Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Anne Storer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)





 Transcriber's Note: Table of Contents / Illustrations added.

       *       *       *       *       *

 TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.
   BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.
     Illustrations:
     Trinity College In 1869.
     T. C. Brownell.
     Trinity College In 1828.
     J. Williams.
     Statue Of Bishop Brownell, On The Campus.
     Proposed New College Buildings.
     Geo Williamson Smith.
     James Williams, Forty Years Janitor Of Trinity College.
     Bishop Seabury's Mitre, In The Library.
     Chair Of Gov. Wanton, Of Rhode Island, In The Library.
     Trinity College In 1885.
     (Signature) N. S. Wheaton
     (Signature) Silas Totten
     (Signature) D. R. Goodwin
     (Signature) Samuel Eliot
     (Signature) J. B. Kerfoot
     (Signature) A. Jackson
     (Signature) T. R. Pynchon
     The New Gymnasium.
     College Logo.

 THE WEBSTER FAMILY.
   BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.
     Illustration:
     Marshfield--Residence Of Daniel Webster.

 TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
 ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE.
   BY EDWARD P. GUILD.

 A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
   BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.

 THE PICTURE.
   BY MARY D. BRINE.

 NEW BEDFORD.
   BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH.
     Illustrations:
     Old Whalers And Barrels Of Oil.
     City Hall And Depot.
     Front Street And Fish Markets Along The Wharves.
     The Head Of The River.
     Along The Wharfs And Relics Of The Last Century.
     New Station Of The Old Colony Railroad.
     Custom House.
     Court House.
     Grace Episcopal Church.
     Looking Down Union Street.
     Unitarian Church, Union Street.
     Mandell's House, Hawthorne Street.
     Residence Of Mayor Rotch.
     The Stone Church And Yacht Club House.
     Fish Island.
     Seamen's Bethel And Sailor's Home.
     Merchants' And Mechanics' Bank.
     Residence Of Joseph Grinnell.
     Friends Meeting-House.
     Public Library.

 HENRY BARNARD--THE AMERICAN EDUCATOR.
   BY THE LATE HON. JOHN D. PHILBRICK.

 A DAUGHTER OF THE PURITANS.
   BY ANNA B. BENSEL.

 JUDICIAL FALSIFICATIONS OF HISTORY.
   BY CHARLES COWLEY, LL.D.

 DORRIS'S HERO.
 A ROMANCE OF THE OLDEN TIME.
   BY MARJORIE DAW.

 EDITOR'S TABLE.

 HISTORICAL RECORD.

 NECROLOGY.

 LITERATURE.

 INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.

     Illustration:
     MARK HOPKINS, D.D., LL.D.


       *       *       *       *       *




                                  THE

                          NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE

                                  AND

                           BAY STATE MONTHLY.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
  OLD SERIES,                  MAY, 1886.              NEW SERIES,
VOL. IV. NO. 5.                                        VOL. I. NO. 5.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
   Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.


#TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.#

BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.

[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1869.]


The plan for the establishment of a second college in Connecticut was
not carried into effect until after the time of the political and
religious revolution which secured the adoption of a State Constitution
in 1818. Probably no such plan was seriously entertained till after the
close of the war of Independence. The Episcopal church in Connecticut
had, one may almost say, been born in the library of Yale College; and
though Episcopalians, with other dissenters from the "standing order,"
had been excluded from taking any part in the government or the
instruction of the institution, they did not forget how much they owed
to it as the place where so many of their clergy had received their
education. In fact, when judged by the standards of that day, it would
appear that they had at first little cause to complain of illiberal
treatment, while on the other hand they did their best to assist the
college in the important work which it had in hand. But Yale College,
under the presidency of Dr. Clap, assumed a more decidedly theological
character than before, and set itself decidedly in opposition to those
who dissented from the Westminster Confession of Faith and the Saybrook
Platform of Discipline. Besides, King's College, which had been lately
founded in New York, drew away some Episcopal students from Connecticut
and made others dissatisfied; and had not the war with the mother
country rudely put a stop to the growth of Episcopacy in the colony, it
would seem that steps might have been soon taken for the establishment
of some institution of learning, at least a school of theology, under
the care of the clergy of the Church of England.

[Illustration: (signature) T. C. Brownell]

[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1828.]

At any rate no sooner was it known that the war was ended than the
churchmen of Connecticut sent the Rev. Dr. Seabury across the ocean
to seek consecration as a bishop; and it was not long after his return
that the diocese, now fully organized, set on foot a plan for the
establishment of an institution of sound learning, and in 1795 the
Episcopal Academy of Connecticut was founded at Cheshire. It was
sometimes called Seabury College, and, under its learned principals, it
fitted many young men for entrance upon their theological studies, and
gave them part at least of their professional training. But its charter,
which was granted by the General Assembly of the State in 1801, did not
give it the power of conferring degrees, and the frequent petitions for
an extension of charter rights, so as to make of the academy a
collegiate institution, were refused. For a time, owing to determined
opposition in the State, to the vacancy in the episcopate, and to other
causes, the project was postponed. But a combination of events, social,
political, and religious, led at length to the great revolution in
Connecticut, in which all dissenters from the standing order united
in opposition to it, and secured in 1818, though it was by a small
majority, the adoption of a State Constitution containing a clause which
admitted of "secession" from any ecclesiastical society and secured
perfect religious equality before the law.

[Illustration: (signature) J. Williams]

[Illustration: STATUE OF BISHOP BROWNELL, ON THE CAMPUS.]

In the following year, while the enthusiasm of the victory was still
felt, the vacant episcopate was filled by the election of the Rev. Dr.
Thomas Church Brownell, who had been for ten years tutor and professor
in Union College, a man of learning, profoundly interested in education,
and qualified for the varied duties which lay upon him as Bishop of
Connecticut. He soon availed himself of this favorable opportunity for
renewing the plans for the establishment of a college. There was much
strong opposition to be encountered, and the student of the pamphlet
literature of the day finds much to excite his interest and his wonder
in the attacks upon the proposed "Second College in Connecticut"--"Seabury
College," as it was sometimes called. The whole matter was curiously
complicated with discussions as to political and financial matters, the
many questions between the recently disestablished order and its opponents
not having been fully settled as yet. At last, on the 13th day of May,
1823, a petition for a college charter was presented to the General
Assembly, and the act of incorporation of Washington College passed the
lower house three days later, and soon received the assent of the senate
and the approval of the governor. The name selected for the institution was
not that which its friends would have preferred; but the honored name of
Washington was adopted partly, as it would appear, because others than
Episcopalians united in the establishment of the college, and partly that
there could be no ground of opposition to it on account of its name. Among
the corporators associated with Bishop Brownell were some of the prominent
clergy and laity of the diocese, such as the Rev. Drs. Harry Croswell
and N. S. Wheaton, Gov. John S. Peters, the Hon. Nathan Smith, the Hon.
Elijah Boardman, the Hon. Asa Chapman, Com. McDonough, and Mr. Charles
Sigourney; and there were added to them representatives of the other
opponents of the old establishment, among them the Rev. Samuel Merwin
and the Rev. Elisha Cushman. It was expressly provided in the charter
that no religious test whatever should be required of any president,
professor, or other officer, and that the religious tenets of no person
should be made a condition of admission to any privilege in the college.
Even before the charter containing this clause was granted, it produced
a most important effect; for, on the 12th day of May, 1823,--it was
believed, as a last effort of opposition,--the corporation of Yale
College met in Hartford, and repealed the test act which required of all
its officers, even of professors in the medical school, a subscription
to the Saybrook Platform.

[Illustration: PROPOSED NEW COLLEGE BUILDINGS.]

[Illustration: (signature) Geo. Williamson Smith]

The trustees of the new college were authorized to locate it in any town
in the State as soon as $30,000 should be secured for its support; and
when it was found that more than three-fourths of the sum of $50,000,
which was soon subscribed, was the gift of citizens of Hartford, who
thus manifested in a substantial way the interest which they had
previously expressed, it was decided to establish Washington College in
that city. A site of fourteen acres on an elevation, then described as
about half a mile from the city, was secured for the buildings, and in
June, 1824, Seabury Hall and Jarvis Hall (as they were afterwards
called) were begun. They were of brown stone, following the Ionic order
of architecture, well proportioned, and well adapted to the purposes for
which they were designed. The former, containing rooms for the chapel,
the library, the cabinet, and for recitations, was designed by Prof. S.
F. B. Morse, and the latter, having lodging-rooms for nearly a hundred
students, was designed by Mr. Solomon Millard, the architect of Bunker
Hill Monument. The buildings were not completed when, on the 23d of
September, 1824, one senior, one sophomore, six freshmen, and one
partial student were admitted members of the college; and work was begun
in rooms in the city. The faculty had been organized by the election of
Bishop Brownell as president, the Rev. George W. Doane (afterwards
Bishop of New Jersey), as professor of _belles-lettres_ and oratory, Mr.
Frederick Hall as professor of chemistry and mineralogy, Mr. Horatio
Hickok as professor of agriculture and political economy (he was, by the
way, the first professor of this latter science in this country), and
Dr. Charles Sumner as professor of botany. The instruction in the
ancient languages was intrusted to the Rev. Hector Humphreys, who was
soon elected professor, and who left the college in 1830 to become
President of St. John's College, Maryland. The chair of mathematics and
natural philosophy was filled in 1828 by the election of the Rev.
Horatio Potter, now the venerable Bishop of New York. The learned Rev.
Dr. S. F. Jarvis soon began his work in and for the college, under the
title of Professor of Oriental Literature; and the Hon. W. W. Ellsworth
was chosen professor of law. The provision which was announced in the
first statement published by the trustees, that students would be
allowed to enter in partial courses without becoming candidates for a
degree, was a new feature in collegiate education, and a considerable
number of young men were found who were glad to avail themselves of it.
It is believed, also, that practical instruction in the natural sciences
was given here to a larger extent than in most other colleges.

[Illustration: JAMES WILLIAMS,
Forty Years Janitor of Trinity College; died 1878.]

[Illustration: BISHOP SEABURY'S MITRE, IN THE LIBRARY.]

In 1826 there were fifty undergraduates. A library had been obtained
which, in connection with Dr. Jarvis's, was called second in magnitude
and first in value of all in the country. The professor of mineralogy
had collected a good cabinet. There was a greenhouse and an arboretum;
and, besides gifts from friends at home, the Rev. Dr. Wheaton had been
successful in securing books and apparatus in England for the use of the
college.

[Illustration: CHAIR OF GOV. WANTON, OF RHODE ISLAND, IN THE LIBRARY.]

A doctor's degree was conferred in 1826 upon Bishop Jolly ("Saint Jolly"
he was called), of Scotland, but the first commencement was held in
1827, when ten young men were graduated. Of these, three died in early
life, and but one, the Rev. Oliver Hopson, survives. To a member of this
class, the Hon. Isaac E. Crary, the first president of the alumni, is
due no small share of the credit of organizing the educational system of
Michigan, which he represented both as a territory and as a State in the
Federal Congress. The Athenæum Literary Society was organized in 1825,
and the Parthenon, the first president of which was the poet Park
Benjamin, in 1827. The Missionary Society, still in successful
operation, was founded in 1831, its first president being George Benton,
afterwards missionary to Greece and Crete, and from it, primarily
through the efforts of Augustus F. Lyde, of the class of 1830, came the
establishment of the foreign missions of the Episcopal Church of this
country.

[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1885.]

When Bishop Brownell retired from the presidency of the college in 1831,
in order to devote all his time to the work of the diocese, he was
succeeded by the Rev. Dr. N. S. Wheaton, an early, steadfast, and
liberal friend of the institution. He secured the endowment of two
professorships, and among the many good things which he planned and did
for the college should not be forgotten the taste with which he laid out
and beautified its grounds. To him succeeded, in 1837, the Rev. Dr.
Silas Totten, professor of mathematics. During his presidency of eleven
years, additions were made to the scholarship fund, and the foundation
of a library fund was laid; and in 1845 a third building, Brownell Hall,
was built, corresponding in appearance to Jarvis Hall, and, like it,
designed for occupation by students. In the same year, on the petition
of the corporation, who acted in the matter at the desire of the alumni,
the General Assembly of the State changed the name of the college to
TRINITY COLLEGE. The change was intended in part to prevent the
confusion which arose from the use of a name which the college had in
common with other institutions, in part to attest the faith of those who
had founded and who maintained the college, and in part to secure a name
which (especially at Cambridge in England) had been long associated with
sound learning. At the same time the alumni were organized into a
convocation as a constituent part of the academic body.

[Illustration: (signature) N. S. Wheaton]

[Illustration: (signature) Silas Totten]

In 1848 the Rev. Dr. John Williams, a graduate in the class of 1835,
who, though he was less than thirty-one years of age, had given ample
promise of extraordinary abilities, was chosen president, and he held
the office until 1854, when the duties of assistant bishop, to which he
had been consecrated in 1851, forced him to resign. He did much to
increase the library funds and to develop the course of academic
instruction. He also began instruction in theology, and an informal
theological department grew up, which was organized in 1854 as the
Berkeley Divinity School and located in Middletown. He was succeeded by
the Rev. Dr. D. R. Goodwin. In 1860 Prof. Samuel Eliot was chosen
president, and in 1864, the Rev. Dr. J. B. Kerfoot, who was called in
1866 to the bishopric of Pittsburgh. Under the care of these scholarly
men the college maintained and strengthened its position as a seat of
learning (though in the time of the civil war it suffered from depletion
in numbers), additions were made to the funds, and a new professorship
was founded. Among those whom the college gave to the war were Generals
G. A. Stedman and Strong Vincent, and the "battle-laureate of America,"
Henry H. Brownell.

[Illustration: (signature) D. R. Goodwin]

[Illustration: (signature) Samuel Eliot]

[Illustration: (signature) J. B. Kerfoot]

[Illustration: (signature) A. Jackson]

In June, 1867, the Rev. Dr. Abner Jackson, of the class of 1837,
formerly professor here, then President of Hobart College, was elected
president. Under his administration, in 1871-72, the number of
undergraduates, for the first time, reached a hundred. In 1871 the
legacy of Mr. Chester Adams, of Hartford, brought to the college some
$65,000, the largest gift thus far from any individual. In 1872, after
much discussion and hesitation, the trustees decided to accept the offer
of the city of Hartford, which desired to purchase the college campus
for a liberal sum, that it might be offered to the State as a site for
the new capitol, the college reserving the right to occupy for five or
six years so much of the buildings as it should not be necessary to
remove. In 1873 a site of about eighty acres, on a bluff of trap-rock in
the southern part of the city, commanding a magnificent view in every
direction, was purchased for the college, and President Jackson secured
elaborate plans for extensive ranges of buildings in great quadrangles.
The work, to which he devoted much time and thought, was deferred by his
death in April, 1874, but the Rev. Dr. T. R. Pynchon, of the class of
1841, who succeeded him in the presidency, entered vigorously upon the
labor of providing the college with a new home. Ground was broken in
1875, and in the autumn of 1878 two blocks of buildings, each three
hundred feet long, bearing the old names of Seabury and Jarvis Halls,
were completed. They stand on the brow of the cliff, having a broad
plateau before them on the east, and, with the central tower, erected in
1882 by the munificence of Col. C. H. Northam, they form the west side
of the proposed great quadrangle. Under Dr. Pynchon's direction the
former plans had been much modified, in order that this one range of
buildings might suffice for the urgent needs of the college, provision
being made for suitable rooms for the chapel, the library, and the
cabinet, as well as for lecture-rooms and for suites of students'
apartments. During his presidency the endowments were largely increased
by the generous legacies of Col. and Mrs. Northam, whose gifts to the
college amount to nearly a quarter of a million of dollars; large and
valuable additions were made to the library and the cabinet, and the
number of students was, in 1877-80, greater than ever before. By a
change in the charter, made in 1883, the election of three of the
trustees was put into the hands of the alumni.

[Illustration: (signature) T. R. Pynchon]

In 1883 the Rev. Dr. George Williamson Smith was elected to the
presidency, and was welcomed to his duties with much enthusiasm. In
the following year considerable changes were made in the course of
instruction, including arrangements for four distinct schemes of study,
introducing elective studies into the work of the junior and senior
years, and providing for practical work in the applied sciences. An
observatory has been built, for which a telescope and other apparatus
have been presented; and the funds have been secured for the erection of
an ample gymnasium, with a theatre or lecture-hall.

Of the nearly nine hundred men who have received the bachelor's degree
from Trinity College no small number have attained eminence in their
respective walks in life. The class of 1829 gave a governor to Michigan
and a judge to Illinois; the class of 1830, a member of Congress to
Tennessee, a judge to Louisiana, and two prominent divines to Ohio; the
class of 1831, a bishop to Kansas; the class of 1832, three members of
Congress, one to North Carolina, one to Missouri (who has also been
governor of the State), and one to New York, a distinguished clergyman
to Connecticut, and a chaplain to West Point; the class of 1835, an
archbishop to the Roman Catholic Church, and a chairman to the house of
bishops of the American Episcopal Church; the class of 1840, a president
to St. Stephen's College and a supreme-court judge to Connecticut; the
class of 1846, a member of Congress to New York, another (also
lieutenant-governor) to Minnesota, and a president to Norwich
University; the class of 1848, a bishop to Massachusetts, a lecturer, a
tutor, and three trustees to the college; and this list seems as a
sample of what the college has done and is doing, in the spirit of her
motto, for the Church and the country. The bishops of Connecticut,
Kansas, Georgia, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Washington
Territory, and Indiana are among her alumni; with them some three
hundred others have entered the ministry of the Christian Church; and
representatives of the college are found holding honored positions in
the State, in institutions of learning, in the professions of law and
medicine, and in the business of life. Her course of instruction unites
the conservatism of experience with adaptation to the needs of modern
scholarship, all under the acknowledged influence of religious nurture;
her well-stocked library and ample museum, with her unrivalled
accommodations for students, furnish her for her work, so that she is,
in reality as well as in name, in the affections of her members as well
as in her profession, a home of sound learning. And as her needs are
supplied by the generosity of alumni and friends, she will be still
better qualified for her work and will draw still closer to herself
those who are entrusted to her care.

