IREN^EUS LETTERS 
 
 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED 
 
 IN THE 
 
 NEW YORK OBSERVER. 
 
 THE NEW YORK OBSERVER. 
 
 1881.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1880, BY 
 NEW YORK OBSERVER. 
 
 Prest of 
 
 8. W. Gunn'g Sow, 
 
 14 Beckman Street, 
 
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 r? 
 1881 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE, 
 
 BY THE EDITORS OF THE NEW YORK OBSERVER. 
 
 IN the year 1837 the signature of IREN^EUS first appeared 
 on the pages of the New York Observer. The writer was 
 then a pastor in the Highlands of the Hudson. In the 
 month of April, 1840, he became one of its editors, and has 
 been writing in it, with brief intervals, every week for more 
 than forty years. He has established such relations with his 
 readers that he has come to regard them as personal friends, 
 and he has received abundant assurance that this feeling is 
 reciprocated. 
 
 Requests, many and earnest, have been made by our sub 
 scribers for the collection of these letters into a volume. 
 
 "Travels in Europe and the East," "Switzerland," "The 
 Alhambra and the Kremlin," " Under the Trees " and " Walk 
 ing with God," are the names of books originally published 
 as " Irenaeus Letters " in this paper. But this volume con 
 tains a selection of more familiar, household letters, such as 
 have been specially mentioned by our readers as giving them 
 pleasure, and it is now published in compliance with their 
 repeated requests to have this in this permanent form. 
 
 IT-;
 
 
 / 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 Adams, Dr., Intercourse with 389 
 
 Agatha and her Dish 300 
 
 Among the Icebergs 131 
 
 Amphitheatres and Theatres 230 
 
 Anna Dickinson on Theatres 340 
 
 Apostle in Rome 295 
 
 Arguing with a Poker and a Hammer 336 
 
 Babes in the Woods 113 
 
 Bear in Boston 52 
 
 Beggar, An Interesting 134 
 
 Beggars' Church and the Beggars of Italy 288 
 
 Bryant, William Cullen 160 
 
 Calling Bad Names 25 
 
 Castle of Unspunnen 190 
 
 Cemetery beneath a Cemetery 238 
 
 Chester Cathedral Service 178 
 
 Childhood of Christ 6 
 
 Children and the Church 79 
 
 Choosing a Minister's Wife 16 
 
 Church and a Picture 225 
 
 Church and Cloisters of St. Mark 263 
 
 Convent on the Sea 235 
 
 Country Pastor's Sermon 46 
 
 Cowper and Ray Palmer 137 
 
 Cox, The late Dr. S. H 394 
 
 Doremus, Mrs 49 
 
 Doughnation Party 98 
 
 Dream of the Year 62 
 
 Dresden Pictures . 202
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Eternal City, Why? 276 
 
 Evil Eye 105 
 
 Fife and the Violin 311 
 
 Fine Old English Gentleman 207 
 
 Gamblers at Monaco 329 
 
 Going to a Glacier 193 
 
 Going to Rome 272 
 
 Great Exaggerator 153 
 
 Green Vaults 197 
 
 Habits, especially Bad Habits 102 
 
 Henry and Hildebrand 123 
 
 His Grandfather's Barn 22 
 
 Hold up your Head 127 
 
 It's his Way 55 
 
 Jews' Quarter in Rome 291 
 
 Lance of St. Maurice 215 
 
 Lesson from a Sick-room 150 
 
 Long-winded Speakers. ... 120 
 
 Made without a Maker 333 
 
 Manners in Church. 116 
 
 Man who had to wait for a Seat in Church 326 
 
 Meanest Woman in New York 381 
 
 Milk and Water 370 
 
 Ministers' Pay in Old Times ., 87 
 
 Ministers' Sons 359 
 
 Minister who was hung 362 
 
 Miseries of being reported in the Newspapers 308 
 
 Model Minister 109 
 
 Monastery and Convent 186 
 
 Morning Adventure in Rome 280 
 
 Muhlenberg, The Good Dr 385 
 
 Murray, Dr. : Bishop Hughes 90 
 
 Music Composer Spoiled 9 
 
 My first Sight of Niagara 314 
 
 My Vine: my poor Vine! 374 
 
 Name above Every Name 141 
 
 New England Homes and Graves 30 
 
 O Thou of Little Faith 167 
 
 Qur Friends in Heaven 344
 
 CONTENTS. 7 
 
 PACK 
 
 Our Windows in Florence 243 
 
 Pastor and Friend 59 
 
 Pleasant Recollections 13 
 
 Sabbath among the Hills 69 
 
 Sabbath in Cambridge, England 181 
 
 San Miniato and Vallombrosa 249 
 
 Santa Croce and the Inquisition in Florence 255 
 
 Service of Song 73 
 
 Shakers of Canterbury 82 
 
 Spring's Prediction, Dr 66 
 
 Story and the Church of St. Cecilia. 284 
 
 Studies in Torture Rooms 211 
 
 Summer Board and Summer Boarders 40 
 
 Sunday Evening Supper 304 
 
 Taxing a Child's Brain 36 
 
 Ten Days on the Ship 173 
 
 That Dreadful Boy i 
 
 Through the Tyrol 220 
 
 Torturing the Little Ones 366 
 
 Two Hours in Court 94 
 
 Two Pictures: Ideal, but Real 170 
 
 Warriors on War 164 
 
 Week in the White House 145 
 
 When it Rains, let it Rain 157 
 
 When not to Laugh 348 
 
 White and Yellow Meeting-Houses 377 
 
 White Mountain Notch 321 
 
 With a Pirate in his Cell 351 
 
 Woman's View of Crime 355
 
 IREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 THAT DREADFUL BOY. 
 
 HE was going from Boston to Old Orchard with his 
 mother. I was sorry to be in the same car with them. His 
 mother seemed to exist only to be worried by this uneasy, 
 distressing boy. He had only one fault he was perfectly 
 insufferable. 
 
 If I say he was "an unlicked cub" I shall offend your ears. 
 Lick is an old English word that means either to lap or to 
 strike. Shakespeare uses rinlicked as applied to the cub of a 
 bear ; there was a notion that the whelp was at first a form 
 less thing that had to be " licked into shape" by the mother's 
 tongue. So it came to pass that the vulgar expression, "an 
 unlicked cub," was fittingly applied to a boy whose mother 
 never gave him the culture essential to make him present 
 able, or even tolerable, in the society of well-behaved people. 
 The two meanings of the word are not very diverse. 
 
 This boy had never been licked into shape. He needed 
 licking. I use the word in its two senses. And the use, if 
 not elegant, is intelligible and expressive, perhaps graphic 
 also. The mother besought him to be still for a moment, but 
 the moment of stillness never came. He wanted something 
 to eat, got it; to drink, and he kept a steady trot through the 
 car ; the anxious mother prayed him not to go to the plat 
 form, not to put his head out of the window, not to climb 
 over the seats ; all in vain. She might as well have en 
 treated the engine. 
 
 In travelling, one is often haunted by people from whom 
 he tries to fly. He meets them at the galleries or the dinner-
 
 2 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 table. The dreadful boy and his mother were in the parlor 
 of the seaside hotel where I had engaged my lodgings. In 
 half a day this dreadful boy was the pest and nuisance of the 
 piazza, the parlors and the halls. His intellectual mother, 
 coddling and coaxing him, sought to win him into the ways 
 of decency and peace, but he rejoiced in showing he was not 
 tied to his mother. The more she reasoned the more he 
 rioted in his liberty. 
 
 " I would drown the little plague if I could catch him in 
 the water," said a crusty savage from New York City ; " the 
 ill-mannered cur minds nobody and fears nobody." 
 
 One evening we were seated in the parlor, in little groups, 
 conversing. Into the room rushed the dreadful boy pursued 
 by another whom he had hit, and both were screaming in 
 play at the top of their voices. As he was passing me I 
 seized him by the arm with a grip that meant business, and 
 said : " Here, my boy, we have stood this thing long enough : 
 it has come to an end." An awful silence filled the room ; 
 his mother, frightened, sat pale, and not far away, while I 
 held the culprit and pursued the lecture " If you do not 
 know how to behave in company, let me tell you the parlor 
 is no place for such romps as we have suffered from you ; go 
 out of doors and stay out for such games, and when you 
 come in here, sit down and be quiet." He wriggled to get 
 away, but I led him to the door and left him on the outside. 
 
 As I had not been introduced to his mother, I was not sup 
 posed to know whose boy it was, and therefore made no 
 apologies for this summary discipline of somebody else's child. 
 
 The next day I was sitting on the beach under a sun um 
 brella, when a party of ladies and the dreadful boy hove in 
 sight, and sought seats near me. I offered my seat to the 
 mother, but she found one at hand, thanked me, and said : 
 
 " I am under great obligation to you, sir, for taking my 
 boy in hand last evening." 
 
 " It is rather in my place," I made answer, " to apologize 
 for laying hands on the child of another: but I saw he 
 was regardless of authority, and thought to give him a 
 lesson."
 
 THAT DREADFUL BOY. 3 
 
 "Thanks: but I would like to tell you of him: he is a 
 dear child, an only child, and his father, often and long away 
 from home on business, has left his education and care to 
 me entirely. I have the impression that the strongest of all 
 influences is love, and that none is so strong as a mother's 
 love : I never speak to him but in tones and words of affec 
 tion: I never deny him any indulgence he asks: I let him 
 have his own way and never punish him, lest he should 
 be offended with me. I wish that he may not have any 
 thoughts of his mother but those of kindness, gentleness and 
 love. Your sudden and decided measure last night startled 
 me, but its effect on the child was remarkable. He has not 
 yet recovered, and this morning he spoke to me of it, as if a 
 new sensation had been awakened. Will you tell me frankly 
 what your opinion is of the probable result of the system 
 which I am pursuing?" 
 
 " It is not becoming in a stranger," I said, " to speak plainly 
 in regard to the domestic management of another, and I hope 
 you will excuse me from expressing an opinion which it 
 would not be pleasant for you to hear." 
 
 " But I want to hear it ; the good of my child is the dear 
 est object in this world : I have nothing else to live for, but 
 it seems to me that the more I love him the less he cares for 
 me or my wishes, the more unruly and troublesome he be 
 comes. Your decided dealing with him has frightened me 
 in regard to my course of training." 
 
 " Rather you should say your ' want of training him.' You 
 do not read correctly the words of the wise man, ' Train up a 
 child,' etc. You are letting him grow up without training, 
 and my fear is that he will be hung " 
 
 "Hung! hung! what do you mean ?" 
 
 " Only this, that you are allowing him now to be a lawless, 
 selfish, domineering, disagreeable boy: he has his own way 
 always : he tramples on your wishes now, and will tread on 
 your heart soon and love to do it : such boys are bad at 
 home and worse out of doors : growing up ungoverned, he 
 will defy authority, be hated by his companions, get into 
 trouble, become turbulent, riotous, perhaps an outlaw, and
 
 4 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 will come to some bad end, I fear a rope's end. This plain 
 talk offends you, I perceive." 
 
 " No, it does not : I am thinking, but I am not offended. I 
 asked your candid opinion and have received it, and it has 
 made me anxious lest I have already done an irreparable 
 injury to the dear child. Do you believe in the corporal 
 punishment of children ?" 
 
 " It is sometimes a duty. You may restrain the wayward 
 ness of some children without actually whipping them, and if 
 you can, by all means do so. But the first duty of a child is to 
 obey its parents. Your boy never obeyed you since he was 
 born !" 
 
 " True, very true : he has always had his own way." 
 
 " Yes, and is therefore never happy : he would cry for the 
 moon, and fret because he cannot have it. He is no comfort 
 to you, and is a torment to all about him. If you would 
 make him happy, you will make him mind : and especially to 
 obey his mother. I do not believe that you will succeed." 
 
 " Pray, why not, sir ?" 
 
 " Because, madam, you have ' views ' that are opposed to 
 these. You believe only in moral suasion, in the largest lib 
 erty, and you cannot break away from your opinions and 
 surroundings and persistently, steadily and faithfully pursue 
 a new line of life with that boy." 
 
 " But I will try." 
 
 " God help you, madam, and you will need his help, for you 
 have a long struggle before you. But the prize is worth it, 
 and I wish you success with all my heart. Your child will 
 love you ten times more if you teach him to respect you : he 
 will not love you while you let him defy and despise your 
 authority as he does now. Soon he will love you, and love 
 to obey you, and then he is saved. Solomon was a wise man, 
 and spoke divine wisdom when he said, ' He that spareth 
 the rod hateth his son, but he that loveth him chasteneth 
 him betimes.' " 
 
 The madam had a smile of contempt on her face, and said, 
 " I don't think much of Solomon." 
 
 " Probably not," I replied. " Did you ever read the Apoc-
 
 THAT DREADFUL BOY. 5 
 
 rypha ? Those Oriental writings are not inspired, so you need 
 not be afraid of them" she laughed "and I will give you 
 the sage advice of the Son of Sirach: 'Indulge thy child 
 and he shall make thee afraid : humor him and he will bring 
 thee to heaviness. Bow down his neck while he is young, 
 and beat him on the sides while he is a child, lest he wax 
 stubborn and be disobedient unto thee, and so bring sorrow 
 upon thy heart.' Which means teach him to obey, or he will 
 govern you and break your heart." 
 
 The mother was silent a moment, and then spoke with 
 quivering lips : " Did you ever read Patmore's lines, ' My 
 Little Son ' ? No ? Well, I will say them, for they are on my 
 heart : 
 
 ' My little son, who looked from thoughtful eyes, 
 And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, 
 Having my law the seventh time disobey'd, 
 I struck him and dismiss'd 
 With hard words and unkiss'd, 
 His mother, who was patient, being dead. 
 Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, 
 I visited his bed, 
 But found him slumbering deep, 
 With darkened eyelids, and their lashes yet 
 From his late sobbing wet. 
 And I, with moan, 
 
 Kissing away his tears, left others of my own ; 
 For, on a table drawn beside his head, 
 He had put, within his reach, 
 A box of counters and a red-veined stone, 
 A piece of glass abraded by the beach, 
 And six or seven shells, 
 A bottle with bluebells, 
 
 And two French copper coins ranged there with careful art, 
 To comfort his sad heart. 
 So, when that night I pray'd 
 To God, I wept and said : 
 Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath, 
 Not vexing thee in death, 
 And thou rememberest of what toys 
 We made our joys, 
 How weakly understood 
 Thy great commanded good,
 
 6 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 Then, fatherly not less 
 
 Than I whom thou hast moulded from the clay, 
 Thou'lt leave thy wrath and say, 
 '"I will be sorry for their childishness." ' " 
 
 " Thank you," I said, as she paused her eyes filled with 
 tears " thank you : no child should be ' struck in anger and 
 dismissed with hard words.' Punishment in love and justice 
 breaks no child's heart : that father was all wrong." 
 " I see it," she answered, " and I begin to feel it also." 
 We exchanged cards, and I hope to hear of the dreadful 
 boy again. 
 
 THE CHILDHOOD OF CHRIST. 
 
 When I was in Nazareth, the child-life of Jesus excited 
 emotions of a character not difficult to recall, but very hard 
 to relate. 
 
 I was led to the shop where tradition says that Joseph 
 wrought at his trade of a carpenter. And now I have on 
 the wall before me an exquisite engraving of the man at his 
 work, while a lovely boy is looking on. The light divine is 
 playing on the child's brow. 
 
 Nazareth is in a valley, and the hills surround it like the 
 rim of a basin. On this ridge, perhaps, the child Christ had 
 often walked, and from it looked away to the hills now 
 famous and sacred in the story of his life and death, and 
 in the history that was the prophecy of his coming. Carmel 
 stretches away to the sea on the right. The dome of Mount 
 Tabor salutes the vault of heaven on the left. Gilboa and 
 the lesser Hermon remind us of Saul and Jonathan, and 
 the sweet singer of Israel. We look out on the plain of 
 Esdraelon, the wide battle-field of old, and the field of mira 
 cles of mercy as well. In the distance are places where the 
 Saviour, in the days of his ministry, went about doing good ; 
 and the region finally sanctified by his death and ascension 
 to the glory that was his before the world was.
 
 THE CHILDHOOD OF CHRIST. 7 
 
 It requires no superstition to invest such a walk with holy 
 interest. The spot is not marked by great events to which 
 the world makes pilgrimage. It is not certain that the child 
 Jesus ever stood in the place where I was standing when I 
 looked down upon Nazareth, and off toward Mount Moriah, 
 and the City of the Great King ! But the mystery of the 
 Incarnation and Youth of the Son of God was invested with 
 fresh beauty and power as I wondered what were the emo 
 tions of the boy in those days of his childhood, before he 
 took on his shoulders the burden which he came to bear. 
 He knew all that was before him ! 
 
 When he was an infant on his mother's neck, she was 
 conscious of the mighty secret that he was the Son of 
 God, and she alone of all the daughters or sons of men 
 knew that truth : even then, in the tender years of his infancy, 
 the cross and the nails and the spear were in his heart, as 
 afterwards on Calvary. She, too, had been told that the 
 sword would pierce through her own soul, and thus the 
 sorrows of the infant Jesus were shared in the sympathy of 
 his mother. 
 
 He was strong in spirit when yet in the dew of his youth. 
 He was filled with wisdom. And the grace of God was 
 upon him. Wonderful must have been the boyhood thus 
 endowed. What the thoughts of his mother were in those 
 days we know not, but she kept all his strange sayings 
 in her heart, and linked them with the awful mystery of his 
 advent by a way known only to herself and the Spirit of the 
 Lord. 
 
 He was only twelve years old when he went up with his 
 parents to Jerusalem, and there stood before the teachers in 
 the temple, and taught them so that they were astonished 
 at his understanding, and his answers to the questions which 
 they proposed to the precocious and inquisitive lad. It was 
 more marvellous then than it would be now for a child to 
 take such a place before a college of professors. The rever 
 ence for age and wisdom and authority is much less now 
 than in those days, and the doctors of divinity might well 
 have been surprised at the courage no less than the learning
 
 8 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 of a child of twelve, who could sit in their presence and hold 
 his own in extemporaneous debate. 
 
 " Don't you know that I must be about my Father's busi 
 ness?" were the strange words he uttered when his mother 
 found him, after three days' search. It is very plain that 
 Mary, the blessed Mother of Jesus, whom millions of igno 
 rant people now worship with prayers invoking her protec 
 tion, is no more able to take care of us than any other 
 mother is, for she could not keep watch of her own child on 
 the journey from Jerusalem to Nazareth, and it took her 
 three days to find him. I am sure that she is no more able 
 to help and save than my mother is, and it is just as well to 
 pray to one as the other. 
 
 And with what filial respect and confidence the child Jesus 
 met his mother's call, and turned away from the congenial 
 company of those men of learning ! He must go back to 
 Nazareth, to the carpenter's shop and the daily toil. He 
 might be a Rabbi among Rabbis. But his time had not 
 yet come. He went home and was obedient unto his parents. 
 He was a good boy. That is saying much for him. And it 
 is a wonderful fact that a life of Christ, written on one sheet 
 like this, has space for the record that he obeyed his mother ! 
 He was the Saviour of Men, the Lord of Glory, the Man of 
 Sorrows, the Prince of Peace. He came to seek and save 
 the lost, and his life of work for a world is full of incident, 
 activity and tragedy, but his biographer begins by telling us 
 that he was a child who was subject to his parents. 
 
 I find in that simple statement a great truth for all time, 
 all lands, all parents and all children. I thought of it as I 
 stood on the hill over Nazareth, and looked off into the 
 western sky where the sun was going down to shine on an 
 other dear and sacred home. And when with my friend 
 now in heaven, the missionary Calhoun, I went to bed in 
 the Convent that night, and talked with him of those we 
 loved across the sea, my mind was filled with thoughts of the 
 childhood of Jesus when he was subject to his parents. 
 
 The holy child Jesus ! At this season of the year, and 
 on this day of all the days in the year, I would write to the 
 parents and the children who read these lines, and commend
 
 A MUSIC-COMPOSER SPOILED. 9 
 
 to them the life of the Holy Child Jesus: of Jesus when he 
 was a child. Even then he was filled with wisdom and 
 grace, and he grew in favor with God and man as he in 
 creased in stature, but the crown of his childhood was obe 
 dience to his parents. 
 
 The happiest child in the world is one who takes delight 
 in doing what is well pleasing to God and its parents. 
 
 Out of that vale of Nazareth has gone a child whose life 
 and death have been the light and joy and will yet be the 
 salvation of the world. To be like that Child is heaven be 
 gun. To be like him here is to be with him, in his Father's 
 house, forever. 
 
 A MUSIC-COMPOSER SPOILED. 
 
 THE FATE OF POOR RICHARD LEARNING TO SING. 
 
 When I was a lad of a dozen years, we had a singing school 
 in the congregation of the "Old White Meeting House." 
 No such schools are in these days, in this part of the country. 
 It was held once a week, in the big ball-room of the tavern, 
 across the green, opposite the church. From all the region, 
 miles around, the young men and maidens came by scores, 
 and were trained to sing the tunes that were used on the 
 Sabbath day. The school was a great winter treat, and the 
 intermission in the middle of the evening was particularly 
 enjoyed and improved. 
 
 Of one of the boys who attended this school you will now 
 be told, but to spare his feelings, especially his modesty, his 
 name will be carefully concealed. Sufficient has been his 
 mortification, as you are to learn, and I remember the remark 
 of ^Eneas to Dido, when she asked him to tell the story of 
 his sufferings : 
 
 "What you, O Queen, command me to relate, 
 Renews the sad remembrance of my fate." 
 
 Therefore I shall not mention his real name, but speak of 
 him as Richard.
 
 16 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 Richard was one of the minister's sons, and very ambitious 
 to be a singer. He had a passion for music, as was apparent 
 from the vigor with which he beat the drum and blew the 
 horn in those childish plays which made the welkin ring and 
 annoyed the neighbors. When a teacher from Connecticut 
 came there, and got up a singing school, Richard entered it 
 with the fire of genius kindling in his eye, and his ear open to 
 the expected sounds. The primary rules of the science and art 
 of music being readily mastered, and easy tunes rehearsed till 
 they were quite familiar, he seized the pen of the composer, 
 and with rapid strokes produced one and then another tune 
 of his own, with judicious and discriminating indications on 
 the staff with Cleff and Slurs, Hold, Staccato, Swell (much of 
 that), Piano and Forte and Mezzo, even now and then Con 
 Spirito, Andante, Ad Libitum, etc. 
 
 These tunes the teacher examined, played them on the bass 
 viol, and sang them with fitting words. They passed that 
 dread ordeal, and were pronounced remarkably well done for 
 a child. Alas, that this same teacher should prove the ruin 
 of this incipient Mozart or Handel ! The winter rapidly slid 
 along. The school flourished grandly. A choir of a hun 
 dred was ready to fill the gallery and shake the pillars of the 
 church. As the young Richard was singing at the top of his 
 voice, and doubtless making obvious discord, the master, 
 passing near him, was provoked, and stopping in the midst of 
 the tune, and in sudden silence, said impatiently and severely, 
 " You have too many corners to your throat to learn to sing !" 
 
 The cruel man might better have broken his viol over the 
 boy's head. As it was, he broke the boy's heart. Down 
 went his aspirations, and from that hour to this he has never 
 tried to learn a line of music, and has long since ceased to 
 know one tune from another. Then and there a sense of 
 discouragement took hold on him and never let him up. 
 Whatever else he could do and did, he made no further prog 
 ress in the culture of his voice or the art of composing 
 music ! Yet he never ceased to love it, and never ceased to 
 regret that he did not despise the rebuke, and give the lie to 
 the prophet, by overmastering the difficulties, rounding the
 
 A MUSIC-COMPOSER SPOILED. II 
 
 corners of his throat, and learning to sing. Thirty years 
 after this blow fell on him he tvas relating his fate to Mr. 
 Thomas Hastings, the famous teacher and composer of sacred 
 music. That excellent man, of blessed memory, said to him 
 on hearing his story : 
 
 " Sing with me the eight notes." 
 
 He did so to the best of his ability. 
 
 " There is no reason in the world," said this master, 
 "why you should not be a good singer. If you will begin 
 now, you will succeed beyond all doubt." 
 
 But the man would not undertake what the boy had 
 abandoned as a hopeless task. The boy was father of the 
 man. 
 
 Mr. Hastings said : " Every one may learn to sing : not 
 one in a thousand has any natural deficiency to prevent him 
 from being a fair singer." But Richard was too old a bird 
 to begin. He could not be flattered into a fresh exposure of 
 those fatal corners. 
 
 The fate of this ambitious youth, and the sad loss the 
 world has suffered by the early clipping of his musical wings, 
 may be utilized in a note of warning to parents and 
 teachers. 
 
 There is a bent, a trend, a tendency in the nature of 
 children, which should be taken into account in the culture 
 of their minds and the choice of a pursuit in life. Some 
 times it should be discouraged, for it does not always point 
 to usefulness, honor and happiness. Just as the twig, etc. 
 And in early years, even a bad tendency may be repressed or 
 eradicated, which, left unchecked, will become a resistless 
 flood, an ungovernable passion, a fatal power. But this 
 natural force, inclination or propensity, when rightly guided, 
 will be clear gain in the development of character, making a 
 grand success. 
 
 It is better in the training of the young to rely more on 
 cautious encouragement, than rough reproof and constant 
 censure or fault-finding. The race is weary enough, and the 
 toil up hill is hard enough, to justify all the help that parent 
 and teacher can afford. Repression and scolding only
 
 12 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 irritate the soul, without adding to its power. Often the 
 brain is confused by a harsh word, and the mind is diverted 
 from the point, when a smile and kindly remark would be 
 a ray of sunlight guiding to the true answer. One of the 
 marvels of human nature is that loving parents often abuse 
 their children under a mistaken sense of duty. 
 
 But there is something for every one to do in this world, 
 and when a musician is spoiled, it is not certain that he does 
 not turn out to be something better. " There's a Divinity 
 that shapes our ends." The great difference in the men We 
 meet is energy or the want of it. Given fair natural powers, 
 the average, then put on the steam, and the man will go. 
 With virtue at the helm, the worker will win usefulness and 
 bread, and with them the chief end of man. 
 
 This is rather a dull ending of poor Richard's musical 
 career. He did not go singing his way through the world. 
 He never learned to distinguish one tune by its name. But 
 no waters could quench the music in his soul. He heard it 
 in the spheres when " in solemn silence all move round this 
 dark terrestrial ball." He listened to it among the pine trees 
 through which the meadow brook wound its way. In the 
 sounding ocean and the shells he listened to the mystery and 
 melody of the sea. Even the growth of the plants, as he put 
 his ear to the sod, made music. And at home and in far 
 cities he heard the great masters of voice and instrument, 
 Braham and Jenny Lind, the two greatest human voices of 
 the century, and all the lyric songsters that have swept the 
 heart and harp chords of the age: he felt the passion strains 
 in the Sistine chapel, rose in rapture on the organ tones at 
 Frieburg, and wept in a delirium of emotion under the 
 choir of St. Roch . he thought with the wisest of men to get 
 him " men singers and women singers," and perhaps has 
 found as exquisite delight in the concord of sweet sounds as 
 any untutored mind can enjoy, but he has never ceased to 
 regret that his first music teacher, that peripatetic pedagogue 
 from Connecticut, said to him, in the hearing of a hundred, 
 " You have too many corners to your throat to learn to 
 sing."
 
 PLEASANT RECOLLECTIONS. tj 
 
 PLEASANT RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF A ROMAN CATHOLIC PASTOR AND FRIEND. 
 
 This, as I learn by the daily papers, is the anniversary of 
 the death of Rev. Dr. Cummings, the pastor of St. Stephen's 
 Roman Catholic Church in 28th Street in this city. His 
 church was, and is, distinguished for its music, which draws 
 throngs to its courts. The style of the music is more artistic 
 than we have in our most fashionable Protestant churches, 
 but it is attractive in the highest degree. He died thirteen 
 years ago to-day, and, as on the return of each anniversary, 
 a solemn high mass of requiem was celebrated in the church 
 of his affection. He was a remarkable man, a companion 
 able, cultivated scholar and gentleman. 
 
 My recollections of him are refreshing, and they come to 
 me this evening so cheerily that I must ask you to share 
 them with me. 
 
 I was indebted to a " mutual friend," Mr. W. A. Seaver, 
 formerly an editor, and now the worthy President of the 
 Adriatic Fire Insurance Company, for my first acquaintance 
 with Dr. Cummings. We were Mr. Seaver's guests at din 
 ner. A few moments after first speaking with him, for the 
 grasp of his warm hand assured me he was ready for a cheer 
 ful word, I said to him : 
 
 " Dr. Cummings, I take this, the first opportunity of meet 
 ing you, to beg your pardon for breaking open a letter of 
 yours at my office." 
 
 " Ah," said he, " how was that, I have forgotten it?" 
 
 " Yes, a letter came to us with your name on it, and as 
 one of our editors bore the same name as yours, he supposed 
 it was for him and broke the seal. But finding it was writ 
 ten in Latin and came from Rome, we concluded it must be 
 for some one else, and we returned it to the post office." 
 
 " Oh, yes," he replied, " I remember now, it was an Indul 
 gence we had sent for from the Pope, but probably you
 
 14 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 needed it at your office more than we did, and so it went to 
 you !" 
 
 We were soon at the table, and it proved to be one of the 
 early days of Lent. Our host made an apology, and said to 
 Dr. Cummings : " Perhaps, as it is Lent, you abstain from 
 meat?" 
 
 " Oh, no, it's meet, meet, meetzVz^ all the time," he said ; 
 " and without meat we should be unequal to the duties of the 
 season." 
 
 In conversing with me on the subject of newspaper-mak 
 ing, and especially the conflicts of the religious press, he re 
 ferred humorously to his own experience when he was a 
 young man, and in the family of Bishop Hughes. He said : 
 
 "The Bishop was at that time running a newspaper him 
 self, and I was his assistant ; he would sometimes come in 
 when hard up for copy, and throwing down the New York 
 Observer before me, would say, ' there, take that, and pitch 
 in.' " 
 
 To which, I " And you always did as you were told, I be 
 lieve." 
 
 Speaking of the power of music in church, he said to me : 
 " I will undertake to fill any one of your churches to over 
 flowing every Sunday if you will let me provide the music." 
 
 "Your music," I replied, "will not suit the taste of our 
 people, who do not fancy the style of St. Stephen's." 
 
 " But it shall be purely Protestant and Presbyterian : such 
 music as you delight in ; adapted to your forms of worship 
 and the wants of your people. Our music would drive away 
 your congregations ; but music delights, and will always 
 draw the crowd. I am very sure that your churches do not 
 appreciate its value as a means of bringing the multitude to 
 the house of God." 
 
 " We spend money enough on it," I said ; " often as much 
 on the choir as on the pulpit." 
 
 " Very true, but you pay for that kind of music that does 
 not accord with your service it does not address itself to
 
 PLEASANT RECOLLECTIONS. 15 
 
 the sentiment, the sensibility, the emotional nature ; it is 
 often an approach to the opera without reaching it so that 
 it is neither the one thing nor the other. Ours is artistic, in 
 harmony with our ritual, addressing the imagination through 
 the senses ; you appeal to the intellect and the heart, and 
 need a music to match your services." 
 
 These are a few only of the words we exchanged, but we 
 met not long afterwards at his own table, in his own house. 
 Fifteen or twenty gentlemen sat down ; all but four were 
 priests or eminent laymen of the Romish Church. Dr. Cum- 
 mings, at the head of the table, had two of us Protestants 
 on one hand, and two on the other. The Austrian Consul 
 presided at the other end of the long table. After we were 
 seated, our host, looking along the rows of guests, remarked 
 with great glee, 
 
 " Now we have these Protestants, we'll roast them." 
 
 I returned his smiles and said, " I thought we all belonged 
 to the same sect." 
 
 " And which ?" exclaimed some one. 
 
 "The Society of Friends," said I, and they gave me a 
 cheer along the line, and did not try to roast a Protestant. 
 
 It was a memorable dinner. I made the acquaintance of 
 several men of learning, travel and genius, whose friendship 
 I prized. Among the books lying around was a volume of 
 epitaphs composed by Dr. Cummings. He told me that his 
 people constantly came to him for lines to put on the grave 
 stones of their children and friends, and he was obliged to 
 make a book of them, so that they could take what pleased 
 them. He gave me a copy, and I made a commendatory 
 notice of it in the New York Observer. He remarked after 
 wards, to a friend of mine, that he did not suppose it possi 
 ble for a Protestant to speak so kindly of a Catholic produc 
 tion. As the epitaphs were the expression of human sym 
 pathy and love, the most of them were such as come from 
 and to every aching heart. 
 
 And by and by it came his time to die. He was in the 
 prime and vigor of life when disease overtook him, and 
 with slow approaches wore his life away. His constitu-
 
 1 6 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 tional cheerfulness never failed him. I think an invitation 
 he gave to our friend, Mr. Seaver, has no example in the 
 speech of dying men of ancient or modern times. Socrates 
 conversed with his friends serenely. Philosophy and religion 
 have both made death-beds cheerful. I have spoken of Dr. 
 Cummings' love of music and its exquisite culture at St. 
 Stephen's. It was his pride and joy; and one who has no 
 music in his soul cannot understand his dying words. Mr. 
 Seaver was in the habit of seeing him almost daily, and each 
 visit was now apparently to be the last. One day, as the 
 end was very near and the two friends were parting, the 
 dying said to the living, "Come to the funeral, the music 
 will be splendid." 
 
 And so it was ; and on each return of his death-day, January 
 the 4th, the arches of St. Stephen's become anthems, and its 
 walls are vocal with song, in memory of the departed pastor, 
 an accomplished gentleman and genial friend. 
 
 CHOOSING A MINISTER'S WIFE. 
 
 A great innovation is proposed, and the beginning of a 
 new Reformation dawns on the world ! 
 
 Whether the people should choose their own pastors, or 
 not, has been a vexed question in the Church through the 
 ages. In the Papal Church the parish takes the pastor sent. 
 In the Church of England the pastorate is a property which 
 the owner bestows on the minister he is pleased to name. 
 Patrons have only very lately ceased to appoint pastors in 
 Scotland. The Methodist Bishop in this country saith to 
 one minister go, and he goeth, and the people accept the 
 gift. 
 
 When the Pope set up to be infallible, a number of priests 
 and people in Europe were unable to swallow the absurdity, 
 and went off by themselves. They like to be called OLD 
 Catholics, because they hold to the faith as it was before
 
 CHOOSING A MINISTER'S WIFE. 17 
 
 the modern heresy broke out. They have gradually intro 
 duced changes into their church order, and in the direction 
 of greater liberality and conformity to the teaching of Holy 
 Scripture. 
 
 " Forbidding to marry" is one of the marks of an apostate 
 Church. Only a Church that had set itself up against the 
 express will of God would command its ministers to trample 
 on the holy ordinance of marriage, and make a virtue of 
 celibacy. This the Church of Rome has done, and by this 
 wicked law it has made itself, as the Rev. J. B. Brown of 
 London says, " worse than the world it ought to save." 
 
 The reformers who are now seeking to build up a new 
 reformation in the heart of Europe have made an onset upon 
 this rule of clerical celibacy. They have had a Synod in 
 which the subject was discussed long and learnedly, and so 
 strong is prejudice, and so bound are they to the traditions 
 of their Church, it was with the greatest difficulty they could 
 be brought to release themselves from the cruel yoke. And 
 when at last it was carried that priests might marry, it was 
 coupled with a strange provision that we, enjoying the liberty 
 of those whom Christ makes free, are not able easily to un 
 derstand. They resolved in Synod to permit priests to marry, 
 but it was required that " the wife shall be acceptable to the con 
 gregation and to the Bishop, and shall be approved by them." 
 
 It would be a curious canvass in a country congregation, 
 or a city one either, when the sense of the people was taken 
 on the acceptability of the lady whom the pastor proposes to 
 make his wife. If she were a member of the flock there 
 never would be agreement. If she were not a member how 
 would they ascertain her qualities? A preacher can come on 
 trial, or a committee can go and hear him, see him, weigh 
 and measure him, and report the result to the congregation. 
 But now just suppose a committee of ladies is sent from 
 New Jersey to ascertain the merits of the lady in Vermont 
 whom their pastor wishes to marry. They can talk with her, 
 and ask the neighbors what manner of woman she is, and in 
 spect her school diploma and read some of her old compo 
 sitions, and get her photograph, but after all it is precious
 
 1 8 I REN & US LETTERS. 
 
 little they will be able to report as to her ability to " keep 
 house" for the minister, or to get up a church fair, or to eke 
 out a poor salary, that is rather diminished than increased as 
 the number of backs to be clothed and mouths to be fed is 
 quadrupled. 
 
 And then the question comes up if the people or the 
 bishop ought to meddle in the matter. What business of 
 theirs is it? If the pastor and his wife are mutually satis 
 fied, is it the right or duty of anybody else to interfere ? 
 
 But it is one of the peculiarities of our church life, espe 
 cially in the rural village or district, that the young wife of the 
 pastor is claimed as a part of the church property, to be talked 
 about, criticised, instructed, sat upon, dissected and pulled 
 to pieces, at the sweet will of the congregation. When the 
 pastor has brought to his people a wife whom God has en 
 dowed with gifts to be a wise and useful leader in the work of 
 the church, it will be her joy to use her gifts, and to be much 
 in the service. But she may be better fitted for a " keeper at 
 home ;" to make the house the abode of order and peace and 
 health, and the solace, inspirer and helpmeet for her husband. 
 Thus she may be a greater blessing to the people than one 
 who is always " on the go." Some wives combine the two 
 in one, and some are neither. The Lord did not ordain 
 wives for his disciples. We are told that a bishop must have 
 one wife, not that he must have none, nor two. And we are 
 not instructed as to the qualities of a minister's wife, as we 
 are in regard to his own qualifications. 
 
 Happy is that people whose pastor is blessed with a pru 
 dent wife, because he is blessed in her. But she is not the 
 people's wife. She is not called by them. They were not al 
 lowed a voice in her selection. She has no salary. But she 
 delights in the ministry of the saints. She is a pattern in 
 her own house, and accord ing to the measure of her strength 
 she goes about doing good. 
 
 But it is a grand mistake to suppose that she is not the 
 very best wife a pastor can have who makes his house what 
 it should be. Did you ever think of the worry, the wear and 
 tear, of that minister who has to look alter his house and
 
 CHOOSING A MINISTER'S WlfiE. 19 
 
 parish too ? And of the peace and power oi that preacher 
 who can give himself wholly to the work of the ministry be 
 cause his wife takes joyfully the burden of domestic life upon 
 her tender hands ? 
 
 A lawyer, now worth a large property, lost his wife a few 
 days ago. Before she was buried 1 called in sympathy with 
 him, and he began at once to tell me how he began his prac 
 tice with no money and no friend but the poor girl who 
 loved him, and had for thirty years managed all his domestic 
 affairs without his giving them a thought. Business, wealth, 
 friends, children were added, and his wife had been the stew 
 ard while he had attended to the work in the world. Far 
 more than a lawyer does a pastor need a wife like that. 
 
 I do not believe the congregation, nor a bishop, nor a town 
 meeting, could pick out a wife for anybody. And when we 
 remember that the first and highest of all thingsjx> be 
 thought of in the marriage relation is mutual affection, and 
 without it religion, sense and beauty are not enough, it is 
 ridiculous to talk about the congregation having a voice in 
 the choice of a wife for the pastor. 
 
 It does not speak very well for the Old Catholics that they 
 are spending their time in such matters as this, when the 
 weightier matters of the gospel are at stake. But they are 
 improving. It was something to agree to get married. Other 
 improvements will follow. Rome was not built in a day, and 
 Rome will not be destroyed in a day. 
 
 To a minister's wife I wrote, to comfort her, these words : 
 
 TO A MINISTER'S WIFE. 
 
 1 have read your letter with serious attention. You ex 
 press a wish that Paul had written an epistle to Mrs. Tim 
 othy, and as he did not, you ask me to supply his lack of 
 service. Thank you, but I must be excused. I couldn't 
 think of supplementing that distinguished letter writer. 
 But the fact that he did not write to her, nor to the wives of 
 ministers as a class, is very significant. 
 
 You say that you are expected and required to be the
 
 20 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 bearer of a large part of the burdens of the female work in 
 the church : to superintend ilie societies, to lead the ladies' 
 meetings, to visit the sick, to receive constant applications 
 for directions to the women of the flock, and in general to 
 see to it that the "female department" of your husband's 
 pastoral charge is kept in vigorous repair and running order. 
 
 I was quite amused (pardon me for being amused by any 
 thing that gave you distress) by your account of the call 
 which Mrs. Alltalk made upon you, and with her remark that 
 your first duty is to the church, and your spare time may be 
 devoted to your children and the house. You ask me if you 
 were right in saying that you " married your husband and 
 not the church," and that " your children, not your neigh 
 bors, were the gift of God to you." 
 
 Yes, madam, you were right : just right. And if you re 
 plied to her with even more spirit than your meek words 
 imply, I think you served her right. And what you failed 
 to say, I will say for you, thus : 
 
 The temptation and strong desire of every pastor's wife 
 prompt her to do all she can to help him in his work, to 
 serve the church and please the people. She is, usually, a 
 woman of education, sense, and force, and by her position is 
 readily put at the head of things without giving offence to 
 any one; whereas, if Mrs. Alltalk or Mrs. Fidget is made the 
 leader, half the women in the parish are put out because 
 they were not put in. As the pastor is the best taught man, 
 so his wife is apt to be the best qualified woman to teach, 
 lead, guide and quicken. So, trusts are easily laid upon her, 
 and her temptation is to accept them to the extent of her 
 strength ; yes, and beyond her strength. But her relations 
 to the pastor and to the church, and to Christ its head, are 
 not such as to require any service from her that is incompat 
 ible with fidelity to the nearer and more sacred trust of hus 
 band and household. HOME is the church to which she was 
 called, in which she was ordained and installed, to which she 
 is to minister with her whole heart and soul, and for which 
 she will be called to as strict an account as her husband will 
 be for the service he has rendered in the pulpit. When the
 
 CHOOSING A MINISTER'S WIFE. 21 
 
 younger class of married women are taught in the Bible, 
 they are told ' to be sober, to love their husbands, to love 
 their children, to be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good 
 obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be 
 not blasphemed.' This counsel and these commands are 
 quite as pointedly addressed to the wives of ministers, as to 
 the wives of merchants, farmers or mechanics. And if you 
 ask " How am I to do all this, and what women of the 
 church want me to do," I answer that " duties never come 
 into conflict with each other." If you cannot be a keeper at 
 home and a visitor of the sick in the parish, then your duty 
 is to stay at home ; and to do only so much visiting as your 
 domestic affairs, care of children and the house, will permit. 
 Do not send Mrs. Alltalk or Mrs. Fidget, in your place, to 
 see the sick. They will do more harm than good. But the 
 pastor and the deacons, and the neighbors, will see that the 
 sick are cared for, while you mind the little ones who are 
 dependent upon you for daily care. And as to the sewing 
 circles, and benevolent societies, and Sunday-schools, and 
 all that kind of good works, which every working church 
 abounds in, you should not feel any responsibility which is 
 not shared equally by all the ladies of the congregation. 
 You will feel more. Nothing that I can say will convince 
 you that you are in no sense called or set apart as a pas- 
 toress. But you are not. You are the pastor's wife, not the 
 female pastor. You took no vows upon you to serve the 
 church ; you promised to be faithful to your husband. The 
 Bible does not bid you teach, or to go visiting, or to manage 
 the sewing societies ; but it does bid you to see to your own 
 house, and to be a helpmeet for him who is the servant of 
 the church. 
 
 Comfort yourself then, madam, with these words. In the 
 circle of which you are the centre, the light and the soul, 
 you will work out the mission unto which you were sent, by 
 Him who said to the disciples, "Go into all the world." 
 Your ministry is to one of those disciples and the little dis 
 ciples that are around your feet. I am glad to know that 
 you value the honor God shows you in putting you into
 
 2 2 IRENSE 75 " LE TTERS. 
 
 such a ministry. It is the sweet gospel of love, of conjugal 
 and maternal love, recognized of the Saviour when, on the 
 cross, he turned his dying eye upon his own mother and 
 said, " Behold thy son." John was to go with the gospel to 
 the churches : to Patmos in exile : to the death of martyr 
 dom : but the woman was to go to his house. 
 
 God has made everything beautiful in its time and place. 
 His order is perfect. And when it is allowed to work itself 
 out, the result is perfect : perfect peace, harmony, effi 
 ciency and love. Therefore, be of good cheer. Be faithful 
 in a few things, and the many things will be cared for of 
 Him who careth for us. And when Mrs. Alltalk calls again 
 to sting you with her impertinence, and to make you feel 
 miserable because you cannot be in three places at one time, 
 ask her to read this letter while you are getting the chil 
 dren's supper ready. 
 
 HIS GRANDFATHER'S BARN. 
 
 You may have heard, of the " Old White Meeting House." 
 It was in Cambridge, Washington county, N. Y. Every 
 body in that region of country knew it, and the " Corners" 
 on which it stood were famous as the scene of town meet 
 ings, general trainings, and travelling shows. Some fifty 
 years ago the Rev. William Lusk was settled as pastor of 
 that church. He was about 28 years old. His face, that in 
 dicated intellect and force, was marvellous for its classic 
 beauty, and, while he was preaching, it lighted up with a 
 smile and radiance that, to my youthful fancy, was the face 
 of an angel. I am quite sure that no preacher ever ap 
 peared to me more seraphic than William Lusk when, on the 
 wings of holy passion and thought, he soared among the 
 lofty truths of the gospel: His sermons were written out 
 with great care and rhetorical beauty. They were delivered 
 with energy and without mannerism, but with a naturalness 
 that was unusual in the pulpit of that day. The people were
 
 HIS GRANDFATHERS BARN. 23 
 
 delighted with him. A great revival of religion was enjoyed. 
 More than one hundred persons were received into the 
 church on one communion Sabbath. In a rural congrega 
 tion, or any other, such a large accession was remarkable. 
 He had come to Cambridge from a place in Massachusetts, 
 where, he said, there was no need of his staying, for all the 
 people were converted. It looked as though all the people 
 in Cambridge would be converted also. 
 
 But the Old White Meeting House was -very old. How old 
 I cannot say. Few, if any, then living saw its timbers laid. 
 It was very shaky now. Inside it had never been painted. 
 The pews were square, so that half the people sat with their 
 backs to the preacher. The windows were loose and rattled, 
 and the bleak winds of winter rushed in at many a chink, and 
 the one stove in the centre aisle roasted those near it, but 
 served only to rarify the air a little, so that the outside winds 
 drove in the more furiously. The winters were very severe 
 in that part of the country. We often had the mercury 
 twenty below zero, and even thirty was not unknown. 
 
 This antiquated and dilapidated house was a sore trial to 
 the young and eloquent pastor. Much did he meditate upon 
 the ways and means to get a better. Perhaps he took coun 
 sel of Sidney Wells, George W. Jermain, Deacon Crocker, or 
 others. More likely he did not, for he was apt to take his 
 own way, and keep it. But the fire burned within him, and 
 all the more fiercely as the winter became more severe. At 
 last it broke out. 
 
 It was a terribly cold day. The farmers had come to 
 church in their sleighs, which were housed under the long 
 shed in the rear of the church ; horses were carefully done 
 up in blankets; the women had their foot-stoves filled with 
 hot coals, over which they toasted their toes : the men were 
 wrapped in their overcoats, and were cold. The pastor 
 stood in the pulpit and shivered. He looked down upon the 
 people and then around upon the walls of the house as if he 
 had never seen them before, and after a silence that led 
 the congregation to wonder what was coming, he remarked : 
 
 "My grandfather has a barn" the people were startled in
 
 24 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 their seats at the announcement of a fact so very probable 
 indeed, but apparently very slightly connected with the ser 
 vice now in progress : he paused for them to recover, and 
 began again : 
 
 " My grandfather has a barn that is altogether better for a 
 place to worship God in than this house." Amazement sat 
 on the faces of the people. Half a century many of them 
 had worshipped the God of their fathers in that venerated 
 house. There they had consecrated their children to His 
 service: there they had been taught the way of life and found 
 it, so that of many it might be said, "this man was born 
 there." To be told now, and in that pulpit, that any man had 
 a barn that was better than that church was nearly enough 
 to drive them mad. Mr. Lusk paused a moment to see the 
 effect of the first shot, and then, with some calmness, he 
 went on to give the obvious reasons why the congregation 
 should build a new house of worship. He had no difficulty 
 in making out a clear case, and his words fell like fire on the 
 heart. It was plain, before he was done, that the knell of 
 the Old White Meeting House was tolling. After service 
 the people talked the matter over, and it was admitted on all 
 hands that the matter must be thought of, if nothing 
 more. 
 
 The next Sabbath Mr. Lusk took up the subject in a set 
 sermon on the duty of having a fit place for public worship. 
 In the course of few days the congregation were wide awake, 
 some for, and some against the proposal. But the for was 
 the larger party. It became very evident that the opposition 
 came from those whose old associations with the house made 
 it very painful to tear it down, and make all things new. 
 This was a holy sentiment, but it ought not to stand in the 
 way of a movement manifestly made necessary by the decay 
 of the old house, and the demand for a new and better one. 
 If the zeal of the building party abated, it was easily stimu 
 lated by an allusion to a barn belonging to an ancestor of 
 the pastor. The work was begun before the spring was 
 fairly open. Money was subscribed. Materials were given. 
 Bees were held for drawing stone and timber. And so it
 
 CALLING BAD NAMES. 2$ 
 
 came to pass that, by one and another means, and without 
 going to New York or even to Albany for help, the new 
 house was built, very comfortable, neat and appropriate. I 
 had the pleasure of preaching in it within the first year of 
 my ministry. 
 
 Mr. Lusk, with genius, power, industry and success in the 
 ministry, was never so prominent in the Church and the 
 country as many men are with less than half his ability and 
 learning. This was the result of eccentricities that were per 
 sonally pleasing to his intimate friends, making him an en 
 tertaining companion, but detracting somewhat from his 
 public influence. Probably these traits did not appear in 
 his later life as they did when his reputation was forming. 
 But there is no wrong, and there may be usefulness, in men 
 tioning the fact now, as a hint to young preachers. Mr. 
 Lusk was a pure, good man, of splendid natural gifts im 
 proved by careful study. And many souls brought by him to 
 the knowledge of the truth are his crown of rejoicing now. 
 
 CALLING BAD NAMES. 
 
 Some time ago a religious newspaper No. i, in the midst 
 of a controversial article, called another, No. 2, PECKSNIFF. 
 Not long afterwards No. 3 in similar discussion, called No. i 
 PECKSNIFF. A week or two ago, No. 4, under the same cir 
 cumstances, applied the same term to No. 3. It now re 
 mains for No. 2 to call No. 3 PECKSNIFF, and the quartette 
 will be full. It is not likely to be ; for No. 2, " that's me," 
 has too many sins of its own to be casting stones at its 
 neighbors. We have all done the things we ought not to 
 have done. And human nature is so weak, and there is so 
 much human nature in folks, there is no telling how soon 
 we may so far fall from grace as to do the thing that seems 
 the most unseemly. 
 
 When the word PECKSNIFF was used as a term of re-
 
 26 IREtt&US LETTERS. 
 
 proach, I took " Martin Chuzzlewit" from a shelf near me, and 
 studied the pen and ink portrait of Mr. Pecksniff, by Dickens. 
 Familiar as I had been with the general features of his face 
 and character, he revealed fresh and startling points as 
 viewed with eyesight sharpened by the fraternal assurance 
 that he was reproduced in my immediate vicinity. Mr. 
 Dickens had drawn this character with masterly skill to 
 illustrate and emphasize the Hypocrite and Humbug. 
 Neither of these words alone expresses the condensed char 
 acter of Mr. Pecksniff. The evil, the devil that our Lord 
 said Judas was, is in a HYPOCRITE; the HUMBUG may want 
 the malice, while he is no less an impostor and deceiver. 
 Both these unlovely and detestable characters rolled into 
 one, wrought out PECKSNIFF. I heard Mr. Vandenhoff read 
 some passages from the story a few days ago, and saw the 
 character more vividly even than I did when listening to 
 similar scenes enacted by the author himself. 
 
 But in hearing o'r in reading or merely in remembering 
 them, the idea of PECKSNIFF is that of such a consummate 
 scoundrel, that one has hardly patience to believe that the 
 world tolerates such fellows in society.; and no one will be 
 lieve, until he sees the evidence around him, that such men 
 do succeed, where solid merit starves. What then must be 
 the estimate in which we hold a man, a Christian, a fellow- 
 citizen, a co-worker, when we hurl at him the epithet, as a 
 title that expresses our whole opinion of him in one word, 
 PECKSNIFF? 
 
 We are now passing through a political campaign. It is 
 indeed a campaign, itself a term borrowed from the language 
 of war, where and when on the champaign, or the campagna, 
 the missiles of words instead of bullets have been hurled by 
 the combatants. And what words ! It was a fair commen 
 tary on our political warfare which was made by an intelli 
 gent English gentlemen, writing home from this country 
 during a Presidential campaign, "that it was evident the 
 two worst men in the whole land had been put in nomina 
 tion for the highest office in the gift of the people." And 
 what is even more remarkable, we seem to be wholly uncon-
 
 CALLING BAD NAMES. 27 
 
 scious ourselves that we are thus offending the laws of taste, 
 charity and common morality. One of the newspapers 
 when speaking of its neighbor as PECKSNIFF, had on the 
 same page a lovely essay on the sin and folly of personali 
 ties. And this evening, with my after dinner cup, I read in 
 the paper yet damp from the press, a leading editorial justly 
 censuring calumny and falsehood by which our best men are 
 assailed, and in the next column, parallel with these just 
 words, is another editorial in which " lying" and " bigotry" 
 and "fanaticism" are imputed to religious men who oppose 
 the editor's views. 
 
 I cite these examples because they are here before me, of 
 present and pressing interest, flagrant and sickening illustra 
 tions of that insensibility to our own vices which attends 
 the keenest sight and scent of faults in others. O that our 
 eyes had been so made as to enable us to see inwardly as 
 well as outwardly ! But in the days of the Great Teacher, 
 men went about the streets, with beams in their own eyes, 
 trying to pick out little specks from the eyes of their neigh 
 bors. 
 
 Nobody was ever convicted of error of converted from sin 
 by being called a bad name. Many a man has been con 
 firmed in his wrong doing or wrong thinking by the insult 
 he feels when a name of reproach is given him which he 
 repudiates and resents. It is not impossible that wars, in 
 which rivers of blood have been shed and thousands of lives 
 and millions of treasure lost, might have been averted and 
 avoided, by the use of argument in the place of abusive 
 words. It has sometimes occurred to me that we might 
 have preserved the peace and accomplished all that has been 
 gained of good, if we brethren of the North and the South, 
 had heard and obeyed the call of the Lord, " Come now and 
 let us reason together," instead of indulging in reproach, 
 denunciation, vituperation, as the staple of internecine war 
 fare, until the cannon opened its mouth and drowned all 
 talking in its deadly roar. 
 
 It is not the way to convert a sinner to knock him down 
 first and then reason with him. God struck Saul with light
 
 28 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 so that he fell from his horse. That kind of argument be 
 longs to the Lord "who alone doeth wondrous things." We 
 cannot send light from heaven. We must approach men 
 with the gentleness of persuasion while we know ourselves 
 the terrors of the Lord. 
 
 Terms of reproach become sometimes names of honor and 
 are gloried in by those who wear them. Christians, so 
 called first at Antioch, are now the leaders of thought and 
 masters of nations. The cross is no longer a badge of 
 shame. Puritan, Methodist, Huguenot, it matters not what, 
 the name is nothing : there is no argument in it. Politicians 
 try the power of bad names and find they amount to noth 
 ing: Christians, alas ! dishonor themselves by the same sin, 
 and gain a loss by it. It is evil and only evil and that con 
 tinually. 
 
 How ashamed we shall be of this kind of warfare when we 
 are all together in the Father's house, with equal and un 
 merited glory on our brows ! And this reminds me : 
 
 Some years ago I had a war of words with a man who did 
 not see with me about well, it was of so little importance 
 that I cannot now remember what we quarrelled about. But 
 we waxed warm, hurled at each other the hardest words we 
 could find in the dictionary ; then ceased to be on speaking 
 terms, and met in silence or passed with no sign of recogni 
 tion. I went abroad, and in the Vale of Chamouni was 
 lodging in a hotel at the foot of Mont Blanc, the monarch 
 of mountains, crowned with snow. Having arrived at even 
 ing, and knowing that sunrise was the most favored hour for 
 beholding the greatest glory that mortal eyes may see, I 
 arose before the sun and, throwing my blanket around me, 
 went out the ground was covered with snow to catch the 
 first view of sunlight on the summit. As I stepped from 
 the door on one side of the court, a stranger, similarly robed 
 and on the same errand bent, emerged from an opposite 
 door; we met midway in the yard, and stopped before the 
 glory then to be revealed. He was my foe in the war of 
 words. With a hearty laugh and glad recognition, as if we 
 had been friends from childhood, we shook hands, and stood,
 
 CALLING BAD NAMES. 29 
 
 alone and at one, before the Majesty of God in the works of 
 his hand. The king of day was rising; now the peak was 
 glistening in his beams, and then along and down the sheeted 
 sides of the monarch fell the robes of sunlight, dazzling in 
 splendor as if the floor of heaven had given away, and the 
 golden beams were coming down to men. We both thought 
 of the Sunrise Hymn of Coleridge in this vale, and one of 
 us said : 
 
 " Companion of the morning star at dawn, 
 Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
 Co-herald ! Wake, oh wake and utter praise." 
 
