THE

NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE

AND

BAY STATE MONTHLY.

Old Series | June, 1886. | New Series
Vol. IV. No. 6 |  | Vol. I. No. 6.

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

Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved to the end of the article. Table of contents has been created for the HTML version.

Contents

WILLIAMS COLLEGE.
THE HUNTING OF THE STAG OF ŒNOË.
WEBSTER'S VINDICATION.
HAWTHORNE'S LAST SKETCH.
ON HOOSAC MOUNTAIN.
A VERITABLE TRADER.
LYDIA MARIA CHILD.
BONNIE HAREBELLS.
MYTH IN AMERICAN COINAGE.
AN INCIDENT OF PORT HUDSON.
LUCY KEYES.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
HISTORICAL RECORD.
NECROLOGY.
LITERATURE.
INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.

WILLIAMS COLLEGE.

BY REV. N. H. EGLESTON.

Williams College has something peculiar and romantic in its history, as well as in its site amid the beautiful hills of Berkshire. It had its birth upon the very frontiers of civilization, and amid the throes of that struggle which was to decide finally whether the control of this continent, and the permanent shaping of its institutions and its destiny were to be French or English. The nascent colleges of Colorado, Dakota, and Oregon are relatively to-day in the position held by Williams when it was founded.

Col. Ephraim Williams, from whom the college takes its name, had been an active participant in the struggle to which we have alluded. He had been commissioned by the General Court of Massachusetts to construct and command a line of forts along the northern border of settlements from the Connecticut River on the east to the valley of the Hoosac on the west. This line coincided nearly with the northern boundary of Massachusetts; all above, to the borders of Canada, being then a wilderness, through which the roaming savages often burst with sudden violence upon the settlements of the English colonists. The westernmost of the line of forts was not far from what is now the site of the college, and this, being the most exposed and most important, Williams commanded in person.

After acting in this capacity for a time, and in a manner which gained him much distinction in the colony, he was placed in charge of a regiment of troops, designed to participate with other forces in an expedition against the French; the special object being the capture of Crown Point, a fortress on Lake Champlain. While on the way to Crown Point a French force was met, near the head of Lake George. Williams, with a detachment of troops, was sent against it. The movement was successful. The French were repulsed, but in the encounter Williams lost his life. A monument, erected in recent years by the alumni of the college, marks the spot where he fell.

CLARK HALL. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
CLARK HALL.

While engaged in his military duties on the frontier, Williams became much interested in the soldiers under his command. Through his agency chiefly, two townships of land in the vicinity of Fort Massachusetts—the name given to the most western fort in the valley of the Hoosac—had been set off by order of the Legislature, and lots in them had been disposed of to the soldiers on favorable terms. Williams had also expressed the intention of still further benefiting his comrades in arms. While resting for a day or two at Albany, on his way to Crown Point, he bethought him of his purpose, the execution of which had hitherto been postponed. Accordingly, he made his will on the spot, by which he devised his property, after making some bequests to relatives and friends, for the purpose of establishing what he termed a Free School.

East College. EAST COLLEGE CAMPUS. Library. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
East College.     EAST COLLEGE CAMPUS.     Library.

Such was the beginning of Williams College, for the school took the name and form of a college in two or three years after its organization. It was noble in purpose from the outset, but humble, indeed, in pecuniary endowment. Some will smile, now that we think hundreds of thousands, not to say millions, necessary for the establishment of a college, when they are informed that the executors of Williams' estate were obliged to allow the proceeds of it to accumulate for thirty years before they ventured to organize the school or erect a building for its use.

WEST COLLEGE. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
WEST COLLEGE.

That it was to be something more than an ordinary school was insured from the beginning by the character of the trustees who so patiently brooded over the work committed to them while the funds in their hands were gaining the needful increase. They were among the most distinguished and intelligent citizens of the Colony. Most of them were of collegiate training, and a large number graduates of Yale. They believed in the value of a liberal education, not only to the person immediately concerned, but to the community of which he might be a member. They believed in the importance of basing liberty upon sound education. Such men, at such a time, could hardly have done otherwise than to lay foundations which could be fitly built upon for a long time to come. They designed to give the youth who might come to their school such a training as would fit them for the engagements and duties of practical life. So they began their school in the wilderness, as it then was, so far out on the verge of settlement that a few years before there had been debate as to whether it was not actually beyond the boundaries of New England. Now that the wilderness is gone, and the college, long secluded from observation, has been made so accessible by the construction of one of our transcontinental lines of railway along the valley of the Hoosac, and the town to which Williams gave name has become noted far and wide for its beauty, one wonders whether those early founders were aware of the fair setting which Nature had provided for their school. Certainly the æsthetic sense can ask for nothing more in the way of natural scenery than is here presented to the eye in the combination of mountain, valley, and stream; the infinite variety on every hand, with a quiet grandeur characterizing all. The visitor no sooner looks out upon the enchanting scene than he is ready to say this is pre-eminently a fit place for the training of students; all without is so in harmony with what is best in culture and character.

COLONEL WILLIAMS' MONUMENT. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
COLONEL WILLIAMS' MONUMENT.

MISSION PARK MONUMENT. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
MISSION PARK MONUMENT.

But outward or geographical situation is of secondary importance with a seat of learning. Scenery will not make scholars, though it may be desirable and helpful, and is likely to impress itself upon the habitual beholder with life-long influence. The college is where the teachers are. It is also what they are. Plato made the Academy. And judged by this standard Williams has not been deficient. From its beginning it has had able instructors, men of sound learning, of exemplary character, and "apt to teach." Among the earliest was Jeremiah Day, afterwards, and for so long a time, serving as the president of Yale College. Ex-President Hopkins is just now completing the fiftieth year of continuous instruction in the college since he was called to be its head, and no name is higher than his as a teacher. With him have been associated fit and eminent coadjutors in the various departments of instruction. If the work of the college has been done quietly and unobtrusively, it has been done well. The faculty of Williams have not been ambitious to make a university amid the Berkshire Hills, nor to enter into a strife with other institutions for the purpose of swelling the number of its students. They have been content to do the work of a simple college, and to be judged by the quality rather than the quantity of their work. Faithful to the students who might be led to seek the benefits of such an institution, they have sought to make their pupils faithful to themselves and to their opportunities. In the working of the college, the training of character has been regarded as of prime importance. While sound scholarship has been insisted upon,—sound rather than showy,—no scholarship has been allowed to take the place of character. The moral element has ever been held uppermost, and the endeavor has been to blend it with all the studies of the assigned curriculum. A truly manly character has been the finished product which the college has sought to give to the world from year to year in the persons of its graduates.

THE COLLEGE CHAPEL. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
THE COLLEGE CHAPEL.

GRIFFIN HALL (OLD COLLEGE CHAPEL), AND SOLDIERS' MONUMENT. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
GRIFFIN HALL (OLD COLLEGE CHAPEL), AND SOLDIERS' MONUMENT.

Colleges no less than persons have their peculiarities and special characteristics. Its very situation made it almost certain that at Williams much attention would be given to the natural sciences. With mountains and meadows on every side inviting their exploration, it was almost a matter of course that much attention should be given to botanical studies, and that the new sciences of chemistry and geology should meet a hearty welcome. This was made the more certain by the special qualification of the teachers of these sciences. Professor Dewey was distinguished by his lectures and experiments in natural philosophy and chemistry. Professor Eaton early gave lectures in mineralogy, geology, and botany. He was a pioneer in these departments of science, and an enthusiast whose spirit easily kindled a like spirit in others. To pursue his favorite studies he had forsaken the profession of law. It was his custom to take his classes into the fields and woods and there interrogate Nature. Emmons, the younger Hopkins, Tenney, and Chadbourne were teachers of similar spirit. Aided by the instruction of such men the natural sciences have been studied with a zeal which has become traditional at Williams. As evidence and result of this, a Lyceum of Natural History has been established and maintained for many years by the students, and has become a fixed institution. The Society has a substantial brick building on the college campus containing a valuable collection of specimens in the various departments of natural history, and a hall in which the Society holds regular meetings for the reading of papers and the discussion of questions relating to natural science. The students have been encouraged also to pursue their researches at a distance from the college, and various expeditions have been undertaken for this purpose. The long summer vacations have frequently been profitably spent in this way. In company with a professor of the college, as their guide and helper, the members of the Society have prosecuted their researches southward to the Gulf, and as far north as Greenland. The college has now a table in the building of the United States Fish Commission at Wood's Holl, on the southern coast of Massachusetts, where the students have the opportunity, every summer, of prosecuting their biological studies.

MORGAN HALL. MORGAN HALL.

MAIN STREET, LOOKING EAST FROM EAST COLLEGE HILL. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
MAIN STREET, LOOKING EAST FROM EAST COLLEGE HILL.

Of course every one who knows anything of the college knows that the study of mental and moral science has had as prominent place as that of the natural sciences. It could not be otherwise with such a man as Ex-President Hopkins in the chair of instruction. Dr. Hopkins has had, in a remarkable degree, the faculty of making these studies, usually regarded as abstruse and repulsive to the majority of students, both intelligible and attractive. It has been his conviction that we may know and ought to know what is nearest to us—ourselves; that we are capable of ascertaining the laws and movements of our own being. This is properly the science of Man. This, in his apt, clear way, he has taught year after year. He has sought to lead the young men of his classes to look within, to study and know themselves. For text-book he has used now one and now another. The book has been of secondary importance. The familiar, free discussions of the class-room have been the most effective means of instruction, and many are the graduates of Williams who look back upon their studies in philosophy as the most interesting and valuable of their college course.

JACKSON HALL. From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
JACKSON HALL.

THE OLD OBSERVATORY. From Harper's Magazine Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
THE OLD OBSERVATORY.

Since the accession of President Carter to his place at the head of the college, while attention to other studies has not been lessened, more attention has been given to the study of the modern languages and to our own native tongue, formerly so sadly neglected in most of our colleges. The belles-lettres studies have been given a larger place than they had before. Other changes have also been made in the curriculum and in the arrangements and management of the college calculated to adapt it in all respects to the wants of the time, and the present condition and needs of the country. The list of elective studies has been increased. For some years the senior class have had a wide liberty of choice as to the studies in which they should be engaged. A similar liberty is now given to the juniors. As to the lower classes, the managers of the college are not disposed to think that a boy on coming to college is the best judge as to the studies to be pursued by him. At the same time they recognize the fact that the average age of students is greater by several years than it was twenty-five or fifty years ago, and that this may well be taken into account and, coupled with the effect of two years of college training, may make it safe and even desirable to throw students in the latter half of their course partly upon their own responsibility as well as privilege of choice. They are not disposed to regard their pupils as boys when they are men, or to use compulsory requisitions when free choice will accomplish as good results.

GYMNASIUM WILLIAMS COLLEGE MASS GYMNASIUM
WILLIAMS COLLEGE MASS

During President Carter's incumbency of office, or in recent years, large additions have been made also to what may be called the furniture of the college. Its funds have been sensibly augmented, and its equipment of buildings largely increased. A new observatory has been erected to supplement the uses of the old one, which was distinguished as being the first observatory for astronomical purposes erected in this country. The new one has mounted in it a meridian circle of the latest and best construction. Other instruments in both observatories in the hands of one so eminent as Professor Safford, furnish unusual means for the prosecution of astronomical studies. Clark Hall, a fine new building, contains the Wilder Mineralogical Cabinet and the college archives. A new dormitory has been erected by the liberality of the late Ex-Governor Morgan, of New York, and during the present year a spacious building of stone has been erected for gymnastic purposes. As new buildings have been constructed, old ones have been rearranged and better adapted for the various uses of the college, and so it has been provided with the means of enlarging and improving its work, and it is believed that few, if any, of our colleges are better equipped in this respect than Williams.

GOODRICH HALL. From Harper's Magazine Copyright, 1881, by Harper & Brothers.
GOODRICH HALL.

With such natural surroundings as the students of Williams have, such scenery appealing everywhere to the eye and soul, mountains close at hand to climb, and sequestered nooks to explore, it could hardly be otherwise than that they should combine with their studies the physical exercise necessary for the maintenance of health. They have been encouraged also by the college authorities to engage in athletic games among themselves, and to participate in friendly contests with the students of other colleges, and in these contests the students of Williams have held an honorable place.

It would be wrong perhaps not to make a more distinct reference to the moral character of the college. As has been seen, the ethical studies hold a prominent place in the curriculum. The college has a distinctively religious character. By this is not meant that it is a religious institution. It was not founded by any religious sect or denomination. It is not under the control of any such. It was founded as a school, a place of education, with no ulterior aim. But its founder, and those who executed his will and gave shape to his design, were men of religious character; persons who held moral character above mere scholarship, and who believed that every scholar should have a devout spirit. Their successors and those who from the first have held the position of instructors, have been of like feeling. They have been Christian scholars themselves, and have sought to make their pupils such; not, however, in any forced or unpleasant way. The chapel has its place among the college buildings. There the students assemble every morning for the reading of the sacred scriptures and for prayer; and on the Sabbath religious services are conducted after the customary manner of the churches. Studies in natural theology and in the catechism also form a part of the college course. The religious atmosphere which surrounds the college is as genial and cheerful as the natural atmosphere which bathes the hills and valleys around in October days. It has no element of sectarianism or bigotry. Free alike from cant, from looseness and indifference, the religious tone of the college is altogether wholesome.

Williams, the westernmost of our New England colleges, blends in harmonious combination the puritan spirit of the East with the progressive spirit of the West, and offers to all who come to her doors an education based upon tried principles, and conducted in a healthful spirit. At his inauguration to the office of its presidency, Dr. Hopkins said, "I desire and shall labor that this may be a safe college; that here may be health, and cheerful study, and kind feelings, and pure morals." No words perhaps could better describe the character which, under his wise management, and that of his associates, the college has maintained.

President Carter's inaugural address contained an urgent plea for a professorship of the "History and Polity of the Hebrew Theocracy," and although the funds for such a professorship are still wanting, the college stands faithfully by the old traditions of reverence and worship and sound morality.

THE HUNTING OF THE STAG OF ŒNOË.

BY CLINTON SCOLLARD.

From proud Mycenæ's lion-guarded gate,
Where King Eurystheus reigned in regal state,
One springtime morn when every field was fair
And song-birds carolled in the azure air,
A man of mighty stature swiftly strode,
And took his way along the winding road
That led to well-walled Argos and the sea.
From Lerna's fens a salty breeze blew free,
And stirred the locks that fell his shoulders down
And wreathed his forehead like a golden crown.
Upon his shield—a sight to hold men mute—
Was seen the head of the Nemean brute;
Within one hand a gnarlèd club he bore,
Hewn from an oak bole in the forest hoar.
The shafts of Hermes, and the wondrous bow,
The helm of Vulcan with its fiery glow,
The fine-wrought peplus fluttering in the breeze,
Proclaimed the hero valiant Hercules.
Beside the torrent Perseia that won
Its way to join the sweet Asterion,
Through flowery meads and field of greening grain,
The hero's pathway led him o'er the plain;
But ere the walls of Argos met his view,
Or ere he saw the Ægean shining blue,
He turned, and toward the mountain peaks that rose
Along the far horizon, capped with snows
Of lands Arcadian, pursued his quest.
And many days he fared with meagre rest
Taken in starlit hours 'neath forest boughs,
Where nightly Queen Titania's elves carouse.
By day he hasted with unflagging pace
Through woodland depths where Dian's hounds gave chase
To startled deer, through fields by yeomen tilled,
Through vineyards whence the winepress would be filled
When teeming Autumn with her purple fine
Had tinged the grape upon the yielding vine;
Through olive groves that, in good time, would bear
A bounteous fruitage 'neath the pruner's care:
And those who saw him as he sped along
Paused 'mid their work, or hushed the jocund song
To do him homage. None in all the land
But felt the blessings that his potent hand
Had widely wrought; remote were they and few
But that his face and stately presence knew.
Where'er his many wanderings led, he heard
In field or household no unwelcome word;
Whene'er he came, though bread and wine were spent,
He saw no frown nor look of ill content.

