The _dénouement_ happened in this way:
There was to be a large party at Mrs. Caruther's, a married daughter of
Mrs. Bennett. The Bennetts and the Meekers, by the way, always kept up
their intimacy. Mr. Bennett is dead. He died the year he was seventy,
leaving a large fortune. The widow lives in the old house, and the
children are married, and are bringing out _their_ children now.
I say, Mrs. Caruthers was to give a large party. Mrs. Meeker, who
invariably attended her daughter, could not go. Belle must not go alone.
She arranged, so she said, to drive early in the evening to Mrs.
Caruther's, and to stay there all night.
For two or three weeks previous, Belle, under the inspiration of Signor
Barbone, who now exercised a complete control over her, had been making,
quietly but very efficiently, her arrangements for quitting her father's
roof.
By degrees, and with an amazing display of secretiveness, she managed to
convey out of the house all that she might require for a considerable
absence.
Her jewels were not lost sight of, nor anything else of value. The
Signor had provided proper receptacles for all these articles--indeed,
had greatly aided the young lady in the selection of what to take. More
than this--Signor Barbone (_proh pudor!_) had suggested that she should
fortify herself with such sums of money as she might be able to get
together without exciting suspicion.
Strange as you may think, Belle was possessed of so little delicacy,
that she actually entered into the spirit of the enterprise--regarding
the affair as a capital joke, enabling her to hold out against papa
should he prove obstinate, as he might for a few days (it could only be
for a few days), and inclined to be severe.
What with all her jewels, including some recent expensive purchases,
made for the first time in her life without payment on the spot (this
also at the suggestion of the Signor), and with sums quietly got
together for several weeks, including some considerable amounts coaxed
from her father on various pretences, and a pretty large sum borrowed
over night from mamma--I say, with all this, the 'happy pair' were
pretty well fortified for their first campaign.
The trying moment arrived.
Mrs. Caruthers, of course, knew nothing of Belle's tale to her mother,
that she was to pass the night at her house. She simply expected Belle
to grace her party.
Quite early in the day the young lady ordered a handsome ball dress
placed in a box, and directed it to be taken to her dressmaker, to
receive some trifling alterations before evening. She would call in good
season there, so she told her mother, and order it sent to Mrs.
Caruthers's.
Then, waiting for Mrs. Meeker, to take her morning drive, she went to
her room and hurried on a travelling dress.
She was going down stairs, when Harriet's nurse opened the door of her
young mistress's apartment, and asked her to step a moment into the
room.
Belle turned with all the composure she could muster; she curbed her
impatience, and looked amiable.
'Oh, are you going out, Belle?'
'Yes, dear; you know I am to be early at Mrs. Caruthers's. Mamma can't
go with me--so I am to stay all night.'
'Why, you have on your travelling dress!'
'It looks odd, doesn't it I--I have sent my ball dress to Laroche, to be
altered a little; and I have to call there now, and I want her to see me
in this. Do you know, I don't think she has fitted me well at all?'
'It seems to me quite perfect.'
'Hatty, dear, did you want me?'
This she said still standing, as if in haste to go.
'Oh, no. I thought you were going into the parlor, and I was about to
ask you to sit with me a little while. I have something to say to you
about Gus. I want you to talk to papa. You know papa will listen to
_you_. Tell him--never mind, dear, to-morrow will do as well--I hope you
will have a pleasant evening.'
'Thank you, dear. Good-by.'
She turned and opened the door.
By a sort of instinctive tenderness not denied to any human creature,
Belle paused and looked back, and, hesitating a moment, returned; going
to where her sister was reclining, she kissed her affectionately,
without speaking one word.
Harriet's eyes suffused; she was quite unused to such a demonstration.
'My darling sister,' she whispered.
Belle was already out of the room. She bounded down the staircase,
passed hastily through the hall, and was soon walking rapidly along the
street.
One hour from that time she was on her way to New Jersey.
A clergyman had been provided in that State to perform the marriage
ceremony.
When the six o'clock New York train for Philadelphia passed through
Newark, it received on board Mr. and Mrs. Filippo Barbone, who were just
starting on their wedding excursion.
It was the commencement of the honeymoon.
* * * * *
No wonder, the next day, that Belle is late. We who are in the secret
will not be astonished; neither does Mrs. Meeker think it at all strange
that Belle should not return in the morning after the excitement of a
grand evening display such as Mrs. Caruthers will be sure to have.
The day wears on. As the dinner hour approaches, Mrs. Meeker decides to
send the carriage for her.
The coachman soon drives up before Mrs. Caruthers's; and the footman,
descending, announces simply that he has called for Miss Belle. The
answer which is brought to him is, that Miss Belle is not in the house.
He returns and reports accordingly.
Although this little incident is very annoying to Mrs. Meeker, still she
has no other idea than that Belle has stopped to make some call or do
some shopping on her way home.
Had she considered a moment, she would have perceived how unreasonable
was such a supposition. But, as Mrs. Meeker could not have the slightest
suspicion of the truth, she was forced to imagine something.
In the midst of her perplexity, Hiram entered. He was so accustomed, and
especially of late, to his daughter's greeting at the door, that he
missed these affectionate tokens of her presence when he entered the
house.
'Where is Belle?' he said, as he came into the parlor.
'Belle has not returned yet from Mrs. Caruthers's. It is rather strange.
I have just sent the carriage for her. Wakeman brings back word that she
is not there.'
'Wakeman is an idiot!' exclaimed Hiram, with a degree of temper so
unusual, that Mrs. Meeker started--'an idiot! I dare say he did not make
his message intelligible.'
Now, 'Wakeman' was Mrs. Meeker's private servant--a family servant, she
was pleased to say; thereby meaning, not that he had been in the employ
of her father, honest Thorn the plumber, nor yet in the service of her
mother, the "poor relation," but that in fact he was her servant before
she was married, and had remained _par excellence_ her servant ever
since.
She therefore rose in arms at once, in vindication of her favorite, and
was about to work herself into one of her customary manifestations,
which Hiram was evidently in no state of mind to bear, when there was
suddenly a ring at the door. An instant's parley, and the servant
entered, bearing a note to Mr. Meeker.
The superscription was in Belle's handwriting.
A 'terrible sagacity' informed Hiram's heart of something dreadful about
to shock it. He tore open the envelope with fierceness, and read as
follows:
'DEAR PAPA: Don't be angry with me. I was married
yesterday to Filippo Barbone. I married him because I love him, and
could never love any one else. I knew you would not consent, but I
could not live without him. Forgive your little girl, dear papa,
and write me to come back to you with my dear Filippo. Oh, I know
you will like _him_. Send to me at the Gresham House, Philadelphia.
I shall be in agony till I hear from you. Love to dear mamma and
Harriet. If I only had your forgiveness, how happy I should be,
dear, dear papa!
'Your little Belle.'
[This letter, mainly the production of the Signor, was prepared and put
into the hands of his accomplice before the runaways set off, with
directions to watch for Hiram's entrance into his house, and deliver
immediately after.]
Never before did Hiram Meeker give way to such an exhibition of rage.
He glared fiercely about him, as if endeavoring to find some person on
whom to vent it.
There was no one but his wife, who stood directly before him, her angry
reply in favor of 'Wakeman' having been cut short by the entrance of the
servant with the note.
As Hiram's glance fell on her, a sudden suspicion seized him that she
was in some way privy to the affair. In an instant he had grasped her
arm, and, shaking her with all his might, he exclaimed:
'Wretch!--monster!--she-devil!--limb of Satan!'
The affair was seriously enough certainly, but it had a ludicrous
aspect. There was Arabella, without having the slightest idea of what
could cause such a violent outbreak, tossed about like a whirligig by
the usually calm, sedate, and self-possessed Hiram, who seemed suddenly
transported into a very demon.
Portions of her headdress began to come down. A pair of side curls
dropped--a first-rate shot, a sportsman would say--the effect of a
double shake and a sudden fetch-up. Next a profusion of hair from the
back of the head tumbled off. Teeth began to chatter, and various
portions of the structure in which she was encased, to give way.
All this time, Arabella was vainly endeavoring to give utterance to
various exclamations, but she could only gasp out some unintelligible
sound, while her eyes flashed fire and her cheeks burned with rage.
