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[Illustration: John D. Long]




THE BAY STATE MONTHLY.

_A Massachusetts Magazine._

VOL. III. SEPTEMBER, 1885. NO. IV.

       *       *       *       *       *




HON. JOHN D. LONG.


Hon. John D. Long, the thirty-second governor of the
Commonwealth of Massachusetts, under the Constitution, and whose wise,
prudent administration reflected great credit upon himself, was born in
Buckfield, Maine, October 27, 1838.

His father was a man of some prominence in the Pine Tree State, and in
the year in which his more distinguished son first saw the light, he ran
for Congress on the Whig ticket, and although receiving a plurality of
the votes cast, he was defeated.

The son was a studious lad, more fond of his books than of play, and
thought more of obtaining a solid education than of developing his
muscles as an athlete. At the proper age he entered the academy at
Hebron, the principal of which was at that time Mark H. Dunnell,
subsequently a member of Congress from Minnesota.

At the age of fourteen, young Long entered the Freshman class at Harvard
College. He at once took high rank, stood fourth in his class for the
course, and second at the end of the Senior year. He was the author of
the class ode, sung on Commencement day.

After leaving College, Mr. Long was engaged as principal of the Westford
Academy, an old institution incorporated in 1793. He remained at
Westford two years, highly esteemed by his pupils and beloved of the
whole people. As a teacher, he won marked success, and many of his
contemporaries regret that he did not always remain in the profession.
But he cherished another, if not a higher ambition. From Westford he
passed to the Harvard Law School, and to the offices of Sidney Bartlett
and Peleg W. Chandler, in Boston. In 1861, he was admitted to the bar,
and then he opened an office in his native town, to practise his new
profession.

He soon found, however, that Buckfield was not the place for him.
People there were far too honest and peace-loving, and minded their own
business too well to assist in building up a lawyer's reputation. After
a two years' stay, therefore, he removed to Boston, and entered the
office of Stillman B. Allen, where he rapidly gained an extensive
practice. The firm, which consisted of Mr. Allen, Mr. Long, Thomas
Savage and Alfred Hemenway, had their offices on Court Street, in an old
building now on the site of the new Young's Hotel. Mr. Long remained in
the firm until his election, in November, 1879, to the governorship of
Massachusetts.

In 1870, he was married to Miss Mary W. Glover of Hingham,
Massachusetts, to which town he had previously removed his residence.
During his executive administration, he had the great misfortune to
undergo bereavement by the loss of this most estimable lady, whose wise
counsel often lent him encouragement in the perplexed days of his
official life.

In 1875, Mr. Long was chosen to represent the Republicans of the second
Plymouth District in the legislature. He at once took a prominent
position, and gained great popularity with his fellow members. In 1876,
he was re-elected to the House, and soon after he was chosen speaker.
This position he filled with dignity, grace, and with an ease surpassed
by no speaker before him or since. He showed himself thoroughly versed
in parliamentary practice, and his tact was indeed something remarkable.
So great was his popularity that, in 1877, he had every vote which was
cast for speaker, and in the following year every vote but six.

In the fall of 1877, the Republican State Convention assembled at
Worcester, and it at once became apparent that many of the delegates
were desirous to vote for Mr. Speaker Long for the highest office in the
Commonwealth. At the convention he received, however, only 217 votes for
candidate; and his name was then withdrawn. At the convention of 1878,
he again found numerous supporters, and received 266 votes for Governor.
He was then nominated for Lieutenant Governor by a very large majority,
and was elected. In the convention of 1879, Governor Thomas Talbot
declining a re-nomination, Lieutenant Governor Long received 669 votes
to 505 votes for the Hon. Henry L. Pierce, and was nominated and
elected, having 122,751 votes to 109,149 for General Benjamin F. Butler,
9,989 for John Quincy Adams, and 1,635 for the Rev D.C. Eddy, D.D.

On the fifteenth of September, 1880, Governor Long was re-nominated by
acclamation, and in November he was re-elected by a plurality of about
52,000 votes,--the largest plurality given for any candidate for the
governorship of Massachusetts since the presidential year of 1872. He
continued to hold the office, by re-election until January, 1883.

Several important acts were passed during the administration of Governor
Long, and notably among these was an act fixing the penalties for
drunkeness,--an act providing that no person who has been served in the
United State army or navy, and has been honorably discharged from the
service, if otherwise qualified to vote, shall be debarred from voting
on account of his being a pauper, or, if a pauper, because of the
non-payment of a poll tax,--an act which obviated many of the evils of
double taxation by providing that, when any person has an interest in
taxable real estate as holders of a mortgage, given to secure the
payment of a loan, the amount of which is fixed and stated, the amount
of said person's interest as mortgagee shall be assessed as real estate
in the city or town where the land lies, and the mortgagor shall be
assessed only for the value of said real estate, less the mortgagee's
interest in it.

The creditable manner in which Mr. Long conducted the affairs of the
State induced his constituents to send him as their representative in
Washington. He was elected a member of the Forty-eighth Congress, and is
now a member also of the Forty-ninth. His record thus far has been
altogether honorable and characterized by a sturdy watchfulness of the
interests entrusted to his care.

As a man of letters. Governor Long has achieved a reputation. Some years
ago, he produced a scholarly translation, in blank verse, of Virgil's
_Æneid_, which was published in 1879 in Boston. It has found many
admirers among students of classical literature. Governor Long, amid
busy professional and official duties, has also written several poems
and essays which reflect credit upon his heart and brain. His inaugural
addresses were masterpieces of literary art, and the same can be said of
his speeches on the floor of Congress, all of them, polished, forceful
and to the point.

Mr. Long is a very fluent speaker, and, without oratorical display, he
always succeeds in winning the attention of his auditors. It is what he
says, more than how he says it, that has won for him his great
popularity on the platform. When, in February last, the Washington
monument was dedicated, he it was that was chosen to read the
magnificent oration of Robert C. Winthrop.

As a specimen of Mr. Long's happy way of expressing timely thoughts, the
following passage, selected from an address which he delivered at
Tremont Temple, Boston, on Memorial Day, 1881, deserves to be read:--


  "Scarce a town is there--from Boston, with its magnificent column
  crowned with the statue of America at the dedication of which even the
  conquered Southron came to pay honor, to the humblest stone in rural
  villages--in which these monuments do not rise summer and winter, in
  snow and sun, day and night, to tell how universal was the response of
  Massachusetts to the call of the patriots' duty, whether it rang above
  the city's din or broke the quiet of the farm. On city square and
  village green stand the graceful figures of student, clerk, mechanic,
  farmer, in that endeared and never-to-be-forgotten war-uniform of the
  soldier or the sailor, their stern young faces to the front, still on
  guard, watching the work they wrought in the flesh, and teaching in
  eloquent silence the lesson of the citizen's duty to the state, How our
  children will study these! How they will search and read their names!
  How quaint and antique to them will seem their arms and costume! How
  they will gather and store up in their minds the fine, insensibly
  filtering percolation of the sentiment of valor, of loyalty, of fight
  for right, of resistance against wrong, just as we inherited all this
  from the Revolutionary era, so that, when some crisis shall in the
  future come to them, as it came to us, they will spring to the rescue,
  as sprang our youth, in the beauty and chivalry of the consciousness
  of a noble descent."


       *       *       *       *       *




CONCORD MEN AND MEMORIES.


By George B. Bartlett.


On a pleasant June morning after a long drive through shady country
lanes, the little pile of rocks was reached, which for two hundred and
fifty years has marked the western corner of the lot, six miles square,
granted to form the plantation at Musketaquid on the second of September
1635. Resting here in the shadow of the pines, listening to the busy
gossip of the squirrels, many scenes and people which have made the town
of Concord, Massachusetts, so noted, seemed to pass in review, some of
which will here be recounted.

Perhaps on this spot Simon Willard and his associates may have stood,
and these rough rocks been laid in place by their hands. Peter Bulkeley,
the wise and reverend, may have consecrated this solemn occasion with
prayer in accordance with the good old custom of the time. To the two
gentlemen above-mentioned the chief credit of the settlement of Concord
is mainly due. Attention was early called to the broad meadows of the
Musketaquid or 'grass grown river' and a company marched from the
ancient Newtown to form a settlement there early in the fall of 1635.
Few of the thousand pilgrims who arrive every year over the Fitchburg
and Lowell railroads can imagine the discomforts of the toilsome journey
of these early settlers as they penetrated through the unbroken
wilderness and wet and dreary swamps, devoting nearly two weeks to the
journey now easily accomplished in forty minutes. Many of their cattle
died from exposure and change of climate, and great heroism and courage
were required to make them persevere. They were kindly received by the
Indians who were in possession of the lands along the rivers, and who
finally consented to part with them so peacefully, that the name of the
town was called Concord.

Near the present site of the hotel stood an oak tree under which
tradition locates the scene of these amicable bargains. On a hill at the
junction of the Sudbury and Assabet rivers, rumor also locates the lodge
of the squaw who reigned as queen over one of the Indian tribes, and
thus introduced into the village female supremacy which has steadily
gained in power ever since. Later the Apostle Eliot preached here often,
and converted many dusky followers into "Praying Indians." Remnants of
their lodge-stones, arrow-heads and other relics were abundant half a
century ago in the great fields and other well known resorts, and a
large kitchen-miden or pile of shells, now fast becoming sand, marks the
place of one of their solemn feasts. The early explorers seem to have
built at first under the shelter of the low sand-hills which extend
through the centre of the town, and perhaps some of them were content to
winter in caves dug in the western slopes. Their first care was for
their church which was organized under the Rev. Peter Bulkeley and John
Jones as pastor and teacher, but after a few years Mr. Jones left for
Connecticut with one-third of his flock. Many other things occurred to
discourage this little band, but their indomitable leader was not one to
abandon any enterprise. Rev. Peter Bulkeley was a gentleman of learning,
wealth and culture, as was also Simon Willard who managed the temporal
affairs of the plantation. It is a curious commentary on the present
temperance question to learn from early records that to the chief men
alone was given the right to sell intoxicating liquors. In many of the
early plantations the land seems to have been divided into parcels,
which were in some cases distributed by lot, and this fact may perhaps
have originated the word _lot_ as applied to land. A large tract
near the centre of the town was long held in common by forty associates,
the entrance to which was behind the site of the former Courthouse, now
occupied by the Insurance Office. Before many years had passed this
little town lost in some degree its peaceful reputation, and became a
centre of operations during King Philip's war, many bodies of armed men
being sent out against the savages, and one to the relief of Brookfield,
under Mr. Willard. Block houses were built at several exposed points,
the sites of which, with other noted places will soon be marked with
memorial tablets.

Trained by this Indian warfare, the inhabitants of Concord were prepared
for the events which were to follow, and when, in 1775, their town
furnished the first battle-field of the American Revolution, they were
able to offer "the first effectual resistance to British aggression." In
the old church built in 1712 was held the famous Continental Congress
where the fiery speeches of Adams and Hancock did so much to hasten the
opening of the inevitable conflict between England and her provinces.
The same frame which was used for the present building echoed with the
stirring words of the patriots as well as with the fearless utterances
of the Rev. William Emerson, who, on the Sunday before Concord fight,
preached his famous sermon on the text "Resistance to tyrants is
obedience to God." The events which preceded the Revolution need not be
recorded here, nor any facts not intimately connected with the history
of the town, which had been quietly making preparations for the grand
event. Under Colonel James Barrett and Major Buttrick, the militia and
other soldiers were drilled and organized, some of whom under the name
of Minute-men were ordered to be ready to parade at a moment's notice.
Cannon and other munitions of war were procured, which with flour and
provisions were secreted in various places.

Tidings of these preparations was carried to the British in Boston by
the spies and tories who abounded in the town, and on the evening of the
eighteenth of April, an expedition consisting of about eight hundred men
was sent out to counteract them. Paul Revere having been stopped at
Lexington, was able to spread the news of the attack by means of Dr.
Prescott who had been sitting up late with the lady whom he afterwards
married. Love overleaps all obstacles, and with cut bridle-rein the
Doctor leaped his gallant steed over walls and fences and reached
Concord very early in the morning. At the ringing of the bell the
Minute-men flocked to their standard on the crest of Burying Hill where
they were joined by Rev. William Emerson, whose marble tomb stands near
the very spot, and also marks the place where Pitcairn and Smith
controlled the operations of the British during the forenoon.

The Liberty-pole occupied the next eminence, a few rods farther east.
Here the little band of patriots awaited the coming of the
well-disciplined foe, ignorant that their country-men had fallen on
Lexington Common before the very muskets that now glittered in the
morning sun. Some proposed to go and meet the British, and some to die
holding their ground; but their wiser commanders led them to
Ponkawtassett Hill a mile away, where the worn and weary troops were
cheered by food and rest, and were reinforced by new arrivals from Acton
and other towns, until they numbered nearly three hundred men. After
destroying many stores in the village, and sending three companies to
Colonel Barrett's in vain search for the cannon, which were buried in
the furrows of a ploughed field, a detachment of British soldiers took
possession of the South Bridge, and three companies were left to guard
the old North Bridge under command of Captain Lawrie.

[Illustration: Henry D. Thoreau.]

Seeing this manoeuvre the Americans slowly advanced and took up their
position on the hill at the west of the bridge which the British now
began to destroy. Colonel Isaac Davis of Acton now offered to lead the
attack, saying, "I have not a man who is afraid to go," and he was given
the place in front of the advancing column, and fell at the first volley
from the British, who were posted on the other bank of the river. Major
Buttrick then ordered his troops to fire, and dashed on to the bridge,
driving the enemy back to the main road, down which they soon retreated
to the Common, to join the Grenadiers and Marines who there awaited
them. The Minute-men crossed over the hills and fields to Merriam's
corner when they again attacked the British, who were marching back to
Boston, and killed and wounded several of the enemy without injury to
themselves. Meanwhile the three companies had returned from Colonel
Barrett's and marched safely over the bridge which had been abandoned by
both sides, and joined the main force of the British who had waited for
them on the Common.

After the skirmish at Merriam's corner, the fighting was continued in
true Indian fashion from behind walls and buildings with such effect
that the British would have been captured had they not been re-enforced
at Lexington by a large force with field pieces.

In 1836, the spot on which the British stood was marked by a plain
monument, and in 1875 the place near which Captain Isaac Davis and his
companions fell was made forever memorable by the noble bronze statue of
the Minute-man by Daniel Chester French in which the artist has
carefully copied every detail of dress and implement, from the ancient
firelock, to the old plough on which he leans.

[Illustration: THE OLD BATTLE GROUND.]

In order to prove her claim to the peaceful name of Concord, this
village seems to have taken an active part in every warlike enterprise
which followed. Several of her men fought at Bunker Hill and one was
killed there. In Shay's Rebellion Job Shattuck of Groton attempted to
prevent the court, which assembled in Concord, from transacting its
business, by an armed force. In the war of 1812, Concord men served
well, and in the old anti-slavery days many a fierce battle of tongue
and pen was waged by the early supporters of the then unpopular cause.
John Brown spent his fifty-eighth birthday in the town the week before
he left for Harper's Ferry, and the gallows from which his "soul went
marching on." The United States officials who came to arrest Mr. Sanborn
for his knowledge of Brown's movements were advised by the women and men
of Concord to retreat down the old Boston road _a la_ British; and
when the call came for troops to put down the late Rebellion, Concord
was among the first to send her militia to the field under the gallant
young farmer-soldier, Colonel Prescott, who at Petersburg,


  "Showed how a soldier ought to fight,
  And a Christian ought to die."


[Illustration: R. Waldo Emerson]

In memory of the brave who found in Concord "a birthplace, home or
grave" the plain shaft in the public square was erected on the spot
where the Minute-men were probably first drawn up on the morning of the
nineteenth of April. 1775 to listen to the inspiring words of their
young preacher, Rev. William Emerson, and ninety years after in the same
place his grandson R.W. Emerson recounted the noble deeds of the men who
had gallantly proved themselves worthy to bear the names made famous by
their ancestors at Concord fight. The Rev. William Emerson in 1775
occupied and owned _The Old Manse_, which was built for him about
ten years before, on the occasion of his marriage to Miss. Phoebe Bliss,
the daughter of one of the early ministers of Concord. Mr. Emerson was
so patriotic and eager to attack the invaders at once, that he was
compelled by his people to remain in his house, from which he is said to
have watched the battle at the bridge from a window commanding the
field. He soon after joined the army as chaplain and died the next year
at Rutland, and his widow married some years after the Rev. Dr. Ripley
who succeeded him in his church and home, and lived until his death in
the Manse which has always remained in the possession of his
descendants. Dr. Ripley ruled the church and town with the iron sway of
an old-fashioned New England minister, and the old Manse has for years
been a literary centre. In the old dining room, the solemn conclave of
clergymen have cracked many a hard doctrine and many a merry jest,
seated in the high-backed leather chairs which have stood for one
hundred and twenty years around the old table. Here Mrs. Sarah Ripley
fitted many a noted scholar for college in the intervals of her
housekeeping labors before the open kitchen fireplace. In an attic
room, called the Saint's chamber, from the penciled names of honored
occupants, Emerson is said to have written _Nature_, and perhaps
other works, as much of his time was spent in the Manse at various
periods of his life. Here Hawthorne came on his wedding tour and lived
for two happy years and wrote the _Mosses from an Old Manse_ and
other works. In his study over the dining-room, his name is written
with a diamond on one of the little window panes, and with the same
instrument his wife has recorded on the dining-room window annals of
her daughter who was born in the house.

[Illustration: Nathaniel Hawthorne.]

On the hill opposite, the solitary poplar, the last of a group set
out by some school-girls eighty years ago, still stands. Each of its
companions died about the time of the decease of its lady planter, and
as the one who set out the present tree has lately died, the poplar
suffered last year from a stroke of lightning which may cause it to
follow soon.

Nearly opposite the Manse on the road toward the village is the well
preserved house, formerly the home of Elisha Jones, which bears in the
L the mark of a bullet fired into it on the day of Concord fight. On
the same side of the way a little farther down is a house, a portion of
which was built by Humphrey Barrett as early as 1640. As the route of
the retreating British from the bridge is followed for half a mile down
this road the common is reached, which is bounded on the Northern end by
the stores, from which the British took flour and other Continental
supplies, and at the opposite end stands Wright tavern which the gallant
Pitcairn immortalized by stirring his brandy with a bloody finger,
unconscious that the rebel blood he promised to stir would cause his own
to flow at Bunker Hill.

Opposite Wright tavern is one of the oldest burying hills in the
country, on which may be seen the stone of Joseph Merriam, who died in
1677 and those of Colonel Barrett who commanded the troops, and of Major
Buttrick who led them at the bridge, and of his son the fifer who
furnished the music to which they marched. Here also is the inscription
to John Jack famous for its alliteration, and the tablets of the old
ministers and founders of church and State. Some of these headstones
bear coats of arms and rough portraits in stone, while others more
symbolic, are content with the winged cherubim or solemn weeping willow,
and others older still preserve the antique coffin shape. About one
quarter of a mile in the rear of this historic Burying Hill is Sleepy
Hollow, the cemetery now so famous, which will be for centuries as now,
the Mecca of pious pilgrims, for here Emerson sleeps beneath the giant
pine of which he loved to write and which in grateful recognition ever
whispers its solemn dirge over the dead poet, who will live forever in
his writings. His grave is now marked by a rough rock of beautiful pink
crystal-quartz, and his son Waldo lies close beside him, with no
monument but the imperishable one of _Threnody_. Mrs. Ruth Emerson,
the mother of the poet and his brothers, nephews and grandchildren rest
near him, and close by is the grave of Miss Mary Moody Emerson, the
eccentric genius whom he well appreciated.

[Illustration: THE STUDY IN THE TOWER OF THE WAYSIDE.]

Ridge Path leads up the steep hill past the grave of Emerson and also to
most of the noted burial places. On ascending this path at the western
end, Hawthorne's lot is first reached, surrounded by a low hedge of
Arbor Vitae and the grave of the great writer is marked only by two low
white stones one of which bears his name. At his head lies his little
grandson, Francis Lathrop, and by his side Julian's little daughter
Gladys. Behind is the grave of Thoreau, a plain brown stone, and very
near are the graves of two of the little women, Amy and Beth, by the
side of their noble mother, Mrs. Alcott. Colonel Prescott and many noted
citizens are buried on this path which has for a chief ornament the
handsome monument of the Honorable William Whiting, nearly opposite
which is the Manse lot, with its memorials to Mrs. Ripley and her sons.
On the side of this hill is the Monument to Honorable Samuel Hoar which
bears upon its upper portion an appropriate motto from Pilgrim's
Progress, and an oft-quoted inscription which with the one in the same
lot to his daughter, is recommended to all lovers of pure English as
they are true records of the pure souls they commemorate.

[Illustration: A. BRONSON ALCOTT.]

Returning from the cemetery to the square, we still follow the British
down the Boston road and pass at the corner near the church another
building from which stores were taken and on the left houses of
historical fame, the house and shop of Captain Brown who led the second
company in the fight, the home of the patriot Lee and John Beatton who
left funds for church purposes. Below this house which is two hundred
years old, a guard was posted on the day of the fight and before it
stand two elms so old that they are filled with bricks inside, and
mended outside with plaster in order to preserve them. The next house on
the right is the home of Emerson, a plain wooden building with trees
near the western side, and a fine old-fashioned garden in the rear. His
study was in the front of the house at the right of the entrance. One
side is filled to the ceiling with books, and a picture of the Fates
hangs above the grate, a table occupies the centre, at the right of
which is the rocking chair in which he often sat, and his writing
implements lie near on the table. From the study two doors lead to the
long parlor with its large fire-place around which so many noted people
have gathered.

After passing the home of Emerson the road turns toward the left and
leads past the farm and greenhouses of John B. Morse, the agricultural
author, to the School of Philosophy which has just completed its seventh
session with success, the attendance having steadily improved certainly
as far as culture is considered. It stands in the grounds of the Orchard
House now the home of Dr. Harris who has carried out the idea of Mr.
Alcott of whom he bought the place, by laying out beautiful walks over
the crest of the wooded hill. He has surrounded a tall pine on the hill
top with a strong staircase by which it can easily be climbed to a
height of 54 feet from the base and 110 feet from the road in front of
the school building or chapel. Orchard House was for years the home of
the Alcott family where Louisa wrote and May painted and their father
studied philosophy. A broken rustic fence one of the last traces of Mr.
Alcott's mechanical skill forms the slight barrier between the grounds
at the Orchard House and Wayside, which Mr. Alcott bought in 1845 and a
few years later sold to Nathaniel Hawthorne who owned it at the time of
his death. The house is a strange mixture of the old and new, as the
rear part bears evident traces of antiquity, at the right were the
Hawthorne parlors and reception rooms, at the left of the entry his
library, sometimes called the den, and in front a small room with a low
window separates the dining room from the reception room and the whole
is crowned with a tower built by Mr. Hawthorne for a study where he
found the quiet and seclusion which he loved. Much of Mr. Hawthorne's
composition seems to have been done as he wandered up and down the shady
paths which wind in every direction along the terraced hillside, and a
small crooked path is still shown as the one worn by the restless step
of genius. Mr. G.P. Lathrop who married Rose Hawthorne sold the place to
Daniel Lothrop, the Boston publisher, who has thoroughly repaired it and
greatly added to its beauty by reverently preserving every landmark in
his improvements, and now in summer his accomplished wife, known to the
public by her _nom de plume_ of Margaret Sidney, entertains many
noted people at Wayside. On the Boston road and a little farther on is
the garden of Ephraim Bull, the originator of the Concord grape and
below is Merriam's Corner to which the Minute-men crossed and attacked
the British as above mentioned. Half a mile across country lies Sandy
Pond from which the town has its water supply which can furnish daily
half a million gallons of pure water, each containing only one and
three-fourths grains of solid matter. From Sandy Pond several narrow
wood-roads lead to Walden, a mile distant where Thoreau lived for eight
months at an expense of one dollar and nine cents a month. His house
cost thirty dollars and was built by his own hands with a little help in
raising and in it he wrote Walden, considered by many his best book. Mr.
Thoreau died in May 1862, in the house occupied by the Alcott family on
Main street where many of the principal inhabitants live. At the
junction of this street with Sudbury street stands the Concord Free
Public Library, the generous gift of William Munroe, Esq. which was
dedicated October 1, 1873, and now owns nearly twenty thousand volumes
and numerous works of art, coins and relics, the germs of a gallery
which will be added in future. Behind the many fine estates which front
on Main street, Sudbury river forms another highway and many boats lie
along the green lawns ready to convey their owners up river to Fairhaven
bay, Martha's Point, the Cliffs and Baker Farm, the haunts of the
botanists, fishermen and authors of Concord, or down to Egg Rock where
the South Branch unites with the lovely Assabet to form the Concord
River which leads to the Merrimac by way of Bedford, Billerica and
Lowell. But most of the boats go up the Assabet to the beautiful bend
where the gaunt hemlocks lean over to see their reflection in the amber
stream, past the willows by which kindly hands have hidden the railroad,
to the shaded aisles of the vine-entangled maples where the rowers moor
their boats and climb Lee Hill which Mr. C.H. Hood has so beautifully
laid out.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE CONSPIRACY OF 1860-61.


By George Lowell Austin.


I.


After the October elections, in the autumn of 1860, had been carried by
the Republicans, the election of Abraham Lincoln as President of the
United States, in November, became a foregone conclusion. On the 5th day
of October,--the initial day of the American Rebellion,--Governor Gist,
of South Carolina, wrote a confidential circular-letter, which he
despatched by special messenger to the governors of the so-called Cotton
States. In this letter he requested an "interchange of opinions which he
might be at liberty to submit to a consultation of the leading men" of
his State. He added that South Carolina would unquestionably call a
convention as soon as it was ascertained that a majority of Lincoln
electors were chosen in the then pending presidential election. "If a
single State secedes," he wrote, "she will follow her. If no other State
takes the lead, South Carolina will secede; in my opinion, alone, if she
has any assurance that she will be soon followed by another or other
States; otherwise, it is doubtful." He asked information, and advised
concerted action.

The governors of North Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and
Georgia sent replies; but the discouraging tone of their responses
establishes, beyond controversy, that, with the exception of South
Carolina, "the Rebellion was not in any sense a popular revolution, but
was a conspiracy among the prominent local office-holders and
politicians, which the people neither expected nor desired, and which
they were made eventually to justify and uphold by the usual arts and
expedients of conspiracy."

