The Project Gutenberg EBook of Continental Monthly , Vol IV, Issue VI,
December 1863, by Various

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Title: Continental Monthly , Vol IV, Issue VI, December 1863
       Devoted to Literature and National Policy.

Author: Various

Release Date: July 30, 2006 [EBook #18946]

Language: English

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THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:

DEVOTED TO

LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY.

VOL. IV.--DECEMBER, 1863.--No. VI.




THE NATION.


We are of the race of the Empire Builders. Some races have been sent
into the world to destroy. Ours has been sent to create. It was needed
that the blunders of ten centuries and more, across the water, should be
given a chance for amendment. On virgin soil, the European races might
cure themselves of the fever pains of ages. So they were called here to
try. There was no rubbish to sweep away. The mere destructive had no
occupation. The builder and creator was the man wanted. In the full glow
of civilization, with the accumulated experience of the toiling
generations, with all the wealth of the fruitful past, we, 'the foremost
in the files of time,' have been called to this business of _nation
making_.

The men of our blood, they say, are given to boasting. America adds
flashing nerve fire to the dull muscle of Europe. That is the fact. But
the tendency to boasting is an honest inheritance. We can hardly boast
louder than our fathers across the sea have taught us. The boasting of
New York can scarcely drown the boasting of London. Jonathan thinks
highly of himself, but, certainly, John Bull is not behind him in
self-esteem.

But, after all, what wonder? Ten centuries of victory over nature and
over men may give a race the right to boast--ten centuries of victory
with never a defeat! The English tongue is an arrogant tongue, we grant.
Command, mastery, lordliness, are bred into its tones. The old tongue of
the Romans was never deeper marked in those respects than our own. It is
a freeman's speech, this mother language. A slave can never speak it. He
garbles, clips, and mumbles it, makes 'quarter talk' of it. The hour he
learns to speak English he is spoiled for a slave. It is the tongue of
conquerors, the language of imperial will, of self-asserting
individuality, of courage, masterhood, and freedom. There is no need of
being thin-skinned under the charge of boasting. A man cannot very well
learn, in his cradle, 'the tongue that Shakspeare spake,' without
talking sometimes as if he and his owned creation.

For the tongue is the representative of the speaker. A people embodies
its soul in its language. And the people who inherit English have done
work enough in this little world to give them a right to do some
talking. They, at least, can speak their boast, and hear it seconded, in
the bold accents their mothers taught them, on every shore and on every
sea. They have been the world's day-laborers now for some centuries.
They have felled its forests, drained its marshes, dug in its mines,
ploughed its wastes, built its cities. They have done rough pioneer work
over all its surface. They have done it, too, as it never was done
before. They have made it _stay done_. They have never given up one inch
of conquered ground. They have never yielded back one square foot to
barbarism. Won once to civilization, under their leadership, and your
square mile of savage waste and jungle is won forever.

We are inclined to think the world might bear with us. We talk a great
deal about ourselves, perhaps; but, on the whole, are we not buying the
privilege? Did a race ever buckle to its business in this world in more
splendid style than our own? With both hands clenched, stripped to the
waist, blackened and begrimed and sweat bathed, this race takes its
place in the vanguard of the world and bends to its chosen toil. The
grand, patient, hopeful people, how they grasp blind brute nature, and
tame her, and use her at their word! How they challenge and defeat in
the death grapple the grim giants of the waste and the storm--fever,
famine, and the frost!

You will find them down, to-day, among the firedamps in the mines,
to-morrow among the splendid pinnacles of the mountains, to settle a
fact of science, or add a mite to human knowledge. Here is one,
painfully toiling through the tangled depths of a desert continent, to
find a highway for commerce or Christianity. Here is another, in the
lonely seas around the pole, where the ghostly ice-mountains go drifting
through the gray mists, patiently wrestling with the awful powers of
nature, to snatch its secret from the hoary deep, and bring it home in
triumph. Hard fisted, big boned, tough brained, and stout hearted,
scared at nothing, beaten back by no resistance, baffled, for long, by
no obstacle, this race works as though the world were only one vast
workshop, and they wanted all the tools and all the materials, and were
anxious to monopolize the work of the world.

They are workers primarily, makers, producers, builders. Labor is their
appointed business as a people. Sometimes they have to fight, when fools
stand in their way, or traitors oppose their endeavors. They have had to
do, indeed, their fair share of fighting. Things go so awry in this
world that a patient worker is often called to drop his tools, square
himself, and knock down some idiot who insists on bothering him. And
this race of ours has therefore often, patient as it is, flamed out into
occasional leonine wrath. It really does not like fighting. That
performance interferes with its proper business. It takes to the
ploughshare more kindly than to the sabre, and likes to manage a steam
engine better than a six-gun battery. But if imbeciles and scoundrels
will get in its way, and will mar its pet labors, then, heaven help
them! The patient blood blazes into lava, fire, the big muscles strain
over the black cannon, the brawny arm guides the fire-belching tower of
iron on the sea, and, when these people do fight, they fight, like the
Titans when they warred with Jove, with a roar that shakes the spheres.
They go at that as they do at everything. They fight to clear this
confusion up, to settle it once for all, so it will _stay_ settled, that
they may go to their work again in peace. Fond of a clean job, they
insist on making a clean job of their fighting, if they have to fight at
all.

'But, after all, this race of ours is selfish,' you say. 'It works only
for itself, and you are making something grand and heroic out of that.
If it civilizes, it civilizes for itself. If it builds cities, drains
marshes, redeems jungles, explores rivers, builds railroads, and prints
newspapers, it is doing all for its own pocket.' Well, we say, why not?
Is the laborer not worthy of his hire? Do you expect a patient, toiling
people to conquer a waste continent here, for God and man, and get
nothing for it from either? A people never yet did a good stroke of work
in this world without getting a fair day's wages for the job. The old
two-fisted Romans, in their day, did a good deal of hard work in the way
of road and bridge building, and the like of that, across the sea, and
did it well, and they got paid for it by several centuries of mastery
over Europe. We rather think, high as the pay was, and little as the
late Romans seem to have deserved it, it was, on the whole, a profitable
bargain for Europe. The truth is, our race has, like all other great
creating races, been building wiser than it knew. It is not necessary
that such a race should be conscious of its mission. In its own
intention it may work for itself. By the guiding of the Great Master, it
does work for all humanity and all time. If a race comes on the earth
mere fighters, brigands, and thieves, living by force, fraud, and
oppression, even then it serves a purpose. It destroys something that
needs destroying. In its own turn, however, it must perish. But an
honest race, that undertakes to earn its honest living on the earth, and
in the main does earn it, honestly and industriously, by planting and
building, like our own, never works merely for itself. It plants and
builds to stand forever. The results of patient toil never perish. They
are so much clear gain to humanity.

To many, the _conscious_ end of the existence of the Yankee nation may
have been a small affair indeed. That end is only what they make it. Its
_unconscious_ end is, however, another matter. That end God has made. To
one man, the nation exists that he may make wooden clocks and sell them.
To another, the chief end of the nation's existence is that he may get a
good crop of wheat to market during rising quotations. To another, that
he may do a good stroke of business in the boot and shoe line. To
another, that he may make a good thing in stocks. To some in the past,
this nation existed solely that men might breed negroes in Virginia, and
work them in Alabama! This great nation was worth the blacks it owned,
and the cotton it raised! Actually that was all. The _conscious_ end to
thousands amounted to about this. Men looked at the nation from their
own small place. They dwarfed its purposes. They made them small and
mean and low. They did this three years ago more commonly, we think,
than they do now. The war has taught us many things. It has certainly
taught us higher ideas of the value of the Nation, and a loftier idea of
the meaning of its life. We have awaked to the fact that we are trustees
of this continent for the world. We have been fighting for two years and
more, not to save this nation for the value of its wheat, or cotton, or
manufactures, or exports, but for the value of the ideas, the hopes, the
aspirations, the tendencies this nation embodies. We have risen to see
that it were a good bargain to barter all the material wealth it holds
for the priceless spiritual ideas it represents. France babbles about
'going to war for an idea.' We don't babble. We buckle on our armor and
fight, we practical, money-making Yankees, who are said to value
everything by dollars, and, after two years of tremendous fighting, are
half amazed ourselves to find we have been fighting solely for a
half-dozen ideas the world can lose only at the cost of despair. Since
the days when men left house and home and friends, with red crosses on
their hearts, to redeem from the hands of the infidel the sepulchre
which the dead Christ once made holy, the world has never seen a war
carried on for a more purely ideal end than our own. We fight for the
integrity of _the Nation_. We fight for what that word means of hope
and confidence and freedom and advancement to the groaning and
bewildered world. We say, let all else perish,--wealth, commerce,
agriculture, cunning manufacture, humanizing art. We expend all to save
_the Nation_. That priceless possession we shall hold intact to the end,
for ourselves, our children, and the coming years!

Let us see what this thing is that we prize so highly. Let us see if we
are paying any too high a price for our object--if it is worth a million
lives and a countless treasure. What is _the Nation_?

There used to be a theory of 'the Social Compact.' It was a prominent
theory in the French Revolution, It was vastly older, however, than that
event. It was originally a theory of the Epicureans. Ovid has something
to say about it. Horace advocates it. It has not perished. It exists in
a fragmentary way in some books taught in colleges. It has more or less
of a hold still on many minds. This theory teaches that the natural
state of man is a state of warfare, an isolated savagery, where each
man's hand is against his neighbor, each lord and master for himself,
with no rights except what force gives him, and no possessions except
what he can hold by force. This natural state, however, was found to be
a very uncomfortable state, and so men contrive to get out of it as soon
as possible. For this purpose they form a 'social compact.' They come
together, and agree to give up some of their natural rights to a settled
government, on condition that government protect them in the others.
That is to say, naturally they have the right to steal all they can lay
their hands on, to rob, plunder, murder, and commit adultery, if they
have the power, and, generally, to live like a pack of amiable tiger
cats; but that these pleasant and amusing natural rights they consent to
give up, on condition they are relieved from the trouble of guarding
others. Just such babblement as that you can read in very learned books,
and stuff like that has actually been taught in colleges, and nobody was
sent to the lunatic asylum! That is the theory of the 'Social Compact.'
That is the way, according to that theory, that nations are made.

It is enough to say of this old heathen dream, that there never was such
a state of savage brutalism known since man was man. All men are born
under some law, some government, some controlling authority. As long as
fathers and mothers are necessary, in the economy of nature, to a man's
getting into the world at all, it is very hard for him to escape law and
control when he comes. I was never asked whether I would be a citizen of
the United States, whether it was my high will to come into 'the Social
Compact' existing here. Neither were you. No man ever was. Just fancy
the United States solemnly asking all the infants born this year, 'if
they are willing to join the social compact and behave themselves in the
country as respectable babies should!

It is vastly better to take facts and try to comprehend and use them.
And, as a fact, man is not naturally a brute beast. He never had to make
a Social Compact. He has always found one made ready to his hand. Some
established order, some national life has always stood ready to receive
the new recruit to the ranks of humanity, put him in his place, and ask
him no questions. He is made for society. Society is made for him. He is
not isolated, but joined to his fellows by links stronger than iron, by
bands no steel can sever. The nation stands waiting for him. In some
shape, with some development of national life, but always essentially
the same, the nation takes him, plastic at his birth, into its great
hands, and moulds and fashions him, by felt and unfelt influences,
whether he will or no, into the national shape and figure.

And that is what nations are made for. They do not exist to produce
wheat, corn, cattle, cotton, or cutlery, but to produce _men_. The
wheat, corn, and the rest exist for the sake of the men. The real value
of the nation, to itself and to the world, is not the things it
produces, but the style of man it produces. That is the broad difference
between China and Massachusetts, between Japan and New York. Nations
exist to be training schools for men. That is their real business.
Accordingly as they do it better or worse they are prospering or the
reverse. What is France about? The newspaper people tell me she is
building ships, drilling zouaves, diplomatizing at Rome, brigandizing in
Mexico, huzzaing for glory and Napoleon the Third. That is about the
wisdom of the newspapers. She is moulding a million unsuspecting little
innocents into Frenchmen! That is what she is at, and nobody seems to
notice. What is England doing? Weaving cotton, when she can get it, I am
told, drilling rifle brigades, blustering in the _Times_, starving her
workmen in Lancashire, and feasting her Prince in London, talking
'strict neutrality' in Parliament, and building pirates on the Clyde.
She's doing worse than that. That is not half her wrong-doing. She is
taking thousands of plastic, impressible, innocent babes, into her big
hands, monthly, and kneading them and hardening them into regular John
Bulls! That's a pretty job to think of!

So the nations are at work all over the world. And the nation that, as a
rule, takes 'mamma's darling' into its arms, and in twenty or thirty
years makes him the best specimen of a man, is the most perfect nation
and best fulfils a nation's purpose.

