CHAPTER IV.

Griffith Gaunt, unknown to himself, had lost temper as well as heart

before he took the desperate step of leaving the country. Now his temper

was naturally good; and ere he had ridden two miles, he recovered it. To

his cost; for the sustaining force of anger being gone, he was alone

with his grief. He drew the rein half mechanically, and from a spirited

canter declined to a walk.

And the slower he went, the chillier grew his heart, till it lay half

ice, half lead, in his bosom.

Parted! oh, word pregnant with misery!

Never to see those heavenly eyes again, nor hear that silver voice!

Never again to watch that peerless form walk the minuet; nor see it lift

the gray horse over a fence with the grace and spirit that seemed

inseparable from it!

Desolation streamed over him at the thought. And next his forlorn mind

began to cling even to the inanimate objects that were dotted about the

place which held her. He passed a little farm-house into which Kate and

he had once been driven by a storm, and had sat together by the kitchen

fire; and the farmer's wife had smiled on them for sweethearts, and made

them drink rum and milk and stay till the sun was fairly out.

"Ah! good-bye, little farm!" he sighed; "when shall I ever see you

again?"

He passed a brook where they had often stopped together and given their

panting horses just a mouthful after a run with the harriers.

"Good-bye, little brook!" said he; "you will ripple on as before, and

warble as you go; but I shall never drink at your water more, nor hear

your pleasant murmur with her I love."

He sighed and crept away, still making for the sea.

In the icy depression of his heart his body and his senses were half

paralyzed, and none would have known the accomplished huntsman in this

broken man, who hung anyhow over his mare's neck and went to and fro in

the saddle.

When he had gone about five miles, he came to the crest of a hill; he

remembered, that, once past that brow, he could see Peyton Hall no more.

He turned slowly and cast a sorrowful look at it.

It was winter, but the afternoon sun had come out bright. The horizontal

beams struck full upon the house, and all the western panes shone like

burnished gold. Her very abode, how glorious it looked! And he was to

see it no more.

He gazed and gazed at the bright house till love and sorrow dimmed his

eyes, and he could see the beloved place no more. Then his dogged will

prevailed and carried him away towards the sea, but crying like a woman

now, and hanging all dislocated over his horse's mane.

Now about half a mile farther on, as he crept along on a vile and narrow

road, all woebegone and broken, he heard a mighty scurry of horse's feet

in the field to his left; he looked languidly up; and the first thing he

saw was a great piebald horse's head and neck in the act of rising in

the air, and doubling his fore-legs under him, to leap the low hedge a

yard or two in front of him.

He did leap, and landed just in front of Griffith; his rider curbed him

so keenly that he went back almost on his haunches, and then stood

motionless all across the road, with quivering tail. A lady in a scarlet

riding-habit and purple cap sat him as if he had been a throne instead

of a horse, and, without moving her body, turned her head swift as a

snake, and fixed her great gray eyes full and searching upon Griffith

Gaunt.

THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.

FROM THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE ILIAD.

So spake the matron. Hector left in haste

The mansion, and retraced his way between

The rows of stately dwellings, traversing

The mighty city. When, at length, he reached

The Scaean gates, that issue on the field,

His spouse, the nobly dowered Andromache,

Came forth to meet him, daughter of the Prince

Eetion, who among the woody slopes

Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town

Of Thebe, ruled Cilicia's sons, and gave

His child to Hector of the beamy helm.

She came, attended by a maid who bore

A tender child, a babe too young to speak,

Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called

Scamandrius,--but all else Astyanax,

The City's Lord, since Hector stood the sole

Defence of Troy. The father on his child

Looked with a silent smile. Andromache

Pressed to his side, meanwhile, and all in tears

Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said:--

"Too brave! thy valor yet will cause thy death.

Thou hast no pity on thy tender child,

Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be

Thy widow: all the Greeks will rush on thee,

To take thy life. A happier lot were mine,

If I must lose thee, to go down to earth;

For I shall have no hope, when thou art gone,--

Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none,

And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew

My father, when he sacked the populous town

Of the Cilicians, Thebe with high gates.

'T was there he smote Eetion, yet forbore

To make his arms a spoil: he dared not that,

But burned the dead with his bright armor on,

And raised a mound above him. Mountain nymphs,

Daughters of aegis-bearing Jupiter,

Came to the spot and planted it with elms.

Seven brothers had I in my father's house,

And all went down to Hades in one day:

Achilles the swift-footed slew them all,

Among their slow-paced beeves and snow-white flocks.

My mother, princess on the woody slopes

Of Placos, with his spoils he bore away,

And only for large ransom gave her back.

But her Diana, archer-queen, struck down

Within her father's palace. Hector, thou

Art father and dear mother now to me,

And brother, and my youthful spouse besides.

In pity keep within the fortress here,

Nor make thy child an orphan, nor thy wife

A widow. Post thine army near the place

Of the wild fig-tree, where the city-walls

Are low, and may be scaled. Thrice, in the war,

The boldest of the foe have tried the spot:

The brothers Ajax, famed Idomeneus,

The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the brave

Tydides: whether counselled to the attempt

By some wise seer, or prompted from within."

Then answered Hector great in war:--"All this,

Dear wife, I bear in mind; but I should stand

Ashamed before the men and long-robed dames

Of Troy, were I to keep aloof, and shun

The battle, coward-like. Not thus my heart

Prompts me; for greatly have I learned to dare

And strike among the foremost sons of Troy,

Upholding my great father's fame and mine.

But well in my undoubting mind I know

The day shall come in which our sacred Troy,

And Priam, and the people over whom

Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all.

But not the sorrows of the Trojan race,

Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor those

Of royal Priam, nor the woes that wait

My brothers many and brave, who yet, at last,

Slain by the leaguering foe, shall lie in dust,

Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed Greek

Shall lead thee weeping hence, and take from thee

Thy day of freedom. Thou, in Argos, then,

Shalt, at another's bidding, ply the loom,

Or from the fountain of Messeis draw

Water, or from the Hypereian spring,

Constrained, unwilling, by thy cruel lot.

And then shall some one say, who sees thee weep,

'This was the wife of Hector, most renowned

Of the horse-taming Trojans, when they fought

Around their city.' So shall some one say;

And thou shalt grieve the more, lamenting him

Who haply might have kept afar the day

Of thy captivity. Oh, let the earth

Be heaped above my head in death, before

I hear thy cries, as thou art borne away!"

So saying, mighty Hector stretched his arms

To take the boy. The boy shrank crying back

To his fair nurse's bosom, scared to see

His father helmeted in glittering brass,

And eying with affright the horse-hair plume

That grimly nodded from the crest on high.

The tender father and fond mother smiled;

And hastily the mighty Hector took

The helmet from his brow, and laid it down

Gleaming upon the ground, and, having kissed

His darling son, and tossed him up in play,

Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven:--

"O Jupiter, and all ye deities!

Vouchsafe that this my son may yet become

Among the Trojans eminent like me,

And, with a might and courage like my own,

Rule nobly over Ilium. May they say,

'This man is greater than his father was,'

When they behold him from the battle-field

Bring back the bloody spoils of the slain foe,

That so his mother may be glad at heart."

So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse

He gave the boy. She on her fragrant breast

Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief

Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed

Her forehead gently with his hand, and said:--

"Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me.

No living man can send me to the shades

Before my time; no man of woman born,

Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.

But go thou home, and tend thy labors there,

The web, the distaff, and command thy maids

To speed the work; the cares of war pertain

To all men born in Troy, and most to me."

Thus spake the mighty Hector, and took up

His helmet shadowed with the horse-hair plume,

While homeward his beloved consort went,

Oft looking back and shedding many tears.

Soon was she in the spacious palace-halls

Of the man-queller Hector. There she found

A troop of damsels; with them all she shared

Her grief, and all in his own house bewailed

The living Hector, whom they thought no more

To see returning from the battle-field,

Escaped the rage and weapons of the Greeks.

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD.

This active, energetic, and in every way remarkable man, who was not

only the originator, proprietor, and purveyor, but the editor,--the

actual and only editor,--of "Blackwood's Magazine," up to the day of his

death, in 1834, has never been properly understood nor appreciated,

either abroad or at home, owing to circumstances the public are

unacquainted with.

While exercising despotic power, in all that concerned the management of

that bold and saucy and at times unprincipled work, in all that

concerned the management or the contributors, and never yielding even to

"Old Christopher" himself, who passed for the editor, where any serious

question sprang up, he was so careful to keep out of sight himself, and

to thrust that old gentleman forward, upon all occasions,--a sort of

myth, at the best,--a shadowy, mysterious personage, who deceived

nobody, and whom all were glad enough to take on trust, well knowing

that Professor Wilson was behind the mask,--that, up to this day,

William Blackwood, the little, tough, wiry Scotch bookseller, with a big

heart, and a pericardium of net-work,--interwoven steel springs,--has

been regarded as the publisher and proprietor only, and Professor Wilson

as the editor, and one who would suffer no interference with his

prerogative, and "bear no brother near the throne."

To bring about this belief, Blackwood spared no expense of indirect

assertion, and no outlay of incidental evidence. Never faltering in his

first plan, and never foregoing an opportunity of strengthening the

public delusion, what cared he for the reputation of editorship, so long

as the great mystery paid? Walter Scott had already shown how profitably

and safely such a game might be played, year after year, in the midst of

the enemies' camp; and Blackwood was just the man to profit by such

experience.

In the Life of Professor Wilson, by his daughter, Mrs. Gordon, edited

here by Professor Mackenzie, there might be found enough to disabuse the

public upon this point, if it were not read by the lamplight--or

twilight--of long-cherished opinions.

But as Blackwood, the shrewd, sharp, wary Scotchman, always talked about

"our worthy friend Christopher" as a real, and not a mythological

personage,--as if, in short, he were himself and nobody else,--and never

of Wilson but as one of the contributors, or as the author of "Margaret

Lyndsay" or "The Isle of Palms," and then with a look or a smile which

he never explained, and which nobody out of the charmed circle ever

understood, no wonder the delusion was kept up to the last.