From the dawn of its existence the South had practically controlled the
government; she very naturally wished to perpetuate her control. The
extension of slavery and the creation of additional slave States was a
necessary step in the scheme, and became the well-defined single issue
in the presidential election, though not necessarily the primal cause of
the impending civil war. For the first time in the history of the
republic the ambition of the South met overwhelming defeat. In legal
form and by constitutional majorities Abraham Lincoln was chosen to the
presidency, and this choice meant, finally, that slavery should not be
extended.

An election was held in South Carolina in the month of October, 1860,
under the manipulation of the conspirators. To a Legislature chosen from
the proper material, Governor Gist, on November 5th, sent a message
declaring "our institutions" in danger from the "fixed majorities" of
the North, and recommending the calling of a State Convention, and the
purchase of arms and the material of war. This was the first official
notice and proclamation of insurrection.

The morning of November 7th decided the result of the national election.
From this time onward everything was adroitly managed to swell the
revolutionary furor. The people of South Carolina, and especially of
Charleston, indulged in a continuous holiday, amid unflagging
excitement, and, while singing the Marseillaise, prepared for war!
Everybody appeared to be satisfied,--the conspirators, because their
schemes were progressing, and the people, because, innocently duped,
they hoped for success.

The first half of the month of December had worn away. A new governor,
Francis W. Pickens, ruled the destinies of South Carolina. A Convention,
authorized by the Legislature, met at Columbia, the capital of the
State, and, on the 20th of December, passed unanimously what it called
an ordinance of secession, in the following words:--


  We, the people of the State of South Carolina, in convention assembled,
  do declare and ordain, and it is hereby declared and ordained, that the
  ordinance adopted by us in convention on the 23d day of May, in the
  year of our Lord 1788, whereby the Constitution of the United States
  of America was ratified, and also all Acts and parts of Acts of the
  General Assembly of this State ratifying amendments of the said
  Constitution, are hereby repealed; and that the Union now subsisting
  between South Carolina and other States, under the name of the United
  States of America, is hereby dissolved.


The ordinance was immediately made known by huge placards, issued from
the Charleston printing-offices, and by the firing of guns, the ringing
of bells, and other jubilations. The same evening South Carolina was
proclaimed an "independent commonwealth." Said one of the chief actors:
"The secession of South Carolina is not an event of a day. It is not
anything produced by Mr. Lincoln's election, or by the non-execution of
the Fugitive-Slave Law. It is a matter which has been gathering head for
thirty years." This was a distinct affirmation, which is corroborated by
other and abundant testimony, that the revolt was not only against
right, but that it was utterly without cause.

The events which took place in South Carolina were, in substance,
duplicated in her sister States of the South. Mississippi seceded on
January 9, 1861; Florida, on January 10; Alabama, on January 11;
Georgia, on January 18; Louisiana, on January 26; and Texas, on February
1; but not a single State, except Texas, dared to submit its ordinance
of secession to a direct vote of the people.

One of the most striking features in the early history of the secession
is the apparent delusion in the minds of the leaders that secession
could not result in war. Even after the firing upon Sumter, the delusion
continued to exist. Misled, perhaps, by the opinion of ex-President
Pierce,[1] the South believed that the North would be divided; that it
would not fight. It is but fair to say that the tone of a portion of the
Northern press, and the speeches of some of the Northern Democrats, and
the ambiguous way of speaking on the part of some of the Northern
Republicans rather warranted than discouraged such an opinion.

There was, however, one prominent man from Massachusetts, who had united
with the Southern leaders in the support of Breckenridge, who had wisdom
as well as wit, and who now sought to dispel this false idea. In the
month of December he was in Washington, and he asked his old associates
what it meant.

"It means," said they, "separation, and a Southern Confederacy. We will
have our independence, and establish a Southern government, with no
discordant elements."

"Are you prepared for war?" inquired Butler.

"Oh! there will be no war; the North will not fight."

"The North will fight. The North will send the last man and expend the
last dollar to maintain the government."

"But," said his Southern friends, "the North can't fight; we have too
many allies there."

"You have friends," said Butler, "in the North, who will stand by you so
long as you fight your battles in the Union; but the moment you fire on
the flag the Northern people will be a unit against you. And you may be
assured, if war comes, _slavery ends_."

Butler was far too sagacious a man not to perceive that war was
inevitable, and too sturdy and patriotic not to resist it. With a
boldness and frankness which have shown themselves through his whole
political career, he went to Buchanan; he advised and begged him to
arrest the commissioners, with whom he was then parleying, and to have
them tried for treason! Such advice it was as characteristic of Benjamin
F. Butler to give as it was of President Buchanan to disregard.


II.


But the adoption of secession ordinances and the assumption of
independent authority was not enough for the Cotton Republic. Though
they hoped to evade civil war, still they never forgot for a moment that
a conflict was not only possible, but even probable. Their prudence told
them that they ought to prepare for such an emergency by at once taking
possession of all the arms and military forts within their borders.

At this time there was a large navy-yard at Pensacola, Florida; from
twelve to fifteen harbor forts along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts;
half-a-dozen arsenals, stocked with an aggregate of one hundred and
fifty thousand arms (transferred there about a year before from Northern
arsenals, by Secretary Floyd); three mints; four important
custom-houses; three revenue cutters, on duty at leading Southern
seaports, and a vast amount of valuable miscellaneous property,--all of
which had been purchased with the money of the Federal Government.

The land on which the navy-yards, arsenals, forts, and, indeed, all the
buildings so purchased and controlled, stood, was vested in the United
States, not alone by the right of eminent domain, but also by formal
legislative deeds of cession from the States themselves, _wherein
they_ were located. The self-constituted governments of these State
now assumed either that the right of eminent domain reverted to them, or
that it had always belonged to them; and that they were perfectly
justified in taking absolute possession, "holding themselves responsible
in money damages to be settled by negotiation." The Federal Government
and the sentiment of the North regarded this hypothesis false and
absurd.

In due season the governors of the Cotton States, by official orders to
their extemporized militia companies, took forcible possession of all
the property belonging to the Federal Government lying within the
borders of these States. This proceeding was no other than _levying
actual war against the United States_. There was as yet no bloodshed,
however, and for this reason: the regular army of the United States
amounted then to but little over seventeen thousand men, and, most of
these being on the Western frontier, there was only a small garrison at
each of the Southern forts; all that was necessary, therefore, was for a
superior armed force--as a rule, State militia--to demand the surrender
of these forts in the name of the State, and it would at once, though
under protest, be complied with. There were three notable exceptions to
this peaceable evacuation,--first, no attempt was made against Fort
Taylor, at Key West; Fort Jefferson, on Tortugas Island; and Fort
Pickens, at Pensacola, on account of the distance and danger; second,
part of the troops in Texas were eventually refused the promised
transit, and were captured; third, the forts in Charleston harbor
underwent peculiar vicissitudes, which will be recounted later on.

The conspiracy which, for a while at least, seemed destined to overcome
all obstacles, was not confined to South Carolina or the Cotton States.
Unfortunately it had established itself in the highest official circles
of the National Government. Three members of President Buchanan's
cabinet--Cobb, of Georgia, Secretary of the Treasury; Floyd, of
Virginia, Secretary of War; and Thompson, of Mississippi, Secretary of
the Interior--were rank and ardent disunionists. To the artful
machinations of these three arch-traitors, who cared more for self than
they did for the South, the success of the conspiracy was largely due.
Grouped about them was a number of lesser functionaries, willing to lend
their help. Even the President did not escape the suspicion of the taint
of disloyal purpose.

The first and chief solicitude of the disunionists of South Carolina was
to gain possession of the forts. A secret caucus was held. "We must have
the forts," was its watchword; and, ere long, from every street corner
in Charleston came the impatient echo: "The forts must be ours."

To revert to the beginning. On the 1st of October, 1860, the Chief of
Ordnance wrote to Secretary Floyd, urging the importance of protecting
the ordnance and ammunition stored in Fort Sumter, Charleston harbor,
providing it met the approval of the commanding officer of Fort
Moultrie. The Secretary had no objections; but the commanding officer of
Fort Moultrie, while giving a very hesitating approval of the
application, expressed "_grave doubts of the loyalty and reliability
of the workmen engaged on the fort_," and closed his letter (dated
November 8th) by recommending that the garrison of Fort Moultrie should
be reinforced, and that both Fort Sumter and Castle Pinckney should be
garrisoned by companies _sent at once_ from Fortress Monroe, at old
Point Comfort. A few days later he ordered the ordnance officer at the
Charleston office to turn over to him, for removal to Fort Moultrie, all
the small arms and ammunition which he had in store. The attempt to make
this transfer was successfully resisted by the Charleston mob.

This evidence of loyalty on the part of the commanding officer of the
troops in Charleston harbor was not appreciated at Washington. His
removal was promptly ordered by the Secretary of War. The officer thus
summarily dealt with was Lieutenant-Colonel J.C. Gardner, First
Artillery, U.S.A., a native of Massachusetts, and an old veteran of the
war of 1812. Thus, so far as history reveals, was a son of the old Bay
State the _first_ to resist the encroachments of the Southern
conspiracy. It is worthy of note, also, that the removal of Col. Gardner
was in a measure due to the recommendation of Major (afterwards General)
Fitz John Porter.

Major Robert Anderson was ordered, on November 15th, to take command of
Fort Moultrie. He was chosen probably in the belief that, being a
Southern man, he would eventually throw his fortunes with the South. On
the 21st of November Major Anderson arrived at the fort, and on the 23d
of the same month he wrote to Secretary Floyd as follows:--


  Fort Sumter and Castle Pinckney _must_ be garrisoned immediately
  if the government determines to keep command of the harbor.[2]


In the same letter he also expressed the opinion that the people of
South Carolina intended to seize all the forts in Charleston harbor by
force of arms as soon as their ordinance of secession was published.

The faith of Secretary Floyd must, indeed, have been shaken while
reading such words! He might have ordered the removal of the writer of
them had not a rather unexpected incident now occurred to divert his
attention.

The Secretary of State, the venerable Lewis Cass of Michigan, at once
denounced submission to the conspiracy as treasonable, and insisted that
Major Anderson's demand for reinforcements should be granted. This
episode was a political bomb-shell in the camp of the enemy. The
President became a trifle alarmed, and sent for Floyd. A conference
between the President and the Secretary was held, when the latter
"pooh-poohed" the actual danger. "The South Carolinians," said he, "are
honorable gentlemen. They would scorn to take the forts. They must not
be Irritated." But the President evinced restlessness; he may have
suspected the motive of his cabinet officer. Floyd, too, grew restless;
the obstinacy of the executive alarmed him. He was only too glad to
consent to the suggestion that General Scott should be consulted.

General Scott rose from his sick-bed in New York, and hastened to
Washington, on the 12th of December. On the 13th he had an interview
with the President, in which he urged that three hundred men be sent to
reinforce Major Anderson at Fort Moultrie. The President declined, on
the ground, first, that Major Anderson was fully instructed what to do
in case he should at any time see good reason to believe that there was
any purpose to dispossess him of any of the forts; and, secondly, that
at this time (December 13th) he--the President--believed that Anderson
was in no danger of attack.

The President acted his own will in the matter. On the 15th General Cass
tendered his resignation, and retired from official life, for the avowed
reason that the President had refused to reinforce Anderson, and was
negotiating with open and avowed traitors. Secretary Cobb had resigned a
few days before. Black, the Attorney-General, was now made Secretary of
State; Thomas, of Maryland, Secretary of the Treasury; and Edwin M.
Stanton was appointed Attorney-General. The President believed, and
undoubtedly honestly, that, by his concession to Floyd and the other
conspirators, he had stayed the tide of disunion in the South. It now
appears how quickly and unexpectedly he was undeceived. While these
events were transpiring, a paper addressed "To our Constituents," and
urging "the organization of a Southern Confederacy," was being
circulated for signature through the two houses of Congress. It was
signed by about one-half of the Senators and Representatives of North
and South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana,
Texas, and Arkansas, and bore the date, "Washington, December 15, 1860."
It is to be remembered as the official beginning of the subsequent
Confederate States, just as Governor Gist's October circular was the
official beginning of South Carolina secession and rebellion.

On the 20th of December, South Carolina, as has been previously stated,
passed its ordinance. The desire, several times already expressed, to
hold possession of the forts in Charleston harbor now took the form of
a demand. The State Convention appointed three Commissioners to proceed
to Washington to "treat for the delivery of the forts, magazines,
light-houses, and other real estate, for an apportionment of the public
debt, for a division of all other property, and generally to negotiate
about other measures and arrangements." The Commissioners arrived in
Washington on the 26th of December, and, by special appointment, were to
meet the President at one o'clock on the following day. Before that hour
arrived an unlooked-for event occurred.


III.


We must now turn back again. Major Anderson, it will be remembered, had
been sent to Charleston by order of Lieutenant-General Scott, acting, of
course, under orders of the Secretary of War. Major Anderson's first
letter, dated November 23d, was sent through the regular channels. It
appears from the records[3] that, on the 28th of November, he was
ordered by Secretary Floyd to address all future communications
_only_ to the Adjutant-General or _direct_ to the Secretary of
War. From this time forth, then, Major Anderson could communicate only
with the conspirators against his government.

At last General Scott began to wonder why he had received no further
tidings from Major Anderson, and on the 27th of December he delivered
the following message to the President:--


  Since the formal order, unaccompanied by special instructions, assigning
  Major Anderson to the command of Fort Moultrie, no order, intimation,
  suggestion, or communication for his government and guidance, has gone
  to that officer, or any of his subordinates, from the head-quarters of
  the army; nor have any reports or communications been addressed to the
  General-in-chief from Fort Moultrie later than a letter written by Major
  Anderson, almost immediately after his arrival in Charleston harbor,
  reporting the then state of the work.


This letter reached the President on the 27th. On the day before Major
Anderson had transferred his entire garrison from Fort Moultrie to Fort
Sumter. It was a bold move, done without orders, and solely because
there was no longer hope that the President would send reinforcements.
It was a judicious move, because Sumter was the real key to Charleston
harbor. It was an act of patriotism which will forever enshrine the name
of Anderson in American history.

The tidings reached Washington. Disappointed and chagrined, Secretary
Floyd sent the following telegram:--


  WAR DEPARTMENT.

  ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE, December 27, 1880.

  MAJOR ANDERSON, _Fort Moultrie:_--

  Intelligence has reached here this morning that you have abandoned Fort
  Moultrie, spiked your guns, burned the carriages, and gone to Fort
  Sumter. It is not believed, because there is no order for any such
  movement. Explain the meaning of this report.

  J.B. FLOYD,
  _Secretary of War_.


The answer was as follows:--


  CHARLESTON, December 27, 1860.

  HON. J.B. FLOYD, _Secretary of War:_--

  The telegram is correct. I abandoned Fort Moultrie because I was certain
  that, if attacked, my men must have been sacrificed, and the command of
  the harbor lost. I spiked the guns, and destroyed the carriages, to keep
  the guns from being used against us.

  If attacked, the garrison would never have surrendered without a fight.

  ROBERT ANDERSON,
  _Major First Artillery_.


The event reached the President's ears; he was perplexed, and postponed
the promised interview with the Commissioners one day. He met them on
the 28th. He states, in his _Defence_, published in 1866, that he
informed them at once that he "could recognize them only as private
gentlemen, and not as commissioners from a sovereign State; that it was
to Congress, and to Congress alone, they must appeal." Nevertheless, he
expressed his willingness to communicate to that body, as the only
competent tribunal, any proposition they might have to offer; as if he
did not realize that this proposal was a quasi-recognition of South
Carolina's claim to independence, and a misdemeanor meriting
impeachment.

The Commissioners, strange to say, were either too stupid or too timid
to perceive the advantage of this concession. Fortunately for the
country, their indifference lost to Rebellion its only possible chance
of peaceful success.

The Commissioners evidently believed that the President was within the
control of the cabinet cabal, for they made an angry complaint against
Anderson, and imperiously demanded "explanations." For two days the
President wavered. An outside complication tended to open his eyes. On
the 31st of December Floyd resigned the portfolio of war; and, on the
same day, the President sent to the Commissioners a definite answer
that, "whatever might have been his first inclination, the Governor of
South Carolina had, since Anderson's movement, forcibly seized Fort
Moultrie, Castle Pinckney, and the Charleston arsenal, custom-house, and
post-office, and covered them with the palmetto flag; that under such
circumstances he could not, and would not, withdraw the Federal troops
from Sumter." The angry Commissioners returned home, leaving behind them
an insolent rejoinder, charging the President "with tacit consent to the
scheme of peaceable secession!"


IV.

The crisis of December 31st changed the attitude of the Government
toward Rebellion. Joseph Holt, of Kentucky, was appointed Secretary of
War. General Scott was placed in military control.

An effort was at once made to reinforce Sumter. On the 5th of January
notice was sent by Assistant Adjutant-General Thomas, from New York, to
Major Anderson that a swift steamship, "Star of the West," loaded with
two hundred and fifty recruits and all needed supplies, had sailed, that
same day, for his relief. Major Anderson failed to receive the notice.
On the morning of the 9th the steamer steamed up the channel in the
direction of Sumter, when presently she was fired upon vigorously by the
secessionists. Her captain ran up the stars and stripes, but quickly
lost heart as he caught sight of the ready guns of Fort Moultrie, then
put about, and back to sea.

The commander at Sumter was enraged. He sat down and wrote a brief note
to the Governor of South Carolina, demanding to know "if the firing on
the vessel and the flag had been by his orders, and declaring, unless
the act were disclaimed, he would close the harbor with the guns of
Sumter." The Governor's reply was both an avowal and a justification of
the act. Anderson, in a second note, stated that he would ask his
government for instructions, and requested "safe conduct for a bearer of
despatches." The Governor, in reply, sent a formal demand for the
surrender of the fort. Anderson responded to this, that he could not
comply; but that, if the government saw fit "to refer this matter to
Washington," he would depute an officer to accompany the messenger.

This meant a truce, which the conspirators heartily welcomed. On the
12th of January, therefore, Attorney-General I.W. Hayne, of South
Carolina, proceeded to Washington as an envoy to carry to President
Buchanan the Governor's demand for the surrender of Fort Sumter. The
matter was prolonged; but, on the 6th of February, Mr. Hayne found that
his mission was a failure.

On the 4th of February, while the Peace Conference, so called, met in
Washington to consider propositions of compromise and concession, the
delegates of the seceding States assembled in Montgomery, Alabama, to
organize their conspiracy into an avowed and opened rebellion. On the
9th Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi, was elected President, and
Alexander H. Stephens, of Georgia, Vice-President of the new
Confederacy. On the 18th Davis was inaugurated.

On the 1st of March General Beauregard was, by the rebel government,
placed in command of the defence of Charleston harbor, with orders to
complete preparations for the capture of Fort Sumter. The Governor had
been exceedingly anxious that the capture should be attempted before the
4th of March. "Mr. Buchanan cannot resist," he wrote to Davis, "because
he has not the power. Mr. Lincoln may not attack, because the cause of
quarrel will have been, or may be considered by him, as past."

President Lincoln was inaugurated on the 4th of March, 1861. With an
unanswerable argument against disunion, and an earnest appeal to reason
and lawful remedy, he closed his inaugural address with the following
impressive declaration of peace and good-will:--


  In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not in mine, is
  the momentous issue of civil war.

  The government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without
  being yourselves the aggressors; you can have no oath registered in
  heaven to destroy the government, while I shall have the most solemn
  one,--to preserve, protect, and defend it.

  I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be
  enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break, our bond
  of affection.

  The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battle-field and
  patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone all over this
  broad land, will yet swell the Chorus of the Union when again touched,
  as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.


On the 15th of March President Lincoln, having been advised by General
Scott that it was now "practically impossible to relieve or reinforce
Sumter," propounded the following question to his cabinet: "Assuming it
to be possible to provision Sumter, is it wise, under all the
circumstances of the case, to attempt to do so?" Five of the seven
members of the cabinet argued _against_ the policy of relief. On
the 29th the matter came up again, and four of the seven then favored an
attempt to relieve Major Anderson. The President at once ordered the
preparation of an expedition. Three ships of war, with a transport and
three swift steam tugs, a supply of open boats, provisions far six
months, and two hundred recruits, were fitted out at New York, and, with
all possible secrecy, sailed on the 9th and 10th of April, "under sealed
orders to rendezvous before Charleston harbor at daylight on the morning
of the 11th."

Meanwhile preparations for the capture of Sumter had been steadily going
on under the direction of General Beauregard, one of the most skilful of
engineers. On the 1st of April he telegraphed to Montgomery, the capital
of the new confederacy:--


  Batteries ready to open Wednesday or Thursday. What instructions?


On the same day orders were issued to stop all courtesies to the
garrison, to prohibit all supplies from the city, and to allow no one to
depart from the fort. On the 7th Anderson received a confidential
letter, under date of April 4th, from President Lincoln, notifying him
that a relief expedition would be sent, and requesting him to hold out,
if possible, until its arrival.

On the morning of the 8th the following communication from the President
was, by special messenger, placed in the hands of Governor Pickens:--


  I am directed by the President of the United States to notify you to
  expect an attempt will be made to supply Fort Sumter with provisions
  only, and that if such attempt be not resisted, no effort to throw in
  provisions, arms, or ammunition will be made without further notice,
  or in case of an attack upon the fort.


This message was at once communicated to Jefferson Davis, at Montgomery,
who entertained the opinion that the war should be begun without further
delay. On the 10th Beauregard was instructed to demand the evacuation of
Fort Sumter, and to reduce it in case of refusal.

On the following day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, General
Beauregard sent two of his aids to make the demand; but it was refused.
Still another message was sent, with the same result. On the morning of
the 12th, at twenty minutes past three o'clock, General Beauregard sent
notice to Anderson that he would open fire upon Sumter in one hour from
that time.

At half-past four appeared "the first flash from the mortar battery near
old Fort Jackson, on the south side of the harbor, and an instant after
a bombshell rose in a slow, high curve through the air, and fell upon
the fort."

It was the first gun in the Rebellion. Gun after gun responded to the
signal, and through thirty-six hours, without the loss of a single life
in the besieged garrison. At noon, on Sunday, the 14th of April, Major
Anderson hauled down the flag of the United States, and evacuated Fort
Sumter. Before sunset the flag of the Confederate States floated over
the ramparts.

The following telegrams were transmitted:--


  STEAMSHIP "BALTIC," OFF SANDY HOOK,

  April 18 (1861), 10.30 A.M., _via_ New York.

  Having defended Fort Sumter for thirty-four hours, until the quarters
  were entirely burned, the main gates destroyed by fire, the gorge walls
  seriously injured, the magazine surrounded by flames, and its door
  closed from the effect of heat, four barrels and three cartridges of
  powder only being available, and no provisions remaining but pork, I
  accepted terms of evacuation offered by General Beauregard, being the
  same offered by him on the 11th inst., prior to the commencement of
  hostilities, and marched out of the fort Sunday afternoon, the 14th
  inst., with colors flying and drums beating, bringing away company and
  private property, and saluting my flag with fifty guns.

  ROBERT ANDERSON,
  _Major First Artillery, Commanding_.


  HON. S. CAMERON, _Secretary of War, Washington_.



  WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON, April 20, 1861.

  MAJOR ROBERT ANDERSON, _Late Commander at Fort Sumter_:--

  MY DEAR SIR,--I am directed by the President of the United States to
  communicate to you, and through you to the officers and men of your
  command at Forts Moultrie and Sumter, the approbation of the government
  of your and their judicious and gallant conduct there, and to tender you
  and them the thanks of the government for the same.

  SIMON CAMERON,
  _Secretary of War_.


The conspiracy had now ceased to be such. Revolution and war had begun,
and by the firing upon Fort Sumter the political atmosphere was cleared
up as if by magic. If there were now any _doubters_ on either side
they had betaken themselves out of sight; for them, and for all the
world, the roar of Beauregard's guns had changed incredulity into fact.
Behind those guns stood seven seceded States, with the machinery of a
perfectly organized local government and with a zeal worthy of a nobler
cause.

The news of the assault reached the Capitol on Saturday, April 13th, On
Sunday, the 14th, the President and his cabinet held their first council
of war. On the following morning the first "call for troops" was
proclaimed to the whole country, in a grand "appeal to all loyal
citizens to favor, facilitate, and aid this effort to maintain the
honor, the integrity, and existence of our National Union, and the
perpetuity of popular government."

The North was now aroused. Within forty-eight hours from the publication
of the proclamation armed companies of volunteers were moving towards
the expected scene of conflict. For the first time in the history of
this nation parties vanished from politics, and "universal opinion
recognized but two rallying points,--the camps of the South which
gathered to assail the Union, and the armies of the North that rose to
defend it."

The watchword of the impending conflict was sounded by Stephen A.
Douglas, one of the most powerful and energetic of public leaders, a
recent candidate for the presidency, and the life-long political
antagonist of Abraham Lincoln. On Sunday, the 14th of April, while the
ink was scarcely yet dry upon the written parchment of the proclamation,
Mr. Douglas called at the White House, and, in a long interview, assured
his old antagonist of his readiness to join him in unrelenting warfare
against Rebellion. Shortly afterwards he departed for his home in
Illinois, where, until his death, which occurred a few weeks later, he
declared, with masterly eloquence, that,--


  "Every man must be for the United States or against it; there can
  be no neutrals in this war--only patriots and traitors."



  "Hurrah! the drums are beating; the fife is calling shrill;
  Ten thousand starry banners flame on town, and bay, and hill;
  The thunders of the rising wave drown Labor's peaceful hum;
  Thank God that we have lived to see the saffron morning come!
  The morning of the battle-call, to every soldier dear,--
  O joy! the cry is "Forward!" O joy! the foe is near!
  For all the crafty men of peace have failed to purge the land;
  Hurrah! the ranks of battle close; God takes his cause in hand!"


[Footnote 1: "If, through the madness of Northern abolitionists, that
dire calamity (disruption of the Union) must come, the fighting will not
be along Mason and Dixon's line merely. It will be _within our own
borders, in our own streets_, between the two classes of citizens to
whom I have referred. Those who defy law, and scout constitutional
obligation, will, if we ever reach the arbitrament of arms, find
occupation enough at home."--_Letter to Jefferson Davis, dated
January_ 6, 1860.]