 We went into the breakfast room, called for our coffee and 
 rolls, and, breaking bread together, forgot we ever had a 
 fight, and were good enough friends ever after. He has 
 since passed through another valley into the presence of the 
 great white throne of which Mont Blanc, with the sun for its 
 crown, is the faintest emblem, yet the most glorious we shall 
 see till we stand before the other ! 
 
 And just now I have received a letter that gives me a 
 touch of the pain that calling bad names causes even in a 
 man who has had so many hurled at him that he ought to 
 be used to them. It is not a thorn in the flesh, as St. Paul 
 had, but it comes from St. Paul in Minnesota from a gen 
 tleman of that city, who informs me that he is a jobber in 
 supplies for pump dealers, plumbers, gas and steam fitters, 
 mills and railroads, steam and hot air heating apparatus, reg 
 isters and ventilators, gas fixtures, pumps, hose, iron pipe, 
 lead pipe, sheet lead, bath tubs, sinks, brass and iron fittings, 
 etc., etc. He writes these words : 
 
 " Reading ' Irenasus Letters,' I should judge him to be as fat and unctu 
 ous as his style fond of the pleasant ways of life and taking unkindly to 
 the martyr's crown, except by pleasant reference in jaunty style in his snug 
 office or at the mansion of a wealthy entertainer." 
 
 What an amiable man he must be to write like that ! He 
 thinks I am " fat and unctuous ;" there he .is wrong: " fond 
 of the pleasant ways of life ;" there he is right wisdom's 
 ways are pleasantness and all her paths are peace : I like
 
 30 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 them : he thinks I would take " unkindly to the martyr's 
 crown." which is quite probable ; we know not what we are 
 till the trial comes. Grace according to our day is the pro 
 mised help. To be played upon by one who deals in " Hot- 
 air heating apparatus, pumps, hose, iron pipe, sheet lead, and 
 brass fittings," may fit me to bear racks and thumb-screws, 
 and chains and gridirons, by which better men than either 
 of us have been helped into heaven. We cannot all be 
 martyrs : but there is no good reason why we should not be 
 gentlemen and Christians. If I had another life to live and 
 two thousand letters to write again, with God's good help I 
 would not hurt the feelings of the humblest of all God's 
 creatures honestly trying to do good. He might be as big 
 as Daniel Lambert, and I would not call him fat and unc 
 tuous : he might be as lean as Calvin Edson, and I would not 
 call him a bag of bones. I would count each day lost on 
 which I had not made some hearts gladder than they were 
 in the morning ; on which I had not plucked up some thorns, 
 or planted some flowers on the path of human life. No man 
 can so live without enjoying life. Dogs will snarl at him. but 
 angels are around him. He may never have riches or fame, 
 but better than both are friends and God. My St. Paul friend 
 is trying to serve his Master in honest trade : if riches in 
 crease, my prayer is that he may never be pained by receiving 
 a letter like his own. 
 
 NEW ENGLAND HOMES AND GRAVES. 
 
 MRS. EASTMAN'S FAMOUS RIDE. 
 
 Nothing touches me more painfully, in the romantic 
 rural region of New England, than to see large and comfort 
 able houses empty and decaying. I have just returned from 
 a drive of ten miles over the country, and have seen several of 
 them. One was a spacious mansion, with a large courtyard 
 filled with great trees and luxuriant shrubbery and vines,
 
 NEW ENGLAND HOMES AND GRAVES. 31 
 
 showing that in years gone by it had been the abode of 
 wealth, refinement and taste. Now it was windowless and 
 shattered. Rank vegetation choked the walks and gardens. 
 I passed three or four such deserts on this one drive. They 
 are more or less frequent in many parts of New England. 
 Commercial and manufacturing places and the more fertile 
 lands of the West seduce the inhabitants to emigrate. The 
 tendency of things is out of, not into, these rural regions. 
 If the population of the State increases or holds its own, it 
 is in the growth of villages and cities. And as one passes 
 these vacant dwellings which could now be bought, with 
 plenty of land about them, for a trifle he thinks of the 
 home life that has been enjoyed within them, the fireside, 
 the family, the birth of children, their childish glees, the 
 joys and trials of this world of work and care. If the stones 
 in the hearth or the beams of the wall were to speak, what 
 tales they could tell of domestic and social life in these halls 
 now given up to bats and owls ! 
 
 THE FIRST PASTOR'S GRAVE. 
 
 We went into the oldest graveyard in the town of Oilman- 
 ton, N. H. It lies on a plateau, from which we have a wide 
 and lovely view ; it was laid out in 1776, when the first inter 
 ment took place. The first church in the town was near it, 
 and one still remains, but no pastor looks after the scattered 
 and diminished flock. A new school-house, with the best 
 modern furniture in it, shows that these people will have the 
 means of education. It was an impressive hour among the 
 graves of this congregation, a far larger one than now lives. 
 The first settlers of the town are here. In the middle of the 
 enclosure, with a brick monument over him, is the grave of 
 the first pastor, the Rev. Isaac Smith : a man of great re 
 nown, whose fame is still a part of the wealth of Gilmanton. 
 He studied with Dr. Bellamy, and was with Dr. Wheelock 
 at Dartmouth College when that President was wont to call 
 the students together by blowing a tin horn. In the habit 
 of preaching carefully written sermons, he finally laid them
 
 32 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 aside and preached extemporaneously " with great power 
 and eloquence." And of him it was said : " Justice, truth, 
 mercy and goodness shone in his character." He was a 
 Princeton (N. J.) College graduate. On the top of the mon 
 ument is a slate slab covered with an appropriate inscription 
 and these lines by way of epitaph : 
 
 ' ' Life speeds away, 
 
 From point to point, tho' seeming to stand still ; 
 The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth ; 
 Too subtle is the movement to be seen, 
 Yet soon man's hour is up, and we are gone." 
 
 He died in 1817, aged 72; and his wife, who sleeps by his 
 side, died at the same age eleven years after his death. 
 
 A SPIRITUALISTIC GRAVESTONE. 
 
 Capt. Daniel Gale, a worthy citizen, whose grandfather, 
 Bartholomew Gale, came from England to Boston, died and 
 was buried here in 1801. His wife Patience died also in 
 1804. They were buried side by side, and a suitable stone 
 was set to mark their graves. This was nearly 80 years ago. 
 There are older gravestones than theirs in this venerable 
 enclosure, and the more ancient the more interesting is a 
 monument in the eyes of all sensible people. But all peo 
 ple are not sensible, and one of the descendants of this 
 Daniel Gale was foolish enough to become a Spiritualist. 
 While enjoying its nonsense, she received a communication 
 from the long dead Daniel that he wanted a new gravestone 
 over his bones. She was obedient unto the revelation. It 
 was not much of a stone that she caused to be put up, but it 
 is large enough to receive the name of the Captain and his 
 wife, and to say when they went "to the Spirit Land." Then 
 the inscription follows : " Love, Wisdom and Progression." 
 I hope that no mischievous dealer in gravestones will take a 
 hint from this to employ a medium to instigate the present 
 generation to have their ancestors' tombs done over.
 
 NE W ENGLAND HOMES AND GRA VES, 33 
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 
 
 Real life has tragedies and episodes and secret histories 
 more remarkable than fiction invents. If any spot in the 
 world could be free from all romantic incidents, this secluded 
 region might be quiet, uniform and natural. It is so for the 
 most part, and years may speed their course without any 
 event to make a ripple on the surface of society. 
 
 But we rode by one lone house to-day which has its story. 
 The owner of it, when a young man, a prosperous, promis 
 ing farmer, was disappointed in love. He took it so much 
 to heart that it went to his head. He became mildly de 
 ranged. Unable to manage his affairs, the farm fell into the 
 hands of relatives, who took care of it and him. He did 
 nothing but walk around and around his house, in one 
 uniform circle. His footsteps made a path which he never 
 left but to go into the house, when he rested from his circu 
 lar course, to resume his walk on the morrow. Years and 
 years revolved with his revolving pilgrimage, and still he 
 travelled on. All the years of his strong life wore away, 
 and old age came with white hair and beard, making his 
 journey more pitiable in the eyes of friends, who, passing by. 
 would be unnoticed by him on his dreary travel. And so 
 he marched on, until the silver cord was loosed and the 
 wheel at the cistern stood still. 
 
 In this meadow, the history of the town records, the wife 
 of one of the well-known citizens was killed by lightning 
 while raking hay on the Sabbath day. By her death these 
 lines were suggested : 
 
 " It was upon the holy Sabbath day, 
 When she went forth to rake the new-mown hay ; 
 The forked lightning fell upon her head, 
 And she was quickly numbered with the dead." 
 
 Here Mr. Drew froze to death. In this house " a child of 
 Capt. Page was chocked with beans going down the windpipe 
 and died in seven hours." A little lake lies at the foot of
 
 34 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 the old meeting-house hill, and the records state: "1809, 
 
 May 28. A man, , ran out of the meeting-house, 
 
 threw himself into the pond, and was drowned." It seems 
 to me justice to the preacher required that the cause of his 
 rushing out should be stated : couldn't he stand the preach 
 ing ; or did the eloquence of the stalwart Isaac Smith, who 
 was then the pastor, stir his conscience so that in remorse he 
 ran from the house of God and plunged into the placid 
 bosom of the convenient pond? 
 
 I rode along by the side of this peaceful water and came 
 to the house concerning which another sad story is written : 
 
 " 1819, Oct. 1 6. Polly chocked herself by tying a garter 
 
 round her neck." And even more minutely is described the 
 melancholy mode of Mrs. Barter's departure in 1826: "She 
 hung herself on the Sabbath, behind the door, in a dark 
 closet." And so recently as in 1844, a man who bore the 
 same name with the second President of the United States 
 " hung himself in his barn, by a cord twisted from new-made 
 hay, of only eight blades." And the venerable Daniel Lan 
 caster, author of the History of Gilmanton, and now resi 
 dent in the city of New York, relates with like minuteness 
 no less than 82 fatal accidents or suicides in this one town 
 before the year 1845. Many doubtless occurred that are not 
 included in this register, which was closed 35 years ago! 
 Such is human life in the most favorable circumstances for 
 health, peace and sweet content. 
 
 MARY BUTLER EASTMAN'S RIDE. 
 
 In a desert field near the roadside we saw a hollow, in 
 which was growing a small tree. The turf now covers the 
 ruins of a dwelling, and the site is marked by this hole, 
 which once was the cellar. A friend who was with me 
 said: 
 
 ''There Mary Butler, Mrs. Eastman, lived, when she took 
 the famous ride." 
 
 "Tell me the story, please." 
 
 " It is a tale of the Revolution. At the very opening of
 
 NEW ENGLAND HOMES AND GRAVES. 35 
 
 the war this town of Gilmanton was wide awake, and had 
 her delegate, Col. Antipas Oilman, in the Convention, and 
 twelve men from this town, volunteers, were in the front at 
 Bunker Hill. Lieutenant Ebenezer Eastman left his young 
 wife and their first-born infant in the house that stood on 
 this spot, and led this little band to battle. Boston is 90 
 miles away, but it is said that on the i7th of June, 1775, 
 when the battle of Bunker Hill was raging, the sound of 
 the cannon was distinctly heard. There was no way of 
 getting speedy intelligence, but the news soon came that a 
 great battle had been fought and Lieut. Eastman had been 
 slain. The wife was in church attending public worship 
 when the dreadful report was made. But she would not 
 give credit to it till she had it confirmed. Returning home, 
 she saddled a horse, took her only child, an infant, on the 
 saddle in front of her, and rode through the forests, along 
 the bridle-paths, and in some places guided only by trees 
 that had been blazed. Forty miles of her lonely journey 
 were travelled when she reached her father's house at Brent- 
 wood. She had expected to hear the truth, whatever it was, 
 when this first half of her ride was accomplished. But they 
 had heard only that a great battle had been fought. The 
 fate of her husband was still in the dark. Here she spent 
 the night, and in the morning, leaving the child with her 
 friends, she resumed her saddle, and dashed on another 40 
 or 50 miles to Charlestown and the arms of her gallant hus 
 band, whom she found alive and well, one of the heroes of 
 Bunker Hill. 
 
 " That was the feat that is celebrated in song and story as 
 Mary Butler's ride. Butler was her maiden name, and was 
 dropped when she married. She is not known by that name 
 in these parts. We will soon come to the graveyard where 
 she was buried. And as we are riding, I will repeat the 
 names of the eleven children that Mary had, ten of them 
 being born after that memorable journey on horseback to 
 find out whether she was a wife or a widow : their names 
 were Abigail, who was on the saddle with her, Ebenezer, 
 Stephen, Samuel, Nehemiah, Sally, Ira Allen, Polly, Shuah,
 
 36 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 Dolly, and William Butler. And now we have come to the 
 graveyard, and the grave is in the northeast corner." 
 
 I left the carriage. The gate was fastened (in a manner 
 quite common in the country) with a stake slanted up 
 against it from the outside, and wading through the rank 
 weeds and grass to the spot, I found the headstone easily. 
 On it was inscribed only these words : " To the memory of 
 Mary Eastman, wife of the late Lieut. Ebenezer Eastman, 
 obt. Dec. 13, 1832, aet. 78 yrs. Blessed are the dead that die 
 in the Lord." 
 
 By the side of her grave is that of her husband, who died 
 38 years before her, and on his headstone is this inscription : 
 
 "In memory of Ebenezer Eastman, obt. Oct. 27, 1794. JEt. 48 years. 
 He was one of the first settlers in Gilmanton. He commanded in the 
 Battle of Bunker Hill. He died in early life, but died in the triumphs of 
 faith. 'That life is long enough that answers life's great end." 
 
 TAXING A CHILD'S BRAIN. 
 
 A case of remarkable memory, of great folly and atrocious 
 cruelty, is brought to my knowledge. There is no doubt 
 that the facts are as you will now read them, and you will 
 be prepared, when you have read them, to believe with me 
 that the party in fault deserves severe censure, and perhaps 
 punishment. But the case ought to be made public as a 
 warning to teachers and parents and children. 
 
 In a class of one of our Sabbath-schools was a girl of fine 
 promise, bright, studious, serious, and fond of the school 
 and the Bible, which she read with attention. She was in 
 the habit of committing large portions of it to memory, and 
 reciting them with fluency and correctness. This led hef 
 teacher to encourage the child, exciting her pride and ambi 
 tion, as well as fostering the idea that nothing was too hard
 
 TAXING A CHILD'S BRAIN. 37 
 
 for her to accomplish. A few weeks ago the teacher pro 
 posed to the girl to commit to memory the Proper names in 
 the Bible so as to repeat them at one recitation ! ! ! 
 
 Anything more absurd, more foolish, and more cruel in 
 the way of a Sabbath-school lesson, it would be hard to 
 invent. No possible benefit could be derived from the 
 knowledge were it obtained. What good would it do for a 
 minister or anybody else to be able to repeat all the names 
 of men, women, cities, countries, rivers and peoples men 
 tioned in the Bible ? If the child had a concordance of the 
 Scriptures, in which all these words are arranged as in a dic 
 tionary, she could work at them more readily than by taking 
 them as they stand in the Bible itself. But it is quite likely 
 that it would aid the memory to use the text of the Bible, 
 and have the association with chapters and verses. I am 
 not informed as to the mode in which she undertook to 
 work out the useless task. But she came to her class as 
 usual, and the pious teacher, taking the Bible in hand, lis 
 tened and watched, while the little martyr stood up bravely 
 to the torture and went through it from beginning to end ! 
 AND SWOONED AWAY. On recovery she was led home to 
 her mother, a pitiable, perhaps ruined child. 
 
 Now I have no words of indignation adequate to express 
 the censure which this injudicious teacher deserves for in 
 flicting such a task upon a child, or permitting her to under 
 take it, or even allowing her to repeat the result of it. It 
 may be that the teacher will say the child proposed it, or 
 performed it of her own choice without being told to do it. 
 But it is of little moment whether this particular task was 
 self-imposed or not: the girl was made a martyr to her 
 memory, being encouraged in these feats until she taxed her 
 brain to a degree that will probably result in life-long weak 
 ness, if not early death. It would have been quite as wise, 
 Christian and kind, to have put the child in a walking-match, 
 to see if she could walk six days running. The physical 
 strain would soon show for itself the injury done, and the 
 victim would be rescued. The mental strain does not appear 
 in the suffering until the task is accomplished, and then
 
 38 I RE N^, US LETTERS. 
 
 comes the reaction, revealing the fatal effects of the folly 
 and the sin. 
 
 In Sabbath-schools, as a general rule, the child's memory 
 is not employed as much as it should be. Instead of, or in 
 connection with, answers to questions in a book, every child 
 ought to repeat at least six verses of Holy Scripture every 
 Sabbath day. This may be easily attained by the admirable 
 habit of learning one verse every day in the week, reviewing 
 and repeating them all on the Sabbath morning, and then 
 going with them to the school, there to be recited to the 
 teachers. These verses thus treasured will be more precious 
 than rubies as long as life lasts. In this way I learned in 
 childhood some of the Psalms that are now like pearls. 
 " Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to 
 dwell together in unity," was one of them ; the 23d Psalm, 
 and the I39th, were also learned in the same way, and 
 mark this what portions of Scripture I did not learn then, 
 I have never learned. The study of the Bible since has 
 doubtless made me acquainted more and more with its 
 meaning, its breadth and depth and power : but when I woo 
 repose, or seek communion with the Author, or would soar 
 into regions of divine contemplation, the portions of God's 
 word that were ingrafted before I was twelve years old, re 
 fresh me as did the old oaken bucket that hung in the well, 
 when, a heated and wearied boy, I took its waters on my 
 parched lips. Sweet as, yes, sweeter than the honey-comb 
 are words that have lived in memory half a century, while 
 they who taught me are with David and Mary in the king 
 dom of glory. It would be a blessed reaction and reform if 
 our Sabbath-schools would encourage and require every 
 scholar to commit to memory six verses of the Bible every 
 week. 
 
 But that does not mitigate the folly of the teacher who 
 puts upon a child the absurd task of learning to repeat by 
 rote the Proper names of the Bible ! It may be that her 
 memory was of that abnormal type which easily retains vast 
 sums and sounds without associating with them thoughts. 
 Persons have been known to repeat whole columns of a news-
 
 TAXING A CHILD'S BRAIN. 39 
 
 paper after once hearing them read. Cyrus knew the name 
 of each soldier in his mighty army. Shepherds have had a 
 name for each 3~heep in a great flock. Pastors have been able 
 to call each of their many lambs by name. A lady near me 
 repeated every word of the Shorter Catechism on the day she 
 was five years old. I can now repeat the exceptions to the 
 rule under the 3d declension of Latin nouns ending in e of 
 the Ablative case, though I have not seen them since early 
 childhood, and we used to say there were more exceptions than 
 examples. But all these are as nought compared with the 
 silly task of pressing on the brain of a poor child more than 
 2,000 Proper nouns, that cannot be used when learned, and 
 which no sensible person ever tried to learn. Just take a lit 
 tle slice out of the lesson. There are 28 names in the Bible 
 beginning with the letter O, viz.: Obadiah, Obal, Obed, 
 Obed-Edom, Obil, Ocran, Oded, Og, Ohel, Olympas, Omar, 
 Omega, Omri, On, Onan, Onesimus, Onesiphorus, Ophel, 
 Ophir, Ophrah, Oreb, Orion, Oman, Orpah, Othni, Othniel, 
 Ozem, Ozias. How long would it take you to master that 
 short list ? It is very easy to get the run of words that have 
 some principle of association among them. " Peter Piper 
 picked a peck of pickled peppers : where is the peck of pic 
 kled peppers that Peter Piper picked?" is easier to learn than 
 to say. The i iQth Psalm, in the original, is divided into sec 
 tions, each beginning with the letter at the head of the divis 
 ion, and thus that longest of the Psalms was more easily 
 learned. There are systems of mnemonics, artificial aids of 
 more or less use according to one's taste or needs. The very 
 simple rule is " the strength with which two ideas, words, or 
 things, stick together in the memory, is in the inverse ratio 
 of their phrenotypic distance." You understand that, and all 
 you have to do is to apply it and you will remember almost 
 anything else. 
 
 Have mercy on the children. Spare their infant brains the 
 labor of holding what is of no value, and may greatly injure 
 them. When I see children on the street taking home their 
 books, maps, &c., after five or six hours in school, I am tempt 
 ed to complain of their teachers and parents to that useful
 
 4 IRENES US LETTERS. 
 
 institution for the " Prevention of Cruelty to Children." It 
 is very well to invade the circus and theatre and rescue acro 
 bats and ballet dancers : it is very well to stop Italian beggar 
 boys from following monkeys and organ-grinders : but better 
 and humaner would be the charity that should open the eyes 
 of mothers and others to. the sinful folly of overlading the 
 young mind with the lore of books, when what they more 
 need is beef and fresh air. 
 
 And if the S. P. C. C. will arrest and punish the Sunday- 
 school teacher whose indiscretion inspires this epistle, I will 
 pay the expenses of the prosecution. 
 
 SUMMER BOARD AND SUMMER BOARDERS. 
 
 " Advice gratis" is never taken to be worth anything. As 
 the fruit of long experience may be of some practical use to a 
 numerous class of people, viz., boarders and those who take 
 boarders in the country, I offer this letter under the trees to 
 my fellow-sufferers and friends. 
 
 ADVICE TO THOSE WHO TAKE BOARDERS. 
 
 First get a gridiron. This is a kitchen utensil made of 
 iron ; as the name indicates. It differs from a griddle in a 
 very important respect : the griddle is a solid flat surface on 
 which meat or any compost may be fried in fat. Everybody 
 in the country knows a griddle. It has been in use from time 
 immemorial, and the soft memories of griddle-cakes linger in 
 the mind of every one who was raised in this or any other 
 land of cakes. A frying-pan is used for the same purpose as 
 a griddle, and for other purposes, the chief of them indicated 
 by the name. It is for frying. 
 
 But a gridiron is another and a totally different article. Its 
 nature, design and duty are in a line of service distinct and 
 different in all that concerns the comfort, health and life of 
 the boarder who, for the time being, is your guest, and looks 
 to you to be his minister in things pertaining to his daily
 
 SUMMER BOARD AND SUMMER BOARDERS- 41 
 
 food. Gradually approaching my subject, again I ask, have 
 you a gridiron ? Or, not having one, do you know what it is ? 
 It consists of several narrow separated iron bars usually lying 
 parallel, secured at the ends, so that they will support a slice 
 of meat, or a cleft chicken, over a bed of glowing coals. 
 The process of cooking meat on a gridiron is broiling, in con 
 tradistinction from frying, which is done in a griddle or pan. 
 In the latter case, the flesh is cooked in its own fat, which 
 becomes set or fixed in the meat, baked, jellied, and the food 
 is tough, hard and indigestible. In the broiling process the 
 outside is quickly charred, the juices are retained, and the 
 meat is more tender, better flavored and far more digestible. 
 The same difference exists between baking and roasting. Put 
 a piece of beef or a turkey into a pan and shut it up in a hot 
 oven till it is done, and you call it roasted, but it is not : it is 
 baked. Put it on a spit, in a Dutch oven standing before the 
 fire, or hang it over the coals and let it cook and drip, basting 
 it meanwhile with things appropriate, and the meat will be 
 roasted. The difference between baked and roasted meats is 
 similar to the difference between fried and broiled. And the 
 difference in the taste, though great, is not so great as the 
 difference in the digestibility of the two. The frying-pan is 
 the source of a large part of the dyspepsia that abounds in 
 the country. And so painfully sensible are many people on 
 this subject, they will not eat that which is fried, preferring 
 to fast rather than become the victims of a fit of indigestion 
 which with them is sure to follow the eating of meats that 
 are thus cooked. 
 
 Therefore, I say unto you, whosoever purpose first to take 
 summer boarders from the city, get unto yourselves a grid 
 iron. I do not deny that the frying-pan has its uses. And 
 the saying " out of the frying-pan into the fire" is so ancient, 
 that it is certain the utensil is of no modern date. But many 
 evils in this world are of long standing, and antiquity is no 
 palliation of their ill-deserts. It does indeed render them 
 more respectable, and much harder of extirpation, but they 
 do not grow better with age; and their respectability does 
 not forbid their criticism.
 
 42 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 There is a moral aspect also in which this gridiron versus 
 frying-pan question is to be viewed. Good digestion is in 
 order to the normal exercise of the moral faculties. Much of 
 that depression of spirit which gets the name of religious 
 melancholy, gloom, loss of hope, actual despair, comes of 
 dyspepsia. A writer on physiology says : 
 
 " Many persons do not exactly know where their stomach 
 is, and a still larger number are apt to forget that it lies very 
 close underneath the heart." 
 
 Just so nearly related in morals, as in physics, are the 
 stomach and the heart. This is another and constraining 
 consideration in favor of roasting and broiling, and against 
 baking and frying our meat. 
 
 Passing from this, but without leaving the table, let me 
 intimate in the gentlest terms that are adequate to the emer 
 gency, that city boarders in the country desire abundance of 
 those things which are supposed to be abundant in the rural 
 districts. Yet to my certain knowledge farmers and others 
 who have attracted summer boarders to their houses, send 
 eggs, poultry, and even milk to market, while their boarders 
 are hungering and thirsting after some of these good things, 
 and find them not. Fruit and vegetables which ought to be 
 furnished in the greatest profusion, are often far more of a 
 rarity in the country than in the city. For this there is no 
 adequate excuse. It is little short of robbery, it is certainly 
 an imposition, to offer board in the country, without making 
 provision for the supply of those staples of the country with 
 out which health and contentment are impossible. This is 
 more emphatically true when children are to be fed. And 
 when they cry for food, it is a shame that they cannot have 
 plenty of that which is convenient for them. 
 
 Yet many a good matron in the country thinks to please 
 her boarders by pastries and puddings, while she neglects 
 the weightier matters, such -as poultry and peas. 
 
 And the bed ; O my friend, have pity on the weary bones 
 of your guest, who has been beguiled to your rural resting 
 place. That is not a bed for an honest man that you have 
 made of straw, or shavings, or husks. A good bed may,
 
 SUMMER BOARD AND SUMMER BOARDERS. 43 
 
 perhaps, have been made out of some such materials ; and I 
 have slept on worse beds, and been happy and thankful. If 
 duty or necessity required, one might sleep on the oaken 
 floor, or on a rock out of doors, and enjoy it. But that does 
 not make it right for you to put me upon a bed worse than 
 my desired gridiron, and charge me a round price for the 
 luxury ! I have been at the seaside, and in the mountains, 
 and in country villages, paying fair prices for summer board, 
 and the beds were so thin, hard, uneven, hillocky, musty, 
 and the pillows so insignificant in size and so contemptible 
 in material, that each night was a torment instead of a re 
 freshment, and " O how welcome was the morning light !" 
 
 I will not write to you of cleanliness. No rhetoric will 
 open the eyes to dirt. The faculty of seeing it is a gift ; and 
 with all your gettings, if you have not a horror of this great 
 evil you will never acquire it. Therefore, one must put up 
 with your infirmity once and never suffer it again. Yet 
 cleanliness is a grace that crowns the rest with a halo, and 
 without it a palace would be unendurable by a " pure and 
 virtuous soul." 
 
 Pardon these hints. I will now speak to the boarders. 
 They need speaking to. They are unreasonable, exacting, 
 provoking, ungrateful, impertinent, and take so many airs 
 upon themselves that I must take them down a little. 
 
 There are many excellent people, who spend a few weeks 
 or months in the country every summer, reasonable, Chris 
 tian, pleasant people, who have regard to the rights and 
 feelings, and even the weaknesses and shortcomings of others. 
 To such good people, of whom the world is hardly worthy, 
 why should I write ? I could not make them any better if I 
 were to try. And my fear is that the other sort of boarders 
 will imagine that they too are perfect ; and so between them 
 both my words will be like water spilled on the floor, that 
 does no good where it is, and cannot be gathered up again. 
 
 One of the most difficult of all attainments is the art of 
 easily and gracefully adapting one's-self to any circumstances,
 
 44 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 so as to be at home, and agreeable, whether all things go to 
 one's satisfaction or not. To be thoroughly pleased with 
 the arrangements that others make for us, after having for a 
 time abandoned our own, is next to impossible. Hence we 
 put it as the highest proof of being pleased, that we are per 
 fectly at home. Next to being so, is the honest effort to 
 make others feel that you are so. 
 
 To find everything in a farm-house, or boarding-house, or 
 a hotel, as you left it at home is out of the question. And 
 it often happens that the more show, fuss and cost, the less 
 real comfort is afforded. 
 
 But if you go to the country with a conviction that be 
 cause you are city bred, you will be " looked up to," and 
 treated with a deference that your rank is entitled to, you 
 will be disappointed. Many city people, especially those 
 who have suddenly acquired wealth, assume the position of 
 superiors, and when they act out their assumptions, they 
 make themselves both ridiculous and unhappy. It is the 
 token of true nobility to make even the lowliest at ease in 
 your presence. And the advent of such a well-bred person 
 into the house of a rural family is soon found to be a pleas 
 ure to the old and the young. While on the other hand, the 
 airs and tones, and fidgets and fretfulness, and sneers and 
 complaints of a parvenu are enough to make a boarding- 
 house wretched to all its inmates. Some people imagine 
 that they will be thought genteel just in proportion to the 
 number of times they ring the bell and call for a servant to 
 wait upon them. They are careful also not to manifest in 
 terest in the family whose services they pay for, and by keep 
 ing a thick wall between them and others they hope to ex 
 hibit that exclusiveness which they have conceived to be the 
 specific mark of high aristocracy. Such people are never 
 comfortable. And happy is that house and that neighbor 
 hood where none of them go to board in the summer. 
 
 On the very common sense principle that every one is 
 bound to make himself useful wheresoever he lives and 
 moves, what a world of good might be done if each city 
 boarder were a missionary in the country ! Not of religion
 
 SUMMER BOARD AND SUMMER BOARDERS. 45 
 
 only. That duty needs no preaching from me. Bear in 
 mind that you are not your own, and you do not live for 
 yourselves even when seeking health and pleasure away 
 from home. But there are other duties, not classed under 
 the head of religious, though in one sense all duties are 
 religious the duty of making the best of everything; of 
 enduring what is past curing; of bearing other people's bur 
 dens ; of wearing a kindly face and speaking friendly words ; 
 of being the servant of those who need service, albeit they 
 are ungrateful. 
 
 There is a way to make the house and grounds cheerful by 
 such a manner as will spread itself like the breeze and sun 
 shine, gladdening all hearts, and giving pain to none. There 
 is also a way to make everybody uncomfortable because you 
 seem to be so : it is a habit of finding fault with everything, 
 or certainly with many things : of often saying, " How much 
 better everything is at home than here :" which may be very- 
 true, and yet it may be very unkind to say it ; and it is gen 
 erally agreed that those people who live the most shabbily 
 at home, find the most fault and put on the greatest airs 
 when they are away. 
 
 And there are many you, dear friends, are among them 
 who take delight in making the village, or country-side, or 
 the sea-side brighter and better by your presence, identifying 
 yourself, even for a little while, with the church, and every 
 good work that needs a helping hand, and leaving behind 
 you memorials of your usefulness, that will often call up 
 your name among the country people who, for a time, had 
 you as a summer boarder.
 
 4<5 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 A COUNTRY PASTOR'S SERMON. 
 
 It would have done you good to be with me yesterday. 
 
 Up here among the hills, and therefore the valleys, we have 
 "the stated means of grace," and very good means they are, 
 better by many degrees than are sometimes enjoyed or 
 endured in the more elevated parts of the Church. The min 
 ister is much more of a man than he looks to be. And he 
 looks to be more and more of a man the oftener you set your 
 eyes on him, especially if you can see him when you can hear 
 him also. Personal appearance ought not to be of much 
 account in the pulpit, but it is. He is of medium height and 
 age. His voice is strong, so is his style. Earnest, and yet 
 gentle, he commands and wins. He has been here ten years, 
 and has a firm hold on the affections and respect of the 
 people. 
 
 He deserves it. I have no wish to disturb him by publish 
 ing his name abroad, but I will give you a specimen of his 
 preaching. It will be only a skeleton, wanting the muscle, 
 blood and life of his discourse. The text shows that he is a 
 thinking man who finds suggestions of truth where others see 
 only the one beautiful and simple story. It was a line taken 
 from the narrative of the woman at the Well of Samaria : 
 
 "THOU HAST NOTHING TO DRAW WITH AND THE WELL 
 IS DEEP." 
 
 The well is the infinite truth of God in his written Word. 
 The deep things of God are not so deep as to be entirely 
 beyond the reach of those who have something to draw with, 
 but for those who thus come without, there is no help : they 
 cannot get a drop of water from the well of salvation, the 
 Word of eternal life. This is the simple explanation of the 
 well-known fact that many who are called the people of God 
 go all their lifetime without obtaining, clear, comforting and 
 satisfactory views of divine truth : they are perplexed with 
 doubts and fears, and even suffer so severely from want of 
 water, that they dry up and become skeptics, unbelievers, and 
 perish in their ignorance and sin. They have nothing to
 
 A COUNTRY PASTOR'S SERMON. 47 
 
 draw with and the well is deep. They can get nothing out of 
 it to slake the thrist of their immortal souls. 
 
 The man of science, or the wise philosopher, or the learned 
 rationalist, comes to the well, each with his own instruments 
 for the measurement of its depth and to get the water up to 
 the surface. Each of them makes a trial. The man of science 
 discovers that there is nothing in it, for he can prove that 
 many mistakes have been made by those who have relied upon 
 it for a supply of water. The philosopher says it is far better 
 to seek water at a running stream or a bubbling fountain, 
 than at the bottom of a well. And the rationalist is sure 
 there is no water in it, for he has often tried to get a drink 
 and always found it exceedingly dry. 
 
 The preacher described, in very neat and appropriate terms, 
 the motions of these wise men in their explorations of the 
 well, going all about it, peering over the edge of it, and look 
 ing down into the abyss, and turning away in disgust because 
 there was no water they could reach. They had nothing to 
 draw with and the well was deep. This is just the difference 
 between those who have and those who have not the means 
 by which the water of life is to be drawn from the well of 
 God's eternal Word. The woman of Samaria (he said) knew 
 not that she was speaking to the Saviour himself : the foun 
 tain of life : the living well, when she told him He had noth 
 ing to draw with. But he opened unto her the gospel and 
 revealed Himself to her, and then to her friends, as the water 
 of which if a man drinks he will never thirst again. And so 
 it is in all the ages of the world. To get the water of life 
 out of the truth of God, it is needful only to come through 
 Jesus Christ, with humble faith in Him who is the way and 
 the truth, and the water which no man of science or wisdom 
 can draw with all his inventions, will spring up in him in 
 stantly unto everlasting life. The untutored peasant, in his 
 cottage with the Bible on his knee, reads, loves and receives. 
 It is refreshment to his soul. Not to the traveller in a dry 
 and thirsty land is a gushing spring more gladdening than is 
 the promise, and the poetry, and the story of God's mighty 
 Word, to the humble and believing child of poverty, or sor-
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 row, who receives it as a child, and trusts his soul with joyful 
 faith in the Divine word. 
 
 "I remember," said he, "the 'old oaken bucket that hung 
 in the well,' and the gladness with which I pressed my dry 
 lips to its rim and drank the cool water which, in a hot sum 
 mer day, I had drawn from the well. I knew the water was 
 there: the bucket was there: and before I ever drew it I 
 knew it was good. And I come with the same childlike con 
 fidence to the fountain of God's Word : I know it is pure and 
 true and good : and that I may drink of it freely and abun 
 dantly and shall live forever. 1 do not take a microscope and 
 examine each drop to see if there be any impurity in it : nor 
 do I search the town records to ascertain if it be the same well 
 that our fathers drank of : I come to it with faith, and love, and 
 joy ; and its waters are sweet to my taste, and my thirst is 
 slaked, my heart is full, and I bless God for the provision of 
 his holy Word." 
 
 It is quite impossible for me to give a fair and adequate 
 impression of this able and ingenious discourse. Its obvious 
 object, and he worked it out well, was to show that the spirit 
 of captious criticism, or of doubt and fear, was fatal to the 
 understanding and enjoyment of the truth : that Christ gives 
 the water to them who believe and do His will, and he quoted 
 the familiar texts of Scripture that teach this elementary 
 truth of the gospel, that they who are willing to obey shall 
 know of the doctrine. 
 
 I looked over the congregation, and observed them care 
 fully as I came with them out of the house at the close of the 
 service, and saw that they were rural and simple folk : not 
 rude, but unfamiliar with what is called the world: and under 
 the wise teachings of this noble preacher and pastor they 
 were being trained intelligently for the true enjoyment of 
 religion and for glory beyond the skies. Happy people! 
 They have something to draw with when they come to the 
 well. Their pure, unclouded faith, that no shade of doubt 
 ever disturbed for an hour, brings to their lips and their 
 hearts the cooling draughts, and they will never thirst with 
 out having the living waters springing up in them unto ever 
 lasting life.
 
 AfXS. DOREMUS. 49 
 
 MRS. DOREMUS. 
 
 Soon after my coming to New York, to the work that still 
 is my life-work, Mrs. Doremus called to enlist me in aid of 
 some scheme of benevolence, to which she had put her hand. 
 
 She had then been more than ten years the leading spirit 
 in missionary enterprise: having been one of those noble 
 women in 1828 who sent out aid to the Greeks by the hand 
 of Jonas King, and in 1834, with Mrs. Divie Bethune, had set 
 on foot a plan to educate women in the East, a scheme that 
 ripened into that mighty ministry of mercy the Woman's 
 Union Missionary Society a tree with many branches, whose 
 leaves are for the healing of the nations. 
 
 When she came to me thirty-seven years ago it was in the 
 interest of the City and Tract Mission, and afterwards the 
 City Bible Society; and by and by the House and School of 
 Industry, and the Nursery and Child's Hospital, and then 
 that grand establishment, the Woman's Hospital. Dr. Sims, 
 who is the father of that house of mercy, has told me that he 
 made no headway with his project till he went to Mrs. Dore 
 mus, who touched it, and it lived. What men could not 
 do, she did. Even the Legislature of the State obeyed 
 her will, m&gave the charter. All the charities of the city, 
 of every sect and of none, private or public, were objects of 
 her solicitude and prayers. I never knew which one was her 
 peculiar care. She had no hobby, and made no claim that 
 this or that object was the most important. She was the 
 good genius of every good work, and so the blessing of all 
 the good came on her. It was a privilege and a joy to do 
 what she wanted done. Her wishes in the sphere of Christian 
 work were laws which it was a pleasure to obey. For full 
 well did I know her wisdom was equal to her zeal, and it was 
 safe to assist in any plan which had enlisted her intelligent 
 support. 
 
 Nearly forty years I have seen her at work : have recorded 
 much of it : have gazed on it with wonder, and sometimes 
 with awe ! Not one plan of hers has been the subject of just
 
 50 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 criticism. Never has the manner of her work been open to 
 exception. She never betrayed a weakness, never assumed a 
 prominence that was not becoming a sensible, Christian wife, 
 mother, lady and woman. 
 
 I have the memoirs of nearly three thousand women, dis 
 tinguished in many ages, for deeds that have made their 
 names illustrious in the annals of time. Among them there 
 is not one, no, not one, whose record is more bright and 
 beautiful in the light of heaven than hers. I have studied 
 these records carefully and dispassionately, and if now the 
 women were standing before me in one shining company, I 
 would say without fear, " Many daughters have done virtu 
 ously, but thou, my friend, excellest them all." 
 
 Some of them wore crowns and had power that was not 
 hers. Others were endowed with gifts to write, and have 
 filled the world with their fame. Some have gone on foreign 
 missions, and others among the sick and wounded, and have 
 visited prisons and founded orphanages, and made thousands 
 of homes and hearts glad with the music of their lives. I 
 have not forgotten their names or their deeds. I remember 
 the women of Old Testament times, and the Marys of the 
 gospel, and her who bathed her Saviour's feet with her tears : 
 I believe in the sainted women of the Church of Rome, whose 
 works will be in everlasting remembrance, and the martyrs 
 whose blood was the least of their gifts to the cause of their 
 Redeemer: and the noble women of modern times whose 
 pious labors for the poor and the insane have added lustre to 
 the beauty of their sex, and entitled them to the gratitude of 
 mankind. I know their names, and love to read them on the 
 roll to be called when the King shall say, " Come ye blessed 
 of my Father." But of them all there is not one who wrought 
 more for Christ than she whose name is like ointment poured 
 forth among us, and whose virtues shall be cherished as her 
 richest legacy to the Church of God. 
 
 The fine arts have preserved the form and features of the 
 great and good, who thus live on canvas and in marble. 
 Churches and galleries and parks are made luminous with 
 these memorials. It is a good thing to set up a stone to the
 
 MRS. DOREMUS. 51 
 
 praise of virtue, that it may, though dead, continue to speak. 
 It is no waste of ointment to pour it on the Master's feet, 
 though it might have been sold for the poor : for it is to be 
 always a memorial of holy love. So it would be well if the 
 women, and the men likewise, would cause to be made a 
 statue in the form and likeness of our friend Mrs. Doremus, 
 of the purest, whitest marble, bending beneath the weight 
 of years and many loads of care, faint yet pursuing, the image 
 of the heavenly shining on her seraphic brow. Such a 
 statue is due to her who fulfilled every trust and mission God 
 ever gave to woman, and, by what she was, taught us what 
 woman ought to be. 
 
 Such a statue, in the vestibule of the Woman's Hospital, 
 would be a monument to the sex she adorned : for she was a 
 type and example of what woman is when she makes real in 
 her life-work the conception of Him who created her in his 
 own image. The money it would cost would be worthily ex 
 pended, for in all time to come it would testify to the power 
 and the beauty of one who was spent for Christ and his. 
 
 I have looked with silent admiration on the statues of 
 great men and fair women that make beauteous the palaces 
 of art in the old world : where ancient civilizations and ex 
 tinct mythologies have been preserved in their highest con 
 ceptions of what is had in reverence and love : I have read 
 in story and song of the ideal of genius, 
 
 4 ' A creature not too bright and good 
 For human nature's daily food : 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength and skill, 
 A perfect woman nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort and command ;" 
 
 but I never found in marble, or canvas, or history, or poetry, 
 one that embodied the idea of useftdness so perfectly as it was 
 presented in the life-work of our sainted friend. 
 
 It is well to perpetuate the memory of such a woman. 
 But whether we build a monument or carve her form in 
 stone, her record is on high, and in the hearts of thousands 
 and the history of the Church her memory will never die.
 
 52 IREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 THE BEAR IN BOSTON. 
 
 On Christmas Day the children of the Sabbath-school 
 being gathered to sing their hymns, receive their gifts, and 
 hear a few speeches, I was called on to say something, and 
 this was what came of it. 
 
 Since we were last in this place to celebrate our Christmas 
 festival, a bear died in Boston. If it seems strange to you 
 that I mention this fact to-day, and you see no bearing that 
 it has on the subject before us, bear with me a little and you 
 shall see and hear. 
 
 You have all come here from homes that ought to be 
 happy, where your parents have tried to please you by mak 
 ing Christmas merry, and loading you with good things. 
 They care for you, feed and clothe you, pray for you, and 
 deserve your respect, obedience, and love. But there are 
 many families, yours may be of the number, where the chil 
 dren are disobedient, disrespectful to their parents, and un 
 lovely, and it is of this sin of the young that I am to speak 
 to you, taking for my text 
 
 THE BEAR THAT DIED IN BOSTON. 
 
 It was a private bear. His owner was a gentleman who 
 took a fancy to such a pet, and when his favorite died, he 
 determined to bury the bear with respect. Boston is in ad 
 vance of us in many things. We never have yet had a funeral 
 for a bear in this city, but the proprietor of this Boston bear 
 invited the wise men of the town to assemble and assist at 
 the burial of his dead friend. Among the poets, philoso 
 phers, and philanthropists who abound in Boston was Dr. 
 Holmes, a celebrated physician and wit, who was invited, 
 and he replied to the note of invitation that "he was sorry 
 he could not attend : for ever since he read in his youth of 
 the bears of Bethel, who taught the children to respect old 
 age, he had had great respect for bears as moral instructors ; 
 and he thought if one were employed to go about Boston
 
 THE BEAR IN BOSTON. 53 
 
 and its suburbs for the same purpose, the effect would be 
 salutary upon the youthful population." 
 
 It is my belief if one bear would be good in Boston to 
 teach the children respect for their parents and older people 
 generally, a dozen bears might be usefully employed in New 
 York and its vicinity in giving lessons to our irreverent 
 youth. You remember the bears of Bethel to which Dr. 
 Holmes referred, the bears whose moral forces produced such 
 lasting impressions upon his early mind. The naughty chil 
 dren in the days of Elisha saw the good prophet going along 
 the way, and they mocked him, made fun of him and of his 
 bald head, when two bears came out of the woods and tore 
 more than forty of them. But our boys are not afraid of 
 bears. I have heard of one boy who made mock of an old 
 gentleman in the streets, and then, jumping behind a bale of 
 goods, put out his head and called aloud, " Now bring on 
 your bears." What a wicked boy ! 
 
 But it is not alone in such insults to the old that young 
 America shows his disrespect. There are thousands of boys 
 and girls in this city who call their father " the old man," and 
 their mother " the old woman :" boys and girls of twelve or 
 fifteen years, who think they are wiser than the parents, and 
 insist upon going when and where they please; who will 
 have the kind of dress, and just such a hat or bonnet, and 
 just such company, and such amusements as they please ; 
 and they will worry or badger their parents till they get what 
 they want. And this disobedience is not confined to the 
 city; it is almost as common in the country, and all the 
 country over : it is the vice of the age, and the parent of 
 many vices. A gentleman riding in the country heard a man 
 calling to his son to come into the house, and as the boy paid 
 no attention to the call, the traveller stopped and asked the 
 lad if he heard his father calling. " Oh ! y-a-a-s," replied the 
 youth, "but I don't mind what he says. Mother don't 
 neither ; and 'twixt us both, we've about got the dog so he 
 don't." 
 
 All over the land it is the same thing. Children and young 
 people are less mindiul ol their manners towards the old
 
 54 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 than they once were. I asked a boy the other day in one of 
 the street cars to rise and give his seat to a lady, and he an 
 swered, " Five cents is jist as good for me as her, let her 
 stand." Manners are not as they once were, at home or on 
 the street. And from disobedience to parents comes disre 
 gard of law and order ; then comes crime and punishment. 
 The fifth commandment is a promise of long life to them 
 that honor their parents : for the child who refuses to obey 
 his father or mother, begins vice early, is likely to go on from 
 bad to worse, and it is not strange if he comes to some bad 
 end. Many a man under the gallows has traced his career 
 of crime back to the time when he refused to submit to his 
 father's will. 
 
 When I was travelling in the East, I saw near many large 
 towns a pit or valley where the carcases of dead beasts were 
 cast, and there came the birds of prey and feasted upon 
 the carrion. In ancient times, if not now, the bodies of men 
 put to death for crime were thrown out into the same place 
 to be devoured. And then I understood the terrible mean 
 ing of that strange passage in the Book of Proverbs : 
 
 "The eye that mocketh at his father and despiseth to 
 obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, 
 and the young eagles shall eat it." 
 
 These birds of prey may not, will not, indeed, come down 
 to tear out the eyes of children in the streets, but the child 
 who begins when young to despise the counsels and com 
 mands of his or her parents, is in the bad broad way that 
 leads to destruction. 
 
 Now in the morning of life, while home is happy and par 
 ents are dear to you, and Christmas presents are in heaps 
 around you, love, honor, and obey those who are so good to 
 you. So shall it be well with you all the days of your life, 
 and each year shall be happier than the one before.
 
 IT'S HIS WA y. 55 
 
 IT'S HIS WAY. 
 
 " It must be right ; I've done it from my youth." 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 My friend was defending the conduct of a man whom I 
 had censured with some severity. 
 
 " O it's his way. You mustn't be hard on him. He is 
 not to be judged by the same rules that other men are. 
 You know there was always a queer streak in him, and in 
 deed it runs through the family: they are all queer: you 
 must overlook some things in them that would not be put 
 up with in other people." 
 
 This talk may savor of the charity that covers a multitude 
 of sins, but its does not make the sins any the less, nor the 
 sinner more excusable in the sight of God and all right- 
 thinking people. 
 
 There is a way that seems right to a man, and perhaps to 
 some of his friends as well-, but it is wrong, nevertheless, 
 and there is a terrible hell at the end of it. When you 
 come to morals, there is no such thing as a code of right and 
 wrong for one man and not for another. There are degrees 
 of light, and capacity, and opportunity, and we must not 
 measure all men by the same standard to determine the 
 amount of blame or praise to which they are entitled. It 
 is required of a man according to what he hath. Unto 
 whom much is given of him much is required. And vice 
 versa. But to every man unto whom the light of divine 
 truth has come, the standard of right and wrong is the same ; 
 and nobody, however great or small, shall escape his re 
 sponsibility for wrong by the plea, " It's my way, and you 
 mustn't mind it." 
 
 Yet you have often heard this plea set up in defence of 
 public men, and private Christians, whose ways are so out of 
 the common, so repugnant to good morals, that they would 
 be condemned without mercy if their offence had just once 
 come to the knowledge of the world, but they are pardoned 
 and rather petted and liked for their boldness and eccen-
 
 5 6 tRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 tricity, if they put a fair face on it and keep on until people 
 say " It's their way." 
 
 In reply to my friend's remark, I said: "Suppose, now, 
 that the Rev. Dr. A., or Judge B., or Gen. C. had done the 
 very same things that are not only charged upon your man, 
 but are admitted on all hands to have been done by him, 
 and are justified by him and gloried in, what would you 
 say ? Would you palliate their conduct ? Would you still 
 respect them as honorable, honest, and good men? Or 
 would you turn upon them as wrong-doers, the more worthy 
 of contempt and condemnation because of their position, 
 knowledge, and power ?" 
 
 He owned up to the force of the argument, and fell back 
 on his first principle. "Yes, yes: that's all true, but all men 
 are not alike, and that's his way: he doesn't mean to do 
 wrong." 
 
 One of my neighbors was telling me about his minister : 
 said he, " I like his preaching, but his manner of doing it is 
 awful. He has no ease, no grace, no dignity : he makes wry 
 faces, and awkward gestures, and acts all the time as if some 
 thing was hurting him. But then ' it's his way.' " Certainly 
 it is, and a very bad way, too. It hinders and harms his 
 usefulness : takes away from the force of the truth : pains 
 the hearer when he ought to be attracted ; and so the Word, 
 even the Word of God, is made of none effect. He has 
 been taught better, and is yet so young that he might cure 
 himself of these disagreeable habits that have become so 
 characteristic as to be called his. But he himself thinks 
 they are his -ways, and therefore innocent and rather great. 
 
 Dr. Johnson was a bear among men and women, his 
 manners intolerable and his speech outrageous. It was 
 allowed and even enjoyed, on the ground that it was " his 
 way." But that made it no more decent. And no amount 
 of genius or learning will justify a man among men in 
 failing to be a gentleman. 
 
 All peculiarities are not to be found fault with. Far 
 from it. Every man has a way of his own, as his face 
 and walk and voice are unlike every other face and walk
 
 IT'S HIS WAY. 57 
 
 and voice. To be distinguished for virtues is itself a virtue. 
 Dr. Cox was told that Calvin Colton said of him, 
 
 " If it were not for his Coxisms, Dr. Cox would be a 
 great man." 
 
 "Yes," said Dr. Cox, "he might have been Calvin Colton." 
 
 Learning, wit, goodness, every good, may adorn and illus 
 trate a man's life, and the more of such ways a man has 
 the better for the world he lives in, his age, his country, the 
 Church, and the kingdom of God. But it sadly happens for 
 the most part that we speak of "his way" or "my way" as 
 an excuse for something that might be better. 
 
 Mr. D. comes home from his day's work weary and hungry, 
 and therefore (he thinks it is therefore) cross. He makes 
 himself specially unpleasant to the little family whom he 
 ought to brighten and bless by words of cheer and love. 
 But " his ways" are not ways of pleasantness. And so it 
 comes to pass that his paths are not the paths of peace. 
 For as iron sharpeneth iron, so one cross man in a house 
 crosses all the rest, and he gets as good as he gives. Like 
 begets like. The savor of his presence while the mood is 
 on him spreads a pall on the spirits of the household ; cold 
 ness, petulance, and general discomfort reign. Over the 
 evening meal he thaws and melts and the better nature 
 flows : the children catch the returning tide and begin to 
 play in it : the man is himself again and the house is glad. 
 It is " his way" to be out of sorts when he comes home. 
 And it is a bad way, a mean way, a wicked way, and he ought 
 to repent of it and be reformed. 
 
 I never heard Mr. E. (a man whose company I am often 
 in) speak well of anybody but himself. His rule is : " If you 
 can't say something ill of a man, say nothing." That's his 
 way. He goes on the principle that if a cause is good, or 
 a man is good, or a woman is all right, there's no need of 
 talking about it, him or her; but if there is a screw loose, or 
 room for improvement, or danger of going wrong, it is best 
 to say so, and so make it better. And on this ground he 
 finds fault with everything. He is a pessimist. The worst 
 side of everybody is before his eye. The spots on the sun
 
 5 8 I REN ^E US LETTERS. 
 
 fix his attention. No sermon ever satisfied his mind or 
 escaped his criticism. The newspaper he enjoys in exact 
 proportion to the number of mistakes he finds in it. Society 
 is out of joint, in his judgment. Nobody knows how to do 
 anything as it ought to be done. If they would only let him 
 run things for a while, he would show them how to do it. 
 He is disgusted generally, and takes pains to say so. This 
 is his way. 
 
 And it is just about the most disagreeable way a man can 
 have. He forgets that other people are annoyed by his in 
 cessant grumbling ; that most people love to take cheerful 
 views of things, to look on the bright side, to hope for the 
 best, to find good even in the midst of evil, and to try to im 
 prove what can be mended, and not to fret about what can't 
 be helped. Mr. E. often comes into my office and wants me 
 to "come down on" this man and that society 'and cause ; and 
 he thinks I am timid and time-serving because I will not let 
 him swing his whip over the backs of all the saints and re 
 form them, as he thinks, into necessary righteousness. He is 
 the most unsanctified friend I have, and yet he thinks all the 
 rest wrong and himself about right. I have no fear of offend 
 ing him by saying this, for his self-righteousness renders him 
 all unconscious of his sinful infirmity, and the first time I see 
 him he will thank me "for giving it to those everlasting 
 faultfinders." 
 
 " Mark the perfect man." Would that we might have a 
 chance. There was one. No guile was ever found in his 
 mouth. He was meek and lowly in heart, and the lion also 
 of his tribe. He loved those who hated him. He gave his 
 life for others. His way was like the going forth of the sun. 
 And all the nations are blessed in him. His friends never 
 had to make an apology for him. His judge could find no 
 fault in him. His ways were not offensive to any good 
 people. And he was lifted up to draw all men unto him. 
 
 So, my friend, bear in mind when you say, in defence of a 
 habit, " It's my way," or " It's his way," the strong presump 
 tion is it's a bad way.
 
 A PASTOR AND FRIEND. 59 
 
 A PASTOR AND FRIEND. 
 
 When the Rev. Dr. Dickinson, first President of Prince 
 ton College, was on his death-bed, the rector of the Episco 
 pal church in the village (they were in Elizabethtown) was also 
 dying. The President was first released, and when the rec 
 tor was told that his friend and neighbor had gone, he ex 
 claimed, " O that I had hold of his skirts." 
 
 This was the thought of Elisha when the other prophet 
 went up. 
 
 It was my first desire when I heard that my old friend Dr. 
 Brinsmade, of Newark, had been suddenly translated. Eighty 
 years old : full of years, full of grace, with his arms full of 
 sheaves, rejoicing in the Lord : he was not, for God took 
 him. 
 
 What a tide of emotion rushed in as I remembered the 
 years of our daily companionship, while he was pastor and I 
 led the Sabbath-school. The friendship was warm, tender 
 and holy ; as free from dross as human friendship can be ; 
 cemented by the common love we had for Christ, His Church, 
 and especially the lambs of His flock. For them we labored 
 hand in hand, and great was our joy and reward. 
 