At last Hiram was exhausted, and with exhaustion came some little
thought of what he had been doing. He relinquished his hold of his wife,
picked up the note which he had dropped on the floor, put it into her
hands, and quit the room.
Hiram stood a moment in the hall, quite overcome by the revulsion that
succeeded the storm. Then he slowly mounted the stairs, and proceeded to
the room of his invalid child.
Harriet was so struck with the change in her father's countenance, that
she started up and exclaimed: 'Why, papa, what is the matter?'
'We are disgraced, my child!' said Hiram, in a hollow voice.
'How? What do you mean?'
'Your sister has run away with a low, vile swindler. My curse rest on
her forever!'
'Oh, not so--say not so!' replied Harriet, imploringly.
'Tell me, my child,' said Hiram, mournfully, while he seated himself by
her side and took her hand--'tell your father truly, did you know
anything about this?'
'No, papa. I do not even now know what you mean.'
Quite calmly Hiram told his daughter what had occurred. The travelling
dress, and Belle's last kiss, flashed on her mind. She repeated the
circumstance.
'And you know nothing of this Filippo Barbone?' said Hiram, forcing
himself with difficulty to pronounce the name.
'Nothing.'
'And your mother?' continued he, slowly, and in a tone which terrified
his child.
'Oh, I am sure she knew nothing about it, perfectly sure. I know she did
not wish Belle to go to Mrs. Caruthers's, because she could not go with
her; and even after Belle made the arrangement to stay all night, mamma
did not seem to be at all satisfied.'
Hiram was convinced, and the want of an object on which to wreak his
anger now served to exhaust it.
He leaned his face upon the side of his daughter's couch, and groaned.
Harriet put her hand gently upon his cheek. 'Papa,' she said, timidly,
'may I tell you what to do?'
Hiram raised his head. His face was very haggard, but he made no reply.
'Send for Belle to come back, and her husband too, and let us make them
happy,' said Harriet, almost abruptly.
'Never! My curse is on her! She is no longer my child--I disinherit
her!'
'Give her my portion, then--I shall not require it.'
Hiram started--a new idea had struck him. It was as if somehow he had
received a new accession of wealth by the surrender of Harriet's share.
A strange confusion of ideas, certainly; but the thought grew on him, as
we shall see by-and-by. Now, however, it gave place to the dominant
feeling.
Harriet, encouraged by his silence, broke in again: 'Won't you, papa?'
she whispered.
Hiram turned and looked at her angrily, but was compelled to lower his
countenance before his daughter's earnest, truthful, heavenly gaze.
He started up and went back to the parlor. He began to feel ashamed of
his violence toward his wife, and was anxious to dispose of the matter
as soon as possible.
To return to Arabella.
As soon as her husband had left her, she proceeded to read the note he
placed in her hands. That accomplished, she took the precaution to ring
the bell several times with great energy; and, having disposed of the
little articles which lay scattered on the floor, she threw herself on
the sofa, in violent hysterics.
When Hiram entered, these were at once renewed. Her husband understood
this phase of her constitution; and, directing the maid servants to
remove their mistress to her own room, he ordered dinner to be served.
I will do him the justice to say he ate little or nothing.
Two or three times the waiter observed that his master put his hand to
his head and then to his heart, as if endeavoring to tranquillize
himself.
After dinner, he mounted his horse, and rode several miles. When he
returned, one would not have known, to look at him, that anything
unusual had happened.
* * * * *
During the nest week Hiram was occupied in making his will. A new and
important idea seemed to have possession of him.
* * * * *
From that period he never permitted his daughter's name to be mentioned,
and would receive no communication from her.
Arabella's hysterics continued, at intervals for several days. Her
husband, in view of his violence toward her, was very considerate, but
the affair was never alluded to by either.
Arabella, perhaps, felt that she deserved some punishment for tolerating
the 'Count in disguise;' and Hiram never got over a certain feeling of
mortification when he thought of the scene in the parlor.
Here we leave all the parties for the present.
THE MECHANICAL TENDENCY IN MODERN SOCIETY.
There is no greater absurdity than the attempt to demonstrate anything
from historical evidence, or to frame from it an argument whose cogency
shall even approach to a demonstration. Granting the hypothesis that
like causes will always produce like effects, we find ourselves unable
to show that the cases are exactly, or even proximately, the same.
History is not a record of every circumstance, but of those only that
were deemed worthy of perpetuation; and even were all circumstances
known to us, we must receive them as seen through the opinions of the
historian, while the present is as it seems to us; so two cases, while
appearing to agree, may in reality be very unlike. And, in addition to
this, so many are the events that precede any given effect, that it is
impossible to determine which is the cause, and which only the
circumstance attending that cause. So, while our literature is flooded,
with so many 'demonstrations from history,' many a philosopher finds
himself in the situation of the sage who demonstrated that 'Tenterton
steeple' was the 'cause of Godwin Sands.'
From this it has arisen that practical men have come to despise not only
all reasonings from history, but social science altogether, deeming it a
pleasant tissue of thoughts that may amuse a leisure hour, but nothing
of practical importance. On most subjects this is unfortunately true,
but sometimes in the state of a nation there are indications, repeated
again and again, showing the existence of a cause which, unless
counteracted, will eventually produce certain disastrous effects. Though
seen and pointed out by many wise men, still the existence of the cause
cannot be logically proved, nor the time of its effect mathematically
calculated. Such were the terrible premonitions which foretold the
French Revolution, and such are the signs showing over and over again
the existence of a mechanical tendency in our own social state. Very
seldom, almost never, do we have mathematical certainty as the ground of
our action, but the greater part of our lives is directed by moral or
probable evidence; and though most of our reasoning on this subject must
be derived from history or social science, we deem it worthy of the same
treatment that is given, to other questions. If the probabilities be not
as great, let it pass with other schemes and theories, but if those
probabilities be great enough to make it of practical and vital
importance, then let it become an element in every man's consideration.
There is a great deal of possible confusion in this word _mechanical_.
To most readers it would bring the idea of invention, the increasing
number of cotton mills and iron founderies, of steamships and power
presses, and such progress would be considered in the highest degree
praiseworthy; but the sense in which we use the word is somewhat more
general. A machine differs from a man in this respect: the former acts
without intelligence and without volition, in accordance with certain
laws impressed upon it from without; while a man chooses his own end by
his own volition, in the light of his own intelligence, and in the same
manner decides upon the means for obtaining that end. A mechanical
condition would therefore be one wherein an individual acts without
intelligence or volition, according to certain laws or habits coming to
him from others; a mechanical state of society, one wherein the
government moves on according to the will of one or more men, without
thought, love, or even attention from the mass of the people, content
only with their acquiescence. On the other hand, a rational condition,
both of society and of the individual, would be that in which the
thought, will, and love of the individual gave strength and life to
every act.
The question whether our social state is becoming mechanical, losing
personal thought and volition, is of great and vital importance, on
account of the terrible major premise that lies beneath. For prove but
once that this is the fact, and there comes upon us the great general
truth: 'The nation that is growing mechanical is hastening toward its
destruction.' The proof of this assertion is written everywhere in
history. The limits of this article render it impossible that a tithe of
the proof should be brought forward in its support, and therefore only
the most general truths can be laid down for the reader to verify from
his own historical knowledge. No fact is more indisputable than that
every preceding civilization has had its birth, progress, and death,
differing only in length from the life of a mortal man; and in the state
of each one, in proportion as this mechanical tendency increased, in
that proportion their national life departed.
The first period in every nation has been that called the heroic or
golden age. Whether this was, in reality, or only in poetic dream, the
best age, depends upon another question: What is the true aim in the
life of men and nations? If it be but to live comfortably and without
confusion, then the architecture and laws of later times are a proof of
progress; but if the great end be to develop the whole man, and live a
brave, thoughtful, truthful life, with or without tumult, then is the
first the golden age; for, entering on a new mode of life, undirected by
habits of thought or action from his ancestors, each man makes use of
his personal thought in finding out, and volition in choosing, his
method of life. No history has recorded the internal state of such a
nation, but only the fact that it has always been successful in
preserving its liberties against invasion.