The elaborate plans for the new buildings, prepared by the eminent
English architect the late Mr. Burgess, were such as to provide for all
the present and prospective needs of the college. As finally arranged
they included a large quadrangle six hundred feet by three hundred, at
either end of which should be a quadrangle three hundred feet square. It
was not expected that all of the great pile could be built at once, and,
in fact, all that has been erected as yet is the west side of the great
"quad." This includes, as has been said above, two long blocks of
buildings connected by a large tower some seventy feet square. The style
of architecture is that known as French secular Gothic; the buildings
are of brown Portland stone, liberally trimmed with white sandstone from
Ohio. Jarvis Hall contains forty-four suites of rooms for the students
and the junior professors, unsurpassed for beauty and convenience by
students' quarters elsewhere; they are so arranged that each suite of
rooms runs through the buildings, and that there is plenty of sunlight
and air in every study and bedroom. The Northam tower is also fitted
for students' apartments. In Seabury Hall, the plan of which was
modified under Mr. Kimball, the American architect, are the spacious
lecture-rooms, finished, as is all the rest of the buildings, in ash and
with massive Ohio stone mantel-pieces; and also the other public rooms.
The chapel is arranged choir-wise, after the English custom, and will
accommodate about two hundred people; the wood-work here is particularly
handsome. It is provided with a fine organ, the gift of a recent
graduate. The museum contains a full set of Ward's casts of famous
fossils, including the huge megatherium, a large collection of mounted
skeletons, and cases filled with minerals and shells; while the
galleries afford room for other collections. The library extends through
three stories, and is overrunning with its twenty-six thousand books and
thirteen thousand pamphlets; large and valuable additions have been made
to its shelves within a few years. The erection of a separate library
building, probably at the south end of the great quadrangle, will be a
necessity before many years. The laboratories for practical work in
physics and chemistry are at present in Seabury Hall; but there is a
demand for larger accommodations. The St. John observatory is a small,
but well-furnished building on the south campus. The present gymnasium
is a plain structure on the north campus, between the dormitories and
the president's house; but the funds have already been obtained for a
handsome and spacious gymnasium, and the generous gift of Mr. J. S.
Morgan, of London, has provided for the erection of an "annex," under
cover of which base-ball and other games may be practised in the
winter. As new buildings rise from time to time, the spacious grounds
will doubtless be laid out and beautified to correspond with the lawn in
front of the present buildings. Mention should also be made of the halls
of the college fraternities, three of which are already erected.

[Illustration: THE NEW GYMNASIUM]

Thus the college, though it needs an increase in its funds for various
purposes, is well fitted for its work. In its courses of instruction it
provides for those who wish to secure degrees in arts and in science,
and also for special students. The prizes offered in the several
departments and the honors which may be attained by excellence in the
work of the curriculum serve as incentives to scholarship. Nor is it
least among the attractions of Trinity College that it stands in the
city of Hartford.

[Illustration]




[Webster Historical Society Papers.]

THE WEBSTER FAMILY.

BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.

II.


The feeling between the settlers and the Indians, as narrated by Dr.
Moore Russell Fletcher, became so bitter that the Indians determined
on the total annihilation of the villagers, and with that intent
seventy-five or eighty Indians left their tribe in the vicinity of
Canada, and came down the head waters of the Pemigewassett as far as
Livermore Falls, and there camped for the night. All were soon sound in
sleep except one Indian, who was friendly to the settlers. He made his
way to Plymouth, aroused the villagers, and informed them of their
dangerous situation. The settlers, in dismay, asked each other, "What
can be done?" The Indian heard their inquiries, saw their alarm, and in
his Indian way, said, "Harkee me, Indian,--you no run away, no fight so
many Indians. Go up river a mile, quick, make um up fires by camp-ground
(holding up his fingers, five, ten, twenty), cut um sticks, like Indian
roast him meat on, lay um ends in fires, put fires out. When Indians see
and count um sticks he shake his head,--no fight so many pale-faces;
they go back home to camp-grounds." Next morning the villagers waited in
great excitement, fear, and hope. No Indians appeared, and there was
little trouble from them afterwards. Comparative peace reigned, although
the Indians at times (three or four in number) passed through the quiet
town of Plymouth on their way to their old camping-grounds. The
villagers buried their animosity, having been told of the ill-treatment
of the Indians by the State, and, instead of driving them from their
houses, they fed and kept them over night when they signified a desire
to stop and rest.

After many years other settlers went there; passable roads and bridges
were made, and the settlement was extended up along Baker's River almost
to Rumney, and down the river nearly to Bridgewater, now called Lower
Intervale. They brought in from the lower towns oxen, cows, horses,
pigs, geese, and turkeys. Their furs and moose and bear-skins found
ready sale in the lower towns, and afforded them the means of the most
common luxuries and groceries, which could not be provided in their
incomplete rural settlement.

[Illustration: MARSHFIELD--RESIDENCE OF DANIEL WEBSTER.]

A Mr. Brown, of that part of the settlement known as the Lower
Intervale, was one night returning from a neighbor's house. In the
darkness he lost the footpath, and dropped upon his hands and knees to
feel for it. Instantly he felt the hair of some animal touch his face. A
quick thought told him that his companion was none other than an immense
bear. Mr. Brown's presence of mind did not desert him. He knew that all
domestic animals like to be rubbed or scratched, so he began rubbing up
and down his companion's breast and neck, continuing as far as the
throat, while with his other hand he drew out his long hunting-knife
and plunged it in to the handle, at the same instant jumping backwards
with all his might. As soon as he could he made his way back to his
neighbor's house; his neighbor and another man, armed with gun, axe,
long hay-fork and lantern, returned to the place of encounter, where
they found Bruin already dead. Bear-steak was served all around the next
morning.

Ebenezer Webster, the father of Daniel, settled at Salisbury about the
time that Stephen went to Plymouth, and the hardships they underwent
were very similar.

Daniel was born ten years after the Revolutionary War, and had to pass
through many of the privations of the first settlers.

The clearing of the land was a tedious process, in which all boys had
to participate. The forest trees were felled generally when in full
foliage, about the first of June, and laid thus until the next March,
when the "lopping of the limbs," as it was called, went on, in which
boys, with their small hatchets, took part.

About the middle of May, when perfectly dry, they were set on fire, and
the small limbs, with the leaves, were burned. In the midst of the
tree-trunks, as they lay, corn was planted in the burnt ground, and
usually yielded some sixty bushels, shelled, to the acre.

In the early autumn, when the corn was in milk, bears, hedgehogs, and
coons were very troublesome, for they trampled down a great deal more
than they ate. Later in the autumn the chopping was infested by
squirrels. All practicable means were used for killing these visitors.
Bears were caught in log traps, hedgehogs were hunted with clubs, and
coons were caught in steel traps. Squirrels generally visited the
chopping in the daytime, and were killed with bows and arrows, and
sometimes caught in box traps. All of these animals were considered good
food.

Just before the frost came the corn was gathered and shucked, and
afterwards husked and put into the granary. During the winter the felled
trees were sometimes cut for firewood, and those remaining in the spring
were "junked," as it was called, and rolled into immense piles and
burned, after which a crop of rye or wheat was sown, and hacked in with
hoes, the roots of the trees preventing the movement of the harrow. The
process of "junking" was a tedious one, as the burnt logs soon covered
the axe-handle with smut, drying up the skin of the hands so they would
often crack and bleed.

It is said that young Daniel disliked this toil very much, and was among
the earliest to devise "niggering," as it was called. In this process a
stick of wood was laid across the log and lighted with fire, so it would
burn down through the larger log, when fanned by the breeze, cutting it
in two.

In the early spring great preparation was made for tapping the
maple-trees and boiling the sap down to sugar, which was always an
agreeable employment for young Daniel. Another occupation of the boy on
the farm was in weeding, pulling, and spreading flax, which boys
generally dislike very much.

After sheep were introduced in this locality there was a general washing
of them in the brook about the first of May, after which sheep-shearing
came on.

Planting, hoeing, and haying was very hard work for the boys, and very
few liked it. After the harvest something was done in lumbering, and the
Websters, having a small saw-mill on their farm, made shingles and
boards; although for many years shingles and clapboards were mostly
split by hand. Daniel was peculiarly fond of hunting and fishing, a
passion which lasted his whole lifetime. Minks, musk-rats, and now and
then a fox, were caught in traps, though the latter was oftener shot.
Small game, such as partridges and squirrels, were very plenty in the
woods, and the skins of gray squirrels were most always used for winter
caps for the boys. Larger game, like moose, deer, bears, wolves, and
sometimes panthers, were taken.

The schooling of boys was often among these scenes, where at home the
evenings were spent in studying by the light of a pitch-pine knot.

Itinerant ministers, in those days, mostly supplied the rustic pulpit,
and visited their scattered flocks through many miles of travel.

The boys were expected to be very decorous not only to the visiting
ministers but to all older than themselves. Reverence was natural to
Daniel Webster, and was not with him a mere matter of cultivation.




TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE.


  Good Doctor, what has put it in your head
    To sail away across the ocean blue?
  Have you got tired of Boston? or, instead,
    Do you mistrust that we are tired of you?

  You wanted to see England, and you thought
    That you might go for once in fifty years:
  Well, your own way--just make your visit short;
    So here's _bon voyage_,--and also a few tears.

  We hope that you will have a joyful time,
    Meet hosts of friends, and sit at many a feast;
  And when, with all your wit and all your rhyme,
  You once are back in this your native clime,
    Don't ask to sail again off to the East
    For--well, for five times fifty years at least.

                                  _Edward P. Guild._




A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.

BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.

CHAPTER II.


The first day or two after her meeting with the captain Millicent worked
with a light heart and renewed strength, and though Ninigret now never
assisted her in carrying water, as he had formerly done, the thought of
her new friend and of freedom sustained her. When after a week, however,
there was no sign of the approach of friends, she grew restless. Her
work tired her more than it ever had; the water-bucket seemed to hold
twice the usual quantity; there was double the amount of food to
prepare, and the women all seemed to want clothing made. Doubtless all
was as it had been in her surroundings, only the hope that had dawned
one June day in her heart had died out. She tried to reason with
herself. Why was she so impatient? Did it not take time in this season
of war to accomplish anything? Why, after all, should he return? Her
story may have interested him at the time, even aroused his sympathies;
but, afterwards, it was but natural he should, on returning to his
duties, forget about her and her misery. What did she know of him? They
had met but once; still her belief in him was strong, though wavering at
the same time. Had he not said the unfortunate had a claim on all
honorable men, and surely he was a man an _unfortunate_ might apply to,
if any man was? Such is the effect of imagination upon all poor mortals;
it may be a grand gift, but is often a most uncomfortable one.

Upon the tenth night after the meeting with the captain quiet reigned at
the Indian camp, where all slumbered except Millicent, to whom, in her
anxiety, sleep was denied. She sat meditating upon recent events, her
bosom stirred with the hope of speedy deliverance, and fear lest
untoward circumstances should prevent the captain from executing his
plan for her rescue. After a time her attention was attracted by
peculiar sounds breaking upon the stillness of the night. These, at
first faint and distant, gradually grew nearer and louder, till,
trembling, she recognized the yells of the savages, who were returning
through the woods rejoicing over the atrocities they had committed. She
aroused the women to prepare for the wanderers, who, bounding like deer
through the forest, soon burst into the clearing and threw themselves on
the ground in front of the wigwam, calling upon the women for food and
drink. In order to help the squaws provide for their impatient lords
Millicent offered to carry out some provisions. As she appeared the
warriors greeted her with a shout, calling her Philip's pretty maid. She
did not reply, but moved about silently among them, horrified at their
revolting account of an attack upon a lone country-house, where, having
murdered the inmates, they had possessed themselves of all of value in
the house. Exultingly they told their tale of horror, their painted
faces and blood-stained garments looking ghastly in the moonlight. One
man threw an ornament, torn from the person of a white woman, to his
squaw, who had brought his supper; and another, with a fiendish laugh,
tossed a scalp to Millicent, calling out in coarse tones, "Here little
white-skin, take that for a remembrance of your race."

With loathing she crept back to her tent, and, stopping her ears, tried
to keep out the sound of their diabolical cries.

Toward morning the noise ceased, as they, weary with carousing, one
after another, fell into a heavy slumber. Allured by the silence,
Millicent slipped out into the forest to quiet her aching brow in the
fresh morning air. What if the English should come now, when these
warriors are all at home? Would they be prepared for the fierce
resistance they would encounter, she murmured, and, lost in thought,
gazed mournfully at the waters of the lake, cold and gray in the early
daylight. Suddenly she was startled by the tall form of Ninigret
appearing like a phantom at her side.

"I have come to join you in your morning walk, Millicent," he said, with
meaning in his dark eyes, as he watched her narrowly.

"You need not have come; I prefer to be alone," she answered, drawing
herself up haughtily.

"I know you do; but you are out early, and need a protector."

A look of disgust swept over her face as he spoke the word protector. As
if comprehending the expression, he said, hurriedly:--

"Have you considered what I said to you? Have you had enough of this
life, and are you ready to come with me?"

"No, never! I would rather die at the hands of the warriors up
there"--but the words died on her lips, for, as she spoke, the sounds
of fire-arms reached their ears, mingled with the war-cry of the
half-aroused Indians. With an exclamation of joy Millicent started in
the direction of the firing, but had advanced but a step before the
lithe Indian had her in his grasp.

"You shall not escape me now. Resign yourself. The white men have found
the camp, but they will not rescue you. Dare to utter a cry, and I will
kill you," he added, brandishing a gleaming knife before her eyes.

Terrified at this menace she allowed herself to be dragged unresistingly
into the forest.

Immediately after his interview with Millicent Captain Merwin returned
to Boston to secure the force necessary to his purpose. This required
some days, during which he found himself becoming very restless. The
story of the fair captive had strongly excited his sympathy, and her
sweet face had made a deep impression upon his imagination, and he
longed, with an impatience he could hardly control, to be again by her
side. He was also fearful lest harm should befall her during his
absence.

All this gave him a stimulus to action, and caused him to use every
endeavor to prepare for his undertaking. When everything was at last
ready he departed with all possible despatch.

In the evening after leaving Boston, as the English approached Lake
Quinsigamond, when more than a mile from the Indian head-quarters, they
heard the shouting of the warriors above described.

Merwin commanded his men to conceal themselves in a thicket in the dense
wood, whence they could observe the Indians as they passed. He found
they considerably outnumbered his own force. As they evidently had no
suspicion of the presence of an enemy, he determined to follow them
cautiously, wait until weary with revelling they should fall asleep, and
then surprise them after their own mode of warfare. He deployed his men,
and held them in readiness. Toward day dawn, when the Indians had sunk
into a profound slumber, he ordered the attack.

The English advanced stealthily, and were almost in the camp before they
were discovered by the sentinel, who gave the alarm.

This came too late. The English rushed forward with cheers, and were
among the surprised Indians before they were fairly awake. The latter
hurriedly seized their weapons and made what resistance they could; but
this was ineffectual. The struggle was sharp and brief. Many of the best
warriors were soon killed, and the rest fled precipitately, following
the women and children who escaped into the woods when the combat began.

Merwin, as soon as he saw that his men were fairly engaged with the
Indians, called a few trusty fellows, and went in search of Millicent.
Not finding her at the wigwam, he plunged into the wood, following
luckily the path taken by Ninigret.

After dragging the girl ruthlessly with him, until she fainted with
fright, Ninigret laid her on the ground for a moment, in order to
arrange his weapons, so that he might bear her away in his arms. While
doing this he espied Merwin advancing, and, taking hasty aim at him with
his musket, fired. The ball missed its mark and struck one of Merwin's
companions. As the Indian bounded off Merwin raised his rifle and fired
in return, with deadly effect. Ninigret, leaping high in the air, fell
dead, pierced through the heart. The English bore his body a short
distance into the forest, and, leaving it to such a burial as nature
might grant, hurried back to Millicent, who still lay in a swoon. They
then carried her to the scene of battle and placed her in one of the
wigwams lately occupied by the Indians.

For a week Capt. Merwin and his men remained in the vicinity to
intercept any band of Indians that might be passing westward. Merwin,
although often away upon scouting expeditions, found ample time to
improve his acquaintance with his rescued charge, in whom he was fast
becoming deeply interested. It was the evening before their departure
for Boston. The air was soft and laden with the fragrance of flowers;
the lake, its surface unruffled by a ripple, lay spread like a great
mirror, reflecting the lustre of the full moon. Two persons stood near
the water's edge contemplating the beauty of the scene. The quiet
harmony of nature seemed to possess their souls, and for a time neither
spoke. Millicent was the first to break the silence.

"What serenity after the strife of last week!"

"It is, indeed, a contrast this night. Let us sit here awhile and enjoy
its beauty," said Merwin; and, assisting Millicent to a seat upon the
trunk of a fallen tree, he placed himself at her feet.

"How strange it all seems! Here I am in the forest, as I was a week ago,
yet under such different circumstances,--free from my enemies and
surrounded by only friends."

"And another week will change your surroundings entirely; and the new
friends made now will, like the Indians, be present but in memory. You
know to-morrow we are to leave here."

"I can hardly realize it. Ah, Captain Merwin! can it be that I shall so
soon leave Wigwam Hill, the scene of my trying life of captivity, behind
me?"

"Yes; by to-morrow at this time, I trust, you will be far from this spot
where you have suffered so much. This beautiful lake will always recall
unpleasant associations to your mind, I fear, while to mine it will
recall some of the pleasantest hours of my life."

"No; I, too, shall have pleasant recollections of these shores. The
memory of your noble kindness to me will not be effaced. But tell me,
where do we go then?" Millicent asked, rather seriously.

"It cannot matter to you where I and my men go; but you I hope to take
to your sister."

"To Martha, Captain Merwin? Is my dear sister then alive? Is there no
doubt of it?"

"None."

"Is it possible? What happiness!" breathed Millicent, with tears in her
eyes. "I cannot believe it. I cannot believe that I shall again see my
dear sister, whom I have so long supposed dead. How did you know she was
alive; and why have you not told me this before?"

"Because I wished to surprise you just before our departure. You will
not deprive me of that last pleasure, would you?" asked the captain in a
low voice, smiling faintly. "I made all possible inquiry when in Boston,
and, just as about to depart with the troops, received accurate news of
her whereabouts."

"I see; and so she is safe, and we shall meet before many days. Where is
she, please?" asked Millicent, smiling divinely upon Merwin.

Drinking in the sweetness of the smile the captain gave her an account
of her sister's fortune, and of her surroundings.

"The Stantons, with whom she is, are friends of mine," he observed,
rather gloomily.

"Ah, indeed; then it will be a pleasant meeting all around!" and she
clapped her hands with joy. Then, noticing the captain's gravity, she
said, "Why are you so sad, Captain Merwin?"

"Oh, I don't know. I did not mean to be," and he tried to smile. "Yes, I
think I do appear rather glum,--don't mind the word, it is so expressive
of my feelings. You see, this last week has been so pleasant, we have
become such good friends, and learned to know each other's tastes so
well, and I have enjoyed so intensely giving you your freedom and
sharing it with you, that the thought that it must all end, that I must
take you back to interests which I can know nothing of and have no share
in, is just a little hard to bear at present. You will think me selfish;
forgive me, I did not mean to mention it, but you asked me."

She held out her hand to him and said, "You are my trusted friend, and
will be my sister's when she knows what you have done for me; so do not
say you will have no share in our interests."

"You are very kind," he replied, pressing her hand tightly in his, then
dropping it suddenly.

