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AUTHORS AND WRITERS

ASSOCIATED WITH

MORRISTOWN

WITH A CHAPTER ON

HISTORIC MORRISTOWN

BY

JULIA KEESE COLLES

1893
VOGT BROS.
MORRISTOWN, N. J.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1893, by
JULIA KEESE COLLES
of Morristown, New Jersey, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress,
at Washington.

[Illustration: Painted by CHARLES WETMORE. 1815.

Owned by HON. AUG. W. CUTLER.

OLD MORRISTOWN.
Pen and ink sketch by Miss S. Howell, from original painting.]




_DEDICATION._

TO THE MEN AND WOMEN, OF EARLY AND OF LATER
YEARS, WHO HAVE SCATTERED THEIR PEARLS OF
BEAUTY AND OF WISDOM ALONG THE DUSTY
PATHS OF OUR HISTORIC CITY, THESE
PAGES ARE INSCRIBED WITH AFFECTIONATE
ADMIRATION BY

THE AUTHOR.




PREFACE.


This long-promised volume, the first of its kind, so far as known, ever
given to the world, is now offered to the public. It is the result of a
lecture given about three and a half years ago, which was repeated by
request, and finally promised for publication, with the endorsement of one
hundred and fifty subscribers.

No effort has been spared to have every statement in the book accurate; nor
has any name been omitted which has presented a title to notice, in spite
of the fact that the number of "Authors and Writers," has nearly doubled
since the work of publication was undertaken. Any suggestion or criticism,
however, will be gladly received by the author, as having a bearing on
possible future work in this direction.

Morristown, New Jersey, February, 1893.




TABLE OF CONTENTS.


PREFACE.

POEM--MORRISTOWN.

HISTORIC MORRISTOWN.

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

POETS--                                                 PAGE.

WM. AND STEPHEN V. R. PATERSON                            33

MRS. ELIZABETH CLEMENTINE KINNEY                          40

ALEXANDER NELSON EASTON                                   42

FRANCIS BRET HARTE                                        45

MRS. M. VIRGINIA DONAGHE MCCLURG                          48

CHARLTON T. LEWIS, LL. D.                                 54

MISS EMMA F. R. CAMPBELL                                  58

MRS. ADELAIDE S. BUCKLEY                                  63

REV. OLIVER CRANE, D. D., LL. D.                          63

REV. J. LEONARD CORNING, D. D.                            68

MRS. MARY LEE DEMAREST                                    69

HON. ANTHONY Q. KEASBEY                                   72

MAJOR LINDLEY HOFFMAN MILLER                              76

MISS HENRIETTA HOWARD HOLDICH                             79

WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH                                   81

MISS HANNAH MORE JOHNSON                                  84

MISS MARGARET H. GARRARD                                  87

MISS JULIA E. DODGE                                       89

CHARLES D. PLATT                                          90

MRS. JULIA R. CUTLER                                      96

MISS FRANCES BELL COURSEN                                 99

MISS ISABEL STONE                                        100

REV. G. DOUGLASS BREWERTON                               102

MRS. ALICE D. ABELL                                      104

GEORGE WETMORE COLLES, JR.                               105

HYMNODIST--

JOHN R. RUNYON                                           107

NOVELISTS AND STORY WRITERS--

FRANCIS RICHARD STOCKTON                                 109

FRANCIS BRET HARTE                                       118

MISS HENRIETTA HOWARD HOLDICH                            131

MRS. MIRIAM COLES HARRIS                                 141

MISS MARIA MCINTOSH                                      146

MRS. MARIA MCINTOSH COX                                  149

DAVID YOUNG                                              155

MRS. NATHANIEL CONKLIN                                   165

MRS. CATHARINE L. BURNHAM                                171

HON. JOHN WHITEHEAD                                      179

MRS. GEORGEANNA HUYLER DUER                              181

MADAME DE MEISSNER                                       186

MISS ISABEL STONE                                        188

AUGUSTUS WOOD                                            193

CHARLES P. SHERMAN                                       193

MISS HELEN M. GRAHAM                                     193

OTHER NOVELISTS AND STORY WRITERS                        195

TRANSLATORS--

MRS. ADELAIDE S. BUCKLEY                                 197

MISS MARGARET H. GARRARD                                 202

OTHER TRANSLATORS                                        203

LEXICOGRAPHER--

CHARLTON T. LEWIS, LL. D.                                205

HISTORIANS AND ESSAYISTS--

WILLIAM CHERRY, ANCIENT CHRONICLER                       207

REV. JOSEPH F. TUTTLE, D. D.                             209

HON. EDMUND D. HALSEY                                    215

HON. JOHN WHITEHEAD                                      218

BAYARD TUCKERMAN                                         221

LOYAL FARRAGUT                                           227

JOSIAH COLLINS PUMPELLY                                  229

MISS HANNAH MORE JOHNSON                                 233

MRS. JULIA MCNAIR WRIGHT                                 237

MRS. EDWINA L. KEASBEY                                   239

MRS. MARIAN E. STOCKTON                                  243

TRAVELS AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES--

MARQUIS DE CHASTELLUX                                    247

REV. JOHN L. STEPHENS                                    254

HON. CHARLES S. WASHBURNE                                255

GENERAL JOSEPH WARREN REVERE                             257

HENRY DAY                                                260

THEOLOGIANS--

REV. TIMOTHY JOHNES, D. D.                               264

REV. JAMES RICHARDS, D. D.                               270

REV. ALBERT BARNES                                       271

REV. SAMUEL WHELPLEY                                     275

STEVENS JONES LEWIS                                      278

REV. RUFUS SMITH GREEN, D. D.                            279

REV. WM. DURANT                                          282

REV. J. MACNAUGHTAN, D. D.                               286

REV. C. DEWITT BRIDGMAN                                  291

REV. J. T. CRANE, D. D.                                  293

REV. H. A. BUTTZ, D. D., LL. D.                          296

REV. J. K. BURR, D. D.                                   297

REV. J. E. ADAMS                                         299

REV. JAMES M. BUCKLEY, D. D., LL. D.                     300

REV. JAMES M. FREEMAN, D. D.                             308

REV. KINSLEY TWINING, D. D., LL. D.                      310

REV. THEODORE L. CUYLER, D. D.                           314

RT. REV. WM. INGRAHAM KIP, D. D., LL. D.                 319

REV. WILLIAM STAUNTON, D. D.                             323

REV. ARTHUR MITCHELL, D. D.                              327

REV. CHARLES E. KNOX, D. D.                              332

REV. ALBERT ERDMAN, D. D.                                334

REV. JOSEPH M. FLYNN, R. D.                              337

REV. GEORGE H. CHADWELL                                  338

REV. WILLIAM M. HUGHES, S. T. D.                         345

PUBLIC SPEAKERS AND LAWYERS--

HON. JACOB W. MILLER                                     351

HON. WILLIAM BURNET KINNEY                               355

HON. THEODORE F. RANDOLPH                                358

HON. EDWARD W. WHELPLEY                                  360

HON. JACOB VANATTA                                       362

HON. GEORGE T. WERTS                                     364

JOSEPH F. RANDOLPH                                       365

EDWARD Q. KEASBEY                                        367

SCIENTISTS--

SAMUEL F. B. MORSE, LL. D.                               368

ALFRED VAIL                                              371

WILLIAM GRAHAM SUMNER, LL. D.                            376

ELWYN WALLER, PH. D.                                     380

GEORGE W. MAYNARD, PH. D.                                382

EMORY MCCLINTOCK, LL. D.                                 383

ANDREW F. WEST, LL. D.                                   384

SEÑOR JOSÉ GROS                                          386

MEDICAL AUTHORS AND WRITERS--

CONDICT W. CUTLER, M. S., M. D.                          388

PHANET C. BARKER, M. D.                                  390

HORACE A. BUTTOLPH, M. D., LL. D.                        392

AUTHORS AND WRITERS ON ART--

THOMAS NAST                                              395

REV. JARED BRADLEY FLAGG, D. D.                          398

REV. J. LEONARD CORNING, D. D.                           400

GEORGE HERBERT MCCORD, A. N. A.                          401

DRAMATIST--

WILLIAM G. VAN TASSEL SUTPHEN                            403




ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                        PAGE.

FRONTISPIECE--OLD MORRISTOWN.


ORIGINAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 1738,                 17

OLD ARNOLD TAVERN,                                        25

FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH,                                97

WASHINGTON HEADQUARTERS,                                 209

PLAN OF FORT NONSENSE,                                   305

SPEEDWELL IRON WORKS,                                    369

OLD FACTORY AT SPEEDWELL,                                377




POEM.

BY WILLIAM PATERSON.


MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY.

     These are the winter quarters, this is where
       The Patriot Chieftain with his army lay,
     When frosty winds swept down and chilled the air,
       And long, cold nights closed out the shorter day.

     The bell still rings within the white church spire,
       Rising toward heaven upon the village green,
     Whose chimes then called the people, pastor, choir,
       To praise and pray each Sabbath morn and e'en.

     And there with them, the Christian soldier sealed
       The common covenant which a dying Lord,
     To those who broke bread with him last revealed,
       And bade them ever thus His love record.

     A country hamlet then, nor did it lose
       Its rural charms and beauties for long years;
     The stranger would its quiet glories choose,
       Far from the toils and strifes of daily cares.

     The people, too, were simple in their ways,
       And dwelt contented in their humble sphere,
     The morning and the evening of their days,
       Passing the same with every closing year.

     There were the Deacons, solemn, sober, staid,
       Beneath the pulpit each Communion Sunday,
     They never smiled, but sung there psalms and prayed;
       And then made whiskey at the still on Monday.

     Perhaps you smile just here, I only say,
       Men did not deem it then a heinous crime;
     Such was the common custom of the day,
       As those can tell who recollect the time.

     For further proof of this, look up the tract
       Of Deacon Giles and his distillery,
     Where you will find that for this very fact,
       He was set up high in the pillory.

     Young life for me began its early spring,
       Here in the freshness of the Mountain air,
     When nature seemed in fullest tune to sing,
       And all the world was beautiful and fair.

     And Death--Who stays to think of him, till age
       Comes stealing on with sure and silent tread?
     Nor even then can he the thoughts engage,
       Till his cold fingers touch the dying bed.

     He called one then in withered leaf and sere,
       And sent a warning, so wiseacres said,
     By causing apple blossoms to appear
       In winter, and the old man soon was dead.

     The Guinea Chieftain too, a century old,
       Born a young Prince beneath his native sky,
     Who with his banjo sang rare tales of gold--
       I saw him strive and struggle, gasp and die.

     A child was brought one evening, lived, and died,
       Almost before its eyes beheld the day;
     The infant and the old men, side by side,
       Were in the quiet churchyard laid away.

     I learned of Life and Death, but know no more
       Of their mysterious secrets now than then;
     No sesame can open wide the door,
       That veils those mysteries from the light of men.

     Upon the summit of the rock-bound hill
       That looks down on the lowland plains afar,
     Are seen the outlines of the earthworks still
       Remaining there, rude vestiges of war.

     That was a day to be remembered long,
       When crowds were gathered on the village green,
     To welcome with warm hearts and floral song,
       Him who a friend in war's dark hour had been.

     And not while nature's suns shall pour their light,
       Will Freedom's sons that honored name forget,
     Nor cease to, until worlds shall pass from sight,
       Keep green the memory of Lafayette.

     Hark, on the air tolls out the passing bell,
       Fourscore and ten and yet again fourscore;
     Tread lightly now, it is the parting knell
       For two great spirits gone out evermore.

     Together they had lived, together died
       As Freedom's Bell rang in her natal day,
     And what than this could be more mete beside
       That twinned in death, their souls should pass away?

     There comes a memory of the bugle horn,
       Winding a blast, as with their daily load,
     The prancing coach-steeds dashed out in the morn
       To run the toll-gates of the turnpike road.

     Behold the change? now brakes are whistled down,
       And screaming engines wake the Mountain air;
     There is no longer, as of old, a Town
       Committee, but a Council and a Mayor.

     Go where the lake sleeps in the summer night,
       Kissed by the winds that on its bosom play,
     When the round moon sends down her fullest light,
       And evening glories in soft splendor lay.

     And you can almost fancy then that over,
       The moonlit mirror of the tranquil tide,
     You see the water spirits rise and hover,
       And on the sheen in laughing lightness glide.

     And I have seen those waters as they flow,
       Down on their course past bridge and wheel and mill,
     Where we as boys would "in-a-swimming go;"
       Do the boys swim in "Sunnygony" still?

     Oh, fellow scholar who along with me
       Learned the first rudiments of ball and book
     Within the grounds of the Academy,
       In vain for that old landmark now you look.

     Gone with the Master, yet a memory lingers,
       And will forever consecrate the spot,
     Nor can the power of Time's effacing fingers,
       While life shall last, the recollection blot.

     Teacher and pupils, few remain, and they
       Far on in years, lean on a slender staff;
     The school-house, all you see of that to-day
       Is shown you there upon its photograph.

     Change is on all things, and I see it here;
       Land that then grew the turnip and "potater,"
     Now blooms in flowers and costs exceeding dear,
       Bringing some thousand dollars by the acre!

     And villas crown the rising hill-tops round,
       And stately mansions stand adorned with art,
     And liveried coaches roll with rumbling sound
       Where once jogged on the wagon-wheel and cart.

     Hail to the future, ages come and go,
       And men are borne upon the sweeping tide;
     Wave follows wave in ever ceaseless flow,
       The present stays not by the dweller's side.

     I stand to-day far down the farthest slope,
       And up the lengthened pathway turn and look,
     Where on the summit once stood Youth and Hope,
       Now soon to turn the last leaf of the Book.

     And I am glad that while there come to me
       These fragrant memories of life's early scene,
     That still in robes of purest white I see
       The Church Spire rising on the village green.




HISTORIC MORRISTOWN.


Throughout our country, there is no spot more identified with the story of
the Revolution, and the personality of Washington, than Morristown. Nestled
among its five ranges of hills, its impregnable position no doubt first
attracted the attention of the commander-in-chief and that of his trusted
quartermaster, General Nathaniel Greene. Besides, the enthusiastic
patriotism of the men and women of this part of New Jersey was noted far
and wide, and the powder-mill of Col. Jacob Ford, Jr., on the Whippany
river, where "good merchantable powder," was in course of
manufacture,--some of which had probably already been tested at Trenton,
Princeton and elsewhere,--was also among the attractions.

It was on December 20th, 1776, that Washington wrote to the President of
Congress: "I have directed the three regiments from Ticonderoga, to halt at
Morristown, in Jersey (where I understand about eight hundred Militia have
collected) in order to inspirit the inhabitants and as far as possible to
cover that part of the country."

     (Quoted by Rev. Dr. Tuttle in his paper on "Washington
     in Morris County," in the Historical Magazine for June
     1871.)

These were regiments from New England. The British, who were always trying
to gain "the pass of the mountains," had made an attempt on the 14th of
December, but had been repulsed by Col. Jacob Ford, Jr., with his militia,
at Springfield.

At this time the village numbered about 250 inhabitants with a populous
community of thriving farmers surrounding it. To the north of the town were
the estates of the Hathaway and Johnes families; to the east, those of the
Fords, who had just erected the building now known as the Headquarters; to
the south, those of General John Doughty and to the west, those of Silas
Condict and his brothers.

Morris county was settled "about 1710," by families of New England
ancestry, who were attracted by the iron ore in the mountains round about
and who came from Newark and Elizabethtown. The Indian name for the country
round, seems to have been "Rockciticus" as late as the arrival of Pastor
Johnes in 1742, according to the traditions in his family. The original
name of the settlement of Morristown was West Hanover, and in court records
this name is found as late as 1738. It was also called New Hanover. The
present name was adopted when the county court held its first meeting here
at the house of Col. Jacob Ford, on March 25th, 1740. The town was named
for the county and the county was named for Governor Lewis Morris, who was
Governor of New Jersey from 1738 to 1746. Evidently this was to be the
county town of Morris County.

At the time of the Revolution the church, the "Court House and Jail" and
the Arnold Tavern were the most important buildings. The Magazine also, a
temporary structure, stood on South street, near the "Green". To it casks
of powder were constantly taken and sometimes casks of _sand_ to deceive
the spies who were always hanging about. The "Court House and Jail" was
famous as the common prison of Tories caught in Morris and the adjoining
counties. It was built in 1755 and stood on the northwest corner of the
village "Green" as shown in the picture of Old Morristown. It was a plain
wooden structure with a cupola and bell. Its sides and roof were shingled.

One of the illustrations of this book is of the Arnold Tavern, as it
appeared in Washington's time. The picture is from a pen-and-ink sketch by
Miss S. Howell, made originally and recently for the Washington Association
of N. J., under careful direction from study of the time, by one of its
members. Taverns were dotted all about the country in those days and most
of the public meetings were held in their spacious rooms. Whether it was
this fact or because of certain qualities possessed by the early
proprietors of taverns, we find that many of them eventually became the
most eminent men of the community.

The erection of the First Church building was begun in 1738 and finished in
1740, although the organization had existed from 1733. The first pastor,
Rev. Timothy Johnes found it ready for his reception on his arrival in 1742
and for his installation, the following year. We are indebted to our young
artist, Miss Emma H. Van Pelt, for a painting of this early church, from
the only outline that remains to us, and to Miss S. Howell, for the
pen-and-ink sketch, from the painting, for this book. This outline was
embroidered upon a sampler owned by Miss Martha Emmell, and, according to
family history, is a faithful representation of the building and the only
suggestion other than traditional of Morristown's first place of worship.
Miss Van Pelt's picture of the old church also follows in all respects her
own, and the study of others, from the ancient records of the time. The
structure stood about a rod east of the present building, facing upon
Morris street and was always known as the "Meetin' House." It was
originally of a somewhat plain and barn-like exterior, nearly square, with
shingled sides, and windows let into the sloping roof. It was twice
altered. In 1764, it was enlarged and two other entrances, besides the main
entrance, were provided. A steeple also was erected in which was hung the
bell in use at the present time. This bell was a gift, according to
traditional history from the King of Great Britain to the church at
Morristown. It had upon it the impress of the British crown and the name of
the makers, "Lister & Pack, of London _fecit_." It was re-cast about thirty
years ago. This early church and the Baptist church, which stood on the
site occupied by the one quite recently removed, (because of the fine new
building in course of erection), have honorable record for unselfish
devotion to the cause of the patriots. Both buildings were nobly given up
for the use of the soldiers, suffering with small-pox, in the terrible
winter of 1777.

Washington first came to Morristown, with his staff and army, three days
after the battle of Princeton, on January 7th, 1777, and remained until May
of that year. He made his Headquarters at the Arnold Tavern, then kept by
Colonel Jacob Arnold, a famous officer of the "Light Horse Guards", whose
grandsons are now residents of Morristown. This historic building stood on
the west side of the Green, where now, a large brick building, "The
Arnold", has been erected on its site. The old building with its many
associations was about to be destroyed, when it was rescued, at the
suggestion of the author of this book, and restored upon its present site
on the Colles estate, on Mt. Kemble avenue, the old Baskingridge road of
the Revolution. It has recently been purchased and occupied for a hospital
by the All Souls' Hospital Association. Though extended and enlarged, it
is still the same building and retains many of the distinctive features
which characterized it when the residence of Washington. Here is still the
bedroom which Washington occupied, the parlor, the dining-room and the
ball-room where he received his generals, Greene, Knox, Schuyler, Gates,
Lee, de Kalb, Steuben, Wayne, Winds, Putnam, Sullivan and others, besides
distinguished visitors from abroad, all of whom met here continually during
the winter of 1777. One of these visitors and one of our authors, the
Marquis de Chastellux, gives an interesting account of his experience and
impressions. In one of the bedrooms of this old house, has been seen within
a few years, between the floor and the ceiling below, a long case for guns,
above which was painted on the floor, in very large squares, covering the
entire opening, a checkerboard about which, in an emergency, evidently the
soldiers expected to sit and so conceal from the enemy the trap door of
their arsenal. About this ancient building many traditions linger and from
it have gone forth Washington's commands and some of his most important
letters.

The road taken by Washington and his army, on coming first to Morristown,
was, according to Dr. Tuttle, "through Pluckamin, Baskingridge, New Vernon,
thence by a grist mill near Green Village, around the corner and thence
along the road leading from Green Village to Morristown and over the
ground which had been selected for an encampment in the valley bearing the
beautiful Indian name of Lowantica, now called Spring Valley." It was here
that the terrible scourge of small-pox broke out among the soldiers.

One cannot but wonder continually at Washington's courage and serenity in
the midst of such overwhelming difficulties. He had hardly entered his
winter home, in the Arnold Tavern, when the loss was announced to him of
the brave and noble Col. Jacob Ford, Jr., his right-hand man, upon whom he
had depended. He was buried, by Washington's orders, with the honors of
war, and the description of that funeral cortege is one of the most
picturesque pages out of traditional history. Then came the alarm about
small-pox, the first death occurring on the same day as Col. Ford's
funeral. Washington himself was taken ill, says tradition, with quinsy sore
throat, and great fears were felt for his life. It is interesting to know
that being asked who should succeed him in command of the army, should he
not recover, he at once pointed to Gen. Nathaniel Greene. It was during
this time of residence at the Arnold Tavern, that Washington joined Pastor
Johnes and his people in their semi-annual communion after receiving the
good pastor's assurance: "Ours is not the Presbyterian table, but the
Lord's table, and we give the Lord's invitation to all his followers of
whatever name." This is said to be the only occasion in his public career,
when it is certainly known that Washington partook of the Sacrament. The
hollow is still shown behind the house of Pastor Johnes, on Morris street,
(purchased Feb. 3rd, 1893, of Mrs. Eugene Ayers, for the Morristown
Memorial Hospital,) where a grove of trees then stood, when this historic
event took place in the open air, while the church building was taken up
with the soldiers sick of small-pox. Of this fact, in addition to the
confirmation of Rev. Timothy Johnes's granddaughter, now living, Mrs.
Kirtland, we have the following from Mr. Frederick G. Burnham, who says,
(Oct 12th, 1892); "My Aunt, Huldah Lindsley, sister of Judge Silas Condict,
and born in Morristown, gave me, in the most distinct and definite manner
an account of General Washington's having communed with the Presbyterian
Church on the occasion of the encampment in Morristown. My aunt told me
that the congregation sat out of doors, even in the winter, but were
shielded from the severe winds by surrounding high ground, that benches
were placed in a circular position, that the pastor occupied a central
point and that it was in this out-of-door place, muffled in their thickest
clothing and many of them warmed by foot-stoves and other arrangements for
keeping the feet warm, with nothing overhead but the wintry sky, that the
congregation, among them General Washington, partook of the Lord's
Supper."

Early in December 1779, came Washington once more, with his army, to
Morristown, and remained until the following June, the guest of Mrs.
Theodosia Ford, widow of the gallant Col. Jacob Ford, Jr., at her home now
known as the "Headquarters." The story of the purchase and preservation of
this building for the state and country, by the Washington Association of
New Jersey, is given farther on. "It is still," says the orator of Fort
Nonsense (the Rev. Dr. Buckley), "the most charming residence which
Morristown contains and historically inferior only in interest to Mount
Vernon and far superior to it in beauty of location and surrounding
scenery." Among the treasures of the Headquarters is the original
Commission to Washington, as Commander-in-chief of the Army.

At the opening ceremonial of the Washington Headquarters on July 5th, 1875,
Governor Theodore F. Randolph, in an eloquent address, said as follows:

"Under this roof have been gathered more characters known to the Military
history of our Revolution than under any other roof in America. Here the
eloquent and brilliant Alexander Hamilton lived during the long winter of
1779-'80 and here he met and courted the lady he afterwards married--the
daughter of General Schuyler. Here too was Greene--splendid fighting Quaker
as he was--and the great artillery officer, Knox, the stern Steuben, the
polished Kosciusko, the brave Schuyler, gallant Light-horse Harry Lee, old
Israel Putnam, "Mad Anthony" Wayne, and, last to be named of all, that
brave soldier, but rank traitor--Benedict Arnold."

Many authenticated stories are extant of Washington, himself, and of the
other distinguished inmates of the Headquarters during this memorable
winter. Of the women of Morris County too, and the country round, many
historic tales are told. If possible, they seem to have been even more
patriotic than the men, whom, on several occasions, they upheld when
wavering with doubt or fear. They had knitting and sewing circles for the
soldiers in camp upon the Wicke Farm. These were presided over by Mrs.
Ralph Smith, on Smith's Hummock, by Mrs. Anna Kitchell at Whippany, and by
Mrs. Counselor Condict and Mrs. Parson Johnes, in Morristown.

In all this sympathetic work, Martha Washington led, and we hear of her
that after coming through Trenton on December 28th, in a raging snow storm,
to spend New Year's Day in the Ford Mansion, some of the grand ladies of
the town came to call upon her, dressed in their most elegant silks and
ruffles, and "so", says one of them, "we were introduced to her ladyship,
and don't you think we found her with a _speckled homespun apron on, and
engaged in knitting a stocking_? She received us very handsomely and then
again resumed her knitting. In the course of the conversation, she said,
very kindly to us, whilst she made her needles fly, that 'American ladies
should be patterns of industry to their country-women * * * * we must
become independent of England by doing without these articles which we can
make ourselves. Whilst our husbands and brothers are examples of
patriotism, we must be examples of industry'. 'I do declare,' said one of
the ladies afterwards, 'I never felt so ashamed and rebuked in my life!'"

    (Rev. Dr. Tuttle.)

The "Assembly Balls," a subscription entertainment, no doubt arranged to
keep up the spirits of the army officers, were held that winter at the
O'Hara Tavern, says Dr. Tuttle, a house facing the Green and on or
adjoining the lot where now stands Washington Hall,--and probably also at
the Arnold Tavern.

In the meadow, in front of the headquarters, Washington's body-guard was
encamped, originally a select troop of about one hundred Virginians.

[Illustration: Painted by MISS EMMA H. VAN PELT.

From Pen and Ink Sketch by MISS S. HOWELL.

ORIGINAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 1738.]

Martha Washington was a fine horsewoman and the General a superb horseman,
as are all Virginians of the present day. Many were the rides they took
together over the country, one of the most frequent, being to a certain
elevation on the Short Hills, from which the General with his glass could
see every movement of the enemy. Here was stationed the giant alarm-gun, an
eighteen-pounder, and here was the main centre of the system of
beacon-lights on the hills around. From this point can be seen the entire
sea-board in the vicinity of New York City, which was of great importance
when it was not known whether Howe would move towards West Point or
Philadelphia. There is also a view of the entire region west of the
mountain, "to the crown of the hills which lie back of Morristown, and
extending to Baskingridge, Pluckamin and the hills in the vicinity of
Middlebrook on the South, and over to Whippany, Montville, Pompton,
Ringwood, and, across the State-line among the mountains of Orange County,
N. Y., on the north." On our road to Madison, we may call up in
imagination, the vision, which in those days was no unusual sight, says Dr.
Tuttle, of "Washington and his accomplished lady, mounted on bay horses and
accompanied by their faithful mulatto, 'Bill,' and fifty or sixty mounted
Life-guards, passing on their way to or from their quarters in Morristown."
At these times "the 'star spangled banner' was sure to float from the
village liberty-pole, while our ancestors congregated along the highway
where he was to pass and around the village inn, to do honor to the man to
whose fidelity and martial skill all eyes were turned for the salvation of
our country."

Sometimes this cavalcade would pass along the Baskingridge Road, (now Mt.
Kemble Avenue), perhaps stop at General Doughty's house, or, galloping on,
stop at the Kemble mansion, (afterwards the Hoyt residence and now that of
Mr. McAlpin), four miles from town, or turning the corner up Kemble Hill to
the Wicke farm, and Fort Hill, to view the soldiers' encampment, they would
clatter back again, down the precipitous Jockey Hollow road, past the
Hospital-field, or burial place of the soldiers, stopping at the
Headquarters of General Knox, off the Mendham road, about two miles from
town, for Mrs. Knox and Mrs. Washington were close friends. Returning, they
might slacken rein at the house of Pastor Johnes, (Mrs. Eugene Ayers') on
Morris Street, where a ring still remains at the side of the piazza, to
which Washington's horse was tied, under an elm tree's shade; or, they
would stop at Quartermaster Lewis's (Mr. Wm. L. King's) where they would
find Lafayette, after his return from France, if he happened to be in
Morristown,--then at Dr. Jabez Campfield's house, on Morris Street, the
east corner of Oliphant Lane,--the Headquarters of General Schuyler.

Again the General, with his Life-guards, would set out to attend some
appointed meeting of the "Council of Safety" at the house of its
president, Silas Condict. This was about a mile out on the Sussex
Turnpike, where the house still stands, on the west side of the old
cross-road leading from that turnpike to Brant's paper-mill. Here he would
meet the high-minded and dauntless Governor Livingston and perhaps his
son-in-law, Judge Symmes, who lived near by, and whom the Governor
frequently visited; all were men whose lives were sought for, by the
British. Nearly all these homes are standing now and representatives of
these families remain with us. Stories and traditions also relating to
these homes and people have come down to us.

Silas Condict, the bold, the brave, the honored patriot, member of the
Provincial Legislature and of the Continental Congress besides filling
other high places of trust, is represented by his great-grandson, Hon. Aug.
W. Cutler, who now occupies the second house this ancestor built.

General John Doughty's interesting old house, with its curious interior,
and many a secret closet, stands as of old, on Mt. Kemble Avenue, at the
head of Colles Avenue. "He might be called," says Mr. Wm. L. King, "the
most distinguished resident of Morristown, at whose house Washington was a
frequent visitor and no doubt often dined." He is represented by a
great-nephew, Mr. Thomas W. Ogden, who has written an important paper on
General Doughty, for the Washington Association, which is published by
them. General Doughty was the third in command of the American Army, and
succeeded General Knox.

A descendant of General Knox is with us,--Mr. Reuben Knox, of Western
Avenue.

General Schuyler's Headquarters has a romantic interest as the scene of the
courtship between Miss Elizabeth Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton.

Of Pastor Johnes descendants, three generations are now with us to some of
whom we have referred in the sketch of this distinguished man.

Out on the Wicke farm, stands the house as it was in those old days when
Tempe Wicke took her famous ride ahead of the pursuing soldiers and saved
her favorite horse by concealing him for three weeks in the guest chamber,
until every man of the army had gone to fight his country's battles on the
banks of the Hudson. This house is near Fort Hill from which is the
magnificent view which embraces Schooley's Mountain to the westward and a
line of broken highlands to the South, among which is the town of
Baskingridge where General Lee was captured. On the northern slope of this
hill, as late as 1854, 66 fireplaces of the encampment were counted in
regular rows and in a small space were found 196 hut chimneys.

Going up a long, high street, not far from the Park, gradually ascending
over rocks, and rough winding pathways, we come upon an open plateau on
which is "Fort Nonsense," so named, on leaving it, by Washington, says
tradition, because the soldiers had here been employed in constructing an
octagonal earthwork, only to occupy them and to keep them from that
idleness which was certain to breed discontent when added to their poverty,
poor shelter, hopelessness, and homelessness. Here, on a bright afternoon
of April, 1888, a monument to commemorate the site, was unveiled with
appropriate ceremonies by the Washington Association. Long will be
remembered the strange and startling effect upon those who sat waiting, as
the procession drew near at a quickstep, up the hill, and led by the
Fairchild Continental Drum Corps, in characteristic dress. Nearer and
nearer came the tramp of many feet, to the sound of fife and drum playing
Yankee Doodle, and, as they emerged from the trees upon the hill, it seemed
as if Time's clock had been turned back more than a hundred years. Standing
upon the stone, the orator of the occasion, Rev. Dr. Buckley, made a
memorable address, in the course of which he mentioned that this monument,
though small, is higher, measured from the level of the sea, than the great
Washington Monument, which is declared to be the wonder of the world. The
plan of the Fort, drawn by Major J. P. Farley, U. S. A., is now at the
Headquarters and the illustration in this volume, is given from an
engraving of the Messrs. Vogt, by their kind permission.

Probably no Author will again record the presence of the second "First
Church", which has measured its hundred years and more, in its old familiar
place upon the Park. Soon it will be replaced by a modern structure. In
October, 1891, prolonged and interesting services were held to celebrate
the centennial of its erection. Closely involved with all the history of
Morristown, the influences of this old church are felt and shown all
through this book. The picture we give of it and the Soldiers' Monument, is
as we look upon both to-day. (For the use of the engraving, we are again
indebted to the Messrs. Vogt). Sorrowfully, we note the passing of the old
church building and number it among the things we would not lose, but which
soon shall be no more. Behind it, is the old historic cemetery, where have
been laid to rest the forms of many of the patriots and honored dead of the
century gone by.

The "Old Academy" was an outcome of the First Church organization, and its
early history is recorded in the "Trustees Book," of the church. Its
centennial was observed on February 13th, 1891, on which occasion, among
others, Hon. John Whitehead, of Morristown, and Judge William Paterson, of
Perth Amboy, told its story, and the "Old Bell", placed upon the stage, was
rung by Mr. Edward Pierson, who attended the Academy in 1820.

In 1825, Lafayette came again, from France, to revisit the scenes of the
Revolution. It was on July 14th, about six o'clock in the evening, that
coming from Paterson, he arrived at Morristown. The Morris Brigade under
General Darcy was paraded on the Green and the firing of cannon and ringing
of church bells announced his coming. General Doughty was Grand Marshal of
the day and an eloquent address was made, in behalf of the town, by Hon.
Lewis Condict. Lafayette dined at the Ogden House, the home of Jonathan
Ogden, a large brick building corner of Market street and the Green (shown
in the picture). He attended a ball given in his honor, at the Sansay House
(now Mrs. Revere's, on DeHart street), and stayed over night with Mr. James
Wood, in the white house, corner of South and Pine streets. Two of
Morristown's citizens have given their reminiscences of this event to the
author of this book, as follows:

Mr. Edward Pierson, January 10th, 1893, says: "I remember well each member
of the Committee who received Lafayette, but two. I remember very well the
visit of General Lafayette to Morristown, in the year 1825. There was a
delegation went from Morristown, in carriages and on horseback, to meet him
beyond Morristown and escort him here. They came in by the Morris street
road, past the Washington Headquarters. At that time there was only one
small house on the north side of the street, below the present Manse of
the First Church to the foot of the hill. The ground sloped from the
graveyard to the street and was filled with people to see the procession
come in. A reception was given and Lafayette was taken to the James Wood
house (white house on the east corner of Pine and South streets, opposite
my residence), to spend the night. I well remember the next morning seeing
them start off with the General and his party in a four-horse carriage."

Mr. A. H. Condict, well-known as a resident of Morristown, writes from
Mansfield, Ohio, (January 12th, 1893): "My eldest sister has related to me
that when I was about a year old, General Lafayette was given a public
reception at Morristown, in an elegant brick building then standing on the
corner of the Park and Market street; that suitable addresses were made on
the occasion and that while he was being observed by the great crowd of
people, she held me up and that I looked at him. This would fix the time in
the Summer of 1825, which corresponds with my notes gathered from the
various histories."

Morristown has always been a centre, not only geographically, but a centre
of influence from the time when it received its name. We have seen how,
midway between West Point and Philadelphia, with roads radiating in every
direction and with high hills well fitted for beacon-lights and commanding
far-reaching views, Washington soon discovered it was the point for him to
select for watching the movements of Lord Howe in New York, who might at
any moment start up the Hudson for West Point, or Southwards, for
Philadelphia.

[Illustration: THE ORIGINAL ARNOLD TAVERN.

FROM PEN AND INK SKETCH BY MISS S. HOWELL.]

In the early religious movements of the country, Morristown was
conspicuous, having among its theologians some of the most brilliant
thinkers of the period. Recently we find, in the published minutes of the
Synod of New Jersey, Oct. 1892, the significant fact recorded that after
the division of the Presbytery of New York, into that of New York and of
New Jersey, the "Presbytery of Jersey at its first meeting in Morristown,
April 24th, 1810, did appoint supplies for fourteen Sabbaths from May to
September, to the pulpit of the vacant Brick Church in the City of New
York".

One of the first Sunday Schools, if not the first,--in New Jersey was
started here, by Mrs. Charlotte Ford Condict of Littleton, the grandmother
of Henry Vail Condict, now a resident of Morristown, and this was said to
be the beginning of the great revival under Albert Barnes.

In a scientific direction, Morristown was the cradle of perhaps the
greatest invention of the age, the electric telegraph. Also at the
Speedwell Iron Works were manufactured the first tires, axles and cranks of
American locomotives and a part of the machinery of the "Savannah," the
first steamship that crossed the ocean.

Morristown also reflected the superstitions of the period; the people
largely believed in witchcraft in those early days, and here was enacted,
for about a year, the most remarkable ghostly drama that was ever published
to the world, or influenced the best citizens of a community. The story of
the Morristown Ghost will go down to future ages.

For philanthropy, from Revolutionary times, Morristown has been famed,
since Martha set the example of knitting the stockings for the needy
soldiers and good Hannah Thompson voiced the hearts of her sisters round
about, when she gave food to a starving company of them, saying: "Eat all
you want; you are engaged in a good cause, and we are willing to share with
you what we have as long as it lasts." This old centre of patriotism and
Revolutionary enthusiasm has radiated philanthropic movements which
influence not only the conditions of the whole State but the welfare of
humanity. Here was commenced that voluntary work of the State Charities Aid
Association, which considers, and practically carries out, through its
counselors, measures for reform among the pauper and criminal classes in
the State institutions, and out of them, and which will undoubtedly
influence for good all future generations. This work is on much the same
plan that was originally thought out and organized by Miss Louisa Lee
Schuyler, of New York, the great-granddaughter of General Philip Schuyler
whose noble devotion to his Commander-in-chief is memorable during those
days in Morristown. So we see how the old life of the Revolutionary period
connects itself with the new life of progression. The principles then so
nobly maintained take new forms in new projects.

Everywhere, we find the old and the new combined, for even the streets bear
the names, with those of Schuyler, Hamilton and Washington, of Farragut and
McCullough. In the Park there stands a granite shaft surmounted by a full
length figure of a Morris County Volunteer, commemorating the lives of the
noble men who fell in those hard-won fields, fighting to preserve the
nationality which had been secured by their forefathers. Everything is
significant of either noble deeds in the past or of honored names of later
day and of private citizens whose personal influence has added moral
dignity to this City of many associations.


George Washington.

Among the first notable writings associated with Morristown are the letters
of Washington written from the old Arnold Tavern, and from the Ford
Mansion, during the two memorable winters of 1777 and of 1779-'80. These
noble letters are acknowledged on all sides to have been supremely
efficient in promoting our national independence, filled as they are with
the personality of Washington himself. They are very numerous. Many of them
are published; some are in our "Headquarters", and many still are scattered
over the Country, in the possession of individuals. All are interesting and
none appear to reveal what we would wish had not been known, as in the case
of so many other published letters.

Of the man himself, our authors speak, here and there, throughout this
volume. It is certain that no name, no face or character is more familiar
to us than that of Washington, and no name in history has received a
greater tribute than to be called, as he was, by the nation, at the end of
his very difficult career, the "Father of his Country."

Here is Lafayette's first impression, as he attends a dinner in
Philadelphia, given by Congress in honor of the Commander-in-Chief. He
says: "Although surrounded by officers and citizens, Washington was to be
recognized at once by the majesty of his countenance and his figure." And
this is Lafayette's tribute to Washington, when the two men have parted:
"As a private soldier, he would have been the bravest; as an obscure
citizen, all his neighbors would have respected him. With a heart as just
as his mind he always judged himself as he judged circumstances. In
creating him expressly for this revolution, Nature did honor to herself;
and to show the perfection of her work, she placed him in such a position
that each quality must have failed, had it not been sustained by all the
others."

     (Quoted by Bayard Tuckerman in his "Life of
     Lafayette.")

In the portrait of Washington which Chastellux gives us, occur these words:
"His strongest characteristic is the perfect union which reigns between the
physical and moral qualities which compose the individual, one alone will
enable you to judge of all the rest. If you are presented with medals of
Cæsar, Trajan or Alexander, on examining their features, you will still be
led to ask what was their stature and the form of their persons; but if you
discover, in a heap of ruins, the head or the limb of an antique Apollo, be
not anxious about the other parts, but rest assured that they all were
conformable to those of a God. * * * This will be said of Washington, '_At
the end of a long civil war, he had nothing with which he could reproach
himself._'"

Thatcher, in his Military Journal, speaks of Washington as he appeared at a
great entertainment given by General Knox, in celebration of the alliance
with France: "His tall, noble stature and just proportions, his fine,
cheerful countenance, simple and modest deportment, are all calculated to
interest every beholder in his favor and to command veneration and respect.
He is feared even when silent and beloved even while we are unconscious of
the motive."

The first French minister, M. Gerard, tells us, referring to Washington:
"It is impossible for me briefly to communicate the fund of intelligence
which I have derived from him. I will now say only that I have formed as
high an opinion of the powers of his mind, his moderation, patriotism and
of his virtues, as I had before from common report conceived of his
military talents, and of the incalculable services he had rendered to his
country."

     (Quoted by A. D. Mellick in his "Story of an Old
     Farm.")

We see the General in his evening dress of "black velvet, with knee and
shoe buckles and a steel rapier; his hair thickly powdered, drawn back from
his forehead and gathered in a black silk bag adorned with a rosette"
walking gracefully and with dignity through the figures of a quadrille. We
see him devoted to his wife and courteous to every woman, high and low.
Greene writes from the Headquarters: "Mrs. Washington is extremely fond of
the General and he of her; they are happy in each other." We see him, with
his tender sympathy among the soldiers and so find the key to the wonderful
devotion of the soldiers to their chief, and his influence over them. As an
old soldier tells the story to the Rev. O. L. Kirtland: "There was a time
when all our rations were but a single _gill of wheat_ a day. Washington
used to come round and look into our tents, and he looked so kind and he
said so tenderly. 'Men, can you bear it?' 'Yes, General, yes we can,' was
the reply; 'if you wish us to act give us the word and we are ready!'" Many
were the letters he wrote in their behalf to Congress, who neglected them,
and to Lord Howe in New York, because of his cruelty to the prisoners in
his power.

Another key we have to his calm and self-reliant bearing, even in his
darkest hours, so that, says Tuttle, "there seemed to be something about
this man, which inspired his enemies, even when victorious, with dread." It
is expressed in a letter of Washington when heartsick at the round of
misfortunes at the outset of the Revolution, and after the capture of Fort
Washington by the enemy. He writes: "It almost overcomes me to reflect that
a brother's sword has been sheathed in a brother's breast and that the once
happy and peaceful plains of America are either to be drenched in blood or
inhabited with slaves. Sad alternative! But can a virtuous man hesitate in
his choice?"

     (Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Sparks.)

A touching letter is written on the 8th of January, 1780, from the Ford
Mansion, to the Morris County authorities, about the hungry, destitute
soldiers, to which he receives at once so warm and generous a response that
he writes again: "The exertions of the magistrates and inhabitants of the
State were great and cheerful for our relief."

     (Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Sparks.)

Though a warm Episcopalian, his broad Christian feeling is shown when he
says: "Being no bigot, myself, I am disposed to indulge the professors of
Christianity in the Church with that road to heaven which to them shall
seem the most direct, the plainest and easiest and least liable to
objections."

     (Dr. Tuttle, quoted from Sparks.)

And again, in reply to the Address of the Clergy of different
denominations, in and about Philadelphia; "Believing as I do, that
_Religion_ and _Morality are the essential_ pillars of society, I view with
unspeakable pleasure, that harmony and brotherly love which characterize
the clergy of different denominations, as well in this, as in other parts
of the United States, exhibiting to the world a new and interesting
spectacle, at once the pride of our Country and the surest basis of
universal harmony."

     (Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Dr. Green's Autobiography.)

What man, after arriving at such a height of power and influence over men,
has been able to take up, with content again, his life of a country
gentleman? Wonderfully appropriate were the last words that fell from his
lips: "It is well."

Of Washington it may be said as of no other, in the words of Henry Lee, in
his Eulogy of December 26th, 1799: "To the memory of the man, first in war,
first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen."




POETS.


William and Stephen V. R. Paterson.

A curious circumstance surrounds the poetic work of the two Paterson
brothers--William and Stephen Van Rensselaer Paterson--and gives it a
unique interest apart from its especial merits. The survivor of the two
brothers says, in the short and highly interesting introduction to their
poems, published in 1882 and called "Poems of Twin Graduates of the College
of New Jersey":

"The title explains itself, and shows that the writers were born under the
sign of the Gemini. They lived under that sign for rising fifty years, when
one was taken and the other left. Two of us came into existence within the
same hour of time, and passing through the early part of education
together, entered the world-life as twin graduates of the collegiate
institution bearing the name of the State of which they were natives. This
dual species of psychology was something of a curiosity because outside of
common experience. Pleasure and pain seemed to flow like electric currents
from the same battery. In a certain sense, we could feel at once, and think
at once and act at once. It is problematical whether this proceeded from a
real elective affinity, or was mechanical. It was most marked, however, at
first, and particularly in the beginning or rudiments of learning. Both
then went along exactly at the same rate, and one never was in advance of
the other. Both always worked and played together, and whichever discovered
something new, would communicate it in an untranslatable language to his
companion.

"This dual character, to a greater or less extent, pervaded the joint lives
of the writers of these pieces. Not that the similarity extended to the
business or pursuits, the tastes or habits of life, for in many respects
they were different and apart as those bearing a single relation. Still the
influence of the mystic tie, whatever it was or may have been, remained
till nature loosed, as it had woven, the bond."

Although Judge William Paterson was born in Perth Amboy and now resides
there, his associations with Morristown, as related in a letter under his
signature, are those of early boyhood passed on the farm, now occupied by
Mrs. Howland. "Morristown was then but a village hamlet," he says, and
"the old Academy and the Meeting House on the village green were the only
places in which services were held." Still, we gather, that at Morristown,
the two poets received their "scholastic and agricultural training." Here,
too, was laid the foundation of their "political and religious faith," the
latter under the administration of Albert Barnes, and, what may be a noted
event in their lives, they heard Mr. Barnes preach the sermon on the "Way
of Salvation," which caused the division of the Presbyterian Church.

Judge Paterson is a graduate of Princeton, which is in a double sense his
Alma Mater, inasmuch as members of his family were among the first
graduates, soon after the removal of the College from Newark and "when that
village, then a hamlet amid the primeval forests had become the permanent
site for the Academy incorporated by royal charter."

Various positions of importance in the community have been held by Judge
Paterson. In 1882, he was made Lay Judge of the Court of Errors and Appeals
of the State; he was also Mayor of Newark for ten years, at different times
from 1846 to 1878, filling important and non-important municipal and county
offices. Thus his work has been mostly legal and political, save, when he
has made dashes into the more purely literary fields, rather, perhaps,
through inspiration and for recreation from the dry details of practical
work.

More than once has Judge Paterson told to amused and interested audiences
in Morristown his recollections of boyhood and youth spent here. Notably,
many remember his recent graphic address on the occasion of the Centennial
of the Morristown Academy.

In 1888, our author published a valuable "Biography of the Class of 1835 of
Princeton College," the class in which he graduated. The "Poems" were
published in 1882. Looking through the latter volume, which contains many
treasures, we wonder how, many of the poems--written as they were under the
influence of a higher inspiration than ordinary rhythmic influences--should
not earlier have found their way, in book form, from the writer's secret
drawers to the readers of the outside world. Many of these poems are
connected with experiences and memories of Academic days in Princeton and,
among them all we would mention "The Close of the Centennial;" "Living on a
Farm," which refers to Mrs. Howland's farm, long the poet's home in
boyhood; "14th February, 1877;" "The Hickory Tree," and "Polly," in which
the writer has caught wonderfully the bright, playful spirit of the child.
The poem "Morristown," a pictorial reminiscence, we have selected to open
this book.

Quite recently, (in September, 1892) has been published and bound in true
orange color, _An Address_, read before the New York Genealogical and
Biographical Society, on February 12th, 1892, on the life and public
services of _William Paterson_, his honored grandfather, who was
"Attorney-General of New Jersey during the Revolution, a framer of the
Federal Constitution, Senator of the United States from New Jersey,
Governor of that State, and an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of
the United States at the time of his death, September 9th, 1806." "He was
the first Alumnus of Princeton," says the writer, "who was tendered a place
in the Cabinet or on the Federal Judiciary, the Attorney-General, the first
one being William Bradford, also an Alumnus, a classmate of Madison, and
Collegemate of Burr, then not constituting part of the Executive
household." "He began the study of legal science and practice under the
instruction of Richard Stockton, who was an Alumnus of the first Class that
went forth from the College of New Jersey, then located in Newark, and who,
though young, comparatively, was rising fast to the forefront of his
profession, and, afterward, to become of renowned judicial and
revolutionary fame."

The publication is full of interest, graphic description and notice of men
and events of the period. Here is a letter to Aaron Burr, between whom
while a student in the College at Princeton, and Mr. Paterson, then
established in the practice of his profession, had sprung up a strong
friendship which continued during life:

"Princeton, January 17th, 1772. DEAR BURR: I am just ready to leave and
therefore cannot wait for you. Be pleased to accept of the enclosed notes
on _dancing_. If you pitch upon it as the subject of your next discourse,
they may furnish you with a few hints, and enable you to compose with
greater facility and despatch. To do you any little service in my power,
will afford me great satisfaction, and I hope you will take the liberty--it
is nothing more, my dear Burr, than the freedom of a friend--to call upon
me whenever you may think I can. Bear with me when I say, _that you cannot
speak too slow_. Every word should be pronounced distinctly; one should not
be sounded so highly as to drown another. To see you shine as a speaker,
would give great pleasure to your friends in general and to me in
particular. You certainly are capable of making a good speaker.

                 "Dear Burr, adieu.      WM. PATERSON."

The writer pays a beautiful tribute to Ireland, the land of his ancestors:
"Irish Nationality," he says, "is no empty dream; it goes back more than
two thousand years, is as old as Christianity, and is attested by the
existence of towers and monuments, giving evidence of greater antiquity
than is to be found in the annals of any other country in all Europe. For
centuries, Ireland sent missionaries of learning throughout the continent
to herald the advent of civilization and stay the advance of barbarism, and
her story is one running over with great deeds and glorious memories, with
associations of poetry and art and bards, and a civilization, ante-dating
that of almost any other Christian community. It cannot be claimed that the
rude exploits of her early inhabitants are classic in story or in song.
They acquired no territory; their island domain is but a speck of green
verdure amid the waste of ocean waters, and the flash of an electric light,
located on the hills where stood the ancient psaltery, could be sent
throughout its length and breadth. They conquered no worlds. No manifest
destiny led them to seek for wealth, applause or gain, beyond the limits of
their narrow bounds. They did not so much as pass over the seas that wash
their either shore. But yet in the absence of all the achievements that can
gratify ambition, with no record of pomp or pageantry or power, her people
bear a character more like a dream of fancy than a thing of real life, and
to-day they stand as remnants of national greatness, though you may look in
vain in their annals or traditions for any evidence of usurpation or of
subjugation by sceptre or by sword."


Mrs. Elizabeth Clementine Kinney.

Mrs. Kinney, the mother of the poet, Edmund Clarence Stedman, and daughter
of David L. Dodge of New York city, was for several years a resident of
Morristown, and will long be remembered with interest and affection by her
many friends. Her husband, Mr. William Burnet Kinney, not only resided here
in later years, but was born at Speedwell, then a suburb of Morristown, and
passed a part of his early boyhood there. To him we shall refer, in the
grouping of _Editors and Orators_.

