GIFT OF 
 
 SEELEY W. MUDD 
 
 and 
 
 GEORGE I. COCHRAN MEYER ELSASSER 
 
 DR.JOHNR. HAYNES WILLIAM L. HONNOLD 
 
 JAMES R. MARTIN MRS. JOSEPH F. SARTORI 
 
 to the 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SOUTHERN BRANCH
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 CT 
 695^ 
 
 i Lorr 
 
 Form l.-O-lOyH-S.'-JI 
 
 Southern Branch 
 of the 
 
 University of California 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 Form LI (_, I 
 
 QOSTO 
 
 N/l I k/1 I
 
 Edward Dorr McCarthy 
 
 Born November 24, 1819 
 Died January 29, 1895 
 
 • • r •• 
 
 910 69
 
 C 'V 
 
 ''^iiimiila vagiila, blaiidida 
 Hospes comesque corporis, 
 Qiice nniic abibis in loca 
 Pallidiila, rigida, nudiila: 
 Nee, ut soles, dabis jocos? " 
 
 From the Emperor Hadrian's 
 
 zj^ddrcss to His Soul.
 
 rH 
 
 CQ 
 
 Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 Biographical Sketch 9 
 
 U. S. District Court, Southern Dist. of N. Y., 
 Remarks of the Bar .13 
 
 Letters 33 
 
 Early Letters to John Burroughs 45 
 
 Harvard University, Class of 1862 .... 59 
 
 Travels Abroad 63 
 
 Favorite Passages 73 
 
 Close of the Apology of Socrates .... 76 
 
 £ Portraits of Mr. McCarthy 
 
 Facing page 
 
 Taken in Iceland, 1884 8 
 
 Class picture, Harvard University, 1862 . . 58 
 Cast, January 30, 1895 80
 
 Biographical Sketch
 
 Genealogical 
 
 Ezra Dorr^Rhoda Beckwith. William McCarthy = Martha Reed. 
 
 b. Chatham, 
 
 N. Y. 
 1775-1852. 
 
 b. Chatham, N.Y. 
 1786-1871. 
 
 b. Cork, Ireland. 
 
 b. Bath,N.H. 
 
 Judith Ann Dorr=Henry Reed McCarthy. 
 
 b. Minaville, N.Y. 
 1813-1892. 
 
 b. Duanesburg, N. Y. 
 180Q- 
 
 Edward Dorr McCarthy. 
 
 b. Minaville, N. Y., November 24, 1839. 
 d. Plainfield, N. J., January 29, 1895. 
 
 " Parva domtis, magna quies.'
 
 y 
 
 Taken in Iceland, 1884.
 
 Biographical Sketch 
 
 Edward Dorr McCarthy was born in Minaville, 
 Montgomery County, New-York, November 24, 
 1839. His grandfather was a schoolmaster from 
 Cork, who settled in Duanesburg, New-York. His 
 maternal grandfather was Ezra Dorr, of the Sey- 
 brook Dorr family, and he was the only child of 
 Henry Reed and Judith Ann Dorr McCarthy. 
 
 Born on the Dorr farm near Minaville, his love 
 
 of study was excited in earliest childhood by a 
 
 few good books in the district school on history, 
 
 o biography, and travel ; and his zeal, once kindled, 
 
 led him on from school to school. By dint of 
 
 ^ now a term of teaching, now a church or society 
 
 •p lecture, added to the hard-won home earnings, he 
 
 made his way at last to Harvard, graduating in 
 
 1862, and from the Law School in 1865. 
 
 From his grandmother Dorr, a woman of unique 
 force in her region, he inherited the predominant 
 traits distinguishing his character. She was high- 
 tempered, fearless, original, and generous ; her 
 
 9 
 
 c
 
 terse and witty speech made her a marked indi- 
 viduality wherever she went. 
 
 Ezra Dorr was distinguished for his gentle na- 
 ture, his industry, and thorough integrity. 
 
 Both grandparents worshiped the boy "Ed- 
 ward," and his rule in the entire household was un- 
 disputed. The Celtic strain in his nature was ap- 
 parent to all who knew him, coming direct from a 
 father more Celtic yet, and who still survives him. 
 
 His love of books and his love for animals were 
 ruling passions to the end. His love of roaming 
 was awakened early, and developed into an ever- 
 recurring desire to explore new countries. 
 
 A sensitive organization, not free from a tinge of 
 melancholy, predisposed him to retirement, and 
 made him a prey to early grief and later suffering, 
 shadows which were, however, always lightened 
 by a playful humor possessing an indescribable 
 charm for those who knev/ him well, and which 
 was no less characteristic than the zeal and seri- 
 ousness of his intellectual life. 
 
 A few scattered mementos, suggesting the cur- 
 rent of his life and thought, are here added to the 
 tributes of his professional brothers, gathered in 
 affectionate remembrance by his wife. 
 
 Plainfield, June 13, 1895. 
 
 10
 
 United States District Court 
 
 Southern Dist. of N. Y. 
 
 Remarks of the Bar
 
 United States District Court, Southern 
 District of New-York, February 5, 1895. 
 Remarks on the occasion of the death 
 of Mr. E. D. McCarthy. 
 
 cMr. Benedict: 
 
 If the Court please, I have again a sad duty to 
 perform. 1 have performed the duty many times 
 of announcing to the Court the death of some one 
 among the ranks of the Bar. 1 have never felt 
 more deeply the sadness of making the announce- 
 ment than on the present occasion. 
 
 I was thinking as 1 sat here that it was out of 
 place for elder men to be called upon to announce 
 the death of the younger ; and the old sentence 
 recurred to me which says that there is misfortune 
 in the land when the fathers bury the children 
 instead of the children burying their fathers. But 
 when 1 come to consider what the facts are. 1 see 
 that my thought was entirely inappropriate, for it 
 is almost thirty years since Mr. McCarthy, whose 
 
 13
 
 death I have to announce, was admitted to the Bar 
 of this Court. A generation has passed away since 
 that day, and the difference in age between himself 
 and myself was by no means so great that 1 
 could make any distinction between him and my- 
 self as to being among the younger or the older 
 members of the Bar. But remembering that for 
 thirty years Mr. McCarthy has been an associate 
 of ours in the varied practice of this Court, and 
 remembering the varied occurrences, the contests, 
 the associations, and all the changes of this advo- 
 cate's life of ours in which we have seen him bear 
 a part, the thought that we shall meet him here no 
 more is to me a thought of great grief. I had a 
 very high regard for Mr. McCarthy, and in many 
 respects 1 consider him one of the most notable 
 figures in our Bar. And 1 had looked forward to 
 seeing him arrive at yet greater distinction as the 
 years went on. But death makes no distinction, 
 and, young or old, we must all go when our call 
 comes. Yet we are so closely associated in this 
 Bar, our relations in the Admiralty Bar are so dif- 
 ferent from the associations of the Bar at large, we 
 are so much more closely brought together in ties 
 of friendship, acquaintance, and kindness, that we 
 cannot allow the passing of any one so distin- 
 
 14
 
 guished as Mr. McCarthy to go by without taking 
 some notice of it. And 1, representing the Bar, ask 
 the Court to enter upon its minutes a little note 
 with reference to Mr. McCarthy which 1 have pre- 
 pared, and which has been submitted to several of 
 my brothers for their approval, and which 1 will 
 read : 
 
 *' Edward D. McCarthy died at Plainfield, N. J., 
 of pneumonia, on the 29th day of January, 1895. 
 He was admitted to the Bar of this Court on May 
 23, 1865; and the members of the Bar associated 
 with him thus in the practice of their profession 
 for so many years, desire to place upon the records 
 of the Court their appreciation of his character, 
 and their regret for his death. 
 
 "Mr. McCarthy was a lawyer of great ability 
 and learning, an earnest and fearless advocate, an 
 orator of no ordinary rank, a scholar of wide and 
 deep learning, not only within the bounds of his 
 profession, but in classical and scientific studies. 
 Having met him, and seen him in many a hard- 
 fought contest, we recognized him as an antago- 
 nist to be feared, and as an advocate to be prized, 
 and we feel that in his death the Bar of this Court, 
 in which especially he distinguished himself, and 
 the Bar of other Courts before whom his extensive 
 
 15
 
 practice called upon him to appear, have suffered 
 a deplorable loss in his death." 
 