"Captain Merwin," said Millicent, in turn looking grave, "the past year
I have lived in an atmosphere of treachery and revenge; the minds of
those with whom I have been associated were filled with anything but
Christian thoughts. Unkindness and ill-feeling have found a fertile soil
upon which to thrive in their hearts; but deep in my own I ever kept a
spot green, where the plant of gratitude could again grow should the
occasion offer. It did offer. The seeds were sown by a kind and generous
hand; the plant grew quickly, and to-day it blossomed in full. Deeply
grateful for what you have done for me, I beg you to accept its
flowers." And, with tears in her eyes, she held toward him a small
exquisitely selected bunch of fragrant white azalias.

Taking the blossoms tenderly he lifted them to his lips. "What a pretty
idea! Who but you would have thought of rewarding a common deed of
kindness so sweetly? I shall cherish these flowers, they are so like
you. Did you really pick them for me?"

"Yes, and selected them out of many. It was all I had. If ever I can
reward you better tell me, for I would willingly do you any favor to pay
the debt of gratitude I owe you. I assure you I feel my obligation
deeply," said Millicent, blushing.

"There is a reward you could give me now; but I scarcely dare ask it,
for I know it to be more than I deserve." And the captain gazed at
Millicent with a look that brought a bright blush to the young girl's
cheek.

"Perhaps it is not," she replied, hesitatingly. "I don't think I
understand you."

"Well, then, Millicent,--may I call you that?--the drawing-room term of
Miss does not suit our simple life here." And, as she nodded assent, he
continued, "Will you answer a question, even a hard one?"

"I will try."

"Tell me, then, if ever in the heart where the plant of gratitude grew
another far sweeter flower has grown?"

"That of friendship do you mean?"

"Yes; the plant might be called friendship, but its blossom is love. Ah,
Millicent! may I not take the fairest of these sweet flowers, and,
placing it in the centre, call it love surrounded by gratitude? Then
would my nosegay be perfect indeed."

Millicent looked, beyond the ardent gaze of the captain, into the lake,
and made no reply.

"Throwing off the language of flowers, and all language but that of
simple truth, the reward I desire above all on earth is yourself. I know
my request is a bold one, and I ought, I suppose, not to make it for
months, if ever. But come it must, and to-night my heart has forced it
to my lips."

"It is very sudden," Millicent answered, faintly.

"I know that, but, after all, most deep feelings are sudden. In the
savages, with whom you have been associated, have you not seen hate and
other strong passions develop in a moment? Why, then, should not love,
in a more appropriate soil, spring to life? It certainly has taken deep
root in my heart. Give me some answer, Millicent, if it be but that of
hope deferred. Can you ever love me?"

"What if I do now?" said Millicent, demurely.

"Do you really, Millicent? Then I am the proudest, happiest man alive,"
said Merwin. And, possessing himself of both her hands, kissed them
vehemently.

"I trust I am doing right, Captain Merwin; I am almost sure I love you."

"Thank you, dearest, thank you, for your sweet words. Your reward for
them shall be my life devoted to your service." And he drew her to him
and kissed her lips.

"You deserve a whole life of thanks, Captain Merwin"--

"Call me Harold."

"--for releasing me from such a captivity, Harold, and, lastly, from
death, or worse than death." And weeping, she threw her arms about his
neck and buried her head on his shoulder.

"My brave darling, I hope and believe your troubles are at an end. I
only wonder your strength has survived the hardships of such a life as
yours has been the past year."

"Think of how much has happened in the last short weeks!"

"True, ours has been a courtship in which the bitter and the sweet have
been equally mingled, but now the peace complete is coning love, for
King Philip is dead and the war is over."




THE PICTURE.

BY MARY D. BRINE.


  It was only a simple picture,
    The simplest, perhaps, of all
  The many and costly paintings
    That hung on the parlor wall;
  But it held my gaze the longest,
    And it touched my inmost heart
  With a pathos in which the others
    Held neither place nor part.

  It showed me a lonely hill-side,
    Where the light of the day had fled,
  And the clouds of an angry twilight
    Were gathering overhead;
  And under the deepening shadows,
    Tired and sore afraid,
  A sheep and her lamb were grieving,
    Far from the sheepfold strayed.

  Only a simple picture;
    But oh, how full of truth,
  Which silently spoke from the canvas
    Its lesson of age and youth!
  For are we not sheep, sore needing
    The safety of Christ's own fold?
  And do we not often wander
    Far from his loving hold,

  Heedless of where we are straying
    Till the light of day has fled,
  And perchance a storm is gathering
    With the shadow of night o'erhead?
  My little one came beside me,
    And climbed to my waiting knee,
  And lifted her gaze to the picture,
    Which told its story to me.

  "Tell me about it, mamma;
    Why does the sheep wait there?"--
  So I told my own wee lammie
    (So tender, and sweet, and fair),
  How the poor white sheep had wandered
    Far from its fold away,
  And was tired, and sad, and lonely,
    And afraid, at the close of day.

  "But the _lamb_ couldn't help it, mamma,
    'Cause its _mother_ led it, you see."--
  Oh! there was another lesson
    Brought silently home to me:
  We mothers, who love our babies,
    Guarding them day and night,--
  Are we always careful to lead them
    In ways that are best and right?

  I gathered my darling closer,
    With an earnest unspoken prayer,
  That the tender Shepherd above us
    Would help me with special care
  To lead my little lamb onward
    Thro' pastures prepared by him,
  That naught could harm or afflict us
    When the light of our day grew dim.

  And I know he will graciously answer,
    And, though come storms and cold,
  He will gather his own in safety
    Within one blessed fold.
  And my baby still talks of the picture,
    And pities the lamb so white,
  Which was led by its careless mother
    Out into the dark, cold night.




NEW BEDFORD.

BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH.


No visitor to the shore of Buzzard's Bay has really done his duty, or
shown due respect to the inhabitants, who has not learned to say in one
breath, and without a break or hesitation,--

  Nashawena, Pesquinese,
  Cuttyhunk and Penekese,
  Naushon, Nonamesset,
  Onkatonka and Wepecket.

[Illustration: OLD WHALERS AND BARRELS OF OIL.]

These are the names of the islands along the south entrance to the bay
which Bartholomew Gosnold, the English navigator, named for his queen
the Elizabeth Islands when he entered the bay in 1602. Fortunately his
attempt to substitute his own English names for these of the Indians was
futile. When Gosnold landed at Cuttyhunk in the early summer of that
year he found it densely wooded and abounding in game. To-day there is
hardly a tree there. In the west part of this island is a pond of fresh
water, in the waters of which is a considerable island, and it was on
this that these adventurers built the first habitation in this section
of New England of which there is any authentic account. There they were,
in a sense, safe from the Indians and from wild animals.

When Gosnold prepared to return to England in his vessel, the "Concord,"
with a cargo of native products, such as sassafras, cedar, etc., those
who had planned to remain and settle returned with him, fearing that
they might not share in the expected profits. But they could not take
back with them the cellar to the house they had built, and what little
vestige of the hole that still remains in that island within an island
is to-day pointed out as the spot where the first white settler's house
was built hereabouts. Unfortunately for the picturesqueness and poetry
of this historic incident, modern civilization has utilized the island
as a hen-yard, and the historic cellar as a chicken-roost.

[Illustration: City Hall]

[Illustration: Depot]

[Illustration: Front St.]

[Illustration: FISH MARKETS ALONG THE WHARVES.]

The real history of Southern Massachusetts began in June, 1664, when the
General Court of the Plymouth Colony passed an order that "all that
tracte of land called and known by the name of Acushena,[1] Ponogansett,
and Coaksett, is allowed by the court to bee a townshipe, and said towne
bee henceforth ... called and knowne by the name of Dartmouth." In
November, 1652, Wamsutta and his father, Massasoit, had signed a deed
conveying to William Bradford, Capt. Standish, Thomas Southworth, John
Winslow, John Cooke, and their associates all the land lying three miles
eastward from a river called the Coshenegg to Acoaksett, to a flat rock
on the western side of the said harbor, the conveyance including all
that land from the sea upward "so high that the English may not be
annoyed by the hunting of the Indians, in any sort, of their cattle."
The price paid for this tract was, thirty yards of cloth, eight
moose-skins, fifteen axes, fifteen hoes, fifteen pairs of breeches,
eight blankets, two kettles, one cloak, two pounds wampum, eight pairs
stockings, eight pairs shoes, one iron pot, and ten shillings in other
commodities. This immense tract had twenty miles of sea-coast, not to
mention harbors, etc., and represents, besides the present township of
Dartmouth, New Bedford, Fairhaven, Westport, and Acushnet.[2]

  [1] In the old records this name is variously spelled Acushena,
  Accushnutt, Cushnet, Acushnett, Acushnet, etc. The spelling now always
  used is Acushnet. Apponegansett was often spelled without the initial A.

  [2] The original township of Dartmouth was owned by thirty-six
  proprietors at the time of its settlement. This old proprietorship was a
  _quasi_ corporation, which existed for 170 years. It conveyed all the
  lands sold until at last nothing remained. Its meetings were then mere
  formalities, and they finally died for lack of attendance.

[Illustration: THE HEAD OF THE RIVER]

In a brief article it is impossible to give more than the cream of the
whole story of the growth and existence of this settlement. It
experienced the vicissitudes of Indian depredations and wars. In the
King Philip war it was nearly obliterated, only the little settlement of
Apponegansett surviving. But at the return of peace the settlers took up
their old avocations, and gradually, but surely, made the old town of
Dartmouth. The story of nearly every other outlying settlement in those
days is the story of this one, so that all that concerns us are the
historical events peculiar to this.

[Illustration: Along the Wharfs]

[Illustration: RELICS OF THE LAST CENTURY.]

These early inhabitants combined tilling the soil and extracting the
wealth of the sea, only, however, as shore fishermen, and an occasional
off-shore whaling voyage in small boats. One event in early history
shows that the people were possessed of something more than the
traditional courage and bold seamanship for which southern Massachusetts
was ever famed, and shows a spiritual courage as well as that deliberate
manly determination to overcome all physical obstacles to existence with
which the early settlers were permeated.

[Illustration: NEW STATION OF THE OLD COLONY RAILROAD.]

[Illustration: CUSTOM HOUSE.]

[Illustration: COURT HOUSE]

This was the dispute between the General Court at Plymouth and the town
authorities regarding a settled minister. A good two-thirds of the
people were Friends, and one of their number provided for their
spiritual wants without compensation. Those remaining were mostly
Baptists, who also had among them a _quasi_ minister who acted as
pastor. But the General Court at Plymouth wanted the settlers to have
_their_ kind of a minister; so in 1671 they ordered the settlers to
raise £15 by taxation "to help towards the support of such as may
dispense the word of God." But as the settlers were satisfied with their
own ministers they refused to obey the order. Fortunately they were far
away from the court. Then about that time King Philip's war broke out,
and absorbed the whole attention of the court; although time enough was
found to warn the people that the calamity of war was due to the "lack
of a dispenser of the word of God" among them. But no sooner had the war
ended than the old dispute was taken up just where it was left off. The
court pleaded and persuaded, then commanded, and finally threatened;
but year after year the colonists continued doing as they pleased,
regardless of the court. Finally, in 1722, as a last resort, the court
ingeniously combined the provincial and ministerial tax, £181 12s. in
all, with the intention of providing a minister by that means. The town
called a meeting, and, after promptly voting the provincial tax of £81
12s., as promptly refused to raise the extra £100, which they recognized
as the ministerial tax in a new garb. Such defiance led to the arrest of
the selectmen, and they were imprisoned at Taunton. This thoroughly
aroused the town. A meeting was immediately held, and £700 was
unanimously voted to support the selectmen. This enormous sum for those
days was used partly to support the selectmen and their families, but
mostly to send an embassy to England to seek redress from the King and
his council. In this the colonists were successful, for not only were
the selectmen ordered released from prison, but the province of
Massachusetts Bay was ordered to remit the obnoxious taxes which it had
in vain tried for thirty-one years to collect. It was not until about
this time that what is now New Bedford was settled. Joseph Russell had
been practically the sole inhabitant. He was succeeded by his twin sons
John and Joseph. The latter lived near the heart of the site of the
present city, and is regarded as its real founder. For some time vessels
of all classes had fitted out in the Apponegansett river, but he sent
his from the Acushnet. His merchantmen sailed all over the seas. At the
same time he fitted out whaling vessels. These whalers were small sloops
and schooners, which only went off-shore, captured a whale or two, then
returned to try out the oil. In connection with this business Mr.
Russell had built try works, and he started a sperm-oil factory. The
infant whaling industry began about 1760 to attract a boat-builder, then
a carpenter, a blacksmith, and so on until gradually there became quite
a little settlement. Larger vessels were built, voyages were extended
to some two or three weeks, and sometimes to as many months, the seas
being scoured from Newfoundland to Virginia for whales.

[Illustration: GRACE EPISCOPAL CHURCH.]

The year 1765 was an eventful one, as it brought Joseph Rotch, a man of
means and experience, from Nantucket,--or Sherburn as it was called up
to 1790,--to carry on the whaling business here; and his vessels,
together with those of other new-comers, materially increased the size
of the little fleet sailing from the Acushnet river. The settlement had
now become quite a little village, and needed a distinctive name, as it
had always been regarded as a part of the village of Acushnet; so it was
christened Bedford, and in after years the New was added to distinguish
it from the Bedford near Boston.

[Illustration: LOOKING DOWN UNION STREET.]

Being deeper, broader, and a safer harbor than the Apponegansett, the
Acushnet river gradually absorbed most of the fleet that had sailed from
there, so that the little fleet of a few vessels in 1765 had become one
of fifty vessels in 1773. Among these vessels was one owned by Mr.
Rotch,--the "Dartmouth,"--which will be remembered as long as the
American republic stands, for it was this vessel that took the tea to
Boston which was thrown overboard at the time of the famous Tea Party in
1773.

[Illustration: UNITARIAN CHURCH, UNION STREET.]

[Illustration: MANDELL'S HOUSE, HAWTHORNE STREET.]

But the Revolution put a stop to a continuance of this marvellous
growth, and during the following eight years in the struggle for
liberty, decay, fire, and the English did fatal destruction to the
vessels in Buzzard's Bay. Mr. Rotch returned to his off-shore island
home, taking his vessels with him, and one or two other merchants
followed his example and moved away. What vessels remained after these
desertions were moored along the wharves. But the people did not settle
down in idleness to wait for the war to be over. While the women were
working for the soldiers, in providing them clothing, etc., the men
young and old proved that their sea-training in the catching of whales
was invaluable in manning the little navy of the colonies. With such men
behind him, John Paul Jones scoured the ocean and even defied the
English in their own harbors, and the little navy became a powerful
and dangerous foe to the proud mistress of the seas. Not the least
destructive vessels of the brave American navy were the whaling
vessels from Buzzard's Bay made over into men-of-war. The frequent and
astonishing victories of these vessels caused many valuable prizes to be
brought into the bay, and the natural consequence was the raid of Major
Gen. Gray, accompanied by the ill-fated Andre, on the fourth day of
September, and the day following, in 1778, by which nearly the whole
town of Bedford was laid in ashes and property to the value of over half
a million of dollars destroyed, together with seventy vessels, including
eight large ships with their cargoes, and four privateers.

[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF MAYOR ROTCH.]

At the first whisperings of peace, Capt. Moores, of the good ship
"Bedford," with a cargo of oil, set sail for London, and first displayed
to the defeated English, in their great metropolis, the stars and
stripes of the infant republic of the western world. This promptness of
Capt. Moores is a fair sample of the manner in which the village of
Bedford grasped the return of peace and rushed into its former
industries. The greater part of the village had been rebuilt; the
vessels that survived the war--most of them as men-of-war--were
refitted, and whaling and commerce resumed, although it was years before
whaling fairly got on its feet again. This was owing to the lack of a
market for oil, as England and France had passed laws practically
prohibiting its importation. Some merchants were forced to live in
French or English territory and sail under those flags, in order to
pursue whaling with any profit.

[Illustration: THE "STONE" (CONGREGATIONAL) CHURCH.]

[Illustration: YACHT CLUB HOUSE.]

In 1787 the General Court of Massachusetts incorporated the town of New
Bedford, and in 1847 it became a city. The census of 1790 reported a
population of 3,313 in the new town. But there was nothing at this time
to cause the town to grow, nor was there until 1804, when, through the
intercessions of William Rotch, Sr., Great Britain remitted her alien
duty on oil. From that year New Bedford began to assume her distinctive
character as the whaling port preëminent of the world. The stock in
trade to begin with was no meagre one, as it consisted of fifty-nine
vessels of 19,146 tons' burden, about thirty of them being brigs and
ships employed in the merchant service with Europe, South America, and
the West Indies. This fleet suffered terribly from the impressment of
seamen, then the embargo, and finally by the second war with England,
during which many vessels were captured. This over, the place began in
earnest its distinctive career.

[Illustration: FISH ISLAND.]

[Illustration: SEAMEN'S BETHEL AND SAILOR'S HOME.]

[Illustration: MERCHANTS' AND MECHANICS' BANK.]

A few words as to the history of whaling in America. Capt. John Smith
makes mention of catching a few whales on some of his voyages, and it is
known that the Indians had quite a passion for hunting the whale, or
_powdawe_ as they called it. The Montauk Indians regarded the fin or
tail of a whale as a rare sacrifice to their deity. As the early
settlers began to spread throughout New England, it became quite an
industry along the sea-shore to hunt stranded whales for their oil and
blubber. This naturally led to hunting them in their native element, and
the industry extended along Cape Cod and Long Island, and, about 1672,
was introduced on the islands of Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard. About
fifty years later the brave Nantucket seamen began whaling in large
boats, and within the following twenty-five years Nantucket had direct
communication with England in her ships. These brave early mariners were
the first who understood and made use of the Gulf Stream, and by them it
was explained to the English admiralty. At the opening of the Revolution
there were one hundred and fifty vessels that sailed from Nantucket; but
at the close of the war one hundred and thirty-four of these had been
captured and fifteen more wrecked. The war also cost this island twelve
hundred sailors, and was the making of two hundred and two widows and
three hundred and forty-two orphans.

[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF JOSEPH GRINNELL.]

[Illustration: FRIENDS MEETING-HOUSE.]

In the year 1815 there sailed from Nantucket fifty whalers, while only
ten sailed from New Bedford. But the New Bedford fleet increased rapidly
year by year, reaching the climax in 1852, when two hundred and
seventy-eight sailed. From that date there has been an almost
uninterrupted decline in the whaling industry. Nantucket's decline
began many years earlier. In 1860 she had only very few vessels left,
and in 1872 her last whaler, the bark "Oak," was sold. In 1835 whaling
was at its height, the whole fleet of the United States consisting of
six hundred and seventy-eight ships and barks, thirty-five brigs, and
twenty-two schooners, valued at twenty-one millions of dollars; while
the foreign fleet consisted of only two hundred and thirty vessels of
various kinds. From the off-shore fishing as practised in the early days
of the industry, voyages had extended to all parts of the Atlantic, and
before the opening of the nineteenth century a considerable fleet was
cruising in the Pacific Ocean. By 1820 these voyages had extended to
Japan, and in 1836 they reached what is known as the Kodiak Grounds. In
1848 the wonderful field in the Arctic, by way of Behring's Strait, was
discovered by bark "Superior." Three years later two hundred and fifty
vessels took advantage of the "Superior's" discovery and entered the
same grounds. The largest catch in these grounds was in 1852, when two
hundred and seventy-eight vessels got three hundred and seventy-three
thousand, four hundred and fifty barrels of oil. Since then there has
been a very great decline; the Arctic fleet of 1876 consisting of only
twenty vessels, which caught five thousand, two hundred and fifty
barrels of oil. The fleet of 1885 consisted of forty-one vessels, more
than half hailing from New Bedford; but four of the fleet were lost.