[Footnote 2: The word "must" is italicized in the original letter.
See _Official Records of the Rebellion_, Vol. I., p. 76.]

[Footnote 3: See _Official Records of the Rebellion_, I., p. 77.]

       *       *       *       *       *




TOMMY TAFT.

A STORY OF BOSTON-TOWN.


By A.L.G.


Tommy Taft, or T.T. as he was wont to call himself, had always regretted
two misfortunes,--first, the indisputable fact of his birth, and second,
the imprisonment of his father, not long afterwards.

The earlier misfortune, Tommy Taft, not being at the time aware of it,
was of course quite unable to prevent. The later misfortune it was alike
beyond his power to forestall. It came to pass that young Tommy Taft
grew up to be as crude a specimen of body and soul as had ever
flourished in Boston-town.

I have not set myself the task of following the drift of his life from
the dawn of babyhood to the twentieth anniversary of the same. But one
event ought to be here recalled, which was, that on a certain day Tommy
Taft was at work in a garden and in just that part of the garden, it
ought to be said, where the wall was so low that a person could easily
look over it into the long, narrow road.

Tommy Taft was not particularly fond of work; in other words, he was not
a great worker. On this occasion, however, the promise of an extra
shilling being uppermost in his mind, he plied his energies with more
than wonted skill. He was disposed to be meditative as well, and so
deeply that he chanced not to perceive an aged personage who, for
perhaps five and twenty minutes, had been cautiously scrutinizing him
from across the wall.

It was a most extraordinary fit of sneezing--nothing more nor less--that
first attracted the attention of Tommy Taft, and prompted him to look
up. And what did he see? Only a weather-beaten face, shaded by a ragged
straw hat out of which peeped locks of grizzled gray hair. The owner
leaned somewhat heavily against the wall.

Tommy Taft was not amazed; but if he had not already become accustomed
to affronts and ill-shapen visages, he might have been awed into
silence. He merely paused, with his right foot on the shoulder of the
spade share, and peered at the stranger. To the best of his knowledge,
he had never seen him before. On a former time, however, he had chanced
to see his own face in a mirror and, odd as it may seem, he now remarked
to himself a striking resemblance between the two faces,--his own and
that of the new comer. But his thoughts were quickly turned.

"I say, young man!"

"What say?" replied Tommy Taft.

"You don't happen to know a young man by the name o' Tom Taft, do you?"

"I reckon I do." The youth plunged the spade share into the earth, and
folded his arms.

"Have a shake, then," continued the stranger.

"But that ain't a tellin' me who you be," said Tommy Taft, approaching
and holding out his hand.

"I'm Jim Taft; and if so be your father was a shoemaker in this town and
got locked up--I say, I'm he!"

There was pathos in the utterance of these words, and, somehow or other,
Tommy Taft's heart fluttered just a little and before he was aware of it
a tear was trickling down his cheek.

"Are you happy, young man," queried the elder. He drew himself up on the
wall.

"Well, I s'pose I am, though I ain't got nuthin'. But folks as haint got
nuthin' and enjoy it is a plagued sight richer than sich as has got
everything and don't enjoy it. Yes--I s'pose I'm happy."

"And where's the old woman?"

"Dead, I s'pose."

"Dead!"

"Or in the work-house where she might'nt have been, if you'd a stayed
round."

Jim Taft, for it was he, began to think, and the longer he thought, the
more troubled he looked.

"You won't say as you saw me loafin' around here, will you?" he asked at
length; "that is, if you won't give me a lift, me--your father?"

"How a lift?" inquired his interlocutor.

"A few shillings perhaps; or, perhaps you ain't got a pair o' boots as
has in 'em more leather 'n holes, or a pair of breeches as is good for
suthin'."

"Wait a bit!" said Tommy Taft. He disappeared; but he soon came back,
with an old pair of boots in one hand and a pair of pantaloons in the
other.

"There's suthin' in the nigh pocket," he remarked, as he handed the
pantaloons to his parent. "I've often s'posed you'd come back, and would
need the money what I saved for you."

The parent, however, had not the courtesy to return thanks. He was more
anxious to know something about Tom's employer and his whereabouts.

"He's a good one, he is," said Tommy Taft; "and no, he ain't to home.
He's in ----; and I've got to meet him to-night in the tavern there--."

"In Hog's Lane?"

"Yes."

"Hylton has a heap o' money, Tommy."

"If he have or no, I don't reckon its none o' your business, or mine
nuther."

The parent noticed the surly tone in which his son had just spoken, and
concluded to say "good day," and to be off.

Tommy Taft wondered what could be the cause of so sudden a departure;
and then he wondered whether, it really was his father that had so
unexpectedly accosted him. He went back to his spade, and next wondered
whether the man might not be an escaped convict. If so, how came he to
know John Hylton?

In obedience to orders, Tommy Taft set off to meet his employer
at the tavern in Hog's Lane. He supped that evening with the keeper.
Afterwards, he lighted his pipe, drew a chair up to the open fireplace,
and smoked in silence. Still later, he betook himself through a long,
narrow entry, up a narrow flight of stairs, and into a small, square
room. After he had closed the door behind him, he observed another door,
which, he concluded, opened into the next apartment. It was locked.
Tommy Taft was to pass the night in this self-same room, and he had good
reasons for believing that his employer occupied the room adjoining and
was already sound asleep.

The hours sped by. The tavern-keeper looked up to the clock,--it was
after midnight. He locked the big door, and had just diminished the
number of burning lamps from six to two, when he heard the sound of
voices as in dispute, and seemingly issuing from the room just above.
He hurried to the foot of the stairs, and listened. He distinctly caught
the voice of Mr. Hylton, and the words of another voice,--"You'll be
sorry for that!" The tavern-keeper heard nothing more. Presently, he too
went to bed.

Morning came, and the servants were busy in the kitchen. At half-past
six, Tommy Taft ought, as on former occasions, to have carried a pitcher
of hot water up to his employer's bedroom. But he failed to do so, this
morning. At seven, Mr. Hylton ought to have been seated at the breakfast
table; but he did not appear.

The tavern-keeper, when the clock had struck eight, went upstairs. He
rapped on the door of the small square room. No response. He forced open
the door.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Tommy Taft gone! and the bed not slept in,
neither!"

The window was open. It had rained during the night, and on the soft,
gravel mould beneath the window he discovered foot prints. He turned,
and went to the door which communicated between the two apartments. It
was unlocked. He turned the knob,--opened the door gently, and beheld
John Hylton lying in a pool of blood, with his throat gashed, and with
a large clasp-knife clenched in his right hand!

It was indeed a mystery. The discovery of the tragedy was followed by
intense excitement. The coroner's jury suspected Tommy Taft as the
murderer, because the knife which was found in the hand of the victim
bore on its hilt the initials "T.T.", and because the tavern-keeper
testified that he had heard angry words in the night.

Tommy Taft was brought to trial. It was proved that the murdered man's
money-bag was rifled of all coin, but of only one bank note,--and that,
the one which the tavern-keeper had had in his possession the afternoon
before the tragedy and which Tommy Taft got changed on the day after the
murder. These facts, together with the footprints on the gravel soil,
enabled the prosecuting attorney to make out what seemed to both judge
and jury a very strong case. Indeed, there was but one person in the
court room that believed the prisoner innocent,--that was Tommy Taft
himself.

He admitted that he had had a dispute with his employer, but gave no
cause and that the latter had peremptorily dismissed him from further
service; that the bank-note was given to him that very same night, as
the full amount due him; that after the dispute, he could not go to bed;
that he bethought him, without disturbing anybody, to steal quietly down
stairs and to depart, unobserved, by way of the front door. He sturdily
denied that the footprints on the gravel soil were his. He firmly
declared his innocence, and that, while he felt that he could tell the
name of the murderer, he did not wish to do so, for the reason that he
had no proof to support his suspicion.

Tommy Taft died on the gallows. After the execution, people gathered to
discuss the event. They began to think, too, as people sometimes will
when they have condemned without thinking.

"That boy's pluckier than I'd a bin," murmured an old man, as he dragged
his weather-beaten body slowly through the crowd. "He wasn't a guilty,
Tommy Taft wasn't."

Nobody knew the speaker, and nobody cared for what he said.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE MUSE OF HISTORY.


By Elizabeth Porter Gould.


  Clio with her flickering light
    And book of valued lore,
  Comes down the ages dark and bright,
    Our interest to implore.

  She walks with glad, majestic mien,
    Proud of her knowledge gained,
  E'en while she mourns from having seen
    Man's life so dulled and pained.

  Her face with lines of care is wrought,
    From searching mystery's cause,
  And dealing with the hidden thought
    Of nature's subtle laws.

  Yet still she blushes with new life
    In sight of actions fine,
  And pales with anguish at the strife
    Of evil's dread design.

  She stops to sing her grandest lays
    When, in creation's heat,
  She sees evolved a higher phase
    Of life's fruitions sweet.

  'Twas thus in days of Genesis
    When man came forth supreme;
  'Twas thus in days of Nemesis
    When Love did dare redeem.

  And thus 'twill be in future days
    When out from spirit-laws,
  Shall be brought forth for lasting praise
    The ever-great First cause.

  Then gladly know this wondrous muse
    Who walks the aisles of Time;
  And dare not thoughtlessly refuse
    Her book of lore sublime.

  For in it is the precious force
    Of spirit-life divine,
  Which even through a winding course
    Leads on to Wisdom's shrine.


       *       *       *       *       *




TWO REFORM MAYORS OF BOSTON.

JOHN PHILLIPS.


By The Editor.


The progenitor of the Phillips family in America was the Rev. George
Phillips, son of Christopher Phillips of Rainham, St. Martin, Norfolk
County, England, _mediocris fortunæ_. He entered Gonville and Caius
College, Cambridge, April, 20, 1610, then aged seventeen years, and
received his bachelor's degree in 1613.

[Illustration: JOHN PHILLIPS, THE FIRST MAYOR OF BOSTON.]

After his graduation he was settled in the ministry at Boxted, Essex
County, England; but his strong attachment to the principles of the
Nonconformists brought him into difficulties with some of his
parishioners, and as the storm of persecution grew more dark and
threatening, he resolved to cast his lot with the Puritans, who were
about to depart for the New World. On the 12th of April, 1630, he with
his wife and two children embarked for America in the "Arbella," as
fellow-passenger, with Gov. Winthrop, Sir Richard Saltonstall, and other
assistants of the Massachusetts Company, and arrived at Salem on the
12th of June, where, shortly afterwards, his wife died and was buried by
the side of Lady Arabella Johnson.

Mr. Phillips was admitted "freeman," May 18, 1631; this being the
earliest date of any such admission. For fourteen years he was the
pastor of the church at Watertown, a most godly man, and an influential
member of the small council that regulated the affairs of the colony.
His share in giving form and character to the institutions of New
England is believed to have been a very large one. He died on the 1st of
July, 1644, aged about fifty-one years.

The son of the foregoing, born in Boxted, England, in 1625, and
graduated from Harvard College in 1650, became in 1651 the Rev. Samuel
Phillips of Rowley, Mass. He continued as pastor over this parish for a
period of forty-five years. He was highly esteemed for his piety and
talents, which were of no common order; and he was eminently useful,
both at home and abroad.

In September, 1687, an information was filed by one Philip Nelson
against the Rev. Samuel Phillips, for calling Randolph "a wicked man;"
and for this "crime" (redounding to his honor) he was committed to
prison.

He was married in October, 1651, to Sarah Appleton, the daughter of
Samuel and Mary (Everhard) Appleton of Ipswich. He died April 22, 1696,
greatly beloved and lamented. His inventory amounted to nine hundred and
eighty-nine pounds sterling. In November, 1839, a chaste and handsome
marble monument was placed over the remains of Mr. Phillips and his
wife, in the burial-ground at Rowley, by the Hon. Jonathan Phillips of
Boston, their great-great-great-grandson.

He left two sons, the younger of whom, George (1664-1739, Harvard 1686),
became an eminent clergyman, the Rev. George Phillips, first of Jamaica,
L.I., and afterwards of Brookhaven. The elder son, Samuel, chose the
occupation of a goldsmith, and settled in Salem. It is from this Samuel
of Salem that the two Boston branches of the Phillips family have
descended.

A younger son of Samuel, the Hon. John Phillips, was born June 22,
1701. He became a successful merchant of Boston, was a deacon of
Brattle-street Church, a colonel of the Boston Regiment, a justice of
the peace and of the quorum, and a representative of Boston for several
years in the General Court. He married, in 1723, Mary Buttolph, a
daughter of Nicholas Buttolph of Boston. She died in 1742; and he next
married, Abigail Webb, a daughter of Rev. Mr. Webb of Fairfield, Conn.
He died April 19, 1768, and was buried with military honors. According
to the records, he was "a man much devoted to works of benevolence."

His son, William Phillips of Boston, was born Aug. 29, 1737, and died
June 4, 1772. In 1761 he married Margaret Wendell, the eleventh and
youngest child of the Hon. Jacob Wendell, a merchant, and one of the
Governor's Council. His widow died in 1823.

JOHN PHILLIPS, the only son of William and Margaret, was born in Boston
on the ancient Phillips place, on the 26th of November, 1770. His mother
was a woman of uncommon energy of mind as well as of ardent piety, and
early instilled into the heart of her son the principles of religion and
a love of learning and of his native land. She placed him, at the early
age of seven years, in the family of his kinsman, Lieut.-Gov. Samuel
Phillips of Andover, where he remained until he entered Harvard College
in 1784. In this excellent and pious family, and in the academy under
the charge of the learned Dr. Eliphalet Pearson, young Phillips acquired
the rudiments of a sound scholarship as well as that urbane and
conciliating manner which was so conducive to his success in subsequent
life.

Judge Phillips and his excellent wife took a lively interest in the
studies of their ward. They examined him from time to time, not only in
his catechism, which was then regularly taught, but also in respect of
his literary efforts and acquirements. They encouraged him to make
strenuous efforts to obtain a high rank as a scholar, speaker,
gentleman, and Christian. Their labors were not lost. On leaving
Andover, the youth was prepared to take an elevated stand in college,
which he maintained to the completion of his course, when the honor of
pronouncing the salutatory oration was conferred on him by the faculty.

Mr. Phillips chose the profession of the law, and soon gained an
extensive practice. His popularity became such, that in 1794, he was
invited to deliver the annual Fourth of July oration before the people
of Boston. "This production," says a writer, "bears the finest marks of
intellectual vigor." Some extracts from it have found their way into the
school-books as models of eloquence.

In this same year Mr. Phillips was married to Miss Sally Walley,
daughter of Thomas Walley, Esq., a respectable merchant of Boston. On
the establishment of the Municipal Court in Boston, in 1800, he was made
public prosecutor, and in 1803 was chosen representative to the General
Court. The next year he was sent to the Senate, and such was the wisdom
of his political measures, and the dignity of his bearing towards all
parties, that he continued to hold a seat in this body every successive
year until his decease, always discharging his duties, either as a
debater or in the chair, to which he was ten times called, most
creditably to himself as well as most acceptably to his constituents and
the State.

In 1809 Mr. Phillips was appointed judge of the Court of Common Pleas.
Three years later he was elected a member of the corporation of Harvard
College, and in 1820 a member of the convention for the revision of
the State Constitution. In this able and dignified body he held a
conspicuous rank. His remarks upon the various questions which arose
were learned, judicious, and sometimes rendered all the more effective
by the flashes of his wit. Speaking, for example, on the third article
of the Bill of Rights, he said he hoped they would not be like the man
whose epitaph was, "I am well, I would be better, and here I am."

The next year the town of Boston, which then contained nearly forty-five
thousand inhabitants, began to agitate in good earnest the question of
adopting a city government. A committee of twelve, of which Mr. Phillips
was chairman, drew up and reported a city charter for the town, which
was adopted at a meeting held March 4, 1822, by a vote of 2,797 to
1,881. The result was formally announced on the 7th of the same month by
a proclamation from Gov. Brooks.

The two prominent candidates for the office of mayor were Harrison Gray
Otis and Josiah Quincy, both men of high accomplishments and enjoying
a large share of public confidence. But after a vote had been taken,
resulting in no choice of mayor, the friends of these gentlemen suddenly
agreed on Mr. Phillips, who at the town-meeting held on the 16th of
April, 1822, received 2,500 out of 2,650 votes, and thus became the
first mayor of the city of Boston.

The inauguration occurred at Faneuil Hall on the 1st of May following.
The ceremonies of the occasion were unusually impressive; the venerable
Dr. Thomas Baldwin invoking the favor of Heaven, and Chief Justice Isaac
Parker administering the oath.

In discharging the duties of his office, Mr. Phillips wisely avoided
sumptuous display on one hand, and a parsimonious economy on the other,
but observing that _juste milieu_ which good sense dictated, and
the spirit of our republican institutions demanded, succeeded in
overcoming all prejudice against the new form of municipal government,
and in establishing a precedent, which, followed by succeeding mayors,
has saved the city millions of dollars of needless expense, and has
served as a worthy example to many other cities in this country.

The result of the first year's administration under the new charter
did not meet the expectations of those who had been instrumental in
procuring it. They were eager for a more energetic system, and they
charged Mr. Phillips with pursuing a timid and hesitating course for
fear of losing his popularity. But still when he went out of office,
Mr. Josiah Quincy, his successor, could say of him:--


  "After examining and considering the records and proceedings of the
  city authorities for the past year, it is impossible for me to refrain
  from expressing the sense I entertain of the services of that high and
  honorable individual who filled the chair of this city, as well as of
  the wise, prudent, and faithful citizens who composed during that
  period the city council."


Perceiving, towards the expiration of his first term of service, that
his health was beginning to fail, Mr. Phillips declined being a
candidate for re-election, and on the twenty-ninth day of May, 1823, was
suddenly stricken down by disease of the heart,--he being then in the
fifty-third year of his age. His death was universally lamented, and
public honors were paid by all parties to his memory.

John Phillips was a good man, true as steel, and always trustworthy in
the various relations of life. He lived in the fear of God, and from his
Word received instruction for the guidance of his conduct. He lived in
stormy times; yet such was the consistency and elevation of his
character, such the suavity and dignity of his manner, such the kindness
of his heart, the clearness of his conceptions, and the beauty of his
language, that he commanded the respect and admiration of his political
opponents, wielding perhaps as great an influence as any public man of
the State at that period; and he will ever stand as a worthy model for
the incumbents of that high municipal office, which his wisdom,
prudence, virtue, integrity, and eloquence adorned.

[Illustration]

The following are the names of the children of John and Sally (Walley)
Phillips, all of whom are now dead:--

1. Thomas Walley, born Jan. 16, 1797. 2. Sarah Hurd, born April 24,
1799. 3. Samuel born Feb. 8, 1801. 4. Margaret, born Nov. 29, 1802. 5.
Miriam, born Nov. 20, 18--. 6. John Charles, born Nov. 16, 1807. 7.
George William, born Jan. 3, 1810. 8. WENDELL, born Nov. 29, 1811. 9.
Grenville Tudor, born Aug. 14, 1816.[4]


[Footnote 4: See the "Life and Times of Wendell Phillips," by G.L.
Austin, Boston, 1884.]

       *       *       *       *       *




HUGH O'BRIEN.


By Charles H. Taylor.


There are but few other men at the present moment in whom the citizens
of Boston are more interested, for a variety of good reasons, than the
HON. HUGH O'BRIEN. His name must be added to the roll of Bostonians, who
have distinguished themselves by the services they have rendered to the
city. Now placed at the head of this great municipality as Mayor, a
glance at his life shows that he has won his way to that position by the
exhibition of qualities, such as all self-educated men possess. His
private and public life fully illustrate that true merit is sooner or
later appreciated and rewarded.

Born in Ireland, July 13, 1827, he was brought to America when five
years old. Boston became the home of his childhood, and has always been
his place of residence. Ever since he graduated from the old grammar
school on Fort Hill, he has been swayed by Boston ideas and influences.
The excellent ground-work of his education obtained in that school soon
became enlarged and increased through the efforts of young O'Brien to
add to his stock of information on all conceivable subjects. To
accomplish this he haunted the Public Library, and eagerly read
everything of a useful nature--history, biography and statistics having
a peculiar fascination to him. During this time he had also entered the
office of the _Boston Courier_ to learn the printer's trade, at the
age of twelve years. He made rapid progress in that important art. From
the _Courier_ he went to the book and job printing office of
Messrs. Tuttle, Dennett & Chisholm, on School street, where he became
foreman at the early age of fifteen. After several years service there,
he started the publication of the _Shipping and Commercial List_,
with which he still maintains a connection, and has always been its
principal editor.

Any young man desiring to advance himself intellectually and socially in
life could not have had a better schooling than that afforded by the
newspaper work which Mr. O'Brien has done. Added to all this labor,
there was the ambition of this young man to succeed. He had a distinct
aim in life, which was always to be an honored and respected member of
his craft and of society. He is, therefore, found diligently at work
absorbed in business and intellectual pursuits. Various literary
societies and philanthropic projects have always found in him a sturdy
supporter.

What would be the future of such an energetic and ambitious young man
was easily predicted by his friends and acquaintances, and the
predictions have been verified. It was believed that he would succeed in
life, become a very useful member of society, and "make his mark in the
world," as the saying goes. These things have come to pass. And why?
Because the young man equipped himself early with the weapons with which
to fight the battle of life. And he never dropped those weapons; therein
is the secret of his success. Many young men begin life aright; how sad
that they do not continue in the right path!

Mr. O'Brien made the _Shipping and Commercial List_ a strong paper
and merchants quickly began to rely upon it for accurate information as
regards mercantile and commercial affairs. He also issued the first
annual reports of Boston's trade and commerce, and that volume has been
adopted for years by the Merchants' Exchange, The work in connection
with his newspaper naturally brought him into personal contact with the
foremost merchants of Boston. These gentlemen who have known him
intimately for forty years, have nothing but words of praise concerning
his character, honesty, and business sagacity. He has witnessed the city
grow from a population of 75,000 inhabitants to over 400,000, and all
the changes in business methods, together with the multifarious
enterprises in which Boston has engaged, are perfectly familiar to him,
and he has not been backward in helping to promote such changes and
enterprises as would benefit all classes of citizens. Prominent business
men have not only spoken well of Mr. O'Brien, but they have given a
practical illustration of their faith in him by making him the custodian
of trust funds for various purposes, and in no instance has their
confidence been misplaced. His financial abilities have always been
acknowledged to be first-class, and therefore it is not surprising to
learn that for years he has been President of the Union Institution for
Savings, Treasurer of the Franklin Typographical Union, and a director
in various benevolent and charitable institutions.

It is very natural, in view of the business training and abilities of
Hugh O'Brien, that he should be heard from in public life. Such vigorous
and brainy men do not escape the attention of the people. In 1875 he
took a seat in the Board of Aldermen, when the _Boston Advertiser_
referred to him as "well-known in the community and has the respect and
confidence of every one." It is well known in political circles that Mr.
O'Brien did not seek this office and has never been an applicant for any
office. He also served as Alderman in the years 1875, 1876, 1877, 1879,
1880, 1881 and 1883, and was chairman of the Board four years.

His public career as Alderman was closely watched by the people and is
well known. During his service in that capacity he gave to municipal
affairs the same careful study that he had devoted to business matters
when in private life. He served upon important committees, and all the
great questions of vital interest to the welfare of Boston which have
come up of late years, in which he had also been interested while in
private life, received his official attention and prompt action. Notable
among these were good pay for laborers, purification and improvement of
the water supply, a useful system of parks, sanitary reforms, schools,
abolition of the poll tax, and last but not least, low taxation. He has
always been found on the right side of these and other important
questions and has labored long and diligently, in the face of
opposition, to carry out the ideas of the taxpayers in relation to them.
Bostonians well know the signal success which has crowned his efforts.

In December, 1884, Alderman O'Brien was elected Mayor for the year 1885.
During the first half of his term, the old charter being in force, he
did many meritorious things which no other Mayor has done under that
instrument. And now under the new city charter, which makes him directly
responsible for the honest and efficient management of the city's
affairs, his actions are speaking loud enough to be heard even outside
the city, and they challenge the admiration of all readers of the daily
press of Boston.

In appearance, Mayor O'Brien is a little over the average height, of
robust build, weighing over two hundred pounds; has a florid complexion,
with keen blue eyes. He has what physiologists would call a
well-balanced temperament, knows how to govern himself, has an
indomitable will and pluck, and is a man for emergencies. He is an
indefatigable worker, and the details of a large business do not prevent
him from despatching work promptly. Above all, he possesses that rare
virtue, tact. He is courteous and affable to all visitors, and makes new
friends constantly because of his sterling qualities. As a public
speaker, he is earnest, forcible and argumentative without being
captious. If his opponent thinks he has a man to deal with who is not
fully posted upon the subject under discussion, he quickly learns his
error. While not an orator, Mayor O'Brien carries conviction to hearers
by the force of his honest utterances and sound reasoning. At the same
time he has risen to the heights of eloquence upon the floor of the
Board of Aldermen when defending the cause of the laboring man. Himself
a workingman all his life, he never allows those who earn their bread by
the sweat of their brow to ask him twice for a favor which it is in his
power to grant. He has been their unsolicited champion when they badly
needed one, and his record will bear the minutest inspection.

Such then is a brief sketch of a remarkable Bostonian. The poor boy who
landed in Boston a little over a half century ago has become its Chief
Magistrate. Boston has honored him. He has shown, and is still showing,
his appreciation of the high honor. Slowly, but surely, this modest
gentleman has won his way to the front in the popular estimation of his
fellow-citizens. A man who tries constantly to do right for the love of
doing right, he has become more distinguished than many so-called
brilliant men who, meteor-like, flash before people's eyes once, and are
heard of no more. There is a solidity about all his public acts which
command attention and elicit approbation. It is too early to write the
full history of Mayor O'Brien, because he is rapidly making history; but
Boston's history thus far does not record when the city has had a more
efficient or more honest Mayor than the present Chief Magistrate.

       *       *       *       *       *




HELEN HUNT JACKSON.


The news of the death of Mrs. Helen Jackson--better known as
"H.H."--will probably carry a pang of regret into more American homes
than similar intelligence in regard to any other woman, with the
possible exception of Mrs. H.B. Stowe, who belongs to an earlier
literary generation.