For the business of Education, which so many consider the schoolmaster's
speciality, is a larger business than they think. The Family exists to
do it, the Church exists to do it. It is the real business of the State.
The great Universe itself, with all its vastness, its powers and its
mysteries, was created for this. It is simply God's great schoolroom. He
has floored it with the emerald queen of the earth and of the gleaming
seas. He has roofed it with a sapphire dome, lit with flaming starfire
and sun blaze. He has set the great organ music of the spheres
reverberating forevermore through its high arches. He has put his
children here, to train them for their grand inheritance. He has ordered
nature and life and circumstance for this one great end.

Therefore the Nation is not a joint-stock company. It is not a
paper association. It is not a mutual assurance society for life
and property. That is the shallow, surface notion that makes
such miserable babble in political speeches. The Nation is Divine and
not Human. It is of GOD's making and not of man's. It is a moral
school, a spiritual training institute for educating and graduating men.
For that purpose it is _alive_. Men can make associations, companies,
compacts. God only makes _living bodies_, divine, perpetual
institutions, with life in themselves, which exist because man exists,
which can never end till man ends. The Family is one of these. The Church
is another, in any shape it comes. The Nation is another, holding Family
and Church both in its arms.

True, from the fact that the power, the administration and the
arrangements of details are in men's hands in the nation mistake is
common, and people are tempted to think the Nation purely human. All
thought below the surface will show the fallacy and stamp the Nation as
the handiwork of God.

We believe true thought on this matter is, at this day and in this land,
of first importance. The Lord of Hosts rules, and not the master of a
thousand regiments with smoking cannon. God builds the Nation for a
purpose. While it fulfils that purpose it shall stand. The banded folly
and scoundrelhood within and the gathered force of all enemies without
shall never overthrow one pillar in its strong foundations or topple
down one stone from its battlements while it works honestly toward its
true end. Not till it turn traitor to its place and purposes, not till
it madly plant itself in the way of the great wheels that roll the world
back to light and justice, will He who built it hurl it to the earth
again in crashing ruin, to build another order in its place. The man who
has let that great truth, written out in flame across the dusky forehead
of the Past, slip from his foolish atheist's heart and his shallow
atheist's brain, is blind, not only to our own land's short history, but
to the lessons of the long ages and the broad world.

We have been driven back to the loftiest ground on this question. We
have found that only on that could we stand. When the very foundations
of what we held most awful and reverential have been assailed by mad
traitorous hands, as though they were vulgar things, when frenzied
self-will has laid its profane grasp upon the Ark of the Covenant, we
have been forced back to those strong foundations on which nations
stand, for hope and confidence, to those tremendous sanctions that
girdle in, as with the fires of God, the sanctity of Law, the majesty of
Order, and established Right. We have declared these things Divine. We
have said men administer truly, but men did not create, and men have no
right to destroy. We arise in the defence of institutions of which
Jehovah has made us the guardians for men!

We have said the Nation exists to train men, that the best nation is the
one that trains the best men. Let us see how it does this.

In the first place, it educates by Written Law. To be sure, laws are
passed to define and protect human rights, in person, purse, family, or
good name. People sometimes think that is all they do. But consider.
These laws on the Statute Book are the Nation's deliberate convictions,
so far, on right and wrong, a real code of morals, the decisions of the
national conscience on moral subjects. An act is passed punishing theft.
It is intended to protect property indeed, but it does more. It stands
there, the Nation's conviction on a point of ethics. Theft is absolutely
wrong. It passes another act punishing perjury. The mere lawyer looks at
this solely as a facility for getting at the truth before a jury. It is
vastly more. It is a moral decision. The Nation binds the Ten
Commandments on the popular conscience, and declares, 'Thou shalt not
bear false witness.' It declares, 'There are everlasting distinctions,
things absolutely right, and things absolutely wrong. So far has the
conscience of the Nation made things clear. The good citizen knows all
this without the Statute Book, and much more. But there must be a limit
somewhere. Here it is. Up to this point you may come, but no farther.
Everlasting distinctions must be taught by bolts, chains, and scaffolds,
if there are those in the Nation who will learn them from no other
teachers.'

It has been very easy to tamper with Law among ourselves, very easy to
try experiments. And people get the notion that Law is a mere human
affair, the act of a legislature, the will of a majority. It is all a
mistake. A Nation's living laws are the slow growth of ages. They are
its solemn convictions on wrongs and rights, written in its heart. The
business of a wise legislator is to help all those convictions to
expression in formal enactment. Meddling fools try to choke them, pass
acts against them even, think they can annihilate such convictions. One
day the convictions insist on being heard, if not by formal law, then by
terrible informal protest against some legalized wrong. Think how
laboriously lawmakers have toiled to prevent the expression of the
Nation's determined convictions on the subject of Slavery! Think of the
end! Nay, all enactments which accord with these deep decisions of the
National Conscience, which help them to better expression and clearer
acknowledgment, are the real Laws of the Land. All that oppose these
decisions, though passed by triumphant majorities, with loud jubilation,
and fastened on the Nation as its sense of right, are mere rubbish, sure
to be swept away as the waves of the National life roll on.

We, by no means, hold that even the best nation, in its most living
laws, always declares perfect truth and perfect right. Human errors and
weaknesses enter into all things with which men deal. And the Nation is
ordered and guided by men. Nevertheless the Nation is an authorized
teacher of morals, and these errors are the accidents of the
institution. They are not of its essence. So far as they exist, they
block its working, they stand in its way. Pure, clear Justice is the
perfect ideal toward which a living, advancing Nation aims. That it
daily come nearer this ideal is the basis of its permanence. And,
meanwhile, though the result be far from attained, we none the less hold
that the Law of the Nation is, to every man within it, the Law of God.
His business, as a wise man, is to accept it, obey it, help it to
amendment where he believes there is error, with all patience and
loyalty.

For the first disorder in the makeup of man is wilfulness. The child
kicks and scratches in his cradle. It wants to have its own small will.
The first lesson it has to learn is the lesson of submission, that the
untried world, into which it is thrust, is not a place of self-pleasing
but of law. It takes parents and teachers years to get that fact through
the stubborn youngster's head. It will burn its fingers, it will tumble
down stairs, it will pitch head first over fences, because it will not
learn to forego its own small, ignorant will, and submit to wiser and
larger wills. In the good old days they used to think that matter ought
to be learned in childhood once for all, and they labored faithfully to
convince us urchins, by the unsparing logic of the rod, that the law of
life is not self-will. Some of us, possibly, remember those emphatic
lessons yet.

It is hard, however, to learn this thing perfectly. And so after the
Mother, Father, and Teacher get through, the Nation takes up the lesson.
A wise, wide, unselfish will takes command, and puts down the narrow,
conceited, selfish will of the individual. The individual will may think
itself very wise and very right. But the large will, the broad, strong,
wise will of the Nation, comes and says: 'Here is the _Law_, the
embodiment of the great, wide, wise will, to which the wisest and the
strongest must submit and bow.'

That is the law of human position. Not self-will but obedience, not
anarchy but order, not mad uncontrolledness, but calm submission, even
to temporary error and wrong, is the road to ultimate perfection.
Therefore, we can say nothing too reverential of Law. We cannot guard
too jealously the clear trumpet-tongued preacher of everlasting right,
sounding out a great Nation's convictions of obligation and duty. Hedge
its sanctity with a ring wall of fire. Reverence the voice of the land
for right and order. We have exploded forever, let us trust, the notion
of 'the right divine of kings to govern wrong.' We must cling,
therefore, with tenfold tenacity to the right divine of Law, the Sacred
Majesty of the Nation's settled Order.

But the Written Law is only one way in which the Nation brings its
teachings home to the individual. It is not the strongest way. The
Nation's most powerful formative influence lies in its _traditions_, its
unwritten law, its sense and feeling about the questions of human life
and conduct, handed down from father to son in the continuity of the
national life. And the power to hand these down depends on the fact that
the Nation is a living organism.

For examine, and you will find every nation has a power to mould men
after a certain model. We are Americans because we have been made so by
the national influence. Rome, in old time, moulded men after a certain
type, and, with infinite small diversities, made them all Romans. Greece
took them, and, on another model, made them Greeks. England has the
artistic power, and kneads the clay of childhood into the grown up
creature the world knows as an Englishman. France has the same power,
and manufactures the Frenchman.

Now this moulding power, which every nation has, and the greatest
nations the most markedly of all, comes mostly from what we call the
National Tradition. Some people call it Public Opinion. They think they
can even make it. They suppose it belongs to the present. In fact, they
cannot make it to any extent at all. It belongs to the past. It is a
thing inherited. It is best to call it National Tradition.

For the nation, being an organism, and living, its life does not end
with one generation. The river flows to-day, and is the same river it
was a thousand years ago, though every wave and every drop has changed a
million times. So the generations heave on into the great sea and are
forgotten, but the Nation abides the same. So all the thought, and
feeling, and conviction of the Nation to-day, on questions of human life
and duty, it brings from the far-away past, from the gray mists of the
distant hills where it took its rise.

Just think! The life of every great, strong man and woman, who has
lived, thought, worked in the Nation, has it not entered into the
Nation's life? Is not here yet, a part of the Nation's influence? Every
great, distinct type of human nature grown in the Nation becomes forever
a mould in which to cast men. Every great deed done, every strong
thought uttered, every noble life lived, is committed to the stream of
this national tradition. Every great victory won, every terrible defeat
suffered, every grand word spoken, every noble song sung, is alive to
the last. The living Nation drops nothing, loses nothing out of its
life. The Saxon Alfred, the Norman William, Scandinavian viking, moss
trooper of the border, they have all gone into our circulation, they all
help to shape Americans. And we have added Washington, the stainless
gentleman, and Jefferson, the unselfish statesman, and Franklin, the
patient conqueror of circumstance, and a thousand others, as types by
which to form the children of this people for a thousand years.

Think, too, how the national tradition rejects all bad models, all mean
types, how it refuses to touch them at any price, how it will only carry
down the grand models, the noble types. Arnold never enters as an
influence into national training. The Arnolds and their treason are
whelmed and sunk, as the Davises and their treason will be. The
Washingtons do live as types. Their deeds sweep on, like stately barks,
borne proudly on the rolling waves of the Nation's life, with triumphal
music on their snowy decks, the land's glory for evermore! Only the
noble, only the good, the true in some shape, never the utterly false or
vile, will this national tradition hold and keep, as an influence and a
power for time.

Unseen, unfelt, but strong like God's hand, this power surrounds the
cradle of the child. He finds it waiting for him. He does not know about
it or reason about it. It takes him, soft and plastic as it finds him,
and calls out his powers, and fashions them after its own forms. Before
he is twenty-one he is made up for good and all, an American, an
Englishman, or a Frenchman, _for life_. The creating influence was like
the air. He breathed it into his circulation.

There are people who think it very wise to quarrel with this state of
things. They think it philosophic to sneer at national prejudices, as
they call them, to call national pride and national feeling narrow and
bigoted. It is simply very silly to quarrel with any divine and
unalterable order of life. Better work under it and with it. Does not
love of country exalt and ennoble, and all the more because of its
prejudices? Does not the very meanest feel himself higher, more worthy,
more self-respecting, because he is one of a strong, great, free people,
with a grand inheritance of heroism from the past, and grand
possibilities for the future? Who will quarrel with the Frenchman, the
Englishman, or the Japanese, for holding his land the fairest land, his
nation the noblest nation the sun shines on? Is it not my fixed faith
that he is utterly deluded? Do I not _know_ that my own land is the
garden of the Lord? Do I not see that its valleys are the holiest, and
its mountains the loftiest, its rivers the most majestic, and its seas
the broadest, its men the bravest, and its women the purest and fairest
on the broad earth's face? Even Fourth of July orations have their uses.

No! thank Heaven for this virtue of patriotism! It lifts a man out of
his lower nature, and makes his heart beat with the hearts of heroes.
There are two or three things in the world men will die for. The Nation
is one. They will die for the land where their fathers sleep. They will
fling fortune, hope, peace, family bliss, life itself, all into the
gulf, to save its hearths from shame, its roof trees from dishonor. They
will follow the tattered rag they have made the symbol of its right,
through bursting shells and hissing hail of rifle shot, and serried
ranks of gleaming bayonets, 'into the jaws of death, into the mouth of
Hell,' when they are called. They will do this in thousands, the poorest
better than the richest often, the humblest just as heroically as the
leaders of the people. And therefore, we say, thank God for the
elevating power of Patriotism, for national Pride, for national
_prejudice_, if you will, that can, by this great love of country, so
conquer selfishness, meanness, cowardice, and all lower loves, and make
the very lowest by its power a hero, while the mortal man dies for the
immortal Nation! Let a man commit himself boldly to the tendencies and
influences of his race then. Let him work with them, not against them.
He cannot be too much an American, too thoroughly penetrated with the
convictions and the spirit of his country. And he need fear no
contracting narrowness. The Nation's aims are wiser far and loftier far
than the wisest and the loftiest of any one man, or any one generation.

