Leverett; a dark mustachioed face, the figure two-thirds length, clothed
in a sort of frock-coat, buttoned, and a broad sword-belt girded round
the waist, and fastened with a large steel buckle; the hilt of the sword
steel,--altogether very striking. Sir William Pepperell, in English
regimentals, coat, waistcoat, and breeches, all of red broadcloth, richly
gold-embroidered; he holds a general's truncheon in his right hand, and
extends the left towards the batteries erected against Louisbourg, in the
country near which he is standing. Endicott, Pyncheon, and others, in
scarlet robes, bands, etc. Half a dozen or more family portraits of the
Olivers, some in plain dresses brown, crimson, or claret; others with
gorgeous gold-embroidered waistcoats, descending almost to the knees, so
as to form the most conspicuous article of dress. Ladies, with lace
ruffles, the painting of which, in one of the pictures, cost five
guineas. Peter Oliver, who was crazy, used to fight with these family
pictures in the old Mansion House; and the face and breast of one lady
bear cuts and stabs inflicted by him. Miniatures in oil, with the paint
peeling off, of stern, old, yellow faces. Oliver Cromwell, apparently an
old picture, half length, or one third, in an oval frame, probably
painted for some New England partisan. Some pictures that had been
partly obliterated by scrubbing with sand. The dresses, embroidery,
laces of the Oliver family are generally better done than the faces.
Governor Leverett's gloves,--the glove part of coarse leather, but round
the wrist a deep, three or four inch border of spangles and silver
embroidery. Old drinking-glasses, with tall stalks. A black glass
bottle, stamped with the name of Philip English, with a broad bottom.
The baby-linen, etc., of Governor Bradford of Plymouth County. Old
manuscript sermons, some written in short-hand, others in a hand that
seems learnt from print.
Nothing gives a stronger idea of old worm-eaten aristocracy--of a family
being crazy with age, and of its being time that it was extinct--than
these black, dusty, faded, antique-dressed portraits, such as those of
the Oliver family; the identical old white wig of an ancient minister
producing somewhat the impression that his very scalp, or some other
portion of his personal self, would do.
The excruciating agonies which Nature inflicts on men (who break her
laws) to be represented as the work of human tormentors; as the gout, by
screwing the toes. Thus we might find that worse than the tortures of
the Spanish Inquisition are daily suffered without exciting notice.
Suppose a married couple fondly attached to one another, and to think
that they lived solely for one another; then it to be found out that they
were divorced, or that they might separate if they chose. What would be
its effect?
Monday, August 27th.--Went to Boston last Wednesday. Remarkables:--An
author at the American Stationers' Company, slapping his hand on his
manuscript, and crying, "I'm going to publish."--An excursion aboard a
steamboat to Thompson's Island, to visit the Manual Labor School for
boys. Aboard the steamboat several poets and various other authors; a
Commodore,--Colton, a small, dark brown, sickly man, with a good deal of
roughness in his address; Mr. Waterston, talking poetry and philosophy.
Examination and exhibition of the boys, little tanned agriculturists.
After examination, a stroll round the island, examining the products, as
wheat in sheaves on the stubble-field; oats, somewhat blighted and
spoiled; great pumpkins elsewhere; pastures; mowing ground;--all
cultivated by the boys. Their residence, a great brick building, painted
green, and standing on the summit of a rising ground, exposed to the
winds of the bay. Vessels flitting past; great ships, with intricacy of
rigging and various sails; schooners, sloops, with their one or two broad
sheets of canvas: going on different tacks, so that the spectator might
think that there was a different wind for each vessel, or that they
scudded across the sea spontaneously, whither their own wills led them.
The farm boys remain insulated, looking at the passing show, within sight
of the city, yet having nothing to do with it; beholding their
fellow-creatures skimming by them in winged machines, and steamboats
snorting and puffing through the waves. Methinks an island would be the
most desirable of all landed property, for it seems like a little world
by itself; and the water may answer instead of the atmosphere that
surrounds planets. The boys swinging, two together, standing up, and
almost causing the ropes and their bodies to stretch out horizontally.
On our departure, they ranged themselves on the rails of the fence, and,
being dressed in blue, looked not unlike a flock of pigeons.