Mr. Kinney was a brilliant literary man and about this home in Morristown
unusual talent and genius naturally grouped themselves. To it came and went
the poet Stedman: in the group, we find two gifted women, daughters of Mrs.
Kinney, and later on, the same genius developing itself in the son of one
of these, the boy Easton, of the third generation.

Mrs. Kinney published in 1855, "Felicita, a Metrical Romance;" a volume of
"Poems" in 1867; and, a few years later, a stirring drama, a tragedy in
blank verse, entitled "Bianco Cappello." This tragedy is founded upon
Italian history and was written during her residence abroad in 1873. While
abroad, Mrs. Kinney's letters to _The Newark Daily Advertiser_ gave her a
wide reputation and were largely re-copied in London and Edinburgh
journals from copies in the New York papers.

Among the "Poems," the one "To an Italian Beggar Boy" is perhaps most
highly spoken of and has been chosen by Mr. Stedman to represent his mother
in the "Library of American Literature." A favorite also is the "Ode to the
Sea." Both pieces are strong and dramatic. The poem on "The Flowers" has
been translated into three languages. It opens:

     "Where'er earth's soil is by the feet
         Of unseen angels trod,
     The joyous flowers spring up to greet
         These messengers of God."

Mrs. Kinney's sonnets are peculiarly good. Her sonnet on "Moonlight in
Italy," which we give to represent her, was written at ten o'clock at night
in Italy by moonlight, and has been much praised. Mr. Kingston James, the
English translator of Tasso, repeated it once at a dinner table, as a
sample of "in what consisted a true sonnet."


MOONLIGHT IN ITALY.

    There's not a breath the dewy leaves to stir;
      There's not a cloud to spot the sapphire sky;
    All nature seems a silent worshipper:
      While saintly Dian, with great, argent eye,
    Looks down as lucid from the depths on high,
      As she to earth were Heaven's interpreter:
    Each twinkling little star shrinks back, too shy
      Its lesser glory to obtrude by her
    Who fills the concave and the world with light;
      And ah! the human spirit must unite
    In such a harmony of silent lays,
      Or be the only discord in this night,
    Which seems to pause for vocal lips to raise
      The sense of worship into uttered praise.


Alexander Nelson Easton.

In the third generation in the line of Mrs. Kinney, appears a boy, now
seventeen years of age, of unusual promise as a poet--Alexander Nelson
Easton, grandson of William Burnet and Elizabeth C. Kinney. He has written
and published several poems. He took the $50 prize offered by the _Mail and
Express_ for the best poem on a Revolutionary incident, written by a child
of about twelve years. It was entitled "Mad Anthony's Charge."

Young Easton was born in Morristown, and spent his early years in this
place, in the house on the corner of Macculloch Avenue and Perry Street,
belonging to Mrs. Brinley. He began to write at eight years when a little
prose piece called "The Council of the Stars," found its way into print,
out in California. His next was in verse, written at ten years on "The
Oak." That was also published and copied. A "Ballad" followed "A Scottish
Battle Song," written in dialect, which was published also. Then came the
prize poem, "Mad Anthony's Charge," above referred to. He has composed two
stories since, one of which, "Ben's Christmas Present," has been accepted
by the New York _World_ and is to appear with a sketch of this young
writer, in their Christmas number. At twelve years, he wrote a monody on
"The Burial of Brian Boru," which is given below.

The literary efforts of Easton, so far, have been spontaneous and
spasmodic, but contain certain promise for the future. After studying for
some time at the Morristown Academy, Easton went as a student to the
Bordentown Military Institute from which he has graduated and has now
passed on to Princeton College. At Bordentown he won golden opinions, and
gave the prize essay at the June Commencement. This was an oration of
considerable importance on "The Value of Sacrifice," but withal his gifts
are essentially poetic.


THE BURIAL OF BRIAN BORU.

    Slowly around the new-made grave
      Gathers the mourner throng;
    Women and children, chieftains brave,
      Numb'ring their hundreds strong.

    Glitter beneath the sun's bright ray
      Helmet and axe and spear;
    Sadness and sorrow reign to-day,
      Dark is the land and drear!

    Yesterday leading his men to fight,
      Now lies he beneath their feet,
    Clad in his armor, strong and bright,
      'Tis his only winding sheet.

    Close to his grave stand his warriors grim,
      Bravest and best of his reign;
    They, who through danger have oft followed him,
      Mourn the wild "Scourge of the Dane."

    Look! from the throng with martial stride
      Steps an old chief of his clan,
    Pauses and halts at the deep grave's side,
      Halts as but warriors can.

    White is the hair beneath his cap,
      Withered the hand he holds on high;
    Standing, beside the open gap,
      Speaks he without a pause or sigh.

    "_Brian Boru_ the brave!
      _Brian Boru_ the bold!
    Lay we thee in thy grave;
      Deep is it, dark and cold.

    Bravest of ev'ry chief
      Erin has ever known;
    Hurling the foes in grief,
      Fiercest of Danes o'erthrown.

    Youth and old age alike
      Found thee in war array;
    Wielding the sword and pike,
      E'er in the thick o' the fray!

    Erin is freed and blest,
      Freed by thy mighty arm;
    Well hast thou earned thy rest,
      Take it! secure from harm.

    Friend of our hearts! Our king!
      Generous, kind and true!
    Out let our praises fling--
      Shout we for _Brian Boru_."

    Bursts the wild song from a thousand throats,
      Sounding through wood and plain,
    While the mountains echo the dying notes,
      Ringing them out again.

Francis Bret Harte.

As a poet, we represent Bret Harte by his "Plain Language from Truthful
James," better known as "The Heathen Chinee." The main reference to his
writings follows, in the next classification of _Novelists and Story
Writers_.


PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES,

BETTER KNOWN AS "THE HEATHEN CHINEE."

TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870.

    Which I wish to remark,--
      And my language is plain,--
    That for ways that are dark,
      And for tricks that are vain,
    The heathen Chinee is peculiar.
      Which the same I would rise to explain.

    Ah Sin was his name;
      And I shall not deny
    In regard to the same
      What that name might imply,
    But his smile it was pensive and child-like,
      As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

    It was August the third;
      And quite soft was the skies;
    Which it might be inferred
      That Ah Sin was likewise;
    Yet he played it that day upon William
      And me in a way I despise.

    Which we had a small game,
      And Ah Sin took a hand:
    It was Euchre. The same
      He did not understand;
    But he smiled as he sat by the table,
      With the smile that was child-like and bland.

    Yet the cards they were stocked
      In a way that I grieve,
    And my feelings were shocked
      At the state of Nye's sleeve:
    Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,
      And the same with intent to deceive.

    But the hands that were played
      By that heathen Chinee,
    And the points that he made,
      Were quite frightful to see,--
    Till at last he put down a right bower,
      Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

    Then I looked up at Nye,
      And he gazed upon me;
    And he rose with a sigh,
      And said, "Can this be?
    We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor,"--
      And he went for that heathen Chinee.

    In the scene that ensued
      I did not take a hand,
    But the floor it was strewed
      Like the leaves on the strand
    With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,
      In the game "he did not understand."

    In his sleeves, which were long,
      He had twenty-four packs,--
    Which was coming it strong,
      Yet I state but the facts;
    And we found on his nails, which were taper,
      What is frequent in tapers--that's wax.

    Which is why I remark,
      And my language is plain,
    That for ways that are dark,
      And for tricks that are vain,
    The heathen Chinee is peculiar,--
      Which the same I am free to maintain.


Mrs. M. Virginia Donaghe McClurg.

Mrs. McClurg, the niece of our honored townsman, Mr. Wm. L. King, is better
known to us by her maiden name of M. Virginia Donaghe. Although endowed
with varied gifts, having been editor, newspaper correspondent,
story-writer, biographer and local historian, her talent is essentially
poetic, therefore we place her among our poets.

A proud moment of Mrs. McClurg's life was, when a child, she received four
dollars and a half from _Hearth and Home_ for a story called "How did it
Happen," written in the garret, the author tells us, without the knowledge
of any one. Next, were written occasional letters and verses and short
stories for the New York _Graphic_, including some burlesque correspondence
for a number of papers, one of which was the _Richmond State_. The writer
then went to Colorado for her health and accepted the position of editor
on the _Daily Republic_ of Colorado Springs, for three years. She wrote a
political leader for the paper every day. It happened that many
distinguished men died during those years, and she did in consequence
biographical work. She also wrote book reviews, dramatic and musical
reviews, condensed the state news every day from all the papers of the
state and edited the Associated Press dispatches. In addition, all proofs
were brought to her for final reading. For the first year she had private
pupils and broke down with brain fever.

In 1885, she went into the Indian country to explore the cliff-dwellings of
Mancos Cañon, in the reservation of the Southern Utes. They were only known
through meagre accounts in the official government reports, and Miss
Donaghe was the first woman who ever visited them, so far as known. On this
occasion, she had an escort of United States troops and spent a few days
there. She however made a second visit, fully provided for a month's trip,
the result of which was a series of archæological sketches contributed to a
prominent paper, the _Great Divide_, under the title of "Cliff-Climbing in
Colorado." These ten papers gave to Miss Donaghe a reputation in the west
as an archæologist.

The following year she published, in the _Century_, one of the best of her
sonnets, "The Questioner of the Sphinx," afterwards contained in her book,
"Seven Sonnets of Sculpture."

The same year she published her first book, "Picturesque Colorado," also a
popular sonnet called "The Mountain of the Holy Cross." The Colorado
mountain of the Holy Cross has crevices filled with snow which represent
always on its side a cross. The little sand lily of Colorado blossoms at
the edges of the highways in the dust, in the Spring, and looks like our
star of Bethlehem. Of these sand lilies an artist friend made a picture
which harmonized with the sonnet referred to. These were published together
as an Easter card and a large edition sold. The sonnet begins;

     "In long forgotten Springs, where He who taught
     Amid the olive groves of Syrian hills,"--

And ends:

     "The lilies bloom upon the prairie wide
       A stainless cross is reared by nature's hand,
     And plain and height alike keep Easter-tide."

In 1887, the _Century_ published a "Sonnet on Helen Hunt's Grave," with a
picture of the grave. About this time Miss Donaghe was writing a series of
letters which were published in a Southern newspaper, _The Valley
Virginian_, and were widely copied. These were on Utah, when the Mormon
hierarchy was in its power. Then appeared a book on "Picturesque Utah,"
making one of a group with "Picturesque Colorado" and "Colorado
Favorites." The last is made up of six poems on Colorado flowers,
illustrated by water colors of the blossoms, by Alice Stewart, and was the
first book published.

The author was married to Mr. Gilbert McClurg of Chicago, one of the family
of the publishing house of that name, in Morristown, on June 13th, 1889.
Since then Mrs. McClurg has been both editor and newspaper correspondent,
and, within the last two years, a valuable assistant to her husband in the
preparation of his department of the official history of Colorado, which
included several county histories.

In the _Cosmopolitan_ of June, 1891, a sonnet appeared, "The Life Mask,"
and was reprinted in the _Review of Reviews_. Two of Mrs. McClurg's songs
were set to music by Albert C. Pierson in the summer of 1890; "Lithe Stands
my Lady"; "Je Reste et Tu T'en Vas"; the latter with a French refrain, the
rest in English.

The last poem of Mrs. McClurg was published in the _Banner_, of Morristown,
Dec. 24th, 1891, written to Mr. William L. King on his 85th Thanksgiving
Day, and based on the Oriental salutation, "O King! Live forever".

Among the writings of Mrs. McClurg are also two articles on the Washington
Headquarters of Morristown; being "quotations, comments and descriptions on
two Order Books of the Revolution, daily records of life in camp and at
Headquarters, in the year 1780." A passage from this is given in the
opening chapter of this book.

The "Seven Sonnets of Sculpture" came out in 1889 and 1890. This book was
widely and favorably noticed by some of the largest and most important
journals. Says the writer in the Chicago _Daily News_: "It was a happy
inspiration that led Mrs. McClurg to the idea realized in the publication
of her latest volume 'Seven Sonnets of Sculpture'. The work is artistic
from cover to cover, but the conception of equipping each one of the
stanzas it contains with a photograph of the piece of sculpture which
suggested it, was unique. * * To translate a work of art from its original
form to another, to find the hidden sense of a conception imbedded in stone
and revive it in words, to endue marble with speech, is in its nature a
delicate task and one that demands the keenest of perceptions and
sensibilities." The author says, in her dedication that seven was a Hebrew
symbol of perfection.

The sonnet we select from these, to represent Mrs. McClurg, is "The
Questioner of the Sphinx". This sonnet was written from the impression
received from Elihu Vedder's engraving of the Sphinx and the artist
expressed in a letter to the author, his appreciation of the fidelity of
the interpretation in verse of his picture. His criticism is perhaps the
best that could be given.

"I think it," he wrote, "good and strong and shall treasure it among the
few good things that have been suggested by my work. My idea in the Sphinx
was the hopelessness of man before the cold immutable laws of nature. Could
the Sphinx speak, I am sure its words would be, 'look within,' for to his
working brain and beating heart man must look for the solution of the great
problem."


THE QUESTIONER OF THE SPHINX.

(SUGGESTED BY ELIHU VEDDER'S PICTURE.)

     Behold me! with swift foot across the land,
     While desert winds are sleeping, I am come
     To wrest a secret from thee; O thou, dumb,
     And careless of my puny lip's command.
     Cold orbs! _mine_ eyes a weary world have scanned,
     Slow ear! in _mine_ rings ever a vexed hum
     Of sobs and strife. Of joy mine earthly sum
     Is buried as thy form in burning sand.
     The wisdom of the nations thou has heard;
     The circling courses of the stars hast known.
     Awake! Thrill! By my feverish presence stirred,
     Open thy lips to still my human moan,
     Breathe forth one glorious and mysterious word,
     Though I should stand, in turn, transfixed,--a stone!


Charlton T. Lewis, L.L. D.

A sketch of Dr. Lewis will be found under the grouping of _Lexicographer_.

The poem from which we select (reluctantly we take a part instead of the
whole, for lack of space), is an embodiment of the story taken from
Theodoret. The poet has found in the beautiful tradition, meagre though it
is, a lovely theme for his divine song of spiritual love and Christian
martyrdom.

The following is the translation of the Greek passage which heads the poem:

"A certain Telemachus embraced the self-sacrificing life of a monk, and, to
carry out this plan, went to Rome, where he arrived during the abominable
shows of gladiators. He went down into the arena, and strove to stop the
conflicts of the armed combatants. But the spectators of the bloody games
were indignant, and the gladiators themselves, full of the spirit of
battle, slew the apostle of peace. When the great Emperor learned the facts
he enrolled Telemachus in the noble army of martyrs, and put an end to the
murderous shows."

     _Theodoret. Eccl. Hist. v. 26._

The scene is Rome,--the place the Coliseum. It is the time of the games.
There are the crowds of eager people; the Emperor Honorius; the horrible
Stilicho. Lowly and beautiful in his great love for Christ, Telemachus
follows onward to the Coliseum to meet his sorrowful fate; holding in his
voice the power that "stilled the fire and dulled the sword and stopped the
crushing wine-press." He followed, silently, consecrated and alone, to "do
the will of God."


TELEMACHUS.

    I mused on Claudian's tinseled eulogies,
    And turned to seek in other dusty tomes,
    Through the wild waste of those degenerate days,
    Some living word, some utterance of the heart;
    Till as when one lone peak of Jura flames
    With sudden sunbeams breaking through the mist,
    So from the dull page of Theodoret
    A flash of splendor rends the clouds of life,
    And bares to view the awful throne of love.

    The bishop's tale is meagre, but as leaven,
    It works in thoughts that rise and fill the soul.

    *....*....*....*....*

    He felt the soil, long drenched with martyr's blood,
    Send healing through his feet to all his frame.
    He drank the air that trembled with the joys
    Of opening Paradise, and bared his soul
    To spirits whispering, "Come with us to-day!"
    The longings of his life were satisfied,
    He stood at last in Rome, Christ's Capital,
    The gate of heaven and not the mouth of hell.

    Suddenly, rudely, comes disastrous change.
    He starts and gazes, as the glory of the saints
    Fades round him and the angel songs are stilled:
    A world of hatred hides the throne of love;
    Hell opens in the gleam of myriad eyes
    Hungry for slaughter, in a hush that tells
    How in each heart a tiger pants for blood.
    Into the vast arena files a band
    Of Goths, the prisoners of Pollentia,--
    Freemen, the dread of Rome, but yesterday,
    Now doomed as slaves to wield those terrible arms
    In mutual murder, kill and die, amid
    The exultation of their nation's foes.
    Pausing before the throne, with well-taught lips
    They utter words they know not; but Rome hears;
    "Cæsar, we greet thee who are now to die!"
    Then part and line the lists; the trumpet blares
    For the onset, sword and javelin gleam, and all
    Is clash of smitten shields and glitter of arms.

    Without the tumult, one of mighty limb
    And towering frame stands moveless; never yet
    A nobler captive had made sport for Rome.
    Throngs watch that eye of Mars, Apollo's grace,
    The thews of Hercules, in cruel hope
    That ten may fall before him ere he falls.
    They bid him charge; he moves not; shield and sword
    Sink to his feet; his eyes are filled with light
    That is not of the battle. Three draw near
    Whose valor or despair has cut a path
    Through the thick mass of combat, and their swords,
    Reeking with carnage, seek a victim new
    The glory of whose death may win them grace
    With that fierce multitude. Telemachus
    Gazes, and half the horror turns to joy
    As the fair Goth undaunted bares his breast
    Before the butchers, and awaits the blow
    With peaceful brow, a firm and tender lip
    Quivering as with a breath of inward prayer,
    And hands that move as mindful of the cross.
    And with a mighty cry, "Christ! he is thine!
    He is my brother! Help!" The monk leaps forth,
    Gathers in hands unarmed the points of steel,
    Throws back the startled warriors, and commands,
    "In Christ's name, hold! Ye people of Rome give ear!
    God will have mercy and not sacrifice.
    He who was silent, scourged at Pilate's bar,
    And smitten again in those he died to save,
    Is silent now in his great oracles.
    The throne of Constantine and Peter's chair,
    Speaks thus through me:--'In Rome, my capital,
    Let love be Lord, and close the mouth of hell.
    I will have mercy and not sacrifice.'"

    The slaughter paused, he ceased, and all was still,
    But baffled myriads with their cruel thumbs
    Point earthward, and the bloody three advance:
    Their swords meet in his heart. Honorius
    Cries "Save,"--too late, he is already safe,--
    And turns, with tears like Peter's, to proclaim,
    The festival dissolved: nor from that hour
    Ever again did Rome, Christ's capital,
    Make holiday with blood, but hand in hand
    The throne of Constantine and Peter's chair
    Honored the martyr--Saint Telemachus,
    And love was Lord and closed the mouth of hell.


Miss Emma F. R. Campbell.

In our midst is a quiet, gentle woman who passes in and out among us
without noise or ostentation. Yet upon her has fallen the great honor of
being the author of an immortal hymn.

In the _Canada Presbyterian_ of Feb. 9th, 1887, appeared an article
entitled "A Great Modern Hymn." Also, it is said, that in a volume soon to
be published on "The Great Hymns of the Church" will appear a paper on
"Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By." From the first named, we cannot do better
than quote:

"Among all the hymns used in recent revivals of religion, none has been
more honored and owned by God, than this--none so often called for, none so
inspiring, none bearing so many seals of the divine approval. This is the
testimony of the great evangelist of these days, Mr. Moody, and this
testimony will surprise no one who has ever heard it sung by his companion
in the ministry, Mr. Sankey, who, under God, has done so much to send forth
light and truth into dark minds and break up the fountains of the great
deep, amid the masses of godless men.

       *       *       *       *       *

"As to the origin of the hymn--the circumstances of its birth--we have to
invite the reader to go back some twenty-three years, to the Spring of
1864--to a great season of religious awakening in the city of Newark, N. J.
The streets were crowded from day to day and the largest churches were too
small to contain the growing numbers. Among those most deeply moved by the
impressive scenes and services was a young girl, a Sabbath School teacher,
one who for the first time realized the powers of the world to come, and
the grandness of the great salvation. As descriptive of what was passing
around her but with no desire for publicity, still, with the great desire
of reaching some soul unsaved, especially among her youthful charge, she
wrote the lines beginning with, 'What means this eager, anxious throng?'"

The hymn was first published under the signature "Eta", the author having
sometimes appended to her writings the Greek letter, using that character
instead of her English name. We quote again from the same source:

"Soon it rose into popularity and it is spreading still, not only in the
English language, but in other languages--even the languages of
India--(think of a recent account of an assembly of 500 Hindus
enthusiastically using this hymn in the Mahrati and the Syrian children
singing it in their own vernacular)--as the author thinks of all these
things, she can only say with a thankful and an adoring heart: 'It is the
Lord's doing and it is marvellous in mine eyes!'"

Miss Campbell has also written many other poems of beauty and articles in
prose, which however, are all so eclipsed by this "Great Hymn" that perhaps
they are not known or noticed as they otherwise would be. One in
particular, we would mention, "A New Year Thought," published December,
1888.

Miss Campbell belongs also in the group of _Novelists_, _Story-Writers_,
_and Moralists_. She has written a number of books for the young, among
which are "Green Pastures for Christ's Little Ones"; "Paul Preston";
"Better than Rubies"; and "Toward the Mark".

Miss Campbell wrote by request, at the time of the Centennial Celebration
of the First Presbyterian Church in October, 1891, a beautiful hymn for the
occasion which was read by Mr. James Duryee Stevenson.


"JESUS OF NAZARETH PASSETH BY."

     What means this eager, anxious throng,
     Pressing our busy streets along,
     These wondrous gatherings day by day,
     What means this strange commotion, pray?
     Voices in accents hushed reply
         "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by?"

     E'en children feel the potent spell,
     And haste their new-found joy to tell;
     In crowds they to the place repair
     Where Christians daily bow in prayer,
     Hosannas mingle with the cry
         "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

     Who is this Jesus? Why should He
     The city move so mightily?
     A passing stranger, has He skill
     To charm the multitude at will?
     Again the stirring tones reply
         "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

     Jesus! 'tis He who once below
     Man's pathway trod mid pain and woe:
     And burdened hearts where'er He came
     Brought out their sick and deaf and lame.
     Blind men rejoiced to hear the cry
         "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

     Again He comes, from place to place
     His holy footprints we can trace.
     He passes at _our_ threshold--nay
     He enters,--condescends to stay!
     Shall we not gladly raise the cry--
         "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

     Bring out your sick and blind and lame,
     'Tis to restore them Jesus came.
     Compassion infinite you'll find,
     With boundless power in Him combined.
     Come quickly while salvation's nigh,
         "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

     Ye sin-sick souls who feel your need,
     He comes to you, a friend indeed.
     Rise from your weary, wakeful couch.
     Haste to secure His healing touch;
     No longer sadly wait and sigh.--
         "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

     Ho all ye heavy-laden, come!
     Here pardon, comfort, rest, a home
     Lost wanderer from a Father's face,
     Return, accept his proffered grace.
     Ye tempted, there's a refuge nigh
         Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!

     Ye who are buried in the grave
     Of sin, His power alone can save.
     His voice can bid your dead souls live,
     True spirit-life and freedom give.
     Awake! arise! for strength apply,
         Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!

     But if this call you still refuse
     And dare such wondrous love abuse,
     Soon will He sadly from you turn
     Your bitter prayer in justice spurn.
     "Too late! too late!" will be your cry,
         "Jesus of Nazareth has passed by!"


Mrs. Adelaide S. Buckley.

Mrs. Buckley will appear again among _Translators_. The following verses
were inspired by a painting of Cornelia and the Gracchi:

     Purest pearls from the sea,
       Diamonds outshining the sun,
     Sapphires which vie with heaven,
       With pride to Cornelia are shown.

     Clasping her dark-eyed boys,
       Fairer could be no other,
     "These my jewels are"
       Said the noble Roman mother.


Rev. Oliver Crane, D. D., LL. D.

Before coming to Morristown, in 1871, Dr. Crane's life had been a very
active one, including extensive traveling in Turkey, Europe, Egypt and
Palestine. Twice he had been a missionary in Turkey acquiring the Turkish
language and doing efficient work there, first for five years, then for
three. In the seven years interval of his return he accepted two pastorates
in this country.

On coming to Morristown, having resigned his ministerial charge at
Carbondale, Pennsylvania, he devoted himself mainly to literary work, and
with General H. B. Carrington wrote the "Battles of the Revolution" which
has since become a standard work. Nine years later as secretary of his
college class, he prepared an exhaustive biographical record of every
member of the class. The book was a pioneer in this class of publications.

In 1888, he published his translation of Virgil's Æneid and the following
year a small volume of poems entitled "Minto and Other Poems", in which the
"Rock of the Passaic Falls" is conspicuous as relating to Washington and
Lafayette "who," says the poet, "visited together these Falls while their
troops were stationed at Totawa (as the spot was then called) in the Winter
of 1780. The initials G. W. are still to be seen cut in the rock below the
cataract."

The _Translation of Virgil's Æneid_, "literally, line by line into English
Dactyllic Hexameter," is Dr. Crane's great work and has absorbed much of
his time for years. It is a singular fact that, although for more than four
hundred years the learned have been giving to the English reader, through
the press, specimen translations of this old classic, this is the first
complete version in the original measure.

In the very interesting preface, Dr. Crane gives a careful review of the
translations of Virgil, noticing the singular and severe prejudice that has
always debarred any desire to render this classic in the metre of the
original, and discussing the advantage of translating in the style of verse
chosen by the author himself. In fact, he tells us, Longfellow had, from
his own admirable translations, become thoroughly convinced of its utility,
if not of its indispensability in giving the classic epics a fitting
setting in English.

The following is an extract taken from Book X., lines 814 to 842 of Dr.
Crane's literal English translation of _Virgil's Æneid_, which describes
the hand to hand contest of Æneas with the youth Lausus, who insists upon
fighting Æneas in opposition to his father's wishes and in the face of
every effort made by Æneas to avoid the conflict:


TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL'S ÆNEID.

BOOK X, LINES 814 TO 842.

    The destinies now are for Lausus the last threads
Gathering in; for Æneas his powerful scimitar ruthless                     815
Drives through the midst of the youth, and buries it wholly within him,
Right through the menacer's targe, and his delicate armor, the keen blade
Passed through the tunic his mother had woven in tissue of gold thread
For him, and blood filled all of his bosom; then life on the breezes
Mournful withdrew to the shades, and abandoned his body untimely.          820
But as the son of Anchises in truth on the visage and features
Gazed of the dying--the features, becoming amazingly pallid--
Pitying deeply he sighed and instinctively tendered his right hand,
Fresh as the image recurred to his mind of regard for a father:
"What to thee now, O pitiable boy, for these laudable efforts,             825
What shall the pious Æneas, befitting such nobleness render?
Keep it--thine armor, in which thou rejoicest, and I to thy parents'
Shades and their ashes, if this could be any requital, remit thee;
Yet thou in this, though unlucky, canst solace thy sorrowful exit,
That by the hand of the mighty Æneas thou fallest." Abruptly               830
Chides he his faltering comrades, as gently from earth he uplifts him,
Soiling his ringlets with blood, that were combed in the comeliest fashion.
    Meanwhile, his father was down by the wave of the stream of the Tiber
Staunching his wound with its waters, and resting his body, reclining
Close by the trunk of a tree. At a distance his coppery helmet             825
Hangs on its boughs, and at rest on the sod is his cumbersome armor:
Standing around are his warriors chosen; he sickly and panting
Eases his neck, as his out-combed beard streamed down on his bosom;
Often he asks after Lausus, and many a messenger sends he
Back to recall him, and bear him his sorrowful parent's injunctions:       840
But on his armor his comrades were weepingly bearing the lifeless
Lausus away--a hero o'ercome by the wound of a hero.


Rev. J. Leonard Corning, D. D.

Dr. Corning, who, with his family, was for some years a resident of
Morristown and is now abroad, is represented later in the volume, among the
writers on Art. We give here his beautiful poem, "The Ideal".


THE IDEAL.

     Awake, asleep, in dreams, amid the din of mortal striving,
     I feel thee ever near, vision of fancy's sweet contriving:
     The setting sun and twilight glow
     Thou art the music sweet and low.

     When on the sands, at dead of night,
     Dark waves are breaking in their might,
     While, through the billowy crests, the wild winds roar,
     Thou art the gull who over all dost soar.

     Amid the storm and lightning flash,
     The pelting rain and thunder crash,
     When faces blanch, and none can will,
     Thou, heavenly bow, art faithful still.

     'Tis not the kiss, the touch, the sigh,
     That bringeth love from earth to sky;
     For motions strange about the heart
     Reveal the inner nature of thy part.


Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest.

Mrs. Augustus W. Cutler has kindly given us the following monograph:

"In a Memorial of the late Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest occurs the following
passage: 'For two hundred and fifty years, the English readers of the Bible
were obliged to content themselves with the phrase, 'They seek a country'.
It was not the whole thought. It was reserved for a corps of learned
revisers to light upon the happy phrase, 'They are seeking a country of
their own'.' But a score of years before the wise grammarians reached this
line, a youthful poetess, seeing and greeting the Heavenly promise from
afar, wrote simply and sweetly:

"'I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see The shining gates o'
Heaven, an' _my ain countree_'.

"This youthful poetess was Mary Lee, afterwards Mrs. T. F. C. Demarest.

"Before her marriage, in 1870, she spent several years in Morristown and
became identified with the place and its interests; and there are many
persons living here who remember her sweet face and gentle ways.

"A taste for the Scotch dialect is said to have been acquired from an old
Scotch nurse who lived a long time in the family, when the children were
young. The girl caught it so completely, that when deeply moved, she was
wont to drop into it, for the more vigorous expression of her feelings.
'Somehow', said she, 'the Scotch is more homely, less formal to me'. Thus,
in the poem alluded to, could the thoughts contained in it, have been
expressed as beautifully and tenderly in the mother tongue?

"Again, there is a little poem in the same dialect, entitled 'My Mither',
which appeals to every heart.

"Though many of her poems and prose writings are of a devotional character,
yet she had a keen sense also of the humorous side of life as the verses
entitled 'Allen Graeme', will testify.

"Mrs. Demarest traveled extensively throughout our own country, and also
abroad. Two volumes of her writings have been published--one entitled
'Gathered Writings', a collection of short stories, fragments of foreign
travel and reflections".


MY AIN COUNTREE.

     I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary afterwhiles,
     For the langed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome smiles;
     I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see,
     The shining gates o' heaven an' my ain countree.
     The earth is fleck'd wi' flowers, mony tinted fresh and gay,
     The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae;
     But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me,
     When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree.

     I've His gude word o' promise that some gladsome day, the King
     To his ain royal palace His banished hame will bring;
     Wi' een an' wi' hearts running owre, we shall see
     The King in His beauty, in our ain countree;
     My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair,
     But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair;
     His bluid has made me white--His hand shall dry mine e'e,
     When he brings me hame at last, to mine ain countree.

     Sae little noo I ken, o' yon blessed, bonnie place,
     I ainly ken its Hame, whaur we shall see His face;
     It wud surely be eneuch forever mair to be
     In the glory o' His presence in our ain countree.
     Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest,
     I wad fain be ganging noo, unto my Saviour's breast,
     For he gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
     An' carries them Himsel', to His ain countree.

     He's faithfu' that has promised, He'll surely come again,
     He'll keep his tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken;
     But he bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be
     To gang at ony moment to my ain countree.
     So I'm watching aye, and singing o' my hame as I wait,
     For the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden gate,
     God gie His grace to ilk ane wha' listens noo to me,
     That we a' may gang in gladness to our ain countree.


Hon. Anthony Q. Keasbey.

We cannot do better than quote the words of Dr. Thomas Dunn English, the
well-known author of "Ben Bolt", now living in Newark, N. J.,--with regard
to Mr. Keasbey.

"Here, in Newark", says he, "we have a lawyer of distinction, Anthony Q.
Keasbey, who occasionally throws off some polished verses, as he excuses
them, by way of 'safety plugs for high mental pressure,' and these are
always smooth and scholarly. They are mostly privately printed for the
amusement of the poet and a few chosen friends. One of these, however, has
such a vein of tenderness and so much heart music that it deserves to
become public property and to remain as much the favorite with others as
it is with me." The poem referred to is, "My Wife's Crutches."

"Unquestionably", continues Dr. English, "Mr. Keasbey stands well in his
profession, and for years, under several Federal administrations, filled
the office of United States District Attorney with credit to himself and
advantage to the public; but this little tender poem does more honor to his
intellect than his legal acquirements, however eminent they may be, and
gives him a still stronger claim to the regard of his many friends."

Among Mr. Keasbey's published collected poems are "Palm Sunday", of which
Mr. Stedman once said he had put it away among some fine hymns; also "May",
published in England and set to music by Faustina Hodges. These verses were
inspired by the falling of the cherry blossoms on the grave of little May,
and are most sweet and touching. One of the best is "The Dirge for Old St.
Stephen's", written while they were demolishing the church built on Mr.
Keasbey's ground, where now a "mart and home" have taken its place as was
anticipated by the poet.

Mr. Keasbey has published numberless papers in prominent journals and
magazines. Some of these are to be collected and published in book form.
His address on "The Sun: How Man has Regarded it in Different Ages", is
well worthy of preservation in more permanent form than that in which it
appears at present; also "The Sale of East New Jersey at Auction", an
address delivered February 1st, 1862, before the New Jersey Historical
Society at Trenton, on the Bi-Centennial of the Sale. This is full of
interesting information, told in a charming way and is valuable for
reference.

The paper on "The Sun", was inspired by Mr. Keasbey's reading with great
interest, the papers of Professor Norman Lockyer, the great astronomer,
describing his researches into the constitution of the sun, through the
medium of the spectroscope and the photograph. Mr. Keasbey had been
interested in observing the extent to which modern science had reached with
respect to the actual condition of the sun and the materials of which it is
composed. This led him to the thoughts of how very recent had been any such
attempts to understand its true nature and, from that reflection, he was
led to consider, as a subject of a paper, how human eyes in all ages have
looked upon the sun and in what manner they have regarded it. This
published address was delivered before the Brooklyn Historical Society, a
brilliant audience present, and Rev. Dr. Storrs, presiding.

A book on Florida, "From the Hudson to the St. John's", describing a
month's journey to Florida and the St. John's River was published in 1875;
also, more recently, a small book on "Isthmus Transit by Chiriqui and Golfo
Dulce", with a view of describing the Chiriqui mountain rib or back bone
of Darien and all the executive and legislative action, with respect to the
region between Panama and Nicaragua, with reference to railroad
communication across the isthmus from the harbor of Chiriqui on the coast
to the Pacific.

In the _Hospital Review_, of July, 1882, is a very striking and powerful
paper on the "Tragedy of the Lena Delta", where De Long and his companions
so heroically met their fate in the Arctic snows.

Below is the favorite of Dr. English among the Poems:

MY WIFE'S CRUTCHES.

     Ye solemn, gaunt, ungainly crutches,
         That serve her frame such slippery tricks,
     Were you within my lawful clutches,
         I'd fling you back in River Styx.

     Ye grew beside the Boat of Charon,
         In murky fens of Stygian gloom,
     Nor ever, like the rod of Aaron,
         Shall your grim spindles burst in bloom.

     Your reeds were tuned for groans rheumatic,
         And croaking sighs from gouty man;
     Nor e'er shall thrill with tones ecstatic,
         As did the pipes of ancient Pan.

     Avaunt you, then, ye helpers dismal!
         Offend my eyes and ears no more;
     Go stalking back to realms abysmal
         And guide the ghosts on Lethe's shore.

     But see! while yet my words upbraid them,
         Her crutches bud with blossoms fair,
     And Patience, Love and Faith have made them
         Than Aaron's rod, more rich and rare.

     And hark! from out their hollows slender,
         No dismal groans or sighs proceed,--
     But tones of joy more sweet and tender
         Than swelled from Pan's enchanted reed.

     Then stay! your use her worth discloses,
         Your ghastly frames her worth transmutes,
     From withered sticks, to stems of roses--
         From creaking reeds, to magic flutes.


Major Lindley Hoffman Miller.

Major Miller, a brother of our well-known townsman, Henry W. Miller, was
among the first of the 7th Regiment of New York City, who answered the call
of the government to march to Washington for the protection of the Capitol.
He served in that regiment through the riots in New York, and afterwards
joined a Colored Regiment and was promoted to the rank of Major. He served
in this position at Memphis and elsewhere through the South. In this
campaign he lost his health and came home to die. He died in June, 1864,
and was laid in old St. Peter's churchyard.

Mr. Miller was a man of brilliant mind and unusual genius. His fugitive
poems are very beautiful. They were published in various journals of the
time, and one we will add to this short sketch of his brief but valuable
life, "The Skater's Song", full of spirit and dash, and gay with the heart
of youth.

THE SKATER'S SONG, BY MOONLIGHT!

     Come away, from your blazing hearths!
       Come away, in the gleaming night,
     Where the radiant sky is peering down
       With a million eyes of light!
     Heigho! for the glancing ice,
       For the realm of the old Frost King!
     We'll shake the chain of the bounding stream
       Till all its fetters ring!
         Then away! my boys, away!
           Far over the ice we'll sweep,
         And wake the slumbering echo's voice
           From the gloom of its winter sleep!

     Come away, from your cheerless books!
       Come away, in the clear, cold air!
     And read in the deeps of the starry night
       God's endless volume there.
     Ho! now we're flashing along,
       At the snow-flake's drifting rate!
     Did ever anything stir the pulse
       Like a glimmering moonlight skate?
         Then away! my boys, away!
           Far over the ice we'll sweep,
         And wake the slumbering echo's voice
           From the gloom of its winter sleep!

     Come away, from the ball-room's glare!
       Come away, to a merrier dance,--
     To a hall, whose floor is the flashing ice,
       Whose light is the stars' pure glance!
     Now we're watching the moon in her dreams,
       Now we dash at our speed again;
     While the stream groans under the icy links
       Which the frost has forged for his chain!
         Then away! my boys, away!
           Far over the ice we'll sweep,
         And wake the slumbering echo's voice
           From the gloom of its winter sleep!

     Come away, each lady fair!
       Come, add to the magical sight!
     And mingle the silvery tones of your words
       With the echoing "voices of night"!
     Heigho! for the frozen plain!
       Here's a glancing mirror, I ween,
     Reflecting all the beautiful forms
       That move in our fairy-like scene.
         Away! my lady, away!
           Far over the ice we'll sweep,
         And wake the slumbering echo's voice
           From the gloom of its winter sleep!

     Come away, from your sorrow and grief,
       All you that are gloomy and sad!
     Unwrinkle your brows to the whistling wind,
       Till your hearts grow merry and glad!
     Ho! Hark! how the laughter in peals,
       Is shaking the tides of the air,
     And shouting aloud to drown with its joy
       The muttering murmurs of care!
         Then away! my boys, away!
           Far over the ice we'll sweep,
         And wake the slumbering echo's voice
           From the gloom of its winter sleep!

     Come, one and all, then, away!
       Come, cheerily join in our song,
     And mingle with music the ring of the steel,
       Keep in time, as we're sweeping along!
     Heigho! for the throne of the Frost!
       We'll frighten the phantoms of night,
     And serenade, far under the depths,
       The river's listening sprite!
         Then away! my boys, away!
           Far over the ice we'll sweep,
         And wake the slumbering echo's voice
           From the gloom of its winter sleep!


Miss Henrietta Howard Holdich.

Miss Holdich, poetess and story-writer, has been a resident of Morristown,
since 1878, and has written at various periods since she was seventeen
years of age. Her poems, stories, and other writings have appeared from
time to time in _Harper's Magazine_ and other important publications. We
would like to give Miss Holdich's beautiful and thoughtful poem, "In Holy
Ground", suggested by a Russian Legend, but, as we give her Centennial
story entire, our space does not allow. She is represented, instead, by a
few lovely lines written for a golden wedding and sent to the happy pair
with a basket of flowers and fruit.

LINES

WRITTEN FOR A GOLDEN WEDDING.

     Orange buds a maiden wears
      On the blissful wedding morn;
     Snowy buds on golden hair
       Tell of love and faith new born.

     Ripened now the perfect fruit,
       Fifty sunny years have passed;
     Golden fruit on snowy hair
       Tells of love and faith that last.


William Tuckey Meredith.

Mr. Meredith, a Philadelphian by birth, and also a banker in New York City,
is also one of our summer residents, his main interest in Morristown
coming, as he says, from the fact that his grandmother was a Morristown
Ogden. He served as an officer in the United States Navy with Farragut at
the battle of Mobile Bay and was afterwards his secretary.

Mr. Meredith is perhaps best known by his spirited poem, entitled
"Farragut", which appeared in _The Century_, in 1890, and heads the group
of "Various Poems" in Stedman and Hutchinson's Library of American
Literature.

Besides this, Mr. Meredith has written for _The New York Times_ and other
journals and publications at various times. He wrote for _The Century_ a
War article on "Farragut's Capture of New Orleans", which may be found in
Volume IV of the published series. A novel appeared with his name, in 1890,
entitled "Not of Her Father's Race", in which the "Fox Hunt" is, the author
tells us, a study of a bag chase in which he took part some years ago near
Morristown, although he has laid the scene in Newport. We give the poem,
"Farragut".

FARRAGUT.

MOBILE BAY, 5 AUGUST, 1864.

     Farragut, Farragut,
       Old Heart of Oak,
     Daring Dave Farragut,
       Thunderbolt stroke,
     Watches the hoary mist
       Lift from the bay,
     Till his flag, glory-kissed,
       Greets the young day.

     Far, by gray Morgan's walls,
       Looms the black fleet.
     Hark, deck to rampart calls
       With the drum's beat!
     Buoy your chains overboard,
       While the steam hums;
     Men! to the battlement,
       Farragut comes.

     See, as the hurricane
       Hurtles in wrath
     Squadrons of cloud amain
       Back from its path!
     Back to the parapet,
       To the guns' lips,
     Thunderbolt Farragut
       Hurls the black ships.

     Now through the battle's roar
       Clear the boy sings,
     "By the mark fathoms four,"
       While his lead swings.
     Steady the wheelmen five
       "Nor' by East keep her,"
     "Steady" but two alive:
       How the shells sweep her!

     Lashed to the mast that sways
       Over red decks,
     Over the flame that plays
       Round the torn wrecks,
     Over the dying lips
       Framed for a cheer,
     Farragut leads his ships,
       Guides the line clear.

     On by heights cannon-browed,
       While the spars quiver;
     Onward still flames the cloud
       Where the hulks shiver.
     See, yon fort's star is set,
       Storm and fire past.
     Cheer him, lads--Farragut,
       Lashed to the mast!

     Oh! while Atlantic's breast
       Bears a white sail,
     While the Gulf's towering crest
       Tops a green vale;
     Men thy bold deeds shall tell,
       Old Heart of Oak,
     Daring Dave Farragut
       Thunderbolt stroke!


Hannah More Johnson.

Miss Johnson, the niece of Mr. J. Henry Johnson, one of Morristown's old
residents, and the last preceptor of the old Academy, will be found again
among "Historians". She has written and published a large number of poems,
besides, and from them we select the following:

THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

     Shall I tell you a story of Christmas time?
       Of what Nellie found by her Christmas tree?
     If I tell it at all, it must be in rhyme
       For it seems like a song to Nellie and me
     That ripples along to a breezy tune,
     Like a brook that sings through the woods in June;
       And yet it was dark November weather
       When song and story began together.

     "Papa", said Nellie, with wistful tone,
       "When God sends little children here,
     Do beautiful angels flutter down
       As once when they brought our Saviour dear?
     Don't they sing in the sky, where we can't see
       And listen up there to Harry and me?
     'Cause I prayed last night for the bestest things
       Heavenly Father sends us, and Harry said
     I might ask for a sister who hadn't wings
       A dear little sister to sleep in my bed;
     For my other one went away, you know,
     To sing with the angels long ago,
       And I want another to stay with me
       A dear little sister like Daisy Lee.
     So high, Papa! Look, don't you see?
       Just up to my chin. Heavenly Father knows
     'Bout her dress and her shoes and her curly hair
       'Cause I told him all, and so I s'pose
     The first little sister He has to spare
       He'll send her down here, oh won't she be
     A dear little sister for Harry and me!"

     "Yes, my Nellie", her father said,
       One gentle hand on the curly head
     With tender caress and whispered word
       Too low for her ear, 'though a Bright-one heard
     And passed it up, meet signal given
       From love on earth to love in heaven;
     "Yes, my Nellie, wait and see!
       We are all in our Heavenly Father's care
     And He'll send what is best for you and me
       When we look to Him with a loving prayer".

     The days passed on. 'Twas that happy time
     When bells ring out with their Christmas chime;
       There were people at work all over the land
       Busy for Santa Claus, heart and hand,
     And some in cabin and work-shop dim
     Who wouldn't have work if it wasn't for him;
     And Harry and Nellie?--There were none
       In that Christmas time had a gayer tree.
     Papa was at work at early dawn
       And the children all tip-toe to see;
     But the dark December day wore on
       E'er the door was opened noiselessly,
     And the light streamed out in the dusky hall
     From a beautiful cedar bright and tall.
       Starry tapers were gleaming there,
       Toy and trumpet and banner fair,
     The topmost flag on the ceiling bore
     While the laden branches swept the floor;
       While gay little Rover frisking in,
       Led the children in frolic and din
     As they spied each treasure and in their glee
     Shouted with joy round the Christmas tree,
     While Papa stood back in a corner to see.

     "Oh! Harry", said Nellie, "I do declare
       Here's a basket for me!" She opened the lid
     And pulled back the blanket folded there
       And what d'ye think was safely hid
     But a dear live baby so fast asleep
       That it never waked up with the children's shout
     Till Nellie asked, "is it ours to keep?"
       And kissed its hand as she stood in doubt.

     "Of course," said Harry, "don't angels know
     When God has told them which way to go?
     That's our little sister we wanted so!"

     "Little sister", said Nellie, "I'm very glad,
     I know you're the best Heavenly Father had
       And now you're ours and you're going to stay
       'Cause the angels have left you and gone away".
     "No, my Nellie", a voice replied,
     As Papa drew near to Nellie's side,
       "Let us pray they may watch over this little one
       Day by day, till life is done,
     That she may be glad through eternity
     She was ever left 'neath our Christmas tree".


Miss Margaret H. Garrard.

Our gifted young townswoman, Miss Garrard, who has often entertained us
with her rare dramatic talent, has contributed, for a number of years,
articles in prose and verse to well-known magazines and journals, notably
to _Lippincott's Magazine_ and _Life_. In _Lippincott_ for June, 1890, we
find a very pretty poem embodying a clever thought and entitled "A
Coquette's Motto". In a previous number appears "A Trip to Tophet", which
is a sparkling and graphic description of a descent into a silver-mine at
Virginia City, California. In it occurs the following picture of the
visitor's surroundings:

"The next few minutes will always be a haunting memory to me. The long,
dark passages, the burning atmosphere, the scattered lights, the weird
figures of the miners appearing, only to vanish the next moment in the
surrounding gloom, all recur like some infernal dream".

We select to represent Miss Garrard, the first poem she published in
_Life_:

THE PLAQUE DE LIMOGES.

     You hang upon her boudoir wall,
           Plaque de Limoges!
     She prizes you above them all
           Plaque de Limoges!
     Yet do your blossoms never move,
     Although she looks on them with love,
     And treasures your hard buds above
     The gathered bloom of field and grove,
           Insensate, cold Limoges!

     Brilliant in hue your every flower,
           Plaque de Limoges!
     Copied from some French maiden's bower,
           Plaque de Limoges!
     But still you let my lady stand--
     The fairest lady in the land--
     Caressing you with her soft hand,
     Nor breathe, nor stir at her command,
           Cold-hearted clay--Limoges!

     Would that I in your place might be,
           Plaque de Limoges!
     That she might stand and gaze on me,
           Plaque de Limoges!
     I'd live in love a little space,
     Then--fling my flowers from their place,
     At her dear feet to sue for grace,
     Until she'd raise them to her face,
           Happy, but crushed Limoges!


Miss Julia E. Dodge.

Though Miss Dodge finds her place naturally and kindly in the society of
our poets, all readers of _The Century_ will remember a charming prose
paper of hers called "An Island of the Sea", beautifully illustrated by
Thomas Moran and published in 1877. Before and since that time, her pen has
not been idle, for short, prose articles have been scattered here and
there, in various periodicals, and it is difficult to select from the
number of thoughtful and delicate poems now before us, one to represent
her. The poem, "A Legend of St. Sophia in 1453", is full of spirit and
fire. It was written in 1878, when the advance of the Russian forces
towards Constantinople seemed to point to the fulfillment of ancient
prophecy and the restoration of Christian dominion over the stronghold of
Islam. The poem entitled "Satisfied" was first published in _The Churchman_
and afterwards placed, without the author's knowledge, in a collection
called "The Palace of the King", published by Randolph & Co. Among the
other poems are: "Our Daily Bread", "Spring Song", "Telling Fortunes",
"September Memories", and "To a Night-Blooming Cereus", which last we give
principally because, besides being a beautiful expression of a beautiful
thought, it was written under the inspiration of a flower sent to the
writer from an ancient plant in a Morristown conservatory.

TO A NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS.

     O fleeting wonder, glory of a night,
       Only less evanescent than the gleam
       That marks the lightning's track, or some swift dream
     That comes and, vanishing, eludes our sight!
     How canst thou be content, thy whole rich stream
       Of life to lavish on this hour's delight,
       And perish ere one morning's praise requite
     Thy gift of peerless splendor? It doth seem
     Thou art a type of that pure steadfast heart
       Which hath no wish but to perform His will
       Who called it into being, no desire
     But to be fair for Him; no other part
       Doth choose, but here its fragrance to distil
     For one brief moment ere He bid "Come higher"!


Charles D. Platt.

Mr. Platt, the faithful principal of our Morris Academy, has of late, "at
odd moments and in vacations," as he says, written verses of local
reference and others, upon various subjects, which have been published in
our local papers and elsewhere.

Born at Elizabeth, N. J., Mr. Platt lived there until 1883. He was
graduated at Williams' College in 1877, taught in the Rev. J. F. Pingry's
School in Elizabeth for six years, came to Morristown and took charge of
the Morris Academy in 1883, and has retained that position to the present
time.

Among the poems which refer to local interests are "Fort Nonsense," which
we give in the opening chapter on "Historic Morristown"; "The Old First
Church"; "The Lyceum" and "The Washington Headquarters", which last will
follow this short sketch, as embodying so much that is interesting of that
historic building and its surroundings.

Other of the poems might, perhaps, for some special qualities, better
represent Mr. Platt than this; there is the excellent and gay little
parody, which we would like to give, of "That Old Latin Grammar". "The Wild
Lily" is charming. Then there are "Memorial Day"; "Easter Song"; "Modern
Progress"; "A Myth"; and "John Greenleaf Whittier", the last written and
published upon the occasion of the poet's death September 16th, 1892.
Besides these, there are the "Ballades of the Holidays" which form a series
by themselves, dealing in part with the subject of popular maxims, and
including poems for Christmas, New Year's Day, Discovery Day and other
holidays. We give

THE WASHINGTON HEADQUARTERS, MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY.

     What mean these cannon standing here,
       These staring, muzzled dogs of war?
     Heedless and mute, they cause no fear,
       Like lions caged, forbid to roar.

