THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
I
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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
JOHN S. HOLT,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of Mississippi.
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PREFACE B
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CONTENTS.
PAOE
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Y MR. PAGE'S EXECUTOR
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CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXII 242
CHAPTER XXIII 248
CHAPTER XXTV 258
CHAPTER XXV 277
CHAPTER XXVI 288
CHAPTER XXVII 297
CHAPTER XXVIII 308
CHAPTER XXIX '. 311
CHAPTER XXX 330
CHAPTER XXXI 341
CHAPTER XXXII... .. 351
PREFACE, BY MR. PAGE'S EXECUTOR.
I AM perfectly aware that to pretend to have found the
manuscript in some unlikely place, or to have had it left to
one by last will and testament, is an old and hackneyed
method of introducing a story ; but if it be true in any
case, the fact should not be ignored for that.
The first time I ever saw Mr. Page was when he made a
visit to my father, his old friend and schoolmate. It was
on the occasion of his flight from the persecutions of Miss
Sophia Walker, which he has mentioned in his Life ; at
least I judge it was at that time ; for, although I never
heard of Miss Walker until I saw Mr. Page's manuscript,
he never made but the one visit to our part of the country.
I was then a very small boy, but remember perfectly the
impression made upon me by the old gentleman. He was,
I suppose, forty-eight or fifty years of age, and was of
medium height, very neat in his person and brisk in his
movements. He had mild, benevolent, gray eyes, a rather
prominent Roman nose and a broad and high forehead.
But what attracted me to him was his great simplicity and
fondness for children. For hours at a time he would play
with me and my sisters (often at games he must have in
vented, for I have never seen them since) or would tell us
the most comical and wonderful stories. We thought there
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6 PREFACE.
was never such a man as he, and when he left us to return
to his home our keenest desire was to see him again.
One of my first attempts at letter-writing was a letter to
him, which he answered by due course of mail ; and from
that time, though our correspondence sometimes languished,
it was kept up, when I was not with him, until the begin
ning of the late war.
When I became a law-student, my father, acceding to
my strong desire, and to frequent and pressing invitations,
allowed me to go on to Mr. Page's, where I remained
nearly two years. Certainly no young man ever had a
more kind, capable, and conscientious preceptor. The
amount of his information upon all subjects was prodigious.
He had been a hard student all his life, and seemed to for
get nothing he had ever heard or read, and yet he was
more free of dry scholasticisms than any man I have ever
met of half his erudition. He never used a technicality
when it could be avoided, and the most abstruse subjects,
when explained by him, were within the comprehension of
any one of ordinary mind. Every fact or system of facts
seemed by some powerful process of mental digestion to be
reduced by him to its simplest elements, and the most com
plex and dryest parts of law, theology, and politics became
simple and attractive.
He appeared to be perfectly aware of this peculiar
faculty of his mind, and, indeed, sometimes to indulge
himself in a little self-flattery on account of it. "There
now! Master John!" he would say sometimes, "consult
your new lights upon that subject, and see if they are more
profound, or nigh so simple."
PREFACE. 7
Mr. Page had his little vanities what man has not?
but they were all of the most inoffensive character. It
gratified him extremely to be referred to by his neighbors
for any information, or to decide any point which seemed
to require more learning than they possessed; and such
demands were being constantly made, for he was almost as
much esteemed in his county as an oracle as he was be
loved as a true philanthropist.
To tell half the good he did is impossible. I find that
he has said of his father what could equally well be said of
himself: "His knack for encountering objects of pity on his
road, and his luck for having poor orphan children thrown
upon his hands by bequest of parents, or devise of circum
stances, was at all times extraordinary." I believe it to be
true that at no time from his full maturity until his death
did he have fewer than two orphans wholly dependent
upon him for support and education, while he partially
supported others, and was the providence of all the poor
widows in his neighborhood. He has omitted all this in
his Life ; but some of his experience with his orphans, as I
have heard it related by his neighbors, was discouraging
enough for any man less warm-hearted than he, and some
of it was very comical. He would never admit in so many
words that gratitude was the rarest of virtues, but I feel
sure that his various experiences inclined him to believe it
so. For instances of ingratitude to himself and from all
that I heard they were frequent he had many excuses ; as
that it ran in their blood, or that they had been so hardly
dealt with before that their souls were narrowed ; but his
chief consolation was that what he did was not for their
8 PREFACE.
gratitude, but for his own sake ; and he insisted that he was
really selfish in all his charities. His philosophy in this
matter is certainly the strongest with which a man bent on
doing good can fortify himself, for without it one or two
ragingly or whiningly unreasonable widows, and a mean,
ungrateful orphan or two, will put a stop to the warmest
benevolence. The only change which could be perceived
in Mr. Page's plans of benevolence was, that he, after
a while, found it more pleasant to support his orphans and
others away from his own house.
In the winter of 1862-3 I met Mr. Page, old as he was,
at C , very busy in his attention about the army hos
pitals, and know that by dint of persuasion he finally
procured permission for two of the sick to go home with
him to be nursed. After the surrender at Appomattox
Court House I took his house on my route home, for I was
sadly fagged and in want, and knew that I should get
relief with him.
I arrived at a sad time. During the whole war his
house had been a perfect hospital for sick and wounded
soldiers, and two or three months before my arrival a raiding
party of the enemy had visited the old man and had treated
him most shamefully. Besides breaking up much of his
furniture and robbing him of almost everything they could
carry away, whether useful to them or not, they had terri
bly cursed and abused him as "a d d old rebel," and had
drawn their guns upon him with the intention, as they said,
of shooting him ; and he had borne it all like the noble old
gentleman he was.
It would do no good to dwell upon the scene of wanton
PREFACE.
mischief and cruel malice as it was truly related to me,
but not by him. Such things it will do to pass over, but
not to forget until a time of peace and unity shall make
fbrgetfulness desirable. At any rate, the disasters of the
war, together with these personal outrages, were too much
for the enfeebled constitution of the old man nearly
eighty years of age and I found him in a very critical
state of health.
He said that my arrival was all that was wanted to make
him contented again, and he insisted that I should remain
with him at least a few days.
The third day of my stay I thought I perceived that in
spite of his cheerful, hopeful conversation he was rapidly
declining in strength, and ventured to ask him if he felt as
strong as he had the previous day, "No, my son," he
replied. "I do not wish to deceive you. My days will be
very few, and it is principally on that account I have in
sisted on your remaining with me. You will find my last
will in my large desk, which was fortunately among the
lumber in the garret when the raiding party came, or it
too might have been destroyed. I have named you my
executor, for I had a strong presentiment that the war
would spare you, and I find myself greatly blessed in hav
ing you with me, and being able to tell you my wishes more
fully than I could possibly have written them.
"I have been a very fortunate man all my life, my son,
and I wish to impress upon your mind my testimony to the
goodness and power of God. I can say with perfect truth
that in the checkered scenes of my life, though I have
had many sorrows, I have always afterwards seen that His
A *
10 PREFACE.
goodness has been manifested in them towards me. It has
been invariably the case that the right thing has happened
at the right time, and I have full confidence that it shall
be so still, both to me and my country." (He and I had
been talking a great deal about public afiairs. )' "We are
very wise in our own conceit, and very rebellious, some
times, towards God, but the Judge of all the earth will do
right. There could be no better time than this for an old
man to die, for great troubles have yet to come, and,
though I feel sure they will end for the best, I am glad to
escape them."
At another time the same day he said to me: "Do not
be downcast about our cause, for, after all, if the principle
of strict constitutional government, for which alone we
contended, shall be established, is it not better that it
should be over the whole than over only a part of the
country? I acknowledge that I sometimes have great fears
and doubts about the fate of our country ; but when I re
flect that the promised days of peace and true religion on
earth must soon be here, and that it would in the natural
course of events take ages to settle this country in peace
under any other form or forms of government than that
we now have and which is perfectly feasible if the rights
of the separate States and the other restrictions of the Con
stitution shall be strictly observed I have great hopes that
the late war and the present and prospective troubles and
confusion shall end in the triumph and firm establishment
of our principles as the only true basis of constitutional
government. If it be so, our people shall have fought and
suffered and triumphed gloriously. But, however it may
PREFACE. 11
be, remember at all times that it is God who rules, and that
His kingdom shall come, and His will shall be done on
earth as it is in heaven."
In like discourse, and in telling me his desires with re
gard to his property and dependants, and the proceeds of
the cotton he still had on hand, which had neither been
stolen nor destroyed, and the reasons why he did not make
me his heir, were passed the very few days Mr. Page was
able to sit up at all and converse at any length. The old
gentleman was particularly concerned that I should fully
appreciate his reasons for leaving Miss Boiling the bulk of
his property. He said that the events of the war had ren
dered what she possessed almost entirely valueless ; and he
intimated more than once that he had long had a desire
that she and some one he also loved should live in his
house, the representatives of himself and his Mary; and
said that he knew the property alone was not sufficiently
valuable to warrant me, as I was already married, or
either of my brothers, to leave our old home and our pros
pects there, and he could not bear to have it pass into the
hands of strangers. He said, moreover, that my brothers
were excellent gentlemen and brave soldiers ; and he could
see no reason in the word why, now that Robert Harley
was dead, one of them should not come on and try for
Miss Kate's hand. And as he drew nearer his end, the
idea seemed to seize him more and more forcibly, and he
declared that it was impossible there should be a more fit
or happier match. To gratify him, I promised to use my
influence to bring it about ; and perhaps it may yet take
place, though I doubt it. I have found that Miss Kate,
12 PREFACE.
though she fully justifies Mr. Page's love and admiration,
has a firm will of her own, and my brothers are quite as
indisposed as she to have their affections directed.
To describe the death of my good old friend would be as
painful to me as it would be uninteresting to the general
reader. He died peacefully, and, as he had lived, a good
and loving man.
I have tried my utmost to carry out his intentions. The
very considerable legacy of money to his grand-niece I
have paid over, and she is spending a portion of it in con
testing his will, upon the ground of his insanity. The
orphan children he had in his care have been well and per
manently provided for; and when the decision of the court
shall allow me, I will hand over to Miss Kate her property,
and thus finish my executorship, except with regard to the
manuscripts left in my charge.
This "Life" of Mr. Page I publish, not only because I
think it due to his memory to do so, but also because I
believe that it teaches sound principles of living and of
thinking, which ought to be disseminated. I have no
apology to make for his style or matter, for although both
could, doubtless, be improved in some respects, it is beyond
my power, and I think in violation of my duty, to improve
or attempt to improve them. To judge from the hand
writing of the manuscript, as well as the tone of the book,
I think it was written at different ages. The first chapter
appears to have been written many years before the re
mainder, and at a time when Mr. Page was in a discon
tented mood with himself. I know that even so late in
his life as when I went on to visit him he used sometimes
PREFACE. 13
to declare that he was a "Failure." He seems afterwards
to have justified himself in his own mind (as the old are
prone to do) for not having reached the high public posi
tion and accumulated the large fortune his more youthful
ambition declared to be his due.
As the whole book was written before and during the
early part of the late war, I need not tell the reader that
Mr. Page's political sentiments do not agree with those of
the present ruling party. But they are just those of the
gentlemen of his class at the time they were written ; and
if they are now settled to be unsound, it can surely do no
harm to publish, without change, an old man's opinion of
them.
His ideas about the Church may also be regarded by the
mass of priests, preachers, and women as very heterodox.
But the subject is of so vital importance that every man
should be entitled to his opinion about it; and, for my own
part, I think Mr. Page's opinion worthy of serious con
sideration, although he has not indulged himself in a dis
play of learning in elucidating it.
There are only two things I would ask the reader to
remark about his ' ' Life. ' ' The first is, his perfect freedom
from a desire to be thought learned or over- wise ; and the
second is, the tone of quiet humor which pervades the
whole work. And I would say to the reader about the
more pathetic parts of the book, as Mr. Page once said to
me about a touching passage he was reading in another's
writings : ' ' You are fortunate if you understand that, for
you could only do so by having an affectionate heart
yourself."
2
14 PREFACE.
The publication of Mr. Page's other manuscripts will
depend upon the success of this with the public. The
proceeds of the book or books are to be devoted to the
support, education, and start in life of a little boy in whom
Mr. Page took a great interest, though he has thought fit
not to mention him in his Life.
JOHN CAPELSAY,
OF NATCHEZ,
Executor.
LIFE AND OPINIONS
OP
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ,
CHAPTER I.
IT is a fine sight to see an old man whose heart still
beats with generous emotions, whose cares have not
made him selfish, whose own vicissitudes have but made
his charity more gentle and universal.
I once knew such a man, and he stands alone in my
memory. By honest industry he had raised himself
above the thousand evils of \vant, and he was revered
by all the country round for his wisdom, learning, and
humble piety. No excesses had wasted his powers, and
though age had somewhat unstrung the high tension
of his organization, his gray hairs crowned a body still
erect and energetic, and covered a brain still teeming
with cheerful thought. I often saw him look with a
smile of tenderest love upon the trustful wife of his
youth, now old and wrinkled, to whom many years be
fore, when he first clasped her in his warm embrace,
he had made vows of love he had never broken. Stand
ing with her, and surrounded by the amiable and intel
ligent children with whom they had been blessed, he
could look to heaven and say with deepest gratitude and
love: "Behold me, and those Thou hast given me!"
(15)
16 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
The old man is dead now, and his old wife has joined
him ; but it seems to me he had reached a grandeur of
human dignity the greatest worldly honors would but
lessen. I venture to say that had his case been pre
sented to the heathen doctors who held to the two
hundred and eighty different opinions as to the princi
pal end of human actions, all would have agreed that he
had acted, at least, as though he had found the truth.
Many winters have silvered my hair, and in the
course of nature I must soon lie in the cold grave,
where all my rosy hopes have long since gone ; and I
am sometimes tempted to wish that such a destiny as
his had been reserved for me. But such a wish would
be both foolish and unphilosophic foolish, because
impossible of fulfillment; and unphilosophic, because
everything is for the best, and because such a change
would require a total reorganization of society and
affairs in my own State, and consequently in America,
and consequently all over the world; and Heaven
alone knows what would be the upshot. In this regard
every man is of the utmost importance, and he should
console himself or be proud accordingly.
My life, like that of most other men, has been one of
mercies and duties neglected. My youth was promising,
for I was gifted with a vigorous and comely person and
a sprightly mind. There are few things I could not
have accomplished had I so willed. I feel convinced that
I should have made a good carpenter or machinist, for
to this day I am fond of tinkering; and after age had so
bered my enthusiasm a little, I am pretty sure I should
have made a notable archbishop for I always had a
turn for the Church. As a painter I should have sue-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 17
ceeded finely ; but not as a painter of portraits, for be
sides that I could not be precise long enough to paint
a portrait, my sense of the ludicrous was so strong I
would certainly have offended my patrons by carica
turing them. I could have become a distinguished
musician, for I had a correct ear and was passionately
fond of music. I could tip off "Stay, Sweet En
chanter," and "Robin Adair," in a manner to be ap
plauded, and I even for awhile led the choir in the
principal church of my native village there were three
churches there but the young ladies of the choir got
married, or moved away, or got offended with each
other, and would no longer sit and sing together, and
the best of the two male singers died, and the other
got the bronchitis ; so that I was finally left alone, and
the congregation seeming to think soon that I could
sing enough for all of us, it began to look too much
like work, and I quit it. After that, I sang only on
occasions. I should not have made a good tailor, for
the trade is too confining and laborious; but I know
of no one who could have excelled me as a cutter-out
for fancy young gentlemen. Neither should I have
made a good physician, for, besides that I abhor bad
smells, my anxiety to relieve the suffering would have
warped my judgment. Finally, I should now, as a
lawyer, be very high in my profession if I had really
desired it, and had had more perseverance.
" Much virtue in if," quoth Touchstone. Much sor
row there is in it too, Master Touchstone, although the
sorrow may be unphilosophic. There are a great many
things more desirable than high position, and even than
wealth.
2* B
18 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
It is not from vanity that I have here detailed part
of my various talents, but merely that the true nature
of my life may be known. I know of no vanity more
unreasonable than that which is based merely upon
superior capacity or opportunities. If it produced that
noble ambition which leads to true greatness which I
consider to be only superiority in the performance of
duty and in conferring benefits upon our fellow-men
it could be excused, and even cultivated. But in gen
eral this feeling, known as self-conceit, is an opiate to
which the poor victim has recourse when the labors of
life seem too hard ; and lulled into delicious repose, his
imagination revels in bright visions of the future, and
he satisfies himself with feverish dreams of the fame
he could accomplish.
He sees himself at some future time, and on some
great but indefinite occasion, mounting the rostrum to
address vast multitudes. He pictures to himself how,
as he warms with his subject, he is interrupted by loud
huzzas. Louder and louder they increase, until at last,
when he has finished, in an excess of enthusiasm they
lay hands upon him and bear him on their shoulders,
and hail him as the man of the people, the orator, the
demigod.
Or else he heads a charge of cavalry in some great
imaginary battle. He hears the roar of the artillery,
the sharp fire of the riflemen, the huzzas of the soldiers.
It is a critical moment. He rides in front of his men.
In an ecstasy of glory he calls upon them to follow him,
and with a clash and flash of sabres and a shout, amid
the shrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dying,
they ride in furious career through the ranks of the
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 19
enemy, trampling their scattered hosts. His name, like
that of David, becomes a song in the mouth of the
people, and he too has a Saul over whom he triumphs
by genius and virtue to arrive at supreme power.
Or, seated at the foot of some spreading beech beside
a gurgling brook, his imagination is soothed by the
genial warmth and the thousand beauties and pleasant
odors of a day in early spring, the hum of busy insects,
and the songs and twittering of birds, and he makes
himself rich from the ready foundation of an "if," or a
still more certain process worked out by his ingenious
fancy, and he constructs and reconstructs to its minutest
detail the plan of a house he will build in the shady grove,
to be the abode of love and contentment to himself and
some transcendent wife he has yet to see in reality
though she may, indeed, be an existing Dulcinea.
And so the poor victim dreams on, so he warms him
self with his imaginings, careless of his fortune and
heedless <of time, till, at last, he wakes to find himself
old and poor, his time and talents gone to waste ; all
his past confusion, all the future a blank, to be filled as
the crazed fill the present.
I am an old man now, with neither Avife nor child
to cheer my age. Though I have many friendly ac
quaintances, I have few friends. Those of my youth
have either died around me or removed, long years ago,
to distant sections of the country, where most of them
have died, and I have been left to make new friend
ships as though the old vine once untwined from its
support could ever adapt itself and cling to another !
I am solitary, yet never lonely. God has spared me
my memory, and as I travel across the desert of life I
20 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
am unconscious of the burning sun and drifting sands,
and have ever present with me the happy forest, with
its flowers and gushing springs, its singing birds and
its pleasant breezes, from which I started, the cooling
shades which I have passed through here and there
along the way, the dear companions who left me before
the journey was half over; and, thank God! I have
now at last upon the horizon the bright prospect of a
happier and more beautiful country to which I am
going. I see there, even at this distance, scenes and
forms which bring to mind the places where I have en
joyed myself, and the faces I have loved long ago. Ah,
me! I wish to hasten my steps; and when I see so
many young men and maidens, old persons and infants,
gliding rapidly ahead of me, it seems that I go very
slowly. Yet all in good time ! all in good time! An
old man ought not to be impatient.
I used to think it strange, and even false, that any
one in his senses and free of pain should be impatient
to die. But it is not strange to me now, and I am
very glad that it can be true. I saw my old father and
my blessed mother, my Mary, and niy little son die, and
I am sure I can pass easily through what they did. I
heard their last sighs, and saw them lie pallid before
me; kissed their cold foreheads after they were laid in
their coffins, and heard the cruel clods rattle down as
their graves were filled, and I went with torn but hope
ful heart from each spot to continue my journey. Yet
I see them now, yonder in that happy land, blooming
more fresh and joyous than ever, and with smiles and
outstretched arms waiting for the old man to come to
them. A little longer, my darlings! Wait a little
longer, and he will be with you.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 21
Will not that be a happy meeting ? And can any
one wonder I should wish it to be hastened ?
It is only when long solitary my fancy get over
charged with remembrances of the past, and my dor
mant affections become aroused to feel, as I imagine
they once felt in my vigor, that such rhapsodies as this
affect me. They warn me that, though my feelings
are yet strong, they are fast becoming those of a doting
old man. Falstaff, when "a babbled of green fields,"
showed just such an effort of energy in weakness.
And yet I need not be ashamed of it and call it a
rhapsody. It is surely better to look with glorious
hopes and imaginings to the future than with gloom
and regret upon the past.
The amount of sorrow for myself I have expended
in my lifetime is past gathering up. It has been a
great waste of time and feeling, for the simple reason
that it has never done any good. A sorrow that leads
to repentance is most wholesome ; but, if you will re
member it, the most contrite persons you ever saw in
your life were precisely those who were the weakest,
and most certain to repeat their fault upon the first
temptation. I always forebode much misery to a child
who too readily acknowledges a fault and is glib in his
promises for the future. Where there is obstinacy be
fore contrition there is apt to be firmness in repentance.
One other result of my observation and experience I
would remark just here. It is equally as harassing
and as great a waste of time to spend it in brooding
over the past as in conjecturing about the future.
Neither past nor future can be changed, and the pres
ent is made wretched.
22 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
CHAPTER II.
THE historians of Amadis de Gaul, King Arthur,
and such like, and the monkish biographers of
saints of the Middle Ages, magnified their heroes by
carrying them triumphantly through desperate ad
ventures with men, dragons, and Satan with all his
hosts; and their brethren of the present day follow
somewhat the same course. Even the writers of una
dulterated fiction treat only of extraordinary men who
have met with extraordinary fortunes or misfortunes.
I have often been vexed wifch shame at not being
able even to understand the laughter-provoking Latin
puns, or Greek conundrums, or Hebrew jeux cPesprit
popped off, I judged by the context, at the most oppor
tune time, by some hero of fifteen or sixteen years of
age, who has already passed through more learning,
loves, wars, and adventures than Methusaleh, though
he lived nine hundred and sixty-nine years, and begat
Lamech and other sons and daughters, ever dreamed
about. It is true that these adjuncts of superiority
please and excite the minds of mankind, who have a
natural reverence for a superior ; but I do not see how
they benefit them. They can neither imitate the good,
nor take warning by the mistakes, of these fictitious
gentry, simply because the ordinary capacities, course,
and occurrences of life are of a totally different stamp.
If this manuscript be ever read (and I hope it shall
be), he who reads will find in it merely the life and
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 23
opinions of an ordinary individual, who, like most of
his fellow-men, felt loves and disappointments, for the
most part imaginary and easy to have been prevented
or overcome by a due exercise of his judgment; joys
and pleasures, quite as imaginary and unreasonable;
opinions, false to every one but himself and a few
others ; and misfortunes, caused for the most part by
his own fault. And the thought that benefit may arise
to any one by its perusal cheers me like the strain of
the thrush, singing at midnight in the lowly thicket,
delights the ear of him who wishes for the morning.
It matters little for my purpose to tell when or where
I was born : these and similar matters I will hurry over.
It is sufficient that I was born in one of the far South
ern States, and just in the edge of the piny woods;
or, to speak more picturesquely and vaguely, just where
the magnolia and pine, with the other differing trees
and shrubs, and soil and face of the country which ac
company those two denizens of the forest, seem to be
blended.
My father was a physician, by the name of Alfred
Page. His circumstances were not such as to permit
him to contract an early marriage, so that he did not
marry until he reached the age of thirty-live, when he
saw, and, with excellent taste, I think, fell in love with
Miss Lucy Barnard, the daughter of a gentleman as
poor as wise, and as wise as poor, whom he married,
and by whom he had myself and four other children
of whom I am the only one now living. My aunt,
Surah Page, married my mother's only brother, James
Barnard, so that it used to be a familiar saying with us,
that " a Page married a Barnard, and a Barnard married
a Page."
24 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
My Uncle James was a bustling, dapper little lawyer,
with hard gray eyes, stiff and grizzled hair, thick-soled,
shiny boots, and immaculate shirt-bosoms and collars.
He had a good practice in the neighboring county
town, Rosstown, and, as my Aunt Sarah was possessed
of a very full share of that natural aristocratic feeling
which belongs to woman, and he did not lack latent
pride himself (though he never allowed it to interfere in
his schemes), as money and popularity increased, they
assumed a superior gentility to the rest of their kin,
who, as they lived some distance off, were rather willing
it should be so, and they were looked to by us children,
and in fact by the whole family, as, par excellence, our
genteel relations.
I remember very well a visit I once made to my
aunt's house. It cast such an awful chill upon my feel
ings that I can never forget it. My father, having to
visit Rosstown upon some business, took me with him
for the expansion of my mind. My Uncle James re
ceived us with that forced cordiality so well suited to
his character and purposes in life. I do not doubt but
that he had a species of regard for both of us, and that
if all things were otherwise equal he would, in case of
a quarrel with a, stranger, have taken our side if he
took either but he was, in public, an altogether artifi
cial personage. My father, who always showed the
kindest consideration for those about him, finding he
was to be detained for some hours upon his affairs, told
me I had better go to my aunt's, where he intended to
dine. Uncle James directed me the way, and after
some search I found the house. It stood upon a rather
elevated spot, just on the edge of the town, and was
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 25
one of those wooden, two-story, white ephemera, with
a showy portico and a stiff little garden in front, so
common to pretentious villages, and so proper for pre
tentious people to live in.
As I knocked at the door (with a good deal of trepi
dation, I confess) I heard my aunt talking to one of her
servants in a shrill tone, and soon was met by her.
She was a tall, passionless-looking and loosely-put-to
gether woman, with pale blue eyes; and although she
had been married only some twelve years, already began
to have a made-up look about her, very different from
my dear mother, who was as active, cheerful a little
black-eyed body as you would find. She eyed me all
over, and said, without a particle of pleasure in her
voice : "Is that you ? La, child, your feet are muddy.
Go wipe them on the door-mat!" I did so, of course,
but nervously, and feeling terribly mortified that I was
about to commit such a faux pas ; and she showed me
into a frigidly decent little parlor with the blinds all
closed, and the hearth filled with evergreens and faded
flowers, though it was then late in the fall, and a fire
would have been very pleasant. After asking me about
the family in general terms, and the potato crop, chick
ens and turkeys more particularly, she went out and
sent in my cousins, who had been playing in the back
yard, to see and entertain me. There were only two
Fitzroy, who was six months older than myself, and
Anne Page.
My aunt was fond of novels and poems, and my
uncle was too immersed in his projects to care about
names. Fitzroy was a grand name though I doubt
if my aunt knew its origin and "Anne Page" was a
3
26 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
sweet name. My name is Abraham, for my father
loved his Bible, and had a particular regard for the pa
triarch Abraham, for reasons I will give hereafter.
There was such a look of restraint about Cousin Fitz-
roy's black jacket, with three rows of buttons and a
little peak behind, and his tight boots and curly head,
and in the cold, I'm-better-than-you way he gave me
his hand, that my gushing affections suddenly backed
up stream. Anne was a little rosy-cheeked, brown-
haired girl, with large, inquiring blue eyes, who hung
behind her brother, and was as abashed as I was. We
tried to play together, and Fitzroy showed me all about
the place he thought worthy, but it was so evident that
it was shown to excite my admiration, and such was my
diffidence and his lack of heartiness, that I did not really
enjoy myself at all.
I had every disposition to love him, and, in a respect
ful way, as towards a relation who did me honor, to
make him my friend. But there ai'e some damp people
in the world who have as great a capacity for absorb
ing and making latent the caloric of one's affections as
the vapor, in time of a thaw, has to take it out of one's
body. And there are some so self-conscious as to draw
undivided attention to themselves with million-magni
fying microscopic power, to the rendering coarse the
texture of their characters, and the detection of the
voracious little dragons, crawling worms, and absurdly-
acting monsters of their dispositions.
So little tact had I that I beat him jumping and climb
ing, and at last must needs boast of the superiority of
our spacious yard at home, with its large-spreading
trees, to his little inclosure, with its few dwarf shrubs
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 27
and stiff rose-bushes. It was what young men of the
present day would call "a flanking operation," and
when he saw himself ousted from his strongholds his
vanity was hurt, and of course he was in the pouts.
The fact was, that by boasting he allured me to my
strongest tact. I had more imagination than he, and
when put upon my metal could create a Paradise with
a few bushes, and all four of its rivers with a spring
branch. He became sulky and pettish, and said he was
tired, and eluded Anne for rudeness and being too
boisterous and familiar ; for she soon became at ease
with me, and, though what I did and said was dis
pleasing to him, it seemed to give her pleasure.
It was a great relief to me when my father came with
my uncle, for I always felt happy and at home with
him. He was a man of great intelligence, butexcessively
single-minded and sincere ; and though both rny uncle
and my aunt were forced to respect him, it was evident
they looked with half contempt upon what they es
teemed his "softness." I noticed at dinner, though I
did knock over my tumbler, and could not manoeuvre
my knife, fork and spoon, my hands and elbows, half
right, that my aunt praised the chickens, turkeys, and
potatoes of our part of the country, and particularly of
our place, and depreciated those brought to Rosstown,
and seemed quite contented when my father suggested,
in his innocence, that he would send her some by the
first opportunity.
In thinking over the matter, after I had gained a
little more experience, it was clear to me that my rela
tives had come to the singular conclusion (for persons
of their blood and position) that wealth was the sum-
28 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
mum bonum, and had determined to get rich. An opin
ion of that character, like the folly of a fool, will betray
itself, and is most disastrous in its effects. It naturally
leads to obsequiousness to the rich because they are
rich, and, among the rich, to clannish exclusiveness
with those their equals in wealth. This is the thing
which in our country is now-a-days called aristocracy ;
for, like many other mean things, it is dignified with a
high-sounding, wrongly-applied name.
I can understand an aristocratic feeling arising from
superior birth; for the man who derives his blood
through a long line of honorable ancestors, and in whom
is no mental, moral, or physical defect, has the right to
regard himself entitled to a consideration superior to
that bestowed upon one whose blood is muddy or
tainted, however intelligent and beautiful that one may
be. The chances are a thousand to one that such a man
is a thorough gentleman. Even breeders of horses,
cattle, and hogs act upon the known facts of hereditary
qualities. But, now-a-days, people are so spiritual and
so engaged in the various branches of psychology that
they forget they are animals, except in their appetites,
and in regard to those the large majority are governed
neither by the reason of men nor the instinct of brutes.
In fact, it is a recklessly extravagant declaration to say
that man is governed by reason. Animals, except
monkeys, are more reasonable within their sphere of
action and in their indulgences.
But it certainly is amusing to see the you-tickle-me-
and-I'll-tickle-you exclusiveness of our aristocracy of
wealth our snobs. A set of dirt-worshiping creatures,
male and female, who, by luck, dishonesty, or meanness
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 29
either their own or that of their predecessors have
amassed their god into piles above the average size, in
stantly and that with the connivance of most of their
race, set themselves up as a sacred priesthood. They
visit, marry, laugh, cry, have jokes and secrets among
themselves, are mean to themselves and the laity, "and
generous to each other. In point of perversity they are
only surpassed by the laity, who bow down to them ;
who hate each other and the rich too ; who try to rob
the one, and are envious of the other.
Let me not be misunderstood. It would be unbecom
ing to an old man, and one who hopes he has lost the
wiry edge of his feelings, to have even the appearance
of a want of charity or of the strictest regard for truth.
I make no sweeping charges against the rich or those
who move in "high circles." We have had in my be
loved South an aristocracy, not soon to be altogether
extinguished, thank Heaven! whatever may happen,
which was by no means dependent upon wealth, though
many of its members possessed it. When I call it an
aristocracy I only follow the popular cant. It should
rather be called a highest class of society, 'sjt was
founded on hereditary virtue, intelligence, and refine
ment^ and one of a vulgar family, however rich or ac
complished he or she might be, had no part in it; be
cause one swallow does not make a summer. In some
of the vilest families I have ever known there have,
phenomenally, been born daughters who were embodi
ments of every gentle virtue and excellence, and I have
remarked that invariably their children were the copies
of their precious grandparents, uncles, and aunts. As
this fact was thoroughly known, the beautiful, good, rich,
3*
30 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
and accomplished Miss Scroggins, though admired and
always treated with the utmost politeness, did not belong
to the society I speak of; while poor and homely Miss
Leigh was its pride and delight, and her greatest social
trouble was how to decline those pressing kindnesses she
could not repay. Miss Scroggins and Miss Leigh were
acquaintances, but that was all. Miss Leigh's brother
would hardly have married Miss Scroggins, and Miss
Leigh could not by any possibility have ever married
Miss Scroggins's brother, though he was an honest man.
As I shall have frequent occasion to mention this
truly high class of society for it is my sole source of
pride that I was born and raised and always have lived
one of its members I will pass over any connected de
tail of its excellencies. But, in connection with what I
have said of the natural obsequiousness of those who
make wealth the greatest good, I would remark that,
leaving aside dishonesty and extraordinary luck, the only
way to become rich in an ordinary lifetime is by hard
work and meanness by selling all the large potatoes,
eating only the small ones, and toiling and conjuring to
make them all large. This is called Prudence, Industry,
and Economy, and, when not carried to excess, it is
commendable: I only wish I had practiced it more.
But those who worship such a good, worship it with
superstitious sincerity, fear its frowns as the greatest of
evils, and strive for its blessings with groveling, self-
immolating, jealous and all-absorbing greed.
Wealth, though a good thing in itself, is very danger
ous to those who overvalue it. On the other hand, pov
erty is also a very good thing, for some people, and but
for it many a man would miss fame on earth, and many
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 31
more miss heaven. Wealth is like the right of suffrage
make it universal and mankind would start to the devil
at lightning speed, and increase their velocity in ratio
to the distance to their stopping-place.
All this disquisition about wealth and poverty is so
true that it sounds trite; and to the reading and reflect
ive it is trite, but it must be remembered that about
nine-tenths of our people read very little and never re- 1
fleet ; memory seems to be the only intellectual gift ever ,
exercised. Therefore, in dwelling upon the subject as
I do, I am not indulging in the babble of senility. If
these, my opinions, are ever read, some one who has
not reflected shall be able to profit by my reflections
upon these common matters, of which I have had much
opportunity for observation and experience
The best state is that desired by Agtir, the son of
Jakeh; and a good Providence placed my father in just
that condition during my early childhood, and, afterward,
during the latter portion of his life. I say that a good
Providence placed him in that condition, for it is certain
that he himself had little to do with the planning or
managing of it. He was a philosopher and a wise one;
and, while he tried to do his duty in all respects, he
never fretted himself about the future, put all his trust
in God, and thought that everything was for the best.
He laid ingenious plans for gaining wealth, because
wealth was desirable and debt is terrible ; yet, as each
of them failed, he found many good reasons why he
would have been utterly ruined had it been accom
plished, and thanked God for all his mercies. His
father was just like him, as I have heard, and his son
has had almost daily cause for gratitude that he has
inherited their spirit.
32 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
What a miserable man he must be who feels that he
has to be eternally blowing and manipulating all the
irons of a varied life ; who has no trust but in himself,
and fusses and frets about what goes best if he will
only let it alone ; and, will he nill he, goes its own way
after all. Let him plan as cunningly as he may, he is
not infallible ; let him make himself as busy as a man
fighting bees, he will get some stings. The affairs of
one's life are like a steam-engine ; and if the engineer
think he has to be always on the alert to raise the
levers, shut down the valves, and help on the piston,
and if he live in continual dread that the wheels will
stop on a center, or the whole thing smash up but for
his activity, he is a poor botch at the business, is mis
erable whether he be in the engine-room or the cabin,
and the sooner he gets off the boat the better for him
and his associates. The true philosophy of life is to
fear God, do our duty, and leave results with Him
"who sees the end from the beginning."
" It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to
eat the bread of sorrows."
CHAPTER III.
WHEN my father married, he had no property
but a small frame dwelling-house, some hundred
or so acres of piny-woods land, and three negroes;
and in marrying he got no dowry but happiness.
Though he called that "marrying rich," it took all his
labor in the practice of his profession to support the
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 33
land and the negroes, and the little hungry stomachs
which were soon added one by one to his household.
In those days the practice of medicine in our part of
the country was most laborious. The settlement was
new, and consequently unhealthy ; the farms were far
apart; there were many creeks and swamps, none of
which were bridged; and the .roads were generally
but horse-paths through the cane. Four-wheeled vehi
cles less substantial than an ox wagon were almost
unknown, and there were very few ox wagons. My
great-niece now goes bowling along in her brette be
hind a spanking team over the tracks traveled by her
great-grandmother riding en croupe behind her brother
or husband, both dodging the overhanging cane or con
tinually brushing it from their faces. In 1823, as I
well remember, the tall cane over the whole country
went to seed and died out, switch-cane, as we call it,
in after-years coming up in its place. Before that
there wei-e bears, panthers, wild-cats, and wolves
enough in the woods to make children timid about
wandering from home, and to make even grown men
cautious a distinction with little difference, if you
analyze it.
But neither animals nor bad roads, cold, heat, nor
freshets balked my father in his duty. He had no
thought of fame, nor did he harass his mind about the
accumulation of wealth. If there ever was a man
actuated solely by love, it was he ; gentle and devoted
love for his family, benevolence for his race, and rev
erent love for his God. My grandmother told me he
was so in his childhood and youth ; my mother said
that because he was so, she loved him long before she
c
34 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
married him ; I know be was so from my childhood to
his last hour; and in the bright visions I have of him
now, a smile of ineffable sweetness glorifies his noble
countenance as he stretches forth his arms to me from
the outermost hill of heaven.
It is not strange that I have a high regard for good
physicians and a keen appreciation of their duties,
responsibilities, pleasures, troubles, and necessary
characteristics, when my most tender and reverent
feelings are so associated with one of their number.
Except the primary relationships of domestic life,
there is not one so near as that of physician and
patient. It may almost be said that the physician
forms one of the domestic circle ; for this abode of all
man holds most dear, is his peculiar province. When
invaded by disease, his aid is invoked to drive away
the destroyer. The agonized husband, the helpless
mother, the frightened and despairing children impa
tiently wait his coming, and at his approach hope
revives in their breasts. They watch his boding coun
tenance, and their hearts mark every change ; their
smiles wait upon his, and his anxiety makes theirs ten
fold more intense. For the time, indeed, he seems to
be the soul upon whose motions they all, as obedient
members, wait. When peace is restored he is regarded
as a conqueror, or, better still, is blessed as a dearest
friend. And in the most adverse fate, if he be one
whose skill and faithfulness have long been tested, his
want of success is imputed to the irresistible course of
nature, directed by the will of God.
To him this holy circle is always open. He comes
and goes, night or day, in sorrow or in gladness. The
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 35
servants are at his beck, and with eagerness and respect
obey his call. From him there are no secrets; his office
makes him an inquisitor to whom modesty itself must
reveal its most sacred knowledge. Toward him there
is no jealousy, no envy. The husband confides to his
honor and skill the sanctities of the marital relation ;
the father, the lover, the brother, all place what they
esteem most precious in his hands. But the relation
ship approaches closer still; "yea, all that a man hath
will he give for his life," and this precious life every
man must, at some time or other, place under the pro
tection of the physician. Then his family history,
their constitutions and predilections, and the vices and
indiscretions of his own youth or age must be told,
perhaps (and sometimes through fear he exaggerates
them), and the man stands before his physician all ex
posed, as at the judgment bar, and finds himself utterly
in the power of another. He discovers to another all
his little meannesses and weaknesses, who has hereto
fore shrouded them almost even to himself. Yet it is
without fear of consequences. He tells not only a
superior but a friend, and waits with trembling hope
for his judgment. Though he never before brooked
direction, he now attends to counsels and obeys im
plicitly. No self-denial is too hard, no pain too severe
for him to undergo that he may gain his precious
health. Poor creature, his physician is, perhaps, to
him in place of God !
No wonder the Orientals and the Indians regarded
O
a physician as a holy favorite and friend of the gods ;
aifd Jesus, the son of Sirach, saith : " Honor a physi
cian with the honor due unto him, for the uses which
36 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
ye may have of him ; for the Lord hath created him.
For of the Most High cometh healing, and he shall
receive honor of the king. Then give place to the
physician let him not go from thee, for thou hast
need of him."
His office is the prime necessity of deranged nature, and
the very capstone, next to that of the great Physician of
souls, in the new order consequent upon the fall of man.
It rules over all, high and low, rich and poor. From
the sobs of the loneliest orphan babe that ever wailed
its life out upon the midnight air, to the feeble gasps of
old age, and the incoherent mutterings of the mind dis
eased all fallen, suffering nature calls to him for help.
And yet he is a man ; alas, he is but a man ! He has
not been gifted with intellect superior to all others ;
has no familiar spirit to prompt him ; has entered into
no league with Hermes or Esculapius. He necessarily
has doubts and waverings, half-born ideas, nervous
trepidations, and bitter prejudices more perhaps than
any other professional man ; and the attractions of
pleasure and the enticements of idleness have often,
it may be, to his bitter regret, tempted him to neglect
his necessary studies. His heart beats sad pulsations
with every cry of distress; and he sympathizes with
every pang of anxious love. In fine, he is a man of
like capacities, frailties, and tenderness with his fel
lows. What does not the relationship involve with
him ! His honor, conscience, pride, and all the noblest
attributes of his intellect and affections are enlisted in
his profession. Alive with all these, he is called to
the bedside of the dying. Parents, children, friends,
the patient, and all the affections of his own soul
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 37
within him, call tumultuously to him for help. Over
whelmed by the fearful responsibility of his position,
he calls hurriedly on nature, science, invention, mem
ory, for help, but there is no help. Expiring nature
stretches out no hand ; science has expended its knowl
edge; invention has exhausted her expedients; mem
ory tries a vain task ; and he steps aside for death to
do its work ; and unable to scan the mysterious de
crees of Providence, mistrusting his own powers, and
doubting the truth of his own science, he is ready to
exclaim : God alone can perfectly fill my office !
There are improvident and brutal husbands and
unfaithful wives, unnatural parents and ungrateful
children, cruel masters and bad servants; that with
physicians and patients there should be mutual infrac
tions of duty, is to be expected. This relationship has,
like the others, been debased by many to an aifair of
money : the one living only to receive and spend it
the others thinking their whole duty performed when
they grumblingly pay it. But the true physician un
dergoes labors and sufferings for which money cannot
pay; and the right-minded patient receives benefits
which he feels that money cannot compensate.
Much has been written about the duties of men in
other relationships, and in some they have been pre
scribed by the State ; but little has been said about
medical ethics, which seem to have been left to the
simple dictates of nature, while the State has aban
doned its citizens to be victimized by every idle, indo
lent, ignorant fellow who chooses to place " Doctor" be
fore his name. As for quacks, and careless physicians
(who are little better), I cannot help but look upon
4
449817
3g LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
them as the most striking instances of the depravity of
man. Only their lack of intellect and the bluntness
of their consciences prevents their regarding themselves
as the most cold-blooded of murderers. Worse than
highwaymen, they take the money and the life too.
The code of medical morals involves in it, in their
greatest force, all the requirements of the decalogue re
lating to the duties of man to man. Its first great rule
is, that the physician shall devote to his profession all
his heart, soul, mind, and strength, and shall do no
thing to dishonor it. But when we look at the medi
cal fraternity in this country, in how many instances
do we find this command disobeyed ! Pleasure, busi
ness, idleness, foppery in dress and equipage, politics,
the pursuit of riches and rich wives in fine, every
occupation, pursuit, and evasion have been practiced
by many from their studenthood up to old age. " How
can he get wisdom that holdeth the plow, and that glo-
rieth in the goad, that driveth oxen, and is occupied in
their labors, and whose talk is of bullocks?" says the
son of Sirach when speaking of physicians. When
he reflects upon the variety and accuracy of the knowl
edge required, how can he conscientiously take under
his charge the health and lives of fellow-men, who has
not devoted all his time and energies to the profession ?
By coveting his neighbors' cotton patches and daugh
ters, or by engaging too much in other occupations to
the neglect of his profession, he is guilty of killing,
stealing, and often of bearing false witness.
This fundamental rule requires, too, that the physi
cian shall do nothing to dishonor his profession. Yet
how much dishonor is cast upon it every day by the
AMI A HAM PAGE, ESQ. 39
pet nostrums, idleness, callousness, ignorance, and
quarrels of many of the fraternity ! Fraternity, indeed !
Were it not for the respect I feel for many of its mem
bers, I should compare it to the Happy Family exhib
ited at the museums. Here is a snarling dog baying
a vicious cat upon the bars of the cage there, a mali
cious monkey is slyly engaged in pulling all the pretty
feathers out of the tail of the voluble parrot here is a
canary sick with mortification that its own notes have
been imitated and improved upon by a mocking-bird
there, a lusty game-cock is trying to dislodge a solemn
old owl from his perch ; while, on the floor, a greedy
drake gobbles up all the food, crying "quack ! quack !"
Many physicians are great sticklers for etiquette (j but
it is wonderful what crude notions they have of it.
They have satisfied their delicacy when they do not
call their dear brother "Ass," "Fool," "Brute," and
" Quack" to his face. Behind his back they fully sat
isfy themselves for their restraint in his presence. And
even when they do not go so far as to villify with
words, they
' Damn with faint praise, assent, with civil leer,
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer."
The envy, jealousy, backbiting, and quarrels of physi
cians have, to the dishonor of the profession, been the
theme of satirists, play- writers, and novelists for ages.
If I were asked to point out the physician who per
forms his duties best, and who approaches nearest to
what a physician should be in all his relationships a
superior and a friend I should select the Country
Doctor, as I remember my father.
40 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
The veriest slave, toiling in the galleys or in the
mines, has not a more laborious task than he. Night
and day, in the winter's frost and summer's heat,
through mud and dust, along the highways and by
ways, through dark swamps and pleasant lanes, he
toils on his mission, always intent, always cheerful.
There is no pleasure but he must forego it; no obstacle
but he must overcome it. By continued use all the
powers of his body and mind have become doubly for
tified and acute. He has pleasant little plans for keep
ing cool, and ingenious methods of keeping warm, and
admirable devices for taking a nap in his long rides.
From a broken buggy shaft to a broken leg, he is al
ways ready, though he has neither blacksmith-shop
nor apothecary-shop at the next corner to appeal to.
No emergency can discompose him. Memory is al
ways at her post, and his invention bends even science
to his will. Forced to be his own cupper, bleeder, and
leecher, he pulls off his coat, rolls up his sleeves, and
goes at it. He blisters and glysters, pulls teeth, and
gives pills himself to white and black. A sturdy phi
lanthropist, he knows no respect of persons, and will
labor and watch all night, equally in the quarter over
some decrepid old negro, and in the big house over the
master's son. Physician, surgeon, accoucheur, dentist,
apothecary, and nurse, he travels along independently,
with his saddle-bags and case of instruments, forced to
make the whole science of medicine his specialty.
But there is another side to the picture. As he plys
his toilsome way, there is not a negro he meets but has
a ready bow and grin for him whom he looks upon as
akin to the gods, as his doctor and special friend. At
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 41
his destination he is met with the warmest kindness
and deepest respect; his very presence has a charm
which brings relief. He attends now, perhaps, in the
families of those at whose birth he assisted, and who
from their childhood have loved and had faith in him.
As the first friend of the family, many are the family
secrets which have been confided to him, many the
anxious private consultations with him by fond mothers
and doting husbands. He knows the people, and
studies their very souls, and he has a place in their
hearts, and cares little for the malicious jealousy of
rivals. In his circuit everybody knows everybody,
and he has the health of all in his charge, so that he is
the cynosure of all eyes, and kind attentions accom
pany him everywhere. One has to tell of a mother's
life he has saved; another, of a wife's; another, of his
own ; one tells his excellence as a surgeon, another
lauds him as a nurse, while a third speaks of his in
tegrity as a man; and blessings and praises are be
stowed upon him from all sides. He is the hardest
worked, the most faithful, and the least understood of
all men in the high resorts of science, but he has a
compensation in all worth living and laboring for,
which those who frequent those resorts might well
envy.
Except that the roads are better, and the appliances
of science are more perfect and more attainable, the
country doctor now exists, and must, for very many
years to come, exist in the South as I have pictured
him in my childhood and early youth ; and it is for that
reason, and because the most reverent love my heart
can feel has always been bestowed on one of the class,
4*
4 2 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
and because I think that the duties of the relationship
of physician and patient are better defined, and there
fore better filled in the country than in the city, that I
have said so much about the Country Doctor.
Just to think, a sensitive nose and a delicate stomach
prevented my being a doctor ! Alas, what flimsy ob
structions change the currents of our lives ! A dislike
to discord has prevented my being a good lawyer, and
a disinclination to steady labor has hindered my being
a musician.
CHAPTER IV.
MY earliest recollections are of the dear old house
we lived in. As I recall it, every room and every
piece of furniture has associated with it something
pleasing or sad in my life. From yonder back window
my mother pointed out to me a great comet which
bade fair to visit the earth when I was about three
years old. And I remember how once, when I was
even younger than that, this front window was opened
to allow her to gather for me some china-berries, cov
ered with sleet. There is my great-grandfather's chest
upon which we children used to be seated for punish
ment. In yonder corner of the room took place the
stoutly contested struggle between my mother and my
eldest sister, then about five years old, who was deter
mined that her hair should not be combed. She
screamed, and mother wept, and we all cried, and it
was altogether a desperate occasion but the young
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 43
lady's obstinacy was at last conquered, and peace and
smiles revisited a happy household.
But if I set out to narrate all my reminiscences of
the old house, I shall never have done. In its con
struction, I venture to say, that there is no other such
house, and that there never has been, and never will
be another to resemble it, even in its general appear
ance and situation. Houses resemble in their struc
ture the characters and dispositions of those who build
them, modified only by the builders' circumstances ;
and though there may have been men resembling my
father, it is not probable that their circumstances, in
the matter of building, should also resemble his.
His land adjoined the corporate limits of the town
of Yatton, and was marvelously diversified with hills
and hollows. Except in one small bottom, I do not
believe there were any two adjoining acres of it level.
I speak in the past tense, because, though the locality
has changed but little, I am speaking of a time long
since past. The soil was principally sand and gravel,
with substrata of red and white ochre, or quicksand.
The portions not sandy were red clay, and on all of it
the pine flourished finely, springing up wherever the
original growth of forest trees was cut down. A
cleared field, left uncultivated, soon became a pine
thicket, and then, in a few years, a pine forest. But
no place could have suited my father so well. The
water was excellent, and the location convenient and
most healthy; there were no gnats or mosquitoes, and
the poverty of the soil gave full scope to his ingenuity
and hopefulness in discovering what it was best suited
for, and in making it produce that. Little of it was
44 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
suited for corn, but it made excellent bricks. Neither
cotton nor oats would flourish, but with a little manur
ing it could not be excelled for potatoes, pindars, and
melons.
The great trouble was that when the timber was cut
down, the thin soil would disappear the first or second
year, and the hills would wash into deep gullies through
the strata of red, yellow, and white sand down to the
ochre, which the water could not wear away much
more readily than it could solid rock. No hillside
ditching, or horizontal plowing, or other method of
culture could prevent this calamity in land so light,
and so poor that it could not produce sufficient grass
to hold it together ; and it was about the only misfor
tune for which my father could not find some adequate
and evident physical or moral compensation though
I believe that he increased his own stock of patience
and resignation by it. At any rate, all the philosophic
appliances in the world could not keep the land from
washing when it was bare of trees and bushes; and
though for many years it was his hobby to clear away
the pines to let the grass grow, he relinquished the
plan of cultivating any but a few small, favored spots,
and, in default of grass, left briers and bushes to cover
the clearings, where they could do so, as better food
for stock than pine straw; and to that extent, though
it seemed a great waste of timber, my father's plan
was wise.
In truth, I never knew him to make a plan which
did not have solid wisdom for a basis, though it was
generally coupled with an "if;" and, in one way or
another, his plans always resulted in some good,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 45
though seldom in that which he had designed. If his
cider was not good as cider, it made capital vinegar
and I remember a churning which lasted for three cold
winter days by a large fire, and which, though it pro
duced no butter, by the addition of a little sugar and
sherry wine, made delicious syllabub. Every child
about the house, and each of the negroes took a turn
at that churning, and, if I recollect rightly, we all had
a syllabub feast which lasted for two days longer. The
taste of it is yet in my mouth.
At the foot of a gentle northern slope, a depression
in a ridge, my father found, when he took possession
of the place, a small farm-house of two rooms, raised
upon posts, about three feet from the ground. It faced
to the south, so that the hill commenced to rise from
the front door; and as in about forty yards it joined
another ridge which ran east and west, the side of the
slope made a long and very pretty lawn. From about
sixty feet on the east, and ten feet on the west side of
the house the ridge descended rather abruptly. In the
rear there was a slight ascent for about seventy-five
yards, when the ridge forked northeast and northwest,
and then ran to all points of the compass. There were
good springs of water in the bottoms east and west of
the house. To the west the bottom and sides of the
hills were covered with pine-trees, for they had once
been cleared ; on the east stood the original growth of
poplars, beeches, and oaks, interspersed with dogwood,
witch-hazels, sour-wood, sassafras, and huckleberry
and all, both forest trees and shrubs, small of their
kind.
Why the original builder of the house placed it on
46 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
this narrow neck of the ridge between two acclivities, is
more than I ever could conjecture, unless it were that he
found there already the remains of an Indian wigwam,
and was a hearty conservative in his feelings. But
there it was, and it was for my father to take things as
he found them and make the best of them. As he cal
culated, with his usual hopefulness, upon having in the
ordinary course of nature a large family, it was evident
that a house with only two rooms would in a very few
years be insufficient; and, besides, to have only two
rooms in his house would never have suited him had he
been a hermit; for not a barefooted penitent or weary
wayfarer could have presented himself without being
welcomed and entertained. Indeed, his knack for en
countering objects of pity on his road, and his luck for
having poor orphan children thrown upon his hands by
bequest of parents, or devise of circumstances, was at
all times extraordinary. It seemed as though however
niggardly fortune might be in her other gifts, she was
determined that at all times his charity and compassion
should be kept in lively exercise. It was an instance
of the truth of the promise: "he that hath, to him shall
be given."
Another man would most probably have contented
himself with adding two or three rooms at first, and
then others, if they were needed, all upon the same
floor. But to have added room in that way upon the
scale of my father's desire would have required either
great labor to extend the level top of the ridge, or the
building of some of the rooms upon tall posts resting
in its side, which would have been unsafe, both from
the rotting of the posts, and the caving of the sandy
ABU AH AN PAGE, ESQ. 47
ground. So, as my father could not conveniently and
safely spread his house out, he determined to build it
upward. He therefore raised the two rooms which had
a roof already on them, and built a brick story beneath
them. The result was four rooms, just half enough,
and to get the other four he built them in two stories
by the side of the first, but on a higher level, and con
siderably longer and larger, and, as two roofs with the
eaves joining would have been apt to leak badly, he
placed one large roof over the whole, including within
it the roof he found already built. This gave the
structure a singular appearance, both inside and out,
but a glorious garret, which is one of the most essential
of rooms to such a household as ours.
Houses almost as irregular in architecture, but
hardly so comfortable, may be seen here and there
throughout the older inland portions of the South.
They are all the results of circumstances, and not of a
want of taste for the senses of harmony and beauty
in the Southern people are exceptionally acute and ac
curate. I speak not only of the better class of South
erners as they now exist, but of most of those who, or
whose parents, in my day had so far overcome the first
requirements of subduing a wilderness as to be able to
indulge their fancy or talent in architecture, music,
ornamental gardening, equipage, or dress. And one
of the most remarkable features of their taste is that in
nothing do they incline to the gaudy, or, to use a very
expressive French word, the eblouissant. A Southern
lady, h,owever fine may be the material of her dress, is
always modestly and neatly attired ; and, if she follow
the fashion, as indeed all ladies must and will, she
48 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
deftly and quietly snips away its redundancies, and
adds a little to its lack, so that modesty and fashion
are blended you see but know not how. For it to be
otherwise would ill suit her manners; for retiring gen
tleness and modesty are her glorious veil from child
hood to old age. So too in architecture, the showy is
generally avoided by old Southern families, and music
in a minor key is most generally loved though that,
so far as my observation extends, is common to all hu
man nature, as it well may be. I had a sister who
when she was only a few weeks old would pucker up
her little mouth and weep piteously when one sang to
her any of the plaintive melodies so common in my
young days to our religious music. She grew to be a
lovely young woman, and died with all her goodness,
purity, and beauty unsullied by the cares and even the
knowledge of the evil in the world. I feel certain that
her impressibility to sad music is not rare with children,
and we know that with all races of people the earliest,
uncultivated music is of that character. It is useless
to try to account for it cither by association, or deli
cacy of nervous organization. Neither the child nor
the savage can have any such association, and why
should B flat affect uncultivated natures more than C
sharp ? It would seem that the songs of the sons of
God from the hills of heaven still lingered, faint and
solemn by distance, in the ears of Eve's children.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 49
CHAPTER V.
WHILE I would fain linger with the memories of
my earliest days, and tell the most of them, I
know that to do so would serve no purpose of good to
others, and would make my life take up more room
than those of all Plutarch's heroes, with Fox's Book of
Martyrs thrown in. What a dreadful book, by-the-
by, is the latter ! With one picture (in another book)
of the Last Judgment, where the angels with swords
in their hands are separating a vast multitude into two
parts, this, standing calm, and that, cowering or running
affrighted, it was my principal sensational object when
I was very young; nor, indeed, can I yet look at either
of them wholly unmoved. It is, I suppose, the most
effective " Tract" which has ever been published, and
used to be almost as common in the country as the
Bible. However short it may come of inculcating
charity, its warnings of the strength and certainty of
religious intolerance when a Sect becomes joined to the
State, or gets greatly the upper hand in numbers and
power, are most excellent. It is as common to human
nature to worship the Idol of the Sect, as it is for it to
be selfish ; and the worship of that idol grows faster,
and to a more intense enthusiasm, than the religion
composed of the gentle virtues of charity and faith.
