The New England Magazine, Volume 1, No. 4, Bay State Monthly, Volume 4, No. 4, April, 1886
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Title: The New England Magazine, Volume 1, No. 4, Bay State Monthly, Volume 4, No. 4, April, 1886

Author: Various

Release date: April 14, 2008 [eBook #25072]
Most recently updated: January 3, 2021

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE, VOLUME 1, NO. 4, BAY STATE MONTHLY, VOLUME 4, NO. 4, APRIL, 1886 ***

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

CONTENTS

AN ILLUSTRIOUS TOWN,—ANDOVER.
BY REV. F. B. MAKEPEACE.
Illustrations:
main street, looking north.
brechin library.
memorial hall and library.
phillips academy.
old stone academy.
theological seminary.
lieut.-gov. phillips.
chapel, theo. seminary.
punchard free school.
theological seminary.—general view.
the old mark newman publishing house.
south congregational church.

JAMES OTIS, JR.
BY REV. H. HEWITT.

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

THE SINGER.
BY LAURA GARLAND CARR.

THE WEBSTER FAMILY.
BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.
Illustrations:
daniel webster on his farm.
birth-place of daniel webster.

THE NEW ENGLAND LIBRARY AND ITS FOUNDER.
BY VICTORIA REED.
Illustration:
rev. thomas prince.

NEW ENGLAND MANNERS AND CUSTOMS IN THE
TIME OF BRYANT’S EARLY LIFE.
BY MRS. H. G. ROWE.

TRUST.
BY ARTHUR ELWELL JENKS.

NEW ENGLAND CHARACTERISTICS.
BY LIZZIE M. WHITTLESEY.

EDITOR’S TABLE.

EDUCATION.

HISTORICAL RECORD.

NECROLOGY.

INDEX TO PERIODICAL LITERATURE.

Illustration:
hon. henry barnard, ll.d.

THE

New England Magazine

AND

BAY STATE MONTHLY.

Old Series,
Vol. IV. No. 4.

New Series,
Vol. I. No. 4.

April, 1886.

Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.

AN ILLUSTRIOUS TOWN,—ANDOVER.

BY REV. F. B. MAKEPEACE.

main street, looking north.

It is said that there are twenty-six places in the United States by the name of Andover; yet when the name appears in the public prints it does not occur to any one to ask which Andover? These facts are suggestive of the wide knowledge and popularity of this historic town, and the abiding interest of scattered thousands in its welfare. Her sons have gone forth to dare and to do upon every field of honorable enterprise. Thousands of pupils have pursued their studies here, and carry precious memories of the schools, of teachers, and influences,—in a word, of Andover.

In this rapid and general view of the town,[A] all that will be attempted is to connect the past with the present, and to give a picture of Andover as it is to-day. [B]

The natural attractions of the town are great and permanent in their character. There are neither gold mines nor alarming precipices, but there are graceful rivers, a quiet rolling landscape, and extensive views, shaded walks, and charming drives, because there are “more roads than in any other town in New England;” the air is clear and bracing, the sunsets once seen are not soon forgotten, the wild-flowers spring in abundance, and the autumnal glory draws many visitors to the town.

brechin library.

memorial hall and library.

When Washington made his tour of the Eastern States, after his inauguration, he passed through Andover on his way from Haverhill to Lexington. He spent the night at the Abbott tavern, and left upon the face of his host’s little daughter a kiss, which she was so reluctant to lose that for a week she did not wash her face. In his account of this trip he makes special mention of the beautiful country through which he was passing.

All that is most characteristic in our New England landscape finds its representation here. Its rugged granite breaks with hard lines through the stubborn soil. Its sweep of hill and valley fills the eye with various beauty. Its lakes catch its sunlight upon generous bosoms. Its rivers are New England rivers, ready for work, and yet not destitute of beauty. [C]

The “Hill” is one mile from the depot, a very uphill way, but one which it is well worth the stranger’s while to travel. Upon its top is a tract of about two hundred acres, the property of Phillips Academy, upon which stand the various buildings of the institution, now nearly seventy in number.

phillips academy.

Prof. Keep, in a recent article, says:—

The wide prospect from Andover Hill is suggestive of the world-wide fame of the school; and the lovely elm-shaded park, in which stand the buildings of the Theological Seminary, and the church where the members of the academy worship, is a hardly less peaceful and charming scholar’s retreat than are those of the college gardens of Oxford and Cambridge.

This elm-shaded park is the beautiful campus of seven or eight acres. In the background are all the buildings of the Theological Seminary, except Brechin Hall, and in front of them is the avenue of elms which makes the “Gothic window.” Nothing of its kind could be more beautiful. Overhead are the interlaced branches of the lofty trees, the end of the avenue forming the exquisite window, through which extends a long vista. On either side of the mullion one has the view of a church in the distance; and in the valley of the Merrimac nestles the city of Lawrence.

old stone academy.

theological seminary.

Not far remote is “Carter’s Hill,” with its commanding view and unbroken quiet, and destined to become a favorite summer resort, for such as wish to enjoy some of New England’s choicest scenery, to know some of its purest life, and to keep within an hour’s ride of Boston. Within easy view are Monadnock, Wachusett, and other smaller mountains; the beautiful Merrimac River, with its populous valley, and the graceful, busy Shawshin, where it was said, the Devil baptized the witches,—contemptible when thought of as the object of great Boston’s covetous desire, but important in its relation to the several mills upon its course, and for its contribution to the general beauty.

“Indian Ridge” is one of the series of lenticular hills, which continues to the north-east as far as Portsmouth, N.H., and in an irregular course may be traced westward to the Connecticut River.

lieut.-gov. phillips.

This ridge is supposed to have been the spot of Indian encampments, and is within a tract of land now owned by the town, and intended as a park. Near it is the “Red Spring,” and a mile or two north-east is “Den Rock,” all of which are frequently visited by holiday bands of children, and by students in hours of recreation.

The Andover records date from 1639, and the town was incorporated May 6, 1646. The story of Andover’s progress from its foundation until the present, is full of interest. The town’s part in all the early movements was most creditable, and full of intelligence. At the close of a century of its life we find vigilance as to the character of its growing population.

The authorities believed that whatsoever a town soweth, that shall it also reap. It was therefore in vain that the “pauper immigrant” or “criminal classes” knocked for admittance. It is said that the town was “made up at the beginning of ‘choice men,’ ‘very desirable’ and ‘good Christians.’” [D]

chapel, theo. seminary.

punchard free school.

“The selectmen were empowered to examine into the character and habits of all persons seeking residence, and to admit none who were idle or immoral.

Andover, the 30th of January, 1719-20.

To Mr. Ebenezer Lovejoy, constable.

Greeting:—Whereas there are severall Persons com to Reside in our Towne and we feare a futer charge and as the Law directs to prevent such charge, you are Requested in his Majesty’s name forthwith to warn the severall persons under wrighten: to depart out of our Town as the law directs to, least they prove a futer charge to the Towne.
[Signed by the Selectmen.]

“The town also encouraged desirable persons to settle by making them grants of land, etc. Ministers and masters of grammar schools were exempt from taxation.”

theological seminary.—general view.

In few places can the local features of the great Revolutionary struggle be as well studied as in the ample and well-preserved records of Andover. It would take many pages to tell what the town did in council and on the field, in business, and at the fireside, to encourage the patriots. So loyal was the town that its citizens were greatly trusted, and a portion of Harvard College library was sent there for its greater safety.

the old mark newman publishing house.

A pleasant description of the town is given by Thomas Houghton, an Englishman, who, writing from Andover in 1789, mentions several characteristics of the people at that period. He says: “One thing I must observe, which, I think, wants rectifying, that is, their pluming pride when adjoined to apparent poverty,—no uncommon case!”

He adds that they grow “their own wool, which they also get spun, weaved, and dyed, and both the gentlemen I am with, Hon. Samuel Phillips and his father, who is a justice of the peace, generally appear in their own manufacture, in imitation of the British.”

south congregational church.

“As to property, it seems so well secured from principle in the people that there is not such use of locks and bolts as in England. Even where I am, we have five out-door and sixty-two sash windows; yet all the barage on the doors is a wood catch on the door-snek.” ...

“Oh, what a country has Britain lost by her folly! But this is too large a field to dwell on in a letter; the subject, from even poor me, would easily draw forth a volume.”[E]

Among the early students in Harvard College, from Andover, was one who was destined to immortal renown. When the rebellious spirit against England began to rise, Samuel Phillips, whose father, by the same name, was then the representative to the General Court, was one of the most earnest to fan the sacred flame. Choosing “Liberty” as the theme, while in college he wrote: “We should watch against every encroachment, and with the fortitude of calm, intrepid resolution oppose them. Unborn generations will either bless us for our activity and magnanimity, or curse us for our pusillanimity.”

In 1775 he is chosen to represent the town in Provincial Congress, to be held at the meeting-house in Watertown.

His great life-work now began, a work which will be more fully described hereafter. In all the relations and duties of student, patriot, business man, judge, lieutenant-governor, and founder of Phillips Academy, he won for himself a good report, and helped to lay lasting foundations.

“Phillips School,” as it was at first called, was opened April 30, 1778, in a “rude building of one story about 30 × 25 feet, done off temporarily in the plainest manner for the purpose, and not intended for more than thirty or forty scholars.” From this small beginning the school has developed into the widely-famed Academy, which numbers more than three thousand graduates, and under whose instruction have passed about eleven thousand pupils. The limits of this article prevent a notice of those alumni who have become justly famous, and also of the very strong faculty of instructors, at whose head stands one of the foremost of American educators, under whose wise direction Phillips is fast becoming the synonyme of Rugby, and is already one of the important sources of supply of student-life for Harvard and Yale.

In 1785 the “joiner’s shop” gave place to a new academy, which stood west of where Brechin Hall now stands, and which was burned in 1818. The third academy, erected in the same year, is now used as the gymnasium. In 1865 the present academy came into being. It is a noble structure, with excellent facilities for educational work. Its spacious hall, where occur the commencement exercises, and the annual contests for the various prizes, is adorned by the portraits of many of the Academy’s illustrious dead.

The new laboratory is a part, already finished, of the proposed building, for the use of the classes in the natural sciences.

For want of funds in hand, only the east wing has been built, and this is now occupied by the class in analytical chemistry. When completed, the building will be a beautiful and a convenient structure. The walls will be of pressed brick laid in red mortar, with dark granite base, and Nova Scotia sandstone trimmings. The roof will be covered with Monson slate. The basement will be eleven feet high, mostly above ground, and will serve for the force-pump, heating apparatus, and for rough storage.

The chemical laboratory will occupy the main floor, and will be a room 40 × 30 feet. Abundant light and air are to be supplied by windows on three sides, and the system of ventilation will be excellent.

The advantages aimed at in this building are, ample space, freedom from dampness, abundant light, the means of speedy and complete ventilation, good drainage, a minimum of absorbing surfaces, and a minimum of fire risk. The building, when completed, will have a small side-room for books and balances, a private laboratory for the instructor in charge, a spacious lecture-room, a drawing-room, cabinets for the various collections in geology, mineralogy, etc., now inconveniently distant, a dry store-room, also corridors, closets, and janitor’s quarters, complete.

The chaste and time-honored seal of Phillips Academy was the gift of John Lowell and Oliver Wendell, the grandfathers of Oliver Wendell Holmes; and probably, though not certainly, was engraved by Paul Revere.

In 1807 the “Class in Theology” became a distinct institution, the first of the kind in the world, whose invested endowment now reaches nearly a million dollars and which has graduated nearly 2,000 students. The Theological Seminary has passed her 75th anniversary; yet, as a representative and defender of whatever is most vigorous, active, and progressive in Christian orthodoxy, she holds an ægis that is ageless, and a sceptre imperishable. And it is said that no one man now living can read even the alphabets of all the languages through which her sons have sought to interpret the Word of God to the world. Previous to 1807 the Academy itself did a most important work in educating young men for the Christian ministry, and has contributed to the education of more clergymen than any similar school. The Academy has also been a large feeder of the Seminary and other theological schools, and for long periods has graduated every year from five to fifteen young men who have become ministers. Indeed the Academy has been called, not without reason, itself a Seminary.[F]

As another article will be written upon the founders and instructors of the Seminary, we shall in this speak only of the buildings. At the north end of the long, elm-shaded avenue stands the chapel. It is built in the Gothic style, of Andover stone, trimmed with sandstone from Connecticut and Ohio. It was dedicated in 1876, and is by far the most beautiful, ecclesiastical structure in the town. The audience worshipping in it is composed of professors and their families, the students of the institutions, and a few families living near.

Then follow Phillips Hall and Bartlett Hall, and between them is Bartlett Chapel, the two former serving as dormitories, and the latter for lecture and recitation rooms. Nearly opposite the south end of the avenue is the gymnasium, and in the foreground, nearer the main street, is the imposing library building Brechin Hall.

Over three thousand students have been connected with this institution, and the illustrations which accompany this article will awaken tender and precious memories in the minds of many readers.

In 1830 it was determined to open a school in connection with Phillips Academy, for the training of teachers. The Stone Academy was erected on the square nearly opposite the present academy, and a dwelling-house, also built of stone, was used as the workshop of the students. This house afterwards became the residence of Prof. C. E. Stowe, D.D., and his talented wife. It was while living here that she wrote her “Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and received the kind and unkind notices of her great work.

This school was discontinued in 1842, for lack of funds, and the building was used as the head-quarters of the Academy,—the recitations being made in what is now the gymnasium. About twenty years ago it was burned, and the new academy erected.

Among the buildings in town which have been made historic is what is known as “the old Andover Bookstore,”—so called to distinguish it from the present publishing house. It stands on the top of the hill, is a brick structure, and is now used as a dwelling-house.

The Andover Press has always been closely allied with the literary institutions of the town. In 1809, but one year after the opening of the Theological Seminary, Mark Newman, who for fourteen years had been the eminently respected principal (the third) of Phillips Academy, resigned his office and engaged in the book business, in which he continued till near the close of his long life of nearly eighty-seven years. He died in 1859. Four years after Dea. Newman opened his bookstore, Flagg & Gould began the printing business, at first printing for Dea. Newman and others, but soon for themselves as publishers. The firm of Flagg & Gould remained unchanged for twenty years. In 1833 they admitted as partner Mark H. Newman, son of Dea. Newman. Mr. Flagg died the same year; Gould & Newman continued the business till 1841. They were succeeded by Allen, Morrill, & Wardwell in 1841, W. H. Wardwell in 1847, Flagg & Wardwell in 1848, W. F. Draper in 1849.

The relations of the publishing business to the Seminary and the enthusiasm for theological learning inspired by Prof. Stuart are well illustrated in the title of Newcome’s “Harmony of the Gospels,” published soon after Flagg & Gould opened their printing-office: “A Harmony in Greek of the Gospels, with Notes, By William Newcome, D.D., Dublin, 1778: Reprinted from the Text and Select Various Readings of Griesbach, by the Junior Class in the Theological Seminary at Andover, under the Superintendence of Moses Stuart, Associate Professor of Sacred Literature in said Seminary. Andover: Printed by Flagg and Gould. 1814.” This was probably the first book in Greek published here. Other books have occasionally been published by the students of the Seminary. The first book in Hebrew printed at the Andover Press was Stuart’s Hebrew Grammar, the Professor himself superintending the type-setting. Inspired by his zeal, Dr. Codman, in 1821, gave to the Seminary $2,000 for the purchase of type to be used for printing the Oriental languages, a kind of work then new in this country hence the name “Codman Press,” which appears on the books of early date. Works or parts of works were printed in as many as ten Eastern languages, a speciality at Andover which has been continued to the present time. Equally zealous in his department was Dr. Porter, President, and Professor of Sacred Rhetoric, in directing the attention of the clergy to the study of pulpit eloquence. He published largely on that subject, some of his books attaining a very extensive sale. Prof. Stuart also published here his Commentaries, some of which, at the time, greatly agitated the theological world. They still abide the test of time and survive among the fittest. Having published as many as six editions of his own Hebrew Grammars, he translated that of Gesenius, and, in connection with Dr. Robinson, he translated also the first edition of Winer’s New Testament Greek Grammar, then a book of 176 pages, now, in its seventh—Thayers—edition, one of 746 pages. Both of these works in their greatly improved form still hold the foremost rank as text-books in their respective departments.

Not far from one hundred and fifty different works of 8vo size, some of them containing several volumes, among these the “Bibliotheca Sacra,” now entering on its forty-third year, until lately edited by Prof. E. A. Park, one of its founders; over one hundred and fifty books of 12mo and smaller sizes, and more than two hundred pamphlets, have been published in Andover. Many of these works were written here (also many others published elsewhere), and were the outgrowth of the institutions of the place.

At the centennial celebration of Phillips Academy, after speaking of the literary industry of the faculty, it was said, “There have been forty professors, but their wives and daughters, six women, have published books which have had a circulation of at least a million copies.”

The Punchard Free School was opened for instruction in 1856. It is the High School of the town, founded and endowed by Mr. Benjamin H. Punchard, who left the sum of $70,000 for the founding of a free school. The school-house is beautifully situated on Punchard avenue, and hundreds of Andover’s boys and girls have received great benefit from Mr. Punchard’s wise generosity.

William G. Goldsmith, A.M., of Andover, who was the fourth principal, and a graduate of Harvard College, was elected in 1858. He resigned in 1870, but was reëlected in 1871, and served until his recent appointment to the service of the Government. The universal respect and affection of the numerous alumni of “Punchard” are the well-earned eulogy of his faithful work.

Its character for good citizenship has never been lost by Andover. There is a sensitiveness to evil and a vigilant eye for immoralities, which form the best possible safeguards for a town’s good name.

The policy of the town is at once conservative and progressive. The majority sentiment is easily that of an intelligent class of people, who earnestly seek true progress in all directions, but prefer that all foolish experiments should be made by other communities.

The business of the town is such as the local demands would naturally create, and in addition are the large manufacturing interests, at Ballard Vale: the Tyer Rubber Company, the Stevens Mills of Marland Village, and the Mills of Smith, Dove, & Co., the makers of the well-known “Andover Thread.” All these firms have secured such a reputation for their goods that while a period of business depression may lessen the profits it has little effect upon the number of hands employed. The present population of Andover is 5,711. The growth of the town is not rapid, but has been more so of late than formerly. The student and business elements steadily increase, and the farm-houses in the remote parts of the town are favorite summer resorts of such persons as business connections keep close to Boston, but who wish to escape the heat and noise of the city.

The number of voters is 893, and of a total vote of 468 upon the question, “Shall licenses be granted for the sale of intoxicating liquors in this town?” the recent declaration was Yes, 141, No, 327. The desire for improvement in the town can easily be inferred from a statement of the appropriations for the current year. They amounted to $77,283.67, of which the following are items:—

Voted to appropriate the following sums for the different departments: For schools, $10,700; school-houses, $1,800; school-books, $1,000; sidewalks, $1,000; removing snow, $800; town-officers, $2,500; town-house, $600; fire department, $3,500; street lamps, $950; printing and stationery, $500; Spring Grove cemetery, and avails of sales of lots, $300; Memorial Day, $175; State aid, $1,400; additional pay to soldiers, $600; almshouse expenses, $4,500; almshouse, relief out of, $3,000; repairs on almshouse, $500; hay-scales, $50; State tax, $6,000; county tax, $6,000; adjustment of taxes, $500; discount on taxes, $2,000; abatement of taxes, $400; interest on notes and funds, $2,000; insurance, $200; miscellaneous, $1,500; fire-engine for Ballard Vale, $4,000; highways and bridges, $10,000; water-supply, $10,000; tree-planting, $100; new streets, $625; etc.