[Illustration: PUBLIC LIBRARY.]

Seven years before the wonderful catch of 1852, disasters and other
reverses had caused many serious failures, and from that date really
begins the decline in whaling, which was rapid after 1860. But meantime
San Francisco had worked into the business. For years vessels had fitted
out from the Sandwich Islands, returning home only about once in five
years. But there were many abuses and disadvantages in this; hence San
Francisco as it grew in importance became the head-quarters for fitting,
and one ship after another was transferred from the New Bedford fleet to
that of San Francisco, until now she is next to New Bedford in the
whaling business. It is doubtful if the fleet sailing from Buzzard's Bay
twenty-five years hence is half the size of the fleet of to-day; for
vessels that are lost, sold, or broken up are seldom replaced. The
astonishing decline in this industry is shown by the fact that three
hundred and eleven whaling vessels were owned in New Bedford in 1855.
Thirty years later, in 1885, only one hundred and thirty-five such
vessels were owned in the whole United States, eighty-six of which
hailed from New Bedford, twenty from San Francisco, and the rest from
Provincetown, New London, Edgartown, Boston, Stonington, and Marion.

The disasters which have befallen the whaling industry are many and
fearful. During the late war rebel cruisers captured fifty vessels,
forty-six of them, with their cargoes and outfits, being burned.
Twenty-eight of them were New Bedford vessels. These, with other losses,
show what New Bedford had at stake before the Court of Commissioners of
Alabama Claims. Her slice of the Geneva Award will approximate, when all
paid, three millions of dollars. The "stone fleets," sunk off Charleston
and Savannah harbors in 1861, drew heavily on whaling vessels; for more
money would be paid by the Government for vessels than they could earn
in whaling. In the first stone fleet were twelve New Bedford whalers,
and in the second, eight. Then there were the horrible calamities of
1871 and 1876. In the former year thirty-three vessels were crushed or
abandoned in the Arctic, twenty-two belonging in New Bedford. The direct
loss from this was one million, one hundred thousand dollars. Twelve
hundred and nineteen men were thrust out on the ice to perish from cold
and hunger. Nothing but the bravery of Capt. Frazier, of one of the
abandoned vessels, in journeying seventy miles over the ice-fields to
the fleet outside for rescue, prevented untold suffering and death. In
the calamity of 1876 twelve vessels were abandoned, causing a loss to
New Bedford merchants of about six hundred and sixty thousand dollars.
But a greater horror was added to this calamity, some fifty lives being
lost.

The wealth that was brought to New Bedford by whaling in its palmiest
days was enormous, and gave the city the reputation of being the
wealthiest of its size in the world. The catch of 1853, the banner year,
was over one hundred and three thousand barrels of sperm oil, valued at
four millions, fifty thousand, five hundred and forty dollars; two
hundred and sixty thousand, one hundred and fourteen barrels of whale
oil, valued at four millions, seven hundred and sixty-two thousand, five
hundred and twenty-five dollars; and five millions, six hundred and
fifty-two thousand, three hundred pounds of bone, valued at one million,
nine hundred and fifty thousand, forty-four dollars,--bone that year
averaging only thirty-four and one-half cents per pound; while it now
sells at from $2 to $2.50 per pound. The catch of the one hundred and
thirteen vessels arriving in the following year brought into the city
some over six millions of dollars. In 1866, when prices were very high,
the cargoes of the forty vessels that arrived aggregated over four
millions of dollars. All was not always palmy, however. Forty-four of
the sixty-eight vessels that arrived home in 1858 made losing voyages,
causing a direct loss of a million of dollars. Other disasters of less
importance have never been uncommon.

It is estimated that between seven hundred and twenty-five and seven
hundred and fifty whaling vessels have been owned and sailed from New
Bedford. Of these at least two hundred and fifty are known to have been
lost. This means immense losses, for not only did the vessels cost from
fifteen to seventy-five thousand dollars each, but the outfittings and
catches were also partially or wholly lost. At the beginning of this
century it cost somewhere about twelve to fifteen thousand dollars to
fit out a vessel for a good voyage. In 1858 the cost had increased to
about sixty-five thousand dollars, voyages were of longer duration, and
catches had increased only about twofold in value. To-day a good outfit
falls but little, if any, below fifty thousand dollars. The cost of
fitting out the sixty-five vessels that sailed in 1858 was estimated at
one million, nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars.[3] The catch since
1800 is believed to have been at least a quarter of a million of sperm
whales and nearly as many more right whales, the total value being
approximately one hundred and fifty millions of dollars.

  [3] This included, besides, $130,000 in advance wages, 13,650 barrels of
  flour, 10,400 barrels of beef, 7,150 barrels of pork, 97,500 gallons of
  molasses, 78,000 pounds of sugar, 39,000 pounds of rice, 39,000 pounds
  of dried apples, 19,500 pounds of cheese, 16,300 pounds of ham, 32,500
  pounds of codfish, 18,000 pounds of coffee, 450 whale-boats, 205,000
  yards of canvas, etc.

Volumes might be told of the experiences of whalemen, of their contests
with the natives of many an island in the Pacific, of wrecks, of the
bravery with which masters have stood by one another in times of need or
trouble, of the great benefits whaling has been to commerce, of the
discoveries by masters in their searches for new grounds, of the fields
opened for the missionaries, of the men rescued from danger and bondage,
etc., etc.[4]

  [4] The world will ever be grateful to whaling for having rescued from
  penal servitude John Boyle O'Reilly, the gifted Irishman, who has given
  to the world so many beautiful poems.

Up to the time of the war, and perhaps till its close, the history of
New Bedford and the whaling industry was identical. But the discovery of
petroleum, the scarcity of whales, and at the same time the low price of
oil, necessitated an entirely new field for the capital and energy so
long devoted to whaling. For a period of ten years or so the city was
in a transition state, the conservative element contending for a
continuation of the old order of things, while the younger blood
demanded the necessary changes to keep abreast of the times. At one
time it did look as though the conservatives would succeed; but gradually
one industry after another got a foothold. Then the panic of 1872
demonstrated that a man who has money must invest it where he can watch
it, instead of trusting to luck in some wild-cat railroad scheme out
West. By the concentration and investment at home of some of the money
saved from the wreck, the Wamsutta mills have become a corporation with
a capital of three million dollars. The Potomska mills have accumulated
a capital of fifteen hundred thousand, the Grinnell mill has eight
hundred thousand, the Acushnet mill six hundred thousand, the Yarn
mills three hundred thousand. In addition to these cotton mills other
industries have sprung up, so that the total capital represented by the
various corporations is over nine millions of dollars. Banking also
proved profitable. Of the five national banks three have a capital of a
million dollars each, another has six hundred thousand, and the fifth
half a million; making a total capital of four millions, one hundred
thousand. Add to this the surplus funds, premiums on the stock, etc.,
and the amount of money represented by these five national banks falls
little short of ten millions of dollars. The Institution for Savings has
deposits of over ten millions, and, with over three millions of deposits
in the other savings-bank, the seven New Bedford banks represent some
twenty-three millions of dollars.

But New Bedford is not, or never has been, devoted entirely to the
scramble for wealth. Her public schools have been given a place among
the best, their cost last year being one hundred thousand dollars. She
has given to the world many scholarly as well as smart men. During the
war she did her duty bravely, sending eleven hundred more men than her
quota. With all of her business she has not neglected her duties to her
country or to her own citizens. One of the prides of the city is the
Public Library, established under an act of the State Legislature of May
24, 1851, authorizing the incorporation of public libraries. A year and
twelve days afterward the common council appropriated fifteen hundred
dollars for its support. Before the action of the city government the
library had existed a long time as the old Social Library, and before
that time as the Library Society, but when the State authorized the
incorporation of such institutions it immediately entered the wider
field. To-day it has fifty thousand volumes. It has the income of the
Sylvia Ann Rowland fund of fifty thousand dollars, the Charles W. Morgan
fund of one thousand dollars, the George Rowland, Jr. fund of sixteen
hundred dollars, the Oliver Crocker fund of one thousand dollars, and
the James B. Congdon fund of five hundred dollars. Besides the culture
of books, New Bedford has always been blessed by the presence and words
of ministers far above the average in talent and earnestness. The
dispute of the early settlers with the General Court showed that the
people were particular as to the quality of their spiritual food, and
this fastidiousness seems to have been handed down from generation to
generation, judging from the _personnel_ of the men. Dr. Samuel West,
who preached at the Head of the River from 1761 to 1803, was of just
that material to satisfy the spiritual wants of his time. Especially
should his name be honored for the vigor and determination with which he
threw himself, body and soul, into the struggle for independence. Nor
should the names of George L. Prentiss, Moses How, and others be
forgotten. One branch of the parent church, the First Congregational
(Unitarian) Society, which built its present substantial edifice in
1836-7-8, has had a continuity of pastors hardly equalled anywhere for
real spiritual living, thinking, and teaching. Dr. Orville Dewey, who
was settled in 1823, was much beloved by everybody, and in his last
years, at his home in Sheffield, among the Berkshire hills, he won the
hearts of all there by his beauty of character, as he had done here.
While Dr. Dewey was abroad, in 1833, and a year or so following, Ralph
Waldo Emerson supplied the pulpit. The present church was dedicated in
1838, and Rev. Dr. Ephraim Peabody and Rev. J. H. Morison were installed
as pastors. The former remained with the society until 1845, and the
latter until 1844. In 1847 Rev. John Weiss became pastor, remaining
until ill-health compelled him to resign, in 1857. Two years later Rev.
William J. Potter, who is not only the typical preacher but the typical
practitioner of his preaching, was installed, and yet holds the
pastorate. The bell of this church, tradition says, was formerly in a
Spanish convent. Whether this be so or not, its clear, musical tone
gives evidence that it is of high pedigree.

Nothing could more fittingly close this article than a notice of that
monument to the charitable souls of New Bedford, the Union for Good
Works. This is a noble institution, not only because it cares for the
poor, but because it aids them to be self-reliant and self-supporting by
tiding over times of need. It provides sewing or other work for needy
women; it maintains a sales-room for the handiwork of the indigent or
the gentlewoman reduced in circumstances, whether the work be preserves,
needle-work, or anything that is salable; it has a large reception-room
well stocked with the best papers, periodicals, and magazines, books,
all the parlor games, etc.; it provides throughout the winter season a
series of popular entertainments of high order and little cost; in
short, it endeavors to lighten the burdens of those in dependence of
distress, and to make pleasanter the life of those whose existence is a
continuous struggle. It has the spending of about three-quarters of the
income of the one hundred thousand dollars left by James Arnold for the
aid of the worthy poor of the city of New Bedford. Besides that it has
accumulated a fund of about thirty thousand dollars, by donation and
otherwise. This will not be touched, however, until it has reached at
least fifty thousand dollars. It will then provide sufficient income to
meet the expenses of the Union. There are the various branches of work,
the relief committee, the sewing-women's branch, the fruit and flour
committee, the prison committee, the hospitality section, and others.
The Union is the outgrowth of the sermon preached by Rev. William J.
Potter at his tenth anniversary, but it is not sectarian in any sense.

[Illustration]




HENRY BARNARD--THE AMERICAN EDUCATOR.

BY THE LATE HON. JOHN D. PHILBRICK.[5]


The career of Henry Barnard as a promoter of the cause of education has
no precedent and is without a parallel. We think of Page as a great
practical teacher; of Gallaudet as the founder of a new institution;
of Pestalozzi as the originator of a new method of instruction; of
Spurzheim as the expounder of the philosophy of education, and of Horace
Mann as its most eloquent advocate; but Mr. Barnard stands before the
world as the national educator. We know, indeed, that he has held
office, and achieved great success in the administration and improvement
of systems of public instruction in particular States. But these labors,
however important, constitute only a segment, so to speak, in the larger
sphere of his efforts. Declining numerous calls to high and lucrative
posts of local importance and influence, he has accepted the whole
country as the theatre of his operations, without regard to State lines,
and by the extent, variety, and comprehensiveness of his efforts has
earned the title of the American Educator. It is in this view that his
course has been patterned after no example, and admits of no comparison.
But if in his plan, equally beneficent and original, he had no example
to copy, he has furnished one worthy alike of admiration and imitation.

  [5] "Massachusetts Teacher," January, 1858.

Mr. Barnard was a native of Hartford, Conn., where his family had lived
from the first settlement of the colony. He was born on the 24th of
January, 1811, in the fine mansion where he now resides. The son of a
wealthy farmer, and living within half a mile of the centre of a
considerable town and the State capital, he was placed in the most
favorable circumstances for early physical and mental development.

His elementary instruction was received at the district school, which,
with all its imperfections, "as it was," he remembers with gratitude,
not indeed on account of the amount of learning acquired in it, but
because it was a common school, "a school of equal rights, where merit,
and not social position, was the acknowledged basis of distinction, and
therefore the fittest seminary to give the schooling essential to the
American citizen."

While pursuing the studies preparatory for college at Monson Mass.,
and at the Hopkins Grammar School in Hartford, his proficiency was
brilliant; and such was his eagerness for knowledge that, in addition to
the prescribed course, he extended his reading among the works of the
best English authors.

Having entered Yale College in 1826, he graduated with honor in 1830.

The five subsequent years were mainly devoted to a thorough professional
training for the practice of the law, the severer study of the legal
text-books being relieved by the daily reading of a portion of the
ancient and modern classics. This course of study was fortunately
interrupted for a few months to take charge of an academy, where he
improved the opportunity to acquire some knowledge of the theory and
practice of teaching. This experience had considerable influence in
determining some of the most important subsequent events of his life.

Before entering on the practice of his profession he spent some time in
Europe, for the twofold purpose of study and travel. Already well fitted
by study and natural taste to profit by the opportunities of foreign
travel, he made further and special preparation by a tour through the
Southern and Western States, and a visit to all the most interesting
localities in New England. "Leaving home like a philosopher, to mend
himself and others," he returned with his mind enriched by observation
not only of nature and art but especially of the social condition and
institutions of the people.

In the first public address which he had occasion to make after his
return he said, "Every man must at once make himself as good and as
useful as he can, and help at the same time to make everybody about him,
and all whom he can reach, better and happier." This was the sentiment
which controlled the motives of his conduct. Fidelity to this truly
grand and worthy aim induced him, not long afterwards, to abandon the
flattering prospects of professional eminence which were opening upon
his vision, to retire from all active participation in political
affairs, after a brief but brilliant career in the Legislature of his
native State, and to devote himself to the great work of educational
reform and improvement. To him the credit is due of originating and
securing the passage, by the Legislative Assembly, while a member, in
1837, of the resolution requiring the Comptroller to obtain from School
Visitors official returns respecting public schools in the several
School Societies, and in 1838, of an "Act to provide for the better
supervision of Common Schools."

This was the first decisive step towards the revival of education in
Connecticut. The Board of Commissioners of Common Schools established by
this act, was immediately organized, and Mr. Barnard accepted the office
of secretary, Mr. Gallaudet, who was first elected on his motion, having
declined. He devoted his energies to the arduous duties of this office
till 1842, when the Board was abolished. These duties as prescribed by
the Board were:--

     1st. To ascertain, by personal inspection of the schools, and by
     written communications from school officers and others, the actual
     condition of the schools.

     2d. To prepare an abstract of such information for the use of the
     Board and the Legislature, with plans and suggestions for the
     better organization and administration of the school system.

     3d. To attend and address at least one meeting of such parents,
     teachers, and school officers as were disposed to come together on
     public notice, in each county, and as many local meetings as other
     duties would allow.

     4th. To edit and superintend the publication of a journal devoted
     exclusively to the promotion of common-school education. And,

     5th. To increase in any practicable way the interest and
     intelligence of the community in relation to the whole subject of
     popular education.

Possessing fine powers of oratory, wielding a ready and able pen,
animated by a generous and indomitable spirit, willing to spend and
be spent in the cause of benevolence and humanity, he had every
qualification for the task but experience. Speaking of his fitness for
carrying out the measures of educational reform and improvement in
Connecticut, and of the results of his efforts, Horace Mann said, in the
"Massachusetts Common School Journal," "It is not extravagant to say
that, if a better man be required, we must wait, at least, until the
next generation, for a better one is not to be found in the present.
This agent entered upon his duties with unbounded zeal. He devoted to
their discharge his time, talents, and means.

"The cold torpidity of the State soon felt the sensations of returning
vitality. Its half-suspended animation began to quicken with a warmer
life. Much and most valuable information was diffused. Many parents
began to appreciate more adequately what it was to be a parent; teachers
were awakened; associations for mutual improvement were formed; system
began to supersede confusion; some salutary laws were enacted; all
things gave favorable augury of a prosperous career, and it may be
further affirmed that the cause was so administered as to give occasion
of offence to no one. The whole movement was kept aloof from political
strife. All religious men had reason to rejoice that a higher tone of
moral and religious feeling was making its way into schools, without
giving occasion of jealousy to the one-sided views of any denomination.
But all these auguries were delusive. In an evil hour the whole fabric
was overthrown."

The four volumes of the "Common School Journal," issued during this
period, and the four reports presented by him to the Legislature, with
other contemporary documents, justify the remarks quoted from Mr. Mann.
The reports have been eagerly read and highly prized by the soundest
educators. Chancellor Kent, in his "Commentaries on American Law"
(edition of 1844), after devoting nearly two pages to an analysis of
his first report, characterizes it as "a bold and startling document,
founded on the most painstaking and critical inquiry, and containing a
minute, accurate, comprehensive, and instructive exhibition of the
practical condition and operation of the common-school system of
education." In referring to his subsequent reports, the same
distinguished jurist speaks of him as "the most able, efficient, and
best-informed officer that could, perhaps, be engaged in the service;"
and of his publications as containing "a digest of the fullest and most
valuable information that is to be obtained on the subject of common
schools, both in Europe and the United States."

It should be stated in this connection, as evidence of the
disinterestedness of his motives, that these labors were performed
without any pecuniary compensation; for although the amount allowed him
out of the treasury of the State, for the service of nearly four years,
was $3,747, this sum he expended back again in promoting the prosperity
and usefulness of the schools.