We have faintly shadowed out here something of the meaning of THE
NATION. If we are right, we can pay no price that shall come near
its value. For ourselves, for our children, for the ages coming, it is
verily the Ark of the Covenant. We have seen that we are here to build
it. Because GOD needed these United States, He kept a continent
till the time was ripe, and then sent His workmen to the work. We are
all, in our degree, builders on those walls. We are building fast, these
days. Some rotten stones have entered into the structure, and it is hard
work to get them out, but we shall succeed. We shall see that no more of
that kind get in. Let us build on the broad foundation of the fathers a
stately palace, of marble, pure and white, whose towers shall flash back
in glory the sunlight of centuries, towers of refuge against falsehood
and wrong and cruelty forevermore.

We are all builders, we say. The humblest does his share. There's fear
in that thought, but more of hope. Nothing perishes. The private, who
falls, bravely fighting, does his part like the general. The ploughman's
honest life gives its contribution to the Nation's greatness as the
life of Webster does. All is telling in 'the long results of time,'
helping to decide what style of manhood shall be fashioned in America
for generations.

For the great Nation grows slowly upward to its perfect proportions, as
the parent and teacher of men. And all things and all men in it help to
decide and develop that capacity. Not dazzling battle-bursts alone, not
alone victorious charges on the trampled plain, not splendid triumphs,
when laurelled legions march home from conquered provinces and humbled
lands, not the mighty deeds of mighty men in camps, nor the mighty words
of mighty men in senates, though all these do their part, and a grand
part too--not these alone give the great land its character and might.
These come from a thousand little things, we seldom think of. By the
workman's axe that fells the forest as by the soldier's bayonet, by the
gleaming ploughshare in the furrow as by the black Columbiad couchant on
the rampart, by the schoolhouse in the valley as by the grim battery on
the bay, by the church spire rising from the grove, by the humble
cottage in the glen, by the Bible on the stand at eve, by the prayer
from the peaceful hearth, by the bell that calls to worship through the
hallowed air; by the merchant at his desk, and by the farmer in the
harvest field, by the judge upon the bench, and the workman in his shop,
by the student in his silent room, and by the sailor on the voiceful
sea, by the honest speaker's tongue, by the honest writer's pen, and by
the free press that gives the words of both a thousand pair of eagles'
wings over land and sea, by every just and kindly word and work, by
every honest, humble industry, by every due reward to manliness and
right and loyalty, and by every shackle forged and every gallows built
for villany and scoundrelhood; by a thousand things like these about us
daily, working unnoticed year by year, is the great river swelled, of
thought and feeling and conviction, that floats a mighty nation's
grandeur on through the waiting centuries.




BUCKLE, DRAPER, AND A SCIENCE OF HISTORY.

_SECOND PAPER._


The word _Science_ has been so indiscriminately applied to very diverse
departments of our intellectual domain, that it has ceased to have any
distinctive or well-defined signification. Meaning, appropriately, that
which is certainly _known_, as distinguished from that which is matter
of conjecture, opinion, thought, or plausible supposition merely, its
application to any special branch of human inquiry signifies, in that
sense, that the facts and principles relating to the given branch, or
constituting it, are no longer subjects of uncertain investigation, but
have become accurately and positively _known_, so as to be demonstrable
to all intelligent minds and invariably recognized by them as true when
rightly apprehended and understood. In the absence, however, of any
clear conception of what constitutes _knowledge_, of where the dividing
line between it and opinion lay, departments of the universe of
intelligence almost wholly wanting in exactness and certainty have been
dignified with the same title which we apply to departments most
positively _known_. We hear of the Science of Mathematics, the Science
of Chemistry, the Science of Medicine, the Science of Political Economy,
and even of the Science of Theology.

This vague use of the word Science is not confined to general custom
only, but appertains as well to Scientists and writers on scientific
subjects. So general is this indistinct understanding of the meaning of
this term, that there does not exist in the range of scientific
literature a precise, compact, exhaustive, intelligible definition of
it. In order, therefore, to approach our present subject with clear
mental vision, we must gain an accurate conception of the character and
constituents of Science.

In his _History of the Inductive Sciences_, Professor Whewell says:

     'In the first place, then, I remark, that to the formation of
     science, two things are requisite:--Facts and Ideas; observation of
     Things without, and an inward effort of Thought; or, in other
     words, Sense and Reason. Neither of these elements, by itself, can
     constitute substantial general knowledge. The impression of sense,
     unconnected by some rational and speculative principle, can only
     end in a practical acquaintance with individual objects; the
     operations of the rational faculties, on the other hand, if allowed
     to go on without a constant reference of external things, can lead
     only to empty abstraction and barren ingenuity. Real speculative
     knowledge demands the combination of the two ingredients--right
     reason and facts to reason upon. It has been well said, that true
     knowledge is the interpretation of nature; and therefore it
     requires both the interpreting mind, and nature for its subject,
     both the document, and ingenuity to read it aright. Thus invention,
     acuteness, and connection of thought, are necessary on the one
     hand, for the progress of philosophical knowledge; and on the other
     hand, the precise and steady application of these faculties to
     facts well known and clearly conceived.'

This explanation of the nature of Science, more elaborately expanded in
_The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences_, is limited by its author to
the Physical Sciences only. In addition to this circumscribed
application, it is moreover indistinct by reason of the use of the word
Ideas, a word to which so many different significations have been
attached by different writers that its meaning is vague and
undefined--to convey the impression of Laws or Principles. The same
defect exists in the detailed exposition is perhaps the most extended
and complete extant.

But even when we gain a clear conception of the proposition which
Professor Whewell only vaguely apprehends and therefore does not clearly
state, namely--that Science is an assemblage of Facts correlated by Laws
or Principles, a system in which the mutual _relations_ of the Facts are
known, and the Laws or Principles established by them are
discovered;--when we understand this ever so distinctly, we are still at
the beginning of a knowledge of what constitutes Science. When do we
know that we have a Fact? How are we to be sure that our proof is not
defective? By what means shall it be certain, beyond the cavil of a
doubt, that the right Laws or Principles, and no more than those
warranted by the Facts, are deduced? These and some other questions must
be definitely settled before we can thoroughly comprehend the nature of
Science, and the consideration of which brings us, in the first place,
to the examination of the characteristics of Scientific Methods.

The intellectual development of the world has proceeded under the
operation of three Methods. Two of these, identical in their mode of
action, but arriving, nevertheless, at widely different results, from
the different points at which they take their departure, are not
commonly discriminated, but are both included in the technical term
_Deductive Method_. The other is denominated the _Inductive_. A brief
analysis of these Methods will clear the way for an understanding of the
nature of Science, particularly in its application to the subject of
History, with which we are at present especially concerned.

The earliest evolution of that which has been called Science,--the
Mathematics, which we dismiss for the instant, excepted,--took place
under the operation of a Method, which, ordinarily confounded with the
true Deductive one, is now better known among rigorous Scientists as the
Hypothetical or Anticipative Method. This has two modes of expression,
one of which consists in the assumption of Laws or Principles, which
have not been adequately verified, or in the erection of fanciful
hypotheses, as the starting points of reasoning for the purpose of
establishing other Facts. The second and most common operation referred
to this Method, which is, however, strictly speaking, an imperfect
application of the Inductive Method, is _to draw conclusions from Facts
which these do not warrant_--sometimes conclusions not related to the
Facts, oftener those which, being so related, are a step beyond the
legitimate inferences which the Facts authorize, though in the same
direction. This results in the establishment of Laws or Principles as
true, which are by no means proven, many of which are subsequently found
to be incorrect. It is to this operation of the Hypothetical Method that
Professor Whewell, who does not discriminate the two, refers when he
describes the defect in the physical speculations of the Greek
philosophers to have been, 'that though they had in their possession
Facts and Ideas, _the Ideas were not distinct and appropriate to the
Facts_.' The main cause of defect in the mental process here employed is
the tendency of the human mind to generalize at too early a stage of the
investigation, and consequently upon a too narrow basis of Facts.

This Method characterized the intellectual activity of the race from the
earliest beginnings of thought up to a period which is commonly said to
have commenced with the publication of the _Novum Organum_ of Lord
Bacon. It was of course fruitless of _Scientific_ results, as it was not
a Scientific, but an absolutely Unscientific Method, since _certainty_
is the basis of all Science, and since a Method which attempts to deduce
Facts from Principles which are not ascertained to be Principles, or
Principles from an insufficient accumulation of Facts, cannot insure
certainty.

It is common to aver that the Anticipative or Hypothetical Method failed
to secure distinct and established verities, and thus to answer the
purpose of a guide to knowledge, because it neglected Facts, disregarded
experience, and endeavored to spin philosophy out of the unverified
thoughts of men. Professor Whewell, in the two able and valuable works
to which we have referred, has shown that this was not the case among
the Greeks, at least, whose Philosophy 'did, in its opinions, recognize
the necessity and paramount value of observation; did, in its origin,
proceed upon observed Facts, and did employ itself to no small extent in
classifying and arranging phenomena;' and furthermore, 'that Aristotle,
and other ancient philosophers, not only asserted in the most pointed
manner that all our knowledge must begin from experience, but also
stated, in language much resembling the habitual phraseology of the most
modern schools of philosophizing, that particular facts must be
_collected_; that from these, general principles must be obtained by
induction; and that these principles, when of the most general kind, are
_axioms_.'

The confusion of thought which has existed and, to a considerable
extent, still exists, even among Scientific men, in relation to the
nature of this Method, arises from the want of an understanding of its
twofold mode of operation, as just explained. The assertion of those
who ascribe the failure of this Method to its neglect of Facts, is true;
the averment of Professor Whewell that it was neither from a lack of
Facts nor Ideas, but because the Ideas were not distinct and appropriate
to the Facts, is not less so. But the former statement applies to that
phase of the Method which assumed unverified Laws or Principles, or
fanciful hypotheses, as the starting points of reasoning without
reference to Facts; while the latter refers to the process, which, while
it collected Facts and derived Laws therefrom, did not stop at the
inferences which were warranted by the Facts. This last was the mode of
applying the Method most in vogue with Aristotle and the Greek
Scientists; while the first was preeminently, almost exclusively, the
process of the Greek Philosophers and the mediaeval Schoolmen.

But while the endeavor to arrive at certain knowledge by the Deductive
Method, by attempting to reason from Principles to Facts, from Generals
to Particulars, failed so completely as far as the Anticipative or
Hypothetical branch, of the Method was concerned, the same mode of
procedure was productive of the most satisfactory results when applied
to Mathematics, and furnished a rapid and easy means of arriving at the
ulterior Facts of this department of the universe with precision and
certainty. We have thus the curious exhibition of the same process
leading into utter confusion when applied to one set of phenomena, and
into exactitude and surety when applied to another; and behold the
Scientific world condemning as utterly useless for other departments of
investigation, and throwing aside, a Method which is still retained in
the only Science that is called _exact_, and in which proof amounts to
_demonstration_, in the strict sense of the term. This anomaly will be
recurred to and explained farther on.

Soon after the invention of printing, with its resulting multiplication
of books and increased intellectual activity, the mind of Europe began
to emerge from the deep darkness in which it had been shrouded for
centuries, and a number of great intellects engaged in the search after
knowledge by the close and laborious examination of the actual
existences and operations of nature around them. Leonardo da Vinci and
Galileo in Italy; Copernicus, Kepler, and Tycho Brahe in Central Europe;
and Gilbert in England, peered into the hidden depths of the universe,
collected Facts, and established those Principles which are the
foundations of the magnificent structures of modern Astronomy and
Physics. About the same time, Francis Bacon put forth the formal and
elaborate statement of that Method of acquiring knowledge which is often
called after him the Baconian, but more commonly the Inductive Method;
substantially the Method pursued by the great scientific dicoverers whom
we have just named.

The characteristic of this Method is the precise Observation of Facts or
Phenomena and the Induction (drawing in) or accumulation of these
accurate Observations as the basis of knowledge. (This is seemingly the
first or etymological reason for the use of the term _Induction_; a term
subsequently transferred, as we shall see, to the establishment of the
Laws, from which then _ulterior_ Facts are to be _deduced_.) When a
sufficient number of Facts have been accumulated and classified in any
sphere of investigation, and these are found uniformly to reveal the
same Law or Principle, it is assumed that all similar Phenomena are
invariably governed by this Principle or Law, which, in reality
_deduced_ or derived, is, by this inversion of terms, said to be
_induced_ from the observed Facts. The Law so established has
thenceforth two distinct functions: I, all the Facts of subsequent
Observation, by the primitive Method of observation, are ranged under
the Law which, to this extent, serves merely as a superior mode of
classification; and, II, the Law itself, now assumed to be known and
infallible, becomes an instrument of prevision and the consequent
discovery through it of new Facts, the same which were meant by the
expression 'ulterior Facts' above used. It is this _deduction_ of new
Facts from an established Law which constitutes the true and legitimate
Deductive Method of Science, the third of the three Methods above stated
and the one which, as has been pointed out, is often erroneously
confounded with the Anticipative or Hypothetical Method.