For six years past—1880-85—the taxes have averaged only $7.25 per $1,000,—on a low valuation of property. For healthfulness the town stands near, if not quite at the head of the list, in the vital statistics of the State. When the writer was about to make Andover his place of residence he was heartily congratulated by a friend: “People never die in Andover,” said he, “from disease. They live on, and on, and on, until their friends weary of them, and shoot them.” No one has been shot recently in Andover, and some have died; but the town is remarkable for its healthfulness. In 1885 there were 81 deaths, and the average age was 48+ years; while 40 were 60 years old, and upwards; 27 were over 70; 24 were over 75; 13 were over 80; 4 were over 85, and 2 were over 90. The records of the largest Sabbath school in town show only three deaths of persons under 20 years of age, for at least eight, and possibly ten years. The two funerals which the writer last attended were of persons aged 89 and 101. The Catholic priest informs me that an entire year has passed without the occurrence of death in his parish. To show that the statistics of 1885 are not exceptionally favorable to the name of the town, let us take a longer period,—say of six years, 1879-85. During this period the death-rate has been 14.45 per 1,000, which gives an average number of deaths for each year, of 79; and within this period 159, deaths have been of persons over 70 years of age. Since the new year came in 15 persons have died, and the average age of 5 was over 90 years.

Each of the nine churches in Andover has an interesting history. Of these five are of the Congregational order, and their enrolled membership numbers 1,099, nearly one-fifth of the entire population. When to this is added the membership of the Episcopal, Baptist, Methodist and Catholic churches it is probable that one person in four, of whatever age or nationality, is a member of some church. The enrolment of the Sabbath Schools is about the same as that of the churches.

This is owing partly to the fact that the “foreign element” in Andover consists largely of Scotchmen, who love the kirk; and also because the educational facilities of Andover are such as to draw hither persons of intelligence, and of literary tastes and habits.

The town is well supplied with libraries. The Memorial Hall was built to commemorate the Andover defenders of the national flag, and contains a free reading-room, well supplied with current issues of the press, and a free public library, containing 5,259 pamphlets, and 9,185 volumes, to which additions are constantly being made.

In 1865 the Library building of the Theological Seminary was erected, through the generosity of Mr. John Dove and Messrs. John and Peter Smith, at the cost of $60,000. It was named “Brechin Hall,” from their native town in Scotland.

Its shelves contain more than 43,000 volumes, the gentlemen who built the library having given large sums for the purchase of books. On its walls hang the portraits of many of its founders and professors, and on the lower floor is a valuable museum and reference library. Besides these are various private libraries; and there is a community of taste, which brings all valuable books to the town in some connection.

Another educational element is that of the public lectures. The People’s Course is a thrifty annual, which, each autumn, provides a series of ten entertainments at merely nominal prices. During the past year there has also been a course of Emergency Lectures; and various others, upon many topics, detached from the established courses, are of frequent occurrence. Abbot Academy provides its annual and popular series of public “Piano Recitals,” under the oversight of its efficient professor, S. M. Downs.

Phillips Academy has its annual contests for the “Draper Prizes” and the “Means Prizes,” and a year seldom passes in the history of the Theological Seminary without one or more courses of special lectures, in addition to those which are in constant progress, under the regular instructors of this and of the other institutions. Nor should the anniversaries, with all the strangers and alumni they bring, the stir they make, the congratulations and the partings, be forgotten.

So it is that all the important phases of our best American life are found in the history and enterprise of this illustrious town. Here one may find the house in which have lived seven generations, the head of the family bearing the same name; and the home of the recent immigrant. The educational and business interests are nobly conducted and carried to great success, and the current life is representative of good old customs and earnest strivings for the best things.

A careful study of Andover life, such as Rev. Phillips Brooks, D.D., had evidently made before writing his address for the dedication of the Memorial Hall, leads one to feel, what he has so well stated:—

“The more we look into the history of Andover the more we feel how thoroughly it is a characteristic New England town. If I wanted to give a foreigner some clear idea of what that excellent institution a New England town really is, in its history and in its character, in its enterprise and its sobriety, in its godliness and its manliness, I should be sure that I could do it if I could make him perfectly familiar with the past and the present of Andover.”

JAMES OTIS, JR.

BY REV. H. HEWITT.

Goethe’s famous saying, that “Talent forms itself in solitude; character, in the stream of life,”[G] has often found striking exemplification both in the narrow sphere of individual existence, and on the broader and more conspicuous stage of national affairs; but perhaps the truth it contains has seldom been more amply illustrated than during the stormy days of the American Revolution. Great political convulsions sift peoples as the wind sifts the wheat on the summer threshing-floor, bringing into prominence their best as well as their worst features. They furnish occasion for the development and display of all that is noblest in mankind, and they offer equal scope and opportunity to all the baser susceptibilities and passions of our nature. They furnish a broader platform on which to act, and originate more exciting topics to occupy and elevate the mind, than are afforded by an orderly and undisturbed condition of society; and they are certainly better fitted to create that energy of will and heroism of purpose without which nothing noble, beneficent, and lasting can ever be accomplished.

Never, perhaps, has this effect been produced in a more impressive manner, or to a fuller extent, than during the anxious years when the American colonies were slowly feeling and fighting their way to the status of an independent nation. A new order of manhood appeared, shaped by the dangers and difficulties of the time. The crisis called for men of courage and capacity, of wise council, of prompt and decisive action, and these men were forthcoming, as if providentially prepared for the hour and the occasion. Of these, one of the earliest on the scene, and, for a time, one of the most eloquent and able of the popular leaders, was James Otis, Junior. Though, in consequence of the sad affliction that darkened and distressed his later days, his labors in the cause of American independence were prematurely closed, and he was not permitted to share in the consummation of the conflict in which he had played so prominent, and spirited, and successful a part, he still deserves to be remembered with gratitude and affection by the nation, now grown big, at whose birth he so nobly played the part of midwife. James Otis was born at Great Marshes, now known as West Barnstable, February 5, 1725 (old style, February 5, 1724). His ancestor, John Otis, came from England about the year 1657, and settled in the town of Hingham. The family was from the first distinguished by public spirit, and by aptitude for places of trust and responsibility in the public service. Besides the important offices of Judge of the Common Pleas and Judge of Probate, John Otis had the honor of holding a seat in the Council of the Province for more than twenty years. His son, James Otis, born 1702, stood equally prominent in his public capacity, being a distinguished member of the Bar, an officer of the Militia, a Justice of the Common Pleas and of Probate, and a Councillor of the Province. He married Mary Allyne, by whom he had a large family, James, the subject of this sketch, being the eldest and most celebrated. Samuel Allyne, the youngest of the thirteen children, served for some time as secretary of the Senate of the United States. The eldest daughter, Mercy, displayed an aptitude for politics and literature, in which she acquired considerable reputation in those unquiet and exciting days, vigorously indorsing and seconding the action of her brother, and her husband, James Warren, in the Provincial Council. She was the anonymous author of “The Group,” a stinging political satire, published in 1775, and in 1805 she produced a “History of the American Revolution.”

Of the habits, character, and status of Otis, as a student at Harvard, whither he went in his fourteenth year, little is known, except what has descended to us in the shape of anecdote, such as the story of his playing the violin for a small party of young friends on one occasion, and suddenly stopping the dance by dropping the instrument, and exclaiming, “So fiddled Orpheus, and so danced the brutes.” He, however, managed to graduate with honors in 1743, and to carry off his Arts degree in 1746. About two years after leaving college he commenced the study of the law in the office of Jeremiah Gridley, a lawyer of some repute, who, later on, as Attorney-General, defended the famous “apple of discord,” the “Writs of Assistance,” which Otis so brilliantly and successfully impeached. He resided for a short period, 1748-9, in the town of Plymouth; but the place of Pilgrim fame was at that time too slow and dull a place for the quick and active mind and ardent and ambitious temper of the rising young lawyer, and he removed to Boston, soon to be absorbed with the duties and difficulties of a large and lucrative practice, and esteemed and admired as one of the brightest ornaments of his profession. Nor was the public confidence in him misplaced, or his popularity without warrant. Governor Hutchinson, who knew him only in the capacity of a powerful personal and political opponent, was yet obliged to yield homage to his public and professional virtues, frankly declaring that “He never knew fairer or more noble conduct in a pleader than in Otis; that he always defended his causes solely on their broad and substantial foundations.” Among other stories and items of fact put forth in evidence of his contempt of the pettifogging and professional lying so common in these degenerate days, is the following: Being engaged on one occasion to recover the amount of a bill which was alleged by the defendant to have been paid, he discovered, quite accidentally, among his client’s papers, as the trial was proceeding, a receipt in full for the demand before the court. The paper in question had fallen into his client’s hands in some way or another, and he was villanously using this advantage to wrong his neighbor. As soon as Otis detected the trick his indignation burst forth like a scorching flame, “You are a pretty rascal!” he said; “there is a receipt for the very demand now before the court.”

Otis’ happiness, however, such as it was, lay outside his home. His marriage with Ruth Cunningham, which took place in 1755, was far from being happy. Incompatibility of temper, and radical and stubborn differences in political principle and sentiment, were the main ingredients in the chalice of bitterness and woe which both, doubtless, helped to fill. His only son, a youth of promise, entered the navy as midshipman, and died at eighteen. His eldest daughter, Elizabeth, married a loyalist, Captain Brown, who was wounded at Bunker Hill,—an alliance that much distressed him. The sad fortune of his second daughter, Mary, was another source of grief. She had married Benjamin Lincoln, eldest son of General Lincoln, who received the sword of General Cornwallis at the surrender of Yorktown,—a young lawyer of considerable promise; but he died at twenty-eight.

It is necessary to remember that in the great drama of the Revolution, Otis was only one of many distinguished actors, and that, in order to appreciate the part he played so well, we shall require to give a brief and rapid sketch of the political situation at the time. The sudden assertion of the spirit of liberty, which the British Parliament and the Provincial Legislature, acting under its direction and control, strove to check and subdue, was the awakening of the colonial communities, not simply to a consciousness of their political rights, but, also, of a new-born power to maintain and defend them. During the first hundred years of colonial history King and Parliament, occupied with affairs of an absorbing character at home, knew little, and cared even less, about the fate and fortunes of the men and women, who, for the sake of conscience and religious freedom, had left the land of their birth and best affection, and were engaged in a heroic contest with nature, on a wild, desolate, and distant coast. The early colonists were left to a liberty almost as unfettered as the wild animals and savage tribes whom they dislodged from their native forests. When, however, the infant communities had grown strong and prosperous, and had initiated a system of commerce which bade fair to become expansive and lucrative, they at once attracted the attention of the State authorities in the land of their origin. When the conflict with Parliament began, the rights and immunities claimed by the American colonies, were not matters of statute and charter. The prescriptive right, which is founded in long-established custom and usage, rather than in positive enactment, was the ground of resistance to the encroachments of the Provincial Executive. When James Otis, in pleading against the “Writs of Assistance,” said, “Taxation without representation is tyranny,” he stated a great political principle; he indicated the great palladium of popular liberty; but deeper than that principle, in the hearts of the colonists, lay the sense of uneasiness at the prospect of having the privileges of one hundred and fifty years in any way compromised, disturbed, or imperilled. This was the spirit of Franklin, in his “Hints for a Reply to the Protest of the Lords against the Repeal of the Stamp Act:” “I will freely spend nineteen shillings in the pound,” said he, “to defend my right of giving or refusing the other shilling; and, after all, if I cannot defend that right, I can retire cheerfully with my little family into the boundless woods of America, which are sure to afford freedom and subsistence to any man who can bait a hook or pull a trigger.” This was the spirit of Otis when he complained that Parliament regarded the British colonies in America rather as “a parcel of small, insignificant conquered islands, than as very extensive settlement on the continent,” with a future of unlimited development in store. This, too, was the spirit of Hawley, when, with a boldness outstripping that of Otis himself, he said, “The Parliament of Great Britain has no right to legislate for us.” The latter sentence is memorable as being the first instance in which the power of the British Parliament was distinctly denied in a colonial legislature.

Still, side by side with these strong assertions of independence, there existed curiously enough an almost equally strong feeling of reluctance to sever the long-standing relation between the colonies and the mother country. England was still “home,” even in the language of James Otis, as is clear from his correspondence, in which he speaks of certain legal decisions as being “sent home for approbation.” Though all were agreed as to the character and tendency of such acts of the imperial legislature as the Stamp Act, the Revenue Act, the Port Bill, and the Billeting Bill, hopes were entertained to the last that some method of solution would be eventually discovered that would avert the disaster of revolution. “In America,” said Rev. Andrew Elliot, a popular and much-respected minister in Boston, “the people glory in the name, and only desire to enjoy the liberties of England.” And he added, significantly enough, “Oppression makes wise men mad.” Even Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to John Randolph, as late as 1775, expressed his decided preference “to be dependent on England under proper limitation, to being dependent on any other nation, or on no nation whatsoever.” “We strongly enjoin you,” said the Pennsylvania Assembly, November 9, 1775, largely influenced by Farmer Dickenson, in its instructions to its delegates, “that you, in behalf of this colony, dissent from and utterly reject any proposition, should such be made, that may cause or lead to a separation from our mother country, or a change of the form of this government.” In almost identical words the Assembly of New Jersey expressed its dread of “separation from England.” “For what are we to encounter the horrors of war?” asked a writer in the New York Gazette, April 8, 1776, as quoted by Mr. Oscar Straus, in his admirable little work on “The Origin of the American Republic.” “It is a form of government which Baron Montesquieu, and the best writers on the subject, have shown to be attended with many mischiefs and imperfections, while they pay high encomiums on the excellency of the British Constitution. The Continental Congress has never lisped the least desire for independency or republicanism. All their publications breathe another spirit.” What strong ground the Gazette had for the above statement will be seen from the words of the address sent to the British Parliament and People by the Congress of Delegates which met on the 5th September, 1774, at Carpenter’s Hall, Philadelphia. “You have been told,” says the Congress, “that we are impatient of government and desirous of independence. These are calumnies. Permit us to be free as yourselves, and we shall esteem a union with you to be our greatest glory and our greatest happiness.”

It is always the unexpected that happens, however, and, strange as it may appear, in little more than a year after the publication of the warnings of the New York Gazette, and the strong deprecations of leading colonists, the first decisive and irrevocable step towards revolution of the government and the autonomy and independence of the colonies was taken. On July 4, 1776, the Rubicon was passed: the Declaration of Independence was proclaimed.

To trace the causes and indicate the character of this sudden and irreversible revulsion of feeling is to relate the story of the public career of James Otis as primus inter pares and leader of the popular party in the Province of Massachusetts. For ten years, with the exception of some brief intervals of popular misunderstanding and disfavor, he stood forth as the eloquent exponent and acknowledged champion of the popular cause. Long prior to 1760 he had achieved renown as a lawyer, and the skill and distinction he had attained in his profession had already received due and appropriate recognition and reward in his appointment to the Attorney-Generalship of the Province. In that year, however, the outcry against the administration of the Acts of Trade became loud and general, and in the discontent and excitement which prevailed the over-zealous agents of the Executive came into collision with the people. The revival of an old “Act for the better securing and encouraging the trade of His Majesty’s colonies in America,” imposed a duty of sixpence on molasses and other articles imported from the French and Spanish West Indies. As this was tantamount to doubling the price, the trade was forced into contraband channels, and vigorous measures had to be adopted for the suppression of the illicit traffic. A third of the forfeited goods belonged to the king, and were appropriated for the benefit of the colony; a third belonged to the governor; and a third fell to the informers. But as that portion of the spoils which accrued to the colony was not claimed, the money was used to stimulate the zeal and vigilance of the customs-officers. These persons, armed with “writs of assistance” issued by the Chancellor of the Exchequer in England, were empowered to enter and search any private house suspected of containing smuggled goods, and seize whatever articles might be considered contraband within the meaning of the acts. Against these proceedings resistance was bold and general, suspected householders answering the demand of the customs-officers by closing the doors in their faces. It was the duty of Otis, as Advocate-General of the Province, to uphold the action of the executive government; but he refused to argue for the writs, and resigned. On his resignation becoming known he was at once retained, along with Oxenbridge Thacher, to defend the cause of the people, and his splendid triumph in this capacity made him the popular hero. His opponent, as has been already intimated, was his old friend, Jeremiah Gridley, King’s Attorney,—a lawyer of great learning and acuteness. An eye-witness comments on the sublime spectacle of Otis, spite of the difficulties of his position, the excitement of the hour, and the fire and vehemence of his own passionate nature, treating his old master “with all deference, respect, and esteem”, but confuting all his arguments, and reducing him to silence, and Gridley, on the other hand, “seeming to exult inwardly at the glory and triumph of his pupil.”

In answering, almost at the outset, a charge which made his highest public virtue his fault,—the charge that he had deserted his office,—he said: “I renounced that office, and I argue this cause from the same principle, and I argue it with the greater pleasure as it is in favor of British liberty at a time when we hear the greatest monarch upon earth declaring from his throne that he glories in the name of Briton, and that the privileges of his people are dearer to him than the most valuable prerogatives of his crown; and it is in opposition to a kind of power, the exercise of which in former periods of English history cost one king his head, and another his crown.”

The only principles of public conduct that are worthy of a gentleman or a man are to sacrifice estate, ease, health, and applause, and even life itself, to the sacred calls of his country. The glowing and oft-quoted eulogy of John Adams on this great argument, which is said to have lasted nearly five hours, is a commonplace of history, but we cannot forbear repeating it. Otis was a flame of fire; with a promptitude of classical allusions, a depth of research, a rapid summary of historical events and dates, a profusion of legal authorities, a prophetic glance of his eyes into futurity, and a rapid torrent of impetuous eloquence, he hurried away all before him. American independence was then and there born. Every man of an immense crowded audience appeared to me to go away as I did, ready to take up arms against the “writs of assistance.” The speech, says Bowen, “gave vitality and shape to the dim sense of oppression and wrong from the mother country, which already rested indistinctly on the minds of the colonists.” “It breathed,” says Adams, “into this nation the breath of life.”

The effect, however, which John Adams and other admirers of Otis have ascribed to his great legal triumph was obviously not the one Otis himself intended it to produce. There was, after all, something exceedingly vague and uncertain about his attitude and principles as a politician and a statesman. His contemporaries felt this, and somewhat unfeelingly accused him of inconsistency. At one time he was equally censured by his friends and by foes. In his “Vindication of the Conduct of the House of Representatives of the Province of Massachusetts Bay,” published in 1762, occurs the following: “The British Constitution of government, as now established in His Majesty’s person and family, is the wisest and best in the world. The King of Great Britain is the best and most glorious monarch upon the globe, and his subjects the happiest in the universe.” And yet Lord Mansfield, whose marble figure stands proudly among those of other distinguished Englishmen in the corridor of the British House of Commons, defended him in Parliament, not as a loyalist, but as a revolutionist. “Otis” said he, “is a man of consequence among the people over there. It was said the man is mad. What then? One madman often makes many. Massaniello was mad, nobody doubts; yet for all that he overturned the government of Naples.” Friends of the government on both sides of the water suggested that Otis should be proceeded against for treason, but the British Attorney-General declared the “writs of assistance” illegal, and there, for a time, the matter ended.