The next is the age of leaders, when individual thought has so far
departed that they begin to look to others not yet as governors, but
directors. This, to a superficial view the noblest age, marks the
beginning of a decline. Its great power of invasion, as under Pericles
or Cæsar, comes from the fact that, while strength enough is left to
carry out the details, there is not enough of independence in thought to
mar the unity in the plan of its leader. Its brilliant literature
springs from division of labor; life has become so complex that each man
cannot comprehend it all--so one takes the department of thought,
another of action. The man of thought tries to bring back that courage
and virtue which he sees are departing, by singing beautiful songs in
their praise; while the man of action, feeling their waning power in
himself, makes up, by repeating these praises, the lack of a heroic
life.
The next is the mechanical age of society, which life has so outgrown
the mind that the man cannot attend to both his own affairs and the
state, which latter, therefore, he gladly yields to others. This is the
age of standing armies, hired to protect a people too careless to
protect themselves. This is the age of tyrants, as the lesser Cæsars or
Philip of Macedon. This is the age which ushers in the last period of
the nation, a mechanical state of the individual, when thought has so
departed that the man is not able to attend even to his own life, and,
like a passive machine, the state is impelled and directed in even the
least things by one tyranny from without. It is hardly necessary to add
that Alexander in Greece, Elagabalus in Rome, Louis XVI in France, were
followed by a destruction as certain as the fact that God meant the
earth to be inhabited by men and not machines.
Having shown the grave consequence that lies beneath it, we come now to
the all-important consideration, whether our own social state has this
mechanical tendency. The preceding sketch not only shows the truth which
we have deduced from it, that this tendency is a prelude to a nation's
death, but it also points out another, namely, that civilization
contains within itself certain causes which finally work its
destruction. We may, by a diligent study, find out these causes, such
as increase of outward knowledge, division of labor, a complexity of
outward relations, and a consequent hurried life that leaves no time for
thought; but a careful analysis of all these reduces them to one great
cause--an undue attention to physical prosperity. This cause existed
among ancient nations in sufficient force to bring about their
destruction, but it possessed not a tithe of the universality and
strength which it holds among the modern, for, whereas it was once
individual, it is now national, pervading every part of the social
state.
Before the world was thickly settled and the nations established, it was
held that the power of a nation consisted in the extent of its
dominions, so that while the individual strove for wealth in
agriculture, manufactures, or commerce, the state despised such low
pursuits, and turned its attention to increase of territory. But when,
after the fall of Rome, it was found that the earth was too fully
peopled and national power too well established for such means of
strength, attention was turned to another source of power in the
cultivation of a people's own resources and increase of its wealth.
Wealth is obtained by the addition of mental power to physical products,
increasing their value for supplying the wants of man. So that attention
to physical comfort and prosperity which was despised by the brave
nations of antiquity, is now the leading object of government: treaties
are made, wars are declared, rebellions break out, not on account of
national glory or right, but in consideration of cotton manufacture,
facilities of commerce, or freedom of trade. Nations as well as men are
absorbed in the same great pursuit, adding mind to matter for production
of wealth.
From this undue attention to physical prosperity spring certain
subordinate causes, which, upon examination, are found to be the exact
_differentia_ of modern times. The characteristics which distinguish our
age from all others are the very ones which have been found so
destructive to preexistent civilizations. The first characteristic of
this kind is the abundance of outward knowledge. In the pursuit of
wealth, the ocean, the desert, the isles of the sea have been ransacked
for commodities to gratify the desires of man, and, in order that nature
may be pliable for the same purpose in the hands of the artisan, its
laws have been studied with the greatest success; the bowels of the
earth, the depths of the air, the prison of the arctic seas, have all
been subject to the same strict scrutiny in this design.
The knowledge thus obtained comes pouring in by lightning and steam, and
is scattered over the world within the reach of the poorest by means of
the printing press. The man of to-day is a citizen of the world; he
seems to be ubiquitous. It is as though he had a thousand eyes and ears,
and, alas! only one mind. Thought has two conditions: first, knowledge,
as food and stimulus; second, time for distributing and digesting that
knowledge. But the first is so superabundantly fufilled that it entirely
obliterates the second. Knowledge comes pouring in from all quarters so
rapidly, that the man can hardly receive, much less arrange and think
out, the enormous mass of facts daily accumulating upon him. The boasted
age of printing presses and newspapers, of penny magazines, and penny
cyclopædias, is not necessarily the age of thought. There is a world-
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will be the result; but to the working-man division of labor is mental
death. The ancients might call these masses the _ignobile vulgus_, the
French nobles might sneer at them as _sans-culottes_, we may deride them
as the 'common herd,' all attempting to ignore their existence in
history or politics; but it will be all in vain--for in the end it is
the people that rule, be the government of the surface what it may.
Either they will raise their rulers by their intelligent freedom, or
drag the brilliant crowd down with them to destruction in spite of
theory or law. Not only in mad sedition and revolution, but always, the
masses govern.
The next great characteristic of the age is the increased complexity of
outward relations, while the inner mental power does not increase in the
same ratio. The former causes had a mechanical tendency in that they
lessened the mental strength, for all volition must have its foundation
in thought; but this has the same tendency, inasmuch as it increases the
objects of thought beyond the power of the mind to satisfy the demand.
If any intelligent man should stop in the midst of his life, and
consider the relations by which he is surrounded, and for the satisfying
of which he is responsible, he will shrink amazed from their enormous
complexity: demands from the state for support and thoughtful fidelity,
demands from his fellow men for love and charity, children demanding
education and training, his own nature demanding cultivation and
development, and, last of all, or rather first of all, his God demanding
thoughtful love and service. When he proceeds to consider how he may
best satisfy all these, there pours in upon him knowledge unbounded,
schemes, theories, and methods innumerable, so that he retreats at last
in despair and returns to his business--so he calls it, as though to
make money were all that a man was sent into the world for, as though
his children, his country, his fellow man, were not all his business.
The outer world seems to have risen to overwhelm him, and the reason of
it lies in this same great cause of undue attention to outward
prosperity.
In the pursuit of wealth, men have aggregated themselves into towns and
cities, whose area is measured by square miles, and their population by
hundreds of thousands or millions; the mind meanwhile, instead of
increasing in proportion to the demands thus made upon it, has rather
diminished in power. Added to this, each man finds his own private
affairs in the same state. The social barrier of birth is either gone or
fast departing, and each man recognizes wealth as the only way to power;
but the concentrated attention of men and nations in this direction has
so complicated its pursuit that he must give his whole mind and heart to
this alone, if he would hope to succeed in it, or even comprehend it.
While these two worlds, the objective and the thinking subjective, have
thus grown so enormously out of proportion, the world has found a remedy
again in division of labor. The different relations, which are the
unalienable obligations of every man, have been parcelled out among all,
and each takes but one as his vocation, leaving all the rest to the
vicarious performance of others. Politicians care for the state,
teachers for the children, charitable societies for each man's neighbor,
and preachers fulfil his duty to God.
The first mistake in the world's action is this. In this partition,
thoughts and actions have become separated, the world is filled and the
individual confounded by new religions, methods of education, theories
of government, propounded by those _par excellence_ called the thinking
men, while the men who work have no time for thought. Wisdom is theory
proved by experience, but here, alas! the reasoning man and the
practical man are separated, so that we are farther than ever from the
living truth.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore,
And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.'
Behind this first mistake, that one man can do the thinking for another,
the great error in the world's reasoning on this subject is this, that
one man can perform another's duties at all. The duty is his, the
responsibility is his, and none can perform the one or assume the other.
Granting that he may supply the thought or mechanical; the dynamical,
the love and soul power which would make that logic effectual, can come
only from each individual himself.
The duty which each man owes to his children is education and training.
Schools and teachers may supply schemes of education, improved methods
of study, and instil some facts or even ideas into the mind; but that
which vivifies the intellect and brings out every power in its fullest
development is the motive of love; and it was meant that the filial
affection of the child toward its parent should be the life of its
opening mind. The mere logic of religion, Sunday schools and teachers,
may supply one day out of seven; but to animate that logic and make it a
practical thing, a faith instead of a belief, it must be made concrete
and living in the loving life of home. In this case no one does the duty
or assumes the responsibility of the parent.
Our duty to our fellow men is not charity as we use the word--a bill
dropped into the contribution box, or a subscription to a charitable
society; but [Greek: charis] in the old meaning of love and help.
