiend with bloody hands,

and a foul leer upon its face, and a fierce, cruel laugh in its

glittering eyes. It was he, it was he! It was the devil that had

possessed me before, come back again. And as I shuddered and gasped, and

turned away, and then looked again into those eyes that pierced _me_

through, and saw the cold, bitter smile that was on the face before me,

I knew that the fiend would leave me never more, and that I was mad!

What was a quarrel with my brother now? I stole back, and, lifting him

up, carried him to his room, where I washed the blood from his face.

When he came to himself I fell at his feet and besought his pardon, and

that he would keep what had happened a secret. He forgave me. And I

believe the only lie he ever told in all his life was when he told Lucy

that he had cut his head by falling on a jagged stone.

Oh, how often after that my fingers itched to be at his throat again;

but I always quailed before his steady eye.

I pass over the next few years, except to say that I went to college,

where I was shunned by all, though never alone: was a dunce, and plucked

twice. Perhaps it was I who shunned others, for had I not society in

the constant presence of my Familiar? I was of course a dunce, for my

brain was never steady enough to carry me over the _Pons Asinorum_, or

to make a Latin verse with even decent correctness. I went away in

disgust. I think if I had stayed longer I should have torn somebody, or

else myself.

I went next into the army. It was a new era in my life, and, strange to

say, my devil left me for a while, so that I was able to master the

details of my profession, and to be esteemed a good and careful officer.

There was hope, too, of active service; for the Russian Eagle was slowly

unfolding his vast wings for a new descent into the plains of Europe.

William, married to Her now, who was a lieutenant in the Foot Guards,

wrote to me to say that he hoped we should be really brothers, now that

we were to meet before an enemy; and the next day out came the

declaration of war. When I had read it, I drew my sword, and, as I ran

my eye along its cold, sharp blade from hilt to point, I thought how

strange was its power to let out a man's life, and turn him, in a

moment, into a heap of inanimate carrion.

Of course I am not going to tell the history of the great siege in the

Crimea, for every child knows by heart the tale of the clambering fight

up the Alma's steeps, of the withering volley that suddenly crashed out

of the gray twilight on the hill of Inkerman, of the long months of

starvation, of the final _feu d'enfer_, beneath which the Russian host

crowded over the narrow bridge that saved them from their foe. But of

the fatal charge of the Six Hundred I must speak, for I was one of them,

and I have cursed its memory a thousand times.

I well remember that day--how restless I was the night before, and how I

listened to the dropping shots on either side, hoping almost that one

would find its way to my heart.

We were brigaded by daylight. Some manoeuvres on an extensive scale

were to be attempted, I believe, one of which was to outflank some

batteries of field artillery by which we had suffered much loss. They

were drawn up at the side and end of the valley of Balaklava, and we

were at the other end, and were ordered, it has since been said in

error, to charge down the valley upon them.

How beautiful the sun rose that day! The dewy odors from a thousand

flowers came floating up from that green valley as he rolled away the

mists from the mountain tops, and showed us the dusky masses far below,

from which the shot came whizzing every now and then. Gods! how we

exulted at the sight. Along our line rose a wild cheer, as our horses

tugged and strained at their bits, and every man's bridle was drawn

tight. Soon a puff of smoke came from a hillock near, and the stern

command 'draw swords' ran along from troop to troop, as the bright steel

flashed in the sunshine like a river of light. Then out pealed the

trumpets, and away we went, amidst a storm of ringing harness, and

clashing scabbards, and flying banners, and thundering hoofs that made

the ground shake. On we dashed, straight across the valley, in front of

a point-blank fire, that emptied many a saddle as we flew along,

straight upon the mass of smoke and flame which hid those fatal

batteries--straight at the gunners, dealing out wild blows upon them,

while they fought with swords, or axes, or clubbed muskets, or gun

spongers, or anything that could cut or strike a blow.

As for me, I only know that I was in the first line, and among the first

in the mêlée; where my first blow lighted upon the bare head of a

Russian, whose blood spouted high as I cut at him with all my force; for

after that a mist came over my eyes, and I fought in the dark, and then

came oblivion.

When I awoke to consciousness, which I did not for several days, I found

that I was wounded, and had been in danger of my life, though I should

most probably recover. As soon as I was strong enough to talk much, I

was told that my bravery had been very conspicuous, and that I had been

honorably mentioned in the order of the day. Four Russians, it seemed,

had died by my hand, and being at last cut on the head by a sabre, I was

with difficulty held on my horse when the retreat was sounded. I had

raved, it also appeared, incessantly; but now the fever had left me.