When, in January, 1763, preliminaries of peace between France and England were signed, the people of Boston rejoiced, and Otis, as their spokesman, said: “The true interests of Great Britain and her plantations are mutual, and what God in His providence has united, let no man dare attempt to pull asunder.” Governor Bernard, however, who inferred from this strain of remark that the province would soon recover its reputation for loyalty, seriously overrated its significance. When the General Assembly of Massachusetts met in 1764, Otis, as chairman of the Committee of Correspondence, drew up the draft of an address to Parliament, to prevent the passage of the Stamp Act; but it was not presented. The act passed into law, and Boston was immediately caught in a whirlwind of popular indignation and excitement. The mob burnt the effigy of Oliver, who, in an evil moment, had accepted the office of Distributor of Stamps, and he, deeming discretion the better part of valor, resigned his post immediately thereafter, under Liberty-tree. The house of Hutchinson, Lieutenant Governor, was demolished, while Bernard, the chief offender, was left undisturbed. Mobocracy, however, was not a pleasant contemplation to the sober and law-abiding people of Boston, and next day the inhabitants of the town assembled in Faneuil Hall and denounced the authors of outrage and violence.

The Stamp Act Congress, originally proposed by Otis, met in New York, October 19, 1765. He, together with Timothy Ruggles and Colonel Partridge, were delegated to attend as the representatives of Massachusetts. Otis took a prominent and influential part in the deliberations of the Congress, and was one of the committee chosen to draft an address to Parliament praying for the repeal of the obnoxious law, which had nearly brought business to a stand-still in many of the colonies, for, as Hutchinson remarks, “No wills were proved, no administrations granted, no deeds nor bonds executed.” Agitation and appeal were successful. Parliament beat a retreat and dropped the attempt to tax the American colonies, like a red-hot poker. [H] But the breach between the popular party and the friends and representatives of the government was destined never to be healed. Between Hutchinson and Otis especially relations were of a very unfriendly character, and it must have been exceedingly difficult for the partisans on either side to keep cool when the leaders were so apt to catch fire. Still, when the Revenue Act of 1767 fell like a firebrand among the colonists, Otis, singularly enough, was almost alone in advising moderation and caution. In the following year his action and attitude were more consistent; he was once more the advocate of resistance, and was appointed to draft letters to the King, to De Berdt, the agent of the Province in London, and a circular-letter, addressed to the colonial assemblies, requesting them “to unite in some suitable measures of redress.” [I] Governor Bernard demanded the rescinding of the letters; and Otis replied in a speech which the Governor described as “the most violent, abusive, and treasonable declaration that perhaps ever was delivered.” It is a very significant indication of the state of popular feeling in Massachusetts at the time that, while only seventeen members of the House were ready to say “Yes” to the Governor’s demand, nintey-two were resolved to say “No.” In the summer of 1769 a violent and disgraceful affray took place between Otis and Robinson, the Commissioner of Customs, in a coffee-house, in which Otis received a severe blow on the head. From that moment his public career was practically at an end. He became the victim of insanity. From 1771 to 1783 he lived aloof from the excitement of public affairs. His death was singularly tragic and fearfully sudden. As he stood at the door of his home in Andover, during a storm, a flash of lightning struck him lifeless to the ground; so that he may almost be said to have been carried to his rest in a chariot of fire.

As to the place of Otis in the early colonial history of America it is somewhat difficult to state it. His influence as the leader and exponent of popular opinion was undoubtedly very great so long as it lasted, and in the main it was beneficial. If, like many another great moral and political force, he accomplished something entirely different from what he intended, both what he intended and what he actually accomplished were equally a credit to him. Some of his contemporaries thought that his courage, his eloquence, his pure and undiluted patriotism, had a serious drawback in the irrepressible fire and vehemence of his nature; but passion enters largely into the composition of all noble natures, and is, in no inconsiderable degree, the secret of their success. Otis was certainly wanting in some of the elements of greatness displayed by the most distinguished of his contemporaries and compatriots. His style of statemanship was not so far-seeing, comprehensive, and solid as that of a Samuel Adams, a Thomas Jefferson, a John Dickenson, or a Benjamin Franklin, and it certainly lacked the Machiavellian coolness and argumentativeness of a Hutchinson. But what Otis accomplished was impossible to any of them. His work was quite unique in its way, and his public life and action have produced results as valuable and lasting as the public labors of any of the noble men who devoted without stint their best thought and energies to laying down, deep, strong, and enduring, the foundation-stones of the American Republic.

A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP’S WAR.

BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.

CHAPTER I.

One bright afternoon early in the month of June, 1676, a young girl stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, gazing into the waters of the beautiful Lake Quinsigamond. Her head rested heavily on her hand, as if weighed down by the burden of despair. Suddenly she started, uttering a slight cry, then sank back against the tree with a sigh of relief as she recognized a tall young Indian who approached her.

“Ah! is it you, Ninigret?”

“Yes, Millicent; fear not, there is no foe near; and if there were I would protect you. Why do you tremble so?”

“Is it strange I tremble at the least noise, when the sound of a footstep or the rustling of a leaf may mean instant death to me? The forest is full of enemies. They lurk in every by-path. Behind every bush or fair spreading tree may be seen their leering faces. What, then, has a poor captive girl to expect of their mercy?”

“Do not I and those of my tribe here protect you? Have I not already saved you from death at the hands of a roving Indian?”

“You have; perhaps only for a worse fate. Death, indeed, would be no worse than a future of such captivity; for though you will save me from the violence of the red men, neither you nor your associates will liberate me. Ah, Ninigret! why are you so in the power of that tyrant, Philip? Why will you not brave him, he is so far from here now, and take me to a white settlement? I promise you no harm shall come to you. You shall return unhurt to your people.”

“Do you not remember that Wattasacompanum has promised to keep you in safety until Philip is ready to have you ransomed? Have you forgotten the solemn rites by which he bound himself the day they brought you to us? Wattasacompanum is a good chief, a true Indian, who will not break his promise.”

“Then, Ninigret, I appeal to you, who have made no promise for me, to help me to escape to my countrymen.”

“I cannot do that; but I will take you to a place of safety, though it may be a long, long journey from here. Say, Millicent, will you come with me?”

“Go with you, Ninigret, in any direction other than to a white settlement?” replied Millicent, turning her wondering blue eyes full upon him. “Even if such a thing were possible, where would you take me? Where and how in this time of war?”

“Beyond the reach of the present strife, until Philip has driven the white men from our country. I cannot take you to the whites, for they will soon be swept from the land. They are much broken up already. Philip is a mighty chief, and has powerful friends among the Indians.”

“Can it be so? No, no; the Indian may do harm and cause suffering, but surely the white race cannot be exterminated.”

“Yes, it can, Millicent; as when, in the spring, the warm sun melts the snow, causing it to disappear from the dark earth, so will the white men vanish from this country, leaving the red men in possession.”

“I cannot believe it. Yet how can a poor creature like me, a captive in the forest, cut off from all communication with her friends, know what is the real state of affairs outside? In the long months since I was taken captive rumors have come to me of one town after another being destroyed or abandoned. Alas! what else may not have happened? Yes, it is doubtless true. O my God! is it then to be my fate to be held in life-long bondage, without a friend to whom I can turn?”

“I will be your friend; come with me. I will take you away from here, where you are so unhappy, I will make a home for you. We will live together. You shall be my wife.”

“Your wife!” and Millicent, deadly pale, clung closer to the tree.

“Yes, why not? I am brave and strong; I would guard you from all evil, and would make you happy. What better have you to hope? Why await Philip’s pleasure? You say you have no rich friends to ransom you. If not, he will marry you himself, and he would not be as kind as I. He is a hard master.”

“I marry you, or Philip?” the young girl murmured, with a look of dreary terror on her face; then, as if to herself, “In fairy tales, as a child, I read of maidens marrying kings, and wished I were the heroine of such a tale; but little did I dream that such a king might some time be offered me for a husband.” And she dropped her head upon her arm.

“Do not look so unhappy. Philip is, in truth, no husband for you; but I am different, and do not hate the white race as he does. He is a fierce warrior, while I wish but to live in peace, to have you for my wife.” The Indian drew nearer to Millicent. His dark hand stretched forth to grasp her slender white wrist, his black eyes flashing with entreaty. “I am not like the others of my tribe you see about here; I am more civilized; I speak your language; I have the last year embraced your religion. I vowed to you I would not lay hands upon one of your race to hurt them while you were amongst us. That I have sacredly kept this vow you well know; but you do not know what it has cost me at times, when I have seen the bitter cruelty shown by your race toward mine. All this I would do willingly for you; will you not then be my wife and love me a little?”

The young Indian spoke with a modesty and manliness so remarkable in a son of the forest that Millicent was impressed with his manner, and in her reply tried to show consideration.

“You are an exception to your race, Ninigret, and have always acted honorably toward me. I thank you for all you have done; and, if God ever restore me to my countrymen, I will show my gratitude in more substantial form than mere words. Marry you I never can; think of it calmly, and you will see that it is impossible; such a marriage would only bring misery to us both.”

“You scorn me I see,” Ninigret said, quickly, growing angry. “I tell you we should be happy.”

“Indeed, we should not; from this on you must never mention this subject to me.”

“You cannot put me off so easily. What do I care for the kindness you may show me after you leave here? But you will not leave here very soon, let me tell you, unless you marry me. In that case you shall escape in a few days.”

“Then I shall never escape,” replied Millicent, a bright flash of determination suffusing her fair face.

“Your only answer then is No?”

“No; I will never be your wife.”

“And I say you shall. Farewell! We will meet again.” And all the latent savage nature gleamed forth from his face as he swiftly and noiselessly disappeared into the forest.

Millicent, overcome with emotion, sank listlessly on the ground, where she remained for some time with her head bowed upon her knees, regardless of the beauty of the scene about her. Above, the sky was cloudless, a deep impenetrable blue, as seen through the heavy foliage of the grand primeval forest. At her feet stretched the calm, smooth lake, dotted here and there with tiny islands, so thickly wooded that they looked like escaped bits of the forest floating on the glassy surface of the water. For miles stretched the line of the shore, here straight, there gracefully curving, and everywhere heavily overhung by majestic trees. After a time she raised her eyes, and, stretching her hand with a hopeless gesture toward the lake, said, “Better to drown in that quiet water than to remain longer with these savages, now that Ninigret has turned foe also, and I have no friend to help me.”

“Let me be a friend to help you,” replied a manly voice close by.

Surprised and astonished Millicent sprang to her feet, and saw standing before her a tall, handsome man of perhaps five and thirty years, dressed in uniform.

“O sir! can I really hope that you will help a poor, distressed captive girl?”

“Of course I will,” he answered, moving near to her. “First tell me the circumstances of your captivity and”—

“Hush! do not speak so loud, or they will hear us and take you prisoner also. Come this way,” said Millicent, as she led him to a thick clump of trees near at hand. “A short distance from here, on yonder hill, is an Indian camp, which has been my home for many months.”

“How large is the encampment?” asked the young man, looking with interest and admiration at the poorly clad but refined and beautiful girl by his side.

“When all are there they number about one hundred; but at present most of the warriors are away.”

“Where is your home?”

“I have no home. I am an orphan, and with my sister was visiting friends in Taunton, at the time the Indians attacked that place.”

“Ah! Tell me the story of your capture.”

“I will if you care to hear it. Upon the breaking out of the war, my friends, like others, became alarmed, and adopted such means of defence as they could command; still, when Philip really appeared with his Indians, they were surprised. Ah, sir, even you, who I see are an officer, and probably used to such sights, would have been touched by the misery and desolation those wretches caused on that day. They fired the house we were in, and when we were driven by the flames to the open air, they assailed us; and then I saw my friends struck down about me. An old woman, a mother, three daughters and a son, all brutally killed. Then they seized me, more dead than alive. A fierce Indian, with a yell, raised some weapon in the air, while holding me fast with the other hand; but his uplifted arm was suddenly grasped by a stalwart and gayly dressed chief, whom I soon learned was King Philip. Although nearly overcome with terror, I heard him say, ‘She is too’”—

“Beautiful to be killed,” added the officer.

“Well, yes, I suppose that was the idea. ‘Take her captive.’ They bound my arms to my sides and carried me away. I fainted at that point, and when I came to myself was on horseback, supported by a horrible old squaw.”

“Poor girl! how did you survive such a shock?”

“I do not know, for I was ill with fever throughout the journey; but am I not wearying you with the history of a girl who has surely no claim upon you?”

“You have a claim, dear lady; the unfortunate have always a claim upon any honorable man; besides, I am deeply interested in your story. Please proceed.”

“We travelled slowly on for several days, resting at night. The shock, the mode of life, and, above all, the anxiety about my sister, of whose fate I knew nothing, made me ill and unfit for the rough journey. When I failed and fainted, as I did several times, they beat me and knocked me about, making me walk when utterly unable, as a punishment for my laziness, they said. At last, when they saw I could go no farther on my feet, they strapped me on a horse’s back, where I lay, half delirious and without food, until we reached this place.”

“What an experience for one so delicate!” remarked the officer, looking at Millicent with increasing interest.

“We arrived here late one night, and then an old squaw, who has ever since been kind to me, took me to her wigwam and made me as comfortable as she could. I shall never forget the relief it was to lie quiet, if only on a bed of pine-boughs.”

“You must have had fortitude to have lived through such a mental and physical strain. How did they happen to bring you here?”

“That night, when they thought I slept, I overheard the leader of the band that brought me talking with Wattasacompanum, the chief of the Nipmucks. He said Philip had ordered them to bring me here, and sent a message that I should be kept and well treated until he should see fit to have me ransomed. Wattasacompanum, who is a good chief and a praying Indian, promised that I should be faithfully guarded. The next day, before Philip’s messengers departed, I was carried outside the wigwam, where the Indians danced a wild, fantastic war-dance about me, to the music of their own strange screaming. I lay trembling with fright, until the old squaw came out and sat by me, somewhat quieting my fears by repeating, ‘They no kill you; they no kill.’ They wished to paint my face and decorate my head with branches, but Wattasacompanum said no, that being ill I should not be disturbed. He laid his hand on my head, and solemnly promised to safely keep me; and after that the strange Indians departed.”

“What did they do for you to bring back your health?”

“Very little. I was allowed to rest for a time, was not treated very harshly, and nature did the rest.”

“What food did you have?”

“Ah, that was the worst trial; for days I ate almost nothing. I could not touch the meat they kept constantly boiling in a great common kettle, which all could go to, but I soon learned to eat a sort of cake they make of Indian corn, and when stronger I wandered about and found berries and dried nuts for myself; but I have never been strong since I came here.”

“That does not surprise me. Such a life for one like you! Have they always treated you well?”

“No, they are often very rough; but the women are kinder than the men, who, fortunately for me, are away upon the war-path the greater part of the time, returning only occasionally for a night.”

“What work do they require of you?”

“I first bring up water from the lake in the morning,—that tires me most,—then I help cook their food, and do whatever is necessary in an Indian household,”—and Millicent smiled,—“and I sew for the women and children.”

“The wretches! why don’t they bring their own water from the lake, and make their own clothes?”

“I would willingly do all they ask could I but know that I may soon be free to look for my sister, and be among my own race again.”

“We will see about that. You must not do drudgery for these savages much longer. Have you no relatives with whom it may be possible your sister is now?”

“None; the family whom we were visiting when I was captured were our only relatives. My sister was out at the time on an errand in the town; so you see I do not know whether she was killed or captured, undoubtedly one or the other. My name is Millicent Gordon; hers, Martha. Now, sir, you have my history, and I wish to thank you for your kind attention. It has done me good to relate it to you, for you are the first white man whom I have seen for many months.”

“My dear lady, your story has interested me deeply and aroused in me both sincere admiration and sympathy for one who has suffered so much and so bravely. My one thought is to liberate you.”

“Can you really do so? Is the country, then, not all given over to the Indians? Oh, tell me it is not!”

“No, indeed; they are being steadily and surely conquered; though, God knows, they do enough damage even now. I am Captain Merwin, sent here from Boston on a scouting expedition. I have two men with me, who are awaiting my return less than a mile off. I wandered in this direction while they were resting. I knew there were many Indians roving about; but that there was a camp in this vicinity I was not aware.”

“They suppose their existence here to be unknown to the whites.”

“I wonder they trust you as far as this.”

“They do; I always return. They know I am unable to escape, and would be found and brought back if I tried; so they grant me my only solace, that of wandering in the woods.”

“This time they have trusted you once too often. Will you go with me, and let me take you back to your friends?” asked the captain, impulsively.

“I would go with you most willingly; but would the venture not be too rash? Would it not endanger your own safety and that of your men, who might escape harm alone, but, impeded with a woman, you might lose your lives while saving hers. No, I had better stay where I am. You can be of more service without me,” answered Millicent, with quiet forethought.

“Not for a moment would I consider myself in the matter, Miss Gordon,” replied the captain, with prompt assurance; “but perhaps it is not best to attempt to rescue you until I have secured more men.” He remained silent a few minutes, apparently in deep thought, and said, at last, very decidedly, “No; in case we met even a small band of Indians we should be unable to resist, and they would surely recapture you or kill us all at once. If you will have a little patience, and still trust me, I promise to return and liberate you as soon as I can get men.”

“Yes, I trust you wholly; and, as for patience, the hope of rescue will make it infinite until you come,” said Millicent, smiling.

“Thank you for your trust; it shall not be misplaced. Be prepared at any time after a week for an attack upon the camp, and this time the war-cry will come from friends instead of enemies. May I do homage to the fair hand that has carried water to quench the thirst of an Indian squaw?” Before the blushing Millicent could deny the favor he had pressed her fingers to his lips.

“I must return now, or they will look for me. See, the sun sets already.”

“I will go part way with you, as I wish to observe the situation of your present home.”

“Abode, not home,” Millicent said, half-jestingly. “Yes, come with me, but tread softly or you may be heard,” and she led the way through the wood. Upon reaching the brow of the hill she halted, and, placing her hand on the captain’s arm, said, “Look through these trees into the clearing yonder.” He did so, and saw a number of wigwams, with smoke curling out from their tops, and, sitting about on the ground outside, several women, and one or two old men.

“And there you have lived for nearly a year; but it is late; I must leave you. Be of good courage, and believe that never a crusader felt his pledge to visit the Holy Land more sacred than I do mine to liberate you;” and, lifting his hat with deference, he withdrew into the forest.

