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'* Reviews by graphic description our historical recollections."-0^ »lf ny giL?eift ^Zff^^iiS^Ae!>/SV, HOTOG-RAPHS!" M n .»>.•*•— . ..^^ i:;2V, OJ/T. Imoral and Ills graphic mrnal. cription our awa Times. ire eloquent iew. 5 sketches." •8. s. t> Trite few Extracts from the Noticea already given of the \ be Published in the course of next year. " * Pen Photographs ' — a dialogue — is rare and racy, reminding one of chap- ter in BUtckwood of the olden time j the broad, quaint humor of Sandie bites while it excites our merriment." — Windsor, U. S.j Mail. " We commend to our readers the perusal of Dr. Clark's paper, especially the part relating to Canadian Poetry." — Canadian lUuatrated News. " Such men as Dr. Clark have not, as a whole, their superiors in any of the walks of liteiature." — Weekly New Dom- inion^ N. B. " Dr. Clark has an exhaustive and learned paper on the 'Anglo-Saxon in the English Language.' The effort is very succesdflil, very clever, and abounds in beautiful passages." — St.- John Ad- vertiser. " Dr.Clark, in his * Pen Photographs,' is not only winning an enviable reputa- tion in Canada, but is placing his coun- trymen under weighty obligations by his efforts, which have called forth en- comiums in the favorable criticisms of able English reviewers." — Ayr Herald. " * Pen Photographs * have already made the author's name famous as a writer of ability and power. His style is bold, life-like and true. He has many warm triends in the Eastern Provinces, through his sketches."— --iciwriwcr, St. John. '* It will be no news to our readers, to whom his many contributions are familiar, that Dr. D. Clark has contrib- uted articles on some of the celebrated men of our times, which have attracted the attention of literary men, not only in the United States, but also Britain." y—Prinetton Transcript. 'agesy GUahf Price $1.00, and can be Tin Canada, Britam, or the United •d, Guthrie, which their racteristics, f preaching, vividness." skilful anal- t oelebrif ies r of charac- md. Meade, — .JohnNews. cetched." — md attract- ill continue >r. Norman Brown." — nished, and IS which afl linent men 3. d readable I toMMTimea. 1 testimony particular, )tch of Dr. -St. Croix 800 to ^tabhSi wiU fe Smmred, ' 8otd*hy Subscription only, % m tr ■ I ? J."**^^ w^ f _"S ''' ' A [ANl mt^ » # > MRMBER t'dl A NEW CANADr)tk WORK, /^i t GHOSTS / \and their relations. PEN AND INK SKETCHES or l^en and Ijioted ^lareis, iaU$t ^%'k^%, ^(.t ^r. BY Daniel Clark, M.D., MK-MBHR OF TIlK MKD.'C \L Z.V.'.^W., i:XA';'.- rS 1:.' C::S>' ;.?Tr.V FOK THK COLLEGE Or i'livs: : AN s AN.j sf RG^;' .:;s, o:.tar:,">, ftc, F.rc. •t f •• CORDE ET MANU." J^ttmH (l^bou^and. TORONTO : WILLIAM WARWICK, 1874. •-— \«-^ . / r '^ "Enteied according to act of Parliament of Canada in the year A.D. 1873, by Daniel Clark, M.D., in the office of the Minister of Agriculture." PIIKKACE. An author is ^ent'irtlly expected to give his resisons for inflicting u|)on a long-sufTering piil>iic a new work. His pleadings to be heard in the p jisy, restless conventions of the world may he ignored or repudiated, unless the stamp of public a|)proval is upon hi* credentials Should his plea for presenting his literary contribu- tions to the common fund be of a financial nature, the well known reticence of the scrif)e, would make the announcement of such a fact lone of great delicacy. If his wishes and hopes aro based upon the [conceit that his creations are children of i.nmortalitv, then, are they not presented, and seldom realized. If his presentations, however svorthy of acceptance, are prefaced with apologies for coming into lexistence. and in a st^rt of abashe/l, reluctant, " by your leave" atti- Itude, stepnpoii the stage, the reader is at oice prejudiced against a [work, in which the originator hitns -If h is no confidence, i'he author |does not rleem it necessary to give reasons, nor offer excuses, to an Intelligent people, in asking a persual of these results of hours of re- creation enjoye| a link from the chain of ineffable delight. P>er ant;; LAIR 1). janon his fine dark eye flashed fire, and passion, not in iffectation, and mere silly sentimentalism, but withgen- [iiine earnestness, and evident forgetfi.ilness of congrega- [tion, place, and occasion, in the delivery of his Mas- (ter's message. His voice mellowed into tenderness, as le described the struggle of life-- its toils and pains — losses and gains — its defeats and victories — its hours )f despondency, and its hours of exultation, with all ^he sunshine, and clouds of a checjuered life. He car. ried us far into the regions of the great Unknown. He ►ointed out to us, panoramic views of the Future — )hotographs of the sublime — indelibly written on the )age of Inspiration. The camera obscura was the dark galley. Death, as drawn in profile by Caird, was hor- ible. The word portraiture, was that of a master »ind, which was familiar with the fell-destroyer in all ^is multifarious manifestations. The peroration was Ine, because effective. It was not mere verbal sym- phony. The soul was there. It was not the lifeless Leleton, beautiful even in lifelessne^s^ but the living, reathing and ecstatic joy, or hallowed sadness, of a trrible earnestness. The hearers of Cicero always lid, " How pleasantly he speaks ! " His classic pro- uctions were admired, but they excited no emotions, id stirred up no latent passions. The audience of ^eniosthenes, when he hurled his fierce phillipics jainst the Macedonian King, had no thoughts of ad- liration, as such, the Greeks cried out " Let us go and ;ht Philip,'' Caird is a minor Demosthenes. His fcrmons, dwell not simply upon the ear as sweet and leasant melodies, but rouse to acts of moral heroism 4 PKN PHyrOGRAPHS. and Christian daring. Royalty and loyalty, Quecnand Princes, lord and subject, felt the Divine afflatus, dur- ing that sacred and precious hour. The blanched face, the tearful eye, the eager gaze, and the quivering lips were unequivocal homage, not only to the preacher, but to the day of holy inspirations, and sweet reminis- cences. How such invective, satire, pathos, solemnity and cogent reasoning, cnish by one fell blow all the sophistries of a well defended infidelity of the Colenso school of sceptics ! and how true are the words of Bry- ant : — - "Truth crushed to death shall rise again, The eternal years of God are hers ; But error, wounded, writhes in pain. And dies among her worshippers." ' - TUOMA position, Macready school of ( foKcible d( mind, by t the recent Nature hi couth bo( reaching < upon and cranium. be summe ed gamins sotto voce, most of th( the "Saint iqiie. He not comp; one of the mons abou The compc occasional gling idea ] through loi in such red Short, simf G UTIIR I E Thomas Guthrie has all the elements in his com- position, of a tragedian, or a comedian. A Kean, a Macready, or a Forrest, with all their training in the school of drama or elocution, could not portray in more foicible delineations, the varied passions of the human mind, by the muscular action of the countenance, than the recent occupant of St. John's Church, Edinburgh. Nature h is blessed him, with a most ungainly, and un- couth body. I le is long in visage, plus long arms reaching down to his knees, with long legs to stand upon and long grey hairs, to adorn a well developed cranium. In short, the contour of the whole man may be summed up in the word— e/G/iga/io/i. The unwash- ed gamins of Edinburgh called h«m, in their patois and scf/o voce, " Lang Tarn." We heard him preach the most of the sermons, now contained in a book called the "Saint's Inheritance." His style of delivery is un- ique. He can have no successful imitator. We can- not compare his preaching, and composition to any one of the writings of the living or the dead. His ser- mons abound in apt illustrations drawn from nature. The composition is epigrammatic, and classic, with an occa.sional Doric word thrown in, to give some strug- gling idea point and unction. He does not wade through long and weary sentences, with relative clauses in such redundancy, as to puzzle a Murray or a Bullion. Short, simple and concise is his motto. We never PKN I'HOTOGRAPHS. heard from his lips such nauseating technicalities, as " Hypostatical Union," the " tertium quid," the " ego and nonego," the "Hypothetical realism," and "Cos- mothetic idealism" of philosophers. He eschews such as he would Diabolus. His delight is in hoary ruins — sad relics of the past, — in the sea and in all that is beautiful in the external world. Illustration, after illustration, is drawn from the rolling billows — the roaring breakers— the rugged rocks of the ocean — the proud ships, or the dismantled wrecks — ^the cry of the wild seamen, or the " Solitary shriek, the bubblin<^ cry \ Of sonic strrtntj swimmer in his agony." He carries you away among the ivy-covered relics o*" by-gone glories — vvherj tempests iiowl on cold heartli- stones — where weird snowlUkas diUvie a fairy reel round dismantled towers — through sloping loop-holes, in dark and winding passages, wliere weeped the soli- tary prisoner, and where his moans echoed in unison with thi booming waves, ofhissca-giit prison, or where the banquet was spread for the mailed warrior grim, and stern, or for the gay biidal cortege, gladsome in mel- ody and sang. With the mister hand, by word pic- turing he takes you among the most sublime objects of nature — by the roaring cataracts — on the rugged mountains — into the wonders of the great extinct, stra- tified, and petrified, in the rocks of the primal ages. His magic wand, like Arabian wizard, transports you to celestial scenes, and starry wonders, and through sidereal zones, whose stars have never yet been numer- ically dis allel, whi( time. G titer in re rent of p: course, ings. whic performs ludicrous the overp "old mar. of time, becoming the long i about th< semi-circU thrashing ed swallo burst the strange g> cloak — lils voyages, r detestable who coulc ous thoug finale broi us after hi the cords ( He is one no cabin, -for him t GUTHRIK. ically distinguished. His power lies in pictorial par- allel, which teaches truth and. entrances at the same tini*. Guthrie's style of delivery has more of the far- iiterin re than the suavitcr in siiodiK It is true that a cur- rent of pathos runs through the subject matter of dis- course, but it is the thundcrings, as well as the woo- ings. which display the mm. \\'\\tw he is roused, he performs acti )ns t'le most grotesque, awkward and ludicrous of which the beholder is not cognisant until the overpowering effect of the matchless oratory of the "old man elotpient" has been mellowed by the hand of time. I well remember the bending, and bent form becoming erect, as climax after climax was reached, — the long hair smoothly parted on the brow, danced about the eyes — the long arms swung in circles, and semi-circles round the tapering shoulders, like flails thrashing out the stu])b%rn grain. The short truncat- ed swallov/ tails, of a dress coat, would occasionally burst the barriers oi a (lencva gown, and i)erform strange gyrations in the air. The wide sleeves of the cloak — like bat's wings — would lly in never ceasing voyages, now around the head, and anon around that detestable conventional barrier called a pulpit. But who could even smile ? Onward rushed the tumultu- ous thoughts on the tiptoe of expectation, until the fmale brought us back to the world again. Caird drew us after him by d^ puissant intellection, but Guthrie by the cords of awe,or heaven-kindled sympathy and love. He is one of the kindliest and best of men. There is no cabin, lane, or alley, or street too mean or filthy for him to visit. We have met him, times without ,1 8 PKN FHOTOGRAPHS. t number, in the Grass Market, Cowgate, St. MaryV Wynd, Carruber's Close, where he was g-ithering inta his ragged schools, " ones more unfortunate," like a guardian angel. How could the founder of such schools be other than the first of philanthropists ! Although now, by reason of ill health, his voice as a preacher is seldom heard, yet, as the author of " The Gospel in Ezekiel," "The City: its Sins and Sor- rows," "Seed Time and Harvest," and as the Editor of the " Sunday Magazine," his name will live, and the chaste religious literature, wliich has flowed, and will flow from his prolific pen can never die, as long as the Anglo-Saxon tongue exists, and, as Ion • as its vigor, and beauty, are justly admired by the present, and. will be, by succeeding generations. I.ON DC i them in vincial, a into its 01 I nation. [gravitate t [the reprc! Isate in a i jthe mock( [of a depre [iiality of a lodes of great ext le Londo cite the int lace ; I sp( paste styl( |hrob in i L^ynch, onl ity. The ;eology, mi las the des hilosopher npress dee ver bowed ay by day Spurgeon SPUR G E ON. London is full of good preachers ; I speak of them in comparison to the ministers of the pro- vincial, and rural districts. The metropolis gathers into its omnivorous maw, the intellectually great of the [ nation. (Ireat minds, by a sort of centripetal power, gravitate toward each other. It is in the Capital, where the representative powers meet, and from thence pul- Lsate in a never-ceasing stream the virus of scepticism, the mockery of materialism, the vapid sentimentalism |of a depreciated Christianity, or the high-toned spirit- uality of a living gospel. Yet, in all these phases of lodes of thought, the lower stratum of mind was to great extent overlooked. The pulpit dissertations of le London divines, were generally of a kind not to ex- :ite the interest of a degenerate, and ignorant popu- lace ; I speak of the lower classes. The beautiful and :haste style of a modern Blair, had no heart in it to Ihrob in unison with theirs. The abstractions of .ynch, only delight the giant minds of the mammoth bity. The sermonizer who illustrates his dogmas by reology, mineralogy, botany, and astronomy, unless he Us the descriptive, and analytical powers of Dick, the philosopher, or good "Old Humphrey," will never ipress deeply the lethargic mind of the constant and Iver bowed down son of toil, who struggles fiercely |ay by day for his daily bread. Spurgeon filled the breach. I had read the first I s 1 s*' * lO PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. series of his sermons, and thought them light ? but I was anxious to hear him on account of his popularity. I had landed from a Dutch steamer, at the St. Catherine docks, on Sabbath morning, and hastening through rain and fog to Surrey Music llali, procured a ticket for one shilling sterling, just as we would have done to attend a theatre. It admitted us before the throng, which, at half-pjst nine o'clock, was literally crammed, before the iron gates of the garden. The ticket admitted us four Sabbaths, and " mu.st be given up on the last date." "Service to commence at a the country, dressed in hodden grey, you would sup- pose him to be a well-to-do farmer. He is square-built and muscular. Had he been a sparring, sturdy pugil- ist of the "fancy," instead of being a soldier of the church militant, woe betide the poor wf^ht, who might happen to get his head in "chancery" (under his arm). His features are round, and his forehead medium height, and full ; but, overshadowing the eyes greatly, detracting very much from their prominency. The eyes have that undefinaljle twinkle oifunniness about them, which is a sure indication of the possessor hav- ing a fund of humour, and a keen sense of the ludic- rous. The teeth are very large, white, regular, and prominent : even when the lips are shut they cannot be concealed. The head is set down closely upon the shoulders, as if the isthmus of a neck had been con- tracted by paralysis. His dress is plain, and fits him badly. At first sight he is far from being prepossess- ing ; but when he smiles, or speaks, the antipathy van- ishes. When he speaks, the words have no serrated edges, or burr about them ; they come forth " fat, full, round and free." It has been said that the secret of his success lies in three things : ist, voice ; 2nd, the sublime ; 3rd, the ridiculous. It is not the whole truth, for many preachers in London command these \ three marks, and yet are not popular. Spurgeon pos- sesses, besides these, also, pungency of expression, cut- ting irony, and burning satire, and these, too, in a very j few words, but they sear like a red hot iron. He was asked to preach against the homoepathic bonnets, then SI'URGF'.ON. 13 :t him Id sup- re-built r pugil- of the 3 might is arm), iiedium greatly, r. The r.f about ior hav- le ludic- ilar, and cannot upon the ;en con- fits him jpossess- ithy van- serrated ' fat, full, secret ot 2nd, the te whole .d these ;eon pos- |sion, cut- in a very He was .ets,then in fashion ; but, said he, " the savage who told me to do so, thought 1 could change the fiishions : but, my clears, I see no bonnets to preach against." They were then worn on the shoulders. No man could copy him in the grotesque, without being himself the butt of ridi- cule ; and the solemnity with which he utters the most ridiculous things, gives no encouragement for the time being, to laughter or smiles. Spurgeon is like a bee : lie will draw sweet illustrations from the most poison- ous sources. He will now and then cull them from the Billingsgate of the fish market, from the slang of the fraternity, in the thiefs kitchen, from the cabman's \patois, from the green-grocer in Haymarket, and from [the nomenclature of the herbalist, the chemist,and the [apothecary.. These quaint illustrations are seldom mublished. Thus he catches the multitude by con- summate strategy. He does not hesitate to take for Ihis text Du Chaillu's " Gorrilla," if so be he can lure [the people to hear him. He has before him notes of lis sermons, which he fills up extempore as he preach- es ; and a reporter, generally, sits by his side, who jkvrites down the words as they fall from his lips. His ;estures are few. . Occasionally he will raise his right land, and will toy with a white pocket handkerchief; Hit there are no violent contortions of the face or )ody. On Monday morning following his sermon can )e bought printed for two pence. Nearly a million of lem have been published, and some of them in the ^agan tongues of Asia. Doubtless he will wear well, )r there is too much originality in the composition of |is mind, to be ever exhausted. No one can tell the I id ll;|i M I KN' PHO'IfKJRAE'HS. wonderful amount of good, such a man will do, until the sum total is reached ; and when the sun of Spur geon sets in death, London will seldom " see his likcj again.' Human wisdom says, what a pity that thus— j " Star after star declines. Till all have pass'd away." / > C L M M I N a On' a cold Sabbath atternoon, I was sauntering I about the shirts of St. lames' I'arh, on my way I to Westminster Abbey — the mausoleum of Britain's inustrioiis dead. I said to myself, " this is my last Sabbath in ' old hibulation, is Cinnming upon the earth." In the lore recent works which have come from his prolific )en, he has modified and changed his views ; still, at le time, he insisted that Scripture pointed to some reat change in the moral, physical, and political sta- is of the world. A.I). 1867. That year was a focus )wards which all other events centred. Punch ,-ly hinted that he had rented a house for twenty ;ars— that is, he would be a lessee, nearly ten years, fter the " final consummation " of all things. Poor [umming pleads guilty ; but with lawyer-like craftiness lys, that, by renting the house for twenty years, he ob- ^ined it much cheaper than if he had rented it for ten jars; thus, the transaction resolved itself into a mere irgain of prudence and economy. When I heard [m, he contrived, by a series of comical deductions, mix up the scenes of the millenium with hoop-skirts id fashionable bonnets. His definition of a lady jessed, a la modc^ was, that " she was the centre of a md circumference ; " the dandy was " the quintes- ice of fashionable frivolity." The supreme present, X\i its novelties, is mixed up in the phantasmagoria jhis I:rain, with the conditional, and absolute, of the pre, anj the unrecalled past. The last outre fashion, invention, from the infinitesimal bonnet, or the N irr?" ?*:: } t% PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. il; theory of perpetual motion, to the last patent chum perfectionism, are all "signs of the year of jubilee.' He is often so logical, and literal, in all his interpreta- tions of what is, and must remain, in time a mystery, as to set all practical deductions at defiance. Hadhej the eloquence, earnestness, and devotedness of Edward Irving, I have no doubt we would have a class of fan- j atical religionists, called Cummingites, as well as Inj ingites. lie no doubt exercises considerable influence) for moral good, among the Scottish Presbyteriani nobility of London. Many of the elite of the rtherej aristocracy, are his ardent admirers. He is intellectuj ally great, but not greatly useful, among the classes! that need so much the counsel and advice of his kind] He is a quaint curiosity, whose theses may excite toj curious and speculative enquiry as to the future oj this world and our race ; but when the abstractions c:j his powerful and erratic mind shall have ploughed their devious furrows over the sea of human though;] the bubbling waves may hiss, and foam,and sparkle,fcj a moment, from the momentum of the flashing thoughtJ but soon oblivion shall bury them in the fathomlesj abyss of the past. The fleeting meteor is sending or coruscations, which "lead to bewilder and dazzle- blind ;" but which will at last burst into fragmen"' from its own repellent elements, and leave the fooli- midnight gazer, blinded wearied, and lost, amid the be of faithless uncertainty. We love the bold and fea^d thinker, who follows no ignis fatuus, but, wl-»:ie i\ many shrink, from launching into the majTium m\ of unexplored thought, will not fear obloquy, as ;i;. CUMMING. ^9 psts aside the (/elan's of worthless investigation, and pushes onward, without fear, and without reproach, ito the new sphere of glorious intellection, conscious uit there, to all humanity, " No pent up Utica contracts his power ; For the whole boundless continent is ours." 20 BALMORAL. ii ir i: WE left Aberdeen far behind, and rushed with railroad speed up the Dee, and past many a cosy farmstead, and elegant country seat, to Aboyne.j then by coach through Kincardine O'Neil to Ballater j As we approached Ballater the mountains began toj assume respectable proportions to a habitant, but tcj one who had climbed the Rocky mountains, ancj Andes, and the Swiss Alps, they were not such aJ would fill the mind of the traveller with awe. Theil were so bald, and grey, and misty, that no greal stretch of the imagination was required, to conjure uj the phantoms of Ossian's heroes doing battle in m clouds, or seeking fir-trees, and moons, for spears ani shields, under the ghostly leadership of a Fingal. Yel we were on classic ground, and as we left the drear| Moor of Dinnet behind, and were pressing forwar| Into the mountain gorges near Lochnagar, we had our left the meandering Dee — very pacific in its voil and in its motions — not thus far, and in warring Oc;( bar " the billows of Dee's rushing tide." On the right, rose in graceful outlines, the smooth and rounj ed hill of Morven. The name will suggest to t| reader the graphic lines of Byron: " When I roved a young Highlander o'er the daj heath, And climbed thy steep summit, O Morven, of snj To gaze on the torrent that thundered beneath ; Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below." Before us opens out the mountain home of the the river flowing in beautiful cascades, and murmun hill BALMORAL. 21 ripples, from its mountain fastness. We gaze into this igged retreat through the chasm in a rocky spur of ^he mountain, which cuts a large section of it away, i.-> if a Hercules had in rage cleft it asunder with a luge claymore, shearing the top closely of its "hafFets," )ut bearing round its venerable crown the green and tunted birch and the scraggy freeze bushes. To the Hith, rear up the bald peaks of Craigendaroch, (Gaelic )r the rocky mountain of oaks) and away to the le north-west shoots up Colbleen. ' When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky, think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen." Passing through this cleft in the rocks, and leav- ig the village ot Ballater on the left, we follow on le north side of the now "rushing Dee," the stage )ad, leading to Castleton of Braemar. Abergeldie Eastle — once the summer retreat of Kent — can be ten on the south side of the river close to the edge o^ ie water. At this point the river is spanned by a ^pe, and crossed in a rude cradle, which slides along ^e rope, on pulleys. The castle iu small, but prides jelf in towers, turrets and miniature battlements. issing on about a mile, we come to a clump of trees ^mposed of birch, ash, and fir, and scrubby oaks, ibowered in which stands the Craithie parish church Id near by is the school-house. The church lays no lim to architectural beauty, being only a plain, lare, stone' building, with a belfry on the top ; of east end, that seems to shelter birds' nests as well a small bell, whose tones on Sabbath morning ^re none of the sweetest. In the inside it is equally 22 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. plain, with the pulpit on the south side, and octagon in shape; on the sides runs a narrow gallery from which are two passages leading, the one down into the lobby at the main door, and the other leads to a pri- 1 vate door in the west side, used only by the] Queen and her household. To the left-front of the I preacher in the gallery, were the pews of the Royal Family; immediately in front were those of the Duchess of Kent, and those of the Executive that might be in Council with her Majesty. Every part from the pre- centors's desk upwards, is severely unadorned, old, and) dilapidated. In the valley below, is the Manse, sur- rounded by several fertile fields, and near by a hand-| some suspension bridge, leading to the village ofl Craithie, beyond which are dense fir woods, and the) Lochnagar distillery, in which is manufactured **Loch-[ nagar whiskey," whose peculiar smoky flavour is obtain I ed by the use of spring water^ which percolates throu^j a dense peat moss. About a mile farther on, as l| turn a sharp angle ofvthe road, Balmoral bursts uponl my view rather suddenly. The royal banner flaunt.{ its silken folds from the tower : the Queen was there] Was it possible that a Canadian back-woodsman wa now gazing upon the palace of the mightiest monarcliJ that ever ruled since " the morning stars sang together,! and was it possible, that my eyes were to behold He| whose name, and virtues, were honoured and revered from "the rising to the setting sun ?' * I think, ad gaze, and then gaze and think, until my soul is full of delight, and until I am sure it is not a dream, ani( I have not lost ray personal identity. The palac BALMORAL 23 nd octagon illery from iwn into the ids to a pri- \\y by the ront of the f the Royal I the Duchess might be in •om the pre- led, old, and! Manse, sur- r by a hand! le village o([ Dods, and the! tured "Loch I our is obtain! )lates throu^l ;her on, asll bursts upon! )anner flaunti •en was there! roodsman waJ tiest monarcli] ang together,] to behold He id and revered ■ I think, ani ny soul is fuij t a dream, an| The palac sits in the midsts of a beautiful valley, whose margin, and sides, are covered with luxuriant birch trees; around it are the "everlasting hills," — the rugged, bare, grey crags of auld Scotia, "stern and wild." This valley is crescentic in shape. The river washes the base of the northern hills. The castle is on the south side of the river, but on the northern and convex side of the valley. Craig-an-gowan, from the south, juts out over the valley, somewhat like Arthur's seat, near. Edinburgh. On all sides are mountain tops to be seen, the one rising above the other in irregular suc- cession. The contour of the whole is absolutely deso- lation itself. Rocks and the dark heath everywhere. They looked like thrones for the Titans in the grand amphitheatre of judgment, from which they issued unchanging edicts, or hurled, like Jupiter, thunder-bolts of war. No wonder that mountaineers are brave, bold, and poetic, the world over, for their modes of thought must be a sort of transcript, of unyielding, majestic nature around them. About seven miles away, frowns that "most sublime and picturesque of our Caledonia Alps," dark Lochnagar. It is only a section of a cone, for some convulsion of nature has rent it almost in twain from top to bottom. A perpendicular wall presents itself on one side lor many hundreds of feet, and at its base is a dark lake, fit for a syren to sit by, and lure to destruction. It towers high above its fellow, rejoicing in the solitary grandeur. "Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic ! The steep frowning glories of dark Lochnagar !" The Farquharsons of Inverey, were the feudal pro- 24 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. prietors of the Balmoral estate. About the beginning of this century, the late Earl of Fife purchased it. The trustees of the estate leased the lands, ^and ap-l purtenances, to Sir Robert Gordon, for the term ofj 38 years. He built a shooting lodge on the present site of his palace. At*his death, in 1847, the latej Prince Consort purchased a transfer of the lease, and! in 1852, bought the lands for $160,000. The lodge was torn down in 1854 and the new palace built. Itj is unique in style, built in its principal features, after! the castellated mode of architecture, perhaps the pro-i per term to use would be " Baronial desigh." The! finish on it is modern. It is as if we had clothed anj uncouth, semi-civilized, athletic, and brave Gael, ii:j the drapery of modern civilization. The outline ij| pleasing, but the critic begins to dissect, and analyze. and compare, one part with another, the incongruitJ strikes the beholder very forcibly as d^ faux pas in de sign. Whoever the architect might be, it is eviden: he was endeavouring to serve two classes of masters] one of the old school, and one of the new ; and shared the fate of all such, by pleasing neither. Thtj outline of an ancient fastness, and of the ethere;- models of to-day, are so dissimilar that no combinl ation of the two, can loom beautifully on the eye, nij such hybird can form a handsome creation. '\\\ palace is built in the shape of a quadrangle, mini:| the noth side, which is bounded by the Dee. ThJ south-west, and south east angles, are composed oj two large buildings. These are connected east, an| west, by two wings extending from each col BALMORAL. ner, in the south-east comer there is a tower 35 feet square and loo feet in height, sur- mounted by four smaller towers. On the south side the architecture is of the plainest kind, but on the west, and north sides, the carvings and mouldings are exceedingly rich^ The stone was taken from a quarry on the estate, and is grey granite, capable of beautiful polish. It is smoothly dressed in ashler work, pre- senting no seams, and consequently the whole castle, at a distance, looks like a block of solid stone, unless closely inspected. The riband, rope and corbelling moulding are in keeping, to some extent, with the Baronial style of architecture. The main entrance, at the south-west angle, opens into a large room in which is a fire place, and a mantle-piece, on which stands- a fancy clock. Around on the walls, are trophies of the chase, such as the antlers of the roe, and the eornuted heads of the red deer. From the hall runs a corridor at right angles to it, on each side of which are the dining-room, the library, the drawing-room, and the billard room. From this passage, ascends the grand stair-case to the first floor, on which are the private apartments of royalty. The rooms of the Queen front- ing the valley of the Dee, towards Braemar. From this point of observation, the scenery is of the wildest description, on all sides are the . * . . " Grisly rocks that guard The infant rills of Highland Dee." The bed-room is over the main porch and hall, from which a view south and west can be obtained far over the deer forests of Ballochbowie. To the east of 36 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. these rooms are those of the children. Thousands of houses in Canada are furnished far more richly than this pretty retreat. The motto seems to be writ- ten on everything, '• plain, useful, and substantial. " The carpets, the window curtains, and the upholstery of the chairs and sofas, in many of the rooms, are composed of clan tartan. When there are protuberan- ces, or ungainly angles, or salient points, on roof or walls, these are decorated with a carving of the Scottish thistle. The chairs, in the drawing room, are fur- nished with Victoria tartan of wool and silk. The dining room has drapery of royal Stuart plaid. The wood-work of the furniture is an ash from Africa, being in appearance very much like bird's-eye maple. The curtains*! of the principal bed-rooms are of Victoria print. The chairs and tables of the dining-room of the Queen's retinue, and also those of the ball-room, are made of highly polished oak. The bed-rooms have furniture of American birch. To the rear of the west side is situated the ball-room, sixty-nine feet by twenty-six feet in area. A dais is erected for the Queen on the side next the main builduig, and at the opposite end is an elevation for the musicians. The windows and wall are richly festooned by a material very much like damask, composed of wool and silk. Pure water is supplied by pipes from a mountain spring. Sur- ounding the palace are several small th®ugh beautiful terraces, and on the lawn are cultivated in irregular groups, flowers, mostly those indigenous to the coun- try, except the cactus, the fuschia, &c^ that were grow- ing in large stone jars near the main entrance. BALMORAL. 27 The Queen is adored Ly the tenantry of Balmoral, and were it not that it would be a species of breach of trust, we might recite many incidents of her Ma- jesty's visits to the cabins of the poor, (never publish- ed), as told by themselves, although with tnie Celtic reticence this people tell of her goodness, and kind- ness in a confidential way, as if they did not wish to be classified among the gossips of the neighborhood, or to be the media ofj communication, to the outside world, of aught said or done, within the precincts of this rural retreat — the abode of happiness and peace, far from cankering care, state troubles and political intrigue, for doubtless careworn is the brow, and weary is the head, that wears a crown. We often met Her, in her visits of mercy, and only attended by a single female attendant. It is said that the Aberdonian dialect puzzled Her Majesty not a little at first, but that she is now well read in Highland classics. We have no doubt, but the drilling any human tongue must have to pronounce the German accurately, would be sufficient to enable the Teutonic tongue to pronounce the guttural Gaelic names of some of the mountains, streams, and valleys around Balmoral. There is very little Celtic spoken, on these estates, but in the neigh- boring Straiths it is the mother tongue. It is enough to paralyze an English tongue to pro- nounce such names as Loch Muick, the Linn of Quoich, Ben-muich-dhue, Brae-riach, &c., yet all, like Hebrew words expressive of some local circumstance, or ap- pearance, although it is not to be inferred from this admission, that I wish to insinuate that Gaelic was the language of Eden. I 38 FEN MiOTOORAI'HS. The village of Craithie, when the Prince Consort- bought the estate, was only a collection of miserable hamlets : not much better than the wigwams of the Indian. By "Albert, the good," these have been torn down, and neat substantial stone buildings erected in their stead. Here in this sequestered glen resides forweeks, and often months, our beloved Queen, and the remnant of her interesting family. What a retreat from the din of London and all the paraphernalia of Court etiquette ! To feel that she can roam and ride over hill and moor, by foaming cascade, and in sylvan scenes, sans peiir d sans reproche, ** Where fairy haunted waters In music gush along; I Where mountain rills are melody .* And heathy hills are song," must be the sweetest hours of a chequered life. No costly retinue — no bristling bayonets — no shotted cannon — no dragoon guards — and no consequential officials, are needed at Balmoral. Her trust in the faithful and loyal Highlanders is unbounded, and were one hair of her head touched by recreant assassin, there would be such a gatriering of the clans, and such vengeance meted out to the infamous wretch, as was never heard of since the <{aysof brande*d and murderous Cain. Every Briton feels that come weal, come woe — come victory, come disaster — come prosperity or ir- retrievable ruin — come revolution, or thrice blessed peace — come the halcyon days of our eventful history, or the fiery trials that test men's souls, this much is UALMORAL. ^ as ceitain as the fixed laws that guide the universe of God, that the rich and priceless heritage of freedom, which has been becjueathed ••us by a noble ancestry, is safe in the custody of Victoria ; and her loyal subjects who stand around her throne, as a sure de- fence, are pledged to hand djwn to generations yet unborn, the priceless legacy, or leave behnid them on the sands of time, such foot-prints, as were left at Thermopylae, where heroes died, not for themselves, but in obedience to the laws of Sparta, for " Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son. Though baftled oft is ever won." " "I ■iiiBlWMpSiwWiiMBWM ' WATERLOO. TREAD lightly, for beneath your feet is the dust of heroes. Take up a handful of the earth, and ask yourself how much of it once formed the body of a veteran ; how many hearth-stones were made desolate — how many chairs vacant — how many athletic forms missing — how many cheery voices silent forever — how many dreams of glory and renown were followed by a dreadful awakening that knows no night ; and how great was the sum of misery to those who perished on the ensanguined plain, and to the bereaved fathers, mothers, widows, and orphans, of friends and foes ! Where are the ciphers of the sum total, and who must bear the dreadful responsibility ? How reverently do we approach a battle-field, where human blood has flowed in torrents, where disembodied spirits sped swiftly from the scene, and where " the bosom once heaved and forever was still." No struggle, in the history of the British nation, has excited such interest in Christendom as the battle of Waterloo. Two of the greatest generals of the age were face to face, for the first and last time, the one to lead a heterogeneous army of half the nationalities of Europe, (somewhat like William, Prince of Orange, at the battle of the Boyne,) to victory, and the other to lead a solid phalanx of " never conquered heroes," — the victors of a hundred battles — to hopeless defeat and inglorious death. Not to speak of the military prestige especial in the pageant! " the th: chieftain wickers, heights c —the " nificent s Waterloo strains of ners, the ing word; and squc never be immortal i357, 1 p; this timp glad for a the same one of my men ran a field, ever Mundy (si Lancers al ' young girls ble dwellii bouquets c begged for fill, and w< PEN PHOTOGRAPAS. $r prestige of each, the fate of Continental Europe, and especially of La Belle France, was quivering^ in the balance on that eventful mom. O, the pageantry of the dawn ! when grey morning displayed " the thin red line " of Albion, the plaided and kilted chieftains, of the north, the German legion, the Bruns- wickers, Belgians, Hollanders and Hanoverians, on the heights of Mont St. Jean ; and the chivalry of France —the " invincibles" of Napoleon— In battle's mag- nificent array, on the gentle swellings of the farm of Waterloo. The neighing of ten thousand steeds, the strains of martial music, the waving of regimental ban- ners, the glitter of bristling bayonets, the sharp ring- ing words of command, as battalion after battalion, and squadron after squadron, fell into line, can never be forgotten by the surviving veterans of this immortal strife. A fine morning on the sixth of June, 1857, I paid a visit to the battle-field. Brussels, at this timp, was in political commotion, and I was glad for a time to breathe the fresh country air, and at the same time satisfy our desire to see the spot where one of my kinsmen had fallen. .Two young English- men ran a very comfortable stage from the city to the field, every morning during the summer months. Sergt. Mundy (since deceased), who fought with the 13th Lancers at the battle, was my guide. On the way young girls, the children of the cottagers, whose hum- ble dwellings stood thickly by the wayside, threw bouquets of wild flowers into the chaise, and in return begged for money. All the inhabitants of this beauti fill, and well cultivated country, are particularly dis- wWHfctfWair iL Mi wi w w 32 WATERLOO. I' Hi tinguished by the fair hair and blue eyes of the Flem ish race. As we approached Waterloo, to the left, still, stood a part of the forest of Soignies. The woods on the right have been cleared up ; but a few stumps still remain, reminding one of a Canadian clearing. With what palpitating hearts did gay officers ride along this road before daylight, and debouch ui)on the field, many of whom were partially dressed in ball-room attire, and fresh from the ball of the Duchess of Richmond at Brussels, where through the long night " there was sound of revelry" ; till, in the midst of music and dancing, burst the spurred, and mud-covered courier, whispering to Wellington, with bated breath, " the foe! they come, they come !" Many of those present parted never to meet again, and "few parted where many met." To the front, coming almost, heretofore, resistless as an avalanche, was the hero of Marengo, Lodi and Austerlitz — the victor of Blucher, and expectant con- queror q{ that " Iron Duke," who never lost a gun, and who hurled back from Spain and Portugal the tide of Frt ich invasion, before the heights of Torres Vedras. Xittle did the man of destiny think, on that June morning, that, ere the time of vespers, his marshalled hosts would be fleeing in wild dismay, a disordered rabble, along the Paris road, followed by the once vanquished heroes of Prussia, and in frantic tones crying out saiive qui pent. The sun of Napoleon's glory set that day blood, never to rise again. I fel^ as I drew near the sacred spot — hallowed by a conse- crationof blood — that I was about to tread on holy j jground. In boyhood I had heard the .survivors PEN PlIOTOGRAl'HS. 3S of that clay sing of " the immortal Wellington " in the wildest ecstasy. 