Good. It was fever, they thought, which had held possession of me. But

those who said so did not know what power it was that nerved my arm, and

then, having worked his devilish wile, flung me away like a broken toy.

Fever! They did not know that it was a 'fever' that had cursed me for

twelve long years.

But I got well, as those who were about me said, and, having been

reported fit for duty, made my appearance at parade, and afterward, the

same day, at mess.

My brother was dead. One day, while I lay ill, he and a party of his

brother officers were idly chatting in one of the more advanced

trenches, when a minié ball struck him, and he died without a word or

groan. They carried him out, and he lies at the little graveyard at

Scutari, with thousands of others who fell in the Great Siege. His sword

and other relics had been kept for me, and among them was a portrait of

Cousin Lucy, which he had worn next his heart. I should have to take it

to her. The general in command had already written to her, with the news

of her bereavement.

I was saying that I rejoined the mess. All my comrades congratulated me

but one. He was a young fellow, recently exchanged from another

regiment, who would one day wear the strawberry leaf upon his coronet--a

cold, supercilious, prying puppy, whom I hated at once. When we were

introduced, our mutual bow was studied in its cold formality--on his

side so much so as to be almost insulting, considering the place and

circumstances. To this day I believe that he, the only one of all there,

had suspected me, and I felt that I must be perpetually on my guard

against his curious glances. I was sure that one day we should have to

strive for the mastery. And we did--sooner than I expected; for, as the

colonel filled his glass, and, calling upon the rest to follow his

example, drank a welcome to me back among them, this knave, sitting

opposite at the time, fixed his eyes upon me as he lifted his glass to

his lips, and did not drink. As our looks met, I knew that he mocked me,

and I flung my wine in his face, and raved.

Those present forced me away, and took me to my tent, where they made me

lie down. I was supposed to be delirious from weakness and the effects

of my wound, and I heard them say, 'He has come out too soon; that wine

he drank at dinner was too much for him.' Good again! It was the wine!

'But,' thought I, 'as soon as this arm shall be able to strike or

thrust, I will have the life of that sneering devil, or he mine.' And I

kept my word. I met him within ten days afterward, walking at some

distance from the camp, quite alone, as I was myself.

'Good morning,' said he; 'you are about again, as I am glad to see.'

I said to him, 'Do you forget the time when I was out before?'

'Surely not,' said he; 'but I knew that you had been ill, and was not

master of yourself.'

'And so forgave me?' I rejoined, in a passion.

'And so forgave,' said he; 'why not?'

'Then learn,' said I, 'that I _was_ master of myself; that I am now;

that you insulted me grossly; that the only words I have for you

are--draw, sir, draw!'

'Stop!' he cried, as I drew my sword; 'pray come back with me to the

camp. You are ill; pray, come back; I have no quarrel with you, believe

me.'

But I struck him on the breast with my swordhilt, so that he nearly

fell. Then he recovered himself, and, still crying out that he had no

quarrel with me, drew and stood upon his guard, while I rushed upon him.

He was cool, and I furious. I believe he could have killed me easily if

he had wished, but he only parried my rapid blows. At last, however, as

I pressed him more closely, he grew paler, and began to fight in

earnest. What _then_ could he do against a madman? I bore him back, step

by step, till a mass of rock stopped him; and there I kept him, with the

hissing steel playing about his head, until he dropped upon one knee and

his sword fell from his hand. Then I paused, waiting to see him die as I

would a wounded hare, as die I knew he must, for I had pierced him with

twenty wounds. He knelt thus, and looked, not at me, but at the setting

sun; and then his head drooped and he rolled over, and was dead.

And as I wiped my sword on the grass, I shouted with glee.

Of course, I told no one. It was but another secret added to the many

that had torn my heart and brain. Nor, when the body was found, stripped

by camp followers, and supposed to be killed by a reconnoitring party of

the enemy, did I betray myself by word or look.

At last the war was over, and we were ordered home. I bade farewell to

the blue hills of the Crimea with secret joy, and as the shore faded

from my sight, the memory of all that had happened to me during the

Great Siege faded from my memory like a dream.