With another volume, containing the Roman Catholic
Martyrdoms, it would be one of the most wholesome of
5 D
50 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
books for the present day to excite terror in youth for
matter of reflection in age.
My childhood was that of most eldest sons of refined
and pious parents that is, I received finer clothes and
more switchings than any of my successors. I now
know that my punishments were even more painful to
my dear little mother, than they were to me. She
used to try to impress that fact upon my mind, but I
took it as an ingenious sort of excuse for doing what
she secretly took a delight in. Skin and mind were
both too tender to appreciate her motives, but it was
certainly a sore matter to both of us. All the correction
devolved upon her, for my father was too much absent
from home in the practice of his profession to see my
little mischiefs and note the germs of my weaknesses
or viciousnesses of character. Besides, the dear little
woman could not see why her son, so pure in flesh and
loving in spirit, should not remain pure and loving,
and be a saint, or, at least, a model. It was well
enough to tell her that " boys will be boys ;" she did not
know what a boy's, or rather what human, nature was.
The slightest deviation from truth was to her imagina
tion the opening of the floodgates of all the torrent of
crimen falsi : and cruelty to a fly was the very amuse
ment Nero indulged in when he was a child. Had she
punished me in passion, the effects would have been
disastrous, but that she never did. Her inflictions were
very often with tears, or she would make me kneel with
her and would pray with me after them; and though I,
in my pain and passion, often thought both tears and
prayers a grim farce, it is clear to my mind that they
had a more beneficial effect from the whipping, and that
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 51
they made the whipping more impressive. But I
thought then, and still think, that being switched so
often, however lovingly done, was almost too much of
a good thing.
There was a difference of two years between me and
my eldest sister, Julia ; and about the same between
the births of the succeeding children. I do not de
scribe each of them here because it would too much
resemble a catalogue raisonee, and because I am not
writing their lives, but my own. They came into the
world bright, healthy creatures, lived bright, healthy
lives, and died with fervent hopes and confidence in
the future. I have often been tempted to exclaim : the
most lovely die, and such as I live on ! But such a
sentiment is humbug. There are plenty of good and
lovely men and women who live to old age, and a vast
number of probable scamps who die in infancy. " Whom
the gods love, die young," is a cynical old proverb,
which may be more than offset by saying: whom the
gods have any use for, live till it is accomplished. It
may be a blessing to die young, and it may be a bless
ing to live to old age. The natural, and therefore the
better preference is to live ; but, after all, it is best to
be ready and willing to submit to God's direction about
the matter.
When I learned my alphabet, my Ableselfa and Am-
pezant, I do not remember ; but I recall very well the
first time my mother took me by the hand and led me
to good old Mrs. Diggory's girls' school, and left me
there, a wondering, restless, grieved little martyr. The
old lady lived and kept school (1 use the word kept,
advisedly) not more than a quarter of a mile from our
52 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
house. Her pupils were girls, from five to seventeen
years of age, and I was the only boy she could be in
duced to take. What she taught me principally was
to hold my tongue and keep still, the two most import
ant lessons of any one's education, and the least apt to
be practiced, however thoroughly learned. Her best
remembered lesson, however, was how it felt to be
switched before a crowd of tittering, weeping, sympa
thizing, and malevolent school girls. Its terror, anguish,
and shame made a deep impression upon me, and
though my pain, like that of a pig, bore no proportion
to the noise I made, I have never yet been able to see
the comical side to the scene. I had torn my geogra
phy, and the good old lady, for she was a lady if there
ever was one, switched me only after solemn consult
ation with myjsarents, who themselves pronounced
the sentence. (jBut to whip one child before other
children, whether its companions or not, is wrong. It
gives a shock to its self-respect from which it can
never wholly recover? It is common to repeat flip
pantly that early impressions are lasting ; but there
are few who reflect how very lasting and important
they are. One night, when I was five or six years
old, my father took me up in his arms, and pointing to
the stars told me of the immensity of the universe, and
the greatness and goodness of its Creator, and though
I necessarily understood but little, the feeling of awe
and sublimity was implanted in my soul never to
leave it.
The next school I remember was that of young
Mr. Jones, who taught for a support while he was
studying law. I must have learned very little from
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 53
him, as I do not even remember what I studied ; but
one of the larger boys introduced to me the sensation
of being called a thief, and threatened with the jail,
kept by his uncle, the sheriff of the county. It was all
about a slate-pencil, or some such matter, which I cer
tainly had not taken ammo furandi, for I did not even
know what such a spirit was, but my confusion and
terror were great. One of the most foolish, wicked,
and cruel of the exertions of power is to bring railing
accusations and threats against a child.
My next school I remember perfectly well, for in it
I received most of my school-book education, and
gained an experience which, with a great deal of suU-
sequent observation, qualifies me to give a respectable
opinion about schools and education generally. The
first teacher, or rather master, was a Mr. James Dill,
or "Old Dill," as we called him, an ecclesiastical strip
ling, who afterward developed into a rotund parson,
and after a number of shiftings from pulpit to pulpit,
took up an idea that he had a call to the heathen, and
so, for aught I know, got himself turned into roasts
and steaks by some Cannibal Islander. The mis
sionary spirit was extremely ardent when it began its
sway in our country, and Old Dill was not really old
when he obeyed its promptings was still young
enough to relish adventure and his ease beneath palms
and bananas in foreign lands, where labor was little
needed.
That he was the most indolent man I have ever
seen, is my full conviction, and it may be well imagined
that his discipline of a large "old field " school of coun
try boys and girls of all ages, was of a lax character,
5*
54 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
and his instructions of very little permanent value. It
was under his direction that I plunged (to this day)
hopelessly into the mysteries of Latin and Greek. I
learned the Latin grammar by heart, went through
Deus creavit caelum et terram, in sex dies, and
through Omnia Gallia in almost as little time, to be
cast with Tityrus playing on his reed sub tegmine fagi,
which bothered me prodigiously, and I always thought
a stupid operation. I learned it all, and understood
none of it, for he was too lazy to explain, and seven
years is not the age at which one teaches himself the
reasons and niceties of a language; and as I became
older I was so imbued with disgust and fear of the dif
ficulties I encountered, that it was repulsive to me to
analyze and reflect upon them. The consequence was
that though I amo-ed and tupto-ed very glibly, I hated
Latin and Greek, and hardly think I ever afterwards
coukl have learned them had I tried. Mr. Dill was a
good scholar, but, with all his indolence, was impa
tient, so that all one had to do was to balk at a word
once or twice, when, lounging in his easy chair, he
would give its meaning instead of making the boy re
fer to the dictionary; and if a great bungle were made
he was almost certain to translate the whole sentence,
and perhaps all the lesson, and send the boy to his seat
pouting and gratified.
The school-house was in a grove of pine-trees near a
field, about half a mile from the town, and a little over
a mile from our house. I remember certain beech roots
along the path I had to go, upon which I Avas con
stantly stumping my toes one of which was kept sore
through every warm season when I went barefooted.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 55
The house contained only one large room, built of logs
and elevated on blocks. It had a mud chimney, with
a capacious fireplace, and seven windows, four of them
with glazed sash, and the others closed only by board
shutters, and as the floor was of heavy puncheons, not
very closely joined, there was plenty of ventilation.
The play-grounds varied with the seasons ; that of the
girls was always near the house, but during the spring
and summer months the boys spent most of their re
cesses from twelve M. to two P.M. at or near a swim
ming hole in the creek about a quarter of a mile below
the school-house. It was called "Bryant's hole," from
the name of the owner of the surrounding land, and
was the place near or in which most of the school fights
were decided, and where more than one generation of
boys learned to swim. They learned other things, too,
which were pernicious, and I cannot think that it is
ever a good plan to allow boys to expose their persons
promiscuously, as must necessarily bo the case where
a whole school goes swimming together.
An assemblage of children of all kinds of parents at
a school is about as hazardous a position as any one
can place his child in. If one be vicious or filthy in
manners or conversation, all run the risk of contamina
tion, and some will certainly be contaminated for all
children are imitative, and most of them have an affi
nity for the lewd and vulgar, which, to say the least of
it, places them in great danger. Our school was gen
erally composed of about fifteen girls and twenty-five
boys, from seven to seventeen years of age ; and
though I do not recollect that any one of them was
particularly vicious, I do know that my own imagina-
56 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
tion was there first vitiated not so much by hearing
or seeing what was wicked in itself, as by hearing and
seeing things innocent in themselves, but with secrecy,
and as though they were wicked. To the pure all
things are pure ; but the purest facts may be made the
instruments of impurity when communicated as though
they were forbidden. The idea of vice which is con
veyed with the fact into the child's mind can never be
overcome, and what he may learn with perfect inno
cence by frankness, and must learn in after-life, is made
a source of disquiet to his conscience and evil to his
imagination. Parents should bear this in mind, and
treat their children with more frankness than they
usually do. If they were themselves more innocent,
they would do so. If you teach your daughter that it
is wrong to say "mare" or "bull," you may be certain
she will find out all the possible reasons for it.
My first serious fight was with Tom Bradford, who
was a little older and stouter than I was, a red-headed,
freckled-faced boy, whose hair was always cut short,
he told me, for safety in fighting, and who was fond of
rolling his eyes and putting out his tongue at the girls
both in and out of class. It was his kind of humor.
He imposed upon me because I was gentle and for
bearing in my disposition, and abhorred fracas of any
kind. I had, too, taken up the idea that it was wrong
to fight, and that I should offend my parents by doing
so but the matter of his tyranny came to my mother's
knowledge, and she conjectured the reasons for it, so
one day she told me sternly what she had heard, and,
moreover, if she ever again heard of my being imposed
upon without fighting my best, she would certainly
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. tf
whip me severely. The next day master Tom was
rather surprised and loth when he found me eager to
quarrel and fight; but fight we did, and my will was
so great that I took full indemnity for the past. As he
was the only bully among the small boys, I had peace
thereafter from them, and from the larger bullies I was
always protected by William Parker, the biggest boy
in school, who had a liking for me. He was my beau
ideal. I thought him the most amiable, bravest, and
smartest boy that ever lived, and loved him just as the
weak and affectionate love heroes. I remember crying
heartily when he was quitting the school and came to
take away his books and slate ; and our friendship
lasted as long as he lived, for he lived, a plain hearty
planter, to dandle at least four grandchildren in his
arms.
There were several of the boys who made a lasting
impression on my memory. One of them was Herbert
Langley, who used to wear just such multi-buttoned
jackets as did my cousin Fitzroy, and who was a regu
lar Miss Nancy, as the boys delighted to call him. He
was the only child of a widow, who made some pre
tensions to wealth, and many to fine manners. Her
boy was taught that he was too nice to play at rough
games, and too genteel to play with rough boys. He
was not too nice, however, to eat his own luncheon
off in a corner, and yet beg from others whatever
tempted a greedy appetite ; nor was he too genteel to
do servilely whatever a larger boy bade him, cry most
contemptibly loud whenever Old Dill paddled his hand,
and quarrel with the little girls upon every trivial oc
casion. In spite of his fine clothes and rosy cheeks,
58 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
but one girl, little Jane Hopkins, liked him. Those
advantages first attracted her, and her affection was
rather added to than decreased by the laughter and
opposition it received from the other girls. The widow,
his mother, moved away from our town in a few years,
and I never heard of them afterward. I believe they
went to their relations in Philadelphia, where she had
been raised, and had learned manners.
Another boy was Stanley Kuggles, who lived to
within the last ten years, and of whom I never lost
sight from our childhood. As he and his had rather
more to do with the aft'airs of my life than was at all
times agreeable, I must needs describe him as a boy.
He was, I think, the handsomest and most selfish boy
I ever saw. His ruddy complexion, bright blue eyes,
white and even teeth, brown curls, slender and elegant
form, feet and hands, were the admiration of all, my
self included. He was manly enough looking, but had
a great many prettinesses in his manners, and was very
pettish. All his life he lacked sincerity and manliness.
His affection was often almost maudlin, but it never
could be depended upon. The dearest friend of the
morning was, unconsciously, the meanest of human
beings before night; and the bitterest enemy of one
week was the most loved associate of the next, if his
friendship would in any way forward master Stanley's
projects, but when no longer useful, was discarded
upon some trivial pretense, and discovered that the old
grudge had only been concealed.
He was about two years older and much taller than
I. Although he was not his mother's eldest child, he
was her pet, and she always seemed to consider me as
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 59
his rival, in everything but good looks, and regarded
me with a jealous eye accordingly. Why it should
have been so, or why she should always have pre
tended to be one of my mother's dearest friends, and
yet have made the worst of all she or any of her chil
dren might do or say imprudently, and have depreciated
all her and their excellencies, is more than I have ever
been able to discover. But so it was. From the ear
liest time I can remember, she always professed the
warmest friendship, misrepresented us with the great
est commiseration, and thwarted us when she could
secretly do so.
Another schoolmate was Fred Coons; we always
called him Fritz Coony. He was a heavy, Dutch-
looking boy, the son of a German tanner, whose tan-
yard was not far from our house, and was always to
me a place for wonder and disgust. To this day I can
not eat Gruyere cheese for thinking of old Mr. Coons's
tan vats. Fritz was not strong at his books, but Avas
quite a mechanical genius, and was noted for his huge
kites, his whirligigs, windmills, and cottage-like martin
boxes. His father put him to no trade, and he became
clerk of one of the courts, lived frugally, and died leav
ing a poor widow with a large family, in a small mar
tin-box of a cottage, the very picture of neatness.
Poor Fritz 1 his mind was narrowed by his sense of
order, a mere mechanical sense, and he thought more
of keeping his books neat than of collecting his fees.
He might have become a fine mechanician, but was
contented to be an orderly clerk, and could relieve his
exacerbations of genius by the manufacture of toy
windmills, running gang-saws, or miniature pumps.
60 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
CHAPTER VI.
OF course I had a sweetheart at Mr. Dill's school.
It has been one of the greatest blessings of my life
that I'have never been out of love for any considerable
length of time. Some persons say that no one can
really love but once an opinion which not only bears
unjustly upon widows and widowers who marry again,
but is, providentially, totally false. Indeed, if it were
true, there would be vastly little conjugal love in this
climate, for very few ever marry their first loves. How it
maybe in some tropical countries, where marriages take
place at the age of nine years, I do not know. I sup
pose the same providential arrangement obtains there.
But whatever may be the general truth of the saying,
I indignantly deny its applicability to me. I have been
fervently in love at least a score of times, and it would
be a slur upon my capacity for affection, and a poor
compliment to my knowledge of myself, if I should
consider that my love was not each time real and
earnest. One love has been more holy and intense on
account of its fruition, but all were real, and for each
object I have to this day a tenderness of respect I do
not have for the memory of other girls and women.
When I see the pretty granddaughters of Molly Higgins,
who was my sweetheart at Mr. Dill's school, I feel the
more kindly to them that I loved their grandmother,
though it was but a schoolboy's passion. She was only
six years older than I, had a sweet, pretty face, and a
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 61
lithe, active figure. I thought her perfection, and when
I discovered that she had a mole as large as my hand
on her right shoulder just beneath where the collar of
her dress came, I fancied even that to be a beauty spot,
and the hairs growing in it became as precious to me
as threads of gold. It matters little what may be the
defects of body of those we love ; even their vices are
apt to be excused as marks of genius, or, at worst, as
sume the character of inconveniences. You revolt to
see one clasp the form and kiss the lips of a dead per
son, and yet to him oc her death has lost its loathsome
ness, and is only abhorrent for depriving the dear one
of the power to respond to the accents and caresses of
love. The once warm living love seems still to glorify
the dead flesh, as the vivid flash of lightning still
lingers on the retina after darkness reigns around.
Molly married an honest tailor long before I quit
school, and there would have been no great disparity
had I married her eldest daughter.
When I think of the probable consequences if I had
married anyone of the girls I loved and who afterward
married other men, I am as much astounded at the good
fortune of my escape, as thankful for the blessing of
having loved with all the gentle ennobling feelings a
real love induces. Mary Jane Snodgrass, for instance,
became a fat, frowzy, ^bberly woman, who had two
children a crippled girl, and a boy who was a fool ;
and though to have married her would have been bad
enough, it would perhaps have been far better than to
have had for a wife Ann Jenkins, who had thirteen
children, the most of whom were girls and lived. Then
there was Lucy Ann Jones, who not only had con-
6
C2 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
sumption herself, but gave it to her husband, who, poor
creature, driveled away his last days between cough
ing, and grieving for her, and whining about his poor
orphans. And his fate was even better than that of
the husband of Peggy Hartwell, whose tongue kept
him in perpetual torment, while his neighbors were
little less tormented by the five red-headed boys she
bore to him.
And so I can go through the list ; for it has been my
fortune to see most of my young loves after they be
came " ageable" women, and to know the fate of all of
them ; and though they were all estimable in their way,
when I compare my actual fate with what it might
have been had I succeeded in what my soul most ar
dently desired in each case, I can but feel grateful.
" Oh 1" would I sigh to myself, " I must marry my dear
Molly" (or Peggy, or whichever it might be) ; " I must
marry her, or die broken-hearted. " But she saw nothing
desirable about me, and I danced, perhaps lackadaisi
cally, at her wedding with one I (of course) knew to
be my inferior, and thanked my stars when I saw my
next charmer that my cherished hopes had been
blasted.
And yet I do not doubt but that everyone of my suc
cessful rivals who lived to see his wife an old woman
thought her a very comely old lady, and, except in mo
ments of freeze or hurricane, was perfectly contented with
his lot. CThe fact is that when a man marries a virtuous
woman, he, in a thousand cases to one, gets a wife
better than himself, whatever may be her faults of
'temper); and in about a thousand cases to one he gets
the partner who best suits the necessities of his mental
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 63
and moral nature. Xantippe gave the final polish to
the wisdom of Socrates ; but for the thirteen children,
the husband of Ann Jenkins would have been of no
account ; but for Peggy Hartweli's tongue, the conceit
of her husband would have been unbearable ; and if
James Hodgson had not married Lucy Ann Jones,
he would have died, long before he did, of delirium
tremens.
Molly Higgins left the school about the time Old Dill
quit us. We all had a notion that he was in love with
her himself; and the suspicion excited my ill will, and
often made me act in a captious manner, which must
have puzzled him had he not been too indolent to re
mark it; but his taking orders and moving away dis
pelled every such idea, and I found myself at the same
time under the necessity of changing master and mis
tress. Though for a few days I was disconsolate on
her account, the bustle and novelty of having his
place supplied distracted my pangs somewhat, and by
the time we were fairly settled, Sally Selsby, a sprightly
girl of nearer my own age, had aroused and pleased my
fancy, and had been given possession of my heart. She
was the daughter of a preacher, and therefore, no
doubt, had a larger share of the attentions of the devil
than other girls for it stands to reason that the more
perfect the character to be supported, the greater the
difficulties and temptations. But she was an amiable,
impulsive girl, who, to the end of her life, which was
short, was as innocent of guile as though Eve had
never heard the whispers of Satan, and conferred as
much pure pleasure as though she had been an angel
sent to play a little while with mortals.
64 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
She was the first, but not the last preacher's daugh
ter I have loved, and I must say that I always remem
ber with peculiar pleasure my experience with them,
and if I had a son, would recommend his courting one
or two, grown ones, to complete his assortment of
studies of human nature. Satan seems to manoeuvre
always by taking advantage of their poverty or pre
cision, or both, to lead them up into high mountains.
If "to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet,"
how much sweeter are sweet things, and therefore the
lust of the eye, in the way of dress and other finery,
and the pride of life in the forms of hierarchical posi
tion, attack with double force those who either cannot,
or should not indulge in finery or pride. The conse
quence is that they and their mothers are generally,
when they try to do their duty, vastly troubled about
many things ; and between the feelings of " I will and
I won't ; I'll be damned if I do, and I'll be damned if
I don't," a piquancy is added to their characters, a
spiciness to their humility, and a subdued flavor to their
spiciness, which is truly refreshing, but sometimes an
noying. Sometimes they find that so many things
in the world are wrong, they give up trying to choose
only the right, but that is not often ; and I have rarely
know r n the daughter of a really good preacher who did
not turn out to be an ambitious, hard-working wife,
very prim and orderly after her fashion, and with a hard
temper of her own, upon occasion.
The very peculiar difficulties which beset the families
of preachers may be wrought into a fair argument
against the propriety of there being such a caste as
that of clergy in the world. They constitute, for ob-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 65
v'ous reasons, no argument against the marriage of
preachers, but only against their existence as a caste.
However, I ma}^ return to that subject hereafter, at
a more fitting era in my life.
The character of our new master as it developed
itself was not that of a preacher, as a preacher's ought
to be. His name was Dagobert Q. Thomas, and he
had strayed off from one of the Eastern States to make
his fortune either by a rich marriage, or a profession,
or as it might happen ; it mattered little how so the end
was gained. He had quite an expanse of rugged fore
head, a long nose, and high cheek-bones, his hair was
auburn and always neatly arranged in careless ringlets,
and his small hazel eyes were closely set and keen ;
but he was by no means ill looking, and if he had only
been a man of sound principles he would no doubt have
accomplished his design, for there were a number of
rich girls in the county, that is, rich as it was then es
teemed, and some with no more sense than the law
allowed, and, besides, Yankees were not then so uni
versally distrusted, not to say detested, as they have
been of late years. At any rate, he succeeded Old Dill,
though I never knew by what arrangement, and took
charge of the school just as it stood ; and at about the
same time we understood that he was studying medi
cine.
It may seem strange that each of my masters was a
student of some profession; but in my day, unless it
was a stray Scotchman, or an Irishman from Trinity
College, Dublin and it is wonderful how many peri
patetic, drunken schoolmasters that college has sent
abroad ! such a man as a professional teacher was
6* E
66 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
rarely ever found with us. [ School-teaching is a labor
to most men, and particularly to men of learning, com
pared with which mauling rails, or pulling fodder in
August, is an amusement, and, besides that, until
within late years, it was esteemed with us much as it
was in Greece in the time of ^Eschiues. I cannot my
self understand how any one would voluntarily em
brace it as a profession at any time, but, then, no one
practiced it except under pressure of necessity; and those
who intended entering one of the learned professions
were the only class with whose necessities it fitted. It
seems to me that to become a professional teacher with
any hope for success would require not merely the ac
quisition of learning, but that one should discipline
himself by mortification, fasting, and prayer, into the
patience of Job; by exercise in the police, into the
acuteness of a first-class Detective; and by long prac
tice, into the perfect facility of reading countenances
acquired by a successful pettifogger.
Mr. Thomas entered into his affair with a firm, as
sured step, throwing patience to the winds, and depend
ing upon his natural astuteness for all the rest ; arid
though his eye was keen and restless, and his voice
harsh, he could at first have gathered all our suffrages.
His first actions put our instincts at fault. His voice
was that of Esau, but his hands were smooth and soft
as those of Jacob. The order which commenced some
times to blare forth like a trumpet, became a flute-like
request before it was ended ; and as he smiled, and
smiled, and never whipped, we thought he was only a
new sort of saint. But soon a ferule appeared, and
then a beech switch, and then a whole fagot of
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 67
switches, and we commenced to have a warm and
earnest time of it. He in a month or two had taken
not only the measure of every scholar's foot, as the say
ing is, but of the feet of all his relations, and woe to
those whose feet were smallest and had least power to
kick and crush ! Poor little Dick Singletree the boys
called him crying Dick was almost ajwdous, for there
was besides himself only his feeble old mother, who
made a living by spinning yarn and knitting socks, and
ho seemed to excite all the master's bile. He was stu
pid, in truth, and terror made him a hundredfold more
so. Imagine his fate !
Another boy, Jim Holmes, a cross-eyed, wiry urchin,
with stiff short hair, sallow face, and a turned-up
nose with flaring nostrils, whose trowsers were always
ragged by the end of the week, and held up by. only
one suspender, was at first the aversion and then the
match of Mr. Thomas. His mother was dead, and his
father was a shingle-maker, and worker at any sort of
odd jobs, who spent more time in the woods with his
rifle than at his work. Nothing could make the fellow
have his lessons perfect, and nothing could deter him
from mischief, which he always seemed to prefer t9
work alone. No whipping could bring a tear from his
eyes, and his only manifestations of emotion under a
scourging were briskly lifting one foot after the other
and rubbing himself, and the occasional emission of a
sharp "ay!" as though in derision, when the switch
touched some unusually tender part. He intended
nothing comical, but his whippings were a source of
laughter to the boys out of school, and of ill-concealed
amusement to the master in it. Before very long Mr.
68 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Thomas discovered that he was a kindred spirit, and
laid the rod aside, except on very extraordinary occa
sions when his stomach or liver was out of order, and
the amusement of whipping 1 was scarce. His second
whipping was for complaining to an old aunt he lived
with about his first which was really severe and un
merited and it gave him and us a warning we never
forgot. The master placed his punishment on the high
ground that it was wrong to tell tales out of school ;
and, though it was a novel application of the doctrine,
it served his purposes. After awhile Jim found it
profitable to tell tales in school, and became a despised
mischief-maker and spy; a character he never lost.
When he grew up, it was his delight to go on patrols,
at night, pry around back-yards and quarters, and get
negroes or poor whites into trouble; his highest ambi
tion was to be the town policeman, or a sheriff's officer;
not a fight occurred but he was sure to be in it, at it,
or the first to know all about it, even if he himself had
not brought it about. It was a passion with him to
know more than any one else about every piece of ras
cality committed in the county, and to be very mys
terious about it till called in court as a witness ; and he
seemed to have a bitter grudge against all thieves,
though it was often suspected that he sometimes con
nived at and profited by their rogueries. He ended his
days in a street fight he had himself incited. A pistol
ball missed one of the parties and passed through his
cliest, killing him almost instantly.
Mr. Thomas had a sleeping-room back of a lawyer's
office in a row of small one-storied offices near the court
house (for Yatton had by this time a public square aud
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 69
court-house), and boarded at the tavern kept by old
Oberlin, a diminutive German whose head and voice
were those of a giant, while his spirit was that of one
of the hen-pecked. It was a strange and laughable
contrast to hear Mr. Oberlin roaring submission to his
shrew of a wife, or in tones of persuasive thunder
soothing her exasperation. He was always busy, and
seemed to do most of the cooking of his establishment,
while his wife presided over the dining-room and the
rest of the house. It was interesting to see him leaning
with his arms folded and his feet crossed at the street
door of the side entry which led to his kitchen. His
woolen cap bound around with fur, pulled over his
brows, his shabby black'blouse and heavy soled shoes
showed him to be a foreigner without the necessity of
looking at his flat, sallow face, and unmistakably Gor
man eyes and mouth. As he stood there in placid
repose, the smoke gently curling from the short pipe ho
held in one corner of his mouth, one would have thought
him the most contented of men, until at the sound of
his wife's shrill voice in the house over head he would
cast his eye upward like a duck in a thunder-storm, and
if the noise increased, would with a grunt hurriedly
shake the ashes from his pipe, thrust it in his pocket,
and start back to the regions of his special labors
within, for fear a shower of wrath should descend upon
his head if caught outside.
The study of medicine did not seem to deprive Mr.
Thomas of much rest, and though he often brought a
large book to school, we did not observe that he often
did more than open it, apparently as a blind under
cover of which to entice the wandering glances or sly
70 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
whispers of some urchin not actuated in his diligence
by real love of study. Punishment was sure to follow
his essays at reading medicine in school. He was,
nominally at least, the student of old Dr. Hutchins, and
consorted sometimes with one or two of the other doc
tors, but he was prudently reserved upon professional
matters while with them, though sometimes very dif
fuse and learned before a non-professional crowd. I
have heard him in such a crowd out-talk a slow doctor
and even puzzle him in the use of hard medical terms.
With my father he was always especially polite and
reserved, and never ventured out of his depth. He was
afraid of him, and I never saw the scamp who cared
to frequent his company sufficiently to be examined
thoroughly by his penetrating blue eye, and stern sense
of right. The only way to deceive my father was
through his affections.
I have already mentioned the care the master took
of his hair, and he took no less of his clothing, the
texture and fit of which were always unexceptionable.
His feet were long and flat, and had a knot near the
great toe of each at the head of the metatarsal bone ;
but the make arid polish of his boots were as fine as
sutorial art could achieve in those days and at that
place. There was one drawback, however, to the agree-
ability of his person; he was eternally washing his
hands, which were long, cold, and clammy, and rinsing
his mouth, and, in fine, performing the same ablutions
as would a man who felt he was very filthy. There
was also a very singular fact about his associations
which no one could understand. He frequently visited
the local preacher, Mr. Steele, who thought him, and
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 71
proclaimed him, a promising and lovely young man
whom he hoped yet to see laboring in the vineyard;
for he professed to be "serious about his soul's salva
tion," and was punctual and devout in his attendance
at church, prayer meetings, and even at class meeting.
He often spoke to Mr. Steele and others, particularly
devout old ladies, of the piety of his parents, of the
means of grace he had enjoyed, and how he had once
thought his mountain strong, but had strayed away
like a lost sheep into the gins and snares of this present
wicked world; until the more he proclaimed himself a
sinner the more they believed him a saint incognito.
Yet, Jim Cotton, and Sam Hardaway, and one or two
others, men of leisure and pleasure, gorgeously dressed
and glittering with rings and chains, were known to
frequently visit his room at night, with others who
were strangers, passing through the town bound to
the territories, for Mississippi and Alabama had not
then been admitted as States, and Texas was a savage
land. He was often, too, in confab with one or more
of them as though by chance at a corner or about the
public square. They were noted gamblers, but it was
thought that perhaps he was trying to put in the good
word to turn them from their ways. He said he was,
and through Mr. Steele, who somehow in the connec
tion rung in the text about "the mouths of babes and
sucklings," it got to be believed.
A few months after his advent he commenced to pay
sedulous court to Miss Lucy Perkins, a fine showy girl,
whose father had the reputation of being one of the
richest planters then in our section, and who would, as
an only child, be rich at his death. Of course, the
72 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
elegant, accomplished, and serious Mr. Thomas had the
entry of all the best society of the county in its public
sociabilities, and, to please her, he was even admitted
into many of the private parties where she was invited.
In fact, it got to be understood that it would be a
match; and as he would then be adopted into the
family of the tribe, he was treated with anticipatory
cordiality, at all hands. Whether they were ever actu
ally engaged or not, I do not know; though I do believe
she would have married him ; and if she had, her fate
could have hardly been worse than it was with the
husband she took at last. The only two differences I
can see are, that she would have had a Yankee instead
of a home-bred brute, and therefore might have been
robbed, and (because he would have been Mr. Thomas)
might have been murdered, as well. But, whatever
she might have done, it was fated Mr. Thomas should
not achieve wealth in Yatton, and the catastrophe hap
pened in this wise.
The worldly had for some time been conjecturing
that he was not the ingenuous disciple the leading
brethren thought him to be, and they hinted malig
nantly at his having been heard to use language of un
godly objurgation (hints are generally vague ; they did
not say he cursed outright) on several occasions when
greatly irritated, and something I did not understand,
was said about Miss Lucy's yellow servant-girl, and
various innuendoes were bandied about; but all was
looked upon by Father Steele and his stanch sup
porters as mere envious slander, though some of the
less enthusiastic among them began to doubt. But
the autumn came on, and with it camp meeting, at the
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 73
camp ground near Yatton. Mr. Thomas attended it
regularly, always near about Miss Lucy ; arid he visited
the altar and took his seat upon the mourner's bench
with her and others two or three times, and seemed to
take so great an interest in her salvation and, poor girl,
she was deeply affected ! and in securing his own, that
one day Father Steele asked him to lead in prayer. I
venture to say that a more beautiful and affecting
prayer never was heard on that camp ground. Miss
Lucy was kneeling near him, and her presence, and the
"Amens!" and shouts of "glory," and groans of con
trition, which greeted each sentence, seemed to inflame
his memory, imagination, and devotion until one would
have thought St. Chrysostom himself was speaking.
He was so perfectly abstracted, however, by the strain
of the purely intellectual effort he had made that he
forgot himself, and where he was, and after he had
pronounced his amen, he sat back on the ground and
exclaimed to himself, but audibly, in a triumphant tone:
"Pretty tolerably d d well, for the first time!"
What I have here narrated is the actual fact; for
though I did not hear it myself, being on the outskirts
of the crowd and crying with excitement, many others
did and among them Mr. Steele himself, who cast
upon him a look of surprise and sorrow, and, as did all
the others, silently shunned him. Pie saw his error as
soon as it was committed, and seemed to catch at it as
though he might recall it; but his game was up on the
religious deal, and he knew it. There was nothing left
for him but to brazen it out, or to leave the county ;
and as he thought he had still a chance for Miss Lucy
74 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
and a permanent and very large stake in the country,
he concluded to take the first alternative ; and like a
wise man, he neither put on defiant airs nor apologized
for his lapse. He, on the contrary, never referred to
it, and seemed humble and contrite, in hopes that it
would pass over as a remnant of the old leaven; and
so it no doubt would have done in time, but his mis
fortunes were culminating for his total overthrow.
There were at the school, as I have intimated, sev
eral boys of sixteen or seventeen years of age, stout,
manly fellows, but singly no match for the master in
strength. From the first they had preserved a sort of
armed neutrality, being deterred by respect for the
public opinion in his favor from combining against his
cruelties, notably those to Dick Singletree; but they
had turned pale and gritted their teeth many a time,
and vowed in their hearts what they would do if he
were ever to attempt to serve them so. The shield of
public favor was gone ; Mr. Steele had ceased to men
tion the outcast's name, and only sighed when he
heard it; the class-leaders were equally as silent and
evasive for fear of bringing greater scandal on the
church ; the worldly were loud in their jeers and scoffs,
rolled the scandal like a sweet morsel under their
tongues, and did not hesitate to roar with laughter at
him, whom they called a hypocrite, as though he had
perpetrated a merry jest; and his humility they treated
as a fine stroke of policy. With a consciousness of
right, and a chivalrous feeling of benevolence, and,
probably, the secret encouragements of sundry grown
advisers to back them, the union of strength was
formed, the command of high Justice was announced,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 75
and Sam Halliday, Phil Hartwell, and Joe Hopkins
were appointed her executioners.
The occasion soon presented itself. Little Dick was
called up for punishment, and advanced pale and trem
bling, casting pleading glances back at his champions.
The master, first suppling in his hand a keen, elastic
switch, was about to bring it with hissing force upon
the boy's back, cowering to receive the blow, when his
arm was arrested midway and his form rendered mo
tionless by the voice of Sam, who, standing up in his
place, said: "Stop, Mr. Thomas; you must not whip
that boy any more." "What do you mean, sir?" ex
claimed the master, in his harshest voice. "We mean,"
said Sam, and here Phil and Joe rose and stood by
him, and most of the other scholars rose also to their
feet in excitement while others shrank with terror in
their seats, "we mean that you have whipped him
too much already, and that you shan't do so any
more!" "You d d scoundrel," shouted the master,
"I'll whip you, too;" and he advanced switch in
hand to where Sam was standing, and as his blow
descended, Sam struck him with a glass inkstand on
the mouth, and Phil and Joe clinched with him, and
all four were almost immediately upon the floor, strik
ing and scuffling among the desks and benches. Jim
Holmes ran forward to interfere for his friend, who, he
thought, must needs conquer, and would so reward;
but a blow from Sam, whom he "first caught hold of,
sent him howling to the end of the room. The scuffle
lasted but three or four minutes, when Mr. Thomas's
(no longer the master's) voice was heard exclaiming,
"Enough!" It was in those days the point of honor
76 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
never to strike after that magic word was said ; but
they tied him, hands and feet, and then dictated their
terms which were neither more nor less than that he
should abdicate his authority by giving up the school;
terms, no doubt, from their thoroughness, the prompt
ing of wiser heads than those of the victors ; for it
may be noted that boys in dealings with older persons
are apt of themselves to compromise and palter, rather
than go to the extremcst length of right and propriety.
The single article was agreed to, and signed in black and
white by the teacher, after he was released from his
bonds, and he walked out of the door braised and crest
fallen.
No shout of triumph broke the awfulness of the
occasion. The little boys hurriedly, and the larger
more deliberately gathered their slates, and books, and
playthings together, amid the shuffling of feet and the
slamming of desk-lids and all went off in squads to
their homes, talking over the event in subdued tones.
Mr Thomas, with his handkerchief to his braised and
bloody fac-c when about to meet any one, went across
the fields to his room, and was seen no more that day
in public; and the next morning he was gone from the
town.
Then commenced the uproar. The boys were fully
justified in their conduct by their parents; the public
praised them, and little Dick worshiped them. All
the story of Mr. Thomas's doings and propensities
came out, greatly embellished and added to, I fear. He
was a gambler. Ho had left between two days with all
his valuables; and -old Oberlin's board bill was unset
tled, and the shoemaker was unpaid, and a bill against
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 77
him for perfumery, and cardamom seeds, and fancy
soap, and divers packs of cards, and bottles of brandy,
and a hymn-book, and Adams's Ruddiman's Rudiments
of the Latin Grammar, and sundry hair and tooth
brushes, and numerous prescriptions of medicine, were
charged on the books of the drug-store for Yatton
had then a drug-store, and in it was just such a gen
eral assortment as this bill indicates. And old Ober-
lin swore "by damn," and his wife sneered, and up
braided him so sorely that a year or so afterward he
refused entertainment to a man because his name was
Thomas ; and would have had a fight, not a lawsuit,
about it but for the interference of his wife, who calmed
the stranger; but to her astonishment could not sub
due the will of her lord and master. Old Wright, the
druggist, who had learned his profession in Philadel
phia, comforted himself by saying that, as the fellow
was a medical student, anything was to be expected
of him ; and the shoemaker forgot his loss in a roaring
drunk which lasted three days, when he returned to his
lap-stone with other feelings in his head than condem
nation of his absconding debtor.
But the person most seriously injured was Miss
Lucy. She was most to be pitied and least to blame ;
for the others had no business giving credit, while it
was exactly the business of her woman's nature to
give credit, and gain love and a husband and was not
this young man handsome, accomplished, and pious, as
all thought ? What more attractive could any one de
sire than a handsome person, fine talents, and fair
learning? and what better security than piety ? Alas,
how many hundreds of thousands of Southern girls
7*
78 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
have found the attractions, and overvalued the coun
terfeit security I It would seem that women will
never cease taking morals and disposition upon trust.
They have to do so, as do men, more or less under the
most favorable opportunities, but it certainly is the
most reckless of follies to trust a wandering stranger,
of whose family and previous life they can have no
knowledge ; and even if he come highly recommended,
of whose disposition they can have no experience.
If Miss Lucy had used half the discretion with re
gard to Thomas's morals, disposition, family, and even
his present life, that lie did with regard to her fortune,
she would not have had to hang her head, and refuse
for months to go abroad among her friends; she would
not have had to reproach herself for being placed in
the ridiculous position of one whose lover had been
chased from her by the furies of offended justice and
public scorn, and had also been the too successful lover
of her maid.
Ah, it was a pitiable case ; far worse than if he had
discarded her. Then she might have mourned like a
stricken dove; but now, like a maiden hawk whose
heart has throbbed tumultuously as she has timidly
answered the voice of some coming mate in the dense
foliage of a neighboring tree, and who, at length, while
in her tenderest pitch, discovers it is a miserable blue-
jay who has imitated the gallant tones, and at the ap
proach of danger flies screaming with affright deeper
into the grove, she had to sit pondering the rude disap
pointment with drooping plumes, and try to persuade
herself she never was deceived into a response.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 79
CHAPTER VII.
WAS fourteen years old when the school broke up
so suddenly and dramatically, and the holiday which
resulted was very delightful after my long task at
books. Living out of town as we did, I was not
tempted to the excitements and mischiefs of gregarious
and knowing town boys, and my parents were spared
the continual watching and chiding they would have
had to bestow upon me. Nor did I miss the noisy
crowd so much as would have been expected ; for be
sides that I was rather a shy, thoughtful boy, my two
younger sisters, and two brothers, the younger only
four years old, gave me plenty of amusement. Indeed,
home was always a place of delight to me, as it was
to them. We loved our indulgent parents and each
other tenderly, and found amusement iu very simple
and incongruous things. I say incongruous, because
as they grew a little older, the switchings Joe received
were a source of the keenest enjoyment to Eldred, un
less he was himself involved ; and Eldred's contortions
under punishment excited as great contortions of mirth
in Joe ; from which facts it may be surmised that our
dear little mother's discipline had lost a good deal of its
vigor and wiry edge. But besides these playmates, I
had Peter Hall, a son of Judge Hall, and Isaac Davis,
the son of the then sheriff; both about my own age,
both intelligent, noble-hearted, and gentlemanly boys,
who used to visit me often, sometimes for days at a
80 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
time, and whoso visits I was allowed to return. Their
mothers had beon school-friends of my mother, and
each had well-founded confidence in the other's children.
I remember how with these boys and my little
brothers it was my delight of summer days to paddle
about with bare feet in the spring branch, underneath
the beech-trees, and build dams across it. As the cur
rent swelled in volume, our dam would break on one
side, and as we patched it up, the other would break
by small degrees, not noticed, until all the white sand
and brilliant pebbles would rush away with grating
sound, and our work would have to be begun anew.
So it was, and yet I never tired of meeting the same
fate. Even then, as I constructed my dam, I built air-
castles too. Truly, a more hopeful, imaginative boy
than I never existed. The greatest impossibilities were
to me as realities. I accompanied Jack him of the
bean-stalk in his long climb, put on the seven-leagued
boots and beat the giant; I shared with the other Jack
all his excitement in giant-slaying, and slew many a
giant of my own. The Wonderful Lamp was among
my treasures ; I knew every nook and corner of Doubt
ing Castle; Ali Baba's servant was assisted by me in
the disposal of the forty thieves ; and the very purse of
Fortunatus was in my pocket: Cinderella was no
myth to me, but was one of my loves, and I had
the exact match of 'the Marquis of Carabbas's cat. I
searched for diamonds among the pebbles of the brook,
and hoped to find lumps of gold among the iron py
rites in the deep wash near the house.
They were glorious days, those of my childhood.
AURAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 81
With a halo of hopeful unreality about me, I wandered
through the woods with my little single-barreled gun
and dogs. There were Mingo and Beppo, poor old
Juno, and half a dozen others terriers, hounds, and
curs. I knew the voice of each, and what it meant.
The timid rabbit pricked up its ears, leaped stealthily
from its covert, and ran for dear life, when halloo and
bark announced our approach. The partridge, hide she
it never so wisely, could not conceal her nest from me.
The squirrel dropped his hickory-nut and chattered at
us as we passed, or from 'the loftiest limb scolded me
for some noisy attempt on his life. I was up to all the
dodges of the woodpecker, and the red-bird was not
smart enough to bite my finger as I took him from my
trap. Happy days they were, and all the happier for
the day-dream-land in which I lived. The rabbit was
a foreign foe successfully chased away; the squirrel,
some escaped malefactor against whom I vowed future
vengeance ; the woodpecker, a clown ; the red-bird, a
thief.
Because to call one a day-dreamer is intended as a
reproach, and because I may have lost some time at
that pjeasant amusement, I will not therefore condemn
what, when you analyze it, is the source of more ma
terial benefit and general content than all the surplus
wealth of the world. I grant that its excess is folly,
for the excess of any virtue is folly or vice, but within
due bounds it is like a rosy light cast upon heavy
clouds the landscape is all the brighter for the reflec
tion. I remember some lines I wrote when I was first
grown up, which, though they may not be poetry, are
applicable to the subject.
82 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
"Remember, too, that if in life's short day
A gloomy cloud obscure your various way,
Hope tells you (hat the rainbow lies concealed
. In the dark thunder-cloud, and is congealed
In the smooth ice ; from Heaven the light must shine
To make it seen ; that in the darkest mine
The very stones have fires within them Lid ;
And you must be the steel at whose rough bid
They shall burst forth and light around them shed."
This hope, married to a vigorous imagination, pro
duces day-dreams, as they -arc called. And the more
healthy the hope and the imagination, the more lusty
and brilliant the visions. But it produces also active
and well-directed labor.
Imagination is not what most persons seem to con
sider it, or I do not understand it. Because Shak-
speare and Milton had fine imaginations, it is not to be
supposed that Newton and Watt possessed little or
none, but were wholly absorbed in hard facts. Both
were almost, or quite, as imaginative as either of
the poets ; their imaginations differed only in bent.
Through what boundless space must not the imagi
nation of Newton, taking charge of and up-bearing his
reason, have traveled, toying with the stars, arranging
and tossing the planets to and fro, enduing them with
various imaginary forces, and hurling them in this or
that infinite direction, until by comparing results he
arrived at the grout laws which govern their motions !
A steam-engine is a hard fact, yet mathematics could
not have invented it, however they may contribute to
the perfection of its machinery. The bold and original
imagination of Watt suggested that the thing could be
ABE All AM PAGE, ESQ. 83
arranged, and then, spurred on by hope, arranged it;
and who can tell the brilliant dreams of future wealth
and fame which kept pace with his reason, and cheered
it on in its sometimes languid and discouraged flight in
the clouds !
I can readily imagine some young man of talent and
lively fancy imagining to write a book and give it to
the world, and before he has written a line picturing to
himself a glorious success. It shall be about the loves
and sorrows of Araminta and Theodore, and after fif
teen, nay, forty editions are exhausted, he, all un
known, shall leave his quiet home to travel. On
steamboats and in rail-cars, in hotels and on doorsteps,
he sees his book in hand and being eagerly read. He
is jostled on the street by men reading his book;
steamboat-clerks and draymen have left their work,
and are seated upon boxes and bales on the wharves,
reading his book; and all business is at a stand-still
until his book be read. Tears trickle from young
ladies' eyes as they breathe the name of Theodore,
and "Ah, Araminta !" is sighed by young men and old
behind counters, and at their calculations. Bridget
and Dolly carry his book in their pockets, and pause in
making up his bed, or, while sweeping, seat themselves
upon the stairs, to finish a chapter. The players
snatch all the moments between their appearances to
read a little in his book behind the scenes ; the call-boy
is too busy with it to heed the time ; and the prompter
pores over it, instead of setting right the actors, who
only sigh and talk, as though in dreams, of its scenes
to an audience too busy reading his book to mind their
vagaries.
84 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
I say that I can imagine a young man permitting
all these fantastic dreams to revel in his mind, arid
being spurred on to exertion, and as ho will do his best
at his work, I think he is greatly benefited. JSTor, if he
should never write a line of his book, but should ham
mer merrily at his trade, do I see that he has received
any harm. If he should permit himself to indulge the
dreams to occupy his time to the exclusion of his work,
or should shape his work by them, he is, in the true
sense, no day-dreamer; he is crazy, an absolute lunatic,
who, at best, has only lucid moments however his
friends may think of his superior intellect, and call him
only visionary. It is best to call things by their right
names.
When I was a boy I could picture myself a prince,
with power of life and death, wealth without parallel,
and luxury without stint ; but I never discovered that
I obeyed my parents any the worse for it, found a two-
bit piece any the 'smaller, or enjoyed my corn-bread
and bacon, my simple pallet, or my rides in an ox-cart,
any the less. Since I have been a man I have in
dulged myself in rhapsodies to which that I have im-
.agined of the young would-be author is very grave,
but, though I have perhaps wasted some time in them,
I am not aware that the indulgence has ever warped
or weakened my judgment.
. There is no invention and there is little happiness
without the exertions of fancy. They add savor to the
dry crust, and down to the straw bed, and succes.s to
the hard toil of the laboring man ; or, at least, they
make those evils more bearable. It is peculiarly fit that
children should have the happy faculty and a facility of
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 85
day- dreaming 1 . The occurring troubles and miseries of
their inexperienced lives would be destroying without
it, and it has lifted many a one from the dirt to sit iu
high places.
Call it day-dreaming, imagination, fancy, the crea
tive faculty, or what you will, it is the same faculty in
poets, and philosophers, and children ; and is almost, if
not quite, the only faculty which man possesses not also
given to brutes. It is a principal moving power of man's
nature, and, like the inclination to make a noise which
caws with the crow, brays with the ass, or warbles with
the nightingale, it manifests itself differently with dif
ferent persons.
The secret of my failure in life I mean my failure
to make fame and fortune is not that I. have been a
visionary, but, perhaps, that I have been impatient. A
day or two after a child has planted a cutting, he pulls
it up to see if it has taken root ; so have I planned the
growth of many a fair scheme which I hoped should
bear me pleasant fruits, and have by my impatience
killed it, or made it linger long, to die at last unfruitful ;
and all the associations and tenor of my life tended to
encourage that natural impatience the germs of which
I certainly possessed in considerable vitality. In my
early days I saw no one meet with any great success
unless by accident, or in saving money, and as I often
heard the proverb, "a fool for luck," and knew that
( meanness was the most certain aid to Avealth, I was
discouraged. During my whole life I have seen but
few men who achieved a lasting fame, or one worth
having, in any walk of life. However ardent he might
be, and whatever his apparent chances, death stepped
8(5 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
in, or accident, or his object lost its value in his esteem,
and he never enjoyed the prize. At school I studied
Latin and Greek to the pitch of irritated despair; was
put through a course of algebra in about two weeks, for
the purpose of hurrying me to a higher class for which
I was otherwise prepared ; took a- few lessons in draw
ing ; and got a stray Frenchman to teach me the passes
and guards with the foils, which I used to practice with
my companions to the danger of our eyes, the scarring
of our hands and arms, and by continued practice, to
the complete confusion of all science in the art so
slightly learned. All this tended me to be impatient;
as to have seen and felt impatience would have made
me patient and thorough.
Had another plausible child-tinker established him
self in business after Mr. Thomas's devastavit, I should
no doubt have been continued as at once a specimen
and a subject. But for several months no eligible
teacher presented himself, and in the mean time my
father himself had taken to teaching me French and
Spanish, and brushing me up occasionally in Latin and
Greek, and my views in life, too, had altered, so that
when a good school was started, I was not sent as one
of the scholars.
Few men, in our part of the world at least, more thor
oughly understood both Latin and Greek than my father ;
he was, therefore, most competent to teach, and, had not
my disgust to those languages prevented, his kind ex
planations and assistance would have made me learn
them. But his knowledge of French was very limited,
and I doubt if he had ever read a page of Spanish in
his life; and yet he gave me a more thorough course in
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 87
both than most teachers of modern languages in Ameri
can schools have either the patience or the capacity to
give. The Spanish book he made me read, after I had
somewhat progressed in the grammar, was upon the
evidences of Christianity (I have forgotten its title), and
with his knowledge .of Latin, and of what the sense
ought to be, it was impossible to impose upon him a
false translation.
I suppose that it is the quality of old age, whether
happy or miserable, to make our memories of youth
more sweet. I, at least, difler with Francesca, in hell,
who exclaims:
" Nessuu maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria."
Perhaps if I were in hell it would be so too with me.
But as it is, in my feebleness I remember with exult
ation the strength and activity t)f my youth ; in my
pain I laugh to see myself a child again, undergoing the
dread I had of having my first teeth pulled out with a
waxed thread; and in the long cold nights of winter,
when my hips and shoulders sometimes ache with lying
so long, and every feather I lie on feels like a stout
twig, I remember with sad but intense pleasure how I
used to snug up in my father's arms, and he would
sometimes rouse me to hear the owls hooting, or the
rain beating on the roof. So great an impression did
this last incident make upon my mind, that I to this day
feel more comfortable in a house the roof of which is
so near me as to allow the sound of every drop of rain
to be heard distinctly; and if I had to build a house
for myself, would have it of one story, without a ceil
ing, and with a board roof.
88 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
But among the most touching of all my memories in
life is that of my father in this time of his playing
teacher. Some warm summer afternoon, perhaps, he
would come home, after having ridden and been wor
ried with his patients from ten o'clock the night before,
and, after first kissing my mother and hearing what
news there was to tell, ho would say : " Come, my son,
help me off with my coat ;" for all his toil and exposure
had given him rheumatism in the left shoulder and
back. And when I helped him doff his threadbare coat,
I would notice how his pants were Avorn thin and white
behind, and how they looked shiny at the knees, and
how his shirt-collar and wristbands were frayed ; and
knowing that it was not my mother's fault (for no one
darned, and mended, and patched equal to her), but
that he had to stint himself to provide clothing and
food for his family, my heart would grow very tender,
as it does to this day. After lying down upon -the
wooden settee on the gallery, with a comfortable pillow
under his head, he would tell rne cheerily to get my
books and come and say a lesson. Soon, as I read, his
eyes would begin to close ominously, then presently he
would open them sleepily and say: " Read that again !''
and perhaps before it was fairly read his regular breath
ing would show he was sound asleep ; and I would go
.off on tiptoe to my play, or to finish my trap, or an
axe-helve, or some such pleasant occupation.
Ah, who can tell the miseries of a poor professional
man particularly of a poor country doctor ! The man
in commerce or the, laboring man can, without carping,
regulate the expenditure of his household by the amount
of his income; poor profits aro expected to produce
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 89
close living, and low wages may without loss of
name palliate rags and bare feet. The poor lawyer
may keep his family very private, and so escape criti
cism; and the poor preacher is in the line of his profes
sion when he is miserably 'poor. But not so the doctor.
As he, from his knowledge and position, is expected to
be a gentleman, so is his wife expected to be a lady,
and to dress as well as act like one, and to keep her
children dressed and instructed and regulated like little
gentlemen and ladies. Her visitors must be unchecked
in number or imposition, .and her table must conse
quently be always bountiful and neatly spread, and at
least one bed must be very soft and tidy. Whether
the season be healthy or sickly, and whether good
crops insure the prompt payment of his bills, or a fail
ure defer their settlement, it is all the same with the
country doctor. Like a candidate who stands for the
suffrages of all, he must be ready at all times to wel
come all. My father was hospitable from his own
benevolence, without a thought of policy. That he
could do good, or giv$ pleasure, was incentive enough
for him ; and I doubt if it ever occurred to his mind to
make a distinction between those who employed or
might employ him, and those who should never benefit
kim.
With his wife and children upon .their behavior, it
is but to be expected that troubles should arise to the
poor doctor's family; for no mortals can at all times
bear such a strain and woe the day the trouble
comes. His "Lady" must invariably there is no
escape that I have ever heard of have among her lady
visitors some friends, like Mrs. Haggles, of boundless
8*
90 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
affection and great fastidiousness, who, perhaps, after
receiving from a full heart some account of troubles in
such general housekeeping, will remark that she was
sorry to observe that Mrs. Dr. Jenkins was getting to
have a great dislike of company, or that she was
shocked to notice that Dr. Liffkins was either so stingy
to his family, or his practice was so falling off, that
poor Mrs. Liffkins is put to the saddest straits to give
her children bread. All of this, except the imputation
of stinginess, though but the malicious exaggeration of
the friend, is strictly true ; yet by just such gossip
about him and his affairs the doctor receives a terrible
injury ; and loss of practice is followed by retrenchment,
and greater loss by poverty, which comes on apace.
Whatever case he may be called to see, he attends with
all his alacrity and professional skill ; but he finds idle
time, and begins to pay more attention to his home-
concerns, sees to the patching up of his fences, over
looks the garden, and soon becomes half farmer half
doctor; curtails his own personal expenses even so far
as to quit smoking, and yet bread is scarce, and often
he is at his wit's end to know where the next shall
come from
His affairs may take a turn and he may have prosper
ity again, but how wretched is now his case ! But one
thing could add to its misery. If his wife should be
so unloving or so weak as to reproach him, his cup
would indeed run over. The only patience which
could ever stand that was Job's, and even he told his
wife she spake " as one of the foolish women speaketli."
Indeed, the reproaches of Job's wife were the poor
man's crucial test. The loss of property and of chil-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 91
dren and of health are all in the natural and ordinary
course of nature, but the reproaches of the woman one
loves, and has promised, both verbally and by the very
act of loving and marrying, to cherish, provide for, and
protect, when added to the already unutterable wretch
edness caused by disaster or failure, are too much. She
must of necessity make comparisons with the success
of other men ; and then pride, jealousy, in fine, his
manliness, all the combatant principles of his nature
are aroused and rampant.
My father's affairs were for awhile at a low ebb,
and he and his were subjected to all the troubles I
have here alluded to ; but fortunately his philosophy
and Christian faith were n^)t put to the test of the re.
proaches of his wife. The dear little woman not only
loved her husband, but was very proud of him. "The
Doctor" could do no wrong; his failures were not his
fault, and his successes were triumphs over unheard-of
opposition Had he been sole candidate for some un
desirable office, she would have ascribed his election to
his admitted superiority and the fear of others to run
against him; and if he should have met with opposi
tion and defeat, she would have felt it a thousandfold
more than he, and would have heartily disliked the
fortunate candidate and all his supporters, though her
husband and all the world should have praised them.
This was not from want of knowledge and sound
discretion on her part. Few women had higher claims
to be called intellectual and wise, but her intellectuality
and wisdom were, like those of all true women, modi
fied by her affections. It is generally useless to argue
against feeling; and, in fact, when I see one, a woman
92 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
especially, allow cold reason to triumph over natural
feelings, I always imagine that there is a little hypocrisy
in the matter. It will not do to trust to such apparent'
convictions.
People are very prone to praise filial affection, as
though it were a merit. (^There is most generally no
merit in it, though the want of it is sometimes a hid
eous viceA To support, and honor unworthy parents
may indeea be an effort of virtue, but I cannot concede
that I ever deserved praise for honoring my parents.
It may be gathered from what I have already said that
my father was worthy of all my love and admiration ;
but my mother was no less lovely and admirable, to
her children and dependants, at least.
I do not recollect the minute that she was free from
cares and annoyances, nor do I recgllect a day when
she allowed them to lessen her hope and energy.
Though her frame was delicate, and from her youth
up she was subject to more pains and aches than most
women are, and had to be shielded from exposure like
an exotic, she raised a large family through all the ail
ments incident to childhood, and cheered my father in
all his toils and troubles as no woman less gentle, wise,
and brave, however robust, could have done. From
his instructions and her own observation and frequent
experience, she became in a few years a really good
physician herself, so far as to note and understand
symptoms; "and her knowledge, added to her strong
and unerring sympathy, made her one of the very best
of nurses. It seems to me yet that she always knew
intuitively how an'd where one's pain was, and what
was the host method of relief. Her gentle hand, I
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 93
know, always soothed my racking head, and no one
could arrange the pillows so softly and the cover so fit
tingly as she. Nor were her family the only persons
to whom she was a blessing, both in sickness and in
health. Old Mrs. Blodgett thought that no broth. was
so nourishing, and no jellies and cooling drinks were
so grateful, as those she prepared; and very many per
sons participated in Mrs. Blodgett's belief, and were
never so contented in trouble as when Mrs. Page made
them a visit. It was strange how her tender frame
could endure the fatigue of nursing the sick as it did,
but the spirit Avithin her was that of an archangel, and
when it seemed that her aching head and weary limbs
would, after days and nights of watching, hardly allow
her to totter from the bedside of one of her sick chil
dren to that of another, she would always rouse to
meet any new emergency. If she could not walk, she
would crawl; if she could not see for blinding pain, she
would feel. She was one of those who can be faithful
unto death, and esteem such' faithfulness the most nat
ural of all things. "Ah," I used to think, "ah, Mr.
Emperor Napoleon, if my little mother were only over
there in Europe, and had the matter placed in- her
hands, she'd stop your career, and, lug you by the ear
to your seat, for all she is so gentle and loving!"
Her taste, too, and her knowledge of economy, were
not less than wonderful. Those were not the days in
our part of the country when young ladies were edu
cated in all the isms and ologies, nor did they have
milliners and mantua-makers in every village. A fash
ion was long out of date in Europe and the North be
fore it reached Yatton, and when it did get there, it was
94 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
soon modified by good sense to the rules of good taste ;
for there was little rivalry as to who should copy it the
most exactly, and a good deal of wholesome modesty,
and fear of being outree even in so fantastic and irreg
ular a thing as fashion. My mother, with none of the
advantages of education in modern high art, had a
natural taste for simple elegance which never Avcnt
astray, and her young friends were glad to profit by
what was so rare in itself, and so kindly placed at their
service for decorating their persons, their parlors, or
their gardens. There was a keen and unerring appre
ciation of the beautiful which moved like a sweet
th.ema through all her life, and harmonized discords as
though they were a necessary part to its melody. Her
movements were grace itself, and all her aspirations
were induced \)j love. She played upon no musical
instrument, for in her youth there were no pianos bang
ing the life out of every echo in the land. I myself
was a large boy before I ever saw one of those wretched
instruments, which have caused more nervous pain, and
more waste of time and money than a thirty years' war.
But my mother's voice was as sweet as that of an In
dian girl, and she sang with charming correctness and
feeling the simple ballads then in vogue. Drawing and
painting were also then, as now, almost entirely un
known in female education, yet from essays that I have
seen, and from what I know of the justness of her eye
for proportions and colors, I know that she had a talent
for both, and could have excelled in them. Indeed,
whatever of taste in art I may have ever had, and my
passionate love for music, for flowers and perfumes,
and every other beautiful and sweet thing in nature or
AliH AH AM PAGE, ESQ. 95
art, I derived for the most part from my mother, though
my father, from whom I inherited the form and consti
tution of my body, was by no means deficient in those
things.
The darling little woman ! She was as modest and
innocent after she had raised her large family of chil
dren as she was when she first became a blushing,
trembling wife. Never in all my life did I hear a coarse
expression from her lips, or see or hear any evidence of
aught but perfect purity of mind. She was one of the
very few persons I have known who was always just
and ladylike even in her greatest anger; and though
she could doubtless, being a woman, aggravate, and
run husband and servants wild, I never knew her to
indulge her natural instinct in that way.
I ascribe her innocence and amiability not to her
natural disposition alone, but in a great measure to the
character and conduct of my father. He was not one
who indulged in broad jokes and vulgar allusions. He
carried into his married life a profound respect for
woman which characterized his bachelorhood. Although
he could relish any conversation which had wit or hu
mor in it, he detested what was in itself unseemly or
bred unchaste ideas. ' He could see and appreciate
double entendres, but he never explained them to her,
and I verily believe that to the last day of her life she
could have read Tristram Shandy and pronounced it
obscure and flat. Then, too, her love for him was so
intense, and so mingled with mspect, that she not only
could never think of scolding him, or scolding in his
presence; but she couid never do in his absence any
thing of which she thought he might disapprove. Many
96 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
women give eye-service. I will not say that most do
so, for I do not know it to be the fact ; but many do,
and it shows both that they do not love with respect,
and that they are cowardly. My mother was afraid of
her husband, just as her children were always afraid
both of him and her, not afraid of blows or harsh
ness, but afraid of wounding his love. How could she,
by her words or acts, bring a cloud upon the countenance
of the strong and gentle man whose approval was as
the light of her life ! And when he, the Bread-winner,
was absent toiling for her and their children, she was
jealous to do her part to lessen his necessity for labor
and to comfort his weariness. When he would fall
asleep hearing my lessons, her whole household talked
in whispers, and went on tip-toe Jest he should lose his
rest; and when he waked the sun rose, and all was
light and life. He never waked to find her standing
near to pour upon him an account of domestic troubles,
or of our childish mischiefs. If troubles had occurred,
she chose her time to tell them, when they would annoy
him least ; and if any of us had been particularly good,
or deserving of praise, she related it when he most
needed to be cheered.
It will not here be out of place to mention two things
she never did, though I doubt if she ever went through
the formality of making definite rules for her conduct:
she never concealed anything from her husband, and
she never threatened her children with their father.
The consequences were that he was never suspicious,
and that they were always frank and unrestrained with
him.
ABRAHAM PAGE. ESQ. 97
CHAPTER VIII.
WAS tired of school-books. For eight years I had
been kept steadily at them, and, what with idle
masters, lazy masters, and ignorant masters, and the
grinding work of uninteresting lessons, 1 was fagged.
My father's lessons were fun, and I had a great idea ot
getting learning by the easy plan of studyingjust when
I felt like it if, indeed, book-learning were worth the
getting. I doubted then if it were worth the trouble,
and now, in my old age,(l doubt if education in books
be desirable for the mass of the human race^. I am
sure that but for the purposes of extended commerce,
it is, for the most part, not only useless, but hurtful.
Education, unless it be to greater facility in some
useful employment, is a humbug. Give your son all
the book-learning of which his mind is capable, and
what are the consequences? Unless he make it useful
to himself, and, consequently, to his fellow-men in the
ways and works of life, it does not benefit; and unless
it result in making him a sincere Christian, it leads to
his greater eternal condemnation.
This may sound harsh, but it is certainly true. The
great gloze of the devil in this day and generation of
psychological nonsense, is this very cant about book
education.
To understand several languages is useful, certainly;
so are Algebra, and Conic Sections, and the Calculus
9 a
98 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
of Variations they are useful because they lead to
higher results of utility. In themselves they are mere
curiosities, and the eye-tooth of Cleopatra or the big-
toe nails of Julius Caesar would be just as useful to
most men as the possession of all these results of intel
lectual labor. With nine hundred and ninety-nine out
of every thousand, they neither lead nor can lead to
any useful results to themselves or their fellows.
It is all stuff to talk about the usefulness of such
studies to fit the mind for high thought, and to improve
the intellectual part of man which must live throughout
eternity. If a man had plenty of money, and no one
dependent on him, and no earthly duties to perform, he
might lead a life of purely intellectual improvement
granting, which I do not, that books, of themselves,
improve the intellect. But this is a working world, and
the men in it have duties toward themselves and each
other to perform which are not intellectual, but muscu
lar. They have only this life to perform them in and
it is far better to go to heaven with all duties performed,
and spend eternity in improving the mind, than to go
there, or into condemnation, with minds full of human
learning, and the world none the better or happier for
their having lived in it.
But I go further than that. To most men reading
and writing are of no use except to convey or fix their
plans of business, and arithmetic of no advantage ex
cept to prevent their being cheated in their transactions.
When a man has those three branches of learning, he
has all he can get from books essential to usefulness in
any ordinary sphere of life. But, in sober truth, they
do not advantage one in a hundred, either mentally or
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 99
morally. They arc but tools, after all ; and to give a
savage a jack-plane, or a screw-driver, or a watch,
would do both his morals and understanding less harm
than to give an ignoramus a knowledge of these items
of learning. The chances are very great that in neither
case will the instruments be put to a proper use. They
will either be thown away, or used for injury to himself
or others. To hear atheism in its most aggravated
form, go to the work-shops and among the half-educated
work-people of any civilized land.
My argument, rightly considered, does not tend to
depriving the masses of education ; but it recognizes
the tremendous responsibility they incur when they
learn to read, and sets forth the egregious folly of giving
them educations in books at the expense of years of
laborious, useless, idleness for the time spent at col
leges and schools is just that, in the vast majority of
cases. If a boy be by nature cut out for a fiddler, or a doc
tor, or a lawyer, or an engineer, a fiddler, doctor, lawyer,
or engineer, of some sort, he will become, if he have the
energy of genius and, in the name of common sense,
let him have every advantage. But the mass of man
kind are of the average class, and what an awful mis
take is made when you attempt as is done by the
present system of education in books to make them all,
at the same time, lawyers, doctors, musicians, engineers,
astronomers, chemists, geologists, and linguists! And
even suppose such an education were not altogether
vain, and all men could become, to a considerable de
gree, all of these things, who are to do the manual
labors of life ? Who are to do the shoe-making, and
tailoring, and weaving, and rope-making, and work-
100 LIFE AXI) OPINIONS OF
ing iii iron, and. brass, and gold, to do the building,
and to till the soil ?
The course of reasoning seems to be this : We have
here a noble country, with a fertile soil and pleasant
climate ; we must make it a rich and great country, and
we will import Yankees, and Dutchmen, and Irishmen,
to do the work the negroes cannot do, and our sons
shall be the gentlemen, to doctor, and to do justice, and
to keep store, and to gouge around among strata, and
to take heavenly observations for them all ; or the gen
tlemen of elegant leisure to do the dressing and the
manners, and be the high society.
No one will grant that he is such a fool as to scheme
deliberately in this way, and yet the present course of
education practically proves that he does so. When
his son has attained all the knowledge with which it is
proposed to cram him, and turns out neither doctor nor
lawyer is too openly wicked to be a preacher, and too
poor to be a gentleman he is so old that the shoe
maker's bristle, and the tailor's needle, and the graver's
tool, and the trowel are unwieldy ; and by the time he
has become deft with them, more than half his life is
spent. He is a bungling apprentice when he should be
a master workman, is earning only the bread he eats
when he should be supporting a family, and is blushing
for his occupation when he should be holding his head
up like a man.
At any rate, I was tired of school-books, and dreaded
going back to school ; and as I had a great taste for
the pleasures of agriculture and horticulture, I an
nounced my desire to be a planter. Nothing seemed
to be so pleasing to my father ; but he very wisely told
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 101
rue that I could never plant satisfactorily to myself, or
manage negroes justly, unless I was practically ac
quainted with every kind of plantation work. I could
not otherwise tell if the negroes did their work prop
erly and industriously, and might require of them too
much, or be imposed upon by them with too little. So
he gave me a horse and a plow, a hoe and an axe, and
I set to work and made me a maul out of the but of a
small beech, well hardened in the fire.
My choice to become a planter was about the
strangest I ever made in my life. I never dreamed of
becoming an overseer of another's negroes; I would
have starved first; and yet, suppose I became a
planter, where was my land and where were my
negroes to commence with? The three grown ne
groes my father owned were a small and most un
likely capital, even if they could all be spared from the
house to the field ; and his land was, as I have shown,
not well calculated for extensive planting operations.
With an increasing family increasing in number and
expensiveness and with a decaying practice, it was
not at all probable that my father could invest money
in other negroes or in better land. But to be a planter
I was determined, and I set to work bravely and hope
fully at all the labors required upon a plantation.
The fact is, that though I saw and felt that my father
was poor, I did not believe he was so in reality. I
had an idea, or rather a suspicion (where I obtained it
I cannot now tell), that he was very rich, but lived as
though he were poor, for the sake of raising me to in
dustrious habits, and prevent my becoming extrava
gant, or dissipated, or a fop ; arid I pictured to myself
9*
102 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
that some day, when he saw me fixed in principle and
steady habits, he would develop his wealth and give
me land and negroes, flocks and herds, without a fear
that I would take a journey into a far country and
there waste my substance in riotous living.
I say that I do not know where I got this idea; and
yet to a boy of my disposition it was natural, and in
all probability many a one has had the same idea
about a father just as poor. It was certain, in the first
place, that if my father were indeed poor, he did not re
semble in any degree the other poor men I saw around
us. He was an elegant gentleman in manners, person,
and education, and was considered the superior in most
respects to any of those known to be rich men in our
county; whereas the other poor men that I saw were
coarse in their manners, uncouth in their persons and
clothing, and showed ignorance in their ideas and man
ner of speech. In the next place, nothing was more
likely than that a father so loving and wise as he,
should, for the sake of raising his children to virtue
and usefulness, deny himself every luxury, and set
them a good example by hard labor and close econ
omy. My own observation showed me the danger to
which the sons of those reputed rich were exposed.
Examples of their idleness and vicious indulgences
were constantly before me. I saw them shirk labor at
books, and in any useful employment, to expend their
powers on dress, fast horses, and drunken frolics ; and
it seemed to me but reasonable that my father should
affect poverty, to avert from his children the danger of
acting like them.
I wish it to be thoroughly understood that for all
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 103
this I was no fool. If I pleased my fancy with these
chimeras, they were nothing more than might have
been realities in the natural fitness of things. Though
my father was really poor, he was one who should in
all propriety have been rich ; and it would very well
have become the wisest of men to have acted as I con
ceived him to be acting. I protest that I was no fool
in this matter, but was far more wise than I have been
many a time since, when I had reason and probabilities
stronger on my side. I was merely a healthy boy, of
lively imagination, good reasoning powers, and exuber
ant hopefulness; and though my idea was ill founded,
it rather made me strive all the harder at my labor to
make myself worthy of the possible fate in store for
me, and to hasten the time of its fruition in case it
should be true; for I always put the case to myself
with a " suppose, now," and said that if it were not true
it ought to be, and was very well invented.
I take credit to myself for working as hard as I did,
because I had other and more serious motives than that
of fitting myself for a state of temporal beatitude
which, after all, was only a passing, pleasing idea. I
saw and pitied the toils and troubles of my parents,
and loved them and my brothers and sisters too well to
see them want for anything I might obtain for them.
Young as I was, I thought myself a man to labor, and
quite a genius in some things particularly in the mat
ter of axe helves, of which I made a dozen from a
piece of hickory I thought very choice, and sold them
to a friendly merchant in the town, who was willing to
encourage honest industry to the sum of two dollars
and a half, which he paid me and of which I was
104 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
very proud till I saw the same axe helves, some years
afterward, among his unsalable stock. He was a very
generous merchant, I thought then, more than I did
when he paid me the money ; and but that I consid
ered that in our subsequent dealings he had quite made
up for the price he paid, I would most certainly have
returned it.
I take the more credit to myself that the work was
hard. When I rose in the morning, at the dawn of day,
I thought my bed the most desirable of all earthly
places, and at night this thought came fresh upon me.
Often when I was roused I would fall asleep again, and
dream that I was up and at the stable feeding my
horse and preparing him for the field, and just as I was
about to tie my hame-string, whack ! would come a
broad band upon my back, and I would jump, to find
myself in bed, and my father standing over me asking
why I was not up and dressed and at my work.
Poor little fellow! I can see myself now, hilling cot
ton in the burning sun of June (for we planted a little
cotton that year), and pausing to look upon a stump
and wish that it had a soda fountain in it, and I could
lie down and let it run into my mouth fresh and cold.
How terribly thirsty I got ! and how often I had to go
to the house or the spring for water ! not that I wished
to shirk my work and sought any excuse, but the sun
was so hot, and the labor so severe, that the only won
der is I stood it at all.
This was a great era in my life the era of wonder.
I was always finding wonderful snakes, wonderful
flowers, and freaks of vegetation, seeing wonderful
clouds, and sunrises, and sunsets. It was my time for
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 105
possum hunts, and coon dogs; for making famous shots
with rny rifle if it was an old flint-lock piece ; of try
ing to make prodigious leaps, and to excel in strength ;
the time of wrestling, climbing, and rudeness. My
father often gave me holiday, for he knew well that the
labor was severe upon me, and, except that it was
wholesome, morally and physically it could be of little
other profit ; and in my holidays I and the boys of my
acquaintance would play at circus, and I would try to
ride standing on bare-back, and was invariably the
clown of the occasion.
Although I had plenty of vanity and love of admira
tion, and was as noisy and hopeful as ever boy was, I
cannot say that this was an altogether pleasant period
of my life. I can recall to this day that all the time
there seemed to me there was something lacking, though
what it was I neither knew, nor do I yet know. I was
just entering into real thought, and into some of the
realities of life, and in spite of the wondrous things I
found, and the new beauties of nature, I was beginning
to feel there was a something wanting, or a something
foreboding which seemed to cast a veil over the real
brightness of pleasure, and I used, at times, to be very
melancholy. Particularly in the evening twilight, after
iny work was done, and before the candles were lit, I
would love to get by myself upon the fence of the horse
lot, and, listening to the whip-poor-wills crying on the
hills and in the hollows around the house, my spirits
would be overwhelmed by a vague sorrow, and often
my tears would flow almost imconsciously.
Whether this arose from a mysterious foreshadowing
of sorrows to come and that such an influence is felt
106 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
cannot be contradicted or merely from that tinge of
sadness which all thinking persons must have in some
degree, need not be too diligently inquired into. I
presume that almost every man can recollect a period
in his youth when his state of mind resembled this I
have attempted to describe, and I will not lengthen out
my recollections of it for fear of being tiresome.
Only one thing further I would remark about it; it
was a continuous state of mind, not a mere impression
upon the feelings by any special cause for sorrow. For
instance, it cannot be explained by such an incident as
this : when I was about eight years old, one night at
prayers I got to thinking of heaven and death, and
imagining what a dreadful thing it would be if my
father should die, and the thought set me to weeping
bitterly. When we rose from our knees my father took
me in his arms, and asked me tenderly what ailed me,
and receiving no answer but increased sobbing, took
up the idea that my stomach ached me, and feeling the
waist-band of my pants that it was tight, he unbuttoned
them impatiently, and jerked them off me, telling my
mother that it was a shame she should make the boy's
pants to bind him so. My shame for the cause of my
weeping made me seize upon the excuse, and I let it
pass as true, though my poor dear little mother had to
bear the blame. It was, I believe, the first lie I was
ever guilty of, and belonged to a very numerous class
of lies the sentimental.
These discursions from the thread of my story, though
they may be uninteresting to others, afford me great
pleasure. I think of myself not as myself, but as a lit
tle boy I used to know, and of whose feelings I had an
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 107
intimate knowledge ; and I have no doubt but that in
describing him correctly I am portraying human nature
which, after all, is the most useful kind of writing.
To tell of all our disasters in planting would fill a
volume. The hogs had a special spite at our garden ;
and one spotted ox, a famous fence-breaker, seemed to
be discontented everywhere but in our field, and every
morning would find him there like an enterprising
eunuch, the pilot and pioneer of a bevy of placid cows
and frisky yearlings. Small shot, peas, and salt bacon
shot into his sides one day, were forgotten the next,
or, rather, only served to stimulate him to get out of
the inclosure as soon as possible after he was discovered.
It would have taken a very high and strong fence to
have kept him out, and ours, made of pine poles, was
neither high nor strong. We would patch with infinite
labor where he broke in one day, and congratulate
ourselves upon future safety, but the next day would
have to patch again in a different place. And so it
went on, until what with the cattle, and blight, and
worms, and sore-shin, and rust, and rain, the crop of
cotton we gathered was a mere handful, and even our
harvest of nubbins was very small.
This was discouraging ; but I went at it the second
year with high hopes, to find the same fate ; and then I
concluded that planting was a slow business, and one
in which I could never succeed. Nothing succeeds
where it is done with "a lick and a promise," as the
old folk used to say. The planter or farmer who is
always patching his fences imperfectly, and his barns
and outhouses, wagons and utensils, is in a bad way ;
and an impatient man will always come to that, how
ever well fixed he may start out.
108 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
CHAPTER IX.
WHEN I concluded that manual labor was not my
mission, I was seventeen years old, and as my
school days were over, and my father had not yet ac
knowledged himself rich, it was absolutely necessary
that I should choose some occupation for a livelihood,
and, besides, I was ambitious to do a man's work in
the world. I have already told why I did not become
a doctor or a fiddler, and my reasons for not being- a
preacher as my mother would have rejoiced to see
me for good women are curious creatures about that
matter were even more substantial, though they were
then matters of feeling which I could not have ex
plained, as I can now. We were a pious set of chil
dren, both by nature (for a certain degree of piety is in
nate) and by education though I must say that of all
exhibitions of spurious sentiment, that presented in
modern Sunday-school books and modern literature, of
good little children, is the most disgusting. We were
not "good" in that mawkish sense, for we were healthy
and natural, with strong wills, and hearty appetites and
aifections. But we were both pious and religious. My
little sister Bel used to pray for curls with all the
hope and faith with which any grown person would
pray for deliverance from poverty and temptation.
But I never fancied the profession of preaching, and,
for reasons I will hereafter give, ana now very glad
that I did not.
A !i It AH AM PAGE, ESQ. 109
Nor did I incline to commerce, to which Stanley
Ruggles had betaken himself with an aptitude I did
not envy. The principle of profit which lies at the
foundation of Trade, places one in great danger and
I always thought that the man who prayed not to be
led into temptation, and yet voluntarily engaged in
merchandise, was very inconsistent. It sounds very
harsh, but I am inclined to think that the reason why
so great a proportion of merchants hold up their heads
as honest men, is that custom has deprived many trans
actions of their odium, which in a purer age would be
accounted dishonest. To have to buy for the least
tempts a man to beat down the price, and to find his
chances in the misfortunes and ignorance of others;
and to have to sell for the most, places even greater
temptations in his way. Nor can any tradesman fly
these temptations. They are inseparable from his
business, and though he may say "aroyntthec, Satan 1"
if he never, in the minutest detail, habitually deviate
from charity and perfect truth, he has occasion to be
thankful for a more than ordinary share of the grace of
God. It would be going too far for me to say that no
merchant can be honest, for I have known many so
honest as to break at the business. But I can say with
a fair degree of certainty, that he who has succeeded in
accumulating a fortune by his business, without resort
ing to unfairness which is made fair only by the cus
tom of trade, is a fortunate man.
The idea that goods are worth whatever they will
fetch is one of those untruths which seem to have been
made an inherent principle of trade. But I have never
yet been able to see how an hundred per cent, profit is
10
110 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
as fair as ten per cent. If I give two dollars for what
only cost the merchant one dollar, either I am giving
more than a fair value, or the article was purchased
and brought to the spot for less than its worth, and
therefore advantage is either taken of my necessities or
ignorance, or has been taken of the necessities or igno
rance of the first seller and the carrier. Is not this ex
emplified every day in the increased or diminished
prices of goods according to supply ?
Possibly I am in error, owing to my own stupidity
in all matters of trade a business for which I have
never had the hardness, coolness, patience, and shrewd
ness necessary for success. But such was and is my
opinion of commerce that I never would engage in it,
or suffer a son of mine, if I had one, to adopt it as his
business.
The Law was what presented itself to my mind
with all the allurements of fame as well as wealth ;
and my father agreed with me that it was the best
thing I could go at. That 1 should return to study
with renewed ardor had been the true reason of his
indulging my planting scheme.
Behold me then going to old Judge Jones as my
chosen preceptor, and taking home with me the first
volume of Blackstone, with all the consciousness of
one who feels that he has taken a most important step
in life. The impression upon the spirits of one who
has just engaged himself to be married differs but little
from that I felt upon this occasion, except in degree.
In the grave consciousness of the life-long importance
of the choice are mingled bright gleams of hope. To
compare small things with great: over the souiberness
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. \\l
of the importance of the event is fitfully thrown a rosy
light of hopefulness, which now shines steadily, and
anon scintillates and flashes like the lights over the
darkness of the northern sky. I knew, or rather said
to myself that I knew, that to accomplish fame I must
work very hard, and I repeated to myself the saying
that the law was a jealous mistress, who required all
the man's time and attention who would have her be
stow upon him her favors. But, like many who read
the Bible and pass over the precepts to seize eagerly
the promises, I absorbed myself in the contemplation of
my rivalry in celebrity to Coke, Bacon, and Holt, and
passed over, as mere matters of course and of easy ac
complishment, the labors they had used.
Nevertheless, I buckled to my book with eagerness,
and in a very few days found myself reading snatches
in all four volumes, with occasional digressions into
Pleading and Practice, and the law of Evidence. Had
it been possible, I would in a few months have had
most of Judge Jones's library in my room at home.
As that could not be, there were continually arising in
my mind "points," upon which to satisfy myself I had,
in busy loss of time, to make visits to his office, and to
the other law offices of the town, where I was always
welcomed, and often led into arguments in which I
showed more zeal than knowledge and discretion.
It was not long till I had established in my own
mind all the requisites of a good lawyer, and analyzed
to my own satisfaction the capacity and quality of
every lawyer who practiced at that bar. I had my
model of the deep, tricky lawyer, and of the shallow,
easy lawyer ; of the zealous advocate who knew little,
112 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
and of the quiet, office lawyer, who knew more than he
could apply well. Then, too, there was the case law
yer, old Colonel Jenks, who had started out with the
profound impression that the law was an occult science,
the reasons of which no man knew or could know, and
who had consequently found it a mystery to himself to
his old age. If he could find a case just like his own
case, it was well; if he could not, he was at sea with
out a compass. He had a peculiarity, which, how
ever, is more common at the bar than is generally
thought, when he got a case he put it hypothetically,
with other names and dates, to every lawyer in the
town, except the one he knew or thought likely was to
oppose him, for his opinion ; and would argue over each
point, and suggest difficulties to have them overcome,
just as though he were a teacher of profundities and
perversities, or a quiz of legal acumen. Generally his
brethren gratified his known habit, which amused
them, though it was sometimes a little annoying, but
an answer he once got from Judge Pinckard rather
puzzled him. The judge was a fat, rosy-faced old fel
low, who was both a profound lawyer and a persistent
humorist. One day Colonel Jenks came to his office,
and narrating to him a rigmarole of supposititious facts,
wound up by asking what he would advise a man to
do who had such a case. "Eh? colonel," said the
judge. "What would I advise? I would advise let
me sec I would advise him to go to a lawyer. Eh ?
colonel."
I analyzed all these men correctly, but my subse
quent experience showed me that I had far underrated
the power of Colonel Jenks with a jury, and cxagger-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 113
ated the trickiness of Squire Harkness, who never
played a trick for the love of the trick, and was often
generous when it would pay. A lawyer in the ab
stract and a lawyer in his practice are as different as
an acrobat going about the streets in shabby clothes
and with stupid face, and the same acrobat upon the
stage turning summersets and tying himself into
double bow-knots, so that you hardly know which end
is uppermost and how to take him.
It was clearly perceptible wherein my seniors were
defective, and I should therefore have set about making
myself perfect ; but I have remarked that the men
who can criticise others with the greatest precision are
those who are inclined to do little else than criticise.
It takes an idle man to be a good amateur cicerone to
a picture gallery, and discover to you the minute
faults as well as the special beauties of the pictures.
I fear that though I at all times kept myself busy
doing something in the line of my future profession, I
was, during all my studenthood, very idle. My hardest
work, as indeed I may say of the most labored works of
my life, was for naught in the end. A trivial lecture, or
literary speech, or poem, or some such so-called dis
traction, which neither profited me nor the world, has
often employed all the energies of my mind to a far
more intense degree than the law of Bailments, or the
Statutes of Descent and Distribution.
The gentlemen of the town, young and old, had a
Debating and Literary Society, which I joined of course,
and of which I was a member during the whole of its
spasmodic existence. It met once every fortnight,
10* H
114 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
sometimes at the court-house and sometimes at the
school-house ; and if the weather chanced to be good
there was generally a large attendance, of young ladies
especially, to hear the debates or the lectures and
essays. Like every other such association, it had its
whales and its minnows ; its rivals in volubility and its
rivals in wisdom, who were always by universal con
sent pitted againt each other. If Mr. Davis was ap
pointed to lead in the affirmative, Mr. Smith was cer
tain to be the leader of the negative, and wherever
little Dossey (he was known as "The Count") was
placed, long, gangling Joe Jenks, whose jaws seemed
always hungry for talk, was certain to be found as his
adversary.
Once, when I was about eighteen, I had the honor
to be chosen as essayist, and I chose "Home" as my
subject. For two weeks I gave it all my thought, and
the applause I received from my mother and sisters,
when I had fully completed it, was very flattering.
My mother suggested that if I could procure a small
pocket music-box which played "Sweet Home," and
would set it going at the close of the performance, it
would have an electrical effect. And indeed I think it
would have added a dramatic interest to the evening.
It was my coup d'essai, and I had the most extrav
agant hopes of success. Like most young aspirants, I
thought that I would elevate the minds of my hearers
by taking a high moral and philosophical view of my
subject, and so I commenced with the Garden of Eden,
the home of Eve; then pictured man in his fallen
state, with his home left him as his only refuge from
the freezing blasts and pitiless peltings of misfortune,
A B HA If AM PAGE, ESQ. 115
and so forth by which I expected to draw tears from
every eye.
It is certain that every subject, moral and physical,
is directly connected with the creation and the fall of
man, and I am not sure but that it is the best point of
departure in treating any subject; but it is apt to grow
tiresome as it becomes hackneyed ; and that it is hack
neyed, the first efforts of most men of inquiring minds
will prove. At any rate, though I have often since
been tempted to date from those events I have re
frained, for my success on this occasion was far more
heavy than it would have been had I chosen a less
lofty pinnacle from which to try my unaccustomed
wings. The flying was nothing, but the alighting was
the trouble ; and though there was a buzz of half-
approbation when I had finished, it sounded to my
ears very like a pitying murmur of "poor fellow!"
and I almost had to feel if some of my limbs were not
broken. The Rev. Mr. Snow was president for the
evening, and when I suggested that I had made a fail
ure with the hope that he would give me a word of
consolation he only said, "No, not a failure !" putting
a pitying emphasis on the word " failure" which cut
me to the quick. I cannot by words describe his tone ;
but I never loved him afterward, for he was cruel.
But it must not be supposed that my father aban
doned nfe to my law studies without a thought of my
deficiencies and progress. It was his opinion, and he
was very right in it, that I was hardly proficient enough
in mathematics to conduct a case in which a compli
cated patent was in controversy, or one in which it was
necessary to demonstrate the area of a piece of land by
116 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
a reference to field-notes; and he therefore arranged
with Mr. Garden, who then taught school iu the town,
to supervise my mathematical studies ; for which pur
pose I had to present myself at the school-house for a
two-hours' study and recitation three times a week. I
do not remember much of the mathematics, but I recall
very clearly that I, being a sort of lay school-boy of
superior prerogatives, had a very jolly time of it with
the regular scholars, all of whom I knew well, and
several of whom were about my own age. During
watermelon time I kept my clique for there are
cliques everywhere, and in every congregation of men
and other animals well supplied with fine melons from
my father's patch the dear old gentleman himself often
picking me out the best. One day, when we went out
for recess, we discovered a large black sow in the shed
at the end of the school-room, making sad havoc with
my melons, which were deposited there. We instantly
attacked, and pursued her for vengeance, out into the
street. I being the most outraged was foremost and
most forward, when my career was arrested by the
sharp voices of the Misses Starbaugh exclaiming to
gether, "You, Abraham Page!" and Miss Tabitha con
tinued : "We little expected to see the son of Dr. Page
guilty of cruelty to an animal in the public street."
Now, I was justly angry with the hog, but was even
more justly afraid of the Misses Starbaugh. They were
two old maids who lived in a frame house at the corner,
and were noted for their precise good manners, and their
rigid ideas of propriety. Both, clad in sober gray of
demure cut, and with their heads surmounted with
maidenly caps of snowy whiteness, stood with their
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. H7
half-mittenecl hands resting on the fence, looking at me
with severe eyes, and I felt as guilty as though I had
been indeed caught at some crime.
I mention this incident not because it is very inter
esting, or has any further connection with my story,
but because it is actually the only event of my school
life at Mr. Garden's which even approached the char
acter of an adventure. In retracing the road I have
traveled, I find many a quiet glade carpeted with grass
and flowers, and bright with sunshine, in which scarcely
a solitary shrub arrests the view. As I have said be
fore, my life has not been one of astounding adventures,
and in writing it my ambition is not to excite admira
tion or astonishment, but to depict it so faithfully that
other ordinary individuals may avoid my errors, and
may see that their sorrows are not without parallel.
But my four years of novitiate were not passed wholly
in the study of law and mathematics, or the cultivation
of a style of writing and speaking. I did many a day's
work in garden and field, and had many a job of copy
ing from the clerks of the courts, and from the lawyers,
pressed for time, for which I got a pay even more lib
eral than usual for such services. Then, too, there
were numerous Spanish grants of land necessary in
evidence, for translating which I was paid liberally, as
I had thereabouts a monopoly of understanding that
language. By these means and every dollar was a
dollar I managed to be of little expense to my father
for my board, and to keep myself clothed and shod as
.became a young man engaged in one of the liberal pro
fessions. I would have felt it a shame for me to be a
burden upon my father, when 1 should be an assist-
118 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
ancc; and, although I never had an inclination to be
foppish, I would have been very loth to dress below my
condition, which was that of a gentleman who might
reasonably aspire to sit on the Supreme Bench, hold a
listening Senate in admiration, or, as President, receive
foreign Ambassadors.
Another strong reason for my dressing well was that
my two sisters were now young ladies, and I had to
be their escort to the parties and pastimes to which
they were invited. They were charming girls, even to
me, their brother. While they took their black eyes,
and graceful forms, their elegant tastes, and pleasant
sprightliness of wit, from our mother, they inherited the
good health and strong common sense of our father.
Although it is not my intention to dilate in this history
of my own life upon their dispositions and lives, or
upon those of my brothers, except in so far as they im
mediately affected my own, I must say here that in a
sad time they made life desirable to me, and at all times
made nature beautiful to me while they lived, as by
their deaths they deprived death of most of its terrors to
me, and added new beauty to the heaven of my desires,
where I shall see them little changed from what they
were on earth, and shall be freed from any fear that
they shall part again from their old brother.
"Thus saith the Lord;" says Jeremiah, "A voice
was heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping ;
Rachel weeping for her children refused to be com
forted for her children, because they were not. Thus
saith the Lord, refrain thy voice from weeping, and
thine eyes from tears : for thy work shall be rewarded,
saith the Lord; and they shall come again from the
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. HO
land of the enemy. And there is hope in thine end,
saith the Lord, that thy children shall come again to
their own border."
This is a very precious promise to us all ; to brothers
and sisters, husbands and wives, and friends, as well
as to parents; for it was not merely a prophecy of the
restoration of the Jews to theirown land, since Matthew
quotes it as applicable to the parents bereaved by
Herod.
My sisters were lovely girls in every respect, and
their presence was eagerly sought for all the evening
parties and parties of pleasure in our town and neigh
borhood ; just as their girl companions sent for them as
the most gentle and sympathizing of friends in sickness
and sorrow. As they were absolutely destitute of as
sumption in their manners and thoughts, their friends
were of all degrees ; and the rich ones were taught les
sons of dignity, while the poor learned content and in
dustry, and all saw charity exemplified by them in
thought, word, and deed.
To go to evening parties was not one of my favorite
pastimes, and gave me but little pleasure even at this
age, when such pleasures are so becoming to a young
man. My vanity and love of approbation made me
very sensitive, and I was afflicted with a painful shame-
facedness which made me feel awkward in my beha
vior, and frequently even savage in my mirth. Often
have I for many minutes stood nervously, with cold
hands and trembling limbs, outside of the door, waiting
for others to come along with whom I might enter,
rather than risk the embarrassment of entering alone
among the company. To this day, old as I am, I ac-
120 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
knowledge a disagreeable sensation even in walking
alone up the aisle of a church, and to bid the good even
ing to a party of friends without desperately shaking
hands all around is beyond my ability. But to ac
company my sisters was a duty, and it was often re
warded by unexpected pleasures, and what I feared
would be dull or noisy proved agreeable and quiet, and
a cosy chat in some corner with a fair companion be
fore whom I was at no restraint or loss for the disposal
of my unwieldy arms and protrusive knees, allowed
me to go home reconciled to the high behest of society
in the matter of the assemblies of young folk for pleasure.
In those days hospitality seemed to be a passion ;
and though it was, in some respects, a mistaken hos
pitality, and often one which contributed little to good
habits, it was always hearty and sincere. Among the
men, the first ceremony upon a visit or an introduction,
was to go to the sideboard, or the grocery, for a drink;
and at parties, for all to dance reels and cotilions until
daybreak, was the rule. He was the best dancer who
could jump the highest, and cross his feet the oftenest
while in the air, and she excelled who could cut the
most genteel die-away pigeon-wing and a side-ways
pigeon-wing cut with a languishing air by a pretty girl,
without hoops, is as pleasant a little piece of coquetry
as I ever saw. It was by no means genteel, however,
to be at all rude ; and out of the nursery, the games of
forfeits, and other plays in which there was promiscuous
kissing, were discountenanced. In fact, it was rather
a dangerous business to be too loving where one had
no right to be so, and a stolen kiss was sometimes re
sented, as it should be in every well-regulated society,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 121
by a challenge or a pistol-ball the next day. Female
honor was regarded as the most sacred of all things,
and manly honor was never so noble as when protect
ing or avenging it.
Everybody gave parties; and the enjoyment at one
depended, for me, greatly upon who gave it, as well
as upon who I met there. Some hosts of very small
means and contracted accommodations, had the tact to
place company at their perfect ease, and make them
abandon themselves to the pleasures of the evening,
while, with others, who had large houses, and every
thing in plenty at their command, the time would lan
guish until all were glad to get away at an early hour.
These last were generally very religious people, who
shunned dancing, and tried to give a religious cast to
mirth. There may be, and is, such a thing as pious
mirth, where the soul is filled with thankfulness ; but
mirth and religiousness are incongruous. I have actu
ally known the " exercises" of the evening to be closed
with prayer. Oh, there has been a heap of solemn,
earnest humbug in this world however it may be
now.
Twice in every year, from the time Miss Jane Carter
was sixteen until it seemed almost useless, her father,
the old 'Squire, gave a party. He was actuated to it
by the best motives : first, it was the fashion ; secondly,
he was intensely hospitable; and, thirdly, old Mrs.
Carter and Miss Jane thought it hard, and he thought
it wrong, that some return should not be made for the
many parties to which Miss Jane was invited if the
two ladies had other reasons based on hope, they kept
them to themselves. But the old Squire was as poor
11
122 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
as a respectable man well could be. He was a justice
of the peace, and as lazy and inefficient in his own
matters as country justices of the peace usually were.
In those days, when a respectable man was very poor,
very inefficient, and very good natured, his natural
berth seemed to be that of justice of the peace. There
was responsibility enough in the office for respectability,
but not enough money to induce men of active parts to
take it, and it was too important to be given to dis
honest or mean men. I used to attend Squire Carter's
court as a looker-on in the occasional criminal examina
tions which came before him, as well as at the regular
civil terms he held, and his careful helplessness, as he
sat with spectacles upon his nose, now taking a note of
evidence, now referring to a statute which was hard to
find, and now, with many a hem and haw, asking a
witness some question of pitiable irrelevancy, used to
enrage me ; while the weak but important tone with
which he dawdled over foreign "ifs" and "buts" before
he rendered his decision, and the nervous, pleading
smile with which he glanced around to see how his
decision was taken, completely extinguished any dis
position I might feel for laughter. But the old Squire
was a good man, who loved his fellow-men, and his
dogs, and his old horse, Blaze ; had an intense respect
for his wife, and fairly worshiped his daughter.
To see him perform a marriage ceremony was worth
the while of any student of character. Just before the
hour arrived, he could be seen with a copy of the
statutes under his arm, walking with dignified bi'isk-
ness up to the front door of the house, his shirt collar
showing a redundancy of snowy well-starched linen,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 123
his old black coat and pants well brushed, and his
shoes well blacked with soot, and tied with buckskin
strings. After gravely saluting the company on the
porch or gallery, and depositing his book and hat, he
would manage in whispers, and with much pointing, to
learn from his host the exact door at which the couple
would enter, and where they would stand, and he
should stand, and how many bridesmaids there were,
and with the information he would retire Avithin him
self without a word for any one, and only acknowledg
ing, with a most courtly bow, the salutations of the
comers ; a nervous twitch of the upper lip, and a rest
lessness of his hands, increasing as the time drew
nearer, alone showing that his mind was on sublunary
affairs. When, in response to the whispered summons
of the host, he entered the room, book in hand, happy
if he stumbled over no chair, or tread upon no intrusive
dog, he took his stand as though the elements could not
make him move, and the awfulness and tenderness of
the occasion strove for mastery in the expression of his
good-natured countenance. As a magistrate, he was
important; as a father, he was gentle and paternal;
and as a husband who knew what was what, he seemed
to be a little jolly, and very respectful. He appeared
to wish it particularly understood that it was a State,
and not a religious or personal affair with him, and he
always ended by saying: "In the name of God, and
by the authority of the State of , I declare you
man and wife." And, when the cast of his office was
over, he blushed like any school-boy if the bride offered
to kiss him, and retired to a corner, looking on till the
feast was ready, when he tucked in a fair supply of
124 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
good things, and made his way home, fingering his fee
of a silver dollar, or whatever more the generosity and
means of the bridegroom may have bestowed ; and
Mrs. Carter had, no doubt, a faithful account of all that
was said and done if, indeed, Mrs. Carter and Miss
Jane had not been there, and, all be-shawled and be-
tucked up, had not accompanied him home.
Squire Carter's parties were as delightful to his
guests as the preparations for them were harassing
to his wife and daughter. He, good man, felt all the
delight of preparation, was great at makeshifts, and
was insensible to inconveniences for himself. He
eould never understand what in the plague (that was
his nearest approach to blasphemy) Mrs. Carter and
Jane made such a fuss about. "The room is clean
enough to dance in without all that scrubbing, and if
the table is not long enough there are plenty of plank
in the back yard. And chairs ! What do you want
with more chairs? The people are coming here to
dance, not to sit down and twirl their thumbs; a good
long plunk and three chairs will make a bench the
whole length of the room, and if it is too rough for
the ladies' dresses, cover it with a couple of sheets!"
When he saw the piles of odd cups and saucers, plates,
knives and forks, and tumblers, Mrs. Carter had bor
rowed from all the neighbors around, he would tell her
that her crockery lasted very well, and he thought
from the looks of the table every day she must have it
put away very carefully for the Squire delighted in a
mild joke.
If, when night caine, his makeshift sconces against
the wall broke down, he seemed unconscious of the
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 125
mortification of his poor wearied wife, and was ready
to make sticks of empty bottles for flaring, guttering
tallow candles people did not have to see their legs
to dance, he would say jocularly. If a sponge-cake
cut heavy, or the white sugar gave out, or the syllabub
tasted salty, or the coffee-pot leaked over a lady's
dress, or the brindled dog got to howling outside of
the window, or the lemonade was diluted particularly
weak to make it last, or the patch he had put in the
floor in front of the hearth got displaced, he appeared
entirely unaware of the agony of Mrs. Carter, and the
misery of Miss Jane ; saw neither their paleness nor
flushes, their bitten lips nor their sickened smiles, as
they tried to pass over the disaster; and in all the ap
parent stupid innocence of his head and heart would
press a little more of the cake or syllabub or lemonade
upon his guests; while the howling of Beauty he
said was evidence that she was interested in the fun.
Oh, yes ! The Squire would have a party every
night if he could, and his dear Jane should dance and
enjoy herself, with the best of them, to her heart's con
tent, until after awhile she got a husband, and then
she would give parties at her house.
Bah ! The old gentleman noted every incident as
keenly as did his wife ; his misery far exceeded hers ;
and though his good nature was too kindly to show
it, his heart sank within him when he helplessly rumi
nated over the cost in money, trouble, and mortifica
tion, which a little firmness and exercise of common
sense in the veto power might have prevented. But
his guests were gratified that was the great thing
after all. They knew what they were to expect before
11*
126 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
they came. He entreated them to use no ceremony,
but make themselves at home, and they did so. It
was his trouble, and that of his wife and daughter,
but it was their party, and they could not help liking
their hosts, if they did pity the effort which had been
made to do things up in fine style. The Squire's par
ties were vastly more popular than those of Judge
Yance, where the cakes and creams, and syllabubs and
ices were expensive and perfect, and a devout blessing
dismissed the guests but they cost a great deal
more.
There is nothing in the world more pitiable than the
efforts of good people to keep up appearances, and
nothing more extravagant than a poor man's emula
tion of the rich.
Perhaps it is because at this period of my life I was
put to great perplexities and contrivances to keep up
my own appearance and ruffle it with the best, that
these ideas have so impressed themselves upon my
mind. One pair of boots I got from Haick, the shoe
maker, gave me almost as much uneasiness as if they
had been the boots of torture, and Haick had been the
executioner, mallet and wedges in hand. For three
months did their price rest upon my spirits as though
each of the eight dollars had weighed a ton, and I had
to pay for them at last by the dollar at a time, on ac
count, as I could get and spare it. The party for which
I got those boots cost me a great deal.
What with parties and barbacues, and the camp-
meeting, which was still kept up as when Mr. Thomas
immortalized himself, and the Debating Club, and oc
casional political assemblages, and the courts, which I
I
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 12 T
diligently attended and puzzled over, for my public
amusements, and law, natural philosophy, mathemat
ics, copying court papers, collecting notes and ac
counts by hand as it was called to distinguish it
from their collection by the machinery of the law an
occasional dip into the science of engineering, gratify
ing an insatiable curiosity by studying Lord Bacon,
and Locke, and an old Latin book in my father's
library entitled Johannes de Vacuo, a few attempts at
poetry, and two or three desperate attacks of love, for
my labors, my time sped on apace, and I found myself
twenty-one, was examined, and received my license to
practice law.
CHAPTER X.
IT is strange in how little space the labors, pleasures,
and troubles of four years of life may be narrated.
The lives of men so nearly resemble each other in their
main features, that the fact of any incident being stated
it is rarely considered necessary to amplify the particu
lars ; and yet it is in the variation of those particulars
that a man's immortal soul is affected for good or ill ;
and, in truth, it is only this effect upon the soul that
makes one's life of more importance than that of a
coral insect, the catching by which of a larger or
smaller animalcule than usual is a momentous event
in life.
We say that John was born, had a vigorous consti
tution, received a good education, became a lawyer,
128 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
fell in love with four different girls, the last of whom
married him, and bore him five children; that he be
came a Judge of the Proba x te Court, and held that
office till he died, at the age of forty-five ; and we have
an outline of John's life, which anyone can fill up with
more or less correctness by the exercise of a fancy ed
ucated by experience and observation. But how little
does one know of the real internal life of John, which
may have been blasted by a struggle for office, or made
vigorous and beautified by a happy marriage ! In the
last paragraph of the preceding chapter I have given
the events and occupations of my life for four years,
and from them it may be gathered that I was a brisk
young fellow, with a restless mind, and considerable
capacity for enjo}'ment ; but that is all. You cannot
tell if I was an amiable companion, how far my hon
esty could be trusted, or whether I had my passions
and appetites sufficiently under control to be worthy of
being called virtuous; for I take it that the greater part
of man's moral nature is included in these three points.
It would ill become me to praise myself, though,
for what existed so long ago, even if I could honestly
do so ; and I could not, for shame, admit that I was
obnoxious to censure in these particulars. No man
who knows himself, and has any self-respect, can make
a perfectly candid confession of his thoughts, desires,
and actions. There must alwa}^s be some reserve, and
it is well if he try to conceal nothing even from his
God. These candid confessions of sins or peccadilloes
made by some people, are a sentimental humbug, and
amount in effect only to acknowledging that they are
men and women. Even though you were to confess
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 129
that appetite had more to do with your love for Miss
Betty than calm reason, no opinion could be formed to
your prejudice or in your favor ; for, besides that you
would, perhaps, at the time have been horror-struck at
such a suggestion, it may be that she was as tempting
a bit of Eve's flesh, and as insipid a little soul as you
ever saw, and it was the most natural of all things that
you should have longed for her, and not really have
loved her. And Tom, who afterward married her with
doubtless the same kind of love you had, would, per
haps, have cut any one's throat who had presumed to
lay the exact quality of his love before him. Possibly
the poor fellow died before he found it out himself.
Do you not perceive, then, that these confessions
are nonsense ? or, worse than that, are confessing a
little in order to hide a great deal ? God alone knows
the heart, and, consequently, can alone know wherein
a man has sinned, can alone absolve him from his sin,
and can alone help him to sin no more ; and I think
that the less a man has to say to his fellow-man in the
way of confession of sins, the better for both parties.
I'll warrant, too, from my own experience, as well as
observation, that in nearly all such confessions more
stress is laid upon the efforts of the soul to resist and
overcome the sin, than upon the sin itself so that the
penitent has vastly the appearance of an angel who
has been surprised or conquered by a whole host of
irresistible devils.
The fact is, that in these four years of my life, little,
almost unnoticed, incidents occurred which shaped my
destiny, and it would be difficult to place them before
a reader either in proper order, or in such a manner as
i
130 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
to make them entertaining. The little pebble which
first deflects the current of a river at its source is but
an insignificant object, though it has rendered a mighty
stream tortuous throughout its length. I can only pre
sent my life as it is, with all its sinuosities and eddies,
without pretending to discover the moving causes for
either.
If the Rev. Theobald Snow and his wife were alive,
and had the writing of my history, I doubt not but that
I should be dissected up to seventeenthly, with most
orthodox energy and acumen. Although the parson
and I preserved a sort of armed truce, Mrs. Snow was
not quite so placable.
She had come of such a long line of Puritanic
preachers, that it was almost a pity there were ever
any girls born to the family ; at least, I suspect that
the Rev. Theobald sometimes thought so. As she
could not be a preacher herself, she came as near it as
she could, and took it as her mission to regulate a
preacher, which she did, zealously. He was an amia
ble, well-meaning man, and, I doubt not, was a sincere
Christian, but his intellect was rather ordinary and
slow in its motions, and the energetic limb of the hier
archy he had made part of himself was continually run
ning away with him, or getting him into all sorts of
disagreeable muddles. To change the figure, his yoke
fellow was too lively for him, and was always running
ahead and turning him from the smooth road he wished
to travel ; and not content with carrying him forward,
she tried to press and drag the whole team ancj load,
and, of course, he got the blame, which was unjust.
It is a mere conventional joke to say that a man is
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 131
really accountable for what his wife does jjespccially if
she be a Mrs. Snow. It was but a small matter with
her to lecture an elder, or an old deacon, and as for his
wife and family, she could spiritually spank them with,
an earnestness and authority too astonishing to be re
sisted while the operation was going on. She de
manded implicit submission. The spirit of command
had been concentrated in her by nature and education.
The ceremony of ordination was the first lesson her
lisping tongue could pronounce by rote, and the com
munion cups were her childish play-things. Such fa
miliarity with church arrangements, and church phrase
ology, and church pains and penalties, and chui'ch
gossip, and church enterprises, was never, in our part
of the country, dreamed of in a woman before ; and the
pertness with which her answers came to any ques
tioning of church dogmas could only have been in
herited from high officers in the church militant.
It was not to be expected that such a Deinologian in
petticoats should be either a neat or careful house
keeper ; though her zeal in bearing little Snowbirds to
be provided for was quite as wonderful to every one as
it was astounding to the poor parson, whose salary could
ill afford the increased outlay. But, bless you, thought
Mrs. Snow, it costs nothing for doctor or nurses, and
even the sparrows are provided for. The fact was,
Mrs. Snow, as the daughter of a preacher so zealous
that he swapped, or was called from pulpit to pulpit,
from Maine to Georgia, had been accustomed, like a
good traveler, to live from hand to mouth all her life;
and though she could relish the creams, and cram in
the cakes and the turkey and other good things with
132 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
an infinite gusto, it had always been at the tables and
expense of others, who would kill their last hen, and
break up its nest, if the eggs were not too far gone, to
provide delicacies for the palates of a preacher and his
family who canie upon a visit, or as a visitation. She
therefore had no idea of going to the expense of such
niceties herself, and if her husband or children wished
them, all they had to do was to go somewhere and
spend the evening, or send word they were coming to
dinner. She could do so, and she did. Consequently,
the poor parson was but a sorry host, and with the
bedclothes topsy-turvy till night, and the chairs filled
with clothes and bandboxes, and the floor littered with
soiled clothes and old shoes, and his shaving-brush and
razors not to be found, and the wash-basin straying off
into the back yard, and the towels all wet or soiled,
and his books and papers piled pell-mell with baby
linen and old petticoats in the corners, the misguided
man was often as puzzled to know which end was up
permost, as were his little brats when they were jerked
up to be spanked, either by hand or with their mamma's
slipper, which, as she went slip-shod, came off in a
twinkling.
Mrs. Snow was a nervous woman. I do not mean
that she was puny or had weak nerves ; on the con
trary, her nerves were very strong, and she had an
extra number of them, to judge by her motions. She
was lean, but not at all emaciated, and in her spanking
showed plenty of bone and muscle. Her nose was long
and sharp indeed, it was notably prominent, and often
was red and swollen at the tip and her eyes were
gray and keen. Behold her, with her bonnet on awry,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 133
and her mantle streaming behind, exposing, when a
sudden gust would take it, two or three hooks of the
back of her dress unfastened sailing out on one of her
corrective expeditions. Holding her antepenultimate
hope by the hand, and vigorously calling in or hieing
away a couple of brace of the others, or sometimes
stopping to blow a little in the friendly shade of a tree,
and perform the operation of tying the little one's shoes,
and wiping all their noses, she makes her way say,
to our house. Scarcely pausing to make the compli
ments of the day, after she has had a snack provided
for her "poor fatigued children," she opens with a vim
upon my mother :
"Mrs. Page, don't you think we are very slack in
the Lord's work ? We must have a sewing society.
Here are you and your two daughters, Mrs. Jones and
her two, Mrs. Carter and Jane, and sixteen other ladies
of Mr. Snow's congregation, who are actually doing
nothing for the church abroad. We are told to go into
all lands and preach the gospel ; and how shall preach
ing be done without a preacher? and how shall they
preach unless they be sent ? and how can they preach
with any hope of being attended to by a set of naked
heathen ? We are told to clothe the naked ; but here
we are spending all our time and money in clothing
ourselves with finery "
"But, Mrs. Snow "
"Don't interrupt me, Mrs. Page, if you please, until
I tell you what I came for. We must have a sewing
society as an adjunct to our branch of the Tract, and
Foreign Missions. The Rev. Mr. Dill, who used to live
here, 1 believe, writes that there are hundreds at his
12
134 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
mission who would attend his ministrations if they had
decent clothing to appear in. The North is sending
forth her strength, and it is a shame that we, in this
favored part of the vineyard, should fold our hands in
spiritual sleep."
"But, Mrs. Snow," said my mother, "I am sure we
are all willing to assist in any good work. Only a day
or two ago, Mrs. Vance and I were planning an as
sociation for the relief of the destitute families in the
county, and we agreed that the best mode of action
was to procure sewing for the women and girls. There
is a great deal of plantation clothing to be made up,
and if we could get it for them to do, it would assist
them to make a living; besides "
"Of course, Mrs. Page," retorts Mrs. Snow, with a
smile of pitying dissent, " we cannot expect Mrs.
Yance to take part in our work, as she belongs to a
different denomination."
"Why, madam," interrupts my mother, "we were
not thinking of denominations at all. It was "
"It was taking you from your duty to your own
church," says Mrs. Snow, emphatically. "The poor
people about here have the gospel preached unto them
when they choose to come and hear Mr. Snow, which
they don't often do; and it will be their own fault if
they remain in heathen darkness. But we owe a duty
to the propagation of gospel light in lands in which
there is no light, and we can perform it no better than
by making use of our moments of leisure to meet to
gether and sew for them."