At last, when many nights the vernal moon
Had risen and set, and song-birds presaged June,
One sultry eve the weary hero came
To mountain hamlet where his matchless fame
Had been on all men's lips, but where his face
Was known to none; and in the market-place
He found a throng with wreaths and garlands bound,
And one who blew with clear, harmonious sound
Upon a hollow reed. Amidst the folk
A goodly ox, unfettered by the yoke,
Stood gayly decked with flowers in skilful wise
As though prepared for godly sacrifice.
When they beheld the noble-visaged man,
They bade him join the festal rites of Pan;
For some at heart believed that he might be,
In mortal guise, a heavenly deity;
And much they marveled at his kingly mien,
As with the throng he sought the forest green.
Within a glade where drooping birches stirred
Their silvery leaves, and where the drowsy bird
Sang plaintively a tender twilight lay,
An altar stood entwined by tendrils gay.
And soon thereon the mighty ox, new-slain,
Was sprinkled o'er with wine and barley grain;
Then one, amid the sound of choral song,
The seemly leader of the pastoral throng,
With reverent hand brought forth the sacred fire,
And prayerful knelt and lit the holy pyre.
Amid the roar of sacrificial flame
The devotees besought their God by name;
And while they worshipped, Hercules unheard,
Through flowering, fragrant thickets scarcely stirred
By evening's breezes, softly slipped away,
His vows fulfilled. The golden orb of day
Had ceased to flush the placid western sky;
With slowly lengthening shadows night drew nigh,
But still the hero with unslackened stride
Went hurrying onward, till a torrent wide,
Grown fierce with melting snow, his progress barred;
And there beneath the cloudless dome, bright-starred,
Upon his tawny shield he laid him down,
And slept till morning with her rosy crown
Followed the car of Phœbus up the East.
Then, when his limbs from slumber were released,
And he had eaten of his frugal fare,
He stemmed the stream, and up a hillside bare
Of aught but tangled bush and hindering briar
Toiled slowly to the crest, whereon a spire
Of splintered pine like lonely sentry stood.
Below him lay a wide-outreaching wood,
And far beyond a hamlet that he knew,
Œnoë called. Before the thick night dew
Had dried from off the grass and rustling leaves,
Or shepherd maids from under well-thatched eaves
Had gone afield to watch the wandering
Of flocks that fed beside a crystal spring,
Stout Hercules had trodden half the way
That 'twixt the pine-tree and the hamlet lay.

A Titan power, while yet the world was young,
Within the woodland's shady heart had flung
The green earth open, and a dark ravine,
Through which a streamlet purled o'er mossy-green,
Gigantic boulders, formed the chosen lair
For ravening beasts that through the forest fare.
At night or morn the deer were wont to seek
The freshening nectar of the crystal creek;
At night or morn the pard, with stealthy tread,
Crept softly out upon the boughs o'erhead;
A wanderer from rocky realms remote,
Here laved the mountain bear his shaggy coat;
And birds, bright-mirrored on the sedgy brink
Of darkling pools, here paused to plume and drink.

Where o'er the granite ledge the noisy stream
Came tossing down athwart the slanting gleam
Of morning sunrays, Hercules reclined
Beneath a tangled growth of vines that twined
Around o'erhanging saplings, oak and elm.
Upon the ground was cast his weighty helm,
Likewise his shield and shafts, his club and bow.
Breathless he listened with his ear bent low
Upon the earth. The moments sped; around
The honey-hoarding bees' unceasing sound,
The crested jay's complaining, shrilly call,
Were intermingled with the water's fall.
But soon upon his keen, detecting ear
There fell a noise which told that hoof of deer
Was lightly rustling through the reeds and grass.
With eye alert he scanned the narrow pass
Beside the stream, and, in a moment more,
Beheld a stag upon the shelving shore
Whose hoofs seemed brazen, and whose horns outshone
With gold like that which binds the slender zone
Of fair Aurora, daughter of the Dawn.
Deep eyes more tender had no timid fawn;
Of perfect form was every graceful limb;
The tapering flank symmetrical and slim,
The head erect, the nostril fine of curve,
The shapely shoulders flawless, and the swerve
Of stately neck a marvel to behold.
This was the stag a woodland nymph of old
To swift Diana gave, remembering she
Had been her friend in dire extremity.
This stag it was that brave Mycenæ's king
Had bidden valiant Hercules to bring
Alive unto his court. And now so fair
The creature stood before him, unaware
A foe lurked near, that he at heart was fain
To capture it without the piercing pain
The wounding dart might give; and so aside
He cast his princely peplus, purple-dyed,
And softly crept from 'neath the viny roof.
But lo! the stag with smite of startled hoof
On yielding ground, and toss of antlers high,
Flashing a look from out his frightened eye,
With agile bound sprang knee-deep in the stream,
A moment paused as in a trance or dream;
Then, casting back a calmly questioning look,
Regained the bank above the brawling brook,
And ere the hero seized his barbed dart,
Had disappeared within the forest's heart.

Twelve weary months had slowly dragged away
Since Hercules, upon that fateful day,
Within Arcadian wilds had sought in vain
To snare the sacred stag; through sun and rain,
Through wintry cold and winds that tossed and whirled
The falling leaf, through drifting snows that pearled
Arcadian slopes, untiring in pursuit,
He held a lonely chase that bore no fruit;
If he at morn descried the stag afar,
At night it vanished like a falling star;
And though his subtlest woodcraft he had tried,
The brazen hoof his cunning still defied.
Oft did the harvesters and husbandmen
Behold him ranging through an Argive glen,
And oft the wandering shepherd saw him rest
On some Arcadian upland's bosky crest.

In rapid flight the hunted stag had come
From craggy heights of Artemesium
To placid Ladon's fruitful vale, and there
Had sought a refuge in a cavern ne'er
Beheld by mortal man. Remote it stood
Within the precincts of a pathless wood
To Dian sacred. Round its entrance grew
A tangled copse, and one gigantic yew
Towered at its mouth. The river ran near by,
And on its bank was heard the bittern's cry,
For May had come again.

One morn by chance,
Just as the sun had flung its earliest lance
O'er towering treetops, Hercules drew near
The spot where every dawn the brass-hoofed deer
From out the grot came softly slipping down
To drink and lave its limbs of glossy brown.
Day after day the mighty man had sought
In vain the stag's retreat; his mind was fraught
With gathering fear lest he should find no trace
Of royal covert in that wildwood place.
Erelong a sound that smote his eager ear
Gave swift assurance that his prize was near.
With cautious hand a skimmering dart he drew,
And eager, peered the tremulous leafage through;
The pattering footfalls near and nearer came,
A moment paused,—then, like a flash of flame,
The stag in splendor dawned upon his sight,
And sniffed the crystal air with keen delight.
Upon the morning breeze the piercing twang
Of taut-drawn bowstring ominously rang,
While with a moan the noble creature sank
In pain and terror on the reedy bank.
Beneath a haughty hemlock's spicy shade
The hero stanched the wound his shaft had made;
With leathern thong the stag's slight limbs he bound,
And striding swiftly o'er the ferny ground,
His precious burden on his shoulders wide,
Toward fair Mycenæ with her walls of pride
He hurried on from lisping Ladon's shore,
Elate to feel his arduous task was o'er.
Before his steps the joyful tidings flew,
And when anigh the city's gates he drew,
A band of stately elders bade him hail;
Then came a troop of youths in garments pale,
Upon their lips a merry hunting lay;
And following close a group of maidens gay,
With twining flowers, freshed plucked, and emerald sprays.
And all the concourse wished him length of days,
O'erjoyed to see, with horns of glittering gold,
The living stag within the hero's hold.
Nor here nor there the happy hunter stayed
His rapid steps, but while the people made
Great clamor in his honor from the wall,
Sought out the king within the royal hall;
And there, 'mid cries that echoed from the street,
He laid his trophy at the monarch's feet.

WEBSTER'S VINDICATION.

BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.

The first great National success of the Whig party was in the election of their candidates for President and Vice-President in 1840, William Henry Harrison, of Ohio, and John Tyler, of Virginia, being the successful nominees. The previous influence of the party in many States of the Union, their ability to carry out great local measures in their respective locations, and their party power in Congress, but made the political contest which was long and bitter, the more active and important. Party strife ran to the highest pitch throughout the whole country, and Mr. Webster, who was the acknowledged head in the North, and one of the principal originators of the National Whig organization in the United States, was looked up to as a most important personage in the contest, and his influence was deeply felt and appreciated. General Harrison early selected Mr. Webster for one of his Cabinet, and offered him the choice between the Treasury and the State Department. Mr. Webster chose the latter, and during the short month of General Harrison's life, laid out the ground plan of that important work which kept him so busily employed for the next two years, and which under no circumstances during the contest between Mr. Tyler, the succeeding President, and the Whig party, did he feel willing to leave to the chances of a settlement by a successor less familiar and perhaps less skilled in National affairs with foreign governments than himself. Although Mr. Webster was generally sustained by the party friends in Congress, and in part by the whole country, the shortsighted, less skilful, and more selfish of Whig partisans denounced him in unmeasured terms through the press and upon the stump, for not forsaking his post and leaving the President with the rest of the Cabinet. It was here, at the great pivotal turn of the Whig party, so far as Mr. Webster was concerned, and not at a later period, while in the Senate where he delivered his seventh of March speech, or in the Cabinet of President Fillmore, that the great coalition of radical partisans was made against him. The most bitter denunciations were launched by this premeditated alliance of selfish politicians, who, not having been able to bit, bridle, and drive Mr. Webster, were determined to rule or ruin, through his political disfranchisement, from the great party he was virtually the father of. All this, too, by false pretence; for a cool review of Mr. Webster's course has satisfied the country that the great depth of motive, prescience of danger to the Union and in fact, purpose of that speech, was, in the highest sense, proper and patriotic, and in no way at variance with the interpretation of either the old or new Constitution as now understood. The occasion was seized upon, having failed in their first effort to denounce and defame him, in the hope of thus building up an influence with some candidate for President, whom they could control for their own selfish purposes. It will be remembered that some of Mr. Webster's friends, or, at least, those who claimed to be such, took occasion to forsake him at that time. He, however, went into the Cabinet of President Fillmore after the death of General Taylor, where he remained until his death. The bill pending before Congress when he left it, was altered after Mr. Webster's speech, and he stated to his friends that he should have proposed amendments to it on its final passage, if he had been in the Senate. It was at this time that he prepared the following paper, which I have always designated as "Webster's Vindication." This document, as shown by the endorsement, in the handwriting of Colonel Fletcher Webster, was proposed to the Cabinet by Mr. Webster, in October, 1850, who intended it as a mandate to the United States officials in all the States, but it was rejected by President Fillmore, who did not wish thus to be committed. There is no doubt about the genuineness of the document itself. It was found in looking over Mr. Webster's papers before the Webster mansion was burned, and was presented to the writer by Mrs. Fletcher Webster, some years before it was made public, at the Webster Centennial Celebration at Marshfield in 1882, where it was first read in the presence of President Arthur, who was at the meeting. It speaks strongly for itself, and is all that will be needed, at this late day, to convince every dispassionate lover of justice and truth, of Webster's sincerity and singleheartedness of motive, and his unswerving loyalty to the Constitution and the Union.

DANIEL WEBSTER. DANIEL WEBSTER.[1]

"PROPOSED

"CABINET CIRCULAR OF DANIEL WEBSTER, OCTOBER, 1850.

"The open manner in which disunion, secession, or a separation of the States, is suggested and recommended in some parts of the country, naturally calls on those to whom are confided the power and trust of maintaining the Constitution, and seeing that the laws of the United States be faithfully executed, to reflect upon the duties which events not yet indeed probable, but possible, may require them to perform. In the Northern and Eastern States, these sentiments of disunion are espoused principally by persons of heated imaginations, assembling together and passing resolutions of such wild and violent character as to render them nearly harmless. It is not so in other parts of the country. There are States in the South in which secession and dismemberment are proposed or recommended by persons of character and influence, filling stations of high public trust, and, it is painful to add, in some instances, not unconnected with the Government of the United States itself. Legislatures of some of the States have directed the government of those States to reassemble them in the contingency of the passage of certain laws by Congress. While these occurrences do not constitute an exigency calling for any positive proceeding either by the Executive Government of the United States or by Congress, yet they justly awaken attention, and admonish those in whose hands the administration of the government is placed, not to be found either unadvised, surprised, or unprepared, should a crisis arrive. The Constitution of the United States is founded on the idea of a division of power between the general government and the respective State governments; and this division is marked out and defined by the Constitution of the United States with as much distinctness and accuracy as the nature of the subject and the imperfection of language will admit. The powers of Congress are specifically enumerated, and all other powers necessary to carry these specified powers into effect are also expressly granted. The Constitution was adopted by the people in the several States, acting through the agency of conventions chosen by themselves; the Legislatures of the States had nothing to do with this proceeding, but to regulate the time and manner in which these conventions thus chosen by the people, the true source of all power, should assemble. The Constitution of the United States purports to be a perpetual form of government; it contains no limits for its duration, and suggests no means and no form of proceeding by which it can be dissolved, or its obligations dispensed with; it requires the personal allegiance of every citizen of the United States, and demands a solemn oath for its support from every man employed in any public trust, whether under the Government of the United States, or any State government. This obligation and this oath are enjoined in broad and general terms without qualification or modification, and with reference to no supposed possible change of circumstances or events.

"No man can sit in a State Legislature, or on the bench of a State court, or execute the process of such court, or hold a commission in the militia, or fill any other office in a State government, without having first taken and subscribed an oath to support the Constitution of the United States. Without looking, therefore, to what might be the result of forcible revolution, since such cases can, of course, be governed by no previously established rule, it is certainly the manifest duty of all those who are entrusted with the Government of the United States in its several branches and departments to uphold and maintain that government to the full extent of its constitutional power and authority, to enact all laws necessary to that end, and to take care that those laws be executed by all the means created and conferred by the Constitution itself. We are to look to but one future, and that a future in which the Constitution of the country shall stand as it now stands; laws passed in conformity to it to be executed as they have hitherto been executed, and the public peace maintained as it has hitherto been maintained. Whatsoever of the future may be supposed to lie out of this line, is not so much a thing to be expected, as a thing to be feared and dreaded, and to be guarded against by the firmest resolution and the utmost vigilance of all who are entrusted with the conduct of public affairs; no alternative can be presented which is to authorize them to depart from the course which they have sworn to pursue. In conferring the necessary powers on the general government, it was foreseen that questions as to the just extent of those powers might occur, and that cases of conflict between the laws of the United States and the laws of individual States might arise. It was of indispensable necessity, therefore, that the manner in which such questions should be settled, and the tribunal which should have the ultimate authority to decide them, should be established and fixed by the Constitution itself: and this has been clearly and amply done. By the Constitution of the United States, that instrument itself, all acts of Congress passed in conformity to it, and public treaties, constitute the supreme law of the land, and are to be of controlling force and effect, anything in any State constitution or State law to the contrary notwithstanding; and the judges in every State, as well as of the courts of the United States, are expressly bound thereby. The supreme rule, then, is plainly and clearly declared and established: it is the Constitution of the United States, the laws of Congress passed in pursuance thereof, and treaties made under the authority of the United States. And here the great and turning question arises, Who in the last resort is to construe and interpret this supreme law? If it be alleged, for example, that a particular act of a State Legislature is a violation of the Constitution of the United States, and therefore void, what tribunal has authority finally to determine this important question? It is evident that if this power had not been vested in the tribunals of the United States, the government would have wanted the means of its own preservation; all its granted powers would have depended upon the variable and uncertain decisions of State courts.

"It is a well-established maxim in political organization, that the judicial power must be made co-extensive with the constitutional and legislative power; otherwise there can be no adequate provision for the interpretation and execution of the laws. In conformity with this plain and necessary principle, the Constitution declares that the judicial power of the United States shall extend to all cases in law and equity arising under the Constitution, the laws of the United States and treaties, no matter in what court such a case arises. Whenever and wherever such a case comes up, the judicial power of the United States extends to it, and attaches upon it; and if it arise in any State court, the acts of Congress have made provision for its transfer to the Supreme Court of the United States, there to be finally heard and adjudged. This proceeding is well known to the profession, and need not now be particularly stated or rehearsed. Finally, the President of the United States is by the Constitution made commander-in-chief of the army and navy, and of the militia when called into the actual service of the United States; and all these military means are put under his control in order that he may be able to see that the laws be faithfully executed. The Government of the United States, therefore, though a government of limited powers, is complete in itself, and, to the extent of those powers, possesses all the faculties for legislation, interpretation and execution of the laws, and nothing is necessary but fidelity in all those who are elected by the people to hold office in its various departments to cause it to be upheld, maintained, and efficiently administered.