Upon our landing, I went as soon as possible home. How green the hedges

were, how sweet the scent of the violets, how soft the grass, how grand

the arching oaks and giant elms, as I journeyed along on foot. Surely I

have suffered enough, I said to myself, as I passed through meadow, and

copse, and lane, and over stiles, and to the old park at last. Surely I

have suffered enough, I said, as I came to the lodge gate, where the

keeper's wife looked curiously at my uniform and bronzed face, and the

crape on my arm, and then ran into the lodge to tell her husband that

here was Master Horace come back. Surely there was peace in that old

house, with its pointed gables, and moss-clad turrets, and ivied walls,

and little gothic windows--where the old butler grasped my hand; and the

maids came peeping out; and the old dog licked my face; where poor Lucy

wept upon my breast--wept for that I had come back alone; and then put

her little girl into my arms, to kiss dear Uncle Horace, come home once

more.

But, when I went to bed that night, in the same glass that showed me my

Enemy years before, I saw him looking at me, with his cruel smile,

shining out of my own eyes.

What more remains to be told? But little; for it was but the old story.

It is enough to say that I struggled on, hoping against hope; that I

cheated myself with the maddest hope of all--that she might be brought

to love me; that I one day prayed her to become my wife, and that she

broke from me with terror and loathing; that I fled her presence, and

was once more a wanderer over the earth; that my weary feet dragged me

over the snows of Siberia, where the furred noble and the chained serf

worked side by side; over the burning sands, where the brown Arab

careers along upon his steed, his white burnous fluttering in the hot

wind; over the broad prairies of America, where the Indian prowls with

his trusty rifle, waiting for the wild beast; over the paths of the

trackless deep; over the still wilder deserts and still more lonely

deeps of revelry and vice;--what more than that I have come back again;

that many guests are here to do honor to my return; that these are the

last words which I shall ever write!

PARTING

When 'mid the loud notes of the drum

And fife tones shrilling on the ear,

The music of our nation's hymns

Rose 'neath the elm trees loud and clear;

When on the Common's grassy plain

The city poured her countless throng,

And blessings fell like April rain

On each one as he marched along;

We parted,--hand close clasped in hand,

Telling the thoughts tongue could not speak;

Was it unmanly that our eyes

O'erflowed with love upon the cheek?

I hear thy cheery voice outspeak,

'Courage, the months will quickly fly,

And ere November chill and bleak

We meet at home, Ned, you and I.'

A livelier strain came from the band,

'God bless you' went from each to each;

A gazing eye, a waving hand,

Where hearts were all too full for speech.

He marched, obeying duty's call,

Of noblest nature, first to hear;

I, bound by fond domestic thrall,

In path of duty lingered here.

Slowly the summer months rolled on,

October harvested the corn,

November came with shortening days,

Passed by in mist and rain,--was gone,--

Yet still he came not; winter's snow

In feathery vesture clothed the trees,

Or, iceclad in a jewelled glow,

They sparkled in the chilly breeze.

Spring glowed along Potomac vales,

While north her footsteps tardier came,

For him the golden jasmine trails

O'er bright azaleas all aflame;

Still upon Yorktown's trampled fields,

O'er grassy plain and wooded swell,

Her sunny wealth the summer yields,

And still the word comes, 'All is well.'

A MERCHANT'S STORY.

'All of which I saw, and part of which I was.'

CHAPTER XII.

In the afternoon the exercises at the meeting house were conducted by

Preston, who publicly catechized the negroes very much in the manner

that is practised in Northern Sunday schools. When the services were

over, and the family had gathered around the supper table, I said to

him:

'I've an idea of passing the evening with Joe; he has invited me. Would

it be proper for you and Mrs. Preston to go?'

'Oh, yes; and we will. I would like to have you see his mother. She is a

wonderful woman, and, if in the mood, will astonish you.'

'I think you told me she is a native African?'

'Yes, she is. She was brought from Africa when a child. She has a dim

recollection of her life there, and retains the language and

superstitions of her race,' replied Preston, rising from the table. 'I

think you had better go at once, for she retires early; Lucy and I will

follow you as soon as we can.'

* * * * *

Joe's cabin was located nearly in the centre of the little collection of

negro houses, and a few hundred yards from the mansion. It was of logs,

a story and a half high, and had originally been only about twenty feet

square. To the primitive structure, however, an addition of the same

dimensions had been made, and as it then stretched for more than forty

feet along the narrow bypath which separated the two rows of negro

shanties, it presented quite an imposing appearance. A second addition

in its rear, though it did not increase its dignity in the eyes of

'street' observers, added largely to its proportions and convenience.