"All I can say," he once wrote me, while negotiating for more

grist,--"all I can say is, that whatever is good in itself we are always

happy to receive; the only difficulty is, that our worthy friend

Christopher is a very absolute person, and therefore always judges for

himself with regard to everything that is offered." Now

this--considering that he himself, William Blackwood, was Christopher

North, in spirit, if not in substance, and that he himself, and not

Wilson, was the autocrat from whose judgment there was no appeal--might

pass anywhere, I think, for one of the happiest examples of persevering,

impudent mystification ever hazarded by a respectable man, while writing

confidentially to another, and quite of a piece with the celebrated

Chaldee manuscript.

And now for my acquaintance with the man himself. I was living in

Baltimore. I had given up my editorships. I had forsworn poetry and

story-telling, (on paper,) and had not only entered upon the profession

of the law with encouraging success, but had begun to settle upon my

lees.

One day, while dining with my friend Henry Robinson, who introduced gas

into Boston, after a series of disastrous experiments in Baltimore, and

the conversation happening to turn upon that subject, we wandered off

into the state of English opinions generally. He was an Englishman by

birth and early education, though his heart was American to the core.

Something was said about the literature of the day, and the question was

asked,--"Who reads an American book?" I blazed out, of course, and,

after denouncing the "Edinburgh Review," where the impudent question was

first broached, accompanied by the suggestion, that, so long as we could

"import our literature in bales and hogsheads," we had better not try to

manufacture for ourselves, I made up my mind on the spot, and within the

next following half-hour at furthest, to carry the war into Africa.

Mr. Walsh,--"Robert Walsh, Junior, Esquire,"--the "American Gentleman,"

as he called himself in the title-page of his Dictionary,--had

acknowledged, while undertaking our vindication, that our American

Parnassus was barren, or fruitful only in weeds; and by common consent

my countrymen had taken for the highest praise throughout the land what

I regarded as at best a humiliating admission from our friends over sea.

They had acknowledged, and we were base enough to feel flattered by the

acknowledgment, that, although we could not even hope to write English,

and were wellnigh destitute of invention, having no materials to work

with, and little or no aptitude for anything but the manufacture of

wooden nutmegs, horn gun-flints, and cuckoo-clocks, and being always too

busy for anything better than dicker and truck in a small way,--the

haberdashery of nations,--yet, after all, it might be said of us that we

were capital imitators, or thieves and counterfeiters, so that our

Brockden Brown was at least the American Godwin,--our Cooper, the

American Scott,--our Irving, just flowering in the "Sketch-Book," the

American Goldsmith or Addison,--and our Sigourney, the American Hemans.

That my blood boiled in my veins, whenever I thought of this, I must

acknowledge; and within three weeks, I believe, I was on my way to

London, with a novel in the rough, which, after undergoing many

transformations, appeared in that city as "Brother Jonathan,"--the

manuscript of "Otho, a Tragedy," wholly recast and rewritten, with

"_exit omnes_," and other monstrous Latin blunders corrected, and, on

the whole, very much as it afterwards appeared in "The Yankee,"--and

heaps of letters, which I could not well afford to deliver, and

therefore threw into the fire: leaving my law business to take care of

itself, somewhat after the fashion of that Revolutionary volunteer, "Old

Put," who, when he heard the sound of a trumpet and knew the lists were

opened, left his plough in the furrow, and the cattle standing in the

field. My law-library, and the building I occupied, I passed over to the

care of a young man of great promise, just entering the profession, who

not only burned up my supply of wood for the year, but failed to pay the

rent, and then took the liberty of dying suddenly, poor fellow! without

a word of notice to my landlord: so that I was fairly adrift.

On arriving in London, I took lodgings in Warwick Street, Pall Mall,

introduced to the landlady by Leslie the painter, and occupying the very

chambers where Washington Irving was delivered of the "Sketch-Book": my

windows on the first floor looking out on the back entrance of Carlton

House, by which the Princess Charlotte had escaped not long before, when

she ran away from her father, as my landlady took care to inform me;

adding, that, from the very window where we stood, she had seen the

little madcap get into the carriage--a common hack, by the way--and go

off at full speed.

I lost no time in looking about me, and preparing for a literary

campaign, where I might forage upon the enemy, beat up his quarters when

I chose, and, if possible, get possession of a battery or so, and turn

the guns upon his camp.

Being pretty well acquainted with the characteristics of all the

monthlies and quarterlies, I was not long in determining that

"Blackwood" was my _point d'appui_. The "Old Monthly" was dead asleep,

and smouldering in white ashes; the "New Monthly," with Campbell for

editor, was unfitted for the job I had in view; the "London," though

clever and saucy and stinging, wanted manliness and nerve, and would be

sure to fail me at a pinch, now that John Scott was disposed of. And as

for the quarterlies, even supposing I could secure a place and keep it,

they were all slow coaches, and much too dignified and stately, as they

lumbered along the smooth, level turnpikes they were built for, to allow

of any dashing or skirmishing from the windows. Even the "Westminster"

was untrustworthy, as I afterwards found to my cost.

And so I settled down upon "Blackwood," the cleverest and spitefullest

of the whole, with Lockhart, "the Scorpion," and Wilson, "the Leopard,"

for mischief-makers, and "Ebony" for the whipper-in, and "Christopher

North" "in golden panoply complete" for _collaborateur_, a puzzle and a

problem to the last. Before I slept, I believe, certainly within a few

hours, I wrote a sketch of our five American Presidents, and of the five

presidential candidates then actually in the field, and sent it off to

Edinburgh with a letter, not for the publisher, not for Blackwood, but

for the _Editor_, saying that I had adopted the name of "Carter Holmes,"

and writing as a traveller, pretty well acquainted with the United

States and with the people thereof. This mask I wore, not with a view to

escape responsibility, for I was ready to answer for all I said, but to

baffle the curious and the inquisitive. Had I come out boldly as a

native American, I knew there was no chance for me in that, or in any

other leading British journal.

After a few days, I received the following in reply from Blackwood

himself, the _Editor_, which I give at length.

"April 20, 1824.

"On my return from London a few days ago," says he, "I had

the pleasure of receiving yours of the 7th March,--April, I

suppose, as it only arrived here on the 10th current.

"I am very sorry that there was not room for your spirited

and amusing sketches in this number; but they will appear in

our next.

"You are exactly the correspondent that we want, and I hope

you will continue to favor us with your communications, and

you may depend upon being liberally treated. I do not wish

to say much about terms, as I have a perfect horror at the

manufacturing system of gentlemen who _do_ articles for

periodicals at so much per sheet. I feel confident that you

are none of these, but one who, like the friends who have

supported my Magazine, writes upon subjects which he takes

an interest in, and therefore handles them _con amore_. It

is this system of _piece-work_ which has made most

periodicals such commonplace affairs; and it is by keeping

free of it that 'Maga' will preserve her name and fame.

"Meantime, I am perfectly sensible that the laborer is

worthy of his hire, and that no gentleman need refuse the

remuneration he is entitled to. It gives me great pleasure,

therefore, to send an _honorarium_ to all my contributors. I

may also mention to you that this varies from seven to ten

guineas, or perhaps more, per sheet, according to the nature

of the articles.

"By way of _arles_, (_Anglice_, earnest,) I annex a draft on

Mr. Cadell for five guineas to account.

"With regard to your name, you will do just as you feel most

convenient and agreeable. All I shall say is, that whatever

is confided to me I keep sacredly to myself.

"I am, Sir,

"Your most obedient servant,

"W. BLACKWOOD."

"Five guineas!" said I to myself,--twenty-five dollars cash, for a paper

I had flung off at a single sitting, and which at home would have been

thought well paid for with a "Much obliged," or, at most, with a

five-dollar bill,--even the great "North American Review" then paying,

where it paid at all, only a dollar a page in "that day of small

things"; and to work I went forthwith, preparing another article upon

another American subject, determined to be in season, and not allow the

blaze I had lighted up to go out for want of kindling-stuff. The

article, I may say here, created quite a sensation, and was copied into

the Continental journals and papers, and even reappeared in the great

"European Review," then just established at London, Paris, and Vienna,

under the editorship of Alexander Walker, a Scotchman, who began his

literary career by undertaking to supply the deficiencies of D'Alembert,

while he wrote me about _a jeux d'esprit_, with all seriousness.

One curious little incident occurs to me here in connection with the

signature I had adopted. Perhaps the Spiritualists may be able to

account for it. Having finished my second article, and folded it up, and

directed it, as before, to the "Editor," and being about to affix the

seal,--for wafers were not used by decent people in England, and

self-sealing envelopes were unheard of in that day,--I went below, where

I heard voices in conversation that I knew, to borrow a seal, not

wishing to use mine, which not only bore an eagle's head for a crest,

but my initials and the striped shield of my country.

There were present Humphreys, the engraver,--Lady Lilicraft, one of

Washington Irving's lay figures, and the cast-off _chere amie_ of

an English lordling,--Peter Powell, of whom a word or two

hereafter,--Chester Harding,--and the celebrated John Dunn Hunter, whose

portrait Harding had just under way.

When I had stated my request, two or three hands, with two or three

seals, were instantly reached forth. I took the nearest, and was not a

little surprised, on looking at the impression, to find the very

initials I needed, in old English. The seal belonged to Chester Harding;

and as my _nom de plume_ was "Carter Holmes," the "C. H." seemed quite

providential. From that time forward, I continued to use the same seal

whenever I found Harding within reach, until, one day, a still stranger

"happening" occurred. I was in a hurry, and could not wait. Any seal

would do, of course; and the mistress, pitying my perplexity, said there

was a seal up-stairs somewhere which might serve my turn, if she could

find it. After a short absence, she returned, and, handing me an

old-fashioned affair, which I did not stop to look at, I made the

impression, and was just about sending off the parcel, when my attention

was attracted by the very same initials of "C. H.," as you live! Her

husband's name was Charles Halloway, Harding was Chester Harding, and I

was "Carter Holmes"!

One word now about another of Irving's associates and playmates,--Peter

Powell, whom I often met with at Mrs. Halloway's. You will find him

frequently mentioned by name in the "Life and Letters of Washington

Irving," as a "fellow of infinite jest and most excellent fancy," and

full of the strangest contrivances for "setting the table in a roar";

and more than once, though I do not now remember where, I have met with

a grotesque shadow, under a fictitious name,--a sort of Santa Claus or

AEsop at large,--either in the "Sketch-Book" or in the "Tales of a

Traveller," which I saw at a glance, when I came to know the original,

could be no other than Peter Powell himself.

