How true to reality are the gay words of Tom Moore--

"In wedlock a species of lottery lies,

Where in blanks and in prizes we deal."

No. CXVII.

The Archbishop of Cambray, the amiable Fenelon, has remarked, that God

shows us the high value he sets upon time, by giving us, in absolute

possession, one instant only, leaving us, in utter uncertainty, if we

shall ever have another. And yet, so little are we disturbed, by this

truly momentous consideration, that, long before the breath is fairly out

of the old year's body, we are found busily occupied, in gathering

chaplets, for the brows of the new one.

The early Christians were opposed to New Year's Gifts, as fixedly, as some

of the latter Christians are opposed to the song and the dance. But I am

inclined to believe the rising generation will take steps, very like their

fathers--that light fantastic tongues and toes, will continue to wag, to

all eternity--and that the unmusical and rheumatic will deplore over such

heterodox and ungodly proceedings, till the world shall be no more.

The New Year's gifts of the Romans were, originally, exceedingly simple.

Sprigs of vervain, gathered in a wood, consecrated to Strenia, the goddess

of Strength, somehow or other, came into favor, and were accounted of good

omen. A custom arose of sending these sprigs about the neighborhood, as

tokens of friendship, on New Year's day; and these trifling remembrancers

obtained the name of _Strenae_. These sprigs of vervain, ere long, wore out

their welcome; and were followed, in after years, by presents of dates,

figs and honey. Clients thus complimented their patrons; and, before many

anniversaries, the coin of Rome began to mingle with the donative,

whatever it might be; and, very soon, the advantage of the receiver came

less to be consulted, than the reputation of him, who gave.

When I contemplate those ample storehouses of all, that is gorgeous and

glittering--those receptacles of useless finery, which nobody actually

wants--and, at the same time, reflect upon all that I know, and much that

I conjecture, of the necessities and distresses of mankind, I am not

certain, that it may not be wise to resume the earlier custom of the

Romans, and embody, in certain cases, our annual tokens of friendship and

good will, in such useful materials, as _figs, dates and honey_.

Are there not individuals, who, upon the reception of some gaudy and

expensive bagatelle, are ready to exclaim, with the cock in AEsop--"_I had

rather have one grain of dear, delicious, barley, than all the jewels

under the sun!_"

I am not so utopian, as to anticipate any immediate or very extensive

reformation, in this practice, which, excellent as it is, when restrained

within reasonable bounds, is, unquestionably, under certain circumstances,

productive of evil. It is not to be expected, that expensive _bijoux_, for

new year's gifts, will speedily give place to _sugar and molasses_. But

there are cases, not a few, when, upon a new year's day, the wealthy

giver, without paining the recipient, may convert the annual compliment,

into something better than a worthless toy--a fantastical token of

ostentatious remembrance.

The Christian world has settled down, at last, upon the first of January,

as New Year's day. It was not always thus; and, even now, no little

difficulty occurs, in our attempts to refer historical events to

particular years. We can do no better, perhaps, than to devote this number

to a brief exposition of this difficulty.

Every schoolboy knows, that Romulus divided the year into ten months. The

first was March, and, from March to December, they have retained their

original names, for some six and twenty centuries, excepting the fifth and

sixth month, which, from _Quintilis_ and _Sextilis_, have been changed, in

honor of _Julius_ and _Augustus_.

Numa added two months, _Januarius_ and _Februarius_. Numa's year consisted

therefore of twelve months, according to the moon's course. But Numa's

lunar year did not agree with the course of the sun, and he therefore

introduced, every other year, an _intercalary_ month, between the 23d and

24th of February. The length of this month was decided by the priests, who

lengthened or shortened the year, to suit their convenience. Cicero, in a

letter to Atticus, x. 17, writes, in strong disfavor, of Numa's calendar.

Julius Caesar, with the aid of Sosigenes of Alexandria, adjusted this

astronomical account. To bring matters into order, Suetonius, in his life

of Julius Caesar, 40, says, they were constrained to make one final year of

fifteen months, to close the confusion.

Hence arose the Julian or Solar year, the year of the Christian world. The

"_alteration of the style_" is only an amendment of the Julian calendar,

in one particular, by Pope Gregory, in 1582. In 325, A. D., the vernal

equinox occurred March 21, and in 1582 it occurred March 10. He called the

astronomers to council, and, by their advice, obliterated ten days from

the current year, between October 4, and 15.

These ten days make the difference, from 1582 to February 29, 1700. From

March 1, 1700, to February 29, 1800, eleven days were required, and from

March 1, 1800, to February 29, 1900, twelve days. In all Roman Catholic

countries, this alteration of the style was instantly adopted; but not in

Great Britain, till 1752. The Greeks and Russians have never adopted the

Gregorian alteration of the style.

The commencement of the year has been assigned to very different periods.

In some of the Italian states, as recently as 1745, the year has been

taken to commence, at the Annunciation, March 25. Writers of the sixth

century have, occasionally, like the Romans, considered March 1 as New

Year's day. Charles IX. by a special edict, in 1563, decreed, that the

year should be considered to commence, on the first of January. In

Germany, about the eleventh century, the year commenced at Christmas. Such

was the practice, in modern Rome, and other Italian cities, as late as the

fifteenth century.

Gervais of Canterbury, who lived early in the thirteenth century, states,

that all writers of his country considered Christmas the true beginning of

the year. In Great Britain, from the twelfth century, till the alteration

of the style in 1752, the Annunciation, or March 25, was commonly

considered the first day of the year. After this, the year was taken to

commence, on the first of January.

The Chaldaean and Egyptian years commenced with the Autumnal equinox. The

Japanese and the Chinese date their year from the new moon, nearest the

Winter solstice.

As Diemschid, king of Persia, entered Persepolis, the sun happened to be

entering into Aries. In commemoration of this coincidence, he decreed,

that the year should change front, and commence, forever more, in the

Vernal, instead of the Autumnal equinox. The Swedish year, of old, began,

most happily, at the Winter solstice, or at the time of the sun's

reaeppearance in the horizon, after the usual _quarantine_, or absence of

forty days. The Turks and Arabs date the advent of their year, upon the

sixteenth of July.

In our own country, the year, in former times, commenced in March. In the

Mass. Hist. Coll., vol. xvii. p. 136, may be found certain votes, passed

in Boston, Nov. 30, 1635, among which is the following--"_that all such as

have allotments for habitations allotted unto them, shall build thereon,

before the first of the first month next, called March_." In Johnson's

Wonder-working Providence, ch. 27, the writer says of the Boston pilgrims,

in 1633: "Thus this poor people, having now tasted liberally of the

salvation of the Lord, &c. &c., set apart the 16 day of October, which

they call the _eighth Moneth_, not out of any pevish humor of singularity,

as some are ready to censor them with, but of purpose to prevent the

Heathenish and Popish observation of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares, that they

may be forgotten, among the people of the Lord." If October was their

_eighth_ month, March was necessarily their _first_. Whatever the

practice may have been, in this respect, it was by no means universal, in

New England, during a considerable period, before the alteration of the

style in 1752.

A reference to the record will show, that, until 1752, the old style was

adhered to, by the courts, in this country, and the 25th of March was

considered to be New Year's day. But it was not so with the public

journals. Thus the Boston News Letter, the Boston Gazette, the New England

Courant and other journals, existing here, before the adoption of the new

style, in Great Britain, in 1752, considered the year, as commencing on

the first of January.

Private individuals very frequently did the same thing. At this moment, a

letter from Peter Faneuil is lying at my elbow, addressed to Messrs. Lane

and Smethurst of London, bearing date January 1, 1739, at the close of

which he wishes his correspondents _a happy new year_, showing, that the

first of January, for ordinary purposes, and in common parlance, was

accounted New Year's day.

The little people, of both sexes, would, doubtless, have voted for the

adoption of the old style and of the new; in other words, for having two

new year's days, in every year. They would have been as much delighted

with the conceit, as was Rousseau, with the pleasant fancy of St. Pierre,

who wrote, from the Isle of France, to a friend in Paris, that he had

enjoyed two summers in one year; the perusal of which letter induced

Rousseau, to seek the acquaintance of the author of Paul and Virginia.

No. CXVIII.

Dion remarks, while speaking of Trajan--_he that lies in a golden urn,

eminently above the earth, is not likely to rest in peace_. The same thing

may be affirmed of him, who has raised himself, eminently above his peers,

wherever he may lie. During the Roman Catholic rage for relics, the graves

were ransacked, and numberless sinners, to supply the demand, were dug up

for saints. Sooner or later, the finger of curiosity, under some plausible

pretext, will lift the coffin lid; or the foot of political sacrilege will

trample upon the ashes of him, whom a former generation had delighted to

honor; or the motiveless spirit of mischief will violate the sanctity of

the tomb.

When Charles I. was buried, in the same vault with Henry VIII. and Anne

Boleyn, a soldier, as Wood relates, in his Athenae Oxonienses, vol. iv. p.

39, Lond. 1820, attempted to steal a royal bone, which was afterwards

found upon his person, and, which he said, upon examination, he had

designed, for a handle to his knife.

John Milton died, according to the respective accounts of Mitford,

Johnson, and Hayley, on the 8th--about the 10th--or on the 15th of

November, 1674. He was buried, in the chancel of St. Giles, Cripplegate.

In the London Monthly Magazine, for August, 1833, there appeared an

extract from the diary of General Murray, giving a particular account of

the desecration of Milton's remains. The account was given to General

Murray, at a dinner party, Aug. 23, 1790, by Mr. Thornton, who received

it, from an eye-witness of the transaction. The church of St. Giles

requiring repairs, the occasion was thought a proper one, to place a

monument, over the body of Milton. Messieurs Strong, Cole, and others, of

that parish, sought for, and discovered, the leaden coffin, the outer

coffin of wood having mouldered away. Having settled the question of

identity, these persons replaced the coffin, and ordered the workmen to

fill up the grave. The execution of this order was postponed, for several

days. In the interim, some of the parish, whose names are given, by

General Murray, having dined together, and become partially drunk,

resolved to examine the body; and proceeded, with lights, to the church.

With a mallet and chisel, they cut open the coffin, rolled back the lead,

and gazed upon the bones of John Milton! General Murray's diary shall

relate the residue of a proceeding, which might call the rouge to the

cheeks of a Vandal:--

"The hair was in an astonishingly perfect state; its color a light brown,

its length six inches and a half, and, although somewhat clotted, it

appeared, after having been well washed, as strong as the hair of a living

being. Fountain said he was determined to have two of his teeth; but as

they resisted the pressure of his fingers, he struck the jaw, with a

paving stone, and several teeth then fell out. There were only five in the

upper jaw, and these were taken by Fountain; the four, that were in the

lower jaw, were seized upon, by Taylor, Hawkesworth, and the sexton's man.

The hair, which had been carefully combed, and tied together, before the

interment, was forcibly pulled off the skull, by Taylor and another; but

Ellis, the player, who had now joined the party, told the former, that

being a good hair-worker, if he would let him have it, he would pay a

guinea-bowl of punch. Ellis, therefore, became possessed of all the hair:

he likewise took a part of the shroud, and a bit of the skin of the skull:

indeed, he was only prevented from carrying off the head, by the sextons,

Hoppy and Grant, who said, that they intended to exhibit the remains,

which was afterwards done, each person paying sixpence to view the body.

These fellows, I am told, gained near one hundred pounds, by the

exhibition. Laming put one of the leg-bones in his pocket."

After reading this short, shameless record, one half inclines to

cremation; even if, instead of being enshrined or inurned, our dust be

given, in fee simple, to the winds. How forcibly the words of Sir Thomas

ring in our ears--"_To be gnawed out of our graves, to have our skulls

made drinking bowls, and our bones turned into pipes, to delight and sport

our enemies, are tragical abominations, escaped in burning burials_." The

account from General Murray's diary, and at greater length, may be found

also, in the appendix to Mitford's life of Milton, in the octavo edition

of his poetical works, Cambridge, Mass., 1839.