The scene above described carries the reader back to the time of the fierce and devastating war waged by King Philip against the settlers of New England, in which all the worst elements of the Indian nature came to the surface. The firebrand and the tomahawk were the weapons employed by the Indians to accomplish their purpose of destroying the advancing power of the white man; and so mercilessly did they use these that the outposts of civilization were swept away as by a whirlwind. The savages, avoiding direct conflict with organized forces of the English, made sudden and unsuspected attacks, under cover of darkness, upon exposed houses or towns, applying the torch to the buildings, and massacring the inhabitants or carrying them into captivity. Neither the life nor property of a white man was safe for an instant. While sitting quietly by his fireside or working in his cornfield, he was liable to instant death at the hands of an unseen foe. In such a condition of affairs it is not surprising that spots, where of late the influence of civilization had begun to make itself felt, were abandoned by their terror-stricken inhabitants. Thus, for a while, the rude savages again appeared as rulers of the land, and the forest often resounded with their war-cry as they fell on one partly-deserted town after another, and their yells of triumph rang on the hushes of midnight as they returned from their fiendish expeditions of plunder waving aloft the scalps of their victims. For a year or more this bloody war lasted, bringing death and desolation to many homes, until its guiding hand and vital breath, King Philip, was struck down, killed by one of his race.

[TO BE CONCLUDED IN NEXT ISSUE.]

THE SINGER.

[FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.]

BY LAURA GARLAND CARR.

“Outside the gate, what do I hear
Along the drawbridge sounding?
A song! Now let it reach my ear
Through palace-halls resounding!”
So speaks the king; the small page flies;
The lackey comes; the message hies;
The old man comes, low bowing.

“These noble lords have welcomed me;
These fair dames give me greeting.
What heavenly kingdom do I see
With star-gleam, star-gleam meeting!
Such splendor, pomp, and wealth allied,
Desire must here rest satisfied,
While Time forgets his speeding!”

He pauses now; now strikes in song
Full toned, of pleasing phrases.
Each knight grows proud in look, and strong;
Dames blush at fancied praises.
The king, for whom the songs awake,
As fair return the bard to make—
A golden chain upraises.

“Oh give to me no gift of gold!
Such to your knights deliver,
Before whose faces, stern and bold,
The foe’s best lances shiver.
Or let some chancellor of state
This gift receive, a treasure mete,
Fit token from wise giver.

“I sing as some free wild bird sings,
Among green branches swinging.
The song that from the throat outrings
Its own reward is bringing.
But may I beg a gift of thine?
Then give to me of rare old wine
In golden beaker, brimming.”

They bring it in; he drinks it up.
“O drink—sweet, strength-bestowing!
O happy house—where one may sup
With such wealth ever flowing!
Thank God—you share with me a part!
It stirs my brain; it warms my heart!
I go with new life glowing.”

[Webster Historical Society Papers.]

THE WEBSTER FAMILY.

BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.

I.

The family of Webster, which settled on the easterly coast of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, became quite numerous, and emigrated to the various parts of western New Hampshire as early as 1763. Stephen Webster was one of the twelve pioneers of the town of Plymouth, N.H., in which, with other settlers of the backwoods, they had to endure great privations and hardships.

The three Webster families which settled and remained in Plymouth always claimed Daniel and Ezekiel of Salisbury as first or second cousins.

I quote from Moore Russell Fletcher, M.D., who was connected with the Webster family on both sides, the following narration. He says that Mrs. Stephen Webster and her sons and daughters, the youngest of whom was Mrs. Betsey Fletcher Webster,—the mother of the doctor, and who died in 1863, at the advanced age of eighty-one,—gave him much of his information.

“Stephen Webster, with eleven others, with their wives and children, went from Chester, N.H., to Plymouth, N.H., then a wilderness, about forty-five miles north of Penacook, now Concord, and there, on the Pemigewasset, near the juncture of Baker’s River (afterwards so called), they erected a log-cabin, in that hitherto transient abode of the wild animals of the forest and the still wilder Indians, who at intervals passed through the place on their way to Penacook, Contoocook, Hooksett, Suncook, and Soucook, their old camping-grounds. These men, having selected lands for farms, had no alternative but to carry on their backs the articles of food, implements and seeds requisite for their colonization. They had axes, saws, augers, and shaves, or drawing-knives, and for protection and food their guns and ammunition; not forgetting their bibles, hymn-books, and tinder-boxes. In their journey through the wilderness from Penacook, a distance of sixty or seventy miles, they were guided by blazes on trees made by surveyors or men in search of lands, were obliged to cross streams on fallen trees reaching from bank to bank, and when hunger and fatigue compelled a halt, they selected a spot near some stream, drew forth their tinder-boxes, and with steel and flint struck a fire; then they selected flat stones, wet some Indian meal, placed it on the stones, and baked it for their frugal meal—their ‘Johnny-cake.’ At night they constructed a little booth of bushes, with their fire at its entrance, and, as they laid upon the boughs, their feet would be near the fire,—a great protection against wild animals who infested the forest and who are known to have great dread of fire.

“Each day was a repetition of its predecessor. Upon their arrival their first efforts were directed to erecting a temporary wigwam of trees and bushes in their new home, and all reposed on the boughs, prior to which all joined in prayer and thanksgiving for their safe arrival and good health. On the morrow, after locating the spot for buildings, they began the erection of their log-houses, with one room, with opening for light, and an attic, which was accessible by a small ladder. The crevices between the logs were stopped with moss; the floor of the rooms, roofs, and the attics and doors were of small poles. A few days were sufficient to get their houses in the rough well under way. For food all had equal rights and took an equal part in procuring it. Three or four took dog and gun, and in an hour or two returned with a dead moose, bear, or three or four deer on their shoulders. They subsisted largely upon game, which was plenty in the forest, and when a change was desired they sought fish, with which the streams abounded.

“A few months after their arrival, Mrs. Stephen Webster signified her expectation of adding another member to her family. It was a matter deemed of such importance that a town meeting was called, a moderator and clerk chosen, and the vote put to the meeting upon the name which should be given to the new-comer, which vote was unanimous ‘if a boy his name shall be Plymouth.’ But their vote did not prevent its being a girl, and she was called Lydia, with the remark, ‘the first white child born in Plymouth.’

“Upon one occasion, food being nearly exhausted, a settler took a bag, went to Concord, got one hundred pounds of Indian meal, took it on his shoulder, and carried it to Plymouth, sleeping on boughs, and baking his corn-cake on a flat stone. His arrival was hailed with enthusiasm. When tired of moose and bear meat they tried deer, rabbit, coon, and turtle, then turned to salmon, eels, and pouts. For dessert they had chestnuts, beech-nuts, and butternuts, and for drink they used the checkerberry and hardhack, but mostly they used mountain tea and swamp chocolate-root; these two last-named articles nearly resembled those brought from foreign countries. They raised flax, and with it made their clothing for both men and women. For coats and outer garments they doubled and redoubled the threads, the cloth resembling our present canvas. Linen was found to be cold for stockings and socks, and their inventive talent was brought into use. They cut hair from the bear-skins and mixed it with tow, and thus Bruin furnished them meat, cotton, and wool.

“After a few years of roughing it the settlers began to reckon on some of the luxuries of civilization, and indulged in windows, each allowing two panes of glass 7 X 9. Their fireplaces and chimneys were built of flat stones for the first few feet, and were ‘topped out’ with clay, mixed with straw, and held by sticks of wood laid up cob-house fashion. The same kind of chimney may now be seen in the rural districts of Canada, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia. In many places the fireplace and chimney stand outside of the house, and the fireplace is wide enough to burn wood ten feet long. The wood requires but little chopping or splitting. For andirons they used large stones. When the children wanted to warm themselves they stood at the corner at the ends of the wood.

“They made their furniture, hewing planks from logs for tables, and for a tub chopped off the end of a log, dug a hole through it, leaving only a shell, in which, with a jackknife, they made a groove for the bottom, which also was hewn from a piece of log. The shell of their tub was then soaked with hot water, to enlarge its circle; the plank bottom was then crowded into the groove, and the tub dried before the fire. If not water-tight, the openings were filled with rags. For chairs they took tops of trees with many limbs, split them into two parts, and the limbs answered for legs. Their crockery, much of it, was made of hard wood: from knarls they made trays, bowls, pans, plates, and sometimes spoons, knives, and forks. Instead of candles they used pitch and candle woods. My grandfather, had in his house wooden trays, bowls, plates, and wooden spoons.

“When the number of inhabitants had increased so that it was called a village, earthen plates and pewter plates and iron spoons were brought into town from the town and larger settlements. Men carried the flax wheel on their backs, and their mechanical skill enabled them to construct looms.

daniel webster on his farm.

“As the settlement increased in number, and the people began felling trees, the Indians, who from time to time passed there on their way to Penacook, Contoocook, Hooksett, etc., seeing the whites encroaching upon their lands, began their maraudings and became so troublesome, that the settlers regarded it as no sin to kill a redskin who was known to watch about for an opportunity to secretly send an arrow with deadly intent at their white brothers whenever they ventured beyond the limits of their little settlement.

birth-place of daniel webster.

“There was one, Mr. Baker, whose delight was, we learned of the Indians,—being at their camping-ground, near the union of what is now Baker’s River with the Pemigewasset River, about a mile above Plymouth,—to take his gun, as he termed it, and play hide-and-seek with the redskins. His scouting about would seem to be known, and an Indian would come out to spy his enemy, hiding from tree to tree. Baker did the same, and as each peeped for the other Baker placed his hat on the muzzle of his gun, and held it so that the Indian saw, as he thought, a white man’s head. Then he sent an arrow whizzing through Baker’s old hat, and, seeing it fall, stepped out to finish his foe by raising the hair, when Baker sent a slug through the redskin. Soon another Indian came peeping from trees to learn the cause of that report and the fate of his chief. In a few minutes Baker played the same game on him and several others. Baker became so notorious an Indian exterminator that they gave the river his name; hence Baker’s River.”

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

rev. thomas prince.
[The Founder of the Prince Library in Boston.]

THE NEW ENGLAND LIBRARY AND ITS FOUNDER.

BY VICTORIA REED.

Thomas Prince was an eminent divine and accomplished scholar, well known throughout New England during the first half of the 18th century. His life is worthy of consideration on many accounts, but particularly for the great work he accomplished outside of his profession. He is, perhaps, best known to this generation as the collector of the Prince Library, now incorporated with many other private collections in the Public Library of Boston, although his published work, “The Chronology of New England,” confers an equal benefit on posterity, and both together entitle him to a place of honor in our annals.

His library was gathered as much for the instruction of others as for his own gratification. It is interesting to know that this bequest, now one hundred and fifty years old, obsolete in some respects, is still highly valued. Some writer says, that, if for no other reason, there should be a new fire-proof building for the Public Library for the better preservation of the Shakespeare collection and the Prince Library. The valuable editions of Shakespeare arranged in glass cases in the Bates Hall are no doubt familiar to many people, but it is possible that the majority even of the daily visitors to this institution have no definite knowledge of the Prince Library, which is found, on examination, to contain a fund for the curious, as well as many things of importance to the antiquarian.

This library was added to the Public Library twenty-four years ago, and was originally a gift to the Old South Church. It is a collection which should be treasured, not only by Bostonians and all New England people, but is also of importance to the country at large, as it was, in a limited sense, the forerunner of all public libraries in the land. It is of a twofold nature,—an historical section, with the other devoted to ecclesiastical works. Mr. Prince designed the ecclesiastical or Old South collection, as he called it, for the use of the pastors and church of which he was associate pastor forty years. This contained all the Latin and Greek books, and all in oriental languages.

His will states: “That whereas I have been many years collecting a number of books, pamphlets, maps, prints and manuscripts, either published in New England or pertaining to its history and public affairs, to which collection I have given the name of ‘Ye New England Library,’ and have deposited in the steeple of the Old South Church; and as I made this collection from a public view and desire that many important transactions might be remembered, which otherwise would be lost, I hereby bequeath the collection to the Old South Church forever, to the end that this collection may be kept entire. I desire that this collection be kept in a different department from the other books, and that it may be so made that no person shall borrow any book or paper therefrom, but that any person whom the pastors and deacons of the church for the time being shall approve, may have access thereto, and take copies therefrom.”

The Prince catalogue states that, “at his death, the New England Library was the most extensive of the kind that had ever been formed. It contains, in its depleted state, not less than 1,500 books and tracts relating to America during the period of our colonial history.”

The Mather family and Gov. Hutchinson are alone to be compared with Mr. Prince as collectors of books, and theirs avail little, as they have been scattered and destroyed. It is a matter of congratulation that the greater portion of Mr. Prince’s books have been preserved, each of which had been carefully selected, “many bearing name, date of purchase, cost, and place where it was acquired.” He frequently noted contemporaneous events of public importance on fly-leaf.

A great number were purchased during a seven-years’ residence in Europe, and some one says, “By means of this memoranda, we can easily trace the stages of his sojourn abroad.” He invented a very quaint book-plate, with flowered border, in which he inscribed his name.

Many valuable books and manuscripts were destroyed at the beginning of hostilities, which resulted in the Revolutionary war. The library, when entire, was a rare monument to the energy and perseverance of Mr. Prince, who, through a long and laborious life, never lost sight of this cherished project of his youth. It has never been merged into any other collection, but remains entirely separate, in accordance with the will of the testator. It has a special catalogue, and no book is ever taken from the building, though accessible for reference in the main hall. The books are deposited in an alcove at the top of the house, reached by a spiral stairway. Many of them are of immense size, in heavy leather bindings, while others are of the smallest dimensions. The pages are yellow with age, and the majority will have only the ravages of time to contend with, as the contents are not of a nature to make them attractive to the youth, or even to many maturer minds of this generation; but to the antiquarian, and as a picture of the growth of a mind in Puritan days, from its earliest years to advanced age, this collection is unequalled; for it was carefully selected, subject to the taste and needs of Mr. Prince’s nature, and each book was familiar and favorite ground to him.

The first book with date bears this inscription: “Thos. Prince, his book, 1697, 10 years of age.” The book was “Marrow of Modern Divinity,” with “Awakening Call to the Unconverted” attached, and in his 16th year the following book was added: “Some Account of Holy Life and Death of Mr. Henry Gearing, late citizen of London, who departed this life Jan. 4th, 1693, aged 61. Boston in New England, printed for Sam’l Phillips, at the Brick Shop, 1704.” Underneath is written, “Anno Domini, 1704, Thomas Prince, Duke of Landwich, Earl of Penapog.”

The taking down of the first Old South and “Ye day of laying foundation of ye South Church, New Meeting House, March 31, 1727,” are duly chronicled in books of those dates. All through his life Thomas Prince showed a wonderful adaptability in noting the minutest as well as greatest events, and we trace a thorough command of detail in his published work, both lay and clerical. This, joined with enthusiasm and unflagging zeal, caused him to master all difficulties, and to accomplish tasks that would be appalling to an untrained or undisciplined mind.

One of the cards used for reference in the Public Library contains the following: “The Prince Library has some rare specimens of the earliest typographical art in British America, and other books of peculiar interest in the history of New England, though not printed in America. The Bay Psalm Book, which was printed at Cambridge, Mass., in 1640, being the first book ever printed in the British Possessions, ‘The Freeman’s Oath’ and a small almanac only preceding it. What is supposed to be the original draught of the preface of this book, in the handwriting of one of the editors, the Rev. Richard Mather, is among the Prince MSS. Elliot’s Indian Bible,—first edition printed at Cambridge, 1663,—also Eliot’s Indian Primer, 1720, in original binding, and thought in that style to be unique. Capt. John Smith’s description of New England, printed in London, 1616, with the early map. This copy contains the old and new names, and has differences from most copies that have been preserved.”

Mr. Prince collected the original manuscripts of the “Mather Papers,” and arranged them chronologically with notes. He seemed to know intuitively that everything should be preserved that would be of the least advantage to future historians. The salvation of the records of this most important family, who, with extreme rigor and cruelty even, in some cases, ruled the Puritans of their day, was a natural and thoughtful act on Mr. Prince’s part.

The “Hinckley Papers” are of great interest also. The catalogue of this portion of the library has been very carefully prepared, as each letter in all these manuscript collections is designated by subject, the name of the writer, date, and volume that contains it. The Hinckley papers were those belonging to Mr. Prince’s maternal grandfather, Gov. Hinckley, who had a very extensive correspondence during the twenty years he was governor of Plymouth Colony. It contains letters from all men of note of that period,—Roger Williams, the Cottons, the Mathers, Gov. Winslow, a letter of King Charles II. to Gov. Josiah Winslow, Gov. Hinckley’s address, and petition to James II.; also many personal letters to wife and daughters. Mr. Prince says “that on his grandfather’s death he took these papers from his study, but while he was in Europe some of curiosity and value were unhappily lost.” There are some Prince papers, mostly letters of distinguished divines to his brother, Rev. Nathan Prince. In his brother’s commonplace book he inscribes, “This book belongs to the New England Library. Begun to be collected by Thomas Prince upon his entering Harvard College in 1703, and was given by Prince to s’d library in memory of his late dear brother, ye Rev. Nathan Prince, M.A., formerly Fellow and Tutor of Harvard College. Born at Sandwich, November, 1698; died at Rattan, 1748, and wrote this manuscript before he left sd college in 1742.” The catalogue remarks: “Two vols. MSS., evidently companions to this book, are in the Library of Bishop of London at Fulham.”

There is in the Prince Library quite a large collection of ecclesiastical history and biblical literature.

The psalms in numberless versions, metres, and paraphrases, in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek; one hundred and six volumes on natural, polemic, and practical theology. All his own works are to be found here; as many as thirty-three sermons, mostly funeral discourses, others commemorating great events, such as victories at Culloden and Louisburg. He gave frequently the genealogy of the person eulogized in his funeral orations, thus making them valuable for family reference, and often of historical significance. We easily trace the early bent of his mind toward chronology. It gathered force throughout his whole career, and finally bore fruit in his own “Chronology of New England,” on which he spent many years of preparation.

He said himself, when he presented it in person to the House, of which Hon. Mr. Quincy was speaker, in 1736: “I most humbly present to your honor, and this honorable house, the first volume of my ‘Chronology of New England,’ which at no small expense and pains I have composed and published for the instruction and good of my country.” He published three parts of the second volume, and made elaborate preparations for its continuance. He began his work at the patriarchal period, and brought it down with careful attention to reliable facts into the earliest annals and descriptive history of Plymouth Colony, throwing light on the mode of living and thinking of the Puritans by copious quotations from their diaries. If his diligent and inquisitive mind could have completed this wonderful production,—bringing it to the middle of the 18th century,—it would have been such a perfect and minute account of the early history of New England that there would have been nothing for later historians to glean. It was, however, unappreciated at the time of its publication, which was a discouragement to him, though he always maintained, with his peculiar insight into the needs of coming ages, that the time would surely arrive when his patient and laborious work would meet with some reward,—a prophecy which has been more than fulfilled as far as the historians of New England are concerned.

The last work of his busy life was the revision of the Bay Psalm Book. Mr. Prince, in his account of this undertaking, gives an idea of the thoroughness of his preparatory work. He says: “The old Psalm Book,—the first book printed in all North America, or in the New World,—this version of 1640, by the clergymen, John Elliot, of Roxbury, Mr. Richard Mather, of Dorchester, and Mr. Thomas Weld,—was liked so much, that it was used by some congregations in England while I was there.” “To gain sentiment,” he says, for his own version, “I read every verse in English Bible and Polyglot; also in Hebrew, with Moulane’s Interlineary, the Septuagint, the Chaldee, the ancient Latin, Latin versions of Syriac and Arabic, Castalio, Tremilius and Junius, Ainsworth and De Mies. When I met with difficulty I searched the following ancient lexicons: Avenarius, Schindler, Pagnini, Mercer, Buxtorfs two lexicons, namely, Hebrew and Chaldaic, Leigh, Castillus, Bythun, and Martin Albert.” There were also various interpretations from another long list of names; while he looked into New England version for groundwork, he compared with twelve metrical versions.