But as Irving did not particularize, I must. Peter would personate a

dancing bear; and with the help of a shaggy overcoat pulled up about his

ears, and a pair of black kid gloves, he being a small man, hardly

taller than a good-sized bear, when standing up with his knees bent, the

representation was not only surprisingly faithful, but sometimes

absolutely startling.

He would serve you out with passages from a new opera, taking all the

parts himself, either separately or together, and with feet, hands, and

voice, a table, a chair, and a paper trumpet extemporized for the

occasion from a sheet of music-paper, would almost persuade you that a

rehearsal was going on at your elbow.

He would tie a couple of knots in his pocket-handkerchief, throw the

rest of it over his hand so as to conceal the action, thrust his left

forefinger into the lowest knot for a head, while the uppermost would go

for a turban, spread out the middle finger and thumb, covered with the

drapery, and make the figure bow and salaam, as if it were alive, to the

unspeakable amazement of the little ones. Many years after this, I tried

the same trick with the Aztec children, and drove the little monsters

half crazy with delight.

He would imitate rooks in their noisiest flights, by putting on a pair

of black gloves, and spreading the fingers, and cawing; and butterflies

alighting on a flower, by pressing his two hands together where they

join the wrist, closing the fingers with a fluttering motion, and moving

them this way and that, until it was quite impossible to misunderstand

the representation; and he would give you a sailor's hornpipe at the

dinner-table, by striping two of his fingers with a pen, drawing a face

on the back of his hand, with vest and waistband to explain the

trousers, and set you screaming as he went through the steps and

flourishes on a plate, with the greatest possible seriousness and

propriety.

But enough. Let us now return to Blackwood. For my next paper he paid me

ten guineas,--fifty dollars,--and, in reply to certain suggestions of

mine, wrote as follows. I give this letter to show how much of a

business man he was, and how well fitted for the duties of editorship.

"EDINBURGH, 17 May, 1834.

"DEAR SIR,--Yours of the 13th makes me feel very much

ashamed at having so long delayed answering your two former

favors. The truth is, that you have given me such a bill of

fare of what you could furnish for our monthly

entertainment, I felt it would be necessary to write you

more at length than I had leisure for at the time I received

your letter; and, like everything that is delayed at the

proper moment, every day has presented excuses for

procrastination.

"If I had the pleasure of knowing you, I might have been

able, as you say, to have given you some hints as to

subjects; but in present circumstances, all I have to say

is, that _whatever is good in itself we are always happy to

receive_, [&c., &c., as hereinbefore quoted in relation to

"Christopher North."] I shall only add, that anything of

yours he will be disposed to view with a favorable eye. As

to the theatre, exhibitions, &c., the daily papers are so

stuffed with notices of them, that even what is good has but

a poor chance. However, I do not mean to say that these

subjects should be excluded from your communications; all I

mean is, that you should just write upon what you yourself

feel a strong interest in.

"I _would_ be happy to see your novel, ["Brother Jonathan,"]

but it is now too late of thinking to publish at this

season. If you will send it, addressed to me, to Mr.

Cadell's, with a note, desiring it to be forwarded by first

mail-coach, I _will_ receive it quite safely; and I will, in

the course of ten days after its reception, write you my

sentiments with regard to it. No one shall see it; for in

these matters I judge for myself. If you should go to the

Continent, perhaps you could leave the manuscript in such a

state that it could be printed in your absence.

"I am, dear Sir, yours truly,

"W. BLACKWOOD."

Here was encouragement, certainly; and it was clear enough that he had a

willingness to be pleased, if nothing more.

I lost no time, therefore, in recasting and rewriting the whole of

"Brother Jonathan," which, as I have mentioned before, was blocked out

before I left America. But, having my board to pay, and not willing to

stake much on a single cast, though ready enough "to stand the hazard of

the die" after my washerwoman was satisfied, I kept on writing for the

magazines and quarterlies, and always about America, and by special

desire too, until my papers were to be found, not only in Blackwood

every month, but in the "New Monthly," the "Old Monthly," the "London,"

the "European," the "Oriental Herald," the "Westminster," and others.

On the 8th of the following November, Mr. Blackwood, having worried

through the manuscript of "Brother Jonathan," wrote me a letter of six

enormous pages, from which I give the following extracts, to show the

temper of the man, his downright honesty and heartiness, and great good

sense.

"My dear Sir," he says, "you will be blaming me for not writing you

sooner; and when I tell you that the delay was caused by my

unwillingness to write you"--(here I began to foresee what was

coming)--"so very differently from what I had so fondly and anxiously

expected, I fear you will blame me, not for the delay, but for my want

of taste and judgment in not properly appreciating the merits of

'Brother Jonathan.'"

Here he wronged me; for I was quite prepared to agree with him, having

spoiled the original draft by working it up too much, and overdoing and

exaggerating all that I was best pleased with.

"Never," he continues,--"never did I take up any manuscript with more

sincere wishes for its being everything that could be desired.

Unfortunately, my expectations have been disappointed." (Comfortable,

hey?) "While I admire the originality and talent and power which the

work displays,"--(I began to breathe more freely,)--"I must frankly tell

you, that, in my humble opinion, there are defects in your plan, and

there are incidents, as well as reflections, which, in this country,

would certainly injure any work, however great its talent.

"I wish I had the pleasure of seeing you for half an hour, as I could

explain by word of mouth so much better than I can by scribbling what my

ideas are, and such as they are. Distrusting my own judgment, after I

had carefully perused the manuscript, I gave it, in the strictest

confidence, to a friend whose opinion I value much, and begged of him,

without saying one word of my opinion, to give me his frankly and

without reserve. My mind was so far satisfied, when I received his

remarks, as I found, that, in general, he had taken the same view of the

work as I had done. I inclose his remarks, as they will save me from

going over the same ground."

The remarks referred to were by Professor Wilson, I have good reason to

believe. They filled half a dozen pages, and were eminently judicious

and proper, and, I may add, far from being unpalatable.

"I shall now, in a rambling way," continues Mr. Blackwood, "state

anything that has occurred to me, and I shall make no apology for

offering you my crude remarks; only you will suppose me to be speaking

to you, and telling you such and such things strike me so and so, that I

may be quite wrong," &c., &c.

And then he proceeds to say,--

"The character of the Yankees (Chapter I.) is too didactic, though

excellent anywhere else than in the commencement of a novel."

Here, too, he was right. I threw the whole chapter aside in rewriting

the book as it now stands, and sent the substance to Campbell's "New

Monthly," where it appeared forthwith.

After frankly stating a number of well-founded objections, and

suggesting two or three important changes in the plot, he finishes after

the following fashion: allow me to commend it to all who find themselves

obliged to "give the mitten," or to snub a respectable aspirant. By so

doing, they may keep life in him, if nothing more:--

"I have said a good deal more than I intended to, as to what things have

struck me as defects in your work. Its excellences I need not take up

your time with dwelling upon. With all the power, interest, and

originality, I regret most exceedingly, that, in its present state, I

would most earnestly advise you not to publish. It would be doing

yourself the greatest injustice. I feel perfectly confident, however,

that, with such materials as these, you could make a glorious book, if

you would set about it again in the proper way. I do not think it would

cost you much trouble, provided that the thing were to strike you."

By way of postscript, he adds,--

"I received your parcel, with No. 3 of the American Writers, and the

critique on Cadell's American work. Are you not giving us too much of

the _Vitae Virum Obscurorum_? There is a danger of palling the public

with too much even of a very good thing. This, too, terrifies me at the

length of your critique, as we have had so many American articles

lately. It is, in fact, as you say, a work, not an article. However, we

shall see what can be done."

The critique here referred to was a review of a book entitled "Summary

View of America," and published by Cadell, who was also the London

publisher for Blackwood. It was full of dangerous, though somewhat

plausible errors, and mischievous, though perhaps unintentional,

misrepresentations of our whole political and social system. I did not

spare the book, nor the author, nor the publisher; and notwithstanding

the great length of the paper, which grew up of itself, as I read the

work with pen in hand, into most unreasonable proportions, though

divided into brief paragraphs, it appeared, nevertheless, in the next

following month, as a leader, with a note from "C. N.," which has

already been given in the sketch of Bentham.

Meanwhile this indefatigable purveyor, who knew I was engaged upon

"Brother Jonathan," recasting and rewriting the whole,--not for the

second time, but for the twentieth time, I verily believe,--and that I

was beginning to write for other journals upon American affairs, wanted

me to furnish an occasional paper for the "Noctes Ambrosianae," to be

incorporated, warp and woof, into the dialogues which appeared month

after month and year after year; up to the death of poor Wilson in 1853,

and were afterward embodied in a book by Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie, and

republished here.

This I could not bring myself to undertake, without first seeing the

interlocutors face to face, and looking into their eyes, and hearing

them laugh together "like a rhinoceros," or like the chorus in "Der

Freischuetz." Though I knew Wilson, and Lockhart, and Hogg, and "Old

Christopher," and "O'Doherty," and "Timothy Tickler," and "Ebony," by

reputation, it was only as a company of shadows, and not as creatures of

substantial flesh and blood. The lightning had struck; my guns were in

position; I had got the range of the enemies' camp, and meant to be in

no hurry, but "to fight it out on the line" I had chosen, if it took me

till doomsday. I refused, therefore. I was willing to wait. I knew, to

be sure, the Chinese could grow oranges from the seed in half an hour;

but then the oranges were peas, and I wanted to grow "some pumpkins." In

short, I would not

"wear

My strength away in wrestling with the air."

Next he wanted me to write a review of "Margaret Lyndsay," a charming

story by Wilson himself, of which I had incidentally expressed the

highest opinion, in our correspondence. Mr. Blackwood sprang at the

idea, like a half-famished pickerel at a frog. But no. Although such a

paper would be quite in my way, for I have always delighted in showing

off, and teaching grandmothers to suck eggs, I could not be persuaded,

for reasons which may be guessed at by the proud and sensitive and

foolish, so long as the question about "Brother Jonathan" was undecided.

On the 24th of November, having received my answer to his of the 8th,

he wrote again as follows:--

"MY DEAR SIR,--I felt very anxious, indeed, till I had the

pleasure of receiving your letter of the 11th, fearing that

you might not, perhaps, take the remarks I sent you in the

spirit of kindness in which they were honestly and sincerely

made. Your letter has satisfied me that you will yet make a

glorious book of 'Brother Jonathan.'