"The Constitution assigns particular classes of causes to the original jurisdiction of the Supreme Court, and other courts are to exercise such powers and duties as are or may be prescribed by Congress. Congress has not as yet found it necessary or expedient to confer on the circuit or other inferior courts all the jurisdiction created or authorized by the Constitution; thus there are many cases in which a summary jurisdiction usually belonging to courts, such as that of mandamus and injunction, are not provided for by general law, but some such cases are provided for. Thus by the act of March 2, 1833, it is declared that the jurisdiction of the Circuit Courts of the United States shall extend to all cases in law or equity arising under the revenue laws of the United States; and if any person be injured in his person or property on account of any act by him done under any revenue law of the United States, he may bring suit immediately in the Circuit Court of the United States; and if he be sued in any State court for such act, he may cause such suit to be immediately removed into the Circuit Court of the United States; and if the State court refuse a copy of its record, that record may be supplied by affidavit; and if the defendant be under arrest, or in custody, he is to be brought by habeas corpus before the Circuit Court of the United States. Under the first part of these provisions, writs of mandamus and injunction may be issued, and all other writs and processes suitable to the case; and any judge of any court of the United States is authorized to grant writs of habeas corpus in all cases of prisoners committed or confined for any act done in pursuance of a law of the United States, or of any order, process or decree of any court of the United States. These provisions are all found in the permanent sections of the act of Congress already referred to. The importance and efficiency of these provisions, if events were to arise in which obstruction to the collection of revenue should be attempted or threatened, are too obvious to require comment. The several district attorneys of the United States will take especial care to inform themselves of these enactments of law, and be prepared to cause them to be enforced in the first and in every case which may arise, justly calling for their application.

"Declarations merely theoretical, or resolutions only declaratory of opinions, from however high authority emanating, cannot properly be made the subject of legal or judicial proceedings. They may be very intemperate, they may be very exceptional, they may be very unconstitutional; but until something shall be actually done or attempted, hindering or obstructing the execution of the laws of the United States, or injuring those employed in their execution, the officers of the government will remain vigilant indeed, and prepared for events, but without any positive exercise of authority. It is most earnestly to be hoped that the returning good sense of the people in all the States, and an increase of harmony and brotherly good will everywhere, may prevent the necessity of resorting to the exercise of legal authority; it is to be hoped that all good citizens will be much more inclined to reflect on the value of the Union and the benefits which it has conferred upon all, than to speculate upon impracticable means for its severance or dissolution. No State legislation, it is evident, is competent to declare such severance or dissolution—the people of no State have clothed their Legislature with any such authority; any act therefore proclaiming such severance by a Legislature, would be merely null and void as altogether exceeding its constitutional powers. No State was brought into the Union by the Legislature thereof, and no State can be put out of the Union by the Legislature thereof. Doubtless it is to be admitted that revolution, forcible revolution, may produce dismemberment more or less extensive; but there is no power on earth competent, by any peaceable or recognized manner of proceeding, to discharge the consciences of the citizens of the United States from the duty of supporting the Constitution. The government may be overthrown, or the Union broken into fragments by force of arms or force of numbers, but neither can be done by any prescribed form or peaceable existing authority."

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The above portrait of Daniel Webster is taken from a book just issued by the Fowler & Wells Co., New York, entitled, "A Natural System of Elocution and Oratory," founded upon analysis of the Human Constitution. By Thomas A. Hyde and William Hyde. Among other valuable subjects which this book contains is a description and analysis of Webster oratory.

HAWTHORNE'S LAST SKETCH.

BY PHILIP R. AMMIDON.

In the list of contributors to the old "New England Magazine,"—of which this is in a manner the legitimate successor,—among other names afterward famous is that of Nathaniel Hawthorne, then an obscure writer for various periodicals, and the ill-paid author of those juvenile histories that gave Mr. S. G. Goodrich ("Peter Parley") a literary reputation he scarcely earned.

The writer has a copy of this respectable and for a time popular monthly, with which he would be reluctant to part. It contains, for the first time printed, "The White Old Maid," one of the weirdest and most fascinating of the "Twice-Told Tales."

My present object is to invite the notice of readers of the "New England Magazine" of our day to the last completed work from the hand of that man of marvellous genius,

"Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen,
And left the tale half told."

I remember with what concern I once heard a resident of Concord, a man not unknown in the world of letters, speak of certain evils likely to result from "Hawthorne's fall."

This, to me, conveyed only the idea of physical disaster, and it was with a sentiment of relief, commensurate with the contempt inspired by such an explanation, that I was given to understand that it was the great author's unselfish effort in behalf of his old college comrade and life-long friend, that was supposed to imply a state of moral declension fitly indicated by the sinister word.

It was thus that men and women, full of the cheap patriotism of the time, and puffed up with a sort of loyal egotism that blinded them to the possibilities of honest purpose in any whose views on politics and public affairs varied never so slightly from their accepted standard of right, ventured to condemn what they were constitutionally incapable of judging with either coolness or fair appreciation.

The "Life of Franklin Pierce" is by no means a great book, and neither the subject nor its treatment entitles it to a place among the immortal works that preceded and followed it; but to those of us who knew and loved the writer, and to those who through his books got some glimpses of the singular purity of his moral nature, a quality of friendship that excludes the idea of selfish interest seems its author's only and sufficient motive.

When the storm of civil war broke upon us, these worthy critics flung themselves with tongue, or pen, or sword—chiefly with tongue—into the good cause, and were scandalized at the vision of one who would fain have dreamed while they, after their various methods, were fighting; of a poet so far aloft in the regions of ideal fancy that the confused voices of battle well-nigh failed to reach him. And yet, in the words of one of their own writers,

"There was but one man living whom the country could so ill afford to lose as this strange, wayward, fitful, unreasonable poet and dreamer, who sneered at the war, and at the great nation that waged it, with the pettishness of a spoiled child."

But the charge that Hawthorne sneered at the righteous war, or, far worse, at his country, is full of an injustice which seems more bitter because it comes from one whose hearty admiration of the Author should have lifted him to a clearer appreciation of the Man in his purity and lofty patriotism.

The writer concludes the article from which I have quoted, and which, in keen analysis and generous, literary judgment, is rarely equalled by any of Hawthorne's reviewers, with these and like ill-considered words:—

"Wherever he turned his weary steps, there stood in his path the genius of the time, not beautiful, not romantic, to his eyes; not even grand—but stern enough and in grim earnest, demanding of him what he could not give,—the heart and voice of an American citizen in the hour of America's danger."

The writer forgot, or, blinded by strong feeling, failed to perceive, that the silence which, with him as with hundreds of good and earnest men, would indeed have indicated a fatal lack of patriotic emotion, was in the case of Hawthorne only the inevitable shrinking of a rare and sensitive spirit from contact with the awful realities of conflict.

When the "Artist of the Beautiful" descended from the serene atmosphere, where his lofty spiritual nature had its true home and highest sphere of action, and devoted his delicate gifts to the useful mysteries of watch-making, the result, while eminently satisfactory to his old employer and well-wisher, the jeweller, and doubtless of blessed effect on the poor artist's purse, was disastrous in loss to the world of thought, and in its influence on his better and real self.

A writer of tenderer sympathies and nicer discrimination, takes a more kindly and a wiser view:—

"About the whole question of the war, Hawthorne's mind was, I think, always hovering between two views. He sympathized with it in principle; but its inevitable accessories—the bloodshed, the bustle, and above all, perhaps, the bunkum which accompanied it—were to him absolutely hateful.... To any one who knew the man, the mere fact that Hawthorne should have been able to make up his mind to the righteousness and expediency of the war at all, is evidence of the strength of that popular passion which drove the North and South into conflict."

But it was not Hawthorne's silence that provoked to fiercest expression the safe zeal of certain literary loyalists. This last sketch from that pen, the secret of whose magic was never communicated, and which, precious in itself, is invaluable because the last, was published in the summer of 1862—less than two years before its author's death. Its title, "Chiefly about War Matters," suggests its character. It was, in fact, a series of pictures of scenes in and about Washington at this stage of the great contest.

The present writer attempts nothing here like a review of this remarkable essay, entirely worthy as it was of its subject and its author's genius; it is simply my purpose to call the reader's attention to a production, which, more than anything else in Hawthorne's writings, has kindled the hostile criticism of shallow and uncongenial minds.

So quaintly characteristic is its commencement that I am tempted to give its opening paragraphs in full:—

"There is no remoteness of life and thought, no hermetically scaled seclusion, except, possibly, that of the grave, into which the disturbing influences of this war do not penetrate. Of course, the general heart-quake of the country long ago knocked at my cottage-door, and compelled me, reluctantly, to suspend the contemplation of certain fantasies to which, according to my harmless custom, I was endeavoring to give a sufficiently lifelike aspect to admit of their figuring in a romance. As I make no pretensions to statecraft or soldiership, and could promote the common weal neither by valor nor counsel, it seemed at first a pity that I should be debarred from such unsubstantial business as I had contrived for myself, since nothing more genuine was to be substituted for it.

"But I magnanimously considered that there is a kind of treason in inoculating one's self from the universal fear and sorrow, and thinking one's idle thoughts in the dread time of civil war; and could a man be so cold and hard-hearted, he would better deserve to be sent to Fort Warren than many who have found their way thither on the score of violent but misdirected sympathies.

"I remember the touching rebuke administered by King Charles to that rural squire, the echo of whose hunting-horn came to the poor monarch's ear on the morning before a battle, where the sovereignty and constitution of England were at stake. So I gave myself up to reading newspapers, and listening to the click of the telegraph, like other people, until after a great many months of such pastime, it grew so abominably irksome that I determined to look a little more closely at matters with my own eyes."

It was in the early days of March that Hawthorne, in company with his friend and publisher, Wm. D. Ticknor, left Boston on a visit to Washington and the seat of war, then in its immediate vicinity.

The sketches of natural scenery are touched with the same pencil that gave us the charming picture of daily life at the Old Manse.

It was in New York that the travellers had the first clear intimation of the unnatural order of things consequent on a state of civil war. Here they found a rather prominent display of military goods at the shop windows—such as swords, with gilded scabbards and trappings, epaulettes, carbines, revolvers, and sometimes a great iron cannon at the edge of the pavement, as if Mars had dropped one of his pocket-pistols there while hurrying to the field.

As railway companions, they had now and then a volunteer in his French-gray great coat, returning from furlough, or a new-made officer travelling to join his regiment in his new-made uniform, which was perhaps all of the military character that he had about him; but proud of his eagle buttons, and likely enough to, do them honor before the gilt should be wholly dimmed.

The country, in short, so far as bustle and movement went, was more quiet than in ordinary times, because so large a proportion of its restless elements had been drawn towards the seat of conflict.

But the air was full of a vague disturbance.

The author's patriotic alarm seems to have been especially excited by the host of embryo warriors that filled the cars and thronged the stations all along the journey. One cause of this terror will seem to us now all the more amusing because there are not wanting those who will doubtless honestly believe that in giving it expression he wrote with something of prophetic unction:—

"One terrible idea occurs in reference to this matter. Even supposing the war should end to-morrow, and the army melt into the mass of the population within the year, what an incalculable preponderance will there be of military titles and pretentions for at least half a century to come! Every country neighborhood will have its general or two, its three or four colonels, half a dozen majors, and captains without end—besides noncommissioned officers and privates, more than the recruiting officers ever knew of,—all with their campaign stories which will become the staple of fireside talk forevermore.

"Military merit, or rather, since that is not so readily estimated, military notoriety, will be the measure of all claims to civil distinction.

"One bullet-headed general will succeed another in the presidential chair; and veterans will hold the offices at home and abroad, and sit in Congress and the State Legislature, and fill all the avenues of public life. And yet I do not speak of this deprecatingly, since, very likely, it may substitute something more real and genuine, instead of the many shams on which men have heretofore founded their claims to public regard; but it behooves civilians to consider their wretched prospects in the future, and assume the military button before it is too late."

The day of their arrival in Washington was the date of McClellan's historic movement on Manassas:—

"On the very day of our arrival sixty thousand men had crossed the Potomac on their march towards Manassas; and almost with their first steps into the Virginia mud, the phantasmagory of a countless host and impregnable ramparts, before which they had so long remained quiescent, dissolved quite away.

"It was as if General McClellan had thrust his sword into a gigantic enemy, and, beholding him suddenly collapse, had discovered to himself and the world that he had merely punctured an enormously swollen bladder.

"There are instances of a similar character in old romances, where great armies are long kept at bay by the arts of the necromancers, who build airy towers and battlements, and muster warriors of terrible aspect, and thus feign a defence of seeming impregnability, until some bolder champion of the besiegers dashes forward to try an encounter with the foremost foeman, and finds him melt away in the death-grapple. With such heroic adventures let the march upon Manassas be hereafter reckoned.

"The whole business, though connected with the destinies of a nation, takes inevitably a tinge of the ludicrous.

"The vast preparation of men and warlike material,—the majestic patience and docility,—with which the people waited through those weary and dreary months,—the martial skill, courage, and caution, with which our movement was ultimately made,—and at last the shock with which we were brought suddenly up against nothing at all!"

It is in dealing with ponderous and awful blunders like this that the satiric power of the writer finds its favorite field of action.

It is not strange that, in those excited times of bitterness and strife, certain genuine but shallow souls should have counted it little short of treason to extract anything like fun from an episode which for us, in the day of it, was full of very solemn mortification. In this sketch, as indeed all through his works, it is in the delineation of individual character—in the analysis of motives—that Hawthorne's peculiar and amazing power is especially manifest, intermingled withal with a certain droll self-distrust and deprecation of adverse criticism, to which he has here given expression in a series of foot-notes, ostensibly from the editor's pen, but written in fact by the author himself.

The mixture of candor and apologetic self-disapproval in these addenda has a sufficiently odd effect, intermingled as it is with the utmost freedom of comment and criticism.

Prominent generals, cabinet ministers, and even the President himself, are dealt with in a vein of satiric candor, but with a pervasive spirit of good-nature evident enough and of sufficient breadth to disarm even official sensitiveness of anything like rancor.

Whatever personal descriptions the author may have meditated, or accomplished and afterward suppressed, the only full-length portrait he has given us is that of McClellan, of all the deeper interest and value now that both these famous Americans are numbered with the dead.

His impressions of President Lincoln seemed colored with a trace of prejudice, which, however unjust and unfortunate it may appear to us now, was really only the inevitable consequence of the wide intellectual gulf that yawned between those two men, both of positive character, and with tastes and sympathies the most radically opposite. But despite this unavoidable repulsion, Hawthorne's keen, resistless insight did not fail to penetrate the wonderful purity and simplicity of Lincoln's character. In a final word he does him ample justice:—

"He is evidently a man of keen faculties, and, what is still more to the purpose, of powerful character.

"As to his integrity, the people have that intuition of it which is never deceived. Before he actually entered upon his great office, and for a considerable time afterwards, there is no reason to suppose that he adequately estimated the gigantic task about to be imposed upon him, or, at least, had any distinct idea how it was to be managed; and I presume there may have been more than one veteran politician to propose to himself to take the power out of President Lincoln's hands into his own, leaving our honest friend only the public responsibility for the good or ill success of the career. The extremely imperfect development of his statesmanly qualities at that period may have justified such designs. But the President is teachable by events, and has now spent a year in a very arduous course of education; he has a flexible mind, capable of much expansion, and convertible towards far loftier studies and activities than those of his early life; and if he came to Washington a backwoods humorist, he has already transformed himself into as good a statesman (to speak modestly) as his prime minister."

So long as a general's sword is seemingly invincible, and the uniformity of his success silences even the cavillings of envy,—that most persistent of all the unlovely emotions,—just so long he may safely count on a unanimity of public approval. But let disaster befall, and, justly or otherwise, it matters little which, the voices just now most vociferous for coronation, bellow the loudest for crucifixion! Few of our commanders in the late war had bitterer evidence of this than McClellan. Idolized while victorious, he was vituperated with corresponding violence the instant fortune showed signs of wavering in her fidelity. At this distance from those stirring times we can easily perceive that the idolatry and the abuse were alike unjust and even ridiculous; the same wisdom that pronounces it unsafe to praise a man until death has set the seal to his earthly reputation, deems it no less a folly to bestow adulation or excessive blame on a military commander before the end of his campaigns. To his brief estimate of McClellan's character and qualifications for his post of vast responsibility, our author brought an admirable coolness of judgment, and that wonderful insight into men and motives so seldom at fault. Keenly alive to the ridiculousness of the attack on Manassas, and declaring that "no rebel artillery has played upon us with such overwhelming effect," he was capable, with a fairness sufficiently amazing in any critic of those days, of doing full justice to the general's indubitable ability and patriotism. He closes his sketch of McClellan, by no means the least valuable part of the article we are considering, with this decided expression of opinion: "I shall not give up my faith in his soldiership until he is defeated, nor in his courage and integrity even then."

An odd peculiarity of Hawthorne's mind was the incertitude—I use this vile word in lack of a better at the moment—that seemed at times to invest his reasoning powers with a sort of Indian summer haziness.

This idiosyncrasy had a striking exemplification when our travellers met "a party of contrabands escaping out of the mysterious depths of Secessia."

"They were unlike the specimens of their race whom we are accustomed to see at the North, and, in my judgment, were far more agreeable.