 J. Langdon IVard: 
 
 If your Honor please, there seems to be a pro- 
 priety in permitting me to second the motion of 
 my brother Benedict, for Edward Dorr McCarthy 
 was my college classmate and my friend for nearly 
 forty years. He graduated at Harvard, in 1862, in 
 a class numbering 96, large for those days, but 
 still small enough for each of its members to oc- 
 cupy a large place in the brotherly regard of every 
 other. During his college life McCarthy mani- 
 fested the same traits of character which we have 
 all known in his maturer years. Concerning him- 
 self and his private affairs he was as reticent then 
 as later. His name and his father's, and the date 
 and place of his birth, were the only items con- 
 cerning himself which he entered in our book 
 of class records, and he never added to it. Appar- 
 ently he thought no one would ever care to know 
 more. He was an unusually handsome boy : his 
 photograph in our class book, with its clean-cut 
 profile and mass of curly hair, is classic in its 
 beauty. Though for many years 1 have seen rela- 
 tively little of him, whenever we chanced to meet 
 
 16
 
 the intervals were forgotten, the old college feel- 
 ing showed itself still strong, and on occasion he 
 would talk as freely of himself, and of his plans 
 and aspirations, as he ever allowed himself to 
 speak. 
 
 We were examined for admission to the Bar at 
 the same time, and it is a curious fact that from 
 that day to this, though both of us have always 
 been in active practice in this city, 1 have never 
 met him professionally, nor to my knowledge even 
 seen him in a Court Room, except once in the 
 Supreme Court in Washington. 
 
 His gift of eloquence and grace of speech were 
 the delight of his classmates, and he would 
 have been our class orator had he not refused 
 to permit his friends to press his name in the 
 contest. 
 
 Early in his professional life he was attracted to 
 the criminal bar as affording more scope for his 
 oratorical talents, and gained much reputation in 
 a number of cases by his eloquence. 
 
 It was not long, however, before he tired of 
 this, and turning to the admiralty, found in the 
 simplicity of its practice, and in its constant refer- 
 ence to the broad principles of equity and abstract 
 justice, a field congenial to him. Always a scholar, 
 3 17
 
 he was attracted by the symmetry and beauty of 
 the Roman Law, and pursued its study with the 
 greatest interest. The last time 1 saw him, only a 
 few weeks since, he stopped me in the street, and 
 with his usual diffidence about obtruding his pri- 
 vate affairs on others, asked if it would bore me 
 were he to come and talk over with me a project 
 he had for obtaining the position of lecturer upon 
 the Roman Law in Harvard Law School, for which 
 he thought that his studies had fitted him. He 
 said that the clash and contest of practice were 
 distasteful to him, and he felt that the atmosphere 
 of a university town, with its quiet and opportu- 
 nity for study and thought, would be agreeable. 
 He left me with the promise that within a few 
 days he would come and talk the matter over, and 
 see what his classmates could do toward further- 
 ing his plans. 
 
 Instead of the promised call came the news of 
 his illness and his death. 
 
 Others present can speak of his professional 
 attainments better than 1 ; others certainly have 
 latterly enjoyed the privilege of closer personal re- 
 lations with him, but to no one is his death more 
 of a personal sorrow, or his loss more the loss of 
 a friend.
 
 Mr. IVilcox : 
 
 May it please the Court, 1 think that on this oc- 
 casion remarks of greatest simplicity and truth 
 will be in accord with the feelings of all present. 
 I do not know that anything can be added to 
 what has been so happily expressed in the minute 
 which is to be spread upon the record of this 
 Court, prepared by Mr. Benedict, and which has 
 been supplemented by the remarks of the last 
 speaker— his classmate and life-long friend. 
 
 When 1 heard of the death of Mr. McCarthy, it 
 occurred to me as quite fit and appropriate that 
 there should be some mark of respect to his mem- 
 ory, and I spoke to our brother — whom we all 
 have met upon so many sad occasions like the 
 present— Mr. Benedict, who agreed with me, and 
 1 promised to be present and say a few words 
 which I hoped might be appropriate to the oc- 
 casion. 
 
 1 may say that some of my fiercest contests at 
 the Bar, commencing about the time Mr. Mc- 
 Carthy was admitted, were with him. At times 
 I felt that feelings ran very high with us, but after 
 the contest in Court, meeting him, 1 found a very 
 congenial spirit and a very true and good heart, 
 and a character singularly modest and unobtru- 
 
 19
 
 sive, who thought nothing of the distinguished 
 abilities which were so marked, even in his phy- 
 sical appearance. 
 
 Nothing was more characteristic of our friend in 
 life than his leaving it. It was his desire to pass 
 peacefully away without any ostentation, and he 
 directed that no crape should be placed upon the 
 door-bell, and his wishes went to that extreme 
 from which most of us shrink when he directed, 
 as I understand, that all that remained of Edward 
 Dorr McCarthy should be cremated. 1 have que- 
 ried, if our brother were present to-day, whether 
 this occasion would be quite in accord with his 
 feelings ; but 1 think it would. 
 
 It was my duty to prepare a memorial for the 
 late Judge Beebe, and at the meeting of the Bar, 
 held, like this, to pay respect to the memory of 
 Judge Beebe — I was not present — among the 
 speakers eminent at the Bar at that time were Mr. 
 Allen Butler, Mr. James C. Carter, and others. I 
 was struck, in reading the proof of the remarks, 
 with the singularly appropriate and exceedingly 
 happy language with which Mr. McCarthy had 
 summed up the character of that most remarkable 
 man. Judge Beebe: no untruthful eulogy; criti- 
 cizing him at times severely, and withal laying a 
 
 20
 
 very beautiful and lovino^ tribute on the bier of his 
 dead friend, whom he much admired, as 1 happen 
 to know. 
 
 Mr. McCarthy 1 re,<?arded as a very formidable 
 foe. He was formidable in his very physical pres- 
 ence, and 1 think that nowhere was his strength 
 more marked than in his cross-examination of wit- 
 nesses, where he brought his full force to bear on 
 a witness. I think there was that weakness, per- 
 haps, about him, which we all have : when the 
 witnesses of his opponent were thought to be a 
 little untruthful he was scathing, cutting in his 
 remarks, sometimes requiring the hand of the 
 Court to protect the witness. But under all that 
 peculiarity of character he had kindness of heart 
 equal to that of a woman. 
 
 1 am not here to touch at length on the charac- 
 ter of Mr. McCarthy, already alluded to very prop- 
 erly and appropriately. He has crossed the bar 
 and passed out on the tide. Like the brothers of 
 whom I learned when I was studying admiralty 
 law in early years — the *' Brethren of the Trinity 
 House"— we are brothers of the Admiralty Bar. 
 My friend, Mr. Benedict, has referred to the gen- 
 erations of admiralty lawyers. He and 1 knew an 
 early generation — Mr. E. C. Benedict, Welcome 
 
 21
 
 R. Beebe, Mr. Edward Owen, Mr. Cornelius Van 
 Santvoord — at that time the early fathers of the 
 Bar, consisting of but five or six. Then for a 
 number of years after those fathers passed away, 
 the practice of the admiralty was confined to not 
 more than six. It has increased of late years 
 somewhat, but is still so limited that we can call 
 each other in a very proper sense brothers. There- 
 fore it seemed to me very fitting that, as one after 
 another is called from life to death, we should 
 meet here and pay some tribute of respect to his 
 memory. 
 
 My friend, Mr. Benedict, has referred to the sad 
 fact that we shall never see our friend here again. 
 We are like ships that pass in the night, each one 
 passing out on that tide that is sweeping us all, 
 let us believe, toward the peaceful haven and the 
 happy isles, whence our friends can never journey 
 to us ; but it is to be hoped we may go to them. 
 
 1 most earnestly second the motion. 
 