A contemporary says: “It showed his wonderful industry and remarkable scholarship.” His professional labors throughout fifty years were very arduous, but he brought the same careful preparation into all branches of his daily occupations that we find in his published work. In addition to his theological studies, which were naturally absorbing, and his historical research, he was thoroughly conversant with polite literature. At his death his library, which he had deposited in the belfry of the Old South Church, said to be his study, remained there intact and undisturbed for seventeen years. The books were on shelves, the manuscripts and maps in boxes and barrels. At the breaking out of the Revolutionary war they were still left where Mr. Prince placed them, though the old meeting-house became the camping ground of British soldiery. Pews and pulpit were burnt, to enable the riding school—which the soldiers inaugurated—a better opportunity for its operations. Gov. Winthrop’s old residence, next door to the church, opposite the foot of School street, which had been used some time as a parsonage, fell a victim to the lawlessness of the soldiers, who used the beams and rafters of this memento of the earliest Puritan days for firewood, while many of Mr. Prince’s books and manuscripts were immolated on the same altar. It has been suggested that some were taken by the spectators who thronged to witness the exhibitions, as manuscripts known to have belonged to this library were found—so the catalogue states—as remote as in a grocer’s shop in Nova Scotia. It would be difficult to conjecture which would have caused the greater grief to Mr. Prince,—the desecration of the church, whose construction had been a daily delight, and where he had earnestly labored for so many years, or the sacrifice of a portion of the results of the patient toil of a lifetime. This material, however, which was consigned to the flames, would have been of great benefit to historical societies, who now treasure the minutest facts that bear upon our past history. In 1814, when society had recovered its equilibrium, and began to feel a dawning pride in the great achievement that made of the colonies a free and independent nation, an interest naturally increased in those things that pertained to their earliest chronicles. The Historical Society looked over the books and pamphlets belonging to Mr. Prince, removing the historical portion to their rooms, while the ecclesiastical was sent to the house of the pastor of the Old South. In 1860 it was considered desirable to place them all together in the Public Library of Boston, where they would be under the guardianship of the city, and be far more accessible, though still the property of the Old South.

Everything seemed to conspire to make the life of Thomas Prince an exceptionally happy and fortunate one. He had remarkable opportunities from his birth to develop all his natural capabilities, and in spite of his Puritan surroundings he gained a liberal view of life, and appreciated and profited by the facilities for culture that were open to him. He traced himself the genealogy and characteristics of the Prince family, and we find in him the modified traits of his English and Puritan forefathers, who, though strictly religious, were not so fanatical as many about them. His great-grandfather, the Rev. John Prince, who lived in the reign of James I. and Charles I., was educated at Oxford, and became rector of East Shefford, Berkshire, Eng. Thomas Prince says of him: “Of whom there was this remarkable, that he was one of the Puritan ministers of the Church of England who in part conformed and who greatly longed for a further reformation. He had married a daughter of Dr. Toldenburg, D.D., of Oxford, by whom he had four sons and seven daughters. Every one of the children proved conscientious non-conformists even while their parents lived, without any breach of affection. Thus they continued pretty near together until the furious and cruel Archbishop Laud dispersed and drove their eldest son, with many others, to this country.”

Walter Money, F.S.A., local secretary of Berks, writes of the old church at East Shefford, of which Rev. John Prince was rector from 1620 to 1644: “The church where he preached still stands, being used only for a mortuary chapel, a new one for use having been erected near by. The old chapel is a most interesting building of the time of Henry VIII., and considered worthy to be described in full in archæological works found in the British Museum. It contains a remarkable monument of Sir Thomas Fettiplace and his wife Beatrice, whose old manor-house adjoined the church. There is an exquisite view of the latter in the British Museum.”

The rector’s oldest son, also named John, was destined for the ministry, and had been three years at Oxford before coming to this country. On arriving here, thinking his preparatory work too meagre for his profession, he devoted himself to husbandry. He settled in Hull, in 1633. His son Samuel, the father of Thomas, was born in 1649, and his son chronicles of him, “That he was healthy and strong in body, vigorous and active in spirit, thoughtful and religious from youth, esteemed for his abilities and gifts, especially of his power of arguing; a zealous asserter of New England liberties, with charity to others, instructive in conversation.” He represented the town of Sandwich nineteen times in legislative councils. He had two wives; the second was Mercy, daughter of Governor Hinckley, and Thomas was her oldest son. Governor Hinckley was a man of superior ability, distinguished in the history of Plymouth Colony. “He had been from first to last the associate, in weal or woe, of its great and good men, and had lived himself chief among the survivors to see the last chapter written in its immortal annals.” His grandmother Hinckley was a daughter of Quartermaster Smith, who came from England. Her grandson, Thomas Prince, says of her: “To the day of her death she shone in the eyes of all as the loveliest and brightest for beauty, knowledge, wisdom, majesty, accomplishments and graces throughout the colony.” Governor Hinckley had seventeen children, their names corresponding to the spirit of the times. Among them we find Mataliah, Mehitable, Mercy, Experience, Thankful, Reliance, Ebenezer, and Bathsheba. Thomas Prince himself, one of fourteen children, was born at Sandwich, the first town settled on the Cape in 1687. When eleven years old he went to his grandfather Hinckley’s, and remained with him until he entered college. Here he imbibed his taste for chronology and his love of books. His grandfather fostered him in his youthful ambition of founding a library, and gave him many from his own collection. During his long life of eighty years Governor Hinckley became thoroughly acquainted with all events of importance that had happened in the new world, and the eager boy was fed and stimulated by companionship with him, and all the moving spirits of the day who frequented his grandfather’s house. His early attention to religious subjects, his wide culture, and remarkable sympathy with everything pertaining to his own times, was the blossoming fruit instilled into him by an honorable ancestry, who from the early part of the seventeenth century had been consistent Puritans, and filled places of trust with honor and fidelity.

Although in the first half of the eighteenth century religious fanaticism was on the decline in Europe it held sway still, in a measure, in the colonies. There had been many instances of intolerance and tyranny on the part of the clergy in the past. Cotton Mather’s implacable spirit found vent in the superstition and cruelty that characterized the Salem Witchcraft, while other ministerial leaders were prominent in the persecution of the Quakers. Joseph Sewall and Thomas Prince were educated under the Cottons and Mathers, but their lives presented a striking contrast to these fiery expounders of the Christian faith. Tolerance, benevolence, and humility shone conspicuously in their united careers. The serious character of the books collected and read by young Prince from his tenth year shows not only his daily training, but the inherent tendency of his mind toward that profession which he afterwards adorned. Mr. Sewall, his colleague, says of him, “That his crowning glory was that he was pious from his youth.” He entered Harvard College at sixteen, and, after graduating, devoted two years to the study of divinity in Cambridge. His acquirements in theology, science, and history were marvellous, and, with his diligence and love of research, he turned with great energy to Europe as a wider field, where he could add indefinitely to his already fine attainments, and where the ease and grace of an older civilization left their stamp on his future deportment and endeared him to his people and the whole community. In 1709 he sailed for England by the way of Barbadoes, thence to Madeira, and, after another trip to Barbadoes, he finally settled in England in October, 1710, making his home there seven years. There is one volume of his journal covering this period, bound in vellum, at the Massachusetts Historical rooms, presented by the Rev. Chandler Robbins. It is a miracle of neatness and precision, but in such fine penmanship that it is difficult to decipher. His love of detail is manifest in the most accurate information in regard to the ship’s progress in her various voyages; and in his account of the small-pox and measles, both of which diseases assailed him at this time, the daily symptoms were chronicled in the most vivid manner. He attended theological lectures in London and at various universities, becoming in 1711 pastor of a church in Combs, Suffolk County, England. For six years this young American pursued his profession with enthusiasm, in the midst of a population who were devoted to him. Before returning to America he formed a church at Battisford, next parish to Combs, and when he returned to his native land many of his congregation came with him.

The chapel was then closed; one part of the flock settled at Needham Market, the other at Stowmarket,—these churches still existing. In Combs began the romantic period of his life. He became interested in Deborah Denny, a child of twelve when he came to the village, who grew up under his ministrations. Her family for centuries was famed for its piety and was thoroughly devoted to the interests of the church. Her training had been as strict in religious matters as Mr. Prince’s. In her eighteenth year Deborah sailed for America, with her brother Samuel, to join another brother, who had settled here previously. Mr. Prince took passage on the same vessel, and two years later they were married at the house of her brother, Daniel Denny, at Leicester, by Rev. Joseph Sewall, Mr. Prince being ten years older than his bride. He had been urged to continue his residence abroad; but his longings for home were too powerful for their inducements, and later in life he was known to have regretted spending so many years away from what he then had learned to consider his true sphere of usefulness.

He landed in Boston on a July Sunday, 1717. He notes it thus in his journal: “The captain sent his pinnace to carry me up. I landed at Long Wharf about three quarters of an hour before the meeting began, and by that means escaped the crowds of people, five hundred it was said, who came down on the wharf at noon, inquiring for me. But now, the streets being clear, I silently went up to the Old South Meeting House, where no one knew me but Mr. Sewall, in the pulpit.” The churches of Hingham, Bristol, and the Old South gave him urgent calls to become their pastor. His choice fell upon the Old South, whose pastor, Mr. Sewall, was a cherished friend and classmate.

Mrs. Grace Denny, Mrs. Prince’s mother, in her letters to “daughter Prince,” regretted that she was to be subject to the temptations of a city life, fearing it would be a snare and hindrance to her growth in grace, and advocated the choice of Hingham as a residence. In 1719 Boston was a goodly town of only twelve thousand inhabitants, governed with strict Puritan laws, some of which were even oppressive, giving small opportunity to indulge in the frivolities of life, even if one desired, and least of all to a pastoress of the Old South Church.

The church in which Mr. Prince was ordained by Increase and Cotton Mather, and Mr. Sewall, and where he delivered his own ordination sermon to admiring crowds, was not the historical structure of the present day, although it occupied the same site. The street in front was lined with beautiful mulberry trees, and bore the name of ‘Marlboro’, from the great Duke and General. The parsonage was next door north, and opposite, on Milk street, was the home of Josiah Franklin, where Benjamin was born. There were handsome residences in the vicinity, and the streets even then were paved with cobble-stones.

Rev. Mr. Wisner, on the one-hundredth anniversary of the erection of the present Old South, gave a pleasing account of the lives and work of Joseph Sewall and Thomas Prince. He said, “Forty years these excellent men associated and labored for this congregation, in firm friendship, in perfect unity, which few can emulate. Their journals show never a shadow of difference. They had remarkable tempers. Mr. Sewall notes in his journal that he and Mr. Prince always prayed together before their different church services, and occasionally spent portions of a day mutually devoted to private humiliation in united prayer.”

The present meeting-house was erected in 1729. A day was set apart “to humble themselves before God, for all their unfruitfulness under the means of grace enjoyed in the old meeting-house, and to bless the building of another one.”

Mr. Sewall prayed with the workmen before they began to take down the house. It is curious to note the remarkable faith in direct answer to prayer in those days. President Dwight lays emphasis upon the fact, and gives the following instance in the life of Mr. Prince as evidence: “It was the destruction of the French fleet, under Duke D’Anville, in 1746. Forty ships of war, destined for the destruction of New England, were fitted out at Brest for the purpose. Our pious fathers, apprised of the danger, called a meeting for fasting and prayer. While Mr. Prince was officiating and praying most devoutly to God to avert the calamity, a sudden gust of wind arose (the day had been perfectly calm and clear), so violent as to cause a loud clattering of the windows. The reverend pastor paused in his prayer, and, looking around upon the congregation with a countenance of hope, he again commenced, and with great devotional ardor supplicated the Almighty to cause that wind to frustrate the object of our enemies, and save the country from conquest and popery. A tempest ensued, in which a greater part of the French fleet was wrecked on the coast of Nova Scotia. The Duke D’Anville committed suicide. Many died with disease, and thousands were consigned to a watery grave. The small number who survived returned to France, broken in health and spirits,—the enterprise was abandoned, and never renewed.” Many who were present have left accounts of Mr. Prince’s earnestness on this occasion.

Probably no two men could be more devoted to the religious interests of their church and the community at large than these, yet Mr. Prince records, eighteen years after the beginning of his pastorate, that the ministers of Boston made an extraordinary effort to arrest the decay of godliness, but with no abiding results, and this was particularly noticeable in his own congregation. There seemed to be no change in this respect until the coming of Whitfield, in 1740, when he preached “to breathless thousands in the old South Church.” Mr. Prince welcomed this apostle with enthusiasm. His own sermons were full of vigor, and a brilliant imagination embellished them with abundant illustrations, but depth of thought and zealous research made the majority of his writings far above the comprehension of the multitude. His printed funeral sermons are quaint in their deep, black borders, with drawings of death’s heads similar to those that adorned the tombstones. His sermon after the death of George I. may have embodied the feeling prevalent at that time; but, in view of the more critical light thrown upon the character and reigns of the Georges by historians and satirists of our day, this eulogy is a curiosity, with its almost childish enthusiasm and simple-hearted loyalty. The following are passages from his sermon:—

For my part, I shall never forget the joy that swelled my heart when in the Splendid Procession, at his Coronation, preceded by all the nobles of the kingdom and his son and heir-apparent, one other hope, with their Ermine Robes and Coronets, that Royal face at length appeared, which Heaven had in that moment sent to save these Great Nations from the Brink of Ruin. Nor do I speak of it as my case alone, but as what appeared to be the equal transport of the multitudes around me. The tears of joy seemed to rise and swell in every eye, and we were hardly able to give a shout thro’ the laboring passions that were swelling in us. He was in some respects a Father to the Kings of the earth, or at least a powerful and decisive mediator and umpire among them. The eyes of the greatest princes were turned to him. In these distant parts of his Dominion we have felt the happy influences of his happy reign. He was the darling and protection of his people, the great support of the reformed interest and the arbiter of Europe. George II. is a Prince of winning countenance and manly aspect, had considerable treasure of useful learning, and with him a most amiable Princess, the reigning glory of her sex for beauty, knowledge, wit, discretion, the sweetest temper, the most cheerful, affable and engaging countenance and carriage, with every charming virtue; in the bloom of her youth preferred her chaste religion to all the glories of the Imperial family, and became the love and admiration of every protestant.

President Cheney says of Mr. Prince “he may be justly characterized as one of our great men;” but he deplored that he sometimes devoted so much attention to minute and trifling circumstances of things, and gave too great credit to surprising stories. This, no doubt, may at times have been unnecessary, and would certainly be a failing at the present time, when writing on all subjects is so universal; but in Mr. Prince’s case it took the form of an advantage to posterity, as this love of detail caused him to hand down to all generations the most life-like descriptions of daily life and conversation of his own and remote times. Although he saw a particular providence in every act, every word, every wind that blew, and every storm that arose, yet Mr. Sewall said of him, “that the great truths and doctrines of the Gospel were his chosen subjects. He spake as the oracles of God, as one that felt the Divine Excellence. Some of his discourses even have received impressions in England.”

The great tenderness of his nature was particularly prominent in his family relations. He trained his children in the paths of knowledge, his well-disciplined mind making him a safe and wise teacher; while, like him, they were pious from their youth. His only son graduated with honor from his own college, and had just started on a literary career with flattering success, when consumption caused his death, in his twenty-fourth year. Two daughters, also, at the early ages of twenty and twenty-two, were taken from the household, and in their old age one daughter only was left to these parents. Mr. Prince’s contemporaries speak of his wonderful resignation at these repeated afflictions. His sermon on the death of his daughter Deborah gives the religious experience of a young girl who, in those rigorous Calvinistic days, had her sweet young life overshadowed by the terror of God’s wrath for what she considered her unbelief. A few extracts will give a good idea of Mr. Prince’s impassioned, pathetic, and even dramatic style, and his apparently “trifling details” add vividness to the picture. His son besought him to dispense with the custom of a funeral oration in his case; but the feelings of the father were sacrificed to what he considered his duty to the youth of his congregation on the occasion of his daughter’s death.

He said: “You have known her character; I need not give it to this assembly, and I am more especially restrained, not only by my near relation, but by what she said to me, with all the emotions of a grieved heart, three or four days before her death. ‘Dear father, I have been told you speak to people in my commendation. I beg you would not. I am a poor, miserable sinner; you cannot think how it grieves me.’ On these accounts I must forbear her character; but because God’s dealings with her, both before and in her sickness, have been remarkable, I cannot but think it will be for his glory and your advantage to present some of them to you. As she grew up, God was pleased to refrain her from vanities, move her to study her Bible and best of authors, both of history and divinity. Dr. Watts and Mrs. Rowe’s writings were familiar to her. The spirit of God worked upon her at fourteen, but she did not join the church until two years later, when she narrowly escaped drowning, in her father’s bosom. For, as I had just received her in my arms, in a boat, in order to go on board a vessel in the harbor, bound to her Uncle Denny’s, at Georgetown, on the Kennebec river, the boat steered off, and I fell back with her into the salt water, ten feet deep, with which she was almost filled, and we both continued under it, out of sight of her brother and sister looking on, for about a minute. If a couple of strangers from Connecticut had not been near at hand to reach her quickly, in a minute or more she had been past recovery....

“In all weathers she sought the house of God, and she was afraid of being deceived. Though her jealousies and fears were troublesome, I think they were useful. Sometimes she had light and comfort; oftener otherwise. In her twentieth year she had a fever, and from the first she thought she should not live, complained of her stupidity of mind, impenitence and unbelief. I came home from afternoon exercise, found her so ill that her mother thought herself obliged to tell her, upon which she thanked her for her kindness, but quickly fell into great distress on being unprepared for eternity. It would break a heart of stone to hear her: ‘Oh! dear sir, what shall I do?’ ... Oh! the horrors of that night. It was one of the most distressing I ever knew. She wouldn’t close her eyes for fear of dying. In the morning was a little more resigned, fell asleep, awoke refreshed, but still in darkness. ‘Oh! dear father,’ she would say, ‘I have dreadfully apostatized from Christ.’ Mr. Sewall and I labored with her for days, but we found nobody but the Almighty could do it.

“Dr. Sewall said, ‘If she died in darkness, we should have good ground to hope that she would awake in glory.’ To everything he would say she would reply, ‘I cannot believe.’ You must be sensible of a distressed father’s heart, putting his soul in her soul’s place for many weeks.

“Incessant prayers were offered for her in public and private, by relations and friends who loved her, but until the last half hour of her life were unanswered. She was in agonies of death all the while Mr. Sewall was praying. When he and the physician left, I told her they could do nothing more. She was calm and composed, but did not speak.... It was so dismal to see her depart in darkness. Oh! the distress in that room. I held her in my arms, she opened her eyes and spoke a new language: ‘Oh! I love the Lord with all my heart. I see such an amiableness in him, I prize him above a thousand worlds.’ I said, ‘Dear child, what have you to say to me?’—‘Oh! sir, that you may be more fervent in your ministry, in exhorting and expostulating with sinners.’ I never saw such a change in a sick room, from distress to joy when I reported her words. I could scarcely have thought a father, mother, brother and sister could have been so transported in the expiring moments of one so dear to them.”