Poverty springs from two causes--improvidence, a lack of the
_savoir-faire_ in the affairs of life, or overwhelming circumstances,
which have broken the spirit of the man and made him sit down
discouraged and despairing. In either case, money is no remedy. If the
man be improvident, it only helps the evil for a moment, and the want
soon returns: what the man needs is instruction and care from those
better versed in the art of living. And in the second case, to give
money is no avail, but rather an evil; for instead of thus recognizing
his degradation, the man needs encouragement, the enthusiasm of a strong
and successful heart, giving life and light to him who thus sits in
darkness. This demands the time and careful thought of every man, or the
duty is left undone. Charitable institutions are well enough: the only
error is in supposing that they can assume the responsibility of the
individual. 'This ye ought to have done, and not to have left the other
undone.'
Our country cannot be left to politicians, for its first great demand is
the careful thought of every man in the direction of its affairs; and
this, no single man or class of men can supply. The action of Government
should be conditioned by the needs of the people, and these can be known
only by the people themselves. It is for every man, therefore, to keep
an earnest and heedful eye to his own needs and the wants of those about
him, if the _vox populi_ would be _vox Dei_, the utterance of God's
truth; otherwise the opinion of the people will be the voice of
demagogues, which is as far as possible from the voice of God. Another
need is that of continual watchfulness, lest the country be defrauded,
or its rulers become corrupt. No class of men can be appointed as
watchmen, lest they also go in the same way: but it is the unalienable
duty of the whole people. When the emergency of defence arises, no man
can really perform his duty by the payment of money or the providing of
a substitute; for that which makes a country strong is not armies or
cannon, but life. The Moors held Grenada, in the midst of Spain, for
years, the Swiss have remained amid the storms of Europe for centuries,
a Rome of huts went out to conquer the world, while a Rome of palaces is
doomed to invasion and death. Every nation has money enough, if it have
only patriotism and its attendant courage. Even if war has become
mechanical and men fight at a distance, so that the courage of a hand to
hand conflict is of no avail, it finally comes to the same result; a
nation needs not cannon or armies, but men whose hands are strong and
whose minds are quick because of the love in their hearts. No man
performs his duty unless he sends a substitute of equal bravery and
patriotism to that which he should himself possess, and then he must do
the substitute's duty by going in his place. Politicians and hired
soldiery can neither govern nor protect a country; it needs the people
themselves as individuals.
In religion, no man pretends to say that a class of men can perform the
duty which each man owes to God, and the person who should say such a
thing would be considered in jest or partially deranged. Yet it is so
tacitly held, and practically believed. As the man sits in his cushioned
seat on the Lord's day, and looks up at the stately edifice which he has
helped to build, and hears the eloquent words of the preacher whom he in
part pays, he has a comfortable feeling that his work is done. To be
sure, no man can love God without knowing Him, and none can know Him
well without a careful and intelligent study of His works in creation
and revelation; but the man himself has no time for this, he has
something else to do, and if he but hire another to dig out these
truths, and present them to him, as it were ready made, of a Sunday, he
considers that it is enough. The preacher performs the thinking and the
architect the acting of man's duty to God. So the world goes on;
religion is merely logical, mechanical, a kind of 'greatest amount of
happiness' affair, a lubricant to make the wheels of society move on
smoothly, instead of being from the soul, dynamical, giving love and
life to the world.
This mechanical tendency has also an element which makes it worse than
any corresponding state in former times, for these at least contained a
faith which was positive, while ours is utterly negative; theirs sprang
from want of mental power, ours from want of time. When in times past a
people felt the power of thought going from them, and became conscious
of their inability to solve the great riddle of life which was
perplexing them, they chose the best remedy for what was irremediable,
and turned to wiser men than they for direction and help. From thence
sprang faith, reverence, hero worship, which stands next in rank to
independent thought. But we, having no time to attend to these things,
have yet no faith in those to whom they are entrusted, and no hope of
their successful issue; we but shrug our shoulders at the thought, say,
'I cannot attend to it,' and let it go. So _laisser aller_ is the cry of
the age, a dead negation of thought and volition.
By proving the existence of the causes that produce it, we have shown
the presence of a mechanical tendency in our social state; the same
thing may be done in another way, by proving the existence of effects
that flow from it. The truest index of a people's condition is found in
the meaning which they attach to certain, words. A history of the word
_virtus_, manhood, is a history of the social condition of the Roman
people. If, then, we find that the conceptions which we attach to such
words as God, man, and society are mechanical, then society must have
such a tendency, for these words lie at the foundation of all
government, all social movements, and all individual actions.
First, the meaning of the word God. We, as a people, neither deny nor
pretend to deny, in words, the existence of a Being, infinite in power
and wisdom, who governs the universe according to his will; yet
practically we have ignored His existence, and deified the laws of
nature instead, given up the idea of a free volition, worshipping a
mechanical necessity of cause and effect. The cause of this dates back
to Bacon's 'Novum Organum,' the introduction of the Inductive
Philosophy. He laid down the principle that nature must be interrogated
if she would be understood, that from a careful study of the effects we
must deduce the cause, instead of presuming the cause, and explaining
the effects on this hypothesis.
This form of study and the study itself are well enough when confined to
their right proportion; but desire for wealth, in its endeavor to adapt
nature to the wants of man, has forced the study out of its proportion,
and deduced from it an untruth. In proving the being of a God from
nature alone, we get only the idea of power joined to a dead necessity
of laws; and it must be in the study of the human soul, with its
personality and volition, that we shall get the other ideas, which,
joined to that of power, prove to us the being of a personal God. Nature
has been studied and analyzed and searched with all the social and
individual power of the age, while the science of mind and soul has
stood still; and so it is that men no longer believe there is any God
but cause and effect; not the nation which is right is successful, but
'God is always on the side which has the most cannon;' not the just man,
but the shrewd man, will succeed; not God but rain and sunshine, will
bring forth the harvest.
Give us back the time when men fought hand to hand in ordeal of battle,
or bared their feet to walk over burning ploughshares in their firm
trust that God would defend the right; give them back with all their
superstitions and darkness, if with them we may receive again the lost
knowledge of a God who is 'Our Father,' a God who loves and protects His
children. If there is anywhere on the earth a soul that trusts and
prays, then must the world be wrong in its belief. A law is a rule of
conduct, a law of nature is a rule of God's conduct, and though we have
abstracted the personality and freedom, they are none the less there.
There is also a mitigated form of this atheism as follows: many believe
in a personal God, yet conceive Him to be fettered by his own laws; as
if He had made the machine of the universe, wound it up, and could now
only stand helplessly aside to see it go. Prayer is of no avail to such
a God; thus the first need of the soul is left unsatisfied, and man
stands in the universe alone. Herein is their error: because He has
always acted in this manner, they reason that He always will, and then
go farther and think He always must; not seeing how He stands behind and
moves the law. When the hammer in the pianoforte rises, the wire will
sound; but there is one who sits unseen at the key board and controls
the wires of the hammer. When the lightning bolt falls, the tree is
shattered; but God holds the lightning in His hands.
Succeeding a mechanical idea of God, we have a similar idea of man. The
fundamental question of human nature is that of free will or necessity.
The history of philosophy is but a history of the conflict of these two
ideas: in the life of the individual also, the same great question
arises, whether he can be what he will, or will be what he must. From
this come all those articles on 'Nature and Circumstances,' 'Genius and
Labor,' with which college magazines are filled--endeavors of the young
mind to solve this most vital problem. Modern society has declared
itself on the side of necessity: while acknowledging man preeminently
free in his relations to others, it yet considers him as the bondslave
of motives. When God is the mere bondsman of necessity, and his religion
only the means of the greatest amount of happiness, surely his creature
must be in the same slavery. There are three great motives that sway
men--love for themselves, love to others, and love to God. The first of
these is measurable, the others immeasurable. In the first, given a
greater means of happiness, ten thousand dollars instead of nine
thousand, and the action follows in that direction as a matter of
necessity. But love of children, patriotism, benevolence, love of God
rise above this logical and mechanical, to the region of free and
incalculable volition.