Helen Maria (Fiske) Jackson was the daughter of Prof. Nathan W. Fiske,
of Amherst College, whose "Manual of Classical Literature," based on
that of Eschenberg, was long in use in our colleges, and who wrote
several other books. She was born in Amherst, Mass., October 18, 1831;
her mother's maiden name being Vinal. The daughter was educated in part
at Ipswich (Mass.) Female Seminary, and in part at the school of the
Rev. J.S.C. Abbott in New York city. She was married to Captain
(afterward Major) Edward B. Hunt, an eminent engineer officer of the
United States Army. Major Hunt was a man of scientific attainments quite
unusual in his profession, was a member of various learned societies,
and for some time an assistant professor at West Point. He contributed
to one of the early volumes of the _Atlantic Monthly_ (xii, 794) a
paper on "Military Bridges." His wife resided with him at various
military stations--West Point, Washington, Newport, R.I., etc.--and they
had several children, all of whom died very young except one boy,
Rennie, who lived to the age of eight or ten, showing extraordinary
promise. His death and that of Major Hunt--who was killed in 1863 by the
discharge of suffocating vapors from a submarine battery of his own
invention--left Mrs. Hunt alone in the world, and she removed her
residence a year or two after to Newport, R.I., where the second period
of her life began.

Up to this time she had given absolutely no signs of literary talent.
She had been absorbed in her duties as wife and mother, and had been
fond of society, in which she was always welcome because of her
vivacity, wit, and ready sympathy. In Newport she found herself, from
various causes, under strong literary influences, appealing to tastes
that developed rapidly in herself. She soon began to publish poems, one
of the first of which, if not the first--a translation from Victor
Hugo--appeared in the _Nation_. Others of her poems, perhaps her
best--including the sonnets "Burnt Ships" and "Ariadne's
Farewell"--appeared also in the _Nation_. Not long after, she began
to print short papers on domestic subjects in the _Independent_ and
elsewhere, and soon found herself thoroughly embarked in a literary
career. Her first poem in the _Atlantic Monthly_ appeared in
February, 1869; and her volume of "Verses" was printed at her own
expense in 1870, being reprinted with some enlargement in 1871. and
again, almost doubled in size, in 1874. Her "Bits of Travel" (1872) was
made up of sketches of a tour in Europe in 1868-9; a portion of these,
called "Encyclicals of a Traveller," having been originally written as
circular letters to her many friends and then printed--rather against
her judgment, but at the urgent request of Mr. J.T. Fields--almost
precisely as they were written. Upon this followed "Bits of Talk About
Home Matters" (1873), "Bits of Talk for Young Folks" (1876), and "Bits of
Travel at Home" (1878). These, with a little poem called "The Story of
Boon," constituted, for some time, all her acknowledged volumes; but it
is now no secret that she wrote two of the most successful novels of the
_No Name_ series--"Mercy Philbrick's Choice" (1876) and "Hetty's
Strange History" (1877). We do not propose here to enter into the vexed
question of the authorship of the "Saxe Holme" stories, which appeared
in the early volumes of _Scribner's Monthly_, and were published in
two volumes (1873, 1878). The secret was certainly very well kept, and
in spite of her denials, they were very often attributed to her by
readers and critics.

Her residence in Newport as a busy and successful literary woman thus
formed a distinct period of her life, quite apart from the epoch which
preceded it and from the later one which followed. A change soon came.
Her health was never very strong, and she was liable to severe attacks
of diphtheria, to relieve which she tried the climate of Colorado. She
finally took up her residence there, and was married about 1876, to
William S. Jackson, a merchant of Colorado Springs. She had always had
the greatest love for travel and exploration, and found unbounded field
for this in her new life, driving many miles a day over precipitous
roads, and thinking little of crossing the continent by rail from the
Atlantic to the Pacific. In the course of these journeys she became
profoundly interested in the wrongs of the Indians, and for the rest of
her life all literary interests and ambitions were utterly subordinated
to this. During a winter of hard work at the Astor Library in New York
she prepared her "Century of Dishonor" (1881). As one result of this
book she was appointed by the United States Government as one of two
commissioners (Abbot Kinney being the other) to examine and report upon
"the condition and needs of the Mission Indians of California." Their
report, to which Mrs. Jackson's name is first signed, is dated at
Colorado Springs, July 13, 1883, and is a thoroughly business-like
document of thirty-five pages. A new edition of "A Century of Dishonor"
containing this report is just ready by her publishers, Messrs Roberts
Brothers.

As another fruit of this philanthropic interest, she wrote, during
another winter in this city, her novel, "Ramona," a book composed with
the greatest rapidity, and printed first in the _Christian Union_,
afterward appearing in a volume in 1884. Its sole object was further to
delineate the wrongs of the aborigines. Besides these two books, she
wrote, during this later period, some children's stories, "Nelly's
Silver Mine, a Story of Colorado Life" (1878), and three little volumes
of tales about cats. But her life-work, as she viewed it at the end, was
in her two books in behalf of the Indians.

       *       *       *       *       *




HINGHAM.


By Francis H. Lincoln.


[Illustration: THE PUBLIC LIBRARY BUILDING, BURNT IN 1879.]


The impression left upon the mind of the traveller who has seen Hingham
only from the railroad train would be one of backyards, a mill-pond, and
woods; but to him who approaches it towards the close of a pleasant June
day by steamboat, when the tide is in, there is spread out a lovely
view. As the boat comes near the landing-place, islands and green hills,
beautiful trees and fields, form a complete circle around him. The
picture is one he will not forget. This pleasant impression will grow
stronger if he drives by almost any of the streets leading from the
harbor, for about five miles, to the southern limit of the town. Should
he take the main street he will be charmed by the wealth of stately elms
and other shade-trees, which in many places form a complete arch over
his head, and by the neat dwellings, for the most part of modest
pretensions, some old and some new, almost every one with well-kept
grounds all betokening thrift and suggesting a well-to-do community.
Nor need he confine himself to the main street. Several of the thickly
settled villages spread out into equally attractive side streets. Here
and there a church, a school-house, or a public building adds to the
general tidy look of the place. Numerous pleasant wood roads, with a few
fresh water ponds and streams, make up a variety of scenery which is
certainly equal to any New England town.

[Illustration: THE "OLD MEETING HOUSE."]

"Do you have any poor here?" was once asked by a visitor. "I see no
evidence of anything but plenty, and yet you do not seem to have any
specially leading industries. Whence comes this prosperity?" Whence,
indeed? The history of the settlement and growth of Hingham differs
little from many another town in eastern Massachusetts. Founded by the
Puritans, it is the same story of hardship, patient, persistent toil,
prudent economy, encouragement of education and morality, which has been
told over and over again, and which has demonstrated the sure foundation
upon which true civilization rests.

Hingham lies on the south shore of Massachusetts Bay, on the line of the
Old Colony Railroad, 17 miles from Boston by railroad and about 13 by
water. Its area is a little less than 13,000 square acres, and its
population in 1880 was 4,485. Its valuation in 1884 was $3,245,661, and
the number of dwelling-houses was 1,044. Its original limits included
the present town of Cohasset, which was set off and incorporated April
26, 1770. Until March 26, 1793, Hingham was a part of Suffolk county,
when it was annexed to the County of Norfolk, and June 20, 1793, it
again became a part of the County of Suffolk. June 18, 1803, it was
annexed to the County of Plymouth, of which it has since formed a part.

[Illustration: THE SOLDIERS' AND SAILORS' MONUMENT.]

The original name of the settlement was Bare (or Bear) Cove. The name
was changed to Hingham, and the town incorporated Sept. 3, 1635, on the
same day with Weymouth and Concord. There are but eleven towns in the
State older than these three. Settlements having dates earlier than the
incorporation were made in many towns, and there is proof that there
were inhabitants here in 1633. There was a recognition of the place as a
sort of municipality in 1634, for Bare Cove was assessed in that year.
Rev. Peter Hobart, of Hingham, England, the first minister, arrived at
Charlestown in June, 1635, and soon after settled in this town where
many of his friends from Hingham, England, had already settled, from
which fact the name of their old home was given to the new. Mr. Hobart
and twenty-nine others drew for house-lots on the 18th of September,
1635. Grants of land were made at various times during the year 1635,
and for several succeeding years. Hence it will be seen that, in this
present year, two hundred and fifty years of the town's history will
have been completed, and the anniversary will be celebrated during the
present month of September.

The close proximity of Hingham to Hull, of which the original name was
Nantasket or Nantascot, well known during recent years as a famous
summer resort, lends an added interest to one of the earliest of
Hingham's controversies. We find a record in July, 1643:--


  There is chosen by the town, Joseph Peck, Bozoan Allen, Anthony Eames,
  and Joshua Hubbard, to go to the next Court to make the best improvement
  of the evidence the town have for the property of Nantascot, and to
  answer the suit that now depends, &c.


But this attempt of the inhabitants of Hingham to claim a title was
summarily disposed of by the General Court, in September, 1643, as
follows:--


  The former grant to Nantascot was again voted and confirmed, and Hingham
  was willed to forbear troubling the Court any more about Nantascot.


Under the lead of such a man as Rev. Peter Hobart, who appears to have
been fearless and courageous, the inhabitants could not long remain
at rest. In 1645, and through several succeeding years, there were
difficulties of a very pronounced character between the inhabitants and
the colonial magistrates, especially between Peter Hobart and Gov.
Winthrop. The story has been briefly told as follows:--


  The town of Hingham had chosen a certain man to be the captain of
  its military company, and had sent his name to the magistrates for
  approval. Before action had been taken upon the name the town
  reconsidered its action, and chose another man to be captain, and
  sent in his name. The magistrates were strongly inclined to confirm
  and appoint the first and to reject the second. Winthrop was especially
  pronounced and for his conduct in the affair Hobart impeached him before
  the General Court for maladministration in office. The contest was long
  and bitter. Winthrop was acquitted and exonerated; Hobart was censured,
  and, with many other inhabitants of Hingham, heavily fined. The town
  was thoroughly aroused, supported Hobart to the utmost, and paid his
  fine.... Winthrop and Hobart were the representatives of the two parties
  into which the colony was forming--the more conservative and the more
  radical. The extreme radicals scented in the measures and conduct of the
  magistrates, tyranny; and the conservatives deprecated the views of the
  radicals as leading to unrestrained action and lawlessness. Winthrop was
  a conservative; Hobart was a radical. He said he did not know for what
  he was fined, unless it was for presuming to petition the General Court,
  and that fine was a violation of the right of petition.


Mr. Hobart was characterized "as a bold man, who would speak his mind."

The story of the contest with the authorities is long and tedious, and
it would not serve the purpose of this article to relate it fully, but
we can see in the brief statement above that, whether the minister and
his people were right or wrong, they had in them that energy, pluck, and
persistency which men who would establish strong foundations of society
and municipal prosperity must have.

Many interesting events in the early history of the town must be passed
over. The complete history is being prepared under the authority of the
town, and he who has curiosity concerning it will, ere long, have an
opportunity to gratify it. Suffice it to say that the town suffered, in
common with all the early settlements, from the Indians, though not
extraordinarily; the usual precautions were taken to prevent assaults,
and considerable attention was paid to the maintenance of the military.
The whole civil history of the town has been one of steady prosperity,
of rather slow growth in population.

The first church in Hingham was formed in 1635, on the settlement of the
town, with Rev. Peter Hobart as its first minister.

The first house for public worship was erected by the first settlers of
the town, probably within a short time after its settlement in 1635. It
was surrounded by a palisado, and surmounted by a belfry with a bell,
and was undoubtedly a plain structure, so far as the scanty records give
any light upon it. It stood upon a hill, in front of the present site of
the Derby Academy, in the centre of what is now Main street. But the
chief curiosity of Hingham to-day is the second meeting-house, known as
the "Old Meeting-house." It is believed that no house for public worship
exists within the limits of the United States, which continues to be
used for the purpose for which it was erected, and remaining on the same
site where it was built, which is so old as this. It is said that
timbers from the first were used in the construction of the present
house. The brass tablet on its wall states:--


  "This Church was gathered in 1635. The frame of this Meeting-house was
  raised on the twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh, and twenty-eighth days of
  July, 1681, and the house was completed and opened for public worship
  on the eighth of January, 1681-2. It cost the town £430 and the old
  house."


In 1881 there were elaborate commemorative services on the occasion of
the 200th anniversary of the building of the meeting-house.

The history of this parish has been remarkable for the long terms of
service of its ministers. During the two hundred and fifty years of its
existence it has had but eight ministers, of whom the eighth and the
present one is the Rev. H. Price Collier. The denomination is Unitarian.
Originally a Puritan church, it was liberalized under the sixty-nine
years' ministry of Rev. Ebenezer Gay, D.D., extending from 1718 to 1787.
Of this able divine many interesting anecdotes are told. He was a
powerful leader of religious thought, who "sounded almost the first
evangel of that more liberal faith which found its highest expression in
Channing, and its fruit in the absolute religious freedom of to-day.
Well may the Commonwealth cherish this church in high and in sacred
esteem, which, through two such men as Peter Hobart and Ebenezer Gay,
has put, in the spirit of the highest independence, its mark upon the
tablets of civil liberty and of religious thought."

The second parish (Unitarian) at South Hingham was set off March 25,
1745. Its first minister was Rev. Daniel Shute, D.D., a man of great
ability and practical sense, who was an earnest advocate of his
country's cause during the revolutionary war. He was a member of the
convention which formed the constitution of Massachusetts, and of that
which adopted the constitution of the United States.

The Third Congregational Society (Unitarian) was organized in 1807.
There is also within the town a religious society of each of the
following denominations, viz.: Evangelical Congregational, Baptist,
Methodist Episcopal, Universalist, Protestant Episcopal, Second Advent,
and Roman Catholic. It would seem as if there need be no hungering for
the "bread of life."

The military record of Hingham is worthy of notice.

In Philip's war, in 1675, it appears that "souldiers were impressed into
the country service," and provision was made by the selectmen for their
expenses.

In 1690 "Capt. Thomas Andrews and soldiers met on board ship to go to
Canada" in the expedition under command of Sir William Phips. Capt.
Andrews and most of the soldiers belonging to Hingham died in the
expedition.

In the French and Indian wars many Hingham citizens enlisted, and Capt.
Joshua Barker was in the expedition to the West Indies in 1740, and in
the wars of later years.

In the war of the Revolution there was no lack of patriotism in Hingham,
"The records indicate that nowhere did patriotism put forth in a greater
degree the fulness of its efforts and the energy of its whole soul and
spirit."

The limits of this article will not permit an extended notice of all the
acts which make up the creditable and patriotic record of the town.
Descended from those, who, through hardship and toil, labored for the
common good, and bore each other's burdens, it is naturally to be
expected that the people of Hingham aided the cause of freedom and the
liberties of their country by resolutions and votes, and by liberal
supplies of money. Nor did they hesitate to take up arms and sacrifice
their lives for their country's good. From the beginning to the end of
the Revolution, in many a hard-fought battle, in the sufferings and
hardships of camp and march, from the struggle on Breed's Hill to the
brilliant affair of Yorktown, we find the names of Hingham men mentioned
with honor. And how could it be otherwise? If heredity tells for
anything the whole history of the early struggles of the infant colonies
was a guarantee that sturdy traits would be found in the descendants of
the first settlers. In the world's history we find no higher type of
patriotism than on the barren, rocky shores of Massachusetts. It is
undoubtedly true that there were some whose sympathies were not with the
principles which inspired the majority of the people of that day, who
were distrustful of the consequences which would result from failure,
and who gave but feeble encouragement. We find such in every age and
country. But it must be put down to the credit of even these few that
they paid heavy taxes without resistance, and yielded to the popular
will after independence was once declared. "Royalists as well as
republicans, tories as well as whigs, gave of their substance to
establish the liberties of their country."

The acts and motives of the men of this town deserved to be crowned with
that success which came in due season, a priceless benefit to posterity.

It was General Benjamin Lincoln, of Hingham, the wise counsellor, the
foremost citizen of his time, the trusted friend of Washington, who was
designated to receive the sword of Cornwallis at Yorktown. Among the
many worthy and distinguished names of the sons of Hingham, that of
General Lincoln stands in the foremost rank. His monument stands in the
cemetery near the Old Meeting-house, characteristic of the man in its
rich simplicity.

In the war of 1812, although a majority of the citizens disapproved of
the State administration, "all manifested a disposition to defend their
houses and firesides against the common foe, and repaired with alacrity
to resist any invasion upon their neighbors."

In the war of the Rebellion it is the same story of patriotism and a
ready response to the call of the country. Early in the field and late
to leave it, the record of the town does not differ from others in the
State. A monument bearing the names of those who gave their lives for
the country was erected in 1870, in the Hingham cemetery, near the
statue of Governor Andrew.

The town has always made liberal provision for education, and its
schools stand to-day, as they have always stood, among the best. The
public schools have, for several years past, contained between 600 and
700 pupils, and appropriations of $13,000 to $14,000 are made annually
for their support. Besides the public schools there are a number of
small private schools, and the Derby Academy, which was established by
Mrs. Sarah Derby, who endowed it with funds for its support. She died in
1790, and the school was opened in 1791, since which time it has
continued uninterruptedly to educate many pupils in the town as well as
a number from neighboring towns. The list of graduates contains the
names of many who became distinguished in after life. It is for both
males and females, and is managed by a board of trustees. Its history is
one of credit to its founder and to the town. Mrs. Derby's first
husband, from whom she acquired her property, was Dr. Ezekiel Hersey, of
Hingham, well known as the founder of the professorship bearing his name
in Harvard College.

Among the other benefactions to the town must be mentioned the Hingham
Public Library, opened for the use of the inhabitants, in 1869, through
the liberality of the late Hon. Albert Fearing. By liberal gifts of
money from him a building was built and books were purchased. Large and
valuable donations of books were also made by other public-spirited
citizens until several thousand volumes were collected together. The
building and its contents were totally destroyed by fire, Jan. 3, 1879.
A more commodious building was immediately erected, and opened to the
public April 5, 1880. Its shelves are well filled with standard
literature. The library is managed by a board of trustees under a deed
of trust from Mr. Fearing.

The industries of Hingham are varied, and, from a business point of
view, it must be admitted that there has been a considerable decline
during the last fifty years. Although never a manufacturing town, within
the usual meaning of that term, there were formerly many small
manufactories of various articles, among which may be mentioned buckets,
furniture, hatchets, etc. The mackerel-fishery was also extensively
carried on from this port; but that has all disappeared, and Hingham is
becoming, more and more every year, a surburban town of residences. With
the increased facilities afforded by railroad and steamboat for daily
access to the city of Boston, many of its citizens, whose business is in
the city, have their residences in Hingham; and it is also the summer
home of many others. The railroad was opened in 1849, and a steamboat
has made regular trips to and from the city during the summer months for
the past fifty years. Downer Landing, the well-known summer resort, with
its pleasure-gardens, summer cottages, and hotel, the Rose Standish
House, built up through the philanthropy and liberality of the late Mr.
Samuel Downer, are within the limits of Hingham.

There is one hotel in the settled part of the town, the Cushing House.

The town is abundantly supplied with water of the purest quality for
domestic and fire purposes, from Accord Pond, situated on the southern
boundary line of the town, and there is an excellent fire department.

There is a weekly paper (_The Hingham Journal_), a national bank, a
savings-bank, and a fire insurance company, which, with numerous stores
in almost every department of domestic supplies, largely make up the
business of the town.

The Hingham Agricultural and Horticultural Society holds monthly
meetings and an annual exhibition in its spacious hall and grounds.

The views from several of the hills in Hingham are very beautiful, and
its woods and fields afford a large and varied study for the botanist.

Of a high average of intelligence, attentive to education, encouraging
morality, obedient to the laws, the people of Hingham have always stood
high in the scale of social enjoyment and prosperity. Its town meetings
are models of democratic government, and there are few places in which
this purely American institution is preserved with so much respect and
true regard for the public welfare.

It is with justifiable pride that the native of Hingham looks back
through the two and one-half centuries of her history.


  "Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,
  His first, best country ever is at home."


       *       *       *       *       *




THE HOUSE OF TICKNOR.

WITH A GLIMPSE OF THE OLD CORNER BOOKSTORE.


By Barry Lyndon.


The great Boston fire of 1872 had a forerunner in the same city. In 1711
a most sweeping conflagration occurred, which burned down all the houses
on both sides of Cornhill, from School street to Dock square, besides
the First Church, the Town House, all the upper part of King street, and
the greater part of Pudding Lane, between Water street and Spring Lane.
Nearly one hundred houses were destroyed, of which the _débris_ was
used to fill up Long Wharf. The fire "broke out," says an account in the
Boston _News-Letter_, "in an old tenement within a backyard in
Cornhill, near the First Meeting-house, occasioned by the carelessness
of a poor Scottish woman by using fire near a parcel of ocum, chips, and
other combustible rubbish."

The houses which were rebuilt along Cornhill, soon after the fire, were
"of brick, three stories high, with a garret, a flat roof, and
balustrade." Several of these houses were still standing in 1825; in
1855 only a very few remained; while only one, so far as we know, has
come down to us to-day and is yet even well-preserved, namely, the Old
Corner Bookstore, on the corner of the present Washington and School
streets.

This old house teems with historical associations, past and present.
Under its roof Mrs. Anne Hutchinson was wont to hold her Antinomian
_séances_, under the very nose of Governor John Winthrop, when
"over against the site of the Old Corner Store dwelt the notables of the
town,--the governor, the elder of the church, the captain of the
artillery company, and the most needful of the craftsmen and artificers
of the humble plantation; and at a short distance from it were the
meeting-house, the market-house, the town-house, the school-house, and
the ever-flowing spring of pure water."

The Old Corner Store is supposed to have been built directly after the
fire of 1711. It is an example of what is known as the colonial style of
architecture, and is thought to be the oldest brick building now
standing in Boston. Upon a tablet on its western gable appears the
supposed date of its construction, 1712.

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF W.D. TICKNOR.]

After passing through several ownerships the house reverted, in 1755, to
the descendants of the Hutchinson family. In 1784 it belonged to Mr.
Edward Sohier and his wife Susanna (Brimmer), and was valued at £1,600.
In 1795 it came into the possession of Mr. Herman Brimmer, and was
designated in the first Boston Directory (1789) as No. 76 Cornhill. In
1817 the front part of the building was used as an apothecary shop, by
Dr. Samuel Clarke, the father of Rev. James Freeman Clarke. In 1824 the
name of Cornhill was changed to Washington street, and the old store was
variously numbered until it took No. 135. Here Dr. Clarke remained
keeping shop until 1828, when he was succeeded by a firm of booksellers.
After he left, the building was considerably changed, inside and out,
and Messrs. Richard B. Carter and Charles J. Hendee then occupied the
front room as a bookstore, in 1828, and Mr. Isaac R. Butts moved his
printing-office from Wilson's Lane to the chambers soon afterwards.
Messrs. Carter and Hendee continued in the store until 1832, when they
removed to No. 131, upstairs, and were succeeded by John Allen and
William D. Ticknor in 1832-34. From 1834 the store was occupied by Mr.
W.D. Ticknor alone until 1845; and subsequently by himself and partners,
Mr. John Reed, Jr., and James T. Fields, until the spring of 1864, when
the senior partner died. The new firm of Ticknor (Howard M.), Fields
(James T.), and Osgood (James R.) remained at the Old Corner till 1867,
when they removed to No. 124 Tremont street. Messrs. E.P. Dutton & Co.
next moved into the Old Corner Store, and was succeeded, September 1,
1869, by Alexander Williams & Co. The store is now occupied, since 1882,
by Messrs. Cupples, Upham, & Co., well-known book publishers.

[Illustration: THE OLD CORNER IN 1800.]

It will be seen that the first appearance of the name of Ticknor, as in
any way associated with the publishing of books, was in 1832. In the
spring of 1864 Mr. William D. Ticknor visited Philadelphia in company
with Nathaniel Hawthorne; was taken suddenly ill and died there. Shortly
afterwards his eldest son Howard M. Ticknor, a graduate of Harvard
College in the class of 1856, was taken into the firm, which, under the
name of TICKNOR & FIELDS, held a very prominent place among American
publishers for over twenty years. During the period ending with the year
1867 the Old Corner was one of the best known spots in Boston, not alone
by reason of its antiquity, but equally by reason of its distinguished
literary history and its _habitués_. Here Charles Dickens and
Thackeray used to loiter and chat with their American publishers;
Lowell, Longfellow, Holmes, and Whittier, and Whipple the essayist, made
it their head-quarters. Nearly all of their best-known writings, and
those of Emerson, Hawthorne, Saxe, Winthrop, Bayard Taylor, Mrs. Stowe,
Aldrich, Howells, and a host of other well-known authors, sooner or
later bore the imprint of the house of Ticknor. After the failure of
Messrs. Phillips, Sampson,& Co., the "Atlantic Monthly," first suggested
by Mr. Francis H. Underwood, now United States Consul to Glasgow, passed
into the hands of Ticknor & Fields, and, a little later, was added "Our
Young Folks," edited by J.T. Trowbridge and Lucy Larcom, "Every
Saturday," edited by T.B. Aldrich, and the "North American Review," long
edited by James Russell Lowell.

[Illustration: THE OLD CORNER IN 1850.]

Still later the firm name was Fields, Osgood, & Co., then James R.
Osgood & Co., then Houghton, Osgood,& Co., and again James R. Osgood
& Co. The last-named firm published a remarkable series of books, which
their successors inherit.

[Illustration: 124 TREMONT STREET.]

At no time in its history, from 1832 to the present time, has the firm
been without a Ticknor in its copartnership. For a brief season,
however, the name disappeared from the firm's imprint.

The great publishing house has just inaugurated a new tenure of life as
Ticknor & Co., the copartnership consisting of Benjamin H. and Thomas B.
Ticknor, sons of William D. Ticknor, and George F. Godfrey, of Bangor,
Me., a gentleman of marked culture and geniality, and one, too, who, all
may rest assured, will take kindly to and will find success in the book
business. With scholarly acquirements, and with minds trained to the
wants of to-day, the sons of W.D. Ticknor, both gentlemen of refined
literary taste, now step to the front with strong hands and vigorous
purposes, not alone to perpetuate but to add to the former reputation of
the time-honored publishing house.