This discourse was published in Edinboro’ after his death. His daughter Sarah, afterwards wife of Lieut.-Gov. Gill, survived her parents a few years, but died, without children in 1771. She was also deeply religious, and some of her writings were published in Edinboro’ after her death.

Mr. Prince’s life, aside from his domestic afflictions, seems to have flowed on in peaceful paths, that ran their quiet course between the hardships of the early years of the colonies and the rising passions and frequent strifes that reigned, particularly in New England, for years before the Revolutionary war. His whole nature, tuned to harmony and peaceful avocations, developed in its proper channel. The comparative quiet of the first half of the eighteenth century permitted a thorough devotion to his allotted pursuits. His forty years’ pastorate in Boston left their trace of love and good-will in seed which can never be destroyed, and his indefatigable industry and painstaking perseverance are lessons that could be of benefit to all generations.

He inherited a large property from his father. Beside other lands, acquired and inherited, he owned the tract which is covered by the town of Princeton, including Wachusett mountain, the town deriving its name from him. In the Boylston Mansion at Princeton, there is a beautiful crayon portrait of Mrs. Sarah Gill, his daughter, executed by Copley. There is also a fine tall clock, which belonged to Mr. Prince, in the possession of Mrs. Addison Denny, at Leicester. Mr. Prince brought it with him from England in 1717; the whole case is in raised Japanese work, and the face decorations very elaborate. It was made by Thomas Wagstaffe, of London, and his descendants still make clocks at the same shop, by hand and under the same name.

Mr. Prince died in 1757, after a year’s illness, at seventy-two years of age. The Weekly Gazette said, in announcing his death: “His performances in pulpit evidence a vast compass of thought, a sublime imagination, a great faith and zeal. In printed composures there is a fertility of invention, correctness of sentiment, sprightliness of expression, that must delight every reader, and transmit his name to posterity in the most advantageous light. His private life was amiable and exemplary, adorned with grace and virtues. A useful member of civil society. His consort has lost an affectionate husband; his only surviving daughter, a tender father; his servants, an indulgent master; his acquaintances, a kind, condescending friend; his church, an enlightened and vigilant pastor; his country, a zealous advocate of civil and religious liberty. Took farewell to this world with humble resignation to the will of God, and entire dependence on our Lord Jesus Christ, and a good hope of Immortality.”

NEW ENGLAND MANNERS AND CUSTOMS IN THE
TIME OF BRYANT’S EARLY LIFE.

BY MRS. H. G. ROWE.

Ninety-one years ago, in the little town of Cummington, Mass., was born a child, who was destined, in after years, to be the first of a grand line of American poets, who have made this, the second century of our Republic, famous by their genius and originality.

Not long since, in looking over an old magazine, published in Philadelphia in 1809, I came across quite an extended review of Campbell’s, then just issued, poem, “Gertrude of Wyoming,” and was not a little amused at the closing comments.

After a little mild praise, and a good deal of equally mild criticism, of the Scotch poet, the editor goes on to say:—

“But, after all, although lesser poets are constantly rising above the literary horizon, challenging the admiration of the reading world for a few short months,—possibly years,—and then sinking into the obscurity of a forgotten past, the sun of English poetry has set forever. With Pope, Milton, and Dryden, England lost her last true poets. Henceforth all who claim that title must be more or less skilful imitators merely of the great masters who have gone before them.

“As for America,” he continues, with the most unpatriotic candor, “there is not the smallest chance of her ever producing a real poet. Ingenious scribblers she may have, without doubt, but the typical American never had or will have one grain of poetry in his hard, shrewd, matter-of-fact nature.”

This was the verdict of a Philadelphia editor seventy-six years ago. To-day the bust of our own Longfellow stands in Westminster Abbey, side by side with a Chaucer and a Shakspere, while not only the English-speaking world on both sides of the ocean, but the dwellers in sunny Italy, upon the frozen steppes of Russia, and in far-off Japan and India, sing and repeat, each in his own tongue, the stirring battle-hymns and sweet home-songs of the gifted singers of our Western World.

We are often reminded that a writer’s environments have much to do with the character of his writings, and in Bryant’s case this fact is particularly noticeable.

His earliest poems, and especially that great masterpiece, “Thanatopsis,” written at the early age of eighteen, show unmistakably that the boy had grown up in the closest familiarity with the theological tenets of the New England of his day, and that the bent of his young mind was, even then, toward graver subjects than would naturally occupy the thoughts of a boy of that age.

His biographers assert that he drew his inspiration for this grand poem from the pages of Kirke White and Southey. But whatever his acquaintance with these poets may have done for him, there is a striking similarity of imagery and sentiment between his own and the writings of the sacred bards, whose utterances were as familiar to the children of a Christian household in those days as their own childish nursery songs and hymns.

For instance, compare these lines from “Thanatopsis” with a well-known passage in the Book of Job:—

“... Yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep,—the dead reign there alone.”

The sacred poet says:—

“Yet shall he be brought to the grave, and shall remain in the tomb.
The clods of the valley shall be sweet unto him, and every man shall draw after him as there are innumerable before him.”

Then, again, in “The Old Man’s Funeral”:—

“Then rose another hoary man, and said,
In faltering accents, to that weeping train:
‘Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead?
Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain.’”

Compare this with:

“Thou shall come to the grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season.”

Examples similar to these occur in many of Bryant’s poems, and tend to show the result of the early religious training, that, as the son of a thoughtful, God-fearing New England gentleman of that day, he most certainly did receive.

That he was intensely, grandly, sometimes fiercely patriotic, is also due, in a great measure, to the surrounding influences of his young life.

The struggle for American independence was at last over, and the lusty young Republic, springing, Minerva-like, from the mighty brain of a no longer imperilled freedom, was ready to throw down the gauntlet of defiance to all the world, and assert her rights as queen regnant of the great Western World.

The armies had been disbanded, and the war-scarred veterans had joyfully returned to their farms and workshops, ready to put their willing hands again to the plough and the plane, and help to restore, by patient toil and honest legislation, prosperity and peace to the land so long distracted by the commotions and uncertainties of war.

Later, his days of toil over, the old soldier sat him down, in restful content, by his own peaceful fireside, while, with the old musket in its honored place above the tall wooden mantle, he fought over again, in memory, his old-time battles, and to sons and grandsons taught, in thrilling, patriotic words, the great lesson to love and revere their country next to their God.

As a boy, no doubt, young Bryant had listened to many of the tales of these honored veterans, and had drank in, with the air of his own native village, long draughts of their fervid patriotism, that animated his writings down to the latest years of his life.

That he had seen with his own eyes some of the leading spirits in that great national struggle, who still lived to honor and be honored by the nation that they had fought so bravely to free from a foreign yoke, is shown by an extract from one of his few humorous poems, in which he says:—

“I pause to state
That I, too, have seen greatness—even I—
Shook hands with Adams, stared at Lafayette,
When, barehead, in the hot noon of July,
He would not let the umbrella be held o’er him,
For which three cheers burst from the mob before him.”

Patriotic, religious, philosophical, and a true lover of nature, yet Bryant cannot, in any mood, be styled one of our fireside poets, like Longfellow, Whittier, and Lowell.

Perhaps he failed to see in the then bare loneliness of the typical New England home a beauty worth the attention of his fastidious and lofty-minded muse. And that New England homes, at that time, were bare of what we, to-day, deem the absolute necessities of life, no student of the past pretends to deny.

The long war had drained and impoverished the country; our manufactures and commerce were then in their infancy; the whole machinery of our recently organized government was new, and the hands that worked it, however wise and brave they might be, were untried, and had much to learn before the ponderous works could be brought into perfect running order.

Worst of all, President Jefferson, in 1807, laid an embargo upon American shipping, thus unwittingly striking a terrible blow at our foreign commerce, in his endeavor to force England into an amicable settlement of certain difficulties that had arisen between her and the young Republic. This, and the two years’ war with England, that broke out in 1812, made hard times for everybody, and taxed the magnanimity and skill of our foremothers to their utmost to make their homes and families present a decent and respectable appearance.

The very poor then, as now, were forced to content themselves with the barest decencies of life. But the respectable middle classes,—the farmers, mechanics, and small merchants,—were put to the greatest straits to keep up an appearance of respectability and comfort, with scant conveniences, and few or none of even the simplest elegancies of life, in dwelling, dress, or furniture.

The principal room of a New England farm-house was the kitchen, which was usually large enough to serve for a cooking, dining, and sitting room, all in one.

The enormous fireplace, with its long, soot-blackened crane, hung with hooks of various sizes, the massive iron andirons, strong enough to hold the great birch and birchen logs, that often taxed the strength of a full-grown man to lift and adjust in their places, occupied a large part of one side of the room, and served as a kind of family altar, about which the family, with their guests and friends, always assembled, in quiet chat or friendly gossip.

And a cheery spot it was, especially in those long, dark evenings in midwinter, when the ruddy, dancing flames went laughing up the great throat of the chimney, chasing the venturesome, wayward sparks, as they hurried out into the untried darkness of the winter’s night. With what a genial glow they lighted up the bare, unplastered walls, the sanded floor, the rough rafters overhead, and the scant, clumsily-fashioned furniture, until

“The rude, bare-raftered room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom.”

Nor must we forget that seldom wanting, always interesting, piece of furniture, to which was sure to be accorded the warmest, coziest spot in the wide chimney-corner,—the inevitable wooden cradle,—clumsily fashioned by loving, but unskilled hands, and always large enough to hold, besides the reigning baby, two, and, at a pinch, three, of the younger members of the household.

How the favored youngsters delighted in a ride in that clumsy old vehicle, nor dreamed that its halting, uncertain gait was other than the very poetry of motion! Even mother’s own wooden rocking-chair, a bit of boughten elegance, with its gay patchwork cushion, and dull, contented “creak! creak!” as its dear occupant swayed meditatively to and fro, knitting in hand, in the quiet, restful gloaming, was not quite equal to that dear, delightful old cradle, for a good brisk canter to “Banbury Cross,” or to the famous hunting grounds, where “Baby Bunting’s rabbit skin” was waiting for him.

Many a man, and woman too, whose names are, to-day, blessed and honored by thousands of grateful hearts all over the land, dreamed then their first misty, childish dreams of a grand and helpful manhood and womanhood, and felt swelling up within their young souls inexpressible longings to help right the wrongs of the down-trodden and oppressed, which they heard their elders talk of, and deplore as past remedy.

The light of other days was simply a home-made tallow candle, and as matches were not then invented, careful housewives never suffered the kitchen-fire, even in the hottest days of summer, to die out entirely. The frequent sight of a child running to the nearest neighbor’s, with a long-handled iron fire-shovel in hand, to “borry a few coals ter start the fire up,” was looked upon as a sure sign of slack housewifery; and no woman might lay claim to the distinction of a good housekeeper who failed to renew her cedar broom as often as every other week.

Equal simplicity in dress prevailed, and a gown of bombazette—a very narrow, all-wool goods, worth from seventy-five cents to a dollar a yard,—was often worn for best during the owner’s lifetime, and at her death bequeathed, with the fondly-cherished string of gold beads, to the favorite granddaughter, as a precious legacy.

For common wear, pressed home-made and home-dyed flannel in winter; and cotton and linen, woven in colored stripes or plaids, for summer, was considered plenty good enough, even for the doctor’s and minister’s wives. Under flannels were an unheard-of luxury. And one ceases to wonder at the frequency of hereditary consumption, in our own day, when he reads that fashionable city ladies, in the very depths of a Northern winter, walked the icy streets in thin cotton or silk stockings and low, pointed, high-heeled morocco shoes. Rubbers being then unknown, and the shoes of stout calf-skin, that their country cousins were only too glad to get, were disdained by these dainty dames as coarse and unlady-like.

A girl carded, spun, wove, bleached, and made her one white linen gown, lavishing upon it all her simple art of needlecraft, every seam and hem stitched by the old-time rule, “take up one thread and skip two,” and, perhaps, embroidering a pattern of tiny sprays and eyelets upon the bosom and sleeves, to give it an air of special gentility.

Finished at last, this choice bit of girlish finery probably served its owner for a wedding-dress, and afterwards was cut up into slips for the babies.

Matrons, young as well as old, wore caps of plain white muslin, made after the same fashion as the round, sweeping caps that tidy housekeepers wear at the present day. The younger and gayer ones, who had no scruples of conscience on the subject, wore their caps adorned with bright ribbons, while the elderly and more sedate contented themselves with a plain band of black, across the front, and pinned primly at the back, without bow or knot.

After the death of Washington, in 1799, besides the band of crape that every citizen of the United States, by the desire of Congress, wore upon his left arm for thirty days, many of the loyal matrons provided themselves with mourning-cap ribbons, upon which was stamped, in white letters, upon a black ground:

“General George Washington,
Departed this life on the 14th of December,
1799, Æ. 68,”

—a fac-simile of the inscription upon the coffin-plate of that illustrious and well-beloved chief. The wool and flax were home productions, but the cotton was brought, in a raw state, from the West Indies.

It was first picked over very carefully, to remove the seeds and stray bits of foreign rubbish, then “batted,” that is, made into small pats, each large enough to be carded into a roll, which was spun into thread upon either a wool or linnen wheel. This “batting” usually fell to the lot of the children of the family, who probably found the monotonous task as little to their taste as their grandchildren do, when required to wash the dishes or saw wood for the cooking-stove.

Woven plain, by the skilful hands of the housemother, and bleached upon the young grass under the blossoming apple boughs, the cloth served for the underwear of the family, and was regarded as one of the few luxuries of the frugal household,—the raw cotton costing over fifty cents a pound, to say nothing of the time and labor required to convert it into cloth.

On account of the scarcity of cotton, our modern “comfortables” were a thing unheard of, and, for a substitute, woollen quilts, stuffed with wool, and closely quilted, often in the most elaborate patterns, were used in all New England households. These quilts were often few and thin in many a poor home, where the elders had hard work to shield their flock of little ones from the bitter cold of winter, in spite of the immense fires that even the poorest were able to provide where any amount of fuel could be had for the cutting.

I have heard a story of a good lady who lived at that time in a town not a hundred miles from Boston, which gives one some idea of the straits to which our grandparents were often reduced in those days:—

Watching one bitterly cold night with a sick neighbor, she heard, at midnight, the little children crying with cold in the loft overhead, and leaving her sleeping patient, she went upstairs, and tried to find an extra quilt or blanket to spread over them. But in vain, for in that poor home there was not so much as a shoulder-blanket that could be spared. At last, in utter desperation, she spread over the shivering little ones a side of leather, that she found rolled up under the eaves.

“It kept out the cold, anyhow,” she said, as she told the story years afterwards. “And the poor little things stopped their cryin’, and cuddled down as contented an’ comfortable as a nestful o’ kittens.”

If there was little of poetry or romance in the lives of those hard-working, hard farming men and women of a past generation, there was no lack of the patient diligence and simple, unquestioning faith, that give strength to weakness, and sweeten toil with the steadfast belief that, to the faithful heart and willing hand God’s blessing never fails.

One of the favorite proverbs at that time is significant, as proverbs usually are, of the character of the people:—

“Begin your web, and God will supply you with thread.”

While still another suggests that well-known element in the New England character that the Scotch aptly call “canny”:—

“A wise man will bend a little rather than be torn up by the roots.”

Extravagance was more than a fault, it was an actual sin, in the eyes of these prudent, simple-living folk, and you may have heard before the story of the ingenious housewife, who, tired of the blank bareness of her yellow-painted floors, conceived the bold idea of manufacturing a carpet for it herself:

A large square of sail-cloth served her for a canvas, and upon this she painted, with the few colors that she could procure, a pattern of flowers of every kind that she was familiar with,—blue roses and green lilies having the preference, as making more show than their humbler sisters. This, when finished, she covered with a thick coat of varnish, thus making a very good substitute for the more modern oil-cloth.

Of course everybody, from far and near, came to look, and wonder, and admire; and among them a good old deacon, who, after critically surveying the wonderful work, turned to the proud artist, and, with a look half of amazement, half of pitying reproach, upon his honest, weather-beaten face, asked solemnly:—

“Sister ——, do you expect to have all this and heaven too?”

To-day, Boston is sometimes jestingly styled the “Hub of the Universe,” but at the beginning of the present century it was, soberly speaking, the Hub of New England, for from it spokes projected into every part, however distant, of that region.

As in past ages all roads led to Rome, so seventy-five or eighty years ago all roads led to or from Boston. In an old Farmer’s Almanac, printed in 1817, I find, among other things quaint and curious, four closely-printed pages devoted to “Roads to the Principal Towns of the Continent from Boston, with the distances and names of Innkeepers.” Beginning with: “From Boston to Newport, over Seekonk, through Rehoboth, 69 miles,” and ending with “Down the Ohio, to the mouth of the Muskinqum, 524 miles,”—a tolerably long ride in those days of the old-fashioned stage coach.

Naturally, this Umbilicus of the Western World set the fashions in theology, literature, dress, and manners for all New England, and any one who had made a trip to Boston was venerated as a kind of travelled wonder, and forever after regarded as an authority upon all mooted points of general interest.

It has been said, on what authority I am unable to state, that “all good Americans go to Paris when they die.” But in those days of Boston’s supremacy an aspiring dame in one of our Maine villages, finding herself upon her death bed, expressed as her one last wish, that she “might be permitted to go to heaven by the way o’ Boston.”

Evidently the poor soul had pined in vain all her life for a sight of its splendors, and could think of nothing so near akin to heaven as a peep at this earthly Paradise on her way there.

I might go on indefinitely to call up pictures, heroic, quaint, or pathetic, of these earnest-hearted men and women, who toiled, suffered, and planned, for the future, that we, their children, have entered into the fulness of. But time forbids, and I can only say, in closing this paper, that it will be well for us, if, in these days of national prosperity and power, when Liberty, proudly triumphant, stands like

“A bearded man
Armed to the teeth,”

ready to hold his own alike against traitors at home and envious despotisms abroad, we do not forget with what a world of self-sacrifice and patient toil our forbears laid the foundations of this great, free government; nor should we deem it a light thing to have been born citizens of a Republic a thousand times grander, nobler, and, God grant! far more enduring, than those of heathen Greece and Rome, that have long since fallen to decay, and now lie buried beneath the melancholy dust of centuries.

Let the words of the great poet whose name stands at the head of this paper speak like a word of warning to every heart within their reach:—

“And they who founded in our land
The power that rules from sea to sea,
Bled they in vain, or vainly planned,
To leave their country great and free?
Their sleeping ashes from below
Send up the thrilling murmur, No!”

TRUST.

BY ARTHUR ELWELL JENKS.

Once let us feel the trust a child bestows
Upon the guardian of its life, each day
Would set serenely on our troubled souls!
To help but one of these, or bring again
To lip and eye the smile so full of peace,—
Reflection of some tender mother’s love,—

Ah, such were service, that, in future years,
Shall shine upon our devious pathway, as
The evening star lights up the western sky!
O ye who labor for the children’s sake,—
Setting these jewels for immortal life,—
The “Well-done!” of the Master shall be yours!

NEW ENGLAND CHARACTERISTICS.

BY LIZZIE M. WHITTLESEY.

“We constantly,” as Ruskin affirms, “recognize things by their least important attributes, and by help of very few of these. We recognize our books by their bindings, our friends by the mere accidents of the body, the sport of climate, and food, and time.”