Society, ignoring any such thing as soul, has declared that only the
measurable and necessary remains in man. Thence has arisen the science
of averages, pretending to foretell with mathematical certainty what a
man must do under given circumstances. Thence also has arisen this
maxim, so often quoted as final in all such questions, 'Every man has
his price.' Perhaps there is some ground too for this opinion. We have
before shown how, by division of labor, affection and volition have been
abstracted from life, while only a formal performance of duties by
others remains, and it would be strange if, under such _régime_, these
parts of the human nature should not become shrunken. But the soul is
not wholly gone yet; the world is mistaken--a little is left which
cannot be measured by dollars and cents, enough of benevolence yet to
make tolerable, enough of faith and love in the hearts of a few holy men
to keep the world from corruption.
Society was called by the Great Master a brotherhood. Even in heathen
times men were held by ties of kindred and country; now they acknowledge
practically no bond but that of interest. The word that is continually
in our mouths is 'framework of society,' 'social mechanism,' as though
it were impelled by a force from without, instead of being a living and
vital thing, moved and governed by its own vital forces. 'Law of
averages,' 'honesty is the best policy,' 'law of supply and demand,' are
supposed to be the forces that drive the affair, while any such power as
love or faith is ignored. But as with individuals, so with society. The
world is not so bad as it declares itself to be. Enough of patriotism is
still left to affect the gold market at times, enough of faith to keep
alive the effete aristocracy of Europe, enough of courage and honor to
rally around and bravely uphold a tattered flag in a battle for
constitutional freedom.
Although we have shown the existence of a mechanical tendency, yet our
labor is incomplete and practically useless unless we have shown how it
may be retarded or wholly counterbalanced. Some countervailing element
there must be, as is evident from the fact that, while the causes that
produce this tendency exist in modern society in tenfold greater power
than they ever had in ancient life, yet their operation has been, by
far, less rapid. Greece and Rome existed barely a thousand years, while
Anglo-Saxon civilization has already flourished much longer than that,
and as yet shows no signs of immediate decay.
The retarding cause is war. This does not strike at the root of the
matter and eradicate the love of physical prosperity, but only retards
the movement, by awaking men to see that their interests are inseparable
from those of the state. In the midst of war they see that one cannot
perform the duty of another, that hired soldiery cannot protect a state,
but their own hearts and arms must be enlisted unless they would be
buried in its ruins. It wakes up the dormant dynamical powers of courage
and heroism, and checks for a moment the selfish individualism that was
taking the life from the nation.
This only retards, it does not counterbalance or neutralize this
tendency. War was common to ancient and modern times alike; but that
cause which has so long held our society from ruin, and on which we base
our hope of an indestructible civilization, is the Christian religion.
This strikes at the root of the matter, being antagonistic not only to
the one simple cause, but to each of the subordinate causes that are
derived from it. Disproportionate attention to outward prosperity
springs from the idea that the happiness of men and nations is
inseparable from wealth. Directly opposed to this is the teaching of
religion, that happiness and strength come from performing truly the
duties of life. The first derivative cause which we found under this was
an accumulation of facts which overburden the mind and destroy its
power. Religion has little to do with outward facts, it taxes but little
the receptive power; it has to do rather with changing knowledge into
wisdom, applying the few vital facts to the life. This knowledge, we
have found, is objective, ignoring the [Greek: Gnothi seauton]; but
religious thought is intensely subjective; all other things it esteems
as of no avail, except those that relate to the outward condition and
tendency of the individual. Know thyself in relation to man and
God--this it continually demands. No man can be religious without
thought--continual, earnest thought, perceiving and defining duties;
therefore, wherever religion comes, even the mind that was sunken in
weakness is raised to renewed life. It is in this way that religion
counterbalances the influence of division of labor. While this takes
away the last incentive to thought on the part of the workman, degrading
him to a cunning but expensive machine, religion gives to him a new
spring of thought, vivifies his blunted mind by the power of transformed
affections, and makes him again a man.
The next derivative was lack of time, taking affection and volition from
life by dividing the duties of the individual among others. In immediate
antagonism to this, religion declares that the individual stands alone
in his duties and responsibilities before God. It recognizes no
institution of charity or social partition, but reiterates the command,
'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,' which includes everything.
Religion is opposed to this tendency, not only in its causes, but in its
effects. It brings back to us the idea of a personal God. It makes no
mention of nature, but simply says: 'The heavens declare the glory of
God,' 'He sendeth his rain on the just and the unjust.' No laws of
nature are spoken of as conditioning the action of God, but He sees the
sparrow's fall and provides for it; He hears and answers the prayer of
His children. It declares man to be more than a slave driven by motives,
with every action necessitated; it declares him a creature of free
volition, whose action can neither be calculated nor controlled. It
declares him possessed of powers of love and hate, which defy
mathematics; a being above all price, to whom honesty may be more than
'the best policy,' even the loving obedience of a child to a loving
Father. It declares society to be no mere framework tied together by
interest, but a brotherhood, like a living soul, having a common Father,
Saviour, and Home. In place of supply and demand, policy, interest, it
enunciates but one word, _love_.
It would be worse than useless if we had come so far in reasoning, and
obtained no practical result, which might be embodied in each man's
action. We have shown the existence of this tendency, and the powers
that are antagonistic to it. We cannot prove the result, for there is no
analogy in any preceding case which history affords; we cannot calculate
the strength of the opposing powers, for the issue lies in man's
volition, which is above mathematics. Yet practically, the result, as
far as regards us individually, is as valuable as though this were
possible. The result depends upon the world's decision, and each man is
responsible for his part of that decision, whether he will give his
heart to outward or inward prosperity. If he would have his children, to
unnumbered generations, rise up to bless the age in which he lived, and
him who lived therein; if he would do what he can to make his country's
civilization perpetual, and his own life truly happy, let him give up
all thought of _laissez faire_, 'it will last my time,' and begin to
lead an earnest, thoughtful life, sacrificing, if need be, something of
outward prosperity for the sake of fulfilling his duty in love and
action to his fellow men and to God.
AN INDIAN LOVE-SONG.
From his ambush in thy shadowy eyes young Love an arrow shot,
When beneath thy father's wigwam my youthful brain grew hot.
My heart is all a-quiver, but hear me while I sing;
Oh let me be thy beau, and I will never snap the string!
Then clad in noiseless moccasons the feet of the years shall fall;
For I will cherish thee, my love, till Time shall scalp us all.
Not with the glittering wampum have I come thy smiles to woo;
But I offer a cabin passage down life's river in my canoe;
And to beguile the voyage, if thou wilt come aboard,
Till sunset fire the waters the fire-water shall be poured.
While clad in noiseless moccasons the feet of the years shall fall;
And I will cherish thee, my love, till Time shall scalp us all.
Though my pipe of peace thy cruelty has shattered, stem and bowl,
A thousand thongs from thy dear hide are knotted round my soul.
From every murderous tomahawk my dove shall shielded be;
And if famine stare us in the face, I'll jerk my heart for thee.
So, clad in noiseless moccasons the feet of the years shall fall;
And I will cherish thee, my love, till Time shall scalp us all.
LITERARY NOTICES.
POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. By LIZZIE DOTEN. Boston:
Wm. White & Co., 'Banner of Light' Office, 158 Washington street, New
York: A. J. Davis, 274 Canal street.
This book was written from what is called 'the plane of spiritual
experience' of which we, being neither clairvoyant, clairaudient, nor
clairsentient, know positively nothing.' Miss Doten says: 'I claim both
a general and particular inspiration. I know that many sincere and
earnest souls will decide, in the integrity of their well-trained
intellects, that my claim to an intercourse with the invisible world is
an extravagant assumption, and has no foundation in truth. I cannot
conscientiously deny that in the mysteries of my inner life I have been
acted upon decidedly and directly by disembodied intelligences, and this
sometimes by an inspiration characteristic of the individual, or by a
psychological influence similar to that whereby mind acts upon mind in
the body. Many of the poems were given by direct spirit influence before
public audiences. For many of them I could not obtain the authorship,
but for such as I could the names are given.'