The new house succeeds to a rich inheritance of the books of younger
American authors,--those of Howells, James, Edgar Fawcett, Kate Field,
Mrs. Burnett, Miss Howard, Julian Hawthorne, George W. Cable, and
others. That it means to maintain the supremacy is foreshadowed by the
list of important works which it has announced as forthcoming.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FIRST NEW ENGLAND WITCH.


By Willard H. Morse, M.D.


At the beginning of the seventeenth century, in an English country
district, two lads romped on the same lea and chased the same
butterflies. One was a little brown-eyed boy, with red cheeks, fine
round form, and fiery temper. The other was a gentle child, tall, lithe,
and blonde. The one was the son of a man of wealth and a noble lady, and
carried his captive butterflies to a mansion-house, and kept them in a
crystal case. The other ran from the fields to a farm-house, and thought
of the lea as a grain field. It might have been the year 1606, when the
two were called in from their play-ground, and sent to school, thus to
begin life. The farmer's boy went to a common school, and his brown-eyed
play-mate entered a grammar school. From that time their paths were far
apart.

The name of the tall, blonde boy was Samuel Morse. At fifteen he left
school to help his father on the home farm. At twenty he had become
second tenant on a Wiltshire holding, and began to be a prosperous
farmer. Before he had attained the age of forty he was the father of a
large family of children, among them five sons, whose names were Samuel,
William, Robert, John, and Anthony. William, Robert, and Anthony
ultimately emigrated to America, while Samuel, Jr., and John remained in
England. Young Samuel went to London, and became a merchant and a miser.
When past his fiftieth year he married. His wife died four years later,
leaving a baby daughter and a son. Both children were sent up to
Marlboro, where they had a home with their Uncle John, who was living on
the old farm. There they grew up, and became the heirs both of John and
their father. The boy was named Morgan. He received a finished
education, embraced the law, and married. His only child and daughter,
Mary, became the heiress of her aunt's property and her great-uncle
John's estate, and was accounted a lady of wealth, station, and beauty.

Meanwhile, the family of old Samuel Morse's playfellow had also reached
the fourth generation. The name of that playfellow was Oliver Cromwell,
who became Lord Protector of the British Commonwealth. Of course he
forgot Samuel Morse, and was sitting in Parliament when Samuel died. He
had children and grandchildren who lived as contemporaries of his old
playmate's children and grandchildren. Two or three years before
Samuel's great granddaughter, Mary, was born, a great grandson of the
Protector saw the light. This boy was named Oliver, but was called
"Rummy Noll." The ancestral estate of Theodale's became his sole
inheritance, and as soon as he came into the property he began to live a
wild, fast life, distinguishing himself as an adventurous, if not
profligate gentleman.

He travelled much; and one day in a sunny English year came to the town
of his great-grandfather's nativity. There he chanced to meet Mary
Morse. The beautiful girl fascinated him, but would not consent to be
his wife until all of his "wild oats" were sown. Then she became Mrs.
Cromwell, and was a happy wife, as well as a lady of eminence and
wealth. Oliver and Mary Cromwell had a daughter Olivia, who married a
Mr. Russell, and whose daughters are the present sole representatives of
the Protectorate family.

As was said above, William, Anthony, and Robert Morse, brothers of
Samuel, Jr., emigrated to America, and became the ancestors of nearly
all of their name in this country. William and Anthony settled at
Newbury, Massachusetts. The latter became a respected citizen, and among
his descendants were such men as Rev. Dr. James Morse of Newburyport,
Samuel Finley Breese Morse, the inventor of the telegraph, Rev. Sidney
Edwards Morse, and others scarcely less notable.

Robert Morse, Anthony's brother, left England at about the time of the
beginning of the civil war, and located in Boston as a tailor. He was a
sterling old Puritan, prudent, enterprising and of strict morality. He
speculated in real estate, and after a while removed to Elizabethtown,
New Jersey, which place he helped to settle, and where he amassed much
wealth. He had nine children. Among his descendants were some men of
eminence, as Dr. Isaac Morse of Elizabethtown, Honorable Nathan Morse of
New Orleans, Isaac E. Morse, long a member of Congress from Louisiana,
Judge Morse of Ohio, and others.

None of these sons of Samuel, the mate of Cromwell, were great men
themselves, but were notable in their descendants. Samuel's descendant
came to represent a historical family; Anthony's greatest descendant
invented the telegraph; and the descendants of Robert were noble
Southrons. William alone of the five brothers had notoriety. Samuel,
Jr., was more eminent, but William made a mark in Massachusetts'
history. Settling in the town of Newbury, William Morse led an humble
and monotonous life. When he had lived there more than forty years, and
had come to be an old and infirm man, he was made to figure unhappily
in the first legal investigation of New England witchcraft. This was
in 1679-81, or more than ten years before the Salem witchcraft, and
it constitutes a page of hitherto unpublished Massachusetts history.
Mr. and Mrs. Morse resided in a plain, wooden house that still stands
at the head of Market Street, in what is now Newburyport. William had
been a farmer, but his sons had now taken the homestead, and he was
supporting himself and wife by shoe-making. His age was almost
three-score-years-and-ten, and he was a reputably worthy man, then just
in the early years of his dotage. His wife, the "goody Elizabeth," was
a Newbury woman, and apparently some few years her husband's senior.

I can easily imagine the worthy couple there in the old square room of
a winter's night. On one side of the fire-place sits the old man in
his hard arm-chair, his hands folded, and his spectacles awry, as he
sonorously snores away the time. Opposite him sits the old lady, a
little, toothless dame, with angular features half hidden in a stiffly
starched white cap, her fingers flying over her knitting-work, as
precisely and perseveringly she "seams," "narrows," and "widens." At the
old lady's right hand stands a cherry table, on which burns a yellow
tallow candle that occasionally the dame proceeds to snuff. There is no
carpet on the floor, and the furniture is poor and plain. A kitchen
chair sits at the other side of the table, and in, or _on_ it, sits
a half-grown boy, a ruddy, freckled, country boy who wants to whistle,
and prefers to go out and play, but who is required to stay in the
house, to sit still, and to read from out the leather-covered Bible that
lies open on the table before him.

"But I would like to go out and slide down hill!" begs the boy.

"Have you read yer ten chapters yit?" asks the old dame.

"N-no!"

"Wal; read on."

And the lad obeys. He is reading aloud; he is not a good reader; the
chapters are in Deuteronomy; but that stint must be performed before
evening; then ten chapters after six o'clock, and at eight he must go to
bed. If he moves uneasily in his chair, or stops to breathe, he is
reprimanded.

The boy was the grandson of the old couple, and resided with them. Under
just such restrictions he was kept. Bright, quick, and full of boy life,
he was restless under the enforced restraint.

In the neighborhood resided a Yankee school-master, named Caleb Powell,
a fellow, who delighted in interfering with the affairs of his
neighbors, and in airing his wisdom on almost every known subject. He
noticed that the Puritan families kept their boys too closely confined;
and influenced by surreptitious gifts of cider and cheese, he interceded
in their behalf. He was regarded as an oracle, and was listened to with
respect. Gran'ther Morse was among those argued with, and being told
that the boy was losing his health by being "kept in" so much, he at
once consented to give him a rest from the Bible readings and let him
play out of doors and at the houses of the neighbors. Once released, the
lad declared that he "should not be put under again." Fertile in
imagination, he soon devised a plan.

At that time a belief in witchcraft was universal, and afforded a
solution of everything strange and unintelligible. The old shoemaker
firmly believed in the supernatural agency of witches, and his roguish
grandson knew it. That he might not be obliged to return to the
Scripture readings, the boy practised impositions on his grandfather to
which the old man became a very easy dupe.

No one suspected the boy's agency, except Caleb Powell. That worthy knew
the young man, and believed that there was nothing marvellous or
superstitious about the "manifestations." Desirous of being esteemed
learned, he laid claim to a knowledge of astrology, and when the
"witchcraft" was the town talk he gave out that he could develope the
whole mystery. The consequence was that he was suspected of dealing in
the black art, and was accused, tried, and narrowly escaped with his
life.

On the court records of Salem is entered:--

  "December 3, 1679. Caleb Powell being complained of for suspicion of
  working with ye devill to the molesting of William Morse and his
  family, was by warrant directed to constable, and respited till
  Monday." "December 8, (Monday) Caleb Powell appeared ... and it was
  determined that sd. Morse should present ye case at ye county court
  at Ipswich in March."


This order was obeyed, and the trial came on. The following is a
specimen of the testimony presented:--


  "William Morse saith, together with his wife, that Thursday night being
  November 27, we heard a great noyes of knocking ye boards of ye house,
  whereupon myselfe and wife looks out and see nobody, but we had stones
  and sticks thrown at us so that we were forced to retire.

  "Ye same night, ye doore being lockt when we went to bed, we heerd a
  great hog grunt in ye house, and willing to go out. That we might not be
  disturbed in our sleep, I rose to let him out, and I found a hog and the
  door unlockt.

  "Ye next night I had a great awl that I kept in the window, the which
  awl I saw fall down ye chimney into ye ashes. I bid ye boy put ye same
  awl in ye cupboard which I saw done, and ye door shut too. When ye same
  awl came down ye chimney again in our sight, and I took it up myselfe.

  "Ye next day, being Saturday, stones, sticks and pieces of bricks came
  down so that we could not quietly eat our breakfast. Sticks of fire came
  downe also at ye same time.

  "Ye same day in ye afternoon, my thread four times taken away and come
  downe ye chimney againe; my awl and a gimlet wanting came down ye
  chimney. Againe, my leather and my nailes, being in ye cover of a
  firkin, taken away, and came downe ye chimney.

  "The next, being Sunday, stones, sticks and brickbats came down ye
  chimney. On Monday, Mr. Richardson [the minister,] and my brother was
  there. They saw ye frame of my cow-house standing firm. I sent my boy to
  drive ye fowls from my hog's trough. He went to ye cow-house, and ye
  frame fell on him, he crying with ye hurt. In ye afternoon ye potts
  hanging over ye fire did dash so vehemently one against another that we
  did sett down one that they might not dash to pieces. I saw ye andiron
  leap into ye pott and dance, and leap out, and again leap in, and leap
  on a table and there abide. And my wife saw ye andiron on ye table. Also
  I saw ye pott turn over, and throw down all ye water. Againe we see a
  tray with wool leap up and downe, and throw ye wool out, and saw nobody
  meddle with it. Again a tub's hoop fly off, and nobody near it. Againe
  ye woolen wheele upside downe, and stood upon its end, and a spade set
  on it. This myself, my wife, and Stephen Greenleaf saw. Againe my tools
  fell down on ye ground, and before my boy could take them they were sent
  from him. Againe when my wife and ye boy were making ye bed, ye chest
  did open and shutt, ye bed-clothes would not be made to ly on ye bed,
  but flew off againe.

  "We saw a keeler of bread turn over. A chair did often bow to me. Ye
  chamber door did violently fly together. Ye bed did move to and fro. Ye
  barn-door was unpinned four times. We agreed to a big noise in ye other
  room. My chair would not stand still, but was ready to throw me
  backward. Ye catt was thrown at us five times. A great stone of six
  pounds weight did remove from place to place. Being minded to write,
  my ink-horne was hid from me, which I found covered by a ragg, and my
  pen quite gone. I made a new penn, and while I was writing, one eare
  of corne hitt me in ye face, and sticks, stones, and my old pen were
  flung att me. Againe my spectickles were throwne from ye table, and
  almost into ye hot fire. My paper, do what I could, I could hardly
  keep it. Before I could dry my writing, a mammouth hat rubbed along it,
  but I held it so fast that it did only blot some of it. My wife and I
  being much afraid that I should not preserve ye writing, we did think
  best to lay it in ye Bible. Againe ye next night I lay it there againe,
  but in ye morning it was not to be found, till I found it in a box
  alone. Againe while I was writing this morning I was forced to forbeare
  writing any more, because I was so disturbed by many things constantly
  thrown att me."


Anthony Morse testified:--

  "Occasionally, being to my brother Morse's hous, he showed to me a pece
  of brick, what had several times come down ye chimne. I sitting in ye
  cornar towde that pece of brick in my hand. Within a littel spas of tiem
  ye pece of brick was gone from me I know not by what meanes. Quickly
  after it come down chimne. Also in ye chimne cornar I saw a hammar on ye
  ground. Their bein no person nigh it, it was sodenly gone, by what
  meanes I know not; but within a littell spas it fell down chimne, and
  ... also a pece of woud a fute long.

  "Taken on oath Dec. the 8, 1679, before me,

  "JOHN WOODBRIDGE, COMMISSIONER."


Thomas Hardy testified:--

  "I and George Hardy being at William Morse his house, affirm that ye
  earth in ye chimny cornar moved and scattered on us. I was hitt with
  somewhat; Hardy hitt by a iron ladle; somewhat hitt Morse a great blow,
  butt itt was so swift none could tell what itt was. After, we saw itt
  was a shoe."


Rev. Mr. Richardson testified:--

  "Was at Bro. Morse his house on a Saturday. A board flew against my
  chair. I heard a noyes in another roome, which I suppose in all reason
  was diabolicall."


John Dole testified:--

  "I saw, sir, a large fire-stick of candle-wood, a stone, and a
  fire-brand to fall down. These I saw nott whence they come till they
  fell by me."


Elizabeth Titcomb testified:--

  "Powell said that he could find out ye witch by his learning if he had
  another scholar with him."


Joseph Myrick and Sarah Hale testified:--

  "Joseph Morse, often said in our hearing that if there are any Wizards
  he was sure Caleb Powell was one."


William Morse being asked what he had to say as to Powell being a
wizard, testified:--

  "He come in, and seeing our spirit very low cause by our great
  affliction, he said, 'Poore old man, and poor old woman, I eye ye boy,
  who is ye occasion of all your greefe; and I draw neere ye with great
  compassion.' Then sayd I, 'Powell, how can ye boy do them things?'
  Then sayd he, 'This boy is a young rogue, a vile rogue!' Powell, he
  also sayd, that he had understanding in Astrology and Astronomie,
  and knew the working of spirits. Looking on ye boy, he said, 'You
  young rogue!' And to me, Goodman Morse, if you be willing to lett me
  have ye boy I will undertake that you shall be freed from any trouble
  of this kind the while he is with me."


Other evidence was received for the prosecution. The defence put in by
Powell was that "on Monday night last, till Friday after the noone, I
had ye boy with me, and they had no trouble."


Mary Tucker deposed:--

  "Powell said he come to Morse's and did not see fit to go in as the old
  man was att prayer. He lookt in a window, and saw ye boy fling a shoe at
  the old man's head while he prayed."


The verdict now stands on the court record, and reads as follows:--

  "Upon hearing the complaint brought to this court against Caleb Powell
  for suspicion of working by the devill to the molesting of ye family of
  William Morse of Newbury, though this court cannot find any evident
  ground of proceeding farther against ye sayd Powell, yett we determine
  that he hath given such ground of suspicion of his so dealing that we
  cannot so acquit him but that he justly deserves to bare his own shame
  and the costs of prosecution of the complaint."


The bad boy seems to have had a grudge against Powell, and, anxious to
see that person punched, he resumed his pranks both at his grandfather's
and among the neighbors.

Strange things happened. Joseph Bayley's cows would stand still and not
move. Caleb Powell, having been discharged, no longer boasted of his
learning. Jonathan Haines' oxen would not work. A sheep belonging to
Caleb Moody was mysteriously dyed. Zachariah Davis' calves all died, as
did also a sheep belonging to Joshua Richardson. Mrs. John Wells said
that she saw the "imp of God in sayd Morse's hous."

Sickness visited several families, and Goody Morse, as was her custom,
acted as village nurse. One by one her patients died. John Dee, Mrs.
William Chandler, Mrs. Goodwin's child, and an infant of Mr. Ordway's,
were among the dead. The rumor ran about that Goody Morse was a witch.
John Chase affirmed that he had seen her coming into his house through a
knot-hole at night. John Gladding saw "halfe of Marm Morse about two a
clocke in ye daytime." Jonathan Woodman, seeing a strange black cat,
struck it; and Dr. Dole was called the same day to treat a bruise on
Mrs. Morse. The natural inference was that the old lady was a witch and
the cause of all of these strange things, as well as of the
extraordinary occurrences in her home. Accusers were not wanting, and
she was arrested. In her trial all of this evidence was put in, and her
husband repeated his testimony at the Powell trial. The county court
heard it and passed the case to the General Court, from whence it was
returned.

The records abound in reports of the testimony. We will only quote the
evidence of Zachariah Davis, who said:--

  "I having offended Goody Morse, my three calves fell a dancing and
  roaring, and were in such a condition as I never saw a calf in before
  ... A calf ran a roaringe away soe that we gott him only with much adoe
  and putt him in ye barne, and we heard him roar severell times in ye
  night. In ye morning I went to ye barne, and there he was setting upon
  his tail like a dog. I never see no calf set after that manner before;
  and so he remained in these fits till he died."


The entry on the court record is as follows:--

  "Boston, May ye 20, 1680:--The Grand Jury presenting Elizabeth, wife of
  William Morse. She was indicted by name of Elizabeth Morse for that she
  not having ye fear of God before her eyes, being instigated by the
  Devil, and had familiarity with the Devil contrary to ye peace of our
  sovereign lord, the King, his crown and dignity, the laws of God, and of
  this jurisdiction. After the prisoner was att ye barr and pleaded not
  guilty, and put herself on ye country and God for trial. Ye evidences
  being produced were read and committed to ye jury."

  "Boston, May 21st, of 1680:--Ye jury brought in their verdict. They
  found Elizabeth Morse guilty according to indictment.

  "May ye 27:--Then ye sentence of ye Governor, to wit:--'Elizabeth you
  are to goe from hence to ye plaice from which you come, and thence to
  the plaice of execution, and there to be hanged, by ye neck, till you be
  dead; and ye Lord have mercy on your Soule.'"

  "June ye 1st:--Ye Governor and ye magistrates voted ye reprieving of
  Eliz. Morse, as attests,

  "EDWARD RAWSON, Secretary."


The unfortunate woman seems to have remained imprisoned until the
meeting of the Legislature. On the records of that body we find:--

  "Ye Deputies in perusal of ye Acts of ye Hon. Court of Assistants
  relating to ye woman condemned for witchcraft doe not understand why
  execution of ye sentence given her by ye sd. court is not executed. Her
  repreeval seems to us to be beyond what ye law will allow, and doe
  therefore judge meete to declare ourselves against it, etc. This Nov.
  3d., 1680.

  "WM. TORREY, Clerk."


Then follows this entry:--

  "Exceptions not consented to by ye magistrates.

  "EDWARD RAWSON, Secretary."


Mrs. Morse continued in prison until May 1681. On the fourteenth of
that month her husband petitioned for her to "the honorable gen. court
now sitting in Boston," begging "to clere up ye truth." This petition
recites a review of the testimony of seventeen persons who had testified
against Goody Morse. On the eighteenth, he petitioned "ye hon. Governor,
deputy Governor, deputies and magistrates." In answer, a new hearing was
granted. The court record says:--


  "Ye Deputyes judge meet to grant ye petitioner a hearing ye next sixth
  day and that warrants go forth to all persons concerned from this court,
  they to appear in order to her further trial, our honored magistrates
  hereto consenting.

  "WM. TORREY, Clerk."


Again the magistrates were refractory, for we find:--


  "May twenty-fourth, 1681:--Not consented to by ye magistrates.

  "EDWARD RAWSON, Secretary."


No further trial followed. Mr. Morse did not rest in his efforts for
the release of his wife. He called a council of the clergymen of the
neighborhood to examine her. The council met and acted. The report
of the Rev. John Hale of Beverly (probably chairman) is before me.
It reads:--


  "This touching Madam Elizabeth Morse:--

  "She being reprieved, her husband desired us to discourse her, which
  we did. Her discourse was very christain, and she still pleaded her
  innocence of that which was laid to her dischage. We did not esteem
  it prudence for us to pass any definite sentence upon on under her
  circumstances, yet we inclined to ye more charitable side."


After this examination the court permitted her to return home, when she
never gave further occasion for slander, dying the death of a hopeful
Christian not many years after.

And the mischievous grandson, what of him? He went to Beverly, married,
had children, died. His great-great-grandson lives to-day. He,
descendant of William, over wires that Anthony's descendant made to do
noble work, sends this message, written on paper made by a descendant of
Robert, to Miss Russell, representing Samuel Morse and Oliver
Cromwell:--


  "After two centuries witch-work is in electricity, and that witch-work
  has made us a name."


       *       *       *       *       *




IN EMBER DAYS.


By Adelaide C. Waldron.


      Softly there sounds above the roar
      Of the wide world's deafening din,
  An echo of song from a far-off time,
  Deeper and sweeter than poet's rhyme,
  Whose tidings of joy and whose message sublime,
  "Heaven's peace on earth, and good-will to mankind,"
  Fill me with force; I yet will find
         The way to enter in!


       *       *       *       *       *




CHRISTOPHER GAULT.--A STORY.


By Edward P. Guild.


In the summer of 1879 I went to a quiet town in north-western
Massachusetts, with the object of getting a few weeks of much needed
rest and recreation. It had been four years since the first appearance
of my name as "Attorney and Counsellor at Law," on the door of a small
Washington-street office, just below the _Herald_ Building in the
city of Boston; and, as I had worked all that time with hardly a thought
of rest, I decided to take a good, respectable vacation.

Hopkins, who had an office on the same floor, advised me to go to H----,
in Franklin county, where I could find the purest of air, splendid
scenery, good trout fishing, and entire freedom from fashionable
boarders. As this was just the bill of fare that I wanted, and as
Hopkins was born and brought up there, and ought to know, I thankfully
accepted his advice.

A week after my arrival I met Christopher Gault, who was boarding not
far from Deacon Thompson's, where I had my quarters. A friendship at
once began to grow between us, and our time was largely spent in each
other's company. I found my new acquaintance a very agreeable companion,
and, moreover, an unusually interesting young man. He was then about
twenty-six years old, of medium stature, dark brown hair, and
closely-cut side whiskers and moustache. His talents were brilliant and
varied. Mathematics were his delight, and he had well chosen the
profession of a civil engineer, in which, as I afterwards learned, he
was already gaining distinction in my own city of Boston. He was an
ardent admirer of nature, and was always ready for a ramble with me over
the hills or through the woods; always closely observing the formation
of the rocks, and capturing any interesting specimen of mineral, plant,
or bug that came under the notice of his sharp eyes.

In conversation, which we often enjoyed on the broad piazza, Gault was
exceedingly entertaining, and usually took an absorbing interest in the
subject under discussion; but at times he would sit silent as though
engrossed in other thoughts, and often with a very apparent look of
melancholy in his face. One day when I had been noticing this, I said:--

"Gault, you are growing too serious for your age; you ought to get a
wife."

He smiled a little quickly, and resumed his former expression, without
replying; but after a moment drew from his pocket book a photograph, and
placed it in my hand.

It was of a most attractive looking young lady of, perhaps, twenty-two
years.

"Ah! I see that my suggestion is not needed," I said, holding the
picture at arm's length to get a better general impression. "Is she
yours?"

He flushed a little at so direct a question, as he answered evasively:--

"She is a very true friend of mine."

"But she is more than that. Now, tell me, Gault, when is your honeymoon
to begin?"

"That is more than I can tell," he replied, slowly returning the
photograph to his pocket book.

"You must not wait to get rich," I observed. "It is when a man is
working for success that he most needs the sympathy and help of a good
wife."

"I know that," replied my friend; "but I am in a peculiar position. Some
day I will tell you all."

I saw that he was growing nervous, and changed the subject of
conversation.

Returning from the post office that afternoon to the old farm house, I
stopped for a little chat with Deacon Thompson, my good natured host,
who was mending his orchard fence; for the well loaded boughs of apples,
just beginning to assume their various tinges of red, yellow, or russet,
offered a strong temptation to the cattle in the adjoining pasture.
Incidentally I inquired regarding an old excavation which I had noticed
on the hill near an unfrequented road. This excavation had apparently
once served for a cellar, although most of the stones had been removed,
and the sheep easily ran down its now sloping and grassy sides. In close
proximity was a deep well, over the top of which had been placed a huge,
flat stone. Overshadowing both cellar and well were three ancient elms,
storm-beaten and lightning-cleft, but still standing as if to guard the
very solitude which was unbroken save by the tinkling bell, which told
whither the farmer's flock was straying. From Mr. Thompson I learned the
history connected with this scene.

Twenty years before he was born, his father's folks saw, one morning in
March, a smoke curling above the tops of the elms which were just
visible over the brow of the hill. Quickly going to the scene, they
found the house burned to the ground. The occupants were an old man,
named Peter Colburn, and his wife; and they, together with a traveller,
who had obtained lodging there for the night, were all burned with the
house. The stranger's horse and saddle were found in the barn, some
little distance from the house, but there was no clew to his identity.
There were only a few people then who had settled in this bleak region,
and there was no funeral other than the assembling of a half dozen
together, who dug a grave within fifty feet from the elms, and there
laid the charred remains of the unfortunate victims. I had seen a small,
rough, unlettered stone standing there, but did not before know its
meaning.

The next day I related the bit of tragic history to Christopher Gault,
and we strolled over the hill to its scene.

"What a magnificent view!" he exclaimed, as we came to the place.

Certainly it could not be finer. We stood upon an elevated plateau, from
which the prospect in either direction was beautiful and grand. To the
north could be seen the graceful curves of the Green Mountain range,
gradually growing fainter and of paler blue as the eye followed them to
at least seventy miles away.

Farther to the east rose the majestic form of Monadnock, if not the
highest, one of the very noblest peaks in the Granite State. In an
opposite direction, and nearly one hundred miles from Monadnock, stood
old Greylock, the greatest elevation in Massachusetts; while much nearer
by--in fact, seeming almost at our feet when compared with these immense
ranges--lay the charming Deerfield valley, up from which rose the
curling smoke of the locomotive as it moved steadily westward, until
hidden from view by a sudden entrance into Hoosac Tunnel.

The view so absorbed our attention for a time that we hardly noticed our
immediate surroundings. When we did so we began to make an examination.
Gault, with characteristic curiosity, began a search in the bottom of
the old cellar. Suddenly he emerged.

"A veritable relic!" he exclaimed. "See! an old knife; and here on its
handle is a name. Can you read it?" and he handed it to me.

A minute's brisk scouring made it quite plain.

"I have it now," I said. "It is Samuel Wickham."

As I read the inscription I was startled to see the color almost
instantly leave Gault's face.