"Let the better feelings and passions of our nature have

freer scope and happier development and results. This is

what your work wants; for mankind like better to see the

bright side of the picture than the dark one. I do not think

it necessary to say one word more to you on the subject.

Your own taste and feelings must direct you as to what is

necessary to be done. All that I hope and pray for is, that

you may have set seriously to work with the revision and

correction."

Are not these two extracts enough to show of themselves the leading

characteristics of "Ebony," or "Old Christopher"? How business-like, and

yet how friendly and judicious are the suggestions!

Meanwhile, I had furnished a paper for him, entitled "Men and Women; or,

A Brief Hypothesis concerning the Differences in their Genius." My

object was to show, that, although unlike, they were not unequal; that

each had a standard for itself. I did not urge that Arabs, who are

reckoned pretty good judges of horse-flesh, always give the preference

to mares for endurance and swiftness,--that the female bird of prey is

larger and fiercer than the male,--that the female body-guard of the

King of Dahomey are terrible Amazons,--nor that, where women reign, men

rule, and _vice versa_; but that, by endowing woman with a more

sensitive organization, our Father had given her what was better than a

mane for the lioness, a beard for the goat, or a voice and plumage to

the female singing-bird, etc., etc. This also appeared, and was

handsomely paid for.

"In this number," he says, "you will see, that, though we have given an

additional half-sheet, we have only had room for your 'American

Writers.'... I hope you are going on with the series; and that you do

not dwell more than is necessary upon the _Poetae Minores_, whom no one

cares about. This is what has sometimes been objected to your articles;

and among other remonstrances I have received, I extract the following

from the letter of a gentleman for whom I have a great respect. He says

your article contains 'misstatements, and some of them of a mischievous

tendency; but what mostly concerns you to know is the odium which is

likely to be thrown on your Magazine, in America at least, by the manner

in which (from malice or blundering) some meritorious individuals are

dealt with, _who have every claim to the shelter of private life_.'"

As the meddling gentleman from whose letter the passage was taken did

not particularize, all I could do in reply, and that I lost no time in

doing, was to give him the lie direct, and offer my name to the

publisher. I called for specifications and proof, which never came; and

have an idea that the writer was an artist--a great coxcomb--of whom I

had spoken too well, on paper, though not well enough to satisfy his

inordinate vanity.

"I make no apology to you," continues "Old Christopher," "for giving you

this extract from my friend's letter. He is, I trust, writing under some

strong feeling of something or other, which has concerned some one whom

he knows; but I am sure he is perfectly sincere in what he says. I hope,

therefore, you will be particularly on your guard against saying

anything which any one would be entitled on good grounds to say was

unfair or ungentlemanly. I regret that, in the hurry of the sheet going

to press, what is said of Hall (John E. Hall of Philadelphia) was not

modified. '_Blackguard_' is a shocking appellation; and had my friend

seen this number, I should not have wondered at his remarks. You will,

I am sure, excuse me," etc., etc.

"All very just and proper," said I to myself; but coming from a man who

not long before had said in "Maga," or allowed somebody to say for him,

with a chuckle of triumph never to be forgotten, that Canning had given

the lie to Brougham on the floor of Parliament, I must acknowledge that

I felt rather astonished at his sensitiveness.

On the 19th of February, 1825,--by which time I had completed the series

of "American Writers," pursuing my first plan without deviating from it

a hair's breadth, and introducing an American department into three or

four monthlies,--never, in fact, writing a word upon any other subject

than our literature, authors, manners, politics, and painters, except in

two instances, that I now remember,--he wrote as follows.

"MY DEAR SIR,--You have finished your series in capital style. The whole

is spirited and most original. Many may differ from you on some points,

but, beauties or blemishes, no one will pretend to say that they are not

your own. And may I add, that I hardly know any work except 'Maga' where

you could have felt yourself so much at your ease in most fearlessly

saying what you thought right of men and things." All very true; and it

was for that reason that I launched forth in "Blackwood," hit or miss,

neck or nothing, determined to make a spoon or spoil a horn. And then he

adds,--"Washington Irving once told me that he considered my 'Maga' as a

daringly original work. It was too much for his delicate nerves."

Undoubtedly; and it was for that reason that the papers I wrote in a

different style for the "European Magazine," New Series,--out of which

grew the famous controversy with Mathews for his admirable

misrepresentations of Yankee character,--were attributed for a long

while to Washington Irving himself; but he could not have written them,

any more than I could have written the "Sketch-Book" or "Bracebridge

Hall."

"I hope," continues our friend "Ebony,"--"I hope you are thinking of

something else for me, as you must have much to communicate with regard

to America, men and matters, which we know nothing of in this country,

both as to what has been done and what is now doing. Perhaps it might be

well to give anything of this kind just in separate articles, as one is

sometimes rather fettered in a regular series. However, all this depends

upon the subject-matter and the way in which it happens to strike

yourself.... I enclose you an order on Mr. Cadell for fifteen guineas."

Thus much to show, that, however absolute and arbitrary "our worthy

friend Christopher" was on ordinary occasions, he was a man of the

kindest feelings, delicate, magnanimous, and liberal.

In the course of the next following three months "Brother Jonathan" was

finished, read, accepted, and paid for at my own price,--two hundred

guineas,--the same that Murray paid Irving for his "Sketch-Book," with a

contingent proviso for another hundred guineas, which never amounted to

anything.

Meanwhile, however, we were in constant communication by letter, and I

give now the following extracts to show his exceeding carefulness, and

the consequences--the disastrous consequences, I might say--to both of

us. I have already mentioned, that, in the progress of revision, I had

probably written the book, not twice, but twenty times over; and this I

believe to be true. I had grown too fastidious, over-anxious, nervous,

and fidgety. I could not endure the coming together of the same or

similar sounds,--_d_s and _t_s, for example, or _v_s and _f_s,--and

wrote some pages or paragraphs at least forty or fifty times over to

prevent this, and thereby sacrificed all freedom and naturalness. When

Mr. Blackwood wrote me, therefore, as follows, it only served to confirm

me in my evil habit,--a disease, in fact,--and the result was further

alterations and corrections, so numerous and so troublesome, though

trivial in themselves, that, in going through the press, the printer

himself, Mr. Spottiswood, got alarmed, and charged accordingly.

On the 14th of April he writes me at length about the book. "I wished

also, before writing you, to be able to give you the opinion of my

friend whose remarks I formerly sent you. In some things I agree with

him, in others I do not; but I think it best you should judge yourself

as to all that he says. I also enclose you a note from another friend,

whose judgment I value more than that of any one I know, almost." Here

follows a string of suggestions, most of which I took advantage of, in

carrying this, my third complete copy of the work, through the press. No

wonder it grew more and more artificial, as it grew more and more

strange and euphonious.

He continues,--"I have read the manuscript again very carefully," (the

third time,--a manuscript of three volumes!) "and I do think you have

improved the work very much. I cannot again venture to suggest anything

to you, even if I could, (which I am very doubtful of,) because you give

yourself so much labor, and any crude ideas of mine may perhaps be more

injurious than useful. You must yourself feel best what is necessary,

and to your own judgment everything must be left. I have therefore put

up the manuscript with this, as it must be printed under your own eye in

London. All that I would advise you to do is, _to go over the manuscript

before sending it to the printer, and correct it as you would do a

proof_; for, should any material alterations occur to you, you can

easily make them on the blank pages....

"I suppose you would wish the work to be printed in post 8vo, like

'Reginald Dalton' and others that I have published. This is certainly

the most elegant form, but it is expensive, and it is perhaps worthy of

consideration whether or not it might be advisable to take the less

expensive form of 12mo, similar to my second edition of 'Adam Blair' (by

Lockhart, the 'Scorpion'). I am, I confess, in considerable doubt both

ways. If, however, you prefer the post 8vo, my doubts will be at an end.

I have written a few lines to my friends the Messrs. Spottiswood, (the

King's printers,) in order that you may at once put the manuscript into

their hands, as soon as you are ready. If you prefer the post 8vo, you

will get from Mr. Cadell a volume of 'Reginald Dalton' or of 'Percy

Mallory'; but if you like the 12mo, you will get a copy of the second

edition of 'Adam Blair,' and give your directions to Messrs. Spottiswood

accordingly....

"I do not think that the volumes should be less than three hundred and

sixty pages, for thin volumes look so catchpenny-like. At the same time,

it is better to have thin volumes than to keep in or add anything that

interrupts or interferes with the story....

"I have been quite overloaded with articles this month, and some of them

very long, which cannot for various reasons be delayed. I shall

therefore be obliged to keep both of your articles till next month. I am

vexed at not being able to get in your tale," (the original sketch of

"Rachel Dyer," and the first of a series which I had in contemplation,)

"which is very striking and powerful; but it was too long for this

number, having so many other long articles, and it would have destroyed

it to have divided it. The 'American Books,' too, is very interesting,

though you perhaps hit poor Cooper rather hard, and some of the Cockneys

will be apt to quote it when 'Brother Jonathan' comes into their

paws.... I enclose you ten guineas on account."

April 26th he writes,--"I am very much pleased with the appearance of

the sheet, and above all with what you have done to it. The work now

starts fair and straightforward, and you will feel your own way much

better and take a much firmer hold of your reader by allowing the

narrative to take its natural course."

In due time I had my pockets picked of my last shilling, and "Brother

Jonathan" appeared just in the nick of time and in the best possible

shape to keep me out of a sponging-house. For a while it created quite a

sensation, and led to many new engagements with different periodicals.

It was well received on the Continent, and reviewed in the leading

journals of France. It would have been republished in this country, had

not the sheets been suppressed, which I sent in advance to Wiley, the

publisher of Cooper's works, till it was too late. Other copies were

lost, I know not how, and I gave up the idea of astonishing the natives

here.

Meanwhile Mr. Blackwood and I had never met. Hindrances had happened,

month after month, when it seemed that we should certainly have a chance

for a grapple; and he had behaved so handsomely to me through all our

negotiations and correspondence, that I wanted to look into his eyes.

At last he came down upon me when least expected. Mrs. Halloway tapped

at my door to say that a strange gentleman was below, inquiring for Mr.