The mode of investigation by the Inductive Method is, therefore, in
general, similar to that which Aristotle and the Greek Scientists
adopted. It first Observes and Collects Facts; then it resorts to
Classification for the purpose of discovering the Law by which the
observed Facts are regulated; then _derives_ from this Classification a
General Law, presumed to be applicable to all similar Facts, although
they have not yet been observed; and, finally, _deduces_ from the
General Law thus established, new Facts and Particulars, by bringing
them in under the Law.

The Inductive Method is, therefore, almost identical in its mode of
procedure with one of the processes anciently adopted for the
acquisition of knowledge under the Anticipative or Hypothetical Method.
It failed of fruitful results, in this earlier age, because, as we have
seen, men were not content with adhering rigorously and patiently to the
logical, irresistible conclusions which Facts evolved, but sought to
wrench from them Principles, which required for their establishment a
wider or different range of phenomena. On the revival of this Method
among the modern Scientists, it was conceived, especially by Bacon, that
a rigid adhesion to the legitimate deductions of Facts and a faithful
exclusion from the domain of knowledge of everything which did _not_
logically and inevitably result from the Observation and Classification
of Facts, was the only safe way to arrive at certainty in any department
of thought. It is this fidelity to conclusions rigorously derived from
Facts, and the severe exclusion of everything not clearly substantiated
by Observation, Classification, and Induction, which has given us the
body of proximately definite knowledge that we now possess, and which,
so far as it has been persevered in, has been productive of such
beneficial intellectual results.

Under the guidance of this Inductive Method new Sciences have been
gradually generated, whose foundations and Principles are capable of
such a degree of satisfactory proof as the Method itself affords. During
the present century, Auguste Comte, a distinguished French philosopher,
often denominated the Bacon of our epoch, the special champion of the
Inductive Method, has undertaken, for our day, the task which his
illustrious English predecessor attempted for his, namely--an Inventory
and Classification of our intellectual stores. He endeavored to bring
the Scientific world up to the _practical_ recognition of that which
they had _theoretically_ maintained since Bacon's time,--that nothing
deserves to be considered as true, which cannot be undoubtedly,
conclusively established by inference, from the Facts of Experience,--a
theory to which they had never strictly adhered. He insisted that all
Theological, Metaphysical, and Transcendental Speculations were wholly
beyond the range of exact inquiry, and should therefore be excluded from
the domain in which human knowledge was to be sought; and that
investigation should be confined to those regions of thought and
activity which were within the limits of precise apprehension. Upon this
clear, logical and right application of the Inductive Method, Comte
based his Classification of our existing knowledge. He denominated as
_Positive_ Sciences those systems of Principles and correlated Facts,
comprising Mathematics, Astronomy, Physics, Chemistry, Biology,
Sociology, and their derivative domains, which were founded on the exact
Observation of Phenomena, and set aside all other realms of the universe
of thought as departments in which _exact_ knowledge was impossible, and
whose intellectual examination was therefore fruitless. The Philosophy
based on this critical Method was denominated by its founder Positivism.
All modern Scientists, with rare exceptions, whether they are disciples
of Comte or not, are theoretical Positivists in their modes of
investigation, in their unwillingness to accept theories not proven, in
their partiality for Facts, and in their devotion to the Inductive
Method, although the nature of _proof_ is still but dimly comprehended
by them as a body, and much laxity creeps into their practical efforts
at demonstration. Under the influence of Positivism, however, the
Scientific field is being rapidly cleared of unestablished theories
which formerly mingled with it, claiming to be an integral part of its
area, and the boundaries of Science are becoming more closely defined.
The Inductive Method is enthusiastically eulogized as the source of the
success of modern Scientific investigators, as the true Scientific
Method, and--except among a few of the most advanced thinkers--as the
final word of wisdom in regard to the manner of establishing definite
and exact knowledge. The Deductive, often called the _a priori_
Method--in which term the Anticipative or Hypothetical and the true
Deductive Method, seen in Mathematical investigations, are not
sufficiently discriminated--is, on the other hand, almost everywhere
denounced as essentially false, the source of all error; and we are
assured that the attempt to work it was the fault of the old world,
prior to Bacon, and the cause of its failure to secure great
intellectual results.

A distinguished thinker, Stephen Pearl Andrews, from whose writings some
of these suggestions concerning Methods have been borrowed, points out
three sources of confusion in the minds even of the learned themselves,
in connection with this subject. First, in the verbal point of view, the
terms Induction and Deduction are applied in a way directly the opposite
of that which their Etymology would indicate: _In_-duction is used for
the _De_-rivation of a Law from Facts, and _De_-duction for the
_Intro_-duction of new Facts under the Law. Secondly, the two terms
Inductive and Deductive, which are alone usually spoken of, are not
enough to designate all the processes involved in the several Scientific
Methods; and, thirdly, these terms are sometimes used to denote
_Processes_ merely, and sometimes to designate Methods which are merely
characterized by the predominance of one or the other of these
Processes.

This intricate subject of Methods may be better understood after a
statement of the following considerations. Induction, as a _Process_,
occurs whenever Facts are used as an instrument by which to discover a
Principle or Law of Nature. The Principle is derived from, or, as
Scientists have chosen to conceive it, _induced upon_ the Facts.
Deduction, as a _Process_, occurs whenever a Principle or Law of Nature
is used as an instrument by which to discover Facts. The new Facts are
ranged under, or, as it is conceived, _deduced from_ the Principle.

Each, of these Processes occurs in _every_ Scientific Method; but
different Methods are _characterised_ by that one of these two Processes
which is _put first or takes the lead in the given Method_. Thus, in
both Methods which are included in the one generally called the
Deductive, the main Process was _Deduction_, there being no perceptible
_Induction_ from Collected Facts in the proper Hypothetical or
Anticipative Method, while in the true Deductive Method, as applied to
Mathematics, the Inductive stage is so short and so slight that it is
performed instinctively by all people and the Deductive stage at once
reached. The other branch of the Hypothetical Method, that used by
Aristotle and the Greek Scientists, was, as we have seen, in reality a
first and imperfect attempt to use the Inductive Method. In this Method
itself, on the other hand, the main Process is the _Induction_ or
derivation of a Principle or Law from accumulated Facts, while
_Deduction_, or the bringing in of new Facts under the Law, is a
subordinate or Secondary Process.

In reality, there is but ONE Method, having several stages or
_Processes_, which Processes, preponderating at different epochs, have
not been clearly apprehended as necessary complements of each other, and
have, hence, been regarded as different Methods. In one phase of the
Anticipative or Hypothetical stage,--the assumption of basic Principles
as points to reason from,--the Observation and Collection of Facts, and
the Induction therefrom, were processes so imperfectly performed, that
they appeared to have no existence; in another phase, that employed by
Aristotle, these Processes were apparent, but still imperfectly
conducted, and hence, in both cases, the Law or Principle employed for
the _Deductive_ Process was liable to be defective, and therefore
insufficient as a guide to the acquisition of certain knowledge. In the
Inductive stage or Method, on the other hand, the Processes thus
defectively employed in the former stage, the Hypothetical, are
preeminently and disproportionately active, while the Deductive Process
is given a very inferior position. The establishment of the just,
reciprocal activity of these two Processes in intellectual investigation
would secure the perfection of the _one true Scientific Method_.

The Inductive Method--preserving the term Method to avoid confusion--in
which the mode of procedure from Facts to Principles predominates, and
which is hence sometimes called the Empirical, or the Experimental, or
the Positive, or the _a posteriori_ Method, is that which now prevails
in the world, which is extolled as if it were the only legitimate
Method, and the only possible route to Scientific Discovery. That the
just claims of the Inductive Method are very great is universally
admitted, but let us not stultify ourselves by assuming a position in
its defence which is in direct violation of the teachings of the Method
itself,--namely, the assumption of a theory which is not verified by
Facts. That the Inductive Method is vastly superior to the Anticipative
or Hypothetical one, is abundantly proved; but that it is the _only_
correct path to Scientific truth, that it is the best path to Scientific
truth which will ever be known, or that in a rightly balanced Method it
would be the _main_ Process, is an averment for which there is no
warrant. On the contrary, a very cursory examination of the Inductive
Method will show defects which render it unavailable as the sole or the
chief guide in Scientific inquiry.

The leading characteristic of the Inductive Method, that for which it is
mainly admired, is its cautious, laborious, oftentimes tedious
Observation and Collection of the Facts of Experience, and their careful
Classification as a basis for the derivation of a Principle or Law
applicable to the Phenomena grouped together. By this means, it is said,
we secure precision and _certainty_, by which is intended, not only the
_certainty of that which is already observed and classified_, but also
_the certainty of that which is deduced from the Law or Principle
derived from these known Facts_. It is just here, however, that the
Inductive Method is lacking. Experience may testify a thousand, ten
thousand, any indefinite number of times, to the repetition of the same
Phenomena, and yet we can have no _certainty_ of the recurrence of the
same Phenomena, in the future, in the same way. All the Facts of
Observation and Experience for thousands of years went to convince men
that the earth was at rest and the sun and stars passing around it. A
larger Experience showed them their error. How shall we know that our
Observation has at any time included all the Facts necessary to
establish a Law? The history of Science, even under the guidance of the
Inductive Method, is a history of Principles announced as firmly
established, which a little later were found to be defective and had to
be adjusted to the advanced stage of human Experience. The very nature
of the Inductive Method indicates its inadequacy for the largest and
most important purposes of Science. It gives certainty, where it does
give it, only up to the point of the present, _it can never afford
complete certainty for the future_. The logical and rigid testimony of
this Method can never be more than this;--Observation and Experience
show that such has been the uniform operation of Nature in this
particular _so far as can be discovered_, and _in all probability_ it
will always continue to be such. _High Probability_, amounting, it may
be, at times, to an assurance of certainty, is the strongest proof which
this Method can, from its very nature, produce. To establish a Principle
or Law for a _certainty beyond any possibility of doubt_ by the
Inductive Method, it is essential that we should know that we are in
possession of every Fact in the universe which has any relation to the
given Principle, or rather that we should know that there are _no_ Facts
in the universe at variance with it. To _know_ this, it is necessary to
be in possession of _all_ the Facts in the universe, since the Inductive
Method has no mode of discovering when it has sifted out of the immense
mass of Facts all those which exist in connection with any given Law. As
we shall _never_ be in possession of all the Facts of the universe, we
shall never be able, by the Inductive Method, to possess _certainty_ in
respect to the future operations of Nature; and thus we discover the
insufficiency of this Method as a perfect guide to the acquisition of
knowledge.

The famed Inductive Method, like the Anticipative or Hypothetical,
furnishes, in truth, only an _assumption_ as a starting point for
reasoning in the endeavor to establish other Facts than those already
known. The verification of the Law or Principle assumed is, indeed, in
the former Method, as complete as it can be, in the nature of the case,
while in the latter it is not; but we have just seen that the strongest
proof which Observation, Classification, and Induction can give is that
of High Probability, on the _supposition_ that a certain number of Facts
from which a Law is derived include substantially all that the whole
range of Phenomena belonging to the given sphere would represent. Any
possible application of the Inductive Method is, therefore, only a
nearer or more remote approximation to an Exactitude and Certainty which
the Method itself can never _fully_ attain.

The Inductive Method being thus defective as a Scientific guide, in the
most important requirement of Science, it is unnecessary to enter into
an exposition of minor defects, not the least of which is the _slowness_
with which conclusions must necessarily be arrived at, when they are
reached only by the gradual accumulation of Facts and the derivation of
a Law from these. A Method or a Process which lacks that which is the
very essence of Science--the power of making _known_, of introducing
_certainty_ into investigation, may be an important factor in the _true
Scientific_ Method, but cannot constitute the _Method itself_, or its
_leading_ feature. Let it not be understood, however, that in bringing
the Inductive Method in Science to the ordeal of a critical examination,
it is designed to detract from its just dues or to depreciate its true
value. Science is preeminently severe in its probings; and that which,
asserts its claim to the highest Scientific position, and affects to be
the only guide to exact knowledge, cannot expect anything less than the
most rigorous inquiry into the validity of such claim, and the most
peremptory insistence upon the production of proper credentials before
so lofty a seat be accorded it. If inquiry discovers deficiencies in its
character, Science should rejoice that truth is vindicated, and that, by
correctly understanding the nature and powers of their present guide,
Scientific men may avoid being tempted to consider it as competent to
conduct them into regions where the blind must inevitably be leading the
blind, and both be in danger of the ditch. If the devotees of the
Inductive Method have in their enthusiasm set up claims for it which
cannot be substantiated, they must not blame the rigorous hand, which,
in the service of Science, unmasks their idol and exhibits its defects,
but rather impute to their own deviation from the severity of Scientific
truth, the disappointment which they may experience. The question of
Method lies at the foundation of all Science. Until it is thoroughly
understood, until the exact character of all our Methods or Processes is
definitely and rightly apprehended, there can be no full understanding
of the true nature of Science, and, hence, no critical and exact line
drawn between that which is Science and that which is not.