The year following the abolition of the Board of Commissioners of Common
Schools in Connecticut he spent in visiting every section of the
country, to collect the material for a "History of Public Schools and
the Means of Popular Education in the United States." Just as he was
about to commence this history of education he was invited to go to
Rhode Island, and there achieve a work which is destined to form one of
the most interesting and instructive chapters in the history of
education in America, when it shall be written. Reluctant to accept the
invitation, as it would make it necessary to postpone the work in
contemplation, Gov. Fenner met his objection with the reply, "Better
make history than write it." He accepted the task, and soon organized a
system of agencies which, in four years, brought about an entire
revolution in the condition of the schools in the State. It is not
easy to fully appreciate the difficulties and magnitude of the work
undertaken in Rhode Island. From the foundation of the colony the common
school had been excluded from the care and patronage of the government,
and for more than a century and a half there is not the slightest trace
of any legislation whatever for this great interest.

To compel a citizen to support a school or educate his children was
regarded as a violation of the rights of conscience. Twenty years ago an
old Rhode Islander, well to do in the world, assigned as a reason for
refusing to aid in supporting a district school, "It is a Connecticut
custom, and I don't like it."

The plan of operations adopted was substantially the same as that
pursued in Connecticut. The first great work was to enlighten the
popular mind on the subject of common schools, and create a public
opinion in favor of right action. The next step was to frame and secure
the enactment of an efficient school code, adapted to the wants of the
State, which was accomplished in 1845. Then came the difficult task of
organizing the new system and of carrying out its provisions; in a word,
of bringing into existence in every school district the conditions of a
good school. This process was progressing with a rapidity scarcely ever
realized elsewhere, in the erection of better school-houses, in the
employment of better teachers, in the establishment of school libraries,
and in the increase of the means provided by law for the support of
schools. But before accomplishing all his plans for the improvement of
public education in Rhode Island the state of Mr. Barnard's health
rendered it imperatively necessary for him to resign his office. On his
retirement the Legislature, by a unanimous vote, adopted a resolution,
giving him their thanks for the "able, faithful, and judicious manner"
in which he had for five years fulfilled the duties of his office. The
teachers of the State, through a committee appointed at the several
institutes, presented him a handsome testimonial of their "respect and
friendship, and of their appreciation of his services in the cause of
education, and the interest which he had ever taken in their
professional improvement and individual welfare."[6]

  [6] Mr. Mann, in his Report to the Board of Education in Massachusetts,
  in 1846, refers to this work as follows: "Within the last year the State
  of Rhode Island has entirely renovated her school system. Under the
  auspices of that distinguished and able friend of common schools, Henry
  Barnard, she is preparing to take her place among the foremost of the
  States." In 1856 he speaks of Mr. Barnard's work in Rhode Island "as the
  greatest legacy he had left to American Educators; the best working
  model of school agitation and legal organization for the schools of the
  whole country which had yet been furnished."

Mr. Barnard returned to his old home in Connecticut. He was soon invited
to professorships in two colleges, and to the superintendence of public
schools in three different cities. But a more congenial work in his
own State awaited his restored health. In 1849 an act was passed to
establish a State Normal School, the principal of which should be the
superintendent of common schools. Mr. Barnard was elected to this
office, and accepted on condition that an assistant should be appointed
to take the immediate charge of the Normal School. He soon had the
satisfaction of seeing long-cherished hopes fulfilled. After many
struggles and efforts he saw his own State taking her appropriate place
among the foremost of the educating and educated States.

Our limited space will not allow even a glance at the particulars of his
doings while in office from 1850 till he resigned, at the close of the
year 1854, to give himself exclusively to labors of a more general and
national character. He had already accomplished as much perhaps as any
other individual for the promotion of education in every part of the
country. By repeated visits to the chief points of influence, by
extensive correspondence and numerous personal conferences with
the leading persons connected with the management of systems and
institutions of education, by addresses before popular assemblies,
literary associations, teachers, and legislative bodies throughout the
country, he had done more than any other man to shape the educational
policy of the nation. His publications had been numerous, important, and
widely disseminated. Besides the "Common School Journal" and reports
above alluded to, his work on "School Architecture" had been circulated
by tens of thousands, not only throughout America but in Europe,
creating a general revolution in public opinion on the subject. His work
on "Normal Schools" had been published several years, from which the
substance of nearly all documents on the subject since published have
been drawn. The volume entitled "National Education in Europe," begun in
1840, and containing about nine hundred closely printed pages, had been
published in 1854, a work well described as an "Encyclopædia of
Educational Systems and Methods," and of which the "Westminster Review"
speaks as "containing more valuable information and statistics than can
be found in any one volume in the English language." But his
contributions to educational literature did not stop here.

Scarcely did he find himself relieved from the routine of official life
when he projected and immediately entered upon the publication of a
still more valuable and important work, viz., the "American Journal of
Education." Four large octavo volumes of this Journal are now before the
public, and we may safely affirm of it that it is the most valuable and
comprehensive educational publication ever printed in the English
language, and it will be a lasting disgrace to the teachers and
educators of America if it has to be prematurely suspended for want of
sufficient patronage. Besides conducting this Journal, he has found time
for other labors of a general nature. As president of the American
Association for the Advancement of Education, his influence has been
widely and beneficially exerted. That his services to the cause of good
letters and education have been appreciated in high places may be
inferred from the fact that in 1851 he received the honorary degree of
Doctor of Law, from the corporation of Yale College, and in the same
year from Union College, and in the year following from Harvard
University.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Mr. Barnard's subsequent labors and successes, including his services
in connection with the United States Bureau of Education, will be the
subject of another article, which will be accompanied by a portrait from
a photograph recently taken.--ED.]




A DAUGHTER OF THE PURITANS.

BY ANNA B. BENSEL.

  "Have you known sorrow?"
  "No."
  "Then this sketch is not for you."


In one of the loveliest towns in New England there stood, many years
ago, a large, old-fashioned, rambling house, known to all the villagers
as the old Vincent Manor. It was such an old place, full of strange,
dark corners and winding halls; a place that would have been famous for
a game of hide-and-seek; but there were no children to roam at will over
the house, to laugh out of its dusky corners, or to set the high rafters
a-ring with noise. It had stood there--the house--before and after the
Revolution. It had been turned into a small garrison more than once. Its
walls had heard anxious councils, as men of strong nerve and resolute
will made their vows of independence. Stately dames and grand gentlemen,
in powder and ball dress, in ruffles and periwigs, had paced its weird
corridors, or danced the slow minuet in its great salon.

But now all was changed, and Mistress Marjory--as the neighbors called
her--lived alone in the old manor, the last of all her kin. She was a
tall, pale woman, bearing in her stately, gracious ways all the trace of
her proud ancestry, living alone, yet living for others, helping the
poor and the suffering, answering the call of sorrow everywhere it
reached her, loving and beloved. And her story--The story I learned one
day in the great drawing-room at Vincent Manor! Ah, well, after all,
perhaps it will not interest you as much as it did me. All lives have
their sorrows; does the telling of _one_ matter, after all?

But perhaps the charm and the pathos lay in the way Mistress Marjory
told it, sitting in the shadows before the open wood fire, with her
hands, so seldom idle, folded listlessly in her lap, and her beautiful
gray eyes looking far into the past. What a pretty picture she was in
her black silk dress, with its lace kerchief crossed on her bosom, with
her hair, white as snow, drawn back high from her brow! I like to think
of her as she looked that night so long ago.

And so it is that I think you may like the story best if I tell it to
you in her own words, just as she told it to me. So here it is:--

"My child-life was one full of excitement, yet little pleasure. What
with our struggles between hostile Indians and the soldiers of King
George, we had small time for play or serenity of living. Yet perhaps we
children enjoyed our play hours more than do those of the present time,
for they were so few and far between,--those peaceful, happy days,--they
were treasured all the more. Of the many strange events that happened in
those far-off years I have no time to tell you now. My parents had seven
children--there were six boys. I was the only daughter, and next to the
youngest, who was my favorite brother, one year my junior, sunny,
brave-hearted, and loyal in all things.

"While the men were at work in the fields, and women busy in the house,
the children on different homesteads kept watch for Indians. My
brothers, of course, took turns on our place; and sometimes in the
harvest days, when many hands were needed out doors, and I was not
helping my mother in spinning the flax, I was set on the lookout. Those
were days when the stoutest heart among us would quail at times, for
danger and horror were on every side; and I--well, I was none of the
bravest. But on the days when Harold knew I would be most likely put on
guard he would contrive so as to have his work near the house, and so
watch over me. In order to do so he would rise before the rest, and
going alone in his far corner of the field,--his only defence a faithful
dog, and a trusty rifle over which the dog kept watch while his master
worked,--he would finish his field labor for the day by the time I was
ready for my task. It was a mutual understanding between himself and my
father that this should be; and I think that while my parents feared for
the boy's safety they were proud of his courage that dared so much for
love.

"Well, we grew as children grow, through war and peace, through storm
and calm. And when the first gun of independence was fired on Bunker
Hill my father and brothers armed themselves and joined the numbers
there. Two of my brothers were killed outright in their first encounter
with Gage's men. In the third battle another was taken prisoner, and
with four others tried for 'treason against the king,' and shot. My
mother was a type of the bravest women of that period, but I thought she
would have died then, for he was her eldest born, upon whom she had
always looked with pride.

"I was eighteen then, and my heart and hands were full; but so were
those of many another woman. In that time girls were _women_ and boys
were _men_; it was needed so, you may be sure. Well, after a while the
struggle was over, you know, and they came home,--father, Robert,
George, and Hal. We were expecting them, and stood at the door
watching,--mother and I. And then--and then--we saw them coming, not in
triumph, as we expected, but slowly, a mournful little procession. We
saw father, Robert, and George, and a few neighbors, and they were
bearing a burden we could not see.

"They came nearer, and then I heard mother's awful shriek, that rings in
my dreams even now; but I stood there still; all my heart seemed turned
to stone. 'Seven wounds,' I heard them say, 'and the last was mortal.' O
Harry, my boy--my boy! He looked up and smiled faintly, as they bore him
past me into this very room, and laid him on that couch yonder. My boy!
I had never seen him so white and weak,--he who had been so strong
always. All my strength seemed gone, and I sank beside him as he held
out his hand for me to come to him. He was but a lad in years, but he
had a power of earnest courage many men of riper years do not possess.
Shot six times, he had insisted upon returning, after the dressing of
each wound, to the struggle going on so fiercely, heeding nothing,
fearing nothing, until, in that last battle, he had received the seventh
wound,--the seventh and the last. He lived two days after they brought
him home; and his sufferings! I shudder now when I think of them. He
died as he had lived,--strong and brave to the last. He was a handsome
lad, and he was beautiful in death. Oh, how I missed him! how I have
missed him all these years! Yet as I stood alone, bending over the
coffin, before they bore him out of the dear home forever, I knew all
his terrible pain was over, and through blinding tears I thanked God as
I have never thanked him since. I felt as if I should like to die too;
but soon the numb feeling passed away. Mother was failing, and she,
father, and the other boys leaned upon me as woman can be leaned on, and
I was beginning to be happier. In the train of the French general,
Lafayette, was a young soldier, Chevalier de Rosseau, and he had known
Harold, and loved him. He would come often to the house, and one day he
brought his sister Manon, who had followed him from France. She was the
loveliest little creature I ever saw. I call her little,--although she
was three years my senior,--she was so small and delicate. We became
great friends, and she told me, in her pretty, affectionate way, how she
had been afraid to cross the great ocean, but that she could not bear to
be separated from her brother, who was all she had, and so she had,
after trying in vain to live without seeing him for many months,
conquered her fear and crossed to America. But after a time La Fayette
prepared to return to France. Then it was that my life-trouble came to
me. Chevalier de Rosseau loved me, and I loved him; but when he asked my
father's consent to wed me he was sternly refused. My father had always
seemed to like the young count, and we had no fear of his opposition;
you can imagine, therefore, our dismay and grief. We sought in vain for
a reason for his refusal; he gave none. In vain my lover pleaded. I
could say nothing. In those times a daughter's obedience was in strict
command. Countess Manon wept in vain. They went back to France. I stayed
on. My brothers married and went away. My mother died, and then my
father, he commanding me on his death-bed not to marry Chevalier de
Rosseau. The latter, hearing of my father's death, came once more to
America, and sought again to woo me. What was the need of obeying the
dead? Why should we not be happy? He urged in vain. Dead, as living, my
father's word was law. I was very young still; and I was lonely in the
old house, from whence all joy had fled. The chevalier went back to
France. I never heard of him again but once, and then of his death.
Countess Manon was married, and came with her husband to America; here
she stayed four years, and we often saw each other. We might have been
sisters, and we loved each other as such. Ah, what narrow ways we have
to walk! Is it well in the end? God knows. Manon and her husband
returned to their own land in time, and once more I was left alone. I
had many suitors, but I cared for none; my love had not died, nor will
it ever. Perhaps, somewhere, some time, the life I could not have on
earth will be given in another world. I wait in patience. It will not be
long. The other day I heard of the death of Countess Manon. My brothers
are gone. I alone am left. Why is it so?--I ask myself over and over, I
have not cried for years; but the tears will come to-night as I think of
the past, and of beautiful Countess Manon lying cold and still in death
under the sunny skies of far-off Southern France. She may not have been
beautiful these later years. I forgot she was older even than I, and I
am very old; but to me she always was, and always will be, beautiful.
She was the last link of the old bygone years. What is the use of
remembering them? If Harold had only lived I could have been happy; but
I have not long to wait now. They will come for me. O Harry,
Harry!--across the long space of years the newer love has never dimmed
the older. Eternity waits. I shall see and know you again."

       *       *       *       *       *

Is it much, after all is told? I have repeated it just as Marjory
Vincent said it, half to me, yet more to herself, for she scarcely
heeded my presence; it was better so. Poor Mistress Marjory! There is
nothing left now; even the old manor is gone. And Mistress Marjory is at
rest.




JUDICIAL FALSIFICATIONS OF HISTORY.[7]

BY CHARLES COWLEY, LL.D.


Historical societies, magazines, and students are, in a real sense, the
guardians of historic truth. If a book is published which falsifies
history, it is our right, and, if the falsification is important, it may
be our duty, to expose the error. So, if those having the administration
of a government falsify history, as the Guizot ministry of France did,
when, vainly hoping to stem the tide of opposition to Louis Phillipe, it
covered Paris with handbills declaring "He is not a Bourbon, he is a
Valois," it is our privilege to "put the foot down firmly," as President
Lincoln said, upon any such falsification. So, too, if a court of
justice commits the indiscretion of falsifying history, as the Supreme
Court of the United States did in the legal-tender case, Guilliard _v._
Greenman, 111 U.S., 421, it well becomes the historic student to step
into the arena, as Mr. Bancroft has done, and, logically speaking, put
that court to the sword. To permit such falsifications to pass unnoticed
and unchallenged is a species of connivance at error; for, to quote a
maxim which is recognized alike in morals and in law, _Qui tacet
consentire videtur:_ "Silence gives consent."

  [7] Substance of an address before the New England Historic-Genealogical
  Society, April 7 1886.

An able lawyer of the Granite State bar, commenting on the decision of
the Supreme Court of New Hampshire in the case of Eastman _v._ Moulton,
3 N.H., 156, remarked that "the Court, without knowing it, repealed
nearly two hundred years of history."[8] In like manner, it may be said
that the Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts, in a decision recently
made, has falsified the juridical history of this Colony, Province, and
Commonwealth for more than two hundred years. We refer to its opinion in
the divorce suit of Robbins _v._ Robbins, printed, with the briefs of
counsel, in 1 New England Reporter, 434, and, without the briefs of
counsel, in 140 Mass., 528.

  [8] The Early Jurisprudence of New Hampshire. An address delivered
  before the New Hampshire Historical Society, June 3, 1883. By John M.
  Shirley, Esq.

The only question presented to the court in that case was whether
certain conduct on the part of the husband amounted in law to connivance
at the infidelity imputed by him to his wife. For one hundred years a
statute has been in force in Massachusetts (which, however, is only a
reënactment of what had long previously been recognized here as
unwritten law) providing that, in all matters of divorce, the Supreme
Judicial Court shall follow "the course of proceedings in the
Ecclesiastical Courts." Various decisions of the Ecclesiastical Courts
were cited to this court by counsel, showing that, according to the law
which prevailed in those courts, the conduct of the husband amounted to
connivance, and ought to preclude him from obtaining a divorce. In order
to obviate the conclusion to which these decisions clearly tended, the
Supreme Judicial Court proceeded to minimize the authority of the
Ecclesiastical Courts, by suggesting that "the decisions of those Courts
upon questions of substantive law are _not_ of the same weight here as
are the decisions of the English Courts of Law and Chancery;" because
"the Ecclesiastical Courts proceeded according to the Canon Law as
allowed and adopted in England; but the Canon Law was never adopted by
the Colonists of Massachusetts: it was not suited to their opinions or
condition."

Now it is true that the Ecclesiastical Courts of England were Canon-Law
Courts, as distinguished from Courts of Common Law and Courts of
Chancery; but this court here has erroneously assumed that the rules and
principles which governed the Ecclesiastical Courts in determining
questions of connivance were different from and inconsistent with the
rules and principles which governed the Courts of Common Law and
Chancery in determining similar questions. Nothing could be further from
the truth. In dealing with questions of this sort, the Canon-Law Courts,
the Common-Law Courts, and the Courts of Chancery sought and found rules
and principles in every system of morals and in every system of law
which had prevailed in any past time in any part of the civilized world,
and especially in the Civil Law of Ancient Rome. They all drank at the
same fountain. In the Roman Law they found the maxim already quoted, and
also the following, viz., _Qui alios cum potest ab errore non revocat,
se ipsum errore demonstrat:_ "He who, when he can, does not divert
another from wrong-doing, shows himself a wrong-doer." _Qui non prohibit
cum prohibere posset jubet:_ "He who does not forbid when he can forbid
seems to command." _Qui potest et debet vetare, tacens jubet:_ "He who
can and ought to forbid, and does not, assents." _Qui non obstat quod
obstare potest facere videtur:_ "He who does not prevent what he can
prevent seems, to commit the thing." Many others might be cited. In
short, the maxims of the Roman Law covered all questions of connivance
so completely that there was no need of devising any new rules in
relation thereto; and no new rules were devised.

With respect to the Canon Law we are enabled to speak positively; for
the whole of the Canon Law is found in the _Corpus Juris Canonici_; and
the _Corpus Juris Canonici_ nowhere attempts to define connivance, and
nowhere lays down any rule by which to determine whether any particular
act, or series of acts, amounts to connivance. When a Canonist had to
grapple with any question of connivance of new impression, he sought,
and never sought but found, ample guidance in the Old and New Testaments
and in the Roman Civil Law. Perhaps the learned judges who promulgated
this disparagement of the Canon Law have given as little attention to it
as John Adams gave to it before he disparaged it in his treatise on the
Feudal Law. There is a remark in one of Fielding's novels which perhaps
applies here, that, "generally speaking, a man will write better for
having some knowledge of what he is writing about;" or words to that
effect. The notes penned by Mr. Adams, in his private copy of his
treatise, warrant the inference that, after that treatise was printed,
he acquired a better understanding of the Canon Law than he had when he
wrote it. _Verbum sapienti._

In the _Corpus Juris Canonici_ we find at the end of the decretals a
collection of ancient maxims, of general application, culled chiefly
from the Roman Law, and promulgated by Pope Boniface VIII. One of these
maxims touches this case, and is the one first quoted in this article;
and, singular to say, it has been twice quoted with approval by the very
court which has put forth this disparagement of the Canon Law.--2
Pickering, 72; 119 Mass., 515.