The various epochs in Joe's history were plainly written on his

dwelling. The original building noted the time when, a common field

hand, he had married a wife, and set up housekeeping; the front addition

marked the era when his industry, intelligence, and devotion to his

master's interest had raised him above the dead level of black

servitude, and given him the management of the plantation; and the rear

structure spoke pleasantly of the time when old Deborah, disabled by age

from longer service at 'the great house,' and too infirm to clamber up

the steep ladder which led to Joe's attic bedrooms, had come to doze

away the remainder of her days under her son's roof.

The cabin was furnished with two entrance doors, and suspecting that the

one in the older portion led directly into the kitchen, I rapped lightly

at the other. In a moment it opened, and Joe ushered me into the living

room.

That apartment occupied the whole of the newer front, and had a

cheerful, cosy appearance. Its floor was covered with a tidy rag carpet,

evidently of home manufacture, and its plastered walls were decorated

with tasteful paper, and hung with a number of neatly framed engravings.

Opposite the doorway stood a large mahogany bureau, and over it,

suspended from the ceiling by leathern cords, was a curiously contrived

shelving, containing a score or more of well-worn books. Among them I

noticed a small edition of 'Shakespeare,' Milton's 'Poems,' Goldsmith's

'England,' the six volumes of 'Comprehensive Commentary,' Taylor's 'Holy

Living and Dying,' the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' a 'United States

Gazetteer,' and a complete set of the theological writings of

Swedenborg. Neat chintz curtains covered the small windows, a number of

brightly burnished brass candlesticks ornamented a plain wooden mantle

over the broad fireplace, and a yellow-pine table, oiled and varnished,

on which the 'tea things' were still standing, occupied the centre of

the apartment.

Through an open door, at the right of the bureau, I caught a glimpse of

the dormitory of the aged Africaness. As on the exterior of the building

a brief epitome of Joe's history was written, so in that room a portion

of his character was traced. Its comfortable and almost elegant

furnishings told, plainer than any words, that he was a devoted and

affectionate son. With its rich Brussels carpet, red window hangings,

cosy lounge, neat centre table, and small black-walnut bureau, it might

have been mistaken for the private apartment of a white lady of some

pretensions.

It was a little after nightfall when I entered the cabin, but a bright

fire, blazing on the hearth, gave me a full view of its occupants. Aggy,

a tidily clad, middle-aged yellow woman, was clearing away the supper

table, and Joe's mother was smoking a pipe in a large arm chair, in the

chimney corner.

The old negress wore a black levantine gown, open in front, and gathered

about the waist by a silken cord; a red and yellow turban, from

underneath which escaped a few frosted locks, and a white cambric

neckerchief that fell carelessly over her shoulders, and almost hid her

withered, scrawny neck. She was upward of seventy, but so infirm that

she appeared nearly a hundred. One of her lean, skinny arms, escaping

from the loose sleeve of her dress, rested on her knee; and her bowed,

bony frame leaned against the arm of her chair, as if incapable of

sitting upright. Her features, with the exception of her nose, which

curved slightly upward, were thin and regular; and her eyes were large,

deep, and densely black, and seemed turned inward, as if gazing with a

half-wondering stare at the strange mechanism which held together her

queer frame-work of bones and gutta percha.

She was the old woman who had greeted Preston so affectionately on our

arrival.

Turning to her as he tendered me a chair, Joe said:

'Mudder, dis am Mr. Kirke.'

Making a feeble effort to rise, and reaching out her trembling hand she

exclaimed, in a voice just above a whisper:

'You'm welcome yere, right welcome, sar.'

'Thank you, aunty. Pray keep your seat; don't rise on my account.'

'Tank _you_, massa Kirke, fur comin' yere. It'm bery good ob you. Ole

missy lub you, sar; you'm so good ter massa Robert. He'm my own chile,

sar!'

This was undoubtedly a figure of speech, for the old woman's skin was

altogether too black not to have given a trifle of its shading to the

complexion of her children. It was not only black, but blue black, and

of that peculiar hue which is seen only on the faces of native Africans.

Seeing that she had relinquished smoking, I said:

'Never mind me, aunty; I smoke myself sometimes.'

'Tank you, sar,' she replied, resuming her pipe, and relapsing into her

previous position; 'ole wimmin lub 'backer, sar.'

The low tone in which this was said made me conclude that further

conversation would be exhausting to her, so turning to Joe and Aggy--the

latter had hurried through her domestic employments, and taken a seat

near the fire--I entered into a general discussion of the old worthies

that occupied Joe's book shelves.