     _This_ gun[A] was made when good Queen Anne
       Ruled upon Merry England's throne;
     Captured by valiant Jerseymen
       Ere George the Third our rights would own.

     "Old Nat",[B] the little cur on wheels,
       Protector of our sister city,
     Was kept to bite the British heels,
       A yelping terror, bold and gritty.

     _That_ savage beast, the old "Crown Prince",[C]
       A British bull-dog, glum, thick-set,
     At Springfield's fight was made to wince,
       And now we keep him for a pet.

     Upon this grassy knoll they stand,
       A venerable, peaceful pack;
     Their throats once tuned to music grand,
       And stained with gore their muzzles black.

     But come, that portal swinging free,
       A welcome offers, as of yore,
     When, sheltered 'neath this old roof-tree,
       Our patriot-chieftain trod this floor.

     And with him in that trying day
       Was gathered here a glorious band;
     This house received more chiefs, they say,
       Than any other in our land.[D]

     Hither magnanimous Schuyler came,
       And stern Steuben from o'er the water;
     Here Hamilton, of brilliant fame,
       Once met and courted Schuyler's daughter.

     And Knox, who leads the gunner-tribes,
       Whose shot the trembling foeman riddles,
     A roaring chief,[E] his cash subscribes
       To pay the mirth-inspiring fiddles.[F]

     The "fighting Quaker", General Greene,
       Helped Knox to foot the fiddlers' bill;
     And here the intrepid "Put." was seen,
       And Arnold--black his memory still.

     And Kosciusko, scorning fear,
       Beside him noble Lafayette;
     And gallant "Light Horse Harry" here
       His kindly chief for counsel met.

     "Mad Antony" was here a guest,--
       Madly he charged, but shrewdly planned;
     And many another in whose breast
       Was faithful counsel for our land.

     Among these worthies was a dame
       Of mingled dignity and grace;
     Linked with the warrior-statesman's fame
       Is Martha's comely, smiling face.

     But look around, to right to left;
       Pass through these rooms, once Martha's pride,
     The dining hall of guests bereft,
       The kitchen with its fire-place wide.

     See the huge logs, the swinging crane,
       The Old Man's seat by chimney ingle,
     The pots and kettles, all the train
       Of brass and pewter, here they mingle.

     In the large hall above, behold
       The flags, the eagle poised for flight:
     While sabres, bayonets, flint-locks old,
       Tell of the struggle, and the fight.

     Old faded letters bear the seal
       Of men who battled for a stamp;
     A cradle and a spinning-wheel
       Bespeak the home behind the camp.

     Apartments opening from the hall
       Show chairs and desks of quaint old style,
     And curious pictures on the wall
       Provoke a reverential smile.

     Musing, we loiter in each room
       And linger with our vanished sires;
     We hear the deep, far-echoing boom
       That spoke of old in flashing fires.

     But deepening shadows bid us go,
       The western sun is sinking fast;
     We take our leave with footsteps slow,
       Farewell, ye treasures of the past.

     A century and more has gone,
       Since these old relics saw their day;
     That day was but the opening dawn
       Of one that has not passed away.

     Our banner is no worthless rag,
       With patriot pride hearts still beat high;
     And there, above, still waves the flag
       For which our fathers dared to die.

[Footnote A: Inscription on this Cannon:--

Gun made in Queen Anne's time. Captured with a British vessel by a party of
Jerseymen in the year 1780, near Perth Amboy. Presented by the township of
Woodbridge, New Jersey, in 1874.]

[Footnote B: Inscription on "Old Nat:"--

This cannon was furnished Capt. Nathaniel Camp by Gen. George Washington
for the protection of Newark N. J. against the British. Presented to the
Association by Mr. Bruen H. Camp, of Newark, N. J.]

[Footnote C: The inscription upon it is as follows:--

The "Crown Prince Gun." Captured from the British at Springfield. Used as
an alarm gun at Short Hills to end of Revolutionary War. Given in charge by
General Benoni Hathaway to Colonel Wm. Brittin on the last training at
Morristown, and by his son, Wm. Jackson Brittin, with the consent of the
public authorities, presented to the Association in the year 1890.]

[Footnote D: The list of officers of the Revolutionary army mentioned in
the poem is taken from a printed placard which hangs in the hall of the
Headquarters.]

[Footnote E: Knox is called a roaring chief because when crossing the
Delaware with Washington his "stentorian lungs" did good service in keeping
the army together.]

[Footnote F: The reference to the fiddlers is based upon an old
subscription paper for defraying the expenses of a "Dancing Assembly,"
signed by several persons, among them Nathaniel Greene and H. Knox, each
$400, PAID.

This paper may be seen in the collection made by Mrs. J. W. Roberts.]


Mrs. Julia R. Cutler.

Mrs. Cutler's graceful pen has already contributed to this volume the
sketch of Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest and also another to follow of Mrs. Julia
McNair Wright. Her pen has been busy at occasional intervals from girlhood,
when as a school-girl her essays were, as a rule, selected and read aloud
in the chapel, on Friday afternoons, and a poem securing the gold medal
crowned the success.

Living since her marriage, in the old historic house of Mr. Cutler's
great-grandfather, the Hon. Silas Condict, fearless patriot of the
Revolution, and President of the Council of Safety during the whole of that
period that "tried men's souls", it is little wonder that the traditions of
'76 clinging about the spot should nurture and develop the poetic spirit of
the girl. It was in 1799, after Mr. Condict's return from Congress that he
built the present house familiar to us all, but the old house stands near
by, full of the most interesting stories and traditions of revolutionary
days.

Mrs. Cutler has written many articles, often by request, for papers or
magazines, and verses prompted by circumstances or surroundings, or
composed when strongly impressed upon an especial subject.

[Illustration: FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 1791,

SESSION HOUSE AND MANSE.

MORRIS COUNTY SOLDIER'S MONUMENT, 1871.]

Before us lies a lovely poem of childhood, entitled "Childish Faith",
founded on fact, but we select from the many poems of Mrs. Cutler, the
Centennial Poem given below and written on the occasion of the Centennial
of the old First Church.

CENTENNIAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH.

     The moon shines brightly down, o'er hill and dale
     As it shone down, One Hundred years ago,
     On these same scenes. The stars look down from Heaven
     As they did then, as calm, serene, and bright--
     Fit emblems of the God, who changes not.
     Only in him can we find sure repose
     'Mid change, decay and death, who is the same
     To-day as yesterday, forevermore.
           Through the clear air peal forth the silvery notes,
     Of thy old Bell, thou venerable pile,
     Thou dear old Church, whose birthday rare,
     We come to celebrate with tender love.
           One Hundred years! How long; and yet, how short
     When counted with the centuries of the past
     That help to make the ages of the world:
     How long when measured by our daily cares,
     The joys, the sorrows that these years have brought
     To us and ours. "Our fathers, where are they?"
     The men of strength, one hundred years ago,
     As full of courage, purpose, will, as we,
     Have gone to join the "innumerable throng"
     That worship in the Father's House above.
     Their children, girls and boys, like the fair flowers,
     Have blossomed, faded, and then passed away,
     Leaving their children and grandchildren, too,
     To fill their places, take their part in life.
           How oft, dear Church, these walls have heard the vows
     That bound two hearts in one.  How oft the tread
     Of those that bore the sainted dead to rest.
     How oft the voices, soft and low, of those
     Who, trusting in a covenant-keeping God
     Gave here their little ones to God. A faith
     Which He has blessed, as thou canst truly tell,
     In generations past, and will in days to come.
     How many servants of the most high God,
     Beneath thy roof have uttered words divine,
     Taught by the Spirit, leading souls to Christ
     And reaping, even here, their great reward.
     Many of these have entered into rest
     Such as remains for those who love the Lord.
     Others to-day, have gathered here to tell
     What God has done in years gone by, and bear
     Glad testimony to the truth, that in this place
     His name has honored been.--'Tis sad to say
     Farewell. But 'tis decreed, that thou must go.
     Time levels all; and it will lay thee low.
     But o'er thy dust full many a tear shall fall,
     And many a prayer ascend, that the true God,
     Our Father's God, will, with their children dwell,
     And that the stately pile which soon shall rise,
     Where now, thou art, a monument shall be
     Of generations past, recording all
     The truth and mercies of a loving God.

         Oct. 14th, 1891.


Miss Frances Bell Coursen.

The rhythmic, airy verses of Miss Coursen, full of the spirit of trees,
flowers, the clouds, the winds and the insinuating and lovely sounds of
nature, charm us into writing the author down as one of Morristown's young
poets. The verses have attractive titles which in themselves suggest to us
musical thoughts, such as "To the Winds in January"; "June Roses"; "In the
Fields"; and "What the Katydids Say". We quote the latter for its bright
beauty.

WHAT THE KATYDIDS SAY.

     "Katy did it!" "Katy didn't!"
       Doesn't Katy wish she had?
     "Katy did!" that sounds so pleasant,
       "Katy didn't" sounds so bad.

     Katy didn't--lazy Katy,
       Didn't do her lessons well?
     Didn't set her stitches nicely?
       Didn't do what? Who can tell?

     But the livelong autumn evening
       Sounds from every bush and tree,
     So that all the world can hear it,
       "Katy didn't" oh dear me!

     Who would like to hear forever
       Of the things they hadn't done
     In shrill chorus, sounding nightly,
       From the setting of the sun.

     But again, who wouldn't like it
       If they every night could hear,
     "Yes she did it, Katy did it",
       Sounding for them loud and clear?

     So if you've an "awful lesson",
       Or "a horrid seam to sew",
     Just you stop and think a minute,
       Don't decide to "let it go".

     In the evening, if you listen,
       All the Katydids will say
     "Yes she did it, did it, did it!"
       Or, "she didn't". Now which way?


Miss Isabel Stone.

Miss Stone, long a resident of Morristown, has published many poems in
prominent journals and magazines, also stories, but always under an assumed
name. She will take a place in another group, that of _Novelists and
Story-Writers_. She is represented here by her poem on "Easter Thoughts".

EASTER THOUGHTS.

     Sometimes within our hearts, the good lies dead,
       Slain by untoward circumstances, or by our own free will,
     And through the world we walk with bowèd head;
       Or with our senses blinded to our choice,
     Thinking that "good is evil--evil good;"
       Or, with determined pride to still the voice
     That whispers of a "Resurrection morn."
       This is that morn--the resurrection hour
     Of all the good that has within us died,
       The hour to throw aside with passionate force
     The cruel bonds of wrong and blindness--pride--
       And rise unto a level high of power,
     Of strength--of purity--while those we love rejoice
       With "clouds of angel witnesses" above,
     And all the dear ones, who before have gone.

     And we ascend, in the triumphant joy
       And peace, and rapture of a changèd self
     That now transfigured stands--no more the toy
       Of circumstance--or pride, or sin, to blight--
       Until we reach sublimest heights--
       And stand erect, eyes fixed upon the Right--
     Strong in the strength that wills all wrong to still,
       Will--pointing upwards to th' ascended Lord,
     Bless, aye, thrice bless, this fair, sweet Easter Dawn.


Rev. G. Douglass Brewerton.

The Rev. Mr. Brewerton was pastor of the Baptist Church in Morristown in
1861, and during the early years of our Civil War. He was very patriotic
and public-spirited and founded a Company of boy Zouaves in the town, which
is well remembered, for at that time the war-spirit was the order of the
day. He wrote a number of poems which were published in the Morristown
papers and others. Of these, the following is one, published January 30,
1861.

OUR SOLDIERS WITH OUR SAILORS STAND.

A NATIONAL SONG

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE VOLUNTEERS OF BOTH SERVICES, BY ONE WHO ONCE
WORE THE UNIFORM OF THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.

     Our soldiers with our sailors stand,
       A bulwark firm and true,
     To guard the banner of our land,
       The Red, the White, the Blue.

     The forts that frown along the coast,
       The ramparts on the steep,
     Are held by men who never boast,
       But true allegiance keep.

     While still in thunder tones shall speak
       Our giants on the tide,
     Rebuking those who madly seek
       To tame the eagle's pride.

     While breezes blow or sounding sea
       Be whitened by a sail,
     The banner of the brave and true
       Shall float, nor fear the gale.

     While Ironsides commands the fleet,
       Shall patriot vows be heard,
     Where pennants fly or war drums beat,
       True to their oaths and word.

     Then back, ye traitors! back, for shame!
       Nor dare to touch a fold;
     We'll guard it till the sunshine wane
       And stars of night grow old.

     Thus ever may that flag unrent
       At peak and staff be borne,
     Nor e'er from mast or battlement
       By traitor hands be torn.


Mrs. Alice D. Abell.

Mrs. Abell has for several years contributed poems and articles to various
papers and magazines. From the poems we select the following, which was
copied in a Southern paper as well as in two others, from _The New York
Magazine_ in which it first appeared:

BEHIND THE MASK.

     Behind the mask--the smiling face
       Is often full of woe,
     And sorrow treads a restless pace
       Where wealth and beauty go.

     Behind the mask--who knows the care
       That grim and silent rests,
     And all the burdens each may bear
       Within the secret breast?

     Behind the mask--who knows the tears
       That from the heart arise,
     And in the weary flight of years
       How many pass with sighs?

     Behind the mask--who knows the strain
       That each life may endure,
     And all its grief and countless pain
       That wealth can never cure?

     Behind the mask--we never know
       How many troubles hide,
     And with the world and fashion show
       Some spectre walks beside.

     Behind the mask--some future day,
       When all shall be made plain;
     Our burdens then will pass away
       And count for each his gain.


George Wetmore Colles, Jr.

The following is by one of the young writers of Morristown, written at Yale
University and published in the _Yale Courant_ of February, 1891:

TO A MOUNTAIN CASCADE.

     To him who, wearied in the noontide glare,
       Seeks cool refreshment in thy quiet shade,
       In all thy beauteous rainbow tints arrayed,
     How sweet! O dashing brook, thy waters are!

     Sure, such a glen fair Dian with her train
       Chose to disport in, when Actæon bold
       That sight with mortal eyes dared to behold
     Which mortals may not see and life retain.

     To such a glen I, too, at noonday creep,
       Leaving the dusty road and haunts of men,
       To quaff thy purling, sparkling ripples; then
     To plunge within thy clear, cold basin deep.

     Alone in Nature's lap (this mossy sod)
       I lie; feel her sweet breath upon me blow;
       Hear her melodious woodland voice, and know
     Her passing love, the eternal love of God!




HYMNODIST.


John R. Runyon.

Our fellow townsman of old New Jersey name, whose enthusiastic love for
music, and especially for church music, is well known, has manifested his
interest in this direction by compiling a collection of hymns known as
"Songs of Praise. A Selection of Standard Hymns and Tunes". It is published
by Anson D. F. Randolph & Company, and "meets", says the compiler, "a
universally acknowledged want for a collection of Hymns to be used in
Sunday Schools and Social Meetings".

Says Charles H. Morse in _The Christian Union_ of August 20th, 1892: "If
music is a pattern and type of Heaven, then, indeed, are those whose
mission is to provide the music for our worship burdened with a weight of
responsibility and called to a blessed ministry second only to that of the
pastor who stands at the desk to speak the words of Life".

To compile from various sources a collection of hymns acceptable to varied
classes of minds, requires much discernment, great care and large range of
knowledge on the subject, as well as a comprehension of what is needed
which comes from long and wide experience, study and observation, in
addition to natural genius.




NOVELISTS AND STORY-WRITERS.


Francis Richard Stockton.

Although born in Philadelphia, Mr. Stockton belongs to an old and
distinguished New Jersey family, and he has, after many wanderings, at last
selected his home in the State of his ancestors.

Within a few years he has purchased and fitted up a quaint and attractive
mansion in the suburbs of Morristown, overlooking the beautiful Loantika
Valley, where in the Revolutionary days the tents of the suffering patriots
were pitched or their log huts constructed for the bitter winter. Beyond
the long and narrow valley, the homes of prominent residents of Morristown
appear on the Western limiting range of hills, and are charmingly
picturesque.

This home Mr. Stockton has named "The Holt" and his legend, taken from
Turberville, an old English poet, is painted over the fire-place in his
Study which is over the Library on the South corner of the House:

     "Yee that frequent the hilles
       and highest holtes of all,
     Assist me with your skilful
       quilles and listen when I call."

Mr. Stockton and Richard Stockton, the signer of the Declaration of
Independence, are descended from the same ancestor, Richard Stockton, who
came from England in 1680 and settled in Burlington County, New Jersey.

Much fine and interesting criticism from various directions, has been
called out by Mr. Stockton's works.

Edmund Gosse, the well-known Professor of Literature in England, said just
before leaving our shores:

"I think Mr. Stockton one of the most remarkable writers in this country. I
think his originality, his extraordinary fantastic genius, has not been
appreciated at all. People talk about him as if he were an ordinary
purveyor of comicality. I do not want to leave this country without giving
my _personal tribute_, if that is worth anything, to his genius."

"More than half of Mr. Stockton's readers, without doubt", says another
critic, "think of him merely as the daintiest of humorists; as a writer
whose work is entertaining in an unusual degree, rather than weighed in a
critical scale, or considered seriously as a part of the literary
_expression_ of his time".

It is acknowledged that Americans are masters, at the present day, of the
art of writing short stories and these, as a rule, are like the French,
distinctly realistic. In this art Mr. Stockton excels. Among his short
stories, "The Bee Man of Orn" and "The Griffin and the Minor Canon"
represent his power of fancy. "The Hunting Expedition" in "Prince Hassak's
March" is particularly jolly, and in "The Stories of the Three Burglars",
we find a specimen of his realistic treatment. In the last, he makes the
young house-breaker, who is an educated man, say: "I have made it a rule
never to describe anything I have not personally seen and experienced. It
is the only way, otherwise we can not give people credit for their virtues
or judge them properly for their faults." Upon this, Aunt Martha exclaims:
"I think that the study of realism may be carried a great deal too far. I
do not think there is the slightest necessity for people to know anything
about burglars." And later she says, referring to this one of the three:
"I have no doubt, before he fell into his wicked ways, he was a very good
writer and might have become a novelist or a magazine author, but his case
is a sad proof that the study of realism is carried too far."

No critic seems to have observed or noticed the very remarkable manner in
which Mr. Stockton renders the negro dialect on the printed page. In this
respect he quite surpasses Uncle Remus or any other writer of negro
folk-lore. He spells the words in such a way as to give the sense and sound
to ears unaccustomed to negro talk as well as to those accustomed to it.
This we especially realize in "The Late Mrs. Null".

But besides the qualities we have noticed in Mr. Stockton's writings, there
is a subtle fragrance of purity that exhales from one and all, which is in
contrast to much of the novel-writing and story-telling of the present day.
We have reason to welcome warmly to our homes and to our firesides, one
who, by his pure fun and drollery, can charm us so completely as to make us
forget, for a time, the serious problems and questions which agitate and
confront the thinking men and women of this generation.

So varied and voluminous are the writings of Mr. Stockton, they may be
grouped as _Juveniles_, _Novels_, _Novelettes_ and _Collected Short
Stories_. Besides, there are magazine stories constantly appearing, and
still to be collected. Most prominent among the volumes are "The Lady or
The Tiger?"; "Rudder Grange" and its sequel, "The Rudder Grangers Abroad";
"The Late Mrs. Null"; "The Casting Away of Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine";
"The Hundredth Man"; "The Great War Syndicate"; "Ardis Claverden"; "Stories
of the Three Burglars"; "The House of Martha" and "The Squirrel Inn".

After considering what Mr. Stockton has accomplished and the place which by
his genius and industry he has made for himself in Literature, we do not
find it remarkable that in July, 1890, he was elected by the readers of
_The Critic_ into the ranks of the _Forty Immortals_.

We give to represent Mr. Stockton, an extract from his novel of "Ardis
Claverden", containing one of those clever conversations so characteristic
of the author, and success in which marks a high order of dramatic genius,
in making characters express to the listener or reader their own
individuality through familiar talk.


EXTRACT FROM "ARDIS CLAVERDEN."

Mr. and Mrs. Chiverly were artists.

       *       *       *       *       *

The trouble with Harry Chiverly was that he had nothing in himself which
he could put into his work. He could copy what he could see, but if he
could not see what he wanted to paint, he had no mental power which would
bring that thing before him, or to transform what he saw into what it ought
to be.

       *       *       *       *       *

The trouble with Mrs. Chiverly was that she did not know how to paint. With
her there was no lack of artistic imagination. Her brain was full of
pictures, which, if they could have been transferred to the brain of her
husband, who did know how to paint, would have brought fame and fortune. At
one end of her brush was artistic talent, almost genius; at the other was a
pigment mixed with oil. But the one never ran down to the other. The handle
of the brush was a non-conductor.

We pass on to a scene in the studio. An elderly man enters, a stranger, to
examine pictures, and stops before Mr. Chiverly's recently finished
canvass.

"Madam," said he, "can you tell me where the scene of this picture is laid?
It reminds me somewhat of the North and somewhat of the South, and I am not
sure that it does not contain suggestions of the East and the West."

"Yes," thought Ardis at her easel, "and of the North-east, and the
Sou-sou'-west, and all the other points of the compass."

Mrs. Chiverly left her seat and approached the visitor. She was a little
piqued at his remark.

"Some pictures have a meaning," she said, "which is not apparent to every
one at first sight."

"You are correct, madam," said the visitor.

"This painting, for instance," continued Mrs. Chiverly, "represents the
seven ages of trees." And then with as much readiness as Jacques detailed
the seven ages of man to the duke, she pointed out in the trees of the
picture the counterparts of these ages.

"Madam," said the visitor, "you delight me. I admit that I utterly failed
to see the point of this picture; but now that I am aware of its meaning I
understand its apparent incongruities. Meaning despises locality."

"You are right," said Mrs. Chiverly, earnestly. "Meaning is above
everything."

"Madam," said the gentleman, his eyes still fixed upon the canvass, "as a
student of Shakespeare, as well as a collector, in a small way, of works of
art, I desire to have this picture, provided its price is not beyond my
means."

Mrs. Chiverly gazed at him in an uncertain way. She did not seem to take in
the import of his remark.

From her easel Ardis now named the price which Mr. Chiverly had fixed upon
for the picture. He never finished a painting without stating very
emphatically what he intended to ask for it.

"That is reasonable," said the gentleman, "and you may consider the picture
mine." And he handed Mrs. Chiverly his card. Then, imbued with a new
interest in the studio, he walked about looking at others of the pictures.

"This little study," said he, "seems to me as if it ought to have a
significance, but I declare I am again at fault."

"Yes," said Mrs. Chiverly, "it ought to have a significance. In fact there
is a significance connected with it. I could easily tell you what it is,
but if you were afterwards to look at the picture you would see no such
meaning in it."

"Perhaps this is one of your husband's earlier works" said the gentleman,
"in which he was not able to express his inspirations."

"It is not one of my husband's works," said Mrs. Chiverly; "it is mine."

       *       *       *       *       *

The moment that the gentleman had departed Ardis flew to Mrs. Chiverly and
threw her arms around her neck. "Now my dearest," she exclaimed, "you know
your vocation in life. You must put meanings to Mr. Chiverly's pictures."

When the head of the house returned he was, of course, delighted to find
that his painting had been sold.

"That is the way with us!" he cried, "we have spasms of prosperity. One of
our works is bought, and up we go. Let us so live that while we are up we
shall not remember that we have ever been down. And now my dear, if you
will give me the card of that exceptional appreciator of high art, I will
write his bill and receipt instantly, so that if he should again happen to
come while I am out there may be nothing in the way of an immediate
settlement."

Mrs. Chiverly stood by him as he sat at the desk. "You must call the
picture," she said, "'The Seven Ages of Trees.'"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Chiverly, turning suddenly and gazing with
astonishment at his wife. "That will do for a bit of pleasantry, but the
title of the picture is 'A Scene on the Upper Mississippi.' You don't want
to deceive the man, do you?"

"No, I do not," said Mrs. Chiverly, "and that is one reason why I did not
give it your title. It is a capitally painted picture, and as a woodland
'Seven Ages' it is simply perfect. That was what it sold for; and for that
and nothing else will the money be paid."

Mr. Chiverly looked at her for a moment longer, and then bursting into a
laugh he returned to his desk. "You have touched me to the quick," he said.
"Money has given title before and it shall do so now. There is the
receipted bill!" he cried, pushing back his chair.


Francis Bret Harte.

Bret Harte, so far as we can discover, has written the only story of
Revolutionary times in Morristown, and the only story of those times in New
Jersey except Miss Holdich, who follows, and James Fenimore Cooper, whose
"Water Witch" is located about the Highlands of New Jersey. By a passage
from his story of "Thankful Blossom" we shall represent him at the close of
this sketch.

Between 1873 and 1876 Bret Harte lived in Morristown, in several locations:
in the picturesque old Revere place on the Mendham Road, the very home for
a Novelist, now owned and occupied by Mr. Charles G. Foster; in the
Whatnong House for one summer, near which are located old farms, which seem
to us to have many features of the "Blossom Farm" and to which we shall
refer; in the Logan Cottage on Western Avenue and in the house on Elm
Street now owned and occupied by Mr. Joseph F. Randolph.

The steps by which Bret Harte climbed to the eminence that he now occupies,
are full of romantic interest. Left early by his father, who was a
Professor in an Albany Seminary and a man of culture, to struggle with
little means, the boy, at fifteen, had only an ordinary education and went
in 1854, with his mother, to California. He opened a school in Sonora,
walking to that place from San Francisco. Fortune did not favor him either
in this undertaking or in that of mining, to which, like all young
Californians in that day, he resorted as a means to live. He then entered a
printing office as compositor and began his literary career by composing
his first articles in type while working at the case. Here he had editorial
experiences which ended abruptly in consequence of the want of sympathy in
the miners with his articles. He returned to San Francisco and became
compositor in the office of _The Golden Era_. His three years experience
among the miners served him in good stead and his clever sketches
describing those vivid scenes, soon placed him in the regular corps of
writers for the paper. _The Californian_, a literary weekly, then engaged
Harte as associate manager and, in this short-lived paper appeared the
"Condensed Novels" in which Dickens' "Christmas Stories", Charlotte
Brontë's "Jane Eyre", Victor Hugo's "Les Misérables", and other prominent
and familiar writings of distinguished authors are most cleverly taken
off. These have amused and delighted the reading world since their first
appearance. During the next six years, he filled the office of Secretary of
the United States Branch Mint, and also wrote for California journals, many
of his important poems, among them, "John Burns of Gettysburg", and "The
Society upon the Stanislau", which attracted wide attention by their
originality and peculiar flavor of the "Wild West". In July, 1868, Harte
organized, and became the editor of, what is now a very successful journal,
_The Overland Monthly_.

For this journal he wrote many of his most characteristic stories and poems
and introduced into its pages, "The Luck of Roaring Camp"; "The Outcasts of
Poker Flat", and others having that peculiar pseudo-dialect of Western
mining life of which he was the pioneer writer. He had now taken a great
step towards high and artistic work. At this point his reputation was
established.

As for Revolutionary New Jersey poems, abundant as the material is for
inspiration, Bret Harte's "Caldwell of Springfield" seems to be one of very
few. At the luncheon of the Daughters of the American Revolution held in
May of 1892, a prominent member of the Association recited "Parson
Caldwell" and mentioned, that strange to say, it was as far as she had been
able to ascertain, the only poem on Revolutionary times in New Jersey that
had ever been written, though she had searched thoroughly. In addition to
this, we find only, besides the two poems of Mr. Charles D. Platt, given in
this volume, (and others of his referred to) one or two of the sort in a
volume published years ago, privately, by Dr. Thomas Ward, of New York (a
great uncle of Mrs. Luther Kountze). Very few copies of his poems were
printed and all were given to his friends, not sold.

We must not forget the very beautiful poem of "Alice of Monmouth", by
Edmund Clarence Stedman, and also, perhaps, might be included his spirited
"Aaron Burr's Wooing". There was also an early writer, Philip Freneau, of
Monmouth County, who lived in Colonial and Revolutionary times, and wrote
some quaint and charming poems of that period.

If there are any others we would be glad to be informed.

In this book, "Plain Language From Truthful James", better known as "The
Heathen Chinee", represents Mr. Harte among the poets, in our group of
writers, for the reason that it is so widely known as a satire upon the
popular prejudices against the Chinese, who were at that time pursued with
hue and cry of being shiftless and weak-minded.

From 1868, Harte became a regular contributor to the _Atlantic Monthly_ and
he also entered the lecture field. It was during this period that he lived
in Morristown. In 1878 he went to Crefeld, Germany, as United States
Consul, and here began his life abroad. Two years later he went, as Consul,
to Glasgow, Scotland, since which time he has remained abroad, engaged in
literary pursuits.

The Contributor's Club, of the _Atlantic Monthly_, gives a curious little
paper on "The Value of a Name", in which the writer insists that Bret
Harte, Mark Twain, Dante Rossetti and others owe a part of their success,
at least, to the phonic value of their names. He says that "much time and
thought are spent in selecting a name for a play or novel, for it is known
that success is largely dependent on it" and he therefore censures parents
who are "so strangely careless and unscientific in giving names to their
children."

Bret Harte's publications include besides "Condensed Novels", "Thankful
Blossom", and others already mentioned, several volumes of Poems issued at
different periods: among them are "Songs of the Sierras" and "Echoes of the
Foot Hills". Then there are "Tales of the Argonauts and Other Stories";
"Drift from Two Shores"; "Twins of Table Mountain"; "Flip and Found at
Blazing Star"; "On the Frontier"; "Snow Bound at Eagle's"; "Maruja, a
Novel"; "The Queen of the Pirate Isle", for children; "A Phyllis of the
Sierras"; "A Waif of the Plains" and many others, besides his collected
works in five volumes published in 1882.

Writing to Bret Harte in London, for certain information about the story of
"Thankful Blossom", the author of this volume received the following reply:


15 UPPER HAMILTON TERRACE, N. W., 31st May, '90.

     _Dear Madam:_

     In reply to your favor of the 14th inst., I fear I must
     begin by saying that the story of "Thankful Blossom",
     although inspired and suggested by my residence at
     Morristown at different periods was not _written_ at
     that place, but in another part of New Jersey. The
     "Blossom Farm" was a study of two or three old farm
     houses in the vicinity, but was not an existing fact so
     far as I know. But the description of Washington's
     Head-Quarters was a study of the actual house,
     supplemented by such changes as were necessary for the
     epoch I described, and which I gathered from the State
     Records. The portraits of Washington and his military
     family at the Head-Quarters were drawn from Spark's
     "Life of Washington" and the best chronicles of the
     time. The episode of the Spanish Envoy is also
     historically substantiated, and the same may be said of
     the incidents of the disaffection of the "Connecticut
     Contingent."

     Although the heroine, "Thankful Blossom", as a
     _character_ is purely imaginary, the _name_ is an
     actual one, and was borne by a (chronologically)
     remote maternal relation of mine, whose Bible with the
     written legend, "Thankful Blossom, her book", is still
     in possession of a member of the family.

     The contour of scenery and the characteristics of
     climate have, I believe, changed but little since I
     knew them between 1873 and 1876 and "Thankful Blossom"
     gazed at them from the Baskingridge Road in 1779.

     I remain, dear madam,

             Yours very sincerely,

                      BRET HARTE.



Two of the farms from which Bret Harte _may_ have drawn the inspiration for
the surroundings of his story, may be seen on the Washington Valley road as
you turn to the right from the road to Mendham. Turning again to the
left,--before you come to the junction of the road which crosses at right
angles to the Whatnong House, where Mr. Harte passed a summer,--you come
upon the Carey Farm, the house built by the grandfather of the present
occupants. There you see the stone wall,--crumbling now,--over which the
bewitching Mistress Thankful talked and clasped hands with Captain Allen
Brewster of the Connecticut Contingent. The elm-tree, upon whose bark was
inscribed "the effigy of a heart, divers initials and the legend 'Thine
Forever'", has been lately cut down and the trunk decorated with growing
plants and flowers.

We see the black range of the Orange Hills over which the moon slowly
lifted herself as the Captain waited for his love, "looking at him,
blushing a little, as if the appointment were her own". We see also the
faintly-lit field beyond,--the same field in which, further on in the story
after Brewster's treachery, Major Van Zandt and Mistress Thankful picked
the violets together and doing so, revealed their hearts' love to one
another on that 3rd of May, 1780.

The orchard is there, still bearing apples, but the "porch" and the "mossy
eaves" evidently belong to the next farm house, which we find exactly on
the corner at the junction of the two roads. It is the old Beach farm. The
original house has a brick addition, with the inscription among the bricks,
"1812".

It is on the wooden part built earlier and evidently an ancient structure,
that we see the "porch and eaves".

We select from "Thankful Blossom" the very fine pen portrait of Washington
and his military family at the Headquarters.

THANKFUL BLOSSOM.

_A Romance of the Jerseys, 1779._


CHAPTER III.

The rising wind, which had ridden much faster than Mistress Thankful, had
increased to a gale by the time it reached Morristown. It swept through the
leafless maples, and rattled the dry bones of the elms. It whistled through
the quiet Presbyterian churchyard, as if trying to arouse the sleepers it
had known in days gone by. It shook the blank, lustreless windows of the
Assembly Rooms over the Freemason's Tavern, and wrought in their gusty
curtains moving shadows of those amply petticoated dames and tightly hosed
cavaliers who had swung in "Sir Roger," or jigged in "Money Musk," the
night before.

But I fancy it was around the isolated "Ford Mansion," better known as the
"Headquarters," that the wind wreaked its grotesque rage. It howled under
its scant eaves, it sang under its bleak porch, it tweaked the peak of its
front gable, it whistled through every chink and cranny of its square,
solid, unpicturesque structure. Situated on a hillside that descended
rapidly to the Whippany River, every summer zephyr that whispered through
the porches of the Morristown farm houses charged as a stiff breeze upon
the swinging half doors and windows of the "Ford Mansion"; every wintry
wind became a gale that threatened its security. The sentinel who paced
before its front porch knew from experience when to linger under its lee,
and adjust his threadbare outer coat to the bitter North wind.

Within the house something of this cheerlessness prevailed. It had an
ascetic gloom, which the scant fire-light of the reception room, and the
dying embers on the dining room hearth, failed to dissipate. The central
hall was broad, and furnished plainly with a few rush-bottomed chairs, on
one of which half dozed a black body-servant of the commander-in-chief. Two
officers in the dining-room, drawn close by the chimney corner, chatted in
undertones, as if mindful that the door of the drawing-room was open, and
their voices might break in upon its sacred privacy. The swinging light in
the hall partly illuminated it, or rather glanced gloomily from the black
polished furniture, the lustreless chairs, the quaint cabinet, the silent
spinet, the skeleton-legged centre-table, and finally upon the motionless
figure of a man seated by the fire.

It was a figure since so well known to the civilized world, since so
celebrated in print and painting, as to need no description here. Its rare
combination of gentle dignity with profound force, of a set resoluteness
of purpose with a philosophical patience, have been so frequently delivered
to a people not particularly remarkable for these qualities, that I fear it
has too often provoked a spirit of playful aggression, in which the deeper
underlying meaning was forgotten. So let me add that in manner, physical
equipoise, and even in the mere details of dress, this figure indicated a
certain aristocratic exclusiveness. It was the presentment of a king,--a
king who by the irony of circumstances was just then waging war against all
kingship; a ruler of men, who just then was fighting for the right of these
men to govern themselves, but whom by his own inherent right he dominated.
From the crown of his powdered head to the silver buckle of his shoe he was
so royal that it was not strange his brother George of England and
Hanover--ruling by accident, otherwise impiously known as the "grace of
God"--could find no better way of resisting his power than by calling him
"Mr. Washington."

The sound of horses' hoofs, the formal challenge of sentry, the grave
questioning of the officer of the guard, followed by footsteps upon the
porch, did not apparently disturb his meditation. Nor did the opening of
the outer door and a charge of cold air into the hall that invaded even the
privacy of the reception room, and brightened the dying embers on the
hearth, stir his calm pre-occupation. But an instant later there was the
distinct rustle of a feminine skirt in the hall, a hurried whispering of
men's voices, and then the sudden apparition of a smooth, fresh-faced young
officer over the shoulder of the unconscious figure.

"I beg your pardon, general," said the officer doubtingly, "but"----

"You are not intruding, Colonel Hamilton," said the general quietly.

"There is a young lady without who wishes an audience of your Excellency.
'Tis Mistress Thankful Blossom,--the daughter of Abner Blossom, charged
with treasonous practice and favoring the enemy, now in the guard-house at
Morristown."

"Thankful Blossom?" repeated the general interrogatively.

"Your Excellency doubtless remembers a little provincial beauty and a
famous toast of the countryside--the Cressida of our Morristown epic, who
led our gallant Connecticut Captain astray"----

"You have the advantages, besides the better memory of a younger man,
colonel," said Washington, with a playful smile that slightly reddened the
cheek of his aide-de-camp. "Yet I think I _have_ heard of this phenomenon.
By all means, admit her--and her escort."

"She is alone, general," responded the subordinate.

"Then the more reason why we should be polite," returned Washington, for
the first time altering his easy posture, rising to his feet, and lightly
clasping his ruffled hands before him. "We must not keep her waiting. Give
her access, my dear colonel, at once; and even as she came,--alone."

The aide-de-camp bowed and withdrew. In another moment the half opened door
swung wide to Mistress Thankful Blossom.

She was so beautiful in her simple riding-dress, so quaint and original in
that very beauty, and, above all, so teeming with a certain vital
earnestness of purpose just positive and audacious enough to set off that
beauty, that the grave gentleman before her did not content himself with
the usual formal inclination of courtesy, but actually advanced, and,
taking her cold little hand in his, graciously led her to the chair he had
just vacated.

"Even if your name were not known to me, Mistress Thankful," said the
commander-in-chief, looking down upon her with grave politeness, "nature
has, methinks, spared you the necessity of any introduction to the courtesy
of a gentleman. But how can I especially serve you?"


Miss Henrietta Howard Holdich.

It is a curious fact that although New Jersey was the theatre of some of
the most stirring scenes of the Revolution, only two stories seem to have
been written, founded on the events of those times, if we except the "Water
Witch", by J. Fenimore Cooper, in which we find the location of Alderman
Van Beverout's house, the villa of the "Lust in Rust" to be on the Atlantic
Highlands, between the Shrewsbury river and the sea. This spot is pointed
out to-day and was associated with the smugglers of that period. The other
two stories are "Thankful Blossom", by Bret Harte, and "Hannah Arnett's
Faith", a Centennial Story, by Miss Holdich, which latter, as a singular
history attaches to it, we shall give at length.

Miss Holdich was born at Middletown, Conn., but left there too young to
remember much about it and she lived in New York until 1878 when she came
to Morristown. When she was not quite two years of age her mother
discovered she could read and since she was seventeen, she has written for
various well-known papers and periodicals, more children's stories than
anything else, she tells us, but also a good many stories for _Harpers'
Magazine_ and _Bazar_,--also poems, by one of which she is represented in
our group of poets.

"Hannah Arnett's Faith" is a true story of the author's great grandmother,
familiar to all the family from infancy; In 1876 Miss Holdich published it,
as a Centennial story, in _The New York Observer_. In 1890, a lady of
Washington published it as her own in _The Washington Post_, (she asserts
that she did not intend it as a plagiarism but used it merely as a
historical incident). The story was recognized and letters written to, and
published in, _The Post_, giving Miss Holdich's name, as the true author.
However, this publication of the story led to a curious result, and gave
the story a wide celebrity. In a published statement, Miss Mary Desha (one
of the Vice Presidents of the D. A. R.) announces that "the Society of the
Daughters of the American Revolution sprang from this story".

"On July 21st", Miss Desha says, after the publication of the story in _The
Washington Post_, accompanied by an appeal for a woman's organization to
commemorate events of the Revolution in which women had bravely borne their
part,--"a letter from William O. McDowell of New Jersey, was published, in
which he said that he was the great-grandson of Hannah Arnett and called on
the women of America to form a society of their own, since they had been
excluded from the Society of the Sons of the American Revolution at a
meeting held in Louisville, Kentucky, April 30th, 1890".

Miss Holdich soon after this was urgently requested to become Regent of
the Morristown Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, which
position she accepted and holds to-day.


HANNAH ARNETT'S FAITH.

_A Centennial Story._

1776-1876.

The days were at their darkest and the hearts of our grandfathers were
weighed down with doubt and despondency. Defeat had followed defeat for the
American troops, until the army had become demoralized and discouragement
had well-nigh become despair. Lord Cornwallis, after his victory at Fort
Lee, had marched his army to Elizabethtown (Dec. 1776) where they were now
encamped. On the 30th of November the brothers Howe had issued their
celebrated proclamation, which offered protection to all who within sixty
days should declare themselves peaceable British subjects and bind
themselves neither to take up arms against their Sovereign, nor to
encourage others to do so. It was to discuss the advisability of accepting
this offered protection that a group of men had met in one of the large old
houses of which Elizabethtown was, at that time, full.

We are apt to think of those old times as days of unmitigated loyalty and
courage; of our ancestors as unfaltering heroes, swerving never in the
darkest hours from the narrow and thorny path which conscience bade them
tread. Yet human nature is human nature in all ages, and if at times the
"old fashioned fire" burned low even in manly hearts, and profound
discouragement palsied for a time the most ardent courage, what are we that
we should wonder at or condemn them? Of this period Dr. Ashbel Green wrote:

"I heard a man of some shrewdness once say that when the British troops
over-ran the State of New Jersey, in the closing part of the year 1776, the
whole population could have been bought for eighteen-pence a head."

The debate was long and grave. Some were for accepting the offered terms at
once; others hung back a little, but all had at length agreed that it was
the only thing to be done. Hope, courage, loyalty, faith, honor--all seemed
swept away upon the great flood of panic which had overspread the land.
There was one listener, however, of whom the eager disputants were
ignorant, one to whose heart their wise reasoning was very far from
carrying conviction. Mrs. Arnett, the wife of the host, was in the next
room, and the sound of the debate had reached her where she sat. She had
listened in silence, until, carried away by her feelings, she could bear no
more, and springing to her feet she pushed open the parlor door and
confronted the assembled group.

Can you fancy the scene? A large low room, with the dark, heavily carved
furniture of the period, dimly lighted by the tall wax candles and the wood
fires which blazed in the huge fire place. Around the table, the group of
men--pallid, gloomy, dejected, disheartened. In the doorway the figure of
the woman, in the antique costume with which, in those latter days, we have
become so familiar. Can you not fancy the proud poise of her head, the
indignant light of her blue eyes, the crisp, clear tones of her voice, the
majesty and defiance and scorn which clothed her as a garment?

The men all started up at her entrance; the sight of a ghost could hardly
have caused more perturbation than did that of this little woman. Her
husband advanced hastily. She had no business here; a woman should know her
place and keep it. Questions of politics and political expediency were not
for them; but he would shield her as far as possible, and point out the
impropriety of her conduct afterwards, when they should be alone. So he
went quickly up to her with a warning whisper:

"Hannah! Hannah! this is no place for you. We do not want you here just
now;" and would have taken her hand to lead her from the room.

She was a docile little woman and obeyed his wishes in general without a
word: but now it seemed as if she scarcely saw him, as with one hand she
pushed him gently back and turned to the startled group.

"Have you made your decision, gentlemen?" she asked. "Have you chosen the
part of men or of traitors?"

It was putting the question too broadly,--so like a woman, seeing only the
bare, ugly facts, and quite forgetting the delicate drapery which was
intended to veil them. It was an awkward position to put them in, and they
stammered and bungled over their answer, as men in a false position will.
The reply came at last, mingled with explanations and excuses and
apologies.

"Quite hopeless; absurd for a starving, half-clothed, undisciplined army
like ours to attempt to compete with a country like England's unlimited
resources. Repulsed everywhere--ruined; throwing away life and fortune for
a shadow;"--you know the old arguments with which men try to prop a
staggering conscience.

Mrs. Arnett listened in silence until the last abject word was spoken. Then
she inquired simply: "But what if we should live, after all?"

The men looked at each other, but no one spoke.

"Hannah! Hannah!" urged her husband. "Do you not see that these are no
questions for you? We are discussing what is best for us, for you, for
all. Women have no share in these topics. Go to your spinning-wheel and
leave us to settle affairs. My good little wife, you are making yourself
ridiculous. Do not expose yourself in this way before our friends."

His words passed her ear like the idle wind; not even the quiver of an
eyelash showed that she heard them.

"Can you not tell me?" she said in the same strangely quiet voice. "If,
after all, God does not let the right perish,--if America should win in the
conflict, after you have thrown yourself upon British clemency, where will
you be then?"

"Then?" spoke one hesitating voice. "Why, then, if it ever _could_ be, we
should be ruined. We must leave the country forever. But it is absurd to
think of such a thing. The struggle is an utterly hopeless one. We have no
men, no money, no arms, no food and England has everything."

"No," said Mrs. Arnett; "you have forgotten one thing which England has not
and which we have--one thing which outweighs all England's treasures, and
that is the Right. God is on our side, and every volley from our muskets is
an echo of His voice. We are poor and weak and few; but God is fighting for
us. We entered into this struggle with pure hearts and prayerful lips. We
had counted the cost and were willing to pay the price, were it our heart's
blood. And now--now, because for a time the day is going against us, you
would give up all and sneak back, like cravens, to kiss the feet that have
trampled upon us! And you call yourselves men--the sons of those who gave
up home and fortune and fatherland to make for themselves and for dear
liberty a resting-place in the wilderness? Oh, shame upon you, cowards!"

Her words had rushed out in a fiery flood, which her husband had vainly
striven to check. I do not know how Mrs. Arnett looked, but I fancy her a
little fair woman, with kindly blue eyes and delicate features,--a tender
and loving little soul, whose scornful, blazing words must have seemed to
her amazed hearers like the inspired fury of a pythoness. Are we not all
prophets at times--prophets of good or evil, according to our bent, and
with more power than we ourselves suspect to work out the fulfillment of
our own prophecies? Who shall say how far this fragile woman aided to stay
the wave of desolation which was spreading over the land?

"Gentlemen," said good Mr. Arnett uneasily, "I beg you to excuse this most
unseemly interruption to our council. My wife is beside herself I think.
You all know her and know that it is not her wont to meddle with politics,
or to brawl and bluster. To-morrow she will see her folly, but now I pray
your patience."

Already her words had begun to stir the slumbering manhood in the bosoms
of those who heard her. Enthusiasm makes its own fitting times. No one
replied; each felt too keenly his own pettiness, in the light cast upon
them by this woman's brave words.

"Take your protection, if you will," she went on, after waiting in vain for
a reply. "Proclaim yourselves traitors and cowards, false to your country
and your God, but horrible will be the judgment you will bring upon your
heads and the heads of those that love you. I tell you that England will
never conquer. I know it and feel it in every fibre of my heart. Has God
led us so far to desert us now? Will He, who led our fathers across the
stormy winter sea, forsake their children who have put their trust in Him?
For me, I stay with my country, and my hand shall never touch the hand, nor
my heart cleave to the heart of him who shames her."

She flashed upon her husband a gaze which dazzled him like sudden
lightning.

"Isaac, we have lived together for twenty years, and for all of them I have
been a true and loving wife to you. But I am the child of God and of my
country, and if you do this shameful thing, I will never again own you for
my husband."

"My dear wife!" cried the husband aghast, "you do not know what you are
saying. Leave me, for such a thing as this?"

"For such a thing as this?" she cried scornfully. "What greater cause could
there be? I married a good man and true, a faithful friend and a loyal
Christian gentleman, and it needs no divorce to sever me from a traitor and
a coward. If you take your protection you lose your wife, and I--I lose my
husband and my home!"

With the last words the thrilling voice broke suddenly with a pathetic fall
and a film crept over the proud blue eyes. Perhaps this little touch of
womanly weakness moved her hearers as deeply as her brave, scornful words.
They were not all cowards at heart, only touched by the dread finger of
panic, which, now and then, will paralyze the bravest. Some had struggled
long against it and only half yielded at last. And some there were to whom
old traditions had never quite lost their power, whose superstitious
consciences had never become quite reconciled to the stigma of _Rebel_,
though reason and judgment both told them that, borne for the cause for
which they bore it, it was a title of nobility. The words of the little
woman had gone straight to each heart, be its main-spring what it might.
Gradually the drooping heads were raised and the eyes grew bright with
manliness and resolution. Before they left the house that night, they had
sworn a solemn oath to stand by the cause they had adopted and the land of
their birth, through good or evil, and to spurn the offers of their
tyrants and foes as the deadliest insults.

Some of the names of those who met in that secret council were known
afterwards among those who fought their country's battles most nobly, who
died upon the field of honor, or rejoiced with pure hearts when the day of
triumph came at last. The name of the little woman figured on no heroic
roll, but was she the less a heroine?

This story is a true one, and, in this Centennial year, when every crumb of
information in regard to those old days of struggle and heroism is eagerly
gathered up, it may not be without interest.


Mrs. Miriam Coles Harris.

Mrs. Harris was well known during her stay in Morristown and is remembered
as a charming woman. "In Morristown", she writes, she found "restoration to
health, many friends, and much enjoyment",--adding "I think I shall always
love the place".

Mrs. Harris has been a voluminous writer of stories and novels. Her first
work, "Rutledge", published without her name, excited immediate and wide
attention and established her reputation. Since then, she has given to the
world, among others, the following volumes: "Louie's Last Term at St.
Mary's"; "The Sutherlands"; "Frank Warrington"; "St. Philip's";
"Round-hearts" (for children); "Richard Vandermarck"; "A Perfect Adonis";
"Missy"; "Happy-go-Lucky"; "Phoebe"; "A Rosary For Lent" and "Dear Feast of
Lent".

The selection given to represent Mrs. Harris in Stedman and Hutchinson's
"Library of American Literature" is a chapter from her novel, "Missy". An
appropriate selection for this volume would be an extract from her chapter
on "Marrowfat" (Morristown) in her novel, "Phoebe", published in 1884.

The two principal characters of the book, Barry and Phoebe, lately married,
are described in Marrowfat, going to church on Sunday morning:


EXTRACT FROM "PHOEBE."

They were rather late; that is, the bell had stopped ringing, and the pews
were all filled, and the clergyman was just entering from the sacristy,
when they reached the door. It was an old stone church, with many vines
about it, greensward and fine trees. * * The organist was playing a low and
unobtrusive strain; the clergyman, having just entered, was on his knees,
where unfortunately, the congregation had not followed him. They were all
ready to criticise the young people who now walked down the silent aisle;
very far down, too, they were obliged to walk. It was the one moment in the
week when they would be most conspicuous. * * Barry looked a greater swell
than ever, and his wife was so much handsomer than anybody else in
Marrowfat that it was simple nonsense to talk of ignoring the past. If one
did not want to be walked over by these young persons they must be put
down; self preservation joined hands with virtuous indignation; to cancel
the past would be to sacrifice the future. Scarce a mother in Marrowfat but
felt a bitter sense of injury as she thought of Barry. Not only had he set
the worst possible example to her sons, but he had overlooked the charms of
her daughters; not only had he outraged public opinion, but he had
disappointed private hopes. Society should hold him to a strict account;
Marrowfat was not to be trifled with when it came to matters of principle.

It was an old town, with ante-Revolutionary traditions; there was no
mushroom crop allowed to spring up about it. New people were permitted but
only on approbation of the old. It was not the thing to be very rich in
Marrowfat, it was only tolerated; it was the thing to be a little
cultivated, a little clever, very well born, and very loyal to Marrowfat.
It was not exactly provincial; it was too near the great city and too much
mixed up with it to be that; but it was very local and it had its own
traditions in an unusual degree. That people grew a little narrow and very
much interested in the affairs of the town, after living there awhile, was
not to be wondered at. It is always the result of suburban life, and one
finds it difficult to judge, between having one's nature green like a lane,
even if narrow, or hard and broad like a city pavement, out of which all
the greenness has been trampled and all the narrowness thrown down.