"So rudely were they attired,—as if their garb had grown upon them spontaneously,—so picturesquely natural in manners, and wearing such a crust of primeval simplicity (which is quite polished away from the Northern black man), that they seemed a kind of creature by themselves, not altogether human, but perhaps quite as good, and akin to the fauns and rustic deities of olden times. I wonder if I shall excite anybody's wrath by saying this?

"It is no great matter at all events. I felt most kindly towards the poor fugitives, but knew not precisely what to wish in their behalf, nor in the least how to help them. For the sake of the manhood which is latent in them, I would not have turned them back; but I should have felt almost as reluctant on their own account to hasten them forward to the strangers' land; and I think my prevalent idea was that, whoever may be benefited by the results of this war, it will not be the present generation of negroes, the childhood of whose race has now gone forever, and who must henceforth fight a hard battle with the world on very unequal terms. On behalf of my own race, I am glad, and can only hope that an inscrutable Providence means good to both parties."

The whimsical feature in Hawthorne's character to which we have alluded, is thus noticed by an intimate and valued friend of the great author:—

"Nobody disliked slavery more cordially than he did; and yet the difficulty of what was to be done with the slaves weighed constantly upon his mind. He told me once that while he had been consul at Liverpool a vessel arrived there with a number of negro sailors, who had been brought from slave States, and would, of course, be enslaved on their return. He fancied that he ought to inform the men of the fact, but then he was stopped by the reflection—who was to provide for them if they became free? and, as he said with a sigh, 'While I was thinking, the vessel sailed.' So I recollect, on the old battlefield of Manassas, on which I strolled in company with Hawthorne, meeting a batch of runaway slaves—weary, footsore, wretched, and helpless beyond conception; we gave them food and wine, some small sums of money, and got them a lift upon a train going northward; but not long afterwards Hawthorne turned to me with the remark, 'I am not sure that we were doing right, after all. How can those poor beings find food and shelter away from home?'

"Thus this ingrained and inherent doubt incapacitated him from following any course vigorously.

"He thought on the whole that Wendell Phillips and Lloyd Garrison and the abolitionists were in the right, but then he was never quite certain that they were not in the wrong after all; so that his advocacy of their cause was of a very uncertain character."

There is a constant temptation to transcend proper limits in quoting from this most characteristic production of our great author.

It was my purpose simply to recall to the minds of readers an article whose authorship was scarcely known at the time of its appearance (in the July of 1862), and which has never been included in its writer's collected works.

Nothing in Hawthorne's books—not even excepting "Twice-Told Tales"—is more suggestive and eloquent of the man and the author.

The same matchless purity of style, with never a sophomoric flight nor a tinge of dulness; replete with subtle humor, and an irony whose tempered edge scarcely wounds by reason of the attendant richness of good nature that "steals away its sharpness"; as in the same soil that nourishes the keen, aggressive nettle, is always found a certain herb of healing potency. I cannot refrain from giving our readers some passages near the close. They are descriptive of certain guests at Willard's Hotel, in Washington, where the travellers lived during their stay at the Capital.

This portion of Hawthorne's last magazine article recalls forcibly passages in the first of his published stories, "The Gray Champion."

"It is curious to observe what antiquated figures and costumes sometimes make their appearance at Willard's. You meet elderly men with frilled shirt-fronts, for example, the fashion of which adornment passed away from among the people of this world half a century ago.

"It is as if one of Stuart's portraits were walking abroad.

"I see no way of accounting for this, except that the troubles of the times, the impiety of traitors, and the peril of our sacred Union and Constitution have disturbed in their honored graves, some of the venerable fathers of the country, and summoned them forth to protest against the meditated and half-accomplished sacrilege.

"If it be so, their wonted fires are not altogether extinguished in their ashes,—in their throats, I might rather say,—for I beheld one of these excellent old men quaffing such a horn of Bourbon whiskey as a toper of the present century would be loath to venture upon.

"But, really, one would be glad to know where these strange figures come from.

"It shows, at any rate, how many remote, decaying villages and country neighborhoods of the North, and forest nooks of the West, and old mansion houses in cities, are shaken by the tremor of our native soil, so that men long hidden in retirement put on the garments of their youth and hurry out to inquire what is the matter.

"The old men whom we see here have generally more marked faces than the young ones, and naturally enough; since it must be an extraordinary vigor and venerability of life that can overcome the rusty sloth of age, and keep the senior flexible enough to take an interest in new things; whereas, hundreds of commonplace young men come hither to stare with eyes of vacant wonder, and with vague hopes of finding out what they are fit for. And this war (we may say so much in its favor) has been the means of discovering that important secret to not a few."

The writer remembers the vivid and untiring pleasure with which, when a child, he read and re-read that marvellous book for little people, "Grandfather's Arm Chair." It opened to him a new world of poetry and beauty—a revelation which close and severest study of the great author's mind and character, as developed in his maturer works, has but made broader and deeper.

With a grateful memory of the first, I write these few lines to recall almost the latest of Hawthorne's writings; the very last indeed, save the charming fragment that gave to the world of letters "Little Pansy"—"The sweetest child," says Alexander Smith, "in English literature."

I cannot close this brief and cursory notice more appropriately than in the words of a dear friend and appreciative admirer of our author, James Russell Lowell:—

"This now 'sacred and happy spirit' was cruelly misunderstood among men. There were those who would have taken him away from his proper and peculiar sphere, in which he has done more for the true fame of his country than any other man, and made him a politician and reformer.

"Even the faithfulness of his friendships was turned into reproach.

"Him in whom New England was embodied as never before, making a part of every fibre of his soul, we have heard charged with want of patriotism.

"There were certain things and certain men with whom his essentially aristocratic nature could not sympathize, but he was American to the core. Just after Bull Run he wrote to a friend, 'If the event of this day has left the people of the North in the same grim and bloody mood in which it has left me, it will be a costly victory to the South.'

"But it is unworthy of this noble man to defend him from imputations which never touched him. As the years go by, his countrymen will grow more and more proud of him, more and more satisfied that it is, after all, something considerable to be only a genius."

ON HOOSAC MOUNTAIN.

BY EDWARD D. GUILD.

One day, when all the city street
Lay sultry in the summer heat,
I stood on Hoosac's rocky crest,
And drank a draught of joy and rest.

The bracing Berkshire breezes blew
Across the hills, and sweeping through
The grateful valleys, gently fanned
The sun-scorched brow of Greylock grand.

From off the cragged hills Taghkonic,
High o'er the river Housatonic,
An eagle in his strength was soaring,
The paltry earth beneath ignoring.

Swift did his wings his will obey;
Straight north by east he coursed his way;
Proudly he took his fearless flight,
Toward fair Monadnock's hazy height.

Then on this rugged mountain wall,
A deeper silence seemed to fall:
Over this road, though broad and wide,
No traveller was seen to ride.

Only in vision rumbled by
A creaking coach with driver high,
Who cracked his whip, and rang his cheers—
Echoes they were of other years.

A group of graves were clustered here;
The wind wailed o'er them wild and drear:—
Could souls rise higher to the Light
When soaring from this mountain height?

And as I mused, the twilight fell:
I heard a distant evening bell;
And in the valley far below,
I heard the home-bound cattle low.

Far down where winds the Deerfield stream,
I saw a light,—a sudden gleam,
As up the narrow river riding
The Western train came swiftly gliding.

Then full to Hoosac's height it came,
When, with a sudden flare of flame,
Boldly the barrier it defied
And plunged into the mountain side.

The train was lost to sound and sight,
But still I knew it kept its flight:
I marked its subterranean way;—
Below the little graveyard lay.

Ah! trav'ller, through this cavern deep,
Fast in thy thoughts or book asleep,
Dost know that high above thy head
There rest the ashes of the dead?

A VERITABLE TRADER.

BY A. T. S.

A little remote from the centre of a village, on that strip of seacoast in the southeastern part of New Hampshire, lived a self-made trader, Joshua Jackson. He occupied a small, unpainted house, two stories in front, with the roof sloping down at the back part to one story. In the rear was the barn, with its generous red door, a well with its long "sweep," a pig-pen, and a hen-pen; but the hens seemed equally or more at home in the barn, with liberty of the yard, and sometimes they took a peep of curiosity into the back entry of the house.

Here, with his mother, lived Joshua Jackson, familiarly known as "Uncle Josh." It is a kind instinct which makes humanity in the rural districts claim, as uncle or aunt, any single man or woman who is left one side of the common lot of marriage and its ties. It is a relationship accepted in silent, good-natured consent on both sides. It was difficult to think of Uncle Josh as ever having been young. His hair, his complexion, his eyes, and even his coat, all seemed nearly of a color—a kind of snuff-colored red. He had a limping, rolling gait, affected by some infirmity of lameness which had, perhaps, prevented him from engaging in farming or fishing, which employed most men of the village; so he went into trade.

One of the "fore rooms," so called, of the house was his shop; the floor was of immaculate neatness, and carefully sanded every morning. On one side stood a cluster of barrels, one empty barrel surmounted by a board, exactly a yard long, the edge notched for the quarters and inches. This was his counter, and held a clumsy pair of scales. On the other side was a rude table containing boxes of cotton cloth, cambrics or checked goods, sewing cotton, buttons, thimbles, scissors, jack-knives, needles, and pins. On the mantel-shelf stood a pile of white, blue-edged plates, and mugs, and pitchers, from which projected sticks of red and white candy, like miniature barber's poles, and heaps of "gibraltars," hard and solid, sweet and brittle, and honest. Every child knew that they were a cent apiece, and thought them worth it.

No errand was half as welcome as one to Uncle Josh, when they might take an egg and get a skein of cotton. Sometimes he dived down into a cask of raisins as he passed by it, and filled the hand of the waiting messenger when he gave her whatever she came for, and took her money. Uncle Josh made no charges; he went on the cash system. He would barter, but he kept no running accounts with any one. The youngest child might go to him with the same certainty of right measure and weight as the shrewdest adult. One bright-faced little girl, who used to come often into his store, neatly dressed in her high-necked tier, and cape-bonnet, seemed to be a great favorite with him. He would sometimes say, half aside, that she was "pooty as a queen," although why the sturdy republican should make that comparison is a mystery. One day he stood at the open door, wistfully watching her as she walked off with her light, elastic step, and his mother, who had come in from the back room, answered to his unspoken thought, "Yes, she does, look a sight as Liza used to." The one woman whom others had connected with the idea of Uncle Josh's marrying had been dead long ago. It was said he had meant to ask her to be his wife when he should have laid by a certain sum of money, but the shy and reticent man suddenly found her "spoken for," as the villagers termed it, by the mate of a vessel. She died of consumption, unmarried. Uncle Josh never referred to this passage in his life, but his mother knew his mind, and why his words grew fewer than ever. The little Molly reproduced the soft hazel eyes and the trim air he so well remembered in her aunt.

Uncle Josh had a way of calling all strangers "furiners." A pale-faced girl who was boarding at the seashore for her health was delighted to be sent by her hostess, or any of the family, on an errand to the queer, quaint, old store, kept by "the funny old man." "You're a furiner, I guess," he said to her one day. "No, indeed, sir," she answered quickly, with an indignant blush, "I am not a foreigner. I came from Rochester, New York." "Why! such a long piece off, poor child, poor child," he muttered, as he went to a mug and took out a bright red sugar heart, and pressed it in her hand. "Ain't you dreadful homesick to live so fur?" "Oh, no; my home is very pleasant, and my father and mother are travelling; but they left me here because I have not been strong since I had the fever, and the doctor said I must bathe every day in the ocean. I have nice times. They keep cows where I board, and let me milk them a little sometimes. I am going to stay all summer." "Yes, yes; there are getting to be a great many furiners here in the summer." "What did Uncle Josh mean?" she asked on her return to the house; "did he take me for an Irish or a German girl? He asked if I was a foreigner." "Oh, he meant a stranger here in the village—some one not born here. He always calls 'em so. A good many folks do."

When Uncle Josh first went to Boston to buy his stock in trade, it was said that a merchant of whom he made large purchases, thought he did not know about trusting so queer and shabby looking a customer,—he should have to require good security. To his surprise, the countryman looked at the amount, unbuttoned his coat, and, from an ample old pocket-book he counted off his money; then from the depths of his pantaloon's pocket he brought up a round piece of leather twisted together for fastening, and from this he counted the exact change. Then he directed how the goods should be sent to him by such a schooner at a certain wharf. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson," said the merchant; "I hope we shall always be able to accommodate you. You prefer to pay down now, I see; but if you would like to have your bill remain awhile on credit at any time, we shall be happy to trust you." "It is very kind in you, but I don't trade on promises. 'Tain't my way. I thank ye all the same."

One day Uncle Josh happened to be in a merchant's store when the head of the establishment was absent. The clerk who waited on him had the pertness and superior airs of youth, sometimes seen even fifty years ago. He thought it fine fun to chaff the old countryman so shabbily dressed, and who drawled his words, and seemed so heavy and lumbering in his movements. As his customer said he guessed he would take so much of one thing, and then of another, the clerk said, "You are running up quite an account, it seems to me. Dipping in pretty deep for a man like you, hey?" "Perhaps I am," answered the old man; "I'll let 'em go," and walked out of the store. Another clerk who had finished business with a customer, came forward, and said to his fellow-clerk, "What made Mr. Jackson go off so suddenly?" "Who? That old cove? I rather think he was miffed at something I said about his dipping in deep. He didn't look as if he could afford a mouse-trap." "He? why, he's worth his weight in gold—always money down on the spot. If you've offended him, the governor'll be in your hair, I can tell you." "Goodness!" cried the terrified clerk, "I'll go after him, and bring him back," and off he started in quick pursuit. He could easily distinguish the rusty-looking suit, and limping, sidelong gait, even among the crowd of passengers on the sidewalk. When he had nearly overtaken him, he called out, "Here, sir, Mr. Jackson! Please stop," but the countryman still continued to move on at his slow pace. The clerk came up to him, and touched his hat, saying, "Please excuse me, Mr. Jackson. I am sure I didn't mean anything. I hope you will go back to the store, and let us wait on you. I am sure Mr. —— would be so sorry to miss your custom. I hope you will excuse—" "You can go back to the store, young man," answered Mr. Jackson, "and tell your master I don't trade on excuses."

When the honest old man was gathered to his fathers, those who had known him in trade missed him. He always recognized a good article, and was willing to pay a fair price for it. He believed in a system of just equivalents in all business; he was exact to the smallest fraction, but not mean. He was simple, upright, honest, in all his dealings, never using his shrewdness to the disadvantage of his fellow-men.

LYDIA MARIA CHILD.

BY OLIVE E. DANA.

This is an age of biography. We have the two-volumed "Lives and Letters," and the brief and popular biography, with many of varying length and value between the two. And the contents of these two are outlined for us, again and again, in magazines and newspaper sketches. The histories of famous men and women are told and retold. It is the public's own fault if there is not a more general interest in, and a better knowledge of, the work of the notable characters of the century than ever before. This implies, also, a certain familiarity with the great movements of reform and philanthropy, and with the literature of the time. Some, however, who had a large share in the noblest work of this century, are less known, and less brought into notice, than we should expect. Among such is Mrs. L. M. Child. Her letters, published in 1880, were prefaced by a brief memorial sketch by the poet Whittier, and contained in an appendix the tribute of Wendell Phillips. An account of her life-work, written by Susan Coolidge, appeared in the "Famous Women" series. But her life, in many aspects, might profitably have the attention of this younger generation, who know little either of her antislavery work or of her literary attainments or fame. In both these departments her work seems like that of a pioneer. She helped to clear the way for the antislavery leaders,—Garrison and Higginson, Curtis and Lowell and Whittier. And in a similar manner she led the way into those paths where, for two or three decades, the woman-author has been so conspicuously advancing,—where her success has been so brilliant and varied. As to her literary genius, in the words of Whittier, "It is not too much to say that half a century ago she was the most popular literary woman in the United States." And again, "It is not exaggeration to say that no man or woman of that period rendered more substantial service to the cause of freedom, or made such a doing it." And when we add that her benevolence and 'great renunciation' in philanthropy—unobtrusive as they were—give her a valid claim to lasting remembrance, that the originality, insight, and force of character manifest in her letters, place them among the most valuable and suggestive of the letters of women, and that her truth, beneficence, and devotion would have made her life and character memorable if she had not written a line, we have stated only the barest truth; yet reason sufficient, why we of this generation should know more of her life and genius.

Lydia Maria Francis, afterwards Mrs. Child, was born in Medford, Mass., 1802. Her education was obtained in her native town, with the advantage of only one term in a private seminary. Her first book, "Hobomok," appeared in 1821, followed in 1823 by another novel, "The Rebels." These gave her a good degree of popularity. In 1827 she established "The Juvenile Miscellany," "pioneer to a long line of children's magazines." In 1828 she was married to David Lee Child, and they made their home in Boston. Within a very few years she wrote and published "The Frugal Housewife," "The Mother's Book," "The Girl's Own Book," "The History of Women," and the "Biographies of Good Wives."