In the same opinion, the court says, "Marriage and divorce here have
always been regulated wholly by statute." So far as it relates to
divorce, this statement betrays a lack of information touching the
divorce legislation of Massachusetts, as a Colony, as a Province and as
a Commonwealth, which is simply amazing. It would be much nearer the
truth to say that divorce here has always been regulated wholly by the
common or unwritten law. Prior to 1658 not a word of Statute Law was
enacted touching divorce in the Old Bay Colony, and not a word of
Statute Law touching divorce was ever at any time enacted in Plymouth
Colony. It is understood, however, that the Court of Assistants, which
was established in Massachusetts in 1639, exercised the divorce power
before the same was conferred upon it by any express grant; though the
records of that court during the period from 1640 to 1673 have been
lost, having been burned, as is supposed, with the Town House, in 1747.

In 1658 the Court of Assistants was expressly authorized to hear and
determine "all causes of divorce;" and nothing can be more certain than
that that court granted divorces in many cases.[9]

  [9] See Cowley's pamphlet, "Our Divorce Courts," &c., pp. 11, 13, 28-30.
  In the last revision of his History of the United States, Mr. Bancroft
  has corrected the errors which disfigured all the earlier editions of
  that work, and which are exposed on p. 10.

The leading members of the General Court (which then included the
Assistants), had been born and bred in England, and were familiar with
the general principles which governed the Ecclesiastical Courts, and the
High Court of Parliament, in granting divorces. They knew nothing of any
rules or principles applicable to divorce proceedings except those which
were recognized in the land of their birth, and of course they intended
that those rules and principles should be followed, as, in fact, they
were followed, by the Court of Assistants.

Although the Plymouth Colony had no statute touching divorce, the
General Court of that colony granted divorces in at least six cases, as
follows, viz.: in 1661, to Elizabeth Burge, of Sandwich, from Thomas
Burge; in 1668, to William Tubbs, of Scituate, from Mary Tubbs; in 1670,
to James Skiff from Elizabeth Skiff; in 1673, to Ensign John Williams,
of Barnstable, from Sarah Williams; in 1675, to Mary Atkinson, of
Taunton, from Marmaduke Atkinson; in 1680, to Elizabeth Stevens from
Thomas Stevens; in 1686, to John Glover from Mary Glover.[10]

  [10] See the supplementary chapter in the late John A. Goodwin's
  "Pilgrim Republic," soon to be published. Perhaps the case of Wade was
  rather a decree of nullity than a divorce.

In all these cases except one, the ground on which the divorce was
granted was infidelity to the marriage-vow. In the case of Mr. Atkinson,
the husband was presumed to have died, having been absent, and not heard
of, for seven years.

Prior to 1785 there was no statute in Massachusetts which defined the
causes for which divorces should be granted, or which prescribed the
forms, the rules, or the principles which the court of divorce should
follow, or which specified whether the divorces granted should be from
bed and board only, or from the bond of matrimony; though, as a fact,
most, if not all, of the divorces granted under the first charter were
from the bond of matrimony.

Thus the general principles which governed the Ecclesiastical Courts and
the High Court of Parliament, in relation to divorce proceedings, became
and formed a part of the common or unwritten law of Massachusetts at the
commencement of her history; and they have never ceased to form a part
of her common law. They have been reaffirmed again and again. Thus in
1692-3, after the abrogation of the colonial charter, and the
establishment of a provincial government, under the second charter, it
was enacted "that all controversies concerning marriage and divorce
should be heard and determined by the governor and council," which had
taken the place of the Court of Assistants. Again, in 1784-5, when the
province had become a commonwealth, when the divorce jurisdiction was
transferred to the Supreme Judicial Court, when the causes were defined
for which that court might grant divorces from bed and board, and
divorces from the bond of matrimony, respectively, it was enacted that
the court should hear and determine all causes of divorce and alimony,
"according to the course of proceeding in Ecclesiastical Courts and in
Courts of Equity;" and this provision has been reënacted at every
revision of our statutes, in 1836, 1860, and 1882. By force of this
statute the general principles which governed the Ecclesiastical Courts
are a part of the law of Massachusetts to-day. One short chapter of the
Public Statutes contains all her statutory law touching not only divorce
but several other incidental subjects. It is a chapter of fragments.
Connivance, collusion, condonation, recrimination, and other defences
are not even mentioned therein.

In the case of Commonwealth _v._ Munson, 127 Mass., 459, Chief-Justice
Gray, referring to the requisites of a valid marriage ceremony, said
"the Canon Law was never adopted" in Massachusetts; and this is true in
respect to the particular subject which that learned judge had under
consideration. He never meant it as an unqualified statement, for as
such it would not be true. In 1691 the marriage between Hannah Owen and
Josiah Owen was declared null and void by the Court of Assistants,
because Hannah was the widow of Josiah's brother, and because by "the
Canon Law, as allowed and adopted in England," ever since Archbishop
Cranmer annulled the marriage between Henry VIII. and Catherine of
Aragon, no man could lawfully marry his brother's widow. We do not stop
to consider whether the Canon Law in this respect was right or wrong; we
merely cite this case to show that, as to some things, the Canon Law was
adopted here. In one marked instance the people of Massachusetts
deviated from "the Canon Law as allowed and adopted in England," to
follow the Canon Law as allowed and adopted by the Popes of Rome; they
enacted that, upon the marriage of the parents of any illegitimate
child, such child should thereby become legitimate.

The colonists of Massachusetts had no such blind prejudice against the
Canon Law, or the Church of England, or the Church of Rome, as prevented
them from adopting whatever they found therein which their consciences
and their reason approved. So far from cherishing an unreasoning
prejudice against the Ecclesiastical Courts, the people of Massachusetts
have preserved, in their Probate Courts, substantially the same system
of law and substantially the same method of procedure which were
followed in the Consistory Court of London, and in the Consistory Court
of Rome; notwithstanding that system came to them associated with the
name of one of the most unpopular and yet one of the ablest of their
governors--Sir Edmund Andros.

There were, indeed, two complaints which the Puritans of Old England and
of New England often made against the English Ecclesiastical Courts:
first, that they punished with merciless severity violations of certain
ecclesiastical regulations which involved no moral turpitude; second,
that they were too lax in the punishment of social sins, Sabbath
desecrations, etc., etc. But nowhere among the literary remains of the
Puritans do we find any suggestion that the system of morals which was
recognized by the Canon Law and administered by the Ecclesiastical
Courts was "not suited to their opinions or condition." We shall not be
understood as saying that the Canon Law in its entirety was ever adopted
in New England, or even in Old England; it was not. When Henry VIII.
assumed the prerogatives of supreme head of the Church of England, so
much of the Canon Law as relates to the jurisdiction of the Pope was
abrogated in that kingdom. So when the colonists of Massachusetts
established "a Church without a bishop and a State without a king," so
much of the Canon Law as relates to diocesan episcopacy also fell into
what President Cleveland would call "innocuous desuetude." But they
adopted the decalogue of Moses with as much reverence as did their
fathers before them. They knew as well as the poet Lowell that "The Ten
Commandments will not budge," but that, vitalized by the life of Christ,
those commandments stand "the same yesterday, to-day, and forever."




DORRIS'S HERO.

A ROMANCE OF THE OLDEN TIME.

BY MARJORIE DAW.


"Spin, spin, Clotho, spin," hummed a gay, masculine voice. "Methinks,
fair Mistress Dorris, even the Fates themselves could not be more
devoted to their task than are you to that busy little wheel."

Pretty Dorris Gordon glanced up from her seat by the long window opening
into the cool, grassy orchard, where the sun played hide-and-seek with
the shadows and then came back to rest _caressingly_ on her bent head
crowned with its own sunshine of chestnut hair, but she stayed neither
busy hand nor foot as she answered,--

"Since your mighty mind is bent on mythological comparisons, Capt.
L'Estrange, 'tis but a poor compliment to a fair lady when a gallant
officer compares her to three old Fates,--unless he qualifies the remark
somewhat. Could you not add something about my fairy fingers weaving the
destiny of man? I fear your quick French wits have been dulled by that
cold British bullet in your arm."

"Nay, 'tis not the British bullet, but yourself, _ma belle cousine_,
that bewilders my French wits and inspires me instead with American
patriotism," is the quick retort.

"Far better than your last speech," laughs Dorris, taking from her belt
a deep-red rose fastened by a true-love knot of blue ribbon to a snowy
white bud. "So much better that I will bestow on you my colors. See! the
red, white, and blue! Wilt wear them like a brave and gallant knight?"

"They shall be like Henri of Navarre's plume: ever foremost in the
struggle for right," the young officer answered, bending to kiss the
little hand which held the proffered treasure. "I well know no empty
compliment will please you as that promise, and indeed its sincerity
will soon be tested, for my arm is so much better that I am ready for
action, and next week I am off."

"So soon?" cried Dorris. "Oh, that I were a man, to fight for the stars
and stripes!"

"I am always sure to find the words here set to the tune of Yankee
Doodle," breaks in a new voice with a light laugh. "Still, you deserve a
laurel wreath for that enthusiastic wish. Will a humble offering of
roses be unworthy of notice, fair Goddess of Liberty?" and a shower of
sweet-scented blossoms fell over Dorris' head and shoulders.

"O Mr. Endicott! goddesses are not crowned so unceremoniously. Imagine
Paris pelting Venus with that apple that made so much trouble," says
Dorris, glancing up half angrily, half mirthfully, at the tall intruder
leaning so easily against the window. "I am almost minded to make you
hold this skein of yarn, as a penance, while I wind it."

"Alas! she descends from a goddess to the most prosaic of mortals,"
sighs Endicott; then springing through the low window, "I am ready to
obey; but that skein is imposing. What _is_ its destiny?"

"And why, oh, why this inseparable devotion to that unfeeling wheel?"
adds L'Estrange. "I came for a stroll, and, _voilà!_ she cannot leave
her spinning. Is it a trousseau, that must be ready when some lover
comes home from the war?"

Dorris's bright face saddens suddenly, the perfect mouth loses its arch
curves, and a shadow creeps into the brown eyes as the long lashes droop
over them.

"The skein is to be knit into socks for the soldiers," she says simply;
"and as for my wheel, I love it because it is connected with one who has
been more to me than any lover. 'Tis but a homely story, but I will tell
it to such old friends as you. I need not tell you that I have a brother
in the army, but you do not--you cannot--know how dear he is to me, how
he has taken the place of both father and mother. It seems as if brother
and sister had never been bound by ties so close, and when this war came
upon us I watched him day by day, knowing well the thought in his heart,
and trembling for what I knew _must_ come; and yet when Rex came to me
and said, 'Little sister, my country needs me: can you be brave, and
bear it, if I go?' oh, then it seemed to me that I could not bear it!
But I thought of the brave Lafayette leaving his home and loved ones to
fight for us, a foreign nation, and my heart smote me that _I_ could not
be willing to offer my mite for my own dear country, and I bade my
brother, 'Go, and God-speed.' It was only a few weeks before that he had
given me this wheel, and almost his last words were, as he stood smiling
in the door-way, 'Remember, Dorris, I shall expect to find on my return
one dozen handkerchiefs spun and woven by yourself and that wonderful
wheel.' I have remembered that careless injunction, and have obeyed it.
There lies awaiting his return the pile of snowy linen, but we have not
heard from him for long, long weeks, and sometimes my heart seems
breaking, with the constant dread that haunts it. Do you wonder now that
I love my dear little wheel?"

Impulsive, warm-hearted, patriotic Dorris ends with a little sob in her
voice, and L'Estrange welcomes the entrance of the host and hostess of
the old-time mansion, as it covers the awkward emotion of the moment. As
he advances to pay his _devoirs_ to them Keith Endicott seizes his
opportunity to say softly, as he bends over the head buried in the now
idle hands:--

"Sweet friend, you said you wished you were a man, to fight for the
flag; remember, even though 'tis hard, 'They also serve who only stand
and wait.'"

Then, while Dorris tries to change the sob into words, he follows the
others into the wide, long hall, where the breezes, sweeping in through
the open doors at either end, fill the summer air with delicious
coolness, and the scent of roses mingles with that of newly-mown clover.
The breezes, too, bring to Dorris bits of conversation from the hall;
but they fall on unheeding ears until an abrupt speech from her uncle
claims her attention.

"Endicott," says his voice, "why don't you join the army? Such men are
being called for,--young, strong, and able. Why don't you go?"

Dorris almost holds her breath as she awaits the answer. She scarcely
knows how many times she has asked herself that very question. The
answer comes quietly, almost indolently, though she knows that
Endicott's reticent nature must be annoyed beyond measure.

"Why don't I? Really, I do not know, sir. Young, strong, and able, an
idle fellow enough. I think it must be because it hurts, and I'm a
dreadfully selfish fellow."

What reply could be made to his careless, easy tones? And the talk
drifted smoothly on--the more smoothly, perhaps, since no one believed a
word that he said, for Keith Endicott ere this had earned the name of
the soul of bravery and honor; but Dorris dropped to the ground the
roses that had lain all this time in her lap, as if an unseen thorn had
wounded her, and, rising, went away to her own cosey room, where she
flung herself into an arm-chair and fell into a deep study, looking from
her window through the trees to where the blue waters of the Charles
gleamed and rippled in the sunlight. It was a lovely spot, this home of
her aunt in the suburbs of Boston,--a home which Dorris had called her
own since her parents' death, years before, when she and her brother had
been confided to her aunt's tender care. And Dorris loved every spot of
this rambling, old, colonial mansion, from its spacious ballroom, and
its wide porches, to her own room, with its faded tapestry hangings, its
great fireplace and bright brass andirons, its hanging book-shelves with
their store of well-chosen volumes, the English titles varied here and
there by a Latin or French classic (for Dorris had studied with her
brother, and was quite proficient in both languages; indeed, L'Estrange
delighted in calling her a _bas-bleu_ in a vain attempt to tease her),
its tall, brass-handled secretary with its secret drawer, which Dorris
called so tantalizing, because she had no secret to hide in its depths,
and the eight-day clock ticking away in the corner, which now struck the
hour, waking Dorris from her revery into words:--

"I wonder why he does not go: he is no coward; it is not that. I verily
believe it is as he said: he is selfish, and does not want the trouble.
How he laughs, and disbelieves in everybody, even himself! and what a
narrow life he must lead! And yet, sometimes I think better, as I needs
must, of my old playmate. Just now he spoke to me with real feeling, and
truly, it was a sweet and comforting thought he offered me. And yet the
other day, after church, when Gen. Brewster spoke so cordially to Henri
L'Estrange and Lieut. Allen, and then bestowed rather a contemptuous
glance on Keith,--I mean Mr. Endicott,--I caught him quoting, under his
breath, 'The world is a farce, and its favors are follies; but farces
and follies are very dear to human hearts.' I could not help saying,
'When its favors are well-earned I think they cease to be follies.' It
was, at the best, bad taste to cavil in that way at Henri, who is so
brave and enthusiastic, and has come all the way from his own and his
father's native France because his mother's land needed brave, true men.
And he is going away next week; if he could only send us news of Roy!"

"Dorris!" called her aunt's voice. "It is quite time you were ready for
dinner, dear. And do you not think you were failing in courtesy to your
guests to leave them so abruptly?"

"Cousin Henri has had enough of my society, to-day, Aunt Dorothy, and
I've no patience with Keith Endicott; you heard how he answered uncle.
But I'll come in a moment, auntie," answers Dorris; and the arm-chair
loses its fair occupant.

Quaint, dainty little Dorris! What would not I--I, your
great-granddaughter, in this degenerate year of 1885--give to see you
just as you looked then, thinking over this and that in a manner not so
very unlike the maidens of this generation! Ah, well! I must perforce
content myself with that miniature of you as "Madam," in your lavender
brocade, with the feathers in your powdered hair, and the row on row of
pearls about your throat. Very stately and dignified you look there; and
yet, Great-grandmother Dorris, I can see the spice of "innate
depravity," as I doubt not your grave pastor would have called it, and
catch a glimpse of the quick temper and warm heart in those bright eyes
and that saucy little nose.

The evening before Capt. L'Estrange's departure has come, and a few of
the many friends he has made during his short furlough spent with the
Gordons are gathered there to make the last hours of his stay such as
shall afford him pleasant recollections in the future. Dorris makes a
charming little hostess as she flits from room to room, and at last
pauses on the porch before a group of three, L'Estrange, Endicott, and
Lieut. Allen, an old friend who is home on sick-leave, who welcome
warmly and admiringly the slight, graceful figure in its white dress,
with a bag of red, white, and blue hanging from her dimpled elbow, a
fancy of Dorris, enhanced by the red and white roses and blue
forget-me-nots in her hair,--flowers which she found on her
spinning-wheel, with no clew to the giver.

"Mon Capitaine Henri, Aunt Dorothy wants you for a moment," she says
now. "They are all enjoying themselves, so I came out here to rest.
Lieut. Allen," she adds graciously, as her cousin disappears, "I am glad
that we are to have one representative of the army left after my cousin
leaves us."

"I thank you, Miss Gordon," answers the young soldier, "but my stay is
limited; you see I hobble around now with the aid of a crutch. I only
wish I could go with your cousin."

"L'Estrange is in your regiment, is he?" asks Endicott.

"Yes, we fought side by side at Saratoga. You know what a close conflict
that was. Such a din of shot and shell that an order could be scarcely
heard in the tumult. It was hot work I can assure you."

Dorris is leaning forward in breathless interest, and as he pauses asks
a characteristic question: "How did you feel then? What were your
thoughts?"

"Well, it was a most absurd thing, but I found myself, though I could
scarcely hear my own voice, repeating a verse from one of the old
cavalier ballads:--

  "'We were standing foot to foot, and giving shoot for shoot;
    Hot and strong went our volleys at the blue;
    We knelt, but not for grace, and the fuse lit up the face
    Of the gunner, as the round shot by us flew.'"

Endicott smiles. "But it was a good battle-cry, Allen. I remember your
reciting verses at Cambridge in your college-days, but it was generally
'A sonnet to your mistress' eyebrows,'--some fair one who had conquered
your heart for a week perhaps."

Dorris is not to be diverted from the absorbing topic of ball and
bayonet, and returns to the charge.

"But how did you feel when you were wounded?" she asks again.

"Oh, I did not know where I was hit. In the midst of the fight I
wondered why I couldn't move my left foot; it was like lead in the
stirrup, and looking down I saw the mark where the ball had struck, and
the blood following it. It was a little quieter then, so I got the
sergeant near me to clip, and ease my foot a little. But you should have
seen L'Estrange: he was wounded then; and when the order came to charge
he rushed on, waving his sword, with the blood dripping from his arm.
How the men rushed after him! And when he came back supporting another
poor fellow, and insisting on his being cared for first, you should have
heard the men cheer him."