On Friday, a visit to the Navy Yard at Charlestown, in company with the
Naval Officer of Boston, and Cilley. Dined aboard the revenue-cutter
Hamilton. A pretty cabin, finished off with bird's-eye maple and
mahogany; two looking-glasses. Two officers in blue frocks, with a
stripe of lace on each shoulder. Dinner, chowder, fried fish, corned
beef,--claret, afterwards champagne. The waiter tells the Captain of the
cutter that Captain Percival (Commander of the Navy Yard) is sitting on
the deck of the anchor boy (which lies inside of the cutter), smoking his
cigar. The captain sends him a glass of champagne, and inquires of the
waiter what Percival says to it. "He said, sir, `What does he send me
this damned stuff for?' but drinks, nevertheless." The Captain
characterizes Percival as the roughest old devil that ever was in his
manners, but a kind, good-hearted man at bottom. By and by comes in the
steward. "Captain Percival is coming aboard of you, sir." "Well, ask
him to walk down into the cabin"; and shortly down comes old Captain
Percival, a white-haired, thin-visaged, weather-worn old gentleman, in a
blue, Quaker-cut coat, with tarnished lace and brass buttons, a pair of
drab pantaloons, and brown waistcoat. There was an eccentric expression
in his face, which seemed partly wilful, partly natural. He has not
risen to his present rank in the regular line of the profession; but
entered the navy as a sailing-master, and has all the roughness of that
class of officers. Nevertheless, he knows how to behave and to talk like
a gentleman. Sitting down, and taking in hand a glass of champagne, he
began a lecture on economy, and how well it was that Uncle Sam had a
broad back, being compelled to bear so many burdens as were laid on it,--
alluding to the table covered with wine-bottles. Then he spoke of the
fitting up of the cabin with expensive woods,--of the brooch in Captain
Scott's bosom. Then he proceeded to discourse of politics, taking the
opposite side to Cilley, and arguing with much pertinacity. He seems to
have moulded and shaped himself to his own whims, till a sort of rough
affectation has become thoroughly imbued throughout a kindly nature. He
is full of antique prejudices against the modern fashions of the younger
officers, their mustaches and such fripperies, and prophesies little
better than disgrace in case of another war; owning that the boys would
fight for their country, and die for her, but denying that there are any
officers now like Hull and Stuart, whose exploits, nevertheless, he
greatly depreciated, saying that the Boxer and Enterprise fought the only
equal battle which we won during the war; and that, in that action, an
officer had proposed to haul down the stars and stripes, and a common
sailor threatened to cut him to pieces if he should do so. He spoke of
Bainbridge as a sot and a poltroon, who wanted to run from the
Macedonian, pretending to take her for a line-of-battle ship; of
Commodore Elliot as a liar; but praised Commodore Downes in the highest
terms. Percival seems to be the very pattern of old integrity; taking as
much care of Uncle Sam's interests as if all the money expended were to
come out of his own pocket. This quality was displayed in his resistance
to the demand of a new patent capstan for the revenue-cutter, which,
however, Scott is resolved in such a sailor-like way to get, that he will
probably succeed. Percival spoke to me of how his business in the yard
absorbed him, especially the fitting of the Columbus seventy-four, of
which ship he discoursed with great enthusiasm. He seems to have no
ambition beyond his present duties, perhaps never had any; at any rate,
he now passes his life with a sort of gruff contentedness, grumbling and
growling, yet in good humor enough. He is conscious of his
peculiarities; for when I asked him whether it would be well to make a
naval officer Secretary of the Navy, he said, "God forbid, for that an
old sailor was always full of prejudices and stubborn whim-whams,"
instancing himself; whereto I agreed. We went round the Navy Yard with
Percival and Commodore Downes, the latter a sailor and a gentleman too,
with rather more of the ocean than the drawing-room about him, but
courteous, frank, and good-natured. We looked at ropewalks,
rigging-lofts, ships in the stocks; and saw the sailors of the station
laughing and sporting with great mirth and cheerfulness, which the
Commodore said was much increased at sea. We returned to the wharf at
Boston in the cutter's boat. Captain Scott, of the cutter, told me a
singular story of what occurred during the action between the
Constitution and Macedonian--he being powder-monkey aboard the former
ship. A cannon-shot came through the ship's side, and a man's head was
struck off, probably by a splinter, for it was done without bruising the
head or body, as clean as by a razor. Well, the man was walking pretty
briskly at the time of the accident; and Scott seriously affirmed that
he kept walking onward at the same pace, with two jets of blood gushing
from his headless trunk, till, after going about twenty feet without a
head, he sunk down at once, with his legs under him.