 You will be interested in some of the recollections I have 
 of this dear good man. Perhaps you will be profited as well 
 as interested. At any rate, the hour I spend in writing of 
 him will be " privileged beyond the common walks of life, 
 quite in the verge of heaven." For as I sit in my silent study, 
 in the still night, and the fire burns low, and the city itself is 
 asleep around me, I call up the memories of my departed 
 friend, and even now, this minute, it seems as though he 
 might step in as he was wont to every day what time he was 
 in the flesh, and had not yet ascended to his Father and my 
 Father. 
 
 And that reminds me of one interview in the study : to tell 
 of it will be the shortest way to discover the calm, equable, 
 trustful nature of the man. 
 
 Facts had come to my knowledge, very painful, and per-
 
 60 tREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 sonally to him distressing, which he ought to know, and 
 which it became my duty to impart to him. I evaded and 
 avoided the unpleasant task, until a sense of duty overcame : 
 and when he came to my study in the evening, I went at it 
 with protracted circumlocution, and after a tedious introduc 
 tion managed at last to lay the skeleton at his feet. Then I 
 paused, expecting to hear some pious ejaculation like a prayer 
 for help : but, to my relief and surprise, he simply said : 
 
 " Well, I have long since made up my mind not to expend 
 emotion on what cannot be helped.'' 
 
 That sentence has been like a proverb with me ever since. 
 It is only a paraphrase of the adage, " What can't be cured, 
 must be endured." But it has a little more philosophy in it, 
 and means " don't fret : there are two things never to be wor 
 ried about : things that can be helped, and things that can't 
 be helped. If you can cure them, do so and don't fret : if 
 you can't cure them, fretting only makes matters worse." 
 This is philosophy, Grace comes in and says: "Your 
 heavenly Father careth for these things : his will is wise and 
 kind : let not your heart be troubled." 
 
 We never made allusion to the matter again. It was as 
 though the skeleton were buried in the darkness of that 
 night, and its burial-place were not known. 
 
 Eighty years! Fourscore years of usefulnesss, devotion, 
 holy living and active Christian benevolence. For, like his 
 Master, he went about doing good. His power in the minis 
 try was in pastoral work. It is not probable that any church 
 ever had a pastor more nearly perfect than he. He was a 
 good, not a great preacher, except as goodness is often the 
 greats/ greatness. Warm, earnest, drenched with Scripture, 
 and rich Christian experience, his sermons were poured forth 
 from a heart full of tenderness and love, so that every hearer 
 knew the preacher yearned to do him good. 
 
 Himself a disciple in the school of suffering, taught by the 
 Man of Sorrows, he was a son of consolation to them who 
 mourned. In every household of his charge he ministered in 
 affliction, and his people, especially the children of his peo 
 ple, died in his arms. Just here I could speak of scenes that
 
 A PASTOR AND FRIEND. 6 1 
 
 he and I will talk over together, when we and ours are sitting 
 on the banks of the river that flows from the throne of the 
 Lamb ! Hallowed memories ! Tears thirty years ago now 
 flowing again, while his are all wiped away by the hand of 
 Infinite Love ! 
 
 It is not weakness to weep when these memories come, 
 and little fingers of the long-ago-lost fondly play with our 
 heart-strings in the night watches. Jesus wept. And he 
 wept by the grave of one he loved. I would be like my 
 Lord, and if I may not resemble him in aught else, let them 
 say of me, as they said of Jesus, " Behold, how he loved 
 him." 
 
 Children would stop in their play to take his hand as he 
 passed along the street. And there is nothing in the descrip 
 tion of the village pastor of Goldsmith more beautiful than was 
 daily revealed in the walk and conversation of this good shep 
 herd. He was able to give money to those who had need of 
 it, for his own habits were exceedingly simple, almost severe, 
 and his income ample. It was freely spent upon the poor in 
 his own flock, and in the ends of the world. The father of 
 many orphans, he was as the Lord is to them whom father 
 and mother had left behind when going home to heaven. 
 
 So have I seen a peaceful meadow stream winding its way 
 among green fields, and trees planted by the water-course; 
 verdure and flower and fruit revealing its life-giving power. 
 It made no noise. It was often hid from sight by the wealth 
 of overhanging branches : but it was a river of water of life 
 to the valley it blessed. Like unto such a stream is the life 
 of my departed friend. This day the garden of the Lord is 
 glad for him : his whole course of 80 years may be traced by 
 the fruit and flower and joy which rose into being along his 
 path. He did not strive nor cry, his voice was not heard in 
 the streets. Others were more gifted with golden speech, 
 and had wider fame among men. But no minister of our 
 day has been an angel of mercy to more hearts : none is 
 wept by more whom he comforted : none has been welcomed 
 by a goodlier company of saints whom he saved, and of 
 them whose angels do always behold the face of my Father.
 
 62 IRENES US LETTERS. 
 
 How better to be good than to be great ! How much 
 greater than greatness goodness is ! 
 
 A DREAM OF THE YEAR. 
 
 " I saw a vision in my sleep, 
 That gave my spirit strength to sweep 
 Adown the gulf of Time !" 
 
 T. Campbell. 
 
 We have more dreams awake than when we sleep. A 
 large part of every one's life is passed amid "the stuff that 
 dreams are made of." At times we hardly know whether we 
 have been asleep or not, a vision of past and future appears 
 and then vanishes away. 
 
 It was in one of those moods between waking and sleep 
 ing, before rising on the morning of the first day of the year, 
 that this vision passed before me, with all the vividness of 
 the sun, and left its impress so that I can tell you what I saw 
 and heard. 
 
 I was walking on the bank of a deep, broad, silent river, 
 flowing onward toward the sea. The stream was cov 
 ered with vessels of various names and rig; all going with 
 the current ; making progress, some more, some less, but all 
 getting on. Some of these ships were so near me that I 
 could see the men on board, and with a little care I could dis 
 cover the work that each was set to do, from the master to 
 the cabin boy. There was enough for all, and each vessel 
 kept on its own course, when every man did his own work, 
 faithfully and well. There was some bad steering and slov 
 enly handling the sails, and here and there a captain was tipsy 
 and things were out of sorts, and one ship would run into 
 another or get aground ; and I saw that the neglect of any 
 one to do his duty, made mischief that brought trouble to all 
 on board. 
 
 Before me in the path stood a man whose white hair and
 
 A DREAM OF THE YEAR. 63 
 
 wrinkles told me of his great age, and even if he had not 
 carried a scythe over his shoulder, I would easily have 
 known him as Father Time. He said to me in firm and man 
 ly tones : 
 
 " Whither goest thou ?" 
 
 "With the current," I replied; "all things seem tending 
 to the sea : some go by water, some by land, and I suppose 
 we are all going the same way." 
 
 " Turn," he said, " and go back with me, on the path thou 
 hast travelled." 
 
 We reversed our steps, and he spoke to me of the path of 
 human life : it is often called a journey, a pilgrimage : but it 
 should rather be spoken of as a place, a house, a field, a bat 
 tle, a service ; he said it was wrong to think of life as a sort 
 of space or distance between two goals : a race to be run and 
 then over : a voyage to be made and then the port to be en 
 joyed : and as we walked side by side he discoursed to me of 
 the duties of life, of the works that each man has to do, and 
 neglecting which, he makes a failure. We came, in our walk, 
 upon wrecks of vessels stranded and rotten on the shore : 
 by the side of the pathway, and now and then in the very 
 road itself, were the remnants of broken engines, and the 
 scattered members of beautiful machinery and the bones of 
 human beings lying in the grass by the wayside. Puzzled 
 with the sight of these things, not one of which I had noticed 
 when pursuing my journey alone and with the current of the 
 stream, I looked up with wonder to my patriarchal guide 
 and asked : 
 
 "What are these wrecks that strew the road ?" 
 
 "Losx OPPORTUNITIES," were the only words that fell 
 from his lips, but they fell as from out of the sky, so far off 
 and so solemn did they sound in my ear. I was silent, awe 
 struck, and anxious, for a faint suspicion came to my mind 
 that this was in part my work, and these ruins were memorials 
 of my neglect, if nothing worse. And I repeated his words 
 in a tone of respectful inquiry : 
 
 " Lost opportunities ? Whose and what, tell me, my coun 
 sellor and friend."
 
 64 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 He paused in his walk, and removing from his shoulder the 
 scythe, he rested on it, and began : 
 
 "We have gone back far enough to learn the lesson of 
 the day. The distance we have walked is in time ONE YEAR. 
 The wrecks and ruins we have passed, and those now in 
 sight, are the resolutions made, the purposes formed, the 
 works begun, the chances enjoyed, the means neglected, the 
 mischief done, deeds left unfinished, friendships lost, Sabbaths 
 spoiled, months run to waste, weeks fruitless, days idled 
 away, hours spent in vain : each one of these lost opportuni 
 ties is a wreck and skeleton on the pathway of thy existence. 
 Hadst thou done thy whole duty in this one year over which 
 we have walked, this shattered frame, now helplessly ruined, 
 would have been in beautiful operation, working out a noble 
 mission fof the good of man. Hadst thou stretched out a 
 hand to save this struggling fellow-man, or let him lean on 
 thy shoulder, when he was weak and thou strong for the 
 struggle of life, he would now be by thy side, or if left behind 
 would be praying for thee, as he pressed on toward the 
 mark. You have done well for yourself, but no man liveth 
 to himself, if he live rightly. You may make a long journey 
 and at last rest from your labors, but you will never forget 
 these memorials of lost opportunities that now cry to thee 
 from the ground." 
 
 I was cut to the heart by these words of reproof, and in 
 my remorse, perhaps inspired by that terrible allusion to the 
 death of Abel, I exclaimed, "AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER?" 
 
 " Certainly thou art," he said, with a calmness that was 
 more severe in contrast with the earnestness of my cry. 
 " The whole world is kin, and thy brother is he unto whom 
 thou canst do a good turn, as both pursue the journey of 
 life. All are parts of one great whole : members of a large 
 family : the strong must bear the burdens of the weak : the 
 tempted are to be shielded : they that are out of the way are 
 to be reclaimed : the sinning, yes, the very wicked, are to be 
 sought and saved." 
 
 " And shall I have one more year in which to repent me of 
 the past and to do works meet for repentance ?"
 
 A DREAM OF THE YEAR. 65 
 
 And old Father Time shouldered his scythe, turned him 
 self about, took me by the hand and said, softly, "That is 
 not for thee or me to know. Thy times are in the hands of 
 Him who gave thee life and opportunities. The Present is 
 thine, and of that only art thou sure. Improve the present. 
 With thy might do what thy hand findeth to do. To-mor 
 row never is. Yesterday is gone forever. Now is the accept 
 ed time : behold now is the day of salvation." 
 
 He was gone, scythe and all : his snow-white beard still 
 shone in my mind, but the vision was past, the sunlight was 
 piercing the crevices of the window-blinds, and the shout 
 of " Happy New Year " announced the advent of another 
 morn. 
 
 But it was not all a dream. The river flows toward the 
 sea. The vessels, with their freight and the sailors, are borne 
 onward. This pathway is thronged with travellers, brothers 
 and sisters all. The year is to be full of opportunities, golden 
 opportunities, to be useful. In the household lie the best and 
 holiest duties to be done. A cheerful heart, and voice, and 
 countenance, an open hand, a word of blessing when another's 
 heart is weary or in pain, the thousand little tender services, 
 too small to have a name, precious in the eyes of love, are 
 noted in the book that records each cup of cold water a child 
 of Christ receives. 
 
 By this time the uproar was too great for dozing or medi 
 tation, and changing the robes of night for those of day, we 
 were soon amid the gladdest scenes of the year. Let us 
 hope that it will be ended as happily as it begins.
 
 66 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 DR. SPRING'S PREDICTION. 
 
 At the funeral of a distinguished citizen of New York, a 
 large number of the clergy were present by special invitation 
 The late Rev. Dr. Spring, pastor of the Brick Church, was 
 one who bore a part in the service. As we were leaving the 
 house to enter the carriages in waiting, he took my arm, for 
 his eyes were dim and his steps uncertain. I assisted him 
 into the carriage, and Dr. De Witt took a seat by his side. 
 Dr. Vermilye entered also, and I was shutting the door when 
 one of them bade me come in. I said, " No, my place is 
 with the younger brethren." This was speedily overruled, 
 and I was seated with these Fathers of the Church. As the 
 procession moved, Dr. Vermilye said to me : " You declined 
 our company because of your youth ; pray, how old art 
 thou ?" 
 
 I answered : " I am FIFTY-ONE : and you ?" 
 
 Dr. V. responded, " SIXTY-ONE." 
 
 We turned to Dr. De Witt and begged to know his age, 
 and he said, " I am SEVENTY-ONE. 
 
 It was now the patriarch's turn to speak ; we looked our 
 desires to Dr. Spring, and he answered : " If I live until Feb 
 ruary next, I shall be EIGHTY-ONE." 
 
 Perhaps a more extraordinary coincidence in ages was 
 never ascertained : four men finding themselves in the same 
 carriage, with a decade between the years of their birth : now 
 all of them beyond the half century, and ascending by tens 
 to fourscore. The conversation that ensued was naturally 
 suggested by the discovery we had made, and by the associ 
 ations of advancing years with the occasion that had thrown 
 us together. Dr. Spring, with great preciseness of manner, 
 as though the words were well considered, said to me : 
 
 " You are now fifty-one years old, and you have the best 
 thirty years of your life before you." 
 
 " How can that be possible ?" I asked : "at fifty a man be 
 gins to think the best years of his life are past, and the journey 
 onward is only down hill."
 
 DR. SPRING'S PREDICTION. 67 
 
 "Not at all," replied Dr. Spring: "you will have better 
 health of body and mind : you will do more and better work 
 for God and man in the next thirty years than you have done 
 in the last fifty. I will not live to see it, but mark my words 
 and see if it is not so." 
 
 The words of the venerable man were to me like those of 
 a prophet. His voice and manner, in the pulpit or out, were 
 as of one sent to speak by authority, and some who sat in his 
 presence sixty years will remember with something like awe 
 his majestic tones and words. He must be more than a com 
 mon man who can stand in one pulpit, in the midst of a great, 
 impulsive, changing commercial city like this, and maintain 
 himself and hold his people more than sixty years ! If a man 
 does not run out in that time, his hearers are very apt to 
 think him exhausted, and to want young blood in the pulpit. 
 
 Dr. Spring was before his people in thinking of this. And 
 his treatment of the case was so characteristic of human 
 nature that the fact, as I can mention it, will be a hint to pas 
 tors and to congregations. 
 
 In the year 1849 Dr. Spring came to me in my study, and 
 said : " I want you to help me in finding a colleague in my 
 pulpit and pastoral work. " 
 
 " A colleague for you" I said with some surprise ; " the 
 need of it is not apparent to me." 
 
 " That may be," he replied, " but I am now sixty-four years 
 old, and am approaching that time of life when I shall require 
 assistance, and when that time arrives / shall be sure that I 
 do not need it, I wish to secure a colleague in anticipation 
 of that event." 
 
 This purpose showed the strong, good sense of the man, 
 great foresight, firmness of resolve, and a degree of self- 
 knowledge very rare indeed. 
 
 We gave ourselves to the task of finding the right man. 
 His people knew nothing of his intention ; and they saw no 
 signs of decay in those splendid powers of body and mind 
 which had so long placed him in the front rank of living 
 preachers. Perhaps they would have resisted his purpose 
 had they known what was going on.
 
 68 IRENES US LETTERS. 
 
 His trustees voted him an extra sum with which to employ 
 occasional aid at his own discretion, and various preachers 
 were invited to supply his pulpit. No one of them seemed 
 to be the man some perhaps were too great, others too 
 small : the one just right did not appear. 
 
 And now for the result : five or six years went by, and 
 when the congregation felt that a colleague was desirable, Dr. 
 Spring was in the state of mind that he foresaw in 1849, and 
 was very sure that he did not need one. 
 
 This is not a condition peculiar to Dr. Spring. Men do 
 not perceive their own mental failures. Often men think 
 they can write as good a sermon or as brilliant an essay, and 
 even a better one, than they ever could, when they are past 
 fruit-bearing. Their friends will not tell them so. They 
 would not believe their friends if they were told. They are 
 more fluent of words, with tongue and pen, than they ever 
 were, and so mistake the number of words for power of 
 thoughts. 
 
 Dr. Spring's mind did not fail him. He became stone- 
 blind, and the cataract being removed he was restored to 
 sight. The weight of eighty-eight years made " the strong 
 men bow themselves," but his soul was triumphant as it trod 
 the shining way upward to the glory that awaited him. 
 When his limbs could no longer walk the floor, I was with 
 him in his chamber, where he sat upright in his chair, clad in 
 a white flannel robe, with a silk cap on his head : and in all 
 the years of my intercourse I never had so cheery, familiar 
 and entertaining discourse with him. It was discourse 
 indeed, and he delivered the most of it. He told me of his 
 boyish days, his adventures, his loves, his successes, not a 
 word of his trials, and when I had taken leave of him, and 
 was near the door, he called me back to tell me a story of 
 Lyman Beecher and his wife being tipped out of a wagon. 
 As we finally parted, he said : " I wish you would come oftener; 
 do come at least once a week : it will not be long" I never 
 saw him again. 
 
 What a volume could be made of the "pastors of New 
 York" dead in the last forty years. I saw the sainted Milnor
 
 SABBATH AMONG THE HILLS. 69 
 
 just after his soul ascended to his Father. He lay in white 
 raiment, on his couch, as on a triumphal car. And the vol 
 ume would be bright with the names of Phillips, Potts and 
 Krebs, Knox and De Witt, Maclay and Somers, McClintock 
 and Durbin, Skinner and Alexander, Bethune, Parker, Asa 
 D. Smith, McElroy, McLeod, McCartee, Janes, Hagenay, Rice, 
 Vinton, Hoge, McLane, Mason, Muhlenberg, and others now 
 on the right hand of God ! 
 
 SABBATH AMONG THE HILLS. 
 
 Never do I feel the power and the beauty of God's word 
 and works more than among the hills ! Those familiar pas 
 sages in the Psalms and in the Prophecies come with energy 
 to the mind when the mountains stand around you as they 
 do about the Holy City, and the hills encompass you like the 
 towers and the promises of the Everlasting God. 
 
 Once a year I make a pilgrimage to the valley where 
 Williams College stands, in Berkshire County, Mass. Of so 
 many in Switzerland, and England, and America have I 
 said, " It is one of the loveliest in the world," that it seems 
 idle to repeat it of another. But if I were to invent a place 
 for a seat of learning, and a school of science and art, a site 
 for a college, I would pile up wooded hills, around green 
 fields, and through the openings among the mountains that 
 shut out the world and support the sky I would have two 
 rivers of living waters, emblems of knowledge and virtue, 
 flowing gently in; uniting within the vale, they should min 
 gle in the midst of a grove ; and then, in one broader and 
 deeper stream, they should flow on through another gateway, 
 with verdant meadows and wild flowers on its banks, into the 
 world to be made gladder and better for its healing and sav 
 ing power. 
 
 So is this happy valley. It was a beautiful Providence 
 which guided a soldier, who fell in battle with the Indians
 
 7 t IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 before the war of our Revolution, to select this spot in the 
 wilderness as the seat of a school, now a College called Wil 
 liams, his own name, and it is quite likely that so long as 
 grass grows and rivers run, and hills stand, and men live and 
 learn, this place will rejoice in the wisdom that ordained his 
 choice, and will call his memory blessed. 
 
 Here, then, I come once more, on the return of the Col 
 lege Commencement season. A few hours ago I was swelter 
 ing in the heats of the great city. I am sitting in my over 
 coat now, on a piazza, and am very cool, if not comforta 
 ble. The mercury was 90 in the house in town ; it is here 
 about 65, and as it is raining hard, and a tremendous thun 
 der-storm has clarified the atmosphere, the change is so 
 refreshing as to be truly exhilarating. It is a sort of magical 
 transformation that sets one down in such a high valley as 
 this, in the midst of the mountains, so soon and suddenly 
 from the heart of a great city ! And its enjoyments have 
 become so well and widely known, that hundreds who have 
 tastes to appreciate the intellectual festivities, as well as the 
 natural beauties and enjoyments of the region, flock hither 
 at this season, and make a high holiday of it in the early 
 summer. This season we miss some who were wont to be 
 here, but the place is full of guests. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY. 
 
 June 29. Sabbath. Rain. There is no need of saying, 
 "When it rains, let it rain," for when the clouds, with their 
 bosoms full, get in among these hills, they stay, and it keeps 
 on raining with wonderful perseverance. 
 
 In the forenoon the annual sermon was delivered before the 
 Mills Young Men's Christian Association of the College. The 
 preacher was the Rev. Roswell D. Hitchcock, D.D., Profes 
 sor in the Union Theological Seminary of New York. His 
 text was from the parable of the talents, " He that hath, unto 
 him shall be given," etc. The vein of deep Christian phi 
 losophy running through the discourse imbedded in the 
 mind of young men the great truth of the text that having
 
 SABBATH AMONG TH2 HILLS. 71 
 
 is using, or the result is losing : that the use of talents 
 increases them, the misuse tends to their destruction, so that 
 the analogies of nature confirm the laws of divine grace. A 
 more practical and important lesson the wisdom of the Great 
 Teacher never taught, for in the womb of it are the embryos 
 of all success in this life and of salvation after. Especially in 
 this muscular-development age, when young men's minds are 
 full of the glory that comes from brawn rather than brain, and 
 from brain rather than heart; when the physical is asserting 
 itself over the intellectual, and both are preferred to the spir 
 itual, it was a capital idea with which Dr. Hitchcock was 
 inspired, to put before these young men in the early period 
 of their education the inseparable connection between the im 
 provement and the enjoyment of the talents God has granted. 
 The peculiar sententiousness, the epigrammatic form of ex 
 pression, the sharp, short and incisive phrase, in which a whole 
 volume of wisdom is concentrated, these are characteristic 
 features of Dr. Hitchcock's way of putting things, and they 
 stick like knives into the memory. The hope would spring 
 up, as he spoke, that under these timely teachings these 
 young men will get impressions that will tell on their entire 
 lives, and bear fruit in ages far beyond the boundaries of 
 time. So influence perpetuates and propagates itself. In 
 lines direct and divergent, mind touches minds, and these 
 others, in many devious courses, till " thoughts that breathe 
 and words that burn" go out into all the earth, unto the 
 ends of the world. 
 
 In the afternoon President Chadbourne preached the ser 
 mon to the graduating class. He seized upon the pro 
 gramme or curriculum of a finished Christian education as 
 marked out by the Holy Spirit in Peter, who bade those 
 whom he taught to add to their faith virtue, in the old sense 
 of the word, manly courage and excellence, then knowledge, 
 temperance, patience, godliness, brotherly kindness, charity. 
 Each and all of these were illustrated and enforced in such 
 strong and earnest terms as to produce on the mirror of a 
 lucid mind the image of a perfect character : a fully-de 
 veloped, disciplined and furnished man, thoroughly equipped
 
 72 1RENAZUS LETTERS. 
 
 for the conflict and the service of a human life in an age of 
 active mental and moral forces, when inaction is treason, 
 and to doubt is to be destroyed. 
 
 Toward evening it is the habit of this College, on the Sab 
 bath preceding Commencement, to meet its friends in the 
 Mission Park, where in 1806, by the shelter of a haystack, 
 five students prayed American missions into being. There 
 a white marble has been set up, with a globe on its summit, 
 and the names of the young men on its face. Around this 
 monument, under the shade of giant trees, and beneath the 
 canopy of the sky, we sing the songs of missionary devotion, 
 listen to rousing words, and pray for a fresh baptism of the 
 spirit of the men who made this spot immortal in the mem 
 ory of the Church. In this out-of-door, under the trees 
 meeting, some years ago, I met the Hon. James A. Garfield 
 for the first time, and heard his voice in the cause of Christian 
 missions. To-day the ground was so wet with recent rain, 
 that we met in the house of God, made with hands, instead 
 of the groves, "his first temple." The venerable ex- Presi 
 dent, Mark Hopkins, presided, and spoke with vigor that 
 showed the fire of Christian love brightens as it nears its 
 consummation in joys supernal : Dr. Hitchcock threw his 
 soul into the communion, and talked with us of the Christ 
 in conscious Christian aggression on a world to be saved : 
 Dr. R. R. Booth, of New York city, a graduate of this Col 
 lege in the class of 1849, stirred all hearts with a fervid 
 appeal that the birthplace of American missions might 
 always be filled and be glorified by the spirit of them whose 
 works had in 72 years made the Gospel to surround the 
 globe. 
 
 Later in the evening the Alumni spent an hour in the 
 chapel praying together, Professor Perry presiding. And so 
 closed the day : a great day : a day of high intellectual and 
 spiritual power, when minds and hearts of educated, think 
 ing men rose into the loftier ranges of Christian enjoyment, 
 and on the mount of vision said one to another, " It is good 
 to be here."
 
 A SERVICE OF SONG. 73 
 
 A SERVICE OF SONG. 
 
 It was in the village of Litchfield, Conn., where and when 
 we met of a Sabbath evening for a service of song. 
 
 Services of praise or song are frequent, consisting, for 
 the most part, in singing miscellaneous hymns, one after 
 another, with no special relation to each other, or to any spe 
 cific point of doctrine or duty. An hour may thus be passed 
 with delight, but without much profit beyond the enjoyment 
 of the song. Our service contemplated something more. 
 And, having frequently introduced the same thing into the 
 parlor, at thronged watering-places on Sabbath evening, to 
 the great satisfaction of the guests, who enter into it with 
 zest, fervor and spirit, I am quite willing to think the plan 
 has some merit of its own to commend it. The idea is to 
 make the singing of successive hymns answer the higher 
 purpose of praising God, while it illustrates, enforces and 
 tenderly impresses religious truth on the hearts of those 
 who sing and hear. To this end, a portion of Scripture is 
 selected and as many hymns arranged as can be conveniently 
 sung within the time allowed, and these hymns are to be 
 specifically adapted to apply the portion of divine truth. If 
 the congregation has a choir the hymns may be given to it 
 for rehearsal, and in any case it is desirable that no time be 
 lost in " getting ready to sing" after the hymn is announced 
 and read. But the service will be more happily exhibited 
 by giving the programme as we conducted it at Litchfield. 
 The subject and the order may be varied to meet the taste 
 and habits of the people. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " Come let us join our cheerful songs, 
 
 With angels round the throne : 
 Ten thousand thousand are their tongues, 
 But all their joys are one."
 
 74 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Reading the Scriptures: Matt, xi : 25-30. The words on 
 which our minds will dwell this evening are these : " Come 
 unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will 
 give you rest." REST is the theme. 
 
 If, on the stillness of this Sabbath evening air, a voice 
 should come down to us from the lips that spake as never 
 man spake, no sweeter words than these could fall upon the 
 ears of listening men. Rest. I will give you REST. Wearied, 
 worn and ready to sink beneath the heat and burdens of the 
 day, we long for rest. It is found in the blessed Gospel 
 which brings immortality to light. First, let us meditate 
 the blessedness of rest on the Christian Sabbath. It comes 
 to us in the midst of the cares, toils and even the pursuit 
 of pleasures, and every heart welcomes its holy, peaceful, 
 refreshing presence. Tired nature's sweet restorer, more than 
 sleep. The whole earth rejoices in its rest. The beasts of 
 burden rest. Is it fancy that the fields and flowers, the sun 
 shine and meadow streams are sweeter and brighter when 
 the Sabbath comes ? Let us sing two or three songs of the 
 Sabbath rest : 
 
 " Welcome sweet day of rest, 
 That saw the Lord arise ; 
 Welcome to this reviving- breast, 
 And these rejoicing eyes." 
 
 " Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love, 
 But there's a nobler rest above." 
 
 And the words of the Saviour were an invitation to rest in 
 him. Come unto me, and I will give you rest : rest from 
 the weary load of sorrow and of sin : we are all sinners and 
 therefore we are all sufferers. Every heart knoweth its own 
 bitterness, and there is none that has escaped the common 
 lot. Many wear the tokens of sorrow : and many an aching 
 heart hangs out no signal of distress. Unto you who feel 
 sin an evil and bitter thing, and would find peace of con-
 
 A SERVICE OF SONG. 75 
 
 science, sweet forgiveness, the Saviour says, " Come unto 
 me." Unto you who are bowing down under sorrows that 
 no loving words of human sympathy can assuage, the mes 
 sage of the healer and the comforter conies in these words 
 of divine compassion : " I will give you rest." Come and 
 cast all your care on him : take him as your Saviour from 
 sin : as the rock of your salvation : the consolation and joy 
 of your hearts, while we sing : 
 
 " Sweet the moments, rich in blessing, 
 
 Which before the cross I spend, 
 
 Life and health and peace possessing 
 
 From the sinner's dying friend. 
 
 " Here I'll sit forever viewing 
 
 Mercy's streams in streams of blood ; 
 Precious drops, my soul bedewing, 
 Plead and claim my peace with God." 
 
 " Just as I am, without one plea 
 But that thy blood was shed for me, 
 And that thou bid'st me come to thee, 
 ^ O Lamb of God, I come 1 
 
 ' Just as I am, and waiting not 
 To rid my soul of one dark blot, 
 To thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot, 
 O Lamb of God, I come !" 
 
 *' Come, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish, 
 
 Come ! at God's altar fervently kneel ; 
 Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish ! 
 Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal 1 
 
 " Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, 
 
 Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, 
 Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name saying, 
 " Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure 1" 
 
 " Jesus, pitying Saviour, hear me ; 
 
 Draw thou near me ; 
 Turn thee, Lord, in grace to me, 
 For thou knowest all my sorrow ; 
 
 Night and morrow 
 Doth my cry go up to thee.
 
 76 tltEN&US LETTERS. 
 
 " Peace I cannot find : oh, take me, 
 
 Lord, and make me 
 From the yoke of evil free ; 
 Calm this longing never-sleeping, 
 
 Still my weeping, 
 Grant me hope once more in thee. 
 
 " Here I bring my will, oh take it ; 
 
 Thine, Lord, make it ; 
 Calm this troubled heart of mine : 
 In thy strength I too may conquer ; 
 
 Wait no longer ; 
 Show in me thy grace divine. 
 
 And then conies REST in Heaven : O blessed rest : the 
 rest that remains : infinite, eternal rest : rest in God. Eye 
 hath not seen, ear hath not heard what waits for them who 
 enter into that rest. The prophets of old : the poets of all 
 time : dying saints : have had visions of that rest, and their 
 songs of praise have helped to lift us heavenward, while 
 wrestling and toiling here below. Let us sing : 
 
 " Jerusalem, my happy home, 
 
 Name ever dear to me, 
 When shall my labors have an end 
 In joy and peace and thee." 
 
 And when we had sung two or three hymns of heaven, of 
 which there are so many so precious that we never weary of 
 them, I read some of the noblest stanzas of old Latin hymns, 
 which have come along down the ages, getting strength, 
 beauty and glory as they came: the faith and hope and 
 blood of successive saints, martyrs and confessors ringing in 
 their notes of triumphant harmony : 
 
 " For thee, O dear, dear country, 
 
 Mine eyes their vigils keep ; 
 For very love, beholding 
 
 Thy happy name, they weep. 
 The mention of thy glory 
 
 Is unction to the breast, 
 And medicine in sickness, 
 
 And love, and life, and rest.
 
 A SERVICE OF SONG. 
 
 " O one, O only mansion ! 
 
 O paradise of joy ! 
 Where tears are ever banished, 
 And smiles have no alloy. 
 
 " Thou hast no shore, fair ocean ! 
 
 Thou hast no time, bright day ! 
 Dear fountain of refreshment 
 
 To pilgrims far away ! 
 Upon the Rock of Ages 
 
 They raise the holy tower ; 
 Thine is the victor's laurel, 
 
 And thine the golden dower ! 
 
 " Jerusalem, the Golden, 
 
 With milk and honey blest, 
 Beneath thy contemplation 
 
 Sink heart and voice opprest. 
 I know not, oh, I know not, 
 
 What social joys are there ! 
 What radiancy of glory, 
 
 What light beyond compare. 
 
 " And when I fain would sing them, 
 
 My spirit fails and faints ; 
 And vainly would it image 
 The assembly of the saints. 
 
 " They stand, those halls of Syon, 
 
 Conjubilant with songf 
 And bright with many an angel, 
 
 And all the martyr-throng ; 
 The Prince is ever in them, 
 
 The daylight is serene ; 
 The pastures of the blessed 
 
 Are decked in glorious sheen. 
 
 " There is the throne of David, 
 
 And there, from care released, 
 The song of them that triumph, 
 
 The shout of them that feast ; 
 And they who, with their Leader, 
 
 Have conquered in the fight, 
 For ever, and for ever, 
 
 Are clad in robes of white !
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 " O holy, placid harp-notes 
 Of that eternal hymn ! 
 O sacred, sweet refection, 
 And peace of seraphim 1 
 
 " Oh, none can tell thy bulwarks, 
 
 How gloriously they rise ! 
 Oh, none can tell thy capitals 
 
 Of beautiful device ! 
 Thy loveliness oppresses 
 
 All human thought and heart ; 
 And none, O Peace, O Syon, 
 
 Can sing thee as thou art ! 
 
 " O fields that know no sorrow I 
 O state that fears no strife ! 
 O princely bowers ! O land of flowers ! 
 O home, and realm of life !" 
 
 And we closed the service with the appropriate doxology : 
 
 " Hallelujah to the Lamb who hath purchased our pardon, 
 We'll praise him again when we pass over Jordan." 
 
 The interest certainly increased every moment, as the ser 
 vice advanced : the people catching its intent, joining with 
 growing emotions in the songs, as they gave expression to the 
 longing desires of every living heart. So many afterwards 
 asked for repetition of the service, it was evident that it was 
 not in vain. 
 
 Any other theme might be chosen and developed in the 
 same way; as many hymns being sung under each division 
 as the time would permit. An hour and a half will fly away 
 in such a delightful exercise, and many an ardent worshipper 
 will then exclaim : 
 
 11 My willing soul would Stay 
 In such a frame as this : 
 And sit and sing herself away 
 To everlasting bliss."
 
 CHILDREN AND THE CHURCH. 79 
 
 CHILDREN AND THE CHURCH. 
 
 The Hon. William E. Dodge stirred the Philadelphia Chris 
 tians a few nights ago with some plain but very timely words. 
 He was on the platform in a great meeting gathered to pro 
 mote a General Council of Presbyterians, to be held in the 
 City of Brotherly Love. Mr. Dodge told them that the chil 
 dren of the Church are systematically taught to neglect the 
 Church, and while the clergy and others are laying plans to 
 gather their great men in council from all parts of the world, 
 it would be well to look into a little matter in their own fami 
 lies and at their church doors. 
 
 Mr. Dodge referred to the practice now almost universal 
 of allowing the children to attend the Sunday-school, and 
 then to be absent from the church. His remarks on this 
 habit, which he condemned most earnestly, were loudly 
 applauded, the people being convicted in their own conscience, 
 as the men of Jerusalem were when Jesus said, " He that is 
 without sin among you let him cast the first stone." 
 
 I was going to church last Sabbath morning, and as I 
 approached it, a procession, or rather a throng of children, not 
 infants, but boys and girls of ten and twelve years of age, 
 with books and papers in hand, were pouring out of the lec 
 ture and Sunday-school room, and going down street, away 
 from the church ! Had they been suddenly seized with ill 
 ness, so that it was necessary for them to get home and into 
 bed? Had the labors of the school been so severe that the 
 poor things were exhausted, and must find rest and recrea 
 tion without delay ? 
 
 Mr. Dodge thought the children went home and spent the 
 day in reading Sunday-school books, a large part of which, he 
 said, were not fit to be read on Sunday or any other day. If 
 they do not spend the day at home, it is better than I fear, for 
 in the case of the boys it is often true that the Sabbath is 
 made a play-day, and the Sunday-school is the only hour of 
 confinement to which they submit. 
 
 But it is not about the way in which the children spend the
 
 86 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 Sabbath that I am now writing. It is the fact that they do not 
 attend church with their parents regularly, sitting in the same 
 pew, and receiving the regular instruction of the sanctuary. 
 The time was when this was the uniform, steady and excellent 
 habit of all Christian families. It is not so now. It ought 
 to be so again. The Sunday-school has led to the change 
 for the worse. It should now lead the way in a reform. 
 
 Were I the pastor of a church in which this evil prevailed, 
 I would break it up in two ways : first, by so regulating the 
 Sunday-school that it should not hinder but should posi 
 tively help the children to attend the church service : and, 
 secondly, by so enlightening the darkness of the parental 
 mind that the sin and misery of the present habit should 
 appear to the most benighted. I would show them that the 
 church, the ordinances of God's house, the regular worship 
 in the sanctuary, will prove to be more useful in the forma 
 tion of character, and in training for usefulness and heaven, 
 than the Sunday-school can be: that the church is the home 
 for the soul of the child as well as for the parent, and for its 
 power no human substitute has yet been invented : that the 
 habit of church worship should be formed in early child 
 hood, and no means of pleasing or profiting the young are 
 to be compared with it, or put in the place of it : and if but 
 one, the church or the school, can be enjoyed, the church is 
 to be prized and the school abandoned. This is the plain 
 truth, and that is what we want. 
 
 Then there are two other matters to be attended to : the 
 Sunday-school must not be held at such an hour as to make 
 it tedious or trying for the children to go to church. It is 
 quite likely that the modern contrivances for making Sunday- 
 schools amusing have given them a distaste for the more 
 solemn services of the sanctuary. If so, the amusement is 
 a sin. The school should feed the church. Children ought 
 to be led by one into the other : exposed to the preaching of 
 the Gospel, taught the ways of God's house, and brought up 
 under its influence, with all its hallowed and elevating 
 influences. 
 
 To make this service attractive to children, it may be that
 
 CHILDREN AND THE CHURCH. 8i 
 
 the preaching of the present day may have to be modified in 
 some pulpits. But to be modified it need not be babyfied. 
 The namby-pamby twaddle talked to children, and called 
 "children's preaching," is just about as palatable to them 
 when they are old enough to go to Sunday-school as pap is 
 to a boy of ten. Nothing is more attractive to a child of 
 Christian parents than the Bible ; itself a wonderful picture 
 and story book, more wonderful than all others together; 
 and he is a great preacher to parents who will hold up these 
 pictures and stories to the entranced attention of the 
 young. 
 
 Dr. Bevan says that in London he was wont to devote a 
 part of each morning service to the special wants of the chil 
 dren, and so made them feel that they were an important 
 part of the congregation. Mr. Dodge was so thoroughly 
 applauded by his Philadelphia hearers that he was sure they 
 knew the state of things there to be just as bad as it is here 
 in New York. And now I have a letter from a pastor in Bal 
 timore, who tells me how it is in that fair city. He writes : 
 
 ' ' The difficulty with us and it is a very serious one is that children 
 are not brought to church as formerly, and as they certainly should be. It is 
 a painful sight to see the large proportion of children who, at the close of 
 the morning-Sabbath school, instead of going into church, go home ; and 
 what renders the evil more alarming is that parents not only seem to make 
 no effort to arrest the practice, but approve it ; or, to say the least, apologize. 
 The plea is that to go to Sabbath -school, and then to church, is too much 
 for children; the confinement being so long as to prove neither healthful 
 physically or religiously. Some even go so far as to contend that the Sab 
 bath-school answers all the same as church-going, and is perhaps better 
 adapted for children. 
 
 1 ' Now as to the matter of physical endurance, is the present race of chil 
 dren more feeble and effeminate than were their fathers and mothers ? The 
 latter were trained to go to church as punctually as to Sabbath-school ; and 
 none of them were probably the worse, but very much the better for so 
 doing. The plea is only one of the indications of the increasing flabbiness 
 of the piety of our day. 
 
 " And as to substituting the Sabbath-school for the sanctuary, what will 
 be the effect of this upon the Church of the future ? On Solomon's prin 
 ciple that the training of the child determines the character of the man, 
 what will be the proportion of church-goers in another generation ? The
 
 82 IREMMUS LETTERS. 
 
 New York Observer of forty or fifty years hence will have to speak even 
 more urgently than in the recent editorial on the ' Falling off of Church- 
 going.' The Great Enemy does his work b'ttle by little, perhaps, but he 
 does it ; and whilst parents, church officers, and possibly pastors, are sleep 
 ing on this subject, the tares are being sown. From different and widely 
 separated portions of our country the writer learns that the evil exists, and 
 is, perhaps, increasing. Is it not time to call a halt ? Take the children 
 to church. L." 
 
 What more can I say than unto you has been said ? Here 
 is an evil that is sore under the sun : in the Sunday-school 
 and the Church : every teacher has a duty in the matter and 
 every parent and pastor. Their combined action can work 
 a speedy reform. 
 
 THE SHAKERS OF CANTERBURY. 
 
 Some seven or eight miles south of the spot where I am 
 now writing, and in full view from the hill-top on which our 
 farm and farm-house repose, is the Shaker village in Canter 
 bury, N. H. We drove over there yesterday. So much 
 romance, sentiment and poetry have been invested in these 
 Shaker communities, that one is hardly prepared for the 
 hard, practical work-a-day communities they are, when he 
 comes to see them. They are related to the Dervishes of 
 Turkey, the Monks of Italy and the Saints of the Desert. 
 One touch of madness makes them all akin: the blunder 
 that to be outside of duty is doing it : that God is pleased 
 with those who shirk his precepts, and set up their own 
 vagaries in place of his will. Freeman, the Pocasset Advent- 
 ist, slew his little daughter under a mistaken idea of duty: 
 the Shakers sacrifice the husband, wife, father and mother, 
 under an error as wild and as fatal as the fanatic of Cape 
 Cod has made. 
 
 Shaker villages are substantially alike. A few large, barn- 
 like houses, pierced with many windows and a few doors, a 
 meeting-house, shops, and barns for the crops and cattle, all
 
 THE SHAKERS OF CANTERBURY. 83 
 
 near together, no ornament, no architectural taste, nothing 
 to please or to offend the eye, but rigid lines, perfect cleanli 
 ness and order, these are the principal features of the settle 
 ments. 
 
 We drove up to a door over which was the sign " Trustees' 
 Office." Our party was large fourteen and we were look 
 ing for something like a hotel, but there was nothing to be 
 found more public than this. We were welcomed at the 
 door by a neatly-attired and prim Sister, who pleasantly 
 invited us in, and gave us seats in the reception-room. 
 Another sister joined her, both of them bright, smiling, 
 cheerful women, and, without waiting to be asked, they gave 
 us ice-water, and also mint water, a pleasant beverage. 
 Their kind attentions, especially to the ladies of the party, 
 were grateful in their simplicity. Presently Elders Blinn and 
 Kames entered and gave us a cordial welcome. Their cheer 
 ful, animated conversation, the interest they showed in the 
 topics of the day, and their readiness to make us acquainted 
 with their mode of life, won upon our regard, and we felt 
 that we were with friends. 
 
 Elder Blinn invited us to walk through the village, the 
 houses and barns. Most of the company followed him in what 
 proved to be a pleasant and entertaining stroll. The stalls 
 for the cows, which were in the milking-way at that hour, 
 were scrupulously clean. The milk-maids, mostly young, did 
 not take kindly to the exhibition, and rather hid their faces 
 under cover of the cows. The cows knew their own stalls, 
 over each of which was the name of its tenant. The school 
 room was supplied with all modern improvements, but school 
 was out for the day. The shops were models of neatness 
 and convenience ; a place for everything, and everything in 
 its place, being evidently the law of the house. Machinery 
 and factories have cheapened the production of many articles 
 which the Shakers once made, so that their line of business 
 is much restricted. But they do nothing which they do not 
 intend to do well, and their work in the dairy, the garden, the 
 field or the house, is honestly done and commands its price. 
 
 Elder Kames remained with me while the others surveyed
 
 84 1KZN&US LETTERS. 
 
 the village, which, being as nearly like other Shaker villages 
 as one pea is like another, was not to me a novelty. Our 
 conversation ran along : 
 
 /. How many persons have you now in your community? 
 
 Elder K. About one hundred and fifty. In years past the 
 number has been much larger, as many as three hundred at 
 one time. 
 
 /. Then your numbers rather diminish than increase. 
 Do you have frequent accessions to your connection ? 
 
 Elder K. Nearly every month in the year persons come 
 who wish to join. But they are mostly broken-down, dis 
 gusted and discouraged people, who think it a sort of asylum 
 for played-out parties they soon get tired of it and pass on. 
 We receive none as members until they show that they 
 understand our principles and intelligently adopt them. 
 Even our own members are not restrained when they insist 
 upon going. If they have brought property into the com 
 munity, they are paid what is just if they leave, and no one 
 is sent away empty. 
 
 /. How then are your numbers recruited, as you do not 
 marry, and some must die? 
 
 Elder K. Children are brought to us by their parents and 
 guardians, and we bring them up in our ways. When they 
 have reached mature years, and are disposed to do so, they 
 join by signing the covenant. The boys are less inclined 
 than girls are to fall in with us. Boys are more restless, 
 ambitious, and disposed to go into the world. Hence we 
 always have a much larger number of women than of men 
 in the community. 
 
 /. You are a corporation, I suppose, so that you can hold 
 your property and people under law? 
 
 Elder K. Nay, we are not incorporated : our bond is a 
 voluntary covenant by which the management is confided to 
 trustees, in whose name the property is held and all business 
 is done. We have between three and four thousand acres of 
 land here, and a farm in the State of New York, where we 
 raise wheat and sell it, and we buy our flour here, for this 
 is not a wheat-growing region. We have no trouble from
 
 THE SHAKERS OF CANTERBURY. 8$ 
 
 the want of a legal charter, and it is not the custom of our 
 people to put themselves into such a relation to the State. 
 
 /. You have a post-office under the General Government, 
 I noticed as I came in ; is that for your own convenience, or 
 the public generally? 
 
 Elder K. For all who choose to use it. Our rules allow 
 families of parents and children to live near us in a degree 
 of relation with the Society, but they manage their own tem 
 poral concerns : parents are required to be kind and dutiful 
 to each other, to bring up their children in a godly manner, 
 and manage their property wisely, and so long as they con 
 tinue to conform to the religious faith and principles of the 
 Society they can stay, and no longer. Here they can enjoy 
 spiritual privileges and live away from the world, while they 
 preserve their own domestic relations. 
 
 /. This feature of Shakerism is quite new to me : how do 
 you train the children given to you by their parents ? 
 
 Elder K. A good common school education is given them, 
 and if any one discovers genius and special aptness to learn, 
 he is provided with the best instruction in higher branches 
 of knowledge. They are all taught in the Holy Scriptures, 
 particularly the life and lessons of Christ and the apostles. 
 
 At this point in our conversation, Elder Blinn returned 
 with the party of visitors, and in reply to some inquiries 
 which I did not make, he went into an explanation of the 
 religious doctrine of the Shakers. This is as unintelligible 
 as the mysticism of the Buddhists, or the transcendentalism 
 of Emerson. 
 
 The priestess of Shakerism was a woman, Ann Lee, who 
 was born in England, and coming to this country, had a 
 following of believers who formed a Community near Sche- 
 nectady, N. Y., where she died. The sect discards the mar 
 riage and parental relation, leads a life of isolation from the 
 world, men and women living side by side, in all the gentle 
 relations except the dearest and sweetest, refusing to obey 
 the first command that God gave to his creatures : thus 
 enacting rebellion bylaw as the basis of their Society. What 
 is their idea of the Heavenly Father ?
 
 86 JREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 They teach that God exists in a twofold nature, male and 
 female, and manifests himself in the creation of the sexes in 
 "his own likeness." Jesus, the Son of God, was the male 
 manifestation of the Fatherhood, and in these latter days 
 Ann Lee was born as the revelation of the Motherhood of 
 God, and so we have in Shakerism a religion that enjoys all 
 the communications of the Dual Deity in whom we live. 
 They find passages of the Bible which they hold to favor 
 this unintelligible statement. They superadd a pure Chris 
 tian system of practical duty in which the moral law is fully 
 enforced and a life of simple godliness is inculcated. So far 
 as the knowledge and belief of their friends and enemies 
 extend, they are true to their principles, upright in their 
 deportment, honest in their dealings with the world, and the 
 breath of scandal or suspicion of vice among themselves has 
 never sullied their good name. This is a noble record. 
 
 Such a people cannot be very numerous in this world, for 
 very obvious reasons. There are eighteen communities of 
 them in the United States, nine being in New England, three 
 in the State of New York, four in Ohio, and two in Kentucky. 
 As some of these communities are very small, it is not prob 
 able that they number in all more than 2500 members in the 
 whole country. It is not quite a hundred years since Ann 
 Lee died, the mother of Shakers, and another hundred years 
 will not see the race more numerous than it is now. It is 
 more likely to die out than to grow. 
 
 Elder Blinn put into my hands the printed programme of 
 their next Sunday service, to consist chiefly of singing. The 
 world's people are welcomed, and seats are provided for them. 
 Dancing, or a measured march, is a frequent part of the 
 service, which is conducted with deliberation and without 
 enthusiasm. Quietness and self-control are cardinal beauties 
 of the Shaker system. 
 
 We left our kind friends with mutual expressions of regard. 
 Grateful to them for their kindness, we drove homeward in 
 the cool of a lovely summer evening, taking Loudon Ridge, 
 Jones' Mill and Shell-Camp Lake in the way. The moon 
 stood over the mountains in glory indescribable, her silvery
 
 MINISTERS' PAY IN OLD TIMES. 87 
 
 sheen clothing woods and waters, meadows and hillsides. 
 So still, so calm, so pure, perhaps all the more so because 
 we brought such elements with us from Shaker Village ; but 
 as the sound of a steam-engine on rail or river has never 
 yet disturbed the serene repose of this sequestered vale, we 
 could for the moment enjoy the heavens and the earth as if 
 they were summarily comprehended in the town of Oilman- 
 ton. 
 
 MINISTERS' PAY IN OLD TIMES. 
 
 Isaac Smith was the first settled minister in Gilmanton, 
 New Hampshire. The town had "hired a preacher " before, 
 and William Parsons had been with the people some ten 
 years, being hired from year to year. But in 1774 they called 
 Mr. Smith after he had been well tested by preaching some 
 months in Jotham Oilman's barn. A town meeting was then 
 held, and it was voted to give Isaac Smith a call to become 
 the settled minister, and to give him ^50, lawful money, for 
 his salary the first year, increasing ^5 yearly until it became 
 _75, which was to remain his full salary annually so long as 
 he continued in the ministry, he reserving three Sabbaths each 
 year to visit his friends. 
 
 The town also voted to give him ^75 toward hfs settlement 
 if he accepted the call, one third in money, and two thirds in 
 labor and materials toward his house when he builds. 
 
 But there was one more point to be cleared up before he 
 could see his way to accept the call, and another town meet 
 ing was called, when it was voted that " Mr. Smith's whole 
 salary should be continued to him in sickness, if necessary." 
 This form of expression was derived from his own letter of 
 acceptance, in which he called their attention to the fact 
 that no provision was made for him in case of his sickness, 
 and he said he should expect them to pay him his full 
 salary or " such a part of it as shall be judged a competent
 
 88 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 support by disinterested persons." To this they agreed, and 
 he was settled Nov. 30, 1774. 
 
 Three several and distinct provisions are made here that 
 are worth being noted in these later days on which the end 
 of the world has come. 
 
 1. Mr. Smith was manifestly settled for life. His salary 
 was to be continued " so long as he continued in the min 
 istry." They were not bound to pay him unless he continued 
 to be a minister. If he became unsound in the faith, or 
 immoral in life, the same men who put him into the min 
 istry could put him out, and the people would be released 
 from the contract. But so long as he lived in the ministry 
 they were bound to support him. 
 
 2. They were to support him whether he could preach or 
 not. If sickness overtook him, or the infirmities of old age 
 came on, they were not to turn him out like a superannuated 
 horse to starve on the common. This contract they carried 
 out, and having labored with them forty-three years, he died 
 among them at the age of 73 ; and they built him a tomb. 
 
 3. The people at the outset, and before he was settled, 
 voted in the terms of the call that he might take an annual 
 recess or vacation of three weeks. That is a fact worth 
 looking at a moment. It is not a modern invention this 
 shutting up the church for successive Sabbaths while the 
 minister goes aside awhile for rest. Call it a time to go and 
 visit his friends, or to go fishing, or to the mountains, as 
 long ago as before the Revolution, which is our line of demar 
 cation between ancient and modern, the good people of New 
 England of Gilmanton at least gave and the minister 
 took a vacation. It was good for him and it was good for 
 them. It is no new thing. And there is no evil in it. In 
 the country a house of worship is not closed because the 
 preacher is absent. We used to call it a " deacon's meeting " 
 when an elder or deacon led the service. At such a meeting 
 in my own church, one of the elders took the desk, and, 
 opening the hymn book, said : " Our pastor is absent : let us 
 sing to his praise the 94th psalm." At such services the 
 prayers were offered by the praying men, and a printed sermon
 
 MINISTERS' PA Y IN OLD TIMES. 89 
 
 was read aloud by some one selected for the purpose. This 
 good practice is still pursued in many places. Our city 
 churches may unite, two or three, in such a service, or they 
 may readily find temporary supplies in the pastor's absence. 
 It is not true that preaching is the only object for which a 
 church is opened, Nor is it the chief purpose. The wor 
 ship of God is the service, and the preaching is part of it, or 
 an aid to it. Our Protestant ancestors swung away from this 
 truth when they preferred to call God's house a " meeting 
 house." That is not a bad name for it, if its meaning is 
 that there they meet God and one another. But if it be used 
 as a rendezvous simply, where people meet to hear a sermon, 
 then the true idea of "divine service " is repudiated. 
 
 All of which means that the minister is not necessary to 
 public, acceptable and profitable worship. His work is 
 arduous, and it is for his profit and that of the people that he 
 take a vacation, "to visit his friends," or to go into the woods 
 or to the sea-side or across the sea. But the people are not 
 deprived of the privilege nor released from the duty of pub 
 lic worship because the preacher is gone away. He is not a 
 priest. He is a presbyter, an elder, a teacher. He offers no 
 sacrifice as the Jewish priest did, and as the Romanist pre 
 tends to. Once for all our Great High Priest made atone 
 ment. There is no more sacrifice for sin. 
 
 It is right for ministers to retire for a season : it is wrong 
 for people to neglect public worship because there is to be 
 no preaching. 
 
 But we must get back to Gilmanton and their pastor, Isaac 
 Smith. He was settled in 1774, and for many years afterwards 
 things went on smoothly. By and by other denominations 
 began to take root and grow, where the Congregational ists 
 had been the "standing order." The people became slack 
 in paying their minister what they had promised, and he 
 took the law on them. They had made the contract when 
 they were in the capacity of a town ; now it had come to 
 pass that they were only one of the churches in the town. 
 They appointed a committee to defend the suit or to settle 
 it with Mr, Smith. They settled with him. Many thought
 
 90 IREN&US LETTERS, 
 
 he was hard on them, but as he asked only what he had a 
 right to demand, all sensible people approved of his course, 
 and he retained the respect of the community to the end. 
 
 The large and handsome house in which he lived and died 
 is now the abode of bats and owls. Great shade trees stand 
 in the front yard, and the ancient shrubbery, vines and flowers, 
 untended, grow in luxuriant disorder, outliving the genera 
 tions of men. 
 
 DR. MURRAY: BISHOP HUGHES. 
 
 The sad and sudden death of Thomas Chalmers Murray 
 revives the memory of his father, one of the warmest friends 
 of my life. Not many years ago Nicholas Murray, " Kirwan," 
 was the most popular and perhaps the most useful writer in 
 the columns of the New York Observer. I cannot think of 
 him without a smile on my heart, even in sadness on the death 
 of a noble young man, his well-beloved son, whom I knew 
 in his infancy. 
 
 The first time that Dr. Murray came to my house he had 
 with him a beautiful boy nine years old ; shortly afterward 
 the child sickened and died. I hastened to his home. In 
 the hall he met me, and fell on my neck and wailed in the 
 anguish of a strong man bowed with great grief. Six times 
 the hand of his Heavenly Father put this bitter cup to the 
 loving father's lips. That was sorrow piled on sorrow : clouds 
 returning after the rain : yet was his great soul strong in 
 God. The prevailing feature of his character, by which he 
 was better known than any other, was his overflowing, genial, 
 hearty good-humor. As he made his mark on the times, and 
 commanded wide respect in the world and the Church, it is 
 to the honor of religion that his walk and his conversation 
 compelled all men who met him to know that the highest 
 type of the Christian is reflected in the cheerful, useful 
 man. 
 
 When he was called to Elizabethtown, one man only did
 
 DR. MURRAY: BISHOP HUGHES. 91 
 
 not concur in the cordial invitation. After the pastor was 
 settled, and had been preaching some weeks, the dissatisfied 
 parishioner said to him : " Mr. Murray, I hope you understand 
 that I have nothing against you personally, but I do not like 
 your preaching." 
 