The climate of the place was dry and pure; it was the fashion for the city
doctors to send their patients there; and many who came to cough, remained
to build. The scenery was lovely; you looked down pretty streets and saw
blue hills beyond; the sidewalks were paved and the town was lit by gas,
but the pavements led you past charming homes to bits of view that reminded
you of Switzerland, and the inoffensive lamp-posts were hidden under great
trees by day, and by night you only thought how glad you were to see them.
The drives were endless, the roads good; there were livery-stables, hotels,
skilled confectioners, shops of all kinds, a library, a pretty little
theatre, churches of every shade of faith, schools of every degree of
pretension; lectures in winter, concerts in summer, occasional plays all
the year; two or three local journals, the morning papers from the city at
your breakfast table; fast trains, telegraphs, telephones, all the modern
amenities of life under your very hand; and yet it was the country, and
there were peaceful hills and deep woods, and the nights were as still as
Paradise. Can it be wondered at that, like St. Peter's at Rome, it had an
atmosphere of its own, and defied the outer changes of the temperature?

Marrowfat certainly was a law unto itself. Why certain people were great
people, in its view, it would be difficult to say. Why the telegraphs, and
the telephones, and the fashionable invalids from the city and the rich
people who bought and built in its neighborhood, did not change its
standards of value one can only guess. But it had a stout moral sentiment
of its own; it had resisted innovations and done what seemed it good for a
long while; and when you have made a good moral sentiment the fashion, or
the fact by long use, you have done a good thing. Marrowfat never tolerated
married flirtations, looked askance on extremes in dress or entertainment,
dealt severely with the faults of youth. All these things existed more or
less within its borders, of course, but they were evil doings and not
approved doings.

In a certain sense, Marrowfat was the most charitable town in the world; in
another the most uncharitable. If you were to have any misfortune befall
you, Marrowfat was the place to go to have it in; if you lost your money,
if you broke your back, if your children died, if your house burned down,
Marrowfat swathed you in flowers, bathed you in sympathy, took you out to
drive, came and read to you, if need were took up subscriptions for you.
But if you did anything disgraceful or discreditable, it is safe to say you
would better have done it in any other place.

Miss Maria McIntosh.

Miss McIntosh was born in the little village of Sunbury, Georgia, in 1804.
She was educated by an old Oxford tutor who was teacher and pastor combined
and she led the class of boys with whom she studied. After her mother's
death, (her father had died in her infancy), she came to the north, wholly
for the purpose of studying and improving herself.

Her first stories were for children. Then appeared two very successful
tales for youth; "Conquest and Self-Conquest," and "Praise and Principle".
"To Seem and To Be"; "Charms and Counter-Charms", and their successors
followed on during a period of twenty years. Several of her books were
translated into both French and German and all were widely read abroad, but
the joy in her work lay in the rich harvest for good which was constantly
made known to her. In the year before her death, many letters came to her
from women then married and heads of families, thanking her for first
impulses to better things arising from her words.

Not long ago, Marion Harland, (Mrs. Terhune), wrote to a dear friend of
this author, that she owed to Miss McIntosh the strongest influences of her
young life and those which had determined its bent and development.

Miss McIntosh was intensely interested in the maintenance of Republican
simplicity and purity of morals and wrote a strong address, which was
widely circulated, to the "Women of America" which led to a correspondence
with the then Duchess of Sutherland and other English women who were
interested in the elevation of women and of the family life.

She died in Morristown, at the residence of her devoted niece and namesake,
Mrs. James Farley Cox, and soothed by her loving ministrations,--after a
protracted illness, lasting over a year. Mrs. Cox tells us, "she loved
Morristown and said amidst great pain, that her last year, was, despite
all, the happiest of her life".

"Lofty and Lowly"; "Charms and Counter-Charms", and "To Seem and To Be",
are all alike noble books. Miss McIntosh seems a woman of strong creative
powers, with a delicacy of feeling and a fine touch of womanliness, united
to a certain delicate perception of character. She did not write from what
we now so grandly call _types_, or, for the sake of displaying a surgical
dissection of character; but her books are groupings of individuals as real
as those we meet in daily life. There are no strained situations, no
fanciful make-ups, and no unnatural poses.

There are the lovely Alice Montrose with a strangely beautiful blending of
delicate refinement and womanly strength, rising to meet every requirement
of her varied life; Mr. Gaston, the New England merchant; Richard Grahame
the hero of "Lofty and Lowly", with some telling contrasts in the way of
villians and weaker characters. Beside this, Miss McIntosh has a strong
sympathy for nature and all through her stories she stops, as it were to
show us the flowering fields and summer skies and as she draws us to her,
we feel the beatings of her own warm human heart going out as it does to
the young and inexperienced.

Again, Miss McIntosh gives in her stories faithful representations of life
both north and south, before the war, forty years ago. These pictures are
of peculiar value as few books preserve pictorial records of that
condition of life now passed away forever. She had a power in massing
details and binding them by a thread of common interest and common action.
She seemed in her writings, like one who had been spiritually "lifted
higher" and like all such spirits she could not but draw others after her.
Her books in past years have had wide and lasting influence and it is a
pity they could not now be substituted for much of the miserable literature
which only pleases a passing hour or teaches false views of life.


Mrs. Maria McIntosh Cox.

Mrs. Cox, long a resident of Morristown, was named for the dear aunt to
whom the preceding sketch relates, and, as is often the case with namesakes
for some unexplained reason, the mantle of Miss McIntosh's genius fell upon
her.

From girlhood, Mrs. Cox has written for various papers and magazines. Some
years ago, the Appletons published a little volume of hers for very young
children, called "A year with Maggie and Emma", which was afterwards
translated into French.

"Raymond Kershaw", published in 1888, is a volume of larger size. To this
we shall refer later. In March, 1890, _The Youth's Companion_ published a
short story founded on an adventure of the author's father with Lafitte,
the famous pirate. It was entitled "A Brave Middy", and won a prize of
$500, in a contest of similar tales.

In the current numbers of _Wide Awake_ from December to June 1891-'92
appeared a story of ten chapters called "Jack Brereton's Three Months'
Service", which, in August, 1892, was brought out in book form by D.
Lothrop & Co., Boston. The idea most prominent in this story, the "motif",
is the reflex action of a soldier's enlistment on his deserted family. "I
chanced", says the author, "to thoroughly see and know what sudden _three
months'_ calls entailed on the volunteer and those who fought the battle
out at home, and I enjoyed telling what is, in spirit and in most details,
a true story, though not as connected with such people as the story
describes".

"Brave Ben Broughton", written by request for the McClure Syndicate, and a
Folk Lore story are the latest from the pen of Mrs. Cox.

"Raymond Kershaw; a Story of Deserved Success", was published by Roberts
Brothers in 1888. The story is a touching one commencing in pathos and
ending in heroism; a lesson to every boy and girl who, plunged suddenly and
unexpectedly into difficulty, have to face the hard realities of life.
There is an extremely fine passage in this book. Winthrop, the author of
"John Brent", could not have done it better. It is the description of a
maddened bull, "Meadow King", which Paul Potter might have painted. It
needs no comment. Spirited and full of life, every actor in the scene
performs his or her part with a truthfulness which is wonderful. Many a
more voluminous writer than Mrs. Cox has done far less superior work than
this truly great scene exhibits in its dramatic attitudes.


EXTRACT FROM "RAYMOND KERSHAW."

After country fashion, every farmer for miles around came to look at
"Kershaw's new bull". Without mistake they saw a royal animal. Without a
spot to mar his jet-black coat, through which the great veins were visible
like netted cords, his small, strong, sinewy legs, all muscle and bone,
carried his heavy body as lightly as if he were a horse, and his flanks and
shoulders, when James pushed up his supple skin with his hand, felt as if
he wore a velvet coat over an iron frame; his neck, not too short for
grace, was still very heavy and muscular, with wrinkles like necklaces
encircling it, and his fiery eyes glowed, far apart, under his
tight-curled poll, from which those mischievous horns, sharp, long and
slightly out-curving, stood in beautiful harmony with the whole outline;
and his great lashing tail, with its tasselated end, completed his
perfections.

All went well for a fortnight, after which, on a hot Sunday morning all
drove off to church leaving Mrs. Kershaw and Mary at home together.

(Mrs. Kershaw, the sweet and tenderly-loved invalid mother, was half-lying
in her chair and Mary sat, Bible in hand, on the first step of the piazza
near her, when)

Suddenly a roar struck upon their ears with horror; and, filled with one of
those blind accesses of rage to which his race is so strangely subject,
tearing, bellowing along, up the hillside came Meadow King. As he halted
for a breath behind the fence, he was like one's night-dreams of such a
creature,--an ideal of pure brute force and wrath. His head tossed high, he
gave a prolonged bellow, and leaped the high bars without an effort.

Mary rose without a word, and laying her Bible on Mrs. Kershaw's lap, stood
white as the dead to watch him; destroying the delicate things in his way,
he ran madly towards the sheds. Mary gave silent thanks that he had not
taken to the road. The high gates of the cow-yards stood wide open, and
through them he rushed.

"Miss Kershaw, I've got to shut them gates!" said Mary.

"Oh, don't think of it, Mary!" said Mrs. Kershaw, her hands clasped and
trembling. "Are you not afraid?"

"Skeered!" said Mary,--"I'm skeered out of my life; _but them gates has got
to be shut!_"

Down in the yard the voice kept up its dreadful din. Mary rushed down the
steps like a flash, and as suddenly back again. "Miss Kershaw, would you
mind just kissing me _once_?" A quick warm touch on her pale lips, and she
was gone; it was all in the space of a long breath. * * Her way was down a
slight inclination and her swift, light feet carried her with incredible
speed. One terrified glance at the open gate showed her the enemy lashing
himself at the farther end of the enclosure, with the scattered dust and
leaves rising about him as he pawed the ground. The gates were heavy and
wide apart; the right-hand leaf swung shut, and then, darting across the
opening, she pushed the left forward and clasped it, and springing up drew
down the heavy cross-bar, and the gates were shut! * * "He's in, Miss
Kershaw," said Mary, "but the worst is to come! How under the sun can they
ketch him? Can you keep still if I go up the road and watch for 'em?
They're most sure to drive in by the farm-yard gate if they come Chester
way, and if they come upon him unbeknownst, Heaven help 'em!"

"Go Mary, _go_; don't think about me at all," said Mrs. Kershaw. * * *

"Not until you are in your chair, and promise to stay there, ma'am," said
Mary. "Young Doctor's got trouble enough on his hands without your bein'
hurt. If you hear Meadow King tearing the gates down, and me a-screechin'
my life out, don't you stir!"

(Mary goes to warn them and stops their entrance. James the farmer takes
command. Raymond carries an axe and Bob a stick. They open the gates Mary
had closed. The brute rushes forward. At this moment James with a rope he
had carried, undertakes to lasso the bull but misses and falls back, facing
the foe but pinioned in the angle of a beam and the side-wall; one of the
mad King's horns imbedded in the beam, the other projecting in terrible
proximity, while the unspeakably angry, brutal face of the beast is only a
few inches from his chest.

At this moment, Ray seized his axe.) His hat had fallen off and his face
was stern and ghastly white as he watched like a lion his gigantic prey;
until coming with long powerful steps close enough to strike, he gave an
agonizing look of dread at James, and then brought down one tremendous
crashing blow, straight, strong and true, between those cruel horns, and
the Meadow King sank like a loosened rock upon the floor, pulling his head
loose by his own weight.


David Young.

     "Why, as to that, said the engineer,
     Ghosts ain't things we are apt to fear,
     Spirits don't fool with levers much,
     And throttle-valves don't take to such;
             And as for Jim,--
             What happened to him
     Was one-half fact and t'other half whim!"

                       --_Bret Harte._

David Young is principally known as the reviser and publisher of "The
Morristown Ghost" in 1826, but he was also the compiler of the well-known
"Farmer's Almanac", published first in 1834, and he wrote a poem of
thirty-four pages in two parts, entitled "The Contrast".

The original volume of "The Morristown Ghost" was published in 1792, by
whom, it is not certainly known. It gave the names of the "Society of
eight", their places of meeting, and all the proceedings of the Society.
The copies were bought up and destroyed, says tradition, by the son of one
of its members, one lone volume not being obtainable, but this cannot be
distinctly traced at present. There was published in 1876, by the Messrs.
L. A. and B. H. Vogt, a fac-simile copy of the original history of "The
Morristown Ghost" without the names of the original members, "with an
appendix compiled from the county records". The following is the title
page:

"The Morristown Ghost; an Account of the Beginning, Transactions and
Discovery of Ransford Rogers, who seduced many by pretended Hobgoblins and
Apparitions and thereby extorted Money from their pockets. In the County of
Morris and State of New Jersey, in the Year 1788. Printed for every
purchaser--1792".

In the copy of 1826, the title page is as follows:

"The Wonderful History of the Morristown Ghost; thoroughly and carefully
revised. By David Young, Newark. Published by Benjamin Olds, for the
author. I. C. Totten, Printer, 1826."

The author tells us in his preface he has "very scrupulously followed the
sense of the original." He continues: "The truth of this history will not,
I presume, be called in question by the inhabitants of Morris and the
adjacent counties. The facts are still fresh in the memories of many among
us; and some survive still who bore an active part in the scenes herein
recorded." He continues: "For the further satisfaction of the distant
reader, on this point, I would inform him that I am myself a native of the
County of Morris; that I was seven years and seven months old when Rogers
first emigrated to this county; and that I well remember hearing people
talk of these affairs during their progress. Every reader may rest assured
that if the truth of this narrative had been doubtful, I should have taken
no pains to rescue it from oblivion."

There seems to have been also another intermediate publication. From an
ancient copy of this curious story, found in an old, discolored volume in
our Morristown library, in which are compiled papers on various subjects,
(among them a "Review on Spiritual Manifestations"), we copy the title
page:

"The Morristown Ghost, or Yankee Trick, being a True, Interesting and
Strange Narrative. This circumstance has excited considerable laughter and
no small degree of surprize. Printed for purchasers, 1814."

The man who conducted the plot was Ransford Rogers, of Connecticut. He was
a plausible man who had the power of inspiring confidence, and though
somewhat illiterate, was ambitious to be thought learned and pretended, it
is said, to possess deep knowledge of "chymistry" and the power to dispel
good and evil spirits.

It will be remembered that Washington Irving remarks, in his description of
the family portrait gallery, of Bracebridge Hall at twilight, when he
almost hears the rustling of the brocade dresses of the ladies of the manor
as they step out from their frames,--"There is an element of superstition
in the human mind". It seems there had long been a conviction prevailing
that large sums of money had been buried during the Revolutionary War by
tories and others in Schooley's Mountain, near by. There also seemed to be
something of the New England belief in witchcraft throughout the community.
Says the Preface of the early volume; "It is obvious to all who are
acquainted with the county of Morris, that the capricious notions of
witchcraft have engaged the attention of many of its inhabitants for a
number of years and the existence of witches is adopted by the generality
of the people." And we read on page 213 of the "Combined Registers of the
First Presbyterian Church," a record as follows: "Dr. John Johnes' servant
Pompey, d. 17 July, 1833, aet. 81; frightened to death by ghosts."

To obtain the treasure of Schooley's Mountain, then, was the occasion of
the occurrences related in this story. Two gentlemen who had long been in
search of mines, taking a tour through the country in 1788,
"providentially," says David Young, fell in with Rogers at Smith's Clove,
and discovered him to be the man they were in search of, and one who could
"reveal the secret things of darkness," for they, too, were "covetous of
the supposed treasure of Schooley's Mountain."

A society was organized by Ransford which at first numbered "about eight"
but afterwards was increased to about forty. His first object was to
convince them of the existence of the hidden treasure lying dormant in the
earth at Schooley's Mountain. It seems repeated efforts had before been
made to obtain the treasure, but all had proved abortive, for whenever they
attempted to break the ground, it was said, "there would many hobgoblins
and apparitions appear which in a short time obliged them to evacuate the
place".

Rogers called a meeting of the eight and "communicated to them the
solemnity of the business and the intricacy of the undertaking and the fact
that there had been several persons murdered and buried with the money in
order to retain it in the earth. He likewise informed them that those
spirits must be raised and conversed with before the money could be
obtained. He declared he could by his art and power raise these apparitions
and that the whole company might hear him converse with them and satisfy
themselves there was no deception. This was received with belief and
admiration by the whole company without ever investigating whether it was
probable or possible. This meeting therefore terminated with great
assurance, they all being confident of the abilities, knowledge and powers
of Rogers". To confirm the illusion of his supernatural power, Rogers had
made chemical compositions of various kinds, of which, "some, by being
buried in the earth for many hours, would break and cause great explosions
which appeared dismal in the night and would cause great timidity. The
company were all anxious to proceed and much elevated with such uncommon
curiosities". A night was therefore appointed for the whole company to
convene. The scene which the author proceeds to describe is worthy of
Washington Irving in his "Legends of Sleepy Hollow", (see page 25 Young's
edition, 1826). The night was dark and the circle "illumined only by
candles caused a ghastly, melancholy, direful gloom through the woods". The
company marched round and round in (concentric) circles as directed, "with
great decorum" until suddenly shocked by "a most impetuous explosion from
the earth a short distance from them". Flames rose to a considerable
height, "illuminating the circumambient atmosphere and presenting to the
eye many dreadful objects, from the supposed haunted grove, which were
again instantaneously involved in obscurity". Ghosts made their appearance
and hideous groans were heard. These were invisible to the rest of the
company but conversed with Rogers in their hearing and told of the vast
treasures in their possession which they would not resign except under
certain conditions, one of which was "every man must deliver to the spirits
twelve pounds in money". The procession continued 'till three o'clock in
the morning, and "the whole company looked up to Rogers for protection from
the raging spirits. This was in the month of November 1788". It will be
noticed that the money required had to be advanced in "nothing but silver
or gold" for which the paper money circulated in New Jersey could only be
exchanged at twenty-five per cent. discount. Yet there was a sort of
emulation among them, "who should be the first in delivering the money to
the spirits."

A frequent place of meeting for this company was what is now known as the
Hathaway house on Flagler street, the first house on the left after
entering Flagler street from Speedwell avenue. A little distance back of
this house may be seen the stump of a tree beneath which tree, it is said,
the money was left for the spirits. Another field used for the midnight
marches is behind the Aber house on the Piersonville Road, and still
another on the road between Piersonville and Rogers' school house, the
location of which is known. Other localities are also known, by old
residents, of the events recorded in this story. Mt. Kemble avenue has
often been the actual scene of ghostly flittings to and fro as well as of
the famous imaginary ride to the Headquarters of "Thankful Blossom". Rogers
was in the habit of wrapping himself up in a sheet, going to the house of a
certain gentleman in the night, and calling him up by rapping at the doors
and windows, and conversing in such sleek disguise that the gentleman
thought he was a spirit; ending his conversation also with the words: "I am
the spirit of a just man, and am sent to give you information how to
proceed, and to put the conducting of it into your hands; I will be ever
with you, and give you directions when you go amiss; therefore fear not,
but go to Rogers and inform him of your interview with me. Fear not I am
ever with you".

It must be remembered that this company, at the first, was composed of the
best and most highly honored citizens of Morristown, also that toward the
last, "the numbers increased daily of aged, abstemious, (at first material
spirits were freely used at the nightly meetings) honest, judicious, simple
church members."

What led finally to the discovery of the plot, was, that it was ordained,
"a paper of sacred powder, said to be some of the dust of the bodies of the
spirits, was to be kept by every member, and to be preserved inviolate. One
of the aged members, having occasion to leave home for a short time on some
emergency, through forgetfulness left his paper in one of his pockets at
home. His wife happened to find it, and out of curiosity, broke it open;
but, perceiving the contents, she feared to touch it, lest peradventure it
should have some connection with witchcraft. She went immediately to Rev.
Mr. ----, the pious clergyman of the congregation for his advice on the
subject; who, not knowing its composition, was unwilling to touch it, lest
it might have some operation upon him, and knew not what advice to give
her. Her husband returning declared she had ruined him forever by breaking
open that paper, which increased her anxiety to know its contents. Upon her
promising not to divulge anything, he then related to her the whole of
their proceedings, whereupon she declared they were serving the devil and
it was her duty notwithstanding her promise to put an end to such
proceedings. Great disturbance was thereby caused in the company."

It was at the house of one of the members, which is now standing, that
Rogers was discovered in the following manner, as the story is told.
Rogers, taking his sheet with him, rode, on a certain evening to this
house, for the purpose of conversing with the gentleman, as a spirit.
Having drank too freely he committed several blunders in his conversation,
and was not so careful as usual about the ghostly costume. The good wife,
whose suspicions had been aroused, managed to peep and listen during the
interview, and after the ghost had left the house she remarked to her
husband, says tradition: "My dear, do spirits wear shoe buckles? Those were
very like Ransford Rogers' buckles". Rogers' foot-tracks were followed to
the fence where his horse was tied, and the tracks of his horse to the
house where he lived and hence to another house where he was found. He was
apprehended and committed to prison, where he asserted his innocence so
persistently that "in a few days he was bailed out", says our author, "by a
gentleman, whom I shall call by the name of Compassion." A second time he
was apprehended, when "he acknowledged his faults and confessed" the whole
matter. He, however, "absconded, and under the auspices of Fortune saved
himself by flight from the malice of a host."

So ends the, perhaps, most famous historic ghost story of modern times.


Mrs. Nathaniel Conklin.

(JENNIE M. DRINKWATER.)

Mrs. Conklin has been a voluminous writer of novels and stories, published
by Robert Carter & Brothers and by the Presbyterian Board. Before her
marriage she was widely known as Miss Jennie M. Drinkwater, and her latest
book, "Dorothy's Islands," published in Boston, August, 1892, bears that
name of authorship. She has written for many papers and magazines, besides
the books she has published, and of these there are twenty and more. Among
them are "Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline", a love story of high order and
well told; "Rue's Helps", for boys and girls, and "Electa", in which we
find a certain quality of naturalness in the people, and the scenes
described,--a literary quality which is prominent in Mrs. Conklin's works.
"They introduce the reader", says a critic, "to agreeable people, provide
an atmosphere which is tonic and healthful and enlist interest in every
page." Then there are "The Story of Hannah Marigold"; "Wildwood"; "The
Fairfax Girls"; "From Flax to Linen" and "David Strong's Errand", besides
others, and the last one published to which we have referred, and from
which we shall quote.

Several years ago, Mrs. Conklin being out of health, had her attention
called to the special needs of invalids for sympathy from the active world
about them, and organized a society, now world-wide and well-known, called
the "Shut-In Society". It is an organization of invalids throughout the
country, and now extending beyond it, who cheer each other with
correspondence, send letters to prisoners in jails and sufferers in
hospitals, and do other good work. Nine-tenths of its membership never see
each other, but they help make each other's lives to be as cheery as
possible in affliction. The amount of comfort and consolation carried by
this organization to many a bed-ridden or helpless invalid, is beyond
description, and the good that goes out also from those quiet chambers of
sickness to the souls who seek them, mostly by _letter_, is greater than
would be easily imagined. Mrs. Conklin was president of the Society for
four years from its organization in 1885, and it now numbers several
thousand members.

We quote from "Dorothy's Islands", Mrs. Conklin's latest book.

Dorothy was a child taken from a New York orphan asylum and adopted by a
lighthouse keeper and his wife. She grows up supposing them to be her own
father and mother, but the mother and child are antagonistic, and it is
impossible for them to attract one another. This peculiarity of nature is
very well given in the first chapter.


EXTRACT FROM "DOROTHY'S ISLANDS."

"When I grow up," said Dorothy "I am going to find an island all green and
beautiful in winter as well as in summer. All around it the sand will be as
golden as sunshine, and the houses--the happy houses--will be hidden away
in green things, and flowers of yellow and scarlet and white. And then,
father, after I find it, I will come and get you, and we will sing, and
learn poems, and do lovely things all day long."

"You are going to do wonderful things when you grow up," replied the
amused, tender voice overhead.

"Don't all grown-up people do wonderful things?" questioned child Dorothy.

"I never did," answered the voice, not now either tender or amused.

"No, you never _did_," broke in a woman's voice with harsh force.

"I think father does _beautiful_ things," said Dorothy in her warm voice.
"He brought the sea-bird home to me, and we loved it so, but you threw it
off with its wounded wing."

"Let nature take care of her own things," responded the voice that had
nothing of love in its quality.

"I'm nature's thing," Dorothy laughed; "father said so to-day. He said I
was made out of nature and poetry."

"It's he who puts the poetry in you; some day I'll send those poetry books
adrift, and then you will both find something practical in your finger
ends."

The child looked at the chubby ends of her brown fingers. Her nine-year-old
hands, under her mother's sharp teaching, had learned to do many practical
things. The only "practical thing" she loathed--and that was her own name
for it--was mending Cousin Jack's pea-jacket.

One room in the lighthouse was packed with boxes containing her father's
books. The "poetry box" was the only one that had been opened since their
stay on the island.

"It was one of your father's beautiful things to strand us on this desert
island. I told him I wouldn't come."

"But you _did_," said the child.

"It's the last time he will have his own way," remarked the woman, with the
heavy frown that marred her handsome face.

"Oh, don't say that!" cried Dorothy distressed. "I never like your way."

"You have got to like my way some day, miss, or it will be the worse for
one of us. Don't hang any longer around your father; poetry enough has
oozed out of him to spoil you already; go and pick those beans over, and
put them in soak for to-morrow--a quart, mind you, and pick them over
clean."

       *       *       *       *       *

She liked to pick beans when her father sat near reading aloud to her. He
had promised to read to-night "How the water comes down from Lodore," but
she knew her mother's mood too well to hope for such a pleasure to-night.

When her mother was cross, she wasn't willing for anybody to have anything.

But she couldn't take away what she had learned of it; the child hugged
herself with the thought repeating gleefully:--

     "Then first came one daughter,
       And then came another,
     To second and third
       The request of their brother,
     And to hear how the water
       Comes down at Lodore,
     With its rush and its roar--"

"Dorothy, stop!" commanded her mother. "That muttering makes me wild. It
sounds like a lunatic."

Dorothy's mouth shut itself tight; the flash of defiance from the big brown
eyes her mother missed; her father's observant eyes noted it. There was
always a sigh in his heart for Dorothy, for her naughtiness, and for the
misery she was growing up to. The misery was as inevitable as the growing
up. Once in his agony he had prayed the good Father to take the child
before her heart was rent, or his own.

After the gleeful music ceased the chubby fingers moved wearily, the brown
head drooped; there were tears as well as sleep in the eyes that seemed
made to hold nothing but sunshine.

(Dorothy is in bed for the night.)

"Will you keep the door open so I can hear voices?" pleaded Dorothy.

"Why child, what ails you?" said the mother.

"The wind ails me, and it is so black, black, black out over the water.
When I find my island there shall be sunshine on the sea."

"But night _has_ to come."

"Perhaps there will be stars there," said hopeful Dorothy.

"You may learn a Bible verse to-morrow,--'There shall be no night there.'"

"I'll say it now: 'There shall be no night there.' Where _is_ 'there'?"

But her mother had left her to her new Bible verse and the candle-light;
and Dorothy went to sleep, hoping "there" did not mean heaven, for then
what _would_ she do when she was sleepy?


Mrs. Catharine L. Burnham.

A valuable contributor to the literature for children and young people, is
Mrs. Burnham. Her volume of "Bible Stories in Words of One Syllable", has
been of great use and influence and has no doubt led to the writing of
other historical narratives in the same manner.

Count Tolstoi gives a most interesting account of his own experience in the
use of the Bible in teaching children. He says "I tried reading the Bible
to them", speaking of the children in his peasant's school, "and it took
complete possession of them. They grew to love the book, love study and
love me. For the purpose of opening a new world to a pupil and of making
him love knowledge before he has knowledge, there is no book like the
Bible."

Mrs. Burnham has also written a number of children's story-books which have
been warmly received and still continue to please and benefit the young.
Among them are "Ernest"; "The Story of Maggie" and the three volumes of the
"Can and Can't Series"; "I Can"; "I Can't", and "I'll Try". "Ernest" is
quite a wonderful little book and has done much good among a large class of
children. Mr. A. D. F. Randolph, the New York publisher, who took it
through several editions, gave it high praise to a friend just before the
last edition, about three years ago, and Rev. Dr. Tyng the elder, late of
St. George's Church, New York, gave it also very high praise.

We do not always fully realize that a peculiar talent is required for this
department in literature. In talking, some years ago, with a young man who
has now become an important editor in New York, he said: "It is my greatest
ambition to be a good and interesting author of children's books; not only
because it requires the best writing and the best thought, but because no
literature has a more extended influence and involves higher
responsibilities."

In addition to these volumes, Mrs. Burnham has for many years, been an
occasional contributor to the _Churchman_, _Christian Union_ and other
important papers.

The following extract is selected:


EXTRACT FROM "I'LL TRY."


CHAPTER VIII.

_Society._

"Our Daisy is a singular girl," said Mrs. Bell to her husband the evening
after Mrs. Lane's party, as they sat alone over the library fire, after
all the young people had retired, and fell to talking about their children,
as parents will.

"Is she? I think most parents would be glad to have a daughter as
'singular.'"

"Yes, I knew you would say that; and I appreciate her as highly as you do;
but nevertheless, sometimes I am puzzled to know what to do with her. If
she gets an idea into that quiet little head of hers, it is hard to modify
it."

"Well, what is it now?"

"It's just this. I don't believe she will ever be willing to go out
anywhere, or even have company at home. I proposed to her to-day that we
should have a little company next week, and she looked absolutely pained,
and said, 'O, mamma, if we could get along without it, I should be so
glad--unless you wish it very much. Or, perhaps, I could stay up stairs.' I
was quite provoked for the moment, and said, 'No, indeed, you couldn't. I
should insist on your entertaining our friends.' And then she was so sorry
she had offended me. She is so good and conscientious, that I can't bear to
thwart her; and yet I am sure it will not be good for her to shut herself
up entirely."

"Oh, well dear," said Mr. Bell, who had the most utter confidence in his
wife's ability to train her children, as he might well have, "she will get
over it in time. Let her go out a little and she will soon learn to like
it."

"No, I am afraid not. Everything she does is done on principle, and unless
I can make society a matter of principle, I am afraid she will never enter
into it at all, her diffidence makes it a positive pain to her to meet
strangers."

"Well, get a principle into it, then, somehow," said Mr. Bell. "You can
manage it; you understand all these matters. I am sure Daisy is just like
you in requiring a principle for everything."

"She is not a bit like me," said Mrs. Bell; but she could not help smiling
nevertheless, and the conversation turned to something else. But the
mother, who was in real difficulty about this matter, carried her
perplexities where she always did, to the throne of grace, and there
obtained light to show her how to act. She knew that nothing in her
children's lives was unimportant in the eyes of the Heavenly Father, and
prayed for wisdom to guide her young daughter aright at this important time
of her life.

The next time that Daisy brought her work basket to her mother's room, for
a "good quiet sit-down," as she expressed it, Mrs. Bell resolved to open
the subject that was on her mind; but the young girl anticipated her design
by saying, "Now, mamma, before we begin the second volume of our Macauley
(how tempting it looks and what lovely readings we will have!) I want to
ask you something."

"Well, dear?"

"I know I troubled you yesterday when you spoke about having company, dear
mamma. I was so sorry afterwards; but if you knew how I dread it, I don't
think you would blame me. I have been thinking about it a great deal since,
and now I want to ask you a question and get one of your real good
answers--a _settling_ answer, mamma. Do you think it is _my duty_ to go
into company? Now begin, please, and tell me all about it;" and Daisy took
up her work and assumed the attitude of a listener, as though she had
referred her question to an oracle, and was waiting for a response.

The mother smiled a happy and gratified smile before she answered. It was
very pleasant to her to see how her sweet daughter deferred to her opinion;
and kissing the fair cheek she said: "I can't answer you in one word,
darling. What do you mean by 'going into company?' Of course you know that
I have no desire to see you absorbed in a round of parties, or even going
often to companies."

"Oh, I know that, mamma; I mean quiet parties, such as you and papa go to;
reading and talking parties, and big sewing societies and musicals."

"You mean going anywhere out of your own family?"

"Yes'm, that is just it. I am so happy at home. I have plenty to do, and
all I want to enjoy. With you and papa and Nelly and our pet Lucy, and the
boys coming home Sundays, what could one wish for more? I am perfectly
happy, mamma."

"And would you never care to make acquaintances, then--to make and receive
calls?"

"Oh, no'm. I dislike calls of all things, except, of course, to go and see
Mrs. Lane, for she asked me to come and see her, mamma, and to go over to
Fanny's to play duets, and to a few other places."

"You are a singular girl, Daisy."

"I know I am," said Daisy, earnestly, dropping her work, "and that's the
very reason why I think it's just as well for me to stay at home. Now, last
night, I'm sure there wasn't a girl there thought of such a thing as being
frightened; except me; but I didn't really enjoy the last part very much;
it was so disagreeable being among so many strangers; and even during the
reading, I wished myself back in our old composition room, where I could
hear Mrs. Lane without being dressed up, and being surrounded by girls
dressed even more than I was."

"And would you like, then, always to live retired at home?"

"Indeed I should, mamma! and I can't see why I may not. We are told not to
love the world," said Daisy in a lower tone. "Why is it not better to keep
out of it entirely?"

"I will tell you, darling, why it is not," said Mrs. Bell, seriously.
"Because our Master did not do so, and we cannot follow His example
perfectly, if we do."

"Was it not the poor and sick that He visited, mamma, chiefly?"

"Yes, dear, and so it should be with us; but He visited, too, the rich and
the high. He seems to have gone wherever His presence was desired, to make
that presence felt by all classes of people, and we ought to imitate Him in
this as in all other things."

"Do you think we can do that?"

"Yes, I think we can in some measure. At any rate, I am sure we ought to
try. Suppose, Daisy, that every one adopted your rule--that every house was
a castle, and no one in it cared for anybody outside. What a selfish world
this would be! Our Christian love would be limited to our own family."

"But I would visit the poor, mamma."

"Yes, and that is by far the most important. But, dear, you have gifts of
mind and heart and education that enable you to do good in other ways than
in ministering to the poor and the ignorant. There are other hearts to
reach, over whom you can have even greater influence, because they
sympathize more entirely with you. You can show forth the love of Christ,
and set a Christian example in your own sphere, darling, where you were
born and brought up, and it would be wrong for my daughter to hide the
talents God has given her under a bushel, and not to care for anyone or
anything outside of these four walls."

Daisy had left her seat and taken her favorite place at her mother's feet,
and now looking up into her face, she said, earnestly, "You are right,
mamma, as you always are. But poor me! I would rather face an army, it
seems to me, than a roomful of people. I know what you are going to
say--all the more my duty--and I shall try with all my might."

"My darling, in every roomful of people there are some whom you can cheer
and please; and even Christ pleased not Himself. Think of that, and it will
give you strength to overcome your timidity. You can serve your Master in
some way, be sure of it. And you can learn much from others. You would not
develop all round, but would be a one-sided character, if you had only
books and your own family for companions."

"Mamma, let us have the company. I am ashamed that I have been so cowardly.
You shall see how hard I will try."


Hon. John Whitehead.

Our grave and reverend scholar and historian, taking his place later among
_Historians_, has surprised and delighted us all by appearing suddenly in a
new character, writing a very lively, graphic, and, of course, instructive
story for boys; "A Fishing Trip to Barnegat", which we find in the _St.
Nicholas_ for August, 1892. The following is an extract:


FROM "A FISHING TRIP TO BARNEGAT."

"Now this fish of yours, Jack," said the uncle, "is not only called the
toad-fish and the oyster-fish, but, sometimes, the grunting toad-fish.
There are species of it found all over the world, but this is the regular
American toad-fish.

"This fish of mine is called the weakfish. Notice its beautiful colors,
brownish blue on its back, with irregular brown spots, the sides silvery,
and the belly white. It grows from one to three feet long and is a very
sharp biter. When one takes the hook, there is no difficulty in knowing
when to pull in. Why it is called the weakfish, I do not know, unless
because when it has been out of the water its flesh softens and soon
becomes unfit for food. When eaten soon after it is caught, it is very
good."

Just as Uncle John finished his little lecture, an exclamation from Will,
who had baited with a piece of the crab, and dropped his line into the
water, attracted their attention. Not quite so impetuous as Jack, he landed
his prize more carefully, and stood looking at it with wonder, hardly
knowing what to say. At last he called out:

"Well, what have I caught?"

It was a beautiful fish, though entirely different from Uncle John's. It
had a small head and the funniest little tail that ever was seen. Its back
was of a bright, brown color, but its belly was almost pure white; it was
quite round and flat, with a rough skin.

"Turn him over on his back, and rub him gently," said the captain. "Do it
softly, and watch him."

Will complied and gently rubbed him. Immediately the fish began swelling
and as Will continued the rubbing it grew larger and larger until Will
feared that the fish would burst its little body.

"Well," he said, "I never saw anything like that, Captain! Do tell me what
this is."

"This we call, here in Barnegat, the balloon-fish. It is elsewhere called
the puffer, swell-fish, and globe-fish. One kind is called the
sea-porcupine, because of its being covered with short, sharp spines. It is
of no value for food."

Jack thought his time had come to catch another prodigy, and when his hook
had been re-baited by the skipper, he dropped his line into the water, and
was soon rewarded by another bite. Using more caution this time, he landed
his fish securely on deck instead of over the sail, and exclaimed:

"Wonders will never cease! I don't know what I've got now, but I suppose
that Captain John can tell!"


Mrs. John King Duer.

Mrs. Duer, whose family as well as herself has long been associated with
Morristown, has published, in Morristown, in 1880, a short story entitled
"The Robbers of the Woods, by Grandmother". It is a pretty, fascinating
tale for children, in which the winsome innocence of two loving boys charm
away all the cruelty of the "Robbers of the Woods". It is only thirty
minutes reading and yet the story leaves after it an impression of the
tender beauty of childhood.

The following extract is expressive both of the touching pathos and of a
certain nicety of description which belongs pre-eminently to Mrs. Duer.


FROM "THE ROBBERS OF THE WOODS."

The sun was up and the room quite light when Carl opened his eyes at the
touch of a hand on his shoulder. "It is daylight now my little man and we
must be getting you on your way home ere long, but first come and get some
breakfast." The boys were soon dressed, and after saying a short prayer in
which they thanked God for his goodness in making the robbers so kind to
them, they opened the door and found themselves again in the hall and with
a substantial meal before them. Having eaten enough and all being ready,
the man who found them in the woods now came near, and putting his large
brown hand gently on Carl's arm, he said, "My boys, before I can open that
door you must let me tie a cloth over your eyes, and consent to let it be
there till we tell you to take it off. No harm shall come to you, for I
myself am going to take you through the woods and not leave you till I put
you on the road that leads to your mother's door." When Eddie first heard
that his eyes were to be blindfolded, he began to cry and clung tightly to
his brother, fearing to look about him "lest one of the robbers should be
there to cut my poor little head off," as he whispered to Carl. But when
Carl said, "Eddie, you must be good and believe what these men say. They
are not going to harm us and we are going straight home to mother. See I
will put the bandage on your eyes myself, and will sit close to you and
hold your hand all the time." He then tied a clean handkerchief, which the
man gave him, close over Eddie's eyes and allowed the man to do the same to
him. They then were led out of the hall.

They heard the heavy door close after them, and felt the cool, morning air
blow over their faces, then the boys knew they were outside the stone wall.
Soon they were lifted up, and put in a wagon, and a man's voice close to
them said: "Boys, I am going to put your little cart in the wagon too, so
that you may get it home safely." When all was ready, the wagon began to
move away, and as they drove off, they heard the voices of the robbers
calling after them, "good-bye, brave boys, we wish you good luck."

Little Eddie sat quite still beside Carl; as they drove away he held tight
fast to his brother, and neither of them spoke a word.

They were astonished at all they had seen and heard, while they were in the
robbers' castle, and now they were once more in the free and open woods,
they could not do as they pleased, but sat with their eyes bound up, not
knowing where they were going. Carl did not doubt the words of the men who
told him that no harm should come to him, but at times he had to comfort
and assure poor little Eddie, for he sat trembling with fear. After they
had driven several miles, and the man who was with them had answered their
questions as to how far they were from home now, the wagon stopped and the
man got out saying, "Now boys, you are on the road that leads direct to
your home and I am going to leave you very soon, but before I go you must
promise me not to untie the bandage from your eyes, till you hear a long
whistle, which will blow from my horn, after leaving you; you will then
undo the bandage, and find something beside you to take to your mother."
Saying this, the man took the boys from the wagon, and setting them
carefully down, he lifted their cart out also and shaking hands with the
still astonished boys, and wishing them good-bye, he sprang into the wagon
and they heard him drive rapidly along the road.

They sat for some time very quiet, until the loud, long whistle from a
distant horn told them the time of their captivity was at an end, and
hastily tearing off the bandage from their eyes they looked eagerly around
on all sides. Not a vestige of the wagon could be seen. It had been turned
just at the spot where they had been left, and whether it went back the
same way, or took another road, they never knew. But what was their
surprise, when they turned to look for their own little cart, to see beside
it a pile of wood cut just so as to fit in, and on top of the pile a
package containing many pieces of money in bright shining gold. This was
the present they were told to "take back to their mother." Carl's heart
gave a great bound of joy, for he knew how sorely his dear mother needed
help, and he knew now that these men were her friends, and would never harm
them.

They had scarcely recovered from their surprise, and had just begun to load
the little cart with the well-cut wood, when sounds of voices were heard,
and the boys could distinctly hear their own names called. They knew it was
the neighbors who were out searching for them, and soon saw them coming out
in the open space where they stood.

       *       *       *       *       *

The neighbors were heartily glad to find the boys safe and well, and
surprised at the wonderful things they had to tell of all that had befallen
them.


Madame de Meisner.

Many Morristonians will remember well Miss Sophie Radford, first as a
little girl, living in the old Doughty House on Mt. Kemble avenue, then
owned and occupied by her grandfather, Mr. Joseph Lovell, who purchased it
of the Doughty estate and lived in it for a long period of time.
Afterwards, Miss Radford is recalled as a charming girl and a belle in
Washington Society, whence her father, Rear Admiral Radford, U. S. N., went
from here, and where she met and married the handsome and elegant Secretary
of the Russian Legation, M. de Meisner. Their marriage was performed first
in the Episcopal church and afterwards with the ceremony of the Greek
church, at her father's house, it being a law of Russia, with regard to
every officer of the Empire, that the marriage ceremony of the Greek church
shall be always used, a law like "that of the Medes and Persians, that
altereth not".

Both M. and Mme. de Meisner were in Morristown a few years ago and met many
friends. It is since then, that they went to Russia and there, after a
delightful reception and experience, Mme. de Meisner was inspired with the
idea of writing "The Terrace of Mon Désir".

It was published in the fall of 1886, by Cuppies, Upham & Co., of Boston.
A curious fact about this book is that it was Mme. de Meisner's first
appearance in the field of literature and she had never before contributed
even the briefest article to the press.

"The Terrace of Mon Désir" is a pretty love story, gracefully written. The
opening scenes are laid in Peterhoff, near St. Petersburg, and where is the
summer residence of the Czar. The author thus finds an opportunity of
describing a charming social life among the higher classes, with which,
though an American girl, but married to a Russian, she seems to be and is
perfectly at home, having it is evident taken kindly to the new and
interesting situations of her adopted country. The characters are
delightfully and simply natural and the combinations are vivacious and
sparkling, by which quality American women are distinguished, and in which
characteristic foreigners find an indescribable charm.

Mme. de Meisner herself has a bright animation in conversation. Some
authors talk well only on paper, but to this observation the author of "The
Terrace of Mon Désir" is a marked exception, as all those who know her
graceful, easy flow of language will recognize.

The continuity of the story forbids an extract.


Miss Isabel Stone.

Miss Stone who has long lived and moved in our society, has written, beside
the poem already given, many bright papers and stories for children which
have been published in various magazines and journals, among them _The
Observer_; _Life_; _Little Ones in the Nursery_, edited by Oliver Optic;
_The Press_, of Philadelphia; _The Troy Press_ and _The Christian Weekly_.
These stories and other writings were published under an assumed name.

In 1885, she published a very clever booklet entitled Who Was Old Mother
Hubbard? A Modern Sermon from the _Portsmouth_ (Eng.) _Monitor_ and a
Refutation by an M. M. C., New York; G. P. Putnam Sons.

This booklet had a very large sale and went through several editions. The
story of this publication is interesting. "The Modern Sermon" appeared
anonymously, first in one of our prominent magazines. It was written in
England and traced to its origin. This was read at a meeting of the
Mediæval Club, (a literary club of some celebrity in Morristown), at the
house of Mr. John Wood, one of its members. Miss Stone was at once inspired
to write the "Refutation"; which was read at her own house by Mr. John
Wood, arrayed in characteristic costume for the occasion. (For the benefit
of those who may not know him, we may add that Mr. John Wood is one of
Morristown's best readers and amateur actors.)

We give the "Refutation" which is a clever dissection of the subject. As "A
Modern Sermon illustrates the method upon which some Parsons Construct
their Discourses", so "A Refutation" appears "in the Combative, Lucid and
Argumentative Style of Some Others".


REFUTATION.

MY DEAR HEARERS: It is my purpose this evening to give to you the result of
many hours of thought and consultation of various authors regarding the
subject to which our attention has been lately called.

While I hesitate to engage in the controversial spirit of the day, I feel
it my duty to expound to you the truth and to unmask any heresy that may be
gaining ground.

The discourse to which I allude was upon the text,--

"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard,
  To get her poor dog a bone;
But when she got there the cupboard was bare,
  And so the poor dog got none."

I propose to prove to you this evening that all its arguments were founded
on false premises; that the _whole picture_ drawn of the subject of our
text--viz., old Mother Hubbard--was diametrically the reverse of the
reality; in short, to give _a complete refutation of the text_ to all those
who listened to those first erroneous statements.

_Firstly_, Old Mother Hubbard was _not_ a widow.

I am at a loss to understand why our learned brother should so have drawn
upon his imagination as to represent her as such, when, as I shall endeavor
to set before you _conclusively_ this evening, it is _distinctly_ stated in
the text that she was the wife of an _ogre_!

My friends, in those days _men_ and _husbands_ were designated by the term
"poor dog;" and, indeed, the lightest scholar knows that the term has
descended to the present day and is often appropriated by a man himself
under certain existing circumstances.

Now, that this "poor dog" of a husband was an ogre is abundantly proved by
the fact that Mother Hubbard provided for him bones.

Yes! bones! my friends; but--_they_--_were_--_human_--bones!

Deep research has convinced me of this fact. I find that in those days
ogres did not catch and kill their own meat, as is commonly supposed. They
were but human, my friends, and, like the rest of humanity, preferred
rather to purchase labor than perform it. They, therefore, employed their
own individual butchers; but, with rare wisdom, they chose some carnivorous
animal to supply their table.

In proof of this, we come, _Secondly_, to the word cupboard, as mentioned
in the text,--

"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard,
To get her poor dog a bone."

This word cupboard is in our present version misspelt, owing to some fault
in copying from the original, and thus is rendered c-u-p-b-o-a-r-d; but the
word properly should be spelt c-u-b-b-e-d. This is a compound word, derived
from cub--a young bear--and bed, or deposit, as we speak of the bed of a
river.

This was a _bone_ deposit--a place where the ogre's food was deposited by
the cub.

A young cub was a less expensive butcher than a bear, as nowadays labor is
cheaper from the young aspirant than from the assured professional.
Therefore they were the usual employees.

But this ogre, though evidently in the habit of employing a cub in this
department, had now become dissatisfied and procured the more satisfactory
service of an old bear; for, if you will carefully examine the text, you
will see that the meaning is _obvious_, for, as though to insure all its
readers from misunderstanding, you will see that it is _distinctly_ stated
that--

"The cub-bed was _bear_."

Now we come _Thirdly_ to the word "none."

"And so the poor dog got none."

This word in the original stands for two things--first, n-o-n-e, meaning
nothing, which was the heretical sense deducted by my opponent, and the
other and correct sense being n-u-n--a woman with black veil, generally of
tender years; and Mother Hubbard, who intended to supply her lord's table
with one small bone, found that instead the bear had secured the bones of a
_whole nun_!

_Fourthly_ and lastly, it is clear from the words "poor dog," that the ogre
was poor, but _not_ Mother Hubbard.

No, my hearers, _evidently_ she was _rich_, evidently _she_ held the
purse-strings, and the ogre had stealthily supplied his table with a
luxury, and his house with a steward, for which he individually was
incapable of providing the means.

This is _clearly_ the fact from the words of the text, for you will notice
that it was _when_ she got there--not _before_, but _when_ she got there,
that she found the change that had been made in the household
arrangements.

And then, doubtless, ensued a scene such as some "poor dogs" nowadays
understand only too well!

And now, my friends, we come to the moral. It is _not_ to beware of widows
as my opponent tried to prove, but for you, my hearers, on one hand, to
beware of marrying a poor but extravagant dog, and you, on the other, to
beware of marrying a rich but penurious wife.


Augustus Wood.

Charles P. Sherman.

Miss Helen M. Graham.

It is scarcely necessary to state the fact that Mr. Augustus Wood is a
native of Morristown, belonging as he does to a very old and well-known
family, or that he is the author of a little volume entitled "Cupid on
Crutches". This is a summer story of life at Narragansett Pier and makes
one of a group of light novels which we will give in succession.


"A BACHELOR'S WEDDING TRIP."

BY "HIMSELF."

"Himself" we recognize as Mr. Charles Sherman, then a bachelor, who
cleverly dedicates the book in these words: "To the Unmarried: as Instance
of the Bliss which may be Theirs, and to the Married, as Reminiscent of THE
trip, These Threaded Sketches are Fraternally Dedicated by the Author".

The third of the group is


GUY HERNDON OR "A TALE OF GETTYSBURG."

BY "ELAYNE."

Elayne, we know, is Miss Helen M. Graham, one of Morristown's Society girls
who spends much of her time in New York.

This "Tale of Gettysburg" is the first venture of Miss Graham into the
field of literature. Her choice of subject indicates that she is in touch
with the growing realization among our novelists of how wide and fruitful
a field is presented to them in the events of our civil war. The few
graphic pictures already given by them of the social and other conditions
of those stirring times, will be more and more valued by the present
generation, and by those to come, as the years go on.


Other Novelists and Story Writers.

Among the poets, we have already mentioned as writers also of stories, many
of them for children and young people,--

_Mrs. M. Virginia Donaghe McClurg_,
_Miss Emma F. R. Campbell_,
_Miss Hannah More Johnson_,
And _Mr. William T. Meredith_,

the last being the author of a summer novel, "Not of Her Father's Race".

_Rev. James M. Freeman, D. D._,

who, in addition to his editorial work and more serious writing, has
published more than thirty small juvenile works, written under the name of
"Robin Ranger", and which are all very great favorites with children, and

_Mrs. Julia McNair Wright_,

who, besides her many volumes on many subjects, has written novels, among
them, "A Wife Hard Won," published by Lippincott, and a large number of
stories for young people, found in many Sunday School libraries, as well as
stories on the subject of Temperance, which are found in the collected
libraries of Temperance societies.