Strange statements truly, and yet we see no reason to doubt that Miss
Doten fully believes them to be simple records of facts known to
herself. We do not doubt her truth and good faith; but we confess
ourselves puzzled with the contradictory and inconsequent phenomena of
modern spiritualism. These developments never bring any accession to our
knowledge. In addition to the curious circumstances attending the
creation of these poems, many of them are very beautiful. In those
purporting to have been dictated by the spirit of Poe, the similarity of
style is quite remarkable. His alliterations, his frequent assonances
and rhymes, his chiming and ever-musical rhythms are wonderfully well
reproduced. But has he learned nothing new to tell us in those 'supernal
spheres'? Has he struck upon no new path in those weird regions, grasped
no fresh and startling thought to weave into the perfect music of his
lines? Nay, has he learned no new tunes, chimes, or rhythms 'where the
angels' feet make music over all the starry floor'? Could he not lift
for us the veil of Isis? The 'inspiration' from Shakspeare we regard as
a total failure. He who never repeated himself on earth, comes to us who
love him, after his long residence in heaven, and travesties his own
matchless dramas by weak quotations from them, as if he had been
cogitating only his own words through the new scenes of glory which had
opened before him. Our great Shakspeare has grown none in the passing
centuries--comes from the empyrean to gabble like a dotard of the
visions of his youth? We quote from the poem:
'Man learns in this Valhalla of his soul
To love, nor ever finds 'Love's Labor Lost.'
No two-faced Falstaff proffers double suit;
No Desdemona mourns Iago's art;
And every Romeo finds his Juliet.'
Trust us, fair and gifted Miss Doten, the spirit who sang this into your
soul was not Shakspeare, nor, unless we are much mistaken, even one of
his acquaintances.
FAITH AND FANCY. By JOHN SAVAGE, Author of 'Sibyl, a
Tragedy.' New York: James B. Kirker, 599 Broadway. Washington, D. C.:
Philip & Solomon.
We are glad to welcome this little volume of poems, some of which were
published anonymously, and received general praise from critics and
readers. They are vigorous, patriotic, rhythmical, and many of them are
marked with imaginative power. The 'Muster of the North' is a bold and
striking poem.
LIFE OF EDWARD LIVINGSTON. By CHARLES HAVENS HUNT.
With an Introduction by GEORGE BANCROFT. New York: D. Appleton
& Co., 443 and 445 Broadway.
Mr. Hunt has had great advantages in the preparation of this interesting
life, the only surviving members of Mr. Livingston's immediate family
having placed in his hands the whole mass of papers left by him at his
death. The work has a double interest. As a man, Mr. Livingston claims
our sympathies from his domestic virtues, his unvarying sweetness of
demeanor, his high ability and culture; as jurist and statesman, he is
closely related to the great epochs of our country. It fell to his lot,
after our acquisition of Louisiana, to adjust the old municipal laws
derived from France and Spain, to the new condition of the connection
with America. 'The code which he prepared at the instance of the State
of Louisiana,' says Mr. Bancroft, 'is in its simplicity, completeness,
and humanity at once an impersonation of the man and an exposition of
the American Constitution. If it has never been adopted as a whole, it
has proved an unfailing fountain of reforms, suggested by its
principles.' Mr. Livingston will live historically with such men as
Bacon, Montesquieu, Beccaria, and Bentham. His great work in its final
form was styled 'A System of Penal Law,' and was divided into 'A Code of
Crimes and Punishments,' 'A Code of Procedure,' 'A Code of Evidence,'
and 'A Code of Reform and Prison Discipline,' besides 'A Book of
Definitions.' This work is marked by great unity of design, by the
shunning of legal ambiguity, by the preventing rather than avenging
crime, and by bringing 'mercy to season justice.'
Space fails to follow Mr. Livingston through his congressional career,
his social and domestic life, his many and pleasant relations with
General Jackson, George M. Dallas, and most of the leading men of his
own times. We close this short notice with a quotation from Charles J.
Ingersoll: 'A purer, sweeter, or superior spirit seldom has departed. He
belonged to a peerage of which there are very few members.' We doubt not
this important record will obtain a wide recognition.
RAMBLES AMONG WORDS: their Poetry, History, and Wisdom. By
WILLIAM SWINTON. Revised Edition. New York: Dion Thomas, 142
Nassau street.
We are glad to welcome a new edition of this interesting book. Some
fifteen hundred illustrations of the Poetry, History, and Wisdom of
Words are presented to the reader in these pages, the greater number of
which have never before been etymologically analyzed. Mr. Swinton's
classifications are ingenious and suggestive. We have 'The Work of the
Senses, 'The Idealism of Words,' 'Fossil Poetries,' 'Fossil Histories,'
'Words of Abuse,' 'Growth of Words,' 'Verbal Ethics,' 'English in
America,' &c. Our author says: 'In the growth of Words all the
activities of the mind conspire. Language is the mirror of the living
inward consciousness. Language is concrete metaphysics. What rays does
it let in on the mind's subtile workings! There is more of what there is
of essential in metaphysics--more of the structural action of the human
mind, in Words, than in the concerted introspection of all the
psychologists.' And very skilfully has Mr. Swinton elicited the pregnant
meanings, the rich coloring, the 'concrete metaphysics,' the terrors,
delights, and wonders of words. Thoughtlessly enough we use them, but
they are coins of matchless worth, stamped with the history and marked
by the complicated powers of the being in the fire of whose soul they
are fused. Truthfulness of derivation, history, erudition, poetry, and
imagination meet in the charming pages before us, and enthral the
interest. We recommend the work not only to the student, but to all
readers of intelligence. Those already familiar with the subject will
find much rare and original matter; while those to whom it is new will
be astonished and startled with the unsuspected resources of the magical
regions through which 'Rambles among Words' will conduct them.
THE VAGABONDS. By J. T. TROWBRIDGE. With Illustrations
by F. O. C. Darley. New York: James G. Gregory, 46 Walker street.
Most of the readers of the _Atlantic Monthly_ will remember 'The
Vagabonds'--a poem remarkable for its truth and pathos. Darley has
caught the spirit of the 'two travellers'--indeed, the expression of
love and pity in the face of the dog is almost human. If we but read
this poem aright, a moral lies in every verse, teaching us compassion
for erring humanity, and mercy to the dumb creatures whom no sin or
degradation can alienate from their loyal affections. We thank Darley
for these exquisite and tender illustrations. They are worthy of his
fame. May they save our poor four-footed 'Rogers' many a kick, and
elicit a deeper sympathy for earth's unfortunate vagabonds!
EDITOR'S TABLE.
THE METROPOLITAN FAIR IN AID OF THE UNITED STATES SANITARY COMMISSION.
Believing it to be the duty of all public and private citizens, of all
journals and publications, to do whatsoever may be in their power to aid
the Metropolitan Fair in the effort to sustain the Sanitary Commission
in its important functions, we propose devoting to this purpose the
pages of our Editor's Table.
Fort Sumter fell on the 15th of April, 1861; on the 16th, the
President's proclamation calling out seventy-five thousand troops to
suppress an armed rebellion was issued. The effect was electric,
startling the loyal States into sudden activity. Men rushed to arms, and
women thronged together to devise means to alleviate suffering likely
soon to occur among the brave fellows speeding to face death in behalf
of their country. Surgeons and physicians were invited to meet with them
and instruct them how to make lint, prepare bandages, and educate
nurses.
About fifty ladies met during this juncture at the New York Infirmary
for women, April 25th, 1861, and a committee was appointed to organize
the benevolence of our women into a Central Association. A meeting was
called in the Cooper Institute, April 29th, attended by the largest
assembly of ladies ever drawn together before. It was presided over by
D. D. Field, Esq.[5] Rev. Dr. Bellows explained the object of the
meeting, and an eloquent address was made by Vice-President Hamlin. Dr.
Crawford, since Brigadier-General Crawford, who had been at Fort Sumter,
followed him. Drs. Wood, Mott, Stevens, etc., urged the merits of the
enterprise. Articles of organization were brought in, which, under the
name of the Women's Central Association of Relief, united the women of
New York in a society whose objects were to collect and distribute
authentic information with regard to the wants of the army; to establish
a recognized union with the New York Medical Association for the supply
of lint, bandages, etc.; to solicit the aid of all local associations;
and to take measures for training and securing a supply of nurses
against any possible demand of war. Dr. Mott was appointed President of
the Association; Rev. Dr. Bellows, Vice-President; G. F. Allen, Esq.,
Secretary; and Howard Potter, of Brown Brothers & Co., Treasurer.