Great indignation has lately been excited, in England, against a vampyre

of a fellow, named Blore, who is said to have destroyed one half of

Dryden's monument, and defaced Ben Jonson's, and Cowley's, in Westminster

Abbey. Inquiring after motive, in such cases, is much like raking the

ashes, after a conflagration, to find the originating spark. There is a

motive, doubtless, in some by-corner of the brain; whether a man burns the

temple, at Ephesus; or spears the elephant of Judas Maccabaeus, with

certain death to himself; or destroys the Barberrini vase. The motive was

avowed, on the trial, in a similar case, by a young man, who, some years

ago, shot a menagerie elephant, while passing through a village, in the

State of Maine, to be a wish "_to see how a fellow would feel, who killed

an elephant_."

Dryden's, and Cowley's monuments are on the left of Ben Jonson's, and

before you, as you approach the Poet's Corner. Dryden's monument is a

lofty affair, with an arch and a bust, and is thus inscribed: "J. Dryden,

born 1632, died May 1, 1700.--John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, erected

this monument, 1720." It is not commonly known, that the original bust was

changed, by the Duchess, for one of very superior workmanship, which, of

course, is the one mutilated by Blore. The monument, erected by George,

Duke of Buckingham, to Cowley, is a pedestal, bearing an urn, decorated

with laurel, and with a pompous and unmeaning epitaph, in Latin

hexameters. If Blore understood the language, perhaps he considered these

words, upon the tablet, a challenge--

--------Quis temerarius ausit--

Sacrilega turbare manu venerabile bustum.

The monument of Ben Jonson is an elegant tablet, with a festoon of masks,

and the inscription--_Oh rare Ben Jonson!_ It stands before you, when

Dryden's and Cowley's are upon your left, and is next to that of Samuel

Butler. In the north aisle of the nave, there is a stone, about eighteen

inches square, bearing the same inscription. In the "History of

Westminster Abbey," 4to ed Lond. 1812, vol. ii. p. 95, note, it is stated,

that "Dart says one Young, afterwards a Knight in the time of Charles II.,

of Great Milton, in Oxfordshire, placed a stone over the grave of Ben

Jonson, which cost eighteen pence, with the above inscription:" but it is

not stated, that the stone, now there, is the same.

Dr. Johnson, in his Life of Dryden, recites what he terms "_a wild story,

relating to some vexatious events, that happened, at his funeral_."

Dryden's widow, and his son, Charles, had accepted the offer of Lord

Halifax, to pay the expenses of the funeral, and five hundred pounds, for

a monument. The company came--the corpse was placed in a velvet

hearse--eighteen coaches were in attendance, filled with mourners.--As

they were about to move, the young Lord Jeffries, son of the Chancellor,

with a band of rakes, coming by, and learning that the funeral was

Dryden's, said the ornament of the nation should not so be buried, and

proceeded, accompanied by his associates, in a body, to wait upon the

widow, and beg her to permit him to bear the expense of the interment, and

to pay one thousand pounds, for a monument, in the Abbey.

The gentlemen in the coaches, being ignorant of the liberal offers of the

Dean and Lord Halifax, readily descended from their carriages, and

attended Lord Jeffries and his party to the bedside of the lady, who was

sick, where he repeated his offers; and, upon her positive refusal, got

upon his knees, as did the whole party; and he there swore that he would

not rise, till his entreaty was granted. At length, affecting to

understand some word of the lady's, as giving permission, he rushed out,

followed by the rest, proclaiming her consent, and ordered the corpse to

be left at Russell's, an undertaker's, in Cheapside, till he gave orders

for its embalmment. During this proceeding, the Abbey having been lighted

up, Lord Halifax and the Dean, who was also Bishop of Rochester, to use

the tea-table phrase, waited and waited, and waited. The ground was

opened, the choir attending, and an anthem set. When Mr. Dryden went, next

day, to offer excuses, neither Lord Halifax, nor the Dean, would accept of

any apology. After waiting three days for orders, the undertaker called on

Lord Jeffries, who said he knew nothing about it, and that it was only a

tipsy frolic, and that the undertaker might do what he pleased with the

corpse. The undertaker threatened to set the corpse before the widow's

door. She begged a day's respite. Mr. Charles Dryden wrote to Lord

Jeffries, who replied, that he knew nothing about it. He then addressed

the Dean and Lord Halifax, who refused to have anything to do with it. He

then challenged Lord Jeffries, who refused to fight. He went himself, and

was refused admittance. He then resolved to horsewhip his Lordship; upon

notice of which design, the latter left town. In the midst of this misery,

Dr. Garth sent for the body, to be brought to the college of physicians;

proposed a subscription; and set a noble example. The body was finally

buried, about three weeks after the decease, and Dr. Garth pronounced a

fine Latin oration. At the close of the narrative, which, as repeated by

Dr. Johnson, covers more than three octavo pages of Murphy's edition, the

Doctor remarks, that he once intended to omit it entirely, and that he had

met with no confirmation, but in a letter of Farquhar's.

The tale is simply alluded to, by Gorton, and told, at some length, by

Chalmers. Both, however, consider it a fabrication, by Mrs. Thomas, the

authoress, whom Dryden styled _Corinna_, and whom Pope lampooned, in his

comatose and vicious performance, the Dunciad, probably because she

provoked his wrath, by publishing his letters to H. Cromwell.

In the earlier editions of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, the tale is told,

as sober matter of fact: in the last, Napier's, of 1842, it is wholly

omitted. Malone, in his Life of Dryden, page 347, ascribes the whole to

Mrs. Thomas.

Dryden died, in 1700. The first four volumes of Johnson's Lives of the

Poets, containing Dryden's, went to the press in 1779. Considering the

nature of this outrage; the eminence, not only of the dead, but of some of

the living, whose names are involved; its alleged publicity; and its

occurrence in the very city, where all the parties flourished; it is

remarkable, that this "_wild story_," as Johnson fitly calls it, should

have obtained any credit, and survived for nine-and-seventy years.

No. CXIX.

Deeply to be commiserated are all those, who have not read, from beginning

to end, the writings of the immortal Oliver--a repast, _ab ovo usque ad

mala_, to be swallowed, and inwardly digested, while our intellectual

stomachs are young and vigorous, and to be regurgitated, and chewed over,

a thousand times, when the almond tree begins to flourish, and even the

grasshopper becomes a burden. Who does not remember his story of the

Chinese matron--the widow with the great fan!

The original of this pleasant tale is not generally known. The brief

legend, related by Goldsmith, is an imperfect epitome of an interesting

story, illustrating the power of magic, among the followers of Laou-keun,

the founder of a religious sect, in China, resembling that of Epicurus.

The original tale was translated from the Chinese, by Pere Dentrecolles,

who was at the head of the French missionaries, in China, and died at

Pekin, in 1741. The following liberal version, from the French, which may,

perhaps, be better called a paraphrase, will not fail, I think, to

interest the reader.

Wealth, and all the blessings it can procure, for man, are brief and

visionary. Honors, glory, fame are gaudy clouds, that flit by, and are

gone. The ties of blood are easily broken; affection is a dream. The most

deadly hate may occupy the heart, which held the warmest love. A yoke is

not worth wearing, though wrought of gold. Chains are burdensome, though

adorned with jewels. Let us purge our minds; calm our passions; curb our

wishes; and set not our hearts upon a vain world. Let our highest aim be

liberty--pleasure.

Chuang-tsze took unto himself a wife, whose youth and beauty seduced him

from the busy world. He retired, among the delightful scenery of Soong,

his native province, and gave himself up, entirely, to the delights of

philosophy and love. A sovereign, who had become acquainted with the fame

of Chuang-tsze, for superior wisdom, invited him to become his wuzzeer, or

prime minister. Chuang-tsze declined, in the language of parable--"A

heifer," said he, "pampered for the sacrifice, and decked with ornaments,

marched triumphantly along, looking, as she passed, with mingled pride and

contempt, upon some humble oxen, that were yoked to the plough. She

proudly entered the temple--but when she beheld the knife, and

comprehended that she was a victim, how gladly would she have exchanged

conditions with the humblest of those, upon whom she had so lately looked

down with pity and contempt."

Chuang-tsze walked by the skirts of the mountain, absorbed in thought--he

suddenly came among many tombs--the city of the dead. "Here then," he

exclaimed, "all are upon a level--caste is unknown--the philosopher and

the fool sleep, side by side. This is eternity! From the sepulchre there

is no return!"

He strolled among the tombs; and, erelong, perceived a grave, that had

been recently made. The mound of moistened clay was not yet thoroughly

dry. By the side of that grave sat a young woman, clad in the deepest

mourning. With a white fan, of large proportions, she was engaged, in

fanning the earth, which covered this newly made grave. Chuang-tsze was

amazed; and, drawing near, respectfully inquired, who was the occupant of

that grave, and why this mourning lady was so strangely employed. Tears

dropped from her eyes, as she uttered a few inaudible words, without

rising, or ceasing to fan the grave. The curiosity of Chuang-tsze was

greatly excited--he ascribed her manner, not to fear, but to some inward

sense of shame--and earnestly besought her to explain her motives, for an

act, so perfectly novel and mysterious.

After a little embarrassment, she replied, as follows: "Sir, you behold a

lone woman--death has deprived me of my beloved husband--this grave

contains his precious remains. Our love was very great for each other. In

the hour of death, his agony, at the thought of parting from me, was

immoderate. These were his dying words--'My beloved, should you ever think

of a second marriage, it is my dying request, that you remain a widow, at

least till my grave is thoroughly dry; then you have my permission to

marry whomsoever you will.' And now, as the earth, which is quite damp

still, will take a long time to dry, I thought I would fan it a little, to

dissipate the moisture."

Chuang-tsze made great efforts, to suppress a strong disposition to laugh

outright, in the woman's face. "She is in a feverish haste," thought he.

"What a hypocrite, to talk of their mutual affection! If such be love,

what a time there would have been, had they hated each other."

"Madam," said the philosopher, "you are desirous, that this grave should

dry, as soon as possible; but, with your feeble strength, it will require

a long time, to accomplish it; let me assist you." She expressed her deep

sense of the obligation, and rising, with a profound courtesy, handed the

philosopher a spare fan, which she had brought with her. Chuang-tsze, who

possessed the power of magic, struck the ground with the fan repeatedly;

and it soon became perfectly dry. The widow appeared greatly surprised,

and delighted, and presented the philosopher with the fan, and a silver

bodkin, which she drew from her tresses. He accepted the fan only; and the

lady retired, highly gratified, with the speedy accomplishment of her

object.

Chuang-tsze remained, for a brief space, absorbed in thought; and, at

length, returned slowly homeward, meditating, by the way, upon this

extraordinary adventure. He sat down in his apartment, and, for some time,

gazed, in silence, upon the fan. At length, he exclaimed--"Who, after

having witnessed this occurrence, can hesitate to draw the inference, that

marriage is one of the modes, by which the doctrine of the metempsychosis

is carried out. People, who have hated each other heartily, in some prior

condition of being, are made man and wife, for the purpose of mutual

vexation--that is it, undoubtedly."

The wife of the philosopher had approached him, unobserved; and, hearing

his last words, and noticing the fan, which he was still earnestly gazing

upon--"Pray, be so good, as to inform me," said she, "what is the meaning

of all this; and where, I should like to know, did you obtain that fine

fan, which appears to interest you so much?" Chuang-tsze, very faithfully,

narrated to his wife the story of the young widow, and all the

circumstances, which had taken place, at the tomb.