"The Doctor," hazards my mother, "says that such
meetings arc rather for the purpose of comparing un
charitable ideas, than "
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 135
"Allow me to say, madam," interrupted Mrs. Snow,
with rigid dignity, "with all due respect to the Doctor,
that he is not a good judge of the case. At any rate,
the plan has been settled, and Mr. Snow will announce
from the pulpit, next Sunday, a call for a meeting for
organization at my house on Thursday. Mrs. Mcln-
tyre will be vice-president, and Mrs Holywell, secre
tary. The ladies will have to choose their president,
and should choose a lady of energy, who has her heart
in the work. Of course, in so important a matter, I
did not like to put any one's name down for the posi
tion. Mrs. Mclntyre, and Lucy and Sarah, and even
Mary, volatile as she is "
"Mary is not volatile, Mrs. Snow," spoke up my
mother ; " she is only light-hearted and spirited "
"Well, well; it makes no difference. I ought to
have been more cautious in speaking of one of your
favorites. Volatile or light-hearted, she was at first
inclined to laugh at Mr. Dill's letter; but when she
heard the scheme of the society, even she favored it,
and said she would do her best for it."
And so, after announcing her high purpose, and over
bearing all opposition, Mrs. Snow gathers her children
together with much calling and bustle, washes from
Master James's countenance a mustache and divers
other marks placed upon it with a burnt cork by one of
my mischievous little brothers, and marches off to some
other neighbor's, where she enacts a like laying down
of the law ; and persuading herself that Mrs. Page and
her daughters are converts to her scheme, uses their
names to give it additional weight.
"Ma," says my sister Bel, starting up, "isn't it a
136 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
shame that your plan for doing so much good right
here at home should be so thwarted ? I don't blame
Mary for laughing at Mr. Dill's letter I had to laugh
myself; and then to call her volatile, and think she
reasoned her into submission for that was her idea.
She doesn't know Mary at all. With all her spright-
liness, Mary has more common-sense and sense of pro
priety than Mrs. Snow can even appreciate."
" Don't say that, my daughter," interposed my mother.
" Mrs. Snow is a very good woman, and has very good
sense only she is sometimes too rigid and too ultra in
her ideas. If the ladies wish to form this society, we
must do what we can."
" I don't believe the ladies do wish the society, Ma,"
said Bel ; " and Mrs. Snow may have good sense, but
she is not nice, and she doesn't see what is judicious
and what is extravagant in any church scheme. Mary
is nice, and she sees also what is ridiculous in a very
strong light, and is too young not to show what she
thinks and feels. Lucy and Sarah, I know, don't
approve this scheme any more than Mary does, but
they are older, and, like their mother, seem to have a
sort of superstitious respect for preachers and their
wives. If Mary does go into this affair it will be be
cause she anticipates fun at the meetings."
" Yes, miss," says my mother, " and you and she will
go off to yourselves to giggle, and turn everything Mrs.
Snow and the other ladies say or do into ridicule to
each other, and will not do a stitch of work."
And Miss Bel went off smiling, and her mother
turned to work on a pair of Master Eldred's pants
which he had made very practicable in climbing.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 137
The meeting was held, as per order, and Mrs. Snow
announced, in effect, that it was projected to make up
baby caps and slips, fancy aprons and pincushions, or
namented shirts and underclothing 1 for gentlemen, cigar
cases, tobacco bags, lamp mats, and all sorts of footy
pretty things, and when enough were made, either to
send them on to the parent society at Philadelphia, or
to hold a fair in Yatton and dispose of them at pre
posterous prices. And Miss Mary and Miss Bel found
plenty of amusement in the disappointment of the rev
erend lady when old Mrs. Diggory was chosen Presi
dent instead of herself, and the sudden way in which
she found that objections might be raised to parts of
the plan. It was a fund of amusement for them for a
long time afterward, and " Oh, Mrs. Diggory, I greatly
fear you overrate our means !" was almost a cant phrase
with them whenever they met and happened to differ
about the practicability of anything.
CHAPTER XL
THE society was formed, and I bless it to this day,
because it was the means of my first realizing, as
though a veil had been drawn from my eyes, the gentle
and lovable nature of Mary Mclntyre. True, I had
known her well before, as the dear friend of my sisters,
she was about a year younger than Bel, and had
perceived she was a pretty and pleasant girl ; but I,
in my manliness, had been passing her over as a sort
12*
138 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
of bread-and-butter Miss, who would make some man a
good wife at a future, distant day, and had been look
ing far away for some princess worthy of my fealty.
Have you not noticed how you may be the com
panion for years of some man, woman, or child, and
yet find all of a sudden that you never appreciated the
sprightliness, purity, or perfections you now see in
every action? So it was with me ; as though my pleas
ant little Miss had been suddenly taken up into the
clouds, transformed, and, before I had remarked her
absence, placed before my sight a beautiful creature
made to love and to be worshiped. But a moment
before I could not have told whether her eyes were
blue or gray now I saw they were a deep-melting
blue, sparkling with mirthfulness, or, in her thoughtful
moods, beaming with the diamond light of dawn. Only
yesterday I could not have decided whether her hair
was sandy or reddish now I discovered that its abund
ant tresses were a deep glossy brown. I knew that
she had a small and beautifully-shaped hand, and had
heard my sisters say that her feet were also models of
beauty; but now I could see that she was perfection
in all of her slender and flexible proportions. And
when this lovely vision, almost penitent of her beauty,
stood modestly before me, beaming with the halo of
her own goodness and purity, I was for the moment
entranced, and then cast my life and soul at her feet,
to be taken up and cherished, or, as in my humility I
thought most likely, to be spurned. After this I would
have cheerfully undergone a life of toil and misery to
gain her love, and often wished the old times of ro
mance were here again, so that I could by chivalrous
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 139
emprise, or some doughty deed, have beguiled her of
her love, or taken it by storm. Willingly would I have
died in the attempt, so that she would at least have
loved my memory and dropped a pitying tear upon my
grave.
My love came upon me like enchantment, and I
walked hereafter like one in a dream. The spell was
but a foretaste of heaven's reality, and from the dream
I never yet have waked.
CHAPTER XII.
HAD now commenced the practice of my profes
sion, and was beginning to learn not to despise
any antagonist. Col. Jenks had taught me to be wary.
Mr. Harkness had shown me that there were deeps
within the depths of the law which I must approfound
(that word is not English, but it ought to be), and that
the law was in reality a science; and Judge Carswell,
who presided in court with placid dignity until a time
for him to speak arrived, when his square jaws moved,
and his nervous lips seemed to bite off his words as
though it were Fate which spake, taught me the pro
priety of being respectful. His decisions were as irre
versible as the procession of the equinoxes, and were
as quick as lightning. Woe to the wight who gave
cause for a fine or an imprisonment for contempt no
excuses could save him. I venture to say that during
the fourteen years he was upon the bench, not one re-
140
mission of a fine, unless one upon some juryman who
had been detained by high water, was ever recorded ;
and as for fine or imprisonment for a contempt, I sel
dom saw one hardy enough to seek to evade it. He
was a rare judge ; one of a class which was then com
mon in our country when the right of choice was not
exercised by so many, and the number to choose from
was not so great as it is fast becoming. He was abso
lutely and relatively impartial, and as for fear, it was
well known that he rather enjoyed a fight.
His knowledge of the practice of law was very great,
and the Superior Court rarely reversed one of his de
cisions. It was a great advantage to me, and to the
other young members of the bar, that our Gamaliel was
one who had Rhadamanthus for a model. Careless
ness was never overlooked, and the statute of Jeofails
was most rigidly interpreted. Justice never went slip
shod in his court as she did before Squire Carter, but
tread firmty in boots with long spurs.
One of the best qualities of a judge is to preserve
order. I do not mean quiet and silence in the court
room, for that is the business of the Sheriff and his offi
cers but order in the proceedings ; and only a judge
who thoroughly understands practice as well as law,
can do that. It was in this, as well as in his inflexi
bility, that Judge Cars well excelled. When a case
went to one of his juries it had its beginning, its mid
dle, and its end, all clearly defined before them, and
they were never in confusion except with that con
fusion which naturally exists in the heads of about
eleven out of every twelve of an ordinary jury. If the
decisions of civil cases tried by jury were not always
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 141
right, it was certainly the fault of the system, under
Judge Carswell's rule. He had a contemptuous fear
of the system, as has every good lawyer who knows he
has the right side of a case to be decided. Not one
client in ten can make a plain and correct statement of
. his own case, and not one in twenty can come to a
correct judgment of it with any certainty. How then
is it possible that they can understand more clearly and
judge more infallibly the cases of others ?
The truth is that the trial by jmy has been carried
to an excess both in this country and in England.
Magna Charta was such a glorious triumph that it has
sentimentalized two nations, and ruined vast numbers
in every generation of men for six centuries. Because
it gives a criminal a better chance for escape for juries
almost never err to the side of severity, even in that best
of all courts, in its proper place, the Court of Judge
Lynch ; and because it is more agreeable to divide the
responsibility of punishing between twelve men rather
than impose it upon one, therefore twelve men can
decide more ex aequo et bono, and with less burden of
responsibility, upon the most abstruse and confused
questions of law and fact involved in civil affairs ! The
non sequitur is apparent, and yet for twenty genera
tions, in two hemispheres, men have followed it.
There were two reasons why the grant of the trial
by jury to the English people was a great boon, neither
of which is to any degree applicable to this country, so
far; what it would be under a different form of civil
government, or under a military despotism, we need
not concern ourselves about. In England the judges
were the creatures of the court, and were wholly under
142 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
court influence, to imprison and kill at its command,
and therefore trial by jury, and the writ of Habeas Cor
pus, were absolutely essential for the lives and liberties
of the subject. But the trial by jury was also a political
measure. The king governed by divine right ; his acts
could not be questioned or reversed, and his courts were
wholly under his influence and that of his nobles; the
people had no protection except by revolution, which
was then impossible with them, and the right to try and
decide their own civil causes was justly considered a
triumph, and a protection and elevation of the people.
In this country the people have everything their own
way. They have liberty, which, but for the restrictions
of a mere paper constitution, would soon be developed
into licentiousness, or the frenzy of a mob, which is no
better, or, rather, is the same thing.* Their judges are
either directly elected, or are appointed by those who
are elected for very short terms, and the right of im
peachment is very clear, and its exercise is unobstructed.
If they have not good judges, it is their own fault; so
that by continuing the trial by jury in civil cases, they
virtually declare that they have little confidence in their
own discretion to elect honest and capable men and,
therefore, that the right of suffrage is a questionable
excellence in human government. The idea of leaving
a man's fortune or honor to depend upon the agreement
in a verdict of twelve men taken at random, without re
gard to knowledge, honor, or discretion, rather than to a
judge who at least knows some law, and who is subject
* It must be remembered that Mr. Page wrote this in 1861,
or before that time, and died just at the close of the late war.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 143
to prosecution for misfeasance or malfeasance, and
whose decision is subject to revision by a higher tri
bunal (why is that not also a random jury?), is simply
preposterous, and can be the choice of only a set of
idiots, or ignoramuses, or sentimentalists, and the
mass of the English and American people are not idiots,
whatever else may be said of them.
If I express myself strongly upon this matter it is be
cause I feel strongly; because I have in my long prac
tice actually seen so much folly and injustice committed
without blame, and borne without a murmur, by two
generations of men educated to a superstitious reverence
of Magna Charta, which, considered as a panacea for
civil ills, I now in my old age pronounce to be a hum
bug. There is no panacea for wrong and injustice ex
cept divine love and divine knowledge united in divine
wisdom. There is no human cure-all for any species of
derangement, and the man who pretends to have found
a system or a maxim in politics, law, or medicine, of
universally strict application and virtue, is a quack.
The only perfect institution is divine the Christian
religion and even that must be taken in its simplicity,
i or it becomes itself a fruitful cause of sad derangement
i and destruction in the hands of men.
The world has been governed by sentimental maxims
long enough, and the man who invents a maxim, or a
popular saying, should publish it in the position of a
Locrian who proposed a law, or an amendment to a
law with a rope around his neck to strangle him the
moment it is decided unsound.
One of the most false and pernicious of all modern
political maxims is this : " The best government is that
144 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
which governs least." Let a man try it in his family
or on his plantation, and he will soon find out his
error.
All this, however, is by-the-by. I find as I get
older that I am more and more apt to wander into by
paths, which branch with never-ending succession from
the main arteries and veins of my subject, and unfail
ingly run into them again if followed far enough. At
some more appropriate era in this history (and many
will doubtless occur) I will expose the falsity of this
maxim, and the folly of its kindred dogma, universal
suffrage, both of which are based on sentiment, unsup
ported by reason and experience. I could do so now,
and if my reader would go quietly along with me,
could, by the plainest paths, lead him again naturally,
while" always progressing, into my experience at the
bar, from which we have wandered thus far ; but there
is no call for a display of my skill as a pilot. I would
only have him remark that violence in going from a
digression back into the main line of discourse is rarely
necessary except for brevity which was a quality
upon which Judge Carswell always insisted in all the
pleadings, oral or written, and in the examination of
all witnesses in his court.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 145
CHAPTER XIII.
AN occurrence which took place during this time of
jt\. my life I will relate, as illustrating the state of
the society in which I lived.
It was then the fashion to give gentlemen's dinner
parties, at which no ladies were present even the mis
tress of the mansion taking the opportunity to spend
the day abroad with all her children, if she had any,
or, if she remained at home to superintend the service
of the meal, remaining secluded, invisible to the guests.
As was to be supposed, on these occasions great quan
tities of wines and liquors were consumed, and though
there was rarely actual stupid or frenzied drunkenness,
the gentlemen became very mellow and jovial.
One day there was a large dinner party at Dr. Luck-
ett's, and among the guests were Mr. Charles Burruss,
Dr. Coiburn Sandys, and Colonel James Morton, three
gentlemen well acquainted with each other, as indeed
were all the others present. It will be necessary to
describe these gentlemen, in order for the reader to
appreciate the catastrophe.
Mr. Charles Burruss was a stout, florid young law
yer, about twenty- seven years of age, who, though he
had the reputation of a rising man in a grave profes
sion, was yet a most incorrigible practical joker. His
jokes were never ill-natured in the sense of an inten
tion to seriously injure the subjects of them, but were
the results of a keen sense of the ridiculous, united to
13 K
146 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
high animal spirits, and a considerable degree of selfish
disregard to the feelings and comfort of others. As
the number of his subjects was of course limited, and
the laughers were many, he was very popular, and was
therefore rather petted and screened from the odium
and punishment his pranks sometimes deserved.
Dr. Colburn Sandys was rather a personage than a
person. He was a tall, lank, dark-faced man of thirty-
three or four years of age, who wore spectacles, and
abroad was always seen walking with a gold-headed
ebony cane. His dress and manners were very precise,
and he assumed a grave aristocratic bearing, which did
not ill become him. He was a Marylander one of the
Eastern Shore Sandyses, as he insisted, to distinguish
them, I suppose, from the Baltimore Sandyses, and,
again, from those from Frederick, with whom he seemed
still more anxious not to be confounded. As a Mary-
lander, he was of course a gastronome of the first
order ; and his taste in terrapin-soup and stews was
certainly undeniable, while his knowledge of wines
showed much observation, and great practice in distin
guishing their ages, qualities, and kinds. He was
therefore in great request on these occasions, when the
very best viands and most skillful art of the county
were dispkyed upon the board; and his opinion was
oracular. His profession or trade, which is it ? was
that of dentistry, of which he was one of the pioneers
in our part of the country, and the number, variety,
and beauty of his instruments of torture were the
wonder of town and county. Having the bearing of
a gentleman, and bringing favorable letters of intro
duction to one or two gentlemen of note Colonel Mor-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 147
ton being one of them he had been received from the
outset, about two years before, into our best society,
and had so conducted himself as to be highly respected
by all, if a little disliked by some for a slight narrow-
minded haughtiness and fire they thought they per
ceived, and which they thought hardly became one of
his profession, or trade, of "tooth-carpentry." Though
his education had been neither very varied nor profound,
he had evidently been well raised; and though his aris
tocratic gravity and punctilio were somewhat offensive
to the very familiar acquaintanceship which exists in
country villages and neighborhoods, he was undoubt
edly a well-meaning and honorable man, and was so
esteemed.
Of Colonel Morton, his earliest friend and patron, I
need say but little. His father, James Morton, the
elder, had removed from Maryland while the colonel
was still a lad, and had opened a plantation near Yat-
ton, upon which the colonel now lived. Nothing could
be breathed against his probity; but he was vain, chol
eric, and unreasonable; and had unfortunately mar
ried a wife who resembled him, and was, if anything,
an instigator rather than a soothe; 1 of his unreasonable
whims and prejudices.
The dinner had progressed most harmoniously; the
dessert and decanters were upon the table, and the jest
and laugh were in full tide, when Dr. Sandys was heard
to say, in an excited tone, " Sir, allow me to tell you
that I do not admire your wit or your jokes ; the one
is vulgar and the others brutal, and unless you wish
your jaws slapped "
Every one looked up astonished, and saw that the doc-
148 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
tor was standing up and shaking bis finger at Mr. Bur-
russ, who, as he rose from the opposite side of the table
at the word "slapped," threw the contents of his wine
glass in his face. No one knew the beginning of the
altercation nor do I know it to this day but every
one rose instantly, and those on either side of the table
rushed to the nearest party to prevent their getting to
gether in conflict. That end being apparently accom
plished, all was silence for a brief moment, when Mr.
Burruss turned to the host and said: "Dr. Luckett, I
regret extremely that this should have occurred at your
table; but you heard the gross insult offered me by
Dr. Sandys, and I could not have acted otherwise than
I did. I was perhaps wrong in attempting a joke with
Dr. Sandys, whom I know to be sensitive, and but for
his folly I would have apologized ; but now there is no
question of whether I was wrong or right, and I shall
hold myself ready to give him, or any one of his
friends, any satisfaction desired."
This was rather a long speech for such an occasion,
but it was made by a man who in danger was as cool
as death ; and he was not interrupted even by the doc
tor, who stood glaring at him, livid and speechless with
passion.
Mr. Markham and Captain White then advanced to
Burruss, and they went out of the room and house to
gether, after first bowing politely to Dr. Luckett, and
bidding him good evening.
This was every word spoken on the occasion after
the attack by Dr. Sandys, except this which could
not be related in the order in which it occurred : The
moment Burruss threw the wine in the doctor's face,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 149
Morton, who was sitting near him, rushed at him,
exclaiming, "Burruss, God d n your soul! what do
you mean ? You d d brute !"
In his remarks to Dr. Luckett, Burruss did not once
look at Morton until he came to the words " or any one
of his friends," which he uttered looking and slightly
bowing meaningly at Morton, who, however, answered
not a word.
There is actually all that occurred in the room ex
cept the provocation which Burruss gave, which was
some remark no one heard or knew although there
were a thousand reports, each differing and exagger
ated. Some had it that Burruss had given the lie to
both Sandys and Morton ; others that he had given
the lie to Sandys, and that Morton had taken it up and
retorted it; some this, others that; and, in fact, the
tragic end of the quarrel could have warranted the
worst provocations to be ascribed.
It was in the latter part of June Wednesday, the
24th, I think that the dinner was given, and the affair
I am relating took place about an hour by sun sav,
/ / 7
at six o'clock P.M. About half-past six, Burruss, who
was standing on Main Street talking with Captain
White, was informed that Dr. Sandys had armed him
self and was looking for him. He instantly remarked,
"I am sorry for that, White; for I hoped that if the
matter had to come to the worst, it should have been in
the regular way. At any rate, the man is a fool, and
I don't .wish to kill him ; so I will keep out of his way
if possible." With that he started off to his room,
which was the one formerly occupied by Dagobert Q.
Thomas, where he put a pair of small pistols in his
13*
150
LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
,
pocket; and thinking that perhaps that would be the
first place to which Sandys would come, he went out,
closed the front door, and started leisurely down toward
the drug-store.
Just as he reached the corner he saw Sandys on the
opposite side of the cross street advancing toward him,
and then about forty feet off. The doctor had a pistol
in each hand, and the moment he saw Burruss halt, he
exclaimed: "Defend yourself, you d d rascal!" and
raised the pistol in his right hand and fired. Before he
could change hands and fire his other pistol, Burruss
fired and the ball passed through Sandys's head, and
he fell dead without a groan. As Burrows raised his
pistol to fire, he said: "Well, if you will have it,
take it!"
Hardly had Sandys's body touched the ground when
Morton was noticed about forty yards off running to
the spot with a pistol in his hand, to take part in the
fray; but before he could come near enough to fire at
Burruss with any certainty, a crowd of their mutual
friends had gathered around both, and Morton, finding
himself thwarted, shook his fist at Burruss, exclaiming,
"You d d murdering scoundrel, I'll pay you yet !"
Burruss immediately surrendered himself to the sheriff,
who by that time had reached the spot, and was exam
ined at once and discharged by Squire Carter, who had
not yet left his office for home, upon the ground that he
had acted in self-defense.
Morton had the body of Dr. Sandys tenderly removed,
coffined, and laid in state in the parlor of the tavern in
which he had boarded, and, as I was told, manifested a
kind of morbid concern over it, as much grief, in fact,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 151
as would have been natural had it been the body of a
beloved brother. He talked over and over again about
their having come from the same State, and remarked
that he had been the*one to introduce Sandys into so
ciety, and it was his duty to see his murderer punished.
The next day, Thursday, at 4 P.M., the funeral took
place, Col. Morton and his wife acting as chief mourners.
There was a large escort of ladies and gentlemen, in
carriages and on horseback, and the body was conveyed
out to Col. Morton's family bury ing-ground, about four
miles from town, where it was interred.
Friday afternoon it was rumored over town that Col.
Stewart, who was a noted fire-eater, acting on the part
of Morton, had waited upon Mr. Burruss with a per
emptory challenge, which had been accepted ; and that
Col. Stewart had been referred to Capt White as
Burruss's friend.
But this was not all true. Stewart had been sent for
by Morton, and after hearing his statement of the case
had decided that Burruss had neither done nor said
anything for which he, Morton, could call upon him to
apologize, and certainly had neither done nor said any
thing he could retract with honor, or even retract at all,
and that therefore if Morton was determined to fight
him, he must either do so upon the first opportunity of
their meeting, after giving due notice, or must send a
peremptory challenge assigning no cause. And there
upon the peremptory challenge was drawn up and was
presented, as was said, but Burruss had referred the
bearer to Capt. White, without accepting it.
And here is what followed or, rather, the important
part of it ; for the negotiation was long and involved.
152 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Capt. White asked Col. Stewart a delay of twenty-four
hours that he might consult his principal ; which was
granted. Before the time had elapsed he returned a
written answer, the points of which were that Mr. Bur-
russ had always from boyhood been on the most friendly
terras with Col. Morton; that Burruss was a bachelor
while Morton had a wife and child ; that Morton had
assigned no cause for his challenge, and that Burruss
could neither consent to kill him nor to expose himself
to death without a valid reason being shown.
In answer to this, Morton replied that Burruss knew
very well the causes of the challenge, but that, to be
more definite, he, Morton, would assign for sufficient
reason the insulting looks, gestures, and threats used
toward him by Burruss at Dr. Luckett's dinner table on
the 24th inst.
To this, Capt. White, under the instructions of his
principal, replied that if Col. Morton would withdraw
and apologize for the abusive language used by him at
Dr. Luckett's table, Burruss was perfectly willing to
withdraw what he had said on that occasion in the heat
and excitement of the moment.
This, Col. Morton absolutely refused to do. He said
that what he had then said he now repeated, and that
if he, Burruss, did not accept his challenge he would
post him as a coward, and would cane him upon the
street, and shoot him if he resisted.
This estopped Burruss from every objection, and he
accepted the challenge, choosing rifles as the weapons,
and generously leaving the day, place, and distance to
be fixed by his adversary. In this matter he was
moved, I suppose, by consideration of the family, and
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 153
business arrangements which Morton would necessarily
have to make, and the known fact that his, Morton's,
eyes were weak.
Never in all my life, in which I have known of many
and been concerned in two or three affairs, which, how
ever, it could do no possible good to speak of in this
history have I known so much generosity as was dis
played by Burruss in all the preliminaries of this duel.
On the other hand, it will hardly be believed when I
say that Mrs. Morton was consulted by her husband in
the whole affair, and was even urged on by her to take
the course he did. Much less can I expect full credence
when I say that after the time (the 26th of July) was
fixed, she accompanied her husband every day to the
orchard where a target (upon which the outlines of a
full-grown man were marked, with a straight line run
ning from the crown of his head to his feet) was pre
pared, and that she gave him the word, and exhorted
or instructed him how to make his shots, whether at
the hips, the breast, or the head. But this is actually
the fact. How it should be accounted for I do not
know. Though she was high tempered, and narrow
minded, she was not a bad woman in any sense. One
more hospitable and ladylike in her own house will
rarely be seen, and she was well known to be an im
pulsively charitable woman to the poor.
Perhaps the secret lies in that very word " impul
sive," which does not, when rightly used, denote merely
a kind of spasmodic action, but an action which, how
ever sudden in its commencement, may be continuous
for years. Some of the most impulsive persons I have
ever known have been the most obstinate when once
154 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
the impulse was allowed to act. Besides this, impulse
is used as an antithesis to calculation or reflection, and
many impulsive persons never make use of sober second
thought, but have their pride aroused to persevere
blindly in what they have undertaken. It is possible
that some secret personal spite to Burruss as well as a
natural espousal of the anger of her husband gave rise
to her conduct; but I never heard such a fact mentioned,
or any reason for its existence, nor do I believe that she
could be willing to gratify a feeling so murderous at
the risk of her husband's life, for she undoubtedly loved
him devotedly.
But whatever may have been her reasons she had to
drink the gall of sorrow to its dregs. Before ten years
rolled over, her only child, a son, was killed by his own
knife in a fight with a young cousin of Burruss's, about
this very duel. As he cut upward at the boy, running
after him, he stumbled and fell forward on the knife,
which penetrated his neck, and killed him on the spot.
Col. Morton knew that Burruss was a splendid rifle
shot, nor could he, under the circumstances, blame him
for choosing that weapon on the ground that it gave
him the advantage. It was, according to the " Code"
as interpreted in the South, a strictly legal weapon,
and as by his own terms the duel was to the death,
Burruss could have been censured if he had not chosen
the legal weapon which gave him the best chance.
The colonel, therefore, practiced diligently up to the
very morning before the fatal day, by which time he
had arrived at a degree of quickness and precision from
which both he and his wife augured the safest results.
Burruss, on the contrary, positively refused to practice,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 155
and incurred a great deal of blame from his friends by
his refusal. But he told them from the first that if
Morton persisted in fighting, he would kill him ; and he
was so impressed with the certainty of the event that
he seemed to take up a morbid dislike to his rifle, as
though it were going to inflict upon him some great
sorrow, the black shadow of which already began to
throw a crepuscular shade upon his life ; and he im
plored several of his friends, who were also friends to
Morton, to use their influence to arrange the difficulty
amicably. He told them that he was yet a young
man ; that he had already been forced to take the life
of a fellow-creature, and though his conscience justified
the act, be could never shake off the regret such an
occurrence naturally caused ; that Morton was insanely
unreasonable, for he had no real cause of quarrel with
him who had never done him a wrong, but on the con
trary, had always felt and shown a warm friendship
for him in spite of his oddities and overbearing touchi
ness.
"Gentlemen," said he, "you. know that I am no
coward ; but I would be almost willing to incur some
appearance of cowardice to avoid killing Morton, as I
certainly shall do" (he did not say " will do") "if he per
sist in fighting me. It has always been the great wish
of my life to live at peace and love with my fellow-
men, and it seems hard that I should be forced to bear
the sorrows that my soul most hates. But you know,
gentlemen, that if Morton persist in it, I must fight
him. What choice have I? To flee the country; or,
if I remain in it, to have every dog lifting his leg upon
me, and all my hopes for usefulness and happiness de-
156 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
stroyed! Why, that would be worse than murder;
and my life and the lives of a- dozen men would not
be worth the sacrifice. My God ! my God !" exclaimed
he, clasping his hands, and walking hurriedly up and
down the room, " why should I have to sutler this ter
rible alternative! Save me, gentlemen, from having
the brightness of my life all extinguished, and save
Morton from his death !"
And so he Avould talk at times when foreboding of
the anguish to come was too heavy upon him for quiet.
And the friends did try earnestly to turn Morton from
his pm-posc; but he and his wife had made themselves
like stones.
It may be asked why, as all this was going on so
publicly as to be in every man's mouth, even to its de
tails, the officers of the law did not interfere, and put
the parties under bonds to keep the peace ?
To this I answer that there were several good rea
sons why such a course was not pursued : First, that
no amount of bond could have accomplished the ob
ject. Secondly, that the grand jury was not in session,
and by the law no magistrate could issue his warrant
unless for an offense committed in his view (though I
knew an ambitious young magistrate to decide that
"view" meant "jurisdiction"), except upon affidavit
made by some credible person, and no man, who
thought he knew the fact sufficiently well to take an
oath about it, was willing to interfere. Thirdly, duels
which originated in the county were fought out of the
jurisdiction of the officers, just across the river in the
adjoining State ; and, lastly, not to be diffuse, the offi
cers of the law and all good citizens knew that a duel,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 15f
bad as it was, was the way in which the affair could be
settled with least harm to individuals, and with most
benefit to the community ; that it was far better for the
parties to meet under the restraints of the laws of the
Duello, and finally end the quarrel though at the ex
pense of one or both lives, than have them continue
the quarrel and meet in conflict, in defiance of all law,
and not only endanger their own lives, but the peace
and lives of others who would almost inevitably be
drawn into it, as they would be present at it.
Old as I am, or rather (as perhaps I should begin
the sentence) with my experience, I do not hesitate to
say that, within just bounds, the practice of dueling-
is the best preventive for many infinitely worse evils
with which society is necessarily afflicted, and the
arguments against it are in a human point of view
namby-pambily sentimental. Shaving was invented
for men who had no beards, and the wholesale talk
against dueling was invented for men who had no
stomach for being jerked up to answer for wrongs they
wished to commit with impunity or to answer for only
under legal process, with all the chances to escape
afforded by the law's delay and uncertainties.
There are very great errors lying at the bottom of
all the transcendental theories of law which are erro
neously called Christian. One is, that they are too
literal. Because it is taught that men should be meek
and forbearing, if a man, Christian or sinner, does not
literally turn his cheek to be smitten on the other side,
he must be read out, and punished, thus ignoring the
very nature God has given us. Another error is that
they are laws for Christians alone as Christians and
14
158 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
the fact is not recognized that evils exist which cannot
be prevented, and can only be regulated. But law
must be adapted, as well as made, for the unrighteous
(the righteous need neither law nor repentance ; they
are a law unto themselves), and I do not doubt but
that if the duel were legalized, or, at any rate, suffered,
under proper restrictions, it would be the means of pre
venting a vast deal of bloodshed, and worse crime,
which now goes unpunished and prevention is better
than punishment.
At any rate, where the duel is recognized as proper
ex necessitate, seduction, slander, and all other offenses
which affect the honor, are very rare, gossip has a law
it recognizes, and even assaults, assaults and batteries,
and quarrels are resorted to only on great provocation.
It is a great promoter of charity and peace.
I am now seventy-six years of age, and I have never
seen a suit for breach of promise of marriage, and have
heard of but three or four cases of seduction in our
county (where such things could not possibly be con
cealed), and they took place among the lowest class of
society in the "rural district," of which I will speak
after awhile, perhaps, and two of them ended in
murder. Moreover, Mr. Carey's school for boys, which
closed only some ten years ago, was the most orderly
ever known in the county ; and it was because if two
boys of about the same age and size commenced a
quarrel, he made them fight it out, and if a larger boy
commenced a quarrel with a smaller, he made the
smaller and a sufficient number of other small boys
thrash him.
The reasons, then, I have given, and the spirit I
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 159
have described prevented any legal interference with
this duel, and the day arrived.
The place fixed upon was a small pasture in the
river bottom near a mile below Holman's Ferry, about
nine miles east of Yatton. Colonel Morton, as had
been agreed by the seconds, had crossed the river the
afternoon before, and with Colonel Stewart, Dr. Can
non, and one or two others, stayed all night at General
Archer's, about a mile and a half from the place. Mr.
Burruss, with Captain White and Dr. Holt he ob
jected to others going stopped at Mr. Holman's resi
dence about three-quarters of a mile above the ferry,
which was attended to by an old negro man named
Jerry, who had formerly belonged to Burruss's father.
Each party had therefore about the same distance to
ride to the scene, and there could be no advantage on
either side from fatigue.
The precise spot selected was on the eastern side of
the pasture at the edge of the woods. It was a beau
tiful place, as level as a floor, and the forest of pines,
oaks, beeches, and magnolias which are often found
growing together in such localities looked cool and
inviting in its shady depths, and the dewy grass
sparkled in the rays of the rising sun like myriads of
rubies and diamonds set in emerald
A slight delay at the ferry, caused by old Jerry's
slowness and agitation, allowed Colonel Morton's
party to arrive first by about five minutes. Old Jerry
had evidently heard of what was going on, and as Mr.
Burruss led his horse into the boat, he said: "See here,
Mass Charley, I'm afeard you ain't gwine arter no
good this mornin'. Colonel Morton an' dem crossed
160 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
here yesterday evenin', an' I hearn 'em say as how
you'd be along early."
" Oh, never inind, Uncle Jerry," said Mr. Burruss ;
"I am only going over to meet some friends."
The old man had by this time got hold of the pole
he used for shoving off, and was nervously fumbling
with it as he looked up at Burruss, with tears in his
eyes, and said :
"I's knowed you, Mass Charley, sence you was a lit
tle shaver, so high, an' for de Lord's sake take care of
yourself. What would old rnis-tuss say, if she knowed
what you was gwine for ! If you will do it, you mus',
an' de Lord help you. But you rnus' shoot quick,
Mass Charley, quicker'u you did when dat "
"Oh pshaw! Uncle Jerry," interrupted Burruss;
" you've got notions in your head this morning. You
must have had bad dreams last night. I'm afraid Aunt
Sukey has been giving you a piece of her mind again.
Come, old fellow, we are in a hurry."
As they rode up the farther bank, old Jerry shouted
out, "Good-by, Mass Charley, an' de Lord pertect
you ! I'll keep the boat over this side till breakfus
time !"
There were two pairs of draw-bars to be let down in
order to pass through a field which lay between the
road and the pastm'e, and Colonel Morton's party had
left them partly down as they saw by the absence of
horsetracks that they were first. Burruss rode in per
fect silence and seemed melancholy but determined.
What his thoughts were, as he rode along between the
rows of corn, now beginning to tassel and with its tender
silks gemmed with dew, I can imagine ; but my reader
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 161
can do so quite as well. The tripping of his horse
at some clod in the road, or the sprinkle of the dew in
his face as the horse's foot struck some tall weed all
wet with crystal drops, caused not a single gesture or
murmur of impatience. His mind was far ahead of
him, on the ground of the duel and then stretched
far ahead of that, through the long, dim vista of the
future, overshadowed by a cloud which was coining
on fast and black.
Colonel Morton's party had hitched their horses
at a beech-.tree about forty yards north of the chosen
ground, and when Burruss saw that, he rode on, the
captain and doctor following, to about an equal dis
tance beyond and dismounted at a wide-spreading
Spanish oak, whose willowy limbs hung low, and after
they had fastened their bridles to the pendant branches
and had adjusted their dresses, somewhat disordered
by the ride, they walked up to near where the other
party were seated, and halted ; Colonel Stewart ad
vanced to meet Captain White, who walked on toward
him, and after a few words they commenced to mark
off the ground. Captain White took his stand at a
certain spot, which they marked with a short cane,
and Colonel Stewart stepped thence due north twenty
steps, and planted another piece of cane. Captain
White then stepped it off and verified it, and they
went aside to load, in the presence of each other, each
his friend's weapon.
Hardly had they finished that operation, when Bur
russ who was standing near Dr. Holt seated at the
root of a tree, and had been steadily looking at Mor
ton, who was likewise standing up, but sideways to
14* L
102 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
him suddenly left his position and advanced up to
Morton, who turned and looked at him as he said :
" Colonel Morton, withdraw your challenge !"
"I will not, Mr. Burruss," replied the colonel.
" Do, for God's sake, colonel. I do not wish to kill
you !" exclaimed Burruss.
" Do not be so certain that you will do that, Mr.
Burruss," replied the colonel, with a cold smile.
Just then the seconds, having heard the conversa
tion, advanced, and each took his principal by the arm
and led him to his position, which had been previously
determined ; and when he had delivered him his loaded
weapon, stepped to a position to one side and about
midway the line between them. Colonel Stewart had
been, by lot, chosen to give the word, and he asked :
"Are you ready ?"
"Ready!" replied Colonel Morton, raising his rifle
from his side.
"Stop a moment!" said Mr. Burruss, without mov
ing; "I again ask you, Colonel Morton, to withdraw
your challenge. "
"Such conduct is unheard-of, sir! You have al
ready had my answer. If you are afraid, I am not;
and I will kill you if I can!" exclaimed Colonel Mor
ton, somewhat excitedly.
"Very well," replied Mr. Burruss
After a moment's pause, Colonel Stewart again
asked, "Are you ready ?" "Ready!" answered both,
bringing their rifles up from their sides, and cocking
them. "Fire! One! T " Before the word " two"
was pronounced, Mr. Burruss, who had leveled his
gun apparently with a jerk, so sudden was his motion,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 163
fired and hardly had its smoke sped from its muzzle
when Colonel Morton's rifle was also fired, and the
reports of both went blended to the echoes in the
forest. Colonel Morton, as his gun went off, wilted
down, and, when his second and surgeon reached him,
one gasp of life was all that remained and with that
his soul left his body. Burruss brought his rifle again
to an order, and remained in his tracks, with his right
hand resting upon it. Captain White and Dr. Holt
went up to the other party, and, as by that time all
was over, they only looked to see, where Dr. Cannon
pointed, where the ball had entered, just above the
left hip, fracturing the top of the pelvis and crashing on
through the backbone, and they turned, taking Bur
russ with them, and mounted their horses and rode off.
Though I omitted to state it, General Archer's car
riage and quite a number of the mutual friends of both
parties were in the field, though out of sight in the
edge of the woods, and came up on hearing the firing,
so that the proffered assistance of Captain White and
Dr. Holt was not needed.
Such was the course and event of this duel, which
created a great sensation all over the country. All re
gretted it; but with Colonel Morton's determination, it
could not be averted. The seconds, who were both
gentlemen in every sense, and men who thoroughly
understood their own responsibility to the parties and
to the community, used every means of settling it
but in vain.
When Burruss rode off, the cloud had come down
upon him ; and though his conscience could not prick
him, and though he afterward married a lovely lady,
1G4 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
and had a large family of fine children, his high spirits
were gone ; and he went his way to the end, a grave,
sober citizen, unwearyingly charitable to the widow
and orphan particularly if their protector had come to
a violent end.
CHAPTER XIV.
^E of my first profitable clients was old Captain
Nesbitt. And here I would remark that it must
not be thought strange that I have rarely mentioned a
male character, so far, who had not either been a doc
tor or had a military title. That fancy for giving titles
was not peculiar to our section, but it was certainly
carried to an excess. Yet several good reasons may
be given for it, and among them, that it saved a great
deal of the trouble of remembering names. It is much
easier to say, "How are you general?" than to say,
"How are you Mister Higginbotham?" particularly if
you have only just been introduced to him, and do not
think you have heard his right name distinctly; and it
is much easier to remember that the gentleman ap
proaching you is a colonel, major, captain, or doctor,
than to remember the name he inherited from his
father.
Captain Nesbitt, then, was one of my first profitable
clients; and I .remember the fact the more distinctly
that my obtaining a fee from him was regarded by my
professional brethren as a hopeful sign of my future
success.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 165
He was an old revolutionary veteran, who had
amassed a very large estate by hard work, judicious
speculations, always exacting what was due him, and
never paying anything when he could avoid it. The
consequence was that he was always at law, and had
been engaged at that amusement for so many years
that he never seemed contented unless he had one or
two suits on hand. But of late years it had been so
difficult to get a fee from him that the members of the
bar shunned his business. In one particular case every
lawyer had been at one time or another engaged, and
had been discharged from it, or had relinquished it for
non-payment of fees. A term of court was coming on
at which a demurrer in the case had to be tried, and as
the old gentleman regarded me with favor, and, m ;re
particularly, as for good causes no other lawyer could be
got to appear for him, he came to my office, and placed
the matter in my hands.
He began by saying that he had a case in court of
such great importance that if it were ably handled it
would establish the reputation of any lawyer, and as
he liked me he would place it in my hands, and it
would be a splendid chance for me to appear my best,
as I was young and aspiring; and that he supposed I
would require no fee, or, if any, a very small one, under
the circumstances. I told him that if he would pay
me one hundred dollars cash, as a retainer, I would
take charge of his case. After a great deal of chaffer
ing, he actually pulled out the money and paid it. I
studied the case thoroughly a full hundred dollars
worth but, alas for the demurrer, it had two disad
vantages, intrinsic worthlessness, and Mr. Harkness,
106 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
to contend against, and I lost it. The captain was in
court at the time, and came up to me hurriedly and
told me to move for a rehearing, and if that were not
granted, to take a Bill of Exceptions. I answered him
that it was useless, as the demurrer was untenable. He
said I must do as he said. I told him I could not con
sent to make myself ridiculous by doing so; and he dis
charged me from the case on the spot. As he had a
term to answer over, he managed to persuade, or paid
cash, some other lawyer; but the case came to an igno
minious defeat after living eight years.
Most of my first cases were mere collection suits, but
the first year of my practice I made eight hundred dol
lars. This was doing very welf I was told, but still
it seemed to me a very slow business. The second
year my collected fees amounted to fifteen hundred
dollars, and it was in the latter part of this second
year, or the very beginning of the third, that the sew
ing society was formed, and Mary Mclntyre first at
tracted my special attention.
When Mary became so dear to me, I, of course,
began to take great interest in her family, to study
their dispositions, and to calculate what would be my
chances among them for opposition or assistance in rny
suit.
Mr. Mclntyre was a tall and large Scotchman, about
fifty years of age, with a heavy suit of sandy hair and
sandy whiskers well sprinkled with gray, keen blue
eyes, and a large, florid countenance. He was by no
means an ugly man, but was rough, and a little gruff
at times, when he would "dawm !" and storm at every
thing in reach. He was highly esteemed as an honest,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 10 1
sensible man, who was already rich, and would be very
wealthy if he lived a few years. The peculiarities I
noticed most particularly about him were, his reticence
about his own affairs, and his never interfering with
his wife and daughters in their dress, their outgoings
and incomings, their company, church-matters, or
preacher-blindness.
He had a profound respect for his wife, who was a
second cousin of Mrs. Ruggles, and had been a dark-
haired beauty in her youth. She was an excellent
woman, of more than average piety, though her relig
ion was of that character which fears to differ with
church authority. As a wife, she was respectful, and
was allowed to have her own way in her domestic con
cerns. As a mother, she was tender, judicious, and
firm except with Mary, the youngest, who could
wheedle her to do as she pleased. As a friend, she
was undemonstrative, and rather taciturn, but never
wanting in the offices of friendship.
Of the two eldest daughters, Sarah, the elder, was
tall, had black eyes and hair, a fine figure, delicate hands
and feet, and, to strangers, seemed haughty. Lucy
was more like her father in appearance, had fair hair,
blue eyes, and a fine complexion, though somewhat
freckled, and was a very sweet girl in her disposition.
Both of them were intelligent, refined, and good, and
treated with profound deference whatever their mother
believed in. At the time I am speaking of, Miss Sarah
had as an aspirant the Rev. Walter Hopkins, a slender
young minister who had strayed South for the cure of
the Preacher's sore-throat, or to have the disease con
firmed by marrying comfortably. He was a funny gen-
168 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
tleman, who evidently thought he could pun and pray
himself into Miss Sarah's good graces. But, though
she had every reason to believe (as I still believe) that
he was at heart a good man, and would have made an
indulgent husband, and though her mother was not at
all opposed to the match, and though she could laugh
heartily at his puns and jokes, she had already refused
him several times, and it was becoming a habit, and
almost a joke, for him to pop the question about every
three months, and be refused.
Miss Lucy's lover, Tom Merri weather, to whom she
was already engaged, was a heavy-set young planter,
with a frank, handsome countenance, and a genial smile,
but very much out of place among ladies, and particu
larly uncomfortable when Mr. Hopkins was along with
his gay gambols of wit and words. He would sit in
the parlor bolt upright for a half hour at a time, and
never utter a word unless spoken to. How he ever did
his courting was more than I knew, though I suspected
that when he and Miss Lucy got off to themselves he
fully made up for his awkward silence and shame-faced-
ness in company. At any rate, she treated him as
though she understood him thoroughly, and he was
already quite as domestic an animal as the house cat,
came and went unquestioned, and was sometimes petted
when his chosen could slyly place her hand on his head,
or pat his cheek.
These, with Miss Maiy, were all the family, for the
only son, the old man's pride, had died about three
years before.
No gambler ever calculated his chances more nar
rowly and earnestly than I did, so far as the influences
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 169
of these elder and beloved ones were concerned. Every
day I would take apart and put together again with
fresh complications, my grounds for fear and hope. I
had no fear of the old gentleman, for although I had no
special acquaintance with him, I knew that so far as
family, morals, and prospects were concerned he could
not object to me, and that Mary was his darling to
whom he would grant anything which might contribute
to her happiness. I even hoped that he might speak
favorably of me as a fine young man, if nothing more,
some day when by chance my name was mentioned in.
the family.
With regard to Mrs. Mclntyre I had some assurance
of hope, for although I was no preacher nor the son of
a preacher, I was raised in the church of which I was
a sort of floating member and my father was more
learned in matters religious and ecclesiastical, and even
more certainly pious than most preachers, and was an
influential member of her own church. I felt certain
that she would say nothing against me, and would
allow Mary to love me or not, as she might choose.
But I was afraid of the elder sisters, and of the Rev.
Mr. Hopkins not that they would work against me
purposely, but that they might find the weak part of
my armor and turn me into ridicule before Mary. The
weak part of my armor was my sensitiveness, which was
acute at all times, and, when in love, was almost mor
bid. Though my head is gray and I am beginning to
totter when I walk, I am yet afraid of the laughter of
girls unless I know exactly what it is about, and if I
hear it when my back is turned I instinctively fear it
is directed to me.
15
170 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
All these calculations of mine were preparatory to
the assault I was about to make ; for my fair and be
loved enemy, as Don Quixotte termed his lady-love,
had as yet no idea that my ambitious and avaricious
eyes were directed to the citadel of her affections. But
the deployment of my forces and my cautious advance,
under cover, when it could be so, soon revealed to her
my design, and she began to call in the pleasure par
ties of friendly wit and mirthful smiles which had been
in innocent security disporting themselves before my
covetous eyes, and to sometimes hang out the crimson
banner of her modest blushes, which when I saw my
soul rejoiced at, for I knew it was the signal of alarm
in the fortress. But beyond this there were no signs
that I could detect of consciousness or of fear of the
impending storm.
Sometimes in my company she was thoughtful; often
just as frank and gay as she ever was before ; sometimes
she seemed to avoid me with perhaps a little scorn, as
I thought, in her regard. How anxiously I scanned
each look and syllable ! From her thoughtfulness I
augured well ; her gayety forboded ill to me ; and her
avoiding me I interpreted well or ill, according to my
mood. It might be that she was determined to drive
me away from her, and then, again, it might be that
she had discovered and wished to conceal the weakness
of her defense. And often when in my ambition I im
agined I was so blessed, as I thought of bringing my fate
to the test, my hands grew cold, and I was seized with
trembling, and as I sat alone in my room with my eyes
shut, and niy head bent down, I made in my imagina
tion the most beautiful speeches, and received the most
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 171
loving answers. With what rapture did I dwell upon
each imagined sigh, each gentle tear! I sometimes
even felt the warm embrace of her soft arms around
my neck, and had her head pillowed fondly on my
breast. I made myself a great name for my Mary,
toiled on to wealth, and in our old age looked upon her
wrinkled brow and gray hairs with tender love, and
thanked God for all his mercies.
More than that, my imagination would become in
toxicated and crown itself with love, clothe itself with
rapture as a garment, and with the scepter of hope in
hand would stalk through the future a glorious monarch
to whom possibilities and probabilities were alike sub
ject, and create for me the most cherubic children
which were to be brought without fear, and pain, and
danger, to make us happy.
There were always two of them, David and Juliet,
and with the two I was content. Juliet, with the large
hazel eyes and dark curls, with the pearly teeth and
balmy breath, with her baby-talk and animated smile,
standing in my lap with one dimpled hand patting my
cheek and the other thrown around my neck, loving
me with love inexpressible ; and David, the precious
little humbug, as his father was before him, always
finding something wonderful as he paraded around in
his first boots David, to whom every sparrow was as
large as an eagle, and every rat a wild-cat at least, who
frightened his little sister with stories of snakes and
Indians, whose brain was teeming with imagination
and wonder and curiosity, whose little heart was brim
ful of affection and sensitiveness. I could see him at
tending, with all the irnpressiveness and gallantry of
172 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
one of his most courtly ancestors, his little sweetheart,
the daughter of my neighbor. And see Juliet, with
her tin) r shoes neatly laced to her delicate round ankles,
and her little stockings held up by pink-silk garters,
and her short lace pantalets, and blue gown with
white sprigs in it, and broad-brimmed hat, holding her
mother by the hand as they went from church, and
looking at Davy, who walked ahead of her, with as
much serious confidence in his abilities and worth, his
bravery and honor, as though she were eighteen and
he twenty-one. How I nursed those children in their
infancy, played with them when well, and walked the
room with them almost the live- long night Avhen they
were fretful. I guarded with the most vigilant anxiety
their traits of character as they were developed ; and
both grew up comely, and intelligent, and virtuous. I
directed their studies. Juliet married happily, and I
trotted grandchildren on my knees. David rose to dis
tinction, and I rejoiced that when I died I would leave
some one like me, but a great deal more intelligent and
noble than I in my youth, to take my place and pro
tect his dear old mother.
All this was the frenzy of a young and ardent lover
whose imagination toyed with his judgment as a play
thing. Yet there is no sweeter madness, and as I
recall it for my imagination can never grow forgetful
feelings of bitterness will intrude themselves that my
scepter of earthly hope is broken. But though I be old,
and fading like a leaf soon to fall, in looking back I
find nothing to regret of all the joys of my life. The
past is past, and I would not live it over again if I could.
I would not have Mary alive to die again, nor have my
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 173
father again at his toil, nor my mother to feel again
her pain in giving life to her children, and her agony at
seeing them die. I would not recall again my brothers
and sisters and friends to hope and suffer, to rejoice
and be shrouded and buried again. Nor do I regret
that they lived, nor, though the silent tears roll down
my withered cheeks, regret that they died. All my
appointed time shall I live to thank God for his good
ness in giving me so many to love, so many for whose
love I have only loving thoughts, for whose lives I
have no regrets ; and when my time to die shall come,
if my mind be free of confusion or of sleep, I shall
still be certain that I shall live, and love, and be loved
by them again where there is no sorrow and no parting.
The happiness of my life is now in the past and with
the future, but at the time of which I write it was in
the present as it was and as I wished it to be. Surely
no heart could be more troubled with its love than
mine was. Disquiet seemed to have seized me ; and,
like a blind man who has just received sight, I found
things that were upright all awry or upside down, and
obstacles in my path that did not exist, or were really
too remote from it to impede me.
Except for the excitement of a pleasant visit, to go
to Mr. Mclntyre's had never been with me a matter of
any moment, and I had often gone alone, or with my
sisters, in the most natural way in the world. But now
I was troubled to find an excuse forgoing there. What
should I say I came for? It would hardly do to
call and say I came to see Miss Mary, and yet when
I should see the ladies in the parlor, it would be to ex-
}t:>se mo to suspicion if I had no other excuse than to
15*
174 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
say that, as I was riding out, I thought I would call ;
for though the distance was only six miles, and was a
pleasant ride, it was too far for the mere afternoon or
morning ride for pleasure of a man who had his office
and business to attend to. And even if the first visit
should pass off unremarked, the second, or third, or
fourth would inevitably beti'ay me as Miss Mary's
beau to the wondering smiles of Miss Sarah, and the
snickering puns and jokes of Mr. Hopkins not that I
would have cared so much for myself, though the po
sition was awkward, but it might be disagreeable to
Mary ; and Hopkins was such a confounded fool that
he never knew when to stop.
What should I do ? To wait for a special invitation
would be to wait six months, till Miss Lucy and Tom
Merriweather were married and I might almost as
well have consented to content myself with six years.
I must go on that general invitation I had by right of
birth and friendship, and how to do that and save ap
pearances annoyed me for several weeks. My sister
Bel was inexorable, and Julia would put forth no
hand. "Why should we go with you?" said Bel.
"We see Mary every week at church, and at the Sew
ing Society; and we know that Lucy has not com
menced to prepare for her wedding, and does not need
our assistance. And even if we should go with you
once, don't you see, goosey, that you would be, for
your next visit, just as embarrassed ? We love Mary,
and would be glad to have her for a sister ; but you
must do your own courting, Master Abraham. We
will have nothing to do with it, but to wish you suc
cess."
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 175
"Yes, but you dear little sisters how I do love you!
you might go with me just once, to open the way, as
it were, as Mrs. Snow says, and then may be some
thing will turn up by which I can go again without
suspicion "
"No, sir," said Miss Bel. "We will have nothing
to do with it. Do you suppose that they do not all
know you are in love with Mary ? What do you think
they have been doing with their eyes and ears for the
last three months that you have been paying what you
call your modest, unobtrusive attentions to Mary?
going always at her side, directing your conversation
to her as though there were no one else in the world,
being silent and uneasy when she goes out, and bright
ening up when she comes in ? Why, Mrs. Snow
laughed, and told Mary she had caught a beau at the
third meeting of the Society "
" Confound Mrs. Snow and her sharp eyes and long
tongue!" I commenced, impatiently. "But say, little
sister, what did Mary answer and how did she look?"
"Oh, ho!" replied my sister. "Then Mrs. Snow's
sharp eyes and long tongue may have done you a
service, you think? Well, Mary did not answer at all,
nor did she blush; but she sat silent, and turned a
little pale "
" Heaven bless Mrs. Snow, for once! But I do hope
she will not keep up her observations and remarks,"
was my reply.
But Mrs. Snow did keep up her observations, and
her remarks were, I learned, made not only to Mary,
but to her mother and sisters, and to my mother and
sisters, and, for aught I know, to the whole county.
1VG LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Hang- the woman ! She seemed to think that my
courting Mary Mclntyre was a church matter, to be
talked over in session and meeting, to be discussed
with elders and ministers, and regulated by church dis
cipline. Mary was a rather too precious and profitable
lamb to be handed over out of the fold of the ministry,
or, at any rate, to a willful limb of the law like Abra
ham Page, who would be pretty apt to rule his own
house in his own way. But if poor Hopkins would
give up his vain pursuit of Sarah, and try and capture
Mary, with what ardor would she not have assisted
his plans ! It came to niy ears that she had so ad
vised the man, but he had sense enough to know that
Mary did not like to be bothered at any rate, more
than once.
The fact is that Mrs. Snow did not more than half like
me. She thought me rather an irreverent stripling;
first, because she had heard that I had condemned her
husband's sermons for their length, and, secondly, on
account of an answer I once made her. I had been
absent from home about four weeks attending the cir
cuit, and a day or two after I returned I found her at
old Mrs. Diggory's, upon whom I had called to pay
my respects. She seemed rather dignified, and pres
ently told me that she was surprised to see I had called
on Mrs. Diggory before I had upon Mr. Snow. I told
her I thought my visit to Mrs. Diggory, who had taught
me to read, was the most natural thing in the world.
"Yes," said Mrs., Snow, "but you owe a superior duty
to your Pastor !" The tone and assumption so irritated
me that it was on my lips to say, "The devil I do!"
but I restrained myself, and told her that I could not
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 17T
recognize the obligation and so the matter ended.
But it put a little black spot in Mrs. Snow's heart, and
she recalled to mind and magnified a very natural in
cident which had occurred to me about six years before,
and which every one else, even I myself, had forgotten.
I had attended a large party at Colonel Stewart's,
and between the dancing, and the champagne, and
sherry at the supper, I was in a pleasantly jolly mood
when I went out with four or five others to mount our
horses and go home. I had, no doubt, been talking
rather more glibly than usual to the young ladies in
the dancing-room, and it had been noticed by some who
were willing to get a joke on " sober-sides," as they
called me, and when I had found my way in the dark
to my horse, I found that some one had, as I thought,
removed my left stirrup, and I hailed my neighbor in
a pretty loud tone, and told him of the fact ; but upon
feeling I found that the stirrup had only been crossed
over the seat of the saddle, and I mounted and we rode
on without further incident. The next day I heard
that I had been too drunk to distinguish my horse.
Others said that when he was brought to me I mounted
with my head to his tail ; others, still, said that about
two hours after I had left the house, two gentlemen
were driving into town, and met me going toward
Colonel Stewart's, and that I told them I was going
home but had been riding for hours in the dark to find
it, and was lost.
Mrs. Snow had got hold of this story with all its
variations, and had argued that where there was so
much smoke there must be some fire a favorite way
of destroying reputation effectually and without appeal
M
178 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
and that I must, at all events, have been very drunk ;
and though it happened when Mary was only eleven
or twelve years old, and though if it had been true, the
offense had never been repeated, she referred to it, and
expressed her fears that I was inclined by nature to
intemperance, but she would hope for the best, and dear
Mary must not place her confidence in the morality of
this world, or in human strength, etc. etc. etc. just
what Mrs. Snow would say upon such an occasion, and
with such an object.
For all this I was afraid of Mrs. Snow; but my fear
of her was as nothing to compare with the dread I had
of Mrs. Ruggles, who, as a relative, would naturally
have a much greater influence.
Mrs. Ruggles was what was termed in our part of
the world, a smart woman. What I have heretofore
said of her v/ill give a pretty good idea of her char
acter, though not of her habits and customs. She was
a notable housekeeper, and had her servants in excellent
training, both to do their work well, and to make
speedy and correct reports of whatever they saw
or heard of the neighbors' sayings and doings. Not
only so, but not a servant or child could visit her house
but she would in a few minutes got the most precise
information of what was going on and being said on
any subject in their respective houses, and even of how
they lived. The consequence was that Mrs. Ruggles
was a self-constituted depot for all the scandal, and
trouble, hopes and fears and arrangements and inten
tions of the people of the town, and, as far as possible,
of the county also. It used to seem to me that she
had a spy at the little market-house to report what each
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 179
purchased for dinner, for she asked me one day, when
1 was a very small boy, how I liked cow-heel; and I
know we had had some the day before.
But when Mrs. Ruggles made a discovery she did
not go blabbing it about over the country. She kept
it to herself, made her reflections upon it, and imparted
it to others, or intimated to the person concerned that
she knew it, only when it would subserve some object
she had in view.
Her son Stanley was, as I have said, in the com
mercial line ; and he dressed more finely than would
have become any other young man I ever saw, but he
was a "young buck" who, adorned or unadorned, was
always handsome. It had been the dearest wish of his
mother's heart to see him married to one of her second-
cousin's daughters, but he had hung back from Sarah's
dignity, had been cut out from Lucy by Tom Merri-
weather, and now was being urged by his mother to
try his chance with Mary particularly as I might be
thwarted in that quarter by his success. I will do Master
Stanley the justice to say that he behaved very well, and
when he found that he had no hope, and that I was
too seriously concerned to put up with nonsense or un
derhanded interference by a man, he remained per
fectly neutral, and tried to gut his mother to do so.
She knew that her attempts to thwart me must be indi
rect and covert, for it was of material service to her
comfort that she should be on good terms with Dr. and
Mrs. Page, who were very kind and useful in sickness
and trouble, of which she and hers had a full share.
So she would talk at Mr. Mclntyre's of how poor so
good a family as ours was, and to what straits they
180 MFE AND OPINIONS OF
should be driven if the doctor were to die. " Abra
ham," she would say, "would in that case have to sup
port them all, and though the girls and Mrs. Page are
economical, the two boys have to be sent to school, and
he would find his hands as full as they could be all his
life." If Mrs. Mclntyre should reply that she hoped
it would be very many years before the doctor was
taken away, the good lady would be ready to say that
life was very uncertain, and that the doctor was very
much exposed to disease, and in the ordinary course of
nature it was to be expected that Abraham would have
to provide for the family.
My darling wife told me afterward of these conver
sations, and she said that when she thought of the pos
sibility of my having such a burden upon me, her heart
warmed with the desire to assist me by her means, and
comfort me in my labor and trials.
CHAPTER XV.
"OW to get to pay a visit to Mr. Mclntyre's with
out an express invitation, or the excuse of busi
ness, was a great embarrassment, but I at last hit upon
a plan to overcome the difficulty. The next sewing
society day I found that the two elder young ladies
had come into town early, and were in Mr. Young-
blood's store shopping. I went in there, as though
upon business, was of course surprised and gratified
to see them, and soon entered into conversation. After
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 181
a little, I told Miss Lucy that I understood there was
good fishing in Baker's Creek, back of her father's field.
She said she had not heard of it, but supposed it might
be so. "Oh, yes," said I, "it is so, and I have a mind
to try it in a day or two, and will be able to report
fully upon the subject." My cheeks burned, and my
eye wandered everywhere but to her face as I said this,
for it seemed to me that my ruse was so evident she
would see through it at once ; and I have little doubt
but that she did understand it, for she said she sup
posed they would see me when I came out, and they
would be very happy to do so. I had indeed heard
that there were two or three tolerably good perch holes
in the creek, but I cared no more for fishing than I
did for hunting phoenixes.
The trouble was over, and I felt great relief and
lightness of spirits. I impatiently fixed my visit, in
my own mind, for the next day but one, but on that
day it rained. On the following day, however, it was
fair, and though I knew the creek was muddy, and
catching fish almost impossible, I mounted my horse,
and with fishing rod in hand started, about two o'clock
in the afternoon, expecting to try the creek, for the sake
of appearances, and then to make a good long visit, and
ride home by moonlight. For a wonder, my programme
was carried out to the letter; I caught no fish, but
passed a most delightful evening. Even Hopkins, who
was there, made himself agreeable, and Miss Mary's
quiet attempts at nonchalance and unconsciousness be
fore her sisters, who evidently were highly amused at
this first declaratory visit of her beau, did not annoy
me in the least. The muddy water was a fair excuse
16
182 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
for coming again to try it when it should be clean, and
I appointed the next Wednesday (it was then Satur
day) as a day certain when I would come. " But sup
pose," said Miss Sarah mischievously, "that it should
rain on Tuesday the creek will be muddy again."
"Never mind, Miss Sarah," I answered, "I will come
and see." And I rode home happy.
And so I did go and see, and found an excuse to
go again at an early day ; and when my visits, though
always on some particular excuse, became so frequent
that Hopkins, who was there nearly every day, began
to perceive their design, he began to be witty and most
thoroughly disagreeable. I fairly hated him, and but
that he was a non-combatant, would sometimes have
insulted him.
He was not the only fool of his peculiar kind I have
ever seen. He had a large amount of solid learning,
both civil and ecclesiastical, had studied hard with
many advantages, was quite a musician, and often
really witty, and yet, with all his learning, and polish,
and intellect, he was totally lacking in dignity. A vol
atile demon seemed to possess him, and neither time,
nor place, nor occasion could restrain it. He would
whisper a pun at a funeral, and look one in a sermon.
My visits had not been very numerous, however,
when I was called away from home by business which
detained me nearly two months. The lands in Ala
bama, which State was now being settled very fast,
were a source of wild speculation such as I have never
since seen. The land excitement now going on in Min
nesota and the far northwest may be a parallel, but
hardly its equal. A company of planters who had
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 183
made large purchases of adjoining lands from specula
tors, and who intended removing a portion of their ne
groes upon them early in the next winter, for the pur
pose of opening plantations, solicited me to go and
locate their places precisely by having them surve3 r ed
and marked out. As after the spring term of court was
over there would be little law business until the fall
term approached near, and as the amount to be paid
me was considerable, and, besides, as I was young and
adventurous, I consented to go so soon as the weather
and my business permitted.
It was now early in June, the heavy spring rains
were over, and I made my preparations and started
on horseback. A pair of saddle-bags contained my
clothing and papers, and a bag of heavy homespun cot
ton cloth was across my saddle, to be used for carrying
provisions for myself and horse when I should get to
the wild country where settlements were far apart. A
quart tin-cup, a small frying-pan, and rny rifle completed
my outfit. My horse was a cross between the Indian
pony and the old " Black Creek " breed, and was hardy,
docile, and strong. His name was Bango ; his color
a rusty dun. He had a fashion of traveling with one
ear pointed forward and the other pointed back, and to
rest the muscles, he would sometimes change ears. His
gait was easy, but indescribable by any word or words
in the jockey language. It was neither a rack, pace, nor
gallop ; but as he held his neck sideways, as though he
thought it all fine and himself handsome, and put it
down in a leisurely and earnest style in all those gaits
at once, he was as affected a piece of serviceable and
comical ugliness as you shall ever see.
184 MFE AN D OPINIONS OF
My parting with Miss Mary, or, as I had then got to
calling her, Little Lady, the evening before was such
as would, at least, not weigh upon my spirits while I
was gone. She was embroidering a pair of slippers,
which I had good reason to hope wei'e for me, though
she would not acknowledge it (I have them yet among
my treasures), and manifested a concern about the ex
posures and dangers of my journey, which, though very
maidenly and quiet, showed that she took some interest
in it.
It was necessary for me to pass through Rosstown,
and remain there two days for some papers I had to
use, to be completed and signed. Fitzroy wished me
to stay at his house, but I' preferred, as I always do,
my liberty at the tavern. To be intruding on a family
when there is public accommodation convenient, I have
always thought very selfish, and, unless under peculiar
circumstances, I have never done so yet. Even had I
been inclined to accede to my cousin's invitation, it
would have been perhaps a little embarrassing under
the circumstances. He had but recently got married,
and had just commenced housekeeping, and I neither
knew his wife nor the quality nor capacity of his do
mestic arrangements, and, besides, this thing of being
alone in a house with a young married couple is never
pleasant.
Fitzroy had now been practicing law nearly five
years. My Uncle James, who had been dead about
two years, had left his family a sufficient estate, if it
had been kept together, to make them comfortable;
but Anne Page had married a cantankerous sort of
creature who must certainly have frightened the poor
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 185
child into loving him, and her husband must needs
have her share divided off, and that broke up the unity
of the family as well as of the estate. Fitzroy and his
mother preserved their portions in joint ownership, but
the old lady insisted upon its being also, under joint
management, and Fitzroy had abandoned it into her
hands, and contented himself with the law business,
and influence for other law business, he had inherited.
He, too, had gone fishing for a wife but in a different
way from that I had adopted and hoped would suc
ceed.
About eighteen months before my visit, a very fine
gentleman, who called himself Captain Cartwright, had
come to Rosstown with his wife and daughter, and an
nounced himself as an architect and civil engineer. He
was very polite, very pompous, and very fat and fussy,
and from the way he talked and lived it was generally
supposed that he lived upon the interest of a consider
able fortune in Richmond, Ya., and had come out to
the new country for the purpose of investing in the best
lands he might discover in the pursuit of his scientific
investigations. Mrs. Cartwright was a quiet, meek
little woman, who dressed neatly, and showed most
ladylike manners. Miss Sallie (I wonder if I shall
live long enough to see Johnny spelt with an i e?)
Cartwright, who was about twenty-two, was a fine
dashing girl, not very beautiful, but amiable looking,
spirited, a fine talker and dancer, and with a rare
knowledge of the toilet. She had soon talked, danced,
and dressed herself into Fitzroy's particular notice, arid
one day at a fishing party she had fallen into a deep
hole in the creek, and Fitzroy had at some risk to his
16*
186 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
clothes and comfort, if not to his life., got her out.
Hence the courtship and marriage. His mother had
opposed it warmly ; had told him that perhaps Miss
Sallie was as good as she appeared to be, but that no
one knew her family antecedents; her father had come
without letters of introduction, etc. etc. etc., to which
he answered that he was not going to marry Miss
Sallie's family, or her father, but herself, and as long
as she suited him the others made no difference.
In this matter Fitzroy was wrong, and he found him
self so. I have heard numbers make the same remark,
but with the exception of Anne Page's husband who
seemed to constitute himself a sort of step-husband, so
far as making the family discontented and miserable
was concerned and one or two others, I have never yet
known a man of whom it could not be said that so far
as his comfort and usefulness in life were concerned, he
had more or less married his wife's family in marrying
her. At any rate, when a man marries, he unites to
himself the temper, proclivities, and constitution of
another family, and he finds in his children that he did
actually marry his wife's family.
About ten years after this I was again in Rosstown,
and Fitzroy insisted so strongly upon my staying at
his house that I consented, much against my will and
to my subsequent regret. He looked worn and hag
gard, and, though he was well dressed, had a shabby
appearance I cannot describe. His wife did not come
at once to welcome me in the parlor the very picture
in neatness and discomfort of that I had entered in my
Uncle James's house twenty-five years before and
when, in about a half hour, she did make her appear-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. ISf
ance, the marks of haste about her entrance and dress,
and the fretful discontented expression upon her coun
tenance, confirmed my foreboding that Fitzroy did not
have a happy home. She was very polite and kind,
but the meals were ill served, and there was a general
appearance of slovenliness about the table which indi
cated that she was a poor housekeeper, and also that,
most likely, their fortunes were not prosperous. The
four small children and the baby were prim in their
best clothes, their faces were clean, and their hair was
carefully combed, but they were noisy and quarrel
some, and seemed to pay little respect to their father,
who generally remained silent and depressed, though
he sometimes joined volubly and excitedly in the talk,
and would lead it at random to a different subject.
The second morning of my stay, as I lay awake in
my bed, separated from their room by a thin partition,
I heard their voices for some time and paid no atten
tion to them, but presently I heard him say in a raised
tone, " I do not care, madam, if my cousin does hear
what I say, for he is a man of sense and discretion.
But why should he not hear and speak of what all the
world knows and speaks of already ? Are you, perhaps,
ignorant that I am the laughing-stock of the county,
or the most pitied object in it ?"
"Go on," said she, "I'm used to your brutality !"
"Brutality!" he exclaimed bitterly. "Because when
you have put me to the rack and torture I cry out, I
am to be called brutal ! You have made my life mis
erable. Though I work hard, and deny myself every
pleasure, you reproach me continually, because I have
not the money for all your occasions. If I propose any
188 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
scheme, you throw cold water upon it. If I do any
thing and think it excellent, you tell me it will come to
nothing, and you teach my children to despise me as a
poor, inefficient, and ill-tempered creature. I actually
stand alone in the world, without encouragement at
home or abroad ; for you have separated me from my
mother and sister by your vile temper and unreason
ableness. I am alone, desolate, and wretched. For
my joys I have to depend upon myself, for counsel I
have to depend upon my own unaided judgment. You
seem to think that you perform the whole duty of a
wife when you keep my clothes and those of your chil
dren clean, and in good order, but I could hire a woman
to do that for thirty dollars a month, and never be
troubled by her tongue or sour looks. Though you
know that I need consolation in my troubles in the
world, and am faint for love, you scatter firebrands,
arrows, and death, like a madman, and when a little
access of repentance comes, you tell me you did not
mean any harm. I tell you, madam, that your re
proaches and ill humors must stop. One would think
you had plenty of beauty and charms to squander my
love as you do, and have done, but you must know that
when you have squandered it all you will find that
your beauty and charms are too faded to regain it
again !"
The last part of the tirade was so loud that my
coughs and hems, which I had been using from the
first, could not be heard. It was a dreadful talk from
a husband to a wife, and he must have been either an
outrageous scoundrel, or a good man driven to des
peration who uttered it. His gloom and his wife's pla-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 189
cidity at the breakfast table showed the fault was hers,
and I thought to myself with horror what would be
my fate should my gentle Mary, after ten years of mar
riage, torment me thus.
How he and his wife got along afterward I had no
means of knowing. They never formally separated,
though I heard that they became husband and wife
only in name, until in a drunken fit he shot himself.
She then sold out, and removed with her children to
Baltimore, where her mother, then a widow, was living,
and they all passed out of my ken. I wish the painful
recollections of his condition and talk would also pass
from my memory, but the impression was too deep, and
as I pursued my journey after breakfast, a gloom hung
upon my spirits until the new scenes I was passing
through displaced it.
My long ride was without notable incident. The
country became gradually more wild, and, but for the
road, seemed for many miles at a time never to have
been visited by man. Through the Nation I passed
unmolested. Bango once or twice accomplished two
stations, about fifty miles, in a day, but I generally rode
only from station to station, as I was in no hurry.
Strawberries were just out of season, but the Indians
brought in plenty of blackberries for sale at the taverns.
After leaving the Nation, the road was even worse and
less defined than before, but at last I reached the Land
Office at Fort Claiborne, and obtained the surveyors
and their party, who had been engaged, and we started
on our expedition.
It would be too long and uninteresting to tell my
adventures, none of which, except as connected with
190 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Bango, have the slightest interest even for me. He
was a great horse, and before our trip was over I could
have sold him for a large sum, or swapped him for any
other two horses in the party. He could travel all day
upon what he browsed at night, seemed unconscious of
thirst, was always to be found when wanted for he
seemed to realize the fact that it wouldn't do to stray
off could swim like an otter, and travel through the
dark like a panther. The comical old fellow actually
won for himself the admiration he seemed always to
be challenging, and I overheard a little Englishman we
had along designate me as "Mr. Page, the gentleman
what owns the horse which his name is Bango."
Poor Bango, when you died, years afterward, I felt
like one in the circle of whose friends a great void had
been made, and the thought kept recurring to my mind:
And shall he never live again? I can easily understand
the Indian superstition. Man is instinctively unwilling
to admit that what he has loved is dead forever.
My return home was much the most wearisome part
of my absence. The way was long, and though Bango
was kept at his best rate of traveling, the miles length
ened as I approached Yatton, until the last three miles
seemed as long as any ten I had previously traveled.
Besides this, a day or two before our survey was over
I had unwittingly handled a vine of poisoned oak
(Rhus Toxicodendron) , and being peculiarly sensitive
to its effects, the poison spread over my whole body.
Behold me then late one warm afternoon in August
riding through Yatton to my father's house. My hat
and clothes were in such disorder as to seem of antique
cut ; my unshaven face was splotched up with hair, and
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 191
sores from poison oak ; Bango, gaunt with his journey,
and tired, but with spirit unbroken, sidled along the
street, and I looked little like one whose mind was filled
with the joyful idea of seeing his sweetheart.
But in the state I was how could I go to see her?
It was enraging ! I could not shave without flaying
myself, and if I could, my face was too swollen for me
to hope to excite even pity for a figure so ridiculous.
Nature this time stepped in to relieve me from my em
barrassment by throwing me that night into a fever,
which confined me to my bed and the house for about
two weeks, by which time the effects of the poison had
worn off, and my power for impatience was somewhat
weakened.
One day, about ten days after my arrival at home,
my sister Bel came into my room, and I saw by her
looks she had something important to tell me ; so I
said, without preface, " Well, out with it 1"
" Who do you think has just left the house?" said she.
" Mrs. Ruggles," said I. " She is very kind. I sup
pose she came to see whether she could, not announce
that there is no hope for me, and I am bound to die."
"Oh, brother," replied Bel, "you are too severe upon
Mrs. Ruggles. I'm sure she would grieve heartily if
you were to die. But it was not she who was here ;
it was a young lady, and she has been here frequently
in your absence, and we have been to see her too, and
oh ! she is so sweet !"
"Pshaw!" I answered gruffly, "I don't like sweet
young ladies. They are generally nobodies. But who
was she?"
" Oh, I thought perhaps you might like to hear of
192 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
this one's coming. But it was no one but Mary Mc-
Intyre, who called to ask us to come out to her house
next week."
"Mary who? Mary Mclntyre ? Why, bless my
soul, why didn't you tell me that in the first place ?"
I exclaimed in some excitement! "I suppose you told
her you would come. Of course you must go, and so
must I. I'll be perfectly well by that time, certain."
"But, brother," suggested Bel, "you must not ex
pose yourself too soon."
"Expose myself! Oh, no, I'll not expose myself,"
said I, and I added to myself: "as though I hadn't
swam creeks, and ridden through sun and rain, and
night and day, as hard as Bango could stand it to get
to see her; or, as if my fever, or anything but my own
ugly looks, could have kept me from seeing her before
now!"
I got well speedily, and when the day came I was
all ready, and we paid the visit. And two days after
I went there again alone, and Mary and I took a ram
ble in the garden together, and when we returned she
had promised to be my wife. And when we got into
the house we found quite a number of lady visitors in
the parlor, several of them strangers to me, and, after
sitting awhile, I rose and said I must go, and went up
and shook hands with Mrs. Mclntyre, and Miss Sarah,
and Miss Lucy, and Tom Merriweather, and Hopkins
confound him, he couldn't hurt me now and then, my
embarrassment increasing with the magnitude of the
hand-shaking operation, I went all around and shook
hands affectionately with every lady in the room, to
the intense amusement of Mary's sisters and mother
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 193
though she herself was rather too preoccupied to see
the fun of it.
There are some things a gentleman naturally con
ceals, not because they are ugly, or paltry, but because
they arc too delicate and precious to be exposed to the
careless glance, or to the unappreciative or the vulgar,
who would distort them and destroy their symmetry
even by an unhallowed look. The very regards of
some men and women are a shock to delicacy and
purity.
One of the very earliest lessons my father taught
me was that the man who kisses and tells is a ruffian,
and it has always been my most rigid rule to heed the
maxim in both letter and spirit. Much more shall I
refrain from exposing the pure and precious love shown
me by the woman, the memory of whose love has many
a time and often been the only guarantee I have had to
myself that I was not myself utterly worthless. The
love of a pure and sensible woman is a support to self-
respect which it is wonderful so many men forget or
despise.
Ay, young ladies ! toothless and babbling as the old
man now is, he has once been loved with all the ardor
of a heart as pure and loving as the best and warmest
of yours ; gray-headed and withered as he is now, eyes
as bright as the brightest of yours, once looked upon
him as a fine type of manhood, and hands as soft and
beautiful as any you ever saw have toyed lovingly
with his glossy hair, and gently patted his cheeks firm
with youth and health ; and when he grows so feeble
with age that he can only support himself erect upon
his stick, he will pat himself upon the breast, and say
n N
194 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
with exultant pride, " I have loved worthily, and been
worthily loved !" And when he says so he thinks that
he has said all a man need say to prove himself a man,
and all that he can say to show that, though he may
not have accomplished fame or fortune, he has accom
plished the noblest aim of life to approach the quality
and joys of heaven. /
^Loving and loved is all Heaven's history.
CHAPTER XVI.
THIS, the third year of my professional life, I made
and collected twenty-five hundred dollars by my
practice and the surveying expedition. There was a
great deal of litigation and the prospect of its continu
ance for some years longer and though some other
young lawyers of my acquaintance made more, it was
by large fees in chance criminal cases, and floating
practice, whereas I had secured a clientelle of solid
men and men of influence, and could calculate with
safety upon an increase rather than a diminution of
paying business.
But I attended to my business simply as business,
and as a matter of duty. I had no love for the practice
of law, though I regarded the science as better fitted
than any other for enlarging and liberalizing the mind.
The sphere of the physician, the preacher, or the me
chanician is noble and useful, but it is contracted, and
with the two first, as at present constituted, is filled
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 195
with doubts and contentions for which there is no
judge to decide. There are rules in medicine, and so
there are in chess ; but in neither the one nor the other
does success always follow a precise adherence to them
nay, a precise adherence is often the very cause of
failure. The symptoms in both are apt to be mistaken.
There are great fundamental rules in theology also,
and the great doctrine of Christianity the atonement,
with its essential accompaniments cannot be mis
taken. But so soon as man begins to be a theologian,
and to speculate about what is not clearly and unmis
takably revealed in God's word, and attempts with
his finite mind to judge God, the whole affair becomes
a matter of temperament and the imagination, and he
is certain to "darken counsel by words without knowl
edge."
Whence comes the confusion which has for ages ex
isted and torn in pieces the Christian world, setting
brother against brother, father against son, but from
this very darkening of counsel by words without knowl
edge ? Instead of humbly receiving the truth as
clearly revealed, and humbly using charity toward
opinions upon minor questions about which men may
differ and yet be true Christians, they presumptuously
judge God with regard to those questions, exalt those
questions to the highest place of importance, and call
upon all men learned and ignorant, whatever the capa
city and bias of each to bow down to their judgment.
The science of law embraces within it all moral rela
tions, and therefore the whole system of the moral laws
of nature, from which no living man is exempt, and it
is, therefore, the vastest and most varied of all sciences.
196 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
To liken it to Nature herself it has its shady groves,
where all is beauty and peace ; its flowery meads, in
which the mind may revel in pleasure; its arid deserts,
its roaring cataracts, and its cloud-piercing mountains,
which one ascends to look upward and upward to the
throne of God, with nothing but the limit of his own
power of vision to obstruct the view. And one law
yer cannot contend, and say to another, "I see further
than you do."
I therefore have always loved the noble science to
which I chose to apply my energies but the practice
of the lawyer and advocate has never been agreeable.
My soul naturally revolts at discord and confusion ;
and to see, much more to handle and dissect, the follies
and vices of my fellow-men has always given me pain.
I never yet took pleasure in the antics or the humor of
a drunken man, and though, if I know myself, I am
not deficient in the combativeness which becomes a
man, I have always had a nervous horror of a quarrel,
and, unless compelled by special duty, have always
avoided even looking at a brawl.
About this time I was temporarily appointed State's
Attorney of my District, and it came into my way to
investigate a case of murder, which, with its accom
paniments, disgusted me thoroughly.
News was brought into town one day that a man by
the name of Glass had been murdered in the north
western corner of the county, and the coroner sum
moned a jury, and, accompanied by the sheriff and my
self, whom he overpersuaded to go, preceded to the
place.
It was a rough and barren country the rural district
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 197
of the county inhabited almost entirely by very poor
whites, who among them all hardly owned a dozen
slaves, and those almost as far below the slaves of the
rich as their owners were below the rich themselves.
Small one and two-roomed log-cabins, with a corn-crib
and shed for horses, and two or three small out-houses
attached, were dotted about on the hills and in the
hollows every half mile or so over the district, and in
these the families lived. Their fields adjoining were
not much larger than patches, and generally extended
from near the house down into and along a bottom
through which ran one of the very numerous spring
branches or small creeks which came together some
distance below, and formed Brown's Creek.
Glass's cabin was one of the meanest in the district
consisting of a narrow front gallery, one principal
room, and a very small cuddy or shed-room made by
the extension of part of the back roof. The roof was of
oak-boards hung on to the sheathing-slats by pegs, arid
confined to their places by heavy poles laid lengthwise
across. A low rail-fence, about fifteen feet in front of
the house, formed the yard and kept out the hogs and
cattle.
When we rode up, we found the wife of the deceased
a sallow-faced young woman, dressed in striped
homespun seated on a low chair in the gallery, with
a pipe in her mouth and a young infant tugging at her
breast. A white-headed and almost naked little girl,
about two years of age, was seated near her on the
puncheon-floor staring at the strange assemblage. An
other young woman, dressed like Mrs. Glass, and who, I
found, was her younger sister, moved about apparently
17*
198 LIFE AND OPINIONS. OF
not ashamed that she was herself very soon to become
a mother. Old Burdick, their father, and his son Jim
Burdick, were also present, having come from their
home, about six miles off, that morning, upon hearing
of the murder; and five or six of the neighbors, all
dressed in white homespun shirts and pants with knit-
suspenders, and without coats, were lounging about or
seated on the front fence.
The body of the deceased was not at the house, but
had been left lying where it was found, in the path
back of the field, about three hundred yards from the
house. It is considered in the country to be illegal to
remove or even to turn over the body of one found
killed, until the coroner shall have held his inquest.
After the coroner had sworn in the jury, and all pres
ent he thought might be witnesses, we 'proceeded to
the spot where the body lay in its blood guarded by
an old negro man, while a neighbor was seated on the
fence some yards off. After viewing the position of
the body, which lay on its face diagonally across the
path, and carefully noting the surroundings, and ex
amining the position and direction of the bullet-hole in
the back, just below the right shoulder-blade, which
caused the death, the body was removed and placed
under a beech-tree in front of the house, and covered
with a blanket. The coroner then took his place upon
the gallery, and called up the witnesses one by one
first the old negro, then the wife, two of the neighbors,
old Burdick and his son, and, finally, the sister-in-law
of the deceased.
The negro testified that about sunrise the deceased
left him in the patch near the house, saying that he
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 199
would go and look at his coon traps back of the field,
and that, about twenty minutes after he left, he had
heard him whoop, as though in answer to a call, and
presently had heard loud voices, one of which was that
of the deceased, and the other unknown ; and then,
after a moment of silence, had heard a rifle go off ; that
Glass was unarmed when he left him ; that the break
fast-horn blew, and that Glass not coming, it was blown
again, and that he was then presently sent to see what
had become of him, and he found him lying dead as he
was found.
Mrs. Glass had been back of the house, and heard
the voices and the rifle shot. She did not recognize
the voices, though one of them, she said, sounded like
his (Glass's), and the other well, she did not know,
and didn't like to say. Upon being pressed, she said
it reminded her of Joe Harlip's voice, but she could
not say it was his. She showed little or no emotion,
spoke of the dead man as "he" and "him," and never
mentioned him as "husband," or Mr. Glass, or by any
name of endearment.
Neither of the neighbors knew anything about the
circumstances. Glass had been only about four years
in the neighborhood. There had lately been some bad
talk about him and a certain person it was best not to
name names. He was not a quarrelsome man, and
didn't drink more than was general in the neighbor
hood they all drank more or less ; but he was apt to
be mighty reckless when he got to going. One of them
saw a man riding through the woods about a half hour
by sun, going in the opposite direction from Glass's,
and thought he looked like Joe Harlip, but he was not
200 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
close enough to tell. The man had no gun that he
could see, and was not riding very fast.
Old man Burdick was very stolid. He said he knew
nothing, and did not Avish to know anything about it.
He had had a heap of trouble, and his trouble was on
him now. Glass was the cause of it, but killing him did
not relieve it. He did not wish to say anything which
might get an innocent man into trouble. Mrs. Glass
and Jane were both his daughters. Jane had never
been married. Glass had been mighty anxious to get
Jane to come up and stay with her sister, and she had
come about eight months before, and had been staying
there ever since. Joe Harlip had been courting her at
his house and at Glass's up to about a month before,
when he had quit, mighty mad about something, and he
hadn't seen him since.
Jim Burdick's testimony was to the same effect.
Joe Harlip, he said, had got mighty mad with Glass
about something or other, and had not been about
lately. He had seen him two or three days before, and
he looked mighty grum. Had not seen him since, and
did not know where he was ; supposed he was at
home.
Jane, the younger woman, was now called. At the
request of the coroner, I had conducted the examina
tions thus far, and when she was called, he insisted that
I should go on.
I do not care to give a detail of her statement, which
showed she was shameless. Her sister had for some
months been very jealous of her, but with Glass to up
hold her, she didn't care not she. Glass and her sis
ter had not been on good terms lately. They all drank
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 201
whisky sometimes; she herself had taken her toddy
with Glass that morning before he started out. She
slept in the shed-room, and the jug was kept in there.
She had taken two or three other drinks during the
day on account of the trouble. She had not seen Joe
Harlip for several weeks, and she didn't care that
(snapping her finger) for him. When she saw him last
he was mighty mad with Glass about her, and swore
he would kill him. Glass had been a good man to her
and here she began to cry, and soon got into hys
terics, caused by the excitement of the circumstances
and the liquor she had drank acting upon her con
dition.
An examination of the ground around the spot of
the killing showed that a horse had been hitched near
there, and the print of the butt of a rifle was found at
the root of a tree about twenty steps from where Glass
had fallen. The murderer had evidently got into a
quarrel with Glass, and had got his rifle and shot him
as he Avas moving off.
The coroner issued a warrant for Joe Harlip, but he
had left home, and as he was never afterward seen in
the county, the case had dropped after the grand jury
had found a true bill. Whatever became of Jane and
Mrs. Glass, I do not know. I heard that Jane had
taken up with a man named Gleeson who soon after
came to the neighborhood, but gradually the whole
affair, and all the persons concerned, passed off the
stage of life.
I have mentioned this affair for two reasons. The
first, to show the state of society and morals in the
rural districts ; and it is a true picture of all the other
202 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
rural districts on this continent in the North even
worse than in the South in Europe, and all over the
world. The other, to exhibit one of the many causes
why I did not like to practice law. Who would like
to handle such affairs as this ? It is bad enough to
hear of such things, and, for my own part, I prefer
neither to hear nor see them.
Now I am well aware that in saying this I lay my
self liable to the charge of taking a narrow view of life,
and giving a weak preference to its pleasures. I shall
be told that the true man chooses an object and goes at
it as into a battle, fights bravely, takes its pleasures of
victory, or, if beaten, never submits.
It is correct to say that the true man always does his
duty, whether it be agreeable or disagreeable ; and I
trust that I have proved myself a true man. Although
I have done many things I ought not to have done, I
cannot conscientiously reproach myself for ever lacking
in my duty of doing what ought to be done. In spite
of my dislike to the practice of the law, and, above all,
of my impatience of its slowness and uncertainty, I at
tended to it faithfully during all this period of my life
as a solemn duty I owed to my own happiness, and the
welfare of my younger brothers and sisters, and the
dear one who was so soon to be dependent upon me.
The motive was superior to the disgust and impatience,
and I worked hard early and late, and all the world
said : behold a man who is bound to rise high in fame
and fortune ! Whether or not I am to be censured for
not in after-life fulfilling this prognostication of the
world, is a question I will discuss in its proper place.
For the present it is sufficient to state that my labors
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 203
met with such results, both present and prospective,
that I was justified in my own mind and in the opin
ions of my friends in hastening my marriage.
Not many weeks after our engagement, Lucy mar
ried Merri weather, and Mr. Mclntyre gave her as a
dowry the value, in money and negroes, of $25,000. It
was to be supposed that, as he could well afford it, he
would give Mary no less, for he agreed without diffi
culty to our marriage as indeed did Mrs. Mclntyre
and the sisters. My calculation, then, was that we
would start in our joint fortunes with a capital of fifty
thousand dollars for my profession was at least
equal in value to Mary's capital. Even allowing that
my professional income -did not increase, as it undoubt
edly must, and Mary's capital only produced five per
cent., we would have a yearly income of $3750, which
would be amply sufficient to support us handsomely in
all events, and, with prudence, by the time I became,
in the ordinary course of nature, unable to work, we
should be able to provide for our children if we should
be so fortunate, or unfortunate, as to have any.
About two miles east of Yatton, on Brown's Creek,
was a tract of three hundred and sixty acres of fine
land, owned by Mr. James Yandle, who had built upon
it a neat and roomy residence with all the necessary
out-houses, gardens, and improvements, and had opened
about one hundred and fifty acres of the bottom land
for a sort of home farm. His plantation was in the
lower part of the county on the river, but he lived here
so as to give his family the advantages of church and
school, and also on account of the superior healthiness
of the location. But he was one of the gentlemen
204 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
for whom I had gone to Alabama, and his ideas had
become so elated by the descriptions he had heard (not
from me, however) of the new country of El Dorado,
that he determined to remove his family there with him
as soon as, by making a visit first himself, he could
prepare for them. He wished therefore, though I did
not know it, to sell his residence, which he called The
Holt ; and as such a sale could not always be made
at a time to suit one's convenience, he was willing to
sell at the first opportunity, and remove his family, in
the interim, to his plantation.
I had often admired the beauty and convenience of
the place, and knew that the bottom land was fertile ;
but of course though I now desired to own it, I could
not propose to Mr. Yandle to sell me what I knew his
wife and children loved and had improved with such
labor and taste. The man who goes through the world
with the opinion that everything has its price, and is
but a matter of dollars and cents, is a cold-blooded vul
garian.
Mr. Yandle seemed to appreciate my wants and his
own opportunity; and meeting me one day on the
street, proposed that I should take the place off his
hands. He said that he had no need of ready money,
and would give me plenty of time to make the pay
ments, and that as he knew that I and my wife could
appreciate and care for the place, he would even let me
have it cheaper than be would a stranger, or one who
had no taste. After some further conversation we
Agreed that if Mary consented I would take the place
at seven thousand dollars, payable in equal install
ments in five years, and that I should have possession
AS HAH AM PAGE, ESQ. 205
by the first of December. It was now early in Sep
tember, and that would give him time to remove and
settle his family, and give me time also to get settled
on the place and commence with January to prepare
for a crop. I had till the next Tuesday to give au
answer.
That, Wednesday evening, I went out to Mr. Mc-
Intyre's and told Mary my arrangement, and asked her
consent to it. Her father was sitting near us, and she
appealed to him. "What does he ask, Page ?" said he.
I told him the terms, and he said they were very fair,
and that if Mary liked the place he could see no objec
tion 'to the purchase. The next day, however, Mr.
Mclntyre was in town, and when I went to his house
Friday evening, Mary handed me the title to the place,
made in her name, and paid for cash.
To cut a long story short, Mr. and Mrs. Mclntyre also
furnished the house and kitchen completely and well,
and assigned to Mary a good cook and house girl
both trained under Mrs. Mclntyre's eye. Of course I
could make a volume of these arrangements by telling
how Mary got my opinion about furniture without let
ting me know why she wished it, how she made me
promise to buy no furniture until she should ask me, and
how I was slyly consulted with a "suppose this," and
"suppose that," about every domestic arrangement, and
how, when all was completed, she enjoyed my surprise
and pleasure at seeing it ; and then about who were
the bridesmaids and who the groomsmen, and how it
happened that Jenny Preston had taken sick before
the time, and Mary Forsyth was chosen in her place,
etc. etc. etc., all the talk and feelings and arrange-
18
206 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
merits of a young couple about to be married and go
to housekeeping but it would make niy " Life" as
trashy to read as all of those things are unimportant
and common in their occurrence.
I took the trouble a short time ago to analyze the
material facts contained in a voluminous book written
by a living fashionable novel writer, and actually, ex
cept that in the last chapter the parties got married
and lived happily ever after, there was not a fact or a
reflection in the whole book worth remembering. I can
enjoy to follow a rambling writer who always talks
sense or pleasant nonsense, but one whose aim seems
to have been quantity, and whose book I can close
without having a single suggestive thought, or amusing
or important fact to remember, is unbearable, however
artistic may be the construction of his plot, or however
glib and correct may be his style and language.
CHAPTER XYII.
SO Mary and I were married.
When a man marries, the mother of his wife, if
she be a good and sensible woman, generally weeps,
while every one else is madly gay. When a healthy
child is born, it is Hip ! Hip ! ! Huzza ! ! ! and all is
merriment.
For my own part, I think the weeping mother rea
sonable, and the careless merriment on both occasions
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 2 Of
unreasonable and mistimed. I never yet have had a
great joy but that my soul seemed to shrink with ap
prehension of sorrow. We often speak of "tears of
thankfulness," or write the fact that one "wept for
joy," without ever reflecting upon the profound mean
ing and pathos of the expressions.
That a bridegroom should rejoice, or that a father
should be joyful, is most becoming a man ; but if he
rejoice without reflection, he is little better than a
mocking-bird or an idiot. The bridegroom who has
due respect and tenderness for his bride ; the husband
who really loves his wife, and sympathizes with her
pain and danger; the father who really feels the re
sponsibility of parentage; the man who in sober truth
and earnestness appreciates the sorrows and frailties
and uncertainty of life, must "rejoice with trembling."
To say, then, that I rejoiced at my marriage is
simply to say that I was a man; to say that I was
also thoughtful, is to affirm that I was a sensible man
which means a man of feeling, quite as much as it
means a man of discretion. Now although I am old,
and perhaps trivial and erroneous in some of my talk,
I never, in my manhood at least, gave cause for being
called either gloomy or weakly sentimental in my feel
ings, opinions, or conduct. I have met all current
opinions of matters and things in a sturdy paradoxical
spirit, as willing to be convinced one way as another;
just as I have, when duty called me, met the obstacles
of life with a fair stand-up determination to accomplish
the right, if it could be done. I may therefore repeat,
with some degree of assurance that I am correct, a re
mark I have heretofore made that the events of hu-
208 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
man life, except as they affect the immortal soul, are
of all things the most trivial.
Except for this, the death of an ox is of more import
ance than the death of any man not the property of an
other ; a timely shower of rain is of more real moment
than a nation's mourning; and the accurate fit of a
young lady's ball-dress of quite as real cause for con
cern as the adjustment of the balance of power in Eu
rope. Birth is important because it brings a soul into
being, to act and suffer. Life and death are of import
ance because of the manner in which the soul is em
ployed during life, and the time and circumstances of
its fate being sealed by death.
Where are the friends of my youth ? Dead. Where
are the friends of my early manhood? Dead. Where
those of my prime ? Dead. And their fathers are
dead, and their children must all die. Of what import
ance is it to them whether they have been wise or fool
ish, rich or poor, good or bad, loved or hated ? Their
works live after them ; the trees they planted flourish,
the houses they builded are a pleasant shelter, the ex
amples they set and the lessons they taught still affect
others; but their hopes, and joys, and sorrows, their
disappointments and pleasures and pains, which made
life all in all to them, where are they ?
Does all this sound trite? Know then, oh man,
that religion and politics, and all moral relations center
in this fact you call trite. Except the plan of salva
tion, it is the greatest fact you ever knew or can know
on earth. If it be trite to you, show by your conduct
that you know and appreciate it. You will then be
unreasonable in neither your desires nor your disap-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 209
pointments. You shall then perhaps be better able to
understand and humbly submit to the government of
God; and may possibly see a fitness and propriety in
the slaughter of the Canaanites, and in the ravages
permitted to conquerors, and committed to pestilences,
which shall lead you to admit that at least the Ruler
of the world may be just and good as well as powerful
and wise.
I may be pardoned these grave reflections when it is
remembered that I am writing as a duty which will be
ill performed if it do not lead to serious benefit. That
I should have married is certainly none of your busi
ness. Nor, if my object were to amuse you, would I
mention it for there was nothing funny about it either
to myself or my wife. Like every other event worth
rejoicing over, it was worth being thoughtful about;
and when it is considered that I have been left alone
of all who rejoiced at my wedding, the connection be
tween the narration of my marriage and what I have
here said will be admitted to be natural.
But of course my feelings, when I pronounced my
vows, did not dwell on death and sorrow. They were
tender and compassionate, as must be those of every
gentleman upon such an occasion.
What a beast the man is who regards his wife as
but the morsel for his appetite, or the slave for his
comfort ! I thank God that I have all my life had a
profound respect and tender solicitude for woman, old
and young, gentle and simple, for now, in my old age,
I am not disposed to retire from the herd to some soli
tary spot, but can still find rational and pure pleasure
in her society.
18* o
210 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
CHAPTER XVIII.
IT was then the usual fashion to marry on Thursday,
which gave two or three days to prepare and two
days to right-up after the festivities; but whenever it
was, for any cause, more convenient, it was in rule to
marry on Tuesday. We were married a Tuesday,
and moved to our new house on Thursday morning
in the lumbering family carriage, surnamed by the
young men in town "The Swan."
The common mode of conveyance at that time, both
for ladies and gentlemen, was on horseback, or in gigs,
or sulkies hung high on leather and wooden springs.
Some few of the wealthiest families had carriages
great unwieldy machines which could run only on the
main roads. But these vehicles were so few in num
ber, and therefore so remarkable, that each was named
by the young men in town from some fancied resem
blance or association. Colonel Stewart's, on account
of its rotund capacity, was called "The Globe;" Mr.
Mclntyre's, from the distance in front at which the
driver's seat was placed, "The Swan;" that of Mr.
Harkness was " The Mortgage," from its weightiness
and the manner in which it had been obtained and
so on.
The negroes given to Mary by her father had been
already, the week before, settled by him in their quar.
ters, and put to work repairing fences, cutting briers,
and getting fire-wood -under the superintendence of a
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 211
young man named Tomlinson, who was a good man
ager ; and, by-the-by, became afterward, by luck and
economy, a very rich man. There were ten hands
four of them women, with their four husbands, and
their children, and the other two young single men.
The yard had been stocked by Mrs. Mclntyre with
chickens among which were all Mary's favorites she
had raised and taught to love her as their providence
and turkeys, ducks, and guinea-chickens; which, as
the first-comers and already habituated, gave their
fair mistress a noisy welcome as the carriage drove up.
The house was a frame building, fronting to the
south, and built, about six years before, of lumber
sawed at Brown's saw-mill, about two miles above us
on the creek. It was raised on brick-pillars about four
feet from the ground, and had a broad gallery both in
front and in the rear. A wide hall divided it in the
center, and into it two rooms opened on each side.
The two on the west were the parlor and dining-room ;
the front room on the east we chose as our bed-room,
because it gave us the first rays of the morning sun
through the screen of forest trees around the house,
and was sheltered from the fierce heat of the summer
afternoons. The room adjoining was also a bed-room,
and with another neat room, which had been added as
a wing to the eastern side of the house, at the rear,
and opened both into our back room and on the back
gallery, and an office in the front yard, about twenty
yards from the house, into which I could stow my
brothers and their boy friends, gave us plenty of ac
commodation for all the visitors we were likely to have,
for some years at least.
212 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Although I was quite as hopeful a man as my
father, I did not have to build my house, and could
put off additions to a more convenient or necessary
time. For the present, even to the kitchen, which was
in the yard at the northwest corner of the house, all
was large enough, and in good order.
East of the house, and coming up to within twenty
yards of it, was Mary's flower-garden ; in which were
also fifteen hives of bees I had taken, with the place,
from Mr. Yandle. On the northern side of the flower-
garden was the carriage-house, as we called it, which
contained the bran-new gig I had purchased for our
use; and beyond that were the barn and stable, and
then came a strip of wood on the side of the decliv
ity, from the foot of which the field stretched to the
east and southeast down to the creek. West of the
house, and also near it, was my vegetable-garden, in
which I soon took great pride and pleasure ; and near
that on the northwest of the house, about three hun
dred yards off, was the quarters behind which were
the gardens and little patches of the negroes.
The public road, about three hundred yards in front of
the house, ran east from Yatton until it came to my field,
which it skirted for a mile to the southeast, where it
crossed the creek on a puncheon bridge. There was no
fence between the house and the lane through which the
road ran, and which was formed by the yard inclosure
and the fence of the woods pasture beyond. This land in
front of the house was level for about seventy-five yards,
and then declined gently to the lane, its surface broken
only by several swells and shallow hollows, except on
the west, where a deeper "hollow ran almost up to the
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 213
quarters, and gave exit to the water from the spring
which supplied my whole family with drinking water.
Many of the original forest trees had been left on this
expanse, and it was dotted just far enough apart to
allow a luxuriant sward of grass to grow with oaks
and magnolias, poplars and elms, with here and there
a sweet-gum in the bottom.
If you should think that I have been too minute in
this description of our place, remember, if you please,
that it may some day arrive to you, too, that memory,
and not fancy, shall bring your paradise to view. Fond
recollection is all the old man has of the comfort and
happiness of his youth. The house is here still, and I
sit, lonely, and write in the bed-room to which, fifty-
one years ago, I brought my bride and with her
brought light, and life, and joyful hope. My feeble
footsteps take me through the rooms where once
the gentle mistress dispensed order and comfort;
and along the paths in wood and garden, where she
stepped lightly at my side, and ever and anon looked
lovingly in my face, as we talked with serious gayety
of the improvements we should make to form our home
an Eden. The trees which shaded us are here, the
roses bloom in the spots she planted roses, and nature
is vigorous and smiling as it was when she made it all
so lovely to me but my Love is not here ! My Dar
ling! oh, my Darling! where are you? Does your
spirit lie unconscious in God's secret place? or does it
live happy and hopeful in the plains of heaven ? or does
it hover near me now, and sympathize with the yearn
ing heart, and long to wipe away the tears which flow
down the cheeks of your poor husband ? Oh, my
LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
precious one ! God was good to give us to each other ;
and I shall not cavil that he took you from me ; but it
was hard to bear. These many years have I been
lonely, oh, so lonely! waiting to join you; and I have
feared unholy thoughts, and tried to live an humble,
Christian life, lest in the end I should be separated
from you ; and am so weary 1 My Love ! my Love !
my heart is breaking !
CHAPTER XIX.
fTHHE following week came our infair, a grand occa-
JL sion, at my father's, and then a round of parties
in our honor given by our friends in the county, all of
which we attended I, dressed as a bridegroom, in my
blue cloth dress-coat with metal buttons, my buff small
clothes, buckled pumps, white vest, and ruffled shirt,
driving my wife in our gig as proudly as the charioteer
of the goddess Diana.
The spring came on open and fair, and under Tom-
linson's superintendence, the negroes worked well and
quietly. My crop was pitched in season, and came up
well. When the spring term of the court came on, I
appeared at the bar, and among my fellow-citizens,
with the more assured air of a man. It seemed to me
I felt a greater breadth and precision of mind than I
had ever felt before, and all my business was happily
transacted. The practice almost began to be agreea
ble, as it was for the comfort and happiness of Mary I
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 215
worked. The familiar tone of my acquaintances and
former schoolmates was more respectful, for I was no
longer "Abraham Page, the good old fellow, who has
nothing better to do than to enter into your pranks, or
keep them concealed." I was Mr. Abraham Page, who
had a wife, and had become a settled pillar of the State.
Even Stanley Ruggles, though he was Mary's relative,
became more friendly than familiar, and was alert to
sell me ribbons and laces, measure off cloth and cam
bric, and show a solicitude for my custom ; whereas,
before, it was, "You Abe, you don't want to buy any
thing. Where are you going this evening? Let's go
around to Squire Carter's !"
My father, too, and my mother and sisters, seemed
to feel at last that I was a grown man, and tacitly to
acknowledge that I had other cares and other duties
than those which clustered around our dear old home.
Every day of my married life I had reason to admire
more exactly and to love more tenderly the woman God
had given ine. Her gentleness was a continual rebuke
to my hastiness of opinion and speech ; her thoughtful
kindness for others kept my selfishness always in
shame her uncomplaining spirit hushed my restless
discontent at the little annoyances to which nature and
a household are subject; and the sweet sprightliness
of her wit, and the delicate playfulness of her humor,
were a constant surprise and delight.
In the long hot summer afternoons to lie upon a pal
let in the wide, cool hall, and hear the cocks flapping
their wings and crowing around the house, and the
guineas going about leisurely, or chasing each other
here and there in the yard, vociferating po-track! pot-
21(> LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
rack! and the English ducks whispering and quacking
about the steps, and the pigeons cooing upon the house
top, was almost like a dream of peace and content
ment ; and then to have her near me busily engaged
at some housewifely sewing, and as her nimble fingers
deftly stitched, and snipped, and turned and stitched
again, to hear her describe perhaps some visit she had
made in her girlhood among her friends, and the grav
ity of this one, the affectation of that, and the offended
dignity of the other, until realizing fully how ridiculous
the scene was as it came again vividly before her, her
merry girlish laughter would fill my soul with tender
ness and pride rather than with mirth, and I would
wish in my heai't that all the world could see and ad
mire her beauty, and wit, and goodness. Or if she
spoke of some quarrel of her girlhood, or we discussed
some wrong which had been done her (except what
Mrs. Snow had said against me, which she appropri
ated to her own account), to hear her find a good reason
for her enemy, and an excuse for the wrong done, was
worth a thousand sermons on charity, and did more to
soften my asperities than all my reading, prudence, and
reflection put together.
Often my sister-in-law, Sarah, would stay with us for
a week or two, and either she, or one, or both of my
own sisters (and sometimes all three at once), were
there always ; for I had to be in my office in town
every day until about four o'clock in the afternoon, and
it would not have done for Mary to have remained alone
and unprotected. Lucy Mcrriweather stayed over
night with us frequently when she came up from her
husband's place to shop in town ; and every Sunday
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 217
that the weather was fair Mrs., and often Mr. Mclntyro,
would take with us an early dinner, so as to get home
before night. My two brothers also used to come out
nearly every Friday evening after school, so as to start
early Saturday morning fishing or hunting.
These, with my father and mother, who often came,
and some few intimate friends, were all of our vis
itors, except those who came to make fashionable
calls.
And so the summer wore on into fall. The rain
had come just when my corn needed it most. My
cotton had escaped blight, and rust, and worms, and
sore-shin, and shedding, and all the enemies and dis
eases to which cotton is subject, and the hands were
picking full weight all through November. The fall
term of the court showed, too, that I was a thriving
man, for my docket was almost double what it was be
fore, and with paying cases too. But in the midst of
all this prosperity, I had care on my heart. My Mary
had to pass through her first ordeal of maternity ; and
when, early in December, I found myself the father of
a perfect and healthy boy, my joy and gratitude knew
no bounds not so much for the gift as for the safety
of the beloved sufferer.
The desire of man to have posterity is nigh akin to
his instinctive aspiration for immortality, and his
trouble at not having a successor from his own loins
is nothing but a modification of his natural dread of
annihilation. And yet, it is my opinion, there is too
much certain pain, and probable danger, accompanying
the gratification of his desire, to warrant his praying
for it as though he would take no refusal. Whatever
19
218 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
may be his course with regard to other earthly blow
ings, it seems to me that in view of the safety of the
mother and the life, and conduct of the child during its
life, all of which must be taken into count in estima
ting whether it be a blessing or no it is good policy
in this case to add to his prayer the clauses "if it be
best," and " Thy will be done."
I could think at first but little of the child ; my
thoughts were with the mother, the proud and happy
mother, whose greatest joy seemed to be that, though
at such risk and pain, she had added to my happiness.
Ah, how little do men comprehend of the love of
their wives ! How little did I, who loved so well, and,
as I thought, so sensibly, appreciate the nature and in
tensity of Mary's love for me ! She would willingly
have borne all my pains and aches to have me escape
them as she bravely suffered her own because she
thought it was to give me pleasure. If a day were
fair, it was well because I could prosecute my plans,
or not be exposed to get wet as I rode to and from my
business ; if it were foul, it was ill because my schemes
were thwarted, or my comfort lessened. If she thought
I desired a "thing it was as though I had ordered it ; if
she imagined I disapproved an action it was as impos
sible to be done as though it could not be done. Present
or absent from her, my comfort, my likes and dislikes,
and my welfare were always in her thoughts to shape
her actions.
And yet, if I ever saw a woman capable of discre
tion yea, and able to assert her own will upon proper
occasions; if I ever knew a woman fitted to guide a
man or her child through the snares of life, and even
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 219
of business, she was that woman. Many a time she
seemed to know intuitively what I had not yet discov
ered, warned me of what I, a business man, had not
even suspected, and suggested to me what I just then
most needed to know.
In a few weeks she had fully recovered her strength,
and her beauty assumed that indefinable gentleness of
perfection added by the tender joy and solicitude of
motherhood. The child grew to be a plump, good-
natured, rosy little fellow, and nestled in niy heart, all
the dearer that he was my Mary's flesh and blood and
pain, and resembled her; while to the inexpressible
tenderness of my love to her was added the thought
that she was the mother of my child.
There can be nothing more charming than the sight
of a young mother with her child where both are bright
and healthy. Even when both, or either, shall be sickly
there is a sad pathos about it which nothing else pre
sents; but when there is no such cloud to mar the
picture, it is simply charming. Her alarmed ignorance
of how it should be handled or should be treated for its
little ailments, is charming ; her brooding love when it
is quieted, or when it sleeps, her little jealousies of the
attentions of others to the precious object, her offended
pride at any seeming lack of attention to it, or of ad
miration of it, her loving talk, and her grave instruc
tions to it, its helplessness, and often its pleading
smiles, all, can be fitly expressed by no other word
than charming.
There was another thing, I well remember, which
puts the crowning touch of holiness to this picture of
my married life. Mary, though a sprightly, spirited
220 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
woman, was at all times very hnmble and trustful in
her religious impressions and belief, but now that she
felt the destiny of her little one committed to her, she
became even more humble and more trustful.
She had said to me one day, soon after our marriage,
when she had become sufficiently familiar with me to
make such a suggestion : "Don't you think, husband,"
she called me husband, the sweetest word which
ever came from beloved lips! "don't you think, hus
band, that we ought to say our prayers together ? We
have so much to be thankful and hopeful for!" And
as she persuasively put her arms about my neck, I felt
so grateful to the Author of all good, and so dependent
upon Him for a continuance of my blessings, that I
assented at once. It was embarrassing at first to pra} r
aloud, even with my wife ; but that soon wore off, and
we ever after kept up the custom. The expression,
"O Thou that hearest prayer!" is to me the most
touching appeal to God in the whole Bible. Unless
man could pray, and knew that God heard and answered
prayer, he would be the most unutterably wretched of
created beings. Surely, the chiefest torment of hell
must be that the damned cannot pray with hope !
But one day, it was the Sunday our little David
was baptized, when we had come from church, I no
ticed that she was unusually thoughtful, and sometimes
looked at me wistfully; so I asked her what she wished
me to do, and she answered with a pleading, and but
half-assured air : " Husband, why don't you join the
Church?"
As my answer to this question was rather long, and
may seem very dry, I will give it in a separate chap-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 221
ter, so that it may be the more readily skipped,
though it is in reality the most important answer to a
question I ever made in my life.
CHAPTER XX.
, why don't you join the Church?"
JLJL "What Church, my dear?" I asked.
"Why, of course," said she, "I would prefer you
should join the Presbyterian Church, as I am a mem
ber of it ; but if that does not suit you, join any other
Church you please, so you join some."
"But, my darling," asked I, -"why should I join a
Church ?
" That you may obey the command," she replied,
"and acknowledge Christ before men."
" But I do acknowledge Christ before men, my dear,"
said I ; "I have repeatedly done so in my speeches and
my published communications to the Yatton Gazette,
and always do so in my conversation when it is proper
or necessary. All who know me know that I have no
other hope of salvation than Christ our Saviour. Why
then should I join a Church ?"
"I, for one, believe that you are a Christian, hus
band ; and if you be, why should you not join a
Church ?" she replied.
"I will tell you, Mrs. Page," said I, assuming a tone
and gesture of mock gravity, for I knew I was about
to shock her life-long prejudices, and instinctively acted
19*
222 LIF E A^ D OPINIONS OF
as though I were a little iu jest, so as to ease the blow.
''I will tell you, Mrs. Page, if you will lend me your
ears, which, by-the-by, are very pretty ears, my dear,
almost too precious to lend ; but let me whisper my
reason into one of them. The reason is because I
am a Christian. "
"Oh, husband!" exclaimed she.
"Yes, my dear," I went on, "the reason why I do
not join the Presbyterian, or the Methodist, or Baptist,
or Episcopal, or Catholic Church, or any other of the
so-called Churches, is that I am a Christian, and can
not conscientiously do so."
"Oh, husband, how you grieve me !" said she.
" Have a little patience, my love, and do not grieve,
but try to understand me. I often talk solemn non
sense or jesting wisdom to you ; but I am now in se
rious earnest, and am giving you my profoundest con
victions.
" Do you love me, Mary ?"
"Why, you know that I do !" she answered.
" Save me, then, from the penalties of my sins !" I
exclaimed. "Please to save me !"
"But I cannot do that, husband. You must work
out your own salvation."
"What! can't you interpose in some way for me?
have faith for me ? be holy for me ? Then, upon my
word, I think I should be unwise to trust a gross, and,
perhaps, a very impure man , young or old, when a re
fined and innocent woman, with perhaps tenfold his
intellect, cannot help me "
"Ah, husband, I knew you were jesting," said she,
relieved, and smiling.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 223
" Indeed, and I am very far from jesting, my love.
You will admit that you cannot save me, though you
should have all faith, all holiness, and should pray un
ceasingly. Perhaps my baptism may save me ? No ?
Or the Eucharist ? No ! Well, will joining the Church,
and praying and singing, and being preached to, and
blessed, and absolved, by priests or preachers in vest
ments or without them, with lighted tapers and with
crucifixes all about, or in bare walls, and with a deal-
board pulpit save -me ?"
"Certainly not," she answered; "nothing can save
yon but the Spirit of God working faith in you. Christ
Jesus is the only Saviour."
"Ah, my wife, you have hit the truth exactly. If I
be saved at all it must be by faith in the atonement
made by Jesus Christ, and I must have that faith for
myself. I stand perfectly independent of every and all
other men in the matter, which is purely personal to
myself. I answer for my own sins, and am answerable
for my own righteousness. Suppose, then, that I have
saving faith, and am a true Christian, ' an heir of God,
and a joint-heir with Christ,' can the Rev. Mr. Snow
or Father Geoghagan be any more justified and more
privileged than I ? Am I not a Priest and a King ?
and who can be more a Priest and a King?
" Why then should I lay aside my Priesthood and
join a Church as a mere Layman ? Why should I lay
aside my heirship and become a slave ? If I be a King,
what man can be my Spiritual Lord ?
"It is a contradiction of terms, my dear, to say
Methodist Christian, or Roman Catholic Christian
for iu. so far as one is a Christian he is neither Roman
Catholic nor Protestant.
224 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
"The grand, fundamental doctrine of Christianity,
and that which adapts it to all humanity of every na
tion and degree, and by which alone it can be expected
to conquer the kingdom for Christ, is the Atonement
that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, lived, and vica
riously suffered, and died, and rose again, to save men.
The Roman Catholics believe this, and so do all men
who call themselves Christians, and it is this alone
which makes them Christians rather than moral men,
to be saved by their own good deeds. If anything
besides, though ever so slightly besides, the atonement
of Christ, be necessary for man's salvation, then Christ
is only partially the Mediator and Saviour. If, in
addition to faith in Christ Jesus, I am to believe in
Transubstantiation, or Election, or Falling from Gi'ace,
or if, in addition to proving my faith by my works,
I am to practice certain genuflexions, and prayers,
and certain rites and ceremonies; if I am necessarily
to have taken the Eucharist, or to have been bap
tized then the atonement of Christ is not sufficient!"
"But, husband," she interposed. " Do you not think
we should be baptized and should take the Lord's
supper ?"
" Certainly I do, my love, and every true Christian,
if he have the opportunity, will do both. But he will
do so because he will love to obey his Lord, and well
knows the spiritual benefits ho receives by such obedi
ence, and not because he expects to be saved by either
ceremony. He will also obey all the other commands
of his Lord, for the same reason, and because if he have
faith, it naturally manifests itself by good works. But
if he obey with the hope of saving himself by that
obedience, he is a slave, and not a true son.
AP.RAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 225
"Now, my dear, if my salvation be purely personal
to myself, and if I am to be saved not by my own
works, or the works of any other man or men, but only
through the atonement of Christ Jesus, why should I
join a Church ?
"Faith in Jesus Christ alone makes the Christian;
and as none are his who have not that faith, and all
are his who have that faith, Chi'ist's kingdom is a unit,
and his kingdom is entirely a spiritual kingdom. It is
a gross error, my dear wife, to suppose that there has
to be a temporal organization corresponding with this
spiritual kingdom. Nay, it is the gross error from,
which all the rest have sprung. It is the Image set up
in the plain of Dura. Here is the Bible, I will turn to
the seventeenth chapter of Revelations, the third verse :
" ' So he carried me aAvay in the spirit into the wil
derness : and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet-colored
beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads
and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in purple
and scarlet-color, and decked with gold and precious
stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full
of abominations and filthiness of her fornication : and
upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY,
BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OP
HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE
EARTH. And I saw the woman drunken with the
blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs
of Jesus : and when I saw her I wondered with great
admiration.'
" Now you know, ray dear, that I do not pretend to
be wiser than the pious and learned men who have tried
to interpret the Revelations; but when I know that
these visions seen in the spirit must be taken spiritually,
and when I see so many facts bearing out this inter-
p
220 Ln '' K A ^'> OPINIONS OF
pretation, I may, at least, be pardoned for thinking
that this error is Babylon ' drunken with the blood of
the saints and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus,'
supporting itself upon the civil authority of the State;
for certainly the eiforts, with the Roman, the Grecian,
and the Protestant Churches to establish and maintain
this temporal organization, have been in the spirit with
which the Image was set up at Babylon, and have been
the fruitful cause of all the spiritual and most of the
temporal woes which have distracted Christendom in
all its ages.
" Look at the progress of Christianity, my love. At
first there were churches established at Jerusalem, at
Corinth, Laodicea, Rome, Athens, and many other
places. These churches were simply associations of
those who believed in the atonement of Christ for the
purposes of mutual encouragement and benefit, spiritual
and temporal. They all had unity of faith in Christ,
and each had its own internal regulations independent
of the others. There were diversities of gifts, but the
same spirit. Read what Paul says on the subject in
the twelfth chapter of the first Epistle to the Corin
thians.
" All the members of these churches, and all other
Christians, if any other there then were, were the sub
jects of Christ's spiritual kingdom on earth. And when
the Apostles died, they died without delegating to
others their spiritual authority which was confined to
preaching the gospel, and, as the immediate Ambassa
dors of Christ, and guided by the Spirit, determining
questions of faith and practice in order to the establish
ment of their Master's spiritual kingdom and they left
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 227
no prescribed form of government. Had the genius of
their religion either allowed or demanded a temporal
organization corresponding with the spiritual consti
tution of Christ's kingdom, do you suppose a matter
of such vast importance would not have been care
fully provided for by the Master and his Ambassadors?
Had it been possible or proper, with regard to the
spiritual priesthood in Christ's kingdom, to have desig
nated and qualified successors in authority, do you
think they would not have been most unmistakably
designated, and most infallibly qualified ? But it was
never intended that such an organization or such a
hierarchy should exist. Both systems are opposed to
the doctrine of personal and individual salvation,. be
sides being the fountains of errors innumerable.
"These different associations of Christ's subjects,
then, were a unit in the matters of faith in Christ and
love for Christ and each other, though they were far
apart and solitary among heathen. But by degrees
the gospel spread, the associations became more nu
merous; those near each other began to form themselves,
for convenience and for the strength of union, into con
federacies, and that plan working with surprising effects,
larger confederacies were formed, embracing all the as
sociations of a State or province, and Rome, Antioch,
and Alexandria became the three federal representatives
of the church on earth; and other matters than Christ
and him crucified were set up as matters for faith, and
embraced and denied according to temperament, ca
pacity, or education; and sanguinary as well as spirit
ual strife was engendered.
"I hope you are not tired, my dear?"
228 L1FE AND OPINIONS OF
" No, husband ; go on, I am interested," she answered.
"In Christ's spiritual kingdom, my dear, there is but
one Head Christ himself. If there bo a correspond
ing temporal organization, there must be also only one
head, to preserve order and unity, and from whom shall
emanate all power to preach, baptize, etc. Now, who
is that to be ? The Catholics say the Pope. The
Presbyterians say the General Assembly. Some say
this, some say that as they all must say something
when they attempt to establish this organization.
"Now, let us see how the scheme has worked, and
is working. Men have taken and when I say men,
just reflect for a moment what the word involves: a
set of creatures weak at their strongest, foolish at their
wisest, selfish at their best ; creatures who may be ac
tuated by ambition, by pride, by love of money, by
every conceivable base motive! Men, according to their
temperaments, their learning, their capacities, and the
dictates of their selfishness, have taken certain matters
of doctrine, some from the Bible, some from tradition,
some for convenience, and have elevated them into mat
ters of faith and practice far above the gospel of glad
tidings the doctrine of Christ and him crucified
and thus formed separate churches. This is what was
done in ancient days in the formation of the Greek and
Latin Churches, and what has been done in more
modern times in the establishment of the Protestant
Churches ; a vast and necessary improvement in many
things, but in the one great point I am speaking of, an
insufficient reformation, or rather a change than a re
formation. Taking these tenets, in accordance with
which they instituted government and forms, they have
ABHAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 229
set them up, styled each of them THE CHURCH, and
called upon the world to fall down and worship. The
spirit which has actuated them has been one and the
same, and it is the spirit of Babylon.
"Now, how does it work? There are hundreds of
thousands of men living this day who arc inclined to be
numbered among nominal Christians, and yet who can
not conscientiously bow down and worship, and are
therefore kept from the real spiritual benefits of Christ's
spiritual kingdom so far as contained in the ordinances
of baptism and the Lord's supper and in 'the commu
nion of saints.' They cannot see the sense of many of
these dogmas, and many others of them are repugnant
to their reason or prejudices. They cannot become
Catholics or Methodists, Episcopalians or Baptists, for
the simple reason that they cannot conscientiously sub
scribe to the dogmas and forms of government which
constitute these different and vastly differing sects. Is
it to be supposed that the great Head of the Church
does not know his own sheep unless they have the
mark of some human branding-iron ?
" I conclude then that a man may be a Christian with
out belonging to a sect, and that in view of the tremen
dous evils accompanying all sects which means here
sies he is the better Christian by holding aloof from
them."
" But, husband, how are we to have preaching, and
the administration of the Lord's supper, and baptism,
and Bible and tract and mission societies, and hospital
associations, and all those things, without organization ?"
" I did not say, my dear, that there was to be no or
ganization, but merely that the organization should be
20
030 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
very different from what it is, and for a very different
purpose.
"What do Mr. Snow, and Father Gcoghagan, and Mr.
Surplice say induced them to preach ? They pretend
that they were called of God to that service nor do
I doubt it. But He called them to preach the gospel,
which is a unit. They were not called to preach Pres-
byterianism, Catholicism, or Episcopalianism, which
are wholly antagonistic though the two latter are
suspiciously close of kin, from their looks and if they
pretend that they were called for that purpose, I pre
tend that they were not called of God, and are pseudo-
Christians. If they were called of God, the Spirit of
God put it into their hearts to seek and to save that
which was lost by the only means by which such can
be sought and saved ; and if they joined their sects, it
was because it was the only means they knew, or had the
courage to practice, by which they could obey the call.
In so far as they preach the gospel, they cannot differ.
In so far as they preach anything else, they go beyond
their call, and it is of no material difference to the sal
vation of their hearers whether they hear and believe
them, or disbelieve them, and refuse to hear.
"Suppose, my dear, that every ordained priest and
preacher were to die to-night, do you think that Christ's
kingdom on earth would have to be abandoned by Him?
Could he not raise up others by his Spirit and provi
dence to preach the gospel of salvation ? Ask one of
your three reverend friends this question ; and if he
answer No ! you know that he blasphemes by limiting
the Holy One of Israel; and if he answer Yes! then
ask him if the new preachers would all start out preach-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 231
ing Catholicism or Methodism, or any of the other
isms ; and if they would, which of them they would
choose !
"I suppose you have read, my dear, how some wise
men once determined to find out which was the original
language of the earth, and shut up an infant where he
could hear no sound of speech, until he arrived at the
full age of speech, and how, one day, when his attend
ant went in to carry him his food, he exclaimed Bac!
which being the Phoenician (or some other language)
for bread, the wise men concluded that the Phoenician,
or the other, was the original language. It would
hardly be worth while to kill all the preachers in order
to try a like experiment as to which is the right sect
since they are all wrong.
" When this great error of a temporal organization
to correspond with the spiritual organization of the
church, together with all the evils which spring from it,
is put down, and Christ and him crucified is preached,
and his spiritual kingdom is alone aspired to, there will
be an end to Jesuitism, Abolitionism, Arminianism,
and all the other 'isms' which exist, and are powerful
by means of the error.
" The same Spirit which now calls men to the min
istry would then call them, and make the call effectual.
"But with regard to the administration of baptism and
the Lord's supper, where do you find in the Bible that
one has to be ordained Priest, Bishop, Elder, or Deacon
to administer either? According to the very genius of
Christianity, as I have already shown, and as is as <
clearly taught as any other thing in the Bible, every /
true disciple of Christ is an heir of God, a member of
232 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
the spiritual priesthood which is the only kind of
priesthood recognized under the new covenant dis
pensation and if the disciples of Christ, laying aside
their differences, and actuated by the spirit of Christian
charity, should organize in every village and neighbor
hood, as the original Christians did, for mutual encour
agement and growth in grace, and should select those
among them best fitted by grace to preach and attend
to the internal concerns and charities of the associa
tion, they could have the commands of our Saviour
about baptism and the Eucharist performed in decency
and with unquestionable and unquestioned authority
and propriety.
"As for your Tract Society, and all that sort of joint-
stock commercial speculation, it has not half so much
to do with Christianity as it has with keeping down
the prices of books and printing, and not nearly so
much to do with the Church of Christ as it has with
Printers' Unions, and the spread over the earth of
Yankee and English calicoes and flannels. If the Chris
tian people of the land wish to print Bibles, let them
individually contribute to do so, or form joint-stock
commercial companies for that purpose. And if they
wish to send missionaries to foreign lands, let them
send those who will preach Christ alone and him cruci
fied. The Presbyterians and Catholics, and others in
terpret very liberally when they send propagandists of
their peculiar doctrines of faith and church government
instead of propagandists of the gospel."
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 233
CHAPTER XXI.
T was not many days after this "talk," that Mary
said to me : "How sorry I am, husband, that you
dislike preachers so much !"
"Dislike preachers! Why, my darling, what put
such an idea into your head ?"
"I thought," said she, "from your remarks the other
day, that you disliked them."
"Then you greatly misunderstood me, my dear,"
said I; "and there is one of the evils incident to at
tacking a class or system. If you attack a class, say
of priests or preachers, for flagrant errors, you are
pounced upon as an infidel witness Gibbon, the his
torian and if you attack a system, you are accused of
hating some one or all of its disciples.
" Now, my dear, while no one fears and dislikes any
form of hierarchy more than I do, there is no one who
more respects a gentleman, or an earnest man, however
he may be mistaken, particularly if he be earnest in a
desire to do good. I confess that I do not like your
acquaintance old Pisgah Barnes."
" Do not call him my acquaintance, husband, I did
not invite him here."
"Nor did I, my dear. I found him here when I
came from town, very much at home on the gallery
quarreling with Jack about the manner in which he
had curried his horse. Upon inquiry, I found that he
had arrived and taken possession about noon, ordered
20*
234 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
his horse to be fed and curried, hurried up dinner, and
refused to have you disturbed, as he said you were not
perhaps "
" Oh, husband, you ought to be ashamed of yourself;
that was months ago, and "
" I know it was, my dear, and I understand that the
man is as great an old gossip about "
" Do hush about that, Mr. Page," said she, blushing
and annoyed.
"Certainly I'll hush, Mrs. Page, though I see no
thing for you to be ashamed of. But the man is no gen
tleman who concerns himself about the affairs of other
people, or who takes advantage of his position to
thrust himself upon them, or to lecture them as he did
me for saying that I thought the English laws of Mort
main ought to be the law in every country, and, be
sides, that no one should be allowed to leave money or
property by will, either absolutely or in trust, to any
religious body. To have heard him, one would have
thought 1 was worse than an intidel. Then the man
ner in which he persecuted me to subscribe to the
Pisgah Seminary was ungentlemanly. He had evi
dently taken stock of my means, and he prescribed how
much I ought to give, and when I told him I could not
give so much, he pooh-poohed me, and sneered at me
in a most savage way, and actually treated me as
though I intended to swindle him. Really, my dear,
it is rather too much to ask me to like or respect a man
who ought to be kicked into good manners ! But, to
show you how very liberal I am in my sentiments, I
will acknowledge that I respect the man's energy and
earnestness, and have very little doubt of his honesty
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 235
and of his ability to do much good in the way he pro
poses, though he be such a fool, and so unchristian in
the ordinary courtesies of humanity."
"But, husband, Mr. Barnes old Pisgah, as you call
him, is only one man "
" True for you, my dear. He is fortunately only one
man, though he has already had four wives. A few
more such would ruin any sect in the country. He
differs materially from your other acquaintance, the
Reverend Jimpson, who seems earnest about nothing
except eating and drinking ; and Parson Elvin, who
is a perfect Boanerges on the stump, and the very Rev
erend Mr. Sikes "
"You select those men who are very much disliked,"
said she.
"Certainly, Mary, and I select them for a purpose,
to show you that even if there be any virtue in the
laying on of 'prelatical fingers,' it is very often most
mistakingly applied. Merely to be a preacher is no
passport to heaven, nor should it be to privileges in
society not allowed to other men, however pious and
earnest may be the preacher. In so far as a man is a
Christian he is a gentleman, for he has the humility
and respect for others, and the charity toward others
which Christianity inculcates, and true gentlemen
practice.
"Now I do not know any better Christian or gen
tleman than the Rev. Dr. Hatton. He is no busybody
in other men's matters. He shows deference with self-
respect, charity without ostentation, piety with cheer
fulness. If he can speak well of a man he does so
without the air of patronizing ; and if he be forced to
236 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
speak ill of him, he does so as gently but firmly as pos
sible, and, while he is just, almost exhausts charity to
excuse him. He is(bne of those who are in season and
out of season (if there be any such thing) in doing
good, and may be found, modest but energetic, where-
ever good is to be done to the sick and suffering in soul
or body. In the pulpit he is grave and earnest, and
brings forth things, both new and old, out of the treas
ury of his learning, to assist him in expounding the
gospel. And, if you will notice, my dear, he always
preaches the gospel. Whatever the text, the gospel is
made to expound it, or it is made to expound the
gospel. And with all his goodness, such is his quiet
dignity that I have yet to see the man who would
willingly insult him.
" He is my model preacher, my dear, and I will even
acknowledge that there are some like him in all de
nominations of Christians (am I not charitable?); but
how docs that mend the matter so far as my argument
of the other day is concerned ?
" You never heard Dr. Hatton, nor shall you hear
any of those like him, preach anything but the gospel.
And here, my dear, I wish you to note one thing:
the more earnest, learned, and experienced the preacher
the more he confines himself to the gospel, pure and
simple. It is your fledgling youngsters, your boobies,
or 3' - our hypocrites who dwell upon controversial points
as a practice.
"Now, Mrs. Page, will you be so kind as to tell me
what good it does Dr. Hatton and the others like him
to be Presbyterians or Methodists, Catholics or Protest
ants except that they have thereby been ordained to
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 237
preach, and have been put in a position to receive a
call or an appointment, and make a living ? Is it not
rather a hinderance to them ? The peculiar tenets of
their different churches might as well not exist for all
the illustration they get from them in the pulpit. They
are held merely as matters of personal opinion which
have nothing to do with that preaching which saves
souls the preaching of Christ and him crucified, which
is above all earthly wisdom, and surpasses in import
ance and interest all metaphysical learning and dis
tinctions.
"And do you suppose that if tfcere were no Meth
odist, Presbyterian, or Catholic Churches, or if Dr. Hat-
ton and his peers were excommunicated from them for
heresy, they would not still preach the gospel? And
is it not certain to your mind that if the barriers of the
sects (their foisting of rites, ceremonies, dogmas of faith,
and peculiarities of church government, as though they
were matters of importance) were thrown down, and
the fold was turned into one, just as there is -one Spirit,
and one calling, "one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one
God and Father of all who is above all and through
all and in all," I say, is it not certain that if this were
the case, and all men were told : You need not believe
in the Pope, the Mass, or go to the Confessional ; you
need not subscribe to the doctrines of Election and
Predestination ; you need not believe in the Apostolic
Succession, or in surplices, or wax tapers, or genuflex
ions ; you may believe or not that you can fall from
grace, or that infants should or should not be baptized ;
you may believe just what a conscientious study of the
Bible leads you with your differing temperaments, edu-
238 LIFK AN & OPINIONS OF
cations, and capacities to believe ; all that is required
of you is to believe truly in the Lord Jesus Christ as
the only Saviour of sinners, and ye shall be taken into
the Church militant, with a fair prospect of being here
after received into the Church triumphant, is it not
absolutely certain, I say, that in this case thousands
would volunteer as the subjects of Christ, and would
obey the commands of Christ and be baptized, and par
take of the communion of his body and blood with all
the spiritual benefits which flow from an intelligent
compliance with these commands, who now stand
without, unable conscientiously to enter the visible fold,
and consequently unable to obey these commands ?
"This is a long question, my dear, but is it not a
very pertinent one ?
"You, in common with most Christians, have a
strong belief in a Millennium to come; and all Chris
tians have a strong desire to see the universal spread
of Christianity. How can there be a Millennium (I use
the ordinary expression), so long as the kingdom of
Christ upon earth is so split up intiO little provinces at
desperate war with each other? Do you not know
that a Protestant Christian regards a Catholic Chris
tian with suspicion, to be regarded in turn by the
Catholic with pity and contempt? Do not Parson
Surplice and Father Geoghagau think in their hearts
that Mr. Snow's baptism of our son the other day was
unauthorized and void ? whereas every man, who exer
cises his own common sense and takes the Christian
religion in its essence as his only criterion, knows that
baptism is a mere form, which may be authoritatively
and effectually administered just as well by my father
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 239
or any other true believer as by Pope, Prelate, or Pres-
byier ? Does not Father Geoghagan believe or, at
any rate, does not his church teach that our marriage,
though legal according to the laws of the land as a civil
contract, still lacks that binding spirituality the church
can alone confer ? and that therefore for it is the neces
sary consequence our son is a sort of bastard ?"
"Oh, husband, they can't think that! You are al
ways following consequences, as you call them, to some
ridiculous conclusion, which puts you in a high glee."
"Ah, my dear, the reductio ad absurdam is the fate
of every religious tenet of human invention. Men who
build of wood, hay, and stubble, though it be upon the
sure foundation, must expect their work destroyed, and
laughed at in its destruction.
" The safest criterion that I know by which a Chris
tian can determine whether an article of faith or prac
tice be correct, is to ask himself: does it in any degree
militate against my personal responsibility to God ? or
docs it in any degree militate against the perfect suffi
ciency of the atonement of Christ for my salvation?
and if it do either, if it imply that some other can do
for you (that is, be holy, or faithful, or prayerful, or
energetic for you) what you must do for yourself or
that some other thought, word, or deed is to be added to
the atonement of Christ for your salvation, you may
set it down as a hurtful error. And though it militate
against neither, if it be a matter indifferent to either,
and be not an express command of the Master, it is a
nonsensical error.
"This is the true meaning of the saying, that 'a
man should believe only what his reason approves.'
240 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
"If a man should tell me that I must repent as well as
believe, I try the doctrine, and find that it is correct;
because my reason tells me that, though it appears that
some additional act is demanded upon my part, the
repentance is not an act which saves me but an act
which enters necessarily into the acceptance of an
offered salvation in which 1 believe. It is only an
other form of saying, by faith you shall be saved
for faith involves the repentance as well as the belief.
"And so, my dear, of everything else in religion.
The first principles must be always borne in mind. If
you lose sight of your premises, your conclusions must
be either ridiculous or monstrous. "
"There is one thing 1 wish to ask you, husband;
you do not object to my being a member of the church,
do you ?"
"Certainly I do not, my darling. On the contrary,
I am glad of it for several reasons, t. I do not see how
a woman, with her peculiar affections and trials, can
get along without religion to support her; and I do
not know how, as matters stand, she can gratify her
religious longings and necessities without being a
member of some sect for the sects have a monopoly
of religious exercises."
"Well, but, husband, Mr. Snow would allow you to
commune, if your conscience impelled you to do so;
and you could also join his church without any profes
sion, save of your faith in Jesus Christ."
"Indeed ? Then Mr. Snow must have been copying
after Dr. Hatton, or some of the old and really spirit- '
ual fathers of his sect; for, unless I be very much
mistaken, the invitation to commune given from the
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 241
most liberal pulpits includes only those who belong to
that sect, or who are of good and regular standing in
some sister sect. And, besides, suppose that he would
not require rne to subscribe specifically to the peculiar
tenets of his sect in all matters of doctrine, would I
not, to all intents and purposes, subscribe to them if I
joined the sect ?"
"Why, no, you would not. You could believe
what you chose about them."
"If I did, my dear, I should have to do so as a hypo
crite or a coward ; for, if I attacked any one of them,
I should be under authority, and should be pretty apt
presently to find myself disciplined, as they call it, and
expelled from my membership, as an outcast from the
fold as well as from the sect.
" Now, Mary, there is one final suggestion I wish
to make. Hereafter, when you read your Bible, the
epistles especially, read in the light of what I have
been saying about sects, personal accountability, and
faith ; and about the on\y peculiar doctrine upon which
Christianity is founded, the atonement of Jesus Christ;
and you will not only agree with most that I have
said, but will find a unity and comprehensibility you
did not find before."
21
242 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
CHAPTER XXII.
WE spent our lives in home-work, home-pleasures,
and homesome talk. Although Mary, with her
beauty, intelligence, and amiability was one a husband
would be naturally proud to present in the world, we,
neither of us, cared for the company of strangers, or to go
any more in public than the very necessities of sociability
demanded. We belonged to a coterie of estimable
friends with whom there was a constant interchange of
sociabilities and friendly offices, but although fashion
able society was so much more modest and quiet in its
exigencies then than now, we, neither of us, fancied it.
Mary, of course, always dressed as near the reigning
fashion as good taste would allow. Her taste was ex
quisite, and, like all true women, she had an instinctive
horror of the odd and outree. I have always thought
that it was a woman's duty to follow the fashions as
far as she can with decency and honesty. There are
some fashions which are not decent, and some which a
woman cannot follow with an honest regard for her
means; bufr, otherwise, she should be fashionable, even
if it led to muffling her face, or wearing nose-rings.
You will rarely find a fashion which, either strictly fol
lowed, or slightly modified, does not add to a woman's
beauty or gracefulness, and it is just as much her na
ture and her duty to make herself pleasing to the eye
of man, for whom she was created, and, particularly,
that of her husband, if she belong to one, as it is to re-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 243
frain from making herself positively disagreeable in ap
pearance. In the name of nature, then, let her beautify
herself, so she restrict herself to the rules of decency
and honesty ; I do not say the rules of modesty, for
fashion seems to set the rules for that among the fash
ionables.
For my own part, when I was a young man, what
other men's sisters and wives chose to add or leave off
in the way of dress or ornament, never concerned me
disagreeably; and I never saw a healthy young woman
who had not some beauty, either natural or artificial.
But still I think that decency is the best guide. v.The
"beauty unadorned" doctrine is an aesthetic heresy.
I concerned myself very little, however, with society,
or fashion. My books and practice, my farm and farm
yard, and my wife and little boy, gave me plenty of
occupation and amusement.
The little fellow seemed, from his first beginning to
notice, to regard me with peculiar complacency and a
rare degree of faith as though I were some pet giant
who had to be ruled gently, and without any mani
festation of fear. Even before he could talk, he and I
were great cronies, arid fully sympathized with each
other in all our pleasures and troubles.
I may be called childish aud silly, but the three ob
jects which from my earliest years I have found most
comical, have been: a hen, in anxious indecision stretch
ing out her neck and stepping backward and forward
and sideways, and then at last flying shrieking up to
her roost ; a duck, in a like state of indecision about
jumping down from a step, or other elevation ; and a
little child, trying in vain to insert the point of a stick
244 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
in a somewhat smaller hole in a piece of bark or paste
board.
It is really not worth the while to try and analyze
the whys and wherefores of this, but no scene on the
stage has the power so to tickle niy soul as cither of
these sights; and the busy, patient earnestness with
which my little son, seated on the floor, would pursue
this occupation in vain, often served to amuse me and
to keep him quiet for an hour or two at a time. It was
only necessary to show him how I could perform the
operation with a smaller stick, and then to give him a
larger, and at it he would go. Then I could discourse
to his mother about him.
"My dear," I would say, "that boy of ours is bound
to be a great man. He has the sound mind in the
sound body. Look at his patience ! see the energy of
that movement to force the stick through the bark
whether or no! I think he will become a great engi
neer. He already shows genius for the business. Why,
my dear, in a few years he will be positively dangerous.
As sure as can be we shall wake up some morning to
find our house moved over to yonder hill, or elsewhere,
as the notion takes him. I don't know, either. That
examination he is giving looks very like a doctor's.
What do you say to his studying medicine? It runs
in my famity, you know. There, he has turned his
stick end for end. I'm afraid my dear he will be a
lawyer after all."
This, I think was the happiest era of my life. I pre
sume that every man who has passed the age for active
pleasures, can look back at sonic particular period and
say: then, I was happy. Happiness is like a swift
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 245
rolling river; most beautiful when it is before you, and
after you have passed it. At least, the sense of inse
curity in its passage has always made it seein so to me.
Here was I, a young and healthy man, with no vice to
trouble me, prospering in the good opinion and wealth
of the world, with a lovely and loving wife, and a
healthy and perfect boy. What can any man hope for
on earth nearer perfect happiness than this?
And yet, in the short summer evenings, when my
fat and rosy little boy, tired with the heat and activity
of the long day, was laid in his little crib beside our
bed, and his mother busied herself about the closing
duties of housekeeping, I would go and sit upon the
front steps alone, and the old vague melancholy of my
childhood would come upon me, and settle and darken
like the coming night. As the last tint of day would
fade in the west, the whippoorwills commenced their
cries from valley and hillside ; the bleating of the calves
and the lowing of their mothers would cease ; the chick
ens and turkeys would quiet themselves upon their
roosts, some little chick now and then by a faint peep
betraying its annoyance at being disturbed by some
restless neighbor ; the geese, squatted in company upon
the grass lawn, would betray their presence and life by
occasional low-toned questions and answers, or by the
moving of some restless one to another spot; and as
the darkness became deeper, the watch-dogs' bark would
ring faint from distant farms ; and with the shimmering
light of the stars faintly shadowing the earth, and trees,
and hills, the jarring crickets and katydids from the sur
rounding hedges and bushes would fill the ear with
sound, which by its monotony would soon become uu-
21*
246 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
noticed, and the mellow light of the glow-worm would
here and there illumine the dewy grass ; and then I
would sit all alone and abstracted, brooding over rny-
self. I would seem to myself to be in a great void in
company with my thoughts, and fears, and cares, and
hopes, and happiness, which would all present them
selves for analysis and comment; and the void was
dark, and I was helpless.
I would fain linger all my life in the memory of these
days of my life. Even the melancholy Avhich would
sometimes overwhelm me has now a pleasant airiness
about it like the faint discords which occasionally
heighten and make strange the sweetness of a strain of
music. I would all the rather linger here, that these
days passed so quickly, and were followed by a woe to
which all other misery must be as a sorry tale soon
told.
As I have been writing a true history of the past,
and not a fiction, I have naturally rejected the arts by
which interest is held in suspense, and sorrow is sur
prised and taken captive. The fearful thought has been
constant with me, since I first began to write, that I
should have to renew my great grief by telling it, and
I have cast about for some way to avoid it ; but man
can never shun his calamities, nor avoid the memory
of them. At any rate, it cannot injure me, an old man,
to recall once more a sorrow which must soon be laid
with me in the grave, but never, like me, to rise again.
But though I recall it, what language shall I use to de
scribe it ? Language cannot describe the supreme ag
ony of grief, for the human mind cannot contain and
realize it. Upon the Mount of Olives our Saviour
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 247
found his disciples "sleeping for sorrow." Man dies
of grief, goes crazed of grief, and sleeps of grief, be
cause his mind and body cannot bear its full load ;
how, then, can he describe it in adequate terms ? If
perchance he survive it, and "go softly all his years
in the bitterness of his soul," he does not willingly re
new its agony, nor attempt to expose to others its
particulars. It seems like sacrilege.
I had rather think of my Mary in heaven, or bloom
ing with health and radiant with goodness here on
earth, than think of her sweet face as it lay pallid and
cold in death before me. 1 had rather try to imagine
her voice joining in the glorious songs above, or in my
fancy hear its loving accents again, and its sweet tones
singing her favorite hymns in the evening dusk or hum
ming a lullaby to her baby, than try to recall the feeble
whispers of her sickness, the wandering wildness of
her delirium, and the last sighs in which her life ex
pired. Her words, her delirium, her last sighs, her
pallid face, and her grave, are ever before me. I can
still hear the first clods of earth jarring my very soul
as they fall upon her coffin. I can still see my house
all desolate as when I returned from the grave, with
the funeral confusion not yet removed, the half-empty
medicine bottles, the spoons, the cups, the basins still
upon the shelves and tables. I can still see in yonder
bed the last impress of her form after she was removed
from it to be shrouded and laid in her coffin. I cannot
escape these sights and sounds. As I carry my food
to my lips, one or the other will strike my heart with a
pang so sharp I wish to cry out. As I go along the
street, or am conversiug upon business, or am in the
248 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
midst of social pleasures, they come upon me like an
avalanche, and I would lain rise and rush away. And
in the deepest sleep of the night they rouse me sud
denly with alarm, and I fall back upon my pillow with
groans and stifled shrieks, almost fainting.
No, my Darling, I cannot describe the sorrow I have
felt, nor shall my memory ever again seek to recall the
precious wreck of your fair body. Sleep on, my Love.
If there be sweetness in the grave, I shall find it at
your side, and if there be happiness in heaven, it shall
be doubly blessed when shared with you.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE light of my life was gone, and thenceforward
I have walked in shadow. Like one who passes
through a long covered bridge, the brightness of the
past with the beautiful objects it shone upon still exist
only in my memory, and away before me a faint spot
of light has been growing larger and brighter, until I
know I shall soon enter into the perfect day. Or,
rather, like one whose sight has been weakened by dis
ease, although the scorching sun has beamed upon me,
the present has seemed confused and blurred with ever-
fitful spots of light and gloom, while the past and future
have alone shone with steady, natural light.
I do not know that I became insane, or that I am
not so now. Nature has still to me its just proportions
and true colors. I have forgotten nothing. I can still
read and understand and enjoy the ideas of others. My
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 249
powers of analysis and synthesis seem to be unim
paired, and I can investigate the relations of truth and
of all narrated facts and ideas as clearly and conclu
sively as I ever did. My affections have been as warm
as ever, and my conduct has been such as at least con
veyed no idea of insanity to those who knew it best.
And yet that I am not insane now, or that I was not
insane before my great sorrow, is more than I can say ;
for certainly a great change took place, though why it
took place, and in what it consisted, would be hard to
determine.
Insanity is, after all, only a relative term. If a man
persistently cultivate, for the amusement of himself and
others, blasphemy of speech and imagination, he is not
called insane ; yet if he be flighty about business mat
ters, a guardian may be appointed for him, or he may
find himself in a mad-house. Now, the fact is that the
wicked man is the more insane of the two. One man
is always in a fever of ambition in his trade, his profes
sion, his pursuit of some object which inspires fame ;
another is utterly careless and stupid in his interest in
his trade or pursuit. Which is the more insane ? Do
not both manifest unsoundness of mind real derange
ment of what reason shows to be a healthy condition
of mind?
It is not a mere extravagant proposition, made to
excite surprise or admiration, to say that every man is
insane to some degree. The man whose judgment was
always just, whose passions and affections were always
equable, whose appetites were never rebellious, whose
will was always to do what was best for others as well
as for himself, and who had no hobby of faith or prac-
250 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
tice if he had any judgment, passions, appetites, and
will would be the greatest wonder that has yet ap
peared as a mere man.
But though the proposition be not false, it belongs
to a species of metaphysical or psychological hair
splitting which is much resorted to in modern days,
which cannot possibly do any good, and which rather
shows that the man who indulges it may have good
personal reasons for his belief.
Since I arrived at a knowledge of the true value of
facts, great rugged facts, in morals, I have had little
patience with the arts which pry into them with micro
scopic designs, or seek to polish laboriously some rough
corner of them. Eternity, and not Time, is the place
to cultivate those arts. Truth has no need of ingenuity
for its support, and casuistry on earth is the devil's
work ; as in heaven, it may be the work of saints
throughout eternity.
The change which took place in me was, I am in
clined to think, rather a modification than a derange
ment of the constitution of my mind. What was before
most desirable, lost its allurements ; and some things
which were formerly very disagreeable, became best
suited to my state of mind.
The fact is, that, although I have set myself the task
of displaying my life as it actually existed and acted,
there is a period of six years from the beginning of the
last illness of my wife, so filled with numbing sorrows,
that I must, for my own sake at least, pass over it as
speedily as possible.
My dear old father died, Mr. Mclntyre died, my noble
little boy, who, from the death of his mother, was iu-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 251
separable from me, took scarlet fever that most dread
ful of diseases and died; and my elder sister, who
watched over and nursed him, and my younger brother,
Joseph, caught it and died.
And I took my journey through all that outskirt of
the realms of woe, clad in its sombre livery, like one
whose home was there. Even the last accents of my
son, who in his delirium said : Papa come ! and sighed
and died, could bring but a woeful, wistful smile upon
my lips.
Let me illustrate what I say by an incident which
took place in Yatton some years afterward.
A terrible epidemic fever was raging, and numbers,
of all ages and classes, were dying every day. The
physician of the town, who had by far the largest
practice, and was deservedly one of the most esteemed
citizens of the county, was kept going night and day.
He was a man of prodigious powers of physical and
mental endurance, yet even he was so worn down he
would fall asleep on his horse or in his buggy while
going only a few hundred yards, or even while feeling
the pulses of his patients. His own wife and his two
children presently also took the disease, and then he
had no rest. I have actually seen him have to rub red
pepper in his eyes to stimulate the lids to open when
it was necessary to measure out medicine, for other
wise he would feel his way about the room for what
he wished. At last his youngest child died, and I, as
sisted by three or four others, buried it. He was present
at the grave, but, though I knew he was devotedly at
tached to the child, he showed no feeling/ When the
grave was filled, I went up to him, and took his hand,
252 LIFE AND OI'INIONS OF
and said: "Doctor, I sympathize very thoroughly with
you."
"I know you do, Page," said he, "but I can't feel.
I lost all feeling some days ago."
And he went about his toil again as though sickness
and death were the sole task of life, and too much of
course, to call for sorrow or comment. When the epi
demic and its excitement were withdrawn, which was
the case, in a great degree, a very fow days after, he
was prostrated that is the word for several months.
The wonder to me was that he ever rose again.
His expression, "I can't feel," has often recurred to
me. (''Numbness of feeling is nature's refuge from the
sirocco of grief, and the pangs of death. Blessed be
God for his goodness to his poor creatures even in the
extremity of his wrath.
I will then leave these six years of my life to their
gloom, merely adding two facts which may be neces
sary to the full understanding of what I have subse
quently done, or may yet do.
The tirst is the only pleasant thing I can recall in all
that time. My sister Bel, who was engaged to Joseph
Preston at the time of our father's death, married him,
quietly, some six or eight months afterward, and in
about a year presented her husband with a fine girl,
who, I may here say, lived, and became the mother of
my present and only grandniece, Miss Perkins.
The other fact concerns my property and affairs.
So long as my son lived he was his mother's heir, and
I preserved and tried to improve her property for his
sake; but when he died, just after his Grandfather Mc-
Iiityre's death, although the properly was mine, it
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 253
was irksome to me to keep that which others might
think was but a slice out of their own loaf. I do not
say that Tom Merriweather or his wife, or Mrs. Mcln-
tyre, or Sarah who had married Carter Brooks had
any such thought; for they were, and I wish their
descendants to know it, at all times as kind and even
affectionate to me as though I was of their own blood ;
but I knew that Mrs. Ruggles had suggested, in her
way, that "with Mary's property, Mr. Page is very
well off; and is already fitted up, and in a position to
take another wife." Besides this, my love for Mary
had been so unselfish that it was rather a matter of
pride and devotion with me to show that I had no de
sire to profit in my estate by what she brought me.
But to give up to strangers the house she had hal
lowed and beautified, was more than I could consent
to do; so I returned to Mr. Mclntyre's estate the
amount of the purchase money of the place, and all
of the hands who were willing to leave me. Martha,
the cook, and her husband, Jack, who was my hostler
and man-of-all-work, three of the men and two of their
wives did not wish to go, and I had their value as
sessed and paid it also into the estate not all at once,
but in two installments. As to the increased value of
the place, I justly considered that it was the result of
my own exertions and Mary's taste; and as to the fur
niture of the house, which had been presented to Mary,
I returned its value in presents of the like kind to the
different members of her family.
Of course I could not make all this restitution with
out remonstrance and opposition from Mary's family,
who, I am sure, did not desire it and rather feared
22
254 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
that it should place them in a somewhat delicate posi
tion ; yet who, I am equally sure, from my knowledge
of human nature, could not really regret to see their
means increased, and secretly thought, after awhile,
that they were under no obligations. Even Mrs. Rug-
gles allied herself to the spirit of the family, and con
cerned herself vastly about what "my (her) family"
wished and did not wish.
Whether she thought that I was performing an act
of such superhuman virtue that her Stanley could
never rival it, is more than I know. But I do know
that she very adroitly manoeuvred to checkmate my
move, if it were so, by hinting, with much solicitude,
that perhaps I was deranged.
The good woman made a mistake, if her idea was
that my act was an effort of virtue. After thoroughly
analyzing my motives, I long ago came to the conclu
sion that they Avere all selfish. I have stated some of
them; but there was one which lay deeper still, in the
constitution of my mind, which perhaps had more to do
with my act than any other.
I declare that if I had a million pounds sterling, and
had to take the trouble and anxiety of its safe invest
ment and judicious management, I .would willingly
relinquish it for a stipend secure in its source, and giv
ing no trouble about its collection ; or, rather, I would
speedily and purposely spend it until I could reduce a
portion, however small, to as perfect security in its
preservation and yield as is compatible with human
ail airs.
I had no one dependent upon me; for my mother
and brother Eldred had a sufficient support, and my
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 255
only sister was married to a man of considerable prop
erty. With my home, I could, by my own exertions,
provide the little I needed ; and the annoyances of
managing a lot of negroes having to settle their dis
putes with each other, and their infractions of law ; to
be, in fact, responsible toward God and man for their
health, conduct, and morals was more than I was at
all inclined to undergo merely for my own benefit. I
have always thought that wealth was dearly purchased
by the loss of content and quiet, and I never have been
able to sympathize with those who make wealth, con
sidered as wealth, a good thing in any degree. Why
should I toil, and torment myself for myself?
It does very well to talk about philanthropy and
public spirit and exerting natural talents for philan
thropic and public objects, and I agree that a man does
owe to his fellows a just return for the benefits he re
ceives from them. But is it to be pretended that be
cause a man should not bury his talents he should
therefore make himself miserable? Now, a man, what
ever his talents, owes before God his first duty to him
self; and the manner in which he has exerted his talents
for his own moral benefit is what he shall be required
to answer for. It will be vain for him to plead that he
has done great things in music, painting, oratory, med
icine, law, architecture, or any other branch of art or
science, when he is brought to account for the faith,
charity, and justice in his own heart toward God and
his fellow-men. He will be answered: -'These ought
you to have done, and not to leave the other undone."
No universal rule can be laid down as to what is the
proper degree of exerting one's talents, except that
256 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
founded upon common sense : that be should cultivate
and exert them with due reference to more important
duties to himself and others. I know one who has a
very extraordinary talent for painting; but to cultivate
and exert it to the utmost would be to the injury of her
eyesight, and the neglect of her duties to her family.
I, myself, have had good talents which would have
made me an eminent lawyer, a wealthy man, or a suc
cessful politician ; but it would have been at the ex
pense of my peace of mind, and my good feelings to niy
fellow-men. If I thought it best to content myself with
a very moderate fortune, and the exercise of my abili
ties only so far as was necessary to secure that fortune,
and for the performance of my engagements or obliga
tions to others, who can blame me ? I have no child,
and no. man can say that I have wronged him to the
value of a cent by my choice of conduct, or that by it
I have been lacking in charity toward him ; and I cer
tainly cannot say that I have done myself an injury, for
I have in consequence of it been a comparatively con
tented man.
There was still another motive which, though it may
appear trivial, yet I know exerted a strong influence
in determining me not to reserve Mary's fortune. I
was actually afraid that I would marry again, and was
jealous that any other woman should profit in property
by her death, and jealous also lest any other woman
should be allowed by my weakness to interfere with
the sacred memories associated with every object her
beloved hands had arranged or adorned. Though I
had been almost perfectly happy in my marriage, I had
a reasonable fear that it might not be so a second time ;
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 257
had a natural dread of undergoing the suffering of losing
a second wife, if she should be a good one ; and knew
that I was still a young man, and that I had rather a
facility for falling in love. In fine, I distrusted myself.
When a man says that he distrusts himself it may be
set down that he has had sad reason for his distrust.
It is only the fool, the madman, or the wholly inex
perienced who has perfect self-confidence.) For my own
part, the experience of three or four drinking bouts dur
ing these six years taught me that my only safety from
the dominion of my appetites and passions was that
they should be preserved from temptation. I am in
clined to believe that with most men, in a thousand
cases to one, to be preserved from temptation is to be
delivered from evil. Blood and education are of great
assistance, but the absence of temptation is the only
safety.
But to resume my narrative: passing over these six
years I found myself thirty-two years old, living alone
at my residence, The Holt, occupying myself with my
books and farm, and practicing my profession only so
far as my duties to others, and the necessities for my
own support required me. The activity of my life was
over ; and from that time to this I have led a sort of
passive existence ; like one condemned to death who
saunters along the road amusing himself by looking at
this or that trivial object until the place is reached and
his turn shall come.
22*
258 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
CHAPTER XXIV.
IN spite of my books and my farming occupations 1
was lonely at The Holt. I have never thought
myself very social, on the contrary, most of my time I
have sought to spend in solitude, but the solitude I
most liked has been one from which I could emerge at
once whenever it suited me. To have to visit the houses
of others to find pleasant company is a sad fate for any
man, and I have always therefore preferred to have
some one under my own roof with whom I could ex
change ideas ; or rather, as some of my friends think,
I fear, to whom I can be dogmatic or sentimental at
my pleasure. In this respect a good wife who knows
her duties and has a woman's eye to her own peace
and influence, is the best companion man can have; for
the wisest, of us like sometimes to babble, and the most
amiable of us who really think at all have some fixed
and favorite ideas we are fond of imparting.
Being lonely I invited Mr. Thomas J. Mario w to
bring his young wife, and her infant and little step
daughter, and stay at my house as long as was con
venient for all parties.
I had been acquainted with Mr. Marlow, who was a
Northerner, for many years while he was a book-keeper
in Yatton, and knew him to be very amiable, indus
trious, and intelligent a really good man. His first
wife, Priscilla Hunter, I had never liked much, on ac
count of her quick temper and violent prejudices, but
AliRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 259
she had made him a good wife had kept his clothes
and house in order, and preserved his spirit from stag
nation, had borne him two children, a girl and a boy,
and just after the birth of the latter had pestered her
self into a fever, and died. He bore his loss meekly ;
put his infant boy, who died afterward in teething, out
to nurse, and took the girl off with him to the North,
where the next I heard of him he was a book-keeper in
a banking establishment to which his proficiency and
known integrity commended him. Priscilla's father,
Old Johnny Hunter, a particularly hard old man, died
in a year or two, and left his little granddaughter Jane
a legacy of quite a fine tract of eight hundred acres of
land in the northeastern corner of the county on the
river, which the old man had commenced to improve
by putting up two or three cabins and making a small
clearing.
The next I heard of Marlow he had married a Miss
Mehetabel Crosby, a second-cousin of Mrs. Snow, and
intended in the fall of the next year removing with her
and his child back to Yatton. Unless he had been
extraordinarily successful, or his new wife had money,
which was not very likely, I knew he had no capital
to start as a merchant, and I could not imagine his
reason for coming back to Yatton to take up again his
work as a book-keeper. Nor do I yet know the exact
reason, unless the poor man found some comfort in
being near the bones of his first wife, for even he, if he
had no other motive for coming, must have had firm
ness enough to resist the vehement desire of his second
wife to enter upon the enjoyment of paradise as a
Southern planteress, which I found she had prepared
herself to do upon Jenny's cotton plantation (!).
200 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
They arrived at Yatton in the fall of the year, and
found temporary board and lodging at Squire Carter's,
where, her mother being in feeble health, Jane (still
Miss Jane) presided. Mrs. Marlow had an infant
about four months old, and when I called with Marlow
to be introduced to her, I attributed to it her dowdy
appearance, and to the negro girl she had as nurse, the
cross, discontented expression upon her otherwise
rather pretty countenance. A negro girl nurse is a
great trial to the patience of Southern mothers, and
must be dreadful to a Northern woman who is igno
rant of and unaccustomed to the peculiar carelessness
and filthy untidiness of the black race.
Spring came, and Mai'lovv had not succeeded in get
ting a permanent situation. He had found occasional
employment in posting books, and doing copying for
lawyers and others, but it did not afford a support, and
his money, I judged, was nearly gone. Besides this,
it came to my knowledge that he was uncomfortably
situated at Squire Carter's, where his wife had had
some sort of falling out with Miss Jane, who, however,
was a prudent girl, and never said about others or her
self more than was necessary. So I invited him to
make my house his home for awhile.
It was with difficulty that I prevailed upon him to
accept what his wife seemed eager for upon its first
proposal. She had fallen out with the Carters, and
from some cause was out of the good graces of her
cousin, Mrs. Snow, who, upon her first arrival, had
welcomed her with effusion, and had seemed over
whelmed with the privilege of indulging herself once
more in Yankee talk to her heart's content; and I did
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 9fil
not wonder that the poor woman should feel desolate,
and be glad of the opportunity of a quiet home. If I
had known that after Mrs. Snow had heard from her
everything everybody in and about their native place
had thought, clone, suffered, and hoped for the last eight
or ten years, she had in her turn communicated to the
eager ears and retentive memory of the new-comer all
the history, past, present, and, as far as possible, to
come, of at least every member of Mr. Snow's congre
gation, and especially all the particulars about me, Mr.
Marlow's special friend, and my history, I would not,
I presume, have been so pressing in my invitation.
But I did not know it; which is perhaps well, as I
should have lost the knowledge of human nature ob
tained by my experience and observation of Mrs.
Marlow.
Marlow protested that he feared to give trouble, but
I insisted that far from it he and his family would be
doing a good deed to relieve me of my loneliness. He
also insisted upon paying board as he did at Squire
Carter's, but I was firm that the little he and his would
eat would only be wasted if they did not consume it,
and I pointed out, what was true, that the little over
sight his wife might occasionally give the proverbially
wasteful negroes, would perhaps save me twice the
amount of their actual expenses: I told him, what
was also true, that if Mrs. Marlow would only see
sometimes that the chickens and turkeys were attended
to, she would do a real gainful service to me. The
only expense I wished them to be at was for their
washing, which I could not have done on the place.
Martha, my cook, of her own free will, did my washing,
262 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
but she had not time to do that of a family, nor did I
feel disposed to require more than her mistress had
required of her.
One Monday morning in May my gig and wagon
moved them out, bag and baggage, and Mrs. Marlow
took possession of the wing bed-room because I thought
it would give her more privacy and more freedom in
her domestic arrangements. There was also another
reason, which I kept to myself, that I did not wish my
rest disturbed by her baby if it should be colicky or
otherwise noisy. Little Jenny, who was about seven
years old, was to sleep in a trundle-bed in the back
bed-room which adjoined mine, and opened into her
step-mother's, and Eliza, the little negro girl, was to
sleep on a pallet in the same room, near the door.
My end accomplished, I felt greatly relieved. Here
have I at last, said I to myself, and that without the
trouble of marrying her, a lady in the house to relieve
me of household duties and cares. No longer shall I
have to sit alone at my table, but a woman's pleas
ant face shall be seen at its head, and her pleasant
voice shall be heard the sweetest sound which from
Adam's time has ever broken solitude. The merry
laughter of a child shall again echo in the house, and
I shall watch its play catching fireflies in the summer
dusk before the candles are lit, and no longer shall I
have to light the candles in the dusk to relieve myself
from gloom.
The next morning Martha gave us a nice breakfast,
and Marlow and I walked into town to our respective
labors, and late in the afternoon walked out again to
gether, I chatting gayly about what should be done and
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 263
left undone about the establishment, he barely assent
ing, and seeming dubious and dull. About a week af
terward, when Mrs. Mario w had become, as I thought,
sufficiently domesticated and at leisure, I accosted her
just after breakfast, and delivered to her the keys of the
pantry, store-room, and safe, asking her to do me the
favor to take charge of them, and to superintend the
giving out of the necessary articles to cook. I told
her she should find in the store-room sweetmeats and
pickles, jellies and jams, with which my mother and
Bel had continued to keep me supplied, and also the
flour, meal, and meat, and all the other usual articles
kept on hand for the table ; that in the pantry were the
crockery, napkins, and all such things ; and in the safe
in the dining-room were also butter, cheese, and what
she should find ; I did not know all mvself in either
place, but she could soon examine for herself.
'Martha," said I, "will take a great deal of the
trouble off your hands, madam, for she is a good cook,
and a faithful negro, and I don't think you shall find
her either impertinent or dishonest, though she may oc
casionally need direction when you wish a little variety.
Jack has the key of the smoke-house, and gives out the
allowance to the quarter negroes every week, so you
shall not be troubled with them.''
"But, Mr. Page," said she, "do you let Jack, a negro
man, have the key of your smoke-house, where you must
have a great deal of meat and other valuable articles ?"
" Why not, madam ?" answered I. " He knows how
to weigh out the allowance quite as well as I do."
" But I don't see," said she doubtfully, " how you can
trust him."
264 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Trust him!" said I. "Why, my dear madam, ho is
as honest as most white people at least, and even if he
were inclined to be otherwise, he knows that I know
just what quantities of articles are in the smoke-house,
and that if they should fall short, he will be held re
sponsible."
" I'll not mind the trouble," said Mrs. Marlow, "and
if you will give me the key of the smoke-house also, I
will see to Jack's measurement that is to say, if it
will be of any accommodation to you. To home my
mamma always saw to those things herself."
"No doubt, madam," said I; " but your mother did
not ha.ve a lot of plantation negroes to deal with, or
she would have found it no very agreeable task. I find
that Jack gets along very well, so I'll not trouble you
in that matter."
And so I left, having first told Martha, when she
came to me to get out the dinner, that Mrs Marlow
would attend to it thereafter, a piece of information
which Martha did not seem to be greatly rejoiced at,
though she said nothing.
Mrs. Marlow, I had found, was, after all, a really
nice little body, rather too prim and starchy, but quite
smiling, and very willing to take trouble off my hands ;
and I congratulated myself for three or four months
upon the good fortune which had brought her to my
house.
A special term of court was coming on, and I was
kept very busy preparing for it, and, in consequence,
was not always able to get out to my dinner at the
fixed hour. For a week or two this passed without re
mark, but one day at the usual hour I was at home,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 2G5
and dinner was announced, and Marlow had not yet
come, and I suggested to the lady that she had perhaps
better delay the meal a little until he should come.
" Oh, no," said she ; "Mr. Marlow is not used to having
his dinner so late, and I thought he had better take the
meal at his usual hour in town, and come out to tea."
"I have always been accustomed, Mrs. Marlow, to
have my dinner at this hour, but I really dislike that
Mr. Marlow should be put to inconvenience "
" Oh, as for that," interrupted she pertly, " beggars
must not be choosers, and I am sure Mr. Marlow and
I are only too happy to "
" My dear madam," interrupted I, in my turn, " please
do not talk in that manner. I really do not see what
other arrangement I can make to suit myself; but if
you and Mr. Marlow wish your dinner at an earlier
hour, it will be easy for you to have it, and I can take
mine when I come home/'
The next morning as we walked to town after break
fast, I told Marlow what I had told his wife, and it
came out that he had not found the least objection to
the dinner hour: "But," said he, "Mrs. Marlow has
peculiar ideas upon such subjects, and though I always
find it best to humor her, I am mortified to think that
she may have interfered with your comfort."
"Not at all," said I. "The matter can be arranged
to suit all parties."
Pretty soon I began to notice, day after day, that
only two biscuits and a small piece of corn bread were
reserved for my dinner, and though it was quite as
much as I wished to eat, I rather disliked to be so al-
23
2% LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
lowanced. So I took occasion to speak to Martha on
the subject, and when I remonstrated, she said :
" The Lord bless you, master, it ain't my fault. That
ihere woman don't even seem to want to give out
enough to go all around once ; and she is always a
lecturin' and scoldin' me about wastin', and a tellin'
me that me and Jack don't earn our salt."
"Don't speak of Mrs. Marlow in that manner, Mar
tha," said I.
"But it's the Lord's truth, master," said Martha, em
phatically. " You dun know that Mrs. Marlow. Arter
awhile she run you wild if she go on as she's been
gwine "
" You don't like Mrs. Marlow, Aunt Martha," said I.
"Like her?" said she. " Did you ever hear what she
done at Squire Carter's ? She wanted ole Miss Carter
to be moved out of her room for her to take it, and got
mighty mad, and said as how Mr. Marlow paid for the
best, and she was gwine to have it ; and her and Miss
Jane had it high and low. And Miss Carter's cook say
as how she runs Mr. Marlow ravin' distracted for all he
seem so quiet; and she beats that poor little Jenny till
she done cow her down worse'n a dog."
"Never mind, Martha," said I. "Old Phyllis has
been exaggerating, I expect. You mind your work,
and I'll speak to Mrs. Marlow about giving out plenty."
And so I intended to do, but I found it was a deli
cate matter at best, and with the new light old Martha
had, truly or untruly, thrown upon the disposition of
Mrs. Marlow, there were fresh complications of diffi
culty. How I managed to suggest my desire that
more liberal issues of provisions should be made, I do
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 267
not remember, though I know it was with many a hem
and haw; but I recollect full well how Mrs. Marlow
pursed her lips and said: "Very well, sir. But I
thought it was your desire to save."
"So it is, Mrs. Marlow," I replied, "and you are
perfectly right, madam ; but don't you think it is always
less trouble to give out a little too much, than to have
too little ? For my own part, I have always found that
I gained in comfort by letting a moderate degree of
waste pass unnoticed."
" Very well, Mr. Page. It was at your desire that
I took the keys, and I am sure I don't wish to keep
them one minute longer than I give perfect satisfac
tion." And with that she laid the keys on the table,
near me.
What was I to do? I could not see my servants
suffer, nor did I wish to be made uncomfortable my
self; and, on the other hand, I could not bear to have
even the appearance of hurting a lady's feelings par
ticularly in my own house. Therefore I handed her
back the keys, and said :
" Do not mistake me, my dear madam. I had not
the slightest idea of taking the keys from you. I only
suggested what I thought would add to the comfort of
yourself as well as that of the rest of us ; and I am
glad I have had the opportunity of telling you that my
desire to save only meant that I did not like extrava
gant waste. You will oblige me by taking the keys
again, and going on as I am sure your own good sense
will direct you. "
She took the keys again, without a word, and I had
no more trouble on that particular score again very
soon.
268 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
But ill a few months Mrs. Marlow was more at home
in my house than I was, and she began to suggest im
provements. She had been to town one day, in my
gig, of course, and had looked over the stock in Bright
& Robbing's new furniture store. In the evening she
brought the subject of bedsteads into the conversation,
and talked in such a way that I had to ask her if her
own bedstead (which 1 knew was a fine and costly
one, though then, may be, a little old-fashioned) was
uncomfortable, and if it would please her that I should
get a new one.
"Oh no," said she; "I was not thinking about my
self. It is true that the old bedstead creaks a good
deal, and looks as though it used to have bugs in it;
but it will do. 1 was thinking about the one in Jenny's
room."
"But Jenny sleeps on her trundle-bed, Mrs. Mar-
low," said 1.
"That is true," said she; "but suppose company
should come !"
"Mrs. Marlow, the bedstead in Jenny's room is a
fine and substantial piece of furniture, and lit for any
company."
"So it is, Mr. Page; but then it is so heavy that it
is hard to manage, and, besides, does not suit the other
furniture. Now one of those new-fashioned, light four-
posters, with a cornish on top, and a rich valance, such
as mamma has, would suit exactly and Bright &
Robbins have just received a number of them from
Boston."
Now there were many offensive things in Mrs. Mar-
low's conversation besides its tone and spirit. The
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 269
imputation of bugs was very peculiarly offensive ; for,
besides that I knew it was wholly false, it was in
tended as a slur upon my former housekeeping, if not
even upon the neatness of my dead wife. Moreover,
Mrs. Marlow's evident desire to be mistress, and dis
place and upturn what Mary's correct taste and careful
hands had arranged, and what had been religiously
kept just as she had arranged it, outraged my feelings,
and I would have seen Mrs. Marlow Well, there
is no use in writing hard things ; but it makes me
angry even to remember the design and spirit of the
woman.
I was already getting disenchanted of the pleasure
of having strangers about rny house, even for sociabil
ity; but two incidents which followed in close succes
sion, just after this, showed me Mrs. Marlow in her
true and odious character, and showed the true cause
for poor Marlow's habitual silence and lowness of
spirits. When he had formerly lived in Yatton, he was
noted for his genial disposition and gentle, playful
humor ; but on his return I had noticed that he was
silent and reserved, and rarely smiled. I had attrib
uted it to his want of success in business, and had
wondered how one naturally so hopeful and cheerful
should be so habitually cast down by such a cause. I
now discovered that his wife gave him good cause for
lowness of spirits; and I actually think he was the
most miserable man I have ever known more misera
ble than Fitzroy, because he had more feeling. His
misery was not only active, but also passive. He had
to bear the torture in silence. It was his only comfort
that he thought no one knew his misery.
23*
270 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Here is how it was.
I have already mentioned the property left little
Jenny by her grandfather ; and I have spoken of the
child only incidentally, because I knew I should have
occasion so describe her in order to present her espe
cial sorrows in their true light.
She was by nature a bright blue-eyed little thing, who
had inherited her mother's spirit, tempered with her
father's calmness and mildness of disposition. I had
noticed, ever since she had been at my house, that she
was not gay and confident as were other children of her
age ; and that even when she was surprised into some
expression of delight or playfulness, it was but a flash,
and left her confused and embarrassed. Even when
she would be tripping about the yard among the
shrubbery, she never pulled a flower and was always
stopping and looking toward the house, as though to
hear a call.
Well, one morning when I had got about half way
to town, I remembered that I had left on the table in
my room some important papers, which I had to use
that day, and told Marlow to walk on, and I would re
turn and get them. When I arrived at the house, I
had hardly put my foot in my room when I heard
Mrs. Marlow, in the next room, exclaim, in a shrill,
angry voice, to some one: " Come here, you nasty little
wretch ! Why can't I kill you ! There ! and there !
and there!" and her blows with a heavy switch fell
fast and furious, and she trampled about the room as
though dragging a screaming child over the floor, and
continued to beat her ; and the screams were so heart
rending that, after knocking in vain at the door, I
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 271
opened it and saw Mrs. Marlow, livid with passion,
holding little Jenny by the hair and belaboring her
with a switch even too large to whip a ten-year old
boy with. When she saw me she let the child go, and
retreated to her own room, putting up her hair a she
went, and casting back at me a glance of mingled rage
and fear.
Good heavens ! And was this Marlow's wife ? the
daughter of a preacher ? and a lineal offshoot of the
Pilgrim Fathers ?
I raised the little girl from the floor, and took her in
my arms and tried to console her ; but she would not
be comforted. Terror was on every feature of her face,
and she tried to push me away, saying faintly: "Do
go away, Mr. Page; please do go away. She will
whip me worse. Oh, she says she wants to kill me !
and she beats me every day and she will beat me
worse now !" and the poor little creature sobbed, and
shivered, and seemed to try to resign herself to the fate
she feared.
To say that I was indignant, would be too mild an
expression. But what was I to do ? I really feared
to leave the child there without a protector. After
some cogitation, I hit upon a plan. I asked Jenny if
she wouldn't like to go to town with me, and spend the
day with Mrs. Diggory's grandchildren? and when
she assented, I knocked at Mrs. Marlow's door, and
said to her, inside, as calmly as I could: "Mrs. Mar-
low, Jenny is quiet now. Will you let her go with
me to town to spend the day at Mrs. Diggory's ?"
"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Marlow, "she can go with you
i.<) town " and she added something I could not
catch, in an undertone.
272 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
I told the little thing to get her sun-bounet, ordered
Jack to harness up ray gig, and took her to Mrs. Dig-
gory's, where, when I called for her in the afternoon,
I found her playing with the other children, but awk
wardly and a little reserved, and, from her movements,
evidently quite sore.
During the day, Marlow had occasion to call at my
office, arid I took the opportunity to tell him what I
feared he did not know ; but I did so as cautiously and
gently as I could. I told him that on my return to
the house in the morning I had found Mrs. Marlow
whipping Jenny with a very large switch, and that,
from what I learned, it was a common occurrence, and
I asked him if he did not think it would be well to
advise with her on the subject.
"Advise with her !" said he ; then rising and coming
up to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder, and,
looking at me with a world of sorrow and perplexity
in his eyes, he said: " So you have found it out at last !
Page, I am the most wretched of men!" and casting a
wistful look at me, he turned and left the office.
That night I heard the first of a series of tirades
which were soon to make the place too hot for me and
Mrs. Marlow. She had lost all shame and desire for
concealment when I had discovered her violent charac
ter, and seemed rather to wish to display what she
could do in the way of vituperation and malice.
Her windows were up, as were mine, for the weather
was warm. About nine o'clock, as I was busily en
gaged in drawing up an important bill in chancery, my
attention was attracted by the loud and excited tones
of her voice. I looked, and saw her standing near a
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 273
window, and, occasionally, as she talked, glancing over
at me, whom she could see with perfect distinctness.
As it was evident she wished me to hear what she had
to say, I did not rise, as I might have done, and close
the window ; for, as I saw that the woman was bent
upon having her spite out for my benefit at some time,
I thought the sooner it was over the better.
"Yes, sir," exclaimed she, in a rage, to her husband,
"where is the fine plantation and the paradise you
were to take me to ? You have no plantation, sir !"
"I never told, or even intimated to you, that I had
one, my dear," said Marlow, mildly.
"You didn't? Well, sir, if you want to get out of
it that way you may do so. That nasty little brat has
some land, and you are too tender to her to make use
of it, but will let me and my child starve. When you
courted me "
"Stop, my dear," interrupted Marlow, "I rather
think the boot is on the other leg. If you had not
been so very kind and motherly to Jenny, I never "
"No, of course you would never," exclaimed she.
" You married me, for what ? Because you loved me ?
No; I knew it; you never did love me, and you dare
now to acknowledge it! You married me to take care
of that little chit! Ah, I thank God, who sees and
hears me now, at this very moment;" and she clasped
her hands and looked upward almost ecstatically, as
though she was really glad that God had an opportu
nity to look upon such persecuted meekness. "I thank
God that not one drop of my blood is in the muddy,
stinking stream in her veins, the deceitful little brat !
She got that from another woman, your firet love, who
from what I hear was a mean and deceitful "
274 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
"By God, madam!" exclaimed Marlow, much agi
tated, "that is too much! You shan't stand there and
insult my dead wife ! You "
"Your dead wife!" interrupted she with a sneer.
"Your dead wife! Oh yes! you are mighty touchy
about your dead wife, but when do you ever think of
your living wife ? What have you ever done for me, I
would like to know ? When you first married me, you
lived at my papa's house, and now "
"Stop again, madam !" said Marlow. "I did live at
your father's, but it was because you would have it so,
and I paid all the expenses of the whole family while
I did so, and loaned your father money into the bar
gain."
"Paid all the expenses! Loaned money! You say
so ! 'I paid, I paid !' That's what you always throw
up to me ! 1 1 was an honor to you, sir, to be admitted
into my papa's house! The Reverend Jeremiah
Crosby is as far above you as a man well can be
above another, and you throw up to me that you paid!
you paid ! You have taken me away from my home
and parents, but, you paid ! You are permitting me and
my child to live upon a stingy fool who begrudges "
"Mrs. Marlow," said Marlow, in a mournful, plead
ing tone, "don't abuse Mr. Page. For God's sake have
at least a little decency. For the Lord's sake let me
alone, and do not torment me. You know that I am
obliged to submit to your abuse. I can't whip you as
I would a man, and I cannot commit suicide even for
all the misery you make me suffer. Have a little mercy
on me!"
"Whip me! You brute, whip me! I'd like to
ASK AH AM PAGE, ESQ. 275
see you lay the weight of your finger
on me! Commit suicide! No! you coward! A man
who will let another insult his wife as that Page of
yours did me to-day, by bursting into the room where
he knew I was, hasn't got spirit enough to .kill himself!
Suicide! You try to frighten me by threatening to
kill yourself me, a poor lone woman "
"You are mistaken, madam," said he, "I did not
threaten to commit suicide."
But why should I continue all this scene ! It can
easily be imagined by any one who has ever seen a
violent woman in a rage with a man she does not fear.
Poor Marlow! This was not the first or the last
trial of the poor inoffensive well-meaning fellow, who
in the fullness of his affection had married the woman
really because she was kind to his little motherless
daughter, and he had persuaded himself to love her
for it.
There is no creature on earth more spiteful and cow
ardly than an ill-tempered woman with a husband for
whom she has no fear ; and there is no creature more
to be pitied than her victim ; particularly if he honestly
love her, as most such unfeared, unrespected husbands
do love their wives only too much.
One of the most touching expressions in the whole
Bible is that of David. " It was not an enemy who
reproached me; then I could have borne it."
This woman hated little Jenny, and hated her hus
band on Jenny's account. If Jenny had died, Marlow
would have inherited the property, which would con
sequently then be the property of Mrs. Marlow and her
child or children, and Mrs. Marlow wished her out of
276 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
the way. I verily believe that but for the law she
would have murdered her outright. The idea of having
her own delicate neck stretched alone restrained her.
As it was, she was trying to kill her spirit, and would
soon have killed her body, too, by slow degrees the law
could not notice.
Although the tirade I have attempted to narrate was
private, and treated as if it were unheard by me, Mrs.
Marlow's aversion to me soon became too open and vio
lent to pass unnoticed, and, not to prolong a disagree
able subject, I need not say they presently left my house.
Marlow himself proposed it, and I did not oppose.
They all in a short while moved back to the North, and
I never afterward heard of them, except through an
advertisement of the sale of Jenny's patrimony an
order for which Marlow procured from the Probate
Court by his attorney two years afterward. He seemed
to wish to sever every connection with those who had
known him in his earlier and happier days.
I thought it was very weak in him to refuse the
offer I made to take the little girl and raise and educate
her, but he seemed to think that he might thereby ex
pose to the world the wretchedness of his life, or, at
any rate, set the world to inquire into the reasons why
he had parted with his child to a stranger.
ABM AH AM PAGE, ESQ. 277
CHAPTER XXV.
I HAVE purposely omitted several scenes with Mrs.
Marlow, in which she abused me roundly, and
brought up my past failings, so far as they had been
imparted to her by her cousin, with an accuracy of de
tail and a power of comment, which argued well for
the soundness of her reasoning faculties and the bril
liancy of her imagination. My frolic at Colonel Stew
art's party and my frolics of the past seven years were
magnified until even I, who knew the facts, was con
vinced that I was, almost, if not quite, a lost man ; and
my restitution of my wife's property to her family fitted
me for hell as a hypocrite, or for an asylum and straight-
jacket as a lunatic and I might take my choice.
I have purposely omitted all this because I would
not be thought to take pleasure in detailing the follies
and wickedness of my fellow-creatures, much less those
of a woman. Indeed I would not have mentioned Mrs.
Marlow at all had I not been convinced that though
she was the only woman of her vileness I ever met to
know well, her peculiarities are by no means uncom
mon, though manifested, generally, in a milder degree.
Ill temper, selfishness, and a narrow mind are not un
common, and together they make vulgar malice. Add
to them that nervous excitability which moves the
female tongue, and you have a Mrs. Marlow. Will
any one tell me that there are not many Mr?. Marlows
in the world 1 and many men just like her ?
24
278 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
But my experience with her taught me, as I have
before observed, that it was not pleasant, unless in very
rare cases, to have strangers as regular inmates of one's
house. Solomon says : "Withdraw thy foot from thy
neighbor's house; lest he be weary of thee, and so hate
thee." If it be not well, then, for either party to visit
too frequently, much worse is it to take up abode with
"thy neighbor" unless he keep a boarding-house; that
most wretched of all human institutions; that most
pitiable, in cause and effect, of all the disasters of this
estate of sin and misery.
I know of no classes of human creatures in each of
which there is so much similarity in variety as in
boarding-house keepers and habitual boarders. The
latter I can dispose of in three words : they are selfish
ad nauseam. The boarding-house keepers, however,
are, as a general rule, infinitely superior to their cus
tomers. Nothing but the extreme of misery could
force any man or woman, ordinarily constituted, to
keep a boarding-house; and generally those who have
the doubtful energy to appeal to that resort are good
people, who have been reduced to poverty either by
undue confidence in others, or by their own careless
amiability. So far as iny own observation extends, in
nine out of ten cases a boarding-house keeper is very
amiable, and very much troubled and imposed upon
just as his customers are very selfish, and very ill
natured and exacting. The hotel-keeper has his office,
and book-keepers, and clerks, and porters, and army of
waiters, and place before the public, and all the impos
ing array which speaks out boldly and says : Pay, or
quit 1 be contented, or leave ! Whereas the poor
AliRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 279
boarding-house keeper who, may be, has his office in
his hat, and who has only two or three waiters and one
dilapidated cook, is fair game for the bullying spirit of
this wicked world, in which the rule is to bully or be
bullied in one's dealings with the public.
Not that I by any means justify the boarding-house
keeper for his half-raw mutton and overdone beef, with
the same sauce for both ; not that he is to be excused
for his weak and muddy coffee, and his strong and oily
butter, his soups that disappoint one's digestive organs,
and his pastries that make a mock of them ! I abomi
nate his loud and turbulent dinner-bell, and his creak
ing bedsteads ; and I hold him responsible for his bugs,
and scant towels, the small number of his waiters, and
his inches of candle, and smoky lamps, quite as much
as any other selfish man (the word "selfish" is rather
a redundancy) ; but when I reflect upon his present and
what he must have been in his past sorrows upon the
nervous organization of his wife, and the natural stu
pidity and wayward fancies of his servants I find in
my heart a sentiment of pity which makes me long
never to witness his troubles or their causes again. In
fine, the hotel-keeper (I speak of the class) is a bullying,
swindling humbug, and the boarding-house keeper is a
bullied, swindled humbug and that is about the differ
ence between them.
But to return to private life. An old bachelor uncle,
cousin, or brother is the only habitual strange inmate
in a family who is at all tolerable, and he may be the
most handy of all men, and the greatest convenience.
You never have to wait breakfast, dinner, or supper
for him, unless you are rather superhumauly amiable
280 LIFE & ND OPINIONS OF
or affectionate. Ho can run errands, trim rose-bushes,
keep you in game, arrange fishing tackle, sit up with
the sick or fetch the doctor, see that your horses, cows,
pigs, and chickens are properly fed, salted, watered,
and doctored, stop out pigs, train dogs, watch the baby
or the soap, pick fruit, keep the children out of mis
chief, and do a thousand other things better than you
can yourself. He is the factotum of your wife, the
wonder and delight of your children, and your very ex
cellent friend and companion ; and I have often thought
that it would have been a happy fate had I, a childless,
and possibly a childish man, been in his place from
middle age until now.
It would have just suited me. I would have loved
much, and done much, and given no trouble. The
prices of meat, corn, and sugar should never have
troubled me for myself. A few yards of cottonade, and
a few yards of domestic, which my cousin, sister, or
niece would have made up for me into coats, pants,
drawers, and shirts, should have sufficed me for every
day clothes, and with but little labor, I could have made
enough to keep me always with a nice Sunday suit and
resplendent boots. I could have knitted my own socks
in my leisure, and made my own pegged shoes, platted
my own hats, spun my own thread, and made my own
buttons. Always busy at just what I most liked to do,
and always loving and performing loving offices, loved
and having loving hands and hearts ministering to
my comfort, I should have been a happy man.
It is no doubt best as it is. My sister Bel died and
left one daughter, who married before her father left the
world, so that I had no opportunity to have her with
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 281
me; and I was not exactly in a position to live with
her and her husband, who would have taken me, arid
all that I had, with a "thankye," as the negroes say,
and wished then to dispose of me as Mrs. Mario w
wished to settle poor little Jenny. I have never had
the chance to be dear old Uncle Abe, or Cousin Abe.
My niece's only child, my present grand-niece, has ideas
which cannot tolerate old and old-fashioned uncles,
and affections which are rather attracted by a man's
title and what he possesses than by what he is.
It is somewhat out of place, but as I may not have
occasion to refer to that young lady again, I will say a
word or two about her here. It is painful to an old
man to feel a dislike to his only surviving near relative,
and even more painful to have to give his reasons for
it; but as she expects to inherit my property, though,
thank Heaven, she has not inherited my name, I must
state why she shall be disappointed.
In the first place, her name is Sally Ann Sally Ann
Perkins and a more disagreeable compound of names
could not be invented. The " Perkins" is well enough
by itself; that is to say, though it means " Little Peter,"
some folk like it, and some very good persons bear it;
but with the Sally Ann, it does not suit my ear. Miss
Sally Ann Perkins, I understand, likes my name quite
as little as I do hers so we are quits on that score.
If any one think I am foolish in this prejudice, per
haps he is right. I am old, and old men generally have
weak fancies. But how would he be affected by the
name of Aminidab Green or Habakuk Winslow, borne
by a new acquaintance? There are associations at
tached to the sounds of different names and their col-
24*
282 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
locations, and if the name of his new acquaintance
would excite his organ of caution, I may be excused
if another name excite disagreeable sensations in me.
Why does the sound of the rustling of paper make
some horses almost frantic with fright?
But in the second place, Miss Sally Ann Perkins is
a snob.
There is no more expressive word in our language
than snob ; and no feeling more common to the Amer
ican people than snobbery. It does not mean the mere
desire for something better than we have; for that
leads to improvement, and is laudable ; but it means a
mixture of abjectness and vanity, which meanly esteems
something, of no importance in itself, as far above us,
and if not to be obtained, at least to be aped. It leads
poor people to dress and display far above their means,
and leads rich people to assume aristocratic airs, and
to think, oh, how near heaven they should be if they
were only hereditary lords and ladies strangely for
getting what they really should be if titles and trades
were hereditary. It leads young men who have been
to France a few days to forget English, and become
gastronomes to an alarming degree. They will speak
to you with horror of the style barbare of the cuisine
de ce pays ci (and, by-the-by, they are more than half
right, only they ought to take their view from a different
stand-point as is never said but by theologians) and
discriminate between Pomai'd and Lafitte, groan at
Port, and kiss the points of their fingers in ecstacy in
describing the flavor of some French dish, as though
you were not also tired of corn bread and hash, though
you had never been to France.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 283
If a man set out to be original in his extravagances,
he is at once called crazy, though, perhaps, he only de
serves to be called ignorant and foolish ; for genius, in
its most ecstatic frenzy, could not invent any fashion
whatever, which has not already been tried by one or
both sex. But generally, in this world (except by the
envious who have the same feeling of inferiority, yet
cannot possibly get up the imitation), persons are
called neither crazy, ignorant, nor foolish, who only
imitate the example of those they esteem their betters ;
for all the rest of us are hard at work, and emulating
each other in our copying.
Have you not sometimes suddenly discovered a
smirk or other affected look on the countenance of
some damsel, and wondered where she could have got
it ? She was trying to imitate Miss Araminta, the
unapproachable, who has herself copied just such a
smirk from Lady Faddleday, of whom she caught a
glimpse in New York last summer, who imitated it
from the Duchess of Gadshill, who learned it from
etc. etc. etc.
Mrs. X. dresses her daughters just like those of Mrs.
A., who, in point of means also, is at the other end of
the alphabet; and young Hoggins quits his old asso
ciates in pleasure and work to run with Sniffkins and
his crowd of nice young men, to dress like them, talk
like them, act like them ; and Barkis, the shoemaker's
boy, dresses, talks, and acts like them as nearly as is
consistent with sole-leather; while the yellow boy
around the corner regards them from across the great
gulf as so many little angels in Abraham's bos6m, or
playing around him.
284 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Let every one examine himself or herself, and see if
there be not some one or more things in which he or
she feels abject, and if there be not some other person
whom they esteem far above them in point of style or
social standing, and whom it is the most desirable
thing in life to imitate. Don't you find yourself slyly
boasting of your acquaintance or intimacy with those
who you know are greatly honored or admired on the
principle that though not the rose you've been with the
rose. ( Well, all that is snobbery, and is mean. It is
inconsistent with the dignity of character that becomes
a man or woman, and leads besides to discontent, con
fusion, dishonesty, and toadyism.
Have you not known many a man who made an
other man his model and authority, because he was to
him the source of earthly good, and quoted his opin
ion as definitive on all occasions great and small ? who
both lived and swore by him, and seemed to think he
would go to him when he died ? Have you not seen
in him the gradual change from distant awe to familiar
ity, and at last to contempt, as the scales changed and
he went up and his former patron came down ?
That was all mean, very mean ; and it was the legit
imate result of snobbery. -He who is little-minded
enough to be abject, will be little-minded enough to be
vain, proud, and ungrateful. Give me the man who,
while he strives in this world for the best things, values
what he has at present, and envies no man station or
goods. : I had rather think I was the handsomest man,
and had the best house, and the best horse, and the best
dog, and the best land, arid the best position in all the
world, and value them at a thousand times their price,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 285
than to esteem another desirably better looking or bet
ter off, though I were very ugly, and my house leaked,
my dog were mangy, my horse were lame, my land should
not sprout cow-peas, and my position were that of a
piny-woods basket-maker. You may depend upon its
being the happiest and most dignified philosophy of life,
however humble the life may be.
My niece is not a disciple of this happy and dignified
philosophy. She is a snob. She laughs at the mem
ory of my father and mother as a plodding old couple
who should have been vastly more worthy of her, Sally
Ann Perkins, had they been the first among the Eng
lish nobility; while I can tell her that they were of a
nobility superior to that derived from human authority,
and that the most of the small drop of gentle blood she
has in her veins is derived from them. She, Miss Sally
Ann, thinks that her little noddle would vastly become
a coronet or crown, while I, her great-uncle, am re
minded in that respect of what Sancho Panza said
about his wife: "I am verily persuaded that if God
were to rain down kingdoms upon the earth, none of
them would sit well upon the head of Maria Gutierrez ;
for you must know, sir, she is not worth two farthings
for a queen."
I do not deny that she is a pretty girl, although her
nose is sharp, her lips thin, and she looks older than
she really is. She dresses, too, with taste ; and though
her bonnet is of the smallest, and her hoop of the
largest, and her laces and silks of the finest, somehow
or other she looks vastly genteel, driving about in her
brette, and glancing with contemptuous indifference
upon the world and its vanities as one would suppose
236 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
she esteemed other people's attempts at elegance. But
how does she treat her two little, Perkins, orphan cou
sins ? and how does she treat their old aunt, with whom
she and they live? Do I not know that in her presence
they hardly dare call their souls their own ? I have had
experience with the young woman. She is not loud
and unlady-like, but she is as silent and effective as a
blister-plaster. One neither sees nor can touch the
quality which hurts, but has to cry out for the pain,
nevertheless.
Commend me to your silent scolds for malignant in
sults and running man, woman, and child desperate.
How they manage it I cannot understand. Try to ex
plain to one of them how she has insulted you, and you
find yourself confused and ridiculous before her calm,
innocent face, and perhaps doubly insulted by the very
look and manner by which she shows her innocence.
When I look at the beauty and serenity of Miss Sally
Ann, and try to precise (that word is from the French
verb preciser, and, like approfound, should be adopted
in the English, as we have no single word its equiva
lent), when I look at her, I say, and try to precise how
she used, while she lived at my house, to insult me
grossly and run me almost wild, and then humiliate me
for .being provoked, I sometimes almost think I have
a waking nightmare. But the fact was real, though
intangible, and I do hope she will marry a loyal duke.
Finding that wealth and the highest title he aspires to
do not secure happiness, he may perhaps turn his
thoughts toward heaven. I am sure that is the only
way in which my grand-niece will ever make a man
try to secure the comforts of religion here on earth,
and a final entrance to that blest abode.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 287
What I have here said will explain to my executor,
and to Miss Sally Ann, if she wish to know it, why I
have not left my property to her my natural heir.
If these memoirs should ever be published, I trust that
the discretion of my executor will lead him to omit
this personal digression, or so to alter it in names and
details as that it shall be understood only by the young
lady herself.
[NOTE BY THE EXECUTOR. Miss Perkins, now the
Widow Lecompte, married in 1863 (after this was
written) a stray music-teacher, exiled, as he said, in
1848, from his estates in France. Though not a
Christian, he died a triumphant death in two years
after marriage. Her property consisted chiefly in
slaves, and has been, in every sense, rendered value
less by the event of the war. Having been fully
advised by me of this part of the memoirs of my re
spected friend (I sent her, indeed, an authenticated
copy), she refuses that it shall be omitted in publica
tion. She has commenced a suit to break Mr. Page's
will on account of insanity and undue prejudice, and
says that this shall serve as evidence in her cause.
She denies that she ever treated her great-uncle with
aught but the most perfect tenderness, and affirms that
he was so insanely prejudiced against her that even
her gentle manner of humoring his old-fashioned
whims used to put him in a rage, which her quiet
efforts to soothe only augmented. In an interview
with Miss Boiling, the lovely residuary legatee of Mr.
Page, I have it on the best authority that her intense
calmness and simple words and gestures were so pro
voking, that the younger lady was at first indignant,
288 WE AND OPINIONS OF
and then so dissolved in tears of contrition (though
what she had to be contrite for, unless it be that her
own beauty and goodness made an old man love her,
is more than she herself can see), that she wished to
give up the estate at once to Mrs. Lecompte. She
sent, wrote, and even when I was last at Yatton
came to me herself to have it done; but as, by the
terms of the will, that could not be, the suit is bound
to progress. This will all be clear to the reader who
has read the preface.]
CHAPTER XXVI.
I FIND that I have digressed greatly, in point of
time, from the thread of my story. And yet I do
not know but that by abandoning my design of nar
rating my life in the order of its events, and telling it
as it occurs to my memory, I shall not be more natural,
and therefore more engage the reader. I find, in fact,
that after a certain period life began to fly so fast with
me that the consecutive order of its events has become
confused, and which is first of any two that occurred
about the same period I cannot remember at all, or
only with great difficulty by faint associations. For in
stance : Judge Dawson and Colonel Harper applied to
me to become a candidate for Congress; and Miss
Sophia Walker and I had a strategic attack and de
fense, she being the attacking party. Both events
happened about the same period of my life, and I recol-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 289
lect that my brother, Dr. Eldrod Page, was then living
with me, but which of the two came first I cannot re
call nor does it make the slightest difference either to
me or to the reader, for they were not at all connected.
But before I speak of either, it is due to my own af
fection to say something about my brother Eldred.
He was six years younger than I was, and, I always
thought, a great improvement upon me in every way.
He was of larger stature, finer mind, and more unself
ish soul than, I, besides being greatly handsomer. I
can make this confession without the slightest reserve,
for to acknowledge the superior traits of one I love has
always given me delight. Nor have my swans been
geese, either ; for mere friendship, however intense and
holy, never blinds a sensible man, as love does, to de
fects, however trivial. When I was married he had
just begun the study of medicine under our father, and
was becoming greatly interested in bones and muscles,
nerves, veins, and arteries, tissues and organs. His
fancy inclined that way ; and that alone was equivalent
to talent ; but he had talent too, and energy. Our
father said he was naturally a doctor; and I verily
believe it, for, added to his commanding presence and
his taste, talent, and energy, he had a heart as sympa
thetic as ever beat in human bosom.
When he had sufficiently advanced, he went on to
Philadelphia, where he graduated in 1819, at the Uni
versity. Upon his return home he commenced the
practice of his profession as the assistant to our father,
to whom it was becoming too laborious, and succeeded
even among those who had known him all his life.
usually dread commencing in their professions
25 T
290 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
where they were raised, but, unless they expect to suc
ceed as charlatans, I am convinced that they are wrong.
Real merit will succeed anywhere, and success is fixed
upon the most profound basis where it has home pride,
the vanity of locality, to support it.")
After the marriage of Bel, and the series of family
calamities I have heretofore mentioned, brother Eldred
continued to live at home with our mother, who, dear
lady, constituted herself his housekeeper, and devoted
herself to him. No young physician could have a
better adviser than she, especially in those cases in
which the experience and observation of an intelligent
mother and wife are more peculiarly exercised, and he
used often to say to me : Brother, our little mother is a
better doctor than the whole College of Surgeons.
Ah, who knew her excellencies better than I ? In
all times of sickness and trouble she was the minister
ing spirit who came with relief. At the birth of my
son, and at his death and the death of my wife, she was
the person I most looked to for help, and when she her
self was taken away, about ten years after my father's
death, I felt that the last of the strong ties of affection
which bound me to earth was severed. True, I had
my brother and my sister Bel but the latter was
married, and had a husband to depend upon and love,
and the former was a great strong man who did not
need my assistance.
After our mother's death, both Bel and I considered
the old place as Eldred's. We each had a pleasant
home, and we hoped he would marry and make it his
home. Until he should do so 1 persuaded him to rent
it out to a careful tenant, and to come and live with
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 291
me ; and as ray place was but little farther from town,
where he had his office, he found it would not interfere
with his business to do so.
He was no misogynist, and I never knew him to
have any love scrape, or serious disappointment in
love ; therefore I could never account for his indisposi
tion to marry. I am inclined to think, however, that
though my sorrows and the fate of Marlow may have
had some influence upon him, Miss Sophia Walker had
a chief part in deterring him ; not that he was a man
to form general rules from one or two particular in
stances, but the continued recurrence of obstacles will
turn aside any man not fully bent upon an object.
Miss Sophia Walker was no longer in her first and
freshest youth, nor was I, by any means, a young wid
ower, when she manifested a design to change her name
from Walker to Page at my expense. It was rather
strange, to a casual observer, that she had never yet
married, for she was still quite good looking, and in
her youth must have been pretty. She had a fresh
complexion, light blue eyes, flaxen hair with a dove-
colored tinge, and a high-bridged nose ; her lips were
red, and the upper one beautifully arched. She was
rather bony about the chest, but had a pretty foot and
a handsome arm. Her fingers were long and bony, and
the right thumb and index finger were well roughened
by pricks of her needle. Her appearance was, in fine,
that of one of those who are marked out by inexorable
fate never to marry, do what they will. Every man
has, no doubt, in his life remarked several of the class,
and, though their appearance may have varied in its
details, he has always been impressed with an undefin-
able similarity between them.
292 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
As a general rule, they are excellent women, these
predestined old maids ; are thoroughly contented with
their lot, devote themselves to the good of their nieces
and nephews, uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters ;
or, perhaps, if they have no such relatives, teach schools
for little children ; they are assiduous in their devotions,
but more assiduous in their works of charity. I do
love such an old maid as that, whether she be ugly or
good looking, pleasant or brusque in her manners.
When the great day of account shall come, she shall find
laid up for her in heaven infinitely more than the love
others may think she lacked here on earth. But some
times these old maids are never contented with their
lot, and never cease trying to change it while there is
any possibility of hope. Miss Sophia was one of that
kind. She always tried as genteelly as possible, it is
true, but she tried, and I was one of her subjects for
experiment.
I don't know why it is, but since I commenced to
write about her, it has been with difficulty that I have
kept my pen from writing French. My episode with
her is just one of those subjects a spiritual Frenchman
could best write about if he knew the facts and there
were any such old maids as Miss Walker in France.
I am convinced, however, that though human nature is
human nature all the world over, it takes parsons, and
sewing societies, churches, and missionary socities, and
Sunday schools, and such like, to develop the peculiar
traits of the Misses Walker.
What subject Miss Sophia abandoned as hopeless, to
take me up, I do not know. I am inclined to think
that her spirit was idly but incessantly searching the
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 293
kingdom of nature to find her mate, when she espied
me and thought she had discovered his peculiar marks.
She was a worshiper, I will not say of, but with Mr.
Surplice, sang in his choir, and was one of his most
faithful and active non-commissioned officers a sort of
female lance-corporal, to be put in function whenever
the necessities of the case demanded it. To her Mr.
Surplice was holy, and the church edifice was holy, the
prayer books and Spiritual Harmonists were sacred,
and the tin sconces in the choir were consecrated ; every
object in, or about, or connected with the church, had
about it some spiritual quality which was to her very
imposing nor do I hold her up to ridicule for it. The
minds of a vast number of very good people are so con
stituted that superstition is a necessary ingredient of
religion, and without it there is little of active interest
in Bible truths. That a plasterer, engaged in repairing
its ceiling, should whistle while at work in a conse
crated ehurch, strikes them as horribly profane. That
a preacher, though he has flesh and blood, passions and
appetites like other men, should be held to be mere
man, seems to them to be a sort of sacrilege. However
great a fool he may be, however complete a scoundrel,
he is to be respected, outside of his folly or wickedness,
as a holy man of God.
Ah, how much of this spirit has invaded the world,
in and out of the Church ! and what a tremendous in
jury it has done to true religion ! When an insignifi
cant little creature, such, for instance, as the Rev. Mr.
Jabbers, shows his folly or hypocrisy, it hurts the cause
of Christianity in his circle as though James the Less
had been foolish or recreant; and if a bishop sin it is as
25*
294 MFE AND OPINIONS OF
though Paul or John had fallen from his high estate.
And so long as there exist a hierarchy, or rather a.
vast number of hierarchies, each of them pretending
to represent Christ's spiritual kingdom on earth, and
each assuming for its clerical caste a spiritual unction
which makes them holy and separate, and raises them
above other men, it must be so. What they assume,
they will, and must be held to. The character they
pretend to represent they must support with all its con
sequences, and it is utterly useless to tell the world that
they are men on the street, and superior to men in the
pulpit or confessional; that they can at once represent
Peter, and Simon of Samaria, whom he reproved.
The Misses Sophia Walker believe all this and much
more, and one of the very best evidences, to my mind,
of the divine truth of the fundamental doctrine of Chris
tianity, is the fact that it has for so many ages existed
and spread in its intrinsic purity in spite of the egre
gious errors with which it has been burdened ; and I
thank God for the Roman Church, and the Greek
Church, and all the churches ; for having preserved by
their means, even though almost hid by canonicals and
ritualisms the sacred truth of Christ and him cruci
fied, burning with a pure and steady flame, like a taper
in a huge and gloomy vault beneath a massy cathedral.
What I have here said about church matters is no
digression, for it was my heterodoxy upon this subject
which seems first to have attracted Miss Sophia to me,
and excited a tender interest for me in her gentle bosom.
The result to her affections, and the process by which
it was reached need not be detailed, for since the world
began it has been known and felt of all men and women.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 295
That she was earnest for my conversion to her faith,
and, consequently, to the true and essential faith, I
could not doubt, and though it was a bore (I am very
ungallant, but I wish to be understood), if her atten
tions and pretensions had gone no further I could have
endured it with philosophy ; but it frets me to this day,
on her account, not mine, when I think of the ridicu
lous position in which the good woman placed herself.
The slippers she made me I received with thanks; her
solicitation to hem my handkerchiefs I avoided by pur
chasing them already hemmed but when I found she
was in treaty with my washerwoman for a pattern of
my shirts, so as to make me a dozen, I felt indignant,
and ordered that, under pain of my highest displeasure,
no pattern or even size should be given her.
Having described Miss Sophia's appearance, dispo
sition, belief, and design, it is hardly necessary for me
to enter into a detail of her actions, and talk, even
though I could remember them. Most writers tell what
a person says and does, and leave each reader to gather
the particulars of disposition, appearance, and ruling
ideas according to his or her astuteness and knowledge
of human nature. My plan is, I think the best, as it
is the most precise, and at the same time the most
courteous to the reader. The exact appearance, ideas,
and disposition of a character being given, the reader is
left in no doubt, and is able freely and pleasantly to
exercise an experienced imagination upon what the
character shall say, or do, in any conceivable case ; and
I feel sure that an intelligent reader is just as well pre
pared now, as he would be if a whole volume of events
and conversations were written on the subject, to hear
296 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
my brother Eldred's exclamation to me one day:
" Brother, if you don't take care, and go away, that
woman will marry you in spite of yourself."
I took his warning, and did go away. I first went
to M , where I remained about two months in
attendance on the Supreme Court. Thence I went to
Charleston, and Richmond, and Baltimore. From
there I took a trip by way of Havana to New Orleans,
that most strange and delightful of all American cities
for a gentleman bachelor who knows how to live and
enjoy himself; )and to Mississippi to see an old school
mate. When I returned I found Miss Sophia's efforts
manifestly enfeebled. They soon ceased, and with them
almost ceased our acquaintance. At any rate, its gush
ing character was changed, and I found myself, to my
great satisfaction, given over to hardness of heart.
Like Job, in all this I sinned not with my lips. My
conduct toward Miss Sophia was always that which a
gentleman's should be. I never spoke disrespectfully
about her, and if I did not always talk to her sensibly,
but sometimes answered according to her folly, I, at
least, always spoke politely. And it is a great satis
faction to me to reflect that in all my dealings with the
fair sex even with Mrs. Marlow, yea, and even with
my great-niece, I have been able to restrain my tongue,
though it has sometimes terribly vexed my soul to do so.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 297
CHAPTER XXVII.
appeal made to me by Judge Dawson and
-- Colonel Harper took me by surprise for several
reasons. It will not do for one of my age and position,
who has spent much time and thought in honestly ex
amining his heart and its motives, to pretend to any
false modesty upon such an occasion. I by no means
considered the place, or any place, as too high for me,
as far as the honor was concerned, though I was but
a country lawyer. What surprised me was the spirit
manifested by the two political gentlemen, and the crude
views they took of government.
One afternoon, about sundown, these gentlemen rode
up to my house. Though never very intimate with me,
they were old acquaintances, and when they dismounted,
they brought in their saddle-bags, as though it was their
intention to stay all night. I had their horses taken to
the stable, and we seated ourselves upon the front gal
lery, and conversed about the weather and crops until
supper was announced. After supper my brother left
us to visit one of his patients, and pretty soon the con
versation was brought about to politics. I noticed,
from the drift of the talk and their mutual glances, that
they had some proposition or other news to announce
to me, but pretended to be unconscious of it until Judge
Dawson, as spokesman, flatly requested me to run for
Congress.
"When, judge ?" asked I, in a jocular mood.
298 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
"This fall," answered he.
" Where, judge ?" said I.
"Why, in this district of course, Mr. Page!" an
swered the judge, as though surprised at my question.
" But this is a Whig district, sir, and has always
been Federal, Republican, Whig, or whatever else it may
be called, and I am a Democrat !" said I.
"True, Mr. Page," answered the judge, "but you
are aware that at the last election the race was much
closer than ever before, and we all think that with a
really popular candidate, we may carry the district this
fall; and we have settled upon you as the gentleman
who will command the greatest personal influence in
aid of our party. You have never aroused opposition
as a politician, and your high talents and known integ
rity give you a commanding position."
"The majority against us at the last election," said
I, "was two thousand four hundred and seven. Do
you think, judge, that my personal influence could over
come that?"
"Perhaps it might," he answered, "for there is al
ready a great change taking place in political senti
ment. But even if it were not overcome at this election,
the strong run you would make would discourage the
opposite party, who have heretofore had it all their
own way, and at the succeeding election you could eer-
tainly run in."
"That is," said I, "if I should then be alive, and
disposed to run, and there were no other more availa
ble candidate to supplant me."
" Oh, as for that," said the judge hastily, "you need
not fear that any one could supplant you. Common
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 299
courtesy and gratitude, even if you had no higher
claims, would secure you the nomination."
"Granted," said I. "But let us look at the case as it
stands at present. To make even a fair race, I shall
have to abandon my business, and traverse this large
district making speeches for two months to come. To
do this will put me to a considerable expense, besides
what I shall necessarily lose by neglecting my busi
ness at home and in my profession. Besides that, it
will throw me into collision with the opposite candi
date, who has heretofore been one of my warmest per
sonal friends. And all this for the almost certainty
of defeat. I fear, judge, that I shall have to decline the
honor."
"But the party, Mr. Page!" said Colonel Harper,
speaking up hastily.
"Excuse me, colonel?" interposed Judge Dawson.
"I think I know what you wish to say, and as we
agreed that I shall do the talking, allow me to finish.
Colonel Harper and I, Mr. Page, have talked over this
matter earnestly, and with a view, believe me, to your
interest. We think that in this case it matters very
little with you if you be elected or defeated. To run
will bring you prominently before the people, and place
in your reach any office within their gift you may de
sire. But, apart from that, it gives you a claim upon
the Administration. It will not be out of place for me
to say that, two or three days before I left Washing
ton City, your name was suggested in the highest
quarters for the position of U. S. Attorney for this
district, and you would have received the appointment
if Colonel D., who is in the Cabinet, had not objected
300 LIFE ANI > OPINIONS OF
that, as the term of the Administration was so near
out, you would not like to receive a place in which you
might be superseded in five or six months. I thought
it was interfering with your political prospects, but as
he was known to be your personal friend, though not
from this State, his objection was allowed to prevail,
and the appointment was given to Mr. Miller."
Now, I had confidence enough in the friendship of
Colonel D. to feel sure that if that or any other ap
pointment would really be acceptable and beneficial to
me, he would not oppose it, and I thoroughly under
stood Judge Dawson, who, though of the same party,
was not on the best terms with Colonel D. who over
shadowed him even here in his own State. The judge
would not detach me from Colonel D. as a party man,
but would put in a little private stroke at my personal
friendship. However, I suffered him to proceed, and
he said :
"We hope, Mr. Page, that you recognize the claims
of your party."
"Certainly I do, judge, as I understand them," I
added. "I believe it to be a man's duty to his country
to give an earnest support to that party the principles
of which he thinks will best preserve and promote its
interests. I regard it as a duty to the country, and the
country alone ; and so far I recognize party claims. But
you will pardon me, gentlemen, if I say that though,
in my opinion, the Democratic party, with its funda
mental principle of a strict construction to the Consti
tution, is the only party which offers any hope of safety,
I do not believe that with the fundamental error on
which this government is based, any party can save it
from speedy destruction."
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 3Q1
"Fundamental error in the government!" exclaimed
the judge; and the colonel looked equally horror-struck.
"I do not understand you, Mr. Page. To what do you
refer? I thought our government, theoretically and
practically, the most perfect monument of human wis
dom ever erected."
"Certainly, judge," I replied, "it is a very perfect
structure, and I cannot imagine one more stable and
excellent, if it were only transferred from earth to
heaven, or some other abode free of sin and folly. But
as it is, it, in my opinion, is built upon sand. To be
plain with you, gentlemen, I do not believe in universal
suffrage, or in the stability of any government founded
upon it."
" Why, Mr. Page, that is worse than Federalism I"
said the judge.
" Not at all, sir," said I. " It has nothing in common
with Federalism, which I detest and fear as much as
you do. Universal suffrage will lead to Federalism,
and will thereby destroy us. If you will allow me to
give the reasons for my belief you will perhaps say
that they are plausible, if not convincing. The idea is
old, and I do not pretend that my course of reasoning
is original ; but where I picked it up, I do not know,
and yet that it has not been wholly worked out by my
own observation, I do not know, for it seems to me
that I have always, and naturally, thought as I now
do on the subject.
"The first great principle of human nature, over
powering justice and truth and honor, goodness and
mercy, is selfishness. While it is the source of all en
ergy, and private and public enterprise, it is also the
2G
302 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
prime cause of all the oppression, confusion, and decay
of government, whatever be the form of government.
The laborer tries to do as little work for as much
money as possible, and the capitalist tries to give as
little money for as much labor as possible. If you
place men in power they will naturally try to benefit
themselves by it regardless of the rights and feelings of
others. The poor and ignorant being greatly in the
majority will legislate themselves rich and into high
position as far as possible, and as that can only be done
by reducing the wealth and rank of those above them,
you will have Agrarianism, Communism, Red-Repub
licanism, and all the anarchy which must come, as it
always has come from the cry of ' Liberty and Equality !'
"I am no Coriolanus, gentlemen, but it seems to me
that those who have dreamed these noble day-dreams
of universal liberty and equality in political power,
have not taken a sufficiently low estimate of human
nature. Like all other day-dreamers in morals, they
have not been practical. They have generally been edu
cated philanthropists, and, actuated by their own noble
and benevolent impulses, they have imagined a govern
ment of gentlemen and saints, whereas it should rather
have had as its object the governing of ignorant ple
beians and low sinners."
"It seems to me," said Colonel Harper, "that our
government has worked very smoothly, so far."
"Do you call Mr. Clay's Compromise measure an
evidence of smooth working?" said I. "Besides, no
portion of this country is yet in a condition to experience
fairly the evils I have suggested. The population,
even in the North, is yet sparse, and is too busy sub-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 3Q3
duing nature to be a Mobocracy; while here in the
South the government is really an Aristocracy. The
numerous class with us which represents labor has no
political power. But look ahead at the time when the
North and West shall teem with population, and con
sequently with active energetic selfishness; and imagine
too what shall be our own position if slavery should
be abolished, and our conservative Aristocracy should
become a passionate Mobocracy.
"Besides, gentlemen, if the principle of universal
suffrage, which is founded upon the idea that all affected
by the government should have a voice in it, be a cor
rect principle, I do not see by what right the suffrage
is limited to males over the age of twenty-one years.
Women and children have as many rights as men have,
and very frequently have quite as much property.
Idiots and lunatics have as many rights as sane men ;
the black and red as many as the white. There is no
natural limit to the principle ; if it be carried to its ex
treme it is destructive ; therefore it is false.
" The object of government is order, which includes
the full protection in the enjoyment of every personal
right; and the best government is that which governs
most strictly. The only natural government is the
patriarchal rule, the very strictest man can invent
All other systems are purely conventional, and although
it may be plausibly said that in their formation every
man to be governed has a natural right to a voice, the
assertion is not true in point of fact or practice. Those
only have the natural right to govern who can best ac
complish the ends of government."
"But, Mr. Page," said the judge, "you lose sight of
304 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
the Constitution. That is the supreme law which gov
erns this country."
"Indeed I do not lose sight of it, sir," said I. "My
whole argument is to show, that however perfect our
Constitution may be, it is a mere experiment founded
on an error: that it is a written instrument which has
binding force just so long as it suits the selfish ends of
a majority of the people and not a moment longer.
The question of the abolition of slavery has been lately
started. Suppose the whole country were split into two
great parties, and the Abolitionists were the stronger,
do you suppose that the Constitution would stand
as a permanent barrier? I tell you, gentlemen, that
the pillar of fire by night, and of cloud by day could
not check the selfish folly of the Israelites ; and there
is just as much human nature in the American people
as was ever in the Jews. We may differ from them in
personal appearance, but not one whit in nature. If it
ever suit the views of a large factious majority to dis
regard or change the Constitution, you shall see that
it is mere waste paper."
"What is to become of us then, Mr. Page?" asked
the colonel. "What security can we have?"
"None at all, sir," I answered. "There is no such
thing as security or stability in government. So long as
you can succeed in preserving the Constitution as a holy
instrument, to be regarded with superstitious respect,
to be touched, as\was the ark of the covenant, only by
consecrated hands, and by even them only in accordance
with express command, so long we shall be safe. But
as that is impossible where every man in the country
has an equal right to have his voice about it, to decide
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 305
upon it, to treat it with contempt or as a hinderance, we
never can be safe, for the reasons I have given."
"You then, Mr. Page, are not a republican at
heart!" said the judge.
"As for that, sir," said I. "Let me ask you if you
ever saw a gentleman who was? I am an aristocrat,
or a monarchist, or an anything else which is opposed
to universal suffrage ; and am so wholly upon prin
ciple, for I neither wish to rule others myself, nor to
be ruled by others. But for the existence of slavery,
which makes our society and government in the South
an aristocracy, and, therefore, conservative, I would
not remain in this country one moment longer than
was necessary to prepare and leave it. So long as that
state of things exists, or, which is the same thing, so
long as the Constitution is strictly construed, and the
rights of the States are held sacred, we of the South
are secure enough from actual injury. But with only
a portion of the States thus conservative, and the power
against them growing rapidly every day, it is impos
sible that such a condition should continue to exist.
The selfishness of which I have been speaking will tri
umph in the end over the Constitution, and then we
shall have either civil or sectional war.
"Have you ever reflected, gentlemen, upon the fact
that the glorious people do not know the true meaning
and importance of what they speak of so glibly, States
Rights? Their preservation is the only chance for the
preservation of the Constitution ; for without them, and
with universal suffrage, the people is a great mob."
"But, Mr. Page," said the judge, "granting that
selfishness is the main-spring of human actions "
26* u
306 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
" States Rights are the balance-wheel," interrupted I.
"Certainly, sir," said the judge, politely. "But,
granting that selfishness is the main-spring, will it not
lead our people to preserve rather than destroy the
Constitution, which is so essential to their well-being?"
"A philanthropic philosopher may imagine such a
thing in his closet, sir," answered I, "and I have no
doubt but that such was the idea of the framers of our
government ; but to suppose that passion or a present
benefit will be forborne for a future good, is to ascribe
to the many-headed the wisdom and patience of the
philosopher who imagines it. Besides, sir, what ac
count shall you not make, in this matter, of party
spirit, with its enthusiasm, its devotion, its inclination
to carry its schemes as far as its power can reach, to
disgrace its enemies as well as to overthrow them, to
take continually a step further, and a step further, than
where it first designed to go ?"
"Ah, but, Mr. Page," said the colonel, "you cannot
suppose that party spirit can move a majority of the
people to destroy the government !"
" Can I not, sir ?" I answered. " I will agree that it
cannot lead them to designedly destroy themselves
their selfishness will prevent it but it will lead them to
their destruction by placing before them the allure
ments of a false good to be accomplished. Man's self
ishness is governed by two potent masters, Hope and
Fear. Place the good before him, and, however illu
sory it may be, he stickles at nothing to reach it. Place
before him the fear, and he becomes cautious. A des
pot, who makes rigid laws, and enforces them inexor
ably, will keep men cautious by means of their fears.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 3Q7
Universal suffrage, with all the possibilities presented
by hope, will make them insolent in their desires, and
as fierce and ravenous as tigers when they come to
power."
Our conversation was long, and although I am aware
that what I have recounted of it sounds very much as
though I wished to read a lesson to the honorable gen
tlemen, I hold that I was perfectly excusable; and
when, in conclusion, the judge was trying to uphold
the excellence and harmlessness of party spirit, I said:
" Why, gentlemen, no one can charge either of you
with designedly doing anything not consistent with
perfect fairness, and yet even you wish me to abandon
my ease and my prospects for fortune in order to take
up a more than doubtful contest for party to sacrifice
me, in fact, for party and even you, for party's sake,
would condescend to flatter me into it."
When I said this, both changed color a little, and
seemed disconcerted. I think I was justly offended,
but I preserved my courtesy, and they had to take the
lesson. We parted the next morning on friendly terms,
and I never heard any more of the project of running
me for Congress for which mercy I am very thankful.
Alas ! I have lived to see my prediction verified, and
a sectional war actually begun. God help us ! If the
South should fail, and its conservative influence be de
stroyed, the whole structure of the government must
be swept away, because the rights of the States shall
be overthrown with the South. And when Peace shall
again smile upon the land, the inhabitants who shall
have been spared shall come out from their dens and
hiding-places to look upon the ruins, and remove the
308 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
rubbish, and with sad and discouraged hearts begin to
build and improve again. This will be the case not in
the South alone, though it may happen there first ; it
must be so in the North also. The principle of the
government is wrong, and without the check of States
Rights, can only entail anarchy until it is put down by
the strong hand of a one-man power over an exhausted
and dispirited remnant of the whole, or the feeble rem
nant in each State ; and America shall be an Empire,
or a congeries of Empires more or less despotic, in
stead of a powerful Confederacy of sovereign nation
alities.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
I HAVE said that my brother, the doctor, was never,
that I knew of, disappointed in love ; but I do not
wish it to be understood he never was in love. On the
contrary, he had the family failing to a great degree,
and his affections never seemed easy unless they were
occupied with some fair object. His popularity with
the young ladies was almost wonderful, for although
he was too earnest and honest to pretend admiration,
or to be fickle, he was perfectly self-contained and inde
pendent with them, and could laugh with them, or at
them, as the occasion demanded.
In that he differed from me. From my earliest love-
essay until now, the girl or woman for whom I have
entertained either love, or a very particular liking, has
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 30 9
had mo as her slave, and the idea of offending her has
distressed me beyond measure. I find myself propi
tiating the whims of my little pet, Kate Boiling, as
though it were possible I could yet be loved, and some
times the thought that my old-man's babble and at
tempts at gallantry annoy her, gives me as much un
easiness as though I were her young lover. If she has
seemed abstracted and thoughtful during one of my
visits, I am all anxiety to visit her again, and see if I
have offended, and am never happy till I can see hei
smile, and show a merry, affectionate heart again. My
reason tells me that in this matter I belong to the class
of " Old Fools," and yet it gives me a great pang some
times to think that she too may appreciate my folly. I
dread to appear ridiculous to one I love.
When my son was born there were three things, be
sides health of mind and body, I most desired for him.
The first was that he should have a hot temper; for
I knew he could be whipped at home and abroad
into governing it ; whereas, if he did not have it nat
urally, he could never acquire it. The second was,
that he should be obstinate ; for I knew that if he had
good sense the little harm his obstinacy might some
times do him would be far more than counterbalanced
by the thousand evils from which it would preserve
him. The third was, that he should be almost totally
void of the love of approbation, that most pitiable weak
ness with which poor man can be afflicted. It makes a
man amiable to others, but a misery to himself. It ac
companies an affectionate heart, but so governs all the
acts of the most intelligent man as to oftentimes make
him appear to have a weak head. For the approval of
310 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
others he does what his good sense disapproves. In
fine, his whole happiness depends upon the esteem in
which others hold him, and he becomes an instrument
to be jangled or made harmonious by every passer-by.
A little child or an empty-headed fool can inflict upon
him the most acute torments ; by a look may cause him
more pain than would a strong man's blow ; by a word
may make his soul shrink within him.
This love of approbation I have borne with me like
a shirt of Nessus ; or, rather, like a cruel sore to make
me wince with pain for every pointed finger. My
brother, on the contrary, although he had enough love
of approbation to make him willing to accommodate
and please, rather than show himself selfish and surly,
never seemed to think it desirable to waive one whit of
his manly dignity, or accurate sense of propriety.