 Mr. Berier: 
 
 As one who was associated with Mr. McCarthy 
 in business nearly four years I had, perhaps, op- 
 portunities of observing his character and qualities 
 which some of the members of the Bar had not. 
 
 22
 
 I think the most striking characteristics of the 
 man were three — his courage, his earnestness, 
 and his keen insight. 
 
 When he was once convinced that a course de- 
 cided upon was right, I never knew a man more 
 utterly fearless in pursuing that course, even to 
 the bitter end. And in this 1 think he was inva- 
 riably thoroughly conscientious. 1 have never 
 known him to be governed by a mean or selfish 
 motive where the right, as he believed, was clearly 
 to be seen. 
 
 As to the second quality, his earnestness, that 
 was equally remarkable. He would throw him- 
 self into his client's case as though it were his 
 own. He made it his own, and to the extent, 
 perhaps, sometimes of imparting a little too much 
 personal feeling to it ; but it was because he thor- 
 oughly believed in his client's cause, and, 1 will 
 say, because of his desire to perform his whole 
 duty to his clients. 
 
 His insight into a question was wonderful. He 
 would go to the very heart of a case. You 
 never heard him discuss it from a trivial or super- 
 ficial standpoint, but the very issue itself was the 
 first one he brought out and the last one he kept 
 in view ; and whether or not you agreed with him 
 
 23
 
 in his arguments, you would at least be forced to 
 admit that he could maintain his position with the 
 most uncommon ability. Even in discussions 
 where I have disagreed with him and thought 
 him wrong, in every instance 1 recognized that his 
 arguments were something formidable and diffi- 
 cult to meet. 
 
 It is no disparagement to his surviving brethren 
 of the Admiralty Bar to say that in the three great 
 essentials of eloquence, according to Webster, 
 clearness, force, and earnestness, he was abso- 
 lutely unrivaled. 
 
 Of my own personal connection with him it is 
 hardly the time to speak. 1 was in partnership 
 with Mr. McCarthy for nearly four years, and dur- 
 ing that time our relations were most cordial. 
 His retiring disposition prevented him from ob- 
 taining the full recognition to which I think he 
 was entitled, — 1 mean as to his personal qualities 
 and character. 1 have known many and many 
 an instance of charity on his part, of which he 
 thought 1 knew nothing, — which he thought was 
 unknown to everybody but himself and the recipi- 
 ent — instances of charity for the relief of suffering. 
 He was a kind and faithful friend of mine, and 1 
 wish to second these resolutions most sincerely. 
 
 24
 
 Mr. Tutnam: 
 
 May it please the Court, the allusion which Mr. 
 Wilcox made to the meeting here eleven years 
 ago in honor of Judge Beebe, recalls very vividly 
 a recollection of Mr. McCarthy rising up in the 
 rear part of this room, and how, within a few mo- 
 ments, he had us all under the spell of his elo- 
 quence. We at the Admiralty Bar have not that 
 gift— it is rather the comparing, the digesting, the 
 analyzing of facts. To my mind, Mr. McCarthy 
 had all the gifts of an orator— passionate, forceful, 
 eloquent in its purely classical sense. 
 
 He was intellectually equipped for it in a won- 
 derful degree because he saw things at the time 
 single. He did not see truth in the modern way 
 of careful balancing of opposite opinions, the shad- 
 ing together of different views, but the truth that 
 he saw proceeded direct like the beam of an elec- 
 tric search-light, which he would follow from one 
 court to another, undaunted by adverse decisions. 
 Even after defeat in the highest court, his spirit 
 was of such a courageous character that he felt 
 that the principle for which he had contended 
 was only temporarily in abeyance, and that it was 
 bound eventually to reassert itself. 
 
 Mr. McCarthy, in the experience 1 have had 
 
 4 25
 
 with him — in which others, I think, will bear me 
 out— was singularly fair in the treatment and 
 comparison of the credibility of witnesses. I re- 
 member, many a time, his admission to the Court, 
 in his proud and rather disdainful manner, of his 
 disbelief in the view that his own witnesses had 
 given. He saw the thing so clearly that he was 
 unwilling even to modify his own views (al- 
 though in minor particulars) by the testimony of 
 witnesses on his own behalf. He had a very 
 high-minded disdain of anything that seemed to 
 twist facts in support of his particular hypothesis. 
 All these qualities gave him greater distinction in 
 other Bars, perhaps, than here, where we knew 
 him so well, and where any of these acts seemed 
 only what we expected of him. I know what an 
 impression he made before the Bar of Chicago in 
 an important matter recently ; also before a still 
 more critical Bar of Boston, where he was engaged 
 in the trial of a case only within a few months. 1 
 have heard what an effect he produced by his 
 manner, by his eloquence, and by his evident 
 candor. 
 
 To me he was a man of another school, of an- 
 other age ; and the pleasure that he took during the 
 last few years in classical study was not for intellec- 
 
 26
 
 tual refreshment only, but it was a meeting of kin- 
 dred minds and kindred spirits. There was some- 
 thing singularly appropriate in the fact that the last 
 time, I think, he went out of his house — the Satur- 
 day before he was taken sick with pneumonia— he 
 was engaged in reading the Apology of Socrates 
 from the original to a literary club in Plainfield. It 
 was a great pleasure to him and to his brethren that 
 he made those classical tours, those long journeys 
 in the summer to different countries, and came 
 back to tell us how he had himself been over the 
 sacred soil to the study of which so many of his 
 years had been given. To me it seems as if he 
 had only gone on such a journey now. It is im- 
 possible to think he will not come back to tell us 
 of something new that he has seen. 
 
 His loss is a great one, not to the Law alone, but 
 to us who knew his strangely individual, strongly 
 marked character, which was always a pleasure to 
 meet either in Court or out of it. 
 
 Judge Brown : 
 
 The Court has heard with very great pleasure 
 these testimonials by his brethren to the high 
 character of Mr. McCarthy ; and with great plea- 
 sure, also, the minutes which have been handed 
 
 27
 
 up, expressing very concisely some of the most 
 prominent of his qualities. These will be ordered 
 entered upon the records of the Court. 
 
 I can join most heartily in these encomiums 
 upon Mr. McCarthy. In his practice at the Bar I 
 have seen more of him, perhaps, than some who 
 have spoken; but in his private relations, very 
 little. He has been in Court a good deal during 
 the time that I have been upon the Bench ; and 
 although there have been a few occasions when 
 his earnestness in favor of his client, the sensitive- 
 ness of his own feelings, and the excitability which 
 accompanied his temperament, have got some- 
 what the better of his cooler judgment, yet in the 
 main I may say, with the utmost truth, that there 
 has been no one at the Bar whom I have seen 
 with more pleasure in the handling of causes, 
 often difficult and complicated and tedious, than 
 Mr. McCarthy. 
 
 Too much emphasis has not been given to his 
 great ability ; not so much prominence, even, as 1 
 should be inclined to give, to his great impressive- 
 ness of character, and to the natural weight and 
 influence that he carried with him, which pro- 
 ceeded, 1 think, from his profound conviction of 
 the justice of his case, and from the thoroughness 
 
 28
 
 with which he identified himself with his client's 
 cause. In a sense he was, as it were, the Bayard 
 of the Bar in a certain chivalrous and knightly 
 quality, which is difficult to describe, but which 1 
 never could fail to feel when his best powers were 
 challenged — when he met difficulties either from 
 testimony that he believed to be false, or from 
 legal difficulties which seemed to him trivial, and 
 which naturally aroused a genuine, natural scorn 
 of indignation ; — so that at times his bearing and 
 eloquence became majestic and grand. No one at 
 the Bar, I think, excelled him in these qualities. 
 
 I think he loved the admiralty practice because 
 it was more free from technicalities than most 
 other branches of the profession. It admits of 
 more direct appeals to natural equity and justice ; is 
 less hampered, perhaps, than most other branches 
 of the law by technical rules. 
 