I found the negro had taxed them for house room. He had levied on their

best thoughts, and I soon experienced the uneasy sensation which one

feels when he encounters a man who can 'talk him dry' on almost any

subject. On the single topic of the business to which I was educated, I

might have displayed, had it not been Sunday night, a greater amount of

information; but in the knowledge of every subject that was broached,

the black was my superior.

The conversation had rambled on for a full half hour, the old negress

meanwhile puffing steadily away, and giving no heed to it; when suddenly

her pipe dropped from her mouth, her eyes closed, her bent figure became

erect, and a quick, convulsive shiver passed over her. Thinking she was

about to fall in a fit, I exclaimed:

'Joe! See! your mother!'

'Neber mind, sar,' he quietly replied; 'it'm nuffin'. Only de power am

on her.'

A few more convulsive spasms succeeded, when the old woman's face

assumed a settled expression; and swaying her body back and forth with a

slow, steady motion, she commenced humming a low chant. Gradually it

grew louder, till it broke into a strange, wild song, filling the room,

and coming back in short, broken echoes from the adjoining apartments.

Struck with astonishment, I was about to speak, when Joe, laying his

hand on my arm, said:

'Hush, sar! It am de song ob de kidnap slave!'

It was sung in the African tongue, but I thought I heard, as it rose and

fell in a wild, irregular cadence, the thrilling story of the stolen

black; his smothered cries, and fevered moans in the slaver's hold; the

shriek of the wind, and the sullen sound of the surging waves as they

broke against the accursed ship; and, then--as the old negress rose and

poured forth quick, broken volumes of song--the loud mirth of the

drunken crew, mingling with what seemed dying groans, and the heavy

splash of falling bodies striking the sea.

As she concluded, with a firm, stately step--showing none of her

previous decrepitude--she approached me:

Seeing that I regarded her movements with a look of startled interest,

Joe said:

'Leff har do what she likes, sar. She hab suffin' to say to you.'

Taking a small bag[1] from her bosom, and placing it in the open front

of my waistcoat, she reached out her long, skinny arm, and placing her

skeleton hand on the top of my head, chanted a low song. The words were

mostly English, and the few I caught were something as follows:

'Oh, bress de swanga buckra man;

Bress wife an' chile ob buckra man.'

Bress all dat b'long to buckra man;

Barimo[2] bress de buckra man;

De good Lord bress de buckra man;

Bress, bress de swanga buckra man.'

As she finished the invocation, she took both my hands in hers, and

leaning forward, and muttering a few low words, seemed trying to read

the story imprinted on my palms. Her eyes were closed, and thinking she

might be troubled to see me without the use of those organs, I looked

inquiringly at her son.

'She don't need eyes, sar,' said Joe, answering my thought; 'she'll tell

all 'bout you widout dem.'

As he said this, she dropped one of my hands, and raising her right arm,

made several passes over my head, then resting her hand again upon it,

she began chanting another low song:

'What der yer see, mudder?' asked Joe, leaning forward, with a look of

intense interest on his face.

'A tall gemman-de swanga gemman--in a big city. De night am dark an'

cole--bery cole. Pore little chile am wid him, an' he cole--bery cole;

him cloes pore--bery pore. Dey come to a big hous'n--great light in de

winders--an' dey gwo in--swanga gemman an' pore chile. A great room

dar, wid big fire, an' oh! sweet young missus. She jump up-swanga gemman

speak to har, an' show de pore chile. She look sorry like, an' cry; den

she frow har arm 'roun' de pore chile; take him to de fire, an' kiss

him--kiss him ober an' ober agin.'

It was the scene when Kate first saw Frank, on the night of his mother's

death. I said nothing, but Joe asked:

'Any more, mudder?'

'Yas. I sees a big city, anoder city, in de daytime. In dark room,

upstars, am swanga gemman an' anoder buckra man--he bad buckra man.

Buckra angel dar, too, a standin' 'side de swanga gemman, but swanga

gemman doan't see har. She look jess like de pore chile. De swanga

gemman git up, an' 'pear angry, bery angry, but he keep in. Talk hard to

oder buckra man, who shake him head, an' look down. Swanga gemman den

walk de room, an' talk fasser yit, but bad buckra man keep shakin' him

head. Den swanga gemman stan' right ober de oder buckra man, an' de

strong words come inter him froat. Him 'pears gwine to curse de buckra

man, but de angel put har han' ober him moufh, an' say suffin' to him.

Swanga gemman yeres, dough he doan't see har. Den he say nuffin' more,

but gwo right 'way.'