Then, while all around her were heard the murmurs of popular praise and approval, and while in addition to the appreciation of countless humbler readers, she was winning commendation from the highest literary authorities,—in 1833 she "startled the country by the publication of her noble 'Appeal in behalf of that class of Americans called Africans.'" Mr. Whittier says: "It is quite impossible for any one of the present generation to imagine the popular surprise and indignation which the book called forth, or how entirely its author cut herself off from the favor and sympathy of a large number of those who had previously delighted to do her honor." And he continues: "Social and literary circles, which had been proud of her presence, closed their doors against her. The sale of her books, the subscriptions to her magazine, fell off to a ruinous extent. She knew all she was hazarding, and made the great sacrifice, prepared for all the consequences which followed."

She said in the preface: "I am fully aware of the unpopularity of the task I have undertaken, but though I expect ridicule and censure, I do not fear them. A few years hence the opinion of the world will be a matter in which I have not even the most transient interest, but this book will be abroad on its mission of humanity, long after the hand that wrote it is mingling with the dust. Should it be the means of advancing, even one single hour, the inevitable progress of truth and justice, I would not exchange the consciousness for all Rothschild's wealth or Sir Walter's fame." "Thenceforward," says Mr. Whittier again, "her life was a battle, a constant rowing hard against the stream of popular prejudice and hatred. And through it all, pecuniary privations, loss of friends and position, the painfulness of being suddenly thrust from the still air of delightful studies into the bitterest and sternest controversy of the age, she bore herself with patience, fortitude, and unshaken reliance on the justice and ultimate triumph of the cause she had espoused."

In a short time thereafter she had published four more antislavery books or pamphlets. "Philothia," a romance whose scene is laid in ancient Greece, appeared in 1836. For eight years, dating from 1844, Mr. and Mrs. Childs were joint-editors of "The Anti-Slavery Standard," published in New York. She had a room in the house of Isaac Hopper,—"a house where disinterestedness and noble labor were as daily breath." It was during this time that she wrote her "Letters from New York," under which title her letters to "The Boston Courier" appeared in a volume having an enormous sale. In 1852, having given up the editorship of "The Standard," Mrs. Child said: "We made a humble home in Wayland, Mass., where we spent twenty-two pleasant years entirely alone, without any domestic; mutually serving each other, and dependent on each other for intellectual companionship."

During those years she was deeply and actively interested in the progress of the Civil War. Its premonitions roused her. She warmly defended the cause of John Brown, sending him a letter offering to go nurse him in prison. Very soon she was deep in every sort of undertaking,—collecting funds, collecting supplies, urging Whittier to the writing of patriotic songs, sewing, knitting, quilting. Her intense interest was manifested by generous contributions of money, how earned or saved, she only knew. She said, "Nobles or princes cannot invent any pleasure equal to earning with one hand and giving with the other." Twenty dollars at one time, two hundred at another, and perhaps four hundred at yet another, she gave. During these years, too, she was writing and compiling other books,—"The Progress of Religious Ideas," "Looking towards Sunset," and "A Romance of the Republic." It was in the last of these peaceful years that she wrote: "David and I are growing old. He will be eighty in three weeks, and I was seventy-two last February. But we keep young in our feelings. We are, in fact, like two old children; as much interested as ever in the birds and wild flowers, and with sympathies as lively as ever in all that concerns the welfare of the world. Our habitual mood is serene and cheerful."

Only a few months after these words were written, her husband died, and she left the place so full of memories of him to find a home elsewhere. Of these later years it was said: "She lived among a singularly peaceful and intelligent community as one of themselves, industrious, wise, and happy; with a frugality whose motive of wide benevolence was in itself a homily and a benediction." She died in 1880.

BONNIE HAREBELLS.

BY ANNA B. BENSEL.

Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,
Ring, oh, ring!
Ring across the listening twilight
While the fairies sing.

Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,
My love greet!
Let her hear you ringing softly
At her very feet.

Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,
Sound out clear;
Tell a little, watching maiden
I am very near.

Bonnie harebells, bonnie harebells,
Ring, oh, ring!
All the world with silence over
Waits listening.

MYTH IN AMERICAN COINAGE.

BY ISAAC BASSETT CHOATE.

The worship of "the almighty dollar" is of no recent origin, provided it be the case that the dollar is represented in gold. This worship forms no special cultus in the religions of the world. It is a survival from prehistoric times, and is intimately connected with the earliest forms of nature-worship. The estimate in which gold has been held has always been out of all proportion to its utility, its scarcity, or the difficulty of mining it. There have been times when civilized man had a comparatively far more abundant supply of gold than he has at present, but this circumstance did not avail to depreciate the metal. There were long ages of an incipient civilization, during which gold flooded the markets of the world as compared with iron, but this did not affect the relations between the nobler and the baser article of merchandise. Gold was all the time held at a valuation far above what it would have received from its importance to mankind in the useful arts. It was prized as amber was prized, and the two substances were devoted to quite similar uses. They were employed for the decoration of temples and shrines, and were worn for personal ornament. But the wearing of such ornament had its origin in sentiments which may be regarded as strictly religious. Beads and rings were originally amulets to protect the wearer against invisible inimical powers, as they were talismans to confer upon their possessor supernatural gifts. We can get no distinct view back of this custom in time, but we may feel well assured that when gold had acquired such use, nature-worship had advanced far into the stage of symbolism. It was not the metal itself that was the object of worship. That object gold typified and figured to the devout mind.

To discover what property it was that gave this metal its early preference, it will be necessary to trace the survival of similar views and feelings farther than we have ourselves consciously prolonged them. It is to be observed that among the Turks and other Oriental people, amber and yellow gems like the topaz, still enjoy a pre-eminence in popular favor. These substances are still supposed to possess magical power always beneficent. Among the Chinese, yellow is both sacred and it is associated with the dignity of imperial rank. Yellow is the color of the royal standard, and a yellow sash distinguishes a member of the royal family. Robes of state are of the same color. And this appropriation of yellow to certain sacred or governmental uses is not confined to China. It is common through the East. The farther back we trace the idea of special sacredness in color, the more exclusively do we see this confined to yellow. This was long saved from vulgar uses and associations. It had a significance to the ancients, such as it does not have to us. There was a fitness in their decorating the temples and the statues of the gods with gold, and silver, and ivory, and amber, and gems. These offerings symbolized light, and light stood for the happier destinies of man,—for the milder and gentler influences which lead to good; while darkness typified malignant powers of evil. There was the same distinction conceived of between life and death. White victims were offered to the gods of Olympus, while for sacrifice to the gods of the under-world black victims were selected.

Gold shines with the brightest and the warmest glow of any of the metals, and its brilliancy and lustre are not tarnished by corrosion. To the Oriental fancy it typified the genial light of day. To the fire-worshipper it was a fit emblem of his faith. Fire was originally sacred, perhaps, only as the representative of the sun; and this luminary was later spiritualized in the idea of Apollo. Gold was sacred as far as this worship was spread, from India to the North of Europe, and the great demand for it for sacred uses gave the metal much of its preciousness in the markets of the world. It was worn by the living and was buried with the dead; so that if humanity had not refined its conception of the divine, it would have come to be the case at length that every particle of gold in the soil would have had mortal ashes sleeping beside it.

Gold and silver were rendered sacred and precious in early times by being devoted to purposes of worship. The temples were the safe places of deposit, and in these were hoarded the treasures of the world. Partly from this circumstance it became the case that when gold and silver were first coined, the temples were the mints, and the earliest mint-masters were the priests. Naturally, the devices stamped upon the coins issued under such auspices would be sacred emblems. We find them such from whatever source they came. There was sound policy in this course, as well as good reason for it. If coins were to circulate among people who had previously been accustomed to paying out and receiving the precious metals by actual weight, it was necessary to have the value of these pieces certified to in the most solemn manner. To this end the effigies of the gods, together with the tokens of their attributes and sacred offices, were stamped upon the coin. If we could trace coinage to its earliest use, perhaps to its origin, among the people who lived about the Ægean Sea, it would not be unreasonable to expect to find that at first gold coin was issued under the patronage of Apollo, that silver bore the stamp of Zeus, and that copper coins were dedicated to Aphrodite, as the nearest representative among Greek divinities of that Phoenician goddess who presided over trade in the ports and markets of the East. But among the coins that remain—and some of these are shown to be of early date, they are so rude in execution—we do not find this distinction kept. It is certain that at an early period the emblems of the several divinities were mixed, apparently with a view to giving a more weighty sanction to the stamp impressed upon the coin.

The earlier Greek coins were struck by hand. A single die was employed in the process, so that an impression of device or of legend appeared only on one side. The other side bore an indent which is known as the punch-mark. This mark is commonly a square figure divided into four smaller squares by lines resembling somewhat a right cross. It is the indent of the spike in the anvil on which the ball of metal was laid when being struck. Later, the coins were made thinner, and were struck with double dies. From that time both sides of the coin received an impression. The upper side continued to show the greatest care. As this side always bore the head of the god under whose auspices the coin was to be issued, it was called the obverse or face of the piece. The opposite side was the reverse. So long as coins continued to be struck by hand, there was no fixed relative position for the two impressions. Coins were always printed as though they were turned horizontally from left to right. They still continue to be so printed, and we go on in the practice of speaking of the reverse of coins, even when we are discussing those of our own coinage; but the fact is that ever since American coins were stamped in the mint the impressions on the two sides bear a certain fixed relation. In passing from the obverse of our coins to the examination of the opposite side, we do this by inverting the piece. That side would then properly be called the inverse of the coin, and it would, with equal propriety be printed directly beneath its obverse.

The shape of early coins is by no means uniform. There is one peculiarity of the coins of Bœotia and Macedonia, as well as of many colonies of these states, which is worthy of some attention. It may indicate how it came about that the round disk is now the prevailing form. The coins of these two Greek states in particular were for a long period concavo-convex disks, the convex side being in all instances the obverse. It has been suggested, by way of accounting for this form, that it secured a more perfect impression of the upper die, which always struck the obverse. It may be the case that a better impression was gained on that side, but an examination will show that the designer and engraver spared nothing of art or of skill upon the reverses. These are executed with a care and vigor equal to that of the obverse, and are struck with equal success. The concave shape preserved the reverse from wear, and made it an object for both artist and artisan to put good work on this side. It is more in accordance with the Greek way of looking at things, to account for this shape on other ground than that of expediency. It is more likely than otherwise, that this form is emblematic. The ancient buckler was of this form. Of such a figure was the escutcheon of these states. Bœotia adopted for hers the shield of Herakles, and Macedonia that of Ares. What tends strongly to confirm this view, that the buckler was the model for the coin, is the fact that for a long time Macedonian coins were finished upon the obverse, in imitation of the national shield. This is to be seen in the decoration of the border, even on coins that were struck long after Macedonia had become a Roman province. May it not be the case that the buckler served as model for the circular disk?

As Greek coins were issued under the sanction of some god, it was natural that they should go out from his temple bearing his effigy and the symbols of his worship. Apollo succeeded to the early worship paid the sun and fire. He was the god of light and beauty. In his honor gold coins should originally have been struck, and they should bear his emblems. It will be of service to see what some of these were. This god was, on the whole, beneficent, as the influences of the sun are kindly, but he inflicted plagues by shooting his poisoned arrows among the people, just as the heat of the sun engenders deadly fevers. We have retained a trace of the old feeling, as our language betrays where consciousness utterly fails. We attribute certain sudden attacks of illness to sunstroke. That word "stroke" brings vividly before us the smiting of the Greek camp on the plain before Troy. Representing the sun, as Apollo did, the head of this god often appears radiated upon coins, particularly upon the coins of Rhodes. This was as the poets were wont to describe him. Catullus alludes to his flashing eyes,—"radiantibus oculis." Tibullus speaks of him as this youth having his temples bound with sacred laurel—"hic juvenis casta redimitus tempora lauro" The use of the laurel was reserved to this god, and in times of primitive Greek and Roman piety it was allowed to men only whose successful general would celebrate a triumph. The palm-branch is also connected with the worship of this god, in allusion to the sacred palm-tree under which Leta gave birth to him and to Artemis. The rays, the laurel, and the palm are the symbols of Apollo upon our coins. Other nations have employed the bow, the lyre, and the tripod, with many more equally familiar symbols.

The coinage of silver belonged peculiarly to Zeus, the god of the thunderbolt. The question arises at once, Was there fancied a resemblance between the whiteness of this metal and dazzling brightness of the flash of lightning? However that question may be answered, there remains the fact that the thunderbolt was a symbol of the power of Zeus, and its figure uniformly accompanied the effigy of the god. Ovid speaks of Zeus as of one whose hand is armed with three-forked fires,—

"Cui deutra trisulces
Ignibus armata est."

It is worth while to give this emblem some little study. It is represented under three varieties of one general form. We first find it a bundle of flames wreathed closely together in the form of a double cone. It is then a token of peace. Zeus is always seated when bearing this, and it is held downward. Under its second form the thunderbolt consists of a similar double cone, only it is elongated and pointed. This cone is crossed obliquely by two zigzag flashes of lightning, terminating at either end in arrow-points. Later forms of this symbol have the forward end the same, but the other end is wrought into an ornamental and somewhat arborescent head. This form with the lightning flashes is always borne uplifted, and by the god standing in readiness to hurl the bolt. This is the form we are to look for in connection with the worship of Zeus. The third form is of rare occurrence in literature and art.

Another emblem of the Olympian god, more familiar even than the thunderbolt, is the eagle. Æschylus calls this bird "the winged hound of Zeus." This conception of the poet ruled in art as well as in literature. It was the popular idea of divine vengeance following and punishing guilt that sought concealment. Open impiety drew down upon the offender's head the flashing thunderbolt. A comparative examination of a few coins will help towards interpreting this symbolism. For this purpose the coins of Elis will serve best. Here was Olympia, with its famous temple of Zeus, and here were celebrated the great national Olympian games in honor of the god. Certainly if any part of Greece was more sacred to Zeus than the rest, that part was Elis. Its coins are covered with his symbols. Three types of about 371 b.c. form a group of especial interest. The first of these has, obverse, an eagle tearing a ram, on a shield; reverse, a thunderbolt. Second, obverse, an eagle tearing a serpent; reverse, a thunderbolt. Third, obverse, an eagle tearing a hare; reverse, a winged thunderbolt. Here the identity is sufficiently close to bring these examples under one description. They seem to commemorate the just punishment of some enemies of Elis, or, possibly, the deserved penalty for some wrong done Zeus himself. It would not be easy at this late day to make sure what people or persons may have been indicated by the ram, the serpent, and the hare. The obverse in each case tells the story of the event so far as we can read the story, and the reverse invariably confirms the tenor and spirit of the same. This harmony between the two sides of the coin may be traced throughout ancient coinage, proving that it was of a medallic character. Other coins of Elis are of a peaceful character, and it is of interest to see how the emblems are managed upon these. One has, obverse, head of eagle; reverse, thunderbolt within a wreath. Another, obverse, head of Hera; reverse, eagle standing in wreath. A third, obverse, head of Olympia; reverse, eagle within olive-wreath. It will be observed that the reverse does not in these instances bear the symbols as before, upon an open field, but the field is now enclosed by a wreath. The import of this seems to have been about the same as that of the drawn sword and the sheathed sword in modern heraldic designs. Still other examples will show not only the harmony between obverse and reverse, but how coins were dedicated to more than one divinity. This practice was at first more common in the colonies than in the metropolitan cities. A coin of Crotona of about 479 b.c. has, obverse, eagle perched on the cornice of a temple; reverse, tripod and olive-spray. It would seem likely that this piece was first dedicated to Zeus, and next to Apollo. Zeus often holds the eagle on his hand as falcons were held in the days of hawking, and he is then called the eagle-holder (exetophoros). When so represented, the god is commonly seated as at peace; but there is one coin of Messene which shows him holding the bird while he is standing and thundering. Later coins show combinations which are particularly interesting in connection with the symbolism of our own coins. One of the best of these is a Macedonian coin of the time of Perseus—obverse, head of Perseus; reverse, an eagle on a thunderbolt, within a wreath of oak. In connection with this example should be examined a Roman gold coin of about 269 b.c.—obverse, head of Mars; reverse, an eagle holding in its talons a thunderbolt. This type of reverse has been pretty closely copied by designers for our mint.

The coins of Athens may have furnished the original for the olive-wreath so common on American coins. They were issued under the auspices of Athene, and bore upon the obverse the head of the goddess. The reverse regularly bore the owl and the olive-bough. These coins were familiarly called owls, just as we speak of eagles in our currency, and just as the English talked of angels and crosses in the time of Elizabeth. Aristophanes jocosely calls the Athenian pieces owls of Laurium, in allusion to the gold mines there, in which they were hatched.