"Samuel Wickham! You don't mean It. Let me see," and he grasped the
knife from my hand.

"It is. You are right," he said. "You do not understand my interest
in this matter," he added, evidently a little embarrassed at his own
manner. "It was the name that struck me. Probably this knife belonged
to the unfortunate stranger," and he put it carefully in his pocket.

"Do you know just when the house was burned,--did Mr. Thompson say?" he
inquired, trying hard to control his excitement.

"Not exactly," I replied; "but he told me that he had a record
somewhere. You could probably ascertain from him."

The next morning I went trouting alone, and did not return to the house
until afternoon. When I did so I found a note awaiting me.

It proved to be from my friend, and said that for special reasons he had
decided to return to the city that day. He was sorry not to see me
again, but hoped to do so before long. I, in turn, was quite anxious to
meet him again, and learn why he had returned so unexpectedly, and to
know the cause of his singular manner upon finding the rusty knife. The
two events were naturally connected in my mind, and also our previous
conversation when he had shown me the picture of the young lady.

Three weeks later I was in Boston, and almost at once visited Mr.
Gault's office at No.--Water street. To my disappointment, I learned
that he had just taken passage for England.

I hoped to see him when he returned, but was not destined to do so until
two years later.

Before relating my unexpected meeting with him in 1881, I must describe
a certain somewhat remarkable case which I was so fortunate as to have
put into my hands shortly after my return from the country.


II.


It was one day in October that a distinguished-looking gentleman of
about fifty-five entered my office, introduced himself as Mr. Crabshaw,
and asked me to take the following case.

An old woman named Nancy Blake had recently died in Virginia, leaving a
large amount of property. This Nancy Blake had lived for over half a
century all alone, and almost entirely secluded. She had left neither
will nor near relatives, and the question was, who is her nearest of
kin? My visitor informed me that long ago he had known of the existence
of an eccentric woman in Virginia,--a great-aunt of his now deceased
wife. Nothing had been heard from her, however, for twenty-five years,
and it was supposed that she was dead; but he had just received
information that led him to believe in the identity of the old lady
Blake with the aforementioned great-aunt. If the relationship could be
established, then his daughter Cecilia would be the true heir. Her claim
had been brought to the attention of the court, and she bad been
informed that there was another claimant. Would I undertake the case?
After a long talk with Mr. Crabshaw, I decided that I would do so. I
agreed to call at his house the next day and have another talk with him,
and also meet his daughter, preparatory to my trip to Virginia.

Mr. Crabshaw, who, as I subsequently learned, was descended from an
English family which had been represented in this country for two
generations only, lived in the famous and once aristocratic quarter of
Boston known as West End. A short residence on our republican soil had
done little to Americanize the Crabshaw family, who lived in true
English style. The household consisted only of Mr. Crabshaw and his one
daughter, Cecilia, and a small retinue of servants, although he was not
possessed of any very large wealth. My first meeting with Miss Crabshaw
was at once a pleasure and a surprise; the first because she was a most
charming young lady, and the latter because she was the original of the
picture shown me a few months before by Christopher Gault. I did not
mention the coincidence, however, but proceeded directly to the business
in hand. Miss Cecilia was an exceedingly sensible and intelligent young
lady and I could get more needed information in ten minutes from her
than in half an hour from the old gentleman.

The last time that I met Mr. Crabshaw before going to Virginia, I
mentioned having met Mr. Gault the summer before.

"You got acquainted with him then, did you? I am very glad to know it.
He is a fine young man--a very estimable fellow, sir. I have always
known the family, and always liked Christopher. As you are very likely
aware, he thinks a great deal of Cecilia, and she is a pretty firm
friend of his. Now that is all very well, sir, as long as they don't get
sentimental, or anything of that kind."

"We are constituted so as to grow a little sentimental when the occasion
presents itself, Mr. Crabshaw," I remarked.

"Yes, yes, I understand, but my daughter knows quite well that there is
no occasion for her yet. I might as well tell you," he continued, after
a pause, "that, although it is nothing against Christopher himself,
there is a streak of bad blood in the family. His great-grandfather
_turned traitor_; yes, sir, _committed treason_ against the
crown of England, and then fled. To be sure," he added, "Christopher
Gault is no more responsible for the crime of his ancestor than am I
myself; but the question of blood is an important one, and these traits
are very liable to crop out; if not in one generation, then in another."

"You believe, then, in the law of heredity as affecting moral
character?"

"Certainly. Physical and mental traits are inherited; why not moral?"

A few days later I was in the city of Richmond, and from there I
proceeded directly to D---- county, where, at the November term of
the county court, I intended to present Miss Crabshaw's claim to the
property in question. Meantime I devoted myself to the preparation of
testimony relating to the case. I visited the place where old Nancy
Blake had lived, situated about twelve miles from D---- court-house.
The property left by her consisted of the old house, fallen badly into
decay, a small amount of land, and a large sum of money deposited in
the bank. Little was known about "Old Nancy," as the few people in the
thinly settled locality called her. The most information that I could
glean was from an old negro who had been her neighbor for the most of
his life. He said that he could well remember her father, who had been
dead for fifty years. He was a man of military look and an Englishman.
His name was John Blake. He could remember nothing about his wife, but
he had at least one son and a daughter besides Nancy. When he was about
to die his son came to see him. He was much older than either daughter,
Nancy being the youngest. Eleanor died not long after, and Nancy was
left alone. She was very eccentric and seldom saw any one.

Such was the story, in brief, as I was able to obtain it from the old
negro.

The details of the case, as it was brought out in court, do not need
special mention, and it will be sufficient to merely state the basis of
the claim.

Although Mr. Crabshaw was very proud of his descent, and traced his
lineage back some hundreds of years, and was very particular to have the
family coat-of-arms always made conspicuous, yet he had married a lady
whose ancestry was not clearly known. Mrs. Crabshaw, who had died when
her daughter was a mere child, was a beautiful and accomplished woman,
whose grandfather, on her father's side, she had never seen, and of whom
she knew no more than that his name was Thomas Blake, and that he died
in the town of S----, Connecticut, in 1832, at the age of forty-nine
years.

The one important thing that I wished to prove was, that Thomas Blake
was the brother of Nancy Blake, and that Cecilia Crabshaw was thus
great-grand niece of said Nancy. The court pronounced itself satisfied
as to this, and Miss Crabshaw was declared the nearest of kin, and hence
heir to the property.

The case had required the presence of my fair client, so she had made
the journey to Washington a week previous, where she visited an uncle,
and came out to D---- county to be present at the hearing.

It was necessary for me to remain in Virginia some little time on
account of other business, and it was arranged that I should see what
could be done towards effecting a sale of the real estate. Accordingly,
soon after the case had been decided, I went out to look over the
premises.

The house was very old, and showed no signs of any improvement having
been made for at least half a century. The furniture was of little value
and there were but few other things. A rusty sword, a few old books, and
some odd trinkets comprised about all. As Miss Crabshaw did not care for
these they were given to a negro woman who had rendered some assistance
to Old Nancy in the last years of her life.

The house itself contained none of those mysterious passages or hidden
closets which the imagination so readily connects with such old
habitations. There was a kind of small locker, however, opening from a
large closet near the ceiling. This little recess contained nothing but
a package of old papers and worthless letters, faded and mouldy. On
looking them over, one in particular attracted my attention on account
of an official seal which it bore. It proved to be a document
commissioning Richard Anthony Treadwell as Major in the Seventh Regiment
of Cavalry in the Royal Army of his Majesty King George III. The date
was June 12, 1793. But who was Richard Anthony Treadwell, and how
happened his commission to be here? A discovery made a few minutes later
served to throw some light on the mystery. Among the few books found in
the house was an antique volume of Shakspere's plays, which, judging
from the thick net-work of cobwebs encircling it, had not been touched
for years.

Curiosity led me to open the book. On its fly-leaf was the inscription:
"A present to Thomas from his father, Richard A. Treadwell." A curious
fact was that this name had been crossed and recrossed with a pen, and
underneath had been written as a substitute in the same handwriting:
"John Blake." The ink used at the _first_ writing had retained its
blackness in a remarkable degree; while that used at the time of the
_erasure_ and _for the substitute name_ had so faded that the
first name was much plainer than the second. The natural inference,
then, was that the father of Nancy Blake and the great-great-grandfather
of Cecilia Crabshaw had, at some time, changed his name from that of
Richard Anthony Treadwell to that of John Blake. Why he should have done
so was an unexplained problem, and whether it was my duty to inform Miss
Crabshaw of the fact or not was not quite evident to me. What I really
did, however, was to put the old document in my pocket and forget it.

The place was soon after sold for a few hundred dollars, and after
attending to my affairs in the locality I returned to Boston, but not
to remain.

A leading lawyer in Washington, an old and esteemed friend of my father,
and a former adviser of mine in the matter of studying law, had offered
to admit me to partnership in a lucrative practice which had become too
large for his advancing years. I accepted, and bade good-by to dear old
Boston.


III.


It was not until May, 1881, that I returned to my former home, and then
for a short time only.

The next day after my arrival I had a caller at my hotel, and to my
surprise and pleasure it proved to be my old acquaintance and friend,
Christopher Gault.

"I saw your name in the list of arrivals in the morning paper, and came
up at once. I am delighted to find you here. I was in hopes to have met
you on my return from England, but learned that you had left 'The Hub'
entirely."

"Yes, I have been gone a year and a half. But tell me, Gault, where have
you kept yourself all of this time? I had nearly lost all trace of you.
You made your departure from this continent so suddenly, nearly two
years ago, that I thought you must have been"--

"Fleeing from justice?" he interrupted, laughing. "Seeking it, rather.
I see you don't quite understand," he added. "Well, you shall have an
explanation; but it is quite a little story, and I will not detain you
this morning."

"I shall see you again?"

"I hope so, by all means; and Mrs. Gault would be most happy to meet
you."

"Mrs. Gault!" I exclaimed, extending my hand,--"Mrs. Gault! Let me
congratulate you. And Mrs. Gault was formerly"--

"Miss Cecilia Crabshaw," he interposed, anticipating my guess.

"I could have guessed it," I remarked. "In fact, I think I was rather
more sanguine than you two years ago."

He laughed a little, with evident satisfaction. "I have been better
prospered than I anticipated then. We have now been married three
months. By the way, when do you return to Washington?"

"Probably a week from now,--ten days at the latest."

"Then let me make you a proposition. Besides my acquisition of which you
have just learned I have been favored in other ways, and I have just
purchased a house in the beautiful town of H----, where you and I met
for the first time. This house I have remodelled into a summer
residence; and Mrs. Gault and myself, with two or three friends, intend
going up tomorrow for a two-months' stay. Now, my proposition is this:
when you get ready to return, take a train on the Fitchburg Railroad,
and go by the way of Albany and the Hudson river. Stop off at the little
station of C----, and come up to H----, and spend a day with your old
friend. I will meet you at the station myself. Nothing would give me
greater pleasure, and I know the lady who was once your client would
unite with me in the invitation."

"The temptation is too great to resist," I responded, after a moment's
reflection, "and I accept with pleasure."

A week later I alighted from Christopher Gault's carriage at the door of
a beautiful summer cottage, not a mile from where my vacation had been
spent in '79. His own groom led the horse to the stable, and Mrs. Gault
met us on the veranda. She welcomed me in her charming manner, making a
pleasant allusion as she did so to our first meeting as attorney and
client. We chatted pleasantly for a half hour, when a bell announced
that dinner was ready, and we repaired to the dining-room, where a meal
was served, simply, but most tastefully. "Now," said Mr. Gault, as we
rose from the table, "perhaps you have in mind the promised explanation
of my rather precipitate departure from this attractive region some time
ago; and, if Mrs. Gault will excuse us, we will take a little walk.

"You will remember," he began, as we walked leisurely down the
well-shaded path in the narrow country road, "that two years ago I
showed to you a picture of a lady whom we have just left. You also
remember that, while I gave you to understand that we were strongly
attached to each other, I was very far from being enthusiastic about it
as a young lover might be. You did not know the reason then, but it was
simply a question of _blood_.

"In the year 1795 flagrant act of treason was committed against the
Government of Great Britain and His Majesty King George III. My
great-grandfather was then a large property holder, not far from London,
and he figured prominently in public affairs.

"Although he had always been of irreproachable character, trusted and
respected, yet the circumstances were such that suspicion was turned
towards him. A certain officer in the king's army appeared and declared
himself ready to testify as a witness to treasonable acts and words on
the part of my great-grandfather. A warrant was issued for his arrest,
and the process was about to be served when it was discovered that he
had fled. Then his house was searched, and in it was found strong
corroborative evidence. This was nothing less than letters, which, if
genuine, proved without the shadow of doubt that he was guilty. There
was no one to appear in defence of the accused, and he was convicted. As
he was not to be found within the king's domains, judgment of outlawry
was pronounced against him as a fugitive from justice. Then followed
those dreadful attendant penalties; confiscation of his estate and the
terrible 'attainder and corruption of blood.' His only son was in
America at the time, and, disgraced and with prospects blighted by the
news of his father's downfall, he resolved never to return. Twelve years
ago this son's youngest daughter, my beloved mother, died, leaving me
with little else than barely means enough to finish my education, and a
good amount of ambition.

"Although we lived in a republic where attainder is unknown in the laws
of the land, still my mother felt the disgrace keenly. She never
believed implicitly, however, that her grandfather was really guilty of
the crime for which he was convicted. In fact, after his sentence had
been pronounced, there were strong reasons for believing that he was not
in England at all at the time of the treason, and his son never ceased
in his unavailing efforts to find his whereabouts.

"The Crabshaw family had always been warm friends of ours, and, although
they had brought from England many British ideas and counted much on
loyalty, yet they were always ready to appreciate any true worth. After
I was left alone I valued their friendship highly. I was always welcome
at Mr. Crabshaw's house. Cecilia and I were companions in study, and
almost before I knew it we were--in love. As I found this sentiment
strengthening I grew alarmed; for, although no allusion to my family
disgrace had ever been made in my presence, I was aware that Mr.
Crabshaw knew the history well, and that the thought of an alliance with
the house of Crabshaw would be folly. It was at that time that my
mother's belief in her grandfather's innocence became more strongly
impressed upon me, and I formed the purpose, almost hopeless though it
seemed, of establishing the truth of this belief. The idea grew upon me.
I found myself getting nervous, and for the sake of my health I came
here two years ago to find relaxation in trout fishing and the study of
nature."

We had walked during the relation of my friend's narrative along the
road often travelled by me before, and which led to the three shattered
elms and the old cellar. We sat down beneath the shade of the trees once
more to rest, and as we did so Gault took from his pocket the old knife
which two years before had been discovered in the grass-grown cellar.

"There," said he, holding it before my eyes, "there is the name on the
handle that you read for the first time,--'Samuel Wickham,'--and you can
imagine my feelings when I tell you that that was the name of my
great-grandfather. When you told me that Deacon Thompson had a record of
this long past tragedy you doubtless remember the intense eagerness with
which I hastened to find him.

"In the diary was distinctly recorded the burning of the house, March 4,
1795. If Samuel Wickham was guilty of the crime it was utterly
impossible that he should have been out of England at that time. From
that moment my cherished belief became a settled conviction. My means
were limited, but I resolved to visit England at once, and, if possible,
substantiate the evidence found so unexpectedly under these elms; not
that I expected to obtain reversal of a sentence pronounced in a court
of law over eighty years ago, but Cecelia Crabshaw should know that my
blood was not tainted by an ancestor's crime. I can assure you that I
thought much more than I slept that night.

"The next day, as you know, I went back to Boston, and a month later was
in England. I went directly to S----, and there found the old mansion,
once the rightful property of my great-grandfather. I found proof that
he sailed for New York, January 23, 1795. But that was not all. The old
Wickham mansion had stood for years unoccupied. I learned that after its
forfeiture to the crown the whole estate had been granted for life as a
reward to the young officer who had brought to the government the
evidence of its former owner's treason. By him it was occupied for some
thirty years; then he suddenly disappeared. After that the estate was
sold to an eccentric and wealthy bachelor, who built a superb residence
thereon, letting the old mansion remain closed. Very recently he had
died, leaving no will and no heirs, and the estate again escheated to
the crown.

"I was very anxious to search the old mansion, and readily obtained
permission to enter. It was built in the time of Elizabeth, and was a
large building, similar in architecture to many others built in the
sixteenth century in this part of England. As I entered the deserted
building a strange feeling of desolation took possession of me. Hardly a
human being had been within its walls for fifty years. The dust lay deep
on the bare oaken floor, and almost muffled the sound of my footsteps.
On one exquisitely carved panel appeared, in defiance of attempts to
destroy it, the Wickham coat-of-arms.

"I was searching for nothing in particular, but everything had to me a
fascinating interest, and I opened every door and examined every nook
and shelf. In one room I came across an antique oaken desk. As I pulled
open one of its drawers a half-dozen scared spiders fled before the
intruding rays of light. In the drawer there was a small wooden box.
There was nothing in this box but a sheet of paper, folded and sealed,
and addressed to the attorney-general of England. I hesitated a moment,
and then broke it open with excited curiosity. It was the most thrilling
moment of my life. Even now, as I tell you this story, I feel the same
thrill go through me as when my eyes ran over that page. It was nothing
more nor less than a written confession of,--first, treason against the
crown of England; and, second, perjury and false witness against Samuel
Wickham. It was signed by the officer who appeared against him, and was
witnessed by two parties. Strange to say, both of these parties were
still living, and able to attest the validity of their signatures and
the genuineness of the other. They had merely witnessed this signature
at the time, without being aware of the nature of the document.

"The excitement and delight which followed this discovery were so great
that I could do nothing at all for a time. I then engaged the services
of an able barrister, and within six months the judgment of outlawry,
forfeiture, attainder, and corruption of blood, pronounced eighty-five
years ago upon Samuel Wickham by the Court of the King's Bench, was,
upon a writ of error, reversed by the Court of the King's Exchequer. I
then proved that I was the only surviving heir of the wrongfully
convicted man, and in a short time the estate became mine. After
consideration I decided best not to keep the property, and just before
my departure from England I sold it for ninety-two thousand pounds
sterling. Four months after my return Cecilia married a man whose blood
was, at least, free from the inherited taint of treason.

"And now, my dear fellow, you have the story. To be sure there are some
things connected with it not entirely clear; as, for instance, why did
my ancestor leave England when he did, and how came he to be travelling
over these hills? And, in regard to the traitorous officer, where did he
go after he had written the letter of confession?--that is a question,
although it has been said that he fled to America and settled in
Virginia."

"What was this officer's name?"

"His name was Richard Anthony Treadwell, and he was major of the seventh
regiment of cavalry."

The sudden mention of this name brought me to my feet. My surprise was
so great that for a moment I could say nothing. Then I said, coolly, "I
have Major Treadwell's commission in my pocket." Gault stared at me in
blank amazement. I drew from my pocket the old document found in the
little house in Virginia after the death of Nancy Blake, and handed it
to him. I had put it in my pocket just before I left Washington,
intending to at last give it to its owner.

He took the paper and glanced at the name. "Where did you get this?" he
exclaimed, bewildered with astonishment.

I briefly related the circumstances.

"Well," said Gault, "this is a wonderful coincidence; it is the most
remarkable thing that I ever knew. The traitor, it seems, is still
in my family, but not on my side of the house. Fortunately for me,
however, I do not share my excellent father-in-law's sentiments on the
subject of 'blood,' and this singular discovery regarding my wife's
great-great-grandfather will not disturb me in the least. Now," he
continued, "this remarkable sequel of a remarkable case is known by you
and me only, and we may as well let it rest here. It would be a terrible
shock to Mr. Crabshaw, with all his proud ideas regarding everything of
this kind, to know that his own daughter was descended from one who had
been an actual traitor, and I shall never inflict the suffering which
such a revelation would cause him. This historic place has given me one
relic which led to all my success, and now I will pay it back with
another relic for which I have no further use."

As he said this he tore into shreds the old commission and threw them
into the ancient cellar.

       *       *       *       *       *




ELIZABETH.[5]

A ROMANCE OF COLONIAL DAYS.


By Frances C. Sparhawk, Author of "A Lazy Man's Work."


CHAPTER XXII.

THE ARMY SAILS.


Winter was over by the calendar. But neither the skies nor the
thermometer agreed with that. Spring could not bring forward evidences
of her reign while her predecessor's snowy foot was still planted upon
the earth, and showed no haste to get under it. The season had been
unusually mild, but it lingered, fighting the battle with its last
reserve forces, the breath of the icebergs that came rushing up the
harbor like the charge of ten thousand bayonets. Military comparisons
were frequent at that time, for the thoughts of New England were bent
upon war. Governor Shirley had pressed his measure well. Defeated in the
secret conclave of the General Court, he had attacked the Legislature
through a petition signed by merchants in Boston and Salem who urged
re-consideration. Before February the measure had passed by a majority
of one. No student of history can ever despair of the power of one voice
or one will. The measure had not passed until the end of January. But
public enthusiasm had mounted high, and now while March had still a week
to run, the last transports were ready to sail out of the harbor to meet
the others at Nantasket Roads, and thence proceed to Canso, where they
were to remain and receive supplies until the ice should clear from the
harbor. Then to Louisburg.

It might be said that the troops had tiptoed through the state to the
music of muffled drums, so much stress had been laid upon secrecy, and
so much the success of the expedition depended upon it. No vessels were
permitted to sail toward Louisburg, lest they should carry the news of
the intended attack. Government and people united their efforts to give
the expedition every chance. It was well that telegraph and telephone
were not to the front then.

But the pressure of public affairs could not keep hearts from being
heavy over private griefs. Archdale was wounded both in his affection
and his pride, for Katie had refused to marry him on the anniversary of
that frustrated wedding, or, indeed, at all, at present. She said that
it would be too sudden, that she must first have a little time to regard
Stephen as a lover. "But I've never been anything else," he said. Katie
insisted that she had been training herself to regard him as Elizabeth's
husband. And to his reply that if she were so foolish, she must not make
him pay for her folly, she asserted with spirit that no one had ever
spoken so to her before. In truth, Lord Bulchester's assiduous humility
did make the directness of Stephen Archdale seem like assertion to her;
and Katie was not one to forget while she was talking with Stephen that
if she chose to turn her head, there were the beauties of a coronet and
of Lyburg Chase offered to her on bended knee. She had not turned her
head yet. Stephen told himself that he was sure that she never meant to,
but for all that, he was not quite sure that she would not do it almost
without meaning it. He began by insisting that now Bulchester should be
dismissed. But Katie declared that he should not be sent away as if she
had lost her own freedom the moment of Stephen's return to her. She
would send him away herself at least before she became Stephen's wife.
To Archdale's representations of the cruelty of this course, she
answered that Lord Bulchester had known of her engagement before he met
her. If he could not take care of himself, why, then----. And Katie
tossed her charming head a very little, and smiled at Stephen so
winningly, and added that it would not hurt him, that he yielded, with
as good a grace as he could, a position that he found untenable. So
Archdale waited, and Bulchester kept his place, whether more securely or
less Stephen could not tell.

One thing, however, was clear, that Stephen lost his peace of mind
without even the poor satisfaction of being sure that the state of
affairs was such as to make that necessary. Katie was a coquette, but he
felt that coquetry was fascinating only when one were sure of the right
side being turned toward himself, sure that it was another man's heart,
and not his own that was being played with. He had not come to
confessing to himself that in any case it was ignoble. So he waited
while the winter wore on, and March found him still betrothed to Katie
and still at her feet though in a mood that threatened danger. For after
asserting that she needed time to adapt herself to the altered condition
of things, she had found a new objection. She did not want to marry and
have her husband go off to the war before the honeymoon was over; she
preferred to wait until he returned. "Do you really mean to marry me at
all?" he asked. "Stephen!" she cried tearfully. "Do you realize what I
have suffered!" The tears and the appeal conquered him, and for the
moment he felt himself a brute.

But when cool judgment came back to him, Katie's conduct looked always
more and more unsatisfactory. She certainly was not thinking of his
wishes now. He knew that no other human being could have kept him in
this position, and while he chafed at it, he made every possible excuse
for her, even to condoning a certain childishness which he told himself
this proved. Since she was loyal, what mattered a little tantalizing of
himself? Still Stephen wavered between his pride and his love. The first
told him to end this child's play, to marry Katie if she would have him,
but tell her it was now or never. Love put off this evil day, and it may
be that his love had a touch of pride in it also, that he did not fancy
being superseded by Bulchester.

Then came the expedition.

The streets of Boston were thronged with a crowd of serious faces. One
vessel after another had slipped quietly off to the Roads. But the last
of the fleet was here. And not only the friends of the soldiers, but
friends of the cause, and lookers-on had assembled. The whole city
seemed to be there.

When Elizabeth with her father and Mrs. Eveleigh drove up, the
embarkation was nearly over, and some of the transports were already
standing off to sea. The largest vessel, however, was still at the pier,
and as Elizabeth looked at the troops marching steadily on board, she
saw Archdale near the gangway. He seemed to be in command. She watched
him a moment with a feeling of sadness. Who could tell that he would
ever come back, that youth and prowess might not prove too weak for the
sword of the enemy or for some stray shot? How lightly Mr. Edmonson had
spoken of such a thing! She did not know whom he had been talking of,
but his tone was mocking. He paid people in society more attention than
Archdale did, he certainly was more kind and interested in all that
concerned herself. And yet, in an emergency, if a call came for
self-denial, or devotion to honor, was it Edmonson to whom she would
appeal?

Since her freedom the latter had not failed to press his suit eagerly,
and he had endeavored to conceal the fury that possessed him when he
became convinced that she meant her refusal. He had not succeeded very
well in this, and Elizabeth had caught another glimpse of his inner
life. She did not believe in his professions of regard for her, but she
did believe thoroughly in these glimpses of character. She had been
courteous, but he had made her shrink from him. Since the last refusal,
for he had not been content with one, she had met him only in society,
but here he was constantly near her, really because he was fascinated by
her. But to her it seemed under the circumstances like a persecution.
She thought of him none the more pleasantly because she met him at every
turn. His assiduity meant to her a desire to marry a rich wife. Since
his conduct at Colonel Archdale's house she had remembered that she was
considered an heiress. She did not believe in Edmonson's capacity for
affection for any woman. Here she was mistaken. The young man was as
much in love with her as he knew how to be, and that was passionately,
if not deeply.