 " Well, I agree with you perfectly," said the pastor ; "I do 
 not think much of it myself." 
 
 The man was so palpably met by this remark, that he gave 
 in on the spot, and they were the best of friends ever after. 
 
 Both of his parents were Irish Roman Catholics. Many 
 a time in his childhood he had crept on his knees into a 
 darkened room in his father's house to confess his sins to a 
 priest, and the nonsense, inconsistency and absurdity of the 
 system of religion in which he was instructed appeared to 
 him in his childhood. When he came to this country, and 
 fell under better influences, he became intelligently a con 
 verted man. I was walking with him one day, when he 
 related the experiences of his early life, and the facts that 
 impressed his young mind with the folly of the Roman 
 religion. Our walk ended, and as we put our feet on the 
 doorstep of my house, I said to him : 
 
 " Write this all out, and let us print it." 
 
 He had not thought of it, but struck by the suggestion, he 
 encouraged me to believe that he would. This was the 
 origin of the " KIRWAN LETTERS." He addressed them to 
 Bishop Hughes, like himself a native-born Irishman. They 
 were printed weekly in the New York Observer, the first 
 number appearing February 6, 1847. They made a greater 
 excitement than any series of papers in the religious press of 
 our times. They were read by Romanists as well as Protest 
 ants. Meetings were held weekly in this city attended by 
 Romanists, when one of these letters was read and discussed. 
 The truth of all the facts was obvious to all who heard. 
 They knew how it was themselves. They had been there. 
 The wit of the letters was Irish wit, and they relished it as 
 they do potheen at home and whiskey here. Bishop Hughes 
 was bothered immensely. On all hands he was challenged to 
 answer them. Finally he was goaded into the ring. He
 
 9* IRENES US LETTERS. 
 
 began a series of letters in reply, but in the midst of them 
 he was called to Halifax ! This was handled cleverly by Kir- 
 wan in a second series, in which he pursued the subject and 
 the Bishop with a vigor that was almost ferocious. It was 
 impossible to answer him. If any one was equal to that task 
 Bishop Hughes was. He was head and shoulders above any 
 man of his sect in this country. And he was witty as well 
 as wise. The New England Society invited him to their 
 annual dinner. Many thought it an outrage to ask him. 
 But he paid them off better than their critics could have done, 
 telling them that his sensations on being there were like 
 those of Pat : riding home drunk in his cart he got sound 
 asleep : some wags stopped his horse, and took him away, 
 leaving Pat to his dreams in the cart. Waking in the morn 
 ing and rubbing his eyes, with a dim memory of the night 
 before, he says : " Be I Pat, or be I not ? If I am Pat, I've 
 lost a horse ; if I be not Pat, I have found a cart." 
 
 The Bishop's audience laughed, of course ; but it was 
 a modified mirth, that came very near the other thing. 
 
 Bishop Hughes rarely had the worst of it in debate or 
 dinner-table talk. A new New York lawyer rather got him 
 once. It was in those good old virtuous days we hear so 
 much of, when the Common Council frequently gave great 
 dinners at the city's expense, and they were usually given on 
 Blackwell's Island, in the midst of the criminals and paupers 
 who are there lodged and fed. At one of these dinners 
 Bishop Hughes was a guest, and he had spoken of his deep 
 interest in the people there confined. N. B. Blunt, Esq., rose 
 and proposed a toast: " Bishop Hughes, the chief pastor of 
 this Island !" 
 
 Then, as now, the Bishop's people furnished the " larger 
 half" of the inhabitants; members confirmed in the church 
 in their youth and now doubly confirmed in pauperism and 
 crime. It was so then, is now, and always will be, until the 
 second reformation. Dr. Murray saw the relations of Roman 
 ism to the poverty, vice and misery of the people, and his 
 letters brought these truths so fearfully to the sunlight as to 
 startle the public mind. When the first series of those let-
 
 DR. MURRAY: BISHOP HUGHES. 93 
 
 ters was finished, I took them to Mr. John F. Trow, who 
 printed them in a little book which could be sold for 
 ten or fifteen cents, and thousands on thousands of them 
 were sold. They had already become famous in other lands. 
 In Ireland they were immediately reprinted with notes, by 
 the late Dr. S. O. Edgar, author of " Edgar's Variations of 
 Popery." They went in Ireland like wild-fire. In districts 
 where Scriptural schools were enjoyed the Roman Catholics 
 read these letters eagerly. And many believed when they 
 read. They were translated into the French and German 
 languages, and then in the East they were rendered by the 
 missionaries into Oriental tongues, until their lines went out 
 into all the earth. 
 
 It was not denied that Nicholas Murray was the<*uthor. 
 His signature was borrowed from an Irish preacher famous 
 once, and of whom a very entertaining sketch might be 
 made. But there were many little incidents in the letters 
 that revealed the authorship, and the pastor of Elizabeth 
 became suddenly as famous in this country as Goldsmith or the 
 other Smith whose first name was Sidney, were in their time. 
 He was sent for everywhere to preach. He was not an 
 orator, and those who for the first time heard him missed 
 the brilliant sparkles of that keen wit and broad humor which 
 illumined his letters. But I have seen the old Broadway 
 Tabernacle packed and overflowing by eager multitudes 
 thrilled by the lofty, burning and mighty words of truth 
 with which he denounced the great anti-Christian rebellion 
 of Rome. In the height of this sudden popularity he took 
 his seat in the General Assembly at Pittsburgh in 1849. 
 Named for the Moderator's chair, no one was thought of in 
 competition with him, and he was elected by acclamation. 
 
 I had strong hope that his son, who bore the name of 
 Scotland's greatest preacher, Thomas Chalmers, would per 
 petuate his father's fame and usefulness. Like his father, he 
 was a graduate of Williams College, the one in the year 1826, 
 the other in 1869. Displaying a fine taste and great facility 
 in the acquisition of languages, he became a remarkable 
 linguist, and was filling such a chair in the young but already
 
 94 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 celebrated Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, when he 
 was called to die in the very spring of his life, and is now 
 laid by the side of his father and mother in the old cemetery 
 of the First church of Elizabeth. 
 
 While the helm of the Universe is held by Infinite Wisdom, 
 Love and Power, I have not the shade of a doubt that ALL is 
 WELL. But there are many things hard io be understood, 
 and I am glad to believe that what we know not now we 
 shall hereafter. Dr. Sprague came home to find on his table 
 a telegram saying, DR. MURRAY DIED LAST NIGHT. It was 
 like the fall of a thunderbolt. The same bolt fell on me and 
 I was stunned. He was not old when he died with the battle- 
 harness on, but he cried, " My work is done," and fell into 
 the arrps of death. And now his son, in the morning, full of 
 promise and hope, is taken away ! The more who die, the 
 more for them to do who live. Let us put on the whole 
 armor of God : fight the good fight : be ready always to be 
 offered, and so much the more as we see the day approaching. 
 
 TWO HOURS IN COURT. 
 
 An errand of mercy led me into the Court of General Ses 
 sions, Judge Cowing on the bench. Mr. Russell, the Assist 
 ant District- Attorney, was so kind as to bring me within the 
 bar, and give me a seat where I could see, hear and apprehend 
 what was going on. 
 
 The room was filled with a motley crowd ; most of the 
 people were friends of prisoners, witnesses summoned, jurors, 
 or parties interested in the cases to be heard. No trial of 
 great public interest was on hand, and the company was there 
 fore only the daily gathering in this hall of justice. Mr. Rus 
 sell had the calendar of cases in his hand, a long and fearful 
 list, and as he called one after another, the lawyer in behalf 
 of the prisoner came forward, and he and Mr. Russell arranged 
 for its disposal. They were all criminal cases. But one 
 class of lawyers appeared, and only three of them in all the
 
 TWO HOURS IN COURT. * 95 
 
 twenty or more cases. These were lawyers whose names are 
 familiar in police reports, men employed by criminals, and 
 who have made large wealth, as well as a certain reputation, 
 by their practice in these courts. Yet all the criminals wore 
 badges of poverty. This was something to think of. They 
 could find money to make lawyers rich, but they were very 
 poor themselves. There were no old criminals. It was dread 
 ful to observe the youth of the prisoners, male and female. 
 With only one or two exceptions, they were under twenty 
 years of age. 
 
 Three young roughs stood up before the Judge, pleaded 
 guilty to a charge of assaulting an officer, and one of them 
 made a little set speech in extenuation of their offence. They 
 were sent to prison for three months, and went off as unaffected 
 as if they had been dismissed from school. Two women were 
 arraigned for stealing; coarse, hardened, vulgar creatures; 
 they confessed their crimes and went up for six months. 
 
 A tall, angular, ugly-looking woman was put to the bar. 
 " A professional pickpocket," Mr. Russell said to me, as she 
 stood up. One of her friends brought to her a three-year- 
 old child, which she took in her arms, and pleading guilty, 
 began to cry fearfully, if not tearfully. When she was sen 
 tenced to prison the cries were redoubled and the child clung 
 around her neck, resisting the efforts of the officer to take it 
 off. But she was obliged to part with it, I think it was a 
 baby borrowed for the occasion, and she disappeared. 
 
 So far every one and I have mentioned but a few had 
 confessed, and there was no need of a trial. But the pressure 
 of cases was so great, and such was the variety of circum 
 stances to be looked into, even when the parties pleaded 
 guilty, that I said to Mr. Russell : " I wonder you do not go 
 crazy : how it is possible to carry all these matters in mind, 
 and be ready to speak and act intelligently in each case, 
 passes my comprehension." 
 
 I admired his patience, humanity, self-control, and judg 
 ment, but had no wish to change places with him. 
 
 Judge Cowing seemed to be the right man in the right 
 place. Calm, judicial, prompt, blending the kinder feelings
 
 96 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 of the man with the firm purpose of ihe judge, he made care 
 ful inquiries into the circumstances surrounding the criminals 
 who admitted their guilt, and meted out the penalty with 
 intelligent discrimination, having an eye to the welfare of 
 the community and also of the prisoner. 
 
 Two young men were arraigned for highway robbery : they 
 were about 18 years old; charged with seizing a man in the 
 night, and robbing him of his watch. Their plea was not 
 guilty. A jury was called and sworn in. They were all very 
 respectable men in appearance ; not one of them unsuitable 
 to hear and decide on the evidence in such a case. The com 
 plainant was the first witness, and he testified, in German- 
 English, that he was going home from a wedding party, where 
 he left his wife and his hat, being somewhat excited with 
 liquor ; he was set upon by these two prisoners at the bar, 
 who robbed him of his watch : he seized them both : held 
 one of them, and the other fled, leaving a portion of his coat 
 in his hand. Calling out for help, he was heard by an officer, 
 who came, meeting the escaped robber flying. Him he cap 
 tured and brought along, and coming up, took the other also 
 into custody. The watch was found near the spot where he 
 caught the runaway. This was one side of the story, con 
 firmed by the officer. The two rogues were examined, and 
 swore that they were peacefully walking the street when 
 this half-drunken man, hatless and coatless, stumbled against 
 them, wanted to fight, did get into a fight, during which his 
 watch was pulled off : they left him and he called the police : 
 an officer appeared and took them into custody. This was 
 the other side of the story. Their lawyer made a speech very 
 like those we read in books, where high-sounding words and 
 platitudes are made to take the place of argument and sense. 
 He sought to impress the jury with the fact that this case 
 involved the rights and liberties of two American citizens 
 whose intelligence and virtues were entitled to respect : that 
 there was no evidence against them but the story of a drunken 
 vagabond who did not know at the time whether he was afoot 
 or on horseback : and if on such testimony they were to be 
 sent to State's Prison, then Magna Charta, Fourth of July and
 
 TWO HOURS IN COURT. 97 
 
 the Constitution, were all in vain. He did not say these 
 words, but that was the drift, and perhaps mine is the better 
 speech. Mr. Russell followed with a brief, lucid, unimpas- 
 sioned recital of the facts as proved : exhibited the coat and 
 the fragment left by the flying assailant : read the law and 
 decisions explaining the grade of the crime, and left the 
 case. The Judge charged the jury with clearness and brevity : 
 they retired, and soon returned with a verdict of guilty. The 
 Judge sentenced them each to the State Prison for ten years. 
 
 Mrs. Dr. Sayre was walking in the street a few days ago, 
 when a young man, seeing a pocketbook in her hand, snatched 
 it and ran. He was pursued and caught and now was brought 
 to the bar. He pleaded guilty. His crime is one of the 
 highest except that of murder. What would be his fate ? A 
 gentleman, in whose employment he had been four years, 
 came forward and said that the lad had been perfectly trust 
 worthy all that time and was without a fault. For want of 
 work he had dismissed him and others, and now for months 
 he had been without employment. It further appeared that 
 his old mother had depended on his wages, and when these 
 failed they were utterly destitute. She had urged him to 
 pawn the few things they had, but he refused, and daily 
 traversed the streets seeking work in vain. Desperate and 
 reckless, he saw this purse in a lady's hand, snatched it and 
 ran. Dr. Sayre was present and did not wish to urge extreme 
 measures. Mr. Russell was satisfied that it was a case for 
 judicial mercy. The boy might be saved if not sent to prison, 
 but that would finish his ruin. His mother stood up by her 
 boy and, with flowing tears, tried to plead for mercy. No 
 one in court could refrain from weeping. Literally I do not 
 think there was a dry eye. Judge Cowing set before the boy 
 the enormity of his crime, gave him earnest and wholesome 
 counsel, and consigned him to the Elmira Reformatory. 
 
 " Thank you, Judge," cried the poor mother, as she turned 
 away brokenhearted, but glad to hear that her son was not 
 to go to State Prison. 
 
 I said to the Judge : " How unjust we often are in speaking 
 of your decisions! had I read in the daily papers the simple
 
 9% IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 mention of the fact that you had let off this young robber 
 with a commitment to the reformatory, I would have thought 
 justice was not done. But I see that it was wise as well as 
 merciful, just to society and kind to the criminal." 
 
 "It is often very hard," he said, "to determine what is for 
 the best, where discretion is left to us, but we do as well as 
 we can." 
 
 " I have not a doubt of it," I replied ; " and I am glad I am 
 not on the bench." 
 
 " I wish you would often come here," he said, as I left the 
 court. 
 
 This was a very instructive and impressive scene. It was 
 a revelation. Sermons could be made out of it. These young 
 men, already hardened in crime: women thieves : children in 
 the midst of vice. And this all about us : the air we breathe 
 is laden with the crimes of our fellow-beings. Is there no 
 balm in Gilead : is there no remedy here ? 
 
 A DOUGHNATION PARTY. 
 
 Perhaps you have not heard of such a party. A surprise 
 party, a wedding party, even a dancing party, you may have 
 attended. And it would not be strange that you are familiar 
 with donation or giving visits. 
 
 When a lady remarked to me a few days ago that she had 
 attended a doughnut-an party, the name was new to me. 
 But she was kind to my dulness, and explained its hidden 
 meaning. 
 
 There be many kind of nuts in the world. The butternut 
 is so called because of the oil which abounds in it. It was 
 once called the oilnut. The chestrmt is named from the cyst, 
 chest or case in which the nut is enclosed, the burr so called. 
 The walnut is not a w//-nut, but comes from the Anglo- 
 Saxon, ivalh-knuta, walnut, meaning foreign nut, as it is of 
 Persian descent. Then there is the doughnut, which groweth
 
 A DOUGHNATION PARTY. 99 
 
 not on a tree like unto the fruits aforesaid ; but a woman 
 taking dough prepared as for the oven, and cutting it into 
 shapes that please her, or more frequently making it into the 
 form of a ball, or a round nut, of such size as seemeth good 
 unto her, droppeth it into boiling fat, lard or oil, and when it 
 is sufficiently cooked, she taketh it forth with a skimmer. 
 Various are the qualities of these doughnuts, according to 
 the amount of shortening and sweetening. They are of Dutch 
 origin, as the walnut is Oriental, and the cruller, and oly- 
 koek, are varieties of the New England doughnut, which 
 holds its own against the world. Mr. Irving has embalmed 
 the Dutch preparation, and the immortality he gives to what 
 he puts into his books shows it is not true that " you can't eat 
 your cake and keep it too." 
 
 Fifty years ago, more or less, rather more than less, the 
 annual giving-visit was a great affair in the country congre 
 gation. The minister's, salary was always of the smallest, and 
 there was a fond delusion among the people that they helped 
 the matter greatly by afflicting the pastor once a year with 
 a spinning-bee or donation party. The term spinning-bee 
 has so long been out of the speech of people, that you do not 
 know what it means. In good old times, when much linen 
 and woollen were wrought on looms at home, and great fac 
 tories were few and far between, every farmer's wife had her 
 spinning-wheel. And as in the days of the Psalmist a man 
 was famous according to his ability to chop trees, so in my 
 youth a woman sought and found renown by the smoothness 
 of the thread she could spin, and the elegance of the fabric 
 that came from her loom. The wisest of men celebrated 
 such a woman when he said : " She seeketh wool and flax, and 
 worketh willingly with her hands. She layeth her hands to 
 the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff. Shemaketh fine 
 linen." And the Roman matron, Lucretia, at work among 
 her maids was more royally employed than the Queen of 
 Sheba arraying herself in all her glory. 
 
 Therefore, when the annual giving-visit to the poor pastor 
 was made, the women brought of their store of thread or 
 yarn, or of the cloth they had made, while the men brought
 
 160 IRENES US LETTERS. 
 
 wood and oats, and such articles as were more in their line 
 of production. As the visit included a supper, it was expected 
 that the women would provide the supplies, and foremost 
 among the provisions for the feast were the inevitable and 
 abounding doughnuts. As everybody had them at home, 
 they were no treat to anybody at the party, and it came to 
 pass that, of the bushels of the article furnished, few were 
 consumed on the occasion. Indeed many brought them as 
 their present to the pastor's wife ! Ah ! well do I remember 
 how long those unsavory lumps of dough and grease lay on 
 the table in the dull days that followed the jolly party. We 
 had doughnuts for breakfast ; doughnuts haunted the dinner ; 
 and doughnuts eked out the supper. It was doughnuts to 
 take to school, and doughnuts when we came home hungry, 
 and doughn-uts when we wanted to eat before going to bed. 
 What became of the woollen and linen goods I knew not, but 
 a lively sense of the prevailing presence and power of dough 
 nuts remained many days after the party, and has not wholly 
 disappeared in the lapse of half a century. 
 
 We took an account of stock the morning after the visit, 
 and estimating the goods at the givers' valuation, the whole 
 thing might be reckoned as worth a hundred dollars. Half 
 that sum in money could have been used by the minister so 
 as to be of more service than all the produce of the visit, 
 including doughnuts. It was, of course, the prevalence of 
 this last named commodity, over and above the rest, that 
 gave the name, Doughnation Visit. By and by, for short, it 
 was written Ztonation. Hence we view the gradual improve 
 ment in spelling according to Prof. March, LL. D., of La Fay- 
 ette College. Doughnation is now Donation, as walhknuta is 
 walnut. The world moves. 
 
 The season of the year is at hand when people meditate 
 giving visits to the pastor. These may not be as common 
 as they were fifty years ago, but they are far from being out 
 of fashion. They had in old times, and they have now, this 
 one thing specially to commend them they bring the people 
 together socially and make them personally acquainted. 
 Breaking bread together is a great bond of union, and city
 
 A DOUGHNATION PARTY. IOI 
 
 congregations have done a wholesome thing in providing 
 church parlors where all the people may meet on common 
 ground. It is not the eating and drinking that makes the 
 party useful, though that is something, and not to be omitted. 
 It is the meeting face to face and hand to hand of one family 
 in Christ, members one of another because of Him. Such 
 reunions were more common in the primitive church than 
 they are now, and we may well go back to those days for the 
 model of a working church. There was a Christian socialism 
 then prevalent that fused all the members into one body. 
 We have lost the spirit of those times, and have suffered by 
 the loss. In many congregations there are strangers who 
 are likely to remain strangers, for they never speak nor are 
 spoken to in the intercourse of years. Whose fault it is, it 
 may not be easy to say. But it is a fault that ought to be 
 corrected, and church sociables are in the line of reform. 
 
 I am not disposed to make light of giving-visits, even if 
 their purpose is to aid the pastor. It is easier for people in 
 many parts of the country to give anything they raise than 
 money. It is hard to raise money. When they have paid 
 the promised salary, it is a pleasing duty to increase the min 
 ister's income by bringing to his house of the fruits of their 
 labor. There is beauty in it. It is a heart offering. And 
 its effect, beyond the value of the gifts, is to show the kindly 
 feelings of the people, and so to cement their union to the 
 pastor and his household. 
 
 But there is no need of giving a man two or three bushels 
 of doughnuts at once. And this is also to say that the lack 
 of judgment in these promiscuous gifts is fearfully amusing 
 Things utterly useless in the household, and that cannot be 
 sold or exchanged, are often poured in, until there is no room 
 to receive them. 
 
 In a sweet Swiss village where I was sojourning, a wed 
 ding was coming off. I found it was customary for the near 
 friends of the bride to make out a list of things which were 
 likely to be the most acceptable as gifts, and each friend 
 intending to give anything put his or her name down for 
 some one of these things. Sometimes several persons united
 
 102 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 in the purchase of an article more costly than one alone would 
 give. Thus all were sure that their gifts would fit in, and be 
 useful as well as ornamental, helpful and pleasing. 
 
 HABITS, ESPECIALLY BAD HABITS. 
 
 " Habits are soon assumed, but when we strive 
 To strip them off, 'tis being flayed alive." 
 
 Couiper. 
 
 Rev. Dr. Adams, who has recently assumed the Presidency 
 of the New York Union Theological Seminary, is in the habit 
 and this is a good habit : all his habits are good so far as 
 I know : he is certainly a model and the young ministers will 
 not fail if they become like him Dr. Adams is in the habit 
 of having one of the Senior class at breakfast with him each 
 morning. Afterwards they retire to the Doctor's study, and 
 from that they go to the church next door; the youthful 
 candidate takes the pulpit and the teacher the pew, and the 
 young man preaches a sermon. Dr. Adams hears and notes 
 the points important to be criticised, matter and manner, 
 voice, tones, gestures, attitudes and faces ; sins of omission 
 and commission ; and then and there, alone and freely, points 
 them out, requires him to try again, to correct the fault on 
 the spot, to get out of the bad habit he is getting into, and if 
 one lesson fails, he must come again and never give over, 
 until the practice is broken up utterly, and a better one 
 formed in its place. 
 
 This is a capital plan, requiring great labor and self-denial 
 on the part of the accomplished President ; and a service 
 which not many teachers would render, day after day, to a 
 single pupil. For one such lesson a student ought to be 
 grateful to the end of his days. How few have sense enough 
 to know the value of such individual instruction ! 
 
 Because lessons in the family, the school, the college and 
 the seminary are for the most part given to the children and
 
 HABITS, ESPECIALLY BAD HABITS. 103 
 
 youth in a group or class, the individual peculiarities of each 
 one are apt to escape that attention which is necessary to 
 their correction if they are evil. And this is true not of young 
 ministers only, or young men only, or young women only, 
 but of all the children and youth growing up, and of millions 
 who have grown up with habits now utterly beyond all hope 
 of improvement. 
 
 It is a question worth a moment's thought, " Is any bad 
 habit corrected after a person is twenty years old ?" 
 
 If we answer the question in the negative, and I am 
 strongly inclined to take that side the duty of parents and 
 teachers is invested at once with tremendous responsibility, 
 and this is the object of the letter you are reading. It may 
 also be a warning and so an aid to the young, who need all 
 the help they can have to become better and wiser. 
 
 You meet a man after a separation of a score of years. 
 The same habits mark him now that were his before. The 
 child is so truly the father of the man, that the man of sixty 
 has the ways that made him notable when a boy. He carries 
 his head just as he did, is stooping or straight, quick or slow, 
 talks through his nose or not, pronounces words wrong just 
 as he did when a young man, and repeats himself all the days 
 of his life. 
 
 I know some of the most polished gentlemen, of the high 
 est culture, who invariably say Africar for Africa, Asiar for 
 Asia, Jamaicar for Jamaica, and in fact they distinctly add 
 the letter r to words ending in a, especially to proper names. 
 They are unconscious of it, would not know it if it were 
 pointed out to them as their habit, and would probably be 
 hurt if it were mentioned to them. 
 
 And this suggests the two reasons why bad habits are 
 rarely if ever changed by men or women of ripe years, i. 
 After the habit has become confirmed the person loses all 
 consciousness of it, just as the perfection of health is to 
 be unconscious of having a stomach. 2. One's self-esteem 
 is wounded by criticism, and a habit is cherished all the more 
 fondly because assailed. It has been said it is very nearly 
 true that no mortal is willing to be criticized, found fault
 
 104 I RE N^. US LETTERS. 
 
 with, and this makes criticism an ungracious and ungrateful 
 task. I have ventured in the course of my life, to make the 
 attempt to do unto others as I would have others do unto me, 
 and to point out, in a kind and inoffensive way, the glaring 
 fault of a friend : perhaps a public speaker, or a writer. In 
 no one instance did any good come of it. A preacher has a 
 habit of wrinkling his forehead while he speaks, or of pitching 
 his voice immoderately high, or of mouthing his words, or 
 shrugging his shoulders, of speaking too low or too loud, too 
 fast or too slow; whatever it is, after he has fairly settled to 
 his work in the ministry he goes on, more and more so, the 
 bad habit growing as his strength increases, moderating 
 somewhat as old age weakens him, and he dies, the same 
 habit clinging to him till the end. He was hurt whenever 
 any one alluded to his habit : he said he could not help it, or 
 he did not believe it, or it was his way, and if the people did 
 not like it they could let it alone, and so repulsing friendly 
 criticism, and hugging his fault, as a parent loves the deformed 
 child the most, he sticks to his own, and goes from worse to 
 worst. 
 
 Peculiarities are not necessarily faults. Something dis 
 tinctive belongs to every earnest man. But faults of man 
 ner are no more to be cherished for the sake of distinction 
 than lameness is to be preferred to sound limbs. 
 
 The children that play at the fireside and sit at the table 
 with you, are even now growing into habits that will never be 
 broken up. You may treat it lightly and let them become 
 fixed in their ways of doing or not doing things, of leaving 
 the door open when they ought to shut it, of dropping their 
 work or playthings when they ought to put them away into 
 their proper places, of using improper words, of being selfish 
 and proud and vain; peevish, fretful, censorious ; neglecting 
 duties that should be done at once; of disobeying when 
 spoken to once ; of speaking when they ought to be silent ; 
 little habits so little that their mention seems idle ; but let 
 these habits, any or all of them, be unconnected when children 
 are under age, and they will never be changed. Put a grown 
 up man into a mortar and bray him with a pestle, yet will
 
 THE EVIL EYE. 105 
 
 not his bad habits depart from him. The way the child walks 
 in he walks when he is old. 
 
 And all this has not so much to do with those habits which 
 may or may not be vices, according to the extent in which 
 they are indulged, for it is not always that an eccentricity is a 
 vice but it refers to those little foxes that spoil the vines ; 
 faults too small to be named, that make up character and a 
 large part of the life that now is. Bear with them in your 
 friend ; they are spots on the sun ; remembering that he sees 
 greater faults in you, perhaps ! 
 
 And as Cowper furnished me a motto to begin with, let us 
 find a fitting couplet for the close in Dryden : 
 
 " All habits gather by unseen degrees, 
 As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas." 
 
 THE EVIL EYE. 
 
 A beautiful, life-like portrait of an old friend has awakened 
 the memory of a fact that may point a moral. I refer to the 
 smooth well-rounded face of the late Milton Badger, D.D., 
 that adorns the last number of the Congregattotial Quarterly. 
 
 When I came to this city, in the year 1840, Dr. Badger and 
 Dr. Charles Hall were secretaries of the American Home 
 Missionary Society. Their office was very near to mine, and 
 I was soon pleasantly acquainted with them. We were in 
 the daily habit of taking dinner together at a restaurant on 
 the corner of Beekman and Nassau street, in the building 
 which is now the Park Hotel. 
 
 In the summer of that year, conversing with a friend 
 and speaking of pleasant persons with whom I had become 
 associated since coming to the city, I mentioned Dr. Badger 
 as one of them. My friend remarked: 
 
 " What a pity it is that he is afflicted with such turns!" 
 
 " I was not aware that he was suffering in any way. To 
 what do you allude?"
 
 106 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 "Perhaps I ought not to have spoken of it," my friend 
 replied ; " but lest you should imagine it to be something 
 worse than it really is, I may as well tell you ; he has occa 
 sional turns of derangement, and is obliged to leave his 
 work and retire for a time to an asylum. They do not last 
 long, but they have been coming on more and more frequently 
 for some years." 
 
 " This is very sad : I would not have suspected it from any 
 thing I have seen ; but now that you speak of it, I perceive a 
 sadness, a reticence, and almost a melancholy in his expres 
 sion, that may well haunt a mind that is disordered." 
 
 " Yes ; it takes the form of melancholy without cause, and 
 is temporarily relieved by medical treatment, only to return 
 more painfully than before." 
 
 From this time onward I began to pay more particular 
 attention to the looks, the acting, manner and words of my 
 poor unfortunate friend Badger. I observed that he and his 
 colleague always came to dinner together, which indicated the 
 importance of his being kept closely watched. He sometimes 
 failed to notice a remark made by another of the company at 
 the table, which led me to think his mind was wandering. 
 He would now and then cast a glance so full of pity and sor 
 row, I was sure that he was himself suffering. His knife and 
 fork began to appear dangerous weapons in his hands, and if 
 he rested a moment in the midst of dinner, he seemed to me 
 meditating an attack upon some other meat than that on his 
 plate. The signs of latent madness cropped out continually, 
 and the danger of being with him appeared to increase, so 
 that I determined to have a consultation with Dr. Hall, in 
 reference to some decided course to be pursued with him. 
 
 Seeking an opportunity I said to him, when we were by 
 ourselves: " It is very sad this trouble of Dr. Badger's; don't 
 you think something ought to be done about it?" 
 
 " I do not understand you," said Dr. Hall. 
 
 " I beg pardon if I have touched upon anything that is 
 secret, but I supposed it was generally known, and it was in 
 the purest sympathy that I referred to it."
 
 THE EVIL EYE, 107 
 
 Dr. Hall replied, " I do not know what you are speaking 
 of, and you will have to explain yourself." 
 
 I was still under the impression that he was tryingto divert 
 me from my suspicions, and I said frankly, " I am told that 
 he is subject to fits of derangement, and is often confined for 
 treatment, and then returns to his duties." 
 
 Dr. Hall exploded with laughter, to my astonishment and 
 relief: and, calling to Dr. Badger, whose room adjoined his 
 own, he said, " Come in here, and tell us what you have been 
 doing." He then repeated to his associate the story I had 
 told him, and they made themselves as merry over it as was 
 becoming two divines. 
 
 When the explanation was sought, it was found that my 
 informant had confounded Dr. Badger with another person, 
 of whom all the facts were correctly stated, but they were 
 applied to the wrong man ! For a long time afterward the 
 incident was the occasion of pleasantry between us, and 
 besides the amusement it afforded, is the lesson it teaches to 
 be very cautious of awakening unjust suspicions in regard to 
 others. 
 
 If I had been called on to testify in a court of justice, as to 
 the sanity of Dr. Badger, before I went to his colleague with 
 my suspicions, I should have been compelled to speak of the 
 "look out of his eye," the "incoherent observation," the 
 "absent-mindedness," the "sudden movement," the appa 
 rent "melancholy" which had marked the deportment of 
 one of the most even, placid, well-balanced, judicious and 
 undisturbed men in the world. But the evil eye of suspicion, 
 with which I had regarded him, had discovered signs of 
 incipient insanity, and had perverted the suavity of a Chris 
 tian gentleman into the lurking seeds of mental disease. 
 
 To injure the usefulness of a good man, to poison the hap 
 piness of a noble woman, it is necessary only to give wings 
 to words of suspicion in regard to character, and the evil 
 deed is done. A faithful pastor has won his way to a well- 
 earned reputation, and a report gets abroad that " he drinks :" 
 that is, " he is intemperate :" for with many people " to drink
 
 Io8 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 at all is to be intemperate," and the story is confirmed by 
 every instance of special success in the pulpit, and by every 
 failure that he makes. It is quite as well to kill a dog at 
 once as to give it out that he is mad, for then he is sure to be 
 hunted to the death. And when once the suspicion is 
 awakened that a man or a woman is not altogether right, 
 every act, however innocent, is construed into evidence of 
 wrong. Words that are as gentle and good as if they fell 
 from the lips of angels, are perverted by prejudice into wit 
 nesses of evil, and out of their own mouths the innocent are 
 condemned. To speak ill of a neighbor is in almost every 
 case an injury to society, and to speak evil unjustly is to bear 
 false witness, which is one of the most grievous sins. 
 
 I have heard you say that it is a namby-pamby milk-and- 
 water sort of virtue that requires us to speak only what is 
 good of people, and that faults are as fair a subject of remark 
 as the merits of others. But I do not agree with you in that. 
 The law of love is the best rule of life, and to speak ill of 
 others is to be allowed only when love requires it. Censure 
 is as just at some times as praise at others. Only let it be 
 in love. But if the truth is not to be spoken always, if 
 silence is better than speech when speaking the truth would 
 do evil and no good, how wicked and how dangerous it is to 
 utter a word of untruth, even a breath of suspicion, a trifling 
 hint or insinuation that may soil the fair face of a spotless 
 name, and dim the lustre of a virtuous character. The 
 tongue is a little member, but it is a mighty power. And 
 words once spoken can never, never, never be unsaid.
 
 MODEL MINISTER, PROFESSOR, AND MAN. 109 
 
 THE MODEL MINISTER, PASTOR, PROFESSOR, 
 
 AND MAN. 
 
 REMARKS AT THE INAUGURATION OF THE TABLET IN 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY CHAPEL, TO THE 
 MEMORY OF REV. SAMUEL MILLER, D.D. 
 
 As I speak of Dr. Samuel Miller, he rises on my memory 
 as when I saw him for the first time. It was in the autumn 
 of 1832: in the 63d year of his life, in the morning of that 
 old age which put on immortality at 81. Coming to the 
 Seminary with a letter of introduction to him, I called and 
 was received in his library, in the midst of which he was 
 standing, clad in a white flannel study gown, and with a 
 black silk cap on his head. The walls, from floor to ceiling, 
 lined with books ; the gently burning wood-fire ; the imple 
 ments of learned toil ; a form of manly grace and beauty ; 
 his paternal smile and pressure of my hand ; all these come 
 back to me fresh and warm, though nearly half a century 
 lies between that scene and this, as we meet to cut his name 
 in marble and pay this honor to his memory. 
 
 Having given me a kindly welcome and learned my 
 intended course of study, he said : " You will often want 
 books that others have drawn from the library ; you see 
 mine; while you are in the Seminary, consider them yours; 
 take as many as you wish ; come whenever you please and 
 help yourself." He followed this remarkable offer by taking 
 down some works, the names of which I remember distinctly, 
 and I carried them off " rejoicing as one who findeth great 
 spoil." 
 
 Whoever speaks of Dr. Miller without personal knowledge 
 of him, portrays a man of great dignity, formality, with that 
 reserve which weak men sometimes suppose to be essential 
 to the manners of a gentleman. He was free from those 
 weaknesses. Without affectation, he was simply a refined 
 Christian, with the nicest sense of the proprieties ; the most
 
 no IREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 delicate consideration for others, deep personal humility, 
 and unbounded benevolence. When these virtues are com 
 bined with large learning, extensive intercourse with culti 
 vated men, and a fine person, you have as nearly a perfect 
 model as God often makes. 
 
 The first time that I read an essay before the class Dr. 
 Miller was in the chair. The juvenile performance was sub 
 mitted to the tender mercies of the students, each of whom 
 was at liberty to make his comments. These were free, and 
 some of them very caustic. My epidermis was then much 
 more tender than it is now. Some kindly criticisms fell 
 from the lips of my distinguished friend, the Rev. Dr. D. X. 
 Junkin. The Church and the world have heard of other 
 men who took me in hand that morning. When they had 
 flayed me alive, cut me up entirely, it remained for Dr. Miller 
 to hold an inquest on the remains. With exceeding gentle 
 ness he said, " Will you be so kind as to remain after the 
 class retires ?" I remained, in sure and certain fear that the 
 excoriation was to be so severe that his tenderness would 
 not suffer him to perform the operation in public. We were 
 alone, and he broke the silence by saying, in his blandest 
 tones, " Will you do me the favor to come and take tea with 
 me to-morrow ; I wish you to become acquainted with my 
 family." I recovered and went. 
 
 While in the lecture room, I am reminded of one of the 
 happiest illustrations of Dr. Miller's manners, his genial 
 humor, and regard for the feelings of those whom he would 
 correct. We took our seats in the old oratory often in 
 chairs of our own, provided with a leaf on which we could 
 write our notes. One of the class had so 'placed his chair 
 that he sat with his back to Dr. Miller; the impropriety of 
 the position deserved rebuke, but he did not wish to mortify 
 the young man ; and as he was about to commence his lecture 
 Dr. Miller said : 
 
 " Mr. , I prefer in this lecture to reason a priori, rather 
 
 than a posteriori" Amid the roars of the class, he wheeled 
 right about face. 
 
 Dr. Miller's standard of clerical manners was admirably
 
 MODEL MINISTER, PROFESSOR, AND MAN. in 
 
 expressed in one of those memorable Sabbath afternoon 
 conferences, when that subject was up for discussion. He 
 said to us: "I would have the minister, in his manner of 
 life, his dress, his equipage, so conform to the reasonable 
 expectations of society, as to avoid remark either on the 
 ground of parsimony or of extravagance. Thus, if he rides, 
 I would not wish the people to be able to say, ' What a fine 
 horse the parson has ! ' Nor on the other hand, 'What a rat 
 of a thing our minister rides ! ' " 
 
 Born in the State of Delaware, his father a rural pastor, 
 he had the best home that children have who are to be 
 trained for usefulness and heaven. His collegiate course 
 was completed with honor in Philadelphia. His pastoral 
 life was begun and ended in the city of New York. In the 
 early years of his ministry, with men of might and renown 
 around him, the youthful soldier of the cross bore himself 
 so bravely as to command respectful admiration and honor. 
 Before the time when Doctorates were then wont to fall on 
 the reverend head, he met his fate. It does not take so 
 much to make a doctor in our day as it did in his, the 
 boys become Doctors of Divinity now almost as soon as they 
 leave off their aprons, but he was decorated when so young, 
 that we may easily appreciate an incident which occurred on 
 a journey he made in New England just after he experienced 
 a change from simple Mr. to a more excellent degree. His 
 travelling friend introduced him to a plain-spoken divine as 
 " Dr. Miller of New York," and the man taking him at once 
 to be a physician, asked him about the yellow fever; when 
 his friend informed him that this was a Doctor of Divinity ; 
 upon which he lifted up his hands and exclaimed, with 
 emphasis peculiar to the expression, You DON'T ! 
 
 His pulpit talents, both as a writer and speaker, were of a 
 high order ; graceful, able and eloquent, bringing only beaten 
 oil into the sanctuary, preaching without notes, with earnest 
 ness, fluency and force, he was heard with profit, and his 
 ministry was eminently useful and successful. 
 
 His life of 20 years in New York must have been won 
 derfully distinguished, far beyond that of men of his years,
 
 112 IREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 He was 24 years old when he was ordained pastor of the 
 First Presbyterian church; he was 44 when translated to 
 the Seminary in Princeton, yet, in this first score of his min 
 isterial years, he became the acknowledged champion of 
 Presbyterian Church order ; a voluminous author, some of 
 whose books were republished in England, extorting from one 
 of its reviews the reluctant admission that " Mr. Miller has 
 deserved well of both worlds." He was one of the fathers 
 of Theological Seminary education in the United States. 
 He was one of the consulting and devising minds that gave 
 form to the Andover Seminary. He and Dr. Ashbel Green 
 " may be considered the founders of Princeton Theological 
 Seminary." And in the midst of labors, multifarious and 
 multitudinous, he was called to the Presidency of Dickinson 
 College, Pa., the Presidency of the University of North Car 
 olina, and to the Presidency of Hamilton College, N. Y. 
 
 He came to the Seminary, the child of his affections, in 
 the second year of its life, and in the early prime of his own. 
 With what devotion, diligence, and ability ; with what learn 
 ing, wisdom, and success, he served the Church and its great 
 Head! His broad, ripe, liberal culture forbade him to be a 
 High Churchman, for he held that to be the tap root of 
 Popery; but he was an intelligent Presbyterian divine, a 
 beautiful type of the best school of ecclesiastical science, a 
 full-orbed example of the thoroughly furnished minister of 
 the Word. 
 
 Hundreds who sat at his feet have gone out into the rich 
 harvest fields to do work for the Master. Some of them are 
 among the great men of the ages ; others, unknown to fame, 
 have lived and died ; no white shaft rises from the green sod 
 that covers their precious dust ; no tablet tells the genera 
 tions that such men ever lived, but He whose hand upholds 
 the spheres has set them with the stars. 
 
 Thus, Dr. Miller trained men to be true and faithful, to be 
 proud of their lineage, loyal to their Church, and gallant 
 soldiers of the cross. 
 
 The prophets, where are they ? We write their names on 
 tablets, their memories are holy in our hearts ; their instruc-
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOODS. 113 
 
 tions we follow with reverence ; grant God that when we 
 too have finished our course with joy, we may sit down with 
 Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, with Samuel Miller and the 
 Alexanders and Breckinridge and Hodge, the last ascended, 
 and join with them in the humble cry, " Not unto us, not 
 unto us." 
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Whene'er I take my walks abroad, how many babes I see, 
 because I leave the dusty road, and seek a shady lea. That 
 lea in New York is the Central Park ; the only meadow 
 which dwellers in the city made with hands can enjoy. It is 
 a great luxury to have it. Even we who cannot afford the 
 luxury of equipage, may take a cane for company, and stroll 
 miles and miles in the smooth walks, by the side of charm 
 ing lakes enlivened with white and also black swans ; under 
 the shadows of great trees ; now and then resting our weary 
 feet by sitting on the rude benches. 
 
 It is a habit of mine, when it is possible, to fly from the 
 shop to the Park for a nip of fresh air and a bit of exercise. 
 In the hot weather of the present October this retreat has 
 been specially agreeable. Indeed we have not known such 
 an October since the Dutch made this city New Amsterdam. 
 The Park is the useful refuge for nurses and babies. Thou 
 sands of mothers are only too glad to have their children 
 taken from home into the open air or anywhere, and the 
 nurses are quite as well pleased to go as mothers are to have 
 them. But of these thousands of mothers, few, if any of 
 them, know what becomes of their children when once out 
 of sight. 
 
 Yesterday I turned into the Park at the head of Sixth 
 avenue. There are some charming little retreats not far 
 from the gateway. Shady and cool, by the waterside, they 
 invite the children to play, and the nurses to meet their 
 friends. Another favorite resort is over on the East side
 
 U4 tKENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 near the wild beasts. Here the little people gather numer 
 ously, and are easily amused. The great thing is to get 
 where the children can take care of themselves, so that the 
 young-lady-nurse may not be disturbed with duties while 
 she enjoys the pleasure of an interview with her " cousin," 
 who has happened to be in the Park at the same hour. 
 
 A little way into the Park, and I encountered an Irish 
 nurse administering discipline to a babe a couple of years 
 old. The child was crying, the nurse was scolding and shak 
 ing her. I stopped in front of the group : 
 
 "There, now," said the nurse to the child, "the man is 
 going to carry you off ; you naughty girl, you." 
 
 "No," said I, "that's no such thing; you ought to be 
 carried off yourself and kept off, for frightening the child; 
 you are sent out here to amuse the child, and you are scaring 
 the life out of it with your lies. I wish I had the right to 
 punish you on the spot." 
 
 By the time I had made this long speech the babe was 
 quieted, and the nurse, finding her tongue, began her retort, 
 which, I have no doubt, was sharp enough, but I did not 
 wait to hear it. 
 
 At the other end of the lake Bridget and her " cousin" 
 were so closely engaged in conversation that she did not 
 observe the babe wandering off on the green grass ; it was 
 pleasant for the child and quite safe, unless the little crea 
 ture should fall into the water. She would not have drowned, 
 for it was an easy matter to pick a baby out of the quiet 
 lake. Not one has ever yet been drowned under such cir 
 cumstances. As the children joined each other on the grass, 
 hugged and played and tumbled about in their childish glee, 
 it was easy to see how rapidly infectious diseases are spread. 
 Mrs. Jones' child is out of sorts, peevish and languid. 
 Bridget must take it to the Park. The mother does not 
 know that a few days before it was playing on the grass with 
 a number of children, one of whom was in just the condition 
 of her pet to-day ; it was ready to break out with the scarlet 
 fever, or diphtheria, or some other complaint. Half a dozen 
 children from as many different parts of the city are thus
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOODS. 115 
 
 exposed. To-day Mrs. Jones sends her child into the Park ; 
 it is in the state to give the same disease to all the babes she 
 plays with ; to-morrow she is down sick, everybody wonder 
 ing where she could have caught that dreadful complaint. 
 
 Wandering along my winding way, and passing a bench 
 of Bridgets, beaux and babies, one of the latter fell head first 
 from its cradle and struck upon the solid concrete walk. It 
 made no scream, and I hoped it was not hurt. But when I had 
 passed a few steps on, the cry came, piercing my ear and heart. 
 The stunned child had " come to," and was now shrieking in 
 pain and fright. Doubtless it was soon hushed, and Bridget 
 pursued her interrupted tete-a-tete with her "cousin." The 
 fond mother at home will never know of the accident that 
 happened to her darling child while the unfaithful nurse was 
 flirting with a man ; but in the course of a year or two the 
 child will become more and more restless, fitful, uncontroll 
 able ; then it will be lethargic ; convulsions will seize and 
 distort it; parents will weep and pray, and plead with doc 
 tors to do something for it ; they will shake their heads and 
 fear there is water on the brain, and if so, there is great 
 reason to fear ; " did the child ever fall on its head ?" no, 
 never ; and then comes one more convulsive struggle ; its 
 little hands are clutched ; its limbs are drawn into fierce con 
 tortions ; and the doctor says it does not suffer pain ; it is 
 quite unconscious ; these awful throes are involuntary ; then 
 it opens its eyes in the light of a mother's love, and its soul 
 goes out to Him who gave it. 
 
 That is the result of just such an accident as happened 
 when I passed the unwatched cradle in the Park. Hundreds 
 of such cradles and nurses are in the Park to-day. Fond 
 mothers think they are doing everything for their babes 
 when they hire one woman for each child, to give her whole 
 time" to it. But they are trying to get for their children 
 what money cannot procure. 
 
 You live in the country, and imagine that the hints in this 
 letter are intended for the mothers of New York, whose 
 babies and nurses enjoy the Central Park. But I am writing 
 to them and to you. The progress of social refinement, the
 
 Il6 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 increase of wealth and culture, the division of labor, the 
 demands of society, women's work in the Church, take up 
 so much time that mothers turn off the care of their babes 
 upon hired nurses. Mrs. Smith sends for me to come and 
 talk with her about founding an asylum for deserted and 
 orphan children. Her own son, twelve years old, was 
 stretched on the rug, with dirty shoes, munching an apple, 
 and acting more like a pig in the straw than the oldest son 
 of a lady. She told him to get up, but he wouldn't, and he 
 didn't. We talked as well as we could, and I thought her 
 own children needed care quite as much as the Arabs of the 
 street or the desert. And so it is everywhere. Home is the 
 source of salvation for society. We want good homes. 
 Mothers are the makers of the manners of their sons and 
 daughters. But the mother who commits her tender babes 
 to the unwatched care of a half-civilized pagan or papal 
 nurse, and then imagines that she has done her duty, is a 
 mother false to her nature, to herself, to her children, false 
 to God and to society. If she has heart enough to ache, she 
 will yet regret her neglect of maternal duties, when it is too 
 late to retrieve the lamentable loss. 
 
 MANNERS IN CHURCH. 
 
 Thirty people, young men and maidens, " taken up" and 
 brought before a magistrate, for misbehavior in church, pro 
 duced no small stir in a quiet Long Island village, the other 
 day. If they had all been fined, or even imprisoned for a 
 while, that they might give themselves to reflection and pen 
 itence, it would have served them right, and perhaps would 
 have been a wholesome discipline. 
 
 They had been laughing, talking, and disporting them 
 selves in a most unseemly manner, and it was well to bring 
 such base fellows, of both sexes, to the only bar of which 
 they are afraid. Indeed, it is strange that, in a civilized and
 
 MANNERS IN CHURCH. 117 
 
 Christian country, there can be, in any community, a set of 
 youth so destitute of decency as to go into a place of prayer 
 to make fun ! Yet this is only an excess of ill- breeding or 
 bad manners, and there is not a little of it in the most refined 
 cities and church circles, different in degree, and in kind 
 also, but liable to criticism and censure nevertheless. 
 
 It is not the proper thing to come to church after the ser 
 vice has been opened. Where circumstances have made it 
 impracticable to be early, the late comer may be justified on 
 the ground that it is better to come late than not at all. 
 But it is a fact that some people have a habit of coming late, 
 and it is very plain, to those whom they disturb, that they 
 might have been in time had they taken pains to be so. 
 Invited to dinner, they would regard it very rude to keep 
 the other guests waiting, or to make a disturbance, by com 
 ing five or ten minutes after the dinner is served. But it is 
 almost an unheard-of event, probably it was never known, 
 that a Christian congregation had the privilege of beginning 
 its public devotions without being immediately afflicted by 
 the arrival of those who come tearing up the aisle while 
 others are trying to pray or praise. 
 
 To speak of such offences against, good manners as whis 
 pering in divine service, laughing or sleeping, ought to be 
 quite unnecessary, for it is hard to believe that such vices 
 prevail to any extent in Christian churches. Yet we do see 
 it sometimes, and always with a feeling that those who 
 indulge in it have no proper sense of the fact expressed in 
 those words : " Holiness becometh thine house, O Lord of 
 Hosts." 
 
 On a beautiful Sabbath forenoon, I was in the middle seat 
 of one of the largest Fifth avenue churches in this city. 
 Before me, in another pew, sat a well-dressed man, who was 
 also an Orthodox divine, whose garments were so thoroughly 
 imbued with the odor of tobacco, that the fragrance filled 
 the circumambient air as if the man were a hogshead of the 
 weed. Probably to some near him the aroma was delicious, 
 and they blessed him for bringing the scent with him, that 
 they might enjoy it and the gospel together. But unto us
 
 Il8 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 whose olfactories have never been refined to the delicacy 
 essential to appreciate the sweet savor of such a Sabbath 
 sacrifice, the stench was abominable. Was it according to 
 the law of Christ for this good man to come into the house 
 to be an offence unto the ladies and all the weak brethren in 
 his vicinity ? 
 
 In this connection, I am sorely tempted to say that there 
 are other odors equally disagreeable to some which the 
 brethren do not bring to church ; but it is not safe to say a 
 word against perfumes, lest those who come laden with 
 them should be more offended than are we who endure 
 them. It is indeed written in the Psalms, " All thy gar 
 ments smell ot myrrh;" but however much some may fancy 
 myrrh, it is not possible to build an argument upon one poet 
 ical passage like that, to prove the propriety of poisoning 
 the atmosphere of the sanctuary with musk, patchouli and 
 mille fleurs. 
 
 The right and wrong of this turn upon the rule of doing 
 as we would have others do to us. Intensely unpleasant to 
 many people is the smell of tobacco. Many perfumes, deli 
 cious to some, are quite as disagreeable to others. The 
 church is a place where we ought to be allowed to meet 
 without being compelled to inhale odors which are purely 
 artificial, and have no necessary relations to the comfort and 
 convenience of any. 
 
 On this principle of doing as we would be done by, and 
 remembering that it is our duty to deny ourselves for the 
 sake of others, we ought to forego the privilege of public 
 worship when we are liable to carry in our garments or our 
 breath the germ of disease. It is often a dreadful truth 
 that scarlet fever and other infectious and contagious diseases 
 are spread by the presence in church of those who come 
 from houses where these pestilential sicknesses are, or have 
 been recently. Kind, good women will go to a friend's home 
 and minister with angelic faithfulness by a sick bed, and 
 from that house go to the sanctuary with the diseases all 
 over and through their raiment. Persons suffering with 
 severe colds and coughs make themselves an affliction to
 
 MANNERS IN CHURCH. 119 
 
 Others, preventing all in their vicinity from deriving profit 
 or enjoyment from the services, when it is their Christian duty 
 to stay at home. They need the medical doctor. Let us be 
 very gentle in our treatment of mothers who come to church 
 with babes in their arms, for well do we know they would 
 not bring them could they leave them. Yet even they will 
 leave the house, when their infants insist on being heard, to 
 the disturbance of public worship. 
 
 While we were singing the doxology, I counted sixteen 
 Presbyterians putting on their overcoats. It would have 
 been better had I been worshipping instead of counting, but 
 it was almost involuntary, and did not take me more than 
 ten seconds ; while those stout worshippers wrestled with 
 their garments, and, wriggling into them, finally stood erect 
 in time to come out with the words, " By all in heaven." 
 Had they reverently paused till the benediction had been 
 given, they might have arrayed themselves comfortably and 
 reached home in reasonable time. 
 
 Coming down the broad aisle, the fragrant divine asked 
 me, " How did you like the sermon ?" I told him in the 
 fewest words. A lady friend said, " How did you like the 
 sermon ?" I replied in words more, because a lady was to 
 be answered. Approaching the door, a gentleman greeted 
 me cordially, and said, " What did you think of that ser 
 mon ?" I told him as I had told the others, for it was an 
 excellent discourse. In the vestibule one of the elders took 
 me by the hand and, with true seriousness, asked, " Didn't 
 you like the sermon ; we have just such every Sunday." No 
 one of these Christian worshippers appeared to have any 
 other thought of the morning service but the sermon, and 
 how other people "liked it." Let us not undervalue the 
 sermon. But also let us not make it the test of one's profit 
 and comfort in the worship of God. And I must say I would 
 rather not be required to pass an opinion upon the preach 
 ing, while yet at the gate of heaven. 
 
 How it was in days of old, we need not now discuss. It 
 was never right to make preaching the primary business of 
 church service. Prayer and praise are the more important
 
 120 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 parts. And the feeling of every hearer should be that of 
 reverence, as in the presence of the Infinite and the Holy 
 One. If a sense of the divine excellency fall upon us in 
 God's house, it will make us suitably afraid. The place will 
 be sacred. And it will be good for us to be there. 
 
 LONG-WINDED SPEAKERS. 
 
 His Royal Highness the Duke of Blank was presiding at a 
 public meeting, when and where the Rev. Rowland Hill was 
 to be one of the speakers. One who preceded him had the 
 bad taste, bad manners and great folly to talk an hour and 
 more, to the weariness of the audience, the disgust of the 
 chairman, and the injury of the cause for the promotion of 
 which the meeting had been called. The Duke whispered to 
 Mr. Hill, who sat near him, " Really, Mr. Hill, I do not think 
 I can sit to hear such another speech as this : I wish you 
 would give one of your good-natured hints about it." When 
 the man on his legs had at last exhausted himself, as well as 
 his hearers, and had subsided, Mr. Hill arose and said : 
 
 " May it please your Royal Highness, ladies and gentlemen, 
 I am not going to make a long speech, or a moving speech. 
 The first is a rudeness, and the second is not required to-day : 
 after the very moving one you have just heard, so moving 
 that several of the company have been moved by it out of 
 the room ; nay, I even fear such another would so move his 
 Royal Highness himself that he would be unable to continue 
 in the chair, and would, to the great regret of the meeting, 
 be obliged to move off." 
 
 This put an end to the long speeches of that day, but it did 
 not put an end to the evil. For it is an evil that has held its 
 own in spite of all remedies, and is quite as afflictive and 
 fatal now as ever. 
 
 Even this eccentric yet very sensible man, as he became 
 old, would spin out his discourses to an unreasonable length,
 
 LONG -WINDED SPEAKERS. 121 
 
 to the injury of their effect, and consequently to the detri 
 ment of Christ's cause. He continued to preach long after 
 he was fourscore, and, though feeble when he began, he 
 v/armed up with his work, preached the people into a good 
 frame, and then preached them out of it again. He would 
 say, after finding that he had been preaching more than an 
 hour, " Well, I am sure I had not an idea of it : it was too 
 long for me and too long for the people : but when I am 
 once set a-going I cannot stop. I must be shorter." 
 
 In one of his letters, Mr. Hill speaks of the sufferings of 
 those who are obliged to endure long speeches, " without any 
 remedy or redress, upon the high fidgets, above half the time 
 gaping and watching the clock." " In most of the public 
 meetings, I have been tired down before they are half over, 
 and have been obliged to sheer off with the remains of my 
 patience, and leave the finishing to others. 
 