Our examination of the Methods in use thus far in our past search after
knowledge has developed these facts:--that prior to an era which is
commonly said to commence with Bacon, the Method of intellectual
investigation was _mainly_ by attempting to proceed from Principles to
Facts, and that the attempt exhibits three distinct phases: one, in
which the Induction stage is so simple and so short as to be
instinctively and correctly performed by all people, and the Deductive
stage at once reached--this furnishes the Mathematics, the only Science
in which hitherto the _true_ Deductive Method has prevailed; a second,
in which Principles are assumed to reason from, without any previous
effort at Induction, such as existed, being unconsciously made from the
supposed Facts or Knowledge which the mind was in possession of; and a
third, in which Facts were collected, classified, and Induction
therefrom as a basis of further investigation attempted, but in which
the Laws or Principles assumed as established by the Facts were not
rigorously and accurately derived from Facts; or, in other words, in
which the Facts were not strictly used for the purpose of deriving from
them just such Laws or Principles only as they actually established, but
were wrenched to the attempted support of Laws, Principles, or Ideas
more or less fanciful or unrelated to the Facts. These two last phases
are included in what is known among Scientists as the Anticipative or
Hypothetical Method; while the three phases are commonly undiscriminated
and collectively termed the Deductive Method. It was also developed that
the results of this period of intellectual activity were fruitless of
definite Scientific achievements, _except so far as the true Deductive
Method_ had been employed. It was furthermore seen that since Bacon's
time, the opposite Method of procedure, namely, from Facts to
Principles, has been chiefly in vogue; that under its impulse
distinctness and clearness have been brought to pervade those stores of
knowledge which were already in our possession, thus fulfilling _one_ of
the requisites of a perfect Scientific Method, while, however, the other
necessary requirement, that of furnishing a _certain_ guide to future
discoveries, has been only proximately attained by it.

It is obvious from this exhibition of the characteristics of the two
leading Scientific Methods, or the two leading Processes of the one
Method, in whichever light we may choose to view them, that so far from
being the best or the only true Method or Process of intellectual
investigation, the Inductive is far inferior to the _true Deductive_
Method or Process, in all the essentials of a Scientific guide. The
Inductive can give us only a _high degree_ of precision and
definiteness, with only proximate certainty for the future as the result
of a slow mode of procedure; while the true Deductive Method gives us
perfect precision, exactitude, and complete certainty, as the result of
a rapid mode. The true Deductive Method--brought into disrepute by being
confounded with the Anticipative or Hypothetical, which differs from it
only in this, that the Principles from which the latter reasons are
_true_, while those of the former are _doubtful_--has thus far prevailed
in Mathematics alone, and _Mathematics_ is, up to our day, _the only
recognized Exact Science_, the only Science in which _Demonstration_, in
the strict sense of that term, is now possible,--the fruits of the
Inductive Method being known as the _Inexact_ Sciences, in which only
Probable Reasoning prevails.

It is necessary to say, in the _strict sense of the term_, because the
same laxity exists in the use of the word _Demonstration_, as in that of
Science, and hence it has lost the distinctive meaning which attaches to
it, in its legitimate use, as signifying a mode of reasoning in which
the _self-evident truths or axioms_, with which we start, and every step
in the deduction, 'are not only perfectly definite, but incapable of
being apprehended differently--if really apprehended, they must be
apprehended alike by all and at all times.' It is because this Method of
proof exists only in Mathematics, that this alone is denominated the
_Exact_ Science, or its branches, the Exact Sciences; Sciences whose
Laws or Principles, and the Facts connected with or deduced from them,
are irresistible conclusions of thought, in all minds, which conclusions
rest upon universally recognized axioms; while the _Inexact Sciences_,
including all except Mathematics, the Sciences in which the Inductive
Method prevails, are systems of Laws or Principles, with their related
Facts, of the truth of which there is great probability, but of which
there is, nevertheless, no complete certainty; whose conclusions are not
_based_ upon universally undeniable axioms, or are not _themselves_
irresistible to the human mind.

The superiority of the Deductive Method, both in its mode of advancing
to the discovery of new truth and in the precision, clearness, and
certainty which accompany its findings, must now easily become apparent.
Whether we regard Induction and Deduction as correlative Processes
belonging to one Method, each of which has been disproportionately in
vogue at different epochs, or as distinctive Methods, having each their
own Deductive and Inductive Processes, in either aspect, Induction is
only a preparative labor, leading in the more important work of the
application of the Law or Principle derived. It is only, indeed, for the
purpose of discovering this Law that Observation, Classification, and
Induction are undertaken. It has been the triumphant boast of the
Inductive Method, that it guarded, by means of these preliminary steps,
in the most careful manner, against error in establishing its Laws. To
the extent of its capacity it has done so. But we have already seen,
that deriving its Principles, as it was obliged to, from less than _all_
the Facts which appertained to the Principles, these must inevitably
have been lacking in some particulars; it being impossible to make the
whole out of less than all its parts.

The Inductive Method has obtained an importance greatly exaggerated, for
the reason that it has been brought into comparison, for the most part,
with the Anticipative or Hypothetical, the bastard Deductive Method
only, and its superiority over this exhibited in the most detailed
manner, while the right application of the Deductive Method, except in
Mathematics, has not been considered possible. The reason of this can be
made obvious.

The immense superiority of _Mathematical_ Reasoning, as _Demonstration_
is often called, over all other kinds, is universally known and
recognized. For in this mode of reasoning there is no room for doubt or
uncertainty. It starts from Principles of whose truth there can be no
doubt, because it is impossible for _the human mind to apprehend them in
more than one way_, and proceeds by steps, every one of which can
likewise be apprehended in only one way. Hence all men arrive
_inevitably_ at the same conclusion at the close of the chain of
reasoning. It is, therefore, a Method of proof which sets out from a
precise, definite, universally established Law or Principle which really
contains the conclusion in itself, and which can be developed to the end
through a series of necessary and irresistible convincements; while in
the Inductive Method we are obliged to start from this or that admitted
Fact or Truth assumed after Observation, Classification, and Induction,
which may have been rigorously performed, but which, nevertheless, could
not, in the nature of the case, prove the Fact or Truth with complete
certainty, and which is not, perhaps, universally admitted, and proceed
by merely probable inferences drawn from various, diverse, and often
uncertain relations, until we reach a conclusion. Such reasoning may be
sufficient to incline the mind to a particular conclusion, as against
those which tend to any other conclusion, but they are never quite
sufficient, as in Demonstrative or _true_ Deductive reasoning, to
_necessitate_ the conclusion, and render any other impossible.

A Method of Scientific investigation which proceeds from self-evident
truths to necessary results by undeniable steps, would of course be
preferable to one which, starting from truths whose precision and
certainty might be doubtful, advances by more or less probable
inferences to a more or less probable conclusion, did there not exist
some powerful cause for a contrary action. A difficulty thus far
insurmountable has, indeed, stood in the way of the adoption of the
Deductive Method in any department of investigation, save the one
already referred to. This Method, we have seen, leads to truth or error
accordingly as the Principles or Laws from which it commences its
reasoning process are true or false. In the Mathematics, the basic
truths, being of a simple character, were arrived at by easy and
instinctive mental processes, and the Method achieved in this department
great success. But the other domains of human knowledge being more
complex, involving more qualities or characteristics than mere Number
and Form and Force, which are all that come within the scope of
Mathematics, their fundamental bases or truths were not so easily
attainable. Hence, when Principles or Ideas which men believed to
contain all the fundamentals of a specific domain of thought were
adopted as starting points of reasoning, they were generally lacking in
some important element, which caused the conclusion to be in some way
incorrect. We have seen the historical results of this mode of procedure
in what is denominated the Anticipative or Hypothetical Method. The
failure of this to secure good results, and the absence of any standard
by which to be certain when a Law or Principle was fundamental, exact,
and inclusive, when it was a valid basis to reason from, led to the
abandonment of the Deductive Method, except in its application to
Mathematics, where true starting points were known. The Observation and
Classification of Facts was then resorted to, first, in a loose way, in
Greece, and afterward, in a more rigorous way, in the world at large,
for the purpose of endeavoring to discover, by the only mode considered
effective--the examination of Phenomena--the fundamental Principles,
which, like those of Mathematics, should include all the essentials of
the special domain under consideration. These being discovered, might
furnish, it was instinctively felt, starting points from which to work
the Deductive Process, with the same success as that which attended its
application to Mathematics.

The Inductive Principle, considered either as a Process or a Method, is
valuable, therefore, mainly as it furnishes proper starting points for
the activity of the Deductive Principle. Thus far in the history of the
Natural Sciences it has been the best and safest guide in affording such
starting points. But the indications are numerous all about us that the
progress of Scientific discovery will ere long bring us to a stage,
where the Laws or Principles which underlie every department of the
Universe being fully revealed, the function of the Inductive Principle
as a guide to fundamental bases, will be at an end, and the Deductive
Method once more assume the leadership, opening to us all departments of
investigation, with the rapidity, precision, and certainty which
characterize Mathematical research and Demonstrative Reasoning.

This _desideratum_ must necessarily result whenever a Unitary Law shall
be discovered in Science; whenever the Sciences, and the Phenomena
within the different Sciences, shall be _basically_ connected. All the
present conditions and tendencies of knowledge indicate that the
attainment of this crowning intellectual goal was predestined to our
epoch. It has been the grand work of the Inductive Method to arrange
Facts under Principles, and these latter as Facts or Truths under a
smaller number of Principles, and these in turn under a still smaller
number, until all the Phenomena of the different domains of thought
which are reckoned as Sciences are included within a few Principles
which lie at the foundation of each domain. The connection of these few
Principles by a still more fundamental Law, is all that is necessary to
the completion of the work of the centuries and the establishment of a
Universal or Unitary Science. Already those recognized as leaders in the
Scientific world watch expectantly the signs of the times and await the
advent of the Grand Discovery which is to usher in a new intellectual
era, 'We have reached the point,' says Agassiz, in one of his _Atlantic
Monthly_ articles, 'where the results of Science _touch the very problem
of existence, and all men listen for the solving of that mystery_. When
it will come, and how, none can say; but this much, at least, is
certain, _that all our researches are leading up to that question_, and
mankind will never rest till it is answered.'

'All the Phenomena of Physics,' says Professor Silliman, in his _First
Principles of Philosophy_, 'are dependent on a limited number of general
laws, _of which they are the necessary consequences_. However various
and complex may be the phenomena, their laws are few, and distinguished
for their exceeding simplicity. All of them may be represented by
numbers and algebraic symbols, and these condensed _formulae_ enable us
to conduct investigations _with the certainty and precision of pure
Mathematics_. As in geometry, all the properties of figures are deduced
from a few axioms and definitions; so _when the general laws of Physics
are known, we may deduce from them, by a series of rigorous reasonings,
all the phenomena to which they give rise_.'

Auguste Comte, in his elaborate and encyclopaedic _Course of Positive
Philosophy_, tells us that 'these _three_ laws [the Law of Inertia, the
Law of the Equality of action and reaction, and the Law of the
Composition of forces] are the experimental basis of the Science of
Mechanics. From them the mind may proceed _to the logical construction
of the Science, without further reference to the external world_. * * *
We cannot, however, conceive of any case which is not met by these three
laws of Kepler, of Newton, and of Galileo, and their expression is so
precise that they can be immediately treated in the form of analytical
equations easily obtained.' While also exhibiting the small number of
Principles which lie at the foundation of other domains of our
intellectual accumulations, Comte remarks: 'The ultimate perfection of
the Positive system would be (if such perfection could be hoped for) to
represent all phenomena as particular aspects of a single general
fact;--such as Gravitation, for instance.'