1 had seen the one armed, or one legged veteran, tremble with excitement, as with flash- ing eyes, and dilated chest, he told of deeds of valour, of hair-breadth escapes, and of the ebbing, and flowing fortunes of the day. When at school I had read of its glories, and its horrors, and trembled while I read, and now my fondest wish was to be realized, and I was about to view the Golgotha, and the Aceldama of heroes. I enter the field. It is covered with a luxuriant crop of barley, to my left, and, to the right, are oats and wheat. With a solitary exception, there are no hedges, nor stone walls, to obstruct the view. The grassy margins of the fields are covered with red poppies, as if mother earth refused, vol- untarily, to bring forth aught but appropriate symbols, from the ashes of the plain. Foot-paths intersect one another, over the country, and through the standing grain, evidently left thus for the accommodation of tourists. The famis of Waterloo, Mont Jean, and La Belle Alliance, are composed of two ridges, of well cultivated land. A small ravine intervenes. When the two armies had taken their respective positions, the allies occupied the south western, and the French the north eastern swell of land. A small rivulet and a gentle depression of about six hundred yards in width, sepa- rated the combatants. The first object of interest which we noticed was the chateau de Hougoumont — the extreme right of Wellington's position — which had been taken and retaken several times during the day 3 • 34 WATERLOO. %' 'I It is a sort of castellated farm-house, surrounded by a thick stone wall, about sixteen feet in height. There is a court yard inside, in the centre of which is a deep well, in and around which, the dead, and dying, friends and foes, were piled three and four deep. There was no outlet towards the British position, (a grave over- sight,) and the consequence was, that whoever con quered, for the time, put every one of their foes to death, whether Highlanders, Guards, or Chasseurs. Two heavy oak doors, facing the French, guard the entrance. The cannon-ball indentations are still to be seen on the walls ; and the gates are patched where these unwelcon?e visitors tore their way through into the enclosure. The gates were forced open at a criti- cal period of the battle ; but a strong Highland officer slew the front opponents, and shut them, in the faces of the astonished French soldiers. There being no ingress to the westward, reinforcements had to be pushed in at these gates, in the face of the enemy. This position had to be held at all hazards. The famous orchard of Hougoumont lies to the north of the farm-house, and contains about four acres of ground. The fruit trees still bear traces of wounds and scars by cannon shot. The brick wall still sur- rounds the orchard, with loop-holes yet unfilled ; and immediately above these embrasures bricks have been taken out, to allow room for the timbers of a tempor- ary scaffolding, upon which were placed sharp-shoot- ers, to fire over the wall, a la barbette. Great gaps are still in the walls, through which cannon balls had torn h 1 \\\ PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. 35 their way. Near the centre of the British position, on the spot where WeUington stood, and where once a tree grew, has been erected a mound, over a hundred feet in height. It is sugar-loaf in shape, and composed ol earth, handsomely sodded over, and having stone steps from the base, to the truncated apex. On the summit, has been built a pedestal of solid masonry, about ten feet in height, which is surmounted by a lion of metal, said to have been made from the cannon of the discom fited foe. The lion overlooks the French position, and his right paw rests upon a globe. The whole is very suggestive of British power, and supremacy. From this elevation a panoramic view of the whole scene of con- flict is stretched before the eye. To the north, lies the Paris and Brussels turnpike : to the rear of Welling- ton's position, runs another road at right angles to the former, along which any weak point could be reinforced. There is a deep cut where these roads intersect, from which the Guards sprang, when the Duke gave the welcome command, ** Guards, up, and at them !" and so graphically described by Victor Hugo in " Les Miserables " as the scene of plunder, and murder, by Thenardier on the eve of the battle. Two other mon- uments are the only ones on the field, both near the Paris road : the one erected by the mother and sister ot aide-de-camp Gordon, sent to urge on Blucher, but who was killed on this spot without fulfilling his mis- sion ; and the other was erected by Germany, in memory of the German legion, that was almost anni^ hilated near where this colossal stone memento stands. mmmtumtmttmu 36 WATERLOO. u The field of conflict extended about two miles ; and far beyond it can yet be seen an opening in the forest through which the Duke cast longing eyes. The day was waning, and his troops were fast melting away. All day he had stood on the defensive, waiting for help. Dozens of times had his troops to form squares, to resist cavalry ; dozens of times had artillery-men to seek shel- ter in these phalanges, and leave their guns for a time among the French. Times without number had the Cuirassiers rode up to the serried lines endeavouring to I JVC: I entrance, but all in vain. Yet were the lines becoming fearfully thin. The gallant 42nd was almost lorn to jiif^oes, and was once entirely surrounded,, until the Greys, coming to the rescue, and shouting "Scotland for ever," trampled into the dust the enemy, and saved a remnant of them. The Colonel asked from Wellington a temporary respite, but the char- acteristic reply was, " I, and you, and every man must stand our ground." The brave Colonel said, " Enough my lord," and rode to the head of his devoted band, who often after this did prodigies of valour. All had wrought wonders, and all had shown Saxon, and Teu- tonic stubbornness, so as to extort from Bonaparte the remark that " he had beaten the British often that day, but they did not know it." The sun was setting, and Napoleon was wondering what had become of Grouchy, and Wellington was straining his eyes in the hope of seeing the Prussian banners. At last the French reserves are ordered to the front. The Imperial Guard that never surrendered, are formed into two immense VKS PHOTOC.RAl'HS. 37 V olumns for the final attack. They are told tliat all depends upon them, and with the shouts of 77>r / Empcrcur, they are led by Napoleon down the slopes, and are hurled impetuously into the bowels of a vol- cano. « I ' , " Cannon to right of them, ' Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them. VoUey'd and thundered ;" but as frost-work disappears before the April sun, so did those brave men dissolve, from the ranks, in this harvest of death. On all sides they were harassed, yet, often reforming, they returned to the charge led by the gallant Ney, and the dauntless Rielle \ but as the ocean waves dash impotently against the giant rocks, so did this magnificent legion storm in hellish rage, in front of those to whom was entrusted the honour of old Eng- land. Jerome Bonaparte, who led six thousand men against Hougoumont, and left 1,400 of them in the or- chard, was ordered to come to the rescue of the Guards, but before his column was put in motion, the cry was heard from all parts of the field, "The Guards recoil," and simultaneously, with this paralyzing cry, came the news that Blucher was at hand. During this eventful hour the British commander had his heart wrung by the fearful slaughter, and no succour at hand. Night would be a boon to his wearied army. " Would God it were night or Blucher," he said to the remnant of his staff. The words were scarcely uttered ere the booming of cannon reverberated over the forest ofSoignies, tell" 38 WATERLOO. ing of succour or defeat. Both embattled hosts hearcJ it. The strife ceased for a moment, for the decisive hour had come. Far to the left could be heard the multitudinous voices of men, and piercing the smoke of battle, came British cheers. Division after division took up the gladsome shout. The Prussians were rushing 'to the rescue, and Waterloo was won. " It was a famous victory." A fugitive Emperor was terror- stricken on the way to Paris, while behind him, on the gory plain, were the Imperial Guards, with tens of thou- sands of their companions in arms, stark corpses, or mutilated masses of quivering and living flesh, on the ensanguined plain. As we stood on the tumulus, the whole scene seemed to be enacted over again, and the ghostly legions of armed men came up before our mind's eye as if it were yesterday, and the muffled tread of spectral squadrons could almost still be heard where " the angel of death spread his wings on the blast." • Had Bonaparte conquered, Europe would have been under the heel of a military despot, partitioned, to some extent, it had been already, to his relatives and friends, with himself, the Emperor autocrat of Christ- endom. This was his day-dream, and the goal of his ambition, until his right arm hung nerveless by his side at Waterloo. England was victorious, and the enthrall- ed nations of Europe were set free. Let panegyrists of the Abbott school exalt the Corsican to the rank of a military demigod; but tous,standing on this battle-field his character stood forth as a heartless, bloody, and il PEN PHOTCRAI'HS. 39 ambitious adventurer, whose inmost nature M'as filled with the " Napoleonic'' idea of vain and empty mili- tary glory. He filled France with a mania for con- quest. Every victory fed the morbid appetite to Satiety for a time, but, only in a short period, to seek again more bloody sacrifices to fill its omnivorous man. Every defeat like that of Moscow, only woun- ded the Gallic Pride, and stimulated it to seek other- and various fields of conquest, until at last, the elas- tic heart of even the French people was crushed al- most to extinction. The descendants of Poictiers, Cressy, and Agincourt, were styled the sons of " per- fidious Albion," and vengeance was on French lips and rancour in the heart at Waterloo. Napoleon III. in his "Life of Ca;sar" styles Caesar, Charlemagne, and Napoleon I, the only three guiding stars of history yet in following the example of this triumverate, he lost his all at Sedan. To fight for freedom is glorious ; but how often do nations draw the sword wantonly, through a pure love of con(iuest ; then •* O war what art thou ? After the brightest conquests, what remains, Of allthe glories ? For the vanquished chains, Rut for the proud victor — what .-' TIIK KNIGHT OF THE AlVL. M V ft. ¥ MRS, Hcmans, in Ihc criliciuc on the "Tasso"or Cioethe, says truthfully that "some master minds, indeed, winged their way through the tumult of crowded life, like the sea-bird cleaving the storm, from which its pinions come forth unstained ; but there needs a cel- estial panoply, with which few indeed are gifted, to bear the heirs of genius, not only unwounded but un- soiled, through the battle and too frequently the result of the poet's lingering afar from his better home has been mental and moral degradation and untimely death." This sentiment is applicable to the unfortu- nate subject of this sketch. William Knight, of Keith was a shoemaker by trade. He was the illegitimate son of a *'laird" in Banitilshire. His mother, a servant of his father, was ruthlessly turned away from his fa- ther's door, with Willie in her arms, to battle with life, as best she could, for the long gaunt finger of scorn had been pointed at her. Willie had received a good training at the parish school, thanks to his mother's frugality and industry, who had a strong attach- ment to the son of her shame. His progress, for his age, was very rapid. He greedily devoured «every literary and scientific work, which came in his way. He was familiar with such classic works as Virgil, Horace, Xenophon, and Homer. Resolved to still further improve his mind, he trudged on foot — carrying a small bundle, containing his all on his back THF, KN'IGHT OF THE AWL. 41 —all the way to St. Andrew's University, and atten- ded two winter sessions, in the meantime carrying oft several prizes, and the chief bursary for Latin. He .hen returned to his mother at Aberdeen, hired an attic at the farthest end of Love Lane, and became a ( opyist in a lawyer's office : still pursuing his studies and writing poetry, for which liis love was intense llerein was genius. He could recite from memory, .stanza after stanza, in the original, of the lUiad. and the odes of Horace. He was familiar with all the Scottish poets from " Blind Harry" to liurns and vScott ; and all the English poets, from the days of Chaucer to those of Tennyson. But his genial spirit, conversational powers, and conviviality led him into intemperate habits, and so besotted did he become, that as an intermittently drivelling idiot, he was shun- ned by his boon companions, and driven by starvation to seek employment as an apprentice shoemaker. Necessity forced him to occasional sobriety, and then his feelings of remorse were most poignant. He would shed tears of bitter repentance, and vow reform, but only to sin again, when money came in his way. His e.xperience was that of many unfortunate sons of genius who are caught in the snare of the fell destroyer. His aptitude to learn soon enabled him to earn a liv- ing by his trade, but in the meantime hismother died, and from that day, he lost all self-respect, and strayed like a wandering Arab, from place to place, until his constitution gave way, from exposure to the storms of winter and summer. He would beg from door to door, 42 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. and be only too glad to seek shelter by the side of a hay-stack, in theleeside of a hedge, or on the hard floor of a friendly " bothy." Nature at last could hold out no longer, and he was conveyed into one of the ward of the Dundee Infirmary, in the month of June 1867. Here in a dark corner he suffered severely, with no ' tender hand to smooth his pillow, and close his eyes, as he passed into the land of spirits. During the last hours of his earthly existence, he 0( casionally would utter snatches of poetry, and sometimes give expression to words of penitence, and remorse, so heart-rending as to bring tears to the eyes of his fellow sufferers ; but at last incoherent sentences feebly expressed that the sands of life were fast running out, and as the steel grey dawn appeared, as the harbinger of approaching day, he took his everlasting flight away from what ha( been to him truly "a vale of tears." His poems are in plot, style, and beauty ol execution, not inferior to any Scotch poetry, we have had the pleasure to read ; not even excepting that of Burns. One of them, " Twa nichts at Yule," will compare favourably with " Tarn O'Shanter." Notwithstanding the rugged road he had travelled, and the coldness and ill usage he re- ceived from the world, he maintained his geniality to the end, and showed a heart welling over with the sweetness of a soul-flooded kindness, which no acidity could sour. How many of such men have flashed athwart the shining firmament of literature — effulgent and beautiful — but whose brightness has never been photographed, by some kindly pen dipped into the sun- shine compet( the moTi poetry ^ zine litei souvenir thoughts of Knigl have ev work as sketch h( master to the exqui Andersor Willie ev conipositi in hisj'oi/ and " lo^^ that he ha scene." of the evi moments, told misei My cr Theni And o That V Yestrei Cam' ii THE KNIGHT OF THE AWI 43 shine of immortality ! What a pityit is that some one competent for the task does not collect and publish in the more durable form of a book, all such waifs of poetry which float on the sea of newspaper, and maga- zine literature, and which would thus be a precious souvenir of many a true nobleman, whose sterling thoughts are now, or will • be, lost in oblivion. Some of Knight's songs should never die, and as very few have ever seen the following, we insert them in this work as specimens of his style. The writer of this sketch hopes that the reader will notice particularly the master touches of tenderness in " Via Vitre." Does the exquisite and justly popular ballad of " John Anderson my Joe" excel it ? It was the last song Willie ever wrote. It has a ring of true metal in its composition. The ** more unfortunate" son of genius, in \i\% journey of life, often " stauchered into .holes' and " lownered deep in glaur," but in charity we hope that he has now " sunny glints" of " mony a gowden scene." These extracts will show how much he knew of the evils of intemperance, and how, in his sober moments, he detested the cause of his ruin, and un- told misery : My cronies, we've sitten owre lang at the yill. The nicht's weerin' late, rind the niune's in the hill. And our ain folks at hame will be thinkin' fu' lang, That we're no comin' to them — let's taddle alang. Yestreen I was dreamin' that Peggy and I Cam' in by the loanin frae milkin the kye ; i 44 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. I thought that she grat, as she lookit at mc, Wi' a face fu' o' sadness richt wearisome to see - " Oh ! Johnny," said she, and her voice sounded drear, Like the wind's hollow moan in the fa' o' the year ** When ye bide frae hame we've a sair lot to dree — There's a wraith that is killin your bairnies and me. " It rugs at my heart as 'twad rive it in twa, It flegs me wi gruesome-1'ke shapes on the wa' — * It tooms cot their parritch, it rives a' their claes They darna e'en budge for't sic cantrips it plays. I thought that I grippit my muckle aik rung To gird at the goblin, and forrit I sprung — My bluid boilin' thro' me, to win to my hame — When I waukened and told to my Peggy my dream. • *' Its nae droam." said she, " for there's mair wraiths than ane That glamp through the house, and rampage but and ben ; • i While ye're sit tin drinkin', out-bye late and air, They're nogrowin' fewer, but aye growin mair." " Grim hunger glowers 'oot at the edge o' the press, And nakedness glints, thro' our thread-bare distress ; Dour grief wounds the heart, sair, and fear strangles sleep, And Pourtith has threatened the firesidt; to keep." Na mair said my Peggy, but drappit a tear, And I've made her a promise, I'll keep ever dear, That henceforth I'll hame, and drink na yill ava, But lounder the wraiths oot, and keep them awa." THE KKIC.HT OF THK AWI. m SONG. fm O weary fa', that waefu' drink, O'er a' the ills we hae, It male's us scarce o' clacs and chink, And steeps the saul in wae ; It dings the elbows ootour coats, ' And clours our heids fell sair ; It turns the brightest chicls to sots. And dottles wit and lear. But warst ava, out ow'er our ecn. It draps its glamour screen — We dinna see how crined and sma' We're in the warld's gleg e'en. The angel tace of youth it blurs, Gaes stalwart manhood shak ; Sends Eild a-hirplin thro, the dubs, Wi' death upon his back. It beets the icy norland wi'i', , That drives wi' keenest birr, Maks holes, and bores to let him in, And CO sy riggins stir. Puts out the fire upon the hearth, Ca's wives, and weans a-jee ; Gars lairds, as beggars trudge the tarth, And dings the warld aglee. ' ' I 1l PKN PHOTOiRAPHi. VIA VIT.E. Link ye to me my auld gude man, And dinna hurrying gang. Ye're nae doot tired as wecl as I, But we'll win hame ere lang. The snaws of eild arc on our pows. And hard we find the grun'. But we are in the Hthe, gude man, Aiid carena, for the wun'. 'Twas morn, gude wife, when we set out, Baith laughin' brisk and gay ; i Sometimes we ran, sometimes we gaed ; Whiles dackled on the way. Our limbs are nae sae souple now, We e'en maun creep's we may We've louped mony a burn, gude wife, And breistit mony a brae. And strappin' lads I wat, gude man, And mony a sonsy quean, We've left upon the road behind, And never mair hae seen. For some hae wandered aff the way, And gane they kentna where ; And some have stachered into holes, Or ta'en to bogs to lair. Like mony mair were we, gude wife, We didna' hain our strength, But caed the road from side to side,^ Nor countit on its length ; r 46 THE KNIGHT OP THE AWL. Fell tired I grew 'gin afternoon, \Vi' yon long dreary howe. And thankfu' was I when I fand The sma'est wee bit knowe. 47 Troth, lang has been the road, gude man, Sair niddered have we been ; But we've had sunny glints I wat, — Viewed mony a gowden scene. And though we've haS out share o' wcel. And lowndered deep in glaur, We've seen as foul feet as our ain — And scores a hantle waur. Aweel, my ain gude wife, this road, Had it no been for you — Whase hopefu' word aye eezed my heart — I ne'er had warstled thro'. But now we'er near our journey's end. The nicht begins to fa', ♦ The starns are gatherin' in the life— We'se ithly stoit awa'. Link close to me, my ain gude man ; I whiles might tak' the gee, And fash ye wi' my tantrum trips, But only for a wee, Now that's a' owre, and we'll jog on The gither a' the same, And Tang afore the dawn o' day We'll baith get rest at hame. ■'k^ If I: n/^. DICK, THE PHILOSOPHER. CHILDHOOD and Credulity go hand in hand. There is no ogre so hideous that children will not believe in as a reality, and no fairy so spectral, whether dancingto sweet music in the moon beams, on some grassy hillock, or playing fantastic tricks on hu- manity, or gathered in joyous groups around Q'leen Mab, to plot new raids, and celebrate recent exploits and triumphs — that juveniles will not acknowledge within the sphere of their magic circle. The monstros- ites, and extravaganza of the imagination of some kindly intended soul have been given to the youth of all countries to amuse, terrify or to instruct, and to such they are for the time being, positive and tangible entities. Mother Hubbard and her intelli- gent dog, which canine-like had no objection to pick a bone — Whittington and his precocious Cat — Jack the Giant Killer, and the luxuriant Bean Stalk, — Blue Beard, the worst of Mormons, and the wonderful do- ings of the heroes of Hans Anderson, are even yet the | staple commodities, and material for building up inci pient hramhood. Too often are put into the hands c; I youth, fearful accounts of ghosts, hobgoblins, "deadj candles," witches, and " banshees," until every hil- lock; or stump, becomes at the gloamine; a supernatural | object, and the screech of the night owl, or the wail of the wind, or the grating sound of swaying andl rusty hingef= of some way-side gate, are supposed to DP.. DICK, THE PHILOSOPHKR. 49 be the wail of some lost spirit asking for sympathy (5r seeking relief. At one time or another we were all firm believers in the exploit:^ of those heroes of antiq- uity, or in the existence of those weird-like beings who haunt persistently the scenes where murder had been committed, or hover reluctantly near the cities of the dead ; we have heard them spoken of as reali- ties by those in whose judgment and veracity we had implicit confidence. Our venerable granny, or hoary- headed grand-father, has often gathered us around the roaring winter fire, and in graphic, earnest, and awe-inspiring words, recited experiences, and sights, on land, and by sea, and flood, of those beings, which seem- ed to have a mission to frighten youngsters, and the subjects of superstition. I remember sitting hour after hour listening to these witch, fairy, and ghost stories, until my hair felt as if growing erect on the top of my head, and the chirp of a cricket, or the squeal of a mouse, or the howl of the wind as it whirled round the house, or the chimney top, would cause a shrinking and creeping sensation more potent than pleasant. As rea- son begins to open its eyelids, and looks around, it sees much to believe in, but begins to doubt. It is not sufficiently sceptical to reject all, and therefore budding manhood and womanhood greedily devour such works as "The Arabian Nights," the wonders recorded by " Baron Munchausen," " Robinson Cru- soe'' and his irrepressible man Friday, " Don Quixote" and genial and credulous Sancho Panza. But it is not long before the realities of life shake us into absolute infidelity. We perceive the mythical nature of so PEN PH010GRAPHS. our fireside friends, and cast them aside as the worth- less dfMs of past investigation, and faith. At this stage of mental development the mind is omnivorous. It virtually cries " I have no faith in the past, give me a reality or I die." The hungry prodigal begins toj eat husks, for they are plentiful, and present more in viting forms for the intellectual gourmand. One hiinl dred-paged novels, lascivious song books, prurient medical works " sent free of charge ;" and pretentious! books of history, and biography, which covertly pral pagate foulest dogmas on social evils, and dubiousi ethics, and without you " whited sepulchres," filling tcl plethora, the rapidly expanding, and absorbing, and di f gesting, human mind, until it ruminates and feels all thej horrors ol mental dyspepsia. The well wishers of thtj world have seen this, and have endeavoured to creatJ a desire for more healthy pabulum. The Chambers' cij Edinburgh stand first among philanthrophists in thiij field ol labour. Their books, and periodicals, are inva'l uable to the young student, who wishes wholesome inj formation, on the all absorbing topics of the day. \i our Index Expurgatonus of their works, we enter m book, as unworthy of a place in the valuable list. M refer to " The Vestiges of Creation" the arguments ( which have been demolished by the geological wandc Hugh Miller. In the United States the people owl much in the popular walks of science, to Carter Brother, Harper & Brother, and many such %\ These, however, except the last mentioned firm, weij simply publishers and laid no claim to being wriw and compilers as the Chambers were. But as a Satj fular, an of self, binding DR. DICK, THE PHILOSOPHER. 5« head and shoulders above his fellows, in the field of popular, useful, scientific, and christian literature, we place foremost in the list, the name of Thomas Dick. He saw that there were hiati between theological works, the abstractions of philosophy, and the facts of science. At the beginning of this century, there was a tendency among the master minds of the day to in- dulge in abstractions^ with regard to everything which required the exercise of thought, whether sacred, or secular. Science, at the first time Dick attempted to write, revelled in bare axioms, deductions, and " con- fusion worse confounded." He was among the first to popularize science, and elucidate and illuminate Divine procedure, by that glorious lamp which shows how coincident, and harmonious, are all God's works, whether in nature or revelation. God's truth, aiul these two soufces of knowledge, and wisdom, are one and indivisible. We often hear that truth needs sup- porting, but the converse is true, for truth is our bul- wark, and when truly read is its own interpreter. Dick took modern science by the right hand, and in troduced the stately dame to her colleague, beautiful Revelation. So anxious was he to do this, as some- times to become prolix, but never wearisome. His ar- dour in this direction is sometimes so intense, as to drive him to the verge of curious speculation, and hy- pothesis. In his eyes war under all circumstances, is legalized murder. He is in fact a Quaker in this parti- cular, and does not seem to recognize the moral right of self defence, and that the same obligation which is binding on us to defend our persons from iassault, 52 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. m or our houses from the depredations of burglars, is also binding on communities, and nations as regards a for- eign foe. We visited him, a few months before his death, at Broughty Ferry, a small town, a few miles seaward, from Dundee, Scotland. The house was a story and a half in height, nearly square with a piaz- za, partly around it. In front of it, is the shingled beach where the sea and the river Tay meet, west- ward could be seen smoky Dundee, and a conical hill of about 400 feet in height, towering behind it. Over the broad River, lay in domestic serenity, and beauty, eastern Fifeshire, and at the furthest range ol vision, on a clear day, could be seen the Towers of St Andrews. Behind the house a hill rises somewhat ab- ruptly, and obscures the view in that direction. We found the philosopher immersed in his studies. He was of medium height and spare in body. His hair •was white, and the forehead broad, but not very high, j The eyes were grey, and the nose large and aquiline. His voice was soft, and of that persuasive tone, that I takes the heart by storm. His hand shook consider- ably — not from that nervousness which afflicts soniel people in the presence of strangers — but from the mus- cular weakness, which inexorable time carries in his I train. It was evident, to an observant eye, that his days were short, although he put on a great deal oil cheerfulness, and became quite loquacious after wef received a formalintroduction through a mutual friend. He took us with him to inspect his observatory on thel top of the house. It was erected on a flat roof, witlij two sliding windows facing respectively north, and! DR. DICK, THE PHILOSOPHER. 55 south. There was a telescope ot medium si7.e placed opposite each window, which included in their range the whole celestial hemisphere, except what was hidden by the hill in the rear of the house. On fine starlit nights, he often made the top of this hill his tower of observation. A sort of stone parapet sur- mounted the top of the walls of the house. I remarked, in a jocular tone, that he could inount barbette guns on this minature fort, that might command the River Tay. His face instantly assumed an expression of pain, and he said with deep emotion, *' my soul loathes war> and my inmost nature sickens at the mere mention of aaght pertaining to the dread machinery of modern warfare." His finer feelings had the mastery, and through all his writings there stand out prominently, benevolence, affection, and love. His works are like household words, well known by all classes of society, and are a standard not only on both sides of the At- lantic, but also throughout Christendom, and it afford- ed him great pleasure, to hear, that his writings were greatfully appreciated and read, not only in the man- sions but also in the log cabins of Canada. He said that the finest editions of his works were those pub- lished in the United States, and specimen copies of which had been sent to him by his American friends. He showed me two superb copies. The British Govern- ment was petitioned to grant him an annuity, and it actually gave him ten pounds annually, out of its abun- dance. Had he been the son of somebody, who had served his country, and had been " bom with a silver spoon in his mouth instead of a wooden ladle " — as 54 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. some quaint writer says, — I have no doubt his annuity would have been thousands of pounds, instead of tens of pounds. He did more honour, and granted a more lasting legacy of good to his country, than even those medvUled warriors — to whom all honor should be given, — who receive large bonuses for doing their duty, and whose largesses extends to remotest generations, but he had no aristocratic friends to plead his cause, and no escutcheon, save that of an unsullied reputation. The pubHsher of his works fleeced him, and his country's legislators "knew him not." During the summer months, he rented one half of his small house to lodgers, that He might have food, and in the winter months, as his health permitted, he took up his pen and wrote for the religious press almost until his earthly day had closed for erer, but the sun of his deathless fame shall shine with unclouded splendour co-equal with our history. Penury was the lot of both himself, and his partner, and the voluntary contributions of his admirers, and friends, kept famine away from the door. How often is the same story, the history of genius ! Had he been a de- bauchee, like evratic and gifted Byron, or a drunkard like immortal Burns, or a spendthrift like Goldsmith, then could we not complain if the world did forget ; but of sterling piety — of famous talents — unobtrusive in manners, and toiling as a galley slave for the public weal, in inciting far and near lote of nature, its laws and its Infinite Author, who could have reproached " the old man eloquent," if he had died a misanthropist ? We asked him if he did not think himself neglected by the world. His answer was " I am thankful for all DR. DICK, THE HHirOSOI'nKF'.. 55 mercies; I receive all I deserve." The star of true nobility shone in his breast, planted there by no earthly monarch ; and now he is gazing with unclouded vision on the glories he loved to portray. His writings will have lasting renown, not because of great profundity of thought, but because of chasteness of style, elegance of diction, and endeavours to convey useful knowledge to all minds in such a way, as will lead the reader to contemplate the Fountain of all wisdom in his works. What a contrast do the productions of his pen present to those prurient, and sensational works, of even clever writers, who write immediately for gain, and who are not conductors, but mirrors of public opinion ! Such as the former, are benefactors and the latter, a " delusion and a snare." Those leave us a priceless legacy — and these a fatal moral miasma, which engenders a disease worse than death. The canker worm of this day is that which feeds on these hot-house plants of ideality, de- generated into exaggerated fiction, which is eating away at the heart of pure literature and morality. All honour to those who are stemming the tide. ^m puysiioN. ONE of the wonders of nature is, that of all the forms of the material world, whether the grains of sand on the sea shore, — the crystals of minerals, — the blades of grass, — the drops of dew, — the leaves of the forest, and stranger still, the multitudinous faces of humanity, no two are precisely alike. The same can be said of men's temperaments. Some are so phlegmatic that a bombshell might burst at their ears, and yet they would scarcely wink. Others are almost examples of perpetual motion. They are on the move constantly. To be still would be fatal to their longevity. Some are on the move intermittently. Their actions are spas- modic. They are all fuss, and fury to-day, and all inertia to-morrow. At one time you would think them the lever, which moves the world of society, and at another they are so sluggish that spiders could almost make cobwebs between them and their work. The machine is good in its component parts, but it lacks a balance-wheel to regulate the power, and moderate the jerkiness. Others are slow, regular, and sure. They have a certain jog-trot out of which the crash of the universe, and the general mixing up of all thinj/s, ex rid not spur them iorward or backward. KV are representative men, and seen every day in i ., alks of life. There is the same dissimilarity in minu. Maiy are planning, but never executing. Some are born to execute what others devise. Many draw conclusions, rapidly from fallacious premises, and are thus constantly I'L'NSHON. 57 in trouble through ill-devised schemes, or by being the dupes of cunning cupidity, or of their short-sightedness. Some see glory, and renown, in the merest delusions, and follow the glimmering of every will-o'-the-wisp, which blinks over treacherous bogs, and through the murky darkness. Many love reflection, not only on the stories of memorial incidents, but, also, on the rich fields of imagination, or in abstraction, and the phenom- ena of the mind, chew the cud o( sweet content. Others revel in the beauties of external nature. 'J'hey live in the world of sensation, and perception. They see love- liness in every dew-drop, and the meandering and singing rivulet — in the humming-bird drinking ambrosia from every opening flower, and in every lark, with burnished wings, singing its matin song over the flowery lea ; — in every insect which builds its cozy " biggin " constructs its battlements, parapets, minarets, halls and thorough- fares, on the sunny side of some miniature hillock, or in the folds of a tropical plant — in every diamond which sparkles on the brow of beauty, and in every planet which adorns the face of night, resplendent in glory, and marching in starry paths to " the music of the spheres," — in the outlines of animal, and vegetable life, fossilized in the petrified sands of time, and in the living form and face divine of humanity ; and hear not only music in the choristers of the grove, but also in the glorious strains of anthems, and oratorios, and chants, and hymnal melodies. Thcbe see with ecstasy the paint- er's cunning on the canvass, or the sculptor's genius on the block f marble. They live, they do not vegetate.. They read the book of nature, startling, voluminous,. 58 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. and beatific in every page, with quickening pulse, bcam- ming eye, and gladdened heart. The more perfect man is he, who grasps in intellection both the subjective, and objective, — the substantive in soul, and the material in external nature, and who travels in wonder, and delight* subdued and sanctified, through the labyrinths of na- ture's great metropolis. Many have minds so consti- tuted as to be incapable to analyze subjects of thought. They never use the scalpel, to probe and cut into mys- tery. They fear to draw aside the veil, which hides the known from the unknown. They climb the tree of knowledge, as tar as others have climbed it, and they only scan the landscape, which others had explored before them. They push their shallops from the shore, and follow in the wake of more daring explorers. They step upon the continent of partially explored human thought, but they have no inspiration, to them there is " a pent up Utica :" but the ardent lover after truth, — the impetuous adventurer in quest of unknown regions — the fiery soldier on the advanced skirmish-line of those \vno do, and dare, and die, in the battles of science, md truth, knov/s no fear, and is never dis- couraged by disaster. What a theme is that of human- ity' What a strange creation is man ! " Ah ! what a motly multitude. Magnanimous and mean." I'rom this it might be inferred that diflierent minds looking upon nature, would naturally, by their idiosyn- crasies, have multifarious ways in communicating their thoughts to others, by words, and gesture, and expres- sion. 1 lie voluble tongue, or the ready pen, in every accent, i the /iUer outlines speakers abstract and rich a,ineal o powerful on the St Thew well as tl oration, ii of passio necessary rigid inve longs Pui he is remj nor as a mediocrit he has p< and whicl resources, be they fe certainly 1 have felt i Punshoi He is bro£ PUNSHON. 59 accent, and in ever> word, photographs the orator, or the litterateur. These are the exuvics which show the outlines of the modes of thought. Many writers and speakers delight in giving expressions to bare facts, and abstract thought, without adornment. Metaphor, simile^ and rich imagery, are to such " love's labor lost." Such a^^peal only to the intellectual in our being. The most powerful writer, or speaker, is he who plays skilfully on the strings of the harp of our nature. The word picturing has a response in the soul, as well as the severe logic. The embellishment of the oration, is the setting of the jewel. The verbal coloring of passions, emotions, desires, and sensations, is as necessary to fill the void of the insatiable mind, as the rigid investigation of metaphysics. To this class be- longs Punshon. He is not an extraordinary man, but he is remarkable. He is not as an orator, i^ar excellence, nor as a composer, unrivalled, out, he is far alcove mediocrity. He is not unique in his superiority, but, he has peculiarities not found among his compeers, and which command attention. He has husbanded his resources, and used them well, and be they many, or be they few, the talents have not been buried, and certainly have yielded abundant returns. He seems to have felt the force of the poet's song : " 1 gave thee of my seed to sow ; Returns thou me an hundred fold ; Can I look up with face aglow ; And answer Father here is gold." Punshon is above medium height, and of full habits. He is broad-shouldered, and has a short neck, with 6o PEN PHOTiiRAPHS. well-developed muscles, and might be taken by a stranger for a well-to-do, healthy, prosperous, and happy farmer. His face is lull and florid, yet, the facial an- gularities, are well defined, and although rounded off, they are still prominent. The nose is thin throughout its whole extent. The nostrils are large, and expansive- The eyes are small and twinkling, with an undefinable funniness, and a sly roguish sparkle about them, which indicate a measure of humour, running over. The brows overhang them considerably, and have appended to their lower margin, eyelids thick and large. The mouth is large, but not expressive, as the manner of some mouths are by nature, and the teeth — well, the day is past to characterize their beauty in any one. The fore- head is retiring from before backwards, and it also re- cedes rapidly laterally towards the crown, but, it is wide at its base, and there is a considerable space from the ear to the front of it, indicating a brain above the ave- rage, in the intellectual part, if bumpologisis are to be believed. The hair is slightly curly and may have been auburn in earlier days. The temperament seems to be nervo-sanguine. He stoops slightly, as too many clergy- men, and literary men do, from the execrable habit of crouching, or stooping in writing, which many of them indulge in, and thus contract the lungs, and squeeze life out in the desperate struggle to keep it in. There is nothing striking about Punshon as a whole, and yet if we met him in the street, he would catch the eye by means of the faculty, which I may be allowed to call intuitive selection. His gestures in speaking are few ; consisting principally of a sudden stretching out of the PUNSKON. 6r right-arm, or occasionaliy a sudden elevation of both hands simultaneously, duringthe delivery of the pathetic, and devotional passages of a lecture. He indulges in no violent gesticulation, nor in contortions of the face. He seems to eschew the power of action, and trusts to the inherent work of his composition, rather than to an animated delivery. I must not be understood as insin- uating that he is destitute of vivacity in speec'n, or flexi- bility of voice in speaking, or that he is a stoic, and di?:- plays no more emotion than a statue, for that is not my meaning. He has those positive qualities of speech, and voice, and expression, so necessary to orators, but not in a superlative degree. His en'^nciation is distinct. Every syllable is pronounced, and every word and sen- tence is kept apart from its fellows. The fulcrum words of clauses and sentences are slightly emphasized, as those which give momentum to the whole. He does not confine himself to simple Anglo-Saxon words, but seems to have a fondness for classical terms, or at least for those which are Anglicised. I do not say there is a redundency of such, but they are frequently used. His style is climacteric) and in thi'- respect Guthrie and he are alike. Spurgeon's force, a a Bcecher's ab;o, are of the epigrammatic kind. They will give a {q.