Applying this principle to New England, we unconsciously recognize her first by her mere outward, incidental properties.

By the waving of her hair in the “Pine-Tree State,” by the frown of her massive brows in the “Granite” and “Green Mountain,” by the glancing brightness of her smile in the “Old Bay,” by her lithe grace of limb in “Little Rhoda,” and her firm step and erect carriage in the “Land of Steady Habits;” while to all alike belong—

“Her clear, warm heaven at noon, the mist that shrouds
Her twilight hills, her cool and starry eves,
The glorious splendor of her sunset clouds,
The rainbow beauty of her forest leaves.”

Next to the physical traits of a friend we are attracted by those of a social nature; and, still keeping the analogy, the same is true of a people, and preëminently so of New England.

The characteristics of our four Northern cities have been thus distinctively classified and labelled:—

Washington stops between the polka and the waltz to ask, “Can you dance?” New York shows us her silks and laces, and politely whispers, “What are you worth?”

Philadelphia traces back our genealogy, and questions, “Who was your grandfather?” While Boston lifts her eye-glass, and, surveying our mental cranium, inquires, “What do you know?”

The social traits of New England proper are so combined with her business character that they are with difficulty separated, and both are best defined by foreign visitors.

It was an Englishman who said, “Go ahead is the grand doctrine of New England;” and we see that this principle, plainly enforced and practically carried out, builds her cities, founds her public libraries, carries on her immense commerce, and increases public traffic.

Without this quality, coupled with her independence and disregard for romantic associations, the Yankee would never make pilgrimages to the Old World for the sole and evident purpose of placarding the pyramids, and introducing his invention for removing stains at some half-ruined cathedral whose famous “spot of blood” is cherished with reverent care.

“New England excels,” according to an English cousin, “in an openness to ideas, an aptness for intuitions, and sometimes a seemingly positive preference for the bird in the bush,” which latter may account for that skilful Yankee versatility so perfectly exemplified in the chaplain, poet, editor, merchant, speculator, politician, historian, and minister, Barlow.

It is this quiet independence, indomitable will, and never-ceasing purpose to “get on,” which is a characteristic of the New England women, and which may be summed up in the expressive adjective “capable.” Armed with this power, she cheerfully teaches school, makes dresses, binds books, or “keeps house,” considering no honest work degrading, and proving herself equally efficient in each.

Here is found that shrewd, stirring common-sense which is New England’s strong point. Here is hinted, also, that philosophic humor which is the one ray lightening her intense realism.

As indefinable as it is delightful, it comes with a lightning flash of wit into the dry, theological conversation of the preacher, relieves with its sharp hits the spread-eagle speech of the country orator, brightens with its apt allusions the more refined periods of the lecturer, flits charmingly in and out of the sympathetic essays of Holmes, keeps us in a perpetual chuckle over the mirthful pages of Irving, and embodies itself in the quaint good-nature of an indolent, contemplative Sam Lawson.

For nowhere is this genial quality found in such purity as among the true, rustic Yankees, whose clear-cut, homely phrases and sharp localisms are not as entirely extinct as is supposed. Country life has a way all its own of preserving the best traits of a people, and in more than one old-fashioned farm-house, and among the haymakers in more than one sunny meadow, may be heard the witty expressions and strong metaphors which led Dickens to say, “In shrewdness of remark and a certain cast-iron quaintness the Yankee people unquestionably take the lead.”

In the country, too, as if growing and blossoming under the influence of the warm, unobstructed sunshine, is the sturdy growth of genuineness, hearty, coöperative sympathy, and cheery hospitality, the latter having its highest exponent in New England’s distinctive festival, Thanksgiving. The dear old holiday may well be called the cradle of New England graces, for it bears much the same relation to the development of her social traits that the old Greek and Roman games bore in developing characteristics of strength and bravery.

To return to the criticism of foreigners. The absence of historic records and relics in New England has often been a matter of contempt, and an amusing story is told by J. T. Fields of a stiff, conventional Englishman who called on the poet Longfellow at one of his busiest hours, and scanning him closely, gravely remarked: “We were doing the sights, sir, and as there are no ruins in New England, we decided to come and see you!”

We smile at the strange idea, but is there not in it a tacit admission that New England’s men and women of letters are her best characteristics? Is it not to her glory that hers is not a country of ruins but one of noble, earnest, living men and women?—men like Dr. Hale, instilling by the quiet weapon of the pen strong, true lessons of benevolence and truth; men like Longfellow, singing, pure, earnest songs of high endeavor and noble attainment; men like Whittier, whose simple, touching strains move so grandly on the side of right and justice.

Women like Mrs. Stowe, who, in her great strength of mind and character, wrote that wonderful book, which, inspired by zeal, and fired by a terrible earnestness, filled New England once with something of her own noble enthusiasm. She could do the grand work then, because her country needed it, thus illustrating that strong New England trait, latent power, a power of which we know nothing till it is called out by some mighty need. There have been earnest purpose, determined will, pure motive, and unselfish heroism in New England; but their depth and strength have never been “guessed” till manifested in some great crisis.

Her contests are those of heart and intellect; and her weapons, hard study and earnest thought.

In spite of popular philippics her traits do not change much from the summary of them made fifty years ago, “Impatience with wrong, quarrel with precedent, love of education, and faith in God.”

Ah! now we touch the true characteristics of New England, lying in the deep ocean of her history, unmoved by the lighter traits sparkling upon the surface.

That is a true boast of Jonathan to John:—

“We aint so weak and poor, John,
With twenty million people,
And close to every door, John,
A school-house and a steeple.”

And this is but the outgrowth of that short formula of the brave founders of school and church: “Faith in God, faith in man, faith in work;” so that New England’s present traits are directly traceable to Puritan influence.

Our educational institutions had substantial foundation-stones of self-sacrifice and far-seeing purpose, nobly laid by that score of sturdy men, dedicating, for the first academy, a peck of corn, or a shilling in cash, or a few treasured volumes.

The Sabbath has been called the “poem of New England,” and it is that always, whether rung out by the city’s chiming bells or whispered in the sacred repose of the country church. But it was never so truly a poem as on that first New England Sabbath, when the church was a weather-beaten ship, its support the lashing waves, and the worshippers “a handful of sad, stern men and women kneeling in their spray-stiffened garments to thank God for freedom to worship him.”

New England’s best traits, then, are but her rightful inheritance; traits “lineally descended” from her founders, softened and purified in the transmitting many times, as in the case of their sectional loyalty. “They seemed to shrink from trying to get to heaven by any other road than that which their fathers travelled, lest they should miss them at their journey’s end.”

And in these days, thank God! religious toleration is creeping over the forbidding rock of New England theology, much as the delicate vines of the May-flower crept over and beautified the hard, unyielding soil.

Thus New England stands, in her freedom, love of education, and all those homely domestic traits which make her the comfortable, clever, strong, and tender mother she is, while under and through and over all her traits runs, like a strain of restful music, her great, all powerful, far-reaching faith.

EDITOR’S TABLE.

A great stride of advancement has been taken in the cultivation of that rarest of supernal graces, Christian charity, since the ancient patriarchs of New England fell asleep. Occasionally opportunity is given us of measuring “with the eye” the distance which has been travelled. More than a hundred and fifty years ago Dr. Cotton Mather spoke of Rhode Island as “the Gerizzim of New England, the common receptacle of the convicts of Jerusalem and the outcasts of the land.” The island itself, as a portion of God’s creation, he was willing to think worthy of all praise. He seems to have felt regarding it as Bishop Heber felt about India when he wrote his immortal missionary hymn:—

“And every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile.”

“The island is, indeed, for the fertility of its soil, the temperateness of its air, etc., the best garden of all the colony, and were it free from serpents I would call it the Paradise of New England.” As things were, however, the good old man could only say regretfully, “Bona terra, mala gens.” He evidently fancied that the serpent was not a native of the original home of human innocence, or else his special affection for the people of Rhode Island led him to wish for them an exemption from exposures which God had not thought necessary to the safety and happiness of Adam. The serpent was an honorable member of the animal community in Paradise before Ithuriel’s “spear of heaven-tempered steel” discovered Satan, in the shape of a toad, breathing into the ear of the sleeping “Mother of Mankind” deadly insinuations of disobedience and rebellion, just as freedom in religion—the serpent so unworthily abhorred by New England Puritanism—was a divinely chartered and precious privilege of mankind long before the founding of Rhode Island colonies or the birth of Roger Williams. The vagaries and fantasies of freedom, its excesses, outrages, and crimes, are something fearful to contemplate, but freedom is, has been, and must ever continue to be, the essential condition of human power and excellence. It has ever been the madness of men—and madness that could not claim the poor excuse of method—to think of cutting down the tree of liberty, and still hope to retain the benefits and blessings of its shade.

The statistics of marriages, as compared with those of population, would seem to indicate that there is an increasing unwillingness on the part of men or women, or both, to take upon themselves the responsibilities of wedded life. Whether because of the increased expense of living due to the development of luxurious tastes, and the selfishness which results; or the difficulties in the way of securing remunerative and constant employment; or because of other reasons, the sly god seems to have lost something of his former power. Perhaps the chief cause lies with the young men, who dare neither to face the cares of matrimony themselves, nor to ask others to do so. Whatever there is of cowardice in this matter, we do not believe that it can, as a rule, be charged upon the women of America, without regard to their station in life. It is claimed that in Massachusetts, of every 1,000 inhabitants in 1850-1860, 21 married, now only 17; that in Connecticut, while the population has increased 56 per cent during the last decade, marriages have increased but 34 per cent; that in Providence, R.I., while the number capable of marrying was in the last decade 115 percent greater than in the decade preceding the war, the number who married was only 77 per cent greater; and that in Ohio, while, in 1850-1880, the inhabitants had increased 37 per cent, the number of marriages had advanced only 26 per cent.

Mistakes go in pairs. It was a mistake for a body of Protestant ministers to meddle in the matter of the succession to a generalship in the army, and it is a mistake for the Catholic Standard to make this the occasion for invidious statements in reference to the service of Catholics in the late war. “Never,” it says, “was any company or any regiment or brigade that entwined on its colors emblems of the Catholic faith, and on the eve of a battle knelt to receive absolution from a Catholic priest, recorded but as first to advance and last to retreat. And since then, whether in barracks or in camp, ... you look in vain for any disgraceful record of Catholic privates and officers.” We submit that neither caste nor class nor sect has any place in determining the relative merits of the brave soldiers who fought in the Civil War. In camp, and upon the field of battle, they stood side by side, not as New Yorkers, Vermonters, Germans, Irishmen, Catholics, or Protestants, but as patriotic Americans. Some of these, perhaps, were better soldiers because they were devout Catholics, and others because they were earnest Presbyterians or Methodists, and this for the reason that those who fear God are the readier to face duty, brave danger, and die for country. No: our army is not an army of Catholics, Baptists, etc., but an army of Americans.

Is it true that “a very large part of our free education system is devoted to teaching the principles of Nihilism, the absurdities of evolution, the crudities of the nineteenth-century philosophy, weakest and most watery of all the philosophies of the ages”? Dr. William C. Prime makes this claim in the New-York Journal of Commerce, and then says, “Of what use it is to read the Bible in the morning, and teach in the afternoon that the Bible is a poor fiction, perhaps some one can explain. That this is precisely what many common schools and free educational institutions are doing, may be discovered with little difficulty.” With due deference to the opinion of our genial confrère, we cannot accept his conclusions. We have yet to learn of any public school in which flouting at the Bible or religion enters into the matter of instruction, and we apprehend that the number of teachers who thus misuse their office really constitutes so small a fraction of the teaching community as to be hardly worthy the learned doctor’s attention. As a matter of fact, by far the greater number of American teachers in public schools and private schools, whatever their faults otherwise, are men and women who are either Christians, or filled with a reverent regard for the Bible and its teachings.

When Daniel Webster was a youth of eighteen, in college, he wrote to a friend these suggestive words: “I am fully persuaded that our happiness is much at our regulation, and that the ‘Know thyself’ of the Greek philosopher meant no more than rightly to attune and soften our appetites and passions till they should symphonize like the harp of David.”

Perhaps no one ever paid a finer tribute to conscience than John Adams, when, after advising his son John Quincy to preserve above all things his innocence, he said, “Your conscience is the minister plenipotentiary of God Almighty in your heart. See to it that this minister never negotiates in vain.”

EDUCATION.

When in any of the chief activities of human life it becomes necessary to adopt new methods, or to make some new application of old and well-tried principles, it is always best that change should be discriminating, gradual, and slow; and perhaps nowhere does this maxim demand recognition and respect more imperatively than in educational reform. We are not disposed to find fault with those who contend for the authority and sway of the progressive spirit of the present as against the spirit of the past. In science, art, literature, education; in religion, morals, philosophy, theology, every genuine gain in depth, breadth, and fulness is to be hailed with a thousand welcomes. It would be a pity if an unenlightened veneration for the traditions and principles of a superannuated conservatism were allowed to rob the world even of the smallest portion of the benefit of a single new and useful idea.

The needs and duties of each age require that intelligence should steadily advance, and in the field of truth there is always something valuable left for the latest gleaner. No one is fitted for the duties of to-day who dreads the spirit of free inquiry that breathes around him, and fearlessly addresses its questions in every direction. Especially should new and better hints be welcomed as to the true science and method of instructing the youthful mind. Patience, delicacy, intelligence, and skill are nowhere required more than in this.

But while it is true that each generation must have liberty to do its work in its own way, no generation can afford to despise or disparage the wisdom and experience of previous ages, or to institute reforms which revolutionize the methods and the principles of the past. The intellectual triumphs and achievements which are the goal of one age are indeed no more than the starting-point of the next; but the links of connection must be preserved unbroken. The conditions of a successful and symmetrical development of the mental powers are substantially the same in every land and time, and there are great principles which, however variously we may apply them, can never in themselves be violated or discarded with impunity. So far as the new education so strenuously advocated in our day honors and observes the eternal laws of the mind, we can afford to contemplate the new ventures with equanimity, if not with hope; but there is reason to fear that the almost unlimited freedom of individual choice as to subjects of study accorded to young and inexperienced minds in colleges where new departures have been taken is scarcely compatible with the compliance those laws rigidly require.

HISTORICAL RECORD.

[By sending to the editor brief contributions suitable for use in this department, readers will greatly add to its completeness and value.]

Jan. 25.—About one hundred and fifty members of the Old Colony Historical Society were present at the society rooms in the State House, and listened to the concluding portion of Hon. Colin M. Ingersoll’s paper entitled “Leaves from the Diary of a Young Man in St. Petersburg, 1848-49.” Among those present were ex-Gov. English, Hon. C. B. Bowers, ex-Mayor Robertson, Rev. Mr. Leonard, Dr. Ayers, Judge L. E. Munson, Capt. C. H. Townshend, and many other well-known gentlemen, besides a party of friends of Mr. Ingersoll from New York. The paper was a rare treat. A vote of thanks was tendered the speaker, on motion of ex-Mayor Robertson, and interesting remarks were made by Prof. Baldwin.

Feb. 10.—The annual dinner of the Washington Association of the Bowdoin Alumni took place at Welcker’s. Some thirty-five persons sat down, among them Hon. Hugh McCulloch, Hon. L. D. M. Sweet, Senator Frye, Hon. W. W. Rice, Judge W. B. Snell, Gen. Ellis Spear, Col. J. H. Gilman, U.S.A., Rev. J. S. Sewall, D.D., Gen. John Marshal Brown, Mr. Israel Kimball, and Rev. S. M. Newman. The following officers were elected: President, Commodore Horatio Bridge; Vice-Presidents, Israel Kimball and Judge William B. Snell; treasurer, I. N. Whitney; Corresponding Secretary, Prof. J. W. Chickering, and Recording Secretary, James C. Strout.

The Bowdoin Alumni Association of New York also ate their annual dinner, and elected officers as follows: E. B. Merrill, president; Francis R. Upton, secretary; D. F. H. Dillingham, treasurer.

Feb. 10.—About one hundred sons of the Granite State, the majority of whom belong to the New Hampshire Club, assembled at the Quincy House, Boston, under the presidency of Hon. J. C. Moore, of Manchester. Among the company were many distinguished gentlemen, invited because they were natives of the State, and among these were: Senator J. Gault of Hookset, Naval Officer A. O. Kent, Gen. J. L. Stevenson, Speaker J. Q. A. Brackett, Mr. Charles F. Morrill of Manchester, Mr. George B. Clifford of Grand Forks, Dak., Gen. Charles H. Burns of Wilton, Landlord Crufts of the Maplewood House, Bethlehem, Mr. A. A. Folsom of the Boston & Providence Railroad, Mr. A. A. Copp of Nashua, Dr. A. H. Hayes of Alton, Gen. F. S. Nickerson, and Mr. Charles Pattee of Boston, Mr. Walter C. Taft, superintendent of the New York & Boston Dispatch Express Company, and Mr. H. B. Dwight, superintendent of the Adams Express Company.

Feb. 15.—At an adjourned meeting of the Maiden Historical and Genealogical Society the following gentlemen were unanimously elected permanent officers of the society for the ensuing year: President, Hon. E. S. Converse; Vice-Presidents, Hon. J. K. C. Sleeper, Hon. L. L. Fuller, Hon. Marcellus Coggan; Corresponding Secretary and Librarian, George D. B. Blanchard; Recording Secretary, George D. Ayers; Treasurer, Thomas Lang. These officers are constituted a Board of Directors of the society.

Feb. 22.—The annual meeting of the Cape Cod Historical Society convened in Lyceum Hall, Yarmouthport, Hon. Charles F. Swift in the chair. The treasurer’s report showed the society to be in good financial condition. Steps were taken to celebrate the two hundredth anniversary of the formation of Barnstable County, which occurs some time in June. These officers were chosen: President, Hon. Charles F. Swift, Yarmouthport; Vice-Presidents, Thomas P. Howes, Dennis, S. B. Phinney, Barnstable, Alonzo Tripp, Boston, E. S. Whittemore, Boston, James Gifford, Provincetown; Treasurer, Samuel Snow, Barnstable; Secretary, Josiah Paine, Harwich; Executive Committee, J. C. Howes, Dennis, Eben B. Crocker, Barnstable.

March 3.—Annual meeting of the Dedham Historical Society. The Act of the General Court, empowering the society to hold real estate to the amount of $25,000, was accepted, as was the bequest of land and money from the late Hannah Shuttleworth. A memorial sketch of the late Judge Colburn was read by Erastus Worthington, Esq. The society chose officers as follows: President, Henry O. Hildreth; Vice-president, Alfred Hewins; Recording Secretary, John D. Cobb; Treasurer and Librarian, J. H. Burdakin; Curators, Erastus Worthington, Henry W. Richards, Don Gleason Hill, J. H. Burdakin, Elijah Howe, Jr.; Auditors, George F. Fisher, A. Ward Lamson; Chronicler, Don G. Hill; Historiographer, J. H. Tuttle.