 " In the way in which too many of these public meetings are 
 conducted, I have my fears that many a good cause is injured 
 by the means adopted for their support. Though some may 
 be gratified by what may be said to the point, yet, oh, the? 
 dulness, the circumlocutionness, the conceit, the tautology of 
 others. In short, few know how to be pithy, short and sweet. 
 And as I find it very difficult to be pithy and sweet, my 
 refuge at all times is to be short." 
 
 My sympathies are with Mr. Hill and the other man who 
 said, " If I never did a great thing in my life, I am sure I 
 never did a long thing." While the Scotch minister was of 
 a very different disposition who was asked if he was not very 
 much exhausted after preaching three hours ; he said, " O 
 no ; but it would have done you good to see how worried 
 the people were." 
 
 Dr. Emmons, a celebrated New England divine, was wont 
 to say to young ministers : " Be short in all religious exer 
 cises. Better leave the people longing than loathing. No 
 conversions after the first half hour." 
 
 The last remark is terrible, and perhaps not literally true, 
 but there is a thought in it to be pondered by preachers and 
 all public speakers. To carry conviction home to the heart,
 
 122 IRENJEUS LETTERS. 
 
 to persuade men to will and do that to which they are 
 now averse, this is the work which the speaker sets before 
 him, and he makes a grand blunder if he imagines that he is 
 becoming more and more effective as they become weary and 
 wish that he would be done. Of this sort of preachers was 
 he who, when he had split his subject into so many heads as 
 to split the heads of his hearers, and harried them under 
 each division beyond all reason, at last exclaimed, 
 
 " And what shall I say more !" 
 
 " Say, amen," said a child who was one of the few awake. 
 
 When we censure these men of lungs, who love to be on 
 their legs when their hearers wish them to sit down", we are 
 uniformly met with the reply that, " in old times," it was com 
 mon to preach one, two and even three hours : and the fault 
 is in the people, and not in the speaker, if these long services 
 are not acceptable now. But a sensible man will take things 
 as they are, and make them better if he can. Things are 
 not now as they once were. And if the age has become 
 impatient of long speeches and heavy essays, and learned 
 books, let us give the age what it will hear and read, and do 
 it all the good we can. 
 
 The man who overdoes the matter in public address, usu 
 ally is betrayed into the mistake by forgetfulness of the flight 
 of time, or by a secret self-conceit of his own that he is enter 
 taining and instructing the audience. Some men actually 
 mistake for applause the good-natured efforts of the people 
 to remind them that they have had enough. 
 
 It is impossible to lay down a rule on the subject, by which 
 the length of a speech or sermon is to be measured. We 
 ought to have some plan by which, at public meetings, a 
 speaker may be brought to his bearings when he has been up 
 to his allotted time. And in these days of electrical tele 
 graphs, what hinders the construction of an apparatus, easily 
 adjusted to every platform, by which a dull speaker may be 
 shaken up a little, and the long-winded one reminded that 
 his time is out, and then if he will not sit down, he shall be 
 knocked over gently. Such a contrivance would greatly 
 enliven public meetings, and tend to increase their useful-
 
 HENRY AND HILDEQRAND. 123 
 
 ness. Should any inventive genius put this hint into prac 
 tical operation, no claim of priority will ever disturb his 
 patent ; I throw it out for the use of the public. 
 
 Be short. You may not be able to make a great speech. 
 But you can be short. Some of the most effective speeches 
 ever made were short. Generals on the eve of battle are 
 brief. He who spake as never man spake, said few words at 
 a time. The time is short. Life is short. 
 
 HENRY AND HILDEBRAND. 
 
 This tenth day of January is a memorable anniversary. 
 The Jesuits celebrate it. It revives the memory of the 
 proudest day in the history of the Church of Rome, and the 
 date of the beginning of its fall. 
 
 Eight hundred years ago, Henry IV., Emperor of Ger 
 many, barefooted and bareheaded, with a rope around his 
 neck, stood at the gate of Canossa Castle, begging for par 
 don, while Gregory VII., the haughty Hildebrand, revelled 
 in luxury with the Countess Matilda within. By some 
 writers she is spoken of as his paramour. There are Prot 
 estant historians who believe the relations of the Pope and 
 the Countess were pure. They were certainly not discreet. 
 
 This Pope was a great reformer, and the dissoluteness of 
 his clergy was the chief object at which he directed his 
 blows. He forbade them to marry also, thus vindicating the 
 now admitted supremacy of Popery in the art of doing one 
 thing and pretending to do another. The priests were dis 
 solute in their morals, and the Pope prohibited the mar 
 riage of those who would lead lives of purity in holy wed 
 lock according to the law of God. 
 
 The Jesuits throughout the world observe this day as the 
 anniversary the Sooth of the degradation of the Emperor 
 of Germany at the feet of the Pope of Rome. The story is 
 the most romantic in the annals of Popery, and the day is
 
 124 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 a pivot in the history of that great anti-Christian power. 
 That was the day when the power of the Pope of Rome was 
 at its zenith. All earthly kings and kingdoms were then at 
 his disposal. From that day began his fall, which has been 
 steadily going lower and lower, until to-day, Jan. 10, 1877, 
 there is not one crowned head in Europe who cares a six 
 pence for the Pope of Rome. And the successor of that 
 mighty Hildebrand, who claimed to be and was at that time 
 the disposer of all lands on earth, is not now the proprietor 
 in fee of a foot of ground beneath the sun. 
 
 Like Lucifer he has fallen, never to rise again. The 
 sceptre has passed out of his hand, and instead of having 
 kings standing as beggars at his gate, there is none so poor 
 to do him reverence. And he begs pence from the chamber 
 maids of New York and the peasants of Ireland under the 
 pretence of being a prisoner in the Vatican, dependent on 
 the charity of his poor parishioners. 
 
 History furnishes no such example of a retributive provi 
 dence. 
 
 Henry IV. of Germany claimed the divine right of kings, 
 as one ordained of God, and mocked the notion of the age 
 that the Pope was supreme in States as well as in the 
 Church. The Pope and he fell out, and the Pope beat him. 
 For in that dark age, when a bishop might be unable to 
 read or write, and there was far more superstition than 
 religion in the Church, the people thought the Pope had 
 two swords, the spiritual and the secular, and with the 
 former he could cut off a bishop's head, and with the other 
 a king's head, whenever he wanted exercise. 
 
 Henry excommunicated Hildebrand, and Hildebrand ex 
 communicated Henry. The Pope absolved Henry's subjects 
 from their allegiance, claiming this right as vested in the 
 head of the Church. This proclamation fell like a pall of 
 death on the fortunes of the King. His subjects turned 
 away from him. His allies deserted him. The Suabian 
 and Saxon princes assembled in solemn conclave, and deter 
 mined to elect a new king who would obey the Pope. , Henry 
 quailed and finally succumbed. The man went out of him.
 
 HENRY AND HILDEBRAND. 12$ 
 
 He consented to humble himself before the Pope and ask 
 forgiveness. In the coldest winter then known in the mem 
 ory of man, he set out before Christmas day, and, through 
 incredible sufferings, he crossed the Alps in storms of snow 
 and the freezing cold, with his wife and child. The Pope 
 had taken up his residence in the Castle of Canossa, with 
 the Countess Matilda, and there awaited the coming of the 
 humbled monarch. Before the excommunicated sovereign 
 went a melancholy procession of excommunicated bishops 
 and nobles who shared his fortunes, and were now with 
 him seeking absolution. They, too, were barefoot, for they 
 were all beggars together. The haughty Pope put each one 
 of them into a solitary cell, and finally sent them back with 
 his ghostly pardon. But he reserved his chief terrors for 
 the prostrate monarch. Admitted within the first gate, the 
 king was made to stand in the second enclosure, barefoot 
 and fasting, for three whole days and nights, in the bitter 
 cold of winter, while the Pope and the woman revelled in 
 their luxury within. At last the Pope yielded to the impor 
 tunities of the woman and admitted the degraded king into 
 his presence, and finally patched up a peace with him. 
 
 This was the bold assertion of the supremacy of the 
 Church of Rome above the governments of the world. It is 
 the doctrine of the Church to-day. It is taught in the writ 
 ings of the authorized teachers of that Church in the city of 
 New York to-day. What was the effect of the scene we 
 have now described ? Henry returned to Germany, rallied 
 his people, who came back to their senses and allegiance, 
 marched upon the Pope and put him into prison. An old 
 enemy of his delivered him, and he was set up only to be 
 cast down again ; and loaded with contempt and scorn, torn 
 with disappointment and chagrin, he perished a miserable 
 exile from power. 
 
 From that day, Jan. 10, 1077 the battle has been going on 
 until the Pope found his Waterloo at Sedan. Down to that 
 downfall of the last French Empire, he had managed to 
 keep up the illusion of temporal sovereignty ; playing at the 
 game of kings and pretending that he was one of the rulers
 
 126 1RENJEUS LETTERS. 
 
 among the powers that be. But one after another of the 
 kingdoms that were once governed by the permission of the 
 Pope have outgrown the superstition of his right, and when 
 the dogma of Infallibility was proclaimed, and the last friend 
 of the Pope followed it up by a declaration of war against 
 the successor of Henry IV., Hildebrand's old foe, THEN 
 began the final struggle between the claims of the Pope on 
 one hand and the rights of men on the other. It was Roman 
 ism represented by the Pope and Napoleon, and it was the 
 Protestant principle incarnate in the stern old German King. 
 How firm the tread of the monarch as he came to do the 
 will of God ! How the legions of superstition, with the 
 blessing of the Pope on their eagles, went down like grass 
 before the scythe, as the mighty Northmen moved on and 
 avenged the loth of January, 1077? 
 
 The spirit and the doctrine and the purpose of the Church 
 of Rome are to-day identical with those of eight hundred 
 years ago. This is the boast of the Church. That is what 
 the Jesuits celebrate to-day. In all their high places, in their 
 secret recesses and vast assemblies, cathedrals and colleges, 
 with incense, and song and organ peal, and procession, ban 
 ners and sacramental service, they commemorate on this day 
 the anniversary of their enjoyment of the loftiest throne the 
 world ever saw; when the servant (as they pretend) of the 
 meek and lowly Jesus stood on the neck of the mightiest 
 Emperor, and looking abroad over all the earth, saw no 
 monarch who could stay his hand or say, "Why doest 
 thou so ?" 
 
 The struggle is not over ; for in the nations where a free 
 Bible, and a free school and a free press abound, there, here 
 the successors of the men of the eleventh century are making 
 one more fight. If we are true to our religion, it will be the 
 last.
 
 HOLD UP YOUR HEAD. 127 
 
 HOLD UP YOUR HEAD : SPEAK LOUD AND PLAIN. 
 
 During the travels of the last few weeks and months, it 
 has been a duty or privilege, and sometimes both, to attend 
 diverse conventions of able, learned, earnest or good men, in 
 the interests of religion or science or politics. 
 
 The first was the Presbyterian General Assembly, where 
 five hundred ministers and elders met and spent a fortnight 
 in the business of the Church. The second was the Scien 
 tific Association. The other was a political State Conven 
 tion to nominate a Governor and other officers for the 
 November election. 
 
 The ministers and elders often failed to make themselves 
 heard when addressing the house. This failure did not 
 spring from a want of lung power, or from any defect in 
 vocal organs. It may be safely assumed that no sensible 
 man who has a weakness or want of the faculty of speech, 
 will undertake to make a dumb-show in the presence of a 
 congregation whose time and patience are limited. But it is 
 no less true that nine out of ten failed to be heard distinctly 
 and usefully over the whole house. The fault was entirely 
 with the speakers. They did not try to be heard. The few 
 immediately around them might be conscious of their wis 
 dom, but to the less favored, who sat in the more benighted 
 regions, they were merely beating the air. 
 
 This same fault is common in the pulpit. Ministers often 
 let their voices fall toward the end of each sentence, and the 
 last few words are quite inaudible to those in the distance. 
 
 I once heard a pastor say : " I desire particular attention 
 to the following notices" then he gave the notices, and the 
 people sitting around me could not hear even the subject 
 matter of the notices, much less the times and places named. 
 
 In every theological seminary there should be a school for 
 training the voice : teaching and requiring young men to 
 hold up their heads, to speak loud and plain. If the greatest 
 of Grecian orators confronted the waves of the sea to enable 
 himself to master the roar of a great assembly, surely Chris-
 
 128 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 tian preachers ought to qualify themselves to speak so as to 
 be heard. 
 
 In the Assembly, and in all ministers' meetings, there are 
 few men who speak out so loud and plain that they com- 
 mand attention, and reach the understanding of their hearers 
 by sound words with sound enough to be heard. Dr. Mus- 
 grave is one of the men who are always heard. Because he 
 speaks plainly, the house always listens. There are compen 
 sations in Providence, and as he has not as perfect eyesight 
 as many of his brethren, God has given him a better voice 
 than any of them. Dr. Darling, of Albany, speaks distinctly 
 and forcibly, and never fails to be heard with attention. The 
 elders are rarely willing to speak up so as to reach the remote 
 parts of the house. Mr. W. E. Dodge and Judge Drake were 
 not heard for their much speaking, but when they did speak 
 they were easily heard. Rev. Dr. Crosby is a model speaker 
 in debate or in the pulpit. Would that all the Lord's proph 
 ets would open their mouths wide when they prophesy. 
 
 But if the religious people were afraid to speak out so as 
 to be heard, what shall we say of the scientists ? Men of 
 learning and renown, who had consumed midnight hours and 
 oil in preparing papers for public reading, appeared to the 
 weary hearer to be pouring a confidential communication into 
 the ear of the patient President. Not a sentence of a half- 
 hour or an hour-long treatise was audible twenty feet from 
 the platform on which the modest master of art and science 
 whispered his discoveries and calculations. Exhausted in 
 vain attempts to gather wisdom from lips that the bees of 
 Hymettus had kissed, I sometimes fell asleep, and after 
 refreshing dreams, awoke to find the flow of silence going 
 on with the same delicious calm that lulled me into repose 
 again. 
 
 Now these papers will be read with interest and profit in 
 print, and the Association deserves the gratitude of the pub 
 lic for important contributions. But there is very little 
 advantage in getting an audience without giving it something 
 to hear. It is not eloquence, oratory, the graces and charm 
 of public speaking, for which I am pleading. Few, very few,
 
 HOLD UP YOUR HEAD. 12p 
 
 have the gift. Few have been trained to the perfection of 
 this highest of all arts. The greatest orator is the leader of 
 men. It is not every man who is called to be a great speaker. 
 But if a man cannot or will not speak so as to be heard, he 
 is not called of God to speak in public. Whether a man of 
 religion, letters, or science, if he cannot hold up his head, 
 speak loud and plain, it were well that he had the grace of 
 silence. 
 
 But the politicians ! They met in the Town Hall. It was 
 packed, piled, jammed. It was turbulent, restless, impatient, 
 disorderly. But when a man was on his legs he spoke so as 
 to be heard, or the multitude put him down. When they 
 found that he had not the gift of voice or sense, they gave 
 him rounds of applause that cheered his heart at first, but it 
 went on and on until he found there was no chance for him, 
 and sinking into the abyss, "the subsequent proceedings 
 interested him no more." 
 
 Then sprang to his feet no he had no feet, for both 
 were shot off in the war but to his stumps, a little fellow, 
 whose shrill voice rang like a clarion : the waves were stilled : 
 his earnest, impassioned tones pierced the remotest corners 
 of the house while he extolled his hero : and in seven min 
 utes he fixed the flints of the convention and carried his man 
 in triumph. All these political speakers spoke to be heard 
 and so that they could be heard. No one of them dawdled 
 with his subject : or talked as if he were half asleep : 
 or let his voice down with a half-finished sentence: or 
 suffered his cause to fail for lack of physical and intel 
 lectual work. They threw their soul and body into the 
 struggle. "They fought, like brave men, long and well." 
 They compelled attention and got it. And I said to myself, 
 "For what is all this?" And the answer came "They 
 fight for men : for place : for power over one another : for 
 office : the spoils : but they could not be more in earnest if 
 heaven were to be stormed and immortal glory were the prize 
 and price of victory." 
 
 It was nearing midnight when I left them in the fight and 
 stepped out beneath the stars. And the infinite distance
 
 13 IREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 between the visible and the invisible, the temporal and 
 eternal, appeared in the light of those lamps of God. If min 
 isters of Christ, elders in the Church, men who bear the 
 responsibilities of God's work on earth, all who wear the 
 name of Christian and rejoice in being redeemed, were as 
 much in earnest as these political leaders, how they would 
 push on the columns, until they had made Jesus the King of 
 the Jews and Gentiles, and crowned him Lord of all. 
 
 It is easy to say that sense is of more account than sound : 
 that sound and fury signify nothing : and that the noisiest 
 speakers are often the windiest : that word reminds me of a 
 little story 
 
 This summer two distinguished Scotch ministers were on 
 their travels, and together worshipped in a cathedral where 
 the organ was so rapturously lovely that one of the ministers, 
 an earnest hater of instruments in public worship, was com 
 pletely overcome by the power of the music. As they 
 emerged from the temple, he said to his brother, " I will 
 never speak another word against wind instruments, not 
 even against you" 
 
 But this is not to the point. My point is that preachers 
 and all public speakers should speak loud enough to be heard 
 by all the people in the house. As a hearer I sit before the 
 preacher and see the movements of his lips, and as the man 
 on the outside of the crowd said, when Senator Preston was 
 speaking in the street, " He does the motion splendid," I 
 say with the Apostle Paul, " If I know not the meaning of 
 the voice, he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me."
 
 AMONG THE ICEBERGS. 131 
 
 AMONG THE ICEBERGS. 
 
 The rush of the Arizona into an iceberg, and the awful 
 peril of her passengers, bring to mind an old experience. In 
 the month of March, 1854, I left Liverpool for New York 
 in the steamer Baltic, Capt. Briggs, of the Collins line. It 
 was my first voyage on a steamship, and naturally I was 
 more sensitive to the several forms of danger than those are 
 who have long been in the habit of " going down to the sea 
 in ships." 
 
 We had been out a few days only, I might say hours, before 
 I was well satisfied that the captain would take the ship 
 safely into port, if it required a year. The ship was new, 
 stanch, and steady, and a well-built ship is as safe on the sea 
 as a house is on the land. If this appears to be an extravagant 
 remark, let me add that the best built dwellings are exposed 
 to fire, lightning, hurricanes and mobs, and that a good ship 
 is exposed to no more and no greater perils than these. The 
 greatest danger to a ship arises from the incapacity or negli 
 gence of those who navigate her, and against these dangers 
 no human foresight is adequate to provide. You pay your 
 money and take your choice of steamers according to the 
 best information you can get of the judgment of the men who 
 manage the line. They may be deceived. And you may be 
 lost at sea. But the risks are not much greater than in cross 
 ing Broadway a thousand times, or travelling by rail from 
 Boston to San Francisco. 
 
 Some years ago a stranger came into my office, and with 
 out introduction went on to say " Long before the time when 
 steamboats were on the river, I was going from New York to 
 Albany on a sloop with several passengers. When we 
 reached Tappan Zee, a great storm arose, and many were 
 afraid the vessel would be overwhelmed. In the midst of 
 the alarm a young and beautiful woman stepped from the 
 cabin, and in a sweet voice, but without trembling, she said. 
 In God's hands, we are as safe on the water as the land.' 
 That lady became your mother. I have made her words my
 
 I3 2 IRENJEUS LETTERS. 
 
 motto through, life : have watched you so far in yours, and 
 thought you would be interested in this incident." Having 
 said this, the stranger took his departure. And I will return 
 to the Baltic and Captain Briggs. 
 
 The weather proved bad. The voyage was disagreeable. 
 There were only forty or fifty cabin passengers on board, giv 
 ing us more room than company. But the silent, incessant 
 vigilance of the commander inspired us all with a sense of 
 serene security, so that we seemed to one another prisoners 
 indeed, but sure to be well cared for, and in due time set at 
 liberty. A week out, and we came into the region where ice 
 bergs might be expected, whether the almanac said so or not. 
 In the morning I was on deck with the Captain, and he called 
 my attention to a blazing, white light, in the distance, like 
 the reflection of a mighty mirror set in the horizon, or a pal 
 ace of ice or glass coming down out of heaven. 
 
 " That's an iceberg," he said calmly. I had never seen one, 
 and rejoiced greatly that we were to make the acquaintance 
 of one so soon. The captain did not share my enjoy 
 ment. 
 
 Drop a bit of ice into a tumbler of water. It floats, but 
 almost the whole of it is below the surface. A small frac 
 tion of the mass is out. As the gravity of ice is to water, so 
 is the part above the surface to the part below. It makes no 
 difference how large or how small the lump. It may be as big 
 as a mountain, or as small as an apple, nine times as much of 
 its weight will be under the water as above it. If, then, the 
 huge mass stands like the Pyramid of Cheops out of the sea, 
 it reaches nearly nine times as far below. Such was the 
 immense cathedral-like, turreted, towering, stupendous pile 
 as we gave it a wide margin, and passed it, glowing and bril 
 liant in the clear, cold morning sun. With the knowledge 
 of its proportions, and the necessary fate of a ship that should 
 run upon it, we looked with awe while its beauty was fascin 
 ating. There was " a weight of glory" in it. 
 
 The iceberg which the Arizona sought to go through was 
 seen from the Anchoria, and its dimensions were estimated 
 at one hundred feet in height and five hundred feet in
 
 AMONG THE ICEBERGS. 133 
 
 breadth ; a solid block one thousand feet by five hundred, 
 millions of solid feet of ice. 
 
 The steamer President had gone from New York with a 
 precious company on board, to cross the sea, and had gone 
 down without a sign. Not a spar or plank, not a cry, not a 
 rumor, had ever come to any shore to intimate the fate of one 
 of that great company. Whether the eloquent Chaplain Cook- 
 man had time to speak to them of the sailor's Friend, we 
 never knew, but the general impression was, and still is, that, 
 being very heavily laden and running against an iceberg, she 
 went down in the twinkling of an eye. We shall know no 
 more about it until the sea gives up its dead. 
 
 We talked of this and other disasters all that day, and as 
 another night set in, and we were still in the region which 
 icebergs traverse, it seemed to me quite important that I 
 should take care" of the ship. 
 
 " What's to be done, Captain ?" I said. 
 
 " Nothing but what was done last night." 
 
 He then kindly explained to me the special watches that 
 were set, the extra spies, the positions they occupied, the 
 mode of changes, and the watchmen to watch the watchmen, 
 and then he added : 
 
 " I am here as I was through the night before, and shall be 
 until we are out of all danger." 
 
 At ten o'clock I went below and turned in, to meditate on 
 the horrors of a night encounter with an iceberg ; and to roll 
 with the ship till the morning. I thought of that " young 
 and beautiful woman" whose words had comforted a stranger 
 in many storms. I thought of Him who holds the waves 
 and his children in his hands. And the faithful captain who 
 is the agent of Divine Providence for my care and and 
 and just then the morning sun was shining into my 
 port-window and I had been sleeping soundly eight good 
 hours. 
 
 But the vigilance of the captain was not relaxed until his 
 ship was safely in port. 
 
 I was on the platform when Everett made his splendid 
 oration at the inauguration of the Albany Observatory in 1 856
 
 134 1REN/EUS LETTERS. 
 
 and heard him relate this incident : " Coming across the 
 Atlantic on a steamer, I asked the captain how near he could 
 determine the precise location of his ship by the best obser 
 vations. He said within about three miles. When we were 
 supposed to be off Cape Race and were pacing the deck, I 
 asked him how far he supposed the Cape to be, and he said, 
 ' Perhaps three or four miles.' Thus, according to his own 
 reckoning, we might be on the Cape any moment, for he 
 could not tell within three miles where we were." 
 
 Such a fact illustrates, and ought to compel, the extremest 
 vigilance and carefulness, because after all is done that can 
 be done, on sea or on land, the skill and the power of man 
 have their limits, and our refuge is in God. 
 
 AN INTERESTING BEGGAR. 
 
 In the midst of my morning studies yesterday, when every 
 moment is precious to a man of business or letters ; when 
 every pastor or student wishes to be let alone ; when 
 thoughtless or impudent people make it a point to call 
 because they are quite sure to catch their victim in ; it was 
 during these precious hours that I was summoned to give 
 attention to a young lady who wished to see me on very 
 urgent business. 
 
 With that sense of being annoyed, if not irritated, which 
 every hardworking man feels, when his favorite and only 
 hours of solitary labor are rudely broken in upon by a rob 
 ber of his time, I laid aside my pen that was just then trying 
 to do its very best for you, dear friend, and reluctantly 
 waited upon the young woman who had made this unsea 
 sonable demand. 
 
 She was neatly dressed, very small, delicately featured, 
 invalid in appearance, pale, thin, tender-eyed. And thus 
 looking, thus she spoke : 
 
 " My mother and I are now in this city, in great distress
 
 AN INTERESTING BEGGAR. 13$ 
 
 for the want of a small sum of money. Mother is a writer 
 for the press ; she contributes to the literary periodicals and 
 has several pieces in the hands of publishers, from whom 
 she is in daily expectation of receiving money ; but we have 
 been compelled to go from one lodging to another, cheaper 
 and cheaper, until now we are to be turned into the street 
 without shelter. We have had no breakfast to-day, and 
 have not the means to pay for a morsel of food. In this dis 
 tress, I have come to you" (and here came in some words 
 of flattery which are omitted as not essential to the story), 
 "and, if you will /<?*/ us ten dollars till our remittance comes 
 from the publishers, you will save us from suffering," etc. 
 etc. etc. 
 
 I said : " To whom do you refer me in this city, that I 
 may ascertain the general correctness of your statements, 
 and especially as to your character, for I never give to 
 strangers until I have made inquiries as to their worthi 
 ness ?" 
 
 " We have no references," she replied ; " we are total 
 strangers in the city ; there is not a person of any standing 
 to whom you could go to learn anything of us ; we are suf 
 fering, actually starving, and we want only a little to keep 
 us a few days till our money comes in." 
 
 I pursued my inquiries until I learned where they had 
 been living for some weeks past, and, assuring her that I 
 would attend to the matter that very day, I gave her a trifle 
 with which to procure bread for the morning, and dismissed 
 her. Her appeal was touching ; but it was more the silent 
 pathos of her feeble, tearful, pallid, sinking appearance, than 
 the pitiful tale she told. The heart of old Pharaoh would 
 have been softened in her presence. 
 
 I returned to my study, but the interview had upset me 
 for the morning, and I could think of little else than this 
 literary lady and her invalid daughter at the mercy of some 
 merciless landlord, turned out of doors and wanting shelter 
 and food. What a brute was I, too, to be coolly sitting 
 down at my table, while these interesting people were wait 
 ing with anxious hearts for the sweet relief that I was, per-
 
 136 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 haps, soon to bring! Dropping my pen, I set forth on this 
 errand of loving-kindness. How good a man feels when 
 thus engaged ! What can be more satisfying to one's best 
 nature, than to be able to provide for the poor, especially 
 women, ladies, literary, unfortunate and very interesting! 
 
 My first call was at the place where they had last boarded. 
 
 "Yes," said the man of the house, "they left here yester 
 day to go to the bank ! and draw some money with which to 
 pay me what they owed me, and they have not returned." 
 
 " To the bank for money ! why I thought they were poor. " 
 
 " O no," said he, "they were very particular to have every 
 thing of the best quality, but they were not particular about 
 the price ; they paid freely until the last day or two ; there 
 goes their man now," pointing out of the window to a well- 
 dressed man walking by. 
 
 " They kept a man, did they ?" " Yes, he was constantly 
 running of errands for them ; but what it was all about I did 
 not know." 
 
 " Where did they come from to you ?" I asked. He gave 
 me the name of a hotel, to which I repaired, and introduced 
 myself and errand to the manager, who instantly responded : 
 
 " They are not people, Sir, who deserve your sympathy or 
 attention ; they have been at other hotels and stayed as long 
 as they could ; here they had two men with them, one a mes 
 senger in their service ; a bad lot, Sir ; quite unworthy of 
 any trouble to you, Sir." 
 
 By this time my eyes began to open leisurely, and I per 
 ceived that I was running about town after a couple of 
 women whom I had better drop before I took them up. 
 But curiosity, not charity, now led me on, and this was the 
 result. 
 
 For two or three years at least, and perhaps more, they 
 have been infesting this city, adventuresses, preying upon 
 the clergy and literary people, raising money on substan 
 tially the same story that the little beggar told me. They 
 are Roman Catholics, but they are not particular about the 
 religion of the ministers whom they select as their gulls. 
 They write beautiful letters, so sweet, so imploring, so sad,
 
 COWPER AND RAY PALMER. 137 
 
 and their messenger, as a friend, delivers the letters after a 
 call by the invalid daughter. They live in luxury on the 
 money thus extracted from tender-hearted shepherds, whom 
 they fleece as innocent sheep. They have been generously 
 offered an asylum for life by the Roman Catholic Church, 
 and have refused to accept it, preferring to play the confi 
 dence game which they find so profitable. I feel quite 
 slighted by their neglecting to call on me until they have 
 worn out the patience of nearly all the other " brethren." 
 
 And this disgraceful story has a moral. Because the most 
 of good people give without investigating, wicked adven 
 turers, impudent impostors, and lazy huzzies, with smooth 
 faces, and languid looks, and plausible tales of woe, continue 
 to persecute the charitable, and to get their living by shame 
 less persistence in beggary. There is no law by which they 
 can be put into prison. But it is a safe and wise law for 
 every one to enact for himself, "Never give one cent of 
 money to a beggar on his or her own story alone." 
 
 COWPER AND RAY PALMER 
 
 The first of these poets has been a fireside favorite in Chris 
 tian families for nearly a hundred years. " Melancholy 
 marked him for her own," and the charm of sadness, a 
 strange sweet sadness, lends a pathetic interest to h is name and 
 works, so tender, holy and strong that he will never lose his 
 place in the affections of those who love pure English song. 
 From the Task to John Gilpin, the grave to the gay, illus 
 trating the varieties of genius perhaps as widely as they 
 appear in any poems of one author in our language, we never 
 find a line the poet "dying wished to blot," while there are 
 passages and pictures all the way along that delight the eye 
 and the ear, endearing the writer to the reader, making his 
 name and his works familiar in the family circle, and his lines 
 more frequently quoted with a knowledge of their source,
 
 138 IRE N^. US LETTERS. 
 
 than the words of almost any other of the bards of Eng 
 land. 
 
 The hymns of Cowper are the best of his works. The 
 longer poems, like " The Task," " Table Talk," " Progress of 
 Error," have a vast deal of prose in them, measured by syl 
 lables into lines of equal length, and by this process much 
 good sense has been buried, for many will read a sensible 
 essay who will justly avoid the same thoughts done into 
 blank verse, or worse still, into rhyme. But Cowper lives in 
 the hearts of Christian readers rather as the writer of hymns, 
 with which the spirit rises into converse with the unseen and 
 eternal, than as the author of the more elaborate poems that 
 cost him intense labor and many pains. 
 
 But there is no one of the many poems of Cowper now 
 precious to the Church of God, more valued by Christians in 
 this and all other countries, than some of the hymns of Ray 
 Palmer, whose Poetical Works have just been published. It 
 has been with him as with many another writer of songs, that 
 one of them attains such a popular pre-eminence that the 
 poet is supposed to have that one only offspring. No one 
 thinks of Key except as the author of the " Star Spangled 
 Banner." What did Payne ever write but " Home, Sweet 
 Home ?" Even Heber's Missionary Hymn wafts his name 
 more widely than all else he has written or said. Dr. Muh- 
 lenberg will live longer for teaching others to sing " I would 
 not live alway," than as the founder of a hospital or St. 
 Johnland. Charlotte Elliott wrote many sweet poems, but 
 "Just as I am " is the one thing she did, as "Nearer, my God, 
 to Thee" is the perennial flower in the wreath of Mrs. 
 Flower Adams. This list might be readily enlarged to 
 illustrate the now obvious fact that the \\4orld seizes on one, 
 perhaps the best, perhaps not the best, but certainly the one 
 thing of a writer that it wants, and sings it along down the 
 years of time ; does it into the languages of earth ; and in all 
 lands and climes it becomes the censer in which the saints 
 offer their praise and longing desires before the Throne. To 
 give the human soul fit words to express what it otherwise 
 could not utter is an unspeakable pleasure. And so, I think,
 
 COWPER AND RAY PALMER. 139 
 
 the makers of those old Latin hymns that have wafted martyr 
 souls to glory, and they whose songs are now the joy of the 
 Church in the Wilderness, must be glad even in the gladness 
 of heaven that God gave them words which they strung on 
 the lyres of Christendom, to ring in the churches of Christ 
 from the rising to the setting sun. Ray Palmer says of his 
 hymn, 
 
 " My faith looks up to Thee," 
 
 that he " cannot doubt it came from the inspiration of the 
 Spirit of God." From Him all holy desires come. And as 
 this precious poem is a holy desire, an expression of faith 
 and love and hope, it may claim with great force its origin in 
 the fountain of all that is pure and good. With that poem 
 of less than thirty lines his name is linked as Wolfe's name 
 is with " Not a drum was heard," and other names, " the few 
 the immortal names that were not born to die." I sat down 
 more than a score of years ago, a stranger in a foreign church, 
 and opened the hymn book to this hymn, marked as by 
 an author unknown. I knew him well, and loved to read in 
 a strange land a song of Zion by one who, in my own, was a 
 brother and friend. And as I journeyed Eastward, and in 
 other tongues than ours heard hymns to Jesus, this was 
 always one of them, everywhere recognized as the one on 
 which the soul calmly rests in sight of the Lamb of God, who 
 taketh away the sin of the world. Even under the shadow 
 of the Seraglio Palace, in the city of the Sultan, I found them 
 turning the words of this and other hymns into what seemed 
 a jargon to me ; but when youthful voices uttered them to 
 the tune of Olivet, I felt their power, and saw that in all 
 places and in all tongues the love of Christ is the same, and 
 delights in its utterance by the same signs. 
 
 And there are other poems in the volume now in our 
 hands, with more poetic life in them than this, and that will as 
 certainly retain life as long. They will not touch so many 
 hearts, and therefore never will be so popular in the best 
 sense of that word. I have put the author's name with that 
 of Cowper at the head of this column, because the larger
 
 140 IREN&US LETTERS, 
 
 poem of Dr. Palmer, " Home, or the Unlost Paradise," and 
 some of the shorter poems treat of those themes in domestic 
 and social life which employed the fine powers of the friend 
 of Mrs. Unwin, Lady Austen,and John Newton. Dr. Palmer 
 has all the love of nature and acquaintance with its varied 
 charms, all the taste for those delicate refinements of home 
 without which Cowper could not exist: and, then, unlike 
 Cowper, Dr. Palmer never sinks into the melancholy mood : 
 never dwells on the dark side of things : never thinks of " a 
 frowning Providence" with a smiling face behind. Dr. Pal 
 mer is ever in the light : rejoices in the Lord always. The 
 lark in the morning is not more joyous than the " rising soul " 
 of the poet who lives in the light of faith divine. Even in 
 singing of one whom fear has called " the king of terrors," 
 Dr. Palmer, with that firmness of a Christian hero, writes: 
 
 To Faith's keen eye 
 
 Thou, Death, art light ; 'tis but to sense 
 That thine are dead ! 
 
 And in the strong confidence of that gospel which brings 
 life and immortality to light, he says : 
 
 " From yon blest shores, 
 When souls redeemed shall backward turn, 
 
 To look on thee, 
 All beautiful thy form shall be : 
 Thy ministers once deemed so stern, 
 Shall seem sweet ministers of grace, 
 
 That Heaven adores !" 
 
 That is poetry. It converts death into an angel of blessing 
 to them that have overcome, and scatters the gloom of dying 
 and the grave by the power of the glory that is to be revealed. 
 Such poets are among God's best gifts to men. Well may 
 they be called bards, and prophets and seers. They make 
 (poieo, poema) wings for souls. They are not many. Poets 
 do not come in troops. Happy is the age that bears a pair 
 of them. The race will not die out. Heaven sends them 
 when they are needed. And so in successive ages the Church
 
 THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME. 141 
 
 finds among her sons and daughters those who set her wants 
 to the harmonies of numbers, and, as music is the universal 
 language of the soul, it comes that the saints of all tongues 
 unite with one heart and voice in such songs as those of 
 Dr. Palmer. 
 
 THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME. 
 
 It is quite likely that I shall offend some very good people 
 by this letter. Certainly some very good people have offended 
 me by the use they make of the name that is above every 
 name. And it is of this use and abuse that I have a word or 
 two to say, and with all gentleness and diffidence ; for they 
 who are to be criticised are far better people than he who 
 ventures the criticism. 
 
 Full well do I know that the precious name of JESUS is the 
 human name of the blessed Saviour, and when written in 
 another form, as Joshua, it has none of those associations 
 that render it so sacred to all who love Him. 
 
 I will first tell you what has impelled me to this present 
 writing, and then we will talk the matter over. In a large 
 religious meeting, where a high degree of spiritual life was 
 apparent, a revival meeting, it might be called, so warm, 
 earnest, and impassioned were the appeals and exhortations, 
 there were some speakers who, having had large experi 
 ence in Sunday-school work and young men's meetings, were 
 very fluent and eloquent, rousing the feelings of the assem 
 blies by their glowing addresses. With them the only name 
 by which the Saviour of sinners was spoken of was JESUS ; 
 and this would not be the occasion of any criticism, if they 
 had not employed it with such familiarity and frequency, and 
 with the prefix of such terms of endearment, as to take from 
 the name that association of reverence and respectful affec 
 tion with which it is always invested in my mind and that of 
 many who have expressed to me their sentiments OP this 
 subject. It is not in good taste for a husband and wile, o
 
 142 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 parents and children, or brothers and sisters, to lavish, with 
 great profusion, very strong terms of endearment upon one 
 another, in the presence of company. The practice suggests 
 to the hearer the possibility that such warm expressions are 
 for the purpose of misleading those who hear, and that it is 
 within the realms of belief that those who seem to be so 
 extravagantly affectionate in public, may be just a little less 
 so in the seclusion of domestic life. And when these burn 
 ing and effective speakers were, in nearly every sentence, 
 speaking of dear Jesus, sweet Jesus, precious Jesus, the dear 
 little Jesus, darling Jesus, brother Jesus, friend Jesus, and 
 stiil more frequently "Jesus;" as if he were no more than one 
 of their own number, one to be spoken to and spoken of as a 
 child, companion, and every-day person, I was asking, " Do 
 they love Him so much more than others ?" It hurt me, as 
 if one dearer to me than life was being lightly handled in the 
 face of the world. 
 
 I remembered that a writer, whom the Spirit of God had 
 taught, declared of this Saviour that God had " highly exalted 
 Him," and "given him a name that is above every name, 
 that, at the name of JESUS, every knee should bow, in 
 heaven, earth, and under the earth !" Such a triumphant 
 prophecy, for the fulfilment of which the martyrs and pro 
 phets and faithful men and women have looked, and will 
 yet anticipate with longings that no words can clothe, I 
 would not construe into a precept to forbid the use of that 
 great name except with an outward sign of reverence. Such 
 genuflexions are often superstitious and never necessary to 
 testify respect. But the reverence in which that name is 
 held, and every name by which God maketh himself known, 
 by all who have a becoming sense of the infinite exaltation 
 of Him above us, forbids that his name should be spoken 
 familiarly, or with such frequency and levity as to make us 
 forget that we are unworthy to take it upon our lips. 
 
 Especially is this familiar style of speaking to be regretted 
 when it is indulged, as it is more than elsewhere, in the 
 presence of very young persons. It abounds in Sunday- 
 school eloquence. It is the staple of thousands of speeches
 
 THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME. 143 
 
 to children. It is not unknown when the little hearers are 
 expected to laugh at the funny anecdotes of the entertaining 
 speaker. It does not bring the Saviour nearer to them : 
 it does tend to diminish their reverence for him, and thus to 
 weaken the hold upon them of his commands. 
 
 If you reply to these words that it is the htiman name only 
 of Christ that is thus employed, I would remind you that 
 they who think of Christ only as a man, do not, in their 
 writings or addresses, indulge in such familiarity. Their 
 cultivated taste perhaps forbids it. But if good taste is 
 offended thereby, there must be, in the nature of the case, 
 something radically wrong in it. 
 
 Poetry, passion, exalted sentiment, will justify the use of 
 terms, occasionally, that cease to be allowed in the ordinary 
 duties and enjoyments of religions service. The poetical 
 language of some portions of Holy Scripture may never be 
 properly used except in its connections, that the true import 
 may be understood. Hymns in praise of JESUS are among 
 the most precious of human writings : 
 
 " Jesus, lover of my soul," 
 
 is as fervid as the Song of Songs. 
 
 " How sweet the name of Jesus sounds 
 
 In a believer's ear ; 
 
 It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, 
 And drives away his fear." 
 
 "Jesus, I love thy charming name, 
 
 'Tis music to my ear, 
 Fain would I shout It out so loud 
 
 That earth and heaven should hear." 
 
 ' ' Jesus, the name that calms our fears, 
 
 That bids our sorrows cease ; 
 'Tis music in the sinner's ears, 
 
 'Tis life and health and peace." 
 
 Such stanzas are dear to every Christian heart that delights 
 in sacred song. And the hymns of the Church are more 
 abundant in praise of JESUS than on any other theme. They
 
 144 1RENALUS LETTERS. 
 
 are criticised by the cold and uninitiated as sensuous, mate 
 rialistic and voluptuous. Fanaticism finds in our best hymns 
 lines to express unsanctified emotions. But it finds them 
 just as easily in the inspired songs of the Bible. We sing, 
 
 ' ' Millions of years my wondering eyes 
 Shall o'er thy beauties rove," 
 
 and only a very sensual person can find anything sensual in 
 the words. We sing joyously such lines as these : 
 
 ' ' Sweet Jesus, every smile of thine 
 Shall fresh endearment bring ; 
 And thousand tastes of new delight 
 From all thy graces spring. 
 
 " Haste, my Beloved, fetch my soul 
 
 Up to thy blest abode ; 
 Fly, for my spirit longs to see 
 My Saviour and my God." 
 
 Such is the language of poetry, of highly wrought imagina 
 tion, taking the wings of music, and soaring into the spiritual, 
 the unseen and eternal. It is susceptible of abuse, and it is 
 not strange that they who do not know what it means to be 
 in union with Christ should wrest, as they do many other 
 words, to a use which they were not made to answer. And 
 the name of Jesus, and all the names by which the Father, 
 the Son, the Holy Spirit, and the attributes of God, and the 
 offices which he executes, are made known to men, should 
 be used with reverence on all occasions. 
 
 Profane speaking is not unheard in the pulpit. The plat 
 form has more of it. The Sunday-school hears the most of 
 it. Oh that we might hear the last of it !
 
 A WEEK IN THE WHITE HOUSE. 145 
 
 A WEEK IN THE WHITE HOUSE. 
 
 Mr. Franklin Pierce was nominated for the Presidency of 
 the United States in the summer of 1852, and was elected in 
 November. Between the time of his nomination and elec 
 tion a bright, beautiful and promising son, his only child, 
 was killed by a railroad accident. Mrs. Pierce, a lady of 
 great loveliness of character, daughter of the Rev. Dr. 
 Appleton, President of Bowdoin College, was crushed by 
 this blow, and the bereaved parents, childless and heart 
 broken, went to Washington. In the freshness of their grief 
 they saw no company. They went to the church of which 
 the late Rev. Dr. John C. Smith was pastor, and at the close 
 of service he spoke with them. I had recently published 
 "Thoughts on the Death of Children," and Mrs. Pierce 
 remarked to him that she had been reading the book with 
 much comfort. 
 
 In the course of that week I was in Washington making 
 some arrangements for a foreign journey, and Dr. Smith 
 spoke to me of Mrs. Pierce having derived comfort from my 
 little book, and he asked me to call on them, though as yet. 
 they had received no one. I did so : Mrs. Pierce received 
 me at once, and sent for the President, who joined us. The 
 sympathies of parents in a common affliction soon united 
 our hearts. The interview was sacred. 
 
 I went to Europe and the East, and was absent a year. 
 Mr. Pierce had been in office about three years when I was 
 in Washington again. After being there two or three days I 
 called on the President, and he insisted on sending to the 
 hotel for my luggage, and my spending a week with him. 
 Mrs. Pierce joined in the invitation with arguments that 
 made it impossible to refuse, and in the course of an hour I 
 was in my room in the White House. 
 
 As my visit was purely social, having no reference to 
 political or public matters, it would be inconsistent with the 
 whole tenor of my correspondence to speak of much that
 
 146 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 made that week one of the most memorable and remarkable 
 of my life. And political prejudices are so strong that we 
 are apt to judge the private character of public men, espe 
 cially Presidents, by our likes or dislikes of their party rela 
 tions. This was stiikingly illustrated by a fact resulting 
 from my visit. In a letter from Washington I mentioned 
 that the President prayed daily with his family, assembling 
 the servants in the library for that purpose. One of the sub 
 scribers to the Observer ordered it discontinued, giving as 
 the reason that he "would not have a paper coming into his 
 house that says Pierce prays." In my simplicity I had sup 
 posed any Christian would be glad to hear that his worst 
 enemy was praying, but I was mistaken in that opinion. 
 
 Mr. Pierce did not lead the devotions in family worship 
 while I was there, insisting that it was my duty as a clergy 
 man. Mrs. Pierce told me that he always conducted it when 
 a minister was not present, and that no public engagements 
 were allowed to interfere with the daily family service. He 
 called upon me invariably to ask the blessing at table, but 
 one day, as we sat down, he involuntarily did it himself, and 
 then turning to me, said : " Excuse me, but for the moment 
 I forgot." It showed his habit. 
 
 Every day, except Sunday, he had a dinner party, usually 
 from eight to ten gentlemen and ladies, and this brought 
 together the most distinguished members of Congress, stran 
 gers visiting the Capital, and officers of the Cabinet. Half a 
 dozen wine-glasses were placed at each plate, and as many 
 kinds of wine were freely served : but at the President's plate 
 was no wine-glass, and he drank nothing but water. In the 
 early part of his public life he was addicted to the free use of 
 intoxicating liquors, but he had put himself upon rigorous 
 abstinence, even from wine at his own table. 
 
 Once a week he excused himself from whatever company 
 might be present in the evening, while he went unobserved 
 to a prayer meeting in the lecture-room of the church. He 
 sat in a back seat, unnoticed by any one but the pastor, who 
 said nothing about it to his people, though he mentioned it 
 to me in speaking of the President's private life.
 
 A WEEK IN THE WHITE HOUSE. 147 
 
 One morning Mr. Pierce asked me to step with him into 
 his bed-chamber. The bed was standing a few feet from the 
 wall. We sat down on its side, and he drew a curtain from 
 a portrait hung low, and near the head of the bed. It told 
 its own sad story of his beautiful boy, his son, his only son, 
 who was killed as they were coming into this mansion. He 
 put his hand into mine and wept. Who could refrain from 
 weeping with him ? " It is dark, desolate, dreadful ; we 
 thought it would be for his pleasure ; that his future would 
 be so much brighter : but my wife and I are longing now to 
 go away and be at peace." I had no words. We sat some 
 moments in silence and withdrew. 
 
 At breakfast one morning Mr. Pierce said to me : " I 
 would like to have you see my Cabinet together, and if you 
 will be at home at one o'clock I will call for you at your 
 room." At the hour he called, and led me to the apartment 
 where the members had been in session, and were now 
 through with business. After introduction I had a few 
 words with each of them, except one: he resumed his seat 
 and his writing, and yet I remember him quite as distinctly 
 as any of them, for he has since been very distinguished as 
 Jefferson Davis, President of the Southern Confederacy, 
 
 William L. Marcy was then Secretary of State, and had 
 been also at the head of the War Department in a previous 
 administration. Governor Marcy, wishing to make a moral 
 reflection, observed ; 
 
 " Is it not strange, sir, that men are willing to come here 
 and bear these burdens, and for what ?" 
 
 " Oh no," I replied ; "not strange, Governor, some gentle 
 men are willing to come twice !" 
 
 He laughed heartily, and said, " Ah, there you have me," 
 for he was one of them. 
 
 James Guthrie of Kentucky, Secretary of the Treasury, 
 was a man of commanding appearance. Mr. Dobbin, Secre 
 tary of the Navy, from North Carolina, was then in delicate 
 health, and did not live long after retirement from office. 
 Robert McClelland, Secretary of the Interior, has just now 
 died in Michigan. Mr. James Campbell was Postmaster-
 
 148 I REN Ai. US LETTERS. 
 
 General, a Roman Catholic, who alluded to that fact himself 
 when saying some pleasant words to me. Caleb Gushing 
 was Attorney-General, a man of such varied accomplish 
 ments, industry, versatility, and capacity for public affairs, 
 that he was for many years, under successive administra 
 tions, indispensable, whether in or out of office. 
 
 A few years after this, Mr. Marcy was residing at the 
 Hotel Sans Souci in Ballston Spa, in the summer, and my 
 family were guests in the same house. The alarm was given 
 that Mr. Marcy was dead ! He had just come in from a 
 walk, and lying down upon the bed, expired. The room was 
 soon filled with the boarders ; a physician was summoned : 
 he searched for signs of life, and asked one of the ladies of 
 my family to place her hand over his heart, as her more 
 delicate touch might detect its throb. All was still. His 
 eyes were wide open, and she closed them. 
 
 In the course of the week Mrs. Pierce was to hold a levee, 
 and she was so kind as to request me to assist in the recep 
 tion. A few minutes before 12 M., the appointed hour, the 
 President called for me, and we went into the East Room 
 awaiting Mrs. Pierce, and the opening of the doors for com 
 pany. We walked up and down the long apartment in 
 silence : his thoughts I do not know ; but mine were such as 
 these " What a sublime position does this man hold : the 
 chosen Chief Magistrate of one of the most powerful nations 
 on the earth ; in a few moments the doors will open, and 
 ambassadors from distant kingdoms, senators, scholars, 'fair 
 women and brave men ' will enter, pay their respects and 
 retire." As such reflections were in my mind, he laid his 
 hand on my shoulder and, as if he divined my thoughts, 
 remarked : " After all, a man who can preach the gospel, 
 and win men to Christ, holds the highest office on earth." 
 
 In a few minutes we were in position, receiving the distin 
 guished company. The day was brilliant, the dresses were 
 elegant mooting costumes, the company included represen 
 tatives of many courts and peoples. Mr. Pierce was a gen 
 tleman of graceful manners, and Mrs. Pierce, very delicate 
 in health, was an accomplished woman of the highest per-
 
 A WEEK IN THE WHITE HOUSE. 149 
 
 sonal worth. Sad, almost melancholy, she shrank from such 
 a scene, in which duty held her, but she would be equal to 
 her position. 
 
 Two lads were presented, strangers and unattended. She 
 greeted them kindly, almost tenderly, and as they turned 
 away she looked at me with eyes full of tears, and said softly, 
 " Ah, those boys, those dear boys." And there in the midst 
 of all the splendor of that scene, with fashion, pride and 
 state around her, the vision of her boy, her lost boy, her 
 only child, had entered the hall, and her poor heart died 
 within her as she thought of him and her buried love. She 
 trembled as with an ague, and, at my suggestion, sat down 
 until she regained composure. 
 
 During the week that I passed in the President's house, I 
 heard less of party and politics than would be heard in a 
 day outside. At table, when leading statesmen were present, 
 with conflicting views of public questions, it was proper to 
 avoid such topics as would provoke discussion,. The con 
 versation was, for the most part, on live subjects in litera 
 ture, art, philosophy, and the progress of the age. Ex- 
 Senator N. P. Tallmadge, of Dutchess County, who became 
 a Spiritualist, had recently put forth a volume of revelations 
 from statesmen and others in the spirit-world. After dinner, 
 extracts were read by these living statesmen from the utter 
 ances of Madison, Calhoun and others, and the general 
 impression was that they had amazingly degenerated in 
 intellectual force by their change of state. Even Mr. Tall 
 madge, it was remarked, must have softened, or he could not 
 have edited such twaddle and thought it sense. 
 
 The Sabbath at the White House was wholly devoted to 
 such pursuits as would mark a Christian home in New Eng 
 land. No company was received. We went to church twice. 
 The reading and conversation were in keeping with the day. 
 In the evening I had a long conversation with Mrs. Pierce 
 on the subject always uppermost in her mind : the boy that 
 died. She told me but I cannot feel it to be proper to 
 write the words of a fond mother, whose life was blighted in 
 the hour of her brightest hope.
 
 150 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Pierce have been dead several years. King 
 David said, when his boy died, " I shall go to him." They 
 have found their boy. 
 
 L'ESSON FROM A SICK-ROOM. 
 
 " Since Christ and we are one, 
 
 Why should we doubt or fear ? 
 Since he in heaven has fixed his throne, 
 He'll fix his members there." 
 
 Hearing that a friend of mine, a brother minister, whom I 
 had long known and highly esteemed, was very ill, I made 
 haste to go and see him. He had been suddenly attacked 
 with pneumonia, a form of disease which has carried off so 
 many of our friends this winter, and is one of the most dread 
 ful scourges in our trying climate. But the crisis was past 
 before I came, and he was evidently on the mend. 
 
 " I was almost over the river," he said, as I took his hand ; 
 " 1 thought I was crossing at one time, but it was not His will, 
 and 1 am here yet : I am very glad to see you once more." 
 
 1 sat down by the bedside, and he looked me full in the 
 face, with a sweet, loving smile, and then, to my surprise and 
 delight, he said : 
 
 " That letter of yours about manners in church : putting 
 on their coats during the Doxology : how I did enjoy it !" 
 
 It was a real pleasure to know that, in the sick-room, on a 
 bed of pain and perhaps of death, though apprehension of 
 that event was now over, the words that I had written, with 
 no thought of their being read with such surroundings, had 
 ministered, not for a moment only but for after thoughts, to 
 one in trouble, and had given him something to think of and 
 enjoy. And then I talked with him of his life-work and 
 mine : how the shadows were lengthening as the sun was 
 going down ; and what we had tried to do for God and our fel 
 low-men ; how we had often been misunderstood and oftener 
 misrepresented, but the Master knew it all, and in the stormi-
 
 LESSON FROM A SICK-ROOM. 151 
 
 est weather whispered to the soul, " It is I, be not afraid." 
 And I learned much from the few sentences he spoke to me 
 of his confidence in God when the end seemed to be at hand, 
 and he thought death was at the door : 
 
 " Nothing in my hand I bring, 
 Simply to thy cross I cling." 
 
 Years of service in one of the most self-denying of all the 
 departments of Christian labor, though much in my sight, 
 were nothing in his when he looked back on his work. He 
 was ready to say, " When did I see Thee sick or in prison 
 and came unto Thee ?" It was less than nothing when the 
 light of eternity came in through the chinks of the falling 
 tabernacle ! " Not what I have done," he might have said, 
 "it is what Christ has done, and that alone : He saw me sick 
 and he came and healed me : He saw me in prison and 
 opened the door and brought me forth redeemed by his 
 blood : He saw me naked and clothed me with his righteous 
 ness : starving, and he fed me with the bread of Life Ever 
 lasting." 
 
 Then we went to this precious Saviour with our wants, and 
 told him all we would, thanked him for the unspeakable 
 gift of himself, and made a new dedication of ourselves to 
 him, whether for death or for life ; for, living or dying, we 
 would be the Lord's. To every sentence, every clause in 
 these prayers, the sick man responded with fervent spirit, 
 and pressed my hand in his, so that I knew his soul was in 
 sympathy with mine, while we had communion with our 
 common Saviour and Lord. 
 
 " The fellowship of kindred minds 
 Is like to that above." 
 
 I have just come from this chamber of sickness, this holy 
 communion with one of the saints, and I am almost ashamed 
 to mention the one thing that ought to be known to under 
 stand the fulness of the pleasure which this hour has given 
 me. He is not of the same religious denomination with me. 
 Is it not a very small thing to say ? And is it not a shame
 
 152 IRENsKUS LETTERS. 
 
 that I should write it, as having the least possible bearing 
 upon the subject of Christian intercourse ? He and I are not 
 of the same sect or sect-ion of the Church of Christ : that is 
 all: we are both believers in Him, and therefore members of 
 Him, and so members one of another. When he lies on a bed 
 of pain, I suffer with him and want to take a part of his suf 
 ferings, and yet, because we are not called by the same Chris 
 tian name, it is thought by many that we are not in full sym 
 pathy and intercommunion of soul. 
 
 Four of us were at dinner this afternoon. The golden 
 oranges were very large ; I divided one into four parts, each 
 of us took a sect of it, and ate. It was the same orange of 
 which we partook: it was equally sweet and refreshing and 
 healthful to us all : and every one said, " What an exquisite 
 orange this is ;" not " My orange is better than yours ;" not 
 "Yours is no orange, mine is the only one that is good ;" not 
 " Yours is only a sect, a part cut off, mine is the original 
 fruit." No, there was no such nonsense at the table. We all 
 partook of the root and fatness of the orange-tree, and knew in 
 our own souls that it was the same fruit, as good for one as for 
 another, and equally sweet to the taste. And as we were 
 eating, I was saying to myself, that dear good brother whom 
 I was holding by the hand an hour ago, while both of us put 
 ours into the hands of the same atoning and only Saviour, is 
 surely as near to me as if he were called by the same family 
 name. And this was the lesson that I brought away from 
 the sick-room of my friend and brother. It is good for the 
 whole Christian Church. It is Christianity itself. Sad, 
 indeed, that we must teach it as an elementary truth at this 
 late day in the history of Christ's Kingdom. And sadder still 
 it is that so many who profess and call themselves Christians 
 are unable or unwilling to see that there is just as much of 
 Christ in another sect of the Church as in the section to which 
 they belong, and that all are Christ's who have been made 
 partakers with him of "the divine nature." There is noth 
 ing in this that requires or implies a loss of attachment to 
 our own creeds or forms. They have their uses, and the 
 older we grow, and the more we learn, the stronger becomes
 
 THE GREAT EXAGGERATOR. 153 
 
 every honest man's attachment to the doctrines and the 
 methods which he has intelligently adopted and professed. 
 Latitudinarianism and Liberalism are the pet names by which 
 weak and ignorant and often bad men would conceal their 
 hatred of the good and true. The holiest of all things is the 
 right thing, and he who thinks he has the right will stick to 
 it. But charity is kind. It endureth all things. It is love. 
 And whoever has his heart filled with the spirit of the Master 
 is my brother ; if he is ever so far away from me in his ways 
 of worship, he is my brother, and has a place in my heart's 
 best love. 
 
 All this I have written you, as the lesson learned at the 
 bedside of my brother minister this afternoon, and having 
 put it upon paper, I will say Good-night. 
 
 THE GREAT EXAGGERATOR. 
 
 Riding up in a street-car, I was by the side of a young man 
 who had several copies of a well-known weekly newspaper 
 in his hand. He made conversation with me very freely 
 and was disposed to be communicative. In response to my 
 observation that he had a large supply of newspaper, he 
 said that he was on this paper, handing me one of the lot. 
 And when I showed some curiosity to know what depart 
 ment of the journal he filled, he said, " It might, perhaps, be 
 called the exaggeration department. I write an article every 
 week which is to be a wonderful story, a narrative of remark 
 able facts, not necessarily real, or true, but things that might 
 possibly be true, and so will entertain the reader and aston 
 ish him some." 
 
 I was amused by the coolness with which he detailed his 
 business, and asked him if there was anything of his in that 
 line in the paper he had given me. 
 
 " Oh yes," he replied, " I have been writing this week on 
 the rats of Brazil : here it is." 
 
 Here he opened the paper and called my attention to the
 
 154 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 part of it which he fills with his imagination and invention. 
 It described with great minuteness the immense numbers 
 and size of the rats in Brazil they grow as big as dogs, are 
 very fierce, attacking children often, and are the dread of 
 animals t\vice their size. Illustrations were given of their 
 ferocity and great strength, and the measures adopted to 
 reduce their numbers, if they could not be exterminated. 
 When I asked him what was the source of his information, 
 he said frankly he knew nothing about it, but had made it 
 up, knowing very well it would be interesting to read, and 
 yet nobody would care enough about it to inquire into its 
 truth and detect the exaggeration. 
 
 " I am now writing," he continued, " another paper on 
 1 the Cockroaches of Japan.' Do you know whether there 
 are any in that curious country?" 
 
 My studies in natural history had not been directed that 
 way, and I told him frankly I did not know that a cockroach 
 had ever landed on that shore, but I had no doubt they were 
 abundant there as here. 
 
 "Well, it don't make much difference whether there are 
 any or not : as I know their habits in this country, I shall 
 give them many that are peculiar to Japan, where the people 
 do everything in just the opposite way from ours : so I will 
 make the cockroach a delightful domestic animal, which the 
 ladies are fond of playing with as a pet, &c., you see ?" 
 
 "Yes, I see, but do not greatly admire the work you are 
 doing : a man with genius enough to invent such stuff is fit 
 for something better, more elevating and useful, Besides, 
 what's the difference between this and lying?" 
 
 " All the difference in the world : this is harmless and 
 amusing: people love to read wonderful stories. Perhaps 
 you call DeFoe a liar, and John Bunyan, and Cervantes, and 
 Walter Scott, and Dickens : they are novelists : authors of 
 fiction : so am I ! All my stories are fiction, and, as the 
 great authors I have named did not expect to be understood 
 as writing actual facts, I am so much better than they that 
 I want to be believed, and so I confine myself to what might 
 be true but is not."
 
 THE GREAT EXAGGERATOR. 155 
 
 By this time we had reached Fourth Street, and the great 
 exaggerator was obliged to leave the car, as his factory was 
 located there, and I saw him no more. But I have since 
 seen and heard, and read, many in the same line of business, 
 whose habit of exaggeration is quite as large and fearful as 
 this newspaper-man's. 
 
 Some of them are preachers. They cannot make a simple 
 statement of truth, in language that everybody can under 
 stand, and in terms that commend themselves to the hearty 
 confidence of the hearer. But they pile up the agony, with 
 all their might, making terrible more terrible, and lovely so 
 ineffably sweet that neither one nor the other is credible. 
 In revivalists, and travelled speakers, and the sensational 
 men generally, I observe this same habit in full flow. All 
 their geese are swans. All their good people are angels. 
 Even their reports of work done, souls saved, and reforma 
 tions accomplished, are not in strict accordance with the 
 facts. 
 
 Sitting on a platform last week at an anniversary meeting, 
 while a speaker was careering splendidly along the brilliant 
 line of his rhetoric, with a pyrotechnic display of facts and 
 figures glorious if true, and he believed them so, a friend 
 near by whispered to me : 
 
 " I wonder if he wouldn't discount that fifty per cent for 
 cash !" 
 
 My friend was in the commercial line evidently, and 
 intended to ask me if it would not be safe to take off fifty 
 per cent, or one half of that, for the sake of sober truth the 
 cash. 
 
 Writers as well as public speakers draw the long bow. 
 Even in the serious business of delineating the character of 
 a departed friend, some persons have been known to indulge 
 in eulogy justly liable to the suspicion of being somewhat 
 overdrawn. 
 
 Women are not wholly exempt from this tendency to 
 hyperbole. As a mouse is to them often more terrible than 
 a lion, so they magnify trifles into mountains and hug their 
 delusions as positive realities. Men and women indulge in
 
 156 IRE N^. US LETTERS. 
 
 this habit of exaggeration until they come to believe what 
 they say, and thus are victims of their own folly and sin. 
 When charged with misrepresentation, they defend their bad 
 habit and resent the suspicion of falsehood as an insult. 
 Even when convinced of their fault they fall into it in their 
 confession, and repeat themselves, as did the minister whose 
 brethren rebuked him for his habit of exaggeration, and 
 filled with shame and repentance, he cried, "Yes, brethren, 
 I know my fault. I have tried to correct it ; I have shed 
 barrels of tears over it." 
 
 It is no excuse for this or any other bad habit to say of the 
 offender, " It is his way." No man has a right to continue 
 in a bad way. It is his duty, when the wrong is shown him, 
 to repent and reform. It is just as wicked to be an exag- 
 gerator in the pulpit, on the platform, at the dinner table, 
 as in writing for the sensational newspaper on the rats of 
 Brazil or the cockroaches of Japan. 
 
 Dean Stanley intimated, when he was among us, that the 
 authors of America have the reputation abroad of being 
 given to exaggeration. I do not think the habit is Ameri 
 can. It would be quite as easy to find examples of it in 
 British authors, and French and German, for it is a fault of 
 human nature that it is never content with things as they 
 are, and always is prone to make molehills into mountains. 
 " A plain, unvarnished tale" is more forcible and useful than 
 the inflated style which often passes for eloquence. 
 
 And so I have been taught by my companion in the car 
 to despise the exaggerator. When I hear him in the pulpit 
 or out of it, I ask myself if he would not take off fifty per 
 cent for cash.
 
 WHEN IT RAINS, LET IT RAIN, 157 
 
 WHEN IT RAINS, LET IT RAIN. 
 
 My father was one of the rural clergy : a country pastor. 
 It was his habit when he went from home to exchange 
 pulpits with a distant brother, or to attend Synod, to take 
 with him a few sermons. For them he had a pasteboard 
 case, into which they would slide, and travel without being 
 folded. On one side of this case he had written in a bold 
 hand a Latin motto, of which I may write to you hereafter, 
 and on the other side these words . " WHEN IT RAINS, LET 
 
 IT RAIN." 
 
 Long before I knew what they were intended to teach, I 
 spelled them out, and wondered what difference it made 
 whether he let it rain or not : it was not likely that it would 
 rain more or less because he had a will about it. But as I 
 grew older, and perhaps a little wiser, I began to see the 
 meaning and the value of the motto, and to lay it up in my 
 heart and to practise it in my life. I soon found, also, that 
 ministers have special need of the virtue it teaches in the 
 matter of rainy Sundays. They make preparation for the 
 pulpit, with much care, labor and hope. They have a special 
 object perhaps in view, and are very anxious to see all their 
 people in their places when they come with this message 
 from the mouth of God. They rise on the Sabbath morning, 
 and lo ! the rain is descending, the floods are coming, and it 
 is certain there will be more pews than people in church. 
 What shall he do ? The sermon is not for those who will 
 turn out in the rain, so much as it is for those who will cer 
 tainly stay at home. He is tempted to fret at the weather. 
 The discontented missionary to Nineveh, when there was 
 too much sun, exclaimed, " I do well to be angry," and the 
 country pastor is ready to be angry because it rains. 
 
 Then comes up the much-argued question, " Shall I preach 
 my sermon prepared for to-day, rain or shine, people or no 
 people, or shall I take an old one, or preach an off-hand dis 
 course : on the principle that anything will do for a rainy 
 day ?" The wise pastor has no invariable rule on the sub 
 ject. Sometimes he does the one thing, and again he does
 
 158 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 the other, according to circumstances. And those of his 
 people who go to church in all weathers say., " Our minis 
 ter preaches his best sermons on rainy Sundays." They do 
 not know the secret of it, which is that they who have the 
 heart to brave a storm, and go to the house of God, are sure 
 to find its word and ordinances sweet to their taste, yea, 
 sweeter than the honeycomb. Like wine on the lees well 
 refined, it rejoices the heart. 
 
 When Dean Swift's congregation was so small as to include 
 only the sexton and himself, he began the service, instead of 
 " Dearly beloved brethren, the Scripture moveth," etc., by 
 saying, " Dearly beloved Roger, the Scripture," etc. The 
 Dean was not a very serious preacher, and with him this was 
 a pleasantry. But many a preacher, whose audience was 
 nearly as few as his, has preached with power and great 
 effect, to the glory of God. The jailer was the only hearer 
 when the gospel made him cry out, " What shall I do ?" 
 The Great Teacher himself was willing to teach one at a 
 time. And the minister who dismisses all thought about 
 numbers, and just goes onward preaching the Word to many 
 or to few, trusting in God to make it effectual to accomplish 
 that whereunto it is sent, will, in the end, do the best work 
 for the Master. 
 
 My father faithfully acted upon this principle, and always 
 let it rain without worrying himself about it. He never 
 stopped for a storm. He said it was no part of his business 
 to bring the people out when it rained, but he would do his 
 whole duty in the pulpit, and they who heard and they who 
 did not would have their respective accounts to render. 
 This was the quiet conviction of a strong, brave man, who 
 did not undertake to regulate the weather or to manage the 
 affairs of the universe. He was content to do his duty, and 
 he just did it. 
 
 The rule is as good for the people as it is for the pastor, 
 and quite as good in all the affairs of this life of ours as it is 
 on Sunday. How often even good people say: "I'm so 
 sorry it rains to-day: I would rather have it rain all the 
 week than on Sunday." But that rain which shuts them in
 
 WHEN IT RAINS, LET IT RAIN. 159 
 
 the house on the Sabbath, and deprives them of the means 
 of grace in the sanctuary, would not hinder them from going 
 to their daily business or to a kettledrum. 
 
 Nor is it the weather only that worries the souls of dis 
 contented people. They are never pleased with things as 
 they are, and would like to have the ordering of events in 
 their own hands. But if they had, they would then com 
 plain of having so much to do, they have no time for rest. 
 And it js altogether likely if they had the management of 
 the weather, and everything else, they would not have it any 
 more to their minds 'than it is now when Infinite wisdom 
 directs it for the greatest good of the greatest number. It 
 is a fact that they who fret the most about the little troubles 
 and vexations of every-day life are they who have the least 
 faculty for making things go better. Real executive ability 
 and force belong to persons of a calm, equable and steady 
 mind. Such people take things as they come : if it rains 
 they let it, and, with umbrella and rubbers, go about the 
 work that is to be done ; if company comes unexpectedly to 
 dinner, they give them the best they have, and with the 
 sauce of cheerfulness make a dinner of herbs more enjoy 
 able than a stalled ox ; if the china falls they smile at the 
 last remark as if they did not hear the awful crash ; or when 
 the market falls, and real estate and fancy stocks, and the 
 price of corn, go rushing amain down, they possess their 
 souls in patience, saying it will all come around right, by and 
 by : when it rains, let it rain. 
 
 This spirit of acquiescence in the divine will is in har 
 mony with the use of all right means to produce such results 
 as our judgment approves. But it also forbids impatience, 
 grumbling, fretfulness, the sulks, despondency ; and it re 
 quires us in all things, even in the smallest, to say with reve 
 rence and childlike submission, " Not my will, but Thine be 
 done."
 
 160 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT: 
 
 HIS RELIGIOUS VIEWS AND THE REV. DR. ALDEN'S THOUGHTS 
 ON THE " RELIGIOUS LIFE." 
 
 New and beautiful light has been shed on the inner life and 
 thought of our late illustrious poet and friend, Mr. Bryant. 
 
 This is the lovely, leafy month of June, the month in which 
 he wished to die and be buried. His wish was granted. It 
 is now just a year since we buried him by the side of her 
 whom he loved in youth and old age. It is natural, and it is 
 well, to think of him at such a time as this. 
 
 And it is the sweetest of all pleasures, in connection with 
 his memory, to think of him as one who trusted with child 
 like faith in the work and worth of Jesus Christ for salvation, 
 and having entered into rest through that living way, is now 
 a partaker of the promises. 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Joseph Alden, President of the Normal Col 
 lege, Albany, enjoyed the friendship of Mr. Bryant, and when 
 he had prepared a brief, but very clear and evangelical treatise 
 on "The Religious Life," he submitted the manuscript to Mr. 
 Bryant, and requested him to write a few pages by way of 
 introduction. This request was cheerfully complied with, 
 and it is a remarkable fact that these few pages, written just 
 at the close of his long life, and left unfinished on his desk 
 when death suddenly summoned him, contain a more distinct 
 and satisfactory declaration of his religious opinions than he 
 has given elsewhere in the thousands of pages that flowed 
 from his prolific mind. 
 
 It was not new to me that Mr. Bryant held tenderly and 
 truly to that view of the atoning work of Christ which is 
 inconsistent with the Unitarian idea of the person and office 
 of the Saviour. When in Italy twenty-five years ago I learned 
 the circumstances under which Mr. Bryant came to partake 
 of the Lord's Supper with her by whose side his mortal now 
 sleeps waiting the resurrection. They were in Naples with 
 an invalid lady friend, who was visited in her illness by 
 the chaplain of the Scotch Presbyterian church. It was sup-
 
 WILLIAM CULLEW BRYANT. 1 6 1 
 
 posed that her death was near, and as she had expressed a 
 desire to receive the Holy Communion, the pastor made an 
 appointment for its administration. In the meantime Mrs. 
 Bryant informed her husband of the expected service, and 
 asked him if he would be pleased to participate with them. 
 He said that he would be very glad to do so if the pastor 
 thought it proper, and for this purpose he conversed fully as 
 to his views and feelings with the Presbyterian minister, who 
 encouraged him to unite with the family in this touching 
 memorial. Mr. Bryant did so, and on his return from Europe, 
 being a regular attendant at the Presbyterian church at 
 Roslyn, where he and Mrs. B. are buried, he came regularly 
 and devoutly to the Lord's table, though he never removed 
 his membership from the Unitarian church of which Dr. Bel 
 lows is pastor. Dr. Ely, the Roslyn minister, was a college 
 friend of mine, and being intimate with Mr. Bryant, often 
 related to me his conversations, with the assurance that Mr. 
 Bryant was a humble and sincere believer in the evangelical 
 system. 
 
 Dr. Alden's little book is a vigorous assertion of the true 
 idea of a religious life, the way to it, by repentance and faith. 
 The author shows faith to be something more than believing 
 that Christ died for sinners, and he explains that "one has 
 faith in Christ when he trusts him as his personal Saviour." 
 He teaches, also, that " the influence of the Holy Spirit is ne 
 cessary to the exercise of repentance and faith." And again, he 
 says " if a man seeks to conform his whole life to the Divine 
 will, looking to God for help, and relying on the merits of 
 that Christ as the ground of his acceptance with God, he has a 
 right to regard himself as a converted man." These are the 
 opening sentiments of a brief work on the religious life, the 
 life of God in the soul of man, the indwelling of the Spirit 
 bringing to the surface and producing the fruits of holy obe 
 dience to the law of God. It would be well for the Church, 
 well for individuals, for each private Christian, to get this book 
 and make its practical principles a part of daily experience. 
 
 But how did Mr. Bryant take it ? He read it in manu 
 script ; and he very carefully says that, as to those sentiments
 
 1 62 IRENJEUS LETTERS. 
 
 in the book about which there may be " a divergence of views 
 among Christian denominations," he will not express an 
 opinion. And he adds ; " But I can only regret that there 
 should be any who have disowned the humble and simple 
 faith which, carried out into the daily acts of life, produces 
 results so desirable, so important to the welfare of mankind 
 in the present state of existence, and so essential to a prepa 
 ration for the life upon which we are to enter when we pass 
 beyond the grave." Then this great poet, philanthropist and 
 philosopher laments the tendency of modern scientists to 
 turn away the attention of men from the teachings of the 
 gospel, and to look with scorn upon the Christian system. 
 
 Now I am about to copy a passage which, in the value of 
 its testimony, in the beauty of its expression, and its evangel 
 ical spirit, was never excelled in the same number of lines by 
 any uninspired man : 
 
 "This character, of which Christ was the perfect model, is in itself so 
 attractive, so ' altogether lovely,' that I cannot describe in language the 
 admiration with which I regard it ; nor can I express the gratitude I feel for 
 the dispensation which bestowed that example on mankind, for the truths 
 which he taught and the sufferings he endured for our sakes. I tremble to 
 think what the world would be without Him. Take away the blessing of 
 the advent of his life and the blessings purchased by his death, in what an 
 abyss of guilt would man have been left ! It would seem to be blotting the 
 sun out of the heavens to leave our system of worlds in chaos, frost, and 
 darkness. 
 
 " In my view of the life, the teachings, the labors, and the sufferings of 
 the blessed Jesus, there can be no admiration too profound, no love of which 
 the human heart is capable too warm, no gratitude too earnest and deep 
 of which He is justly the object. It is with sorrow that my love for Him is 
 so cold, and my gratitude so inadequate. It is with sorrow that I see any 
 attempt to put aside His teachings as a delusion, to turn men's eyes from his 
 example, to meet with doubt and denial the story of his life. For my part, 
 if I thought that the religion of skepticism were to gather strength and pre 
 vail and become the dominant view of mankind, I should despair of the fate 
 of mankind in the years that are yet to come." 
 
 I have read that passage over and over again with ever- 
 increasing admiration and gratitude : my mind consents to 
 his acknowledgment of human guilt, its need of pardon, of
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 163 
 
 the sufferings and death of Christ "endured for our sakes," 
 "purchasing" the blessings without which we would have 
 been left in an abyss of darkness. And my eyes fill with 
 tears of sympathy when I hear Bryant saying, " It is with 
 sorrow that my love for Him is so cold, and my gratitude so 
 inadequate." 
 
 To the wall of my library, in which I am writing, I lookup 
 and see the portrait of Bryant, serene, sublime, in its thought 
 ful, penetrating gaze into the future. It is as if taken while 
 he was composing the lines which I have just quoted from 
 his pen. Underneath it hangs, framed, a note he wrote to 
 me, with the gift of a poem that he copied, at great length, 
 for me with his own hand when he was 80 years old. He 
 seems very near, when I see him in the light of his beautiful 
 life, his trustful faith in Christ as his only Saviour, and his 
 earnest expectation of immortality. 
 
 It is good to bear in mind that outside of the blessed con 
 gregation who are called by the name we bear, there are mul 
 titudes innumerable whom Christ knows as his and loves 
 with dying and undying affection. The system of religion 
 on which Unitarianism exists as a Church, and the system of 
 Romanism, appear to me utterly incompatible with the 
 Christian religion as Bryant explains it, as Keble and New 
 man sang it in their spiritual songs. But in the mazes of 
 error in which even devout minds are sometimes involved, 
 there are members of the body of Christ, of Christ's Church, 
 and whoever anywhere, and under whatever system, bewild 
 ered, oppressed, or rejoicing, feels himself to be a sinner par 
 doned and saved by the sufferings and death of Jesus Christ, 
 that man, though he were the Pope of Rome or the thief on 
 the cross, I love to call my brother and a member of the 
 Church of Christ.
 
 164 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 WARRIORS ON WAR. 
 
 While I am writing this letter a funeral pageant is passing 
 in sight from my study window. In the Governor's Room in 
 the City Hall the dead body of Major-General Hooker has 
 been lying in state. Crowds have been going in to look on 
 the face of the soldier as he lies 
 
 A -warrior taking his rest, 
 With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 Now they are bringing the coffin down the steps. The 
 procession forms. Banners are draped, and droop in honor 
 of the dead. The pageant passes on. Five minutes ago the 
 Park was thronged. It is deserted now. Dust to dust. 
 
 In August last I spent a Sabbath among the White 
 Mountains, at the Profile House, with Gen. Hooker. He 
 spoke to me of his mother, of her fondness for the 
 New York Observer, and of the religious instruction she gave 
 him, and he was not able to say that he had lived up to the 
 lessons of his childhood. 
 
 " But the truth is," he said, " a man cannot be good, and 
 be a fighting man. He must have the devil in him. To 
 kill one another, men must have their blood up, and then 
 
 they are just like devils. Now there's General ," naming 
 
 one of the generals of the last war, " he is too good a man to 
 command an army : when two armies come in collision, he 
 is afraid somebody will get hurt : he can't bear to have blood 
 shed : he's a good man, very good, everybody loves him, but 
 he has not enough of the devil to be a good general." 
 
 I sought to take another view of the subject, and argued 
 that many splendid generals had been men of high moral 
 and religious character, who pursued the profession of arms 
 as a duty to their country, regarding war as a necessary evil, 
 and the last resort of government. 
 
 " Very true," he said, "but when it comes to fighting, all 
 the devil that is in a man must come out." 
 
 And then the conversation took a turn for the better. He
 
 WARRIORS ON WAR. 165 
 
 had been listening to one of the discussions for which the 
 piazza, of the Profile House is famous. Every day, Sundays 
 not excepted, a group of lawyers, clergymen, statesmen, and 
 men of business, get into a war of words on some question 
 of ethics, science, or politics, the first remark made by any 
 one being challenged, defended or argued, until the whole 
 company is by the ears. On this Sunday afternoon some of 
 us wished to keep the debate on a Sabbath day track, and the 
 morning sermon by Dr. Bridgman furnished the topic. 
 Some one made an observation on the folly of prayer, which 
 was like a red flag before a bull, and we of the orthodox 
 persuasion rushed into the arena, ready to do battle for the 
 truth against all comers. It was to this discussion Gen. 
 Hooker had been listening in silence, sitting out of the circle, 
 unnoticed by the company. He was infirm, his tongue 
 unready for service, but his mind was clear and his hearing 
 perfect. He said to me the next morning: 
 
 " You carried too many guns for those fellows yesterday. 
 I never listened to a conversation in my life with so much 
 interest : but you had the advantage in being at home on 
 the subject, while the other side were all at sea." 
 
 This gave me an opening to say a word or two to the Gen 
 eral, not as pointed, perhaps, as they would have been had I 
 known they were the last between us. But they were. We 
 parted at Bethlehem, and I did not see him again. 
 
 As they are bringing his body down the stone steps of the 
 City Hall to bear him to the house of God, and thence to 
 his sepulchre in the West, I remember his words with a 
 shuddering distinctness, and I ask myself if it be indeed true 
 that a man must have the devil in him to be a great captain 
 and a good soldier. 
 
 Well, I do not believe it. I could fill this sheet with the 
 names and story of illustrious generals, whose gentleness and 
 firmness, genius and success were never associated with the 
 fierce, fiery, dare-devil ferocity which Gen. Hooker regarded as 
 an essential element of the great military man. The brilliant, 
 dashing, impetuous chieftain rarely, if ever, is also the sub 
 lime, self-contained commander who organizes campaigns
 
 166 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 and decisive battles. Seldom, indeed, are all the elements 
 of the true soldier blended as they were in our Washington, 
 or in the British Wellington. Perhaps Alexander or Caesar, 
 or Napoleon, was a more splendid general than either of 
 them. But the last three were selfish and ambitious: the 
 first two were simply patriots, and having served and saved 
 their country, laid down their arms without a stain on their 
 names. The devil had much to do with the three, very little 
 with the two. 
 
 War is an awful evil, almost always a gigantic crime. It 
 may be necessary as the last resort for the preservation of 
 national life, when the madness or the folly of an enemy 
 requires his destruction. To maintain government, the 
 enemies of it as every law-breaker is its enepiy must be 
 restrained or punished : and so the army is the nation's 
 police, essential while bad men live to plot and murder. 
 
 But it is high time that Christian nations, like Great Bri 
 tain and the United States, pursued the arts of peace, and so 
 lived with the barbarous peoples near them, or far off, as to 
 avoid the horrors of war. It is not true that we or the 
 British people are guiltless before God for the blood that is 
 shed in reducing savage or semi-civilized peoples to submis 
 sion. If the lust of territory or gold inspired the aggression 
 that provoked resistance, and thus precipitated conflict, 
 when inquisition for blood is made it will be required at the 
 hands of those who kindled the fire. 
 
 In all my reading of history and biography, ancient or 
 modern, I have read nothing more awful than the battle 
 scenes when the Russians were first beaten by the Turks in 
 1877; and the storming of Badajoz by the British in 1812. 
 Yet the history of the human race is a long register of such 
 lurid and frightful scenes. Gen. Hooker was right when he 
 said that the devil is the chief instigator of war. Hell must 
 be the only place in the universe where such scenes give 
 delight. 
 
 It is vain, perhaps, to indulge the fond hope that the day 
 is near when nations will settle their disputes by reason 
 and law. Yet the international conferences, freedom of
 
 THOU OF LITTLE FAITH. 167 
 
 commerce, frequent intercourse, advanced intelligence, and 
 the power of the gospel, not the least though named last, 
 are doing a work that must gradually make war more 
 difficult among civilized, commercial and Christian peoples. 
 We may hope in God that the future is not a far future when 
 the nations will learn war no more. 
 
 Gen. Hooker's funeral pageant brings to mind the various 
 meetings I have had with him, and among others one of the 
 most enjoyable dinners. A dozen guests were at table, of 
 whom all were military men except myself. In the midst of 
 animated conversation one of the generals let slip an oath ; 
 when our host, by way of apology, said to me very dis 
 tinctly : 
 
 " You are probably not accustomed to that at table." 
 
 " No," I replied, " but I see the great necessity of my 
 being here." 
 
 This was received with a hearty laugh, and during three or 
 four hours that followed, there was no more of that. 
 
 If there be any defence for war, there is no possible 
 apology for profane swearing. It is said to be a military 
 habit, more common in the army not in Flanders only, but 
 in every army than elsewhere. Yet it has less excuse than 
 almost any other vice, and no vice has any. 
 
 O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH ! 
 
 One of my friends is in a bad way. Once he was poor ; 
 now he is above the fear of want. When he was so poor 
 that life was a daily struggle to live ; when those depending 
 on him for bread would be left destitute were his health to 
 fail, then his soul was calm and joyful in the God of his 
 strength, for his faith was like a mountain, and his peace like 
 a river. His faith did not hinder his works, but with the 
 firm persuasion that God helps those who help themselves, 
 he wrought out success, and is now well-to-do in the world. 
 
 And here comes the mystery of his experience : he has not
 
 1 68 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 the same faith in God that he had when he had nothing else ! 
 When he had no money he had faith : with the increase of 
 wealth he lost his childlike trust in God. He does not enjoy 
 the comforts of religion as he did when the cares and anxieties 
 of unsuccessful business might have worried him night and 
 day but for the grace that gave him comfort. He simply 
 verified the promise of strength according to his day. 
 
 One night, on the Mediterranean, the ship was supposed 
 to be in great peril. The Italian captain and all hands, hav 
 ing lashed everything fast that had not been swept overboard 
 by the waves and tempest, betook themselves to prayer. It 
 was a long agony with the storm. Darkness made the 
 scene more terrible and increased the hazards of the night. 
 It was evident enough that there was no help in man. In 
 that supreme hour the principle of faith had its perfect work, 
 as it does not in fair weather and smooth water. Not faith 
 in the strength of the vessel or the skill of its master, but 
 faith in the wisdom and goodness of God, who will do what 
 is best, so that life or death will be the highest good and 
 most to be desired. That gives peace to a troubled soul, 
 and the excitement of such an hour sometimes rouses the 
 mind into a state of almost joy. This is the fulfilment of 
 the promise, "My grace is sufficient for thee" not to remove 
 the trouble or danger, but to give courage and comfort in the 
 hour of peril. 
 
 How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the 
 kingdom ; they hinder in these two ways : men trust in them 
 and so forget God, and men are troubled about them lest 
 they lose what they have, and thus are turned away from 
 God. This is one, and the chief reason why the soul often 
 prospers more in the pursuit of wealth than in the possession 
 of it. Every sensible Christian knows that except the Lord 
 build the house the workmen labor in vain : unless God pros 
 per our industry and skill.our diligence in business will be of 
 no avail, and so, if we are wise and true, we cast ourselves, 
 with childlike confidence, on the arm of the Almighty and 
 work with a will, knowing that it is not of him that willeth 
 or runneth, but God who giveth the increase. The sovereign
 
 THOU OF LITTLE FAITH. 169 
 
 will, wisdom, power and love of God are as truly to be felt 
 and seen in the success or failure of one's business, as in the 
 matter of his life and health. Yet there are many Christians 
 who kiss the rod when a lovely child is removed by death, 
 but will not recognize a Father's hand in the loss of all their 
 worldly goods. In making money, a good man may ear 
 nestly and sincerely seek God's blessing on the labor of his 
 hands, but when the money has come, he is in great danger 
 of saying to himself, " Soul take thine ease, God has done all 
 you asked him to do, and you need not be anxious any 
 longer." 
 
 The boy had this spirit in him who said his prayers always 
 on going to bed, but never in the morning, giving as his 
 reason for this neglect, that a smart boy could take care of 
 himself in the day-time. 
 
 On the pendant leaf of a text-book before me is this 
 passage : " For I have learned in whatsoever state I am, 
 therewith to be content." And the soul that, like a bird 
 away from its nest, is uneasy until it finds its young and its 
 home, has as hard work to be content with riches as with 
 out. Money does not touch the spot where religion lives in 
 the human breast. The heart of the poor man and the heart 
 of the rich are alike open to the grace of God, both have 
 their own temptations and difficulties : it is a question, 
 " Which is the more exposed to the assaults of evil," " which 
 is the more congenial to the life of God ?" So Agur rea 
 soned, and so he prayed that neither the one nor the other 
 might be his lot. If we had our choice of the three estates, 
 nothing, something, or everything I reckon we would all 
 take the last and run the risk of being hurt by having too 
 much of a good thing. But the compensations of God's 
 providence are wonderful. As a blind man has his sense of 
 feeling exquisitely refined, so that it becomes the inlet of 
 pleasure and a means of usefulness unknown in the day when 
 the light of heaven shone upon him, so the man who has lost 
 his property by the depression of trade and the shrinkage of 
 values, may have his heart enlarged, his faith in God tried 
 and purified, his joy increased a hundred-fold by reason of
 
 170 IRE MM US LETTERS. 
 
 the rich communications of the Spirit such as were never his 
 in the days when corn and wine were increased. 
 
 Even so, and more marvellous, is the experience of the 
 Christian who grows heavenward as he lays up treasures on 
 earth. It is possible so to do. There is a high and holy 
 sense in which it is sinful and dangerous to hoard money. 
 It is always sinful to be miserly. Wealth is a power for 
 good, and therefore may be sought, and, when obtained, may 
 be a help to the highest kind of usefulness and happiness. 
 It is blessed to give. Money answereth all things, And in 
 the right use of wealth the good man gets the heart-glow the 
 poor never feel. 
 
 And so it comes to pass that the higher life of man on 
 earth, the true living above the world while living in it, may 
 be enjoyed when a man has no money, when he is making 
 money, and when he has become a man of wealth. As the 
 furnace of adversity may purify the Christian, he may grow 
 in grace while tried by poverty, or disappointment and failure 
 in business. In the storm his faith may be tried and greatly 
 strengthened. In the mount of prosperity, his soul filled 
 with gratitude and the spirit of self-consecration, he may 
 exult in God, from whom cometh every good gift. 
 
 In all circumstances, conditions, and changes, faith in God 
 brings contentment and peace. It is not of him that willeth, 
 but of God who giveth ; and to them who trust in him and 
 do his will He gives all needful things. Good when He gives 
 and good when He withholds, blessed be His name forever- 
 more. 
 
 TWO PICTURES: IDEAL, BUT REAL. 
 
 In the morning of her career she made choice of the life 
 that now is. 
 
 She shut her eyes upon the glories of the better land where 
 are pleasures forevermore. In the domestic circle, of which
 
 TWO PICTURES: IDEAL, BUT REAL. Ift 
 
 she should have been the light and joy, her wilfulness, sel 
 fishness and impatience of parental authority and counsel 
 made her a living anxiety and grief to parents and friends 
 who would have won her to their hearts by the love she put 
 away. In school she despised knowledge, counted every loss 
 of time and chance of improvement a decided gain, and 
 gloried in freedom from wholesome restraints : that liberty 
 which to her seemed the essence of enjoyment, but which is 
 the door of licentiousness and shame. She was now in the 
 bloom of youthful beauty, gifted with graces of form and fea 
 ture to win the admiration of the world. And forth she went, 
 the gayest of the gay, and rushed into life to quaff its nectar 
 and revel amidst its sweets and flowers. 
 
 A few brief years after, and a good man met her on the 
 streets of a great city, a lost thing, outcast, homeless, blasted, 
 ruined, all but damned. She knew him, a friend of other 
 days, but no trace of her former self was there and she was 
 strange to him. She told him the story of her gay, wild, 
 joyous, reckless, sinful, wretched, downward career, and then 
 begged for a pittance with which to buy the drink that should 
 first madden and then stupefy, anything to quiet the cries of 
 memory that rung in the ear of her frantic soul. It was in 
 vain he pointed to the door of escape from the doom to 
 which she was hastening. She spurned his proffered kind 
 ness, and told him that all she wanted of life was to be rid of 
 it, and the greatest good for her was to die. He gave her 
 money, and in an hour she was senseless. She woke but to 
 repeat the scene. Lost to all feeling of shame, without 
 conscience or hope, she sank from one dark depth of woe 
 and crime to another, till she was found at last a bloated, 
 diseased, disfigured, loathsome corpse, exposed for a while in 
 the Morgue, but no friend appeared to reclaim the disgust 
 ing remains that were hurried away to the charnel-house 
 and hid out of sight in a pauper's grave. 
 
 And is that the end ? Would God it were ! But this 
 life of ours is an endless life. And who is bold enough to 
 lift the veil and watch the career of that fallen angel into 
 the realms of lost souls ? Who shall report the sorrows and
 
 17* IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 the shame of one who beholds afar off the blessedness of 
 the good, while she reaps the fruit of her own doings, and 
 forever, as she contemplates her eternal loss, exclaims in 
 those saddest of all sad words, " // might have been." " I 
 might have been pure, and holy, and wise, and useful and 
 happy! I might have been like an angel among the angels, 
 washed in the blood of the Lamb, amid the seraphs who 
 continually do cry, ' Holy, holy, holy :' but I am here, a 
 wicked, miserable thing ; and the gulf between me and them 
 is impassable. My forever is begun. This is my endless 
 life." 
 
 II. 
 
 Another vision rises. 
 
 She was the sunlight of the home where parental kindness 
 and filial love anticipated heaven. Endowed of God with 
 fair powers of mind, she gave the spring-time of life to pre 
 paration for the future. Her soul was united by faith in 
 Christ to the Infinite Father ; loving God in the person of 
 his Son, and in all the manifestations of himself in his works 
 and word, she was in union also with all that is lovely in 
 the world around her. She stored her mind with useful 
 knowledge : trained her spirit to obedience by patient 
 acceptance of every duty : bearing with cheerfulness the 
 burdens laid upon her. Within her own spirit, silently and 
 alone, she fought a great fight with self ; with passion and 
 pride, and love of ease and pleasure : pleasures falsely so 
 called, the foam on the deep sea of life : the frivolous amuse 
 ments well enough for the pastime of an hour to recreate 
 the wearied soul, but miserable as a purpose and end. Life 
 to her was serious : life was earnest. She would be and do 
 for others, and so become like Him who loved us and gave 
 himself for us. The refined, cultured, Christian woman, the 
 noble wife and mother, she took her place in the sphere 
 which Providence assigned her ; doing, day by day, what her 
 hands found to do ; lightening the burdens of others, minis 
 tering to their wants with unfaltering care ; shedding, as from 
 angels' wings, the fragrance of her worth on every path she
 
 TEN DAYS ON THE SHIP. . 173 
 
 trod, winning all hearts by ways and words of gentleness and 
 grace. The almighty power of love was wielded by her fair 
 hands. God is love, and she dwelt in God, and by him sub 
 dued all things unto herself. Sorrows gathered round her 
 and covered her as with a cloud. But the face of Him who 
 walked in the furnace with his children, illumined the cloud, 
 and out of it came a voice saying, " Fear not, for I have 
 redeemed thee." Her power reached the springs of effort in 
 every department of useful Christian work, and by her 
 agency the ignorant were taught, the poor were fed and 
 clothed, the sick were healed, the sad were comforted, and 
 this bright beautiful world was made more bright, more 
 beautiful, by her being in it. 
 
 To those who knew her, she never gave a pang until she 
 came to die, and then they sorrowed only that earth was to 
 lose what heaven stooped to take. Angels had waited long 
 to have their own, and hovered on willing wings, above her 
 couch, to bear her to their home on high. 
 
 Hark, they whisper ! angels say 
 Sister Spirit, come away. 
 
 With cheerful voice and smiling face she answered, 
 
 " Lend, lend your wings 
 I mount, I fly," 
 
 and passed within the veil. * * * 
 
 TEN DAYS ON THE SHIP. 
 
 And here's a hand for you from beyond the sea I 
 A floating hospital, a floating hotel, a little world in a bark 
 on the ocean ! We had not been out a day before three of 
 every four yes, five out of every six were sick, down sick, 
 miserably sick, and helpless, too. There is no remedy known 
 to man that cures this dreadful malady. We were very
 
 174 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 closely packed at dinner ; the crowd so great that each inch at 
 the table was measured, and we were put as close as sardines, 
 or pickles in the Reckhow jars. But when next morning 
 came, the long rows of empty benches told the sad story of 
 sorrow on the sea. As in wisdom's path, there was only " here 
 and there a traveller." And he who was there had a look of 
 stern defiance on his brow, or of woe-begone-ness, that be 
 spoke the coming storm. There is no rank so high, no 
 digestion so strong, no will so stubborn, but it may have to 
 yield to this foul despot of the sea. A few men, with no 
 bowels of pity, are exempt, and, true to their nature, they 
 have no compassion on their wretched neighbors. They insist 
 that it is all in your disposition ; just brace up and not mind 
 it ; stir about ; keep moving and it will all pass over. It 
 does pass over the side of the ship. And you may be ready 
 to pass over also, but these strong-minded sea-dogs laugh at 
 the calamities of their best friends, and are proud and happy 
 in inverse proportion to the misery of others. 
 
 When I was abroad, ten years ago, a man from our country 
 was getting up a company to supply ships with a chair of his 
 invention, in which whoever sat should be free from this 
 internal disorder. It was to be screwed into the floor of the 
 deck, and the passenger was to be strapped into the chair, 
 and the theory of the thing was that the man would partake 
 of the motion of the ship, and being part and parcel of it, 
 would not be disturbed. The inventor would have earned a 
 seat in the Department of the Interior, had his invention 
 proved to be what he promised. But these ten years have 
 rolled by, and ships roll, and the seas roll, and men who go 
 down to the sea in ships are as sick of the sea as before, and 
 no chairs are yet made in which the wayfaring man may sit 
 and say, " I shall take mine ease." In the dead of night, 
 above the roar of the billows and the rattle and thumping of 
 the engines, breaks on the ear of the wakeful passenger the 
 groan and the retch of some poor body in her agony, and 
 when the morning comes a concert of voices celebrates the 
 sufferings of those who have waked only to renew their 
 misery.
 
 TEN DA YS ON THE SHIP. i 75 
 
 Yet to most travellers all this is transitory, " The darkest 
 day, live till to-morrow, will have passed away." The ship 
 that was a floating hospital becomes a great hotel, a house of 
 entertainment, and the amount of eating and drinking done 
 is something fearful ! The appetite is sharpened by the 
 strong, salt air. High health follows the brief illness. The 
 system, thoroughly renovated by the strange process, comes 
 up with a bound, and the man who was yesterday as limp as 
 a rag, has the maw of a tiger, and comes to dinner as to his 
 prey after a famine. It is dinner all day. He eats at nine 
 in the morning, and calls it breakfast ; at twelve he lunches, 
 but he dines heartily at the same time ; at four the regula 
 tion dinner comes on, and he attacks it as if famished and 
 afraid that the larder would give out; at six he takes tea 
 and many other things ; and at eight, nine, ten, and so on, 
 he takes his supper, the heartiest meal in the day, for now 
 he has no prospect of another until breakfast, and he must 
 live through the night some way. And so he eats to live 
 and lives to eat. Eating is the grand thing to do. There 
 are other entertainments : he may play shuffleboard on the 
 deck, and cards in the cabin ; see the sailors at blind-man's- 
 buff, and at bear ; get up a concert in the steerage, and kill 
 time in many ways known only to those who are accustomed 
 to " life on the ocean wave ;" but after all there is nothing 
 for him that takes the place of eating, and when he goes 
 through five meals a day of twelve hours, there is little time 
 left for anything else, especially if he tarries long at the wine, 
 as the manner of some is. 
 
 SABBATH AT SEA. 
 
 The Scythia left port on Wednesday, and by the Sunday 
 following, the ship's company, some five hundred souls in 
 all, were in good health, and welcomed a bright Sabbath 
 morning in May. Notices were posted that divine service 
 would be held in the main saloon, and as several ministers 
 of the gospel were on board it was reasonable to expect that 
 we would have preaching. But the Cunard line belongs to 
 the Established Church of England. And it is one of the
 
 176 IREN&VS LETTERS. 
 
 peculiarities of the religion of that venerable Church, that a 
 sea captain who is no saint, and it may be is quite the reverse, 
 may conduct divine service, pronounce the absolution, which 
 is specially a ministerial office, and the benediction also 
 the Apostolic benediction J I have preached the gospel on a 
 Cunarder, after the Episcopal service was read ; and any one 
 of the clergymen on board would have been happy to do so 
 on this occasion, had we been requested by the captain, who 
 is also the chaplain of his own ship. But he chose to keep 
 the thing in his own hands, and to do the religious as well as 
 the nautical service of the vessel. And he did it very well. 
 At the hour appointed^ a few passengers assembled, perhaps 
 a fourth part of them, not more r a dozen seamen filed in, 
 and took their seats, for this service is designed for the 
 crew, not for the passengers ; the captain sat in a chair, and, 
 neither rising nor kneeling, he read the lessons, prayers, &c., 
 for the day, including petitions for the Queen of England, 
 the President of the United States, Prince Albert, and all 
 the Royal household. He is a good reader. I have heard 
 many clergymen read much worse. Indeed, it is rare to hear 
 the service read so well. Good reading is less common than 
 good speaking. But there is such a sense of incongruity in 
 a sea captain's leading the devotions of a public assembly 
 when there are ministers present whose duty it is to preach 
 the Word, that one is indisposed to profit. It requires an 
 effort to be reconciled to the situation. 
 
 After service, which was very short, the passengers spent 
 their Sunday as to each one seemed good in his own eyes. 
 Whether there are any rules and regulations for the observ 
 ance of the day, I do not know ; but it was pleasant to 
 observe that many things regarded lawful and proper on 
 other days, were laid aside by common consent, and the 
 hours passed by as in a well-regulated Christian household. 
 No cards were played in the saloons. Indeed, all games and 
 pastimes were omitted, and reading, conversation, walking, 
 and talking, whiled away the hours. Perhaps the dinner 
 was rather extra. In the evening some of the company 
 joined in singing sacred songs, old familiar hymns and tunes,
 
 TEN DAYS ON THE SHIP. 177 
 
 and some of the popular revival melodies were welcomed 
 with great favor, showing how deep a hold they have on the 
 universal heart. 
 
 And this ship is a little world, a floating world. As the 
 great globe is but a speck in the ocean of infinity, and floats 
 in the hand of Him who made it, with its endless variety of 
 life and interest and destiny, so this ship, a mere dot on the 
 great ocean, tossed like an egg-shell on the waves that would 
 not be parted for a minute if the whole vessel were to go 
 down into the fathomless chambers below, is a world in 
 miniature, with a countless variety of hope and business and 
 purpose and everlasting destiny. There is scarcely a rank or 
 condition of men that has not its representative within these 
 wooden walls. There are sixty nurses and children on board. 
 And it doth not yet appear what they shall be. The British 
 Minister is on his way from Washington to report to Her 
 Majesty, his sovereign. Several newly-married pairs are out 
 on their first voyage, life all before them. The great majority 
 are men of business seeking the pot of gold at the rainbow's 
 foot. And the poor invalids, tired of one side of the earth, 
 are trying to find on another what, thus far, they have sought 
 in vain. Trying to live. All passions play on this little 
 stage : petty ambitions, jealousies, rivalries, and the gentle 
 courtesies, sweet friendships, and the kind civilities of life, are 
 just as pronounced, in their deformities and their charms, as in 
 the social world on shore. It brings out the nature of people, 
 the good and evil in them, wonderfully, to be kept a week or 
 two on the water, and you hardly know what is in a man, or 
 what you, yourself, are, until you have been to sea. And so 
 we have worried away these nine days on shipboard ; taking 
 in great supplies of oxygen from the pure air on the ocean, 
 sleeping much, and so getting the rest that belongs to the 
 just, meditating on the mysteries of eternity suggested 
 always by the sight of the unbounded waste of waters, and 
 working out problems saved up for such a leisure time as 
 this. It is a good thing to have a little time in life when one 
 can do nothing but think.
 
 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 CHESTER CATHEDRAL SERVICE. 
 
 How many hundred years ago the Cathedral of Chester 
 was founded, I do not pretend to know, but in those days of 
 old, when monks of Romish order had their habitations, like 
 moles and bats, in crypts, cloisters, and cells, this pile was 
 reared, and afterwards came, with scores of other church 
 properties, into the hands of the Anglican communion. 
 
 It was the Abbey of St. Werburgh, and to this day the 
 Bishop sits in his throne which was the shrine of the saint, 
 what time he was venerated in these venerable walls. The 
 wall of the city, now a promenade, winds along and near the 
 cathedral ; and in the evening before the Sabbath, a solitary 
 visitor, I stood on the wall looking down, by the uncertain 
 light of the moon, into the old burying ground, where the 
 dead forgotten lie, who, long centuries ago, stood on this 
 same wall, and looked upon the place in which their dust 
 now waits the resurrection. The chimes waked me on the 
 Sabbath morning : sweetly solemn chimes : the only bell- 
 ringing that we ought to have in a city : sacred music, uni 
 versal worship. There ! they are going again this moment, 
 and from my window I see the towers and turrets from 
 which the voices of the bells come with their sweet melodies 
 on the evening air : fit expression of the heart's incense of 
 praise : it is above the city, it is not infected with the greed 
 and grime of the earth, earthy ; but as if the upper and 
 better life of man were calling out to heaven, these chimes 
 waft his prayers and praises to the skies. 
 
 They waked us, and then they invited us to the great 
 cathedral for morning worship. So dilapidated are the sur 
 roundings of this irregular and antiquated pile, it was hard 
 to find an entrance. But as we saw others passing in by a 
 'little door a needle's eye we followed, and a verger an 
 usher we might call him received us politely, and, without 
 a moment's delay, led us to excellent seats within the choir, 
 where the service was conducted : he expressed regret that 
 he could not give us better seats, but we would not have
 
 CHESTER CATHEDRAL SERVICE. 179 
 
 chosen any others. In the midst of the choir stood a very 
 aged man, the chief of the vergers, who, leaning upon his 
 staff, seemed to have nothing to do but to look about him 
 and be in the way of the people as they came in. Presently, 
 when a large congregation was seated, the procession of 
 singing boys and singing men filed in, led by three vergers 
 with symbols of office on their shoulders. When they had 
 taken their seats, the choral service, or the service intoned 
 by the choir, began. All the parts usually read by the 
 minister, and responded to by the people, were performed in 
 a voice which was neither singing, chanting, nor reading, 
 but a mixture of them all, and so mingled as to produce an 
 effect exceedingly pleasing to those who have a taste for the 
 musical ; but to others far from being devotional. I have 
 heard monks intoning their service so much, and am so un 
 accustomed to hear anything of the kind elsewhere, I was 
 not edified by it now; but those with me enjoyed it greatly, 
 and assured me that the music was often exquisite, and the 
 whole service very impressive. 
 
 Another "officer" marched in, followed by a venerable 
 clergyman, who ascended the steps of the reading desk, and 
 gave the lessons of Scripture. And soon afterwards, the 
 bishop and two other clergy were conducted to the altar, 
 where, in turn, they continued the service. The youngest of 
 them, a minor canon, ascended the pulpit and preached a 
 sermon of fifteen minutes ; and, as the service altogether was 
 more than two hours long, it is plain that "prayer and praise 
 are here regarded as a far more important part of worship" 
 than the preaching of the word. The sermon was good. 
 The doctrine of the presence and power of the Holy Spirit 
 in the church, attending the word, and helping the soul in its 
 struggles after holiness, was set forth with clearness and 
 force. It was a disappointment to us that Dr. Howson, the 
 Dean of the Cathedral, author of the Life of Paul, etc., was 
 not in the pulpit: he was out of town. But the whole 
 service was grateful to the Christian heart, and in the special 
 thanksgiving for those who had just safely crossed the ocean, 
 we were able fervently to join, for only the day before we
 
 l8o IREN^EUS LETTERS, 
 
 had been on the sea, and this was our first Sabbath on 
 shore. 
 
 And there is something in the place of worship. God is 
 everywhere, and they who worship him in spirit and truth 
 will find him and be found of him, not in this mountain only 
 nor in that, not in the mighty temple only, but in the hum 
 blest home where the contrite heart pours out its wants into 
 his ever-open ear. Yet he has inscribed his name in places 
 where he has promised to meet his people, and of which 
 places he has said, Here will I dwell. And when one comes 
 into a House of Prayer that has stood a thousand years, and 
 during all that time has been the shrine where human hearts 
 have been brought with all their yearnings after peace, hope, 
 and heaven, where the sin-sick and sorrowing have come 
 kneeling at the footstool of Infinite compassion asking for 
 giveness ; where kings, conquerors, and conquered have laid 
 their crowns before the altar and prayed to be servants of 
 the Most High ; where rich and poor have always met 
 together kneeling on the same stone floor ; and the strong 
 man has bowed himself, and the maiden, in her loveliness 
 and grief, has come with her story none but Jesus ought to 
 know ; where saints have sung songs of triumph on their 
 way to Zion with everlasting joy upon their heads, and where 
 the ashes of the dead sleep in blessed hope while angels 
 watch their sepulchres, waiting the music that shall call 
 them up, through " old marble," to the judgment; when one 
 comes into such a place, he may well hear a voice saying, 
 " Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon 
 thou standest is holy ground ; this is none other than the 
 house of God ; this is one of the gates of heaven." 
 
 It is not the exalting power of thes"e Gothic arches, nor the 
 harmony of the lines and the silent music of the curving 
 traceries in stone, nor the many-colored stories on the 
 painted windows through which the sun at high-noon steals 
 gently in as though his light should not disturb the solemn 
 service of the hour ; these are not the elements that form 
 the sense of holiness that fills the place. Without doubt 
 they enter into it. But as the heart clings to childhood's
 
 A SABBATH IN CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND. 181 
 
 home and haunts, and every year makes stronger the ties 
 that bind us to the scenes we loved, so the old church, the 
 place where our fathers and theirs worshipped, is dearer to 
 us than the more splendid house that our new neighbors 
 have reared. Such an ancient cathedral as this is written all 
 over, within and without, with the prayers and tears, and 
 songs and glory, of successive centuries, and every column, 
 every stone, is full of the presence of Him who has, in all 
 these revolving years, made this house his dwelling-place. 
 The floor of the choir is laid in curiously-colored tiles, and 
 at my feet Saint Ambrose is singing his own Te Deum, and 
 the twelve apostles, in the same quaint style, make a sacred 
 circle, over which we step : but I forget all that the art of 
 man, rude or skilled, ancient or modern, has wrought to 
 adorn and illustrate the place. These are human, and, 
 whatever uses they have are lost when I remember that the 
 things seen are temporal, but the unseen the soul-work on 
 this cold floor and under this groined roof the unseen soul- 
 work is eternal here, through these long centuries, men 
 and women, such as we are, have been fighting the battle of 
 an endless life. 
 
 This invests Chester Cathedral with its majestic power, 
 and makes one day within its sacred courts better than a 
 thousand elsewhere. 
 
 A SABBATH IN CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND. 
 
 From early childhood, when I was a boy in Cambridge, 
 N. Y., I had such associations with Cambridge, in England, 
 and its famous University, as to inspire the strong desire to 
 see the place and its venerable seats of learning. There Sir 
 Isaac Newton studied, and Milton and Bacon ; and no other 
 names but Shakespeare's have equal lustre in the firmament 
 of English letters. I had been at Oxford in former visits to 
 England, but had not been able to go to Cambridge, for it 
 is not on the line of usual travel, and is therefore less visited 
 by tourists.
 
 1 82 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 It is less than two hours from London. The road is 
 through a region of great beauty, passing the seat of Sir 
 Culling Eardley, and Earl Cowper's at Hatfield, Brompton 
 Park, Welwyn, where Young wrote his " Night Thoughts," 
 and where he is buried, and many spots celebrated in Eng 
 lish history. We left London at 5 o'clock on Saturday eve 
 ning: London crowded with life: London the largest, migh 
 tiest, richest, busiest, most surging, restless, tumultuous 
 city in the world : the city that overpowers you more than 
 any other with a sense of its greatness and importance, and 
 from which you escape with a sense of relief, as if you could 
 breathe more freely and feel that you are somebody and not 
 merely a mote in the boundless air. As we rode out of this 
 great city, toward the close of one of the loveliest days in 
 June, and instantly were ushered into the beautiful scenery 
 of rural England and that is the same as saying into the 
 sweetest in all Europe we were charmed every moment as 
 we fairly flew over the fifty miles. 
 
 In the midst of the colleges and churches for they are 
 clustered closely stands an ancient hotel that bears the 
 name of BULL the Bull Hotel. It is a marvel of rare taste 
 and elegance, the landlord being a virtuoso, rejoicing in old 
 china, curious furniture, and exquisite prints and paintings, 
 with which he has filled his rooms, and made them a museum 
 of art, while his wife manages the establishment and makes 
 it a delightful home for the traveller. Here we rested over 
 the Sabbath. It became a day of days. We might well call 
 it a red-letter day, for it was known in the University year as 
 " Scarlet Day," when the heads of the colleges attend divine 
 service in scarlet gowns, making a picturesque appearance. 
 