\\ words or sentences hissing hot. incisive, and pierceing as a rifle- bullet. They go directly to the m:irk witliout circum- locution, and without verbal profusion. Punshon has a style which is cumulative, and abounds in figurative language. He seems to delight in an intensity of color- ing, in the grand personages of his tableaux. Like the snow-ball which begins its motion no larger tlian a boy's 62 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. marble, on the top of the Alps, and gathers size, and | power, as it goes, until the avalanche becomes irresist- ible, so he goes from one word picturing to another 1 dashing the colors on with a lavish brush, here, there, and yonder, until the portraiture is complete. He climbs the hill of antithesis, step by step, until one oi| the peaks are gained, higher by far than its fellow-crags, and from its brow oi eternal sunshine a glorious pro | spect opens to the view. Herein is Punshon's forU. coupled with elegant language, neatly fitted together] The voice is husky and far from pleasant in its tones, but that is soon forgotten in the surging tidal waves o;| beautiful rhetoric. His eloquence is that of a minor Cicero, not so much stirring as pleasing, not the heroic! but the charming, not the rousing, but musical, and not the thrilling, and soul-harrowing, but the soothinn anodyne, which does not so much stimulate to acts of noble daring, as allay the maddening and guilty fears oi awakened consciences, by pointing out a way of escape, The outpourings of eloquence are like the murmuring and rippling stream, flowing in silvered beauty through! domestic scenery, sylvan shades, dreamy dales, andl misty plains. There are a few majestic cataracts, in; petuous cascades, overtopped by grand old grey crags, the eyrie of the eagle, or dark green pines moaning the | requiem of departing time in the birthplace of the leni fiest. The smooth flowing notes of a rhythmal chonis are there, but seldom or ever the battle scenes of a grand Oratorio. When Cicero delivered his orations, the Roman people cried out smilingly, " What a beautitul speaker." When Demosthenes uttered, in irony most FUNSHON. 6^ bitter, in sarcasm the most cutting, and in invactive thrice heated in patriotic ardour, and hostility, his Phil- ippics against the Macedonian king, the Greeks forgot their heart-burnings, jealousies, and minor dissensions, under the scathing words of the impetuous orator, and raised to the highest point of daring, the sound of multitudinous voices rent the air, and above the loudest plaudits, rose the battle cry " Let us go and fight Philip.'' The two orators were lypes of two classes of men, different in temperament, education, and high resolve, but, each had a vocation to fill in this respect. Punshon has doubtless taken great pains to perfect his lectures, especially, those delivered in Canada, and which were originally spoken in Exeter Hall, London. As the painter or sculptor perfects his work by degrees, and by great pains-taking, and skill, makes the figures almost instinct with life in appearance, so has he amended, re- vised, and corrected his creations, until they become models of good taste, and faultless execution. We are surprised, however, how one of so much versatility in style, is satisfied with the iteration, and reiteration of the same lectures. Ordinary mortals would find them wearisome at least, and to avoid the cloying taste, would seek in new explorations of thought, a field of excite- ment, of expansion, and investigation. An old story loses to the reciter its novelty and power in much re- petition, and thus blunted in pungency, and force, and pathos. Not so with Punshon, he tells the oft-told truths, with the same earnestness and beauty, as when first penned, and it matters not to him if his lecture is forestalled by the enterprising printer, and ilie audience f ^4 T'KN PHO'l'iKlR XPItS. f I in possession oi the whole discourse in pamphlet form, 'he delivers his address with the same unction, unabashed and undismayed. I do not think that his mind is en- dowed with the analytical in an eminent degree. His •lectures and sermons do not show it. He possibly will never excel in dissecting concrete truths, and in unravel- ling mystery, but, he will build a goodly structure on a foundation, which others have laid, with material of his own devising, like Le Place on the substratum laid down by Newton in his Principia, or like the busy bee, he gathers honey from the flowers everywhere, and gives to the world a rich verbiage, pleasant to the taste, if not unique to the understanding. Such men belong to no one church in reality, but, to humanity at large. They are net perfect in style, composition, or delivery. Who is ? Their sphere of useiulness is contracted by no walls of sectional partition, and although they do not reach the height of elocutionary transcendentalism, nor the depth of a cold and logical materialism, nor the pseudo-profound lore of rationalism, nor the circumfer- ence of brilliant talent, and striking genius, yet, in all enobling qualities, they stand Sauls, head and shoulders ■above their fellows, in the entirety of manhood, and stride with gigantic steps, in the van of rhetorical influ- ence, What a contrast suclv men are to the vast majority of public speakers! This age is one marked for its much speaking, from after dinner rhapsodies over the "flowing bowl " to the trashy political effort in the forum, and from the "them is my sentiments" of the stump orator, delivered to gaping rustics, to the classic •and icebergiau frigidity of the polished monitor, whose ■"UNSHOff. «S predilections may be clwr , ■ studded as with planetar^ Tn, ^ ^ **""'' "'>'• ^nd of a northern clime. We IfllTl ■""' '°'<' « ">at in his beneficence gives to the 11 '"t ^""«'"y warm numan hearts and J. l"^"' "''•°'« "Ofds ■" ^"oicest phrases, sW "i: X' hT^!-'' -"""'eO of^ our nature. '' roundly the " better angels ■ f VIRGINIA AND ITS BATTLE FIELDS IN 1864. DURING the Campaign of 1864, the principal armies of the North and South were in a life and death struggle, between Washington and Richmond. The head and front of the rebellion were there, and all knew, if they were crushed, the body must fall into decay. The army of the Potomac, and the army of Virginia, had been for three years watching each other, with lynx-eyes, like skilful pugilists, now and then giving a blow, in order to ascertain the weak, and strong points of one another. With the exception of the first battle of Bull's Run, the Southern army of Virginia had only one general, but not so with the army of the Potomac, it had been commanded by general after general, ap- pointed primarily through the ill-advised importunities of the press, or the frenzied clamour of the mob, or ignorant public opinion, such being unable to judge as to the cap- abilities of the army, on the the one hand, and of the difficulties to contend with, in the face of a wily foe, on the other. The American people expected more from this army than any other in the field, yet, strange to say, it had ruined the reputation of nearly every general who commanded it, and who had been victorious every- where else. It had fought the foe, on many a well con* tested field, and had thundered twice at the portals of Richmond, butthe goal seemed as faroff as ever. Braver men never lived, and died, as the graves behind them testify, yet a strange fatality dogged their footsteps, VIRGINIA AND ITS BATTLEFIELDS. 67 leaving on all sides a trail of blood. This army knew, and the whole world knew, that on it chiefly depended the success of the union cause. In the Spring of 1864, there was a final gathering of the soldiery for a deter- mined march to Richmond, or rather to annihilate Lee's army, and scatter its remnants to the four winds of heaven. Meade had been partially successful at Get- tysburg, and to him was entrusted the army of the Potomac proper, consisting of the 2nd, 5th, 6th and 9th corps : the ist and 3rd being merged into the 2nd and 5th corps. On the ist of May the 9th corps> commanded by Gen. Burnside, lay at Annapolis as if ready to embark for distant service, the remaining three were camped in front of Lee, between the Rapidan and Rappahannock. At this time there was concentration everywhere. Butler, who failed in the South, was re- called to occupy Bermuda-Hundreds, at the confluence of the James and Appomattox rivers, in the rear of Richmond. Gen. Gillmore was recalled from before Charleston, to harass the enemy, on the Peninsula, and at Suffolk. Gens. Crook, and Averell, and Sigel, were to occupy with a firm hand Western Virginia, while Sherman and Thomas were to harass the enemy in the south-west, assisted by Banks at Mobile. The plan was good, but was badly spoiled in the execution. Banks suddenly left Mobile intact, and went on a wild- goose chase, up Red River, and was badly beaten, leav- ing Sherman to meet a concentrated enemy single- handed. Sigel, who was expected to clear the Shen. andoah Valley of the enemy, and knock at the western gates of Richmond, was himself sent pellmell down the 68 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. i vaUey of humiliation into Harper's Ferry, and such im- petus had he gathered in his downward, and back-ward course, that Maryland had to receive in dismay, his body guard, and the disjecta membra of his army. The failure of these armies loosed Lee's hands in the South, and enabled him to concentrate in front of Washing- ton. Breckenridge was recalled from the Shenandoah, Finnegan from Florida, Beauregard from Charleston, Pickett from North Carolina, and Buckner from West- ern Virginia. The destination of Burnside was a puzzle to all but those in high command. When he broke up his camp, some thought he was on the way to Washing- ton — others that he would sail up the Rappahannock, or the James, or the York, to unite with the forces under Butler ; but after the review of his troops by Lincoln, — especially the negro division of the 9th corps, which was going to certain victory, or to sure death, tor after the cold-blooded butcheries of Fort Pillow, Ply- mouth, and Milliken's Bend, no quarters were asked^ and none given — Burnside suddenly appeared with Meade on the Rapidan. At this time Gen. Grant was made commander-in-chief, and took direct command of the army of the Potomac Speculation was rife as to what he would do, to dislodge Lee, from his entrench- ment. Would he walk, like Pope, into the very jaws of the lion, and shareJithe same fate ? Would he move by his right toward the mountains of Blue Ridge, and force Lee to retreat, or give battle on the left of his fortifications ? Or would he make a sudden dash on Fredericksburg, and cross the river there, bristling with guns, and swarming with men ? None could tell, but VIRGINIA AND ITS RATTLE FIELDS. 69 all saw that the huge belligerent was drawing up slowly its mammoth legs for a move, and consequently every rumour was listened to, t\ try fa ma clamosa had believ- ers, and every man, in the teeming camp, was on the qui vive. The rebel army lay at Orange Court House, nearly west of the wilderness, with Clark Mountain in his rear, — a capital point for observation. At dawn, on the 3rd of May, all hypothesis were put at rest, and the first act in the bloody drama had commenced. On the flanks, the Ely, and Germania fords were crossed by Gregg's, and Wilson's cavalry, followed respectively by the 2nd, 5th, and 6th corps. The roads were dry, and clouds of dust obscured the light of the sun, that looked of a blood-red colour. Grant's intention was to slip suddenly round Lee's right, his stereotyped tac- tics, and already part of Grant's army had passed him. He had no wish to fight then, but Lee saw his oppor- tunity, and putting his army in motion on the 4th, stnick Grant's army about the centre. The time was critical. Grant's reserve artillery, and 8,500 supply waggons were partially exposed. Think of it : one hundred waggons with four mules reach a mile, that would make 85 miles of a train ! His lines were neces- sarily attenuated but fight he must, for he was marching along one side of an isosceles triangle, and Lee along the other, and at the apex a collision of contending forces must take place. Were it not for his train Grant could have passed the dangerous pcint, but now it was too late. He wheels his forces towards the West, and prepares for battle. Burnside was left at the Rippj, hannock to cover the Capital until such time as Lee 70 PEN I'HOTOGRAl'HS. was sufTiciently employed, to attempt a diversion to- ward Washington, on the evening of the 4th, however, he was on the march to join the army. The wilderness is not a barren, open waste, but is full of clumps of oaks* cedars, and stunted pines, interspersed at long intervals, by small farm-steads. Here the first blow was given. At the Wilderness tavern, on the Stevensburg plank road, the Northern army came in contact with Ewell's brigade, and soon Hill's, and Longstreet's corps joined in the issue. The woods, and stream and ravines per- vented both armies from making simultaneous advan- ces, but still there was continuous fighting of the most desperate character. The fusilade rattled along the front, as if a monster piano, sadly out of tune, was being played by unskilful hands, and in the interludes of piping bullets, roared and bellowed, the still more discordant cannon. In clumps of bushes, by the run- ning brooks, in sequestered dales, the stri;ggle went on intermittingly, and spasmodically. There were no general advances, in lines or by columns, in battle's magnificent array, but a sort of indecisive attempt on either side, to gain time, and to feel each other's strength. Thus Thursday passed away. On Friday Lee felt he had before him a serious work, and he knew that Grant, by tactics not often resorted to in the face of an enemy, was attempting to make an advance by cutting loose his connections from Washington, and withdraw- ing corps after corps, from his right, and placing them on his left, thus making an advance laterally. Lee attempted to spoil this game by making a formidable VIRGINIA AND ITS HATTLEblKLOS. n advance on Grant's right as this movement was in transitu. He fell, like a thunderbolt, upon Rickett's division of the 6th corps, and captured Gen. Seymour, and a portion of his brigade. The reverse however was only temporary, for the marching troops turned to the rescue of their comrades and drove back the enemy. All Friday, and Saturday mornings, the fighting was very severe ; 260,000 men were struggling for the mastery. From morning dawn, to morning dawn, with the exception ot a few hours at midnight, blood flowed like water. The outline of six miles of conflict- ing men could be seen from almost any elevation, by the dense clouds of gun-powder smoke, at one time settling down sulkily upon the tree tops, and at another driven up into the blue expanse by the passing breeze —and also from the cheers and counter-cheers heard now, far in advance, and anon very near, as the bloody tide ebbed and flowed, leaving behind it the usual debris of human misery, laceration, woe, and death, On Saturday morning five miles of wheeled ambu. lances wended along, a melancholy train, to Fredericks- burg. About II o'clock, a.m., Lee began to retreat and in so doing threw himself squarely in front of Grant, therefore. Grant had the disadvantage of being compelled to take circuitous marches, while Lee had a direct road. The one had to make arcs of circles, in every advance, while the other retreated on the chords of these arcs. At Spottsylvania, Lee offered partial battle, on the banks of the Po, and the Ny. On Satur- day, the 7th, Gen. Gregg, and Gen. Fitz Hugh Lee had met, and had a short, but sharp cavalry contest- 72 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. On the 9th the 5 th corps were in hot pursuit, when ic was suddenly checked by Ewell, and Longstreet, and thrown back in considerable confusion on the 6th corps. It rallied however, and the two corps chagi^ned at this reverse, drove the enemy, with considerable viffif to his onginal position. Next morning, Tuesday the loth, Grant advanced, determined to force the enemy from his strong position, and from morning to noon, the whole of both armies were engaged in mortal coHibat. This country is marshy and more open, and consequently, artillery was oftener brought into requis- ition. Here colunms advancing to the attack with fixed bayonets, in open fields, or in treacherous morass, were unexpectedly met by grape, and canister ; there dense bodiesof men were nearly deciminate by explodingshells, coming down in sixes, and sevens at a time, and hurtling solid, serrated fragments in perfect showers, whistling, and singing, i nd howling, like fiends, a weird requiem song over the /i'^ng, and the dead. Still no ground was gained, by eithei army. The rebel outer works were carried, by a division of the 6th corps, about 2 o' clock. p.m., but the place was made too hot for them m con- sequence of an enfilading fire by the rebels. There was very little fighting on the 11 th, but on the 12th hostil- ities commenced, and just at the break of day, Birney's and Barlow's divisions, silently and stealthily like a beast of prey, bore down on the enemy, gathered up as if it were a gossamer, the enemy's picket line, and on the run, plunged into the enemy's encampment, capturing Gens. Stewart and Johnston, at breakfast, three thousand men, twenty cannon, and ten standards, VIRGINIA AND ITS BATTLEFIELDS. m In a few minutes this coup d dat was completed, amid cheers and defiant yells. This unexpected assault, was the prelude to a general battle. The 9th corps ad- vanced to profit by the capture. Longstreet was brought forward to recover lost ground. From these sections of the army the strife spread, until by 9 o'clock a.m., the fighting was general, and for fifteen hours it con. tinued without intermission. The pertinacity, obstinacy and valor, of both sides, had no equal in any battle of the war. There were charges and counter charges, sudden assaults and ambuscades ; a perpetual belching of hundreds of cannon, and an unceasing din of fire- arms, voices, shouts, shrieking, wailing, moaning, mut- tering delirium, curses the m'^st bitter, aud laconic im- precations more pointed than polite. This medley made from day break, to late in the evening, an uproar indes. cribable. The combatants heard it, and felt it, and despatches, the symbols of human sorrow, were sent trom out the field ot blood, to all tl e Republic every (!?y, as sail messages, that were telling the widow, and' the fatherless, and the fair maidtn, that a vast holocaust had numbered their loved ones among the victims of a bloody oblation. " The flowers of the forest were a' wede away." At night Grant had only advanced 1.200 yards, in spite of the most persistent efforts ; but the position was so advantageous to the Union troops, that Lee deemed it prudent to withdraw his army during the darkness. It had tought bravely, but was fast be- coming decimated. For the first time it assumed the form of a semi-circle, with its convexiiy to the foe ; 74 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. somewhat like Meade's army on Cemetery Hill, Get tysburg. From the 12th to the i8th there was only skirmishing, but sometimes so heavy as topartake of the nature of miniature battles. On the 19th, Ewell ■made a sudden attack on the rear-right of Grant's army, and gained sorre advantage, but it was only a feint to cover Lee's retreat to the North Anna. Grant followed sharply, driving the enemy from a strong po- sition on the banks of the Mattapony, and then made another attempt to swing round Lee's right. This brought about a heavy artillery fire, and a severe cavalry engagement at Bethesda Church, the Shelton House, and Coal Harbour, within about 18 miles of Richmond. Cannon opened upon cannon, only about 200 feet apart. In the charges of cavalry, friends and foes became commingled in the whirlwind of strife, and then hand to hand encounters took place without order and without discipline, but Lee held his ground, for he knew that another move towards the Capital would be demoralizing to his troops, and would put Richmond in jeopardy. He was reinforced at this time by South Carolina troops, as was also Grant, by the 1 8th Corps under General Smith Still, notwith- standing these additions, of about 20,000 men each, both armies were weaker than they were 0.1 the Rapidan. The losses could not be far from 60,000 men, killed and wounded, since the beginning of he Campaig'. Grant made another flank movement, but, this time backward along the road that McClellan took near by Malvern Hill, thence to Bermuda-Hundred, cossing the James river, at City Point, and, by rapid marches, VIRGINIA AND IT.-. BATTLK I-IELD.S. 75 attempted to capture Petersburg, in the rear of Rich- mond — break up the railroads — stop the supplies — and adopt precisely the same tactics which secured to him Vicksburg. A blundering cavalry general failed to throw himself between Petersburg, and Richmond, and cut the railroad. Butler, with characteristic ob- stinacy, ignorance, and jealousy, maintained that most disastrous of all positions for that army, in the field, — a "masterly inactivity" — and while Grant was trans- porting his army across the James River, Butler al- lowed the golden hours to slip away, and the conse- quence was, Lee stood face to face, with Grant, on the new field of operations. Both armies, completely jxh ernumeraries, sutlers, baggage, &c., were sent to the rear. All night long there was a steady stream of soldiers marching to the left. 4.000 men, VIRGINIA AND ITS KATTLE FIELDS. 77 through pine woods, and over ruined plantations, and as we lay sleeping in the shelter o^ a dwarfed rose tree, our naps were often disturbed by the rattling scabbards of cavalry, or the voices of officers of intan- try, in sotto voce tones, giving command to passing col- umns. As the 27th October dawned a regular ad- vance was made alcng the -whole line. The excite- ment was intense, for if Lee was caught napping, and we could take possession of the railroads, the beleag- uered city was doomed, and that too, in 48 hours. As mile after mile was marched over, and not a solitary shot fired, we beajan to think that we would find deserted camps. Congratulations were being ex- changed on the probability, after six miles of a hitherto terra incognita had been left behind, and the south- [ side railway and its extemporaneous branches almost ; in sight ; but we were too hasty in our conclusions, for at half-past ten o'clock, a. m., far to the left was heard a heavy fusilade accompanied by the occa- sional boom of ordnance. The firing became heav- ier and nearer, until immediately in our front and oat of the bowels of a marsh, belched forth a furious sheet of flame, and sung in close proximity, the rifle bullet as if the air was pregnant with death, and un- earthly sounds. We soon realized the fact that we had not stiuck a thin skirmish line, but rather the well-posted army of Lee waiting our approach. The day was spent in vain attempts to pierce that line, jand although we were at times partially successful, yet the battle of Hatcher's Run was fought with a loss of 4,000 men, and ''Richmond was not taken." We 7* TLN rHOTOGRAFHS. retreated to the old camp. The wounded suffered severely during the night. A cold rain commenced to pelt unpiteously, in the early part of the evening, and continued all night. The dripping forest, the sighing of the wind through the pines, the inky darkness, and the moans of the wounded, lying on the ground, or being carried by on stretch&s, were enough to make humanity shudder, and curse that exciting cause which loaded the air with groans, and the earth with corpses, and hung a pall of mourning, over many a disconsolate household for those that were "nevermore" on earth. Many a Rachel, during those few months, had been weeping for her children, who have left not even a record behind, " Their memory and their name are gone ; Alike unknowing and unkown." The newspapers told us of brilliant charges — of in- domitable courage — ot j^lorious deeds — of our names being inscribed on the scroll of fame, and of being held in a grateful remembrance by a loving country. With the words ringing in our ears, and home and dear ones cosily kept in some " nook or cranny " of our hearts, we jump into the breach and are Samsons among heroes. Well, take up that lantern from the operating table, — don't stumble over those arms' and legs yet warm and quivering — nor slide and fall in those slippery pools of gore, nor mutilate with your heels those bodies which breathed their last in the surgeon's hands ; come out into the darkness and the forest. To the right are other lights flickering, and VIRGINIA AND ITS BATTLE FiLLDS. 79. falig le parties are on the search. *'Will you please come here," we hear a voice feebly cry ; a gray-haired man of nearly 60 years of age is lying by a tree wounded. liifi right foot has been torn away by a piece of shell, and he has tied up the stump with the lining of his coat. Fifty yards farther on is a group of wounded and dead— about ten. A shell had burst in the mids of a company, and this was the result: three died; one dying ; one with his jaw broken, and one of his thighs torn ; one with his chest torn, gasping for breath ; another lying, with concussion of the brain, bya blow frora a partially spent fragment of a shell, and two others disabled from sundry wounds, and all this misery from one exploded missile. The ambulances are brought, and these are tenderly cared for by members of the Christian and Sanitary Commissions. We plunge farther into the forest, and hear through the storm some one singing a ribald song. Strange sound and surely a strange place for such hilarity. Let us go and rebuke him for his profanity. Here he lies by a decayed log, with his face to the heavens, gazing intently on the tree tops, nor does he heed our approach. Fair hair clotted with blood is hanging over his forehead. The skull is fractured and the torn brain is slowly oozing out on his temple. "He knows not, hears not, cares not what he does.'^ Yonder are two soldiers of the 2nd corps carrying a wounded sergeant on a stretcher. He is also delirious and singing in low plaintive tones, " Rally round the flag, boys," A wail comes from a thicket down a deep So PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. ravine, and there lies the living among the dead. A wounded man, makes a pillow of a dead companion, and at his feet are remains of another body. A vacant stare — a gasping cry for water, — a twitching of the muscles, and all is over. A tree is turned up by the roots, and in its sheltering cavity lies a Frenchman, raving like a madman, with the loss of both legs. He jerks out, snatches of the Marsaillese Hymn, inter- mingled with quotations from Corneille, and those of street doggerel ballads. Reason is dethroned, and death has marked its victim. Over the marsh, are found commingled both friends and foes. The brother- hood of a common misery binds the wounded together now. No reproaches, no taunts, and no invectives, break in upon the groans, yells and moanings, which fill, with expressive discord, the midnight air. The knees, arms, feet and faces of hastily buried dead, of past struggles had been, by the recent rains, washed into sight, ghastly evidences of mortality ; and " This is glory, this is fame." But why need we give details of such common scenes. " The night after the battle," when the sum total is reached, and all gathered into one hospital, then we have some idea of the untold horrors of such mutilated men, being nights and days uncared for, thirsty, hungry and faint, yet it is wonder- ful how indifferent men become to danger. We visited the trenches many a time on duty, and were often astonished at the reckless exposure of those on guard. Behind earthworks only three feet in height, were posted a continuous line of men about six feet apart, some were firing a sort of feu de Joie, at an imaginary VIRGINIA AND ITS BATTLE FIELDS. 8i enemy — ii no real foe appeared — while others were killing time, by play .ng cards, and improvised chequers, " fox and geese " &c., for a change, and crouching in all imaginable postures. This outpost was only about two hundred feet from similar works by the Southrons. We never did as much crawling on all fours since we were born, and never produced as much abrasion of the cuticle of our knees, and elbows, since the days of hunting eggs under the barn, or climbing the trees after birds' nests, as we did in the neighbourhood of Forts Stedman, Sedgwick, and " The Sisters." If a man wishes to have peculiar sensations running like currents of electricity along the spine, let him creep, turtle like, along these parallels, with his back on a level with the top of these defences, and whether he be a coward or not, his ears will be peculiarly sharp when extra bullets are humming over-head, and we predict that he will embrace more fondly than ever his mother earth. When the blood is hot, even a weak-kneed man will perform feats that will astonish himself, but in cold and wet trenches, it needs bull-dog pertinacity, and great endur- ance to finally conquer. The fiery French were une- qualled in an assault, or in the tidal waves of conflict, if not continued until the hot fire burned out • but in long marches, sickness,a continuous struggle, the Anglo- Saxon race has no equal. In the army of .he Potomac the generals knew what to expect from each corps, and division, and brigade,and regiment, by the predominant nationality in these sections of an army. " Birds of a feather", in the long run, manage to get together, and thus taking advantage of peculiar national idiosyncra- 6 f 82 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. cies, the successful commander knew where was dash or doggedness, or obstinacy, or perseverance, and laid his plans accordingly. The army was a sandwich, com- posed of the different strata of bread and meat, and butter, and mustard. Will the reader be please, to draw the inference, and say,to which of these ingredients he would refer the down-east Yankee, the '* bruisers " and " Hammerites " of New York, the •' plug uglies " ot Baltimore, the Dutch of Pennsylvania, the non-descript, of the border states, or the American French, and French Canadians of Illinois? These and a dozen other equally distinct classes of citizens, including 20,000 Canadians, made up the armies ot the great RepubHc. And while, at first, these foreigners had no particular interest, as a whole, in the war and its results, yet, the army of the Potomac had suffered so many reverses, while all its companions in arms were everywhere else victorious, that at last personal chagrin, and repeated disappointment, had given it a sort of desperate courage which at last begot mobilized valour, and finally victory. In 1865, the Hatcher's Run battle was fought over again, and the same movements," over the left," were made, which culminated in the capture of Lee's forces, and that of the long sought for city — the first reduced to 30,000 men, and the other almost a second Moscow, in partial ruins. With the capitulation of the army of Virginia, the war ended. The head was crushed, and the convulsive movements of the body, were only the throes of dissolution. The curtain fell, for the last act in the tragedy was ended. The loss of human life was immense, and from the bombardment of Sumpten VIRGINIA AND ITS liAlTI.E FIKLDS. 83 during which "nobody was hurt," to the surrender at Five Forks, a magnificent army of stalwart, healthy and vigorous men had been swept away, and we venture to predict that the sensible men of the United States, will seriously consider,knowing the severe trials of the past, before they will consent to plunge their country into another war. Power, greed of possessions, lust after conquest, national pride, and envy, may sway and urge to violence, the masses who have nothing to lose, and plunder of booty in prospect, but those, whose homes have been made desolate, or whose possessions have been swept away — or who have to meet by their taxes, the public creditors, with a still more depreciated cur- rency, will be a huge balance-wheel to regulate the spasmodic motive power of the political machine. Like the pommelled and bruised Scotch boys, whose bloody noses and black eyes told of sharp practice in the school ring, and who cried out simultaneously " Gin ye let me alane, I'll let you alane," so may the same wise course be pursued by the late belligerents, and let the dead past bury its dead. Not a spot of ground of the same area as that of Central Virginia, and the environs of Washington has ever been saturated, to the same extent, with human blood, in the same period of time. Not a day dawned for four long years but during its twenty-four hours, life was violently taken in the rifle pits, on the vidette lines, in the skirmish, or in the whirlwind of battle, and scarcely a hill or valley, from Fortress Monroe to the Shenandoah valley, and from Harrisburgh to the South- side Railroad, where there is not now some evidence of IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 V: ;.i M IIM |||||Z2 m 111^ 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ■* 6" ► V] v^ •c*l A y -<^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716! 872-4503 i 6^ (. J " 84 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. I vandalism, rapine, cruelty, and of war-worn tracks of malice, and fiendish destruction to property and life. This was to be expected in a country that had become the theatre of war, but we know ot no land where the besom of vengeance had been so vigorously wielded, and so Tuthlessly unsparingas in proud and aristocratic Virginia, the supposed home of American chivalry. In 1 864 the country was one vast scene of ruin. The fences were gone and the landmarks removed. Where forests once stood in primal grandeur are even now forsaken camps. Where crops luxuriated, and which were never reaped are now myriads of graves, whose inmates are the stal- wart sons of the North, or of the Sunny South, ])ut now festering, rotting, and bleaching in the \vind, the rain, and the sun oi heaven, far away from home, in, and on the clay of the " Old Dominion." The evil-omened raven and buzzard were the only living permanent occupants of the harvest-field. The plough could be seen halfway stopped in its furrow from which the af- frighted husbandman, bond or free,hadfled in terror to gather (it might be) his wife and little ones into a place of shelter. Behind him boomed hostile cannon — bray- ed the hoarse bugle to the charge — clanked the rusty and empty scabbard of the fierce dragoons — rattled the ironed hoof of the war-horse — rolled and vibrated muffl- ed sound of the distant, but ever approaching drums- shrieked the demon shells in their fierce pathway through the heavens — glittered the accoutrements, and bayonets,and shotted guns,of surging masses of humanity, murmured the multitudinous voices of legions of wani- ors " as the sound of many waters"panting for the excite- VIRGINIA AND ITS BAITLE FIELDS. 85 raent and empty honors of battle. Here the poor son ot toiljor servitude had ploughed, or sowed, for himself or for his proud and hard taskmaster, but the Destroyer was mercilessly at his heels. The place that knew him once shall know him no more forever. The verdure ot his homestead is turned into dust. The rural retreat has been despoiled and ravaged of its beauty, and the beautiful gardens, and fields, and magnolia groves are one vast city of the dead — a necropolis — where vorac- ious Mars has burned incense on his gory, reeking and dripping altars. Where love, and youth, and beauty met at trysting hours, then met the bearded heroes of many battles,and the scarred veterans of many a bloody fray. Where once rattled the phaeton of luxury, laden with the flower ot a proud aristocracy, rolled the pond- erous wheels of cannon, or reeking ambulances. Where once rode the gay bridal cortege making hills and val- lies vocal with song, and melody, and glee, charged fie- rce and cruel troopers — who like Attalus left desolation in their train. Where hearthstones once shone in the ruddy ligiit of home, with no bloodstains on the domes- tic hearth, and no ruthless invader to darken its door- lintels ; nor to sit unbidden by its hospitable fire, and unwelcome at its table, were blackened ruins, the monuments of cruelty, sitting solitary in the midst of desolation. Friends and foes alike had disembowelled the proud State, with the long gaunt fingers of rapine, and swept it of every trace of civilization save that of modem warfare. The remorseless and vengeful waves of pitiless conflict had met ; and surged, and dashed, and foamed, in wild fury over its fair landscape, until 96 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS the spectator was almost compelled to believe that he was the victim of a hideous nightmare or some strange phantasm of the brain which time would dispel, and " Like the baseless fabric of a vision Leave not a wreck behind." We are told in classic history that the venerable and noble "^rojan.^neas, stood in the midst of carnage on the way to Mount Ida, as grey dawn began to herald in the day, and saw beneath him Troy in flames, and in the fulness of his heart cried out " Jlliumfuit.^* The proud and noble city has been but shall be no more for- ever. Virginia was the home of a proud, exclusive and haughty race that scorned the Northern men, and wo- men because of their so-called plebeian extraction, and treated the tar South with wonderous ^condescension because of the admixture " of the poor white trash." "Virginianus sum" was to them the same as " Romanus sum" to the Romans, a passport of unusual significance, being an undisputed testimony of noble lineage and " blood." They forgot that the pilgrims of Plymouth rock were puritans, and that the far South was settled by worthy Englishmen, and French Huguenots ; but Virginia was at one time a penal colony and their blood had diffused in it the blood of convicts. In all the fear. iul struggle through which they have passed •' They have sowed the wind and reaped the whirlwind," for the exclusiveness, and hauteur^ of the Virginian patrician have like his ephemeral glory passed pnantom-like away. The sword has cut the Gordian knot. This im- perfect glimpse of Virginia in 1864, is not written for effect, nor is it an idle chimera conjured up by a busy VIRGINIA AND ITS BATTLE FIELDS. »T brain to fill to plethora the pen of fiction, for our heart was sad as the dreadful panorama passed day after day before our vision, and as we contemplated what might be the probable fate of the tens of thousands of young and old, male and female, who were not to be found near their bleak and barren homes, and who were either in theirgraveSjOr standing within the rebel lines, or within the walls of some beleaguered city, we felt that every such household would have had a history, sad, pitiful, and inevitable, the recital of whose woes would wring the most obdurate heart. Comfortable, happy, prosperous, peaceful Canada, does not know but very imperfectly what are th% horrors of war at home. Glory, like a snow ball, gathors greatness the farther it rolls. The soldier's fame is a guerdon that needs to be at our doors in order to know ho^ hollow is the empty bauble, " Religion, freedom, vengeance, what you will, A word's enough, to raise mankind to kill ; Some factious phrase by cunning caught and spread. That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms are fed." We often grumble because of hard times, and failing banks, and fluctuating markets, and commercial pan- ics, and deficient harvests ; such make many men misanthropists, and miserable, drivelling, imbecile grumblers ; but let war ensue, and let the invader cross our borders, and let him for even one short month, bum, plunder, murder, and destroy, with only 100,000 men, and we would think such times as these, halcyon days, and earnestly pray for their return. Not that our sons, and our daughters, would bow the knee to the oppressor, or be recreant to their r een run ^ed with iver, but treacher- k in the crawbd Is to be ire ages, ,s for the nknown- )ciety-'a and the behind, did not all night, as if a" d. The beautiful, ariegated the eye our ice- bound shore ! yet our winters, though cold, are brac- ing, and enjoyable, when we hear the "tintinnabulation of the bells," and feel the hoary north wind coming in his strength. That climate has its beauties, this one its usefulness and that too, in spite of the long dreary hours of winter. I stood, one beautiful Sabbath morning, on one of the peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains. It was in the month of August, 185 1. Far to the westward stretched the Sacramento plains, and the river mean- dering coyly along, and seeming like a silver thread on a back-ground of green, whose undulating sur- face seemed like the ocean swell. To the northward, and eastward, rose in succession, one after another, snowy peaks, crystalized by nature's matchless chemist, — being the accumulations of ages, in His wonder- ful laboratory. I was, as yet, at my elevation, only in the dim, grey dawn ; but these rugged pinnacles were already bathed in a glorious light. Here, fairy, like, the solar rays danced in deepest green — there they reflected ^he dark blue of the ocean — here were all the tints of the rainbow — there was whiteness itself mtensified. Farther up, the mountains appear- ed as if enveloped in one vast conflagration. The red glow, like flames, could be seen with fiery tongues licking up crags of adamant, and at the summit the pure white snow, and glittering ice, were being appar- ently moulded, by the shooting pencils of light, into the most fantastic shapes. Towers and bulwarks, walls and parapets, domes and minarets, mosques and monuments, could be seen for a moment, but the next glance at its dazzling splendour was, 120 PEN PIIOTOCiRAPHS. " Like the snowfall in the river, A moment white, then melts forever.*' The turning of a Kaleidoscope produced no greater transformation of colours, than did the sudden changes of light, before the radiating morning light. I had vainly imagined that no white man had ever scaled the heights where I then stood, but what was my surprise, when turning from gazing on such incompar- able grandeur, and looking on the green-sward beneath my feet, to find that others had scaled the giddy cliffs before me. Not ten yards from where I stood was a grave — not that of an Indian — but the last resting- place of one of our Circassian race. There was the mound, with a rude head-stone of slate, and the name which had been scratched upon it, nearly eflaced. What a lonely death-bed I Who were his pall-bear- ers ? Did he die " unwept, unhonored and unsung ? ' Did any one whisper into his ear affection's latest tribute, or the conforting words of Inspiration? What brought him up to the top of this mount to die ? Had he seen the glories of a rising sun on the distant mountain tops and did they symbolize to him the gates and streets and walls of the New Jerusalem? Were his last thoughts those which cheer many in the dark hour — mother, home and Heaven ? I sat with wet eyes and in almost unconscious reverie near this isolated grave-yard, and unburdened my feelings in the following rhyme, when about to leave for ever. This simple monument of death, Far, far, away from haunts of men. JOTTINGS BY THE WAY. 121 Proclaims that mortals' fleeting breath, Exhales on mountain, lake or plain. Can no one tell whom thou has been ? Nor miss thee on a distant hearth ? Have wild flowers clothed thy grave so green, Yet none remember thee on earth ? Perhaps the tearless stranger stood, ^ To see the last convulsive throe ; And then with hand and heart as rude, .Consigned him to the dust below. Or Indian fierce with fiendish smile, Up-raised his hand, and laid him low, Then savage-like he seized the spoil, And heeded not the tale of woe. Conflicting warriors may stain With gore the green sod o'er his head. Exulting yells may fill the plain — Insatiate rapine rob the dead. Rude storms may shake Nevada's top. And lightnings flash in vales below. Earthquakes may rend the granite rock, Hid far beneath eternal snow. But 'tis no matter, he will lie. As quietly in that mountam bed, Where sturdy pines a requiem sigh, As if among his kindred dead. The mountains are covered far up with dwarf oaks, and pines. On the coast range of mountains, and between them, and the sea is a peculiar wood, called from its colour, redwood. In its general appearance 122 I'KN PHOTOGRAPHS. (fti it closely resembles cedar. It is durable and light. and grows not only to an immense size, but also to a fabulous height. It is said often to be in length 300 feet. It is generally found growing in clumps, as if the tree were gregarious. During the winter, there aro often months of rain, not continuously, but inter mittently, the sun like a shy maiden often slyly show ing its face, and as often hiding it behind the clouds keeping the labourer, like a lover, between hopes and fears. During the summer months there is no rain and no dew, and although the heavens seem iron, and the earth brass, yet, the valleys do not lose their ver dure, nor even the ever-green oaks their summer garb yet the hills looked parched, and were it not for a slender grass that grows under difticulties, the rising ground would appear very barren indeed. Cattle and horses prefer this pin grass, to grain, and fatten well on its nutritious fibres, and, what is remarkable about it is, that the first showers in autumn kill it. It has fulfilled its destiny, by the law of compensation, and gives way to more luxuriant foliage, but its seeds have been sown to produce, from the vital germ, the neces- sary grasses for the ensainir year. The birds in this country never migrate frorii these semi-tropics. The groves are made vocal all the year round, with the notes of the curlew, the piping quail, the coquettish robin, and the plaintive cooing of the mourning doves. The ubiquitous blackbird revels in fields of wild oats, or native rice, and refuses to expatriate him- self, sensible bird that he is, from the extensive plains to the south of the mines, especially the Yulare plains, JOrriNCS BY THE WAY. 123 and those on the banks of the San Joaquin. Mus- tang ponies roamed at hnye over almost boundless plains. Here they have been indisputed masters for centuries. When they stampede they form into- lines, and are as resistless as the charge* of a squadron, of cavalry. •' With flowing tail, and flying mane, With nostrils never stretched by pain, ^ Mouths Bloodless to the bit or rein ; s And feet that iron never shod ; And flanks unscarred by spur or rod, A thousand horses — the wild, the free — ' '' Like waves that follow o'er the sea — Came thickly thundering on." A^o7i', I am told where wild beasts, or desolation reigned, are teeming thousands tilling the soil ; where the wild horse, and the grizzly bear, and cayote wolf, revelled in the luxuries of nature's bountiful table, the inexorable march of civilization has caused them to suddenly forsake their old haunts, and retire to mountain fastnesses, far from the busy haunts ot men ; where the rude wooden plough, the clumsy cart, and adobe huts, and wigwams were the order of the day, now crash through the virgin soil, the glittering plough- share ot' New England — now roll over the plains, and mountains, the symmetrical and iron girt wheels, and to the right and left are seen the cosy dwellings of an affluent, tasteful, and contented yeomanry. The thrashing machines, reapers, and mowers, atid.^ manufactories, resound through the length and breadth of this favoured land, where the clang of the shoveL ■TIM 124 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. and the pick, swung by miners 's brawny arms, were the only sound of human industry, and where their shining tents showed them to be only the pilgrims of a day. Gold has often been the curse of individuals, and of nations, but California, Australia, and British Columbia, by the impetus given to immigration thither, on account ot these auriferous deposits liave become wealthy, and densely settled countries, which might have remained for many long years in primal gran- deur, in partial obscurity, and in comparative in- significance. All hail ! ever resistless Anglo-Saxon ! 11 THE ANGLO-SAXON IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. IT was said by Ccesar "that he could conquer nations, but he could not conquer tongues.'' This statement was true, as it regarded the language of the Ancient Britons. Our brave forefathers des- pised the Roman Conquerors, and spurned their classic language. The British chiefs sent their sons to Gaul, to be instructed by the orators, and law- givers among the Teutons. Tacitus tells us "that the Britons were instructed by wise Gauls, although en- couraged to study Latin by the Conquerors ;" but Juvenal, in one of his satires, declares that they re- fused to do so. After a time, however, the Latin was used as an auxiliary to the Gothic, and this innova- tion was adopted in succession by the Saxons, Nor- mans, French, and Ancient Greeks. The sum total of this influx of words, idioms, and expressions, in- cluding the ancient Gothic, is the English language. No Briton, or British American, can, in the present day, lay claim to being an accomplished English scholar, who does not understand thoroughly his mother tongue, and,to some extent, the different roots from whence it sprung. The English language is now spoken in all the habitable globe, and is spreading rapidly among nationalities, that owe no allegiance to the British crown, but who feel the mighty in- 326 PKN PHOTOGRAPH? :flaence of that power extending " from sea to sea — from the rising to the setting sun, and from the river to the ends of the earth." We will endeavour briefly to show how much of our language is Anglo-Saxon, and to how great an extent its beauty and force de- pend upon the primary elements of the language. We have not space to notice those classes of words which have sprung from the Anglo Saxon, but have passed through numerous mutations, until their orginality is to a great extent lost, but we will notice those P^nglish words only, which are themselves Saxon, pure and simple, or are immediately derived from the Anglo-Saxon. Those foreign words which enter into the formation of our language, add very much to its beauty, bat, as yet, they do not hold a foremost place. They are the frescoes, capitals, cornices and general decorations of the majestic temple, but the substratum, walls, and pillars, are the staple products of native ingenuity, wants, and industry. Sir Jaiiies Mcintosh tells us that he has analyzed a number of English passages, from the Bible, and standard authors, and he has found in five verses from Oenesis, containing 130 words, only five, not Saxon. In so many verses out of St. John, containing 74 words, there were only two words, not Saxon. In a passage from Shakspeare, containing 81 words, there were only thirteen words, not Saxon. In a passage from Milton containing 90 words, only 16. were not Saxon ; also from Cowley 76 words, not Saxon ten; from Thomson's Seasons 78 words, not Saxon 14 ; from Addison, 79 words, not Sa.xo THE ANGLO-SAXON IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. I27 from Spenser 72 words, not Saxon 14; from Locke 94 words, not Saxon 9 ; from Hume 10 1, not Saxon 38 ; from Gibbon 80, not Saxon 3 1 ; and from Johnson 87, not Saxon 21 words. The average would be in such passages as those quoted about 3i-4olhs Anglo-Saxon. But the number of words may be said to be no fair criterion of the influence of such words in a language, for a few words may have a potency, not at all commensurate with their plurality. To this we reply, in iht first place, that the skeleton of our language is Saxon. It is the frame- work, which gives stability to the structure, although foreign words may add to its grace and beauty. In the second place, the English Grammar is almost ex- clusively occupied with Anglo-Saxon words, not only in the roots, but also in the inflections and auxiliaries. The cases of nouns are determined by particles, in- stead of being noted, as in the Latin, Greek and Hebrew, by the terminations of the words. It is the same in the comparison of adjectives, for er and, est are Saxon. Many adverbs end in the Saxon ly. The articles, and personal pronouns, including the relative and interrogative pronouns, also the most of the irregular verbs, and conjunctions, are all, with few exceptions, Anglo-Saxon. The objects of perception are principally named by Anglo "Saxon words, such as sun, moon, stars, sky, water, >■'?, d-c., and although the very nice and affected orator may talk of " vigorous Sol or " argentine Luna," or " the azure zenith," or the " effiilgent con- stellation," yet the mother tongue excels, if not in r 128 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. euphony, at least in force, pointedness and precision, in all that appertains to the external world, or to the varied wants of humanity. Three of the elements are named in Anglo-Saxon phrases, viz., earth, fire, water ; also, three out of the four seasons are of the same parentage, that is, spring, summer and winter. The same may be said of all the divisions of time, such as day, night, morning, even- ing, twilight, noon, mid-day, mid-night, sunrise, sunset, including all the mysterious, beautiful and grand in universal, prodigal, and exuberant nature, as light, heat, cold, frost, rain, snow, hail, sleet, tnunder, lightning, sea, hill, dale, wood, stream, &c., which are Saxon. Why need we enumerate all the expressive and terse words of our ancestral language ? Those words which the poet loves to use — which the* orator trusts to, for forcible expressions — which the historian lays under tribute with the greatest freedom, and which as the terms of every-day life, are derived from the mother tongue. What words more expressive of the strongest emotions, of the tenderest feeling, or of the more abiding sensations, than those of father, laother, Jiushand, inje, brother, sister, son, daughter, child, home, kindred, friends, love, Jiope, fear, sorrow, shame, tear, smUe, blush, laugh, weep, sigh, groan ? 7he lullabt/ over our cradle-bed — the first, taint, stuttering accents, at a mother's knee — the simple and confiding prayers of happy childhood — the volubility of the tongue of boyhood, and girlhood, in the sportive games of the playground — the earnest accents of the alternately- hoping and despairing lover, and the last, sad utterance 1^ THE ANGLO-SAXON IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 1 29 on, the Lxon fthe ring, Lithe even- inset, nd in light, inder, ;h are ressive Those orator Btorian which im the of the of the I?,, home, e, tear, hij over its, at a iiyers igue of of of the ernately- (tterance of the dying, are generally spoken in unsophisticated Anglo-Saxon. Does a writer or a speaker wish to teach lessons of wisdom, or indulge in witty sayings, in sober proverbs, or in pungent irony, invective,satire, humor, or pleasantry? Then to be effective he must use the mother tongue in its many torms. Does he wish to pour vials of wrath, in words, upon the heads of his enemies ? He does not cull out classic terms for his purpose, for they are the quintessence of politeness, but he falls back upon the " rough and ready " terms of every day life. The vocabulary of abuse is rather voluminous in our tongue, and if we wish to be pointed and un- raistakeably expressive, and impressive, we are generally very idiomatic,and vernacular,in our expres- sions. Were we to scold in a classic language there would be less ciuarrelling, fewer duels, a small list on the docket of cases of assault, and foul libel, and many- tongued, and malicious slander, would become almost as mythical,as an ancient oracle. The verbal quarrels of a Greek, or a Roman, were like a gentle breeze, in comparison to a tornado, as regards his language, and ours. Is not our energetic Saxon to blame? The hoary worthies of other days have left behind literary monuments of ill nature, but their languages are capable of meaning many bitter things, by a sort of insinuation, and sly interpretation, which the stern and outspoken English seems to scorn. What would our political writers, and such as dip their pens in gall, »nd wormwood, do, without a copious supply of vituperative words, which, like Canada thistles are 9 r 130 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. not only indigenous, thrifty, and aggressive, but also difficult of extirpation? How emphatic are such words as tcnrrili^, scum, Jilth, off'scouringsy dregs, dirt, mean, loathsome, trash, dc. It is to be observed, also, that while classic terras are used in a generic sense, and abstractly, yet special terms, indicating particular objects, qualities, and modes of action, are either Saxon, or derivatives ifrom it ; for example, the movements of the body, such as iumi twist, hop, slap, are Saxon ; but move is Latin, i:oloai is Latin, but the different colours are Saxon. Crime is Latin, but robbery, theft, murder, are Saxon. Cn, *i i_> Lraek, and member is Latin ; but all the organs of sense, including our limbs, are Saxon. Animal is Latin, but man, coiv, sheep, calf, eat, doci, &c., are Saxon. Number is both French, and Latin, but the cardinal and ordinal terms, up to one million, are Anglo-Saxon. Scientific terms are now generally either classic, pure and simple, or Anglicized, or form a union with the Saxon, in compound words. This wedding of the past, and present, is often very un. couth. The German language is much more con- servative than ours, and, even in the arts, and sciences, it expresses nearly all technical terms in those words which are ** to the manor born." The invaders are repelled, and it is a question with us, whethei the foreign lantjuages, which have added so many words, and made such structural changes, have improved greatly the parent tongue. Philoso- phers, are often hobby-ridden mortals, and dogmati- cally furnish us a nomenclature, that is more pedantic I THE ANGLO-SAXON IN THl-: ENGLISH LANGUAGE. I3I also sach dregs r terms special s, and ;s from uch as 5 Latin, Saxon. Saxon. : all the ; Saxon. , cat, do(}, id Latin, e million, generally [^ or form Ids. This very vin. lore con- arts, and terms in >» ition with tve added changes, philoso- dogmati- le pedantic i than useful, and which could be as forcibly, and cor- rectly formed from home productions, as from the arbitrary terms of a foreign people. This is au inva- sion.which has not only been successful, but promises to continue its inroads, to the final and complete overthrow of the natives. The Anglo Saxon was not only copious in words, in relation to the wants of those who used it, but possessed in its system of inflections,and terminal syllables, and in the ease with which it formed new compounds, from its then homo- geneous elements, and power of exi)an.sion and self- development, but fully equal to all the demands of ad- vanced knowledge, and science, and in losing its inflection and terminations, it has lost, to a great degree, its plastic power ot moulding its elements into new combinations. We must not be understood, as wishing to depreciate altogether, the use of foreign words, for they have their benefits, but we should not ' be prepared, for the sake of pedantry,or novelty, to in- troduce terms, which arc neither needful, nor useful, and would, i{ passing current extirpate English words sufficiently expressive and pointed. The philosophers of this century are running into this extreme. Sir William Hamilton, Cousin and Morell,in metaphysics, Lyell, and Agassiz in geology, and others whose names are well known, seem to ride a hobby, in newly corned words, of classical extraction, so that novices would need a glossary to interpret, not only new terms, but eld ones, to which they often attach new meanings in almost every chapter, we arc well aware that in science it is oftcn*difricult^to procure a 132 rrOf PHOTOGRAPHS, Saxon, Norman, or English word,that can always com- municate that fine shade of meaning necessary, especi- ally in the exact sciences, and metaphysics, and often an Anglicized, Latin, or Greek word will meet the case. Take, for example, the words " induction " and " deduction" " talent " and "genius " "science" and "art" "human" and "humane" "judg- ment" and " understanding." Then if we take the words " apt " and "fit," although at first glance they seem to have the same significance, yet the former is a Latin derivative, and the latter Saxon. The first has an active sense, and the latter is passive, in its meaning. In Hamlet we have "hands apt, drugs Jit" and then Wordsworth says — % " Our hearts more a/>t to sympathize With heaven, our souls more /i< for luture glory." and " feelings" and " sentiment" are often used as synonymous terms, but the former is Saxon, and the latter is Norman, or, properly speaking, Latiu. Then we are very apt to show our little learning by using pretentious words, when simple ones would suffice. "Man" and "Woman" are expressive, and terse words, " lady" and " gentleman" ambiguous, and "individual" is too generic by far. " Commence- ment" is now like Grecian bends, and infinitesimal bonnets, very fashionable ; but good, old, staid '•beginning" has still a true ring about it. How would it sound to read " In the cofntncncement Goi created the heavens, and the earth," '♦ In the com- mencement was the word," &c. " That which was in the commenctimentj is now, and ever shall be?" Milton THE ANGLO-SAXON IN THE KN(;[,ISI1 LAN'GUA(;i.. 133 com- peci- often ;t the tion " ience" ' judg- ke \he :e they former 'he first , in itfl iigs./U," does not use "commencement " in nil liis poems, and it is seldom to be found in Shalvspeare. Let tliese foreigners be welcome to our hearths, but let them not cast out the legitimate members of the family. Let them serve a long apprenticeship, before they are wedded to our loved ones. Hume scolded Gibbon because he wrote in French : " Why do jou com- pose in French, and thus carry faggots to the wood, as Horace says to those Romans who wrote in Greek." The history of literature teaches this fact, that those prose,* or poetic writers, wbo used their native language, and were men of genius, immortal- ized themselves, and their works, while their com- peers, equally intellectual, and gifted, have been for- gotten, because they employed a fashionable and foreign language "that perished in the using." Phi- losophers may ignore, in their nomenclature, the Saxon, and Norman, and simple English, but the dramatist, poet, orator, and literary writer must principally study, digest, and use, that language which lingered on the lips of Chaucer, and dropped in sweetness from his pen, and which was tlie life blood,in the writings of Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton, and Wordsworth. Is it not strange that so much of the Anglo-Saxon has been preserved when we con- sider the assaults which have been made upon its integrity? "Look at the English," says Dr. Bosworth in his " Prolegomena ;" " polluted by Danish, and Norman conquests, distorted in its genuine and noble features, by old and recent en- ieatours, to mould it after the French fashion, in- »34 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. i,: vaded by a hostile force of Greek, and Latin words, threatened by increasing hosts to overwhelm the indigenous terms. In these long contests against the combined might of so many forcible enemies, the language, it is true, has lost some of its power of inversion, in the structure of sentences, the means of denoting the difference of genders, and the nice distinctions by inflection and termination ; almost every word is attacked by the spasm of the accent, and the drawing of consonants to wrong positions, yet the old English princi})le is aot overpowered. Trampled down by the ignoble feet of strangers, itJ spring still retains force enough to restore itself ; it lives and plays through all the veins of the langunge ; it impregnates the innumerable strangers cntermg is dominions, with its temper and stains them with is colour ; not unlike the Greek, which, in taking up Oriental words stripped them of their foreign costume and bid them appear as native Greeks." However much we may love our native tongue, it would not be wise for the mere love of it, to adopt and perpetuate those words in it, which have not only lost their primitive meaning, but often have now an ob- jectionable signification. Our modesty, however, does not yet compel us to say " limb" for '* leg " " de- composition" for rottenness " " ranger of the forest" for " bull " " disagreeable effluvia" for " stench," "per- spiration " for " sweat " *' in a state pf inebriety " for "drunk," "obliquity of vision" for cross-eyed" andnon compos mentis" for " crazy," but these are words of Anglo-Saxon parentage, which by the inexorable law 11 THE ANGLO SAXON IN THK ENG?>ISK LANGUAGE. 1 35 orda, 1 the st the 3, the ver of lans of ) nice almost iccent, iSitions, )weiod. ;ers, its ielf; it iguage ; pnteriug ,m with iking up |costume )ngue, it lopt and )nly lost anoh- Ihowever, Ig " " ^^' forest" " " per- liety"^^'^ and non [words of [•able law of custom, and fashion, are no longer polite in somo circles. These to a great extent liavc been sup planted by the genteel Frencli, or the chaste Latin, and thus lose their so-called grossness, and pointed significance. Medical students have lectures deliver- ed to them,on the most delicate subjects in Anatomy, physiology, and medical jurisprudence, yet, by the use of classical terms, nothing is said or written to shock the most sensitive taste. On the other hand, we have no sympathy with those fastidious and affect- ed individuals, who substitute silly slang phrases, in terminable Latin, French, or Greek words, for honest English, because these may conventionally have a double meaning — the one polite and the other ob- scene, — for the very fact of their avoiding these ex- pressions indicate that they are versed in the meanings which they seem to eschew. Such are apparently as sensitive, as the young lady, who could not bear to have the legs of her piano exposed to vulgar gaze, and consequently had them decently covered with nicely trilled pantalettes. . The Anglo-Saxon has a sufTicient number of synony- mous terms to choose from, for p11 practical purposes, and classical words, and quotations, require great taste and judgmenti to introduce them efficiently into our language, and even in such instances, the body can be transferred, but the spirit never. "There are men so perversely constituted in mind, so predestinated to be pedants, and slavish copyists, that nothing can cure them. Such men will traverse the whole circle of Greek and Rcnan Literature, and acquire nothing Tm 136 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. I 111 k thereby but the faculty of spoiling English. Upon such, the grace and beauty which prevade the remains of classical antiquity are utterly lost ; they must tran.sfer them bodily, and in their actual forms, or no' at all. And this, they foolishly think they have dom , when they have violently torn away some few tatter of phraseology, — some fragments of the language of their admired models, and grotesquely stuck them on their own pages; totally unconscious that their beauties like that of the flower plucked from its stem, wither at once by the very violence, which tears it from its place, and that there is no moie resemblance between classical compositions, and such imitations, than be- tween the wild hedge-rows, and the noxtus siccus of the botanist." There is a number of ** slang" phrases being C( tinually used by the common people,and which becouiv after a time necessarily incorporated,into the vernacu- lar. For example, an orator who has redundancy of language, and is itching for an opportunity to "hold forth", is said, like a full pail carried by an unsteady arm, to be "slopping oven" A newly married couple are like a i^am " hitched up." A rascal who haa by a species of acting, on his circumscribed stage, de- ceived, and has at last been unmasked, is said to be "played out." The fellows who fled across the lines lO us during the American war, after being paid large sums for their services, had applied to them the laconic term "bounty jumpers." See that fellow puffed out with his own importance, without brains to qualify him for aught, but bedecking his person, with THE AN(.LO SAXON IN THE ENGLISH LANOUAOE. 137 Jpon nains must r no dom, tatter ige of era on 3auties wither om its etween han be- s of the ig c' becoui^ ^ernacu- mdancy :o "hold insteady d couple ) haaby tage, d£- lid to be le lines ng paid ;hem the It fellow brains to son, with gaudy trimmings,and whose swagger, and dignity, and noise are like "a heavy swell" of the sea, is not the term expressive ? Do we value our truthfulness, and do not wish to confirm it by an oath, than we can say it is true " you may bet." During the American war a term was introduced, as applying to those who fled from their duty. They were said to " skedaddle.'' Did some classic wag Anglicize tho Greek verb skcdannumi, skedadzo, I scatter ; put to flight. The poor unfortunate,who staggers home from the tavern, and as he makes zigzag lines, grumbling at the narrow highway, is said to be overdosed with '* Tangleleg." Not only has the Anglo-Saxon been able to hold its own against all intruders, with regard to cwinmon words, but the proper names ot that tongue are still retained with slight, and almost, unavoidable changes, in central England, where the Saxons had their strong- est hold. Take, for their example,many of the suffixes to local names, borrow, bro ugh, bunj/i, bury, fold, worths ham, ton, park ; all of these terminations suggest to the reader many of the most noted places in England, and south Scotland, and all of which mean an enclos- ure, wall, or hedge. Ton is from the Anglo-Saxon verb iinan, to hedge about, imrtA is from weorthing> to encircle — Bosworth is an enclosed park. Ton also means a walled town,, as Kensingston, the city of the Kensings, and Sandgate, or a sea barrier — a town in Kent — which has opposite to it in France Sangitte^ showing a common origin. Tho Saxon wick is attached to many towns in England, such as Warwick, Norwich^ "Wickham and Nantwick. Wick means a creek or< 138 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. small stream, and sometimes o. hamlet. Hurst, holt, chart, wold, and such like refer to a wooded country* So that really from these names, a good insight can be obtained of the physical aspects of Central Britain, during the days of the Saxon Heptarchy, when streams, and woods, and outlets, and bays, and mountains, and promontories were, and wherein they have changed since then. All such words are enduring monuments, erected by our ancestors for practical purposes, and aie still extant, almost in forms that were used twelve centuries ago, and which bid fair to be co-equal in time, with the history of the English-speaking t^ e of whatever nationality. The English language has been a wonderful vehicle, of wonderful thought for many cycles of years, and is now in the ascendant, and destined to be the universal language of exalted human thought. To what shall compare it ? It is a telescope which brings nearer to us not only the great central suns, that have shone with undying radiance thoughout the ever-revolving years of history, throw- ing out corruscations, that have even illumined the darkest " nooks and crannies" of the murky ages, and have shed light in. unusual and brilliant scin- tillations of poetic glory, and intellection, upon the advancing wave of civilization, but also those lesser lights, whose glimmering have done much to add to the beauty of the firmamen t of literature, and are •' forever pinging as they shine." It is a telegraph which has sent the electrioity of kindred minds, in continually-augmented currents, ' down through succeeding generations, ending, but THE ANGLO-SAXON IN THE ENLGISH LANGUAGE. I39 not expiring, in the brilliant blaze of the 19th cen- tury. Now thundering in its course, like the Alpine tempest, as it pours its vengeance upon glaciers, grey crags, and stunted pines ; then murmuring with the solemn intonation of an .^olian harp \ now flash- ing a kirid flame across the darkened and darkening wave of social, political, and martial revolution ; then emitting a Bolitary spark of power, as if the " vital flame", were about to expire ; iww clicking intelligence along the nerves of *' Faiher Time" ; then incoherently vibrating mere vitality, throughout the long years of the dark ages. Our literature is, and has been, music, which, in the thrilling strains of inspiration, or tower- ing genius, comes down in mourntul cadences, along the majestic corridors of ages, or echoing in triumphant strains, through the vista of myriad years, taking up in gleefulness,the grand oratorios,and sublime anthems of universal jubilee, filling, from time to time, inter- mittently, the whole earth with the rhythm, and melody, of expressed human freedom, sympathy, and love. Our language, in conjunction with its kindred tongues, has been a heart which has beat unceasingly since the time it was born in the dawn of historic day, and cradled in Grecian liberty ; now throbbing in the whirlwind of political changes, and at every stroke of its nervous and palpitating walls, a vital stream of religious, and civil freedom has poured onwards in resistless eddies ; then beating in universal sym- pathy with the oppressed, and sending forth, in match- less eloquence, its philippics against the despot, and ^ blank verse, and heroic stanzas, and Runic rhymes, I40 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. 'Hb : 1 ■ ! %j t'^ comedy, irony, satire, and fierce invective, making kings tremble, and "divinely appointed" emperors» shiver in terror, and setting by its ceaseless strokes the manacled, and the imprisoned free,who were pavilion- ed in the shadow ot mental and spiritual bondage. If it be true that the falling of a dew-dron. as well as the vibrations of an earthquake, and evt thought, affect, by the law of action and reaction, not only earth, but the universe of substance, and matter, and that from the whisper of a lover, to the roar of the loudest thunder, there is an echo in nature's vast sounding-gallery, and that all are indelibly stamped upon tlie mysterious whole, and can be read by glori- fied spirits, and angelic hosts, as histories, and biogra- phies of inanimate nature, how incalculably great must have been the iinpressions,and the mental modes, and the verbal expressions of those giant minds of whom the earth was not worthy, and whose ideas have been preserved in classic lore, leavenmg the whole lump of human ideality, and carrying those influence8,in ever-widening circles into the spirit land ! It is true, words are only arbitrary symbols of human thought, yet, every good thought has connected with it a sound that carries in its utterance, significance to others, and every evil thought has also a representa- tive word, which, like a plague-spot, tells of corruption within. Language becomes signs, and symptoms, of the progress, or decay, of a nation. In short, experi- ence and history teach, that a nation and its language are a duality, which stand or fall together, and if the language survives the people, and their immediate THE ANGLO-SAXON IN THF. EVOLISH LANGUAOE. I4I . well )ught, only r, and 3f the 3 vast amped f glori- biogra- Y great [modes, inds of ideas ^ng the those [t land 1 human :d with lance to •esenta- uption :oms, of experi- inguagc if the Lediate descendants, it is only a dead language. How jealous- ly and zealously should we guard the noble English language, from aught that would pollute it, or tend to destroy its integrity ! If we have a love of country, let us indentify with it a love of our mother tongue, for let us be assured that the complete history of our race,and the entire records of our living literature, will be co- equal and co-extensive. The one may only be able to sing a requiem over the other. What does history- say ? Where is glorious JPersepolis, and what has be- come of its euphonious and pure Persian ? Who can point out the ruins, or the site of regal Troy, and tell us of even the dialect of the brave Priam, and his dev^oted followers ? Where are the languages, or dialects of Carthage and Baalbec? Even -" Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her Speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her." The Sphinx and the Pyramids stand almost as im perishable as the Nile, but what was the language of those who carved the one, and rolled the huge stones of the other together ? Not a vestige remains. " Ancient Thebes ; Tyre by the margin of the waves ; Palmyra, central in the desert fell," but there cometh no response from their desert habitations. Athens no longer sends forth a flowing stream of pure and euphonius Greek, in her works of philosophic research, and in her poetry, rich as that which ** Burning Sappho loved and sung," not only to Asia Minor and the thousand classic isles of the Tm 142 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. : 1 Archipelago, but also " fulmin'd over Greece," with her resistless eloquence ;" and even proud Corinth has no memento save that which is on the page of history. The speech of the stately, prosaic,and stoical Roman, is now only known in its literary relics, yet at one time it was the language of Empire, and law, spread by Emperor, Consul, Pro-Consul, and sturdy warriors, ■wherever rose the Roman eagle, and wherever waved their victorious banner. The language of the painted savages of Britain, long before the days ol heroic Boadicea, is now almost a myth. The stone, iron, and bronze periods of American history, were cycles of prosperity for a mighty race : rising from barbar- ism to civilization, and the splendid monuments— whether the mounds of Ohio, or the wonderful structures of Central America now in ruins — are evidences of intellectuaL culture, not far behind that of the boasted 19th century ; but where is the language of this race — their books and their written literature ? Is the savage red man their descendant, or is he their victor ? Who can now furl up the dark veil, and give us a glimpse into the past history of this conti- nent ? A Canadian poet has well sung : " On on to the regions lone The generations go ; They march along to the mingled song Of hope and joy and woe. "On, on to the regions lone, For there's no tarrying here. And the hoary past is joined at last By all it held so dear." I. ' THE ANGLO-SAXON IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, I4J, The skeleton of the Mastodon or the Megatheri- um — the foot-prints of mammoth birds upon the petri- fied sands of time — the fossilized giants of the fen,or of the forest — the horrid reptiles in their rocky sepul- chres, and all the remains of the untold, and half- discovered wonders of ages, and epochs, and gener- ations, and floods, and fiery trials, which strike the thoughtful human mind with amazement, are dead tongues, and expressive and unutterable languages of what has been, but will be no more forever. In like manner shall the English language perish ? Shall the rich, expressive, glowing tongue of a Chaucer, Spenser, Pope, Shakespeare, Milton, Scott, Wordsworth, Long- fellow, and Tennyson, become only a sad memorial of the past ? It is a language, which, in its tones, speaks freedom. It knows no bounds, and is circumscribed by no barricades. It follows the footsteps of our restless race throughout the whole of the vast heritage of the Anglo-Saxon, and by incisive power,penetrates among foreign tongues, in the remotest parts of the earth. It echoes in the hills, and valleys, of the Australasian continent, trembling in the torrid breezes of Africa, and India, and in the howling tempests of polar seas — vibrating on the air of the American continent, in every city, throughout every forest, over every prairie, on every lake, in the happy[homes and thoroughfares of forty millions, of our thrice-blessed and happy race. It is shouted from half the islands that beautify the face of every sea, and from half the decks of men-of-war, and merchantmen that float upon the billows. It shakes the Anglo-Saxon banner .H4 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. [:• of many hues, and of divers nationalities to the winds of heaven, " from the rising to the setting sun," and beneath its ample folds cluster that sturdy race of Norsemen, who mould public opinion, at home, and abroad, by free sentiment, free speech, free pens, free presses, indomitable energy, unbending will, love of conquest, and stubborn resistance to civil and religi- ous wrong. A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE SOUL. WE are to some extent the creatures ot circum- stance, and are influenced more or less by the objects of perception, because they continually obtrude themselves upon our senses, and because it requires very little eflfort of mind to partially under- stand all, that is necessary for our comforts and wants. Yet if one man more than another happens to extend his sphere of knowledge, beyond that of his fellow mortals, he has additional happiness in himself, and it is his duty and privilege, to com- municate his discoveries to others. All mankind has a community of interests. Bonds, and scourg- ings, and imprisonments, might force from the lips of Galileo ?. retraction of his belief in the Copemi- can system of astronomy, yet, in spite of all oppos- ition, the old man had a mental reservation of the tnith which no ignominy could eradicate. Colum- bus would not have deserved our gratitude, it he and his crew had concealed from mortal ken their dis- <:overy. Harvey, in the midst of much opposition, declared to the world his diucovery of the circulation 10 146 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. N of the blood. Newton had "atheist" hurled spitefully at him, because he enunciated the laws of gravitation. His enemies declared he put laws,in theplace of God. He conquered, and they were confounded. Franklin caught hold of the forked lightning, which flashed athwart the darkened cloud, and said to heavcD's artillery " go," and it obeyed his mandate, " come," and it carried his messages from pole to pole. Yet, he told the truth to a wondering world. Simpson re- vealed the glad tidings, in regard to chloroform, and suffering humanity rejoiced. Although there is bo much true nobility in scientific men, and so much pleasure, in exploring new fields of investigation, yet " there is only here and there a traveller." The would-be-fashionable tourist will go in raptures, yawn- ingly — as a matter ot course — over the grandeur of the Falls of Niagara, or the Yosemite. He will des- cant, in a stereotyped way, onthe romajitic and stem sublimity of Loch Lomond, the Alps, the Rhine, or the Andes, but there is no viln^tion of soul in the con- tempktion. The dandy, who struts the evanescent day in fashionable frivolity — in striking costume— in baubles, which " elude the grasp and vanish into air," or the young lady whose stretch of thought only com- passes the latest fashions — the newest novelettes— the striking attitude, the latest schottische, or waltz^ are gorgeous butterflies that dazzle in the sunshine, but cower, and disappear, in the fierce storms of life, ^ or in the dark days, which try men's souls. The farmer, or mechanic, or merchant, whose aspirations rise no higher than the plough, the work -bench, or V 'I pitefully vitation. of God. Franklin 1 flashed heaven's " come," e. Yet, ipson re- brm, and ;re is BO so much ation, yet r." The res, yawn- indeur of ; will des- and stern Rhine, or n the con- escent day 5tume— in into air," only com- ►velettes— , or waltZj I sunshine, ms of life, )uls. The aspirations : -bench, or A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE SOUL. "" 147 file counter, is living in vain o„-i • '"^'^ "' Ike angels, and crowned «-i,(, , °"" "'«■» our multifarious sm^,,Tj^Z "u'^ ''™°^" I" of life, oompan.tivetC of u' T '""'"^ ""''"' open ourselves "fearf„ll„ , , "'" """"ghts f'-ebod,, the Jr:2CorT::7 r-' «ouI, the immortal essence »K \ "'' ""'' "'e -.0 many as if th "^^Jt^t T " ^"^'"^• «mctively, to catch a ghmpse «f ,^7 T '°"S. ^^er:7fdtofr\"^--'^^^^^^^^^^^ 'e^t the windoTSTs '"n t "" ■'' '^"^»«'' fcture eternity, as if *.' ""'"'''••' °^ » •o-der, whoi^ hlds ate .1 •'"° '*' '^"^"""^ ■« •k'oh hide the myste^o T'-'""' "" '''«'""' «P"tisph™i„gi,/JJ f 7f"«: '">d whose -'"own. What an em'J^, •/'«'' '»'» '"« dart "d all Revelation 1 We oTen IT' °' *" '^»»''. »« questions, on the LT^ t, """"""^ P""'- *« soul no knowledge ffl'^,"'"" °' "f*' Has •J'o-gh the senses? We ca„tr'- r"'' ^^^P' «'«can see without the eves ''^ "'""'""■'e ear. P«dently of the mouth. Wher.h""' '""' '""'- rre;,:--re^fr-^^^^^^^^ "-*'-o.called^hnoL\',erir:'°^£.f,ri' 148 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. sense which I have never seen mentioned, but I have olten felt its influence. Others assert that they have felt the same, when their attention has been directed to it. I shall call it the sense oi presence. You are in a room as far as you know alone. No sound breaks the silence. No sense receives the slightest impression, and yet you feel the presence of some one. You are not even greatly surprised when a friend, in sport, springs suddenly into your presence, from some hidden nook. What is the medium by which you become cognizant of the fact ? Does the soul ever act independently ot the body, and become cognizant of external things, without the aid of sen- sation ? Is animal life a distinct thing from the soul, and may be called spirit, and only a medium — a ierti- iim quid between soul and body, which keeps sentinel watch in the body,when the soul is indulging in flights of exploration beyond its temporary habitation ? Does the soul enlarge at times its faculties, and capacities, in spite of materialism ? I have not space to quote remarkable instances in proof of the truth of one of these views, yet, few but must have seen, the won- ders of Lomnambulism. In sleep, consciousness is I inert. Attention is lost. We have sensation, but| not reflection. A sleeping man will wink at a candle, placed near his eyelids, and still sleep on. He will! throw up his hand to defend his ear from the irritationl of a tickling straw, and knows it. not. He can bel gently jostled in bed, until he rolls in uneasiness, butl he may slumber on. He dreams in a half-awakenedl state,and sees,and hears,in phantasy,the most outragel ji^ I 'A A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE SOUL. 1 49 It I have ;hey have L directed You are No sound 5 slightest ; of some i when ft : presence, nedium by Does the ind become aid of sen- ,mthe soul, im— a terti- eps sentinel ing in flighu ition ? Does d capacities, ice to quote ruth of one 3en,the won- sciousness is snsation, but : at a candle, on. He will the irritation! He can bel leasiness, but lalf-awakened ost outrage' §us things, and to him they are a reality, for judgment is in chains and imagination is running riot. These ilim vagaries of the brain " Ne'er can fold their wandering wings The wild unfathomable things." In somnambulism, however, we have attention in vigorous exercise. So intensely is it exercised on •ne particular object, that it will rouse the will, to accomplish marvels. Here are the will, attention, memory, and sensation,in full play, and yet consoious- less dormant. The eyes may be wide open, and light may fall upon the living, and sensitive retina* The image of external objects may be formed on it, but the subject sees not. The ear may still be " a sounding gallery," and the auditory nerve in tone, and vigour,but he hears not. He may be a gourmand, and an epicure, but even bitter aloes may be placed «n his tongue. He will walk on housetops, on the edge of precipices, and fearlessly in places, which would make a waking man tremble. He will sing loudly, songs, and play on instruments, difficult pieces of music far beyond his powers when waking, and neither his own voice., nor the sound of the instru- ment, will rouse him. Why is the person thus affected, not cognizant of surrounding objects? Has the soul withdrawn from the windows? Is not the soul using the body, independently of the senses ? Many persons hold, that the somnambulistic state i» controlled by a second intelligence ; that is, that |rooh lead double lives. The Archbishop of Bordeaux relates the following, concerning a young priest, which 150 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. bears out the idea : He was in the habit of writing sermons, when asleep ; although a card was placed between his eyes and the note book, he continued to write vigorously. Did the history stop here,we should have a well authenticated case of vision without the aid of eyes. But the collateral circumstances show, that his writing was accomplished, not by sight, but by a most accurate representation of the object to be ob- tained, as will be further illustrated in our next case ; for, after he had written a page requiring correction, a piece of blank paper of the exact size was substituted for his own manuscript, and on that he made the cor- rections,in the precise situation which they would have occupied on the original page. A very astonishing part of this is, that, which relates to his writing music in his sleeping state, which it is said he did with per- fect precision. He asked for certain things, and saw and heard such things, but only such as bore directly upon the subject of his thoughts. He detected the deceit, when water was given to him in the place of brandy, which he had asked for. Finally, he knew nothing of all that had transpired when he awoke, but in his next paroxysm he remembered all accurately — and so lived a sort of double life, a phenomenon which we believe to be universal, in all the "^cnsc > somnambulism. In Catalepsy, or Trance-waking, we k ^ peculiar state of mind.in which the relations of n. id and body are changed. The person, externally, may api arthe same, except that the faculties, and capacities, are in a more exalted state — the former more active, and the others *fe near obstacle Time, far II.;' f A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE SOUL. 'SI iting aced ;dto ould t the ►how, lutby )e ob- case ; don, a tituted tie cor- d have nishing y music th per- nd saw Idirectly ;ted the le place e knew awoke, :curately omenon peculiar and body 3j arthe ^, are in a and the latter, more receptive. The subject of it speaks more fluently, sings more sweetly, steps with more elasticity, and has a keener sense of the ludicrous, or pathetic. He may feel naught, but slight spasms of the body, but he loses a consciousness of past existence, in a normal condition. He remembers nothing, but what happens in this peculiar state. When he awakens he remembers nothing of what occurred when he was in this relation, and when he returns to that cataleptic state again, memory only returns to the facts relating to the last condition of trance. In fact there would seem to be two intermittent phases of consciousness, entirely distinct from one another. Some call this "two lives," which is a term scarcely correct. This state is most remarkable, and has been closely in- V ;stigated for ages by intelligent, and scientific men. The ears may not hear, but the tips of the fingers may. The eyes cannot see, but the back of the head can. The mouth has no taste, but if bitter or sweet ingredi- ents are put on the pit of the stomach, the different tastes are at once known, by the patient, although ignorant of their nature before. The perceptive powers are marvellous. Such discern objects, through mountains, walls, houses ; and distance, however far, is no impediment to their vision. Their own bodies are to them transparent as crystal, and so are the bodies of others. They can read the thoughts ot others without a blunder. It matters not whether these are near, or far away. Matter, however dense, is no obstacle. Space, however boundless, has no distance. Time, far in the future, is to them an eternal now. »5« PEN PHOTOGKAPMS. They have a sort of prescience, and can foretell to a certainty future events. It would seem as if the. body was a telegraph office, and the clerk in charge of it, merely, animal life, and the soul was taking aerial lights, laying its telegraph lines as it went, and, quick as human thought, sending back to its head-quarters, accounts of its explorations. This is mere hypothesis, which inductive philosophy may yet substantiate. I am aware that Mesmer, Hon. Robert Boyle, and others who flourished at the beginning of this century, held to the opinion that there was a subtle fluid, analogous to electricity, or magnetism, or perhaps a modification of these, or one of them, which, in its manifestations, they called Od force. This they divided into two kinds, negative and positive ; we presume to corres pond with electrical conditions. This force, they held, produced all the manifestations of mesmerism. Those under its influence, in a superabundant degree, were subject to the will of the operator- His will was theirs. His emotions influenced them. His sensa- tions, and theirs, were merged in one. In short, the dual cy becpme a unity, by a blending of this subtle power. At the same time, if the patient was more than ordinarily effected, a trance state ensued, and feeling was lost. Cloquet, the justly celebrated French surgeon, has left on record, a case of a woman who had cancer in the breast, and who, by mesmeric in- fluence brought to bear on her, for several days suc- cessively, fell into a death-like trance, and, had the diseased breast removed, without the least conscious- mess of pain, although the operation lasted twelve A PHOTOGBAPH OF THE SOUL. 153 Uo a if the- charge g aerial , quick uarters, othesis, iate. I id others ry, held tialogous iification estations, into two coires rce, they ssmerism. It degree, is will was iis sensa- short, the his subtle was more sued, and ted French oman who ►smeric in- days suc- d, had the conscious- ited tweWc' minutes. The prejudice in Paris was so strong against Gloquet^that he huu to discontinue such practices. The stupidity of ignorance prevailed. Since that time (1829) the operations of this subtle force have been manifested in tens of thousands, and have been taken advantage of by the devotees of humbug, to accom- plish sinister purposes, and have consequently been wilfully despised by men of research, and science, al- though it may yet be the vestibule to an arcana of untold blessings to mankind. This Od force seems to be governed by some of the laws which operate in magDiJtism. Mons. Petetin caused seven persons to form a circle. Two of these held the hands of a cata- leptic person, who could hear nothing, but, by the tips of the fingers. When Dr. Petetin whispered to the fingers of the most remote person, the patient heard the words, and sentences, distinctly. When a stick was made part of the circle, it was the same in results. Jfag/ass rod, or a silk glove intervened, the communica- Him was destroyed. This mysterious agency is not discommoded by distance, for as far as the patient is concerned, it is annihilated, and mind is read in all its wonderful phenomena as if it were a book printed in the largeiit characters. Dr. Mayo, in his work on "Popular Superstitions," tells of being at Boppard, in Prussia, as an invalid. He wrote to a friend in Paris* This friend put the letter in the hands of Alexis, a trance patient in the city, who knew nothing of Dr- Mayo, and asked him to tell what he knew about him. He told at once Dr. Mayo's age, stature, disposition, and illness. He said he was crippled, and at that w ^54 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. time ot the day, half-past eleven, a.m., in bed. H e said that Dr. Mayo was living on the sea-shore. This was not correct, but the doctor delighted to go down to the banks of the Rhine, and listen to the surge of waves made by the wheels of passing steamers, as the noise reminded him forcibly of the sea waves beating on the shore. The friend told Alexis this was not true, and the patient, after a few minutes' reflection, corrected him8elf,and said, "I was wrong, he does not live on the sea-coast, but on the Rhine, twenty leagues from Frankfort." This influence, through some medium, call it what you will, can be exercised at great distances. In other words, two persons can have an influence potently exercised upon one another, although many miles distant. There is a current of something passing between them, so that the thoughts, feelings, or sensations of the weaker party, become temporarily subservient to the stronger. Dr. Foissac, in his able work on " Animal Magnetism," among other cases, gives the following : He was in the habit •of mesmerising one Paul Villagrand, in Paris. This -subject desired to return to Magnac-javal, Haute Vienne, his native place. This place %/as about 300 miles distant. After he left, the Dr. wrote to the young man's father, a letter, saying, " I am magnetis- ing you, on the 2nd of July, at 5 J^ o'clock, p.m. I will awake you, when you have had a quarter ot an hour's sleep." The father was directed to give the letter to his son. He, however, neither gave, nor did he inform hira of its contents, being somewhat oppos- ed to this — to him — sort of legerdemain. Neverthe- A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE SOUL. 155 less, at ten minutes before six, Paul being in the midst of his family, experienced a sensation of heat, and considerable uneasiness. His shirt was wet through, with perspiration. He wished to retire to his room ; but they detained him. In a few minutes he was entranced. In this state, he astonished the per- sons present, by reading, with his eyes shut, several lines of a book taken at hazard from the library, and by telling the hour, and minute, indicated by a watch, the face of which he did not see. Dr. Mayo, while residing temporarily at Boppard, in the winter of 1846, sent a lock of hair, of one of his patients, to an American gentleman residing m Paris. The patient was unknown to anyone in the city. fle« took this lock to a man who was under the influence of Od force. The somnambulist said, that the hair belonged to a person, who had partial palsy of the hips, and legs, and that for another complaint he was in the habit of using a catheter. This statement wa» strictly true. The volume could be filled with illustrations of this kind. The prescience of such is remarkable. The extended ">v;ers of discerning occurrences, at great distances is strangely true. Mr. Williamson, who investigated these things with acu- men, asked one of his patients to tell him about the moon, but the answer was, that as he approached it, the light was too bright to be tolerated. Alexis, men- tioned before, was asked about the condition of the planets. He said they were inhabited, with the ex- ception of those, which are either too near to, or too* remote from, the sun. He said that the inhabitants ^56 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. of the different planets are very diverse ; that the earth is best off, for that man has double the intelligence oi the ruling animals, in the other'planets. This may be a shrewd guess, but it may be the truth. Of all the inhabitants of this solar system, man may be the high- est intelligence. Analogy, and inductive philosophy do not lay any stumbling-blocks in the way. The former does not veto a possibility, and the latter throws no doubts in the way of inferential probabili- ties. Sir Wm. Hamilton says, in his lectures on Metaphysics and Logic, of Waking Trance, especially of somnambulism, " that it is a phenomenon still more astonishing (than dreaming). In this singular state a person performs a series of rational actions, and those frequently of the most difficult and delicate nature, and, what is still more marvellous, with a talent to which he could make no pretensions when awake. (Ancillon, Esaias Philos. II. i6i.) His mem. ory, and reminiscences supply him with recollections of words,and things,which, perhaps, never were at his disposal in the ordinary state — he speaks more fluently a more refined language. And if we are to credit, what the evidence, on which it rests, hardly allows us to disbelieve, he has not only perception of things through other channels than the common organs of sense, but the sphere of his cognition is amplified to an extent far beyond the limits to which sensible per- ception is confined. This subject is one of the most perplexing in the whole compass of philosophy ; for, •n the one hand, the phenomena are so remarkable, hat they cannot be believed , and yet, on the other, A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE SOUL. 157 earth ice ol aaybe ill the e high- jsophy The I latter obabili- ires on pecially ion still singular actions, [ delicate 1, with a ns when lis mem- ,llections ire at his |e fluently :o credit, lUows us .f things irgans of •lifted to [sible per- the most [by; for, larkable, [he other, they are of so unambiguous and palpable a character, and the witnesses to their reality are so numerous, so intelligent, and so high above every suspicion of deceit, that it is equally impossible to deny credit to what is attested to such ample aad unexceptionable evidence." Muller, the distinguished physiologist, strongly dis- believed because he could not understand, and yet, in the " Physiology of the Senses," he says, "that the mental principle, or cause of the mental phenomena, cannot be confined to the brain, but that it exists in a latent state in every part of the organism." That ac- cepts all that is necessary to establish the abnormal (if it can be called such) state of mind, and body, in the state referred to. The most remarkable of all these wondrous states, is that of complete insensibility to all external im- pressions, however potent. The windows of the body are darkened. The curtains are drawn down, and the shutters are closed, and inertia of the material tabernacle is the result. The e^o, however, is in full activity, and all the more so, by being partially free from the incubus of mortality. No stimulant can rouse the patient. No electric shock can stir the physical frame. The charge of the fluid may, by its in- fluence on the nerves, produce violent muscular act- ion, enough in the waking moments, to produce acute pain, and even imperil life, but, in this state, the soul defies the subtle aura. A limb may be amputated, an eye extracted, but there is no response of consci- ousness. There is no inhalation, nor exhalation, of air in connection with the lungs. The body, if not dis- 158 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. turbed, is motionless as a corpse. The heat of the body falls many degrees. Commonly the muscles are relaxed, as in the recently dead, and occasionally there is rigidity, as of a dead'body. In epidemics, such, are often buried alive, as all physical signs indicate death. Physicians, qualified to judge, say *' that this state is more frequently produced by spasmodic, and nervous illness, than by mental causes. It has fol- lowed fever, and has frequently attended parturition.'' The patient remembers all his ideal life, and knows that it differs from that of dreaming, in being con- sistent, and in never indulging in the wildest extrava- ^sivsas. The judgment, and attention are ''n active exercise, and the imagination,by these balance wheels is kept in reasonable subjection. So real are the im- pressions, subjectively considered, that fanatics, un/kr all eircumstanceSf believe them to be direct, positive, and admonitory revelations from God. There is intense light within, but the world without is shut off in dark- ness. The soul is so intent upon itself, that it has no opportunity for explorations beyond itself. There is a modification of this state. The affect- ed person seems in a profound sleep. The breathing and the heart's action are regular. The temperature of the body is normal, but the pupils ot the eyes are insensible to light, and are distended to their ut- most size, and fixed, in that position, in spite of the most intense stimulation, by means of light. I have seen numbers of such cases, especially hysterical patients. It often follows fever,and would seem as a rest for nature, and as an alternative to death. In A PHOROGRAPH OF THE SOUL. 159 of the :les arc ly there i, such, ndicdte hat this lie, and tias fol- urition.'' d knows ig con ■ extrava- n active e wheels the ira- ics, w\der positive, Ls intense ■ in dark- atit has le affect- Ibreathing iperature eyes are their ut- lite of the I have Ihysterical ^eem as a :ath. In tense excitement will cause it. The actings of a tragedy, whether real or histrionic, the mental tension of religious excitement, and the sudden alarms of impending danger, will [..oduce trance coma, all of which are purely physical impressions, acting upon the brain, and being excited, secondarily, by reflex action of the mind, thus operating, mutually, on the three-fold nature of man* — body, mind, and spirit. Rev. George Sanby, in his work on Mesmerism, tells that " George Fox, the celebrated father of Quaker- ism, at one period lay in a trance for fourteen days, and the people came to stare, and wonder at him. He had the appearance of a dead man 3 but his sleep was full of divine visions of beauty, and glory." There is a story told of Socrates, the philosopher, to the same effect. Being in military service in the expedit- ion to Potidea, he is reported to have stood for twenty four hours, before the camp, rooted to the same spot, and absorbed in deep thought, his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon one object, as if his soul were absent from the body. The newspapers of to-day give us information of such cases every few months, and evidenced by unimpeachable testimony of medi- cal men. Need I say, that in the dark ages, these manifestations were supposed to be demoniacal, and witches, and wizards, were roasted forthwith. The poor unfortunates, themselves, not being able to ex- plain the physical, and pschycological phenomena, thought themselves possessed of devils, and even ac- knowledged to their latest hour that such was the case. In the present day, the other extreme is reached i6o PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. 1 by many otherwise intelligent persons, and all such unusual manifestations, during religious excitement, have been traced directly to divine and spiritual in fluences. The affected believe, that it is such, and often become changed in life, and practice, for the better : but a student of nature sees in it all, a species of waking trance, brought about by intense attention, to fervid eloquence, or, in nervous persons, to fear for themselves, or sympathy for others. Rev. Le Roi Sunderland, in Zion^s Watchman, N. Y., Oct. 2nd, 1842, says : — " I have seen persons often ' lose their strength,' as it is called, at Camp meetings, and other places of great religions excitement ; and not pious people alone, but those also who were not professors of re- ligion. I saw more than twenty affected in this way» in Ennis, Mass. Two young men, by the name of Crowell, came one day to a prayer meeting. They were quite indifferent. I conversed with them freely but they showed no signs of penitence. From the meeting they went to their shoe shops, to finish some work, before going to the meeting in the evening. On seating themselves, they were both struck perfectly stiff, I was immediately sent for, and found them sit- ting paralysed (that is, they were in a cataleptic, or trance state) on their benches, with their work in their hands, unable to get up, or to move at all. I have seen scores of persons, affected the same way. I have seen persons lie in this state forty-eight hours. At such times they are unable to converse, and are sometimes unconscious of what is passing around A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE SO Z x6x ngth,' as laces of people rs of re* this way, name of . They sm freely 'rem the Lish some pning. On perfectly them sit- ileptic, or work in at all. 1 Isame way. ght hours. ;e, and are ig around them. At the same time, they say they are in a "happy state of mind." Others jerk nrouncl like a fish out of water, or, as if, they were kept in lively ex- ercise by, impinging pins, cr goaded to activity by the application of hot irons. These seizures happened in Kentucky and Tennessee years ago, in New York at the revivals of 1852, and in Ireland about ten years ago. So spasmodic were the actions of the affected, that in common language they were called the " jerks." The eccentric Loronzo Dow, in his journal, tells, that when he^was preaching at one time in Knoxville, Tennessee, before the governor, and a large audience, these seizures commenced. " I have seen," said he, "all denominations of religion (in- cluding Quakers) exercised by * jerks ' — gentleman and lady, black and white, young and old, without exception. I passed a meetinghouse, where I ob- served the undergrowth had been cut doi^n for camp meetings, and from fifty, to*a hundred saplings were left for the people, who were jerked to hold by. I ob- served where they had held on, they had kicked up the earth, as a horse stamping flies." The Earl of Shrewsbury, in 1841, saw two religieuses in Italy, who lay in a cataleptic state, and were believed by the people to be lying in a sort of divine beati- tude. Their devotional posture, the clasped hands, the upturned eyes, the wonderful intuitions, and the quietude, were to the ignorant, signs of heavenly illu- mination. Science tells another story. Others thus afflicted have paroxysms of excitement, and honestly believe themselves possessed of evil spii its. An epi- l62 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. demic of this kind swept over large districts of Europe, in the 1 6th century. It was called the "wolf sick- ness," for those iLfluenced,thought themselves wolves, and were owned by an invisible master. Some thought themselves dogs, others fiends incarnate. Some believed their shoulders were adorned with Tvings, and that on broomsticks, or wooden horses ::hey navigated the air, quickly, as thought, and thus the furore raged for centuries, from Druide^sess to witches, and from fanatics to enthusiasts. Even good and conscientious men have been led away by these appearances of " something uncanny," for only in 1743 an associate Presbytery in Scotland was for renewing the fires of persecution, and moved for '*the repeal of the penal statutes against witchcraft, contrary to the express Ifiws of God, and for which a holy God may be provoked, in a way of righteous judgment, to leave those who are already ensnared to be hardened more and more, and to permit Satan to tempt and seduce others to the same wicked and dangerous snare." ("Edinburgh Review," Jan. 1847.) Mesmeric influences were brought about by these, so called witches, by friction, by induced excitement on hysterical women, (wizards were tew), and by narcotics, and thus illusions, and hallucinations were produced, and at last became realities to the consciousness of the victims. Sir Walter Scott, Draper, Carpenter, De i^oismont, Langlois, and others, give numerous exan lies of individuals, who, by a mere act of the will, 1 uld conjure in the imagination spectra as real to then as any tangible object, in the external world, A PHOROGRAPH OF THE SOUL. 163 rope, sick- olves, Some jnate. 1 with horses d thus sess to Even d away ly," for Jcotland i moved itchctaft, which a ■ighteous [ensnared .iit Satan |cked and in. 1847-) these, so fement on narcotics, n iroduced, [usness of ^avpenter, numerous U of the >tra as real lal world, did not judgment, and experience, tell them of the nature of thepAanfasma/a. These are some of the phases of the human soul, spirit, and body. I may revert to the subject in a future number. We conjecture much, but we are sure of more. Mystery is enshrouding this field of exploration, but glints of light is being cast athwart the gloom. The soul is giving us evidences of its ca- pabilities, for nobler flights, even when fettered by mortality. What will it do when emancipated from thraldom ! Now, we see as " through a glass, darkly," but the effulgency of eternal day will give to the truly emancipated, the universe for a heritage, and the smiles of our Creator as the benisons, for true no- bility of soul. " It doth not yet appear what we shall be," but " there shall be no night there." UNDER A CALIFORNIA TREE. IN I851, 1 started for a tramp through one of the most unfrequented parts in California, on an exploring expedition. My kit consisted of a few lbs. of flour, a piece of pork, a short-handled frying-pan, a revolver, a rifle, and a pick, shovel, and hatchet. On all sides, throughout the weary miles, were grey rocks, beautiful water-falls, myriads of flowers, strewn thickly around, as if nature had sown profusely the seeds of the flowers of all colours, and all climes. This was in January, when we have Jack Frost bind- ing everything in Limbo, with his icy hand. As the sun set in glory, behind the Pacific range of mountains, I thought it time to look out for a camping place. A cosy nook, beside a purling brook, caught my eye, and my fancy. I gathered a few dry pine branches, and was about to apply a match to them, when I heard the bark of a dog. This excited my curiosity, and surprise, in that lonely place, and joyful at the prospect of meeting white faces, and finding a comfort- able resting place, I threw down my ignited match, and started for the top of the hill. By the time 1 reached it, the night had become quite dark, and as I looked down into a deep valley, I saw a large Indian camp, Jn the centre of it was a large fire, round which about I ,. UNDKR k CALIFORNIA TREE. lOS of the on an few lbs. ing-pan, hatchet, rere grey •s, strewn usely the LI dimes, [ost bind- As the fifty warriors were dancing a war dance. I could ■tee the faces of those turned towards me, and observed them covered, in strips, with war paint. They had been for several months previously troublesome to the miners, who had penetrated the farthest into the mountains in search of gold, and many of them were known never to return to their comrades. Here I was, a lone man, peering into the very nest of sav- ages, on the war-path. I feared, that the dogs, which were now barking furiously, might scent an intruder, and thought it would be a sort of discretionary valour to beat a retreat. I crept back to my prospective camp, and shouldered my "traps," making tracks backward as fast as the gullies, precipices, and dark- hess would permit, imagining that every rock might hide a dusky scout, and every bush might cover a sanguinary savage. At last, tired out, and feeling that I had put niany miles between me and the red- skins, I threw my pack down, and cutting and eating a piece of raw, pork for supper, for I feared to light a fire, I stretched out my weary limbs for a rest, determined not to sleep ; but *' the first thing I knew, I did'nt know anything," and fell into the arms of the drowsy god. Sometime in the night, I was awak- ened, by a tugging at my hair. In a moment, I was on my feet, and my situation coming vividly to my recollection, I felt my scalp move on the top of my head, as if it had an irt.illigciit presentment of its fall. With pistol in hand, I examined carefully every rock clump of bushes, and tree in my neighbourhood, for the moor was shining brightly at the time, but I 1 66 PEK PHOTOGRAPHS. » found no enemy. Pshaw ! said 1, to myself, it is only imagination, and with feelings of satisfaction and half annoyance, I lay down, determined to keep awake until morning, but poor, we&k, tired, human nature got the mastery, and I was soon asleep. It might be I slept ten minutes, or one hour, or two hours, for sleep has no hour glass, ere I awoke, and relieved myself from the horrors of a dream, in which was mingled in one phantasmagoria, Indians, whoops, yells, gory scalps, gleaming tomahawks, blood-shot eyes, and vain efforts to escape a terrible doom, but my ease of mind was of momentary duration, for with my right hand, I grasped a human hand, cold as death, I need not say I clung to it with a death grip, and jumped savagely at my foe, determined to keep one arm from mischief at any rate. I was in that peculiar sttte, of part terror, part desperation, and part savag mess, which men often feel when conscious of being hi a dangerous position, and only partially awakened to a true sense of it. As I stumbled for- ward, T fell down into a crevice about five feet in depth, and lost my hold of the unknown hand. I was sure the enemy was about to spring upon me in my defenceless condition, and in my desperation, I made one bound to the surface,, which I no sooner I cached than I received a severe blow in the chest, which almost felled me. I, however, sprang for- ward, and was struck again ; I threw my arms in front of me to grapple with my opponent, but felt nought but air, and, strange to say, I was incapable of moving n step in advance. I had never been a believer UNDliR A CAMFORNFA TREE. 167 only and keep uman p. It r two i, and which hoops, »d-shot m, but :or with cold as Lth grip, to keep in that on, and Dnscious partially Died fot- teet in land. 1 m me in ration, I o sooner he chest, rang for- arms in :, but felt :apable oi a believer in ghosts, since the boyish claNS I liad heard the wierd stories, from the mouth of a grandfather, beside the roaring fire of a highland home, but a strange feeling came over mc, that, after all, the supc natural visitations might be true,and I was about to be immolated in a lonely spot, at wizard hours, for a life- time of infidelity. In this state, I sat down, exhausted, and " came to myself." In doing so, I solved the enigma, removed my doubts, and allayed my fears, by- finding out that in sleeping under a pine tree, which was full of pitch, and surrounded by lumps of it, my hair became entangled in it, for the legs of my boots were my pillow, and, when I turned my head, it pulled my locks. Proof: there was an ounce of it sticking in my hair. I found the cold hand again in my lap, for I had rested my head on my ami, in my sleep, and thus stopped the circulation of the blood, and consequently sensation. In my furious exit from the pit, I had struck my breast against a sapling stump, about four feet high, and feeling be- yond it, in my excitement, it barred my advance, and yet I encountered no tangible opposition, as I threw my arms in the air beyond the barricade. I need scarcely say that I patiently waited with open eyes for daylight, giving the Indians a wide berth, and chuckling intei-mittently over the night's adventures. Many a " spook" story, originates from terrors un- unexplained, and such imaginary fears, never ration- ally accounted for, and thus a morbid nourishment is provided for young, tender,and susceptible brainJwod. THOMAS CARLYLE. {' " ^.A-RLYLE ib no copyist. He seems to write as if V_ ^determined to stamp his individuality not only on his ideas, but also on his words. Some of his newly- .^oined terms ■ are passably euphonious ; but, many of them are as stiff and bristly as the hair on his head, or'the bristles on his chin, and as difficult of manipu- lation by any hand but his own. Hence his method is^called '' Carlylese." 1 do not think that this style IS his hobby, and that he prides himself in being odd in it, but its uniquene ss had been forced by torrents of ideas crowding upon him for utterance, or expres- sion, and finding no words to express fine shades of meaning he invented of necessity, a vocabulary of his own. His intimate knowledge of foreign literature, especially German, gave him a facility in this respect, not often seen in English authors, and when paucity of words threatened to check the on- ward flow ot the facile pen, his ingenuity came to the rescue, in some barbarism, which his paternity has stamped with transitory acceptation. Sir William Hamilton, J^ant, or Cartes, and such like metaphy ic- ians, had to resort to a nomenclature of their own, but thei' studies required words to express the finest shades of thought, and to prevent their followers THOMAS CARLYLE. 169 from pursuing a will o' the wisp, in fierce logomachy, they provided this antidote, in reducing to strict formulae of thought, systems in which certain words had definite and unchangeable significance. Carlyle had this dogma of the schools partly in view, but, often in perfect abandon, he sported with phrases of his own creation, in playfulness, and wilfulness, and threw them off from the mental reel, as threads of discourse, most easy to spin. Paradoxes do not stag- ger him any more than his style, and notwithstanding these, he has received an amount of approbation which Tio other man of to-day would command, let his senti- ments be ever so high. His defiant tone, his kick- '^"?r, without ** by your leave " all conventionalities •n styles, — his vigorous thrusts at " castles in the air " of moralists, philosophers, historians, and essayists, — his unsparing dissection of all humbug, — and his mixture of queer theories, startling truths, and mental oddities, command attention, from friends, onslaughts from enemies, and consequently gave followers, who s\vear by him, and who defend him with a vigour und heat, not at all commensurate with the struggle, nor necessary to the issue at stake. He *' pitches into " Luther, Knox, and Cromwell, as vigorously and unsparingly as he would into Pio Nono, or Henry Vin. or " Napoleon the Less." Systems of religion, as such, he has no veneration for, and his love of ih? antique is summed up, in its usefulness to conduce to historical knowledge, or to contibute a factor in the aesthetic cultivation of man. " Truth " he puts into his crucible, and if it contains " earnestness " — all is J70 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. ' ,1 well. Moral superiority only requires in its composi- tion "sincerity " to pass the coin as genuine. Sincerity is the soul of ethics. Zeal is his greatest test for work. " The gospel of labour " and " the sacredness of work," are to him phases of religion. The man. who in proper time and place, is industrious, is so far religious. This view has been called " ravings of a self-deluded prophet." I am not sure of that, for rmotion or sensation is not religion, neither is it mere sentiment, for if so, Robespierre, the monster, was a good man, because he could applaud the trage- dies of Corneille, and be melted by the pathos and eloquence of Racine, and so cooly, and with a vamp- irish zest cause the guillotine to clank ominously over human heads, and decapitated bodies, and make the gutters of Paris run to overflowing with human blood. There was no active principle of good in his heart. Intelligence alone is not the shortest highway to heaven. Physical suffering, or effort, is not a passport to the skies. The unity of man in its highest de- velopment, morally, and in all its fractions, towards a vicarious sacrifice, is the keystone ot the bridge which spans the fearful abyss, between God and man — the foundation stone oi the temple "beautiful on the mountains," as far as divinely supported man is concerned. Work then, is one of man's duties, as much as singing hallelujahs. ** Diligent in business " is, in a certain sense, worship, and not pro- vidmg for tl- household, is not only a denial of the faith, but is worse than infidelity. In other words there is no such individual as a lazy christian, pray. THOMAS CARLYLE. 171 sing, and worship he ever so much. Carlyle, how- evcFj gave work too much prominence, when he said in his inaugural, on being installed Lord Rector of the University of Edinburgh, ** work is the grand cure of all maladies, and miseries, that ever beset mankind." He is doubtless erratic in his views in ethics, but always practically right, so that I am not inclined to quarrel with him theoretically. His advice to students, he has carritd out himself. " Pursue your studies in the way your conscience calls honest. Count a thing known only when it is stamped on your mind, so that you may survey it on all sides with intelligence. Morality as regards study is, as in all other things, the primary consideration, and overrides all others. A dishonest man cannot dc anything real : and it would be greatly better, if he •vere tied up from doing any such thing.'' lie gives a severe fling at the tendency of the English, and American, and let me add Canadian, "going all away into wind and tongue." He tried oratory on several occasions. In 1837 he gave a course of lec- tures on German literature in Willis' Rooms, Lon- don. His audiences were not large, as the subject was not then as inviting as now, since the Germanic Empire has strode into the first rank of nations. He followed those, by a course of lectures in the Maryle- bone Institution " on the history of European litera- ture," and promised well as a speaker. In 1859 he gave a course of lectures on the " Revolutions of Modern Europe," a subject with which he was con- versant. On the following year he delivered several 172 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. y •ii lectures on " Hero Worship." They had a pungency about them, not distasteful, and an irony and sarcasm, which were not the best certificates, to the world of poor humanity, although in them the scalpel was applied with an unsparing hand, to the body politic ; they were well received, and he was urged by some of the be.^1. societies, and institutions of Britain to repeat tlicui, buc, he seemed, suddenly, to become disgusted with this method of reaching the public mind, and made his final exit from the public stage. He plunged con amore into literature. He was a per- fect book gourmand from his earliest years. I am not sure, but occasionally, he felt all the horrors of mental dyspepsia frcm engorgement. He says in his address to students "' you cannot, it you are going to do any decisive intellectual operation — if you are going to v/rite a book — at least I never could — without getting decidedly made ill by it, and really you must if it is your business — and you must follow out what you are at — and it sometimes is at the ex- pense of your health." The meaning of the sentence is plain, but its construction is Carlylian. In order that he might follow his literary employment with as vlittle interruption as possible, he retired, for a time, to Craigenputtoch, a place fifteen miles north-west of Dumfries, among " granite hills and black morasses,'' In the preface to his translation of Goethe's " Life of Schiller," he naively tells about this retreat " In this wilderness of heath and rock," he says, " our estate stands forth, a green oasis, a tract of ploughed, partly •enclosed and planted ground, where corn ripens, THOMAS CARl.YLE. 173 and trees afford a shade, although surrounded by sea- mtws and rough-woolled sheep. Here, with no sirall effort, have we built and furnished a neat sub- s'iintial dwelling; here, in the absence of a professional or other office, we live to cultivate literature according to our strength, and in our own peculiar way. We wish a joyful growth to the roses and flowers of our garden ; we hope for health and peaceful thoughts to further our aims. The roses, indeed, are still in part to be plantedjbut they blossom already in anticipation. Two ponies which carry us everywhere, and in the mountain air, are the best medicines for weak nerves. This daily exercl:e, to which I am much devoted, is my only recreation, for this nook of ours is the loveliest in Bri:ain— six miles removed from any one likely to visit me. Here Rousseau would have been as happy as on his island of Saint Pierre. My town friends, indeed, ascribe my journey here to a similar disposition, and forbode me no good results. But I came here solely with the design to simplify my way of life, and to secure the independence through which I could be enabled to remain true to myself. This bit of ground is our own ; here we can live, write, and think, as best pleases us, even though Zoilus himself were to be crowned monarch of literature. Nor is the solitude of such great importance, for a stage- coach takes us speedily to Edinburgh, which we look upon as our Biitish Weimar. And have I not, too, at this moment, piled upon the table of my little library a whole cart-load of French, German, Ameri- can and English Journals and periodicals, w hatever 174 . t PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. may be their worth? Of antiquarian studies, too, there is no lack. From some of our heights I can descry, ibout a day's journey to the West, the hill where Agricola, and his Romans left a camp behind them. At the foot of it, I was born, and there both father and mother still live to love me. And so one must let time work. But whither am I wan- dering ? Let me confess to you, I am uncertain about my future literary activity, and would gladly learn your opinion respecting it ; at least, write to me again, and speedily, that I may ever feel myself united to you." Many years have passed away since such warm outgushings were poured out : and Carlyle has more than realized his fondest hopes in regard to literature, and stands pre-eminently uniqne in terse, vigorous, and quaint writing. He wrote the above to his German friend, and co-labourer before the era of railroads, and before his genius became victorious; but *• coming events were casting their shadows be- fore." Like De Quincey, he never "cribbed and cabined " his ideas by scarcity of words. If the orthodox word did not trot out at the point of his pen, he coined one and stamped it as current gold. Such showed his idiosyncracies, and inventive faculty. All is instinct with life, breathed into the nostrils of his creation, by a master-spirit. In his life of Frederick the Great, we might quote from every page to prove this. Take, for example, such a sentence as this of the great Emperor at the battle of Leuthen :— " Indeed, there is In him, in those grim days, a tone as of trust in the Eternal, as of real religious piety :■ » •HOMAS CARLYLE. 175 , too, [ can 5 hill lehind ! both nd so [ wan- 1 about J learn to me I united ;e such yle has gard to in terse, kbove to e era of :torious; lows be- bed and If the his pen, i. Such ilty. All Is of his rederick to prove as this [then :— a tone lus piety •re and faith, scarcely noticeable elsewhere in his his- tory. His religion, and he had, in withered forms, a good deal of '*^ if we look well, being almost al- ways in a strictly voiceless state -nay, ultra voiceless or voiced the wrong way, as is too well known." At the seitje of Almutz, a convoy train of Prussians is attacked by Austrians in a rocky defile, and "among the tragic wrecks of this convoy there is one that still goes to our heart. A longish almost straight row of Prussian recruits stretched among the slain : what are these ? These were seven hundred recruits coming up from their cantons to the wars. See how they have fought to the death, poor lads, and have honor- ably, on the sudden, got manumitted from the toils of life. Seven hundred of them stood to arms this morning ; some sixty-five will get back to Troppau. That is the invoice account. There they may lie, with their blonde young cheeks, beautiful in death." At the battle of Zorndoff both Russians and Prussians had exhausted their ammunition, and " then began a tug of deadly massacring and wrestling, man to man, with bayonets, with butts of muskets, with hands, even with teeth, such as was never seen before. The shore of Wertzel is thick with men and horses who have tried to cross, and lie swallowed in the ooze." Frederick laid siege to Dresden all winter, and here is a picture in a few words : — *' It wa«? one of the grimmest camps in nature ; the canvas roofs mere ice- plates, the tents mere sanctuaries of frost. Never did poor young Archenholtz see such industry in dragging wood-fuel, such boiling of biscuits in bro- 176 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. ken ice, such crowding round the embers to roast one side of you while the other was freezing.'* Here is a character of Frederick the Great in a few sentences, in speaking oi his letters written to Voltaire, and others of his friends : — " The symptoms we decipher in these letters, and otherwise, are those of a man drenched in misery ; but, used to his black element, unaffectedly defiant of it, or not at the pains to defy it; occupied only to do his very utmost in it, with or without success, till the end come." A sudden assault is made on the Austrians at Siptitz, and here are hor. rors photographed: — "It was a thing surpassed only by Dooms-day ; dangerous rage of noise risen to the infinite ; the boughs of the trees raining down upon you with horrid crash ; the forest, with its echoes, bellowing far and near, and reverberating in universal death-peal, — comparable to the trump of doom." At this time three historic women were supposed — and rightly, too — to hold in their hands the destinies of Europe. The one was Maria Theresa of Austria, whom Frederick was robbing of her possessions ; the second was the DuchesR of Pompadour, the mistress of Louis XV., of France, who hated Frederick with a perfect hatred,on account of a former insult, and was thus an implacable enemy : the third was Catherine II. of Russia, a sort of syren fiend, who lured to destroy, and, like her namesake, Catherine de Medicis, had no conscience, whom Carlyle calls in sarcasm "a sAe-Lom XIV.," and which was decidedly complimentary to /ler. These three women, Carlyle thinks, were the prime movers in those wars, and kept Europe in THOMAS CARLYLE. 177 LSt one 2re is a tences, re, and ecipher a man jlement, to defy with or n assault are hor. sed only n to the wn upon J echoes, universal m." At sed — and stinies of Austria, lions ; the e mistress ick with a and was therine II. destroy, lis, had no j^^r-Louis lentary to were the lurope in i: turmoil — in fact, in a perfect maelstrom of agitation and blood." Numbers of such quotations might be given; but in all, peculiarity, idiocyncrasy stand forth prominently. He gathers stores of words of the most suggestive kind, and throws them together with a prodigality which would have excited, to envy, amiable and kind Dr. Johnson. At the same time, there is perfect method in this torrent of verbiage, which shows systematic writing, and his extensive erudition. " No pent up Utica contracts his powers," and no orthodoxy of style cramps his energies. In this latitude of thought does he show himself a true son of genius. No creeds terrify him; no threatened ostracism, from pseudo-critics, appal him; no shib- boleth can attach him to party in church or state. As a lover of literature lie ranges its wide domains, and seeks sweet eouucil in its sequestered nooks, as well as on the altitude of its highest mountains, hymning in rude,but sterling stanzas, songs of nature, not circumscribed by the garden-plot of a bigoted sectary, nor hedged in, by almost omnipotent public opinion. He fills, to some extent, Pascal's idea: "You tell me that such a person is a good mathematician, but I have nothing to do with mathematics ; you assert of another that he understands the art of war, but I have no wish to make war upon any- body. The world is full of wants, and loves only those who can satisfy them. It is false praise to say of anyone that he is skilled in poetry, and a bad sign when he is consulted solely about verses." Carlyle was too ardent a believer in the potency of 12 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 ti.' ||2JB 1.4 1^ II— 120 1.6 <^ w 'e2 '%. f^ A*. ->r ^ -> ,.>• 0^1 /A Photographic Sciences Corporation \ s ■<^^' ^. ■^ \\ r M a- ^ *. <^ 6^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 A <\ 178 ; PEH PHOTOGRAPHS. books. They were to him, par excellence, the principal vehicle for human thought, to pernieate,anil intluence, and mould the masses. All other motive powers were subordinate, and secondary. Hence his statement that "the writer of a book is he not a preacher, preaching not in this parish, or that, but to all men, at all times and places ? He that can write a true book, to persuade England, is not he the bishop and archbishop, the primate of England, and of all England ? I many a time say, the writers of newspapers, pamphlets, poems, books — these are the real working, eflective church of a modern country." Such utterances drew down on his head severe animadversions, and Averc styled rank lietcro- doxy. Are they true ? Let tlio moralist or llio christian say, (if he thinks the matter over,) which would be the worst alternative for Christendom, to have all literature " wiped out," and to trust only to 7'ira coct' instruction, or to kec)> the mighty presses only, going on " true books," pamphlets ami tracts, and flood the world with them ? Let some country debating school decide the question. Both are mighty to influence public opinion, l^nd both will exist in all civilized countries — co-workers in a mighty struggle of right against wrong. Yet, has not the immortal work of the mighty dreamer done more cumulative good, and will do so to latest gene- ration 3, than all his preaching ? The congregations of such, as lie, augment, as ages roll on, through magiel words, and through the witchery of the potent story. It keeps, and shall keep, young and old, rich audi THOMAS CARLYI.K. 179 encf, tlie neate,am\ ler motive y. Hence s lie not a that, but e tbat can is not lie f Engianil, the writers —these are a modern ou his lieud rank lictcro- alist or t1>"' over,) ^Yllitll steiulom, to trust only the migbty tmphlets ami l.et some Istion. BolV. ,n, JWid botlil [workors in a ,g. Yet, ba*;' ireamer done! ;o latest gene- igregationsoi [hrougbmagici potent story. old, rich M poor, wise aiid ignorant, spell-bound by the simple and bewitchinuf j)ortraituro of Christian, and his family. Carlyle was not far wrong, after all, in saying * the })riesthood of the writers of such books is above other jiriest-hoods," if influence for good is any test of Divine approval. He throws no dis- credit upon the saered ministry, in its high vocation, nor under-estimates its worii, and j)Ower ; but its in- tiuence is augmented a thousaud-ibld, by the right arm of literature. The oratoi has slain his thous- ands, but the author his tens of tljousauds. The orator strikes the popular heart, but once in a while, and, with ebbing pulsations, tho influence soon dies ; but tiic v»rilur, in his published eiiorts, returns to the assault, and if genius and mental power com- luaml the migidy phalanx, lie moulds an;! subdues by reitei'atiou. Carlyle believed this, and although bis parents were anxious for him to study for the chvuch (and what numbers of Scottisli parents do feel tho same way in regard to their sons '?) yet, theological tomes, catechisms, creeds, ^Ecumenical councils, and hermoueutics had no charms, as such, for him. General literature deligiitcd hmi ; and to satisfy his insatiate greed, he eagerly studied the ancient classics, and several of the modern languages, especially the German. It is generally believed that Herr Teufelsdrockh, the character in his " Sar- tor Resartus," had his own experiences, only in romance, and that the honest Dutcl»man is Carlyle mb rosa ; and in his college days he tells — " by in- stinct and happy accident, I took less to rioting i8o PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. than thinking, and rending, which latter also I was free to do. Nay, from the chaos of that hbrary (Edinburgh), I succeeded in fishing up more books than had been known to the very keepers thereof. The foundation of a literary life was hereby laid. I leaned, on my own strength, to rend fluently in al- most all cultivated languages, on almost all subjects and sciences." Such being the case, ho knew that] his discursive tastes in reading would make hinij an indifferent divinity student, and with honest intent he followed the bias of his mind, andeuteredj tiie more congenial walks of literature. His "■ Lifoj of Schiller " was very popular in Germany, and notj only received the highest encomiums from Goethe.j but waa translated by him, and in his preface he did the author full justice. •' It is pleasant to see,'] said Goethe to a friend, " that the Scotch are giv] ing up their early pedantry, and arc now more iij earnest and more profound. In Carlyle, I vciie rate most of all the spirit, and character, which Iij at the foundations of his tendencies. He looks to ll culture of his own nation, and, in the literary prij duction of other countries, which he wished make known to his contemporaries, pays less a| tention to art, and genius, than to the moral cle\j tions, which can be attained through such work Yes, the temper in which he works is always mirablc. What an earnest man he is, and hovr studied our German ! He is almofit more at home I our literature than we ourselves arc." Both t| works referred to, had at first to go a-begging TUOMAS CARLYLE. i8z publishers, and •• Sartor Resartus " was at last pub- lished iu " Fraser's Migazino " in 1831, by instal- ments ; and so obtuso was the British public at {his time, that it foil dead — so to speak — upon the market. It was not uppreciated ; /out our American cousins saw its merits, and printed it iu book-form. It immediately took its place with the permanent literature of tlie diiy. Three years li'ter this he published ♦' The French Revolution," and append- ed to the title his real name. This book had a moder- ate sale. Ho then sent out rapidly books, and pamphlets, on social questions, such as his " Shoot- bg Niagara," '* Past and Present," *' Laterday Pamphlets." These commanded a great amount of notice. They are pointed, racy, sharp, and some- times savage. They show no pity to shams, hum- bugs, and impostures. He probes to the bottom ill "guano-mountains of cant and rubbish," and shows no mercy to the hypocrite, be he pseudo-saint, reformer-crier, or citizen-parasite. In 1819 he pub- lished " Oliver Cromwell's letters and speeches, with elucidations." This struck a key in the English kart; and although the author was born north of |tiie Tweed, he sprang into more than passing notice, •nth of it, and was stamped, as a somebody, ibove mediocrity, by his countrymen, long after ioreigners knew and appreciated the canny Scot. ther works of a minor nature he wrote, but his owning labour is doubtless **The History of Frede- ick the Great." He trod ground, every foot of which knew. The Teutons were national models ; and fBPW— ~"^W" «i 182 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. It must be acknowledged in the light of the events of 1870, that they have striking and distinctive chjir. acteristics. It Reems to mo that the great blemish of this history is, his " liero-worship " of Frede- rick. Historians are not romancers ; and if the truth must be told, the warrior Fritz was devoid of moral principle. He was treacherous to the last degree. Diplomacy, in his eyes, had no ethics, and had no virtues, except in success. His creed was that of the father to the son, — " Get potatoes honestly, if you can ; but if not, at any cost get potatoes ! " Such men as Abbot make demi-gods of such as Napoleon, or Headly will make a ripe saint of Cromwell ; but we expect such abortions from "small fry." Carlyle could not possibly ; in his re- searches, find auijht but love of conquest, military jjjlory, and the restlessness of a perturbed spiiv ill at ease with itself, the mainsprings of action in a man whose indomitable energy covered a multitude of sins. Carlyle's history shows that portraiture, and should make Fritz »io/ a hero, but only a conqueror,bv I chance, by energy, by cunning, and by deceit. This history shows, however, wonderful research, and is written in a trenchant, quaint, and epigrammatic] style. It seems so difficult for historians to avoid al bias for some one or more of the character s, about I whom they write. They seem to forget, that tlioy sitl as judges on the past, maintain a strict neutrality, sifting all evidence, and pronouncing sentence aej cording to the evidence, be it, for the weal or wo« THOMAS CARLYLE. 183 of friends or foes. Eveu genial Sir Walter Scott in histories, and romances founded thereon, must show his political proclivities, and, indeed, they crop out on every page. Frederick may have been a great military general, but, many of his most inij)ortant battles were won, according to his own account, by the blundeiing of the enemy. Ho tried to rob poor Maria Theresa of her i)Osses8ions, and while in close alliance with France, (two robbers eager for the spoils,) coquetted, unknown, to ally, with Austria, against his host friend, and thus w:is always found " faithless and faithful,'' for liis troops en- dured toils, and fatigues untold, and performed prodigies of valour, to the very hist, aud asked no questions, as to tlie reason why. Carlyle's history, however, in spite of its faults, is uuifiue. It has marvellous force, originality, and untrammelled thought, and such works of his have found, in style, raanv copyists, as the classic purity of the writings of Steele, Addison, Johnson, or Blair, furnished for many long years, the models of successive scribes. Carlyle has doubtless passed by his best days for ho is now (Dec. 4th, 1871,) in his seventy-sixth birth- day, aud,for the last few years,he has seldom appear- ed in public, or in print. His remarkable inaugural address, at Edinburgh, will probably be his last, and as far as I know, his letter last year on German matters, has closed his career as a writer on politics. He is, however, "a worthy Scot" of whom his country may be proud, aud who has entered the lists successfulh', in an age, remarkable for powerful i84 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. pens, and in a country where giants in intellect have to be, to succeed, not simply chiefs, but chief- est among the sons of Analc. I regret that I have never cast my eyes on Carlyle, so as to be able to give of him a personal notice, but if his picture does not belie hitn, ho is small of stature, wiry in body, with a good deal of the nervous in his constitution. His nostrils are well dilutod as if he smelled battle from afar. He has bushy eyebrows, and large eyes, apparently grey, and keenly observant. His face knows no razor, and his hair points " a' the airts the wind can blaw," — beard and locks being as bristly as a Scotch thistle. There is nothing re- markable in his physique, except, that at a glance he shows endurance, and at first his countenance would appear as that of a " dour " man, but it is only an appearance, for he possesses a great fund of humour, and is kindly withal, but has the reserve of his countrymen, with strangers, that is, a sort of " canniness." The following, going the rounds of the papers is characteristic, whether true, or not A fresh and good thing of Carlyle's. — Travelling north during the past summer in a cart, comfortably with aristo- cratic travelling company, the conversation turned upon Darwin and his theory. The ladies argued the "pros " and " cons " in a womanly manner, looking to Mr. Carlyle for approval. He gave every " fai re ladye" the same kindly nod and smile, no doubt remembering Josh. Billing's saying, " Woomaa's inflooence is powerful— espcchila when she wants enny thing." One of the party, after she had given out, said : " What do you think, Mr. Carlyle .'"' His cool reply was, " Ladies you have left nothing to be said." Oh, yes ; but what is your opinion ? You have not given us that." Carlyle was 1«0MAS CARf.YI.E. 185. too far north to be sold. His witty reply was, •' For myself I am disposed to take the words of the h'salmist, • Man was made a little lower than the angels.' So is the letter to Tliomas Hughes, M.I'., on being requested to contribute a copy of his works to a library, forming in Chicago since the fire : No. 5 Cm EVEN K Row, Chehca, Nov. 12, 187 1, Dear Hughes ;— Forgive me that I have not sooner answered your friendly, cheery, and altogether pleasant liulc noic. I suppose Burgess would have told you my objections to the project ; that it seemed to me supertliious, not practicably by the methods he proposed (for the gills of all the books of living authors will go for very liitlo in such an enterprise) and, third and worst, that it wore on the face of it a visible pick-thank kind of character — a thing greatly to be avoided, both in Chicago and here ! These objections do not vanish on reflection, but on the contrary gather weight. Nevertheless, if you and the literary world feel nothing" of the like and the project does take fire and go on, it continues certain that my poor contribution of a copy of my books shall not by any means be wanting. Believe me alway, yours, with many regards T. CARLYLE. WHA7 WAS JT? IT was a terrible night of storm, that 17th of November, 1857, as I was toasting my toes, be- fore a peat fire in the parish of Cabrach, Scotland. The Deveron was pouring down dark floods of seething waters from the mountains. The wind rattled at the windows as if it would be in, and sang as it eddied round the corners, and down the wide *'lum," a dirge over the departed glories of summer. A "dour" night had settled down on the hills, and there seemed a sullen determination, in the storm, to hold — for one night at least — high revelry. Peal after peal of thunder ever and anon reverberated down the valley, and over the mountains, with an intensity of sound, I had not heard excelled,except on the Andes, in Central America. McPhail, an oM man of seventy years sat on the other side of the ''ingle," awe struck and pale. As the tempest moderated, he said : "This fearful storm reminds me of the night of 'Black McPherson,' in 1812." I urged him to give me the particulars to which he referred, and they were as follows : — "During the latter part of the Napoleonic wars, men were scarce for soldiers in Britain. The Ameri- I WHAT WAS IT? 187 can war of 181 2, and the wars raging on the Continent of Europe, in which Britain was embroiled, drained the surplus male population of the British Isles. The press-gang was brought into rctjuisition. Those who were not found with some implement of industry in their hands, belonging to their masters, or to them- selves, were seized, and forced into the army or navy. Oftentimes an ambush was laid at church doors, and as the congregation filed out from the house of (lod, all the able-bodied men were suddenly, and ruth- lessly, dragged away from their families, probably never to see them more. A reign of terror i)re vailed every- wheie ; and servants, fearing every bush, and dyke, and ditch, lest it hid a soldier, carried implements of labor in their hands, to their meals, and even to their beds, (earing to be takdh unawares. To the Highlands of Banfl'shire and Inverness, a Captain McPhersonwas sent, by Government, to re cruit the Highland regiments abroad, by fair or foul means. He was nicknamed " Black McPherson ;" but, whether this name was given to him, from being of a dark and Yorbidding a])pearance, or from his cruelty and ferocity in the unpopular work in which he was engaged, it is impossible at present to tell. Although he was a native of Strathspey, and a brave man withal, yet he was followed everywhere by execra- tions from old and young. The remaining possd" of men, he brought with him, was composed of kindred spirits, and spared no fit man, upon whom their hands fell. They knew nothing but military obedi- ence, and duty, in all their inflexible exactitude. 1 88 FEN PHOTOGRAPHS. f A widow with an only son, her sole support in her declining years, resided at this time in the parish of Knockando, near the well-known ferry on the river Spey, which crosses over to In vera von. He was at work in the latter jjarish, but stealthily went over on Sabbath evenings to visit his aged mother. On one of these evenings as he was returning home to liis work, his mother accompanied him to the ferry, and saw liim safely across the river. 'J o her horror, no sooner had he stepped on land than four men, headed by the IMack Captain, sprang from behind the boat-house, and commenced dragging David Stiaclian away. The widow fell upon her knees, and,in heart-rending cries, implored the Captain to release her only stay, and support, in her declining years. She was only answered with curses. Frantic with the commingled passions ot rage, and grief, and seeing that the stern man was inexorable and deaf to all entreaty, and dead to all the redeeming feel- ings of our common humanity, the widow became be- side herself in agony, and with uplifted hands, to high heaven, poured fordi fearful imprecations and male- dictions on the head of the offending man. "May a blessed ray of happiness or hope never dispel the darkness from your perjured soul," said she. ''May the bitter pangs of a guilty conscience be yours through life, in death, and during eternity. May a curse blacker than that branded on the brow of Cain, and more hopeless than that burned by God's avenging finger on the faces of the fallen angels, fall upon you, and to your lot, ceaselessly and unre- WHAT WAS IT ? 189 irning ini to o her n four from agging on her Captain cUning Frantic ^f, and deaf feel- ime be- o high d male- fT xnittingly. May the Prince of Darkness, of whom you are a faithful transcript, claim this base part of his heritage, in this world, and doom you unshriven to black despair, and endless tormeni. Amen, and amen." Alarmed at her own vehemence, and at the fearful utterances, which seemed like prophecy, she fell powerless and grief-stricken to the ground ; while a cry of bitter irony, from the lips of the hard- hearted man, was the only reply Years passed away, and in the excitement of the times the scene of tha*^ ^t )bath evening was almost forgotten. The son's bones festeied, whitened, and rotted on the fieul of Waterloo ; while " The Im- mortal" was a putrescent corpse, in all earthly, on Rocky St. Helena. The widow died broken-hearted, and was buried by the parish. McPherson returned to his native glen — not now dreaded as of yore, with his trained bands, but wealthy from, it was said, not only foreign booty, but also from the bounties paid lor the capture of his countrymen, as recruits, for the consumption of the battle-field. He had money, drove fast horses, kept hounds, boasted of numer- ous retainers,and held high revelry with his friends, in whose eyes riches covered a multitude of sins. The second year of his retirement from the army he was out with a few friends hunting in the forest of Olenfiddich. A " bothy" had been erected in a se- questered glen, for the shelter of his company, dur- ing the sojourn on the hills. One ot his trusty serv- ants was sent forward, as night began to fall, to pre- ;, 1 ra ' 190 PEN PHOTDGRAPHS. pare supper for the hunters. He related afterwards, that, as he was thus engaged, strange noises were heard in, and around the house. He was so frightened that he went several times to the dcJor to effect his escape, but a large black hound barred his exit. At last, the arrival of the party allayed his fears ; after inquiry from his fellow-servants, he found out that they had neither seen nor heard anything unusual, and he at last supposed himself the subject of a strong imagination. While at supper, a sharp and powerful knock was heard at the door, so imperative in its reiteration, in that lone place, and at that unusual hour, as to startle the stoutest of the paity. Another servant was sent by the captain to the door, to answer the noisy summons. He soon returned, with a message from the visitor tor the attendance of McPherson at the door. With a growl of dissatisfaction, the captain obeyed ; and after a (qw words had ])assed between the parties, they withdrew from the door, closing it after them. The supper was ended ; but yet the murmur of voices could be heard, as if the parties were in earnest conversation. This strange acting renewed the curiosity of the first servant, and on a frivolous excuse, he went into a small entrance, into which the outer door could swing. In peeping through the key-hole, he saw, in the dim moonlight, a tall man in dark clothing, and at his heels two black hounds. The stranger was laying down, in a per- emptory manner, some rule of action, in regard to which the captain expostulated. The stranger was WHAT WAS IT ? 191 nock was iteration, XX, as to :r servant nswer the a message xPherson ction, the id passed the door, .ded ; but as if the ,is strange Irvant, and entrance, n peeping [moonlight, heels two [n, in a per- n regard to ranger was inexorable ; but the only words the servant could un- derstand were, ** I'll be here this day twelve-months with them, /or me.,'"* said the capta'n ; and with that the man and his dogs disappeared in the darkness, down in the glen. The servant had no sooner resumed his seat in the ^ corner, by the peat fire, than McPherson entered pale, but calm. He put on an air of jollity, and seemed to out do himself with convivialty. The m(/uelHtugh, which was passed freely round, had doubt- less a good deal to do witli his hilarity. *'A friend of mine, on urgent business, was forceth to drive to the hills to see me to-night, and was com- pelled to return immediately," said he. This satisfied all but Davie, whose fears and sus- jcions were now fully roused, but who was determined keep his own council. The night passed away, with drinking and si)eeches» toasts and songs, until the near approach of a Scottish morning, and then the weary Bacchanals sought re- pose.The hunt was renewed next day with addition- al zest, and next night found them all at their "ain firesides." Another year had almost rolled round, when a grand hunt was proposed by McPherson. The prepa'ations weie extensive, and invitations were sent, so numerous, as to excite wonder in the whole country side. David was the only man, except the captain, who felt uneasy as the day drew near. He got nervous, and he saw his master was no better in that respect. The morning arrived — hot, and sultry, and fair, and iga PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. WW with it crowds of horsesmen, hounds and gillies. Loud laughter, jests, snatclies of song, and shrill whistles filled the hills and valleys with echoes far and near. Away the gay cavalcade rode until the sun had -climbed high in the heavens, when a dark and porten- tious cloud appeared in the horizon. A number of the more nervous turned back to the nearest dwellings, and Davie, with shaking knees, told his master, that one of the best hunting hounds had inadvertently been locked up in the kennel. His master sent him back for it, while the remainder of the party made rapid strides for the " bothy ' of last year. Davie loosened the hound, on his return, from a bondage he had ac- complished intentionally, so as to have a valid excuse to return, and fled the neighborhood. Such a night of storm, of lightning, and of thunder was never known in that country. The heavens and the earth seemed to be rending asunder, and all things being hurled into primal chaos. The harvests were spoiled, and the tempest hurled into the i red earth all standing grain. It seemed as if a second deluge was coming, from the opened windows I of heaven, upon the stricken earth. The morning opened cheerfully and serenely, — but I not one of that devoted band ever returned alive.] The people were alarmed, and gathered in largel numbers in the mountains, and the site of the cabiiil was found, — but not one stone of it was left u another. The bodies of mutilated men, and doff *7ere found near it, in the mo%t grotesque and horribi WHAT WAS rr? 193 sun bad id porten- lumber of dwellings, taster, tbat tently been t him back nade rapid ne loosened he bad ac- valid excuse shapes ; but the men could not have been known except for the clothing. McPherson was found about fifty yards away from the foundation, stripped of all clothing, but that on one leg. The flesh seemed scorched upon his bones, and in the shrivelled face, and obliterated eyes, and singed locks, none could see a vestige of '* Black Mc- Pherson." AVhat was it ? "Was the widow's prayer answered ? Did Satan come to claim his own, and was the "for me" a peace offering to the Prince of Darkness, in the oblation ot the flower of the country's side ? Or is it explained from natural causes, and all the eftcct of a terrific thunderstorm, whose electric power was seen in the destruction of the cabin, and all living in its embrace ? My narrator believed strongly in the former explanation, and as I knew it would be ''love's labour lost," to try to convince him to the contrary, I sought my bed, and dreamed of horrible things happening to me, by the hands of Diabolus, or his imps, and awoke glad that his Satanic majesty was not thus employed on my corpus, nor toying ad libitum with my immortal essence. 13 A NIGH I 01' TERRORS. IT was customary, about twenty years ago, in Highland districts, to carry the bodies of deceased persons on bearers of wood, instead of on wheeled vehicles. This was necessary in many places on ac- count of the rocky and precipious character of the roads. The bearers were usually kept in the church or vestry for convenience. It was a clear frosty October day, in the year 1839, when John McLeod, the parish school master of Tomintoul, died. He had taught, and flogged, and scolded the growing urchins of that locality for nearly half a century, and many of his early pupils had distinguished themselves in the navy, and on bloody battle-fields, in the forum, and among the literati of their country. Would that I could wax eloquent on their behalf ! His dominical sway was benignant and patriarchal, and there was always .1 radiancy of graciousness about his countenance which cheered the falterer toiling up the hill of science, but as yet, not far from its foot. Well, his race was run, and his coffined body must be hid from sight. James Mur- dock, his assistant and successor, was deputed to go over to the " Auld Kirk " for the bearers. His eagerness to go was explained by the gossips at the A NIGHT OP TERRORS. 195 year 1839, master of )gged, and y for nearly pupils had on bloody the literati ax eloquent benignant radiancy of [ch cheered but as yet, Un, and his [james Mur- jputed to go larers. His issips at the wake, who stoutly asserted he was sure to pay a visit to the manse near by, and have a short /efe a tete with Flora, the minister's daughter. He sped on his way and mission with all the alacrity of one whose breast was filled with ' love's young hopes.' Night over- took him on the hills, but the full moon was high in the heavens, and benignantly shed silvery pencils of glory over the heathy slopes of the looming moun- tains, and along the scarcely beaten track on which he trod. When ho reached the minister's house, he saw a light shining through the sitting-room win- dow, and curiosity getting the better of his sense of propriety, he peeped through the lattice, and saw Flora stitching swiftly one of the white collars which he so often admired upon her snowy neck. A gentle tap brought her to the door. It is rot our intention to chronicle the sayings of the lovers, for who wishes such love scones depicted to the hjnobile vulyus ? The hours of night were fast wearing away, and the " wee short 'oor ayont the twal," — which some body sings about — was numbered with the past, when he was found scrambling over the stone wall, which separated the garden of the manse from the grave- yard, in which stood a spectre white. (These gentry never appear in any other color, for some good reason of their own.) It appeared to him of monstr-. ous dimensions and of uncouth appearance. It mov- ed and moaned and sighed in apparent unquiet, so that it could not be a white monument made gro- tesque by the light of the moon. Superstitious by inheritance, his blood froze within him at the 196 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. ::i sight, for all the ghosts, wraiths, dead-candles, and horrid apparitions, nestling in some nook or cranny of his brain, came vividly to his remembrance ; and here was a living evidence of their existence, for what else could it be? Sliding back over the wall, he hastened to Flora, and told the wonderful tale, with shaking knees, dilated eves, and fierce gesticu- lation. " Now, Murdock," said the tidy maid 'Svhat a silly * gouk ' you are, to be sure, it is only my father's white horse, which has jumi)ed the stiles to feed in the yard." Murdock, ashamed of his cowardice, especially at such a time, mustered cournge to march with firm steps towards the author of his fears, yet, he had been startled, and his nerves had not fully received their quietus. He was now among the dead, and with the living — horse. It was haunted ground. Here was the mound of McTavish, the miser, who drove his only daughter from his door, because he begrudged her the food she ate and the room she occupied, and afterwards froze himself to death, for want of fuel to warm his shrivelled limbs. There lay the bones of Urquehart, of violent temper, who, in blind frenzy, plunged a dirk into the side of his best friend, and then capped the climax by hanging himself. Here reposed poor Nellie, who died ruined, forsaken, , and broken-hearted, because of the ruthlessness of a perjured villain. There slept — it is presumed j — Baillie Ruthven, who treasured up riches by extor- tion and deceit, but now his children have squandered A NIGHT or TERRORS. 197 them, and all that remains of him on earth are a few pounds of unctuous earth ; — Enough ! — but over him stands a splendid monument of Peterhead granite, as hard as had been his own heart, and on it a lie for an epitaph. Here lies saintly Munro, or rather his remains, but his hymnal chorus of adoration is now echoing in celestial courts. Each green mound had a history, either real or mythical, and Murdock had heard of the tortured spirits of those departed, periodically haunting the scenes of their earthly sepul- ture. He believed that such was the case, and while he cogitated, his fears increased. Diabolus was always supposed to be lurking near churches and impreg- nating the air with satanic influences. He made his way to the church door, and finding it open, he entered. The bearers had been left near the pulpit, and Murdock determined to make a rush for the spot, and retreat as quickly as possible. He gathered up one coat tail under each arm, and fixed his blue bonnet firmly upon the top of his head, and then made the grand charge along one of the aisles. But alas I for all nis plans and hopes, the enemy had him in his clutches, and apparently his hour of doom had come. He felt a painful constriction round the throat, which was fiist suffocating him, but he was determined not to fall into the hands of the Evil One without a struggle ; yet, like the bewildered traveller in a morass, the more he strug- gled the more his difficulties increased, and the tighter the grip became. He beat the air with his hands, and stamped the floor with his feet. He gurgled »w^ 198 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. forth short prayers with gasping emphasis, inter- mingled with the creed,and snatches from the shorter catechism, with now and then ejaculations, which seemed second cousins to profanation. His objura- tions seemed of no avail, for strangulation by the relentless and untiring fingers of his adversary was increasing in intensity every moment. He made a rush for the door, as he supposed, but blind with terror he had lost his longitude and latitude. No matter, any way out of the church, by window, vestry, or door would be acceptable. Over the pews and seats he went — now tloundermg on the floor between them, and, anon perched on the top of them in vain atten,,)ts to gain his equilibrium, for his un- seen enemy had entangled his legs and arms in the meshes of this terribly mysterious agency. He was partially bound hand and foot. Wherever he plunged a bloody trail was left behind. The bonnet was gone, the coat and nether garments, "Like tattered sail Flung their fragments to tlie gale." He attempted to scream but fitigue and a tighten- ed throat forbade it. To add to his terror, his adversary leaped upon liis head, and scourged his face and body with merciless blows. These fell fast and furious, accompanied by unearthly screams, appall- ing enough to awaken the seven, or seventy and seven sleepers. The thought came up to his mind, whether it would not be better to come to terms and capitulate on conditions to the Enemy of souls, by A NICJIIT OF TERRORS. 199 the barter of his body and soul, for his release from thraldom, rather than be innnolated at once, and never see Flora again. He called upon the Prince of Darkness to release him and he would be his abject slave forever. He would seal such a contract with his blood, only liberate him now ; but no response except blows without stint, came from his Satanic Highness. The battle of life and death continued foul and fierce, and yet no truce was sounded by the enemy. In sheer desperation, Murdock made for a small glimmer of light, which met his eye, and which happened to be agothic window. He plunged at it, and through it, on to the green sward outside, as a storm-tossed mariner steers for the streaming light from afar, which to him is a beacon of hope. A woe- begone creature told his '* horrible tale " to an awe- stricken assembly, at the house of the dead, and a posse comitalus was formed of all the " braves " of the vicinity to ' beard the lion in his den ' and exorcise him with cudgels, instead of with " book and candle." With slow steps, and bated breath, and dilated eyes, the crowd surrounded the church, and as the day dawned a goose, with broken legs, and a cord fosten- ed to one of them, was found dangling from the win- dow. The minister's wife had tethered the fowl in the church-yard, and as the door had been left open, it had found its way into the church, and sitting on one of the pews its cord had become entangled about JNIurdock's neck, and in the struggle he had wound it round his legs and arms, until the poor animal was dragged upon the top of his head, and 200 l-EN PHOTOGRAI'HS. Ill n i in its fight for liberty, had beat him with its wings. Murdock fled the country for Canada, in very shame, and saw Flora no more. If this true tale meets his eye, Ave expect to be " called out," but we have pro- vided pistols for tiro and wine for u/ie. As poor Artemus would say " let him appoint the day for his funeral, and the corpse shall be ready." ^ t ; 1 wings, r shame, neets his lave pro- As poor ly for his ''AULD LANG SYNE." WE often hear the Pilgrim Fathers extolled, and relic worshippers go into ccstacy over a bit of prominent stone, on an iron-bound coast, called Plymouth Rock. The fact is, these wanderers had nowhere else to lay their heads, and, therefore, a virtue was made of a necessity. The poor pilgrims had the choice of being persecuted, hung, gibbeted, or burned, as an alternative to coming to America, and I think the choice could soon be made. But when they landed, and went to work, — not in enacting "Blue " Laws, which smelt brimstone, nor in burn- ing trance-wakers, or hysterical women for witches, — then heroism had its more perfect exploits. The stroke of the first axe, made by unskilful but willing arms, TOs the aggressive eftbrt of a coming conqueror, .\nd the 'clearing of the way tor Westward l^nipire. I It was the knell of the bell of civilization over ii doomed barbarism ; and to this day the sound of the woodman's axe, in the tangled forest, speaks of victorv, and aggression continuously persistent, on jtiie skirmish line of an advancing mighty host. We jiiave often odd ceremonies at the laying of the [foundation stone of some stately edifice, or some Hiblic work ; but no imposing ritual (except the 202 PEK MIOTOGRArHS. St '••lit I dignity of honest labor and earnest endeavour can be called such,) gave the initiatory impulse towards . laying the deep and broad foundations,of Anglo-Saxon dominion, in America. 'J'he old log-houses, fast i)ass- ing away, liave a chjirni for me. The .sight of them conjure up in my mind myriad memories of the past. There is the commanding knoll, with splendid beechvT.s and maples, the work of centuries, adorning the highest point ul" tlie undulating prominence. As the rustling leaves, in iuitunm, glided obliquely down- ward, and ])erforriKd strange gyrations in the iiir, as the gust)' winds ho.vled In savagery the requiem o^^ the departing year, I gathered t'v^ ;)yr..nidal beech" nuts — it might be — in nooks or crannies of the ground, or being rocked gently in the curled-up corners of Serc-leated cradles, or partially buried in the clefts of dead trees, or having refuge in the mould of decomposing vegetation. The merciless axe, like an invading foe, swept over the liill, and the fire finished the work of ages, leaving nought behind but smoking ruins and smouldering ashes. The Nor'land wind, so often heard in the tree-tops, but never felt, now remorselessly blew over the denuded hill, and rage at the cruel spoiler filled my juvenile bosom. Groups of men came, one bright spring morning, and stood, and looked, and studied, and measured, as if a second Rome was to be laid out. Logs accumu- lated round this focus of coming greatness; and on a Friday morning the foundations of the representative log-house were laid in the midst of shouts, oxen, dogs, and christenings, with deep libations of whiskey. M^ "AULD LANG SYNE." 203 lo-Saxon fast pass- of them IS of the I splendid , adornuig cacc. As icly down- the air, as requiem o^ idal beech" the ground, corners of n the clefts mould of ixe, lilic an Id the lire behind but |he Nor'land [it never felt, idhill, and nilc bosom. i.r morning, A jacketed urchin sat, on a ])e .led bass-wood log, gazing in wonderment, as notched ends were joined, and the fabric grew up to the rafters," and roof of hollow logs, having the chinked holes plastered v.-ith primitive mortar, made from the red clay in the bank down by the brook. For chairs, h")gs were si)lit in two, placed with the 11 it sides upwards, and the legs protruding from one to four inches upwards, to keep us from sliding off. There v.- -re no backs to these seats, and strange to say, no pL. .lancnt curvatures of the spines of the occupants followed. The slick fire-place, with its alternate layers of mud .'1:1. 1 limber — the buck-skin dooi -opener with its huge cro.-s-bar — the rude windows, rejoicing in four li:;hts, fastened with shingle nails — the floor, with its huge rents, the sad traps for many bare and pattering feet, the cob- webbed rafters, smoky, sooty, and festooned with gossamer adornments of sable hue, and the merry, riotous mico gambolling on roof, rafters, and logs, holding high revelry over stray crumbs s of mince- pie, Johnny-cake, and dainty biscuits,- perched on. primitive shelves along the walls. And then, such a capacious fire-place, — none of your " cabined and cribbed " dainty "ingles," but wide enough to roast an ox. The stove abominations were as rare as the plague. Whoever thinks of calling a stove *' our ain fire- side?" Black, ugly, sickening, sultry, and /ifnd 'ichatur is its history. A cold blast of the breath o^ sullen Boreas in our faces, drives us to it, but we can jbe cheery near it. The rollicking, jolly company the ruddy cheeks, the brimful of fun, the shining !=«■ 204 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. faces have no abiding? place around a stove. The " pale faces " are its presiding deities, and its victims can be counted by tens of thousands ; but the heat of a fire-place is wholesome. We feel its ex- hilarating effects in every inhalation. It is fresh and spiritual, for it is a diffusible stimulant. The room where the wide and deep chimney stands has no foul, pestiferous vapors lin2;ering within its precincts, and no " blues " afflicting humanity, near its cleanly swept hearth. The stove in its heated blackness, produces sleepiness, fretfulness, and hence domestic scenes of hot strife ; and the sable, uncouth fire-fiend is, if not the cause, the occasion of it. I believe such changes of domestic arrangement affect the patriot- ism of a people. The thoughts of a cheery home brace up the heart, and nerve the arm. We are ready to fight for our " altars and hearths," but stoves have no hearths worth fighting for, and it takes the poetry out of the thing to speak of " getting our backs up '' about our altars and our stoves. The as- sociations of a family circle gathered around a roaring fire, iu winter, are potent for good. The harmless jests of the teened youngsters — the tales of scenes, on llood and field, of the white-haired sire or matron, so intensely real, as to make the listeners cower in mortal terror, even at the chirp of a mouse — the popping of nuts, and their sudden collisions, or di- vorces, suggestive of life's episodes — the dreamy gaze into glowing coals, and the "bigging castles in the air/' seeing towers, minarets, gorgeous halls peopled with soldiers in scarlet, or weird beings in gossamer " AULD LANG SYNE." 205 garments, with " world's wombling up and down, bleezing in a flare," and then being brought back to the real, by a punch in the ribs, of the most vigorous kind, from a fun-loving member of the group, are panoramas not to be forgotten A cheering sight it is to peer through the window of an old-fashioned log cabin, in a wintry night, on such a circle, near Christmas time. It may be a re-union of the family. The big black-log lies like a sleeping giant in the back-ground, with a fiery, red abdomen, prominent and rotund. The forestick crackles, sputters, and shoots in sportive glee, its scintillations up the wide- mouthed chimney, or impudently on the laps of the watchers. The well-polished and brass-headed and- irons patiently suffer, year after year, their hot and hissing loads. The tongues of flame, like coy maidens, come up intermittently and bashfully retire ; each lambent spire becoming more daring than its pre- decessor, always hungry and devouring as a Theban sphinx, first licking up the palatable combustibles of the centre, and then savagely attacking, with a wither- ing fire, the enemy in front and rear. Like a victori- ous army, they march triumphantly onward, bringing up reserves, until sparks, smoke, fuel, and laughing groups disappear in the darkness. I used to watch, with great interest an " auld Auntie Kate," in an old arm chair, smoking a short clay pipe, black and strong. Its receptacle when not in use, was a worn out cavity in the wall of the chimney. She would put her right elbow on the arm of the chair, and seize, daintily, the " nib" of the bowl between the 206 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. forefinger and thumb. I see her yet, in memory, as the eyes are dreamily gazing, as if they gazed not, into the fiery embers. Puff, puff, mechanically goes the white curling smoke over her clean and well-starched " mutch," in fantastic columns, pyramids, and cano- pies ; but other scenes, other days, and other figures> than those I conjured up, were in her day dreams- Nothing but a fireside could be an appropriate back- ground to the picture, which would have but a Wilki^ or a Hogarth, full of thoughts of domestic and street scenes, into ecstacy. The walls were adorned with the trophies of the chase, and with well-burnished implements of culinary use. The bedsteads knew not the turners' nor carvers' art. The wind, in dancing weird reels down the yawning mouth of the chimney, made as doleful music as the wizard's dying song. But no happier days could be seen in lordly halls, or courtly palaces, than in the cabin, and its blazing ruddy light of home. Uncle John never could argue on points of theology unless lie had the giant tongs in his hand, wheeling them in the ashes, first on one leg and then on another ; and as each section made its circle, you would almost see the arguments laid down one by one, in the furrow ; but when he nailed his antagonist with some potent argument, down came the biped instrument with a thud on the forestick, which made the sparks fly in all directions, like routed enemies- Women (forgive the good old English word) may show off their figures and graceful steps in the mazes of the giddy dance ; but the good old fireplace was -an excellent training school for those ot " thirty years " AULD LANG SYNE." 207 imory, as not, into goes the 1-starched md canc- er figures) ,y dreams- riate back- it a Wilkie and street Drned with ,1-burnished ,s knew not , in dancing le chimney, ig song. But [s, or courtly ruddy light Ion points of In his hand, eg and then circle, you one by one, antagonist the biped iwhich made led enemies- word) may ^n the mazes .replace was thirty years ago." How nice the foot and ancle were set off near it,say,cooking a dinner ! (Of course.that is notnow-a- days the work of /adies.) "W'hat ingenuity was neces- sary to take from the pendant cliain, or swinging crane, tlie lioiling potatoes, laugh hig all over, or the bubbling soup, with savory smell, or the singing and sputtering mush or porridge ! What dexterity was needed, m handling the rotund *' spider" or the long stemmed frying-pan, with its striated sections of pork, lying in military order, or with venison, which some venile Nimrod had shot in tho woods, as the fruits of such future exploits, and which filled " but and beri' with its inviting perfume — I had almost wrote aroma ! How deftly was the knife wielded to turn the browned morsels, and not even a slight of hand actor could turn such a complete somersault of pan- cakes, by edging them skilfully upon the rim of the pan; and then by a throw — a torward jerk, and a back- ward catch — presto ! the feat is done. It looked so easily accomplished, I challenged a trial — result ; a flabby, sticky pancake, seeking a north-west pass- age in an angle of the chimney, and by sheer gravi- tation burying itself in the hot ashes, a sad warning to confident amateurs. The stove has economic ad- vantages, but cheerfulness and health are not ingredi- ents in the sum total. No one, unless running over with music, feels full of song over a stove. We may have exuberance from a reservoir of joy filled else- where. Go from its sable sides, in an autumn morn- ing, and sniff the fresh air, and listen to the song of universal nature, and you feel intuitively like joining r 208 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. the chorus. Go from a hot and sickening room where no firelight is seen, and where the air is sw charged with thrice-heated air, into the cheering pres- ence of a roaring fire, and no thermometer could rise quicker than do your spirits under its genial influ- ence. These veteran houses never were cursed with modern bedrooms. They might be small, but that was compensated for, by their breezy character. A stray snowflake might court destruction by sailing through a chmk, or the spray from the rain-drop might dash upon the unturned faces of sleepers^ but no pent up " dust and disease" could loiter long with "malice aforethought" in such an atmosphere. In well settled parts of Canada what a contrast ! Sep- timus Jinks, Esq. is wealthy, and rejoices in a fine mansion. It is full of bedrooms cfthe seven feet by eight feet style. The bed is in one corner, the wash-stand occupies another, and a solitary chair is perched in another of the angles, with a dressing-table in the residue nook. The light is blown out, and you creep round the foot of the bed, lest the half opened door slyly edges itself between your outstretch- ed arms, and impinges unceremoniously on the end 0^ your nose. You make a flank movement py th^ side of the bed, but if you are out of Scylla, you are stranded high on Charybdis, with abraded shins or bruised toes, or cracked knuckles. A beautiful dungeon it is. The window — a solitary sentinel of light — is, in the first place, covered with paper blinds adorned with paintings of a high style of art, in the centre. One may be some lonely castle about to "AULD LANG SYNE." 209 ng room ir IS sur- ring pres- could rise nial infla- iirsed with i, but that racter. A by sailing e rain-drop leeper&s but loiter long atmosphere. ntrast 1 Sep- ^ces in a ^'^^ ,e seven feet le corner, the iitary chair is llvessing-table ]own out, and lest the half- »ur outstretch- on the end o^ jment J)y th<^ .f Scylla, yoii [abraded shitis I A beautiful y sentinel of h paper blinds ^of art, in the ,stle about to| fall to pieces into a placid lake, covered wilh mon- strous fowls, second cousins to those which left the imprint of mani'^^.oth feet upon tlie petrified sands of time, and surrounded by rocks of approved pattern. Another is often a lonely milk-maid and a tender lamb ; the former not at all fashionable in dress, and seems to be seeking a lover, or a " babbling brook." Often she appears as one, " Who sets her pitcher underneath the spring, Musing on him, that used to fi)l it for her c Hears, and liears not, and lets it overflow." These, and sundries like these, seemed to my youth- ful fancy wonderful works of art. After the paper blinds, those models ot perspective skill, come the cloth ones, then damask on the one side, and lace on the other, or both in duplicate. On the outside are green Venetian blinds, and all, to ornament or keep the blessed light out, and the dampness in. The bed is unique, so high, so new, so white, so soft, so clean, so downy, so mountainous, so needle-worked, and so musty. It may be the best furnished room in the house, but the doors of this miniature Bastile are kept constantly closed, except on state occasions. Then bonnets, and gloves, and muffs, and spare babies arc deposited//v tem,or\ this decayed and decaying moun- tain of feathers. It may have had no other occupant for weeks. The walls ooze moisture. The windows condense watery tears. The bed-clothes imbibe the general contagion — dampness. No such pest-room could be found in the cabins and log-houses of the first settlers, but advancing civilization continues to. 14 2IO PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. keep, in fine houses, deadly miasma, and keep out the air, heat, and light of heaven. Can the elderly reader think of an old-fashioned log-house, and by the law of association, not conjure up in the imagination the two oxen. Buck and Bright, also pioneers, in the dense wilderness ? They were a queer representative couple, and seemed to appreciate each other's good qualities, and were well acquainted with each other's habits. Buck was of a metaphysicial turn of mind. In chewing his cud, with his nose over the gate, he was always in a contemplative mood, and the dreamy eye showed a reverie, if not consecutive, at least pro- found. He had not a " crumbled horn," but in a Waterloo of former days, he had been disarmed of part of the left one, and the other had been twisted in a fantastic way, on the field of Mars, until its point was in close proximity to an eye always watery, and seemingly in deep grief because of some bereavement. The other eye was bright in comparison, and had a roguish wink and twinkle about it, as if, it had in its counterpart — its mind's eye — some practical joke in store. He was no believer in the conduct of an his- toric namesake, who was said to have starved to death between two bundles of hay of equal size and appear- ance, because, being guided solely by motives, and these being equally and exactly powerful, he could not move towards either, and heroically died. Buck, nnder such circumstances, would have showed a cj editable spontaneousness of will, and could have lade decisions at once. It was only on such occas- ions, he showed unusual activity. About noon, or I 1^1 tt AULD LANG SY.\E.'' evening, he scereed 10 cast , 1 d-ner-horn blew, , L ^^trV"''"'^- '^''" *' -^-^and In.ge,voodenyo e firT"'' """ *°°'' '^'^ for home, dragging hk com, hV , '^""'^''^ 1'»<=1'" ^''l.e. i^right «.as not so nW Akncvingox S"ch, when once aroused Lf^""'" """^ ''"^^°^''- He was nervous and Ir .,'J^!*? P'°^'S'« °f valor, ^he least thing tickled hthide'T "" '"''"' ^■'- 'o a thistle down ; ,nd th tj [r ' ' '"^on-fly «o.te h.5fancy-fron,at„ft f "^ seemed to 'o»Pmch Of sit, inX"^ //-.;" liob's hand ^■iar in all thesi rerects ' ™"= ^"^^ How Bnght had method in a he did u" '"' '"^^' ■' »P» the rustic garden..a tand't, '""^'' how to '-veen the bars to introduce Ws, '^"=' ^J"" ^-■ '"thstand his attacks Thl^" , ^° ^-e could SO at the (ence with genius b" '?''."= ^"^'^ """'d "--./.attempt its overthrow ° I"" '•^"' ^"^ .,' "•" to storm, as did tie "el' r . '"' " ''^ *«- sometimes being caught b!!. ^' Badajos- »-times b, a's„ ?:i '';"-'^;=d horn, and ^azement, on his haunches 'of "^ '""'•'^''' '° ^-^ ,"■* one, from the blow t' , "P''''"^' "'^^'-« tetter than use '. b«te fl " "^ '"'■ «"g'« ^new systematically, at the first rail ^^ '^°"''' '^"'""ence « back, then away wen h 'st^f ""' '' "^''"^ °^- «'•■-, and these foUow d by ea'^ r' T """ *'™™- "y each ra.l, ni succession, 212 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. I' to the ground. He knew the salient angles of the fence, and never advanced upon them. He had strategy enough in his mind to know that the con- cavity was much easier to drive in, than a convexity and always " went for" the retiring recesses, coming out on the other side victorious. For him there was no " pent up Utica,', if left to his own devices. His comrade soon learned this, and became a spectator of the various assaults, until a breach had been made, and in he came for a share of the plunder, without a struggle. He did not seem to have in his code of ethics, the rule, that *''to the victors belong the spoils." The sly rogue might be four hundred yards away from his comrade, but no sooner did the noise of falling rails reach his ears, than he rushed to the spot, as if, his motto was, " Deil tak' the hindmost.'' In the days we " went a gipsying," horses were not as plentiful as now. These bovine gentry were oft times " hitched up " to a sleigh to take a jolly load of jolly youths to a singing-school. The sleigh was none of your tricky bob-sleighs, which seem to seek out, in fiendish glee, all the irregularities of the road. and dive nose first, into all the valleys, and snappishly ride over the miniature mountains, as if bent on pro- ducing a catastrophe. Not so the old-fashioned long sleighs. There is grace in their movements. When they mount a hillock, they seem, at the top, to hesi- tate for a moment whether to retreat or advance, and then, with a parabolic curature forward, like a gallant ship over a mountain wave, they plunge bow first into the yielding snow. Their movements are nivQx ?xpJ no " AULD LANG SYNE." 213 s of the He had the con- :onvexity^ 5, coming there wa^ ices. His , spectator een made, , -without a his code of the spoils." yards away he noise o{ shed to the hindmost.'' IS were not ;ry were oft a jolly load |e sleigh was [ecm to seek of the road, d snappishly jent on pro- jhioned long ents. When top, to hesi- [advance, and like a gallant tge bow first ^s are n-ver done by halves ; nor is there a needless bracing of the riders to prepare for plunges leeway and forward, which never come ; for with them " coming events cast their shadows before." See that old sleigh, which has almost " braved a thousand years " the battles of snow and storms, drawn by oxen friends, loaded with a merry group of juveniles, on the rampage. Clean straw is on the bottom for seats. No box is there to keep the fidgety cargo from spilling out. The four iron-wood stakes rise up above the heads of the passengersjlike jury-masts, on a cast-away raft, over the bleak sea ; but no shipwrecked crew are they, for young and old, male and female, poor and rich, are making hills and valleys, woods and fields, vocal with melody and song. The oxen have an episode in store for the happy company. They seem to grin with satisfaction at the prospect. The road has a sharp turn in it, and, as if with common consent, and by one impulse, they " take to their heels," and crowding into one track, run the sleigh on a stump, and deposit the merry load in a mixed condition in the snow. After the debris has been collected, and an '' omni- um gatherum" has taken place, there were beautiful casts of limbs, arms, and bodies in the snow. The imprint of John's gigantic paws yonder — thumbs, fingers and wrists. Ned's outline from occiput to heels — not in bold relief, but in concave beauty, true as life. Joe's impression was a sort of medley : it was evident he fell in a heap, and then gathered up his legs, as if giving up the ghost. Women were there, with expansive hoops, the centres of great circles, and left no foot-prints, or any other prints, upon the snows of 214 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. time (forgive the parody), except a good mother's scoop-shoveled l)onnet had, in its posterior part, left an indentation like that of a cjuart bowl in the snow. Abrasions of the cuticle, from noses, shins and elbows, by too close contact with somebody's heels — all for- given trespasses — made the sum total of casualties ; and none were put hon de combat in those blessed days of yore, when ''telescoping," explosions, and such like evidences of progress, were for the coming race. Thus 1 wander on, with these retrospects, and find an echo of approval in some readci's breast. He audi passed the spot, only the other day, where the log house stood, and it was a ploughed field, with not a vestige of it remaining. The crooked primitive wood- side road has been obliterated, and Buck and Bright, by Darwin's law of selection, have given way to the noble horse. The joyous group is scattered "far and wide," from the quiet graveyard to the unknown sepul- ture of the distant battle-field — from the billowy wind- ing sheet to the monumental tomb — and from the haunts of infamy to the pinnacles of fame. The days which are past come before me with all their deeds." '^i)'^"'vp^ mother's part, left le snow. i elbows, —all for- isualticB ; ,e blessed , and such ming race, nd find an He undl ve the log witU not a litive wood- and Bright, Y,\\y to the •ed "far and nown sepul- Uowy wind- Id from the bieir deeds." S VJfJt. A'V the little wickct-gatc ol" the Royal Infirmary* Edinburgh, stood a grey-haired sentinel, as I entered for the first time. On the black-board in the entry war, written by this cerberus, " Sectio Cadaveris,"' •' Dr. Balfour" and "Mr. Syme," not Dr. — (in Britain the surgeon and the pliysician do not always merge their professions). Jolly, rollicking students are pouring in, — some to the poi^t mortem — some to the wards — but tlie greatest number to the theatre, where Syme was to operate. He, for the first time, in the history of the hospital, and the second in the annals of surgery, was to excise the tongue of a man, for cancer. The theatre — small, dingy, badly lighted from the north, and with break-neck seats towering with Alpine steepness above one another — was crowded to Its utmost capacity, by a tumultuous throng. Round the table were about a cozen surgeons chatting and discussing, but when the patient walked in, and laid himself down upon the operating table, a thin, dark- featured, withered up, and unostentatious man rose up, and took his coat off. There was no fuss about him, but in all his movements, there was an air of determi- nation, or let me rather say of resolution. That man p 2l6 ri.N I'HOTOGRAI'HS. could not be indecisive if he tried, for the thin and compressed hps, and the positirowas of manner, and firmness of speech, as he explained the case, declared that the mind was "made up,' without f lil, to accom- plish a certain work, and it was done in all its terrible details, and although death was the result, in this case, he succeeded afterwards. When Syme lectured he had poor utterace, — a nasal twang, and a (altering of voice, — not agreeable to listen to, until the ear became tutored to the discordant sounds. He was epigram- matic in his lectures, and although he indulged in no useless verbiage, yet there was a completeness in every sentence, which made his lectures a model for students to copy from, and made it important to catch every word which fell from his lips. He had not the elegance of diction of Simpson, or the flowery language of Bennett, or the smooth-flowing elofpience of a Hender- son. His aim was to speak to the point, with the fewest words possible to elucidate his subject. Hence his great popular-.ty among those of his students who were of an analytical turn of mind, sucli always hate circumlocution, or even redundancy. S\'uie, like Simpson, was a son of the people. He came of an old ai;d respectable flimily in Kinros; hire, and had an eaily training at the High School, l^.dinburgh. He was always reserved unless engagi.-d in some of his favourite pursuits, and then he w^as voluble in the ex- treme.One of his pastimes, when quite a lad, was ex- periments in chemistry, and to such an extent did his passion for it lead him, that he was forsaken by his classmates for fear of explosions from his odd mixtures. SVMK. 217 thin and iner, and declared .0 accom- ts terrible this case. red he had g of voice, w became s epigram- ilged in no ess in every for students catch every :he elegance language of ,f a Hender- :h the fewest Ilcncc his Indents Ntho always hate Syme, like came of an |re, and had nburgh. He |some of his e in the ex- lad, was er ixtent did his ken by his ldd mixtures. His pocket money went for chemicals and apparatus. His ingenuity was often tasked to compensate for an empty purse, by the invention of needful appliances. He did not merely experinient as laid down in works written on the si^ience, but he was perpetually forming new compounds, and testing their afhuities, and rela- tions to the danger of his life and limb, and yet he was only sixteen years of age. At this time he made a discovery for •vvliich he never received due credit, viz., he was the first to show liow to apply ;>r//('/ir(///y, India rubber to its many uses. He entered the Uni- versity at the age of eighteen, and while attending the non-professional classes was articled as a student of Barclay and Knox — the most skilful anatomists of that city. They will be remembered as the surgeons, (especially Js.nox) who got into bad repute as the recipients of the bodies of the murdered furnished by Burke and Hare, who, as murderers, are remembered with horror to the present da}'. The surgeons lied to England to evade conilign punishment from the en- raged populace, who accused them of being accessory to the crimes of the procurers. Knox died in Brigjiton, Eng., a few years ago. This lliiiht compelled Syme to seek a new connection. He became acciuainted with Liston, at that time attracting notice as a man of dis- tinction as a surgeon. 'Hiey were distantly related, and b(^th having a common ol>iect in view, soon be- came warm friends. Syme made gigantic strides for- ward, imder Liston,and Nvhen the latter commenced to lecture in a private capacity, Syme was made demon- strator of anatomy, in his dissecting room. So popu- lar was Liston, and so well qualitied was Syme, that 2l8 FEN PHOTOGRAPHS. during the first winter of this novel attempt to start a class in the shadow of the great schools, seventy students responded to the call. About two years after this, he was offered the office of Medical Superintend- ent of the Fever Hospital. This was a post of danger, from which even medical men might shrink. A large percentage of the medical superintendents are carried off, sooner or later, by one or other of the malignant fevers, which, like a destroying angel, hang ominously over such a hi/.ar house ; Syme did nut hesitate to step into tiie deadly bteach, and was gladly accepted. He had only held the appointment four months, before he was stricken down, and for six long weeks his life like Damocles' sword hung by a hair. His health for several years after this narrow escape, was no*" good, and as he felt unable to dis- charge his duty to his own satisfaction, he reluctantly resigned his position. A few months after, he was urged to accept the position of House Surgeon to the lloyal Infirmary. In this position he began to develope his talents as a surgeon. Cool, daring and yet conservative, he attracted the attention of the visiting doctors, and was often requested to operate in their stead, and sought in council by those who a few short monthrj before looked down upon the boy of 2 2 years of age. His honours now came fast. Listen turned over to him his class on anatomy, and added to his course surgery. In the same year he was made a member of the Royal College of Surgeons, England, and a Fellow of the College of Surgeons, Edinburgh. At the close of 1822 he gave up his SVMK. 219 )t to Start 1, seventy ^ears after ^erlntend- a post of shrink. A [-) dents are her of the xng^h ^^'^i^S ,Yie did uut 1, aud was .ppointm-ont vvn, and for 3rd hung by • this narrow ^able to dis- rehictantly ,rter, he was Surgeon to he began to ,, daring and Intion of the to operate in ;hose who a pon the hoy came fast. ,natomy, and iame year he of Surgeons, of Surgeons, gave up his position in the Infirmarw as lecturer, and went to Dublin, for a time, to stud\ under a distinguished pro- fessor of that city. When he came back he started a class in surgery, on his own responsibility. His suc- cess may be imagined, when we say, that inside of two years his class rose from fourteen to 271, and that, too, with his old friends, i.iston, Ferguson and I.izars, lecturing in the same city, in regularly organized in- stitutions. The triumvirate took up the cudgels against him, and were so bitter against their successful rival, that when an opening occurred in tlie surgical staff of the Infirmary, they "lobbied" the managers to reject his application. This enraged Symt\ and the consequence was, that he Avent and rented a large and commodious mansion known as "The Minto House," and established an Infirmary of his own, and so de- '^rmined were he, and his friends, that the course of lectures delivered should be recognized at the "Royal College of Surgeons, Edinburgh," that the chque gave way, simply stipulating that the fees should be at a rate not to militate against themselves, and that his class should never exceed 45 students. Their oppos. ition went still further, for when one of the surgeons of" The College of Surgeons " was appointed pro- fessor in the University, Syme applied for an appoint- ment to the vacant chair, but the triumvirate were still against him, and seeing they could not v;ell keep him out of it, m;'de a desi)erate eliort to abolish the professorship altogether. They obtained a majority, but, as the scheme needed a two-third vote, they 1 were foiled in this. They next brought thtir forces to 220 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. M' bear on the candidates, and after a sharp struggle Syme was rejected, but next year he was elected with- out opposition, as Professor of Clinical Surgery in the University. At the same time Liston received an appointment as Surgeon to the University College Hospital, London, and strange to say, after Liston'^ death, which occurred in 1847, Syme was strongly urged to fill his chair. Liston had, by his boldness and success in operations, become famous through- out Christendom, and to step into his shoes was no easy task, yet, Syme undertook it. He gave up a po- sition which brought him in about $3,500 and took one which had attached to it, only $750, but a glamour seemed to come over him in this respect, and the fascination of introducing liis method of teaching, and his principles and practice, into one of the largest Hospitals of the metropolis, blinded him to the diffi- culties of the situation. A current of ill feeling had set in against "Provincials." The medical journals encored the philippics of tlie envious. The Scottish invasion of distinguished medical men could be borne no longer, and the hue and cry grew in volume, and reached its climax when Syme settled in London. The "canny" Scot was determined not to put his hand to the plough, and look back. His first lecture showed the man. The students under his easy going prede- cessors ran riot. They did mostly as they liked, and were it not that Liston's enthusiasm in his work created a sort of cfiprit dc corp-f in the class, a reign of wildest disorder would have been the result. Syme had not his brilliancy, but he had great force of character, and I SYME. 221 rp struggle iected with- rgery in the ■eceived an sity College ter liston'^ ms strongly his boldness )us through- jhoes was no ;ave up a po- )o and took 3ut a glamour ect, and the of teaching) of the largest n to the diffi- [1 feeling had ical journals The Scottish n could he ;w in volume, d in London, put his hand ;ctuve showed going predc- iiey liked, and Is work created ign of wildest iyme had not :haracter, and | at once by a direct appeal to their better nature, got hold of the helm, and steered the bark safely and quietly. Not so with a majority of the native medical men of the city, and from the day he set his foot in the college to the day he left it,a continual hostile strategy was brought to bear upon him, of the most offensive kind. Two noble exceptions were the distinguished anatomists Sharpeyand Quain,with Surgeon Wormald of St. Bartholomew Hospital. These stood by him through thick and thin, and all his students were united to a man in his behalf. They knew his worth and felt that, beneath a somewhat reserved manner, lay a warm nature, and that in the man was a mine of medical lore. At last he felt that he was about to compromise his friends iu this "unholy war," and gave up his chair after an occupancy of about eighteen months. He returned to Edinburgh at once and applied for his former chair in the University. It wa still vacant, but a fight had to be made for it. Th^ disruption of the Free Church had taken place, an^ all the bitterness of a religious controversy was evident on every hand. The test of religion for all public teachers was being hotly discussed, and although it was not finally carried, yet, the discussion did much stir up animosity against those who did not happen to be of the same religious faith, as those who were the principal agitators. Syine, however, triumphed and entered a career of professional fame, unrivalled at the time. His students hailed from all parts of the world. On the same benches sat Egyptians and Asiatics, 222 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. Russians and Americans, Frenchmen and Italians, and numbers of his students, now scattered all over the habitable globe, still feel the ajjlaius of the master teacher. In his operations he was always cautious, more than brilliant, and delighted in being successful, more than in being flashy, raid wanting success in the end. I He took as much care of his patients afterwards, as during the operations, and he always impressed upon his students the importance of careful watching of cases after the knife had done its work. He used to say, the French were good opcrators,but with a grim smile he would add, " I have been in France often, but I never saw a man with a wooden leg !" When in the Fever Hospital he carried out the "good old plan" of blistering, salivating and bleeding, for every disease, from nose-ache to toe-ache, but became so satisfied with this irrational mode of combating dis- ease,in all its manifestations, that he entered the battle- field against it, and has been ably followed by Dr. John H. Bennett. 1 he practice got into disrepute, but the fag end of the long file of converts cried out that disease changed in its type, and necessitated a change of treatment. "Ah," said Syme, "but if your theory be true, how does it happen that we perform more bloody surgical operations, than of yore, and notwithstanding that, and the great loss of blood, under conservative treatment, more recover ?" That was a Gordian*knot which his opponents had no sword to cut. At the urgent request of his students and admirers,he wrote several works of acknowledged ability, and in these he showed his common sense, SYME. 223 Italians, d all over the master ( cautious, successiul, :cess in the afterwards, impressed a\ watching t. He used with a grim France often, g f "When e "good old ing, for every It became so .mbating dis- •ed the battle- lowed by Dr. .to disrepute, ;rts cried out nece«id at his coronation, and at the same time his royi .g was rent in twain as it fluttered over the White Tower of London. F'.verv cavalier and round" head knew that Cromwell could not die happy, in spite of his successes, for a great whale cam*^ up to Greenwich outlet, on the day of his installation, and snorted dttiance in the face of the Rump Parlia- ment. Then, if number three was a lucky number, number two was not. The rending of the cloth of gold, upon which James II. trod at his inauguration, was ominous of his unenviable fate. A crop of mis- fortunes followed William II., Henry II., and Charl T. Sir - aias Browne, a celebrated physician of the 17th century, in a book of " Enquiries into Errors," attempts to refute, with great erudition and gravity, the popular errors, that crystal is congealed ice, p.aced by close chemical affinity, beyond the possibility of thawing out ; that an elephant has no joints ; that a diamond is dissolved by the blood of a goat ; that a corpse weighs heavier than the living man ; that a king-fisher hung up by the biU shows the direction of the soft zephyrs ; that old ^W always has a dancing mania, on Easter day ; that certain herbs laid under the pillow were potent against dreams and visions of the night ; that a nail, from an old coitin laid at our bedroom door, drove away apparitions, and chat the rue herb was an abomination to witches, and gave them hysterics if they came near it. 232 r»,N r'HoTor.KAPiis. The isih (lay o\' Jamiary (St. Paul's day) decided the weather lor a year, heiK e the old rhyme : " H>it, l'auUy, W'iio ni;i(!c thcin all ,is sound, or more, 'rii.in ever that they were 'if fore." ^Vc lauLrh al these absurdities now. " W'e think our tathcis wroni;', so wise we .i^row, ^.)ur wiser sous, no doubt, will think >i^ so." The sailor still whistles tor wind to fill his sails — sees omens in a "horned mooi\'' — keeps witches away by nailing to the rudder, or capstan, or foremast, a worn horse-shoe. <;ir()flrs. «35 decided L-r, wished cralir way. Ch;iiirc\ ; ,t. Swili^in's ,r he i)Ourcd ^ days' rain. [0 and iraie 0-yard, and ilr jure, i)ut \hV: niiradc Inv, 11 his sails— Ivitchcs away )r foremast, Not long since, in a rural part of Hritain, says the London Times, it was ihoupht necessary, fo inHurc peace to (he departed and "lay his gliost," to turn the bee-hives round \\\=, the corpse left the house. 'Hie person who did it, thought it was necessary 4o upset -^ the hives near liy. A general stampede was the result, and the corpus was left pro torn, to attend to its own ol)ie(|uies. Our fathers gave or af)plied certain remedies, ihreey sawn or nine times. vVc have the principle in the old song : " Tlicre'sluck in odd miinbers, savs Hory O'Morc." A royal salute iscomjjosed of firing 5 x 7, or 21 guns, or shots. A company of thirteen was always counted unlucky, for one o( them was sure to die within the year. The average of Imman life was not taken into account. Tlio sannth son of a scTcnl/i son is ( f)Uiited a genius in. this ag(,', and like kings and (pieens, was siip])Osed by layini? on of hands, to cure scrofulous diseases. Tiie hand of a dead malefactor was called preeminently " the liand of glory," for the |)erHon touched by it could prevent pursuit, by temporarily paralyzing the pursuer. The I'agan believeH in the malign influences of the moon, and its conliol over lunatics, and the notion is not yet extinct. There is still " a wet nioon," or "a dry moon."- " if the Indian can hang his powder horn ' on a new moon, or ''if it will slide off," those positions will s!;ow »vluit the meteorological condition of the lunar month will be. Pigs must be killed, sheep shorn, and trees cut down, at the full moon. Tusser's husbandry says "we should not commit seed to the earth when the soil, but when «34 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. !; W the mfion requires it. Our hair should be cut when the moon is either in Leo, that our locks may stare like tbe lion's shag, or in Aries, that they may curl like a ram's horn. Whatever he would ha-v e grow, he sets about when she is in her increase, but for what he would have made less, he chooses her wane." Eminent surgeons of the i6th century held that spots on the finger-nails were fit premonitions of coming evil events. Burton, in his anatomj , held that a black spot on the nail is ominous of coming evil. As a general rule, it is a sure sign oi past injury. From the earliest ages, until to-day, the wedding ring is worn upon the fourth finger of the right hand, because it is believed the artery comes to it, from the heart more directly than to any of the other digitals. If a candle has a blue flame a spirit is hovering round, and a knot of tallow near the flame presaged that death will soon be in the family. If crickets left the house a calamity was at hand, just " as rats leave a sinking ship." To move on Friday, or leave port on Friday, is bad luck, because it was the day of the week of the crucifixion, and many, at the present time will not move a cat on that day as if poor pussy held in her claws the destiny of humanity. The class of plants called "Cryptogamia," e. g., the fern, have hidden seeds under the leaves. For a long time it was supposed that any one who found the invisible seed, and ate it, had the power of becoming themselves invisible. The deadly nightshade {Atropa BeUadonna) was supposed to feed only on corruption and decay, and hence had great medical properties GHOSTS. »35 cut when may stare r may curl ha>e grow, se, but for her wane." jr held that onitions of atom^ , held s of coming f/oi/ injury. wedding ring right hand, ) it, from the ther digitals, is hovering Lme presaged If crickets just '' as rats iday, or leave as the day of ,t the present y as if poor manity. The » g nail, or an excised cuticle, to a medium, in order to make that tertium quid, en rapport with a vagabond Spirit, and it two or more call for the disembodied essence at once, the rule is "first come fiist served." He, she, or it, comes at once from the utmost bounds of the universe to the elect, and lucky go-between, and launches out into biography, history, poetry pr cook- ing, the first complete, of many non-corporeal egos^ and the last personal, and far from satisfactory, and the middle two consisting of a mitgrere. This burlesque, on a grand truth, is the religion of tens of thousands. In the Province oi Ontario, at this hour, woollen threads are tied round thumbs and toes, to stop divers bleed- ings. The fikin of a blcuk cat with a white tip to its tail, in its application, cures inflammation. Spidea GHOSTS. »39 ; juveniles have been npound. )ns were of ave drivtn ; astrologer r flourishes Eor, tar and s seek ele- md, on the Ltions "read >» m the Spirit ; the former ridiron, and le-nail, or an make that d Spirit, and 1 essence at " He, she, 5t bounds of letween, and letry pr cook- jrporeal egos^ itory, andthe >urlesque,on jusands. lo foUen threads divers bleed- it/^ tip to its ion. Spiders webs rolled into pills cure agues. Table salt put into a plate, and over the mouth of the dead, pre- vents putrefaction. All our dead are buried with their feet to the east, because the centre of attraction at the resurrection, it is supposed, will be in that dix'ection. The dismal howl of a dog forebodes death close at hand, in the direction the cur barks. The large end of a pig's '-melt" in proportion to a small end, tells whether the first end of the winter will be severe, or the last, or both ends, for "coming events, f//uj, cast their shadows before." All these absurdities, and a thousand others, are of to-day, in Ang/o-Saxendom, so enlightened, so sharp- witted, and so wise. There is a mote, or a beam some- where else, than in a brother's eye. Intelligent people believe such nonsense, and while they laugh at the fancies, will perform some of those acts, say- ing, "they will do no harm, and may be true." Need we wonder, then, that a belief in ghosts took possession of a people whose mentality had been educated to accept, as true as Holy writ, these signs, omens, charms, and superstitions. Ghosts ! What crowds of unpleasant memories troop forward from the cloudy past, at the mere utterance of the word ! How the juvenile days of such in> quisitorial torture come up in horrid retrospectSi and reminiscences of the past ! The old and dripping cave by the sea shore is conjured up, as with wizard wand ; and the stalactites, and stalagmites of gro- ttsqueformr stand out in bold relief, as if sheeted ■ '.': . ■■'wpr" S40 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. Ul dead, and every cold, damp nook seemed a fit home for witches or hobgoblins. We see the weird sisters dancing round the livid flames, as tempest, and thunder, and lightning hold high revelry without. **The secret, dark, and midnight hags," who ride mid-air on broom-sticks, on the wings ot the hurri- cane, or sail over dark pools, of Stygian rairkiness, in creels, seem to be there, invisible, deep in the mys- tery of foulest deeds. The caverns of old ocean left gaping wide, by the receding billows, were, in youthful and exuberant fancy, the palaces of mermaids —half fish — half woman — with flowing hair, blue eyes of sad and ocean-like profundity, and well-developed busts, singing a syren song to lure helpless and hapless mariners to destruction. Yonder, was the phantom ship, crowded with ghostly sailors, and " Her sails that glance in the sun. I^ike restless gossamers, - H I.' k4 Her ribs, through which the sun Did peer as through a grate The sun's rim dips, thj stars rush out, At one stride comes the dark. With far-heard whisper o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre bark,'' but, after such a sight, to the terror-stricken tars, can be no harbour, no home, no kindred on earth. Yon- der is the dreary vale where '* Mungo's mither hanged hersel," or where foul and secret murder was com- mitted unatoned for, and because of which, the troubled spirit, in unrest, walks its weary rounds, uttering doleful lamentations, as if afflicted with a grievous tooth-ache, or cramped stomach, until it unburdens its woe to some startled midnight traveller, GHOSTS. 