TRANSLATORS.


Mrs. Adelaide S. Buckley.

Mrs. Buckley, who has already been numbered among our _Poets_, has
translated a German story called "Sought and Found" from the original work
of Golo Raimund, which has passed to its second edition. The translator
says, in her four line preface, "This romance was translated because of its
rare simplicity and beauty, and is published that those who have not seen
it in the original may enjoy it also."

One never takes up these charming little German stories without exclaiming,
no other country-people ever write in the same sweet, simple way! The
reason is evident to those who have lived among Germans and experienced
their unaffected hospitality. There is a peculiar simplicity of home life
even among the nobility. A friend says: "I so well remember now, a lovely
morning visit, in particular, to a little, gentle German lady in her
beautiful drawing-room which contained the treasures of centuries. No one,
I am sure, could have helped being struck by her gentle simplicity and
unaffected courtesy. She came in dressed in the plainest of black dresses,
a white apron tied around her waist, and on her head the simplest of
morning caps. But her sweet German language,--how beautiful it seemed, as
in the low, musical voice which bespoke her breeding, she talked of her own
German poets; of Walther von der Vogelweide and the great Goethe and
Schiller, of Auerbach and Richter and modern story writers." Afterwards, in
speaking of the charm and beauty of such simplicity, the friend added,
"Yes, and she belongs to one of the oldest noble, hereditary families of
Germany, and carries the sixteen quarterings upon the family shield, which,
to those who understand German heraldry, means the longest unmixed German
descent. We could not help contrasting such quiet manners with many of the
artificial assumptions and the aggressive boldness found that winter in
Dresden." Therefore we always hail with pleasure translations of these
stories of German life among all classes. Though to translate requires no
creative power, translating is in some respects more difficult than
creating, for the reason that to translate demands a quick comprehension
and intuitive discernment of the spirit of a foreign language, of the
conception of the writer and of the national life which the language
embodies. And we must remember that it is in the power of interpretation
that woman especially excels.

This little story is essentially well rendered, with the animation and
vivacity of the original, and it has great merit in preserving its German
spirit, that sentiment which is so marked and so unlike any other people.

What Dr. Johnson said of translation had a ring of truth as had all his
mighty utterances, namely: "Philosophy and science may be translated
perfectly and history, so far as it does not reach oratory, but poetry can
never be translated without losing its most essential qualities." It would
seem then that to know the poetry of a people one must read it in the
original language, which every one surely cannot do. Mrs. Buckley however,
recognizing this subtle quality of the poetry of a language, has left the
little verses of the story untouched, wisely giving the translation at the
bottom of the page. A very lovely translation it is however and after a
short passage from the book, "Sought and Found", we shall give another
poetic translation of the poem "Im Arm der Liebe", by Georg Scheurlin.

The following is a short passage from the story:


EXTRACT FROM "SOUGHT AND FOUND."

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GOLO RAIMUND.

Upon the table lay Veronica's picture, which in the meantime had been sent.
The flowers, painted by her hand, appeared to him like a friendly greeting.
He took it up and regarded it a long time; then, followed a sudden
inspiration, he wrote upon the back:

(Here follows the German verse, the translation below:)

     Thy merry jest is gentle as the May,
       Thy tender heart a lily of the dell;
     Fragrant as the rose thy inmost soul,
       Thy wondrous song a sweet-toned bell.

As in sport he subscribed his name; and then, as this homage, which had so
long existed in his heart, suddenly expressed in words, stood before him,
black upon white it was to him as if another had opened his eyes and he
must guard the newly discovered secret. He placed the picture in a
portfolio, in order to lock it in his writing-desk, and his eye fell upon
the journal which had so singularly come into his hands. He laid the
portfolio beside it. Did they not belong together? Did not the mysterious
author resemble Veronica?

Like a revelation it flashed over him and so powerfully affected his
imagination that the blood mounted hotly to his temples, and, in spite of
the severe cold, he threw open the window that he might have more air.

"If it were she!" thought he; restlessly striding up and down, and yet
exultant that he had now found a trace which could be followed.

THE ARM OF LOVE.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GEORG SCHEURLIN.

     A young wife sits by a cradle nest,
     Her fair boy smiling on her breast;
     In the quiet room draws on the night,
     And she rocks and sings by the soft lamplight;
     On mother bosom the rest is deep;
     In the arm of love--so fall asleep.

     In the cool vale, 'neath sunny sky,
     We sit alone, my own and I;
     A song of joy wells in my breast,
     Ah, heart to heart, how sweet the rest!
     The brooklets ripple, the breezes sweep;
     In the arm of love--so fall asleep.

     From the churchyard tolls the solemn bell,
     For the pilgrim has finished his journey well;
     Here lays he down the staff, long pressed;
     In the bosom of earth, how calm the rest!
     Above the casket the earth they heap;
     In the arm of love--so fall asleep.


Miss Margaret N. Garrard.

It must be a poet who shall translate a poet and so naturally we find Miss
Garrard as well as Mrs. Buckley, already in our group of "Poets".

The difficulty of reproducing well, in metrical forms, thoughts from the
poetry of another language, is so great, that we give with pride the
translation of Miss Garrard of one of Goethe's sweet wild-wood songs, in
which he excelled.

THE BROOK.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.

     Little brook, where wild flowers drink,
       Rushing past me, swift and clear--
     Thoughtful stand I on the brink--
       "Where's thy home? Whence com'st thou here?"

     I come from out the rock's dark gloom,
       My way lies o'er the flower-strewn plain;
     And in my bosom there is room
       To mirror heaven's sweet face again.

     Pain, sorrow, trouble have I none;
       I wander onward, blithe and free--
     He who has called me from the stone
       Will to the end my guardian be.


Other Translators.

_Hon. John Whitehead_ has translated considerably from the French and
German, having used these translations in several of his writings, but
individually they have not been published. He aided in translating the
"History of the War of the Rebellion in North Western Virginia", which was
written in German by Major F. J. Mangold, of the Prussian Army. The book
was a monograph published by Major Mangold in Germany, but never published
here. This translation was largely used by Judge Whitehead in his published
articles on "The Fitz John Porter Case."

_Miss Karch_, a German lady long a resident of Morristown, was also a
translator, but it has not been possible to procure the details of her
work. It is nine years since Miss Karch returned to Heilbronn, Germany,
where she is now living. For the fifteen years preceding her return, she
had been a resident of Morristown as a teacher of the German and French
languages. Says a friend: "She was a conscientious, accomplished and true
woman, intensely loyal as a true German, self-sacrificing, patient and
kindly generous in bestowing her softening and refining influences, upon
those who needed them."




LEXICOGRAPHER.


Charlton T. Lewis, LL. D.

The great work of Dr. Lewis is his Latin Dictionary, published in 1879, as
"Lewis and Short's Revision of Andrew's Freund". This is recognized as the
most useful and convenient modern Latin-English Lexicon.

Quite recently Dr. Lewis has brought out a Latin Dictionary for _schools_,
which is not an abridgement of the larger work, but an original work on a
definite plan of its own. "It has the prestige", says a critic, "of having
been accepted in advance by the Clarendon Press of Oxford, and adopted
among their publications in place of a similar lexicon projected and begun
by themselves. Thus it may be said to be published in England under the
official patronage of the University of Oxford".

Dr. Lewis also published in 1886 "A History of Germany From the Earliest
Times".

He ranks among the first Greek scholars of the country, having been for
many years a member of the well-known Greek Club of New York, of which the
late Rev. Howard Crosby D. D. was pioneer and president.

He also ranks high as a Shakesperian scholar and critic, and as a poet.
From his poem of "Telemachus", some lines are transcribed among the
poetical selections of this book.

Dr. Lewis has made a profound study of the subject of prison reform and has
been, and is, an active worker in that direction, in the New York Prison
Association, being on the Executive Board of that Association.

In Stedman and Hutchinson's "Library of American Literature", Dr. Lewis is
represented by a paper on the "Influence of Civilization on Duration of
Life".




HISTORIANS AND ESSAYISTS.


William Cherry.

ANCIENT CHRONICLER.

William Cherry is a veritable "Old Mortality", judging from a unique volume
found in the Morristown Library. This ancient sexton of the First
Presbyterian Church, was a true wanderer among graves. It is said by those
who remember, or who had it from their fathers, that the old house
adjoining the Lyceum Building is the one in which Mr. Cherry lived and no
doubt reflected on the uncertainty of life, while he compiled his
melancholy record.

The following is the title of the old volume published by him and printed
by Jacob Mann in the year 1806:

"Bill of Mortality: Being a Register of all the Deaths, which have occurred
in the Presbyterian and Baptist Congregations of Morristown, New Jersey;
For Thirty-Eight Years Past, Containing (with but few exceptions) the Cause
of every Disease. This Register, for the First Twenty-Two Years, was kept
by the Rev. Dr. Johnes, since which Time, by _William Cherry_, the Present
Sexton of the Presbyterian Church at Morris-Town".

"Time brushes off our lives with sweeping wings."--_Hervey._

Some of the causes of disease given are as follows:

"Decay of Nature"; "Teething"; "Old Age"; "A Swelling"; "Mortification";
"Sudden"; "Phrenzy"; "Casual"; "Poisoned by Night-Shade Berries";
"Lingering Decay", &c. We find no mention of "Heart Failure".

This curious and valuable volume needs no further comment.

[Illustration: THE WASHINGTON HEADQUARTERS.

FROM GARDEN AND FOREST.

Copyright 1892, by the GARDEN AND FOREST PUBLISHING CO.]


Rev. Joseph F. Tuttle, D. D.

To the Rev. Joseph F. Tuttle, D. D. we are indebted for the invaluable
chronicles of events, of the life of the people, and of Washington and his
army in Morristown during the Revolutionary period. Apparently, all this
interesting story, in its details, would have been lost to us, except for
his indefatigable zeal in collecting from the lips of living men and women,
the eye-witnesses of what he relates, or from their immediate descendants,
the story he gives us with such pictorial charm and beauty, warm from his
own imaginary dwelling in the period of which he writes.

For the following sketch of this author we are indebted to the historian
who follows, the Hon. Edmund D. Halsey.

Rev. Joseph F. Tuttle, D. D., son of Rev. Jacob and Elizabeth Ward Tuttle,
was born at Bloomfield, N. J., March 12th, 1818. Fitted for college
principally at Newark Academy, he graduated at Marietta College with first
honors of his class in 1841. He entered Lane Seminary and was licensed to
preach in 1844. In 1847 he was called to pastorate of church at Rockaway,
N. J., as associate to his aged father-in-law, Rev. Dr. Barnabas King. He
left Rockaway to accept the Presidency of Wabash College in 1862, and,
after thirty years in that position, resigned in 1892.

During his fifteen years in this county he was a most voluminous and
acceptable writer for the press--writing for the _Observer_, _Evangelist_,
_Tribune_ and other papers. But he is principally remembered more for his
work as a local historian. He wrote, "The Early History of Morris County";
"Biographical Sketch of Gen. Winds"; "Washington in Morris County";
"History of the Presbyterian Church at Rockaway"; "Life of William Tuttle";
"Revolutionary Fragments", (a series of articles published in _The Newark
Sentinel of Freedom_); "Early History of Presbyterianism in Morris County",
and other shorter articles. At the time his Revolutionary articles were
published there were still men living who had personal knowledge of the
events of that era and he gathered an immense amount of material which but
for him would have been lost.

The following from the pen of Dr. Tuttle appeared in _The Newark Daily
Advertiser_ of April, 1883:


A FINE RELIC AND A FINE POEM.

Thirty years ago and more my surplus energy was devoted to the innocent
delights of hunting up places, people, facts and traditions associated
with the American Revolution as preserved in Morris County. Some very
charming rides were taken to Pompton, Mendham, Baskingridge, Spring Valley,
Kimball Mountain, Singack, and other places. My rides made me certain that
Morris County is both rich in beautiful scenery and historic associations.
The results of these rides appeared in a series of "Revolutionary
Fragments" printed in the _Advertiser_, as also in some elaborate papers
before the Historical Society.

One day I visited the Ford Mansion, and met that polished and elegant
gentleman, the late Henry A. Ford, Esq., then its proprietor. He was the
son of Judge Gabriel H. Ford, grandson of Colonel Jacob Ford, Jr., whose
widow was the hostess of Washington, the Winter of 1779-80, great-grandson
of Colonel Jacob Ford, Sr., who built the "Ford Mansion," and
great-great-grandson of John Ford, of Hunterdon County, whose wife was
Elizabeth who was brought to Philadelphia from Axford, England, when she
was a child a year old. Her father was drowned by falling from the plank on
which he was walking from the ship to the shore. Philadelphia then had but
one house in it. Mrs. Ford's second husband was Lindsley, and "the widow
Elizabeth Lindsley died at the house of her son, Col. Jacob Ford, Sr.,
April 21, 1772, aged ninety-one years and one month," and so the courtly
master of the "Ford Mansion," when I called to visit it, was of the fifth
generation from the child-emigrant, whose father was drowned in the
Delaware, in 1682.

The pleasure of the visit was greatly enhanced by the attentions of Miss
Louisa, daughter of the gentleman named. She afterward became the wife of
Judge Ogden of Paterson. The father and daughter with delightful courtesy
took me over the famous house and associated in my memory the rooms and
halls, and even the antique furniture with the family's most illustrious
guest. I was especially interested in the old mirror that had hung in
Washington's bedroom. Miss Ford produced a poem on that mirror, written, I
think, by an aunt, and at my request she read it. She was a charming reader
and promised me a copy.

Under date of Paterson, October 31st, 1856, Mrs. Ogden was kind enough to
send me the promised copy with a note apologizing for the delay and adding:
"I think, however, you will find the poetry has not spoiled by keeping." I
have not ceased to be thankful that my first visit to the Ford Mansion was
so pleasantly associated with the attentions of the father and daughter,
both of whom have since died.

The mirror is a fine relic still to be seen with other elegant old
furniture, belonging to the Ford family, at the "Washington Quarters" at
Morristown, and I am sure all will regard the poem which pleased me so
much thirty years ago as "one that has not spoiled by keeping."


ON AN OLD MIRROR USED BY WASHINGTON AT HIS HEADQUARTERS IN MORRISTOWN.

     Old Mirror! speak and tell us whence
     Thou comest, and then, who brought thee thence.
     Did dear old England give thee birth?
     Or merry France, the land of mirth?
     In vain another should we seek
     At all like thee--thou thing antique.
     Of the old mansion thou seem'st part;
     Indeed, to me, its very heart;
     For in thy face, though dimmed with age,
     I read my country's brightest page.
     Five generations, all have passed,
     And yet, old Mirror, thou dost last;
     The young, the old, the good, the bad,
     The gay, the gifted and the sad
     Are gone; their hopes, their sighs, their fears
     Are buried deep with smiles and tears.
     Then speak; old Mirror! thou hast seen
     Full many a noble form, I ween;
     Full many a soldier, tall and brave,
     Now lying in a nameless grave;
     Full many a fairy form and bright
     Hath flitted by when hearts were light;
     Full many a bride--whose short life seemed
     Too happy to be even dreamed;
     Full many a lord and titled dame,
     Bearing full many an honored name;
     And tell us, Mirror, how they dressed--
     Those stately dames, when in their best?
     If robes and sacques the damsels wore,
     And sweeping skirts in days of yore?
     But tell us, too, for we _must_ hear
     Of _him_ whom all the world revere.
     Thou sawest him when the times so dark
     Had made upon his brow their mark;
     Those fearful times, those dreary days,
     When all seemed but a tangled maze;
     His noble army, worn with toils,
     Giving their life blood to the soils.
     Disease and famine brooding o'er,
     His country's foe e'en at his door;
     But ever saw him noble, brave,
     Seeking her freedom or his grave.
     His was the heart that never quailed;
     His was the arm that never failed!
     Old Mirror! thou hast seen what we
     Would barter all most dear to see;
     The great, the good, the _noblest_ one;
     Our own _immortal Washington_!
     Well may we gaze--for now in thee
     Relies of the great past we see,
     Well may we gaze--for ne'er again,
     Old Mirror, shall we see such men;
     And when we too have lived our day,
     Like those before us passed away,
     Still, valued Mirror, may'st thou last
     To tell our children of the past;
     Still thy dimmed face, thy tarnished frame
     Thy honored house and time proclaim;
     And ne'er may sacrilegious hand,
     While Freedom claims this as her land
     One stone or pebble rashly throw
     To lay thee, honored Mirror, low.

                                Y. F.


Hon. Edmund D. Halsey.

Mr. Halsey, historian, biographer, as well as lawyer, has published our
most valuable "History of Morris County", and is considered an authority
upon that subject, his accuracy being unquestioned. By his sterling
integrity and superior intellectual ability, he has, in the practice of his
profession, gained the entire confidence of the community in which, as a
lawyer, he has passed the greater part of his life.

Included in his literary work are "Personal Sketches" of Governor Mahlon
Dickerson, Colonel Joseph Jackson, and others; "The Revolutionary Army in
Morris County in 1779-'80"; and a brief sketch of the Washington
Headquarters entitled "History of the Washington Association of New
Jersey", published in Morristown in 1891.

Mr. Halsey also assisted Mr. William O. Wheeler in the publication of a
book of unique interest and of unusual value, especially to genealogists
and antiquarians, the title of which reads "Inscriptions on Tombstones and
Monuments in the Burying Grounds of the First Presbyterian Church and St.
John's Church at Elizabeth, New Jersey".

Mr. Halsey is a prominent member of the "Historical Society of New Jersey",
as well as of the "Washington Association of New Jersey".

We quote from his "History of the Washington Association" the following
"brief history of the title of the property".


FROM "HISTORY OF THE WASHINGTON ASSOCIATION OF NEW JERSEY."

Colonel Jacob Ford, Senior--prominent as a merchant, iron manufacturer, and
land owner, who was president Judge of the County Court from the formation
of the County in 1740 until his death in 1777, and who presided over the
meeting, June 27, 1774, which appointed the first "Committee of
Correspondence"--conveyed the tract of 200 acres surrounding the house to
his son, Jacob Ford, junior, March 24, 1762. In 1768 he conveyed to him the
Mount Hope mines and meadows where the son built the stone mansion still
standing. In 1773 Jacob Ford, junior, rented this Mount Hope property for
fifty years to John Jacob Faesch and David Wrisbery, and these men
proceeded to build the furnace afterward useful to the patriot army in
supplying it with cannon and cannon-balls.

Colonel Jacob Ford, junior, after making this lease returned to Morristown,
and, probably with his father's aid, began at once the erection of these
Headquarters, and had just completed the building when the war broke out.
He was made Colonel of the Eastern Battalion of the Morris County Militia
and was detailed to cover Washington's retreat across New Jersey in the
"mud rounds" of 1776--a service accomplished with honor and success. In
this or in similar service, Colonel Ford contracted pneumonia, of which he
died January 10, 1777, and was buried with military honors by order of
Washington. He left a widow, Theodosia Ford, and five young children. She
was the daughter of Rev. Timothy Johnes, whose pastorate of the First
church extended from 1742 to 1794, and who is said to have administered the
Communion to Washington. This lady in 1779-80 offered to Washington the
hospitality of her house, and here was his Headquarters from about December
1, 1779 to June 1780. In 1805, Judge Gabriel H. Ford, one of the sons of
Colonel Jacob, purchased his brothers' and sister's interest in the
property and made it his home until his death in 1849. By his will dated
January 27, 1848, Gabriel H. Ford, devised this, his homestead to his son,
Henry A. Ford, who continued to occupy it until his death, which occurred
April 22, 1872. From the heirs of Henry A. Ford title was derived to the
four gentlemen who organized the Association, namely: Governor Theodore F.
Randolph, Hon. George A. Halsey, General N. N. Halsted, and William Van
Vleck Lidgerwood, Esq.


Hon. John Whitehead.

BIOGRAPHER AND HISTORIAN.

Of Mr. Whitehead's new departure into the field of romance, we have already
spoken and a portion of his story "A Fishing Trip to Barnegat", is given to
represent him among "Novelists and Story Writers".

His literary work of many years covers a variety of departments in
literature.

In the _Northern Monthly Magazine_ which began some years ago, as a
periodical of high order we find running through several numbers a "History
of the English Language", contributed by Mr. Whitehead, in which he starts
from a true and philosophic premise. It is this: "It would be difficult to
separate any one creation from the whole universe and pronounce that it is
not subject to law." The reader discovers that these magazine articles
contain the germs of all that has been written in many exhaustive works on
the philosophy and growth of language.

For a number of years, Mr. Whitehead was editor of _The Record_, a small
sheet opened by the First Presbyterian Church of Morristown, the value of
which historically increases with each year. For this, he wrote largely,
sketches of prominent men of Revolutionary times and of others connected
with the congregation of the church.

Some important papers were contributed by him to the local press, including
"A Review of Fitz John Porter's Case", in the Morristown _Banner_, also
"Sketches of Morris County Lawyers". A series of "Sketches" was also
published in the _Newark Sunday Call_, entitled "Newark Aforetime",
referring to Newark and Newark people, fifty years ago.

Many of Mr. Whitehead's speeches and addresses have been published, among
them, those given at the Centennial Celebration of the First Presbyterian
Church of Morristown; at the Centennial Celebration of the Presbyterian
Church at Springfield, N. J.; two or three addresses before the Society of
the Sons of the American Revolution, and an address delivered two or three
years ago before the Washington Association of N. J. Of the latter
Association, Mr. Whitehead is an honored member as well as of the
Historical Society of New Jersey.

In the course of his study and writing, we have already mentioned among
"Translators," Mr. Whitehead has made several valuable translations from
German and French authors.

We must not overlook one principal labor which is far more herculean than
we, who are so greatly benefited by it, perhaps fully comprehend, namely,
the Catalogue, in two volumes, of the Library, in which Morristown justly
takes so much pride. This was a voluntary work.

Mr. Whitehead is now engaged on a "History of Morris County", to form one
chapter in a new illustrated "History of New Jersey," to be published by
Colonel U. S. Sharp. He has also in preparation the "History of the First
Presbyterian Church" of Morristown, in which will appear the interesting
proceedings of the Centennial exercises, recently held there.

A series of fine articles on "The Supreme Court of New Jersey" are now
appearing in _The Green Bag_ of Boston. This _Green Bag_ is a magazine
published in the interests of the legal fraternity, as from its significant
name we see, and this magazine is the nearest approach so far made by
Americans towards the traditional appendage of the English barrister,
everywhere seen over the border in Canada, by which, it is well known, he
is always accompanied when he goes to court and while he remains there in
attendance. This bag contains his briefs, papers and other impedimenta
connected with trials. It is not surprising, but it is touching, to find
Boston holding on to this last hope of accomplishing that for which so many
frantic efforts have been made in this country, only to meet with failure.

The last article in this magazine, of the series on "The Supreme Court of
New Jersey", is delightful in expression and in form; it has a fine large
type, is illustrated with well-executed portraits of the judges, in group
and singly, and is altogether most attractive and interesting.


Bayard Tuckerman.

Mr. Tuckerman, who resided for some time in Morristown, and whose ancestry
is associated with artistic and literary taste and genius, is the author of
"The Life of General Lafayette", published in 1889, during his residence
in Morristown, and, a copy of which was presented by the author, in person,
to the Morristown Library. Before this, he published a "History of English
Prose Fiction", in 1882, and after it, in 1889 again, he edited "The Diary
of Philip Hone". This author is now engaged on another book, to be
published in the spring in the "Makers of America" series, with the title
of "Peter Stuyvesant".

"The Diary of Philip Hone" is a charming book, especially to those familiar
with old New York. The editorship of any life requires a talent for
selection and a gift for combining and drawing together much desultory
matter, but when we consider that the two volumes, into which Mr. Tuckerman
compressed his material were less than one-fourth the original diary, which
fills twenty-eight quarto manuscript volumes, the herculean task is at once
apparent. A critic in one of the popular journals says of it: "As a rule
the diary needs little interpretation and it may be welcomed as an
agreeable, gossipy contribution to civic annals, and as a pleasant record
of a citizen of some distinction, parts and usefulness in his generation".

In the "Life of General Lafayette", Mr. Tuckerman has evinced his superior
love of industrious, conscientious study. The book is acknowledged to be
essentially truthful and exceptionally just above anything ever written of
Lafayette. It has been truly said of Mr. Tuckerman that "he tells the
story of Lafayette's life in such a way that the interest increases as it
proceeds" and that "he shows his skill as a biographer in this as in making
both the narrative itself and his own criticism of the subject heighten our
sympathy". He has not allowed himself to be turned from the actual
statement of fact by that peculiar sentiment of the romantic side of
Lafayette's career which has more or less colored the opinions of so many
other biographers. Mr. Tuckerman himself says that "Lafayette's name has
suffered more from the admiration of his friends than from the detraction
of his enemies."


FROM THE "LIFE OF GENERAL LAFAYETTE."

The visit to America was supplemented in the following summer of 1785 by a
journey through Germany and Austria.

       *       *       *       *       *

Many distinguished officers were met. At one camp, as he (Lafayette) wrote
to Washington, he found Lord Cornwallis, Colonels England, Abercrombie, and
Musgrave; "on our side" Colonel Smith, Generals Duportail and Gouvion; "and
we often remarked, Smith and I, that if we had been unfortunate in our
struggle, we would have cut a poor figure there." Again;

Writing from Valley Forge to the Comte de Broglie, he gave a sad picture
of the poverty and sufferings of the army. "Everything here", he said,
"combines to inspire disgust. At the smallest sign from you I shall return
home". But the misery of Valley Forge never abated one jot of Lafayette's
enthusiasm. The privations which he saw and shared only made him put his
hand the more often into his own pocket, and redouble his efforts to obtain
aid from the treasury of France.

       *       *       *       *       *

To Lafayette, the happiest portion of this voyage to America was the time
passed in the company of Washington. Hastening from New York immediately on
his arrival, he allowed himself to be delayed only at Philadelphia. "There
is no rest for me," he wrote thence to Washington, "until I go to Mt.
Vernon. I long for the pleasure to embrace you, my dear general; in a few
days I shall be at Mt. Vernon, and I do already feel delighted with so
charming a prospect." Two weeks of a proud pleasure were then passed in the
society of the man who was always to remain his beau ideal. To walk about
the beautiful grounds of Mt. Vernon with its honored master, discussing his
agricultural plans; to sit with him in his library, and listen to his hopes
regarding the nation for which he had done so much, were honors which
Lafayette fully appreciated. He has left on record the feelings of
admiration with which he saw the man who had so long led a great people in
a great struggle retire to private life, with no thought other than
satisfaction at duty performed. And it was a legitimate source of pride to
himself that he had enlisted under his standard before fortune had smiled
upon it, and had worked with all his heart to crown it with victory. The
two men thoroughly knew each other.

The words of Lafayette will be found, in this volume, in the paper on
"George Washington."

       *       *       *       *       *

He (Washington) responded to Lafayette's demonstrative regard by a sincere
paternal affection. Later in the summer, Lafayette met Washington again,
and visited in his company some of the scenes of the late war. When the
time for parting had come, Washington accompanied his guest as far as
Annapolis in his carriage. There the two friends separated, not to meet
again.

On his return to Mt. Vernon, Washington added to his words of farewell, a
letter in which occur the following passages; "In the moment of our
separation, upon the road as I travelled, and every hour since, I have felt
all that love, respect, and attachment for you, with which length of years,
close connection and your merits have inspired me. I often asked myself, as
our carriages separated, whether that was the last sight I ever should have
of you, and though I wished to say no, my fears answered yes. I called to
mind the days of my youth, and found they had long since fled, to return no
more; that I was now descending the hill I had been fifty-two years
climbing, and that, though I was blest with a good constitution, I was of a
short-lived family, and might soon expect to be entombed in the mansion of
my fathers. These thoughts darkened the shades and gave a gloom to the
picture, and consequently to my prospect of seeing you again. But I will
not repine; I have had my day. * * * * It is unnecessary, I persuade
myself, to repeat to you, my dear Marquis, the sincerity of my regards and
friendship; nor have I words which could express my affection for you, were
I to attempt it. My fervent prayers are offered for your safe and pleasant
passage, happy meeting with Madame de Lafayette and family, and the
completion of every wish of your heart." To these words Lafayette replied
from on board the "Nymphe," on the eve of his departure for France: "Adieu,
adieu, my dear general. It is with inexpressible pain that I feel I am
going to be severed from you by the Atlantic. Everything that admiration,
respect, gratitude, friendship, and filial love can inspire is combined in
my affectionate heart to devote me most tenderly to you. In your friendship
I find a delight which words cannot express. Adieu, my dear general. It is
not without emotion that I write this word, although I know I shall soon
visit you again. Be attentive to your health. Let me hear from you every
month. Adieu, adieu."


Loyall Farragut.

BIOGRAPHER.

With Morristown is associated the beautiful memoir of our great Admiral, in
honor of whom one of the streets of our city is named. In the old house now
removed from its original position to the end of Farragut Place, this
honored commander once visited for several days, walking over the ground
now occupied by the houses of many families, delighted as a boy with
everything in nature; noticing and observing the smallest detail of what
was going on around him and interesting himself equally in the humblest
individual who crossed his path and in the most distinguished visitor who
asked to be presented.

The "Life of David Glasgow Farragut" was written according to the admiral's
expressed wish, by his only son, Loyall Farragut, who for a short time had,
in Morristown, his summer home, and who presented to the Morristown
Library a copy of his book.

The Farraguts came from the island of Minorca, where the name is now
extinct. In the volume referred to, we find these words: "George Farragut,
father of the admiral was sent to school at Barcelona, but was seized with
the spirit of adventure, and emigrated to America at an early age. He
arrived in 1776, promptly sided with the colonists, and served gallantly in
the struggle for independence, as also in the war of 1812. It is said that
he saved the life of Colonel Washington in the battle of Cowpens."

In reading this volume one is transported to the times and scenes
described, and everywhere is felt the grandeur, beauty and simplicity of
character of this truly great and lovable man. In the touching letter to
his devoted wife, on the eve of the great battle, is seen, as an example to
all men of future generations, the realization of a man's fidelity to the
woman of his choice, even in the moment of greatest extremity, and the
possibility of the tenderest heart existing side by side with the daring
courage of one of the bravest men the world has ever seen.

Wonderfully stirring are the descriptions given of the river fight on the
Mississippi and of the battle of Mobile Bay, after which Admiral Farragut
received from Secretary Welles the following congratulatory letter:

"In the success which has attended your operations, you have illustrated
the efficiency and irresistible power of a naval force led by a bold and
vigorous mind and the insufficiency of any batteries to prevent the passage
of a fleet thus led and commanded. You have, first on the Mississippi and
recently in the bay of Mobile, demonstrated what had previously been
doubted,--the ability of naval vessels, properly manned and commanded, to
set at defiance the best constructed and most heavily armed fortifications.
In these successive victories, you have encountered great risks, but the
results have vindicated the wisdom of your policy and the daring valor of
our officers and seamen."


Josiah Collins Pumpelly.

Mr. Pumpelly, long a resident of Morristown, claims our attention as a
writer, rather than an author, as he has not been a publisher of books,
beyond a collection of three Addresses in pamphlet form entitled "Our
French Allies in the Revolution and Other Addresses".

Several sketches entitled "Reminiscences of Colonial Days", and others of
the same character, all involve considerable research and add to our
literary possessions in connection with historic Morristown. His "Address
on Washington", delivered before the Washington Association of New Jersey,
at the Morristown Headquarters, February 22, 1888, was published by the
Association, and has long been for sale there. Of this, the writer says, "I
rejoice that even in this slight way, I can be of service to an Association
whose faithful care of this home of Washington in the trying winter of 1779
and '80 deserves the lasting gratitude of every loyal Jerseyman." In
closing this address, Mr. Pumpelly said, quoting from our favorite
historian, Rev. Dr. Tuttle, "each old parish in our County had its heroes,
and each old church was a shrine at which brave men and women bowed in
God's fear, consecrating their all to their country." Mr. Pumpelly adds:
"So instead of referring our children to Greek and Roman patriots, we have
but to call up for them the names of our own men and women, who have here
amid the hills of Morris, wrought out for us this heritage, so much
grander, so much nobler than they themselves ever dreamed." This address is
now bound in a larger pamphlet with "Our French Allies", to which we have
referred and which was read before the New Jersey Historical Society, at
Trenton, January 22d, 1889 and "Fort Stanwix and Battle of Oriskany", an
address delivered before the Society of the Sons of the Revolution, in New
York City, Dec. 3, 1888.

There was an important paper read by Mr. Pumpelly before the New Jersey
Society of the Sons of the Revolution, on June 10th, 1889, and by them
adopted in their meeting of that date, and afterwards published, on "The
Birthplace of our Immortal Washington and the Grave of his Illustrious
Mother, shall they not be Sacredly Preserved?"

Another address followed on "Joseph Warren" before the Massachusetts
Society of the Sons of the American Revolution, on April 18th, 1890, on the
occasion of the 114th Anniversary of the Battle of Lexington. He was then
President of the New Jersey Society of the Sons of the American Revolution.

A paper was read by request on "Mahlon Dickerson, Industrial Pioneer and
old time Patriot," on January 27, 1891, before the New Jersey Historical
Society.

Mr. Pumpelly has also given much time and literary effort in philanthropic
and sanitary directions. Many articles have appeared from time to time from
his pen in behalf of reforms in the treatment of our dependent, delinquent,
and defective classes, all tending to social economic improvement and, at
one time, assisting materially the advance of the State Charities Aid
Association of New Jersey of which he was for several years an active
member.

His attention is now being turned to the story of the Huguenots in this
country. He is just completing a quite exhaustive paper upon the Huguenots
in New Jersey, which is to be given by request before the Genealogical
Society of New York, in January 1893, after which the subject is to be
prepared by him for use in a school text-book.

In _The New York Genealogical and Biographical Record_, of April 1892, is
"A Short Sketch of the Character and Life of John Paul Jones", written in a
most interesting and delightful manner and given before the New York
Genealogical and Biographical Society, January 8, 1892. We quote from


WHAT DOES THE CAUSE OF HUMAN FREEDOM OWE TO THE HUGUENOT?

In looking back over the milestones which mark in history the relapse and
advance, the failure and the successes, of the principles of civilization,
we note that at a certain period it was the Teutonic Nations which broke
loose from Rome and the Latin Nations who adhered to the Pope. Also, that
in France, opposition to Rome was early and considerable. Thus the
Waldenses, Albigenses, and Lefevre and his colleagues were Huguenots and
lovers of human freedom before the name itself was known--Calvinists
before Calvin, Lutherans before Luther, Wiclyfites before Wiclyf.

That great movement for the liberty of conscience and personal freedom,
civil and religious, was not in France an importation, for God had
deposited the first principles of the work in a few brave hearts of Picardy
and Dauphiny before it had begun in any other country of the globe. Not to
Switzerland nor to Germany belongs the honor of having been first in the
work, but to France and the Huguenot.

It was the voice of Lefevre, of Etaples, France, a man of great nobility of
soul as well as genius of mind, which was to give the signal of the rising
of this morning star of liberty. He it was who taught Farel, the great
French reformer and "master-builder" with Luther.


Hannah More Johnson.

Miss Johnson's poem, "The Christmas Tree", has taken its place in our
Poet's corner. She is also mentioned among _Novelists and Story-Writers_
for her well-known stories of "Lost Willie"; "Ella Dutton"; "Snow Drifts";
"Signal Lights", and "First the Blade" published by A. D. F. Randolph and
by the Presbyterian Board. But perhaps her most important work is "Mexico,
Past and Present", an excellent and charmingly written history of Mexico, a
book of interest and importance, with sixty three maps and illustrations,
treating not only the history, but the present condition and prospects of
that country. This work is found in many libraries, and places Miss Johnson
among our _Historians_.

Miss Johnson is the daughter of Mr. Jacob Johnson and niece of our
townsman, Mr. J. Henry Johnson, who was the last preceptor of the old
Morris Academy. Though long a resident of Morristown, she now makes her
home in Philadelphia where she is editor of a Missionary Publication.

"I first thought of myself as a writer", says Miss Johnson, "when I saw my
name for the first time in print and nearly fainted with fright. I have
never recovered from that shock and not until I had had more than one
collision with publishers have I consented to give my name to articles."

Last September (1892) "Bible Lights in Mission Paths" was published: "The
long interval between my first and my last book," says the author, "was
filled with what seems to me the true work of my life." And it is curious
how this work of life came to her quite unsought and unexpectedly. Let us
hear it in her own words. "About twelve years ago," she tells us, "a
relative became proprietor of a small religious weekly in Philadelphia,
_The Presbyterian Journal_. I had the entire charge of the missionary
department. Shortly afterward, the Presbyterian Alliance met in our city
and the Woman's Foreign Missionary Society, (of which I was and still am a
Director), held in connection with that great convocation in the Academy of
Music, an all-day meeting in one of the churches. Presbyterian women were
there from every quarter of the world beside others from sister churches.
At noon as I sat, talking over the programme for the afternoon with Mrs.
A----, she said regretfully, 'I am afraid that we shall not be able to get
these women to speak loud enough to be heard all over this great church. It
would be delightful if we could have a full report.' 'I think I could get
one up, Mrs. A----,' said I. 'I have been taking notes of the speeches all
the morning and this afternoon we are to have written reports and papers.'
'I can get them all for you,' she said quickly. That night I went home
laden with documents, three-fourths of them from the Old World. The
_Journal_ publishers offered to send out an extra and send it to any
address I gave. Within a week, this extra was mailed to every mission
station throughout the world, which had been in any way represented at this
woman's meeting or mentioned in its reports. Ever since that busy, busy
week with French, English, Scotch, German, Italian, Belgian and Irish
women, I have been a constant reporter of Missionary meetings. This led to
a series of articles for Monthly Concerts, proposed for the use of pastors
and other leaders of missionary meetings. Twelve articles a year for about
four years, each one of which had cost months of research and study, I had
time for nothing else. It was weary work. All roads led to Rome and I
couldn't pick up a book or a daily that didn't give me an item or a
suggestion. The nameless writer was generally supposed to be some Doctor of
Divinity shelved with a sore throat or other ministerial disability. I
remember one time when a carefully prepared article (of mine) on Siam
appeared in _The Gospel of all Lands_, credited to _The London Missionary
News_. It had been taken from the magazine in which it was first published,
profusely illustrated and sent out as an English production."

Besides this Miss Johnson has furnished monthly articles for various papers
and occasional poems, for magazines. Thus we see her very busy life has
been fruitful of unusual results.


Mrs. Julia McNair Wright.

Mrs. Wright has already been mentioned among _Novelists and Story-Writers_.
For the following graphic sketch, we are indebted to one of our writers,
Mrs. Julia R. Cutler.

"One of the authors whose sojourn in our 'beautiful little town', as she
calls it, was of a comparatively brief period, from 1881-'83, but whose
writings, as showing deep research in many fields of thought, both
scientific and historical, entitle her to more than a brief mention, is
Mrs. Julia McNair Wright.

"Her husband, the Rev. Dr. William J. Wright, is President of and,
Professor of Metaphysics, in a Western College. Much of Mrs. Wright's time
is spent in visiting different large cities, at home and abroad, where she
can have access to libraries and gain information on various subjects
connected with her books.

"While in Morristown, she wrote, at the request of the Presbyterian Board
of Publication, her book on "The Alaskans" and also a short work on the
religious life, called "Mr. Standfast's Journey", besides preparing for the
press a book entitled "Bricks from Babel", which she had previously written
while visiting London and the British museum. The Rev. Joseph Cook fully
endorses this book, and calls it 'a most admirable compendium of
ethnography.' A set of religious biographies were, also, about this time,
published in Arabic.

"These works written and prepared for the press while she was occupying her
quiet cottage home on Morris Plains, would alone have entitled her to a
prominent place among the authors of whom Morristown has reason to be
proud. But these are but a small portion of her literary labors. Judging
from the number of books which appear over her signature, she must indeed
be gifted with the 'pen of a ready writer.'

"Among the more prominent works are 'The Early Church in Britain'; 'The
Complete Home', of which over one hundred thousand copies have been sold;
'Saints and Sinners of the Bible'; 'Almost a Nun'; 'The Priest and Nun'; 'A
Wife Hard Won', a novel published by Lippincott; 'The Making of Rasmus';
'Rasmus a Made Man'; and 'Rag Fair and May Fair'. The last deals with
social questions in England, and is being re-published in London, as indeed
a number of her other books have been, as well as translated into the
French language.

"Mrs. Wright's latest work, completed during a recent visit to the British
museum, is a Series of Readers on Natural Science, called 'Nature Readers,
Seaside and Wayside', which are having a large run in this country, in
England and in Canada and which are a new invention in school books. They
have been more warmly received than any books for our schools, for the past
twenty-five years.

"Very few persons have the talent of dealing with so many subjects and
doing it so well. Even the Temperance cause owes much to Mrs. Wright, as
its earnest advocate, and many of her thrilling stories on this subject
have touched the hearts and inspired the actions of those who have read
them. Nor has she, amid her multitude of duties, forgotten the young, as
the large number of volumes on the shelves of our Sabbath School libraries,
bearing her name can testify.

"May the pen Mrs. Wright has so wisely and deftly used, in the cause of
education and humanity, long continue through her skillful hand, to trace
its characters upon the hearts and minds of those with whom it comes in
contact!"


Mrs. Edwina L. Keasbey.

Though Mrs. Keasbey has published a most attractive and useful book, full
of practical thoughts idealized, yet we place her and Mrs. Stockton in
this grouping for the reason that a large part of her writing was of this
character, on the whole. Much of it was graphically descriptive of scenes
in foreign lands and at home, usually accompanied with reflections which
indicate the _Essay_ character. Like others of our writers, there is a
variety in her writing and choice of subjects which makes it somewhat
difficult to place her with exactness.

Most of Mrs. Keasbey's writing was originally done for _The Hospital
Review_, a paper edited by her, during eleven years, for the St. Barnabas
Hospital, which was founded largely through her efforts and influence and
was a work to which she devoted her life. For this was written a series of
papers entitled "A Lame Woman's Tramp through some Alpine Passes", and
"Bits of English Scenery Sketched by a Lame Hand", among which is a fine
and vivid picture of the first sight of Durham Cathedral. So, for this
_Hospital Review_ were originally written the papers now collected and
bound in one of the prettiest little volumes one could desire, convenient
in size, artistic in design and with clear, large type and broad margins.
This is entitled "The Culture of the Cradle".

In the education of children, Mrs. Keasbey has found the key and basis of
all true and reasonable training, in the development of the child's
individuality. The object of this book is to suggest the meaning and
purpose of true culture and to show how it must begin with the cradle and,
says the author, "to give some suggestions and leaves from experience that
may be of use to those who are striving to begin, in the right way, the
education of their children." The book, published in 1886, has had a large
sale and the entire proceeds have been devoted to the Hospital of St.
Barnabas, which the author so much loved.

Mrs. Keasbey was the eldest daughter of the Hon. J. W. Miller, and she
inherited well her intense love of good works from her honored mother, who
was so long identified with Morristown's philanthropic and charitable work.
She was born in the old Macculloch mansion on Macculloch Avenue and lived
there till her marriage in 1854, after which her literary qualities and
rare executive abilities went to adorn the city of Newark where she will be
tenderly remembered, and where her works live after her.


FROM "THE CULTURE OF THE CRADLE."

As I sit by my window on this beautiful spring day, preparing my article
upon "The Nurture of Infants," a pair of little birds are building their
nest in the vine that grows about my piazza, so I take my text from them.

How busy they are, how absorbed in their work! The whole world contains
for them no other point of interest, but only this little crotch in the
vine which they have chosen to build their cradle in for their future
little ones. We may be quite sure that it is the best spot in the whole
vine, not too shady or too sunny, just happily out of the reach of cruel
cat or mischievous boys, and then the cradle will be so perfect, strong
enough to resist the winds that shake the vine, and covered enough to
withstand the spring rains, and warm enough to shelter the little ones as
they crack the shell; and so comfortable with its soft padding of cotton
and down to cherish and protect the little tender bodies when they come
into this cold world.

I think it is nearly finished to-day, for the little mother has settled
herself down into it and nestled herself in it and picked off her own soft
down, and stuffed it in with the cotton that she had lined the nest with.
She looks so satisfied and content, as if she would say, "it is quite ready
now for my little darlings."

With this little mother there is no word of complaint or selfish murmur
though she is going to sit in that nest for many a long day and dark night,
through storm and sunshine, until the little ones come forth from their
eggs to gladden her heart and repay her care and work of preparation.

Can we mothers have a better teacher or a wiser example than this little
bird, whose lessons in motherhood have come to her direct from her
Creator?


Mrs. Marian E. Stockton.

As to Mrs. Stockton's charming pen, we must reluctantly refrain from
noticing her many essays and writings in various directions, principally
prepared at the request of literary societies and other
organizations,--always read by some one else, owing to the writer's great
dislike for coming into public notice, and always published, and sent
about, by the Society or group of people for whom they were written. The
title of this book compels us, however, to mention this gifted woman's
name, and we give below an extract from one delightful paper, written as
usual by request for an important occasion, read by a distinguished
literary woman, and as usual published.


FROM "HOME AND SOCIETY."

It may help to a proper understanding of the line of thought followed in
this paper if I state in the beginning that it is, chiefly, an attempt to
get a definite answer to the question so often asked: What is Society? It
is an effort to arrive at a conclusion which the majority of American women
may be willing to accept. Otherwise we shall find ourselves so beset with
perplexities that we shall not be able to get anything out of our subject.
For most persons have very vague ideas regarding society, and would find it
difficult to express them. I have tried to get at the ideas of a few
persons who might be supposed to know, with but small result. One says: "It
is a limited company of persons of wealth and leisure who give up their
time chiefly to entertainments and pleasure." This view of the subject
suggests the familiar advertisements of a certain soap, reversing the sign;
for taking out the pure article--_i. e._, the persons composing this
society--we would have 99 44-100 of the people of the United States with no
society at all. _So very little_ of the pure article will, I think,
scarcely suffice to float this definition.

Another says: "It is a collection of the best people in a city or
neighborhood who give a tone to the place." This is better, but calls forth
other questions. Whom do you mean by the "best people"? What is "tone"?
What sort of "tone" do they give? New York, New Orleans, and Poker Flat
would give widely different answers to these questions.

Another defines it as "a number, large or small, of cultured people." This
conveys a charming idea to the mind, but it is too limited, for we are
considering to-day society in its broadest as well as its best aspects;
and, surely, we would none of us be willing to deny to good-hearted,
honest, decent people, the pleasure of forming a society of their own kind,
and enjoying it in a rational--if uncultured--fashion. We want to-day to
get hold of a comprehensive idea of society.

Last summer, at a fashionable resort, I heard some New York ladies
speaking, with admiration, of another lady in the hotel, and one exclaimed:
"What a pity she is not in Society!" To this they all agreed, and another
kindly asked: "Can't we do something to help her to know people?" As I knew
this lady, and was aware of the fact that, when she returned to the city at
the beginning of every season, she sent out cards to six hundred people, I
was much surprised; for, if visiting and being visited by six hundred
people is not being "in society", I do not know what is. Therefore, I could
only infer that she was not in their special coterie.

A very intelligent woman once told me frankly, that she could not imagine
anything that could be called society outside the City of New York.

Again I was told, some time ago, by a literary lady who was then residing
in this city (but who is not here now): "Literary people are not
recognized in New York society." I use her own words and they puzzled me.
Soon after, there chanced to fall in my way a description of New York life
by a Frenchman who had been entertained by all sorts of people. He stated
that the most charming society in this city is the literary society, and he
proceeded to paint it in glowing colors. Between the literary lady on one
side and Max O'Rell on the other, I gave up that conundrum.

These few examples of misconceptions and wrong-headedness in regard to what
society really is will suffice to show how necessary it is to get a clear
and comprehensive definition for it. To get this we must disentangle
ourselves from all these figments, go back, and enter through the gate
which naturally leads into society.




TRAVELS AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.


Marquis de Chastellux.

The Marquis de Chastellux, counted in France a clever historian, is
considered by us as a traveler, for he was one of the earliest French
travelers in North America and, on his return to France, published a book
entitled "Travels in North America in the years 1780, 1781 and 1782, by the
Marquis de Chastellux, one of the Forty Members of the French Academy, and
Major General in the French Army, serving under the Count de Rochambeau."
This book was published in 1787 in London. In it we find the most graphic
descriptions of the soldiers and officers of the Revolution, of West Point
in its character of a military outpost; of the road between it and
Morristown; of the beauty and grandeur of the Hudson River, as it burst for
the first time upon his vision; of several interviews, visits and dinners
with Washington and Lafayette, always giving his impressions in a unique
and original way and with a sprinkle of humor which keeps a continuous
smile upon the lips of the reader as he progresses in this remarkable
narrative. It is really most difficult to choose from this fascinating
book, for the short space we can allow.

In speaking of his arrival here he refers to the _Arnold Tavern_, which may
still be seen, removed from its original location but restored with great
care, (though enlarged), and is now standing on Mt. Kemble Avenue, the old
"Baskingridge Road" of the Revolution. He says:

"I intended stopping at Morris Town only to bait my horses, for it was only
half past two, but on entering the inn of Mr. Arnold, I saw a dining room
adorned with looking glasses and handsome mahogany furniture and a table
spread for twelve persons. I learnt that all this preparation was for me
and what affected me more nearly was to see a dinner corresponding with the
appearances, ready to serve up. I was indebted for this to the goodness of
General Washington and the precautions of Colonel Moyland who had sent
before to acquaint them with my arrival. It would have been very
ungenerous to have accepted this dinner at the expenses of Mr. Arnold who
is an honest man and a good Whig and who has not a particle in common with
Benedict Arnold; it would have been still more awkward to have paid for the
banquet without eating it. I therefore instantly determined to dine and
sleep in this comfortable inn. The Vicomte de Noailles, the Comte de Damas,
&c., were expected to make up the dozen."

Chastellux apparently came as a passing traveler and seems to have been
induced to prolong his stay and during that time gives us very graphic and
interesting glimpses, to which we have referred, of the General and his
officers, dinners at which he was present, reviews of troops, the army
itself and its condition, with passing reflections about the country and
the manners and customs of the time. Among the latter remarks, he observes:
"Here, as in England, by _gentleman_ is understood a person possessing a
considerable _freehold_, or land of his own." Of the officers, he says:

"I must observe on this occasion the General Officers of the American Army
have a very military and a very becoming carriage; that even all the
officers, whose characters were brought into public view, unite much
politeness to a great deal of capacity; that the headquarters of this army,
in short, neither present the image of want nor inexperience. When one sees
the battalion of the General's Guards encamped within the precincts of his
house; nine waggons, destined to carry his baggage, ranged in his court; a
great number of grooms taking care of very fine horses belonging to the
General Officers and their Aides de Camp; when one observes the perfect
order that reigns within these precincts, where the guards are exactly
stationed, and where the drums beat an alarm, and a particular retreat, one
is tempted to apply to the Americans what Pyrrhus said of the Romans:
_Truly these people have nothing barbarous in their discipline._"

Of his coming to Morristown, he says: "I pursued my journey, sometimes
through fine woods at others through well cultivated lands and villages
inhabited by Dutch families. One of these villages, which forms a little
township bears the beautiful name of _Troy_. Here the country is more open
and continues so to _Morris-Town_. This town celebrated by the winter
quarters of 1779, is about three and twenty miles from Peakness, the name
of the headquarters from whence I came: It is situated on a height, at the
foot of which runs the rivulet called Vipenny River; the houses are
handsome and well built, there are about sixty or eighty round the
meeting-house."