Twice Archdale had been to see her with Katie who was spending the
winter with her aunt in Boston. With those exceptions Elizabeth had seen
nothing of him, although he had been frequently in the city. He had been
very much occupied by military matters, and, apart from these, not in a
mood for general society. Until this morning of the embarkation
Elizabeth had not caught a glimpse of him for a month. She remembered it
as she looked at him and saw a certain fixedness in his face.

A sudden consciousness of observation made her turn her eyes toward the
middle of the boat. They met Edmonson's looking at her intently. Bowing
to him, she dropped her own, and before his greeting of her was over,
she turned to speak to her father.

But she said only a few words to him, and began again to watch the
soldiers. How many of these strong men would come back uncrippled? And a
good many would not come back at all. But as she looked at them filing
through the gangway, the sense of numbers, and of strength, swept back
the possibilities of evil, and instead of the embarkation, she seemed
to see before her the rush of the troops to the fortress, as Governor
Shirley had planned it all, the splendid attack, the defense gallant
though useless, the stormy entrance, and the English flag floating over
the battlements of Louisburg. The bloodshed and the agony were lost
sight of, it was the vision of conquest and the thought of the royal
colors floating over the stronghold of French America that flushed her
cheek and kindled her eyes.

Archdale watching her felt like holding his breath, lest in some way he
should disturb her and lose this glimpse of character. She was looking
out to sea. He felt sure that, although she had just smiled and bowed
she had already forgotten him again. It was nothing connected with
himself that had brought such a look to her face. But here were some of
the possibilities of this noble girl, Katie's friend. Sweeping his
glance further on as he stood there, he had reason to feel that
Elizabeth was much more deeply interested in the expedition than Katie
was. The latter had given him her farewell in her uncle's house, to be
sure. But now she seemed to have quite forgotten that he might never
come back. Any public exhibition of sentiment would have been as
distasteful to him as to her, but he had expected a little gravity. He
thought as he stood there that perhaps he had been uncourteous in not
going to say farewell to Elizabeth to whom he was so much indebted. But
it was the consciousness of this that had prevented him. He could not
bear to see her until he had returned that money put into the Archdale
firm under a mistaken supposition; for not only was Elizabeth not his
wife, but Katie for whom she assured him that she had done this, might
never be. He looked at his betrothed again in the crowd, and something
like scorn came into his face, a scorn that stung himself more deeply
than its unconscious object.

As to this money of Elizabeth's, he had not yet been able to make his
father return it. The Colonel had declared that he could pay a better
per cent. than she could get elsewhere, and would do it. He had assured
Mr. Royal of this, and the latter seemed content. But Stephen looking
back to Elizabeth again, could not keep from thinking about the money
and wishing that it were out of his hands. Yet, with this undercurrent
of thought, he at the same time was seeing in her face a beauty that
possibly did not wholly vanish with her mood, but lay half hidden behind
reserve, and waited the touch of the power that could call it forth.

Edmonson's voice, speaking to one of the officers, reached him at the
moment. Elizabeth moved her head. Instinctively he watched to see if she
turned toward the speaker. No, it was toward himself that she was
looking with a smile of farewell. He bowed eagerly, decidedly, for by
this time the troops had all embarked, the plank was up, and he was free
for the moment.

He bowed to Elizabeth. But the next instant she saw him looking intently
at some one behind her in the crowd, and she felt sure that Katie was
giving him her silent farewell. While she dropped her eyes as if this
parting were not for strangers to watch, the shouts of the crowd on
shore and the cheers of the soldiers marked the widening space between
ship and shore.

When Mr. Royal's horses were turned about, Elizabeth found that Katie
Archdale had been almost directly behind. She was with her aunt and
uncle. Kenelm Waldo sat beside her, while Lord Bulchester with one foot
on the ground and the other on the step of the carriage, talked from the
opposite side. Katie turned readily from one to the other, and if she
intercepted an angry glance, her eyes grew brighter and her brilliant
smile deepened. Her laugh was not forced, it came with that musical
ripple which had always added so much to her fascination.

Elizabeth caught it as she passed with a bow, and a grave face. After
all, she thought, Katie could not have seen Mr. Archdale the moment
before.


CHAPTER XXIII.

KATIE ARCHDALE.


It was a beautiful morning, warmer than May mornings usually are in
Boston. But the warm sunshine that came into the drawing-room where
Katie Archdale was seated was unheeded. Katie was still at her uncle's
and that morning, as she had been very many mornings of late, was much
occupied with a visitor who sat on the sofa beside her with an
assumption of privilege which his diffident air at times failed to carry
out well.

"Are you quite sure, Lord Bulchester?" she asked. And her voice had a
touch of tremulousness, so inspiring to lovers.

"Sure? Am I sure?" he asked, his little figure expanding in his
earnestness, his face aglow with an emotion which gave dignity to his
plain features. "Sure that I love you?" he repeated wonderingly. "How
could anybody help it?"

"Then its not any especial discernment in you?" Her tones had the
softness of a coquetry about to lose itself in a glad submission to a
power higher than its own.

"No," he sighed. "And, yet, it is some special discernment. For, if not,
why should I love you better than anyone else does?"

"Do you?" The arch glance softened to suit his mood, half bewildered him
with ecstasy. To the music of them the drawing-room seemed to heighten
and broaden before his eyes, and to lengthen out into vistas of the
halls and parks of his own beautiful home, Lyburg Chase, and through
them all, Katie moved, and gave them a new charm. And, then, he seemed
to be in different places on the Continent, among the Swiss Mountains,
beside the Italian lakes, in gay Paris, and every where Katie moved by
his side, and gave new life to the familiar scenes.

"Give me my answer to-day," he cried; "for to-day my treasure, you are
sure of yourself, to-day you know that you love me."

Katie's face changed, as the sky changes when a rift of blue that
promised a smiling day is swallowed up again in the midst of uncertain
weather; whatever softness lingered was veiled by doubt. "I don't know,"
she said hesitatingly, "I'm not sure yet. I can't tell. Must you have
your answer to-day?" And she looked at him half defiantly. An expression
of bitter disappointment swept over Bulchester's face and seemed
actually to affect his whole personality, for he appeared to shrink into
himself until there was less of him. "You see," Katie went on, "between
you I am driven, I am tossed; I don't even know what I feel. How can I?
Poor Stephen, you know, has loved me all my life, and one does not
easily forget that, Lord Bulchester. He does have a claim, you know."

"Only your preference has any claim," he answered in a voice of
entreaty.

"Yes," she said, and sighed. The assent and the sigh completely puzzled
him. Were they for himself, or for Stephen Archdale? Had she already
chosen without being willing to speak, or was she still hesitating? In
either case, the decision was equally momentous, the only question was
of lengthening or shortening the suspense of waiting for it.

"Then take your time," he answered drearily, "and I will leave you, I
will go and hide my impatience. You must not be tortured."

"No," returned the girl with a low sigh. At that instant she turned her
face away from him toward the window, a knock at the door being the
ostensible reason. But if anyone had seen the smile with which she
received the assurance that she was not to be tortured, he would have
believed that there was no imminent danger of it. Had it been a question
of torturing,--that was another thing. When she turned a grave face
toward Lord Bulchester again he had risen. "No, No," she cried. "Don't
go, sit down, I would rather have you here, for a time at least. It's
Elizabeth,--Mistress Royal." Her tones threw the listener from
dreariness into despair. A moment since he thought he had her assurance
that his own claims were seriously considered. And, now, what could give
her manner this nervousness, but the fact that her attachment to
Archdale was still in force? For Bulchester had learned from her that
since her arrested wedding Elizabeth had always been associated in her
mind with Stephen. She was so in his own also, for this reason, and
another. The young man sat down again. It was not consistent with his
feelings, nor his knowledge of affairs, and, still less, with his
character to perceive that Katie's conscience troubled her a little.

Elizabeth had always found likable things in Lord Bulchester: and
although she had been indignant at his taking advantage of the position
of affairs to try to win Katie, she had owned to herself that he was not
responsible for such position, and ought not to have been expected to
feel about as she did. And now that Katie and Stephen Archdale were once
more united, Elizabeth felt a deep pity for Bulchester, and believed
that he was behaving well in being manly enough to have won Katie's
respect and friendship. No shadow of doubt of her friend's loyalty to
Stephen crossed her mind. And nothing gave her warning that out of this
morning visit in which there would be said and done no single thing that
would seem at the time of any consequence, would come results that would
influence her life.

The conversation, after ranging about a little turned upon the quiet
that had settled down upon the city, now that the excitement of fitting
out the expedition was over. Elizabeth said that it seemed to her the
hush of anxiety and expectation, for it was felt that the fate of the
country hung upon the issue. Whether New England were still English in
government or became French provinces depended more upon the fate of
Louisburg than anybody liked to confess.

"I don't believe there's any danger of our being French provinces," said
Katie.

"I ought to have put it that we fight the battle there or in our own
home," said Elizabeth. Then as they went on to speak of the soldiers,
she said suddenly to Bulchester: "What does your lordship do without
Mr. Edmonson?" The latter shifted his foot on the floor uneasily.

"I suppose you think that I ought to have gone too," he said half in
apology, "but--," He looked at Katie and his face brightened: she was
not a woman to blame him because his love for her had kept him at home.
He did not linger upon the other part of the truth, that he was not fond
of war in any event. "I have helped in my small way," he said. "Don't
believe me quite without patriotism." Elizabeth looked surprised.

"I did not mean that at all," she answered. "I was not thinking of it,
but only that you had been so much with Mr. Edmonson, that you must miss
him."

"I don't know," answered Bulchester. After a moment's hesitation he
added, "I see you look surprised: the intimacy between us seemed to you
close?"

"Why, yes, it did," assented Elizabeth, "very close. But I don't see why
I should say so, or how it should be any affair of mine."

Bulchester looked uncomfortable. "All the same," he answered, "you are
judging me, and thinking me disloyal, and that it is a strange time to
forget one's friendship when the friend has gone to peril life for his
country."

"Perhaps something like that did come to me," confessed Elizabeth.

"You can't judge," pursued the other eagerly, speaking to Elizabeth, but
thinking of the impression that this might be making upon Katie. "There
are things I cannot explain, things that have made me draw away from
Edmonson. It is not because he has gone to the war and I have found
reason to stay at home. There are impressions that come sometimes like
dreams, you can't put them into words. But without being able to do
that, you are sure certain things are so. No, not sure." He stopped
again. It was impossible to explain.

"Don't stop there," cried Katie. "How tantalizing. Either you should not
have begun, or you ought to go on. You must," she insisted with a
gesture of impatience, while her eyes met his with a smile that always
conquered him.

"I've nothing to say,--that is, there is nothing I can say. One doesn't
betray one's friends. But Edmonson--" He halted again.

"Yes, but Mr. Edmonson," she repeated, "is a delightful man when one is
on a frolic. What else about him?"

"Oh--nothing."

The girl frowned. "Very well," she said. "Everybody trusts Mistress
Royal. I understand it is I who am unworthy of your confidence. As you
please."

"You!" he cried. "You unworthy of my confidence!" There was
consternation in his tones. "You?" he repeated, looking at her
helplessly. The idea was too much for him.

"Certainly. Or you would at least tell us what you mean about Mr.
Edmonson, even if your former friendship for him--that is supposing it
gone now--prevented you from going into details." She spoke earnestly
and wondered as she did so why she had never felt any curiosity before
as to the break of the intimacy between Edmonson and his friend, for,
evidently, there had been a coolness, something more than mere
separation. As Elizabeth sat looking at his perturbed face, an old
legend crossed her mind. "Mr. Edmonson has lost his shadow," she
thought; and it seemed ominous to her.

"There are no details," answered the earl. "Nothing has happened. If you
imagine I have quarrelled with him, you are mistaken. Nothing of the
sort. There were reasons, as I have said, to keep me at home, and he had
no claim upon me to accompany him. Besides, there's a something, that
as I said, I can't put into words, and I may be entirely wrong. But
Edmonson is a terrible fellow at times. One day he--." Then Bulchester
stopped abruptly, and began a new sentence. "I know nothing," he said.
"I have nothing to tell, only I fear, because if he wants anything, he
must have it through every obstacle. When he takes the bits between his
teeth, Heaven only knows where he will bring up, and Heaven hasn't
much to do with the direction of his running, I imagine. Sometimes one
would rather not ride behind him." As he finished, his eyes were on
Elizabeth's face, and it seemed as if he were speaking especially for
her. But in a moment as they met hers full of inquiry, he dropped them
and looked disturbed.

"You are frightfully mysterious," cried Katie.

"Not at all," he entreated. "There is no mystery anywhere. I never said
anything about mysteries. Please don't think I spoke of such a thing."

"Yes, you are very mysterious," she insisted. "Nobody can help seeing
that you know evil of your friend, and don't want to tell it. I dare say
it's to your credit. But, all the same, it's tantalizing."

Not even her commendation could keep a sharp anxiety from showing itself
on Bulchester's face. "I have said nothing," he answered, "it all might
happen and he have no concern in it--, I mean," he caught himself back
with a startled look and then went on with an assumption of coolness, "I
mean exactly what I say, Mistress Archdale, simply that Edmonson does
not please me so much as he did before I saw better people. But I assure
you that this has no connection with any special thing that he has
done."

"Or may do?" asked Elizabeth.

"Or that I believe he will do," he answered resolutely. But it was after
an instant's hesitation which was not lost upon one of his listeners who
sat watching him gravely, and in a moment as if uttering her thought
aloud, said,

"That is new; he used to please you entirely."

Bulchester fidgetted, and glanced at Katie who had turned toward the
speaker. There was no need, he thought, of bringing out his past
infatuation so plainly. In the light of a new one, it looked absurd
enough to him not to want to have it paraded before one of his present
companions at least. But Elizabeth had had no idea of parading his
absurdities; for when he said apologetically that one learned in time to
regulate his enthusiasms, she looked at him with surprise, as if roused,
and answered that the ability to be a good friend was the last thing to
need apology. Then she sat busy with her own thoughts.

"What, the mischief, is she after?" thought the young man watching her
as Katie talked, and there must have been strong reason that could have
diverted his mind in any degree from Katie. "Is it possible she has
struck my uncanny suspicion? If she has, she's cool about it. No, it's
impossible; I've buried it fathoms deep. Nobody could find it. It's too
evil a suspicion, too satanical, ever to be brought to light. I wish to
Heaven, though, I had never run across it, it makes me horribly
uncomfortable." Then he turned to Katie, but soon his thoughts were
running upon Elizabeth again. "She's one of those people," he mused,
"that you think don't notice anything, and all at once she'll score a
hit that the best players would be proud of. I can't make her out. But I
hardly think Edmonson would have everything quite his own way. Pity he
can't try it. I'd like to see it working. And perhaps some day--." So,
he tried to put away from him a suggestion, which, dwelt upon, gave him
a sense of personal guilt, because, only supposing this thing came that
Edmonson had hinted at, it would be an advantage to himself. He shivered
at the suggestion; there was no such purpose in reality, he was sure of
it. Edmonson only talked wildly as he had a way of doing. The very
thought seemed a crime to Bulchester. If he really believed, he ought to
speak. But he did not believe, and he could hardly denounce his friend
on a vagary. Still, he was troubled by Elizabeth's evident pondering,
and was glad to have the conversation turned into any channel that would
sweep out thoughts of Edmonson from their minds.

As this was done and he turned fully to Katie again, a new mood, the
effect of her sudden indifference, came over him. A few moments ago she
had been almost fond, now she was languidly polite. Hope faded away from
all points of his horizon. An easterly mist of doubt was creeping over
him. His egotism at its height was only a mild satisfaction in his
social impregnability and was readily overpowered by the recollection of
personal defects to which he was acutely alive. In the atmosphere of
Katie's coolness, he forgot his earldom and thought disconsolately of
his nose. He was disconcerted, and after a few embarrassed words took
his leave. It never occurred to him as a consolation that his tones and
glances were growing a little too loverlike to be safely on exhibition
before Elizabeth who had not noticed them in the moments that Bulchester
had forgotten his caution, but who, as Katie knew, might wake up to the
fact at any glance. Elizabeth bade him farewell kindly, she pitied his
disappointment, and thought that he bore it well. But as she watched his
half-timorous movements, she believed that even had her own marriage
ceremony turned out to be a reality. Lord Bulchester would have had no
chance with a girl who had been loved by Stephen Archdale whose wooing
was as full of intrepidity as his other acts.

"Well! What are you thinking of?" asked Katie meeting her earnest gaze.

"Do you want me to tell you?"

"Yes."

"I was wondering why you tortured him. Why don't you send him away at
once, and forever?"

Katie laughed unaimiably. "He seems to like the torturing," she said.
Then she looked at Elizabeth in a teasing way. "Some girls would prefer
him to Stephen, you know," she added.

"You mean because he has a title? You can't think of any other reason."

"Oh, of course I don't, my Archdale champion. How strange that you trust
me so little, Elizabeth!"

"Trust you so little, Katie? Why, if any other girl did as you are
doing, I should say she was playing false with her betrothed, and meant
to throw him over. I never imagine such a thing of you. I only feel that
you are very cruel to Lord Bulchester."

Katie cast down her eyes for a moment. "Some things are beyond our
control," she answered.

"Not things like these," said Elizabeth. "Since you have suffered
yourself, I don't understand why you want to make other people suffer."

"Don't you?" returned the girl. "That's just the reason, I suppose. Why
should I be alone? But I shall be done with playing by and by,
Elizabeth."

"Yes, I know, Katie," the girl answered. "I trust you."

Again Katie looked down for a moment, looked up again, this time into
the face of her friend, and sighed lightly. "Don't think me better than
I am, Betsey," she implored, the dimples about her mouth effectually
counteracting the pathos of her tones. And at the words she put up her
lips with a childlike air to her companion. Elizabeth's arms folded
impulsively about her, and held her for a moment in an embrace that
seemed at once to guard, and caress, and brood over her. Then she drew
away, and sat beside her with a quietness that seemed like a wish to
make her sudden evidence of strong feeling forgotten.

"Betsey, my dear," said Katie softly, "you're so good. I have seemed
different to you sometimes. You must not expect me to be like you."

"I should not have done half so well," said Elizabeth hastily.

Katie smiled. After this they sat and talked some time longer; it was
the first free interview that they had had since their estrangement was
over, and Elizabeth's voice had a happy ring in it. After a time, Katie
began to give an account of some gathering at which she had been
present. At the sound of Lord Bulchester's name, among the guests,
Elizabeth's attention wandered. She began to think of the young's man's
strange reticence respecting Edmonson, and evident uneasiness about
something connected with him. Why were they not friends still? Was it on
account of this unknown something? All at once the light of conviction
flashed over her face. She perceived at least one cause of the
separation. Bulchester's attentions to Katie were distasteful to
Edmonson, for he wanted Katie to marry Stephen Archdale, because he
feared lest Elizabeth should grow fond of him, lest Stephen should come
to find a fortune convenient. Elizabeth's unaided perceptions would
never have reached this point; but in Edmonson's anger at her second
refusal of him he had dared to intimate such a thing, so darkly, to be
sure, that she had not seen fit to understand him, but plainly enough to
throw light upon the estrangement of the two men. "Distasteful," was a
light word to use in speaking of anything that Edmonson did not like;
his feelings were so strong that he seemed always ready to be
vindictive. Her feeling toward him for this intimation had been anger
which had cooled into contempt of a nature like his, ready to find
baseness everywhere. The suggestion was no reproach to her, for she had
had no thoughts of disloyalty to Katie. As she sat there still seeming
to listen, suddenly, it seemed to her, for she could not trace its
coming, a picture rose before her with the vividness of reality. She saw
Archdale and Edmonson standing together on the deck of the same vessel
bound upon the same errand, always together; and she remembered
Edmonson' muttered words, and his face dark with passion over all its
fairness.

She went home full of secret trouble, trouble too vague for utterance.
Besides what she knew and felt there had been something else that she
had not got at, and that disturbed Lord Bulchester. The rest of the day
she was more or less abstracted, and went to bed with her mind full of
indistinct images brooded over by that vague trouble, the very stuff of
which dreams are made. And more than this, out of which the brain in the
unconscious cerebration of sleep, sometimes, drawing all the tangled
threads into order, weaves from them a web on which is pictured the
truth.

[Footnote 5: Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.]

       *       *       *       *       *




GROWING OLD.


  Growing old! The pulses' measure
    Keeps its even tenor still;
  Eye and hand nor fail nor falter,
    And the brain obeys the will;
  Only by the whitening tresses,
    And the deepening wrinkles told,
  Youth has passed away like vapor;
    Prime is gone, and I grow old.

  Laughter hushes at my presence,
    Gay young voices whisper lower,
  If I dare to linger by it,
    All the streams or life run slower.
  Though I love the mirth of children,
    Though I prize youth's virgin gold,
  What have I to do with either!
    Time is telling--I grow old.

  Not so dread the gloomy river
    That I shrank from so of yore;
  All my first of love and friendship
    Gather on the further shore.
  Were it not the best to join them
    Ere I feel the blood run cold?
  Ere I hear it said too harshly,
  "Stand back from us--you are old!"

      _--All the Year Round_.


       *       *       *       *       *




EDITOR'S TABLE.


Many a valuable work has been produced in manuscript by students and
other persons of experience in special fields of practice which have
never yet been put into type, and perhaps never will, solely because of
the poverty of their writers or of the disinclination of publishers in
general to take hold of books which do not at the start promise a
remuneration. The late Professor Sophocles of Harvard College, left in
MS. a _Lexicon of Modern Greek and English_, which if published
would certainly prove a valuable contribution to literature as well as
be greatly appreciated by scholars. We are aware of several instances of
this sort.

While, in such instances, the authors are to be commiserated, it would
be folly to blame the publishers, who, were they to accept for
publication every unremunerative manuscript offered to them, would soon
cease to be publishers and instead be forced into the alms-houses. It
has been suggested that wealthy men can do themselves honor and assist
creditably in building up literature by providing the means wherewith
deserving, but poor, authors may print their books. Were the suggestion
to be carefully weighed, and then, to be adopted, American literature
would be made the richer. A great many rich men of the day seem to take
great satisfaction in patronizing artists, athletes, actors, and
colleges. Why is it not possible to derive as much pleasure in
patronizing authors?

While writing on this theme, we are remained that one of the most
unsaleable books of the present day is a Town History: and, yet, however
crude or dry it may seem to be, it is in reality an exceedingly valuable
contribution to our national annals. Such books are as a rule declined
by regular publishing houses, and, if published at all, the author is
usually out of pocket by reason of his investment. There ought to be
public spirit enough in every community to make the opposite of this the
rule.

      *      *      *      *      *

It remains to be seen whether the Hartford _Courant_ and other
newspapers of the same proclivities, will ever again wave the "bloody
shirt" in the field of politics. This paper, viewing the events of the
past month, has repeatedly thanked God (in print) that, "now we have
neither North nor South, but one united country." Few events in
ceremonial history, we confess, have been more significant than the
presence of two Confederate generals as pall-bearers at the funeral of
GENERAL GRANT. This ought, if indeed it does not, to mark the close of
the Civil War and of all the divisions and combinations which have had
their roots and their justifications in it. The "bloody shirt" can be
waved no more, except as an insult to the memory of the late first
citizen of the Republic. On what basis, then, are political parties
henceforth to rest? What, in the future, will give a meaning to the
names Republican and Democrat, or make it national and patriotic for an
American citizen to enlist in one of the two organizations and wage
political war against the other?

We can detect only three great questions now before the American people.
One is the Tariff, the other the reform of the Civil Service, and the
last is the problem of labor. It is noticeable that the division of
opinion regarding either of these questions does not correspond with the
lines of the established parties. There are Protectionists, as also Free
Traders, in both parties; both parties are equally puzzled by the labor
question; and though the Democratic Party has hitherto been re-actionary
on the subject of the Civil Service, a Democratic President is to-day
the champion and the hope of Reform. On the whole, it begins to look as
if each of the two great parties was in a state of incipient
disintegration. On the one hand, the Independent Republicans, whose
votes elected Grover Cleveland, although still professing allegiance to
the Republican party, will never again ally themselves with those who
supported Mr. Blaine. On the other side the Bourbon Democrats, who
helped to elect Mr. Cleveland, are now in arms against him. The
presidency of Cleveland is to say, the least the triumph of national
over party government; and should he continue to go forward bravely in
his present course, he may rest assured that the hearts of all good
citizens will go with him, and that his triumph will be complete. The
day is here when thinking men will have to brush conventionalism aside,
and confront with open minds the problem which the course of events has
now distinctly set before them for solution.

       *       *       *       *       *

The records of our own time are being gradually embalmed in a permanent
form. MR. BLAINE has given us his first volume of what perhaps are
better classed as _impressions_ rather than as _memoirs pour
servir_; we are promised the Personal Memoirs of GENERAL GRANT; and
now at last, after many years' waiting, we have the completed works of
CHARLES SUMNER, the incorruptible son of Massachusetts, from the press
of Messrs. Lee and Shepard, who have spared no expense as publishers.

People who have not yet examined these volumes, or at least have not yet
looked through the volume containing the Index, have but a faint idea of
their invaluable worth and character. It would be impossible to write
the history of the early life of this people under the constitution
without borrowing material from the papers of Hamilton and of Madison.
Equally impossible will it be for the future historian to narrate, in
just and equable proportion, the events from 1845 to 1874, without
consulting the fifteen volumes which Mr. Sumner has left behind him.

But the distinguished senator from Massachusetts was not himself an
historian; he was a close and painstaking student of history, as well as
a rigid and critical observer of current events. He kept himself
thoroughly posted in the progress of his generation, and possessed the
happy faculty of seeing things not alone as one within the circle of
events but as one standing outside and afar off. Consequently, his
orations, senatorial speeches, miscellaneous addresses, letters and
papers on current themes are not fraught with the transitory or
ephemeral character, so common to heated discussions in legislative
halls, but are singularly and as a whole among the grandest
contributions to national history and growth.

These volumes cover, as we have already remarked, the period extending
from 1845 to 1874, and they furnish a compendium of all the great
questions which occupied the attention of the nation during that time,
and which were discussed by him with an ability equalled by few and
excelled by none of the great statesmen who were his contemporaries. The
high position which Mr. Sumner so long and so honorably held as one of
the giant minds of the nation,--his intimate connection with and
leadership in the great measure of the abolition of slavery, and all the
great questions of the civil war and those involved in a just settlement
of the same, rendered it a desideratum that these volumes should be
published.