[The corroboration of the truth of this, see Lord Bacon, Century IV. of
his Sylva Sylvarum, or Natural History, in Ten Centuries, paragraph 400.]
On Saturday, I called to see E. H------, having previously appointed a
meeting for the purpose of inquiring about our name. He is an old
bachelor, and truly forlorn. The pride of ancestry seems to be his great
hobby. He had a good many old papers in his desk at the Custom-House,
which he produced and dissertated upon, and afterwards went with me to
his sister's, and showed me an old book, with a record of the children of
the first emigrant (who came over two hundred years ago), in his own
handwriting. E----'s manners are gentlemanly, and he seems to be very
well informed. At a little distance, I think, one would take him to be
not much over thirty; but nearer at hand one finds him to look rather
venerable,--perhaps fifty or more. He is nervous, and his hands shook
while he was looking over the papers, as if he had been startled by my
visit; and when we came to the crossings of streets, he darted across,
cautioning me, as if both were in great danger to be run over.
Nevertheless, being very quick-tempered, he would face the Devil if at
all irritated. He gave a most forlorn description of his life; how, when
he came to Salem, there was nobody except Mr. ------ whom he cared about
seeing; how his position prevented him from accepting of civilities,
because he had no home where he could return them; in short, he seemed
about as miserable a being as is to be found anywhere,--lonely, and with
sensitiveness to feel his loneliness, and capacities, now withered, to
have enjoyed the sweets of life. I suppose he is comfortable enough when
busied in his duties at the Custom-House; for when I spoke to him at my
entrance, he was too much absorbed to hear me at first. As we walked, he
kept telling stories of the family, which seemed to have comprised many
oddities, eccentric men and women, recluses and other kinds,--one of old
Philip English (a Jersey man, the name originally L'Anglais), who had
been persecuted by John Hawthorne, of witch-time memory, and a violent
quarrel ensued. When Philip lay on his death-bed, he consented to
forgive his persecutor; "But if I get well," said he, "I'll be damned if
I forgive him!" This Philip left daughters, one of whom married, I
believe, the son of the persecuting John, and thus all the legitimate
blood of English is in our family. E---- passed from the matters of
birth, pedigree, and ancestral pride to give vent to the most arrant
democracy and locofocoism that I ever happened to hear, saying that
nobody ought to possess wealth longer than his own life, and that then it
should return to the people, etc. He says S. I------ has a great fund of
traditions about the family, which she learned from her mother or
grandmother (I forget which), one of them being a Hawthorne. The old
lady was a very proud woman, and, as E---- says, "proud of being proud,"
and so is S. I------.
October 7th.--A walk in Northfields in the afternoon. Bright sunshine
and autumnal warmth, giving a sensation quite unlike the same degree of
warmth in summer. Oaks,--some brown, some reddish, some still green;
walnuts, yellow,--fallen leaves and acorns lying beneath; the footsteps
crumple them in walking. In sunny spots beneath the trees, where green
grass is overstrewn by the dry, fallen foliage, as I passed, I disturbed
multitudes of grasshoppers basking in the warm sunshine; and they began
to hop, hop, hop, pattering on the dry leaves like big and heavy drops of
a thunder-shower. They were invisible till they hopped. Boys gathering
walnuts. Passed an orchard, where two men were gathering the apples. A
wagon, with barrels, stood among the trees; the men's coats flung on the
fence; the apples lay in heaps, and each of the men was up in a separate
tree. They conversed together in loud voices, which the air caused to
ring still louder, jeering each other, boasting of their own feats in
shaking down the apples. One got into the very top of his tree, and gave
a long and mighty shake, and the big apples came down thump, thump,
bushels hitting on the ground at once. "There! did you ever hear
anything like that?" cried he. This sunny scene was pretty. A horse
feeding apart, belonging to the wagon. The barberry-bushes have some red
fruit on them, but they are frost-bitten. The rose-bushes have their
scarlet hips.