Wise questions were put to the Chief Medical Purveyor of the U. S. Army
by the Association, to which kind and patient verbal answers were
returned. But it was evident that he regarded its solicitude as
exaggerated, and its proffer of aid as almost superfluous, believing the
Medical Department was fully aroused to its duties, and able to meet
them. There can be no doubt that this opinion was perfectly honest,
loyal, and faithful. But the women still believed that something might
be done for the objects of their solicitude. A committee, consisting of
Dr. W. H. Van Buren, Dr. Elisha Harris, Dr. Jacob Harsen, and Rev. Dr.
Bellows, etc., was appointed to visit Washington, and confer with the
medical authorities and the War Department in regard to the whole
subject of volunteer aid to the army. The committee came to the
conclusion, after some weeks' observation in and about Washington, that
neither the Government, the War Department, the Bureau, the army, nor
the people understood the gigantic nature of the business entered upon,
or were half prepared to meet the necessities which must in a few weeks
or months fall crushingly upon them. Such facts convinced them of the
necessity of a much more extensive system than had been contemplated at
the period of their organization, and thus the idea of a Sanitary
Commission, with an office and resident staff at Washington, presented
itself to them as alone able to meet the views of the Central
Association and the emergencies of the case. The ordering of a Sanitary
Commission _without rights or powers_ was finally granted, the _duties_
being enough to satisfy the most active. The order for the Commission
was issued by the Secretary of War June 9th, and approved by the
President June 13th, 1861. Women feel that our soldiers belong to the
_nation_, and thus local, and personal prejudices have yielded to the
truly _federal_ principles of the Sanitary Commission. They are
withdrawn from local politics, and have felt the assault upon the life
of the nation in its true national aspect. They have been the first to
appreciate and understand the all-embracing duties of the Sanitary
Commission. With Milwaukee, Chicago, Cleveland, Cincinnati, Louisville,
Pittsburg, Philadelphia, New York, Brooklyn, New Haven, Hartford,
Providence, Boston, Portland, and Concord for centres, there are at
least 15,000 Soldiers' Aid Societies, all under the control of women,
employed in supplying, through the Sanitary Commission, the wants of the
sick and wounded in the great Federal Army. The skill and business
energies of the women managing the vast operations of the chief centres
of supply unfold a new and glowing page in the history of the capacities
of the sex.
Why does the Sanitary Commission need so much money? Because the present
machinery of the Commission, supported by the Central Treasury cannot be
kept in motion without large expenditures; and large as the cost is, the
results for good are almost infinitely larger. The Sanitary distributes
the supplies sent, embraces Sanitary Inspection by medical men of
general hospitals, Sanitary Inspection by medical men of camps and field
hospitals, Special Relief with all its agencies and in all its various
departments, and the Hospital Directory with its register and its
500,000 names. Every dollar expended meets some real want, or helps to
save a life. Do the people wish this agency in behalf of the soldiers in
tent, hospital, and on the battle field--at the East--West--South, to
cease? or is it their will to continue it in its largeness of plan, its
scientific exactness, its ability to do all that the friends at home
would themselves desire to do for our soldiers? Our generous and loyal
people have given their entire confidence to the Sanitary
Commission--they have decided that it shall not die for lack of material
aid, estimating beyond all money and all price the lives and health of
the brave men now in the field for the defence of the country, and
grateful that they may repose in the certitude that every cent
contributed will be used in the surest manner to effect the results
required. To aid in sustaining this beneficent institution, New York is
about to inaugurate a great Metropolitan Fair. She asks in the sacred
name of freedom and humanity that her children come together with the
works of their hands, the results of their enterprise, the achievements
of their talents, the bloom of their genius, to do her honor in a Great
Exhibition of Art, Industry, Commerce, all devoted to the cause of human
progress. She begs of her children to do the work which is given them to
do, with a spirit of love and patriotism, remembering no private griefs,
no unworthy animosities; remembering only the bleeding sons of the
Republic, who threw themselves, in their youth and strength, into the
yawning gulf which opened before them, hoping that, propitiated by such
a sacrifice, it might close again--willing to die, or live maimed and
suffering, that a happy, peaceful and united people might again possess
the fairest land which God has given to mankind. Chicago, Cincinnati,
and Boston have already done nobly in this direction, and New York
should contribute in proportion to her means and advantages. The
Atlantic seaboard should make great exertions, seeing that more than one
half of the money received by the Commission has been contributed from
the shores of the Pacific--California having sent more than five hundred
and twenty-five thousand dollars.
The Managers of the Fair invite all Merchants, Manufacturers, and
Artisans to contribute of their wares to its stores, giving such goods
as they make or deal in--such goods as are made profitable to them by
the prosperity of the country which our soldiers are fighting to
maintain.
Painters and Sculptors, who have done so much for the honor of their
country, all who are connected with the Fine Arts, either as creators,
as dealers, or possessors of Art Treasures, are asked to send their
contributions for _exhibition_ or _sale_.
Farmers are invited to bring to the Fair gifts from their barns, stalls,
dairies, and poultry yards.
Publishers and Booksellers are confidently looked to for aid. A
_Second-hand Book Stall_ will be attached to this Department, to which
contributions are asked from the shelves of those who are cumbered with
duplicate copies, or who have books which they no longer use. Connected
with this Department will be a table for the exposition and sale of
valuable Autographs.
On the Musicians, Musical Instrument Makers, and Music Dealers, the
Managers confidently rely for a worthy representation of the beautiful
art of which they are ministers, by the giving of Musical Performances
and of instruments and music for sale.
The Managers and Artists of the various Theatres are invited to set
apart one evening during the Fair, the performances on which shall be
for the benefit of the fund.
It is hoped that the Public Schools and Public Institutions of a
benevolent character may contribute in some fitting manner to the Fair.
It is also hoped, from the well-known patriotism of the Fire Department
and the Police, that they will bear an honorable and conspicuous part in
this life-preserving and humane undertaking.
A Department of Arms and Trophies will be established, to which not only
arms and flags captured in the present war, but all articles of this
kind having a historic or intrinsic interest, will be acceptable
contributions, either for sale or exhibition.
An Old Curiosity Shop will afford all who have interesting relics of the
past in their possession an opportunity to enable others to share the
pleasure of examining them. Valuable contributions have been already
received in this department. Let it be clearly stated whether articles
of this kind are for sale or only for exhibition.
A Newspaper will be published daily, which, in addition to the latest
telegraphic news, will contain short and piquant articles upon the
incidents of the day, and especially of the Fair.
A Post Office will also be established.
A Restaurant will be under the charge of an accomplished public caterer.
It is intended that, so far as practicable, each city in the State
desiring that its contributions shall be kept together, shall have a
separate space set apart for them, and that each of these cities shall
be represented in the General Committee of Management.
A certain number of each Executive Committee will be at its Office--the
Ladies at No. 2 Great Jones street, the Gentlemen at No. 842
Broadway--every day, from 10 A. M. to 4 P. M.
Contributions are to be sent to the Receiving Depot, No. 2 Great Jones
street, where they will be credited to their givers, and their receipt
acknowledged by the proper committee.
It is particularly requested that each contribution be plainly marked
with the name of the contributor, for exposition during the Fair, and
that each article be accompanied by a memorandum of its value.
REGULATIONS.
1. Every application by note for contributions shall be upon paper
bearing the symbol of the Fair, and signed in writing by a member of the
Executive Committee; and every member of a special committee shall be
provided with a similar certificate of authority.
2. It is earnestly requested that all contributions in money be sent to
the Treasurer, to whose order all checks should be made payable.
3. At the Fair, every article shall be sold at its current value, when
that is determinable.
4. In all raffles, the number of tickets sold shall not exceed the
original valuation of the articles raffled for.
5. No person shall be importuned to buy articles or tickets for raffles.
6. In every department, a cashier shall be appointed to receive money
and make change.
7. No punch shall be sold.
OFFICERS.
Ladies' Association.
MRS. HAMILTON FISH, _President_.
" DAVID LANE, _Vice-President_.
" A. V. STOUT, _Second Vice-President_.
" ELLEN R. STRONG, _Treasurer_.
" JOHN SHERWOOD, _Secretary_.
MISS CATHERINE NASH, _Assistant Secretary_.
_Executive Committee._
Office, No. 2 Great Jones street.
Mrs. Marshall O. Roberts.
" Francis Lieber.
" Wm. H. Van Buren.
" Richard M. Hunt.
" Jonathan Sturges.
" A. Schermerhorn.
" David D. Field.