 \n listening to him we could not help feeling the 
 thorough genuineness of his nature. His great 
 kindliness was often also made equally manifest ; 
 and this kindliness and the rare magnanimity of 
 his nature were often exemplified in the sincere 
 apologies he would make when he recognized 
 that he had perhaps gone too far, that he had been 
 treading a little on some one else's feelings or 
 
 2Q
 
 rights in his own earnestness for his client's cause. 
 There must have been scores of times when that 
 noble quality has been manifested. It was the 
 quality of a truly earnest and great soul, who 
 scorned with the utmost indignation anything 
 mean ; and who was therefore indignant at him- 
 self if he thought he had been trampling on an- 
 other's rights, or had been unmindful of the cour- 
 tesies that were due to others, high or low. Be- 
 sides his natural eloquence, it was this earnestness, 
 sincerity, genuineness, elevation, and magnanim- 
 ity of character that made him an exceptional man 
 at the Bar. He has not left behind him his like. 
 We have other noble spirits among us, but we 
 have no other McCarthy. 
 
 The Court will now adjourn. 
 
 30
 
 Letters
 
 New-York, February 6, iS^s. 
 
 Charles E. Grinnell, Esq. 
 
 Uear Sir: 1 respond as soon as practicable to 
 your letter of inquiry about our deceased friend, 
 Edward D. McCarthy, whom 1 had known inti- 
 mately for twenty-three years. 
 
 He was long known to the Bench and Bar as an 
 able and learned lawyer, and I never knew a more 
 forcible forensic debater. And yet, as sometimes 
 happens, he was better known to the Courts and 
 to the legal profession than to the public. He did 
 not seek, but seemed to avoid, and even to scorn, 
 notoriety. He thoroughly detested all forms of 
 sham, untruthfulness, and vulgar ostentation, and 
 this caused him at times to express opinions of 
 men and things around him which to some people 
 would seem harsh or cynical. But those who 
 knew the people and the things about whicii he 
 thus expressed himself, always saw the element 
 of truth and justice in his judgments. 
 
 His learning outside of his profession was ex- 
 tensive and ripe. His mental endowment was of 
 3 33
 
 the first order. His accuracy of information an(f 
 capacity for clear statement I have never known 
 excelled. This was especially so in history, phi- 
 losophy, the classics, and in what may be called 
 historical and political geography. 
 
 He devoted but little attention to current mod- 
 ern literature. None but works of the very high- 
 est order commanded his attention. In philosophy 
 his favorites were Plato, Kant, and Locke. Of 
 modern poets he seemed to prefer Wordsworth. 
 He was familiar with the whole range of Greek, 
 Latin, and German learning, reading all in the 
 original ; a great lover of Goethe, and of Latin au- 
 thors, he never tired of Virgil, Horace, Juvenal, 
 Cicero, and Tacitus. 
 
 This will indicate the current of his "intellectual 
 life," of which you inquire. He deemed abstrac- 
 tions and broad generalizations, in politics and 
 sociology, as misleading and dangerous. Yet in 
 his profession his mental method was on a plane 
 too elevated for the treatment of ordinary cases 
 and questions. While always careful and pains- 
 taking about facts, he solved questions arising on 
 a given state of facts more by what he considered 
 the elemental principles applicable to those facts, 
 than in the light oi stare decisis. He did this with 
 
 34
 
 confidence and absolute reliance on his own judg- 
 ment, which occasionally led to an unconcealed 
 contempt for the trammels of such precedents as 
 he found clothed in hasty and inconsistent ex- 
 pression. 
 
 His sense of justice was as nearly perfect as hu- 
 man nature will allow. His devotion to truth was 
 absolute. He did not seem to wish a lari^^e circle 
 of friends. With the small circle who appreciated 
 him, he was frank, candid, sometimes critical, al- 
 ways affectionate. 
 
 In June, i8<-)i, he was married to Miss Edith 
 Wright, of Philadelphia, daughter of James A. 
 Wright, since deceased, a member of the long- 
 established house of Peter Wright & Sons. She 
 survives him, but he leaves no children. He was 
 fond of travel, and has visited Italy, Greece, Rus- 
 sia, England, Germany, Finland, Iceland, and the 
 East. 
 
 His manners were the unrestrained expression 
 of his feelings : genial, jocose, stately, or scornful. 
 as persons or occasion moved him. 
 
 His dress was neat, careful, and rich, without a 
 suspicion of fop or dandy in it. To friends in dis- 
 tress he was generous beyond justice to himself. 
 
 He had lately tired in a competition in which
 
 mediocrity, guided by cunning and dollar-getting 
 shrewdness, often outstrips higher qualities in the 
 matter of material rewards ; and often spoke of 
 obtaining a professorship of Roman Law, or of re- 
 tiring and living abroad, to pursue the travel and 
 the studies he so much loved. 
 
 Take him all in all, his imposing personal ap- 
 pearance, his strong but melodious voice, his great 
 mental endowments and varied acquirements, his 
 absolute devotion to truth, he was a most remark- 
 able man, one whom friends can never forget. 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Geo. H. Yeaman. 
 
 36
 
 St. I.ouis, March i8, 189s. 
 
 My dear Mrs. McCarthy: 
 
 When your letter arrived in Cambridge 1 was 
 away from home, and it was long in reaching me, 
 so that 1 first heard the sad, sad news in Chicago 
 from a lady whom 1 met there at the University. 
 1 cannot tell you how deeply 1 sympathize with 
 you in this sudden and deep affliction. Your hus- 
 band was one of my oldest friends, and after cir- 
 cumstances had so long prevented our meeting, 
 it did me good to see him in such a happy home. 
 I shall never cease to be thankful for the lovely 
 Sunday I was so fortunate as to spend at your 
 house, and the sweet renewal of old comradeship 
 for what we so little realized was the last time. 
 Truly, the day of the Lord cometh like a thief in 
 the night. 
 
 1 shall never cease to regret my old friend or to 
 treasure the recollection of our friendship. Words 
 count for little when we try to express what we 
 feel so deeply. With most profound sympathy 
 and kind regards, believe me 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 John Fiske.
 
 Providence, R. I., February 1 1, 1895. 
 
 My dear, dear Friend: 
 
 I have thought of you constantly in your great 
 sorrow ever since we received the dreadful mes- 
 sage that our dear friend was gone, and 1 have 
 been trying with little success to realize the truth 
 of it. 
 
 What 1 could say would be no comfort, I knew. 
 
 I could only try to express my sorrow and my 
 gratitude for his beautiful thoughtfulness for my 
 pleasure, and tell of a hundred things he did for 
 me, and a hundred noble traits which you know 
 so much better than I. 
 
 How precious and how full of inspiration was 
 that week when 1 could imbibe his enthusiasm 
 and earnest spirit. 
 
 I was so delighted to hear of the success of the 
 Plato class, and dreamed of your visit here, when I 
 could read the Apology with him (for 1 have just 
 read it). Mr. McCarthy gave me a new taste for 
 Greek, and I began to realize what it meant to be 
 a scholar. 
 
 38
 
 1 cannot picture him otherwise than as sitting 
 before the fire, with the dictionary before him and 
 his Plato in hand, and 1 cannot reconcile the 
 thought that he is there no more. You seemed to 
 be so ideally happy in yourselves — and he was so 
 strong and in such glorious health and spirits. 
 Who would have dreamed, to see him and papa at 
 that time, that he would be snatched away first ? 
 
 1 never knew a more thoughtful or a kinder 
 host. What delightful sleigh-rides we took, and 
 how anxious he was that I should meet the young 
 people ; that he should have so marvelous a care 
 for details and for the happiness of everybody 
 around him (even for his animals), seems to me 
 very, very generous. 
 
 It was a comfort to hear from Miss Baldwin of 
 his noble end, and how he dreamed of walking 
 with Socrates, and much else. 
 
 Your sorrowing friend, 
 
 Winifred Manatt. 
 
 39
 
 December 29, 1894. 
 
 Dear Burroughs : 
 
 I hope that you are well and are about to enter 
 on the New Year in contentment or even hopeful- 
 ness — give my warm regards to Mrs. Burroughs 
 and your son. My wife sends her affectionate 
 greetings to you all. 
 