As soon as the philosopher had finished the narrative, his wife, her

countenance inflamed with the severest indignation, broke forth, with a

torrent of contemptuous expressions, and unmeasured abuse, against the

abominable, young widow. She considered her a scandal to her sex. "Aye,"

she exclaimed, "this vile widow must be a perfect monster, devoid of every

particle of feeling."

"Alas," said the philosopher, "while the husband is in the flesh, there is

no wife, that is not ready to flatter and caress him--but no sooner is the

breath out of his body, than she seizes her fan, and forthwith proceeds to

dry up his grave."

This greatly excited the ire of his wife--"How dare you talk in this

outrageous manner," said she, "of the whole sex? You confound the virtuous

with such vile wretches, as this unprincipled widow, who deserves to be

annihilated. Are you not ashamed of yourself, to talk in this cruel way? I

should think you might be restrained, by the dread of future punishment."

"Why give way," said Chuang-tsze, "to all this passionate outcry? Be

candid--you are young, and extremely beautiful--should I die, this day--do

you pretend, that, with your attractions, you would suffer much time to be

lost, before you accepted the services of another husband?"

"Good God," cried the lady, "how you talk! Who ever heard of a truly

faithful wuzzeer, that, after the death of his master, served another

prince? A widow _indeed_ never accepts a second partner. Did you ever know

a case, in which such a wife as I have been--a woman of my qualities and

station, after having lost her tenderly beloved, forsook his memory, and

gave herself to the embraces of a second husband! Such an act, in my

opinion, would be infamous. Should you be taken from me, today, be

assured, that I should follow you, with my imperishable love, and die, at

last, your disconsolate widow."

"It is easy to promise, but not always so easy to perform," replied the

philosopher. At this speech, the lady was exasperated--"I would have you

to know," said she, "that women are to be found, without much inquiry,

quite as noble-hearted and constant, as _you_ have ever been. What a

pattern of constancy you have been! Dear me! Only think of it! When your

first wife died, you soon repaired your loss: and, becoming weary of your

second, you obtained a divorce from her, and then married me! What a

constant creature you have been! No wonder you think so lightly of women!"

Saying this, she snatched the fan out of her husband's hand, and tore it

into innumerable pieces; by which act she appeared to have obtained very

considerable relief; and, in a somewhat gentler tone, she told her

husband, that he was in excellent health, and likely to live, for very

many years; and that she could not, for the soul of her, see what could

induce him to torment her to death, by talking in this manner.

"Compose yourself, my dear," said Chuang-tsze, "I confess that your

indignation delights me. I rejoice to see you exhibit so much feeling and

fire, upon such a theme." The wife of the philosopher recovered her

composure; and their conversation turned upon ordinary affairs.

Before many days, Chuang-tsze became suddenly and severely attacked, by

some unaccountable disease. The symptoms

No. CXX.

Let us continue the story of Chuang-tsze, the great master of magic.

Before many days, as I have stated, Chuang-tsze became suddenly and

severely attacked, by some unaccountable disease. The symptoms were full

of evil. His devoted wife was ever near her sick husband, sobbing

bitterly, and bathing him in tears. "It is but too plain," said the

philosopher, "that I cannot survive--I am upon the bed of death--this very

night, perhaps--at farthest, tomorrow--we shall part forever--what a pity,

that you should have destroyed that fan--it would have answered so well,

for the purpose of drying the earth upon my tomb!"

"For heaven's sake," exclaimed the weeping wife, "do not, weak and feeble

as you are, harrass yourself, with these horrible fancies. You do me great

wrong. Our books I have carefully perused. I know my duties well. You have

received my troth--it shall never be another's. Can you doubt my

sincerity! Let me prove it, by dying first. I am ready." "Enough," said

the philosopher--"I now die in peace--I am satisfied of your constancy.

But the world is fading away--the cold hand of death is upon me." The head

of Chuang-tsze fell back--the breath had stopped--the pulse had ceased to

beat--he was already with the dead.

If the piercing cries of a despairing, shrieking widow could have raised

the dead, Chuang-tsze would have arisen, on the spot. She sprang upon the

corpse, and held it long, in her fond embrace. She then arrayed her person

in the deepest mourning, a robe of seamless white, and made the air

resound with her cries of anguish and despair. She abjured food; abstained

from slumber; and refused to be comforted.

Chuang-tsze had the wide-spread fame of an eminent sage--crowds gathered

to his obsequies. After their performance, and when the vast assemblage

had all, well nigh, departed--a youth of comely face, and elegantly

arrayed, was observed, lingering near the spot. He proclaimed himself to

be of most honorable descent, and that he had, long before, declared to

Chuang-tsze his design of becoming the pupil of that great philosopher.

"For that end," said he, "and that alone, I have come to this place--and

behold Chuang-tsze is no more. Great is my misfortune!"

This splendid youth cast off his colored garments, and assumed the robes

of lamentation--he bowed himself to the earth, before the coffin of the

defunct--four times, he touched the ground with his forehead; and, with an

utterance choked by sobs, he exclaimed--"Oh Chuang-tsze, learned and wise,

your ill-fated disciple cannot receive wisdom and knowledge from your

lips; but he will signify his reverence for your memory, by abiding here

an hundred days, to mourn, for one he so truly revered." He then again

bent his forehead, four times, to the earth, and moistened it with his

tears.

The youthful disciple, after a few days, desired permission to offer his

condolence to the widow, which she, at first declined: but, upon his

reference to the ancient rites, which allow a widow to receive the visits

of her late husband's friends, and especially of his disciples, she

finally consented. She moved with slow and solemn steps to the hall of

reception, where the young gentleman acquitted himself, with infinite

grace and propriety, and tendered the usual expressions of consolation.

The elegant address and fine person of this young disciple were not lost

upon the widow of Chuang-tsze. She was fascinated. A sentiment of

tenderness began to rise in her bosom, whose presence she had scarcely the

courage to recognize. She ventured, in a right melancholy way, to suggest

a hope, that it was not his purpose immediately to leave the valley of

Soong. "I have endured much in the loss of my great master," he replied.

"Precious forever be his memory. It will be grateful to my heart to seek

here a brief home, wherein I may pass those hundred days of mourning,

which our rites prescribe, and then to take part in the obsequies, which

will follow. I may also solace myself the while, by perusing the works of

my great master, of whose living instructions I am so unhappily deprived."

"We shall feel ourselves highly honored, by your presence, under our

roof," replied the lady; "it seems to me entirely proper, that you should

take up your abode here, rather than elsewhere." She immediately directed

some refreshments to be brought, and caused the works of Chuang-tsze to be

exhibited, on a large table, together with a copy of the learned

Taou-te-King, which had been a present to her late husband, from Laou-keun

himself.

The coffin of Chuang-tsze was deposited, in a large hall; and, on one

side, was a suite of apartments, opening into it, which was assigned to

the visitor. This devoted widow came, very frequently, to weep over the

remains of her honored husband; and failed not to say a civil word to the

youth, who, notified of her presence, by her audible sobs, never omitted

to come forth, and mingle his lamentations with hers. Mutual glances were

exchanged, upon such occasions. In short, each, already, was effectually

smitten with the other.

One day, the pretty, little widow sent privately for the old domestic, who

attended upon the young man, in the capacity of body servant, and

inquired, all in a seemingly casual way, if his master was married. "Not

yet"--he replied.--"He is very fastidious, I suppose"--said the lady, with

an inquiring look.--"It is even so, madam," replied the servant--"my

master is, indeed, not easily suited, in such a matter. His standard is

very high. I have heard him say, that he should, probably, never be

married, as he despaired of ever finding a female resembling yourself, in

every particular."--"Did he say so?" exclaimed the widow, as the warm

blood rushed into her cheeks.--"He certainly did," replied the other, "and

much more, which I do not feel at liberty to repeat."--"Dear me," said the

widow, "what a bewitching young man he is! go to him, and if he really

loves me, as you say, tell him he may open the subject, without fear, for

his passion is amply returned, by one, who is willing, if he so wishes, to

become his wife."

The young widow, from day to day, threw herself repeatedly, and as if by

accident, into the old servant's way; and began, at last, to feel

surprised, and somewhat nettled, that he brought her no message from his

master. At length, she became exceedingly impatient, and asked him

directly, if he had spoken to his master on the subject. "Yes, madam," the

old man replied.--"And pray," asked the widow, eagerly, "what said

he?"--"He said, madam, that such an union would place him upon the

pinnacle of human happiness; but that there was one fatal

objection."--"And do, for pity's sake, tell me," said she, hastily

interrupting the old man, "what that objection can be."--"He said,"

rejoined the old domestic, "that, being a disciple of your late husband,

such a marriage, he feared, would be considered scandalous."--"But," said

she, briskly, "there is just nothing in that. He was never a disciple of

Chuang-tsze--he only proposed to become one, which is an entirely

different thing. If any other frivolous objections arise, I beg you to

remove them; and you may count upon being handsomely rewarded."

Her anxiety caused her to become exceedingly restless. She made frequent

visits to the hall, and, when she approached the coffin, her sobs became

more audible than ever--but the young disciple came not forth, as usual.

Upon one occasion, after dark, as she was standing near the coffin, she

was startled, by an unusual noise. "Gracious Heaven!" she exclaimed, "can

it be so! Is the old philosopher coming back to life!" The cold sweat came

upon her lovely brow, as she started to procure a light. When she

returned, the mystery was readily explained. In front of the coffin there

was a table, designed as an altar, for the reception of such emblems and

presents, as were placed there by visitors. The old servant, had become

tipsy, and finding no more convenient place, in which to bestow himself,

while waiting his master's bidding, he had thrown himself, at full length,

upon this altar; and, in turning over, had occasioned the noise, which had

so much alarmed the young widow. Under other circumstances, the act would

have been accounted sacrilegious, and the fellow would have been subjected

to the bastinado. But, as matters stood, the widow passed it by, and even

suffered the sot to remain undisturbed.

On the morning of the following day, the widow encountered the old

domestic, who was passing her, with as much apparent indifference, as

though she had never entrusted him, with any important commission.

Surprised by his behavior, she called him to her private

apartment--"Well," said she, "have you executed the business, which I gave

you in charge?"--"Oh," said he, with an air of provoking indifference,

"that is all over, I believe."--"How so," inquired the widow--"did you

deliver my message correctly?"--"In your own words," he replied--"my

master would make any sacrifice to make you his wife; and is entirely

persuaded, by your arguments, to give up the objection he stated, in

regard to his being the disciple of Chuang-tsze; but there are three other

objections, which it will be impossible to overcome; and which his sense

of delicacy forbids him to exhibit before you."--"Poh, poh," said the

widow, "let me hear what they are, and we shall then see, whether they are

insurmountable or not."--"Well, madam," said the old man, "since you

command me, I will state them, as nearly as I can, in the words of my

young master. The first of these three objections is this----"

No. CXXI.

We were about to exhibit those three objections of the young disciple, to

his marriage, with the widow of Chuang-tsze, when we were summoned away,

by professional duties. Let us proceed--"The first of my master's

objections," said the old domestic, "is this--the coffin of Chuang-tsze is

still in the hall of ceremony. A sight, so sad and solemnizing, is

absolutely inconsistent with the nuptial celebration. The world would cry

out upon such inconsistency. In the second place, the fame of your late

husband was so great--his love for you so devoted--yours for him so ardent

and sincere, and founded, so obviously, upon his learning and wisdom--that

my master fears it will be impossible for him, to supply the place of so

good, and so great, a man; and that you will, ere long, despise him, for

his inferiority; and that your affections will be entirely and

unchangeably fixed, on the memory of the great defunct. The third and

last objection, named by my master, whose passion for you knows no

bounds, is serious indeed. Though of lofty pedigree, he is very poor. He

has neither money nor lands; and has not the means of purchasing those

marriage gifts, which custom requires him to offer."

"And are these the only objections?" said she. "There are no others," he

replied; "if it were not for these insurmountable objections, the

happiness of my master would be complete, and he would openly manifest

that passion, by which he is now secretly consumed."

"They are, by no means, insurmountable," said the young widow, with

animation. "As for the coffin, what is it? A mere shell, containing the

remains of poor Chuang-tsze. It is not absolutely necessary, that it

should remain in the hall, during these one hundred days. At the farther

end of my garden is an ancient smoke-house. It is quite dilapidated, and

no longer in use. Some of my people shall carry the coffin thither,

without farther delay. So you may inform your sweet, young master, that

his first objection will be instantly removed. And why should he distress

himself so needlessly, in regard to the second? Chuang-tsze certainly

passed, with the world, for a great philosopher, and a wonderful man. The

world sees from a distance. A sort of haze or mist impedes its vision.

Minute particulars escape its observation. That, which is smooth and fair,

seen from afar, may appear full of inequalities to one, who is near at

hand. God forbid, that I should undervalue the dead; but it is well known,

that Chuang-tsze repudiated his second wife, because she did not precisely

suit his humor, and then married me. His great reputation induced a

certain sovereign, to appoint him his chief minister. But the philosopher

was not deficient in shrewdness--he knew his incapacity, and resolved to

hide himself, in that solitude, where we have vegetated, so long."

"About a month ago, he encountered a young widow, who, with a large fan,

was endeavoring to dry up her husband's grave, because she could not marry

again, under the condition her husband had imposed upon her, until this

was done. Chuang-tsze, if you will believe it, made the acquaintance of

this shameless woman; and actually assisted her, in drying up her

husband's grave. She gave him a fan, as a keepsake; and he valued it

highly. I got possession of it however, and tore it to tatters. You see

how great my obligations are to this wonderful philosopher; and you may

judge of the real affection, which I must feel, for the memory of such a

man."

"The last objection," continued the widow, "is easily disposed of. I will

furnish your master with all the means he can desire. Chuang-tsze, to do

the man justice, has left me the absolute mistress of an ample

fortune--here, present these twenty taels to your master, from me, with

such expressions of devotion, as may befit the lips of one, whose heart is

all his own; and say to him, unless he himself is desirous of a longer

delay, that, as the whole of life is not too long for love, I shall be

happy, if he desires it, to become his bride, this very day."

Thus far the course of true love, in despite of the proverb, certainly ran

smooth.

"Here," said the young disciple, upon sight of the twenty taels, as he

turned them over, "is something substantial--run back immediately to the

widow, and tell her my passion will endure the curb no longer. I am

entirely at her disposal." The widow was quite beside herself, upon

receiving these tidings; and, casting off her garments of heaviness, she

began to embellish her fine person. The coffin of Chuang-tsze, by her

directions, was immediately transferred to the old smoke-house.

The hall was made ready, for the approaching nuptials. If murmurs

occasionally arose, among the old, faithful domestics of Chuang-tsze, the

widow's passion was more blind than moonless midnight, and deafer than the

time-stricken adder. A gorgeous feast was made ready. The shades of

evening drew on apace--the lanterns were lighted up, in all

directions--the nuptial torch cast forth its bright beams from an elevated

table.

At the appointed signal, the bridegroom entered, most skilfully and

splendidly arrayed,--so that his fine, manly figure was exhibited, to the

greatest advantage. The young widow soon appeared, her countenance the

very tabernacle of pleasure, and her bewitching form, adorned in the most

costly silks, and splendid embroidery. They placed themselves, side by

side, in front of the hymeneal taper, arrayed in pearls, and diamonds, and

tissue of gold. Those salutations, which custom demands, having been duly

performed, and the bride and bridegroom having wished each other eternal

felicity, in that manner, which the marriage rites prescribe, the

bridegroom holding the hand of the bride, they proceeded to the festal

hall; and having drunk from the goblet of mutual fidelity, they took their

places, at the banqueting board.

The repast went joyously forward--the darkest cloud--how suddenly will it

come over the smiling face of the bewitching moon! The festival had not

yet passed, when the bridegroom fell to the floor, in horrible

convulsions. With eyes turned upward, and mouth frightfully distorted, he

became an object of horror. The bride, whose passion for the young

disciple was ardent and sincere, screamed aloud. She threw herself, in all

her bridal array, upon the floor, by his side; clasped him in her arms;

covered him with kisses; and implored him, to say what she could do, to

afford him relief. Miserable youth! He was unable to reply, and seemed

about to expire.

The old domestic rushed into the apartment, upon hearing the noise, and

taking his master from the floor, proceeded to shake him with violence.

"My God," cried the lady, "has this ever happened before?" "Yes, Madam,"

he replied, "he has a return of it about once, in every year." "And, for

Heaven's sake, tell me what remedies do you employ?" she eagerly inquired.

"There is one sovereign remedy," the old man replied; "his physician

considers it a specific." "And what is it? tell me, in the name of

Confucius," she passionately exclaimed, for the convulsions were growing

more violent. "Nothing will restore him, but the brains of a man, recently

dead, taken in warm wine. His father, who was governor of a province, when

his son was last attacked, in this way, caused a criminal to be executed,

that his brains might be thus employed." "Good God!" exclaimed the

agonizing bride, for the convulsions, after a short remission, were

returning, with redoubled violence, and the bridegroom was foaming

terribly, at the mouth. "Tell me instantly, will the brains of a man who

died a natural death answer as well?" "Undoubtedly," the old servant

replied. "Well then," said she, in a tone somewhat subdued--"there is

Chuang-tsze in the smoke-house." "Ah, Madam," said the old domestic, "I am

aware of it--it occurred to me--but I feared to suggest it." "And of what

possible use," she exclaimed, "can the brains of old Chuang-tsze be to him

now, I should like to know?"

At this moment, the convulsions became absolutely terrific. "These

returns," said the old man, "will become more and more violent, till they

destroy my poor master. There is no time to be lost." The wretched bride

rushed from the apartment, and, seizing a hatchet, which happened to be

lying in the outer passage, she hastily made her way to the old

smoke-house. Elevating the hatchet above her head, she struck a violent

blow, on the lid of the coffin.

If the whole force of the blow had descended upon a secret spring, the lid

could not have risen more suddenly. It seemed like the power of magic. The

bride turned her eyes upon the closed lids of the corpse--they gradually

opened; and the balls were slowly turned, and steadily fixed, upon her. In

an instant Chuang-tsze sat, bolt upright, in his coffin! She sent forth a

shriek of terror--the hatchet fell from her paralyzed hand--the cold sweat

of confusion gathered thickly upon her brow.

"My beloved wife," said the philosopher, with perfect calmness, "be so

obliging as to lend me your hand, that I may get out.--I have had a

charming nap," continued he, as he took the lamp from her hand, and

advanced towards the hall. She followed, trembling at every step, and

dreading the meeting, between the old philosopher and the young disciple.

Though the air of unwonted festivity, under the light of the waning

tapers, still hung over the apartment, fortunately the youth and the old

servant seemed to have departed. Upon this, her courage, in some measure,

revived, and, turning a look of inexpressible tenderness upon

Chuang-tsze--"Dearest husband," said she, "how I have cherished your

memory! My day thoughts and dreams have been all of you. I have often

heard, that the apparent dead were revived, especially if not confined

within closed apartments. I therefore caused your precious coffin to be

removed, where the cool, refreshing air could blow over it. How I have

watched, and listened, for some evidence of returning life! And how my

heart leaped into my mouth, when my vigilance was at last rewarded. I flew

with a hatchet to open the coffin; and, when I saw your dear eyes turned

upon me, I thought I should"--"I can never repay your devotion," said the

philosopher, interrupting her, with an expression of ineffable tenderness,

"but why are you thus gaily apparelled--why these robes--these jewels--my

love?"

"It seemed to me, my dear husband," she readily replied, "that some

invisible power assured me of your return to life. How, thought I, can I

meet my beloved Chuang-tsze, in the garments of heaviness? No; it will be

like a return of our wedding day; and thus, you see, I have resumed my

bridal array, and the jewels you gave me, during our honeymoon."--"Ah,"

said the philosopher, "how considerate you are--you always had your

thoughts about you." He then drew near the table. The wedding taper, which

was then burning low in its socket, cast its equivocal rays upon the

gorgeous bowls and dishes, which covered the festal board. Chuang-tsze

surveyed them attentively, in silence; and, calling for warm wine,

deliberately drained the goblet, while the lady stood near him, trembling

with confusion and terror.

At length, setting down the goblet, and pointing his finger--"Look behind

you!" he exclaimed. She turned her head, and beheld the young disciple, in

his wedding finery, with his attendant--a second glance, and they were

gone. Such was the power of this mighty master of magic. The wife slunk to

her apartment; and, resolving not to survive her shame and disappointment,

unloosened her wedding girdle, and ascending to the garret, hung herself

therewith, to one of the cross-beams, until she was dead. Tidings were

soon brought to Chuang-tsze, who, deliberately feeling her pulse, and

ascertaining that she was certainly dead, cut her down, and placed her

precious remains, in the coffin, in the old smoke-house.

He then proceeded to indulge his philosophical humor. He sat down, among

the flickering lamps, at the solitary board, and struck up a dirge,

accompanying his voice, by knocking with the chopsticks, and whatever else

was convenient to his purpose, upon the porcelain bowls and dishes, which

he finally broke into a thousand pieces, and setting fire to his mansion,

he consumed it to ashes, together with the smoke-house, and all its

valuable contents.

He then, abandoning all thoughts of taking another wife, travelled into

the recesses of Latinguin, in pursuit of his old master, Laoukeun, whom,

at length, he discovered. There he acquired the reputation of a profound

philosopher; and lay down, at last, in the peaceful grave, where wicked

widows cease from troubling, and weary widowers are at rest.

No. CXXII.

A grasshopper was not the crest of Peter Faneuil's arms. I formerly

supposed it was; for a gilded grasshopper, as half the world knows, is the

vane upon the cupola of Faneuil Hall; and a gilded grasshopper, as many of

us well remember, whirled about, of yore, upon the little spire, that rose

above the summer-house, appurtenant to the mansion, where Peter Faneuil

lived, and died. That house was built, and occupied, by his uncle, Andrew;

and he had some seven acres, for his garden thereabouts. It was upon the

westerly side of old _Treamount_ Street, and became the residence of the

late William Phillips, whose political relations to the people of

Massachusetts, as their Lieutenant Governor, could not preserve him from

the sobriquet of _Billy_.

I thought it not unlikely, that Peter's crest was a grasshopper, and that,

on that account, he had become partial to this emblem. But I am duly

certified, that it was not so. The selection of a grasshopper, for a vane,

was made, in imitation of their example, who placed the very same thing,

upon the pinnacle of the Royal Exchange, in London. The arms of the

Faneuils I have seen, upon the silver castors, which once were Peter's

own; and, upon his decease, became the property of his brother, Benjamin,

from whom they descended to his only daughter, Mary Faneuil, who became,

October 13, 1754, the wife of George Bethune, now deceased; and was the

mother of George Bethune, Esquire, who will complete his eighty-second

year, in April, 1851. From this gentleman, whose grand-uncle Peter Faneuil

was, and from other descendants of old Benjamin Faneuil, of Rochelle, I

have received some facts and documents--interesting to me--possibly to

others.

In conversation with an antiquarian friend, not long ago, we agreed, that

very much less was generally known of Peter Faneuil, than of almost any

other great, public benefactor. His name, nevertheless, is inseparably

associated, with the cradle of American liberty. Drs. Eliot and Allen, in

their Biographical Dictionaries, have passed him over, very slightingly,

the former finishing up this noble-hearted Huguenot, with fifteen lines;

and the latter, with eight; while not a few of their pages have been

devoted, to the very dullest doctors of the drowsiest theology, and to--

"Names ignoble, born to be forgot."

Mr. Farmer, in his Genealogical Register, does not seem to be aware, that

the name of Faneuil existed, for he has not even found a niche for it

there. His Register, I am aware, purports to be a register of the "_First

Settlers_." But he has found room for the Baudouins (Bowdoins) and their

descendants. They also were Huguenots; and came hither, with the Faneuils,

after 1685. One of that family, as will be more fully shown, Claude

Baudoin, presented Peter Faneuil in baptism. Yet, such was the public

sense of Peter's favors, _when they were green_, that John Lovell--that

same Master Lovell, who retired with the British army, in 1776--delivered,

under an appointment of the town, an oration, to commemorate the virtues,

and laud the munificence of Peter Faneuil. Such, in truth, was the very

first occasion, upon which the citizens were summoned to listen to the

voice of an orator, in Faneuil Hall; and then, in honor of him, who

perfected the noble work, at his own proper cost, and whose death so

speedily followed its completion--for a noble work assuredly it was,

relatively to the times, in which it was wrought.

The Faneuils were Huguenots. The original pronunciation of this patronymic

must have been somewhat different from the present: there was an excusable

_naivete_, in the inquiry of a rural visitant of the city--if a well known

mechanical establishment, with a tall, tubular chimney, were not _Funnel_

Hall?

After the revocation of the edict of Nantes, by Louis XIV., in 1685, the

Faneuils, in common with many other Huguenots of France,--the Baudouins,

the Bernons, the Sigourneys, the Boudinots, the Pringles, the Hugers, the

Boutineaus, the Jays, the Laurenses, the Manigaults, the Marions, the

Prioleaus, and many others, came to these North American shores--as our

pilgrim fathers came--to worship God, in security, and according to their

consciences. Many of these persecuted men conferred, upon their adopted

home, those blessings, which the exercise of their talents, and the

influence of their characters, and of the talents and characters of their

descendants have confirmed to our common country, for many generations.

They came, by instalments, and arrived at different points. Thirty

families of these expatriated Protestants came hither, and settled upon a

tract, eight miles square, in the "Nipmug country," where now stands the

town of Oxford, in the County of Worcester. This settlement commenced, in

Gov. Dudley's time, and under his particular auspices; but continued only

till 1696, when it was broken up, by the inroads of the savages. In the

overthrow of this settlement, rum was a material agent, and occasioned,

though upon a very small scale, a second massacre of some of these

Huguenots. There is a letter to Gov. Dudley, from M. Bondet, the Huguenot

clergyman, dated July 6, 1691, complaining bitterly of the unrestricted

sale, among the Indians, of this fatal fire water; and giving a graphic

account of the uproar and outrage it produced.

After the failure of this attempt, many of the scattered planters

collected, in Boston. For several years, they gathered, for devotional

purposes, in one of the larger school-houses. Jan. 4, 1704, they purchased

a piece of land, in South School Street, of John Mears, a hatter, for

"L110 current silver money of New England;" but, for several years, the

selectmen, for some cause, unknown to us, refused their consent, that

these worthy French Protestants should build their church thereon. About

twelve years after the purchase of the land, the little church--the

visible temple--went up. It was of brick, and very small. Monsieur Pierre

Daille was their first pastor, Andre Le Mercier the second; and, if there

be any truth, in tradition, these Huguenot shepherds were pure and holy

men. Daille died testate, May 20, 1715. His will bears date May 15, of

that year. He directs his body to be interred, at the discretion of his

executor, James Bowdoin, "_with this restriction, that there be no wine at

my funeral, and that none of my wife's relations have mourning cloaths_."

He empowers his executor to give them gloves; and scarfs and gloves to all

the ministers of Boston. To his wife, Martha, he gives L350, Province

bills, and his negro man, Kuffy. His Latin and French books he gives to

the French Church, as _the nucleus of a library_. L100 to be put at

interest for the use of the minister. L10 to be improved by the elders,

for the use of the church, and should a meeting-house be built, then in

aid of that object. To John Rawlins the French schoolmaster, L5. He then

makes his brother Paul, of Armsfort, in Holland, residuary legatee. His

"_books and arms_" were appraised at L2. 10. The whole estate at L274. 10.

sterling.

Le Mercier dedicated his book, on Detraction, to his people. Therein he

says, "You have not despised my youth, when I first came among you; you

have since excused my infirmities; and, as I did the same, in respect to

yours, it has pleased our Saviour, the head of his church, to favor us

with an uninterrupted peace and union in our church, for the almost

eighteen years that I have preached the word of salvation to you." His

book was published in 1733. He therefore became their pastor between 1715,

when Daille died, and 1716. He died March 31, 1764, aged 71. He was

therefore born in 1693, and ordained about the age of 22.

Le Mercier's will is dated, at Dorchester, Nov. 7, 1761. A codicil was

added, at Boston, Feb. 3, 1764. He left his estate to his four children,

"_Andrew, Margaret, Jane, and my son Bartholomew, if living_." He enjoins

upon his heirs the payment of Bartholomew's debt to Thomas Hancock, for

which he had become responsible, and which he had partly paid. By his

will, he appointed Jane and Margaret to execute his will. In the codicil,

he refers to the disordered state of Margaret's mind, and appoints

Zachariah Johonnot, in her stead, requesting him to be her guardian. The

whole estate was appraised at L232. 18. 6. sterling.

Years rolled on: juxtaposition and intermarriage were Americanising these

Huguenots, from month to month; and, ere long, they felt, less and less,

the necessity of any separate place of worship. On the 7th of May, 1748,

"Stephen Boutineau, the only surviving elder," and others, among whom we

recognize the Huguenot names of Johonnot, Packinett, Boudoin, and

Sigourney, conveyed their church and land to Thomas Fillebrown, Thomas

Handyside Peck, and others, trustees for the "new congregational church,

whereof Mr. Andrew Croswell is pastor." After a while, this church became

the property of the Roman Catholics; and mass was first celebrated there,

Nov. 2, 1788. The Catholics, in 1803, having removed to Franklin Place,

the old Huguenot church was taken down; and, upon the site of it, a temple

was erected, by the Universalists; showing incontrovertibly, thank God,

that the soil was most happily adapted to toleration.

The reader fancies, perhaps, that I have forgotten Peter Faneuil. Not so:

but I must linger a little longer with these Huguenots, who attempted a

settlement in the Nipmug country. In the southwesterly part of Oxford,

there rises a lofty hill, whose summit affords an extensive and delightful

prospect. Beneath, at the distance of a mile, or more, lies the village

of Oxford; and the scenery, beyond, is exceedingly picturesque. Upon this

eminence, which now bears the name of Mayo's Hill, are the well-defined

remains of an ancient fort. Its construction is perfectly regular. The

bastions are clearly marked; and the old well, constructed within the

barrier, still remains. As recently, as 1819, says the Rev. Dr. Holmes, in

his able and interesting account of the Huguenots, "grapevines were

growing luxuriantly, along the line of this fort; and these, together with

currant bushes, roses, and other shrubbery, nearly formed a hedge around

it. There were some remains of an apple orchard. The currant and asparagus

were still growing there."

Such were the vestiges of these thirty families, who, in 1696, fled from a

foe, not more savage and relentless, though less enlightened, than the

murderers of Coligny, in 1572.

The Faneuils formed no part of these thirty families; but, not many years

after the little Oxford colony was broken up, and the fugitive survivors

had found their way to Boston, the Faneuils, one after another, seem to

have been attracted hither, from those points of our country, where they

first arrived, after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, in 1685, or

from other, intermediate stations, to which they had removed.

There are not elements enough, I fear, for a very interesting memoir of

Peter Faneuil. The materials, even for a brief account, are marvellously

few, and far between; and the very best result, to be anticipated, is a

warp and woof of shreds and patches.

But, if I am not much mistaken, I know more of Peter Faneuil, than Master

Lovell ever wot of, though he delivered the funeral oration; and, albeit

the sum total is very small, it seems but meet and right, that it should

be given to the world. I think it would so be decided, by the citizens, if

the vote were taken, this very day--in _Faneuil Hall_.

Our _neighbors_, all over the United States have heard of _Faneuil Hall_;

and, though, of late years, since we have had a race, or breed, of mayors,

every one of whom has endeavored to be _worthier_ or more _conceding_ than

his predecessor, Faneuil Hall has been converted into a sort of omnibus

without wheels; yet the glory of its earlier, and of some, among its

latter days, is made, thank God, of that unchangeable stuff, that will

never shrink, and cannot fade.

No man has ever heard of Faneuil Hall, who will not be pleased to hear

somewhat of that noble-minded, whole-souled descendant of the primitive

Huguenots--and such indeed he was--who came, as a stranger and sojourner

here, and built that hall, at his own proper cost and charge, and gave

it--the gift of a cheerful giver--to those, among whom he had come to

dwell--and all this, in the midst of his days, in the very prime of his

life, not waiting for the almond tree to flourish, and for desire to fail,

and for the infirmities of age to admonish the rich man, that he must set

his house in order, and could carry nothing with him, to those regions

beyond.

Faneuil Hall has been called the _Cradle of Liberty_, so long and so

often, that it may seem to savor of political heresy, to quarrel with the

name--but, for the soul of me, I cannot help it. If it be intended to say,

that Faneuil Hall is the _birth place_ of Liberty, I am not aware of a

single instance, on record, of a baby, _born in a cradle_. The proverbial

use of the cradle has ever been to rock the baby to sleep; and Heaven

knows our old fathers made no such use of Faneuil Hall, in their early

management of the bantling; for it was an ever-wakeful child, from the

very moment of its first, sharp, shrill, life cry.

No. CXXIII.

General Jackson has been reported--how justly I know not--upon some

occasion, in a company of ladies, to have given a brief, but spirited,

description of all his predecessors, in the Presidential chair, till he

came down to the time of President Tyler, when, seizing his hat, he

proceeded to bow himself out of the room. The ladies, however, insisted

upon his completing the catalogue--_"Well, ladies," said he, "it is matter

of history, and may therefore be spoken--President Tyler, ladies,

was--pretty much nothing."_

A very felicitous description; and not of very limited application to men

and things. I cannot find a better, for Master John Lovell's funeral

oration, upon Peter Faneuil. This affair, which Dr. Snow, in his history

of Boston, calls "_a precious relic_," is certainly a wonderfully

flatulent performance. A time-stained copy of the original edition of

1743 lies under my eye. I hoped, not unreasonably, that it would be a lamp

to my path, in searching after the historical assets of Peter Faneuil. But

not one ray of light has it afforded me; and, with one or two exceptions,

in relation to the _Hall_, and the general beneficence of its founder, it

is, in no sense, more of a funeral oration, upon Peter Faneuil, than upon

Peter Smink. In their vote of thanks to Master Lovell, passed on the day

of its delivery, the committee speak of "_his oration_," very judiciously

abstaining from all unwarrantable expletives. From this oration we can

discover nothing of Faneuil's birth-place, nor parentage, nor when, nor

whence, nor wherefore he came hither; nor of the day of his birth, nor of

the day of his death, nor of the disease of which he died; nor of his

habits of life, nor of the manner, in which he acquired his large estate;

nor of his religious opinions, nor of his ancestors.

We collect, however, from these meagre pages, that Mr. Faneuil meditated

other benefactions to the town--that his death was sudden--that votes of

thanks had been passed, for his donation of the Hall, "a few months

before"--that the meeting, at which the oration was pronounced, March 14,

1742, was the very first annual meeting, in Faneuil Hall--that Peter

Faneuil was the owner of "a large and plentiful estate"--that "no man

managed his affairs with greater prudence and industry"--that "he fed the

hungry and clothed the naked; comforted the fatherless and the widows, in

their affliction, and his bounty visited the prisoner."

Master Lovell, not inelegantly, observes of Faneuil's intended

benefactions, which were prevented by his death--"_His intended charities,

though they are lost to us, will not be lost to him. Designs of goodness

and mercy, prevented as these were, will meet with the reward of

actions_." This passage appears to have found favor, in the eyes of the

late Dr. Boyle, who has, accordingly, on page 21, of his memoir of the

Boston Episcopal Charitable Society, when speaking of Faneuil, made a very

free and familiar appropriation of it, with a slight verbal variation.

Master Lovell's fervent aspirations, in regard to Faneuil Hall, one

hundred and nine years ago, have not been fulfilled, to the letter. The

gods have granted the orator's prayer--"_May Liberty always spread its

joyful wings over this place_"--but not with Master Lovell's conditions

annexed; for he adds--"_May_ LOYALTY _to a_ KING, _under whom we enjoy

that Liberty, ever remain our character_."

In this particular, Master Lovell was not to be indulged. Yet he steadily

adhered to his tory principles; and, like many other conscientious and

honorable men, whom it is much less the fashion to abuse, at present, than

it was, of yore, adhered to his royal master; and relinquished his own

sceptre, as monarch of the South Grammar School, with all the honors and

emoluments thereof, choosing rather to suffer affliction, with his

thwarted and mortified master, than to enjoy the pleasures of rebellion,

for a season. He retired to Halifax, with the British army, in 1776, and

died there, in 1778.

Original copies of Master Lovell's oration are exceedingly rare; though

the "_precious relic_" has been reprinted, by Dr. Snow, in his history of

Boston. The title may be worth preserving--"A funeral oration, delivered

at the opening of the annual meeting of the town, March 14th, 1742. In

Faneuil Hall, in Boston. Occasioned by the death of the founder, Peter

Faneuil Esq. By John Lovell, A. M., Master of the South Grammar School, in

Boston. _Sui memores alios fecere merendo._ Boston, printed by Green,

Bushell & Allen, for S. Kneeland & T. Green, in Queen Street, 1743."

As an eminent historian conceived it to be a matter of indifference, at

which end he commenced his history, I shall not adhere to any

chronological arrangement, in the presentation of the few facts, which I

have collected, relating to Peter Faneuil and his family. On the contrary,

I shall begin at the latter end, and, first, endeavor to clear up a little

confusion, that has arisen, as to the time of his death. Allen, in his

Biog. Dic., says, that Peter Faneuil died, March 3, 1743. I am sorry to

say, that, in several instances, President Allen's _dates_ resemble

Jeremiah's _figs_, in the second basket; though, upon the present

occasion, he is right, on a certain hypothesis. In a note to the "Memoir

of the French Protestants," also, M. H. C. vol. xxii. p. 55, Peter Faneuil

is said to have died, March 3, 1743. Pemberton, in his "Description of

Boston," Ibid. v. 3, p. 253, by stating that the funeral oration was

delivered, March 14, 1742, makes 1742 the year of Faneuil's death. The

title page of the oration itself, quoted above, fixes the death, in 1742.

Dr. Eliot, in his Biog. Dic., says 1742. The Probate records of Suffolk

show administration granted, on Peter Faneuil's estate, March 18, 1742.

His _obiit_, on a mourning ring, that I have seen, is 1742.

Now, if all dealers in dates, of the olden time, would discriminate,

between the old style and the new, we should be spared a vast deal of

vexation; and the good people of Boston, notional as they proverbially

are, would not appear, in their creditable zeal to do honor to a public

benefactor, to have given him a funeral oration, a twelve month before he

was dead. If the year be taken to begin, on the first of January, then Dr.

Allen is right; and Peter Faneuil died March 3, 1743. But if it did not

begin, till the twenty-fifth of March, and, legally, it certainly did not,

before 1752, when the new style was adopted, in Great Britain, and the

Provinces, then Eliot, and Pemberton, and the title page of the oration,

and the records of the court, and the mourning ring are right, and Peter

Faneuil died, in 1742.

An illustration of this principle may be found, on the title page of the

oration itself. It is stated to have been delivered, March 14, 1742, and

printed in 1743. Having been delivered near the close of the year 1742, it

was printed, doubtless, soon after March 25, which was New Year's day for

1743.

The public journals, nevertheless, seem to have adopted, and adhered to

the idea, that January 1, was the first day of the historical year, long

before the style was altered; and thus, in the Weekly News Letter,

published in Boston, Faneuil is stated to have died, in 1743. This journal

contains an obituary notice. A few imperfect numbers of this paper are all

that remain, and its extreme rarity leads me to copy the obituary here:--

"Thursday, March 10, 1743. On Thursday last, dyed at his seat in this

Town, PETER FANEUIL, Esq., whose remains, we hear, are to be enterred this

afternoon; a gentleman, possessed of a very ample fortune, and a most

generous spirit, whose noble benefaction to this town, and constant

employment of a great number of tradesmen, artificers and labourers, to

whom he was a liberal paymaster; whose hospitality to all, and secret

unbounded chirity to the poor--made his life a public blessing, and his

death a general loss to, and universally regretted by, the inhabitants;

who had been so sensible of their obligations to him, for the sumptuous

edifice, which he raised at his private expence, for their Market house

and Town Hall, that, at a general town meeting, as a testimony of their

gratitude, they voted, that the place of their future consultations should

be called by his name forever: in doing which they perpetuated their own

honor as much as his memory; for, by this record posterity will know the

most publick spirited man, in all regards, that ever yet appeared on the

Northern continent of America, was a member of their community."

In the Boston Evening Post of March 7, 1743, in a brief notice of Peter

Faneuil's death, the disease of which he died is said to have been

"_dropsey_."

Now that we have established the period of Peter's death, it may be well,

to establish the period of his birth; and this we can do, with certainty,

even to an hour, from authentic documents. In addition to other means, for

ascertaining dates, and various particulars, respecting Peter Faneuil, and

the members of his family--through the kindness of the Genealogical

Society, I have, before me, a folio volume of his commercial

correspondence: mutilated, indeed it is, by some thoughtless hand, but

furnishes some curious and interesting matter. Many of his letters are

written in French; and those, which are in English, are well composed. I

have found but a single instance, in which he writes our language, like a

Frenchman. Upon that occasion, he was in a passion with a certain judge of

the admiralty, complained of his ill usage, and charged him with

"_capporice_."

No. CXXIV.

I am indebted to Mr. Charles Faneuil Jones, a grandson of Mary Ann Jones,

Peter Faneuil's sister, for the use of some ancient papers, and family

relics; and to George Bethune, Esquire, of Boston, the grandson of

_Benjamin Faneuil_, Peter's brother, for the loan of a venerable

document--time worn, torn, and sallow--the record of the birth of Peter

Faneuil, and of his brothers and sisters. This document, from its manifest

antiquity, the masculine character of the hand writing, and the constant

use of the parental expressions--_notre fils_--_notre fille_--I, at first,

supposed to be the original autograph of _Benjamin_, the father of Peter.

This conjecture was, of course, demolished, by the last entry, on the

record, which is of old _Benjamin's_ decease, but in the same peculiar

hand.

The document is in French; and, after a careful

comparison--_literatim_--with the volume of Peter's commercial

correspondence, now in my possession--I have very little doubt, that this

record was copied, by Peter, from the paternal original, with the

additional entry, by himself, of the date of his father's death. At the

bottom, and beneath a line of separation, and by another hand, with a

fresher ink, is the following entry--"_Le 6 D'Aout 1725, M. Gillam

Phillips de Boston a epousee ma Fille Marie Faneuil agee de dix sept et

quatre mois_." The 6th of August, 1725, Mr. Gillam Phillips, of Boston,

married my daughter, Marie, aged seventeen and four months. The expression

_ma file_, shows this entry to have been made by Peter's mother, then the

widow of _Benjamin_, who appears, by this record, to have died, at New

York, March 31, 1718-9, aged 50 years and 8 months.

This unusual praenomen, _Gillam_, I, at first, supposed to be a corruption

of _Guillaume_. But there was a merchant, of that day, in Boston, bearing

the name of _Gillam Phillips_. In the Registry of Deeds, for Suffolk, lib.

43, fol. 13, there is recorded a deed, from "_Wentworth Paxton, and Faith,

his wife, formerly Faith Gillam_," in which, reference is made to Faith's

father, _Benjamin Gillam_. Mr. Gillam Phillips is thus named, in the will

of his wife's uncle, Andrew Faneuil, to which I shall have occasion to

refer. Jan 22, 1738, Peter, in a letter to Lane & Smethurst, of London,

speaks of his brother-in-law, _Mr. Gillam Phillips_.

This gentleman was the elder brother of _Mr. Henry Phillips_, who was

indicted, for killing Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, in a duel, fought with

swords, and without seconds, on Boston Common, upon the evening of July 3,

1728. This extremely interesting affair cannot be introduced, as an

episode here, on account of the space it must necessarily occupy. The

original documents, relating to this encounter, which terminated in the

immediate death of Mr. Woodbridge, have fallen into my possession; and, as

Peter Faneuil personally assisted, in the escape of the survivor, who

found a city of refuge, in Rochelle, and a friend and protector, in

Peter's uncle, _Jean Faneuil_; it seems, in some degree, related to the

history of Peter and his kinsfolk. I may, possibly, refer to it hereafter.

In 1685, the period of the revocation of the edict of Nantes, there were

living, in or near Rochelle, in France, three brothers and two sisters of

the Faneuil family. One of these, _Benjamin_, became the father of _our_

Peter Faneuil--the others, his uncles and aunts, when the persecution

commenced, so ably and touchingly described, by James Saurin, fled for

safety to foreign lands. Andrew, the elder brother, escaped into Holland,

and took up his abode in Amsterdam; where he married that preeminently

beautiful lady, whose portrait is now in the possession of Col. Benjamin

Hunt, whose mother was Jane Bethune, a daughter of Mary Faneuil, the neice

of Peter.

_Andrew Faneuil_, before many years, came to this country--precisely when,

I cannot say. That he was here, as early as 1709, is evident, from the

proposals of Oliver Noyes and others, to build a wharf from the bottom of

King Street, to low-water mark, "of the width of King Street, between Mr.

East Apthorp's and Mr. Andrew Faneuil's." These proposals are dated Feb.

20, 1709, and are inserted in Dr. Snow's History of Boston, p. 209.

In Holland, doubtless, Andrew acquired that passion, for flowers, which he

gratified, in his seven-acre Eden, on the westerly side of Treamount

Street, where he is said to have erected the first hothouse, that ever

existed in New England. His warehouse, the same, by him devised, for the

support of the minister of the French Church, was at the lower end of King

Street, near Merchant's Row, from which Butler's Wharf then extended, as

laid down, by John Bonner, in 1722. This warehouse, under the will of

Andrew, reverted, to his heirs, upon the extinction of the French Church.

It was then, just where we find it, in the New England Weekly Journal, of

Jan. 13, 1729. "_Good New York Flower. To be sold, at Mr. Andrew Faneuil's

Warehouse, at the lower end of King Street, at 35s per Hundred, as also

good chocolate, just imported._" He was engaged in commerce; and, for

those days of small things, acquired a large estate, which his forecast

taught him to distribute, among the public funds of France, England, and

Holland. His warehouse was purchased of one of his descendants, by the

late John Parker.

_Jean Faneuil_, another of Peter's uncles, held fast to the faith of his

fathers; and lived, and died, a Roman Catholic. He died in Rochelle, of

apoplexy, June 24, 1737, about four months after the decease of his

brother Andrew, as appears by Peter's letter of Sept. 8, 1737.

_Susannah Faneuil_ also continued, in the Roman Catholic faith, and

remained in Rochelle; where she became the wife, and the widow, of Abraham

de la Croix. She survived her brother Andrew, the date of whose decease is

clearly shown to have been Feb. 13, 1737, by Peter's letter to S. & W.

Baker, of London, giving them the inscription, "_for the handsomest

mourning rings_."

_Jane Faneuil_ was a Huguenot. She became the wife of Pierre Cossart, and

took refuge, with her husband, in Ireland, where she died.

_Benjamin Faneuil_, the father of _our_ Peter, was closely associated with

that little band of Huguenots, who clustered about the town of

Narragansett, otherwise called Kingstown, and the region round about, at

the very close of the seventeenth century. In that village, in 1699, he

married a French lady, whose name was Anne Bureau. The record, in Peter's

transcript from his father's original, is now upon my table--"_Le 28 de

Juillet 1699. Benjamin Faneuil et Anne Bureau ont ete marie a

Narragansett, en nouvelle Angleterre, en la maison de Mons. Pierre Ayross,

par Mons. Pierre Daille ministre de L'Eglise francoise de Boston_." The

28th of July, 1699, Benjamin Faneuil and Ann Bureau were married at

Narragansett, in New England, at the house of Mr. Peter Ayross, by Mr.

Peter Daille, minister of the French Church in Boston. Three years before,

in 1696, Sept. 4, the name of this Benjamin Faneuil will be found, M. H.

C., xxii. 60, attached to a certificate, in favor of Gabriel Bernon,

referring to the massacre of John Johnson and his three children, at New

Oxford. Johnson had married the sister of old _Andre Sigournay_.

This _Benjamin Faneuil_, the praepositus, or stirps, became the father of

eleven children, by his wife, _Anne Bureau_, who were all born in New

Rochelle, in the State of New York, and of whom _our_ Peter was the first

born. Their names, in the order of birth, are these--_Peter_, _Benjamin_,

_Francis_, _Anne_, _Anne_, _Marie_, _John_, _Anne_, _Susannah_, _Mary

Anne_, and _Catherine_. The two first Annes, John, and Catherine, died in

infancy.

The birth of our Peter is thus chronicled, in the family record--"_Le 20

de Juin, 1700, Estant Jeudy a 6 heures du soir est ne nostre fils Pierre

Faneuil, et a ete baptise le 14 Juillet, par M. Peyret, ministre de

l'Eglisse francoise de la Nouvelle York, presente au Bapteme par M. Claude

Baudoin et par Sa Mere_." The 20th of June, 1700, being Thursday, at 6

o'clock in the evening, was born our son, Peter Faneuil, and he was

baptized the 14th of July, by Mr. Peyret, minister of the French Church,

in New York; presented in baptism, by Mr. Claude Bowdoin and its mother.

_Benjamin_, _our_ Peter's brother, was born Dec. 29, 1701. He was a

merchant in Boston, about the time of his uncle Andrew's death, in 1737.

Shortly after that event, he went to England, and France, and returned,

about two years before the death of his brother Peter, in 1742-3, upon

whose estate he administered. His nephew, Edward Jones, in a letter to his

mother, June 23, 1783, informs her, that "_Uncle Faneuil seems to be

growing very low; I think he will not continue long_." He was then in his

eighty-second year. He died in October, 1785.

After Peter's death, Benjamin resided in Brighton, then Cambridge, in the

street, which now bears the family name, where he erected an expensive

mansion, successively occupied, after his decease, by Messieurs Bethune,

English, Parkman, and Bigelow. By his wife, Mary Cutler, he had three

children, Benjamin, Mary, and Peter.

_This_ Benjamin, nephew of _our_ Peter, is the "_Benjamin Faneuil,

junior_," whose name appears, among the signers of the "_Loyall Address_"

to Gov. Gage on his departure Oct. 6, 1775. He left Boston for Halifax,

with the British army, in March, 1776. He is the person, referred to, by

Ward, in his Memoirs of Curwen--"_the merchant of Boston, and with Joshua

Winslow, consignee of one third of the East India Company's tea, destroyed

in 1773, a refugee to Halifax, afterwards in England_." He married Jane,

daughter of Addington Davenport, by his first wife, Jane, who was the

daughter of Grove Hirst, and sister of the Lady Mary Pepperell; and, with

his wife, lived many years, abroad, chiefly in Bristol, England, which

became the favorite resort of many refugees, and where he died. I have, in

my possession, several of his letters, written to his relatives, during

his exile. These letters are spiritedly written; and, to the very last, in

the most perfect assurance, that the colonies must submit.

_Mary_, _our_ Peter's niece, became the wife of George Bethune, Oct. 13,

1754, and died in 1797. A portrait, by Blackburn, of this beautiful woman,

is in the possession of her son, George Bethune, Esquire, of Boston. After

a very careful inspection of this portrait, not long ago, I went directly

to the rooms of the Historical Society, to compare it with the portrait

there of her uncle Peter, to which it seems to me to bear a strong family

resemblance. This portrait of Peter was presented to the Society, by Miss

Jones, the grand niece of _our_ Peter, now the wife of Dr. Cutter of

Pepperell. It has been erroneously ascribed to Copley. If its manifest

inferiority to the works of that eminent master were not sufficiently

germaine to this question--Copley was born in 1738, and not quite five

years old, when Peter Faneuil died.

_Peter_, the youngest child of Benjamin, and, of course, the nephew of

_our_ Faneuil Hall Peter, who may be otherwise distinguished, as Peter the

Great--was baptized, in Trinity Church, in Boston, in 1738, and entered

the Latin School, in 1746. He entered into trade--went to

Montreal--failed--resorted to the West Indies--and, after his father's

death, returned to Boston.

No. CXXV.

Let us conclude our post mortem examination of the brothers and sisters of

Peter Faneuil.

_Francis_, the third son of _Benjamin_, the old Rocheller, Peter's father,

was born Aug. 21, 1703, of whom I know nothing, beyond the fact, that he

was baptized, by M. Peyret, minister of the French church in New York, and

presented "_par son grand pere, Francois Bureau, et Mad'selle Anne

Delancey_."

_Mary_, the eldest sister of _our_ Peter, that came to maturity, was born

April 16, 1708, and is the _Marie_, to whom I have already referred, as

having married Mr. Gillam Phillips, Aug. 6, 1725. Their abode, before the

revolution, was in the mansion, more recently occupied by Abiel Smith, at

the corner of State and Devonshire Streets; or, as they are called, on

Bonner's plan of 1722, King Street and Pudding Lane. Her husband was a

refugee. After his death, she resided in Cambridge, Mass., where she died,

in April, 1778.

_Anne_, the next, in order of time, was born Oct. 9, 1710, and married

Addington Davenport. This fact is stated, by Peter, in a letter, of Sept.

26, 1738. This is the same gentleman, undoubtedly, to whom the ancient

record of King's Chapel refers: "_Oct. 11, 1733. Voted, that the brass

stand for the hourglass be lent to the church at Scituate, as also three

Diaper napkins, provided the Rev. Mr. Addington Davenport, their minister,

gives his note to return the same_," &c. He was, afterwards, promoted, to

be assistant minister of King's Chapel, in 1737, and Rector of Trinity

Church, in 1740, and was, probably, the son of Addington Davenport, who

was the Register of Deeds, for Suffolk, in 1706.

_Susannah_, the third sister of _our_ Peter, in the order of birth, was

born March 14, 1712, and became the wife of James Boutineau, the son of

Stephen Boutineau, that "_only surviving elder_," who joined in the

conveyance of the French Church, in 1748. James was a royalist; and,

according to Ward's Curwen, died in exile. This marriage is also referred

to, by Peter, in his letter of Sept. 26, 1738. Mr. James Boutineau was a

lawyer, in Boston; and occupied the "_old Dorr house_," so called, in Milk

Street.

Mr. Sabine, in his "American Loyalists," says _his fate is unknown, but he

was in England, in 1777_. An original letter from his widow, "_Susanna

Boutineau_," now before me, is dated _Bristol, Eng., Feb. 20, 1784_, and

refers to the recent decease of her husband there.

_Mary Ann_ was the last of Peter's sisters, that survived her infancy. She

was born April 6, 1715, and died October, 1790. She became the wife of

John Jones, who died at Roxbury, in 1767, and whose son, Edward, died in

Boston, in 1835, at the age of 83. _She_ was a refugee; and resided, for

some time, in Windsor, Nova Scotia. She is omitted by Mr. Sabine, in his

list of refugees; but named by Ward, page 444. A letter, from her son,

Edward, dated at Boston, June 23, 1783, advises her, if desirous of

returning, not to come directly to Boston, as the law was still in force;

but first, to some other State, and thence to Boston.

Such were Peter Faneuil's brothers and sisters; with whom, so far as I

have been able to ascertain, from his correspondence, and from all other

sources, he appears to have maintained an amiable and becoming relation,

as the file leader of the flock--the elder brother of the house: and it

speaks a folio volume, in favor of Benjamin's equanimity, that he

continued to fraternize, as the correspondence abundantly proves, that he

did, in the most cordial and affectionate manner, with his brother Peter,

to whom uncle Andrew had, with the exception of a few legacies, willed the

whole of his "_large and plentiful estate_," as Master Lovell calls

it--while five vindictive shillings were all, that were found, after the

death of this unforgiving, old gentleman, in the mouth of poor Benjamin's

sack.

Uncle Andrew's testamentary phraseology, though not so anathematical, as

that of some other obstinate, old uncles, is sufficiently uncivil, and

even bitter, in relation to his "loving sister, Susannah," and his nephew,

Benjamin.

But, of the will of Andrew Faneuil, and his motive--an exceedingly

preposterous motive, to be sure, for cutting his adopted nephew off, with

five shillings--in other words, of the cause, manner, and instrument,

whereby Benjamin was put in the ablative, I shall treat, more fully,

hereafter.

There were collaterals of the Boston Faneuils, residing in St. Domingo, in

1738. There was then, in that island, a Benjamin Faneuil, to whom Peter

addressed a letter of mere friendship, in the French language, informing

him, that Peter's brother Benjamin was then in Europe. It was probably a

son of the St. Domingo Benjamin, the "_Monsieur Fanneuil_," of whom

Washington writes to the President of Congress, Feb. 20, 1777, Sparks, iv.

327, as having memorialized, for leave to raise and command troops. The

application failed, principally, on the ground of his entire ignorance of

the English language.

We have seen, that Peter Faneuil died, at the early age of forty-two. His

premature decease becomes the more remarkable, when contrasted with the

longevity of all his brothers and sisters, who lived beyond the period of

infancy. Marie attained the age of seventy--Susannah was living, in

Bristol, at seventy-two--Mary Ann died at seventy-five--Benjamin died, in

October, 1735, being two months less than eighty-four years old.

This veteran had been a generous liver, all his days. He was not a man,

whose devotion was abdominal--whose God was his belly. He was no

anchorite, but an advocate for social worship--he was preeminently

hospitable. For more than forty years, from the period, when Peter's death

afforded him the means, his hospitality had been a proverb--a by-word--but

never a reproach. There was a refinement about it--it was precisely such

hospitality, as Apicius would have practised, had Apicius been a bishop.

His appetite never forsook him. He died suddenly--ate a cheerful dinner,

on the day of his death--and went not to his account, on an empty stomach.

A post mortem examination, under the autopsy of that eminently shrewd, and

most pleasant, gentleman, Dr. Marshall Spring of Watertown, exhibited the

whole gastric apparatus, in admirable working order, for a much longer

campaign. A nephritic malady occasioned his decease.