Distant clumps of trees, now that the variegated foliage adorns them,
have a phantasmagorian, an apparition-like appearance. They seem to be
of some kindred to the crimson and gold cloud-islands. It would not be
strange to see phantoms peeping forth from their recesses. When the sun
was almost below the horizon, his rays, gilding the upper branches of a
yellow walnut-tree, had an airy and beautiful effect,--the gentle
contrast between the tint of the yellow in the shade and its ethereal
gold in the fading sunshine. The woods that crown distant uplands were
seen to great advantage in these last rays, for the sunshine perfectly
marked out and distinguished every shade of color, varnishing them as it
were; while the country round, both hill and plain, being in gloomy
shadow, the woods looked the brighter for it.
The tide, being high, had flowed almost into the Cold Spring, so its
small current hardly issued forth from the basin. As I approached, two
little eels, about as long as my finger, and slender in proportion,
wriggled out of the basin. They had come from the salt water. An
Indian-corn field, as yet unharvested,--huge, golden pumpkins scattered
among the hills of corn,--a noble-looking fruit. After the sun was down,
the sky was deeply dyed with a broad sweep of gold, high towards the
zenith; not flaming brightly, but of a somewhat dusky gold. A piece of
water, extending towards the west, between high banks, caught the
reflection, and appeared like a sheet of brighter and more glistening
gold than the sky which made it bright.
Dandelions and blue flowers are still growing in sunny places. Saw in a
barn a prodigious treasure of onions in their silvery coats, exhaling a
penetrating perfume.
How exceeding bright looks the sunshine, casually reflected from a
looking-glass into a gloomy region of the chamber, distinctly marking out
the figures and colors of the paper-hangings, which are scarcely seen
elsewhere. It is like the light of mind thrown on an obscure subject.
Man's finest workmanship, the closer you observe it, the more
imperfections it shows; as in a piece of polished steel a microscope will
discover a rough surface. Whereas, what may look coarse and rough in
Nature's workmanship will show an infinitely minute perfection, the
closer you look into it. The reason of the minute superiority of
Nature's work over man's is, that the former works from the innermost
germ, while the latter works merely superficially.
Standing in the cross-road that leads by the Mineral Spring, and looking
towards an opposite shore of the lake, an ascending bank, with a douse
border of trees, green, yellow, red, russet, all bright colors,
brightened by the mild brilliancy of the descending sun; it was strange
to recognize the sober old friends of spring and summer in this new
dress. By the by, a pretty riddle or fable might be made out of the
changes in apparel of the familiar trees round a house, adapted for
children. But in the lake, beneath the aforesaid border of trees,--the
water being, not rippled, but its glassy surface somewhat moved and
shaken by the remote agitation of a breeze that was breathing on the
outer lake,--this being in a sort of bay,--in the slightly agitated
mirror, the variegated trees were reflected dreamily and indistinctly; a
broad belt of bright and diversified colors shining in the water beneath.
Sometimes the image of a tree might be almost traced; then nothing but
this sweep of broken rainbow. It was like the recollection of the real
scene in an observer's mind,--a confused radiance.
A whirlwind, whirling the dried leaves round in a circle, not very
violently.
To well consider the characters of a family of persons in a certain
condition,--in poverty, for instance,--and endeavor to judge how an
altered condition would affect the character of each.
The aromatic odor of peat-smoke in the sunny autumnal air is very
pleasant.
Salem, October 14th.--A walk through Beverly to Browne's Hill, and home
by the iron-factory. A bright, cool afternoon. The trees, in a large
part of the space through which I passed, appeared to be in their fullest
glory, bright red, yellow, some of a tender green, appearing at a
distance as if bedecked with new foliage, though this emerald tint was
likewise the effect of frost. In some places, large tracts of ground
were covered as with a scarlet cloth,--the underbrush being thus colored.