 When will you and Mrs. Burroughs make us the 
 promised visit (you did promise, although falter- 
 ingly) ? 
 
 I wish you would do it now without delay. It 
 would be a good and delightful experience to re- 
 new in memory the life of youth, which now 
 seems to have been very happy. My heart is 
 quite fresh still ; not quite worn out, anyhow. 1 
 should esteem nothing as more delightful than to 
 meet you again. Come when you like, and unan- 
 nounced. We are always at home, and you will 
 always be welcome. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 E. D. McC. 
 
 40
 
 West Park, February i, i89'>. 
 
 My dear Madam : 
 
 The news of the death of your husband gave 
 me a shock which 1 shall not soon forget. That 
 I should have found him again after near forty 
 years, only to lose him forever after a few weeks ! 
 
 1 was planning to visit him before the winter 
 closed, and had cherished the hope that we might 
 really renew our friendship, interrupted so long 
 ago. What a pity that 1 should have put off the 
 day ! 1 cannot presume to measure your loss. I 
 know what a small one mine is in comparison, but 
 you have my deepest sympathy— still. 1 know all 
 words on such occasions are vain and idle. Your 
 husband will always be to me the fair, round- 
 faced, eloquent youth 1 knew and loved so long 
 ago. 1 should be glad to hear the particulars of 
 his last illness, and to know where the body is to 
 be laid. 1 still hope 1 shall sometime meet the 
 wife of my dear friend and again feel his hand in 
 hers. With heartfelt sympathy, 
 
 1 am most sincerely yours, 
 
 John Burroughs. 
 6 41
 
 Early Letters to John Burroughs
 
 Extracts from letters to John Burroughs. 
 
 Del. Lit. Institute, Franklin, N. Y.. 1858. 
 
 Pecuniarily 1 am somewhat better olT now than 
 ever — in other words, my affairs have brightened 
 so that 1 can remain here through the ensuing 
 term if I choose. 
 
 Of course, we are neither of us rich in coin of 
 silver or gold, and one of us does not wish to be ; 
 but we can state grievances to each other and de- 
 mand the aid of sympathy— and 't will always be 
 ready on demand, will it not, John ? 
 
 I know of no treasure in this world 1 more highly 
 prize — none that 1 should more eagerly seek after 
 than a good, sympathizing friend. 
 
 It does me good, and alleviates the pain harass- 
 ing my own soul, to tell him of my woes, and truly 
 his good advice is appreciated. 
 
 You gave me good advice in your last, and, in- 
 deed, it was appreciated ; but 1 think 't was seed 
 which has fallen among thorns. Have you ever 
 been (or are you) the victim of Passion's tyrannical 
 sway ? If so, then you know who my taskmaster 
 is, and you can appreciate the sting of his lash. 
 
 4=)
 
 Oh, Slavery, Slavery ! how numberless are its 
 victims ! Slaves to lust, slaves to ambition, slaves 
 to money, slaves to everything God has placed 
 here on earth for a blessing, but which is made to 
 answer purposes so directly opposite his interest. 
 
 I think "Slavery" would be a grand subject for 
 an oration, lecture, essay, or the like. I believe 1 
 shall try it — I can talk from experience. 
 
 But this babble undoubtedly is unpleasant to 
 you — and I must quit of it— yet when I write, I 
 write what 's on my mind, and this idea of slavery 
 (that of the mind) has been with me sometime 
 and has found expression here. Are you a slave, 
 John ? If not, happy mortal— more than mortal— 
 almost a god. Show me the man free as God and 
 nature ever intended he should be, and him will I 
 honor. He truly is a nobleman, one of royal 
 blood. 
 
 I have lately read some of Mr. Carlyle's essays 
 and like them much. Of course, his expressions 
 are odd, and the meaning of many of his sentences 
 rendered less emphatic by his peculiarities of style. 
 Yet you occasionally find passages of great beauty 
 — almost sublime. 
 
 I think for the sake of these one could endure all 
 the rest. . . . 
 
 46
 
 At Home, July 7. i8sH. 
 
 My dear John : 
 
 At last I am home — one year— O, how it has 
 fleeted, and yet what traces it has left behind. 
 
 With me it has been most eventful; and this 
 eve as I sit here alone, all alone, save with my 
 thoughts, 1 scarce can make myself believe that it 
 has gone forever. And whenever 1 am by myself 
 —thinking, whenever I dream— then 1 live it all 
 over again, and for a moment am happy. Mow, 
 fully do I realize what a sweet, sad angel is Mem- 
 ory. John, dearly do I love that pensive maiden, 
 for she always leaves upon my soul a sweet, sol- 
 emn feeling, which makes me for the time a better 
 being. 
 
 1 could almost tell you how she looks as she 
 sits by my side, or woos me to slumber. How 
 expressive those soft, yet large and lustrous black 
 eyes, and those long, silken lashes, which serve to 
 hide the tear. My angel, though she ever bring 
 the tear to my eye or the sob from my bosom, 
 yet is she never unwelcome. There is one thing 
 which proves indubitably to me that 1 am not to- 
 tally undone— my love for the past. 
 
 As long as my soul can dwell tenderly upon as- 
 sociations which were; as long as my ear will- 
 
 47
 
 ingly can catch the strain of dear old voices, never- 
 more, perhaps, to be heard again this side of eter- 
 nity; as long as my fancy can picture forms of 
 the past, so dear, God knows, that they make my 
 heart weep — so long, sir, will 1 cling tenaciously 
 to the belief that 1 am better than our demoralized 
 ones ; for from my inmost soul there will come 
 forth responsive feelings which are akin with 
 heavenly things. 
 
 And I never will curse any man because he is 
 sinful or wretched, if he yet can weep. Tears are 
 so significant. But I must leave this lugubrious 
 strain, because it may be wearisome to you, per- 
 haps, as it is sweet to me. 
 
 Wellfleet, Mass., December 2, i860. 
 
 My dear John: 
 
 Owing to the press of little matters which 
 crowded upon my attention preparatory to leav- 
 ing Cambridge for a winter's campaign on Cape 
 Cod as a school-teacher, 1 have delayed some- 
 what too long perhaps to answer your letter ; 
 now, however, that 1 have a quiet Sunday to my- 
 self, I will fill you out the desired two pages, and 
 1 trust they may be interesting. First, then, 1 will 
 
 48
 
 write of your concerns and what will be pleasant 
 for you to hear — and second, of my own and 
 what will be pleasant for me to tell. 
 
 Your article on "Expression" I find after inquirin^^ 
 pretty closely amon,^^ my friends who had read it, 
 was either considered Emerson's or a very close 
 imitation of him. Lowell, who is the Atlantic 
 editor, said that when he read it, he was so struck 
 by its resemblance to our great author that he re- 
 ferred to some of Emerson's earlier efforts to see 
 whether it was not copied verbatim. Otherwise, 
 he said he was well pleased with it. . . . He 
 had just that evening received your article on 
 "Analogy." 
 