It would be of interest to trace these heraldic devices through the intervening ages, and along the devious ways by which they have come down to the present. This task would lead one far afield in history. In the hasty glance just now given to the coins of Greece, we have found material that will help to an understanding of what is impressed upon the coins of our own country. There would be no less of propriety and pertinence in asking what significance these symbols have brought to us from the time they were struck in faith and in awe by the very shrines of the gods in the temples of Greece. We may say that these symbols have no significance for us; but centuries hence, when the beginnings of our government are no longer a memory with the people, historians will relate with what instructive readiness the founders of our government, finding these colonies free and independent states, turned to the colonies and states of Greece for a model upon which to mould a nation; and they will find in early American coinage full confirmation of this view. The very same influence was manifested in the architecture of America for the first half of this century, as many a public edifice, and even private houses, sufficiently prove.

Before examining any particular coin, it may be worth the while to notice a few of the more prominent features of our American types. The most striking of all is the absence of portrait heads. There is good reason for this. The theory of our government is, that it is but the collective will of the people. Again, since the invention of printing, there is longer reason in giving coins a medallic character. This function of coinage has been perpetuated in Germany. A Sieges-Thaler was struck after the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. There were a few portrait heads of Washington upon coins struck under his administration; but the practice ended there. It is said that the head upon some of our later coins is a portrait. If so, its American type is not recognizable. The head, whenever it appears upon the obverse of our coins, is Greek in outline and expression. This is so strongly the character of the features, that even where an attempt has been made to secure a distinctly American type, as in the case of the three-dollar gold coin of 1854, the cast of features is still Greek. Some slight modification is made by accessories, such as the circlet of feathers about the head. The obverse of the gold dollar of the same date bears what is described as the head of a beautiful Indian; but the features are Greek, and the hair is waving, unlike any ever seen among savages.

In descriptions of American coins, the eagle, which appears so often and so prominent, is commonly spoken of as the American eagle. If one will take the trouble to compare this figure in every position in which it is displayed upon our coins, with the effigy of "the winged hound of Zeus," so common on the coins of Greece, he will find the identity complete. The only difference will be that the old hand-struck coins show the vigor of original work, as compared with that of a copy.

Another familiar symbol on American coins is the bundle of arrows held in one talon or the other of the eagle. On a few of our earlier coins the number of these arrows was four or six, or even more; but commonly there have been three, and now they are uniformly of that number. They are arranged at a pretty definite angle. The two obliquely transverse ones are in position and in form precisely like the two flashes of lightning across the thunderbolt of Zeus, only the zigzag lines have been straightened into arrow-shafts. It seems highly probable that the point of the bolt between the two flashes itself developed into the middle arrow, and thus makes up the traditional number three. The fact that the thunderbolt is found in the talons of the eagle so often, upon both Greek and Roman coins, makes the supposition a likely one.

Regarding the laurel and the olive, it need only be said that the branch of itself symbolizes the presence of the divinity, to which the tree is sacred, or it typifies some attribute or the exercise of some divine office. As an illustration, Apollo is often shown using the laurel-bough to sprinkle the people with purifying waters. But when boughs or leaves are twined into a wreath, it is commonly to denote worship paid to the divinity, or in its name; for in worshipping the gods, wreaths of the proper material were placed upon their statues in the sacred places, and it was a regular industry in Greek towns to twine wreaths for this very use. This import of the wreath is called to mind by observing that the legend on the reverse of the three-dollar gold coin of 1854 is surrounded by a wreath of the leaves of the tobacco-plant and cereals.

The obverse and the reverse of coins have always been read together, as a whole. This rule was never more clearly exemplified than in striking the old colonial shillings of Massachusetts, where the legend of the obverse—"Massachusetts in"—was completed by turning the coin over and reading on the reverse the rest of the sentence—"New England."

It remains now to look at a few examples of our national coinage. The eagle of 1795 bears upon its obverse a head of Liberty, wearing a rather high Phrygian cap. This cap, and the wand upon which it is more commonly raised, are the symbols of this goddess. They are familiar enough in Roman art and literature, if not in our own. The reverse of the coin bears an eagle with expanded wings, holding in its beak a laurel-wreath, and grasping a palm-branch with both talons. From what has already been said in regard to the significance of these emblems to an earlier generation of men, this inscription, as a whole, may be construed somewhat like this: Liberty, through the power of Zeus, has secured victory, and through the same helping power she now offers worship to the genius of prophetic inspiration. With some such thought of his country would an old Greek have scanned this coin when he bartered his soul for its possession. In the coinage of 1838, this coin bears on its reverse an eagle with a shield—which, by the way, is Roman—on its breast, and having its wings uplifted. This eagle holds in its left talon three arrows, and in its right an olive-branch.

The double eagle of 1850 bears on its obverse a head of Liberty. The face is shown in profile, and the features are of pure Greek type. The fillet about the head is such as was worn by the ancient priests. This circumstance serves to connect our coinage with the earliest issues made from the temples, under direction of the priests. The reverse of the coin has a small eagle, nearly hidden by the shield upon its breast. Its left talon holds three arrows, and its right an olive-branch. The distinctive mark of this reverse is the arc of diverging rays of the sun above the head of the eagle. This arc is found with peculiar appropriateness upon a gold coin, since it is a symbol of the old sun-worship, or of Apollo, under whose auspices gold coins were originally issued. Its occurrence here, moreover, emphasizes that total disregard for the fitness of things which appears on the reverse of the half-eagle of 1796, where clouds are seen above the eagle's head.

The silver coins of our currency have much in common with the gold. Such parts of the designs upon these as are like what has been found upon the gold coins will call for no further remark. The reverse of the dollar of 1798 is noticeable for this; that the eagle grasps in his right talon a bundle of four arrows instead of three, as on later coins. From 1836 a pretty nearly uniform pattern has prevailed for the dollar and its subdivisions. The obverse shows a female figure seated. The face is of a pronounced Greek type. The drapery is Greek, with one trifling variation,—the fastening of the dress is shown upon the right shoulder. The ancient fashion of this garment put the fastening only upon the left shoulder. Upon these coins the cap of Liberty is not worn upon the head, but it is displayed upon a wand held in the left hand. The right hand of the figure rests on shield and scroll. The reverse shows an eagle with wings expanded as if about to fly. The shield covers its breast. Unlike the eagle of the earlier coins, it is with the right talon now that it grasps the olive-branch, and the left holds three arrows. The quarter-dollar of 1853 has the space above the eagle on the reverse filled with diverging rays. Apollo might not, perhaps, take it as a compliment to be asked to sanction much of our later silver coinage.

The five-cent nickel coin of 1866 introduced some novel features upon its reverse. The shield is most prominent, and it is overhung by branches of olive. Above the shield appears for the first time on our national coinage the cross. Soon after this coin was first issued, a query was made in the "American Historical Magazine" as to the significance of this symbol in the place it occupied. The query elicited from some official connected with the mint a reply to the effect that the cross had not the slightest significance. The reply carried with it a confession rather humiliating to make or to admit. Something better than that ought to be said for a symbol that has figured in all the heraldic decorations of religion and chivalry. It might have been said that in colonial times, so early as 1661, coins were struck in Maryland, the reverse of which bore a shield, and that this was surmounted by a crown and a cross. But the strangest thing about this cross on the nickel coin is that it happens to be of a very unusual pattern. It is the cross of the Order of Calatrava, a military order of Spain, instituted in 1158, and continuing a very honorable existence down to the present day. When worn as a decoration embroidered upon the left breast of the coat, it is a red cross fancifully worked into some resemblance to the fleur-de-lis. Of the minor coins no special mention need be made. They present nothing unlike what occurs upon those already examined and described.

The brief study here made of this subject is barely sufficient to indicate a mode of interpretation which can be applied to all that is emblematic upon our coins. So far it has nearly all been found thoroughly Greek in its origin and character. It is proper that it should be so, for our life, in all the activities through which money is kept in circulation, is more nearly Greek than it is anything else. This is nothing we need blush to own. Original genius like that of Goethe may shape its course, as the poet advised, without looking to the past; but the less gifted will often turn back to watch the line along which progress has hitherto been made, and they will find the strongest reliance in keeping steadily upon the same course.

AN INCIDENT OF PORT HUDSON.

BY WILLIAM J. BURGE, M.D.

In the passage of Port Hudson by Admiral Farragut, on the night of the 14th of March, 1863, out of a fleet of eight vessels which attempted to run the batteries, only the two foremost ones, the "Hartford" and the "Albatross," succeeded in doing so. The "Hartford" was a regular steam sloop-of-war, which the admiral had chosen for his flag-ship; while the "Albatross" was a rather small propeller which had been purchased by the navy department, officered, manned, and put in as complete fighting trim as her proportions would admit of. These two vessels, lashed together, with the "Albatross" on the port side, headed the procession up the Mississippi River. Each of the three other large vessels which followed had a smaller one lashed to her port side. The object of this was that, in case either of the large vessels got aground, her companion of less draught might pull her off. It proved to be a most fortunate precaution; for while under the severest fire the "Hartford" grounded, and was doubtless saved from total destruction by the strenuous exertions of her little consort. This the admiral stated to be his conviction at the time.

The relative positions of the two vessels were such that the "Albatross" could only work her bow gun, and with the exception of plunging shots from the upper batteries, the men who served here were the most exposed to the enemy's fire.

Charley Reck was sponger of the parrot-gun on the forecastle, and fully realized the danger and responsibility of his position. He was a well-built, noble-looking young Frenchman, but could understand and speak English quite well. His intelligence, activity, and good temper, made him a general favorite on board, and attracted the notice of the captain, who appointed him his steward and gave him many privileges, allowing him time for reading and correspondence, of which he was exceedingly fond.

Down the river at Plaquemine, there was an excellent bakery kept by an old Frenchman and his three beautiful daughters. For a long time during the preparations for an advance up the river, we had frequently come to anchor opposite this little town, and never omitted to supply ourselves with fresh bread from this bakery, and enjoy a friendly chat with the three charming sisters. They were very affable, and there was an artlessness about them, combined with self-respect, which was very fascinating. In his daily visits to supply the captain's larder, and probably in part on account of like nationality, Charley Reck lost his heart. Louise, the youngest daughter, and the most beautiful of the three, captured it completely. Theirs was a sincere and honest attachment, and the sequel discloses how tender must have been their parting when the order came to proceed up the river, and face the uncertain issues of mortal combat.

On the 14th of March, early in the morning, we were at the head of Prophet's Island, a short distance below Port Hudson, and there the vessels of the fleet, one after another, assembled. Then came the order to be in readiness to run the batteries at a given signal at night. I had never been under fire, and my bump of curiosity probably saved me on this occasion from much of the anxiety which otherwise I might have felt, but the unusual seriousness which seemed to pervade the whole ship's company during that day did not escape my notice, and was, in some degree, contagious.

The officers, when not on duty, kept mostly in their staterooms, and there was no hilarity among the men.

In the captain's storeroom there was a nook where Charley Reck was in the habit of spending his leisure moments, and during that afternoon he had been closeted there longer than was his wont. Just before sunset he came out, and approaching me with the customary salute, he handed me a neat little package, and said, "Doctor, when you go down the river, will you please give this to Louise?" Not understanding him, I replied, "Are you going to leave us, Charley; aren't you going to stick by the ship?"

Very sadly he answered, "This is my last day; I shall die to-night!" I tried to rally him by saying, "Nonsense! you are just as likely to come out all right as any of the rest of us!" But he only replied, "Please take it, Doctor; I am sponger of that gun, and I shall do my duty; but I shall be killed to-night!" Then I took the package and locked it in my desk, thinking as I did so that I would return it to him on the morrow, and have a good laugh at his expense.

The story of that fearful night has long since been published, and I shall not attempt to repeat it, further than relates to the subject of this sketch. I had arranged the ward-room for my "cock-pit," and in the midst of the awful conflict I heard a voice call down the companion-way, "Doctor, here's a man with his arm shot off!" and I shouted back, "Bring him down, quick!"

We laid him on the table, unconscious. His right arm was shattered midway between the shoulder and elbow. I thought he had fainted from loss of blood, but the next moment I saw plainly enough that he was dead.

A shell had exploded near him, and sent a large fragment clear through his lungs and heart, killing him instantly.

I looked in his calm, white face. It was Charley Reck.

When we were safely at anchor, out of reach of the guns, I thought of the package for Louise which he had left in my care. It was not sealed, but simply tied, and the captain said, in view of the relation which he and Charley had sustained to each other, he would take the responsibility of opening it, and ascertaining its contents before it should be delivered. There was an ambrotype of the sweet young girl, and a letter written in French, breathing all the devotion of a true and faithful heart. The following is a correct translation of its closing sentences: "Good by, Louise! My darling! My own one! When this reaches you, I shall be in the grave, but we shall meet again, and love each other forever. Adieu, my love! I kiss you for the last time!" On the glass, covering the picture, was plainly visible the print of his ardent lips, so soon to be chilled in death.

There were hair-breadth escapes on board the "Albatross" that night, but not another man was killed or wounded.

Many will regard this singular presentiment and its literal fulfilment as merely a remarkable coincidence. I have stated only the simple facts in the case, as they occurred under my own observation; and to me, at least, they furnish additional evidence that "there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy."

LUCY KEYES.

A STORY OF MOUNT WACHUSETT.

BY A. P. MARBLE.

I.

Lucy Keyes was the daughter of Robert Keyes, who lived in the town of Princeton, in Massachusetts, about the year 1755. At the age of two and a half or three years, she disappeared one night at sunset, and was never afterwards heard of by her parents. Her father spent the greater part of his life in a fruitless search for her among the various tribes of Indians; and her mother lost her reason in the contemplation of the unknown fate which had befallen her little daughter. This is an account of the little girl's disappearance, and the elucidation of a mystery which, for three-quarters of a century, baffled all search. The story is derived from traditions in the neighborhood, from allusions to Lucy in the local histories, and from the dying statement of a chief actor in the tragedy.

The fourth settler in the town was Robert Keyes. It is well known that our ancestors had frequent trouble with the Indians, and that white people were stolen, to be either put to death or returned to their friends for a ransom. Lancaster had been burned seventy-five years before, and Mrs. Rowlandson, the minister's wife, was carried into captivity. She was taken to New Hampshire, and after wandering with her captors thirty days or more, she was returned to the foot of Mount Wachusett; and on a rock near the shore of Wachusett Lake, where the chiefs held their councils, she was purchased of her captors by John Hoar, an ancestor of the distinguished Senator Hoar, for thirty dollars in silver, together with some trinkets and provisions. King Philip himself was present, and opposed the release of Mrs. Rowlandson; but even his influence did not overcome the cupidity of the petty chief who held her. From this circumstance the rock is known as Redemption Rock. It has been purchased by Senator Hoar, and its southern face now bears an appropriate inscription to commemorate the release, and the courage and diplomacy of John Hoar.

The Inscription.

"Upon this rock, May 2d, 1676, was made the agreement for the ransom of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson of Lancaster, between the Indians and John Hoar of Concord.

"King Philip was with the Indians, but refused his consent."

It was on Pine Hill, a mile or two south of this rock, and at the eastern base of the mountain, that Robert Keyes cut down the forest, and made a home for his little family. The spot is picturesque and sightly. To the north, and seen through the clearing, nestles Lake Wachusett among its woody banks; while far in the horizon are seen the New Hampshire hills, and beyond, the blue summits of the White Mountains; to the east the landscape stretches away, diversified with lake and valley and woody slope, till it is lost to sight in the dimly distant line of the misty ocean; to the south is the dome-like knoll of Pine Hill covered with evergreen trees; and on the west rises the steep acclivity of Mount Wachusett, while between these two may be seen the hills, twenty miles away, that divide the waters of the Connecticut from the streams that supply the Nashua and the Merrimac.

On a sunny afternoon in summer Mr. Keyes and his boys were in the field some distance from the house, picking up logs and burning them with the stumps and brush, to enlarge the farm. Around the house were fields of corn and flax and waving grain. The cows and sheep were browsing in the edge of the woods. Mrs. Keyes was spinning flax in front of the cabin door, seated on a low, home-made stool upon the hard and smoothly swept ground. Within, the neatly kept log cabin had a rough floor strewn with white sand. On one side of the single large room there was a settee stuffed with shavings of birch-bark; and a cat lay curled up and dozing in the sun, which streamed in through the open lattice that took the place of a window. Around the room were the rough tables and the benches which used to serve as furniture in such primitive dwellings. Shelves and cupboards were fastened upon the wall. Dried apples and pumpkins, pieces of venison and smoked ham, hung upon poles at the top of the room. The wide fireplace and large, open chimney stood at one side. The embers smouldered between the great andirons, ready to be kindled for preparing the evening meal. Aloft, and reached by a ladder that rested against an opening, was the chamber where the family used to sleep. This was the happy home of Robert Keyes, where comfort and busy contentment reigned.