The Marquis tells of his reception at the Camp of Lafayette and, in giving
us his picture, he gives us also what is of value to us in this day,--a
Frenchman's impression of Lafayette in America:

"Whilst they were making this slight repast, I went to see the Camp of the
_Marquis_, it is thus they call M. de La Fayette: the English language
being fond of abridgments and titles uncommon in America."

Here, our eye is attracted to a note of the Translator, (an Englishman
residing in America,)--who says, with much more besides: "It is impossible
to paint the esteem and affection with which this French nobleman is
regarded in America. It is to be surpassed only by the love of their
illustrious chief."

"The rain appearing to cease," continues the Marquis, "or inclined to cease
for a moment, we availed ourselves of the opportunity to follow his
Excellency to the Camp of the Marquis; we found all his troops in order of
battle, on the heights on the left, and himself at their head; expressing
by his air and countenance, that he was happier in receiving me there, than
at his estate in Auvergne. The confidence and attachment of the troops, are
for him invaluable possessions, well acquired riches, of which no body can
deprive him; but what, in my opinion, is still more flattering for a young
man of his age, is the influence, the consideration he has acquired amongst
the political, as well as the military order; I do not fear contradictions
when I say that private letters from him have frequently produced more
effect on some states than the strongest exhortations of the Congress. On
seeing him one is at a loss which most to admire, that so young a man as he
should have given such eminent proofs of talents, or that a man so tried,
should give hopes of so long a career of glory."

His impression of the Hudson at West Point, will interest us all:

"I continued my journey in the woods, in a road hemmed in on both sides by
very steep hills which seemed admirably adapted for the dwelling of bears,
and where, in fact, they often make their appearance in Winter. We availed
ourselves at length of a less difficult part of these mountains to turn to
the westward and approach the river but which is still invisible.
Descending them slowly, at the turning of the road, my eyes were struck
with the most magnificent picture I had ever beheld. It was a view of the
North River, running in a deep channel, formed by the mountains, through
which, in former ages it had forced its passage. The fort of West Point and
the formidable batteries which defend it fix the attention on the Western
bank, but on lifting your eyes, you behold on every side lofty summits,
thick set with redoubts and batteries."

One more passage we must give in this day of Morristown's horsemanship; in
this year of '92 when all young Morristown is jumping fences and ditches
in pursuit of the fox or the fox's representative. It is Chastellux's
reference to Washington's horsemanship:

"The weather being fair, on the 26th I got on horseback, after breakfasting
with the General. He was so attentive as to give me the horse he rode on
the day of my arrival, which I had greatly commended; I found him as good
as he is handsome; but above all perfectly well broke, and well trained,
having a good mouth, easy in hand, and stopping short in a gallop without
bearing the bit. I mention these minute particulars, because it is the
General himself who breaks all his own horses; and he is a very excellent
and bold horseman, leaping the highest fences, and going extremely quick,
without standing upon his stirrups, bearing on the bridle, or letting his
horse run wild; circumstances which our young men look upon as so essential
a part of English horsemanship, that they would rather break a leg or an
arm than renounce them."


John L. Stephens.

Over fifty years ago, a traveler in Central America, Mr. John L. Stephens,
records a curious and interesting allusion to Morristown, which we give
below, from one of his two volumes of "Incidents of Travel in Central
America and Yucatan"; 12th Edition; published in 1856. He says:

"In the midst of the war rumours, the next day, which was Sunday, was one
of the most quiet I passed in Central America. It was at the hacienda of
Dr. Drivon, about a league from Zonzonate. This was one of the finest
haciendas in the country. The doctor had imported a large sugar mill, which
was not yet set up, and was preparing to manufacture sugar upon a larger
scale than any other planter in the country. He was from the island of St.
Lucie and, before settling in this out-of-the-way place, had travelled
extensively in Europe and the West India Islands and knew America from
Halifax to Cape Horn, but surprised me by saying that he looked forward to
a cottage in Morristown, New Jersey, as the consummation of his wishes."


Hon. Charles S. Washburn.

Mr. Washburn who lived for several years in Morristown, was the brother of
our late Minister to France. His most popular work is "The History of
Paraguay," in two volumes, written while he was Commissioner and Minister
Resident of the United States at Asuncion from 1861 to 1868. The writer may
truly add on his title page, "Reminiscences of Diplomacy under
Difficulties." As is well known, Mr. Washburn was minister to Paraguay
under Lopez, one of the three most noted tyrants of South America, whose
character is admirably brought out in this history of the country. His
description of Lopez is most graphic. The work is so exhaustive that we get
up from it with a feeling, "We know Paraguay". Besides this "History of
Paraguay", Mr. Washburn has also written "Gomery of Montgomery", in two
volumes and "Political Evolution from Poverty to Competence".

At the close of the first volume, we find a masterly summing up of the
singular character of Lopez, in these words:

"Previous to the death of Lopez, history furnishes no example of a tyrant
so despicable and cruel that at his fall he left no friend among his own
people; no apologist or defender, no follower or participant of his
infamies, to utter one word in palliation of his crimes; no one to regret
his death, or who cherished the least spark of love for his person or his
memory; no one to utter a prayer for the repose of his soul. In this
respect, Lopez had surpassed all tyrants who ever lived. No sooner was he
dead, than all alike, the officer high in command, the subaltern who
applied the torture, the soldier who passively obeyed, the mother who bore
him, and the sisters who once loved him, all joined in denouncing him as an
unparalleled monster; and of the whole Paraguayan nation there is perhaps
not one of the survivors who does not curse his name, and ascribe to his
folly, selfishness, ambition and cruelty all the evils that his unhappy
country has suffered. Not a family remains which does not charge him with
having destroyed the larger part of its members and reduced the survivors
to misery and want. Of all those who were within reach of his death-dealing
hand during the last years of his power, there are but two persons living
to say a word in mitigation of the judgment pronounced against him by his
countrymen and country-women."


General Joseph Warren Revere.

The late General Revere, one of Morristown's old and well-known residents,
wrote, at the close of his military and naval career, a graphic and
interesting book of travels entitled "Keel and Saddle; a Retrospect of
Forty Years of Military and Naval Service"; published in 1872 by James R.
Osgood of Boston. Another book appeared later, called "A Tour of Duty in
California."

General Revere tells us in "Keel and Saddle" that he entered the United
States Navy at the age of fourteen years as a midshipman and, after a short
term spent at the Naval School at the New York Navy Yard, he sailed on his
first cruise to the Pacific Ocean on board the frigate "Guerrière",
"bearing the pennant of Com. Charles C. B. Thompson, in the summer of the
year 1828." For three years he served in the Pacific Squadron. After
cruising in many waters and experiencing the various vicissitudes of naval
life, in 1832 he passed his examination for lieutenant and sailed in the
frigate "Constitution" for France.

During this Mediterranean cruise, when he made his first visit to Rome, he
saw Madame Letitia, mother of the first Napoleon, by whom he was received
with a small party of American officers. We shall give this scene as he
describes it.

In this book, "Keel and Saddle", (page 140) occurs a very fine description
of a great oceanic disturbance known to mariners in Southern seas as a
"comber", or great wave. Suddenly encountered, it causes the destruction of
many vessels.

Of Madame Letitia, in 1832 he writes as follows:

"Madame Mère or Madame Letitia, as she was usually called, being requested
to grant an interview to a small party of American officers, of which I was
one, graciously assented, and fixed a day for the reception at the palace
she occupied.

"Repairing thither at the hour appointed, after a short detention in a
spacious ante-chamber, we were ushered into one of those lofty saloons
common to Italian palaces, handsomely, not gorgeously furnished, and
opening by spacious windows into a beautiful garden. There, with her back
towards the subdued light from the windows, we saw an elderly lady
reclining on a sofa, in a graceful attitude of repose. She was attended by
three ladies, who all remained standing during our visit. In the recess of
one of the windows, on a tall pedestal of antique marble, stood a
magnificent bust of the emperor; while upon the walls of the saloon, in
elegant frames, were hung the portraits of her children, all of whom had
been kings and queens--of royal rank though not of royal lineage. Madame
Letitia received us with perfect courtesy, without rising from her
reclining position; motioning us gracefully to seats with a polite gesture
of a hand and arm still of noble contour and dazzling whiteness. It was
easy to see where the emperor got his small white hands, of which he was so
vain, as we are told; while the classic regularity of his well-known
features was clearly traceable in the lineaments of the lady before us. Her
head was covered with a cap of lace; and her somewhat haughty but
expressive face, beaming with intelligence, was framed in clustering curls
_a l'antique_. Her eyes were brilliant, large and piercing, (I think they
could hardly have been more so in her youth); and the lines of her mouth
and chin gave an expression of firmness, courage and determination to a
fine physiognomy perfectly in character with the historical antecedents and
attributes of Letitia Ramolini. Of the rest of her dress, we saw but
little; her bust being covered by a lace handkerchief crossed over the
bosom, and her dark silk robe partially concealed by a superb cashmere
shawl thrown over the lower part of her person. She opened the conversation
by making some complimentary remark about our country; asking after her son
Joseph, who resided then at Bordentown, N. J.; and seemed pleased at
receiving news of him from one of our party, who had seen him not long
before. She asked this officer whether the King (_le roi d'Espagne_) still
resembled the portrait in her possession which was a very fine one; and
upon our asking permission to examine the bust of the emperor, the greatest
of her sons, told us that it was considered a fine work of art, it being,
indeed, from the chisel of Canova; adding, I fancied with a little sigh of
melancholy, 'Il resemble beaucoup a l'empereur.' After some further
commonplaces, she signified in the most delicate and dignified manner, more
by looks than by words, addressed to the ladies of our party, referring to
her rather weak state of health, that the interview should terminate; and,
having made our obeisance, we left her."


Henry Day.

In 1874, an interesting volume of travels appeared, entitled "A Lawyer
Abroad. What to See and How to See: by Henry Day, of the Bar of New York."

Mr. Day's house "On the Hill", with its superb view, is occupied only in
summer; but year after year, with the birds and the spring sunshine, he
returns to us from his home in New York, so he is thoroughly associated
with Morristown. His book, unlike a large majority of "Travels" is not
merely a "Tourist's Guide" or a series of descriptive sketches hung
together by commonplace reflections, and interlarded with meaningless
drawing-room or roadside dialogue.

Evidently, it is written with a high purpose and it is rich in valuable
information concerning men and things, as if the writer himself were in
living touch with the best interests of humanity whether found in the
cities of Egypt, among the learned and polished minds of Edinburgh or in
the Wynds of Glasgow, of which he so graphically says:

"They are now long filthy, airless lanes, packed with buildings on each
side and each building packed with human beings; and, geographically as
well as morally they receive the drainage of all the surrounding city of
Glasgow."

Here it was in the old Tron Church that Dr. Chalmers did his finest
preaching and his most effective practical work. Mr. Day has an evident
loving sympathy with the great Scotch preacher, quite apart from the
intellectual qualities of his gigantic mind. In these few condensed pages,
Mr. Day has given us a more compact idea of Dr. Chalmer's work than may be
found in many elaborated chapters of his life.

The chapter upon "The Lawyers and Judges of England" is one of exceptional
interest to those in the profession, as well as to those out of it, and
this is one unique quality of the book--that we have given to us the
impressions of a traveler from a lawyer's standpoint, not only in England,
but in Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Holland, Switzerland, Greece,
Turkey, Egypt and the Holy Land. And, not only from a lawyer's standpoint
does he see the world, but evidently from the standpoint of a man of high
general culture whose spiritual and religious sentiments and principles
enlighten and illuminate his understanding.

In the chapter on "The Early Life of Great Men", speaking of Edinburgh, he
says:

"Everything gives you the feeling that you are among the most learned and
polished minds of the present and past generations. It is not business or
wealth that has given to Edinburgh its prominence. It is learning; it is
its great men."

One of Mr. Day's finest descriptions is found in his chapter on the Nile.

In 1877 this author published, through Putnams' Sons, a book having the
title "From the Pyrenees to the Pillars of Hercules", giving sketches of
scenery, art and life in Spain.

Mr. Day has also written a good deal for a few years past for publication
in the _New York Evangelist_ on the great questions now agitating the
Presbyterian church, namely, the revision of its creed called "The
Confession of Faith" and also on the Briggs case and the Union Theological
Seminary case. Mr. Day wisely says; "this newspaper writing can hardly be
called authorship although the articles are more important than the
books."




THEOLOGIANS.


Rev. Timothy Johnes, D. D.

Of the historic characters of Morristown, none are more prominent than the
Rev. Dr. Johnes, who began his pastorate in the old Meeting House of
Morristown which was probably reared before his coming. His labors began
August 13th, 1742. He was ordained and installed February 9th, 1743, and
continued pastor through the scenes of the Revolution till his death in
1791. He was the friend of Washington and supported him effectually in many
of the measures he adopted in which his strong influence with the community
was of great weight and value.

It was the daughter of Rev. Dr. Johnes, Theodosia, who married Col. Jacob
Ford, jr., who lived at what is now known as the Washington Headquarters
and offered the hospitality of her mansion to Washington during his second
winter at Morristown. He also offered the Presbyterian church building for
hospital use during the terrible scourge of small-pox,--himself acting as
chief nurse to the soldiers,--and, with his congregation, worshipped for
many months in the open air, on a spot still shown behind his house, on
Morris street, which is standing to-day, and now owned and occupied by Mrs.
Eugene Ayers. It was on this spot, in a natural basin which the
congregation occupied as being somewhat sheltered from the bitter winds of
winter, and which may still be seen, that good Pastor Johnes administered
the Communion to Washington. "This was the only time," says Rev. Dr. Green,
in his "Morristown" in the "History of Morris County", after his entrance
upon his public career, that Washington is certainly known to have partaken
of the Lord's Supper. In _The Record_ for June and August, 1880, we find a
full account of this historic incident. As the Communion time drew near,
Washington sought good Pastor Johnes, we are told, and inquired of him, if
membership of the Presbyterian church was required "As a term of admission
to the ordinance." To this the doctor replied, "ours is not the
Presbyterian table, but the Lord's table, and we hence give the Lord's
invitation to all his followers of whatever name." "On the following
Sabbath," says Dr. Green, "in the cold air, the General was present with
the congregation, assembled in the orchard in the rear of the parsonage",
on the spot before referred to, "and joined with them in the solemn service
of Communion."

In the family of good Pastor Johnes, a granddaughter of whom, Mrs. O. L.
Kirtland, is with us still, the last of a large number of brothers and
sisters, it has been known for generations that they originated in Wales.
We have from Mrs. Kirtland's granddaughter the following interesting
record:

"Rev. Timothy Johnes came to Morristown, N. J., from Southampton about
1742. His great-great-grandfather, Richard Johnes, of Somerset, Eng.,
descended from a younger branch of the Johnes of Dolancotlie in
Caemarthenshire, Wales, came over and settled in Charleston, Mass., in
1630, was made constable, and had 'Mr.' before his name, an honor in those
days. He went to live at Southampton, L. I., in 1644, and he and his
descendants held important positions there for nearly two hundred years.
Burke's _Landed Gentry_ states that the Johnes were descended from Urien
Reged, one of King Arthur's Knights, and who built the Castle Caer Caenin,
and traced descent back to Godebog, King of Britain. But accurate record
must begin at a later date, when William Johnes, in the reign of
Elizabeth, was Commander on the 'Crane' and killed in a battle against the
Spanish Armada."

Rev. Timothy Johnes, D. D., was the great-great-grandson of the first
Johnes who arrived in this country. Rev. Timothy graduated at Yale in 1737;
was born in 1717 and died in 1794. He received many ordination calls while
at Southampton, Long Island, and was perplexed as to which one to accept,
so "he referred the matter, says the great-great-granddaughter before
referred to," to Providence, deciding to accept the next one made. He had
not risen from his knees more than twenty minutes, when two old men came to
his house and asked him to become pastor of a small congregation that had
collected at Morristown, then called by the Indian tongue Rockciticus. When
nearly here, after traveling long in the forest, he inquired of his guides:
"Where is Rockciticus?" "Here and there and every where," was the reply,
and so it was, scattered through the woods.

Of Dr. Johnes' children,--Theodosia, as we have stated, was the hostess of
Washington at the Ford mansion, her home, and now the Washington
Headquarters. Anna, the eldest daughter, married Joseph Lewis and is the
ancestress of one of our distinguished authors, the Rev. Theodore Ledyard
Cuyler, D. D. The daughter of this Anna Lewis, married Charles Morrell and
they occupied the house of Mr. Wm. L. King on Morris St., and there
entertained Lafayette as their guest in the winter of '79 and '80. Their
daughter, Louisa married Ledyard Cuyler and they had a son, Theodore
Ledyard Cuyler, well-known to us and to all the world. Mary Anna, a grand
daughter, married Mr. Williams, of Newburg, and others of the family
followed there. They pronounce the name _John_-es, giving up the long _o_
(Jones), of the old Doctor's sounding of the name. A grandson, Frank, went
west and had a large family who are more or less distinguished in Decatur,
Illinois. They omit the _e_ in the name and call themselves Johns. It is
only in Morristown that the family retain the original spelling of Johnes
and pronunciation of _Jones_.

The son of the old Doctor, William, remained in the old house, and there
brought up a large family of whom the above two, named, were members, also
Mrs. Kirtland, who is still with us, with her daughter and grandchildren,
and Mrs. Alfred Canfield, who long lived among us but has passed away.

One of the old Doctor's sons was named, as we might expect, George
Washington and was the grandfather of Mrs. Theodore Little, and built the
old house on the hill near our beautiful Evergreen Cemetery. This house was
built soon after Washington's occupation of Morristown, and the large place
including the ancient house has lately been sold and will soon be laid out
in streets and lots, as the demand comes from the increasing population of
our city. Fortunate are we to have so many of the old land-marks left to
us!

Mrs. Woodruff, the step-mother, honored and beloved, of Mrs. Whelpley
Dodge, was also a daughter of old Doctor Johnes.

Another son of the old Doctor was Dr. John B. Johnes, who built the house
with columns opposite the old place, still standing, and there he lived and
died, high in his profession, greatly honored and beloved. His daughter
Margaret, was the step-mother of another of our distinguished men and
writers, the Rev. Arthur Mitchell, D. D.

And so we find this ancient family from Wales, the land of the poetic
Celts, and many of whom are yet living in that corner of the world from
which these came, still sending on their influence and maintaining their
high standard of principle and honor, which characterized good Pastor
Johnes, during the fifty-four years of his ministry in Morristown.


Rev. James Richards, D. D.

The Rev. Dr. Richards, who was settled as the third pastor over the First
Church of Morristown, May 1st, 1795, was a theological author, many of
whose sermons and other writings are published, and later, he was professor
of theology in the Auburn theological seminary. Dr. Richards, like Dr.
Johnes, was of Welsh descent. His salary was $440, in quarterly payments,
the use of the parsonage, and firewood. To supplement this income, resort
was had to a "wood-frolick", which was, we are told, a great event in the
parish and to which the men brought the minister's years' supply of fuel
and for which the ladies prepared a supper. The "spinning visit" was
another feature of his pastorate, on which occasion were brought various
amounts of "linen thread, yard and cloth". The thread brought, being not
always of the same texture and size, it was often a puzzle indeed to the
weaver to "make the cloth and finish it alike". At last the meagreness of
this pastor's salary proved so great a perplexity, especially as his
expenses were increasing with his growing family, that he gave up the
problem, and went to Newark, N. J., accepting a call from the First
Presbyterian Church there, from which, after fifteen years, he went as
professor of theology to the Auburn Seminary, where he remained until his
death in 1843.


Rev. Albert Barnes.

Fifth in order of these early divines of the Morristown's First Church, is
the Rev. Albert Barnes. He occupied this pastorate from 1825 to June 1830.
It was here that he preached, in 1829, that remarkable sermon, "The Way of
Salvation", which was the entering wedge that prepared the way for the
unfortunate division among the Presbyterians into the two schools Old and
New, which division and the names attached to each side, it may gladly be
said, came to an end by a happy union of the two branches, a few years ago.

The Rev. Albert Barnes was also a pioneer of the Temperance movement in
Morristown and his eloquence and influence in this cause resulted in the
closing of several distilleries. From Morristown he was called to
Philadelphia, where he passed through his severest trials. It is needless
to mention that he was a voluminous writer and that he has made a
world-wide reputation by his valuable "Notes on the Gospels", so well-known
to all Biblical scholars. Rev. Mr. Henderson of London says: "I consider
Barnes 'Notes on the New Testament' to be one of the most valuable boons
bestowed in these latter days upon the Church of Christ." And the Rev.
David King of Glasgow says: "The primary design of the Rev. Albert Barnes'
books is to furnish Sunday School teachers with plain and simple
explanations of common difficulties."

We are impressed with the rare modesty of so eminent a writer and
distinguished divine when he read that the Rev. Albert Barnes several times
refused the title of "D. D.", from conscientious motives.

Among the celebrated sermons and addresses published by this author was one
very powerful sermon on "The Sovereignty of God", and also an "Address
delivered July 4th, 1827," at the Presbyterian church, Morristown. In the
"Advertisement" or preface, to the former, the author says in pungent
words: "It was written during the haste of a weekly preparation for the
Sabbath and is not supposed to contain anything new on the subject. * * *
The only wonder is that it (the very plain doctrine of the Bible) should
ever have been called in question or disputed--or that in a world where
man's life and peace and hopes, all depend on the truth that GOD REIGNS,
such a doctrine _should have ever needed any demonstration_."

The condition of Morristown when Mr. Barnes came into the pastorate, in
respect of intemperance was almost beyond the power of imagination,
serious, as the evil seems to us at the present day. He found "drinking
customs in vogue and distilleries dotted all over the parish." Fearlessly
he set himself to stem this evil, which indeed he did succeed in arresting
to a large extent. His "Essays on Temperance" are marvellous productions,
as full of fire and energy and the power of conviction to-day as when first
issued from the press, and these addresses were so powerful in their effect
on the community that "soon," says our historian, Rev. Dr. Green,
"seventeen (of the 19) distilleries were closed and not long after his
departure, the fires of the other two went out."

In the course of one of his arguments, he says: "There are many, flitting
in pleasure at an imagined rather than a real distance, who may be saved
from entering the place of the wretched dying, and of the horrid dead. Here
I wish to take my stand. I wish to tell the mode in which men become
abandoned. In the language of a far better moralist and reprover than I am
(Dr. Lyman Beecher), I wish to lay down a chart of this way to destruction,
and to rear a monument of warning upon every spot where a wayfaring man
has been ensnared and destroyed.

"I commence with the position that no man probably ever became designedly a
drunkard. I mean that no man ever sat down coolly and looked at the redness
of eyes, the haggardness of aspect, the weakness of limbs, the nausea of
stomach, the profaneness and obscenity and babbling of a drunkard and
deliberately desired all these. I shall be slow to believe that it is in
human nature to wish to plunge into all this wretchedness. Why is it then
that men become drunkards? I answer it is because the vice steals on them
silently. It fastens on them unawares, and they find themselves wallowing
in all this corruption, before they think of danger."

The power and beauty of Mr. Barnes' most celebrated sermon on "The Way of
Salvation", impresses the reader, from page to page. Towards the close, he
says:


FROM "THE PLAN OF SALVATION."

"The scheme of salvation, I regard, as offered to the _world_, as free as
the light of heaven, or the rains that burst on the mountains, or the full
swelling of broad rivers and streams, or the heavings of the deep. And
though millions do not receive it--though in regard to them the benefits of
the plan are lost, and to them, in a certain sense, the plan may be said
to be in vain, yet I see in this the hand of the same God that pours the
rays of noonday on barren sands and genial showers on desert rocks, and
gives life, bubbling springs and flowers, where no man is in _our_ eyes,
yet not to _His, in vain_. So is the offer of eternal life, to every man
here, to every man everywhere, sincere and full--an offer that though it
may produce no emotions in the sinner's bosom _here_, would send a thrill
of joy through all the panting bosoms of the suffering damned."


Rev. Samuel Whelpley.

Rev. Mr. Whelpley became Principal of the Morristown Academy in 1797 and
remained until 1805. He came from New England and was originally a Baptist,
but in Morristown he gave up the plan which he had cherished of becoming a
Baptist minister and united with the Presbyterian church. In 1803, he gave
his reasons for this change of views, publicly, in a "Discourse delivered
in the First Church" and published. His "Historical Compend" is one of his
important works. It contains, "A brief survey of the great line of history
from the earliest time to the present day, together with a general view of
the world with respect to Civilization, Religion and Government, and a
brief dissertation on the importance of historical knowledge." This was
issued in two volumes "By Samuel Whelpley, A. M., Principal of Morris
Academy" and was printed by Henry P. Russell and dedicated to Rev. Samuel
Miller, D. D.

This author was not, by-the-way, the father of Chief Justice Whelpley, of
Morristown, who also is noticed in this book, but was the cousin of his
father, Dr. William A. Whelpley, a practicing physician here.

"Lectures on Ancient History, together with an allegory of Genius and
Taste" was another of Mr. Whelpley's books. Among his works, perhaps the
most celebrated was, and is, "The Triangle", a theological work which is "A
Series of numbers upon Three Theological Points, enforced from Various
Pulpits in the City of New York." This was published in 1817, and a new
edition in 1832. In this work, says Hon. Edmund D. Halsey, the leaders and
views of what was long afterward known as the Old School Theology were
keenly criticised and ridiculed. The book caused a great sensation in its
day and did not a little toward hastening the division in the Presbyterian
Church into Old and New School. This book was published without his name,
by "Investigator". In it the author says:


FROM "THE TRIANGLE."

"You shall hear it inculcated from Sabbath to Sabbath in many of our
churches, and swallowed down, as a sweet morsel, by many a gaping mouth,
that a man ought to feel himself actually guilty of a sin committed six
thousand years before he was born; nay, that prior to all consideration of
his own moral conduct, _he ought to feel himself deserving of eternal
damnation for the first sin of Adam_. * * * No such doctrine is taught in
the Scriptures, or can impose itself on any rational mind, which is not
trammeled by education, dazzled by interest, warped by prejudice and
bewildered by theory. This is one corner of the triangle above mentioned.

"This doctrine perpetually urged, and the subsequent strain of teaching
usually attached to it, will not fail to drive the incautious mind to
secret and practical, or open infidelity. An attempt to force such
monstrous absurdities on the human understanding, will be followed by the
worst effects. A man who finds himself condemned for that of which he is
not guilty will feel little regret for his real transgressions.

"I shall not apply these remarks to the purpose I had in view, till I have
considered some other points of a similar character;--or, if I may resort
to the metaphor alluded to, till I have pointed out the other two angles of
the triangle."


Stevens Jones Lewis.

Mr. Lewis was a grandson of Rev. Dr. Timothy Johnes and great uncle of the
Rev. Theodore L. Cuyler, D. D. He was a theologian whose writings made a
ripple in the orthodox stream of thought, and was disciplined in the First
church for his doctrines. He published two pamphlets in justification of
his peculiar views. The first was on "The Moral Creation the peculiar work
of Christ. A very different thing from that of the Physical Creation which
is the exclusive work of God", printed in Morristown by L. B. Hull, in
1838. Also there was one entitled "Showing the manner in which they do
things in the Presbyterian church in the Nineteenth Century". "For the
rulers had agreed already that if any man did confess that Jesus was Christ
('was Christ, not God Almighty'), he should be put out of the synagogue."
"Morristown, N. J., Printed for the author, 1837."


Rev. Rufus Smith Green, D. D.

The Rev. Dr. Green, so much esteemed by the people of all denominations in
Morristown, has a claim to honorable mention among our authors, having
written largely and to good purpose.

His "History of Morristown," a division of the book entitled the "History
of Morris County", published by Munsell & Co., New York, in 1882, is a
valuable contribution to our literature, combining in delightful form, a
large amount of information from many sources, which has cost the writer
much labor. As a book of reference it is in constant demand in the
"Morristown Library" now, and one of the books which is not allowed long to
remain out, for that reason. This fact carries its own weight without
further comment.

Dr. Green succeeded the Rev. John Abbott French in June, 1877, to the
pastorate of the First Presbyterian Church of Morristown, and remained
until 1881, when he accepted the charge of the Lafayette St. Presbyterian
Church of Buffalo, N. Y., and removed to that city.

After his graduation at Hamilton College, N. Y., in 1867, Dr. Green went
abroad and was a student in the Berlin University during 1869 and '70.
During this period he gained complete command of the German language,
which has been vastly helpful to him in his writing as well as, in many
instances, in his pastoral work. He was graduated from the Auburn
Theological Seminary in 1873. He then accepted a charge at Westfield, N.
Y., and in 1877 came to Morristown. During his Morristown pastorate, he
began the publication of _The Record_, a monthly periodical devoted to
historical matter connected with the First Church in particular, but also
with Morristown generally and Morris County as well,--the First Church, in
its history, striking it roots deep, and radiating in many directions. This
was continued for the years 1880 and 1881, 24 numbers. Rev. Wm. Durant, Dr.
Green's successor in the pastorate of the First Church, resumed the work in
January 1883, and continued its publication until January 1886. It is an
invaluable contribution to the early history of the town and county.

Another of Dr. Green's publications is "Both Sides, or Jonathan and
Absalom", published in 1888 by the Presbyterian Board of Publication,
Philadelphia. This is a volume of sermons to young men, the aim of which
can be seen from the preface which we quote entire:

"It would be difficult to find two characters better fitted than those of
Jonathan and Absalom to give young men right views of life--the one, in its
nobleness and beauty, an inspiration; the other, in its vanity and wicked
self-seeking, an awful warning. The two present both sides of the picture,
and from opposite points of view teach the same lessons never more
important than at the present time. It has been the author's purpose to
enforce these lessons rather than to write a biography. May they guide many
a reader to the choice of the right side!"

In writing of the friendship of Jonathan and David the author says:

"The praises of Friendship have been sung by poets of all ages,--orator's
have made it a theme for their eloquence,--philosophers have written
treatises upon it,--historians have described its all too rare
manifestations. No stories from the far off Past are more charming than
those which tell of Damon and Pythias,--of Orestes and Pylades--of Nisus
and Euryalus--but better and more inspiring than philosophic treatise or
historic description, more beautiful even than song of poet, is the
Friendship of which the text speaks,--the love of Jonathan for David. It is
one of the world's ideal pictures, all the more prized, because it is not
only ideal but real. It was the Divine love which made the earthly
friendship so pure and beautiful."

For _Our Church at Work_, a monthly periodical of many years' standing
connected with the Lafayette Street church, of Buffalo, Dr. Green has
largely written.

An important pamphlet on "The Revised New Testament" was published in 1881,
by the _Banner_ Printing Office, of Morristown, and, in addition to these,
fugitive sermons, and numerous articles for newspapers and periodicals have
passed from his pen to print.

When Dr. Green left Morristown, this was the tribute given him at the final
service in the old church where hundreds of people were turned away for
want of room. These were the words of the speaker on that occasion: "Dr.
Green came to a united people; he has at all times presided over a united
people and he leaves a united people."


Rev. William Durant.

Rev. Wm. Durant followed the Rev. Dr. Green in his ministry in the First
Presbyterian Church in Morristown, May 11th, 1883, remaining in this charge
until May, 1887, when he resigned, to accept the call of the Boundary
Avenue Church, Baltimore, Md. He took up also, with Hon. John Whitehead as
editor, at first, the onerous though very interesting work of _The Record_,
which labor both he and Rev. Dr. Green as well as Mr. Whitehead, gave "as
a free will offering to the church and the community".

Rev. Mr. Durant was born in Albany, N. Y., and prepared for college at the
Albany Academy. He then travelled a year in Europe, studied theology at
Princeton and was graduated from that college in 1872. The same year he
took charge of the First Presbyterian Church in Milwaukee, for the summer
only, after which he traveled through the west, and was then ordained to
the ministry, in Albany, and installed pastor of the Sixth Presbyterian
Church of that city, from which, in 1883, he came to Morristown, as we have
said.

While in Albany he edited "Church Polity", a selection of articles
contributed by the Rev. Charles Hodge, D. D., to the _Princeton Review_;
Scribner's Sons, publishers. Afterwards, in Morristown, he published a
"History of the First Presbyterian Church, Morristown," with genealogical
data for 13,000 names on its registers; a part of this only has been
published. "A Letter from One in Heaven; An Allegory", is a booklet of
singular interest as the title would suggest. One or two short stories of
his have been published among numerous contributions to religious papers on
subjects of ecclesiology and practical religion, also a score or more of
sermons in pamphlet form.

He is at present preparing, for publication, a "Durant Genealogy", to
include all now in this country of the name and descent. This was begun in
the fall of 1886.

In the opening number of _The Record_ for January 1883, after the
suspension of the publication for two years, we print the following paper
of "Congratulations" from Rev. Wm. Durant, which as it concerns the spirit
of Morristown, we give in full:


"CONGRATULATIONS", ON THE REVIVAL OF "THE RECORD".

The season is propitious. _The Record_ awakes from a long nap--not as long
as Rip Van Winkle's--to greet its readers with a Happy New Year.

But where is the suggestion of those garments all tattered and torn? We
mistake. It is not Rip Van Winkle, but the Sleeping Beauty who comes to us,
by fairy enchantment, decked in the latest fashion. Sleep has given her new
attractions.

Happy we who may receive her visits with the changing moons, and scan her
treasures new and old. Her bright look shows a quick glance to catch
flashes of present interest. And there is depth, too, a far offness about
her glance. Its gleam of the present is the shimmer that lies on the
surface of a deep well of memory. What stories she can tell us of the past!
Though so youthful her appearance, she romped with our grandmothers and
made lint for the hospital and blankets for the camps, that winter
Washington was here, when his bare-foot soldiers shivered in the snows on
Mount Kemble or lay dying by scores in the old First Church. Yes, she was a
girl of comely parts, albeit of temper to enjoy a tiff with her good mother
of Hanover, when our city was a frontier settlement, full only of log
cabins and primitive hardships in the struggle against wild nature.

For a maiden still, and one who has seen so many summers, marvelous is her
cheery, youthful look. Ponce de Leon made the mistake of his life when he
sought his enchanted fountain in Florida instead of where Morristown was to
be. It is not on the Green, for the aqueduct folks now hold the title.

From lips still ruddy with youth, is it not delicious to hear the gossip of
olden time! And our maiden knows it all, for she was present at all the
baptisms, danced at all the weddings, thrilled with heavenly joy when our
ancestors confessed the Son of Man before the high pulpit, and stood with
tears in her eyes when one after another they were laid in the graves
behind. Their names are still on her tongues' end, and it is with loving
recollection that she tells of the long lists like the one she brings this
month.

But her gossip is not all of names. What she will tell of events and
progress, of the unwritten history that has given character to families, to
State or Nation, there is no need of predicting, we have only to welcome
her at our fireside and listen while she speaks.


Rev. J. Macnaughtan, D. D.

Dr. Macnaughtan, present pastor of the First Presbyterian Church and
successor of Rev. Wm. Durant, a profound scholar and thinker and most
interesting writer, has not entered largely into the world of letters as an
author or a publisher of his writings. Some papers of his, and some
articles have, however, been published from time to time and a sermon now
and then, notably, within two years, one on "Revision: Its Spirit and
Aims", and the Centennial Sermon that was delivered on Sunday, October
11th, 1891, on the memorable occasion of the Centennial of the erection of
the present First Church building. This sermon was published in the
_Banner_, of Morristown, and is to appear again, with all the interesting
addresses and sketches, given on that day and on the following days of the
celebration,--in the book which Mr. Whitehead is preparing on "The History
of the First Presbyterian Church".

Dr. Macnaughtan's pastorate will always be associated with this time of
historic retrospection and also with the passing away of the old building
and the introduction of the new. Of this old building, endeared to many of
Morristown's people, this book will probably be the last to make mention
while it stands. An old-time resident touchingly says of the coming event:
"There have been great changes within my remembrance (in Morristown). I was
born in 1813 and have always lived where I do now. My memory goes back to
the time when there were only two churches in the town; the First
Presbyterian and the Baptist. The latter is now being removed for other
purposes, and our old church, that has stood through its 100 years, will
soon be removed, to make place for a new one. I was in hopes it would
remain during my days, but the younger generation wants something new, more
in the present style."


FROM THE "CENTENNIAL SERMON."

     Ask now of the days that are past.

                 --_Deuteronomy 4:32._

One hundred years ago on the 20th of last September (1891), a very stirring
and animated scene could have been witnessed on this spot where we are so
quietly assembled this morning for our Sabbath worship. On the morning of
that day, some 200 men were assembled here, with the implements of their
calling, and the task of erecting this now venerable structure was begun.
The willing hands of trained mechanics and others, under the direction of
Major Joseph Lindsley and Gilbert Allen, both elders of the church, lifted
aloft these timbers, and the work of creating this sanctuary was begun.
When one inspects the timbers forming the frame of this structure, great
masses of hewn oak, and enough of it to build two structures of the size of
this edifice, as such buildings are now erected, one sees how necessary it
was that so great a force of men should be on hand. One can well believe
that the animation of the scene was only equalled by the excited emotions
of the people, in whose behalf the building was being erected. The task
begun was a gigantic one for that time. The plans contemplated the erection
of a structure which, "for strength, solidity and symmetry of proportion,"
should "not be excelled by any wooden building of that day in New Jersey."
But it was not alone the generosity of the plan of the structure that made
it a gigantic enterprise, but the material circumstances of the people who
had undertaken the work. The men of a hundred years ago were rich for the
most part only in faith and self-sacrifice. But looking at this house as it
stands to-day, and remembering the generations who under this roof have
been reproved, guided, comforted, and pointed to the supreme ends of being,
who shall say that they who are rich only in faith and self-sacrifice are
poor? Out of their material poverty our fathers builded this house through
which for a century God has been sending to our homes and into our lives
the rich messages of his grace and salvation--where from week to week our
souls have been fronted with the invisible and eternal, and where by psalm
and hymn, and the solemn words of God's grand Book, and the faithful
preaching of a long line of devoted and consecrated men, we have been
reminded of the seriousness and awfulness of life, of the sublime meanings
of existence, and the grand ends which it is capable of conserving; where
multitudes have confessed a Saviour found, and have consecrated their souls
to their new found Lord; where doubts have been dispelled, where sorrow has
been assuaged, where grief has found its antidote and the burdened heart
has found relief; where thought has been lifted to new heights of outlook,
and the heart has been enriched with conceptions of God and duty that have
given a new grandeur to existence, where the low horizons of time have been
lifted and pushed outward, till the soul has felt the thrill of a present
eternity. Our heritage has indeed been great in the possession of this old
white Meeting-House.

(Several points Dr. Macnaughtan makes as follows):

In scanning the life that has been lived here during the last hundred
years, I find it, first of all, to have been _a consistent life_. It is a
life that has been true to the great principles of religious truth for
which the name of Presbyterian stands. * * I find, in the second place,
that the life that has been lived here has been _an evangelistic life_. * *
In the third place, it has been an _expansive life_. * * * * Here has been
nourished the mother hive from which has gone forth, to the several
churches in the neighborhood, the men and women who have made these
churches what they are to-day. * * * In the fourth place, it has been _a
beneficent life_. The voices that have rung out from this place have but
one accent--Righteousness.


Rev. C. DeWitt Bridgman.

The Baptist Church is the second of our Morristown churches in point of
age. It was formed August 11, 1752. It was the Rev. Reune Runyon who was
its pastor during those terrible days of the Revolution, when the scourge
of small pox prevailed. All honor to him, for a "brave man and true", as
says our historian, "loyal to his country as well as faithful to his God."
He, with good Parson Johnes, upheld the arm of Washington and both offered,
for their congregations, their church buildings, to shelter the poor,
suffering soldiers, in their conflict with the dread disease. This
constancy is all the more creditable when we consider that two of his
immediate predecessors had already fallen victims to the disease, each,
after a very short pastorate.

Rev. C. DeWitt Bridgman claims our attention as a writer. A friend writing
of the Rev. Mr. Bridgman, at the present time, says: "The Baptist Church at
Morristown was the first pastorate of the Rev. C. DeWitt Bridgman and I
think was filled to the entire satisfaction of his friends and admirers who
were and _are_ many. His brilliant oratory and rare gifts as an eloquent,
scholarly and polished speaker are well-known. A life-long friend of my
family, I dwell on the lovable and loyal characteristics which have made
him dear to us."

In a letter received by the author of this book, from the Rev. Mr.
Bridgman, we find a little retrospect which is interesting. "I went to
Morristown," he says, "immediately after graduating from the Baptist
Theological Seminary, in Rochester, in 1857. The Baptist Church had a
membership of about 130, all but five or six of them living outside the
village. The House of Worship was small and uncomfortable, but at once was
modernized and enlarged, and the congregation soon after grew to the
measure of its capacity. As I was then but 22 years old, the success was in
some measure due, I must believe, to the sympathy which the young men of
the village had for one with their ardor. However that may be, the church,
for the first time, seemed to be recognized as in touch with the life of
the village, and it was the opening of a new chapter in the history of the
church."

Rev. Mr. Bridgman made the oration at the 4th of July county celebration,
soon after his arrival, in the First Presbyterian church. For two and a
half years, he remained in this charge when he removed to Jamaica Plain,
Mass. Subsequently he was pastor for fifteen years, of Emmanuel Baptist
church, Albany, then for thirteen years of the Madison Avenue church in New
York, when he entered the Episcopal church and became rector of "Holy
Trinity," on Lenox avenue and 122nd St., New York, a position which he
still occupies.

Articles from this writer's pen have appeared from time to time during this
long career, in the religious press, besides occasional sermons of power
and impressiveness.

In the letter above referred to, Mr. Bridgman says he remembers very
pleasantly many acquaintances among those not connected with his church as
well as those in its membership and "it will be a great pleasure," he adds,
"to recall the old faces and the old days, over the pages of your book,
when it shall have been issued."

_Rev. G. D. Brewerton_, who is already among our Poets, followed the Rev.
Mr. Bridgman, in 1861, for a short pastorate.


Rev. J. T. Crane, D. D.

The Methodist Episcopal church was the third in order among our local
churches and was organized in 1826. Among the many pastors of this church,
the Rev. Dr. Crane demands our notice as an author. It was he who laid the
corner-stone, while pastor in 1866, of the third church building, a superb
structure, which is mostly the generous gift of the Hon. George T. Cobb,
who gave to it $100,000.

We find in our Morristown library, an interesting and valuable volume
entitled "Arts of Intoxication; the Aim and the Results." By Rev. J. T.
Crane, D. D., author of "Popular Amusements", "The Right Way", &c. This
author was a voluminous writer, and recognized as one of the ablest in the
Conference. This book was published in 1870 and in it the author says:

"The great problem of the times is, 'What shall be done to stay the ravages
of intoxication?' The evil pervades every grade of civilization as well as
all depths of barbarism, the degree of its prevalence in any locality being
determined apparently more by the facilities for indulgence than by
climate, race or religion.

"In heathen China the opium vice is working death. On the eastern slopes of
the Andes, the poor remnants of once powerful nations are enslaved by the
coca-leaf, and the thorn-apple, and thus are fixed in their fallen estate.
In Europe and America the nations who claim to be the leaders of human
progress are fearfully addicted to narcotic indulgences which not only
impose crushing burdens upon them, wasting the products of their industry
and increasing every element of evil among them, but render even their
friendship dangerous to the savage tribes among whom their commerce
reaches. Italy, France, Germany, England and the United States are laboring
beneath a mountain weight of crime, poverty, suffering and wrong of every
description, and no nation on either continent is fully awake to the peril
of the hour. Questions of infinitely less moment create political crises,
make wars, and overthrow dynasties." Then, Dr. Crane proceeds to show that
the "Art of Intoxication" is not a device of modern times, and quotes from
the Odyssey, in illustration; he discusses the mystery of it and notices
the mutual dependence of the body and spirit upon one another. He tells the
story of the coca-leaf, thorn-apple and the betel-nut, also of tobacco and
treats of the tobacco habit and the question generally; of the hemp
intoxicant and the opium habit and, finally, of alcohol,--its production,
its delusions, its real effect, the hereditary effect, the wrong of
indulgence, the folly of beginning, the strength of the enemy, the damage
done and remedial measures. It is the most picturesque and attractive
little book on the subject that we have seen.


Rev. Henry Anson Buttz, D. D., LL. D.

Rev. Dr. Buttz, President of Drew Theological Seminary, ministered in the
Methodist Episcopal Church in Morristown from 1868 to 1870. While preaching
in Morristown he was elected Adjunct Professor of Greek in Drew Theological
Seminary, filling the George T. Cobb professorship. This chair he occupied
until December 7, 1880, when he was unanimously elected to succeed Bishop
Hurst. He received the degree of A. M. in 1861 from Princeton College and
in 1864 from Wesleyan University, and that of D. D. from Princeton in 1875.

Dr. Buttz is without doubt one of the most distinguished men of the
Methodist Episcopal Church. His preaching, always without notes, is
impressive and of the style usually designated as expository. His
contributions to English literature have been to a large extent, fugitive
articles on many subjects in various church periodicals, but his greatest
published work is probably a Greek text book, "The Epistle to the Romans",
which is regarded by scholars as one of the most accurate and critical
guides to the study of that letter of St. Paul. It is announced by him that
all the New Testament Epistles are to be published on the same plan. "The
entire work, when completed," says a writer in the Mt. Tabor _Record_,
"will be a valuable contribution to Biblical literature, and an enduring
monument to the genius and research of the author."


Rev. Jonathan K. Burr, D. D.

Rev. Dr. Burr, one of the most distinguished divines of the Methodist
Episcopal church, was stationed at Morristown in 1870-2. He was born in
Middletown, Conn., on Sept. 21st, 1825; was graduated at Wesleyan
University in 1845; studied in Union Theological Seminary in New York city
in 1846; in 1847 he entered the ministry, occupying some of the most
important pulpits within the Newark Conference of the M. E. Church. He was
also professor of Hebrew and Exegetical Theology in Drew Theological
Seminary, while pastor of Central church, Newark, N. J. He was author of
the Commentary on the Book of Job, in the Whedon series, and a member of
the Committee of Revision of the New Testament. He received the degree of
D. D. from Wesleyan in 1872; also, in that year, he was delegate to the
General Conference of the M. E. church. For many years he was a trustee of
the Wesleyan University and also of Hackettstown Seminary.

He wrote the articles upon Incarnation and Krishna in McClintock and
Strong's Biblical Cyclopædia and also made occasional contributions to the
religious journals. In 1879 his health failed and he was obliged to retire
from the ministry. His death followed on April 24th, 1882.

From his "Commentary on the Book of Job" we take the following paragraph
out of an Excursus on the passage, "I know that my Redeemer liveth," &c.:


FROM "COMMENTARY ON THE BOOK OF JOB."

In the earlier ages truth was given in fragments. It was isolated,
succinct, compressed, not unlike the utterances of oracles. The reader will
be reminded of the gospel given in the garden, the prediction by Enoch of a
judgment to come, the promise of Shiloh and the prophecies through the
Gentile Balaam. They, who thus became agents for the transmission of divine
truth, may have failed to comprehend it in all its bearings, but the truth
is on that account none the less rich and comprehensive. In the living God
who shall stand upon the dust, Job may not have seen Christ in the fulness
of the atonement; nor in the view of God "from the flesh", have grasped
the glories of the resurrection morn; but the essential features of these
two cardinal doctrines of Scripture are these, identical with those we now
see in greater completeness; even as the outlines of a landscape, however
incompletely sketched, are still one with those of the rich and perfected
picture.


Rev. J. E. Adams.

Rev. Mr. Adams, the present pastor of the Morristown Methodist Episcopal
Church, entered upon this charge in May, 1889, succeeding the Rev. Oliver
A. Brown, D. D. He was transferred, by Bishop Merrill, from the Genesee
Conference to the Newark Conference for that purpose, the church having
invited him and he having accepted a few months previously. He came
directly from the First Methodist Church of Rochester, N. Y., to
Morristown. Dr. Adams is a clever and thoughtful writer. He says himself:
"I have done nothing in authorship that is worthy of record. I have only
written newspaper and magazine articles occasionally and published a few
special sermons. I am fond of writing and have planned quite largely for
literary work, including several books, but very exacting parish work has
thus far delayed execution."

Some of his sermons published are as follows:

"St. Paul's Veracity in Christian Profession Sustained by an Infallible
Test. Text: Romans 1:16. Published in New Brunswick, N. J., 1877."

"The Final Verdict in a Famous Case. A Bible Sermon Preached Before the
Monmouth County Bible Society, and published by that Society in 1883."

"The Golden Rule. A Discussion of Christ's Words in Matthew 7:12, in the
First Methodist Episcopal Church, Rochester, N. Y. Published in Rochester,
1886."

"Human Progress as a Ground of Thanksgiving. A Thanksgiving Sermon,
Preached in Morristown, N. J., 1889, and published by request."


Rev. James Munroe Buckley, D.D., LL. D.

At this point, three theologians and editors present themselves, not
occupying definite pulpits, but often taking a place in one or another, as
opportunity for usefulness occurs. These are the Rev. James M. Buckley, D.
D. and the Rev. James M. Freeman, D. D., of the Methodist Episcopal Church
and the Rev. Kinsley Twining, D. D., of the Congregational.

Of the genius of Dr. Buckley, it may be said, it is so all-embracing that
it would be difficult to tell what he is not, in distinctive literary
capacity. First of all certainly, he is a theologian, then editor, orator,
scientist, traveler and so on among our classifications. One is led to
apply to him the familiar saying that "he who does one thing well, can do
all things well."

It is pleasant to note that a man of such keen observation and well
balanced judgment as Dr. Buckley, after extensive travel in our own country
and abroad can state, as many of us have heard him, that, of all the
beautiful spots he has seen in one country and another, none is so
beautiful, so attractive and so desirable, in every respect, as Morristown.

Dr. Buckley is a true Jerseyman, for he was born in Rahway, N. J., and
educated at Pennington, N. J. Seminary. He studied theology, after one year
at Wesleyan University, at Exeter, N. H., and joined the New Hampshire
Methodist Episcopal Conference on trial, being stationed at Dover in that
state. In 1864 he went to Detroit and in 1866 to Brooklyn, N. Y. In 1881,
he was elected to the Methodist Ecumenical Conference in London and also
in that year was elected editor of the New York _Christian Advocate_, which
position he has held to the present time. The degree of D. D. was conferred
upon him by Wesleyan University in 1872 and LL. D. by Emory and Henry
College, Virginia.

As a traveler, Dr. Buckley is represented by his work on "The Midnight Sun
and the Tsar and the Nihilist" being a book of "Adventures and Observations
in Norway, Sweden and Russia". This book is full as we might expect of
information communicated in the most entertaining manner, full of very
graphic descriptions, original comments, spices of humor, with a clever
analysis of the people and conditions of life around the author--all of
which characteristics give us a feeling that we are making with him this
tour of observation. In the chapters on "St. Petersburg" and "Holy Moscow",
we see these qualities especially evidenced. Here is a short paragraph
quite representative of the author, who is writing of the Cathedral of the
Assumption, Moscow, an immense building in the Byzantine style of
architecture, in which a service of the Greek church is going on:

"The monks sang magnificently, but there was not a face among them that
exhibited anything but the most profound indifference. Some of the young
monks fixed their eyes upon the ladies who accompanied me from the hotel,
and kept them there even while they were singing the prayers, which they
appeared to repeat like parrots, without any internal consciousness or
recognition of the meaning of the words, but in most melodious tones."
Again, the author visits a Tartar Mosque where he and his party are told
"with oriental courtesy, that they may be permitted to remain outside the
door, looking in, while the service progresses:

"Here," he says, "I was brought for the first time in direct contact with
that extraordinary system of religion which, without an idol, an image, or
a picture, holds one hundred and seventy million of the human race in
absolute subjection, and whose power, after the lapse of twelve hundred
years, is as great as at the beginning."