It was the scene in Hallet's office, when I told him of his victim's

death, and entreated him to provide for, if he did not acknowledge his

child. The words which flashed upon my brain, and stayed the curse which

rose to my lips, were those of the dying girl: 'Leave him to GOD!'

'Go on. Tell me what she _said_,' I exclaimed.

'Mudder doan't _yere_; she only see de pictur ob what hab been. Listen!'

said Joe; and the old woman again spoke:

'I sees a big city--de fuss city, an' great hous'n--de fuss hous'n. De

young missus am dar, wid de pore chile, an' a little chile dat look jess

like she do; an' dar'm anoder bery little chile dar, too. Dey'm upstars

in a room, wid a bed an' a candle burnin'. Dey'm gwine to bed. Young

missus kneel down wid de two chil'ren, an' pray. An' side de pore chile,

an' kneelin' down wid har arm roun' him neck, am de buckra angel. She

pray, too. Swanga gemman in anoder room yere dem aprayin', an' he come

an' look. He say nuffin', but he stan' dar, an' de big tear run down him

cheek. De time come back to him when _he_ wus a little chile, an' he

pray like dem. He doan't pray 'nuff now!'

It was the last night I had passed at home. A feeling of indescribable

awe crept over me, and I rose halfway from my seat.

'Sit still, sar,' said Joe, almost forcing me back into the chair.

'You'll break de power.'

'You know the past, old woman,' I exclaimed. 'Tell me the future!'

'Hush!' she replied, with an imperious tone. 'Dey'm comin'.'

During all this time she had stood with her hand on my head, as

immovable as a marble statue. Her voice had a deep, strong tone, and her

face wore a look of calm power. Nothing about her reminded me of the

weak, decrepit old woman she had been but an hour before.

'Dey'm yere!' she said; and in another moment the door opened, and

Preston and his wife entered.

Without rising or speaking, Joe motioned them to two vacant chairs. As

they seated themselves, I exclaimed:

'She has told me all things that ever I did!'

'She has strange powers,' replied Preston.

'Hush, Robert Preston! De swanga gemman ax fur de future!'

Shading then her closed eyes with one hand, and leaning forward, as if

peering into the far distance, the old negress laid her other hand again

on my head, and continued:

'I see a deep, wide riber flowin' on to de great sea. De swanga gemman,

in strong boat, am on it; an' de young missus, an' de pore chile, an'

one, two oder chile, am wid him. De storm strike de riber, an' raise de

big wave, but de boat gwo on jess de same. De swanga gemman he doan't

keer fur de storm, or de big wave, fur he got 'em all dar! An' I see

anoder riber--not so deep, not so wide--flowin' on 'side de big riber,

to de great sea; an' you' (looking at Preston), 'an' de good missus, an'

one, two, free, four chile am dar. De wind blow ober dat riber an' raise

de big wave, but de swanga gemman reach out him hand, an' de wave gwo

down. An' I see a little riber flow out ob de big riber, an' de pore

chile in a little boat am on it. An' a little riber come out ob de oder

riber an' gwo into de oder little riber, an' a chile am on dat, too. De

two little boats meet, an' de two chile gwo on togedder, but--de storm

come dar, an'--de great rocks--oh! oh!' and, covering her face with her

hands, she turned away.

'What more do you see? Tell me, Deborah!' exclaimed Preston, bending

forward with breathless eagerness.

She raised her head, and seemed to look again in the same direction;

then, in a low tone, said:

'I sees no more.'

'What of the other river? What of that?' he exclaimed, with the same

breathless anxiety.

'I sees--de boat 'mong de rocks--de great rocks--an' you--dar--all by

you'seff--all by you'seff--an'--O Barimo!' and, giving a low scream, she

started back as if palsied with dread.

Springing to his feet, Preston seized her by both arms, and screamed

out:

'What more! Tell me WHAT MORE!'

Drawing her tall form up to its full height, and looking at him with her

closed eyes, she said, in a voice inexpressibly sad and tender:

'I sees de great rocks--de great fall--de great sea!' then pausing a

moment, and pointing upward, she added: 'Robert Preston! Trust in GOD!'

Overcome with emotion, she staggered back to her seat. A few convulsive

shudders passed over her; her eyes slowly opened, and--she was the same

weak, old woman as before.

* * * * *

The next morning I bade adieu to my kind friends, and started again on

my journey. Preston accompanied me as far as Wilmington, where we

parted; he going on to Whitesville, in search of the new turpentine

location; and I, proceeding by the Charleston boat, southward.