" S. G. Courtney.
" Daniel Le Roy.
" Benjamin Nathan.
" John Jacob Astor.
" Gurdon Buck.
" Ogden Hoffman.
" Josiah S. Colgate.
" Frank E. Howe.
" John A. Dix.
" A. Hamilton, jr.
" Thomas F. Meagher.
" Philip Hamilton.
" Frederick Billings.
" Morris Ketchum.
Miss Catherine Hone.
Gentlemen's Association.
MAJOR-GEN. JOHN A. DIX, _President_.
MR. JONATHAN STURGES, _First Vice-President_.
" JAMES T. BRADY, _Second Vice-President_.
" WILSON G. HUNT, _Chairman of Gen. Com_.
" RICHARD GRANT WHITE, _Secretary_.
_Executive Committee._
Office, No. 842 Broadway.
Mr. George Griswold Gray, _Chairman_.
" R. G. White, _Secretary_.
Mr. Marshall O. Roberts.
" Arthur Leary.
" James L. Kennedy.
" Charles H. Marshall.
" A. Van Rensselaer.
" Nathan'l P. Hosack.
" Peter Marie.
" Abr'm M. Cozzens.
" L. R. Jerome.
" Wm. T. Blodgett.
" Fletcher Harper.
" Lloyd Aspinwall.
" Wm. Scharfenberg.
" Levi P. Morton.
" Chris'n E. Detmold.
" Henry Chauncey.
" Charles A. Bristed.
" Thomas Acton.
" C. Godfrey Gunther.
" Henry S. Fearing.
" A. R. Macdonough.
" Francis A. Stout.
" James A. Roosevelt.
" Le Grand B. Cannon.
" Edward Delano.
" John F. Kensett.
" James F. Ruggles.
" Moses Lazarus.
" Joseph G. Heywood.
" Philetus T. Holt.
" Uriel A. Murdock.
" Elliott F. Shepard.
" Edward Matthews.
" S. B. Janes.
We have deemed it best thus to gather together from all available
sources all the information we could glean from the circulars, etc., of
the Metropolitan Fair, with the names of its officers, and the addresses
of the Executive Committees, that we might give all possible information
to our widely spread circle of readers. We give, from the excellent
article in the January number of the _North American Review_ already
quoted, a vivid description of scenes occurring in the great Northwest,
upon a similar occasion.
'In Chicago, for instance, the Branch has lately held a fair of
colossal proportions, to which the whole Northwest was invited to
send supplies, and to come in mass! On the 26th of October last,
when it opened, a procession of three miles in length, composed of
wagon loads of supplies, and of people in various ways interested,
paraded through the streets of Chicago; the stores being closed,
and the day given up to patriotic sympathies. For fourteen days the
fair lasted, and every day brought reënforcements of supplies, and
of people and purchasers. The country people, from hundreds of
miles about, sent in upon the railroads all the various products of
their farms, mills, and hands. Those who had nothing else sent the
poultry from their barnyards; the ox or bull or calf from the
stall; the title deed of a few acres of land; so many bushels of
grain, or potatoes, or onions. Loads of hay, even, were sent in
from ten or a dozen miles out, and sold at once in the hay market.
On the roads entering the city were seen rickety and lumbering
wagons, made of poles, loaded with a mixed freight,--a few
cabbages, a bundle of socks, a coop of tame ducks, a few barrels of
turnips, a pot of butter, and a bag of beans,--with the proud and
humane farmer driving the team, his wife behind in charge of the
baby, while two or three little children contended with the boxes
and barrels and bundles for room to sit or lie. Such were the
evidences of devotion and self-sacrificing zeal the Northwestern
farmers gave, as, in their long trains of wagons, they trundled
into Chicago, from twenty and thirty miles' distance, and unloaded
their contents at the doors of the Northwestern Fair, for the
benefit of the United States Sanitary Commission. The mechanics and
artisans of the towns and cities were not behind the farmers. Each
manufacturer sent his best piano, plough, threshing machine, or
sewing machine. Every form of agricultural implement, and every
product of mechanical skill, was represented. From the watchmaker's
jewelry to horse shoes and harness; from lace, cloth, cotton, and
linen, to iron and steel; from wooden and waxen and earthen ware to
butter and cheese, bacon and beef;--nothing came amiss, and nothing
failed to come, and the ordering of all this was in the hands of
women. They fed in the restaurant, under 'the Fair,' at fifty cents
a meal, 1,500 mouths a day, for a fortnight, from food furnished,
cooked, and served by the women of Chicago; and so orderly and
convenient, so practical and wise were the arrangements, that, day
by day, they had just what they had ordered and what they counted
on, always enough, and never too much. They divided the houses of
the town, and levied on No. 16 A street, for five turkeys, on
Monday; No. 37 B street, for 12 apple pies, on Tuesday; No. 49 C
street, for forty pounds of roast beef, on Wednesday; No. 23 D
street was to furnish so much pepper on Thursday; No. 33 E street,
so much salt on Friday. In short, every preparation was made in
advance, at the least inconvenience possible to the people, to
distribute in the most equal manner the welcome burden of feeding
the visitors at the fair, at the expense of the good people of
Chicago, but for the pecuniary benefit of the Sanitary Commission.
Hundreds of lovely young girls, in simple uniforms, took their
places as waiters behind the vast array of tables, and everybody
was as well served as at a first-class hotel, at a less expense to
himself, and with a great profit to the fair. Fifty thousand
dollars, it is said, will be the least net return of this gigantic
fair to the treasury of the Branch at Chicago.'
We cannot believe that there is the least necessity to urge upon our
generous people the absolute _duty_ of contributing largely to the
support of the Sanitary Commission, the strong and helpful angel of our
bloody battle fields. Our sick soldiers, burning with fever, shivering
with the debility of disease, with pallid faces and emaciated frames,
ask from us that its healing dews shall still be suffered to descend
upon them. Stricken down upon the battle field in the full bloom of
manly vigor, lying festering in their ghastly wounds among the dead and
dying, exposed to the dews of night, the broiling fervors of the midday
sun, we may hear them implore us that the ambulances of the Sanitary may
be allowed to aid in bringing them shelter, aid, strength to live, or
patience to die. Bleeding stumps of manly limbs are piteously held forth
to us that surgeons may be supplied for amputation, that balls buried in
the flesh or lodged in the bone may be extracted by hands skilful in the
use of knife and probe. Let these brave fellows feel that the arms of
the men and women of this country are clasped around them in sustaining
love. Ah, have we not all dear ones in this grand army? answer me, fair
and true daughters of our soil.
'The subtile sense, the faith intense, of woman's heart and brain,
Give her a prophet's power to see, to suffer, and maintain.'
Let us not stop to measure what is prudent for us to give, but let us
give freely, promptly, as we would do if we saw before us the suffering
victims of this holy war! Every dollar may save a life, every penny a
pang. O God! shall we stop to count pence with our stricken brave
_dying_ and bleeding before us? Every gift, however small, from a loyal
soul, will be greeted, every good giver welcomed. Let us listen to the
most sublime of all music, the great heart-throbs of a free people
chiming together in the vigorous rhythm of the Divine charities. Let our
nation comprehend from within the march of its vast destinies, its true
and ever-growing force in the love and self-sacrifice of its children.
Let the benediction of our American Evangel, 'All men are born free and
equal,' sound on until all voices swell in the grand diapason of
everywhere harmonious and united Humanity, for this is the strength of
man and the true meaning of our Union.
'From the vine-land, from the Rhine-land,
From the Shannon, from the Scheldt,
From the ancient homes of genius,
From the sainted home of Celt,
From Italy, from Hungary,
All as brothers join and come,
To the sinew-bearing bugle
And the foot-propelling drum:
Too glad beneath the starry flag to die, and keep secure
The Liberty they dreamed of by the Danube, Elbe, and Suir.'
Let us at least prove ourselves worthy of the century in which we live,
and show the astonished world how a free people honors, guards, cares
for, and shelters its suffering heroes.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Or Black Head. There is great confusion in names in this part of the
range.
[2] Dr. Neumann has removed from Munich to Berlin within a year past.
[3] Now over 3,000 miles.
[4] Now 2,907 miles.
[5] For most of these facts, see Article on the Sanitary Commission in
the _North American Review_ for January, 1864.