 If this is open to the same objection as the other, 
 inasmuch as it is the second effort of the same au- 
 thor, he may decide against you. However, 1 can 
 say with truth that your article did you great 
 credit. For a young man of limited advantages 
 such as yours have been, and surrounded by no 
 strong inducements to exertion such as compan- 
 ions somewhere near your level, you have shown 
 energy and perseverance which promise high 
 things. 1 scarcely read your article once ; had it 
 not been yours 1 should not have looked at it. I 
 dislike the subject— dislike anything of that sort ; 
 7 49
 
 but yet I was pleased with your easy way of treat- 
 ing it. A little too much comparison perhaps, too 
 much imagery in the style, but, on the whole, 
 good. 1 got young Holmes to read it : his opinion, 
 of course, would be the same as his father's, viz., 
 that it was too close an imitation. 1 have dwelt 
 thus long on this point in order that you can see 
 the drift of opinion. While 1 think this very fact 
 creditable to you— that you could imitate Emer- 
 son so well — still, I believe no author can become 
 original, no author can become respectable, till he 
 has avoided any such marked style as Carlyle's or 
 Emerson's, unless his thought is as good or better 
 than theirs. Get out of it — and when you write 
 again for the Atlantic, don't take such a subject 
 as ''Expression" or ''Analogy," which tire the 
 reader and the editor, but review some smart, 
 lively author, write some pleasant story or some 
 historic biographical recollections ''of my own 
 times," for such will help your style by making it 
 more natural, and will be more acceptable to the 
 magnates of the Atlantic. That was a nice little 
 bit of verse you had in the Press : I read it with 
 pleasure. You are becoming quite an author, John. 
 Now about Emerson. Well, I had often heard 
 him in the Music Hall (which was once Parker's 
 
 50
 
 church), read his essays, and I liked them very 
 much and liked him much more. One day after 
 service 1 went up and spoke with him ; he was 
 very kind and courteous. I always wanted to 
 visit him, so one tine September afternoon I hired 
 a gig and drove up to Concord. Emerson lives in 
 a plain, square house in the outskirts, surrounded 
 by pine-trees, with a large yard. The exterior of 
 the house denotes comfort and wealth — the inte- 
 rior refinement, perhaps even luxury. . . Emerson 
 had that day been entertaining Whittier, and now 
 in the evening, when I arrived, he had accompanied 
 him to the cars. I was shown into the sitting- 
 room to await his return and had leisure to admire 
 the paintings and drawings, the books, the furni- 
 ture, indeed the whole equipment of the room. 
 
 1 felt uneasy, very uneasy, even to sickness, for 
 1 thought I had been presumptuous, but when the 
 kind old fellow came in, homely and hearty and 
 good, and came up with extended hand, you may 
 know that my hesitation vanished in a moment, 
 sickness and all, and 1 sat down feeling that I was 
 about to talk with a friend. 
 
 1 observed that though he was sy, he did not 
 seem to be older than 45, that he was tall, slim, 
 bony and wiry, with a lazy, gray, love-looking 
 
 ^1
 
 eye, and a nose much larger than common, and 
 a mouth likewise large, but with tight lips. He 
 asked me to supper and made me acquainted with 
 his family. ... We sat at the table talking till 
 toward ten, when 1 took my leave with no com- 
 mon feelings. 
 
 He shook hands at parting and wished me to 
 visit him again, which 1 surely shall, before I gradu- 
 ate. Emerson talks very much as he writes— 
 lovingly and hopefully of all things. He liked 
 Plutarch, he liked Buckle, he liked Johnson, he 
 liked Gibbon ; he advised me to read Taylor's 
 translations of the Greek classics : he made use of 
 some figures of speech and some thoughts which 
 I had seen in his books. 1 wish you could see 
 him ; with your high opinion of him now, you 
 would then almost worship him. He showed me 
 Carlyle's portrait and told me much about him 
 which was new. 
 
 As to Holmes, 1 can say little. He is a smart, 
 witty man, but in no sense great, 1 take it. He 
 lives in some style on Charles Street. ... He is 
 thoroughly Bostonian, and that one word conveys 
 a good deal of meaning. His son, O. W., Jr., is my 
 junior by a year or two, but my senior in college. 
 I have become quite well acquainted with him and 
 
 =}2
 
 consider him one of our most promising young 
 men, and that is saying little enough, sir ! ... 1 
 think he promises fair to equal his "Dad" — at 
 least he has encouragement enough. He wrote 
 the last "Harvard Essay"; his subject was "Plato." 
 It was a poor subject for him, or any young man. 
 I am to write the next one. They appear in the 
 University Qjurterly, which you may have heard 
 of. The next number appears next month. My 
 subject is "Scottish Song-Writing." 1 have writ- 
 ten it, but was obliged to leave it in a half-finished 
 state, owing to the hurry of my departure. It is 
 quite well written comparatively, though abso- 
 lutely it was poor. 1 was not enough in love 
 with my subject, so that what 1 wrote was under 
 protest ; painful is such stuff both to reader and 
 writer ; and yet it is just what we are treated to 
 from all our boy magazines. I wrote a few pages 
 for the last Harvard MagaiiJie, on Whittier's 
 "Home Ballads," and one for the October on 
 "Charlotte Bronte, novelist." Do not turn up your 
 nose at such subjects. They are the best, after 
 all. 1 am going to do my best in an essay on 
 " Buckle" as soon as his new volume appears. . . . 
 Well, 1 am on Cape Cod. Get a map right off 
 and look after Wellfleet, and then pray God that 
 
 53
 
 I may not get swept away this winter, body and 
 soul, by the ''roaring billow" — for you see 1 am 
 on a strip of sand not above two miles wide, right 
 in the midst of the waters. 
 
 On one side the vast Atlantic, tossing and heav- 
 ing continually these winter months, and on the 
 other, Cape Cod Bay. 
 
 This peninsula is a mere heap of sand which has 
 settled or rather sprung from the ocean wave 
 within the last few thousand years. There is not 
 a decent tree within twenty miles of me, nor a 
 wilted blade of grass ; there is nothing, sir, but 
 sand — sand in heaps and sand on the level. I 
 came here by water 75 or 80 miles from Boston, 
 and by good luck had a quick sea voyage. 
 
 1 mean to do better by myself here this winter 
 than I could have done in Cambridge, for I shall 
 be by myself. 1 have brought books — principally 
 history — such as Gibbon and Buckle, and also 
 Montaigne and Carlyle's Sartor (my Bible), and 
 so on. 
 
 1 have a beautiful edition of Gibbon and also of 
 Montaigne. 1 am going to buy White's Shak- 
 speare. This is a beautiful afternoon. The sun- 
 light is shining on the bay, making it look like a 
 sea of silver. Everything looks romantic. 
 
 54
 
 1 was twenty-one a week ago. 1 have not quite 
 written two pages, John, but it will do. No more 
 love for me. I am bound to be a stranger in the 
 world. 1 tried once and failed, and that's enough. 
 Give my love to Mrs. John and tell her that the 
 wish to do me a kindness is even more pleasant, 
 and far less embarrassing, than would be the deed 
 itself. 
 
 Goodbye. 
 
 55
 
 Harvard University 
 Class of 1 862
 
 Class Picture.
 
 Harvard University 
 Class of 1862 
 
 Arthur Amory. 
 Murray R. Ballou. 
 Rev. L. G. Barrett. 
 Rev. Ithamar W. Beard. 
 Rev. J. Vila Blake. 
 Chas. Boyden. 
 S. H. Brackett. 
 Wm. T. Brigham. 
 Rev. Ciark Carter. 
 W. H. Chadbourn. 
 T. C. Chadbourne. 
 James G. Cole. 
 C. J. Coleman. 
 Dr. T. B. Curtis. 
 Ben. Major Davenport. 
 Prof. John H. Dillingham. 
 Chas. T. Dwight. 
 A. W. Edmands. 
 Rev. H. W. Fay. 
 Geo. A. Fiske. 
 
 Prof. E. D. Lindsey. 
 J. M. Loring. 
 
 E. D. McCarthy. 
 Herbert C. Mason. 
 H. Mathes. 
 
 B. C. Mifflin. 
 
 Dr. A. H. Nichols. 
 
 Chas. H. Noyes. 
 
 F. C. Nye. 
 Gilbert R. Payson. 
 R. S. Peabody. 
 
 Dr. Charles B. Porter. 
 N. A. Prentiss. 
 Geo. E. Priest. 
 Edwd. D. Pritchard. 
 Dr. H. P. Quincy. 
 John Read. 
 Arthur Reed. 
 Joseph S. Reed. 
 F. W. Rogers. 
 
 59
 
 Dr. Samuel E. Fitz. 
 Geo. A. Fletcher. 
 Dr. Chas. F. Folsom. 
 S. D. Gilbert. 
 Dr. F. W. Goss. 
 James Green. 
 Prof. Chas. E, Greene. 
 Chas. E. Grinnell. 
 Mayo W. Hazeltine. 
 Wm. Hedge. 
 Rev. F. L. Hosmer. 
 John E. Hudson. 
 F. W. Huidekoper. 
 H. S. Huidekoper. 
 Henry U. Jeffries. 
 D. W. Keegan. 
 Dr. Chas. P. Kemp. 
 Dr. J. H. Kidder. 
 Rev. E. A. Lecompte. 
 