March 9.—Meeting of the Bostonian Society. The essayist was J. M. Hubbard, whose subject was “Boston, in 1710, Preparing for a Small War.” It appeared during the reading that the military enterprise on hand was the capture of Port Royal, in Nova Scotia, then in the hands of the French. The reason why Boston was peculiarly interested in it was that this Nova Scotia harbor was a resort and head-quarters for a great number of French privateers, which made short cruises along this coast, capturing many merchant-vessels and fishing-craft, greatly to the injury of the commerce of Boston. The English Government accordingly sent hither a small fleet with a body of marines, expecting that the force would be augmented by troops raised in the Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and New Hampshire provinces. The whole expedition was to be commanded by Colonel Francis Nicholson, who came in the fleet from England. To provide for the requirements of the local forces the Provincial Council of Massachusetts ordered that £15,000 in bills of credit of the province be printed, which was a ready way to raise the money.

March 9.—The Concord Monitor, in announcing the result of the vote on this day on the question of calling a constitutional convention, says that New Hampshire towns have been directed to vote on the expediency of calling a constitutional convention by the Legislatures of 1799, 1806, 1813, 1820, 1832, 1833, 1837, 1844, 1846, 1849, 1857, 1860, 1862, 1864, 1868, 1869, 1875, 1883, resulting in the conventions of 1850-1 and 1876-7. The proposition had a sufficient majority this time.

March 10.—An explosion on the tug-boat “John Markee,” in Boston Harbor, instantly killed the entire crew, consisting of five men.

March 12.—At a special meeting of both branches of the Cambridge City Council, a special committee was appointed on the part of the city government to confer with the committee on the part of the citizens relative to a suitable observance of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the departure for the seat of war of Co. C, Third Regiment of Infantry, of Cambridge. This was the first volunteer company organized for the war of the rebellion in the city. Ex-Mayors Montague, Saunders, and Harding, ex-Aldermen Thurston and Chapman, and Mr. J. W. Merrill, made short addresses, urging the necessity of making the 17th of April a day of local pride for Cambridge. The following committee on the part of the citizens was chosen: ex-Mayors Bradford, Harding, Montague, and Saunders, ex-Alderman F. L. Chapman and D. H. Thurston, and Messrs. George H. Howard, J. C. Wellington, and L. B. Porter. On the part of the City Council there were chosen Mayor Russell, Aldermen Hincks and Lindsay, and Councilmen Kemp, Ivers, Coveney, and President Corcoran.

March 15.—At a meeting of the committee having in charge the preparations for the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the incorporation of the city of Lowell, the following programme was agreed on, for April 1: In the morning, singing by public-school children, and address by C. C. Chase, former principal of the High School. In the afternoon, prayer by the Rev. Owen Street; address by Mayor Abbott; oration by the Hon. F. T. Greenhalge; in the evening, addresses by ex-mayors.

March 15.—The regular monthly meeting of the Methodist Historical Society was one of unusual interest. Rev. Hebron Vincent, of Edgartown, occupied the chair, and Rev. C. L. Goodell, of Providence, presented and read an interesting sketch of the rise and progress of Methodism in Rhode Island, bringing out particularly the history of the Chestnut Street Church, of which he is the present pastor, and whose semi-centennial was recently observed. Rev. Dr. Chadbourne, of Charlestown, found in the files of the Columbian Sentinel for 1806 the following: “On Thursday morning Mrs. Maria Odiorne, aged 29, wife of Mr. George Odiorne, eldest daughter of the Rev. Jas. Creighton of London, Eng. Her funeral will proceed from the dwelling of Mr. O., in May Street, this afternoon at half-past three o’clock, which the friends and acquaintances are requested to attend.” The interest of the Methodist fraternity in this lady arises from the fact of her being the daughter of one of Mr. Wesley’s most intimate friends and associates, and whose home was the scene of this great man’s oft-repeated visits when she was but fourteen years of age. Her husband, Mr. George Odiorne, met her in London on one of his business trips across the ocean, and they were married there, she accompanying him to his American home. Her son, James Creighton Odiorne, born at his grandfather’s house in London, graduated at Yale College in 1826, and was one of the founders of the New England Anti-Slavery Society, among whose members was the late William Lloyd Garrison, and of which Oliver Johnson, Esq., is the only living member. The next meeting of the Society occurs on Monday, April 12. Rev. L. B. Bates will present a sketch of the late Rev. Lewis Bates.

NECROLOGY.

Feb. 2.—John D. Philbrick, late superintendent of the Boston public schools, and one of the leading educators of the country, died Feb. 2. The funeral services, which took place at the home of the deceased in Danvers, Mass., were attended by a large representative body of educators from Boston and other cities. Rev. C. B. Rice, a past member of the State Board of Education, officiating. The train from Boston which arrived at noon was crowded with masters and other friends of the deceased, who came to join the bereaved community in the last sad rites. The committee from the Boston Evening High School consisted of Richard F. Sullivan, William J. Haines, William D. L. McKissick, John W. Mooney, William F. Donovan, ex-School Committee, Charles Hutchins, W. H. Learnard, Jr., Dr. E. T. Eastman, and others.

Feb. 16.—Calvin S. Harrington, Professor of Latin in Wesleyan University, died at his home in Middletown, Conn. He was born May 17, 1826, in St. Johnsbury, Vt.; was graduated from Wesleyan University in 1852; 1852 to 1855 he was teacher of Latin in New Hampshire Conference Seminary, Sanbornton Bridge, N.H.; 1855 to 1860, principal of same; 1861 to 1863, Professor of Greek, and 1863 to his death, professor in Wesleyan University.

Feb. 18.—John B. Gough, the famous temperance orator, died in Philadelphia. He was attacked by apoplexy Monday, February 15, while lecturing on “Peculiar People,” in Philadelphia. When he arose to address the crowded gathering he was feeling well, and for forty minutes he spoke with his usual fire and eloquence. Then suddenly his head dropped upon his chest, and he fell prostrate to the floor.

Feb. 19.—Edward Learned, one of the most prominent citizens of Berkshire county, died at his home, in Pittsfield, Mass., of disease of the heart. He was sixty-six years old, and a native of Watervliet. He was a Representative to the Legislature in 1857, and a Senator in 1873 and 1874.

Feb. 25.—Death of John Smith, a well-known manufacturer of Andover, Mass. He was nearly ninety years of age, and for years maintained a personal interest in the town, in which place he first settled on arriving in this country from Scotland. His detestation of the pro-slavery preaching of the day led him, with others, to form the Free Christian Church in 1846. He was also a generous supporter of educational interests, and large sums went from his hand to the infant colleges of the West, as well as to older institutions.

Feb. 28.—Mary Jane Welles, widow of the Hon. Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy under Presidents Lincoln and Johnson, died at her residence in Hartford, Conn., aged 69 years. She was a daughter of Elias W. Hale, who graduated at Yale College in 1795, and subsequently was one of the original settlers of Lewistown, Penn. She married Mr. Welles in 1835.

March 6.—The Rev. Henry Martyn Grout, D.D., pastor of the Trinitarian Congregational Church in Concord, Mass., died in Boston after a brief sickness. He was born in Newfane, Vt., May 14, 1831. He entered Williams College in 1850, and was graduated in 1854. Dr. Grout entered the ministry in September, 1858, when he was ordained and installed as pastor of the Orthodox Church in Putney, Vt. After preaching there, at West Rutland, Vt., and Springfield, Mass., he moved to Boston, and became a member of the editorial staff of the Congregationalist, which position he filled with great credit to himself and the paper during Dr. Dexter’s absence abroad. He had occupied the pulpit of the church in Concord since 1872.

March 8.—The Rev. Nicholas Hoppin, D.D., rector of Christ Church, Cambridge, from 1839 to 1874, died suddenly. He was born in Providence, R.I., Dec. 3, 1812, and grew up in St. John’s Church, of which the famous Dr. Crocker was rector, and was one of a large number of young men whom Dr. Crocker induced to enter the Episcopal ministry. He was graduated from Brown University in 1831. He was a member of the Massachusetts Historical Society, of the New England Historic Genealogical Society, and of the American Oriental Society. He was at his death, with the exception of the Rev. T. R. Lambert, the oldest Episcopal clergyman in Massachusetts.

March 9.—Colonel William S. Clark, ex-president of Amherst Agricultural College, long associated with the educational and agricultural interests of the State, died at his home in Amherst, Mass., of Bright’s-disease, after a painful illness of three years. He was born in Ashfield, July 31, 1826, and was graduated at Amherst College in 1848. He studied chemistry and mining at the Gottingen University, received the degree of Ph.D. in 1852, and received the degree of LL.D. from Amherst in 1874. In 1877 Colonel Clark was invited by the Japanese Government to organize the Imperial Agricultural College, where he passed a year, leaving the institution in the most flourishing condition.

March 10.—Death at her home in South Boston of Mrs. Julia Romana Anagnos, wife of Michael Anagnos, and eldest child of the late Dr. Samuel G. and Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. She was a woman of broad, intellectual mind, and a writer.

March 10.—Sudden death of H. B. Safford, postmaster of White River Junction, Vt., treasurer of the State Agricultural Society, and a leading citizen of the State.

March 11.—Death of Charles Powers, a prominent citizen of Somerville, and the senior member of the grain-elevator firm of Powers, Melvin, & Co.

March 13.—Hon. Peter Buchanan, of Barnet, Vt., died at his residence in McIndoe’s Falls Village, aged seventy-eight years. He was of Scotch descent, and inherited many of the sterling qualities of his race. He was born in Barnet, where he always resided, and held nearly every office within the gift of his fellow-townsmen. He represented the town in the Legislature in 1876, and was twice elected Assistant Judge of the Caledonia County Court.

March 15.—Death of Prof. Edward Tuckerman, LL.D., of Amherst College. He was born in Boston in 1820, was graduated at Union College in 1837, at the Law School in 1839, and at Harvard in 1847. In 1854 he came to Amherst as lecturer on history, and the next year was appointed to the professorship. Three years later he became Professor of Botany.

INDEX TO PERIODICAL LITERATURE.

[First numeral refers to foot-note and name of periodical. Second numeral to page.
Date of periodical is that of the month preceding this issue of the New England Magazine, unless otherwise stated.]

Academic and Educational. Biological Training in Colleges. Prof. W. G. Farlow. 5, 577.—Health and Sex in Higher Education. John Dewey, Ph.D. 5, 606.—Boston University School of Law. Benjamin. R. Curtis. 8, 218.—The School-house in American Development. Rev. A. E. Winship. 10, 387.—Knowledge which Earns Bread. Sarah K. Bolton. 10, 394.—The Philosophical Phase of a System of Education. Chas. E. Lowrey. 10, 397.—The Ancient-Modern Language Controversy. Minna Caroline Smith. 10, 405.—The Problem of Woman’s Education. Nicolo D’Alfonso. 10, 420.—Relation of the High School to the Community. David W. Hoyt. 10, 429.

Architecture. Japanese House-building. Prof. E. S. Morse. 5, 643.—Recent Architecture in America, City Dwellings. Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer. 7, 677.—Some Notable Vanes. 1, 193.—At the White House. Hester M. Poole. 19, 170.—The Old Guard Ball.—How the Metropolitan House can be made Beautiful. 19, 184.

Art. Decorations of the New York Academy of Music. 19, 172.—Growth in Art. Mary Parmele. 19, 177.—Some Philadelphia Studios. Anne H. Wharton. 19, 178.—Ceramics and Ceramic Painting. 19, 180.

Biography. B. F. Wade, the Politician. Hon. A. G. Riddle. 3, 471.—George Washington Tifft. Francis F. Fargo. 3, 544.—Two Interesting Traditions. Irving Beman. 3, 484.—Sketch of Sir J. Bennett Lawes. 5, 694.—Castelar the Orator. William Jackson Strong. 7, 785.—Thomas Middleton. Algernon C. Swinburne. 16, 335.—George Borrow. George Saintsbury. 16, 322.—Edmund Hatch Bennett. 8, 225.—Daniel Webster. Hon. Edward S. Tobey. 8, 228.—John Dudley Philbrick. 10, 442.—Dr. Henry Norman Hudson. 10, 448.

History. Van Cortlandt Manor-house. Mrs. Martha J. Lamb. 2, 217.—Champlain’s American Experiences in 1613. Arthur Harvey. 2, 246.—Girty, the White Indian. George W. Ranck. 2, 256.—The Trent Affair. Hon. Horatio King. 2, 278.—Shiloh. Gen. William Farrar Smith. 2, 292.—One Night’s Work, April 20, 1862. George B. Bacon. 2, 305.—Chicago. Consul Willshire Butterfield. 3, 445.—Michigan’s Boundary Trouble. Walter Buell. 3, 457.—History of the Historical and Philosophical Society of Ohio. Prof. W. H. Venable. 3, 499.—Pittsburgh. James Henry Seymour. 3, 506.—The City of the Straits. Henry A. Griffin. 3, 539.—Shiloh Reviewed. Gen. Don Carlos Buell. 7, 749.—Memoranda on the Civil War. 7, 781.—Forty Years of Frontier Life in the Pocomtuck Valley. Hon. George Sheldon. 8, 236.—How we Ran the Blockade. Captain Roland F. Coffin. 12, 616.

Industry. Maple Sugar-making in Vermont. J. M. French, M.D. 8, 208.

Literature. The American Play. Lawrence Halton. 4, 289.—Æschylus and Shakespeare, the “Eumenides” and “Hamlet.” Julia Wedgwood. 16, 395.—A Novelist’s Favorite Theme. 16, 353.—Modern French Fiction. Henry Gréville. 13, 309.

Religion, Theology. Proem to Genesis, Reply to Prof. Huxley. W. E. Gladstone. 5, 614.—Proem to Genesis, A Plea for a Fair Trial. Rt. Hon. W. E. Gladstone. 16, 289.—Why am I a Unitarian. Edward Everett Hale. 13, 230.

Medicine, Hygiene, Physiology. A Thinking-Machine. Grant Allen. 5, 596.—Health and Sex in Higher Education. John Dewey, Ph.D. 5, 606.—Colorado as a Winter Sanatarium. Fish. 5, 668. Climatic Treatment of Disease. H. O. Marcy, A.M., M.D. 15, 193.—Water Supply: Southern River Water. Thomas F. Wood, M.D. 15, 212.—An Epidemic of Typhoid Fever. C. A. Lindsay, M.D. 15, 223.—Health of the United States Army. Benjamin F. Pope. 15, 227.—Bureau of Public Health—Bills before Congress. 15, 245.—Maritime Sanitation. S. T. Armstrong, M.D., Ph.D. 15, 234.

Miscellaneous. My First Imprisonment. William T. Stead. 16, 404.—On the Verge of a Tragedy. George Austin. 16, 414.—Impressions of a Modern Arcadian. Mrs. E. M. Nicholl. 16, 361.

Military. Unpublished War Letters. Gen. U. S. Grant and Gen. H. W. Halleck. 13, 270.—An Open Letter. Gen. J. B. Fry. 13, 290.

Natural History. Animal Weather Lore. Charles C. Abbott, M.D. 5, 635.—Durability of Resinous Trees. Heinrich Mayr, Ph.D. 5, 679.

Politics, Economics. Shall we have Colonies and a Navy? Hon. John W. Johnston. 2, 238.—Discrimination in Railway Rates. Gerrit L. Lansing. 5, 586.—Strength and Weakness of Socialism. Washington Gladden. 7, 737.—Darwinism and Democracy. W. S. Lilly. 16, 310.—Government in the United States. Gamaliel Bradford. 16, 346.—Fishery Question. Theodore S. Woolsey. 13, 219.—Government Telegraphy. Cyrus W. Field. 13, 227.—A Confederate Veto. Jefferson Davis. 13, 244.—American Landlordism. Henry Strong and David B. King. 13, 246.

Recreation and Amusement. Song-games and Myth-dramas at Washington. W. H. Babcock. 4, 239.—A Trip Around Cape Ann. Elizabeth Porter Gould. 8, 268.—Moose-Hunting. Frederick Schwatka and T. E. Lambert. 12, 621.—Salmon-Fishing in Canada. W. J. Bruce. 12, 640.—Around the World on a Bicycle. Thomas Stevens. 12, 655.—Lacrosse in the United States. J. A. Hodge. 12, 665.

Science, Discovery, Inventions. Influence of Inventions on Civilization. C. Smith. 5, 658.—The Air Telegraph. Thomas A. Edison. 13, 283.—Dr. Pavy and the Polar Expedition. Mrs. Lilly Pavy. 13, 280.

Travel and Description. The One Pioneer of Terra Del Fuego. Randle Holme. 4, 319.—Italy from a Tricycle. Elizabeth Robbins Pennell. 7, 643.—Mountaineering in Persia. S. G. W. Benjamin. 7, 703.—Along the Kennebec. Henry S. Bicknell. 8, 197.—Ranch Life and Game-Shooting in the West. Theodore Roosevelt. 12, 611.—Bermuda Yachts and Dinghies. Charles E. Clay. 12, 642.

1 | The Quiver. | | 11 | Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science.
2 | Magazine of Am. History. | | 12 | Outing.
3 | Magazine of Western History (Cleveland, O.) | | 13 | North American Review.
4 | Lippincott’s Magazine. | | 14 | Overland Monthly.
5 | Popular Science Monthly. | | 15 | The Samaritan.
6 | Queries (Buffalo, N.Y.). | | 16 | The Eclectic.
7 | The Century. | | 17 | The Ohio Educational Monthly.
8 | New England Magazine. | | 18 | The Brooklyn Magazine.
9 | St. Nicholas. | | 19 | The Decorator and Furnisher.
10 | Education. | | 20 | The Musical Herald.

hon. henry barnard, ll.d.,
The first United States Commissioner of Education.
[From a portrait made in 1858.]

FOOTNOTES:

[A] In the February number of this magazine will be found an interesting article upon Abbott Academy, and in following numbers articles, now in course of preparation, will be published upon the Theological Seminary and Phillips Academy.

[B] The history of the town has been carefully written by Miss Sarah Loring Bailey, and her volume of “Historical Sketches of Andover” is very valuable.

[C] Phillips Brooks.

[D] Historical Sketches, p. 145.

[E] Sketches of Andover, pp. 402-3.

[F] Prof. E. G. Coy, New Englander, July, 1885.

[G] “Es bildet ein Talent sich in der Stille,
Sich ein Charakter in dem Strom der Welt.”

[H] Edmund Burke had previously warned the British Parliament against the futile attempt to tax the American colonies, and had said, “You will never get a shilling from them.”

[I] Tudor and Bowen hold that these letters, which are found in the Massachusetts State Paper Collection, are from the pen of Otis. Bancroft gives strong reasons for believing Samuel Adams to be their author.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE, VOLUME 1, NO. 4, BAY STATE MONTHLY, VOLUME 4, NO. 4, APRIL, 1886 ***

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Table of Contents

- CONTENTS

- THE

- New England Magazine

- BAY STATE MONTHLY.

- AN ILLUSTRIOUS TOWN,—ANDOVER.

- JAMES OTIS, JR.

- A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP’S WAR.

- THE SINGER.

- THE WEBSTER FAMILY.

- THE NEW ENGLAND LIBRARY AND ITS FOUNDER.

- NEW ENGLAND MANNERS AND CUSTOMS IN THE TIME OF BRYANT’S EARLY LIFE.

- TRUST.

- NEW ENGLAND CHARACTERISTICS.

- EDITOR’S TABLE.

- EDUCATION.

- HISTORICAL RECORD.

- NECROLOGY.

- INDEX TO PERIODICAL LITERATURE.

- FOOTNOTES:

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE