NOBLE LIVING AND GRAND ACHIEVEMENT. GIANTS OF THE REPUBLIC EMIKACISCi TIIK LIVES, DEEDS. AND PERSONAL TRAITS OF EMINENT STATESMEN. GREAT GENERALS. NOTED REFORMERS. SUCCESSFUL MEN OF BUSINESS, DISTINGUISHED LITER- ARY MEN, AND FAMOUS WOMEN. BY A CORPS OF COMPETENT BIOGRAPHERS: DR. HAMILTON \V. MARIE. JOHN S. C. ABBOTT, PROF. VV. W. BIRUSAII . bUWAKD S. EI.LIS, JAMES PARTON. FRANCES E. VVIl.l.ARU. 1**.\RY FERRIS, W. FLETCHER JOHNSON. AND OTIiERS. INTRODUCTION BY EDWASfP'JEVEi^RTT HALE, LL.D., *• '. • • • ! . ' ••• % •• : : • I • • • • • • 1UuDtratc^ wttft maofilftccnt fu'lUpaoc pbotooravurc portraita, AND A WEAI.ril OF OTIU'R FINK FN^ IKAVINCS. " Lives of {jrcat nun all riinind iis Wo can ni.ike our livis -ullinie. Ami, (U'pavtinn, leavo Ix'liiml us Fool piinls on the sanils of limir." JOHN C. WIXSTOX &CO riiiLADFXi'HiA, I'A. cincvco, ii.i., .svRAcr.s;:. v. v. Toronto, ont. 1896. emerect accorHiiiR to Art of CoiiRress. in the year iSoj, by .JOHN C. WlNSTiiN S: CO., in the odice i>f the I.ihrariaii of Coiisress, al Washington. All rights tfserveJ. ••• ' \\ \ - ALL PEKSONS ARE WAKNED SOT TO INFUINCiF. UPON OUR COI'VKKJIIT I)Y USING EITHFH THE MATTEK OR THE I'ICTUKES IN THIS VOLUME. INTRODUCTION. BV i:i)\V.\KlJ I'.VKKKTT IIAI-l", I>. U., Author of " The Man Without a C^untty," etc. 'WW. history of mankind is made up of the bi<)L;i'ai)hi(;s of men. This is a simple enoiii^h tiling; to say, and yet it woulil sei;m. from a iL^ood many histories, that it had ncviir occurred to their writers. It is ([uite certain, however, that we appre- ciat(; and understand the history ot our race most thoroughly, in those j)eriods where' we know of the p('rs(MiaI lives of many of the actors. The periods where we do not know anythinn' of individual lives are to us ilreary deserts. I'or in- stance, it would probably be fair to say that tlie reason we i^ivc; the Dark Al^h^s that bad name, is that most of us know little or nothim; of the jxTsonal movements or of indivitlual lives oi men and women in those a<;es. The book in the reader's hands is compileil in the effort to brin^- together the lives of a hundreil men and womcm who have led the Unite-d .States since the miiKlIe of the last c(!ntury. It is a very remarkable series. Ihe people of the United .States in that tin :e have exhibited a j^enius for the sci(Mice of j^overn- ment, such as the workl has i ever elsewhere seen. In a hundred and fifty years followini;- the tu'st settlement of these coasts, there L,'rew up on the edi,;e of the Atlantic ( )cean thirteen .State;;. ,\t the time of th(! Revolution these .States were strong' enough to ecjuip ar.nies and navies, and to defeat Geori^-e the Third, who sup|)osed that he was the; sJ:ronq;est monarch in Europe when the Revolu- tion bci^an. The people in thest; thirteen .States then had to organize forms of government wholly new for themselves and their successors. They took the f^^'^'^jjHjHIHIH ■■■ •"^^^^^^^^^^^^^^T^^^^^; ^^p ^^H ^1 ' '^>iP t i "V'" ^"tKrc^^^^^^H b .;■■ '^k' mt' ' ■ ' ' 'i^^^^H P' '*•'■•'' HK»%^R tk-M rft^r*^ ■ v^WS^^y^^ Im^. J' ^sfl ^^ H^l ■>^^L A ''''-^^^l H ^} __ J^^AiHK RinvAKI) EVERETT HAJ.E. t). I)., 6 IXTRODUCTION. traditions ami mcthniis whicli had bocn dmclopcd in a century and a half, thry studied with care tht; history of luirope, and they orL^ani/ed a set of constitu- tions wliich have made a new era in the political history of the workl. In the first lives in this voluini;, the authors have tried to L,Mve to the cari'ful reader some idea of the make-up of those men who enj^Mi^ed in work so remarkable;; and we shall be disappointed if the American reader dt)es not appreciate more hi;4hly the successes of thi; i^reat founders of the republic, from knowing' more inliinatily th<; dcitails of tlieir lives and of their (xlucation. It is impossible to say that all these lives differ, in any one essential (juality, from livt:s which have been led under the old civilizations of the ICuropean world. Hut in almost every one of them the reatU.T will find a certain (piality which he does not tind in the averas^e bioi^raphy of persons brought up und(;r ICuro[)ean forms. If we compare a typical American with a typical European, the contrast is very stronij^. There is sometimes an American who has been educated in the European forms, and there is sometimes an inhabitant of the old continent who has been educated in unconventional forms, and in such a case the contrast between these two would not be stronij. lUit, speakini^ in }.,feneral, we may say that the book in the reader's hands will i;ive him, if he reads it carefully, a j^^ooil concejition of what we mean when we speak of the American type, and so it will perhaps show to him how the history of the world has been affected by that providence which, in the discovery of America, gave white paper for the writing of its history. Till-: misfortune of most bioi,'raphy is a certain blindness which comes over the writer, when he forgets that his special business is to show his hero to the reader, and that he is not engaged, in the first instance, to give the general history of the hero's time. Even Mr. Irving lapsed here when he wrote his Life of Washington. There are whole chapters of that life in which Washing- ton's name is not mentionetl. More than half of it is a history of the United States, for the years when Washington was commander-in-chief of her army, or was President. On the other hand, the value of biography, as the common sense of the world has found out, is in such writing as Plutarch's. It may be doubted wh(;ther Plutarch were a very large man ; it is certain that he did not take very nol>le views, eith(;r of man. of God, or of history. Put Plutarch hatl the great art of being entertaining. His speculations maybe foolish, but his narrative is interesting. Whoever will carefully study his method, will see that there was perh.aps an advantage to Plutarch that he wrote befon; the days of printing, and, in most cases, some centuries after the men had dictl whom he described. The law of selection applied, therefore, for those things which were Interesting about these men were still remembered, while the uninteresting INTRODUCflON. , thin}j[s had sunk to tin: bottom and were fori^ottcn, — by the men; hrv of the attraction of L;ravitation, one niii^hl say. IMutarch writes wliat had proved to inter(;st niankiml, and leaves tht; n;st unwritten. .\nd what is it that interests mankind ? Infallibly it is the n.irralivt: of events, if thai narrali\<; be enliveiu-d by the personal characteristics of men enL;a,L,^ed in the aff lir. In Plutarch's case. \.\\v. most vivid of such cliaracleristics siione throui^h the ilust and mist and smoke of centuries. 1 le recorileil what he knew, and did not record the rest, bi cause he c(juld not. The reader of this volume will find, as I hope, that the various accomplished authors who have been en^Mi^red in it have been workiut; on the principle which is illustrated in Plutarch's <,freat success. We shall be disap|)ointed if readi;r.s do not see iiow the personality of such L^^reat men has atfected the time in which they lived. They (ni^ht to learn that what is called the drift of history, or the order of events, really results from the orij^inal life and purpose of the men and women who make \\\) history. Tin: European critics of American life, who have never seen American life with their own eyes, are apt to construct a theory ren^aruiiiL; us ami our history wliich has no real foundation. John Stuart Mill, for instance, at many different times, expressed his opinion that in a social order resting- upon univtTsal suffrai^e, men will be forced by the pressure of a common life into a certain averaije e.xistence, in which each man will resemble each other man, (juite as so many shoe-pe^^s resemble each other when they are cut by the same machine. Mr. Mill does not say so, but if one wer,- to <.:[ive an illustration or two, he was afraid that an American Lont^fellow woukl be exactly like an American Lin- coln, or an .\merican Franklin exactly like an American Benedict Arnold, 'lo us, on this side of the water, who suppose that we are living in a world of per- sons curiously unlike each other, such ^frave criticisms as these by Mr. Mill, Mr. Matthew Arnold, and other critics, who are writinj^- about that of which they know very little, seem amusini,^. The contrasts jjresentcd between different lives in this volume will show how little danger we are in from this source, at least for several centuries. Carkitt. readers, again, will observe one distinguishing mark of .Xmerlcan life, in the voulh of manv of th<; actors in our L'^reat dramas, so much vouivf-r are they than most of the men distinguished in similar work in the Old World, Thus, when th(; war of the Revolution began, Washington was only forty-thre«;. It Is amusing to see how his younger fritnids venerated his age. Of his aides, Hamilton was nineteen when he commandeil a battery in New York and first attracted \\"ashington's attention. Lafayette was nineteen when he was wounded at Brandywine. Pickering, who was quartermaster-general when the 8 IXTRODUCT/ON. war cndfd, was but tw(MUy-s«;viMi when it hcL^an. Knox was twenty-five. Nathan 1 1 alt;, the hero of youni; Americans, was but twenty-one whe-n he died fur his country, and cxprcssecl liis r«'i,a(!t that he had but one Hfe to t^ivc for her. Of tJK; five leaders in the founding; of the nation, whose bio;4ra|)hies we have here, the averajije a^^e wIumi the war be;>,Mn was but thirty-three. Adams and Jefferson, as is well rennMnbered, were so yount; that they lived to see the i,fr<:atness of tlnir ccnintry half a century after that Declaration of Independence with which th< y had be(Mi so closely connectt.-d. The reailiness with which youni^f nn^n thus come forward into positions of trust and autlvjrity is rt.'ailiiy accounte-d for by anyone who has seen the cuneli- tions of a new settitMiK.nt. Tiiose conditions mark the arran^^ements of a risinj,' State. The new town nct-ds ev(;ry one it can call into service. If a younj^ man can do a man's work, h(; must. To revert a_i,fain to the conditic^ns of rhe war fjf the Revolution, wIkmi Hur^oyne hail driven in the American ailvance on the shore of Lake Chami)lain, when there was danj^cr that his well-e([uippetl army mi:^ht sweep throui^h the wliole valU^y of the Connecticut, the States of Massachusetts and Connecticut ordered out every boy who was above the age of fifteen to meet the invading force. If he could carry a musket, the boy was old enough and big enough. Conditions like those lead to the rapid advance of young men. And even when the circumstances have ail changed, the power of such conditions, tiirough generations before, shows itself all through the social order. The division into different books, which we have adopted, brings together those great characters who illustrate the service which has betm rendered to our country in different fit'UIs of activity. The reader will readily note for himself the points at which the lives of these great men touch each other. He ought also to see how largely each life is affected by the inllu- ences of republican government, and those conditions which belong to States in th(-'ir youth or in their infancy. I'ulton in his earlier life painted a portrait of Dr. I'ranklin, which is one of the curious memorials of that time. John Quincy Adams is now most often remembered for the marvelous activity and spirit which he shf)wed in his old age ; but, as the reader will see, his personal memories ran back to the days when he copied documents for his father in the time of the Revolution. Young men should remember, indeed, that all through his early diary we find his expressions of regret that he had not the skill of an orator, and it shouUl encourage them to recollect that when he died he was most often called the " oUl man eloquent." Hut, without attempting in detail to show how closely the work of one of these heroes depends upon that of another, we ought to call the reader's atten- tion to that many-sidedness of American life which, in each case, compels strong /XTK(Wi'CT/OJ\r. g people to occupy themselves in public affairs. Tcj a true American, there must be no jealous seclusion of hiinsdf from his fellow-men. It is not simply that at each election he has his part to Ix ar; in every civil cont<.:st he must define his position. 'i'he literature of the country is therefore v< ry clf)sely connecteil with its politics, with its inventioii, with its discovery. AlthouL;h at certain times we call very naturally upon the stroiiijest men to ^o into the adniinistration of the _l;()v- ernment, on th(! whole we are well pleaseil if such a man as Heecher keeps his position in the pulpit of I'lymouth Chnrrh, .md dot^s not seek an apiiointment as a tliplomatis: or a member of the House of Representatives. If Mrs. Stow(; tjives her prayer and th<)ui_;ht and timc! and uj^enius to writing,'' " Uncle Tom's Cabin," we are as well pleasetl at the result as if she had hv.v.n canvassing- for vot(;s in the choice of a sup<;rvisor for the schools. George I'eabody spent most of his life in Lonilon ; the habits of his life were those of a banker and a financier. lUit, all his life tlirou;;h, hv. loved his country, and he believed in the principles on which the constitution of the country was f(nind(;tl. When the time came for thf eveiy person whose life is descrilti'd here, the same could be saiil. 'Ihey were "faithful in a f('W things, " and bt.-cause tiu^y were faithful there was j^iven them the rule of i;reat thin,t,'^s. Henry Clay, with a marvelous |L,Mft of eloijuence and with a careful preparation for the bar, had at the same time made the lar;;er study of the American people, lie knew what it was antl what it was n(jt. He knew wiiat it needed, anil he forecast its th-stiny. Precisely because he understood this p(;ople bettttr than diil most of the okler men who were around him, he became, one may say, their id(jl. and he was able to render service to his country which no closet-student, traintnl simply in tin; methods of older dynasties, coukl ever have done. In an entirely ditfert-nt line of life, the same is true of Andrew Jackson. Precisely because he did not trammel him- self with prec<;dent or conditions, which ev(.'n to a well-trained lawyer may have setMiied important, — because, on the other hand, in the ditticulties of frontier warfare he had accustom(-'d himself to look at the national life, from a broad and at the same time practical point of view, — he saved the constitution when the constitution was really endangered. Tims book will fall into the hantls of clubs and schools, for study more careful than is involved in one superficial reading. In introducing it to readers who study it, I make one suggestion, of which I hope they will try the value ; they will fmd similar suggestions made, with some detail of illustration, more than once in Miss Hdgeworth's admirable suggestions for education. Let any group of readers cultivate the habit of impersonating, if they please, the char- acters whose lives interest them in American history, and bringing these people together for imaginary conversations, for common action, in such scenes and at such times as history will justify. Imaginary conversations, such as Madame de Genlis suggests ; imaginary correspondence, such as even classical writers were amused with, will prove not oidy amusing but of permanent value in giving a vivid sense of the life of older times. Better yet, perhaps, for the purpose of maintaining the life antl interest of a club or society of readers, would be the dramatic representation, in a parlor or a school-room, of scenes such as bright pupils would imagine, which shall introduce several of the great men or women of whom they read. Thus, there is a curious home letter from a private soldier in Braddock's army, which makes it well-nigh certain that I'ranklin, at the age of forty-nine, met Washington wh(m he was but twenty-three, as Bradtlock's army advanced toward its ruin. It would be easy, in some parlor theatricals, to represent the scene, to bring in these two men who were unconscious of their future greatness, IXTRODi'CTION. n to surround iIkmii with such fij^furcs as those of Hracldock ami C'lajLje and Morris, and in dialt).L;u(: or in pantoininit: to interest the whole company. A ^.\au- thus fixc'il. a transaction thus niaile real, take their places in memory, ami, as an okl frieml says, "j^nve sonK.-lhini,' to knit upon " as one wo ks out his own fabric of history. When tin- Revolutionary War bei,fan, cvciry iiiuoiUrc hctwcni the soldiirs of I'.n^^Iand and tiiosc of America brought peopU; to^jether in such (hMinatic fashion. When ( ia:;(! addressed Washini^ton and \\'ashin!:,'ton replied to liini, parted only iiy the Charles River, it was with recoili-clions of the time when they sat at the same mess tal)le. wlu.-n they copied th(! same despatcii, as they both served on liutstatfof Uraddock. W'lien I'ranklin met Lord 1 Iow(t, in 1770, it was tore-call th(' UKMUory of 'low they had played cIk.'ss toL;eiher in London. When Clinton sailed into New \'ork, aft'-r his repulsi- at Charleston, it was to show to the youui^er ot'hcers the streets and homes of the town where lie had spent iiis boyhooil, in which, probably, hi; was mf)re at hoiiK; th.m \\v. vas in LtHnlon. perhaps, indeed, when he passeil the buriali^^round by Kind's Cl;apel in Boston some one took pains to point out to him the; Ljrave of his relaiive, Isaac Johns(Mi, Arbella lohnson's husband, who had come frfun the family 'loine in ljiL,dand, which Clinton must have rememberi-il well. Indeed, an accurate reatler could brini,^ toj^a'ther JeffiTson, Jay, and Adams, in more than one imagin- ary colloi[uy, which would fix in tht; memory of all who saw those characters well presenteil the various contributions which such men maile, for weal or for woe, to the proj^^ress of the nation. The contrast of the fanfaronad*' and love of i,dory of I'aul Jones, a_i,fainst the drollery and simplicity of branklin, and the half-concealed annoyance of John Adams, mi^ht make a very amusin,<^ scen<; in such a performance as I hav(; su^_i(ested. It is not so easy to imai^ini; Henry Clay in London, arrani^nuL,'' with (jeorj^e I'eabotly how h somt; iletail of the local history ot .tlv'«.pl;\cei ii^i yhicli. they live, which would otherwise have been neiL,dected and uve>ltu;tllv;*foru^ott<.n. . \nd such students shoidd remember that there!.' fna'ny an attic"; xyliich is yet to' f,'ive up its store of old papers of jj^reat valiio iii the workiniV[o'nt oi our history. It is s^eneralLy sajd,' hntd It is ti^uo, -that thus far America has not di;veloped, or at least has not shown, much power in th<; writing- of entertaining- memoirs. For the history of the Revolution the most vivid local color is supplied by those bright, accomplished young Frenchmen, to whom everything was a surprise, and 12 INTRODUCTION. who, therefore, wrote clown what our own fathers thoui;,rht a matter of course and ''"ft f(jr for^fetfiihiess. The gaps in our history, which are left by the inabil- ity of the fatliers to write entertainini^f memoirs, must bi; supplied now from their ledgers and day-lx)oks anil from the old correspondence, when by good fortune it has been preserved. What tht; artists call " local color," and the vivid- ness which is given by what they call "broken lights," may often improve ouf historical picture, if contributed by some antiquarian student who works with imagination. I canncjt but hopt; that, by the wide circulation of this very book, there may be roused up some young Parkman or Prescott or Bancroft, who shall be tempteil to make the researches which will bring to light memoranda of use, because of interest, in the construction of the history of the republic. Edward Everett Hale. 4.*;x J — -J MONUMENT TO COLLMIIUS AT GKNOA. LIST OF CHAPTERS AND SUBJECTS. BOOK I. (Bhwi Jfouitbcrs of tj.u Jicpublic. GEORGE WASHINGTON, p^^b Father ano Founder ok the Rnniuic, 33 Greatness of Washington's character — Virginia two centuries ago — Augustine Washington — George's early days — His mother — The young surveyor — A perilous journey — llraddock's expedition — Washing- ton's heroism — Marr:agc — Outbreak of the Revolution — Bombardment of Boston — Battle of Long Island — " How long shall we tly ? " — New Jersey campaign — A Christmas surprise — Aid from France — Lafayette — Valley Forge — Monmouth — Dark Days — Arnold's treason — The war in the South — Washington's descent upon Yorktown — Surrender of Cornwallis — Farewell to the army — Constitutional Convention — First President of the Republic — Anecdotes of Washington — Last days at Mount Vernon — The closing scene. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, The Inventor, Fhilosopher, and Statesman 59 A self-made man — Franklin's autobiography — H'.s character as a boy — His love of books — The young vegetarian — Writing for the newspaper — Journey to Philadelphia — First sight of his future wife — Employment as a printer — Journey to England — A temperance missionary — Another start in busi- ness — The Junto — The secret of his success — He marries Miss Read — " Poor Richard's Almanack" — Defense of the Colonies — Franklin in demand — Postmaster-General — The War with France — How Franklin secured wagons — His mission to England — The Stamp Act — How to lose revenue and gain ill-will — A sum in arithmetic — The Continental Congress — Signing the Declaration of Independence —A grim joke — Franklin at Paris — I lis humane efforts to lessen the hor.-Dri of war — The Treaty of Peace — Return to Philadelphia — Letter to Thomas Paine — Franklin's death and burial — His epitaph. JOHN ADAMS, The Revoi.utionart I'atriot and Statesman, 75 The great men of the Revolution — The pre-eminence of Adams — Boyhood and education — The young lawyer — Marriage — Aggressions of the British — The birth of American Independence — The Boston Massacre — Adams defends the soldiers — Delegate to th« Continental Congress — Friendship with Jef- ferson — Drafting the Declaration of Independence — Adams's prophetic lettei — Sent to France to secure aid — Contrast with Franklin — Adams not popular — His blunt manners — Negotiating the Treaty of Peace — Adams's success with the Dutch Government — His sickness in Paris — Terrible winter journey — Minister to England — His presentation at Court — An awkward moment — Return to America — The Constitutional Convention — Adams's dislike of France— I-Hection to the Presidency — His failure to make friends— Retirement from public life — Adams in old age — His son's election to the presidency— Nearing the end— July 4, 1826, death of Adams and Jefferson. 13 14 LIST OF CHAPTERS AND SUBJECTS. JOHN JAY, The First Chief Justice of the Unitf.d States, 93 Jay's French Ancestry — DifTercnt kinds of heroism — Life in rollege — Refuses to be an informer — Studyinjj law — Member of the Continental Congress — Address to the peojjlc of (Ireat Britain — I'resident of Con- gress — Chosen Minister to Spain — Trials of his new position — Begging and borrowing for America — The Treaty of I'aris — Return to America — Secretary of State — The Constitutional Convention — Jay's important part — "The Federalist" — Its masterly ability — Washington's testimony to Jay's ability — The first Chief Justice — His opposition to slavery — S|)ecial mission to Kngland — Jay's ability as a diplo- matist — Lord Sheffield's opinion — "The impolitic treaty of 1794" — Jay's return to America — Governor of New York — Retirement from public life — His death in 1829 — Jay's spotless character. ALEXANDER HAMILTON, Tmk AKtHri'Ecr of xiik 1'"eoer\l Svsiem joi What a West India hurricane did for Hamilton — (loes to the United States for an education — Stories of his life at college — Kxcitement over British exactions — Hamilton's first speech — Aid-de-camp to Wash- ington — His literary ability — Financial studies — Marriage — Retirement from the army — The Constitu- tional Convention— The great men who composed it — Hamilton's pre-eminence — Opposition to the Constitution — Hamilton's able advocacy — Suspense in New York — Success at last — Hamilton first Secretary of the Treasury — His able administration— Talleyrand's anecdote — Retirement — Political disputes — The fatal duel. THOMAS JEFFERSON, The Pioneer of Democracy in America, 115 Jefferson's sympathy with the common people — The success of his principles — His \'irginia home — The young lawyer — His opinions on slavery — Marriage to Mrs. Skelton — Sent to the Continental Congress — Writing the Declaration of Independence — Cornwatlis's depredations — Jefferson's losses — End of the war — Appointment as Foreign Minister — His popularity in France — Secretary of State under Washing- ton — Stormy politics — Jefferson and Hamilton opposed — Vice-President under Adams — Washington City in 1800— Mrs. Adams' amusing account — The election of 1800 — Jefferson chosen I'lesl jent — Dis- may of the Federalists — Sweeping success of Democratic principles — The purchase of Louisiana — Death of his daughter — Comfort from the Bible — Re-election — Troubles with England — Return to private life — His habits of life at home — Extensive hospitality — Jefferson's religion — Financial troubles — Gifts from friends — The last scene, July 4, 1826. BOOK II. 6i;int '^uilkrs of (Dur Pinion. ANDREW JACKSON, The Hero of the War of 1S12, and Popular President, 131 Why Jackson is remembered — His strong individuality — Wretchedness of his early life — Cruelties of the British in South Carolina — Studying law — Removal to Tennessee — Wild life on the Frontier — Marriage under peculiar circumstances — Early political life — Duels with Dickenson and Benton — War with the Indians — The Great Battle of Horse-Shoe Bend — Attacks of the British on New Orleans — Jackson's glorious defense — .\wful slaughter of the British — Honors to Jackson — The Seminole War — United States Senator — Election to the Presidency in 1828 — Death of his wife — His memorable administration ^-SuiTerings of his later life — His death in 184J. LIST OF CJfAPT/iRS AND SUBJECTS. 15 PAI.H Thk Skciinu Wak o: iNnr.iKNiu ni.k, or nil. \\'ai< or 1.S12 144 Mean in;; of the w.ir-Its causes — Neutral rights — Iinprcssiii^' American sailnrs — Insults and outia^'es — The " Chesapeake " and the " l-eopaid " — Injury to American commerce — Paper hiockailes — The < )rder.-> in Council — I'mhar^o as retaliation — Our naval t;lory in this war — Failure of the canipai','n ai;ai'Vji Canada — Hull's surrender at Detroit — Splendid victories at sea — The " Constitution " and the " (aier- riere " — The "Wasp" and the " Frolic "—Other sca-duels— American i'rivateers — On the I.ake-- — I'erry's great victory — Land operations — lialtle of the Thames — Wilkinson's Fiasco — The " Shannon " and the " Ches ipe ike " — I'-iV-.di-'ii reinforcements — Lundy's Fine and I'lattslxir:^ — The buriunj of Washington — lialtimore saved — (General Jackson at New Orleans — The treaty of peace. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, TllK ACCOMI'I.ISIIF.D rKI.MDKNr, AND (jRKAl DkI KNDKk Ol THE RiUll 1' Of PKriTlON-. . l6l Adams not a "self-made man" — Ills ciiCcUent c(|uipnient — To I'.uiope at eleven )ears of a;^'e — At school abroad — I'rivate Secre'.ary to the Russian Minister — Studies at the Hague — Honors at Harvard — Studying law — Minister to the Netherlands — Washington's high praise — Love and marriage — L'niteJ States Senator — -Professor at Harvard — Mis-iion to Russia — The Fiiiperor's tact — Minister to England — Secretary of Slate — Illected President — Attacks un Adams — His manners contrasted with those of Jack- son — l!:lef retirement — The ex-President goes to the House of Representatives — The right of peti- tion — Stormy scenes in llie House — "1 will put the cpiestion niy-.elf " — Honors to a veteran — Mr. Adams's simple prayer — "This is the last of earth " — Death of the patriot statesman, HENRY CLAY, PoiTIAU illki). I'Alklor, AND SlXM.-MAN I77 Slaverv — An overshadowing (iue>tion — Lla\'s devotion to the I'nioii — lli-> poi)u'iant> — Stories of liii i)oy- hood — "The Mill Hoy of the Slashes" — A clerk in Riciimond — H;> personal appearance — His inagnili- cent voice — Removal to KeiitiH ky — Success as a lawyer — Hi.-, inaniage — Menil)er of the House of Representatives — Clay's advocacy of the war of 1S12 — does to lairope — "I liked the Kentucky man best" — Speaker of tlie Hou-ie — Popularity with the masses — The admission of Mi.-.souri — The Missouri Compromise — Clay's great iniluence — Jackson's hatred of Clay — Clay makes ,\dams President — Cry of corrupt bargain — Secretary of State — Returns to private life — Re-election to tiie Senate — The nuUit'ica- tion troubles — Clay's compromise tariff — The |ianic of 1837 — Harrison's nomination and Clay's tli-^ap- poimment — Ciiief of the Whigs— -I'tiends discharge his debts — Clay's compromise measures of 1S50 — • His fiiling health— The country in danger — Clay's devotion — H13 last great sjieech — Ueiuinciatiun of disunion — His death — The object of his public life. DANIEL WEBSTER, 'I'ilK llKlKNl'K.k OK NArioNAL F'nION, I93 Memorable scene in Congress — The " Reply to Hayne " — The great work done by Webster for the L'nion — .\ New Hampshire boy — Characteristic stories of his e.irly life — Family sacrifices for education- Studying law — His imposing presence — (ireat ability as a lawyer — Description of his argument in the famous Diitmouth College case — The Plymouth Rock oration — Mr. Ticknor's account — The " Rej)ly to Hayne" — Mr. lu'erett's anxiety— Description of the scene in the Sen.ite — Welister's splendid uiumph — Secretary of State — The annex.ition of Texa.-^ — The compromise of 1850 — Webster's " 7th of M u'h S|)ecch" — .Mienation of frieniN— His .Marshlield liome— Injury and ill he.Uth— His death-bed— « I'athelic scenes at his funeral — His resting-place. JOHN C. CALHOUN , TiiF. (ikiAi' .Aiivoc'A IK Of SrATi-; Rniiiis 207 A question of history — Calhoun's character ami iniluence — His birth and ancestry — Early Demorratlc o()inion.s — Member of Legisl.iture and Congress — Secretary of War — \'ice-l'resideiu under Ad.ims and Jackson — I'lie " Tariif of Abominations" — Calhoun's argument for nullitk.ation — The great debate-* 2 i6 LIST 01' CHAPTERS AM) Si'TJ/iCTS. Hayne's speech and Webster's reply^The ordinance of nulliiic.ition— Jackson's proclamation — South Carolina calls out her soldiers — ^I'lie conflict avoided — Clay's compromise tarjlf — C.ilhoun's defense of slavery— Miss Martineau's reminiscences — I'lie contest of 1S50 — Calhoun's last days. SAMUEL HOUSTON, PAGI Anm) iHK Story oi Tiaan iNiJi'.i'KNDr.NCF: 217 The new race of statesmen — Houston's early life in Virginia— " Over the Mountains into Tennessee"— Life among the Indians— A soldier under Jackson — Study of law — Elected llovernor of Tennessee— His marriage — The event which changetl hi^> life — A mystery — Again among the Indian^ — Houston abandons civili/ed life — Watching events in Mexico — Settleis from the I'niteii Slates — Their hatred of Mexican rule — Houston |oins fortunes with Texans — Massacres of the Al.iino .uul doliail — Texas declares her independence — The battle of San Jacinto — " Remember the Alamo" — Freedom for Texas — Houston's sc'-ciid marriage— Annexation of Texas — (iovernor and L'nited States Senator — The era of Secession — Houston's devotion to the L'nion — An amusing practical illustration — Houston deposed from the Governorship— His death in 1863. BOOK III. (!3i;uiis of i\)t (Tibil M:\x. ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 'I'm. rursKuvKK ok iiii; I'nion', 229 Lincoln's increasing fame — Comparison with Washington — His birth in 1S09 — Wretchedness of his early life — The poor whites of Kentucky— His mother's intluence^I.incoln's odd appearance as a back- woodsman — His love of study — Scarcity of books — " Speechifying" — Removal to Illinois — Kindliness to a worthless dog — The slave auction at New Orleans — " If I ever gel a chance to hit slavery, I will hit it hatd "—Studying surveying— The yoimg politician — His practice of law — His marriage — Elected Representative to Congress — His opposition to slavery — His famous debates with Douglas — " If he gives that answer, he can never be President "—The Cooper Institute speech — The campaign of 186a — Intense excitement — The Chicago convention— Seward's ailvantages— The surprise of Lincoln's nomination — His triumphant election — I'athetic farewell to Springfield — Threats of Secession — Firing on Sumter — Great Success— Perplexities — The dark days of the war — Lincoln's wonderful management of men — The emancipation question — The great proclamation — Lincoln's abilities as a soldier and diplomatist — His caution — luid of the \var^Tlie great tragedy — His death on April 15th — Country in mourning — The solemn funeral procession — The beauty and greatness of his character. WILLIAM H. SEWARD, 'I'm; SlAIT>MA\ AND I )ll'I.OM A IIS I' 353 William IL Seward's college days — Ran away from home — Enters the law — Receives Lafayette — Governor of .New York — Contest with the (iovernor of Virgini.i — Discards wine at his official receptions — Refuses to pardon crimmals — Returns to jjractice of law— Ijiters the U. S. Senate in 1848 — l-^xpected the nomi nation for President — Woiks for Lincoln's election — Services as Secretary of State — Purchase of Alaska —Estimate of his character — " He was faithful." CHARLES SUMNER, THK CiKKAl' .AmoCAlK OK I'KEF.DOM, 265 Cultured New England ancestors — Did not feel the pinch of poverty — School and college life — Practices law in Boston — His distinguished friends — Spends three years in Europe — Receives marked attention in England " — .Musical accomplishments — Practices law for five years — First great speech — " That picture LIST 01' CHAPfERS AND ^CJ>JI:lTS. i; made me Senator " — I-'fiur limns speech in United States Senate — Turmoil in Congress — "The Crime against Kansas " — Caned l)y IlrooUs — Kcliirns to the Senate— His radii al position — Tsefulness during the war —Lincoln and Siuiiner — His opinion of President Johnson — Strained relations with Grant — Personal peculiarities — Character. ULYSSES S. GRANT. PA(>R 'illF. ill ko 111 IIIK ClMI. WaI-, 277 A man for the occasion — The day of heroes not past — Lite before the war — 1 1 is graduation at West Point — Services in the Mexican War— The Missouri farmer — Stories of his boyhood— His love for horses — A boKl ilash at Monterey- Lincoln's opinion — "Wherever Cirant is, things move" — "A very obstinate man ' — Brigadier Cieneral- -First b.ittle — "We must cut our way out a> we cut our way in" — "All quiet on the Potomac" — Attack on I'orls Henry and Donelson — " I'nconditional Surrender " — The I- irst gre.it victory — Battle of Shiloh — I'lie first day's lighting — -The tiile turns on the second ilay — Denuncia- tions of (ir.iiit — The autumn of 186: — Depression in the North — Grant's determination to win a vic- tory—The \'icksburg campaign — A ha^.irdous movement — The- long siege — Surrender — A glorious Fourth of July — Lincoln's acknowledgment — Narrow escajie in New Orleans— A new command — Chattanooga — Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge — A glorious victory — Call for Grant to lead the armies — The Virginia ( ampaign — Battles of the Wilderness— Spottsylvania— Cold ILuhor — Lincoln's impression — "Not a retre.iting m.m " — Closing in on Ric hmoiid — Sherman's march — Grant's letter to Lee — The surrender at Appomattox — After the war — lilection to the Presidency— His administration — Re-election — Retirement — His Journey arountl the world — A triumphal ])rogress — Business misfortunes — His " Personal Memoirs " — Fighting otT death — The nation's sympathy — Ravages of disease — Death at Mt. McGregor — The tribute of the nation. The Skirv or the Civil W'ak 295 Secession— Not exclusively a Southern itlea — .-\n irrepressible conllict — Coming events — Lincoln — A nation in arms — Sumter — .Anderson — .McClellan — Victory and defeat— Monitor and Merrimac — Antietam — Shiloh— Bucll — Grant — George H. Thomas — Rosecrans — Porter — Sherman — Sheridan — Lee — Gettvs- burg — .\ great fight — Sherman's m.irch — The Confederates weakening — More victories — Appomattox — Lee's surrender — From svar to peace — etc., etc. WILLIAM T. SHERMAN, The Hi.Nn m- \i\v. " NL\rch 'lo ihe Sea," 317 Memorable events of the Civil war — Sherman's early days — "Take Cump, Mr. l-.wing " — Life at West Point — .\t Fort Moultrie — Marriage — Hanking in California— Superintendent of the New Orleans Mili- tary Academy — Breaking out of the war— President Lincoln's views — Bull Run — Shiloh—" He fights by the week "— .\t Chattanooga — Capture of Atlanta — Starting on the great march— The day of jubilee- .\ Christmas gift of Savannah— Lnd of the war — The grand review— Study of Sherman's campaigns in England— Life after the war. GEORGE B.McCLELLAN. FiRSr ('OMMAMUR OK THE .\R.\1V OE I HE I'oiOMAC 329 McClellan's great abilities — Birth and education — Fine military training — Early days of die war— His suc- cess in West Virginia — The army of the Potomac — The Peninsula campaign— Obstacles to success— Stanton's contempt — A terrible emergency— Confidence in " Little ^Lu: " — Antietam— A great victory — McClellan relieved— His popularity— Lee's opinion— I'ersonal tpialities. PHILIP H. £, HERIDAN, The Hero ok the " \ ai lev C'a.mi'AI(;n," 335 Sheridan's victories— His ability to inspire his men— Boyhood days— Premature war at West Point— The Great Rebellion— Chattanooga and Lookout Mountain— Grant's confidence— The Valley campaign— i8 LIST OF CHAPTERS AXD SUIiJIiCTS. Early sent "whirling throii,';h \Vinc!ie^,ter "—;"im in Richmor.il at il.uly's expense— Cedar Creek— A surprise— " Face the other way, boys! ■'—Turnin;; defeat ii-.t!) victory Destruction of Early's army- Five Fork's — Lee's surrender— Custer's tribute— Sheridan's personal iniliience— Life after the war. GEORGE G. MEADE, PAr.B \ii lOKKjcs (!()MManI)i:k at (ii 11 \ -i;ik( 343 A LTitical (lay- Tlic invadinjj army of Lee— Climax of the battle — I'he last tremendous ill'ort of the Con- federate Army— I'icketi's famous char^'o— A storm of gripesliot from Cemetery llill— Meade's great victory — Thank-, of Congress— Sul)sec|ueiU movements in \'ir<,'inia—i '.rant's contidence in Meade — The gratitude of the nation— Colonel M iCiuic's tuln-y— M-.ule the unrewarded hero. GEORGE H. THOMAS, Tin: CiKi A!' (ii.Ni;!.: \i, i\ nii: \\'\k ink mi, I'siov, -54^ Tne ideal soldier — Graduation at West I'oint— liieaking out of tlie w 11 -Mill Sprint; ;'.nd Muifrcesboro — The battle of Chickain.iuga— Longstreet's advance— A desperate encounter— " The Rock of Chicka- mauga "—Battle of Chattanooga— I'homas storms Missimiary Ridge— The battle of Na>hville— Thomas's deliberation— A splendid triumpli— 1 'hoina>'= modesty —Mis line character— Death in iS;o. ROBERT E. LEE, Tur. dklA!' CnMMWDKk O/ llli; ( 'oM l.lilk \ I K AkMIK- 355 Lee's acknowledged greatness- His life before the war— His devolicm to Virginia— Uilticulty in deciding on his C(r.u-,e — Resigns his ci)mmi-,-.ioii — I'repare-, the Souliiern |)eople for a long and bloodv war — His great inlliience— The simplicity of his habits— He shares the fare of the soldiers— Story of a campaign dinner—' 1 je.-,t borrowed d at piece o' meat "— IJclVat of M.Clellan on the peninsula- Tri- umphs at Fredericksburg and Chancellor^ville—C.ettysburg— Superiority of thi; North in resources— A (pio>tion of endurance— The campaign of 1S64— Lee's superior skill — Destitution of his annv- The inevitible end— Surrender at Appomattox — Ciratitude and affection of the South— Oilers of a home — Hecomes President of Washington College— Beauty of his private character— His great inlluence in restoring good feeling — Dovution to his invalitl wife — Death in 1870. THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON, I'm. (iki-.Ar ('(INI KiiKkA I F. (". e;ni;kai., -560 His birth and education— Honors won in the Mexican war— Professor in the X'irginia Militarv Institute His peculiar conscientiousness — I'lie seces>ion of Virginia— In command at Harper's Ferrv Th.e "Stonewall Brigade "—Origin of the name— Wounded at Bull Run— Waiting for his turn — Brilliant warfare of 1863 — Fredericks1)uig— The movement at Chancellorsville— Jackson mortally wounded— Personal characteristics — His dependence on prayer — I'ather Hubert's tribute. BOOK I\'. 6i;nits of tijc :]lnunc;iii Jlibii. JOHN PAUL JONES. 'riiK Fiksr Ilkkii or Oik N'avv . . . -.-, Oil The origin of ihe .\merican n.avy— John I'aul Jones and his famous victory— Sights on guns and what they did— Suppressing the Barbary pirates— 1 )pening Japan — Port Royal — i'assing the forts— The " M,>nitor " and "Merrimac"— In Mobile Bay— The " Kearsarge " and the " Alabama "—Wual architecture revo- lutionized— rhe Samoan Hurricane — Building a new navy. LIST OF CHAITJ:RS A\D smj/iCTS. 19 OLIVER H. PERRY, PAr.B III NO (II nil. Uamm: m I.akk 1-',k:i: 397 Perry's fame as a naval commander — lioyhnod and education— His mother's inlluence— " Mrs. Terry's victory " — Knters tlie navy as a midshipman — dreat ability in traininj; — The war of i8i; — Tlie conllict on the lakes — Tlie hiiiidinn of two navies — The battle op the lake — A splendid victory — Perry's imtnor> tal messa^je — Honors from Con;,'ress. DAVID G. FARRAGUT. Till (IkKAi Inidn Navai. (.'ommanhkk 4o\ Admiral Farrag'it's fime — His early career — The battle in \'alparaiso harbor — The New Orleans expedi- tion — Farra;;iit bomli.irds the forts — Torpedoes anil lire ships — Preparations for passing the forts — A mi^'htv conilirt — \ scene of devastation — Farragut's splendid victory — Capture of New Orleans — Operations below X'icksbiirjj — The forts in Mobile li.iy — Arrival of the Confederate ram Tennessee — ■ Preparations for the attack— A ^reat procession of war vessels— Farragiit in the ri,i;;;in- of the Hart- ford — Torpedoes — Sinking of the " Teciimseh "— " Damn the torpedoes, go ahead "—Rammmg iron dads with woorlcn vessels — (lallant flghtinL; of the Hartford — " Save the Admir.il " — Surrender of the Confederate tleet — Farragut's indomitable sjiirit — Wonderful bravery of the sailors — Welcome at New York. HOOK V. (Slants of our ^Vu-uiiitcb (Tountrn. JAMES A. GARFIELD, Till. M.vkivK pRK-iiiKv r 411 The long summerof iSSi — The nation's suspense — A people's love for Oarlield — Hise.ulydays — A widow's son — His love of books — The young carpenter — Life on the canal towpath— Faming an education — At Hiram College — Williams College — Doing four years' work in two — Head of Hiram College — The Civil War— A teacher-soldier — Fighting in Kentucky — Shiloh — The battle of Chickamauga — Fleeted to Congress — The campaign of iRSo — -("".arfield's victory — -Contest with Conkhng — The assassin's bullet — Weeks of sui'tering — The end — Blaine's tribute. SAMUEL J . TILDEN , Till". C'iKl Af Rr.KlKM CoVKUMlK 425 The contested election of 1S76 — Tilden's patriotism — Boyhood days in New York — The young politician — Great ability as a lawyer — 'The Flagg case — Success at the b.ir— A great fortune — The Tweed King — " What are you going to do about it?" — Unraveling the conspiracy — Tilden's triumph — Ciovernor of New York — The " Canal King " — The St. Louis Convention — l!nthusiasm for'Tilden — 'The famous cam- paign — .V doubtful result — The Electoral Commission — .\ great library — 'Tilden's last days. JAMES G.BLAINE, Till. I'RU.I.IANT AM) SCCLKssiri. SlAlKsMAN 433 After the war — .\ new cra-Iilainc's early life — A plucky boy— Life at college — Teaching in Kentucky- Marriage — Work among the blind— Removal to .Maine— lalitor and politician— Speaker of the Maine Assembly- The Chicago Convention of 1S60— Election to Congress — Lincoln's friendshi|3 — After the war— Speaker of the House— The era of scandal— .Vttacks on Hlaine— The Convention of 1876— In- gersolTs sjiecch- The " Plumed Knight " — In Carfield's cabinet— The tragedy of iSSi— 'The cimpaign of 1SS4 — The Hurchard incident —Blaine's defeat — Reply to President Cleveland's message — Secretary of State — The Peace Congress— Sorrow and aiiliction — Death in 1S93— Depew's tribute. 20 LIST 01' CHAPTERS AXD SCHJIXTS. BOOK \'I. (L^iants of iitnbfntibf 3^flml)finrnt. ROBERT FULTON. 'rill-. I'l.iNElK OK Sir.WI N \\ I'.Al h)\ 447 The ;;:i() between invention ami achievement — The |)ractiLal man — A rennsylvania boy — Fulton's artistic t.ilents— His merhanical abihties — 1 lis rapiil success — Visit to I'.ii^jiand — Turns his attention tn steam navijjalion — A woikint,' model — Aci iilent to tlie modi'l — His |i,iiIirm-.1ii|) with l.ivin^'ston — liuildir.^' of the "Clermont ' — The^iri'.it trial trip -Incredulity ol the speitalor — ■A^tonibhinent and dismay on shore — A successful trij) — " The Car of Xejjtune " — l.e'^'al complication-. — l",xposurc and illness — Death m 1815, SAMUEL F. B. MORSE. I.wi.Nioiv 01 rill. IJ i-ri Kir I'll. Ki;k\i'H 453 Importance of the tcle^'raph — Wh.it it has done for the world — Mi)rse's early days — An artist's career — The voyaL;e to I'.urope — ki;turii in the " SiilK" — Conce()tion of the telei,'raph — ^Dark day-.— Kfceives his |)atent at last — Aid tioin Con;^'ress — .\n i;4nor.int olVuial — Triumphant success — Honors to .Mor--.e — The Atlantic cable. THOMAS A. EDISON. And nil Siouv ok Amkkii .\n Inviniiov, 459 Public interest in F^dison — His boyhood day-. — An enterprisin;^ newsboy — .\uiateur journalism and chem- istry — A stroke of luck— Studying' telc.;raph\ — His tlrst invention -A labors.ivint; {jeiiius — l"oo in;^'c- nious by half— Trouble on the .Albany wire — Kdison locates the ditViculty — The " stock ticker " — Finan- cial success — I!dison in trouble — Fifteen hours without rest or food — The typical inventor — A poor business man — Appearance and personal traits. OTHER GREAT INVENTORS AND THEIR INVENTIONS, . 463 Invention and ai^riculture— The scythe— Cr.idle — I'low— Fii Whitney .uul the cotlon-;;in — Cyrus H. Mc- Corinick — .Mowers .md reafiers — Invenlhuis — Oliver l^van^ — tirisl millinj; — The steam engine — [acob I'erkins and the nail machine — lilias Howe and his sewing machine — Kli Terry — Chauncey Jerome — Clocks — Watches. — - - ••-•- — HOOK VII. O^iant IJlfii of I'liisiiifss. JOHN JACOB ASTOR, Ot'R I'lONI I K HlSIXKSS .M.\N AMI )|U-I M 11 l.lONAIKF 47I Astor's experience of the extremes of poverty and wfalth — Life of a ('icrm.iii ])e.isant in the last century — * Astor resolves to i^o to America — The fur business — i;n,L;li5h monopoly of the trade — .\stor's journeys in the fur ret,'ions — His marriage — His large profits— -.\ bank clerk's estim.Ue — The Astoria scheme — iietr.iveil by his agents — .Vstor's disap|)ointment — His business i|ualities — His great success. GEORGE PEABODY. Ol'R I'lKsr .Mll.I.loNAlKK I'lllI ANIllKOPIsr 481 A new kind of millionaire — Tribute due to IVibody — His birth aiul early training — .\ store boy in New- huryp.Mt — Removal to the l)i-.lncl of Colunil)ia — l-'irm of Kiggs iS. I'eabody — His popularity and suc- cess — Branch house in Fngland — The terrible crisis of 1S37 — High reputation in Fngland — .An Ameri- can merchant in London — Aiil for .America at the World's Fair of 1851 — Mr. I'eabody's simple habits — LIST or cj/ArriiRs axd srnjiicrs. 21 His U)V(; ol juitice -I lis yrcit )(\h^ to cdiir.iiinn — A in.i},'niiifcni U^-cps.iki- from the Queen — Hi;i death in i86y— Reception of his remains iii«Aineiu i— Mr. I'imIhhU \ ■, h irii.iliif works. CORNELIUS VANDERBILT, TKi.n Ami IMF. Smuv or Ami un an kxiiKoAn^ 491 Scenes of \' amlerbilt's youlh— An enterprising' l>oy— How a twelve-year-old hoy niana^-cd .1 iiuzzlinK situ iiion—llarninj; ins lirst hundred dollars— The war of iSr 2— \'anderl)ilt's m.irriai^e— \'oya^es and p,,, tits— The new system of steam navi.; ition~A shrewd captain— l.hklinjj a sherilV's oltircr — liuildin;; of a steamer of his own — At the he.id "f the iMi^ini-ss — Investment-, in r lilro.nU- ( tpeialions in Har- lem and lliuUon River— A ron^-pir \cy a,Minsl Harlem — The tables turned— lln lar^jc prolits- A ),'real millionaire— Love for his old hcjine— Death in 1877. Tm: ShiKv 01 Oi-r Rmiroad- cqi The Tir^t locomotive— Early railways— Trial iiip^ — The Mih iwk ainl Si lu.-nectady Road— A trial liip — Improvement^ — A railway mama — ' )ld-timc coaihe-. — Across the continent — 1' irloi- and sleeiiiii;^' cars— Consolidation- The jjreat railway lompanies— Horse versus en-ine— The Xijiv York Central Railway — 'I'hc I'ennsylvania system— llnd^e—rhe electric railway— The outlook, etc. CYRUS W. FIELD, 'I"iii. Sr((i>'Mi. I'rojiciok 01 iHK An.ANMi: <'ai\i.f 517 The m.m who <;ticceeds — Field's early years— Retirement from bii.inesb— Mi . Cii-ihorne's plan — Field t ikes up the idea^A company orj^ani/ed — Aid of lirilish and American i;ovcrnments — The first attein|)t — iireaking of tlie cable — Another trial and disappoinlment — A new plan— I 'sing two steamers — The cable successfully laiil—Mess-ige^ transmitted — A -iidilen -^top — Onemoretri.il — The " Cire.U I'^.istern " — I'art- ing of the cable in mid-ocean — Orapiiling — .\ freih start — Intense public interest — Success at last — Honors to .Mr. Tield. LELAND STANFORD, And iiii. S^torv hf Cai.ikiumv 52J Opening up of the groat West — Stanford's memory in California— The discovery of gold in 184S — The excitement that followed — California in the c.irly d.iys — The ^e.i voya:;e — California w.iges — Specula- tion and gambling — " Miners' justice " — St.inforil's early life in New York — An enterprising boy — The young lawyer — Marriage — CioingWest — Chicago in 1S50 — Lake Mii liigan uiosciuitoeb— Arriv.il in Cali- fornia — His |)opiilaiity — Political foresight— Need of railroads — The I'acilic Railw.iy enterprise — Marvelous railro.id building — 1 ; ivernor of C ililornia — An era of prosperity — The I'alo Alto ranch — Death of his son — riio Lcl.uid Stanford, Jr., University — A iiolile moiuimeiit — Death in l8y2. GEORGE W. CHILDS, 'I'm; CiKKAf l'fiu,i:siir;K and I'iiiian riiRMPis,!' 543 A noble rharacter — Mr. Childs' iinivers.d |)()piilarity — f.arly life in Baltimore — Coining to I'hiladelphia — The book business — Mr. Childs' own ai.count of his start — A \ouiig publisher — Ambition to own the "Ledger" — "Don't buy!" — How Childs gathered wealth — How he scattered it — His good sense in giving — The " Ledger " employees — Public gifts — The home at " Wootton '' — Distinguished guests— Childs and Drexel — How to make life worth living. MARSHALL FIELD, Till; MiiDi KN r.t>iNKss Man 553 Cities of the great West— What ^^•lrsh.lll I'itld has done for Chicago — .\ .Massachusetts country boy — Ambition to be a merchant — (}oing to Chicago — The citv in 1S56 — .V new position — Plie panic of 1837 — Becomes a junior oartner — S[)eculative business — Mr. Field's conservatism — Shortening up on credits —Prosperity— The great tire of 1873— .V i"^^^' ^tart- .\ great building — Business methods of Marshall Field & Co. 22 LIST OF CHAITERS AND Si'IiJLCTS. JOHN WANAMAKER, fAOH 1 111. (iKl-.Al 1)1 -IM.-i ()K'.AM/1K 561 Doing what Others cannot do — W.m.im.ikLr as ;i book-store l>«y — Clinihinii the l.ulder — Abetter position — St.iitinji in business — Novel metliiKlh — R.uiid success — A ;;rcMt purcha^i — (Ir^'.mi/in^ a ^Toat depart- ment store — How the " W.inainaker inciliods " have revoiutioni/ed IjUsiness — Youn^' Men's t"liristian Association — The Bctii.iiiv Sunday-school — Small beginnings — Mr. Wanamaker's organizing ijowers — fostmaster-General — I'ublic work and i:ifis. &vn\s of ricliqioiis :ini) ^^nriiil iUfonn. HENRY WARD BEECKER, Tin; (iKKAT I'lirir ('kaiok am> Rikiknji.k 571 Lyman Beecher and his family — His son's boyhocnl ami tr.iinin;.; — Henry's love of adventure — How his father made him a minister iiiste.id of a sailor — Hi> clieerfulness and tun — riieolof,'ii al studies at Line Seminary — Marriage and settlement in Indiana — I'reacher and man-of-.iU-woik — Call to I'lymtnith Church — Anti-slavery work — Thrilling scene in the church — The ransomed slave — The w.ir of 1S61 LEADERS OF RELIGIOUS AND SOCIAL REFORM. LYMAN ABBOTT, I'amok •<\- I'r. M-i 111 < ihk. 11 5.S3 THOMAS DKWITT TALMAGE, I'-iiiak I'm 11 i (irm,,x ^^ RUSSEKL H. CONWELL, \'\-\'<\< wi. In iikiu 5S7 CHARI.KS H. PARKHURST. nil iiixmimon .,i Minkii'M. Kiiorv ;S() DWIGHT L MOODY, iiii, (iuiAi Kv\s.;iini, ... -,,, WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, '\'\\\. (iki.Ar I'io.Ni.KR Ai!oi.iiin.\i.-r 595 Contrast (jf Garrison and Calhoun— ( iarrison's great victory — Mirth and e.irly life — Partnership with lien- jamin Limdy — He dei hires for immetli.Ue em.in(:i]).ition — Imprisonment for libel— Released by Arthur T.mpan — Dei.l.nc of liie " Genius "— ICstabli-^liinent of the " Liberator" — Living on bread .'ukI water^ An unequ.il contest — " I am in e.irnest "^.\larm and wr.ilh in the South — iiewards for Garrison's ab- duction — •The journey to England — Mobs in Boston — Garrison dragged through the streets — The rescue — Horrors of slavery — G.irrison's bold words — .\nncx.iiion of Te.\as — How colored men were treated in 1845 — Threats of secession — Garrison's course in the w.ir — " I did not foresee that death and hell would secede " — Abolition of slavery — X'ictory at last— G.irrison's psalm of praise — The evening of life. Tin: Storv ok .X.mikican Si.avf.uv, 603 The negro in America — The first c.irgo — Beginning of the slave traffic — .\s a l.iborer — Increase in num- bers — Sl.ivery ; its diiterent character in different Stales — Political disturbances — Agitation and agita- tors — John Brown — War and how it emanc ipated the slave — The free negro. FRANCES E. WILLARD, And I1i:r Shjrs- or l-AMot.s American \Vomf.n, 621 Vmo distinct early types — The Xorthern and the Southern —No place for girls in the New England public schools — No education for women in colonial p;>riod — Girls first admitted to public schools — Church and schools — .\dmission to high schools — Universities — Women .is teachers — Southern women — Self- su()port — Fields now fipen to them — In liieratirc — la the profesMions — In reform movements — The sphere of woman — etc., etc. LIST 01' CJIAPTliRS A.\D SL INJECTS. 23 BOOK IX. (iManls of ^mcvitau ilitcraturc. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, FAGH ANI> I Ml. SlOUV OK AmKKIi AN 1 .1 1 I UA 1 TKK 6^; Colonial literature— Post-revolutidn literature — I rvini,'— Culprit Fay— Marco Hozzaris—nry ant— Recent literature— Walt Whitman-^ I lowelN — Henry lanu"-— I'. Marion Crawford — New lln^jland literature— Whittier — Lowell — l,onj;fellow--I lawthorne — Minor novelists— The literature of the south and west^ American histori.tns — American oratory — Webster— Wendell riiilli|)s — Contrast between I^nglish and American literature. WASHINGTON IRVING, AiiiiiiK or iiiK " Ski- icii Hook," 653 Betjinnin^'s of a real American literature — Irvinj,''* delicate health — Travel in Europe — Knickerbocker's " History of New York" — The "Sketch liook " — lrvini;'s intimacy with >,'rcat i;n>,'lish authors— His popularity — " Who was Washiii^'ton, mother?" — Life in Spain— The " Alhambra " tales — Sunnyside and its guests — Curtis on Irving. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, Thk Oldest ok thk (Iukai A.mkkican I'ukts 65^ Bryant a link between the present and the past — " Thanatopsis " .md its popularity — Remov.d from Massa- chusetts to New York — The /'.vt-iiiiii^ /'isf — liryant's Ion;.; life and conspicuous position — His marriage — I'oems to his wift — The " Forest Hymn" — Translation of Homer — His wonderful memory — .A bad case of poetic idiocy — liryant's striking appearance. JAMES FENIMORE COOPER, Thk I'lONF.KK OK .Xmkkican HisroKU.Ai, Romancf., ds; Early life in the wilds of Central New N'ork — \'isits of the Indians — Yale Collej^e — His expulsion — Midshi|i- man in the navv— Marria^;e — A poor novel — 'I believe I could write a better story myself " — "The Spy " — ' I'he I'llot " — Its ei'fect on an oKl sailor — Cooper's unpopul.irity — Libel suits — Death in 1851. GEORGE BANCROFT, TllK. IlMiNKNT AmKKH AN IIlsTOklAN 650 Bancroft's Une opportunities — His education — Travel in Europe — Political life — First volume of his " His- tory of the United Slates " — Secretary of the N.ivy — Minister to F.nj^land — Bancroft's patriotism — " A Fourth-of-July oration in ten volumes" — The oration on Lincoln — Rose-growing and horseback riding — His last years. RALPH WALDO EMERSON, The Concord I'hii.o-oi'iikk and Poek, 660 f-ife at Harvard— His prot'iciency in literature — Study for the ministry — Resignation of his pastorate — His home at Concord — His attractive personality— Miss Bremer's description — His home life and charac- ter — His manners— His conception of the true object of life. EDGAR A. POE, Thk Hkii.i.iANr Poet and Airiinu 661 Poe's sad history— His parents aiiil their poverty- His mother's death — Adopticm by Mrs. Allan— .\ bril- liant scholar— His love of drink— His reckless marriaije— .\ life of poverty — His wife's death— His powers as an elocutionist — His manners toward women— Death in i8'49. 24 /-/-S/' OF > 7/'.//77A'.S- .l.\7) SCnj/UTS. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, 'I'llK (lUKATKsT AMKKICAN WkIII K <>I- KuMANCK, OOj The son of a S.ilem so:t-i .ipt.iin— Lite at < ollf^e — I'in.'n(l--lii|i of l.diiLifi'llow and I'lercc — Kisiilciuc at Cod. cord — " Moi^fi fniTii .111 I )lil M.ui^f" " I'lio Sc.nli t l.t.'llir" (.diiiidat Liverpool I iiro|)e;>ii life and travel — III-, sliyiu-is ami rL'sfrM--\|r. I'uhU' ant-cdoie — lii-. happy niarriai:o— 'I'lihuie to Ins rtife— Seclusion from society — Kitiiiii Imin i'.iirnpc — I'hr imliniNlRil rom nice — Longfellow's hcautiful poem. HENRY D. T H O R E A U, 'I'll!'. ('(iN'oKii lIi;i;.Mir AMP N \ : iN \i i-^T 6^>5 The " ("oncord ^'roiip " of .vriters ami pliilosophcrs — I'liorcaii's pc( entrii ity — Mis hermit life — " Walden ' — Failure "f hi-, lirit work— A surveyor-naturalist — Mis love for the liclds and wouds — llis religion-- Kiuerson's triliutc to his i haiai tcr. JOHN G. WHITTIER, 'I'liK (JfAKi.K I'm: r ci|- Amkkica, fi6'> A New F.n;,'land fanner's son — I'ictiiro of his early life in "Snow Hound" — The youthful poet ami his vcrse>. in th..' weekly pif)er — ( iiriismi's visit —Whittier's poems in the cause of freedoni-'riueatened by iiinh,— Ills home life — Tnljute to his sister Fli/.aheth — His appearance— Popularity ui his poems — His hroailness and liberality — \\\> plea for a little ;,'irl — The evening,' of life. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 'I'm: (iKi Ai I'liKr vnd LlssAvisr ()(>9, Lowell's i,'reat powers — His versatility — Study at Harvard — Marriage — His wife's lovelint ss— Her poems — Her death in 1S53 — " The Two An.L;els " — Professorship at Harvard — Kditorofthe " Atlantic Monthly" — Minister to Spain and < ireal liritain — I lis popularity in Kiv^l.md— The " lii^'low P.'.pcrs " — llis ardent patriotism — The " Conimeinoration Ode." WALT WHITMA^T, 'rm: AriiioK of " Lkavf.s ok C'iKa- ■," 670 Whitinan's originality — His boyhoml — llis lovcof nature and of humanity -A iJrooklyn printer — " Leaves of (irass " — Severe criticism — Nurse in the \\'a-.hinj;ton hospitals — Lincoln's death — " My Captain" — • " Drum-taps ' — Life in Camden — His strikini; appearance — Death in 1892. LOUISA M. ALCOTT, TnK. A: iiioK 01 " I.ii n.i; Womf.n," 671 Miss Alcott's life — Its deep interest and paiho^ — 1 ler un|)ractical father — Life with a philosopher — From Germantown to ISoston — Reino\al to Concord — Another breakdown— Louisa's unselfish efforts — Teach- in^; and writin;.;— Her sjrowin.L,' reputation — Life as an army nurse — "Hospital Sketches" — "Little Women " — Its immense popularity — Other stories — (Jverwork and jioor health — -Death in iSSS — " Transti;.^uration." HORACE GREELEY, 'I'm-; l''orNi)i;k of Moukkn Joiknai.ism 675 (ireelcy's j^reat influence — His ])icturesque ch.iracter — " Let's see what old Horace says this week " — Mis birth and bo\hood — His precocity — " No pupils from other towns except Horace Greeley " — An appren- tice to a printer — Forty dollars a year — Goes to New York — Mistaken for a runaway apprentice — Kni- ployment at last — The " New Yorker "and its disastrous collapse — " 1 wouUl rather be in prison than in debt" — The " I-o.^^ Cabin" Campaiijn — Harrison's triumph — Startini,' the " Triliuno " — Heljied by opposition — The " Trnmnc" loved and hated — Mrs. (ireeley's " isms " — .\ble contributors— The Taylor campaijjn of 1848 — Greeley chosen to Conj^ress — "Tell Brooks to keep still" — Making Congressmen uncomfortable — The " Tribune" a mighty power — Opposing the slavery measures — Greeley's course in L/ST 01 ClfAITllKS AXP SI ■/!//:(■ /S. 2', the W.ir— "On ti) Kii luiKiiul " Att.irliiiuMil <>(' lii^ rc.ulcrs- (.rccley's elhiits for |ie.ii e — t iocs li.iil Imi Jefferson Davis — Niiniinatjil for IVi-sidcnt— Mrs, (Ireeley's sii km-is and ilcatti— llcr hiishand's devo- tion — llii own su kness .mil (Icitli— llis inoniinieni. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. Thi .\i iikiu III Amikha'- Mil- 1 \'<>\\ i \i< N.aii ds- An iininortal Ijnok — Mrs. Stowe's power — The f.iinily of l.yin.m lU-cc her — Urin.'V.il to L'jncinn.iti — I..inc Sciniii.ir\- I'roU'ssor Stowc — .Miss lieei licr'i niarri.i^jc — .\»'>isl.iiire t" .i fii;;iiivt! slave— A slni^'j,'le with poviiiy and ill-lie.illli — Keinnval to liriinswick, M.iine-- Mr-. Siowe'^i iiil)Ml.iti(iii-i .\ inenior.ilile year — i'he Iiigiti\cSl.ive Law I Itart-rcndin;; m ene- — I'.\liort.iiion to write- " I «'/.',' write somclliln^'" — I'e.ir-* of the childnn nver"t'ii(lc Tom" — The story first published in the " N.itional I'.ra " — Its ininicnse siirress — i'opiil.irily in Kn^hind — Removal to M.issarhii-etts— journey to llnjji.iml- .Mrs. Stowe's hnsv pen — flic inlliierice of" rncle Tom's t'aliin " — C'elrhralion of .Mr-.. Stowe's 7otli birthday — I'ucnis uid aildrf>S( iler icsixmse — 'I'oiiihini: word-, of Whittier. r. ( ) () In .\ . |.1olitif;il ("^^i;ints of tijf ^Irfsnit p;ii). BKNJAMIN HARRISON, Sni.Dll.K, OKATOK, AM« SlAri>.M\.\ grovi:r ci,i-;vi:land, si i ■ i;sshi. i.awmck, (.nv i.knok, AM) riti-inKNi JOHN SHERMAN. I'm: i inamikk .\M) Staii^mw THOMAS BRACKKTT RKKD, TiiK CurAi "Sii akiii;" anp Hi r, \iik CHARLES FRP:DERICK CRISP, S.iI.IUl k A.M) I'AKI.IAMl.M AHIAN JOHN GRIFFIN CARLISLE. Iaiuii- Ki f-ukmkk, riN.\.\cii:K, ami I'aki iami'M aki.v.n, LEVI PARSONS MORTON, IIankkk a.M) StaiksMan WILLIAM B. ALLISON, C i .\(,|(Essman ami I'isam ikk DAVID BENNETT HILL, ( ,(ivi unou, Sknatok. and I'oi rm ai. Ii-.adi.k HENRY MOORE TELLER, I'isimss ()h(,am/i.u and Chamiion hk Sua i.k Coinai.k WILLIAM LYNE WILSON, S. imi \k and 'I auiff Ki- i-okmik WILLIAM McKINLKY. JR.. Takiif Ri I (1U.MJ.K and C.oM-itNoi; CHAUNCEY MITCHELL DEPEW, TliK AposTl.lC OF SlnmIINK AND ClIK I.Kl-Ll.NliSS. "•(XI /04 -o,S 71 I 720 '-'J ll.N.NaVl.VAMA A\ IM. I , 1 (. Al'l li 'L, \VA.!I1I.N|jU.i.N. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. I'Afin . r\(ii-: Statue of Janu's A. (laiiirld. in Caiiiiol \'ic\v of the Ca])!!!!!. \\'asliiiit,'ton, .... 90 Crouiul^ I^'roittis-'ircr. Hanks of lio Mis>i?-siiiiM Tn-iia)-, tor wIiom; l\iins\l\aiiia Ascniio, \\'aship.L;ton 27 I-ive Nasi^aiion jav .\\\i;oiiati.'!l 95 ,^,1 St. Vm\\'>. Ncu- \'o:k. an ( Hd CiiiiKlidf _^6 J'i> s 'lime 97 40 Cornuallis, 103 44 Narrow llMapcof lluncdict Arnold, when A N'iryinia I'lantation (lalcway, .... Washinuton's Ri-ccption at 'I'renton, . . \Va.-.hiii,-lMn 'l'akin,i; tlK' Oath Wa^liinuton Cros>ini,' the Dehiware. . . Old lliniiiiiLihani Meetiiii; House, . . . \\'ashin;;ti)n i\r|iro\ iny l.ee at Monnimiih. Meeting' of W ,i--hinL:tiui and Rik h.unlicau. 'The 'lonih ol' \\',i>hinL;ion at .Ml. \'eiiion. IViin's I'leaty with ilie Indians l\.■nn'■^ Rc^ideiiie in Second Street, lielow 4O liurnin^ New London. ( 'onnec lii iit, . . 105 47 Jaiiii'^ .Maili- iU, 1 laniilti'n\ ( liief .\id in 50 Writiii', •• The I'Vder.ilist," lo.S 54 Duel llelv'.een ISurr and li.nniUnn 112 5O The l.ilierly liell, as I'Ahiluled at the .New ( iilcans llxposiiion 115 C'he>tnut Street fi,: Inde|ienden(e Hall, I1iilailel| iliia ilS Death of WHlfe, f)(i Sta-e-(■l^ll■h of JellerMaiV Tinu-, uo Rear X'iew (if Indeiiendenc e I I.iU 6i) Siu;ninL; the Dei laratiuii (.f inile|"-nden< c . 125 l'"ranklin'> ( liaxe 72 Fairl'ax ( 'onrt House — A T) pical \'ir,:;inia Old I'lMildin;: in H.^idn where the Tea Court Ilnn-e . 125 I'lut is Sn|i]insed lo ha\ e been 1 latehed. . 77 \"irL;inia ( 'inrene\- 127 The ^^l>llunK■nt on I'.unkerlldl So .\n Indian Mother 131 The .\ttaek on Rioters at S]irinL;l'ield, .\ Vaniiliar KentU( ky Scene in j.u k^on's Mass., in 17X6 85 Wiuth i,^,:; Old .'^■uuth rinireh, Boston, 8S The Indian's Dei laraii^n "f War i;,7 2cS LIST OJ- ILLCSTRAT/OXS. pa(;k I PACE The Old Marit;ny Hoii^c, a Relic of the ; United States Mint, \e\v ( )rleaiis ::S4 War of iSi3 139 ' Moist Weather at the Front, jS6 An Indian light in Morida 141 Surrender of ( leneral l.ee cSS \'ie\v of a Cotton-chute 146 (leneral (Irant antl I,i llimu t'haiiL;. \'iee- l.oadinj,' a Cotton Steamer, 1 4^ 1 roy of China 290 liurning of Wa>hini;ton 150 f The Funeral Train of General Grant, . . . 202 Statue of Connnodore Terry, 152 ' An Old Indian Farmhouse, 294 \'ie\v on Lake Ontario 154 I A Skirmisher 295 'Weathersford and General Jaekson, . . . 156 i The Arts of Peace and the An of Wai'. . . 297 The FiL;ht Ship, 161 [''ort .\[ouUrie. ('harlestun 299 The \\'hite H(n:se at Washin,L;ton. .... 165 < i'.attle of i'ittsbur^i;- l.anilin- 300 ()jieninLrof the J-'.rie Canal, in 1N25, . . . 167 ' Antietam Hridne ,502 House of Re|iresentali\es 172 General Robert lulmund l.ee 305 .\n Old X'iru'inia Mansion 179 Retreat of Fee's Arm\ 30S .■\n ( )ld \'ir,i:inia Mansion — interior, . . . iSo Ilntrance to GettyshutL; Cenuier) 510 Turnjiike in the lihie Grass Region of Foiii^slreet Reiiortini; at llrauiu- IKad- Kenturk}' 1S3 i|uarters 312 ResickiKe of a Southern I'lanter iSS llatlle of Kene>aw Mountain — lieath of F'aneuil i lall. I>o>ton, which Webster called General Folk 320 ■• 'I'he < 'radle of Fibert\," 195 The " Suanip AuLiel " iSatlery iiombard- 'I'he j-'.lms, X'ale l'.ii\ersity, 204 ini; < harleston 322 ( )ld Gates at St. Au.^ustine, {■'lorida. . . . -07 Re\ie\\cif L'liion Armies 325 laitrance to a Cotton-yard, New Orleans. . 210 Siaiue c)f Mc ( lellan in Cii\ llali Si|uare, A •• Corn Shucking; " in Slavery Times, . . 212 I'liiladelphia 331 (.'olonial Mansion. Residence of the Fate Fnited StiUes 12-incli llrecc h-loading William liull Pringle, Fsc|.. Charleston, . 214 .\F)rtar or Howit/er 335 A Scene on 'Fexas Flains — Dispute o\-er a General Sheridan 'Fuming l)efeai into lirand 21S \'ictory at C'edar Cieek 338 An Old S])anish House, 219 United States .Militarv Teleuia]ih Wagon. . 339 J-'all of the Alamo 221 I'ickett's CJharge at Gc'ii\>l)nru 345 Tlie (ioliad Massacre, 222 Latest Motlel of Galling l-ield (lun, . . . 346 A liucking ISrcincho, 224 A Railroad llattery 350 L)attle on the I'lains 226 John iirown after his Captuie 357 Lincoln's Fioyhood Home in Reniuck}-, . . 230 I'he Fnnes River and Countr} Near Rich- Home of Fincoln at Gentrwille. 'r.diana, . 233 mond 358 ()|cening of the Illinoisand Michigan Canal, 234 Fibby Prison in 1SS4, Belore its Remo\al Lincciln and His Son "'Fad," 240 to Chicagc> 360 Filib\- I'rison in Richmond, 244 ••General Fee to the Rtvir,' 362 15ird's-eye \'ie\v of .Vndersonviile i'rison, . 246 Fee and the i'erryman 363 'i'he Caiitm-e of F>oo(li, the Slayer of Lincoln. 247 Lee and the I'nion Soldier, . ■ 3C4 Old New \'ork .Mansion Near Seward's Harper's i'"err\' 371 Home 254 liattie of Clianceliors\ ille 372 Seal Catihin^' in -Maska 257 House in which Stonewall Jaikson Died, .374 klols 'I'otem, of .Maska 2C0 Fight between the '•Monitor" and the 'Fhe \'acant Seat in the Senate, Draped " Merrimac," 3S3 in I'.kuk 271 Sinking of the ".Mabama," 386 Main P)uilding of the ('cniennial i'.xposi- ) ISurnside's l-lxpedition Crossing Hatteras Bar, 392 tion.o])ened by President Grant in 1S76, . 277 ■' Chicago." One of tiie New War Shi|is, . . ^95 Decoration l)a\, 2S0 l''.iglit-inch Gun of the " lialtimore," . . . 401 LIST 01' /fJ-CSTRAr/OXS. 29 I'Ai.l-. ]5;ulcv'> Dam im tlic Red Riwr 405 One t^\ the •• .\IiaiUiini)mali'.> " I'lHir I'eii- im h liteecli liiailiiii,' Rilles 40() 'J'lie l''arra,mit MimumeiU in \\'asliiiiL;t(in. . 407 Model i)t" L'nited States Man ChildilKi'd 1 1 j (larlleld iin the r(i\v]iatli 41,; 1 1 i rani ( 'ullege p 5 (larti-jld's A>sa->inaiii)n (Jo 'I'ahlet in the \\'ailini,'-r<)(ini of llie Rail- wAX Station where (laiheld u;i.s Shot, . . -\:2 The Statue of l.iljert)' in New N'ork Ilarlxir. 427 (leiierai \'iew of ilie New \'ork C'itx Ilall, . 42S Mr. I)laine\ riirthphice. llrounsville, I'a., . 454 Srhool House. Urouiisville, I'a.. uhere Mr. lliaine ISe^an his Education t ;0 Wa^hinL,'lon and Jefferson College 4,^'-! The lilaint' Resilience at .Auu'usta, .\lame. . .; (i Missi.ssi|i]ji Steandioats of 'i"o-(la\- ;;o Plan of the World's I-'air (iroun(N ;;j Shop in whi( h the l'"irst .Mor>c Inslruineni was Constructcil ;;5 The New \'ork St(ick l^\chanL;c I'n A Colonial Sinniiin^'-wheel j(4 A New l';n,i,'lan(l Weaver Windiui; the Spools. 464 Primitive -Modes of ( irindiiii; Corn )()() Between the Mills 407 A Creat .Modern Flour Mill 467 A Modern New York Store 471 Chani|ilain's i-'oriit"ied Camp in (Jueliei . . . 47^ View on liroadwav, New \'ork 47:; Ancient iJloik House. .Maska 476 Modern Stores in Boston, 4X5 Produce I'Achange Bmldini,', .New N'ork. . . (So First Trai'i of Cars in .America 4(>i "Johnny I'ull," or No. i _((,^ Loading a Traill of Tank Cars 4(13 The\'an(lerliilt I'"aniil\ Driving in Cential Park, New \dik ^()7 Suspension Bridge, Niagara Falls 4(),S The Royal Gorge, Colorado. 500 New Terminal Station, Reading Railroad. . 501 On the Baltimore and Ohio Railway, . . . 505 Scene in the Chicago Riots of 1894, , , . 507 Ijitering Boulder Cafion, Colorado, . . . 50;) Mossbrae, 511 .\rri\-al of the (ireal i'.,i>lern, . . , l!le\'aied Railmad in New \'ork, . I'inding Cold in the .Mill-race, ( lold Washing in Calilornia, . . . \ the \ igilance ('omniittee, (liaiit Tree i>l' the N'osemite X'allev, .\ llee Ran( h in Lower California, . . \'alk'\' Irrigation in Sontliern ( 'alilornia. D Jine and Telescope. I.ic k ( )liser\at(U\ . .\n Old Colonial ITkhc Near I'liiladclph .\( .ideniv of F'ine .\rt.-, l'hiladeli)hia. The Dre.xel Institute, PhiLidelpliia, . Lake. Shore Drive, Chicago .\ ('hicago Mansion in tlie F'„ulv i).iv^ Tile llurning of Chicago in 1.S71, ^\hole>ale Store of .Marshall F'ield \- ( I'lCiiiany Stnidav-School Tent. i.S^ij. I'lethany Church and .Sinidav-SchooL •■ l.indenhurst," .Mr. W.uiauiakei's (' 5, 5 7 547 549 55,5 554 557 5 ''4 5 '''5 y 567 57' 571 572 5 74 5 77 5. Si 597 600 605 607 611 ^•'■5 r)i,s 640 650 654 66S 66,) 6,S2 6,S7 69 1 ''9,5 700 706 FULL PAGE „X PORTRAITS. I'.dward I']\L'teti ILile. (icoi'Lic \\'a.-.hiiii,'tiii,, licnjamiii I'lankliii. I'llin .\(laui,>. . . . 5 Jainc.-, {'.. Ijlainc. . ,1^ (Icuri^c I''. !■; imimii-. . 5.S ( ;inn 114 Saiiiuel 1'. I'., M,,isc. Andrew jack^m i ;o i li.>inas A. I'.dison, . Martin \'an IJinen 1 |j j, iliii ja. (,h A.U.r, . . j.'hn (,)aincy A(lani-> 160 ( Icnr-c 1 Valxxh', "^■i"T ''l''.^ \:(> ('..riicliii. Vandcrl.iit. janio k. I'.ilk rSO JmIid M. 'I cy, . , Haiiiel Wclwtcr i,jj Cyrils \V. Vwll. . . . \"hn'V\\vr joo I.cland Sianfnrd, . . Miiiard kiliniure 202 ('.cirj^c \V. Cliilds. . j"iiii ('. Calh.ini 206 Marshall I'ifld, , . . janics Monnic .oS J<,lin A\'aiiainaker, . . SaniiK-l IliMNhm j 1 (, j. .lin AVananiaker in V.n Abraliain i.in. nil .j.S ( icnri^e 1 1. Stuart, . . (Icncral W'ini'icld -'lott _- ; :; ] lonry Ward Ilrcdicr, Andrew Jwlm-Mn _.;o I'.isliop J. 1 1. \'iiu ent, William II. Si'uard J52 William I.lnyd Carri^.ui William I'.wan (;iad>t,,nc 2i>2 I'ranc ls I-,. Willard, . CharKsSnmner 264 I lannah Wdiitall Smith, I'laiddin I'lerce 269 Julia Ward ilowe, . . James lliKhanan 2-;, lienrv W. I .(inufellnw, ri\sses S. (Irani j;6 Ralph Waldo i'lmersim, Williain'r. Shermai; -16 Walt Whitman, , . . Ceoi-e P.. MiClellan ;,.vS James Rus>ell I.uwell, I'liilil' II- ^iH^rid.m ;,;,4 Louisa May Alroit, . Ceorue 0. Mea.le 342 William CiilKn l!r\ ant, (le.ii-e II, Th.imas 5^S Wr.shinntnn Ir\ in,i;, , ^<'^\'^n v.. I.ee .34 J. l-oi)imi 34 GliORGIi :VAS///XGTOX. gentlemen. Lawrence was a fine scholar, a j^fraduate of Oxford ; John was an accomplished man of husiiiess. The two brothers h.ul purchasi^d a larjji'e tract of land about filty miles above: the mouth of the I'otomac. and on its western banks, lohn built iiim a house, and married Anne l'o[je. .\uL,''ustine, his s('c LIFE /X THE WlI.nERXESS. 35 in stature, left school, lie excelled in mathematical studies, and h.ul become familiar with the principles of geometry anil trigonometry and of jiractical sur- veying. In was then his intention to become a civil engineer. At that time, in this new and rapidly-growing country, there was great demand lor such services, and the employment was very lucrative. I le had formeil his character upon the right model. Hverything he tlid hi; ilid well. If he wrote a litter, every word was as plain as print, with spelling, capitals, [)unctualion, all correct. His dia grams anil tabk^s were never scribbled off, but all executed with great beauty. These e.xcellent habits, thus early formed, were retained through life. L'pon leaving school ("icorge wiiit to spend a little time with his elder brother, Lawrence, at Mount \'ernon. Then, as now, that was an i-nchanting spot. The house, situated upon a swill of land, commanded an exti'usive view of the Potomac and of tin; surrounding country. It was nearly one hundred miles above the home of George. Lord b'airfax, a man of large fortune and romantic tastes, had been lured by the charms of this delightful region to i)ur- chase a vast territory, which extended far away, over the lUue Mountains. It was a property embracing rivers and mountains, forests and prairies, and wealth un'^xplored. Lord Fairfax was charmed with young Washington, his frankness, his intelligence, his manliness, his gentlemanly bearing, — a boy in years, a man in maturity of wisdom and character ; and he engaged this lad, then but one month over sixteen years of age, to explore and survey these pathless wilds, a large portion of which was then ranged only by wild beasts and savage men. It may be doubted whether a lad of his age e\er befon; undertook a task so ardu- ous. With a few attendants, the boy ent<;red the wilderness. We have some extracts from the journal which he kept, which give us a vl\iil idea of the life he then led. Under date of March 15. 174S, he writes: — " Worked hard till night, and then retin"nt;d. After suijper, v.e were lighted into a room : and I, not being so good a woodman as the rest, stripped myself very orderly, and went into the bed, as they call it, when, to my surprise, I found it to be nothing but a little straw matted together, without sheet or anything else, but only one threadbare blanket, with double its weight of vermin. I was glad to get up and put on my clothes, and lie as my companions did. Had we not been very tired, I am sure we should not have slept much that night. I madi; a promise to sleep so no more in a bed, choosing rather to sleep in the ojjen air before a fire." Dn the 2(1 of April he writes, "A blowing, rainy night. Our straw, upon which we were lying, took tire ; liut I was luckily |)reserveil by one of our mea awaking when it was in a llame. We have run off four lots this day." George returned from this tramp with all his energies consolidated by toil, peril, and hardship. Though but seventeen years of age, he was a responsible, self-reliant man. The .State of \'irginia now employed him as public surveyor. WAMllNinoN S KlXFriKiN AT TRlMo.N. A PEKJf.OL'S JOL'RXEY. 37 For thret; years he was c'n_i,ra,Ljt;d in these laborious duties, which iiitrochiced him to scenes of roniancf and .ulventure. Tiioiinh In; oltt'ii. (hiring; these three; y<'ars, visitrd iiis nioiher, his lie.uli[uarti:rs werr with liis brother .it .\h)unt X'ernoii, as tiiis was ;niuh nearer. Lonl I'airfax, whcj, it is said, was the victim of a lo\tj disapixiintment, had btiiU him a substantial stone mansion in the \alley beyond the lihie KidLje, whi re he was liviiiL,'^ in a sort ot Inironial splendor, antl whe're Georgt; w.is an e\er welconn; j;uest. MISSION 'lo iiii; IKl.NCIl CO.MMAMil.K. IbninL;' performetl his duty as sur\ csor so well, he was chosi-n adjutant- jTcneral. with the r.uik ot maior, over a portion oi tlie militia wIiom; duty it was to repel the encroachments of the bretich and Indians. In the meantime, how- ever, he was absent tour months in ISarbadoes with a sick brothi;r. TIk; next year, beiiiL; thiMi twenty-one years of ai^e, he was s(;nt as commissioner by Governor 1 )inwiddie to tU;manil of tin; I'reiich commander why Ik; had iinaded the kiui^'s colonies, lor seven huntlr(;d and tilty miles, more than half of the distance thronijh an unbroken wilderness, Ik; madi- his wa\', accompanietl by only seven persons; and aft(;r forty-one days of toil, in the mitldle of Decem- ber he reached his destination, liavin^- concludeil his mission, ht; set out in the dead of winter to retrace his dreary route. TIk; horses after a while o^ave out, and the; drivers were left to take care of them, whih; he and one com|)anion pushed on alone, on foot, throuL,di the wilderness. TravelinL,'' in this maniKT, they cauK^ upon an Indian, who, uiKler the prt-tence of actiuL,^ as ^uide, led them off their route, and then shot at them. S])arinn(l<)n, and attracted much attiiuion, as ii conlainctl conchisivc prdol ihal the I rriuli would r(;sist any attempts of tiif I'.m^lisli to establish their selllenients upon llu- ( )hio. The LeiL^i^laturt- of \ ii'L^ini.i was in session at W illianishur:^ when Washington rt'tnrned. Modestl)', and unconscious that he would attract any attention, he w<-nt into th(' i;alli'i-\- to ol)ser\e the proceedini;s, Ihe .S[)(.'aker chance(.l to see him, and, risinL;, proposed th.il "The tiianks of this house \)v. L^ivcii to Major W'.isliiuL^lon, who now sits in th(; L^allery. for the gallant mantur in wliich he lias exet uled the important trust lately repost;d in him by his excellency the L;('\'ernor. " I'", very member of the house rose to his feet ; antl WashiuL^ton was greeted with a simultaneous and enthusiastic burst of ap|)lause. Embarrassed by the un<;\pe(ted honor, and unaccustomed to public speakini^, the youni^ hero en- dea\<>red in \ain to L;i\e utterance to his thanks. ( )ul of tliis |)ainful dilt;mma the elo(pi<'nt .Speaker helpetl him as i.;(MU:rously as he had helpetl him into it. " Sit down, Mr. \\'ashinL;lon." saitl he, in his most courli!ous manner, •' your mf)desty e([uals your \alor, and that surpasses the])owc;r of any lani^uane that I pcjssess." NothinL,r coukl be more elegant or skilful than this tlouble stroke, which not (jnly relieved Washing-ton. but [)aid him at the same lime the hii^hest com[)liment that could be bestowt'd. iiiauty. .Sudd(!nly, like th(! burst of thunder from the cloutiU'ss heavens, came the crash of musketry, and a tempest of lead s\v;'pt through their ranks. Crash fcjlknvetl crash in (piick succession, bi'forc, behind, on tlu; ri^ht. on the left. Xo foe was to be seen : yet every bullet accomplished its mission. The ground was JiKADDOCK'S D 1. 1- EAT. y) soon covcrt'd with tin- dtad and wourKUd. .\ina/(.;inciit and consternation ran lhniiiL;li thf rank-.. An unsci-n lot; was a^sailin^• them, liraddoik stootl iiis '^roinid with hull ilo;^^ coiirai;*', nntil hrad- tlo(k's army, including' most ot the otticers, were either dead or wounded. W ashinL;lon r.dlied around him tlu; te-w proxincials, upon whom llratldock hail looked with contem[)t. Each man instantly placed himself" behind a tree, accordini,'' to the necessities of t'orest wartare. As the Indians burst from theit ambush, the unerrini^ tire ot" the proxincials checked them and dro\-e them back. Hut for this thi; army would have been utterly destroyed. .\ll W'ashinj^ton's endeavors to rally the Dritish re^uhu's were unavailinj^-. Indii^nantly Ik- writes. " 1 hey ran like sli(;ep before the hounds." I'anic-strickeii. abandoning artillery and ba^'L;aL,H;, they continued their tumultuous retreat to the .\tlantic coast. 1 he provincials, in orderly march, protected them from pursuit. Iiraddock's det'eat rauL;' throuL;h the land as Washington's victory. The provincials, who. submit- ting- to military authority, had allowed tliemselves to bi; led into this \alley of ileath, jjroclaimed far and wide the precautions which W'ashiiiL^'^ton had uri^eil, and the h>;roisin with which hi; had rescued the remnant of the army. The [•"rench made no att(;mpt to pursue their advantaL;c. but quietly retired to \'ox\. I )u(|uesiii'. then; to await another assault, should the I'.nL^lish decide to make one. A torci" of about sexcn hundred men was raised, and |)laceil under the command of W'asliinj^ton, to protect the scattered villages and (lucllinj^s of this vast frontier. l"or threi; years Washington L;ave all his eneri^ies to this arduous enterprise. It would require a volume to record the awful scenes throuL,di which he })assed durinLj;- these three years. In XoN'ember, 175S, bort Huquesne was wrested from the I'rench. and the valley of the Ohio passed from their control forever. The Canadas soon after surri;nileri;d to Wolfe, and i'aiu;lish supremacy was established upon this conti- .nent witliout a rival. Washington was now twentv-six years of ai;e. The beautiful estate; of Mount \'ernon had descended to him by inheritance. ( )n the 6th of January, 175Q, he married Mis. Martha Custis, a lady of L;r<;at worth and be.ait)-. Wash- ington was already wealtln- : and his wife brought with her, as Ivr dower, a fortune of one himdred thousand dollars. After the tumultuous scenes of his BARON f.THl'DBN. GOV. AKTHIIK ST. CLAIK. SI-:t: Y SAMUEL A. OTIS. KiKiI-:H SHIIKMAN. CHANCKLLOK HftUKKl H. LIVINGSTON. GBORGK WASHINGTON. GOV. GEOKGH CLINION. GKN'L HUNKY KNOX WASHING'ION TAKING THE OATH A.S PRESIDENT, APRIL 30, I7S9, ON TIIK SITK OF THE PRESKNT TREASUKV liUILUING, WALL STRKET, NEW YORK CITV. Virginia gave us tliis imperial man, Cast in tile massive mould Of those lUHli-stalureil ages old Which into tn'ander forms our mortal metal ran ; Mother of States and undiminished men, Thou Kivest us a Country, giving him. —Jambs Kussell Lowell. THE BEG/XX/XG 01' WAR. 4I youth, he rcitircd with his bride ami hi;r two chiklrcn to the lovely retreat of Mount X'ernon, where he spent lifteen years of almost unalloyeil happiness. He enlarf,''ecl th(; mansion, emhellished tin; grounds, and by purchase matle very considerable additions to his larL,^e estate. ()fi'nKi;.\K iiF iiiK Ki:\'ii.L"ri(.)N'. DurinL,^ these sertMie y(;ars of p(;ac(.- ;ind prosperity an appalling' storiii was J^atherin'^^ which soon burst with tearful desolation over all the colonies. The British ministry, denyiuL"; th(= colonists th(i rii^hts of llritish subjects, insisted upon e\(n"cisini4' the ilespotic power of im|)Osini^- taxes upon the colonists, while withholdini^'- the ri^ht of rei)r(;sentati()n. All American remonstrances were thrown back with scorn. Troops were sent to enforce obedience? to tlu^ man- dates of the British Crown. The Americans spranq' to arms, called a Congress, and chose George Washington commander-in-c.iief. To the Congrt'ss which elect(.'d him he rcplietl : "I beg leave to assure the Congress that, as no pecuniary consideration could have tem|)ted me to accept this arduous employment at i\\v. expense of my domestic ease and happiness, I do not wish to make any jirofit from it. I will keep an e.xact account of my expenses. Those, I doubt not, they will discharge. That is all I dt-sire." To his wife, the object of his most tciuler affection, Ik? wrote that it was his greatest affliction to be se])arated from her, but that duty called, and he must obey. He said that he; could not declim; the a|)pointment without dishonoring his name, antl sinking himself (;ven in her esteem. On the 2d of July Washington arrived in Cambridge and took command of t'ae army. TIk; ceremony took place unthn- the elm-trin; which still stands immortalized by the e\ent. ( iiMieral Cage was commander of the British forces. Twelve thousand British regulars wert; intrenched on lUmker's llill and in the streets of Boston. About fifteen thousand proxincial militia, wretchedly armed and without any discipline, occupied a line nearly twt^lve miles in ext(Mit, en- circling, on the land side, Charl(,'stown and Boston. The British war-ships held undispuled possession of the harbor. At length, in March, 1776, after months of toil and surmounting difficulties more; than can be enumerated, Washington was prepared for decisive action. In a dark and stormy night ht; opciKxl upon the foe in th(! city, from his encir- cling lines, as tierce a bombardment as his means would allow. I'nder cover of this roar of the batteries and the mitlnight storm, \-\v. dispatched a large force o'' picked troops, with the utmost s(;cn,'cy, to take possession of the Heights of Dorchester. There, during the hours of the night, the soldii'rs worked with the utmost ililigence in throwing u[) breastworks which would protect them from the broadsides of the: iuiglish lleet. Having establishetl his batteries upon those heights, he commanded the harbor. 42 GEORGE WASIIIXGTOX. In th(; early dawn of the inorniiiL;', the Iiritish Achnh-al saw, to his cori' sternation, that a fort bristHnn- with cannon had sprunLC "-'P during- the night ahiiost over his li(;ad. lie immediately opened upon the works the broadsides of all his ships ; but the Americans, detiant of the storm of iron which fell arountl them, continued to pile their sand-bags and to ply thtir shovels, until they had thrown up ramparts so strong that no cannonade; could injure them. The ISritish tleet was now at the mercy of Washington's batteries. In a spirit almost of desperation, llie Admiral ordered three thousand men in boats to land and take the heights at e\ery hazard. Hut a great storm came to the aid of the colonists. 'J"he gale increased to such tury that not a boat could be launched. Before another day and night had passed the redoubt was made so strong that it could defy any attack. It was the morning of the i 7th of March, 1776. The storm had passed away. The blue skv overarched tin; beleaguered city and the encamping armies. Washington sat upon his horse, serene; and majestic, and contemplated in silc;nt triumph, from the Heights of 1 )orchester, tht; evacuation of P)Oston. The whole l)ritish army was crowded on board the shii)s. A tresh breeze from the west till(;d their sails ; and the hostile armament, before the sun went down, had disappeared beyond the distant horizon. It was a glorious victory. Such another case;, perhaps, history does not record. Washington, 7^'itJtout auDiiuiii- tioii, had maintained his post for six months within musket-shot of a powerful British army. During this time he had disbantled the small force of raw militia he at first had with him, and had recruited another army; and had then driven the enemy into his shi|)s, and out into the sea. The latter part of June, just before; the Declaration of Indei)endence, two large British ll<;(;ts, one from Halifax and the; oth(;r dir(;ct from England, met at the mouth of the; liay of \(;w \'ork, anil, disembarking a powerful army, took possession of .Staten Island. Washington had assembled all his available mili- tary force to resist their advances. The; British ( iovernment r(\gar(l(;d the leadi;rs of the armies, and their support(;rs in Congress, as felons, doomed to the scaflold. They n'fus(;d, conse([ueiitly, to recognize any titlt;s conferred by Congress. By the middhi of .\ugust the British hael assembleel, on .Staten Island and at the mouth of ilu; Hudson River, a force of nearly thirty thousaml soldiers, with a niunerous and w(;lbe([ui|)peel lleet. To oppose them Washington had rabout twt;lve thousanel men, ])oorly armed, and cpiite imaccustomed to military discipline and the harilships of the cam|). A f<;w regiments of American troops, about five thousand in number, W(;re gatheri'd near l^rooklyn. .\ few thousand more were stationed at odi(;r ])oints on Long Island. The; I\nglish landed with out op|")osition, fifteen thousanel strong, and made a combineel assault upon the Ame'ricans. The battle was short, but liloe^dy. The Americans, overpowered, sullenly retired, leaving fifteen hundred of their number either dead or in the A CAMPAIGX OF RETREATS. 43 hands of the Hnylish. A vastly superior force of well-trained British troops, (lushed with victory, pressed upon the rear of the dispirited colonists. Iheir situation seemed desperate. A^ain Providence came to our aid. The wind died away to a perfect calm, so that the Ih'itish tleet could not move. A dense fog- was rolled in from the ocean. The Americans, familiar with every foot of the ground, improved the ')ropitious moments. Boats were rapidly collected ; and, in the few hours of that black night, nine thousand men, with nearly all their artillery and military stores, were safely landed in New \ (^rk. The trans[)i)rtation was conducted so secretly that, though the .Americans could hear the linglish at work with their picka.xes, the last boat had left the Long Island shore ere the retreat was sus pected. The American army was now in a deplorable condition. It had neither arms, ammunition, nor tocjd. The soldiers wtn'e un[;aid, almost mutincnis, aiul in rags. There were ihousands in the vicinity of New York who were in sympathy with the British. Nearly all the CJovernment officials and their friends were on that side. A conspiracy was formed, in which a part of Washington's own guartl was im|)licated, to seize him, and deliver him to that ignominious death to which the British Crown had doomed him. Washington was equal to the crisis. He saw that the only hope was to be found in avoiding an engagement, and in wearing out the resources of the enemy in protracted campaigns. He slowly retired from New York to the Heights of Harlem, with slec^jiless vigilance watching every movement of the foe, that he might take advantage of the slightest indiscretion. Here he threw up breast- works, which tilt; enemy did not venture to attack. The British troo[)s ascended the Hudson and East Rive-r to assail Washington in his rear. .\ weary cam- paign of marches and counter-marches ensued, in which Washington, with scarcely a shadow of an army, sustainetl, in the midst of a constant succession of disasters, the apparently hopeless fortunes of his country. At one time General Reed in anguish c,\claimetl, — " My God ! General Washington, how long shall we tly ?" .Serenely Washington replied, "We shall retreat, if necessary, over every river of our country, and th(,'n over the mountains, where I will make a last stand against our enwrnies." Tin- XKW jF.RSKV CAMI'AKiN. Washington crosseil the Hudson into the Jerseys. The British pursued nim. With consummate skill, he liaftled all the efforts of the foe. Withanarmy nxluced to a freezing, star\ing baml of but three thousand men, he retr(>ated to 1 renton. The British prt^ssed exultantly on, deeming the conllict u(lecl sun poured clou 11 its blisicrini;" ra\'s upon pursuers and pursui:(l. r '■'■) The I iritish troops were at Moiuiujuth. l he march ^/ -' of one more day woulil so unite tlu-m wii'n tin: army "'W^K ■ '''- ' ' ' in Xew ^'ork that they would be sate ••* wa-him; I'lN i;rrR(i\iNi; 1 1 i: AT .Nh'NMol 'I 11. from attack. Cicneral Lee, with fi\-e thousand men, was in tin advanci'. \\'ashinL;ti>n sent orders to him immediately to ■ ...-. commence the onset, with the assurance that he would hasten to Ills support. As Washington was pressin^,^ eagerly forward, to his inctxpres- sible chagrin he met Cieneral Lee at the head of his troops, in full retreat. It 48 GEORGE WASHINGTON. is said that \VashiiiL,fton, with i^ac^at veht'iiKMicc of manner antl utterance, ciied out, "(ien(;ral Lee, what nuians this iil-tiined prudence?" The retreating General threw back an an^^ry retort. lUit it was no lime tor alti.'rcation. Washins^-ton lurnetl to tht; iiUMi. I hey .greeted him with cliee-rs. At his com- mand they whrtlcd about and charL^ed the enemy. A san<^llinary buttle ensued, and the I'aij^lish were driven from the field. The; colonists slept upor their arms, prepared to rentnv the battle in the morning-. When thi; morning dawned, no foe was to Ix; seen. The iSritish had retreated in the ni'dit, leavincj three hundred of their dead behind them. The AnnM-icans lost but sixty-nine. n.\RK DAN'S <>K llli; WAR. Another cold and cheerhtss winter came. The; British remained within thi-ir lines at Xew York. They sent agents, howe\er, to the Six Xatit)ns of Indians, to arm th(Mii against our defenseless tronti(;r. Tliese tierce savages, accom[)anied by Tory bands, perpetrated horrors too dreatltul tor recital. 'Ihe massacres of Cherry \'alley and of WAoming were among the most awful trage- (.lies ever witnessed on this globe;. The narrative of these fiendish deeds sent a thrill of horror through luiglanil as well as America. I*"oin" thousand men were sent by Washington into the wilderness, to arrest, if possible, these massacres. The savages and their alliens were driven to Niagara, where they were received into an Juiglish fortress, (ieneral Clinton commenced a vigorous prosecution of a system of violence and plunder upon defenseless towns and farm-houses. The sky was redden(,;d with wanton conllagration. Women and children were driven houseless into the tields. The flourishing towns of Fairtield and Norwalk, in Connecticut, were reduced to ashes. While the (Miemy was thus ravaging that defenseless State, Washington planned an expedition against Stony Point, on thti I ludson, which was held by the British. (General Wayne conducted the enter])rise, on the night of the 15th of July, with great gallantry and success. .Sixty-three of the British were killed, five hundred and forty-three were taken prisoners, and all the military stores of the fortress capturetl. 1 )uring this summer campaign the American army was never sufficiently strong to take the oft'ensixe. It was, however, incessantly employed striking blows upon the b'nglish wherever the eagle eye of Washington could discern an exposed spot. The winter of 1779 set in early, and with unusual severity. The American army was in such a starving condition that Washington was compelled to make the utmost ex'-rtions to save his wasting band trom annihilation. These long years of war and wiu; tilled many even ot tlie most sanguine hearts with despair, Xor, a few patriots ileemed it madness tor the colonies, impoverished as they were, any longer to contcMid against the richest and most powerful nation upon the globe. General Arnold, who was at this time in command at West Point THE WAR IS THE SOUTH. 49 saw no hope for his country. !>( hcviiiL;- tlic ship to be sinkini;-, lie tunictl traitor, and offered to s(.'ll his fortress to the l'ji::;lish. The treason was detected, but the traitor escaped : and the lanieiiU'd Anch-r-, wlio had been hn^ed into tlie pcjsition of a spy, became tht; necessary \ictini of Arnold's crime. Lord CornwalHs was now, with a well-provid(Hl army and an assisting;' navy, overrunning" the two Carohnas. Cieneral (ireene was siiU, with all the force which Washington could ;-,pare, to watch ami harass tiie invaders, ami to furnish the inhabitants with all the proliHtioii in his -power. Lafayette was in the vicinitv of New \ Ork, with his ca^le e\'e tixcd upon the foe, ready to pounce upon any detachment which presented the slightest (!.\posure. Washington was evervwhere, with patriotism w hich nctver tla^^ed, with hope; which never faihxl, cheerini,^ the army, animatiuL;- the inhabitants, rousini^- ConL,n-ess, and t;uidin,ij;- with his welbbalanced mind l)oth military and civil legislation. Thus the dreary year of 17S0 linsjered awav. As the spring of 17X1 opened, the war was renewed. The British directed their chief attention to the .South, which was far weaker than the North. Rich- mond, in X'ir^inia, was laid in ashes ; and a general system of devastation and plunder prevailed. The (-Miemy ascended thi; Chesapeake and the I'otomac with arnn^d vessels. They lantled at Mount \'ernon. The manager of the estate, to save the mansion from pillag<; and tlames, furnished them with abun- dant supplies. Washington was much displeasi-d. 1 L; wrote to his agent : — " It would have been a less painful circumstance; to me to have heartl that, in consecpience of your non-compliance with their re([U(;st, they had burni-d my house and laiil thi; plantation in ruins. You ought t(j have consitleretl yoursidf as mv representative, and should have rellected on tlu- bad e.xampK; of commu- nicating with the enemy, and making a voluntary otter of refreshments to th(;m, with a vi(!w to prevent a conllagration." Lord CornwalHs was now at \'orktown, in X'irginia, but a tew miles frcjm Chesi'ipeake L)ay. There was no torce in his \icinitv seriously to annoy him. Washington resoKciI, in conjunction with our allies tVom I'rance, to make a bold movement for his capture. .\n arinv of six ihousaiul men, under Count Rochambeau, had been scMit b\- Irance to aid tht; .\merican cause. This army with the I'rench tleet, w(M-e most im])ortant aids to Washington. 1 le succetxled *n deceiving the iMiglish into the belief that he was making great preparations for the siege of New York. Thus they wmv prevented from rendering any aid :o Yorklown. r)y rapid marches from th<.' neighborhood of New York Washington has- tened to \'irginia. ]{arly in .Septeml)er Lord Cornwallis, as he arose one morn- ing, was amazed to timl himself surrounded l)y the bayonets and batteries of the Americans. At about the same hour the L'rench t]eet appeared, in invincible strength, before the harbor. Cornwallis was caught. There was no escape; 4 MEEIINO OF WAblllNGTO.N AND ROCHAMliEAU. THE TRIVMril Al' VORKTOWW. 51 tlirre was no retreat. Xeitlier by laiul nor by sea coultl Ik; ohtaiii any supplies. Sliot and shell soon l)e^.in lo tall thickly into his lines, l-aniini; st.ireil him iti the face, .\tter a few ilays of hopeless conllict, on the Kith of October, 17S1, h;- was conipelleil to surrender. .Se\cn thousand Uriti-^h \eierans l.iid down th.eir arms. ( )iie hundred and sixty [)ieces of cannon, with correspoiuliny mili- tary stores, _L;nice(l the iriiunph. When the liritish soldiers were; marching;- from their intrenchnients to lay down their arm-^. W'ashinL^ton tliiis aiklressi'd his troo[)S : " My brave tellows, let no sens.uion of satisfiction for the triuniphs you ha\i; ^ainetl iiuhice you to insult your fallen I'liemy. Let no shouting;', no clamorous lui/zaiiiLj, increase their mortitication. Posterity will hu//a lor us." This i^lorious capture rousetl removed hope and xii^or all over the country. The )oyful tidiuL^s reached I'hihulelphia at midnii^ht. A watchman tr.ivers('d the str(;ets, shoulinL,'' at intervals. "Past twcKc o'clock, and Cornwallis is taken'" Candles were lii^hti'd : windows thrown up; fiLjuri's in nii^ht-robes and nightcaps bent caL,M'rly out to catch the thrilling' sound ; shouts wereraiseil ; citiztMis rusheil into the streets, half clad. — they wept; they lauL^hed. The news llew upon the win^s of th(.' wind, nobody can tell how , and the shout of an enfranchised pef)ple rose, like ii roar of thuntler, from our whoh; land. With such a victory, repul>- lican .\merica would lU'ver aj^^ain yield to the aristocratic L;()\ernment of ICnt^land. i-^irly in May, 17S2, the British Cabinet opened lU'L^'otiations for pt.'ace. Hostilities were, by each party, t;icitl\' kiitl aside. Xe^otiiUions were protracted in Paris durim^; the summer and the ensuing- wintt'r. Marly in the followin:^^ spring- the joyful tidim^s arrived that a treaty of peace had been sii^neil at Paris. The intelliL^'^ence was communicated to the Am(,'rican army on the; ic^th o*\\pril. 17S;,, — just cii^ht years from the ilay when the conllict was commenced on the Coinnion at Le\inL;'ton. I. ate in Xovember tin; IJritish e\acuat(>(l Xew York, entereil their ships, anil sailed for tlieir ilistant island. Washington, marchin;^- from West Point, entered the city as our vaiKjuished foes departed, .\merica was free and inde- p(-'ndent. Washington v.^as the s;i\ior of his country. Alter an atfectiuL;' farewell to the olticers of the arinv, Washin^^ton set out for his \'irL;inia home. At e\ery town and \illau;'e lu; was reciMvi'cl with love and ;;ratitude. At Annapolis he met the Continental Congress, when; he was to resii^n his commission. It was tht; 231! of December, 17S3. .\11 the memb<;rs of Cvi:i,l'Il!A. In Philadelphia branklin obtaini-il an introduction to a printer, named Kei- nier, who had set uf) business with an old press which hi- a[)peared not to know how to use, antl one pair of cases of linnlish type. 1 lere branklin obtained em- plovmentwhen the business on hanil would permit, and he j)u'. the press in order ami worked it. Keimer obtained lodLjiuL^' for him at the h')us(' of Mr. Read, and. In' industry and t;conomical li\inL;', branklin so(jn found himself in easy circumstances. .Sir William Keith, the Governor of PennsyUania, hearing- of I'ranklin, calh^d u[)on him, and promised to obtain for him the (iovernment ])rint- iiiL^- if he would set u]) f(M* himself. Josiah branklin thouj^ht his son too }'oun<^ to take the responsibilitv of a business, whereon the' (iovc'rnor, statiiiL;' that he was determined to ha\e a yood [jrintcn' there, promised to fmd the means of equip- ping' the printing-office himself and suggested I'ranklin's making a iourney to I'jigland to purchase the plant. He promisetl l(,'tters of introduction to various persons in bjigland, as well as a letter of credit. These were to be sent on board the ship, and I'ranklin, having gone on board, await(.'d the letters. When the Ciovernor's despatches came, they were all })ut iiito a bag tog(.'ther, and the captain promised to let Franklin ha\e his letters befcjre landiiig. ( )n opening the bag off Plymouth, there were no letters of the kind promised, and I-'ranklin was left, without introductions and almost without monf-y, to make his own way in the world. In London he learned that Governor Keith was well known as a man in whom no dei:)endence could be placed, and as to his giving a letter of credit, " he had no credit to give." A friend of I'Vanklin's, iiamed Ralph, accompanied him from .\merica, and the two took locl'inij's together. Franklin immediatelv oljtained en'ii)lovment at a printing-office, but Ral[)h, who knew no trade but aimed at literature, was unable to get anv work. He could not obtain employment, even as a copying clerk, so for some time the wages which Pranklin earned had to support the two. Among FVanklin's fellow-passengers from Philadelphia to I'lngland was an American merchant, a Mr. Denham. This gentleman always remained a firm friend to Franklin, who, during his stay in London, sought his advice when any 62 BILXJAM/X FRA.XKLLW important questions arose. When Mr. Dunham returned to I'hiLuUlphia, he offered I'ranklin an appointment as clerk, which was aftc:r\vard to devi:lop into a commission agency. The offer was accepted, and the two returned to Phila- delphia in ()ctolj<;r, 1726. Here he found that Miss Rea' Kl \R \1»\V (>!■ INIH I'l-.NIir.NrK MAI.l., I'M 1 1, A I HI !■ II I \. At first the British (lovernment, rei^-ardintr the Americans as rdiels. did not treat their prisoners as prison(,'rs of war, but threattMied to try them fcjr hiL,di treason. Their suffi-rino^s in the I'Jit^iish prisons were very oreat. Mr. Daviil Hartley did much to relie\e them, and I'ranklin transmitted nK.mey ior the pur- 70 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. pose. When a treatv had been formed between France and the United States, and fortune began to turn in favor of the united armies, the American prisoners received better treatment from the EngUsh Government, and exchanges took place freely. In a letter to Mr. Hartley, Franklin showed something of the feelings of the Americans with respect to the English ^'i that time: — " You may ha\ e heard that accounts upon oath have been taken in America, by order of Congress, of the British barbarities committed there. It is expected of me to make a school-book of them, and to have thirty-five prints designed here by good artists, and engraved, each expressing one or more of the horrid facts, in order to impress the minds of children and posterity with a deep sense of your bloody and insatiable malice and wickedness. Every kindness I hear of done by an Englishman to an American prisoner makes me resolve not to proceed in the work." Franklin always advocated freedom of commerce, even in time of war. He was of opinion that the merchant, the agriculturist, and the fisherman were bene- factors to mankind. He condemned privateering in every form, and endeav- ored to bring about an agreement between all the civilized powers against the fitting out of privateers. He held that no merchantman should be interfered with unless carrying war material. He greatly lamentetl the horrors of the war, but preferred anything to a dishonorable peace. To Priestley he wrote : — " Perhaps as you grow older you may . . . repent of having murdered in mephitic air so many honest, harmless mice, and wish that, to prevent mischief, you had used boys and girls instead of them. In what light we are viewed by superior beings may be gathered from a piece of late West India news, which possibly has not yet reached you. A young angel of distinction, being sent down to this world on some business for the first time, had an oKl courier-spirit assigned him as a guid(!. They arrived over the seas of Martinico, in the middle of the long day of obstinate fight lietween the fieets of Rodney and 1 )e Grasse. When, through the clouds of smoke, he saw the fire of the guns, the decks covered with mangled limbs and bodies dead or dying ; the ships sinking, burning, or blown into the air ; and the quantity of pain, misery, and destruction the crews yet alive were thus with so much eagerness dealing round to one another, — he turned angrily to his guide, and said, 'You blundering blockhead, you are igno- rant of your business ; you undertook to conduct me to the earth, and you have brought WW. into hell !' ' Xo, sir,' says the guide, ' I have made no mistake ; this is really the earth, and these are men. Devils never treat one another in this cruel manner ; th(;y have more sense and more of what men (vainly) call humanity.' " P^ranklin maintained that it would be far cheaper for u nation to extend its possessions by purchase from other nations than to pay the cost of war for the sake of conquest. VIE 1 1 '5 OJV RELIGION. ; \ At last, after two years' nei^otiations, a definitive treaty of peace was sis^ned between Great Britain and tlie United States, Franklin beinL;- one of the Commissioners for the latter, and Mr. 1 lardey for the lormer, and therewith terminated the seven years' War of Independence. Franklin -celebrated the surrender of the armies of Pnirgoyne and Cornwallis by a medal, on which the infant Hercules appears strangling- two serpents. RF.TL'RN" TO AMERICA. On May 2, 17S5, Franklin received from Congress permission to return to America. He was thcMi in his eightieth year. On July 12th he left Fassy for Havre, whence he cnjssed to Southampton, and there saw for the last time his oltl friend, the Bishop of St. Asaph, antl his family. He reached his home in I'liilatlelphia early in September, and the day after his arrival he received a coiV'Tatulatorv address from the Assemblv of Pennsvlvania. In the following month he was elected President of the State, and was twice re-elected to the same office, it being contrary to the Constitution for any President to be elected for more than three years in succession. The following extract from a letter, written most probably to Thomas Paine, is worthy of the attention of some writers : — " I have read your manuscri|)t with some attention. By the argument it contains against a particular Providence, though you allow a general Providence, you strike at the foimdations of all religion. Por without the belief of a Provi- dence that takes cognizance of guards and guides, and may fa\'or particular persons, there is no motive to worship a Deity, to fear His dis[)leasure, or to ])ray for His protection. I will not enter into any discussion of your principles, though you seem to desire it. Ikit were you to succeed, do you imagine any good would be done by it? \'>w yourself may find it easy to li\e a \irtuous life without the assistance aftorded by religion ; you having a clear perception of the; advantages of virtue and the disadvantages of vice, and j)ossessing strength of resolution sufficient to enable you to resist common temptations. But think how great a portion of mankind consists of weak and ignorant men and women, and of inexperienced, inconsiderate youth of both sexes, who have need of the motives of religion to restrain them from vice, to support their virtue, and retain them in the i)ractice of it till it becomes liahiiital. which is the i^reat point for its security. .\nd perhaps you are intlebted to her originally, that is, to your religious education, for the habits of virtue upon which you now justly value yourself, ^'ou might easily display your excellent talents of reasoning upon a less hazardous subject, and thereby obtain a rank with our most distinguished authors. P'or among us it is not necessary, as among the 1 lottentots, that a youth, to be raised into the company of men, should prove his manhood by beating his mother. J2 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN " I would advise you, therefore, not to attempt unchainino^ the tiger, but to burn this piece before it is seen by any other person : whereby you will save yourself a great deal of mortification by the enemies it may raise against you, and perhaps a good deal of regret and repentance. If men are so wicked zci'^/i rcligimL what would they be //" icithotii it ? I intend this letter itself as a prooj of my friendship, and therefore add no prflfcssio)is to it ; but subscribe simply yours." During the last few years of his life Franklin suffered from a painful disease, which confined him to his bed and seri- ously interfered with his literary work, preventing him from completing his bio- graphy. During this time he was cared for by his daughter, Mrs. Hache, who resided in th(! same house with him. He died on April 17, 1790. the immediate cause of death being an affection of the lungs. He was buried beside his wife in the cemetery of Christ Church, Philadelphia, the marble slab upon the grave bearing no other inscription than the name and date of death. In his early days (1728) he had written the fol- lowing epitaph for himself: — 'I'lIK IklDV OK BEXJAMIX FRAXKLIN, PRINTKR (r.IKF. IHE tONER OK AN (11.1) liOOK, ITS COM FNIS TORN Ol'T AND SlRllT OK KIS IF.TTERINC, AND C;II,DING"), KIES HERE. FOOD FOR WORMS. lil'T THE WORK SHAI.E NOT ME LOST, FOR rr wii.i, (AS \\v, hk.i.ifvfd) appear once more IN A NEW AND MORE EI.ECiANT EDITION, REVISED AND CORRECTED 11 V THE AL THOR. franklin's IIR.WK JOHN ADAMS, THE KEVOIvUTIONARY l'A.'rKIOT AX'D STATESMAN. N SEPTEMI)ER, 1774, there asscinl)lcd in Philadelphia one of the greatest Ijodies ot" men which the world has ever seen. " l'"or solidity ot" reason, force of sagacity, and wis- dom of conclusion, " said the L,^reat Earl of Chatham, ''110 body of iiicii can take precedence of the Continental Coi?- gress." One of the- foremost of that renowned Congress was the man whose name e\ery schoolboy associates with American Independence, — the name of Ji mx Adams. " He was our Colossus," savs his great colleague, Thomas Jef- f(M-son ; " the great pillar of sup[)ort to the 13eclaration of Independence, and its ablest advocate and champion on the lloor of the 1 louse, was John Adams. Not graceful, not always (luent, he yet came out with a power, both of thouglit and expres- sion, which moved us from our seats." The name of Atlams is " with the country's woven " to a remarkable extent. The son of the first John Adams was John Quincy Adams, also Presi- dent, and one of the purest and aljlest men who ever sat in the executive chair. After him came his son, Charles bVancis Adams, whose services as minister to England during the stormy days of our great civil war will not soon be forgot- ten. The interest which we naturally feel in tliis remarkable family is increased by the ample materials which they have given us to satisfy it. A fluent pen seems to belong in the Adams line. A tendency to keep records is a family trait. The Diary of John Ouincy Adams, in twelve large volumes, edited by his son. is one of our best sources of the current history of his time ; antl Charles iM'ancis Adams has also edited the "Life and Works of John Adams," in ten volumes ; so that we not only have in this great line of statesmen a most interesting subject, but also the amplest materials for its study. John Adams was born in Hraintree, Massachusetts, on the 30th of October, 1735. His father was a farmer of moderate means, a worthy, industrious man, toiling early and late. He was anxious to give his son a collegiate education, hoping that he would become a minister. John entered Harvard College at the 75 76 JO//X ADAMS. a<;c of sixteen. I le had to stru_OL,de with small means. When he lied the contents into the harbor. It may be imagined that John Adams was not a mere passive spectator in the proceedings which thus led ti'.i) to h.wf. 1!i:k.n iiatchicd. Continental Congress. Hl' was entreated by a friend, the king's attorney-gen- eral, not to accept his appointment as a delegate to the Congress. "Great Britain," said the Attorney General, "has determined on her system. Her power is irresistible, and will be destructive to you, and to all those-who shall persevere in opposition to her designs." The heroic reply of John Adams was: "I know that Great Britain has determined on her system ; and that very determination determines me on 78 JOHN ADAMS. mine. Vou know that I have been constant and uniform in my opposition to her measures. The tlie is now cast. I have passed the Rubicon. -Sink or swim, live or die, survive or jjerish with my country, is my fi.xed, unaUerable determination." The battle of lUmktT Hill was fou_L;ht on the 17th of June, 1775. The ne.xt afternoon, which was .Sunilay, Mrs. Adanis wrote to her husband : — "The day, perhaps the decisive day, is come, on which the fate of America depends. .My bursting' heart must find vent at my pen. 1 ha\e just hc^ard that our ilear friend 13r. Warren is no more. Charlestown is laii! in ashes. The battle bejj^an upon our intrenchments u[)on Hunker's llill, .Saturday morniuLf, abcnit thr(;e o'clock, and has not ceased yet ; and it is now three o'clock, .Sab- bath afternoon. The constant roar of the cannon is so distressing that we can- not eithc^r eat, drink, or sleep." • These scenes had aroused the country around Boston to the very highest pitch of e.xcitement. The farmers had come rushini^' in from all the adjoinini^ towns with rilh^s, shot-<4uns, pitchforks, and any other weapons they could grasp. Thus a motley mass of heroic men, without efficient arms, supplies, powder, or discipline, amounting to some fourteen thousand, were surrounding Boston, which was held by about eight thousand iiritish regulars, supported by a powerful lleet. Washington hastened to .Massachusetts to take command of the army. Five days after his appointment i'uomas jetferson made his a[)pearance upon the lloor of Congress. A strong friendship imniediately sprang up between Adams and Jefferson, which, with a short interruption, continued for the remainder of their lives. After a brit;f adjournment. Congress met again in .Septc-mber. The; battle was still raging about P)Oston ; and the British, with free ingress and (;gress by their fleet, were plundering and burning and commit- ting every kind of atrocity in all directions. John Adams presented and car- ried the decisive resolution, that, in vi(;w of the aggressions and demands of England, " it is necessary that the exercise of every kind of authority under said crown should be totally suppressed." On the 7th of June, 1776, Richard Henry Lee, of X'irginia, offered the memorable resolution, which John Adams seconded, — " 'I'hat these United .States are, and of right ought to be, free and inde~ pendent." , A committee was then appointed to draught a Declaration of Independ- ence. It consisted of Jefferson, .Xtlams, Franklin, Sherman, and Livingston. Jefferson and Adams were appointed, by the rest, a sub-committee to draw up the Declaration. At Mr. Adams' earnest request Mr. Jefferson prepared that immortal document, which embodies the fundamental principles of all human rights. At this time Mr. Adams wrote to a friend : — THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 79 ••I am cn>,'ajj^ed in constant business. — from seven to ten in the morninj,' in committee, from ten to live in Congress, and from six to ten again in committee. Our assembly is scarcely numerous enough for the business. Everyl)ocly is engaged all day in Congress, antl all the: morning and evening in committees." On the 4th of July, 1776, the Declaration of Indepeiulence was adopted by Congress, and signed by each member. This was one of the boldest acts i.n the records of time. ICvery man who affixed his signature to that paper thus cast the glove of mortal defiance at the foot of the greatest power on this globe. The scene was one upon which the genius of both pen and pencil has been lavished. In its grandeur it stands forth as one of the most sublime of earthly acts, f )f the fifty-five who signetl that Declaration, there was not prob- ably one who would deny that its most earnest advocate, and its most elo([uent defender, was (ohn Adams. The day after this momentous event. Mr. Adams wrote to his wife as follows : — " \'esterd;)y the greatest question was decided that was ever debated in America ; ■:d\(\. greater, i)erhaps, never was or will l)e decided among men. A resolution WIS pass(;d, without one dissenting colony, 'That these United .States are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States.' The day is passed. The 4th of July, 1776, will be a memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the day of tleliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to Almighty (iotl. It ought to be solemnized with pomps, shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, ami illuminations, from one end of the continent to the other, from this time forward forever. You will think me transported with enthusiasm ; but I am not. I am well aware of the toil and blood and treasure that it will cost to maintain this Declaration, and sup- port and defend these States ; yet, through all the gloom, I can see that the end is worth more than all the means, and that posterity will triumph, though you and I may rue, which I hope we shall not." Until November, 1776, Mr. Adams was assiduous in his attendance uporj Congress, devoting himself with tireless diligence to his public duties. In 1777 he was appointed a delegate to France, to cooperate with I5en)amin Franklin and Arthur Lee, who were then in I'aris, in the endeavor to ol)tain assistance in arms and money from the French government. This was a severe trial to his patriotism, as it separated him from his home, compelled him to cross the ocean in winter, and exposed him to imminent peril of capture by the British cruisers. Capture would lodge him in Newgate. He would be tried in I-jigland for treason, and Mr. Adams had no doubt that they would proceed to execute him. But, on the other hand, our country was in extremest peril. It was clear that, without the aid of some friendly bj.iropean power, our feeble armies must be 80 JOHN ADAMS. crushed. As was to b6 expected of the man, he resolved to run all the risks. It was several months before a friijj^ate could be t^^ot ready. On a cold day in February, 177S, a wintry wind rou_<,dicnin_ijf Massachusetts Bay, Mr. Adams took a sad leave of his wife and three children, and accompanied by his son, John Quincy, then but rri<,fate Boston, ridinj^ The V o )' a i^- e w a s five days out, on the were seen, probably Two of thcni were sailer, continued the clouds hastened the ten years of age, was rowed out to the at anchor at some distance from the shore, stormy, uncomfortable, and eventful. When 151!) of l-'ehruary, three large bjiglish frigates cruising for the Boston. They gave chase. soon run out of sight. The third, a better pursuit. The wind rose to a gale. The approach of the darkness of the night, in which the ships lost sight of each other ; and when the morn- ing dawned the British frigate was nowhere to be seen. On the 1 4th of March another sail hove in sight. Trust- ing that it might prove a prize which they would be able to take, they gave chase, and it was soon overtaken nd captured. Captain Tucker begged Mr. Adams to retire to a place of safety be- low. Soon after, as the balls of the hos- tile ship were flying over their heads, Captain Tucker saw Mr. Adams on deck with a musket in his hand, fighting as a common marine. In the excitement of the moment he rushed up to his illustrious passenger, exclaiming, "Why are you here, sir? I am commanded to carry you safely to Europe, and I will do it ; " and, seizing him in his arms, he forcibly carried him from the scene of danger. Till". MiiNrMF.NT ON T.l'NKIR llll.l.. EXriiK/ENCE TX Hi 'ROPE. S i On the morninij of March 30th th(.'y made Honleaiix lij^hl-hoiise, and ran safely into the river. There was a TVench ship in ihi- stream, and Mr. .\tlam;; and his son were invited to a very e-le^ant entertainment, serxed up in st) le to which thi;y had been (juite unaccustomed in their fruL,ral provincial home. 'I'hcy tlutre learned that Dr. I'Vanklin. who had been receivfd by Louis X\'I. with threat pomp, and who, from his courtesy of manmtrs, affability, aiul aptness in payinsjf compliments, was admirably ad.iptiul to impress the I'Vench mind, had already succeeded in conciudinL; a treaty with I'rance, MK. Adams' luiNr .manni;ks. Indeed, it is probaljly fortunate that Mr. Adams did not arrive any sooner. He was not at all at home in I-'rench diplomacy. While I'Vanklin was greatly admired and cart-sscd, .Mr. .\dams was decideiUy unpopular in the Parisian court. His virtues and his defects were those of a blunt, straightforward, un- polished l*2nglishman. In Paris he met with David Hartley, a member of the P)ritish House of Ccjinmons. They came together like two icebergs. Mr, Hartley, on his return to London, said to .Sir John Temple and others: " Voui* Mr. Adams, that you represent as a man of such good sense — he may have that ; but he is the most ungracious man I ever saw." Mr. Adams' tirst interview with the President of the Parliament of I'or- deau.x was alike characteristic of tht: atTable I'renchman and the bluff Yankee. The premier received him not only respectfully and politely, but with affection which was even tende'r. 'T am charmed," said he, " to see you. I have long felt for you a brother's love. I have trembled for you in the great perils through which you have passed. You have encountered many dangers and sufferings in the cause of liberty, and I have sympathized with you in tlunn all, for I ha\e sufh-Ted in that cause myself." We learn how Mr. Adams received these cordial advances by the following ungracious entry in his journal : — " Mr. Bondfield had to interpret all this effusion of compliments. I thought it never would come to an end ; but it did ; and I concluded, upon the whoK;, there was a form of sincerity in it, decorated, and almost suffocated, with PVench compliments." In a sketch of his colleagues, Mr. Adams writes of Dr. Franklin : — "That he was a great genius, a great wit, a great humorist, a great satirist, a great politician, is certain. That he was a great philosopher, a great moralist, a great statesman, is more questionable." On the other hand. Dr. Franklin writes of his colleague : " Mr. Adams is always an honest man, often a wise one ; but he is sometimes completely out of his senses." Mr. Adams' earnest patriotism induced him to practice the most rigid «2 JOHN ADAMS. economy while abroad, that Congress mioht be put to as little expensi; as pos- sible. The treaty ot alliance with b" ranee was alreaily tornieil before his arrival, and, soon tintlin;^- that there was but little for him to ilo in I'aris, he ri'solvetl that he had rather run the gauntlet through all the Dritish men-of-war, and all the storms of the ocean on a retiu'ii, than remain where lu- was. ( )n the 17th of |une, 1779, he t-mbarked on boaril the I'rench frigate 'Sensible," and arrived safely in lloston with his soil on the 2d of .\u14ust, after an abst'nce of seventeen months. In September Mr. .\dams was chosen a^ain to i^-o to I'aris, there to hoUl himself in reatliness to n«!i;otiate a trc'aty of peace and of commerce with (Ireat IJritain so soon as th(; British cabiiH.l mii^ht b(,' found willing to listen to such pro])osals. The Clu^valier d(' la Luzerni:, tin; hrench Ministi'r, who had accom- panied Mr. Adams to America, wrote him a very polite note, connr.itulatin^- him upon his ap|)(>intment, and olferini.;' him a passas^c in the return I'rench frigate. M. Marliois had ])een so much impressed with llic distinguished talents of Mr. Ailams' son, lohn (juincy, that lu; sent his father a special injunction to carry him back, that he mi^ht profit by the athanta^-es of a buropean education. ( )n the I uh of November, I77(). Mr. Adams was a^ain on board the "Sensible," outward bound, aiul reached I'aris on the ^ih )f bCbruar\', 1 7Sc:i. lie was to remain in the l''rench capital until an opportunity should present itself to open negotiations with ! his tirst public reception. lie rode to court, by invitation of Lord Carmarllu-n, in his coach. In thfj ante-chamljer he found the room lull of ininist(;rs of state, generals, bishops, and all sorts of courtiers, each waiting;' his turn tor an aud'encc'. lie was soon conducted into the kind's closet, where he was left alone widi the kins^- and his secretary of state. Mr. Adams, according' to the court etinuette, upon which he had carefully informed himself niatle three low bows, — one at the door, another wlicn he made a couple of steps, anil the third when he stood before the kin_<^. lie th(Mi, in a xoice tremulous with the emotion which the scene was calculated to inspire, addressed his Majesty in the following- words : — ".Sire, th(^ l/nited .States of America have appointed me their minister plenipotentiary to vour Majesty, and have directed me to deliver to your Majesty this letter, wliich contains tht' e\iil(Mice of it. It is in oliedience to their e.xpress commands that 1 ha\(^ the honor to assure your Majesty of tluMr unanimous disposition and desire to cultivate the most friendly and liberal intercourse between )'our .Majesty's subjects and their citizens, and ot their best wishes for your Majesty's health and for that of the royal family. "The appointment of a minister from the I'niletl States to your Majesty's court will form an epoch in the history of iui'dand and .\merica. I think myself more fortunate than all my f(;llow-citizens in JKuiiiL;" the tlistiiiv^'uished hoPior to Ix; the tu'st to stand in your ^Iajesty's royal presence in a diplomatic characte-r ; antl I shall esteem myself the happiest of men if I can be ii.stru- mental in recommending;- my country more and more to your .Majesty's royal b(Mi'.;volence, and of restoriiiL,'' the entire (esteem, conlidence, and allection, or, in better words, the oUl goodnature and the old harmony between people who, though separated by an ocean and under different governments, ha\-e the same lanj^aiaL'.e, a similar religion, and kindred blood. I bt^i^ your Majesty's permis- sion to atld, that althouLi'h I have somi'times before been intrusted by my coun- try, it was never, in my whole life, in a manner so at^^reeable to myself." The kin^;' listened to this aildrt'ss in evident emotion, lb; seemed not a little at,ntated ; for to him it was an hour of deep humiliation. \\'ith a voice even more tremulous than that with which Mr. Adams had spoken, he replied :— "Sir, the circumstances of this audience; arc; so extraordinary, the lanL:^uai.;e y(ni have now held is so e.xtremely proper, antl the fe(>lini;s you hav<; discover{;d so justly adapted to the occasion, that I must say that I not only recei\c with pleasure the assurance of the friendly disposition of the people of the United States, but that I am very j^dad that the choice has fallen upon you as their INTERVIEW WITH THE KING. XS minister. Hut I wish you, sir, to b(;li(:vc, ami that it may be u!i(l(M-stoocl in America, that I have done nothing; in the hitt; contest but what I thouL^ht myself indispensabh" liound to do by the duty which I owed to my i)eo[)l(;. 1 will be frank \vith you. I was the last to conform to the separation ; but th(; separation having H,r been made, and liav- iiiL; become inevita- ble, I have always said, as I say now, that 1 would b(' the first to meet the fri(!ndship of the; United .Statc:s as an independ- ent power. The moment I see such seritimeiUs and lan- i^uai^t; as yours prevail, and a disposition to ^'ive this country tht; preference, that moment I shall say. Let tin; circum- stances of lan^aia^e, n^li^ion, and blood have their full effect," As Great Britain did not condescend to appoint a minister to the I'nited States, and as Mr, Ailams felt that \\v. was accomplishi^^■ but little, 1k' solicited THE AllAi K I'N KluTKKS AT Sl'K I NCI'I KI.I), M*SS., IN I786. 86 JOHN ADAMS. permission to return to his own country, and reached his rural home in Brain- tree, from whicii he had so Icmiil;' been absent, in June of i 7SS. W'lien some persons accused Mr. Adams of bcnni:,;- co\ertly in favor of monarchical institutions, Mr. Jefferson re|)]ie(.l : " Gentlemen, )'ou do not know that man. Thenj is not u|)oii this earth ;i more; jjerfectly honest man than |ohn Adams. It is not in liis nature to meditate anything' which he would not i)ul)lish o the world. 1 kn.)w him well ; and 1 repeat, that a more h(jnest man never issued from the hands of his Creator." In 1787 delei^ates we-re appointetl by the various .States of the Confederacy to form a Constitution for the I'nited .States of America. Tlu;)' met in Inde pendencc Mall, in Philadelphia, wlu;re thi; ^reat Declaration had b(;en siu^ned. The Constitution which they drew up was accepted by the .States, and we became a nation. George Washini^^ton was unanimously chosen President for four years, and John Adams \ ice-President. 'iiii: I'lRsr \'ici:-rKi:sn)]:xT. During- tlu; first Pi'esidency, CoiiLjress was tossed by an^ry passions and storm\' debates, liodi \\ ashin^ton and .Adams were assailetl with intensest bitterness. ])oth were accused of monarchical tendencies, and (.)f fondness for the pom[j and pa^^^eantry of royalty. The democratic party was now rapidly risin<^ into controlling- ])ower. .Still both W'ashinj^ton and Adams were reelected, and aL^ain, on the 41)1 of March, 1793. took the oaths of office. lust about this time the I'rench Revolution shook the continent of b'urope. Mr. Adams felt no sympathy with the I'rench people in this strui^qle ; for he had no confidence in their j^ower of self-government, and uttc'Hy abhorred tlu; athe- istic character of those pliilosoplicrs, who, in his jud^-ment, inaugurated the moNcmcnt. ( )ii the other hand, J(;llerson's sympathies were strongly eidisted in behalf of the p'renrh jx'ople, struggling to throw off tin? )'oke of intoh^'able despollsm. 1 lence originat^'d the alienation between these two distinguished men. Washington at first hailed the I'Vench Revolution with hoi)e ; but as its tlisorders became mort- dext^loped he leanetl more strongly to the views of Mr. Adams. 'l"wo \vk\ powerhil parties were thus soon organized. Adams was at the head of the one whose sympathies were with luigland. Jellerson led the other, in sympathy with I'r.ince. luigland proclaimed war against the iM'ench republicans ; played the tyrant over weaker nations upon the ocean ; ami, des|)ising our feeble navy, insulted and harassed our commerce. This conduct swept the curnnit of |)opi'lar fet.'ling increasingly toward Mr. Jc^tferson and his party. L'pon the retirement of Washington, at the close; of his second Presidential term, there was a V(M"v hotly contested election ; and Mr. Adams, by a slender majority, was chosen President, and Thomas |etferson, X'ice-President. RETURN TO PRIVATE LIFE. 87 Those were stormy days, and it nHiuircd L;rcat wistlom safely to navisji-ate the ship of" state. The excitement wliich the I'rencli Revohition created in this country, as the community rant^ed themselves on the side of luii^land or of iM'ance, was intense. l""or four years Mr. Adams stru;4L;led throuj^h almost a constant tempest of assaults. 1 le was nt;ver a po[)ular man. Flu; ])ariy arrayed aj^'ainst him, with the \'ic(! I'resident at its head, was powerful in numjjers, and still more powerful in ahilil\'. lie was not a man of conciliatory manners or of winning- speech. .After four years of harassment, which must have been the tour least happy years of his lifci, In; was mortified by losinij;- a reelection. J(.;llerson was chosen PresitK.-nt ; and Aaron ISurr, X'iced^resident ; and John Ad.uns was left to retiuMi to his farm at ( Juincy. 1 lis chagrin was so j^reat as to lead nim to the lamentable mistake of refusinL,^ to remain in Philadelphia to witr.ess the inauguration of his successful rival. There ensued a breach in the friendship of these illustrious men which was not closed for thirteen years. Al)out th(; time of Mr. Adams' retirement, his eldest son, who was mar- ried, and settled in Xew \'()rk, suddenly (.lied, leavin^^' to his fither's care a wife and two infant children. He then spoke of this event as the deepest attliction of his lite. He was then sixty-si.K years of a^^e. A ([uarter of a century still reir.ained to him before he died. He s^renerally avoided all public ^atherin^s, and took little part in political questions, devoting" his time mainly to the culti- vation of his farm. When Mn^land, lookinj4' contemptusistance, he was rcgarcU^d as abandoning his old friends, and with bitt'u' animosity was he assailed. MR. ADAMs' IIONU", \AVV.. In i.'^iS, wluMi Mr. Adams was eighty-two years of age, liis noble wife, who had sharetl with him the joys and griefs of more than 'lalf a century, tlicd, at the age of sevc!nty-fV)ur. Tin' event threw over him a shade of sadness wlv'.h never disap]iearccl. .V gentleman who visited Ouincy a \'ear or two before her tleath gave a descrii)tion of the interview. Mr. Adams was, in body, very infirm, tot- tering and shaking with age ; but his mind seemed ,'s vigorous, and his heart as 88 JOHN ADAMS. >*^^^^~ young, as ever. There was a boy's joyousness and elasticity in his hearty laugh. He joked, was full of fun, and talked about everybody and everything with the utmost freedom and abandon. His knowledge seemed to his visitor bound- less ; for he was ecjually at home upon whatever subject might be introduced. Nothing could be more entertaining than his conversation, it was so replete with anecdote and lively sallies of wit. While thus conversing, Mrs. Adams came in, — a tall and stately lady of rather formal address. " A cap of exquisite lace surrounded features still ex- hibiting intellect and energy. Her dress was snowy white, antl there was that immaculate neatness in her a[)pear- ance which gives to age almost the sweetness of youth. With less warmth of manner and sociableness than Mr. Adams, she was sufficiently gracious, and her occasional remarks betrayetl intellectual vigor and strong sense. The ^uest went awav, feelin;"' that he should never again behold such living specimens of the 'great old.' " While his drooping frame and feeble step and dimmed eye showed the ravages of years, Mr. Adams' mind retained its wonted \igor. Me read until his vision failed, and was then read to, many hours i;very day. lie lo\ed, in conversation with his friends, to recall the scenes of his younger yi.'ars, and to fight his battles over again. His son, John Ouincy, rose to distinction, and occupied high posts of honor at home and abroad. In 1825 his parental pritle was gratified by the elevation of his son to the chair which the father had honored as President of the United .States. When John Ouincy .\dams received a note from Rufus King, informing him of his election, he inclosetl it to his father, with the following lines from his own pen, under date of I'Y'ljruary 9, 1825 : — Mv DKAK AND iioxiiKKi) FAriiioR: — The iuclosed note from Mr. King v.ill inform you of the event of this day ; upon which I can only olfer you my con- gratulations, and ask your blessing and prayers. Your affectionate and dutiful son, John Quincv Adams. ni.K xa Hi c'lirRtii, iioskix. DEATH OF ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. 89 John Adams was now ninety years of age. His enfeebled powers indicated that his end was drawing- nigh. The 4th of July, 1826, came. The nation had made arrangements for a more than usually brilliant celebration of diat anni- versary. Adams and Jefferson still lived. It was hoped that they might be brought together, at some favored spot, as the nation's guests. Hut, as the time drew near, it was evident that neither of them could bear a journey. On Friday morning, the 30th of June, a gentleman called upon .Mr. .\dams to obtain a toast to be presented on the 4th of July at the celebration at Ouincy. "I give you," said he, " Indcpcndouc /orcz'ci'." He was now rapitUy declining. On the morning of the- 4th his physician judged that he would scarcely survive die day. There was the ringing of bells, the exultant music of martial bands, the thunders of artillery from ships and forts from hills and valleys, echoing all over our land, as rejoicing millions welcomed the natal day of the nation. Mr. Atlams, upon his dying couch, listened to these sounds of joy with silent emotion. " Do you know what day it is ?" some one inquired. "Oh, yes !" he replied: "it is the glorious 4th of July. God bless it! God bless you all ! It is a great and glorious day." "Thomas Jefferson," he murmured at a later hour to himself, " still survives." These were his last words. Hut he was mistaken. An hour or two before, the spirit of Jefterson had taken its flight. The sands of his own long and memorable life were now run out, and gently he passed away into that sleep from which there is no earthly waking. VIKW ()!■ TllK CAl'lTOL, WASHINGTON. JOHN JAY, FIRST CHIfCF JUSTICF U l-^ TIII^: rrxiTKO STA rF:S SUl'KKMK CUI.'Kl'. III'IX, in 16S5, Louis XI\'. of l"raiic(; revoked the lulict of Xantt's, that famous act of tok'ration uiulcr which hrcnch I'rolestaiUs had for so lon^" li\cd and lloiirishcd, his l/i^otry set ill motion forces whose i;tlorts reached e\ery nation of the earth, and turnetl the current of history for centuries afti.'r. AmoUL;' the muUitudes of incUis- trious antl ingenious men who were then driven from I'rance- to other lands was one Pierri; |ay, a merchant of La ]\ochelle, who tied to I'^n^laiKJ to escape persecution. Ills son. a \\'(;st India merchant, came to Xew \'ork. antl married the daughter ;)f <')ne of the early Dutch settlers; and thus ilieir ilistin^uishetl son, John [ay, one of the founders of our L^overnment, and its llrst chief justice, was remarkable amony early American statesmen as having- not a drop of luiolish blood in his veins. 'Jliere is little in the history of Jay that is picturescpie or striking- ; but there are few amon^' the worthies of the Revolution to whom posterity owes a greater debt. "Life," says the i)oet Lowell, — ''nia\' 1)0 Ljivcii ill many wa\"s. And lo_\alty U> irmh be scaled As l)ra\flv in llic ckisct as the fifld," That Jay had the true heroic spirit is shown by an e[)isode of his life in colleq-e. A number of his fellow-students, in some rouj^h play in the college hall, which he saw but had no part in, broke a table. The noise reached the ears of the president, who suddenly appeared, but not in time to discover them in the act. All tho^e present, except Jay and one other student, tlatly denied that they broke the table, or knew who did. Jay and his comradi- admitted that they knew who did it, but refused to tell their names, Jay maintaining that there was nothing 93 94 JO I IX JAY. in the laws of the coUci^c rcriniriti!^ him to play the; part of an informer. This manly conduct, ho\vevc;r, was cIcciikhI l)y llu; authorities a grave otiense, and Jay and his companion were; suspended. L'poii his i^rackiation from collei^e Jay entered on the study of the law, and was admitted to the New ^'ork bar in 176S. lie is saiil to have "combined in a remarkable tU^ij^ree the dii^niity and L,^ravity of manhood with the ardor of youth." lie soon acquired a Vw^v. practice, and j^^reat intluenci; in political affairs. As a member <^)f the Continental Cont^^ress, in 1774, he drew up the famous Addrt^ss to the I'eoph; of C.reat llritain, which at once <;ave him the reputation of btniij;- one of the ablest antl most elo([uent writers in Am«;rica. "Are not th(; proprietors of the soil of (irijat Britain, " he says, "lords of their own property ? Can it be taken from them without their own consent ? . . . Why, then, arc; the proprietors of the soil of America less lords of their prop- erty than you an: of yours? or why should they submit it to the disposal of yoiu" I'arliame'Ut, or any other parlianu;nt or council in the world not of their own election ? . . . .Such declarations we consicU.T as heresies in Mn^lish poli- tics, and can no more operate to deprive us of our projx-rty than the intenlicts o{ the I'ope can divest kini^s of scepters which the laws of the land aiul the voice ot the peojilc ha\(; placed in their hands." Referrinij;' to lh<; .ability and char.ictt'r of the men who formed the famous Continental Congress, Lord Chatham said: "When yoiu' lordships look at the papers transmitted to us from America, when \-ou consider their (k'cency, firm- ness, and wisdom, nou cinnot but res])crt their cause, and wish to make it your own. l'"or myself 1 must declare and axow that, . . , for solidity of reasonini^. force of saLi^acity, and wisdom of conclusion, . . . no nation or body of men can stand in preference to tii(> Ceneral Coni^^ress at Philadelphia." JAN's IklAlS IN SPAIN. In 177S Jay was chosen I'rt-sident of Coni^ress, antl fulfilled the? difficult duties of that station for nearly two jcars, when \\v was sent as minister to Spain to n, the whol(! of their ri^ht on the Mississippi than to sell a drop of its waters. A neiL,d"ibor mio-ht as well ask me to sell my street door." TRHAIY Of PEACE WITH ESGI.ASD. 95 Jay wasttttl many iiiDiiths of fruillcss ami xcxatioii-; la'nor in Spain. Con- jrress in the iiK'antinK; not only lailini^ to provide him with an\- mcins ot sup port, but cxpt^ctin^;' hiin to Ix'l; or borrow from Spain lumih'cds ol ihousaiuls of dollars to |)ay bills of »^.\chan_L,^e which they drew upon him. Winn in thi- ^^reatcst i^xtri'inity, branklin, whose; intluc;nt(; at the l-'rcnch court was very (Treat, sent Jay ^25,000 to aid in meeting; these bills. " If you find any inclina- tion to buy: me for the irood news of this letter." wrote I'ranklin. "I constitute n.VNKS OK TIIK MISSISSII'I'I TODAY, I'oK \VII"-r IRl.K NAVI' ;.\ IliiN JAY M i ;o ri \ I I'D. and appoint Mrs. Jay my attorney, to rcc(;i\e in my behalf your embraces." Soon afterward Jay left Spain, and took a most important part in ni'i^^otiatinL; a treaty of peace with b'n^land, at Paris, in 17S;. — a treaty so advantajj^eous to America that the b'rench Prime Minister remarked that " MnL^land had bouj^hta peace, rather than mad(.' one." On his return to Amc-rica Jay was made .Secre- tary of .State for b'oreii^rn Affairs, and filled that oflice until fjSc). In 1787 met that renowned body of statesmen, the Constitutional Conven ./j JO I fX JAY. tion of 17S7, which, "in ordir to t'onn a more p(,'rf(>ct union," (h-aftcd the pres- ent (.DnsliiulKin ol ihi; Lnitid Slates. In the laljors of this convention [)roli.il)ly 11(1 mcniliir liorr a more: imiiortant p.irt tlian jay. W hen the work of the coii\~t impoliiic ircaiy of \jn\. when l.onl (. Ircin illc was so >r. IVll. S, NKW VOKK. AN ii||i rlUKill • >)■ \.\\> lIMl:. perfectly ihiped by jay." While Jay was yet in FjiL^land he was elected Ciovcrnor of" New York, and was twice re clt'cted. I le, howtne'r, ileclined serving; a third term ; ami also declined a secoiul term as chief justice, to which 98 JOHN JAY. he had been nominated and contirmt'tl in iSoi. At the end of his second term as (Governor of \e\v N'ork he retired from public hfe, and spent the remainder of his days on his estate in Westchester county, New York, where he died in 1829. The character of Jay is clearly shown forth in the reconl of his life. \\\ devotion to his country, in clear jiid_i,nnent. in spotless inte_!L,M'ity, he is not sur |)assed even amontf the j^reat men of his own time. Me was modest, cinimed no merit, and seldom alluded to the j^-^reat events in which he took part. He was Lfenerous and charitable', while at the same time e.\act and careful. It has been beautifully said of him that " He lives in our memoiies a llawless statue, whose noble lineaments have everything to gain from the clear light of history." AN KIGIIIEENTII CENTURY HKEri.ACK. ALEXANDER HAMILTON, THE ARCHITECT OK THE FEUEKAL SYSTEM. 'MOXG all the monuments in the great Cathedral of St Paul's, ill London, the proudest is a simple; tablet to the memory of Sir Cliristophi-r W'rtMi, the architect of that splendid pile. " Reader," it says, •• if thou set.-kest /lis monument, look around thee." TurniuLj from struc- tures of brick antl stone to an edifice of a nobler kind, we of .America have but to look around us to se(; in the miL;hty fabric of our national government the monument of Ai.i;\.\M)1;r IIamii.ion. In the summer of 1772 that beautiful ^rou|) of the West bidies known as the Leeward Islanils were desolated by a hurri- cane. While its eftects were still visible, antl men were looking fear- fully into the skies, an account of the calamity appeared in the ^SV. Christopher s (iazci/c, written with such singular ability that there was great curiosity to discoviM- its author. It was tracetl to a youth employed in a .St. Croi.\ counting-house, a boy of only fifteen, named Ale.xaiuler Hamilton. lie was born in the tiny island of Xevis. His father was a Scotch gentleman, and his mother was of the good 1 luguenot stock of i'rance. It was a ha[)py day for our young author ; a lad who could write in this way, it was thought, should not spend his life in casting up accounts. It was at once determined to send him to New York to complete his education ; and in the month of October, in that year, he landed in Boston. Francis Barber, afterward a colonel, and a brave man in several battles, was at this time principal of a grammar-school of good repute in Klizabethtown, New Jersey ; and hither came the young West Indian to be prepared for college, — a handsome youth, erect, graceful, eagle-eyed, and " wise in conversa- ' tion as a man." Before the end of i 773 he had finished his preliminary studies, and proceeded to Princeton, to incpiire of Dr. Witherspoon if he could enter the college with the privilege of passing from class to class as fast as he advanced in scholarship. The president was sorry, but the laws of the institution would not permit. \ Iam« 101 lOJ ALi:XAXI)/ l< JIAMILTON. ilton was morc! successful in New NOik. In Kin_y;'s CoHcl^c (now C'oliiinhia Uni vcrsity) li<' niiijlu sue lor ;i dc^rci; w licncvcr In; could show the tith; ot suttki»:nt learn i n L^ ; and so li.unilton lixcil upon llu: Xrw N'ork insiitution. Sonn; ^rcat men ot the liiiurc were then in Kint^'s C'oIIcljc, liui there was only one Alexander 1 laniilton ihcrc In the dch-itin^; thil* he controlled excrylhin;; by his acute ness and ehxiuence, ills room-mate was aw('d, ni^lu and morninL,^ l>y the fervid ])assion of his prayers, anil has leslifu-d that I lamillon's firm faith in Christianity, and his mighty and convincing;' arL^uments, did much to coniuMn his own wavering faith. 1 lamilloii was a \crsatile genius; hi; wrote hymns and hurlesijues ; he was pious and pumtilious ; amhilious and gay. Till: siikKiNc, n\vs oi ';;,. W'hih' Hamilton was at his studies in King's (/ollege, groat events were taking place outside. The ipiarrel with (ireat liritain was becoming irrecon cilalile. In December, 177;,, occurred the " Boston Tea Party," when a band ol patriots, disguised as Indians, boarded the; British \essels laden with tea, aiul emptied ib.eu' contents in the harbor. The excite-ment throughout the country, already greai, increased in intensity ; the methods of resistance to be adopted were on ev(r\- man's tongue. In .SeptemlxM', 1774, the first Continental Con- gress met in I'hihulelphia. Nothing was thought of but resistance to the tyranny of baitdand. In college Hamilton never relaxed the severe application which his ambition and his tables made natural ; but he was not unmindful of the storm gathering beyond his quiet cloisters. 1 lis mind, his pen, and his voice were from the first employed in defending colonial opposition to the acts of the British Parliament. I le organi/ed a military corps, mostly of fellow-studeiits, who practiced their daily drill e.u'ly in the morning, before the commencement of their college duties. They assumed the name; of " Hearts of ( )ak," and wore a green unitorm, surmouiUed b\' a leather cap, on which was inscribed " breedom or 1 )eath I" I'.arly and late he was busv, not onl\- in promoting measures of resistance, but in mastering the science of ])olilical economy, the laws of com- merce, the l)alance of trade, and the circulating medium ; so that when these to|)ics bee;, UK; prominent, no one was Ix'tter ecpiipped for dealing with them than Hamilton. Hamilton's Hrst political sjieech to a popular assembly was delivered at " the great meeting in the fields," as it was long afterward called, called to choose tlelegates to the first Continental Congress. I le was still a student, and e.xceedingly juvenile in appearance. Being unexpectedly called upon, he at first faltered and hesitated ; but soon he recovered himself and the immense multitude were astonished and electrit'ied by the " infant orator," as they called him. .\fler a discussion, clear, forcible, and striking, of the great principles If IS r/KST SriiECH. 103 1-».l<*t .itfCL ii^^-. invoKcd, lie depicted ill ^lowiiiLj colors the a^i^ravated op|)ressi(»ns of the Miother-coiintry. rouchiiiL; this point he burst torlli in a strain of liold and thrillinj; elocpienci- : — " The sacri:d ri^^lus of mankind," he declared, "are not to he rinninau'ed lor ainon^' old parchments or musty rc:cords ; they are written as with a sunln;ain in the whoU; volume of liuman nature, by tlu; hand of 1 )i\ inity itself, and can nt;\er be erased or obscured by mortal power." I le insistet! on thi? duty of resistance, pointetl out the means antl cc-rtainty of success, and ilescribed "the waves of rebellion, sjjark- lini^- with tire, and washinijf back on the shores of I'^ny;- lanil the wrecks of her power, her wealth, ami her _<;lory." Under this sponta- neous burst of mature elo- ([uence from li[)s so vouth- ful. the vast multitude lirst listened in awe and surprise, and then rose with irre|)res- sible astonishment. The death like silence; ceased as he closed, and repeated cheers resounded to the heavens. Then the whis|)er, " .\ colleij^ian — it is a colle- i,nan !" passed in surprise from one to another throufrh the crowd. In March. 1776, Ham- ilton left college, and. joinino;- a band of volunteers, obtained the command of a company of artillery. One day, while \\'ashinj,;ton was jjreparino- for the 104 AI.EX.IXDLK llAMlLTOf. lU'fcMsc of N'cw \wV. CiciK r.il Grcciit!. on his way to hf'a(l<|iiartfrs, had his attttiuion atlr.utcfl to 1 lainilton's com|)aiiy, which was drilhny in a injii^hlioriiii^ field. Tile (,i|)i,iin seemed a men- i)oy. small and slight, but fjiiick in his inovc- nicnts, and with an air of nMnarlu.iin'. .1 ^ \ incinlici- ( (I ihc L oiii^rc-,-, Iniin \f\v . ■ .^-Jiill^'. ';','■ ■.^''^j;''^*'' \(irk, oil the siatr ot liu nation. • 1 Iiis U'tlcr apixars ai iliis(la\.' sriys one, "with all m KMM, M \\ I.'iMk'N, 1 mNM , 11' r I. I the lii^hts and trnit^ of our f.\|)cri( lu'c, as ni.istcrh- in a preeminent dej^ree. II<' went on to show the defi.-cts and total inettuiencv of th(.' Articles of Confe'deralion. and to |)ro\-e that we stood in need of a national government with tli'; re(|iiisite so\-erei^n powi-rs ; such, intleed, as 7 io6 ALEXANDER HAMILTON. the confederation theoretically containetl, but without any fit orc^ans to receive them. 1 le su^rgcsted the idea of a national convention to amend and reorganize the government. This was undoubtedly the ablest and truest production on the state of the Union, its finances, its army, its miseries, its resources, and its remedies, that appeared during the Revolution. It contained in embryo the existing I'^ederal Constitution, and it was the production of a young man of the age of twenty-three." In December, 1780, he was married to Iilizabeth, a daughter of General Philip Schuyler, and on the first of March, 17S1, he retired from the military family of Washington, resignincf his pay, and retaining his commission only that he nvght have the power, should there be occasion, still to serve his country in the field. THK GRKAT WORK OF TIAMILTON's LTFE. At the close of the war with England the government was so weak that it had sunk into contempt. The mutiny of some eighty soldiers at Philadelphia actuaily obliged Congress to adjourn to Princeton. It afterward removed to Annapolis ; ami, as the States could not agree on a seat of government, it seemed likely to become a migratory body, with constantly diminishing numbers and intluence. It had so dwindled away, that when the Treaty of Peace was finally to be ratified, weeks elapsed before the attendance of the required num- ber of nine States could be procured, and, even then, only twenty-three members were present at the ratification. Manifestly the construction of a strong and stable government was essential ; and after much delay antl many disputes, the famoas Convention of 17S7, to form the Constitution, met in Philadelphia. Since the meeting of that renowned first Congress, which led the way in the struggle for independence, America had seen no such body of men as now assembled. Thither came George Washington, from his retirement at Mount Vernon, w-here he had hoped "to glide gently down a stream which no human effort can ascend," called to engage once more in the service of his country. From Virginia also came James Madison, afterward President, but then a young and rising politician. PVom Massachusetts came Rufus King, jurist and statesman ; from South Carolina, Charles Cotesworth Pinckncy, soldier, scholar, and lawyer. Pennsylvania was peculiarly fortunate in her representatives. At their head was Benjamin P^-anklin, now in his eighty-second year, the oldest and most widely known of American public men, and in some sort combining in his own person many of the leading characteristics of America. His venerable age, his long services, his serene and benignant aspect, commanded the respect of all, and imposed a controlling power on the assembly. With him came Gouverneur Mor- ris, one of the best and wisest of American patriots ; and Robert Morris, who had made the first attempts at dealing' with the complicated difficulties of Ameri- can finance. There were other men of note in the Convention, such as Roofer THE COXSTITUTIONAL COXVEXTION. 107 Sherman of Connecticut, John Jay of New York, John Dickinson of Deiaware, Luther Martin of Marykind, and George Mason of Virginia, — fifty-five members in all, representing twelve sovereign States, — for Rhode Island made no appoint- ment, liut the whole edifice would have wanted its crowning glory if New York had not sent Hamilton, with the treasures of his genius and elocjuence. All could be better spared than he, who had first conceived the plan of a reform in the Constitution, and who alone could carry it to a successful issue. And this man, foremost in an assembly of the most able representatives of the States, and who had already achieved so much in the field and the council, was yet only thirty years of age. Washington was unanimously called to the chair. Into particulars of the discussions it is not Intended to enter here, but the part which Hamilton took in them was of an importance impossible to rate too highly. He stood In the midst of the jarring elements like a beneficent genius, ready to evoke ortler out of chaos ; and the proportion in which his views were adopted or rejected may be almost regarded as the measure of the strength and the weakness of the Constitution. The document which embodied the scheme of the present Constitution was signed by a majority of the delegates, and by one or more representatives of each of the twelve States present in the Convention. The first name on the list is that of George Washington, who is said to have paused a moment, with the pen In his hand, as he pronounced these words: "Should the States reject this excellent Constitution, the probability Is that an opportunity will never again offer to cancel another in peace. The next will be drawn In blood." And in the speech which Franklin delivered In the assembly, he thus expressed him- self: " I consent, sir, to this Constitution, because I expect no better, and because I am not sure that this Is not the best. The opinions I have had of Its errors I sacrifice to the public good. I hope, therefore, for our own sakes, as a part of the people, and for the sake of posterity, we shall act heartily and unanimously in recommending this Constitution wherever our infiuence may extend, and turn our future thoughts and endeavors to the means of having it well adminis- tered." Then, while the members were signing, he turned toward the Image of a sun painted at the back of the President's chair, and said : " Often and often, in the course of the session, I have looked at it without being able to tell whether It was rising or setting; but now, at length, I have the happiness to know that it is a rising, and not a setting sun." The Convention being dissolved, the plan of the Constitution was laid before the country, and at once excited the most fervid feelings of approbation and dissent. In general It was supported by moderate men, who looked with appre- hension at the actual state of affairs, and desired, by any reasonable compro- mise, to establish a practicable government On the other hand, it was violendy I08 ALI-WLYDER I/AMIL T( hV. opposed by that class who viewed with jealousy the rise of any central power, and wiiose tht^ory of free-doni precluded the notion of authority. Two threat parties joinetl issue on the ([uestion of its acceptance or rejection. They took the names of Fci/crii/ists and . liiti-Fcdcralists. A few years later, after the Constitution had \)va\\\ adopted, the same two parties, with some modifications, continued to divide the pi;ople of America, but they were then called Federal- ists antl Rcfyiiblitaits. One of th(t most efficient means employed in makinsj;' the new Constitution familiar and acceptable to th(! people was tht; publication of a series of essayt, under the name of the Feder- alist, which Americans still re- jjl^ard as the greatest and most complete exposition of the prin- ciples of their constitutional law. It was the work of Hamilton, Madison, and Jay ; but of the eij.jhty-five essays of which it is comi)osed, upward of fifty were written by Hamilton, "It was from him," says Mr. Curtis, "that th(; Federalist Acrw^A the weii,dit and the po\v(T which commanded th(! careful attention of the coun- try and carried conviction to the oreat body of intellit^cnt men in all parts of the L'nion." All tilt! ability displayed in the; luderalist, and all the exer- tions of Hamilton and his friends, were required to secure the ac- ceptance of the Constitution. Hamilton threw his whole strength into the contest, and left no honest means untried to accom|)lish the end. Durins^- the months that elapsed between the dissolution of the Convention and the ratification of the Constitution, his vli/i- lance never slumbered, and his exertions were not relaxed for a moment. Many able men were enL,'^aL,^ed in that struL^gle, but none rendered such service as he did to the l*"(.'deralist cause. 'Hie fu-st .State to ratify the Constitution was little Delaware, on the 7th of December, 1787. Pennsylvania, influenced by the name of Franklin, was the next to follow. Then came New Jersey, Georiria. and Connecticut. But it was felt that th(i hardest of the battle must be fought in Virginia ,ind New York. In J/.Ml'-.S MADISON, HAMILTON'S CIIIKF AIll IN WRITINT. '■ I'lIK l'Klli:KAI.l>.r." FIRST SECRETAR ) ' OF THE TREASUR V. 1 09 Virginia tlic opposition was led by I'atrick H('nry, whcise fiery clot] uf net; luul clone so inucii in (^\citing his countrymen to resistance in the commencement of the striigoie with Cireat Britain. In New \'urk the wiic't! interest of Gover- nor Clinton and his friends, and many local and personal prejudici;s, were arrayed against tlie adoption of the Constitution. The .State convention to decide the matter was held at Poughkeepsie, and the whole State was agitated by the discussion. " HAMILTON' is Sl'I'.AKINc; ! " On the 24th of June Hamilton received intelligence that, by th(! ratification of New Hampshire, the Constitution had been adopted by nine States, the num- ber re([uisite for its establishment. The cpiestion was then at onc(; raised whi'ther New York was to remain in the Confederacy, or to stand alone; as an indepiMid- ent power. There was a party favoring the latter alternative ; but Hamilton felt that to leave out New York would be to abandon tht; heart antl centre of the Union, and resolved to combat the project by all the means at his disposal. During the last days of the Convention, the streets of New York were filled with an excited crowd, waiting for news from I'oughkeepsie, ami, as each mes- senger arrived, it was repeatetl from mouth to mouth: " Hamilton is speaking! Hamilton is speaking yet !" as though the destinies of the country hung sus- pended on his words. And when at length the tidings of the ratificaticMi reached the city, the bells pealed from the church towers, the cannon resoundetl from the forts, and a loud and exulting shout proclaimed that the popular voice had sanc- tioned the victory of the Constitution. The first election under the new Constitution was held in the autumn of 1788. There was no (piestion as to who should be the first l'resicU;nt. Wash- ington was elected without opj)osition, and on April 30, 17S9, took iIk- oath of office in New York. In choosing his Cabinet he at once offered the treasury to Hamilton. He is said to have consulted Robert Morris, the; former superin- tendent of finance, as to the second of these appointments, asking, with a sigh : "What is to be done with this heavy debt? " "There is but one man in the United States," answered Morris, "who can tell you, and that is Alexander Hamilton." The President, who well remembered the invaluable servic<'s of his aidc;-de- camp, could fully subscribe to this llattering estimate of his talents. He had lately been in frequent communication with Hamilton, and had consulted him on several grave and delicate questions. He had always cherished a pleasant recollection of their intimacy, ami now the old feelings of friendship had strongly revived between them. In his elevated position Washington needed more than ever a friend he could entirely trust. On every grouiul, therefore, private as well as public, he was glad to offer this important post to Hamilton ; and the latter did not hesitate to accept it, although he well knew its difficulties. 110 ALEXANDER HAMILTON. I lamilton now devoted all his thoughts to the national finances, and wag busy in devising schemes to meet the pressing exigencies of the time. The office required tlie vigorous exercise of all his powers ; and his reports of plans for the restoration of public credit, on the protection and encouragement of fmanufactures, on the necessity and the constitutionality of a national bank, and on the establishment of a mint, would alone have given him the reputation of being one of the most consummate statesmen who have ever lived. The plans which he proposed were adopted by Congress almost without alteration. When he entered upon the duties of his office the government had neither credit nor money, and the resources of the country were unknown ; when he retired, at the end of five years, the fiscal condition of no people was better or more clearly understood. Mr. Gallatin has said that secretaries of the treas- ury have since enjoyed a sinecure, the genius and labors of I lamilton having created and arranged everything that was necessary for the perfect and easy discharge of their duties. "He smote the rock of the national resources," says Daniel Webster, "and abundant streams of revenue gushed forth. He touched the dead corpse of the Public Credit, and it sprang upon its feet. The fabled birth of Minerva from the brain of Jove was hardly more sudden or more perfect than the finan- cial system of the United States, as it burst forth from the brain of Alexander Hamilton." When, after yt^ars of immense labor, the financial system of the govern- ment was established, Hamilton resolved to retire from office. Doubtless he was weary of constant struggle ; for the politics of the time were charged with such bitterness that even W'ashington did not escape the most venomous abuse. Hamilton's enemies made ceaseless attacks upon him ; but there were other reasons which made him wish to retire, and which, if anything could have done so, might have called a blush to the cheeks of his persecutors. This man, who had held the revenues of an empire at his disposal, and whom his adversaries had not scrupled to charge with enriching himself at the public expense, was in reality very poor. His official salary did not suffice for the wants of his family, and his official duties had obliged him to abandon his practice at the bar. He was anxious, before it was too late, to repair his fortunes, and provide for his wife and children. Hamilton now set to work at his profession, and was once more the leading spirit of the bar. Talleyrand, passing his office long after midnight, saw him still there at his desk. "I have be'ht^ld," said he, "one of the wonders of the world. I have seen a man, who has made the fortune of a nation, laboring all night io support his family." And yet, while thus working at his ordinary calling, Hamilton never withdrew his attention from public affairs. He was still the leader of his party, and the unsalaried adviser of the President ; and as a HAMILTON A T HOME. 1 1 1 necessary consequence, he was still the mark, for the poisoned arrows of his enemies. From 1795 to 1797 Washini^^ton often had recourse to Hamilton for counsel. He had resolvetl to retire from office at the expiration of his second term ; and, as the time approached, he determined to issue a I'^arewell Address to the American people. On this subject also he consulted Hamilton. There has been much controversy as to the exact authorship of this celel^rated pai)er, but the fact seems to be that, while the oriy^inal s^'^roundwork was Washington's own, the superstructure was in j^rt-at part Hamilton's. While he retained wherever he could the thou5.,dits ami lanjj^ua_L,re of Washini^ton, \\v. atlded much valuable matter, antl broui^ht the whole into its present form. Calm, wise, and noble, it is a monument worthy of the '" ■> ^ M ■■-t, 'i k> k »• Mir^ C vi^i* • r^r^r • *4r4r Ciririr • irr^^« c^ r '^^« « Mr#4i c •'« r# II.MI.KSiiN. .'•r:^^ ^■ ^\: 'iJ^^ THOMAS JEFFERSON, THK I^IONKliK OK niCMOCKACV IN AMKKICA. AT tlif hcj^iiiniiiL,'^ of till' nine- teenth century tlu: people of the rnit(;tl States may he said to ha\ e bt^en tli- \ iileil into two classes, — those who thought Thomas Jetlerson the nrreate'st ami wisest of liviiiL^r men, antl those who belie\('d him the worst and most danm'roiis. 'I'he I-"renrh Revolution, that i^reat uprising of the masst's against th(" o|)pres sions ol (U'S|)otic power, hatl then dixitled pui)lic opinion throujj^hout the whole civilized world. Jef- ferson was at the head of the party which sympa- thized with the- common people, anil advocated their cause. The opposite party, shocked and horrified at the excesses committed hy the revolutionists in I'Vance, looked upon cverythinsj;' democratic with indescribable fear and aversion. These extremes of opinion make it difficult, even at this tlay, to <^et a fair and moderate opinion of Jefferson. He is either a fientl incarnate or an anjrel of lijrht. But whether the principles for which he stood be approved or con- demned, their success at least cannot be denied. Jefferson was the pioneer of democracy, the apostle of the sovereignty of the common people, which 115 THP: I.IBKRTV HEM., AS rxilITU 11 I) A P llIK NFAV liRLKANs EXl'DSrilON. J 16 THOMAS JHFFERSON. from his time to the present has become (nery year more firmly rooted in American politics ; and wlu^ther it be for good or ill, it is for this that he will be remembered in the ciMiturics yet to come. 'Ihomas Jefferson was born in 1743, near the site of the present town of Cliarlottesvilht, \ ir>^inia. I lis father, Peter Jefferson, owned a plantation of fourteen hundred acres called Shadwell, from the name of the parish in Lonilon where his wife was born. His home was lil(trally hewn out of the wilderness. There were but few white settlers within many miles of the mansion, which con- sisted of a spacious story and a half cotta_i,rc-house, A wide hall and four larj^e rooms occupied the lower floor. Above these there were j^ood chambers and a spacious cfarret. Two hu^je outside chimneys contributed to the picturesrpie aspect of the mansion. It was dt.'li^htfully situateil upon a i^entle swell of land on the slopes of the Blue Ridge, and commanded a sublime prospect of far- reachintj mountains and forests. Thomas was naturally of a serious, pensive, reflective turn of mind. From the time he was five years ofatje he was k(.'|)t ililiy^ently at school under the best teachers. He was a !L,^eneral favorite with both teachers anil scholars. In the year 1760 he entered William and Mary College. Williamsburi,'- was then the seat of the colonial court, and the abode of fashion and splendor. Yountj Jefferson lived in coUesfe somewhat expensively, keepincf fine horses, and much caressed by \:^i\y society. Still, he was earnestly devoted to his studies and irreproachable in his morals. In 1767 he entered upon the practice of the law. His thoroughly disci- plined mind, ample stores of knowl(;dge, and polished address, were rapidly raising him to distinction, when the outl)reak of the Revolution introduced him to loftier spheres of responsibility. He had been but a short time admitted to the bar ere he was chosen by his fellow-citizens to a seat in the Legislature of Virginia. This was in 1769. Jefferson was then the largest slaveholder in the house. It is a remarkable evitlence of his foresight, his moral courage, and the love of liberty which inspired him. that lie introtluced a bill empowering slave- holders to manumit their slaves if they wished to do so. Slavery caught the alarm. The proposition was rejected by an overwhelming vote. In 1772 he married Mrs. Martha Skelton, a very beautiful, wealthy, and highly accomplished young widow. She brought to him, as her munificent dowry, forty thousand acres of land, and one hundred and thirty-five slaves.' He thus became one of the largest slaveholders in \'irginia : and yet he labored with all his energies for the abolition of slavery ; declaring the institution to be a curse to the master, a curse to the slave, and an offense in the sight of God. In 1775 Jefferson was chosen a member of the Continental Congress, and in June of that year he left Williamsburg to take his seat ■ in the Congress at Philadelphia. He nas the youngest member in the body but one. His THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR. 117 reputation as a writer luul prcccdi^cl him. and lu; iiniiuHliatcly took a conspicu ous stand, thons^di he seldom spoke. The native suavity of Jefferson, his mod- esty, and the frankness and force with which he expresseil his views, captivated even his opponents. It is said that he had not an enemy in Conj^^ress. WKiriNc; TIIK CRl'.AT DIXI.AKA I I< )N. When the time came for drafiinL,*^ the "Declaration of Independence." that great task was committed to Jefferson. I'Vanklin and Adams sujj^j^ested a few chanties before it was submitted to Cont^ress, Tlu.' 1 )eclaration passetl a fiery ordeal of criticism, I-'or three days the debate continued. Mr. Jefferson opened not his lips. John Adams was the oreat cliampion of the Declaration on the floor. ( )ne may search all the a,!.(es to tind a more sol(.:mn, momentous event than the sii^ming^ of the Declaration of IndepcMidence. It was accompanied with prayer to AlmiL,dity (iod. Silence pervaded the room as one after another affixed his name to that document, which brou_f,dit down upon him the implacable hate of the mit,ditiest power upon the _L,dol)e. and which doomed him inevitably to the scaffold, should the feeble colonies fail in the unequal struQ^i^de. In 1779 Mr. Jefferson was chosen <^overnor of Virginia. He was then thirty-six years of a_L,fe. The British were now preparing' to strike their heaviest blows upon the South. Georrovided no issu(.'. It is both m\' dut\' and inclination, therefore, to relieve the einbarrassiiKMit, should it happen ; and, in that case I prav you, and autho- rize you fully, to solicit on my behalf ihrit Mr. Adams may Ix; preferred. I le has always been my senior from the commenceiiK'nt of our public lih; ; and, the expression of the public will being e(|ual, this circumstance ouyht to give him the [)reter(!nce." As the result of the election, Mr. Adams became l^resident, and Mr. lef- ferson, \'ice-l'resident. This remleri-d it necessary for him to lea\e Monticello for a few months each \'ear to attend the sessions of Congress. I lis numerous letters to his children show how wearx' he had become of party strife, with what reluctance he left his home, with w hat iov ln' returned to it. \\\ luiK', I ,Soo, Congress moxcd from Philadelphia to Washington. The n(!W seat of go\(M'nment, liter.dlv hewn out of lln' wilderness, was a dreary i)lac xcars workmen h.id iiecu emplo\'etl in that lonelw uninhab- ited, out-of-the-wa\- spot, in putting up the public buildings, there was nothing as }et Imished : and xast piles of stom^ and brick 'xwd mortar were scattered at great distances h'om each otliei^, with swamps or sand banks intervening. Mrs. John .\dams, who had sei'ii tlie residences ot ro\'alty in burope, — . Ikickingham Palace, X'ersailles, and the Iiiileries, — gi\'es an amusii-ig accotint of their 'ei^rancc; upon the spltMidors of the " White llousi;." \\\ trving to find Washington from iialtimore, they got lost in the woods. ,\fter driving for some titne, b(>wildered in forest paths, the\- chanced tocomeu|)on ;i black man, whom thev hired to guide them through liie forest. " Ihe house," she writes, "is upon a grand and superb scale, recpiiring about thirty sc-rvants to attend, and keep thc! apartments in projx'r order. The tires we are obliged to kee]), to secure us from daily agues, are another very che(!ring comfort ; but, surrounded with forests, can you beliexc that wo(jd is not to be had, because people cannot be fotnid to cut and cart it?" SK.Nl.Nd Till-; lii;( IjVKAIHIN UI' AMI.KU an IM)l:li.M)K.N(K. 1 24 THOMAS JEFFERSON. 'I'hc' four years of Mr. Jctfcrson's Vice-Presidency passed joylessly away, while the storm of partisan strife between I'ederalist and Republican was ever growinsj;- hotter. (General Hamilton, who was a great power in those days, became as much alienated from Mr. Adams as from Jefferson. 'Iliere was a split in the b'ederal party. A new [)residential election came on. Mr. Jeffer- son was chosen President ; and Aaron Burr, \'ice-President. Till-: ri;()i'Li:'s rRi'.siDFNT. The news of tlu; election of Jefferson was received in most parts of the Union with the liveliest demonstrations of Joy. He was the leader of the suc- cessful and rapidly increasip ^ party. His friends were found in every city and village in our land. They had been taught to believe that the triumph of the opposite party would be the triumph of aristocratic privilege and of civil and religious despotism. On the other hand, many of the Federalists turned pale whim the tidings reached them that Thomas Jefferson was President of the United States. P)oth the pulpit and the press had taught them that he was the Incarnation of all e\ il, — an infidel, an atheist, a scofter at all things sacred ; a le\<:lcr, a revolutionist, an atlvocate of mob government. Jeff{;rson was (exceedingly simple in his tastes, having a morbid dislike of all that court eticpiette which had disgusted him so much in luirope. Washing- ton rode to the halls o{ Congress in state, drawn by six cream-colored horses. Jefferson, on the morning of his inauguration, rode on horseback to the Capitol in a dr('ss of plain cloth, without guard or servant, dismounted without assist- ance, and fastened the bridle of his horse to the fence. It may be that Mr. JeffcM'son had allowed his mind to become so thoroughly imbued with the con- viction that our government was drifting towards monarchy and aristocracy, that he felt bound to set the example of extreme democratic simplicity. 'Hie political principles of the Jeffersonian party now swept the country, and Mr. Jefferson swayed an inlluence which was never exceeded by Washing- ton himself Louisiana, under which name was then included the whole territory west of the Mississippi to the Pacific, was purchased of France, under his admin- istration, in the year 1S03, for fifteen millions of dollars. He was now smitten by another tlomestic grief In the year 1S04 his beau- tiful daughter Maria, whom he so tenderly loved, sank into the grave, leaving her babe behinil her. His eldest daughter, Martha, speaking of her father's suffering under this ttM^rible grief, says, — "I found him with the l?ible in his hands. He who has been so often and so harshly accused of unbelief — he, in his hour of intense affliction, sought and founil consolation in the sacred volume. The comforter was there for his true heart and devout spirit, even though his faith might not be what the world calls orthoilox," SECOND TliRM AS rRlwSlDENT. 1-5 Another presidcMitial election came in 1S04. Mr. Jefferson was reek!Ct(!cl President with wonderful unanimity; and (leorL;^ Clinton, \'ice-l'resid(Mit. Jef- ferson was sixty-two years of aL;e, when, on the 4th of March, 1805, he centered upon his second term of (jtlice. ( )ur relations with I'.nL^land w(M'e tlaily becoin- inijr more complicatetl, from th(; Ih'itish demand ot tht; rii^lu t(j stop any of our ships, whc;ther belonirin<^ to either the commercial or na\al marine, and to take from them any sailors whom they telt disposed to chiim as British sui)jects. I'he course lini^land pursued rendered it certain that war couM not he avoidetl. Mr. Jefferson humanely did everythini,'- in his power to prevent the Indians from KAIKI'W riiriM' IlilOr, — A l VI'IIAI, VIKi.lNIA CiirRT lliU'^K. takinc;^ any part in it whatever. The British, on the contr.iry, were endeavoring^ to rouse them to delude the frontiers in blood. .Strancre as it may now seem, the measures of <;overnment to redress these wroneifs were virulently opposed. Ikit notwithstandiuij;^ the strenL,^th and inlluence of the opposition to Mr. Jeffer- son's administration, he was sustained by the (general voice of tht^ nation. In the year 1808 Mr. Jefferson closed his second term of oftice, and James Madison succeeded him as President of the United States. In the followinsjf terms the retiring President expresses to a friend his feelings upon surrendering the cares of office : — 126 THOMAS JEFFERSON. " Within a few days I retire to my family, my books, and farms ; and, havini^ gained the harljor myself, I shall look on my friends, still biiffeting the storm, with anxiety indeed, but not with envy. Never did a prisoner, released from his chains, feel such relief as I shall on shaking off the shackles of power. Nature intentied me for the trancpiil pursuits of science by rendering tht;m my supreme delight ; but the enormities of the times in which I have lived have forced me to take a part in resisting them, and to commit myself on the boister- ous ocean of political passions. I thank Gcjd for the opportunity of retiring from them without censure, and carrying with me the most consoling proofs of public approbation." IIO.MH LIFE AND HOSI'nAIITV. Jefferson's subsecjuent life at Monticello was very similar to that of Wash- ington at Mount Vernon. His mornings he devoted to his numerous corre- spondence ; from breakfast to dinner he was in the shops and over the farms ; from dinner to dark he devoted to recreation and friends ; from dark to early bedtime he reatl. He was particularly interested in young men, advising them as to their course of reading. Several came and took up their resi dence in the neighboring town of Charlottesville, that they might avail them- selves of his library, which was ever open for their use. Toward the latter part of his life, from a series of misfortunes, Mr. Jef- ferson because deeply involved in debt, so that it was necessary for him to sell a large portion of his estate. He was always profuse in his hospitality. Whole families came in their coaches with their horses, — fathers and mothers, boys and girls, babies and nurses, — and remained three or even si.x months. One family of six persons came from Europe, and made a visit of ten months. y\fter a short tour they returned, and remained six months longer. Every day brought its contingent of guests. .Such hospitality would speedily con- sume a larger fortune than Mr. Jefferson possessed. His daughter, Mrs. Randolph, was the presiding lady of this immense establishment. The domes- tic service required thirty-seven house servants. Mrs. Randolph, upon being asked what was the greatest number of guests she had ever entertained any one night, rt^plied. " she believed fifty." In the winter Mr. Jefferson had some little repose from the crowd of visitors. He then enjoyed, in the highest possible degree, all that is endearing in domes- tic life. It is impossible to describe the love with which he was cherished by his grandchiklren. One of them writes, in a letter overflowing with the gush- ing of a loving heart, " My Bible came from him, my .Shakespeare, my first writing-table, my fn'st handsome writing-desk, my first Leghorn hat, my first silk dress : what, in short, of all my treasures did no/ come from him ? My sisters, according to their wants and tastes, were equally thought of, equally provided for. Our grandfather seemed to read our hearts, to see our individual Lli-E AT MO.\riCI:LI.O. 1-7 wishes, to be our (rood oreniiis, to wave the fairy wand to brii^hteii f)ur youiiL,' lives by his ^oodness and his gilts." Another writes: "I cannot describe the feelings of veneration, admiration, and love that existed in my heart toward him. 1 loolallar.'orihcValu£^ Ihtreofi^t GoldorSilver /a 6c give n in. ox ch a itg e at Treasury of VIRGINIA, Tursuant to ACT of iVSSEMBTLiY ^/H^^ 1777. csy^y^^ RGINIAC URKENCY^ 1 2 8 THOMA S JHFFliRSON. thousand dollars of debt. He applied to the Lcfrislature for permission to dis- pose of a lar«,re portion of his pro[)erty by lottery, hoping- thus to realize a sum sufficient to pay his debts, and to leave enough to give him a competence for his few remaining days. Though opposed to all gambling, he argued, in sup- port of his petition, that lotteries were not immoral. I le wrote to a friend, that, if the Legislature would grant him the indulgence he solicited, " I can save the house of Monticello and a farm atljoining to end my days in, and bury my bones ; if not, I must sell house and all here, and carry my family to Bed- ford, where I have not even a log hut to put my head into." To Mr. Jefferson's great gratification, the lottery bill finally passed. But, all over the country, friends, who appreciated the priceless value of the services which he had rendered our nation, began to send to him tokens of their love. The mayor of New York, Philip Hone, sent him, collected from a few friends, eight thousand five hundred dollars ; from Philadelphia, five thousand dollars were sent ; from Baltimore, three thousand dollars ; and one or two thousand more were sent from other sources. These testimonials, like sunshine breaking through the clouds, dispelled the gloom which had been so deeply gathering around his declining day. \'ery rapidly he was now sinking. His steps* became so feeble that with difficulty he could totter about the house. There was something peculiarly gentle and touching in his whole demeanor. His good-night kiss, his loving embrace, his childlike simplicity and tenderness, often brought tears to the eyes of those whose privilege it was to minister to his wants. It was evident that he was conscious that the hour of his departure was at hand. He was excec^dingly careful to avoid making any trouble, and was far more watchful for the conifort of those around him than for his own. His pas- sage was very slow down into the vale of death. To one who expressed the opinion that he seemed a little better, he replied, — " Do not imagine for a moment that I feel the smallest solicitude about the result. I am like an old watch, w-ith a pinion worn out here and a wheel there, until it can go no longer." On Monday evening, the 3d of July, he awoke about ten o'clock from troubled sleep, and, thinking it morning, remarked, "This is the 4th of July." Immediately he sank away again into slumber. As the night passed slowly away, all saw that he was sinking in death. There was silence in the death- chamber. The mysterious separation of the soul from the body was painlessly taking place. About noon, July 4th, 1826, the last breath left the body, and the great statesman and patriot was no more. ANDREW JACKSON, THE HKRO OP THE WAK OK 1812. AND POPULAR PR ESI IDE NT, SOME! men are rcineinbered for what they do; others for what they arr. To the latter chiss l.)eloiius Andrew [ackson. Xo American has U^ft a more; chsiinct impress of hims(;lf on the popuhir mind ; no man of his time is so wc.'U known, and so vividly rememberetl. lie may he loved or hated, but he cannot be for- q-otten. And this is not because he was twice President, nor l)ecause he threat- ened to han^n" the South Carolina nuUi- fiers, nor because he madi; war on the United States Hank, nor because he introduced the spoils system. It is because he was Andrew Jackson. No iji'reater contrast could be found 1^ ..^.-(^laiS^fWBHW^ ^'^'^" ^^'"-^^ between his administration (^ /Z"']^' .'"^^i^l^^v?* '^^'^^ the preceding- one of John Ouincy Adams. Adams was the model official. His ambition was to make his adminis- tration a perfect machine. Under it the i^eople prospered ; the public business was admirably done ; the country grew and expanded. P)Ut amid all this his personality was almost completely sunk. Few ever thought of John Ouincy Adams. When Jackson became President, this was reversed. Good nnni were turned out and bad men were put in. The public business was sacrificed to personal and party advantage. The rights and powers of other branches of the government were usurped, and tyranny of the grossest kind came to be a matter of course. Amid all this the single figure was Andrew Jackson. He was the person whom every one saw, of whom all thought and talked ; and it is safe to say that no other President, down to the time of Lincoln, is so well remembered by the common people. 131 i.?J AXDRl-.W J. ILK SOX. Jackson was horn in ihc northwestern corner of South LaroHna, in 1707. 1 li-^ lather, an h'ishnian ot Scotch descent, ulio had only two years before conn; to this < oinilr) . diid In tore his l>irth, h-ax in^; his mother .d most utterl\' lU'stilute-, vvitli the lare ni a laru;e tamily. Nothin:; conkl exceed the trials ami hartlsliips of his youth. When h<- was only thirteen, the Uritish ra\ai;<'d .South Carolina, killed his oldest hroiher, liuj^h. ami captured Andrew and his brother Roliert. carrying; ihiin oil with others to L'amden. forty miles distant from their home. I he ca|)ti\ ts were not allowed lood or even wat<'r on the wa\' ; they were throw 11 into a wr<'tched prison pen, uilhout beds, medical attendance, or an\' means of _\inL; ami dead lay on the L,''i'<»und together. Iheir mother came to thi' rescue of her bovs ; she obtained their eNchanj^c, took them home, and nursed them : but' Robert died in two davs, and Mrs. Jackson hers<'lt tell a victim to tin' disease. Thus at lourteen vears of a^c Jackson was lelt alone in the world, without father, mother, or brotlu;r, and without a dollai' to call his own. liiiore .\ndrew had tulK' recoxcred his streni^th, he enten-d a shop to learn the traile of a saddler: but he became a wild, reckless, lawless boy. lie drank, oambled, fouL^ht cocks, and was rej^arded as about the worst character that could anywhere be foimd. .Soon he be^an to think of.i profession, and tiecided to stuily law. \\ ilh a very slender purse, and on the back of a tine horse, he set out lor .Salisbury \. ("., a distance o| about seventy t'lve miles, whei'c; he entered the law ottice of Mr, MiCay. At the iv^v. of twcnt)' |ackson w.is a tall xoun;^- man. stiUuIinL;- si.x fi'et and an inch in his stockings. 1 le w.is \fry slender, but remarkably ilii,;nit"ied and L;racetul in his manmM's, an e\(piisite horseman, and (le\-elopinL^', amidst his pro- fanity and numerous vices, a \ein of rare magnanimity. I lis temper was fiery in the extreme : but it was said that no man knew better than .Andrcnv |ackson when to <4'et an^rN', aiul when not. 1 le was fond of all roui^h adventures, wild riding', camping" out ; lo\cd a horse passionately ; ami, though sairiy of iini'^rants, wlio i-fii(l(v\<)us(Hl at Moi'i^antowii, llie last ffoniior SL-ltltMncni in Xortii Carolina. Tliry were all inountctl on horse- back, with their l)a^L;au;(: on |)a( k horse-.. In doiililr file, the loni; cavalcade crossed the nioinit.iin-. hy an Indian trail, which had widened into a ro.id. Late in ( )clolK:r, 178S. this lone- train of cniii^rants reached Xashville. They took with them th(' e.xcitin^ news that tlu: new Constitution had l)een accepted hy a majority of the States, and that Ceort^c Washini^ton would undoubtedly be electetl tlu; lirst I'residenl. It was estimated that then, in this outpost of ci\ili/ation, tlun-e were scattered, in lo;^ huts clustered alou;.; the A IWMII.UR KKNirc-KV SCINK IN JACKSON S YiUMIl. banks of the Cumberland, about five thousand souls. The Indians were so active in the-ir hostilities that it was not safe for any one to li\-e fu- from the stockade. Every man took his rilh; with him to the field. Children could not ^o out to leather berries unless accompanied bv a i^ruard. Xashville had its aristocracy. Mrs. Don*. Isoii b; lonnt'd to one of the first families. She was the widow of Colonel |ohn Ponelson, and lived in a cabin of hewn loirs, the most commodious d welling;' in the place. She; hatl a beautiful, mirth-lovinij daughter, who had married a very unconj^^enial Kentuckian, Lewis Robards, of whom but little that is good can be said. .She and h(;r husband lived with her widowed mother, and Andrew Jackson was received into the 134 ANDREW JACKSON. family as a boarder. It was an attractive home for him. Of the gay and lively Mrs. Robards it is said that she was then the best story-teller, the best dancer, the sprightliest companion, the most dashing horsewoman, in the western country. And now Andrew Jackson commenced vigorously the practice of law. It was an important part of his business to collect debts. It recpiired nerve. Many desperate men carried pistols and knives. During the first seven years of his residence in those wilds, he traversed the almost pathless forest between Nashville and Jonesborough, a distance of two hundred miles, twenty-two times. Hostile Indians were constantly on the watch, and a man was liable at any moment to be shot down in his own field. Andrew Jackson was just the man for this service, — a wild, rough, daring backwoodsman. Daily he was making hairbreadth escapes. He seemed to bear a charmed life. Boldly, alone or with few companions, he traversed the forests, encountering all perils, and triumphing over all. Mrs. Robards and her husband lived unhappily together. Before Jackson's arrival, he had once, from his jealous disposition, separated from her. Andrew Jackson was an exceedingly polite, gallant, fascinating man. Captain Robards became jealous of Jackson, and treated Mrs. Robards with great cruelty. Jack- son decided, in consequence, to leave the house, and took board in another place. Soon after this, Mr. and Mrs. Robards separated. The affair caused Andrew Jackson great uneasiness ; for though he knew that the pardes had separated once before, and though conscious of innocence, he found himself to be the unfortunate cause of the present scandal. Captain Robards applied to the Legislature of Virginia for a bill of divorce. It was granted by an act of the Legislature, provided that the Supreme Court should adjudge that there was catise for sucJi divorce. Robards laid aside this act and did nothing for two years. Virginia was far away. The transmission of intelligence was very slow. It was announced in Nashville that Robards had obtained a divorce. This was universally believed. Inlluenced by this belief, Andrew Jackson and Rachel Robards were married in the fall of 1791. Two years after this, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson learned, to their great surprise, that Robards had then only just obtained a divorce. Thus Mr. Jackson had, in reality, been married for two years to another man's wife, though neither he nor Mrs. Jackson had been guilty of the slightest intentional wrong. To remedy the irregularity as far as possible, a new license was obtained, and the marriage ceremony was again performed. It proved to be a marriage of rare felicity. Probably there never was a more affectionate union. However rough Mr. Jackson might have been abroad, he was always gentle and tender at home ; and through all the vicissitudes of their lives, he treated Mrs. Jackson with the most chivalric attentions. He was SENA TOR AND JUDGIi. \ 3 5 always very sensitive upon the question of his marriage. No one could breathe a word which rellccted a suspicion upon the purity of this affair but at the risk of a bullet through his brain. OI.n-FASHIONED POLITICS. In January, 1796, the territory of Tennessee then containing nearly eighty thousand inhabitants, the people met in convention at Knoxville to frame a constitution. Five were sent from each of the eleven counties. Andrew Jackson was one of the delegates from Davidson County. They met in a shabby building in a grove outside of the city. It was fitted up for the occasion at an expense of twelve dollars and sixty-two cents. The members were entitled to two dollars and a half a day. They voted to receive but a dollar and a half, that the other dollar might go to the payment of secretary, printer, door- keeper, etc. A constitution was formed, which was regarded as very demo- cratic ; and in June, 1796, Tennessee became the sixteenth State in the I'nion. The new State was entitled to but one member in the national House of Repre- sentatives. Andrew Jackson was chosen that member. Mounting his horse, he rode to Philadelphia, where Congress then held its sessions, — a distance of eight hundred miles. A vacancy chanced soon after to occur in the Senate, ai;d Andrew Jackson was chosen United .States Senator by the State of Tennessee. John Adams was then President ; Thomas Jefferson, Vice-President. Many years after, when Mr. Jefferson had retired from the presidential chair, and Andrew Jackson was candidate for the presidency, Daniel Webster spent some days at the home of the sage of Monticello. He represents Mr, Jefferson as saying : — " I feel much alarmed at the prospect of seeing General Jackson President. He is one of the most unfit men I know of foi such a place. He has very little respect for law or constitutions, and is, in fact, merely an able military chief His passions are terrible. When I was president of the .Senate he was senator ; and he could never speak on account of the rashness of his feelings. I have seen him attem[)t it repeatedly, and as often choke with rage. His passions are no doubt cooler now. He has been much tried since I knew him ; but he is a dangerous man." In 1 798 Mr. Jackson returned to Tennessee and resigned his seat in the Senate. Soon after he was chosen judge of the Supreme Court of that State, with a salary of six hundred dollars. This office he held for six years. It is said that his decisions, though sometimes ungrammatical, were generally right. Judge Jackson did not enjoy his seat upon the bench, and renounced the dignity In the summer of 1804. About this time he decided to try his fortune through trade. He purchased a stock of goods in Philadelphia, s>Uit them to 1 30 ANDRE W JA CA'SOX. Pittsburi;!! by wa^on, down the ( )hi() to I.ouisxillc in llat-boats, thence by wai^ons or pack-horses to Nashville, where lu; opeiieel a store, lie lived about thirteen niiU^s Ironi Nashville, on a tract of land of st;\eral thousand acres, mostly uncultivated. 1 le us(xl a small block-house for his store, from a narrow viiulow of which he sold i^ootls to the Indians. In |acks(jn's early lite he foui_;ht numerous duels, and took part in l)rawl\ to defend her commerce from formidable enemies in many seas, and could give but a small part of her naval strength to the new foe. That this new foe was despised by LOAPiNn A roTTON stf.ami:r the great power which claimed, not without reason, to be the mistress of the seas was not unnatural. Hut soon we find a lament raised in Parliament about the reverses, " which luiglish officers and English sailors had not before been used to, and tliat from such a contemptible navy as that of America had always been held." The fact is that the restriction of our commerce had made it possible for our navy officers to take their pick of a remarkably fine body of native American seamen, naturally brave and intelligent, and thoroughly well trained in all sea- IVAR ON THE CANADA FRONTIER. ^ 149 manlike experiences. These men \verritish cruisers ; and, but for Mr. Adams' firmness and thorough accpiaintance with the laws of nadons, the ship would not have been permitted to continue to its port of destination. He was received by the Emperor Alexander alone in his cabinet, and a warm attachment immediately sprang up between those illustrious men ; and thus was laid the foumlations of that friendship which binds the two nations together to the present day. The foreign ministers at the Russian court were generally living in the greatest magnificence ; but Mr. Adams received so small a salary that he was compelled to practice the most rigid economy. He was expected to attend the splendid entertainments of others, but could give none in return. One morning, as he was out walking, he met the emperor, who came cordially up to him, and, clasping his hand, said : — " Why, Mr. Adams, it is a hundred years since I have seen you ! " .After some common obser\ations, he inquired, " Do you intend to take a house in the country this summer? " " No," Mr. Adams replied : " I had that intention for some time, but have given it up." "And why? " inquired the emperor. Then, observing a litde hesitation in Mr. Adams' manner, he relieved him from his embarrassment l)y saying in perfect good humor and with a smile, "Perhaps it is from considerations of finance." " Those considerations are often very important," Mr. Adams replied. "You are right," rejoined the emperor : "it is always necessary to pro portion one's expenses to one's receipts." While in Russia Mr. Adams was an intense student. Me devoted his attention to the language and history of Russia ; to the Chinese trade ; to the European system of weights, measures, and coins ; to the climate, and astro- nomical obser\-ations ; while he kept up a familiar acquaintance with the Greek anc' Latin classics. In all the universities of Europe a more accomplished scholar could scarcely be found. All through life the Bible constituted an THE TREATY OF GHENT. i6f important part of his studies. It was his rule every day to read five chapters. He also read with threat attention the works of the most eminent theolot^nans.. With this eas^^erness in the pursuit of knowledge, it is not sur[)risini,'' that he should write to a friend : — "I feel nothing like the tediousness of time. I suffer nothing like niiiui. Time is too short for me rather than too long. If the day was forty-eight hours, instead of twenty-four, I could employ them all, if I had but eyes and hands to read and write." As England had consented to treat for peace, Mr. Adams was appointed, with Mr. Gallatin and Mr. Bayard, to conduct the negotiations. The commis- Tlii; WIIIIK IHUSI'. AT WAnIIINCIdN. sioners met at Ghent, in 1S15. Mr. y\dams took the leading part. The Marquis of Wellesley, in commenting upon the treaty which was then entered into, said in the British I louse ot Lords, — "In my opinion, the American commissioners have shown the most aston- ishing superiority over the ICnglish during the whole of the corres[)ondence." From Ghent Mr. Adams went to Paris, where he chanced to be when the Emperor Napoleon returned from b^lba. Mrs. Adams joined him h(!re ; and they proceeded together to London, he having been appointed minister to the British court. On the 4th of March, 18 17, Mr. Monroe took the presidential chair, and l6r, JOHX QUIXCV ADAMS. imiiKuliaK-'ly appointed Mr. Adams Secretary of State. Taking leave of his numerous friends in public and prixate life in Europe, he sailed, in June, 1S17, for the United States. After a short visit home, he re[)aired to Washington and entertul upon his ncnv duties, as thoroughly preparc;d for them, in ability, (Mlucation, and e.\pt;riencc;, as one could be. During the eight years of Mr Monroe's administration, Mr. Adams continued .Secretary of .State. Few w'll now contradict the assertion, that the duties of that office w(.'re never more aliiy discharged. Probably the most important UK.-asure which Mr. Atlams conducted was the purchase of Idorida from .Spain, for five million dollars. .Some time before the clost; of Mr. Monroi^'s second term of office, new candidates began to be presented for the presidency. The frientls of Mr. .Adams l)r()ught forward his name. It was an exciting campaign. Party s|)irit was never more bitter. i'wo hundred antl sixty-one electoral \'otes were cast. .Andrew [ackson received ninety-nine ; loliii Ouincy .\dams, eighty-four ; Wil- liam 1 1. Crawford, forty-one ; Henry Clay, thirty-seven. As there was no choice by the i)eople, the question went to the 1 louse of Representatives. Mr. Clay gave the vote of Kentuckv to Mr. Adams, and he was elected. riie fri(Mids of the disappointed candidates now combined in a venomous and persistent assault upon Mr. .\tlams. There are fc;w things more disgrace- ful in the history of our country than the abuse which was poured upon this high-mintled, upright, patriotic man. There never was an administration more pun^ in principles, more conscit;ntiously devoted to the best interc^sts of the country, than that of [ohn Ouincy Atlams ; and never, perhaps, was there an administration mor(; unscrujjulouslv aiid outrageously assailed, h may, liow- ever. help us to understand what would otiun'wise be unaccountable, if we remember what an immense intluence is exertetl by [)ersonal manners, and how deficient Adams was in this respect. AI'AMS AM) JACKSON' IX CON rUASP. Mr. .\dams, in his jMiblic manners, was cold and repulsive ; though it is said that with his personal friends he was at limes very genial. In his public receptions and othcial intercourse he often appeared " with a formal coldness, that froze liki; the a[)pr()ach to an icL;islative halls than Mr. .\dams wa^j^ed, for nearly a score of vears, with the; partisans of slave;ry in Congress. In t;\i;ry encounter he canu; off victor. .At the a<;e of seventy-four he appeared in the; Supreme Court e)f the Cnite-d .State;s, afte-r an absence fmm that court of thirty j'ears. to plead the; cause e)f a fe-w frie-ndle'ss negroes, the; Amistael captive;s, who, with their e)wn strong' arms, Iku' rree;d tlumiselves from the man-ste'alers. 1 lis effort was crowneel with complete; succe'ss ; and the poor .Mi'icans, abundantly furnished with the; implements of civilizeel life;, were returne;el to the home;s frcjin which they had bee-n so ruthle;ssly torn. "I wii.i. I'l r •nil-: i^uKsrinN mvsi:i,i' ! " In lS_^9 Ce)ni;ress was tor a time seriously elisor would siiccct-d in ori^aniziiiL,'' itself. 'I'his is not the time nor place to cliscuss the merits of conllictini;' claimants : that subject belongs to the I louse of RepresiMitaliNcs. What a s[)eclacl(! w(; here pn sent ! We do not and cannot ori^ani/e ; and why ? lie-cause tin; clerk of this house — the mere clerk, whom \\v. create, whom we employ--usiu'ps the t/irciir. and sets us, the vicei^erents of the whole- AuKM'ican p(;o])le, at defiance. .\\u\ wh.it is this clerk of yours? Is he to suspend, by his mere- ne^alive, the functions of L^overnmenl, and put an end to this C"on!:;r(-ss. I 1<; refuses to call the roll. It is in )'our power to compel him to call it. if he will not do it \<)luntarily." Here h(- was interrupted b)- a member, who slated that the cl(;rk c;ould not be com[)c:lled to call the roll, as he would resign rather than do so. "Well, sir, l(-t him resit^n," continued Mr. Adams, "and we ma)- possibly discover some; way \)\ which we can L;<'t aloni;' without the aid of his all-ijowir- tul talent, learning-, and t^cnius. If we cannot organize in any other way, if this cl(.!rk of yours will not cons(,-nt to our discharminic the trust confuUnl to us by our constituents, then let us imitate the example of the \'irL,uni;x House of lUir^csses, which, wlu.-n the colonial (iovernor Dinwiddie orderetl it to disperse, refused to obey the? imperious and insultiuL;- mandate, and lik(; ii/vii " Here there was such a burst of applause- from the whole hoiis(;, that, for a moment, his xoici; was drowned. Cheer u])on cheer rose, shakino- the walls of the Capitol. As soon as he could a^^ain bi; heard Ik; submittetl a motion, re- quiriuLi;' the clcM-k to call the roll. " How shall iIk- cpiestion be put?" The voice of Mr. Adams was h(-ard risinj^ above the tumult, as he cried out, " I in- tend to put th(; ([uc;stion mys(,-lf ! " Another burst of ap[jlause followed : when Mr. I)arnwell Rhett of .South Carolina leaped upon one of th(- dc-sks, and shout(Kl, "I ino\-e that the llf)n. John Oiiincy Adams take the chair of th(; spt;ak(;r of \.\\v. house, and officiate as presiding- otTicer till the house be orij;-ani/.ed by the election of its constitutional officers. As many as are ai,^rced to this will say ' Aye ! ' " One universal, thunderini^- "Aye;!" came; back in response. Mr. Adams was conducted to th(- chair, and the house was or^ani/ed. Mr. Wise of \'ir- tjinia, soon after, addressinL:' him, saiil, — "Sir, I re_!.j[ard it as the proudest hour of your life; and if wh(-n you shall be J^^athered to your fathers, I w(M-e asktnl to select the words which, in my judi,^- ment, are b(;st calculat(-d to '^\\r. at onc(-' the character of the man, I would ' inscribe upon your tomb this sentence, 'I will [)ut tht; cpiestion myself' " In ianuar\', 1S42, Mr. Adams presented a petition from forty-fiv(; citizens of Haverhill, Mass., praying- for the peaceable dissolution (jf the Union. The pro-slav(;ry party in Congress, who where then plottinsj;' the destruction of the government, were roused to a degree of commotion such as even our stormy 172 JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. hall of lejrislation has rarely witiK^sscd. They iii<'t in caucus, and, findiiif^ that they probably would imt be abh; to cxf^cl Mr. Adams trom th(! house;, drew \.\\) a series of resolutions, which, if adopteil, would inllict upon him disgrace equiva- lent to expulsion. Mr. Adams had pr(,;sent(Kl the; petition, which was most resi)tx-tfully wordi.'tl, and had moNcd that it Ix; referred t(j a committee instructed to re|)ort an answer, showing tlu-; re-asons why the prayer ought ncjt to be granted. It was the 25th of laiiuary. The whole body of the pro-slavery |)arty came crowtling together int(j the house, prt;par(,'J to crush Mr. .Adams forescr. One lM>rsK (U- Kl.l'UI.SKN r.\ I IVl! of their number, Thomas F. Marshall of Kentucky, was appointed to read the resolutions, which accused Mr. Adams of high treason, of having insulted the government, and of meriting (expulsion ; but for which deserved punishment, the house, in its great mere)-, would substitute its si'verest censure. With the assumption of a \ery solemn and magisterial air, there being breathless silence in the imposing audience, Mr. Marshall hurled the carefully [)repared anathemas at his victim. Mr. Adams stood alone, the whole pro-slavery party madly against him. As soon as the resolutions were read, every eye being fixed upon him, up rose that bold old man, whose scattered locks were whitened by seventy-five A CHARCn OF TREASON. 173 years ; and castin;^' a witlicrini^ ulaiici; in tlu; direction of liis assailants, in a clear, shrill tone, trcMiiuloiis with siipprcsseil emotion, he said, — " In rt'ply to this audacious, atrocious charge of hiL;h treason, 1 call for the reading- of the t'irst parai;raph of the ])eclarati(jn of Indepentlence. /vVin/ //, Ki:.\i) rr ! and s(;e what that says of the right of a people to reform, to change, and to dissoKc their u;(>\'ernineiu." 'i'he atlilude, the; manner, th(; tout;, th(' words ; iIk; xciierahle old man, with llashiny;' eye and tlushi'd che(!k, and whosi; very form seemetl to e.N|iand under the inspiration of the occasion, — all present('d a scene; ov(;rawint; in its sub- limity. There was breathless silence as that para^rajih was read, in defense; of whose principles our fathers had jjledi^j^ed "their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor." It was a i^'oud hour to Mr. .Adams, as they wert; all comix'lled to listen, to the words, — "That, to secure these rights, (;-overnments are institut(;d among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed ; and that, when- ever any form of gcn-erniiKint becomes dt.'structive of those ends, it is the right of the people to alt(,'r or abolish it, ami to institute new go\(M-nm(Mit, laying its foundations on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness." That one sentence baffled and routed the foe. The heroic old man looked around upon the auilience, and thundered out, " Reail that again ! " It was again read. Then, in a few fiery, logical words, he stateil his d(;f(,'nse in terms which even pr(;judiced minds could not r<;sist. 1 lis discomfited assail- ants made sundry attempts to rally. After a conflict of eleven days they gave up vanquished, and their resolution was ignominiously laitl upon the table. IloXdKS FROM rilK I'KOI'I.K. In the summer of 1843 Mr. Adams took a tour through w(;stern New Vork. His journey was a perfect ovation. In all the leading cities Ik; was received with the highest marks of consideration. The whole mass of the people rose to confer honor upon the man who had battled so nobly for human rights, and whose public and private character was without a stain. The; greet- ing which he received at Buffalo was such as that city had never before conferred upon any man. The national llag was floating from every masthead. The streets were thronged with the multitude, who greeted with bursts of ajiplause the renowned patriot and statesman as soon as he appeared. The Hon. Millard Fillmore, subsequently President of the United States, welcomed him in the following words : — " You see here assembled the people of our infant city, without distinction of party, se.\, age, or condition, — all, all, an.xiously vying with each other to show their respect and esteem for your public and private worth. Here are 174 JO//X (jnXCV ADA.^fS. g.ithcrcd, in this vast iiiiiltitiulc of wliat must appt'ar to you stranj^e faces, thousands whose hearts ha\(; vihralcd to the chord of sympatiiy which youi si)eech(;s have touch(;d. 1 lere is rellectiiiu; ai^e, and ardent youth, and hspinj^' ciiiklliood, to all of whom your venerateil name is as dear as household worils, — all anxious to feast tiieir eyes by a sii,du of that extraordinary and venerable man, i\\Ai o/d iiiiiii i-iix/iiciif. \.\\n)\\ whos(; lips Wisdom has distilleil her choic(.:st nectar, ilercjyou see iJKin all, and read in their eaLji'r and joy-t^laildtMied count(Miances and brightly beaminiL;' eyes, a welcome, a thrice-toKI, hearlf(;lt, soul-stirriuL,"' w(.'lcome, to the man whom thi^' delii^dit to hoiKjr." In January, 1S46, when seveiity-cMi^ht years of aj^^e, he took part in the j^reat debate on the Orei^on cpiestion, dis|)layinLj intellectual vit^or, and an extent anil accurac)' of accpiaintance with the subject, which excited threat admiration. At the close of the session, on th(j 17th of November, he; had an attack of i)aralvsis whih.- walkiuLf in the strei;ts of lioston. I le, however, so far recove-red, that he soon resumed his official duties in W'ashins^ton. As he entered the house on the' i6th of Feliruary, 1S47, for the first time since his illness, t.-vi^ry member instincti\ely rose in token of respect; and Ijy two mem b('rs he was formally coikIucUhI to his s(;at. After this, though constantly present, he took little part in the tlebates. It has been said of Mr. Ailams, that when his body was bent and his hair silvereil by the lapse of fourscore years, he was accustomed to repeat every night, before he slept, the prayer which his mother taught him in his infant years. TluM'e is great moral bi;autv in the aspect of the venerable, world-worn states- man, folding his hands and repeating, in the simplicity and sinct;rity of child- hood, the wortls ; — " X(i\v I hiy nic duwu to slccji, I pray tlie Lord my soul to keep; If I should die liefore I wake, I jiray tlie Lord uiy soul to lake." On the 3 I St of February, 184S, he rose on the lloor of Congress, with a paper in his hand, t<^ addnjss the s[)(;aker. Suddenly he fell, again stricken by paralysis, and was caught in the arms of those around him. P'or a time he was senseless, as he was conveyed to a sofa in the rotunda. With reviving con- sciousness he opened his eyi^s, looketl calmly around, and said, "T/iis is the last of earth r then after a moment's pause, he added, " / am content." These were his last words. llis family were summoned to his side; and in the apart ment of the s|)eaker of the house, beneath the dome of the Capitol, — the theatre of his labors and his triumphs, — he soon breathed his last. The voices of denunciation were now hushed, and all parties united in tributes of honor tt) one of the purest patriots, and one of the most distinguished statesmen, America has produced. HENRY CLAY, POPULAR HBRO, I'^VTRIOT. AXID STATIiSM AN. /rril the close of tlie iL;re;it civil war in 1S65 disap- [jearc'd from our politics the L^rc.'it problem which foi half a century hail absorljcd the attentioii and tasked the aliilities of American statesmen 'rhrouu;hout that period there was always one overshadowini;' subject. W'hate'ver other ques tions ot domestic policy came up, — tariff, currency, internal improvements, State rights, — they wi;rc always subordinate to the main (piestion, how to ])reserve the Union and slavery toL;(;ther. .Some, like Calhoun, were ready to al)andon the Union to sav<; slavery; others, like (iarrison, were ready to abandon the L'nion to destroy slavery; but between th(;se extrtMiie.s stood a L;reat body of able and patricjtic statesmen, who loved a!ul prized the Union above all else, and who. to sa\'e it, would make any sacrifice, woukl join in any compromise. At the head of these, for more than fifty years, towered the threat figure of Henry Clay. Not often tlo('s a man whose life; Is spent in puri:ly civil affairs become such a popular liero and idol as did Clay — especially wIkmi it is his fate never to reach the hiL^h* \)h\cr. in th(; people's gift. " Was there ever," says Parton, "a public man, 1. ' at the head of a state, so liehjved as he ? Who ever heard such cheers, so hearty, distil. :t .and riiiL^ini;', as those which his name evoked.'' Men shed tears at his defeat, and women went to l)ed sick from pure sympathy witli his disappointment. 1 le couUl not travel during- the last thirty \ :u :, of his life, but onl\' make //-(^'77>\u'.s'. Wdieii he left home the i)ul)lic sei/eil him and bore him along o\-er the land, the committee of one .State passing him on to the committee of another, ami the hurrahs of one town dying a^'"\y as those of the next caught his ear." One evidence of his popularit\' Is the great number of children named in his honor. Aw l-'ngllsh woman traveling in .America during the I'resitlential canxass of i.'^44 writ(,'S that at least three-fourths of all the boy bailies liorn in that \'ear mrist ha\e been named for 1 bnry Clay. " Vacu now, more than thirty years after his death," says Carl .Scluirz, writing In 1SS6, " \vc may hear old men, who knew him in the days of his strength, speak of him II 177 1/8 IIIiXRV CLAY. with an cMithiisiasm and affection sci warm and fresh as to con\ince us that the recoihiction ot having;- followed his U'atlershii) is amonL;' the ileart:st treasurc-s of their mcMnory. " Ilenry Clay was horn in 1 lano\(;r county, near Richmond, X'ir^inia, in cjne of the darkest tlays of the Re\ohition, — the year of 1777; the year of the battles f)f ih-andywinc; and ( it-rmanlown, before y('t the i^lad news of liur^oyne's sur- render had come to cheer the hearts of tht; stru-'-lini^' colonists. His father, a poor I'aptist preacher, dit:d when Henry was four years old, leaving- a wif(' and seven cliildren. 'I'here is a stor\- that while his body was lyin^- in tlu- house, a party ot ilritish cavalry made a rait! throu-h th'> neiohborhootl, and left on Mrs. Clay's tabh; a handhil of silver to pay for some pronert\' the\- had taken ; but that as soon as they were ^one. even in her poNerly and .L;rief the spirited woir.an sw(;pt tlu; money from the table and thriiw it in the fireplace. Cla\-'s boyhood was that of the t_\i)ical "self-made man," — a time; of hard laljor, po\-erty, and small opportunities. "We catch our In-st glimpse of the boy when he sat in a little Iol;- school-housc', without windows or lloor, one of a hummin-- score ot shoeless boys, wher(' a L;-ood-natured, irritable, drinkinc- English schoolmastfM- taught him to read, write, antl cipher as far as Practice. This was the only school he ever attended, and that was all he learned at it. 1 lis widowed mother with her seven youni;- children, her little farm, and two or three slaves, could do no more for him. Next, we see him a tall, awkward, slender striplinL; of thirtec'n, still barefoot, clad in homespun l)utternut of his mother's makint^-, tilling;- lu^r fields, and .L^oin^ to mill with his ba^- of corn strapped u|)on the family pony." At fourteen, in the year \-r<'(l cliild. t!ic most iiiii([uc and adiniraljlt; was his voice. 'Hicrc was a tlc[)th ot tone in it, .1 \-ohinu', a compass, a rich and tender liarni(jn\', wliicli imcsted all hv said with maiesty. I'arton w I'ites that he heard it last wlvn Clay was an old man, i)ast sext-nty ; and all hi; said was a tew words of acknoul- edL,;-meiit to a i^Toiip of ladies in the lar^'est hall in Philadelphia. "lie spoke only in the ordinary tone of comt'rsation ; bnt his xoice filled the room as the or^an fills a threat cathedral, and th(- ladies stood spellbound as the swelliiiij;' catlences rolled about the vast apartment. We ha\-e heard much of W hiteileld's pierciiiL;- x'oice and Patrick Henry's silvery tones, but we cannot belit'xe that either oi those natural orators ])osscsscd an or^an su[)erior to C hiN's majestic bass. No one who e\-er ln'ard him speak will timl it dilficult to believe what tradition reports, that Ik; was the |)eer- ](;ss star of the Richmtmd DcbatiiiL;' .Societ}' in 1 7^5," Ihit he soon disco\ert'd that these; L;ifts would not L;et him a i)ayinn' practice as an attorne\' in Richmond so cpiickly as he desircnl : and as liis mother and step-father h.id removetl to Kentucky in 1792, he resoKed to follow tliem to thi; western wilds, and there " t;ro'\v up with the country. " 1 le was in his twenty- tirst year when he left Richmoiul, with his license to practice as an attorney, but with little else, in his pocket. A tall, plain, |)oor, frieiulless youth was youiiL;' 1 lenry Clay, when he set up in Lexington, and announced himselt a candidate for practice as an attorney. He had not even the means of paxinL,^ his board, "I remem])er," he said, in a speech in 1S42, "how comfortal)lc 1 thouL;ht I should be if 1 couKl make /"lOO, X'iri^inia money, per year; anil with what ilelinht I received my tirst fifteen-shillinu- lee. My hopes were mori; than ri'ali/eil. 1 immediately rushed into a lucrative j)ractice." Less than two xc.u's after his arrival at L(;xin^ton, in .\pril, i7()<). Clay had achicvetl a ])osiiion sufticiently secure to ask tor and to obtain the haml ot '..ucretia Hart, the daughter of a m.m of hi^h character and prominent staniliiiL; in the .State. .She was a \'<'r\' estimable woman, and a most devoted wife to him. His prosperity increased rapidly : so that soon he was able to purchase Ash- land, an estate of some si.\ hundred acres, near Lexington, which afterward became famous as 1 lenry Clay's home. l8o JJEXRY CLAY. Durlns^- the first thirtcMMi years of Henry Clay's active lif; as a politician, he appears only as the c-li>([uent champion of the policy of Mr. jetter^on, whom he esteemed the first and liest of living- men. After deft.-ndin!:^ him on the stump andaidini^- him in the Kentucky Lej^islature, he was sent in i Soo, when scarcely thirty, to till lor one term a seat in the Senate of the United Slates, made \acant by th(.- rcsiL^nalion ot one of the Kentucky .Senators. ReturniuL;' home at tlie end of the session. In- re-eiUercxl the Kentucky I .e^islalure. In support lit rre-^ideiu |et- lersoii's policx' ot niui-inter- cours(; \vilh the- warrin;^ nations of Juirope, who were preyin;^- upon Anieric:an com- merce, Mv. Ckiy proposed th.it memhers ot the Legis- lature should liind them- selves to wear nothing- that was not ot American manu- facture. A federalist mem- ber, i;^norant of the tact that tin; retusal of the people to use f)r(ML;ii imports had caused the repeal (~»1 the .Stamp Act, anil would ha\'e postponed the Re\-olution but fir the accident at Lexington, denounced Mr. Clax's proposition as the act ot a dema^'OL^iK'. Cla\' chal- lenged this ill-inf )rmed gen- tleman, and a ilutd resulted, in which two shots were (;.\- chaii'_;('d, anil !ioth antau^onists were slii^htK' wounded. Idected aL;aiii to the .Sen;itt; for an une.\piri.'(l term, he re appearetl in that body in iSuy, and sat (.liiriiii;' two sessions. Mr. Clay's public lite proper be;;;ui in Xovcmber, iSii, as a nu-mber of the Ibiuse of Kepresentatixes. lie was immediateb' elected speaker by the war pari)-, by the decisi\e majorit)- of thirty-one. lie was then thirty-four years of a-e. AN i'l.l> ViK CI. AY AS SP/:AK/-.R. iSi It is aj^M'ccd that tn ] Icnr\' C la\', Speaker of the 1 louse i.^'i Represeiitativi'S, more thn the lloor of the house', Mr. Clay wa.s often impetuous in discussion, and delighted to relieve th<' tedium of debate, and modif\' the bitterness of antag- onism, bv a sportive jest or livelv re[)artee. ( )n one occasion, ( ieneral .Smythe of \'ir'dnia, who often attlictetl the house; bv tin; tirvness and verbositx' of his haranL,^ues, hatl paused in the miiklle of a s|)eech, which seemed likely to endure; forever, to send to the library for a book from which he wished to note a jkis- .saL^c. I'ixinL;' liis eye on Mr. Cla\', hi; obser\ed the Kt'iitucki.in writhing;' in his seat, as it liis patience had already l)eei'> exhaustinl. " \'ou, sir," remarked Smvthe, addressini^' him, " speak for the present ^eiier.ition : but I speak f >r posterity." " Yes," said Clay, "an- tlic ih'strict. Mr. Clav <-ncouiitfi-cd an old hiintci-, who li id alwax's licfori; lui-ii his wai'iii h'inul, hut was ikjw o[)i)osrd lo his ri--clcction oil account ol the C'oiii|)(M"isation Hill. " 1 la\(,' you a ^jood rillr. ip,\- iVicud?" asked Mr. Claw " \ Cs," "1)1(1 it <'\cr llasli ? " " < )iic(; onK," he rcplicil. *' W hat did \'ou do with it. — throw it awav ^ " " Xo ; I [mht'd tlii- llint, tried it aj^ain, and lirouL;ht down the ^anie." " I laxc I ever lla-^hed, but upon the Coni- peiisation ISill?" " Xo ! " "Will \'ou throw im- away?" "Xo, no!" cw- claimed the hunter with c;nthusiasni. ncarU' overpowered li\- his feelinL;s ; "I will pick the llint, and try you ai^ain ! " He was ever afterward a w.irm sup- porter of .Mr. Clay. Illi: 1 AMolS "MlsSoriU roMl'|MM|>i:," In March, iSiS, a petition tor the' admission of Missouri into the I'nion was pres(;nted in Congress ; and then lie^^an that lon^;' and hitter itru:^^le over sla\ery, which, after convulsing' the countrv fo'- nearlv half a centurv, was iin.dlv ended on the hanks of the .\|)poniatto\, in iSoi. " .Xo -,ooner had the dehate bt^Li'nn," says .Schur/, "than it became clear that the [)hilosophical anti-slavi'ry sentiment of the rex'olutionai'y [)eriod had entirelv I'eased to have aiiv inlluence upon current thoueht in the .South. i'lie abolition of the foi-ei'^ii slav(? trade' hail not, ;is had been hoped, pre|)aretl the wa\- for the abolition of slaverv or weakened the slave interest in any sense. ( )n the contrarv, slaverx' IkuI been immenselv streiiL^thened bv an economic development makiu'^- it more priMita])le than it ever hatl been betore. '\'\\r. invention of the cotton e-in bv j'di W hitney, in 179,;, had made the culture; of cotton a \-er\' productivi; source of wealth. In l>^i)0 th(; t'.\[)ortation oi cotton ti'om the I nited .States was 10,000,000 pounds, \'alued at 55,703, ojo. In iSj(j the \alu<,' of the cotton export was nearlv .S20,- 000,000, almost all of it the |)roduct of slave labor. I'he value of slaves maybe said to have at least trebled in twenty years. The breedin-- of slaves became a pro'"itable industry. I'nder such circumstances tlu; slavehoMers arrived at the conclusion that slavery was by no means so wicked and hurtt'ul an institution as theii- revolutionary fathers had thouL;ht it to be. dhe anti-slavery professions ol the revolutionary time bt cime to them an awkw.ard reminiscence, which they would have lieen ^lad to \vi|)e from their own and other peo|jle's memoric^s. ( )n the other hand, in the Xorthern .States there- was no suc'i change of feeling,''. Slavei'y was still, in the nature of things, believed to be a wron^;' and a sore, 'rh(! chane(; of sentime-nt in the .South had not )'et |)roduced its rellex in the North. Till' slavery cpu'stion IkuI not become a subject of difference (jf o[)inion 77//: .S7..//7-.A'l' 0(7:S7/iK\\ iSi and iif roiitfoNcrsy aiiKMi;^" llir Xorllicni pi'ipic. As tin-)' liad aliolishnl sla\t'r_\' in ihi'ir States, so tlv\' took it lur i_;raniril that it oii^lit to (lisappcir. and woulil tlisa|)[)cai' in linv-, cxciA'ulii'i-c ('1st:. Sla\('r\' had indcc d, now and then, a-^sertctl itself in the discussions ol Coii'^ress as a distinet inter-'st, hut not in such a \va\" as to arouse much alarm in the iVc'e States. 'I'he amep.dment to the Missouri Hill, [iroxidiiiL^- lor a restriction with re^^ard to slaverv, came tiicrefore in a ])c'r- CectK' natural wa\' from that .Xorlhern seiitime-nt wliiih remained still laidilnl to the traditions ol the re\-olutionary period. .Xii'i it was a .i^i'eat surprise to most Northern peoiilc that so natui'al a i)ro|)o-,ition should In: so ln.'rceK' resistcij on 'ItKMIKb IN ill!'; lil.ri. l.KA.i.T Kl.i.MN Ol KI-NTCCKY. the part of the South. It was the sudden re\e]atioii of a chanL^c of feeling" in the South which the Xorth had not obscrvt;d in its progress. ' The discussion of this Missoiu'i question has hi'tras'ed the secret of tln'ir souls,' wrote John ( )uincv Adams. The shueholders watched with apprehension the; steady o;rowth of the free .States in po[)ulation, wealth, and power. In i 791) the popula- tion of the two sections had been nearly even. In 1S20 titere was a difference of over Goo.oc^o in favor of thi; XcM'th in a total of less than ten millions. In 1790 the representation of the two sections in Congress had been about evenly balanced. In 1S20 the census promised to gi\e the Xorth a preponderance <>♦ 1 84 H/:XRY CLAY. more tlian thirty votes in tlio House of Representatives. As tlie slaveholders had no lon^^cr the ultimate extinction, IniL now the ptM'petuation, of sla\ery in view, the ([uesti()n of sectional power became one of tirst importance to them, and with it the necessity of having,'' more slave States for the pur[)ose of main- tainini^'' the political ecpiilibrium, at least in the Senate'. A strui^^le for more slave States was to them a struL'Lile for life. 'Ihis was the true si''nificance of the Missouri ([ueslion." The famous " Missouri Compromise," by which the ominous dispute of 1820 was at last s<;ttlcxl, included the admission of one frc;e Slate (Maine) and one sla\ e State (Missouri) at the same time; — a precedent which it was uniler- stood woukl be thereafter followed ; and it was enacted that no other sla\e State should be formed out of any of the Louisiana or " Northwest territory" norlli of latitude 36^ 30', which was the southern boundary liiu; of Misst)uri. The absent of opposing' ])arties to this arranL;ement was secureil largely by tlie patriotic efforts of Clay, who, says Schurz, "ditl not conline himself to speech(.'s, . . . but went from man to man, e.\[)OstulatinL;', beseeching, persuadinj;', in his most winning- way. . . . His success added t^n-eatly to his rei)utation and ^ave new strength to his influence." The; result, savs lohn ( )uincv Adams, was "to brinir into full display the talents and resources and influence of Mr. Cla\'." lb; was praised as "the yreat pacificator," — a character which was contirmeLl l)y the deeds of his later life. During'' his lony; tern.i in the House of Re[)resentatives, Cla\- had the misfortune to incur the hatred of General Jackson, — a hatred which, once roused, was implacable. The only L;rounil for Jackson's ill-will was found in proper criticisms Ijy Clay of his public acts ; but to lackson ikj criticism was proper ; and from that time forward hatretl of Clay became one of Jackson's leadinij; motives, actually determininL,^ his course in many of the most important acts of his public life;. In 1S25 it leil to an attack which profoundly affected the political history of the time, as w('ll as the career of 1 lenry Clay. The presidential election of 1^24 L;a\-e no one of the candidates a maiority of the electoral votes. lackson had ciy votes, Adams 84. Crawford 41. and Clay 37. Untler the Constitution this result made it necessary for tlie 1 louse of Representative's to choose the President from amftn^' the thre<,' candidates havim^" the largest number of xotes. Clay was .Speaker of the House; ; antl as his inlluence at this time was \(;ry L;reat, it was at once perceiv(;d that he hatl it practically within his power to decide th(; choice ; and the friends of both lack- son and Crawfonl l)i;L;an to pa\" assiduous court to him. He howcvr-r ])romptlv declared his intention of usin:,;- his inlluence; to secure the; choice; of Adams ; whereupon the Jackson parly, a few days l)e;fore the election, prblicly accused him of having; sold his inlluence to Adams imder a "corrupt bars^ain," by which Clay was to be given the Secretaryship of State in payment for making- Adams THE COMPROMISI-. TARIFF. 1S5 President. Atlanis was Clay's natural i-hoicc, and it was altogether fittin^f and proper that Clay should tt" what st-emed a ])r()phecy was almost irresistible, and it IkuI a trt.'meiulous and most darnaLjinL;' eticct. i'or years the cr)- of "bar- gain and sale" was ne\-er allowed to drop. History has shown that no charge was ever more com[)lelely untounded. It appears to ha\t' been a deliberately concocted shunler ; yet, in spite ot e\-ery detense, the injur)' to Clay's reputa- tion and siibsecpient caretM" was very great. In 1S29, Jackson succeeded to the I'residenc)'. and for a short season Clay returned to -private; life in his l)eautiful Kentucky hi.uie ; but he; was not long to remain there : iniS:;i he was again elect(;d to the .Senate, where he nMiiained until 1S42. Thev were stormy years. In .South Carolina the opposition to the protectixe taritV had led to tin; promulgation of tlu; lamous "nullification" theory. — the (.loctrine that any .Stat(; had the power to declare a law of the United .States null and void, [ackson. whose anger was thoroughl\' aroused, dealt with the; rexolt in summary fashion ; threatening that if any n-sistance to the government w;is attempted, he would instantly ha\e the leaders arrested and brought to trial for treason. Xe\-erth('less. to allay the discontt;nt of the South, Clay de\iseiit into tin; piilitics ofthc tiim; li.ul mine ,1 iii:\v factor — the " I.ihcrly parly." 'This had liccii liiiliciio coiisid.TtMl ii!iiin| 'ortaiU ; bill the [iroposcMl annexation of Tex, IS, uliii'h hill licioMii: a prominent ([iiestion, was opposed liy many in the North uhe had hidnito xoled with the Whi- party. Clay was a sla\ >:hoKli!r; and thoiiL;h lu: had opposed the extension of slavery, liis ri'i'ortl was not satis- tai'tor\' to those who di->appiM\i'd ot tln' ainiexation ot Texas, liy letters and speeches he eiuleaNoreil to eoncili.ile theni ; ])ut he was hetween two hres ; ho did not succeed in secnriiiL; their adherentc uiiile his eilorts to do so lost hini the support of niaiu' uith whom aniii'xation was popular. 1 hen, too, his old enemy, Jackson, from his seclusion at the " 1 li'miita'^c," wrote letters re\i\in!jf th<' old " bargain and corrup- tion " story of I Sjs. liy an audai ious fraud, !iis opponents pose(l in I'ennsyKania as the frifivU of protection, and the cry of •• Polk, Dallas, and th.: tariff of 1S42 1" was made to do duty against him. As the campaign proL^ressed, th(; more clear- siL;hted anion^' his friiMids. in spite of his immense ])opukirity, liei^an to feel somewhat less cer- tain of the result. Ihit while tlu; manaL;'<'rs noticed the atKcrse current, the masses of the; W hi.i^ part}' llrml\- expected success to tin; \(r\' last. It seemed imi)os- sihle to them that Henry (.lay could Ix; deieatiHl hy [ames K. I'olk. k'.verythinL;- depentled on New \'ork. The rt'turns fix)in the interior of the State came in slowly. I'here seem<'il to he still a possihilitN' that hea\y W hi^;" majorities in tlie western counties mi^ht oxcrcome the larL;e 1 )eniocratic \'ote in the eastern. I ho tUspiMise was painful. People did not u;o to l.u'tl, watching- for the mails. When at last th(' (Ux'isi\-e news went forth whicii left no douht of the result, the \\'hi_Ljs broke out in a wail of a^ony all o\-er the land. " It was," says Nathan .Sargent, " as if the firstdjorn of e\<'ry family had been stricken down." The descriptioiis we hav(,' of the ij^rief manifested ari; almost incnnlible. lears ilowed in abund- ance from the <'yes of men and women. In the cities and vilki'i;es the lousiness ^)laces were almost d.eserted for a dia\- or two, people gatherins^' together 10 JAMKs K. rni.K. r/.\'.!.vr/AL TKi^rrj.iis. is; j;roii[)S to discuss in low tones what had li;i|i|)i'niil. Xiiihcr didi thf \ i( lorious Dcnioi rats inihilL^c in the uiual dcnioiistralions ol'li-inin|)li. I hire was a InHn^ as if a i^rcal wi-on;^- had \n-f\\ done, 'Ihr \\'lii-s wn- tairly stunned 1)\' their defeat. Man\' despaired of the i'<'iiiil)lir, sim erel\- hehev iu:^. that tiie <-\|)erinient ol populai* L;o\crninent had fnled |ore\er. AhnoNt all aLM'eed tliat tin; L;reat stalesnieii ol the countr\' would thenceloiMh alu.i\ s reui.iin I'xciudi'd h'oin the pi'esideiuy, .iild ih It the highest ollic't: would he the pri/e- oid\' of second iMtu politicians. nuriii:;- tJKj autumn and early part of the \\Int<'r of i.Spj-; L'la\' reniaiiud at Ashland. rec(;i\'inL,'' and an-;werin'_;- a llood of letters h'oni all jiaits of tlu: I'nitcil .St. lies, and e\-en from luirope, which coin e\cd to hiiu expressions of coiid(»lence and symp.ith)'. I'rixate cares had meanwhile ;4athered, in addi- tion to his public disappointments. lie had lor some time been hihoriiiLj unilcM' eiTcat pecuniary emharrassment, owin^^ |)artly to the dialls which arc always made upon the purst; of a prominent public man, p,iril\- to the business failure of om; of his sons. Aside from other |)ressinL;' debts, there was a hea\v mort^aiL^c restin;^" on .\shland. and. as an old man of si\t\' se\-en, Cla)' I'ound liimself i'orced to consider whether, in order to satisfy his creditors, it would not \)(: necessarv to part with his beloxcd home;. Relief came to him suddenU'. and in an unexpected form. When olferint,^ a payment to tin- bank at Le.xiiieton, th(; president informed him that sums of mont^y had arri\t;d from ditterent parts of the country to pa\' off Ileiiry Clay's debts, and that all th(; notes and the mortt;aL;x; were' canceled. Clay was deeplv mo\-ed. " Who did this?" he asked the banker. .\11 the answer h(M"ec(Mved was that the L,n\'ers were unknown, but they were? presumably "not his (Miemies." Clay doubted whetlier he should accept the ;4it"t, and consulted some of his friends. They reminded him of the many persons of historic rtmown who luid not refused tokens of admiration and t^rratitude from their countrymen ; and added that, as hl- A • r I III UN II \N I I K. \w^ excitement, if disruption were to be avoided. In such an emergency it was natural that all eyes shoukl turn to the "i^reat pacificator," Henry Clay. When, at the session of iS49-'5o, he appeared in \.\\v. .Senate-, to assist, if possible, in removing the sla\crv (piestioii from ])olitics. Clay was an infirm and serious, but not sad. old man ot se\enlv-two. lie never lost his cheerfulness; or f.iith, but he hit deeply lor his distracted countr\-, I )urin!,.;' that memorable session of ConL,M"ess he s|)oke sc'venty times. ( )ften extremely sick and feeble, scarce!)- able, with the assistanct^ of a friend's arm. to climb the steps of the Cajjitol. he was never absc'iit on the days when the Compromise was to l)e debated. On the morning on which he began his great speech, he was accoin- 77//; CA'/S/S CV- /S,-o. 189 panici.l 1)\- ;i clerical friend, to whoin he saiil. on reaching- tlie l"ii^' iHl^Iu of steps leailiii:^ to the Capitol, " W ill yoii Uiul mr your arm. uw friend .■' for 1 find my- self ([iiit«_; weak and exhausted this moriiiiii;." I'.\ir\' few step^ he was ol>li;_;eil to stop and lakt; breath. " Had you not hitler defer \'our ^pee^h ? " asked the clergyman. " My dear friend," said the dyini; orator, "1 consider our country in dan^fr; and it 1 can lie the means, in any measure, of axeriiiiL;' that dan^^fr, mv health or life is of little conse(|uence." When he n^e to speak, it was but too c;\ident that he was unfit for the task he liad undertaki'H. lUit as het kindled with his siihiect. his couL;h left him. and his lieiit form resumed all its wonted erectness and maiesty. 11-' ma\', in tin- prime of his sti'en^th. ha\(; spoken with more enerL;\', but nexcrwith so nun h patlv'S or '.grandeur, ills speech lasted two da\s ; and though he li\-ed two years lon:_^cr. li<' nexcr recov- ered from the c tfects of the ettort. I'he thermometer in tin- .S my nnnitry ; the thirt\' ,States are my country ; Kentucky is my country, and \ ir^iinia, no more than an\' State in the Tnion." .\nu:,'ht at I.«-\itiu;ti'ii ; anJ like iimsl ot tin' |iatriiiis ot' that day. had a lar^*: faniiiy tn Miiti>iii"l and e>J:ical«; till ills !•(!( k\- New I lani]ishir<' taian. I >ani<-l wa-- th'- yiniii:_;cst <>t ten chii'Irt-n. .ind hk<- the nst, was carh put l'> work. H«- was iniriiscly tniul ot IxMiks. \\'h<-t a Iol;'. and whih; ih'- saw was L;<'iiii; ihroiii^h it, windd d(\i)ur a ln»<>k. 'Ih<-r«.- was a small iir(ii- i.uiii;.: library in tin; \illa^i', and 1 )anii'l r( .id i\crytiiin.,Mt ck and _;rcat dark cm-s, to com«- il>i«- to them with all thcj f>>rc«- of his chililish elo(|nence. I >ani<-rs aliilities ,is a \>n\- in man\' ways :.;a\e promise nt his tuture u;r"at- ne-.-;. Hi-, powers ot meinors' were, all throii._.h lite. mo-,t extraonhnarx'. llis t»-a her iiscil to tell ot om- ot th.e t,u ts ot his M:ho<oy days. ••( )n a .Satur- ii.iv 1 r<-inenilier," says the am ieiil peilai^oi^^ui:. " I h«:l«l uj* a liandsojiie new pack-knilV- to tin; scholars, and said that tin- hov who would commit to memo|-\' th'- _:ri-atest numhcr ot' \crses in the liiMe l.y Monday niornin- slnuild ha\e it. ' ' - of tile Iioys did well : liiit when it rami- to I )aniei> tarn to recite, 1 tonnd lh..\i he- h.id committed so much, that, alter heariri:^ liim re]. eat some sixty or strvcniv verses. I was oMij^cd to L;i\'e u\). — \v telling,'' nv- that there were st-:\/uf/ chjipitr^ yet to recite, that he had learned. I )aniel !^'oi that jack-knite." The story of the sacrifices made li\- the whole familv in order that the l)o\s mi,:ht \m- ediicati'd, hears tiuuhinL;;" witness to the family afl'ection and iniitv. W^H'-n fourteen. 1 )aniel was sen! to Phillip-, IvMter Academy, and in tin- follow- '"> yc-ar he entered 1 )artmout]i C"olle-<-. iSy teachin-^ school in vacation he mahury. New 1 iam]>shire. In r s- '4- to ]ie a L,dant ; that, at least, is the word ue mo-,t commonly find applied t(j htm: and there is no better proof ot his wonderful impressiveness than this fact, tor he was not a man of extraordinary statur<;. He was five feet ten inches in height anil, in health. weiL^hed .1 little less than two hundred pounds. Th'-'st; ///.s / V: A'.V( \y. 1 1. .1/. \<;M: I ism. •95 arc \\v i)r(i|)i)rtii)ns of ;i l,ii':^i' niaii, luit tlvn- i-> noihin:;- rnn.irkalili- alu mt llnin. W <• mu^t liMik clsiwhi re ih.m to ini-n- -^i/i- tn discox cr \\\\\ ini . 1 li-, xoic c was in hariMoii\- w ith 1 ,\Ni III. mil, ii"- :"N, will' II w 1 r-i I K l \; 1 1 1' •• iiii. v k.m.i.i. >•!■ i.ii.i k i ^ . his a|i|ii-ai'ancc'. It was low and musical in con\iTsation ; in drliali- ii was hi;^li but lull, rinL;ini4' out in moiU'iit-^ of cKciti-nifiU like a clarion, and tlnii sinking' to di<|) Holes with thi; .solemn riihness of or^^an tones, while the woi^K wei'i; accom]Mnied by a manner in which grace and (.liL;iiity min:_;led in comiilete accortl. ' That indefinable ([uality which we tall personal magnetism, tlie power of ini[)rt'ssin^- by one's personality e\iry human beiii:;' who comes n<'ar. w,is at its heij^ht In Mr. Webster. 1 le never, lor instance, punished his childn'ii, but when thev did wroiiij- he would send for them and look at them silentK', The look. 196 j'.ix/hi. wi:/!srhR. whcthtT of sorrow or ;inL;<'r, w.is punishment ;nnl n-biikt- fnou^^h. It was th« same witli otlu-r iliildrcii. I)aiiitrii( lion in 1.S14. I'lu' .iiKluMut.', \\lifii tlic < a^c < anic on, was thcnlori' small, inn--isiinj,' ch icily of k'jial men. llic r/i/r of tlio profi'ssioii tliroiij^hoiit the ( (iuntr\'. .Mr. Wiiisiiv ciUiTcd n|ion his arj^nnicnt in liuM.ilni tniio of ca-.\ and digni- fied nver>.ition. wlm h ran thronuhout the j;reat body of his s]>ee ,ir,i.'nment, 1 had observed that Jndi;e .Story, at the openiiiL; of the case, had jirepared him-.ell', pen in h.ind. ,t^ if to take copious minutes. Hour alter hour I saw him fi.xed in the s.ime attitude, but. so tar as I (niild perceive, with iKit a note on his pa|ier. The ar,L;uinent c los(.-d. ami I could not dixover that he had taken a sin.:;le note. ()tluTs around me remarked the same ihiiiL; ; and it w.is amon_' the ini i/i/< of W'.isliin.Ljton. that a I'riend spoke to him of the tact with surprise, when the jud^'e rem, irked ; " I'.verv tiling vvas so ( lear, and so e,isy to remember, th.it not a note seemed necessary, .md, in fai I, 1 th'HiLiht little or nothiiiji about my notes." 'I'lu; ,irLrument ended, Mr. Webster stood t"or some moments silent liel'on- the (o'irt, vvhile cverv eve was tixed intentlv uiioii him. .\t leni,'th, addressing; the Chief justice, .M,irsh,ill, he proceeded thus : "This. sir. is mv ( a>e ! It is the case, not merely of tli.it humble institution, it is the ( a^e of every lolleue in orr l.md. It is more. It is ihe c ,ise of I'verv eleeinosvnary institution tlirou:;h- oiit our lountrv : of all those j^'ie.U c harities founded bv the I'ietv of our ancestors to allevi.ite human misery, and s(atter Messinirs aloiiu the pathway of life. It is m ire ! It is. in some sense, the case of cverv man amoiiL; us who has property of which he may be stripped : for the question is simply this: Shall our .St.ite Leiiislaiures be allowed to take that which is not their own. 10 ttirn it from its orit;inal u^e, and apjily it to sue h ends and purposes as thev. in their discretion, shall see fit. " Sir. yon may destroy this little institution ; it is weak ; it is in voiir hands! I know it is one of the les^ r lights in the literary hori/.on of our country. \'ou mav i>ut it out. liut if you do THE IKIRTMOITII CO 1. 1. EC E ARC.rMEXT. lo; BO, yriii inii-t i ar-v ilinm^li \(iur wnrk ! N'mi iniht i'\liiiL;iii--l), 'MU' iiricr aiiniluT, .ill iIupnc j;ri\it lights <'!' s< ii-in c whiib. I'nr mure than a (cnturv. \\a\v tlirown llu'ir ladiaiKc omt tmr land. •' It IS. Mr. a^ I !i.i>c ^.lul. a Mii.iil < (ilii'j,'i'. Ami \ct, ihcri' ari' tliuM.' whd Iom' it " Hrri' till' liTiiH;:" uhii h 111' liacj thus I'ar sue i cciUil in ki't'iMnj.; ilmwi liiukc liitih. Ili^lipN (|iiivfrf(i ; hi~ lirni i luik-. tnnilikd with rniutidn ; his I'u^ wiTi' rilKd with Il•.ll^ ; hi-> nuk i' ( hukni, ami he MCined »irn;;L;lint; to the utninst siniplv to Li.iin that mastery n\er hini^elt' \vlii( h nii^lil s,i\o hini from an unmanly Imr-t ut" iVelinj;. I wdl nut anrm|it to ,i;i\e \oii the lew liroken word> of lemierne-" in whii h he went <>n to speak of hi-, .iti.u hment to the collej.;!'. The whole seiined to l)e nnn^^led tlirou):h(iut with the recoilee lions of lather, motiier. brother, and all the trials and pri\.itions throuj.'ii uhi. h he h.nl made his way into hie. K\ery one saw that il wa> wholly unpre- meditated, a pressure on lii> heart wlinh souyht relief in words and te.ir>. The ( (iiirirooMi. durinu the^e two or three minutes, presented an isir.iordinary spei i.ii le. ("hief JiiNtne M.irshall. with his tall, uaiint fi.,'ure i)ent o\-er a> if to c .it( h the ^Imhlest whi^inr. the deep I'lirrows of his < heeks expanded with emotion, and e\e-. suffused with tr.us ; Mr. IusIk e W'.isli- injjton at his side, with his sm.ill and enuu i.iti'd frame, and ( oimten.ini e more like m.ul le than I ever saw on ww human l)ein_i;. le.ininj,' forward with aii e,iL;er, troiiMed look ; and the remainder iif ihe ( ourt. at the two extremities, jiressin^, as it w\Te. tow.ird .1 sin;;le |Miint. wliiU' the .iiidieme lielow were wra|'pinj: iheinsehes round in iloser folds liemalh the ln'iu h to 1 ali h e.i< li look, and cverv mo\enient of the spe.iker's tare. If a jiainter could j,'i\e iis the s( eiie on ( ,in>as — those t'orms and < ounlenam es, .uid 1 )anie! W'elisier as he iheit stood in the midst, it would he one of the mo^t toiK hin^' pi( tures in the liistory of eloi|iieiue. (Jnelhi'i},' it taiiuiit me. th.it tlu' pailuti( depends not inertly on the words uttered, hut still more cui tlu' istimate we put upon him who utters them. There v as not cuie .imont: the stri iul;- minded men ot" that as^enilih' w ho eould think it unmauh to weep, when he saw standing hefore him the m.in who had made sui h .111 aruument, nulled into the tenderness of a < hi hi. Mr. Welister had now re(o\ered his eoinposiire. and fixin;,' his e\t' lui ihe ( 'hii'f Jusiice, said, in that deep tone with whn h he sometimes thrilled the heart of an .nidiem e : — •■Sir. I know not how others may feel " (j,danein,:; at the opponents of the rnUeLie hefore him I. •• liut. lor in\ self, wlu'ii I see my Alma M.iter surrounded, like ( '.esar in the Seiuite house, hv those who are reiterating' stah upon stall. I would not, for this ri^ht h.iml, h.ue her turn to me ,iiid say. ' Ft (11 i/iiii,/iii\ III i till ■' And thou too, my son I' " lie sat down. There was a death-like stillness throui^hout the room lor some moments ; every one seemeil to he sl,iwly recoverini; himself, and coming gradually hai k to his ordinary range of thought ami feeling. As an (ir.itor. Mr. Wdisttr's most f.iinoiis speeches are the rKinniith Rock address, in 1S20. <>ii the two hundredth annixcrsary of the LaniHiiu nt" the I'll- ^rim.s : the Htinker llill Montiineiit address, in iS^s; and his speei lies in the Senate on January ;oth. 1S30, in reply to llayne, and .March 7th, 1X50,011 Clay's L"(>niproniise liill. < )f the I'lynioiilh Rock oration a olimpse is oiven in a letter written at the' time to a friend by Mr. (ieoroe 1 icknor. I le writes : — '• Fn'i/tn /■: iiiiiti:- I have run away from .1 great le\ee there Is dow ii-stairs, thriuiging in admiration roiiiid Mr. \\'el'stt.r. to tell yon u little word almiit his oration. \'(t I do not dare to trust myself ahout it. and I warn yuii beforehand that I ha\e not the least confidence in my own Opinion. His manner carried me away coni]iletely ; not, I think, that I could ha\e been so carried away if it had been a poor oration, lor of that. I ap|irehend, there 1 an be no fear. It must have iwS DAXIl.l. U'lins/HR. )"'i-ii a yr-.-at, a vi.Tv LTi-at piTfurnianre ; Ijiii wIu-tlaT it was sn alwnliitcly iinrivalcd a^ I imai^'iiiod vvhiii I was under tin. inmu'diati.' iiirtnciirc i)f his prcsciuf, tif lii>. t(inc>. hi 1ii> jocik^, I (.iniiot bu Miff tdl 1 Ikui- read it, lor it m'Cius to inc iiK rciliMe. " I \va~. iR'vi'r so c\< itfti liy |iiil)lic sjicakini.' lu'l'oro in my life. 'riiiLO or t'lHir tinie^ I tiiuii^jlit niv teniplis unuld Imr^t \\iih tlic j;tisli of Mood ; for, afu-r all, \oii niu^l know tiiat I am awaii' it is no I DMiUf t<(i anil < umiiai tal whole. Init a collection of wnnderfiil l"ra;:ments of linrniiiK eliHi'ieni e, to \\lii( h his whnle manner uave tenfold fori'e. \Vhen I ( ame out I wa^ almost airaid to c (ime near to him. it seemed to nie th.it he wa> like the motml th.it nnu'lit not lie lnu< lied, ,ind th.ii IniineU with fire. 1 was heside iii>»elf. and am so still. " 'I'he |ia^-<.i:.'e at the end. where, sjireadini; Iiis arm^ as if ti> emlir.ue them, he weleomed fiitiire generations to liu' .Me. it inherit.ime whic h we h.ue enji'\ ed. w,is >]"jken \>ith the ini'st attrac- tive sweetness, and th.it |ieeiiliar smile which in liim was alwa\s so c h.irmin^'. The effect of the while was very irreit. .\s ^mn .is he j:ot liome to oiir lodj,dn,i;^, all the priiK ipal peii|,le then in riymniith crowded aliotit him. He w.i> full of animation, and radiant with hai'iMiie'^s. Hut there w.is somethini,' alioiil him very yrand and imiio-inij at the same time. I liever >aw him at any time when he seemed to me to lie m"re coii.>tioiLs of his own jiowers, ur lo h.i\e a more true aiul natural ciijiiymcnt from their po^>e»ion." ■nii: MIMc 'K AI'.I i: " Kill N' 'in IJAVM." I'x'Vonil all (Iiiiilit. Mr. \\'sti'i-"s i^ri'.itisi ainl mn^t iTiiowiicd onitorical cit'ort was his spcinh in ri|tl\' in Rnlicrt \'. il.iNiic (d" .South L'arnliiia, ililix iTcd ill the .Senate mi ihr J^4li retdncerled action on tln' part of the .Southern nieniln-rs to jiri-.ik ilown iht; Xoriliern men, aiul to ilesiiro) their lorce and inlliieiice li\- a preinidit.ited onslaiiL;ht. " Mr. I iayne's speech w.is an eloinn-ni one. .is all know who cNcr n-.id it. He W.IS considered the toreino>i .SouiheriKr in ilel)ate. except Calhoun, who was \ ice President aiitl could not enter the arena. Mr. I ia\iie was the chainjiion of the .Southern side. Those who lieanl his sjx ich felt much alarm, for two reasons; I'irst on accoiuit ol its elo(|iieiic(; and power, and second, because of its many personaliti<'s. It w.is tlioui^ht \)\ niaiiv who lie.ird it. and by some of Mr. Webster's personal trieiids, that it was im[)()ssible tor him to answer the s[ieech. "I sharetj a little myself in that fear and apprehension," said Mr. I'^crett. "I knew from what I heard concerning:' ("leiieral 1 Iayne's speech that it was a \ ery masterb" etfort. and delivered with a L;reat deal (if power and with an air id lriumj)li. I was eii^aL^a-d on that ilay in a committee of which I was chair- man, and could not be present in the .Senate. l?iit immediately after the adiounimeiit, 1 hastened to Mr. Webster's lious(>, with. I ai.lmit. some little trepidation, not knowing- how I should find him. lUit I was (piite re-assured in a moment after seeino' Mr. Welister. and observiiio- his entire calmness. He scemetl to be as much at his case and as unmoved as I ever saw him. Indeed, Till: KIJ'LY 10 1 1, dm:. I., 9 at first I was a little afraiil iVoin this that he was not (|uitL: aware of thi- ina;^ni- tiulc of th«' CdiUi'-t. 1 ^aiil .It iiiKf : — "• Mr. 1 layne has inatle a spree h?' "'\'<-s, lie lias made .l speech.' " ' \'i'ii reply in the inrirniiiL; ?' " ' N es.' saitj Ml". W < l)->ler, • 1 do imt propose to li't the case e(i liy delaiilt. and witliotit saying; a word.' " ' I >id you take note-,, Mr. W'cli^^ter, of Mr. Ila\ne's speech.' " Mr. \\ e'l)-.ter took h'oin hi > \(sl pmket a piece ot paper .dioiit as lii.; as the p.ilin ot" his hand, and replied, •] h.ive it all: that is his speeih.' "I immediately arose," said Mr, l'.\crelt, ••.md r<'marked to him th.it I would not tli->tiirli him louL^er ; Mr. Webster ilesired me imi to h.i-^tiii as he h.id lio desire to Ik; alone ; luit 1 hli." '•nil the morning' of the memoraliK; ilay," writes Mr, l.od-f, •• tl.e Si nate chamlier wa-^ pai kerl by .m ea^cr and excited croud. |-.\( ry seat on die door and in the uialhries was occupied, and all the availaMe st.mdinj^-room w.'s tilled. The ])rotrai'teil del>.ite, conducted with so much al>ilit\' on both sides, liad e\. cited the atteiuion ot the whole counlr\', and had :^i\eii time tor the ai"r',\al ot hundreds of' iiuerest<'d spectators troin all p.u'ts ot the I nioii, and espeu.dlv from New l-aiL;land "In th«; midst ot' the hush ot" expeitation, in that dead silence which is so ])eiiili,irly oi)pressi\<' because it is jjossible oiiK" when many hum, in beiiii^s are oathired to'^( ther, Mr. \\ ebster arose. I lis personal i^randeur and his maies- i\c. calm thnil'd .dl who looked upon him. With pertei't quietness, unatlected appareiuK' by the- .umo>phi're ot intense; t'i;(;linL;' about him, he said, in a low, even tone : — " ' Mr, rroidiiit : W'Ikii tlic mariner ha-; hccn tossed for inanv {lav< in tliic k woatlicr and on an univnown M.a. lie nutiiralix a\aib liim>elf of the lirsl jiausc in ihc >b>nn, ilie i.ariic>t (^i.incc of llK'->iin. lo taii eriain iiow tar the cleineuts iiave (lri\i-n him from his true cmirse, i , el us imitate tliis iinideiKe ; and, liefoie we float farther on tlic waves of thi-. debate, refer in tlie iniiiit fruiii wliiili we departed, tiiat we nia\', at le.ist. lie uMc to conjeeture where we are imw. 1 .i>k for the re.idini: of tlic rescjlution before the Senate.' "This opening- sent'-nce was a piece of consummate art. The simple ;uk1 appropriati- ima^e. the low voice, the calm manner, relie\-ed the straineil exiite- m(;nt of the aiulience, whiih mi^^ht ha\e ended bv disconcertiiiL;' tht; speaker if it had Ijeeii maintained, ICvcry one was now at his ease : anil when the monoto- nous readini,'' of the resolution ceasetl, .Mr. Webster was master of the situation, and had his listeners in com|)I(;te control." With breathk-ss attention they tollowed him as he |)roceeded. Th(; stron_L;, masculine sentences, the sarcasm, th(; pathos, the reasoninL;, the burning; app(;als to love of State and country, tlowed on unbroken. As his feelin^^s warmed the 200 DAM EI. WlillSTER. lire cHinc into his eyes : tlK-rr was a t^ldw in his s\varth\- check ; his stroni^ fitrht arm SL'iMiicil to sufcp away rt^sistlcssly the whoU' ph.ilanx ot his opponents, ami the ilcep and niehxlious cadences of his \oice soiindetl ni<<' harnionions or^an tones as the\' liUed the chamber witli tlit-ir music. Who that ev(,-rread or heard it can forLjct the; closing- passai^c of that L;lorious speech? '• When iii\ c)c> >hall lie tiirnoil hi licliokl tor tlic l,i>t lime llio Miii in he;ueii, iiKiy I not see liiii\ sliininu on ll'c hr.ikcn and (li^honDri'd iVau'incnls of a nine L;liiri(.us I'ninn ; on Slates dis- >r\t'it,'il. (lisidiilant, liclliucrcnt ; mi ;i land rent with cisil tends, or dreni lied, it ni.u lie, in tValernal liliMid ! I,el llieir last. leeMe and lini^erinL; i;lance lieluild radier the uloridu^ en^i^n nf the re|nil)lic, niiw kiKuvn and hundred ilirniiulKinl the earth, still lull lii:.;h advanced, its arms and trii]ihies >ireamini; in their i>ri^;inal Instre, not a stripe er,t>ed !irli nii-eiahle interro^,uor\' as, W'iiiU is all tilts w.iitii f or tho^e other words of delusion and loll\-, I,i:>,-itv first, lUiJ [')ii,'ii ajt,-r:^',irji ; Imt e\eryu here, sjiread all over in characters ot" living li^hl, blazing on all its ample folds, as they lloat over the >e,i and over the lantl, that other sentiment, ilea:- to evcrv true .\meruan heart. — I.ii'.kkiv and I'mdn', NOW .\NU lUKt.VEK. ONK .\Nl) INSKI'.VK- AiiLK ; " As the last words ilied away into silence, thost- who had lis- tened looked woiul(M'inol\' at each other, tlimly conscious that they had heard ont- of the oi-;ind speeches which are latidmarks in the history of ehxpience ; and the men of the Nordi atul of New I-aioland went forth full of the pride ot victc^ry, for their champion had triumphed, atid tio assurance was nei'ded to j)fo\e to the worlil that this time no answer could hv. maile. Dm-iiiL;' all the Ncars of Jackson's and \'an Hin-en's administrations, Mr. Webster conliniK'il in the I'liited .States Setiate. 1 le opposed the innovations anis or 1S50. In 1S50 the contest o\(:r sl.i\cr\- had become so fierct^ tli.it it threatened to break up the Inion. The advoiales ot sl,i\cry were bent upon its extension, while its opponents wished to restrict it to the States where it airtvuK' existeil. Webster was always op|)osed to sl.ncry ; but in tlu: crisis of 1850, he thou<;ht tliat all otlur measures should be subordinate to thi- preservati )n of the I'nion. .\o one had done more than he to streUL^then and perpetuate the I'nion : but it was his coiniction that it would be t!estro\cd it the stru^i^le o\('r sla\cry cami' to an issue at that time. I'". very yc-ar the attachment of the peo|)le to the I'nion was L;rowin^- stroiiin'r. b.very year the fret' States were ^ainini;- upon the slave .States in streni^th, population, and power. If tlu' contest over slavery could be a\i'rted. or even postponed, sla\'ery would decline and ultimately die out, and the I'nioii be ])reser\('d ; while it the conllict were precipitated, tlu: liiion would be destroyed, .and slavery jjerpetuateil. .Xccordin^ly, he L;ave his support to the Compromise m^-asures ; ami on tlu; 7th of March, 1S50, lu: matle in ad\'ocacv of them the nu)st famous spei'ch of his life, bi'fore a great autlience, hushed to death like stillness, in the .Senati? chambcir. " Ml'. I'it.>iileiu,"' Ml. W'clister lii\L;an, " f wish tn sp(.'ak to-dav, not as a Massacliusi'tts man, nor as a .Vorthcrn man, Inii as an .Ainorican, and a mcinlicr of llie Senate of the I'nited States, — a liody t'l wliich the (niintrv looks, with conridcnce, for wise, moderate, ])atrintic, and liealing i, llie N'Mlh, ,ind the storm\' Suuth, all combine to throw the whole iieean into commotion, to toss its billows to the skies, and disclose its profoundest depths. ... I ha\e a part to act, not for my own security or safely, for I am looking out for no t'raument upon which to lloat away from the ure( k. if wrec k there must be, but for the L;ood of the whole, and the )ireservation of the whole : anre strinocnt law for the capture and return of fugitive slaves. Webster in his speech advocated the 202 DAXIEL WEBSTER. acceptance of these provisions as part of tin; Compromise, and in doiiiL,'' so c^ave ^reat offence to many supporters in the North, who had looked upon him ;is a steadv o|)ponent of slavery, who would ne\e'r \ii.-ld an inch to its exactions. In his speech W'e-hster maintaine'd that the constitution recognized th(; rii^ht of the mastf.-r to the return of his escaped slave, and that its obli^aticjns coukl not be evaded without a violation of i4()od fiith. As to the territories, he ari^aied that slavtiry was already by nature exchuUxl from \c;w Mexico, which was not adapted to the ])roducts of slave labor, and that to " roenact a law of ' iod," by formally excludinj^' it, was a needless irritation to tin; South. AlthouL;h he supported his position with i;reat force, his speech was ne'vertheh^ss regarded by anti-sla\-ery nn-n in the Xorth as a surrend'M- to the slave power, made with a \iew to securing;" support in the South as a candidate for the Presidency. He was denounced as recrc^ant to the cause of freedom, and ac- cused of hax'iui;- soKl hiniself to the .South. 'Ihese char^x^s did much to embitter th(i last years of his life ; but he th-mly adhert^d to his course, supported the Com- promise measure in Congress, and made a nimiber of spet'ches in its fa\or throughout the- Xorth. vVfter his death there was a L^rad- ual reaction, ami many who had condemnetl him came to admit that his course, whether wise or not. was at least o-uided liy pure and patriotic motives. In July, 1850, while the Qreat Com[)romise was still before Congress, Webster was appointed by President Pillmore .Secretary of State, which office he held until his deadi. His summer home was an immense farm at Marshfield, near Plymouth, Massachusetts, and for many years he had taken the keenest in- terest in all die ()i)erations of the farm. A friend who was often with him tells how he enjoyed his cattle, and how, on one occasion, after each animal was secured in his place, Mr. Webster amused himself by feedinLif them with ears of corn from an unhusked pile lyinq; on the barn floor. As his son was trying to keep warm by playing with the dog, he said : — MII.I.AIU) FII.I.MORE. II/S LAST IhVRS. 203 " Vnu do not sccni, my son, to take much interest in this ; l)ut, for m\' part " (and liere ht; broke an ear and li d the pjices to thi; oxen on his ri^ht and left and watched them as tlie_\- crunched iti, "1 hke it. 1 wouUl rather be hen; th'.ii in the Senate," adcHm;-, with a smile- which slio'ved all his white teeth, ' 1 think it better C(jmi)any." In May, 1S52, while drixiiiL;' near his Marshtiekl home, Mr. Webstt'r was thrown Iroin the carriage anil seriously injured. Although he reco\c'red sutti ciently to visit Washington afterward, he n('\-er rei^ained his health, and a few months kiter, in the autumn of 1S5J, he died at Marslitie-ld. llis death and bm'ial were scenes of sublime |)atiios. hi his last hours he manifested a strong desire to be conscious of the actual approach of death, and his last word.-i were, "' I still live." An immense; concour-^e Leathered at his funeral, it was a clear, lieautiful autiiinn da\', ancl his bod\' was brouuiht from the liouse and ])laced <>n th(i lawn, imdcr the blue sk\-, when; fcr several hours a stn-am ol people of every class movetl past, to L^aze for tin: last time upon his majestic le.uures. One, a j)lain farmer, was heard to sa\- in a low xoice, as Ik; turned ;iway, "Danie! Webster, without you the world will seem lonesome." The s[)Ot where Webster r(;poses is upon elevated land, and overlooks the sea, his mammoth farm, the I'irst I'arisli Church, and most of the town of Marshfield, wide spreading; marshes, forests remote and near, the tranquil ri\'er, and oiist(,'nin<;" brooks. ( )n a pleasant day the sands of Cape Cod can be descried from it, thirty mil(;s directly to the east, where the Pilgrims hrst moored their ship. The spot is ptM"fectly retin-d and (piiet, nothinL;- beiuL,'' usually heart! but the solemn dirL,^e of the ocean and the answering- sighs of the winds. It is the spot of all others for his rt;sting-[)lace. Ali in a tem|)cnitc' air. a ^oMcr. li,L,'lu, Ricli witli Octoticr. >aii with ancrnDon, Fitly llis franu; was laid, with rustic rite. To rest amid the rijieiUHl harvest Ixioii. He loved the ocean'-, niii^luy murmur deep, And this shall lull him throu;.;h his dreamless sleep. 9w^t^w*wm9mmm»»^0,t,£xrfw^09^^fm^'^^^*rww,^,,,,c*^^*m'* John ( . lALHoCS. OLD UAIKd AV al. AH.LnllM-,, I'l.uKIUA. JOHN C. CALHOUN, THE GREAT .\n\'OCA.TE OK tSTATHS RIGHTS. I'l'LW years aL;o an elderly man, who h.ul fought in the Union arm\' throu^-h tht; i^reat civil war of iSoi, was listen- uv^ to some schoolhovs rehcarsiiiL'' their histor\' lesson. •'When was the tlrst blow struck at the Tnion?" asked one. " ( )n .\i)ril I _uh, iS6i. when I'ort Suinter was fn-ec] upon by batteries in Charleston harbor," was the answer. "Xo!" tlnuukn'ed the old soldier, breaking' in ; "the in>t blow at the I'liion was struck in iS:;^, by lohn C. Cal- houn; and it Andrew Jackson IkuI liet.-n President in iSoo, instead of lames lUichanan, there would have been no L;un firetl on I'ort Similer, I can tell you ! Hon't forget ///cj/ bit of history, boys !" John Caldwell Calhouii is an absolutely unic|ue figure in American I lis political life was devoteil to the establishment anil per])etuation of slavery. I le believed that institution beneficial alike to white and black, to North and South, — in a word, that slavery was morally ami politically /v';'///, ami that the welfare of the country was bound up with its continuance. That he was sincere in this conviction cannot be doubted. \\v. was one of th(; most honest and u{> rifjht of men ; there was no conct'alment or pretence in him. Asa consequence of his purity and ability, his iniluence was immense. His own State accepted 207 h'story. :o8 jo/f.y c. CAfjioiw. his doctrines ami followed his h'ad wiih uiiqiicstioninj^ faith: and it is not too much to say that th*^ _L;ntat coniliL-t over slaver)' and disunion was in t;rrat mea-iiire due to the doctrines which for a quarter of a century he unceasingly advocated. Calhoun was born in Ahlunille, Soutii Carolina, in 17.S2, — the same year as his ^Tcat adversary, Haniel Webster. It was just at t'lie close of the R«n() lution. The South, wliicli li;ul borne the brunt of the war in its la-^t years, was worn out and impoverished, Calhoun's father. Patrick Calhoun, who had inimi- •.^rated from the ncjrth of Ireland, dietl when his son was thirteen. Neverthe- less, Calhoun manaj.,^ed to work his way ihrou-^di Vale College, where he won ilistiuL^^uished hon- ors, lie- ij^ed to relate that in his senior year, wlvn he was one of the very !'-w in his class who maintained £/.'./ TE. 209 considerably incrcasctl. 'I'liis Mil was bitterly o|)|tosed in the South, wlnic it was styled the " 'laritt of Aliominations ; " anil on its passaij^e Calhoun pniJaicd a most remarkable paper, calleil the "South Carolina l'!.\position," in which he maintaine-d that tht; Constitution authorized Con,:^r('ss to levy taritt' taxes only for revenue : that proti'etive ta\<'s were- therefore unconstitution.il ; and that a State had liv riL^ht and [)o\ver to declare an unconstitutional law null and \(>i(l, and to forbid its e\ecuti<}n in that State. It was tlv purpose ot ihr people of South Carolina to aj^itate for the repial of tin- obnoxious law; and, in case their efforts should fiil, to resort to tin; remedy of " nullification." "This Ex- position," says I'arton, "was the bei^^innin^- of our woe. — tlu' baleful ••^i^' from which were h.itched nullification, treason, civil war, and the desolation of tlu- Southern .Slates." It was issued in l)eceml>er. 1S2.S. In March. 1 Sjg. the lU'w e^overninent. Jackson at its heail, came into power. Calhoun, beiii;^ reelected \'ict;-President. still held his chair as President o\ the .Senate. In 1S2Q the lon^- debate o\-er the (juestion. Hoes llu; Constitution niaki" us one sovereii^ii nation, or only a leai,nit,' of sovereiL,ni .States? was at its height. That deb.ite had bt'L^un as soon as the Constitution was ratified, in i7S,'s, and it continued uiiiil the outbreak of the w.u* in i,S6i. l"or main- ye.irs tJie theory of a "compact," trom which a .State mi;4]it withdraw at will, was maint.iiiied by various advocate's, of whom Calhoun was the foremost. lie supported his view with L^reat ability and inLi'enuity, and with industry and dexotion which never lla^j^cd or wa\i'red. In his own .Stat(' his doctrines were accepti'd with almost complete uiKuiiinit)' ; and the .Senators and RepresctUatives in Con L^ress from .South C.irolina were all disciples of the Calhoun school. In th<; .Senate, as he was the i)residinL;- officer, he could not take an actixc; part in debate ; l)ut he h;id an able su[)portc-r in (ieiieral Robi-rt V. I la\ne, who was a stron^" and ekxpient speaker. In lanuary. i .S j;(^, the aL.;"itation in Con^i'ess culminated in the famous encounter of 1 la\ne witii Panied Webster, who in his i^reat speech on I'Oot's R(.'solution utterly tleinolislied the theorx- of nullification as a constitutional ri^ht, and mad<' his n<'\cr-to be-fori^ottt'ii i)lea tor indissy which the existiii!^' duties w«Tt.' to be decreaseil t^ach yi;ar until they reaehed a inininuun ol twe-nly per icnt. in i.S.p, Ai;cordin;^dy, each party in Wl.KV IIMKS. the contro\-ersy claimed to ha\ e triuinpheil ; and th(.' crisis passed, without finallv and torniallv settling;' the (luesiion of nuUiticalion. Tin: si wiKV alhatimn. Durini^ Jackson's administration slavery became the chief question of jx)!!- tics. Texas achieveil her imlependence. and the cpiestion of her annexation to the United .States as a slave .State caused an exciting,'' and ant^'ry contest. In the' 1 louse of Representatives. John (hiinc)' Adams beean his famous crusade for the ri^ht of petition, and the contest over petitions for the abolition of slavery convulsed the House. In all these years of stormy debate, Calhoun was always the defender of slavery. I le made no apolo^^-ies. but proclaimed it a rinhteous, just, and beneficial institution : and he rei^ardi^d all efforts to abolish or restrict it. or to prevent the catching; and return of fuiijitives. as an interference with the ri*'hts of the slave States which would iustifv their secession from the Union. A//SS J//JA77A7.jr'.S SKIiTClf. 213 M'ss 1 larrict Martincan, who visited thf I'liilcd Stales at this liiiu-, has re- corai(l was close, nood, and niodiTati', th(iiij,'ii ikiivcrcd in rapid siioc( ii, and with a voice not sut'ticicntly mndiilatcd. lint when ho l)ej,'an to rciily to a taunt of Colonel llcnton's, that lie wanted to he ['resident, the forre ol his speaking l)craine paintul. He made protestations which it seemed to stranjjers had belter lia\e been spared, 'that he would not turn on his heel to be ['resi- dent,' and that 'he had i^iven up all for iiisown brave, maiinaniiiious little State of South Carolina.* While thus |)rotestiiig, his eyes (lashed, his brow seemed ( har;,'ed with thunder, his voice became almost a bark, and his senteiKes were abrupt, intense, produf iiig in the auditory a sort of laugh which is s<|uee/e(l out of people by an appli( .itioii of a very sudden mental force. " .Mr. Calhoun's countenaiue first fixed my attention : the splendid eye, the straight forehead, surmounted by a load of stiff, upright, dark hair, the stern i)row, the iiillc\ii>le mouth, — it is one of the most remarkable heads in the (oniitry." Miss Martinean's sketch of the three j.,freat statesmen of the time is espe- cially interestini:,' : — " .Mr. Clay sitting upright on the sofa, with his snuff-box e\er in his hand, would discourse for iii.my an hour in his even, soft, deliberate tone, on any one of ijie great -.ubjectsof American policy whi( h we might happen to start, always ama/iiig us' with tlie moderation of estimate and speech which 50 imiietuous a nature has been able to attain. Mr. Webster, leaning back at his ea.se, telling stories, cracking jokes, shaking the sofa with burst alter burst of laughter, or siiKiothly discoursing to the i>erfect felicity of the logical jart of one's constitution, would illuminate an evening now .md then. Mr. Caiiioun. the cast-iron man. who looks as if he luid ne\er been iiorii and could ne\er be e\tingui:Oied. would come in sometimes to keep our understanding on a painl'ul stretch for a short while, and leave us to take to ]iieces his close, rapid, theoretical, illustrated talk, ai^.d S'c what we could m,.ke cjf it. We found it usuallv more worth retaining as a curiosity, than as eillur very just or useful. "I know of no man who lives in such utter iiitelleciual solitude. He meets men and harangues by the fireside as in the Senate; he is wrought like a piece of mai hiner\-, set going vehemently by a weight, and stojis while )ou answer ; he either jasscs by what }'oii sa\ , or twists it into a suitability with what is in his head, and begins to lecture again." Miss Martineau also saw Calhoun in .South Carolina, where; he was the political teacher and o'liide, and the acknowledo(.:d chief: — " During m\ stay in Charleston, Mr. ( ;illioun and his family arrived from Congress, and there was something very striking 'n the welcome he rec eived. like tluit of a chief returned to the bosom of his clan. He stalked about like a iiuuiarc h of the little domain, and there was certainly/ an air of mysterious undersianding between him .iiul his followers." The ao-jtation of the slavery question, from 1S35 to iiY OK TEXAN INOEPEX OEXCE. F TME thirty-one States of the I'nion which have been added to the original thirteen, Tc^xas is distin- guished as the only one which previously had a separate and intlependent national existence ; and no more picturesque or unicpie character is found aniouL; American jjublic men than he whose name is inseparably associated with that ot Texas, — her leader, her defender, her President, her Governor, — Samuel Houston. In the latter part of the eighteenth century the rich *' % " but wild regions of Kentucky and Tennessee were the para- dise of hunters and pioneers ; and here grew up a race of statesmen of a new and distinct type, — men like Jackson, Clay, and IJenton, — strong, brave, and hardy, original and ready of resource, but with little educa- tion, and having, as the French say, " the tlefects of their qualities." I louston was of this class. He was born in Rockbridge ctnmty, X'irginia, in 1793. When only thirteen, his fatlu^r died ; and with his moth(M" and eight other chil- dren he crossed the mountains into Tennessee, where they settled on the Ijanks of the Tennessee River, at what was then the limit of emigration. Heyontl the river lay the country of the Chcn-okees ; antl during a large part of Houston's boyhood he actually lived among the Indians, learning their ways and ac(piiring their language. I le always was lookeil u|) to by the Indians as a leader. A story is told that in 1S46, when he was in Congress, a j)arty of forty wild Indians was brought to Washington from Texas by General Moorhead ; and when they met Houston, they one and all ran to him, greeted him with delight, hugged him like bears in their brawny arms, antl called him "father." Houston fought under Jackson in the war of 181 2, and was desperately wounded in battle with the Creek Indians. When the famous battle of New Orleans put an eml to the war, he studied law, and soon l)egan to practice. 1 le rose rapidly in his profession, was chosen district attorn(!y, elected to Congress in 1823 a-«d 1825, and in 1827, when thirty-four years old, was elected Governor 217 2l8 SAMUEL HOUSTON. of Tennessee. His proj^ress hatl bec;n wonderfully rapid ; he was one of the most popular men of his State ; he mii^dit aspire to the hi<;hest positions, with every prospect of success. liut in 1829 an event occurred which completely chan<;ed the course of his life. In January, 1829, he married Miss Eliza Allen, a young lady of excellent family, and of the hi(^hest character. The union seems to have been as unhappy as it was short. In less than three months a separation took place, which filled society with excitement. X'arious reports flew throu_<.,'-h the State, which divided the people into two hostile parties, and inllamed popular feeling to the last point A .-Cl-.NK I'N ll.XA^ ri.AlNS — DlSll'ir. UVKR A liKANll. of excitement. The friends of the lady loaded the name of Governor Houston with odium. 1 le was charged with e\ery tlegree of crinie. The very ignorance of the community about the affair, by increasing the mystery which hung over it, only made it seem the more terrible. In the meantime, Houston did not offer a single denial of a single calumny — would neither vindicate himself before the public, nor allow his friends to do it for him. Not a word ('ver fell from his lips that cast a shade upon her charac- ter, nor did he ever allow an unkind breath against her in his presence. In consequence of this unhappy affair, Houston determined to forsake ■JJiXAS AXD MliXICO. ■19 civilized life, lit; rc.-sii^ncd the office of governor, turned his back upon the haunts of white men, antl took refui^e in the forests among" his old Iriends, the Indians. Whih; roving in his youth among the Cheroket's, he had tounil a Iriend in their chief, Oolooteka, who adopted him as his son. ami ga\e him a curner in his wigwam. The cliicf with Ills tribe afterward removed to Arkansas. I )uring their s(.'|)aration of more than tm years, lu' and Houston hatl continually inter changtnl tokens of their kind tecling ; and 1 louston ikjw turned his face to liLs Indian home, knowing that he wo'.dd be gresited then- with the; old chief's blessing. I'or three years he lived among the Indians, and as one of them ; and from his n-treat in th(; southwest he watched with keen IiUerest the progress of events in tin; fertile country across the Me.\ican frontier. I11 the year iSar, Mexico, which had u[) to that time belongtMl to .Spain, declanid herself independent, and took vigorous measures to induce the sc!ttlement and cultivation of her unoccu- pied territory. Te.xas soon be- gan to be popu- lated by immi- gration, a large part of which was from the I'nited States. r.y the year 1^30 there \v(,'re about twenty thousand .Vmeri- can settlers there, who were unanimous in their detestation of Mexican government, and in a state of chronic revolt. In 1S32 they rose against the Mexicans, and, after several battles, drove all the troops out of the country. I louston saw what was going on, and determintxl to cast in his lot with th(.' I'exans. There can be little doubt that there was an understanding between Houston and President Jackson, and that the former had the aid and countenance of the President in his effort to help achieve Texan independence. More territory was needed in the United States for the extension of slavery. It must be .sought on the .South : for slavery was shut out of the northern territory by the Mis- souri Compromise. (Sec Hkxrv Ci..vv.) The inhabitants of Texas were mainly immigrants from the United .States. If the country were detached from Mexico, the people would undoubtedly seek to be annexed to the Union. They wanted AN III. I) SPANISH IldlSK. 220 SAMC/:L 1 10 us ION. a Icadi-r. 1 Iniistnn rcsolxcd to Ix; their leader; and with this view he left the wiujwain of the Cheroki^e c:hi(.:t, and set out tor Texas in l)ec(Mnl)er, 1S32, lor two years after Houston joined fortunt.'s with Texas tlu.'re was com- parative- quiet ; hut ininiiL^ralion went on in a steadily increasing;' stream, and the sentiment tor independence; L;r<:\v stron^^cr ex'eryday. The Mexican L;()vt;rii- nient. in fear of tlu; i^rowiiiL;' striMiL^th of Texas, ordered that the jjcople shoulil be disarmed, — a decree which arouscnl instant rebellion. A compan)' of Mexi- can NolditM's sent t(.) the little town of Cionzales, on the (iuadaUipe, to rt-move a small l)rass six-pounder, was met a few* miles from the town b\' one huntlrc^d and eighty Texans. who ivW upon them with such viL^oi* that they turned and tleil, ht^iuL,'' sever.d men. Xo lexan was killetl. 'This l)altl(; was called "the LexiuL^ton of Texas." I hen war broke out ay;ain more furiously than ever. 'l"he Mexican soldiers, who wi-re under weak and incompetent commanders, were attain tlispersed and driven out of the country. lUit now Santa Anna himself the Mexican 1 )ictator. an able Lj;eneral, but false and cruel, took the lield. With an army of si:veral thousanil men, he crosseel the' Rio Cirande, and marched against iIk; 'Texans. 'The town of ISexar, on the; .San Antonio River, was defended by a y^arrison of about one hunt!r<'d and seventy-five nu^n. AmonL,'' th- in wen; two whose names arc still famous, — 1 )a\id Crockett, the remnvned pioiu-er, antl Colonel lames Howie, noted for his murderous "bowie-knife," his duels, and his deeds of valor and shame. The comjiany was commanded by Colonc;! W. ixirrett 'Tra\is, a brav(; youni^- Texan. On tlu; approach of .Santa .\nna, the)- took refui^^e in the Alamo, about half a mile to the north of the town. 'The; Alamo was an ancient T'ranciscan mission of the eighteenth century. It covered an area of about three acres, surrounded by walls three f(;(:t thick and ei^ht feet hi^h. Within the walls were a stone church and se\-eral other build- ini^s. T'or two weeks it withstood .Santa Anna's assaults. A shower of bombs and cannon-balls fell incessantly within the walls. At last, after .1 bra\-e defense by the little L;ai'i"ison, the fortress was captured, in the early mornini;- of .Suntlay, March oth, i S;/). .\fter the surrender, 'Travis, Howie, and Crockett, with all their companions, were by .Santa Anna's especial command massacred in cold blood. Hut this was not tlie worst; a f(;w davs afttM'ward a company of over four hundred 'Texans, under Colonel Tannin, besic;L;ed at (loliad, were induced to .surrender, under .Santa .Anna's solemn promis(;s of protection. .\ft(;r the sur- render th(;y were divided into sc;veral companies, marched in different dir(;ctions a short distance out of the town, and shot down like dogs by the Mexican soldiers. Not a man escaped. While these horrible events were taking place, Houston was at Gonzales, with a force of less than four hundred m(;n. Mi^etings were held in the differ- I \i,i. I IF riir, Ai.AMii, When li.ivi.l Crcicki'll .iii.l 1 50 of hi, coni|i.uii"iis were ma-.s;u:ici=^- y-"^ riC^'-'^ % f *%U"'5i '.'i - ",- T&i^ -'^, THE C.nLIAU MASSACRE. their homes, and lle(Mn^' in terror at the approach of the Mexican soldiers. Houston's force of a few hundred men was the only defense of Texas : and even this was diminished by fre<|U(Mit ilesertion from the ranks. The cause of Texan freedom seemed utterly hopeless. In order to gain time, whihi watchinj^ his opportunity for attack, HoustOP TRIUMPH OF SAX JAC/Xm. 223 slowly retreated bc^foro the Mexican army. Aflt-r waiting;' two weeks for rein- forcements, he m()V(;(l toward lUiltalo liayou, a dt^cp, narrow stream connecting' with the San Jacinto River, about twenty miles southeast of iIk; present city of Houston. ll(r(; he expected to meet the' Mexican army. The lines bcin^^ formed, (ieneral 1 lonston made one of his most impassioned and eloijuent ap|)eals to his troops, liriiiL; <'very breast by .L;ivin!^- as a watchword, " Ki;.mi;.mi;i;u nil; Ai.AMo." Soon the Mexican Lui^lc^s ran^,'' out o\cr the prairie, announciiin- tlie advance guard of the eiH;m\', almost eii^hteen huntlreil stroiii^. The rank and tile of the patriots was less than sctven hundred and fifty men. Their disadvanta_L(es but served to increase the enthusiasm of the soldiers ; and when their iL,feneral said, "Men, there is the enemy: do you wish to flight?" tht; universal shout was, *' W'e tlo ! " " Well, then," he said, " remember it is (or liberty or death ; roiicm- bcr the Alamo ! " At the moment of attack, a lieutenant came L^^allopinL;;- up, his horse cov- . creil widi foam, aiul shouted along the lines, " I've cut (\o\\n X'ince's bridge" Each army hatl used this bridge in coming to the battle-field, antl General Houston had ordereil its dt^struction, thus pn-venting all hoj)e of escape to the vancpiished. Santa Anna's f )rc(!s wen^ in j)erf(?ct order, awaiting the attack, and reserved their fire until the patriots were within sixty paces of their works. Then they poured forth a volley, which went over the heads of the attackers, though a ball struck (ieneral 1 louston's ankle, inllicting a very jjainful wound. Though suf fering and bleetling, Cieneral Houston kept his saeklle during the entire action. The patriots hekl their fire until it was given to the enemy almost in their very bosoms, and then, having nn time- to reloatl, matle a general rush upon the foe, who were altogether unprepared for th.e furious charge. The patriots not hav- ing bayonets, clubbed their ritles. .About half-past four the Mexican rout began, and closed only widi the night. Seven of the patriots were killed and twenty-three were woumletl, while the Mexicans had six hundretl and thirty-two killed and woundtxl ; and seven hundred and thirty, among whom was Santa Anna, w(;re made prisoners. The victory of .San lacinto struck the fetters forever off the hands of Texas, and drove back the standartl of Mexico beyond the Rio Grande, never to return except in predatory and transient incursions. General Houston became at once the leading man in Texas, almost universal applause following hira. As soon as quiet and order were restored, he was made the first President of the new republic, under the Constitution adopted November, 1S35. General Houston's first term as President of Texas closed in December, 183S. During the term of his successor. General Houston served two years in the Congress of the young republic. He did much good to the country, on one 924 SAMUEL HOUSTON. occasion prtivtMUinL,^ an actual dissolution of the Texan t^oviTnincnt by the maL,nc of his ii^n-cat speech in Conj^^rcss, when that body was just on the point of ailjourniiiLj sine die. Un May 9, 1S40, he married his second wife, Miss Mari^^anit M. Lea, of Alabama, a most worthy woman, who had a j^rcat inlluence tor L^ood over her husband. 1 b; often said that to her he owed his chief Iion(jr and happiness. I hi was deeply attached to h(;r, and, when a Senator at W'ashinir- ton, inxariably spent his Sunday after- noons in writiiiL^ to her and his family. One of the ques- tions presented by our Presidential elec- tion of I S44 was the annexation of Texas, ■which took place in 1845 ; and ex-Presi- dent Houston and his fast friend and com- patriot, (ieneral Thomas ]. Rusk, were made her first Senators, takin_ir their seats in January, 1S46. Th(!se men of commandiu!^ mien produced something of a sensation, com- '\\v^ to sit in the na- tion's council-house as the representatives of a people who had, of their own free will, i^nven u]) their national existence to become merely an intejj^ral part of our Union. I louston's course in the Senate was conservative. He voted for the A IIUCKINC IIRONCHO. GOVERXOR OJ' //{.WIS. jj5 Oret,'on boundary coinpromist.', and, if he could, would have av(;rti'd the war with Mexico. After the i)assa>,fe of the conijironiise measures of 1S50. there was no more popular man in th(; South than (icncral lloiiston, and, in 1S52, he was a prominent candiilate for the Presidency before ihv I )(in()cratic convention. 1 le had i)lact;il himself in stron^^' op|)osition to the secession spirit shown in 1S50, thus losint^ some of his most inlluential .Southern supjjorters. In 1S59 he was made the Union candidate for ;..,a)vernor. With patriotic zeal he d stands peculiarly alone. Before the halo of martj'rdcm had made his memory sacred, even before his divine insight had perceived the time when he should set the bondman free, it was declared that there was for Abraham Lincoln "a niche in the temple of fame, a nich(i near Washington." Hut our feeling for Lincoln is very different from the veneration with which we regard the leather of his country. Washington was a stately figure, too digni- fied for near api)roach. He commanded respect, admira- tion, loyalty; l)ut our feeling for Lincoln includes all these, and with them a peculiar affection as for one very near and dear. It is not only that he is nearer to us in point of time ; his was a nature so large, an experience so com])rt-'hensive, that the minds and hearts of all our people find in his a chord to which their own responds ; arul within the breast of every .American there is something which claims Lincoln as his own. The fame of Lincoln is increasing as th<; inner history of th(i great struggle for the life of the nation becomes known. l'"or almost two decatles after that struggle had settled the permanence of our government, our vision was ob- scured by the near view of the ])ygmy giants who " strutted thinr brief hour upon the stage ;" our ears were filled with tlie loud claims of those who would magnify their own little part, and, knowing the facts concerning some one frac- tion of the contest, assumed from that knowledge to proclaim the principles which should have governed the whole. Time is dissipating the mist, and we are coming better to know the great man who had no pride of opinion, who was * Prof. Birdsall. who is principal of one of the largest and best known private schools in Phil* delphia, has for years been a student of Lincoln's life. 220 230 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. willing,'- to let Seward or Sumner or McClellan imagine that he himself was the guidiny, dominating spirit of the government, if so that government might have the service of which each was capable ; we see more clearly the real greatness of the leader who was too slow for one great section of his people, and too fast for another, too conservative for those, too radical for these ; who refused to make the contest merely a war for the negro, yet who saw the end from the , beginning, and so led, not a section of his people, but the whole people, away from the ligyptian plagues of slavery and disunion, united in sentiment and feeling and capable of united action, to the borders of the promised land. We are coming to appreciate that the " Father Abraham " who in that Red Sea passage of fraternal strife was ready to listen to every tale of sorrow, and who wanted it said that he "always plucked a thisde and [jlantetl a (lower when he thought a llower would grow," was not only in this sense the father of his people, but that he was a truly great statesman, who, within the limits of human knowledge and human strength, guided the affairs of state with a wisdom, a patience, a courage, which belittle all praise, and niake him seem indeed a man divinely raised up, not only to set the captive free, but in order that "government of the people, by the people, and for the peo- ple, shall not perish from the earth." Abraham Lincoln came into the world in 1809, in a miserable hovel in Kentucky. His family were of that peculiar people, the shiftless, im- provident, "poor whites" of the South. The father, Thomas Lincoln, was a typical specimen of his class, — lazy, trilling, spending his life in the search of some place in Kentucky, Indiana, or Illinois, where the rich soil would kindly yield its fruits without the painful price of labor. Some three generations back, he traced his ancestry to a Quaker origin in Pennsylvania ; but the thrift of that peaceful people was not entailed in the family, and if the energy and ability of the Vir- ginian granilfathcr who came with Hoone into Kentucky was transmitted to the future President, certainly his father had it not. The mother's ancestry is un- known ; by courtesy she took her mother's name of Hanks. In youth she was both bright and handsome, and possessed of considerable intellectual force. LINCOLN S HOYIfOOU HOME IN KLNTLCKY. BOy[{i\W DAYS. 231 She taught her husband to read, and it is fair to iniai,nne that lia^l \\vx lot been less sordid, her lite not Lii'oinul down l)y labor and scjualor and the vice about her, she would have been titted to adorn a higher sphere of life. Her son, though she died when he was in his tenth year, and though another woman filled her place and deserved the love and devotion with which he repaid her goodness, cherished the memory of his "angel mother," testifying that to her he owed '"all that he was ov hcjpetl to be." The story of Lincoln's boyhood belongs to a stage of civilization which our people have almost forgotten, or which they ne\er kncnv. The removal to .Spencer County, hidiana ; the "half-faced camp" in which the family lived ; the pride with which, a year later, they moved to a log cabin with tlirt tloor, and without doors or windows in the openings made for them ; the tk;alh of thi; mother ; the boy's tirst letter, begging a Kentuckv preacher to come and preach a sermon over the grave in the wilderness ; the loneliness, suffering, and tlepri- vation that followed, complete a chaptt-r whose pathos must touch all h(;arts. Relief came on the marriage of Thomas Lincoln to a thrifty Kentucky widow, whose advent necessitatetl a lloor and doors and windows, wIkj actually brought a stocl: of spare clothing and a clothes-press inv its preservation, at which the boy, as \\v. aftc;rward saiil, " began to feel like; a human l)eing." This was typical frontier life. The hardship, the toil, the deprivation, killed the mothers ; myste- rious pesiilence found, in the exposure and the filth, opportunity to sweep away whole tamilies ; vice abounded ; ignorance and vulgarity were e\erywhere ; l)ut, somehow, out of their midst came sometimes a strong character and a great man. From this soil grew Lincoln. .Schools were few, irregular, and poor, in the backwoods ; but the young Lincoln took advantage of every such opportu- nity, and we find him at seventeen walking over four miles for the purpose. Reading, writing, and elementary arithmetic, with some irregular e.xercises in composition antl declaiming, formetl the whole of the course of study, excerpt that his last teacher, one Crawford, astonished the natives by undertaking to teach iiiaiiiicrs. He would require one pui)il to go outside and enter tht" room as a lady or gentleman woukl enter a parlor. Anoth(M-, acting the part of host, would receive the incomer, anil politely introduce him to the company. When, in after years, the Presitlent's arm was wearietl by the vigorous greetings of the thousands who filed through the stately East Room of \.\\v. White House, if he ever thought of those early mock receptions, the contrast must have aft'orded him rich amusement. At seventeen, Lincoln hatl grown to his full height ; he weighed one hun- dred and sixty |)ounds, anil was wiry, strong, aiul vigorous. He wore low shoes or moccasins. 1 lis trousers were of buckskin, and usually bagged unnecessarily in one region, while, by reason of their brevity, they left several inches of shin bone exposed. A linsey-woolsey shirt and coon-skin cap, the tail hanging 2 "^ 2 A I IRA 1 1 AM L INCOLN. down his back, conijjlctecl this l)ack\\f)()ils outfit. It is doubtful whethc.-r he; ever owned an arithnictic ; liut kavcs exist, taken from a book made and bound by him, in which he copied problems illustrating- tlu; various [)rinciples of arith- metic. ( )ne pay^e is devoted to subtraction of Lons^ Measure, Land Measure, and Dry Measure, the hi,'adin_L;s beiiiL;" written in a bold hand, antl each subiect illustrated, by two or three problems. Al)out the edtji-es are some extra llour- ishes aiul ciphering-, and at th(j bottom the touching lines ; — " Aliraham l.iiicdln liis liaiul and jicn hf will be good but god knows When." His ])enmanshii) came to be regular in form, and better than that of any of his males ; \\\v. samples which we see of his handwriting as a man are far above the average, lie kept a copybook, in which he eiitered everything that pleased his fanc\-. When i)aper failed, he wrote his selections with chalk or charcoal upon a jjlank or a shingle, lie wrote the first drafts of c()m|)Ositions u])on a smooth woocKmi sh(ivel. which he [jlaned off" for each new effort, lie devoured such books as he could borrow, anil the IJible and /L^sop's babies were for a loiig time the' only ones hi; owned. lieside these, " Robinson Cru- soe," ISunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," a llistory of the I'nited States, antl W eems' " Lite of Washington," formed the bulk of his early reading. A copy of the .Statutes of Indiana was borrowed from the constable, and studied with a care which j)ossibly indicated his iuture cari;er as a lawyer. 1 lis passion for reading was such as to causi; remark among his n(;ighbors, who wondered to see the great awkward boy, alter a day ot labor, crouch in a corner of the log cabin, or spread his ungainly body uiider a tree outside, and bury himself in a book, while he devoured the corn l)read which formed his supijer. 1 le delighted in " speechi- fying." as he called it. and upon the slightest encouragement would mount a stump and practice upon his fellow-laborers. 1 le helped to support thi; family by working in his lather's clearing, or by hiring to neighbors to plow, ilig ditches, chop wood, or split rails, and for a time was employed as clerk in the cross-roads store. A journey to Xew ( )rleans as deck-hand on a llat-boat, widened his experience of mankiiul, and ga\e him his first glimpse of slavery. I'^arly in 1S30, he went, with the family, a fifteen tlays" journey to Illinois, where, in Macon County, live niili;s from 1 )ecatur, a new si;ttlement was made. ( )n a blull overlooking the .Saiigamon River another log cabin was l)uilt ; land was fenced with the historic rails, some of which, thirty years later, were to play a prominent part in tlu; presidential campaign ; and Lincoln, l)eing now of age, left his father's family in these new quarters, to earn his living for himself The tenderness of heart which characterized him through life was well illustrated by his turning back, while on the journey to Illinois, and wading an icy river to KliMOVAI. TO ILIJNOIS. '■li rescue a worthless pet do^;' which had falU.-n lichind, and could not ^ct across, and which "Abe" could not bear to leave whiinperini^ and whininL;' on the oppo- s'te shore. This same disposition had U-d him at all times to protc;st aL;'ainst the cruelty to animals practiced l)y his mates, and is onl\- one ot the traits which marked him as of a ditferent mouUi. Another journey to New Orleans was his first emploj-ment after leaving; home. Here ht; witnessed a slave auction. '\\\v. scene impressed itself upf)n his heart and memory, anil he is said to have declared to his cousin and com- panion, "If I e\er ^(1 a chanct' to hit that institution, / 7/ /lit it hardy For several years he lived at New .Salem, Illinois, serving as steamboat llclMI'. Ill" l.lNCdl.N AT cr.M'KYVll.I.r., INHIANA. pilot, and as clerk in a store and mill. .\t the time of the " lilack Hawk War," beinL,'' out of employment, he volunteered for servici;, antl was elected cap. tain. Returnint^ at the close of the expcxlition, he bout^ht an interest in a store, for which he went in debt, and, presently selling- it on credit and his debtor abscond- ins/, he found himself burdened with claims which it took man\' vears to dis- change. He now be^an in earnest to study law, walking- to .Springfield to borrow books and return them ; anil, as a means of living in the meantime, he eiitert'd the employ of the county surveyor and laboriously studied the ])rincipl<-'s of land measurement. Presently he began to [)ractice law a little, representing friends 14 ^34 ABRAHAM fJA'COLX. before a justice of tin; peace, and, in ietty annoyance, and frequent embarrassment in the discharge of his public duties. He continued to " ride the circuit," being a great portion of the time absent from home in attendance at court, with the exception of his single term in Con- gress, until his election to the presidency. He was acquiring a very great inlUi- ence in his district and in the State, was one of the leading: manat^ers of the Whig party, and was usually a candidate for presidential elector. When in 1S46, according to the peculiar system of rotation adopted by the Illinois politi- cians, it was his turn to go to Congress, he did not distinguish himself though he seems to have made a favorable impression upon the party leaders, and the acquaintance thus formed was of great use to him later. Going back to Illinois, he again settled to the practice of law. It was in 1S53 that he received his largest fee. It was a case in which he defended the Illinois Central Railroad in a suit brought to collect taxes alleged to be due, and in which he was successful. He presented a bill for two thousand dollars, which the company refused to allow, when, after consultation with other lawyers, he brought suit for five thousand, which he received. It was not until the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, in 1S54, that Lincoln was really aroused. He had always opposed the extension of slavery, holding opinions well indicated by his protest in the Legislature, already mentioned, and by the acute remark that it was " singular that the courts would hold that a man never lost his right to his property that had been stolen from him, but that he instantly lost his right to himself if he was stolen." The great question now absorbed his interest. He was constandy more bold in his position, and more powerful in his denunciation of the encroachments of the slave power. He became, therefore, the natural champion of his party in the campaigns in which .Senator Douglas undertook to defend before the people of his State his advocacy of " Scpiatter .Sovereignty," or the right of the people of each Terri- ton.' to decide whether it should be admitted as a slave or a free State, and of the Kansas-Nebraska bill, by which the " Missouri Compromise" was repealed. Tllli LINCOLN-DOUGLAS DEBATES. 237 (6"ivHi;NKV Ci.AV.) The first great battle between these two giants of debate took place at the State l*"air at Springfield, in October of 1S54. Douglas made, on Tuesday, a great speech to an unprecedented concourse of people, and was the lion of the hour. The next day Lincoln replied, and his effort was such as to surprise botii his friends and his o|)|)onents. It was probably the first occasion on which he reached his full power. In the words of a friendly eilitor : "The Nebraska bill was shivereil, anel like a tree of the forest was torn and rent asunder by the hot bolts of truth. ... At the conclusion of this speech every man ap.d child felt that it was unanswerable." It was arranged that Lincoln was to follow Douglas ami reply to his speeches, and the two met in joint debate at Peoria, after which Douglas proposed that they should b(Hh abaiitlon the debate, agreeing to cancel his api)oiiitments and make no more si)eeches during that campaign, if Lincoln woulil do the same. Lincoln somewhat weakly agreed to this proposition, and the next day, whc;n Douglas pleaded hoarseness as an excuse, he gallantly refused to take advan- tage of "Judge Douglas's indisposition." He faithfully kept to the agreement, though Douglas allowed himself on one occasion, to be tempted into violating it. Till-; DKHATKS WITH I)()UGL.\S. But it was the campaign of 1S5S which made Lincoln famous, which fully demonstrated his powers, and which prepared him for the presidency. Douglas was immensely popular. Mis advocacy of territorial expansion appealed to the patriotism of the young anil artlent ; his doctrine of " Popular Sovereignty " was well calculated to mislead the shallow thinker ; and his j)ower in debater had given him the name of " the Little Giant." True, the " Dred Scott decision " had made it difficult to hold his Northern constituency to the toleration of any atti- tude which could be construed as favoring the South, ••= but his opposition to the Lecompton pro-slavery constitution, on the ground that it had nt^ver been fairly voted upon by the people of Kansas, not only maintained the loyalty of his par- * Tlie " Dred Scott decision" was delivered by Chief Justice Taney, of the United States Supreme Court, on March 6, 1S57, immediately after the inauguration of President Buchanan. Dred Scott was a slave who had been taken by his master from Missouri to Illin(jis and Wisconsin, . where slavery was illegal, and had lived there for some years. He was then taken back to Missouri, and having been whipped, he brought suit against his master for a.ssault, jjleading that he was made free by being taken into a free State, where slavery wis illegal. The Missouri Circuit Court de- cided in his favor ; but the case was appealed to the United States Supreme Court, which decided that the Missouri Compromise, limiting the area of slavery, was imconstitutional, and that therefore slaveholders could enter any free State with slaves and hold them there as property ; that negroes, be- ing incapable of becoming citizens, lunl no standing in court, and could not maintain a suit for any purpose. As this decision overthrew all barriers against the e.xtension of slavery, even to the free States, and declared that the negro had no rights which the courts would i)rotect, it caused great excitement in the North, and aroused intense hostility to the aggressive demands of the slave power. 238 Ar.RAHAM LfXCOL.V. tisans, but led I lonicc Gnick-y and some other leaders of the new Republican party to favor his re-cilection to the Senate, hopinL,^ to separate him from the pro- slavery interest, and thus introduce a split in the Democratic party. lUit Lin- coln and th()S(! who ailvised with him were firmly of opinion that the anti-slavery cause was safe only in the hands of those who had consistently been its advo- catt;s, and took hij^di ami stronjj;' jj^round in favor of an a;^fL,M-essive cami)ai;j[n, Lincoln had come to be a really t^^reat political mana^^er. He cared little for temporary success, if only he could foster the ji-rowth of a riL,dit public opinion, anil thus make possible a future victory which would be permanent. .So, in this campaign, when he proposeil to press upon his ojjponent the question whether there were lawful means by which slavery could be excluded from a 'I\;rrit()ry before its admission as a state, his friends suijij^ested that l)out(las woukl reply that slavery could not e.xist unless it was desired by the people, and unless pro- tected by territorial le_<,''islation. and that this answer would be sufficiently satis- factory to insure his re-election. But Lincoln rt'plied, " I am after larj^er j^ame. If Doui/las so answiM's, he can never be President, and the battle of i860 is worth a huntlreil of this." Both predictions were verified. The people; of the South mii;ht have for^^dven l)ouL;las his opposition to the Lecompton Constitution, but they could not forgive- the promulgation of a doctriiu; which, in spite of the 1 )r(?il .Scott decision, would keci) slaverv out of a Territorv ; and so, althousjh I)ouL;las was (.'lected and Lincoln defeated, the Democracy was divided, and it was impossible for Douglas to command .Southern voti's for the PresidtMicy. Ihe campaign had been openeil by a spei-ch of Lincoln which startled the country by its boldness and its power. It was delivered at the Re|)ublican con- vention which nominated him for .Senator, and had been prexiously submittetl to his confidential advisers. 'Ihey strenuously opposed the introduction of its openinL^ sentences. He was warned that they would be fatal to his election, and, in the existing' stat(? of pul)lic feeling-, might permanently destroy his politi- cal prospects. Lincoln could not be moved. "It is tnic\" said he, "and 1 i^'ill deliver it as written. I would ratlujr be defeated with these expressions in my speech held up ami discussed before the people than be victorious without them." The paragraph gave to the; country a statement of the problem as terse and vigorous and even more complete than .Seward's " irreprijssible conllict," and as startling as Sumner's proposition that "freedom was national, slavery sectional." " A house divided against itself," said Lincoln, " cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved ; I do not expect the house to fall ; but I expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other. Flither the opponents of slavery will arrest the farther spread of it, and place it where the public mind'shall rest in the belief that it is in the course of ultimate extinction, or its advocates will push it forward till it shall become alike lawful INS rir.iv OF THE si.avi-ry ornsnoN. J3<> in all the Stalt;s, — old as well as new, Xorih as well as Soiitli." ll scciiis small wonder ihai I )()ii>j;las sliouKl inlfrpn-f. this as a threat of se-ctional strife, should magnify it and distort it, and that it shoiiKl thus W- \\\v means of drixini; m.my timid voters to the support ot tin- more jjolitie candidate. Never hail tht; issues of a political cainpais^n seemi'(l more momentous ; never was one more ably eontested. The triumph ot" the doctrine ol "popular sovereijLi^nty." in th(,' Kansas-Xebraska bill, had o|)ened tln' Territoriits to slavery, whilt^ it professed to leave the ([uestion to he di(ide:a— ME' ,''4;i''f'' <';;'ii,,i- ' "^1 SBuJMMB^K^inBHr ' ' ~ .'i^'-l^iti S?i ■ .' m|3^P^fo^-' ^^ffl Kp^flpw^''^ ' I^^H^^^^^B^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^b^~. 1 .jmBSZhMBh HK'?'-* ''^' ■ ' (■^B^-^'' . ^Sr ^^^^^^^Kftt^-'' ^jhiBMh^H iPri.'* ''' ', '•'>■■. •; ^HHM^^^^^Hmp^g^lj^^jnB mh| HHBhB ^^HH^^^QH ' ''i^i^^^^^^^^l ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^HH^B m by which he arrived in W'ashins. ton luiexijectedly, and the re- mainini:;' time until ^L'lrch 4th was spent in preparing" his Inau- gural. When Chief-Justice Taney had administered the oath ot office, the new President deliv- ered the Inauy;ural, which, while it was lari^rely addressed to the Southern peo[)le, must have been really intended to streUL^then the hearts of the; friends of the Union. It foreshadowed fully and faith- fully the course of his administra- tion, and left no slij^htest excuse for secession or rebellion. lie pointed out in the kimlest possi- ble manner the inevitable results of disunion, and, while sacrihcinj^ no principl(^ and declarinsj;- his pur[)ose to fulfill his oath and to preserve the I'nion, the tone of the address has been likened to that of a sorrowim,;- father to his wayward children. 'niK (;Ki:.\r civii, war. His task was such as no man v.wx laced before. The tj^reat republic, the only great and promising experinnMit in self goxernnu'Ut that the world had ever seen, seemed about to k^wk^, after all, in failure, it was to be det(.'rmined whether the Constitution contained thi; germs of its own destruction, or whether the government established under its provisions possessed the necessary strength to hold itself together. CIM KAl. WIMlll.l) "-roir. 244 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. Mr, Lincoln called to his cabinet the ablest men of his party, two of whom, Seward and Chase, had been his competitors for the nomination, and the new administration devoted itself to the work of savinL,'' the Union. Every means was tried to prevent the secession of the border States, and the Presi- dent delayed until Fort Sumter was fired upon before he bes^an active measures for the suppression of the Rebellion and called ior seventy-five thousand volunteers. Fhe sj;-reat question, from the start, was the treatment of the nes^ro. The advanced anti-slaver)' men tlemanded decisive action, antl coukl not understand that success depended absolutely upon the administration commandin■' : . ■■.■•. -^s. ' : ,■•.'7 ■• •..T:-v,^-.;:v;.,.-t ■ •. -■v-H.>,.. , ■ ■ r V'J-,.^.,^;/. lURIl N 1 VI'. \II\V (i|- ,\MII.R^"\VI1,I.I'. I'RISON, conduct of th(; war, the ever pr(!sent necessity of providing' money, whici, flowetl out of th(> treasury in a thousand streams uiuUm' tin* stress of daily ^rowin*^- ami I'xpandino- public expenditure;, th(; jealousy of politicians and the bickerim^s of generals, all these, and a thousand wearin<^-, perplexiuL;- details, filhnl his days and ni^^hts with laljor ami anxiety. And, through it all, the s^reat man, bearing his burden from day to day, ijj^rew in the love of his |)eo])l(! as they came to know him better. It is of the human side of Lincoln that we think ins cKii.iT A/uf./'/ir.s. 247 most, of his homclv speech, his kindliness, ot llie \\a\' he persistecl, all throiiL^h the war, in seeing- antl conxersinL;" with the thousands of all classes who thronjred the doors ot the \\ hite 1 louse, of the tears that canu: to his cncs at each story ot "ilistress, of his reailiness to pardon, his uinvil!inL;ness to punish,— TiiF. f-Ai'Ti'Ri' or nonrir. thk ^^iavfr or i.imoin. but this is only part of Lincoln. I lis ^rasj) of (piestions of State policy was superior to that of anv of his advisers. The ini|)ortant dispatch to our minister to England in May, 1.S61, outlining' the course to be pursued toward that power, has been published in its orii.:;inal draft, showint^ the work of the .Secre- 248 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. tary of State and the President's alterations. Of this publication the editor of the Xorth American Rcric7u says: " Many military men, who have had access to Mr. Lincoln's papers, have classed him as the best general of the war. This paper will 'j;p far toward establishin_L,r his reputation as its ablest diplcjmatist." It would be impossible for any intt;lli<;ent person to study the paper thus published, the omissions, the alterations, the substitutions, without acknowledg- \Vig that they were the work of a master mind, and that the raw backwoodsman, not three months in office, was the peer of any statesman with whom he mit,dit find it necessary to cope. He was entirely willing- to grant to his secretaries and to his generals the greatest liberty of action ; he was ready to listen to any one, and to accept advice even from hostile critics ; and this readiness made them think, sometimes, that he had little mind of his own, and brought upon him the charge of weakness ; but, as the facts have become more fully known, it has grown more and more evident that he was not only the "best general " and the "ablest diplomatist," but the greatest man among all the great men whom that era of trial brought to the rescue of our country. And when the end came, after four years of contlict, when the triumph seemed complete and the work of saving the Union appeared to be accomplished, it needed only the martyr's crown to add depth of pathos to our memory of Lincoln, and insure him that fame which had been prophesied for him, should he make himself the " emancipator, the liberator. That is a fame worth living for ; ay. more, that is a fame worth dying for, though that death led through the blood of Gethsemane and the agony of the accursed tree. That is a fame which has glory and honor and immortality, and eternal life," The story of the end need hardly be told. On the evening of April 14, 1865. Abraham Lincoln was shot by a half-crazed sympathizer with the South, John Wilkes Booth. The President had gone, by special invitation, to witness a play at Ford's Theatre, and the assassin had no difficulty in gaining entrance to the box, committing the dreadful deed, and leaping to the stage to make his escape. The story of his pursuit and death while resisting arrest is familiar to us all. Mr. Lincoln lingered till the morning, when the little group of friends and relatives, with members of the cabinet, stood with breaking hearts about the deatii-bcd. Sorrow more deep and universal cannot be imagined than enveloped our land on that 15th of April. Throughout the country every household felt the loss as of one of themselves. The honored remains lay for a few days in state at Washington, and then began the funeral journey, taking in backward course almost tlie route which had been followed four years before, when the new'ly elected President came to assume his burdens and to lay down his life. .Such a pilgrimage of sorrow had never been witnessed by our people. It was followed by the sympathy of the whole world until the loved remains were laid in the APPEA RANCH A XI) CHARACTER. 249 tomb at Sprint^field. Over the door f)f the State; I louse, in the city of his homftj. where his oK' "fii^hbors took their last farewell, were the lines : — O" " He left us bdrnc up I)y our [iravLTs ; II'j returns cuiliaiiucd in ciur tears." "Cities and States," said the L;reat Beecher, "are his pall-bearcrs, and the cannon speaks the hours with solemn proo;ression. Dead, dead, d(!ad, he yet speaketh. Is \Vashinc,^ton dead? Is I lampden dead ! Is any man, that ever was fit to live, dead? Disenthralled of tU-sh, risen to the imobstruct(!d sphere where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work. His life is now grafted upon the infinite, and will be fruitfid as no (.'arthly life can be. Pass on, thou that hast overcome. Ye people, behold the martyr whose blood, as so many articulate words, pleads for fidelity, for law, for liberty." TRAITS OF HIS (TIAKAC TKR. Abraham Lincoln was in every way a remarkable man. Towerinq- above his fellows, six feet four inches in height, his t^aunt fijj^ure, somewhat stooping, w^ould of itself attract attention. Possessed of gigantic strength, he was diffi- dent and modest in the extreme. The habits of youth, and a natural indifference to such things, made him through life careless of dress. When he came upon the stage at Cooper Institute, in 1S60, he probably was for the first time discon- certed by his clothing. 1 le had donned a wo."^' suit, which seemed not to fit his great limbs, and showed the creases made by close packing in a valise. lie imagined that his audience noticed the contrast between his dress and that of William CuUen P)ryant and other gentlemen on the stage, and he was wc;ll into his address before he could forget it. The expression of his face was sad ; and as the war dragged its slow length along, that sadness deepened. His mind was always tinged w'ith a settled melancholy, an inherited trait, and it is doubtful whether he was ever entirely free from the mental depression which on two occasions almost overwhelmed him. Notwithstanding this, he was the greatest inventor and gatherer f)f amusing stories known to our public life;, lb; used these stories on every occasion, whether to amuse a chance listener, to enforce a point in a speech, or to divert the mintl of an imwelcome (pu^stioner. Digni- fied statesmen and aml)assadors were astounded when the President interrupted their stilted talk with a story of "a man out in Sangamon Coimty." He opened that meeting of the Cabinet at which he announced his soUmuu purpose to Issue the Emancipation Proclamation by reading aloud a chapter from Artemus Ward. But the joke was always for a piu-pose. 1 le settled many a weighty question, which hours of argument could not have done so well, by the keen, incisive wit of one of these homely "yarns." His great Secretary of State, gravely discussing questions of state policy, felt the ground give waV IS 2;o ABRAHAM LINCOLN. under his feet wlien the Tresident was "reminded" of a story of a net^ro preacher. He s(;ttle ■: 1 v'^'^^IHr them arose men tlivinely endowed with minds ' "' \. I / ^-j^V" j^i^j hearts equal to the threat demands. ( )f these " men who saved the nation," n(jnc; filled at the time a larger place in the public mind, and p(;r- ha])s none save Lincoln have more fully deserved their fame, than William H. Sewaril. There is a sort of fascination about the story of the boy who begins lite by running away from his parents' control. \Vhen .Seward was seventeen years old he found himself at variance with his /ather about tailors' bills and other vital matters, and leaving I'nion College, at Schenectady, without th(; knowkidge of his parents, j(nirne)-ed to (ieorgia, "where he engaged to take charge of a certain I'nion Academy, at tin; salary of eight hundred dollars per year. The future statesman was so affected, however, by a letter from his fath(;r, depicting tlu; distress of his mother, that he trans- ferretl the engagement to a frieiul and returned to college. William II. Seward was tin; fourth of a famib' of six children, and, being born in iSoi, at a time when slavery was in process of grailual abolition in New ^'ork, his life covered, almost exactlv, the period of our country's strusj-srje with that question. In that struggle he was himself to take a leading part. His father, Samuel S. Seward, was a man of some culture, who added to the practice of medicine the varied occupations of farmer, merchant, magistrate, and politician. His mother was in every way a worthy hi-lp-meet to her energetic husband, while possessing that softer nature which engaged th(! affection of her children, as that of their sterner father failed to tlo. Graduating from college, young Seward determined to enter die law, and 254 WfUJAM II. SEWARD. pursued tin- stutly. which he had alrcaily hcj^un, in a law otTuc in (ioshni, and in the city of New NOrk. and a^fain in (loshtMi. lie was .i(hiiitt(;cl to practice in 1.S22, and iinnKrdiately formed a partnership for the practice of his profession in the town of Auburn, which continued to he his home. His choici; of a location had been intluenced Ijy the fact that it was the homi? of a certain Miss !•" ranees A. Miller, who, when the law had sufticiently smiled upon lu.-r youns; de-votee, became Mrs. .Scwanl. The youni( lawyer r<'adily inadt; a place for himself nut only in his profes- sion, but in the social lik: of the community, and in the local politics, lie had 01. 1) MAV YliKK MANSION NKAR SIWARli S IIOMK. been brou^^ht up in the political school of Jefferson, but found his opinions so altered by his own study of principles, of men, and of events, that he never cast a vote for the canditlates of that party, idcntifyinL,^ himself at once with the "National Republicans," and later with the "Anti-Masons," the "Whigs," and so, by natural process, becoming a leading Republican. The reception to Lafayette, in 1S25, was a notable event in Auburn, and in this, as in all transac- tions of local importance, .Seward took a prominent part. His influence in local politics caused him to be one of a caucus held in 1830, in Albany, to consider measures for widening the field of the influence of the Anti-Masonic party, rOf./T/CS /.V Xl'.W JfVv'A'. -55 and his tact and ability so ii)i|ir(sscd his coailjulors as to in.ikr him oin- of the leaders of thi; party. Mere, tor the first time, Ik; was broiij^lit into that close association with Thurlow \\'<'c(l whiih became really a |)olitical partnership, and which, for a j^eneration, was to dominate the politics ot the Stati-, and to be counted as one of the j^q-eatest forc(!s in the nation at lari^c Under the intluence of this coalition, \\v. was, in iS^). electi'd as the candi date of tin; Anti-Masonic party, a member of tin; .State .Senate, in which position he acquitted himself with honor, lhoiiL;h the collapse of his party prt'vented a re-election. The orujanization of the W hii;' parts', ho\ve\cr, i^ave the political firm of Weed cS: .Seward abundant opportunity for tlu; exercise of thi-ir talents, and to .S(;ward it broui^ht the nomination for (iovernor. This so surpriseil his neighbors in .\uburn that some of them of his own |)arty declared that •• the State must be in a strauL^e condition if .Seward is amon^- its j^reatest men," — a surprise which may ha\(; been (piieted by tlu; remark of one of the delegates to the convention: "(lentlemen, I have learned one thin^;' by ijoint^ to I'tica, and that is, that a ij^reat man never lives at home." llis failure of election broui^dit no rcial discourai^ement to Mr. .Seward, as the campaign had ori^-'anized and solidifietl tht; ik;w |)arty, ami he now devoted himself to building up his law practice, ami could write to Weetl, declining to be used in the building- ol any more " political cob-houses." I.\irKKSSIONS OF SI A\KKV. In 1S35 he ilrove with Mrs. .Seward to the Natural IJriil^c in X'irj^dnia, and we find rellectetl in his letters the painful impressions of slavery, which contirmi:d his j)revious sentiments, and helix'd to make him the wise, consistent opponent of its extension which he afterward becauK;. ;\ sins^le scent; will illustrate this : A cK ul of dust comes slowly up the road, from which proceeds a confusion of moanini^ weejjint^, and shoutint,''. Presently it is seen to be' caused by ten little naked boys, from six to twc;lve years old, tied together, two and two, by their wrists, and fastened to a rope, while a tall white man drives the procession by aid of a lonor whip, watering its hungry members at the horse-trough, and then leaving them to sob themselves to sle(;p in a shed. These children had been purchased at different plantations, and were being tlriven to Richmond, to be sold at auction antl taken .South. Mr. Seward s|)ent the great(;r part of the years 1836 and 1837 at Westfield. Chautauqua Co., X. V., in adjusting th(^ ditficulties between the Holland Land Company and the setders in that part of the .State, a service; in which he was eminently successful antl which resulteil greatly to his financial benefit. The Whig victory of 1836 brought a revival of .Seward's political aspirations, and in 1S38 he was elected Governor. The most notal)le f(;atures of his administration were his refusal to deliver to the X'irginia authorities three sailors who were charged with secreting an escaping slave, a subsequent dispute with Georgia 256 Wlf.lJAM II. S J:\VAK1). over a similar matter, the abulishiiiL;- of imprisonment for debt in New \'ork, and the fostc^'in^; of general education, internal improvements, and foreign immigration. A pleasant anecilote of (io\crnor Seward is to the effect that (jne Sunday in Xew \(>rk lie; startetl out to find an l*!piscopal church. He entered one near IJroadway, to which he- had fre([uently been invited, but no one offered him a seat. l''ollowt:d by the UKMubers of his stall, h(; traversed the entire length of thi; church, when, linding a door in the rear wall, he passed quietly out into the churchvartl. .S(jme of the; church otticers followed th<' parly out, with assur- ances that no oltense had been intended, tliat had the members known who it was seats would have been plenty, and iin iled their return. The reply was to the e-ltect that Mr. .Seward had no desire to \isit a church which had a seat for a g()\ernor, but none for a stranger. ("lovernor Seward also demonstrated, in a way which will appeal very strongly to the sympathies of this gen(!ration, his wiilingni'ss to de|)art from time-honored precedent when he was convincc'd that the precedent was not founded in right principle;. In his prejiaration for the New ^'ear s celebration of 1842 he subslitutc:d cold water and lemonade for the punch and wine which IkuI previously been pro\id(!tl ; and this he did not in accordance with his own tastes so much as b(!cause he beli<'\-ed that the growing tem])erance sentiment was entitled to recognition, and that those in authority should set a proper e.xample in such matters. At the close of the year 1S42 the (iovernor retiretl to private life, having declined to be a candiilate for a third term. ( )ne feature of his administration is still worthy of notice : he was exceptionally th'm in the: refusal of pardons to convicted criminals. Listening patiently to every applicant, weighing carefully all the evidence, and devotinj^ days and nights of anxious labor to the study of important cases, he absolutely refused to yield to the pressure of inllucnce, or even to jjopular ojjinion, and where no errors were manifest and he could not be convinced that humanity would be the gainer by interfering, he insisted that the course; of justice must not be interrupted, and that the judgment of the courts must be fulfilled. In cas(>s, Iiowever, where he felt that mercy could be safely (extended, it was done, without regard to tharty, for llieir own personal and t(;mporar\- triumph. So the Wlii^s elected I larrison in 1 S40, were def(;ated with Clay in 1^44, \ictorious with Taylor in 1.S4.S, and wert? ready to disappear with Scott in 1852, leaving,'' all that was \ital in their orq;anization or principles to rally to the support of the new jjarty which nominati d bremont in iS^6 and elected Lincoln in 1S60. SF.AI. C\ II IIINi; IN AI \->KA. r,i.i:ci-i()X lo -I'liK uNri'f.i) siaths sI'Nati-. The success of the W'hin's in 1S48 made possible llu- election of Mr. Sewanl to the Senate, which body lu; entered two years befo'-e .Sumner, with whom and Chase and Hale he; was to op])os(' the forceps of slavery. .Senator .Seward is described as a slender, hook-nosed, t;ray eyeil, homely man, haviiii^ red hair, a voice harsh and un])leasant. and a manner decidedly awkward, but his s[)eeches were L^raceful and smooth as well as strong', their style was pure and cK^ar, and it was early noticed that when tin- Senator from New \'ork arose to spi:ak, the .Senate; was ready to listen. 1 lis spc^eches are said to have done more than any other one thin<4^ to outline a ileclaration of faith upon which the various groui)b of anti-slavery men the country over could agree. 258 n'ILLlA.\[ If. SEWARD. If this be true, it has been too much overlooked in recountingf Mr. Seward's claims to greatness. I lis services as Lincoln's Secretary of State and his suc- cess in steeriuL,'' the; country through the stormy times when a mistake would have brought on foreign war, or a wrongly phrased dispatch precipitated a recognition of the Southern Confederacy, have overshadowed what certainly was no less great, the bringing together into a single party, disciplined and united, the widely-dittering factions, largely composed of hot-headed fanatics, which in 1S50 could hardly be said to be united in anything, so far asunder were they, even in their opposition to slavery. Seward used cpiotations with great felicity, for his memory was exact and capacious, and his reading had been wide. lie never descended to coarse jokes or mere buffoonery, but his speeches as well as his autobiography abound in a keen, dry, delightful humor, which atlded much to their force, and which makes them still agreeable reading. His invitation to the Southern .Senators to come and argue their case openly before the people of the North, and the contrast which he made evident between the freedom with which they might do so, and the rancor and persecution which followed even the mildest expression of anti-slavery sentiments at the .South, demonstrated .Summer's proposition that " freedom was national anil slavery sec- tional ; " and the way in which the Xew York .Senator laid bare the vicious nature of a cause which thus stilled free speech anil hunted an opponent to death could not be more effective. Two phrases of his used in the delates of this period have become historic, his ileclaration that th(;re was " a higher laio than the Con- stitution which regulated the authority of Congress over the national domain, — the law of God anil the interests of humanity," and his reference to the "irre- pressible contlict" which could only end in the country becoming all free or en- tirely a slaveholding nation. In all the heated political warfare between 1850 and 1S60, Mr. .Seward bore a prominent part, and so evidently was he the leader of the Republican forces that it was thought that he must necessarily be the party candidate for the presidency. When the convention assembled at Chicago this seemed to the party mana;;ers a foregone conclusion, but a variety of causes, personal hostility, local prejudices, and that peculiar qualification, "availability," gave the nomination to Lincoln. Mr. .Seward must have been iirofoundly disappointed, but he niadc; no sign. He cheerfully set to work to promote the success of his party, and made, in the cam[)aign which foUovt-ed, a series of speeches, which, together with those delivered four years before, form a complete presentation of the anti-slavery case. The .South was crying out that the eK;ction of Lincoln meant the destruc- tion of the rights and property of that section ; but .Seward's s[)eeches proved, if proof were necessary, that this was merely an excuse, put forward by those in favor of secession. GREATXESS AS A PIPLOMAT/ST. 259 Between Lincoln's election antl inauguration, Seward was largely instru- mental in checking treason in Buchanan's caljinet, ami in s(.-curing tht; country against its clangers. 1 le consitlerinl the; battle; against sla\ery won l)\' Lincoln's election, and fi;lt convinced that the Rc'publican policy of forbidding its ('xten- sion would end in its final death ; antl in that belii;f he was willing to wait, to turn his back, for a time, to the all-absorbing (|uestion. ami to devote all his present energies to conciliation, and to the work of saving the Union. Lincoln's skcrl'I'akv ok siati:. Mr. Seward had early formed a resolution ne\er to acce[)t an office by appointmtMit unless it should seem to him that such a course was absolutely demanded by the welfare of the country. It is easy to believe that it was this reason which induced him to become Lincoln's Secretary of State, lie proba- bly came to the office with something of contempt for the' awkwanl, uncultured Lresitlent, and with the idea that he was to be the real force of th(; administra- tion, — a sort of " [)ower behind the throne," in whose hands the inexperienced, would-be stat(,'sman from the West would be easily controlled anil prevented from doing harm. Lie early found himself mistakcMi, however, and glatlly took the real position to which he had been chosen, that of a faithful counsellor to the great President. Wist^ly allowcul a large lilxTty in the contluct of his department, the secretary brought to his gigantic task resources as unexpected as was the demand for them. It may be too much to say, as has been said, that during the four years of striAi "his brain was pitted against all luiropc, and always won," but the f[uestions with which he had to deal had no precedent in their magnitude or their urgency, and frequently none as to the circumstances WMth which they dealt. Three instances may be mentioned : the Tnait affair, the dcmiand for com- pensation on account of damages by privateers fitted out in bJiglantl, ami the I'^-ench occupation of Mexico. The weeks succeetling the se-izure of the Con- federate commissioners who had embarked from the West Indies for Hngland upon an luiglish passenger steamer, the Trent, have been referred to as the darkest period of the war. The country was allame with patriotic exultation at the; intrepidity of Cai)tain Wilkes, and to refuse to surrender the captives at the demand of luigland secmied certain to in\olve the ilistracted country in a war with (ireat Britain. Th(! clear-headed wisdom of Lincoln, the acuteness of Seward, and the wide knowledge and great influence of .Sumner, all were needed to wring victory from the jaws of this apparently certain defeat. The country submitted unwillingly at first, but gradually came; to recognize the strength anil wisdom of a policy which acknowledged the error that had been made, and in acknowledging it shrewdly called the attention of the British ministry to the fact that it was out of just such violations of international law 26o WILLIAM IL SEWARI). that the War of 1S12 arose, and that ljiL;huul had n('\t;f acknowledged herself in the wrong. Our government could not aftbrd to commit, in 1861, the crimes against which it had protested a half cen- tury befcM'e, aiul I'-ng- land was left in the attitude of threaten- ing a war to resent the acts of which shi; had herself \)vvw guilty. Mr. Seward lived in Washington in the house occupied in later y(;ars by Secre- tary lllaine, and in which \\\(\ latter ilied. 1 It; surrounded l;im- s(;lf with the degree ot luxiu'y which his moderate wealth jus- tified, and filled the ])lace in society which lK,'long(;(l to his posi- tion in tht! govern- ment and to his com- manding abilities and great intellectual re- soiu'ces. When Lin- coln was assassin- ated, the plot included th(; murder of the S(!cretary of State. Mr. .Seward was ill and confmetl to his bed, and the assassin seems to have had no difficulty in gain- ing access to his chamber. \\v. was SLal)l)ed in several places, particularly in the face, but the bravery of his male nurse prevented his being killed. I<"or days it was questionable whether he would recover, and his face was so injured IIJciI.S TfilKM, ()|- .ALASKA. THE FREEMAN CASE. 261 that it was difficult to feed him. It was thought best to keep him in ignorance of the fate of Lincohi, but when, with his first returniuL^ stren_!^rth. he saw throusj^h his window the White House lla^- at half-mast, he- instantly divined the truth, and, with tears coursini^ down his scarrc;d cheeks, exclaimed, "The President is d<;ad ! " Tin: I'lKCIIASK OK ALASKA. Mr. Seward continued to occupy the office of Secretary of vStatc durinjj;- the presidency of Andrew Johnson, rather leanin^^ to the side of the President in his heated controversy with Cons^ress. The most notable event of this time, aside from the reconstruction of the Southern States, was the purchase from Russia of the territory of Alaska. .Secretary .Seward was quick to see the value to us of this vast and still little-known territory, and it was almost altogether through his efforts that it became a part of the United States. The great leader had now completed his public service. I le spent a year in a journey around the world, being everywhere received with the honor due to his eminence as a man and a statesman. Returning to Auburn, he began to write his autobiography, which he had completed as far as the year 1834, when his death occurred in Octoljer, 1872. Opinion will always differ as to the comparative standing and services of great men, but it can never deny to William II. Seward a place among the fore- most. He possessed in a liigh degree that peculiar faculty of grasping the thought of the average man, which enabled him to organize men into parties and to lead die parties so formed. I le was great as a diplomatist, as a states- man, a politician, a lawyer, but he possessed some qualities which constrain us to tender to him our greatest atlmiration as a man in his rc.-lations to his fellows. His love of right, his hatred of injustice in any form, made liim the willing servant of the poor and helpless, and his legal learning and skill as an aiKocate were heartily given in behalf of the suffering poor, from whom he could hope for no reward, and could not be bought at any price for the furtherance of o[)pres- sion or wrong. In 1846 Air. .Seward had Interestetl himself to secure a fair trial for a negro convict who had murtlered a fellow-|)ris()ner. While the case was ])en(ling, a whole family was murderetl near .\uburn, ami tht; murderer, another negro, narrowly escaped lynching. Mr. Seward's course in deft-nding the first guilty man became at once very unpopular, and excitement rose to the highest pitch when, in the absence of any other counsel, he volunteered to serv(; the second, The accounts of the trial would seem to demonstrate that the; man was not responsible for his deeds ; but the mob spirit was aroused, ami the demand for his conviction and execution was so universal as to make the part of his volun- teer attorney not only unpleasant in the; extreme, but positiv(,'ly dangerous. Mr. Seward felt that he was, in all probability, sacrificing his popularity and 262 JJV/JJ.LV //. SEWARD. his influence by the course lie was taking, and these were, justly, ver) dear to him, but he did not hesitate. It is related that Mr. Gladstone, speakin^j to Charles Sumner of this trial, said that " Mr. Sew- ard's ar^uinent in the I'ree- nian case is the greatest forensic eltort in the l^n^lish lauLi^uaq'e." "The -greatest?" exclaimed an- other gentleman; "Mr. Glad- stone, ytKi forc^et Hrskine." " No." was the reply, " I do not forget Erskine ; Mr. Seward's argument is the ^-reatest forensic effort in th(; language." In the preliminary trial he had referred to the feeling- against him, sayincf that it miyht very possibly con- tinu(.' throughout his life and make his t^rave " unhonored, neglected, spurned," but expres- sing a hope that even then some one might be found who wouul erect over his remains an humble stone, and thereon this epitaph, "He u>as faithful ^ The wave ot madness quickly passed, and Governor Seward found that he had been only at the beginning of his fame, his popularity, and his useful- ness, but the simple epitaph for which he that day expressed a desire is fitly inscribed upon his monument in the cemetery at Auburn. \V;i.I.IA.M lAVAKI l.l.ADSlilM;, PS^^ff^l^W ilRPPIRISHHI H^^I^^^H .A'A^£«, HBRHH I^^^^^^^H 1^^^^*^ I^^I^^BHh^bh BHK'I^ , ^^mk^^H^H aS^^ ' >"' IPS^BH * rf^irri^^^l M^S^^H ^^^s'*' ' ^ ^^n^^ < At i.- %^Bn^H| f^ ^T^^^Bfl^^^^^H ^■■^p ^>v^Hh ^j i^^^^B P''"' -^1 i^^ji^^HH BiEk!«. s^ "^^B^^M It w ■" i -^^^ ^^p<.™ ^^^EMbfiii^aB^* .^^H flW^SnTl^™^ 1 rHAKI.ES Sl'MNF.R. 264 CHARLES SUMNER, THE ORBAT .\n\-OCATh: OK KKBKUOM. AY, in lofty madness, that you own the sun, the stars, the moon: but do not say tliat you own a man, en- dowed with soul to live immortal, when sun and moon and stars have passetl away. " Such words are now only remarkahlt; for their beauty ; the truth they convey has come to be axiom- atic ; shivery has ceased to be a ch'batable (jueslion ; % M' "^^^ii^^ /'' but when they w(,M-c utt(M-ed they w(;re almost treason, 1 W,%g^ ,, i-^ ^ and were sufficient to brin<;- dcjwn upon the speaker tht; concentrated hatred of a whole section of our country, and the expression of such sentiments cut him off from sympathy with those who reo^arded themselves as the best people of his native city, and closed to him social circles of which he had bei.-n a proud and honored member. We Americans hold in especial honor those of our j^reat men who, like Lincoln, (Irant, (jarfield, and a host of others, have attainetl their eminence with- out the assistance of inherited wealth or culture, and by their own unaided exer- tions. We almost come to think that in our country such " self-made men " possess a monopoly of t^^reatness. To this idea there are many contradictions, but none more complete or more strikin^^ thaii is to be found in the life and works of Charles .Sumner. His ancestors, indeed, were farmers, and his mother was a tailoress ; but the .Sumners had for ^-enerations taken a more or less promi- nent part in public affairs, holdinL!;- a hit^h place in the esteem of the community. They shared the; Xew luis^land respect for cultur(\ father and son for at least three o;en(!rations pursuing' their studies at Harvard ; and this tyi)ical rei)resen- tative of Massachusetts o^rew to manhood, and took his place among the famous men of his time, without that pinch of poverty which we are rather prone to think a necessary spur. He was the eldest of nine children, received his preliminary education at the famous Boston Latin School, and entered Harvard at the age of fifteen, and 265 16 266 Cff.lRUiS SUMXRR. his mother coiiUl well boast that " Charles, \vlu;n a boy, was a good scholar and always diligcMit in his studies." At c(ille<^fe, his habits were quiet, and his tiiiK; almost entirely devoted to study, though th<,' ranL,fe of his interest was so witU: as to inlerlen; to some extent with th(; r(;([uired work, and he never took very high rank in his class. 1 ie had few intimate friends, though he enjoyed social life ; and it is typical of the man that in college discussions and literary work he always took the serious, tlu; earnest point of view. The boy was father to the man ; and impurity of speech or conduct was Impossible to him thcMi as always. After leaving college he s|)ent a year in further reading and study, slowly making up his mind to enter the profession of law. In his professional studies Sumntjr tlistinguishetl hims(;lf by the thoroughness of his reading and the accuracy and wide range; of th(; knowletlgc; thus accjuired, though his deNotion was ratlu'r to the principles and philosophy of the law than to the knowledge necessary for its practice, [lis association with the famous Judge Story at this periotl did much to develop this tenilency. and he i)lanned for himself a career much like that of his lH;lf)ved friimd and instructor, which, as is so frecpiently true of youthful programs, the force of circumstances compelled him to abandon for a course which led, by other paths, to honors even higher than thost: he coveted. He began the practice of law in Uoston, and devoted himself earnestly to it. Many of its i)hases wcn-e not congenial to him, but he accepted any honor- able work in the line of his profession, drawing up papers, taking testimony as commissioner, assisting as junior counsel in some important cases, and, as he once laughingly told a friend, even found it within the line of his professional duty to write a love letter for an illiterate client, — a letter so tenderly e.xpressed as to tlraw tears from the eyes of the lovelorn swain, though we arc not informed of its effect upon the fair object of his affections. He early began to draw around him a circle of closely-attached friends, — those who already filled [)laces of large usefulness, and many of whose names have since become housi^hold words. He was intimately associated with Judge .Story and Professor ("jr(?enU;af reporting the judicial decisions of the former, assisting both in the preparation of their books, and taking their places in the conduct of the Harvard Law School. He was one of the editors of the 'jurist, to whicli Ik; contributed many articles on legal topics of importance, and article's by him were occasionally found in the pages of the Norllt Auicri- ca)i Ju'r/cai and other leading periodicals. He greatly enjoyed social inter- course, and for many years " The Imvc of Clubs," an informal organization composed of Sumner, his partner, Millard, Longfellow, I'elton, afterward president of Harvard, and Henry R. Cleveland, used to meet almost weekly for discussion and the enjoyment of their close and unusual fellowship. He Ills J'LS/r TO liUKOPE. 267 counted amonuj his friciuls I'Vancis Li«;l)cr, Chancellor Kent, Chief Justice Marshall, Choate, Clay, CalliDiiii, Webster; ctviTy one acknou led^^ed his learninij^. his ability, i:\cry ont; prophesied j^reat thinirs of hini and for him ; but his law practice was not larj^e, ami tlur occasion seemed lacking which should arouse his enthusiasm and call forth his ent^jj^ies. insiiNci isiii:ii Ki:(i:n'io\ i\ i:i kupK. He had loii!^ desired to visit l'luro|)e, anil in December, 1S37, he s;iil(;d for Havre, lie spent three years in I'rance, Ciermany, Italy, and (ireat Britain, borrowing; the five thousand dollars which h(; expiMideil in this time. In branci:, Italy, and (iermany he applied himself with enthusiasm, first, to tlu; study of the lanL;ua!..,re and lite-rature, and then of society, and especially of the law and its administration. In I'^nt^land he was accordc-d a reception the like of whi.'h no othi;r American, previously unknown abroad, has proljably enjoyed. Letti;rs from ludi^-e Story and other distinL,aiished Americans o[)en('d the way, and his ^reat and extensive learnini;-, p(*rsonal dit^nity, and hi^h character, with his intense interest in all the phases of lui<.,dish life, and particularly in the adminis- tration of Mnnlish law, attract^^d first the notice;, and then tlu; friendship of the most emincMit men, who vii'd with each other in showing' him attention and in openinLj to him opportunities for seeinjj^ and knowintj;- everybody and e\-erythin!^ worth seeing- and knowiuL,''. I he ten months that he spent in I'JiL^laml were filled with calls and visits, receptions, breakfasts, dinners, ami Ijalls. He visited at their country seats Hrout^ham, .Sydney Smith, Jeffrey : saw Wordsworth and Carlyle at their own residences ; constantly met Macaulay, I iallam, I larriet Martineau, Lockhart, " P)arry Cornwall;" spent a day at Windsor Castle, the guest of the household, and jiartook of the Lord Mayor's bancpiet at Cuildhall, owing his invitation to Lord Denman, and being conveyt-d thitlu;r b)- Sir Frederick Pollock in his carriage. He writes, December 5, iSj;S: " 1 o-night my invitations w(.-re to dinner at Ikougham's, Sir Robert Inglis's, Mr. lustice Littledal(;'s, ami Mr. Kenyon's : at the latter place to meet Rogers and .Southc;y. I dined with Brougham, as his invitation came fu'st. To-morrow I tiiiu; with the Political b'conomy Club, where I shall meet Senior, John Mill, McCulloch, S[)ring Rice, Lord Lanstlowne, (;tc. On the next day I commence my pilgrim- age to Oxford, where I pass four days, and those four da\s are engaged : first, to Sir Charles \''aughan, at .All .Souls ; second, to nn- friend Ingham, M. P.. at Oriel ; third, to Dr. Hampden, at Christ Church : fourth, to Wortley, at Merton. I then go to Cambridge, where my first day is engaged to Whewell, etc." He heard the Queen's speech at the opening of ParlianuMit, having " p(a"ha])s the best place occupied by a person not in court ilress," antl standing immediately in front of Princes Louis Bonaparte; and in the evening, in the House of Lords, where Lord Holland had placed him on the steps of the throne, he listened 2r.s CH.iKiJis s('.u.\7:a'. while th(! Lonl L'iKiiKcllor n-.u! the sptcili to tin- I loiist;, and for two hours and a half to liroii^hain's masirrly ami cIikiuciu spci^ch, "the brimful house iiit(-'r- ruptiiit;- him with \()cifen)u-^ apidauM-, .ii.ul oKl W'lJliiij^ton noililiu^f his head and adtliuL; his cheer. " I le wrote lo Jui1l;(' Story sketches l)ased u|)()n personal ac(|uaintance of all tile UnuHiil; b.u'risters in I'.n^land, and of the judges of the ilifferent courts, having- known them intimately not only in London, hut ui)on the different circuits. I le was tri'(|uently invited to sit with the judt^t's, usually preferring" to he in the froiu row ot h.uM'isters : and one reason fortius remarkable courtesy may be ira'cd in the wonderhil knowleili^e he in the same leiii^lh of time or at his time; of life, and which was no sm.ill |)art of his preparation hjr the work hi; was to tlo. I )urinL; the next fixe; years he devoi.ed himself to the law, without succeediniL,^ in buiidiiiL,'' up an extensive practice, but taking' a leailiiii:,^ part in every public movement in behalf of educa- tion, prison reform, etc., occasionalK' writing' for the North .biicricnii /KrriciL.' and fre(|uentl\' for professional journals, and becoming more antl more dee[)ly interestt-'d in th(; great wartare against slavt-ry. okAIKiNS AHAINST W.\K AND SIA\i;kV. I'^arlv in 1S45 he was in\ited to delivtM' tiie annual b'ourth of July oration in l)Oston. This was the first occasion on which he spoke to a large; popular audience, and lie prejtared for it his address upon "The True; (irandeur of Nations." It marked him at once as a public man, and is more widely known than any of his other writings. Its denunci -.ticjn of the; war s[)irit was exceed- ingly offensive; to a large portion of his audience-, anel to me)st men in e^fhcial life; but its publication bre)ught him a showe-r e)f ailmiring anel congratulate)ry letters fre)m many parts of tlie country ind fre)m I'jiglanel. Althe)ugh all cannot agre;e; e-ntirely with its i(inchisie)ns, many the)usands of co[>ies have been solel, .ind it still holels its place; as an American classic. During th<; following live; years he became more deeply absorbed in the slavery e|ue'stie)n, and in 1850 adelre-ssed the meeting in b^aneuil Mall, called to EUiCnOX TO lllh: SI'.SATE. •6,, prot(.'st ai^ainst the l'"iiL,ntiv(; Sl;i\i' Law. iiunnlmiii;,; in his spci'ch an allusion to a paiiUiilLj. by a lamoiis \'nictiaii artist, of "Saint Mark (li-^cciidiiiL; troin tin: skicjs in hcadlonj^^ fury " and hrcakinL,^ "th<' nianarlcs of a sla\f in tin- \(ry prcs- enciM)f the judi^c who decreed liis fate." "Should Massaciuiseits," exclaimt d tlu; orator, " hen-altcir in an <-vil hour ln' desecrated hy any such decree, nia\' the ^(jod l^vaiii^^elist once inor(-' d(;scend with \aliant arm to l)reak the uiauacles of the slave." A c(»|)y of the paintini^' used afterward to haii;^ in Mr. Siunner's dinini,f-room, and he was accustomed to s,iy, "That iiicture made me senator." Just at this juncture it hecame possible for th(; anti-slavery men ot Massachu- setts to form a coalition which sent Sumner to the I nited Stat(;s Senate, a ri-sult due in part to the felicity of this ad telegraph Hashed o\er the coimtry President Lincoln's call for seventy-five thousand volunt(;ers. That evening the court-house in Galena was packed with an excited crowd, women as well as men. Grant, being known as a West Pointer, was calleil upon to preside. This was not the kind of duty for which he was prepared, but, he says. " With much embarrass- ment and some prompting, I made out to announce the object of the meeting." X'olunteers were called for, a company was raised upon the spot, and the CAPTURE OF FORT DOXEISOX. -;<> offici-TS voted for. Befori; the balloting- b(.'L,^'Ul (Inint dccliiual the caittaincy, but promised to help all he could, and to be lound in the service, in some position. hi AufTList, 1 86 1, Grant was made a brijj^adit.'r-L^eneral, and put in command of the district of Southeast Missouri, inchnlinL,'- \\'(;stern Kentucky and Cairo, Illinois, a point of i^reat importance at the junction of the Mississippi and ( )hio rivers. His brst battle was at Belmont, Missouri, about twenty niil(;s below Cairo, which he won after four hours' hartl fiohtinj;-. After tin; battle tin; Con- federates received reinforcements, and there was danj^er that (Irant's troops would be cut off from the boats by which they had come. The men perc(nved the situation, and e.xclaimed. " We are surrounded ! " " Well." was (irant's characteristic re|)ly, " we must cut our way out, then, as we cut our way in." And they tlid. Tin; autumn and wint(;r of iS6i-'62 was a time of weary waitinu-, which severely tried the spirit of the nation, impatient for action. Attention was chi(;tly concentrated upon the Potomac, where McClellan was or^ani/.inL,'^ and drillinj4^ that splendid army which ancther and a orreater commander was to lead to linal victory. While the only response to the people's urjj^ent call, " ( )n to Rich- mond ! " was the daily r(;port, "All (piiet on the Potomac," (Irant, an obscure and almost unknown soldier, was pushing;- forward aij^ainst l"\jrts llenry ami Donelson, eleven miles apart, on the Tennessee and the Cumberland, near where these rivers cross the line dividinjj;' Kentucky ami Tennessee. I le had obtained from his commander, Halleck, a reluctant consent to his plan for attacking these important posis by a land force, co-operatinf^ at the same time with a fleet of gunboats under Commodore P'oote. It was bitter cold. Amid sleet and snow the men pushed aloniL^ the muddy roads, arrivin;^ at Fort Henry just as it was captured, after a severe bombardment, by the i^unboats. Grant immediately turned his att(;nti(jn to I'ort Donelson, which had been reinforced by a lars^re part of the t^^arrison which had escaped from I'ort llenry. It was held by Generals Huckner, Pdoyd, antl Pillow, with 20,000 men. P"or three days a fierce attack was kept up : and Huckner, who, having- been at West Point with Grant, doubtless knew that he was "a very obstinate man," sent on the mornin'^'- of the fourth day, under a tla<,'' of truce, to ask what terms of sur- render would ho. L^ranted. In re|)ly (irant sent that brief stern message which thrilled throuj^hout the North, stirring" the blood in every loyal heart : — " No lERMS liUT UN'CONDITIONAL AND IMMKDIATF, SURKENUKR (AN UK ACCF-PTKl). I rROl'OSK TO MOVE IMMEDIATELY LTON VOIR WORKS." Buckner protested a^^ainst the terms ; but he wisely accepted them, and surrendered unconditionally. With Fort Donelson were surrendered 15.000 men, 3000 horses, sixty-five cannon, and a great ([uantity of small arms and iir 11 iTi'- ■ ''■' '■!■ ■«■'-■'■'-■-"-■■■""' I-'' I ' '■''■''' "" "■■""j""""i-^'"" lIl.I'llKAlinN DAY. DARK DAYS OF jS6j-'6,\ 281 military stores. It was the tirst ^jrcit vi(ti)r\' tor llu' Xorlh, and llic whole country was clcctriticd. (iraiit's reply to lUickiicr In ramc a household word, and the people of the Xorlh di'li^hted to call him " I luonditional Surrender Grant." He was made a major-j^cneral. his commission bearing- ilate of I''el>- ruary 16, 1S62, the day of the surrender of I'ort I )onelson. Till-: MAITl.t; ol' Mill.! 111. The next ;^n-eat battle foui^ht by (Inml was that of Shiloh, in Mississippi, -- " the \\'aterl(j() of the Western campaign," as it has be(;n called. In this battle ShiM'man was (irant's chi(.'f lieutenant, and the two men tested each oiher'.s qualities in th(; i^reatest trial to which either had been exposed. TIk; battle was one of the turninL,''-points of the war. The Confed(;rates, under Albert Sidney Johnston, onr. of their best q;enerals, attacked th(? Union forces at .Shiloh Church. All day .Sunday the battle ra^ed. The bra\'(! [ohnston was killed ; but the Union forces were ilri\en back, and at niv;ht their lines were a mile in the rear of ths {'slabhshfd Vnv^ aj^^o hy C"allu)lic missicjiiarics ainoni,'' th(; Cherokee Iiuhans. lliilh l.otikout MoiiiUain and Missionary Ridi^c were otciipied hy the army t.)| (e-neral l>rai,fLr. and 'i'"^ coniniandiiiL; position, strtMigthcned jiy iorlit'ications, was considered iin|)r(;4iial)h'. Tlie (hsastrous battle of Chickaniaui^M. in September, i.'^'),,, IkuI left the I nion armies in blast Tennessi^t; in a [x.-rilous siliialion. (leni-ral I'homas, in ChattanooL;a, was heinmeiut and starved, l;iy dead alont;' tin; miry roads. Chattanooga, ■fc- -'^ "H,/ ,•.-- •^-;-, ■> "91), ■■,''■•'••'• ■ .:x..^-^j:^"-*-''.i^^T IMII.U sl.MI;. MINI, MAV ORI.l;,\N>. occupied by the I 'nion army, was too strongly fortified for Hragg to take it by storm, but every day sh(;lls from his batterii-s upon the heights were thrown into the town. I his was th(; situation wh< n Cirant, stilf and sore from his accident, arrived at Xashville, on his way to direct the campaign in luist Ten nessee. " Hold Chattanooga at all hazards. I will be there as soon as possible." he telegraphed from Xaslnille to ( leneral Ihomas. •" We will hold the town until we starve." was the brave reply. drant's movements were ra|)id and decisiv(^ lb.' ordered the troops con- centrated at Chattanooga ; he fought a battle at W'auhatchie, in Lookout V^alley, C0MM.IXD/:R (V- ALL TI/l': AKM/ES. 285 which broke lirai^fuT^ \vA(\ on thf river Ix-low C'hallanoo;_;a and shortened the L iiion hea; ot supplies: .inroiis prepar.ition tor ette-c- tive action he -,0011 liail his lroo|)s lilted out ot liie deniorali/ed eondilion in which ihcy iKid sunk alter the delcu of L hickaniau^a. ( )ne month alter his arrival were fou'^ht the memor,d)h- iialth-sol Lookout Mountain and Missionary RidjL^e, by which the Conlederati- troops were (h'i\iii out of Tennessee, tiieir hokl on th<; comitry broken up, and a lar^ic ninnber ol i)risoners and i^uns japtured. XolhiiiL;' in thi- history ol war is more inspirin^^ than the impetuous liravery with which the I'nion troops loui^hl tlieir wa\' up tlie steep moiuitain sides, bristiin!^' with cannon, and (h'ove the L'onledei'ale troops out ol their works at the point ol the ba\'onet. An otVicer of ( leiieral Ih-ai^i^'s stall afterward declared that tliey considered their position perfectly impri'Liiiable, and that when they saw the I'liion troo])s, alter captiirin^^ their ritli'-pits at the base, coining' up the cra^i^y moimtain toward tlnir headipiarters, tln'v could scarcely credit their eyes, and thouLjht that every man of them must b(! drunk. I listory has no parallel for subliinitv ^.\\(\ picturesrpuMiess of elli.'ct, while the conse- qiK-nces, wliich were the division of the Confederacy in the I'.ast, were inesti- niabh.'. Aft(!r (irant's success in Tennessee;, the pn|)uKir demand that he should be put at thi; head of all the armies became irresistible. In X'ir^inia th(' magnifi- cent .\rmy of the rolomac, after two years of fiq^htint;^, had been barely able to turn back from the Xorth the tide of Confederate invasion, ann was apparently as far as ever from capturiiiij^ Richmond. In the West, on the other hanil, (irant's campaiL,ms had won victory after victory, hail driven the opposinL,^ forces out of Missouri, .\rkansas, Kentucky, and reniK^ssee, had taken \ icksburq', opened uj) the; Mississip])i, and dixided the C(jnfederacy in both the West and the l-last. In response to the call for (irant, Compress revived tin; erade of lieutenant-e^eneral. which had been held by only one commander, Scott, since the time of WashiiiL^toii : and the hero of b'ort Donelson, XicksburLj;', and Chatta- nooi^fa was nominated by the President, confirmed by the Senate, aiul placed in command of all the armii;s of the nation. The relief of President Lincoln at havinq; such a man in command was very C^reat. " drant is the first s^rih-ro/ I've; hail, " he remarked to a friend. " \'ou know how it has be(;n with all the; r(;st. As soon as I put a man in command of th<; army, he wouUI come to me with a i)lan, and about as much as say, 'Now, I don't believe I can do it, but if you say so I'll try it on,' and so put the responsibility of success or failure upon nie. They all wanted i/u- to bt; the y^eneral. Now. it isn't so with Grant. 1 le hasn't told me what his |)lans are. I don't know, and I don't want to know. I am i;lad to lind a man who can <^o ahead without me. "W'heu any of the rest set out on a campaign," adiled the President, "they 280 r/A'SSJiS S. GRANT. would look over matters and pick out soiiic one ihiiij; ijicy were shc)rt of, anc which thcv knew 1 coiiKhrt 'Aw ihcm, and tdl mv. they couldn't hope to win unless they had it; and it was most generally caxalry. Now, when (irant took hoUl, I was waiting to sec what his jict impossibility would Ix-, and I reckoned it would be cavalry, of course, for wv. hadn't enoui,di horses to mount what men we had. Thert; were fifteen thousand men up near 1 iarp- er's I'erry, and no horses to put them on. Well, the other day (Irant semis to nv. about those very men, just as I ex- pected : but what he wanteil to know was whether hi; could make infantry of tliem or disband thiin. I le tloesn't ask impossibilities of m(>, and he's the first oeneral \'\v had that didn't." With the army thoroui^hly reortj^anized, Cirant crossed the Rapidan on the 4th of May ; on tli<; 5th and 6th crippled the |)rin cipal Confederatt: army, com manded by Lee, in the terrible battles of the Wililerness ; flanked him on the left ; fought at .Spott- jylvania Court i louse on the 7th, aiLi^ain on th(; loth, and still ai^ain on the 12th, on which last occasion he ca])tured a whole division of the Confederate army. Thus durin<^ the summer of 1S64 he kept up an unceasins^ warfare, ever pursu- int^ th(; offensivt!, and ilaily drawini,^ nearer to the rebel capital, until at last he drove the enemy within the defenses of Richmond. Tim r/RGixiA CAMiwrax. 287 Never was the persistent couraL^e, the cIcicnniiK^tl purpose whiih was the fountlatioii ot (irant's cliaractcr, more cU-arly l)roii;4lit out than in thi' X'iri^iiiia canipaiL^ii of 1864; and never was it more necihd. W Cil chil he know th.at no sini,de triumph, how»'\(M" brilHant, wouKl win. i le sau- plainly that noiliinL;' hut " hainmeriiiL,^ away" would avail. The stone wall of the Confiihracy hail too broad antl firm a base to be suddenly overturned ; it had to be slowly reduced to powder. l)urin<;f the an.xious days which followed tlu- battle of the W'ildcrnt^ss, I'rank B. Carpenter, tin; artist, ndates tl" it he asked I'residcnt Lincoln, " llow does Grant impress you as comparcil with other grncrals ? " " The oreat thinj4' about him," saitl th(^ PresitU;nt. "is cool persistency of purpose. He is not easily excited, and he has th(; .i^^rip of a bull-tloy^. U'/icn he once i^cls /lis Iccth in, noi/iim^ t;i/i s'uikc liini off!' His great opponcMit, Lei;, saw and felt that samtMpialily. When, after days of indecisive battle, the fighting in the W'iUlerness came to a p.iuse, it was believed in the Confederate lines that the I'nion troops were lalling l)ack. General Gordon said to Lee. — " I think there is no iloubt that Grant is ritreating." The Confederate chi<.;f knew bett(;r. lie shook his head. " You are mistak<.'n," hi; replied, earnestly, — " ipiile mistaken. Grant is not retreating ; lie is nof a rc/ri-aiiiij;;- many Spottsylvania followed, th(;n North Anna, Cold Harbor, and Chickahominy. Then (irant changed his base to th<' James river, and attacked Petersburg. Slowly but surely the Union lines closed in. " balling back " on the I'nion siile had gone out of fashion. .South or North, all could see that now a steady, re- sistless force was back of tin; L'nion armies, pushing them e\er on toward Rich- mond. Grant's losses in the final campaign were heavy, but Lei;"s slender resources were wrecked in a much more serious proportion ; and for the Confederates no recruiting was possible. Their dead, who lay so thickly beneath the fields, were the children of the soil, and there were none to replace them. .Sometimes whole families had been destroyed ; but the survivors still fought on. In the Confede- rate lines around Petersburg then; was often alisolute destitution. An officer who was there testified, shortly after the iiw^X of the struggle, that evi'ry cat and dog for miles around had been caught and eaten. Grant was pressing onward ; Sherman's march through Georgia and the Carolinas had proved that the Con- federacy was an egg-shell ; Sheridan's splendid cavalry was ever hovering round the last defenders of the bars and stripes. Grant saw that all was over, and on April 7, 1S65, he wrote that memorable letter calling upon Lee to surrender, and bring the war to an end. The Virginia hamlet dignified by the name of Appomattox Court I louse r./-l-S SlRRliXniiR. 289 comprised, in tin- spring; of iSos. ti\c iiouscs, the !arL,M'st of which, a hrick (I\v( II- inj^j, was the iionif of Wilincr Mel. can. In front was a pleasant yard, sniilin.j.; with the sweet IJowers of early spring;. In this house, in tlu; afternoon of tlu; oth ot April, ( ieneral I.ee and (jeneral (IraiU met to arranL^<' for the surrender of Lee's army, which was in effect the end of the .Southern LOnfederacy, ' When I iiatl left camp that morning;, ' writes (Irani, "I had not expecteil so soon the result that was tlvn takin:^ placi', and consecpienily was in roui^h j,;arl), I was without a sword, as 1 usually was when on horseback in the field, iii.d wore a soldier's Mouse lor a coat, with shoulder straps of my rank to indicati; to the army who I was. When I went into the; house 1 found (ieneral Lee. We greeted each othe-r, ant! aft(;r shaking; hands took our seats. "(ieneral \ .cv was dressi-d in a lull uniform which was entirely new, ami was weariiiL,^ a sword of considerahh; \alui.'. \(ry likely lh<' sword which had been pntsented by the .Stati; of X'iri^inia ; at all events, it was an entirely dilter- ent one from th(! sword that would ordinarily be worn in the; field. In my rou^^h travelini^^-suit, the uniform of a private; with the straps of a lieutenant-general, I must have contrast<;d very stranL,reIy with a man so handsom(;ly dressed, six- feet hii.;h. and of faultless form ; but this is not a matter that I thought of iinlil afterward." The terms of surrender allowed by drant were most generous. Officers anil m(;n were to be paroled. Tlu; olticers were allowed to r(;tain their side- arms, their baj^^^ajre, and th(;ir hors(,'s : ami, with humane consideration for the men who had lost everythiiiiL^. th(; nu n were allowed to keep their horses. " I took it." says (irant, " that most of the men were; small farmers. The whole country had been so raideil by the two armies that it was doubtful whether they would be; able to put in a crop to carry thi;mselves and their families throuu;h the ne.xt winter without the aid of the horses they were then ritlinu;. Ihe Uniteil States did not want them ; and I would therefon; instruct the officers ... to let (;vt;ry man . . . who claim(;d to own a horse or mule take the animal to bis home. Lee remarked as^ain that this would havi; a happy (;ttect." (irant also suijplied rations from his own stores to Le(;'s starvim^ army. I'or some days they had l)i;en living; on parched corn. lI(.:L;avc- them forage for th(;ir horses ; and when th(; I'nion soldiers be^^an firing- a salute of one hun- dred i^uns to celebrate the surrender, (Irant ordered the firing,'' stopped. "The Confederates." ht; wrote, "were; now our prisoners, and we did not want to exult o\'er th(Mr downfall." Keadinu^ of such actions toward a coiKpiered foe. it is not haril to understand why. tw{;nty years later, the .South anil the North toi^^ether read with tears thi; bulletins from(irant's bedside, and why the soldiers who fouL,dit a^rainst him joined at his ij^rave in the last tribute of love and honor. The rejoicint; throuy^hout the North over die surrender of Lee's arm\- and the restoration of the Union was checked Ity the sudden blow of the assassin ZQO (r/.yss/:S s ckaxt. of thi; rri;si(l(:nt, which rhaiiijcd lli.it rc-joiciiii; to inourninij. The death of Liiuolii KjU (iraiit tht: loninost American in the h(;arts of the people. In the political turmoil which followed the acci-ssion of Johnson to the I'residency, and in tht; period of •• reconstruction," while mucb of the South was under martial law. (ir.mt, as head of thy all the i^reat nations of liurope and .\sia he was recei\(.il with every mark (jf the highest honor. 1 le was the q;uest of emperors, kinj^js. ami municipal- ities, anil welcomeil with tokens of L^ood will e(|ually by the proudest and the humblest of th(; ])eople. Throuij^hout I'-urope, Turkey, I'ersia, India, C'hin.i, and ja|),in he journeyed, and when at last he landed at .San I'rancisco, the demon- slr.ilion in his honor surpassed anythini; before si'i-n on the Pacific coast. It is perhaps not too much to say that until their eyes were opened by his reception abroad, the American ])eople did not themselves appreciate Grant's real great- ness and the e.xtent of his fame. cRwr's TRoriu.i.s .wo now HE mi:t TIII'.M. Hut nothing in all his career did so much to t"i.\ ( irant in the aff(;ction of the country as the events of the last year of his life, .\fter his return from abroad he had, at the solicitation of his son, joini:d thi^ firm of Ward 6v: lish, in .\ew York, and put all his savings into il. The business seemed to go on prosper- ously, — so prosperously that Grant believed himse-lf worth a million dollars. I le himself gave no attention to the business, contuling entirely in the active part- ners. A sudden and ap|)alling exposure followed in May, 1.SS4. One morning (irant went down to the otTicc in Wall .Street, and found that Ward had absconded, and that he and his children were utterly ruined. Only a few days before. Ward had induced him to borrow one hundred thousand dollars, uiuler the pretence that this sum would enable him to discharge some pressing claims upon a bank in which the firm had large deposits. Grant went to W. II. \'an- derbilt and asked for the money as a loan. X'anderbilt sat down and drew a check for it, and handed it to his visitor, f irant had no Idea that the firm with which his name had been identified e.xisted upon sheer roguery. lUit all the papers were soon full of the shameful story. The famous soldier saw but too clearly that he had been used as a de-coy by an abominable swindler. Mouse, money, books, furniture, his swords, and other presents — the money of his chil- dren and many of his friends — everything was gone, including, as he thought, his honor. It was afterward clearly seen that he had no complicity whatever io I- 5 - i < I 7. s l'7XfSlllX(i HIS -MI-.MOIRSr J93 the fnuids coininitted by his partiU-Ts, — that he u.is the chief of th(! sulfcrcrs, not in any way a culprit. Ihit syinpatliy of the pcopK' w«iit out to him ; once more he rallied from ciifi't^hled health and a wouiuK-d spirit, and Ik; he^aii to Ixlieve that in time he mii^ht recover from this disastrouI1KR. 296 STORV OF THE CIVIL WAR. nomination of anti-sla\t.Ty candidalcs for the iVcsidcncy from 1S40 onward, the passai^^c of the "Wiimot Proviso" in 1S46, the repeal of the Missouri comproinii>e in 1834, the Dred-Scott decision by the I'nitcd States Supreme Court in 1S57, the adoption of the Lecompton Constitution in Kansas in 1X59, and the raid by John Brown at Harper's berry in 1S59, it became painfully eviilent that Mr. S, ])ons antl ammunition had been \] ,, !( /''||' J ed from Xtirthern to arsenals now in pos- the seceded States. the army at Indian- been surrendered on TIIK AKl-b UF PKACK A.ND lilt AK 1 UK WAR. Confeder- o f w e a - transferr- Southern .session of A part of ola had February i S, iSoi, by Gent'ral Twii^t^s, to the Confederates, and other soldiers '^^llf-^'VC'' .Ui'arilin^' our .Mcxi- P.M'\ ii\' I can and Indian fron- I tiers were captured, besides several na- tional vessels and fortresses. The' South v.as, in short, much better prc]>ared for the oreat contlict, and durinjj^ the first year the preponderance of success was in its favor. The Confederates opened the war on April i 2, I SO I, by bombardiui; lort Sumter, which had been occupied by Major Robert Anderson and a company of eighty men. This fort, althouj^h fuTcitly pounded l)y caiiiiMH lulls and sIh'Hs and set on fire several times, was j^-allantly helil for two days, when it was oMi^^^ed to surrtMider; but its brave dei\-nders were; allowed to march out saluliui^'^ tlu; old tlag', and to depart for the North without bein^- reL;ardeiI as prisoners of war. 'ihe attack on Sumter created the wiUlest excitement throu>;hout the entire land, and it openetl tlu; eyt;s of the- North to tin- amazing; fact of a civil war, A wave of patriotism, as mi^htx' as it was sudden, swej)t o\ er the United States. President Lincoln issued a call for 75,000 volunteers for three months, and soon after another call for ()4,ooo men for the army and iS,ooo for the navy, to serve; durint^ the war. The need for these calls was urL^^ent enou<;h. On April 20th the Confederates easily captured the <;reat Norfolk Navy Vanl, with three or four national vessels, inclu(.linu- the frit^^ate " Merri^ mac," which subsequently wroui^ht such fearful havoc at Hampton Roads, 2000 cannon, besides small arms, munitions, and stores of immense value, all of which were sj^ixen up without a shot in defense. The arsenal at Harper's I'erry, with millions of dollars' worth of arms and ammunition, was also in their possession ; and before the end of .April 35,000 of their soldiers were already in the field, whilst 10,000 of these were ra])idly marching- northward, (leneral K. l']. Lee had been appointetl Commander-in chief of the army and navy of \'irqinia. and the 6th Regiment of Massachusetts militia had been savayely mobbed in the streets of Baltimore whilst !L,^oino- to the protection of Washini^ton. A I'nionist attack on the Confederates at I'lis^' Bethel, \'a., was rt-pulsed, but the Confetlerates were driven out of Western \'iri;'lnia by Cent-'ral (1. B. McClellan. Then came, on Jul\- 21. the enga,^-ement at Bull Run, known also as that of Manassas Junction, one of tlu; nu)st sii^mificant battles of the war. General Irwin McDowell, acting;' umler instructions of C.eneral .Scott, marched ai^^ainst the Conf(;derate army under (General Beaureo;ard, and in the outset met with encouraoiuL; success ; but just as tlu; I'nionists imagined the victory theirs they were vigorously pressed by reinforcements that had come hurriedly up from Winchester tinder the leadership of Cieneral Johnston ; and being ex- hausted from twelve hours of marching and fighting uiuler a sultry sun, they began a retreat which was soon turned into a panic, attended with wild disordei' and demoralization. 1 lad the Confederates, among whom at the close of the day was IVesitlent Davis himself only known the extent of their triumph, they might have followed it and possibly have seized Washington. About 30,000 men fought on each sitle. The Confederate loss was T,yS killed, 1489 wounded, and 30 missing. The L'nionists lost 4S1 killed, loii wounded, and 1460 missing, with 20 cannon and large cpiantities of small arms. I'Voni this moment it was understood that the struggle would be terrible, and that it might be long, not to say tloubtful. Congress, then in extra session, authorized the enlistment of 500,000 men and the raising of ;pi500,ooo,ooo. McCi.iu.LAN AS or<;a.\i/i:r. TOO Many of thf.' Stat(;s y ea])lurinL;; th(; Confederatt; camp at Tx^lniont, Mo., "hecked the advance of (leni'ra! Jeff Thompson. On the next day, Xo\cMnber ; th, occurred a memorable event which imperiled the peacehil relations between l;.\lll.l-. Ol- I'll I'MllLKi. l.A.NUl.NG. the United States and Great Britain. Captain Wilkes of the United States frigate, "San Jacinto," compelleti the British mail steamer, "Trent," to give up two of her passengers, the Confederate Commissioners, Mason and .Slidell, who were on their way respectively to England and I'rance in the interest of the South. A foreign war might have rt^sulted had not Mr. William H, Seward, the astute Secretary of State, promptly disavowed the act and returned the Commissioners to English keeping. General E. O. C. Ord, commanding the Third I'ennsylvania Brigade, gained a victory on December 20th at Uranesville over the Confederate fALL ('/•■ 1-ORT DOXUf.SOX. 301 bri;;adL' of General J. I^. P). Stuart, uho lost 2^,0 soldiers, and during: th(^ same montii ( General Tope reported th<' capture «if 2500 prist)ners in Central Missouri, with the loss of only 100 men ; but 1000 of these were taken l)y Colmiel Jett". C. Davis by surprising; the ConfeiU-rate camp at Milford. '1 he vear iS')j\vas marked by a st'rits of blondy ( luountcrs. It opened with a I'nion army of 450.00c:) aj^ainst a Confederate army of ;;5o,ooo. The fi^htinL,^ be!j;^an at Mill .SlJrin_L,^ in Southern Kentucky, on January 19th, with an assault by the Confederates led by (ieneral ]•'. K. Zollicoffcr, actin^j;- under Cieneral G, !>. Crittenden. They were routeil by Geni'ral Geor;;e II. Thomas, ZoUicolfer bein^; killed and Crittenden lisinL: across tlie Cumbi'rland Ri\(T, l('avin^' ten .L;uns and 1500 horses. This victory stirreil the licart ot the n:ition, and broui;ht at once into brilliant prominence the i^reat soldier and noble character whose i^reatnes blazed out like a sun at the close of the war. Another blow was soon struck. I5ri_L;adier General Grant, with 15,000 troops, supported by Commodore A. 1 1. I'oote with seven _i::^unb(jats, reduced l'"ort Henry on the Tennessee River and took its commander, (ieneral L. Tili^diman, prisoner, but could not prev(.'nt the jj^reater portion of the garrison from escapinjj^ to Fort Donelson, twelve miles to the east. This stronjL^hold, com- mandini^ the navi^^ation of the Cumberland River and containini^- 15,000 defenders under CJeneral J. 15. bloyd, was ret^arded as imjireirnabk;. It fell, however, on February j6th, under a combined attack of Grant antl Foote, surrendering- 12,000 men and 40 cannon. Generals Moyd and Buckner, with a few of their command, managed to escape across the river by night, and General N. B. I'orrest, with Soo cavalry, also got away. This splendid achievement threw Nashville ami all Northern Tennessee into possession of the Unionists, and caused the immediate evacuation of the Confederate camp at Bowling Green, Kentucky. In the Fast, about the same time. General Burnside and Commodore Goldsborough, with 1 1 500 men on 31 steamboats, captured, with a loss of 300, Roanokt: Island, N. C, and 2500 Confederates. On March 14th they carried New Bern by assault, losing 600 but taking 2 steamboats, 69 cannon, and 500 prisoners ; and nt!.\t they seized Fort Macon, with its garrison of 500 and stores. But the Unionist Generals Reno and Foster were repulsed, respective!)', at South Mills and Goldsborough. One of the most notable of naval engagements took place on March 8th and 9th, when the Confederate ironclad, " \'irginia," known better by her original name, the "Merrimac," steamed out from Norfolk attended by two gunboats. .She plunged h(;r iron ram into the I'nion frigate, "Cumberland," causing her to sink and to carry down part of her crew; she blew up the " Congress," another Union frigate, destroying more than half of her crew of 434, drove the frigate "Lawrence" under the guns of Fortress Monroe, and bombarded until dusk with terrific energy, aided also by her gunboats, the X02 STOKV OF Tin-: Civil. WAR. Union steam friril 1 1 th I'ort I'ulaski fell before a bombardment by ( ienctral (J. .\. ( lilmore. This same month was notabU: for naval victories, .\dmiral larrajL^ut with a tleet of forty-sevi-n armed vessels and ;iio L,nins stormeil the Coidederate b'orts .St. Philip and Jackson, destroyed various hre-rafts and ^^aniboats, and after a series of brilliant actions compelled the Confederate (i'-neral Lovell with ,,000 del\!nders to withciraw (rom .\<'W Orleans, leavin*,^ it to be occupieil by 15,000 I'nionists uniler (ien(!ral Ihitler. in the words of another, this "was a contest betw<'cn iron hearts in wooilen vessels, and iron clatls with iron beaks, and the iron hearts prevailed." -McClellan's army — a [)att of which had been tlirown across the Chicka- hominy — was savaiL,M-ly attacked on May 2Sth. at b'air Oaks, by (ieneral If)se[)h 1']. Johnston, now Cominander-inchief of the Confed«.'rate forces. .Although Johnston was badly wounded ami his troops after a day of hard fii^htint^ were oblij^ed to retire, yet th(; L'nion loss was 57,^9, inclutlin!:,'' five colonels killeil and seven gf'iierals wounded. McClellan was now rtniiforced until he had altOi.,a-ther 1 56,S2S miMi, of whom i i 5, 1 62 were in L;<)od condition for (,'ffective service. Noth- ing', however, was accom|.'lished until (Mineral Lee, who had succeeded the dis- abled Johnston, forced the riL,duin>.jon June- 26th that led to six horribh; battles on as many successive days, known as those of Oak drove, Mechanicsvillc. Ciaines's Mills, .Savaj^e .Station, White ( )ak .Swamp, and Malvern Hill. In tlie last one the Confederates were sii^nally defeated by McClellan with a loss of 10,000. while the l'nion loss was about 5000. F^urinu,'' those.' six battU's the l'nion loss was 15S2 kilU'd, 7709 wounded, and 595S missinL,^ makin^,^ a total of 15,249, The Confederate loss was perhaps douhk; ; (ienc-ral (iriffith and three colonels killed. Nevertheless, McClellan's campait^n was unsuccessful ; Richmond was not taken ; and by order of tin; Presid(;nt he retreateil to the Potomac, Cjeneral Malleck now became Commander-in-chief, and a vii^orous campaii)ort him, and a conrt- martial convened in the heat of the discussion ea.shiered the General. Hut later, in deference to public opinion, tiie < ase was reojiened. the jirevions unjust verdict was set aside, and General Porter's good name was cleared, his conduct being fully justified — an acquittal in entire accord with the riper second thought of public opinion. LEE. 305 li'dcratrs lost i5,ot<'mli«T Stli. iinadrd Maryl.uul, wluM-c at South Mountain ht-- was worsted by McLU-'llan, who l(jst heavily of his own nion, but took 1500 prisoners. A f«\v days lat(;r Harper's I'erry, with 11. 5S;, Unionists, 7; j,nins, and inini<:nse ([uantities of war munitions, was surrenderetl to Stonewall Jackson. McClellan, with So. 000 men at- tacked Lee. posted with 70.000 on a ridge facinji,'- An lie- tain Crcik. This di'lcrmined battle ende-d in I.e(;'s de- feat and retreat. McClellan lost 2010 men killrd, 9416 wounded, and 1043 total of 12,469. Lee lost 1S42 killed, 9399 wouniled, and 2292 missing; to- tal. 1 ov") JJ- This \ ■ is regarded as the >• bloodiest day in the c: history of America. f^C ^ There is little doubt that had Mc- Clellan followed up his magnifictMit victory he could have entered Rich- mond. Here was his mistake ; but this did not justify the Government in retiring him as it did. Surely McClellan's great victory entitled him to the further command ; l:)ut the opposition, especially that of Secretary Stanton, was too powerful, and he was retired. General Rurnside, having succeeded McClellan, assailed Lee at Fredericks- burg, December 13th, but was disastrously beaten. His loss was 11 52 killed^ GtNtKAL KuliKRT Kl)MUM) LEE. 3o6 sn'A'v or riir. civil war. 9101 wouiKlfd, "",234 inissinj.' ; total, i;v77i. I li<" Confrdcrato loss was about 500J. (icneral lUirnsiilc was iclitvcd in taxor of (icmral 1 looker in January, 1863, who — havin<,f rt'ceivcd riMiitorccnurits until his army anu)unt(;d to 100.000 infantry. 13,(Xk:) cavalry, and lo.ox) artilhry — assumed the offensive ai^ainst I, memorable day, b'ly 3d, X'icksburg, after having resisted many and determinetl assaults, and alter finiling its defenders on the south surprised and beaten in detail by (irant's army aided by Commodore I'orter's naval operations, surrendered, closing a campaign in which Cirant had taken 37.000 prisoners, with arms and munitions for 60,000 men. His own loss was 943 killed, 7095 wounded, and 537 missing; a total of 8515. These two notable victories were the turning points in thi' war. Meantime, in the West the war had been pursued during the year with varying fortunes. The Confederate General Forrest had captured 1 500 men at Murfreesboro, Tenn.; Kirby Smith had captured 5000 Unionists at Richmond, Ivy. ; General Hragg had captured 4000 prisoners at Mumfordsville, Tenn. ; Generals McCook and Rousseau, having attacked the enrmy without the orders of General Buell, and thinking, as General Buell said, to win a victory without his assistance, were defeated by General Bragg at Perryville, whose loss was 2300 : our loss was 4340. General Rosecrans, with a loss of 782, whipped the Confederate General Price, at luka, Miss., whose loss was 1000 men. Rose- crans repulsed again the Confederates on September i 7th at Corinth, inflicting a loss of 1423 killetl and taking 224S prisoners. His own loss was 2359 men. A brigade of 2000 Unionists was captured by John Morgan. A campaign of 46.910 men under Rosecrans culminated in the battle of Stone River. January 2d. 1863, against Bragg, who was beaten and forced to retreat. The Unionist CIIICKAMAUGA AXP I.OOKOIT MOVSTAIN. 307 losses were 15.^;, killed, 7245 woutulL-d. 2Sao missini^ ; a total of 11,57.'^. Braj^fj^'s loss was 9000 killt-d axxA woiindctl and over 1000 missiiij^^. The Con- feik-rate \'aii Dorii surprised ami took prisniit-rs 2.;.,(x:)0,ocx) worth of stores, dencral Slicnnaii was rc^pulsed at Chickasaw Hayoii with a loss of 2cxj(j men ; but (iencral J. A. Mc- CkTiiaiul reduced l""ort I liiulinan, capturinj^' 5000 prisoner; and 17 j^uns, whilt! his loss was only 977. Colonel (Jrierson made a famous raid with 1 700 cavalry to Haton Roujjje, cuttini,'' Confederate communications and takinj^ 500 prisoners. At Miiliken's Hend the l'ni(Miist (ieneral I )<'nnis, havin,)^^ \-\oo, repelletl an attack of the Confederate; CJeneral 11. McCulloch, the loss on either side bein^ 500. At 1 lelena, Arkansas, the I'nionist (ieneral H. M. Prentiss, with 4000. also repulseil General Holmes with 3646, of whom 1636 wt-re lost. The Con- federate raider, Mori^^an, with a mounted fc^rce of 4000 men, invaded Ohio, July 7th, but was caught by i^unboats and oblii^ed to surreniler. General Purnsitle, early in Se|)lember, at Cumberlaiul Gap, captured General Frazier with fc- rteen L;uns and 2000 men. Then came, on .SeptcMuber I9lh, the great battle of Chickamaui^a, between Rosecrans and Thomas with 55,000 men on one side, and Braq-ij and Lonij;^street with about the same mmiber on the other side. Longstreet annihilated Rosecrans" rit^dit wing ; but Thomas by his firmness and skill saved the day. Ihe Confederates lost iS.ooo, while liie Union loss was 1644 killed, 9262 wounded, 4945 missing; total, 15.581. Our army fc;ll back on Chattanooga. Longstreet's attempt, Nov. 2Sth, to dislodge Hurnside from Kno.\- ville resulted in his own loss of 800 and retreat. The Unionists lost 100 men. On September 2 2d to 24th the forces of General George H. Thomas, rein- forced by Cieneral Sherman, under the command of Grant, assaulted Bragg's army on Mission Ridge, facing Chattanooga. General Sherman crossed the Tennessee to attempt a llank movement but was repulsed. General 1 looker moved up Lookout Mountain and drove the Confederates before him, capturing men and guns. Then General G. H. Thomas, in accordance with his original plan of battle, moved his army by the front directly up the heights of Mission Rid I / h' I / / ' / 1 1 i LONOSTRKl-.r Ur.roKTlNC AT liKACC'S Hr.AIXJUARTF.RS. a loss of but 1500. On the 2 2d occurred another great battle in which McPherson, a very superior Union gen*;ral, was killed, and 4000 Unionists were lost. The Confederate loss was, however, not less than 8000. General Stoneman whilst raiding Hood's rear was captured, with 1000 of his cavalry. Hood, after suffering a heavy repulse by Logan, and another at Jonesboro by Howard, in the latter of which he lost 2000, and still another by J. C. S/I/i/ULLVS /-JA/OL'S MARCH. 3' 3 Davis, when Jonesboro antl many (runs and prisoners were taken from him, retreated eastward, leavini^- Atlanta, September ist, to tlie I iiion xictors. Beinj^ reinforced, ho\ve\er, so as to have about 55,000 troops, he returmd for an invasion of Tennessee. At bVankhn, November 30th, he matle a desperate onset aL,'ainst Schofield, and was Ijaftled, at an expense of 4500 men to himself and of 2320 to the Union. At Xashville, to which hi' laid siei^e, he was struck by Thomas, December 15th, with i;reat skill and determination diu'inL;- a two days' battle, and broken to pieces, haxinLT lo^t more than i 3,000, besides seventy- two pieces of artillery. The L'nion loss was 10,000 during; th(-' campaiL;n. In November and December Sherman at the head of 65,500, including;' the cavalry protection of Kilpatrick, e.xecutetl his famous march to the sea, i.e., from Atlanta to Savannah. Mis reward was 167 j.;uns and 132S prisoners and a demoralized South. The Confederate GeiU'ral Hardee, who had alrttady evacuated .Savan- nah, was obliued by a new advance of .Sherman northward, l'\'l)riiarv, 1S05, to evacuate Charleston also, with 12,000 men. A cavalry eni^ai^ement took place near die north line of South Carolina, between Kilpatrick and Wade Hampton, in which the former was surprised, but the latter finally beat him. Near Fayetteville, North Carolina, March 15th, he was attacked without success by Hardee, now actinij;' under Joseph Johnston, havin^f 40,000 miMi under his command ; and three days after at Bentonville by Johnston himself Sherman lost 1643, but forced Johnston to retire, leaving- 267 dead and 1625 prisoners and wounded, I'ort Fisher, that protected the blockade runners at \Vilmini;ton, N. C, was bombarded by Commodore Porter and carried by assault by (leneral A. H. Teny, January 16, 1S65. This victory, purchased at a cost of 410 killetl and 536 wounded, threw into the Union hands 169 q-uns and 20S3 prisoners. And Wilmington itself fell about one month later, under an attack by Schofield. General James H. Wilson, with 15,000 cavalry from the armies of Ciran^ and Thomas, routed General Forrest at Selma, Ala., April 2d, capturing 22 guns and 2700 prisoners and burning 125,000 bales of cotton. Soon after, he captured at Columbus, Ga.. 52 guns and 1200 prisoners, besides burning a g-unboat, 250 cars, and 115,000 cotton bales. He took Fort Tyler by assault, but ceased operations at Macon, Ga., because by that time the rebellion was crushed. General Grant restnned operations February 6, 1S65, when he repulsed at Hatcher's Run, at a cost of 2000 troops, the Confederates, who lost 1000. General Sheridan with 10,000 cavalry routed Farly, on March 2d, from Waynes- boro, taking 1 1 guns and 1600 prisoners, and joinetl Grant at Petersburg after having passed entirely around Lee's army. An attack by Lee against P'ort Stetlman was repelled with a loss of 2500 to the Unionists and 4500 to the Confederates. 314 STOKV OF THE CIVIL WAR. Grant, fearini^ that Lee might attempt to evacuate Richmond, threw Warren's corps and Sheridan's cavalry to the southwest of Petersburg. Warren, after having his tlivisions broken by Lee but re-formed by the aid of Griffin, united with Sheridan, who had been foiled the day before, April ist, at F"ive Forks. Warren and Sheridan now charged the Confederates' works, which were taken, along with 5000 prisoners. A general assault was made by the Union army at daylight, April 2d, when Ord's Corps (Union) carried Forts Gregg and Alexander by storm. \. P. Hill, a brilliant Confederate general, was .shot dead. That night Lee evacuated Richmond, burning his warehouses filled with stores. General Weitzel, at 6 .\..\i. April 3d, entered the city with his men and was soon followed by President Lincoln. Petersburg was at the same time abandoned. Lee halted his army, now dwindled to 35,000 men, at Amelia Court House. Grant rapidly pursued. Ewell was severed from Lee's rear and became one among 6000 prisoners. Lee heroically pushed on to Appomatto.x Court House, where his thghtwas intercepted by Sherman marching from the South. Lee was inclined to renew the fighting against Sherman, but his weary and famished army stood no chance against the fearful odds around them. And Lee, to prevent further useless bloodshed, surrendered his army to Grant on April 9, 1865, within three days of four years after the rebellion had been opened by the bombardment of P'ort -Sumter. Hell ringing, triumphant salutes, and boundless joy throughout the L'nited States hailed this event as the close of the war. Johnston surrendered his army to Sherman at Raleigh, N. C, April 26th, and Dick Taylor his, to Canby at Citronville, Ala., May 4th. The terms of the surrender were magnanimous : " Flach officer and man was allowed to return to his home, not to be disturbed by the United States authority so long as they observed their paroles and the laws in force where they may reside." Jefferson Davis, the president of the now destroyed Confederacy, fled from Richmond at the time of its evacuation. Attended at first with a cavalry escort of 2000, which soon dwindled mostly away, he was making his way toward the coast, with his family and "a few faithful followers " when he was captured near Irwinsville, Georgia. After an imprisonment of two years in Fortress Monroe, he was released, and allowed to live without molestation, mourning the lost cause, until he died, December 6, 18S9. ' WILLIAM T. SHKRMAN. WILLIAM T. SHERMAN, THE HIiKO OK THbi ".MARCH TO THE SEA." F ALL the events of the four long years between iS6i and 1S65, none is more memorable than the famous march of the Union armv throu<'h Gcoruia, in the autumn of 1864. Although a Ljeneration has [)asse(J away since then, black children who never knew slavery and white children who never knew war still join in singing the familiar lines of the old chorus: — "Hurrah I hurrah! we hring ihc juliilce ! llunah I hurrah I the Hag that makes \oii free! So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to llie sea, W'lien we were marching thro' (leorgia." And next to the great captain to whom Lee stirrendered at Appomattox, the nation holds in grateful remembrance the name and deeds of William Tectunseh Sherman. Sherman came of a New England family. I lis father, Charles R. .Sherman, moved from Connecticut to Ohio early in this century, ami was a[)pointed judge of the .Supreme Court of the latter .State. In 1829 Judge .Sherman died, leaving his witlow with eleven children and an income of two huntlred and tifty dollars. It was clearly impossible for her to maintain them all. Judge Sherman had many warm friends, among whom was Thomas Kwing. United States .S(;nator, who offered to adopt one of the boys into his own family. " Which one sh.ill I take? " he asked, when the time came to decide ; "I want the best of the lot, of course." "Take Cimip, Mr. Kwing," said an elder sister, jjromptly ; "take Cump, — he's the smartest." .So the Senator took " Cump," who from that time had his place in Mr. Ewing's home, among his own sons and daughters. As the boy grew into manhood, a warm and romantic attachment sprang up be tween him and Senator Ewing's daughter Ellen, and his lively and graphic letters to her while absent at school and in the army show most delightfully the development of his character. When Sherman was si.xteen. Senator Ewing secured for him an appoint- ment to West Point Military Academy. He had then no wish to be a soldier^ 19 317 3i8 WILLIAM T. SHERMAN. hut he did have an intense desire for a good education, and this was an oppor tunity not to be lost. He was a clost: and diligent student, and made good pro- gress in his studies ; but he took no particular interest in military matters, and gave no promise of his future brilliant achic'venients in war, other than is found in general intelligence, ability, and sound judgment. He graduated in 1S40, and was commissioned second lieutenant of artillery. He was sent first to I'lorlda, whence the remnants of the Seminole Indians were being removed west to the Indian Territory, a policy which the indepcniient young officer thought a mistake, and said so in his letters. Then he was transferred to Fort Moultrie, in Charleston harbor, where he passed four dull years, drilling and parading, fishing and hunting, and studying .Southern character in the society of ♦ Charleston, where he was always welcome. After the .Me.xican war, he was sf-nt to California, and in 1S50 he returned East ami married the sweetheart of his boyhood, IClIen Boyle Kwing, at her father's house in Washington. The wedding was a brilliant occasion. President Taylor and his cabinet were pres- ent, with .StMiators Clay, Webster, Benton, and other distinguished persons. It was a time of great excitement over the slavery question. Many expected to see then the war which came eleven years later, but which was deferred by Clay's famous compromise of 1850. From his marriage until the civil war .Sherman had a varied experience. His career during that time is quite similar to that of his friend (irant, espe- cially in the fact that it was not successful. He was stationed for a time in St. Louis, and then at New Orleans. In i>S53 he resigned his commission in the army, and In company with a friend went to California, where, with money furnish(!d by a St. Louis capitalist, they started a bank. For five years this business furnished a living and an interesting experience in a new country, the'n "bocjming " after the discovery of gold ; but after the financial troubles of 1S57 the St. Louis capitalist decided to close up the bank, and Sherman returned to Ohio, without occupation. For a time he was in Kansas, where two brothers- in-law were settled, and where he made an unsuccessful effort to get into jjrac- tlce as a lawver. Then he turned his face again to the South. At this time the .State of Louisiana was establishing at New Orleans a ".Seminary of Learning and Military Academy," for the purpose of - those w ho had hith- erto stood firm. Greater exer- tions and greater sacrifices than ever had been made, and so far ,^^^.- ^^ apparently without result, ^^^x" fiB^^®ilBsk. fiP '^ he first orleam of light in the gloom was Sherman's capture of Atlanta, on .September ist, which was accomplished after a difficult and danger- ous campaign. His army had entered Georgia at the Tennessee boundary, and every mile of his progress took him farther from his base of supplies. He was met at every step by the veterans HATTI E OF KIM-iAW MiUNTAIN — DKATII ri; (.1 SI RAl, I'uI.K. THE GEORGIA CAMPAIGN, 3Ji of Johnston's army, whose? coiniiuuKlcr was one of the abU.-st L^encrals in the Con fc:(.K; rate service. It was a ha/aruoiis jLjanie ; but at a critical point Jetfer son Davis <;ave him most important aid. Just on the- (.-vt; of the battle of Atlanta Davis relieved Johnston, and in his place- put the more dashini^ and reckless Hood. "It isn't a jj^ood plan," I'ri'sident Lincoln used to say, "to s\va[) horses in the middle of a creek ; " ami Davis's action proved the truth ot Lincoln's saying. IIo(k1 strove to carry out Johnston's plans, but without success, FiLji.tint,^ and tlankinL,^ .Sherman drove Hood into Atlanta, and cut off all his sources of supply. Thitrt! was nothini,^ left but to abandon the city, which he did, burninL,^ great (piantlties of cotton and stores, antl on September 1st .Sherman c;ntered and took poss(?ssion. Again the North was wild with delight. \ salute of one hundred guns was fired in Sherman's honor at all the chii-f military posts. I \(\ was the hero of the hour. He had won the first great success of 1864. That success turned the tide of public feeling, and assured the re-election of Lincoln and the prosecution of the war. But greater things were still to come. Georgia was the great centre and source of supply of the Confederacy, — "the worksho[) and corn-crib of the .South." If .Sherman ccnild make his way through (ieorgia to the sea, it would undermine and honeycomb the rebellion in the seat of its strength. He determined to march from Atlanta straight upon .Savannah, nearly three luuulred miles distant. Leaving Thomas with a strong force in Atlanta, he abandoned his base of supplies, cut his connections with the North, and started on his march to the sea. "MAKCIIIXG THROUGH GEORGIA." The great leader knew what he was about ; but no one else did. Friends and foes, North and South, alike were ignorant of his plans. Had the Confed- erate generals known whither he was marching, they could have concentrated against him ; not knowing, they scattered their forces at different points, thus putting no formidable obstacle in his way. Hood started for Nashville, hoping to draw Sherman after him into the mountains of Tennessee. This suited Sher- man e.xacdy. " If Hood will go to Tennessee," he said, with a chuckle, " 1 will furnish him with rations for the trip." The idea of .Sherman actually cutting loose from his base of supplies, and marching hundreds of miles through the heart of an enemy's country, was so bold that it did not occur to the Confeder- ate generals as possible ; and so, instead of meeting their armies, Sherman left all serious opposition behind him. For a month .Sherman and his army disappeared from view, like a swimmer who dives under the surface of the water. No one knew where he would re- appear. When President Lincoln was appealed to, he said, " I know which hole he went in at, but I don't know which hole he will come out at. " He felt the }22 WILL/AM T. SHERMAN. utmost confidence in Sherman ; but there was intense anxiety in the North about his fate. It was feared that he had walked into a trap, and that his army had been annihilated. In the meantime Sherman was " marching through Georgia," His army, stretched out in a great line thirty miles from winLf to winsr. swept an , '' immense path through the heart of -/'** -'" -'.^ *^ '" ¥• ' the State. There was almost no re- / ^ ' ' sistance : his troops had - ' left behind the armies .<-' ' ' . c^k --V t' /t/Hl and their march was like a holiday parade rather than serious war. Their source of supplies was the country through which they passed : and it was the business of the hour to make it incapable of furnishing further supplies for the Confederate armies. To the slaves the approach of the soldiers was the " day of jubilee ; " and thousands TRIUMPH AT SA VANNAH. 323 of them followed the army on its progress. Railroads were destroyed and bridges burned as the army moved forward. At Macon, the capital of the State, the soldiers took possession of the deserted halls of legislature, and General Sherman slept on the tloor of the Governor's mansion. At last, a month after leaving Atlanta, the army reached Fort McAllister, at the mouth of the Ogeechee river, a few miles below Savannah. After a desperate assault by Hazen's division, the fort was captured ; and the arrival of the army was signaled to one of the vessels of the Union lleet, lying outside, and thus the first news of Sherman's whereabouts was communicated to the government at Washington. A few days afterward Savannah surrendered, and on December 23d Sher- man sent to the President that famous despatch, which sent such gladness to the hearts of loyal men throughout the Union : — "1 beg to present you as a Christmas gift the city of .Savannah, with one hundred and fifty guns and plenty of ammunition, and about twenty-five thou- sand bales of cotton." It is hardly possible for a generation born since the war to imagine the feeling with which the news of Sherman's great march was received in the North. For four long years the cause of the Union had been in suspense, Victories had been followed by new disasters, until the hearts of Union men almost died within them. Sherman's march was the first indication of final triumph, the first gleam of dawn which seemed to give sure promise of return- ing day. Never were such glad and thankful hearts as in the breasts of those who read in Sherman's Christmas message the prophecy of the end of the long struggle. After reaching Savannah, the army rested for awhile, and Sherman did all that he could to re-organize civil affairs in that city and provide for its proper government. Then, on January 16, 1865, he turned his face northward, and set out on his final march through .South and North Carolina, to meet Grant's army and bring the war to an end. A letter from General Sherman to his daughter Minnie, then a little girl, dated at Goldsboro, North Carolina, March 24, 1865, gives a graphic account of the northward march : — My Dkar Minnie ; — I got liere from the hattleiield at Bentonville, twenty miles northwest of this place, yestcrdav, but all the army did not get in until to-day. We have been marching for two months in a low, swampy country, with very bad roads, and had to bridge many large nvers, so that we had a hard time besides the fighting, which seemed the easiest part. Take your geography and look at .South Carolina. We started from Savannah, crossed the river, and occupied t'.e country from Roberts- ville to Pocotaligo. We then marched up toward Barnwell, crossed the Salkehalchie, and got on the railroad from Midway to Aiken. Then we marched to Columbia, crossing the Edisto, then Saluda and Broad Rivers, then Winnsboro, and turned east to Cheraw, crossing the Catawba. At 324 WILLIAM T. SHERMAN. Chcraw we crossed tlic I'cdce aiul iiKirchcd through I,anraster to l"a\ctlc\ill(.', North Carolina. Then we crossed Cape Fear Ri\er antl nuinhed up about tuent\' miles near Aver\sl)oro', where \\e liad a ]irelly smart battle; then toward Coldshoro', and at lientonville we had a real battle, which we won, of course. Here we have two railroads, ime goini; down Icj Wilniini^lon and one to \ew- berne. Ships come to ihe^e jjlaces, and luue in them clothing;, food, and horse teed. It w ill take us some days to get the railroad fixed up so as to brini; us what we need, so that we mav be here some time. No doubt the iiewspai)ers will publish main' letters, which you will read, telling you all about our adventures. You ma\- not understand how we tonk Charleston and \Vilmini,'ton without goiuL,' near them ; but these cities are (Ui the seashore, where the comilry is poor, and all the people had \o eat came from the interior by railioad. Now, wluMi m\- army was in the interior, we broke up the railroads and ate the ijrovisions, so the rebel army had to leave or starve. I knew this be- forehand, and !iad small armies on ships readv to t.ike po>M'>^ioii when they left. Our soldiers have been fi.^hting for Charleston nearly four years, but they didn't go about it right ; so )du see what ])Ower is knowledge. I took Charleston, fortifu'd with over four hundred guns, without fighting at all. I get a great manv letter-, Some of which I answer, and some of which Majors Havton and Hitchcock answer for me. It is now nearlv midnight, and I have written nearly thirtv long letters, but have a great many more to write. . . . \'ou and Li/./,ie must write more frecpiently now, for I supjiOMe, hereafter, I will be near the sea, and will ii'it again be so far from our ships, so that I will be able to write and receive letters more freiiuentlv. 1 am in good health ; so is Uiu:le Char- ley. I sent TJ/./,ie a jiretty piece of poetry from FayetteviUe, and now send you a jiictiue which some man frcjin New York sent me. It is a good [licture ; you can tell better than I if it be a good likeness. . , . My best love to all. At I'ialci^h .Sh(,'rin;iii licaril the ^iad lidiiin's of Lett's siirf(Mi(l(M". and, a few clays lat(;r, tlie iKnvs of tin; I'tx-sidc-itt's assassination. ( )n .Xpril 26th Johnston's army was surrcndcrcil, and tlic lony" war was bi'oi!L;lit to an end. TIIK CRANK KIAII'.W. On tin; 22d and 23d of May, 1S65, the- city of W'asliin^ton saw one of the grandest sights of history. This was the final review of the Union armies, before the disbandment. 1 )in"in!4' tliose two days tln' loii!,;- ranks of soldiers, witli the easy swinjj^ and perfect drill of \eterans, mo\ ed tip the orand avenue leadino- from the Capitol to th<; White 1 bjiise. in what seemed an endless procession. On the; rt;viewinL,^ stand, with the chief otlicers of the o-overnment and the oen- eruls of the army, stood the; hero of the "march ihroti^h ("ieorg;ia ;" and there passed befort; him the men who had faced witli Itim tlie di'adly hail at .Sjiiloji, who ;it his word swe|)t tip the hei;,4hls ot Keiiesaw Moiinlain, w lio shared his tritimpli at .Savannah and .\tlanla. What thotiLdits must ha\e stirred the oreat comiiKuuIer's heart as Ik- received tlie salutes e>i the d(;voled men whom he had so often \vx\ to victory ! What memories must have risen of the bra\(-' ones missing- from those ranks, who, with the (Ireat President, had yi\-en their lives for that of the nation I Sherman's last campaio-n, throiioh .South and North Carolina, ('.xciteil oreat interest and admiration in military circles in Iun-o[)e. .\ public meetino- of the Horse Guards, one of the "crack" reyiments of the English army, was lu'ld, KKV.KW OK UMilN ARMIlii Al WASHINGTON, AT TllK CI OSF. DFTHK WAR. 326 WILLIAM T. SHERMAN. at which the Duke of Cambridge, the commander-in-chief, presided, to study the campaign, and hear its military movements explained. In spite of the affinity of the English "upper classes" for the cause of the South, Sherman's latest achie\ements suddenly made him the hero of the war. In 1 866, when Grant was promoted, Sherman was made lieutenant-general ; and when Grant became President, Sherman took the place of "General" and commander-in-chief of the army, which Grant vacated. This position he held for several years, when he retired, and was succeeded by General Sheridan. General Sherman was one of the most interesting and picturesque characters of his time. He was the last survivor of the great " war heroes," and his popularity grew steadily greater until the end of his life. His pen was as mighty as his sword, and in his " Memoirs," which he wrote in the years after the war, he achieved a literary reputation as unique as his military fame. In his later years he was in great request at army reunions and military and civil occa- sions of every sort, and he became a most interesting and impressive speaker. His utterances were so generally striking and important that Chauncey M. Depew declared that he " never ought to be permitted to go anywhere without being accompanied by a stenographer." He did not, however, love notoriety, and attained great skill in evading the reporters, who were constantly seeking to "interview " him. " Xo, no," he would say; "you're a good fellow, and I like your paper ; but you mustn't print anything about me. I haven't anything to say for publication, — nothing at all. I have had too much publicity already." In politics and religion General Sherman was not a strong partisan. When in one of the presidential campaigns an effort was made to learn which of the candidates he favored, he wrote a humorously non-committal reply, saying, ".So far as I have been able to learn, General Sherman can hardly be said to belong to either of the great political parties," and added that he had no doubt that either of the candidates would fill the position with credit to himself and the country. In religion he was born a Presbyterian and educated a Roman Catholic. On one occasion, in the Georgia campaign, some members of the Christian Commission applied to him for permission to pass within the lines. It was a time when it was especially necessary that knowledge of his movements should not get abroad, and he replied, in brief fashion : — " Certainly not. Crackers and oats are more necessary for the army than any moral or religious agency ; and every regiment has its chaplain." His real religious belief was probably never better expressed than when he said, " If men will only act half as well as they know how, God will forgive the balance." General Sherman died at his residence in New York, on February 14, 1891, universally beloved and lamented. >"•» . ^ GEORGE B. McCLELLAN, FIRST CO.VIIVlANOISR OR THIS AKMV OK THE POTOVIAC HE first cominantlcr of the army of the Potomac has been the occasion of more controversy than any other man in ^"- the recent history of the Repubhc. He has had most able defenders, — for probably no general who ever lived had such a power of inspiring those around him with love and admiration ; and even if the verdict of history be that he lacked some of the (pialities essential to the highest success, it must still be admitted that one of the trreatest commanders of the civil war was George B. McClellan. General McClellan was a thoroughly trained and equipped soldier. He was born in Philadelphia in 1S26. He was the son of a distinguished physician, and had every advantage of etlu- cation. He spent two years in the University of Pennsylvania, where he shared the honors of his class. In 1846 he graduated from West Point as second lieu- tenant of engineers, and served in the Mexican War, securing promotion for gallant contluct at Contreras and Churubusco. P)etween this time and the breaking out of the civil war Captain McClellan was sent to Europe as a member of the military commission to inspect and study the organization of European armies. He resigned from the army in 1857, and when I'ort Sumter fell was President of the Eastern Division of the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad. In April, 1 86 1, McClellan offered his services to the Government, and was a|)- pointed niajor general of Ohio volunteers. His operations in West Virginia were so brilliantly successful that after the first batde of Bull Run he was placed in command of the Army of the Potomac, and then of all the armies of the United States, to the great satisfaction of the whole country, which looked upon him as the greatest military genius within its borders. McClellan's transcendent power to organize great armies, and inspire them with confidence and enthusiasm, were splendidly proved on two occasions, — first, after the disastrous battle of Bull Run, in July, 1861, when out of the chaos of defeat and disorder he created, equipped, and disciplined the great Army of the Potomac ; and again, after the second and worse Bull Run disaster, in .S29 330 GEORGE B. McCLELLAN. August, 1862, when, at the President's urgent request, he nobly resumed the command of which he had been deprived, reori^anized his beaten and demoral- ized army with marvelous skill and celerity, anil defeated Lee at the memorable battle of Antietam. Unfortunately, from tiie b(*ginninjj^ there was discord between him and the War Department, which increas(;d the enormous difficulty of his task. The forces at \Vashin_i(ton were disjjirited, raw, and frightened. McClellan had to bring- order out of chaos, to create an army, and to defend the capital. His enforced delay was looketl on with suspicion by the Govern- ment, and Secretary Stanton greatly embarrassed him by constantly urgmg a f(jrward movenu'iit. " ( live McClellan a million m<-n." said Stanton, c()ntem|) tuously, "and he will swear the enemy has twf) million, and sit down in the mud and yell for three million ! " The plans of the campaign, too, were the cause of differences between the; general and the- .Secretary of War. Then came the Peninsula campaign, with the advance on Richmond, the battles of Fair Oaks and Gaines's Mill, and the great conllict at Malvern Hill, where I.ee was defeated, and the confusion and disorder in the Confederate ranks were so great that Richmond could have been captured had the Union forces been in condition to advance. In the meantime. General McClellan had lost the confidence of the admin- istration. His requests for continued reinforcements were disregarded ; he was ordered to evacuate the Peninsula, and was relieved of command until after the Second Pull Run. In that terrible emerge-ncy, when Pope resigned the com- mand of the Army of \'irginia, the Government turned to McClellan as the only man who could inspire confidence and restore order. When the soldiers knew that "Little Mac" was again in command, their joy and renewed hope were unbounded. Flushed with his recent victories, Lee was marching into Maryland, and McClellan had to cover Washington and at the same time stop the invasion. Antietam was the great battle-ground of this UKnement. While it is often called a drawn battle, the forcing back of the Confederate line and the retreat of Lee across the Potomac stamp Antietam as really a great victory. It was asserted that if General McClellan had attacked the Confederate forces with all the power at his disposal after the battle of Antietam, and pur- suetl Lee into X'irginia, the Confederate army could have been crushed. Still, General McClellan needed sup[)lies of all kintls, his army was useil up, and he did what was best in his judgment. Moreover, it is now known that the only order given to McClellan was one which gave him command only of " the forces for the defense of the capital," and which could not by any stretch of construction be taken to authorize an offensive movement into Virginia. McClellan himself declared that he fought the batde of Antietam " with a rope around his neck," and with the certainty that if he had lost the battle he would have been hanged for exceeding his orders. As soon as he received orders HIS VINDICA TION. 33« md supplies he marched against Lei', and was on the eve of battle, in a most favorable position, when he was suddenly relieved of his command, wliich was conferred on Burnside. General McClellan, though set aside l)y tlie Government, never lost his hold upon the p(,'ople. The army idolized him, and his popularity followed him. The most substantial proof of his popularity was his nomination at Chicago as the Democratic candidate for the Presidency in 1S64. Although the time was 111 chosen, and McClellan himself never sought the nomination, he received a popular vote ot 1,800,000 against 3,200,000 for Lin- coln. For a decade after the war Gen- eral McClellan was severely crid- cised and vigor- ously assailed for over cautiousness, alleged hesitancy, and failure to grasp the oppor- tunities which his enemy placed in his way. With later years his reputation has been to a large extent cleareil of blame for results which were often beyond his con- trol, and he is now given his deser\-ed place among the great leaders of the war. The opinions of the Confederate commanders as to McClellan's abilities as a general are naturally of especial weight. It is related that after the second battle of Bull Lun, when the Confederate armies, elated by their victories, were pouring across the Potomac for the invasion of the North, Lee one day received a dispatch which seemed to be of great importance. One of his sub- ordinates, seeing him read it, was anxious to know its contents, "What is the news?" he inquired of Lee. STATir. OF Mcrl.I'I.IAN IN riTV IIAM, SOfARK, rHH.ADF.LrHIA, 332 GEORGE />'. McCLELLAN. „n, "^^;^ ''^''' ""^^'^ possible," replied the Confederate commander, gravely. McUcllan is in cowmaud again." Until his death at ()ran. r 000 336 PHILIP H. SHERIDAN. at the battle of Chattanoojra, when the Union troops stormed the heights of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. Sheridan was in command of one of the four divisions. Emerging from the timber in which the lines were formed, the troops charged at double-quick across an open plain, against the first line of ritle-pits, at the foot of the ridge. The Confederates were driven out of the works, some killed, and many captured. The Union troops did not stop for further orders, but rushed on up the ascent, against the second line, half-way to the summit. At this moment a messenger came from Grant with word that only the first line of works was to be attacked. Hut it was too late ; already the men were pressing on up the hill in the face of a storm of bullets. To order them back was out of the question. They rushed on with a cheer, carried the second line of ritle-pits, and met the enemy in a desperate hand-to-hand fight on the summit. The Confederates were driven from their guns and sent fiying down the oppo- site slope, pursued by a show-er of stones from the Union forces, who had not time to reload. Before all of Sheridan's men had reached the crest, the demor- aliz(Ml troops of Bragg were seen, with a large train of wagons, fiying along the valley, half a mile below. It was Sheridan's conduct in this brilliant assault which gave Grant the implicit confidence in him which he always afterward felt ; and when, a few months afterward. Grant was made general-in-chief, he at once desired to have Sheridan's assistance in X'irginia. Thus it was that the great cavalry leader came; to win his brilliant victories in the Shenandoah X'alley and before Rich- mond. In 1S64, the Confederate general Early made his famous movement through the .Shenandoah \"alley and into Maryland, threatening Washington and Baltimore, and even Philadelphia. Disaster seemed imminent. A part of the army before Richmond was detached and sent north to protect Washington ; and then ("irant dispatched Sheridan with his cavalry to the \'alley. Some weeks passed in waiting and maneuvering, .Sheridan being determined not to attack until he could get the enemy at a disadvantage. Meantime the country was impatient. Grant visited Sheridan, e.xpecting to suggest a plan of opera- tions ; but h(» found Sheridan ready for battle, and only waiting the proper moin(Mit to strike;, so he wisely decided to leave him to his own judgment. At last l^arly unwisely divided his command, and his watchful antagonist attacked him, Hanked him right and left, and liroke his lines in every direction, and sent his defeated troops, as .Sheridan said in his famous despatch, " whirling through Winchester," with a loss of 4500 men. " The results," said Grant, with his quiet humor, "were such that I have never since deemed it necessary to visit General .Sheridan before giving him orders." Sheridan was not content with a partial victory — he never was. He pur BATTLE OF CEDAR CREEK. 337 sued Early for nearly thirty miles, and just when he thousrht himself safe and beyond reach, attacked him at once in front and on the tlank, routed him completely, and captured 11 00 prisoners and sixteen guns. Again he pursued his antagonist, and drove him ompletely out of the Valley and into the gaps of the Blue Ridge. " Keep on," saitl Grant, "and your work will cause the fall of Richmond." This double victory had a startling effect both at the North and South. The Northern people were jubilant ; the troops of Early were thor- oughly beaten and disheartened. The mob in Richmond, disgusted at Early's repeated defeats, sarcastically labeled the fresh cannon destined for his u::e, To Genkral Sheridan, Care of General Early. Sheridan, however, had so devastated the Valley that it would not furnish him support, and he retired to Cedar Creek. From this point he was called to Washington for consultation ; and while absent, the enemy attacked his forces in camp, drove them back in disorder, and captured eighteen guns and nearly a thr.usand prisoners. Sheridan, returning from Washington, stopped over night rt Winchester. At nine o'clock in the morning, while riding forv.-ard to join his army, he heard the sound of heavy firing, and knew at once that a battle was in progress. Soon he began to meet fugitives from the scene of battle. He took in the situation at a glance, and rode forward at a gallop, swinging his hat, and shouting, " Face the other way, boys, face the other way. We're going back to lick them out of their boots ! " His presence and words were electrical. The scattered soldiers faced about, and took up the general's cry, " Face the other way ! " They followed him to the front, met the enemy's forces, and quickly brought them to a stand. As soon as it was known that .Sheridan was again in command, it became impossible to rally the Confederate forces. A terror of the Union general had seized them. The captured guns were all retaken, and twenty-four pieces besides. Of the Confederates 1800 were killed and wounded and 1600 taken prisoners. Early himself escaped with difficulty. This famous battle, celebrated in song and story, was one of the most important successes in the campaign of 1S64. During the winter Sheridan remained near Winchester, and early in 1S65 joined the forces in front of Richmond. On the way he met l^arly at Waynes- boro ; and there he fought his final battle with the Confederate commander. His attack was impetuous and irresistible. The troops charged over the breast- works and forced their way straight through Early's lines to the rear, where they turned and held the approach to the Shenandoah, with the Confederates sur- rounded front and rear. Early's entire force laid down their arms and surrcn dered. Sheridan had destroyed both Early's army and his reputation. Lee relieved him of all command, and he retired in disgrace. 33^ PHILIP II SHERIDAN. Proceedinc^ on his way to Richmond, Sheridan destroyed forty-six canal locks, forty bridges, twenty-three railroad bridges, and forty-one miles of railroad, besides mills, warehouses, and stores, which would afford support to the enemy. On the 25th of March he joined Grant's forces on the James river, and took a most important part in the final campaign which ended in Tree's surrender. C5KNKRAL SHKRIDAN Tl'RMNt! DKl-KAT INTO VH'lllHY AT CKHXK CKKKK. Lee evacuated Richmontl, and was proci^eding to the southwest, intending to join the army of Johnston in Xo'"t!i Carolina. That this intention was frustrated is largely due to the skill and activuy of Sheridan, who with his cavalry inter- cepted Lee's forces at Five Forks, cut off his supplies of food, and mach; it impossible to longer maintain the contest. On April 9th the great Confederate CUSTER'S ENTHC/S/ASM. 339 commander surrendered, and the important part which Sheridan took in the campaign passed into history. Sheridan was one of the most original and striking characters developed by the war. He was a tireless soldier, always on the alert, always eager for battle, and determined to win it. His enthusiasm and daring were infectious, and he was idolized by the men who served under him. After one of his victories, wlien the enemy was retreating, General Custer, then a young and romantic soldier, was so filled with admiration for his chief that he threw his UNITKII STATKS MIl.ITAKV TKLEORAI'll WAlioN. arms around him and kissed him. Sheridan understood and appreciated the tribute ; but he was anxious to start in pursuit of the enemy, '-and Custer lost time, you know," he said, — "he lost /////r." Courage and dash always won Sheridan's heart, .\fler a bold movement the words of praise came likt; a hot torrent from his li|)s, causing the cheek of their recipient to flush and glcnv. The inlluence of his personal presence was extraordinary. It was a grand sight to see him ride swiftly along the lines just before a charge, and raise the enthusiasm of the troops to fever heat. At the battle of Winchester, when the "old Sixth Corps " rode across the field in 3-40 PHILIP H. SHERIDAN. splendid array to attack Early's centre, Sheridan rode along their flanks and cried out, — "Men of the Sixth, our victory to-day depends upon you !" These electric words passed from lip to lip, and, animated by the confidence of their commander, the veteran troops carried their tattered colors forward and clean throu.c^h the Confederate centre. Then the forces of Early were com- pletely routed, and sent " whirlincr through Winchester," as Sheridan expressed It in his famous dispatch. After the war and durin.iand; They smote and fell, who set the liars Against the progreri^ of the stars. And stayed the inarch of Motherland. " They stood, who saw the future come On through the fight's delirium ; They smote and stood, who held the hojie Of nations on that >li]p|iery sloj;e, Amid the cheers of Christendom. "God lives; he forged the iron will 'I'liat clutched and held that trembling liilL Odd lives and reigns; he built and lent The heights for l-'reedom's battlement, Where floats her flag in triumj.h still." In the campain-ns before,* Richmond in 1S64, Meade continued in command of the .\nny of the Potomac, and ( jrant t(.-stilied that he always found him " the riyht man in the riojit place." In 1866 he r(,'ceived the thanks of Cono-r(!ss for the skill ami heroic valor with which, at Gettysbllr|^^ he' repulsed, defeated, and drove back, dispirited, the veteran army of the rebellion." " The country," says Colonel A. K. McChir(.', writinLf of " Our Unrewarded Heroes,' " has n(*ver done; justice! to (General Meade as a military commander. . . . The man who foug-ht and won the battle of (iettysburo' should have been the commander-in-chief of the; armies of the Union, and h(dd that position din'inof life. It was the or^at battle of the war ; it was the \Vat<;rloo of the; Cf)nf(;der. acy, and the victory then achieved was won l)y the skill of the commandino- i/eneral and the heroism of his army. . . . That army was the sinide hope of the nation, for had it been defeated in a ,c,^reat battle, W'ashini^ton and the; wealth of our I'^astern cities would have been at the mercy of the insuroents. It was an occasion for the most skillful and prudent g'en(;ralship, united with the; o-reat courac^e essential to command successfully in such an emerq-ency. All these hio^h requirements General Meade fully met, and the most critical e.xamination of the record he made in the; GettysburLj campaign develops nothing but 346 GEORGE G. MEADE. what heightens his qualities for the peculiarly grave emergency that confronted him." General Meade did not receive the promotion to which many thought that his great services at the battle of Gettysburg entitled him ; " and he went down to his grave," says Colonel McClure, "one of the sorrowing and unrewarded heroes of the war." He died in Philadelphia in November, 1872, in a house which had been presented to his wife by his countrymen. A fund of one hun- dred thousand dollars was, after his death, subscribed for his family. LATKbT MODEL UF GATLINU l-lliLU GUN. illii||ipiuiiipfi§|p|.yiiii|ii ,1 iiiiiiniii I nil iiiiiiip I'/i':,;-* » ■ ', GEORGE H. THOMAS. 348 GEORGE H. THOMAS, THE OREAT UNION GENERAL*. AMP!," say M II;:»tic(; Grcoley, " is a vapor ; popularity an acciclc'ii>\" No one of the j^^reat commanders whose skill and courajj^e won victory for the nation in the _<;reat civil war l){;tter exemplifies the truth of Greeley's sayinc;' than General Thomas. His abilities were of the V(-'ry hiL;h(.'st order. '• He was," says a most competent critic, " one of the very few commanders who never committed a serious military error, who never sacrificed a command, and who never lost a batdc." His private character was without a stain. He was the ideal of a soldier and a i^entleman. Vet, as he was too modest to seek promotion or conspicuous position, his fame is small indeed in comparison with the value of the services he rendered to the country. George Henry Thomas was born in Southampton county, \'^IrL(inia, on July 31, 1S16. He was oraduated from West Point in 1S40, andwon promo- tion for bravery in the Mexican war. At the outbreak of the civil war he was in Texas, but re|)orted at once for duty, and was placed in command of a brig^ade in Northern Mr^inia. General Fhomas especially di«;tln<^uished himself durintj the war in three great batdes, — the first in Kentucky, where, in January, 1S62, he defeated the Confederate general, Zollikoffer, at Mill Spring, on the Cumberland river. This was the first real victory of the war ; and for it General Thomas received the thanks of the Legislature, but no promotion. The chivalrous generosity with which he refused promotion when it was offered at the expense of others, stood in his way throughout the whole war, and he at no time held the rank to which he was justly entitled. The second of Thomas's great battles was that of Chickamauga, in Septem- ber, 1863. In this battle it was Thomas alone who saved the Union army from utter ruin. The scene of the conflict was in the mountains of East Tennessee, when Bragg attempted to capture Chattanooga and the roads leading to it. Again and again the Confederate troops assaulted Thomas's position, behind a rude 349 350 GEORGE H. THOMAS. breastwork of loj^^s and rails : but their most desperate attacks failed to dis- lodge him, and his firmness saved the army from disastrous defeat. This battle gave him the name of "The Rock of Chickamauga." The third of his great campaigns was that of Nashville, which was the only one where he was in full command ; and this has been pronounced the most completely successful battle of the war. Hood marched north from Atlanta into Tennessee, leaving Sherman behind I'lii'^i to make the great " march to the sea," and moved against Thomas, who fortified himself in Nashville. His superiors, Sherman, Grant, and Stanton, were impatient for him to attack Hood ; but ,\ R \II R"\n Il\TTrRY. Thomas said he was not yet ready, and refused. Grant called him "slow;* Sherman, writing to Grant, complaincxl of his " proxoking, obstinate delay ;' .Stanton wrote to Grant that "This looks like the McClellan and Rosecrans. policy of do nothing, and let the enemy raid the country." lUit Thomas would ncU be hurried into action befoie he was ready, insisting that he ought to know when it was best to fight. .\n f)rder was actually issued for his removal, but, for- tunately, was revoked. When at last he was ready to attack Hood, a storm of rain and sleet covered the ground with a coating of ice, which made it Impos- sible to move. But finally, in January, 1865, he made the attack, and in a two BA TTLE OF NASH\ 'I LIE. 3 5 1 days battle won the most complete victory of the war. The army of Ilootl was not merely defeated, but dispersed and annihilated. Thomas captured over fifty guns, large quandties of stores, and eight thousantl prisoners, including one major-general, three brigadier-generals, and more than two hundred commissioned officers. The stroke administered at Nashville so effectually finished the enemy that little remained to be done in that section. The troops of Thomas participated in the closing scenes of the war, and from June, 1.S65, to March, 1867, he was in commantl of the Department of the Tennessee. In 1S6S he was placed over the I'^ourth Military Division, which included Alaska and the territory on the Pacific slope. He declined accepting the rank of lieutenant-general, on theground that he had done nothing since the war to entide him to promotion. General Thomas was a most interesting character. lie was a man of method and regularity in (>verything. He hatcnl to change his habits or his clothes, and to give up an old coat was a severe trial to him. In th(! early part of the war, when promotion was rapid, he; passed (juickly through the different stages from colonel to major-general ; and it is told of him that long after he became a brigadier-general h(^ was still wearing his colonel's uniform. He was made a major-general in June, 1862, but he did not arrive at the uniform of his rank until January, 1863, — and even thcMi the change was accomplished only by a trick of his aids, carried out by the help of his body-servant. "Tin;v'Ri: I'lGiirixc wiiiioit anv svsit.m." His aevotion to method had a ludicrous illustration at the battle of Chicka- mauga. The Confcnlerate forces made a tremendous assault on his position, — an assault which was met with the most admiral)le skill and bravery. At a critical moment a messenger arrived with word that reinforcements were being sent, and asking at what point they were most needetl. " I can't tell," responded Tliomas, — " I can't tell ; the d scoundrels are fighting without any.q'.vA'w .' " The unsystematic Confederates were n^pulstxl, and the army saved, and General Thomas accepted an invitation from (ieneral .Scribner in take a cup of coffee at his camp-fire. 'Thomas sippetl his coffin;, turned the conversation to indifferent matters, and appeared entirely unconscious of the fact that he had fought one of the most important battles of the war, ami saxcil Rosecrans's army from ruin. General Thomas was courteous and dignifieil in manner, and his heavy form ard deliberate motitjns went well with the caution and deliberation which were so prominent in his character. His soKlit-rs had tin; greatest confidence in and affection for him, which appeared in the \arious nicknames which they bestowed on him, — "Pap Thomas," "Old ReliabU'," "Old Pap .Safety," "Old SlowTrot," and "Uncle George." He never joked with them, however, 21 352 GEORGE H. THOMAS. nor permitied any familiarity, yet few of the commanders in the Union army were so popular with the men who served under them. " No man in the army," says Colonel McClure, "more perfectly completed the circle of soldier and o^entlcman. . . . He was one of the most lovable characters I have ever known, but it rcejuired exhaustive ingenuity to induce him to speak about any military movements in which he was a prominent par- ticipant. Any one might have been in daily intercourse with him for years and never learned from him that he had won crreat victories in the field." General Thomas died in San Francisco on March 28, 1870. /^ FROZEN NIAGARA. >~^. ROBERT E. LEE, THE GREAT COMXI .A.>>: I JER OP A K MIES. THE CONFEnEliu', in a small room on liank street, near the Capitol. It was the first tim<' 1 had met him, and 1 am sure he was the handsomc;st man I IkuI e\'er seen. 1 lis hair ami moustache — he wore no beard — were onlv sligluK' siK'cred with ''ra\', just enough to harmoiii/e treel\' witli his rich, ruddy compk^xion, a little br(uized, and to gi\e perfect dignity to the <;\pression of his grand and massi\c feature's, Ills manner was grave, but frank and cordial, I b,' wore a simple undr(;ss military suit, without badge or ornament of any kind, and then; was nothing in his surroundings to indicate high military rank. . , . "I rose to take niy leave:, when he asked me to resume my seat, reniarking that he wished to talk with me about the condition of the couritry, and the ter- rible storm which was so soon to burst upon it in all its fury. . , . lie .said he desireel to impress nii.' . . . with the gra\it\' and tianger ot our situation, and the; imperative necessity for imiiK-diate antl thorough preparation tor ck^lense. Growing warm ami earnc:st, he said, ' 1 fc;ar our pt'ople do not )'et realize the magnitude of the struggU; they ha\e entered upon, nor its prol)al)le dura- tion, and the sacrifices it will impose upon them. The Inited .States (Govern- ment,' he s.iid, ' is one of the most [)owerful upon earth. I know the; peojjle and the goxcrmneiit we hasc to contend with. In a little while they will be even more united than we are. 'Iheir resources are .dmost withemt limit. 'I hey have ;i thoroughly organized government, commanding the respect, and, to some extent, the fears of the world. iheir ann\' is complete in all its cU^tails and appointments, and it will be commanded b\' the foremost soldier of the country, (iencM'al .Scott, whose de'\-otion to the I'nion cause is attested by his drawing his sword against his native .State. They have also a navy that in a little while 358 ROBERT E. LEE. will blockade our ports and cut us off from all the world. They have nearly all the workshops and skilled artisans of the country, and will draw upon the resources of other nations to supply any deficiency they may feci. And above all, we shall have to fight the prejudices of the workl, because of the existence of slavery in our country. Our enemies will have the ear of other powers, while we cannot be heard, and they will be shrewd enough to make the war appear to be merely a struggle on our part for the maintenance of slavery ; and we shall thus be without sympathy, and most certainly without material aid from Till'. JAMKS RIVI.R AND CHLNIkY NKAK RICHMOND. other powers. To meet all this we have a government to form, an army to raise, organize, and equip, as best we may. We are without a treasury, and without credit. We have no ships, few arms, and few manufacturers. Our people are brave and enthusiastic, and will be united in defense of a just cause. I believe we can succeed in establishing our independence, if the people can be made to comprehend at the outset that to do so they must endure a longer war and far greater privations than our fathers did in the Revolution of 1776. We will not succeed until the financial power of the North is completely broken, mS CLEAR FORES IG I FT. 359 and this can occur only at the cud of a long and bloody war. Many of our people think it will soon be over, that perhaps a single campaign and one great battle will end it. This is a fatal error, and must be corrected, or we are doomed. Above all, Virginians must prepare for the worst. Our country is of wide extent and great natural resources, but the conflict will be mainly in Vir- ginia. She will become the Flanders of America before this war is over, and her people must be prepared for this. If they resolve at once to dedicate their lives and all they possess to the cause of constitutional government and Soutli- ern independence, and to suffer without yielding as no other people have been called upon to suffer in modern times, we shall, with the blessing of God, suc- ceed in the end ; but when it will all end no man can foretell. I wish I could talk to every man, woman, and child in the State now, and impress them with these views.' "The prophetic forecast of General Lee became widely known, and as sub- sequent events verified his judgment, it aided materially in giving him that con- trol over the public mind of the South that enabled him often by a simple expression of his wishes to procure larger supplies and aid for his army than the most stringent acts of Congress and merciless impressment orders could obtain. The people came to regard him as the only man who could possibly carry us through the struggle successfully. The love of his troops for him knew no bounds, because they had implicit faith in his ability, and knew he was a sym- pathizing friend in all their trials. . . . THE CONFEDERATE COMMANDER's DINNER. " The great simplicity of his habits was another ground of popularity. He fared no better than his troops. Their rough, scant rations were his as well. There were times when for weeks our army had nothing but bread and meat to live on, and not enough of that. W' hen the two armies were on the opposite banks of the Rappahannock, in the winter of 1863-64, meat was sometimes very scarce in ours. Even the usual half-pound per diem ration could not always be issued. During one of these periods of scarcity, on a very stormy day, several corps and division generals were at headquarters, and were waiting for the rain to abate before riding t6 their camps, when General Lee's negro cook annoi?"".ed dinner. The General invited his visitors to dine with him. On repairing to the table a tray of hot corn-bread, a boiled head of cabbage seasoned with a very small piece of bacon, and a bucket of water constituted the repast. The piece of meat was so small that all politely declined taking any, expressing themselves as ' very fond of boiled cabbage and corn-bread,' on which they dined. Of course, the General was too polite to eat meat in the presence of guests who had de- clined it. But later in the afternoon, when they had all gone, feeling very hungry, he called his servant and asked him to bring him a piece of bread and 36o ROn/iRT /■:. LIUi. meat. The darkey looked perplexed and embarrassed, and after scratch! iii^ his head some time said in a deprecatintj tone, ' Lord, Mas' Robert, dat nuat what I sot before you at dinner warn't ours. 1 had jest borrowed dat piece of mid- dlin' from one of ile couriers to season de cabbai,fe in de pot. and seein' as you was gwine to have company at dinner, 1 put on (U; dish wid dc cabbat^e for looks, iiut when I seed you an' none of ile s^eneimen tochc; it I 'eluded you all knowed it was borrowed, and so aft(M- dinner I sont it back to d(,' boy what it belong'' to. I's mit^hty sorry, Mas' Robert, I didn't know you wanted some, for den I would 'a' tuck a piece off'n it anyhow 'fore I sont it honK.'.' " In the latter part of iS6i, General Lee was sent to the coast of .South LlHllV I'KlMiN IN l8t>4', m:lLiKF. ITS RKMOVAI, TO LIIICACO. Carolina, where he planned the defenses which so lontj proved imprerrnable to all attacks of the Union forces, and which were held until the northward march of Sherman's army in 1S65 compelled the evacuation of Charleston. Lee then returned to X'irLi^inia, and in June, itS62, he took command of the Confederate forces defending' Richmond. On June 26th. he met McClellan at Mechanicsville and Gaines's Mill ; and thmi be^^an that lontj;' and terrible series of battles between his forces and the Army of th<; Potomac, which so splendidly displayed his maqriiticent abilities as a commander. In defensive warfare he was almost invincible. I le dehatetl McCh^llan on the Peninsula, Hurnside at PVedericks- buritterness or re sentment seemed to have no place in General Lee's na- ture. When the fate of war went against him, he accepted its result in good faith, and thenceforward did his best to re- store good feeling between the North and the South. Hvei\ toward men who ex hibited the most in- tense bitterness ^'^^• i%'- j^' hKt A.NU 1111. l.M'iS Scil.lJll K. against him hr seemed to have no other feeling than kindness and good-will. This was the case even with those who sought to have him tried and punishtxl for treason. During the w.ir it was noticeable that he never spoke of tln^ Union soldiers as " Yankees," the common expression in the Southern army. Thty SCEXE AFTER GETIVSHCRG. 365 were always mentioned as " I'eeU.'rals," or " the enemy." He regretted and condemnetl the harsh and bitter lan^'ua^e which cliaracterized the Southern newspapers. " Is it any wonder," he said, " that Northern journals should retort as they do, \\\\va\ those in the South employ such language against them? " I.F.I'; A.M) TlIK LM()\ S(i1.|)11:K. A touching story, illustrating this noble trait of General I.ee's character, was told years after the war by a Union veteran who was viewing the great panorama, "The Battle ol (Gettysburg." lie said, "1 was at tlu; battle of Gettysburg myself. I hatl hv.vn a most l)itter ;;nti-.S()uth man, and fought antl cursed the Confederates desperately. 1 could see nothing gootl in any of them. The last day of i\\v. fight I was badly wounded. .\ ball shattered my left leg. I lay on the ground not far from Cemetery Ridge, and as (General Lee ordered his retreat, he and his officers rodosition who had tauntt',d him as he passed by ! As soon as the general had left me I cried myself to slee[) there upon the Idoody ground." The vahiv. of General Lee's e. mple in r 'storing good feeling between the North and .South can hardly be overestimated. 1 le was so universally looked up to by tlu; .Southern peo|)le that his opinions and example could not fail to \\i\v the greatest effect. It is no small part of his title to fame that his great inllu(.Mice should have been us(h1 as it was toward rcnmiting the country after the war, rather than in perpetuating strife and hatred. General Lee's domestic life was an almost ideal one. During his last yeai"'-, his wife was an invalid, suffering from rheumatic gout, and his devotion to her was unfailing, ller health rendered it n(;cessary for her to travel to tin; medi- cinal springs in different ])arts of \'irginia, and he used oftiMi to precede her oil the journey, in ordi;r to have everything in readiness on her arrival. I \c con- trived an apparatus whereby she could be lowered into the baths in her chair. in order to avoid ascending and descending the steps. His love for his children 366 ROBERT E. LEE. manifcstcHl itself in a tender and delicate courtesy which was beautiful to see, and which was repaid on their i)art l)y the stroni^est attachment. (General Lee di('d at Lexiiinton, \'iron the fu-ld, wouiuled as he was, till the; fight was over, antl then wantctl to take |)art \n the pursuit, but was peremptorily ordered back t(j th(; hospital by the ^cMieral commandint:^. The chief surgeon was busily engaged with the woiuuletl, but left them and asked Jackson if he was seriousl)- hurt. " No," he answered, " not half as badly UAKll.K .1 I l.KKV. as many here, and I will wait." And he forthwith sat down on the bank of a little stream nc^ar by, ami [)ositivt'ly tleclined any assistance until "his turn came." In October, iS6i, lackson was commissioned a major-gcmeral, and s(;nt to take command in the Shenandcah X'alley. In the course of the; winter hi; drove the Federal troops from the district, and early in the following March was there when ])anks was sent against him. ! \v. fell back bi;fore Ikmks some iorty miles, then suddenly turned, and with only thirty livi; huntlred men attacked him so fiercely that lie retreated with all his troops. His cam[)aign in April, 1S62, I'AllLK OK CIIANeLl-!.i)K:i\ ILI.l;. JAcK.-^ON .i AllACIv ON TUK Kl'.UT WlMl Jf/S n/-A I'll A T C/l. IXt/ifJA Vv'.V / V/. /./;". iji when he whipped Mih-oy, Hanks, Shields, and I'rtinont. one after another, aiul then suddenly descemletl ui)on McClellan at (iaines's Mill, when the I'nion (Tcnerals lluju^ht he was still in the X'allry, constitiitfs one ot tln' nio^t brilliaiit cha[)ters in modern warfare,', lie look part in the operations against MiLlcllan, and in July he was a^^ain detaclK;d and sent to ( iordon^\ ille to look after his old .1 iieniies in the Valley, who were; ^atheriuL; under I'ope. < 'n AuL^ust (^h he crossed the Rapidan and struck Uanks another crushiuL;- blow at L'edar Run. ( )n August 25th he passetl around I\)])e's rii^ht llank and forceil him to let i4<> his hoUl upon the l\a|)pahannock. Hy stuhliorn ti^htim^- he ke])t him on the unround until Lonij^street could L;<:t u|», and routetl Pope at the secontl battle of Hull Run, in Aujj^ust, 1S62, Two weeks later, in the b(;<;innint^ of the Maryland cain[)ai^ii, Jackson in- vested antl captured 1 larper's I'"erry with eleven thousand prisoners, many stands of arms, and seventy-two L,'uns, and by a terrible nii^ht march, reached Sharpsburi^ on September 16th. The n(^\t morninsj^ he commanded the left wincj of the Confederate army, repulsing' with his thin line the corps of I looker, Mansfield, and Sumner, which were in succession hurled atjj'ainst him. At I'Ved- ericksburic, December 13, 1S62, Jackson coinmanded tlie Confetlerate rij^dit winij-, and in May, 1863, made his Chancellorsville movtMiient, which resulted in his death. On May },([ he received a severe wound in the arm, which rendered am- putation necessary. Pneumonia supervened, and he dit'd on th(' loth of May. In person Jackson is described by an intimate friend as "a tall man, six feet hi^-h, anf^ailar, strontj;', with rather larqe {vx-X and hands." I le rather strode alone than walked. There was somethin<'' hrm and decided even in his ijait. His eyes were dark blue, larL^e, and piercinq'. He looked straight at you, and i/iro!i,;/i you almost, as he talki'd. He spoke in t(;rsi', short si-ntences, always to the point. There was never any circumlocution about what he luul to say. His hair was inclined to aubiu'n. 1 lis beard was brown. He was as gentle and kind as a woman to those he loved. There was sometimes a softness and ten- derness about him that was very striking. [ackson was exceedingly fond of children, and seldom failed to win thtnr love in return. A story is toM of him tliat illustrate-s both his love of children and his distaste for pomp and show. When encamped at Predericksburg, he received a gift of a fine !\ew cap, resplendent in a band of dazzling gold braid. This was one tlay greatly admired by a child of whom he was fontl, whereupon Jackson took her on his knet;, rip])ed the gold bantl off of his cap, bound it around the little on(;'s curls, and sent her away delighted. Jackson was cai"efully tctmperatc; in his habits. On one occasion, when he was wet and fatigued, his physician gave him some whiske)-. He made a wry face in swallowing it, and the doctor inquired if it was not good whisk(;y. " Oh, yes," he replied, "it's good. I like liquor; tlutt^s ivhy I don t drink iL" J74 THOM.lr, JOX. I THAN JACKSON. Oik* of the most curious peculiarities of Jackson was a fashion he had of raising his ri^^ht hand aloft, and then lettini:; it fall suddenly to his side. He often h(;ld his hand, sometimes both hands, thus aloft in battU.-, anil his li|)s wvxn seen to move, evidiMilly in |)rayer. \ot once, hut many times, has the sin_L,^uiar spectacle been presented of a commander sittiuLC **'^ 'i'!* horse silently as his cohmin moved before; him, his hands raised to heaven, his (;yes closeil, his lips movmt; m prayer. At Chancellorsville, as he recoi^nized the corpse of any of his veterans, Ik; would check his horse, raise his hands to heaven, and utter a prayer over the dead body. HClfSK IN WHICH nTONFAVAM. JAf-KSON TltF.D, RirlTMOND, V K. Jackson was a great hero and favorite throughout the South among both soldiers and people. They had the most implicit faith in his abilities, and the greatest love and reverence for his character. Their sentiments were well expressed in the prayer of old "Father Hubert," of Hays' Louisiana Brigade, who, in his prayer at the unveiling of die Jackson monument in Ne;'' Orleans, said as his climax : " And Thou knowest, O Lord! that when Thou didst decide that the Confederacy should not succeed, Thou hadst first to remove Thy ser- vant", Stonewall Jackson." JOHN PAUL JONES, AND THB aiANTtS OK THb: A.VIKRICAN iXAVY. HE origin of the Americar. nl, half knave. Indeed, all the vessels .save the flagship were commanded by Frenchme-n, who were openly insubordinate, refusing half the time to recognize the ce)mmodore's authority, anel often l{;aving him te) cruise and fight aie)ne. \\x the motley squadron eliel much execution along the; shores of Pritain. It all but captured the city of Leith, and entered Humb(;r anel destroyed much shipj)ing. Hut the crowning glory came on .September 23, 1779. On that immortal date Jones e-spieel, off Mamborough Head, a fleet of forty British merchantmen, guardeel by two frigate-s, bounel fe)r the Baltic. At once he gave chase. He hael, be-sieles his e)wn ship, only the " Pallas " and the " Alliance," but they would be sufficie;nt te) capture the whole fleet. Hut the miserable Landais refused to obey the signal, and kept out of the action. .So the fight began, two and two. Jones, with the " Hon Hejmme Richard," attacked the "Sera[)is," Captain Pear- son, anel the " Pallas" engaged the " Ce)untess of Scarborough." The " Sera- pMS " had fifty guns and was much faster and stronger than Jones's ship. The JOH.yr PAUr. /ONUS AM) niS /■A.UOi'S VICTORY. 37t "Countess of Scarl)oroui,fh," on tlu' other hand, was niuch inferior to the " I'allas " and proved an early victim. It was i^rowinin dark, on a clouily evpnin*;, and the sea was smooth as a mill-pond. whiMi the " Hon 1 lomine Richard" and the " Serapis " bet^^an their awful diK.'l. Hoth fired full broadsides at th(! same instant. Two of Jones's old ei_t(hteen-pound<;rs burst, killin-^^ twelve men, and the others were at once aban- doned. So all through the ri,«;ht, after that first volley, lu: had only his thirty-twc twelve-pounders against tlui fifty guns — twenty of them eightcen-poundiTs. twenty nine-pounders, and ten si.\- pounders — of tlu; " Ser.ipis." I'or an hour th(;y fought and man(L'Uvred. then came to- gether with a crash. An instant, the firing ceased. " Have you struck your colors?" demanded Pearson. " I have not yet begun to fight ! " replied Jones. Then with his own hands Jones lashed the; two ships together, and inseparably joined, their sides actually touching, tht!y battled on. Solid shot and canister swept through both ships like hail, while musket- men on the decks and in the rigging exchanged storms of bulU'ts. bor an hour and a half the conflict raged. Then Landais came up with the " Alliance " and began firing equally on both. Jones ortlered him to go to the (nher side of the " Serapis " and board, and his answer was to turn helm and g(j out of the; fight altogether. Now the fighting ships were both afire, and both leaking and sinking. iMost of the guns were disabled, and three-fourths of the men were killed or wounded. The gallant Pearson stood almost alone on the deck of the doomed "Serapis," not one of his men able to fight longer. Jones was as solitary on the "Hon Homme Richard," all his men still able-bodied being at the pumps, striving to keep the shi[) alloat. With his own hands he trained a gun upon I'AVI. JdNia. 38o G/.IXTS OF THE XAVY. the mainmast of the "Serapis," and cut it down; and th(^n Pearson surren- dered. The "I'alias" and "Aniance" came up and took off the men, and in a few hours the two ships sank, still bound tot;ether in the clasp of death. This was not only one of the most desj)erate and deadly naval battles in history. Its moral effect was epoch-makini^^. John Paul Jones was the hero of the day, and Europe showered honors upon him. The American flag was hailed as a rival to that of Knj,dand on the seas, and all Europe was encouraged to unite against lingland and force her to abate her arrogant pre- tensions, and to accede to a more just and liberal code of international maritime law than had before prevailed. In view of this latter fact, this battle must be ranked among the three or four most important in the naval history of the world. It was this battle that inspired Catharine of Russia to enunciate the doctrine of the rights of neutrals in maritime affairs ; and the tardy acquiescence of England, eighty years later, in that now universal principle, was brought about by the blow struck by John Paul Jones off Elamborough Head. There were no other naval operations of importance during the Revolution, save those of the Erench fleet at Vorktown. But soon after the declaration of peace, new complications arose, threatening a war at sea. England and I'Vance were fighting each other, and commerce was therefore diverted to the ship])ing of other nations. A very large share of Europe's carrying trade was done by American vessels. But these were between two fires. England insisted that she had a right to stop and search American ships and take from them all sailors of English birth ; actually taking whom she pleased ; and I'^rance made free to seize any American ships she pleased, under the pretext that there were English goods aboard ; and when she captured an English ship and found on board an American seaman who had been impressed, instead of treating him as a prisoner of war, like the others, she hanged him as a pirate. Naturally indignation rose high, and preparations were made for war with France. In July, i 798, the three famous frigates, the "Constellation," the "United States," and the " Constitution," best known as "Old Ironsides," were sent to sea, and Congress authorized the navy to be increased to include si.\ frigates, twelve sloops, and six smaller craft. Among the officers commissioned, were the illus- trious Bainbridge, Hull, Decatur, Rodgers, and .Stewart. Actual hostilities soon began. French piratical cruisers were captured, and an American squadron sailed for the West Indies to deal with the French privateers that abounded there, in which work it was generally successful. In January, 1799, Congress voted a million ilollars, for building six ships of the line and six sloops. Soon after, on P""ebruary 9, occurred the first engagement between vessels of the American and French navies. The "Constellation," Captain Truxton, over- hauled " L'Insurgente," at St. Kitts. in the West Indies, and after a fight of an hour and a quarter forced her to surrender. The " Constellation " had three SUITRESSLYG THE nARBARY PIRATES. 38 men killed and one wounded; " L'Insiirgente " twenty killed and forty-six wounded. Again, on I-'ebruary i, iSoo, Truxton with tht "Constellation" came up, at Guadeloupe, with the I'Vench 1-Vigate " La X'engeance." Alter chasing her two days he brought on an action. The two ships fought all night. In the morning, "La X'engeance," ciMiipletely silenced and shattered, drew away and escaped to Curacoa, where she was condemned as unfit for further service. The " Constellation " was little injured save in her rigging. I'or his gallantry, Truxton received a gold medal from Congress. Later in that year there were some minor engagements, in which Americans were successful. Hy the spring of 1801, friendly relations with 1'" ranee were restorctl. The President was accordingly authorized to dispose of all the navy, save thirteen ships, six of which were to be kept constantly in commission, and to dismiss from the service all officers save nine captains, thirty-six lieutenants, and one hundred and fifty midshipmen. At about this time ground was i)urchased and navy-yards established at Portsmouth, Poston, New York, Philadelphia, Wash- ington and Norfolk, and half a million dollars was appropriated for the completion of six seventy-four gun ships. Now came on real war. I"or many years the pirate ships of the liarbary States, Algeria and Tripoli, had been the scourge of the Mediterranean. The commerce of every land had suffered. European powers did not venture to suppress the evil, but some of them basely purchased immunity by paying tribute to the pirates. America, too, at first followed this humiliating course, actually thus paying millions of dollars. In September, iSoo, Captain Bainbridge went with the frigate " George Washington " to bear to the Dey of Algeria the annual tribute. The Dey took the money, and then impressed Bainbridge and his ship into his own service for a time, to go on an errand to Constantinople. Bainbridge reported this to Congress, adding, " I hope I shall never again be sent with tribute, unless to deliver it from the mouth of our cannon." However, Bainbridge was received courteously at Constantinople, and his ship was the first to display the American Hag there. Captain Dale was sent with a squadron to the Mediterranean in 1 801, to repress the pirates of Tripoli. One of his shi|)s, the schooner " Exijeriment," captured a Tripolitan cruiser, and this checked for a time the ardor of the pirates. But open war was soon declared between the two countries, and Congress authorized the sending of a larger fieet to the Mediterranean. The gallant Truxton was offered the command of it, but declined because the cheese-paring Administration was too parsimonious to allow him a proper staff of subordinates. Thereupon he was dismissed from the service, and Captain Morris sent in his place. But false economy had so enfeebled the navy that the fleet was able to do little. One Tripolitan ship was captured, however, and another destroyed. 382 (JLLV/S 01' II IE WWV. Then the Government woke up, and l)(•L,^'ln buiUlins^ new ships, and sent another scjuailron over, U;d by Preble with the "Constitution." lie went first to Morocco, whose Sultan at once sued lor peace ; and then proceeded to Trii)oli. Hen; lu: founil that the fri_i,fate "Philadelphia," with MainbriiliL^e and three hundred men aboard, hatl been captured and was beini^^ refitted by the Iripolitans for their own use. 1 )ecatur, coininandinL,'^ the " Ijitcrprisc;," under Preble, determined ujjon a bold counttT-strokM,-. Takini.,' a small vessel, the "Intrepid," which h(; had captured from Tripoli, he sailed boldly into the harbor, tlyinj^^ the 'Pripolitan llaLj and pretendinj^^ to b(; a merchant of that country. Runninj^ aloni^side the " I'hiladelphia, " he boardtnl her, set her afire, and sailetl away in safety, thouL,di amitl a storm of shot and shell. The " Phila- delphia " was burned to the watt;r's eds^n,-. Nothini^ more was done at the time, however, save to keep up a blockade, and Hainbrid^e and his men remained in captivity. In Auj^ust, 1804, Preble and Decatur made a vij^orous attack upon the harbor, and destroyed two and captured \\\rvx-. vessels. A few days later other attacks were maile. Then a new s(piadron under Commodore Barron came t(j the scene, and Preble was supt^rsedeil. No other naval operations of importance occurred, and peace was finally concluded in 1S05. Troubles with Iini:;land now c^rew more serious. That country persisted in searchini; American ships and taki.iL^ from them all whom she chose to call deserters from the British si^rvici;. And so the two powers drifted into the war of 1S12. In that struL;;i,de, tht; Americans were badly worsted on lami, but won victories of the first ma^Miitude on the lakes and ocean. America had only nine; frii^ates and a score of smaller rraft, while luii^dand had a hundred ships of the line. Yet th«! honors of the war on the sea rested with the former. Her triumphs startleil the world. Th<; destruction of the "Guerriere" by the "Constitution," Captain Hull, marke-d an ej)och in naval history. Then the "United States," Captain I )ecatur, vanc|uished the "Macedonian;" the "Wasp," Captain Jones, tin; " I'rolic ;" tlie "Constitution," Captain Hainbridsre, the "Java;" ami the " Hornet " the "Peacock." On Lake I'>ie, Commodore Perry won a threat victory, which h(; announced in the famous messajjfe, " We have met the (Mieiny, and they are ours." ICcpially brilliant was the victory of MacDonouLjh on Lakt; Champlain. The most deplorable r(?v(;rse was the destruction ot the " Chesapeakt; " by the British ship "Shannon," the "Chesa- peake's" commander, Lawrence;, losint'' his life, but winniuLj fame throui^h his dyintr words, " Don't i^ive up the ship !" The contlicts of this war are more fully detailed elsewhere in this volume. It is needful h(;re only to mention them briefly, as we have done. The cause of the surprisini:^ successf^s of the Americans may well be explained, however. It was due to that very inventive ins^^enuity that has made the history of the -1-] % ' ■* iw rar nfiWt I'' r w Sim' ,y- if? ^^i ;i.' ».rl '-.iS* ,'U^I liif. € I ■■ ..p-r < -|i'H i.l-'5?i i&m m Skill: Wl& Fit ■ ■"!: ,w iW^ m K. ti m if .ASi*^ m 'If m;i:h iiA, iii,.'r*ii'i;. ! 'il'iiiiii;i"i''' avjato-' *!,."! I " iV'l ' . I 1 1 ■'Ml kiiiv"|';i 'ill' '"K \ K /(■"". :i'i ,' I, !, ■ ''"ill.: '■' «,i1IJ!|( m V»^le man al)oard the shi|)s. Next came the storming; «)f I'ort Royal. At the eml of October (."onimodore Oiipoiit and Coininaiide-r Roil^crs went thither with a stroHi^r s(|iiadr<)n. 1 hey entered the harbor, and formeil with their ships an ellipse, w liich ke|)t constantly rev()lvinL,^ oi)pt)site the forts, and constantly ponrint; in a murderous tire. It w.is earllnvorks on land ai,^\inst old-fashioneil wooden ships on tin; water: but the ships W(jn, and the forts surrenilered. A small flotilla of rebitl i^ninboals came to the assistance of the forts, but were (piickiy repulsed by the h(.'avy lir*.' from the ships. 1 h(.' ne.\t year saw much naval aclivit\' in many (piarters. The blockade of all .SouthtTn ports was rij^^orously maintained, ami there were some e.xcitin^^ cnj^aLjements between tlie national ships and blockade runners. On the Cumberland, Ohio, Tenni-ssetj and Mississippi Ri\-ers tin; Ljunboats of b'oote and Porter t,M-eatly aicUnl the lar.d force-s, in th(.' campaii^ns ai^Minst I'ort Henry and b'ort 1 )onelson, at Island Xo. 10. and \'icksbin;L,^ Roanoke Island and New Heme, on the Carolina coast, were taken by a combined naval and military expetlition. ( )neof the most strikiuL,"^ events of the war was the entrance of the Mississi])pi and capture of New ( )rleans by Admiral I'.-irraL,^!^ He had a fleet of forty vessels, all told. ( )ppose(I to him were two ^••reat and strong; land forts, Jacks(jn and .St. Philip, one on each side of tin; river, moiuitint^f two hundred and twenty- five i.^uns. I'rom one to the other str(>tched a ponderous iron chain, completely barring' the i^assas^^e, and beyond this was a fleet of iron-clad trund^oats, fire- ships, etc. Military and naval authorities scouted the idea that Farrajrut's wooden ships coidd ever fii^dit their way throus^h. Hut I'arrai^ut quietly scouted the authoritii^s. Makini:^ his way up to within ram^e of the forts he beL,''an a bombardnuMit. C)n the first day his j:,nms threw 2000 shells at the enemy. A huii^e fire-raft was sent acjainst him, but his ships avoided it and it passed harmlessly by. Another was st-nt down tliat nii^dit, a floating mountain of tlame. Hut one of P'arrat^i'ut's captains deliberately ran his ship into it, turned a hose upon it, and towed it out of the way ! P'or a week the tremendous bombardment was kept up, l6,Soo shells beinj^ thrown at the forts. Then I-'arrai^'ut cut the chain, and started to run the fiery j^'auntlet of the forts with his fleet. Hefore daylight one morning the mortar- boats opened a furious fire, under cover of which the ships steamed straight up the river. The forts opened on them with every gun, a perfect storm of shot and shell, and the ships replied with full broadsides. Five hundred cannon were thundering. One ship was disabletl and dropped back. The rest swept on in a cloud of flame. Hefore they were past the forts, fire-ships came down upon them, and iron-clad gunboats attacked them. The "Varuna," Captain 23 S86 CfAXTS OF THE XAVY. Bopfc^s, was surroundod by five rebel piinboats, and sank them all. As the last of them sank, a sixth, a hu,t,'e iron-clad ram, came rushini:^ upon the "V'arima." Hot,r,f they met in battle on September lotli, near the western end of the lake. The fi-^ht was hardly be<4iin when I'erry's ship, the Laxy.ie, won by the i^enius and heroism of a \'ovniL;' man of only twenty-seven. The letter which he sent to Cieneral Harrison, commander of the army, from the deck of his triumphant ship, has become immortal : — We have met the enemy, and tliey are ours, — two shii)S, two brigs, one schooner, and one sloop. Yours with verv great respect and esteem, O. H. rKKRV. Perry won o-reat honors by his victory, Con<4ress voting;- him thanks, a medal, and the rank of captain. He afterwartl took an important part in militar)' operations at Detroit, in the battle of the Thames, Canada, and in defense of Ualtimore. While in commantl of a squadron in the West bidies, he was attacked by yellow fever, and died suddenly at Trinidad, in August, 1S19. 400 tl',11 1 INi II i.I N \Ml lAKIil \'.l. Ill'- 1 m. •• l:M 1 l.M'iRE.' DAVID G. FARRAGUT, THE GRKAT UNION NA.VA.L COMMAMDER. ( )X1- of the naval heroes of the ^reat civil war is better reni(Mnl)('rt;d than Daviel (i. Farra_Ljut. The figure of the bra\<' adniiral, in th(^ ti,!-,dit in Mobile Hay, stand- iuL; in the riujuinij;' of the Ilartjoni, with his ylass in *i*^" '■ his hciiul, directinL;- the movements of the fleet, is one of the most familiar pictures of the war; and no bra\ er man or jjetter sailor than l-'arragut ever took the deck of a vessel, t £4^,^ w'^'^»i.i^:.-' 'I'll,, n-^val caret>r of Farracjut beiji'an in the War *;■ i^lk.: ■\iz.^* ,,f i.Sij, wlieii h(2 was a boy only eleven years old. He was in that famous battle in the harbor of Valparaiso between the Essex ami the British war-vessels Pliebc and Cherub, when the two IJritish vessels attacked the Essex while disabled by a sudden scpiall, and after she- IkuI taken refuL;i,- in neutral waters. The Essex, her sails blown awav and crippled Ijy the storm, was unable to chany^e her position, and lay helpless at the merc\- of her enemies' _L;uns. After a bloody battle of two hours and a half under such fearful odds, the Hag' was lowered. In such desperate battles as this, which gave to the American navy lasting renown, the naval career of Farragut began. In January, iS{32, the government fitted out an expedition for the capture of New Orleans, and put it under b'arragut's command. His fleet comprised forty '/ight vessels, large and small, and all of wood, as the iron-clad vessels of later date were not yet developed. The river was defended by Forts Jackson 24 40I 402 DJVID G. FARRAGUT. and St. Philip, lyin^- on opposite sides of the Mississippi, about seventy miles below the city ; and man\- gunboats and rams lay near the forts. Ilcfore attempting,'' to pass the forts, I'arra^ut determined to l)ombard them from his licet ; and careful preparations were made on all the vessels. It was a strand spix'laclc wIkmi, on the lolh of March, this formiilaljU; lleet at last opened \\xv.. i he low banks of ih(M'iver on both siiles seemed lined with, flame. All day lon^- the earth trembled undin' the heavy c;.\plosi(jns, and b\' ni-lit two thousand shells had been hurlc;d aL^'.airist the forts. 'l"h(; relx-ls had nwt been idle during;' the eUilays of the previous weeks, but had contrived and constructc-d every possible instrument of destruclioii and defens(!. ( )n the lii'st mornin-' of th(; IxMnbanlinent they set adrift a firc^-ship made of a hiiL;e tlalboat piled with liu^hted pitcli-pine cordwood. The blazin*^ mass, howi:ver. kept in the middle of the stream, and so passed the (led with- out intlictini;- any damat;-e. At ni^ht anothc^r was sent adrift. .Small boats were sent to meet it, and, in spite of tht.' intense heat, ^rapidinL^- irons were fastened in it, and the; mass was towed to the shore and left to burn liarmU'ssly away. fbuiuL;- at last made all the preparations that he could with the means allowed him, and the mortar-b(jats ha\inL;- accomplished all that was in their power to do for the; present, the 26th day of April was fixed for the passaL;-e of the forts. The chain across the channel had been cut a ft;w nii^hts before. It was determined to start at two o'clock in the morning;, anil the eveniny before Farragut visited his ships for a last inter\iew with the commanders. Tin- I'A'-AC.I-: 1 IF THE FORTS. At length, at two o'clock, two lanti'rns were seen to rise slowly to the mizzen peak of th(.' //ar/foriL Ihi: boatswain's shrill call rnw^ over tin,' water, and the drums beat to ipiartiTS. The enemv was on the lookout, and the vessels had scarcttlv i^nt under wa\" when siy-nal-liL;hts tlasheil a'nr.^' the batteries. Then a l)(;lt of lire; gleamed through the darkness, and the next moment the hea\y shot came shriekinsj^ over the bosom of the stream. All <;yes were now turned on the I farlford. as she silently steamed on, — the sii^nal "close action" blazing- from her ri'^i^iiiL;'. In the meantime th(; mortar-boats below opened fire, and the hissiuL;' shells, rising- in L;racefnl curses o\-er the advancin;^- lleet, dropix-tl with a thunderous sound into the forts above. In a few minutes the advancetl vesst'ls openeil. firing;' at the- llash''s from the forts. The ih.'et, with full steam on, was soon abreast of the forts, and its rapiil broadsides, min!_;linL;' with the deafeninL,^ explosions on shore, turned niL^ht into fiery day. While the; bombardment was in proL,n"ess. a fire-raft, pushed by th<' ram Jlfii/iussds, loomed thnjui;!! the smoke, and bore straight down on the Hartford. Farra;^ut sheered oil to avoitl the collision, ;uh1 in doiii:;' so ran a^rouml. when the fire-ship came full a^i^ainst him. In a moment the flames leaped up the rig- THE ATTACK OX THE FORTS. 403 (rino^ aiul aloni,f the siilcs. There was no [jaiiic ; 'wv\-\ man was in his place, ami soon the hose wa-^ manned and a stream ot water turned on the llames. The fire was at knL^lh ;;ot under, and l'"arra;^ut a;^ciin mo\cd lorward at the head ^^i his cnhimn And now came dnwn llif rebel lleet of thirteen i^umlinats and two iron clad rams to mingle in tlv; comijat. llroatlside to Ijroadside, hull crashing' a-ain.^t hull, it ([uickly became at once a gladiatorial combat ot ships. 1 iie / an:;.,!. Ca|)tain I'o'^-'^s, sent t'i\'e of liie Confederate \esseU to the buttom one alter another, anil finally wa^ her.->eif bunk. When the sun ro.-.e throu-lt the moriiin^^ l; Mil V - HAM I'N THK Kill KIVI K. mist, he lookeil down on a sc<'n<' never to be f )r^otten while na\'al deeds are honored by the nation, '['here l.iy the forts, with tlie Confeder.ite tla^^s still tly- in^". liut their doom was sealed. .And there, too, driven ashore, wrecked. "V captured, were thirteen of tlie enemy's eimboats, out of the se\enteen brou:^i.; down to assist the forts in resistint;- the L'nion lleet. Xew Orleans was now at I'arra^iit's mercy. Lo\-ell, commandinL^- the Confederate troops in the city, (;\'icuateil tin: place and let't it uncier the control of the mavor, .Monroe. Farraiait took possession of the citv, ami raised the national llag- on the City 1 [all, Mint, and Custom 1 louse, which were the 404 DAVID G. FARRACUT. oroperty of the United States. I le tlu;ii turned it over to General I-)Utler and proceeded witli his lleet up the river. THE llAri'l.l'; IN MOlUI.l:; ISAV. In January, 1S64, Farrayut sailed for Mobile 15ay. Mori^an and Gaines were the' chief forts jiarriny it. I'ort Mori^'an mounte-d some thirty ,^uns, and lort Gaines twenty-one. There were; three steamers and fjur rams inside, waitint,'' to receive any vessels that mii^ht succeed in passing;' the torts. Batteries lined the shore, and tor])edoes paved the bed of the channel. ( )n the 1st of March, also, before his preparations for the attack wc-re com|)lete, he saw the Confederat(.' iron-clatl ram 7\-niu'isfC steam up the channel and anchor near the forts. This comi)licated the situation very much. riie contest bet\v(;en wooden vessels on one side, and an iron-clad and stroma forts on the other, was so une(]ual that it was almost foolhardy to enter it. After weeks of waiting-, howexer, the Union iron chul TciHunch at last arri\ed, and on August 5, i>S64, I'arraui'ut proceeded to attack the forts. The vessels were arranged two by two, and lashed stronL;ly to- gether. The tleet, with th(; Brook- Ivn ahead, steamed slowly on, and at a cpiarter to seven the 'J\-iUiiisch fired the first gun. Twenty minutes later tlie f(jrts optined fire, when the Brook! vn replied with two lOO-pounder Parrott ritles, and the battle fairly commenced. I'arragut had lashed himself near the maintop of die Hartford, so as to be able to overlook the whole scene. While watching with absorbing anxiety the progress of the lleet through the trenuMulous fire now concentrated upon it, sud- lenly, to his utter amazement, he saw the Ih-ooklyii stop and l)egin to back, i'he order to reverse engines passed down through the whole llei't, bringing it to a sudden halt just as it was entering the fiery vorte.x. 'What does this mean ? " had hardly passed the lips of Farragut, when he heard the cry, "Tor- pedoes ! The Tccitnisch is going down ! " Glancing toward the- spot where she lav, he saw only the top of her turrets, which were rapiilly siid ot his vessel, he swept forward, " determined," he said, "to lake the chances," Wheeling' to the northwest as he ke[)t the channel, he brought his whole broadside t() bear on the t\)rt, with tremendous ettect, Tht; other \-essels foilowiiiL;- in the wake of the t];iL;-ship one after anotlier swept past tht^ batteries, tile crews loudly chccriuL;', anil were siL^naled by lar- ra'jut to come to .uichor. Hut the otficers had scarcely commenced clearin^^ decks, when the 'rciuusscc was sec-n boldly standing;" out; into the ba\', and steer- ing straight for the fleet, with the purpose of attacking it. KAMMIXO AX IRo\([AI» RAM. It was a thrilling moment. Tlna'c; was a deet of frail wooden vessels, at- tacked bv .1 ram clad in arnmr imper\-ious to th(jir guns. The moment b'arra- o'ut disci)\cred it, he signaled the vessels to run her down, antl, hoisiino- his own anchor, ordered the [jilot to drive the Har/fon/ full on tlu; iron-clad, 'llie Million i^a/u/a. under the command of the inlre])id .Strong, being near tin; rear of the line, was still mo\ing up the bay wheii he saw the ram heading for the liiK.-. He instantl)' sheered otit, and, ortlering on a lull head of ste'am, dro\'e his vessel with tremendous torct: straight on the iron-clad structure. W lu;eling, he again struck her, thotigh he had carried away his own iron j)row and cutwater. The Lackai^'auiia came next, and, striking the ram while imder ftill headway, rolled her over on Ik r side. The next moment, down came Farragut in the ITiiii/ord. but jtist behjre the \essel struck, the ram sheered, so that the blow was a glancing one, anel the former rasped along her iron-plated htill ami fell alongside. Recoiling for some ten or twelve feet, the J [art ford poured in at that short distanc(; a whole broadside of nine-inch solid shot, hinded with charges of thirteen pouiuls of powtler. Ihe heavy metal, though sent with such awful force;, and in suth close [iroximity, math; no im])ression, butbrokeinto fragments on the mailed sides or dnippcd liack into the w.tt(.'r. Ihe shot and shell from the rcnncssci. on the otli^r hand, went crashing through the wooden sides of th(i I [art ford, strewing her deck with the dead. I'arragtit now stood ott, ami began to make a circuit in order to come down again, wht;n lii<: Tackawanna. which was dri\ing the second time on the mon- ster, hyaccident struck the J/orfford 7\ litth; forward of the mi//en-mast, and cut her down to within two fe('t of the water. She was at tuvst thought to Ik; sink- ing, and "The .Admiral! the Admiral! Save the Admiral!" rang o\(;r the =5hatteretl th'ck. litit I'arragut, seeing that the vessel would still lloat, shouted 4o6 DA I 'ID G. FARRAGLT. out to put on steam, (.l(.'t('nniii(j(l to st-nd her, crushed and broken as sl:e was, full on tlie ram. Hy this time the monitors had crawled up aiul wen: pourin;^- in their h('avy shot. 1 he C'///(Ai/.V(?.\' u;<»t under the stern and knocke-d awav the smokestack, while the Maiiliattan seMit one shot clean throuj^h thi; \ (.'ssel. and disabled her stern port shutter with a shell, so that the i^un could not lie used, while a third carried away the steerin:^- u;ear. 'I'hus, with her steeriiiL^-chains L;one. her smoke- stack shot awa\,-, many oi iu-r port shutters jammixl, the' Jciintsscc stood amid the crowdinL;' L;unboats like a sta^;- atba\-amonL^ the hounds. The ( )ssipee was driving- toward her under Kill headway ; and a little farther off bearin;^- down on the sanu: I'rrand, were comiii:,;- the //(//'//<■;-(/. Jh>i!0!:^,i/iLlti. and Loi ka7cainia. I'M-. Ill I HI. •• .Mi.\N iM.NoM.Mi'.i " ion; ri.N-iNi.ii i;i.i.i;rii.i.u.\:'iNi. kiii.ks. id was sealed, and her commander hoist('d th i^-^;.-^ The fate of the iron-clad was sealed, and her commander hoist('d th(^ white llaLT, but not until the Ossif^rc was so near that her commander could not pre\ent a collision, and his \-essel riisped heavih' alon^• the iron sides of tlv ram. lie r»i- ceived her surrender froni Comniand(;r [ohnson — the admiral. ISuchanan. haviiiL]^ been previouslv wounded in the le^;'. This ended the morning's work, and at ten minutes past ten b'arra^ut brought his licet to anchor within four miles of bort MoriL^an. The loss of the I'nion iron-clad Tt-ciinixcli. with her commander and crew, tempereil th(^ exultation o\-er this splendid victory. A torpedo was exploded directly under the vessel, almost liftiiii^'- her out of the water, and blowing- a hole in her bottom so large that she sank before her crew could reach the deck. Farragut's impetuous bravery, however, and the picturesc]ue novelty of wooden JUS WELCOME LX NEW YORK. 407 vessels ramminq- an iron-clad, made this one of the most famous naval battles of the war. and i^ave to the brave admiral a wide and lasting rt-nown. Ofhcers and men, too, seemed to catch the spirit of the commaiuler, and fought with the most splendid bravery. Several of tlu; woundi;d refused to leave the deck, but continued to liL^ht their t;uns ; odiers rehired and liail tlieir wounds dressed, antl thi-;n returned to their posts. A few days later, after a severe bombarelment from the Union lleet. both ii^ Ik ' ■ !•'''■■ *••-'"■ 'j'- U-"> "•' i ' 1^ MoM-MKNT Ti> AI.MIKAl. KAlvUAl.L' T, Al NS A..II I MHON. the Confederate forts were stirrendered. This completed th<; Union victory, and put th(; liarbor and city of Mobile a-ain under the control of the -ovtTn ment. .Soon after this, his healtli ilemandin^; some relaxation, I'arra.L^ut ol> taine.l leave of abscMice, and sailed for New York in liis iLi-shi]), tlie now famous //art ford. At Xew York he was welcometl with impressive ceremonie.s, and n.'ceived the hii^-hest testimonials of appreciation of his services to the nation, a number of wealthy men of New York presenting; a , ^iniple and unassuniin;.; in apix-'arance and de[)ortnient, and kind and L,^e:iial in manm-r. A story is told of him that once when travelini^f in the White .Mo'-intains. a man liroiiL^ht his little daughter, at her own urgent request, some fifteen miles to see him, for she would n(jt be cont(;nt till she had looked on the L,^reat admiral. I'arra-ut took the child in his arms, kissed her. and talked [)layfully with h -r. lie w;is tlressed in citizen's costume, and look<-d in her eyes very much like any other man. and totally unlike the hero whose praises had been so Ion-' rin-in^- o\er the land. In her innocent sur|)rise, she said, "Why. you do not look like a -re-at L;e'ne-ral. I 5aw one the other day, and he was covered all ov(:'r with i^old." The admiral laughed, and. to please h^TA'l"KSM.\X. 1 ' K lOiSI IJ 1-: NT. L'RIXCi the iciil;'. siihr_\- ihiys of the simiiiU'r v.[ iSSi, at almost L-\cry iiL-wsjiaprr and tc-lei^Taph ottice stooil a L^roup (if i)C()i)U;, which S!)niininu;.s swcllc.-d iiUo a ^rcat crowd, watching- (•a^crlv tor the sli[)s of paper which troin time to time were posted m a conspicuous place on the tront ot the Ijuildiiii:;-. In tin- inter\-als they would ^athm- in little •3 knots and talk lo-cther in low tones. Vn one who dlid not know what hatl hap[)ened on July 2(\. it would ha\e been hard to ^iiess what L;-athered these waiting- crowds, day i "«s> after cku', throuL;]u)Ut the land. With intense, foreboding ' suspense; fifty millions of people were watching' tor the news trom the l)edside of the Presideiit of the United State-s, who had been stricken down by the bullet of an assassin. Who that lived through diat Kmil; summer can forget those anxious days and niL;htsi^ .\iul when at last tin; l)ra\e struL;-yle tor lite was endetl, and the silent torm was borne from tin; sc^asiile to rest on the shores of Lake Erie, who can foroet the solemn hush which seemed to prevail everywhere as the tomb opened to receive all that was mortal ot the beloved President, James A. Ciarfield ? To some not well acquainted with riarlldd's history, it may seem that the tragic and pathetic circumstances of his illness and ileath were the chict cause of the universal love and s^rief which were manifested tor him : l>ut a study ct this irni)ression. b'ew public men of our time ha\e h;id a career which was so gradual and steady a Ljrowth ; ami tew indeed attain to the full, ri|)e, well-roup.ded comjileteness whicii iiKuhdiim a really L;reat statesman. Steadilv, inch bv inch, he hatl worked his wav up, ne\cr tailing' liack, until the topmost round of th(' hulder was reache(l : and ncn-er was success more tulh' deser\etl or more' Ijravely won. lames Abram CJartield was born in Cuyahoj^a county, Ohio, on Xo\-ember ig, 1831. He was but two years old when his father died sudilenl\-, leaviuLi^ his mother with tour children, and her only source of support a small farm, encumbered by debt, in the half-cleared t'orests of northern Ohio. She worked 411 4i; JAMhS A. CARi'IELD. early and late, th(; children hclpiiii^ her. Jaiiies had " not a lazy bone in his body." When hartlly niort: than a l)ai)y, he picked ch(;rries, plantetl corn, j^atheretl veii^etables, and helped in a hundred ways. He early developed a great a[)titude lor the use of tools, and as he i^rew up inade an excellent car- penter. There \v;is hardly a barn, shed, or buildinL;' of any kinil put u]) in the neighborhood but bort; the marks of his skill. Tlu; money earned b)' the use of his tools in sumnii;r helped to pay for his schooling in the winter. lames early developed a gri;at \o\v. for Ijooks. .Stories of battle, taU.'s of adventure, the lives of great men, all such wv.xv. irresistibly fascinating to him. Two books, W'eems's "Life of Marion" and (irimshaw's "Napoleon," stirred Till'; ilii.ME c.i|' C.VKriKI.l) S ClIIMUliluI), in him a great desire for tht: military career on whicli he entered with so much promise in later life ; and stories f)f th(^ sea at last aroused an irresistible long- ing for a sailor's life', lie went to Clev(/land and trit'd to secure employment on one of the lake vessels, but was unsuccessful. The only o|K'ning in the line of maritime commerct; was on the f^hio and Pennsylvania canal, and James accepted th(; position of driver, at twelve dollars a month. Such was his capacity and attention to duty that in the first round trip he had learned all there was to be learned on the tow-jiath. He was promptly promoted from driver to liowsman, and accorded the proud privilege of steering the boat instead of steering the mules. LIFE OX THE CAXAL. 413 Diiriii!^ his first tri|) \v IVII ovcrhoaivl foiirtixMi times, by actual count. In this way he contracted malaria, whicli loiiL,'- rcmaiiK.'d with him. Ih; could not swim a stroke. One dark, rainy niL;ht he ai^^Min fell into the canal, when no help was at hand, and was saved as by a miracle, the rope at which he caught "kink- ini;' " and holding- fast while Ik- drew himself on deck. iSelii'xinL;' that he was providentially savetl for somethim^- better than steerin;^- a canal-boat, he returned home, resolved to obtain an education and make a man of himself EAKNINC. .\N KPLXWrioN. In the winter of 1S49 he attt;nded (ieaui^^a Seminary, where he and three other youni;' men " boarded themselves," living on about fifty cents a week each. «i3 GAKI IKI.U fiN Tin; lilW-l'A TH. Here he met a quiet, studious c;irl, Lucretia Rudoljjh, the daughter of a Mary- land farmer, who afterward became his wife. lie was an intense student. lie had an insatiable a|)pelite for knowledge, and would make any sacrifice to obtain it. At the close of the session he worked throui:^h tln' \acation, and also tauijht a country school, to earn money for the iollowiii'- winter. lie was a capital teacher. He stirred a n(;w life and ambition in his scholars, and roused in them an (.-nthusiasm almost equal to his own. In August, 1 85 1, Garfield entered a new school established at Hiram, Portage county, by the religious society to which he belonged, the Disciples of Christ, or *' Campliellites." Here he resolved to prepare himself for college. He lived in a room with four other pupils, and studied harder than ever. When 414 /.\.\//iS A. C.IKI //JJl he went ti) Ilir;iin he had stii(lic(I Latin oiiK- six weeks, and just !icL;un ("ircck; and was, tin rdnrc, justin a condiiion tu tairly ln^in the tour yr clas->, and at tlu- same time earned his own li\inL;, thus crowdiiii;- six years' stud)' into three, and teat hiuL;- lor siipiiort .it thi- same time. Alter some d< hate he resoKed to l;(i to Williams L"()ll<;L;e. in lierkshirt,', .Massachusetts, and enteri:d there in 1S54. Study at Williams was easy for (larlield. lie had heen used to nuicli harder W(ii-k at 1 liram. llis lessons w(,'re always piu'lcctly learn<'d. ( )n(- of the protessors called him " the hoy who ne\-er llunked, " and lir vlid much extra readin;^- and stucK'in^-, In the summer ot" 1S56, after only two years of study, Carlleld i^radualeil at Williams College, and returned to his ( )hio home. In the autumn he enten-d I liram Colle^^e as a teacher of ancient laiiLjiiayes and literature. The next \ear, at the aL;e of twenty six, he was made president of the institution. This othce he held for live years. I'nder his manaL;(;ment the attendance was douhled ; he raised tin; standard of scholarship, strenothiMied its faculty, and inspired (everybody connecti-d with it with somethiuL.;- of his own zeal anil enthusiasm. In 1S5S he married his old schoolmate, Miss Rudolph, and they Ix'^an life in a little cottaL;e fnjntini;- on the orounds of the college. Clarfield's [Militical career ma\ lie said to ha\e fairly l)ey;un in the campaign of iS57-'5S, when he made a number of political spi'eches. In iSsc; ht- was cU'Cted to tin; .'-^tate Senate of Ohio, and bicame a notctd member of that l)ody. Wiu'ii the war brokt; oLit in 1S61, and I'resiihMit Lincoln issued liis call for 75,000 men, ( "i aril eld mo\'ed in lh(; ( )hio .SiMiate to make 20,000 troops and >;3, 000,000 the ([uota of the State. In August Go\ernor Dennison, the famous " war eo\-(.'rnor " of Ohio, otfereil him the lieutenant-colont'lcy of the 42d C^hio Regiment, which was then beini^; organized. Most of the regiment were old students of 1 liram Colleq-e, so that Ik; wouKl lie surrounded in the field by the same faces amom^' wliom he had taught. lie soon decided to accept the f G.XKIllI.I' A I Till'. AI.1-: 111' SI.v;rKKN, rill: KI.XTL'CKV CAMI'AIGX. 415 coininissioii. His way of prDCfodiiii;- to drill his company was characteristic of the tiiachcr as wi'il as the soKlier. lie inailt; soUliiirs of woodfii l>locks, fash- ioiicil in ditfcrcnt forms to ri'iirtsciU the oft'ictTs, and widi thi-si- Mocks he car- ried on with iiis subordinates ''ames of militars' tactics, until, when the reijiment was ready to £,0 into service, it was pronounced one of the most tliorouyhly drilU'il in the whole army. lp;iIIIN<; IN KLM'ICKS'. In Di'cemlier of 1S61 (iarlield's ri'i^dment was ordered into service in KfMitucky and West X'ir^jinia. At that time the ilestiny of Kentucky was still in doubt. Thouij^h much attaclu'd to the rnion, it was a slave State, and strong IIIKAM c "I.i.k;!;. influences were at work to draw it within tht; vortex of secession. Two Confed erate armies were marching norlhwanl through the State, one under ZoUi- koffer anin:RMAN" 4l! JAMES A. GARFIELD. was aUoL^cihcr that of a soUruT, tlicy wen- \\v\s and uiifaniili;ir. After an active an ^rCCl.-:>OR. THE ASSASSIN A T/ON. 4 1 9 The PresidtMit, however, was not yet beaten. Willi magnificent phick, that was hailed by the people everywhere with applause, \\(i dealt Mr. Conklinj^ a fatal blow. The ne.xt niornino-, May 5th, all the nominations that were pleasing^ to Mr. Conkling were withdrawn ; that ot Judi;e Robertson was not. This defined the issue sharply, and obli^s^ed senators to choose between the: President and the New York senator. They declined to follow Mr. Conkliny, and Rob- ertson's nomination was confirmed. Then Mr. Conklini^r and his colleague, Mr. I'latt, in the most sensational manncn- resigned thcMr seats in the Senate, evidently believing that they would be [)romptly re-elected, and thus secure a " vindication " of thc.'ir course from their own .Stale. Hut th(;y reckoned without their host. The fight was now transferred tG» Albany ; but Mr. CcMikling's power over the New York Legislature was gone^ Public opinion sustained the President. The two senators resorted to every expedient known to politics to secure their re-election, but their efforts were in vain ; Messrs. Miller and Lapham were chosen to fill the vacant seats, and the- two ex-senators were allowed to remain in private life. But before this rcsulc was reached, and while the ignoble struggle was still going on in the New York Legislature, the great tragedy occurred which plunged the whole country into deep sorrow. TiiK TRAf;r:i)V ok iSSi. ."-Saturday, July 2, 1881, was a fair, hot mitlsummer day. The inmates of the W^hite House were astir early. The President was going to Massachusetts to attend the commencement exercises at his old college at Williamstown, and afterward to take a holiday jaunt through New PZngland, accompanied by several members of the Cabinet and other friends. His wift:, who was at Long P)ranch, New Jersey, just recovering from a severe attack of malarial fever, was to join him at New York. He had looked forward with almost boyish delight to his tri[), and was in high spirits as he and Secretary l)laine drove off to the railway station. There was no crowtl about. Most of those who were to take the.; train had already gone on board. Among the few persons in the waiting-room was a slender, middle-aged man, who walked up and down rather nervously, occasion- ally looking out of the door as if expecting some one. There was nothing about him to attract special notice, and no one paid much attention to him. \Vh(Mi President Ciarlield and Mr. Blaine entered, he drew back, took a heavy revolver from his pocket, ami, taking deliberate aim, fireil. The ball struck the President on the shoulder. 1 le turned, surjirised, to see who had shot him. The assassin recocked his revolver and fired again, ami them turned to llee. The President fell to the floor, the blood gushing from a wound in his side. In a moment all was confusion and horror. .Secretary Blaine sprang after the assassin, but, seeing that he was caught, turned again to the President. 25 420 JAMES A. GARFIELD. The shock h;ul bcc-n trn.'.it, and he was very pale. A mattress was brought, his tall form was lifted tenderly into an ambulance, and he was swiftly borne to the Executive Mansion. His first thought was for his wife, — the beloved wife of his youth, just recovering from sickness, e.xpecting in a i^tw hours to meet him. How would she bear the tidings of this blow ? "Rockwell," he said, faintly, to a friend, " I want you to send a message to ' Crete ' " (his pet name for his wife, Lucretia). " Tell her 1 am seriously hurt, y/m^) r^ tl IfK ,' GARriKI.U's ASSASSINAXmN. how seriously I cannot yet say. I am myself, and hope she will come to me soon. I send my love to her." A swift train brought Mrs. Garfield to her husband's side that evening ; and then began the long struggle for life, with its lluctuations between hope and dread, which lasted for almost thrcn; months. Just after Mrs. Garfield's arrival there was a sutlden collapse which seemed to be the end, and the; family of the President were hastily summoned to his bedside ; but, to the surprise of every one, the crisis passed, and for three weeks he seemed to improve. Then came a turn for the worse, and from that time the President lost ground. The hot summer days, hard to bear even for those in full health, wasted and weakened THE FUNERAL TRAhX. 42 1 him terribly. He sank steadily ; and it was seen that unless relief from the intense heat could be had, he would inevitably die witliin a few days. It was decided to remove him to Elberon, on the ocean shore, near Loni^^ Branch, New Jersey ; and on September 7th, accompanied by his family and the members of the cabinet, he was borne by a swift special train northward to the seaside. A summer cottage had been offered for his use, and there for two an.xious weeks lay the man who, it may be truly said, had become Tlie i)illar of a people's hope, The centre of a world's desire. The cooling breezes of the seaside brought some relief, and the change no doubt prolonged his life ; but it could not be saved. In the night of .SepttMuber 19th, almost without warning, the end came ; the feeble llame of life, so anxiously watched and cherished, llickered a moment, and then went out in the darkness. The President's body was borne back to Washington, where it lay in state, viewed by great throngs of mourning people ; then it was tak(Mi westw'ard to Cleveland, and laid in the tomb by the shores of Lake Erie, almost in sight of his old home. The journey was one long funeral pageant. For almost the entire distance the railway tracks were lined with crowds of people, who, with uncovered heads, stood in reverent silence as the train passed. Not since the day when that other dead President, the great Lincoln, was borne to his last resting-piace, had such an assembly been gathered ; and the love and grief which followed Garfield to his grave are the best tribute to the worth of his character. Five months later, in the hall of the House of Representatives at Washing- ton, amid such a throng as that chamber has seldom seen, .Secretary Hlaine delivered his eulogy of the dead President ; and from that splendid and pathetic address we take the concluding words, which will fitly close this brief sketch : — Great in life, he was surpassingly great in dc.ilh. . . Through days of deadly languor, through weeks of agony tliat was not less agon}- because silently borne, with clear sight and calm courage, he looketi into his o])en grave. Wliat blight and ruin met his anguished eyes, whose iip.s may tell I — what brilliant broken plans, what baffled high anibiticjns, what sundering of strong, warm manhood's friendships, what bitter rending of sweet hmischold ties ! Beliind him a proud, expect- ant nation, a great host of sustaining friends, a cherished and ha])py mother, wearing tiie full, rich honors of her early toils and tears: the wife of his \outh, whose whole life lay in his; tiie little I'oys, not yet emerged from childhood's da\' of frolic ; the fair young daughter ; thesturdv sons just springing into closest companionship, claiming every day and every day rewarding a fatiier's love and care ; and in his heart the eager, rejoicing power to meet all demand. IJefore him. desolation and great darkness 1 .And his soul was not shaken. His cotmtrymen were thrilled with instant, profound, and universal sympathy. Masterful in his mortal weakness, he became the centre of a nation's love, enshrined in the ])rayers of a world, liut all the love and all the sympathy could not share with him his suffering. He trod the wine-i)ress alone. \\'ith tnifaltering front he faced death. 422 JAMES A. GARFIELD. With iinfailinf; tenderness he took leave of life. Above the demoniac hiss of the assassin's bullet ht heard the voire of (Jod. With simple resignation he bowed to the Divine decree. As the end drew near, his early craving for the sea returned. The stately mansion of jxnver had been to him the wearisome hospital of jjain, and he begged to be taken from its prison walls, from its oppressive, stifling air, from its homelessness and hopelessness. (Jently, silently, the love of a great [ieo])]e bore the pale sufferer to the longed for healing of the sea, to live or to die, as God should will, within sigjit of its heaving billows, within sound of its manifold voices. With wan, fevered face tenderly lifted to the cooling breeze, he looked out wistfully upon the ocean's changing wonders; on its fair sails, whitening in the morning light; on its restless waves, rolling shoreward to break and die beneath the noonday sun; on the red clouds of evening, arching low to the hori- zon ; on the serene and shining jathway of the stars. Let us think that hisdying eyes read a mvstic meaning which only the rajU and jarting soul may know. Let us believe that in the silence of the receding world he heard the great waves breaking on a further shore, and felt already upon his wasted brow the breath of the eternal morning. ■ u-"-^* --I ■1.-; TABIXT IN ItIK WAITIN(;-RO(>M OF TUK RAIIAVAY STATIO.N WHERE GARFIELD WAS SHOT. ^1 ^^^^ >-,», H'\iJ W — >: m "V ) > -^^^feMVs.-' r_=. H^j^J f' ->>' ^H 6 'I''. i) ■ £ I r r/ [>> jfi LO SAMl'EL J, TU.I>K?i. GlANtSO^ERiCA !<> ^ ^^r .t the nomination for the Presidency ; but this he firmly resisted, main- taining that by long and arduous service he had earned the right to retirement. The last work of his life was a plan for a great public library, to found which he left by his will the bulk of his large fortune. His beneficent design was frustrated, however, by legal (laws in his will, which his relations successfully con tested, thus depriving him of the monument which his noble purpose and use ful life deserved. He died in Xew York on August 4, 1886. Kl'llllM lUih lilKCIlARl) IIAYfS. >-'», JAMES G. BLAINE, THEi BRILLIA-NT A.NU SUCCliSSKUL, STATESMAN. /^^■M^-"""^ ^^ close of the o^reat civil war of iS6i marked a new era \n^^ ^^-jj*S^^ in American politics. The nation which was then restored to the people was a new nation. T'reed from the blight of slavery, the country beg-an to grow antl ex[)and with a rapidity which was absolutely startling. The South and West especially moved forward with giant strides. The permanence of the government being assured, the ques- tions of the hour became those of reconstruction and paci- fication, of the rights of the freedmen, of internal peace and security, of foreign and domestic commerce, of tariffs and finance. Of the many able men who won their fame in the period since the war, there is none more prominent nor more widely admired and beloved than James G. Blaine. Two States of the Union claim Hlaine as a son. During most of his man- hood and later life he lived in Maine ; but he was born in Washington county, Pennsylvania, and the latter State always cherished for him the warmest affec- tion, giving him in the presidential election of 1884 a popular majority unprece- dented in the history t)f the State. He was, however, familiarly known as " The Man from Maine," and by that name will live in the memory of the people with that other great leader, Henry Clay, with whom he has often been compared. 1 lis life began on January 31, 1830. Mis father, I'^ihraim P)laine, was a farmer and justice of the [leace, whose fortunes had Ix'come iin[)aired by too generous living ami lack of thrift. James was a healthy, hai)py, intelligent boy, showing, even in early childhood, some of tin; traits which afterward dis- tinguished him as a man. I lis courage and pugnacity are illustrated by a story told of him at that time. A wi;ll was being dug near the house, and little James, then three or four years okl, was led by curiosity to lean over and pe(T down into the "big hole." One of the workmen, fearing that he would fall in, tried to frighten him away by making faces and glaring at him, and making threatening gestures with a shovel. Hut little Jim was not so easily scared. To him it was a case for fighting, not for running. Picking up clods from 4jj 434 JAMES G. BLAINE. the heap of dirt by the well, he bewail to heave them in upon the enemy. This vio;orous bomixirthnent was more than the workman had bargained ("or ; he feared that stones would follow next, and called for help. The boy's mother heard him, and came and led the puy^nacious little fellow away. When l^laine was about eleven, he lived for a time at Lancaster, Ohio, with his uncle, Thomas Ewini;. then Secretary of the Treasury, — the same larce- hearted statesman who a few years before had taken into his family younor William T. Sherman, the boy who was to become one of the great generals of the civil war. Mr. liwing's home was a resort of statesmen and politicians, lU.AINi; S r.lRTill'I.ACK, WKST I1R( IWN.iVI I.I.K, and in that atmosphere no doubt the mind o'f young Blaine received a strong impulse toward a political career. In 1.S43 he returned to his father's liome, and entered Washington College, at Washington, Pennsylvania. He was an ardent student, and made rapid {)rogress. Logic and mathematics were his favorite studies, but he also delighti'd in history and literature. He was always a leader aniong the boys, especially in debate. It is relatetl that on one occasion, \\hen he was ambitious to be elected president of the literary society, he committed " Cushing's Manual" to memory in one e\ening, in order to qualify himself on parliamentary practice. He had also a strong love for history, and it is said that he could recite from memory many of the chapters in " Plutarch's Lives." KHMOVAL TO MA/XE. 435 From \Vashii\L,^ton Collej^e Mr. Blaine went to lUue Lick Sprinj^'-s, Ken- tucky, where he became a teacher in the Western Military Institute, in which there were about 450 boys. A retired army officer, who was a student there, relates that Mr. Blaine was a thin, handsome, earnest youni;- man, with the same fascinating- manners that were characteristic of him throuij;hout his whole career. He was popular with the boys, who trusted him and mach; friends with him from the tu'st. 1 le knew the full name of evc!ry one, and discerned his shortcomings and his strongs points. While teachini;- here, Mr. Blaine met Miss Harriet .Stanwootl, who belonij^ed to an e.xcellent Maine family, and a few months afterward they were: married. In 1851 Mr. B)laine returned to Pennsylvania, brin^ini!^ with him an intense hatred of slavery, which greatly intluenced his future career, (iomg to Phila- delphia, he became a teacher In the Pennsylvania Institution for tht; Instruction of the Blind. There he had charge of the higher classes in literature and science. An interesting memorial of his work in Philadelphia is still to be seen, in the shape of the journal of the institution, which l)ears the inscription : — JOL'RXAL 111' iiii-; PHXX.SVLVAXIA IXSTITUTION FOH Till-, IX.STRLXTIOX OI' THE BLIXD, FKdM ITS rorNDAl'IUN. CoMI'I I.F.I) I'koM Ol-FK I.\l, Ri:C0RDS liV J.\MI-:.S G. P>LAIXE, 1S54. After two years work in teaching the l)lintl, Mr. Blaine yielded to liis wife's desire that he should make Maine his home. The young couple moved, in 1853, to Augusta. In the following year Mr. Blaine entered into partnership with Joseph Baker, a prominent lawyer of Augusta, and together they purchased The Kennebec Journal, of which Mr. lUaine at once Ixx-ame the editor, his ready intelligence and trenchant st>'le being peculiarly ailapted to this field. 77ie Jonrna/ \\a^ a weekly paper, one of the organs of the Whig party, and exer- cised considerable political influence. Mr. Blaine speedily made his impress, and within three years he was a master spirit in die politics of the .State. WHien the old Whig party went to pieces, Mr. Blaine joinetl hands with Governor Anson P. Morrill in organizing the Republican party in the; Pine Tree State. He entered into this work with all his energy, and his earnest and incisive discussion in. The JoHrnai of the rising- conllict between freedom and 436 JAMES G. BLAINE. slavery attracted wide attention. In 1S56 he was a delct^ate to the first Repub- lican National Convention, held in Philatlelphia, which nominated General l'"re- niontfor Presitlent. (Jn his return homt; he made a report at a pul)lic meeting-. His speech on this occasion, be^jun with hesitation and emlxirrassment, but advancing- to confident and fervid utterance, first illustrated his capacity on the platform, and <,rave him standini;^^ as a public speaker. In 1858 Hlaine was elected to the Maine I louse of Representatives, and re-elected in 1859 and i860. Uurin*,^ the last two years he was chosen Speaker SCIIildl. IIorsK, IIROWNSVIM r.. I'A., WHI-RF, MR. lU.AINE liF.C.AN lUS KIU'CATION. of the House, and there began his training for the higher post in Congress which the future held for him. He distinguished himself both on the iloor and in the chair. He was a hard worker, a fine speaker, and a dignified and im- partial presiding officer. He became very popular in his State, and was seen to be a " rising man." In i860 Mr. Hlaine was a delegate to the memorable convention at Chicago which nominated Abraham Lincoln for the presidency ; and when he returned, he took an active; part in the campaign. He was in great demand in his own State as a political speaker. Whenever a call was made upon the State HIS COXGRESSIONAL CAR/iER. 437 Committee for hel[) in a local contcist, the tlemaml was almost sure to be, "Send us Hlaine !" In 1S62 Blaine was elected a member of the famous Thirtv-eiL'hth Con- jrress ; and then be^an that Ioiil;" career in th<; national lei^Mslature which made him one of the best known and most ])()|)uhu" public men of the I nitctl States. He took his seat in 1X03, in the midst of the civil war. 1 b; was a strong- admirer and earnest supporter of th(; ^reat President, who depiinded upon him for confidential information and aid re^ardin^;' his own State. In the I'resitlential election of 1S64, which for a time was \ery doubtful, Lincoln sent IJlaine on a special mission to Maine, to ascertain if there was any adverse moxcment there. As far back as 1S5.S, at the time of tin; Doutjlas debates, P)laine had prophi'sicd in his paper that Douglas would beat Lincoln in that contest, but that Lincoln would defeat Douglas for the Presidency in i860. This prophecy, copied in Illinois papers, was noticed by Lincoln, who cut it out and kept it in his mem- orandum book until long after. It naturally led to a confidential friendship between the two men. The election of 1S64 resulted in the re-election of Blaine to Congress, and he took a prominent part in the difficult legislation of the " reconstruction era," and the stormy times which followed tlu; war. In 1.S69, Schuyler Colfa.x, who had been elected Vice-President, was thus transferred to the Senate chamber, and Blaine was chosen to su_cce(;d him as Speaker of the House, and was re-elected in 1S71 and 1873. He was one of the most popular officers who ever filled that e.xacting position, beir-^- elected for each of his three terms without opposition. He was always courteous and fair, and especially cpiick in the discharge oi his functions. It was one of the sights of the time for visitors to watch Mr. Blaine facing a standing House to count the ayes and noes. With the head of his gavel clasped in his right hand, using the handle as a pointer, he swept it from right to left so rapidly that it was hardly possible to believe that he had counted the throng correctly ; but if his announcement of the vote was disputed, the count of the tellers always verified his declaration. By the election in 1874 the Democrats secured a majority in the House of Representatives, and of course Mr. Blaine's term as .Speaker came; to an end. This election really marked a new period in political history. During the civil war and the years following it, the Republican party had held almost undis- puted supremacy. It had re-established the power of the national government, had freed the negro, and had secured the atloption of the amendments to the Constitution. But its long lease of power had brought about the inevitable result. Base men had attached themselves to the party for corrupt purposes, and tried to shield themselves under the cloak of patriotism antl loyalty to the Union. When threatened with exposure and punishment, such mem of course sought to make the party responsible for their deeds, and to involve it in the. 438 JAMES G. nLMNE. consGf[uenci;s. The n;sult was ihc " (.-ra of scamlal " of Grant's secontl atlminis- tration, when the "CretHt .MobiH(;r," the "Whiskey Rinj:^- " frauds, and the Belknap episode were Ijroui^ht to li.^ht. A passion lor '• iin(;sti*,^ation " fol- lowed, livery prominent public man who manifested any unwillinq'ness to have his privates affairs made; public fell under suspicion. Mr. I Maine was too shining a mark to hv. missed. 1 le was accused of having' been brilnxl with a L;iit of Little Rock and I'ort .Smith railroad bonds, by the I'nion I'acific Railroad Com- pany, when Spcak<.r of the House, to ,i;'ive a tlecision tavorinq' that company. He was accused of stealint^'' leltt.-rs — his own letters — which would ha\e incrim inateil him ; and for years he was pursued with charges of various sorts of cor m^- w A^iiiN', i' iN .•,:■ |. ji : : I k-iiN C'iii,i.i-.(,i-;, \VA^l{l^l.^M^. \\. ruption. These charq-cs he completely disproved on the floor of the Mouse, showini^r that he had bouij^ht the bonds, and had lost over ^20,000 by their purchase. After meetini^ and disproving; the slantlers ac^ainst him, he saitl : — " 1 lavini; now noticed the two char!j;-es that have been so extensively circu- lated, I shall refrain from calling- the attention of the House to any others that may iKMUvcntcd. '\o quote the lant;ua<;(; of another, 'I do not propose to make my public life a perpetual and uncomfortable dea-hunt, in the vain (efforts to run down stories which have no basis in truth, which are usually anonymous, and whose; total refutation brings no punishment to those who have been guilty of originating them.' " /xg/-:rsi u./:s speI'.ch. 439, The first charj^e a^^aiiist him, however, served its purpose. It was inatie a short time before the R(.'publican convention of 1S76, when Blaine was th(; most prominent candidate for lh(; Presidential nomination. I'Or s(n(;ral weeks Mr. Blaine was kept busy, muler the pressure of e.xcitement, repc^liin^- the attacks upon him, and at the same time attend ini;- to his public duties. ( )n(; intcMisely hot Sunday in June, three days before the mc't'tinu- of the convention, while on his way to church, he suffered a sunstroke, and for some days was i^Teatly prostrated. This and th(; various changes which had been brought were mailc use ofai^^ainst him before the convention. Nevertheless, his vote sfxvw st(;adily lari^-er until the very end, and he was only defeat(;d by a combination of all the other delegates upon Hayes, on the fmal ballot, which stood, Hayes 384, Blaine 351, and Bristow 2 i. One of the episodes which made the con- vention of 1S76 memorable was the speech of Robert (j. Inyersoll, made in presenting Blaine's name as a candidate. 'Jhe vast audi- ence was stirred to the highest pitch of enthu- siasm by IngersoU's vindication of the great leader. Referring to Blaine's dramatic defense and his sudden attack on his accusers, on the floor of Congress, Ingersoll said : — " I, ike an armed warrior, like a |jliinie(l knight, James G. Blaine marched down the halls ol" the American Con- gress and threw his shining lance full and fair against the brazen forehead of the defaniers of iiis country and the maligncrs of his honor. For the Republican party to desert this gallant leader now is as though an army should desert their general upon the field of battle." CKliKiil. V. l,liMrN:),> This speech gave to Blaine the title of the "Plumed Knight," — a name which citing to him to the end of his life. The winter of 1876-77 was tht; time of the; great struggle ovtn- the ilis- puted election, which was finally settled by the creation of the bHectoral Commission. Mr. Blaine was not in favor of the commission, bt^lieving that the regular machinery of government was ade(niat(; to mvxiX. the situation ; but he did not strongly oppose it, and rejoiced at the peaceful settliMiient of the contest. During the winter Blaine was elected to the I'nitt'd States .Senate by the Legislature of Maine, by a unanimous vote. This unpr(,'cedentt;d honor, in which his political opponents in the Legislature all joined, show(;d what had been the effect of the slanders against him upon those who knt.'w him best. He took his seat in the Senate at the special session called in October, 1877. 26 440 JAXfliS C lU.AIMi. As tlic close of 1 laycs' adiniiiistration approached, it became evident that Blaine wonld ajj^ain he a leading candidate tor the I'rc^sidential nomination. It was in this yitar that the famous effort was math; by the supporters of (i(Mieral Cirant to nominate him for a third term. Mr. Iilaine was the most prominent can(,lidat(- in o])position to (Irant ; but beside him ther(Mvere .Sherman, I'ldmunds, fand W'ashburiU', who had considerabh; streni^th. '\\\v proceedings of that memorable convention, resultini:^" in the nomination of (iarfield, are more fully told elsewhere. (S(;e I,\Mi:s A. ( i.\Ki ii:i i>.) P)lain<; became (larli(;ld's .Secre- tary of .State, upon his inauj^uration in March, iSSi. Almost imiiKidiately upon the; accession of the new atlmin- istration the famous contest ovct the t^ovcTiiment patronage in N(;w \'ork beL;an, and did not c.w^. until after that fatal day of July 2, i8Si, when the bullet of tht; assassin laid (Iarfield low. Durinjj^ the lonL,^ hot days of that weary summer, IJlaine's bur- den was heavy and hartl to bear. The PresicU-nt's disability threw much e.xtra work upon the Sec- retary of .State, and when at last the: tlrania closed at the tomb of (Iarfield in Clevelantl, Blaine was much worn down, 1 ie continued in office for a time, however, at President Arthur's retpiest, and in order to accc^mplish a j^reat measure on which he had set his heart. This was the inviting- of all the AmtM'ican Republics to join in a Peace Con<;ress at Washington, for the purpose of sircMi^tluMiino- amicable relations, and especially to establish a tribunal of arbitration for th(! settlement of tlisputes without war. Differences of opinion, however, separated him from thf; administration, and in December, 1 88 1, Mr. Blaine resigned his portfolio and retired to private life. On b'ebruary 27, 1882, Blaine di;livered in the hall of the House of Rep- resentatives his irreat eulogy upon President Garfield, one of the finest and most pathetic orations ever heard within that Chamber. 'Phe audience assem- bled comprised the members of l)oth Houses of Congress, the President and his Cabinet, the Supreme Court, the representatives of fore.jon govern- GROVF.R CI.KVKI.ANI). JUS lin.oay o\ carI'Ii.ld. 4^1 m(Mits, and irrcat minibcrs of distinguished men and womkmi. It was a Ijcautiful winter day ; business houses iiverywhere were closetl, and all ihrouj^di the morning hours thronijs of people traversed the avenues conve-rL^ini; on the Capitol. The; touchiniL,^ words in which he bore tribute? to his tl;;ad fritnui were listened to with breathless attention by the threat throng- which filled the house, and wluMi he pronounced that passat^e of sublinu; beauty with which tlu; oration closet!, the solemn hush which fell upon the threat asst^nibly deep(;ned the imjiresslon felt by <;v(M-y one present, that he had listened to one of the greatest oratorical efforts of history. TlfF. IlIAINK RF/^IPFNTR AT AUfiUSTA, MAINE. When the Republican National Convention of 1X84 met, lUaine's nomina tion was almost a foregone conclusion. The only prominent candidate beside niaine was President Arthur, whose administration had been so acceptable to the country as to produce a considerable movement in his favor. On the fourth ballot, however, Blaine was triumphantly nominated. Ceneral John A. Logan was nominated for Vice-President, and the convention adjourned. Into the campaign of 1884 Hlaine threw himself with intense enthusiasm. Strong efforts were made to defeat him tipon personal grounds. These ques- 442 JAMES C. BLAINE. tioiis he refused to discuss, throw! iiil,'' liis whole; streMit^^th into the issues of the campaij^ni. I i(; took stroin^' i^rouiul in f;ivor of protc^ction, ;uul \w\\(\v. that (jues- tion tile chief basis of his argument. It is nearly certain that he would have been triumphantly elected l)ut for an accident occurrin*,^ at the eleventh liour, which no cart; could possibly have foreseen or provided a_L,fainst. '1 his is what has |)assed into history as the " Burchard incident." In the last week of the campai_^^^jE^Ss^9V^fy-w i)^.. ) '^3l!* ^^i i a, miA: ■■,.i^*/s- "v. '^ ^ra'A' .:> I »>> \v. r>> ■3S-. Kiii;i:Kr ii i.imn. /*»»K.TS OF AMERrr A ^ J^^^^^ i Giants ^T <; ■2^Y^i;% ^J^/^r ' '^ "V ROBERT FULTON, THE PIONEEK OF STEAM NAVIOATION. T is a curious and remarkable iiict in the history of invention that, between conception and achievement Hes a gulf wliich manji men of the greatest genius fail to bridge. The difficulty commonly lies not in making the invention, but in adapting it to the conditions, — in a word, in making it practical. %Wn§V^^'" ' "HMl."' Robert Inilton is distinguished as an inventor who has this vs^IBbM"'"'™*^ great title to fame. Me was not the in\entor of steam navigation ; he was not even the first man to build a ;;Qj|p^ steamboat ; but he was the man who brought st(.:amboats Y^j \\\X.o practical use, doing successfully the work which needed < J ' to be done. l*"ulton was the son of a farmer of Lancastt'r county Pennsylvania, where he was born in 1765. lie was a dull boy at study, Ijut very expert at drawing, and always fond of machiiuny, for which Ik; often neg- lected his lessons. His teacher once remonstrated with him ujx)!! hi- course, and, failing to convince him by argument, rapped him sharply over the knuckles with a ruler, telling him he would make him do something. Looking his tutor sternly in the face, he replied, ".Sir, I came here to have something beat into my brains, not into my knuckles," Having determined to be an artist, Inilton went to Philadelphia, where he formed a friendship with I'ranklin. His success was rapid, and when only twenty-one he went to luigland to study. There he met Watt, wh ^ had )ust producetl his steam engine, which I'ulton stutlied enthusiastically : a. id he was persuaded to give up the profession of art and become an engineer. Con- vinced that the steam engine could be applieil to navigation, he plunged into experiments, in which he was ioined by Robert R. Livingston, then minister to France, whose daughter 1 larriet afterward became I'ulton's wife. .Several models made by I'ulton convinced Mr. Livingston that he had overcome the cause of the failure; of other inverilors, and it was linally agreed between their to build a large boat for trial on the Seine. This experimental steamer was furnished with paddle-wheels, and was completed early in 1S03. On the very 417 448 R0I1/:RT ft'LTOX. morning apjiointed for th(; trial, I'ultoii was aroused from his slci'p by a mes- senger, who rushed into his chamber, pale and breathless, exclaiming, "Oh, sir, the boat has brokcMi in pieces and gone; to the bottom!" Hurrying to \.\\v. sj)ot. he found that the weight of the machinc-ry had brtjken the boat in half and carrietl the whole structure; to the bottom of the river. He at once set to work to raise the machiner\', dexotinv' t\\ cntv-four hours, without restiiiL: or catinLT, to th(,' imdertaking, ami succeetU'd in doing so, but inllicled u[)on his constitu- tion a strain from which he never entirely recovered. The machinery was very Slightly damaged, but it was necessary to rebuild th(; boat entirely. This was accomplished by July of th(; same year, and the Ijoat was tried in August with triumphant success, in the |)resence of the l'rc!nch National Institute and a vast crowd of the citizens of Paris. This steamer was very defective, but still so great an improvement upon all that had ])receded it, that Messrs. bulton and Livingston determinc^d to build one on a larger scale, in the waters of Xew ^'ork. Having resolved to return home, b'ulton set out as soon as possible, stopping in luigland on his return, to order an engine for his boat from Watt and IJoulton. Scientific men and amateurs all agreed in jironouncing luilton's schemt; impracticable ; but Fulton went on with his work, his boat attracting great attention and exciting no less ridicule. The steam engine ordered from Watt and P)Oulton was received in th(; latt(;r part of iNi 1 RL CTKI) I'OR KXH lllll ION HKIORK CdNllRKSS, pipe, but this failing- to i,dve satisfaction, the wire was elevated upon poles. On the 27th of May, 1S44, the line was completed, and thi; first trial of it matle in the presence of the government officials and many other distini^'-uished m(;n. Professor Morse was confident of success ; but this occasion was a period of the most intense anxiety to him, for he knew that his entire future was staked upon the result of this hour. Amoni^' the company present to witness the trial was the Secretary of the Treasury, John C. Spencer. Although very much interested in the undertaking, he was entirely ignorant of the principles involved in it, and he asked one of Professor Morse's assistants how larire a bundle could be 4S0 S^WUEL I'. /.'. MORSE. sent over the wires, and if the I'liited Stat(!s mail could not he sent in the same way. When all was in readiness, Professor Morse seatetl himself at the instru- ment, aiul sent his first messajj^e to Baltimore. An answer was jjromptly returned, and messaijcs were sent and replicas recei\ed with a rapidity and accu- racy which placed the triumph of the invention beyond the possibility of doubt. Conjjjratulations were showered upon the inventor, who rec\clusively on all the continental lines of liurope, from the extreoK; Russian north to the Italian anil .Spanish sf)uth, eastward throus^h the Turkish I'Jiipire, south into P-t^yiJt and northern Africa, and throu^di India, Australia, and [larts of China. The rapid _ij^rowth of the teleV^' THOMAS A. EDISON, A.ND OTHBR GRKAT IXVKNTORS AND THEIR INVENTIONS. schooliii'' "^ '^^ROBABLV no man in the fnitctl States is better known or more unixersally intereslinq' than " 'i'he Wizard ot Menlo Park," the inventor of the electric lamij, the dynamo, the phonograph, the "stock ticker," the elec- tric pen, and the mimeograph, antl the disco\H,'rer and improver oi innunKn^alile things in the held of electricity. y\nd yet, hi^h as is the position tliat Ktlison has even nov.' rtMched, he began at the very bottom. He was the son of a poor man, a village jack-of-all-trades, whose home was at Milan, Ohio, where the boy was l)orn in 1S47. While he was a child the family moved to i'ort Huron, Michigan. In iiis whole life Thomas had l)ut two months of retridar the rest of his education was giviMi him by his mother, Piut he had a restless, inquiring mind, an insatiable appetite for knowledge. When only ten years old he read Gibbon and Hume, and was fascinated by books of chem- istry, which he pored over long before he could pronounce the names of the substances which he read al ut. Wh. 1 I'Alison was twel years of age;, he became a newsboy on the Grand Trunk Railway. With the busin(>ss of s Hing papers and candies on the trains, however, he still kept going his old hobby of chemistry, and established an amateur laboratory in one coriun" of the baggage-car, where he amused himself at leisure! moments. Om- day, whiU' he was absent from the car, a bottle of phosphorus was upset, and the car set on lire This put an enil to his chemi- cal experiments for a time. The baggage master kicked his chemical apparatus out of the car, and lulison w.is obliged to set up his business in son. other place, (^n on(> of his trips to Chicago, the publishiM" of one of the Chicago dailies made him a present of a lot of worn-out typ(', with which I'Mison im|)rovisetl a printing-office, and began to publish a paper of his own, (.'ntitled 'FIw (Jraiid Trunk Herald, which gave such items of news as the removal of a brakeman " 459 46o THOMAS A. 1:1) I SOX. or bai^-;;;iL;tMiiastcr to New York, or lold how a train hand fell and hurt his leg'. One day, thn'iiiL;' the war, ht; pi-rsiKidcil a ttilc^^raph opcralm- at ChicaL;o to send to the principal stations on th(j roail a Imlh-tin of thf: '^n-at liattlc of Shih)h, in conse(|U(.'nct,' ot which, wlicn the train arrived, L^riiit crowds of people were; at the stations hankering;' alter papers, which luli^on sold them at an immense profit. This tiirn<:il his attention to ti'lei^^raphinL^, to which he soon became devcjted. About this time a stroke of luck came to him in saving;' the child of a teh.'- grajjli operator from beini^- killed by a train. Tlie L^rateful father rewartled the boy by teachiuL;- him tel<'L^ra|)hinL;-. Thomas riu^L^c'd up wires and batteries in his old home at I'ort 1 luron, and de\-oted all his spare hours to [)ractice. When he was ei[:^ht(;en, he secured a position at bidianapolis, and while there he worked out his first invention, an automatic register for receivinj^' messages and transferrinij;' them to another wire. h\ this ruiU; macliine was containetl the germ of the phono^j-raph, which he |)erfected years after. ISy dint of incessant i)ractice, b'dison became an extremely expert and swift cpcM'ator ; kjiit his usefulness was alwa\'s limited li\- his tendency to contrive scht-mes for saving" labor. ( )n one occasion, when he was ni^ht operator, he was refpiired every half hour to telegraph the; word "six" to the supcrinten- diMit, to show that lie was awak(.' and attending- to businc^ss. The ingenious younL;' man contrived a machine which did the work for him, and s|)ent the time porine' over his l^eloved chemistry. This little artifice bt'iny discovered, he lost his situation bv his clevernc^ss. The be^inniiit;' of lulison's career as an inventor was not more successful than is usual. I le was uniloubtedly ine-enious, but liis iiiL^cnuity actually prevented him from beinu;' a eood tel(,'L^ra|)h operator. After a time, howc^ver, he f(nind his niche. lie drifttu! to Xew ^'ork, wher(\ aftc^r vainly Mide'avorini^ to interest the teleeTaj)]! companies in liis inventions, he established himself as an expert in odd jobs pi-rtainini;' to t(;le^raphin!_;'. ( )ne dav the; Western I'nion wire to Alb.iny would not work. The company's regular ek'ctricians e\pt;rimi'nted for days, but without success, and finally, as a forlorn hope, i'Mison was sent tor. He seated himself at the instrument ami i^'ot conn(;ction with .\lbany l)y way of Pittsburi^h. Then he called for die b(;st operator at the other end of the line, and with him (;xperi.nented tor two hours with currents of different intensities. At the i'nd of this timt; Ik; told the olTicers that the trouble was at a ceM'tain jjoiiit on the line, and what it was. They t(;lei.;;raphed the office nearest that point, givino- the necessary directions, and in an liour the wire was workin;;- properly. This ostablishetl his reputation as an expert, and he soon began to rise in this line of business. Edison's f'rst larg'c profits came to him frrmi the "stock ticker," an inven- tion for reportin^^ in brokers' offices the- [)rices of stocks on the exchange, whicb IIVRK AT Jf/i.W.O PARK. 4MI is now in univfM'Mil use. 11<: scttl(;(l himself in X(j\vark, X. J., wlicrc lie rcnU;J a sliop and l)<:L;an to manuiacturc liis machines. 1 lis coniu'ction wiih ca[)itaHhis led to his niakin:^ a [)ro|)0- sition ti) an association of wealthy im-n to experiment with electric liL^htiiiL;-, they to su|i[)ly the capital. 1 le re- m<)\ccl his sho|) to M(!nlo Park, a (juiet and secluded ^j place, where- he carried on his e,\periments, which soon re- sultei.1 in success. This placed ±-wm^im^^ \'0.K9\^J^, him in iui independent position, and from that timi; to th(^ [)resent his success has been only a f[u<'stit)n of deL,rree. Kdison is a man of infinite pertinacity and i^Teat endurance. When he becomes interested in solving an important question, he Is entirely oblivious of 462 T/h\V.lS A. ED/SON. the passao^e of time and of physical nc^rds. At one tiiiK;, when his printing telegraph for some reason L;ave out antl ci;ased to work, Ik- wcjrked for sixty hours without intermission, taking;" ncj sU-ep or rest, having;' for his only iood crackers and cheese, at wliich he niljbk'd from time to time as he worked. At another time all of th(; electric lamps burning- in Meido Park suddenly Lra\e out. The inventor was almost stunned. Vov ti\e days he worked at the jM-oblem, "■ivinir neithc^r himself nor his assistants anv ri;st. .\t th(; end of that time the ditficulty was still unsoKcd, and lulison went to bed sick with disappointment and an.xiety. Ordinarily he is one of the most considerate of men, but on this occasion he was much surprist^d when, at the end of fifteen hours' incessant work, it was su^^ested that rest anil rtdreshments were in order. 'Jimc pro\ed the troul)le to l)e in th<^ imperfect exhaustion of the air from the L;lobes in which the filament burned, and loiii;" and perseverini,^ application was reipiiretl to devise means for mon; completely I'xhaustinL;- it. JMually this was accomplished, and the incantlescent li^ht became a i)ractical success. lidison's mind is that of the typical inventor. He says of himself that his first thoui^ht on lookinatures of habit, and need to have their daily task laid out for them. They want to work without thinking. lulison cannot. His thought runs away with him. This tendency of his mind is well illustrated by his experience in manufacturing. When lie had perfected his " stock ticker," he took a contract to manufacture some hundrctds of them at a shop at Newark, N. J. "I was a poor manufacturer," lu^ (.li'clares, "because I could not let well enough alone. My first impulse, upon taking In my hand any machine, from an egg-beater to an electric motor, is to seek a way of improving it. Therefore, OTHER GREAT INVENTORS. 4'5J as soon as I have finished a macliinc I am anxious to take it apart aqain in order to make an experiment. Tliat is a costly mania lor a manut.iclurer." The visitor to J'^lison's kiboratory tinds llie master a rather tail, compactly- built man, with a somewhat boyish, clean-sha\en face, which seems made prema- turely old by intiMise thouL;ht ami a])plication. Over his clothes he wears a lilouse, which is stained with, acids. " llood clodies are thrown away on me," he says. "1 f.i^ rRlMlTlM, MnUl.i (.H- CRIMiINi; Ci'K.N. Steam-dredger, which, set on wheels, propelled itself along the streets to the river, where it was launched and the engine applied to its stern-wheel, when as a steamboat it was navigated about the Schuylkill. JAC0I5 PERKINS AXO Tlin XAIL MACHINE. Tile first single machine of American production to become widely famous was the nail machine of facob Perkins. Perkins was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, in 1766, and patented his great inachine in 1795. At that time nails were mostly importcid, and cost twenty-five cents a poimd. They were all hand-wrought, chielly at chimney-corner forges, where, in New England, farmers PF.RKl.yS AM) !l/S X.l/L MACI/ZM:. 46; ami Iiinibcnncii, t'lshcnncn ami lal)or<'rs, ciniiloycil ihcir cn cnin^s aiiil nihcr otUi times ill haiiinicriiiL;' ii-iils. In I'airoiif, more cspcii.illy in lln' maniil.uliirin;^ districts of I'ji^laiid. iluas a coinnioii doincsiic iiidiisiry. uttcii i'ni|ili>yiiiL;' wliole families, hut chielly woiiumi and children, ill paid, over worki'd, and tiiilni:^- nndiT social conditions ot the most appallinLj characler. The American n.iil machine promplh' displaced diis domesUc iiuluslry here, anil more slowly that ot h.urope, l)y making- it jiossiMe to use [)()\ver in nail- making', while enalilin^' a workman to do in a minute the pi'e\ious task ol an hour. The pi'iee of nails was speedily reduced two-thirds, suhseipiently much more, with an assured supply (Kpial to any demand. 1 he I'arl)' cut nails were not so touL^h as the ^ hand-made nails, hut for most purposes thc:y were neattT and ])i'tter; while any desired tousj^hness was ulti- mately secured by annealini;', and bv the use of .steel, iiarticiilarlv steel wire. Every styU; of nail, from the smallest tack t(. tlie railroad spik(^ is now maile Ijv machinery, at a cost hut little aho\-(; that of the raw metal, the forms beini.^'' as various as their manifohl uses. The manufacture of cut nails has become one of the most important of the yreat iron industries of the country. 468 now/: . L\7) J/:KOME. KIIAS lldWi; AM> IIIK SKWINC MM IIINK. Howe was ])C)rii at Spencer, Massacluis(!tts, in 1S19. While employed as a machinist he made many i;.\])erimi'iUs .md ellorts to iincnt a sewing' machine, antl after j^reat cliscouraLicments completed one, tor which he secured a patent in 1S46. ThouLjh the practical parent ot the modern scnvinj;' machin(.-, it was not in itself a succe'ssful machine, nor was liowi; at first successful in enlistiiiir capital to aid him in developing;' from it a l^ooiI machine. In the course of four or live yi'ars the defecti\(; ilelails were corri'ited or displaced by the work of other inventors in L;reat numbers, who attacked the problems of tlu' se.'winjf machine as soon as their importance became ji;enerally appreciated. The Singer machine, which closely re'sc-mbled Howe's, canu; into the field in 1S50, and took the lead in sales until 1S54. Tiie (irover & P)aker machine became most popu- lar for four or fivi; years-, then the Wheeler KK STORE. 472 JOHN JACOB ASTOR. of fur-bearing animals, and their liaunts and habits. 1 lis opportunities for doing so were very good, as many of the skins were sold over Bowne's counters by the hunters who had taken them. These men he questioned with a minuteness that astonished them, and the result was that in a few years he was as thor- oughly familiar with the animals, their haljits, their country, and the mode of taking them, as many of the trapi)ers thcMiiselves. He is said to have been in his prime the best judge of furs in America. As soon as Astor felt himself master of his business, he left the employ of Mr. Bowne, and began life on his own account. The field upon which lie pur- posed entering was e\tensi\'e, but it was one of which he had made a carc-ful sur- vey. The fur trade was at this time almost wholly in the hands of three bjiglish companies — the Hudson's Hay Company in the north, the Northwest Company in the Canadas, the Mackinaw Company in the territories of the United .States — and the few American traders in the field had to rely on their individual resources, with no aid from a government too feeble to do more than establi.sh a few Indian agencies, and without constitutional power to confer charter privileges. The voyage of Captain Cook had brouglit to the notice of the fur dealers of the world the sea otter of the northern Pacific, and the announcement made upon the return of the expedition drew large numbers of adventurers to the west coast of America, in search of the valuable skins of these animals. It was into this field, already occupied by powerful and hostile corporations, that the young German entered. He began business in 1786, in a small store in Water street, which he furnished with a few toys and notions suited to the tastes of the Indians who had skins to sell. His entire capital consisted of only a few hundred dollars, a portion of which was loaned him by his brother. He had no assistants. He did all his own work. He bought his skins, cured, beat, and sold them himself Several times during the year he made journeys on foot through western New York, buying skins from the settlers, farmers, trappers, savages, wherever he could find them. He tramped over nearly the entire State in this way, and is said to have had a better knowledge of its geography and topography than any man living. He used to boast, late in life, when the Erie Canal had called into being a line of thriving towns through the centre of the State, that he had himself in his numberless tramps, designated the sites of those towns, and predicted that one day they would be the centres of business and population. Particularly he noted the spots where Rochester and Buffalo now stand, one having a harbor on Lake Erie and the other upon Lake Ontario. He predicted that those places would one day be large and prosperous cities ; and that prediction he made when there was scarcely a settlement at Buffalo, and only wigwams on the site of Rochester. EXTENDING HIS OPERA'l.ONS. 473 Slowly, and by unremitting industry, Mr. Astor succeeded in buildintj^ up a certain business. His jjersonul journeys made him aciiuainted with the trappers, and enabled him to win their i^ood will. The sava,<,fes sold their skins to him reailily, and he found a steady market and a "^^rowiuL;- demand for his commodities in the (^Id World. It was about this time that he married Miss Sarah Todd, of New York. She entered heartily into his business, doins^- much of the buyin;.; and beating of the furs herself Long after he was a millionaire he used to boast of her skill in judging furs and conducting business operations. In 1794. jay's tn-aty placed the frontier forts in the hands of the Amer- icans, and thus increased the opportunities of our own trader.s to extend their CHAMPLAIN'S fortified camp in (JL'EIIEC. business. It was of the greatest service to Mr. Astor. It enabled him to enlarge the field of his operations, and, at the same time, to send his agents on the long journeys which he formerly matle, while he himself remained in New York to direct his business, which by this time had grown to considerable proportions. He was now on the road to wealth. He had scores of trappers and hunters working for him in the great wilderness, and his agents were kept busy buying and shipping the skins to New York. As soon as he was able to do so he purchased a ship, in which he sent his furs to London, occasionally making a voyage thither himself. Under his skillful management his business grew rapidly ; but he avoided speculation and confined himself to legitimate commerce. He was plain and 474 JOHN JACOB ASTOR. siin])le in his habits, carryinj^ this trait to an extreme lon<^ after economy had ceased to be necessary to him. He worked hard, inthilcMil in no pleasures except horseback exercise and the theatre, of both whicii he was \-ery fond. It was only after he had amassed a lar^e fortune that he ever left his business before the close of the tlay. Then he would leave his countinsj^-room at two In the afternoon, and, partaking of an early dinner, wouUl i)ass the rest of the day in ridinj^^ about the island. So plain was his style of living that, before he became generally known as a wealthy man, a bank clerk once superciliously informed him that his endorsement of a note would not be sufficient, as it was not likely he would be able to pay it in case the bank should be forced to call upon him. "Indeed !" said Mr. Astor ; "how much do you suppose I am worth?" The clerk named a very mod( rate amount, at which the merchant smiled quietly. "Would the indorsement of Mr. , or Mr. , be sufficient?" asked Mr. Astor, naming several well-known merchants who lived in great style. " En 'rely sufficient," was the reply. "Each one of them is known to be wealthy." " How much do you think each is worth ? " The clerk named large sums in connection with each of the gentlemen. " W^ell, my friend," saiil the merchant, "I am worth more than any of them. I will not tell you how much I am worth, but it is more than any sum you have named." The clerk looked at him in surprise, and then said, bluntly: "Then you are a greater fool than I took you for, to work as hard as you do." Mr. Astor was very fond of telling this story, which he regarded as one of the best jokes of the day. All this time Mr. .A^stor had lived over his store, but in 1800, after he had been in business fifteen vears, he moved his dwelling to 22; Broadway, on the site of the .Astor House of to-day. He lived here, with one removal, for up- ward of twenty-five years. The house was plain and simple, but he was satisfied with it. He was now worth a quarter of a million dollars, and his business was growing rapidly. The fur trade was exceedingly profitable. A beaver skin could be bought from the trappers in western New York for one dollar and sold in London for six dollars and a quarter. By investing this amount in English manufactures, the six dollars and a quarter received for the skin could be made to produce ten dollars paid for the English goods in New York. The Chinese trade was also very profitable. China was an excellent market for furs. They brought high prices, and the proceeds could always be invested in teas and silks, which sold well in New York. His profit on a 476 JO HX JACOB ASTOR. voyatje would Komctimes reach seventy thousand dollars, and the averacjc p;ain on a lucky venture of this kind was thirty thousand dollars. The hi_t,di prices produced hy the war of 1812-15 were also in Mr. Aster's favor. His ships w(!re all remarkably lucky in escaping capture by the enemy, and he was almost the only merchant who had a cargo of tea In the market. Tea having reached double its usual price, he was enabled to reap immense profits from his ventures. The most important of all of Mr. Astor's undertak'ngs was his effort at founding the setde- ment of Astoria, on the coast of Oregon. " His design," says a writer, " was to organize and control the fur trade from the lakes to the Pacific, by establish- ing trading posts along the Mis- souri and Cohimbia to its mouth. He designed establishing a cen- tral depot and post at the mouth of the Columbia river. He pro- posed sending regular supply ships to the Pacific posts around Cape Horn. It was part of his plan, if possible, to obtain pos- session of one of the Sandwich Islands as a station, for from the Pacific coast he knew that the Chinese market for his peltries could be most conveniently reached, and thus the necessity for a long and circuitous voyage be avoided. Instead of bringing the furs intended for China to New York, they could be sent from the Pacific. By the supply ships, too, the stock of goods suitable for the Indian trade would be kejjt up there, and the cargoes purchased with the pro- ceeds of the furs sold in China brought back to New York. The line of posts across the continent would become a line of towns ; emigration would follow, and civilization would belt the continent." A company was formed, at the head of which stood Mr. Astor, and an elaborate and carefully arranged plan of operations prepared. Two expeditions ANCIENT BLOCK HOUSE, AtASK/C FAILCR/i OF Tllh ASTORIA SCHEME. 477 were dispatched to the mouth of the CoKiinhia, one by hind, the other by sea. Many hardships were encountered, but tlie foundation of a settlement was suc- cessfully made on the Columbia. In sjjite of iIk; war with Kni;land ( iSi 2-' 15), the enterjirise would have been successful had Mr. Astor's positive instruc- tions been obeyed. They were utterly disrejj^artled, however, and his partners and a.ijents not only betrayed him in every instance, but solil his property to a rival British company for a mere trille. His pecuniary loss was over a million dollars, and his disappointment bitt(.'r beyontl expression. Wht-n the news of the final betrayal reached him, he wrote : " 1 lad our place and property bt^en fairly captured, I should have preferred it ; 1 should not feel as if 1 were dis- graced." Mr. Aster remained in active business for fifty years. Durin;.,'' that entire period he scarcely committed an error of judi^ment which led to a loss in busi- ness. He was thorou<,di master of everythini^- pertaining,'' to his affairs, anil his strength antl accuracy of judiLjment were remarkable. The particulars of his transactions were indelibly impressett upon his mind. His intellect was vi^;or- ous and quick, and he grasped a subject with a readiness which seemed like intuition. He was always careful of the present, but he loved to undertake enter|)riscs which extended far into the future. He was a man of the utmost punctuality in all his habits. He rose early, anil, until he was fifty-five years old, was always in his office before seven o'clock. His capacity for work was very great, so that, in spite of his heavy labors, he was always able to leave his office by two o'clock, while many of his associates, who really did less than he, were compelled to remain in their counting-rooms until four or five. One chief source of Mr. Astor's great wealth was his shrewd investments in real estate, and the great rise in values of New York property which have resulted from the steady growth of the greatest city of the American continent. In the early part of his career New York was little more than a town occu|)ymg part of the lower end of Manhattan Island ; the upper end was occupied chietly by farms and country residences. Mr, Astor, with shrewd foresight, systemati- cally invested his spare capital in suburban land, which before the time of his death had by its increase in value added many millions to the great estate which he left to his children. During the last twenty years of his life Mr. Astor lived in the retirement of his family, leaving even the greater part of the management of his estate to the hands of others. He was exceedingly fond of literary men. Irving was his friend, and Halleck his business manager. He died at the age of eighty-four years and eight months, literally from old age. He was buried in St. Thomas's Church, on Broadway. His immense estate was left to his children, the bulk of it being bequeathed to his eldest son. All of his relatives were made comfortable. The village of a8 *7^ JOHN J^XCOB ASTOR. Waldorf, his native place, received a legacy of fifty thousand dollars for the benefit of its poor, and an amount in land and finuls etjual to four hundred thousand dollars was left to certain trustees to establish the Astor Library in the city of New York. Besides these, several charitable and benevolent asso- ciations received handsome donations from him. His career has been related in these pages as an example to those who are seekm.fr to rise in legitimate commerce. It is the best instance on record of the facility with which success may be won by patient and intelligent industry. .In his capacity for grasping and carrying out an enterprise, in his prudent and economical management of his business, in his tact, courage, sagacity, Mr. Astors example is one which will lead many to success, and none to^ injury. 48o GEORGE PEABODY, OUR FIRST MILUIONAIRt: PHILANTHROPIST. 'MOXG the distinctive proiliicts of the nineteenth century is the modern millionaire: and like other products, this one has been t^reatly devel{)i)eci and improved from the crude form in which it first appeared. One would hardly reco^^nize, in contemplatini^ the works of (jeorj^^e \V. Childs or Lelaiul Stanford, that th -y belonged to the same species as Stephen Girard and John Jacob Astor. The first million- aires couKl only ,;'rt. as n L;ro(1s business in ( leor^ctow 11, in the Pistrirt ol L'ohnnbia. llis uncle wa-1 a poor man and a bad manager, ancl tor two \-ear~. lin' busiiie-is was con ducteil bv ( ieort;!' Teabodw and iU his own name; Inil at tlie c\m\ of tliat time, seeim^' the bu-^iiiess threatened with ruin b\' his uncle's iiKapacit\'. he ri'si^^ned his situation, and entered lh<' service ot Mr. bdisha Kii;^-^. who h.ul just estab- lished a wholesale dr\' i_;oods house in ( ieoreetown. Mr. Ui.L^^s furnished tht capital for tin; concern, and Mr. I'eabody was ^iven the manaiL^ement of it Soon after this, the latter became a partner in the hous(^ It is said that when Mr. Rij^'ii's invitt'd Mr. Pealjody to become his i)arlner. the latter informed him that he could not lee-ally assume the responsibilities of busint-ss, as he was only nineteen years old. This was no objt^ction in the mind of the merchant, as he wanteil a youn^" and active assistant, and had discerni'd in his boy-manager the qualities which never fail to win success. The new business in which he was enj^ajj^cd consisted chietly in the im[)or- tation and sale of European ijoods, and consiyrnments of tlry eoods from the northern cities. It extended over a witle field, and yave Mr. I'eabod\- a fine opi)()rtunity for the display of his abilities. I\Ir. Rigys's friends l)lame,it pnMit. Mr. I'eaboily cpiickly took a prominent rank among th(! merchants of Ikdtimore. llis manner was frank and engaging, and won him many friends. Ht; was noted for "a jutlgment (juick and cauti(jus. clear and sound, a tlecided purpose, a firm will, eiun-getic and persevering industry, punctuality and fidelity in every engagement, justice and honor controlling every transaction, and courtesy — that triu? courtesy which s])rings from genuine kindness — presiding ovt'r the intercourse of life." 1 lis Inisiness continued to increasi', and in iSj2 it became necessary to establish branches in Philadelphia and Xew 'S'ork, over which Mr. Peabody exercised a careful supervision. He was thoroughly RlDh^'AL TO f.XilLAXD. 4>^3 familiar with cvctn' detail oi his husincss, and inner sullcrcl his \iL;ilaiice td relax, howt'vcr conipciciu ini!^hr \h: tin- suliDnlinati's in tin: iinincdi.iu- charm; of those details, in iSj; In: wi-iU to laii^land on business for his tirni. aiul dur wv:^ the next ten years made h'ecpu'nt \i>yaL;es !)el\v<'en Xi>\v N'ork and I.ontlon In iSjq Mr. I\i.u;,^s withdrew trom the tirin. .uul Mr. I'ecdiody liecame the actual head of the hous«;, the style of the firm, which had ])re\iously l>een " Ki,L,'',L,''s t.\: I'eahotly." bein;^- ch.an^ed to " I'eabody, Rii^^s ^\: Co." 'The tirm h.ul for some time been thi' rniaiuial aL;('nts of th(i State of Maryland, aiul had mana^eil the negotia- tions confided to them with ureat skill and success ; and every vt.'ar their bankini;' dt:- jjartment became more im- portant and more profitable. In 1S36 Mr. Peabody determined to extend his business, which was alreatly very lai\ne, to En_L,dand, and to ojx'n a branch house in London. in 1837 he re- movetl to that city for the purpose of taking' charge of his house there, and from that time London became his home. The summer of this year was markeil by one of the most terrible commercial crises the I'nited .States has ever known. .V kirg(' num- ber of the banks suspendetl specie payment, and the majority of the mercantili; houses were either ruined or in the greatest distress. Thousaiuls of merchants, until then pr()S|)erous. were hopelessly ruined. •' Hiat great symi)athetic nerve of the commercial world, credit," said Ltlward Lverett, "as far as the I'nited .Stat(!s was con- cerned, was for the time paraly/ed. At that moment Mr. I'eabotly not only .MODKK.S SlOKKS l.N IIObTO.N. 484 GEORGE PEABODY. stood firm himself, but was the cause of firmness in others. There were not at that time, probably, half a dozen other mt;n in Europe who, upon the subject of American securities, would have been listened to for a moment in the parlor of the Hank of l-ji^land. Hut his judL,nnent commanded respect; his intei^rity won back the reliance which men had been accustomed to place on American securities. The reprt)ach in which they were all involved was gradually wiped away from those of a substantial charactc:r ; and if on this solid basis of unsuspected good faith, he reared his own prosperity let it be remembered that at the same time he retrieved the credit of the State of Mary- land, of which he was agent — performing that miracle by which the word of an honest man turns paper into goUl." The conduct of Mr. Peaboily, as well as the evidimccs which he gave of his remarkable capacity for business, in this crisis, placed him among the foremost merchants of London. He carried on his business upon a large scale from his base of operations in that city. He bought Hritish manufactures in all parts of Kngland and shipped them to the United States. His vessels brought back in return all kinds of American proiluce which would command a ready sale in England. Profitable as these ventures were, there was another branch of his business much more remunerative to him. The merchants and manufacturers on both sides of the Atlantic who consigned their goods to him, frequently pro- cured from him advances upon the goods long before they were sold. At other times they would leave large sums in his hands long after the goods were dis- posed of knowing that they could draw whenever tht^y needed, and that in the meanwhile their money was being so profitably invested that they were certain of a proper interest for their loans. Thus Mr. Peabody gradually became a banker, in which pursuit he was as successful as he had been as a merchant. In 1S43 he withdrew from the house of Peabody. Riggs & Co., and established the house of " George Peabody & Company, of Warnford Court, City." His dealings were chielly with America and in American securities, and he was always regarded as one of the best specimens of the American merchant ever seen in London. He was verv iiroud of his country ; and thouoh he passed so many years of his life abroad, he never forgot that he was an Amer- ican. In sijeaking of the manner in which he organized his business establish- ment, he once said : " I have endeavored, in the constitution of its members and the character of its business, to make it an .American house, and to give it an American atmosphen; ; to furnish it with American journals ; to make it a cen- tre of American news, and an agreeable place for my American friends visiting London." It was his custom, from his first settlement in England, to celebrate the anniversary of the independence of his country by an entertainment at one of the public houses in the city, to which the most distinguished Americans in AID TO AMERICAX EXHUUTORS LV /Sj/. 485 London were always invited, as were also many of the [ironiinent men of Cireat Britain ; and this dinner was only discontinued in deference to the t^eneral cele- bration of the tlav which was afterward instituted by the whole body of Ameri- cans resident in the British metropolis. In th(.' year 1S51, when it was thoui^dit that there would be no re[)resentation of the achi(,'\ements of American skill and industry in the j^^reat exhibiticjn of that year, from a lack of funds, Mr. Peabody generously supplied the sum of fifteen thousand ihjllars. which enableil the commissioners to make a suitable display of the American contributions. Said the Hon. lulward Everett, alludin;^ to this act: — " In most, perhaps in all other countries, this exhibition had b(;en a govern- ment affair. Commissioners were appointed by authority to protect the interests of the exhibitors ; and, what was more important, appro[)riations of money had been made to defray their expenses. Xo ai)propriations were made by Con- gress. Our exhibitors arrived friendless, some of them penniless, in the great commercial IJabel of the world. They found the portion of the Crystal Palace assigned to our country unprepared for th(i specimens of art and industry which they had brought with them ; naked and unadorned by the side of the neighbor- ing arcades and galleries fitted up with elegance and splendor by the richest governments in Europe. The English press began to launch its too ready sar- casms at the sorry appearance which Brother Jonathan seemed likely to make ; and all the exhibitors from this country, as well as those who felt an interest in their success, were disheartened. At this critical moment, our friend stepjied forward. He did what Congress should have done. By liberal advances on his part, the American department was fitted up ; and day after day, as some new product of American Ingenuity an<.l taste was added to the list, — McCor- mick's reaper, Colt's revolver, Powers's (ireek Slave, Hobbs's unnickable lock. Hoe's wonderful pru^ting presses, and Pjontl's more wonderful spring govtn'nor, — it began to be suspected that Brother Jonathan was not quite so much of a simpleton as had been thought. He had contributed his full share, if not to the splendor, at least to the utilities of the exhibition. In fact, the leading journal at Loadon, with a magnanimity which did it honor, admitted that P'ngland had der^ed more real benefit from the contributions of the United States than from those of any other country." HIS lUSIXKSS IIAIUTS. As has been said, Mr. Peabody made the bulk of his colossal fortune in the banking business. He had a firm faith in American s(!curities, and dealt in them largely, and with confidence. His businijss instinct was remarkable, his judgment in mercantile and financial matters almost infallible, and he made; few mistakes. His course was now onward and upward, and each year marked an increase of his wealth. His business operations were conducted in pursu- ance of a rigid system which was never lelaxed. To the very close of his life 486 GEO Ran PEM'ODY. he never abandoned th(,' (;\act or business lik.*- manner in which he soui:^ht to make money. 1 le L,'ave away milHons witli a i^eiK-rosity never excelled, yet he could be exacting- to a penny in thc^ fullillment of a contract. rKliDllK i:.\rll ANi.K 111 ll.DINr,, m;w vhkk. The conductor on an English railway once overcharoed him a shilling- foi fare. He promptly complaineti to the directors, and had the man dischary^ed "Not," said he, "that I could not afford to pay the shilling, but the man was cheating many travelers to whom the swindle would be oppressive." PERSO.VAL CffARACThRfSTfCS. 487 In his youth he contracted liahits of economy, ami lliese he retained to the last. HeinL;- unmarried, he tlid not suhji-ct himself to the e.\])ense of a complete domestic eslaljlishm<;nt, but lived in chamhers, and entertaini.'d his friends at his club or at a cotfee-house. His habits were simple in every rt s|)ect. and he was often seen makin;^^ his dinner on a mutton-chop at a table laden (at his cost) with the most sumptuous and t(niptinL;' viamls. llis jx-rsonal e.\j)enses lor ten years did not averai^e three thousand dollars per annum. In his tlress Mr. ^Y-abody was sim[)le and unostentatious. He was scrupu- lously neat and tasteful, but there was nothiuL;' about him to indicate his vast wealth. He seldom wore any j»;welry, usin^^'- merely a black band for his watch- guard. Display of all kinds he abominated. He made several visits to his native country dunn<; his last residence in London, and commemorated each one of them by acts of princely munificence He gave large sums to the cause of education, and to religious and charitable objects, anil made each one of his near kindr which had i^oiie .eihnn' ne.ir Sandy Nook, and to idiivey it to New \'cjrk. The lii^hters which were ti) (.arry the L;nods to the lity roiild not reach the .shi[», and it was necessary to haul tlu; c.iri^o, tr.inspdrted in wagons, across th<.' sanils troin tln' vessel to tiieni. in spite of his tender aqt?, little Cornelius w.is |>lac<;tl by his father in ch,irL;(; of th(' uiulert.dy the appointed time the work was done, and well done, ami the boy claimeil and received his money, lie hurried off to a neij^diborin^;' vilhi^c", and bouL^ht his boat, in which Ik; set out for home. He had not ^one far, however, when the boat struck a sunken wreck, and tilled so rajiidly that the boy had barely time to Ljet into shoal water before it sank. "Undismayed at this mishap," says l\irton, "he bei^^an his new career. His success, as we hav<; intimated, was speetly anil i^reat. He made a thou- sand dollars ilurini^- each of the next three summi'rs. Often he worked all nio-ht ; but he was never absent from his i)ost bv dav. and he soon had th.e cream of the boatintj business of the port." Durinf,^ the War of 1S12, youn;^ Vanderbilt was kept very busy. All the harbor defenses were fully manned, and a number of war vessels were in port all the time. The travel between these and the city was very g^reat, and boat- men were in demand. n/S MAKK/.IGI-:. 493 Ilt^uas now so prosperous in his callin;^ ili.ii lie ilct(;nninfil to ni,irr\'. lie hat! woocjd and won th<: hc.irt ot Sophia Juhn>>on. tiu; daiii^hur ot" a nciL^hlior, and ht; now askeil his parents' consent to iii.i niarriagc, and also n-i jlle^ted iheiii • tiillNNY IMI.I ," OR NO. I. (The first I.oiumutiif Lied.) to allow hini to retain his own earninp^s, in order that he miij^ht be able to sup- port a wife. Both of his petitions received the approval of his parents, and in the winter of 1S13 he was married. His wife was a woman of unusual personal beauty and strength of cliaracter, and [)roved the best of partners. He often 494 C( V^/ eiq^ht per cent. 1 lis will did not disclose the amount he left, but it was prob- ably near $100,000,000. Some of his uses of money may be considered as public benefits, and in these are included his imi)rovements in railroad accom- modations. In 1S62, during- the most depressed period ot the I'nion forces during the war, he made the magnificent gift of his splendid steamer, the " \'an derbilt," to the Government. Its cost was United .Stat(!s was greatly in need of timely and valuable. Congress passed a ordered a gold medal, commemorative of and presented to him It was one of the pleasant traits of character that he never forgot his origin, nor the old homestead ; in fact, though he lived for many years, during the latter part about $Soo,ooo, The vessels, and the; gift was resolution of thanks, and the event, to be struck Commodore \'an derbilt' s m^% >^ THF. VANnF.RIill.r FAMIT.Y nRIVINT, IN rr.NTRAI. I'ARK, NI,\V ViiKK. of his life, in New York city. No. 10 Washington Place, his first grand hoi se tvas in Staten Island, and built upon a corner of his father's farm, which he had bought when quite a young man, and which, before he built upon it, was recognized by the neighbors as " Corneel's lot." Its site, when liought, was on the northeast corner of the farm, and very near the water's edge, but later improvements in filling in carried out the shore-line nearly an eighth of a mile 498 CORNELIUS VANDERBILT. beyond the house, which is situated upon a rise of land overiooking the bay, the approach being handsomely terraced, and separated from the road by a substantial stone coping and high iron fence. Mr. Vanderbilt's death occurred on the morning of the 4th of January, 1877, after an illness of six months, the result of a complication of diseases. The (Treat bulk of his Lrii/Jxntic fortune descended to his son William H. Commodore Vantlerbilt was the fiither of thirteen children by his first wife — four sons and nine daughters. His second wife, whom he married late in life, was a Miss Crawford, of Mobile, Ala. To this lady is attributed the influence which caused the endowment of the " Vanderbilt University," located at Nash- ville, Tenn., and the gift to Dr. Deems, of the Church of the Strangers, with those other beneficent acts which marked the last vears of the veteran finan cier's life. SUSI'UN'SIO.N bRlUciE, NIAGARA I'ALLS. m-\ ^ mmi^-r: ■^^*^' 'rx^-' ^ t^,l^J& ^ti^v. ^«C^, l^f*^ v**:.-.:- JlkL.i-ivj/fiy THK RHYAI. CDRCK, Col.dRAIlO. OTJR AMERICAN RAILROADS. IN view of the important part performed by railways in the evohition of American prosperity and power, th(;re was somc- thinu^ specially sig'nificant in the name of the first American locomotive built for the first railway constructed for the carria_L,^e of passent^ers and freight by steam power exclusively. the West Point Works, New York City^ in the summer of 1S30, for the pioneer steam railway between Charleston and Hamburg, South Carolina, o[5ened for service; in the fall of that year. There had been railroads at an earlier date, but they were not steam roads. Thci historic three-mile (horse- power) railroad of the Ouincy Granite Company, built in 1827, to facilitate the transportation of stone for the Bunker Hill Monument, is a notable example. The Delaware and Hud- son Canal Company's gravity coal road between Carbondale and Hawley, Pa., was another ; and a later one was the tram-road for horses between Baltimore and I^llicott's Mills, now part of the Baltimore and Ohio Rail- road. And there had been numerous experimental locomotives, by several inventors, following the lead of Oliver Evans at the beginning of the century, and coming nearest to success, perhaps, in Peter Cooper's little "Tom Thumb." This, the first American locomotive to run on rails, was a toy affair, with a three and a-half inch cylinder, an up'right tubular boiler matle with old gun-barrels, and a fan-blower for increasing the fire-draft. It was about as big as a ilour-ljarrel on a hand-car, and weig'ned two and a-half tons. In August, 1S30, it mad(; the run from Baltimore to I-LUicott's, twenty-seven miles, in an hour ; but wh(;n raced against a fast team on the return trip it failed, through the slijoping of thi; belt which moved the fan. A year earlier an English engine had been imported by 501 502 Oi'R AMERICAN RA/LROADS. the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company, for hauling coal ; and, though sue- ceessful in a short run, it proved to be too heavy for the tracks and too tall to pass under highway bridges, and was never used. The " Hest Friend" was more fortunate at first, and it was practically the pioneer American locomotive, and the .South Carolina road was our pioneer steam railway — the first to carry passengers and the United States mail, and, withal, the longest railroad in the world when completed. It was not con- temptible, either, in the matter of speed. On trial trips (in the latter part of 1830), the " Best Friend " was able to run at the rate of twenty miles an hour, with four or five coaches and forty to fifty passengers ; and from thirty to thirty-five miles an hour without cars. Its own weight was five tons. On the stockholders' first anniversary, January 15, 1831, an excursion party of two hundred and more were carried over the road, in two trips, with a band of music and a detachment of United States soldiers with a field piece. This was only four mondis after the formal opening of the Manchester and Liverpool road, when .Stephenson demonstrated for England the superiority of steam railways for passenger travel. Stephenson's locomotive, "The Rocket," had two features of the modern locomotive which the Inst Friend lacked — a tubular boiler and steam draft ; and, in June, 1831, the West Point Works sent to the South Carolina road a better engine of the " Rocket" type. Soon after the Best Friend's career was ended by the excessive zeal of a negro fireman who sat upon the safety valve to stop the escape of steam. The fireman's career was ended at the same time. Closely pressing the .South Carolina road in its claim for priority was the Mohawk and Mudson road, from Albany to .Schenectady, N. Y., now part of the New York Central road. By many it is regarded as furnishing the first fully equipped passenger train drawn by a steam-engine to run in regular service in America. Trial trips were made in August, 1831, regular service beginning in October. The engine was the " De Witt Clinton." the third locomotive built at the West Point Works. It weighed three and a half tons, and, hauling half a dozen coaches, was able to run from Albany to Schenectady, seventeen miles, in less than an hour. An excursion trip made August 9, 1831, described by one of the party, gives a good idea of primitive railway travel. "The train was made up of the De JVitt Clinton, its tender, and five or six coaches — old stage bodies placed on trucks, coupled together by chain links, leaving from two to three feet slack. When the locomotive started it took up the slack by jerks, with sufficient force to jerk the passsengers, who sat on seats across the tops, out from under their hats, and in stopping the cars came together with such force as to send the excursionists flying from their seats. " Pitch pine was used for fuel, and there being no spark-catcher to the smoke-stack, a volume of black smoke, strongly charged with sparks, coal, and CRUDE EQUIPMENT. Sv^o cinders, came pouring back the wliole lengtli of the train. Each of the outside passengers who had an umbrella, raised it as a protection against the smoke and fire. The umbrellas were found to be but a momentary protection, and in the first mile the last one went overboard, all having their covers burned off from the frames. At the first station a plan was hit upon to stop the jerking. A piece of fence rail was placed between each pair of cars, stretching the link-coupling, and fastened by means of packing yarn from the cylinders, an improvement not fully worked out practically for many years. A more formal exhibition of the possibilities of the road was made a month NEW TERMIiNAL STATION AND MARKET HOUSE 01' KEAUINU RAILROAD. later, when a large number of State and city ofificials took part. A " powerful Stephenson locomotive" had been imported for the occasion, but it did not work well, and the DeWitt Clinton was brought into service to haul a train of three coaches, while seven other coaches followed, drawn by horses. The steam train made the trip in forty-six minutes ; the horse-drawn train in an hour and a quarter. Among the toasts offered at the subsequent dinner was this : "The Buffalo Railroad — may we soon breakfast in Utica, dine in Rochester, and sup with our friends on Lake Erie." Now we breakfast in New York, dine on the road while speeding through Central New York, and sup as the train flies past. Crude as were these early beginnings, they sarriced to convince a v/ide- 5U4 OrR AMHR/CAX RAILROADS. awake and cntcrprisinc; people that the steam railroad was to be the future highway, and railway projects were started in all parts of the country, a num- ber of them to be carried out speedily. There were nearly a hundred miles of railways in operation at the i.\x\d of 1S31, and the first thousand miles were passed in 1S35. In the meantime improvements were introduced in the con- struction of tracks, locomotives, and cars, and the characteristics which have since distintj^uished American railroads, rolling stock, and methods of operation, began to be developed. In Europe the railways were primarily to meet existing needs, social, commercial, and military. They conntxted strategic points, or established centres of population, and sought mainly to supply the demonstrated wants of ancient trade routes. In America the longer roads were planned chiefly to meet future needs. They were pioneers in national development. They pene- trated the wilderness to hasten its con([uest, to make accessible natural resources not otherwise attainable. They created trade routes. Population followed the lines they laid down, and their points of intersection became centres of production anil traffic. Built largely in advance of trade and travel, by a people too young to have accumulated an excess of capital, in their con- struction and e(}uipment the early American roads showed less of solidity and elegance than of originality, one might almost say audacity, in design and execution. Curves of startling abruptness were common, and timber viaducts of spider-web lightness led over chasms that European engineers would have crossed only at a cost which would have thrown a new enterprise into bank- ruptcy, as indeed the cheapest construction too often did. The unsubstantial nature of the roadway, with wooden viaducts and bridges, compelled the use of rolling stock of home production. Almost invariably the imported engines proved too heavy and rigid for American service. They were built for level grades and wide curves, the axles being held rigidly parallel by the engine frames. The second engine of the South Carolina road had its run- ning-gear of eight wheels arranged in two trucks, turning on king bolts, so as to easily follow sharp curves. This was improved upon in the first Mohawk and Hudson engine, in which the driving wheels were separated from the swiveled "bearing" truck, apian which still better enabled the engine to follow readily sharp curves and adapt itself to sudden inequalities of the track. In 1836 two pairs of driving-wheels coupled together were adopted in connection with a swiveling bearing-truck ; and thereafter what has since been known the world over as the American type of locomotive became the rule here, to be accepted ultimately by other countries, — latterly even by the sfjbbornly conser- vative English locomotive builders. Closely following the Mohawk and Hudson road, in the same year, came the thirteen-mile railway between Richmond and Chesterfield, Va., and a fiv© RAPID RAILROAD liXTEXSIOW 503 mile road from Now Orleans to Lake Pontchartrain. The next year Ponnsyl- vania had a Statt^huiit railroad, iisiiiL;- horses at first, from Philadelphia to Columbia, eii^dity-two inili^s, and th(! l'orta.i;e road, tor canal boats, over the mountains from llollidaysburi^di to Johnstown, usint,'' stationary en<^ines. These roads, with their canal connections, i^^ivt; I'iiiladc'lphia a route throuL,da to the West, reducinL,'' the freiL,dit charge to l'ittsl)urL;ii from Sioo to ^;iO per ton New \'ork and Philadelphia wen; connecLed by dii: Camden ami Amboy Kail road, finished in 1834. Boston and Worcester were iron-linked in 1835. ON TIIK IIALTIMORK AND OlIUI RAILWAY. Somcthin*^ of a railway mania ensuetl, culminatiiiLj in 1842, in which year over seven hundred miles of new roads were built, brin^inL^ the aij^reij^'ate mile- age up to four thousand. P)y this time Boston and Albany hail been connected/ by railway, and wheat threshed and milled in Rochester on Monday had been delivered in Boston, converted into bread, and solemnly eaten at a public dinner on Wednesday. bVom New York one could go by rail all the way to Wash- ington ; and from Fredericksburg, Va., to Wilmington, N. C. In 1850 there was no direct rail connection lietween New York and Boston, nor between New York and Albany. The Hudson River Road was opened in the Fall of 1851. 5o6 OUR AMHRICAN RAILROADS. \\y thc! consolidation of a dozen previously independent roads, the New York Central was cri;ated in 1S5;,. With thi; c()mi)U;tion of thc 1 Itidson River road, the westward traveler could i,ro by rail to Hutialo ; thence by boat throu_t,di Lake Erie to Detroit ; across the State of Michit^Mn by rail ; thence across Lake Michitfan by boat to Chicago, then almost as far from New York as San IVan- cisco now is. Chicat^o's only railway connection was with LlL,nn, forty miles west. The Michitjan Central reached Chicajj^o, .i,Mvin>,r it direct I'lastern connec- tion, in 1852. Meantimi,' Western Ohio had reached Chica^oward from Toledo, passing through Northern Indiana. Two or three years later Chica,Li;o had be- come a great railway centre, with lines to Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and St. Louis, and had entered upon an era of civic development previously unknown even in America. LJuring that decade — 1830 to i860 — the development of the region between the Great Lakes and thc Ohio River was something marve-lous, and the rapid extension of its railways must be considered as much a cause as an effect. Coincident with the extension of railway facilities were improvements in mcthotls and appliances. The original coaches could carry from four to six passengers inside and two at each end outside. The next step was to low and narrow cars, with four or five coach-like compartments, into which perhaps twenty passengers could be crowded, in groups of four. Then the partitions were omitted, making a long box-car with doors at the ends. These cars were dimly lighted by tallow candles or whale-oil lamps, which smoked thc tops of the cars and spattered the sides with grease. The more luxurious of the stiff, uncomfortable seats were cover(;d with hair cloth, bi winter some of thc cars were heated by small sheet-iron stoves. There was no ventilation except by open windows, into which poured clouds of dust from the unballasted roadbed, and denser clouds of smoke and cinders from the locomotive, burning fat pine for fuel and belching forth a torrent of sparks that usually enveloped the entire train. The cars were without springs. The first rails were merely straps of iron nailed to longitudinal sleepers of wood. The continuous hammering of the wheels on one side of these bars caused them to curl ; the loosened ends would sometimes be struck by the wheels and thrust upward through the car, — causing "snake heads," which never failed to frighten, and not unfrequently to kill, passengers ind derail the train. The modern rail, invented by Colonel Stevens, of No'W Jersey, removed this source of danger and commended itself to railway builders the world over. The strap rail was not entirely displaced, however, for many years. The early railroad stations were mere sheds with few conveniences for pas- sengers or baggage. There was no baggage checking, and every passenger had to keep track of his own luggage ; a serious bother and constant anxiety, as " through " cars were unknown and frequent changes of cars were made MODEK.y FA CI 1. 1 TII-S. '.oj necessary by the short Iciii^th antl indcpcnclcnt nianaji^rnicnt of i onncctinj^ roads At every terminus the passentjer had to get out, buy a new ticket, and sec tliai his baggage was properly transferred. At night and in foul weather this was no pleasure. Coupon tickets, continuous trains, sleeping cars, baggage check- ing over con- necting routes, and other con- veniences came in with the later fifties. By this time the elec- tric telegraph had become an important fac- tor in railroad management, a f a c t o r of safety as well as conveni- ence ; and that other American idea, the ex- press service, had demonstra- ted its advan- tages to travel- ers as well as to shippers of troods. In 1850 the railways of the country were almost entirely confined to the Atlantic slope north of Vir- ginia. Ten years later the Southern States were crossed in various directions from Rich- mond to Savannah and Memphis, from New Orleans to the mouth of the Ohio ; and a network of iron roads furnished transportation to the coast for the cotton of the Carolinas, Georgia, and Alabama. Still greater progress had 5o8 ("> 1 7v . IM/iR/CAX RA//,A'( \1DS. bcfii made north of the ( )hio. The jL,rrcat Central States were crossed and recrossed many tinn-s, and their ft'rtili; plains werr tapped by the four or five threat chains of connectinL,^ lines, furnishin;^' throiiL,di routes from New York to beyond the Mississippi River, and down the Mississippi to New Orleans; and ChicaiL^o had become a threat railway centre. Durini; the years of civil war railroaii huildint; was larj^rely suspended, to begin attain with increased vii^^or with the return of peace. The irii^rantic task of l)uildin!Lj an iron way across the continent had been accomplish(;d before the decadt; was ended, and the ajj^i^aeoat*,- milcai^fe of the country had been increased to about sixty thousand. 'Ilu; example set by thtj Nt:w \'ork Central, and the manifc;st convenience anil economy of t^roupin^.^ related roads into united sys- tems under common mana,L''emeni, had led to the- formation of _s.,frc'at corporations like the Pennsylvania Railway Company and the Baltimore and ( )hio, thus brinj^rinj.,'' a confusion of indepi-ndent roads into ortlerly and (economical action, with lower taritl ratces for frei^^ht and passeni^M-rs, spet.-dier servict-, and i^n'eater efficiency in every ilepartnient. The i^reat advanta,i^H;sf)f the rapitl antl uninter- rupted transmission of packajj^es by the express comjianies led to the extension of such service to !;.,f(;iUTal freight carrying', and fast freij^ht lines in charge of special companies were the beneficent result. While thest; improvtnneiits in railway management were developing, not less important iin[)rov(;ments were making in th(! construction and eipiipment of the roads. The track was better laid, h(?avier rails employed, with larger cars, and more powerful engines. The Hodge hand-brake, and the .Stevens brake, introduced al)out 1S50, materially increased the economy and safety of handling trains. The Miller coupler and buffer was a more radical improve- m(;nt, practically (;nding the jerking antl jolting in starting and stopping trains, and lessening the risk of " telescoi)ing " in case of collisions. The extension of railway lines and the increase of night travel gave rise to the need of better sleeping accommotlations, and several roads experimented with sleeping-cars about the time of their introduction by Woodruff in 1856. Wagner cars were placed on the New ^^)rk Central in 185S, and soon after the Chicago and Alton Road tried a number of day cars altered to sleepers by Pullman. Great improvements were developed by Pullman in 1865, the first car of the new type — costing the then extravagant sum of $iS,ooo — was first used in the funeral train of President Lincoln. Parlor or drawing-room cars were next introduced for day service, addir"- greatlv to the comfort of travel- ing. The first hotel car was introduced by the Pullman Company in 1S57, and the first dining-car, in which all the passengers of a train could take their meals as in a well-equipped restaurant, f()llowed in 1868. Each decade since 1870 has seen a greater extension of railway lines and more numerous improvements in railway material and methods than in all the W/niiSPREAn R.l/f.WAV liXTl'.XSlON. 509 years |>r(!C(Hlin,ij, marvelous as tln-ir result had horn, hi 1S70 the j^reat rail- way States were Pennsylvania and Illinois, with nearly five thousand miles of iron roads each, while New York, Ohio, and Indiana had a mileaj^e of over three thou- sand each. In 18S0 Illinois' mileatfe ap- proached (Mi(ht thousand, Penn- sylvania's over six thousand ; New "\' o r k , Ohio, and Iowa had nearly as many; and sev- en other States exceeded three thousand miles each. Of these, Texas had in- creased her mileaL,fe over fourfold. Dur- inuf that year the railway mileay^e of the whole country reached and passed a hun- dred thousand miles; and over seventy thou- sand miles of new road have since been add- ed. Illinois re- mained in 1890 tlie greatest railroad State, with ten thousand miles ; Kansas had nine thousand ; Iowa, Pennsylvania, and Texas nearly as many. After these come Ohio with eij^dit thousand miles ; New York with seven thousand seven hundred and sixty miles ; and Michigan 510 OUR AMERICAN RAILROADS. with seven thousand three hundred and forty-two miles. Thirteen or fourteen States have more than nvc thousand miles each; and all except Rhode Island, Delaware, Vermont and Nevada have passed the first thousand. During the last two decades there have been three great periods of railway extension, culminating in 1 871, in 1SS2, and in 1S87, the advance in the last year named being nearly thirteen thousand miles, or as much as the whole country had in 1852. The present mileage of the United States — not counting town and city roads operated by horses, stationary engines, electric motors, and small steam engines, like those of our elevatetl roads — is more than half the railway mileage of the entire world, and more than six times that of any other country. At a low estimate something like one-fifth of the entire wealth of the United States is represented by these newly created highways of traffic and travel, or much more than the sum of the whole world's stock of money, of every kind — gold, silver, and paper. Their motive power is furnished by upward of 30,000 locomotives, valued at half a billion dollars, whose llying trains comprise about twelve hundred thousand cars, worth more than a billion and a half. They would make a train extending half way around the globe ! Their annual traffic earnings exceed a thousand million dollars. They give direct employment to an army of 800,000 railway men, and four times as many men are employed in subsidiary occupations, in building and ecpiipping them, the railway interests supporting fully a twentieth of our entire population. To haul on common roads the freight carried by American railroads would require not less than sixty million horses, with all the able-bodied men in the country to drive them, and the annual freight bill would be increased twenty- fold or more by such a return to primitive methods, were such a thing possible. Facts and figures like these serve not merely to indicate the magnitude and importance of our railway service, but to show how fundamentally necessary it is to a civilization like ours. Without such means of cheap and rapid move- ment of men and materials the greater part of our populous and wealth-pro- ducing territory would have remained a savage wilderness. Before the days of railways it cost a hundred dollars to haul a ton of freight from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh ; on die easier grades through Central New York to Buffalo the charge was twenty-five cents a mile. Only costly commod- ities could stand such expensive carriage. The value of a load of wheat would have been absorbed in half the distance ; indeed, a distance of a hundred miles is generally regarded as the limit of grain transport on common roads. By railway it can stand a carriage of two or three thousand miles, the average freight charge on all the railroads of the country being about a cent a mile ; on many roads it as low as three-fourths of a cent. It was over three cents a mile in 1853 and over two cents in i860. Since 1870 the average cost of bringing a bushel of wheat from Chicago to New York has fallen from about thirty-five THE NEW YORK CENTRAL SYSTEM. S" cents to less than fifteen cents, with correspondinc^ benefit to Eastern and Liuropean consumers. To attempt to trace the causes of this cheapeninq; of transportation for freight and passensj^ers would carry us far beyond the Hmits of space prescribed. Some of the chief contributing' factors, however, may be briefly noticed — compe- tition, due to the multiplication of roads ; more economical management, through the development of great systems under united and judicious control ; and, above all, improvement in the tracks, engines, cars, stations, and all related means, methods, and appliances. As an example, when the New York Central System comprised the consolidation of the Hudson River and Harlem Roads, in 1864, it included 28 1 miles of MOSSBRili;. j.uKvay, with double tracks, sidings, and spurs, making a total mileage of 463. In 1 89 1 the system included sixteen roads, with over 5000 miles of track, its valuation had increased sixfold, its operating expenses fivefold, and its gross earnings more than fivefold. In 1866 it used 125 locomotives, 251 passenger cars, and 1421 freight cars of all sorts and sizes. The average freight car was then twenty-eight feet long and carried ten tons ; the average passenger car was forty feet long and would seat forty passengers. Now the average freight car is thirty-four feet long, with a cap:; city of twenty- 30 512 OUR AMERICAN RAILROADS. two tons ; the passenger coach is fifty-four feet long and carries sixty-four, with a comfort undreamed of at the earlier day. The fast express of 1866 attained a speed of thirty-four miles an hour. The Empire State Express of 1892 regularly maintains a speed of fifty-one miles from the sea to the lakes ; sometimes it exceeds a mile a minute. In 1866 the average passenger train, including the engine, weighed one hundred and thirty tons ; the average freight train perhaps twice as much. In 1891 some of the freight engines alone weighed one hundred tons, and a freight train of thirty-five cars, over five hundred tons. A limited passenger train would weigh nearly four-fifths as much. In 1891 the system, using over eleven hundred locomotives and forty times as many cars, carried over twenty million passengers more than six hundred million miles, at a cost to passengers of less than two cents a mile, and twenty million tons of freight over three thousand million miles. The chairman of the Board of Directors of the New York Central and Hudson River Railroad Com- pany is Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, who devotes his time to furthering the interests of this great company. Mr. Chauncey M. Depew is the active president of the road, with Mr. Theodore Voor- hies as superintendent, maintaining a vigilant oversight of its business, and Mr. George H. Daniels i." the efficient General Passenger Agent. The task of operating this vast enterprise, with its five hundred and eighty-six trains daily, devolves upon Mr. John M. Toucey, as General Manager, whose record may well serve as a stimulus to others — for Mr. Toucey rose from the ranks. John M. Toucey, General Manager of the *"""" New York Central & Hudson River R. R., was born at Newtown, Conn., July 30th, 182S. After preparing for Trinity College, Mr. Toucey, finding that his tastes did not lead him in the direction of the minis- try, turned his attention to school teaching, continuing in that profession for two years. At the age of nineteen he applied for and obtained a position on the Naugatuck R. R., then in course of construction, and was appointed station agent at Plymouth (nowThomaston), beginning business there before the station was erected. About a year after his appointment the station was robbed, and no clue obtained imtil about fifteen hours had elapsed. Mr. Toucey followed the thief to Goshen, near Litchfield, where he grappled with him alone, secured the money, and turned the man over to the authorities to serve a seven years' sentence in the State Prison. While running as conductor between Bridgeport and Winstead die road was badly damaged by freshets. Mr. Toucey was given JOHN M. TOUCEY. Gtneral Manager Nen> V,n-k Central Railroad THE PENNS VL VAN I A S YSTEM. 5 1 3 charge of the reconstruction of the road between Waterbury and Winstead, completing the work in a short time to the entire satisfaction of the Company. After serving at Indianapolis as agent of the Madison & Indianapolis R. R., and later as freight agent on the Morris & Essex R. R., Mr. Toucey entered the service of the Hudson River R. R., and in 1855 was appointed passenger con- ductor between New York and Troy, subsequently filling the position of agent at East Albany. In 1862 President Samuel Sloan, of the Hudson River R. R., appointed Mr. Toucey Train Master, from which position he was soon promoted to be Assistant Superintendent. In 1867 Mr. Toucey resigned from the service of the Hudson River Road and accepted the position of General Superintendent of the D. L. & W. R. R., under Mr. Sloan, the former President of the Hudson River Road, but after two months' service he was recalled to the Hudson River Railroad by Commo- dore Vanderbilt, and appointed General Superintendent, with full charge of the line then extending from New York to Albany. Some years after the consoli- dation of the New York Central Railroad and the Hudson River Railroad Mr. Toucey's jurisdiction was extended to Buffalo, and in b'ebruary, 1S90, he was appointed General Manager. Mr. Toucey's long experience in railway man- agement and his habits of close observation, combined with untiring energy and native sagacity, have brought him to the front rank among railway managers, and he is deservedly popular with the army of men employed on the great "New York Central System," where his ability is recognized and his tall form is so well known. THE PENNSYLVANIA SYSTEM covers between seven and eight thousand miles of track, with a freight traffic of one hundred and thirty million tons (over twelve thousand million tons one mile) and a passenger traffic of eighty-seven million passengers (over sixteen hun- dred thousand one mile), and carries seventy-four thousand names on its pay- rolls. The Union Pacific system covers over six thousand miles of connecting roads ; the Southern Pacific nearly as many ; the Richmond Terminal system something like seven thousand miles ; and in scope of territory and magnitutle of business these are rivaled, if not surpassed, by several sysU'ins reaching westward from Chicago into regions that were an almost unbroken wilderness twenty-five years ago, now a chain of mighty States, reaching from Mexico to Manitoba, and from the Mississippi to the Pacific, The unprecedented progress in the social, industrial, and political development of that wilderness of yester- day is primarily due to the people who have converted it to the uses of civiliza- tion ; but their presence there was made possible by railways, and tht: railway has everywhere been their great engine of conquest and development — the bringer of population and carrier of the wealth they discovered or created. To trace adequately the conflicts of systems and the effects of competition in decreasing tariff rates, and in improving the means and methods of railway 514 OUR AMERICAN RAILROADS. service since iSSo. would require a volume. Much less is it possible to describe the notable feats of engineering which have carried railways over rivers and chasms, over mountains impassable other than by sure-footed mules, across deserts too hot and dry even for mule trains. "No heights seem too great to-day, no valleys too deep, no canons too forbidding, no streams too wide ; if commerce demands it the engineer will respond and the railways will be built." The railway bridges of the country would make a continuous struc- ture from New York to San Francisco, and include many of the boldest and most original, as well as the longest and highest bridges in the world. The pioneer railway suspension bridge at Niagara Falls was as remarkable in its day for boldness and originality as for its size and its success. A single span of 821 feet, supported by four cables, carried the track 245 feet above the river that rushed beneath. The cables were supported by masonry towers, whose slow disintegration gave occasion for an engineering feat even more notable than the original construction of the bridge. The first railroad bridge across the Ohio was at Steubenville, completed in 1 866 ; the first iron bridge over the Upper Mississippi was the Burlington bridge of 1869. The first great bridge across the j\Iississippi was Eads' magnificent structure at St. Louis, whose beautiful steel arches of over 5CX) feet span each give no hint of the difficult problems that had to be solved before a permanent bridge was possible at that point. It was completed in 1874. Since then the great river has been fre- quently bridged for railways, the latest at Memphis, while its great arm, the Missouri, has been crossed a dozen times. The Memphis bridge involves the cantilever construction, so boldly applied for the first time by the Cincinnati Southern Road to its crossing of the deep gorge of the Kentucky River, a canon 1200 feet wide and 275 feet deep, with a stream subject to rises of water of 55 feet. But to return to the subject of railways and their development : the latest and most promising phase of this development — the electric railroads — must have a paragraph. Though it is scarcely a dozen years since the first experimental electric locomotive was e.xhibited, there are already (June, 1892,) upward of five thousand miles of electric roads in operation, capitalized at nearly two hun- dred million dollars, Massachusetts leads in mileage, though exceeded by New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio in number of roads. Thirty-six States claim one or more roads each, and St. Louis, Mo., boasts of the most complete and exten- sive city system. Assurance is given that electric locomotives will soon dis- place steam engines from the Elevated Roads of New York city. The largest electric locomotives thus far reported are the three eighty-ton electric engines for the tunnel service of the Baltimore Belt Railway. They are designed to haul a 1 200-ton freight train fifteen miles an hour, or a 500-ton passenger train thirty miles an hour. Similar heavy and powerful electric locomotives have been adopted for handling trains at the Northern Pacific Terminals at Chicago, ?-4) CYRUS W. FIELD, THE SUCCESSFUL PROJECTOR OF THE ATLANTIC CABLE OW necessary it is to succeed > " sadly remarked Kossuth the Hungarian patriot, as he stood at the tomb of Wash ington. Many a noble and brave man beside Kossuth has ilhistrated the truth that the world bestows honor only for success ; but few have so nobly displayed the qualities necessary to win success as the projector of the great Atlantic cable, Cyrus West Field was born at Stockbridge, Massa chusetts, November ^o, 181Q. He was the son of Rev. \/^M\-^^';:ipj:' David Dudley Field, a distinguished clergyman. He wa.'- carefully educated, and at the age of fifttn-n went to New York to seek his fortune. He had no difficulty in obtaining ? clerkship in an enterprising mercantile house, and, from the first ^ave evidence of unusual business capacity. His employers advanced him rapidly, and in a few years he became a partner. His success was so marked that in 1853, when only thirty-four years old, he was able to partially retire from business with a large fortune. Mr. Field had devoted himself so closely to his business that, at his retire- ment, he resolved to seek recreation and change of scene in foreign travel, and accordingly he left New York, and passed the next six months in journeying through the mountains of South America. Upon his return home, at the close of the year 1853, he declared his intention to withdraw entirely from active par ticipation in business, and to engage in no new schemes. Scarcely had Mr. Meld returned when he was solicited by his brother Mat thew to accord an interview to a Mr. Frederick Gisborne, of Newfoundland who had conceived a plan to establish telegraphic communication between New York and St. Johns, Newfoundland, and from the latter point to despatch swift steamers to London or Liverpool, which were expected to make the voy- age in five or six days. Mr. Field listened to his enthusiastic visitor with close attention, but without committing himself to the project. But, after the latter 517 5i8 CYRUS IV. FIELD. had left, he took out his maps and charts, and began to mentally estimate the cost and difficulties of the plan, when suddenly the idea came to him ; " Instead of steamers, why not run an electric wire through the ocean itself? " This thought, he says, thrilled him like a veritable shock of electricity, and he could hardly contain himself until he htid sought the opinion of persons more practi- cally acquainted with the science of electricity, and with the conformation of the ocean-bed, than he was at that time. Being assured by the best authorities (jf the feasibility of the plan, he became thoroughly interested in the project, and resolved at once to try and interest a sufficient number of capitalists to enable the company to make a practical beginning. A company was soon found, consisting of a few wealthy men of New York. Mr. Peter Cooper was president. Mr. Field was the man who undertook the immense labor of pushing the enterprise. He visited England, where he obtained large subscriptions to the capital stock of the company. He secured the cordial aid of the British government, both in money and in the use of ves- sels for laying the cable. He attended to the manufacture of the cable itself and the construction of the machinery for " paying-out " from the vessels. Then he returned to America, and with difficulty secured the co-operation of the United States government. The bill passed Congress by very small majorities, and was signed by President Buchanan in March, 1857. THE FIRST ATTEMPT. On August 6th the ' Niagara" and "Agamemnon," with the precious cable aboard, started from V'alentia, a small town on the western coast of Ireland. Mr, Field was on board of the " Niagara ;" Professor Morse and other electri- cians accompanied Mr. Field to watch the execution of the enterprise. As fixthom after Hithom of the great cable passed over the side of the " Niagara " and slipped into the silent sea, every one on board began to feel a sort of human interest in the cable itself as if it were a thing of life. An eye-witness on the "Niagara" has eloquently described the feeling of subdued solemnity which gradually took possession of the whole ship's company. Suddenly a great calamity came. By the too sudden application of a brake on the " paying-out machine," the cable snapped, parted, and wholly disappeared beneath the waves. The shock was almost too great for the firmest nerves. All felt as if a cherished comrade had just slipped the cable of life, and gone to his grave In the depths of the ocean. The lateness of the season precluded the idea of repairing the accident, so as to continue the work that year. The fleet returned to England, and Mr. Field immediately gave orders for the construction of seven hundred additional miles of cable to replace what was lost. During all this time his activity appeared almost to exceed the bounds of human endurance. Many were the THE FIRST SUCCESS. 519 successive twenty-four hours in which he had no sleep, except such naps as he would catch in a railway car. But faith in the final success bore him up. On the 10th of June in the following year the work of relaying the cable com- menced; but another disappointment was in store for him. About two hundred miles of cable had been laid, when it broke as did the former one, and once more the labor of months was swallowed up by the sea. The defect this time appeared to be in the constrt ction of the cable itself, as it was repaired several times, and finally abandoned. Of course, it required all of Mr. Field's eloquence to induce the directors to make another essay; he himself was greatly chagrined at the failure ; but he still saw that the difficulties to be overcome were not insurmountable, and that perseverance would fmally win. Again the fleet left Oueenstown, on July 17th, making their rendezvous in mid-ocean on the 28th ; the next day the cables on the ''Agamemnon " and the " Niagara " were spliced, and the steamers once more parted company, the "Agamemnon " trailing her share of the cable toward Ireland, the " Niagara " hers toward Newfoundland, b'ach vessel reached its destination on the 5th of August. Signals were passed and repassed over the whole length, and the enterjjrise seemed to be finally rewarded with success. Messages were e.xchauLred between the ()iieen and President Hucha- nan ; a public reception was given to Mr. Field, and the event was celebrated in New York and other cities. For nearly four weeks the cable worked perfectly ; then came a sudc'en stop. On the ist of September the cable refused to respond, The general disappointment was as great as the elation had been, and many thought no further effort would ever be made. At a meeting of the Chamber of Commerce in New York, a gendeman present presumed to assert his belief that the cable had never really worked. Mr. Cunard, of the {British steamship line, who also happened to be there, immediately arose and vehemently denounced the statement as false, adding, " I have myself sent messages and received replies." Only one or two others besides Mr. Field retained any con fidence that the difficulties of ocean telegraphy could ever be overcome. But Cyrus \V. Field knew no such word as " fail." Perceiving, however, that he could not under the circumstances hope to obtain additional private sub- scriptions, he appealed once more to the British government to come to the rescue of the great work of the century. This was liberally e.Ktended ; but in the meantime the civil war in the United States interfered with further progress there. Little was done until 1863, when the manufiicture of a new cable was begun. It was completed during the year 1864-5, ^"•^ the sum of ^600,000 was raised for the company, mainly through the instrumentality of Mr. I'ield. On this occasion but one vessel was employed to bear the cable — but that was. the " Great Eastern." 520 CYRUS U: FIELD. Oil the 23tl of July, 1S65, the huul conncctuMi was made, and the L;rcat ship commenced her momentous voyairc. Day by day the great wheel turned, and fathom after fathom of the new cable, heavier and more carefully insulated than its predecessors, slipped overboard into the sea. The work went bravely on for 1200 miles ; but when api^roaching Newfoundland the old misfortune recurred ; in spite of all the care and watchfulness, the cable broke and disappeared under the waves. Attempts were made to recover the cable by grappling ; but though it was ARRIVAL or TIIK CKKAT KASTF.KN. several times caught and lifted nearly to the surface, the strain was too great for the grapnels ; they broke, and again the cable sank. It was evident that more efficient appliances would be required. The spot was carefully marked by buoys, and the great vessel returned to England. The strain of repeated disappointment was terrible ; but it had at least been demonstrated that a cable could be laid and a message sent over it. Public confidence in the ultimate success of the enterprise was greater. Before the ne.\t year Mr. Field succeeded in obtaining large new subscriptions. Another cabJ** was made and all the appliances for laying it perfected ; and on Friday, THE FINAL TRIUMPH. 52 j July 13th, the " Great liastcrn " aijain sailed from Ireland, with the cable sinking into the ocean as she moved westward. I.ANDINC. OF Till", CAIU.E. Public interest in the enti.-rijrise Jnul now become intense. It was known thai the caljle would be landed at Heart's Content, in Newfoundlanil, and many had gone there from various parts of the country to witness the arrival of the " Great Eastern." The shore was fringed with \isitors, opera- or spy- of whose crown, sure enough, lay Hakes and grains of the precious metal. Comparing these pieces with a gold coin one of the men happened to have in his pocket, they saw that the coin was a little lighter in color, and rightly attributed this to the presence of the allo\'. Then ail the men harried down th*" race, and were soon engrossed in picking gold from the FINDINC. noi.n IN THF. MII.I.-RACE. THE GOLD EXCITEMENT. 527 seams and crevices laid bare by the sluittin>^ down of the head-o^ate. In the midst of their excitement doubts would sometimes arise, and some of the metal was thrown into \ inegar and some boiled in the soap-kettle, to see if it stood these tests. Then Marshal went otf to (leneral .Sutter, and, feverish with excitement, told him of what had come to liglit. When he returned to the men he said, " (^h, boys, it's the pure stuff! I and the old Cap went into a room and locked ourselves up, and we were half a day tr\ini4- it, and the regulars there wondered what the devil was up. They thought perhaijs I had found quicksilver, as the woman did down toward Monterey. Well, we compared it with the encyclopedia, and it agreetl with it ; we tried acpia fortis, but it would have nodiing to do with it. Then we weighed it in water ; we took scales with silver coins in one side, balanced with the dust in the other, and gently let them down into a basin of water ; and the gold went down, and the silver came up. That told the story, what it was." That did tell the story — and though .Sutter tried to keep the story a secret until all the work in connection with the mills had been finished, the story would not keep. A .Swiss teamster learned it from a woman who did some of the cooking about the mill, received a little of the gold, spent it for licjuor at the nearest store, and then the fame of the discovery swiftly ilew to the ends of the earth. Cieneral Sutter had been right in his endeavor to keej) the discovery secret as long as. was within his power, for no sooner did the gold hunters' invasion set in than it became impossible for him to get men to work his mill. The invaders carried things with a high hand, and ended by setting aside his title to his land and establishing the claims which they had made upon it. Never was money made with anything like such rapidity, Nearly every ravine contained gold. Nobody waited to get machinery to begin work. Knives, picks, shovels, sticks, tin pans, wooden bowls, wicker baskets, were the only implements needed for scraping the rocky beds, sifting the sand, or washing the dirt for the gold. A letter in the New York yoiirnal of Commerce, toward the end of August, said of the hunt for gold : " At present the people are running over the country and picking it out of the earth here and there, just as dogs and hogs let loose in the forest would root up ground-nuts. Some get even tcMi ounces a day, and the least active one or two. They make most who employ the wilil Indians to hunt it for them. There is one man who has sixty Indians under his employ. I lis profits are a dollar a minute. The wild Indians know ncnhing of its value, and wond(;r what the pale-faces want to do with it, and they will give an ounce of it for the same weight of coin silver or a thimbleful of glass beads or a glass of grog, and white men themselves often give an ounce of it, which is worth in our mint >si8 or more, for a bottle of brandy, a bottle of soda powders, or a plug of tobacco." California in those days was another part of the workl. The journey to it overland took weeks, and even months, and was full of perils of starvation in case 528 LELAND STANFORD. of storm and drought, and perils of slaughter if hostile Indians were encountered. When things went well the life was pleasant enough, and is most picturesque to look back upon. The buffalo hunts, the meetings with Indians, the kindling of the camp-fires at the centre of the great circle of wagons drawn up to form a COl.I) WASIIINC. IN CAI.ll'i'KNIA. bulwark against attack and a corral for the cattle, the story-telling in the light of these camp-fires, — all present a picture which men will love to dwell upon so long as the memory of the "Argonauts of I'orty-ninc " survives. Hut there were many times when the scenes were those of heart-sickening tlesolation. The CALIFORNIA WAGES. 529 attacks of the Indians were less horrible than attacks of huno-er and disease which set in when the emigrant train reached a territory where the grass had been consumed, or lost their cattle in the terrible snow storms of the Sierras. The journey by sea was hardly safer and was far less glorious, luery ship for California was loaded down with emigrants packed together as closely as so much baggage. Ships with a capacity for five hundred would crowil in fifteen hundred. The passage money was from $300 to j^6oo. The companies that were able to get their ships back again simply coined money; but it Sm^^i.' ' ' "''*-" ,f^"^--.rfro--v^r-- ■'■T«*f::» was no easy matter in those days to get y. ship out of San Francisco harbor. The crews would desert for the mines, and the wharves were lined with rotting vessels. Vessels which did make the return voyage were compelled to pay the California rate of wages. One ship in which the commander, engaged at New York, received $250 a month, had to pay on return $500 a month to the negro cook. San Francisco in those days was the strangest place in the world. In February, 1S4S, it had hardly more than fifty houses ; in August it contained five hundred, and had a large population that was not housed. A pamphlet writ- ten in the fall of that year says : " From eight to ten thousand in- habitants may be alloat in the streets of San Francisco ; many live in shanties, many in tents, and many the best wa)' they can." The best building in the town was the Parker House, an ordinary frame structure, a part of which was rented to gambU.'rs for $60,000 a year. I'^en higher sums than tliis were said to have been paid. The accommodation was fearful. The worst that can be said of bad hotels may here be imagined. The pasteboard houses, hastily put up, were rented at far more than the cost of their construction, for every one figured that the land was as valuable as if it had been solid gold. The greater part of this city was five times destroyed by fire in the first (JI.l) MIS.tIuN INDIAN 1)1- .1.11 Illl.RN CAM I URN lA. 530 LELAND STANFORD. three years of its existence ; but the people, with a hopefiihiess and eneri^y which nothing coukl put down or burn up, would set to work antl rebuild it almost as quickly as the llames had swept it away. Everybody worked. The poorest man received unheaivl-ot wayes, and the richest man was obliged to do most things for himself. When business of every sort was speculative to a degree so close akin to gambling, it is not strange that gambling itself took possession of the people and half frenzied tht;m with its excitements. Physical insanity was a frecpient result of the moral insanity of the community. There were few women in California, aiul most of these were of the worst sort. As a consequence, the men with no homes to go to in the evenings went into the gambling saloons, where they stayed till late at night. According to some descriptions, everybody gambled, but, as Royce points out in his admirable "History of California," die same men who talk half-boastfully of the recklessness and universality of the gambling, in the next breath speak with great fervor of the strength and genuineness (jf the religious life which soon showed itself in the community. There is no doubt that the forces for good as well as for evil were strong from the outset, antl as tin; community grtnv older the forces for good kept growing stronger. More and more wives from the East had joined their husbands, and the young women who came from the East among the emigrants were married almost immediately on their arrival. Many a hotel keeper who engaged a servant girl at $200 a month was disgusted to find that she married and left him before die month was over. With the introduction of family life came a return to saner moral conditions, and by 1853 the old distempered social order began to be spoken of as a thing of the past. Never were so many men from so many different places suddenly thrown together, as in California in '4S and '49. What came afterward in Nevada, and later still in Colorado, was like it in kind but not in degree. The Californian settlers of the early days were without law, and thousands of miles away from established tribunals. Every man was a law unto himself, except when the community, as a whole, became aroused, and forduvith con- stituted itself a tril)unal. The Trrritory was indeed nominally organized ; but to wait for the regular process of law was to grant immunity to crime. The character of "miners' justice" may be illustrated by some of the scenes at Sonora, where gokl was first discovered. 1 1 ere there had been law and order previous to the miners' in^ asion, but with the invasion demoralization set in. In the fall of '48 the new-comers, following the Mexican fashion, elected two "alcaldes," or chief officers, but when one of the storekeepers at the settlement killed a man in a light, both the officers promptly resigned rather than run the risk of arresting die homicide;. Another storekeeper, however, called the people together to take action. This storekeeper was promptly elected alcalde, and it "MIXERS' justice:' 53' was decided that one alcalde was enough. A prosecuting; attorney was likewise required, but no one was ready to take the office, and each person nominated promptly declined and nominated some one else. I'inally the eners^etic store keeper was obliged to accept this office also. The meeting succeeded in hnd- ing a second man to take the office of sheriff The offender was arrested, a jury Impaneled, and the trial begun. The prisoner, on being brought in court, uas requested to lay his amis on the table, and tlid so. Ou this table stood a plentiful supply of brandy and water, to wliich everybody in the court-room Helped himself at pU;a.sure. Tin; trial, however, proceeded with much attempt ai EXIXUTIdN HY THE VIGILANCE COMMITTEE IX SAN FRANCISCO. legal form, and presently the judge arose and began a plea for the prosecution. " Hold on, lirannan," said the prisoner, " you are the judge." " I know it," replied that official, " and I am prosecuting attorney, too." He went on with his speech, and ended it by an appeal to himself as judge in connection with die jury. When he had finished, the prisoner, after helping himself to a glass of brandy, made an able speech in his own defense. Night came on, and the jury scattered without bringing in a venlict. The prisoner was admitted to bail, because there was no prison to put him in. The next day the jury met, but disagreed. A new trial was held, and the prisoner acquitted. 31 53 J I.ELASn ST. IX FORD. The t^old fever filled California with a population almost entirely ii^norant of the sLirroundintrs of their new honu;, and almost entirel)' unprovided with the necessarv appliances for lixin^'. 1 Ik; most terrible hardshijis were endured by this population. Thitre was nwxi ot every thiiii;-, — provisions, clothing', tools and implements, furniture;, wagons and horses, and, al)o\f all, the nu.-ans of transpor- tation. To su|)[)ly these; essential things were needed men who had the brains and foresis^ht to (piickly sup[)ly the wants of" the rai)idly erowin^- .State. Mach man was bent upon takiny care of himself alone. Where were the men to come from w ho should take care ot all ? hito this strange new life of iIk; Pacific coast came, in 1S52, a man who was destined to bear a great part in its d(;velopment, aiul to leave a name forever associateil with its history, — a name perpetuated by oik; of those great educa- tional institutions which form "a monunK;nt mon; enduring than brass," and whose influence will remain and increase when marble shall have crumbled into dust. In the bcTutiful Mohawk \'alley of Xcw York, near the village of W'ater- vliet, lived the father of Lelanil .Stanford. He was a man of English descent, whose ancestors long before had made their home auK^ng the Dutch settlers of the X'alley. He was a plain farmer, anti his son Leland was brought up to simple country living and hard work. In after life he was fond of telling how, when six years old, he had made six shillings by digging horseradish and selling it in .Schenectady, and how two years later he cleared $25.00 by gathering chestnuts in the woods. l-"or education he had the ordinary opportuniti(;s of a country boy, — work in summer and study in winter. .Soon, however, the youth determined that he would have an education to fit him for a higher level of life. His father, while anxious to forward his son's plans, was not able to provide the means. It happened, however, that he had purchased a tract of land covered with timber, which he had not time to clear. He made Leland an offer of the wood, on condition that he would cut and haul it away, leaving the ground clear for cultivation. This offer the bov. then eircclj)ice a (juartcr of a mile in iu-i^ht. Tiie idea of tarryiny a raih-oad across these mountains sccmrd impossible. One of the company said that the cars would have to be hoisteil U|) tile siilcs of tile moun- tains by der- ricks; Init Mr. .Stanford was c o n f i - d(;nt that the difficul- ties could be overcome, and he su])- plietl a lari^e part of the I'lK'p^y nec- essary to o \' c r c o m o them. Wiiik was begun and pushed on the building of the road. In July, 1862. came the re- sponse of the Government to the >./ company's a[i|jeal for aid. It uas ^^ a proposition to loan to the com- pany United .Statt's bonds, at the rate o{ si '3, 000 pc-r mile to the foot of the mountains, and ^48,000 a mile through them. The first forty miles furnished a severe test of the courage and endurance of the projectors ; and e\en after they were cf)in|)leted, they had still to meet the difficulty )f supplying the immense amount of money needed in construction. Soon began a race with the company which was building the line westward from Omaha. The Central Pacific Company built 530 miles of railroad in 293 days, a feat of railroad building which astonished the world. On May 10, 1869, the last spike was driven at Promontory Point, Utah, anU the long-desired connection of California with the East was complete A ni-.E KANiII IN I.llWKR CALIKe.RNI A. ■inn PALO ALTO RAXCJf. 537 III the meantime, Mr. Staiiforil hail not noiL,'Iccted his political ihilies. In iS6j he accepted llu; Republican nomination tor Gove-nior of C'alitornia, and was electt'd by a ku^^e majority. \i the close ot" his term he di rlineil re-elec- tion, as the war for the I'nion was then practically won, and his business affairs recpilreil all his attention. With the completion of the I'acific Railroad be,L,Mn an era of ^rcat pros* perity in California. A constant llow of immigration poured in from all parts VALLRY IKRIGATIDN IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. of the United States, and the value of property everywhere increased immetisely. Mr. Stanford was a lari^'^e owner of real estate, and in these years the increase in its value made him immensely wealthy. About thirty miles south of San Francisco he owned an immense tract of land known as the Palo Alto ranch, and here he built himself a beautiful home, supplied with every luxury that wealth could secure. A most bountiful hospi- tality was here dispensed, and the ranch became the resort of prominent men 538 LELAXD STAXl-ORD. from all parts of tht; State and nation. I'ut it was sonicthini:;- more than a mere country-scat. Mr. .Stanford liad al\va\s tak(;n a drv[) and inlclliL;cnl interest in agriculture, and he maile of his I'alo Alto ranch a firm wliich did much to show what the soil ot California would tlo under scientific cultivation. 1 lis \inr\atd was the largest in the world, antl he carried on an experimental fruit farm o.i a great scale, llis aim was to de\-eloi) the possibilities of farming in Calif irnia, and widi this \-iew he also esta])lishe(l a model stock firm, where he di-xclopetl a breed ot horses which soon gaimxl for die I'alo Alto ranch a wide f ime. The best cpialities of improved stock were mingletl with thost; of the nati\e l)reeds, so as to secure th(i best points of all. In connection with his scientific culture of stock, Mr. Stanford was one of the first to make use of the new process of instantan(;ous photography, which liy this means was (hnel- opml along with tlu' raising of horses. He secured a skillful practical photographer, put un- limited means at his disposal for e.\p(-riment, and thus produced results which astonished the world. 1)111 with all he had done, Mr. Stanford's life? work had not yet come to an end. 1 le had accumulated immense wealth, and had matle for hims(df a 2freat name ; but the fin;at uni- vcrsity which was to be his chief monument had not yet taken form even in his own miml. In Mr. Stanford, as in many others, the best and noblest that wa.s in him was called out by aflliction. In iS6S, eighteen years after his marriage, his only child, Leland Stanford, Jr., was born. To the loving parents this boy was th(^ greatest of all their treasures. Whatever they did was done with a view to his future. All of their desires and affections- were centr<,'d on him. In 1SS4, while they were traveling in Italy, the boy was stricken with Roman fe\er, and died at Idorence. There is a touching st(>r\ that the fither (who was away from his son at the time of his deathl lirmly believed that in his dying hour the boy said to him, " Ivather, don't say that you have nothinc>" left to live for ; \-ou have a s/reat deal to live for." From that tniie both the parents resolved to devote their wealth and their powers to the establishment of an educational institution which sh(juld be both a monumeni THE GRi;.\T DilMK AMI TIU.KSi'c il'K 01-' I.ICK OESERVATORV, CAl.llORMA. 540 LELAND STANFORD. to the memory of their dead son, and the means of giving to other boys and girls the training for Hfe which they had hoped to give him. The Leland Stanford, Jr., University was founded in 1S87. The great buildings are located on the Palo Alto ranch, about half a mile from the .Stanford home. In his address at the laying of the corner-stone, Mr. Stanford said, for himself and his wife: " We do not believe that there can be superlluous educa- tion. As a man cannot have too much wealth and intelligence, so he cannot be too highly educated." It is, however, an essential part of the scheme of edu- cation in the University that it .shall be practical, including not only mathematical and Scientific studies, but also those which lead to a thorough knowledge of business, — farming, engineering, photographing, type-writing, and book-keeping. The whole puri)ose of the University may be expressed by saying that it is intended to give the youth of California a practical education. Leland Stanford, Jr., University is one of the most richly-endowed educa- tional institutions in Am(!rica. Not only does it own the immense property on which it is located, but also some 78,000 acres in other parts of the .State. In addition to these enormous properties, an amount of money was given sufficient to support the institution with an endowment of some $20,000,000 ; and besides diis, the larger part of the estate of .Senator .Stanford is to go to the University at the death of his wife. Claiins of the United States against the Central Pacific Railroad have of late years threatened to impair the property which forms this great endowment ; but it is to be hoped that nothing will be per- mitted to really endanger the prosperity ami success of the University. In 1887 Mr. Stanford was chosen United .States Senator from California. While never distinguished as an orator or political leader, he was regarded as one of the most practical and efiicient business men in the Senate. His favorite measure, which well illustrates his |)hilanthropic intentions, was a scheme known as the '"land loan," which provided for the lending by the United States of money to owners of farms and other real estate on the security of their property. The years that he spent in Washington were years of intense toil, and in 1892 his health broke down. At the close of the session of Congress, in the spring of 1803, he returned to his Palo Alto home, convinced that he should never again leave it, and there on the 20th of June he died. It was characteristic « f him that his affairs were at his death found in the most perfect order, so that iio harm or shock of any sort could result to any person dependent upon him. His wife, who in all his plans of beneficence was in the closest sympathy with him, was made his executor. GEORGE W. CHILDS, THE QREAT I^UBLISHER AND P-HIIvANTHROPIST. HERE are two kinds of men who are especially interesting to Americans, — successful men who have risen by their own abilities, and wealthy men who have used their wealth in doing good. Never, perhaps, was there a man who more completely combined in himself both of these characters than George W. Childs. In one respcxt he was almost unicjuc, — he seemed to have no enemies. This quality usually indicates weakness of character ; but though Mr. Childs was one of the most amiable of men, no one ever accused him of lacking force. He had the rare faculty of ac- complishing his purposes without crossing or offending others ; and this quality, combined with his generosity and goodness of heart, made him one of the most universally popular men that America has ever produced. George William Childs was born in IJaltimore, Md., on May 12, 1S29. His parents died when he was very young. His opportunities for intellectual de- velopment were limited, and he received but little schooling. It is said that, even as a child, he exhibited two traits seldom found in one individual — a remarkable aptitude for business, and an unusual liberality in giving away the results of his quickness. At a very early age he develoi)eil a sense of the value of time, and an inclination toward independence and self-sup|)ort. In his tenth year, when school was dismissetl for the summer, he took the place of errand boy in a book-store, and thus spent the vacation at work. When thirteen years of age he entered the navy as an apprentice on board the United .States ship Pennsylvania. He remained in the service only fifteen months, and it is proba- ble that during this time was laid the foundation of that disposition toward per- (ect order and system which always thereafter marked his own conduct and the direction of the great newspaper to which it was ordained he should attain. When he was fifteen years okl young Childs went to Philailelphia under similar circumstances to those untler which anodier poor boy, Benjamin l-'ranklin, once walked the streets of the Quaker City. Like Franklin, he was poor and almost friendless, and like him he was destined to make his mark in a printing- 543 544 GEORGE \V. CHILDS. office. I Ic obtained cin[)l()ynicnt in a book store, kept by an old Ouaker named l^eter Thompson, in Arch street. He did his work so well that, after a year's service, he was intrustetl \\\i\\ the responsibiUty of attending the book auctions, and soon became known ;<.s the regular representative of his employer at the trade sales in New York antl Boston. 1 le worked for Mr. Thompson four years, and saved a few hundred dollars. With this, and the more valuable capital of a knowledge of his business anil the good opinion of his associates, he determined to start for himself At this timt; he was a quiet, studious lad, spending all his spare time in reading. He hired a small room in the building then occupied by the Public Ledger, and did so well that, before he was twenty- onc^ the head of the old firm of R. K. Peterson (S: Co., publishers, sought an alliance with him, and the house of Childs (S: I'eterson was the result. ^ '^fe* 1 / >., V AN OI.Ii Ciil.dNlAI, IKirsK NKAR ntl I.AIlKI rillA. Writing in later life of his start in the world, Mr. Childs said : " When I left home to come to Philadelphia, I overheard one of my relatives say that I would soon have enough of that, and would be coming back again. lUit I made up my mind that I never would go back — I would succeed. I had health, the power of applying myself, and, I suppos(', a fair amount of brains. I came to Phila- delphia with three dollars in my |)ockct. I found board -and lodging for two dollars and a half ami then I got a place in a bookstore for thr(H; dollars. That gave me a surplus of fifty cents a week. I did not merely do the work that I was absolutely required to do, but I did all I could, and put my whole heart into it. I wanted my em])loyer to feel that I was more useful to him than he expected me to be. I was not afraid to make fires, clean and sweep, and perform what A succEssrrL publisher. 5.13 might be considered by some young gentlemen nowadays as menial work, and therefore beneath them. "While I was working as errand-boy, I improved such opportunity as I had to read books and to attend book-sales at night, so as to learn the market value of books, and anything else that miglit be useful to me hereafter in my business. It was my aim always to be in a position where I could use my best talents t(/ the best advantage. I tixed my ambition high, so that, even if I did not realize the highest, I might at least always Ix^ tending upwards." The new firm was well calculated to succeed. Mr. Peterson had good literary taste, and his partner hatl the lousiness aptitutle of knowing whether a book was salable, so that after a book hatl been issued young Childs was able to push its sale to a remunerative number of copies. Thus the combination pros- pered. One of the first works published by the firm was "Wells's b'amiliar Science," which Mr. Childs's energy pushed to a sale of 200,000 copies. Oth<;r well-known successes of the firm were " Dr. Kane's Arctic b'x[)lorations," " In- stitutes of American Law," " Fletcher's Brazil," " Parson Hrownlow's Book, " and many others. Mr. Childs remained in the publishing business for about twelve years. He had long desired to be the owner of a leading newspa|)er. This had been his ambition for years, and while he was still a lad he fixed his eyes upon what was then the popular daily journal of Philatlel|)hia — the Public Lcdj^cr — and resolved that one day he would be its proprietor. The audacity of such a thought in a boy of eighteen can hardly be appreciated by any one who was not familiar with Philadelphia at the time and with the solid basis of prosperity upon which the Ledger stood. HE BUYS THE " LEDGER." At last the long-wished-for opportunity came. James Parton tells the story in this way : — " The Public Ledger had fallen upon evil days. Started as a penny paper in 1836, the proprietors had been able to keep it at that price for a quarter of a century. But the war, by doubling the cost of material and labor, had rendered it impossible to continue the paper at the original price, except at a loss. The proprietors were men naturally averse to a change. They clung to the penny feature of their system too long, believing it vital to the prosperity of the Ledger. They were both right and wrong. Cheapness was vital, but in 1864 a cent for such a sheet as the Ledger was no price at all it was giving it half away. Retaining the original price was carrying a good principle to that extreme which endangered the principle itself "The establishment was then losing ^^480 upon every number of the paper which it issued. This was not generally known. The paper looked as pros- perous as ever ; its circulation was immense, and its columns were crowded with advertisements. And yet there was a weekly loss of ^3000, — $150,000 a year! 546 GEORGE W. GUILDS. Upon Icarniiii,^ this fact the friends i)f Mr. Cliikls whose opinion he souq;ht said with decision, ' Don't buy ! ' i\everth<,'!ess, he lookeil the ground carefully over ; he made minute calculations ; he kept on his thinking cap day and even- ing. Me bought the Public Lcdi^cr — the whole of it, just as it stood — for a sum little e.xceeding the amount of its annual loss." From the day of the purchase of the Lcdi^cr Mr. Childs b(;camc its sole controller ami gave all his attiiuion to the work. He brought the paper up out t)f the ilepths to which it had sunk linancially, until at the tinu; of his death it was one of the most valuabU- and profitabU; in this countr}-, and Mr. Childs forniany years had been in the receipt ot a princely income. .\ ckKAi" i;i;.\i:iA(-r( iR. How s/enerousiv and ncjbh' this wealth has been emijloved all the world knows in a general way, tlu)ugh no one will prob;ibl\- ever know all the good done by him. ( )f Cieorge W. Childs it may be said with exact truth that since Providence blessed . im with means he constantly sought out o;)portunities to benefit his fellow-creatures. 1 le not only gave Hberally when it was asked of him, but it was his delight to seek out deserving cases where his money and his friendship would exchange poverty for comfort, suffering for happiness. lie often gave in secret, and thousands who were too proud and sensitive tc make their wants known have blessed an unknown donor for substantial help which was sadly needed. Mr. Childs loved to make those in his employ happy and prosperous. He erected a new building for his news|)aper which combined comfort with c;legance in a remarkable degree. Such conveniences as bath- rooms antl ice-water fountains aljound, and every work-room is a model of comfort. I'^ery man in his employ received a good salary and a handsome Christmas present every year. When the Typographical Union voluntarily reduced the price of composition in 1.S7S, Mr. Childs, on receiving the otticial notification, said quietly: "I shall not make any reduction of wages in this office. My business has not suffered by the depression, and why should my men suffer? Why should not they continue to receive the benefit of my succc.'ss ? " Every man in his employ was assured of a position during good behavior, and Mr. Childs said more than once that he had provided in his will that no changes were to be made in the person iicl of the Lcdj^rr after his death. He took a personal interest in the affairs of his workmen, and often made a careless, unthrifty fellow a present of a bank book, with a sum to his credit, as an Induce ment to save money. It was his priile that e\-ery man of family in his employ should own his dwelling-house, and he fretpiently advanced money to pay for the houses of his workmen, without securitv. He presented his assistants with insurance on their lives, and sent to Europe or on other pleasure trips the THE PRJXTLRS' HOnii. 547 heads of his departments when coiifineinent to business affected their licaUh. Me presented to the IVpo^raphical Society a lar^e l)urial ph)t in Woodlands Cemetery, ljesich;s contrihiitiny to the society's endow in, nt. 1 le frecpiently sent entire charitable institutions on pleasure excursions iluriiin' '^'i^' 'i**^ weather, and the l'V)urth t)f July and Christinas he was accustonieil lo celebratt; bv a bano'iet to the newsboys or bootblacks, or by some other iMiK-rtaimnent to the street waifs. Messrs. Childs and Prexel sent their respective checks for ^5000 to the Convention of the hiternational lypoyraphical Union in 1886, then in session ACAhKMY OF THK FINF, ARTS. I'll 1 1. \I iKl.l'il I A. at Pittsburcrh, provision ])eint; made that the individual members should have the opportunity to assist in aut^mentinsj; the funtl until it was sufficient to estab- lish a " Home " for disabled printers. It was arrani^^ed that the printers east of the Mississippi should, for this ]nirpose, contribute the price paid for setting' one thousand ems on INIr. Childs" birthday. May 12. of each year, and those west of the Mississippi should do likewise on the annual recurrence of Mr. Drexel's birthday, September 13. Speakinhi\vr, oiu- of Philadclpliias pretti«jst suljurbs, was his country house, known l)y the nanut of " W'ootlon." Circat lawns slopini^ away on all sides of thir house are ilotted huri! ami lluTe with trees, L-very one of which has been planteil by some man or woman whose name has served to make the history (jf tcj-tlay. It is a briL;lu, bree/y, wiile- halled, and charmingly ramblini,^ structure, and it is tilKxl with costly, (juaint, and beautiful ihiuL^^^s from all parts of the world. Amonj^^ Mr Childs' guests were (jenerals Clrant, Sherman, Meade, Sheri- ■J;*=Ji?>5*' TIIK riKEXKI. IN^TIIIIK, I'M II.AIII-I I'll lA, !•( irNDKI) IIY MR. CIIILDS' rklKNll AM) I'.VKTNKR. dan, Hancock, McDowell, and Patterson ; Eilmund Ouincy, Chief Justice Waite, A. J. Drexel, Asa Packer, the Astors, CadwalacU;rs, Professor loseph Henry. Hamilton P'ish, Rf)berr C. Winthrop, Charles Francis Adams, Presidents Hayes. Arthur, and Clexclaiul ; Chauncey M. 1 )epew, Cornelius X'anderbilt. Thomas A Pxlison, .Simon Cameron, Henry Wilson, William M. Evarts, James G. Blaine. John Welsh. August Pelmont. Ale.vander H. .Stei)hens, Samuel J. Tilden, Cyrus W. Field, P. J. Lossin,L,^ Mrs. Grover Cleveland, Charlotte Cushman, Christine Nilsson, Harriet Hosmer, John Biq-elow, Thomas F. Bayartl. Parke Godwin, Edwards Pierrepont, and many others. Mr. Childs said that one of the chief pleasures of his life had been the 550 GEORG/i W. C/fff.DS. kccpinj,^ of an open house to worthy and distintjuishocl persons. The reception he ^ave to the Emperor and Empress of Brazil was perhaps the niDSt notable gatherini,^ ever assembletl in any private house m America. There were six hundred i^niests, and Mr. Childs' was th*- first private house at which the I'jnperor iiid l'jn[)ress hail ever been entertained. Anioiii;' his English visitors were the Duke and Duchess of lUickint^ham, the Duke of Sutherland, the Duke of Newcastle, Lords Dufferin, Rosebery, Mouj^hton, llchester, Ross, Iddesleigh, Raylelyh, Herschel, Caithness, and Dunraven ; Sir Stafford Northcote, Lady I'ranklin, Dean Stanh-y. Canon Kin_t,fs]ey. Charles Dickens. Gi'orL,'^e Aui^ustus Sala, Joseph Chamberlain, M, V. ; James Anthony I'Voude, Professor Tyndall, Professor Ponainy Price, Atlmiral Lord Clarence Papet. Sir Philip Cunliffe Owen. Colonel Sir Herbert Sanford, Charles Kean, ALarquis de Rochambeau, John Walter, ]\L P. ; .Sir Charles Reed, Herbert .Spencer, Thomas Hughes, M. P.; Sir John Rose. Sir Edmond Thornton, and Robert Chambers, D. C. L. Mr. Childs was an intimate friend of General Grant and of many of the representative men of this country and Europe. A friend of his says : " When I carried letters from him to liurope, in 1S67, his name was a talisman, and it was pleasant to see how' noblemen like the Duke of Buckingham honored the indorsement of an American who thirty years ay^o was a poor boy." His closest p(!rsonal friend, probably, was Mr. Anthon)' J. Drexel, the banker. They were intimately associated both in business and social matters, and there was a lon»j;--continued partnership of the two in charitable work. Every niorninij in pleasant weather Mr. Childs could be seen at the same hour walking- down Chestnut street to his office by the side of his friend, Mr. Drexel, and in the afternoon the familiar fiyurcs could be seen returnini..;; tocrether. " Remembering their good deeds," says one writer, "the reader of Dickens was very apt to think of the Cheeryble Brothers as he saw the plump and smiling figures of the two friends as they walked up Chestnut street on an afternoon." Mr. Childs died in Philadelphia, after a brief illness, on February 3, 1S94. In person Mr. Childs was rather below the medium height. He was inclined to be stout, but made it a rule to walk to and from his office and to live very temperately. He had a bright, smiling, amiable face, and was never known to be out of temper. He was gifted with the faculty of placing every one at ease in his company, and it was said of him that he gave a Christmas dinner to newsboys and bootblacks or dined traveling dukes and earls with the same ease and familiarity. " Perhaps I cannot better sum up my advice to young people," writes Mr. Childs, " than to say that I have derived, and still find, the greatest pleasure in my life from doing good to others. Do good constantly, patiently, and wisely and you will never have cause to say that your life is not worth living." '^^ri^^r<:'^^ ^:^^'^ MARSHALL FIELD, THE MODERN BUSINESS xMAN THE term "New West" to most of us is apt to call up a picture of the growth of a j^reat a^ri- cultural country; of vast areas of land brought under cultixa- tion ; of enormous crops raised ; of improved processes in farmin<^ and miniuij;". Hut the new West in reality includes a o-rcat ileal more than tliis. With the u/owth of the country ha\e s[)runt^- up i^reat cities, which are just as typical f(^'Uures of th(' West as tile mines of Colorado or the wheat farms of ]\d-;ota. The most important cro[), after all, is the crop which is raised in cities as well as in the: country, — the crop which imleed raises the citi(!s, — namely, the crop of wn. Marshall iMeld is one; of the men who has made the new West. Mis in(Uu:nce on the growth, track;, ami habits of m(;r- cantili! life would be hard to measurt;. A more; complete contrast lietween the West of to-day, and the West as it wa's when he became a part of It, w 'uld be hard to find. Marshall Field was a countrx'boy, born in Conway, Massachusetts, in 1835. His father was a farmer, a man in mod(!rate circumstances, a le to L^ive his son the moderate but sound education which every intellii^MMVt New Encjj-land farmer considers imlispensable. I le had in his boyhood the atlvantat,^es of q-ood public schools, and later of the Conway Academy. Marshall was a quiet, thouL,ditful boy, always inclined to make the most of his opportunities. He never liked 'arming, however, but from his earliest years inclined toward o mercantile life ; 553 I.AKK kl: lyKlX 1 . CUlCACiU. 554 MARSHALL FIELD. and when ht; was sevcMitecn left the farm and went to Pittsfield, where he obtained einpU)ynient in a country store. 1 lere he remained four years, and exhausted the opportunities of the situation, so far as business traininijwas concerned. In these four years he develojjed a determination to reach sometliiui^- higher than was attainable in a New England country town. The tendency of the time was toward the West, and in 1856 he left Massachusetts and made straight for Chicago, where he bixame a salesman in the wholesale dry-goods house of Cooley, Farwell (!^ Co. A CHICACO MANSION IN 'rUK KARI.Y DAYS. When ^Marshall Field reached Chicago, the city, and the whole country as well, was in a state of wiUl unrest and feverish growth. Chicago had been ;)rlginally built on the prairie level ; not high enou;;h above the waters of the lake to permit cellars und(.'rneath the houses, or to allow facilities for drainage. The grade of the street w'as being raised some eight feet, and the buildings also had to come up to the same level. The streets were in a state of chaos, and going round tlunn was a perpetual going up and down stairs. The most characteristic feature of western life In the year preceding the GRO 1 1 TJ/ 01' A GREA T HO USE. 5 5 5 panic of 1857 was unsettleincnt. The L^n'owth of the country was tremendous ; the crops \vc;re uicreasinL; enormously, and die stream of immigration, increasinLj the population and the products of the country to an iniheard-of extent, taxed every avenue of trade to the last decree. To do business saiely amid the cliani^- iny life of a new country, wh(;re men were poor one day and rich the next, anil where few took time or had the prudence to ascertain from day to day where Lhey stood, re([uired rare abilities and a " l(;vel heatl." The whole tiMulency of business at such a time is s[)eculative. To be conser\ative is well-nii^h impossi- ble. Marshall FieUl had a conservative mind : he was cool, careful, calculatinsj^, prudent. To such a man a training' in th(; miilst of such conditions was invalu- able, antl it helped him in great degree to form the character which became the basis of such great success. Over this chaos of unhealthy growth, s[)eculation, and unsettlement the panic of 1S57 swept like a tornado. Of the prominent businc^ss houses oi Chicago one of the survivors was that of Cooley, Farwell & Co., and the lessons which were received in that time of trial made Marshall Field indispensable to the house he served. By i860 he had worked his way up to the position of junior partner. Then came the llush times of the war, and the unsettlement of financial conditions produced by a fluctuating currency. 15ut such conditions as these, which, in a man of less steadiness, would have produced a tendency toward speculation, worked exactly the other way with Marshall Field. As the temptations to reckless dealing multiplied, he grew more cautious and careful. While everybody else was expanding credits, he was restricting them. .Safety was the first condition insisted upon, and the result was to establish the house upon a basis which nothing could shake. In 1865 the firm was re-organized, and Mr. Field, who had for some time been the real head, becan-!e so in name as well, the title of the firm being changed to Field, Palmer & Leiter. Two vears later, with the witlulrawal of Mr. Palmer, the firm was changed to Field, Leiter 6e Co., the guiding and control- ling spirit of the house remaining still the same. After the war the life of the West exhil)ited still the sam of business believed to be absolutely preventive of growth. At a time when other houses were extending almost unlimited credit to their customers, and tlvMnselves buA-ing on a similar basis, hi; restricted credits absolutely to thirty and sixty days, and required absolute promptness in the meeting of accounts when due. This was of itself sufficiently novel ; but a still more novel feature was that of paying cash for all purchases, thus restricting the 556 MAKSn.l/.L J'/JiLD. credit which h(; took even more rigidly than that which he q^ave to buyers. Nor could he be tempted to speculate upon the credit of his house in other ways. He absolutely retusetl to sell l^ooiIs of inferior character, no matter what the inducements otiereci. 11c; insisted upon [jractically quaranteeiiiL;' the (piality of all jj^oods sokl ; antl this, with the low prices which a practical cash s)'steni enabled him t(j make, drew to his house the cream of the trade from a large part of the entire West. In 1 87 1 came another great blow, but of a ditterent kind. This was the ■liii: m KMNc, III- ciii'-'Ac.o IN 1S71. fire which almost entir(:;ly destroyed the city of Chicago. I\Tr. Field was, of course, well itisured ; no man of his well-known prud(-nce would neglect that ; l)utin this emergency insurance itself failed, for so many of the companies were wip(;d out by the disaster that a comparatively small part of the insurance had was available. " W'ltat next?" was th(,' question on thousands f)f lips, as mem stood gaz- ing on the smoking ruins of Chicago. \\\\\\ Marsliall b'ield it was a cpiestion of the best thing available. Few buildings of any kind were left staniling ; but AFTI.R THE CRIiAT I'IRh. 557 it the corner of State and TwcntiL'th streets were some horse-car slieils which had been spared by the lire. W hile the smoke was still rising h'oin the ruins of the great city, Mr. ideld hired these sheds, and be!_;an to lit them up fur the accommodation of the dry-^oods business. At the same time sjan<'s of men were set to work clearini;' away the ruins of the burned stores of the firm, and erecting on them new buildings lor permanent use. \\\ the next year the new- stores were ready lor occupancy, hi rebuilding a great improvement had bet'i, made by separating the retail from the wholesale dei)artment, giving to each a building adapted to its own especial netxls. On the heels of the fire came the great panic of 1S73 ; but the house of ''Si . .v-TffT-^S 11 iji W\Mm wiioi.KSAi.r, PTiinr or m\k-iiai.i. Fir.i.i) * co. Marshall Field tv Company passed through It unscathed, Ir was hart! to ruin a house which owed nothing, and whose customers had paid all bills up to within two months. The long credit concerns, almost without exxeption, went down in the crash, but 'Ww Field's house stootl more firm than ever. In the years that followed, the business grew steadily. The wholesale department especially expanded, until in 1SS5 it was necessary to build once more. In that vear was becfun a buildimj^ of granite and sandstone which is to-day one of the finest wholesale dry-goods establishments in the world. To the retail store, building after building has been atld(;d on the .State street side, and later a magnificent annex at Wabash avenue and Washington street. In 558 MARSHALL FIELD. 1S65 Mr. Field's firm did a business ai:^cri"CLi'Uin.ry oi>portunity to add to his stock of knowledge. In later years, when he was asked how he got his education, he answered, "1 took it in as I went along, as a locomotive takes up water from a track 1",".^." It is said that he received a special impulse toward study by hearing a sermon in 561 56: JOHN WANAMAKER. which the s[)cakcr used a numl)(!r of words the ineanin,i,f of which John did not know, i laving' a ^ood iiuMiiory, he; carriciil thest; words in his liead unlil the next morninL,'', when he hail a chance to look them up in the ilictionary. lie concluded tiiat, as the preacher would not he likely to use wortls which were not understood by most of the conirrey^ation, the troulile must be that John Wana- maker was uncommonly ignorant ; and this c6ndition of attairs he resolveil to remedy. When the civil war broke out in iS6i. John W'anamaker was twenty-three years old. lb; hatl saved a little money, hatl acfiuired a thorou,i,^h knowledi^e of the clothing;' business, and married a wife. In .\pril of that year he formed a partnership with his brother-indaw, Nathan Hrown, ami (;mbarked in the clothing- business at Si.\th and Market stre(;ts. I'rom the; bei;innini;- the business pros- pereil. lioth th(; partners were practical men. No unnecessary help was employed. They wen; not ashamed to take down the shutters, to swe(;p the store, or to deliver packaj;es themselves, if necessary. Hut th(! business soon reached dimensions which gave them other work to do. It was perpetually outgrowing its f.icilities in e\(.;ry direction ; antl to me(;t and pro- vide for this I'x'panslon calU'(l into exer- cise just those powers which Mr. W'ana- maker possesses in such wonderful meas- un;, — the powers of organization. In iS6S Mr. ISrown died. My 1S71 the business had absorbed all the space from Market to the next street, — a space which, when die firm began Inisiness, had been occupied by forty-five tenanls. .Still it continued to grow, and in 1S75 the large block occupied by the old Pennsyl- vania freight depot, at Thirteenth and Market streets, was bought, and a store built for a business of a new kind. The; old, rambling freight station was remodeled, and turned into a great mart of traile, where dry goods, clothing, furniture, books, and nearly everything in the shape of supplies for the person and the home wen; sold, a separate department b(;ing devoted to (;ach. Upon the establishment of this great "department store," Mr. Wanamaker concen- trated all his energies, and the experience of his previous career in his extensive tines of business. It is not too much to say that Mr. Wanamaker's innovations upon previous methods have revolutionized the manner of conducting retail businesses in gen- eral. Up to the time when his clothing store began to make its mark, the atti- imlN W.vNAMAKIR A'; A YOfNr, MA\. A7-ir /iC'S/.\7-SS J//: 77/( ' AS'. 5^3 tiule of merchants toward customers was coininoiil)- rather that of a i)arty doiiii^^r a favor. The modern spirit of doin^ (:\ crythiiiL;' possiliK: to conciliate .iiul accommotlate the customer was ahnt)st unknown. Tlie characteristics of retail stores we-ri: ne^li^t-nt, inilifU:rent, antl soMu;times surly salesmen; slowness, con- fusion, and lack of method in tli-liverin^' i^oods, and L;(;neral absence of tlu; spirit of seeking;' antl cultivatinu; business, wliich is now the rule insteael of the excep- tion. Moreover, a sale once made was made forever. A merchant who in that day was asked to takt: back unsatisfactory L^^oods and return the mone\' would hav(i met the retpiest with contemjituous astonishment. \\'anamak(!r chan^'etl all this. He not only sought trade, but made it evident that he was seekin^j trade. A custonuT coming;; into his store was met as a courteous host would meet a Sliest, ills wants wi're ([uickly ascertained ; he was jjut in the hands of a polite ami accommodating' salesman, who did everything' in his power to supply hint with the article that suited him ; and if for any reason, or even without reason, the goods which he hail bought did not please him, they might be r(;turned, and tlie money was repaid. Wht'ii this last ft-ature was inaugurated, it was looked upon with in- credulous contempt by competitors. "That won't last long," the\' saitl with coiitulence ; but not only did it last, but they were themselves obliged to conform to the prac- tice, ami it is now the uniform custom among the best stores. From the time when he Hrst began business, John Wanamaker had a rare appreciation of the value of advertising, and his persistence and originality in this field have always distinguished his business. In this respect also he was a pioneer. Before his time the capabilities of advertising were little known or believed in. It was done fitfullv and carelesslv at best. The idea of advertising a retail business regularly, week in ami week out, rain or shin(,', good business or bad business, was one which was almost as novel as Wanamaker's plan of returning the money for unsatisfactory goods. F"or some time after these in- novations were begun, he had the field to himself His competitors had no faith that such new-fangled notions woukl last, and waited with contemptuous confi- dence for his business to wind itself up. Hut they waited in vain. Instead of ruining' his business under these methods, it grew at such a rate that it was almost impossible to provide accommodations for itw-hich did not in a few years become too small. As it grew, Wanamaker grew. Every year developed his GEORGE H. STCART, ONE or MR. WANAMAKER'S I'ROMINLN 1' I,' i-LAlHiRKKb. 564 JOHN WANAMAKER. wonderful orijanizinj,'- powers, and when thi; time came for the purchase of the great building at Thirteenta and Market streets, he was better prepared than ever before to build upon it a store in which should be carried on a business that would embody the results of all his previous experience. The secret ot Mr. Wanamaker's great success in l)usiness maybe summed up In one word, — Organization. It has been his imiform practice to secure for the heatls of de[)artments the best men to be had, regardless of cost. Many nKMi in his em[)loy receive salaries larger than those of cabinet ministers. They are given full latitude for exercising all their best powers, anil full reward for success. Each h(!ail of a department is treated as though he were himself the owner and master of the (U.-partment. He is charged with all the ex- penses of the department, including his share of rent and atlvertising, the sala- ries of clerks. Ijookkeepers. etc. On the other hand, he is crediteil with all of the profits made in his department, and if h(; is able to show gootl results and increased sales, hi* position becomes bet- ter and better. He is alloweil to manage his department in his own way, limited only by certain fixed rules of policy com- mon to the entire store. This system of management gives the responsible heads of the business every incentive to do their best, and results in an organization which is well-nigh perfect. In adilition to the other motives fur- nished by Mr. Wanamaker for those in his employ to do the best of which they are capable, it has been for some years his practice to share profits to a certain extent with his employees. At the end of the first year after this practice was begun, $100,000 of profits were received by the employi^es of the Thirteenth street store. Considering the great load which Mr. Wanamaker has carried for many years, and considering also the fact that he has not followed the beaten paths of trade, but has been a great innovator, and constantly introducing novel methods of business, it is not surprising to learn that he has more than once been on the edge of failure ; but, like the greatest generals, he is a man who does not know when he is beaten. He refuses to recognize tlefeat, and the result has been that even the greatest emergencies have been met, and victory secured. He has not only learneil how to do business himself, but he has taught thousands of others. Deijartment stores, conducted on the same plan as that of the great emporium at Thirt(.'enth and Market streets, have sprung up all over the I'nited States : and for the ease with which buyers of all sorts of goods at retail can now make their purchases, and for the general tone of reliability, accommoda- HKTI1ANV >lNIiAYSll|illiI, TKNT, IS59. HETIIANY SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 56s tion. proini)tness, and cheapness which pervade retail busin'iss, the buyers of to-day have chiefly to thank John W'anamaker. Ills WDKK iMk olIIKKS. No one who knows the aboundinLf and restless enerj^-^y which characterizes Mr. W'anamaker. antl his humane desire for the welfare of othi:rs, woulil (expect to find his time employed e.\clusively for his own benefit. His |)ul)lic work has long been a most important part of his lift;. Hefore he went into th'- clothing IIK.rilANY ClIlKc II AND SINDAV SClIOdI, lUII.DlNC business in 1S61 h(; filUnl th(' position of .Secretary of the Young Men's Chris- tian Association of Philadelphia, an organization in which his interest has never ceased. \\\ later years, when he was carrying on a very large business, he became the President of this Association. His genius for organization has wrought results in that body no less important than those which he had alrea<.ly brought about in his own lnisin(!ss. He he-lpccl to point out and chn-elop the possibilities of the organization, which had hitherto bc^en little known. During his presidency the splendid new builtling of the Association at P'ifteenth and Chestnut streets was built, and this, like his store, was an object lesson to 566 JOHN WAXAMAKER. others who wc.xv. carryiii!, on the suinc hiu- of work. Since that time handsome biiikUiiL;-. lor iionies of the local associati(jns ha\e s[)runL;- up in nearly all the iarj^e cities of the L'niteil States, and in these homes are foimd facilities for instruction, tor social work, and for the help and bc'tternient of youiitj; men .gen- erally, which have matle the YouniL;- Men's Christian Association such a power for i^ood. ( )ne of the most characteristic of .Mr. Wanamaker's enterprises outside of his own business is the .Suntlay-school of Bethany Presbyterian Church, of which he has loni^r been superintendent. His connection with this now famous school L,^oes l)ack to the days when he was a poor and stru^^TniL;' youni^' man. hi the early days of his business life, and while still embarrassed by narrow means. Mr. Wanamaker went into one of the rouj^hest districts of Philadelphia, where low groj^fs^eries abountled, and opened a .Sunday-school in a shop occupied durin<^ die week by shoemakers. The district was one of tht? lowest and most disorderly in the city. It was even looked upon as dan^^erous to attempt such work in such a nei^hborhooil. Hut to Mr. Wanamaker the obvicjus reflection was that the worse the n(ML;hborhood th(; L;reater the need oi improvemc;nt. lie succeedeil in interestinsj^ the chiUlren, and the children interested their parents. After a few months the school had so increased that it outL^rew the accommodations, and a lar^^e ti.'nt was rentetl in which it was carried on tluriuLi' the summer. Prom this l)eL;inninL;' L^rew up the famous Bethany .Sunday- school, which is now' one; of the largest in the country. Out of the school iL^a'ew a church, whose membership is made up largely of the parents of the .Sabbath- school children, and of the .Sabbath-school children themselves, who have o-rown to manhood and womanhood in the years since this work was begun, .Sunday- school and church together have wnnight a great change in the character of that district, and now the person who shoidd suggest that there was danger in att<'mpting to do such work in that neighborhood would be met with surprise intleed. It is characteristic of Mr. Wanamaker that for rest from business he turns, not to idleness, but to work of a tlitferent S(.)rt. I lis .Sundays are spent in religious work of various kinds. He is interested in movements for the spread of practical Christianity in almost every direction. He was one of the pioneers in the Moody and .Sankey revival movement, and before the freight station was remodeled as a store in ICS75, it was for some months used for the meetings, where frequendy twenty thousand persons were gathered at one time. He was one of the original organizers of the Christian Commission, and of the Citizens' Relief Committee, a Philailel])hia organization which gives aid in cases of sutlden disaster, pestilence, or other trouble anywhere, which appc.'als to the sympathies of the citizens of Philadelphia, He is one of th7 Chairman of the Bureau of Revenue, ami raised the first million dollars for that g^reat enterprise, lie was also Chairman of the Press Committee, and in many ways aided to make the work successful. \\ hen Mr. Harrison was elected to the Presidency in i.SSS, Mr. Wanamaker ent(!r(;d his cabin(a as Postmaster- General, — a position for which his talents and experience in business orj^'aniza- tion especially fitted him. His administration of the Post-Office Department was mark(;d by a number of reforms, and a L,'reat improvement in its methods. At the end of his term of office he took a well-earneil vacation, makini,^ with his family an extensive tour throut,di the United States and Mexico. On this journey he received many tokens of hij^h esteem and wide popularity. Mr. Wana- maker has rjiven to the various charities and benevolent en- terprises what is of more value than m o n e y, namely, himself and his abilities. Even when the tluties of Post- master-General of the United States were added to his al- ready enormous undertakinfr.s, he came reijularly every week from Washington to Philadelphia to superintend his .Sunday-school at Hethany. But few have been more generous givers of money as well. He has given over 5'oo.C)00 to Bethany Church and Sunday-school ; he has given $100,000 to the Young Men's Christian .Association. The Childn-n's Wing of the Presbyterian Hospital, practically a complete hospital in itself, was paid for by Mrs. Wanamaker. I le has (established on Broatl street a home for those of his female employees who have no regular home in the city ; ami in m.iny other ways Mr. Wanamaker has given proof of the spirit of practical good work, which is the moving force of his whole life. I.INDl'NlirRST," MR. \V ANAM AKKR's r.irSTKY RF.SinF.Ni:F. MAR IKNKINTdWV, lA. 33 >'^> -, 'j~^'^">^ f^ m.^. 3 4 5 6789 ri.ACKS OF WORSIIfP IN NEW YORK IN I742 «. Lutheran. 2. French. 3. Trinity. 4' New Dutch, j. Old Dutch. 6. Prcsbjieriaii. 7. Baptitt. 8. Quaker. 9. SynagojBt. HENRY WARD BEECHER, THE OREAT I'ULPIT OKATOK ANO REFORMER. IN the dark days of the War of i8ia there lived and labored in the town of Litchfield, Connecticut, a Conjrrc" gational minister named Lyman Beecher. Like most preachers of that day, he was poor in this world's jroods, but rich in children. Seven of these already j^^athered around his fireside when, on June 24, 181 3. his son Henry Ward Beecher. destined to leave so deep and strong- an im- press upon the life and thought of his day, was born. Dr. Beecher's salary was eight hundred dollars a year, not always promptly paid ; and under these cir- cumstances it may easily be imagined that the tenth member of the family received only such care and attention as were absolutely required. The struggle for existence was too severe to leave much time or thought for other things. Litchfield was a mountain town, where the winter was a stern reality for six months of the year, where there were giant winds, and drifting snows of immeasurable depth, and ice and sleet storms of a sublime power and magnitude. Under this rugged nursing the boy grew outwardly vigorous. When but three or four years old he was sent to the Widow Kilbourns school, where he said his letters twice a day, 571 BIBLE HUIH'OIIT OVER IN THE "MAYFLOWER. 57^ IfEXRY WARD H EEC HER. and passed the rest of his titiK- in hemininif a brown towel or a check apron. It was not expected that he would learn very much from " Marm Kilhourn." but the school kept him out of the way of the " home folks " for the j^^reater part of the day. Next, a small, unpainted district school-house beinj,' erected within a stone's throw of the parsonage, he graduated from Ma'am Kilbourn's thither. Henry Ward was not marked out by the prophecies of partial friends for any brilliant future. His utterance was thick anil indistinct, partly from bashful- ness and partly from enlargement of the tonsils of his throat, so that in speak- ing or reading he was with difficulty understood. The last success that ever would have been predicted for him is that of an orator. " When Henry is scMit to me with a message," said a good aunt, "I always have to mak(; him say it three times. The first time I have no manner of an idea, more than if he spoke Choctaw ; the second, I catch now and then a word ; by tl>e third time I begin to understand." Sunday was a day of terror to Henry, for on that day the Catechism was administered to him. "I think," said he afterward to his con- gregation, referring to this part of his life, "that to force childhood to associate religion with such dry morsels is to violate the spirit, not only of the New Testament, but of common sense as well. I know one thing, that if I am 'lax and latitudinarian,' the Sunday Catechism is to blame for a part of it. The dinners that I have lost because I could not go through ' sanctifica- tion,' and 'justification,' and 'adoption,' and all such questions, lie heavily on my memory ! . . . One Sunday afternoon with my Aunt Esther did me more good than forty Sundays in church with my father. He thundered over my head ; she sweetly instructed me down in my heart. The promise that she would read Joseph's history to me on Sun- day was enough to draw a silver thread of obedience through the entire week ; and if I was tempted to break my promise, I said, ' No ; Aunt Esther is going to read on Sunday ;' and I would do. or I would not do, all through the week, for the sake of getting that sweet instruction on Sunday." When Henry was twelve years old his father accepted a call to Boston and removed thither with his family. At this time the boy developed a great love of adventure, and he was filled with a longing to be a sailor. This feeling made him restless and discontented, and he resolved to leave home and ship on board some vessel sailing from the harbor. He hovered about the wharves, con- Kl.l) llUTCll ClUkCH, NKW UTKECIIT, LONG ISLAM). AT MT. PLEASANr SCHOOL 373 vcrsinjr with the sailors and captains, and sometimes carryinjr his little biindU with him. Hut the thouj^dits of home were too stron^j for him, and he could never (juite summon resolution (.-nouj^rh to run away, in a fit of despi.Tation he wrote a letter io his brother, tellinj.^ him of his wish to i;o to sea, and informinji^ him that he meant to first ask his father's pi^rmission, and if that were not j^rranted he would go without it. This letter he dropped where his father would be sure to find it. Dr. lieecher soon discovered it, and, readinjr it, put it into his pocket without comment. The next day he asked the boy if he had ever thought of any, definite avocation for his future life, " V(!s," said Henry, "I want to go to sea. I want to enter the navy, be a midshipman, and rise to be a commamler." "Oh, I see," said the Doctor, cheerfully ; "but in order to prepare for that you must study mathematics and navigation." " I am ready, sir," " Very well. I'll send you up to Amherst next week, to Mount Pleasant, and then you'll begin your preparatory studies at once. As soon as you are well prepared, I presume I can make interest to get you an appointment." The boy was delighted, and the next week started for Amherst. The Doctor felt sure that the sailor scheme would never come to anything, and exclaimed, exultantly, as he bade his son good-bye. " I shall have that boy in the ministry yet." At the Mount Pleasant Institute young Beechcr took lessons in elocution from Professor John E. Lovell. Under the instructions of this able teacher, he learned to manage his voice, and to overcome the thickness and indistinctness of utterance which previous to this had troubled him so much. He continued at this school for three years, devoting himseir to study with determination and success, and taking rank as one of the most promising pupils of the school. As time passed on, the ardent desire for a seafaring life began to weaken. The stories of Nelson's conquests and Captain Cook's wanderings lost some- thing of their old fascination. Life was filling fast with larger meanings. About this time, when in a mood of spiritual anxiety, a religious revival arose, stirring the deep undercurrents of his nature. Henry Ward Peecher resolved to be a Christian, and set himself to "follow the Lord fully." His conversion — if we may use that word in this connection — was not the doleful giving up of every* thing glad and beautiful to live a life of gloom and sadness. It was a joyful consecration to the Lord. If Mr. Heecher could not have been a joyful Chris> tian, he would not have been a Christian at all. All life was glad to him Existence alone, under the blue skies and in the happy fields, was a luxury. And he judged that the Christian life ought to be of all lives the most joyful. True to these convictions, his life was sunny where some thought it should only be solemn. Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe writes of him at this period in her own 574 HENRY WARD B EEC HER. charr.cteristic manner: "The only tiling," she says, "which prevented Henry from taking the first rank as a relii^ious yoiinj,' man was the want of that sobriety and solemnity which was looki-d upon as essential to the«Christian character. He was like a converted bobolink, who should be brouj^ht to judgment for short quirks ami undignilieil twitters and tweedles among the daisy heads, instead of Hying in dignified paternal swet;ps, like a good swallow of the sanctuar)', or sitting in solemnized nunlitations in the de[)ths of pine tre*rs. like the owl." In iS^2 Dr. MeecluT removed iVom Moston tt» Cincinnati, to enter upon the presidency of Lane .Seminar/, to which he had been elected. Henry fol- lowed him to the West after his graduation at Amherst, and, in 1836, completed his theological studies at the seminary, under the tuition of his father ami Professor .Stowe, the hitter of whom married Henry's sister Harriet. Immediately on finishing his theological course, Mr. Beecher married imd settled in Lawrenceburg, Indiana, ac- cepting the very first offer MORAVIAN EASTfcR SKRVICE, UKTilLEI{E.M, J'EN.NSVLVA>IA. made him. It was work that he wanted, and one place he thought about as good as another. His parish was a little town on the Ohio river, not far from Cincinnati. Here he preached in a small church, and did all the work of the parisli se.xton, making his fires, trimming his lamps, sweeping his house, and ringing his bell. "I did all," he said whimsically, "but come to hear myself preach — that they had to do." Mr. Beecher was soon invited from Lawrenceburg to Indianapolis, the cap- ital of the State, where he labored for eight years. A member of his church in Indianapolis thus gives his recollections of him : — "In the early spring of 1842 a revival began, more noticeable than any that PLYMOUTH CHURCH. 575 this community has seen. The whole town was pervaded by the infhi«nces of religion. For many w«.'eks the work coiuimied with unabated power, anil nearly one hundred |>er!>ons were adih-d to ih(; church on profession of their faith. This was God's work. It is not iinpropom Plymouth pulpit came ringing words of patriotism, cheering the timid, encouraging the down- cast, denouncing traitors, but hoi)eful of the future, pointing out clearly the; path of right and duty for those who loved their country. His church, prompt to answer, raised and ecpiipped a regiment, the Thirst Long Island, in w-hich his eldest son was an officer. Before this regiment went into active service, Mr. Beecher often visited the camp and preached to the young soldiers, many being " my own boys," as he used to call them. Meanwhile, besitles the cares of his pastorate, he was constantly delivering speeches. At last his health began to fail. His voice gave way, and he was imperatively commanded to seek rest. To recruit his exhausted energies he sailed for Europe, little thinking that a work awaited him in England far more arduous than anything which he had yet undertaken. RF.v. riir.on.-iRK i,. rfvi.KR. SPEAKIiYG AGAIXST EXGLISII MOBS. S77 On his outward voyage Mr. Beecher was uri^rcd to speak in lui^land for the Union cause, but dechned on the i^rnnuul of his health. After sonu; weeks of travel in I'Vance and Switzerland, he was met at Paris with the news of Cettysburj^ and Vicksburi^, antl also with letters from frientls in Mni;land sayiuLj that a small party there was supportinii,r the side of the North against hea\y odds, and again urging him to help them with his voice. At last he consented, and engagements were made for him to speak in the chief cities of England. In order to fully comprehend the situation, it is necessary to recall the state of feeling in Enidand at that time. Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote after Mr COLONIAL MilNASTKRV, 1 1 I IN IR ATINc: KAKMKR DAYS. Beecher's return : " The devil hail got the start of i\\v. clergyman, as he very often does, afttT all. The wretches who had been for three years pouring their leprous distillment into the ears of Great Britain had preoccuj)ied the ground and were determined to silence the minister if they could. I'or this purpose they looked to the heathen populace of the nominally Christian British cities. They covered the walls with blood-red placards, they stimulated the mob by intlammatory appeals, they tilled the air with threats (jf riot and murder. It was in the midst of scenes like these that the single, solitary American opened his lips to speak in behalf of his country." 578 HENRY WARD BEECHER. But Mr. Beecher braved the British Hon in his most angry mood. His great speeches in Manchester, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Liverpool, and London were magnificent as specimens of natural oratory, but they were sublime and heroic as the utterances of one who loved his country, who believed his country to be in the right, and dared to say so in the face of all the world. Mr. Beecher had a firmly knit, vigorous physical frame, come down from generations of yeomen renowned for strength, and it stood him in good service now. In giving an account afterward he said: "I had to speak extempore on subjects the most delicate and difficult as between our two nations, where even the shading of my words was of importance, and yet I had to outscream a mob and drown the roar of a multitude. It was like driving a team of runaway horses and making love to a lady at the same time." The printed record of this speech, as it came from England, has constant parentheses of wild uproars, hootings, howls, cat-calls, clamorous denials and interruptions ; but by cheerfulness, perfect, fearless good-humor, intense perse- verance, and a powerful voice, Mr. Beecher said all he had to say, in spite of the uproar. The following description of the great meeting in London is from the pen of a gentleman who was present : — It was my privilege to hear him when he addressed an audience of Englishmen in Exeter Hall, London, on the then all-absorbing topic of the American war. Never shall I forget the scene. The masses of the English people had already taken sides in favor of the Southern Confederacy, and only a few, such, for instance, as Rev. Newman Hall, Baptist Nod, Francis Newman, and a few other nonconformist clergymen of the same stamp, had the courage to defend the North, and this at the hazard of mob violence, when Mr. Beecher suddenly appeared, and, fighting his way from Manchester to London, dared to face the howling mobs who assailed him, and by his indomitable courage succeeded in gaining at least a respectful hearing, which at Exeter Hall culminated in ?. grand triumph for liberty and justice. On that occasion his grand eloquence carried his audience until burst after burst of deafening cheers greeted every period; and the scene at the close of his address can never be fully realized, except by those who were eye-witnesses of this grand event. To him alone should be attributed the credit of having turned the tide of English opinion, and of having succeeded in laying the foundation of that better judgment which prevented the govern- ment from officially recognizing the Confederacy." Soon after his return the war closed, and he went to Charleston to deliver the address at Fort Sumter upon the occasion of the rehoisting of the flag of the United States over that work. The news of the assassination of Mr. Lin- coln met him upon his return to Brooklyn, and drew from him one of his most memorable sermons. At the close of hostilities, he preached a sermon to his congregation, urging forgiveness and conciliation toward the South as the policy of the hour, saying truly that that crisis was a rare opportunity, which would never come again if spurned. The sermon was unpopular, and caused him some trouble even in his own congregation. THE GREAT TRIAL. 579 During the years after the war Mr. Beecher was busy with voice and pen, in the pulpit, on the lecture platform, and in the press. His reputation and in- fluence as a preacher were immense ; and Plymouth Church became the centre of what may properly be called a permanent revival of religion. Suddenly, in the midst of this busy, happy, and useful life, came the great trouble known as the Beecher-Tilton scandal, which, though bravely met and finally conquered, cast such a dreadful shadow over Mr. Beecher's life. THE liKECIIKK-TILTON TRIAL. " This most distressing episode in Mr. Beecher's life," says an account which appeared at the time of his death, "occurred when his fame and influence were at their zenith. At a time when the most cultured classes of the country ac- cepted him as their guide, when the first place as a preacher and an orator was accorded to him on all hands, and when his writings were eagerly read from one end of the land to the other, a formidable assault was made upon his reputa- tion. At first vague hints were circulated reflecting upon him ; then a direct charge appeared in print ; finally, in an action at law, brought by Theodore Tilton against Mr. Beecher, with a claim for jfi 100,000 damages, the whole case was disclosed, and for six months the morbid appetites of the sensual and the malice of scoffers at Christianity were gratified by the terrible accusation against the pastor of Plymouth Church. " Three times did Mr. Beecher meet his accusers, and three times the charge was investigated. First it was heard by a committee of the church, ap- pointed at Mr. Beecher's request, and the committee pronounced the pastor innocent. Afterward it was tried in court, when the jury disagreed ; and thirdly, by a council of Congregational ministers. Undoubttc'ly the scandal was a cause of reproach not only to Mr. Beecher, but to religion. That it would be so if it were made public, whatever the issue might be, Mr. Beecher and his friends had foreseen from the first, and, unhappily, in attempting to prevent its coming to trial, they prejudiced the case ; their efforts to keep it from the public were regarded as an admission of guilt. It was a noteworthy fact that Theodore Tilton, who brought the charge, was a protege of Mr. Beecher's, a man pos- sessing undoubted talent, a sphere for the exercise of which had been provided by Mr. Beecher." The unwavering fidelity of Plymouth Church to its pastor during this fierce ordeal, the love and sympathy of his wife, and the unfaltering allegiance of a host of friends in this country and in Europe, encouraged and supported him, and enabled him to continue his pastorate and public work. But the damage to the cause of religion was incalculable ; and nothing but the cheerful and steadfast faith which had become a part of his being could have enabled him to recover from this awful trial. 58o HENRY WARD BElECHER. F"rom among the latest utterances of Mr. Beecher in Plymouth Church, we take the following paragraph, which gives the impression that he was half aware that his end wa-.: not far off: — " I look back now upon nearly forty years' ministry here, and see what the fruit has been. It has not been as large and as good as it would have been if you had had a better fruiterer. Hut I am not unwilling to compare with others the inen and women that have grown up under my preaching, their develop- ment in nobleness, their cheer, their hopefulness, their courage, their kindness, their lovableness, and their self-denial, which ceases to be self-denial because they learn to love working for others. I think I am not apt to be proud, but I may thank God that I have the test before me in hundreds and in thousands that the word preached by me has been blessed, not simply to the hope of their final salvation, but to their present evolution into higher, statelier, more beauti- ful, attractive, winning souls. " 1 have never preached what I did not believe ; I have never asked m)^elf whether to preach a truth that I did believe would be popular or unpopular. I have never been afraid of man, though I have been afraid of God as the child is afraid of a father that he loves. The whole conception of life that I have had has been to serve my fellow-man, and when, in the day that men despised the poor oppressed negroes, that could not plead their own cause, I was more than willing, I was inexpressibly grateful, to be permitted to stand for them, and not to forsake them until they were clothed in the majesty of equal rights by the great revolution. I attempted all my life long to take the part of those who had no defender ; and I have done it. And in all matters in my own church I have steadily sought one thing — to reproduce, so far as I was able to reproduce, the lineaments of the Lord Jesus Christ in your hearts." HIS LAST n.WS. The dawn of the year 1887 found Mr. Beecher in the enjoyment of good health, and full of plans of work. He had addressed himself with new energy to the second part of his "Life of Jesus, the Christ," and was also engaged on his autobiography, which would have been of unspeakable value. But his sun was setting, though he knew it not. The golden bowl was soon to be shattered, the pitcher broken at the fountain, and the wheel at the cistern. The voice that had swayed tens of thousands, and inlluenced the history of the nation through two generations, was to be hushed in pathetic silence. He hatl often expressed the hope that he might be spared the agonies of a lingering illness. His hope was fully realized. On the evening of March 3, 1887, he retired to bed, and after an hour or two of restlessness, he fell into that dreamless sleep that knows no waking. He continued in this unconscious state till the morning of Tuesday, March Sth, when, with his family gathered 77//: LAST TRIIWTE. 581 around him, he passed away. A ray of sunlight, full and stron_L,^ (lashed into the chamber just as his last br(;ath was drawn. Calmly, and witli no struj^^i^de, the regular breathin ! Ink ^- ^ 1 H I^HhI ^\- i^ ^^^jgH Mp^^ ^^7"*:.!^ J2^^ '^^ A^^^ > TllnMAS nr, WITT TAIMAllE. RUSShLL II. CONWELL 5«7 RUSSELL H. CONWELL. PASTOR OF THE LARGEST CONGREGATION IN AMERICA. RUSSKI.I. II. CiiNWll.l , like Lyman Abbott aiul 1 )r. 'raliiia_L;c, is a very popular Uctiircr and preacher, as well as the pastor of a larj^c; coii- jrrcgation, now perhaps the largest in the United States. Born February 15, 1S43, at South \VorthinL,fton, Hamp- shire County, Massachus- etts, he was brou_<,dit up as a real New Eni^land country boy, workins;- on the farm, doinsi^ the chort's, and attend- in*;- an old fashioned district school. At sixteen he went to Wilbraham Academy, and in 1 86 1, with a brother, he entered Yale College. But it was the time of the civil war, and inspired with jiatri- otic fervor he left college and in 1862 enlisted in the Massachusetts 46th regi- ment, was made Captain, and later a staff officer in the Artillery. He was severely wounded while in Sherman's army, and before he fully recovered, the war had come to an end. He studied law, and in 1865 married and removed to Minnea|)olis, where he took up journalism, and established one or two newspapers. His health failing he gave up business, accepting the position of Emigration Commissioner for the State of Minnesota, and went to Germany, but soon resigned his position and attended lectures for a time at Leipsic. In 1870 he made the tour of the world as special correspondent of the New York Tribune, and the Boston Traveller. As a result of personal knowledge gained at Hong Kong, he published his first book, "Why and How the Chinese Emigrate." Returning to America he opened an office for practicing law in Boston and met with success. He lost most of his property during the financial crisis of 1873 and 1874, and began Rl'SSl.I.l. II. CONWI.I.I.. 588 RUSSELL H. CONMiLL. afresh. His n.ind had frcciucntly tiiniccl to th( oloj^ical subj<-cts. htadinj,' him to read much on rehj^Mous topics. l''eelinj,r that hi; was called to the ministry, he bej^an by speakin},^ to the sailors on the wharves, by entering; into various kinds of mission work, and by takinj^f a liible class at Tremont Temple, which, be^nn- ninjj; with four scholars, in a few months numl)eretl six hundred. He hesitated some time before ttnterinfj upon tnc work of the ministry, but it was not lonij before an opcninj,' prescMitt-d itself Heinj^^ consulted a-, a lawyer in rej^^ard to the sale of a deserted Maptist Meetinj^-house at Le.xiri^ton. Massachusetts, lie ailvis«'d the trustees to keep it. and hold service in it. and to their surprise offered himself as a preacher. The expi-riment was made : at the first service there were sixteen or seventeen present, at th(; x\v\\. iurvi. and at the third the house was crowded. He now was sure of two thin<,'s : first, that he had found his true callinJ,^ and second, that there must l)e a new place for worship. The trustees saiti they could not even pay for new windows in the old buildini^. Hut his mind was made up, and he chose a novel methoti of raising money. I'larly Monday mornin<,^ takini,^ an axe he himself began to tear down the old house. This stranj^^e i)roce(Hlin^r attracted the atti-ntion of passers by and called forth questions, with the result that subscriptions kept cominj^ in all day. Before the year was out a new meetiui^-house was ready for its energetic pastor. He attended lectures at the Newton Theological Seminary and was ordained in 1879. In 1882, he accepted a call to the Grace Baptist Church. Philadelphia, at a small salary, and with a smaller congregation than the church at Lexington. .In less than a year his congregation numbered 1 200. and a larger auditorium was seen to be a necessity. In iSqi the Temple was finished, one of the most complete church edifices anywhere. Its seating capacity is 4100. which can be increased by chairs to 4600. The plan and construction of the building show the place which the pastor believes a church building should occupy. It has the usual features of a large church, in addition to the main room, such as Sunday-school rooms and the Pastor's Bible-class rorjm. which together seat about 3000. But behind these are a dining-room seating 500. rooms for the Trustees, for the Young Men's and the Young Women's Christian Associations, cloak rooms, pantries, kitchens, etc., while in an annex are the boilers, engines, and electric plant. The church building is intended to be the centre of the religious activity of the congregation, the place from which every religious and philanthropic effort should begin. One of the most important outgrowths of this church is the Temple College, a place where working people, especially those who have received a very elementary education, can obtain instruction practically without cost to themseives. The institution is intended to supplement, not supplant the public schools. The extent to which this work has grown, is indicated by CHARL/iS If. rARKIIi'RST. 589 the fact that during the year endinj^ May, 1S94, in the day, afternoon, and eveninj^ departments th«* attendance agj^rej^ated 2000 pupils. Mr. Conwell is one of the most popular public lecturers in the country', llis receipts from his lectures have been very larj.je. of which it is said, about four-fifths have been used to assist the educational work of his church. CHARLES H. PARKHURST. THE CHAMPION OK MUNICIPAL REFORM. Few names have of late been niort- prominently brought before the notice of the people than that of Charles 11. I'arkhurst of \t;w York city, a reformer in the truest sense of the word. He was born in bramiiighani. Massachusetts, February 17, 1842. When he was about eleven years old the family moved to Clinton, it the same State. Here young I'arkhurst attended school, was clerk for a dme in a store, and prepared himsc.-lf for college. He entered Amherst in 1862 and was graduated in 1866. Hi- was Principal of the Amherst High .School for two years, and continued in the pro- fession of teaching for some time afterward ; but feeling that he was called to the ministry, he went to Germany, studying at Halle, l.eipsic, and Bonn. During this formative period of his life he was greatly inHuencetl by his mother, who helped him with his studies, having been a teacher herself Hut aside from home training, the most salient intluences of his life came from his fortunate association while at Amherst College with its late President, Julius H. .Seelye. It was on the recommendation of President Seelye that the Congregational Church at Leno.x, Massachusetts, engaged young Parkhurst as their pastor on his return from Europe. Indirectly, President .Seelye; was the means of bringing the future reformer to New York. As a preacher his style is not specially finished, but his discourses are epigrammatic, independent, practical and full of force. He is far from being what is known as a popular preacher. In the course of his parish work, he became much interested in young men, and was led to look into the opportunities which they had in the great city for rational enjoyment and recreation. He was mucii impressed in discovering how much vice alxjunded. and how great are the allurements in a large city to draw young men away from purity of life and manners. He found that within a very short distance of his own church there were haunts of the grossest vices, accom|)anied by manifold devices to attract and hold young men. In the course of further investigation he became satisfied that these places, though well known to the police, were left unharmed, or were connived at ; that of the numerous saloons, not a few were unlicensed, and that a large .Sunday trade was carried on in spite of the law. He had become a member of the New York Society 590 CHARLES H. PARKHURST. for the Prevention of Crime, and in 1 891. on the death of its President, Dr. Howard Crosby, he was chosen to succeed him. He made a point of his acceptance that the Society should devote itself mainly, not to the bringing of lawbreakers to justice, but that it should use all the influence and power it had, to make those who were bound to see that laws should be enforced, do their duty. In other words, that the Society should attack the police officers, and men who, in conniving at crime and infraction of the laws, were " the abettors and accessories of those crimes which are the result of the disposition to immo- rality, to gambling, and to drink," " We shall never suppress these crimes," he said, "until we suppress the influences which make it possible for them to exist." As a part of the campaign he preached a sermon Feb- ruary 14, 1892, in which he attacked the administration of the city with unsparing hand. During the next four weeks, through detectives and through personal visits. Dr. Parkhurst secured two hundred and eighty -four cases of gross violation of law, and on March 13th he preached his second sermon, in which he could say "I know." When summoned before the Grand Jury, his testimony was unimpeachable and had great effect, for the Jury in its charge boldly condemned the police. It is needless to say that Dr. Parkhurst's arraignment uicated a great sensation, for his sermons were reported and commented upon in every newspaper of the city. The individuals who were attacked at first smiled and paid little attention. Many who were his friends said he was righteous overmuch ; others said he was an alarmist ; others, that he sought notoriety ; others ridiculed him, or showed indignation at his methods ; some even said he was a public nuisance. Still he kept on CHARLES IT, rARKIlriiST. DWIGHT L. MOODY. 591 until by his charges and proofs he forced an investigation by the Legislature. The revelations made before the investigating committee abundantly con- firmed Dr. Parkhurst's allegations. Police officers in high positions were brought to trial and convicted and others tied. The community was shocked and disgusted by the revelations, and, as a result of the movement begun by the fearless reformer, the elections of November, 1894, completely over- threw the political ring in control of the city, which was now placed in charge of men pledged to reform, and to honest and faithful administration of the laws. It is not too much to say that had it not been for the able and untiring efforts of Dr. Parkhurst this revolution would not have taken place. He well deserves the triumph he has gained. P2very newspaper speaks of him with respect and no one dares to ignore him. It is a personal victory probably unequaled in this country, and the effect has not been limited to New York. Encouraged by his success, men elsewhere, who were hopeless of accomplishing anything in the direction of reform, have been nerved to greater efforts, and good citizens have been roused to do their part in supporting Municipal Reform, by their voice, their influence and their votes. DWIGHT L. MOODY. THE GREAT EVANGELIST. Am, of the remarkable men whose lives and work have been briefly con- sidered, are educated men. college bred, and further trained by travel, or by circumstances particularly favorable to the development of the intellectual faculties. They all, moreover, are ministers of the (Jospel, and in no small degree have used the vantage ground of the pulpit. We now come to a man who has had neither the advantages of college or university training, nor of any circumstances which can be held to be in any way specially tavorable to the development of power and influence. And yet, perhaps, no one of those described in this chapter is better known, or has had wider or more beneficial influence upon his fellowmen than the layman who still bears the simple name of Dwight L, Moody. He was born February 5, 1S37, at Northfield, Massa- chusetts, the si.xth child of his parents. When he was about four yc^ars old his father died, suddenly, leaving his widow scantily provided for. The little Dwight grew up, amid the beautiful surroundings of th(; Connecticut valley, living the hard life of a country boy whose family are in narrow circumstances. When he was somewhat jiast seventeen his school days came to an end, ami he started out to make his fortune. He went to Boston, where he was converted. In September, 1855, he went to Chicago, and secured a position as salesman in a boot and shoe store. Young Moody's rough and ready manners, his earnestness 592 DWIGHT L. MOODY. and untiring' energy were well suited to his new position, and he was very suc- cessful. He carried with him from Boston his desire for Christian activity, and after uniting himself with the Plymouth Congregational Church, one of the first things he did was to hire four pews in the church and keep them filled Sunday after Sunday with young men. Soon he felt he must have a Mission of his own. He found, before long, a place to his mind — an empty saloon, almost within call of about two hundred drinking places and gambling resorts. Young Moody had little education, and little experience, but he had earnestness, faith, and a longing desire to help others. The school greatly prospered, within a year the average attendance reaching six hundred and fifty. Though successful in his business, he came to be so full of his religious work that he gave up mercantile life altogether, in order that he might devote his whole time to the work of an evangelist. The old Northside Mission con- tinued to be his chief interest. The work grew, and in 1863 a building was erected, the cost of which was defrayed by money raised by Mr. Moody himself. In 1 87 1 at a convention in Indianapolis, Moody met with Ira D. Sankey, and was so struck with the power of his singing that as soon as he was intro- duced to him, after asking where he lived, and a few other questions, he said, " I want you." "What for?" "To help me in my work at Chicago." "I cannot leave my business." "You must. I have been looking for you for the last eight years. You must give up your business and come to Chicago to me." After due deliberation Sankey went, and then began that wonderful jnxrtaership in the work of evangelization ; and thus was formed that com- bination of names. Moody and Sankey, so familiar to hundreds of thousands. In 1872, the two friends visited the British Isles as evangelists. It took time for them to get fairly started, but after some weeks, meetings, the like of which had never been seen, were held all over the land. In London, the audi- ences numbered, in some instances, eighteen and twenty thousand, composed of all classes of the community. It was during this trip that the collection of hymns so well-known as the Moody and .Saakey's Gospel Hymns was compiled. lH)r the past twenty years and more Mr. Moody has continued to live the life of an evangelist, and has visited many cities and towns all over the I'nited States, he also has gone over into Canada, and again visited England. In 1886 he invited the Colleges of the United States and Canada to send delegates to a .Summer .School of College Students at Mt. Hermon, near Xorthficld. This and other conventions at Northfield have been attended by many hundreds, who have been addressed by Mr. Moody himself, and by distinguished and practiced speakers and workers from at home and abroad. At the time of the Columbian I'air he organized a system of religious meetings to be held in Chicago during the continuance of the exhibition. Hundreds of thousands thus came under the intluence of the great evangelist. WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, THE QREAT ANTI-SLAVBRY AOITATOR. HE long struggle over slavery in the United States devel- oped two characters v/hich were a curious contrast to each other, — Calhoun and Garrison ; the man who believed that slavery was divinely right, and who would sacrifice the Union to establish it, and the man who believed slavery eternally wrong, and who would sacrifice the Union to de- stroy it. Calhoun died ten years before the great war by which the long debate was at last ended ; but to Garrison it was given to see the final triumph of freedom. History records no more impressive scene than that which took place after the fall of Charleston, when Garrison stood beside the grave of the great advocate of slavery. There were the victor and the van- quished. In these two men were embodied the opposing moral forces whose conflict had brought about the great struggle. The cause to which Calhoun's life had been devoted was overthrown at the cost of untold blood and treasure, and the conqueror stood gazing upon the tomb which held his dust. William Lloyd Garrison was born in 1805, in Newburyport, Massachusetts. When he was only three years old, his father, who was a sailor, deserted his family, leaving his wife and two boys in great poverty. Lloyd learned the trade of printing, and when only twenty-one became editor of the Newburyport Free Press, in which the earliest productions of the poet Whittier were first pub- lished. He afterward editetl the Ahrtiona/ Philanthropist, of Boston, devoted to temperance and other reforms, and a paper at Bennington, Vermont. The real work of his life, however, began in 1829, when he joined Benjamin Lundy in publishing the Geniiis of Universal Emancipation, in Baltimore. Lundy w'as a gentle and mild-mannered Quaker, devoted to gradual emancipation and colonization. He had but little conception of the white heat which burned in Garrison's bosom, or of the conflagration which it would kindle in a country ruled by the slave power. The theory of gradual emancipation was contemptuously tolerated by the pro-slavery party, as it furnished a sort of safety-valve which kept agitation from reaching too high a pressure. When 595 596 WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. Garrison joined Lundy, it was aj^reed that each should advocate his own princi- ples, siininjr his initials to his articles. "Thus," says Goldwin Smith, "the Genius lad two voices, of which one was by far the louder and clearer." In liis salutatory. Garrison declared for immediate and unconditional eman- cipation. This declaration could not fail to arrest attention in a city like Balti- more, which was the centre of slave-traffic, and where slave auctions and the shipment of cari^oes of slaves were constantly going on. Every week the Genius had a column of slavery horrors, a large share of which occuried in Baltimore. One Sunday the two reformers were visited by a slave, whc had just been flogged with a cowhide ; his fault being that he had not loaded a wagon to suit the overseer. On his bleeding back they counted twenty-seven terrible gashes. Garrison noted that he frequently heard in passing houses the sound of the whip, and cries of anguish. Garrison's engagfement on the Genius was still recent when he got into trouble with a Mr. Todd, a merchant of his own town of Newburyport, who had allowed one of his ships to be freighted with slaves from Baltimore. Todd was denounced in a flaming editorial, for which Garrison was promptly sued. He was adjudged guilty of libel, and condemned to pay a fine of fifty dollars and costs, amounting in all to about one hundred dollars. Not being able to pay the fine, he was sent to jail. His imprisonment, however, did not depress or discourage him. He was allowed to receive visitors, and had the free range of the prison. His friends outside, among them John G. Whittier, were more troubled than he himself To their sympathetic letters he responded by con- trasting his brief and mild captivity with the cruel and life-long captivity of the slaves ; and he asked, if the oppression of one man e.xcited so much sympathy, how much greater ought to be the sympathy excited by the far worse oppression of millions. After forty-nine days' imprisonment, Whittier was successful in securing the aid of Arthur Tappan, a wealthy merchant of New York, who paid Garrison's fine, and he was set free. This episode brought the partnership of Garrison and Lundy to an end. Garrison went back to Massachusetts, and in 1830 began lecturing for the cause. But he soon had a chilling experience in the quarter where he might have expected warm sympathy. The churches of both Newburyport and Boston were closed against him ; if the pastor was willing to open the door, the trustees, more careful of financial interests, were not. At Boston it was left for a society of avowed infidels to give the Christian lecturer the use of a hall for a cause in which they had no interest beyond their loyalty to freedom of opinion, and in support of which he appealed to the gospel which they rejected. Garrison soon resolved to publish a paper of his own in support of imme- diate abolition, — a paper which should have but one voice, and that clear and unmistakable. His partnership with Lundy had convinced him that no gentle THE POWER OF SLAVERY. 597 and gradual measures would accomplish anything. Slavery was at the height of its power. Instead of gradual decay and extinction, which th(! framers of the constitution had antici- pated, it had begun to dream of endless life and unlimited A SI.AVK IK-NT. extension. The people idolized the I'nion, which they Ijelieved to be the source of security, wealth, and power, and any threat of secession by the slave- holders was enough to bring to their knees those who regarded the Union as essential. On .Saturday, Janu- 598 WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. ary ist, 1831, appeared in Boston the first number of the Liberator. It was a small four-page paper, with four columns to the page, and was to be issued weekly Garrison had not a dollar of capital. The paper was printed at first with borrowed type. His only helper was his old friend, Isaac Knapp, who had become his partner in the enterprise. The two did all the work of every kind. In the first issue they declared their determination to continue the paper as long as they had bread and water to live on. They did in fact live on bread and milk, with a little fruit and cakes bought in small shops near by. Emancipation, immediate, unconditional, and without compensation, was the doctrine which the Liberator, as soon as it got fairly under way, began to preach. The utter wrongfulness and sinfulness of slavery was the basis of the movement, and in adopting it Garrison had grasped the certain assurance of ultimate victory. The salutatory of the Liberator showed that its editor meant to speak out without restraint. " I will be as harsh as truth and as uncompromising as justice. On this subject I do not wish to think or speak or write with modera- tion. No ! No 1 Tell a man whose house is on fire to give a moderate alarm ; tell him to moderately rescue his wife from the hands of the ravisher ; tell the mother to gradually extricate her babe from the fire into which it has fallen — but urge me not to use moderation in a cause like the present. I am in earnest — I will not equivocate — I will not excuse — I will not retreat a single inch — and I will be heard !" The Liberator, in spite of the smallness of its circulation, soon told. The South was profoundly moved. The slaves, indeed, could not read ; but the pic- torial heading, which represented an auction at which " slaves, horses, and other cattle " were being offered for sale, and a whipping-post, at which a slave was being flogged, spoke only too plainly. In the background was the Capitol at Washington, with a flag inscribed " Liberty " floating over the dome. Vigilance associations took Garrison in hand. First came bloodthirsty editorials ; then threats of lynching ; then attempts to prevent by law the circulation of the Liberator at the South. The grand jury of North Carolina indicted Garrison for the circulation of "a paper of seditious tendency," the penalty for which was whipping and imprisonment for the first offense, and death for the second. The Assembly of Georgia offered a reward of five thousand dollars to any one who, under the laws of that State, should arrest the editor, bring him to trial, and prosecute him to conviction. In 1833 Garrison was sent to England by the Anti-Slavery Society. The act abolishing slavery in the West Indies was then before Parliament, and there was great public interest in the subject. Garrison was heartily received, and among other attentions paid him, was invited to breakfast by Buxton. When he entered, his host, instead of taking his hand at once, scanned him with a look of rilE ANII-SI.A V/iR 1 ' SOCIErV. 599 surprise, and inquired with an accent of doiiljt whether he had the pleasure of addressing Mr. Garrison, of Boston. Being told that he had, he liftetl up his hands and exclaimed, " Why, my dear sir, I thought you were a black man ! and I have consecjuently invited this company of ladies and gentlemen to be present to welcome Mr. Garrison, the black advocate of emancipation from the United States of America." Garrison took this as a high compliment, since it implied a belief that no white American would plead as he had done for the slave. On Garrison's return he was received as a traducer of his country, because of his utterances in b^ngland. A meeting to organize an Anti-Slavery Society in New York, for whicn he chanced to come in, was mobbc:d, and the Abolition- ists driven from the hall. A threatening mob beset the Liberator office at Bos- ton, But Garrison, in face of the storm, nailed his colors to the mast. " I speak the truth, painful, humiliating, and terrible as it is ; and because I am bold and faithful to do so, am I to be branded as the calumniator and enemy of my country? Sir, it is because my affection for her is intense and paramount to all selfish considerations that I do not parley with her crimes. I know that she can neither be truly hap|)y nor prosperous while she continues to manacle and brutalize every sixth child born on her soil. Lying lips are speaking ' Peace, peace ' to her, but she shall not see peace until the tears of her repentance shall have washed away every stain of blood from her escutcheon." In October, 1833, "^ ^"^ ^^"^"^ issued for a convention to form the American Anti-Slavery Society. The meeting-place was in Philadelphia, to which in the beginning of December the Abolitionists made their way, though many had to meet the difficulties of a slender purse. On the steamboat from New York Garrison got into conversation with a fellow-passenger on the subject of slavery. The stranger was most favorably impressed by Garrison's exposition, and said that if all Abolitionists were as fair and reasonable as he there would be less opposition to the enterprise. " But, sir, depend upon it, that hare-brained, reckless fanatic. Garrison, will damage if he does not shipwreck any cause." "Allow me, sir," said a fellow-delegate, the Rev. S. J. May, "to introduce you to Mr. Garrison." THE ERA OF MOI? LAW. In 1834, George Thompson, a famous English anti-slavery lecturer, with whom Garrison had formed an alliance in England, was brought over to the United States to assist in the crusade. Thompson was a most eloquent man, and had done good service to the cause in his own country. The arrival of the "British emissary," and his appearance on the anti-slavery platform in New Englafid. where he did not fail to show his power, inflamed the popular wrath to fury. The result was a riot, got up, not by a rabble, but by " men of property and standing," in Boston, who were determined " to put a stop to the impudent, bullying conduct of the foreign vagrant, Thompson, and his associates in mis- Goo WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. chief!" Thompson was expected to speak at a meeting of the Ladies' Anti- Slavery Society. I'ortunately he was not there ; iiad he fallen into the hands of the mob, it is certain he would have been tarred and feathered, and not unlikely that he would have been lynched. Missing their intended victim, the mob laid violent hands on Garrison, tore his clothes off his back, and dragged him through the streets with a rope round his body. He was rescued from his enemies by Mayor Lyman, who saw no other way to place him in safety than to send him to prison, to which he was accordingly consigned, the crowd surging fiercely round the flying carriage. In 1845 ^^^ triumph of slavery seemed complete. The annexation of Texas, as fresh slave territory, was accomplished, and a war of conquest against Mexico was soon begun. In 1847, Garrison, accompanied by Frederick Doug- lass, the famous negro orator, traveled in the West. When seated in the cars, Douglass was ordered by a white man, who had a lady with him, to "get out of that seat." He quietly replied that he would give up the seat if asked in a civil manner ; where- upon the white man seized him, dragged him violently out of the seat, and when Douglass pro- tested, threatened to knock his teeth down his throat. At Har- risburg, the mob, having heard that a " nigger " was to lecture, greeted them with brickbats, fire- crackers, and rotten eggs. Doug, lass was not allowed to sit at the tables of the hotels, and for two days hardly tasted food. The clergy were generally hostile. Sometimes places for meetings could hardly be found ; but at other places great crowds attended, and listened with respect and sympathy. The next episode in Garrison's life was pleasant. George Thompson, now an M. P.. ventured over again from England. He was charged to present a testimonial to Garrison, in the shape of a gold watch, commemorating the twenty years of the Liberator s life. In acknowledgment. Garrison said : — "Mr. President, if this were a rotten *igg'' (holding up the watch) "era ZACKARY TAYLOR, PRESIDENT IN f849-'50. SLAl'ERV AND THE WAR. 6oi brickbat, I should know how to receive it." (Lauj^rhinjjf and cheers.) "If these cheers were the yells of a frantic mob seekinj^^ my life, I shoiiKl know precisely how to behave. Hut the presentation of this valuable gift is as unexpected by me as wouKl be the falling of the stars from the heav(;ns ; and I feel iiulescribably small before you in accepting it. A gold watch! \\ hy, I have been compensated in this cause a million times over ! In the darkest hour, in the greatest peril, J have felt just at that moment that it was everything to be in such a cause." In 1854 ^'^^ slavery question became the foremost political issue. I'rom thenceforth no agitation was needed to keep it before the country ; and as ( jarrison no longer stood alone in denouncing slavery, his position became more tolerabh,'. When Linccjln was elected, and the secession movement began, (iarrison welcomed the dissolution of the Union, which he had called "a cov- enant with death and an agreement with hell," in the language of Scripture, because the Constitution recogniz(;d and protected slavery. "Now, then," said Ciarrison, "let there be a convention of the I'ree .States called to organize an indeixMident government on free and just principles ; let the South take the public property on wh'ch it has laid piratical hands, let it take even the capital if it will, and depart in peace to organize its own confederation of violence and tyranny." But he had scarcely penned the words when all thought of peaceful separation was swept away by the torrent of public wrath evoked by the firing on Fort Sumter. Whatever the professions of the Government might be, the war was practi- cally a war against slavery. While it was a war for the Union only. Garrison stood aloof; nor till it manifestly became a war against slavery was his sympathy declared. Even then he seemed to feel that his position needed explanation ; and he humorously said that when he called the Union "a covenant with death and an agreement with hell," he had not foreseen that death antl hell would secede. After emancipation he heartily supported President Lincoln. He was a conspicuous figure on that memorable occasion in Boston when Andrew, the great "war governor" of Massachusetts, put the colors into the hands of Colonel Shaw, the devoted young commander of the first negro regiment, who fell while leading his regiment in the assault on P'"ort Wagner. After the close of the war, when the thirteendi amendment, abolishing slavery, was passed, he felt that the long contest was at an end. He resolved to cease the publication of the Liberator, and retire to private life, " Most happy am I," he said, " to be no longer in confiict with the mass of my fellow-countrymen on the subject of slavery. For no man of any refinement or sensibility can be indifierent to the approbation of his fellow-men, if it be rightly earned." Most touching and inspiring was the strain of praise and thanksgiving with which he concluded the Liberator : — " Rejoice, and give praise and glory to God, ye who have so long and 35 6o2 WILLIAM LLOYD GA/iKISOX 00 iiiitirin.i(ly participated in all tin: trials and vicissitudes of that mit,'hty conflict ! 1 lavinj^f sown in tears, now reap in joy. I lail, redeemed, rei^enerated America ! Hail. North and Scjiith, I'Last and West! lliiil, the cause of peace, of liberty, of rij,diteousness. thus min;htily stren,irthen(!d and sijjnally jilorified ! . , . Hail, ye ransomed millions, no more to he chained, scourj^'ed. mutilated, bouj^ht and sold in the market, robbed of all rights, hunted as partridj,'es upon the moun- tains, in ycnir llij^dit to obtain tleliverance from the house of lx»ndaj,'e. brandetl and scorned as a connecting; link bt-twcen the human race and the brute creation ! Hail, all nations, tribes, kindreds, and peoples, 'made of one blood,' interested in a common redemption, heirs of the same immortal destiny ! Hail, an,t,fels in glory and spirits of the just made perfect, and time your harps anew, sin_t,nn,ir, 'Great and marvelous are thy works, Lord God Almi.i,'hty ! just and true are thy ways, thou Kin(,r of Saints !". . . The eveninjr of Garrison's life was as peaceful as its prime had been stormy. He was a fre(iuent contril)utor to periodicals, and he took a keen interest in political affairs, especially in all measures affecting the black race. His work had won for him many devoted friends, both in America and England, in whose society his leisure was happily spent. He died in New York on May 24, 1S79, and was buried in Boston. THE STORY OF AMERICAN SLAVERY. THE history of the negro in America is, in brief, the record of slavery agitation, political struggle, civil war, emancipation, and gradual growth into citizenship. When, over two hundred and seventy years ago — it is in doubt whether the correct date is 1 619 or 1620 — a few wretched negroes, some say fourteen some say twenty, were bartered for provisions by the crew of a Dutch man-of-war, then lying off the Virginia coast, it would have seemed incredible that in 1S90 the negro population of the Southern States alone should almost reach a total of seven million souls. The peculiarity of the form of slaver)-, begun almost by chance it seemed, in that act of barter in the feeble little colony of Virginia, was that it was based on the claim of race inferiority. African negroes had, indeed, been sold into slavery among many nations for perhaps three thousand years ; but in its earlier periods slavery was rather the outcome of war than the deliberate subject of trade, and white captives no less* than black were ruthlessly thrown into servitude. It has been estimated that in historical times some forty million Africans have been enslaved. The discovery and colonization of America gave an immense stimulus to the .African slave trade. The Spaniards found the Indian an intract- able slave, and for the arduous labors of colonization soon began to make use of negro slaves, importing them in great numbers and declaring that one negro was worth, as a human beast of burden, four Indians. Soon the English adventurers took up the traffic. It is to Sir John Hawkins, the ardent dis- coverer, that the English-speaking peoples owe their participation in the slave trade. He has put it on record as the result of one of his famous voyages, that he found "that negroes were very good merchandise in Hispaniola and might easily be had on the coast of Guinea." For his early adventures of this kind he was roundly taken to tysk by Queen Elizabeth. But tradition says that he boldly faced her with argument, and ended by convincing the Virgin Queen that the slave trade was noi merely a lucrative but a philanthropic undertaking. 603 6()4 THE STORY OF AM ERIC AX SLAVERY. Certain it is that she acquiesced in future slave tracling, while her successors, Charles II and James II, chartered four s'ave trading'- companies and received a share in their profits. It is noteworthy that both Great Britain and the United States recoirnized the horrors of the slave trade as ret^ards the seizincr and transportation from Africa of the unhappy ney;roes, lon^^r before they coald brino^ themselves to deal with the problem of slavery as a domestic institution. Of those horrors nothing can be said in exa'ji'geration. They exist to-day in the interior of Africa, in no less terrible form than a hundred years ag^o ; and the year 1 89 1 has seen the Great Powers combining in the attempt to eradicate an evil of enormous and growing proportions. The peculiar atrocities attending the expor- tation of slaves from Africa to other countries have, however, happily become a thing of the past. What those atrocities were even in our day may be judged from one of many accounts given by a no means squeamish or over sensitive sailor, Admiral Hobart. He thus describes the appearance of a slaver just captured by a British ship : "There were four hundred and sixty Africans on board, and what a sight it was ! The schooner had been eighty-five days at sea. They were short of water and provisions ; three distinct diseases — namely, small-pox, ophthalmia, and diarrhtea in its worst form — had broken out, while coming across, among the poor, doomed wretches. On opening the hold we saw a mass of arms, legs, and bodies, all crushed together. Many of the bodies to whom these limbs belonged were dead or dying. In fact, when we had made some sort of clearance among them we found in that fearful hold eleven bodies lying among the living freight. Water ! Water ! was the cry. Many of them as soon as free jumped into the sea. partly from the delirious state they were in, partly because they had been told that if taken by the English they would be tortured and eaten." The institution of slavery, introduced as we have seen into Virginia, grew at first very slowly. Twenty-five years after the first slaves were landed the negro population of the colony was only three hundred. But the conditions of agriculture and of climate were such, that once slavery obtained a fair start, it spread with continually increasing rapidity. We find the Colonial Assembly passing one after another a series of laws defining the condition of the negro slave more and more clearly, and more and more pitilessly. Thus, a distinction was soon made between them and Indians held in servitude. It was enacted, "that all servants not being Christians imported into this colony by shipping, shall be slaves for their lives ; but what shall come by land shall serve, if boyes or girles until thirty years of age, if men or women twelve years and no longer." And before the end of the century a long series of laws so encompassed the negro with limitations and prohibitions, that he almost ceased to have any criminal or civil rights and became a mere personal chattel. In some of the Northern colonies slavery seemed to take root as readily BHGIXX/XC OF THE SLAVE TRAFFIC. 60; and to flourish as rapidly as in the South. It was only after a considerable time that social and commercial conditions arose which led to its y^radual abandon- ment. In New York a mild type; of negro slavery was introduced by the Dutch- The relation of master and slav(-' seems in the period of the Dutch rul(^ to have been free from great severity or cruelty. .After the seizure of the government by the luijji-lish, however, the institution was officially recognized ami even encouragcul. The slave trade grew in magnitude : and h(M'e again we find a series of oppres- dding the meet- ing of negroes together, laying down penalties for concealing sla\-es, and th(' like. In the early years of tiie eighteenth century fears of insurrection became prevalent, and these fears culminated in 1741 in the episode of the so-called Negro I'Kjt. \'ery briefly stated, this plot grew out of a succession of fires supposed to have been the work of negro incendiaries. The most astonishing contradictions ami self-inculpations 6o6 THE STOR V OF AMERICAN SLA VER V. are to be found in the involved mass of testimony taken at the different trials. It is certain that the perjury and incoherent accusations of these trials can only be equaled by those of the alleged witches at Salem, or of the famous Popish plot of Titus Oates. The result is summed up in the bare statement that in three months one hundred and fifty ne^jroes were imprisoned, of ivhom fourteen were burned at the stake, eij^diteen hanged, and seventy-one •were transported. Another result was the passing of even more stringent legislation, curtailing the rights and defining the legal status of the slave. When the Revolution broke out there were not less than fifteen thousand slaves in New York, a number greatly in excess of that held by any other Northern colony. Massachusetts, the home in later days of so many of the most eloquent abolition agitators, was from the very first, until after the war with Great Britain was well under way, a stronghold of slavery. The records of 1633 tell of the fright of Indians who saw a " Blackamoor " in a tree top whom they took for the devil in person, but who turned out to be an escaped slave. A few years later the authorities of the colony officially recognized the institution. It is true that in 1645 the general court of Massachusetts ordered certain kidnapped negroes to be returned to their native country, but this was not because they were slaves but because their holders had stolen them away from other masters. Despite specious arguments to the contrary, it is certain that, to quote Chief Justice Parsons, " Slavery was introduced into Massachusetts soon after its first settlement, and was tolerated until the ratification of the present constitution in 1780." The curious may find in ancient Boston newspapers no lack of such advertisements as that, in 1728, of the sale of "two very likely negro girls" and of " A likely negro woman of about nineteen years and a child about seven months of age, to be sold together or apart." A Tory writer before the out- break of the Revolution, sneers at the Bostonians for their talk about freedom when they possessed two thousand negro slaves. Even Peter Faneuil, who built the famous " Cradle of Liberty," was himself, at that very time, actively eno-aged in the slave trade. There is some truth in the once common taunt of the pro-slavery orators that the North imported sla\'es, the South only bought them. Certainly there was no more active centre of the slave trade than Bris- tol Bay, whence cargoes of rum and iron goods were sent to the African coast and exchanged for human cargoes. These slaves were, however, usually taken, not to Massachusetts, but to the West Indies or to Virginia. One curious out- come of slavery in Massachusetts was that from the gross superstition of a negro slave, Tituba, first s|jrang the hideous delusions of the Salem witchcraft trials. The negro, it may be here noted, played a not insignificant part in Massachusetts Revolutionary annals. Of negro blood was Crispus Attucks, one of the "martyrs" of the Boston riot; it was a negro whose shot killed the EXECUTING NI;(;koi;s in new YORK Co8 THE STOR V OF AMERICAN SLA VER ) \ British General Pitcairn at Bunker Hill ; and it was a negro also who planned the attack on Percy's supply train. As with New York and Massachusetts, so with the other colonies. Either slavery was introduced by greedy speculators from abroad or it spread easily from adjoining colonies. In 1776 the slave population of the thirteen colonies was almost exactly half a million, nine-tenths of whom were to be found in the Southern States. In the War of the Revolution the question of arming the negroes raised bitter opposition. In the end a comparatively few were enrolled, and it is admitted that they served faithfully and with courage. Rhode Island even formed a regiment of blacks, and at the siege of Newport and afterwards at Point's Bridge, New York, this body of soldiers fought not only without reproach but with positive heroism. With the debates preceding the adoption of the present Constitution of the United States the political problem of slavery as a national question began. Under the colonial system the responsibility for the traffic might be charged, with some justice, to the mother country. But from the day when the Declaration of Independence asserted " That all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights ; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," the peoples of the new, self-governing States could not but have seen that with them lay the responsibility. There is ample evidence that the fixing of the popular mind on liberty as an ideal bore results Immediately in arousing anti-slavery sentiment. Such sentiment existed in the South as well as in the North. Even North Carolina in 1 786 declared the slave trade of "evil consequences and highly impolitic." All the Northern States abolished slavery, beginning with Y^ermont, in 1777 and ending with New Jersey in 1804. It should be added, however, th^t many of the Northern slaves were not freed, but sold to the South. As we have already intimated, also, the agricultural and commercial conditions in the North were such as to make slave labor less and less profitable, while in the South the social order of things, agricultural conditions, and the climate, were gradually making it seemingly indispensable. When the Constitutional debates began the trend of opinion seemed strongly against slavery. Many delegates thought that the evil would die out of itself One thought the abolition of slavery already rapidly going on and soon to be completed. Another asserted that "slavery in time will not be a speck in our country." Mr. Jefferson, on the other hand, in view of the retention of slavery, declared roundly that he trembled for his country when he remem- bered that God was just. And John Adams urged again and again that " every measure of prudence ought to be assumed for the eventual total extirpation of slavery from the United States." The obstinate States in the convention were South Carolina and Georgia. Their delegates declared that their States SLAVERY ESTABLISHED LV THE SOUTH. 609 would absolutely refuse ratification to the Constitution unless slaver)- were recognized. The compromise sections finally agreed upon avoided the use of the words slave and slavery but clearly recognized the institution and even gave the slave States the advantage of sending representatives to Congress on a basis of population determined by adding to the whole number of free persons, "three-fifths of all other persons." The other persons thus referred to were, it is needless to add, negro slaves. The entire dealing with the question of slavery, at the framing of the Con- stitution, was a series of compromises. This is seen again in the postponement of forbidding the slave trade from abroad. Some of the Southern States had absolutely declined to listen to any proposition which would restrict their freedom of action in this matter, and they were yielded to so far that Congress was forbidden to make the traffic unlawful before the year 1808. As that time ap- proached, President Jefferson urged Congress to withdraw^ the country from all " further participation in those violations of human rights which have so long been continued on the unoffending inhabitants of Africa." Such an act was at once adopted, and by it heavy fines were imposed on all persons fitting out vessels for the slave trade and also upon all actually engaged in the trade, while vessels so employed became absolutely forfeited. Twelve years later another act was passed declaring the importation of slaves to be actual piracy. This latter law, however, was of little practical value, as it was not until 1861 that a conviction was obtained under it. Then, at last, when the whole slave question was aljout to be settled forever, a ship-master was convicted and hanged for piracy in New York for the crime of being engaged in the slave trade. In despite of all laws, however, the trade in slaves was continued secretly, and the profits were so enormous that the risks did not prevent continual attempts to smuggle slaves into the territory of the United States. The first quarter of a century of our history, after the adoption of the Con- stitution, was marked by comparative quietude in regard to the future of slavery. In the North, as we have seen, the institution died a natural death, but there was no disposition evinced in the Northern States to interfere with it in the South. The first great battle took place in 1820 over the so-called Missouri Compromise. Now, for the first time, the country was divided, sectionally and in a strictly political way, upon issues which involved the future policy of the United States as to the extension or restriction of slave territory. State after State had been admitted into the Union, but there had been an alternation of slave and free States, so that the political balance was not disturbed. Thus, Virginia was balanced by Kentucky, Tennessee by Ohio, Louisiana by Indiana, and Mississippi by Illinois. The last State admitted had been Alabama, of course as a slaveholding State. Now it was proposed to admit Missouri, and, to still maintain the equality of political power, it was contended that slavery should be 6 1 o THE STOR V OF AMERICAN SLA VER V. prohibited within her borders. Hut the slave power had by this time acquired great strength, and was deeply impressed with the necessity of establishing itself in the vast territory west of the Mississippi. The Southern States would not tolerate for a moment the proposed prohibition of slavery in the new State of Missouri. On the other hand, the Middle and Eastern States were beginning to be aroused to the danger threatening public peace if slavery were to be allowed indefinite extension. They had believed that the Ordinance of 1787, adopted simultaneously with the Constitution, and which forbade slavery to be established in the territory northwest of the Ohio, had settled this question definitely. A fierce debate was waged through two sessions of Congress, and in the end it was agreed to withdraw the prohibition of slavery in Missouri, but absolutely prohibit it forever in all the territory lying north of 36° 30' latitude. This was a compromise, satisfactory only because it seemed to dispose of the question of slavery in the territories once and forever. It was carried mainly by the great personal influence of Henry Clay. It did, indeed, dispose of slavery as a matter of national legislative discussion for thirty years. But this interval was distinctively the period of agitation. Anti-slavery sentiment of a mild type had long existed. The Quakers had, since Revolu- tionary times held anti-slavery doctrines, had released their own servants from bondage, and had disfellowshiped members who refused to concur in the sacri- fice. The very last public act of Benjamin Franklin was the framing of a memo- rial to Congress deprecating the existence of slavery in a free country. In New York the Manumission Society had been founded in i 785, with John Jay and Alexander Hamilton, in turn, as its presidents. But all the writing and speak- ing was directed against slavery as an institution and in a general way, and w'.h no tone of aggression. Gradual emancipation or colonization were the only remedies suggested. It was with the founding of the "Liberator" by William Lloyd Garrison, in 1831, that the era of aggressive abolitionism began. Garri- son and his society maintained that slavery was a sin against God and man ; that immediate emancipation was a duty ; that slave owners had no claim to compen- sation ; that all laws upholding slavery were, before God, null and void. Garri son exclaimed : " I am in earnest. I will not equivocate — I will not excuse — I will not retreat a single inch. And I will be heard." His paper bore conspicu- ously the motto " No union with slaveholders." The Abolitionists were, in numbers, a feeble band ; as a party they never acquired strength, nor were their tenets adopted strictly by any political party ; but they served the purpose of arousing the conscience of the nation. They were abused, vilified, mobbed, all but killed. Garrison was dragged through the streets of Boston with a rope around his neck — through those very streets which, in 1854, had their shops closed and hung in black, with flags Union down and a huge coffin suspended in mid-air, on the day when the fugitive slave, Anthony Burns, was marched through AGITATION AND AGITATORS. fir them on his way back to his master, under a guard of nearly two thousand men. Mr. Garrison's society soon took the ground that the union of States with slavery retained was "an agreement with hell and a covenant with death," and openly advocated secession of the non-slaveholding States. On this issue the Abolidonists split into two branches, and those who threw off Garrison's lead maintained that there was power enough under the Constitution to do away with slavery. To the fierce invective and constant agitation of Garrison were, in time, added the splendid oratory of Wendell Phillips, the economic arguments of Horace Greeley, the wise statesmanship of Charles Sumner, the fervid writ- A CHITON I'lELl) IN GEORGIA. ings of Channing and Emerson, and the noble poetry of Whittier. All these and others, in varied ways and from different points of view, joined in educating the public opinion of the North to see that the permanent existence of slavery was incompatible with that of a free Republic. In the South, meanwhile, the institution was intrenching itself more and more firmly. The invention of the cotton-gin and the beginning of the reign of Cotton as King made the great plantation system a seeming commercial neces- sity. From the deprecatory and half apologetic utterances of early Southern statesmen we come to Mr. Calhoun's declaration that slavery " now preserves 1 2 THE STOR Y OF AMERICAN SLA VER V. in quiet and security more than six and a half milhon human beings, and that it could not be destroyed without destroying the peace and prosperity of nearly half the States in the Union." The Abolitionists were regarded in the South with the bitterest hatred. Attempts were even made to compel the Northern States to silence the anti-slavery orators, to prohibit the circulation through the mail of anti-slavery speeches, and to refuse a hearing in Congress to anti-slavery petitions. The influence of the South was still dominant in the North. Though the feeling against slavery spread, there co-existed with it the belief that an open (piarrel with the South meant commercial ruin ; and the anti-slavery senti- ment was also neutralized by the nobler feeling that the Union must be pre- served at all hazards, and that there was no constitutional mode of interfering with the slave system. The annexation of Texas was a distinct gain to the slave power, and the Mexican war was undertaken, said John Ouincy Adams, in order that " the slaveholding power in the Government shall be secured and riveted." The actual condition of the negro o\'cr whom such a strife was being waged differed materially in different parts of the South, and under masters of different character, in the same locality. It had its side of cruelty, oppression, and atrocity ; it had also its side of kindness on the part of master and of devotion on the part of slave. Its dark side has been made familiar to readers by such books as " Uncle Tom's Cabin," as Dickens' " American Notes," and as Edmund Kirk's "Among the Pines ;" its brighter side has been charmingly depicted in the stories of Thomas Nelson Page, of Joel Chandler Harris, and of Harry Edwards. On the great cotton plantations of Mississippi and Alabama the slave was often overtaxed and harshly treated ; in the domestic life of Virginia, on the other hand, he was as a rule most kindly used, and often a relation of deep affection sprang up between him and his master. Of insurrections, such as those not uncommon in the West Indies, only one of any extent was ever planned in our slave territory — that of Nat Turner, in Southampton County, Virginia — and that was instantly suppressed. With this state of public feeling North and South, it was with increased bitterness and increased sectionalism that the subject of slavery in new States was again debated in the Congress of 1850. The Liberty Party, which held that slavery might be abolished under the Constitution, had been merged in the Pree Soil Party, whose cardinal principle was, "To secure free soil to a free people " without interfering with slavery in existing States, but insisting on its exclusion from territory so far free. The proposed admission of California was not affected by the Missouri Compromise. Its status as a future free or slave State was the turning point of the famous debates in the Senate of 1850, in which Webster, Calhoun, Douglas and Seward won fame — debates which have never been equaled in our history in eloquence and acerbity. It was in the THE FUGITIVE SLAVE LAW. 6r,^ course of these debates that Mr. Seward, while denying!; that the Constitution recognized property in man, struck out his famous dictum, "There is a higher law than the Constitution." The end reached was a compromise which allowed California to settle for itself the question of slavery, forbade the slave trade in the District of Columbia, but enacted a strict fugitive slave law. To the Abolitionists this fugitive slave law, sustained in its most e.\treme measures by the courts in the famous — or as they called it, infamous — Dred Scott case, was as fuel to fire. They defied it in every possible way. The Underground Rail- way was the outcome of this defiance. By it a chain of secret stations was A NEUKIJ V1LLAc;E IN ALAHAMA. established, from one to the other of which the slave was guided at night until at last he reached the Canada border. The most used of these routes in the East was from Baltimore to New York, thence north through New England ; that most employed in the West was from Cincinnati to Detroit. It has been estimated that not fewer than thirty thousand slaves were thus assisted to freedom. Soon the struggle was changed to another part of the Western territory, now beginning to grow so rapidly as to demand the forming of new States. The Kansas-Nebraska Bill introduced by Douglas was in effect the repeal of the 6 1 4 THE STOR V OF AMUR/CAN SLA VER Y. Missouri Compromise in that it left the question as to whether slavery should be carried into the new territories to the decision of the settlers themselves. As a consequence immijTration was directed l^y both the anti-slavery and the pro- slavery parties to Kansas, each determined on obtaininij^ a majority to control the form of the proposed State Constitution. Then bet^an a series of acts of violence which almost amounted to civil war. " Hleedintj Kansas" became a phrase in almost every one's mouth. Border ruffians swaj^gered at the polls and attempted to drive out the assisted emigrants sent to Kansas by the Abolition societies. The result of the election of the Legislature on its face made Kansas a slave State, but a great part of the people refused to accept this result ; and a convention was held at Topeka which resolved that Kansas should be free even if the laws formed by the Legislature should have to be " resisted to a bloody issue." Prominent among the armed supporters of free State ideas in Kansas was Captain John Brown, a man whose watchword was at all times Action. "Talk," he said, "is a national institution ; but it does no good for the slave." He believed that slavery could only be coped with by armed force. His theory was that the way to make free men of slaves was for the slaves them.selves to resist any attempt to coerce them by their masters. He was undoubtedly a fanatic in that he did not stop to measure probabilities or to take account of the written law. His attempt at Harper's Ferry was without reasonable hope, and as the intended beginning of a great military movement was a ridiculous fiasco. But there was that about the man that none could call ridiculous. Rash and unreasoning as his action seemed, he was yet, even by his enemies, recognized as a man of unswerving conscience, of high ideals, of deep belief in the brother- hood of mankind. His offense against law and peace was cheerfully paid for by his death and that of others near and dear to him. Almost no one at that day could be found to applaud his plot, but the incident had an effect on the minds of the people altogether out of proportion to its intrinsic character. More and more as time went on he became recognized as a pro-martyr of a cause which could be achieved only by the most complete self-sacrifice of individuals Events of vast importance to the future of the negro in America now hurried fast upon each other's footsteps — the final settlement of the Kansas dispute by its becoming a free State ; the forming and rapid growth of the Republican party ; the division of the Democratic party into Northern and Southern factions ; the election of Abraham Lincoln ; the secession of South Carolina,- and, finally, the greatest civil war the world has known. Though that war would never have been waged were it not for the negro, and though his fate was inevitably involved in its result, it must be remembered that it was not undertaken on his account. Before the struggle began Mr. Lincoln said : "Jf //'./A- AND HOW IT /iMANCIPATED THE SLAVE. 615 there be those who would not save the L'nion unless they could at the same time save slavery, I do not aj^^ree with them, if there he those who would not save the Union unless they could at th(.' same time destroy slavery. I do not a^ree with them. My paramount object is to save the L'nion, and not either to destroy or to save slavery." And the Northern press emi)hasized over and over aorain the fact that this was "a white man's war." But the loj^ic of events is ine.xorable. It seems amazinji^ now that L'nion y^enerals should have been puzzled as to the question whether they ought in duty to return runaway slaves to their masters. General Butler settled the controversy by t)ne hai^py phrase when he called the fugitives "contraband of war." Soon it was deemed right to use these contrabands, to employ the new-coined word, as the South was using the negroes still in bondage, to aid in the non-fighting work of the army — on fortification, team driving, cooking, and so on. From this it was but a step, though a step not taken without much perturbation, to employ them as soldiers. At \'icksburg, at Fort Pillow, and in many another battle, the negro showed beyond dispute that he could fight for his liberty. No fiercer or braver charge was made in the war than that upon the parapet of Fort Wagner by Colonel Shaw's gallant colored regiment, the Massachusetts Fifty-fourth. In a thousand ways the negro figures in the history of the war. In its 6i6 THE STOR Y OF AMERICAN SLA I ERY. literature he everywhere stands out picturesquely. He sought the flaj,' with the greatest avidity for freedom ; Hocking in crowds, old men and young, women and children, sometimes with cjuaint odds and ends of personal belongings, often empty-handed, always enthusiastic and hopeful almost always densely ignorant of the meaning of freedom and of self-support. But while the negro showed this avidity for liberty, his conduct toward his old masters was often generous, and almost never did he seize the opportunity to inflict vengeance for his past wrongs. The eloquent Southern orator and writer. Henry W. Grady, said : " History has no parallel to the faith kept by the negro in the South during the war. Often five hundred negroes to a single white man. and yet through these dusky throngs the women and children walked in safety and the unprotected homes rested in peace. . . A thousand torches would have disbanded every Southern army, but not one was lighted." It was with conditions, and only after great hesitation, that the final step of emancipating the slaves was taken by President Lincoln in .September. 1862, The proclamation was distincdy a war measure, but its reception by the North and by the foreign powers and its immediate effect upon the contest were such that its expediency was at once recognized. Thereafter there was possible no question as to the personal freedom of the negro in the United .States of America. With the Confederacy, slavery went down once and forever. In the so-called reconstruction period which followed, the negro suffered almost as much from the over-zeal of his political friends as from the prejudice of his old masters. A negro writer, who is a historian of his race, has declared that the Government gave the negro the statute book when he should have had the spelling book ; that it placed him in the legislature when he ought to have been in the school house, and that, so to speak, " the heels were put where the brains ought to have been." A quarter of a century and more has passed since that turbulent period began, and if the negro has become less prominent as a political factor, all the more for that reason has he been advancing steadily though slowly in the requisites of citizenship. He has learned that he must, by force of circumstances, turn his attention, for the time at least, rather to educational, in- dustrial, and material progress than to political ambition. And the record of his advance on these lines is promising and hopeful. In Mississippi alone, for instance, the negroes own one-fifth of the entire property in the State. In all, the negroes of the South to-day possess two hundred and fifty million dollars' worth of property. Everywhere throughout the South white men and negroes may be found working together. At the beginning of the war the negro population of the country was about four millions, to-day it is between seven and seven and a-half millions ; in 1880, fifteen-sixteenths of the whole colored population belonged to the Southern States, and the census of 1890 shows that the proportion has not greatly changed. Till-. iKl-li XEGRO. 617 Thi;i ratio in itself shows how absurdly trillintj in results have been all the move- ments toward cohjiiizatioii or emij^^ration to Northern States. Tlu; negro emphatically belon;,'s to the Southern States, and in tliein ami by them his f,.ture must be det«.-rmined. Another point ileciilcd conclusively by the ci-nsus of 1S90 is se«rn in the refutation of an icU.-a based, indeed, on the census of 1880, but due in its origin to the very faulty census of 1870. '1 his idea was that the colored fxjpulation had increased much more nipidly in proportitjn than the white population. 1 he new census shows, on the contrary, that the whites in the Southern States increased during tht; last decade; nearly twice as rapidly as the negroes, or. as the census bulletin puts it, in increase of population, " the colored race has not held its own against the white man in a region where the climate and conditions are, of all those which the country affords, the best suited to its development." The promise of the negro race to-day is not so much in the development of men of exceptional talent, such as brederick Douglas or Senator Hruce, as in the general spread of intelligence and knowledge. The .Southern .States have very generally given the negro equal educational opportuniti(;s with the whites, while the eagerness of the race to learn is shown in the recently ascertained fact that while the colored population has increased only twenty-seven per cent, the enrollment in the colored schools has increased one hundred and thirty-seven per cent. Fifty industrial schools are crowded by the coloretl youth of the South. Institutions of higher education, like the Atlanta University, and Hampton Institute of \'irginia, and Tuskegee College, are doing admirable work in turning out hundreds of negroes fitted to educate their own race. Within a year or two honors and scholarships have been taken by half a dozen colored young men at Harvard, at Cornell, at Phillips Academy and at other Northern schools and colleges of the highest rank. The fact that a young negro, Mr. Morgan, was in 1S90 elected by his classmates at Harvard as the class orator has a special significance. Yet there is greater significance, as a negro news- paper man writes, in the fact that the equatorial telescope now used by the Lawrence University of Wisconsin was made entirely by colored pupils in the School of Mechanical Arts of Nashville, Tenn. In other words, the Afro- American is finding his place as an intelligent worker, a property owner, and an independent citizen, rather than as an agitator, a politician or a race advocate. In religion, superstition and effusive sentiment are giving way to stricter morality. In educational matters, ambition for the high-sounding and the abstract is giving place to practical and industrial acquirements. It will be many years before the character of the negro, for centuries dwarfed and distorted by oppression and ignorance, reaches its normal growth, but that the race is now at last upon the right path and is being guided by the true principles cannot be doubted. 16 6i8 THE STORY OF AMERICAN SLAVERY. Says one who has made an exceedingly thorough personal study of the subject in all the Southern States : *' The evolution in the condition has kept pace with that of any other races, and I think has been even a little better. The same forces of evolution that have brought him to where he is now will bring him further. One thing is indisputable : the negro knows his destiny is in his own hands. He finds that his salvation is not through politics, but through indus- trial methods. STATUE UF WASHINGTON IN THE GROUNDS OF THE STATE HOUSE, RICHMOND. (£ ^J .rv) ^M -!■■■ ■^<)V*. "^i- -i.yj!^-^'*^ rv^sr*--.-' ^iPL-x '^' civ 1 -i #J I KANCI S K. V II.I.ARU. ^'^^ r^C^v Giants OF America )/?^ v^\ CV child to a woman. FRANCES E. WILLARD, THE ORGANIZER AND HEAD OE THE " W. O. T. U." ITH the latter years of this century a new power has made itself felt in the world, — the power of organized womanhood. Fifty years ago such a body as the ',, Woman's Christian Temperance Union was not only unknown, but impossible ; and fifty years ago the woman who has done more than any other to ^oi^ I V ft T'^''^^"'^ bring it into being was a bright, healthy child of five years, living at Oberlin, Ohio, whither her father and mother had moved from Monroe County, New York, where she was born in September, 1S39. In 1846 there was another move westward, this time to Forest Home, near Janesville, Wisconsin. Here Miss Willard spent twelve years, in which she grew from a She had wise parents, who gave free rein to the romping, freedom-loving girl, and let her grow up "near to nature's heart." She could ride a horse or fight a prairie fire "just as well as a man." After twelve years of life on Wisconsin prairies, the Willard family moved to Evanston, on the shore of Lake Michigan, just north of Chicago. Here Miss Willard began her work as a teacher, which she pursued in different institutions until 1870, when she was chosen president of Evanston College for Ladies. This place she filled until 1.S74, when she finally gave up teaching to enter upon a new and still larger work. In 1873 occurred in (^hio the memorable "Women's Crusade" against the rum shops. Hands of devoted women besieged the saloons for days and weeks together, entreating the saloon-keepers to cease selling liquor, praying and sing- ing hymns incessantly in bar-rooms or on the sidewalks, until the men who kept them agreed to close them up, and in many cases emptied barrels of licjuor into the gutters. This movement at once arrested Miss Willard' s attention. She saw in it the germ of a mighty power for good. She resigned her position as president of the college at Evanston, and threw all her energies into the anti- liquor movement. With her customary thoroughness she entered upon a sys- 621 622 FRANCES E. IVILLARD. tematic study of the subject of intemperance and the sale of liquor, and of the different measures which had been undertaken to abate this mii^hty evil. She sought the counsel of Neal Uow and other leaders in the temperance cause. She joined in the crusade against liquor-selling in Pittsburgh, kneeling in prayer on the sawdust -covered floors of the saloons, and leading the host in singing "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," and "Rock of Ages," in strains which awed and melted the hearts of the multitude thronging the streets. The result of her work was a determination to combine in one mighty organization the many sep- arate bantls of women temperance workers which had sprung up over the coun- try ; and this was achieved in the autumn of 1874, in the organization at Cleve- land of that wonderful body, the National Woman's Christian Temperance Union. The resolution which was adopted at that meeting, written by Miss Willard herself, beautifully e.Kpresses the spirit in which they entered upon the work. It read as follows : — ^^ Resolved, That, recognizing that our cause is and will be contested by mighty, determined, and relentless forces, we will, trusting in Him who is tlie Prince of Peace, meet argument with argu- ment, misjudgment with patience, denunciation with kindness, and all our difficulties and dangers with prayer." From that time Miss Willard's life is the history of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union. Like the "handful of corn in the tops of the mountains," all over this and in other lands it has taken root and grown until the fruit does indeed " shake like Lebanon." In almost every corner of the United States is a subordinate organization of some sort, a local union, a children's band, a young woman's circle, or perhaps all of these. It has built the great "Tem- perance Temple," one of the largest of the immense business buildings in Chicago. It has organized a large publishing business, from whose busy presses temperance literature is constantly being circulated in all parts of the country. It has by its political power made and unmade governors, senators, and representatives ; and it has done much to bring the time when women shall take an equal share in the government of church and state. In all this work the head and guiding spirit has been Frances E. Willard. Overwork has of late somewhat impaired her health, and made travel and rest abroad necessary. But in whatever corner of the world she may dwell, there is always a warm corner kept for her in the many thousand hearts and homes that have been cheered and brightened by her work " for God and home and native land." Miss Willard's friend and co-worker, Hannah Whitall Smith (see page 623;, says of her : " Miss Willard has been to me the embodiment of all that is lovely and good and womanly and strong and noble and tender in human nature. She has clone more to enlarge our sympathies, widen our outlook, and develop our gifts, than any man or any other woman of our time." FAMOUS AMERICAN WOMEN. BY FRANXES E. WII.LARD. President of the Ifoi/J's ir. C. T. U. This book of American biorrraphy would be incomplete without some account of what women have done and suffered in helping- to make the great republic what it is. I am therefore glad once more to take up my pen to treat • of this my favorite theme. ■^ There were two distinct early types of women, the Northern and the Southern. Both were patrician in their purity of ethical quality, but the latter more technically so in its environment. Individuality developed earlier in the North, because personal initiative was necessary, owing to financial needs. The Southern woman had a downier nest, and found it so soft and warm that she rested more than she worked. I ler features were less distinctive than those of her Northern sister, but more soft ; her tones were deeper and more mellow, but had less of the clarion timbre of conscious power. The line of grace was more pro- ■A nounced in the figure and movement of the .Southerner — the line of power was apparent in the expression and bearing of the woman of the North. Each was a noble type, the one more lovely, the other more achieving. As a matter of history, public schools, which were established in New England within 25 years after the landing of the Pilgrims, had no room for girls, md Harvard College, founded twenty years after the Massachusetts landing, 623 HANNAH WUrlAM. SMITH. 624 WOMAN IX AMERICA. was for young men, not for their sisters. Half a century passed before public schools were granted to the people. It was prophetic that Hartford, Connecticut, should witness the first of these — that beautiful city in which Emma Willard reached her early fame. The date in Hartford was 1 771, only five years before the Revoluiion, In the South, the better class of girls never dreamed of going • o the public school ; like the aristocracy of Great Britain, they were taught by he governess, a shadowy figure who had small Latin and less Greek — indeed, ,mall everything, except a smattering of English, much manner, and unbounded Reference. This describes the situation in early days; but when Emma Willard sent out from her training school in Troy young and forceful women, combining Northern strength with Southern grace, they wrought marvels in the thought and development of the Southern woman in those semi-baronial homes which slave labor rendered possible, even on a new continent. The Dame-School was the source from which Northern girls imbibed the little that they knew up to the present century. Our highest authority on this subject is Miss Mary F. Eastman, who says that these schools were of an in- ferior order, in which women, often those who themselves could hardly more than read, would gather a few girls about them, teach them to "make their man- ners," according to the ancient phrase, drill the alphabet into their brains, and enough beyond that to enable them to spell out the Catechism, which every well- regulated girl was obliged to learn by heart. Charles Francis Adams says that during the first 150 years of our colonial history "the cultivation of the female nind was regarded with utter indifference," and Abigail Adams in one of her famous letters declares that "it was fashionable to ridicule female learning." These were the days when women given to scolding were condemned to sit in public with their tongues held in cleft sticks, or were thrice dipped from a duck- ng stool. Miss Eastman says, referring to this barbarism, " It would be better hat their tongues had been tamed by instruction to becoming speech, or that hey had been permitted to drink at the fountain of learning." It is significant 'hat in Northampton, Massachusetts, as late as the year 1 788, and in an intelli- gent community, where Smith's College is now located, the village fathers voted *not to be at the expense for schooling girls." In 1792 the Selectmen of "^ewburyport decided that " during the summer months, when the boys have iiminished, the Master shall receive girls for instruction in grammar and read- ng, after the dismission of the boys in the afternoon, for an hour and a half" The visitor to this beautiful and historic seaport is shown with pride the site on vhich stood the school-house to which it is believed women were first admitted on this continent to an education at public expense. That was just one hundred years ago. The same progressive town voted in 1803 to establish four girls' schools, the first on record, which were to be kept six months in the year, from six to eight o'clock in the morning and on Thursday afternoon, — for the CHURCH AND SCHOOLS. 625 .boys had the pick of the time as well as the training. We next find it re- corded that in 1789, when the Revolutionary War had been over for six years, the city of Boston, risin*^ to the occasion, established three readincf and writing schools, which were open all the year round to boys, and to girls from April to October. There were no free schools in that city for "that boy's sister" until this date. In Rhode Island girls were not admitted to the public schools till 1828. But little by little the different gates were opened, until in about the first quarter of our century girls were permitted to attend the whole year through, the same as boys ; but it must be remembered that this was in New England, which has always led in everything pertaining to intellectual develoj)- ment. The more remote States followed at a greater distance. Now came the battle for the higher education — which was much more difficult. The whole woman question was here passed in review, and the conservative cast of mind, as was inevitable from its native limitation, declared that the family relation would be subverted and the new continent depopulated if women were per- mitted to follow their own sweet will in the development of the intellects with which, by some strange inconsistency of fate, they were endowed. Much as it is the fashion to decry the Church as the great conservative force, let it be gratefully remembered by women everywhere, that the first schools of higher education were denominational institutions, and resulted trom the enlightened love of generous fathers, who, having girls of promise in their families, felt that they had no right to leave their mental cultivation unprovided for. Happily, competition among the different Churches developed along the line of multiply- ing these seminaries of higher education for girls, for no Church wished its daughters to attend a school founded by some other ! Perhaps this education of the future mothers of our nation is the best result to which we can refer in the everlasting battle among the broken fragments of the body of Christ. High schools for girls did not exist until about the middle of the present century. As in the lower grades, the girls came only at early hours, because it was a settled principle that they must not be in the same school with boys, and they must in nowise inconvenience these latent lords of creation. From the first, however, the girls have proved to be so eager for instruction that their fathers, pleased, perhaps, to see repetitions of themselves in the vigorous intellects of these little ones, have responded to their importunities by establishing separate high schools for their daughters. The first to do this was Newburyport again, in 1842, and Salem, Mass. (where once they hanged the witches), in 1845, but progressive Boston did not found a high school for girls until 1852 — almost two hundred years after she had established a Latin school for boys, and more than two hundred after the founding of Harvard College for young men. The practical outcome of high-school education in these latter years has been the State university, and women owe more to this last-named institution 626 JVOMAX IN AMERICA. chan to any other single force, for their education, up to this time. By the inevitable processes of thought, the men who had admitted girls to every department of public school instruction could not close to them the doors of that highest school — the university. By parity of reasoning, when the uni- versity added professional schools, it would have been most illogical to deny to the young women, entrance to these ; hence the higher classes of occupation, all of which are taught in various State institutions, and later on professional schools for doctors, lawyers, civil engineers, etc., have been freely opened to young women at State expense. Collegiate training for women was more difficult to gain. The pioneer was Oberlin, founded in Ohio, in 1S33 ; woman was welcomed here from the beginning. Mount Holyoke Seminary, in Massa- chusetts, was established in 1 836, by the immortal Mary Lyon — that daughter of the people — who, by her unique method of domestic services performed wholly by the students, enabled the farmer's daughter to win as good an intellectual training as Madam Emma Willard provided in Troy for the daughters of the rich. In 1852 Antioch College was founded in Ohio, and women were admitted to all of its advantages. In 1862 Cornell University was established on the same basis, until now there is not a college west of the Alleghanics the advantages of which are not equally offered to the sons and daughters of our people, while the Leland Stanford University, recently opened on the Pacific Coast, near San Francisco, and having an endowment of j^20,ooo,000, is in all its departments free to women. The same is true of the great new Chicago University, founded by John D. Rockafeller ; the great Northwestern University, of the Methodist Church, at Evanston, in the suburbs of the city ; while the Annex of Harvard ; Barnard College, in connection with Columbia College, of New York city ; the newly acquired rights of women at Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island, and Middlebury College — that ancient and honorable institution in Vermont, — with the American University of the Methodists, founded by Bishop Hurst, in Washington, D. C, and Evelyn College, which is the Annex of Princeton, in New York — mark the latest open- ings for women in the fields of higher education — collegiate and professional. Vanderbilt, in the South, cannot long res-'^t the oncoming tide, that each day cries more insistently, "Place aux dames!" and "The tools to those that can use them." » In 1865 Matthew Vassar founded, in Poughkeepsie, New York, a college for women. This was a real college, and, with Smith, Wellesley, and Bryn Mawr, shows the high-water mark of woman's separate education in this country. Nobody questions that before another generation the colleges that have the annex will be themselves annexed, and co-education will universally prevail. There is another phase of the higher education of women which has exerted a vast influence on the public sentiment of the Republic. Nothing SELF-SUPPORT. 627 shows the advance made in a single century from a more salient point of view, than the fact that from having been grudgingly admitted to the lowest grade of the public school, and obliged to attend at the unseemly hour of six o'clock in the morning, woman, when she had the opportunity, proved herself so worthy of it that to-day cigJity-tivo per cent, of cxll the teuc/iers in the public schools in the United States are women. The normal schools of the forty-four States, with their acbnirable methods of the latest and most helpful kinds for the acquire ment of thorough training as teachers, swarm with the girl of the period. Recently, wiien I addressed the Normal School near Chicago, under the care of that famous educator, Colonel Francis \V. Parker, seventy-five fair damsels, in graceful reform dress, walked up the aisle to the platform, accompanied by a single specimen of the genus homo attired in black, and I laughingly said to myself, "Is he in mourning by reason of lonesomeness and lost opportunity, or does he serve as an exclamation point to mark the new order of things? " Southern women have wakened to a new life since the war. Higher edu- cation and self-support are now accepted as a matter of course by all save the most prejudiced minds, while the whole cause of woman, in the large sense herein defined, is supported by the ablest brains among Southern men and women. The White Ribbon movement has been the largest intluence thus far introduced into that sunny land, to reveal to the home-folk their privileges and powers in this Christian civilization. Women have been appointed as directors, jointly with men, in the Colum- bian Exposition of 1893, and those mighty "auxiliary" departments, which mean the convening of philanthropic, educational, religious, and other special- ties from every quarter of Christendom for great conventions throughout the World's Fair, means more than we thought possible at first, and especially to the bright women of the South. As a natural outcome of the mental development of women throughout the Republic, they have now the range of almost all forms of industry, and are practically debarred from none they care to follow. The recent census enu- merates over four thousand different branches of employment in which women are now engaged, and the consensus of opinion is, that as a class they do admirably well. It is no longer considered a token of refinement to live upon the toil of others, but women who support themselves have the hearty respect and good will of all sensible women and of all members of the other sex whose good will and respect are worth desiring. As brain-power is the basis of suc- cess in every undertaking, whether it be baking potatoes or writing sonnets, the immense amplitude given to the activities of woman-kind is the greatest fact of the century. To translate this mass of brain from the dormant to the active stage means, not only to the individuals now living, but through the mighty forces of heredity to coming generations, more than the greatest mind can 628 WOMAN IN AMERICA. possibly perceive. The expansion thus given to the total of brain momentum throughout the nation may be trusted to conduct us to such discoveries, inven- tions, philosophies, applications of religion, as the most adventurous have not yet dreamed, and will, we believe, be for the universal uplifting of the race in power, in purity, and peace. It is to be remembered that all these mighty opportunities have come to women largely by the permission of men. They might have formed industrial and other guilds and rigidly excluded women from membership. If men, as a class, had been imbued with the spirit manifested by that brilliant writer, Mr. Grant Allen (who deliberately declares that there is nothing that woman has ever done as well as man can do it, except to extend the census list), where would women have been in respect to the development of brain and hand ? Mr. Grant Allen remands them to that one occupation in which they have distinguished themselves, and says they were "told off" like so many soldiers from an army selected to conduct some difficult enterprise, and that, having been thus separated to a special work, they have not in the nature of the case a right to scatter elsewhere. But as he is the only man who has ever said this in public and in so many words, and as our brothers of the journalistic pen have impaled him without mercy on the point of that swift weapon, we may conclude that the common sense of universal manhood has reached the conclusion : Let any woman do whatever thing she can do well. Upon this basis all business colleges and schools for typewriting and shorthand are now open to women ; manual training and industrial schools admit them freely ; colleges and universities, professional schools and art classes, accord them every advantage ; the whole field of journalism is open to them, and but two citadels yet remain to be captured, — those of ecclesiastical and civil power. Sapping and mining are going on vigorously around these citadels, and many of their outposts have been already taken. Twenty-three States have already granted school suffrage ; Kansas has municipal, and Wyoming com- plete suffrage for women. In the younger denominations women stand equal with men in the pulpit as well as out of it, and the question of inducting them into every position in the great denominations is being actively discussed and often favorably commented upon by the great constituency of ministers, editors, and publicists. The place of woman in literature is striking. Here she has won the largest standing room. No publisher asks the question, " Did a woman furnish that manuscript?" but he pays according to its merit. The same is true in journalism. Clubs for women are springing up everywhere, philanthropic guilds are numerous, there are religious societies practically without number, and reform movements are more vigorously directed by women than by the most notable or most distinguished experts among men. IN THE PROFESSIONS. 629 Perhaps no feature of this splendid evolution is more remarkable than the last, namely, the intellectual development of woman as a home-maker. The bright, well-disciplined intellects among society women have now found their exact niche. They are somewhat too conservative to take up the temfjerance reform or the suffrag-e movement, although we believe that almost without exception these great enterprises have their hearty sympathy,' but in the department of woman as a housekeeper and home-maker they fmd a congenial field. They would help lift this profession from the plane of drudgery. They would so train the household workers, once called servants, that theirs shall be a veritable voca- tion. All that science and art can do to elevate the culinary department of the home, to improve its sanitary conditions, and to embellish its surroundings, these women are determined to see done. The number of new industries ai)d the subdivisions or new avocations that will grow out of this movement are incalculable. We rejoice in it, for while we firmly believe in the old French motto, 'T'lace aux dames!" and "The tools to those that can use them," we always think that the mother is the central figure of our civilization, and to be treated accordingly ; thai the home-maker is the genius of what is most holy and happy in our lives. We believe that invention, science, education, and re- ligion should converge in systematic fashion upon the evolution of the home, which evolution is bound to come, and is rapidly keeping pace with develop- ments in all other lines of human uplift. While it pains a progressive woman to hear any man speak as if the home bounded the sphere of her sex, and while we believe the highest duty of all women is to help make the whole world home-like ; while we believe that woman will bless and brighten every place she enters, and that she will enter every place, we would sympathize w'ith the possibilities of honorable employment and of high development to those who bring just as much talent, discipline, and de- votion to the building up of home as others do to the larger world outside. In making the transition from woman as a cipher outside of home, to the splendid civilization that welcomes her to every one of its activities, it was necessary for the "present distress " to emphasize out of their due proportion the importance of education, industrial avocations, philanthropic vocations, science, and art for women. But when the pendulum swings to its extreme limit, and Church and State are freely opened to her, w^e feel sure it will swing to the harmony of a real circuit described by the Interests of home, and our brightest brains, most skillful hands, and deepest hearts shall give themselves to the beautiful amen- ities and sacred ministries of that institution which has been called, and not too often, "Our Heaven below." A book is now being written entitled "A Woman of the Nineteenth Century," and is to include one thousand names of American women. It is found entirely practicable to gather up so large a number of notable names ."^^Sf V » ■• SUSAN II. ANTHONY, THK GREAT ADVOCATE OK WOMAN aL>Hi-^(^fc. HORN IS20. IVOMAiV IN AMERICA. r..^t illustrative of the different forms of activity in which women are now enp;an;ed. This being true, it is a hopeless endeavor to characterize even the most repre sentative women in an artich: like tlie present. To do so would but invite the criticism of making^ invidious distinctions. The political activities of wuiiieii have been perha()s more criticised than any others. Naturally enouj.jh, perhaps, as politics is to-day the arena wher< men fij^'ht with ballots rather than with bayonets or bullets. Hut in Knijland the Primrose Dames and the Women of the Liberal Leatjue are a mis^dity factor in working out the rights of the people on the one hand, and the preservation of aristocratic prerogative on the other. This country has yet had no political uprising of women to match that of the motherland, but the Prohibition party has for years had women as its truest allies, and in the People's party they take equal rank with men, while both declare for the ballot in the hand of woman as her rightful weapon. Conventions, committee meetings, newspaper organs, and the public platform all bear the impress to-day of the growing intelligence and disciplined zeal of women as partisans. This is but the beginning of a new movement, the consequences of which promise to be more vast than any we have yet attained in the mighty development of the multitudinous woman question. There was in the Declaration of Independence the percussive force of giant powder when we deliberately said, "All men are born free and equal, and have certain inalienable rights, and among these rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." We then and there invoked that trinity of issues which are to-day involved in the mighty " Human Question," namely, the labor quefcion. temperance question, and the woman question. Not until all these have been wrought out into statutes and constitutions will there be rest for the land. It is a blessed fact that woman cannot rise alone. From the first she has been at the bottom of the human pyramid ; she has the mother heart, and the stream cannot rise higher than its fountain. Whatever lifts and puts better conditions about her in all stages of her earthly life, does the same for every son she gives to the nation by daring to walk the Via Doloroso of Danger when she passes the sacred but terrible ordeal of motherhood. Weil has the poet sung that " Men and women rise and fall together, dwarfed or god-like, bond or free." No woman worthy of the name forgets that she had a father and brother in her early home, and for their sake, as much as for mother's and sister's sake, all true women seek to help both men and women in the solution of the great problems of modern civilization. To be strong-minded was once thought a crime in woman, but upon strength of mind there is a premium now. The bread-winning weapon, eagerly sought and firmly held in the delicate but untrembling hand of woman, is the only sword she needs. We would make hei thoroughly independent of marrias^e, that she 632 SPHERE OF WOMAN. r still might choose its old and sacred path from motives more complimentary to the man of her choice than that " He will be a good provider." We would educate her thoroughly, that she might be the comrade of her husband and her sons, for while religion and affection form two of the strands in the cable that binds human hearts together in the home, we believe that intellectual sympathy is that third bright strand which this glad age is weaving, and that no charm more holy or enduring survived the curse of Eden. We would endow her with power in Church and State, that these two hierarchies might belong to the many and not to the few, to the people, and not to priest and politician. We would make woman partner in the great world's activi- ties, that she might more greatly endow the children whose gifts depend so largely on her goodness, greatness, and grace. God made woman with her faculties, her traits, her way of looking at all great questions from the highest to the lowest, and he made her to be a helpmeet for man, and he made man to be a helpmeet for her ; he made them to stand in a republic, as I believe, bearing equally its magnificent burdens. The world needs the tender sweetness of the alto voice, the jubilant good-will of the soprano, in sermon as in psalm ; tenor and bass become monotonous at last, and the full diapason of power and inspiration is impossible except we listen to the full chorus of humanity. Gotl hasten that great chorus, in church and state alike, with its deep-hearted love and its celestial hope ! JULIA WARP HOWE, Author of the " Battle ll\mn 0/ the Ke/>ul: ''^'^ After his return he was married to Mary Storer Potter, a ' 1 ?"i>-- '" '' -'^ young lady of Portland, to whom he had long been attached, and entered upon the duties of his position. He was verj' popular with the student?, and soon came to be quite a power in the University. He became a contributor to the Ntn-tli American Review, then the foremost literary period- ical of America, and began to acquire reputation as a writer. In 1S35 Longfellow received the offer of a professorship in Harvard Uni- versity, which he accepted, with the stipulation that he should be allowed first to spend some time abroad in the further study of German and Scandinavian litera- ture. While in Amsterdam, his young wife died suddenly, and the bereaved husband turned for solace to intense work and study. Years afterward he embalmed her memory in the beautiful poem, " b'ootsteps of Angels : " — " With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that mes.senfjer divine. Takes the vacant seat I»cside me, Lays lier ueiille baud in mine." In 1836 he returned to Cambridge and entered upon his duties at Harvard. Here he soon began to form those friendships which were so long a blessing and delight to him and to all of the circle, — Felton, Sumner, Hillard, Lowell, Agassiz, Hawthorne, Fields, and others. With Sumner especiallj' he became 6.1s 636 HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. very intimate. Whenever Sumner was in the neighborhood he always spent Sunday with his friend, and many are the records in his journal of " Sumner to dine," " Sumner to tea," or to pass the night, and always some note of the absorbing talk which reached into the midnight hours. In 1843 Longfellow married Miss Frances Appleton, whom he had met in Europe, and who figures in the pages of " Hyperion." The famous old " Craigie mansion," which had been Washington's headquarters, was purchased, and until the poet's death remained his home. A hedge of lilacs led to the door, and grand old elms spread their branches over the house. Here his chil- dren were born ; and here, in 1S61, he met the great sorrow from which he never entirely recovered, — the tragic death of his wife. She was sealing some papers of the children's curls, in the library, when she trod upon a match, which set fire to her clothing, causing injuries from which she died. She was buried upon die anniversary of her marriage, crowned with a wreath of orange blossoms. Most pathetic are the passages in Longfellow's journal in after years, telling of his desolation. For a long time he could speak to no one of his grief; only after months had passed did he even allude to it in a letter to his brother: "And now, of what we both are thinking I can write no word. God's will be done." In his journal he writes; "Another walk in the pines, in the bright morning sunshine. Everything w^ithout full of loveliness ; but within me the hunger, the famine of the heart." At Christmas : " How inexpressibly sad are all holidays ! But the dear little girls had their Christmas-tree last night, and an unseen presence blessed the scene !" It was long before he could take up work again ; but at last he began his translation of Uante, and in this absorbing occupation found some alleviation of his sorrow. His best comforters, however, were the little group of close friends who met often to criticise the work as it proceeded, and whose society was much enjoyed. But soon these friends began to fall by the wayside, — first Felton, then Hawthorne and Agassiz, and last his beloved friend Sumner, to whom, in the exquisite poem, "Three Friends of Mine, " he thus bids farewell: — " Good-night ! good-night ! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn." The last years of Longfellow's life passed serenely at his home in Cam- bridge, cheered by tokens of the ever-increasing love and honor u'hich came to him from all parts of the world. His pen was not idle ; and some of his finest poems are those written in these closing years. In 1882, at the age of seventy- five, he died, and was laid to rest in the beautiful cemetery of Mount Auburn. THE STORY OK AMERICAN LITERATURE. BY HAMILTON \V. MAUIK, 1,1.1!., I. it. U. ^YSTEMATIC description of American literature is impossible. Our best books cannot be marshaled into one phalanx. They cannot be grouped wholly by time, by place, or by class dis- tinctions. They are the writings of widely different times and of widely different places, if not of different civilizations. Our colonial literature bears no resemblance to that which followed the Revolution, and our present literature grows increasingly dif- ferent from either. The literature of New England and that of California have little in common, while the literature of the South is in no sense akin to that of the North. Letters have always played a subordinate part in American life, and have been under the influence, not of one impulse, but of many antagonistic impulses. Our people are a heterogeneous people, and their books constitute a heterogeneous literature. In the times of the colonies, men were too busy in nation-building to acquire the arts of book-making. A few adventurers like the brave gasconadcr, John Smith, wrote to the Old Country, in a style forcible, but awkward and fre- quently incorrect, graphic and highly imaginative descriptions of the New ; a few painstaking diarists detailed, with a minuteness which can now please only the antiquarian, the daily vicissitudes of the colonists ; and, more important than either, a few earnest orators instilled a high-minded patriotism into their coun- trymen's hearts with an eloquence more remarkable for its genuineness of conviction and ardency of feeling than for its skill in argument or mastery of language. But before the Declaration of Independence America could boast only three men whose writings, in any way, deserve the jicvj^c of literature. There was John Woolman, the gentle-hearted Quaker, like Izaak Walton, a tailor, and like him, also, a lover of man, animal, and plant. Although he was an irrepressible reformer, his writings have none of the pride of opinion and self- righteousness which are the besetting sins of reformers. Catholic, humble, receptive, his words are a benediction. Such Charles Lamb, the purest and manliest of modern English writers, found them, and as such he praised them. Of a very different stamp was "one Mr. Wordly-Wiseman " (as one critic has ?7 637 638 TIIR STORY or' AMERICAN LITERATURE. we)! called him) Benjamin I'ranklin. Well known abroad as a statesman, and still better as a scientist of the first rank, he was equally well known at home for his proverbial wisdom. He had a gift for putting- much prudence into few words. His low ideals and the self-complacence which appear in his autobio- graphy do him little credit, but as a counselor in matters of expediency he was much needed by his excitable, extravagant, and often over-sanguine country- men. As great as either, though his writings are less enduring, was the great Calvinist divine, Jonathan Edwards. His doctrine has been largely discarded since his day, but there was an imaginativeness and clearness in depleting it, a purity of life and character behind it, and a devout mysticism in it, which make it elevating reading to-day. It is a significant fact that neither of these three men, neither the abolitionist, the scien- tist, nor the preacher, was primarily a writer. The greatest writers of America have always been some- thing more than writers. Irving and Motley were diplomats, Br>'ant was a journalist. Holmes a phy- sician, and Lowell had something of the states- man in him. All of them found outlets for their energies beyond their books. This circumstance has given to them a breadth of view, a sense of propordon, and a manly reserve which wins the re- spect of the reader and instills in him self-respect, but it has also deprived them of that intensity, that individuality, that surcharge of meaning and emotion which makes contemporary English books seem at times like the scrolls of prophets. It was not until after the Revolution that American literature began to take on distinctive national traits. Even then they came gradually. In our modes of thought and expression, we grew away rather than broke away from England. George Washington was more like an Englishman than like a modern Yankee, and Washington Irving, the earliest representative author of the century, was quite as truly a countryman of Addison, Steele, and Goldsmith as he was of the HAWTHORNE'S UIRTHl'LACE. POST-REVOLUTION LITERATURE. 6yj native American farmer or the Dutch knickerbocker. In his essays the spirit of the eighteenth century revived. He seemed to represent an okl I'^ngland rather than a young America. He formed his style after the models of Queen Anne's day and improved upon them in tlexibility. Foreign readers were surprised to find grace and melody in an American book, and yot little has been written in the English language more graceful and melodious, more delicate in its humor, more artistic in its moods and pictures, than the " Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Since its day, grace has become the characteristic virtue of American essays. It was, however, in the rollicking extravaganza of his " Diedrich Knickerbocker's History of New York " that Irving's admirers thought they detected the new nation's peculiar gift to letters. Born in New York city, Irving had from boyhood roamed at will through its woody environs. Though no antiquarian, he was familiar with those details of its local history which could be gleaned only from the traditions of the country-folk. With such unconscious training for it, he wrote his wholesome and hearty burlesque of the phlegmatic old Dutch ancestry of the town. There has been much American extravaganza since his day, but none of it, unless it be Mr. Stockton's fantastic tales, deserves the name of literature. Quite as Americari as either his gracefulness or his occasionally extravagant spirits was the poetic idealism which makes of his life of Goldsmith at once a delightful idyl and a delicate interpretation of character. He found a place for the Imagination in biography, the aim of which, it must be remembered, is primarily to depict character, not to narrate vicissitudes. By his very idealizing he gave his readers a new insight into Goldsmith's heart. Though It contains some pure fiction, his volume has In it much poetic truth. It must be acknowledged, however, that Irving had no such power of impressing his own personality on his reader as some of even the gentlest of English writers have had. He was lacking in originality and personal force. But he was pre-eminently a gentleman. Abroad, his courtesy of manner, his kindness of heart, his thorough genuineness and simplicity of life made him even more welcome than his books, and his books were welcome everywhere. The reputation of American letters was soundly established abroad when the great publisher, Murray, offered him fifteen thousand dollars for the privilege of issuing one of his productions In England, and Campbell, Jeffrey — the English critic of the day, — Moore, and Scott were counted among his friends. The appointment of Irving as our representative at the Court of Madrid proved later a precedent for appointing such scholars as Motley, Bancroft, and Lowell as foreign Ministers. There was no appearance of extravaganza in any of Irving's literary con- temporaries In New York. Except In the "Culprit Fay" of Joseph Rodman Drake, there was no delicate and fanciful Idealism. But all who versified, versified with polish. Not always flexible, seldom spirited, never very original, 640 THE STORY OF AMERICAN LEfERATURE. they were uncxccptionably refined. They sedulously imitated classical stand- ards. Chaste diction, soundness of feeling, and manly reserve combined to make some of Fitz-Greene Halleck's poems perfect of their kind. Mis " Marco Bozzaris" has deservedly come down to our day, though only as a school-boy classic. Even the fop of American letters, shallow, frivolous, clever Willis, always wrote smoothly and with an air of good breeding. The greatest repre- sentative of this class of poets, however, was William Cullen Bryant. He was born in Massachusetts, but removed to New York in 1825, when twenty-eight years of age, and a year later became the editor of the New York Evening Post. His vocabulary was limited ; his poetry was frigid. To be stirred by it is, in the words of Lowell, "like being stirred up by the very North Pole."* It had litde capacity for growth, and was at its best before the poet was out of his teens. But it had great vir';ues. Written in classic English, im]">ued with great dignity of thought and feeling, pervaded with what Wordsworth has called the "religion of the woods '' — the devout and solemn reverence for the invisible powers of nature — its manly reserve and repose elevated not only his countrymen's ideals of literary excellence, but their ideals of life as well. While he lived, New York city, which usually values only business abilities, ♦James Russell Lowell, "• Fable for Critics." RECENT LITERATURE. 641 respected his three vocations — that of the poet, that of the conscientious and constructive journalist, and that of the public man who never held office. This last vocation has been a characteristic, if not a peculiarity, of our political life. Although Bryant cmtributed no such fund of thought to American litera- ture as did his New England contemporaries, of whom we mean to speak later, his work may be taken as a type of the epoch between the Revolution and the Civil War. But since his prime our writers have come to a parting of the ways. They can no longer be at once publicists and emulators of the English classics. The spirit of democracy, the influence of the masses, is now universally felt, even though not universally welcomed. It is dividing our modern writers into two classes, the litterateurs, who enter their studies as a refuge from its noise and self-confident intolerance, and the popular sympathizers, who enter their studies as a vantage-ground from which they may further popular aims and proclaim popular aspirations. The iconoclastic, self-assertive, sanguine characteristics of the masses appear, for instance, in the disordered rhythmic utterances of Walt Whitman. The strength of his lines is their freedom ; their weakness is their license. Their author is virile, but not always rational. Too often he opens his eyes wide with amazement at mere matters of quantity and magnitude. He makes extravagant claims for his extravagant muse. He does not appreciate delicate effects and nice distinctions of thought. He has something of mob violence about him, but also much mob power and vehemence. He is the pioneer and extreme of his class, but certain of his traits appear, scattered and incidental, in the work of some of our recent novelists and critics. Mr. Howells' novels, for instance, though they are often delicate and urbane and always conscientious and humanitarian, are occasionally marred by a certain aggressiveness of manner, at times approaching swagger, and by crude treatment of the literary lientage of the past. The present generation has a great conceit of its own powers, and that conceit Mr. Howells docs much to cultivate. It is far too ignorant of the heart thoughts of the past, and Mr. Howells has done much to make that ignorance complacent. But among the cultured he is a strenuous proselyter for popular thought, and deserves to be counted a tribune of the people. Over against Mr. Howells must be set the preeminent litterateur of our times, Mr. Henry James. The principal characters of his novels are Anglicized Americans of leisure ; his principal scenes arc European. He exercises in his readers those scholastic qualities of mind to which the great mass of his readers are supremely indifferent. Both Mr. Howells and Mr. James, however, have one important characteristic in common. They believe that fiction should vig- orously reproduce and dissect the ordinary phenomena. They would use neither Shakespeare's dramatic power of compressing some great truth of daily life into little compass, nor Hawthorne's power of gaining insight into the human heart through the use of the supernatural. They construct their novels according to 642 THE STORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. an earnest, scientific theory, antl so occasionally pain and perplex the reader with problems for which they offer no solution. They are attempting to accli- matize in American letters foreign methods ; already they have not a few disci- ples, but whether they will finally succeed or not is still an open question. Superior to both Mr. Howells and Mr. James in versatility, in creative power, in catholicity of sympathy, and in insight into the basal principles of art and of human nature is the novelist, Mr. F. Marion Crawford, though he is their inferior in conscientiousness of purpose, in evenness of execution, and in deli- cacy of expression. Mr. Crawford is cosmopolitan. There is hardly a country of importance that has not furnished him with a scene for a novel, and of every country he gives a view from within. It is the secret, however, both of Mr. Crawford's power and of his limitations that he is unique and stands outside the line of our literary development. He is in no sense a typical American novelist. Neither the democratic movement nor the W'~ ■IBI JraS^ >'^^%%- aristocratic reaction measurably affects him. ,-«*<• w.WKi Mil Mmmsffit^tA A class even more free from the influence of either current survives in such writers as "Ike Marvel," Charles Dudley Warner, and George William Curtis, who belong to an older school of American essayists and have the courtly graces of Irving with the practical interests of Steele and Addi- son. Roughly speaking, however, Ameri- can literature may be divided into three ■TFv;'^ ^"''^^^ ^^ periods, the colonial, the classic, and the modern ; and this last period is marked by two contradictory forces, aggressive democ- racy on the one hand and the appearance of caste-spirit on the other. Thus far we have treated chiefly of the literature of New York, for it is the least provincial, and therefore, in a sense, the most representative of the nation at large. The so-called Empire State, however, has played but a small part in American letters as compared with New England. Our greatest novelist, Hawthorne ; our greatest orator, Webster, and our greatest essayists, historians, and poets, are all New Englanders. The literature of Massachusetts and its adjacent States has a flavor of its own. It is always provincial, often narrow, occasionally fanatical, occasionally patronizing, but its voice is always the voice of conscience. It is preeminendy the literature of the Puritan. Its Webster and its Wendell Phillips appeal to the sense of justice in their hearers and to that strenuous desire to maintain their individual responsibilities which is the K. WALDU EMKRSON. W H ITT I ER— LOWELL. 643 New Englander's idea of liberty. Its Prcscott and Motley trace not the material, but the moral proij^rcss of the peoples whose development they chronicle. Its Hawthorne dramatizes the deepest problem of the conscience. The themes of its Emerson are always of natural reliijion. Its Longfellow, j-owell, and Whittier look almost exclusively on the moral asi)ects of even litera- ture and romance. There is " no art for art's sake" in Massachusetts. We can never "escape from the diocese of a strict conscience." No book furnishes mere amusement or recreation. The sense of duty sometimes inspires the New Ensj^lander with eloquence, sometimes elicits the beauties of mystical imaorina- tion sometimes presents itself in a play of wit, as in the Higlow Papers of James Russell Lowell, sometimes is made almost winsome, as in the poems of Longfellow, but it is never totally ftjrgotten. New Englander of New luiglanders is the Quaker poet of Massachusetts, John Greenleaf Whitder. Although not a Puritan, he is the most typical of the New England poets. His early life was that of a farmer's boy, and his poems are full of farm scenes and homestead incidents. His "Snow Bound" pictures the cheer within and the cold without of a New England winter. He makes graphic the sturdy qualities of the old New England settlers. The reminiscences of his early days, picturing, as they do, a stalwart human nature, confirm the conscience of his readers against present temptations. His rhymes are often faulty, his metre sometimes rough, his spirit too surcharged with local feeling to be called national, his verse falls just short of inspiradon, but what he has added to the moral worth of American letters is invaluable. He has given to American poetry a dignity of its own — the dignity of unaffected but undaunted manhood. A poet of conscience, courage, and fervor is sure to do earnest work in the world, and Whittier was among the first to throw himself into the anti-slavery cause. His anti-slavery poems, Quaker though he is, ring with a mardal vigor. He has never made any peace with sin. Yet with all his warmth of temperament, often waxing hot with indignation, he has also that benignity, that gentleness, that purity of motive, that sense of peace which belong to the disciples of the " Society of Friends." He is the representa- tive poet of his fellow Christians as well as of his State. His poems breathe the religious spirit. The anti-slavery cause had an advocate of a very different temperament, but quite as earnest and quite as poetic, in James Russell Lowell. It was the love of letters, not the love of the muse, which first started him on his literary career. He was in his early tastes primarily a critic. To careless readers his earliest poems seemed die work of a dainty and graceful amateur, and gave no promise of his future powers. His gift of criticism, his love of verbal by-play, his enjoy- ment and mastery of the lighter veins in literature he did not lose as he grew older, and showed his ability as well to encounter the dangers and responsibilities 644 THE STORY OF AM/iKICAX UriiRATURE. of active American citizcnsliiij and energetic public life. He was the most scholarly and most original of AiiKTican critics to the end. Familiar with all the literatures of Europe, ancient and inod(-rn, at home in all the by-paths of English letters, he was yet no pedant and no traditionalist. He seemed to enter as an equal the Elysium of the poets. He was so keen and appreciative an observer of every aspect of nature that Charles Darwin said that he was born to be a naturalist. He was so alive to the world of to-day, that another friend early prophesied of him that "he would never dally with his muse when he could invite her aid in the cause of the oppressed and suffering." His literary essays revivified whatever they touched upon, because they themselves were vital with the modern spirit. His earnestness never prevented him from enjoying the quaint charms of the past. He would not have been so great a critic, however, had he not been much more than a critic. Even though his powers of e.xecution were not equal to his powers of conception, he was a genuine poet. " He has the eye and mind of a poet," says one critic, "but wants the plastic touch which turns to shape the forms of things unknown." In his verse there was much poetry, though it was often in the rough. He was some- times careless. He was sometimes so clever as to seem forced, and he was sometimes forced without being at all clever. Hut his " Commemoration Ode," his "Cathedral," and his "Vision of Sir Launfal," not to mention many minor poems, are full of poetic beauty and strong with poetic truth. It was the shame of slavery, however, that kindled his powers into flame. It was characteristic of his Yankee blood that he used not mere argument as his weapon, but wit and conscience fused by his hot indigna- tion into a blade as keen as Damascus steel. His " Biglow Papers " are the keenest, the most racial, the most national of all American satires. The first of ■them appeared in 1846. In its Yankee hero, concealing not one drop of his Y'ankee blood, abating not one jot of his Yankee pride or Yankee manners, and softening by not one touch his Yankee wit, appeared a new figure in American life. It was a figure around which the Puritan elements of the community could rally. Lowell had awakened the dormant conscience of the nation. He fiercely ridiculed the hypocrisies and glossed-over selfishness of the slave-power and the still more contemptible cowardice of tlie silent and the "prudent" in the North. WALT. WHITMAN. LONCFIiU.O]]'. 645 He fairly defied ridicule in return, for what the drawl and dialect of his hero could not make ridiculous nothing could make ritiiculous. To-day its wit still retains its freshness, and its satire of pretentiousness, demagogy, and false standards of honor in American politics has unfortunately not lost its seasonableness. His " Fable for Critics," a running comment of clever, good-natured, unfinished epigrams on his literary contemporaries, showed Lowell to be a wit, but his " Biglow Papers" showed him to be a genius and not a little of a statesman. In the words of George William Curtis, literature was Lowell's pursuit, but patriotism was his passion. He was the more patriotic diat he never fought over old battles. He was too busy fighting new ones for that. Sent as our Minister to England, he represented us abroad courteously but unswervingly, nor concealed for a moment his faith in the republican constitution and democratic principles of his native country. If occasionally a democratic self- assertiveness mars the general dignity of his writings, it marks him as the more typically a modern Americai.. No other writer represents so many and so varied phases of American life as does this wit, gentleman, publicist, critic, scholar, and poet. LONGFEI.l.oW. More representative of American poetry, though not of American life, than Lowell, and more national than W'hittier, and more popular than either, is our household poet, Longfellow. Originality of thought has not been a notable characteristic of American poetry, and Longfi;llow was not markedly original. But what he lacked in originality he supplied with scholarship. He was versed in both the Xorse and the Romance languages and literatures. His mind was stored with poetic traditions. He popularized the literary heritage of Europe. Clearness of thought, precise perception, transparent expression, thatdefiniteness and accuracy which give force, have not been notable characteristics of Amer- ican poetry, and Longfellow often wrote vaguely because he saw vaguely. At times he lacked definite meaning, though the sense of the hearers is dulled to the loss by the pleasant sound of his verse. But his words are always gracious, gentle, manly, unsophisticated, melodious, and full of catholicity and content- ment. They are written to comfort the sorrowing, to give courage to the toil- ing, or to add happiness to the youthful. The moods which he evolves from his readers are tranquil, innocent, reverent, purifying. American readers, living as they do in the stress of competition, with little in their lives to give rest to their eyes or satisfaction to their aesthetic nature, turn to poetrj' not .so much for truths as for beauty. .Since life furnishes them with vigor, but with little that is delicate or graceful, they treasure most in poetry, ease, dignity, simplicity, chasteness of diction, the quiet (low of sound on sound and mood on mood. .Such qualities they find in this scholarly laureate of the people. Though L,ongfellow is the favorite poet of young girlhood, womanhood and the home, 646 THE STORY OF AM/iRfC/LY LITllRATURE. there is no sentimentality and no melancholy in his personality. His pastorals are full of picturesque figures of speech, and are imbued with a love of nature and ai^f^enial love of man. The poet has done much to create amony- his coun- trymen a love of European literature and to instill the beginnings of what may prove a mellowing culture, while, in his Hiawatha and Evangeline, he has given to the world two classics, distinctively American. There is a certain barrenness to the eye in plain American life, which we lose sight of when enjoying the scholarship and poetic imaginations of Long- fellow. The same sense of barrenness, his friend and contemporary, Ralph Waldo Emerson, the "philosopher of Concord," relieves in a characteristically different way. He gratifies and charms his readers wiili the beauties of ai idealistic, vague and pantheistic philo- sophy, surcharged with his own poetic and imaginative individuality. His idealism was often curiously inappropriate to his circumstances and surroundings. There was an impervious self-complacence in his writings which gave to them that gravity and that appearance of wisdom and author- ity vv'hich are characteristic of the Oriental seer. He was sometimes superficial, but never flippant. He never argued ; he never even unfolded truths ; he formu- lated and declared ex cathedra dogmas, and gathered together, without sequence or system, a number of apposite apoth- egms in a sino-le theme. In common with Longfellow, he was often led to say what sounded well and meant little, but unlike Longfellow he was seldom commonplace at once in manner and matter. Although no writer is in reality more provincial than Emerson, no writer has such a semblance of superiority to all prejudices of race, nation, religion, and home training as he. But if there was much that was factitious in Emer- son, there was also much that was genuine. He had at times an illuminating insighL into the heart. His essays are elevating and suggestive. He was gifted with great powers of imagination. His severity had its source in his inner- most character, antl was more (effectual against the storms of life than was the stoicism of the Romans, or the light-hcadedness of the Greeks. He was so free from all worldliness in motives or in tastes that he seemed immaculate. He had that courage in his faiths which only purity can give. He 11- jd as in another world. If not quite the seer he purports to be, he was unquestionably a genius, LOWELL. HA \ VTHORXE— MINOR XO 1 7:L /S 7'S. 647 But far qreatcr in t]^enius than the itlcalist F.merson was the mystic and recluse, Nathaniel Hawthorne. His actual lite was of the simplest. He was born in quaint Salem, Massachusetts, in 1804; he j^raduateil from l>ow(loin ColleL,''e, held in the course of his car(>er two political offices, shunned [)ublicity and wrote novels which met at the time with no remarkable sale. Hut from this sim[)le career came the weirdest, most imas^inative and most profound tales in American, if not in all Ani^do-Sa.xon literature. His novels are essentially Puritan. Their scenes, their men and women, their weird traditions, their sombre creeds are unmistakably native to New Ensrland, though to a New England under the spell of the supernatural. In his own neighborhood, he found enough to feed his love of antiquity and of the legendary. His novtils imbue the reader with a reverential awe for the Puritan fathers. No cavalier in Scott's novels ever seemed more romantic than do the stern and gloomy Calvinists of the " Scarlet Letter " and the " House of Seven Gables," Tales of witchcraft, of ill-starred lovers, of hereditary taints, of sin and its awful consequences, fascinated Hawthorne, and under his artistry became often fantastic, occasionally morbid, but always impressive. Never avoiding' provincialism, he was always something more than provincial, for his themes dealt with human problems of universal significance. Unlike most mystics his style was transparently clear and exceedingly graceful. In those delicate, varied and impalpable but permanent effects which are gained by a happy arrangemen'; of words in their sentences, no modern writer surpasses him, while no American writer equals him in that unerring directness and unswerving force which come from the exact use of words. To the rhetorician, his style is a stutly ; to the lay reader a delight that eludes analysis. There is also much humor and satire in Hawthorne, so delicate as to escap he observation of the careless and the obtuse. MINOR NOVELISTS. That the love of mystery, which found its perfect expansion in Hawthorne, was something of a national art, not merely a personal trait, is evident after reading the crude, but effective and highly original tales of our first American novelist, Charles Prockden Brown, who wrote impossible hut impassioned stories of the supernatural and pseudo-supernatural. Edgar Allan Poe, a much better known writer of the same school, delighted in working out the horrible fancies of his brain in graphic and o(um artistic forms. His tales suffer, how- ever, from their total lack of moral substance. It is a ;;ignificant fact, testifying, possibly to the sense of freedom and therefore the contentment which our national writers feel, that Poe was the only American author of any prominence to wreck his happiness and his character from sheer perversity and love of extravagance. He was the only one in this country to lling himself as did Marlowe, P)yron, and many others in England, so willfully against the conventional standards of his 648 THE STORY OF AMERICAN LTTERATURE. environment as to destroy himself. His plots are so sensational and his dra- matic efforts so bold and unnatural that we seldom gwv, their autlior sufficient credit for his polished and careful workmanship. Though there was a certain flashiness in his art which cheapens it, he was both an artist and a genius. "There comes Poe," says Lowell, in his " Fable for Critics," " Willi his raven, like liarnaby Riidge, Three-fifths of him genius, and two-fifths sheer fudge." A romancist of a very different type was James Fenimore Cooper, some- times diffuse and sometimes stilted, but more frequently an e.xciting narrator of Indian tales and pioneer adventures. The power of his stories is due not to any noticeable gifts of style or to any remarkable originality or profimdity of thought, but to the wild prairie life or as wild sea life which they minutely depict, and to the roman- tic types of Indian, trapper and sailor, which they have created. They are written in an honest, hearty and patriotic spirit, and the "Spy," the "Pilot," and the " Leather-Stocking Tales " are still the delight of boys. Manly tales ;,' of pure adventure are rare in American literature. Our romance is usually didactic, sentimental, supernatural or retrospective. Di- dactic romance has attained its best expression and gained the greatest results in the " L'ncle Tom's Cabin," of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe — a tale full of dramatic situations, written with Yankee directness and Puritan sympathy for the oppressed, and by its very bias and idealism of invaluable service to the anti-Slaver)' cause. Pathetic romance is best typified by the Ramona of Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson — a tale full of poetic insight as well as of poetic beauty, in behalf of the Indian. Its author is the greatest representative of a large school of modern writers, characterized by extreme sensitiveness, artistic perception, poetic aspirations and a somewhat sentimental but a very genuine love for ihe suffering and the oppressed. 'Hieir chief fault is, that while they soften the heart they never invigorate the will. It is to the South that we must turn for the best examples of retrospective romance. Idealizing has always been the Southerner's peculiar gift ; in the com- LOUISA MAY Al.COTT. {A/tt'r a I'liMrgraph by Notiiuin^ Boston.) THE LITERATURE OE THE SOC'Tfl AXD WEST 649 paratively successful days before the war, it usually ran into bombast and grand- iloquence, but the disasters of invasion and conquest have subdued it to the pastoral, the pathetic, the retrospective. In the days of slavery politics absorbed all the best energies and intellect of the South, but since the days of reconstruc- tion, more than one Southerner of promise has found in literature an attractive career. In a number of short dialect stories of plantation days, as well as in the tender, musical, visionary poems of Sidney Lanier, the South has contributed new and artistic elements to American literature. Indeed, the South is the home of our most characteristic short stories. The typical Southerner is still imbued with an intense local patriotism. Every village under his native skies is a little world to him. He finds compacted within its narrow limits many a theme for a brief romance, full of human interest. The romance of its vicissitudes in war. the romance of its love scenes — where love is still looked upon as the grand passion — the pathos of the disasters it suffered in the South's defeat, and the quaint humor of its colored folk, make a union of elements favorable to the story-teller's art. The South has produced at least two authors to do justice to these gifts of circumstance. Mr. Thomas Nelson Page depicts in his pages the South before the war. Under his hand, an idealizing regret beautifies the past till it seems a golden age. A half vicarious boastfulness, a meagre achievement and a genuine poetic aspiration blend in the true Southerner's tem- perament. Mr. Page has nothing of the boastfulness ; he seldom, if ever, depicts the meagre externals, but he does exquisite justice to the poetic aspira- tions of his countrymen. His tales are pathetic, romantic, picturesque, catholic, and toward both races sympathetic and appreciative. Of very different tem- perament is his compeer, Mr. Joel Chandler Harris. Mr. Harris's sketches are artistically true, not, as is the case with Mr. Page, because they reveal the aspi- rations of the old-time Southern temperament, but because of their author's alert observations of life as it is- He is alive with a vitality which makes for cheerfulness, quickness, deftness, appreciativeness. Though he deals with a passing, if not a past, civilization, he looks back to it neither regretfully, nor inimlcally, nor indifferently. He even goes to it for invigoration. Though there is pathos in his stories, they are full of hope and freshness of life. On the one hand he does not touch such deep chords as does Mr. Page ; on the other, he is more vivacious and stimulating. Successful studies in provincial life, however, are not limited to the South, Every distinctive region in the United States can claim its distinctive literature. To-day Miss Wilkins and Miss Jcwett, of a decade or so ago, Saxe Holme, and to go back much earlier, Hawthorne, are the names which naturally occur to us, when we turn to New England. Of these. Miss 'W'ilkins' painstaking and often painfully conscientious sketches are the most trustworthy, though not always the pleasantest depictions of Puritan manners, customs, and habits of utter- 650 TIIR STORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. ance. Not only to the nieai^rc, ri_L,ncl and self-repressive lives of these villay^e Calvinists, iMit as well to their earnest purposes, their loyal consecra- tion to duty and their genuine reverence for the home, the church and the state, Miss Wilkins is just. Her studies — stories they can hardly be called — are perhaps works of science rather than works of art, but in either case, they are literature. That cosmopolitan New York should furnish material for the same scien- tific study in provincialism would seem to involve a contradiction in terms. Yet ^^%s=^ ^^m^^m^^'-' wiirniiiR b muriiPLACE. that city has an individuality of its own, difficult as it is to depict. Mr. Janvier has done somethin;^- for its art studios and its French colonies. Mr. Howells, in his "Hazard of New Fortunes," has done somethino- for its streets and houses, but it is to Mr. Hamlin Garland and to Mr. Richard Harding Davis that we are indebted for the introduction of typical New Yorkers to Ameri- can readers. Hach, in his different view, gives a hint of the literary possibil- ities to be found in what has heretofore seemed commonplace New York, hi Mr. Eugene Field's grotesque commingling of New England reminiscence, the love of exaggeration to be found all over the western plains, and the quips of AMERICAX HUMOR— AMIiRICAX IIISTORJAXS. 65 1 humor and turns of tenderness which arc closely associated with the Pacific coast, we find writins^- ap[)ropriate to Chicat^o, while further west, Arkansas finds utterance in the sympathetic studies of Octave ThaiUit, The c:arly min- ing excitement of the Californian coast had its own peculiar literature in the racy sketches of Bret 1 iarte — a skillful pupil of Dickens in his mingled humor and pathos, grotesqueness and idealism, and in his depiction of acts of gentleness in lives of hardship. His pictures of mining-life, however, have in them an originality which makes him something more tlian a mere pupil. He has made a distinct, though a provincial contribution to letters. Outside of these sketches there is little genuine humor in American litera- ture. We have many writers of extravagant burlesque ; we have in I^r. 01i\ er Wendell Holmes a kindly, brilliant, scintillating, suggestive wit ; but we can find nowhere in American letters that delicate and quizzical self-revelation, that pathetic oddness, those fantastically expressed confidences, those self-amused idiosyncracies which constitute humor and which tlavored the conversations of Abraham Lincoln. There is a reserve in American writers which prevents such humor. To find it we must go to the English Charles Lamb, Thomas I'uller, and Sir Thomas Browne. Few nations, however, have produced any wittier books than Dr. Holmes' Breakfast Table Series, or more laughable extrava- gances than Mark Twain's, while more quiet and more graceful, though less original than either, are the shorter sketches of Charles Dudley Warner and "Ike Marvel." Scieniific observation and poetic insight united in Thoreau to give him a familiar acquaintance with the shy beauties of nature. His writings are marred by infelicities ;.nd affectations in expression, but they are the work of a genuine lover and interpreter of the woods and streams. He is the master in a scIkjoI which includes an increasing number of writers every decade. At least those American historians, Prescott, Parkman, and Modey, have gained a transatlantic reputation for the eloquence of their style, the beauty of their description, and the artistic power of their presentations of historic movements. All three were careful scholars, though idealists, vigorous, and clear writers, and sanguine Americans. To those at all seriously inclined their histories are as absorbing as fiction, and, if too enthusiastic to be accurate in all their details, are unquestionably true in general outline. They ha\(.' made use of the imagination as an aid to scholarship, not as a substitute for it, and they have used it chietly, if not solely, to elucidate truth. There is nothing in oratory more profoundly eloquent than the two addresses of Abraham Lincoln on the field of Gettysburg. They are the simple and devout expressions of a national patriotism, [)urged of all worldly passion. The chasteness, the harmony, the marvelous beauty of their language is, however, forgotten in the sublimer beauty of their thought and spnnt. They are so sacred 652 THE STORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE. to somcthinq- high(;r than literature that we never thhik of them as literature. The clear and animatin-j^ orations of the chivalric, visionary Wendell Phillips deserve a passing'- mention for their beauty of form and transparency of artrument. But our one crreat orator is the Whiii: statesman, Daniel Webster. He was educated in New Hampshire, under that vigorous discipline which only the hardships of poverty can give, and showed the value of his training in the stalwartness of his after-life, when he stood for a conscientious adherence to the Union and to the Constitution liberally interpreted. To this day, his sonorous, significant, and impressive utterances must be studied for any thorough appreciation of the responsibilities of American citizenship and the genius of American institutions. \\y his inherent dignity he long maintained against the en- croachments of the modern politician our forefathers' standard of dignity in Ameri- can public life. Unquestion- ably the inferior of the great English statesman, Edmund Burke, in beauties of imagi- nation, precision and incisive- ness of language, and in profundity of statesmanshii), he was at least more smooth, more even, and more self- controlled. The contrast between the two well illustrates the contrast between England and America in every department of literature. The typical English writer shows the greater mastery of the powers and striking beauties of language. The American is the smoother and the more pol'shed. The English is the more intense, and the more self-expressive, and the more powerful ; the American the more guarded and the more contented. America has produced as yet no literature comparable to the greater classics of England, but she has produced much worthy to be found in every Anglo-Saxon house- hold, and capable of cheering and strengthening in his work and hardships every Anglo-Saxon reader. WII.IIAM CTLI.KN HRYANT. {Froift a Vhotosraph by Sarotiy^ AV70 York.) FAMOUS AMERICAN AUTHORS. WASHINGTON IRVING, AUTHOR OF THE "SKhTCH BOOK," IRVING, one of the first authors to make? a real American literature, was born in New York in 17S3. In consequence of delicate health he sjxMit much of his jouth in luu'o- pean travel. In 1809 he published his famous " Knickerbocker's I lis- tory of New York," which had great success. Hut it is by his "Sketch Hook," published in 1819, that \u- will be longest remembered. Rip \'an Winkle and his twenty years' sleep, the amorous school- master and the Headless Horse- man of Sleepy Hollow, are charac- ters which live forever immortal. This book, although published in America, was written in England, where Irving was then living, en- joying th(^ pleasures of intimate friendship with Sir Walter Scott, Campbell, and the most famous English writers of the time. Syd- ney Smith's famous taunt, "Who reads an American book?" lost its truth and its sting after the ".Sketch Hook" came from America to charm and capti\ate the reading world of F^ngland. John Murray, the famous linglish publisher, paid Irving large sums for that book and for " Hracebridge Hall " and ihe "Tales of a Traveler," which followed it. There is a story th,;it while Irving w-as at the height of his popularity in Flngland, two women were overheard in conversation before a bust of Washington in an art gallery. "Who was Washington, mother?" asked the younger. "Why, my dear, don't you know?" was the reproving reply ; "he wrote the '.Sketch Hook.' " In 1826 Irving went to Spain, occupying for some time a suite of rooms in the. 3^ 65;, ^ WASHINGTON IRVING. 654 IVASJl/NGTON JKllXG. famous old Moorish palace f)f the AlhanilM'a. While there he wrote his "Life of Columbus," the " Concpu-'st of (iranada," and the "Alhambra" tales, all of which had j^reat success. In 1S32 lu; returni;d to America, and settled at his country seat, "Sunnyside," on the Hudson, near Tarrytown. This lovely home soon became th(; rt-sort of the foremost literary and public men of America. A line H HorsKUOI.D, AS DF.SCRIDKH lY " KMCKKRliOCKKR." Irxintr was a most charm- in(; host, and was never more in his element than n'hen surrounded by appreciative and responsive friends. In 1842, at the su.l;- gestion of Uaniel Webster, he was appointed by President Tyler minister to Spain, where he spent four years, returning in 1846 to his beloved Sunnyside, where he lived until his death in November, 1859. / / 7Z [JAM CI 1. 1. /: A' HR \ ANT. 655 " Irviiifj was as quaint a t"iij;-iirc;," says GeorL^c W. Curtis, "as Diedrich Knickerbocker himself, . . . tripping' with elastic step along liroadway, with low-quartered shoes, neatly tied, and a Talma cloak,' — a short garment that hung from his should(!rs like the cajjc of a coat. There was a chirping, cheery, old- school air in his appearance, which was undeniably Dutch, and most harmonious with the associations of his own writings. He seemeil, indeed, to have stepped out of his own books : and the cordial grace and humor of his address were delightfully characteristic." WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, THE OLDEST OF THE GREAT AMERICAN POETS. (Sceforlraii,pagt ('J J.) ROBABLY there is no other one among the list of American authors whose career so links the literature of the past and of the present as Bryant. "Thanatopsis," one of his most popular poems (though he himself ranked it low), was written in 1S12, when the poet was only eighteen. He was born in western Massachusetts in 1794, and removed to New York in 1825. In 1826 he began to edit the Evcninj^ Jhst, and from that time until the day of his death William Cullen Bryant and the E'c'ciiiiig Post were almost as conspicuous and permanent features of the city as the Bat- tery and Trinity church. He lived under twenty Presidential administrations, closing his life in New York in 1878. In 1 82 1 Mr. Bryant married Frances Falrchild, the loveliness of whose char- acter is hinted in some of his sweetest poems. The one beginning " O fairest of the rural maids," was written some years before their marriage ; and "The Future Life," one of the noblest and most pathetic of his poems, is addressed to her ; — " In meadows fanned by Heaven's life-breathing wind, In the resplendence of that glorious sphere And larger movements of the unfettered mind, Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ? "Will not thy own meek heart demand me there, — That heart whose fondest throbs to me wi re given? My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, And wilt thou never utter it in heaven?" 656 WILLIAM CULLIiX BRYANT. Ainonjj^ his best-known poems arc "A I-'orest Mymn," "The Death of the Flowers," "Lines to a Waterfowl," and " Tiie Plantint^r r)f the Ap[)le-Tree." ( )ne of the greatest of his works, though not anKJiiLj the most popular, is his translation of 1 lomer, which he completed when seventy-seven years of iv^ii. Bryant had a marvelous memory. His familiarity with the linolish poets was such that when at sea, where; he was always too ill to read much, he would bc!^niile the time by recitini,^ P''^.!,^*^- 'dter pay^e from favorite poems. However loni^ the voyaL,'^*', he never exhausted his resources. "I cjnce proposeil," says a friend, " to send for a copy of a magazine in which a new [)oem of his was announced to appear. 'You need not send for it,' said he, 'I can . ^j), recurretl to his mind, and he wrote th(; tale of "The Spy," which had a success then unprecedented in vXmerican literature. Then followeil rapidly "The Piontn-rs," "The Pilot," and "The Last of the Mohicans," which in 1S26 raised his fame to the hij^diest point. The power of his description is well illustrated by its effect on an old sailor, to whom Cooper read parts of "The Pilot," while he was writini,^ it. When he came to the passage describinj^ the vessel beatiu)^ out of the " Devil's (irip" shoals, in the tj^atherini^ storm, his auditor became restless, rose from his chair, and bej^an uneasily to pace the floor. Not a detail escaped him. Pres- ently he burst out, " It's all very well, my fine fellow, but you have let your jib stantl too lons.^." Cooper was delii^hted with his success, but took the hint, ajid made the wind blmv the jib from its bolt-ropes. I'or a (piarter of a century a ceaseless succession of books poured from Cooper's busy pen. In the latter part of his life, unfortunately, he became involved in numerous controversies and quarrels, most of them resultinjj^ from strictures in his Ijooks upon America and Americans, especially in " Homeward Hounil. " A friend, writing,'- from Italy after readinLr that book, said, " I think you lose your hokl on th(; American public by rubbinjf down their shins with brickbats as you tlo. " In consequence of newspaper attacks, Mr. Cooper brought lilxl suits ai^aiinst Thurlow Weed, Morace Greeley, James Watson Webb, and other editors. These cases he arj^aied himself showintr ,t,rreat ability as a lawy(.'r, and secured numerous verdicts ijivint];' him ^lama^'•es ; but the rc-sult increaseil his unpopularity. I le retired to his domiiin at Cooperstown, where he dietl in 1S51, leavint,'- an injunction to his children that no bioi^^raphy of him should be written or materials furnished by them. .Six months after his death a public mevtini( in honor of the threat novelist's memory was held in New York. Daniel Webster presided anil addressed the gatherins^-, and William Cullen Bryant made an address which did much to restore Cooper to his rii,rhtful place amoiij; the writers who have won for American literature a great and enduring fame. GEORGE BANCROFT, THE EMINENT AMERICAN HISTORIAN. Tlil'^ '^vvdi historian of the United States was th(^ son of Rev. Aaron HancToft, a typical New I'ji<,flancl cl(Ti^rynian. 1 1<: was l)orn in Octo- ber, iSoo, — th(,' same month and Vftar in whicli M;icaiilay, the !^n'at luiL^Hsh historian, first saw the lii^iit. To his native brains Mr. IJancroft was fortunately able to add unusual educational oppor- tunities, lie enter(.'(.l Harvard at thirteen, Ljraduated at seventeen, and n\U'v his graduation pursued a Unv^ coin'se of study and travel in Murope. whence Ik- returned in iS:::, brin^iuL; the fruits of his c.k- jK'rience in the shape of rare stores ot knowledge and culture, and an extensive accpiaintanct- with the most distin!L,niishe(l men of the time. I le then entt-red political life, in which for many years he took an active part. In iS;,.). ap- peared the first volume of his c;reat History. Politics interrupted his literary work, and the succeedinjj;^ volumes followed at hin<^ int(;rvals. In 1S45 ht; was mad(t .Secretary' of the Navy under President Polk, and in 1S46 ministttr to .tin,<,danil. Thf; tenth and last solumeof th<- I listory was not publishcxl until 1874. It comes down only to the close of the R(!Vo!ution. Tht; intense patriot- ism of th(! author is manifest in nearly every pai^'-e, and the; work has been criticised as "a Fourth-of-July oration in ten volumes." This fault, however, if it be a fault, is easy for Americans to fori.,nve, and the work is i^cnerally regarded as the standard history of .America up to the time of the Constitution^ 659 i;kokc.k mam koi r. 66o RALPH WAl.DO EMERSON. Mr. liancroft was an orator as well as a historian and politician, one of the best-known of his addresses being the famous oration on Lincoln, delivered before Congress in 1866. During the latter part of his life he had a winter home in Washington, where the national archives and the Library of Congress were always at his hand, and a summer home at Newport, where he had a won- derful garden of roses, which was a great attraction. Rose-growing and horse- back riding were his recreations, and the erect and striking form of the historian, with his long gray beard, mounted on a fine; horse, was for years a familiar figure at Newport and on the streets of Washington. RALPH WALDO EMERSON, THE CONCORD PHILOSOPHER AND POET. (.SVc poll rait, p. 642.') (MERSOX, the famous philosopher, poet, and essayist, the ".Sage of Concord, ' was born in Boston in 1803, and graduated at Harvard whcMi only eighteen. It is characteristic of him that while in college he spent most of his time in the library ; and at graduation, although not above the average of his class in general studies, in literature he was far beyond any of them. He studied for the ministry, and for a few years was pastor of a Boston church ; but he soon resigned because he could not accept some of the doctrines of the church, and thereafter devoted himself to literature. His home was in Concord, Massachusetts, near the scene of the famous battle of 1775, commemorated by his own verse: — " Tliere first the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world." This home, especially after his works had given him reputation and author- ity, became a sort of Mecca to which Emerson's disciples and admirers, drawn either by the man himself or by his works, made pilgrimages. He had a pecu- liarly attractive and impressive personality. One writer says of him : " One day there came into our pulpit the most gracious of mortals, with a face all benig- nity, who gave out the first hymn and made the first prayer, as an angel might have read and prayed. Our choir was a pretty good one. but its best was coarse and discordant alter Emerson's voice." Miss Fredrika Bremer, the Swedish novelist, who visited America in 1849, thus describes him : — " Emerson came to meet us, walking down the little avenue of spruce firs EDGAR A. rOE. 661 which leads from his house, bare-headed amid the fallinif snow. He is a quiet, nobly grave figure, his complexion pale, with strongly marked features and dark hair. That which struck me most, as tlistinguishing him from most other human beings, is his nobility. Me is a born nobleman. 1 have secMi before two other men born with this stamp ujjon them. Mmerson is the third who has it, and perhaps in a yet higher (.legree. And added thereto that deep intonation of voice, that expression, so mild yet so elevated at the same time, 1 could not but think of Maria Lowell's words, ' If he merely mt^ntions my name I feel my- self ennobled.' " It was in his home life that the peculiar power and loveliness of lunerson's character shone most conspicuously. "Mis charm," says out; writer, "lay largely in his manners, which were simple, yet faultless. He greeted his frieiuls with all the mildness and serenity of the very god of repose, and induced in them ... a feeling of entire contentment with all the world. No heat, no fret, no hurry, no great call to strenuous exertion to appear well or make a fine impres- sion. .Ml was ease, calm, unstudied attention to every little want, and talk fit for the noblest and the best." Me was an example of wha' he himself honored most: — "I honor," he says, "that man whose ambition it is. not to win laurel-s in the State or the army, not to be a jurist or a naturalist, not to be a poet or a commander, but to be a master of living well, and to administer the offices of master or servant, of husband, father, and friend." Emerson died at Concord in .April, 1S82. EDGAR A. POE, THE BRILLIANT POET AND AUTHOR. AMONG the geniuses of literature tlicre are 'ew namps whose iiistory is so completely dark and sad as that of Edgar A. I'oe. The author of "The Raven " and "The Bells, ' and of those wonderful romances which \\a\v. made his name famous, was the son of a pair of actors on the variety stage, and was born in Baltimore in 1S09. Mis parents were mist.'rably poor, ami the death of the mother in Richmond in iSi i left her three children to the care of the public. Edgar, who was a beautiful and precocious child, was adopted by Mrs. John Allan, by whom he was brought uj) in luxury. Me was a brilliant scholar, and had the best educational advantages ; but at the University of X'irginia, which he entered at the age of seventeen, he formed the habit of drinking, — a hibit which wrecked his whole life. After graduating, he spent a year in 662 EDGAR ./. POn. lMirf)|ii', and hccamc editor tirst of ilu- Soiitlurtt l.itcrary A/cssai j^cr ;xml after- ward of tlv; (nii//cniait's J/dj^uiz/z/r d\u\ (I'ni/itr/i/'s J/(i<^'(i-()/r. He married his cousin, \'irn;inia Clemin, when sh<' was only fourteen years of age, and the two. witii X'iroinia's mother, led a lift; of tli(; deepest poverty for ten years, until his wife's il<:ath. 1 his in.irriagt.', rash and foolish as it sc^ems. was one of thi; best things in Poc's life. He was a kind and devoted husband, and his wife repaid him with an affection that was little short of worship. Hut he was never able to rid himself of his appe- tite; for drink, and he ilied at last of delirium tremens. Poe was a fine reader and ('locutionist. A writer who at- tend(.'d two lecturt:s by him in Richmond says, "I ne\er heard a voice; s(j musical as his. It was full of the sweetest melody. Dur- ing thi; lecture he recitetl Hood's ' iiridge of .Sighs.' A little boy about twelve years of age was sitting near me. 1 !(; was listen- ing intently, and b(;fore Poe had fmish(;d the poem he was in tears. Could there; be; any greater tri- bute to a sp(;aker"s power? .After the lei ture Poe v(;ry modestly saiel, ' I have been recpiested to recite; my own pe)e;m, "The Ra- il.,, m; \, I,, I. ve;n." ' Xe) one; who hearel this will e:ve;r forget the beauty and pathos with which this recitatiem was rendereel. The audie;nce was as still as ele'ath, and as his we-irel, musical ve)ice; filled the- hall, its effe-ct was simjjly inele- scribable. It se-e'ins to me that I can ye-t he-ar that lf)ng, plaintive ' Xe've'rme)re;.' " A lady whe) was an intimate; frie-nd ni Poe in his later years says of him : — "I Iiavi' never seen him (itlier\vi->e tli.m _L;eiitle, tieneroiis. well-bred, and fastidiously refined. To a sensitive and (leli( ,uel)- niirlured wmnan tiiere was a jieciiliar and irresistible charm in the fhivalrir. graeelul, and almost tender reverence with which he invariably approached all women who wnn his respect." Poe died in Haltime)rt: in 1849. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, THE GREATEST AMERICAN WHITER OF ROMANCE, TIIH famous ai.thor of "The ScarU't Letter " and "The MarbU: I'aun " was th(; son of a sea-cap- tain, anil was horn in SaU'm, Nhis- sachiisctts, in 1S04. (See p. 638.) I !(• i^raihiatecl at Howdoin College, Nhiini;, Loii^h^llow, the poet, and hranklln I'ierce, aft(;rward I'resi- cUmU of the I'nited States, beint^ anionj^ his classmates. 1 lawthorne was moody and melancholy, and Pierce did much to cheer and en- courai^e him, thus laying- tin; foun- dation of a lifelont,'^ friendship. In 1843 1 Iawthorn<; took up his resi- dence at ConcortI, in the " ( )U1 Manse" (see p. 640I, which he has mad(; so famous, and from whose windows, it is said, the minister of th(; parish, on .\pril igih, 1775, looked out upon the meniorahle battle between his fellow-townsmen ami the British troops. \i\ 1846 he published "Mosses from an Old Manse," ami in 1850 "The .Scarlet Letter," which immediately placed him at the heatl of American writers of fiction. In 1852 President Pierce appointed hini consul at Liverpool, and most of the remainder of his life was spent in Europe. In general company, Hawthorne was silent and reserved, lie was intensely shy, so much so that he has been known to leave the road and take to the fields rather than encounter a group of passers-by. He loved to go on solitary walks, seeking out secluded places where he could muse and dream without fear ofdistiarbance. Once he brought Mr. Fields, his friend and publisher, to one 663 NATHAN in. llAWnluKNi:. 664 NATHANIEL IIAWTIIORNIi of these haunts, and l)a(l(; him lie down on the L,Tass. and watch the clouds lloat abov(,', and hoar tlic birds sIul;-. " As we sI(;c[)»h1 ()ursclv(;s in the delicious iille- n(-'ss." writes Mr. Fields, "he bej^an to murnnir sonn; halfforj^otten lines fn^ii 'Ihoinson's ' .Seasons,' which he said had been favorites ol'his boyhood. While we lay there, hidden in th(! i^rass, we hc-ard a[)|)roachini; footsteps, and Iiawthorn(; hurriedly whisix-red, 'Duck! or we shall Ix; interrupted bj- sonn-body.' The sole-innity of his nianiKM', and tin; thoui,du of the down llat position in which we had both placed ours(!lves to avoid bi-iiii:,'^ seen, hr(;w me into a foolish semi- hysterical tit of lauj^diter. and when he nud,m'd me and aj^ain whispered mori; luj^ubriously than ever, 'Heaven hel|) me, Mr. is closi; upon us!' I felt convinced that if the thing went further, suffocation, in my case at least, must ensue." I'Ortunati^ly for Hawthorne, anil for the worlil as well, he was most happily marrieil, his wife beini^ a woman of stront:;' common sense and strength of character, able to shield her sensitive, shy, unpractical husbantl from the world, willinj^ and .Lj^lad to bear the burdens of poverty for his sake, and fmding her abundant recompense in his love and com|)anionship. 'J'he early years of their marriage, before the publication of " The Scarlet Letter," were spent in poverty and obscurity ; but there was the most perfect sympathy and companion- ship in the home life. Theirs was in truth an ideal marriage. Hawthorne himself writes : — " My wife is in the strictest sense my sole companion, and I need no other ; there is no vacancy in my mind any more than in my heart. In truth, I have spent so many years in total seclusion from human society that it is no wonder if now I feel all my desires satistled by this sole intercourse." Hawthorne returned from Europe with his family during the time of the civil war, anil died not long after his return. "We carried him," writes Fields, "through the blossoming orchards of Concord, and laid him down under a group of pines on a hillside : the unfinished romance which had cost him such an.xiety laiil upon his coffin." His friend, Longfellow, in one of his most e.xipiisite poems, describes the scene, referring to the uncompleted romance in the closing lines : — " Ah, who shall lift that wand of magic power, And the lost clue regain ? The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower Unfinished must remain." HENRY D. THOREAU, THE CONCUKD HhRMIl AND NATURALIST. THOREAU is one of the most (jiiaiiit and strikin. THORKAU. JOHN G. WHITTIER. THK UUAKER POET OF AMERICA. W HI rriKR. the poet of freedom and rii^ht and truth, tlu- author of '• Snow-Iioiind " and "The Tent on th(! Beach," was a N(r\v I'^ng- land farmer's son, born at Haver- hill, Massachusetts, in iHag. 1 h; has iriven us a most perfect picture of the home life of his youth, _t,rlow- inj^ with life and color, in the ex- quisite poem of "Snow-Hound." Not evcm the hard, bare, practical round of farm lift; in a Quaker home could re|)r(!ss the poetry in him. When he was a boy of eighteen, he sent with fear and trembling some anonymous verses to the weekly j)aper in Newbury- port, of which William Lloyd Gar- rison, afterward the famous aboli- tionist, was editor. When the next paper came, Whittier was trans- fixed with delit^hted surprise to find his verses not only printed, but commended, with a note l^y the editor askino; for more. Soon afterward Garri- son, himself little more than a boy, came to see the young poet, and to plead with his parents for an education for him. Whittier thus naturally drifted into advocacy of the cause of freedom, and for many years his earnest and thrillint,'^ poems were ilevoted to that cause. On more than one occasion he was threat- ened with mob violence for his part in the abolition movement, for which, after the final overthrow of slavt with me?" In personal appearance W'hiitier was ilcscrilK^l in his prime as "tall, sUmi- der, and slrai^jht as an Indian, lie has a supirrb head ; his broad brow looks like a white cloud under his raven hair ; eyes larj,^e, black as sloes, and glowinj^ with expression. . . . Ilashino^ like stars under such a mai^mificent forehiiad." Althouii;^h Whittier was for nearly half a century famous as a poet, his works, imtil his later years. broii|L,dit him a very scanty revenue. I'Vom his "Life and Letters," published in 'S94, we learn that llu; first sales of "Snow Hound" realized $10,000, after which he was in comfortable circumstances. " The Tent on the Beach " sold for some weeks at the rate of a thousand copies a day. and he wrote to his publisher, " This will never do. The swindle is awful." He could hardly credit the popularity of his poems, and felt that it was not merited. The poet was shy and diffident amonjr stranj^crs and in formal society, but among his friends genial and delightful, with a fimd of gentle and delicate humor which gave his conversation a great charm. He was extremely fond of children, who rarely failed to appreciate and return his love. Thoi'igh always a member of the .Society of I'Viends, he was broail and liberal, dwelling little upon forms or creeds. Onct;, when a little niece wanted a scarlet cape such as other children were wearing, and her Quaker mother objected, Mr. Whittier pleaded for the little girl so well that she was allowed to have her way. The evening of Mr. Whittier's life was passed among near friends at Dan- vers, Massachusetts, with the pleasant consciousness of being widely esteemed and beloved. He died on September 7th, 1S92. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. THE GREAT POET AND ESSAYIST. (.SVv [•ofliait, 1-. ('yd.) IT IS Iiard to label this many- sidiid man, author of " The X'ision of Sir Laiinfal " ami the " FabU; lor Critics," the " Hi^dow Papers " aiul the "Present Crisis," poet, essay- ist, critic, wit, man of letters, diplomatist, and professor. He was born in Hoston in 1819. lie graduated ai Har- vard, and began the study of law, but soon gave it up to devote himself to literature. He married Maria White, a woman of singular beauty and loveliness, who is the subject of some of his most exquisite poems. Mrs. Lowell was her- self a poet, the best known of her works being those sweet and pathetic poems, " The Alpine Sheep" and "The Morning-Glory," both in memory of a dead child. Mrs. Lowell herself died in 1853. On the night of her death a daughter was born to Mr. Lowell's neighbor, the poet Longfellow, who sent to his friend the beautiful poem, "The Two Angels." " 'Twasat thy door, O friend, and not at mine I'he angel with the amaranthine WTcath, Pausing, descended, and with voice divine Uttered a word that had a sound like death. " Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, A shadow on those features fair and ihin, And slowly, from that hushed and darkened room, Two angels issued, where but one went in." 668 INTERIfiR OF MKMORIAL HAI I., HARVAKD I'M VKRSITV. JAM/:S RlSSliU. LOW 1. 1. 1.. 6r»«) In 1S54 Mr. Lowell was a|)|)()iiUc(l lo llu- chair u{ jif'es/r/lrrs \u Harvard l^nivcrsity. aiiy workint^ twelve and fourteen hours daily, he manai^ed to earn six dollars a week. For months he plodiled alonof in this manner, not always havinii;- employment. In January, 1832, he procured a situation on the Spirit of I he Tinn's, \.\\v. fore- man of which, ]•". \'. -Story, after- ward became his partner. The young firm hired rooms on i\\v. corner of Nassau and Liberty streets. Their principal dependence was the printing" of .Sylvester's Jiiiiik-noic Reporter. All the money invested by Cireeley and .Story was about $240, Mr. George Hruce, the type founder, granting them credit for some additional material. Mr. .Story was tlrowned in Jiuie, 1S33. His place in the business was supplied by Mr. Jonas Winchester, and early the next spring (March, 1834) Mr. Greeley commenced his first editorial work, the firm publishing a weekly paper called the AVa' Yorker, which lasted until the March of 1S41, when it went imder, with a credit on its books of 510,000 due to Mr, Greeley for editing the paper, all of which was sunk with the wreck. But the debts which the firm owed to others troubled him far more than what WII.I.IAM HENRY HARRISON. 678 HORACE GREELEY. he. lost in the concern himself. 1 lis expressions on this subject are pathetic in their intensity. " I'Or my own |)art," lie says, "and 1 speak from sad e.xperi- encc, I would rather be a convict in State's prison, a slave in a rice-swamp, than to pass through life under the liarrow of ile-bt. If you have but fifty cents, and can 541! no more: for a week, buy a peck of corn, parch it, and live on it, rather than owe any man a dollar." In the famous campaign of 1S40, when Harrison was "suni,^ and shouted into the presidential cliair," Cireeley started a small weekly calU:d the Lo}i Cabin. He threw all his spirit and eiu.rj^y into it ; he made it lively, crisp, and cheap. It attained an almost unheard-of success, reachintr editions of ei<;hty and ninety thousand. It was continued for several months after the triumphant election of Harrison, and then merged into the New York Tribune, which Greeley started at this time, the first issue appearinij Ajjril 10, 1841. cKKr.i.KV AND Till; "rKnn.Ni;." The new enterprise soon became successful. It was helped at the start by a bitter attack from the Sun, then in the hands of Moses Y. Heach. The de- fense and rejoinders were equally pungent and amusing. Mr. Greeley always throve best upon opposition. His spicy retorts, and especially his partisan en- thusiasm, forced the attention of the public, and the subscription-list of the Tribune soon rose from hundreds to thousands ; by the third week in May it had 10,000 names on its books. New and more powerful presses had to be bought to work off these large editions. Advertisers came rushing in, and it became absolutely necessary for the overwhelmed editor to seek a business partner. The Tribune office would soon have become a modern spectacle of chaos had not its financial affairs been taken in hand by a competent financier. This " good angel of the profit and loss account " was Mr. Thomas Mcl^lrath, through whose efficiency and good management was soon brought order out of confu- sion, making the " Tribune office not only one of the best conducted, but one of the best paying in the city." Greeley was now in his element. Political and social discussion were the breath of his nostrils ; and under his hand the Tribune quickly became the most interesting paper in the country, as well as the most powerful. Mr. Greeley was a very earnest and emphatic writer ; it was impossible to mistake his mean- ing ; he had positive opinions on all subjects upon which he touched. Hence he drew devoted followers and admirers on the one side, while exciting the most bitter opposition from the unconvinced. He was the most pugnacious of edit- ors, and was much stronger in a fight than when unopposed. One thing which undoubtedly tended to bring the Tribune into prominence was Greeley's tendency toward " isms." He always had something to say about new social, industrial, and religious theories, and was very apt to advocate them. Si'CCIiSS OF THE " TRinCXF.." 6/9 In this direction he was much inlUienced by his wife, whom he had married in J'lly, 1836. She was a huly deeply imbued with the ultra-transcendentalism of the period ; she was also a vejrctarian, and in many respects held eccentric and unusual views. Horace Greeley was dtn-oted to her. It was, perhaps, in a measure due to her influence that Mr. Greeley took up with such zeal the cause of I'ourierism, be- coming a devoted follower ami ex- poniMit of this theory for reor- ganizing society. Mrs. Greeley was one of those who joined in the " Brook barm ex- periment," a de- velopment of Fourierism in Massachusetts, which was a rather ludicrous failure. One thiniif in particular gave the Tribune emi- nence ; that was Greeley's policy of employing as contributors the best writers of the time. To name all the able men and women who thus won fame for both themselves and the Tr i b u u e , would make a list too long to print ; but among them may be mentioned Bayard Taylor, whose "Views Afoot" first appeared in the form of letters to the Tribune ; Margaret Fuller, whose articles gave her a wide reputation ; George Ripley, Moncure D. Conway, Sydney Howard Gay, and George W. Smalley ; and for years Thomas WniTF.I-AW RF.in, OREEI.EY'S successor as editor of the "TRini'NE," (jHo //ok. I a- (;/;e class of readers who believed in him, to whom he was a mental and moral lawt^iver, who refuseil to believe any evil of him ; and, if some visitor to the city — for a larj^e proportion of Tribune readers were country, and particularly Western, people — on cominj^ back, reported that in an interview with Mr. Greeley the edit(jr had indulged in JF.FFERSOV PAVIS. 682 HORACl-: GREELhY. unlimit('(l profanity, ilu; unlucky individual was incontinently discredited and voted a calumniator. In the years lollo\vin<,r the war, ( ireelt-y's pen was mort; busy than ever, licside his editorial writing in the Tribune, he prepared the second volume of CKKKNWdill) CKMIIKKV. his war history, "The American Conflict," and his delightful autobiography, "Recollections of a Busy Life." He was always intensely interested in the growth of the West, where he had made a memorable tour in 1859, extending to Salt Lake City ; and now he unceasingly advocated w^estern emigration. His terse advice, "Go West, young man, and grow up with the country," THE CAMPAIGN OF 1S73. 683 became a sort of national watchword, and many thousands of eastern people resolved to turn their faces toward the empire of the West. In 1S72 a curious political combination was maile. Probably such a sur- prise was never sprung- ui)on the country as the nomination of Horace (ireeley for th(! Presidency, by a convention of " Libe-ral Republicans" and boltini^ Democrats, That he should be dek^ated at the polls was inevitable. .Slranj,je to say, his experience as an editor, his own denunciations of political opponents, had not prepared him for the bitter attacks which wi-re macU; upon him. lie could not diijest the ridicule of the caricaturists, who, it is safe to say, never before had such a temptiuL,'- opportunity. He worked hard throuj^h the canvass, travelinj^ and adilressinjj;^ meetins^s ; body and mind suffered from the fatis^ue and excitement. To add to his troubU.'s, Mrs. Greeley, who had been out of health for a considerable time, died at this period ; he watched ovi r her day and nitrht, obtainini,'- very little sleep, and altoi^^ether the burden became too great for him to bear. His health Ljave way; Ik; became viabU^ to sleep ; and sleeplessness was foUoweil by inllammation of the brain, which soon ended his life, lu'erythini^ which medical skill and attention, with the loviuL^ care of his two devoted daughters, could do, was done ; but all was unavailing. A short time before his death, the terrible delirium incidcMit to his disease sub- sided, and he became himself once more. After some hours of calm and serene rest, with his faculties restored, he passed quietly away, repeating the sublime words of Job, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." Horace Greeley sleeps in Greenwood Cemetery, Long Island, on a hill over- looking the beautiful bay of New York, and within sight of the great city where his busy life was spent. In the centre of the plot stands a granite pedestal, on which is a portrait bust of heroic size, showing the upper part of his figure, in the historic white overcoat, with the front thrown back, e.xposing to view the inner pocket, filled with letters and papers. This monument was erected by the printers of New York, the bust and the two tablets on the sides of the pedestal being of type metal. On one of the tablets is the figure of a young man setting type, his " stick" in his left hand, the right resting on the "case." On the other tablet is the inscription : — HORACE GREELEY. BORN February 3d, 1811. Died November 29th, 1872. Founder of the New York Tribune. " "frwii ilililjiiiiiiiliiililr liliiliin;,vi,;;;iii;ii;^.a;sii;£:..K^^^^ HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, AUTHOR OK THE MOST PORULAR AMERICAN NOVEL,. EW names are more indelibly written upon our country's history than that of Harriet Beecher Stowe. " No book," says George William Curtis, " was ever more a historical event than 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.' ... It is the great happiness of Mrs. Stowe not only to have written many delightful books, but to have written one book which will always be famous not only as the most vivid picture of an extinct evil system, but as one of the most powerful influences in overthrowing it. . . . If all whom she has charmed and quickened should unite to sing her praises, the birds of summer would be outdone." Harriet Beecher Stowe was the sixth child of Reverend Lyman Beecher, — the great head of that great family which has left so deep an impress upon the heart and mind of the American people. She was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, in June, 1811, — just two years before her next younger brother, Henry Ward Beecher. Her father was pastor of the Congregational Church in Litchfield, and her girlhood was passed there and at Hartford, where she attended the excellent seminary kept by her elder sister, Catharine E. Beecher. In 1832 her father accepted a call to the presidency of Lane Theological Seminary, at Cincinnati, and moved thither with his family. Catharine Beecher went also, and established there a new school, under the name of the Western Female Institute, in which Harriet assisted. In 1833 ^'■''S- Stowe first had the subject of slavery brought to her personal notice by taking a trip across the river from Cincinnati into Kentucky in company with Miss Dutton. one of the associate teachers in the Western Institute. They visited the estate that afterward figured as that of Mr. Shelby, in " LIncle Tom's Cabin," and here the young authoress first came into personal contact with the slaves of the South. In speaking, many years afterward, of this visit, Miss Dutton said : " Harriet did not seem to notice anything in particular that hap. pened, but sat much of the time as though abstracted in thought. When the negroes did funny things, and cut up capers, she did not seem to pay the 687 6S8 HARRIET BEECHER STOIVE. slij,Witest attention to them. Afterwanl, however, in reading ' Uncle Tom,' I recognized scene after scene of that visit portrayed with the most minute fidehty, and knew at once where the material for that portion of the story had been gathered." Harriet Beecher's life in Cincinnati was such as to bring out all that was best and noblest in her character. Where her father's family was, she could not lack good society, for all that was best intellectually and socially always gath- NKGRO VII.I.ACK IN CKORGIA. ered naturally around that centre. Among the professors in Lane Seminary was Calvin 1^. Stowe, whose wife, a dear friend of Miss Beecher, died soon after Dr. Beecher's removal to Cincinnati. In 1836 Professor Stowe and Har- riet Beecher were married. They were admirably suited to each other. Pro- fessor Stowe was a typical man of letters, — a learned, amiable, unpractical philosopher, whose philosophy was like that described by Shakespeare as "an excellent horse in the stable, but an arrant jade on a journey." Her practical SECURING A SLAVE'S EREEDOM. 689 ability and cheerful, inspirinsj^ courage were the unfailing support of her hus- band. Soon after their marriage he sailed for Europe to purchase books for Lane Seminary, and in a characteristic letter given to him at parting, not to be opened unlii he was at sea, she charges him, "Set your face like a llint against the ' cultivation of indigo,' as IClizabeth calls it, in any way or shai)e. . . . Seriously, dear one, you must give more way to hope than to memory. You are going to a new scene now, and one that I hope will be full of enjoyment to you. I want you to take the good of it." In 1839 Mrs. Stowe received into her family as a servant a colored girl from Kentucky. By the laws of Ohio she was free, having been brought into the State and left there by her mistress. In spite of this. Professor Stowe received word, after she had lived with them some months, that the girl's master was in the city looking for her, and that if she were not careful she would be seized and taken back into slavery. Finding that this could be accomplished by bold- ness, perjury, and the connivance of some unscrupulous justice of the peace, Professor Stowe determined to remove the girl to some place of security where she might remain until the search for her should be given up. Accordingly, he and his brother-in-law, Henry Ward Beecher, both armed, drove the fugitive, in a covered wagon, at night, by unfrequented roads, twelve miles back into the country, and left her in safety with the family of old John Van Zandt, the fugi- tive's friend. It is from this incident of real life and personal e.xperience that Mrs. Stowe conceived the thrilling episode of Eliza's escape from Tom Loker and Marks, in " Uncle Tom's Cabin." In the spring of 1832 Mrs. Stowe visited Hartford, taking her six-year-old daughter Hatty with her. In writing from there to her husband she confides some of her literary plans and aspirations to him, and he answers : — " My dear, you must be a literary woman. It is so written in the book of fate. Make all your calculations accordingly. Get up a good stock of health, and brush up your mind. Drop the E out of your name. It only encumbers it and interferes with the flow ami euphony. Write yourself fully and always Harriet Beecher Stowe, which is a name euphonious, flowing, and full of mean- ing. Then, my word for it, your husband will lift up his head in the gates, and your children will rise up and call you blessed." The letter closes with a characteristic appeal : — "And now, my dear wife, I want you to come home as quick as you can. Tlie fact is I can- not live without you, and if w« were not so prodigious poor I would come for you at once. There is no woman like you in this wide world. Who else has so much talent, with so little self-conceit; so much reputation, with so little affectation ; so much literature with so little non:;ense, so much enterprise with so little extravagance, so much tongue with so little scold, so much swettuess with so little softness, so much of so many things and so little of so many other things? " 6yo HARRIET B EEC HER STOWE. That Professor Stowe's devoted admiration for his wife was reciprocated, and that a most perfect sympathy of feelin^j existed between the husband and wife, is shown by a line in one of Mrs. Stowe's letters from Hartford, in which she says : " I was tellinj^r Hclle yesterday that I did not know till I came away how much I was dependent upon you for information. There are a thousand favorite subjects on which I could talk with you better than with any one else. If you were not already my dearly loved husband I should certainly fall in love with you." The years from 1845 to 1850 were a time of severe trial to Mrs. Stowe. She and her husband both suffered from ill health, and the family was separated. Professor Stowe was struggling with poverty, and endeavoring at the same time to lift the Theological Seminary out of financial difficulties. In 1849, while Pro- fessor Stowe was ill at a water-cure establishment in Vermont, their youngest child died of cholera, which was then raging in Cincinnati. In 1850 it was decided to remove to Brunswick, Maine, the seat of Bowdoin College, where Professor Stowe was offered a position ; and in April Mrs. Stowe, with three of her five children, started on the long and toilsome journey, leaving her hus- band with, the other two to follow a few months later. Their household goods were shipped at the same time, and Mrs. Stowe, under the pressure of poverty and in delicate health, undertook all the labor and responsibility of establishing their new home. Early in the summer her husband joined her, and in July her son Charles was born. In a letter written about this time she says : — "Sarah, when I look back, I wonder at myself, not that I forget any one thing that I should remember, but that I have remembered anything. From the time that I left Cincinnati with my children to come forth to a country that I knew not of, almost to the present time, it seemed as if I could scarcely breathe, I was so pressed with care. My head dizzy with the whirl of railroads and steamboats ; then ten days' sojourn in Boston, and a constant toil and hurry in buying my furniture and equipments; then landing in Brunswick in the midst of a drizzly, inexorable northeast storm, and beginning the work of getting in order a deserted, dreary, damp old house. . . . " Then comes a letter from my husband saying he is sick abed, and all but dead ; don't ever expect to see his family again ; wants to know how I shall manage in case I am left a widow ; knows we shall get in debt and never get out ; wonders at my courage, thinks I am very sanguine, wants me to be prudent, as there won't be much to live on in case of his death, etc.. etc., etc. I read the letter and poke it into the stove, and proceed.". . . Few women under such circumstances would think of undertaking literary work ; yet it was in the midst of these events that the great work of Mrs. Stowe's life began to take definite shape in her mind. The year 1850 is memorable in the history of the conflict with slavery. It was the year of Clay's compromise measures, as they were called, which sought to satisfy the North by the admission of California as a free State, and to pro- pitiate the South by the notorious "Fugitive Slave Law." The slave power was at its height, and seemed to hold all things under its feet ; yet in truth it THE ORIGIN OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN:' 691 had entered upon the last stai^e of its existence, and the forces were fast gatherinjr for its final overthrow. EFFlvCTS OK THE FUdlTIVK SI. AVI- LAW. After the passajje of the Fugitive Slave Act, letter after letter was received by Mrs. Stowe, in Brunswick, from Mrs. Edward Heccher and other friends, describing the heart-rending scenes which were the inevitable results of the enforcement of this terrible law. Cities were more available for capturing escaped slaves than the country, and Boston, which claimed the "cradle of liberty," Faneuil Hall, opened her doors to the slave-hunters. The sorrow and anguish caused thereby no pen could describe. Families of colored people were broken up. Some hid in garrets and cellars. Some tied to the wharves and embarked in ships and sailed for Europe. Others went to Canada. One poor fellow, who was doing good business as a crockery merchant, and supporting his family well, when he got notice that his master, whom he had left many years before, was after him, set out for Canada in midwinter on foot, as he did not dare to take a public conveyance. He froze both feet on the journey, and they had to be amputated. Mrs. E^dward Beecher, in a letter to Mrs. Stowe's son, writing of this period, says: — " I had been nourishing an anti-slavery spirit since Lovejoy was murdered for publishing in his paper articles against slavery and intemperance, when our home was in Illinois. These terrible things which were going on in Boston were well calculated to rouse up this spirit. What can I do? I thought. Not much myself, but I know one who can. So I wrote several letters to your mother, telling her of various heart-rending events caused by the enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Law. I remember distinctly saying in one of them, 'Now, Hattie, if I could use a pen as you can, I would write something that would make this whole nation feci what an accursed thing slavery is.' " When we lived in Boston your mother often visited us. . . . Several numbers of ' Uncle Tom's Cabin ' were written in your Uncle Edward's study at these times and read to us from manuscripts." A member of Mrs. Stowe's family well remembers the scene in the little parlor in Brunswick when the letter alluded to was received. Mrs. Stowe her- self read it aloud to the assembled family, and when she came to the passage, " I would write something that would make this whole nation feel what an accursed thing slavery is," Mrs. Stowe rose from her chair, crushing the letter in her hand, and with an expression on her face that stamped itself on the mind of her child, said : " I luill write .something. I will, if I live." This was the origin of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Professor Cairnes and others said truly, "The Fugitive Slave Law has been to the slave power a questionable gain. Among its first fruits was ' Uncle Tom's Cabin.' " It was in the month of February after these words were written that Mrs. Stowe was seated at the communion service in the college church at Brunswick. Suddenly, like the unrolling of a picture, the scene of the death of Uncle Tom 692 HARRIET BEECH fiR STOU'E. passed before her mind. So stron,i,dy was she affected that it was with difficulty she could kee[j from weepip},r aloud. Immediately on returninj^ home she took pen and paper and wrote (.nt the vision which had been as it were blown into her mind " as by the rushinjr of a mighty wind." (iathering her little family about her, she read what she had written. Her two little ones of ten and twelve years of ai,fe broke into convulsions of weepin_ 10,000 in royalties. The poet Whittier wrote at this time to William Lloyd Garrison : — " What a glorious work Harriet Beeciier Stowe lias wrought. Thanks for tiie FuLcitive Slave Law ! Better would it be for slavery if thai law had never been enacted ; for it gave occasion for 'Uncle Tom's Cabin."' Garrison wrote to Mrs. Stowe : — " I estimate the value of anti-slavery writing by the abuse it brings. Now all the defenders of slavery have let me alone and are abusing _\ou." It is true that with congratulatory and commendatory letters came hosts of others, threatening and insulting, from the Haleys and the Legrees of the country. Of them Mrs. .Stow^e said : " They are so curiously compounded of blasphemy, cruelty, and obscenity that their like could only be expressed by John Bunyan's account of the speech of ApoUyon : ' He spake as a dragon.' " The feeling toward the book in the .South is well described in a letter written by Mrs. Stowe to the Earl of Shaftesbury : — " There is nothing that Southern political leaders and capitalists so dread as anti-slavery feel- ing among themselves. All the force of lynch law is employed to smother discussion and blind conscience on this question. The question is not allowed to be discussed, and he who sells a book o^ publishes a tract makes himself liable to fine and imprisonment. 6^4 HARK/ET BEI'XHER STOWE. " My l)()t)k is, tlicrcfore, as mucli under an intcnlict in sonic ])arts of the South as the Hible is in Italy. It is not allowed in the bookstores, and the greater part of the people hear of it and me only through grossly caricatured representations in the jjapers, with garl)lcd extracts from the book. " A cousin residing in (leorgia ihis winter says that the prejudice against my name is so strong that she dares not have it appear on the outside of her letters, and that very amiable and excellent people have asked her if such as I could be received into reputable society at the North." The popularity of " UncU; Tom's Cabin " abroad was as remarkable as its success at home. A statement made by Clarke ii Company, who published the first English edition, is as follows :- " An early cojiy was sent from America in April to Mr. Rogue, the publisher, and was offered by him to Mr. Gilpin, late of Bishopsgate street. Iking declined by Mr. Clilpin, Mr. Hogue otfered A NKW ENnl.ANl) COTTON MILL OF MRS. STOWE'S TIME. it to Mr. Henry Vizetelly, and by the latter gentleman it was eventually purchased for us. Before printing it, however, as there was one night allowed for decision, one volume was taken home to be read by Mr. Vizetelly, and the other by Mr. Salisbury, the printer, of Bouverie street. The report of the latter gentleman the following morning, to quote his own words, was : ' I sat up till four in the morning reading- the book, and the interest I felt in it was expressed one moment by laughter and another by tears. Thinking it might be weakness and not the power of the author that affected me, I resolved to try the effect on my wife fa rather strong-minded woman). I accordingly woke her and read a few chapters to her. Finding that her interest in the story kept her awake, and that she, too, laughed and cried, I settled in my mind that it was a book that ought to, and might with safety, be printed.' " Mr. Vizetelly's opinion coincided with that of Mr. Salisbury, and to the latter gentleman HER NVMEROUS BOOKS. 695 it was confided, to be brought out immediately. I'lic wick following the book was produced, and one edition of 7000 coi)ics worked off. It made no stir until the middle of June, although we advertised it very extensively. From June it began to make its way, and it sold at the rate of 1000 per week during July. In August the deuuiml becaiue very great, and went on increasing to the 20th, by which time it was jjerfectly overwhelming. We have now about four hundred jieople emjiloyed in getting out the Ixxik, and seventeen printing machines, besides hand presses. Already about 150,000 copies of the book are in the hands of the people, and still the returns of the sales show 00 decline." • In 1S52 Professor .Stowc received a call to the professorshi[) of .Sacred Literature in Andover Theoloi^ical Seminary, and the family soon removed to their Massachusetts home. They were now relieved from financial pressure ; but Mrs. Stowe's health was still delicate; and in 1853 she went with her hus- band and brother to England, where she received, much to her surprise, a uni- versal welcome. She made many friends among the most distinguished people in Great Britain, and on the continent as well. On her return she wrote the "Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin," and began " Dred, a Tale of the Dismal Swamp." In fact, her literary career was just begmning. With " Uncle Tom's Cabin " her powers seemed only to be fairly awakened. One work after another came in quick succession. For nearly thirty years after the publication of " Uncle Tom," her pen was never idle. In 1854 she published "Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands," and then, in rapid succession, "The Minister's Wooing," "The Pearl of Orr's Island," "Agnes of Sorrento," "House and Home Papers," " Little Foxes," and " Oldtown I-'"olks." These, however, are but a small i)art of her works. Besides more ♦^han thirty books, she has written magazine articles, short stories, and sketches almost without number. She has entertained, instructed, and inspired a generation born long after the last slave was made free, and to whom the great question which once convulsed our country is only a name. But her first great work has never been surpassed, and it will never be forgotten. The evil system which produced the story has long since passed away ; but " Uncle Tom " still lives in immortal youth. Our hearts still tremble for Eliza and her child ; they exult over George Harris's defense ; they burn at the words of St. Clare, and they sink within us at Uncle Tom's death. Who can read unmoved the story of Cassy's life, or of poor Topsy hiding away in her bosom the keepsake of her lost Eva ? And what man but can understand the feelings of George Shelby, when, kneeling by the new-made grave of Uncle Torn, he says, " Witness, eternal God, that from this hour I will do what one man can to drive this curse of slavery from my land ! " After the war which accomplished the abolition of slavery, Mrs. Stowe lived in Hartford, Connecticut, in summer, and spent the winters in Florida, where she bought a luxurious home. Her pen was hardly ever idle ; and the popu- larity of her works seemed to steadily increase. The most noteworthy event of Mrs. Stowe's later years was the celebra- 6i/) IIARRHU imiiCUER STOWE. tion of her scvdiuicth l)irth(lay, on Juik; 14, 1SS2. 1 Icr [)ul)lish('rs. Houghton, Mitllin cS: C(j.. arraiij^cd a rcc(.;iJiion lor lu;r in the form of a ^:arcl(Mi party at th(j "Old I'llms." till' home of cx-Ciovcrnor Clallin of Massachusetts, in one of H(jston's most beautiful suburljs. Tiie assembly j:,uithered to do honor to Mrs. Stowe that lovely June afternoon comprised two hundred of tht; most distin- v,aiishetl and best known amon^- liie literary nu'ii and women of the day. As the quests arris eil they were presented to Mrs. .Stowe by ^!r. H. O. I Iou_L,diton, and then they (gathered in u^roups in the ])arlors, on tlu; verandas, on the lawn, and in the refreshment room. At tive- o'clock they assembU^d in the large tent on the lawn, when Mr. I louL,diton, as host, adtlressed to his guest and her friends a few words of congratulation ami welcome. Poems written for the occasion by John (i. Whittier, Dr. O. \V. Holmes, Mrs. A. I). T. Whitney, .Miss Idizabeth Stuart Pheli)S. Mr. J. T. Trowbridge, Mrs. Allen (Mrs. Stowe's daughter), Mrs. Annie I'ields, and Miss Charlotte \\ l^ates were also read, anil speeches wtM'e made by Judge Albion \V. Tourgee and others prominent in the literary world. Letters from many noted people who wen; prevented from being present were read or placed in Mrs. .Stowe's hands. The e.xercises were closed by a few words from Mrs. .Stowe herself. As she came to the front of the platform the whole company rose, and remained standing until she had finished. Her address was brief and simjile, — a few words of thanksgiving for the great work wrought by God's hand in the abolition of slavery, and of loving trust that " all things work together for good." " If any of you have doubt, or sorrow, or pain, if you doubt about this world, just remember what Ciod has done ; just remem- ber that this great sorrow of slavery has gone, gone by forever. . . . Let us never doubt. Everything that ought to happen is going to happen." The last stanza of Whittier's beautiful poem may fittingly close this brief sketch : — " .\h, dearer than the jiraise that stirs The air to-day, our love is hers ! She needs no guaranty of fame Whose own is linked with I'Yeedom's name. Long ages after ours shall keep Her memory living while we sleep ; The waves that wash our gray coast lines, The winds that rock the Southern pines, Shall sing of her ; the unending years Shall tell her tale in unl)orn ears. And when, with sins and follies past, Are numbered color-hate and caste, White, black, and red shall own as one The noblest work by woman done." POLITICAL GIANTS OF THE PRESENT DAY. IIV KDWARI) S. KI.I.IS, A.M., Aiilhot 0/ 'Miniil.iiil lltsl,;y of ll,,- I nilrU M.itfs." BENJAMIN HARRISON. SOLDIbR, OKAiOR AND STATES.MAN. \Viii:\ General William Henry 1 larrison, the hero of TippecancM; and of more than one important battle of the war of 1.S12, succumbed to the torments which beset every President of thel'nited States, and suddenly dieil one month after his inan_L(u ration, he left a grandson named Benjamin, not cjuite eight years old, who was the third son of John Scott I larrison, and was born at North Bend, Ohio, August 20, 1833. Mis father was the owner of a large farm, where the son toiled while a boy, and laid the foundation of the rugged health and strength which stood him so well in after years. The first school which Benjamin Harrison attended was kept in a log building, where, so far as is known, he was neither a dull nor an unusually bright pupil. It may have been too early in life for him to display the ability which afterward 697 BE.NJAMIN IIAKRISON. 698 BENJAMIN HARRISON. carried him to the highest office in the <,nft of his countrymen. He was for- tunate in having- a sensible parent, who, knowing the vakie of education, sent him at the age of fifteen to Farmers' (now Hehnont) College, near Cincinnati. He remained two years and then became 1 student at Miami University, Oxford, where he attracted attention by his skill as a debater and orator. V. hile a law student, he made the acquaintance of IMiss Caroline L. Scott, a most estimable young woman, and daughter of the president of the University. The two formed a strong, mutual attachment, and were married in 1S53, before Harrison had attained his majority. He was graduated in 1852, fourth in his class. He entered the law office of Storer & Gwynne, and shortly after was admitted to the bar. Moving to Indianapolis in the following year, he began to practice, and has made that city his home ever since. Clients were not numerous nor were fees large, but those who employed young Harrison found him conscientious, devoted to their interests, and possessed of sterling integrity and marked ability. He was prompt and kept his promises. A lawyer of that kind is sure to succeed. In 1855, he entered into partnership with William Wallace, but six years later that gentleman was elected county clerk and Harrison associated himself with W. P. Fishback. When fairly started upon what was a most promising career, his patriotism led him into the military service of his country, where he made a fine record. He was mustered in as Second Lieutenant, July 14, 1862, as Captain eight days later, and then, August 7th, as Colonel of the 70th regiment of infantry, the term of enlistment being for three years. He commanded his regiment until the 20th of August, 1863 ; the second brigade of the third division, reserve corps, until September 20, 1863 ; his regiment again to January 9, 1864, '^'^'^^ the first brigade, third division, 20th army corps, to September 23, 1864, on which date he was detailed for special duty in Indiana. Returning to duty in the field, he was ordered in November, 1 864, to report in person to the general commanding at Nashville, Tenn. He afterward commanded the ist brigade, provisional division, Army of the Cumberland, to January 16, 1865, when upon his own request, he was relieved and directed to rejoin his command, which was then at Savannah, Georgia, under General Sherman. On his way thither, he was stricken with what threatened to be a fatal illness, but, rallying, he pressed on. He was not yet fully recovered and was placed in command of the camp for convalescents and recruits at Hlair's Landing, South Carolina. He soon after joined General Sherman at Raleigh, where he resumed command of the ist brigade, 3(1 division, 20th army corps. April 21, 1865, and was relieved therefrom June 8th, because of the mustering out of the troops composing it. On the same day he was mustered out and honorably discharged. BENJAMIN HARRISON. 699 As we have said, General Harrison made a most creditable record in the field. "Little Ben" quickly won the reputation of being- a brave man and a skilful leader. He was very popular with his own men and with the general officers. His regiment had no superior in effectiveness and discipline. He was in action at Russelville, Kentucky, and in the numerous severe engage- ments of the Atlanta campaign, and was present at the surrender of General Jo Johnston, at Durham's Station, North Carolina, April 26, 1865. lighting Jo Hooker considered Harrison without a superior as a regimental and brigade commander, and it was at his request that, January 23, 1865, he was breveted brigadier general of volunteers, "for ability and manifest energy and gallantry in command of a brigade." He had already won a fme reputation as a lawyer in Indianapolis. He was elected in 1S60, reporter of the Supreme Court, but the office was vacated by his enlistment. He was overwhelmingly re-elected in 1864, while absent in the field. At the close of the term, he had a lucrative practice, and was retained in nearly all the important cases in his State. In 1876, Godlove S. Orth, Republican candidate for Governor, withdrew during the canvass and Harrison's name was substituted without consultation with him and while he was absent from the State. He made a plucky fight, but Governor Hendricks' popularity was too great to be overcome. In 1880, Harrison was chairman of the Indiana delegation in the convention which nominated James A. Garfie.d for the presidency. A strong pressure was brought to bear upon him to permit his name to be presented bu; he refused. His splendid work and his great ability led Garfield to offer him a place in his Cabinet, which he declined. He was chosen United States Senator in 1881 and served for six years, during which he took rank among- the foremost debaters and leaders. In the Chicago presidential convention in 1888, Harrison was nominated on the eighth ballot. During that memorable campaign, he made ninety-four speeches, all of which were forceful, effective and beyond criticism even by his enemies. His most e.xtraordinary achievement, however, was after his election to the presidency. Leaving Washington, April i 5th, he made a journey of 10,000 miles to and from the Pacific coast, returning exactly one month later. On that journey, he made one hundred and forty addresses, some of them on five minutes' notice. His audiences at times included old Confederates, colored men and representatives of nearly every grade of society. He was taken with- out warning to institutions of learning, before the blind, the educated, and was brought face to face with those who had seldom seen the inside of institutions of learning. In none of his numerous addresses did President Harrison repeat himself Each speech was in exquisite taste, ofte ■ rising to heights of genuine eloquence. The most prominent newspaper which opposed his election de- yoo G ROVER CLEVELAND. clared that rresidcnt Harrison has never had a superior, if indeed an ecjual, as an effective off-hand speaker. His administration was worthy and dii^^nified, and though his Cabinet con- tained tile brilliant lilaine, yet Harrison was President at all times and his inlluence was felt in every department. Above all things, he was a patriot and an American under all circumstances. His renomination at Minneapolis was to be expected, but the desire for a change throughout the country, rather than any distrust of the President or disfavor with his work, led to his defeat by Grover Cleveland. A few days before election Mrs. Harrison died, after a long and painful illness. The lives of the two had been an ideal one, and no couple ever were more tenderly attached to each other. After his retirement from the presidency, General Harrison was engaged by the late Senator Leland Stanford of California to deliver a course of lectures before the University he had founded, upon consdtutional law. Pi is practice expanded and he easily took rank among the ablest and most successful coun- sellors in the country. He was prominendy mentioned as a presidential candi- date, as President Cleveland's term drew to a close, the conviction being general among the Republicans that, with his past record and his great ability, he was certain of success in the struggle of 1S96. The nomination, however, seemed to be a matter of indifference to General Harrison and in February, 1896, he made public his decision not to be a candidate. In January. 1896, he announced his engagement to Mrs. Dimmick, a niece of the late Mrs. Harrison, GROVER CLEVELAND. SUCCESSFUL LAWYER, GOVERNOR AND PRESIDENT. Grcukr Ci.KVELAM), tweuty-second and twenty-fourth President of the United States, was born in the village of Caldwell, Essex County, New Jersey, March 18. 1837. He was the son of Richard I-alley Cleveland, a Presbyterian minister, who was graduated at Yale in 1824, and five years later married Annie Neal, daughter of a Baltimore merchant. When the son was four y(,'ars old his father accepted a call to Fayetteville, near Syracuse, New York, where the boy attended the academy, and afterward served as clerk in a country store. Some dme later the family removed to Clinton, in Oneida County, and Grover was a student at the academy there. G ROVER CLEVELAND. 701 At the asfe of sixteen he became a clerk and assistant teacher in the New York histitution for the HUnd, in New York city. In the same institution his elder brcjther, William, now a preacher, was also a teacher. Grover was an excellent teacher, but yieldini^ to ambition, he decided to go West, where he believed _t,rreater o[)i)ortuniti('s for mental growth and success awaited him. He stopped at Black Rock, now a part of the city of Buffalo, and called upon his uncle, Lewis F. Allen, who persuaded him to stay and help in the compilation of a volume of the "American Herd Book." He assisted in the preparation of several more volumes, and in Au- gust, 1855, became a clerk and copyist for the law firm of Rogers, Bowen & Rogers, in Buffalo. He took up the study of law and was admit- ted to the bar in 1859. Meanwhile his father died, and, that he might be able to support his mother, Grover remained three years longer with the firm at a moderate salary. His worth and ability had attracted favorable no- tice, and he was appointed assistant district attorney of Erie County, January i, 1863, holding the office for three years. He was defeated in 1865, as the Democratic candidate for district attor- ney, and became a law partner of Isaac Y. Vanderpool, uniting, in 1S69, with the firm of Lanning & Folsom. By this time he had attained marked success, and in 1870 was elected sheriff of Erie County. At the ond of his three years' term, he formed a law partnership with his intimate friend, Lyman K. Bass, who had defeated him for the district attorneyship, the firm being Bass, Cleveland & Bissell. Ill health compelled the retirement of Mr. Bass, when the firm became Cleveland & Bissell. It was very successful, and Mr. Cleveland's reputation increased. 41 GROVKR CI. KV I.I.AM). 702 GROVER CLEVELAND. One of the marked features of Mr. Cleveland's early public career was his great popularity when he appeared as a candidate for the suffrages of the people. Being nominated by the Democrats for mayor of Buffalo, in the autumn of iS8i, he received the largest majority (3,530) ever given to a candidate in that city, although the Republican ticket was successful in other directions. He was supported not only by his own party but by the inde- pendent and the "reform" movements. Me fulfilled the expectations of his supporters, vetoing extravagant measures, and conducting his office in so prudent and economical a manner that he saved fully $1,000,000 to Buffalo during the first six months of his term. His course gave him such a popularity that ill September, 1882, he was nominated for governor of the State. His opponent was Charles J. Folger, then Secretary of the United States Treasury. Both men had a record that could not be assailed, and the result was astound- ing. In a vote of 918,894, Cleveland received a plurality of 192,854, giving him a majority over his opponent, the greenback, prohibition, and scattering vote, of 151,742, the like of which was never before known in the lunpire State. The vote was so tremendous that it attracted national att(Mition, and convinced the I)emocratic party that if the new governor made no blunder during his administration, he would be the most available candidate for the presidency. Governor Cleveland made no blunders that could mar his prospects. He was able, honest, and wholly devoted to the interests of the State. At the Democratic national convention, held in Chicago, in July, 1884, after several days devoted to organization and the presenting of the names of the candidates, he received the nomination, which he formally accepted by letter on the 1 8th of August. bour candidates were before the country in November, 1884: Cleveland of New York, the regular Democratic nominee ; James G. Blaine of Maine, 1^ ^publican ; Benjamin F. Butler of Massachusetts, labor and greenback ; and John P. St. John of Kansas, prohibition. One of those little incidents which can never be foreseen, and which often overturn the best laid plans, led to the defeat of Blaine. At a public reception. Reverend Dr. Burchard, in addressing Mr. Blaine, referred to the Democratic party as that of "Rum, Romanism, and Rebellion." Mr. Blaine did not catch the expression, or, as he afterward declared, he would have reproved it, but the mischief was done so far as he was concerned. The charge against him was used so skilfully that the Republican candidate lost the vote of New York by a trilling majority. This gave Cleve- land 219 electoral votes to 182 for lilaine, while the popular vote stood: Cleveland, 4,874,986; Blaine, 4,851,081. President Cleveland was inaugurated on the 4th of March following, and called around him an able Cabinet. He proved himself sincere when he declared he would do his utmost to carry out the policy of civil service reform. GROVER CUiVELAXD. 703 This course alienated some of his supporters who beheved in the doctrine that "to the victors belong the spoils," and who considered all ante-election pledges to the contrary as intended simply to catch votes, but President Cleveland adhered to the policy to the end, earning the respect of both parties by his courage and sincerity. He used the veto power with the same severity as when Mayor and Governor. Me favored a reduction of the tariff, with the ultimate establishment of freer trade. A pleasing incident of President Cleveland's first administration was his marriage, at the White House, June 2, 1886, to Miss F"rances Folsom, daughter of Oscar P'olsom, the President's intimate friend. The whole country felt an interest in the happy event, and Mrs. Cleveland, as the leading laiiy of the land, has commanded the admiring respect of the nation and of all with whom she has come in contact. No more graceful or accomplished lady has ever presided at the White House. In the autumn of 1888, President Cleveland found himself pitted against General Benjamin Harrison, with the result that has already been stated. Of the popular vote, Cleveland received 5,540,329 and Harrison 5,439,853, while of the electoral votes, 168 went to Cleveland and 233 to Harrison. In 1892, the same gentlemen were the leading candidates and the verdict M'as reversed; Cleveland received 5,553,142 and Harrison 5,186,931 on the popular vote, while in the electoral college 276 votes went to Cleveland and 145 to Harrison. It was the first time in our history that a President was re- elected after being out of office for one term. It is not the province of this sketch to give a history of the leading features of President Cleveland's administrations. A monetary stringency and a great depression of business were accompanied by a formidable railway strike which necessitated the calling out of the United States troops in several parts of the country. The time when President Cleveland "struck fire," however, was in his message to Congress, on December 17, 1895. England, whose " earth hung(?r " is insatiable, and who has appropriated land in all parts of the world, often without regard to right and justice, had disputed for years with Venezuela over the boundary between that country and British Guiana, obtained by pjigland from The Netherlands in 18 14. Learning that the interior of \'enezuela con- tains valuable gold mines, England set up a claim, which if allowed would have split Venezuela almost in half That weak country protested, but was power- less. England refused to arbitrate, but meant to win by the bullying course which she is so fond of adopting with feeble nations. The United .States could not view with indifference this dismemberment of a sister republic on the American continent, for it would be a fiagrant violation of the Monroe Doctrine enunciated in 1823, which declared in language not to 704 JOHN SHERMAN. be mistaken that no part of North or South America from that time forward should be open for colonization by any foreign power. Lord Salisbury, the British prime minister, was slow in replyiny^ to the communications of our government. When his reply came, however, the President submitted it to Congress with the statement that the action Great Britain contemplated was a violation of the Monroe Doctrine, which it was the duty of the American Government to resist, jind proposed the appointment of a commission by the President to determine die correct boundary. This declaration, as we have stated. " struck fire." It was instantly responded to by an outburst of patriotic fervor from one end of the country to the other. The President was endorsed everywhere. In the North and South the veterans were as eager as their sons to be led against their old hereditary enemy. President Cleveland was declared to be an American in the highest sense of the word, and an exalted i)atriot who had sounded the bugle to which hundreds of thousands of loyal spirits would respond. Evidently F^ngland had not reckoned on raising such a storm as this. She found herself confronted by a nation that could not be bullied, a nation that was ready to fight at "the dropping of a handkerchief" for principle. Great as would be the calainity of a war between the two nations, it would be less a calamity than dishonor. The result is known. England was forced to make a virtue of necessity, and, with the best grace she could command, yielded to the inevitable, admitting that if the Monroe Doctrine is not international law, it is the abiding law of America and must be respected by all nations. And with this happy ending, it is to be hoped that England having learned more of us than she ever knew, the two great nations will hereafter remain friends. JOHN SHERMAN. GREAT FINANCIER AND STATESMAN. John Sherman is admittedly one of the ablest financiers and foremost statesmen of America. He was born May lo, 1823, at Lancaster, Ohio, and was the eighth of eleven children. He was the son of Charles Robert Sherman, who settled in Lancaster and took a leading part in the measures for defence in the war of 18 12. He was a prominent and respected citizen, who after serving for six years on the bench of the Supreme Court of the State, died suddenly in the forty-first year of his age. JOHN SHERMAN. ;os During his childhood, John Sherman attended a private school at Lancaster, but in 1831, his father's cousin, a prosperous merchant at Mount X'^ernon, invited him to his home and offered to take charge of his (;ducation until he was fitted for Kenyon College. The youth studied faithfully for four years, but, instead of entering college, returned to his mother's home and attended the academy there. The family were in such straitened circumstances that John decided that it was his duty to give up the plan of going to college and to support himself instead. His elder brother ^ gave him employment as junior rodman under the engineer enraged in im- proving the INIuskingum River. He improved his leisure by study, but at the end of two years lost his place through the sweeping political changes in the State. Returning to Lancaster with nothing to do, he fell for a time into bad habits, but touched by the grief of his mother over his lapse, and by a sense of manliness, he quickly rallied, and thence- forth was his own "master." Ever since that lapse. Sena- tor Sherman has been a tem- perate man, and no one is more opposed to the drink ing habit than he. In the autumn of 1839, it was arranged that young Sherman should study law at Mansfield with his elder brother Charles and with Judge Parker, who had married his mother's only sister. His industry enabled him to support himself while thus employed, and he had been a practicing lawyer for more than a year before his admission to the bar, which took place on the day that he attained his twenty-first year. On December 31, 184S, John Sherman was marri(;d to Miss Margaret Cecilia Stewart, only child of Judge Stewart. After their wedding tour, the couple returned to Mansfield and the husband applied himself arduously to his JOHN SHERMAN. 7o6 JOHN SHERMAN. profession. His industry, ability and intejj;-rity brought him success, and in 1854 he was elected a member of the House of Representatives. It was in that year that the Missouri Compromise was repealed, stirring up such a vehement revolt and uprising in the North, that the Republican party of to-day was born and brought into vigorous existence. Recently, when asked if he remembered his first speech, the distinguished Senator said : — "Yes; I remember it well. It was in the midst of the exciting Kansas- Nebraska times and there had been numerous changes in the personnel of the House. There were many young men among the new members. Matt Day, one of the founders of the Cincinnati Commcrciai was a member. He wrote a great deal, but did not speak much and was slightly deaf. He had scant regard for the .sophomoric eftbrts of the young Congressman. On the day that I spoke I sat behind him. Day would listen with his hand at his ear, and the moment one had concluded, would say with a grunt of satisfaction : " ' Another dead cock in the pit.' "At last I saw a place where I thought I could make a good point. I jumped to my feet, got the Speaker's eye and said my say. When I was through and had sat down I said : ' Here is another dead cock in the pit. Mr. Day.' But Day replied : ' No, my young friend. I don't think it is quite so bad as that with you yet,' and he gave me to understand that I had another chance or so for my life." Mr. Sherman spoke frequendy, and, despite his youth, speedily assumed a leading position among his associates. He was renominated in October, 1856, and triumphandy elected. He was one of the most active and vigorous workers in the presidendal campaign of that year, and insists to-day that the Republicans would have been successful, had they placed Seward or Chase in nomination instead of Fremont. The career of John Sherman is another proof that it is brains and ability which bring success in this country. Chosen again in 1858, a member of the House, he had already become so prominent that he was placed in nomination for Speaker. On thf; twenty-fifth ballot he came within three votes of election, but he eventually withdrew and Pennington was chosen Speaker by a majority of one. Sherman was appointed chairman of the Committee of Ways and Means, of which he had not previously been a member. Mr. Sherman had been elected a fourth time when Abraham Lincoln was placed in nomination for the presidency. He had no more ardent and power- ful supporter than Sherman. In a speech at Philadelphia, September 12, i860. he made a number of remarkable prophecies, every one of which was fulfilled in the momentous events that speedily followed. It was February 23, 1861, that Lincoln arrived in Washington, and Sherman met him at Willard's Hotel in the evening, for the first time. "When intro- JOHN SHERMAX. 707 duccd to him," says Mr. Sherman, "lie took my haiuls in both of his, drew himself up to his full heit^^ht, and lookini;" at mc steadily, said : ' \'ou arc John Sherman ! Well, I am taller than you; let's measure.' Thereupon we stootl hack to back, and some one present announced that he was two inches taller than I. This was correct, for he was si.K feet three and a half inches tall when he stood erect." .Salmon P. Chase, havinsj;^ accepted the place of Secretary of the Treasury in Lincoln's Cabinet, his seat in the .Senate was taken by .Sherman, who would have preferred to remain in the House, to which he had just been elected tor the fourth dme and of which he was certain to be ch(xsen .Speaker. But having entered the Senate, Sherman steadily rose to his present e.xalted place in the retj^ard of his countrymen. In that auijust body, he has towered for years, head and shoulders above his distinguished associates, most of whom are of national reputation. It seems to be the law of this country that the greatest men in a political party fail to receive its highest rewards. The peerless Henry Clay was nomi- nated three times for the presidency but never attained it. Daniel Webster, longing with an unspeakable longing for the high office, died a disappointed man. If any Republican of the last (juarter of a century was entitled to the presidential nomination at the hands of that party. John Sherman is pre-emi- nently the man. More than once it was almost within his reach, but never quite grasped. It was his humiliadon to be forced aside, and see the honor bestowed upon men who were in the ranks when he was a leader, and whose ability was no more to be compared to his than is a bauble to a diamond. But his place in the honor and grateful recollection of the nation is secure. Senator .Sherman was foremost in financial and all other measures for the support of the Government, throughout the agony of the civil war. He personally recruited an Ohio brigade. He w-as chairman of the important Finance Com- mittee for several years, and in 1877 left the .Senate to enter the Cabinet of President Hayes. It was during his administration of the Treasury Depart- ment that the resumption of specie payments took place, January i, 1.S79. With a foresight and skill that cculd not be surpassed. Secretary .Sherman had made such careful preparations for this important step that when it took place, there was not the slightest jar or friction. It was in the natural order of things, effect following cause with perfect smoothness. .Senator .Sherman re-entered the Senate in 18S1, and is there to-day, the same industrious, patriotic, sagacious, far-seeing statesman, whose utterances are read with profound interest in every corner of the land, the leader so emi- nent and able that none dreams of disputing his supremacy, equally r(;s[)ected by political friends and foes, still in the prime of his magnificent mental powers, and so great in the truest meaning of the word, that when his farewell words come to be spoken, his loss w-ill be felt throughout the nation. THOMAS BRACKETT REED. THE GREAT "SPEAKER" AND DEBATER. "How do you mix your paints?" timidly asked an amateur of a distinguished artist. "With brains, sir!" thundered the master of the brush. And, as we stated in our sketch of Senator John Sherman, this is preemi- nently the truth in American affairs. Social advantages, wealth and the aid of friends are not without their effect, but if the element of ability is lacking, the highest suc- cess is unattainable. Water finds its level, and the man who is thrown into the bust- ling arena of the House of Representatives can never attain the place of leader, unless nature has furnished him with ability, or in other words, with brains. No stronger proof can be given of this statement than is found in the career of Thomas Brackett Reed, who was born in Portland, Maine, October 1 8, 1S39. He attended the common schools of the city, and was graduated at Bowdoin College in i860, being amoui.'' the first in his class and taking the highest honors possible — the prize for excellence in English composition. He possesses rare gifts in this respect, his writings showing a clear, vigorous, but limpid style, which have brought him a national reputation, while his speeches 708 THOMAS ISRACKKTT REKI). THOMAS BRACKETT REED. 709 are eloquent, sparklinL,^ logical, and corrii seating with humor, sarcasm, and wit. No man surpasses him in readiness of repartee. No more enjoyable treat can be imairined than that of a debate in the House, where he is beset with all .sorts of cjuestions from political opponents. I lis instant replies are inimitable, and the man that can unhorst; him in debate has not yet made his appearance, and is not likely to do so for an indefmite time to come. It was only the other day that a newspaper reporter, while looking for President Cleveland, stepped to the door of the House restaurant, and believ- ing he saw that distinguished personage, requested an attendant to bring him to him at the PresidcMit's convenience. When the gentleman came forward it proved to be .Speaker Reed. "I beg your pardon," said the correspondent; "I am looking for the President and mistook you for him." " For heaven's sake don't let the President learn of this," said the Speaker, with owl-like gravity; "he is already vain enough of his personal appearance." After his graduation, Mr. Reed taught in a Portland high school, studying law at the same time. He went to California in 1S63, expecting to make his home in that State. He taught school there and began the practice of law, but at the end of the year, for family reasons, returned to Maine. In April. 1S64, he was appointed acting assistant paymaster in the Ignited .States navy and assigned to duty on the gunboat Sibyl, which patrolled the Tennessee, Cum- berland and Mississippi rivers until the close of the war. He was discharged from the service in August, 1S65, and returned to Portland, where he was admitted to the bar. His advance was rapid. He was interested from the first in politics, and his power and popularity were so marked, that, without his knowledge, he was nominated by his party in 186S, for the State House of Representatives. His election followed as a matter of course, and his reputation as a brilliant lawyer going with him, he was placed on the Judiciary Committee. Maine was quick to see that she had secured the right man and re-elected him in 1869, promot- ing him to the .Senate in 1S70, but he resigned the senatorship to assume the duties of Attorney General, to which office he had been elected. Mr. Reed is the youngest Attorney General that Maine ever had. He held the office for three years, and added to his fame, during which he displayed courage, con- scientiousness and ability of a high order. He retired from office in 1873, and was appointed City Solicitor of Port- land, where his course was marked by the same devotion to duty that had dis- tinguished him when Attorney General. His name was well-known throughout the .State, and it was in the natural order of events, that, in 1876, he was nominated for Congress in the district composed of Cumberland and York 7IO IlkUfAS r.RACKETT REED. comities. Tlu-rc was the bitterest liL^Iit conceivable aj^^ainst liim, but by his iiuloniitable ener<(y and aliihty. he swept everything- before him. It is a remarkable fact, that tliirin}.,^ this wiioK; stirrini,^ campaii^n, the sum total of his traveling; (expenses, hotel parlors for deleq-ates ami cost for everythinJ,^ W'as e.xactly <;42.oo. It may be doubted whether his subse{|uent nominations involved as much as that insignificant sum, for every year since, without a single vote aj^ainst him in any convention, he has been enthusiastically renom- inated by his constituents. The leadintj Republican paper in Maine said : " Mr, Reed can represent his district in Compress for the rest of his natural life if he wants to ; thertt's no question about that." His popularity made Mr. Reed the candidate Inifore all others of New Mn^land for the Presidency in 1S96, beside which, as has been shown, he had myriatls of supporters in all parts of the Union. Mr. Reed took his seat in Conj^^ress, (^ctob(T 15, 1877, the House having- been summoned in extra session to [)ass the army appropriations, which had failed at the closincj session of the Porty-fourth Con^^ress. It was a Democratic House and remained in session until the followintj;- June. Mr. Reed made his first speech April 12, 1878, and drew the attention of the House by his keen, convincing- logic. At the beginning- of his second term, Mr. Reed's abilities were recognized by his appointment as a member of the Judiciary Committee. His strength as a debater caused a number to vote for him as .Speaker in the caucus of Decem- ber, 1 88 1, and he was made chairman of the Judiciary Committee of the House. By that time, he was the recognized leader on the Republican side. He pre- pared and introduced a bill for the proper distribution of the Geneva award against Great Britain for the Alabama claims, and his accompanying report con- vinced the House that the bill was right and led to its passage. His great ability was recognized by political opponents as well as friends. Without soliciting a single vote, he was unanimously chosen in caucus, in 1887, as the Republican candidate for Speaker. The House being DcMiiocratic, how- ever, John G. Carlisle received the honor in the Forty-eighth and Fiftieth Con- gresses. Reed's turn came in 1889, when the Republicans had a bare majority, and, on the second ballot placed him in the Speaker's chair, he receiving 166 votes to 154 cast for John G. Carlisle. There are few who are not acquainted with Speaker Reed's career as pre siding officer of the House of Representatives. For a time indeed he was the central figure in the eyes of the .ountry. There were many contested election cases and the Democrats used every means to obstruct legislation. It was im- possible to have every Republican in his seat at all times, to meet the constitu- tional requirement that there should be a majority present to do business. The Democrats refused to answer to their names at roll call, and the custom had CHARLES FREDERICK CRISP. 711 always been for the Speaker, uiulersiuh circuiiistaiices. to declare 110 (iiioniin present. On January 29, 1890, when tht; 1 )i;m<)crats liad sat nuiti; wliile their names were beinL; "ailed by the clerk, Speaker Kied coolly coiinK'd suHicient niiinbers "present but not votini;-," to constitute a (piorum. It was like a thunder clap from the clear sky. randemoiiium was let loose, and the Democrats, in a white heat of ra^je, protesteil ami dcxlared the proceedinj^ unconstitutional and revolutionary. The .Sj)eaker, how{;ver, rt^so- lutely hekl tcj his decision ami llu- business of the session which hati been blocked so lon:.^'' movi-d forward, though it cannot be said without friction. The rule was finally adopted, bebruary 14, 1890. It was sustained by the .Supreme Court, and four years later, when a Democratic I louse was cau'^ht in precisely the same dilemma, it adopted precisely thi; same rule. Mr. Reed was chosen speaker aj^^ain of the iMfty-fourth ConiL,fress, in DeccMnbt;r, 1895. Mr. Reed lives in a comfortable hf)me at Portland, with his wife, the dauijhter of the Rev. Mr. Merrill, formerly pastor of a Congren^ational Church of that city. He has one daujj^hter, who, at this writing- is not yet out of her teens. He is popular with his neij^hbors, for he is t^-^enial, pleasant and charit- able, manly and courai^eous, and whenever he runs for office, is certain to reccnvc a ^'•reat many Democratic votes, for what American can he-lp feelin<,f proud of him? In the words of Henry Hall, he is "in many respects the q-reatest all around man in the United States to-day, of stainless record and unimpeachable inteq-rity, bokl but safe, brilliant but wise, masterful but heeding counsel, and a fighter without fear." CHARLES FREDERICK CRISP. SOLDIER, DEBATER AND PARLIAMENTARIAN. Charles Frederick Crisi", Democratic .Speaker of the House, naturally takes his place beside Reed, the famous Republican .Speaker. Though the two gentlemen may differ in some respects, it cannot be denied that they resemble each other in their stainless integrity, their genial manner and their great ability. Like General Meade, Charles F. Crisp was born on foreign soil, though his parents were Americans, temporarily absent from their native land. Consequently their sons were as much Americans as if they first saw the light on Bunker Hill. Young Crisp was born January 29, 1845, in Sheffield, luigland, where his parents had gone on a visit, but they returned to America before the 712 CHARLES FREDERICK CRISP. son was a year old. They made their home in Geory^ia, and in that State the son has spent most of his life, with the exception of the brief space mentioned at the betrinninrr. Young- Crisp entered the Confederr. _; service in May, iS6i, having just turned his sixteenth year. He was a brave soldier and served with honor for more than three years, as an officer in the Tenth Virginia Infantry. On May 12, 1864, the fortunes of war made Lieutenant Crisp a prisoner, and his resi- dence was in Fort Delaware until June 1865, when he was set free. Returning to Americus, Crisp took up the study of law and soon acquired a lucrative practice. In 1872, he was appointed solicitor- g'eneral of the southwestern judicial circuit and was re- appointed in 1873, for a term of four years. The Congres- sional Directory thus mod- estly sums up the public career of Mr. Crisp : — " He located in Ameri- cus in 1S73; in June, 1877, was appointed judge of the superior court of the same circuit; in 1878 was electetl by the general assembly to the same office ; in 1880 was re-elected judge for a term of four years ; resigned that office in September, 1882, to accept the Democratic nomi- nation for Congress ; was permanent president of the Democratic convention which assembled in Atlanta in April, 1883, to nominate a candidate for governor ; was elected to the Forty-eighth, I'orty -ninth, Mftieth, Fifty-first, I-'ifty-second, and I'ifty-third Congresses, and re-elected to the Fifty-fourth Congress as a Demo- crat, receiving 8,503 votes, against 2,568 votes for George R. White, Populist ; was elected Speaker of the House in the Fifty-second and Fifty-third Con- CIIARI.r.S I'Kl.ni-.KlrK CRISP. gresses. It will thus be noted that Mr. Crisp entered Congress at the age of thirty- CHARLES FREDERICK CRISP. 713 eig-ht. He speedily took high rank in that l^oily, ami cVen, durinq; his second term was called to occupy the chair in committee of the whole. He is one of the ablest parliamentary authorities, self-possessed debaters and best informed men in the House. He was a leadinij participant in the turbulent scenes of the Fifty-first Congress, when the only member as cool as he was Speaker Reed. His party never did a more appropriate thing- than when, at the first opportu- nity, they placed him in the chair as .Speaker, and it may be truthfully said that few if any occupants have displayed more ability and judicial fairness than he. Great as have been the public honors placed upon Mr. Crisp, the most pleasing picture of him is in his own home. He is liked by every one in Americus. When the news reached that town that he had been chosen .Speaker, a telegi-am was sent to him with the announcement that his friends had locked up the chief of police and all his officers for twenty-four hours and had taken possession of the place, that they might have a chance to give proper e.xpression to their feelings. Mr. Crisp has been blessed with one of the best of wives, and they have had seven children, of whom only four are living. The eldest daughter is married, and the oldest boy is clerk to his father. Unhappily the mother, shortly after her marriage, was afflicted with rheumatic gout, from which she has never recovered. Her affliction seems to have drawn her children and husband closer to her. and the love borne by all for one another makes the home an ideal one. The house in the evening is the resort of the young people of Americus. They come together to dance and sing and enjoy themselves. Although Speaker Crisp is neither a singer nor dancer, none finds keener enjoyment in the fun than he. He is very fond of young people, and it follows inevitably that they are equally fond of him. He is thoroughly happy, and holding as he does the esteem and respect of all his neighbors and acquaintances, and with the prospect of higher political honors awaiting him, ex-Speaker Crisp has no excuse for envying the fortunes of any man. JOHN GRIFFIN CARLISLE. TARIFF REFORMER, FINANCIER AND PARLIAMENTARIAN. John Griffin Carlisle was born September 5, 1834, in Campbell (now Kenton) County, Kentucky. His father, Lilbon H. Carlisle, was a farmer in a small way, who inherited a portion of the Carlisle farm, situated a few miles from Covington. The family originally came from \^irginia. John Griffin was a stu- dious boy but considered indolent. He did not take kindly to manual labor, but was fond of books. He attended the public schools and received few educational advantages. That he im- proved his time is proved by the fact that while he was in his teens, he was a successful teacher, but he had made up his mind to become a lawyer, and in 1S55, ^''^ entered as a iaw student the office of John \V. Stevenson, at Covington. The father of Stevenson was Speaker of the House of Representatives and the son afterwards became Governor of Kentucky and United States Senator. In 1S58, at the age of twenty-three. Carlisle was admittetl to the bar. He quickly demonstrated that he was the possessor of a powerful and logical mind, and his success was assured from the first. In the following year, he was elected to the Lower House of the Kentucky Legislature. During the civil war, Mr. 714 %K ^wP^^ ^^^H ^^^^^^^Br, ' -^fiH^ ^^^^HB^^^HHK^-fl^^^^^^^l^K"'v '^^'''^Myiiyi^^^^^^^H JOHN cuirriN CAKl.nU.E. JOHN GRIFFIN CARLISLE. 715 Carlisle was a Union man, thouiih as he states, not an a"trressivc one. He practiced his profession while the fighting was going on. In 1866, he was elected State Senator and resigned in 1S71, during a second term, to become Lieutenant Governor, l-'ive years later, he was elected to the National House of Representatives, and was .Speaker from 18S3 to 1889. He remained in the House until 1890, when he was chosen United States Senator, to succeed .Senator Beck, who had died. This office he resigned at the solicitation of President Cleveland, whose Cabinet he entered in March, 1893, '^^ Secretary of the Treasury. Such in brief is the puljlic career of this distinguished .son of Kentucky, a gentleman who to-day is one of the most remarkable men and inlluential pt)li- ticians in the Union. The appropriateness of his selection l)y President Cleve- land was recognized in every quarter, for from Mr. Carlisle's first appearance in Congress in 1879, he was accepted as authority on finance, and was the most successful leader that the Democrats have had since the war. The legislation of the three Houses over which he presided was unusually creditable. In the Fifty-first Congress, he succeeded in so weakening protectionist opposition that the Mills bill was passed, though his party had been unable to unite on the Morrison bill. It was Mr. Carlisle's report which in 1879 resulted in the revision of the excise laws and an equitable system of taxation. In 1881, he introduced an amendment which limited the power of the national banks to surrender circula- tion and protected the Treasury and the business of the country from the assaults which have been made by banks whenever there was a threatened reduc- tion in the interest on the public bonds held by them. Mr. Carlisle is si.\ feet in height, with smooth-shaven face, bright blue eyes, and his appearance suggests that of a prelate of the Roman Catholic church. He is the pink of courtesy, and has been seen to give up his seat in a street car to a colored woman with as much grace as the late General Jo Johnston showed upon similar occasions. His voice is pleasant, and he is an attentive: listener, with a heart so kind that his break down when -Speaker was caused by his con- stant eftbrts to help tht; members who came to consult him regarding their bills. If he is lacking in one thing, it seems to be the power to refuse a favor, through his dread of hurting the applicant's feelings or doing him an injustice, All such persons reap the penalty of their open heartedness, and .Secretary Carlisle is t(3- day a poor man, far difl'erent from many who have held public office. The story is told of him that when a blubbering Kentuckian, as he called himself begged for enough money to take himself and family home, after they had been robbed, the .Secretary handeil him fifty dollars. .\ half hour later, the same man and half a dozen drunken companions n^le past the Secretary's house, whooping and enjoying themselves to their fullest bent. 7i6 JOHN GRIFFIN CAKUSLF. Some of the Secretary's habits arc not to be commended. He takes no exercise whatever. If his carriage does not call for him, he boards the street- car for his home. It has been said that the only possible exercise he gets is when the street car is so full that he has to hang fast to a strap. Hut the most remarkable characteristic of Secretary Carlisle remains to be mentioned. It is his wonderful mental grasp of complicated cpiestions, a power which seems to be in the nature of intuition. He will run through a mass of papers and extract the kernel, when other lawyers have only begun their inves- tigation. He will sit toying with a pack of cards and play solitaire, without making an error in the game and dictate the most important letters. After fifty such letters have been written he will listen to their re-reading, and, if a single word has been inadvertently changed, he will detect it as quick as a tlash. His skill in this respect is almost incredible. Major AIcKinley once remarked of him that he never had a clouded thought, and the facetious Senator Joe Black- burn said: "Carlisle is not entitled to half as much credit as I am. What I know I have had to study, dig, grub and toil for. Carlisle knows four times as much as I do. He has all the wisdom of the ancients and the moderns packed away in his head, and whenever he opens his mouth great things and good things naturally roll out of it. He isn't entitled to any credit for them. He can't help it. He was born that way." Secretary Carlisle has long been the confidential adviser and intimate friend of President Cleveland. He has a charming home and is devoted to it. He was married January 15, 1S57, to Miss Mary Jane Goodson, belonging to a prominent family of Kentucky. His son Lilbon Logan is his private secretary and is unmarried. His other son, William K., is married and has two or three small children with him at his home in the West. Both sons are bright and successful lawyers. Mrs. Carlisle is her husband's helpmate, looking after his health, not always a slight matter, and giving her aid and counsel in many important matters, while the husband, with all his wisdom and ability, fully appreciates the inestimable service which such a wife is often able to render even in questions of public affairs and of state matters. LEVI PARSONS MORTON. RANKER AND STATESMAN. Levi Parsons MuRrox, although to-day worth many million dollars, was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Like many of the very wealthy men of our country, he was the son of poor parents, and hewed his way to success by his own industry, ability and resolu- tion not to stop short until that success was attained. His mother was the daughter of a clergyman, and his father was a clergyman, Daniel O. Morton, of Shoreham, Ver- mont, where Levi Parsons was born in 1824, being the fifth of six children. By great economy the preacher was able to send his two oldest sons to school, but young Levi gathered his first book instruction at the knees of his father and mother. After- ward he attended the common school for awhile, but at an age when many other lads are preparing for the academy or college, he started out to earn his own livelihood. About the only avenue open for youths of that class is the country store, which, however, has been the stepping-stone to success tor more than one great man. Levi had barely reached his teens, when he was employetl in selling sugar, tea, and all the odd knacks that may be found in a village store. But he 42 717 I.F.Vl I'ARSiiNS MOKTiiN'. 7iS LEVI PARSONS MORTON. was made of the right stuff, and at the end of a year he was promoted to a better paying' situation in Enfield, Massachusetts, from which he drifted to Con- cord, finally landing at Hanover. In the last named place is a well known uni- versity. Unable to attend the institution himself, young Morton found the air of learning congenial, and he was delighted in his intercourse with the students, the professors, their wives and families. Not neglecting his business, he im- proved himself mentally to the utmost, and looks back upon that episode in his life as among his most pleasing remembrances. While a resident of Hanover, he cast his first vote for General Zachary Taylor, afterward President of the United States. In 1849, when twenty-five years old, Morton removed to I)Oston and made a profitable arrangement with the leading dry goods house of James Heebe & Co. At that time there was another young man connected with the house of Beebe & Co., Junius S. Morgan, who afterward became the head of the great banking firm in London. Morton and Morgan became close friends, and in 1852, Morton was taken in as a member of the firm of Beebe & Co. Here he confirmed his reputation as a man of unusually keen business instincts, and added much to the success of the firm. There seemed, however, to be only one right place for the budding- merchant and millionaire, and that was the metropolis of the country. Accord- ingly, in 1854, he left New England and associated himself with Mr. Grinnell, a New York merchant. 'Hie sign of Morton & Grinnell, commission merchants, was hung out on lower Broadway, then the centre of the dry goods trade of the city. In 1856, when thirty-two years old, he was married to Miss Lucy Kimball, who belonged to an old Long Island family. Ere long a commercial panic swept over the country, and all his hard earned savings were engulfed, but he never lost heart and kept his head so well above water, that in 1863 he was able to establish the banking firm of L. P. Morton & Co. It was the business to which he had long aspired, for which he was eminently fitted and in which he attained extraordinary success. His old friend, Junius .S. Morgan, became a partner, and in 1869, Mr. George Bliss, who had always been very successful in the dry goods business, joined the firm with a large amount of capital, the style becoming Morton, P)liss d^ Co. Mr. Morgan soon retired, and, going to London, formed other connections. .Sir John Rose, who had been Minister of Finance in Canada, shortly after took charge of the New York firm's business in London, which was rapidly growing, and Morton, Rose & Co. soon became a power in that city. From 1873 to 1884, Morton, Bliss & Co. were the fiscal agents of die United States government, and were active in the syndicate that negotiated United States bonds for the refunding of the National debt and the restoration LEVI PARSONS MORTOX. 719 of specie payments. A memorable transaction of the firm was the payment by check of ^15,500,000 on account of the Geneva award for the ^Uabama claims, and another of $5,500,000 on account of the fishery award. Mr. Morton was prominent in society, and, in kSjo, he bouj^ht " Fairlawn," a magnificent estate on Bellevue Avenue, Newport, where he gave many notable entertainments. In the following summer, however, he was aftlicted by the death of his wife there. The blow was a severe one, and only after the per- sistent urgency of his friends he roused himself and entered more vigorously than ever into business. In 1873, he was married to Miss Annie Street, daughter of William I. Street, belonging to one of the oldest families in New York. The country place of the Streets was at Poughkeepsie, and, in defi-r- ence to the wishes of Mrs. Morton, her husband purchased " I'lllerslie," a few miles above, which is one of the most palatial residences in this country. Mr. Morton is the type of the successful American merchants and bankers, whose peculiar training and mental equipment sometimes lead them to turn their attention to politics, Mr. Morton listened to the persuasion of friends, and, in 1878, accepted the Republican nomination for Congress from the Eleventh district in New York city. It was a Democratic stronghold, but Mr. Morton was successful and was re-elected at the conclusion of his first term. His strength was already so apparent that he was offered the nomination for the Vice Presidency on the ticket with Garfield. He declined and the honor went to Chester y\lan Arthur, who, as is known, succeeded to the Presidency upon the assassination of the President. Garfield offered Mr. Morton the choice between Secretary of the Navy and the mission to France. The latter suited Mr. and Mrs. Morton and was accepted. The family removed to Paris in 1881, and re- mained until 1885, when Mr. Morton resigned to make way for Robert McLane. He made a most admirable record while in France, and this country was ne\er more capably represented in Paris than by him and his family. In 18S9, Mr. Morton became V^ice President of the United States with Benjamin Harrison as his chief. He won the same golden opinions while pre- siding officer of the United States Senate, and political opponents regretted scarcely less than political friends, his retirement at the end of four years. Mr. Morton had become too " available " a candidate for his party to allow him to withdraw from politics, and, though he had reached the age of three- score and ten, when he felt himself entitled to rest, he accepted the nomination for governor against Senator David B. Hill and defeated him by a majority of 156,108, at the same election in which Cleveland carried the State against Har- rison. Governor Morton's term expires on the last day of 1896. At the be- ginning of the year, the Republican leaders of the .State agreed to unite their eftb.ts in pressing him for the Republican nomination for the Presidency. His worth and ability were proven long ago. He holds that the ofifice is 720 WILLIAM B. ALLISON. one too di withdrew to enter the Confederate servicf.-, in which he remained until the final surrender at Appomatto.x. He then returned to Columbian College, in which he was appointed Professor of AncicMit Languages. While meeting the duties of this honorable place, he studitnl law ami was grad- uated from the law school of that institution in 1867. At that time the "test oaths" prevented any person who had served in the Confederate service from practicing in the courts of West Virginia, but the law was n^pealed in 1871 and Professor Wilson began the duties of his profession in Charlestown. He was chosen as one of the- West \'irginia delegates to the National Democratic Con- 728 WILLIAM LYME WILSON. vention in iSSo, and as a State Elector at Lar^^^e on the presidential Democratic ticket of that year. In 1SS2 he became president of the West Viro;inia State University, and two weeks later was nominated by the Democratic Convention of the Second District for Representative in Cono;r(;ss, and elected in the following November. He acted as president of the University from March 4, 1883, without salary, until he took his seat as a member of the Forty-eighth Congress, in December of that year. He served for six terms, but was swept under by the wave of Repub- lican successes in November, 1894. Postmaster General Bissell having resigned early in 1895. President Cleveland nominated Professor Wilson as his successor, and he was prompdy confirmed by the Senate. His appointment gave general satisfaction to all parties, for it was only a recognition of his extraor- dinary services in the cause of tariff reform. In 1893, Professor Wil- son was chairman of the Ways and Means commit- tee, and the tariff bill which he presented in that year and fought through the House, drew the attention of the entire country to him. No man ever wrought harder than he, toiling all day and far into the night, and none could have made a more vigorous, determined and successful contest upon the floor of the House. When triumph came at last, he was carried on the shoulders of his shouting adherents, the scene being one which no witness can ever forget. His exhausting labors proved serious, for his health broke down and it was a long time before he regained in any degree his usual strength. The "Wilson Hill," whose merits it \% not our province to discuss, has taken its place in history and the author is acknowledged to be one of the brainiest and ablest members of his party. WII.I.IAM I.YNK WILSON. WILLIAM McKINLEY, JR. 729 Professor Wilson is a small man, slender of frame, and barely five feet in height. His pale face is that of a student, and his fine hair is rapidly becoming white. Although wholly absorbed in his public duties while in Washington, when he is at his home in Charlestown, West Virginia, he is a merry, rollicking boy among his own four sons, provided they are at home with him. He is the happy father also of two daughters and the family is an ideal one. Both he and his accomplished wife are IJaptists, and when the news of his nomination to Con- gress reached him, they were at a prayer meeting. It was a case of the office seeking the man, and Professor Wilson has never in any sense of the word been a wire-puller. A little fact may be mentioned here : the small pale disk which Professor Wilson sometimes wears aS a scarf pin, was struck two thousand two hun- dred years ago, by command of the founder of the Macedonian empire. It shows the profile of Philip, and is one of the rarest coins in existence, carrying us back to the luminous noontide of Greek civilization, which still glows for the student beyond the mists and shadows of encroaching centuries. WILLIAM McKINLEY, JR. TARIFF REFORMER AND GOVERNOR. William McKixlev, Jr., was born in Niles, Trumbull County, Ohio, January 29, 1843. His father was a German by birth and lived to his 85th year, his mother, of Scotch descent, being still alive at this writing. William was the third son. The eldest, Uavid, is a resident of San Francisco, where, until 1894, he was the Hawaiian Cons'd General to the United States. The second son, James, died a few years ag^ , and Abner, younger than William, is engaged in business in the city of New York. When five years old, William attended the village school at Niles, continu- ing his studies at a more advanced school at Poland, whither his parents removed in order to obtain better educational advantages for their children. When not quite sixteen, William was sent to the Allegheny College at Meadville, Pa., but fell ill and had to return home. When he recovered, he began teaching school, receiving ^25 a month and "boarding around." He was thus engaged, when the country was thrilled by the news that Fort Sumter had been fired upon. Instantly the pale-faced, gray-eyed student, (lung aside his books and enlisted as 730 WIUJAM McKINLEY, JR. a private in the war for the Union. It was patriotism of the loftiest nature which inspired the youn<^- teacher. lie was mustered in at Columbus in June, by General John C. Fremont, who thump(;d the young man's chest, looked in his clear eye, and surveyinjj;- him from head to foot said : " You'll do ! " Young iMcKinley was attached to the Twenty-third Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and remained with it to the close of the war. During that period, he served on the staff of Brigadier General Rutherford B. Hayes, afterwards President of the United .States, on the staff of the famous Indian fighter. General Crook, and sub- sequently on that of Briga- dier General Hazen, He was in all the engagements in which his regiment took part, and was made a second lieutenant directly after the battle of Antietam, upon che urgent recommendation of General Hayes. He became first lieutenant, February 7, 1863, captain, July 25, 1864, and was breveted major by President Lincoln for gallant conduct on the fields of Opequan, Fisher's Hill and Cedar Creek, being mus- tered out with his regiment, in July, 1865. Thus at the age of twenty-two, Major McKinley was a fire-tried veteran of the war for the Union, with a record to which he can always refer with patriotic pride. But the war was over, the Union restored, and the modest young man, without pausing to boast of his deeds, entered upon the study of law. He was graduated from the Albany (N. Y. ) Law .School, and setding in the litde town of Canton, Ohio, waited for his clients to come to him. They straggled thither, and fortunate were all who secured the services of the brilliant, conscientious, and learned lawyer. His ability attracted the attention of Judge Belden, who invited him to a partnership with him, and the connection lasted until the death WIl.llAM MCKINLF.Y, JR. WILLIAM McK/NLIi)\ JR. 731 of the Jud^c in 1870. 1 tis townsmen showed then" appreciation of the young man by electing hini, in 1869, prosecuting attorney of Starl< county, an office which he held for a number of yours. 1 le had already established his reputa- tion as a powerful jury lawyer and one of the best speakers in the State. At the age of thirty-three, the people of his district elected him their repre- sentative in Congress, his re-election following until 1890, when, through the gerrymandering of his district, he was defeated by a small majority. IVom January, 1S92 to January, 1894, and again until January, 1896, he was Governor of Ohio, his election being among the most notable triumphs of his career. While in Congress, McKinley was a member of the Committee on Revision of Laws, the Judiciary Committee, the Committee on Expenditures in the Post Office Department, and the Committee on Rules. Upon the nomination of General Garfield for the Presidency, McKinley took his place on the Committee on Ways and Means, serving with the committee for the rest of his time in Congress. It was while he was chairman that he framed the " McKinley Bill," which still bears his name. This tariff act became law, October i, 1S90, and provided for a high rate of duty on an immense number of articles imported from foreign countries, but made sugar free. Its purpose was to reduce the national revenue and to increase protection. The work involved in the preparation of this bill is almost inconceivable. It contained thousands of items and covered every interest in the country. I'or four weeks, while the House was in session, he was almost constantly upon his feet, answering numberless questions, meeting objections and giving informa- tion. With the exception of two minor amendments, it passed exactly as it came from the hands of the committee. A correspondent of the New York Press thus describes the man : "Quiet, dignified, modest, considerate of others, ever mindful of the long service of the veterans of his party, true as steel to his friends, unhesitating at the call of duty, no matter what the personal sacrifice ; unwavering in his integrity, full of tact in overcoming opposition, yet unyielding on vital party principles, with a heart full of sympathy for those who toil, a disposition unspoiled by success and a private life as spotless as self sacrificing, he stands before the American people to-day as one of the finest types of courageous, persevering, vigorous, and developing manhood that the Rei)ublic has ever produced." A peculiar proof of Major McKinley's exalted sense of honor was given at the dead-lock in the presidential convention of 1S88. A movement on the fourth ballot suddenly set in in his favor, which could have W\q.\\ readily turned into a stampede. Put he was there as the pledged friend of Senator John Sherman, and nothing could swerve him from his allegiance. He checked the movement at its beginning, and those who would have tempted him turned back at sight of that earnest countenance and at the ringing tones of that 732 CHAUNCEV MITCHELL DEPEW. clociuent volet;. Almost precisely the same thing was repeated four years later at Minneapolis, when the nomination would have assuredly gone to him, had he not peremptorily checked it, and ordered the delegates from his own State to vote as they had been instructed. The history of recent years shows that not many placed in the situation of Major McKinley were able to come out of it unscathed and without the smell of fire upon their garments. A man like Major McKinley could not fail to make an ideal husband, when blessed as he is with an ideal wife. Both of th(Mr children died in inAmcy, and the wife is an invalid, but though their silver wedding was celebrated in January, 1896, no lovers were ever more chivalrously devoted to each other than are they, now that they have reached tht; meridian of life. Mrs. McKinley is as staunch a protectionist as her husband, and is firmly persuaded that no man quite so good and great has ever been born. When he is expected at home, she is at the window watching for him, His last act is to kiss her on the thresh- old, followed by a turn and salute when about to pass out of sight. No sweeter picture can be imagined than this couple, whose whole life is the most emphatic contradicdon of the sneer that " Marriage is a failure." The two are members of the Methodist church, and, should they ever be called to the highest station in the gift of the American people, it is certain that none will wear the honors more worthily than they. CHAUNCEY MITCHELL DEPEW. THE APOSTLE OF SUNSHINE AND CHEERF'ILNESS. Chaintev MiTciiEi.L Dki'EW was born at Peekskill, N. Y., April 23, i8u- His remote ancestors were French Huguenots, who founded New Rochelle, in West-chester county. His father, Isaac Depew, was a prominent and highly esteemed citizen of Peekskill, and his mother, Martha Mitchell, was a representative of the disdnguished New England family, one of whose members, Roger Sherman, was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Chauncey spent his boyhood in Peekskill, ^vhere he prepared for college. He was a bright student, and at the age of eighteen entered Yale College, from which he was gratluated in 1856, with one of the first honors of his class. In June, 1887 Yale conferred upon him the degree of LL. D. It will be noted that Mr. Depew reached his majority at about the time of the formation of the Republican party. Although of Democratic antecedents, he had been a close CHAUNCEV MITCHELL DEPEIV. 733 student of politics and his sympathies were with the aims of the new political organization, to which he speedily i^ave his allegiance. Mr. Depew studied law in his native village, ami was admitted to the bar in iS^S. In the same vear, he was elected as a delegate to the Republican .State convention, this being an acknowledgment of the interest he had taken in the party, and the skill and energy h(; had shown in advocating its policy. He began the practice of law in 1859, and was highly successful from the first. Few men of the present day are so gifted with eloquence, wit, and the power of giving an instant and happy turn to the most une.xpected inter- ruptions or occurrences. In his early manhood, his strik- ing power as a stump speaker, his readiness at re- partee, and his never failing good humor, made him a giant in politics, to which he was literally forced to give attention. But with all these extraorditiary gifts, he could launch the thunderbolts of invective against wrong and stir the profoundest depths of emotion by his appeals. He loved liberty and hated oppression, and has always believed that the United States of America is the happiest and greatest coun- try upon which the sun ever shone. His patriotic speeches are models of eloquence and power. In i860, he took the stump for Abraham Lincoln and added greatly to his reputation as a ready, forceful and brilliant pleader for that which he believed to be right. No speaker was so welcome as he to his audience, whether composed of scholars, of business men, or of the uneducated masses. He was sure to say something entertaining, something instructive and something worth remember- ing. He was never dull ; he was logical and luminous, and no matter how lengthy his addresses, he was sure to be greeted with cries of " Go on ! go on ! " 43 CHAI-NCFY MITCHr.I.I, PFrKW. 734 CHAUNCEY MITCHELL DEPEV. . at their conclusion. It cannot be denied that he contributed much to the suc- cess of that memorable election. In 1 86 1, Mr. Depew was nominated for the Assembly in the Third West- chester County District, and althoutrh the constituency was largely Democratic, he was elected by a handsome majority. He fully met all the high expectations formed, and was re-elected in 1862. By his geniality, wit. integrity and courtesy he became as popular among his political opponents as among his friends. He ■was made his party's candidate for Secretary of State, directly after the Demo- crats had won a notable triumph by the election of Horatio Seymour as gov- ernor ; but by his dash and brilliancy and his prodigious endurance (he spoke twice a day for six weeks), he secured a majority of 30,000. So admirably did he perform the duties of the office that he was offered a renomination, but declined. During the administration of President Johnson, Secretary of State Seward appointed Mr. Depew Minister to Japan, but after consideration, the offer was declined. He seemed to have decided to withdraw from politics and to devote his time and energies to his profession. That shrewd railway man and financier, Commodore Vanderbilt, had watched the career of Depew, and had formed a strong admiration for him, while the eldest son, William H. Vanderbilt, became his firm friend. In 1866, Mr. Depew was appointed the attorney of the New York and Harlem Railroad Company, and three years later, when that road was consolidated with the New York Central, he was made the attorney of the new organization, being afterward elected a member of the Board of Directors. As other and extensive roads were added to the system, Mr. Depew in 1875, was promoted to be general counsel for them all, and elected to a direc- torship in each of the numerous organizations. The year previous, the legisla- ture had made him Regent of the State University, and one of the Commission- ers to build the Capitol at Albany. In 1884, the United States senatorship was tendered to Mr. Depew, but he was committed to so many business and professional trusts that he felt compelled to decline the honor. Two years before, William H. Vanderbilt had retired from the presidency of the New York Central, and in the reorganization Mr. Depew was made second Vice-President. The President, Mr. Rutter, died in 1885, and Mr. Depew was elected to the presidency, which office he still holds. His previous experience had made him thoroughly familiar with all the in- tricacies and minutiai of the immense business, its policy, its relations with other corporations, its rights, responsibilities and limitations, and none was so well equipped for the responsible post as he. "The basilar fact in Mr. Depew's character is a profound and accurate judgment, and this asserts itself in all his manifold relations with men and affairs, and in every effort he puts forth in any direction. Practical common sense, tact, an exquisite sense of the proprieties, a CHAUNCEY MITCHELL DEPEIV. 735 singular aptitude for business, and an intuitive appreciation of the value of means with reference to their ends, are manifestations of this judgment ; and if we add a strong will, great executive ability, untirinjj industry, and instinctive love of order, and a readiness to adopt the best method, an intellect of astonish- ing range and remarkable promptness in the solution of intricate problems, we have a correct estimate of the qualities which place him in the first rank of rail- way managers." At tke National Republican convention of 18SS, New York voted solidly for Mr. Depew as its candidate for the Presidency, but he withdrew his name. At the convention at Minneapolis in 1892, he was selected to present the name of President Harrison, and made one of the best speeches of his life. When Mr. Blaine resigned as Secretary of State, President Harrison urged Mr. Depew to accept the place, but after a week's deliberation, he felt obliged to decline the honor. It is impossible in a sketch like this to do justice to the remarkable versa- tility of Mr. Depew. His admirable addresses would fill several bulky volumes. As an after dinner speaker, he is without a peer, and his wit, logic and eloquence never fail him. What could be more apt than his words, when, upon entering a public hall where a number of leading meii were straining themselves to prove the Christian religion a delusion and a sham, and there were instant and clamorous calls for him, he said: "Gentlemen, my mother's Bible is good enough for me ; have you anything better to offer? " And then with touching pathos and impassioned words he made an appeal for the religion which they reviled, which must have pierced the shell of more than one agnostic heart