Therefore, being also handsome, he was popular with
the ladies, and therefore he never got into love perplex
ities or had serious disappointments in love. He was
always in love, however, after his fashion ; and one
little episode presents his character so perfectly, and
also shows an amiable young lady in a situation so af
fecting that I must relate it. But as the story may be
somewhat long I will give it a chapter to itself.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ.
CHAPTER XXIX.
ABOUT three miles above The Holt, and just be
yond the saw-mill on Brown's Creek, lived a
man by the name of Allen, with his wife and daughter.
They were very poor. Allen, a slender, weakly man
of about fifty-five years of age, always cleanly dressed,
however patched and coarse his clothes might be, bore
upon his countenance the impress of weak good nature,
and the traces of former good looks. In his youth he
was, no doubt, a very handsome man ; and indeed he
must have been remarkably handsome and amiable
to have won such a wife as he had. They had come
from Virginia many years before and settled in the
county, and their relative bearing and conversation
were enough to make one suspect the history of their
marriage. She was a ladylike woman, of good educa
tion, he was totally uneducated and had evidently led a
life of manual labor. She had, no doubt, married him
from pure love, and perhaps much against the wishes
of her relatives. This was indeed the case, as I after
wards learned, and though she bore it with unflinching
patience and cheerfulness, I often pitied the poor woman
for the hard lot she had chosen. They had had several
children, all of whom, except one daughter, had died
in early youth by the diseases incident to a newly-set
tled country acting upon delicate constitutions. The
daughter who was spared them was a healthy, merry
child who, when I first began to notice her, was about
312 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
ten years old, and already was of the greatest assistance
to her mother. The little thing could read and write
quite well, was a most industrious little sempstress,
and never seemed better pleased than when exerting
herself at the wash-tub with such articles as she could
handle, or tripping to the spring with bare feet and head
and fetching, with many a resting spell, pails of water
she hardly seemed able to carry at all.
Mrs. Allen, from her first coming to the country, used
to attend church regularly with her children and hus
band, and soon, by her intelligence and dignified de
meanor, gained the acquaintance and good will of the
ladies of the congregation and community. We all
know how such friendships come about sometimes the
result of officious good nature ; sometimes the effect of
genuine charity. At any rate, Mrs. Allen soon num
bered among her friends my mother, and Mrs. Ruggles
(who in spite of what I have said of her had many
generous impulses, and was a devout admirer of good
manners), and all the other ladies of position about
Yatton. When her children, one by one, sickened and
died, she had their kindest sympathy and attentions;
and when little Stephania (I do not know why she re
ceived such a name) was born a healthy, robust child,
they rejoiced with her.
When Stephania was about twelve years old, by
agreement of several of the ladies, who would share
the expense, Mrs. Holywell invited Mrs. Allen to allow
her to live at her house and go to school with her
children during the week at the Academy in Yatton.
After some hesitation the offer was accepted with the
proviso that the child should return home every Friday
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 313
evening to remain with her parents until the following
Monday morning.
The Academy was a first-rate school, and Stephania
was one of its best pupils, and one of the prettiest, and by
means of unofficious presents from this and that person,
always one of the most neatly and becomingly dressed;
so that when she graduated at the head of her class, just
after her seventeenth birthday, there was a no more ac
complished and ladylike girl in the whole county. Her
conduct upon her return home was so different from
that of an affected, spoilt, vain girl, that she secured
the admiration of the whole county. She tried at once
to relieve her mother of her most burdensome duties,
and her neat handiwork was manifested in house,
kitchen, and wash-shed. Old Mr. Allen seemed, in
her company, almost in heaven, looking at and hear
ing a choir of angels ; and she was as fond of him
as though he were the richest and most learned of the
land. He was at the time, and indeed was to his end,
occasionally employed at the saw-mill, and at other
times in plying the trade of a basket-maker. He sup
plied the whole neighborhood with cotton-baskets for a
number of years.
In the fall after her graduation, Mrs. Colonel Stew
art her husband was dead projected a trip to the
North, and perhaps to Europe, to be gone from home
two or three years. She had two daughters Emily,
about Stephania's age, and Mary, two years younger ;
and as Stephania was a favorite with them, the old
lady thought it would be a great convenience in every
way to have her go along as their companion and
Mary's preceptress. It was a fine opportunity for the
at
314 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
young girl, whose fancy was profoundly moved by the
prospect of travel ; but it was with difficulty she could
be persuaded to leave her parents. "Oh, dear ma,"
she would exclaim, when her mother would urge the
acceptance of the offer, "what will you and dear old
popsy do without your little daughter ! I can't bear
to be traveling about as a grand lady, while you two
are living here so poor and helpless !"
"Poor!" exclaimed old Mr. Allen, on one occasion.
"Why, gal, what are you talkin' about? Me and your
ma aint poor. We're rich! Havin' such a sweet da'ter
as you, is bein' rich ; but, besides that, I have got the
finest lot of white-oak basket-timber in soak I ever had
yet, and more orders for baskets than I can fill in a
year ; and we don't owe a cent ; and, please God, if I
don't have the rheumatiz too bad this winter, I'll make
money hand over fist !"
Mrs. Allen, however, answered her daughter more
convincingly. "My dear," said she, "it is your
father's duty and mine, and it is our happiness, to
make you happy and useful. Although you would
be a great assistance to me, as you always are, dear
daughter, if you should remain at home, the fact that
you missed the great advantages offered to you, only
for our sake, would make us both unhappy. Why,
daughter, we have only you to live for; and the hope
of seeing you comfortably established and happy, is
all the earthly hope we have left. It is your duty to
do what you can to that end, and to take every advant
age offered to you ; for by doing so you assist us, and
add to our comfort more than you could by remaining
at home and working. We shall miss you, certainly
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 315
we shall miss you," continued the good woman, with
tears in her eyes, but a loving smile on her lips; "but
it will not be for long, and it will be in the way of
duty. You ought to know by this time, my love, how
pleasant duty can make very disagreeable things some
times I"
And so Stephania was overpersuaded and with a
sinking heart, and after many a warm and tearful em
brace of her loved ones, she got into J^Irs. Stewart's
carriage one afternoon to go to Grassland (the Stewart
residence), from which the family were to start, the
next morning, on their travels. The old man, with
trembling hands and humid eyes, kept fumbling at the
cords which held the modest little trunk on the hind
seat of the carriage, as though still to delay the part
ing; but at last mustered up the courage to slap his
hand firmly upon the lid, and say, with choking voice :
"All right! Drive ahead! Good-by, my dear!"
"Stop!" she said to the driver; "one more kiss, dear
old popsy!" and leaning out of the carriage window,
she threw her arms around his neck, and held the old
man close in her nervous embrace, as though she could
never consent to leave him and then, with a long
farewell kiss, sank back in the carriage, and sobbed as
though her heart would break, as it moved off; leaving
the old man standing, with the tears rolling down his
cheeks, whispering to himself, as though she were still
present, "My dear ! my darling child !"
When it became about time to hear from the absent
one, who was to write from Charleston, and then from
New York, the old man presented himself regularly at
the post-office at the opening of the mail, which came
316 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
twice a week ; and his restless uneasiness if the mail
were delayed, and his humble resignation if the post
master said: "No letter for you, Mr. Allen!" showed
at once the character of the man, and the intense anx
iety he felt.
At last the first letter came, and then the second,
from New York, then a third, from New York a long,
long epistle ; and then in succession letters from Bos
ton, and Niagara, and from this and that town at the
North ; and as each was handed to him, his brown and
bony hand would grasp the treasure, and with eager
step, and joy and pride in his eyes and beariug, he
would hurry off to his home for his wife to read it to
him. They were long, loving epistles, in each of which
the writer seemed to try and convey to her loving
readers the exact scenes she saw and as much as pos
sible of the wonder and delight she felt. At last came
one which announced that they would, the next day,
take the swift-sailing A No. 1 copper-bottomed and
fastened Liverpool and New York regular packet, the
Sea Queen, A. J. Brown, Master, for Liverpool; and
after the lapse of a month or two of great uneasiness
came another, telling of a pleasant passage and safe
arrival ; and then others from London, and Paris, and
Vienna, and Florence, and here and there in Europe.
Ah, it was a pleasant sight to see old Mr. Allen at
this time, and hear him answer, when one asked him
about Miss Stephania: "My da'ter was at Vienna on
the 28th of June last, I thank you, sir ; and expected
to leave for Munich the next day. She was enjoying
herself very much, and her health was good, sir, i
thank you!" Even Mrs. Allen, who knew far better
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 31 f
than he the locality of Vienna and Paris, and appre
ciated far more than he what her daughter was see
ing and enjoying, even she, with all her good sense
and modesty, seemed to be rather over-elated with
pride and awe, when she would recount to one how
Stephania had seen the King of France, and had been
in the Tuileries, and had danced at a State ball, to
which the American Minister had procured her party
invitations, and then how "My daughter Stephania
was in Rome at our last advices, and expected to go to
Naples in a few days, and thence by sea to Marseilles,
in the south of France."
And then, after three long years, the news arrived
that the party was coming home; and soon they did
come, and Stephania an elegant and beautiful young
woman took her place as naturally at home as though
she was not a great traveler, whose eyes had been
blessed with the sights of kings, and queens, and no
bility, palaces and castles, famed cities, and famous
rivers without number.
No young woman was ever placed in a more trying
situation than she, and not one ever stood the trial
more nobly. Work had prospered with the old man
during her absence perhaps the joy and pride he felt
had lent effectiveness to his work. At any rate, Mrs.
Allen was able to hire a woman to do the heavier
household work, and many neat little articles had been
added to the adornment and comfort of the modest
parlor which the old couple seemed to design as the
special abode of their angel.
So far nothing had ever been said about any beau
for Miss Stephania, and, but for meaning smiles and
27*
318 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
bints when she was with Mary and Emily Stewart, one
would have supposed that she had not seen or spoken
to a single young man during her travels. But one
day our eyes were opened to the whole story. A fash
ionably dressed young man a Northerner arrived, in
the A stage-coach, at the tavern, where he put on
rather jauntily fashionable airs of the Northern type.
After his toilet, from which he came forth resplendent,
he inquired of the landlord, in an easy, careless way, if
there was not a family by the name of Stewart living in
the neighborhood; and when he was answered yes, he
remarked that he believed an old gentleman by the
name of Allen had a place near them, and learned to
his apparent satisfaction that it was so; and thus the
matter passed off that afternoon.
He had registered his name as Augustus Hotchkiss,
Salem, Mass.; and much was the wonder why Mr.
Augustus Hotchkiss, who was evidently neither trav
eling merchant nor mechanic, should have wandered
away from Salem, Massachusetts, to such an out-of-
the-way place as Yatton ; and if any of our merchants
had had dealings at Salem, they would have suspected
him of coming on a tour of collection or espial. It
came out afterward that Mr. Augustus Hotchkiss had
met the Stewart party in Liverpool, and sought an in
troduction to them from persons they knew. As he
was a young man of pleasant assurance and glib
tongue, and was well connected, he was soon pro
nounced an agreeable acquaintance ; and it was with
pleasure that the party learned he was to return on the
Plying Scud with them from Liverpool, whither he had
gone with a consignment of his father's goods. As
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 319
the Stewarts were rich, and Stephania was traveling
with them as their equal in position, as she was their
superior in information and beauty, and as he heard
the girls speak to her once or twice, casually, about her
father's "Place," he took it for granted old Mr. Allen
was one of those wealthy Southern sheep who have
always been sought as the choicest prey for Northern
hunger ; and when he learned that Stephania was an
only child, he thought the gods were surely on his side.
He had but little opportunity to make his court on the
passage, which was unusually rough, and kept the
ladies most of the time in their cabins ; but he went
sufficiently far to show that he was unmistakably a
suitor for Stephania, and upon parting, hinted that he
thought it likely he would soon visit the South as his
father had business in A , which might require his
presence. So, after three or four months, here he was
in Yatton.
The next morning Mr. Augustus Hotchkiss hired
the landlord's gig for he said he was not much ac
customed to ride strange horses and with the hostler's
boy for a driver and guide, made his way to Mr. Al
len's place. The road was very rough, as though but
little used for wagons or carriages, and he repeatedly
asked the boy Tom, if he was sure he was in the right
road.
"Yes, sir," said Tom, "I's sartin I's gwine right.
They aint no other road less'n you go 'round by Mr.
Page's an' up the creek, an' dat's a mighty long road
'round 1"
Mr. Hotchkiss no doubt began to think it "very
strange! remarkably strange!" and perhaps mentally
320 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
remarked that he would soon have a better road there
but when the gig drew up at the double log-cabin situ
ated on the edge of a little clearing, and the boy told
him: "Thar is Mr. Allen's, and yonder is ole Miss
Allen in the passage," he was positively indignant, as
he suspected that the negro wished to play a practical
joke upon him. Without showing his face beyond the
gig-top, he questioned the boy closely:
"You say this is Mr. Allen's ?"
"Yes, sir, 'tis!" said the boy emphatically.
" Is this the only place Mr. Allen has?"
"It's the only place I knows on," was the answer.
"What does Mr. Allen do?"
"Why, sir, he's a basket-maker, sir, an' sometimes
works at the saw-mill," said Tom.
By this time Mrs. Allen, with a towel over her head,
had come out of the house, and up to the fence, and
asked the stranger if he would not alight and come in.
"No, I thank you, madam," said he. "Does Mr.
Allen live here?"
"Yes, sir," said she; "won't you come in?"
"I have not time just now, madam," said the unfor
tunate swindler, I call him a swindler because he
proposed to gain the pure and rich affections of a girl's
heart in return for such a miserable, paltry piece of
flesh as his own, "not just now, madam. Has Mr.
Allen a daughter named Stephania, who was in Europe
with the Stewarts?"
"Yes, sir," answered Mrs. Allen, "she is our daugh
ter. She will be at home presently. Walk into the
house."
" Excuse me, madam. I am in a great hurry, as I
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 321
have to take the afternoon coach. I thought I would
call by a moment and see Miss Stephania, if she was
at home. Good-by, madam. Turn around, boy, and
go back !"
"What name shall I say?" said Mrs. Allen, as the
boy turned the gig, but Master Augustus pretended not
to hear her, and rode back to town, paid his bill, and
left in the afternoon coach as he proposed.
When old Mr. Allen, who had been in town on some
business, came out by a nearer path through the woods,
he began to joke with Stephania. " Oh, ho, Miss
Stephy ! so your grand beau has been to see you !
They told me at the tavern that Mr. Augustus Hoteh-
kiss had come to stay for a week or two as he said, and
had come out to see you. What have you done with
him, Miss Sly Boots? Eh?"
That told Stephania the whole story as well as though
it had been written in black and white.
I do not think that her heart had been touched at
all by Mr. Hotchkiss's charms, for she was, of all girls,
difficult in her requirements of what one to love should
be, and his manners were rather too much of the mer
cantile order to attract her at first sight. Indeed I do
not think that with the most attentive and devoted
wooing she ever would have accepted him, though he
had been a millionaire. But what girl can regard
without some emotion the intentions of her first lover;
though he be ever so little to her taste, so long as he
is not positively offensive ? To think that she is loved
will cause a flutter in every true heart; and she will
say to herself: "I at least owe him some respect, since
he loves me !" But here the false love was made naked
v
322 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
at once, and Stephania found that the respect she had
felt had been bestowed on the meanest of objects.
Of course I do not know what was in her heart. I
only know that her heart was pure and sensitive, and
that all of her ideas were elevated and refined. Of one
thing I am certain, she never told the story to her
parents, or breathed it even to her friends, Mary and
Emily; who did not see her until they had heard the
whole truth, and were too much ladies and friends to
hint of it to her.
Not many months after this, Stephania was inducted
as Mistress of the Rose Hill School, about a half mile
from her father's house, higher up the creek. It was
a neighborhood school-house, delightfully situated on a
high spot, a short distance from one of the main roads
to Yatton, in a populous district ; and she commenced
her labors with twelve scholars. The path from her
father's to the school- house was through the forest, so
that she was but little exposed to the sun, or, except in
very wet weather, to the rain ; but one of the neigh
bors, when he thought of the distance she had to go in
all weathers, loaned her a pony, which he had some
difficulty in making her accept (she could not be in
duced to take it as a gift), and she and Sprightly so
was the pony named were soon the best friends in the
world. Her school gradually increased until she found
her hands full with eighteen scholars, all of them de
voted to their gentle mistress ; and so it continued, old
scholars leaving, and new ones coming, for about three
years which brings her to her twenty-fourth year, and
me to the point of my story.
In the fall, I recollect the season, but not the year,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 333
a neighbor came in haste one day for brother Eldred to
go and see Mr. Allen, who was very ill. I think the
old man was taken with congestive fever, then very
common in the country, and his constitution received
so great a shock, that he, for a long time, was confined
to his bed. Brother Eldred's visits were at first neces
sarily frequent, but I noticed that even after he had
told me the old man was convalescent, every day or
two would find his horse traveling to the Allen place.
He remarked to me one day during the severity of the
attack, when I proposed to go and help nurse the old
man, that it was unnecessary as he was very quiet, and
needed little attention, and was annoyed by the pres
ence of strangers ; and when I asked him who were
the nurses, he answered: "Mrs. Allen and Miss Ste-
phania; and I tell you, brother, Miss Stephania is a
noble woman, and reminds me more of our dear little
mother than any woman I have met with yet."
This was the highest compliment I ever heard Eldred
pay to any one, for he adored our dear mother; just as
he reverenced our noble and wise old father. It used
to make me feel very proud, when, in the fullness of the
dear boy's affection, he would sometimes tell me that I
resembled our father, who, I still think, was the most
magnificent specimen of grand manhood, in mind, soul,
and body, either of us ever saw. Alas ! my resemblance
to him existed only in the love my dear brother bore
us both.
One day, at the close of the winter, when Eldred
came into the house after his morning round of visits,
I noticed that he looked very much concerned, and he
presently said to me: "Brother, you must look out
324 LIFE A* OPINIONS OF
another school for your pets" (I was sending a couple
of orphans to the Rose Hill School), "for I have ad
vised Miss Stephania to give up her school, and I am
very much afraid it is even now too late." And pres
ently he added, abruptly: "I've bought Mr. Allen's
place."
I knew Eldred well enough to know that at a proper
time he would explain to me what seemed so mysteri
ous ; but it was a long time before I learned the full
particulars of the transaction.
It seems that when Mr. Allen was first taken sick,
Eldred had remarked that Miss Stephania was a little
troubled with a cough, but she had so many excuses
for it she had got her feet wet ; or, she had sat up
near the open window ; or, it was a mere nothing, and
would soon pass off that his suspicions were allayed
for a time, particularly as her father's case was so pre
carious ; but the cough kept getting worse, and she
lost her color, and he then began remonstrating with
her, and advising her to give up her school which she
steadily refused to do. Eldred was so single-hearted
himself, that be needed no hint to enable him to divine
her reasons. Her father was sick, and she felt the
whole duty of providing for the family to be on her.
Here was now a difficulty. Had he been able to follow
his own desires, he would have gladly supported the
whole family, and even have moved them to the Vir
ginia Springs if necessary; but he had too much deli
cacy to make a proposition which delicacy could not
accept, and yet would be sorely wounded to decline.
He was a gentleman pur sang ; and I feel certain that
he never in his life deliberately and unprovokedly hurt
the feelings of man, woman, or child.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 325
At last he solved the problem. The term of his
tenant at the old home place was about to expire, and
he was under no obligation to renew it. Mr. Allen
was just then beginning to get about again, and Eldred
finding him alone on the gallery, told him that he had
been looking about his place, and found that it was a
good mill-site, and he wished to purchase it, and put
up a mill as soon as he conveniently could.
" If I sell you my place, doctor," said Mr. Allen,
"what shall I do? for my living is here, as well as my
home."
"As far as your living is concerned," answered El
dred, "it will be fully six months before you are able to
do anything, and, in the mean time, your daughter's
health is suffering severely from remaining in this low
spot. To tell you the truth, Mr. Allen, although I do
not wish to alarm you, your daughter must give up
her school and remove from here, or I will not answer
for the consequences. My house near town will be
vacant at the end of this month, and I very much need
a careful tenant for it. Sell me this place, and move
there. You will do me a great favor by doing so.
Speak to your wife about it, but say nothing to Miss
Stephania. She is so much attached to her school
children that she will oppose leaving them."
This was the conversation, in short, and it would be
useless to recount all the difficulties which arose and
were successively combated until Eldred's point was
carried, and the first of the next month found the Allen
family settled as his tenants, and the famous mill-site
bought and paid for at a generous price. By-the-by,
as I now own it, I would leave it to my grand-niece,
28
326 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
if it were not that she might think I was adding insult
to injury.
Stephania was too intelligent and sympathetic not
to appreciate to its fullest degree my brother's plan and
kindness ; but she was ignorant of business, as indeed
was her father, and had no idea but that he would
make some profit by the transaction, though she knew
he had not been moved by any such consideration. The
excitement of moving and the change seemed to benefit
her, but the improvement was only temporary, and
she soon knew and began to realize that she was not
long for this world.
Poor girl 1 while her health and strength had lasted,
she had had little joy in living, but now that both were
failing, life became very desirable. She saw the wealth
of love in a strong man's noble heart ready to be lav
ished on her, but kept in check by prudence. How
women know such things intuitively is more than I can
understand, but they do know them, and it is the pure-
hearted, not the cunning woman, who perceives it first.
That she loved him I have no doubt, and that she loved
with all the trustful love of the weak toward the
strong, and the tender love of the holy and generous
for the pure and great-souled, I have no doubt; and
his gentle compassion must have been very sweet to
her.
It was a hard fate a very hard fate ; but the Prov
idence who had allotted the fate had fitted the soul to
bear it. I do not think that Eldred knew of her love
as I did. His humility blinded him. But even if he
had known it, I doubt if he would have discouraged
it, for he would have felt how precious it was to her,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 327
and in very pity would have spared her the treasure.
She leaned upon his arm to take the daily walks he
prescribed for her, and gained strength of soul ; from
his hands she received her medicines, and with them
drank healthy draughts of love. Day by day she faded,
and day by day her love grew more heavenly, until at
last it was merged in the bliss of the saints, and her
fair, fragile form was laid in the earth.
Many a rosy cheek was paled, and many beautiful
eyes were dimmed with tears around the grave that
day; and the voice of the preacher carried new im
pressions to the minds of the weeping girls when he
read: "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord
from henceforth : yea, saith the spirit, that they may
have rest from their labors; and their works do follow
them."
Eldred was very serious, but showed no emotion.
Her death was no shock to him. Whatever might have
been the case under other circumstances, he had not
felt for her the passion of love only a warm friend
ship, and a very great and tender compassion. Her
death was no doubt a relief to him, for he was too good
a man even to think of what he might desire when an
other's sufferings were before him. She was simply the
most admirable young woman he had ever known, and
the most interesting patient he had ever had, and when
he found that death alone could bring her relief, he
welcomed death for one to whom it had no sting.
He was now forty-three years old, and knew that
death was a great mercy. "Why, what a hell the earth
would be but for death !" I have heard him say. " We
often praise Q-od for in his wrath remembering mercy
328 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
when he prescribed labor for man, and forget, in its re
volting outward form, that death is the most precious
boon to sinful, woeful man. The thousand other bless
ings of life are but as flowers scattered along the path
way to the Palace of Rest. When a child dies, what
has it lost? Nothing but a knowledge of sin, and
pain, and sorrow; for shall it not live again in pure
and unfading delights ? And when a good man dies,
what has he not gained ! The corrosion of sin could
not be arrested in any other way, and he rests in death,
to rise in incorruption at the Last Day. Even to the
wicked, death is a blessing, for without it this life would
eventually prove a hell whose torments would go on
ever increasing. Possibly his death puts an end to the
number of the sins which are to be his torments in
eternity. In fact, it must be so. The future state is
very different from what we imagine it if Mrs. Mario w,
for instance, is there to have another little Jenny to sin
upon. The little Jennies, it seems to me, shall all be
in heaven. But even admitting that it is not so, and
that the wicked go on committing sins, I cannot see
in what hell would differ to them from earth after a
lapse of a few thousand years. Even on earth they
often in a lifetime reach the point of despair, which is
but the seal of hell."
My poor dear boy! Only two years after this he
reached the period for his rest while far away from me.
He had gone to Alabama on an errand of mercy, to
reclaim, if possible, for a poor old widow, her son who
had there got into difficulty ; and on his return, unsuc
cessful, he stopped one hot June evening at the tavern
in Macon, shivering with cold. A doctor was called at
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 329
once, and several gentlemen of the town, brother
Masons, came to wait upon him ; but the congestive
chill was too violent, and before day he was dead. I
hastened there as soon as I heard of it, for how could
I stay away, even though I were assured that he was
dead and in his grave ! Did I not have to see with my
own eyes the room in which he died ? and the place
where they laid him? and gather with tender care, as
precious relics, the clothes and papers he had left ? and
give my personal thanks, mingled with envy, to those
who had seen Mm last, and had been kind to him ?
They told me that while they were seated near his
bed after all had been done which could be done, he
said in a clear, sweet voice : "Good night, gentlemen 1"
and turned himself wearily on his side, and was dead.
Now I was truly alone in the world. Father and
mother, wife and child, brothers and sisters, all were
gone ! and what had I left to live for ? From that day
to this I have lived for death. It has been the sweet
term and fruition I have had appointed for my desires.
Blessed be God, for Death ! It will restore me to my
loved ones, and I have the firm and glorious assurance
that not one of them shall be lacking at our meeting.
" If in this life only we have hope in Christ we are
of all men most miserable," says the apostle. " But
now is Christ risen, and become the first fruits of them
that slept. For since by man came death, by man
came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in
Adam all die even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
But every man in his own order: Christ the first fruits:
afterwards they that are Christ's at his coming."
Come quickly, Lord Jesus !
28*
330 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
CHAPTER XXX.
LET it not be thought that the old have no pleasures.
I am sure that while I have been waiting these
many years since brother Eldred's death, I have enjoyed
myself far more than most of the young who have
grown up and died around me while in the feverish
pursuit of pleasure. My health has been perfect, and
although I am feeble, nature lends herself with all her
charms to beguile my way. The deep shade of the
trees I planted as saplings under my Mary's direction
afford me refreshing coolness in the burning heats of
summer. The skies, whether in the brassy glare of
August, or with their deep blue flecked with April
clouds ; whether darkened by tempest, or clothed in
the fleecy dun of winter, are always beautiful to me ;
for they show the wisdom, power, and goodness of God,
and I behold in my imagination, above and beyond
them, the present abode of my blessed ones. The
earth, with its hills and trees and flowers, its babbling
rills and its grassy slopes, my imagination re-creates
free from blemish, and from death, as our future eternal
abode. Some spot like this I'll have in the suburbs of
the Eternal City, and thither beneath unfading trees
we'll gather, in the light which God gives us, to help
each other toward perfection in all our faculties of mind
and soul; and there shall be no night there. Mary's
sad lullaby to her child shall be changed to sweeter,
happier strains as she holds him in her arms; my
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 331
mother's brow shall bear no brooding thought of care
as she looks upon her loved ones around her ; Eldred
and our father shall discourse to us of the discoveries
of wisdom, power, and love they shall find in their
studies of the nature and works of God ; and I, what
ever may be my knowledge, shall be a loving little
child in heart again. Except to do some pleasing task
required by Heaven's polity, we'll never separate; and
then the separation and the return will be but zest to
our joy.
All this is not merely imaginative. Though there
is no revelation upon the subject sufficiently definite to
prevent the free exercise of the imagination, yet the reve
lation is sufficiently precise when taken with known facts,
to guide the imagination with some degree of certainty.
It is revealed to us that there shall be a resurrection
of our bodies, to which our souls shall be united, and
that we shall thus dwell in our individuality through
out eternity. It is also revealed that there shall be a
new earth upon which the saved shall live in eternal
happiness. Now, God is the only source of happiness,
for he is the source of all the attributes which consti
tute or add to happiness, and he is infinite in all his
attributes. The finite can never become the infinite,
though it increase throughout eternity.
From this it is to be induced that the blest shall
spend their eternity in becoming more perfectly in the
image of God in which they were created that they
shall become more perfect in being, wisdom, power,
holiness, justice, goodness, and truth.
To be very plain, it is but a fair deduction from what
is revealed, and from what we know of ourselves, that
332 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
we shall become more and more perfect in the knowl
edge and practice of the laws which govern human
actions, and in the laws of harmony and melody, of
color and light, and of all the other laws which govern
mechanics, mathematics, vegetable life, and whatever
else the attributes of man, made in God's image, are
fitted for learning.
All Christian philosophers are willing to admit that
the memory shall be perfect in the damned, and shall
constitute the basis of the torments of hell ; and they
bring up evidences, both spiritual and material, to
prove it. For my part, I believe them without trouble,
and say, moreover, that in the future state of blessed
ness, I shall no doubt be able to whistle perfectly
that is, if whistling 1 be not offensive to glorified ears
every tune I ever heard in my life here. Not a note
shall be lacking or untrue. And if any man have no
taste for music here, he shall acquire it there, and
during eternity become a first-rate musician. And so
with every other natural faculty and taste.
It is not at all philosophic to cry out upon this and
call it absurd, or say that it takes from the awe with
which we should regard the future state. Most men
never permit themselves to reflect upon the nature of
that state at all, except as something vague and dread
ful ; that is just the word Dreadful ! We are to be
happy, they all admit, but the happiness is to be alto
gether different from anything mortal beings can con
ceive of, and of a character too dreadful to think about.
Let us be more reasonable. We shall be men still,
though glorified men, freed from sin and sorrow, pain and
death. Can you imagine myriads of glorified beings,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 333
endowed with all the various faculties of human souls
and bodies, spending an eternity in singing? which is
not the best way to glorify God even here. Or shall
they spend it in twiddling their thumbs ? or in floating
about hither and thither like birds, or like clouds en
dowed with volition ?
As I approach nearer and nearer to my change, I
take more and more reasonable views of what that
change shall be. The contemplation of and trust in
the attributes of God, as manifested in his works of
Creation, Providence, and Redemption, are the basis
of the happiness of the Christian here on earth, and
the more fully he can understand and trust his God,
the happier he is. His happiness in eternity shall be
to fully trust, and to constantly increase in the knowl
edge of God.
The astronomer shall more and more fully under
stand the laws of matter and motion, and shall calcu
late with perfect certainty their action. The mathema
tician shall constantly find new and vast fields for the
science of numbers. The musician shall make new
operas, and make them more and more perfect The
mechanic shall discover new powers and new applica
tions of the mechanical powers. The chemist, the bot
anist, the metallurgist, the microscopist shall each be
come continually more perfect in his art and science ;
and the chemist shall become also an astronomer ; and
the musician a mathematician ; and the microscopist a
mechanic ; and all shall grow in the knowledge of the
laws of moral relations, and all shall have common-
sense. There shall be none of the vagaries and follies
which have afflicted genius here.
334 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
Though I should write a volume on this subject, and
should refer to all human learning about it, I could not
make my idea more clear, however I might develop its
details and consequences. Let me return then to the
point from which I started.
The old have many pleasures. While writing this
book, and the two or three others my executor will find
in my desk, I have almost lived my life over again, and
if at times it made my heart sad, the sadness had no
sting. The company of my young friends gives me
more pleasure than it did when I too was young. They
little think that their health, and joys, and mirth im
part more gladness to an old man's heart than they
themselves can feel, and that their grace, innocence,
and fresh beauty are dwelt upon in his mind as clear
proofs of the eternal perfection he hopes for.
There is my little pet, Kate Boiling. It makes my
old heart smile to think of her, she is so bright and
pure, and so loving to all around her. Unlike poor
Stephania Allen, though not more good or beautiful,
she has no sorrowful story. Her life has been one of
mirth and sunshine, unclouded except sometimes by
her own sad thoughts or gentle pity for others less
blessed than she, or possibly who knows ? by her lit
tle tempers which are inseparable from human nerves.
Her grandfather was my near neighbor and old
friend Isaac Davis ; and the old place, with an ample
fortune had descended to Mrs. Boiling. Kate had been
born, when I had begun to think myself an old man,
but she had been off to school and upon her travels so
much that I scarcely ever saw her from her childhood,
until she returned home to stay, nearly two years ago.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 335
One afternoon just after she had arrived I called to
make a neighborly visit, and when the beautiful girl
came into the room to meet me, I almost thought her
some lovely vision, arid feared to take the delicate
white hand put forth to welcome me. And when I
thought of what I had heard of her intelligence and
accomplishments, and remembered that she had traveled
and been feted and admired abroad, and the refinement
she had been accustomed to everywhere, I felt embar
rassed before so fine a lady, and hardly knew what
topic I should touch upon not to betray my country
breeding. And yet, when the conversation had become
engaged, she seemed to think it so natural when in my
old man's way of talking I called her my deal', and she
entered so pleasantly into the playful vein our talk had
taken that I was encouraged soon to repeat my neigh
borly visit, and my visits became habitual and frequent.
Now, I am not going to pretend that in my old age
I have found a non-such. I have seen more beautiful
women, and women more wise and lovely. Had she
been living in my youth, I should have had no hesita
tion in a choice between her and my Mary, and yet, for
all that, she is a charming girl, and has very naturally
taken a warm place in my affections.
She will no doubt at a future day marry some man
she loves, and her life shall be merged in his ; for him
shall be her pride, her hope, and all her affectionate
solicitude. I cannot say that I envy him ; for if I
could exchange my gray hairs for his youthful locks,
or baldness as the case may be my old frame for his
vigor, my memories for his hopes, my reflection for his
passion, I would not do so. And yet I feel strangely
336 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
jealous of him and when I see a young man about
her trying to make himself agreeable, I fear that he
wishes to gain her affections also, and feel bitter toward
him, and have an impulse of heart to think him a
puppy, even though he be one I respect and have
hitherto liked.
It would be easy enough to account for my hating a
man who should be unkind to one I love ; but whence
comes this jealousy, which my reason tells me I must
not indulge too far ?
There can be nothing sinful in it, nor, since it is
natural, will I call it foolish. Old men are even more
tenacious of their love than young men ; and well they
may be. The young have life with all its buoyant
hopes to look forward to ; their love may be a rage,
overwhelming while it lasts, but it is not all of life.
An old man's love is all of the present he has to cling
to, and his future is a blank unfilled by any hopes save
those of heaven. He is jealous of the last lingering
brightness of his life, and cannot bear to see it eclipsed.
This is the true cause why old parents are so difficult
to please in the choice their daughters make of hus
bands, and is, I suppose, the true reason why I feel
such a pang when I think there is a chance my little
Kate will marry. My heart says : God bless her ! and
my reason adds : and give her a good husband ! But
if I should let my heart alone speak, it would revolt
against the husband, while I lived, unless, indeed, that
husband should be one certain young gentleman whom
I have long looked upon with the affection of a father.
After thoroughly examining my heart, I can say con
scientiously that although such an event as their mar-
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 337
riage in my lifetime would give me a twinge, I would,
after the first blow, rejoice at it. They are worthy of
each other, and I sincerely hope they may, after this
war is brought to a happy termination, love each other
truly, and marry.
Miss Kate and I were talking about family names a
few days ago, and she told me that she had never
thought she could like the name of Abraham so well, and
asked me how I happened to be called by that name. I
told her that it was no family name, but that my father
had given it to me for many good reasons. What
those reasons were I will give here, though I did not
inflict them at length upon her.
My father was a man who loved his Bible. From
his youth he had carefully studied it, and he seemed to
have a most intimate acquaintance with all the char
acters in it, and, no doubt, had formed in his own mind
a distinct idea of even the personal appearance of each
of them. Abraham is the first and almost the only
gentleman whose history is given in the Bible. He is
certainly the only one who came up to my father's idea
of what a Southern gentleman should be ; and if you
will look at the facts, a Southerner is the only man who
can come up to the noble type of gentleman presented
to us in that Patriarch.
He was brave, hospitable, domestic, a just and kind
master, a loving, patient husband, a generous neighbor,
and a faithful servant of his God. But one reproach
can be made him. "Ah, my son," my father used to
say. "That trip down into Egypt was a dreadful one
for Abraham's reputation. His fighting so bravely
afterward confirms me in my belief that his conduct on
29 w
338 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
this occasion must be looked at very narrowly to be
properly judged. He started in the wrong by telling
a lie, and that crippled his energies, as it would those
of any gentleman. He could not cut Pharaoh's throat,
because Pharaoh was not to blame, and, besides, his
force was powerless in open war against the hosts of
the king, and it was not likely the king would fight
a duel with him, although he was a distinguished
stranger. What was he to do ? The plainest way I
can think of would have been to go up and acknowl
edge that he had lied, and claim his wife again. But
then the original cause of his lie would remain. Abra
ham, my son, was certainly in what we Southerners
would call ' a fix/ and I presume that he thought it
best to be very quiet and prudent, and to rely on God's
promise and help for deliverance, and he no doubt went
upon his knees and prayed with all his might that the
matter should go no farther. God did deliver him, and
he went away all safe, but crestfallen. Pharaoh's re
buke must have cut him to the heart, and he was, no
doubt, glad to get away from among those who knew
of his ridiculous disgrace; and the danger his honor
had run must have made him tremble ever after when
he thought of it." And my father, who had a keen
sense of humor, would shake his head and declare that
Abraham's accepting all those presents looked very
badly, and that he did not at all understand him in the
matter.
But, except in this one instance, where in all history
can you find a nobler old gentleman than Abraham ?
He was the Master and Judge Supreme over his large
household, and very courteous to his neighbors, and
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 339
independent of them. His refusal to take the spoil
offered him by the King of Sodom was as graceful an act
as you shall find recorded anywhere; and his treatment
of his very disagreeable relative, Lot, was far more
generous and patient than could have reasonably been
expected.
What other gentleman than a Southerner can be a
Patriarch such as was Abraham ? To be the master
over hired servants does not call forth the qualities of
mind and heart which distinguished him ; for I con
tend that the justice, benevolence, independence of
spirit toward equals, courtesy and kindness to inferiors;
in fine, the true dignity of man as he was made in
the image of God with dominion, can be fully developed
only in those who resemble him in the cii'cumstance of
being a master over slaves and responsible for them
before God and man. The earth has never seen nobler
gentlemen than Southern gentlemen.
The kind of gentleman made by universal equality
is of a baser sort, and can only be called gentle in de
fault of better. His is an ill-assured, shop-keeping
gentility; an envious, contentious gentility; a dis
courteous, impertinent, assumptious gentility, which
must result from the confused order of social position
caused by the attempt to establish a factitious system
of equality in defiance of nature. Under such a system
the so-called gentleman is very likely not a gentleman
at all; and even if he be a gentleman by birth, to be
held as a gentleman he must necessarily be more or
less of a snob, for the simple reason that his social
position must depend upon his wealth and his assur
ance. This is the case even in countries where there
340 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
are separate and well-defined orders. A family there,
however noble, shall by loss of wealth after awhile
become mere roturiers, and their remains of pride
shall be very much mixed up with assumption. But
with universal equality, the gentleman by birth has no
chance at all unless he have wealth.
What I say does not result from pride of class, but
from observation, and any man who has ever lived
among the universal freed ornites anywhere, or in any
age, will confirm me in every particular. True, I am a
gentleman, and so were rny ancestors before me for
ages. Why? Because, being gentlemen, their caste
was assured in England, and since they have lived in
this country, it has been in a section where the position
has been equally assured. But if I had descendants, and
universal equality should become the rule in this coun
try, though my children might maintain their spirit and
position, their children would be more or less snobbish,
and in a generation or two more would be confirmed
snobs, though they should be rich as so many Croesuses.
They would find themselves obliged to be very exclu
sive, very haughty, and very retired, to preserve their
position it would not be firm and unquestioned.
I have seen too much of the world not to understand
this thoroughly, although I have never lived where this
equality existed. The most exclusive, haughtiest, and
most snobbish of all the Southern families I have ever
known have been those which were parvenues ; people
of no former social standing, who have acquired great
wealth, and consequently have taken this ill -assured
position of gentility in society. They must needs put
on airs of assumption to confirm what they felt was
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 341
insecure. The same feeling of insecurity and spirit of
assumption must needs produce the same conduct where
wealth and assurance are all which can raise families
above the surrounding dead level. As for virtue and
talent without wealth, they are looked upon as imper
tinences.
I trust it will be ages before the changes in society
in this country shall render the peculiar characteristics
of the Southern gentleman impossible to be developed.
But enough of this. I have wandered far, but al
ways in natural sequence of ideas, beyond the answer
I gave to Miss Kate's question. Heaven forbid she
should ever marry any but a Southern gentleman. A
German Baron, or a French Marquis, or a Cotton-
factory Lord would be but a poor substitute to a
Southern lady- although my grand-niece thinks to the
contrary, for herself.
CHAPTER XXXI.
ONE of the most singular of all the phenomena of
old age, at any rate of my old age, is its barren
ness of incident. I know that of late years very many
things have occurred about which I could write but
they do not interest me. I find that I have forgotten
them, or that my memory and feelings are sluggish
about them. I do not speak, of course, of the great
public events which I presume engulf almost all other
incidents, even with the young. History will record
them. I speak only of incidents in private life which
29*
342 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
affect me. If I chose, I could fill volumes with little
events of my earlier days which made profound im
pressions upon me. My affections were then vigorous,
and my relations in life were varied. Now 1 am neither
a father, a husband, a son, a brother, or a lawyer I
am nothing but an old man, living at peace, personally,
with all the world. Except Ben Eccles and my ser
vants, there is not a soul dependent on me. A visit to
Miss Kate, or by her to me, is a marked event in my
placid existence because, I suppose, it is the only one
which excites my affections pleasurably.
Yes, the only event ; for my visits to John Mitchell,
or to his sister Margaret, who now teaches the smaller
children at the Academy, are seldom pleasant, except
in a philanthropic point of view ; and Ben Eccles, poor
fellow, frequently bores me.
My executor will find among my manuscripts one
which relates what I know of Ben Eccles, and I will
therefore here say of him only that he is a good-hearted
man, of good family, who used to be highly esteemed
for intelligence, but who had at times, for many years,
a singular derangement of mind which, while it lasted,
unfitted him for any manner of business. I took him
to live with me not very long after the death of my
brother Eldred, and he has given but little trouble, and
often been of great convenience to me.
John Mitchell and his sister are, or rather were, or
phans, and not very interesting orphans either except,
as I have said, in a philanthropic point of view. Their
father was an Englishman, a carpenter, who came to
Yatton, some eighteen or twenty years ago, with his
wife and two children. He was a loose sort of char-
ABU AH AM PAGE, ESQ. 343
acter; frequently drank too much, and kept his wife
and children in hot water while he could drink, and in
utter misery while he had the consumption, from which
he speedily died. His wife soon took the disease, per
haps from him, as she had already got from him the
habit of drinking, and died also, leaving the two chil
dren destitute. John was a Jim Holmes sort of a boy
just as sly, and far more reckless. His father had
Avhaled all feeling out of him ; but after he had received
as good schooling as was possible in Yatton, he seemed
to be inspired with an ambition either to be genteel, or
to live without work, and, instead of becoming a car
penter or taking up some other trade, he must needs be
a doctor. He was gratified in that, sent to a medical
school, where he graduated, and returned here to Yat
ton three or four years ago, and commenced practice.
I have very little to say about him. His conduct,
so far as I know it, is irreproachable, but he is too
overwhelmingly grateful and shrinkingly humble to be
sincere, and he shows himself so selfish toward his
sister, who, as I have chanced to learn, has two or
three times had occasion to borrow a little money from
him, of which he has held her to the rigid repayment,
that I doubt if he will ever marry. He never will, un
less he can benefit himself by marrying rich, and I do
not believe that any girl, in this part of the country,
above the class from which he sprung, will marry him.
However, we shall see. It is certain that if he live he
will be rich, and it is equally certain that he will not
be killed in the army. He has already been offered in
succession the posts of assistant surgeon and surgeon,
but he has his excuses, and no draft likely to be made
344 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
will include him. He has always a couple of fine fast
horses which no press can take, because they are, or
may be, necessary in his practice. I'll warrant that he
keeps them fat, and keeps fat and nicely clad himself,
whatever may betide.
If any one think that I am uncharitable in putting
this on record, he is mistaken. The punishment is not
commensurate with the offense. Add to it the pillory for
life, and you should not be too severe, nor should you
thereby add one stigma to the infamy which must de
scend to this man's remotest descendant. He deserves
it all, and though he is but a poor little creature to be
thus made notorious, he represents a class, on every
one of whom the same remarks and sentence must be
passed.
The truth is, that it as impossible to make a noble
man out of an ignoble stock as it is to make a white
man out of a negro. A great many good people have
tried, and are trying of late days to make silk purses
out of sow's ears; just as great masses of fanatics are
trying to make the Ethiopian change his skin. Neither
can succeed. The negro has been a negro for at least
four thousand years^and will still be a negro four thou
sand years hence. \_The mean white has been mean for
ages, and his blood will be mean for ages to come
wherever it shows itself.~7 But for all that, it is our
duty to try and elevate the mean of each generation ;
for by doing so we improve in some degree, physically
at least, the generations which succeed them. I have
long since, however, found out that it is a foolish weak
ness to fall in love with the objects of our charity, and
nurture them in our bosoms.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 345
Nevertheless, there are orphans, and orphans. I
have known some who could only be nurtured properly
in one's heart of hearts.
About thirty years ago there came to Yatton a
young lawyer and his wife. She had been a Miss Ellen
O'Brien, of South Carolina, born and raised a lady, and
had married Robert Harley, of Virginia, a young law
yer just getting into good practice in his native State.
But the climate of Virginia had proved unfitted for her,
it was thought, and the doctors advised her removal
farther South. So they sold all their property except
three or four family servants, and removed to Yatton,
in a pretty cottage, in the suburbs of which they lived
in quiet and elegant simplicity. He brought most flat
tering letters of introduction, but they were scarcely
needed ; his appearance and manners were sufficient to
introduce him favorably anywhere.
His gentle and beautiful young wife loved him with
perfect devotion which was not at all wonderful, for
he was in all respects as noble a young man as I have
ever known and he repaid her love by the most tender
affection and solicitude.
His first appearance at the bar was in a criminal
case of some notoriety, which he defended successfully
with rare tact and splendid eloquence. Business flowed
upon him more than he could possibly attend to was
offered ; for he was as genial and bright in private life
as he was learned and eloquent in his profession. As
he never felt the want of money, he never cared enough
for it to accumulate it. He seemed to continually put
off to a future time the care of making provision for his
family in his old age or in case of his death.
346 LIFE AN D OPINIONS OF
Mrs. Harley's health remained delicate for three or
four years, and he would travel with her every summer
to this and that springs, to the seashore, to the mount
ains, wherever it was suggested she might receive
benefit, until at last little Robert, their first child, was
born. Harley was almost perfectly happy, for the little
fellow seemed to bring health with him to his mother,
who became rosy and strong, and devoted herself with
unfagging love and pride to his care and adornment.
I have never seen a man who could do so much busi
ness so thoroughly in so short a time as Harley. His
powerful mind was perfectly under control, and he
could direct all of its force upon each complication and
dispose of it while most other men would be hesitating
about its preliminaries. The new happiness which
had come upon him seemed to give a grandeur to his
mind and a gentleness to his feelings which made him
even more attractive than before, though he had never
seemed lacking in either grandeur or gentleness. He
made a great deal of money, but he had a great facil
ity for spending, also. He gave large and splendid
dinners and evening parties. He insisted that his wife
should dress splendidly and as he was particularly
fond of precious stones and jewelry, he continually
made her presents of those things, which she did not
wish to wear and did not know how to decline.
Three years after Robert's birth Alice was born, and
two years after that Harley died suddenly of apoplexy
and within the year his wife followed him. When
the estate came to be settled up, it was found that
there were unpaid accounts, some of them very large,
in almost every store in town; and when they were all
paid, the children were almost penniless.
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 347
When, after Mrs. Harley's funeral, I saw Robert
and his sister: he a manly little fellow, and not yet
able to fully realize his loss; she a beautiful little
curly-headed girl, already imperious, rigged out in her
finery by her nurse, and seated on the floor playing with
a book of plates, and calling: Mamma! mamma! and
presently saying to her nurse: "Betty, tell mamma
come!" I determined that not even an Orphan Asy
lum, blessed institution as it is, should have the man
agement of them and I took them to my house,
where they remained until old enough to be sent to
school. They were the two orphans Miss Stephania
Allen was teaching; and they have repaid me by
affection and by their own goodness and intelligence
for all my care. Alice married a very excellent and
wealthy gentleman, who is now colonel of one of our
regiments ; and Robert, a promising lawyer, is a cap
tain in the same regiment.
People are so accustomed to hear charity sermons,
and charity cant, and charity begging, and to see spec
ulations for charity, and charity swindles, that nowa
days the very name of charity has been suggestive of
money, and causes a sinking of the heart and an invol
untary grasp upon the pocket-book.
But let any one take a moment of solitude, and
imagine himself an orphan child, or his children little
orphans, with only strangers to look to for love and
assistance if they are to have love and assistance at all,
and if he have any imagination and heart he will find
a feeling of sad compassion coming over him.
The source of most of the hard-heartedness in this
\ world is thoughtlessness. There is no lack of syni-
348 LIFE A X D OPINIONS OF
pathy when men allow themselves to imagine them
selves in the place of those who are needy or suffer
ing. The injunction, "Know thyself," means: know
not only what you feel and think now, but also how
you would feel, think, and act under any given cir
cumstances. Compassion and sympathy are feeling
just as the object presented feels. We have compas
sion upon the suffering, and sympathy with the poor or
joyous, only when we can imagine that we feel just as
the suffering, or the poor, or joyous feel.
Try, while by yourself to-day or to-night, and imag
ine yourself, or your child, an orphan. You will then
be able to sympathize with an orphan. Many of the
little children at the oqihan asylums have had as good
and loving parents as you or your parents, and as com
fortable homes as yours ; but the parents are dead, and
the homes are desolate or occupied by others.
Shut your eyes now, and give the reins to your
imagination. You are dead ; your little boy and girl
are parentless. They can be no longer clasped in your
arms. Their tears are unheeded, or harshly reproved.
Their wants, even if relatives supply them, are only
half foreseen or provided for. Your anxious love no
longer watches over them, and their joys and their
sorrows must be imparted to strangers. But those to
whom you or circumstances have intrusted the little
ones deprived of your care, become weary of them and
they are shifted off to other strangers, or allowed to
run, half wild, upon the streets, until at last they are
sent to an orphan asylum if there be one in the com
munity. Thank God for that ! They have a refuge at
last, and their most necessary wants may be supplied,
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 349
even though the supply be precarious. Charity is often
at a discount in the community, and sometimes bread
and meat and clothes are scarce with your little ones
and the other little ones congregated there ; and you can
imagine your cherished children trying on the half
worn-out shoes, and out-grown jackets and frocks sent
in chance of a fit by some fortunate mother, and can
see their pride and comfort in wearing them, and can
see, too, the greed and joy they feel at the little treat
of a piece of cake or a bit of candy those children you
now love so much, and who have everything they can
desire. And you see them of a Sunday going to
church in the procession, two by two, with the ill-
assorted dresses, and shabby, well-brushed shoes, and
thread-bare pants (for charity, remember, is at a dis
count), and see them file in and take their seats to hear
a sermon upon Charity, which falls upon weary ears,
and excites no sympathy for your dear children. They
go back to their public home, and the matron, though
she be an angel upon earth, can work no miracle and
give them delicacies where there is a lack of even plain
food, and though she were endowed with all human
wisdom, and goodness, and patience, cannot indulge
them in all the childishness you would have tolerated.
All this is very sad. Even though a bountiful fund
were provided for the public charity, it is sad to be de
pendent upon a public charity for love, and for food
and comfort. How much more grievous for matron,
and nurse, and children, where the fare is poor, and
scant, and precarious, and even rags, and old hats, and
bonnets, and shoes are acceptable gifts ! How infinitely
worse is it when there is no public charity ! I had al-
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350 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
ready begun to think myself growing old when the first
orphan asylum was established in any town near Yat-
ton. The population of our country was so sparse,
comparatively, and the circumstances of the whites
were generally so good that there was but little use for
such institutions. But I am convinced that, except in
special instances like that I have narrated of Robert
and Alice, it is best where children have to depend
upon strangers for a support, to place them in orphan
asylums. My observation has taught me that, in nine
cases out of ten, they are more apt to retain their self-
respect when dependent upon the public, than when
upon private charity and not only so, they have less
opportunity for ingratitude.
I made my little story about Alice and Robert as
short as possible, because I only told it for illustration.
But I may as well say here, in explanation, that I do
not leave my property to Alice because she has enough
without it ; and I do not leave it to Robert for reasons
which I will explain to him when I see him, and which
I heartily yes, fondly hope shall prove satisfactory.
[NOTE BY THE EXECUTOR. Captain Harley was
killed at the battle of Seven Pines, while bravely lead
ing his company. It was Mr. Page's great desire that
he should marry Miss Kate Boiling. I knew Robert
when he was quite a small boy, and he then bade fair
to become the noble young gentleman Mr. Page con
sidered him. I suppose that Miss Kate was also ac
quainted with him, but from what Mr. Page has al
ready said, I have no idea that anything more than a
mere acquaintanceship had sprung up between them in
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 351
the short time which elapsed between her return home
and his starting off to the Virginia army.
Ben Eccles, who is mentioned in this chapter by Mr.
Page, died in 1864.]
CHAPTER XXXII.
SINCE I wrote the last chapter the confusion of a
great war has surged up all around me, and the
events of my life, and my life itself, have become so
dwarfed that I have no patience to task my memory
with the one, and would feel ashamed of my unsympa
thetic egotism in writing about the other. What I have
written is written, and I am glad that I wrote it before
the present great excitement, for now I could not write
it if I would ; I cannot even revise it. If I should be
alive and well when a glorious peace shall close our
successful struggle, I will go over it again and correct
its errors, if I shall discover them, and make its lan
guage more harmonious if I can, and add to it if I find
it proper ; but with the misery, and sorrow, and dread,
and pain all about me, as it is all about in every part
of my country, I have no heart to write or think of
myself.
In reading over this paragraph I have just written,
I find that I have three times repeated the same idea
the idea of a general trouble which absorbs all other
interests. The earth, the air, fire and water, are full of
that idea. The earth bears or withholds its fruits, and
its minerals and metals, in relation to it; the rains
352 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF
descend and the waters rise and flow, for good or ill,
with regard to it alone ; the air vibrates with the wails
of sorrow and pain and the mighty din of conflict, until
the soft accents of peaceful love can no longer be dis
tinguished; and fire lightens, hisses, and roars from
the ends of the earth only to increase that trouble. All
nature seems to act and torment itself alone for our
safety or destruction; and man's individuality is as
much swallowed up in the confusion of the physical
contest as it shall be engulfed in the social amalgama
tion which must result from the moral and political
maelstrom into which the triumph of the principles we
oppose would plunge us. May God prolong and even
intensify the present trouble rather than deliver us into
the worser woe ! The present trouble may end in peace,
but the principles which war against us can only bring
on continuing misery and renewed war, to end in de
struction and a new creation.
1 have perfect faith in the justice of our cause, and
great confidence in most of those we have constituted
our leaders. With the great man upon whom we have
imposed the task of finding and organizing strength for
our weakness, and accomplishing by all means our de
sires, I have a profound sympathy. No man has ever
before borne such a responsibility against such odds ;
and yet I have a firm belief that if we be true to our
selves, and the agents he selects be faithful, he shall,
by God's help, and without a thought for his own per
sonal aggrandizement, bring us through the effort a
free and prosperous people. I believe that he loves,
more than he loves himself, the people who have of
their own accord imposed the burden of their troubles
ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ. 353
upon him, and that he has the honest and firm convic
tion that strict constitutional government is the only
safety of mankind from the evils of the selfishness of
their own nature. If we succeed, he will rank the
greatest of historical men in varied ability and virtue,
and if we fail, and he survive the failure, his only care
for his own fate shall be to preserve in it his own in
tegrity, and illustrate by his life or death the brave and
honest people who have made him their head, the class
of Southern gentlemen from whom he has sprung, and
the Christian fortitude he professes.
It may be that I shall not live to see the end of our
contest. I am a very old man. I have passed my
threescore years and ten, and can truly say that my
strength is now "labor and sorrow." The rest by Mary's
side shall be sweet, and I will be glad when the time
comes for me to be gathered there, for I am very weary.
I wish now, and here, to lay aside the past, with all
its joys and sorrows, its right things and its errors, its
approvals and condemnations, as they exist in my mem
ory, retaining only the hopes and feelings my expe
rience and observation of the goodness of God has en
gendered. To hope, to love, and to weep are the only
results of all the learning of my life worth a thought.
I have learned to love my fellow-men, to weep for the
miseries of humanity, and to hope for a better future for
it on earth, and the blessedness of heaven for many
more of my race than I once thought could be received
there. The hopes must end with life or fruition ; the
tears shall be changed to admiration in contemplating
the justice and goodness of God ; the love alone shall
remain suffusing my being throughout eternity.
30* x
354 LIFE AND OPINIONS OF ABRAHAM PAGE, ESQ.
At early dawn this morning I walked in Mary's gar
den. The birds sang to me of her, and the soft, per
fumed breeze whispered to me that in all its wander
ings, it had not met her since she stood there at my
side. But I have no fear that I shall not find my
Mary. Before my body shall be laid by hers my love
shall have urged and guided me to her, waiting with
eager patience to lead me in sweetest converse to the
presence of our Lord.
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