Carter Holmes; and then she handed me Mr. Blackwood's card. "Show him

up," said I, as a knowing smile drifted athwart her fine old-fashioned

English face,--for she had the secret under lock-and-key, and used to

collect my drafts and take charge of the letters to and from "Carter

Holmes." The girl who went to the door knew nothing of such a gentleman,

and so the landlady took the business into her own hands.

We met after a most agreeable fashion, and I was greatly pleased with my

visitor, though disappointed in his personal appearance. I found him a

short, "stubbed" man, of about five feet six, I should say, with a

plain, straightforward business air,--like that of a substantial

tradesman,--and a look of uncommon though quiet shrewdness. You could

see at a glance that he was a man to be trusted,--frank and fearless,

without being either boastful or aggressive. After talking over matters

generally, and getting my pay in cash,--guineas for pounds,--without

taking a bill or engaging my name for a discount in the usual course of

trade, he invited me to dine with him at an eating-house in the Strand,

saying that he had asked "Ensign O'Doherty" (Dr. Maginn) to meet me; the

man who wrote Hebrew and Greek and Latin poetry, and had begun for

"Blackwood" not long before with rendering the ballad of "Chevy Chase"

into Latin verse. I could see, that, although Mr. Blackwood had the

highest opinion of the Doctor's genius and scholarship, he was a little

shy of him, and I dare say saw through and through him, as I think I

did.

The dinner was a plain, substantial affair, without wine or

delicacies,--or even whiskey,--which may have been out of deference to

me; for when asked what I would "take?" I answered, "Nothing beyond a

glass of ale or porter." It may be that our friend the Doctor was a

little disappointed, or that "Ebony," knowing his weakness upon that

point, was unwilling to show him up altogether, on whiskey-punch, or old

Port, before a stranger; for, instead of talking freely and pleasantly,

and keeping up appearances, the Doctor grew shy and reserved, and

answered the simplest questions with an air of embarrassment, as if he

were afraid of being entrapped. In short, he disappointed me. There was

nothing in his language, look, or manner to justify his reputation as

"Ensign O'Doherty"; nor was there anything in the little that he said or

did to indicate the lamentable tendency of his gifted nature, which

ended within a few months, or a year or two at most, in his utter

degradation and ruin. He had the air and manners of a gentleman, though

not of one who had seen much of the world; with a mild, pleasant

expression of countenance, and a dash of seriousness. He seemed to be

about five-and-twenty, according to my present recollection, of middling

stature, and of a decidedly intellectual type; but he said nothing to be

remembered while we were together; and I have since had an intimation

that he was never himself when sober, and that Mr. Blackwood had just

taken him out of a sponging-house to meet me. Otherwise, our dinner

passed off in a very agreeable, unpretending fashion, and we separated,

never to meet again,--with a settled conviction on my part, however,

that I understood the characters of both as well as if we had been

dining together for a twelvemonth.

Soon after this, Mr. Millar, the first publisher of the "Sketch-Book,"

engaged me to write for the "European Magazine," New Series, without

allowing me to know that the "John Bull" newspaper and Theodore Hook

were at the bottom of the affair. I wrote for it month after month, upon

American matters, until I discovered the truth, and had just got through

a sharp controversy with Mathews, when I found it necessary to knock

off: the "John Bull" constantly abusing America, and Theodore Hook

losing no opportunity of saying the most offensive and brutal things of

us,--as, for example, that Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Adams both died drunk

on the 4th of July.

I had also contributed a series of papers to the "London Magazine,"

under the title of "Yankee Notions," and was showing up John Dunn Hunter

as he deserved, in which I was followed soon after by Mr. Sparks in the

"North American Review," about the time that the "Edinburgh Review"

adopted in the lump my theory of "Men and Women," already referred to,

saying in September, 1826, substantially what I had said in October,

1824. "We think it probable," says Mr. Jeffrey, "that some men have

originally a greater excitability or general vivacity of mind than

others, and that is the chief difference. But considering how variously

they may be developed or directed in after-life, it seems to us of no

sort of importance whether we call it a _temperament_, and say that it

is shown by the color of the hair and the eyes, or maintain that it is a

balance of active powers and propensities, the organs of which are in

the skull."

I had also written for the "Westminster," and, in short, was furnishing

about all of the monthlies and two of the quarterlies with American

_pabulum_; and yet the public were not satisfied. It seemed as if

"increase of appetite did grow with what it fed on." This, of course,

must have been very gratifying to "Old Christopher," though he did not

like the idea of anybody's knowing who wrote for the "Maga," and letting

the "delicious secret out." He wanted all his contributors to himself,

either in fact or in appearance; and when he found, from something I

said in the "London," or somewhere else, that I was known as the writer

of the "Blackwood Papers," he took me to task in a way that displeased

me. So we quarrelled,--or rather I quarrelled,--for he did not. He kept

his temper, and I lost mine,--for which, by the way, I ought to be

thankful; and the affair ended by my withdrawing the first of a series

of "North American Stories," which I was preparing for him, and

returning the fifteen guineas he had paid me for it. It was already in

type, and was the framework or skeleton of "Rachel Dyer."

On the whole, I must acknowledge that I was chiefly to blame, though not

altogether. I never wrote another line for him, and we had no further

correspondence.

About the same time, another misunderstanding arose between him and

"O'Doherty," who entered upon a rival enterprise, and became editor of a

new monthly, the title of which I do not now remember. It was of the

"Blackwood" type, though somewhat exaggerated, being ferocious where

"Blackwood" was only sarcastic, and utterly regardless of truth, where

"Blackwood" was rather cautious and circumspect in all that required

proof. In the very first number there appeared what was claimed to be an

extract from that "Life of Byron" which he had given to Moore, and which

had been suppressed, if not bought up. It was entitled "My Wedding

Night," and went into particulars so much in the style of Byron, that I,

for one, have always believed it faithful, and neither an imitation nor

a counterfeit. I have since been assured that Lady Caroline Lamb, and

two or three more at least "of that ilk," had the reading of these

memoirs, and of course portions of the whole might have been copied. But

however that may be, the publication by Dr. Maginn of the chapter

mentioned was either such a piece of heartless treachery or such an

impudent fabrication as no decent person would venture to encourage.

Though other chapters were promised, not another line appeared; the

magazine blew up, the Doctor was _tabooed_, and soon after died a

miserable death.

But enough. That William Blackwood was an extraordinary man is evident

enough from the astonishing success of his Magazine. Whatever may have

been its history, its faults, or its follies, it has maintained itself

now in the public favor of the world itself for nearly fifty years, and

most of the time at a prodigious elevation, in unapproachable solitude.

Burning and acrimonious, unrelenting, and at times deadly in its hatred,

full of desperate partisanship, and of judicial blindness toward all who

belonged to the other side in politics, it was always full of

earnestness and originality and tumultuous life, and often-times not

only generous, but magnanimous and forgiving.

THE CHIMNEY-CORNER.

XI.

THE WOMAN QUESTION: OR, WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH HER?

"What do you think of this Woman's Rights question?" said Bob Stephens.

"From some of your remarks, I apprehend that you think there is

something in it. I may be wrong, but I must confess that I have looked

with disgust on the whole movement. No man reverences women as I do; but

I reverence them _as_ women. I reverence them for those very things in

which their sex differs from ours; but when they come upon our ground,

and begin to work and fight after our manner and with our weapons, I

regard them as fearful anomalies, neither men nor women. These Women's

Rights Conventions appear to me to have ventilated crudities,

absurdities, and blasphemies. To hear them talk about men, one would

suppose that the two sexes were natural born enemies, and wonders

whether they ever had fathers and brothers. One would think, upon their

showing, that all men were a set of ruffians, in league against

women,--they seeming, at the same time, to forget how on their very

platforms the most constant and gallant defenders of their rights are

men. Wendell Phillips and Wentworth Higginson have put at the service of

the cause masculine training and manly vehemence, and complacently

accepted the wholesale abuse of their own sex at the hands of their

warrior sisters. One would think, were all they say of female powers

true, that our Joan-of-Arcs ought to have disdained to fight under male

captains."

"I think," said my wife, "that, in all this talk about the rights of

men, and the rights of women, and the rights of children, the world

seems to be forgetting what is quite as important, the _duties_ of men

and women and children. We all hear of our _rights_ till we forget our

_duties_; and even theology is beginning to concern itself more with

what man has a right to expect of his Creator than what the Creator has

a right to expect of man."

"You say the truth," said I; "there is danger of just this overaction:

and yet rights must be discussed; because, in order to understand the

duties, we owe to any class, we must understand their rights. To know

our duties to men, women, and children, we must know what the rights of

men, women, and children justly are. As to the 'Woman's Rights

movement,' it is not peculiar to America, it is part of a great wave in

the incoming tide of modern civilization; the swell is felt no less in

Europe, but it combs over and breaks on our American shore, because our

great wide beach affords the best play for its waters: and as the ocean

waves bring with them kelp, sea-weed, mud, sand, gravel, and even

putrefying debris, which lie unsightly on the shore, and yet, on the

whole, are healthful and refreshing,--so the Woman's Rights movement,

with its conventions, its speech-makings, its crudities and

eccentricities, is nevertheless a part of a healthful and necessary

movement of the human race towards progress. This question of Woman and

her Sphere is now, perhaps, the greatest of the age. We have put Slavery

under foot, and with the downfall of Slavery the only obstacle to the

success of our great democratic experiment is overthrown, and there

seems no limit to the splendid possibilities which it may open before

the human race.

"In the reconstruction that is now coming there lies more than the

reconstruction of States and the arrangement of the machinery of

Government. We need to know and feel, all of us, that, from the moment

of the death of Slavery, we parted finally from the _regime_ and control

of all the old ideas formed under old oppressive systems of society, and

came upon a new plane of life.

"In this new life we must never forget that we are a peculiar people,

that we have to walk in paths unknown to the Old World, paths where its

wisdom cannot guide us, where its precedents can be of little use to us,

and its criticisms, in most cases, must be wholly irrelevant. The

history of our war has shown us of how little service to us in any

important crisis the opinions and advice of the Old World can be. We

have been hurt at what seemed to us the want of sympathy, the direct

antagonism, of England. We might have been less hurt, if we had properly

understood that Providence had placed us in a position so far ahead of

her ideas or power of comprehension that just judgment or sympathy was

not to be expected from her.

