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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m6thode. rrata to pelure, n d { □ 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 S9H THE WORKS OF HUBERT HOWE BANCROFT - //^-.-^^/^ /f-/?^ ft. ^ '^^ a ^ -) -/<^ 11 i: .OIJK.S or inniLnT iiowj] lUNOJioiT 'ly-i: :xxix r JTKR A i lY TXDTTSTKIES 'y':lE .fIST(M V FRANnsCO MT'AVV, PlBLrSHEfiS M^0^' '■^c.<- THE WOEKS or HUBERT HOWE BANCROFT VOLUME XXXIX LITERARY INDUSTRIES SAN FRANCISCO THE HISTORY COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 1890 Entered apcorrtlng to Act of f'DiigrcHs In the yonr 18!I0, by HUBERT H. BAN(;R0FT, In the Ofllce of the Mbruriiin of CoiiKrcss, at WashliiBton. All lihjhta Rtsti-ved. CONTENTS OF THIS VOLUME. CHAPTER I. TAGK. THE FIELD ^ , CHAPTER II. ■I UK ATMOSrilERE j„ CHAPTER III. SI'KIXdS AN D UTTLE KKOOKS 4., CHAPTER IV. TJIE COUNTRY BOY BECOMES A BOOKSELLER gj) CHAPTER V. HAIL CALIFORNIA 1 ESTO PEEPETUA 1 nn CHAPTER VI. THE HOUSE OF H. H. BANCROFT AND COMPANY l^.i CHAPTER VII. FROM BIBLIOPOLIST TO BIBLIOPTIILE jy;^ CHAPTER VIII. THE LIBRARY .,. CHAPTER IX. DESPERATE ATTEMPTS AT GREAT THINGS , jj (V) ■Ik Vi CONTENTS. CHAPTER X. PAGE. A LITERAIIY WOItliSUOI' 230 CHAPTER XI. .SDMK OF MY ASSISTANTS O-lj CHAPTER XII. MY KIliST HOOK 277 CHAPTER XIII. THE I'ElilLS OF i'LlU.ISlllNd 307 CHAPTER XIV. A LITKKAUV riL.:UIM 32(J CHAPTER XV. niE TWO OKNKKALS 3(;5 CHAPTER XVI. riAI.IA.\ SlliATK(iY 3S;} CHAPTER XVII. ALVAKADO AND CASIliO 407 CHAPTER XVIII. CLOSE oi' Tin: cKKiiirn-VAr.LEJo cami-awn 428 CPIAPTER XIX. HOME 44(J CHAPTER XX. sax FiiANcrsco AiiciiiVKs 4G8 CHAPTER XXI. HISTORIC UKSKAHCUKS IN TUK SOUlll 473 CHAPTER XXII. insTOlUC EXri-OUAlIO.NS .Nt)UTIl\VARD .......... 530 i 'i f> COXTENTa vii CHAPTER XXIII. iniRXUER tlBRARY DETAIL . • • . . . 56:; CIIArXER XXIV. MY METHOD OP WKITINO UMTOKY _0. CHAPTER XXV. FtJRTHEli INOATJIKUlNGa . . ^ „ • • . . . CIS CHAPTER XXVI. l-ilKLIMIN-AKY AND SiriTLE.MEN-TAL VOLUMES gjQ CHAPTER XXVII. BODY AND MIND . . . 664 CHAPTER XXVIII. EXrEDITIONS TO MEXICO . 700 CHAPTER XXIX. TOWARD THE END . 752 CHAPTER XXX. L'URNED out! . . 769 CHAPTER XXXI. THE UI3TORT COBIPAinr AS» 'i-HE BANCROFr COMP.iinr 78S LITEKAPvY IXDUSTRIES. CHAPTER I. THE FIELD. Wliiuh gives me A more content in course ot true delight lluui to he thirsty iifter tottering honour, Or tie my iileasure up in silken bags, io please the fool and death. Pericles. This volume closes the narrative portion of my historical series; there yet remains to be completed the biograpliical section. It is now over thirty years since I entered upon the task to-day accomplished. During this period my efforts have been continuous. Sickness and death have made felt their presence; financial storms have swept over the land, leaving ghastly scars; calamities more or less severe have at various times called at my door; yet have I never been wholly overwhelmed or roaclicd a point where was forced upon me a cessa- tion ol library labors, even for a single day. Nor has my work been irksome; never have I lost interest or enthusiasm; never have I regretted the consecra- tion of my life to this cause, or felt that mv al)ilities might have been better emploved in some o'ne of the great enterprises attending the material development ot this western world, or in accumulatiiur property which was never a difficult thing for me'^to do It has been from first to last a labor of love, its im- portance ever standing before me paramount 'to that of any otlier undertaking in which I could enoace while of this world's goods I have felt that f had T 2 THE FIELD. always my share, and liavc been ready to thank God for tlie means necessary to carry forward my vvoi-k to its full completion. And while keerd}' alive to my lack of ability to perform the task as it ought to be done, I. have all the time been conscious that it were a thou- sand times better it should be done as I could do it than not at all. What was this task ? It was first of all to save to the world a mass of valuable human experiences, which otherwise, in the hurry and scramble attend- ing the securing of wealth, power, or ])lace in this new field of enterprise, would have drop[)od out of existence. These experiences were all the more valuable from the fact that they were new; the con- ditions attending their origin and evolution never had before existed in the history of mankind, and never could occur again. There was here on tins coast the ringing-up of universal intelligence for a final display of what man can do at his best, with all the powers of the past united, and surrounded by conditions such as had never before fallen to the lot of man to enjoy. Secondly, having secured to the race a vast amount of valuable knowledge which otherwise would have passed into oblivion, my next task was to extract from this mass what would most interest people in history and biography, to properly classify and arrange the same, and then to write it out as a his- torical series, in the form of clear and condensed narrative, and so place within the reach of all this gathered knowledge, which otherwise were as nmch beyond the reach of the outside world as if it never had been saved. Meanwhile the work of collect- ing continued, while 1 erected a refuge of safety for the final preservation of the library, in the form of a fire-proof brick building on Valencia street, in the city of San Francisco. Finally, it was deemed necessary to add a biographical section to the history proper, in order that the builders of the coumion- INEXORABLE FATE. wealtlis on this coast mirogress, filling the blank places of tlie universe from a fertile imagination. Following the works of the wise men of Egypt, India, and China were a mul- titude of histories and geographies by the scholars of Greece, and Rome, and western Europe. The finding of the cape of Good Hope route to India, and the discovery and occupation of the west- ern hemisphere, gave a mighty impulse to histories of the world, and their several parts became rapidly com[)lete. All the grand episodes were written upon and rewritten by men of genius, patient and pro- found, and admiring thousands read the stories, be- queathing them to tlieir children. By the middle of the nineteenth century there was scarcely a nation or a civilized state on the globe whose liistory had not been vividly portrayed, some of them many times. That part of the north temperate zone, the illuminated l)elt of human intelligence, where its new western end looks across the Pacific to the ancient east, the last spot ()ccui)icd by European civilization, and the final halting-place of westward-marching empire, was ob- viously the least favored in this respect; while the tropical })lateaux adjoining, in their unpublished an- nals, offered far more of interest to history than many other i)arts of which far more had been written. A hundred years before John 8mitli saw the spot on which was planted Jamestown, or the English pil- grims placed foot on the rock of Plymouth, thousands from Spain had crossed the high sea, achieved mighty conquests, seizing large portions of the two Americas and phicing under tribute their peoples. They liad built towns, worked mines, established plantations, 8 THE FIELD. and solved nic'iny of the problems attending European colonization in the New World. Yet, while the United States of North America could spread before Enyilish readers its history by a dozen respectable authors, the states of Central America and Mexico could produce comparatively few of their annals in English, and little worthy their history even in the Spanish language. Canada was better provided in this respect, as were also several of the governments of South America. Alaska belonged to Russia, and its history must come through Russian channels. British Columbia still looked toward England, but the beginning, aside from the earliest coast voyages, was from Canada. Wash- ington, Oregon, and the inland territory adjacent were an acknowledged part of the United Ptates, whoso acquisition from Mexico, in 1847, of the territory lying between the parallels 32° and 42'^ left the ownership of the coast essentially as it is to-day. Enticingly stood these Pacific states before the enlightened world, yet neglected ; for it is safe to say that there was no part of the globe equal in historic interest and importance to this western half of North America, including tlie whole of Mexico and Central America, which at the time had not its historical material in better shape, and its history well written by one or more competent persons. Before him who was able to achieve it, here, of all purposes and places, lay The Field. Mids+ the unfoldings of my fate, I found myself in the year of 1856 in the newly Americanized and gold- burnished country of California, in tlie city of San Francisco, which stands on a narrow peninsula, about midway between either extreme of the mighty stretch of western earth's end seaboard, beside a bay un- equalled by any along the whole seven thousand miles of shore line, and unsurjxassed as a harbor by any in the world. Out of this circumstance, as from omnipo- tent accident, sprang the Literary Industries of which this volume is a record. SIGNIFICANCE OF NATURE. or tllC at tlie gold- )f Sail about stretch ly un- miles any iu iiinipo- which California was then a-weary. Vounjjf, stroncr, with untouched, undroauied of resources a tiiousaiul-feated fires and failures, they were awaking as from a commercial delirium to find themselves bank- ru[)t, and their credit and original opportunities alike gone. A lualadie dn jxiys seized upc.w some, who there- upon departed; others set about reforming their ideas and habits, and so began the battle of life anew. There was little thought of mental culture at this time, of refinement and literature, or even of great wealth and luxury. The first dream was over of ships laden with gold-dust and of palaces at convenient inter- vals in various parts of the world, and humbler aspi- rations claimed attention. Yet beneath the ruffled surface were the still, deep waters, which contained as nmch of science and philosophy as the more boisterous waves, commonly all that we regard of ocean. Slowly as were unlocked to man the wealth and mysteries of this Pacific seaboard, so will be the in- tellectual possibilities of this cradle of the new civili- zation. As a country once deemed unproductive can 10 THE FIELD. now from its surplus feed other countries, so from our intellectual pioducts shall wo some day {'wd the nations. In the material wealth and beauty with which nature ha.s endowed this land wo may find the promise of the wealth o!id beauty of mind. The metal-veined mountains are symbolic of the human force that will shortly dwell betieath their shadows. And what shonld be the (lualitv of the strenuth so syndxtlizcd ^ Out of teriaee parks rise these moun- tains, lifting their granite fronts proudly into the ambient air, their glittering cre.sts s[)orting and quarrelling with the eloutls. Their ruggedness, now toned by distance into soft coral hues, time will smooth to nearer inspection, but oven ages eaimot improve the halo thrown over slopes covering untold millions of mineral wealth by the blending of white snow-fields with red-Hushed foothills. In further signilicance of losthetics here to be unfolded we might point to the valleys ear[)etcd with variegated llowers, golden pur[)le and white, and whose hilly borders are shaggy with gnarled trees and undergrowth; to higher peaks, with their dense black forests, from which shoot pinnacles of pine, like spires of the green tem[)le t>f (;lod; to oak-shaded park lands, and islands and shores with bright-leaved groves, and long blue headlands of hills .sheltering (juiet bays; to dreamy, soft, voluptuous valleys, and plains glowing in sum- mer as from hidden tire, their primitive aspect already modified by man; to the lonely grantkiur of craggy cliffs bathed in blue air, and dcej) gorges in the foot- hills seamed with fissures and veiled in purple mists; to winds rolling in from the ocran leaden fog-banks, and beating into clouds of white unoke the powdered flakes of snowclad summits, and .