241 fit home ird sisters )est, and r without. who ride the hurri- rkiness, in L the mys- old ocean ;, were, in )f mermaids Lr, blue eyes U-developed lelpless and ler, was the rs, and Iken tars, can earth. Yon- lither hanged ^der was com- If which, the ^eary rounds, icted with a lach, until it light tr aveller* who interrogates it, on its eccentricities, and then it " finds rest for the weary," for we have the authority of Mihon in his "Ode on the Nativity," in positively asserting that : — "When the sun in bed, Curtained with cloudy red, PiJlows his chin upon the orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the internal jail, Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave ; And the yellow skirted rays Fly after the night steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.'' The graveyard seems to be a grand rendezvous for ghosts. They seem to have a hankering after the casket of mortality, even if it is a festering, loath, some corpse, fashionably wrapped in muslin, cotton, fine linen, ribbons, broadcloth, timber, shavings, varnish, and tinsel, for the furniture of its dwelling place, or a few pounds of unctuous, clammy earth, in which lies a porous skeleton, with grinning jaws, and hollow sockets, and empty ribs, yet all ** midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms." The young are there, plucked in their bloom j those who were " Young loves, young hopes, * Dancing on morning's cheek ; Gems leaping in the coronet of love ; Gay, guileless, sportive little things, Dancmg around the den of sorrows ; Clad in smiles." The maiden fair, on whom nature has laid a master hand, is also a tenant. The stalwart athlete, the brave heart, the wise head, filled with a motley multitude of passions "magnanimous and mean," lie quietly in the narrow house " appointed tor all 16 342 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. r^i living." The grey head, the bended form, the aching frame, and the weary brain seek repose amid the clods of the valley, " Stranpe medley here ! Here garrulous old age, winds up its tale, And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart. Whose every day was made of melody, Hears not the voice of mirth ; the shrill-tongued shrew Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding, Here are the wise, the generous and the brave. The just, the good, -the worthless and profane, The downright clown, and perfectly well-bred ; The fool, the churl, the scoundrel, and the mean. The supple statesman, and the patriot stern. The wreck of nations, and the spoils of time, With all the lumber of six thousand years." No wonder that the "cities of the dead," "God's acres," should be thought haunted ground. Here " dead candles, flit over graves, with lurid flame, noiselessly undoing gates, ringing church bells, and as forerunners, floating in the way of future funeral processions. Here the ** sheeted dead" take walks for exercise, and always at the midnight hour. To their credit be it spoken, they eschew the fashions, and sport no waterfalls — no hoops or crinoline — no Dolly Vardens — no dromedary humps — no chig- nons — no spaviny limbs -no stove-pipe hats — no pants of restricted area — iio swallow-tailed coats — and no exalted heels, on the " cribbing and cabin- ed'' boots. White is the standard colour, and the garments flow in graceful outline, and artistic folds to the ground. They are not gregarious in their habits, and seem ta enter into no companionship with a brother or sister ghost ; but are ever found as lonely sentinels, as if ostracised from the spectral GHOSTS. 243 form, the k repose rutid shrew ive, ine, d ; »ean, I e, id," '' God's Dund. Here lurid flame, .bells, and as [ture funeral f take walka it hour. To the fashions, crinoline— pa — no chig- [pe hats— no [ailed coats— and cabin- )lour, and the artistic folds [ous in their [nionship with [ver found as the spectral camp, or as being on the vidette line of the mighty army of unsubstantial entities. They seek companion- ship with humanity ; but the poor things are too often rebuffed, with a " not at home " falsehood, or with a clean pair of heels, in active exercise, seeking refuge by ignominious flight. These phantoms are accused of deriving pleasure by striking terror into the hearts of the beholder, and that such disreputable motives make them missionaries to earth. This charge may be a bearing of false witness against our neighbours, and may lay us open, at some future time, to a prosecution for defamation of character, where nolle prosequi cannot be entered. The horrible idea is not conducive to t':** peace of mind especially of rebellious youths, or belated truants from home, ' for, " Oft in the lone churchyard at night I've seen, By glimpses of moonshine, chequered thro«gh the tre«s, The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand. Whistling aloud to keep his courage up. And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones, (With nettles skirted and white moss o'ergrown,) That tell in homely phrase who lies below, ' ' Sudden he starts ! and hears, or thinks he hears, The sound of something purring at his heels, Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind him, Till out ot breath he overtakes his fellows ; Who gather round and wonder at the tale Of horrid apparition, tall and gh»stly, That wilks at dead of night, or takes his stand O'er some new opened grave ; and, strange to t«ll Kvanishes at crowing of the cock." His Satanic Majesty seems to have a love for graveyards and churches. Whether it is because he has chattel mortgages on certain property in the one, and finds his strongest opposition in the other, it is "^F""'" 244 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. H hard to tell. It may be that he permeates the atmos- phere of the sacred edifice, with a demoniac influ- ence, which makes sermons dull, speakers stupid, and hearers sleepy, or that he is on the hunt for some "wandering refugee" ghost, which does not return to its virtuous couch at seasonable hours. That he finds these places, citadels of opposition, and com- petition is evident, and, therefore, having regard to the integrity of his kingdom, in this mundane sphere^ it is not to be wondered at, that his anxiety should be great in regard to these places, when every seventh day, organized attempts, at the overthrow of his sovereignty, are systeniatically carried on with vigor, and with partial success. We have all felt his potent clairvoyance, at such times, by a sense of the ludi- crous predominating, where no fun or humour should be — by a ledger or day book, or bank note rising up before the mind's eye, as from devilish incantations — by John having photographs of Maggie standing out in clear relief, on the back of a front pew, on a panel of the pulpit, or on the white wall — by Maggie pondering on the last words uttered at the garden gate, where only two were good company — by far- mer Jacobus wondering when the drought will end ; when the " epizoo" will cease tormenting his horses ; and why such myriad pests affect direfully his crops — by Jerusha wondenng how Sally Jones could afford to wear such nice things — by Ebenezer Perkins studying out how much he will give in a horse trade, to morrow, and how he can cheat a neighbour out of his honest dues next court — by Dolorous Punjaub, GHOSTS. 245 who has cast-iron features, studying a pose which will affect stunningly a congregation, by the solemn attitude. The Spirit will watch the spiders and count the cobwebs ; it will draw lakes, rivers, continents and islands, from the black spots on the wall ; it sees a butter-fly, roving, how sober it is, by walking up and down, on the bridge of some body's nose, without a stagger, and dabbing at imaginary moisture ; it does chuckle at a philosoj;fhic grasshopper's clumsy attempts to produce friction on its spine by means of legs, which seem too long for successful applica- tion ; and on the top of the pew, the observed of all observers ; it will, by a sort of inference, draw conclusions as to the probable length of the sermon, the state of the road home, the time of arrival, and the probabilities as to the dinner hour. The body is no better, for it must intermittently seek temporary comfort, on one hemisphere at a time ; the head will insist on exciting disagreeable sensations, positive and local, which, in the interest of peace, must have vigorous manual treatment, in spite of the critical ob- servations of church-going comrades, in the rear ranks ; the probocis is profuse in its libations to an unknown frigid deity, and the cotton, linen, or silk re jptacie, for its generous offerings, has been left . home ; 'he grinding, stinging, throbbing corn, iinprisoneu in a number six, is rebellious at its cap- tivity, and is, in feeling tones, crying out for a habeas corpus. We set the toes up, but no relief. We raise the heels, but there i- no peace, " in the north-west angle of said lot, number eight ;" we turtle-like with- 246 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. draw the rebellious domain, by muscular contraction, from the undue pressure of the enemy, and find a truce of temporary duration, from the fangs of the relentless foe. " A kingdom for an old shoe !" A *' dickie" is pinned carefully to hide, hypocritically, 1 manly bosom, and all which lies between, but pins come out, starch is obstinate, and a smooth surface becomes corrugated into hills and valleys, with peeps ^ behind the scenes. We -".Ind it, /// situ, with a savage push, but it will not stay put, and grins, nods, winks show that " the murder is out." I occupied a pew once with a friend in a certain church, who had a bunch of matches in a linen coat pocket. He sat on them, and by the friction of contract, they took fire, and with them the coat. The fumes showed the seat of trouble, and forgetting time and place, he ejaculated "the d — I!" just as ''Brethren, the scriptures moveth us in sundry places, ike," floated on the air,and then he described the hypothenuse of a right-anglvid triangle, towards the door, leaving sulphurous fumes in the rear,with an incense suggestive of another locality. Thii catalogue of Satanic influence is far trom complete, and in the midst of it all, we are expected to " inwardly digest" all which father Comfort has said. Vampyres wer^ graveyard frequenters of a sanguin. ary kind. They must have been a sort of ghostly weasels, and ioved to suck human blood. The learned Horst says " A vampyre is a dead body, which con tinues to live in the grave ; which it leaves, however, by night, for the purpose of sucking the blood of GHOSTS. *47 the living, and thus it keeps -n good condition, e.g. You lie, powerless at night, in bed, and this pale spectre of the grave approaches you. His face is felt by you, fresh with the corrupt odours of the Charnel-house. He seizes you by the jugular vein and pierces it with his poisonous fangs, then, takes his supper from the flowing crimson stream — simple but nutritious food — and leaves no wound behind. We are told the wound is fatal, unless the victim eats earth from the grave of tho vampyre, and smears hunself with his blood. At last, the bitten becomes himself a vampyre, in time, and thus the monstrosity is perpetuated. This belief is no tale of fiction, for it has been believed in by good Britains, and to this day the delusion is potent in Servia and VVallachia, and in the Levvint, being sworn to by wise surgeons, and learned savans. To utter the word " Var- donlaclia" to a modern Greek (if Byron or Southty is to be believed,) is to shock him with horror. Byron's poetic power is seen in the Tartar's curse against a father : " But first on earth as Vampyre sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent ; Then ghastly haunt thy native place. And suck the blood of all thy race, There frorri thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life, Yet loathe the banquet, which perforce Must feed thy living, livid corse. Wet with tl ine own best blood shall dip Thy gnashing tooth, and haggard lip, Then stalking to thy sullen grave. Go, and with ghouls and Afrits rave ; Till these in horror shrink away From spectre more accursed than they ! t48 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. Dickens, in ** All the Year Round," says that : In the year 1625, on the borders of Hungary and Tran- sylvania, a vampyrish story arose, which'was renewed afterward in a noteworthy way. A peasant of Madveiga, named Arnold Paul, was crushed to death by the fall of a wagon-load of hay. Thirty days afterwards our persons died with all the symptoms (according to popular belief) of their blood having been sucked by vampyres. Some of the neighbors remembered having heard Arnold say that he had often been tor- mented by a vampyre ; and they jumped to the con- clusion that the passive vampyre had now become active. This was in accordance with a kind of formula or theorem on the subject : that a man who, when alive, has had his blood sucked by a vampyre, will, after his death, deal with other persons in like man- ner. The neighbours exhumed Arnold Paul, drove a stake through the heart, cut off the head, and burned the body. The bodies of the four persons who had recently died, were treated in a similar way, to make surety doubly sure. Nevertheless, even this did not suffice. In 1 73 1, seven years after these events, seventeen persons died in the village near about one time. The memory of the unlucky Arnold recurred to the vi'lagers ; th? vampyre theory was again ap- pealed t ) ; he was believed to have dealt with the seventeen as he had previously dealt with the four; and they were therefore disinterred, the heads cut off, the hearts staked, the bodies burned, and the ashes dispersed. One supposition was that Arnold had vampyrised some cattle, that the seventeen villagers GHOSTS. 249 had eaten of the beef, and had fallen victims in con- sequence. This affair attracted much attention at the time. Louis the XV. directed the Ambassa- dor at Vienna to make inquiries in the mattei . Many of the witnesses attested on oath that the disinterred bodies were full of blood, and exhibited few of the usual symptoms of death — indications which the be- lievers in vampyres stoutly maintained to be always present in such cases. This has induced many phy- sicians to think that real cases of catalepsy or trance were mixed up with the popular belief, and were supplemented by a large allowance of epidemic fana- ticism. Mr. Pashley, in his "Travels in Crete," stales that when he was at the town of Askylo, he asked about the vampyres, or katakhanadhes, as the Cretans called them, of whose existence and doings he had heard many recitals, stouj:ly corroborated by the peasantry. Many of the stories converged towards one central fact, which Mr. Pashley believed had given origin to them all. On one occasion a man of some note was buried at St. George's Church, at Kali- krati, in the island of Crete. An arch or ca.^ py was built over his grave. But he soon afterwards made his appearance as a vampyre, haunting the village, and destroying men and children. A shepherd was one day tending his sheep and goats near the church, and on being caught in a shower, went under the arch to seek shelter from the rain. He determined to pass the night there, laid aside his arms, and stretched himself on a stone to sleep. In placing his firearms down (gentle shepherds of pastoral poem* >5o PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. li : do not want firearms, but the Cretans are not gentle sh.^pherds), he happened to cross them. Now this crossing was always believed to have the effect of pre- venting a vampyre from emerging from the spot where the emblem was found. Thereupon occurred a singu- lar debate. The vampyre rose in the night, and re- quested the shepherd to remove the firearms in order that he miglit pass, as he had some important business to trans'.ct. The shepherd, inferring frpni this re- quest that the corpse was the identical vampyre which had been doing so much mischief, at first refused his assent ; but on obtaining from the vampyre a promise on oath that he would not hurt him, the shepherd moved the crossed arms. The vampyre, thus enabled to rise, went to a distance of two miles, and killed two persons, a man and a woman. On bis return, the shepherd saw some indication of what had occurred, which caused the vampyre to threaten him with a similar fate if he divulged what he had seen. He courageously told all, however. The priests and other persons came to the spot next morning, took up the corpse (which in day-time was as lifeless as any other), and burnt it. While burning, a little spot of blood spurted on the shepherd's foot, which instantly withered away; but otherwise no evil resulted, and the vampyre was effeclually destroyed. This was certain- ly a very peculiar vampyre story ; for the coolness with which the corpse, and the shepherd carried on their conversation under the arch was unique enough. Nevertheless, the persons who narrated the affair to Mr. Pashley firmly believed in its truth, although slightly differing in their versions of it. GHOSTS. «5i This superstition doubtless arose from the fact that many persons were buried alive. In many epi- demics thousands are hurried to the grave, who are only in a death-trance. The suspension of the heart's action — of respiration — of voluntary motion — of nor- mal bodily warmth — of all the phenomena of animal life maybe absent, and, yet, the person may be alive, and in many cases conscious of the coming doom of permature interment. This suspended animation may be brought about by nervousness, disease, poisoning, suffocation, cold, or any exciting cause. The German name of this condition is better than our English word "trance." They call it " Scheintod," or apparent death. Negative signs of absence of life are no criteria of real death. Surgeons, who have studied this state have seen the glassy eye — muscular relaxation — no pulse, no blood from an opened vein, and perceived a smell of mortification from the body and still lite exist- ing. At these times, nothing short of the usual signs of mortification and decomposition could be relied on. Bulwer, who died a few weeks ago, and who wrote " A Strange Story," treating of such subjects, made a pro- vision in his will, that he should not, under any cir- cumstances, be buried hastily, and that every precau- tion should be taken that he mitjht not be interred alive. Bodies thus buried, if disinterred, would preserve their freshness, in the cold grave, not evidenced in those in whom corruption had commenced, before being buried. Hence, no stretch of imagination is needed to con- ceive how ignorance could conjure up all sorts of absur- dities, in regard to varapyrism and its accompanying wimm 252 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. atrocities. Like the optical delusions of the Hartz Mountains, a small man can produce, by the refracting or reflecting laws of light, a giant of the Brocken,much more formidable than the original,and yet any airy de- lusion of th:; clouds or mist. Some Irish families are blessed with thecons^^ant attendance of a Banshee. This ghost is aristocratic, and only attaches itself to families of patrician blood. It appears, generally, like a small, wiry, wrinkled, withered up old woman, with red hood, and red cloak. Before death takes place in the family, of its attachment, it fills the neighbourhood with wild screeches of unearthly intensity, and with heart-rend- ing lamentations most dolorous and pathetic. I do not know its genealogy ,but would infer trom its unrest, that it is far from being happy, at intermittent seasons, and that death is an unpleasant visitant to its favorite haunts, and to its friends. In years gone by these families, which had the repute, of having an attendant Banshee, were proud of the spectral visitant, not because of its wailings and prophecies, but, because of its presence being prima facie evidence of aristocratic descent, in spite of " Burke's Peerage," or the local ostracism of "blue- blooded" nabobs, who "came in with the Normans," forgetting, as many such do, that : ' ' 'Tis only noble to be good ; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood, " The Banshee race is, however, becoming extinct, and I am willing to leave it to Darwin to decide, what link in the chain of being, it supplies, above or be- ■■■ GHOSTS. 25J low humanity, and whether its fossil remains are to be found "in the sands of time," or is it "a trifle light as air." Chambers in liis '• Popular Rhymes of Scotland " gives an account of anc her race of beings, having attachment also to families, and if they will not be offended, I might say, that I leel sure the Banshee is aunt to them, and this fact gives them a respectable ancestry. The brownie was a household spirit of a useful and familiar character- In former times, almost every farm-house in the South of Scotland was supposed to be haunted by one. He was understood to be a spirit of a some- what grotesque figure, dwarfish in stature, but en- dowed with great personal strength. It was his humor to be unseen and idle during the day, or while the people of the house were astir, and only to exert himself while all the rest were asleep, It was cus- tomary for the mistress of the house to leave out work for him — such as the supper dishes to be washed, or the churn to be prepared — and he never failed to have the whole done in the morning. This drudg- ery he performed gratuitously. He was a most disinterested spirit. To have offered him wages, or even to present him with an occasional boon, would have insured his anger, and perhaps caused him to abandon the establishment. Numerous stories are told of his resentment in I cases of his being thus affronted. For instance, the goodman of a farm-house, in the parish of Glen- devon, left out some clothes one night for the brownic> 254 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. who was heard during the night to depart, saying in a highly offended tone — " Gie brownie coat, gie brownie sark, Ye'se get nae mair o' brownie's wark !" The Brownie of the farm-house of Bods-beck, in Moffatdale, left his employment upwards of a cen- tury ago, on a similar account. He had exerted himself so much in the farm labor, both in and out of doors, that Bodsbeck became the most prosperous farm in the district. He always took his meat as it pleased himself, usually in very moderate quantities, and of the most humble description. During the time of very hard labor, perhaps harvest, when a little' better fare than ordinary might have been judged ac- ceptable, the goodman took the liberty ot leaving out a mess of bread and milk, thinking it but fair that at a time when some improvement, both in quantity and quality, was made upon the fare of the human servants, the useful brownie should obtain a share in the blessing. He, however, found his error, for the result was that the brownie left the house for ever, exclaiming — ' ' Ca', brownie, ca' A' the luck o' Bodsbeck away to Leithenha." The luck of Bodsbeck accordingly departed with its brownie, and settled in the neighboring farm- house, called Leithenhall, whither the brownie trans- ferred^ his friendship and services. One of the principal characteristics of the brownie was his anxiety about the moral conduct of the household mnmm nniiiiT GHOSTS. 255 part, saying iods-beck, in is of a cen- had exerted 1 in and out St prosperous his meat as it te quantities, During the t, when a little -en judged ac- ot leaving out but fair that ,th in quantity of the human ain a share in error, for the lOUse forever, lenha." [departed with \hboring fjrm- I brownie trans- One of the mie was his I the household to which he was attached. He was a spirit very much inclined to prick up his ears at the first appearance of any impropriety in the manners of his fellow-servants. The least delinquency committed either in barn, or cow-house, or larder, he was sure to report to his master, whose interests he seemed to consider para- mount to every other thing in this world, and from whom no bribe could induce him to conceal the offences which fell under his notice. The men, there- tore, and not less the maids, of the establishment re- garded him with a mixture of fear, hatred and respect . and though he might not often find occasion to do his duty as a spy, yet the firm belief that he would be relentless in doing so, provided that he did find occasion, had a salutary effect. A ludicrous instance of his zeal as guardian of the household morals is told in Peebleshire. Two dairymaids, who were stinted in their food by a too frugal mistress, found themselves one day compelled by hunger to have re- course to the highly improper expedient of stealing a bowl of milk and a bannock, which they proceeded to devour, as they thought, in secret. They sat upon a form, with a space between,- whereon they placed the bowl and the bread, and they took bite and sip alternately, each putting down the bowl upon the seat for a moment's space after taking a draught, and the other then taking it up in her hands, and treating herself in the same way. They had no sooner commenced their mess, than the brownie came between the two, invisible, and whenever the bow was set down upon the seat, also took a draught, by 256 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. which means, as he devoured fully as much as both put together, the milk was speedily exhausted. The surprise of the famished girls at finding the bowl so soon empty was extreme, and they began to ques- tion each other very sharply upon the subject, with mutual suspicion of unfair play, when the brownie un- deceived them, exclaiming, with malicious glee — "Ha! ha! ha ! Brownie has't a'." The icitches, poor creatures, had hard times of it. They were accused of selling themselves for some con- sideration,to the Evil One, aud in consequence of this quidproqiw, were supposed to be his abject slaves in this world, and that which is to come. With a more sudden and hideous metamorphosis than Ovid ever fancied, they changed themselves, at will, into all sorts of animals. In crossing rivers,they sailed m creels, and dare not, when crossing the ferry, utter the name of Deity,nor any of his attributes, lest the crazy vessel would at once sink, and they perish. They rode in the air, uncomfortably, on brooms ticks, making good time,and exploring the earth, for congen. ial work to do. They were burned at the stake, and died martyrs to the sceptical faith, yet, these poor crea- tures, real objects of pity, were the subjects of mon omania, hallucination, trance-waking, or self-delusion, and belied themselves as being possessed of the devil. Shakespeare cakes advantage of this proof of superstition, 10 give us the horrible picture of the wierd sisters, holding hi;i IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 Si 20 U III 1.6 '/ f'W w s^. J% /a ^ % ''W 0/7-'- Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 873-4503 #> V iV ^ <> ^^ 4> ^ % 6^ \f^ i. 272 PEN PHOTOGRAPHS. told, how such scenes would affect an ignorant p«ople, to wonder, amazement, and awe. The be« lief is real, even if ideal, and as far as the effect is concerned, might as well be flesh and blood or any other substance equally perceptible. The specimen ghosts' history given above were sfm. Another species of these genera are never seen but heard. Sometimes they occupy a quiet nook in some lonely valley. Oftimes they take possession of the deep hold oi a sea-going ship, or the dark labyrinths of a mine, or the subterranean pass- ages of decayed castles, and ruined abbeys. They are fond of stately and forsaken mansions, and with considerable selfishness, and refinement of taste, occupy the best room in the house. They scarcely ever reside in cottages or huts, and show in this considerable aristocratic feeling. Their shrieks have been heard in fearful crescendo and dimmundo tones, in the darkest hours before the dawn. Their dirges have been carried on the wings of the wind, and their doleful lamentations have pierced the wrack ot the tempest. They have filled "the grand old solemn woods," with their demoniac laughter, doubtless occasioned by the side-splitting jokes of facetious fellow-phantoms. Fantastic tricks with individuals, and furniture, have been their delight, and in many cases, they should have been tried for "assault and battery." What was fun for them, was almost death to many. Even good John Wesley's father had a taste of their pranks in his parsonage at Epworth. This ghost groaned as if in pain. It nutde the dishes dance GHOSTS. 273 ignorant , The be- ^e effect is blood or ibove were I are never ipy a quiet s they take r ship, or the ranean pass- >b3ys. They ns, and with ;nt 0! taste, rhey scarcely show in this shrieks have imundo tones, I Their dirges [he wind, and the wrack ot nd old solemn [er, doubtless I of facetious [h individuals, land in many "assault and almost death lerhadaUBte ,worth. This dishes dance reels on the table. It gobbled like a turkey, and danced immoderately without music. At first the noises were thought to be those of rats, and as blowing a dinner-horn was said to drive away all such vermin, terrible sounds were made by the horn for half a day, in all parts of the house. This enraged the goblin so much that hj **kicke«l up rows" in the day-time, as well as at night. I have no information how, or when the poor fellow rested. When being rebuked by Samuel Wesley as "a deaf and dumb devil," and asked as to his intentions,he was invited into the study, if he had any complaint to make. This nickname and suggestion, only roused the ire of his ghostship, for immediately afterwards, Mr. W — . "was twice pushed by it with considerable force." He made all brass, iron, and windows rattle when he came into a room, and after he left the wind rose, and roared around the house. This faculty "of raising the wind,'' would have put envy into the airy noddle of ^^olus himself, if that blustering individual is still alive, and well. It occasionally took a turn at the hand-mill, but roguishly ground when it was empty. The family at last became so familiar with his pranks that they christen- ed him "Old Jefifery." This "spook" was a staunch Jacobite. He was possibly the disturbed spirit of such a malicious and devil-possessed scape-grace cavalier, as "Bonnie Dundee," for when Wesley prayed tor the King and Prince of Wales, "Old Jcflfery" became furious. The spirit of Claverhouse, in unrest would have had congenial employment in perse- cuting Samuel Wesley, Senr., as well as his distin- 18 274 VhS I'HOTOORAPHS. guished sons, and thus contributed his mite lo nip in the bud the English Covenanters, as he had en- deavoured to do the Scottish heroes, by fire and sword. John Wesley drew up and published an ac- count of the whole case, " after carefully inquiring into the particulars," but "without note or comment." Southey in his "Life of Wesley" gives us many more facts than I have summarized. Samuel, brother of John, seemed puzzled about the njatter, and concluded that *'the end of spirit's actions is yet more hidden than that of men, and even this latter puzzles the most subtle politicians." His mother writes "I am not one of those that will believe nothing supernatural, but am rather inclined to think there would be frequent intercourse between good spirits and us, did not our deep lapse into sensuality prevent it." Southey ex- amined the circumstances and found no solution. The celebrated Dr. Priestly calls it "perhaps the best authenticated, and best told story of the kind that is any where extant." No legerdemain, ventriloquism, or tiicky acoustics can explain it. The statements are truthful. The parties had no fsar or credulity, except a belief in the supernatural. It was heard intermittently, for years by dozens of persons. The causes were search- ed for, by day and night, yet, never found. I am not inclined to think disembodied spirits indulge in childish, and aimless frivolities, and that a solution could have been found in natural causes connected with the premises. All these freaks wer« neither miraculous, preternatural, nor ghostly notwithstanding GHOSTS. vs : 10 nip i*^ : had en- r fire and hed an ac- [uiring into comment." nany more ler of John, icluded that idden than } the most am not one latural, but be frequent did not our Southey ex- no solution, apa the best kind that is Lky acoustics [uthful. The a beliet in ilttently, for were search- id. I am not indulge in |at a solution |es connected Iweri neither twithstanding "there are more things in heaven and earth than znt dreamt of, in our philosophy." At the same time, there is a good deal of truth in Dr. Johnson's remark "that it is wonderful that 5000 years have now elapsed since the creation of the world, and still it is unde- cided whether or not there has ever been an instance of the spirit of any person appearing after death. All argument is against it, but all belief is for it. The Drummer of Tedworth was a troublesome ghost. A Wiltshire Magistrate had fined a drummer for a public nuisance, and confiscated his drum. After this he had no peace in his house. The drum beat at all hours, and persecuted men, women, and child- ren in their beds. Chairs and tables danced "French fours," in broad daylight, and in the presence of a crowd. A minister held divine service at the house every night about the time this ghost beat a tattoo • but at such times the drummer behaved himself like a Christian, until prayers were ended, and then his gymnastics would begin by hurling all kinds of household stuff in perfect abandon, at the minister. It was musically inclined, and seemed from its sing- ing to have a fair knowledge of music. In the pre- sence of Sir Thomas Chamberlain, and others, after it beat the drum for three hours, a gentleman said "Satan, if the drummer set thee to work, give three knocks and no more." This it candidly and honestly did. At last a witch seemed to trouble the demon, for the sounds indicated that he was pursued by a hag. He made the house vocal with the cries 0! "a witch ! a witch !" He had not lost his mother tongue. The 276 rp:N PHOTOGRAPHS. law holds good that all creatures from man down- wards have enemies to prey upon them, and ghosts seems to be no exception to this rule. " Big fleas have little fleas on theii backs to bite 'em, Little fleas have less fleas, and so on inJiaHjnm" The consolation lies in knowing that if poor hu- manity cannot capias these disturbers of the peace, an unearthly bailiff "goes for them with a sharp stick.'' It is but just to add that when the real drummer was banished for crime, the alicr eqo also took its depart- ure, no doubt to vex some poor body in Botany Bay. Both Addison and Steele, Editors ot the "Spectator" knew the circumstances to be true, bat did not at. tempt to solve the enigma. It was not far to seek, if proper eniqury had been made. It i? amusing to read volumes of such accounts, all of which might be traceable to natural laws, even were the evidence more explicit than it is. It should be remembered that not anything can be called supernatural simply because it may remain unexplained. WTiat is a mystery to us may prove in the end, easy of solution, and in strict accordance with the laws of nature, operating before our eyes. The wonderful discoveries in regard to electricity, steam, light, spectroscopy, and the cor- relation of forces, are only as yet, twinkling stars, in the firmament of knowledge. Blazing suns of dazzl- ing intensity, will "in the good time coming," throw out corruscations, athwart the dark abyss ot spiritual ignorance, so effulgent as to search every nook and cranny of that world to which we all are fast hasten- GHOSTS. 277 nun down- and ghosts > bite 'em, if poor hu- [ the peace, sharp stick." rummer was Ic its depart- Botany Bay. e "Spectator" did not at. ot far to seek, ^ amusing to which might the evidence remembered latural simply [at is a mystery iution, and in ire, operating eries in regard , and the cor- ikling stars, in suns of dazzl- .ming," throw ss ot spiritual iry nook and ■e fast hasten- ing. The earnest contact of soul to soul, for weal or woe, whether in this world, or the one beyond, does not resolve itself into the ridiculous, the fantastic, or the grotesque, because "life is earnest." Life is a strange riddle of puzzling profundity, and a belief in unaccountable sights, as partaking of the *• uncanny." is not to be wondered at, in spite of all which is said about their absurdity. We perceive this in the plicnomena of dreams, and in our visions of the night have faith in unearthly visitants. Some dreams are, to us, so real as to become visions, and carry with them strong convictions when we awake, notwithstanding all the reasonings of a subtle philo- sophy, in regard to their unsubstantial character. As a rule the reason is temporarily dethroned in sleep- ing dreams, as it is ofton in day reveries, and imagi- nation runs riot. Often, judgment, and common sense, however, predominate, and the mental powers are exalted in intensity, and vigor, far above the usual state in dreams, obeying all the moral laws of thought, and violating no rules of prudence or dis- cretion. Usually we have sensation in sleep, but little reflection. A sleeping man will wink at a lighted candle brought near his eyelids, and still sleep on. He will throw up his hands to defend himself from the irritation of a tickling straw, yet knows it not. A gentle manipulation of the ribs will cause a change of posture, but consciousness does not tell the reason why. At the same time, seas are sailed over, on phantom ships. Continents are crossed, as if on angel's wings. *' The spangled heavens, a "1* 278 TEN FHOTOfJRAPHS. shining frame," are traversed with a greater rapidity than lightning. Untold dangers are avoided, how- ever inevitable they may appear. Poignant agony is felt for friends, it may be, slum1)ering in peace and quietness by our side. We may have glimpses of beatific scenes, through the pearly gates, and up the golden streets, and have wafted to our ears music angelic, from harps of seraphin, or cherubim; or have our souls harrowed by wailings and lamentations of myriad souls rocked on cradles of misery, and in a moment a rai:> on the side, or a pi.ll of the ear. brings us, with a jolt back to earth again. A Canadian poetess has truly sung : — ■ ' * " Dreams, mystic drenms, from whence do you come ? In what far land is your fair home ? From whence at night do you hither stray ? Where do you flee at the dawn of day ? Ye ne'er can fold your wandering wings, You wild, unfathomable things." A vexed question arises in regard to profound sleep. Does the soul then think? Dougald Stewart holds that soul and body rest and sleep together. Locke expresses a like viewr, for he says in regard to sleep, "To think often, and never to retain it bo much as one moment, is a very useless sort of thinking ; and the soul in such a state of thinking, does very little, if at all, excel that of a looking-glass, which constantly receives varieties of images or ideas but retains none ; they disappear and vanish and there remain no footsteps of them ; the looking glass is never the better for such ideas, nor the soul for such GHUSIS. , 279 er rapidity ided, how- tit agony is peace and glimpses of and up the ears music bim; or have icntations of ry, and in a ^e ear. brings A Canadian you come ? .■> r.iy to profound igald Stewart ;ep together, i in regard to in it so much of thinking ; lg, does very ■glass, which or ideas but ish and there (king glass is soul for such thoughts." At the same time, it is diffkuU to l>cIiove that the soul can become dormant, and still exist. To think is necessary to its being, and for it to be in lethargy, is not to be. We nuy not be conscious at all times of the workings of the active powers of the mind, but a lack of knowledizc in this respect does not imply that such do not exist any more tlian do the fleeting thoughts of our waking hours, which come and go, and leave no remembrance. An old writer tersely says, " The thoughts of worldly affairs, and the intemperance most m to remain fo. search for the at last to a fruitless days ace of deposit. ,e to the con- ived her, and such promise ilfil it had he mure of the the morning man of busi- Ihis bed-room een Sir John I id to accom- .uld tell him leared to her ,nd had said solemnly, 'Tiiere is a will !' Where it 'A-as, remained as uncertain as before. Once more the house wus searched in vain from cellar to loft, till fmally, wearied and in despai*-, the l.idy and her friend found thorn selves in a garret at llie top of the house. ' Its all over,' I^dy "Miller said ; * I give it up ; my husbajid has