"As we went through our great war with no help but that of God, obliged

to disregard the misconceptions and impertinences which the foreign

press rained down upon us, so, if we are wise, we shall continue to do.

Our object must now be to make the principles on which our government is

founded permeate consistently the mass of society, and to purge out the

leaven of aristocratic and Old World ideas. So long as there is an

illogical working in our actual life, so long as there is any class

denied equal rights with other classes, so long will there be agitation

and trouble."

"Then," said my wife, "you believe that women ought to vote?"

"If the principle on which we founded our government is true, that

taxation must not exist without representation, and if women hold

property and are taxed, it follows that women should be represented in

the State by their votes, or there is an illogical working of our

government."

"But, my dear, don't you think that this will have a bad effect on the

female character?"

"Yes," said Bob, "it will make women caucus-holders, political

candidates."

"It may make this of some women, just as of some men," said I. "But all

men do not take any great interest in politics; it is very difficult to

get some of the best of them to do their duty in voting; and the same

will be found true among women."

"But, after all," said Bob, "what do you gain? What will a woman's vote

be but a duplicate of that of her husband or father, or whatever man

happens to be her adviser?"

"That may be true on a variety of questions; but there are subjects on

which the vote of women would, I think, be essentially different from

that of men. On the subjects of temperance, public morals, and

education, I have no doubt that the introduction of the female vote into

legislation, in States, counties, and cities, would produce results very

different from that of men alone. There are thousands of women who would

close grogshops, and stop the traffic in spirits, if they had the

legislative power; and it would be well for society, if they had. In

fact, I think that a State can no more afford to dispense with the vote

of women in its affairs than a family. Imagine a family where the female

has no voice in the housekeeping! A State is but a larger family, and

there are many of its concerns which equally with those of a private

household would be bettered by female supervision."

"But fancy women going to those horrible voting-places! It is more than

I can do myself," said Bob.

"But you forget," said I, "that they are horrible and disgusting

principally because women never go to them. All places where women are

excluded tend downward to barbarism; but the moment she is introduced,

there come in with her courtesy, cleanliness, sobriety, and order. When

a man can walk up to the ballot-box with his wife or his sister on his

arm, voting-places will be far more agreeable than now; and the polls

will not be such bear-gardens that refined men will be constantly

tempted to omit their political duties there.

"If for nothing else, I would have women vote, that the business of

voting may not be so disagreeable and intolerable to men of refinement

as it now is; and I sincerely believe that the cause of good morals,

good order, cleanliness, and public health would be a gainer, not merely

by the added feminine vote, but by the added vote of a great many

excellent, but too fastidious men, who are now kept from the polls by

the disagreeables they meet there.

"Do you suppose, that, if women had equal representation with men in the

municipal laws of New York, its reputation for filth during the last

year would have gone so far beyond that of Cologne, or any other city

renowned for bad smells? I trow not. I believe a _lady-mayoress_ would

have brought in a dispensation of brooms and whitewash, and made a

terrible searching into dark holes and vile corners, before now.

_Female_ New York, I have faith to believe, has yet left in her enough

of the primary instincts of womanhood to give us a clean, healthy city,

if female votes had any power to do it."

"But," said Bob, "you forget that voting would bring together all the

women of the lower classes."

"Yes; but, thanks to the instincts of their sex, they would come in

their Sunday clothes: for where is the woman that hasn't her finery, and

will not embrace every chance to show it? Biddy's parasol, and hat with

pink ribbons, would necessitate a clean shirt in Pat as much as on

Sunday. Voting would become a _fete_, and we should have a population at

the polls as well dressed as at church. Such is my belief."

"I do not see," said Bob, "but you go to the full extent with our modern

female reformers."

"There are certain neglected truths, which have been held up by these

reformers, that are gradually being accepted and infused into the life

of modern society; and their recognition will help to solidify and

purify democratic institutions. They are,--

"1. The right of every woman to hold independent property.

"2. The right of every woman to receive equal pay with man for work

which she does equally well.

"3. The right of any woman to do any work for which, by her natural

organization and talent, she is peculiarly adapted.

"Under the first head, our energetic sisters have already, by the help

of their gallant male adjutants, reformed the laws of several of our

States, so that a married woman is no longer left the unprotected legal

slave of any unprincipled, drunken spendthrift who may be her

husband,--but, in case of the imbecility or improvidence of the natural

head of the family, the wife, if she have the ability, can conduct

business, make contracts, earn and retain money for the good of the

household; and I am sure no one can say that immense injustice and

cruelty are not thereby prevented.

"It is quite easy for women who have the good fortune to have just and

magnanimous husbands to say that they feel no interest in such reforms,

and that they would willingly trust their property to the man to whom

they give themselves; but they should remember that laws are not made

for the restraint of the generous and just, but of the dishonest and

base. The law which enables a married woman to hold her own property

does not forbid her to give it to the man of her heart, if she so

pleases; and it does protect many women who otherwise would be reduced

to the extremest misery. I once knew an energetic milliner who had her

shop attached four times, and a flourishing business broken up in four

different cities, because she was tracked from city to city by a

worthless spendthrift, who only waited till she had amassed a little

property in a new place to swoop down upon and carry it off. It is to be

hoped that the time is not distant when every State will give to woman a

fair chance to the ownership and use of her own earnings and her own

property."

"Well," said Bob, "the most interesting question still remains: what are

to be the employments of woman? What ways are there for her to use her

talents, to earn her livelihood and support those who are dear to her,

when Providence throws that necessity upon her? This is becoming more

than ever one of the pressing questions of our age. The war has deprived

so many thousands of women of their natural protectors, that everything

must be thought of that may possibly open a way for their self-support."

"Well, let us look over the field," said my wife. "What is there for

woman?"

"In the first place," said I, "come the professions requiring natural

genius,--authorship, painting, sculpture, with the subordinate arts of

photographing, coloring, and finishing; but when all is told, these

furnish employment to a very limited number,--almost as nothing to the

whole. Then there is teaching, which is profitable in its higher

branches, and perhaps the very pleasantest of all the callings open to

woman; but teaching is at present an overcrowded profession, the

applicants everywhere outnumbering the places. Architecture and

landscape-gardening are arts every way suited to the genius of woman,

and there are enough who have the requisite mechanical skill and

mathematical education; and though never yet thought of for the sex,

that I know of, I do not despair of seeing those who shall find in this

field a profession at once useful and elegant. When women plan

dwelling-houses, the vast body of tenements to be let in our cities will

wear a more domestic and comfortable air, and will be built more with

reference to the real wants of their inmates."

"I have thought," said Bob, "that _agencies_ of various sorts, as

canvassing the country for the sale of books, maps, and engravings,

might properly employ a great many women. There is a large class whose

health suffers from confinement and sedentary occupations, who might, I

think, be both usefully and agreeably employed in business of this sort,

and be recruiting their health at the same time."

"Then," said my wife, "there is the medical profession."

"Yes," said I. "The world is greatly obliged to Miss Blackwell and other

noble pioneers who faced and overcame the obstacles to the attainment of

a thorough medical education by females. Thanks to them, a new and

lucrative profession is now open to educated women in relieving the

distresses of their own sex; and we may hope that in time, through their

intervention, the care of the sick may also become the vocation of

cultivated, refined, intelligent women instead of being left, as

heretofore, to the ignorant and vulgar? The experience of our late war

has shown us what women of a high class morally and intellectually can

do in this capacity. Why should not this experience inaugurate a new and

sacred calling for refined and educated women? Why should not NURSING

become a vocation equal in dignity and in general esteem to the medical

profession, of which it is the right hand? Why should our dearest hopes,

in the hour of their greatest peril, be committed into the hands of

Sairey Gamps, when the world has seen Florence Nightingales?"

"Yes, indeed," said my wife; "I can testify, from my own experience,

that the sufferings and dangers of the sickbed, for the want of

intelligent, educated nursing, have been dreadful. A prejudiced,

pig-headed, snuff-taking old woman, narrow-minded and vulgar, and more

confident in her own way than seven men that can render a reason, enters

your house at just the hour and moment when all your dearest earthly

hopes are brought to a crisis. She becomes absolute dictator over your

delicate, helpless wife and your frail babe,--the absolute dictator of

all in the house. If it be her sovereign will and pleasure to enact all

sorts of physiological absurdities in the premises, who shall say her

nay? "She knows her business, she hopes!" And if it be her edict, as it

was of one of her class whom I knew, that each of her babies shall eat

four baked beans the day it is four days old, eat them it must; and if

the baby die in convulsions four days after, it is set down as the

mysterious will of an overruling Providence.

"I know and have seen women lying upon laced pillows under silken

curtains, who have been bullied and dominated over in the hour of their

greatest helplessness by ignorant and vulgar tyrants, in a way that

would scarce be thought possible in civilized society, and children that

have been injured or done to death by the same means. A celebrated

physician told me of a babe whose eyesight was nearly ruined by its

nurse taking a fancy to wash its eyes with camphor, "to keep it from

catching cold," she said. I knew another infant that was poisoned by the

nurse giving it laudanum in some of those patent nostrums which these

ignorant creatures carry secretly in their pockets, to secure quiet in

their little charges. I knew one delicate woman who never recovered from

the effects of being left at her first confinement in the hands of an

ill-tempered, drinking nurse, and whose feeble infant was neglected and

abused by this woman in a way to cause lasting injury. In the first four

weeks of infancy, the constitution is peculiarly impressible; and

infants of a delicate organization may, if frightened and ill treated,

be the subjects of just such a shock to the nervous system as in mature

age comes from the sudden stroke of a great affliction or terror. A bad

nurse may affect nerves predisposed to weakness in a manner they never

will recover from. I solemnly believe that the constitutions of more

women are broken up by bad nursing in their first confinement than by

any other cause whatever. And yet there are at the same time hundreds

and thousands of women wanting the means of support, whose presence in a

sick-room would be a benediction. I do trust that Miss Blackwell's band

of educated nurses will not be long in coming, and that the number of

such may increase till they effect a complete revolution in this

vocation. A class of cultivated, well-trained, intelligent nurses would

soon elevate the employment of attending on the sick into the noble

calling it ought to be, and secure for it its appropriate rewards."

"There is another opening for woman," said I,--"in the world of

business. The system of commercial colleges now spreading over our land

is a new and a most important development of our times. There that large

class of young men who have either no time or no inclination for an

extended classical education can learn what will fit them for that

active material life which in our broad country needs so many workers.