These are a few specimens of what may be found in the books, pointing
out the gradual approach of Scientific investigation to the discovery of
a Unitary Law, and the expectation among Scientists of the advent, at
some period not far distant, of a new Science, the greatest among
Sciences, a true Pantology or Universology. Upon the apprehension of
this Law, which must establish the true basis of every domain of thought
or activity, and show it to be identical or analogous in the several
domains, we shall be placed, _in relation to the whole universe_,
precisely where we now stand in relation to Mathematics, Mechanics, and
Physics; that is, the General Law or Laws of every domain of
investigation will become known, as we now know those of these Sciences,
and, to adopt the words of the French writer, 'from them the mind may
proceed to the logical construction of the Science [being now the
Science of the whole Universe], without further reference to the
external world;' or to use the language of Professor Silliman, 'when the
general laws of [the Universe] are known, we may _deduce_ from them, by
a series of rigorous reasonings, _all the phenomena to which they give
rise_.' Thus, upon the discovery of a Unitary Law, linking the Sciences
together, and showing the identity of their starting points or bases,
the Deductive Principle, considered either as a Method or a Process,
must once more take the lead, and the Inductive occupy its legitimate
position as a subordinate and corroborative auxiliary. Under the
guidance of this new adjustment of the Deductive and Inductive
Principles, a full, exact, complete, definite, _Scientific_
Classification of our knowledge will become possible, and the true
boundaries of every domain of intellectual examination may be critically
and clearly established. In the absence of such a Classification, it is
only by viewing departments of the Universe with reference to the Method
or Process employed in the investigation of their Phenomena, that we are
able to estimate their present relations to Science, and to ascertain
proximately their Scientific or Unscientific character. We proceed,
then, to examine the connection of History, in its present development,
with Science, a task to which the foregoing brief and incomplete
consideration of the subject of Method has been a necessary preliminary.

A number of Classifications of human knowledge have been attempted, none
of which were exact or complete, or could have been, for a reason which
was stated above, and none of which are now considered to be
satisfactory by the Scientific world. Bacon and D'Alembert, men of
vigorous and vast intellectual capacity, were admirably adapted to such
a work, so far as it could be performed in their day. But the state of
knowledge and Scientific progress was not sufficiently advanced, at that
time, to render any Classification which could be made of more than
temporary value, and those furnished by these illustrious thinkers now
appertain only to the archaeology of Science.

The Classification of Auguste Comte, in the absence of a more exact,
complete, and inclusive one, still holds the highest rank, and is the
only one which now claims the attention of the general Thinker. It is
very restricted in its application, professing to include only the
domain which Comte calls abstract or general Science, which has for its
object the discovery of the laws which regulate Phenomena in all
conceivable cases within their domain, and excluding the sphere of what
he denominates concrete, particular, or descriptive Science, whose
function it is to apply these laws to the history of existing beings.
This throws such Natural Sciences as Botany, Zoology, Mineralogy,
Geology, etc., out of his range. He also excludes the domain of
_practical_ Knowledge, comprising what is included under the terms, the
Applied Sciences, the Arts, the Mechanical Sciences, etc. A
Classification, far more detailed and comprehensive in its scope than
anything yet published, is in preparation by Professor P. H. Vander
Weyde, of the Cooper Institute--advanced sheets of which, so far as it
is elaborated, have been kindly furnished to the writer by the
author--the incomplete state of which, however, prevents a further
consideration here.

The Principle which Comte adopted to guide him in his Classification was
the following: 'All observable phenomena may be included within a very
few natural categories, so arranged as that the study of each category
may be grounded on the principal laws of the preceding, and serve as the
basis of the next ensuing. This order is determined by the degree of
simplicity, or, what comes to the same thing, of generality of their
phenomena. Hence results their successive dependence, and the greater or
lesser facility for being studied.' In accordance with this Principle,
Comte establishes what he denominates the _Hierarchy of the Sciences_.
Mathematics stands at the base of this, as being that Science whose
Phenomena are the most general, the most simple, and the most abstract
of all. Astronomy comes next, wherein the Static and Dynamic properties
of the heavenly bodies complicate the nature of the investigation; in
Physics, Phenomena must be considered in the midst of the still greater
complications of Weight, Light, Heat, Sound, etc.; Chemistry has
additional characteristics to trace in its subjects; Biology adds the
intricacies of vital Phenomena to all below it; and Sociology, the sixth
and last of Comte's Hierarchy--all other departments of thought other
than those previously excluded from his survey, being regarded as out of
the bounds of human cognition--deals with the still more complicated
problem of the relations of men to each other in society.

This Classification is admirable for the purpose of showing the mutual
interdependence of the branches of Knowledge included in it; but aside
from its covering only a small part of our intellectual domain, it is
also defective in not distinguishing with sufficient clearness that
which is properly Science, from that which is merely Theory or Plausible
Conjecture. Biology and Sociology are classed with Mathematics as
_Positive_ Sciences, as if the Laws or Principles which correlated the
Phenomena of the former were established as certainly and definitely as
those of the latter; while there is no prominence given to the different
nature of _proof_ in Mathematics and that in every other department of
investigation--except in so far as Mathematical Phenomena and Processes
enter into the latter--if, indeed, the founder of Positivism has even
anywhere distinctly stated it. Chemistry, Biology, and Sociology,
leaving Astronomy and Physics aside for the present, are not yet
_Positive_ Sciences, in any such sense as Mathematics. The lack of
_exact_ analysis is apparent in all of Comte's generalizations,
otherwise magnificent and masterly as they undoubtedly are. In respect
to the matter under consideration, it renders his Classification
unavailing for determining with sufficient precision and exactitude the
character of any intellectual domain. History, while it is the source
whence the proof of his fundamental positions is drawn, finds no place
in his Scientific schedule. Even had it been otherwise, the defect just
alluded to would have rendered it useless for our present purposes,
until a prior Classification had first been made, exhibiting the radical
difference between the various domains, which are all indiscriminately
grouped under the name of _Science_. After such a Classification, based
on the nature of _proof_ as involved in Method, the Principle which
guided Comte in the establishment of the Hierarchy of the Sciences will
enable us, in a concluding paper, to estimate with proximate certainty
the character of a possible Science of History, and to ascertain how far
the labors of Mr. Buckle and Professor Draper have aided toward the
creation of such a Science.




DIARY OF FRANCES KRASINSKA;

OR, LIFE IN POLAND DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.


                                            Friday, _April 10th._

Easter week is over, and I am really sorry; I had found happiness in
repose, and already have care and disquiet won their way into my heart
and my mind.... How many sins I have committed! Poor humanity! poor
nature, so frail and weak! Notwithstanding my promises and the
resolutions which I fancied so strong, I yield to the least temptation.

For example, and it is indeed incredible, but a fact, that on Holy
Thursday, the very day after my confession, I sinned, and sinned through
pride. I should have worn black when I went to be present at the court
ceremony, but I could not resist the seduction of a beautiful costume.
Just as I was beginning my preparations, the Princess Lubomirska entered
my room, accompanied by her maids, who brought me a charming dress of
white velvet, with a long train, and trimmed with white roses; the
headdress consisted of a garland of white roses, and a long white blonde
veil. The taste and richness of this costume surpasses description! How
could I resist the happiness of seeing myself so becomingly attired!

I asked the princess why she required me to wear so brilliant a costume
to church; she replied that on Holy Thursday it was customary after the
service to go into the great hall of the castle, where the king would
wash the feet of twelve old men, in commemoration of the humility of our
Saviour, and that he would also wait upon them at table. During this
pious and edifying ceremony, a young girl belonging to one of the
noblest families must make a collection for the poor; the king himself
names the lady, and this year he was pleased to honor me by his
selection; he at the same time announced that the results of my efforts
should be given to the hospital for the poor under the Abbe Baudoin's
charge.

I was very happy as I listened to the princess; but, must I confess it?
I was not happy through the good action I was about to perform; I
thought only of myself, of my beauty, of the charming costume, of the
effect I should produce among all the other women dressed in black, and
I rejoiced to think that I should be the most beautiful. What culpable
vanity! And on Holy Thursday! But at least I frankly admit my sin, and
humiliate myself for it.

My collection surpassed my hopes. I received nearly four thousand
ducats. Prince Charles Radziwill said, as he put his hand to his purse:
'My dear (Panie Kochanku, his favorite expression), one must give
something to so beautiful a lady;' and he threw five hundred gold pieces
on my plate, which would have fallen from my hands had I not been aided
in holding it. When I began my collection, I was very much embarrassed;
I trembled all over, and blushed at each new offering I received; but by
degrees I gained courage, and profited by my dancing master's lessons.
The grand marshal of the court gave me his hand, and named each lord as
he repeated the customary formula employed in handing them the plate; as
for me, I could not have said a word; I found it quite enough to make a
proper and becoming courtesy to each one. When the plate became too
heavy, the marshal emptied it into a large bag, borne behind us.

I heard many compliments, and I was more looked at and admired than I
ever had been before in my life. The prince royal said to me: 'If you
had asked each of us to give you his heart, no one could have refused
you.'

I replied: 'Affection is not solicited, it is inspired.'

He seemed pleased with my frankness. I cannot comprehend how a woman
could solicit love, and say: Love me, admire me.... For a king I could
not thus degrade myself. Tenderness is involuntary; one may seek to win
it, one may gladly accept it when offered; but to solicit it, is even
more ridiculous than criminal.

The washing of the feet is one of the most striking ceremonies of our
religion. A king kneeling before those twelve aged men, and then
standing behind them while they are at table, is a most touching and
sublime spectacle. That ceremony can never pass from my memory. Augustus
III, although no longer young, is still handsome; his gestures bear the
impress of dignity and nobility: the prince royal, Charles, resembles
him exactly.

On Good Friday we visited the sepulchre; all the court ladies were
dressed in black; we made our stations in seven churches, and in each we
said appropriate prayers. I was on my knees during a whole hour in the
cathedral. On Holy Saturday the services were magnificent, and the
organs pealed forth the most heavenly strains of music.

Tho princess's Easter collation (swiencone) was superb; until yesterday,
the tables were continually covered with cakes and cold meats. It is
just one year since I assisted at Madame Strumle's very modest
collation; I was then a schoolgirl; who could have guessed that on the
following Easter Monday I should be with the princess palatiness, that
the prince royal would partake of the same collation with myself, and
that we should eat out of the same plate!

One really finds a pleasure in eating meat after a Lent so rigorously
observed; for all here are as particular as at Maleszow. During holy
week, everything is cooked in oil, and on Good Friday a severe fast is
adhered to, each one taking only food sufficient to keep him from
starving.

The prince royal has fasted so much that he has become quite thin. I
noticed this yesterday, and my eyes involuntarily rested upon his
features with a more tender expression than usual: as he was talking
with the prince palatine, I did not think he was paying any attention to
me, but thoughts springing from the heart never escape him, he is so
good, so quick in understanding; soon after, he thanked me for my
solicitude. I grew very red, and promised myself in future to keep a
strict guard over the expression of my eyes.

A woman's part, especially that of an unmarried girl, is very difficult;
not only must she measure out her words and watch the tones of her
voice, but she must also command the expression of her countenance. I
must ask, of what use are governesses and their lessons in such cases?
The princess is quite right when she says, that ten governesses, let
them be as watchful as they may, cannot guard a young girl who does not
know how to guard herself.

                                         Wednesday, _April 15th._

We leave Warsaw to-morrow; I am going with the prince and princess to
their estate at Opole. My father has written to the princess to say that
I may remain with her so long as my presence may be agreeable to her. I
hope she will never be dissatisfied with me; I endeavor to please her in
every possible way. She inspires me with infinite fear and respect; she
controls me entirely, and I am always ready to yield to the lightest
expression of her will; when she smiles upon me, when she looks at me
kindly, it seems to me as if heaven were opening before me. If I should
ever reach an advanced age, I would like to inspire the same feelings
which I experience toward her. The prince royal himself is afraid of the
princess.

Would any one believe that I am glad to think that I shall not now go to
Maleszow? I dread the home of my childhood; it seems to me as if I
should profane it were I to visit it with a heart so filled with unrest
and disquietude!

Ought I to regret the past? Will a life of torment be the price of a
single ray of happiness enlightening the highest pinnacle of human
felicity? If the wish which I dare not express should ever be
accomplished, I will surely be equal to my position; but I will also
know how to bear the shipwreck of my dearest hopes.... Great God, how
can I write, how dare I confide to paper what I fear to confess to
myself! When I think of him, I tremble lest any one should divine my
feelings, and yet I write!... If my journal were to fall into any one's
hands I should be deemed mad, or at least most foolishly presumptuous; I
must shut it up under four locks.

                           CASTLE OF OPOLE, Friday, _April 24th._

We have been here nearly a week; the situation of the castle is very
agreeable, but I am no longer gay, and nothing pleases me. The trees
should already be green, and they are still bare; it should be warm, and
the air freezes me. I desired to embroider, but the indispensable silks
were wanting; I tried the piano, but it was not in tune: it will be
necessary to send to Lublin for the organist. There is quite a large
library here, but I dare not ask the princess for the key. The prince
has several new works; he paid in my presence six gold ducats for ten
little volumes of M. Voltaire's works: Voltaire is now the most
celebrated writer in France. The princess forbids my reading his books,
and I am sure I am quite content. But what I cannot endure is, that I am
not permitted to read a romance lately come from Paris, entitled _La
Nouvelle Heloise_. It is by a certain Rousseau, and has made a great
sensation here. I picked up one volume, and read a few pages of the
preface, but what did I see? Rousseau himself says: 'A mother will
forbid her daughter to read it.' The princess is quite right, and I laid
the book aside with a flutter at my heart which still continues.