"And you, Allen," suggests Endicott,--"how did you get on with that
wound of yours?"

"Well, I was rather faint by the time we were ready to go back to camp;
but somebody set me straight in the saddle when I reeled, and I managed
to get back all right."

"But where was the surgeon all the while?"

"To tell the truth, I was so much better off than most of the poor
fellows, Keith, I made him help the rest. That was all."

"So you took the chance of enjoying a British surgeon's tender mercies,
for the sake of men, who, perhaps, could not live anyway. Allen, you
always were a good-natured Don Quixote."

Allen laughed as if he saw something beneath the words which excused
their lightness, but Dorris frowned, as she looked admiringly at the
manly fellow so ready to see his comrade's unselfish bravery, so
unconscious of his own. She often saw the wounded soldier leaning on
Endicott's arm, and their words seemed grave and earnest, while
Endicott's face seemed for a time to lose its cynical sneers. And then
Dorris had relented, only to harden again at some irreverent words of
this incorrigible Keith. A sharp retort was on her lip now, but she
restrained it as L'Estrange once more joined the group, and the talk
drifted into quieter channels, the young soldiers a little graver than
usual. At last L'Estrange spoke with tender regret of the peaceful
scenes he was to leave so soon behind him, and Endicott answered:--

"Yes; think of all the drives and walks and talks, and all the charms of
civilized life you forego, and then of the camp-life and forced marches,
and chances of broken arms and legs, which you endure, and all for that
one sweet virtue,--patriotism."

This was too much for quick-tempered Dorris. Out flashed her words:--

"Mr. Endicott cares so little for that sweet virtue that he will enjoy
your pleasures while _you_ fight _his_ battles. If you will excuse me
now I will return to the parlors;" and with little head proudly erect,
Dorris started to enter the house, entertaining the fond hope that she
had at last paid Keith for all his trials of her patience and
patriotism. Alas!

  "The best laid plans o'mice and men gang aft a-gley;"

and some one had carelessly left a footstool on the porch, and as
Dorris's foot struck it Endicott was the one to spring forward and save
her from falling. Lifting her eyes to acknowledge the courtesy, she met
such a look of quiet reproach that her "Thank you" came very humbly from
so proud a young lady; and when she reflected on the subject at that
trying moment which we have all experienced when we have regained our
temper, and are taking a mental retrospect of the occasion when we very
foolishly lost it, it was in vain that she tried to justify herself by
repeating his sneering words. Remembering the look that followed them,
she said, in self-abasement, "I had no right to judge him," and in her
humiliation avoided meeting him so successfully that for several days
after her cousin's departure she neither saw nor heard of him, until at
last she heard with relief that he had gone away for a short time, on
receiving news of the death of a cousin,--his nearest relative. But when
week after week passed, and Aunt Dorothy had several times wondered
aloud what had become of Mr. Endicott, Dorris began to wonder as well,
and to miss the magnetic presence that made him so charming to all;
indeed, she discovered, to her own uncontrollable disgust, that she
missed him even more than her cousin, whose warm and generous nature had
endeared him to all his new friends.

In the meantime Lieut. Allen called to say farewell to his former
playmate, and the friend of his later years. What if Dame Rumor said he
cherished a latent desire for a nearer title than either of these.
Dorris said they were only firm and true friends; and the tenor of their
talk seemed to prove that she was right, for as she turned from the
old-time spinnet, where she had been singing the lovely little serenade
of Thomas Heywood:--

  "Pack clouds away, and welcome day;
   With night we banish sorrow;
   Sweet airs, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft,
   To give my love good-morrow.
   Wings from the wind to please her mind,
   Notes from the lark I'll borrow;
   Bird, plume thy wing, nightingale, sing,
   To give my love good-morrow!"

Allen said abruptly, "Dorris, for what are you waiting?"

"Waiting?" repeated Dorris, wonderingly.

"Yes; don't you remember

  "While year by year the suitors come
   To find her locked in silence dumb?"

"If it was any one but my old friend Max I should make you a very low
courtesy, and say, 'By your leave, fair sir, it is a matter of not the
slightest consequence to _you_;' but I'll tell you the truth and nothing
but the truth: I'm waiting for my hero, Max."

"For your hero? Yes; I thought you were. And what is he like? A fairy
prince like the Sleeping Beauty's?"

"Don't be satirical: it doesn't suit you, Max," retorts Dorris.

"Satirical? I'm in the deepest earnest. Won't you describe him? I really
wish to know."

"Well," began Dorris, "it is not exactly an easy thing to describe an
imaginary person. He is no fairy prince, Max, but a strong and earnest
man, a true and noble soul; a man who, for a good cause, would peril
anything, a knight like Bayard of old: _sans peur et sans reproche_."

"Do you think you will ever find this ideal?" questions Max.

"No," is the prompt reply. "If there are such men, I have never met
them. But I would far rather wait for the dim ideal than try the
commonplace reality."

"But is all the reality commonplace? Let me tell you a story, Dorris; I
shall not bore you, for it is not long: When I joined the army, in the
first of the war, I went to tell an old friend, and to take leave of
him. He was a peculiar fellow, seemingly cold, light and satirical,
half-sneering at the ardent blaze of patriotism that was burning all
around him, seeming to have no intention of serving his country in her
need. And yet I knew him to be the truest, noblest, tenderest, and most
loyal fellow among all my friends. He looked at me with real envy, and
then exclaimed: 'I wish to Heaven I could go with you, Allen!' and I
answered: 'Why don't you? I have never asked before because I knew you
had some worthy reason.' After some hesitation, he began: 'Because you
have never doubted or questioned me I will tell you why I am here, when
every feeling is against my inactivity. You will keep my secret?' Of
course I promised, and he went on: 'You know I am very wealthy, Max,
that my income is, for these times, extremely large; but you do not know
that, by my grandfather's will, the next heir, in case of my death, is
my cousin, a man who aids and abets the Tories in every possible way, a
man unscrupulous and unprincipled to the last degree. I have but one
life; I might lay it down in my first battle, and that property, over
which I have no control, would be worse than useless to my country. It
would aid her foes, and, much as she needs men, she needs money even
more. So I stay here, and put my income, as fast as I get it, to the
national use. You know what my income is. I'll show you my expenses';
and he showed me the merest fraction--less than I spend myself, I began
to expostulate on his endurance of suspicion and blame for what might be
so nobly explained, but he would only say, 'Oh, it would sound quixotic
and sentimental; and, after all, what does it matter? I know _myself_
that I am serving my country to the best of my poor ability.' But at
last, Dorris, he is rewarded, for he was born to be a soldier; and when,
three weeks ago, he received news of the sudden death of that cousin, he
immediately enlisted, and is now serving his country in the way he has
so long desired. What do you think of such a man as he?"

"He is a hero," answered Dorris, steadily, though a suspicion, quick as
a ray of light, had flashed through her mind as to who this hero was. "A
hero as true as any my fancy could paint. Who is he--this noble friend
of yours?"

"Keith Endicott," is the quiet answer, adding, quickly, as he rose to
take his leave. "Forgive me, sweet friend, that I could no longer bear
that you should do injustice to him, for those quick words of yours the
last evening we were all together have rankled in my heart, as I know
they have in his, ever since."

Dorris was not too proud to acknowledge when she was in the wrong, and
with winning grace she said, as she gave him her hand:--

"I thank you for the lesson you have taught me, Max. I was wrong to
judge him so hardly, but be assured I will make full amends when we meet
again."

Then the good-bys were said, the good wishes given, and the last of
Dorris's three cavaliers had left her.

       *       *       *       *       *

Summer has gone, and snow lies white upon the ground, and we find Dorris
seated before the old desk, whose secret drawer is no longer empty, but
holds a faded cluster of roses and forget-me-nots, writing busily in her
diary a record not only of the day's doings but of the varying emotions
which each day brought to life. The words the busy hand is tracing are
these:--

"Jan. 2, 1779. Yesterday was the beginning of the New Year, and as I
wondered what it would bring me,--joy or grief, pleasure or pain,--I
saw a carriage come up the drive-way and then stop, while the driver
assisted to the door a figure in a soldier's uniform. In a moment I was
in the hall, and my arms around my brother--for it was my own bravest
Roy. He had often written us, but we received none of his letters: they
were either intercepted or lost. But, oh, how can I forgive myself when
I think to whom I owe my brother's life! that, when Roy was surrounded
by enemies, and desperately wounded, it was Keith Endicott who rushed to
his aid, and, fighting against fearful odds, bore him alive from the
field, at the cost of a sabre cut on his own hand. It was he who saw Roy
daily in his long struggle with death, and when that dreadful presence
was banished it was he who cared for his safe transportation home, to
enjoy the rest which is the only means of giving him back his old
strength and vigor. And Roy almost worships Keith, as well he may,
saying he is the idol of the soldiers, who have dubbed him the hero of
the regiment.

"The New Year has truly brought me happiness, for my brother is with me
safe once more; our armies are fast gaining ground, our victories are
more numerous, and hope dawns that the flag of liberty will yet wave
triumphantly over a free and happy nation; and I can once more mingle a
song and not a sob with the busy hum of my wheel."

       *       *       *       *       *

Two years have passed; Yorktown has been fought and won, and Dorris's
hopeful words are verified. The flag of liberty is unfurled over a free
and happy nation,--a nation with its history yet before it, with only
its darkest and yet most glorious record traced indelibly on the annals
of the world. The New Year has come again, and Dorris, with her
spinning-wheel, is wondering what it will bring her. The door opens
suddenly, and some one announces, "Col. Endicott, Miss Gordon."

For a moment Dorris loses sight of everything but a tall figure in the
quaint Continental uniform, and only hears the old, light tones say,
"Will the fair Goddess of Liberty welcome the soldier as he comes back
from fighting his own battles, as she bade him?"

And Dorris, with a blush for the memory he recalls, bravely confesses
her fault and her gratitude, and ends very humbly, "Can you forgive me,
Col. Endicott?" stealing a look up at the grave face.

"Forgive you, dear child! Do you not know that I have loved you all the
time? Now that you know I am a little better than you thought me can you
trust me for the rest? Can you love me a little, sweet Dorris?"

There was no lightness now, only deep, loving tenderness; and Dorris
answered trustingly:--

"I have been waiting for my hero, and I have found him, Keith."

And there we will leave them, while the dancing fire-light shows us the
pretty scene beside Dorris's dear little spinning-wheel, and the silvery
beams of the rising moon bring to Dorris the beginning of a new and
happy life with the advent of a new year.

But ah, Great-grandmother Dorris, stately and demure in your lavender
brocade, and your feathered and powdered hair, do you know you were not
so very unlike the Dorrises of to-day, after all? And they have
spinning-wheels, too, with their flax tied with blue ribbons. And think
you that these wheels see no romances? Ah, but they can't _tell_ them,
you know, pretty Grandmother Dorris.




EDITOR'S TABLE.


It often happens that the worst effects of wrong-doing are visited upon
neither the criminal nor upon those who have suffered in person or
property by his crime. This fact is emphasized by the recent suicide of
a convict's wife, in one of our New England States, after having killed
her two children. This incident furnishes a dreadful commentary on the
condition of those dependent upon convicted criminals who are paying the
penalty of their crimes. For the convict there is abundant sympathy. As
the _St. Louis Globe Democrat_ well puts it, societies are organized for
the purpose of improving his mind, and cooking-clubs toil and perspire
at Christmas and Thanksgiving to the end that his body may not suffer;
tract-distributors provide him with reading matter, and sewing-circles
warm him with flannel under-wear; doctors look after his health, and
legislators vie with each other in seeing that he is not overworked;
but, if there is any society organized for the purpose of helping the
wife whom he has disgraced, and most likely left penniless at home, its
name has not yet been made public; if any sewing-circle has undertaken
to clothe his children, the fact has not been heralded to the world. Yet
the heaviest part of the punishment falls not on the convict but on his
family, the members of which, by one of those unjust society decisions
from which there is no appeal, are stigmatized with disgrace on account
of an offence in which they had no part. This is grossly unjust, and
those who are benevolently inclined should take the matter in hand and
see what can be done for the wives and children of convicts.

       *       *       *       *       *

New England has no representative in the national legislature upon whose
career she can look with more of pride and satisfaction than that of
Gen. Joseph R. Hawley, of Connecticut. A man of sound learning, and
many of the highest qualities of statesmanship; he is unpretentious in
manner, lives simply, is free from egotism, and full of the generous and
manly qualities which inspire confidence and compel friendliness. Few
men, of this generation at least,--as will be universally recognized a
little later if not now,--have approached nearer to the popular ideal of
a representative American in public life. There could be no better
evidence of the manly independence which he brings to the discussion of
measures of importance than his attitude with reference to the bill
intended to provide for the maintenance of an army of such size and
efficiency as to provide for all possible contingencies arising from
foreign aggression or internal troubles. In recognition of the fact that
we have lawless elements in all of our large cities always ready to
avail themselves of any pretext for riot and incendiarism, he urged the
wisdom of providing such safeguards against these uprisings as would be
afforded by disciplined and efficient troops ready for instant service
at any point. Some of the demagogues in the Senate, hypocritically
posing as friends of the working-men, endeavored to distort this
common-sense and patriotic view into an intention to use the army for
the crushing of the working-men. There have been few better speeches in
the Senate in recent times than Senator Hawley's temperate but cutting
reply to these pseudo-friends of labor. It affords sufficient evidence,
if any were wanting, that the true friends of the working-men are those
who have the courage of their convictions, even when to utter them may
afford opportunity for misrepresentation and abuse.

       *       *       *       *       *

The report of a recent attempt to wreck a train on the Maine Central
Railroad is not so startling as it would be were this species of crime
of less frequent occurrence; but it is noteworthy as being the sixth
attempt of the kind at the same place within a few years. It is very
fortunate that so many of these dastardly efforts to bring innocent
people to destruction prove futile. In fact it is comparatively seldom
that the boldest attempts at train-wrecking result in loss of life. The
awful possibilities, however, which lie within the hands of the
train-wrecker suggest most forcibly that this crime should be treated
with unusual severity. The person who would indiscriminately bring the
passengers of a moving train to death must invariably, if sane, be a
criminal of the darkest dye. Murder of an individual, even when coming
within the first degree, is not often without some particular
aggravation on the part of the victim. But train-wrecking must always be
the result of the purest malice,--of diabolism unalloyed. No palliating
circumstance ever suggests itself. The villain attempts to kill not one
who has involved himself in a quarrel with him, but peaceable,
unsuspecting men, women, and children, without distinction. And attempts
of this kind have become so frequent, and the crime is at once so
cowardly, so insidious, and so dastardly, that no pains to apprehend the
villain can ever be too great, nor can any penalty that is allowed for
any crime be too severe for this. If capital punishment is to be on our
statute books for anything, it should certainly be for the
train-wrecker. Let there be a law which shall with certainty bring to
the hangman's noose every person who makes even an attempt to destroy a
moving train, and this fiendish crime may be less frequent than it now
is.




HISTORICAL RECORD.


March 19.--Under this date Mayor Chapman, chairman of the Committee on
Invitation for the Centennial Celebration at Portland, Maine, which is
to occur on the 4th of July next, issued a circular saying: "The
Committee on Invitation of the Centennial Committee desire to have a
record prepared of the names of Sons and Daughters of Portland who are
residents in other places, to whom invitations to attend the Centennial
Anniversary can be sent. For that purpose they request information of
such absentees, including those who were born here--those whose parents,
or husbands, or wives were natives of our city, and also those not
natives who were former residents. Such information can be communicated
by letter or otherwise to John T. Hull, Clerk of Committee, at Room No.
18, City Hall."

       *       *       *       *       *

March 21.--Fire at Newburyport destroyed two shoe factories and a
three-tenement block; another block was nearly destroyed, and other
buildings were damaged. Total loss, $75,000.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 1.--Celebration at Lowell of the fiftieth anniversary of the
incorporation of the city. In the forenoon an historical address was
given by C. C. Chase, formerly principal of the High School; in the
afternoon Mayor Abbott gave an address, followed by an oration by Hon.
F. T. Greenhalge.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 4.--Fire at Westboro', Mass., destroyed shoe factories and damaged
other buildings, with a total loss of $90,000.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 7.--The State election in Rhode Island resulted in the election
for governor of George Peabody Wetmore for a second term. The
prohibitory constitutional amendment was adopted.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 7.--Quarterly meeting of the New England Historic Genealogical
Society. Judge Cowley, of Lowell, read a paper on "Judicial
Falsification of History."

Rev. Increase N. Tarbox, D.D., the historiographer, reported that since
Jan. 1 there had been fifteen deaths among the members. Memorial
sketches of seven deceased members were reported, namely: Nicholas
Hoppin, D.D., a resident member, born in Providence R.I., Dec. 3, 1812,
died in Cambridge, Mass., March 8, 1886. Ex-president William Smith
Clark, resident member, born in Ashfield, Mass., July 31, 1826, died in
Amherst, Mass., March 9, 1886. George H. Allan, a resident member, born
in Boston, Mass., June 16, 1832, died in Boston, March 15, 1886. William
Temple, a resident member, born in Reading, Mass., Sept. 15, 1801, died
in Woburn, Mass., March 18, 1886. Archbishop Richard Chenevix French,
corresponding member, born in Dublin, Ireland, Sept. 7, 1807, died March
27, 1886. John Bostwick Morean, corresponding member, born in New York
City, Oct. 12, 1812, died in same city, March 10, 1886. John Gerrish
Webster, life member, born in Portsmouth, N.H., April 8, 1811, died in
Boston, Feb. 7, 1886. Francis Minot Weld, life member and benefactor,
born in Boston, April 27, 1815, died in Jamaica Plain, Feb. 4, 1886.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 7.--Terrible disaster to a Fitchburg Railroad train near
Bardwell's Ferry, on the State road. Ten persons were killed and
twenty-two injured.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 13.--Regular meeting of the Bostonian Society. The following life
members were admitted: Charles Francis Adams, Jr., Thomas Mack, William
Minot, Jr., Jonathan A. Lane, Clarence J. Blake, M.D., Amos A. Lawrence,
Nahum Chapin, William Caleb Loring, J. A. Woolson. The essay was by
Alexander S. Porter, on "Real Estate Values in Boston During the Present
Century." The highest priced land which the essayist had heard of in
Boston is the estate bought by H. D. Parker at the corner of Tremont and
School streets, 1,984 square feet, for $200,000, or about $100 per foot.
The cheapest he had heard of was that of Harrison Gray Otis, on the west
slope of Beacon Hill, he having obtained it by squatter sovereignty. In
closing he said that real estate has proved to be a safe investment in
Boston, and many wealthy families have gained a large share of their
wealth simply by the rise of real-estate values.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 13.--At an adjourned meeting of the people of Lexington who are
interested in the formation of an historical society, an organization
was effected by the choice of the following-named officers: president
Hon. A. E. Scott; vice-presidents, M. H. Merriam, W. A. Tower, Miss K.
Whitman, Miss M. E. Hudson; treasurer, L. A. Saville; recording
secretary, A. E. Locke; corresponding secretary, Rev. E. G. Porter;
historian, Rev. C. A. Staples; custodian, Dr. R. M. Lawrence.