Aside from their value as contributions to political history, the works,
particularly the orations, of Mr. Sumner belong to the literature of
America. They are as far superior to the endless number of orations and
speeches which are delivered throughout the country as the works of a
polished, talented and accomplished author surpass the ephemeral
productions of a day. In one respect these orations surpass almost all
others, namely, in the elevation of sentiment, the high and lofty moral
tone and grandeur of thought which they possess. The one on the "True
Grandeur of Nations" stands forth of itself like a serene and majestic
image, cut from the purest Parian marble. There has been no orator in
our time, whose addresses approach nearer the models of antiquity,
unless it be Webster, whom Sumner greatly surpasses in moral tone and
dignity of thought.

The works of a statesman, so variously endowed, and who has treated so
_many_ subjects with such a masterly command of knowledge,
reasoning, and eloquence, cannot fail to be widely circulated. These
elegantly-printed volumes,--which in their typographical appearance seem
to rival anything of similar character that have come to our
notice,--carefully edited and fully rounded by a copious analytical
index of subjects discussed, topics referred to, and facts adduced, will
prove an invaluable treasury to the scholar, the historian and the
general seeker after truth. The librarians of every city and town
library in this country should insist upon having the works of Charles
Sumner upon their shelves.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the 12th of this month will be celebrated the two hundred and
fiftieth anniversary of the incorporation of the town of Concord, Mass.
Judge John S. Keyes, whose father performed the same service at the
bi-centennial celebration half a century ago, will preside. On the 15th
of last May the committee of twenty-five made a report, which merits the
attention of committees to be appointed in other towns in New England,
on similar occasions. This report reads as follows:

"We have decided that it was not best to placard the town in an endeavor
to make history; that with the sum at the disposal of the town, and
those of the earliest dates, leaving to the future the memorials, if
any, of recent events and more modern times."

For this purpose, the town appropriated one thousand dollars, and in
connection with the celebration, it was suggested, and provided for,
that a large fac-simile of the act of incorporation of the town,
September 12th, 1635, should be procured and placed in the town hall in
such a position that all persons might easily read it. The work of
executing suitable memorials, to mark the most important spots in the
history of the town, has already been done in a neat manner by a citizen
of Concord, and we are informed that all the arrangements for the
pleasant events are fully completed.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following letter was laid on the Editor's Table the other day:--

"I am a farmer, and I own my farm free and clear. I also have two sons,
both smart, capable and trustworthy. As I have been a sturdy and
uncompromising Democrat all my life, I think the party ought to do
something for at least one of my sons, who is fond of politics. Any
appointment in one of the Government offices would suit them. Now, how
shall I _apply_ for a position, such as they want?"

No reasonable answer to such an inquiry as this will suit "smart,
capable and trustworthy" boys, one of whom "is fond of politics," and
whose father is disposed rather to favor than to discourage their
misguided ambition. We venture to hope, however, that their father has
lived long enough to become convinced that nothing pays so well on a
farm as common sense and hard work, and that the rule holds equally in
force in other fields of industry. Our friend seems to have forgotten
that although the Democratic party is a very grateful old party, yet it
has so much to be grateful for that, it has hardly enough gratitude to
go round. He and his two sons can best keep their reverence for the
grand old Party undisturbed, by remaining on the farm, aloof from the
few millions of others who confidently believe that patriotism will be
sooner or later rewarded by a postmastership.

We promise him that if he neglects to follow our wholesome counsel, and
instead shall go on, to Washington to seek political gifts, he will
return home mad. If he then will look about him, he will understand how
this kind of madness works. There is a great deal of it just now.

Farmer's boys should not seek political gifts. For them there is no
occupation so demoralizing as office-seeking, except office-holding. At
the best, as a rule, they could become only Government clerks, liable to
be turned out after they had served long enough to be spoiled for any
other occupation except of a routine character.

The Democratic Party shows its gratitude best when it faces the
infuriated office-seeker in his mad career and tells him that there is
not even the smallest post-office open for him. It chastens but to save.
Even though of Bourbon mould it has profited by experience; it has noted
the demoralizing effect of office-holding on the Republicans! If it now
and then gratifies the unruly demand of a Mugwump, it is because it
knows,--and secretly gloats in the knowledge--that the Mugwumps are
liable to rush to destruction during the next four years, and it
therefore chooses the lesser evil. The Mugwumps are the guests of the
Democratic Party. What a world of consolation for the farmer, always "a
sturdy and uncompromising Democrat!"

A final suggestion to our friend,--write to some of the clerks in the
Washington departments for information, and learn wisdom from what they
say in reply.

       *       *       *       *       *

The statue of Commodore Perry will be unveiled at Newport, R.I., on
September 10th. Colonel John H. Powell will be chief marshal, and Bishop
Clark will officiate. All the local societies and military companies, as
well as the military at Fort Adams, have been invited to be present. The
Secretary of the Navy writes that all the vessels of the training
squadron will be here before that time, and that their officers and
crews will be in line upon that occasion. The monument will be presented
on behalf of the State and city by ex-United States Senator Sheffield,
who will make an elaborate address. Governor Wetmore, on behalf of the
State, and Mayor Franklin, on behalf of the city, will accept the gift.

       *       *       *       *       *




HISTORICAL RECORD.


August 3.--Pemberton Square was chosen as the site for the new Suffolk
County Court House.

       *       *       *       *       *

On August 3 was celebrated at Middletown, Conn., the centenary of the
first Episcopal ordination held in this country. "The clergy met their
Bishop at Middletown on Aug. 2, 1785, and after a formal acknowledgment
of their Bishop on the part of the clergy, he held an ordination of
three candidates from Connecticut--Philo Shelton, Ashbel Baldwin and
Henry Vandyck--and one from Maryland, Colin Fergusun." There was a large
attendance of clergymen from various parts of New England.

       *       *       *       *       *

August 5.--The Washburn Library, erected by the surviving members of the
Washburn family, was dedicated at Livermore, Maine. Among the guests
present were ex-vice President Hannibal Hamlin, Senator Frye, Mr. E.B.
Haskell of the Boston _Herald_, and Hon. E.B. Washburn, of Illinois
who delivered the address. Over a thousand people attended the services.

       *       *       *       *       *

August 6.--Death of the Hon. John Batchelder, a well known citizen of
Lynn, Mass, at the age of eighty. He was a native of Topsfield, Mass.,
but went to Lynn when a young man. He taught school in Ward 5 for thirty
years previous to 1855, and was elected to the Massachusetts senate that
year. He was also in the same year elected city clerk and collector of
taxes. He was re-elected to the senate in 1856 and 1857. He was the
first treasurer of the Lynn Five Cents Savings Bank. He afterward taught
the Ward 6 Grammar School, and held that position ten years, and then
became a member of the school board. The last office held by him was
that of postmaster, being appointed by President Grant in 1869.

       *       *       *       *       *

At a meeting of the Battle Monument Association, held at Bennington,
Vt., on the 12th of August, there were present Governor Pingree, who
presided, Senators Evarts and Morrill, Professor Perry of Yale College,
Lieutenant Governor Ormsbee of Brandon, and other gentlemen. The report
of the special committee was read, and a resolution passed accepting the
design of J.P. RINN, of Boston for a Battle Monument. A committee was
then appointed to report the details to the President of the United
States and the governors of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, which
action will entitle the Association to receive the appropriations made
by Congress and the Legislatures of these states for the monument. The
fund now amounts to $80,000.

       *       *       *       *       *

On August 12th, General HENRY KEMBLE OLIVER died in Salem,
Mass., at the advanced age of eighty-five years. He was born in Beverly,
Mass., Nov. 24, 1800, a son of Rev. Daniel Oliver and Elizabeth Kemble;
was educated in the Boston Latin School, and Harvard College (for two
years) and was graduated from Dartmouth College. After his graduation,
he settled in Salem, and as Principal of the High and Latin Schools, and
also of a private school, he was virtually at the head of the
educational interests of the town for a quarter of a century. In 1848,
he moved to Lawrence, Mass., to become agent of the Atlantic Mills.
While living in Lawrence, he was appointed superintendent of schools,
and in recognition of his services the "Oliver Grammar School" was
founded.

At an early day General Oliver became interested in military affairs as
an officer of the Salem Light Infantry and in 1844 he was made Adjutant
General of the Commonwealth, by Gov. Briggs, and held this office for
four years. During the war he served with great satisfaction as
Treasurer of the Commonwealth, and performed the most arduous duties in
a very faithful and acceptable manner. From 1869 to 1873 he was chief of
the Bureau of Labor Statistics, and ever after that became interested in
reducing the hours of labor in factories and in the limitation of
factory work by children. From 1876 to 1880 he was mayor of Salem, and
displayed almost the same vivacity and energy in discharging the duties
of this office, as an octogenarian, that he had shown in his youth. He
was master of the theory and history of music, a good bass singer, a
good organist, and the author of several popular compositions. Of these
"Federal Street" seems likely to become permanent in musical literature.
In his youth he sang in the Park street church in Boston and for many
years he led the choir of the North church in Salem. "Oliver's
Collection of Church Music" is one of the results of his labors in this
direction. In conjunction with Dr. Tuckerman he published the "National
Lyre." He was a member of the old Handel and Hayden Society and the
Salem Glee Club, both famous musical organizations of his early days.
In 1825 General Oliver married Sally, daughter of Captain Samuel Cook,
by whom he had two sons and five daughters, as follows: Colonel S.C.
Oliver, Dr. H.K. Oliver, Jr., Sarah Elizabeth, who married Mr. Bartlett
of Lawrence, and who died about four years ago, Emily Kemble, who is the
wife of Colonel Andrews, U.S.A., Mary Evans Oliver, who has been the
faithful attendant of the general in his declining years, and Ellen
Wendell, who married Augustus Cheever of North Andover.

       *       *       *       *       *

August 13.--Boxford, Mass. celebrated its bi-centennial. Among the
addresses was one by Sidney Perley, author of the "History of Boxford
from 1635 to 1880," who spoke particularly on the formative period of
the history of Boxford, alluding to the fact that Boxford was a frontier
in 1635 and was then a wilderness and the fighting ground of the Agawam
and Tarantive Indians.

       *       *       *       *       *

August 19.--Third annual meeting of the American Boynton Association
held in Worcester, Mass. The Secretary said that he had been able to
trace over three hundred families back to William and John Boynton, who
settled in Rowley, Mass., in 1638. They came from Yorkshire, England,
and the family there is traced back through thirty generations, to 1067,
when their estate was confirmed to them by William, the Conqueror. It
was reported that work is being pushed in the preparation of the family
memorial to be published.

       *       *       *       *       *

August 19.--Centennial of Heath, Franklin County, Mass, incorporated
February 14, 1785. The celebration had been postponed to August for the
sake of convenience. About 2,500 people attended the exercises. The
principal addresses were by John H. Thompson, Esq., of Chicago, and Rev.
C.E. Dickinson of Marietta, Ohio.

In describing these the Springfield _Republican_ said of the town:--

"In 1832 the population was 1300, but by the census just taken the town
shows but 568 inhabitants. This decadence is attributable to emigration
and the railroads. Its wealth has consisted chiefly in the men and women
who have here been reared and educated for lives of usefulness. Indeed
few towns of equal population have sent out so many who have honored
themselves and their native town as Heath. Its Puritan characteristics
have lingered like a sweet fragrance, and their influences are still
felt. From this little hamlet have gone out into other fields a member
of Congress, two judges, ten lawyers, thirteen ministers, twenty-nine
physicians and many teachers; twenty-three natives have been college
graduates, and thirty-eight, not natives have also been collegians. If
the women have not occupied as public position as the men, they have
been no less useful. Forty-five have graduated from various seminaries
and several have become well known missionaries and teachers. It was in
this town, too, that Dr. Holland spent his early life."

       *       *       *       *       *

August 19.--Twelfth annual gathering of the Needham family, descendants
of John Needham, who built the Needham homestead at the cross-roads
known as Needham's Corner on the Lynnfield road at South Peabody, Mass.
John Needham was famous in his day and generation as the builder of the
solid old stone jail in Salem in 1813, the same massive structure which
has just been remodeled. Back of him in the time of the Puritans, there
were George Needham and his three brothers and a sister, who came to
Salem very early in its infancy, and whose lineal descendants scattered
all over New England, John Needham died in 1831 at the age of
seventy-three. At the family gathering six generations were represented,
and a large number of the branches of the family as well--the Needhams,
the Newhalls, the Browns, the Stones, the Nourses, the Galencias and
others.

       *       *       *       *       *

August 26.--Centennial celebration of Rowe, Franklin County, Mass. Like
Heath, the town was incorporated in February, 1785. The historical
address was by Hon. Silas Bullard of Menasha, Wis.

       *       *       *       *       *

W.T. Spear has just finished a history of North Adams which he has spent
a long time in compiling. He has written the history of the town from
the time of its settlement in 1749 to the present time, and says he has
gleaned many facts from old town records which have never been
published. He will publish his work in small book form and sell it at
fifty cents a copy.

       *       *       *       *       *

F. Wally Perkins, a topographical engineer in the employ of the United
States coast and geographical service, is making a geographical survey
of the Connecticut river from South Deerfield to its mouth. Part of the
expense of this survey is borne by the government and the rest by the
state, the object being to locate certain topographical and geological
features in the valley.

       *       *       *       *       *

It has not been definitely stated where in Boston the proposed statue of
William Loyd Garrison will be placed, but it will either be in West
Chester Park or Commonwealth avenue, with a preference for the latter.
The city engineer is now engaged in making plans for the pedestal, which
is to be of hammed Quincy granite, about ten feet in height. In the
statue Mr. Garrison is represented sitting in an easy chair apparently
at peace with all the world, the great struggle in which he was a
prominent figure having been brought to an end. Beneath the chair lies a
file of the Liberator, which suggests the iron will of the man in his
conflict with slavery, and the strength of his purpose is further shown
in the following inscription on the side of the pedestal "I am in
earnest; I will not equivocate; I will not excuse; I will not retire a
single inch; I will be heard."

       *       *       *       *       *

The General Court has a double survival in the State Legislature and the
town meeting. And the most curious part of this survival is that the
Legislature of this State still retains some judicial functions. It is,
we believe, the only State where this is the case. The Legislature of
Massachusetts retains the name of the General Court, but contents itself
with purely legislative work while our own Legislature is still Supreme
Court in equity. This has descended to it as an inheritance from the
General Court of colonial times.--New Haven (Conn.)_News_.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the annual report of Major C.W. Raymond on the improvement of
rivers and harbors in Massachusetts it appears that the cost of the
improvement of Newburyport harbor during the year was $31,560, and
$9,868 remains available. The object of the improvement is to create,
at the outer bar, a permanent channel one thousand feet in width, with
a least depth of seventeen feet at low water. The amount required for
the completion of the project is $205,000, provided the entire sum is
appropriated for the next fiscal year. It is proposed to expend the
money in the rapid completion of the jetties already under construction.

       *       *       *       *       *

The proceedings of the Bostonian Society at its annual meeting in
January, 1885, have just been published in pamphlet form. It embraces
much valuable data. The illustrations consist of a fine heliotype view
of the Old State House, from the east end, the home of the Society;
and a copy of its well-devised seal, in the heraldic coloring. The
experiment of a cheap pamphlet giving a summary historical sketch of the
Old State House has been successful, and another similar publication is
contemplated.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rebecca Nourse, who was the first person hanged as a witch at Salem, in
1692, notwithstanding her repeated affirmation of her innocence, has
just had a monument erected by her descendants. On one side of it is the
legend concerning her, and on the other these lines of the poet
Whittier:--


  "O Christian martyr, who for truth could die,
    When all about thee owned the hideous lie.
  The world, redeemed from superstition's sway,
    Is breathing freer for thy sake to-day."


       *       *       *       *       *

In his address at the unveiling of Ward's statue of "The Pilgrim,"
erected in Central Park, New York, by the New England Society in the
city of New York, Mr. George William Curtis said:--


  "Holding that the true rule of religious faith and worship was written
  in the Bible, and that every man must read and judge for himself, the
  Puritan conceived the church as a body of independent seekers and
  interpreters of the truth, dispensing with priests and priestly orders
  and functions; organizing itself and calling no man master."


       *       *       *       *       *




AMONG THE BOOKS.


There have been earlier biographies of John Brown, the martyr of
Virginia; but by none of them have his character and acts been told so
fully and judged so fairly as now by Mr. Sanborn.[6] His later
biographer, furthermore, has had access to all the papers and letters,
that remain, bearing on Brown's life, and of these he has made the very
best possible use. In the arrangement of the materials at his command,
Mr. Sanborn has shown admirable taste and judgment, and, without seeming
to be a eulogist, has contented himself with allowing his hero to speak
for himself, or rather to plead his own case. Viewing the case as a
whole, with its back-ground of antecedent history, no fair-minded person
can longer regard John Brown as either an adventurer or as a madman. He
was by nature, however, enthusiastic; he believed that he had a mission
in this world to fulfil, and that, the freedom of the slaves. This
mission he cherished uppermost in his mind, for its accomplishment he
labored and suffered incessantly, and for it he died. He lacked one
quality,--discretion. His pioneer life in New York, his thrilling
adventures in Kansas, where he fought slavery so fiercely that he saved
that state from being branded with the curse, his unwise but
conscientiously-conceived and carefully planned attack on Harper's
Ferry, his capture, trial and death, as told in Mr. Sanborn's pages make
up the warp and woof of a story, which surpasses in interest anything of
the nature of a biography that has been published for many a day. John
Brown has been dead a full quarter of a century; the object of his
ambition has been accomplished, but by other hands and brains; the
prophetic visions of his stalwart mind have been more than fulfilled.
History will do him justice, even if the book now before us has not
already done so, as we think.

Immediately after the execution, the body of the martyr was borne to
North Elba, N.Y., and, on the 8th of November, 1859, it was laid away to
rest. Mr. Sanborn gives only the briefest account of these last
services, and omits, for some unaccountable reason, to furnish even an
extract from that pathetic and pointed address, which came from Wendell
Phillips, while standing by the open grave. If Mr. Phillips ever spoke
more beautifully than he did, on that memorable day, we have never known
it. We sincerely hope that, in a future edition, Mr. Sanborn may be led
to insert the address in the pages where they so properly belong.

[Footnote 6: The Life and Letters of John Brown, Liberator of Kansas,
and Martyr of Virginia. Edited by F.B. Sanborn, Boston: Roberts Bros.
Price, $3.00]

       *       *       *       *       *

The theme of Prof. Hosmer's narrative[7] was born in Boston. Sept 27,
1722, and graduated at Harvard in 1740, and studied law. He was not a
lawyer and neither did he make his mark as a merchant although he
engaged with his father in the management of his malt-house. This early
life of Samuel Adams is portrayed with more than usual interest in this
biography. Then with great care we are given the salient points of his
career as a representative in the Massachusetts General Court, as a
leader of the Boston patriots in their resistance to British oppression,
as a member of the Continental Congress and in other public offices. We
are shown Samuel Adams as a man without great business or professional
talents but wonderful in counsel, a cool headed patriot, an adroit
tactician, and above all a thorough democrat. To mingle with the common
people was his delight; he was a frequenter of the Caulkers' Club,
popular with blacksmiths, ship carpenters, and mechanics. He was not a
great orator; but sometimes, rising with the greatness of the subject or
occasion was the most effective speaker to be heard.

The two features of Professor Hosmer's work which impress us most
forcibly are its fairness and its readableness. We have had one worthy
life of Adams before this in Wells's three volume biography, a work
highly valuable in its abundance of matter, but hardly so impartial as
the smaller and more recent biography. In its preparation, Professor
Hosmer has availed himself of Mr. Wells's work, of the Adams Papers in
Mr. Bancroft's possession, and of copious materials in the Boston
libraries. He has thus had every facility for his task and he has used
them to the best advantage.

In general interest this book is second to no other in the series of
American Statesmen, so far published. The story opens well and does not
diminish in interest to the end. The author, although now a St. Louis
man, is himself from the old Adams stock, and has amply shown his
capacity to prepare a concise and permanently valuable life of the
sturdy American patriot and town-meeting man, Samuel Adams.

[Footnote 7: Samuel Adams. By James K. Hosmer. American Statesman
Series. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Price $1.25.]

       *       *       *       *       *

The only fault which we have to find with Mr. Drake's book[8] is, that
he has not done himself justice in his title. The title which he has
chosen is expressive neither of the size nor of the contents of his
work. We read at least one hundred pages before we find a New England
legend, and the only account of the folklore that we have been able to
find is in the author's introduction covering about six pages. Properly
described, the work deals with New England history, of the most romantic
character occasionally interspersed with a great deal of very tedious
moralizing,--a blemish of style which Mr. Drake seems quite unable to
avoid. The book, despite many features which annoy, is valuable, and
ought well to repay publication. To the young especially it ought to
prove interesting, since it makes plain to them many familiar tales of
early childhood. The publishers, as usual, have done their level best to
make it a very beautiful book, and have of course succeeded.

The second volume of the _Life and Times of the Tylers_[9]
concludes the work. It is the volume which is the more important and
will prove the more interesting to readers in general. It comprises the
events and incidents of the public life of John Tyler,--from his
induction into the Presidency in 1841 to his death while a member of the
Confederate Congress of 1862. It must be remembered that these volumes
are edited by a member of the Tyler family; a fact, which leads us to
say that an impartial history of President Tyler's administration of the
pertinent matters which preceded it, and of the reflections upon its
policy, cannot be naturally expected from a person interested, or from
an actor in the politics of that period.

By the operation of the Constitution alone, Tyler became President. At
that time, he was not considered by his party, and, after he had
obtained the office by the death of General Harrison, he straightway
placed himself in direct opposition to the party which had nominated and
elected him Vice President. The son, who is the author or editor of
these volumes, appears to be forgetful of this fact; for on no other
ground can we account for the bias which he exhibits from the first page
to the last. His duty, he thinks, is to defend his father's
administration, and this idea leads him into trouble at the very
beginning. He says: "The Whig party of 1840 had nothing to do with bank,
tariff, or internal improvements,"--when all the world knows the
contrary! There can be no doubt,--indeed there never was any doubt--that
the Whig leaders of 1840, no matter by what pretexts they gained votes
and power, were committed to a national bank, to a protective tariff,
and to internal improvements. The measures, which the Whigs in Congress
introduced and passed,--only to be vetoed by the President--were Whig
measures, and would certainly have been approved by General Harrison,
had he been alive.

The Whig party gained a great deal in the election of 1840; but it lost
all by the contingency which made John Tyler president of the United
States. Why he was ever named on the electoral ticket is itself
inexplicable. He distinguished himself only by virtue of his mistakes,
from first to last inexcusable; and the biography, by the son, is
distinguished only by innuendos and a current of bitterness which
destroy its value as historical authority. This is much to be regretted;
because an unprejudiced life of John Tyler has long been needed.

That portion of the volume which deals with Mr. Tyler's part of the
Peace Congress, and his share in the exciting events preceding and
during the first year of the war of the Rebellion, will arouse no
discussion. The letters which these concluding pages contain are
particularly valuable, for they show the state of public feeling in the
South at that time. Notwithstanding our adverse criticism of certain
portions of this volume,--and we have plainly stated our reason--we
still welcome the work in its completeness. It adds much to our stock of
knowledge, lets in light where light was needed, and is withal
commendable as an addition to the material data of our national history.


[Footnote 8: A book of New England Legends and Folk-Lore, in Prose and
Poetry. By Samuel Adams Drake. Illustrated. Boston: Roberts Brothers.]

[Footnote 9: Life and Times of the Tylers. By L.H. Tyler, Richmond, Va.:
Whittet and Shipperson. 2 vols. $6.00.]

       *       *       *       *       *




PUBLISHER'S DEPARTMENT.


Important Announcement.

The October number of the Bay State Monthly will contain, among other
articles of interest, a valuable historical and descriptive paper on the
enterprising and rapidly increasing city of HOLYOKE, MASS., the chief
paper manufacturing place in the world, and the centre, also, of other
important private and corporate industries. This paper has been prepared
by a writer "to the manor born," and will be copiously and beautifully
illustrated.

Another article of special interest and value will be the HISTORY AND
ROMANCE OF FORT SHIRLEY, built in the town of Heath, Mass., in 1744, as
a defence against the Indians. The article has been prepared by Prof.
A.L. Perry, of Williams College.

The series of papers illustrative of NEW ENGLAND IN THE CIVIL WAR, and
which will command the attention of all classes of readers, will be
initiated in the October number of the Bay State Monthly, by THREE
IMPORTANT CHAPTERS, namely:--

I.

PUBLIC SENTIMENT IN NEW ENGLAND AT THE OUTBREAK OF THE REBELLION, by a
writer who was thoroughly familiar with its current.

II.

THE MARCH OF THE 6TH REGIMENT, by one of its officers, who has gathered
together anecdotes as well as sober history.

III.

THE RESPONSE OF THE MARBLEHEADERS IN 1861, a stirring paper of
patriotism and valor, written by SAMUEL RHODES, JR., the historian of
Marblehead.

The first instalment of a series of papers on the AUTHORITATIVE
LITERATURE OF THE REBELLION, by DR. GEORGE L. AUSTIN, will also appear
in the October number.

Besides the foregoing features, the October number will contain other
articles of permanent worth in the fields of BIOGRAPHY, HISTORY, and
STORY. A vigorous method of dealing with LEADING QUESTIONS OF THE DAY
will be maintained in the Editorial Departments.

It will thus be seen that no pains are being spared to insure for the
Bay State Monthly a character that shall prove invaluable and of the
deepest interest to ALL CLASSES OF READERS.

       *       *       *       *       *

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

of courtesies extended in the preparation of the August and September
issues of the Bay State Monthly are here made, with thanks, to the
following parties: E.B. Crane, Esq., N. Paine, Esq., Daniel Seagrave,
Esq., Messrs. Keyes & Woodbury, Charles Hamilton, Esq., and Messrs. F.S.
Blanchard & Co., of Worcester, Mass.; also to Messrs. D. Lothrop & Co.,
Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Ticknor & Co., and Roberts Brothers, of
Boston,--all of whom have most cordially coöperated with the management
of the Bay State Monthly.







End of Project Gutenberg's The Bay State Monthly, Volume 3, No. 4, by Various