On the afternoon in question two older daughters were at play with little Lucy under the trellis of hop-vines that shaded their mother from the sun. Those were not the days of carpets or of painted floors. Neat housewives would sprinkle the boards with clean white sand; and this, under the tread of feet, would scour the wood and then be swept away. The brooms were made by stripping the sapling birch and tying these strips in a bundle over the end of the stick, or by tying cedar or hemlock boughs at the end of a pointed handle. Housekeepers were unacquainted with boughten brushes and corn-brooms and sweeping-machines.

At their mother's call the two older girls started with a bucket to go to the shore of the lake to fetch some sand for the floor. Little Lucy, thus left alone, soon tired of her play, and wandered away among the vines and the corn around the door, till she came to the path that led to the lake. She followed her sisters a long way behind them, and was never again seen by her friends.

Soon the sun had disappeared behind the summit of the mountain, and the deepening shadows were beginning to creep towards the cabin. The mother had put away her spinning-wheel, and the smoke was curling up from out the wide-mouthed chimney, in preparation of her supper. The farmer and his sons had left the field and gone to a little blacksmith shop a few rods down the hill, where he had mended a broken buck-scythe. The two girls had joined them there; and now they all came trooping together to the house. The boys and their father were washing their hands and faces from the sweat of the forge and the burnt logs. The mother was busy with her cooking. The girls had put away the bucket of sand and gone out to play, when they missed Lucy, and began to search for her among the hills of corn. Not finding her, they came back to the log cabin and told their mother. She thought the little girl must be near, and sent the sisters to look again, while she arranged the wooden plates and the pewter dippers and the iron knives and wooden spoons upon the table. The girls soon came back without finding Lucy, but the mother even then supposed that she had fallen asleep, overcome by her play and the heat of the sun. She stepped to the door and called loudly for Lucy; and the family sat down to supper, expecting her every minute to walk in. She did not come; and hastily finishing their meal, they all went to search the farm. Not finding Lucy, they became thoroughly alarmed.

Adjoining Mr. Keyes' farm, and between it and the foot of the mountain, was the clearing of a Mr. Littlejohn. He had no family. His farm was but little cultivated, and his cabin had not the air of home and comfort which Mrs. Keyes had put into hers. He was a hunter also, and he had a brace or two of dogs. Bearskins were tacked to the walls of his hut, to dry; and deer-horns, and fox-skins still further showed the hunter. This man was of a morose and hermit-like nature. There was a mystery about his early history; he had come from the old world, where he had mingled in affairs of state, and whence he had fled. Little children were afraid of him. He was quarrelsome, too; and before this time he had claimed a part of Mr. Keyes' land. As the two farmers could not agree upon the boundary line, they had called in two of their neighbors, and a surveyor from Lancaster, to fix the boundary. These had decided in favor of Mr. Keyes. The two neighbors had very little to do with each other after that; and the hermit became still more unsocial and morose. But in his distress Mr. Keyes called upon this man for help, and Mr. Littlejohn appeared to enter heartily into the search. The frequency of captures by the Indians, at once led to the suspicion that they had stolen Lucy. Mr. Littlejohn, as a hunter, assumed direction of the searching party. He sent the father and boys to follow the path towards the lake, the mother and daughters to go down the hill towards the east, while he went to the south and up the mountain. All hunted fast and far till late in the evening, when the gathering darkness had settled on the woods and hills; and then they turned their weary steps homeward. About this time all the members of the Keyes family saw the light of a huge bonfire, northwesterly from their house, and turned their steps towards the spot; for this was a signal that the lost was found. On reaching the place, however, they found Mr. Littlejohn, but no Lucy. He said that the darkness prevented further search that night, and he had lighted the fire, in order if possible, to attract the attention of the child, and also to bring together all the inhabitants around, to institute a more thorough search in the morning.

Afterwards others came in; and when they heard the story, one of them proposed to give a shoe or an apron of Lucy's to one of the dogs and let him follow the scent. But Mr. Littlejohn said this would not do, for the dogs were fierce and used to hunting for prey only. They would tear the little girl in pieces if they were to find her. And Mrs. Keyes would not consent to have the dogs set on the track. Another proposed to hunt with torches. With this plan all fell in; and the party, now swelled to ten or fifteen, were divided into squads and sent to hunt, each in a different direction. All night they kept up the search. They called aloud for Lucy again and again, and in all directions; they scoured the woods for miles around; they hunted on the shore of the lake for the tracks of little feet. Behind rocks and trees, under logs and clumps of bushes, they peered; but no trace was to be seen—nothing but darkness and gloomy night. Now and then the hoot of an owl would be mistaken for a child's cry, and hope would momentarily rise in the breast of a hunter only to fall as the sound became more distinct. And thus the night dragged on. When morning came, the various squads of hunters came back to the houses all with the same story of failure. They were weary with wakefulness and the heavy tramp. After a hasty meal they carefully searched the ground within two or three miles of the house. The whole day was spent in this; and at nightfall the party came back to the desolate house without hope. The mother, almost frantic, called for Lucy, and nothing but the echoes gave answer. One by one the neighbors went to their own homes and cares. The conviction forced itself upon the minds of all, that Lucy had been captured by the Indians. Mr. Keyes and his boys hunted in the woods for days afterwards, till the only hope that Lucy was alive lay in her being captured. Otherwise she must have died from exposure or starvation.

Sorrow and desolation now surrounded the cabin of Mr. Keyes. The sanded floor remained unswept; the trellis was broken by the wind; the vines hung straggling; the smooth, spacious front of the door was cluttered; the mewing cat gave voice to the general gloom. Mrs. Keyes could not forget her grief. All day she worked listlessly; and as the shadows from the mountain crept towards the cottage, she would stand in the doorway, and call, "Lucy, Lucy." For years the echoes daily sent back that sunset cry.

A few months after the loss of little Lucy, a hunter returned from the region of Lake George. On hearing the story, he reported that a white child had been seen in that neighborhood with a tribe of Indians; and the rumor reached the ears of Mr. Keyes. The autumn leaves had put on their dying robes of yellow and crimson and gold when, leaving the rest of his harvest to be gathered by his sons, he went to Lake George. After great risks, and many a hair-breadth escape, he found a captive maiden; but she was many years older than Lucy, and she knew only the life of the Indians. He reached his home late in the winter. In the spring a friendly Indian reported that a white girl was held captive by a tribe on the St. Lawrence; and again Mr. Keyes started in pursuit. Six months or more he spent in the search; but when he found the tribe and their captive, it was a black-eyed little girl that he saw; but Lucy's eyes were blue, and he travelled home. With each new rumor of a captive child among the Indian tribes in Maine or Connecticut, in New York or Canada, Mr. Keyes would start again on one of those sad pilgrimages; and he always came back disappointed and alone. Mr. Littlejohn had now left his farm, and it was occupied by strangers.

Meantime, the boys had grown to be men. They no longer had any sympathy with the fruitless search. They made homes for themselves in the now farther remote frontier. And the girls had grown to womanhood and married. Old, and poor, and alone,—for his wife had died, and long ago ceased her plaintive evening call for her long-lost little Lucy,—Mr. Keyes petitioned the "Great and General Court" for the grant of a tract of public land which lay near his home. In this petition, now to be found in the archives of the State, he sets forth that he is poor in consequence of the prolonged search for his daughter, and too feeble to maintain himself.

(Concluded in next number.)

EDITOR'S TABLE.

Considerable has been heard lately of the American Institute of Civics, an organization whose plans for promoting good citizenship are broader and more comprehensive than have ever before been systematically attempted in this country. That the Institute is obtaining the encouragement and support of many of the strongest public men in the country must be gratifying to all who recognize the necessity of having sound political ideas prevail among the rising generation. The object of the Institute is, in outline, to secure thorough instruction in all schools and colleges on topics relating to government and citizenship; to establish special schools of civics at important central points; to secure, as far as possible, the influence of the press in promotion of the same high purpose, and to disseminate, far and wide, sound political literature. That the project has the interest of our soundest statesmen and scholars may be seen from the fact that the President of the National Advisory Board is Chief Justice Waite of the United States Supreme Court, while the Board includes United States Senators Colquitt, Hawley, Wilson, Blair, and Morrill, Secretary Lamar and Ex-Secretary Hugh McCullough, Presidents Noah Porter and Julius H. Seelye, Commissioner Eaton, and others. Among the New England officers and members are such men as Judge Mellen Chamberlain of Boston, Secretary of Education Dickinson, General Carrington, and many college presidents, leading business men, prominent editors, etc. The membership is now something over two thousand, and it is worth noting that aside from the small fees thus obtained, there is no income, and the officers are none of them in the receipt of any salary whatsoever. The Institute is entirely unpartisan, and the importance of the work, which it is its purpose to accomplish, cannot be overestimated. It has entered upon the work of political education in the United States at a favorable time, under the best of circumstances, and under the auspices of the most eminent men of the day. Indeed, it may be doubted whether any undertaking of a patriotic and educational character has ever commanded in this or any other country the unqualified support of so large a number of citizens of high distinction, belonging to every class and calling. There seems, so far as our study of the plan of the Institute enables us to judge, but one thing needful to its permanency and highest success as a moulding influence in American political life of the highest importance. So long as its officers are obliged to depend wholly upon the dues contributed by members, an element of uncertainty will enter into its plans which cannot fail to largely interfere with the fullest realization of its possibilities for good. This danger may be wholly obviated, the Institute placed on a secure foundation, and its future usefulness be assured, if some public-spirited men of wealth, desirous of conferring the incalculable benefits upon future generations, which will follow upon the realization of the Institute's plans, will provide for it an endowment, the income of which will be sufficient to defray the expense of maintaining its executive office.

We would be glad if some New England man of ample means should secure the honor of thus endowing the American Institute of Civics with a fund sufficient to establish it on the firm footing which it should have.

For the New Englander who would seek the delights of the country in the summer months, what a diversity of scene may be found in his own six States. Within the radius of a few hours' ride from Boston are an almost infinite variety of "resorts," from the most primitive to the most luxuriant. In Massachusetts alone are the delightful Nantasket and Revere beaches, elegant Nahant, and the myriad of charming nooks from Cape Ann to Provincetown. Then the Berkshire hills; Lenox and Stockbridge, and other equally beautiful towns, but with less pretensions to aristocracy; the lovely valley of the Connecticut, the romantic Deerfield and the pleasant Franklin hills. In Maine, beginning with Old Orchard, perhaps the finest beach on the Atlantic coast, what delightful harbors and islands there are. And in the Maine woods there is a wealth of health and sport. Grandeur is found in the White Mountains, comfort and elegance at their great hotels. And here, as well as through the hundreds of rural towns on and among the Green Mountains, are the quiet farmhouses where one may abide, and see the New England character—sometimes, not always—at its very best. Whether one sighs for the wildness of the primeval woods, the quiet of the rural farm, or the elegance of a luxurious villa or superb hotel, he need not, unless he desires to travel, look beyond the border lines of fair New England.

There is a growing tendency with our New England people to make rest and recreation matters of considerable importance in themselves. Business is driven at a greater speed than it used to be, and an annual relaxation from business or professional cares and toils has become a positive necessity. The earlier generations worked more slowly and coolly, and a man could endure many years if need be without a thought of a regular vacation, while those who did go from the city to the mountains or seashore in the summer months were those who could afford it as a luxury, rather than so doing as a matter of physical or mental economy. Then again, country accommodations were very limited, and facilities for travel were exceedingly meagre as compared with the present. This was the case no more than a score of years ago. The era of great summer hotels, of "special trains for the season," and of swift and commodious steamboats to the beaches had not begun. Now the vast amount of summer travel forms almost a world of itself. All classes are included. The rich merchant resorts to his beautiful cottage by the sea, or to the splendid hotel in the mountains, for a stay of perhaps three or four months; the family of moderate means engage board at some one of the multitude of "resorts"; the ill-paid clerk or poor artisan may arrange for a week or two in the country, or, at least, may enjoy a few Saturday afternoons at the beaches; and now, God bless them! even the half-fed children of the narrowest street and lane may have a run in the green fields or shady woods on some hot summer day. That ways exist for the relief of so many, rich and poor, from the pent-up city in the sultry months is indeed a blessing, and, like all others, it requires intelligence for its proper use and appreciation. To work and worry eleven months at fever heat, and then relax both brain and body for one, may not afford a longer or more happy life than a continuous routine of labor performed in a more temperate, less-exciting way; but if we must work at such high pressure in this age, let us make the most of our times of rest. Woe to the man who carries with him to the cool mountains or the quiet beach such a paraphernalia of civilization (?) and fashion that he comes back to town more jaded than he went.

The impudence of newspaper reporters has furnished material for many a good-natured joke, but there is getting to be more truth than humor in the imputation. This became very apparent during the weeks preceding the marriage of the President, but it reached its climax when the horde of men and youth attached to various newspapers rushed to Deer Park and almost literally besieged the cottage to which the distinguished couple had retired. Such actions would be insolent enough had Mr. Cleveland been much less than the President of the United States; but it has always been supposed that there was a certain dignity attaching to this high office, which citizens, whatever their estimate of the man, were bound to respect. Whether this be so or not, it seems pretty certain that no dignity has anything to do with "a reporter." Indeed, the ability and brilliancy of a newspaper correspondent seem to be commensurate with his "cheek,"—to use his own word. And yet, why deprecate the reporters? They are simply the servants of the journals they represent. They only obey the will of editors and publishers. The one and the only conclusion is that the "great dailies,"—excepting those which do have a measure left of honor and dignity, of which, thank Heaven, a few are yet published—are on a grade far below many things which they would not themselves dare to sanction. As the "New York Evening Post" says, "If it be true that journalism is really a calling in which men must do or say anything which will increase sales, it is the lowest occupation, not absolutely criminal, known to modern society." And what is worse, these journals attempt to defend their pernicious course by declaring that they "give only what the public demands." If the public is thus given over to sensationalism and folly, is the press fulfilling its mission by pandering to its thirst? It was once a theory that the press was a leader of the people. Has the journal of the present no ambition beyond the biggest circulation and the largest cash receipts?

HISTORICAL RECORD.

April 10.—Serious disaster at the Pemberton Mills, Lawrence, Mass. A fire broke out in the picker-room and dye-house, destroying the building. Two men were killed and several injured. The great disaster at these mills occurred January 10, 1860, when one hundred and forty-five persons were killed by falling or fire.

April 19.—The one hundred and eleventh anniversary of the battle of Concord was celebrated in that town. In the evening there was a meeting in the town hall, at which Hon. John S. Keyes read the original documents relating to the famous fight.

April 19.—The Sixth Massachusetts Regiment celebrated, at Lowell, the twenty-fifth anniversary of its march through Baltimore. There was an enthusiastic attendance. Addresses were delivered by Col. B.F. Watson, Col. E. F. Jones, and others.

April 20.—A large reservoir at East Lee, Mass., gave way, and many mills and houses and six bridges were swept away by the flood. Seven persons were drowned. A relief fund was established to aid the many destitute families, and assistance has also been given to the town, whose loss on highways and bridges is very great.

April 20.—General meeting of the New England conferences of Methodists at Newburyport.

April 24.—Arbor Day in Massachusetts.

April 29.—Annual dinner of the Boston Latin School. Judge Devens presided. Addresses were given by President of the Association Dixwell, Head-master Moses Merrill, Dr. Benjamin Apthorp Gould, and others. A poem was read by Rev. James Freeman Clarke.

May 3.—Extensive strike went into effect in Boston, among the carpenters and builders. About five thousand men left work.

May 11.—Monthly meeting of the Bostonian Society. The chief interest centered in a collection of historical curiosities, among them the original subscription list to a new, large map of New England to be published in 1785. Among the subscriber's names were those of General Lafayette, John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and James Bowdoin. The address by Daniel Goodwin, Jr., of Chicago, was in relation to this exhibition, and dealt largely with the life of James Pitts.

May 13.—Monthly meeting Massachusetts Historical Society, Dr. Ellis in the chair.

May 13.—Erection of a statue of William Lloyd Garrison on Commonwealth Avenue, Boston. Among the inscriptions on the pedestal are these: "I am in earnest; I will not equivocate; I will not excuse; I will not retreat a single inch, and I will be heard." "My country is the world; my countrymen are all mankind."

The statue was designed by Olin L. Warner of New York.

NECROLOGY.