But the most pleasing feature of these institutions is, that the

complete course is open to women no less than to men, and women there

may acquire that knowledge of book-keeping and accounts, and of the

forms and principles of business transactions, which will qualify them

for some of the lucrative situations hitherto monopolized by the other

sex. And the expenses of the course of instruction are so arranged as to

come within the scope of very moderate means. A fee of fifty dollars

entitles a woman to the benefit of the whole course, and she has the

privilege of attending at any hours that may suit her own engagements

and convenience."

"Then, again," said my wife, "there are the departments of millinery and

dress-making and the various branches of needle-work, which afford

employment to thousands of women; there is type-setting, by which many

are beginning to get a living; there are the manufactures of cotton,

woollen, silk, and the numberless useful articles which employ female

hands in their fabrication,--all of them opening avenues by which, with

more or less success, a subsistence can be gained."

"Well, really," said Bob, "it would appear, after all, that there are

abundance of openings for women. What is the cause of the outcry and

distress? How is it that we hear of women starving, driven to vice and

crime by want, when so many doors of useful and profitable employment

stand open to them?"

"The question would easily be solved," said my wife, "if you could once

see the kind and class of women who thus suffer and starve. There may be

exceptions, but too large a portion of them are girls and women who _can

or will do no earthly thing well_,--and what is worse, are not willing

to take the pains to be taught to do anything well. I will describe to

you one girl, and you will find in every intelligence-office a hundred

of her kind to five thoroughly trained ones.

"Imprimis: she is rather delicate and genteel-looking, and you may know

from the arrangement of her hair just what the last mode is of disposing

of rats or waterfalls. She has a lace bonnet with roses, a silk

mantilla, a silk dress trimmed with velvet, a white skirt with sixteen

tucks and an embroidered edge, a pair of cloth gaiters, underneath which

are a pair of stockings without feet, the only pair in her possession.

She has no under-linen, and sleeps at night in the working-clothes she

wears in the day. She never seems to have in her outfit either comb,

brush, or tooth-brush of her own,--neither needles, thread, scissors,

nor pins: her money, when she has any, being spent on more important

articles, such as the lace bonnet or silk mantilla, or the rats and

waterfalls that glorify her head. When she wishes to sew, she borrows

what is needful of a convenient next neighbor; and if she gets a place

in a family as second girl, she expects to subsist in these respects by

borrowing of the better-appointed servants, or helping herself from the

family stores.

"She expects, of course, the very highest wages, if she condescends to

live out, and by help of a trim outside appearance and the many

vacancies that are continually occurring in households she gets places,

where her object is to do just as little of any duty assigned to her as

possible, to hurry through her performances, put on her fine clothes,

and go a-gadding. She is on free and easy terms with all the men she

meets, and ready at jests and repartee, sometimes far from seemly. Her

time of service in any one place lasts indifferently from a fortnight to

two or three months, when she takes her wages, buys her a new parasol in

the latest style, and goes back to the intelligence-office. In the

different families where she has lived she has been told a hundred times

the proprieties of household life, how to make beds, arrange rooms, wash

china, glass, and silver, and set tables; but her habitual rule is to

try in each place how small and how poor services will be accepted. When

she finds less will not do, she gives more. When the mistress follows

her constantly and shows an energetic determination to be well served,

she shows that she _can_ serve well; but such attention relaxes, she

slides back again. She is as destructive to a house as a fire; the very

spirit of wastefulnes is in her; she cracks the china, dents the silver,

stops the water-pipes with rubbish; and after she is gone, there is

generally a sum equal to half her wages to be expended in repairing the

effects of her carelessness. And yet there is one thing to be said for

her: she is quite as careful of her employer's things as of her own. The

full amount of her mischief often does not appear at once, as she is

glib of tongue, adroit in apologies, and lies with as much alertness and

as little thought of conscience as a blackbird chatters. It is difficult

for people who have been trained from childhood in the school of

verities,--who have been lectured for even the shadow of a

prevarication, and shut up in disgrace for a lie, till truth becomes a

habit of their souls,--it is very difficult for people so educated to

understand how to get on with those who never speak the truth except by

mere accident, who assert any and every thing that comes into the heads

with all the assurance and all the energy of perfect verity.

"What becomes of this girl? She finds means, by begging, borrowing,

living out, to keep herself extremely trim and airy for a certain length

of time, till the rats and waterfalls, the lace hat and parasol, and the

glib tongue, have done their work in making a fool of some honest young

mechanic who earns three dollars a day. She marries him with no higher

object than to have somebody to earn money for her to spend. And what

comes of such marriages?

"That is _one_ ending of her career; the other is on the street, in

haunts of vice, in prison, in drunkenness, and death.

"Whence come these girls? They are as numerous as yellow butterflies in

autumn; they flutter up to cities from the country; they grow up from

mothers who ran the same sort of career before them; and the reason why

in the end they fall out of all reputable the moment employment and

starve on poor wages is, that they become physically, mentally, and

morally incapable of rendering any service which society will think

worth paying for."

"I remember," said I, "that the head of the most celebrated dress-making

establishment in New York, in reply to the appeals of the needle-women

of the city for sympathy and wages, came out with published statements

to this effect: that the difficulty lay not in unwillingness of

employers to pay what work was worth, but in finding any work worth

paying for; that she had many applicants, but among them few who could

be of real use to her; that she, in common with everybody in this

country who has any kind of serious responsibilities to carry, was

continually embarrassed for want of skilled work-people, who could take

and go on with the labor of her various departments without her constant

supervision; that out of a hundred girls, there would not be more than

five to whom she could give a dress to be made and dismiss it from her

mind as something certain to be properly done.

"Let people individually look around their own little sphere and ask

themselves if they know any woman really excelling in any _valuable_

calling or accomplishment who is suffering for want of work. All of us

know seamstresses, dress-makers, nurses, and laundresses, who have made

themselves such a reputation, and are so beset and overcrowded with

work, that the whole neighborhood is constantly on its knees to them

with uplifted hands. The fine seamstress, who can cut and make

trousseaus and layettes in elegant perfection, is always engaged six

months in advance; the pet dress-maker of a neighborhood must be engaged

in May for September, and in September for May; a laundress who sends

your clothes home in nice order always has all the work that she can do.

Good work in any department is the rarest possible thing in our American

life; and it is a fact that the great majority of workers, both in the

family and out, do only tolerably well,--not so badly that it actually

cannot be borne, yet not so well as to be a source of real, thorough

satisfaction. The exceptional worker in every neighborhood, who does

things really _well_, can always set her own price, and is always having

more offering than she can possibly do.

"The trouble, then, in finding employment for women lies deeper than the

purses or consciences of the employers; it lies in the want of education

in women: the want of _education_, I say,--meaning by education that

which fits a woman for practical and profitable employment in life, and

not mere common school learning."

"Yes," said my wife; "for it is a fact that the most troublesome and

hopeless persons to provide for are often those who have a good medium

education, but no feminine habits, no industry, no practical

calculation, no muscular strength, and no knowledge of any one of

woman's peculiar duties. In the earlier days of New England, women, as a

class, had far fewer opportunities for acquiring learning, yet were far

better educated, physically and morally, than now. The high school did

not exist; at the common school they learned reading, writing, and

arithmetic, and practised spelling; while at home they did the work of

the household. They were cheerful, bright, active, ever on the alert,

able to do anything, from the harnessing and driving of a horse to the

finest embroidery. The daughters of New England in those days looked the

world in the face without a fear. They shunned no labor; they were

afraid of none; and they could always find their way to a living."

"But although less instructed in school learning," said I, "they showed

no deficiency in intellectual acumen. I see no such women, nowadays, as

some I remember of that olden time,--women whose strong minds and ever

active industry carried on reading and study side by side with household

toils.

"I remember a young lady friend of mine, attending a celebrated

boarding-school, boarded in the family of a woman who had never been to

school longer than was necessary to learn to read and write, yet who was

a perfect cyclopedia of general information. The young scholar used to

take her Chemistry and Natural Philosophy into the kitchen, where her

friend was busy with her household work, and read her lessons to her,

that she might have the benefit of her explanations; and so, while the

good lady scoured her andirons or kneaded her bread, she lectured to her

_protegee_ on mysteries of science far beyond the limits of the

text-book. Many of the graduates of our modern high schools would find

it hard to shine in conversation on the subjects they had studied, in

the searching presence of some of these vigorous matrons of the olden

time, whose only school had been the leisure hours gained by energy and

method from their family cares."

"And in those days," said my wife, "there lived in our families a class

of American domestics, women of good sense, and good powers of

reflection, who applied this sense and power of reflection to household

matters. In the early part of my married life, I myself had American

'help'; and they were not only excellent servants, but trusty and

invaluable friends. But now, all this class of applicants for domestic

service have disappeared, I scarce know why or how. All I know is, there

is no more a Betsey or a Lois, such as used to take domestic cares off

my shoulders so completely."

"Good heavens! where are they?" cried Bob. "Where do they hide? I would

search through the world after such a prodigy!"

"The fact is," said I, "there has been a slow and gradual reaction

against household labor in America. Mothers began to feel that it was a

sort of _curse_, to be spared, if possible, to their daughters; women

began to feel that they were fortunate in proportion as they were able

to be entirely clear of family responsibilities. Then Irish labor began

to come in, simultaneously with a great advance in female education.

"For a long while nothing was talked of, written of, thought of, in

teachers' meetings, conventions, and assemblies, but the neglected state

of female education; and the whole circle of the arts and sciences was

suddenly introduced into our free-school system, from which needle-work

as gradually and quietly was suffered to drop out. The girl who attended

the primary and high school had so much study imposed on her that she

had no time for sewing or housework; and the delighted mother was only

too happy to darn her stockings and do the housework alone, that her

daughter might rise to a higher plane than she herself had attained to.

The daughter, thus educated, had, on coming to womanhood, no solidity of

muscle, no manual dexterity, no practice or experience in domestic life;

and if she were to seek a livelihood, there remained only teaching, or

some feminine trade, or the factory."