 H. M. Rogers. 
 Chas. S. Sargent. 
 Edv^d. B. Sawtell. 
 Arthur Sibley. 
 Francis Skinner. 
 C. C. Soule. 
 James H. Stearns. 
 Chas. B. Stoddard. 
 Dr. Geo. G. Tarbell. 
 B. H. Ticknor. 
 F. W. Tilton. 
 Rev. j. N. Trask. 
 John H. Treat. 
 Edwd. M. Tucke. 
 J. L. Ward. 
 Chas. P. Ware. 
 W. T. Washburn. 
 John E. Whiting. 
 W. G. Wilson. 
 
 60
 
 Travels Abroad
 
 E. D. M. in Rome, 1888 
 
 Well— as to what 1 have seen, only one word: 
 it is Mult urn, non Mult a. 
 
 Picturesque Rome of the Popes is disappearing— 
 you must come soon or you will never see it ; the 
 Modern Italian is almost as destructive as was the 
 Barbarian. His new city is growing with all the 
 rapidity and ugliness of a Chicago or a Duluth. 
 
 He sweeps away majestic ruins to erect in their 
 place a block of thin, square four-story houses, 
 plastered over with stucco. They will totter in 
 five years and become a dust-pile in ten, but he 
 goes on. The time is coming when I fear modern 
 improvements will usurp every venerable site. 
 
 The Palatine is not safe. The old church of 
 '*Ara Coeli" is about to be torn down to make 
 way for a statue of " Vittore Emmanuelo's." Ebcu 
 Roma ! 
 
 Looking down upon Rome as I did the other 
 evening from the Janiculum, she looked to me old 
 and dingy: her color was very somber— that of
 
 age and many conflicts — medieval Rome was a 
 good companion to the ancient. . . The Tiber rolls 
 on, ever a swift, angry, tawny-colored current. 
 
 He is about as wide here as the Passaic at Pat- 
 erson, but very much deeper. He is navigable 
 only by small boats ; his banks are mud and clay, 
 here and there thick with coarse, stalwart reeds — 
 a neglected river ; his past glorious history almost 
 as if forgotten, given over to vile uses. But he 
 cannot be harmed ; he will probably be seen here, 
 and felt too, long after Vittore Emmanuelo's new 
 statue has been buried deep in the rubbish of 
 centuries. 
 
 I am in perfect health — never better. Rome has 
 been hot, glaringly hot, but salubrious — far more 
 so than New-York or Philadelphia. There are 
 many reasons why Rome is healthy : it has the 
 best supply of water in the world and it always 
 had : the best supply of the best water, it is refresh- 
 ing to drink it even when you are not thirsty. 
 
 At every corner, on every street almost, there 
 are fountains, beautiful, health-giving, joyful foun- 
 tains. (There is not one in New-York.) 
 
 There are stone troughs for beast and marble 
 spouts for men, everywhere. . . 
 
 1 have been ''doing" all the time but very 
 
 64
 
 slowly — to-day is my 6th or yth visit to the Vati- 
 can gallery of sculpture ; some three hours every 
 day. I am simply overwhelmed. These beautiful 
 forms which transcend my former imagination are 
 before me — I know not what to say. 
 
 In fact, there is too much to see. If 1 could have 
 one piece before me at one time and exclude all 
 the others it would be better — now I am bewil- 
 dered. To-day I saw a beautiful Danaid — (con- 
 sult Marian and Horace). 
 
 Oh ! how lovely she was : holding despairingly 
 and helplessly the sieve through which forever is 
 running the waters of Lethe. O ! how beautiful, 
 how sad — shall I ever forget it ! 
 
 But then a few moments afterwards I stood be- 
 fore the Apollo! 
 
 The other day, while driving through a narrow 
 street, I saw this inscription on the side wall of a 
 humble house : 
 
 '' Parva domm, magna qut'es" — (consult Marian 
 again, you will see how fine it is). If I pass into 
 the land of darkness before you do, see that these 
 words be my only epitaph — will you ? . . . I am 
 quite calm and contented. 
 
 65
 
 E. D. M. in Konigsberg 
 
 Extracts from Notes, 1890 
 
 Kant's features were quite remarkable for the 
 absence of any striking intellectual traits. His 
 head was small, his face almost feminine in its 
 delicacy. 
 
 Just above the ears the diameter of his skull 
 was rather large, but his forehead was small. His 
 brows did not project, and I suspect that he had no 
 hair anywhere on his face — not even on his brows. 
 His eyes were full, but not striking, yet they were 
 calm and free from passion. His nose was straight, 
 but without character, growing slightly larger and 
 broadening towards the mouth. 
 
 His mouth was large, and his lips full and 
 thick, betraying lingering animal desires. 
 
 The chin was small and delicate. His face was 
 so spare that he had no cheeks to be described. 
 On the whole, his head was round and full and 
 small. Had 1 not known whose face it stood for, 
 1 should have said that the original was fearless in 
 
 66
 
 theory and timid in practice. This is just what 
 Kant was ; and Schopenhauer's much-discussed 
 criticism or censure of Kant's " retreat" is consid- 
 erably enforced by a study of his features. 
 
 The face is of one who is anxious to know the 
 truth, and will love it ; but who would gladly lay 
 down the weapons of material warfare if truth 
 should require champions. 
 
 His eyes rest upon a wall opposite upon which, 
 fitly enough, have been written words quoted from 
 his "Practical Religion," 
 
 " Der bestirnte Himmel fiber mir, 
 Das moralische Gesetz in mir." 
 
 He seems to be reading and ever reading the 
 beautiful sentiment, and pursuing with never-tiring 
 zeal the study of its profound meaning. 
 
 67
 
 Fragment from Rural Attica* 
 
 By Irving J. Manatt, Ph. D., LL. D. 
 
 /K A Decoration Day at Marathon. 
 
 " Mil-ti-adh'-e ! " 
 
 Only an old woman calling a ragged boy from 
 his play by the wine-press. The Harvard-bred 
 lawyer and the old Professor of American Greek 
 went on with their chat ; it was the little maid 
 with a few months of high-school Greek and three 
 weeks of Athens who involuntarily echoed : 
 
 "Miltiades!" 
 
 Responsive youth had thrilled to the genus loci; 
 for we were taking our midday lunch under an 
 umbrageous willow but a stone's throw from the 
 Mound of Marathon. 
 
 There was small cause for surprise at meeting 
 Miltiades there in broad day ; our old second-cen- 
 tury Baedeker, the pious Pausanias, had prepared 
 us for more than that— even to hear the neighing 
 
 * Recalling an excursion of E. D. McCarthy and Irving J. Manatt, 
 September, 1890. 
 
 68
 
 of steeds and the clash of combatants on that field 
 any fine night, if so be we did not vex the gods by 
 going there on purpose. And here we were on 
 the very anniversary of the day that saw ''the 
 flying Mede" and saved the civilization of Europe. 
 Verily, on such a Decoration Day Miltiades might 
 well revisit Marathon. And, supposing his pene- 
 tration were not dulled by the two thousand three 
 hundred and eighty intervening years, he could 
 hardly desire a completer demonstration that his 
 sword had hewn the world into shape than was 
 the young girl herself, who had brought from the 
 heart of the fabled Atlantis a culture and sympa- 
 thy to thrill at the broken utterance of his name. 
 
 However it may have been in 490 b. c, the 12th 
 of September* was a perfect day in the year of 
 grace 1890. 
 
 At my visit in June, the plain was a sea of yel- 
 low gold, and the peasants were gathering the 
 harvest. To-day found the shining wheat-fields 
 turned to brown reaches of stubble ; but for com- 
 pensation the vineyards were purpling to the vin- 
 tage, and the ripe figs were bursting in the sun. 
 The gnarled olives were loaded with their slow- 
 maturing fruit, and peach and pomegranate and 
 
 * So Boeckh and Curtius date the battle.
 
 almond and wild pear each added its own bit of 
 beauty and utility to the varied scene. 
 