The death of Benjamin Faneuil, _the elder_, in 1718, and the previous

adoption of his son Benjamin, Peter's brother, by Andrew, the wealthy

Boston uncle, naturally turned the thoughts of the family, in this

direction. Their interest in Boston was necessarily increased, by the

marriage of sister Marie with Mr. Gillam Phillips, and her consequent

removal hither. The entry of the marriage--"_ma fille_"--on the family

record, shows, that her mother was then living. The time of her death I

have not ascertained, but suppose it to have occurred within a year or two

after, for all the daughters were wending hither, and I find no mention of

the mother. Peter was here, as early, as 1728, in which year, his name is

associated, with the duel, in which Woodbridge was killed. Anne had

married Mr. Davenport, and Susannah Mr. Boutineau, before uncle Andrew's

death, in 1737. His will was dated, in 1734. From that document, it is

evident, that Mary Ann was here then.

The elder Benjamin having died, in 1718,--Andrew, his brother, in

1737,--and Peter, in 1742-3, there were living Peter's brother and

sisters, Benjamin, Anne, Susannah, Marie, and Marianne. They were living,

during the revolution. So were their husbands, excepting Mr. Addington

Davenport, who died Sept. 8, 1746. Their children also were living. The

object of this particular statement is to invite the reader's attention to

the extraordinary fact, that, while a religious persecution, in 1685,

drove the Huguenot ancestors of these very individuals hither, for

security--in 1776, a political persecution here drove many of their

descendants into exile, and confiscated their estates.

That very many of those refugees, during the phrensy of political

excitement, were just as truly persecuted, for conscience' sake, as were

the Huguenots, in 1685, is a simple truth, which the calm, impartial voice

of an after-age has been willing to concede. Among those refugees, the

Huguenot and the old Anglo-Saxon patronymics are blended together. The

Boutineaus and the Bethunes, the Faneuils and the Johonnots are mingled

with the Sewalls and the Hutchinsons, the Hollowells and the Paxtons.

While perusing the letters of Samuel Curwen--and a most kind-hearted,

conscientious, old gentleman was he--the veriest saint in crape cannot

restrain a smile, as he contemplates the conflict, in Curwen's mind,

between the loyal and the patriotic--_his most gracious majesty, and his

poor bleeding country_! Mr. Curwen met frequently with Mr. Benjamin

Faneuil, Peter's nephew, at Bristol. Thus, on page 240, of the Journal,

under date, April 28, 1780--"_Afternoon and evening at Judge Sewall's;

company, Mrs. Long, of Ireland, Mr. and Mrs. Faneuil, Mr. Oxnard, with

young Inman and his wife, a son of Ralph's, in the military line, and Miss

Inman_."

The more intelligent of the refugees, who resorted to Bristol, hovered

about the former Attorney General of Massachusetts, Jonathan Sewall, as

their _Magnus Apollo_. Of all the New England tories he was the most

illustrious. He was a man of eminent talents, and easy eloquence. His

opinions were the opinions of the rest. As crowed the great tory cock, so

crowed the bantams, the Faneuils, the Boutineaus, and the others, around

the Attorney General's hospitable board, at Bristol. I mean not to

intimate, that this worthy gentleman maintained, at this period, anything,

beyond the most frugal hospitality. He and his associates were mainly

dependent upon the British government, for their daily bread.

One or two extracts from the letters of "_Benjamin Faneuil junior_,"

Peter's nephew, while they establish this fact, may serve to exhibit the

confidence, in the entire subjugation of the colonies,

entertained--_cherished_, perhaps--by him and his companions.

March 9, 1777, he writes to his aunt, Mary Ann Jones, at Halifax, thus--"I

cannot say I am very sorry, for your disappointment, in missing your

passage for England, for unless you could bring a barrel of guineas, you

are much better anywhere than here." * * * * "As soon as the Christmas

holidays were over, we presented a petition to the Lords of the Treasury,

setting forth our suffering, and praying for a support, till the affairs

in America are settled. This method was taken, by the council, and indeed

by all the refugees. Within these few days, the Lords of the Treasury have

agreed to allow, for the present, Chief Justice Oliver L400 a year, Lieut.

Governor Oliver and Mr. Flucker L300. The council (Mr. Boutineau among

the rest) L200, the refugees in general L100, some only L50. Our affair is

not yet absolutely determined, on account of Lord North's sickness; but we

are told we shall be tuckt in, between the council and the refugees, and

be allowed L150 a year. This is a very poor affair, and we can by no means

live upon it: but there are such a confounded parcel of us, to be provided

for, that I am told no more will be allowed." * * * * "Should there be any

opportunity of writing to Boston, I should take it kind, if cousin Betsey

would write to my father and let him know what I now write, and give our

loves to Mr. Bethune's family, and my aunt Phillips. I do not mention my

poor mother, as, from the accounts I have received, I doubt, whether she

be alive at this time." She died in October, 1777.

"When we shall be able to return to Boston I cannot say; but hope and

believe it will not exceed one year more; for, sooner or later, America

will be conquered, and on that they may depend."

May 14, 1777. He writes from London thus--"We were promised, three months

ago, that some provision should be made for us; and, about ten days since,

we were assured, at the Treasury, that, in a very few days, something

should be done for us. As soon as there is, we propose to set out for

Bristol, and fix ourselves there, or, at least, in that part of the

country, till the American affairs are settled, which, from the last

advice from New York, we flatter ourselves will not be longer than this

year; though I am not without my doubts, at least as to the time: but

submit they must, sooner or later. Mr. Boutineau and my aunt were very

well, at their lodging, at Bristol, a few days ago. Mr. Robinson has

bought himself a new post chaise, horses, &c., and sets out for Wales, in

five or six days; where, I suppose, they will remain, till the American

affairs are brought to a conclusion."

This Mr. Robinson was James Boutineau's son-in-law, the officer of the

customs, who inflicted that fatal blow, upon James Otis, which is said to

have affected his brain, and compelled him to retire from public life. The

issue of that affair is not generally known. Mr. Sabine, in his "American

Loyalists," p. 169, says--"the jury assessed L2000 sterling, damages.

Boutineau appeared, as attorney, for Robinson, and, in his name, signed a

submission, asking the pardon of Otis, who, thereupon, executed a free

release for the L2000." The same statement may be found in Allen, and

elsewhere.

Mr. Benjamin Faneuil, junior, continues thus--"Mrs. Faneuil received a

letter, a few days since, from Mrs. Erving (at Bristol). She sends her the

prices of provisions, which are much the same they were in Boston, before

the troubles came on. * * * * Miss Peggy Hutchinson has been at death's

door. * * * * All the rest of us Yankees are well, but growl at each other

most confoundedly, for want of money." * * * * "We hope to see you in

Boston, in the course of another year." * * * * "Mrs. Faneuil is sitting

by me, trying to transmography an old gown. No money to buy new."

No. CXXVI.

To some persons it has appeared a mystery, how Peter Faneuil, having had

but a short lease of life, some two and forty years, should have acquired

the "_large and plentiful estate_," that Master Lovell speaks of, in his

funeral oration. This mystery is readily explained. He had, for several

years, before the death of his uncle, Andrew, been engaged in commerce. As

Master Lovell justly observes--"No man managed his affairs with greater

prudence and industry." His commercial correspondence proves that his

relations were extensive and diversified, though it must be admitted, that

_rum, fish, sugar and molasses_, are the chorus, or burden, of the song.

It will also appear, that the _large and plentiful estate_, was, probably

overrated.

Though he had a high sense of commercial honor, no man had a sharper eye

for the main chance, as it is called, by money getting men. Let me

illustrate both these positions, by extracts--not from "_Peter's letters

to his kinsfolks_," but from Peter's letters to his correspondents. He

repeatedly scolds Signor Miguel Pacheco de Silva, and Monsieur Sigal,

severely, for inattention to his drafts. To S. & W. Baker, of London, who,

by reason of the informality of a power to transfer stock, were unsupplied

with funds, to meet his drafts, yet paid them, for the honor of the

drawer; he writes a letter of cordial thanks, Sept. 7, 1737, in which he

says--"_I would not for L500 you had not accepted all those drafts; for,

if you had not, it would have been a slur to my character, which I value

more than all the money upon earth_."

January 22, 1738, he requests Mr. Peter Baynton to advise him, on several

points--"_also what good French brandy is worth, and if it be possible to

cloak it so, as to ship it for rum_." On the 13th of March, in the same

year, he writes Mr. Peter Baynton, that he has sent him four hogsheads of

brandy, and adds--"_Pray be as cautious as possible, in taking them on

shore, by reason the man has signed bills of lading, for four hogsheads

rum, not knowing the contents, which it is not convenient he should_."

What a goodly number will openly pronounce Peter a very bad fellow, who,

if they have not done this identical thing, have done things, quite as

exceptionable, or more so, and who are willing to--

"Compound for sins they are inclined to,

By damning those they have no mind to."

Merchant princes, if I am rightly instructed, do not place the offence of

cheating the Government, in the category of cardinal, or unpardonable,

sins. And, notwithstanding all, that we so frequently hear, of commercial

integrity, and the chivalry of trade; I rather doubt, upon the whole, if

traffic is really the "_ne plus ultra strap_," upon which the very finest

possible edge can be given to the moral sense. Exceptions there are, but

they only establish, more fully, the general rule: and, in accordance with

the spirit of the old, prudential legend, we are rather too much in the

habit of postponing prayers, till we have sanded the sugar, and watered

the molasses. I have long entertained the opinion, that a cheap _vade

mecum_ edition of Dr. Chalmers' Commercial Discourses, for New Year's

gifts, might be very beneficially distributed.

Exceptions certainly there are. I have one, within my own memory. The

collector of a Southern port--a Huguenot withal--of whom my personal

recollections are exceedingly agreeable, and whose integrity was a

proverb, was surprised one day, upon his return, at the dinner hour, by

the display of a costly service of plate, which his lady had procured from

London. A few inquiries developed the fact, that, by the agency of a

gentleman, a friend of the family, it had been gotten over, with _his_

baggage, duty free--in other words, _smuggled_. In an instant, the old

gentleman ordered his wife's whole service of silver to the public stores;

and seized it for the government. Such cases, I apprehend, are not of

frequent occurrence.

If Peter Faneuil made not broad his phylactery, he made broad that mantle

of charity, which covereth a multitude of sins. If such had not been the

fact, and notoriously so, Master Lovell would not have ventured to

proclaim, in Faneuil Hall, one hundred and eight years ago, and before a

scanty population, as cognizant, as the population of a village, of all

the shortcomings of their neighbors that--

"_Peter's acts of charity were so secret and unbounded, that none but they

who were the objects of it could compute the sums, which he annually

distributed_"--that "_his alms flowed, like a fruitful river_"--that "_he

fed the hungry, clothed the naked, comforted the fatherless, and the

widows in their affliction, and his bounty visited the prisoner. So that

Almighty God, in giving riches to this man, seems to have scattered

blessings all abroad among the people_"--that the building "_erected by

him at an immense charge, for the convenience and ornament of the town, is

incomparably the greatest benefaction ever yet known to our Western

shoar_"--that this act of munificence, however great, "_is but the first

fruits of his generosity, a pledge of what his heart, always devising

liberal things, would have done for us, had his life been spared_." To all

this good Master Lovell adds the assertion--"_I am well assured from

those, who were acquainted with his purposes, that he had many more

blessings in store for us, had Heaven prolonged his days_."

These statements, publicly pronounced, one hundred and eight years ago,

have never been gainsayed, nor even qualified. They must therefore be

viewed, in the light of an ancient deposition, read before the grand

inquest of the whole people, before whom Peter Faneuil was tried, shortly

after his decease, according to the fashion of the Egyptians, while

dealing with their departed kings.