"These factories," said my wife, "have been the ruin of hundreds and

hundreds of our once healthy farmers' daughters and others from the

country. They go there young and unprotected; they live there in great

boarding-houses, and associate with a promiscuous crowd, without even

such restraints of maternal supervision as they would have in great

boarding-schools; their bodies are enfeebled by labor often necessarily

carried on in a foul and heated atmosphere; and at the hours when off

duty, they are exposed to all the dangers of unwatched intimacy with the

other sex.

"Moreover, the factory-girl learns and practises but one thing,--some

one mechanical movement, which gives no scope for invention, ingenuity,

or any other of the powers called into play by domestic labor; so that

she is in reality unfitted in every way for family duties.

"Many times it has been my lot to try, in my family service, girls who

have left factories; and I have found them wholly useless for any of the

things which a woman ought to be good for. They knew nothing of a house,

or what ought to be done in it; they had imbibed a thorough contempt of

household labor, and looked upon it but as a _dernier resort_; and it

was only the very lightest of its tasks that they could even begin to

think of. I remember I tried to persuade one of these girls, the pretty

daughter of a fisherman, to take some lessons in washing and ironing.

She was at that time engaged to be married to a young mechanic, who

earned something like two or three dollars a day.

"'My child,' said I, 'you will need to understand all kinds of

housework, if you are going to be married.'

"She tossed her little head,--

"'Indeed, she wasn't going to trouble herself about that.'

"'But who will get up your husband's shirts?'

"'Oh, he must put them out. I'm not going to be married to make a slave

of myself!'

"Another young factory-girl, who came for table and parlor work, was so

full of airs and fine notions, that it seemed as difficult to treat with

her as with a princess. She could not sweep, because it blistered her

hands, which, in fact, were long and delicate; she could not think of

putting them into hot dish-water, and for that reason preferred washing

the dishes in cold water; she required a full hour in the morning to

make her toilet; she was laced so tightly that she could not stoop

without vertigo, and her hoops were of dimensions which seemed to render

it impossible for her to wait upon table; she was quite exhausted with

the effort of ironing the table-napkins and chamber-towels;--yet she

could not think of 'living out' under two dollars a week.

"Both these girls had had a good free-school education, and could read

any amount of novels, write a tolerable letter, but had not learned

anything with sufficient accuracy to fit them for teachers. They were

pretty, and their destiny was to marry and lie a dead weight on the

hands of some honest man, and to increase, in their children, the number

of incapables."

"Well," said Bob, "what would you have? What is to be done?"

"In the first place," said I, "I would have it felt by those who are

seeking to elevate woman, that the work is to be done, not so much by

creating for her new spheres of action as by elevating her conceptions

of that domestic vocation to which God and Nature have assigned her. It

is all very well to open to her avenues of profit and advancement in the

great outer world; but, after all, _to make and keep a home_ is, and

ever must be, a woman's first glory, her highest aim. No work of art can

compare with a perfect home; the training and guiding of a family must

be recognized as the highest work a woman can perform; and female

education ought to be conducted with special reference to this.

"Men are _trained_ to be lawyers, to be physicians, to be mechanics, by

long and self-denying study and practice. A man cannot even make shoes

merely by going to the high school and learning reading, writing, and

mathematics; he cannot be a book-keeper, or a printer, simply from

general education.

"Now women have a sphere and profession of their own,--a profession for

which they are fitted by physical organization, by their own instincts,

and to which they are directed by the pointing and manifest finger of

God,--and that sphere is _family life_.

"Duties to the State and to public life they may have; but the public

duties of women must bear to their family ones the same relation that

the family duties of men bear to their public ones.

"The defect in the late efforts to push on female education is, that it

has been for her merely general, and that it has left out and excluded

all that is professional; and she undertakes the essential duties of

womanhood, when they do devolve on her, without any adequate

preparation."

"But is it possible for a girl to learn at school the things which fit

her for family life?" said Bob.

"Why not?" I replied. "Once it was thought impossible in schools to

teach girls geometry, or algebra, or the higher mathematics; it was

thought impossible to put them through collegiate courses: but it has

been done, and we see it. Women study treatises on political economy in

schools; and why should not the study of domestic economy form a part of

every school course? A young girl will stand up at the blackboard, and

draw and explain the compound blowpipe, and describe all the process of

making oxygen and hydrogen. Why should she not draw and explain a

refrigerator as well as an air-pump? Both are to be explained on

philosophical principles. When a school-girl, in her Chemistry, studies

the reciprocal action of acids and alkalies, what is there to hinder the

teaching her its application to the various processes of cooking where

acids and alkalies are employed? Why should she not be led to see how

effervescence and fermentation can be made to perform their office in

the preparation of light and digestible bread? Why should she not be

taught the chemical substances by which food is often adulterated, and

the tests by which such adulterations are detected? Why should she not

understand the processes of confectionery, and know how to guard against

the deleterious or poisonous elements that are introduced into

children's sugar-plums and candies? Why, when she learns the doctrine of

_mordants_, the substances by which different colors are set, should she

not learn it with some practical view to future life, so that she may

know how to set the color of a fading calico or restore the color of a

spotted one? Why, in short, when a girl has labored through a profound

chemical work, and listened to courses of chemical lectures, should she

come to domestic life, which presents a constant series of chemical

experiments and changes, and go blindly along as without chart or

compass, unable to tell what will take out a stain or what will brighten

a metal, what are common poisons and what their antidotes, and not

knowing enough of the laws of caloric to understand how to warm a house,

or of the laws of atmosphere to know how to ventilate one? Why should

the preparation of food, that subtile art on which life, health,

cheerfulness, good temper, and good looks so largely depend, forever be

left in the hands of the illiterate and vulgar?

"A benevolent gentleman has lately left a large fortune for the founding

of a university for women, and the object is stated to be to give women

who have already acquired a general education the means of acquiring a

professional one, to fit themselves for some employment by which they

may gain a livelihood.

"In this institution the women are to be instructed in book-keeping,

stenography, telegraphing, photographing, drawing, modelling, and

various other arts; but so far as I remember, there is no proposal to

teach domestic economy as at least _one_ of woman's professions.

"Why should there not be a professor of domestic economy in every large

female school? Why should not this professor give lectures, first on

house-planning and building, illustrated by appropriate apparatus? Why

should not the pupils have presented to their inspection models of

houses planned with reference to economy, to ease of domestic service,

to warmth, to ventilation, and to architectural appearance? Why should

not the professor go on to lecture further on house-fixtures, with

models of the best mangles, washing-machines, clothes-wringers, ranges,

furnaces, and cooking-stoves, together with drawings and apparatus

illustrative of domestic hydraulics, showing the best contrivances for

bathing-rooms and the obvious principles of plumbing, so that the pupils

may have some idea how to work the machinery of a convenient house when

they have it, and to have such conveniences introduced when wanting? If

it is thought worth while to provide at great expense apparatus for

teaching the revolutions of Saturn's moons and the precession of the

equinoxes, why should there not be some also to teach what it may

greatly concern a woman's earthly happiness to know?

"Why should not the professor lecture on home-chemistry, devoting his

first lecture to bread-making? and why might not a batch of bread be

made and baked and exhibited to the class, together with specimens of

morbid anatomy in the bread line,--the sour cotton bread of the

baker,--the rough, big-holed bread,--the heavy, fossil bread,--the

bitter bread of too much yeast,--and the causes of their defects pointed

out? And so with regard to the various articles of food,--why might not

chemical lectures be given on all of them, one after another?--In short,

it would be easy to trace out a course of lectures on common things to

occupy a whole year, and for which the pupils, whenever they come to

have homes of their own, will thank the lecturer to the last day of

their life.

"Then there is no impossibility in teaching needle-work, the cutting and

fitting of dresses, in female schools. The thing is done very perfectly

in English schools for the working classes. A girl trained at one of

these schools came into a family I once knew. She brought with her a

sewing-book, in which the process of making various articles was

exhibited in miniature. The several parts of a shirt were first shown,

each perfectly made, and fastened to a leaf of the book by itself, and

then the successive steps of uniting the parts, till finally appeared a

miniature model of the whole. The sewing was done with red thread, so

that every stitch might show and any imperfection be at once remedied.

The same process was pursued with regard to other garments, and a good

general idea of cutting and fitting them was thus given to an entire

class of girls.

"In the same manner the care and nursing of young children and the

tending of the sick might be made the subject of lectures. Every woman

ought to have some general principles to guide her with regard to what

is to be done in case of the various accidents that may befall either

children or grown people, and of their lesser illnesses, and ought to

know how to prepare comforts and nourishment for the sick. Hawthorne's

satirical remarks upon the contrast between the elegant Zenobia's

conversation and the smoky porridge she made for him when he was an

invalid might apply to the volunteer cookery of many charming women."

"I think," said Bob, "that your Professor of Domestic Economy would find

enough to occupy his pupils."

"In fact," said I, "were domestic economy properly honored and properly

taught, in the manner described, it would open a sphere of employment to

so many women in the home life, that we should not be obliged to send

our women out to California or the Pacific, to put an end to an anxious

and aimless life.

"When domestic work is sufficiently honored to be taught as an art and

science in our boarding-schools and high schools, then possibly it may

acquire also dignity in the eyes of our working classes, and young girls

who have to earn their own living may no longer feel degraded in

engaging in domestic service. The place of a domestic in a family may

become as respectable in their eyes as a place in a factory, in a

printing-office, in a dress-making or millinery establishment, or behind

the counter of a shop.

"In America there is no class which will confess itself the lower class,

and a thing recommended solely for the benefit of any such class finds

no one to receive it.

"If the intelligent and cultivated look down on household-work with

disdain, if they consider it as degrading, a thing to be shunned by

every possible device, they may depend upon it that the influence of

such contempt of woman's noble duties will flow downward, producing a

like contempt in every class in life.

"Our sovereign princesses learn the doctrine of equality very quickly,

and are not going to sacrifice themselves to what is not considered _de

bon ton_ by the upper classes; and the girl with the laced hat and

parasol, without underclothes, who does her best to "shirk" her duties

as housemaid, and is looking for marriage as an escape from work, is a

fair copy of her mistress, who married for much the same reason, who

hates housekeeping, and would rather board or do anything else than have

the care of a family;--the one is about as respectable as the other.

"When housekeeping becomes an enthusiasm, and its study and practice a

fashion, then we shall have in America that class of persons to rely on

for help in household labors who are now going to factories, to

printing-offices, to every kind of toil, forgetful of the best life and

sphere of woman."

THE FORGE.