The general character of these autumnal colors is not gaudy, scarcely
gay; there is something too deep and rich in it: it is gorgeous and
magnificent, but with a sobriety diffused. The pastures at the foot of
Browne's Hill were plentifully covered with barberry-bushes, the leaves
of which were reddish, and they were hung with a prodigious quantity of
berries. From the summit of the hill, looking down a tract of woodland
at a considerable distance, so that the interstices between the trees
could not be seen, their tops presented an unbroken level, and seemed
somewhat like a richly variegated carpet. The prospect from the hill is
wide and interesting; but methinks it is pleasanter in the more immediate
vicinity of the hill than miles away. It is agreeable to look down at
the square patches of cornfield, or of potato-ground, or of cabbages
still green, or of beets looking red,--all a man's farm, in short,--each
portion of which he considers separately so important, while you take in
the whole at a glance. Then to cast your eye over so many different
establishments at once, and rapidly compare thorn,--here a house of
gentility, with shady old yellow-leaved elms hanging around it; there a
new little white dwelling; there an old farm-house; to see the barns and
sheds and all the out-houses clustered together; to comprehend the
oneness and exclusiveness and what constitutes the peculiarity of each of
so many establishments, and to have in your mind a multitude of them,
each of which is the most important part of the world to those who live
in it,--this really enlarges the mind, and you come down the hill
somewhat wiser than you go up. Pleasant to look over an orchard far
below, and see the trees, each casting its own shadow; the white spires
of meeting-houses; a sheet of water, partly seen among swelling lands.
This Browne's Hill is a long ridge, lying in the midst of a large, level
plain; it looks at a distance somewhat like a whale, with its head and
tail under water, but its immense back protruding, with steep sides, and
a gradual curve along its length. When you have climbed it on one side,
and gaze from the summit at the other, you feel as if you had made a
discovery,--the landscape being quite different on the two sides. The
cellar of the house which formerly crowned the hill, and used to be named
Browne's Folly, still remains, two grass-grown and shallow hollows, on
the highest part of the ridge. The house consisted of two wings, each
perhaps sixty feet in length, united by a middle part, in which was the
entrance-hall, and which looked lengthwise along the hill. The
foundation of a spacious porch may be traced on either side of the
central portion; some of the stones still remain; but even where they
are gone, the line of the porch is still traceable by the greener
verdure. In the cellar, or rather in the two cellars, grow one or two
barberry-bushes, with frost-bitten fruit; there is also yarrow with its
white flower, and yellow dandelions. The cellars are still deep enough
to shelter a person, all but his head at least, from the wind on the
summit of the hill; but they are all grass-grown. A line of trees seems
to have been planted along the ridge of the hill. The edifice must have
made quite a magnificent appearance.
Characteristics during the walk:--Apple-trees with only here and there an
apple on the boughs, among the thinned leaves, the relics of a gathering.
In others you observe a rustling, and see the boughs shaking and hear the
apples thumping down, without seeing the person who does it. Apples
scattered by the wayside, some with pieces bitten out, others entire,
which you pick up and taste, and find them harsh, crabbed cider-apples,
though they have a pretty, waxen appearance. In sunny spots of woodland,
boys in search of nuts, looking picturesque among the scarlet and golden
foliage. There is something in this sunny autumnal atmosphere that gives
a peculiar effect to laughter and joyous voices,--it makes them
infinitely more elastic and gladsome than at other seasons. Heaps of dry
leaves tossed together by the wind, as if for a couch and lounging-place
for the weary traveller, while the sun is warming it for him. Golden
pumpkins and squashes, heaped in the angle of a house, till they reach
the lower windows. Ox-teams, laden with a rustling load of Indian corn,
in the stalk and ear. When all inlet of the sea runs far up into the
country, you stare to see a large schooner appear amid the rural
landscape; she is unloading a cargo of wood, moist with rain or salt
water that has dashed over it. Perhaps you hear the sound of an axe in
the woodland; occasionally, the report of a fowling-piece. The
travellers in the early part of the afternoon look warm and comfortable
as if taking a summer drive; but as eve draws nearer, you meet them well
wrapped in top-coats or cloaks, or rough, great surtouts, and red-nosed
withal, seeming to take no great comfort, but pressing homeward. The
characteristic conversation among teamsters and country squires, where
the ascent of a hill causes the chaise to go at the same pace as an
ox-team,--perhaps discussing the qualities of a yoke of oxen. The cold,
blue aspects of sheets of water. Some of the country shops with the
doors closed; others still open as in summer. I meet a wood-sawyer, with
his horse and saw on his shoulders, returning from work. As night draws
on, you begin to see the gleaming of fires on the ceilings in the houses
which you pass. The comfortless appearance of houses at bleak and bare
spots,--you wonder how there can be any enjoyment in them. I meet a girl
in a chintz gown, with a small shawl on her shoulders, white stockings,
and summer morocco shoes,--it looks observable. Turkeys, queer, solemn
objects, in black attire, grazing about, and trying to peck the fallen
apples, which slip away from their bills.