 The early rains had just given Attica a thorough 
 dusting, and refreshed every discouraged bit of 
 verdure that had survived the August heats. And 
 so our morning drive from Athens between Pen- 
 telicus and Hymettus, through the lovely Midland 
 and along the Euboean Gulf, was a bit of " linked 
 sweetness long drawn out," twenty-two miles of 
 it. It was a fit overture to the mighty memories 
 of Marathon which were to flood our souls that 
 day. 
 
 70
 
 Favorite Passages 
 
 Note. These selections, among many others, vividly recall his impressive 
 manner of reading aloud, and also his custom of weighing each word and 
 phrase until the beauty of thought and form was thoroughly sifted.
 
 DalTodils 
 
 I wandered lonely as a cloud 
 
 That tloats on high o'er vales and hills, 
 When all at once 1 saw a crowd,— 
 
 A host of golden daffodils 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the Milky Way, 
 
 They stretched in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of a bay : 
 
 Ten thousand saw 1, at a glance, 
 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced, but they 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; 
 
 A poet could not but be gay 
 In such a jocund company ; 
 
 1 gazed— and gazed— but little thought 
 
 What wealth the show to me had brought. 
 
 For oft, when on my couch 1 lie. 
 In vacant or in pensive mood, 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
 And then my heart with pleasure tills, 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 73
 
 Lehrbrief 
 
 '' Die Kiinst ist lang, das Leben kurz, das Ur- 
 theil schwierig, die Gelegenheit fliichtig. Handeln 
 ist leicht, denken schwer ; nach dem Gedachten 
 handeln unbequem. Aller Anfang ist heiter, die 
 Schwelle ist der Platz der Erwartung. Der Knabe 
 staunt, der Eindruck bestimmt ihn ; er lernt spie- 
 lend, der Ernst iiberrascht ihn. Die Nachahmung 
 ist Lins angeboren, das Nachzuahmende wird nicht 
 leicht erkannt. Selten wird das Treffliche gefun- 
 den, seltener geschatzt. Die Hohe reizt uns, nicht 
 die Stiifen ; den Gipfel im Auge, wandeln wir 
 gerne auf der Ebene. Nur ein Theil der Kunst 
 kann gelehrt werden, der Kiinstler braucht sie 
 ganz. Wer sie halb kennt, ist immer irre und 
 redet viel ; wer sie ganz besitzt, mag nurthun und 
 redet selten oder spat. Jene haben keine Geheim- 
 nisse und keine Kraft, ihre Lehre ist wie geback- 
 nes Brod, schmackhaft und sattigend fur einen 
 Tag ; aber Mehl kann man nicht siien, und die 
 Saatfriichte sollen nicht vermahlen werden. Die 
 
 74
 
 Worte sind gut, sie sind aber nicht das Beste. 
 Das Beste wird nicht deutlich durch Worte. Der 
 Geist, aus dem wir handeln, ist das Hochste. Die 
 Handlung wird nur vom Geiste Lx^grilTen Liiid 
 wieder dargestellt. Niemand weiss was er tiuit 
 wenn er recht handelt ; aber des Unrechten sind 
 wir Lins immer bewusst. Wer bloss mit Zeichen 
 wirkt, ist ein Pedant, ein Heuchler, oder ein 
 Pfuscher. Es sind ihrer viel, und es wird ihnen 
 wohl zLisammen. Ihr Geschwiitz halt den Schuler 
 ZLiriick, und ihre beharrliche Mittelmassigkeit iing- 
 stigt die Besten. Des echten Kilnstler's Lehre 
 schliesst den Sinn auf ; denn wo die Worte fehlen, 
 spricht die That. Der echte Schiller lernt aus dem 
 Bekannten das Unbekannte entwickeln und nii- 
 hert sich dem Meister." 
 
 IVilhelm Meister, Book VII. chap. ix. 
 
 75
 
 Close of the Apology of Socrates 
 
 And now let us reason in this way, and we 
 shall see what great hope there is that death is 
 a good. For death must be one of two things : 
 either he who is dead becomes as naught, and 
 has no consciousness of anything ; or else, as men 
 say, there is a certain change and a removal of the 
 soul from this place to some other. Now if there 
 be no consciousness, and death be like a sleep in 
 which the sleeper has no dreams, then were it a 
 wonderful gain indeed. For 1 think that if any 
 one were called upon to single out that night in 
 which he had slept so soundly as to have had no 
 dreams at all, and, setting against it all the other 
 nights and days of his life, to declare, after due 
 thought, how many had been better and sweeter 
 than that one, — I think, I say, that even the great 
 
 Note. The translation given here is from an edition by Prof. Goodwin. 
 At the Plato class meeting, January 19, already alluded to, Mr. McCarthy gave 
 his ov/n free translation without notes; in spite of feeling ill at the time, 
 his rendering was easy, spirited, and forcible ; and the solemn farewell of the 
 closing lines seems a fitting message to all who knew him. 
 
 76
 
 Cast, January 30, 189^.
 
 King himself, not to speak of any private person, 
 would find these so few in number that they 
 might easily be counted in comparison with all 
 the other days and nights of his life. If death, 
 therefore, be such as this, 1 call it a gain ; for all 
 eternity, indeed, would thus appear no longer than 
 a single night. But if, on the other hand, death 
 be a transition to another place, and if it be true, 
 as has been said, that all who have died are there, 
 what, O judges, could be a greater good than 
 this ? For if a man, being set free from those who 
 call themselves judges here, is to find, on arriving 
 in Hades, those true judges who are said to ad- 
 minister judgment in the unseen world, — Minos 
 and Rhadamanthus and y^acus and Triptolemus, 
 and those other demigods who were just in this 
 life, — will his transition thither be for the worse ? 
 What would not any one of you give to con- 
 verse with Orpheus and Musasus and Hesiod and 
 Homer ? 1, at least, would gladly die many times, 
 if this be true ; for to my thinking that state of 
 being would be wonderful indeed, if in it 1 might 
 have the chance of meeting with Palamedes and 
 Ajax, the son of Telamon, and other heroes of the 
 olden time who died through unrighteous judg- 
 ment. To compare my own suffering with theirs 
 
 77
 
 were, methinks, no unpleasing task ; but best of 
 all would it be to examine and question there, as 
 I have done here, and discover who is really wise, 
 and who thinks himself so but is not. What, O 
 judges, would a man not give to question him 
 who led the great army against Troy, or Ulysses 
 or Sisyphus or the thousand others, both men and 
 women, whom one might mention ? To dwell 
 and converse with them and to question them 
 would indeed be happiness unspeakable ! For as- 
 suredly, in that world, at all events they do not 
 put you to death for doing this ; and not only in 
 other things are they far happier than we here be- 
 low, but, if what is said be true, they are there 
 immortal for the rest of time. 
 
 But you too, O judges, it behooves to be of 
 good hope about death, and to believe that this 
 at least is true, — there can no evil befall a good 
 man, whether he be alive or dead, nor are his af- 
 fairs uncared for by the gods. Neither has this 
 thing happened to me by chance, for I am per- 
 suaded that to die now and be released from 
 worldly affairs is best for me, and that this is why 
 the sign did not turn me back. Wherefore I bear 
 no malice at all against my accusers or against 
 those who have condemned me ; but as it was 
 
 78
 
 not with this idea, but rather with the intent to 
 do me injury, that they accused and voted against 
 me, it is right that they should be blamed. This 
 favor nevertheless 1 ask of them : When my sons 
 are grown up, avenge yourselves, fellow-citizens, 
 upon them, by tormenting them just as I have tor- 
 mented you, if they appear to care for riches or 
 for anything else above virtue ; and if they pre- 
 tend to be something when they are really noth- 
 ing, then reproach them, as I have reproached you, 
 with not caring for what they ought, and with 
 thinking themselves to be something when they 
 are worth nothing at all. If you do this, I shall 
 have received justice at your hands, — 1, as well 
 as my sons. But now it is time for us to go away, 
 I to die, you to live. Which of us is going to the 
 better fate is unknown to all save God. 
 
 79
 
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