April 14.—Edwin C. Morse, born in West Natick, 1817, Judge of the Natick Police Court, died at Natick, Mass.

April 14.—George F. Emery, born in Portsmouth, N. H., in 1812, died in Boston. He had been U.S. General Appraiser for New England, also paymaster; and was treasurer of the Union Institution for Savings.

April 15.—Anson K. Warner, of Greenfield, died from the effects of injuries received at the West Deerfield railroad disaster. Mr. Warner was closely connected with the institutions of his town, and held many offices of trust. His will bequeaths $50,000 for the education of Greenfield boys and girls.

April 18.—Hon. Stephen H. Gifford, Clerk of the Massachusetts Senate, died at his home in Duxbury. He was born in Pembroke, Mass., July 21, 1815, and while a boy earned his living on a farm. He learned the shoemaker's trade, and still later attended the academy in Hanover, N. H. Subsequently he became a teacher, and established a private school in Duxbury, in which he continued until 1885, excepting a year or two in which he was engaged in mercantile pursuits. In 1850 he was a member of the House; in 1851 was appointed an inspector in the Boston Custom House. During a few weeks in 1854 he was Assistant Clerk of the Senate, and the next year he was chosen as Assistant Clerk of the House. The Legislature of 1855 elected him as Auditor of Accounts, for which office he was nominated by the Republicans the same year. The party was defeated at the polls, and Mr. Gifford shared the fate of his friends. In 1857 he was again appointed Assistant Clerk of the House. In 1858 he was elected Clerk of the Senate, and held the office until his death. On March 10, 1882, a complimentary dinner was tendered Mr. Gifford in testimonial of his twenty-five years of clerkship.

April 19.—Hon. Charles Adams, Jr., formerly State Treasurer, died at his home in North Brookfield. Mr. Adams was born at Antrim, N. H., Jan. 31, 1819, and his long life since has been a most busy and useful one. In 1816 his father removed from New Hampshire to Massachusetts, settling at Oakham, and in the district schools of this town Charles Adams received the most of his early education. When sixteen years of age he began business as a clerk in a country store at Petersham, and there remained five years. He then became bookkeeper for J.B. Fairbanks & Co., at Ware, but after a year's service in this position left it to enter the employ of T. and E. Batcheller & Co., at North Brookfield, as their bookkeeper. For twenty-eight years he remained with Batcheller & Co., the last nine years being a partner in the firm. Mr. Adams was active in State and national politics, and served seventeen years at the State House in various capacities, as member of the Legislature, Senate, and Council, and as State Treasurer from 1870 to 1875. He was married May 8, 1834, and on May 8, 1884, celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of the marriage. Of late years he has given his attention to genealogical and historical matters connected with the town of North Brookfield. Mr. Adams was an upright, honest man, enjoying the highest confidence of the community in which he lived.

April 22.—Deacon Nathaniel Hatch, of Bradford, Mass., died suddenly of heart disease. He was a graduate of Bowdoin, class of 1844; had been a teacher and a business man.

April 23.—Hon. John Phelps, who was born in Hubbardston, Mass., in 1824, died at New Orleans. He went South at the age of twenty-two; was one of the founders, and became President of the New Orleans Cotton Exchange, and later President of the National Cotton Exchange.

April 24.—Death of Maj. Albert L. Richardson, for thirty years postmaster of Montvale, in Woburn, Mass.

April 24.—Mrs. Wendell Phillips died at her home on Common Street, Boston. She was married to the great abolitionist orator about fifty years ago, but before that time she had espoused the antislavery cause.

April 25.—Hon. Edmund Wilson, of Thomaston, Me., died. He had been prominent in the political affairs of his section, and was also for the past ten years a member of the Democratic National Committee.

April 26.—Joseph Weld Morrison died at Campton Village, N. H., at the age of sixty-nine. He was an extensive dealer in lumber.

April 27.—Henry H. Richardson died at his residence in Brookline, Mass., at the age of 48. Mr. Richardson had achieved a wide reputation as an architect, his rank in that profession being variously estimated from that of one of the first in this country to that of the first in the world or the age. Probably the most conspicuous example of his genius is Trinity Church in Boston.

April 29.—Col. Ezra J. Trull, a well-known citizen of Boston, died at his home in Charlestown at the age of 43. He served in the war with the Fourth Battalion of Rifles, the 13th Massachusetts Volunteers, and the 39th Regiment. At the close of the war he joined the 5th Regiment, of which he became colonel. In 1855 he was elected commander of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery. He was also commander of the Boston Light Infantry Veterans, and a member of the Loyal Legion. Col. Trull was also connected with various societies of civil, military, and masonic character. In civil office he served in the Boston Common Council in 1875, 1876, 1877, in the Massachusetts Senate in 1884 and 1885, and was a Director of Public Institutions.

May 1.—Chas. M. Shepard, professor at Amherst College, died at Charleston, S.C., at the age of 82.

May 3.—Hon. John Boynton Hill, for many years a leading lawyer in Bangor, Me., and more recently of Mason, N. H., died at Temple, N. H. Mr. Hill was born in Mason, Nov. 25, 1796, and was graduated at Harvard College in 1821. Among his classmates were Governor Kent of Maine, Charles W. Upham of Salem, Senator Barnwell of South Carolina, and Ralph Waldo Emerson.

May 4.—Rev. Francis A. Foxcroft, one of the oldest Episcopal clergymen in the State, died at Cambridge, Mass., at the age of 77.

May 7.—William R. Patten, of Winchester, a soldier in the Civil War, and later, Judge-Advocate, died in Concord. He was born in 1837.

May 8.—Death of George W. Ray, a citizen and a manufacturer in Springfield, Mass.

LITERATURE.

In Scriptures, Hebrew and Christian,[2] the task has been undertaken of rendering the Bible narrative in a form which shall be convenient and readable for young readers. Such an idea does not wholly please us, for it does not seem possible to rewrite the sacred history without losing the spirit of the close translation from the Hebrew and Greek. There is an excuse for simplifying Bible stories for young children, but this work seems adapted only to those who must be mature enough to fully understand the reading of the Scriptures themselves. Yet, for those who can profitably employ such a book, this work could hardly be better. It is evidently prepared with great care. The first volume, which is at hand, contains the Hebrew story from Creation to the Exile, and for it one must commend the writers for their conscientious and painstaking work, which, without doubt, will prove to be of value to many.

History is a subject so vast and complex that it requires great skill to properly present even an outline of the whole in a single volume. Such compendiums have, however, been made, and have had a useful purpose. Professor Fisher is a man who has extensive qualifications for such a task, and he has given us a work[3] which should have a place in every public and private library, and be in the hands of every student. The whole subject, from the earliest to present times, is outlined in a manner which has rendered it readable and interesting,—a rare quality for such a condensed work. We like the arrangement, which does not treat each country always by itself, but the whole plan of the book is, in general, chronological, by which the condition of different countries at any given period is readily compared. By the use of different types in printing, a notable convenience is afforded the reader. For instance, the general thread of narrative is carried on through the coarser type, while in another type one may read of contemporary literature, art, science, etc. In fact, the record of these subjects is one of the valuable features of the work. The typography is excellent,—a matter of special importance in such a book.

A concise monograph,[4] lately translated from the German, is interesting as an argument in favor of gas as against electricity for artificial lighting. The author is impressed with the fact that the triumphs of electric lighting have been overestimated, and that its healthful, legitimate development has been retarded by the hosts of speculators. Dr. Schilling quotes many statistics, from both European and American sources, to show that many of the claims for electric lighting are unfounded, and that gas has been the subject of numerous false assertions as to its danger, etc., simply to glorify the electric light. The author seems disposed to fairness, in general, but when, after admitting that the electric light has a future before it, he declares that "gas will remain in future, as it always has been, the universal means of illumination," he is at least injudicious. "Universal" and "always" are too broad; certainly, as far as the past is concerned, if not the future. Those who are interested in the subject will find it worth while to read this book. The translation has been carefully made, and it is clearly printed.

Lynn, Mass., has long been famous for its boots and shoes, but from a comfortably sized book[5] in hand, we are led to believe that the town has something interesting about it besides heels and soles. This volume is, according to its name, a series of sketches of the history of the town, well interspersed with anecdotes, most of them from the storehouse of the author's own memory. Although he spent, as he declares, twenty years on the shoemaker's bench, he has not limited his knowledge to his trade. He has evidently been a keen observer; and his command of Anglo-Saxon, together with what may be called the genuine Yankee language, has enabled him to relate his stories and make his comments in a clear and vigorous style. It is, indeed, a very pleasant variation of the regulation town history; a volume of information and good-natured wit; such a book as we imagine every citizen and native of Lynn would delight to read.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Scriptures, Hebrew and Christian. Arranged and edited for young readers as an introduction to the study of the Bible. By Edw. T. Bartlett, A.M., and John P. Peters, Ph.D. Vol. I, pp. 545. New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons.

[3] Outlines of Universal History. Designed as a text-book and for private reading. By George Park Fisher, Professor in Yale College, pp. 674. New York: Ivison, Blakeman, Taylor & Co.

[4] The Present Condition of Electric Lighting. A report made at Munich, September 26, 1885, by N. H. Schilling, Ph.D. 55 pp. Boston: Cupples, Upham & Co.

[5] Sketches of Lynn; or, The Changes of Fifty Years. By David N. Johnson, pp. 490. Lynn; Thomas P. Nichols, printer.

INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.

(MAY, 1886.)

Art, Architecture. American Country Dwellings. Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer. 1.—The Care of Pictures and Prints. P. G. Hamerton. 5.—Art in Brooklyn. Various. 16.—Ceilings and Walls. J. H. Pollen. 22.—An English Sculptor. Leander Scott. 22.—Art in Metal Work. Lewis F. Day. 22—An American Gallery. Chas. De Kay. 22.

Biography, Genealogy. The Life of William Lloyd Garrison. Freeman M. Post, D.D. 3.—A Sturdy Christian. Henry J. van Dyke, Jr., D.D. 3.—Edwin M. Stanton. Dan Piatt. 4.—Francis Galton., 5.—Horatio Seymour. Isaac S. Hartley, D.D. 6.—Personal Recollections of John D. Philbrick. Mrs. H. B. B. Lord. 8.—Gen. Turner Ashby. A. E. Richards. 17.—Benjamin Disraeli. George Sandsbury. 22.—The Webster Family. Hon. Stephen M. Allen. 23.—Henry Barnard. John D. Philbrick. 23.

Civil War. From the Peninsula to Antietam. Geo. B. McLellan. 1.—McClellan at the Head of the Grand Army. Warren Lee Goss. 1.—The Battle of South Mountain, or Boonsboro'. Gen. D. H. Hill. 1.—Defence of Charleston, S.C. Gen. G. T. Beauregard. 4.—The Removal of McClellan., 4.—Shiloh. Gen. W.F. Smith. 6.—The Battle of Cross Keys. Alfred E. Lee. 6.—War Prisons and War Poetry. Jas. W. A. Wright. 17.—Arkansas Past. Wm. J. Oliphant. 17.—The War in Missouri. Richard H. Musser. 17.

Description, Travel, Adventure. The Flour Mills of Minneapolis. E. V. Smalley. 1.—Lick Observatory. Taliesin Evans. 1.—After Geronimo. III. Lieut. John Bigelow. 7.—The Last Voyage of the Surprise., 7.—Around the World on a Bicycle. VIII. Thomas Stevens. 7.—Three Weeks of Savage Life.—Maurice Thompson. 7.—A Blockade Runner under Fire. R. C. Coffin. 7.—A Lonely Vigil. T. C. Jones. 10.—How we went Trouting. W. S. Hutchinson. 10.—Memories of London. W. J. Stillman. 11.—English and American Railways. Wm. H. Rideing. 16.—The World's Great Bridges. Mrs. F. G. De Fontaine. 16.—The Women of Brazil. Frances A. de Magalhaes. 16.

Education. Liberal Education in Germany. J. H. Stuckenberg, D.D. 3.—History in American Colleges. Prof. H. B. Adams. 8.—Public Schools and Nervous Children. Elizabeth Cummings. 8.—Notable Features of the English System of Elementary Education. A. Tolman Smith. 8.—Improved Methods of Classical Instruction. Wm. E. Jillson. 8.—The Harvard Annex. M. C. Smith. 8.—Elective Studies in College. Prof. Isaac C. Dennett. 8.—National Aid to Popular Education. R. B. Hayes. 16.—Trinity College, Hartford. Prof. Samuel Hart. 23.

History. Historical Colorado. Katherine Hodges. 6.—An Old House in New Orleans. Chas. Dimitry. 6.—History of a Newspaper. P. L. Ford. 6.—March of the Spaniards across Illinois. E. G. Mason. 6.—History in American Colleges. H. B. Adams. 8.—The Martial Experiences of the California Volunteers. Edward Carlson. 10.—The Virginia Cavaliers. K. M. Rowland. 17.—The Kentucky Resolutions of 1798-99. R. T. Durrett. 17.—New Bedford. Herbert L. Aldrich. 23.

Literature. Hawthorne's Philosophy. Julian Hawthorne. 1.—The American Dramatist. Augustin Daly. 4.—The Evolution of Language. M. A. Hovelacque. 5.—The Poetry of Thoreau. Joel Benton. 9.—Our Experience Meetings. Cora M. Potter and Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 9.—Dies Iræ. A New Translation. John S. Hagen. 10.—Wordsworth's Passion. Titus Munson Evan. 15.—The Novel of our Times. F. N. Zutsickie. 15.—War Poetry., 17.

Miscellaneous. De Caudelle on the Production of Men of Science. W. H. Larrabee. 5.—The Aryan Homestead. E. P. Evans. 11.—The Marriage Question. Harriett Prescott Spofford and Frances E. Willard. 16.—Judicial Falsifications of History.—Hon. Chas. Cowley. 23.

Politics, Economics, Public Affairs. The Future of the Colored Race. Frederick Douglass. 4.—Letter to Judge Thurman. Arthur Richmond. 4.—Our "House of Lords.", 4.—Ship Building vs. Ship Owning. Capt. John Codman. 4.

Statesmanship, Old and New. Gail Hamilton. 4.—Strikes and Arbitration. T. V. Powderly. 4.—The Hours of Labor. Edward Atkinson. 4.—The Difficulties of Railroad Regulation. Arthur T. Hadley. 5.—An Economic Study of Mexico. II. David A. Wells. 4.—Prison Labor. Robt. Devlin. 10.—Discussion of the Liquor Traffic. G. A. Moore. 10.—Weakness of the United States Government under the Articles of Confederation. John Fiske. 11.—The Present Position of Civil Service Reform. Theodore Roosevelt. 15.—The Freedmen During the War. O. O. Howard. 15.—National Aid to Popular Education.—R. B. Hayes.16.

Recreation, Sports. Ranch Life and Game Shooting in the West. III. Theodore Roosevelt. 7.—The Stanley Show. Joseph Pennell. 7.—Trout Fishing in Maine. J. R. Hitchcock. 7.—British Yachting. C. J. C. McAlister. 7.

Religion, Morals. The Possibilities of Religious Reform in Italy. Wm. Chauncy Langdon, D.D. 3.—Development of the Moral Faculty. James Sully. 5.—The Seventh Petition. George Bancroft. 15.—Are Church Fairs Beneficial? Mrs. H. W. Beecher. 16.

Science, Natural History, Discovery, Inventions. The Problem of Crystallization. Alfred Einhorn. 5.—The Factors of Organic Evolution. II. Herbert Spencer. 5.—Food Accessories and Digestion. Dr. J. B. Yeo. 5.—Photographing the Heavens. Dr. H. Y. Klein. 5.—How Alcoholic Liquors are Made. Joseph Dawson. 5.—The Science of Flat-fish., 5.—Must Life, Beginning Here, Necessarily End Here? E. A. Clark. 10.—The Genesis of Bird Song. Maurice Thompson. 11.—Speech: Its Mental and Physical Elements. M. Allen Starr. 15.—The Breeding of Fancy Pigeons. E. S. Starr. 1.

Theology, Polemics. Evolution and the Faith. T. T. Munger. 1.—Egyptian Monotheism. C. Loring Bruce. 15.

1 The Century.
2 Harper's Monthly.
3 Andover Review.
4 North American Review.
5 Popular Science Monthly.
6 Magazine of Am. History.
7 Outing.
8 Education.
9 Lippincott's Magazine.
10 Overland Monthly.
11 Atlantic Monthly.
11 New England Historical and Genealogical Register.
13 Rhode Island Historical Magazine.
14 The Forum.
15 New Princeton Review.
16 The Brooklyn Magazine.
17 The Southern Bivouac.
18 The Citizen.
19 Political Science Quarterly.
20 Unitarian Review.
21 New Englander.
22 Magazine of Art.
23 New England Magazine.