Of the summoning of the people to prayers from the minaret, he writes:

"Dr. J. H. Vincent for many years employed at Chatauqua the late A. O. Van
Lennep, who went upon the summit of a house at evening time, dressed in the
Turkish costume, and called the people to prayer.

"I supposed when I heard him that he was over-doing the matter as respects
the excruciating tones and variations of voice which he employed, or else
he had an extraordinary qualification for making hideous sounds, whereby he
out-Turked the Turks, and sometimes considered whether Dr. Vincent did not
deserve to be expostulated with for allowing such frightful noises to clash
with the ordinary sweet accords of Chatauqua. Worthy Mr. Van Lennep will
never appear there again, but I am able to vindicate him from such unworthy
suspicion as I cherished. He did his best to produce the worst sounds he
could, but his worst was not bad enough to equal the reality. With his
hands on his ears, the Mohammedan priest of the great mosque of Moscow
emitted, for the space of seven minutes or thereabouts, a series of tones
for which I could find no analogy in anything I had ever heard of the human
voice. There seemed occasionally a resemblance to the smothered cries of a
cat in an ash-hole; again to the mournful wail of a hound tied behind a
barn; and again to the distant echo of a tin horn on a canal-boat in a
section where the canal cuts between the mountains. The reader may think
this extravagant, but it is not, and he will ascertain if ever he hears the
like."

Dr. Buckley's published writings are, besides his great work as editor of
_The Christian Advocate_, in editorials and in many directions,--and
besides the book we have already mentioned, "The Midnight Sun, the Tsar and
the Nihilist"; "Oats versus Wild Oats"; "Christians and the Theatre";
"Supposed Miracles", and "Faith Healing, Christian Science, and Kindred
Phenomena", published quite recently (in October, 1892). Among magazine
articles, may be especially mentioned "Two Weeks in the Yosemite", and in
pamphlet form have appeared some letters worthy of mention, about "A
Hereditary Consumptive's Successful Battle for Life".

[Illustration: PLAN OF FORT NONSENSE.

FROM PEN AND INK SKETCH BY MAJOR J. P. FARLEY, U. S. A.]

As a philanthropist, Dr. Buckley is widely interested in all questions
concerning humanity, and he responds continually with his time and thought
to the appeals made to him from one direction and another. Our own State
Charities Aid Association of New Jersey owes much to Dr. Buckley for his
warm and earnest co-operation in its early struggles in Morristown for
existence, and in its work, since then.

As an orator, all who have heard Dr. Buckley feel that he has what is
called the magnetic power of controlling and carrying with him his
audience, and a remarkable capacity for mastering widely different
subjects. The beautiful spring day (April 27, 1888), will long be
remembered, when the people of Morristown had the opportunity of hearing
his eloquent address at the unveiling of the Soldiers Monument on Fort
Nonsense.

In Dr. Buckley's last book on "Faith Healing; Christian Science and Kindred
Phenomena," published by the Century Company, quite lately, (October,
1892), the subjects of Astrology, Coincidences, Divinations, Dreams,
Nightmares and Somnambulism, Presentiments, Visions, Apparitions and
Witchcraft are treated. Papers have been contributed by him on these
subjects at intervals for six years with reference to this book, but the
contents of the latter are not identical, _i. e._ they have been improved
and added to. From this we give the following extract:


EXTRACT FROM "FAITH HEALING, CHRISTIAN SCIENCE AND KINDRED PHENOMENA."

The relation of the Mind Cure movement to ordinary medical practice is
important. It emphasizes what the most philosophical physicians of all
schools have always deemed of the first importance, though many have
neglected it. It teaches that medicine is but occasionally necessary. It
hastens the time when patients of discrimination will rather pay more for
advice how to live and for frank declarations that they do not need
medicine, than for drugs. It promotes general reliance upon those processes
which go on equally in health and disease.

But these ethereal practitioners have no new force to offer; there is no
causal connection between their cures and their theories.

_What_ they believe has practically nothing to do with their success. If a
new school were to arise claiming to heal diseases without drugs or hygiene
or prayer, by the hypothetical odylic force invented by Baron Reichenbach,
the effect would be the same, if the practice were the same.

Recoveries as remarkable have been occurring through all the ages, as the
results of mental states and nature's own powers.

       *       *       *       *       *

The verdict of mankind excepting minds prone to vagaries on the border-land
of insanity, will be that pronounced by Ecclesiasticus more than two
thousand years ago:

"THE LORD HATH CREATED MEDICINES OUT OF THE EARTH; AND HE THAT IS WISE WILL
NOT ABHOR THEM. MY SON, IN THY SICKNESS BE NOT NEGLIGENT; BUT PRAY UNTO THE
LORD AND HE WILL MAKE THEE WHOLE. LEAVE OFF FROM SIN AND ORDER THY HANDS
ARIGHT, AND CLEANSE THY BREAST FROM ALL WICKEDNESS. THEN GIVE PLACE TO THE
PHYSICIAN, FOR THE LORD HATH CREATED HIM; LET HIM NOT GO FROM THEE, FOR
THOU HAST NEED OF HIM. THERE IS A TIME WHEN IN THEIR HANDS THERE IS GOOD
SUCCESS. FOR THEY ALSO SHALL PRAY UNTO THE LORD, THAT HE WOULD PROSPER THAT
WHICH THEY GIVE FOR EASE AND TO PROLONG LIFE."


Rev. James M. Freeman, D. D.

Dr. Freeman is the second of the trio of theologians and editors, whose
homes are in Morristown. For the last twenty years, he has been associate
editor of "Sunday School Books and Periodicals and of Tracts" of the
Methodist Episcopal Church. His Biblical studies are well known. His
"Hand-Book of Bible Manners and Customs" was compiled with great care after
years of research and published in 1877. This "Hand-Book" has been
invaluable to Bible students and in it a large amount of information is
given in small space, and in an interesting and entertaining manner.

Another important volume is "A Short History of the English Bible". Both
these works are in the Morristown Library, presented by the author.

Many years ago, Dr. Freeman published, under the name of Robin Ranger, some
charming story-books "for the little ones", in sets of ten tiny volumes.
This work has placed him already in our group of _Story-Writers_.

Besides these, there are two Chautauqua Textbooks, viz., "The Book of
Books" and "Manners and Customs of Bible Times", also "The Use of
Illustration in Sunday School Teaching".

The "Hand-Book of Bible Manners and Customs", in particular, and the
"Short History of the English Bible" are books which one can not look into
without desiring to own. In the former, the author says in his short but
admirable preface:

"Though the Bible is adapted to all nations, it is in many respects an
Oriental book. It represents the modes of thought and the peculiar customs
of a people who, in their habits, widely differ from us. One who lived
among them for many years has graphically said: 'Modes, customs, usages,
all that you can set down to the score of the national, the social, or the
conventional, are precisely as different from yours as the east is
different from the west. They sit when you stand; they lie when you sit;
they do to the head what you do to the feet; they use fire when you use
water; you shave the beard, they shave the head; you move the hat, they
touch the breast; you use the lips in salutation, they touch the forehead
and the cheek; your house looks outwards, their house looks inwards; you go
_out_ to take a walk, they go _up_ to enjoy the fresh air; you drain your
land, they sigh for water; you bring your daughters out, they keep their
wives and daughters in; your ladies go barefaced through the streets, their
ladies are always covered'.

"The Oriental customs of to-day are, mainly, the same as those of ancient
times. It is said by a recent writer that 'the Classical world has passed
away. We must reproduce it if we wish to see it as it was.' While this
fact must be remembered in the interpretation of some New Testament
passages, it is nevertheless true that many ancient customs still exist in
their primitive integrity. If a knowledge of Oriental customs is essential
to a right understanding of numerous Scripture passages, it is a cause of
rejoicing that these customs are so stereotyped in their character that we
have but to visit the Bible lands of the present day to see the modes of
life of patriarchal times."

Therefore, the author undertakes and undertakes with remarkable success, to
illustrate the Bible by an explanation of the Oriental customs to which it
refers.


Rev. Kinsley Twining, D. D., LL. D.

Rev. Dr. Twining, up to 1879, devoted his time and attention entirely to
the ministry and charge of two large city Congregational churches, one in
Providence, R. I. While in the latter city, he published a book of "Hymns
and Tunes", for his church there, which was acceptable and popular among
the people, and contributed largely to develop the hearty congregational
singing for which end it was compiled. While in this charge, he was for
some time abroad, and mingled considerably in the literary life of Germany,
and also in the musical life of that country. Hence, he is a fine theorist
in music.

Since 1879 he has been literary editor of _The Independent_, and during
these years he has written enough valuable editorials and reviews to fill
many books. Many of his lectures, addresses, essays and other writings have
appeared in magazines and other publications, notably a charming
description of an "Ascent of Monte Rosa" in the _American Journal of
Science and Arts_, of May, 1862. We find in a book entitled "Boston
Lectures, 1872", a chapter given to one on "The Evidence of the
Resurrection of Jesus Christ, by Rev. Kinsley Twining, Cambridge, Mass.",
in which the argument is, as might be expected, keen and clear. One of his
more recent published papers was read by him at one of the Literary
Reunions at Mr. Bowen's in Brooklyn, N. Y., and attracted much attention.
It has since been given in Morristown: subject, "The Wends, or a Queer
People Surviving in Prussia".

Dr. Twining has made a special study of Shakespeare and holds a high rank
as a Shakesperian critic and scholar.

With regard to editorial work, it may be said an editor has a maximum of
influence, the minimum of recognition,--for nobody knows who does it. It
is certain that powerful editorials sometimes turn the tide of public
opinion or actually establish certain results which affect the progress of
the world, and at least make a mark in the world's advance. Who, indeed,
can compute or measure the power of the press at the present day?

We choose for Dr. Twining, some paragraphs from his editorial which has
already acquired some celebrity in _The Independent_ of Sept. 15, 1892, on
John Greenleaf Whittier. The death of the poet occurred on the 7th of the
same September and he had been one of the earliest and most regular
contributors to that paper since 1851.


FROM EDITORIAL ON JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

It has been said that every man of genius makes a class distinct by
himself, out of relation and out of comparison with everybody else. At all
events poets do, the first born in the progeny of genius; and of none of
them is this truer than of the four great American poets, Bryant,
Longfellow, Lowell and Whittier. In what order of merit they stand in their
great poetic square, the distinct individuality of genius bestowed on each
makes it needless to inquire. They have been our lights for half a century,
and now that they have taken their permanent place in the galaxy of song,
will continue to shine there, to use the phrase which Whittier himself
invented for Dr. Bowditch's sun-dial, as long as there is need of their
"light above" in our "shade below."

       *       *       *       *       *

Whittier is the ballad-master and legend singer of the American people. Had
he known the South and the West as he knew New England, he would have sung
their legends as he has sung those of New England. The meaning of all this
is that he is the minstrel of our people. This he has been, and this he
will remain. Whether it is in the solemn wrath of the great ballad,
"Skipper Ireson's Ride," one of the greatest in modern literature, in the
high patriotic strain of "Barbara Frietchie," in the pathos of "The Swan
Song," of "Father Avery," "The Witch's Daughter," or in the grim humor of
"The Double-Headed Snake of Newberry."

     "One in body and two in will,"

it matters little what the subject is, or from whence it comes, the poem
has in it some reflection of the common humanity, and as such speaks and
will speak to the hearts of men.

It has been the fashion to write of Victor Hugo as the poet of democratic
humanity. We shall not dispute his claim. There is a certain epic grandeur
in his work which entitles him to a seat alone. But to those who believe
the world is moving toward a democracy whose ideals are the realization of
the Sermon on the Mount, whose essence is ethical, and whose laws are
gentleness, usefulness and love, Greenleaf Whittier will be the true
democratic poet whose heart beats most nearly with the pulses of the
democratic age, and who best represents the principles which are to give it
permanence.


Rev. Theodore Ledyard Cuyler, D. D.

The Rev. Dr. Cuyler should immediately follow the group of editors and
theologians, as he has been a regular writer for the religious press, as
well as for the secular, for many years. To the former he has contributed
more than 3,000 articles, many of which have been re-published and
translated into foreign languages.

In reply to a request for certain information, Dr. Cuyler, in a letter
dated from Brooklyn, January 13, 1890, and written "in a sick room, where
he was laid up with the 'Grip'", a disease of the present day which we hope
may become historic,--replies to the author of this book as follows:

"Probably no American author has a _longer_ association with Morristown
than I have; for my ancestors have laid in its church-yards for more than
a century.

"My great-great-grandfather, Rev. Dr. Timothy Johnes, preached in the 1st
Presbyterian Church for 50 years and administered the Communion to General
Washington.

"My great-grandfather, Mr. Joseph Lewis, was a prominent citizen of
Morristown and an active friend and counsellor of Washington.

"My grandmother, Anna B. Lewis, was born in Morristown.

"My mother, Louisa F. Morrell, was also born in Morristown (in 1802) in the
old family "Lewis Mansion" in which Mr. William L. King now lives.

"I was at school in Morristown in 1835 and it was my favorite place for
visits for _many, many_ years. I have often preached or spoken there.

"The man most familiar with my literary work is Dr. J. M. Buckley, the
editor of the _Christian Advocate_--who now resides in Morristown."

This letter was signed with his name, as "Pastor of Lafayette Avenue
Presbyterian Church." Less than a month later he announced to his
astonished congregation, his intention of resigning his charge among them
on the first Sabbath of the following April, when it would be exactly
thirty years since he came to a small band of 140 members, which then
composed his flock. At the close of his remarks on that occasion he said:
"It only remains for me to say that after forty-four years of
uninterrupted ministerial labors it is but reasonable to ask for some
relief from a strain that may soon become too heavy for me to bear."

During the celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of his pastorate, in
1885, he told his congregation that during that time he had preached over
2,300 discourses, had made over 1,000 addresses, officiated at about 600
marriages, baptized 800 children, received into the church 3,700 members,
of whom about 1,600 were converts, and had lost but one Sunday for
sickness. Probably few men are more widely known for their literary and
oratorical powers and extended usefulness both in the pulpit and out of it.
Few, if any, have accomplished more in the same number of years or made a
wider circle of warm and earnest friends both at home and abroad. Among the
latter is the Hon. Wm. E. Gladstone, and was, the late John Bright. In his
sermons and addresses, the personality of Dr. Cuyler is so marked that to
hear him once is to remember him always. In England he has been especially
popular as a preacher and temperance advocate. The latter cause he has
espoused most warmly during his entire life.

Dr. Cuyler was born in the beautiful village of Aurora, N. Y., upon Cayuga
Lake, of which his great-grandfather, General Benjamin Ledyard, was the
founder. He was graduated at Princeton in 1841, and at Princeton
Theological Seminary in 1846. Two years later, he was ordained into the
Presbyterian Ministry, and was installed pastor of the Third Presbyterian
Church of Trenton, N. J., then of the Market St. Reformed Dutch Church of
New York City, and in April 1860, of the Brooklyn Lafayette Avenue
Presbyterian Church.

Among the author's books are the following, nearly all of which have been
reprinted in London and have a very wide circulation in Great Britain. Five
or six of them have been translated into Dutch and Swedish:

"Stray Arrows", "The Cedar Christian", "The Empty Crib", a small book
published many years ago after the death of one of his children and full of
solace and consolation to the hearts of sorrowing parents; "Heart Life";
"Thought Hives"; "From the Nile to Norway"; "God's Light on Dark Clouds";
"Wayside Springs", and "Eight to the Point," of the "Spare Minute Series".

Dr. Cuyler himself says that he considered his _chief_ literary work to
have been the preparation of over 3,000 articles for the leading religious
papers of America. There might be added to this the publication of a large
number of short and popular tracts.

Here again we find, as in several instances before recorded in this book, a
man of long experience and good judgment placing in the highest rank of
writings, useful to mankind, those done for the religious or secular
newspapers. We give a short passage

FROM, "GOD'S LIGHT ON DARK CLOUDS."

There is only one practical remedy for this deadly sin of anxiety, and that
is to _take short views_. Faith is content to live "from hand to mouth,"
enjoying each blessing from God as it comes. This perverse spirit of worry
runs off and gathers some anticipated troubles and throws them into the cup
of mercies and turns them to vinegar. A bereaved parent sits down by the
new-made grave of a beloved child and sorrowfully says to herself, "Well, I
have only one more left, and one of these days he may go off to live in a
home of his own, or he may be taken away; and if he dies, my house will be
desolate and my heart utterly broken." Now who gave that weeping mother
permission to use that word "if"? Is not her trial sore enough now without
overloading it with an imaginary trial? And if her strength breaks down, it
will be simply because she is not satisfied with letting God afflict her;
she tortures herself with imagined afflictions of her own. If she would but
take a short view, she would see a living child yet spared to her, to be
loved and enjoyed and lived for. Then, instead of having two sorrows, she
would have one great possession to set over against a great loss; her duty
to the living would be not only a relief to her anguish, but the best
tribute she could pay to the departed.


Rt. Rev. Wm. Ingraham Kip, D.D., LL.D.

Bishop Kip, since 1853, Bishop of California, was called to old St. Peter's
Church, Morristown, immediately after his taking orders in 1835. "The first
time the service of the Protestant Episcopal Church was used in Morristown,
so far as known," says our historian, "was in the Summer of 1812. At that
time Bishop Hobart of New York was visiting Mr. Rogers at Morristown, and
by invitation of the officers of the First Presbyterian Church, he
officiated one Sunday in their church, preaching and using the Episcopal
service."

For two years, 1820 and '21, the service was held on Sundays, at the house
of George P. McCulloch, and finally on Dec. 4th, 1828, the church building
was consecrated which has stood until quite recently. Now a superb stone
edifice covers the ground of the old church.

In the ancestry of Bishop Kip we have a link with the far off story of
France, for he is descended from Ruloff de Kype of the 16th Century, who
was a native of Brittany and warmly espoused the part of the Guises in the
French civil war between Protestants and Papists. After the downfall of his
party, this Ruloff fled to the Low Countries; his son Ruloff became a
Protestant and settled in Amsterdam and _his_ son Henry made one of the
Company which organized in 1588 to explore a northeast passage to the
Indies. He came with his family, to America in 1635, but returned to
Holland leaving here his two sons Henry and Isaac. Henry was a member of
the first popular assembly in New Netherlands and Isaac owned the property
upon which now stands the City Hall Park of New York.

In 1831, the young William Ingraham, was graduated at Yale College and
after first studying law and then divinity was admitted to orders and at
once became the third rector of St. Peter's, at Morristown, remaining from
July 13th, 1835, until November of the following year. Columbia bestowed
upon him in 1847, the degree of S. T. D. Between the rectorship of St.
Peter's and the bishopric of California, he served as assistant at Grace
Church, New York, and was rector of St. Paul's, at Albany.

Bishop Kip has published a large number of books, many of which have gone
through several editions. In addition he has written largely for the
_Church Review_ and the _Churchman_ and several periodicals. Among his
books are "The Unnoticed Things of Scripture", (1868); "The Early Jesuit
Missions" (2 Vols., 6 editions, 1846); "Catacombs of Rome", (8 editions,
1853); "Double Witness of the Church", (27 editions, 1845); Lenten "Fast",
(15 editions, 1845); the last two were published in both England and
America as was also "Christmas Holydays in Rome", (1846). Besides these are
"Early Conflicts of Christianity", (6 editions); "Church of the Apostles";
"Olden Times in New York"; "Early Days of My Episcopate", (1892).


EXTRACT FROM THE PREFACE OF THE "EARLY JESUIT MISSIONS."

There is no page of our country's history more touching and romantic than
that which records the labors and sufferings of the Jesuit Missionaries. In
these western wilds they were the earliest pioneers of civilization and
faith. The wild hunter or the adventurous traveler, who, penetrating the
forests, came to new and strange tribes, often found that years before, the
disciples of Loyola had preceded him in that wilderness. Traditions of the
"Black-robes" still lingered among the Indians. On some moss-grown tree,
they pointed out the traces of their work, and in wonder he deciphered,
carved side by side on its trunk, the emblem of our salvation and the
lilies of the Bourbons. Amid the snows of Hudson's Bay--among the woody
islands and beautiful inlets of the St. Lawrence--by the council fires of
the Hurons and the Algonquins--at the sources of the Mississippi, where
first of the white men, their eyes looked upon the Falls of St. Anthony,
and then traced down the course of the bounding river, as it rushed onward
to earn its title of "Father of Waters"--on the vast prairies of Illinois
and Missouri--among the blue hills which hem in the salubrious dwellings of
the Cherokees--and in the thick canebrakes of Louisiana--everywhere were
found the members of the Society of Jesus. Marquette, Joliet, Brebeuf,
Jogues, Lallemand, Rasles and Marest,--are the names which the West should
ever hold in remembrance. But it was only by suffering and trial that these
early labours won their triumphs. Many of them too were men who had stood
high in camps and courts, and could contrast their desolate state in the
solitary wigwam with the refinement and affluence which had waited on their
early years. But now, all these were gone. Home--the love of kindred--the
golden ties of relationship--all were to be forgotten by these stern and
high-wrought men, and they were often to go forth into the wilderness,
without an adviser on their way, save their God. Through long and
sorrowful years, they were obliged to "sow in tears" before they could
"reap in joy."


Rev. William Staunton, D. D.

With this author, the fifth rector of old St. Peter's Church, in
Morristown, we go back in association to the ancient city of Chester,
England, where he was born and where his grandfather on his mother's side
was a leading dissenting minister and the founder of Queen's Street Chapel,
Chester. His father, an intellectual man and well read in Calvinistic
theology, also affiliated with the Independents, but was often led by his
fine musical taste to attend with his son the services of the Cathedral. It
was in this Cathedral of Chester, which is noted for the beauty and majesty
with which the Church's ritual is rendered,--that the boy acquired that
love of music which placed him in after life in the front rank of church
musicians. One who knew him well has said of him in this respect: "This
knowledge of music was profound and comprehensive. He was not simply a
musical critic or a composer of hymn tunes and chants, but he had followed
out through all its intricacies the science of music. So well known was he
for his learning and taste in this department that it was a common thing
for professional musicians of distinction to go to him for advice and to
submit their compositions to him, before publication. Much of his own music
has been published. But his musical accomplishments are best attested by
the work which he did as associate editor of Johnson's Encyclopedia." He
was in particular, the musical editor of this work and wrote nearly all of
the articles relating to music in it. He was also a prolific writer for
church reviews and other periodicals. Among his publications in book form
are: "A Dictionary of the Church", (1839); "An Ecclesiastical Dictionary",
(1861); "The Catechist's Manual", a series of Sunday School instruction
books; "Songs and Prayers"; "Book of Common Prayer"; "A Church Chant Book",
and "Episodes of Clerical and Parochial Life".

Dr. Staunton came with his father and the family, when fifteen years of
age, to Pittsburg, Pa. He was closely associated with the Rev. Mr. Hopkins,
afterward the Bishop of Vermont. His first ministerial charge was that of
Zion Church, Palmyra, N. Y., and it was in 1840 he accepted the rectorship
of St. Peter's Church, Morristown, which position he held for seven years.
He then organized in Brooklyn, N. Y., a much needed parish, which he named
St. Peter's after the parish he had just relinquished.

"Dr. Staunton," says the present rector of St. Peter's, the Rev. Robert N.
Merritt, D. D., who took up the work of the parish in 1853, and to whose
untiring exertions, the parish and the people of Morristown are largely
indebted for the erection of the massive and beautiful stone structure that
stands on the site of the church of Dr. Staunton's time,--"Dr. Staunton was
no ordinary man, though he never obtained the position in the church to
which his abilities entitled him. Besides being above the average clergyman
in theological attainments, he was a scientific musician, a good mechanic,
well read in general literature, and so close an observer of the events of
his time that much information was always to be gained from him. His
retiring nature and great modesty kept him in the back ground."

The following interesting reminiscence comes to us, in a letter, from one
of the boys who was under his ministration when rector for seven years of
old St. Peter's. "I remember", says this parishioner, "Dr. Staunton very
distinctly and with much affection as well as regard and gratitude, for the
training I had from him in the doctrines and ordinances of the church. He
was for those days a very advanced churchman, being among the first to
yield to the influence the Oxford movement was exercising and to adopt the
advance it inaugurated in the ritual and service of the liturgy informing
strictly however himself and teaching his people to recognize the authority
of the rubrics. He maintained this, I think, till his death, and was ranked
then as a conservative rather than a high churchman, though when he was
here, the same attitude made him to be thought by some as almost
dangerously ultra.

"He was not eloquent nor what might be called an attractive preacher, but
wrote well and accomplished a great deal as a careful and impressive
teacher of sound doctrine and Christian morality.

"Dr. Staunton was an accomplished scholar in scientific as well as
ecclesiastical learning, was skilled as a draughtsman and designed, I
remember, the screen of old St. Peter's when the chancel stood at the South
street end; and it was wonderfully good and effective of its kind. He was
also a trained musician, and at one time instructed a class of young ladies
in thorough-bass, among them being the two Misses Wetmore, my eldest
sister, and others, and, in addition to this, he made the choir while he
was here, both in the music used and its efficiency, a vast improvement
upon what it had been. He was a tall man, fully six feet, of a severe
countenance and rather austere manner, leading him to be thought sometimes
cold and unsympathetic, though really he was most kind and considerate, and
in all respects a devoted and watchful pastor. He published, I think, a
church dictionary later in life which is still a standard book and
authority.

"These are my impressions of Dr. Staunton received principally as a very
young boy, though confirmed by an acquaintance continued till his death,
and I retain the most sincere gratitude for the abiding faith in the sound
doctrine of the Episcopal Church which he, after my mother, so trained me
in that I have accepted them ever since as impregnable; and for this I am
sure there are many others of his pupils and parishioners besides myself to
'call him blessed.'"


Rev. Arthur Mitchell, D. D.

Rev. Dr. Mitchell was the third pastor of the South Street Presbyterian
Church, which was the fifth, says our historian, "in our galaxy of
churches." The time of his ministration, during which the church was
greatly enlarged, both internally and externally, was from 1861 to 1868.

Dr. Mitchell is the son of Matthew and Susan Swain Mitchell, and was born
in Hudson, N. Y. He was graduated at Williams College in 1853, was tutor
in Lafayette College, Pa., for one year, and then traveled for a year in
Europe and the East. Returning he entered the Union Theological Seminary of
New York City and was graduated from there in 1859. In this year he
accepted the charge of the Third Presbyterian Church in Richmond, Va., and
in Oct. 1861, he became pastor of what was then called, the "Second
Presbyterian Church" in Morristown. The first Presbyterian Church of
Chicago, Ill., claimed him in 1868 and in 1880 the First Presbyterian
Church of Cleveland, Ohio. In 1884, Dr. Mitchell became Secretary of the
Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church to which position he had been
called fifteen years before, but had felt constrained to decline. This
important office, which from his intense and life-long interest in the
great cause of Christian missions to the heathen world, he was remarkably
qualified to fill, he has held to the present time. In all his
ministrations, in each individual church which he has served, he has
succeeded in imparting his own love of, and interest in, Foreign Missions
and his position as Secretary of this department of the church organization
has enabled him to stimulate the great congregations and masses of
individuals throughout the denomination.

Dr. Mitchell's eloquence in the pulpit and on the platform, is so
well-known that it seems hardly worth while to refer to it. Mastering his
subject completely as he does, he has the rare power of condensing clearly
and giving out his thoughts in language and in tones of voice which hold
and attract his audience to the end. He has published no books, only
sermons and addresses in pamphlet form and innumerable articles in
magazines and newspapers. To the great value of this sort of literary work,
several of our distinguished authors have already testified. In the _Church
at Home and Abroad_, we find the most exhaustive articles from Dr.
Mitchell's pen, on the missions and conditions of the various countries of
the earth which he has also recently visited in a trip around the world.
These are all written from so large a standpoint that they are about as
interesting to the general reader as to the specialist. In the publication,
the "Concert of Prayer" many of these valuable papers are found and a
considerable number of his addresses, articles, &c., are bound among those
of other writers, in large volumes. In the next generation we find a writer
also, in Dr. Mitchell's daughter, Alice, who does not desire mention for
the reason that her writings are so fragmentary and scattered.
Nevertheless, her literary work has been considerable and cannot be easily
measured or described. One who knows her well, says: "Not many ladies are
better read in missionary annals." In an article of hers, of great
interest, published in the _Concert of Prayer for Church Work Abroad_, and
entitled "The Martyrs of Mexico," we come upon the story of the Rev. John
L. Stephens, previously mentioned in this book among "Travels", &c., and
who, Miss Mitchell tells us, was one of the earliest missionaries of the
Congregational church to Mexico.

We have already mentioned that Mr. Matthew Mitchell, the father of our
writer, lived in Morristown for many years and married for his second wife,
Miss Margaret, the daughter of the good Doctor John Johnes, and the
granddaughter of the good Pastor Johnes.

We give a short passage from the opening of Dr. Mitchell's Memorial Sermon
on James A. Garfield, delivered in the First Presbyterian Church of
Cleveland, Ohio, on Sunday, Sept. 25, 1881, and published by a number of
prominent men who requested the privilege:


FROM THE "MEMORIAL SERMON" ON JAMES A. GARFIELD.

We share, my friends, to-day, the greatest grief America has ever known. It
is no exaggeration to say that no one stroke of Providence has ever spread
throughout all our land such poignant and universal pain, or has been so
widely felt as a shock and a sorrow in every portion of the earth.

I am not using words without care. I do not forget those dreadful days of
April, sixteen years ago, when the slow procession passed from State to
State, bearing the remains of the beloved Lincoln to the tomb. But there
was one whole section of our land, it will be remembered, which had never
acknowledged him as their ruler, and had never viewed him alas! except as
their foe. Innumerable noble hearts there discussed the crime that laid him
low; but although they abhorred the assassin's crime, around his victim
their sentiments of confidence and admiration and loyalty had never been
gathered.

I do not forget the horror which smote the nation when Hamilton fell, the
universal pall of sorrow of which our fathers tell us,--the metropolis of
the country draped in black, the vast and solemn cortège, which amidst
weeping throngs, followed Hamilton through its chief avenue to the grave.

And as one heart, the hearts of Americans mourned for Washington. There
were friends of liberty who wept with them in every part of the world. But
liberty itself had not then so many friends on earth as now. By one great
nation Washington was held to have drawn a rebel sword. And against
another, our earlier ally, he had unsheathed it and stood prepared for war.
And even by the countrymen of Washington it could not be forgotten that he
had nearly fulfilled the allotted years of man. His work was done. His
years of war had won for his country the full liberty she sought. His eight
glorious years of Presidential life had organized the Government,
established its relations to foreign powers and made its bulwarks strong.
At his death it was even said that he had "deliberately dispelled the
enchantment of his own great name;" with wonderful unselfishness he himself
placed the helm in other hands, looked on for a time at the prosperity
which he had taught others to supply, and "convinced his country that she
depended less on him than either her enemies or her friends believed." And
then he died in the peaceful retirement of his home. It was the death of a
venerated father whose work was done.


Rev. Charles E. Knox, D. D.

For six or eight months in the midst of the Rev. Arthur Mitchell's
pastorate, a distinguished scholar of the Presbyterian Church, the Rev.
Charles E. Knox, D. D., filled Dr. Mitchell's place as pastor of the South
Street Church, Morristown, while the latter was absent in Europe and
Palestine. This period was from September 1863 to May 1864. When Dr.
Mitchell resigned in 1868, the present pastor, Rev. Dr. Erdman, was called
at Dr. Knox's suggestion. From 1864 to 1873, Dr. Knox was pastor of the
church at Bloomfield, N. J., and since that time has been President of the
German Theological School of Newark, which is located in Bloomfield. Dr.
Knox says, in writing of his sojourn in Morristown: "I had a happy time
with the good South street people and have retained always the liveliest
interest in all that belongs to them."

"A Year with St. Paul" had just been published when the charge of this
South Street Church was undertaken. It has since been translated into
Arabic at Beirut, Syria. "It is in good part," says the author, "a
compilation and condensation of Conybeare and Howson's Life and Epistles of
St. Paul", (then in two large and expensive volumes), with some original
matter. It has a chapter for every Sunday of the year.

Dr. Knox began in Morristown a series of "Graduated Sunday School Text
Books,"--Primary Year, Second Year, Third Year, Fourth Year and Senior
Year. This was an introduction of the secular graded system into Sunday
School Teaching. It introduced the Quarterly Review which has since been
followed.

"David the King," a life of David with section maps inserted in the page
and a location of the Psalms in his life, was published later at
Bloomfield.


Rev. Albert Erdman, D. D.

The Rev. Dr. Erdman is entitled to honorable mention among Morristown
writers. He has been the faithful pastor of the South Street Presbyterian
Church since May 1869, following the Rev. Arthur Mitchell, D. D. It was
during his ministry that in 1877, the church edifice was totally consumed
by fire, and the beautiful new building located on its site, in the late
Byzantine style. It is said by one who knows and appreciates Dr. Erdman's
work that "few men read more or digest better their reading."

For several years, he has prepared "Notes on the International Sunday
School Lessons", for a monthly periodical published in Toronto, Canada.

A number of sermons have been published by request, among them the "Sermon
on the Fiftieth Anniversary of the South Street Presbyterian Church".

Addresses on "Prophetic and other Bible Studies" have been printed in
Annual Reports of the Bible Conference at Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario,
and, besides these, many fugitive newspaper articles of value and
importance.

Dr. Erdman has been largely interested in the general welfare, and
especially the philanthropies, of the town, outside of his immediate
church, and by this public spirit, earnestly and fearlessly manifested, in
many instances, he has no doubt greatly extended his sphere of influence.

He has been a warm supporter of, and has given much time and personal
attention to the establishment of the Morris County Charities Aid
Association and of the State Association which followed, carefully studying
the questions of pauper and criminal reform for which purpose this
organization exists.

In the Semi-Centennial Sermon we find the following remarkable record:


EXTRACT FROM THE SEMI-CENTENNIAL SERMON ON THE 50TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE
CHURCH'S ORGANIZATION.

I must note the unique fact that the history of these fifty years of Church
life is the history of uninterrupted prosperity. Even that which seemed at
the time to be against us--the destruction by fire of the former house of
worship--proved to be, as are all the Lord's afflictions, a blessing in
disguise; for the history of the church since is that of continued and
ever-increasing prosperity, if growing numbers and enlarged usefulness be
criterion of success. A spirit of harmony and goodwill mark its whole
course, and it is, therefore, with unmingled pleasure and gratitude to God,
we may recall the past. No roots of bitterness and strife to be covered up,
no rocks of offense to be carefully avoided!

       *       *       *       *       *

How the memories of the past throng around us--the saintly lives of fathers
and mothers, the godly service and earnest prayers of pastors and people,
the fervent appeals from pulpit and teacher's chair,--surely it would seem
there could be no valid reason why any should be still unsaved or unwilling
to take up the duties of Christian service.

Finally, as we here recall the story of the past and rejoice in the
prosperity of the present, and while we look forward to still larger
service and blessing in the days to come, let us, with a deep sense of our
unworthiness and dependence, say, with the Psalmist: "Not unto us, O Lord,
not unto us; but unto Thy name be all glory."


Rev. Joseph M. Flynn, R. D.

The Roman Catholic Church in Morristown erected its first building in 1847.
It was a small wooden structure, with seating capacity for about 300 people
and is now used by the parish school. It was in 1871 that the first priest
in full charge, Rev. James Sheeran, was stationed here, and at his death in
1881, the Rev. Joseph M. Flynn succeeded, who has continued in charge of
the parish to the present time. He was named "Dean of the Catholics in
Morris and Sussex Counties" about six years ago.

This author has recently published a book, (Morristown, N. J., 1892), "The
Story of a Parish" from the first chapter of which we quote. Also he has
written some magazine articles and a brochure on "Lent and How to Spend
it." He is now preparing for publication a volume of short sermons.

"The Story of a Parish" is the story of the foundation and development of
this parish of the Church of the Assumption, in Morristown.

In the opening chapter, the author says:

"We know that Raphael, Bramante, and Michel Angelo threw into St. Peter's
the very heart and soul of their inspiration, to erect to the living God
such a temple as the eye of man had never gazed upon.

"But there are other monuments which thrill no less the beholder, and the
names of their creators sleep in an impenetrable obscurity. The
cross-crowned fane, lifting to the highest heaven the sign of man's
redemption, may tell us neither of him whose genius conceived nor of the
toilers whose strong arm and cunning eye, in the burning heats of Summer,
or in the chilling blasts of Winter, unfolded to the wondering crowds who
daily watched their labors, step by step, inch by inch, the beauties whose
finished product Time has preserved to us in many a shire of Britain; by
the glistening lakes and verdant vales of Erin; in sunny Italy, in fair
France, and in the hallowed soil bathed by our own Potomac. To the humble
laborer who dug the trenches, to the artist whose chisel carved foliage or
cusp or capital, a share in our grateful memory is due."


Rev. George Harris Chadwell.

The group of people who originated the idea of forming a second Episcopal
Church in Morristown, perfected their plans in 1852. The following year
the church building was erected. The first rector, Rev. J. H. Tyng, assumed
his duties in September, 1852. The Rev. W. G. Sumner accepted a call to the
parish in 1870. As he is now Professor of Political Economy at Yale
University--he will come, with his specialty, into a later group. In 1880,
Rev. George H. Chadwell became rector of the parish, coming from Brooklyn
where he had been assistant to the Rev. Charles Hall, D. D., rector of
Trinity Church of that City.

Mr. Chadwell courageously undertook the removal of the church edifice from
the spot where it had stood since 1854, on the corner of Morris and Pine
streets, to its present site on South street, on which occasion he
delivered one of his important "Addresses" which was published and largely
distributed. He lived to see his aim accomplished and not long after gave,
in the church again, on what proved to be the last Sunday of his life, a
sermon, which was also published under the title of "A Farewell Discourse."

Mr. Chadwell also published a monthly paper during his rectorship, called
_The Rector's Assistant_, and wrote in other directions.

In the "Address on the Occasion of the Re-opening of the Edifice for Divine
service," August 22, 1886, we find a reference to the interesting history
of the land on which the building now stands, and its association with
many of the old families of Morristown, as follows:

"Originally the ground we are now occupying belonged to the first
Presbyterian Church, which at that date constituted the only religious
society in the town, and owned all the land on the east side of South
street as far down as Pine street. This plot of ours formed a part of what
was designated the parsonage lot. The first sale of it took place in
November of 1795, the same year the white church on the Green was dedicated
and opened for Divine worship. The consideration was one hundred and twenty
pounds, money worth about $300 in the currency of the United States. The
Trustees whose names appear in the deed are Silas Condict, Benjamin
Lindsley, Jonathan Ford, John Mills, Richard Johnson, Jonathan Ogden and
Benjamin Pierson--names which are still represented in our community. The
purchaser was the Rev. James Richards. This gentleman was at the time the
pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, being the third in succession to
that office. His ministry covered a period of fourteen years and was
remarkably successful.

       *       *       *       *       *

"On his departure from Morristown Dr. Richards sold the property we are now
describing. The price realized was $4,000. From which I infer that there
had been erected upon it the house which we propose to convert into a
rectory. Otherwise I can not account for so great an increase in the value
of the land as took place. * * * The new owner proved to be the Rev. Samuel
Fisher, the successor of Dr Richards in the pastorate of the church. Mr.
Fisher was the son of Jonathan Fisher, a native of this town. * * * In
1813, under his auspices, the Female Charitable Society of Morristown, our
most venerable eleemosynary institution, was founded, Mr. Fisher's wife
being elected to the honored position of its first President. * * * It was
somewhere about this time that Mrs. Wetmore, the widow of a British
officer, opened on this site a private school for girls." (Mrs. Wetmore was
the mother of Mrs. James Colles who long lived, in summer, upon the large
estate now opened to the city, in streets and avenues, and largely built
upon. She was also the mother of Charles Wetmore, the artist who painted
the picture of "Old Morristown," in 1815, now in possession of Hon.
Augustus W. Cutler, to whose courtesy we are indebted for the privilege of
having made from it the fine pen and ink sketch of Miss Suzy Howell, for
the frontispiece of this book.) "From 1814 to 1829, our property passed
through the hands successively of Israel Canfield, James Wood and Silas
Condict. During this period, or rather a portion of it, one of New Jersey's
most promising lawyers resided on this spot. I refer to Mr. William
Miller, an older brother of our late United States Senator, the Hon. J. W.
Miller. * * * A citizen of Morristown who was personally acquainted with
him has lately written me: 'The noble character and the brilliant career of
this young lawyer, which were cut short by his untimely death, are still
remembered with lively interest by some of our oldest inhabitants.'

"In 1829 the property again changed hands, the purchaser being Miss Mary
Louisa Mann. Her father was the editor of _The Morris County Gazette_
afterwards known as _The Genius of Liberty_, and of _The Palladium of
Liberty_, the first newspapers issued in Morristown. He also published in
1805 an edition of the Holy Scriptures, which gained considerable notoriety
as 'The Armenian Bible,' from the error occurring in Heb. vi:4, 'For it is
possible for those who have once been enlightened ... if they shall fall
away to renew them again unto repentance.' Miss Mann, now Mrs. Lippincott,
of Succasunna, together with her sister, Miss Sarah, put up the building
which is to serve us hereafter as a Sunday School room and church parlor.
It was erected to meet the wants of a female seminary established by them
in 1822, and which had grown under their efficient management so popular
that its advantages were sought by pupils from all quarters. Since the
close of the school the buildings occupied by it have been used as a
boarding house. As such their hospitality has been enjoyed by numbers
whose names are familiar to us in connection with important features of our
national existence, finance, war and art. I mention in particular the
Belmonts, the Perrys, the Rogers, the Enningers. And here in the front
parlor of this same boarding house in the summer of 1851, when it had been
determined to found a new parish, the first meeting of its originators was
held. 'In that room,' to quote the language of one present on the occasion,
'the infant Church was christened The Church of the Redeemer, and from that
day it lived; very feebly at first, not a very strong child, but tenderly
nurtured, always slowly gaining, until now, after thirty-four years, it
promises to grow in strength and to have a powerful future.' Our immediate
predecessor in the title to the land was Mr. George W. King, who acquired
it in 1854 for the sum of $8,000."

Of the character of the church, Rev. Mr. Chadwell says:

"This Church then, I may observe, has always been conservative in its
character. Those who founded it gave to it this tone. They were men opposed
in mind and temperament to that mediaeval type of theology which had begun
to prevail in their day, and which has since become popular in various
quarters. They were out of sympathy with the movement which was then
aiming, and which has since succeeded in undoing much the reforming
divines of the sixteenth century accomplished. They were averse, for
example, to everything that savors of sacerdotalism--to the doctrines which
convert the ambassador of Christ into a sacrificing priest, the communion
table into a veritable altar, and the eucharist into a sacrifice and
constant miracle. Elaborate rites and ceremonies, in which some find a
delight, and perhaps a help, were distasteful to them. They felt themselves
unable to derive edification from these sources. On the other hand, they
were in harmony with what may be denominated the protestant tendencies of
our Communion. Of the name itself of protestant they had not learned to be
ashamed. They believed in the principles of the great Reformation of three
centuries ago. They did not judge its promoters deluded men, nor pronounce
them to have 'died for a cause not worth dying for.' They honored them as
God-enlightened, and venerated them as heroes and martyrs. The changes
these effected in dogma and in ritual they regarded not as mistakes, but as
advances in the right direction--from error towards truth. They looked to
Christ as their only priest, to His cross as their only altar and to his
death thereon as the only atonement for their sin. They loved simplicity of
worship and cultivated it in their public devotions. In fine, they were
content and best satisfied with that plain system of teaching and practice
which the Prayer Book as we have it now seems most naturally to favor. At
least this is the impression of these men which I have received from
reading the record and memorials of themselves they have left behind. So
when they organized this parish it was along these lines which I have
indicated. And from its inception to the present moment it has retained,
with perhaps some unessential modifications, the stamp they gave it."


Rev. William M. Hughes, S. T. D.

The Rev. Dr. Hughes, who succeeded the Rev. George H. Chadwell, in 1887, as
rector of the Church of the Redeemer should have followed our little
group--within this group--of editors and theologians, except that he has
present charge of a parish, which they have not. He was officially on the
editorial staff and in the editorial department of _The Churchman_ during
1887 and 1888, and has written for editorial and other departments both
before and since. For _The Church Journal_ also, as well as other, and
secular papers, he has written articles and editorials on various topics,
from time to time.

Dr. Hughes was born at Little Falls, New York, and losing both parents
early in life, removed to Frankfort, Kentucky, among his mother's
relatives. From boarding-school in Ohio, he entered Kenyon College, Class
of '71. At the end of Freshman year he went to Hobart College and was
graduated there at the head of his class in 1871. During 1871-'72, he
studied in Berlin, Germany, and was graduated in 1875 from the General
Theological Seminary, New York. The same year he became rector of St.
John's Church, Buffalo, N. Y., one of the most important parishes of the
diocese of Western New York. This charge he resigned in 1883, to accept a
position of honor to which he had been unanimously elected, in Hobart
College, Geneva, N. Y.,--namely, the Chaplaincy of the College and
Professorship of "Philosophy and Christian Evidences," the latter
department having been hitherto held by the President of the College. It
was with great regret, that the people of Buffalo as well as the people of
St. John's parish, parted with both Dr. and Mrs. Hughes, if we may judge
from all that was expressed in the press on the occasion of their
departure. "Here," says one writer, "they will be missed, not only by those
with whom they were closely associated in church or neighborhood
relationship, but more especially by the sick, the humble, the troubled,
and the needy, for whose consolation and comfort they have so unselfishly
labored, in many parts of the city, during the last seven years. A thousand
blessings follow them."

In 1887, Dr. Hughes became an associate editor of _The Churchman_ and
Rector of the Church of the Redeemer, Morristown. He is a member of the
Executive Council of the Church Temperance Society and Corresponding
Secretary of the _University Board of Regents_ and originator of the
scheme.

Among Dr. Hughes' writings is an important brochure on Boys' Guilds,
published under the auspices of the Church Temperance Society, and entitled
"Hints for the Formation of Bands of Young Crusaders." In this he discusses
"one of the most practical questions before the Church, and the one which
the busy rector often asks in sheer bewilderment, if not despair: 'What
shall be done with the boys of the Church, from the ages of ten to
seventeen?'" He also offers the solution in a plan of organization for one,
among many works, which may interest and occupy them, thus training them as
the boys of the Church to become the men of the Church.

In the _Magazine of Christian Literature_ for September 1892, we find the
leading article to be from the pen of Dr. Hughes, on "The Convergence of
Darwinism and the Bible." "The conclusions here reached," the author tells
us, "have been subjected, during the past eight years, to efficient
criticism and repeated examinations." It is proposed that these articles
shall continue and finally appear in book form. Of this article, a
prominent clergyman of the Church, whose opinion weighs for much, and whose
words we have asked the privilege of giving, writes Rev. Dr. Hughes, as
follows: "I am deeply moved in recognizing the penetration, the sublimity
and sweetness of your essay in the September number of the _Magazine of
Christian Literature_. I trust No. 1. is prophetic of future numbers.

"You have made a great discovery and you disclose it with great power and
beauty. How wonderful is this converging witness of Nature and the Spirit,
Faith and Science to the approaching Day of the Son of Man. No question,
the Day is swiftly coming. Its light is on the hills. The many signs of His
approach and His appearing seem to fill the air and make the spirit tremble
with holy fear and gladness. The Lord hasten the Day. Let us prepare
ourselves with joy to greet Him. Meantime, we may greet one another in the
full assurance of faith, as I you, brother, by these presents."

       *       *       *       *       *

From a Paper in _The Magazine of Christian Literature_ of September 1892,
on--

"THE CONVERGENCE OF DARWINISM AND THE BIBLE CONCERNING MAN AND THE SUPREME
BEING."

Science and religion are in reality dealing with the same phenomena.
Immense human and personal interests are involved in them. Neither can be
discussed in the absolutely "dry light" of sheer intellectuality.

Consequences of immense import to the individual character, to the social
well-being, and to eternal hopes flow directly from each.

If, by scientific methods, which are plainly sound, conclusions are reached
that are directly at variance with the religious faith of the vast
majority, both a social and an intellectual as well as an ethical
revolution is threatening.

Or if by religious methods traditions are established which deny room to
the conclusions of progressive human thought, religion inevitably invites
scepticism, the casting off of all traditions, and the unfortunate disclaim
of that which is forever true in faith.

There are not a few of us to whom our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ is
dearer far than the most acute thinker in the domain of human speculation
or the profoundest student of the world as it is.

If it come to an attack or a logical denial of that which He is and
teaches, we do not hesitate to make a personal matter of it.

If Darwinism, _e. g._, as a system of ultimate postulates demands that we
yield up the Lord of Life to be crucified afresh by the powers of the
world, Darwinism, as such, will get no quarter. Getting no quarter, it will
give none, and it becomes an internecine strife that knows no truce and
admits no peace until the one or the other lies dead on the field of
contest.

But if, as a matter of fact, such a conflict is really illogical, hasty,
and essentially inimical to both modern science, and to the Christian
faith, then much is gained not only for peace, but still more for truth.

It is the direct object of this article to demonstrate, so far as
demonstration is possible, that the theory of Darwin, instead of
antagonizing, tends irresistibly to affirm the most fundamental truths of
the Bible as commonly held by the so-called orthodox Christian world. Nay,
more, not only to affirm, but to give them greater power.




PUBLIC SPEAKERS AND LAWYERS.


At this point, we must confess to a sensation of being overwhelmed with an
embarrassment of riches, for what shall we do with the distinguished men
who follow, and bring our little book within its covers? That we may have
no more continuous extracts from their works, reluctantly we find ourselves
compelled to realize.


Hon. Jacob W. Miller.

We are indebted to Edward Q. Keasbey, Esq., grandson of Mr. Miller, for the
facts and data of the following brief sketch.

The Hon. Jacob W. Miller was born in November, 1800, in German Valley,
Morris County, N. J. He studied law in Morristown with his brother, William
W. Miller from 1818 to 1823, when he was licensed to practice as attorney.
He was admitted to the bar of the Supreme Court as counsellor in 1826 and
in 1837 he was called to the degree of Sergeant at Law and he was one of
the last to whom the degree was given. He had a large practice in
Morristown and was one of the leading advocates at the circuit in Sussex
and Warren as well as Morris Counties. Mr. Elmer in his reminiscences says:
"He was distinguished not only as a fervent and impressive speaker, but for
patient industry, faithfulness and tact. He was distinguished also for that
sound common sense which is above all other sense, and was, by its
exhibition in public and private, a man of great personal influence."

In 1838 he was elected a member of the Council, as the State Senate was
then called, and in 1840, he was elected by the Whig party to the Senate of
the United States. He was elected again in 1846, and remained in the Senate
until 1852. He did not speak very often, but when he spoke it was after a
careful study of the subject and his words carried the greater weight. He
spoke with wisdom and eloquence. A large number of these speeches are
published in scattered pamphlets or in volumes among others. They have
never been collected. One of the earliest of these important speeches was
on the resolutions of the day in favor of a protective tariff. On May 23,
1844, Mr. Miller delivered a speech against the treaty for annexing Texas
to the United States. The objections to the treaty as stated by him, are of
considerable interest in the present day. He opposed the annexation on the
ground that it was using the National Government to give an advantage to
the Slave States. "Slavery," he said was "a matter to be regulated and
controlled by the States, and neither to be interfered with nor extended by
the National Government. New Jersey had abolished slavery herself and did
not ask any territory into which to send her slaves." On Feb'y 21, 1850, he
spoke upon the "Proposition to Compromise the Slavery Question" and in
favor of the admission of California into the Union.