The physicians in Warsaw have ordered the princess to ride on horseback
during her sojourn in the country; they say this exercise will be
excellent for her health. She laughed at the prescription, and had not
the faintest intention of trying it; but the prince palatine will hear
of no jesting where physicians are concerned.

He has bought a pretty mare, very gentle and well trained, as also a
most comfortable saddle; but the princess still refuses to mount the
animal. She was with great difficulty persuaded yesterday to mount a
donkey, and thus make the circuit of the garden. She will be obliged to
repeat this exercise every day. As for me, who have no fear of horses, I
had a most burning desire to try the mare; I spoke of it yesterday
evening; but the princess chid me, and told me with quite a severe air,
that it was the most improper thing in the world for a young lady. I
must of course renounce my desire; but I do it with real regret, for I
already saw myself in fancy riding through the forests, going to the
chase, climbing the steep mountain sides with _him_, and admiring his
strength and skill....

The castle has become more lively; several persons have come from the
city and the neighborhood to present their homage to the palatine. They
might perhaps afford me amusement; and yet I do not even find a passing
distraction in their presence. I have seen Michael Chronowski, my
father's former chamberlain; how the poor young man is changed! The
prince palatine, in consequence of my father's recommendation, placed
him at the bar in Lublin. They say he is doing very well, but he is
thin, bent, and old before his time; his face is strangely colored, and
he has some frightful scars. He has not danced once since Barbara's
wedding. The time for mazourkas and cracoviennes is past: they have been
replaced by law cases, pleading, chicanery, and all its tiresome
accompaniments; his language is so learned that one can no longer
understand him.

As a compensation, however, we have here one very agreeable visitor,
Prince Martin Lubomirski, the prince palatine's cousin, though much
younger than he. I had already met him in society at Warsaw. The
princess, who is severe, and who never overlooks the least defect,
criticizes him a little; but I find his manners very agreeable: he owns
in the neighborhood the estate of Janowiec, and has given us all a most
pressing invitation to visit his castle. It is possible we may go there;
I should be charmed, for no one talks more agreeably. He is gay, fond of
pleasantry, and a great friend to the prince royal; he often speaks of
him, and always well and worthily; he appreciates him and knows how to
praise him.... My heart swells with pleasure while I listen.


                     CASTLE OF JANOWIEC, Friday, _May 1st, 1760._

We came here two days ago, and Prince Martin says he will not let us
soon depart. Everything is more beautiful at Janowiec than at Opole; no
one can be more generous, more hospitable, or more amiable than Prince
Martin. The princess says he scatters gold and silver about as if he
expected it to grow. He is now having a wide avenue cut through the
forest surrounding the castle. I can see from the windows of my room
immense trees falling beneath the axes of hundreds of laborers; at the
end of the avenue, a pavilion is being built, at which they work so
rapidly that one can see it grow from hour to hour. The prince sent to
Warsaw and to various other places for his workmen; he pays them double
wages, and he has made a bet with the palatine that the pavilion will be
entirely finished in four weeks. I am quite sure he will win. The forest
is to be transformed into an enclosed park. The whole neighborhood
abounds in wild beasts; but he has had many elks and bears taken to
people his wonderful park. There must be some mystery lurking behind all
these preparations. I feel, rather than guess it.

I like Janowiec better than any other place; the situation is charming,
and the castle magnificent. It stands upon a mountain overlooking the
Vistula; its architecture belongs to a very ancient period. From the
castle the whole city may be seen, with the granaries of Kazimierz, and
also Pulawy, belonging to the Princess Czartoryski. The apartments are
large, very numerous, and gorgeously furnished; but I believe that my
boudoir is the most delightful room in the castle. It is situated at the
top of a tower, and while I am in it I can fancy myself a real heroine
of romance. It has three windows, all opening in different directions,
and each with a most enchanting view. I generally sit by the window
overlooking the new avenue and the pavilion, which rises as if built by
fairies. The panels of my cabinet are adorned with paintings,
representing Olympus. 'Venus alone was wanting,' said the prince, with
that grace for which he is distinguished, 'but you have come to finish
the picture.'

I feel here an incomprehensible sense of well-being, I am soothed by
such sweet presentiments, I fancy myself on the eve of some very happy
event.


                                                Sunday, _May 3d._

I do not think I ever rose so early before in my whole life; the castle
clock has just struck three, and I am already at my writing. I took a
walk before daylight through the long corridors of the castle: had any
one seen me, I should have been taken for an ancestral shade, come to
visit the domain of its descendants. Prince Martin, following an old and
excellent custom, has built a gallery, containing the portraits of all
the most distinguished members of his family; all the memories of the
race of Lubomirski may be found in this gallery. He sent to Italy for an
artist to execute the portraits, and he called to his aid a learned man
fully acquainted with the history of the Lubomirski family and of our
country. After much deliberation and many discussions, the project was
finally carried into effect in 1756, as announced by the main
inscription. It is to be regretted, says the princess, that these
pictures are in fresco, and not in oil colors, as they would then have
been more solid and transportable.

Let what will happen in the future, at present this gallery is truly
magnificent. Yesterday, Prince Martin, with the palatine and the
palatiness, gave me a historical account of each picture; I immediately
determined to transfer them to my journal. With this intention I rose
before day and visited the gallery on tiptoe while all were still
sleeping. I will write down all I have been told, and all I have seen.

In the four corners of the hall are the arms of the Lubomirski family,
Srzeniawa, received on the occasion of a battle gained by one of the
ancestors on the banks of the Srzeniawa, not far from Cracow. The first
picture represents the division of the property between the three
brothers Lubomirski; a division which was made according to law, during
the reign of Wladislas I, and signed February 1st, 1088. Nearly all the
other pictures are family portraits; women rendered illustrious by noble
deeds, and men distinguished in political, civil, military, or religious
careers, especially during the reigns of Sigismund III, of John Casimir,
and of John III, Sobieski, There are several copies of the portrait of
Barbara Tarlo, who brought the castle of Janowiec as a dowry to a
Lubomirski.

The series is ended by a picture which is equivalent to a whole poem; it
represents a winter sky and a naked forest; a furious bear endeavors to
overthrow a tall and athletic man; a young woman, wearing a hunting
costume, comes behind the bear and places a pistol at each ear. In the
distance is a horse running away and dragging behind him an upset
sledge. I asked an explanation of the picture, and was told as follows:

A certain Princess Lubomirska, who was very fond of the chase, set out
one winter day on a bear hunt; as she was returning in a little sledge,
drawn by one horse, and having only one attendant with her, a furious
bear, driven by some other hunters, fell upon the princess. The
terrified horse upset the sledge, and she and the attendant must
infallibly have perished, had not the courageous servant determined to
sacrifice himself for his mistress; he threw himself before the bear,
saying these words; 'Princess, remember my wife and children.' But the
noble and heroic woman, thinking only of the danger of him who was about
to sacrifice his life for her, drew two small pistols from her pockets,
placed the barrels in the bear's ears, and killed him on the spot.

In truth, I envy this noble and generous action.... It is needless to
add that the servant with his wife and children became henceforth the
special care of the princess.

But, during the last few moments, I have heard considerable noise
through the castle, and I must return to my own room. I hear Prince
Martin's voice resounding through the corridors. He is calling his dogs,
of which he is exceedingly fond, as indeed he may well be, for his
hounds are the most beautiful in the whole country. He is always sorry
when the season will not admit of hunting; but at present the most
intrepid hunters are forced to renounce their sport. I must close my
book. It is five o'clock, and some one might come into the gallery.


                                            Thursday, _May 14th._

We have been to Opole, where we spent several days; but Prince Martin
made us promise to return here, and here we are again installed. He
wished us to see the pavilion entirely finished. The exterior is
completed, and only a few interior embellishments are yet wanting.
Prince Martin has then won his bet, and he talks to me about it in such
strange enigmas that I cannot comprehend him; for example, he said to me
this morning: 'Every one says that I am expending the most enormous sums
on my park and my pavilion; but I shall receive a recompense which I
shall owe to you, far above anything I can do.'

Indeed, I lose myself in conjecture; either I am mad, or all who come
near me have lost their senses.


                                            Saturday, _May 16th._

Could I ever have anticipated such happiness! The prince royal has
arrived; the pavilion, the park, and all, were for him, or rather for
me; for they know that he loves me, and to please him, the princes have
invented this pretext for bringing him to Janowiec. Great Heaven! what
will my fate be! I bless the happy accident that brought him here at
nightfall, for otherwise every one must have observed my blushes, my
embarrassment, and that throbbing at my heart which deprived me of the
power of speech and took away my breath; he too would have understood my
joy! I never saw him so tender before; but the future--what will that
be?...

Until now, I have always feigned not to comprehend the meaning of his
words, and have striven to hide from him all that was passing in my
soul; but can I always control myself when I must see him every moment?
Ah! how painful will be the effort!... What torture ever to repress the
best feelings of one's soul! To refuse expression to my thoughts, when
my thoughts are all personified in him.... Notwithstanding my efforts, I
fear lest my heart should be in my eyes, in my voice, in some word
apparently trivial.... God give me courage, for what can my future
destiny be? On what can I rely?... My fate sometimes appears to me so
brilliant, I foresee a superhuman happiness; and then again it seems to
me so dark and menacing that a shudder runs through my whole frame.

I do not know what to decide upon; I do not know whether I should trust
to my heart or my reason. Alas! my reason--I have only fears and
melancholy foreshadowings, which lead me back to the truth when I have
yielded too willingly to the enchantment of such sweet illusions.

If I could confide in any one; if I could find a friend and guide in the
princess! But my attachment to her is too respectful to be tender and
confiding; then she says, perhaps by chance, words which destroy my
desire to make a confidante of her. She blames the prince's character,
and pities the woman who would bind herself to him.... The palatine
gives me no assistance; he doubtless believes my virtue is strong enough
to suffice without aid or counsel.

I will accept all the happiness which Heaven may send me; I will guard
it as a sacred treasure, but I will commit no imprudence, no action
unworthy of my name. God will be my refuge; he will deign to enlighten
me. I passed the whole of last night in prayer. Ah! how sorry I am the
Abbe Baudoin is not here, for each day will be a new trial. The prince
will remain some time at the castle; the princes, his brothers, will
soon join him here, and great projects for hunting have been made.


                                             _May 18th._ evening.

Heaven has been gracious, and my destiny is the happiest of all! I,
Frances Krasinska, in whose veins runs no royal blood, am to be the wife
of the prince royal, Duchess of Courland, and one day, perhaps, may wear
a crown.... He loves me, loves me beyond everything; he sacrifices his
father to me, and overleaps the inequality in our rank; he forgets all,
he loves me!

It seems to me I must be misled by some deceitful dream! Is it indeed
true that I went alone with him this afternoon to walk in the park? The
princess's recent accident was the cause. As she was ascending the
stairs of the pavilion, she made a false step, and was forced to remain
in the saloon with one of the young lady companions. Usually, she does
not leave us a single moment; but as her foot would not permit her to
walk, the princes, he and I, went without her. Prince Martin stopped by
the way to show the prince palatine some of his preparations for the
chase. The prince royal told them he preferred to walk on, and passed my
arm within his own. He was silent during some moments; I was surprised,
for I had always seen him so abounding in wit, and so fertile in
subjects of conversation. He finally asked me if I still persisted in
misunderstanding the motive which had brought him to Janowiec. I
replied, as usual, that the anticipated pleasures of the chase had
doubtless determined him to accept Prince Martin's invitation.

'No,' he said, 'I came for you, for myself, to secure the happiness of
my whole life.'

'Is it possible?' I cried; 'Prince, do you forget your rank, and the
throne which awaits you in the future? The prince royal should wed a
king's daughter!'

He replied: 'You, Frances, you are my queen; your charms first seduced
my eyes, and later, your truth and virtue subjugated my heart. Before I
knew you, I had been always accustomed to receive advances from women;
scarcely had I said a word, when I was overwhelmed with coquetries....
You, who have perhaps loved me more than they, you have avoided me; one
must divine your secret thoughts if one would love you without losing
all hope; you merit the loftiest throne in the universe, and if I
desired to be King of Poland, it would only be that I might place a
crown upon your noble and beautiful brow.'

My surprise, my happiness, deprived me of all power to reply; meanwhile,
the princes rejoined us, and the prince royal said to them:

'I here take you for the witnesses of my oath: I swear to wed no other
bride than Frances Krasinska; circumstances require secrecy until a
certain period, and you alone will know my love and my happiness: he who
betrays me will be henceforth my enemy.'