*; • iding them in whirl- winds to the milder temperature;-. 'eh)w; to lakes and watercourses lighted by the mor ng sun into lumi- nous haze; to summers radiant in uishine, to winters smiling in tears; to misty moon ghts and clarified noondays; to the vapor-charged elliptic arch that wwwwBiii m iitimmuia'a CIVILIZATION'S HAi;nNG-(; ROUND. 11 bullies the landscaiHj uith ivHirtctl lij^^ht; to the |»uu- miit ocean ttir ami the hulsamie odor of canons; to these, and ten thousand other beauties of plain and sierra, sky and sea, which still encompass secrets of. as mighty import to the race as any hitherto brought to the understan(linsorbed historical and literaiy subjects as mine has done, it is perhaps for- tunate for them. Indeed, of what is called the cul- ture of letters there was none during my working (lays in California. The few attempts made to achieve literature met a fate but little superior to that of a tliird-rate poet in Rome in the time of Juvenal. Peoples rapidly change; but what shall wo say when so esteemed a writer as Grace Greenwood adds to the social a physical cause why literature in Cali- fornia should not prosper? "I really cannot see," she writes, " how this coast can ever make a great record in scientific discoveries and attainments, and the loftier walks of literature — can ever raise great students, authors, and artists of its own. Leaving out of consideration the fiist and furious rate of busi- ness enterprise, and the maelstrom-like force of the s]iirit of speculation, of gambling, on a mighty, mag- nificent sweep, I cannot see how, in a country so enticingly picturesque, where three hundred days out of every year invite you forth into the open air with bright bcguilements and soft blandishments, any con- 16 THE ATMOSPHERE. siclcrable number of sensible, healthy men and women can ever be brought to buckle down to study of the hardest, most persistent sort; to 'poring over miser- able books'; to brooding over theories and incubating inventions. California is not wanting in admirable educational enterprises, originated and engineered by able men and fine scholars; and there is any amount of a certain sort of brain stimulus in the atmosphere. She will always produce brilliant men and women of society, wits, and ready speakers; but I do not think she will ever be the rival of bleak little Massachusetts or stony old Connecticut in thorough culture, in the production of classical scholars, great jurists, theo- logians, historians, and reformers. The conditions of life are too easy. East winds, snows, and rocks are the grim allies of serious thought and plodding re- search, of tough brain and strong wills." On the other hand, the author of Greater Britain, after speaking of the weirdly peaked or flattened hills, the new skies, and birds, and plants, and the warm crisp air, unlike any in the world but those of South Australia, thinks "it will be strange if the Pacific coast does not produce a new school of Saxon poets," afhrming that "painters it has already given to the world." " For myself," exclaims Bayard Taylor, " in breathing an air sweeter than that which first caught the honeyed words of Plato, in looking upon lovelier vales than those of Tempo and Eurotas, in wandering through a land whose sentinel peak of Shasta far overtops the Olympian throne of Jupiter, I could not but feel that nature must be false to her promise, or man is not the splendid creature he once was, if the art, the literature, and philosophy of ancient Greece are not one day rivalled on this last of inhabited shores I" Mr John S. Hittell thinks that "California has made a beginning in the establishment of a local literature, but that her writers were nearly all born elsewhere, though they were impelled to it by our in- tellectual atmosphere;" by which latter phrase I un- OPINIOXS OF AUTHORS. 17 women of the miser- abating inirablc erecl by- amount )spliere. )men of 3t tliink 3husetts ), in the [is, theo- itions of ocks are [ding re- Bntahif ned hills, he warm of South Pacific poets,' n to the ylor, " in t caught lovelier andering lasta far ould not omise, or IS, if the t Greece nhabited alifornia f a local all born (Icrstand the writer to mean an atmosphere that excites to intellectual activity rather than a social atmosplicre breathing the breath of letters. "What effect the physical climate of California may have on literary instincts and literary efforts," says Walter M. Fisher, "I am afraid it would be pre- mature, fi'om our present data, exactly to say or ))ro{lict. Its general Laodicean equability, sunnner and winter through, may tend to a monotony of tension unfavorable to tliat class of poetic mind de- veloped in and fed by the fierce extremes of storm or utter calm, of fervent summers, or frosts like those of Niffolbeim. It is generally ]icld, however, that the mildness of the Athenian climate had nuich to do witli the 'sweet reasonableness' of her culture, and it is usual to find a more rugged and less artistic spirit inhabit the muses of the Norse zone; while the lilies and languors of the tropics are doubtfully productive of anything above the grade of pure 'sensuous cater- wauling.' Following this very fanciful lino of thought the Golden State should rcyuvenato the glories of the City of the Violet Crown and become the alma mater of the universe. As to the effects of the social climate of California on literary aspiration and effort, little that is favorable can be said for the present, little that is unfavorable should be feared from the future. California p<^n' is m parvenu, making money, fighting his way into society, having no time or taste for studying anything save the news <»f the day and ])orhaps all occasional work of broad humor. It h for his heir, California /<7.s', to be a gentleman of leisure and wear ' literary frills.' For the present, a taste in tliat direction is simply not understood, though it is tolerated, as the worship of any strange god is. The orthodox god of the hour is Plutus: sa actus, sanctus, (% almost always beneficial, to many is essen- tial. Often many a one with an ex((uisite sense of reli(?f escapes from the din and clatter of the city, and tlu! harassing anxietii's of business, to the soft sensuous quiet of the country, with its hazy light, aromatic air, and sweet songs of birds. Thus freed for a time from killing care, and rejtosing in delicious revc^rie in some se(piestered nook, thought is liberated, swee[)s the universe, and looks its maker in the face;. Sky, hill, and [)lain are all instinct with ehxjueiice. And best of all, the shelter there; no one to molest. All dav, and all night, and the morrow, secure. No buzzing of business about one's ears; no curious callers nor stupid ])hiloso[)liers to entertain. Safe with the world walled out, and heaven oijeniiii; almvc and around. Then ere long the bliss becomes tame; the voluptuous bivatli of nature palls, her beauties be- come monotonous, the rested eneruies ache for want of exercise, and with Socrates the inconstant one ex- claims, "Trees and tields tell me nothhig; men are my teachers!" Yet, after all, the city only absorbs men, it does not create them. Intellect at its inception, like forest- trees, must have soil, sunshine, and air; afterward it may be worked into divers mechanisms, conifortal)le honies, and tongli ships. The city consumes mind as it consumes beef and potatoes, and must be con- stantly repleni.'-ihed from the country, otherwise hfc there exhausts itself. Its atmosphere, })hysically and morally deleterious from smoke and dust and oft- repeated breathings, from the perspirations of lust and the miasmatic vapors arising from sink-holes of vice, exercises a baneful influence on the younrything else being e(jual, a plain room Is ])rof('ral)le to one olegantly furnished. Plain, liard. practica] furniture seems best to harmonize with plain, hard, })ractical thouglit. Writing is not the soft, languid reverie that hixurious flttintjs and furnishings su'juest : it is the hardest and most wearing of occupations, and it .seems a mockery, wlien the temples tbrob and the bones ache, for the eye to meet at every turn only hivitatit)ns to idleness and ease. It strikes a discord and jars the sensibilities when the lifted e^'cs meet objects more beautiful and graceful than tlie flow of thought or the product of the overworked brain. A plain table, a cane-bottomed chair, and good writ- ing materials are the best. So much for immediate surroundings. To the critics previously quoted I would say that it is folly swecpingly to assert of this or that !V':rip of temperate zone that it is physically condii^i e to the growth of letters or otherwise. Variety of food, of .scenery, of entertainment is the essential need of the mind. As for the stone fences and east winds of Mrs Lippincott, I never knew them to be specially stimu- lating to brain work; no better, at all events, than \m^ SCENERY AND CLIMATE. 85 llio sand and fog of San Francisco, or the north >viiids and alternate reii^ns of fire and Mater in the valley of California. If to become a scholar it re- qiiirej^ no discipline or selfnlenial j.,n'eater than to ^vithstand the allurements of her bewitchin<^ climate, C'ahloi'uia shall not lack scholars. When most rav- islnd hy the charms of nature many students find it most ililKcult to tear themselves from work. Invijjjor- alin!4' air and bii^-ht sunshine, pui-plc hills, misty mountains, and si)arklin<' waters mav be enticin<>', but they ai-e also nis])n'mj^. Where were bleak JNIassachusetts and stony Con- ntctieut wluMi Athens, and Home, and Alexandria flourished? If barrenness and stones are more con- ducive to literature, the Skye Islands may claim to be the best place for notable men of letters. I can hardly believe that unless culture is beaten into us by scowliuijf nature we nmst forever remain savaires. ( ).