Among others of his speeches, were those "On the Exploration of the
Interior of Africa and in favor of the Independence of Liberia", delivered
in the Senate of the United States, March 1853; "In Defence of the American
Doctrine of Non-Intervention", delivered in the Senate of the U. S. Feb.
26, 1852; "On the Mexican War and the Mode of Bringing it to a Speedy and
Favorable Conclusion", Feb. 2, 1847; "On the Ten Regiments Bill", Feb. 8,
1848, against the prosecution of the Mexican War. Mr. Miller worked and
spoke earnestly in favor of "Establishing and Encouraging an American Line
of Steamers". On April 22, 1852, he delivered a carefully prepared speech
in favor of sustaining the Collins line of Mail Steamers, and advocated the
policy of a subsidy for carrying the mails, which was successful then and
has now again been adopted, already resulting in the restoration of the
American flag to the transatlantic steamers.

Besides these speeches in the Senate, Mr. Miller delivered a good many
addresses and orations. Among these was an oration delivered in Morristown
on the Fourth of July, 1851. Even then he foreboded the attempt to break up
the Union and, speaking of Secession as rebellion, he maintained the power
of the Nation under the Constitution to defend the Union. Several addresses
were delivered before historical societies and some in the direction of the
agricultural interests of the country. Before the New Jersey Historical
Society in Trenton, he spoke of "The Iron State, Its Natural Position,
Power and Wealth", Jan. 19, 1854. Before the Bristol Agricultural Society
at New Bedford, Mass., Sept. 28, 1854, he spoke on "American Agriculture;
its Development and Influence at Home and Abroad".


Hon. William Burnet Kinney.

Mr. Kinney, whose wife, Elizabeth C. Kinney and whose grandson, Alexander
Nelson Easton, have already been represented among our poets, may be
claimed by Morristown, for his associations of boyhood and of many years in
later life. A man of unusual culture, no one who knew him could forget the
charm of his courtly manners and delightful conversation. He founded _The
Newark Daily Advertiser_, in 1833. It was then the only daily newspaper in
the State, and uniting with it _The Sentinel of Freedom_, a long
established weekly paper, he gave to the journal a tone so high that it was
said of him, "his literary criticisms, contained in it, had more influence
upon the opinions of literary men than those of any other journalist of the
time." He was fortunate in having an accomplished son, Thomas T. Kinney,
Esq., of Newark, N. J., to follow in his footsteps and continue the
editorial work he had begun in this leading New Jersey paper. From Mr.
Thomas T. Kinney we have a few words of reminiscence written in reply to
the question of a friend as to what his father's early associations with
Morristown might have been.

"My father," he says, "was born at Speedwell, Morris County (in the edge
of Morristown). I think it was in the house afterwards owned and occupied
by the late Judge Vail, and the same in which his son Alfred lived. He
invented the telegraph alphabet of dots and lines, which made Morse's
system practicable, and it is still used.

"Speedwell is on a stream upon which there were mill-sites, owned and
worked by my father's ancestry and there is a tradition in the family that
his uncle in trying to save a mill during a freshet lost his life and the
body was afterwards found through a dream by another member of the family.
The lake at Speedwell was a picturesque spot and Sully, the artist, painted
his great picture of the 'Lady of the Lake' there, the subject being
Lucretia Parsons, a beautiful girl whose family came from the West Indies
and settled in the neighborhood. Lucretia married a Mr. Charles King who
lived at the Park House in Newark and had the original sketch from which
Sully painted the head in the picture. My father was intimate in the family
and I think that some of his ancestry rest in the burial ground of the old
Presbyterian Church at Morristown,--from all of which we may infer that
many of his youthful days were passed there."

Mr. Kinney studied under Mr. Whelpley, author of "The Triangle", and
subsequently studied under Joseph C. Hornblower, of Newark. In 1820 he
began his editorial life in Newark, which he continued with slight
interruption until his appointment in 1851, as United States Minister to
Sardinia. "In this position of honor," it is said, "he represented his
country with rare ability." With Count Cavour and other men of eminence in
Sardinia, he discussed the movement for the unification of Italy. For
important services rendered to Great Britain, Lord Palmerston sent him a
special despatch of acknowledgment and by his own foresight, judgment and
prompt action in the case of the exiled Kossuth, he saved the United States
from enlisting in a foreign complication. During his life abroad, at the
expiration of his term of office as Minister to Sardinia, while residing in
Florence, Mr. Kinney became deeply interested in the romantic history of
the Medici family. He began a historical work on this subject, to be
entitled, "The History of Tuscany", which promised to be of great
importance, but although carried far on to completion, it was not finished
when his life ended. In Florence Mr. and Mrs. Kinney were constantly in the
society of the Brownings, the Trollopes and others of literary distinction.

Mr. Kinney, besides his editorial writing, delivered, by request, a number
of important orations which were published. The last of these, "On the
Bi-Centennial of the Settlement of Newark", and delivered on the occasion
of that celebration, we find in a volume published in 1866, entitled
"Collections of the New Jersey Historical Society".


Hon. Theodore F. Randolph

Theodore F. Randolph was born in New Brunswick June 24, 1826. His father,
James F. Randolph, for thirty-six years publisher and editor of _The
Fredonian_, was of Revolutionary stock, belonging to the Virginia family,
and for eight years represented the Whig Party in Congress. The son
received a liberal education and was admitted to the bar in 1848. He
frequently contributed articles to his father's paper when still a youth.
In 1850 he took up his residence in Hudson County, where he resided twelve
years and until he removed to Morristown. In 1852 he married a daughter of
Hon. W. B. Coleman, of Kentucky, and a granddaughter of Chief Justice
Marshall. In 1860 he with others of the American party formed a coalition
with the Democrats to whom he ever after adhered. In 1861 he was elected to
the State Senate for unexpired term and in the following year he was
re-elected and served till 1865. In 1867, he was made President of the
Morris and Essex Railroad and continued to act as such until the lease was
made to the Delaware and Lackawanna Company. In 1868, he was elected
Governor of the State and proved a most able and independent Chief
Magistrate. In January, 1875, he was elected to the United States Senate in
which he served a full term of six years. In 1873 he was one of the four
who formed and carried out the design of making the Washington Headquarters
"a historic place". His sudden death on the seventh day of November, 1883,
shocked the whole community in whose affections he filled so large a place.

Gov. Randolph was a man of most genial manner, honorable in all his
business transactions and most liberal-minded and fearless as a legislator.
Says one who knew him intimately: "He filled well all the duties to which
his fellow-citizens called him."

But it is as a writer that his name appears here. His messages to the
Legislature while Governor and his speeches in the United States Senate are
known of all and bear the impress of his character. These are scattered
through numerous public documents and have never yet been collected in book
form. His many contributions to the press were mostly political. In 1871,
he pronounced an oration at the dedication of the Soldiers' Monument on our
public square, which was published in our County papers, and on July 5,
1875, at the celebration of the National holiday at Headquarters, he made
the eloquent address, which is the best specimen of his skill. This address
is given, entire, in Hon. Edmund D. Halsey's "History of the Washington
Association of New Jersey".


Hon. Edward W. Whelpley.

Chief Justice Whelpley, by the high order of his judicial qualities rose
rapidly from the Bar to the Bench. He was the only son of Dr. William A.
Whelpley, a native of New England and a practicing physician in Morristown.
Dr. Whelpley was a cousin of the Rev. Samuel Whelpley who wrote "The
Triangle". The mother of Judge Whelpley was a daughter of General John Dodd
of Bloomfield, N. J., and a sister of the distinguished Amzi Dodd,
Prosecutor of Morris County. He was graduated, at Princeton, with
distinction, at the early age of sixteen; studied law with his uncle, Amzi
Dodd and began its practice in Newark, N. J. In 1841 he removed to
Morristown and became a partner of the late Hon. J. W. Miller. He was
first appointed to the position of Associate Justice of the Supreme Court
and in a few years became Chief Justice.

The late Attorney-General Frelinghuysen said of him: "Chief Justice
Whelpley's most marked attributes of character were intellectual. The
vigorous thinking powers of his mother's family were clearly manifest in
him. No one could have known his uncle, Amzi Dodd, without being struck
with the marked resemblance between them. The Chief Justice was well read
in his profession, familiar with books, and yet he was a thinker rather
than a servile follower of precedent. He was a first class lawyer. He
sought out and founded himself on principles. He did not stick to the mere
bark of a subject. He had confidence in his conclusions and he had a right
to have it, for they logically rested upon fundamental truths. But while
his intellectual characteristics were most marked, he had admirable moral
traits. He felt the responsibilities of life and met them. He was no
trifler. He had integrity, which, at the bar and on the bench, was beyond
all suspicion".

And Courtlandt Parker, his intimate and life-long friend said of him:

"Intellectually, his qualities were rare. He was made for a Judge. Judicial
position was his great aim and desire, and when he attained it, his whole
mind was devoted to its duties; they were enjoyment to him; he felt his
strength, and was determined not merely to be a judge, but such a judge as
would honor his exaltation, and exercise eminently that high usefulness
which belongs to that office".

Chief Justice Whelpley may be justly ranked among important writers of the
legal profession. His legal opinions found in the Law Reports are
characterized by strength, independence and knowledge of the principles of
law.


Hon. Jacob Vanatta.

In a city so honored in the number of its distinguished legal minds, it
need not be a surprise to find such a man as Jacob Vanatta, but of only a
few can it be said as was truly remarked of him: "His practice grew until,
at the time of his death, it was probably the largest in the State. His
reputation advanced with his practice, and for years he stood at the head
of the New Jersey Bar, as an able, faithful, conscientious and untiring
advocate and counsel. He may be truly called one of the greatest of
corporation lawyers. He was for years the regular Counsel of the Delaware,
Lackawanna and Western Railroad Company, of the Central Railroad Company,
and more or less of many other corporations, and his engagements have
carried him frequently before the highest Courts of New York, Pennsylvania
and of the United States Supreme Court".

The Rev. Rufus S. Green, D. D., said, in his beautiful funeral discourse:
"Mr. Vanatta died at the age of fifty-four--an old man worn out by
overwork". "Be warned", he continues, "by the sad example of him whom
to-day you sincerely mourn of an exhausted brain and prematurely enfeebled
body. Take needed rest, cessation from labor, and frequent holidays".

The character of Mr. Vanatta's talent was wholly different from that of
Judge Whelpley. The one rose brilliantly and suddenly, driven out by the
force of an inborn genius, the other attained to what he was through
untiring industry and plodding labor.

"More than any man I have ever known, from his clerkship to his death",
says Mr. Theodore Little, into whose office Mr. Vanatta entered a student
in the year 1845, "he seemed to have engraved on his very heart the motto,
'_Perseverantia vincit omnia_,' and in that sign he conquered and achieved
his success".

Mr. Vanatta's published writings are mostly articles on political
questions and many speeches and addresses, which were often reprinted. One
of these in particular, made a profound impression. It was delivered at
Rahway, when our civil war was threatening, and contained a strong argument
and appeal for the Union.


Hon. George T. Werts.

Our present Governor of New Jersey, Hon. George T. Werts, was born at
Hackettstown, N. J., March 24th, 1846, and was admitted to the bar in 1867.
He was Recorder of Morristown from May 1883 to 1885, and was elected Mayor
in May 1886, again in 1888 and in 1890. During the session of the State
Senate in 1889, he served as President of the Senate, and was re-elected
Senator in the same year. During his time as Senator, he served on many of
the most important Committees and the new Ballot Reform Law and the new
License Law were both drafted by him; laws which embrace, perhaps, the most
radical change of any recently enacted.

While Mayor of Morristown some of the most important ordinances of the
city were of his drafting; indeed while Mayor, he paid particular attention
to every ordinance drafted.

Early in 1892 he was appointed Judge of the Supreme Court of New Jersey,
resigning the offices of State Senator and Mayor of Morristown to accept
this honor, and he resigned the position of Judge to accept that of
Governor, to which office he was elected in November, 1892.

Many speeches and addresses of Governor Werts have been published in the
metropolitan and State papers, and in pamphlet form. Several are scattered
through large volumes containing the speeches and addresses of others.
These are mostly political, but some are on other subjects, and have been
delivered before juries and at reunions, in the Senate, and on other
occasions. Among these published papers are also opinions and decisions
while Judge of the Supreme Court.


Joseph Fitz Randolph.

Mr. Randolph has issued a valuable work, known to us as "Jarman on Wills",
1881 and 1882, being the fifth American edition by Mr. Randolph and Mr.
William Talcott. This work adds a third volume to a famous two-volume
English book.

In 1888, was issued "Randolph on Commercial Paper", which work is of three
volumes and contains 3,300 pages on bills, notes, &c., and is considered by
the legal profession to be quite exhaustive of the subject. "These", says
the author, "are legal monsters into which lawyers dig and delve and which
settle knotty questions no doubt, but which probably will not be thoroughly
investigated by women, until Fashion or Famine shall drive them into the
legal profession".

Again we may quote the author's words, when he says in his usual happy vein
of humor, about all his important legal productions, that "they are a
necessary nuisance to the maker's friends and the unwilling buyers, that
there is no end of making many such, and that they might be written down in
line, on a heavy page with some of his brother writers on other abstruse
subjects and set in a minor key".


Edward Q. Keasbey.

In one of the large New York dailies of August 1892, we read the following:
"Mr. Keasbey, the well known New Jersey lawyer, has some hundred pages on
'Electric Wires in Streets and Highways,' a new subject of growing
importance." This refers to a law book published by Mr. Keasbey entitled
"The Law of Electric Wires in streets and Highways", Callaghan and Co.,
Chicago. Mr. Keasbey has also edited _The New Jersey Law Journal_ since
1879 and _The Hospital Review_ since 1888.




SCIENTISTS.


Samuel Finley Breese Morse, LL. D.

Nothing could be more romantic than the story of the Telegraph, the
practical application of which began in Morristown, for it is morally
certain that without the enthusiastic confidence in its success generously
manifested by Alfred Vail, the young inventor, and his father Judge Stephen
Vail, who freely contributed of his means to the experiments of Professor
Morse, this great gift to the world would have been indefinitely delayed.

[Illustration: SPEEDWELL IRON WORKS,

AS REPRESENTED ON AN ANCIENT INVOICE.]

Morse was poor. He had exhausted his means by the necessary time and
thought given to the development of his conception, when the value of this
work was realized by these two men. It was as an artist, that Morse went
first to Speedwell, on October 29, 1837, to observe the progress of his new
machinery which was being prepared there at the Speedwell Iron Works
belonging to Judge Vail, by Alfred Vail and his assistant, William Baxter.
Morse had accepted a commission, doubtless given him as a means of
relieving his pecuniary stress, to paint the portraits of several members
of Judge Vail's household. It will be remembered, that besides his great
invention, Professor Morse was an artist of considerable reputation, as
well as an author. In his youth, it is said, he was more strongly marked by
his fondness for art than for science. He was a pupil of Washington
Allston, a member of the Royal Academy, and studied with Benjamin West. He
painted the portraits of many distinguished men, among them the then
President of the United States, James Monroe, for the city of Charleston;
and, later, Fitz Greene Halleck and Chancellor Kent, now in the Astor
Library, and the full length portrait of Lafayette for the city of New
York. He was one of the founders and was first President of the National
Academy of Design, and it was on his return from the pursuit of his renewed
study of art abroad that he met with the remarkable experience which turned
his attention from art to invention and gave him his life work. In a letter
written to Alfred Vail by Professor Morse, and given in Mr. Vail's book on
"The American Electro-Magnetic Telegraph", (page 153), we find the
following account:

"In 1826, the lectures before the New York Atheneum, of Dr. J. F. Dana, who
was my particular friend, gave to me the first knowledge ever possessed of
electro magnetism, and some of the properties of the electro magnet; a
knowledge which I made available in 1832, as the basis of my own plan of an
electro telegraph. I claim to be the original suggestor and inventor of the
electric magnetic telegraph, on the 19th of October, 1832, on board the
packet ship Sully, on my voyage from France to the United States and,
consequently, the inventor of the first really _practicable telegraph on
the electric principle_. The plan then conceived and drawn out in all its
essential characteristics, is the one now in successful operation."

Professor Morse had more honors and medals than perhaps any American
living. He belonged to a distinguished literary family. His two brothers
founded _The New York Observer_ in 1823. This is now the oldest weekly in
New York and the oldest religious paper in the State. As an author, he
wielded the pen of a ready writer. He not only published controversial
pamphlets concerning the telegraph, but contributed articles and poems to
many magazines and edited the works of Lucretia Maria Davidson,
accompanying them by a personal memoir. He published in 1835, a book
entitled, "Foreign Conspiracy against the Liberties of the United States;
Imminent Dangers to the Free Institutions of the United States through
Foreign Immigration and the Present State of the Naturalization Laws, by
an American". Later were published "Confessions of a French Catholic
Priest, to which are added Warnings to the People of the United States, by
the Same Author", (edited and published with an introduction, 1837), and
"Our Liberties Defended, the Question Discussed, is the Protestant or Papal
System most favorable to Civil and Religious Liberty".


Alfred Vail.

To Alfred Vail belongs a place of honor, as the author of a valuable book
on "The American Electro-Magnetic Telegraph", and a place of honor, also,
as having been the man to perceive, at a critical moment, the importance to
the world of the great invention of Professor Morse. He was among the
spectators who witnessed the first operation of the electro-magnetic
telegraph at the New York University and saw then, for the first time, the
apparatus. Of this occasion he writes as follows: "I was struck with the
rude machine, containing, as I believed, the germ of what was destined to
produce great changes in the condition and relations of mankind." Again,
he says, "I rejoiced to carry out the plans of Professor Morse. I promised
him assistance, provided he would admit me to a share of the invention,--to
which proposition he assented. I returned to my rooms, locked my door,
threw myself upon the bed and gave myself up to the reflections upon the
mighty results which were certain to follow the introduction of this new
agent in serving the wants of the world". With this intense conviction,
young Vail communicated his enthusiasm to his father, Judge Stephen Vail,
who owned the Speedwell Iron Works and who generously supplied the means by
which the plans for the electric telegraph were put into successful
operation. It is an interesting fact that these same Speedwell Iron Works
are variously connected with the history of the country, for "here was
forged the shaft of the _Savannah_, the first steamship that crossed the
Atlantic and here were manufactured the tires, axles and cranks of the
first American locomotives."

In _The Century_ for April 1888, is a most interesting article, entitled
"The American Inventors of the Telegraph, with Special Reference to the
Services of Alfred Vail". This is exhaustive of the subject, was written by
Franklin Leonard Pope, and was supervised by Mrs. Alfred Vail, as she tells
us, and the statements fortified by documents, correspondence and designs.
To _The Century_ editors and to Mr. James Cummings Vail, of Morris Plains,
son of Alfred Vail, we are indebted for the use of the plate of the
Speedwell Iron Works, redrawn from an ancient invoice, the age of which is
not known. The illustration of the "Factory" in which the first successful
trial and, afterwards, the first public exhibition, of the electric
telegraph took place, is from a photograph of the building as it stands at
the present day, on the lot in which stands the homestead house, now
occupied by Mrs. Lidgerwood.

"I have always understood", says Mr. J. C. Vail, (Jan'y 5, 1893), "that the
room in which my father and Baxter (his young assistant) worked and called
the 'work shop', was in an old stone building within the Iron Works
enclosure, between the bridge and Morristown and is still standing, and is
the only stone building within that enclosure."

Of these buildings and associations, Mrs. John H. Lidgerwood, the
granddaughter of Judge Vail, now living on the place, at Speedwell, writes
as follows, Dec. 12, 1892:

"My grandfather makes but three entries in his diary:

"'1838, January 6th. Dr. Gale came this morning. They (Prof. Morse, Alfred
Vail, and the Dr.) have worked the Tellegraph in the Factory this evening
for the first time.'

"'10th. Mr. Morse and Alfred are working and showing the Tellegraph.'

"'11th. A hundred came to see the Tellegraph work.'

"The old house", continues Mrs. Lidgerwood, "in which my grandfather then
lived, still remains near the foot of the hill nearest the town. The
interior has been entirely changed and I never knew the room occupied by
Professor Morse.

"The shop, in which the machine was constructed, and which was called the
'work shop', has also been rebuilt. Its four walls are all that are left of
the original building. The floor of that room was taken away to make a one
story building and the windows were put in the roof. It is now entirely
vacant and stands on the side of the dam opposite the saw mill, the gable
end of the old shop facing the road. One end of the foundation was partly
torn away by the freshet that destroyed the old bridge. The experiments
were made in a building called 'The Factory', which is at the foot of our
lawn. It was built for a Cotton Factory, but only used for making buttons,
owing, I believe, to some fault in its construction.

"My grandfather has told me frequently that the machine was placed on the
first floor, and about three miles of copper wire, insulated by being wound
with cotton yarn, was wound around the walls of the second story. There are
some hooks still in the side walls but I do not know if they are the same.
I have still a small portion of the original wire used in the experiments.
I do not know the age of any of these buildings. The works were probably
here long before the Revolution. I have heard my grandfather say there was
a forge here at that time."

The machine used on the occasion to which Judge Vail refers in his diary,
and on which he himself had sent the first message of all, "a patient
waiter is no loser," is now loaned by the family to the Smithsonian
Institute, Washington, D. C.

From the time the first telegraphic message was sent by Alfred Vail from
the "Factory" at Speedwell and received by Professor Morse two miles away,
and the next experiment when Morse and Vail operated with complete success
through ten miles of space,--to the final triumph at Washington, many and
great were the perils and moments of anguish through which the inventors
passed. It was on the 24th of May, 1844, when the supreme test of the
telegraph was made at Washington and the message was sent to Mr. Vail in
Baltimore, in the words selected by Miss Annie G. Ellsworth and taken from
Numbers xxiii: 23, "What hath God wrought."

During these years Alfred Vail, it is claimed, had "not only become a full
partner in the ownership of the invention, but had supplied the entire
resources and facilities for obtaining patents and for constructing the
apparatus for exhibition at Washington; and more than this, he had
introduced essential improvements not only in the mechanism, but in the
fundamental principles of the telegraph." Vail felt that Morse had not
acknowledged, as he expected, his (Vail's) part in the invention or fully
recognized his rights of partnership. Of this, the Hon. Amos Kendall, the
friend and associate of both, has said: "If justice is done, the name of
Alfred Vail will forever stand associated with that of Samuel F. B. Morse
in the history and introduction into public use of the electro-magnetic
telegraph."

Mr. Vail's book, which has place in most of the prominent libraries of
Europe and America, was published in 1845 and is entitled "The American
Electro-Magnetic Telegraph with the Reports of Congress and a description
of all Telegraphs known, employing Electricity or Galvinism". It is
illustrated by eighty-one wood engravings.

[Illustration: FACTORY AT SPEEDWELL.

IN WHICH THE FIRST EXHIBITION OF THE ELECTRO-MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH TOOK
PLACE.]


William Graham Sumner, LL. D.

Professor Sumner is a New Jersey man, born at Paterson. He inherited from
his father, Thomas Sumner, who came to this country from England in 1836,
several important qualities which those who know the son will recognize.
Thomas Sumner, we are told, was a man of the strictest integrity, of
indefatigable industry, of sturdy common sense and possessing the courage
of his convictions. Two of Professor Sumner's early teachers in Hartford,
one of them Mr. S. M. Capron, in the classical department, had also great
influence upon his character. He was graduated from Yale College in 1863.
In the summer of that year, he went abroad, studied French and Hebrew in
Geneva, after which he spent two years at the University of Göttingen, in
the study of ancient languages, history, especially church history, and
biblical science. Here, he tells us, he was "taught rigorous and pitiless
methods of investigation and deduction. Their analysis was their strong
point. Their negative attitude toward the poetic element, their
indifference to sentiment, even religious sentiment, was a fault, seeing
that they studied the Bible as a religious book and not for philology and
history only; but their method of study was nobly scientific, and was
worthy to rank, both for its results and its discipline, with the best of
the natural science methods."

Mr. Sumner went to Oxford in 1866, with the intention and desire of reading
English literature on the same subjects which he had pursued at Göttingen.
"I expected," he says, "to find it rich and independent. I found that it
consisted of second-hand adaptation of what I had just been studying."

Returning to this country, while tutor in Yale College, in 1866, Mr. Sumner
published a translation of Lange's "Commentary on Second Kings". In 1867,
he was ordained deacon in the Protestant Episcopal Church, and two years
later, he received full ordination in New York and became assistant to Rev.
Dr. Washburn at Calvary Church, New York, under whom he was made editor of
a broad church paper. In September, 1870, he became rector of the Church of
the Redeemer at Morristown, N. J., from which event he claims our attention
as an author.

With regard to the course of his young ministry in this parish he says;
"When I came to write sermons, I found to what a degree my interest lay in
topics of social science and political economy. There was then no public
interest in the currency and only a little in the tariff. I thought that
these were matters of the most urgent importance, which threatened all the
interests, moral, social and economic, of the nation, and I was young
enough to believe that they would all be settled in the next four or five
years. It was not possible to preach about them, but I got so near to it
that I was detected sometimes, as, for instance, when a New Jersey banker
came to me, as I came down from the pulpit, and said: 'There was a great
deal of political economy in that sermon.'"

In September, 1872, Mr. Sumner accepted the chair of Political and Social
Science at Yale College, in which he has so highly distinguished himself.
Of this he says: "I had always been very fond of teaching and knew that the
best work I could ever do in the world would be in that profession; also
that I ought to be in an academical career. I had seen two or three cases
of men who, in that career, would have achieved distinguished usefulness,
but who were wasted in the parish and pulpit".

In 1884, Prof. Sumner received the degree of LL. D. from the University of
Tennessee. A distinguished American economist well acquainted with Prof.
Sumner's work has given to a writer from whom we quote, the following
estimate of his method and of his position and influence as a public
teacher: "For exact and comprehensive knowledge Prof. Sumner is entitled to
take the first place in the ranks of American economists; and as a teacher
he has no superior. His leading mental characteristic he has himself well
stated in describing the characteristics of his former teachers at
Göttingen; namely, as 'bent on seeking a clear and comprehensive conception
of the matter "or truth" under study, without regard to any consequences
whatever,' and further, when in his own mind Prof. Sumner is fully
satisfied as to what the truth is, he has no hesitation in boldly declaring
it, on every fitting occasion, without regard to consequences. If the
theory is a 'spade', he calls it a spade, and not an implement of
husbandry."

Professor Sumner has published, besides Lange's "Commentary on the Second
Book of Kings", the "History of American Currency"; "Lectures on the
History of Protection in the United States"; "Life of Andrew Jackson", in
the American Statesmen Series; "What Social Classes Owe to Each Other";
"Economic Problems"; "Essays on Political and Social Science";
"Protectionism"; "Alexander Hamilton", in the Makers of America Series,
(1890); "The Financier (Robert Morris) and the Finances of the American
Revolution", (1891); besides a large number of magazine articles on the
same line of subjects.


Elwyn Waller, Ph. D.

Three writers now present themselves, each of whom is distinguished in his
department, one of Chemistry, one of Mining and Metallurgy, and one of
Mathematics. The Author's Club would exclude these brilliant men from
recognition, but here the clause of our title, "and Writers", saves us.
Prof. Waller amusingly expresses the position when he says, "I supposed
that reference in your book would be made to those who had achieved more or
less distinction in what has sometimes been termed 'polite literature.'
While I am not ready to admit that the literature of my profession
(chemistry) is 'impolite', it probably is too technical to come within the
scope of your work."

Like many of our residents, Dr. Waller's time is divided between New York
and Morristown, being Professor of Analytical Chemistry at Columbia School
of Mines, New York. He has written much of value; innumerable pamphlets and
articles for various magazines, for chemical periodicals and Sanitary
Reports and for journals far and wide, both technical and general in
character, among which are _The Century_ and _The Engineering and Mining
Journal_. He has written certain articles for Johnson's Encyclopædia, and
has edited articles in other books all of which are to be reckoned as
technical, but valuable contributions to current chemical literature. He
has completed a book on "Quantitative Chemical Analysis", from the MSS. of
one of his Colleagues, which was left unfinished in 1879 and he is now
engaged in revising and practically re-writing the same work. Besides, he
has written gossipy letters for _The Evening Post_, and _The Evening
Mail_, of New York, from various far-off islands and inland points, where
he has usually made one of a scientific party. One series of letters was
written while a member of the U. S. St. Domingo Expedition.


George W. Maynard, Ph. D.

Another scientific man, ranking high in his department of Mining and
Engineering, is Professor George W. Maynard, who is just now principally
engaged in Colorado, passing back and forth between that State and his home
in Morristown. He has had extensive travels over our own country and
continent, and abroad. He is a close observer and many of us are familiar
with his graphic descriptions of the scenes which he has witnessed, notably
in Mexico, also with the illustrated lectures on these and other subjects,
which he has generously given from time to time.

Professor Maynard is a graduate of Columbia College, New York, and was
Demonstrator in Chemistry in that College for a year. He then studied
abroad at Göttingen, Clousthal and Berlin, and was for four years Professor
of Mining and Metallurgy in the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, of Troy,
N. Y. His published writings, which have mostly been of a technical
character, have appeared in various technical journals and in the
"Transactions of the American Institute of Mining Engineers", and in _The
Journal_ of the Iron and Steel Institute of Great Britain. Of the above
mentioned societies, he is an active member and also of the New York
Academy of Sciences.


Emory McClintock, LL. D.

The third of our group of specialists is Dr. Emory McClintock, whom one of
his brother scientists warns us we should "not forget to mention as he is
one of the most eminent mathematicians in the United States". As associated
with Morristown, in his beautiful home on Kemble Hill, high overlooking the
Lowantica valley and scenes full of memories of the Revolution, we claim
him with pride, in spite of his saying that his writings have all been
records of scientific researches and not literary in any sense and that he
has never written a book, big or little, nor even a magazine article. It
remains, that his many writings are of great value as published in pamphlet
form or in periodicals of technical character, such as _The Bulletin of the
New York Mathematical Society_, which is "A Historical and Critical Review
of Mathematical Science"; or, _The American Journal of Mathematics_ from
which a large pamphlet is reprinted on _The Analysis of Quintic Equations_,
or, in the direction of his art or specialty as a life insurance actuary,
where appears, among other writings, a large pamphlet on _The Effects of
Selection_--being "An Actuarial Essay," in which we find very interesting
matter for the general reader.


Andrew F. West, LL. D.

Professor West, of Princeton College, is well remembered as a resident of
Morristown for two years, (1881-1883). He was at that time, the predecessor
of Mr. Charles D. Platt, at the Morris Academy, and mingled largely in the
literary, social and musical circles of the city. He, like Dr. McClintock,
is a Pennsylvanian, and was born at Pittsburg.

Since Mr. West accepted a professorship at Princeton College, which was the
occasion of his leaving Morristown, he has written largely on classical and
medieval subjects.

His last book, just published, by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, 1892,
is entitled "Alcuin and the Rise of the Christian Schools." It appears in
the Series of "The Great Educators", edited by Nicholas Murray Butler. It
is a volume of 205 pages, and contains a sketch of Alcuin at York and at
Tours, also treating of his educational writings, his character, his
pupils, and his later influence.

Various literary, philological and educational articles in reviews have
been contributed by Professor West, and two books additional to the one
mentioned, have been published by him. These are, "The Andria and Heauton
Timorumenos, of Terence," edited with introduction and notes, and published
by Harper and Brothers (1888); and "The Philobiblon of Richard de Bury,"
edited from the manuscripts, translated and annotated. The latter is in
three volumes: I., The Latin Text; II., The English Version; III.,
Introduction and Notes Printed by Theodore De Vienne for the Grolier Club
of New York, (1889).


José Gros.

From the shores of Spain, has come to us one of our advanced thinkers and
writers, Señor José Gros. He is a disciple of Henry George and, on one
occasion, introduced that distinguished man to a Morristown audience, in
our Lyceum Hall, giving, to a large number of people assembled, the
opportunity of listening to his own exposition of the views about which so
wide and warm a controversy has raged.

Señor Gros was born and educated in Spain. He has traveled extensively
through Italy, France, Germany, England, and a portion of our own country,
finally taking a position in a commercial house in New York, in 1859, in
which he remained until 1870, when he retired to Morristown. Since then, in
his own words, he has "dedicated most of his time to the study of history
and science, more especially social science," for which he has been writing
articles for western magazines and journals and also for one or more of our
local papers.

In the _Locomotive Firemen's Magazine_, of Terre Haute, Indiana, a large
number of these articles have appeared. They go with this magazine to all
the States and Territories of the Union, to parts of Canada and Mexico, and
they are connected with over 500 Labor Clubs. The subject of one series of
these papers is "Civilization With its Problems". Other subjects are, "The
Struggle for Existence"; "Confusion in Economic Thought"; "Governments by
Statics or Dynamics"; "Congested Civilizations"; "Social Skepticism", and a
series on "To-day's Problems". In all his arguments, Señor Gros considers
as vital to advance in Social Science the principles of the Christian
religion. "No system," he says, "can save us from disasters without clear
perceptions of duty on what I call 'Christian citizenship.'"




MEDICAL AUTHORS AND WRITERS.


Condict W. Cutler, M. S., M. D.

Dr. Cutler claims through his father, the Hon. Augustus W. Cutler, as
ancestor, the Hon. Silas Condict, one of the most renowned patriots of the
Revolution, and his childhood and boyhood was spent in the house which was
built, in 1799, by this great-great-grandfather and occupied by him. It has
been owned and occupied since then, and is now, by Hon. Augustus W. Cutler.
The old house, in which Silas Condict previously lived, is still standing
about a mile west of the present Cutler residence. Many historic incidents
and traditions cluster about this place.

Dr. Cutler has done credit to this ancestor's memory in his exceptionally
successful career. A member of many societies, and associate editor of _The
New York Epitome of Medicine_, he has written largely for journals and
magazines, besides publishing three books, which are entitled "Differential
Medical Diagnosis"; "Differential Diagnosis of the Diseases of the Skin",
and "Essentials of Physics and Chemistry." These, say the medical and
surgical critics, are prepared with care and thoroughness and show a wise
use of standard text-books and the exercise of critical judgment guided by
practical experience.

Many may think that the books belonging to Materia Medica, being of
technical character, do not come directly within our province, but we may
say _everything_ in the line of authorship is within our broad range, and
we are glad to say emphatically that nothing, not even theological
questions, concern mankind more deeply than just this great question upon
which Dr. Cutler has expended so much thought and labor and which too is
the result of his experience as a medical man,--namely, the Differential
Diagnosis of Disease. When we take into consideration the fact, that no
disease can be successfully treated until it is _known_ and as it cannot be
known without being properly diagnosed, and as successful diagnoses depend
upon just such principles and relations as Dr. Cutler demonstrates, we can
see the value of the work even though we may not belong to the medical
fraternity. More than all, we can see the benefit which such a work confers
upon mankind at large and not alone upon the healers of diseased and
afflicted humanity. Let any one go into the houses of the poor; the streets
and the alleys, and into the overflowing hospitals and witness the
immensity of the evil of that terrible phase of disease, "The Skin
Diseases" of which Dr. Cutler treats, and he will realize what earnest
thanks we owe to a man whose life work is to devote his time and brains to
the alleviation of this type of human suffering.


Phanet C. Barker, M. D.

Dr. Barker, of Morristown, has for twenty-five years past written more or
less, from time to time, for medical journals published in New York and
Philadelphia. The majority of these contributions have been of a practical
character and consequently rather brief. Some of them have been formal
studies of practical questions, such as "The Vaccination Question",
questions connected with Sanitary Science, &c. Of the latter, one we would
mention in particular, entitled, "The Germ Theory of Disease and its
Relations to Sanitation". In this the writer tells us: "The germ theory of
disease is destined to hold a place in literature as the romance of
medicine, and if it stands the test of time, and the scrutiny which is
certain to be bestowed upon it, the theory will mark an epoch for all time
to come. The present century has been distinguished in many and various
ways, which need not be alluded to in this connection. Among the
discoveries and improvements of the age, Sanitary Science occupies an
important, a commanding position, that can hardly be exaggerated. Indeed it
has contributed more to civilization and to the well-being of the human
race than steam, electricity or any other scientific or economic
discovery." Then the writer refers to the condition of Englishmen who lived
in the fourteenth century, and traces the ravages of the Black Death to the
people's mode of living. He sketches the epidemics that have prevailed in
the world at various periods, and asserts that even "chronology has been
changed and the fate of great and powerful peoples like those of Athens, of
Rome and of Florence, has been sealed by the direct or indirect effects of
what we now term preventible diseases."

Such contributions as Dr. Barker has made to general literature have had
relation to economic questions generally, although the preparation of a
few papers on "Popular Astronomy", "Meteorological Observations" and
"Fishing in Remote Canadian Waters" have served, as he says, "to rest and
refresh his mind, when harassed by anxieties incident to the practice of
his profession." These papers have been published,--the former in New York
City or in our local papers, and the latter in _The Forest and Stream_. One
of the pamphlet publications on popular astronomy is unusually attractive
and is entitled "The Stars and the Earth".


Horace A. Buttolph, M. D., LL. D.

Dr. Buttolph, whose professional life, as connected with the care and
treatment of the insane in three large institutions, in New York and New
Jersey, covering a period of forty-two years, although devoted so
exclusively to administrative, professional and personal details, that
little time was left to engage in writing for the press, beyond the
preparation of the usual annual Reports of such institutions, has,
nevertheless turned that little time to good account.

The State Asylum for the Insane at Morristown was under the superintendence
of Dr. Buttolph from its opening in August 1876 to the last day of the year
1884, when he tendered his resignation. Previous to this he had been in
charge of the Trenton Asylum from May 1848 to April 1876, making a period
of unbroken service in New Jersey of more than thirty-seven years, during
which time these buildings were organized on his plan, and that of Morris
Plains, with its extensive machinery, was mostly planned by him. One
specialty in the line of machinery in both institutions, in use for many
years,--that of making aerated or unfermented bread, which is most cleanly,
healthful and economical, is probably not in use in any institution in the
world, outside of New Jersey.

Dr. Buttolph was born in Dutchess County, N. Y., and was graduated from the
Berkshire Medical Institution at Pittsfield, Mass., in 1835. Having been
early attracted to the study of insanity, he made it a specialty and
accepted a position in the new State Lunatic Asylum, at Utica, N. Y., in
1843. This he retained until 1847 when he went as Medical Superintendent to
the State Lunatic Asylum near Trenton, N. J. During the previous year,
while still attached to the Utica Asylum, he went abroad to study the
architecture and management of other institutions and visited thirty or
more of the principal asylums in Great Britain, France and Germany. At this
time very few institutions for the insane had been established in this
country and all sorts of problems had to be worked out. Dr. Buttolph soon
came to be a very high authority and, in that recognized capacity, he was
chosen to direct the Asylum at Morris Plains, which is the largest in the
United States and one of the best equipped in the world. It was a matter of
very great regret to his large circle of friends in Morristown, and out of
it, when he found it impossible to remain longer in the charge he had
filled so faithfully and well.

Dr. Buttolph's writings have been on insanity or mental derangement; also
on the organization and management of hospitals for the insane; the
classification of the insane with special reference to the most natural and
satisfactory method of their treatment, etc. These writings have been
published in many magazines and journals, and a large number in pamphlet
form. Also addresses, delivered on important occasions or before societies,
have been published in pamphlet form. Of these, one is widely-known, given
before the Association of Medical Superintendents of American Institutions
for the Insane, at Saratoga, N. Y., June 17, 1885, on "The Physiology of
the Brain and its Relations in Health and Disease to the Faculties of the
Mind."




AUTHORS AND WRITERS ON ART.


Thomas Nast.

Mr. Nast, who has for so long been identified with Morristown, may be
designated both as artist and bookmaker. In the true sense of the term,
author, he may then be fairly presented, as probably no living man has
wielded a greater influence through his power of expression. Many readers
of this sketch will remember the consternation that prevailed upon the
revelation of the Tweed Ring scandals and at the question of Tweed himself
as he defied the City of New York,--"What are you going to do about it?"
They will remember how Mr. Nast with wonderful courage and grasp of the
situation, came to the front and at great personal risk to himself and
family, threw with steady aim, the stone which killed that Goliath of Gath
and put to rout the Philistines. They will remember Tweed's exclamation: "I
can stand anything but those pictures!" Mr. Nast, then, is a hero in our
history, and the fact cannot be forgotten.

When the Washington Headquarters was first purchased from the Ford family,
the original owners, by a few gentlemen who organized the Washington
Association to preserve the historic building and grounds, for a national
possession, many will remember how Mr. Nast entered into the spirit of the
Centennial Celebration there in 1875, when so many of the prominent men and
women of Morristown took part, wearing the dress of the Revolution and
working hard to accomplish the end of fitting up the building by the
proceeds of the entertainment. All were astonished by the result in sales
of tickets, collation, and little hatchets, of between eleven and twelve
hundred dollars in one single afternoon and evening; so much, that the
amount was divided between the Headquarters and the "Library" of
Morristown, then in its beginning. Mr. Nast had much to do with this
success. He worked early and late at the decorations and filled one of the
largest rooms with his immense and humorous cartoons of scenes in the
Revolution and the stories of George Washington.

The book published by Mr. Nast is now in our library, "Miss Columbia's
Public School", and is a clever satire on the Northern and Southern boy and
the general condition of Miss Columbia's pupils in the time of our Civil
War. It was issued in 1871.

Another charming publication of Mr. Nast was brought out by the Harper
Brothers for Christmas, 1889, under the title of "Thomas Nast's Christmas
Drawings for the Human Race". Of this says one of the critics of the time:
"His Santa Claus, jolly vagabond that he is, seems to radiate a warmth more
genial than tropic airs, and a gayety that overbears the sadness of
experience. 'What a mug' does he show us on the title page; so kindly, so
roguish, so venerable, so comical, so shrewd, so pugnaciously cheerful! How
seriously he takes himself, and yet what a wink in those twinkling eyes, as
who should say, 'Confidentially, of course, we admit the fraud, but mum's
the word where the children are concerned!'"

Thomas Nast came from Bavaria, with his father, at the age of six, and at
fourteen was a pupil for a few months of Theodore Kaufmann, soon after
beginning his career, as draughtsman on an illustrated paper. In 1860, as
special artist for a New York weekly paper, he went abroad and while there,
followed Garibaldi in Italy, making sketches for London, Paris and New York
illustrated papers. His war sketches appeared in _Harper's Weekly_ on his
return in 1862. The political condition of national affairs gave him
opportunity for manifesting his peculiar gift for representing in condensed
form, a powerful thought. His first political caricature established his
reputation. It was an allegorical design which gave a powerful blow to the
peace party.

Besides the _Harper's Weekly_ sketches, Mr. Nast has contributed to other
papers and has illustrated books in addition to those mentioned, in
particular Petroleum V. Nasby's book. For many years, he brought out
"Nast's Illustrated Almanac".

In the principal cities of the United States, Mr. Nast has lectured,
illustrating his lectures with rapidly executed caricature sketches, in
black and white, and in colored crayons. It is said by a contemporary
writer that "in the particular line of pictorial satire, Thomas Nast stands
in the foremost rank."


Rev. Jared Bradley Flagg, D. D.

The Rev. Dr. Flagg, recently a resident of Morristown, has just published a
delightful and important book on the "Life and Letters of Washington
Allston", Scribner's Sons, November, 1892. It is illustrated by
reproductions from Allston's paintings. Many remember the very striking
full length portraits of Wm. H. Vanderbilt, Mr. Evarts and others, which
were shown in Dr. Flagg's gallery in Morristown, on the occasion of a
reception given at his residence here, a few years ago.

In addition to the book above mentioned, Dr. Flagg has written a great deal
as a clergyman. He belongs to an artistic family, of New Haven, Conn. His
brother, George, was considered in his youth a prodigy and his pictures and
portraits attained celebrity. His style resembles the Venetian School, like
that of his uncle, Washington Allston, with whom he studied. Dr. Flagg
studied with both his brother and his uncle, and began as an artist at an
early age, painting professionally and earning a living at sixteen. At
twenty, "his love of letters, and fear of Hell," as he says, led him to
connect himself with Trinity College, Hartford, Conn., and to study for the
church. After an active ministry of ten years, during eight of which he was
rector of Grace Church, Brooklyn Heights, his health broke down, and he
devoted what strength he had left to artistic and literary pursuits, in
which he is still engaged and in which, he tells us, he finds increasing
interest with declining years.


Rev. J. Leonard Corning, D. D.

Dr. Corning has already been represented, in our group of poets. He has
passed much of his life abroad and has made a special study of art, upon
which he is an authority. He was for several years a regular contributor to
_The Independent_ and _The Christian Union_ on art subjects, and wrote for
_The Manhattan Magazine_, a series of articles, among them, on the "Luther
Monument at Worms", "William Lübke" and "Women Artists of the Olden Time".
The fruits of his art study have largely been put into the form of popular
lectures, which he has delivered in many of the large American cities.

It is remembered that some years ago, during his residence in Morristown,
Dr. Corning gave a series of art lectures with illustrations, for the
benefit of the Morristown Library. The proceeds were devoted to the
purchase of books on art and the volumes thus added were selected by Dr.
Corning. In this way, the library is indebted to him for very valuable
additions.


George Herbert McCord, A. N. A.

Mr. McCord, of the National Academy, is best known to us as an artist,
bringing before us, with his magic brush, historic scenes of England,
picturesque views of Canada, on the St. Lawrence and elsewhere, and many of
our own country, among them spots of beauty about Morristown, which other
eyes perhaps have not discovered until shown to them by him. But, he is
also an art critic and one of those writers of out of door life, who find,
like Hamerton, both rest and recreation among the scenes which he transfers
to his canvas. Often he contributes to our papers and magazines current
news from the art world to which he so essentially belongs. Sometimes, in
his contributions to _The Richfield News_, for which he writes, he gives us
a bit of word painting that is scarcely less poetic than the creations of
his canvas. More than all, Mr. McCord is not a croaker. He never comes
before us with that chronic wail of the neglect of American art. On the
contrary, he tells us cheerfully that the most prominent dealers in foreign
art productions are buying and selling works of American art. We like such
cheerful summer writers, bringing bright visions of the future to our world
of art.

Mr. McCord's beautiful picture, "The Old Mill Race", transfers to canvas a
scene on the Whippany River. It also makes a fine addition to a little
collection of "Choice Bits in Etching", published by Mr. Ritchie.




DRAMATIST


William G. Van Tassel Sutphen.

Mr. Sutphen, who is now permanently engaged in journalism, is no less a
successful dramatist and, from the first, has shown those most attractive
and rare qualities which are essentially requisite to reach dramatic
success. A list of his more important published works will show that he is
no idler, and includes several bright clever farces contributed to
_Harper's Bazar_, among them, "The Reporter"; "Hearing is Believing";
"Sharp Practice", and "A Soul Above Skittles". Not long ago appeared a
romantic opera entitled "Mary Phillipse; An Historical and Musical Picture,
in Four Scenes." This is founded on certain events in the history of the
city of Yonkers, Westchester County, New York, between the years 1760 and
1776. It was set to music by George F. Le Jeune, and produced with marked
success, June 30, 1892, at Yonkers and on succeeding dates. "Hearing is
Believing" was performed twice in Morristown in the same winter.

Mr. Sutphen has only lately published in the July number of _Scribner's
Magazine_ (1892), a poem entitled "To Trojan Helen" and containing some
fine verses. This is worthy of high place in Mr. Sutphen's intellectual
work. Another poem of merit, "Insciens", appeared also in _Scribner's
Magazine_. In addition to these, miscellaneous verses and sketches have
been contributed to _Puck_, _Life_, _Time_ and other periodicals, and in
most cases, anonymously. For the past eight years, Mr. Sutphen has had
charge of the weekly edition of _The New York World_. While at Princeton
College he was one of the editors of the _Nassau Literary Magazine_, and
one of the founders and first editor of the _Princeton Tiger_, an
illustrated weekly, modeled on the _Harvard Lampoon_. "Condensed Dramas"
and "Latterday Lyrics" should also be mentioned, a series of light sketches
and verses contributed to _Time_ during the existence of that periodical.

It is, however, by his dramatic talent, that we wish to represent Mr.
Sutphen, and for this reason we expected and would be glad to give in full,
were it possible, "The Guillotine; a Condensed Drama", which first appeared
in _The Argonaut_, a San Francisco Journal. This is an extremely clever and
witty comedy, perhaps the best of his dramatic writings, to which an
extract will hardly do justice. We are thankful to Mr. Sutphen for
contributing a little of the laughter element to the condensed mass,
included in this volume, of theology, history, philosophy, poetry, romance,
mathematics, medicine, art and science.


EXTRACT FROM "THE GUILLOTINE."

     _Scene: The Public Square in a French Town. In the
     centre of the square is seen a guillotine. Enter
     venerable gentleman of scientific aspect reading a
     newspaper._

(In the first scene the professor, finding himself alone with the
guillotine and seeing a notice of an execution to take place three hours
later, is impelled to examine the instrument. He adjusts the axe and works
the spring until he masters the mechanism, and finds the spring on the
right releases the knife, spring on the left, the head. Finally he decides
to put his own head on the block to try the sensation. Horrible! he cannot
remember which is his right hand and which his left. While in this
position, a party of tourists come along, armed with Baedekers and
accompanied by a guide.)

GUIDE (_gesticulating_)--Zare, ladies and gentlemans. Ze cathedral! Ah!
ciel! Look at him. Magnifique! (_Chorus of "ahs" from tourists and general
opening of Baedekers._)

GUIDE--Ze clock-tower ees of a colossity excessive. It elevates himself
three hundred and eighty-six feet. (_Immense enthusiasm._) At ze
terminality of ze wall statue ze great Charlemagne. Superbe! Chuck-a-block
to him, Dagobert, Clovis and Voila! (_Catching hold of elderly tourist._)
Le bon Louis. (_The tourists take notes with painful accuracy and
minuteness._)

ELDERLY TOURIST--Very interesting. Rose, my child, have you got all that
down. How old is the cathedral, guide?

GUIDE--It has seven hundred and feefty-six years.

SPINSTER AUNT (_Severely_)--Baedeker says seven hundred and fifty-five.

GUIDE (_politely_)--It ees hees one mistake. (_An exclamation from Rose.
Everybody turns._)

ROSE (_pointing to guillotine_)--Oh, do look there!

SPINSTER AUNT--It looks as though an execution were in progress. Baedeker
says--

ELDERLY TOURIST (_eagerly_)--Is it really so, guide?

GUIDE (_indifferently_)--Yes, but zare ees no fee and zarefore no objection
in seeing it. It ees modern--vat you call him--cheap-John. We will now
upon ze clock-tower upheave ourselves. Zare are two hundred and one steps.

ELDERLY TOURIST--But we want to see the execution.

GUIDE--You enjoy ze ferocity? Bah! you shall have him. For one franc zare
ees to see picture S. Sebastian--ver' fine, all shot full wiz burning
arrows.

ELDERLY TOURIST--Never mind, we will wait. Do you think, guide, I would
have time to go back and get my wife? I am sure she would enjoy it!