The princes made the most profound salutations, and expressed themselves
deeply honored by the prince royal's confidence; they assured him that
they would keep his secret most religiously; then, passing by my side,
they whispered in my ear, 'You are worthy of your good fortune,' and
departed.

I stood motionless and dumb, but the prince was so tender, his words
were so persuasive and so eloquent, that I ended by confessing to him
that I had long loved him: I believe one may, without criminality, make
this avowal to one's future husband.... The castle clock at length
struck midnight, that hour for ghosts and wandering spirits; after
midnight their power vanishes.... Can I yet be the plaything of an
illusion?... But no, all is true, my happiness is real, my grandeur is
no dream.... The ring I wear upon my finger attests its truth.

Barbara gave me a ring in the form of a serpent, the symbol of eternity;
the prince royal often fixed his eyes upon it, and now he has had one
made exactly like it, with this inscription: 'Forever,' which he has
exchanged with me for mine. Our first and holy betrothal had no
witnesses but the trees and the nightingales. I will tell no one of this
occurrence, not even the princess.

Alas! Barbara and my parents are also ignorant of it--they have not
blessed our rings; it was not my father who promised me to my betrothed,
nor has my mother given me her blessing!... Alas! my sorrow oppresses
me, and my face is bathed in tears.... Yes, all is true, this must
indeed be life, since I begin to suffer!


                                              Monday, _May 25th._

I have written, and it seems to me as if I had said nothing; I have not
written during the past week, because I found no words to express my
thoughts.... I am happy, and language, which is eloquent in the
expression of sorrow, has no tongue for joy and happiness.

Last week, I took up my pen to write, but I soon gave up the attempt; my
feelings and ideas were confused with their own constant repetition and
renewal, and when my poor head would have presided over the arrangement
of the words, my heart melted into hopes and desires.... I can write
to-day, because the fear of misfortune, of some sudden catastrophe, has
seized upon me.... If he should cease to love me!...

The royal princes, Clement and Albert, arrived last Thursday. There have
been hunting parties without intermission. Prince Martin had sent for
plenty of wild animals; they were let loose in the park, and the princes
have had as much as they could do. My maid tells me the princes Clement
and Albert leave this morning; my first thought was that he would go
too.... Happiness has entirely absorbed me during the past week;
happiness, unalloyed by a single fear; my cares too as mistress of the
house (for since the princess's accident I have taken her place) have
left me not a moment unemployed!... And now, these few words uttered by
my maid have completely unsettled my mind: Great Heaven, if he were to
go too! For whom would I wake in the morning, for whom would I dress
with so much care, for whom would I strive to be more beautiful? Ah!
without him, I can see but death and a void which nothing can fill!... I
grow faint.... I must open the window.... I breathe, and already feel
better.

It is only six o'clock, and yet I see a white handkerchief floating from
the window of the pavilion. That is his daily signal, to say good
morning. I will never confess to him that my awakening each day preceded
his.... But who is that man running toward the castle; I know him
well--his favorite huntsman; he brings me a bouquet of fresh flowers;
they must have been sent for to an orangery four leagues from here....
How silly and unjust I was to torment myself so! He is still here, no
one has told me that he is going, he will doubtless remain a long
time.... Ah yes, some days of happiness will still be granted
me--perhaps some weeks.




THE SLEEPING SOLDIER.

  On the wild battle field where the bullets were flying,
  With a ball in his breast a brave soldier was lying,
  While the roar of the cannon and cannon replying,
    And the roll of the musketry, shook earth and air.

  The red ooze from his breast the green turf was a-staining;
  The light of his life with the daylight was waning;
  From his pain-parted lips came no word of complaining:
    Where the fighting was hottest his spirit was there.

  He had marched in the van where his leader commanded;
  He had fall'n like a pine that the lightning has branded;
  He was left by his mates like a ship that is stranded,
    And far to the rear and a-dying he lay.

  His comrades press on in a gleaming of glory,
  But backward he sinks on his couch cold and gory;
  They shall tell to their children hereafter the story,
    His lips shall be silent forever and aye.

  A smile lit his face, for the foe were retreating,
  And the shouts of his comrades his lips were repeating,
  And true to his country his chill heart was beating,
    When over his senses a weariness crept.

  The rifle's sharp crack, the artillery's thunder,
  The whizzing of shell and their bursting asunder,
  Heaven rending above and the earth rumbling under,
    Nevermore might awake him, so soundly he slept.

  He had rushed to the wars from the dream of his wooing,
  For fame as for favor right gallantly suing,
  Stem duty each softer emotion subduing,
    In the camp, on the field--the dominion of Mars.

  And there when the dark and the daylight were blended,
  Still there when the glow of the sunset was ended,
  He slept his last sleep, undisturbed, unattended,
    Overwept by the night, overwatched by the stars.

    BATON ROUGE, LA., _September 10th, 1863._




MY MISSION.


I opened my eyes and looked out.

Not that I had been exactly asleep, but dreamily ruminating over a
series of chaotic visions that had about as much reason and order as a
musical medley. I had been riding in the cars for the past six hours,
and had now become so accustomed to the monotony that all idea of a
change seemed wildly absurd; in my half-awake state, I was feebly
impressed with the conviction that I was to ride in the cars for the
remainder of my existence.

The entrance of the conductor, with the dull little glowworms of lamps
which he so quickly jerked into their proper places, made a sudden break
in my train of thought; and, not having anything else to occupy me just
then, I became speedily beset with the idea that the luminary just above
my head was only awaiting a favorable opportunity to tumble down upon
it. The thought became unpleasantly absorbing; and, not having
sufficient energy to get up and change my seat, I looked out of the
window again.

The prospect was, like most country views, of no particular beauty when
seen in the ungenial light of a November evening: the sky rather leaden
and discouraging; the earth, chilled by the sun's neglect, was growing
shrivelled and ugly with all its might; and the trees were dreary
skeletons, flying past the car window in a kind of mad dance, after the
fashion of Alonzo and the false Imogen. I gave up the idea of making the
cars my future residence, and considered that it was quite time to look
about me, and inquire, for present, practical purposes, what I was and
where I was going.

But, at the very outset of this laudable occupation, a disagreeable fact
thrust itself impudently in my face, and even shook its fist at me in
insolent defiance. There was no getting over it--I was undeniably a
_woman_--and, what was worse, rather a womanly woman. I am aware, of
course, that this depends. If you should ask that stately lily, radiant
with beauty, from the crown of the head to the sole of her foot,
surrounded by her kind, and cherished and admired as one of the choicest
gems of the garden, whether she considered it an agreeable thing to be a
flower, she would probably toss her head in scorn, as youthful beauties
do, at the very question. But ask the poor roadside blossom, trampled
on, switched off, and subjected to every trial that is visited on
strength and roughness, without the strength and roughness to protect
her, and there is very little doubt that she would express a desire to
wake up, some morning, and find herself transformed into a prickly pear.
Womanhood, under some circumstances, is very much like sitting partly on
one chair, and partly on another, without being secure on either.

It is an unnatural combination to have the propensities of a Columbus or
Robinson Crusoe united with a habit of trembling at stray dogs in the
daytime, and covering one's head with the bedclothes at night. I had
longed to be afloat for some time past; but now, that I was fairly out
of sight of land, I shuddered at the immensity of the fathomless sea
that stretched before me. Whither bound? To the 'Peppersville Academy,'
in a town on the border of a lake familiar to me in my geography days at
school, but which seemed, practically, to have no more connection with
New York than if it had been in Kamtchatka. To this temple of learning I
was going as assistant teacher; and the daring nature of the undertaking
suddenly flashed upon me. Suppose that, when weighed in the examining
balances, I should be found wanting? Suppose that some horridly sharp
boy should 'stump' me with 'Davies' Arithmetic?'

That was my weak point, and I realized it acutely. Figures never would
arrange themselves in my brain in proper order; I am by no means sound
even on the multiplication table; and the only dates that ever fixed
themselves in my memory are 1492 and 1776. The very sight of a slate and
pencil gave me a nervous headache, and as I had lately been told that
_idiots_ always failed in calculation, I considered myself but a few
removes from idiocy. My answering that advertisement was a proof of it;
and here I was, hundreds of miles from any familiar sight, going to
teach pupils who probably knew more than I did! I had my music and
French, to be sure, and that was _some_ foundation--but not half so
solid as a substantial base of figures.

In a sort of frantic desperation, I began, to ply myself with impossible
sums in mental arithmetic, until I nearly got a brain fever; and the
cars stopped, and the dreaded station was shouted in my ears, while I
was in the midst of a desperate encounter with a group of stubborn
fractions.

How I dreaded the sight of the personage who had twice subscribed
himself my 'obedient servant, Elihu Summers'! My 'obedient servant,'
indeed! More likely my inexorable taskmaster, with figures in his eye
and compound fractions at his tongue's end. I painted his portrait:
tall, wiry, with compressed lips, and a general air of seeing through
one at a glance. Now, when one is painfully conscious of being deficient
in several important points, this sort of person is particularly
exasperating; and I immediately began to hate Mr. Summers with all my
might.

Nevertheless, I shook considerably, and, having been informed that I
would be met at the station, though by whom or what was not specified, I
prepared to alight, with my bag and shawl and 'Harper,' attached to
various parts of my person. Considering how short the step is from the
sublime to the ridiculous, the length, or rather height, of that step
from the car to the platform was out of all proportion; I looked upon it
as an invention of the enemy, and stood hopelessly considering the
impossibility of a descent without the aid of a pair of wings.

Raising my eyes in dismay, I saw in the dim light a pair of arms
outstretched to my assistance; and, observing that the shoulders
pertaining thereto were broad and solid-looking, I deposited my hundred
and twenty pounds of flesh and bone thereon without any compunctions of
conscience, and no questions asked. I almost fell in love with that
individual for the very tender manner in which I was lifted to the
ground; but, once safe on terra firma, I merely said, 'Thank you, sir,'
and was gliding rapidly into the ladies' saloon, half afraid of
encountering Mr. Summers in my journey.

But my _aide-de-camp_, with a hasty stride, arrested my progress, as he
said inquiringly, 'This is Miss Wade, I believe?'

I turned and looked at him, as the light fell upon his figure from the
open doorway--large and well proportioned, with the kind of face that
one sees among the heroes of a college 'commencement,' or the successful
candidates for diplomas--half manly, half boyish, with a firm mouth and
laughing eyes; and he immediately added, 'I have come to conduct you to
your boarding house.'

I concluded that he was either a son or nephew of 'Elihu Summers,'
possibly an assistant in the school; and I felt glad at the prospect of
some congenial society.

The walk to the boarding house was not a long one, and we said very
little on the way. My companion had quietly relieved me of my small
articles of baggage; and I had mechanically taken the offered arm as
though I had known him all my life. I could not see much of the town in
the dark, and what I did see did not impress me with a very exalted idea
of its liveliness--the inhabitants apparently considering it sinful to
show any lights in the fronts of their houses, except an occasional
glimmering over the hall door.

My companion suddenly turned, mounted two steps, and lifted a knocker.
The sound, at first, produced no reply; but presently a sound of
unbolting and unbarring ensued, and the door was opened, as Morgiana
would have opened it to let in the forty thieves. A small, pale man,
with whitish eyes, and gray hair standing on end, peered at us rather
inhospitably; and on the lower step of the staircase a tallow candle, in
a brass candlestick, emitted the brilliant light that tallow candles
usually do.

We effected an entrance by some miracle; and once in that full blaze of
light, the old man exclaimed:

'Oh, Mr. Summers, so it is you, is it? I was kind of puzzled to make out
_who_ 'twas. And is this the new teacher you've brought along, or a
boarding scholar? Looks about as much like one as t'other.'

With a smile, I was introduced as 'Miss Wade;' and just as a pleasant
matronly looking woman made her appearance, the old man seized me in an
unexpected embrace, observing, quite as a matter of course, 'I always
kiss nice-looking young gals.'

'Not always,' thought I, giving him a desperate push that sent him,
where he more properly belonged, to the arms of Mrs. Bull, who
opportunely arrived in time to restore his equilibrium.

I suppose my cheeks were blazing, they felt so hot, for the good wife
gently remarked, 'It is only Mr. Bull's way--he doesn't mean anything by
it, or I should have been jealous long ago.'

Had the observation not been so hackneyed, I would have advised Mr. Bull
to mend his way; but he seemed so thoroughly astonished that further
comment was unnecessary.

A glance at Mr. Summers, who had proved to be the redoubtable Elihu,
discovered an amused smile hovering around the corners of his mouth; and
it _was_ ridiculous that, at my first entrance into a house, I should
have a pitched battle with the master of it. To do the old man justice,
I do not believe that he _did_ 'mean anything,' as the intended salute
was to be given in the presence of witnesses; he only labored under the
hallucination of old men in general, who