April 13.--Celebration of the incorporation of the new town of Hopedale.
At sunset a salute of eighty-six guns was fired by Battery B, of
Worcester, Hopedale being the eighty-sixth town incorporated in
Massachusetts during this century. Joy bells were then rung for one
hour. Then followed an illumination with fireworks. This town was set
off from Milford after a hard struggle in the Legislature.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 13.--Dedicatory exercises of the new county building in Ellsworth,
Me. The Rev. Dr. Tenney opened the exercises by prayer, and Hon. John B.
Redman introduced Hon. N. B. Coolidge, chairman of the county
commissioners, who presented the buildings to the court and county in
appropriate remarks. Mr. Coolidge was followed by C. A. Spofford,
president of the Hancock county bar; Chief-Justice Peters, who reviewed
the history of the county in an interesting speech; Judge Haskell, of
Portland, and Hon. Eugene Hale.




NECROLOGY.


March 21.--Death from apoplexy of Col. B. W. Hoyt, secretary and
treasurer of the New Hampshire Club, treasurer of the B. W. Hoyt Shoe
Company of Epping, and special commissioner of the Boston & Maine
Railroad.

       *       *       *       *       *

March 23.--Judge Joseph McKean Churchill, of the Central Municipal Court
of Boston, died at his home in Milton, aged 64 years. He was graduated
from Harvard in 1840, and from the Law School in 1845. He served as
captain in the Forty-fifth Massachusetts Regiment during the war. He was
appointed to the bench in December, 1870.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 3.--Death at Philadelphia of Theodore C. Hersey of Portland, Me.
He was born in Gorham, Me., in 1812. He early went to Portland, where he
formed a partnership with St. John Smith in the West India trade. Mr.
Hersey was one of the proprietors of the International line of steamers,
and for many years was its president, resigning, on account of ill
health, about a year ago. He was one of the founders of the Board of
Trade, and its president in 1863-68 and 1873-74, and a charter member of
the Merchant's Exchange.

April 4.--Death of George L. Claflin, a prominent wholesale druggist, of
Providence, R.I., aged 63 years. He had been a member of the Common
Council and the General Assembly, and took an active part in banking and
insurance corporations.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 5.--Death of Dr. George A. Bethune, of Boston. He was born there,
in 1812, and was graduated at Harvard College in 1831. He studied
medicine in the Harvard Medical School, and also abroad, and having made
eye and ear diseases a specialty, practised until about ten or fifteen
years ago, when he retired. He was at one time connected with the
Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 6.--Death, at Brunswick, Me., of Hon. William G. Barrows. He was
born in Bridgton, Me., January, 1821, and was graduated from Bowdoin
College in the class of 1839. He was admitted to the bar in 1842, and
settled for practice in his profession at Brunswick, where ever since he
had resided. From 1853 to 1855 he edited with marked ability the
_Brunswick Telegraph_. In 1856 he was selected judge of Probate Court
for Cumberland County, and reëlected in 1860. In 1863 he was appointed
associate justice of the Supreme Judicial Court and reappointed in 1870
and 1877, serving three terms of seven years each. At the expiration of
the latter term he declined a reappointment, preferring the retirement
of private life. He was a member of the Maine Historical Society, and
one of its most earnest supporters. He was warmly interested in the
establishment of the Brunswick Public Library, and one of its most
liberal supporters.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 7.--Unexpected death of Prof. Thomas Anthony Thatcher, LL.D.,
professor in Yale College of the Latin Language and Literature. He was
born in Hartford, Jan. 11, 1815. He was fitted for Yale at the Hartford
Hopkins Grammar School, and entered the college in 1831, graduating four
years later. Then he taught in the New Canaan, Conn., Seminary for two
years, and then in the Oglethorpe University, Georgia. He became a Latin
tutor in Yale in 1838, and four years later was made a professor. In
1843 he went to Germany and studied two years. While there he was
offered and accepted a position as tutor to the Crown Prince of Prussia
and his royal cousin, Prince Frederick Charles. His "De Officiis" of
Cicero and Madvig's Latin Grammar are widely known.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 8.--Dan Stone Smalley died at his residence, on Green street,
Jamaica Plain, at the age of 75 years. He was for many years teacher of
the Eliot Commercial School in Jamaica Plain.

April 9.--Death at Bement, Ill., of Hon. Lewis Bodman, formerly of
Williamsburg, Mass., and senator from Hampshire county.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 10.--Sudden death of Hon. Elbridge Gerry of Portland, Me. He was
born in Waterford, Oxford county, Me., Dec. 6, 1815. He received an
academical education. After its completion he studied law, and was
admitted to the bar in his twenty-fourth year. In the following year
he was appointed clerk of the House of Representatives of Maine. At
twenty-seven he was chosen state attorney for his native county. At
thirty-one he was elected to the State Legislature as a Democratic
representative. In 1849 his political career culminated in his election
to Congress. He retired from public life in 1851, and settled down to
the practice of his profession in Portland. His son is vice-consul at
Havre, France.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 10.--Sudden death at Dallas, Texas, of John T. Ferris, manager of
the Union Mutual Life Insurance Co., of Portland, Me. He was a man
greatly esteemed in his large circle of acquaintances.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 12.--Death of Thaddeus Fairbanks of St. Johnsbury, Vt. He was born
at Brimfield, Mass., Jan. 17, 1796, and went with his father to St.
Johnsbury when he was twenty years old. His many inventions in the line
of weighing-machines are too familiar to need enumeration. He was the
only American who was honored at the Vienna Exhibition by being made a
Knight of Imperial Order of Francis Joseph. To his munificent gifts the
academy at St. Johnsbury owes its worth.

       *       *       *       *       *

April 12.--Dr. Abram M. Shew, superintendent of the Connecticut Hospital
for the Insane at Middletown, died suddenly at the age of 45. He was
appointed assistant physician of the New York Asylum for Insane Convicts
at Auburn in 1862; in 1866 he went to Middletown, to superintend the
building of the Connecticut Hospital for the Insane, and had since
remained in charge of that institution. He was a native of Watertown,
N.Y.




LITERATURE.


It is with a much more than ordinary degree of expectancy that the
literary public has awaited a complete and adequate biography of the
poet Longfellow. It comes to us at last as the work[11] of the poet's
own brother, Samuel, who has, however, modestly assumed to have only
edited the elaborate volumes which have recently come from the
publisher's hands. This is true to a large extent, for the Life is for
the greater part composed of portions of Longfellow's voluminous diary
and correspondence; but these are interspersed throughout with his
brother's own narrative, full of reminiscences and charming comments.

  [11] Life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. With extracts from his Journals
  and Correspondence. Edited by Samuel Longfellow. 2 volumes. Boston:
  Ticknor & Co.

The work is not to hardly any degree analytical in its character; it is
a vivid panorama of a most deeply and widely interesting career. We are
made familiar by means of these volumes with the daily life of Henry W.
Longfellow. Much of this insight is afforded, as has already been seen,
through the published letters and diary. The interest of these is far
greater than is usually the case with such compilations. Longfellow's
life was to such a degree an intellectual one, that those who would know
him best must find his own pen his best biographer. The comments in his
journal are delightful, and the letters are highly interesting reading.
They are from and to a host of friends, including Sumner, Hawthorne,
Samuel Ward, Park Benjamin, Carlyle, and many others of equal note. Of
course there is much in both letters and journal of personal matters,
even such as regarding an invitation to dine, or some other passing
slight event; but there is no apparent reason why anything should have
been omitted that has been inserted in this work. Not only the poetry
but the every-day life, the experiences, and the associations of
Longfellow are worth knowing to those far beyond the pale of his own
particular group of friends. Nothing has been inserted here, however,
that seems to offend the sense of propriety, and the editor has
certainly given evidence of the best of wisdom, care, and delicacy.
Where he becomes the biographer he confines himself mostly to simple
narrative; indeed, his final "summing up," after the last has been told
that could be told of his illustrious brother's earthly career, is given
in a single page.

There is very little to criticise regarding this Life. Of its kind it
could not be more satisfactory. It is not the work of the theorist, the
analyst, critic, or the eulogist. It is the full, plain, unvarnished
story of the life of "the good son, devoted husband, affectionate
father; the generous, faithful friend; the urbane and cultivated host;
the lover of children; the lover of his country; the lover of liberty
and of peace."




INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.

(_APRIL 1886._)


ART, ARCHITECTURE. Slyfield Surrey. _Basil Champneys._ 22.--A Chapter
on Fireplaces. _I. H. Pollen._ 22.--The Romance of Art. _F. Mabel
Robinson._ 22.--The Annunciation in Art. _Julia Cartwright._
22.--American Embroideries. _S. R. Koehler._ 22.--Art in Phoenicia.
_Wm. Holmden._ 22.--Boydell's Shakespeare. _Alfred Beaver._ 22.

BIOGRAPHY, GENEALOGY. Sketch of Christian Huygens. 5.--Tribute to
General Hancock. _Wm. L. Keese._ 6.--Elizabeth, Empress of Austria and
Queen of Hungary. _Margaret Deane._ 7.--Glimpses of Longfellow in Social
Life. _Annie Fields._ 1.--Gouverneur Morris. _Henry Cabot Lodge._
11.--Memoir of Ashbel Woodward, M.D. _P. H. Woodward, Esq._
12.--Descendants of Josiah Upton. _William H. Upton._ 12.--Genealogical
Gleanings in England. _Henry F. Waters._ 12.--Notes and Documents
concerning Hugh Peters. _G. D. Scull._ 12.--John Harvard. _John. T.
Hassam._ 12.--Early American Engravers. _Richard C. Lichtenstein._
12.--Letters of Governor Greene. 13.--Journal of Lieut. John Trevett.
13.--Fanny Davenport. _Lisle Lester._ 16.--Franz Defreygar. _Helen
Zimmem._ 22.--James Otis, Jr. _Rev. H. Hewitt._ 23.

EDUCATION. The Elective System of the University of Virginia. _Prof.
James M. Garnett._ 3.--National Aid to Common Schools. _Senator J. J.
Ingalls._ 4.--The Hand-work of School Children. _Rebecca J. Rickoff._
5.--Relation of the Secondary School to the College. _H. M. Willard._
8.--The Evolution of a College Republic. _Louise Seymour Houghton._
8.--The Philosophical Phase of a System of Education. _Charles E.
Lowrey._ 8.--Physical Education. _A. T. Bruce._ 8.--The First day in
the Georgics. _Miss A. A. Knight._ 8.--Moral Education in the Public
Schools. _Kate Gannett Wells._ 18.

HISTORY. A Famous Diplomatic Dispatch. _Allen Thorndike Rice._ 4.--The
Newgate of Connecticut. _N. H. Egleston._ 6.--The Convention of North
Carolina 1788. _A. W. Clason._ 6.--Church Records of Farmington, Ct.
_Julius Gay._ 12.--Papers in Egerton MS. 2395. _Henry F. Waters._
12.--Soldiers in King Philip's War. XIV. _Rev. Geo. M. Bodge._
12.--Newbury and the Bartlett Family. _John C. J. Brown._ 12.--Memoirs
of Rhode Island. _Henry Bull._ 13.--The Militia of Rhode Island, 1767.
_Mrs. E. H. L. Barker._ 13.--Records of Trinity Church, Newport, R.I.
_H. E. Turner, M.D._ 13.--Friends Records, Newport, R.I. _H. E. Turner,
M.D._ 13.--Lafayette's Visit to Rhode Island, 1784. 13.--Memoirs of
Hampton Court. _Henry C. Wilson._ 16.--The Virginia Cavaliers. _K. M.
Rowland._ 17.--The Kentucky Resolutions of 1798 and 1799. _R. T.
Durrett._ 17.--The Reign of Terror in Tennessee. _J. A. Trousdale._
17.--An Illustrious Town. Andover. _Rev. F. B. Makepeace._ 23.--Webster
Historical Society Papers. I. _Hon. Stephen M. Allen._ 23.--The New
England Library and its Founder. _Victoria Reed._ 23.

LITERATURE. Our Experience Meetings. _Julian Hawthorne, Edgar Fawcett,
Joel Chandler Harris._ 9.--Shylock _vs._ Antonio. _Charles Henry
Phelps._ 11.--Problems of the Scarlet Letter. _Julian Hawthorne._
11.--Mr. Howell and the Poets. _Robert Burns Wilson._ 17.--Poe's Last
Poem. _Henry W. Austin._ 17.--Tennyson's Later Poems. _P. B. Semple._
17.

MILITARY. Sherman and McPherson. _Gen. U. S. Grant._ 4.--Plan of the
Tennessee Campaign. _Anna Ella Carroll._ 4.--Chancellorsville. _William
Howard Sicles._ 6.--Shiloh. _Gen. W. F. Smith._ 6.--Our First Battle.
_Alfred E. Lee._ 6.--The War in Missouri. _Richard H. Musser._ 17.

NAVAL. Life on the Alabama. _P. D. Haywood._ 1.--Cruise and Combats of
the Alabama. _Capt. John McIntosh Kell._ 1.--The Duel between the
Alabama and the Kearsarge. _Dr. John M. Brown._ 1.

MISCELLANEOUS. An Arctic Journal. _Dr. Octave Pavy._ 4.--The
Whipping-post. _Lewis Hocheimer._ 5.--The Overcrowding of Cities. _Dr.
Prosper Bender._ 6.--Smoking from College-girls' Point of View.
_Elizabeth Porter Gould._ 8.--The Query Club. _Frances E. Sparhawk._
8.--Leaves from a '49 Ledger. _C. F. Degelman._ 10.--Creole Slave Songs.
_Geo. W. Cable._ 1.--Toy Dogs. _James Watson._ 1.--Scores and Tallies.
_Grant Allen._ 9.--Children, Past and Present. _Agnes Repplier._
11.--Various articles on Young Women and Marriage. 16.--American Fame
Abroad. _Edith Langdon._ 16.--Generalities of Washington Society. _Flora
Adams Darling._ 16.--The Modern Barber: A Study. _Henry M. Gallaher,
D.D._ 16.--Modern Woman and Dress. _Mrs. Henry Ward Beecher._ 16.--New
England Manners and Customs in Time of Bryant's early Life. _Mrs. H. G.
Rowe._ 23.--New England Characteristics. _Lizzie M. Whittlesey._ 23.

POLITICS, ECONOMICS, PUBLIC AFFAIRS. Gambetta's Electoral Tour. _Madame
Adam._ 4.--Constitutional Reform in Rhode Island. _Abraham Payne, W. P.
Sheffield._ 4.--More about American Landlordism. _Henry George._ 4.--An
Economic Study of Mexico. _David A. Wells._ 5.--The Land Question
Stated. _Alex. G. Eels._ 10.--The Taxation of Land. _John H. Durst._
10.--The Progress of Kansas. _Gov. John A. Martin._ 4.--English Rule in
India. _Annita Lal Roy._ 4.--The French Problem in Canada. _Geo. H.
Clarke._ 5.--The Consolidation of Canada. _Watson Griffin._ 6.--A
Shoemaker's Contribution to the Chinese Discussion. _Patrick J. Healy._
10.--The Future Influence of China. _Irving McDowell._ 10.--Certain
Phases of the Chinese Question. _John F. Miller._ 10.--Strikes,
Lockouts, and Arbitration. _George May Powell._ 1.--Responsible
Government under the Constitution. _Woodrow Wilson._ 11.--The Speaker of
the National House. _J. Lawrence Laughlin._ 18.--Present Conditions in
Georgia. _Henry Wadsworth Reed._ 18.--Civics and Economics. _Alexander
Johnston._ 18.

RECREATION, SPORTS. Botany as a Recreation for Invalids. _Miss E. F.
Andrews._ 5.--Ranch Life and Game Shooting in the West. _Theodore
Roosevelt._ 7.--American Steam Yachting. _E. S. Jaffray._ 7.--What Steam
Yachting costs in England. _Dixon Kemp._ 7.--Sport in Florida. _James A.
Henschall._ A Chat about Driving. _S. Sidney._ 7.

RELIGION, MORALS. The Spiritual Problem of the Manufacturing Town.
_William W. Adams, D.D._ 3.--The possibilities of Religious Reform in
Italy. _Wm. Chauncy Langdon, D.D._ 3.--Christianity and Popular
Education. _Washington Gladden._ 1.--Reformation of Charity. _D. O.
Kellogg._ 11.

SCIENCE, NATURAL HISTORY, DISCOVERY, INVENTIONS. External Form of the
Manlike Apes. _R. Hartmann._ 5.--The Factors of Organic Evolution.
_Herbert Spencer._ 5.--The Teeth of the Coming Man. _Oscar Schmidt._
5.--Earthquakes in Central America. _M. De Montessus._ 5.--The Gems of
the National Museum. _George F. Kunz._ 5.--The Cotton-Harvester. _Hugh
N. Starnes._ 17.

THEOLOGY, POLEMICS. The Rite of Blood-Covenanting and the Doctrine of
Atonement. _Rev. J. Max Hark._ 3.--Mr. Gladstone and Genesis. _Prof.
Huxley._ 5.--Comments. _Prof. Henry Drummond._ 5.

TRAVEL, ADVENTURE, DESCRIPTION. Around the World on a Bicycle. _Thomas
Stevens._ 7.--Crossing the Atlantic in a Blockade Runner. _Capt. Roland
F. Coffin._ 7.--After Geronimo. _Lieut. John Bigelow, Jr._ 7.--Work and
Sport on the Congo. _Henry M. Stanley._ 7.--On the Trail of Geronimo.
_Fred W. Stowell._ 10.--Reminiscences of Calaveras. 10.--Italy from a
Tricycle. II. _Elizabeth Robins Pennell._ 1.--Two Days in Utah. _Alice
W. Rollins._ 9.--The Tiber

   1 _The Century._
   2 _Harper's Monthly._
   3 _Andover Review._
   4 _North American Review._
   5 _Popular Science Monthly._
   6 _Magazine of Am. History._
   7 _Outing._
   8 _Education._
   9 _Lippincott's Magazine._
  10 _Overland Monthly._
  11 _Atlantic Monthly._
  12 _New England Historical and Genealogical Register._
  13 _Rhode Island Historical Magazine._
  14 _The Forum._
  15 _New Princeton Review._
  16 _The Brooklyn Magazine._
  17 _The Southern Bivouac._
  18 _The Citizen._
  19 _Political Science Quarterly._
  20 _Unitarian Review._
  21 _New Englander._
  22 _Magazine of Art._
  23 _New England Magazine._




   [Illustration:
   FROM HARPER'S MAGAZINE.      Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS,
                     MARK HOPKINS, D.D., LL.D.,

                 Ex-President of Williams College.]