\ygen is oxy^'^en, whether it vitalizes mind on the Atlantic or on the Pacific seaboard; and to the student of steady nerves, absorbed in his labors, it matters little whether his window overlooks a park or a preci[)ice. If I remember rightly the country about Stratford- on -Avon is not particularly rugged, neither is London remarkable for picturesque scenery. And surely there can be little in the climate of Cali- fornia antagonistic to intellectual attainments. In San Francisco there is no incompatibility, that I can discover, between philoso])hic insight and sand- hills. On the other hand, throughout the length and breadth of these Pacific States there are thou- sands of elements stimulating to mental activity. If tlie mountains of California are too gigantic for ]Mr Wikle's present art, may not man's capabilities some day rise to meet the emergency? M^xy not intellect and art become gigantic? Agassiz insists that the climate of Europe is more faNonible to literary labors than that of America. This I do not believe; but, if admitted, California is f 26 THE ATMOSPHERE. bettor than Massachusetts, for the climate of Cali- fornia is Euopean rather than eastern. It is a thinking air, this of California, if such a thing exists outside of the imagination of sentimentalists; an air that generates and stimulates ideas; a dry elastic air, strong, subtile, and serene. It has often been noticed in ijoitiii»' and nature's many melo- dies — these will not lot luo imk, The commercial or mechanical plodder again w;'' ^a}'-: What are these pitiful thousands, or tens or hundreds of thousands, which by a lifetime of faithful toil and economy I have succeeded in getting together, when men infinitely my inferior in ability, intellect, and culture, by a lucky stroke of fortune make their millions in a month? Surely money is no lor ^-er the measure of intelligent industry; it is becon)in- ;v common and less creditable thing: I'll worship it no 1 -hger. Even envy is baffled, 80 THE ATMOSPHERE. overreached. These many and mammoth fortuned made by stock-gam blini^ and railway manipulations so overshadow and belittle lesfitimate efforts that accu- mulatorp arc constrained to pause and consider what is the right and destiny of all this, and to begin com- parisons between material wealth beyond a competency and that wealth of mind which alone elevates and ennobles man. Midas of the ass's ears is dead, choked on gold given him by offended deities; but Midas of the scr- l)cnt, Midas of the slimy way, still lives, and is among us, sapping our industries, monopolizing our products, glutting himself with the hard-ea .; ' old of our work- ing men and women. Lethimtakt .rninij; let him go bathe in Pactolus and cleanse himself withal. The time will surely come in California when some will surfeit of wealth and hold the money struggle in contempt. They will tire of the harpies of avarice who snatch from them the mind-food for which they pine, even as the fabled harpies snatched from the luxury-loving monarch Prestor John the food for which his body hungered. This western spurt of enterprise is a century- step backward in certain kinds of culture. San Francisco has absorbed well-Tiigh all that is left of the Inferno. Take the country at largo, and since the youthful fire that first flashed in our cities and canons California in some respects has degenerated. Avarice is a good flint on which to strike the metal of our minds, but it yields no steady flame. The hope of sudden gain excites the passions, whets tlie brain, and rouses the energies; but when the effort is over, whether succ "issful or otherwise, the mind sinks into comparative listlessness. It must have some healthier pabulum than cupidity, or it starves. The quality of our Californian mind to-day may be seen displayed in our churches and in the newspajjcr press. The most intellectual and refined of our pulpit orators are not always the most popular. Clerical jolly-good-fellow- PREACHING AND TEACHING. 31 fortuned itions so lat accu- ler what irin com- ipctency ites and on gold the scr- is amonaj 3roducts, )ur work- ; let him lial. len some strui^cjle )f avarice lieh they fi'om the food for spurt of ain kinds ship covers barrels of pulpit stupidity, and is no less cfTectual in the formation and guidance of large flocks than it is agrecahlu to the shepherd. Hard study, broad views of life and the times, thorough investi- gation of the mighty enginery that is now driving mankind so rapidly forward materially and intel- lectually, deep and impartial inquiry into the origin and tendency of tilings, do not characterize clergymen as a class. There are, however, some noble exceptions in California as well as elsewhere ; but there must be many more if Christians would retain their hold on tlie minds of men, and stay tlio many thinking per- sons who are dropping off from tK'^ir accustomed places in the sanctuary. One other Influence adverse to the higher intellectual life I will mention, and that is promiscuous reading — not necessarily so-called light reading, for there are works of fiction in the hicfhcst dejjree beneficial, more so than many a true narrative; but reach ng in which there is neitlicr healthful amusement nor valu- able instruction. There is too much readinLj of books, far too much reading of newspapers and magazmes, for the highest good of exact knowledge, too much pedagogic cramming and windy sermonizing, too little l»ractical thought, too little study of nature, too little cultivation of germ -intelligence, of those inherent natural qualities which feed civilization. There is a vast difference between what is called deep thinking and right thinking. Thought may dive deep into Stygian lakes, into opaque pools of super- stition, so that the deeper it goes the farther will be the remove from intellectual clearness or moral worth. AVhat to the heathen are the profound reveries of the Christian? what to the Christian tlie myths and doctrines of the heatlien? A mind may be talented, learned, devoted, and yet unable to find the pearls of the sea of Cortes in the brackish waters of the Utahs. One may be blind, yet honest; purblind, yet 32 THE ATMOSPHERE. profound. It is a mistaken idea that clear convic- tions spring from deep thinking. Decided opinions are oftencr the result of ijjnorance than of right thinking. Particularly is this true in regard to the super- natural and unknowable. Here clear thinking tends to unsettle pronounced opinion, while study, research, profound learning and deep thinking only sink the inquirer into lower depths of conviction, which may be false or true, not as investigation is profound, but as it is rightly directed. Impartiality is essential to right thinking; but how can the mind be impartial upon a question predetermined ? Right thinking comes only where love of truth rises above love of self, of country, of tradition. Convictions, so called, arising from the exercise of will power are not convictions, but merely expressions of will power. Of such are the rank weeds of prejudice overspreading the fertile fields of literature, politics, and religion. Deep thinking is subtile and cunning; right thinking simple and in- genuous. The surface thoughts of clear, practical, uncultivated common-sense often lie neaver the truth than the subtilties of the schools. Intellect and edu- cation may create profound thinkers, but not always right thinkers. Absolute freedom from prejudice and absolute indifference as to the ulti:"iates attained b}'^ freedom of thought are impossible, but the nearer an ';iOuiring mind approaches this condition the more ready it is to receive unadulterated truth; and truth alone, irrespective of hopes and fears, is the only ob- ject of healthy thought. In study, to every height, there is a beyond; round every height a border of opaque blue, and to clear thinking direction is more than distance. Pure unadulterated truth is not palatable to the popular mind. In politics we would rather believe the opposition all corruption, and our own party all purity, than to believe the truth. In religion wo would rather believe ours the only road to heaven, and all those who differ from us doomed to a sure EFFECT OF NEWSPAPERS. 33 IS more eternal perdition. In society we enjoy sweet scandal far more tlian honest fairness; and if wo could drive ovu' unfortunate brotliers and sisters, all of them about whose skirts are the odors of vice — if wc could drive the vicious, with hateful ways, and all those who differ from us as to the best mode of extermi- nating vice, down to the depths of despair, it would suit our temper better than manfully to recognize the good there is in Lucifer, and lift up those that have fallen through no special fault of their own. Newspapers have become a necessity to our civili- zation, and though they are bad masters they are good and indispensable servants. As a messenger of intelligence; as a stimulant to industry and knowl- edapors and doinu^.s of d scautlal, poems for lus for tho ics should >f oinnivo- in tlicm- ] ionic of built and n a daily ^ho house, turos, and itlie upon kvell when CALIFORNIA^ CHAEACTER. 41 mountable by man. They pause discomfited only upon tlic threshold of the unknowable and the impossible Tho literary atmosphere of which we speak is not here to-day; but hither the winds from the remotest corners of the earth arc wafting it; all knowledge and all liunian activities are placed under contribution, and out of this alembic of universal knowledo-c will in duo time be distilled the fine gold of Letters a] atmos- ice at tho character ning, tho 1 on their 1 and the ind, these 3ution; it torj; nor lioorotical a hurried purposes i was un- owing all lose ii*',Mi the fiery r passed; )ne, what ke tliese, e? They tacle sur- M CHAPTER III. SPRINGS AXD LITTLE BROOKS. On fait prosquc toujours les prandea choscs sans savoir oommcnt on les fait, c't on ust tout surpris qu'on Ics a faitcs. Denuintlcz ii C'l sur loninicnt il BO rendit lo niaitro du niondc; peut-ijtrc ue vou3 repoudra-t-il i»a.-) aiaonient. Ihnltndle, Seiimonize as we may on fields and atmospheres, internal agencies and environment, at the end of life we know little more of the intkienees tluit moulded us than at the beginning. Without rudder or com- pjuss our bark is sent forth on the stormy sea, and although we fancy we know our present haven, the trackless ]iath by wliicli we came hither we cannot retrace. The lecord of a life written — what is it? lietween the lines are characters invisible which might tell us something could we translate them. They might tell us something of those ancient riddles, origin and destiny, free-will and necessity, discussed imtler various names by learned men through the centuries, and all without having penetrated one hair's breadth into the mystery, all without having gained any knowledge of the subject not possessed by men i)rimeval. In this mighty and universal sti-aining to fathom the unknowable, Plato, the philosopliie Greek, seems to succeed no better than Moncacht Ape, the philosophic savage. This much progress, however, has been made; there arc men now living who admit that tliey know nothing about such matters; that after a lifetime of stUily and meditation the eyes of the brightest intel- lect can see beyond the sky uo farther than those of [42] ORIGIN AXD DESTINY. 43 ninent on les ir comniont il [)as aiaemeut. FoiUcndle. losplicros, :ud of lifo ; moulded r or coiu- y sea, and lavcii, the \'o cannot hat is it? )lu which ite them. it riddles, discussed k)Ugh the a ted one it havini^ sessed l)y strainin?^ lilosophic loncacht >n made; ley know fetime of test intel- thosc of Ml the most unlearned dolt. And they arc the sti'onjj^ost who acknowledj^c their weakness in this regard; they aie tlic wisest who confess their ignorance. Even the ancients understood this, thouLjli bv the mouth of Terentius they put the proposition a little differently: " Faciunt na3 intclligcndo, ut nihil intelligant;" hy too much knowledge men bring it about that they know notl liner. Confining our invcstiixations to the walks of literature, surely one would think genius might tell something of itself, something of its inceptions and iiispii'ations. But what says genius? " They ask me," .•()mplaius Goethe of the perplexed critics who sought ill vain the moral design of his play, "wliat idea I wished to incorporate with my Faust. Can I know it '. Or, if I know, can I put it into words?" A similar ii'tort was made by Sheridan Knowles to a question li\ Douglas Jerrold, who asked the explanation of a certain unintclhgiblo incident in the })lot of The If'inclthack. " My dear boy," said Knowles, " upi )ii my word I can't toll you. Plots write themselves." V. liy we are what we are, and not some other ;Mson or thing; why we do as we do, turning hither iiistuad of thither, arc problems which will be solved only with the great and universal exposition. And vet there is little that seems stranc^ti to us in our movements. Things appear wonderful as they are uiilamiliar; in the unknown and unfathomed we think we see Clod; but is anything known or fathomed? A\ ho shall measure mind, wo say, or paint the soul, or lend the veil that separates eternity and time? Yet. do M-e but think of it, cverythin'jf relatin''- to mankind 11 • • • and the universe is strange, the spring that moves the mind of man not more than the mechanism on which it presses. " How wonderful is death!" says Shelley; hut surely not more wonderful than life or intellect whicli l)riiigs us consciousness. Wo sec the youth's hi. ached body carried to the grave, and wondei- at the absence of that life so l.itely animating it, and 'jucstion what it is, whence it came, and whither it 44 SPRINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. lias flown. AVo call to mind whatever there may have been in tliat youth's nature of j)romise or of singular excellence; hut the common actions of the youth, tht; while he lived, wo deem accountahlc, and pass them hy because of on/ familiarity with like acts in others. We see nations rise and die, worlds form and crumble, and wonder at the universe unfading, but the mimiti;v3 of evolution, the proximate little things that day l)y eculiar superstition for solution, there was comparatively little in the universe wonderful to them. Therefore, not wishing to be classed among the ignorant and doltish of by-gone ages, but rather among this wise generation, in answer to that pai-t of Mr Nordhoff's wonderings why I left business and embarked in literature, I say I cannot tell. Ask the mother wli}^ she so lovingly nui'ses her little one, watchiniif with tender solicitude its growth to vouth and manhood, only to send it forth weaned, ]>erha[)s indifferent or ungrateful, to accomplish its destiny. Litc^rature is my love, a love sprung from my brain, no less my child than the offspring of my IkkIv. In its conception and l)irth is ])resent the parental in- stinct, in its cultivation and development the parental care, in its results the parental anxiety. Tlu're nw those, says Hannnerton, "who are urged toward tiu^ intellectual life by irresistible instincts, as water- fowl are urged to an a(]uatic life. ... If a man has got high mental culture le, I mil Hit 1:13 ivy l)y (lay derstand, ;ar yonth , ])(.'rhaps destiny, ny l)rain, >ody. In ental in- pa rental There ai'e ward tin* ater-fowl I has ij^ot o\hj;]\ life, ed it, or wliore ho happens to bo, and his teachers arc the people, liook.s, animals, plants, stones, and earth round about him." There are millions of causes, then, why wo are what we are, and when we can enumerate but a few score of rliem vve rio-htly say we do not know. In mv own (•as '. that I was born in central Ohio rather than in Oahu is one cause; that my ancestors were of that stern puritan stock that delighted in self-denial and (.■fll'ctive well-doing, sparing none, and least of all llirniselves, in their rigid proselyting zeal, is another cause; the hills and vales around mv home, the woods and meadows through which I roamed, my daily tasks — no pretence alone of work — that wer-e the be- ginning of a life-long practice of mental and muscular gvnmastics, were causes; e\ery opening of the eye, vvcYy wave of nature's inspiration, was a cause. And thus it ever is. Every ray of sunshine thnnvn upon • >ur path, ever}'^ shower that waters our efforts, every >t"rni that toughens our sinews, swells the influence that makes us what we are. The lights and shades of a single day color one's \vliole existence. There is no drrip (if dew, no breath of air, no shore, no sea, no ]j<.avenly star, bvit writes its influence on our destiny. In the morning of life the infant sleeps into strength, and while he sleeps are planted the seeds of his fate; t' ir weal or woe are planted the fiijj-tree and the thorn- tire, fan- flowers and noisome weeds. Then are born iiavings for qualities and forms of existence, high aspirations and debasing aj)petites; the poetic, the sai red, the sublime, and love, and longings, are there in their incipiency; hate, and all the influences for evil mingling with the rest. Wra]>ped in the mys- terious enfoldings of fate are these innumerable spiings of thought and action, for the most part dor- mant till wakened by the sunshine and storm wherein tli'V bask and battle to the end. And later in the life of the man, of the nation, or 46 SPRINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. the evolution of a principle, how frequently insignifi- cant is the only appearing cause of mighty change. !Mo]ianiiin'(l, a tiatlesnian's clerk, was constrained to marry ]iis mistress and turn propliet, and thei-efrom arose a power wliich wellnigli overwhelmed Christen- dom. Luth(n-'s sleep was troubled with impish dreams, and liis widcing hours with the presence of papal in- dnlgcMices, from whicli results of indigestion, brain op- pression, or extrinsic pressure of progress, tlie church was sliorn of a good share of its authority, l^'rog soup was one day in 1790 prescribed as a suitable diet for a lady of Bologna, Signora Galvani ; and but for this homely incident the existence of what we call galvanism might not have been discovered to this day. Joseph Smith's revelation put into his hands the metal-plated book of ^Mormon, though unfortunately for his followers it was some tliree centuries late in appearing. Lucian's first occupation was making gods, a busi- ness (juite extensively indulged in by all men of all aixcs — making deities and demolishing them: carving them in wood, or out of airy nothings, and then set- ting them a-fightinix. Lucian used to cut Mercui-ies out of marble in his uncle's workshop. Thence he descended to humldc]* undertakings, learned to write, and finally handled the gods somewhat roughly. Tims with him the one occupation followed closely on the other. Thomas Hood's father was a bookseller, and his uncle an engraver. Disgusted first witli a mer- cantile and afterward with a mechanical occupation, Hood took to verse-making, and finally abandoned himself wholly to literature. And there is at least one instance where a young scribbler, Planchc, re- solved to be a bookseller so that he micjht have the opportunity of publishing his own works; in accoi-d- nnce with which determination he apprenticed him- ppren self, though shortly afterward, not finding in the connection the benefits imagined, he took to play- actiniTf and writinir. An author of cfonius sometimes FAMILY HISTORY. 47 rises into notice l)y sti'ikin'^ aefidontally tlic key-note of popular fancy or jirejiidico which sounds Ids fame. I"^ntil Sam Wcller, a cliaracter which genius alone could construct, was brought before the world, the Pickwick J^ipcrs, then and for five months pnnious issued by Chapman and Hall as ii. His gi-and- iiKitlier met her death from an accident at ninety-tivc A Hiili' and a half IVom this Pratt farm lived niy grandfatlu'r Bancroft, a man of good judgment, actiw in light ojien-air wtirk, tliough not of sound licahh, for he was atllicted with asthma. My granihnothfr was a woman of great enihuvince, tall and slender, with a facility for accomplishing work which was a marvel to her neighbcjrs. " She did not possess great ])livsical force," says my father in his journal, "hut managed to accomplish no inconsiderable work in narinij: a laru'e familv, and providinu: both for their temporal and spiritual wants— clothing them accord- ing to the custom of the time with the wool and ilax of her own si)iiming. Tlio raw matei'ial entered the house from the farm, and never left it except as warm durable garments upon the backs of its inmates. The fabric was quite good, as good at least as that of our neiixhbors, thouiih I oun'ht to admit that it would not compare with the ]Mission woollen goods of San Francisco; still, 1 think a peep into my mother's factory as it was in the year 1800 would be found interesting to her descendants of the present day. This was before the day of our country carding ma- chines. My mother had nine operatives at this time, of ditferent ages, and not a drone among us all. All were busy with the little picking machines, the hand- cards, the spinning-wheel, and the loom. It can be well imagined that my mother was much occupied in her daily duties, yet she found time to teach her little ones the way to heaven, and to ])ray with them that they might enter therein. And such teaching I such prayers' What of the result? We vcrilv believe those children all jjave their hearts to tlie Savior, either early in childhood or in youth. She had eleven children; two died hi infancy. The I'laaining nine all reared families, and a large pro^xa'- LiT. Ind. 4 00 SPRINGS AND I.ITTI^R imOOKS. i tion of tliom are pious. IMay a gracious God liave mercy upon the risiuu^ gouoration, and in answer to the prayers of a lonresent. He could gather suri'ace stones into little heaps, drop corn, and pull flax. ])uring the next year or two, in his linen frock, he jierformed all kinds of general light work; among the rest he would walk beside the ox team while plowing. Tlu; i'arm on M'hich my father worked at this tender aije was (juite rough and stony, and before the plowing oxen was sometimes hitched a gentle horse without a l)i'idle, guided, like the oxen, with the AvJii|). My father had not yet reached the end of his sixth year when, toward the close of a long hot summer day, during which he had trudged manfully, whip in hand, beside these cattle, he became exceedingly tired, and the silent tears began to fall. Noticing this the lather asked, "What is the matter, my child?" "Nothing, sir," was the reply, "only I think this is a j)retty big team for so small a boy to drive all day." '• [ think so too, my son, and we will stop now," said my grandfather. After his seventh birthday my father was withdrawn from school during summer, his services on the i'ai'm being too valuable) to be s|)ared. In 1809 my grandl'ather Bancroft removed his family to Pennsylvania, where Yankees M'ere then eyed suspiciously by the Dutch, and in 1814 he emi- grated to Ohio. My mother was a native of Vermont. Sibyl JMielps was her mother's maiden name, and the IMielps family nt an early day removed from the vicinity of St Ah ans to (Jhio. My mother's parents were both originally from Massachusetts, Sibyl MY GRANDFATHER. 61 Plielps leavinjir Sprinijf field about tlic time Curtis Jlowo, my inother'.s lather, left Granville, the two iiK'otiiijjj lirst at Swaiiton, Vermont, in 1797, their marriage taking place the following year. Curtis Howe was one in whom were united singular mild- ness of vstein one among millions of solar systems. "La lilu]>art des honnnes," says La Bruvere, " emj)loient la pii'niiere partie de leur vie a rendre I'autre miser- altle." Nevertheless it is safe to say that every man receives from the world more than he gives. These so-called last livers do not live at all, do not know what life is. They act as though they imagined it to be a gladiatorial show, in which each was called to be lUi actor, a thief, and fierce butcher of time, when in I'calit}^ they arc but spectators, the creator pro- Aiding the entertainment, which is not a gladiatorial >how, l)ut a pastoral feast, where nature herself ])rc- >-ides and di^r:"'uutes the gifts. Let it be inscribed rcparations to live, and wh(^ died lal)oring under the strange delusion that he had lived half a century or more. There is about all this bustle and ])usiness the -tilling vapor of merchandise, town lots, and stocks, which, as one says truthfully, "deoxygenates the air orn in London in the year fdoO, and remained tliere through lii , juvenile years. Xothing is known of his parents, antl ve^ry little of him, only that some time after he became a )nan he came t'> this countiy with a brother wiiose name is n<»t known. He purchased a farm in Xew Haven, Con- necticut, ac(|uire(l a handsome property, anhraim Howe, was their youngest, born in April, 1730, his father being at that time eighty years old. December '2, l7r>G, my father married ]Jamaris QUALIFIKD FAITH. 5S Sr.iwai'd, ho IhAu'j; tAventv-seven and slio seventeen. AcconlinL,^ to the I'aniily record I was l)orn May 10, 177'-': I remained very suiall and ,L,^rew but httle until f arrived at my teens, and reachinij^ ni}^ full size, I su])|)ose, only when nearly twenty-one." 'riiiiius clianL^ed as time went on; the world l)iistle(l lurward and left my Lri'andlather behind. His children to tlic third and i'ourth generations became scattered i'rom the Atlantic to the Pacific, and as he advanced ill years tliere was a growing' dttsire in him to see tlh-m all and leave with them Iiis blessin*'' ere he tiled, ^[any of them he did see, making long journeys m ills wagon rather than trust himself to a railway. (^)uet'r caution this, it always seemed to me. The good patriarch could trust his God im[)licitly in most matters; indeeorn in the saim; town the same year; botJi died t!u3 same year at the advanced age of ninety-six. My grandfatheis IJancroftand Howe were both born in (Ji'anville, Massachusetts; the former died in Ohio, the latter in Kansas. i! 'i; 66 SPRIXOS AND LITTLK r.ROOKS. Botli of my parunts were boiii in tlio year 1799. I was liorn in Granville, (3hio, on the tilth day of May, 1832, just two centuries after the ari-ival of my ancH'stor John in America. The town of (Granville was settled l>v a colony from Xew ]Ont»'land, and took its name from Granville, Massachusetts, whence many of its settlers came. It was in 1805 that a company was formed in Granville, Massachusetts, to emigrate to tht! far west, and two of IIk,' number went to searcli the wilderness for a suitable location. They selected a heavily timbered township in Ohio, in the county of Licking, so called i'rom tlu; deer-licks found there. 'J'hey secui'ed from tlie ])ro]»rietors, Stanbury and liatbburn, this tract, and it ai'terwanl took the name of Granville, as before mentioned, I'rom their old lionic. The year following the colony was organized, not as a joint-stock (X)nn)any, but as a congregational church. At starting a sermon was preached from the text: "If thy ])rescnce go not with me, carry us not up hence." Then, after baking much bread, a portion of which was dried to rusk and coarsely ground at the flouring mill, the cattle were hitched to the wagons, and driving their cows before them they moved off in the direction of the star of empire. It was quite a ditfercMit thing, this New England colony, IVom an ordinary western settlement. Thouirh eminently practical, it ])artook rather of the subjective and I'atiouid element than of the objective and ma- terial. Though unlike their forefatlii'i's fleeing from j>crse('U(ion — only I'or more and bettcn- land than they could find at homo would they go — tiiey nevertheless, with their houst'holils, ti'ans])lanted their opinions and their traditions, without abating one jot or tittle of cithtn*. Willi their ox teams and horse teams, with all thcii- belongings in covered wagons, these colonists came, bearing in their bosoms their love of God, their coui'Mgeous I'aith, their stern morality, their delight in sacrilice; talking of these things l»y the way, camping by the road side at night, resting on the Sal)bath when THK LATKR MIORATIOX. 57 all the ivliuflous ordinances of the dav wore strictly (il)sri'vcd, ct^nsuminn" in the journey as nianv days as it now occu[)ies halt-hours, and all with thanksgiving, player, and praise. Quite a contrast, this sort of swai-niing, to that MJiii h characterized the exodus to ('aliftirnia 1 ess than half a century later 'vherein gri'(>d usurjx'd the ]ilace of godliness, and lust tlu! ]»lace of lovi-. The na- tion had jtrogressed, it was d.l said. since Ol no was tl le I'mntier — ci-ahhke in some respects, surely; lU'Vertlie- Ir-ss there was more of 'life' in it, that is to sav ehulli- tjoii. fermentation, ca lie. I lie, as I train less 1 )ovsan(l men doomed to perdition call their fopperies, harlotings, ,iiid drunken revelries life. There had been a granased braying that added to i.ur domain the whole of Alta, California when the 'u\k of gold was heard upon our western seaboard, nd thither ilocked adventurers of everv caste, «>ood I bad, learned and unlearned, nu'rcantik', nieehan- l nondescrii)t. The sons of the imritans, in i-ii ieal and (•oimnon M'ith all the world, rose and hastily dt'j)artcd their piliJ'rimaLre to this new shrine of IMiitus. oil Kagi-rly they skirted the continent, doubleain brou''ht out, ilu> oxen and tl ic ]iorses; wives [Uid little ones were lel't behind, and so, lias! too often were conscience, and honesty, and hu- manity. Not as their I'orefat hers had journeyed did these latter-day nu'ii of ])rogress migrate. Sacrifice, tlieiL' was enough ol' it, but of (juite a dillerent kind. < oinfort, society with its wholesome restraints, and S.il.hath W(Mi' sacrificed; the bible, the teachings of 'heir youth, and the Christ himself, were sacriliced. ' 'at lis and blasphemy instead of ])raise and tlianks- -iviiig were heard; drunken rexelry and gambling took 08 SPRINGS AND LITTLK BROOKS. the place of psalms and sermons. Playing-cards were the gold-seeker's testament, rum the spirit of his con- templations, and luci'e his one and iinal love. The ritle and the howio-knifo cleared his })atli of beasts and native.' nun and women, and the unfortunate ' greasers,' hy which opprobrious epithet the Anglo- Saxon there greeted liis brethren of the Latin ^race, fared but little better. Here was a new departure in ("olonizing; nor yet a colonizing — only a huddling of humanit\', drunic ironi excess of avarice. It was late in the week that the New Eno-land emiiri-ants to Ohio reached their destination and cam})ed on a pictui'esepu," bench, the rolling forested hills on one side, and on the otlier a strip of timbered bottom, througli which ilowed a clear quiet stream. Arraui'int'" their wan'ons in the way best suited for convenience and defence, thi'V felletl a few of the largt^ ma])le and otlier trees and began to pre|)are material for buildiuL"'. Then came the warm Sabbath mornimi'. when no sound of the axe was heai'd, and even nature softened her shrill music ami l)reathed low as arose to heaven the voice V [)!•; giving, nevermore to lie new or strange among these consecrated hills. A sermon was read on that tii'sl Granville Sabbath, and never i'rom that day to this lias tlie peaceful little spot been without its Sabbath and its serm on. a ouses were quickly erec teil, and a I'hurcli, Timothy Harris bi>ing tin; first ])ast()i-. Schools quickly ibllowe(l; and all thus far being from 1 one vilace, anc I of one failh, and one moralitv, no time was lost in sage discussions, so that (jJranvillc grew in solid comforts and intelligence, outstripping th<> neigliboring eonununities, and ere long sending forth hundreds of young men ;nid w<»men to educate others. 'I'he l*he][ts family was among tin; earliest to leavo Vermont for the Ohio (iranville, thus established by the Massachusetts men. Then came the JJanci'ofts from I'ennsylvania and the Hcnve family from Ver- OLD-TIME MATING. 00 niont. Amonigr the first acts of the colonists was to mark out a village and divide the surrounding lands into hundred-acre farms. Now it so happened that tlic farms of Azariah Banci-offc and Curtis Mtnve near tliem, it was deemed dis- giaceful in a woman to be weak who could not sliow just cause for her infirmity. As I have said before, work was the order of the day — work, by which means alone men can bo men, or women women; by which moans alone there can be culture, development, or a human species fit to live on this earth. Men and women, and boys and girls, all worked in those days, worked physically, mentally, and morally, and so strengthened hand, and iiead, and heart. Thus work- iuLi' in the kitchen fielinning, weaving, Ashley Bancroft and Lucy Howe grew up, the one a lusty, sinewy, dark-eyed youth, the other a bright merry maiden, with golden hair, and the sweetest smile a girl ever had, and the softest, purest eyes that e\er let sunlight into a soul. I'hose eyes [ilayed the mischief with the vt)Utii. Slv u'lanc.'es were u'iven and returned; at spelling-school, singing-school, chestnut- ting, and sleighing, whenever they t'licountered one another the heart of either beat tlu^ faster. Ami in the lull course of time they were man ied, and had a hundred-acre farm of their own; had calUe, and hani, and I'arm im[)lenients, and in time a substantial two-story stone house,with a bright tin roof; and soon there were six children in it, of whom I was the l"urth; and had all these comforts paid l"or — for these llnifty workers hated debt as they hated the devil — ;ill paid for save the children, for which debt the CO SPllINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. ])arf!nts coasod not to make ackiiowlcdjjjinoiits to al- ii li^lity (jrod niorniiiijf and evening to the end. Writiiii;' in liis journal at tlio age of eiglitv-threc, jnst ai'ter tlu; death of my motlier, in 1882, my father tells the storv thus: "Well, a lonu" time ago a little .stanunering boy" — my father liad a slight impediment in his speech — "turned up from the rocks and hills of ]\rassachusetts, who might eventually want a wife; and Infinite Benevolence took the case into His own hands, nnd being al)le to see the end from the begin- ning, by way of compensation, perhaps, for the griev- ous atlliction entailed upon him. He was graciously inclined to bestow u|)on him one of the very best young women in His keeping, and in accordance with Jlis ])lan he caused the damsels of His miglity realm to pass before Him, and strange to relate, near the (jlreen ^Mountains of A'ermont one was found with whom He was perfectly accpiainted, and whom He knew would be the right person to fill the place. Now the pitrties were far removed from each other, and still farther removed from the scene of their future desti- nation. And as the time drew nigh when these young ])ers()ns were to be brought together, discipline and counsel were preparing them; for good parents had been given by the great ]\[oving Power, who could clearly see that they would rear a family of children that they would jiot be ashamed of. And now, in accordance with the great plan, I was sent out to Ohio a few yeai's in advance of my mate; and four years later thei'c was a movement in a family in X'ermont, who bade farewell to friends and started for the west. TJie second day after their an-ival 1 was walking i'roin father's toward town, when I met two ])ersons, one of M'hom Avas my sister Matildn and the other ACiss Lucy i). Howe. My sister lightly introducely a boy at all — sober, sedate, jiioiis, havin^^ in him little lim or frolic, though ])os- sessinjjf somewhat of a temper, l)ut for which his lather would have pronoui !('('< I liim tJiebest l)oy that ever lived. The inHnaculate youth had not y(,'t won his bi'ide, who was as clear-headed and sinnle-lieai'ted as he, and joy- ous as a sunbeam withal. What could he do, extremely siiisitive and bashful as he was; how could ho brini*" liis faulty tongue to speak the momentous words? There was away in old-time wooings not praclisetl so much of late. Listen. '' l*0(jr Ashley!" continues my father, "he was indeed smitten, though he could not make a move. J^ut he had one resource, llo knew the way to a throne of gi'ace, and his prayer for months was that God would give him a companion that should prove a rich and lasting blessing to him. And how wonderfully that prayer has been answered. ?\liss Ilowe when she started out from her home that morninij did not know slie was <>"oin<>' forth to meet liim who had been a))pointed to be her comjianion (lurinay, ■■ to be good and to do good shotdil constitute the aim and end of every life." Children pai'ticularly sliould I)e ii'formed, and that right early; and so .Saturday night was ' ke})t,' preparatory to the Sabbath, on wliich day three 'meetings' were always held, besides a Sunday-school and a prayei'-meeting, the intervals iHiiii;- filled witli Saturday -cooked repasts, catechism, and Simdav readings. Pieparations were made for the Sabbath as for a 04 SPKIXfiS AND LITTLE BROOKS. soltjinn ovntioii. The tjnnlon was ]>ut i?i order, and the slu^ep and kino wt'i'c di'lvni it) tlieir quiet quarti'i's. TJie Jiouso was scruhUed, and in the winter fuel ]»i'c- j)ared the day belore. All picture-hooks and scrajis oi' secular reading which nii^'ht catch the eye and oHeiid the imagination wi'ri' tlu'ust into a closet, and on the tahle in their stead wert; ])laced the l)iM<\ J\I<'innirs (if Pi'i/soi), and /fii.ifcrs Sdiifs Jicst. 'i'he uiorninL;' of the lioly day crept silently in; even na+ure seemed suiulued. The hirtis sani; softer; the inmates of the farm-yard |)ut on their best hehavior; only the bra/en-faced sun dared show itself in its accustomed chai'acter. J'rayers and breakfast over, cleanly frocked, through still streets an the nei H-rogulating |)rinciple in the machinery. We walk through life as on a tight-rope, and the more c\vidy \\r balance ourselves the better we can i;o for^vard. Too much leaning on one side involves a correspond- ing movement toward the other extreme in order to uain an equilibrium, and so we go on wriggling and tnttei'ing all our days. Hence, lo avoid excesses of • very kind 1 hold to be the triiest wisdom. We have hcloro us, in the history of mankind, thousands of <'\ani|>les if we would profit by them, thousands "I* illustrations if wo will see them, wherein excess of what we call good and excess of what we call evil both ahke tend to destruction. The eflects of excessive I lift y are before us in forms of morbid asceticism, with 70 SPRINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. .self-flagellations, and starvations, and half a nation turned bcf^garly monks, to bo kept alive at the ex- pense of the other half or left to die; in persecutions and slaughters, which for centuries made this fair oartli an Aceldama, whence the smoke from reeking millions slain, ascending heavenward, called aloud for vengeance. " Crucify thy body and the lusts thereof," cries tlie ascetic; until, alas! the knees smite together, and the imbecile mind, deprived of its sustenance, wanders with weird images in the clouds. " Give us meat and drink; let us be merry," says the sensualist; and so the besotted intellect is brought down and bemired until the very brutes regard it contemptu- ously. Away with effeminate sentimentality on the one side and beastly indulgence on the other! Awuv with straining at gnats and swallowing camels! Use, but do not abuse, all that God has given thee — thf fair earth, that wonderful machine, thy body, that tlirico awful intelligence that enthrones thy body and makes thee companion of immortals. (J i veil a world of beinijs in which mind and body are evenlv balanced, and the millennium were come; no mon- need (»f priest or pill-taking; no more need of propa- gandist or hangman. Olympus .sinks to earth, and men walk to and tVo as gods. It is the will of (fod, as Christianity expresses it, or inexorable necessity, as the Greek poets would say, or ihe tendency of evolution, as science ])uts it, i'or goodness on this earth to grow; for men to beconn better, and for evil to disappear. Self-preservation demands moderation in all things, and it is ordained, whether we will it or not, that temperance, chastity, i'rugalitv, and all that is elevating and ennol)ling, shall ultimately prevail. Not that we are passive instru nients in the hand of fate, without will or power to move. We may put forth our puny eilbrts, and a- regards our individual selves, and those nearest us, 'i nuK'h; and the more we strun-o].^ I may »P for the riLrht, whether on utilitarian or inherent m< *^^ EARLY ABOLITIONISM. 71 rulity principles, the more we cultivate in our hearts the elements of piety, morality, and honesty, the hotter and happier we are. This the experience of ill! mankind in all ages teaches, and this our own ex- ))crionce tells us every day. Whatever else I know or am doubtful of, one thing is plain and sure to me: to tlo my duty as best I may, each day and hour, as it coiues before me; to do the right as best I know it, toward God, my neighljor, and myself; this done, and I may safely trust tlie rest. To know tlie riglit, and do it, that is life. Compromises with misery-breeding i;4iiorance, blind and stupid bigotry, and coyings and hailotings with pestilential prudences, lackadaisical Initerings and tamperings with conscience, when right on before you is the plain Christ-trodden path — tliese thinjTfs are death. He who knows the riffht and does it, never dies; he who tampers with the wrong, (hes every day. But u isl conduct is one thing and lules of conduct <|uite ..ii'ther. Nevertheless, I say it is better to be righteous overnmch than to be incorrigibly wicked. And so the puritans of Granville thought as they enlarged their meetinjj-houses, and erected husjce seminaries of learning, and called upon the benighted from all parts to come in and be told the truth. Likewise they com- forted tlie colored race. The most brilliant exploit of my life was performed at the tender age of eleven, whi'ii 1 spent a whole iiisjrht in drivinui: a two-horse wtiu^on load of runaway shives on their wav from Kentucky and slavery t.; Canada and freedom — an exploit which was regarded ill tliose days by that community witli little less aji- I>robation than that bestowed by a fond Apache mother upon the son who brandishes before her his lirst scalp. The ebony cargo consisted of three men and two women, who had been brought into town the night before by ;,ome teamster of kindred mind to my lather's, and kept simgly stowed away from prying SPRINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. eyes during the day. About nine o'clock at night the large lumber-box wagon filled with straw was brought out, and the black dissenters from the Ameri- oiiu constitution, who so lightly esteemed our glorious land of freedom, were packed under the straw, and some blankets and sacks thrown carelessly ovei- them, so that outwardly there might be no signillcance of the dark and hidden meaning of the load. My care- ful mother bundled me in coats and scarfs, to Iceep me from fnuzing, and with a rounil of good-bys, given not without some appreliensions for my safety, and with minute instructions, repeated many times lest I should forgot them, I climbed to my seat, took the reins, and (hove slowly out of town. Once or Iwice 1 was hailed by some curious passer-by with, "Wliat have you got there ?" to which I made answer as in such case had been provided. Just what the answer was I have forgotten, but it partook somewhat of the flavor of my mission, which was more In the direction of the law of (iod than of the law of man. Without telling an unaduherated Ananias and Saj)- phira lie, I gave the inquirer no very relialde informa- tion; still, most of the ])cople in that vicinity under- stood well enough what the load meant, and were in sympathy with the shippers. I was much nearer danger when I fell asleep and ran tlie wagon against a tree near a bank, over whicli my load narrowly escaped being tuj-ned. The fact is, this was the Mrst time in my life I had ever attempted to keep my eyes open all night, and more than once, as my iiorses jogged along, I was brought to my senses by a jolt, and without any definite idea of the character of the road for some distance back. ]\Iy freight behaved very well; once fairly out into the country, and into the night, the 'darkies' straightened up, grinned, and ap})eared to enjoy the pei'loruiance iuigi'ly. During the night they would fVe(|Uently get out and walk, always taking care to keep carefully covered in passing throuirh a town. Al)out three o'clock in the mornlnjx 4 I % NEGRO SLAVERY REFORM. 73 T entered a village and drove up to the house whither I liad been directed, roused the inmates, and trans- ((•rred to them my load. Then I drove back, sleepy but happy. ( )iii'i; my father's bai'ii was selected as the most available place for holdini,^ a jjjrand abolition nioetinuc, llio first anniversary of the Ohio State Anti-Slavery society. Rotten egf Plutarch's which con- sisted ill t]\v inability of saying no; and the shyness that subordinated judgment to fear, such as that manifested by Antipater when invited to the feast of Demetrius, or that of young Hercules, Alexanders son, who was browbeaten into accepting the invitation of Polysperchon, which, as the son of Alexander had feared, rosultod in his death ; worst of all is the basli- fulness of dissimulation, and that counterfeit of shy- ness, egoism. I never had any difficulty in saying no, never lacked decision. No matter at what expense of unpopularity, or even odium, I stootl always ready to maintain the right; and as for the diffidence of dis- simulation, I was frank enough among my friends, though reserved with strangers. By nature I was melancholy without being morose, affectionate and proud, and keenly alive to home happiness and the oiessings of every-day life. So far as I am able to VbUuU/. tli(.' failing, it arose from no sense of fear, inferiority, or vanity; it was simply a dibtaste or dis- inclin .tion to feel obliged to meet and converse with sir 'iigers wluni T hud nothing to see tlicm for, and nothing to converse about; at the same time, v/lien urged by duty or business, n.r mind once made up, I could go anywhere and encounter any person with- out knee-shaking. My trouble partook more of that nervousness wliich Lord Macaulay as<" 'bes to Mr Pitt who always took laudiuium and sal- volatile ]:)efor(! sjX'uking, than of that shyness complained of by Bnhver, who said he could resist an invitation to dinner so long as it came t^ rough a third person, in the form of a written or verbal message, but cnco .'Assaulted by the entertainer in |H;rson and ho m ^m '»i t SUPERSENSITIVENES3. 75 was lost. It is true, a simple invitation to a general assemblage oppressed my spirits, yot I would go and endure from a sense of duty, I was timid; others wore bold. Conscious of merits and abilities, superior, in my own opinion at least, to those of the persons I most disliked to meet, I would not subject myself to the withering influences of tlieir loud and burly talk- ing. With the natural desire lor approbation mingled a nervous horror of sliame; with aspirations to excel the fears of failure; and I felt a strong repugnance to exposing myself at a disadvantage;, or permitting such merit as I possessed to be undervalued or overmatched by the boisterous and contemptible. Yet I will con- tend that it was less pride than a morbid excess of motlosty curdleil into a curse. The author of Caxtoniana sa3's in his essay on shy- ness: "When a man has unmistakably done a some- thing that is meritorious, he must know it; and ho cannot in his heart untlervalue that something, other- wise he would never have strained all his energy to do it. But till he has done it, it is not sure tliat he can do it; and if, relying upon what he fancies to be genius, he do(!s not take as much pains as if he were (hill, the probability is that he will not do it at all. Thoreforo merit not proved is modest; it covets approbation, but is not sure that it can win it. And wliilo thus eager for its object, and secretly strength- iiiing all its powers to achieve it by a wise distrust of unproved capacities and a fervent admiration for the highest models, merit is tremulously shy." It is by no means proven that modesty is a mark of merit, or shyness a sile stone house and farm. (Jail it discontent, ambition, enterprise, or what you will, I find this spirit of my father fastened somewhat upon liis son; though with Caliph Ali, Mohammed's son-in-law, I may say, that "in the course of my long life, I have ol'ten obsi^rved that men are more like the times th(>y live in than they are like their lathers." It is cliai'actoiistic of some people that they are never satisfied excej)t when they are a little miserable. Like the albatross, which loves the tempest, sailing round and round this life's waste of ocean, if j)erchance he crosses tiie lino of calm, he straightway turns back, suffocated by the silence, and with much contentment commits himself to new bufletings. I'hilosophically put by Herbert Ainslie, "Self-consciousness must in- volve intervals of unhappiness; not to be self-conscious is to be as bii-d or beast, livinif without knowing: it, having no remembrance or anticipation of joy or sorrow. Self- consciousness, too, nmst involve the consciousness of an ideal or type; a sense of that which nature intended us to be, and how far wc fall short of it. To finish my homil}', if man be the highest result of nature's lonof efi'ort to become self- conscious, to 'know herself,' not to be self-conscious, that is, to be ahvays happy, is to be not one of na- ture's highest results. The ' [)erfect man,' then, must bo one 'accpiainted with grief" Often in the simple desire for new companionship we tire of unadulter- ated good, and connnunion with some sorrow or the nursing of some heartache becomes a pleasing pas- THE SPIRIT OF UNREST. 79 time. There arc persons who will not be satisfied, though in their garden were planted the kalpa-taron, the tree of the imagination, in Indian inytholog>-, whence may be gathered whatever is ilesircd. To natures thus constituted a real tangible calamity, such iis failure in business or the breaking of a leg, is a god- send. Pure unalloyed comfort is to them the most uncomfortable of positions. The rested bones ache tor new hardships, and the (piieted mind frets for new cares. So roam our souls through life, sailing eternally in air like feetless birds of paradise. After all, this si)irit, the spirit of unrest, of discon- tent, is the spirit of progress. Underlying all activi- ties, it moves every enterprise; it is tiie mainspring of commerce, culture, and indeed of every agency that stimulates human im[)rovement. Nay, more: that fire which may not be smothered, that will not let us rest, those deep and ardent longings that .stir up discon- tent, that breed distempers, and make a bed of roses to us a couch of thorns — religion it may be, and ideal national morality, or sense of duty, or laudable desire in any form — is it any other inlluence than Omnipo- tence working in us his eternal purposes, driving us on, poor blind cogs that we are in the wheel of destiny, to the fulfilment of predetermined ends? It is a law of nature that water, the life-giver, the restorer, the purifier, shall find no rest upon this planet; it is a law of God that we, human drops in the stream of [irogress, shall move ever onward — in the l)ubblings, and vaultings, and pool-eddyings of youth, in the suc- cessive murmurings, and roarings, and deeper afiairs of life, and in the more silent and sluggish flow of age — on, never resting, to the black limitless ocean of the Beyond. Nor may our misery, our nervous petulance, our fretful discontent, our foolish fears, and all the cata- logue of hateful visitations that grate and jar upon ourselves and others, and make us almost savage in our undying hunger, be altogether accounted to us for IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1^ III 2.8 m 3.2 2.5 22 4 Hill 2.0 18 1.25 1.4 1.6 -^— 6" - ► V] <^ /a ""3 ^ fi: ^;. V /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 A 80 SPRINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. Ill'' f ■' ill. That divina particida aurce, the one little particle of divine breath that is within us, will not let us rest. As Pierre Nicol has it, "L'homme est si miserable, que I'inconstance avec laquelle il abandonne ses des- seins est, en quelque sorte, sa plus grande vertu; parce qu'il temoigne par Ih, qu'il y a encore en lui quelque reste de grandeur qui le porte h se dcgouter des choses qui ne muritent pas son amour et son estime." Lovely little Granville 1 dear, quiet home -nook; under the long grass of thy wall-encircled burial- ground rest the bones of these new puritan patri- archs, whose chaste lives, for their descendants, and for all who shall heed them, bridge the chasm between the old and the new, between simple faith and soul- sacrificing science, between the east and the west — the chasm into which so many have haplessly fallen. Many a strong man thou hast begotten and sent forth, not cast upon the world lukewarm, character- less, but as sons well trained and positive for good or evil. Lovely in thy summer smiles and winter frowns; lovely, decked in dancing light and dew pearls, or in night's star-studded robe of sleep. Under the soft sky of summer we ploughed and planted, made hay, and harvested the grain. Winter was the time for study, while nature, Avrapped in her cold covering, lay at rest. Fun and frolic then too were abroad on those soft silvery nights, when the moon played between the brilliant sky and glistening snow, and the crisp air carried far over the hills the sound of bells and merry laughter. Then winter warms into spring, that sun- spirit which chases away the snow, and swells the buds, and fills the air with the melody of birds, and scatters fragrance over the breathing earth ; and spring melts into summer, and summer sighs her autumn exit — autumn, loved by many as the sweetest, saddest time of the year, when the husbandman, after laying up his i!,J!!;l!l,i|^ liii MY CHILDHOOD HOME. 81 winter store, considers for a moment his past and future, when the squirrel heaps its nest with nuts, and the crow flies to the woods, and the cries of birds of passage in long angular processions are heard high in air, and the half-denuded forest is tinged with the liectic flush of dying foliage. I well remember, on returning from my absence, with what envy and dislike I regarded as interlopers those who then occupied my childhood home; and child as I was, the earliest and most determined ambi- tion of my life was to work and earn the money to l)uy back the old stone house. Ah Godl how with swelling heart, and flushed cheek, and brain on fire, I have later tramped again that ground, the ground my boyhood trod; how I have skirted it about, and wan- dered through its woods, and nestled in its hedges, listening to the rustling leaves and still forest mur- murings that seemed to tell me of the past; uncov- ering my head to the proud old elms that nodded to me as I passed, and gazing at the wild-flowers that looked up into my face and smiled as I trod them, even as time had trodden my young heart; whis- pering to the birds that stared strangely at me and would not talk to me — none save the bickering black- bird, and the distant turtle-dove to whose mournful tone my breast was tuned; watching in the little stream the minnows that I used to fancy waited for nic to come and feed them before they went to bed; loitering under the golden-sweet appletree where I used to loll my study hours away; eying the ill- looking beasts that occupied the places of my pets, while at every step some familiar object would send a thousand sad memories tugging at my heartstrings, and call up scenes happening a few years back but acted seemingly ages ago, until I felt myself as old as Abraham. There was the orchard, celestial white and fragrant in its blossoms, whose every tree I could toll, and the fruit that grew on it; the meadow, through whose bristling stubble my naked feet had Lit. Ind. u I !i 82 SPRINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. picked their way when carrying water to the hay- makers and fighting bumblebees; the cornfield, where I had ridden the horse to plough; the barnyard, where from the backs of untrained colts I had en- countered so many falls; the hillock, down which I had been tumbled by my pet lamb, afterward sacri- ficed and eaten for its sins — eaten unadvisedly by youthful participants, lest the morsels should choke them. There was the garden I had been made to weed, the well at which I had so often drunk, the barn where I used to hunt eggs, turn somersets, and make such fearful leaps upon the hay; there were the sheds, and yards, and porches; every fence, and shrub, and stone, stood there, the nucleus of a thousand heart throbs. From the grassy field where stands conspicuous the stone-quarry gash, how often have I driven the cows along the base of the wooded hill separating my father's farm from the village, to the distant pasture where the long blue-eyed grass was mixed with clover, and sprinkled with buttercups, and dotted with soli- tary elms on whose limbs the crows and blackbirds quarrelled for a place. And under the beech-trees beneath the hill where wound my path, as my bare feet trudged along, how boyish fancies played through my brain while I was all unconscious of the great world beyond my homely horizon. On the bended bough of that old oak, planted long before I was born, and which these many years has furnished the winter's store and storehouse to the thrifty wood- pecker, while in its shadow lies the lazy cud-chewing cow, there sits the robin where sat his father, and his father's father, singing the self-same song his grand- father sang when he wooed his mate, singing the self-same song his sons and his sons' sons shall sing; and still remains unanswered the question of the boy: Who gives the bird his music lesson? Dimly, subduedly sweet, were those days, clouded perhaps a little with boyish melancholy, and now BOYHOOD SCENES. 83 N brought to my remembrance by the play of sunshine and shadow in and round famihar nooks, by the leafy woodbine under the garden wall, by the sparkling (lowy grass-blades, and the odor of the breathing woods, by the crab-appletree hedge, covered with grape-vines, and bordered with blackberry bushes, and inclosing the several fields, each shedding its own ])oculiar fragrance; by the row of puritanical poplars lining the road in front of the house, by the willows drinking at the brook, the buckeyes on the hill, and the chestnut, hickory, butternut, and walnut trees, whose fruit I gathered every autumn, storing it in the garret, and cracking it on Sundays after sunset, as a reward for 'keeping' Saturday night. Even the loud croaking of frogs in the little swamp between the barn and meadow thrilled me more than did ever Strauss' band. There is something delicious in the air, though the ground be wet and the sky murky; it is the air in which I first cried and laughed. There, upon the abruptly sloping brow of the hill yonder, is where I buried myself beneath a load of wood, overturned from a large two-horse sled into the snow. And in that strip of thicket to the right I used to hide from thunder-showers on my way from school. Behind that stone wall many a time have I crept up and frightened chanticleer in the midst of his crow, rais- ing his wrath by breaking his tune, and thereby in- stigating him to thrice as loud and thrice as long a singing the moment my back was turned. The grove nf sugar-maple trees, to me a vast and trackless forest infested with huge reptiles and ravenous beasts, when there I slept all night by the camp-fire boiling the unsubstantial sap to sweeter consistency, it is now all cleared away, and, instead, a pasture tempts the simple sheep. Away across the four-acre lot still stands the little old bridge wherefrom I fished for minnows in the brook it spans, with pork-baited pins tor hooks. M SPRINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. If There is something painfully sweet in memories painful or sweet. How sorrows the heart over its lost friendships; how the breath of other days whispers of happiness never realized ; how the sorrowful past plays its exquisite strains upon the heartstrings! Things long gone by, deemed little then and joyless, are mag- nified by the mists of time and distance into a mirage of pleasurable remembrances. How an old song some- times stirs the whole reservoir of regrets, and makes the present well-nigh unbearable! Out of my most miserable past I draw the deepest pain-pleasures, be- side which present joys are insipid. There is no sadder sound to the questioner's ear than the church bell which sometime called him to believing prayer. At once it brings to mind a thousand holy aspirations, and rings the death knell of an eternity of joy. Like tiny tongues of pure flame darting upward amidst the mountain of sombre smoke, there are many bright merxiories even among the most melancholy reveries. The unhappiest life contains many happy hours, just as the most nauseating medicine is made up of divers sweet ingredients. Even there, golden run life's golden sands, for into the humble home ambition brings as yet no curse. But alas ! the glowing charm thrown over all by the half-heavenly conceptions of childhood shall never be revived. Every harvesting now brings but a new crop of withered pleasures, which with the damask freshness of youth are flung into the storehouse of desolation. Therefore hence! back to your hot-bed; this is a lost Eden to you ! Thus wrapped in dim vistas, forgetful of what I am, of time, and age, and ache, I light a cigar and throw my- self upon the turf, and as through the curling smoke I review the old familiar landscape, the past and present of my life circle round and round and mount upward with visions of the future. With triple sense I see fashioned by the fantastic smoke ghosts of cities, seas, and continents, of railways, grain-fields, and gold-fields. ill PAST AND PRESENT. 85 memories er its lost hispers of past plays ! Things , are mag- ) a mirage ong some- nd makes my most ism-os, be- no sadder lurch bell aver. At spirations, joy. ig upward ) arc many nelancholy any happy le is made ire, golden ble home all by the |1 never be new crop freshness iesolation. ts is a lost ^hat I am, throw my- smoke I id present it upward fense I see (ities, seas, Irold-fields. ■•a Through the perspective of impassioned youth I see ray bark buoyant on burnished waters, while round the radiant shore satisfying pleasures beckon me, and warm friendships await me, and the near and dear companions of my childhood, the hills, the trees, and sky, with whose hebate soul my eager soul has often held communion, imparting here alone the secrets of my youthful phantasy, they whisper the assurance in my car that every intense yearning shall be rocked to rest, and every high hope and noble aspiration real- ized. Then with the eye of mature manhood I look, and experience reveals a charnel-house of dead am- bitions, of failures chasing fresh attempts, of lost opportunities and exploded honors, with all the din and clatter of present passionate strife; and along the crowded pathway to Plutus' shrine are weary, dusty pilgrims, bent with toil and laden with dis- appointment. Out upon this so swiftly changing earth there are the rich and the poor, the righteous and the wicked, the strong and healthy, the sick and suffering, advancing infancy and departing age, all hustling each other, and hurrying hither and thither, like blind beetles following their blind instinct, not knowing the sea or city, grain-field or gold-field, not knowing their whence or whither, not knowing them- selves or the least of created or uncreated things. Once more I look, and behold, the flattering future is as ready as ever with her illusions, and men are as ready as ever to anchor to her ftilse hopes! Smoke here seems out of place. Its odor is strange and most unwelcome in this spot. It savors too strongly of the city and artificial life, of business, travel, and luxury, to harmonize with the fresh fragrance of the country. Let it not poison the air of my early and innocent breathings, laden as are such airs with the perfumes of paradise. Billowy sensations sweep over the breast as, standing thus alone amidst these memory surges, the thickly crowding imageries of the past rise and float upon the surface of the present. m ill*. ii : I'll ill 86 SPRINGS AND LITTLE BROOKS. How ticklishly fall the feet of manhood on paths its infancy trod ! There is a new road through the beech woods yonder which I shun as possessing no interest ; I have had enough of new roads. Then I ask myself, will the old elms never wither? will the stones never decay about these spots? Who would have all the farms bounded by this horizon as a gift? Yet people will be born here ten thousand years after I am dead, and people must live. Lingering still ; the uprooted affections hugging the soil of their early nourishment. Here, as nowhere on this earth, nature and I arc one. These hills and fields, this verdant turf and yonder trees are part of me, their living and breathing part of my living and breathing, their soul one with my soul. For all which expression let Dante make my apology: "Poich^ la caritil del natio loco, mi estrinse, raunai le fronde sparte ;" because the charity of my native place con- strained me, gathered I the scattered leaves. It is a maddening pleasure thus to conjure from the soil the buried imageries of boyhood. At every step arise scores of familiar scenes, ascending in sequent pictures that mingle with the clouds and float off a brilliant panorama of the past. The very curb-stones of the village streets stand as monuments, and every dust particle represents some weird image, some boyish conceit, which even now flits before me, racing round the corners and dancing over the house-tops. The pretty village has scarcely changed within the quarter century. The broad, dusty streets, bordered by fjrass and foliage, half burying the white and brown houses that lie scattered on either side; the several churches, the two great seminaries, the school- houses, and the college on the hill, are all as when I left them last. Here is the ill kept graveyard, the scene of all my youthful ghost stories, with its time-eaten tombstones toppling over sunken graves, and its mammoth thorn- tree, beneath whose shadow the" tired hearse-bearers VIX EA NOSTRA VOCO. 87 set down their dingy cloth-covered hurden on the way to the newly made grave, while the bell that strikes its slow notes on the suffocating air warns all flesh of coming dissolution. Down below the bench yonder winds the wooded creek, where in my summer school-days we used to rehearse our exhibition pieces, and bathe. On the other sides of the village are Sugar-loaf and Alligator hills. I grow thirsty as I drink the several scenes. How distances lessen 1 Before eyes accustomed to wider range than the village home and farm adjoining, the mists and mirage of youth disappear. I start to walk a block, and ere aware of it I am through the town and into the country. After all, the buildings and streets of my native town are not so grand as my youthful mind was impressible. How the villagers come out of their houses to stare at me; and the old stone house, how rusty, and rugged, and mean it looks compared with the radiance my un- hackneyed brain clothed it in, though the tin roof glitters as brightly now as then, and in its day shel- tered a world of love. Never is there a home like the home of our youth ; never such sunshine as that which makes shadows for us to play in, never such air as that which swells our little breasts and gives our happy hearts free expres- sion, never such water as the laujxhinJT dancinjj streamlet in which we wade through silvery bub- Llings over glittering pebbles., never such music as the robin's roundelay and the swallow's twittering that wake us in the mornin