 Cambridge is not so imposing in the grandeur of its old 
 halls as Oxford: there the very smoke and grime of ages seem 
 to cover the outer walls with the marks of antiquity. The 
 grounds in the midst of the twenty colleges of Oxford are 
 more highly ornamented with flowers than these, and alto 
 gether there is more culture in the walks and- probably more 
 books in 'the libraries, as there are more students in the 
 halls. But Cambridge is the most classical, most like a
 
 A SABBATH IN CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND. 183 
 
 University town ; its college grounds are more extensive 
 than those of Oxford, and nature has done so much for them, 
 that little is required of art. It takes its name from the 
 river Cam on which it stands. It is old enough to have been 
 burned by the Danes in 871, and to have been rebuilt and to 
 have a castle reared by William the Conqueror, a bit of which 
 is yet in the midst of it. The University has not kept its 
 own history, and, with all its learning, cannot tell when it 
 began to be. Six hundred years ago, according to Hallam, 
 it was incorporated, and one college after another has been 
 founded, until there are now seventeen : they unitedly own 
 the great library, the press, the observatory, and such insti 
 tutions as are of common importance, but each college has 
 its own funds, with which it is endowed, its own students, 
 professors, and fellows. The oldest of these colleges is 
 St. Peter's, founded, it is said, in 1257, and the stained glass 
 windows of its chapel rival those of the Cologne Cathedral. 
 Caius College gave Jeremy Taylor his education. King's 
 College has a chapel that is the chief architectural glory of 
 the city. As I stood in front of it in the evening, with the 
 new moon hanging above its two towers, it seemed to me 
 more beautifully sublime than any building I had seen in 
 England. In the garden of Christ College is a mulberry tree 
 which John Milton planted when a student here. Erasmus 
 was one of its professors. Samuel Pepys gave his great 
 library to Magdalen College, his alma mater. Trinity is the 
 greatest college of all, and sometimes has one-third of all the 
 students in the University. Henry VIII., the much-married 
 monarch, was its founder. Sir Isaac Newton was educated 
 in it, and became one of its professors, and his statue adorns 
 it now. Lord Byron's statue, very properly refused admis 
 sion into Westminster Abbey, found hospitality here, where 
 he was a student. It has raised more Church dignitaries 
 than any other college here or at Oxford. And its eminent 
 graduates in Church and State are to be counted by hun 
 dreds and thousands. Its quadrangles are surrounded by 
 massive piles of buildings, with rooms for students, apart 
 ments for resident fellows and the faculties ; a city of learn-
 
 184 I RE N^. US LETTERS. 
 
 ing: a holy quiet filled the courts: it was an abode of 
 thought, inviting to patient study, and that calm enjoyment 
 which the true scholar loves. In the rear of the colleges, on 
 the banks of the narrow river, are delightful walks, shaded 
 by great trees, and into these walks all the college grounds 
 open, so that the students are tempted to exercise in the 
 open air. There are always between two and three thousand 
 young men in the pursuit of education here, and to all 
 appearances they have every appliance for the pursuit of 
 health at the same time. The resident fellows have their 
 lodgings and board and a regular annuity, which they have 
 attained by successful competition in scholarship. So long 
 as they remain unmarried, they retain this fellowship with 
 its emoluments. I asked a janitor if they were not allowed 
 to have a mother or aunt to reside with them. " Nothing in 
 the shape of a woman," was the very decided answer. 
 
 A lovelier summer Sabbath day cannot be in this world, 
 than the one we had in Cambridge. As the hour for morn 
 ing service approached, the chimes of bells in many an 
 ancient tower began their matin melodies, and filled the air 
 with their holy song. The city seemed full of praise. And 
 at eventide again they gave out their soft and sacred tones, 
 not with the harsh jingling and hoarse discord of rival bells, 
 but in unison and as if they were the voice of many people 
 worshipping the Unseen. And from all the churches and 
 from many chapels the voice of Christian song poured forth 
 upon the ears even of those who walked the streets, and it 
 was in groof that the people were the Lord's. I worshipped 
 in the morning at St. Benedict's, and there heard a spiritual 
 and earnest sermon, every word of which was fitted to do 
 them good who heard it. In the afternoon the annual Uni 
 versity sermon was preached by Dr. Guillemard, of Pem 
 broke College, in the Church of St. Mary. The attendance 
 was immensely small : certainly there were not two hundred 
 people in a house that would seat a thousand. The church 
 service was not read, but, in its place, the preacher made 
 what is called the Bidding Prayer. He said : " Let us pray 
 for the Queen, the Royal Family, the Bishop, Clergy, the
 
 A SABBATH IN CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND. 185 
 
 University," and so on, naming all sorts and conditions of 
 persons, and then prayed for them all at once, by saying the 
 Lord's prayer. This is the custom here and at Oxford on 
 the occasion of this sermon. The appointment to preach is 
 given to the several colleges in turn, and is considered an 
 honor to the preacher selected, who prepares himself with 
 great diligence. The sermon now delivered was on the 
 believer being " baptized into the death of Christ," and the 
 learned Doctor stated incidentally that in the primitive times 
 Christian baptism was performed by dipping the head under 
 water, in the case of infants and adults. His language in 
 regard to the efficacy of the sacrament was the same as that 
 used in the Church of England, indicating the doctrine of 
 regeneration therein. Otherwise the discourse was evangel 
 ical and very discriminating against rationalism. He held 
 that the University was founded for the support of Chris 
 tianity, and that its power should be felt in all its relations, 
 in the defence and advancement of the truth of the gospel. 
 He quoted from the New Testament in Greek, again and 
 again, and his pronunciation of that language was the Cam 
 bridge style : thus the diphthong oil he pronounced as we do 
 in our or out; he did not say oo as some of our colleges, 
 making the word tooto instead of touto. In a word, he pro 
 nounced the Greek language as the boys were taught to pro 
 nounce it in the academy at Cambridge, N. Y., when the 
 undersigned was there. 
 
 This day at Cambridge was very suggestive of lessons for 
 the improvement of our own college system, in a country 
 young indeed, but already able to do far more for its colleges 
 than it yet attempts in the way of culture out of doors and 
 in. It takes time to do many of the things that render 
 these grounds and halls so lovely and so sublime. And 
 every year is precious. It requires aesthetic tastes, and in 
 our practical country and age, even men of education under 
 value the ideal, and despise those embellishments that ad 
 dress only the sense of the beautiful. It is a pity, and the 
 pity is, it's true. Let us hope the time is at hand when we 
 will do better.
 
 1 86 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 A MONASTERY AND CONVENT. 
 
 It was never well to put a monastery and a convent near 
 together. One is for monks, the other for nuns. God said 
 it was not good for man to be alone, and he made woman to 
 be his wife, his lawful companion, the solace and help of his 
 life. But he never made nuns for monks. Neither monas 
 teries nor convents are among the divine institutions. He 
 did ordain families, but the whole conventual system of 
 the Church of Rome has been a war upon the divine econo 
 my, an outrage upon the human race, and a hot-bed of the 
 foulest crimes, of which murder is not the worst. 
 
 In the lovely valley and village of Interlaken, the fairest 
 spot in all Switzerland, at the foot of the Jungfrau the 
 Maiden ever clad in robes of snow, is a long, rambling, tur- 
 reted building of stone, with a history so romantic and 
 ancient, that its present peaceful, pious, and proper uses 
 make the story almost incredible. This house was once a 
 monastery and a convent : not both in one precisely ; but a 
 thin partition only separated the two, while an underground 
 passage made them easily one. And such was the corrup 
 tion of morals which was the ready consequence of such 
 association of men and women under vows of celibacy, that 
 long before Luther's Reformation began, this den of iniquity 
 was broken up, and in our better days the building presents 
 a livelier illustration of Christian union than any other house 
 of which we have ever heard, in any country in the world. 
 Yesterday I worshipped God in it with a congregation of 
 Scotch Presbyterians : while from another chapel in it came 
 the songs of an English Episcopalian church service: a 
 Swiss-French Evangelical church holds its service also under 
 the same roof, and the Roman Catholics celebrate mass and 
 have their regular and daily service in the principal chapel 
 of this venerable pile. The edifice belongs to the govern 
 ment, which uses many of the apartments for public offices : 
 the wings are well-arranged hospitals, and the battlemented 
 towers surmount the church, which is appropriated to such
 
 A MONASTERY AND CONVENT. 187 
 
 congregations as wish to have worship in it in their own 
 way. 
 
 The monastery was founded about the year 1130, more 
 than seven hundred years ago, for the use of fifty monks of 
 the Order of St. Augustine, and was most unfittingly dedi 
 cated to the Holy Virgin. For they had not long been 
 resident in this sunny and charming valley, the very spot for 
 luxurious and idle life, than these self-denying monks procured 
 the establishment, within their walled enclosure, of a nunnery, 
 over which an abbess nominally presided, but with the pro 
 vision that the provost of the monastery was also to be the 
 superintendent of the nunnery. At first the number of nuns 
 was limited to forty, but the number was gradually increased 
 until it included more than three hundred. The nuns were 
 admitted to the Order of St. Augustine, by an easy modifica 
 tion of the rules. So the monks and the nuns became sub 
 stantially one order, and living within the same enclosure, 
 and exempt from all intrusion or control, they had things 
 their own way for a series of centuries. To what extremities 
 of evil such an institution, in such a series of years, would 
 grow, it is more easy to imagine than to portray with a 
 modest pen. The monastery was by-and-by placed by the 
 Pope of the period under the protection of the Empire, and 
 afterwards it was given to the city of Berne, with exemption 
 from all taxes and endowed with great revenues. The lands 
 that paid tribute to the monastery were farmed by the 
 peasantry, and they resented the hard taxes they were com 
 pelled to pay. This brought on wars, in which the valleys of 
 the Grindelwald, Lauterbrunnen, and Interlaken were made 
 red with the blood of a people resisting unto death the 
 grinding exactions of these pampered and dissolute monks, 
 who had the law and government on their side. These anti- 
 rent wars were fearfully bloody and cruel, and always ended 
 in the triumph of the monks and the temporary submission 
 of the peasants. 
 
 Vast as the income of the monastery was, the prodigality 
 of these rapacious and luxurious monks was so great that 
 they were always living beyond their revenue, and incurring
 
 1 88 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 heavy debts. They spent the money in riotous living, until 
 the scandal of their lives became an offence to the Church 
 and the State, in a period when morals were low enough in 
 both, and neither was very fastidious. It was said that more 
 children were born in the nunnery than in the whole valley 
 around it. None of them, however, lived. Twice the divi 
 sion wall had been destroyed by fire in consequence of the 
 revels to which the inmates abandoned themselves. Offi 
 cial visitations were made, but so powerful had the order 
 become, that it easily defied the authority of a distant 
 Bishop. Then the civil government took hold of it, and 
 reported the terrible state of things to the Court of Rome, 
 and the Pope issued a Bull telling the naughty monks to 
 behave themselves better. They said they would, but they 
 did not. And at last, in 1484, the Pope took all the nuns 
 away, and made over the revenues of the convent to a sister 
 institution at Berne. There a few of them went, and some 
 found husbands to console them when they were compelled 
 to quit the monks. 
 
 But the monks were not disposed to give it up so. They 
 introduced into their order a system of concubinage, with 
 more shameful proceedings than ever. In 1527, the monas 
 tery of Interlaken this beautiful vale was like Sodom for 
 wickedness, and deserved the doom of the cities of the 
 plain. The house became the seat of riot and disorder, and 
 so great was the scandal that the government was con 
 strained to interfere and break up the establishment. The 
 monks were driven out, being allowed pensions for life, but 
 they did not concentrate themselves again, and the places 
 that knew them once, knew them no more. 
 
 The ancient walls, the halls that resounded with their un 
 godly revelry, the nests of their foul debauchery, are still 
 here, and the beautiful sunlight shines in upon them as if 
 nothing but purity and peace could ever have reigned in 
 these hallowed precincts. A decrepit woman, feeble with 
 disease and age, was sitting on a bench under the arched 
 portal as I entered, and out of the windows of the hospital, 
 patients, old and young, were looking ; the several chapels
 
 A MONASTERY AND CONVENT. 189 
 
 were designated by the names of the various Churches that 
 now gather to worship God under these ancient roofs ; happy 
 children with their nurses were playing under the mighty 
 trees that have stood for centuries in the grounds about the 
 monastery, and I could not but lift up my heart, and my 
 voice too, in a devout "thank God," that this fair spot, so 
 sweet, so cool, so near to the snow-white mountains, yet 
 adorned with meadows green and flowers, is not now, as it 
 was once, denied with the abominations of a monastery and 
 a convent. Either of them is evil, and only evil. United 
 they make even this paradise a whited sepulchre, full of all 
 uncleanness. But instead of preaching a warning against 
 the whole monastic system, always corrupt and corrupting, 
 and against "sisterhoods," always evil, and never expedient 
 in Protestant hospitals or schools, let me tell you a little 
 story that this monastery suggests. 
 
 In a few minutes' walk from Interlaken we come to the 
 ruins of the Castle of Unspunnen, the ideal residence of By 
 ron's Manfred, and the scene of romantic incidents sufficient 
 to form a chapter of themselves. In the latter part of the 
 fifteenth century, when the dissoluteness of the monastery of 
 Interlaken was at its height, the lord of Unspunnen sought 
 to constrain his sister to take the veil at the convent. The 
 brother would thus get half of her fortune, and the convent 
 the rest. But the noble woman knew too well the repute of 
 the institution, and scorned to become a member of such a 
 sisterhood. Yet such a pressure was brought to bear upon 
 her, that she was led to the altar where she was to take the 
 vow, when, perceiving a remarkably handsome young man 
 among the spectators, she remembered the law of the land 
 which permitted the means of escape that she now embraced. 
 She turned to him and offered him her hand in marriage. 
 He had long looked on her with yearning heart, and was 
 swift to accept the offer. They were married without delay, 
 and the lovely maiden, Elizabeth of Scharnachtul, now the 
 happy bride of Thomas Guntschi, of Matten, was saved from 
 the rascally monks. Their descendants still live in the 
 Oberland.
 
 190 IRENMUS LETTERS, 
 
 CASTLE OF UNSPUNNEN. 
 
 Only a round tower remains to mark the site and tell the 
 story of the Castle of Unspunnen. Yes, there is a pit that 
 is the vestige of the donjon keep, in which fifty brave and 
 good men languished four years, and were at last delivered 
 from a lingering death. 
 
 This castle, or what remains of it, stands near Interlaken 
 in Switzerland, and commands the entrance to the valleys of 
 Grindelwald and Lauterbrunnen. For centuries and this 
 was centuries ago it was the most famous and formidable 
 stronghold in this wild country, and history and tradition 
 tell many and fearful tales of violence, rapine, blood, and of 
 love also, about the lords and the vassals that made this cas 
 tle their fortress in the days of old. But neither history nor 
 tradition goes back to the date of its erection, though the 
 site of it and the use of it plainly enough indicate the object 
 of its founder. As I have been travelling through the Swiss 
 valleys and narrow defiles, and over the high ways that 
 divide or connect them, I see that, in times when might was 
 the rule of right, and violence reigned in these regions, 
 these valleys would be independent of each other and often 
 in conflict for the supremacy. Raids would be made by 
 robbers to carry off flocks and herds. The lord of the 
 manor would become a chieftain, and the peasants his 
 retainers to follow him into the domains of his neighbors, 
 or to meet, with fire and sword, his enemies. 
 
 In the tenth century, the Dukes of Zahringen were the 
 lieutenants of the Emperor, claiming sovereignty over the 
 whole of this country, but the head men of the Swiss valleys, 
 strong in their men and wealth, resisted the supreme author 
 ity and fought for independence. The dukes founded some 
 of the finest cities of Switzerland, and the Zahringen hotel 
 in Frieburg, where we paused to hear its wonderful organ, 
 is named after the founder of the city. He built the castle 
 of Thun in 1182, and began the city of Bern in 1191. 
 
 The lords of Unspunnen waxed mighty in those days,
 
 CASTLE OF UNSPUNNEN. 19! 
 
 and many of these fertile vales and rugged mountains were 
 under their control, the peasants paying taxes to them, and 
 every district furnishing warriors to fight the battles of the 
 barons. Berthold was the Duke of Zahringen, and Burkard 
 was the Baron of Unspunnen. Deadly foes they were, and 
 many were the fierce fights they had, when, with wild war 
 riors at their heels, they had laid waste each other's lands, 
 spreading desolation in their track. As we read the details 
 of those days of rapine, we see that war then was very like 
 what is going on to-day in the East. 
 
 Burkard of Unspunnen had no son to succeed him, but he 
 rejoiced in a daughter, his only daughter, Ida, whom he 
 loved, the child of his old age. Her mother was dead. The 
 old warrior was weary of strife and found his only comfort 
 in his daughter, the joy of his heart. She was remarkable 
 for virtue and beauty, being known over the valleys for her 
 charities, and renowned far and wide for the elegance of her 
 person and her manners. The vassals of her father spoke of 
 her as the " fair lady of the castle," and were so devoted to 
 her that every one of them would cheerfully have laid down 
 his life in defence of her rights and her honor. Now it came 
 to pass that, on a time when the lords and ladies of all the 
 lands were gathered at a tournament, and knights, who in 
 battle were foes, now met as friends for friendly contest, a 
 certain brave and gallant knight, Rodolph of Wadiswyl, saw 
 the "fair lady of the castle" of Unspunnen, the beautiful Ida, 
 and was at once smitten to the heart. When he learned 
 that she was the daughter of his master's mortal foe, for 
 Rodolph was a follower and kinsman of Berthold, he knew 
 that it was in vain for him to make known his passion, and 
 he resolved to woo her in the fashion of the day, and in a 
 way not altogether unknown at this day in some parts of the 
 world. He nursed the flame in his own bosom, drew around 
 him a few trusty and valiant friends, of courage and prowess 
 like his own, and in the darkness of the night, that their 
 approach might not be discovered, they pursued their secret 
 march from Berne, by the way of the Lake Thun, and across 
 the southern side of the plain of Interlaken. They were
 
 192 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 now in the enemy's country. But it was not difficult to con 
 ceal themselves in the mountain forests, until a night of 
 darkness and storm made it favorable for them to steal 
 unperceived upon the castle. They scaled its walls. They 
 found the lovely Ida, and with gentle violence carried her 
 off to Berne. She did not find her captor such a monster as 
 his wooing promised, but like the Sabine women, she soon 
 learned to love the gallant knight, and became his willing 
 and devoted wife. 
 
 But when the old father, the Baron Burkard, knew the 
 wrong that had been done him, and who it was that had 
 done it, the youthful fires broke out in his aged frame, and 
 he roused his vassals to fresh fields of bloody war, to recover 
 his daughter and punish the robbers. The war was one of the 
 fiercest of those fierce times, and both parties were exhausted. 
 The Duke of Zahringen was the first to give in, and he 
 resolved to try the power of conciliation and moral suasion. 
 He went to the Castle of Unspunnen in peace, and present 
 ing himself to old Burkard, found him weeping for the loss 
 of his daughter and longing for her return. The Duke 
 offered his hand to the Baron, who took it cheerfully, and at 
 that moment the daughter and her husband, with their hand 
 some boy, entered and fell at the feet of the weeping old 
 man. He was overjoyed to see them, and making his grand 
 son the heir of his possessions, he died the last of the barons. 
 Walter, the grandson, succeeded to the leadership, peace was 
 made with the dukes, and the castle, in the course of time, 
 fell into the hands of John, Baron of Weissenberg. He fell 
 out with the duke who had plundered his estates in those 
 beautiful valleys of the Simmenthal, which we rode through 
 the other day. The duke raised an army and attempted to 
 surprise Lord John in his Unspunnen fortress, but John was 
 too wary for him, and routed him with great slaughter. 
 Fifty men were taken prisoners, and cast into the dungeon 
 of the castle, where they were kept as prisoners in wretched 
 ness too well known by their friends outside, to suffer them 
 to be forgotten. Four years passed by, and all attempts to 
 rescue them failing, a regular siege was laid and pushed on
 
 GOING TO A GLACIER. 193 
 
 Vvith such vigor that the proud baron was reduced to terms, 
 and was compelled to give liberty to these captives. The 
 subsequent history of the castle is not of any special interest. 
 Five hundred years ago the monastery of Interlaken, whose 
 disgusting history was written in the last letter, held a mort 
 gage on the property, and it continued to change hands until 
 it finally fell into the hands of the city of Berne, and then 
 into those of Interlaken. But it gradually lost its import 
 ance as the lands became the property of the peasants, and 
 the castle fell into decay. In modern times attention has 
 been drawn to it, and a fictitious interest attached to it, by 
 the fact that Lord Byron is supposed to have adopted it as 
 the site of the residence of Manfred, the misanthropic hero 
 of the tragedy of that name. The scenery of the region 
 depicted by the poet corresponds well enough with this, and 
 it is also stated that Byron wrote a part at least of that pro 
 duction on the Wengern Alp, which is close by, and on the 
 route from Lauterbrunnen to Grindelwald. This is the best 
 pass in Switzerland to see the avalanches, and glaciers are 
 near at hand : the roar of torrents, the crash of falling oceans 
 of snow and ice, the mist and clouds and cold, make the 
 region a fit place for the melancholy ravings of a morbid 
 poet. 
 
 GOING TO A GLACIER. 
 
 The grandest of all the Swiss glaciers takes its name from 
 the Rhone, the river that is born beneath it, and then flows 
 on five hundred miles into the sea. When I was at the 
 Rhone Glacier twenty years ago, we could reach it only on 
 foot or on mules, and the bridle-path brought us to the bot 
 tom of the glacier, where we stood and looked up and away 
 to the distant heights, where its turrets and towers glistened 
 in the sun, reminding me of the lines : 
 
 " The City of my God I see 
 
 Above the firmament afar ; 
 
 Its every dome a noonday sun, 
 
 And every pinnacle a star."
 
 1 94 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 But now, by the new road, the most formidable piece of 
 engineering in the country, we come in a carriage to the 
 same level with these, icy palaces, and look into their portals, 
 and go round about their bulwarks, and survey without 
 danger or fatigue this marvellous spectacle. With the sun 
 blazing upon it, and on the uncounted peaks of mountains 
 rising around it, the sight easily surpasses in beauty and sub 
 limity any other scene in Switzerland. 
 
 We left Lucerne at 8 A. M., on one of the lake steamers 
 The Rigi was without a cap, and Pilatus had on caps enough 
 for both. It was long supposed that poor Pontius Pilate 
 came to a sad end on this mountain, and that his troubled 
 spirit still haunts it with tempest and lightnings. The story 
 is not now so generally believed, but the storms and vapors 
 continue just the same. And the Lake of the Four Cantons 
 is as lovely and grand and classical as it ever was, despite 
 those mousing critics who would prove that William Tell is 
 a myth. The mountains about this lake rise so suddenly 
 from its waters, the passages from one bay to another are so 
 fortified by nature, that every mile of the lake is intensely 
 interesting. It is very easy to believe that the three Swiss 
 patriots met, in the dead of night, on that sloping ledge to 
 concert measures for the deliverance of their country. And 
 their full length portraits on the wharf at Brunnen show 
 what sort of heroes they were. Tell's chapel tells where he 
 leaped from the boat and escaped from his tyrant Gessler, 
 and forty natives went ashore as we touched, to make a pil 
 grimage to the shrine. 
 
 When we reached Fluellen, we took a carriage for a three 
 days' journey, and at 1 1 o'clock were on our way to the hill- 
 country. Altorf was reached in a few minutes, where William 
 Tell shot the apple on his boy's head. That there may be 
 no doubt about it, he stands in a rude monument, with a 
 cross-bow in his hand, and a frightful picture presents the 
 tragic scene. The same story is traditional in other coun 
 tries, and it is much better to believe in two or even three 
 Tells than in none at all. 
 
 At Amsteg, ten miles farther up, we endured a miserable
 
 GOING TO A GLACIER. 195 
 
 dinner; we were promised a chicken, but it was more like a 
 crow that had died of famine. Now we began in earnest the 
 ascent of the St. Gothard pass that leads over the Alps into 
 Italy. It is a splendid road ; by the river Reusse, that comes 
 roaring and tumbling from the mysterious heights and depths 
 of these glaciers and fields of perpetual snow. As we ascend, 
 we find the beginnings of the railroad that is to scale these 
 formidable walls, pierce the heart of rock, and come out on 
 the Italian side. A whole village has suddenly sprung up of 
 Italian laborers and their families, at work in the tunnel. 
 Not a bit like the Swiss were these black-eyed, vivacious, 
 rollicking sons of the sunny side of the Alps. They can 
 work but two or three hours at a time in the tunnel, so foul 
 is the air in spite of the pumps : then fresh relays of men 
 take their places ; and so the work goes on, to be completed 
 in three years, nine miles through. The enterprise and bold 
 ness of such an undertaking has no parallel in any railroad 
 ventures in the country from which we have come. 
 
 As we came to the narrow gorge which is known as the 
 Priest's Leap, from the fable that a priest once leaped across 
 it with a maid in his arms, five or six young natives, each 
 with a rock on his or her shoulder, suddenly appeared, and 
 when we had alighted and approached the verge, they let 
 their burdens fall, and we watched them till they reached the 
 water in the abyss. This is a regular entertainment to which 
 all travelers are invited, and the little money the droppers 
 pick up goes a good way in keeping them alive to amuse the 
 next comers. 
 
 The Devil's Bridge is the most frightful scene on the road, 
 where the rush of waters in the tortuous and rocky channel 
 is so terrible that weak nerves cannot bear the sight of it. 
 Yet in this very spot the Russians and French, and before 
 that the Austrians and Swiss, have fought bloody battles, 
 contending for this mountain pass, as at this moment the 
 Russians and Turks are struggling for the Shipka in the 
 East. 
 
 We passed the night at Andermatt, and in the morning 
 resumed our upward journey. This village is 4,600 feet
 
 196 I REN ;. US LETTERS. 
 
 above the level of the sea. Vegetation is scant : pasturage 
 is poor, the inhabitants are few and far between on the 
 mountain sides. Hospenthal is at the fork of the two roads, 
 one over the St. Gothard into Italy, which we now leave, 
 and the other over the Furka, which we now pursue. The 
 ancient mule and foot-path kept the ravine through which 
 the Reusse comes down, but the engineers of the carriage 
 road, why it is not easy to understand, pushed their course 
 along the side of the mountain, doubling the road back on 
 itself, with long loops, and fearfully sharp curves, almost 
 angles, yet making the ascent so gradual that the carriage 
 seems to be nearly on a level as we go up the steep. Steady 
 nerves enjoy the toilsome way. From the edge of the road, 
 solid and smooth, we are looking beyond the precipices 
 below to lofty and snow-clad summits of unnumbered moun 
 tains, some of them wrapped partly in robes of mist, some 
 of them tipped and gilded with sunlight, all of them cold, 
 dreary, desolate, as if they were not needed in the world, 
 and were here stowed away by themselves in solitary gran 
 deur and death-like repose. 
 
 Four hours and a half of this uphill work brought us to 
 the top of the mountain, and passing over it, by the little 
 inn that offers hospitality to travellers, we descended in a 
 few minutes to the level of the most glorious section of the 
 Glacier of the Rhone. 
 
 It is not a sea of ice; it is a mighty torrent, tossed by a 
 tempest into the most fantastic forms, and suddenly con 
 gealed ! As Coleridge puts it, " motionless torrents, silent 
 cataracts." Yet even this is not the fitting simile ; for from 
 its surface tall spires of clear, shining ice spring into the air: 
 solid shafts, of irregular heights and shapes: and looking 
 down upon it, as we do from our point of observation, deep 
 chasms, long ravines yawn before us, and reveal the horrors 
 of an ice grave for those who venture to cross this danger 
 ous field. One large section, slightly more worn by the sun 
 and rains than the rest, was tinted with pink and blue, and 
 in the shadows, cast by passing clouds, falling on some of 
 the pinnacles, and the others being in the bright sunlight,
 
 THE GREEN VAULTS. 197 
 
 showed the most variegated, rosy and greenish hues. Many 
 of the columns were translucent, and of exceeding beauty. 
 This glacier stretches fifteen miles upward between the 
 Gelmerhorn and Gertshorn, and exceeds all the others in 
 the grandeur of its features and the sublimity of its sur 
 roundings. To give the names of all the peaks to be seen 
 from the point whence we are studying the scene, would be 
 like reciting the geography of Switzerland, so many and so 
 familiar are they. 
 
 While we were on the mountain, we observed the gather 
 ing of clouds, and thought it might rain in the course of the 
 day. Our visit to the glacier being ended, we went back to 
 the Furka inn for dinner. Presently the mists rose from the 
 vale and enveloped the house in gloom. Then it began to 
 thunder and lighten. The rain came down in torrents. The 
 winds blew, and then hailstones came rattling upon the roof. 
 It was almost dark at mid-day. When it held up, and we 
 had made a short dinner, we came down the mountain. It 
 was quite another thing from going up. The sure-footed 
 horses trotted squarely, turned the sharp corners steadily, 
 and in less than two hours brought us safely to Andermatt. 
 The next morning, a fine bright day, we drove down the St. 
 Gothard road, to the boat at Fluellen, and were soon in our 
 rooms at Lucerne. 
 
 THE GREEN VAULTS. 
 
 They are called so because they are not vaults and are not 
 green. In other respects the name is as well as another 
 would be. They are rooms on the ground floor of the old 
 palace of the kings of Saxony, in the city of Dresden, filled 
 with curious works of art, jewels of silver and gold, and 
 precious stones, the pride and play of kings for more than 
 three hundred years, a vast museum, the like of which is not 
 to be seen elsewhere in Europe, perhaps not in the world. 
 
 The morning was wet and dismal when we emerged from
 
 198 IREN^EUS LETTERS 
 
 our hotel and crossed the square to the SCHLOSS, the name 
 usually given to the residence of the king. An archway was 
 guarded by a man-at-arms, and then the wide quadrangle 
 was passed in the dripping rain, and reaching a small door 
 on the further side, we paid the fee one mark and were 
 admitted into the vaults ! 
 
 Duke George, the Bearded, in 1539, was the Prince of 
 Saxony Elector he was called in those days and he began 
 to collect and preserve the curious things he could lay his 
 hands on, and his successors in the kingdom have added to 
 them from year to year. Before the American mines were 
 discovered, before America was discovered by Europeans, 
 the Freiberg silver mines were the richest in the world, and 
 the kings of Saxony were wont to convert the fruits of those 
 mines into works of art, either having the silver itself 
 worked up into them, or exchanging it for precious stones. 
 In this way the gold mines of Spain made the Royal gallery 
 of paintings in Madrid the most costly and extensive in 
 Europe, while Spain is now miserably poor. The pictures 
 would not pay her debts, and there is no market just now 
 for paintings such as royal purses only can buy : for kings 
 have too many debts on hand to indulge in the luxury of 
 buying works of art. One of these rooms contains a jewel 
 estimated to be worth fifteen millions of dollars : and they 
 all have an intrinsic value, such as can hardly be said to 
 attach to the most splendid pictures by the greatest artists. 
 A diamond is more easily cared for and is less liable to 
 perish than a painting or a statue, and there is an impression 
 that precious stones become more costly from age to age. 
 I have heard it stoutly maintained that it is a better invest 
 ment to buy diamonds than real estate or railroad bonds. 
 My experience is not large enough to make an opinion of 
 any value. 
 
 John of Bologna was one of the greatest sculptors of the 
 sixteenth century, and some of his works in bronze are the 
 first to arrest attention as you enter the room. A crucifix 
 only eighteen inches in height shows the hand of the master, 
 and the uninstructed eye discovers its beauty. " The Bull
 
 THE GREEN VAULTS. 199 
 
 Farnese" is reproduced in bronze, and has a charm that 
 belongs to the original marble in Naples, representing the 
 powerful work of an artist who lived four hundred years 
 before the Christian era. These and many other copies of 
 the noblest works of the early centuries are now studied 
 with admiration, even by those who are familiar with the 
 originals, and as all the royal collections are supplied with 
 copies when it is impossible to procure the originals, why 
 may we not in the United States, and especially why may 
 not the city of New York, possess a gallery in which shall be 
 collected copies of the greatest works in all the European 
 schools of ancient and modern art ? 
 
 What works in ivory are these in the second room ? Pyra 
 mids, goblets, chains, pillars, groups of girls, goddesses, sea- 
 gods and nymphs, Apollo and the muses, allegories that 
 have lessons to be read ! ! Even the cunning hand of Albert 
 Durer is seen in a group of his exquisite carving : and an 
 Ecce Homo ascribed to Benvenuto Cellini : a monk spent his 
 lifetime on a group of 141 figures in one piece of ivory, and 
 here his patience, if not his genius, appears in his wondrously 
 elaborated work. There is no end to this curiously beautiful 
 collection. 
 
 Amber wrought into shapes innumerable, corals, shells, 
 mosaics of jasper, agate, lapis-lazuli, cornelian, chalcedony, 
 laid in black marble, in forms of birds, flowers, insects, fruits 
 and all manner of pretty things ; the Saviour and the 
 Apostles ; some of them regarded as the finest specimens of 
 this kind of work. In the middle of this room is a porcelain 
 fire-place, ornamented with biscuit-china, precious stones, 
 pebbles, topazes, moss and eye agates, and Saxon pearls, 
 making a remarkable object that gives the name to the room 
 in which it stands. The art of painting enamel was known 
 to the ancients, the designs being painted on a coating of 
 pigments with a brush, and then fixed by the action of fire. 
 The French have carried the art to perfection, having pur 
 sued it for five hundred years. This is the simplest of the 
 styles of enamelling. The Scripture scenes, the mythology, 
 the portraits of modern and ancient historical personages,
 
 200 1RENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 the madonnas, are beyond my capacity to recount or to 
 remember, but each one of them is a study, giving pleasure 
 while the eye is upon it, though the sensation is lost so soon 
 as you turn to something more beautiful beyond. 
 
 If you are not weary of this repetition of things curious, we 
 will pass into the next room, which is painted in green, and 
 so is said to have given the name to the vaults. It is called 
 the silver room, and the vessels of ornament and use that 
 are here gathered, chiefly in silver, would easily furnish a 
 palace, from the baptismal fonts in which the children of the 
 royal family are "christened," to the chalices for the com 
 munion table and the goblets that have served at royal ban 
 quets for centuries. The Genoa filigree work represents 
 flowers and fruits and figures, boxes and vases, every variety 
 of fancy and folly, displaying exceeding ingenuity in con 
 struction, with no great success in producing anything very 
 useful or ornamental. 
 
 And we are not yet in the great Hall by way of eminence 
 it is called " the Hall of Precious Things," so far does its 
 inventory exceed all that has gone before it. The room 
 stretches the width of the palace, and is literally filled with 
 a wealth of gems and gold and crystal, wrought into objects 
 of use, or of display, or, more than either, of amusement, for 
 it is hardly possible that half of these things were made for 
 anything else but to entertain the maker or them for whom 
 they were made. All the precious stones that are named in 
 the " Revelation," and many more, have been wrought into 
 the form of snuff boxes, spoons, cups, seals, portraits of 
 emperors, and popes, and queens ; a " tower of Babel" has 
 mysterious machinery in it that works a clock and every 
 minute performs some marvel of ingenuity: a Venetian 
 thread-glass jug having an air-bubble between each of the 
 meshes : a dromedary lying by the side of a Moor : Venus 
 carried in a Sedan chair by porters : a ship on which the 
 scene of Perseus and Andromeda is drawn : the rock-crystal 
 goblet of Martin Luther one of so many of his cups ; I 
 begin to fear he was often in them ; and the goblets of so 
 many mighty men are treasured here, we may be sure that
 
 THE GREEN VAULTS. 2O1 
 
 the time was when drinking was more an art and an enjoy 
 ment than it is now. 
 
 In one corner of this hall an iron railing protects the most 
 singular specimens of delicate handiwork in the chambers. 
 The court dwarf of Augustus II. in gold and water-sapphire : 
 and an amusing lot of things made of misshapen pearls, put 
 together so as to represent human figures and various animals, 
 David and Goliath, Satyrs, Jonah and the whale, all of them 
 irresistibly funny: carved figures in ebony, so small as to 
 require careful examination to discover the skill required for 
 their construction ; the potter, the knife-grinder, the lace- 
 makers, etc., all done to the life, yet so delicate as to be 
 broken by a touch. 
 
 The armory room, which is so called because it has no 
 armor in it, is adorned with wood carvings, six by Albert 
 Durer, a cherry-pit on which eighty heads can be seen dis 
 tinctly, if you look through a microscope : a case of pistols 
 about an inch long, warranted not to kill : and as the crown 
 of the whole, we have two real crowns, two scepters, and two 
 coronation globes that were used in crowning Augustus III. 
 and his Queen in 1734. If the blazing jewels are not real, the 
 genuine ones are in the next room into which we now enter. 
 For we have now come into the treasury of the Saxon kings ; 
 to six cases, in which are displayed the largest, most brilliant, 
 beautiful and valuable collection of jewels in Europe. What 
 may be in the palaces of the Orient I do not know. These 
 have been gathered by purchase, by dowries and inheritance, 
 until they are unrivalled : here we see a garniture of rose dia 
 monds, 64 in number, another with 60, a sword hilt with 1,898 
 single stones, with orders, epaulets, buckles and buttons "too 
 numerous to mention," strings of pearls, necklaces, shoulder- 
 knots, earrings, brooches, hairpins, rings set with rubies, 
 emeralds, sapphires, garnets, and in the midst of this dazzling 
 light are two plain finger rings that once were the property 
 of Martin Luther and Philip Melancthon. These two rings 
 are precious because their owners were useful men. Not one 
 diamond of all the rest has the slightest value because of the 
 king or queen who wore it.
 
 202 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 But I am tired of making out this list, for that is all I can 
 do, and not one in ten thousand of the things has been men 
 tioned. What are they for? What is the use? Are they 
 worth the money they cost ? Vain questions. These works, 
 like the pictures and statues that adorn the great galleries of 
 the world, are fruits of human genius, skill, toil and patience. 
 Rich men have paid poor men for making them, and poor 
 men have been made rich, or at least happy, by the bounty of 
 the rich. Beauty has its use, and the art that produces beauty 
 is the gift divine. Nature is the highest art, and God has 
 made everything beautiful in its season. 
 
 DRESDEN PICTURES. 
 
 To find one of the best five pictures in the world, you must 
 certainly come to Dresden. All good judges may not be 
 agreed as to the five, but they will probably all count as one 
 of the elected number the Sistine Madonna Raphael. My 
 uninstructed judgment places this in the middle of the first 
 five, arranged in this order : i. Raphael's Transfiguration ; 2. 
 The communion of Jerome, by Domenichino ; 3. The Sistine 
 Madonna; 4. Murillo's Assumption of the Virgin; 5. Paul 
 Potter's Bull. Artists may smile at this selection, yet the 
 unanointed eye may see with more impartial vision than that 
 of the artist whose rules constrain him to say that a picture 
 ought to please you, and would if you knew what is beautiful 
 and perfect in art. No one may fear to place in the front 
 rank of the world's best pictures this Dresden Madonna, and 
 if you give it the preference before all other conceptions of 
 the Virgin Mary, you are still safe and in the midst of a 
 goodly company like-minded. Certainly Raphael's Marys 
 are the best, and this is his best, so that we are easily brought 
 to the decision that the one we are now admiring has no peer. 
 
 Having spent some time in the several galleries of London, 
 Paris, Berlin, St. Petersburgh, Dresden, Munich, Vienna, 
 Florence, Rome, Naples, Madrid, Seville, and many other
 
 DRESDEN PICTURES. 203 
 
 European cities, I am quite ready to believe that no one con 
 tains so many pictures of so little merit, together with a few 
 of such transcendent excellence, as this one gallery in Dres 
 den. Since I was here before the new Palace of Art has 
 been erected, and the paintings removed to it, so that they 
 enjoy the advantage of better light and arrangement than 
 before. The pictures themselves appear improved : and that 
 not by the dreadful process of restoration going on continu 
 ally, but by the more favorable position which they occupy. 
 It is fearful to read in history of such a gallery that a man 
 is employed by the year to restore the works of the old 
 masters : " Fools rush in where angels fear to tread :" and he 
 must be a vain, bold man, who would put his clumsy brush 
 into the master work of Raphael or Correggio, and confound 
 his own coloring with theirs. As well might a rash school 
 boy try to mend the style of Cicero or to restore the lost 
 books of Livy. Let us have the real thing in the melancholy 
 of its ruin, rather than to be confounded with the mixed 
 colors of Michael Angeloand John Smith. Yet this work of 
 re-touching is going on continually in all the great galleries 
 of Europe. You come to a vacancy on the wall, and learn 
 that the picture belonging there has been taken down to be 
 cleaned, which means that some one has got the job of putting 
 it in order. In the course of a few weeks it will appear in its 
 place, radiant with fresh varnish and brilliant as the coat of 
 Joseph. The Director of the gallery has the letting out of 
 this work, and manages to make a profitable thing of it for 
 himself or his favorite artists, who are constantly discovering 
 the necessity of overhauling one or another of the pictures. 
 The obscurities escape such sacrilege, but the celebrities suffer 
 sadly. Here, for example, is the master piece of Correggio, 
 " LA NOTTE." 
 
 The history of the picture is very brief, for it has had not 
 many vicissitudes : it was painted for the chapel of St. Pros- 
 pero, in Reggio, in 1522-1528: it was thence transferred to 
 the Modena gallery, and was among the hundred pictures 
 bought for the Dresden collection in 1745. Here, it has been 
 preserved with almost sacred care. But it is a matter of fact,
 
 204 1REN&US LETTERS, 
 
 so far from being denied, it is recorded in the history of the 
 gallery, that this picture was restored by Palmaroli, of Rome, 
 in 1826, and, as if that restoration were not enough, it was 
 done over in 1858 by Schirmer of Dresden. It is alarming 
 positively to be told, as we are by the Director himself, that 
 Palmaroli came here and spent one year restoring the pic 
 tures : in this twelvemonth he restored think of it fifty- 
 four paintings, all of them by men the latchet of whose shoes 
 he could not unloose and among these glorious works which 
 this man put his hand to, and renewed during that awful year, 
 were Correggio's La Notte, and Raphael's Sistine Madonna. 
 Besides this he touched up three great altar pieces in the 
 Roman Catholic Churches ! What a year's work for one 
 man! And he was paid more for the work he did upon Cor 
 reggio's La Notte than the great master received for paint 
 ing the original picture ! Then Schirmer, at that time one 
 of the Directors of the gallery, took hold of this " La Notte" 
 in 1858, and we have it as it came from his hands. What 
 it was when it was the glory of the St. Prospero chapel, no 
 man will ever know. 
 
 In a beautiful corner room of this vast palace of art, alone 
 in its grandeur and beauty, as if as indeed it is so no other 
 painting in the gallery is worthy to be in the same apart 
 ment, stands the " Madonna di San Sisto." The picture has 
 been so often reproduced in copies, painted, engraved and 
 photographed, that the world is familiar with its features. 
 The Virgin Mary, having the divine infant in her arms, is 
 borne up by clouds ; on her right Saint Sixtus is kneeling and 
 adoring. On the left is Saint Barbara, and at the foot of the 
 picture two cunning little cherubs rest on their elbows and 
 look up. This famous work was painted for the altar of the 
 convent in Piacenza, and it was there more than two hun 
 dred years, undisturbed. Raphael died in 1520, at the age of 
 37. In the year 1711 Augustus III., then the Crown Prince 
 of Saxony, travelling in Italy, visited this convent, and seeing 
 this picture, desired to obtain possession of it. But it was 
 full forty years before he succeeded. In 1754 he got it for 
 $40,000, the monks keeping a copy, which answers their pur-
 
 DRESDEN PICTURES. 205 
 
 pose just as well, and the money was very acceptable. Their 
 copy is regarded as the original at the convent, and if the 
 original is restored a few times more, the copy may be equally 
 entitled to veneration. The art of restoring pictures is now 
 one of the fine arts, and has reached a point of perfection 
 beyond which it will hardly pass. It was at first supposed 
 that the only way to restore a painting was, as in the case of 
 a statue, to make anew what was defective, and to harmonize 
 with the original so far as it remains. Now the restorer not 
 only does all this with courage and success, but having found 
 that the paint upon an old canvas is thick enough and solid 
 enough to hold its own when the canvas on which it is laid 
 is removed, the restorer carefully removes the dilapidated 
 canvas from the paint, puts the old paint upon a new canvas, 
 and then supplies the parts that are lacking. If the supplies 
 are large, it is difficult to see why he has not made a painting 
 more new than old. It is pleasant to know that this grand 
 painting by Raphael has suffered less at the merciless hands 
 of the tinkers than many others. It is probable that the 
 heads of the Madonna, the infant, and the saints, are sub 
 stantially the same as the master left them. And it would be 
 very hard to exaggerate the indescribable beauty and glory of 
 this picture. The infant has a head, a face that fairly repre 
 sents a divine child, before whom at this moment all his life 
 and death are present. For then, while a fair-haired boy in 
 his mother's arms, the future was all before him : the shame, 
 the sorrow, the agony : the scourge, the thorns, the cross : 
 the desert, the garden and Calvary : all, all were on his heart 
 when he hung on his mother's neck, or lisped his morning 
 prayer at her knees. And beyond all other pictures of the 
 child Jesus, this one presents him as an infant with years in his 
 soul. As the image every lover of the Saviour forms in his 
 own mind exceeds in majestic beauty whatever human art in 
 marble or canvas can embody, so we are always disappointed 
 with the types of the Man Christ Jesus which the greatest of 
 the old masters have left for our study. It is so in some 
 degree with the Virgin Mary. It does not seem to have come 
 into the mind of any of these old masters that the Virgin was
 
 206 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 the only one of all living women who knew that this child was 
 begotten of God ! ! The feeling to be shown in her face 
 would be that of wonder and joy. The desire of all Jewish 
 women had been answered in the birth of this boy, and she 
 was Blessed above all human beings as the mother of Israel's 
 Prince and Saviour. No one of the great Madonnas, the 
 works of Raphael, Correggio, Carlo Dolce, Murillo, or of a 
 hundred others, no one of them attempts to express these, 
 which must have been the overpowering thoughts of her 
 exalted and exulting soul ! Yet this face is full of tenderness, 
 serenity, meekness and love. The sweetness of expression, if 
 sweetness is capable of being expressed, has been as fully 
 developed in this face as in any that was ever put upon canvas. 
 But it is not in the face of the mother that the wonderful 
 power of this work appears. Her figure, buoyed by its own 
 lightness and floating firmly in the air; the adoring old man 
 on his knees, and the bewitching, smiling Barbara on the 
 other side, contrasted with the aged saint : the whole of the 
 great picture in all its parts is so united as to produce the 
 highest emotions of sacred pleasure in the beholder. It is 
 like eloquence stirring to its deepest depths the soul of the 
 hearer. This addresses the heart through the eye. It speaks 
 as clearly and effectively as though it were put into words 
 and they fell on the ear. 
 
 There are many thousands of pictures in this gallery, and 
 among so many some of wide renown, as paintings that 
 are the property of the world. Several of Titian's best works 
 are here. The greatest masters of the Dutch, the Flemish, 
 the Italian and the Spanish schools are well represented, 
 and a few weeks or months of study in the Dresden gallery 
 will form an important part of one's art education.
 
 THE FIXE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. 207 
 
 THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. 
 
 We were dining at Lucerne, in Switzerland. The elegant 
 room was filled with two or three hundred guests. Not far 
 from us, but on the opposite side of the table, were three 
 gentlemen whose conversation it was impossible not to hear, 
 so pronounced was every word they said. The one whose 
 voice was the loudest, was speaking of the great superiority 
 of things at home compared to what we had to put up with 
 in foreign travel. The tone of his remarks, the swell, the 
 self-conceit, the contempt for others' opinion, and the accent 
 also, led me to say to myself, " There's another of those con 
 ceited Englishmen : was there ever such a people to pride 
 themselves on what they have and are, and to despise every 
 body and every thing besides." 
 
 At this moment one of them asked him : 
 
 " From what part of America do you come ?" 
 
 Alas, he was a countryman of my own, and all my specu 
 lations and inferences had gone for nothing, and worse. 
 The tables were turned against me. To the inquiry he 
 answered : 
 
 " From Boston : you have probably noticed that more 
 Americans who are abroad come from Boston than any other 
 part of America?" 
 
 " And, pray, why is that ?" asked one of the gentlemen 
 near him. 
 
 " Because there are more people of wealth and culture in 
 Boston than in any other American city : we have no class 
 called the aristocracy, but the best families, the most refined 
 and the most disposed and able to enjoy foreign travel, reside 
 in Boston." 
 
 In this strain of vulgar boasting, seeking to convey the 
 impression that he was one of the people he described, this 
 countryman of mine went on till I was heartily ashamed of 
 him, and of my own first impressions as to his nationality. 
 
 The next day I was at Andermatt, spending the night. A 
 gentleman approached me and pleasantly remarked :
 
 208 IRENJZUS LETTERS. 
 
 " I think we were at table together at Lucerne last even 
 ing." 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " you sat next to a countryman of mine 
 from Boston." 
 
 He laughed, and said, " He was from one of the first 
 families, one of your aristocracy : but it was very character 
 istic, was it not?" 
 
 "Of what?" I inquired. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, " but we the English have 
 an idea that you Americans are given to that sort of thing." 
 
 " And we think," I replied, "just the same of you ; it is six 
 for one, and half a dozen for the other." 
 
 And so we chatted, coming to the sage conclusion that 
 there are fools in all countries, and a fool at home is twice a 
 fool abroad. 
 
 At Interlaken we spent a week at the Hotel des Alpes. 
 The company was very distinguished, the " first families" from 
 Germany, Russia, France, and England. I was sitting one 
 evening in the grand salon, on the same sofa with the Prin 
 cess of Russia, with whom I had no acquaintance, and of 
 
 course we were not in conversation. An English gentleman, 
 a pater-familias whose wife and children were around, came 
 up, and addressing the Princess familiarly, said, " Shall I 
 find a seat here ?" I moved along, and he crowded in between, 
 and began with a series of questions to the lady : " Have you 
 bene to London?" " Which of the theatres did you prefer?" 
 " Did you attend any of the races while in England ?" 
 
 The Princess gave him brief answers, and indicated that 
 she had the true Russian dislike to England she greatly 
 preferred Paris and the French. He was equal to the occa 
 sion. "I am fond of Paris," he said; "I have spent three 
 winters there while my daughters were pursuing studies, 
 they required instruction in languages, but they were well 
 educated before I brought them to Paris they could follow 
 the hounds with me my oldest daughter will take any fence 
 that I would go over, splendid rider, but they came abroad 
 for languages" and so on, till, wearied with his talk, I left 
 him with the Princess.
 
 THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. 209 
 
 The next morning he came into the breakfast-room lead 
 ing a bulldog perhaps it was a half-grown pup by a chain. 
 It was an ugly-looking beast, that should have been kept in 
 the stable. But he brought him to table, and the vile animal 
 took a seat, on his haunches, in a chair by the side of his 
 master. The wife came in, sat down on the other side of the 
 dog, and pouring milk into a saucer, broke bread into it, and 
 this fine old English gentleman and his wife and the beast 
 ate their breakfast together! As breakfast was served on 
 small tables, each family having one apart, there was no 
 ground for complaint ; but as this English family sat within 
 a few feet of me, the sight interfered with the quiet of my 
 breakfast after it was eaten. It may be civilization for dogs 
 to eat at their master's table in England, though I never saw 
 it in practice there, but it is an insult to the decencies of 
 human society for any man to take a big dog to a public 
 breakfast-room, and seat him at the table. 
 
 At dinner, when a hundred guests were at one long table, 
 this fine old English gentleman led his dog in, and fastened 
 him to his chair, to the danger of all and fear of many, for a 
 bull-dog is not a reliable person when a stranger comes by. 
 The master ordered champagne, and instead of having it 
 opened by the servant who brought it, he startled the whole 
 company by exploding it himself, and clapping his hand over 
 the mouth of the bottle, sent the' liquor in hissing streams in 
 every direction. 
 
 These are a few specimens of the manners of this gentle 
 man, evidently, from the appearance of himself, his family, 
 and associates, a man of standing and means ; but supremely 
 selfish, having an utter disregard for the feelings of others, 
 and intent solely upon his own importance. He cared more 
 for that ugly beast of a bull-pup than for the comfort of all 
 the human family, himself excepted. 
 
 We had taken our seats in an omnibus to ride to the sta 
 tion. An elderly English lady with a maid entered its door, 
 and not wishing to go to the upper end, the lady spoke out, 
 "There's room enough if the people will move up." A lady 
 changed her seat to the other side of the coach and left so
 
 210 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 much room that the imperious woman bestowed her bag 
 upon the seat. The lady who had relinquished her place, 
 finding the window open, wished to return, and I said so to 
 the woman, who did not move. I then took her bag and put 
 it on the floor, saying " The lady is exposed to the draught 
 and wishes to sit out of it." She caught up her bag, replaced 
 it on the seat and positively refused to allow the lady to find 
 a seat on the other side, though she had moved especially to 
 oblige this selfish and unfeeling creature, who, having got 
 what she wanted, did not care whether the delicate and kind- 
 hearted lady suffered or not. 
 
 We arrived at Baden-Baden from Switzerland. At the 
 German frontier we suffered the usual, useless and cruel 
 annoyance of a baggage search, a custom to be abolished by 
 the millennium, but I fear not before. At the station in 
 Baden an elderly English gentleman was unable to find his 
 trunk and other traps : they were left behind : there was no 
 doubt of that : his rage was amusing : when he had exhausted 
 himself upon the officials, who, being Germans, did not not 
 understand a word he said, he fell upon me : 
 
 " Are you an Englishman ?" he asked. 
 
 " No, I am an American." 
 
 " Then you speak the English," he broke out these, these, 
 these villains" he used double-barreled oaths, sin 
 gle ones would not answer, where I have put those dashes, 
 
 " these villains have lost my luggage, and here I am 
 
 with nothing but what is on my back." 
 
 I said to him, " Did you attend to it on the frontier, when 
 we all had our luggage overhauled ?" 
 
 " No, I heard nothing about it : did not know there was 
 any examination : rascally treatment : I've been all over the 
 
 world and never had this thing happen before : 
 
 meanest country I was ever in." 
 
 I did not remind him of my standing three mortal hours in 
 Liverpool, in a stifling pen, waiting the pleasure of her 
 Majesty to inspect my linen ; but I said to him that his lug 
 gage could easily be recovered, and by and by he stopped 
 swearing and resolved to try the telegraph.
 
 STUDIES IN TORTURE ROOMS. 211 
 
 There was no apology for this fine old English gentleman 
 indulging in coarse profanity in the midst of ladies, but there 
 was justifying cause of real annoyance and complaint. He 
 did not understand German, and when the passengers were 
 ordered out to see their trunks opened, knew nothing that 
 was said, and while others were attending to it, he was quietly 
 reading his newspaper. His luggage was therefore detained, 
 and he went on, only to find at the end of a day's journey 
 that he had been robbed of all his goods by the government 
 into whose protection he had come. 
 
 Such people as I have been writing about, one meets daily in 
 his travels. They serve to illustrate this very obvious remark, 
 that it takes all sorts to make up a world ; and while there are 
 national peculiarities there are also conceited, selfish, dis 
 gusting persons in all countries, not excepting one's own. 
 
 There is no higher type of cultivated Americans than the 
 Boston type, yet here I meet a traveled ass making the very 
 name of our Athens ridiculous by his vanity and folly. No 
 nation on earth has a more finished civilization than the 
 English : their intelligence, culture and breeding easily place 
 them as a people among the leaders of the world's progress. 
 But the three examples that I have quoted above from my 
 observations of the last few days might be types of the 
 rudest and vulgarest people on the earth. There is no more 
 agreeable person than the true English gentleman. And vice 
 versa. 
 
 STUDIES IN TORTURE ROOMS. 
 
 Chambers of torture are not very agreeable school rooms. 
 But I have been in so many of them, that I ought to have 
 learned something besides the uses of these dungeons and 
 pitfalls, and rings and rusty chains, and pulleys, and wheels, 
 and spikes, and screws, and knives, and saws, and hooks, in 
 which and by which men and women have been tortured to 
 death, because their opinion differed from those who had the
 
 212 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 power to starve, or stretch, or flay, or maim, or kill, the victim 
 in their hands. 
 
 We ought to learn to be charitable toward those who 
 invented and used these terrible instruments of human agony, 
 and with cruel hands applied them to the flesh and nerves of 
 their fellow-men. Even the monster who could sit calmly by 
 and guage the misery of their hapless victims, to know the 
 measure of woe they might endure and yet live to undergo 
 fresh torture, even these monsters may deserve charity. The 
 spirit of the Master, who prayed for his crucifiers, requires of 
 us to be charitable. But this is straining a point. They 
 were men, and so are we who judge them now. If they were 
 men, and yet capable of such crimes, we must be more than 
 men to feel anything short of unmingled detestation when 
 we remember their deeds, and look with horror upon the 
 tools of their trade, and recount the virtues of those who 
 suffered. 
 
 We found these cheerful implements first at Baden-Baden. 
 There, in the house that to this day is the Duke's royal resi 
 dence, we were led to the chamber of judgment, and saw the 
 pitfall from which none ever returned to reveal the mysteries 
 of the depths below. The Castle of Chillon, on the shores of 
 the lovely lake of Geneva, had its chamber of tortures, which 
 was opened for our entertainment. We have passed by many 
 without looking in upon them. When in search of pleasure it 
 is not well to fill the eye and the mind with sights and thoughts 
 that haunt one trying to go to sleep. But what has moved 
 me to this present writing is the view of the Castle of Salz 
 burg in Austria. No scenery in Europe is more picturesque 
 than this, and the view from the heights, crowned by the 
 ancient castle, is magnificent beyond description. This was 
 once the residence of prince-bishops, who were civil as well 
 as spiritual powers .n the world, and reigned with sceptres 
 of iron and swords of steel over the people of this province. 
 They were in the zenith of their power and pride when the 
 Reformation shook their thrones, and roused them to use 
 those means that Rome knows too well how to use if the 
 prostrate people squirm and turn. Thousands of Protestants
 
 STUDIES IN TORTURE ROOMS. 213 
 
 were brought as sheep to the slaughter, and suffered linger 
 ing and awful deaths on these heights. The rack on which 
 strong men and lovely women were stretched in agony 
 unspeakable still remains in the chamber of torture, and 
 mutely testifies to the woes that were here endured in witness 
 of the truth as it was and is in Jesus. 
 
 We have all these chambers of horrors associated with the 
 power of the Church of Rome. In some strongholds of 
 chieftains they have been instruments of vengeance and 
 oppression and extortion. But the Church of Rome is in its 
 nature a persecuting power, and cannot be true to its princi 
 ples unless it uses all the power it has to compel men to 
 believe as it believes. Its traditions all teach this fact. The 
 entire history of the Church is witness that it believes in the 
 right and duty of using force to conquer the convictions or 
 to punish the obduracy of unbelievers. It has often charged 
 these deeds upon the State, but the State has been the tool 
 of the Church when it has shed the blood of martyrs. The 
 Church has that blood in its skirts, and when God maketh 
 inquisition for blood, he will discriminate between the agent 
 and the principal, and will render to every one his due. 
 
 Protestantism has shed the blood of its enemies. Let it be 
 spoken with humiliation and shame. But such crimes in its 
 history are exceptions, not the rule of its life. Extenuating 
 circumstances might be urged in its behalf, but there is no 
 justification in the sight of God or man for interference 
 with the freedom of conscience. It is even now for an aston 
 ishment that Protestantism was so slow to discover the prin 
 ciple of religious liberty, and to practice upon it in. the treat 
 ment of errorists. Erasmus understood it better than Luther 
 or Calvin. And the death of Servetus at the hands of 
 Geneva, if not of Calvin, will always require of us Protestants 
 to speak with charity of the men who made hecatombs of 
 martyrs, where Protestants have slain only here and there a 
 victim. 
 
 But when I have seen the relics of the inquisition in Rome, 
 and the more fearful remains of it in Spain, and come to 
 my own chamber from these castles and prisons that still
 
 214 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 retain the memorials of the bloody deeds of former times, I 
 am not so much stirred with indignation towards the Church 
 that encouraged and commanded the cruelties as I am 
 distressed to think that human nature was and is capable 
 of inflicting such wrongs upon its own kind. " Man's 
 inhumanity to man !" That is the awful reflection that fills 
 me with horror, as I know that human nature is the same 
 now that it always was; and what it wrought in the days 
 when the bishops stretched helpless victims on this rack in 
 Salzburg, it is just as ready to do to-day, if the opportunity 
 and the motive combine. There the grand distinction 
 between Romanism and Protestantism stands up gloriously 
 in the eyes of the civilized world. We, who have thrown off 
 the bondage of Rome, have learned \ha.\. the soul of man must 
 be left free in matters of religious faith and worship. They 
 who still follow the lead of Rome have learned nothing since 
 the Reformation. They have lost power, and have gained no 
 knowledge. To them (it is so taught in the last Syllabus of 
 the Pope), to them, it is still an elementary principle of gov 
 ernment that if a man will not believe as he ought, he must 
 be made to. If he cannot be reduced to obedience he must 
 be punished. We have got beyond all such terrible doctrines 
 as that. It was such an idea that begat the Inquisition, and 
 lighted all the fires of religious persecution, and shed the 
 blood of saints through the ages. It is the same doctrine that 
 the Turk holds, as he goes with fire and sword to convert 
 the nations. His onquests have been made in the name of 
 his religion, which is the more dreadful as the vital principle 
 of his religion is enmity to the Cross of Christ. There is but 
 one ism in the whole world worse than Mohammedanism. 
 The worst is Romanism. It is worse than Islam because it 
 boasts the Cross as its glory and defence, but in the name of 
 that Cross wars against the fundamental principle of Christ's 
 religion. It has put the work of man in place of the right 
 eousness of Christ, so that the Cross is of none effect. It has 
 despoiled its followers of the liberty with which Christ makes 
 his people free, and put chains of slavery upon the soul and 
 mind of men. It is a war upon society. Education, liberty.
 
 THE LANCE OF ST. MAURICE. 215 
 
 improvement, happiness and all that gives brightness and 
 beauty to the age we live in, perish in the embrace of this 
 system which calls itself Christianity, but has neither its form 
 nor power. I noticed this while sojourning in Roman Cath 
 olic countries. They are dead while they live. And they 
 come to life, and rise into the spirit and action of the age 
 only so fast as they are emancipated from the bondage of the 
 Church. France is free. Germany is free. Austria is more 
 than half delivered from the slavish yoke. Italy revives. 
 All Europe feels the awakening, and it may be that with the 
 accession of a new Pontiff, the attitude of the Church toward 
 modern society may be changed. At present she is just as 
 hostile to freedom of thought and liberty of conscience as 
 when she set up this rack in Salzburg. 
 
 We must be charitable toward men ; but their systems 
 deserve only justice. We may pity the victim of superstition, 
 but the superstition we should denounce and if possible dis 
 pel. And this is the lesson to learn in these fearful schools 
 of ancient torture. May God have mercy on the men who 
 still defend the right to employ the arm of flesh to punish 
 unbelief. But we also pray God to put a speedy end to the 
 damnable doctrine, and so give Christian liberty to mankind. 
 
 THE LANCE OF ST. MAURICE, 
 
 AND OTHER SACRED RELICS IN THE VIENNA TREASURY. 
 
 I am not a relic-hunter or worshipper. If I had a little 
 more credulity, not to say faith, I would be more interested 
 in seeing the precious things which superstition, in the name 
 of religion, preserves with pious care. It is not required of 
 us, who disbelieve and ridicule, to impeach the sincerity of 
 those who receive as realities, and very holy realities, the 
 memorials of those who have suffered in the faith. It is 
 quite likely that they are as devout in their worship as we are 
 in ours. Still it is very hard for a man with a head on his
 
 216 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 shoulders to receive as authentic a toe-nail of John the Bap 
 tist, or an arm-bone of the mother of her who was the mother 
 of the Lord Jesus Christ. Such pretensions take us out of 
 the region of probabilities into the possibles, and, without 
 having the evidence, we shall be pardoned for rejecting the 
 claim. Perhaps if we had the evidence, we should be more 
 incredulous still. 
 
 We are now in Vienna: the brilliant capital of Austria. 
 The Austrian Emperor claims to be the successor of the 
 Roman, and in the great cathedral here, we read on the hand 
 of a statue of Frederick II., the letters A. E. I. O. U. It may 
 seem to be a conceit to put the five vowels on his hand which 
 holds a sceptre, as if he were the king in the world of letters. 
 But his motto was in five Latin words, " Austria Est Impe- 
 rare Orbi Universo ;" but there is very little probability that 
 "Austria is to rule the whole world." It is a relic of Roman 
 pride and ambition to make a motto in words that should 
 include as their initials the five vowels and assert the supre 
 macy of Austria : an empire now scarcely a third-rate power 
 in Europe. But it has a wonderful history, and much of its 
 most wonderful history is associated with this holy lance and 
 a NAIL from the cross on which Christ suffered, which is 
 wrought into the point of the lance ! 
 
 It is a spear of iron with a blade in the form of a lancet, a 
 long socket with short vertically detached ears. A hole was 
 pierced in the blade, probably during the reign of the 
 Emperor Otho the Great, and a nail of singular form, said to 
 be taken from the Cross of Christ, has been inserted therein. 
 It is likely that by doing so the blade broke in the middle, 
 and as a ligature consisting of thin plates of cast iron proved 
 inefficient, it was found necessary to reinforce it by encircling 
 the fracture with a band of iron. 
 
 The Emperor Henry III. put over the iron band which 
 covered the broken place and secured the nail (as we have 
 already mentioned) a second band of silver, which for greater 
 security was soldered on both edges, and solidly riveted 
 besides. This silver band bears the following inscription : 
 (on the front): "Clavus Domini, t Heinricus D-Igra Terciis
 
 THE LANCE OF ST. MAURICE. 217 
 
 Romano Imperator Aug Hoc Argentum Jussit ; (continua 
 tion on the back :) Fabricari ad Confirmatione Clavi dui et 
 Lance(e) Sancti Mauricii ; (and in the centre :) Sanctus Mau- 
 ricius." 
 
 The lance remained in that state until the accession of the 
 Emperor Charles IV. During the reign of this prince a plate 
 of gold was riveted over the silver plate, laid on by Henry 
 III., so as to cover it entirely. This plate bore the simple 
 inscription in Gothic capital letters : " t Lancea et Clavus 
 Domini." 
 
 In the course of time, several rivets having become loose, 
 the silver band of Henry III., of whose existence nobody had 
 been aware, became visible. A closer examination showed 
 that this band had been partly cut through a long time ago 
 and that the lower part of the nail of the Holy Cross, which 
 was concealed by the band, had been lopped off. This last 
 alteration of the Holy Lance probably took place under 
 Charles IV. This prince was passionately fond of collecting 
 relics, and spared no effort to acquire them. It is said that 
 at Treves he lopped off with his own hand a piece of the 
 "Holy Cross" preserved there. It is probable that the 
 embellishment of the lance with the plate of gold was the 
 result of the Emperor's desire to cover the silver plate which, 
 being partly destroyed, might not be easily restored, and to 
 conceal from the eyes of the world the operation which had 
 been performed on the nail of the Holy Cross. The new 
 binding of silver wire that replaced the rotten leather straps, 
 also dates from the same time. 
 
 Who is not acquainted with the important part played by 
 the Holy Lance in the history of the German Empire ? By 
 the discovery of the inscription proceed ing from the Emperor 
 Henry III., wherein this lance is mentioned as being identical 
 with that of St. Maurice, our interest is heightened, as the 
 lance of this Saint was already regarded during the Merovin 
 gian era as an emblem of majesty and power. 
 
 In the Saxon history which Widukind, monk of the Abbey 
 of Korvei, wrote for the imperial Matilda, abbess of Quedlin- 
 burg, we find that the Holy Lance formed part of the insignia
 
 2l8 IRENSEUS LETTERS. 
 
 which the dying King Conrad (t 13 Dec. 918) delivered to 
 Evurhard, his brother, to be given to Henry I. According 
 to the Book of Retribution which the learned Luitprand 
 began to write about the year 958, King Henry I. had extorted 
 the Holy Lance from King Rodolph. Luitprand relates also 
 that the Holy Lance had formerly belonged to Constantine 
 the Great, and mentions it while relating a battle fought at 
 Bierten on the Rhine by King Otho I. against his usurping 
 brother Henry. King Otho, separated from his little army 
 by the Rhine and unable to fly to its assistance, dismounted 
 from his horse and fell on his knees together with his people, 
 praying and weeping before the holy nails which had once 
 pierced the hands of our Lord and Saviour and which were 
 now placed in the Holy Lance. 
 
 It is therefore probable that the holy nail was set in the 
 lance during the reign of Otho I. According to the account 
 given by Widukind of the defeat of the Hungarians on the 
 Lechfeld (955), King Otho fought at the head of his army, 
 carrying the Holy Lance as the standard of victory. After the 
 King had cheered up his little army by encouraging speeches, 
 he grasped his shield and the Holy Lance and led the charge 
 against the foe, thus fulfilling his duty as a brave warrior and 
 a skilful general. 
 
 What high veneration was paid to this relic, and what im 
 portance was attached to its possession, became evident at 
 the election of Henry II., the Saint (1002), who chiefly baf 
 fled the claims of both his rivals, Eckhard, Duke of Thurin- 
 gia, and Herman II., Duke of the Alemanni, by persuading 
 the Archbishop of Cologne, who, since the death of the 
 Emperor Otho III., had the Holy Lance in his keeping, to 
 deliver this sacred emblem of power to himself. It is now 
 preserved with the Austrian Regalia and other treasures, 
 and visitors are permitted to look upon it with such rever 
 ence as they may feel. 
 
 If this sketch of the Lance's history is neither intelligible 
 nor interesting, it ought not to be set down as my fault, for 
 I have taken it almost verbatim from the Catalogue of the 
 Treasure house, and would not vouch for the facts, though I
 
 THE LANCE OF ST. MAURICE. 219 
 
 have no doubt- of their correctness from the time that Otho 
 the Great set the nail into his spear, and so sanctified it as a 
 holy lance. Where he got the nail, or what right he had to 
 claim that it was ever in the hand or foot of the Saviour of 
 men, I do not know, and nobody else knows. But faith in it 
 has wrought wonders : not miracles, but everything short of 
 miracles. It removes mountains. It overcomes the world. 
 It always was and will be the one distinguishing feature of 
 men of achievement, and nothing great among men is done 
 without it. This Holy Lance is neither the better nor the 
 worse for the nail that is in it, but faith in it as the nail that 
 pierced the cross on which the Saviour hung, made the onset 
 of armies irresistible and gave victory to the legions that 
 followed the leader who bore it. So Faith in the cross of the 
 Redeemer, a living, saving faith, a real faith in the truth 
 which that cross teaches and attests, is the only moral force 
 that gives victory to the armies of the redeemed. They 
 believe and therefore they fight on. To-day I saw two gigantic 
 pictures by Rubens painted for the Jesuits of Anvers : one 
 was Loyola casting out devils and the other was Xavier 
 among the East Indians, raising the dead. I do not believe 
 either of them ever did either. But the world knows what 
 power those two men have wielded in the earth in the name 
 of the Cross of Christ. And greater things than these have 
 our humble missionaries done among the pagans of every 
 clime, because they had faith in the Cross of Christ. 
 
 There is only one piece of wood in the world claiming to be 
 part of the original cross, that is larger than the one exhib 
 ited in this treasury. It is 25 centimetres long and 5 wide. 
 If you will send to Randolph the Publisher, in New York, 
 and get my brother's little book on the " Wood of the Cross," 
 you will learn more of its history than I could give you in a 
 dozen letters. And when you read it you will wonder with 
 me that there is so much to be known about it. 
 
 In addition to these two most precious relics, the nail and 
 the wood, we are shown a piece of the Holy Table Cloth on 
 which the Last Supper of our Lord was spread : a piece of 
 the Holy Apron with which our Lord girded himself when
 
 220 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 he washed the disciples' feet : a chip of the manger in which 
 the Infant Saviour was born : a bone of the arm of St. Anne : 
 three links of the iron chains by which the Apostles Peter, 
 Paul, and John were fettered, and a tooth of John the Bap 
 tist. There are other relics here, but these are the most 
 remarkable. Let us not ridicule the credulity that cherishes 
 these things : we may pity it as superstition, and it is barely 
 possible that we have ourselves some notions just as absurd. 
 
 THROUGH THE TYROL. 
 
 The iron has entered into the heart of the Tyrol, and we 
 now go through it by rail. To the lover of the wild, secluded, 
 picturesque, and romantic, it seems almost a desecration of 
 the sacredness of nature to intrude upon the recesses of 
 mountain solitudes, and disturb the peaceful valleys with the 
 rush of the trains and the shriek of the whistle. But, in this 
 practical age, all such sentimental preferences yield to the 
 economies of the time, and we traverse Switzerland and even 
 the Tyrol with railroad speed. 
 
 The Tyrol is a mountainous region in the southern part of 
 the Austrian Empire, to which it belongs. It touches Italy 
 on its lower border, and has the Alps on its bosom. The 
 people resemble the Swiss in many of their modes and cus 
 toms, and the character of the scenery is not unlike that 
 which we have enjoyed so much in the land of William Tell. 
 They are a livelier lot, more addicted to music, dancing, and 
 smoking ; they drink about the same in quantity and quality, 
 and are just about as poor. They speak the German language 
 in the north, the Italian in the south, and a mixture of both 
 with the French everywhere. Their dress is not as pictu 
 resque as it was once, for the contact with foreign travellers 
 has led them to drop their beautiful costumes and to imitate 
 the outside world in the toggery they wear. Still the men, 
 many of them, stick to the breeches, with stockings from the
 
 THROUGH THE TYROL. 221 
 
 knee to the ankle, and their big shoes with heavy soles, and a 
 jockey hat set sideways on the head, and a feather or bunch of 
 feathers surmounting the whole, will make a Tyrolese dandy, 
 or, on a dilapidated scale, a peasant. The short gowns of the 
 women, and jackets, bodices I believe they are called, 
 with green stockings, a profusion of silver buttons or medals 
 hanging about them but I give it up, a woman's dress being 
 beyond my art of writing. They are very interesting in their 
 costume, but rarely seen in it in their native villages. When 
 they go wandering over the world, as Tyrolese minstrels, they 
 are greatly admired, and every one supposes there is a coun 
 try where all the men go about dressed as brigands, and 
 the women as if they were at a fete. But take them at 
 home, and they are just about as dirty, and homely, and 
 unattractive as the poor peasants of any other country. The 
 Tyrolese have a musical name and reputation, and with them 
 is associated whatever is picturesque, and rural, and lovely, 
 in an unsophisticated, simple, pastoral people. All of which 
 is as near the fact, as the most of our impressions derived . 
 from the rosy romances of travellers and the flowery pages of 
 poetry. 
 
 No words will convey an extravagant idea of the beauty 
 and sublimity of the scenery. It is more beautiful and less 
 sublime than that of Switzerland. In an hour after leaving 
 Munich, we reach the pass from which comes the river Inn. 
 We are to follow up this stream into the heart of the Tyrol. 
 A fortress commands the entrance of the valley, and the 
 Schloss and the convent, and the church on the hill, speak 
 to us at once of the religion of the people. Indian corn is 
 raised in greater quantities than we had seen before in Eu 
 rope, and it was dried in a way quite novel. Torn from the 
 stalk with the husks covering the ear, these were stripped 
 down, and the ears hung across poles laid in rack form, up 
 the sides of the houses, from near the ground to the eaves, 
 so that the whole house was covered with this singular dis 
 play of farm produce. Some of the corn was yellow, some 
 white, and the two colors were never mixed while thus sus 
 pended for drying. As we made our rapid journey along the
 
 222 IREN/EUS LETTERS. 
 
 river Inn, winding up the mountains and surveying the vales, 
 it was easy to say and to feel that we had never passed through 
 lovelier scenes. In the midst of these autumnal harvestings, 
 in which men, women, and children were taking their part, 
 the near mountains were shining in their winter garments of 
 snow, literally bathed in the light of heaven, and looking as 
 though they were at its gates. Often we pass little chapels, 
 with horrible pictures or statues representing the blessed 
 Saviour's sufferings or the Madonna's motherly care. Now 
 and then a cross has been set up to mark the spot where a 
 mortal accident has happened ; and if the natives are thus 
 reminded to be careful in driving, and also to be mindful of 
 their mortality, they may serve some useful purpose. The 
 mountains now begin to assume gigantic proportions and the 
 scenery rises into grandeur. The Solstein shoots up ten 
 thousand feet ! On one side of it the face is almost perpen 
 dicular. It was here that Maximilian I. was saved from 
 awful death by an angel or a chamois hunter, it is not settled 
 yet by which. He was hunting on the mountain, and falling 
 off this precipice, caught on the face of the rock ; and while 
 hanging there, and just ready to fall and be dashed to pieces 
 below, a deliverer appeared, and drew him to a place of safety. 
 The peasants who saw the deliverance ascribed it to angelic 
 interposition. Zips, the huntsman, said he saved the 
 Emperor, but Zips was not a truthful man, and nobody but 
 the Emperor believed him. 
 
 In the midst of these snow-white mountains, on a lovely 
 plain through which the river rushes rapidly, stands the 
 ancient city of Innspruck. Its palace, university, monastery, 
 churches and schools, and 14,000 people, make a town of 
 wonderful interest in such a region as this. One has to reflect 
 that these countries have a history that covers a thousand 
 years, and often more, before he can realize the growth that 
 has resulted in such fruits as these amid rugged hills and 
 unlettered people. And it is true that in this church in the 
 Tyrol, the Hofktrke, or Dom, or cathedral, we were more inter 
 ested than in any other we have yet seen in Europe. In the 
 very midst of it stands a marble monument of immense pro-
 
 THROUGH THE TYROL. 223 
 
 portions, on the summit of which is a statue of Maximilian I. 
 in bronze. The sides of the monument are covered with bas- 
 reliefs in marble, representing twenty-four scenes in the life 
 of this Emperor. The exceeding delicacy of this work is 
 astonishing, as it seems to be rather such tracery of sculpture 
 as might be made in ivory, but is scarcely possible in marble. 
 I could not find the Emperor falling down the precipice, 
 and am inclined to believe that the legend is not deemed 
 sufficiently authentic for permanent record with a pen of iron. 
 But far more impressive than this memorial of the Emperor, 
 were twenty-four life-size bronze statues of the illustrious 
 men and women of the Austrian royal house. That they are 
 portraits, there could not be a doubt. And it was with some 
 thing approaching to awe that I stood in the midst of these 
 lines of statues, in armor or in queenly costume, of these cele 
 brated characters, from Clovis, King of France, down to Albeit 
 II. of Austria. In a church too ! They made it very solemn, 
 and I had something of a superstitious feeling, as if the air 
 was filled with the spirits of these heroes of other times. 
 
 I went back the next day to this church alone, and sat 
 down among the memorials of these men and women, and 
 spelled out the Latin and bronzed inscriptions at the feet of 
 them, and read the names of Godfrey, and his valor in the 
 Crusades, and of women who have made immortal names by 
 their virtues and deeds. And all this in the old church in 
 the heart of the Tyrol. 
 
 The sacristan was very urgent to unfold the treasures of 
 the Silver Chapel, which he did with evident pride, for it 
 contained a statue in solid silver of the Virgin Mary, and an 
 altar of silver, and ornaments of many names in silver, and 
 this chapel thus enriched is the mausoleum which Ferdinand 
 II. made for his wife Phillipine Welser of Augsburg, of whom 
 we heard and saw many things to assure us that she was the 
 best-favored lady of her time. The chapel is connected with 
 the palace by a private passage over the street, so that the 
 royal family can drop in and attend service at any time with 
 out going out of doors. 
 
 But the most modern statue in the church is the most
 
 224 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 interesting. It is that of Andre Hofer, the hereof 1809. He 
 was a peasant inn-keeper, and when Austria and France were 
 at war, he put himself at the head of the Tyrolese soldiery 
 and drove the French out of the country. He entered Inn- 
 spruck as a conqueror, and played king in the palace for six 
 weeks, but living as a simple peasant all the while. The next 
 year Napoleon drove him out, took possession of the city, 
 and when he caught Hofer had him shot. The Tyrolese 
 afterwards got his body, and, burying him with all the hon 
 ors, set up this splendid statue to their peasant hero, under 
 the same roof that covers the monuments of the royal line. 
 
 We made an excursion from the city into the villages and 
 among the farms in the valley. The people were busy with 
 their fall crops. Everybody was at work. The men and 
 women sat on the ground husking corn. The cows were 
 harnessed to wains, in which the harvests were carried home. 
 We called at the church door of the old monastery. It had 
 a magnificent interior. The ceiling was rich with gilt and 
 frescoes. Beautiful paintings adorned the side chapels and 
 the high altar. The spacious house looked as though it were 
 kept for show, and had never been used, so clean, fresh, and 
 glowing was the whole. Such was the appearance, also, of 
 the more splendid chapel in the monastery on the heights at 
 Prague. 
 
 Tunnels twelve or fifteen of them pierce the mountains 
 up which we climb, as we go by way of the Brenner pass, 
 from Innspruck to Italy. The descent is more rapid and 
 more fearful. We fairly rush amain down. Ruined castles 
 tell of feudal wars. Wolfensteins was a stronghold 600 years 
 ago. A modern fortress at Mittewald puts to shame these 
 ancient towers, which were only castles of cards if powder 
 and ball had been spent upon them. Brixen has been the 
 See of an archbishop these last nine centuries ! The Bene 
 dictine monastery of Seben is near the village of Klausen, 
 and the Capuchin Convent, with the Loretto chapel, rich in 
 treasures of the Church. For this Tyrol has played no poor 
 part in Roman Catholic history. We stop at Botzen, and 
 hasten on to the city of Trent. The Council of Trent every
 
 A CHURCH AND A PICTURE. $ 25 
 
 one has read of, but every one does not remember that the 
 city in which that famous Council was held is in the Austrian 
 Tyrol. Its former importance as the capital of the Tyrol 
 has indeed passed away, but it is still a magnificent place, 
 with evidence of its ancient greatness in its decayed palaces 
 and ruined castles. Its cathedral is of pure marble. And now 
 it is the favorite resort of princes in the Church, of scholars 
 and titled dignitaries. The Council that held its sessions 
 here from 1 545 to 1 563, a term of eighteen years, had some 
 four hundred cardinals, patriarchs, archbishops, professors, 
 etc., and made its mark in the history of religion and the 
 world. 
 
 This is the last town of importance we pass through in the 
 Tyrol. We are not long in going hence to Verona, and then 
 we are in Italy. 
 
 And so we pursue our devious way from land to land, pil 
 grims and strangers, seeking always a better country. Not 
 the Tyrol or Switzerland, where Nature, that is God, has all 
 his mightiest works outdone. Not Italy, where art makes 
 canvas breathe and marble speak. Not the Holy Land, 
 whose acres were pressed by the feet that " were nailed to 
 the tree for our advantage." But a better country, even a 
 heavenly : a city that hath foundations, whose builder and 
 maker is God. 
 
 Its gates are made of Orient pearl ; 
 
 Its windows diamond square : 
 Its streets are paved with beaten gold ; 
 
 O God ! If I were there ! 
 
 A CHURCH AND A PICTURE. 
 
 It was the hour of High Mass in the Milan cathedral. 
 We had been led to seats near the great altar, where we 
 could see and hear the service. For, in this vast edifice, 
 those at a distance cannot enjoy anything but the music.
 
 226 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 It is a glorious pile, this wonderful work of human genius, 
 taste, and skill. Many think it the most impressive and 
 sublime of all the sacred edifices in Europe. It is the most 
 beautiful. It is not the most sublime. Charles V. would 
 have put the Burgos cathedral under glass, if he could, to 
 keep it as a thing of beauty to look at. This is more beau 
 tiful outwardly : the interior of Burgos church is more lovely 
 than this of Milan. The cathedral of Seville is the most 
 overwhelming in its effect upon the worshipper, of any house 
 of God in which I have stood. Going into it at noonday, 
 from the brilliant sunshine of a Spanish sky, I exclaimed 
 with devout emotion, " Surely this is none other than the 
 house of God." It is not needful that we worship after the 
 manner of those who build these temples, or to be in sym 
 pathy with their ideas of the ways and means by which the 
 Father is to be approached with the petitions of his children. 
 They are sincere, and God looks upon the heart. So that I 
 sat before this altar and sought to worship in spirit and truth, 
 while compelled to believe that those around me were far 
 out of the way. But the temple is glorious in its architec 
 ture, if not in the holiness of its service. As the warm sun 
 light streamed in through the paintings on the windows, 
 and lay among the arches and illumined the lofty ceiling, 
 whose tracery, at the great distance from which we view it, 
 looks like lace-work under the roof, my eyes would wander 
 away from the idolatry of the Mass to the temple, itself an 
 expression of prayer and praise ! This house stands here to 
 proclaim the pious purpose of them who built it, and of them 
 who cherish it from age to age, as the monument of their 
 devotion. It is not, and no church is, simply a building in 
 which the people are to be taught the way to heaven. This 
 vast cathedral and every church is, or should be, the offering 
 of the people to God of a house in which he will record his 
 name and visit those who draw near unto Him. 
 
 Four hundred and ninety years it has been in progress of 
 building, for its foundations were laid in 1386, and each suc 
 ceeding year, since the first white marble stone was set, has 
 added to its beauty. It is 486 feet long, and that delicate
 
 A CHURCH AND A PICTURE. 227 
 
 groined ceiling is 153 feet above the floor from which we 
 look up to it. It is surrounded with glittering white marble 
 pinnacles, each pinnacle surmounted by a statue : number 
 less niches, without and within, are also filled with statues, 
 and Scripture scenes are carved in stone adorning the walls, 
 and the number of the statues is so great that no one tries 
 to count them. Taking a section, I soon counted 1 50, and 
 the proportion of that section to the whole space would 
 make the total number about 10,000. Some have estimated 
 the number to be only 4,000. There are niches still vacant, 
 and room for more stories from the Bible, in stone. The 
 work will go on from age to age, for such an edifice as this 
 will never be perfect ; the only one that is perfect is the house 
 not made with hands. 
 
 We walked behind the high altar, when a priest who had 
 just been officiating, and was still clad in his vestments for 
 the service, asked if we would descend into the vaults and 
 visit the shrine of St. Charles Borromeo. He was Arch 
 bishop of Milan in the sixteenth century. The fame of his 
 benevolence and piety is still fresh in all Italy. Memorials 
 of him meet the eye in many places besides this, which was 
 his peculiar see. 
 
 The priest lighted a taper and led the way into the subter 
 ranean chapel. It was a strange and sudden transition from 
 the grandeur of the temple to this cold, silent, gloomy vault. 
 But when the priest lighted the row of candles in front of 
 the solid silver coffin, the chapel in which we stood was all 
 ablaze with silver, gold, and precious stones. He pointed to 
 the many costly decorations of this chamber of death, as if 
 he were the showman of the place, and then seizing the 
 handle of a crank, he turned it round and round, to lower 
 gradually the front side of the coffin. The row of lighted 
 candles shed a ghastly light upon the strange spectacle 
 within. There lay the mummied body of the sainted bishop 
 in his robes of office, all but the mitre which was at his feet, 
 and the grim skeleton skull was slightly raised and staring at 
 us as we stood before it ! What good purpose is to be served 
 by such an exhibition, and why the sensibilities of mankind
 
 22$ tRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 should be shocked and disgusted by the exposure of remains 
 of a dead man, it is impossible to say. That the ignorant 
 multitude suppose there is a holy virtue still resident in the 
 relics of the saint was very evident : for a portion of the 
 roof of this underground chapel was open, making a way to 
 the floor of the cathedral above, and, being surrounded by a 
 railing, the people were constantly kneeling around it and 
 praying to the saint in the vault below. This is the super 
 stition of the Romish Church. As ignorance is the mother 
 of such devotion, it would never be permitted to the more 
 intelligent priesthood to disenchant the vulgar herd of their 
 delusion that dead saints may be their intercessors with God. 
 The courteous priest who was acting as undertaker to us, 
 was quite as solemn in his voice and movements as though 
 he were administering the holiest rites of his Church, and I 
 would not do him the injustice to suppose that he thought 
 it a mockery of death to make a show of a mummied bishop 
 and to take the fee of a dollar, as he did, for his services in 
 the tomb. Having extinguished all the candles, he led us up 
 stairs into the cathedral, and in a few minutes I saw him 
 engaged at the altar. We must not be uncharitable, but it is 
 a dreadful draught upon one's benevolence to believe that 
 enlightened men, of the highest mental culture, can put any 
 faith in the efficacy of relics of the dead. And here, in the 
 midst of the richest display of art in the magnificent temple 
 itself and its decorations, with sculpture and painting, these 
 men of letters and thought, full-grown men, continue to show 
 the towel with which the blessed Saviour washed his dis 
 ciples' feet, a rag of the purple robe with which he was clad 
 in mockery, four of the thorns out of that cruel crown, one 
 of the rugged nails that fastened him to the cross, and a 
 fragment of the spear that pierced his side ! It is a sort of 
 sacrilege to record such words, and one feels a relief to turn 
 to the bones of the prophets and to be told that here are 
 teeth from the head of Abraham, Elisha, Daniel and John ! 
 In Munich we saw a case in which was preserved and duly 
 labelled a bone from each one of the twelve disciples of our 
 Lord, and having seen this select assortment, my curiosity is
 
 A CHURCH AND A PICTURE. 229 
 
 not excited by any subsequent demonstrations in sacred 
 anatomy. 
 
 "THE LAST SUPPER." 
 
 Twenty-four years ago I came to the church of Santa 
 Maria delle Grazie in Milan, to see Leonardo da Vinci's 
 greatest painting, and perhaps the most celebrated picture 
 ever made. It is on the wall of the refectory of the Domini 
 can convent attached to the church. It was then fading 
 away, and I wrote of it : " It is now nearly gone, and the 
 next generation will know it only in history." But I have 
 come here with some of that next generation to see it once 
 more, and find it as it was, if anything less dim and indis 
 tinct than then. Two young men who were with me then, 
 are now, I trust, with their Saviour and mine. I remember 
 how deep were their emotions as they looked on this face of 
 the ideal Jesus, the only face in which are blended the 
 majesty and love we would see presented in a portrait of the 
 Man of Sorrow and the King of Kings. Very few persons 
 can say they have seen it twice with an interval of a quarter 
 of a century. It is therefore well to bear this testimony that 
 no perceptible change has come over it in these long years. 
 In the centuries that have elapsed since it was painted on 
 the wall, the room has been used and abused so shamefully 
 that the preservation of the picture is almost miraculous. 
 The storms of heaven and the tempests of war have beaten 
 in upon it. Horses have been stabled on the floor, and 
 ignorant monks have cut a door through the painting itself. 
 Dampness and neglect might long since have destroyed it, 
 but it survives, and more glorious in its ruin than the Par 
 thenon or the Colosseum, it still displays the loftiest and 
 best human conception of the Man Divine. 
 
 It is not probable that I shall ever see it again. But there 
 is a nobler temple than the Milan cathedral : and this won 
 derful picture is not an image of the Heavenly ! 
 
 " There the dear Man, my Saviour, sits, 
 The God ! how bright he shines !" 
 
 When shall I wake and find me there.
 
 230 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 AMPHITHEATRES AND THEATRES. 
 
 The old Romans I mean the Romans of old were great 
 builders. When we put up a ricketty wooden building that 
 will furnish seats to five or ten thousand people, we think 
 we have done something. But in the amphitheatre of Milan 
 thirty thousand people could have reserved seats around an 
 arena in which an army could stand. When it was flooded 
 with water, mimic naval battles were fought in the presence 
 of the multitude. Its stone seats and terraces in which seats 
 were placed, have been preserved, restored indeed from time 
 to time, so that it is now the finest circus ground, perhaps, 
 in the world. Fetes are celebrated in honor of distinguished 
 visitors with as much splendor as when the builders were the 
 masters of Milan. Frederick Barbarossa laid the city in 
 ruins in the year 1162, and whether the amphitheatre was 
 built before or after, I have no means at hand of ascer 
 taining. 
 
 At Verona is the best preserved specimen of an ancient 
 Roman amphitheatre. It dates in the reign of Titus, who 
 destroyed Jerusalem. It has therefore stood during all the 
 centuries of the Christian dispensation. It is an ellipse, 
 five hundred and ten feet long and four hundred and twelve 
 feet wide at the middle of it : forty tiers of solid stone rose, 
 one above the other, on which 25,000 spectators sat, every 
 one of whom could see the whole of the wide arena below. 
 It was open to the sky : and in this delightful climate there 
 is less need of a roof than in colder regions where there are 
 more frequent rains. Beneath the tiers of stone seats, which 
 rise 1 20 feet from the arena, there are dens and dungeons for 
 wild beasts, and captives and convicts, and all the prepara 
 tions necessary for " a Roman holiday." In this arena the 
 city was regaled with sports that met their tastes, and these 
 were such as required the shedding of blood. The gladiators 
 who fought to the death made the play in which the people 
 most delighted. A convict sentenced to contend with wild 
 beasts, as Paul did, would get praise for himself, and please
 
 AMPHITHEATRES AND THEATRES. 231 
 
 the populace, if he fought bravely with a lion from the 
 African desert. And in the dens of this old theatre beasts 
 were held, and the alleys are as perfect now as they were when 
 the hungry lions rushed through them, leaping into the 
 arena for the Christian martyrs whom they tore limb from 
 limb. The sand drank up the blood of the saints, and a 
 modern circus or a troop of mountebanks now make a few 
 hundred people merry where thousands^ once applauded to 
 the echo when some brave fellow's life-blood oozed upon the 
 ground. 
 
 The Colosseum at Rome had seats for eighty thousand. 
 It is the most imposing monument remaining of Old Rome. 
 Its history is a part of the history of the Church and of the 
 world. Its dedication 'cost the lives of 5,000 beasts and 
 10,000 men who were killed in the games that amused the 
 people and consecrated the theatre, in the first century of 
 the Christian era! What hecatombs of human sacrifices 
 were here offered! How often the martyrs went up to 
 heaven from this arena in sight of a heathen multitude amused 
 with their dying struggles, but unconscious of the joy that 
 martyrs knew in the midst of agonies unspeakable. 
 
 I have mentioned these three amphitheatres as the great 
 est examples remaining of the places of amusement which 
 civilized people enjoyed one and two thousand years ago, for 
 the sake of contrasting them with the entertainments of 
 modern times. The ancients did not confine themselves to 
 gladiatorial fights and human sacrifices. They had their 
 stage, on which tragedy, comedy, and music make entertain 
 ment for those who enjoy more artistic and aesthetic pleas 
 ures than the arena affords. Roscius, who was the Garrick 
 of Rome when Cicero was its greatest orator, boasted that 
 he could express an idea more vividly, and with greater 
 variety of form, by signs or gestures, than the master of 
 eloquence could with words. The stage was popular in 
 Rome, and so it was in Athens, when the Olympic games 
 drew hundreds of thousands to see the races. The plays of 
 the great masters, which scholars read in our day with as 
 much satisfaction as they had to whom they were first pre-
 
 232 IRENALUS LETTERS. 
 
 sented, those creations of Euripides and Eschylus, not to 
 speak of Aristophanes, were performed in the open air, on 
 marble platforms, in the midst of applauding thousands. The 
 performance of any one of them, in a good English, French, 
 German or Italian translation, would empty any theatre in 
 New York, London, Paris, Berlin, or Italy, sooner than read 
 ing the riot act would disperse a mob. They were given in 
 the daytime, when business might be supposed to occupy the 
 people ; and it is doubtful if the best of Shakespeare's plays 
 would draw a crowd in the daytime in New York or London. 
 It might in Boston, where Mr. J. T. Fields's friend says 
 there are not twenty men living who could have written 
 Shakespeare's plays. 
 
 In ancient Rome, and in other cities, the entertainments 
 in the amphitheatre were often given to the people at the 
 expense of candidates for office, who thus made themselves 
 popular with the masses. Immense sums of money were 
 spent in this catering to the vulgar herd. It paid very well, 
 as it does now, though the money is expended in other ways. 
 Great men, in those days of old, took pride in competing for 
 victory in the arena with common wrestlers and fighters, 
 just as a nobleman now and then rides his own horse in a 
 race, with trained jockeys on the other horses. A few days 
 ago, at Paris, one of the nobility did so : was convicted of 
 cheating, too, and sentenced to abstain from racing for one 
 year ! And this brings us naturally to compare the old-time 
 pastimes with the present, and to ask wherein we have made 
 improvement. 
 
 Human life is more sacred now in the eyes of all civilized 
 peoples than it was when blood was shed in sport to enter 
 tain the multitude. In Spain the people still love to see 
 blood flow, and if it be the blood of a man or a bull they 
 care very little which, provided it comes in a good square, 
 stand-up fight. But Spain is far behind the rest of the world, 
 and persecutes the Protestant saints, and rejoices in bloody 
 sports. When she learns enough of the Christian religion 
 to let the people worship God as they please, she will also 
 abolish the bull-ring. That peculiar institution is the near-
 
 AMPHITHEATRES AND THEATRES. 233 
 
 est approach to these old Italian gladiatorial and wild beast 
 fights now left in Europe, and is gradually declining. But 
 when we keep away from partially-civilized Spain, we find 
 the people amusing themselves mainly in three different 
 ways : they may run together somewhat, and the lovers of 
 one sort may take to the others, but, with one or the other 
 of them, the great mass of people who live for pleasure find 
 their delight : they find it in drinking exhilarating bever 
 ages, in frequenting theatres, or in horse-racing. How much 
 intemperance in drink prevailed in the days of Augustus 
 Caesar we may not know. There was enough, no doubt. 
 Bacchus had worshippers uncounted. But no American has 
 any adequate conception of the amount of drinking for the 
 pleasure of it : drinking beyond the wants of life : social and 
 jovial drinking: till he travels in Europe. The statistics of 
 intemperance in the United States show that we are as hard- 
 drinking a people as there is, but we must go to the German 
 beer-gardens in New York, and the haunts of our foreign 
 population, to see how fearfully and freely men drink. And 
 when we travel in Europe the drinking is so largely done 
 out-of-doors, or in such public places as to be always in 
 sight. In Germany it is horrible beyond exaggeration. In 
 many of the railway stations, the only waiting-room pro 
 vided is filled with tables and chairs for the beer guzzlers, 
 men and women. " The inevitable beer-garden" becomes a 
 familiar remark as we visit a palace or a ruin, and find the 
 little tables and chairs inviting us to be refreshed. The 
 Italians drink: the French drink: the English drink beer 
 immensely : the Irish and Scotch their whisky : but the beer 
 drinking of Germany excels them all. 
 
 One thing I have learned about the theatres and operas in 
 their favor: they begin the evening performance at an early 
 hour in Germany, sometimes at half-past six, often at seven, 
 and get through before or by ten o'clock. This is so far, so 
 good. Of the character of the performances I can speak 
 only from the handbills and reports ; but they are as in the 
 United States, no better, no worse, and often the same. 
 Adelina Patti is coming to Milan next week to open the
 
 234 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 opera season, and she sings in " La Traviata" as the begin 
 ning : what will be the end ? What may be called the legiti 
 mate drama is as dead in Europe as it is in the United States. 
 The million do not care a straw for a moral or sensible play : 
 it is amusement they want, and there is no fun in being 
 instructed. But there are more theatres now than ever, and 
 in Paris and Vienna (I believe) the stage receives partial 
 support from the government as the Church does. It is 
 quite possible that the theatre is more demoralizing at this 
 moment, than the amphitheatre was when the sand was 
 soaked with human gore, and the death of men, women, and 
 wild beasts made the amusement of the populace. 
 
 The horse race is fast becoming a general popular amuse 
 ment in the United States, but it has not there attained the 
 position it holds in Europe. The British Parliament, the 
 most dignified legislative body in the world, adjourns over a 
 day every year to permit its members to attend a horse race. 
 The American Congress has never yet manifested so much 
 interest in the subject. The pious Emperor of Germany, 80 
 years old, honors Baden-Baden with his presence when the 
 great horse-races of the year take place. The French 
 Emperor or President always attends, and on Sunday. It is 
 well known in England and France that no race occurs with 
 out the vilest cheating : and when we know that Lord Fal- 
 mouth has pocketed $150,000 this season, by winning bets on 
 horses, it is easy to see that it pays to bribe a jockey with 
 even $25,000 to let his horse get beaten. Nothing is done at 
 Newcastle or at Epsom that is not done on a smaller scale at 
 Jerome Park, and the morals of the people are quite as much 
 exposed to corruption, in the cruel and immoral sport of 
 horse-racing, as they were in the ancient bloody games of the 
 amphitheatre. 
 
 " Hence we view" that things have improved a little, not 
 much, since the days of the Caesars. There are more good 
 people now, and the wicked people are not quite so fierce 
 and bloody : but the great mass of mankind who want amuse 
 ment, instead of instruction, and who go about to find it, 
 are little better in their tastes or morals than they were two 
 thousand years ago.
 
 A CONVENT ON THE SEA. 
 
 A CONVENT ON THE SEA. 
 
 " There is a glorious city in the sea, 
 The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, 
 Ebbing and flowing ; and the salt sea-weed 
 Clings to the marble of her palaces. 
 No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, 
 Lead to her gates." Rogers. 
 
 Among the hundred islands around and under Venice, not 
 one has a more remarkable history than San Lazaro. 
 
 The story of Venice is too familiar for recital. The bar 
 barous Huns came down upon Venitia, and the people hid 
 away among the islands of the great lagoon that sets up from 
 the Adriatic Sea. Seventy-two of these islands were so near 
 each other that the houses were separated only by narrow 
 streams. These were soon canals : boats and bridges made 
 them all into one great city : palaces arose with the rising 
 prosperity of the place; a peculiar city, every house in it 
 being accessible by land and water. The remoter islands 
 were sites for public buildings, fortresses and asylums. Float 
 ing in the water, in the far eastern quarter of the great lagoon, 
 is the isle of Saint Lazarus. As far back in time as A. D. 
 1182, it was used as a hospital for lepers coming from the 
 East. Lazarus was the patron saint of such people, and the 
 island took his name. By-and-by this disease ceased to be a 
 plague, and the island became a desert. And so it remained 
 for centuries : a wilderness in the midst of isles of beauty, as 
 fair a spot as the sun shines on, but with the taint of the leper 
 upon it, and so left alone in the sea. 
 
 Five hundred years roll along, and a dozen wayfaring men 
 of the East, speaking an Oriental tongue, and wearing the 
 garb of an order of Monks unknown in Venice, came to this 
 city and asked its hospitality. They had a strange story to 
 tell. The hearts of strangers opened to the pilgrims, and 
 they were taken kindly in. Their leader, Mekhitar, was an 
 Armenian, born in Asia Minor. In childhood he was taught 
 by the Monks of Garmir-Vauk. He grew up to be a priest,
 
 236 IR&NEUS LETTERS. 
 
 and travelling widely in Asia, he preached the Christian 
 religion, especially to the Armenians. His sacrifices and 
 toils in this service were marvellous. At length he went to 
 Constantinople, and, being compelled to leave, he retired to 
 the Convent of Passen, near to his native place. Here he 
 rose to be a distinguished teacher; a wonderful example of 
 heroism in the midst of the plague. Again he appeared in 
 the city of the Sultans, preaching the union of all sects in 
 the Church of Rome. And when they would not listen 
 to his words, he formed a society of men of his way of think 
 ing, and set up a printing press to issue good books among 
 the people of the East. His piety and labours excited per 
 secution, and he fled with his companions, to the Grecian 
 Morea, then under the Venetian government. At Modon a 
 regular order was founded, with a convent and church. But 
 the Turks came down upon the Morea with fire and sword, 
 and drove the Monks of Modon from their home, which was 
 plundered and destroyed. They took refuge on a Venetian 
 vessel and begged a passage to the city long known as the 
 Queen of the Adriatic, and the favorite of St. Mark. They 
 found a welcome in the Republic of Venice. To the new Order 
 of Monks, thus suddenly introduced, the Senate granted this 
 desolate island. There, on the spot where, five centuries 
 before, only lepers had a home, these persecuted and weary 
 wanderers pitched their tents, and were at rest. Some ruins 
 of old buildings remained, and these were patched up for 
 temporary use. In 1740 the new monastery was completed, 
 and the monks were able to pursue with vigor and success 
 the benevolent work to which their lives are devoted. In 
 this calm retreat, on an island every foot of which is covered 
 by their convent and its gardens, in sight of the most pic 
 turesque and strangely beautiful city of the world, these 
 brethren live, labour, die, and are buried. They do not lead 
 a life of idleness. Teaching, preaching abroad, writing and 
 printing, they are spreading knowledge among the Armenians 
 in the East, to whom they send trained men and the books 
 they publish. 
 
 I have just returned from an excursion to this island mon-
 
 A CONVENT ON THE SEA. 237 
 
 astery. Descending the marble steps of the hotel that lead 
 into the water, we take our seats in a gondola, the water 
 carriage of Venice. Silently, smoothly and swiftly we are 
 borne out into the lagoon. The sun in the East is lighting 
 up every marble palace, and dome, and pinnacle, and tower. 
 The city, as we recede from it toward the sea, blooms with 
 beauty, and makes real the idea of the poet that it is a flower 
 on the sea. We glide softly to the landing steps at the gar 
 den of the convent. A monk, in the black gown and leathern 
 girdle of his Order, bids us welcome. Kindly he leads us into 
 the house, and presently to the library. It is rich in manu 
 scripts and Oriental books. Portraits and busts, and monu 
 ments of illustrious men, adorn the halls and the walls. An 
 cient coins, papyrus, a veritable Egyptian mummy, copies of 
 all the books ever printed here, are shown. We were led 
 into the printing office, where compositors were busy setting 
 type in the Eastern languages. They use only the old-fash 
 ioned hand presses, and probably never saw one driven by 
 steam power. The room was small, the typesetters few. An 
 air of perfect repose pervaded the place. It would take two 
 months at least to issue one edition of the New York-Observer 
 with this force. As I looked on, I thought of the fits Mr. 
 Cunningham (our printer) would have if things moved at 
 that rate in the office, 37 Park Row. 
 
 In the refectory, tables were set for about fifty persons: 
 very neatly were they laid, with bread and a bottle of native 
 wine at each plate. All eat here in common, and in perfect 
 silence, while one of the brethren stands in a pulpit and reads 
 aloud the Bible. A notice above the door bids all to be 
 silent and hear the word of God. 
 
 There are only a dozen resident monks. They receive 
 students from the East, who come at the age of about twelve, 
 stay the same number of years, pursue a course of literature 
 and theology, and then go back to their native countries as 
 priests and teachers. Thirty youths are thus in a constant 
 course of training. The monks also keep up a college in the 
 city of Venice, and one in Paris. Some of them are sent 
 on missionary tours through foreign countries. The works
 
 238 IRsENEUS LETTERS. 
 
 they publish are in many tongues, and some are of great 
 value. 
 
 The Armenians are divided in their religious faith, a part 
 adhering to the Roman Catholic Church, to which section 
 these Mekhitarists belong. When the monasteries of Italy 
 were suppressed, this one alone was suffered to go on with 
 its work. All the rest were merely consuming without pro 
 ducing, and so were a burden and a nuisance. This one con 
 sumes little and produces much. 
 
 When the Monk had shown us through the apartments, 
 he asked us to inscribe our names in the visitors' register. 
 Kings and emperors had written theirs, philosophers and 
 great travellers, poets, our Bryant among them, and Byron, 
 who in one of his freaks, spent six months in the convent 
 studying the Armenian language. As we walked out into the 
 garden, the Father plucked the flowers freely, and gave to 
 each of the ladies of the party a bouquet, as a souvenir of the 
 Convent on the Sea. 
 
 A CEMETERY BENEATH A CEMETERY. 
 
 "A waking dream awaits us. At a step 
 Two thousand years roll backward." 
 
 Rogers' Italy. 
 
 The city of Bologna is widely known for its sausages, yet 
 no one city of Italy has produced more men of renown in the 
 finer arts. Domenichino's works fairly rival Raphael's. An- 
 nibale and Ludivico Carracci, brothers, were born here and 
 when the latter became too proud to admit his humble 
 parentage, Annibale made a picture of their father on his 
 bench threading a needle, and sent it to his brother. Guido 
 Reni was a native of this city, and few masters have a brighter 
 fame than he : then there were others scarcely less brilliant 
 than they, Albana, Guercino and Lanfranca, and one of 
 the greatest of sculptors, a giant and the maker of giants, 
 Giovanni, or John of Bologna.
 
 A CEMETERY BENEATH A CEMETERY. 239 
 
 In the Academy of Fine Arts, the works of these and 
 other illustrious men are exhibited, and the city may well be 
 proud of its own productions. It is a very ancient town. Its 
 freshness is the result of a goodly custom that might well be 
 imitated : it is divided into parishes, and once in ten years 
 each parish has a festival ; some in one, some in another 
 year ; at which time every house in the parish is put in good 
 order, cleansed externally, and then decorated with banners, 
 crosses and flowers. Thus the whole city once in every ten 
 years is made as good as new. 
 
 Its university has been famous since its foundation. It 
 claims to be the mother of all universities, being itself born 
 in 1119, making it more than 750 years old. It had 10,000 
 students in the year 1216. The city of Prague had at one 
 time 40,000 students in its University, which was founded in 
 1350. This one at Bologna had female professors, as well as 
 men, and among the lady teachers was Novella, daughter of 
 the learned lawyer Andreas, a woman so beautiful that, when 
 she delivered her lectures to the students, she sat behind a 
 curtain, lest her beauty should divert the thoughts of the 
 young gentlemen from the lessons of law she was laying 
 down. 
 
 But more remarkable than its 130 churches and twenty 
 convents, and uncounted palaces and its long arcades, is its 
 Campo Santo, the cemetery, which m Italy is the Holy Field, 
 as in Germany it is God's Acre. The dead sanctify the 
 ground in which they lie. To disturb the dead is sacrilege 
 in all lands. We drove to the gate of St. Isaiah, to a covered 
 walk, an arcade, leading in two directions : to the left it went 
 up a long and winding way to the summit of a hill, a mile off, 
 where stands a church that is named from a picture fabled 
 to have been painted by St. Luke : to the right is the walk 
 to the Campo Santo of Bologna, the most extensive, remark 
 able, and interesting in Italy. An ancient Carthusian mon 
 astery, with its corridors and cloisters, its gardens, courts and 
 quadrangles, was converted into this extraordinary mauso 
 leum. In the open ground, under the bright skies, interments 
 are made, but no monuments are there set up. The enclosed
 
 24 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 marble halls and low galleries are filled with statues and 
 other monuments of the dead. Rich families vie with each 
 other in the magnificence and costliness of these luxurious 
 memorials of their departed friends. Some of them are 
 exceedingly elaborate and beautiful, the highest skill of 
 modern art being exhausted in their production. Many fam 
 ilies distinguished in letters, in arts, in arms : men of eminence 
 as professors, and women illustrious for their benevolence, 
 are here presented in marble that seems to breathe the names 
 and virtues of their original. These galleries of sculpture 
 are perhaps miles in length, and to walk through them all 
 was more than our strength would allow. Filled with won 
 der and admiration, we were yet to learn a greater wonder 
 than we had seen. 
 
 In making excavations for this cemetery, it was found that 
 the grounds of the old monastery covered another cemetery, 
 more than twenty feet below the surface, and dating to a 
 period in the distance to which no records refer. Here was a 
 cemetery beneath a cemetery : the dead of one age pressing 
 upon the dead of forgotten ages. As soon as the fact was 
 ascertained, the work of excavation was cautiously conducted, 
 with exceedingly interesting and important results. These 
 results were transferred to the Museum, where I have just 
 been studying them with profound astonishment and instruc 
 tion. 
 
 The Roman-pagan ideas of the departed are here exhibited, 
 as if the burial were taking place before our eyes, instead of 
 the resurrection of the bones of the dead. Standing upright 
 at the head of perfect skeletons, were grave-stones on which 
 Latin inscriptions, worn and wasted indeed, are dimly visi 
 ble, recording the very name that this anatomy once bore, 
 when it walked these streets and fields three thousand years 
 ago. The skeletons lying flat on their backs, their arms by 
 their side, or crossed on the breast, as the surviving friends 
 preferred, have been taken up with the clay bed on which they 
 were found reposing. Placed in boxes and covered with 
 glass, all the surroundings restored as they were when the
 
 A CEMETERY BENEATH A CEMETERY. 24! 
 
 discovery was made, we are able to read with admiring eyes 
 these records of the dead past, so strangely brought to view. 
 We know that the heathen mythology of the Augustan age, 
 and long before that era, recognized the immortality of the 
 soul, and the pains and pleasures of the evil and the good in 
 the future state. The river Styx was to be crossed by every 
 soul in a boat, which Charon rowed, and each passenger 
 paid him a piece of money called an obolus. In the hand of 
 the dead was placed this coin to pay the ghostly ferryman. 
 And now in the palm of each of these skeletons lies the 
 money. Women still wear the necklaces that adorned them: 
 braclets clasp their wrists, and the silver or golden brooch 
 rests to-day on the breast that has been cold these thirty 
 centuries. Even the rings with which they were buried are 
 visible on the bones of their fingers. 
 
 A mother and child are sleeping side by side in the same 
 bed of clay. The teeth are as white and perfect as when 
 they last dined. And there were no unsound teeth among 
 them. Cups and ornamented dishes of various kinds, some 
 appearing to have contained food for the dead, were found 
 near to the bones, and now stand by them. One skeleton 
 had its head distorted, and if laid out straight would be seven 
 feet long. But they were mostly of the ordinary size, and 
 all of them preserved as if the clay had some peculiar quality 
 to prevent decay. 
 
 This discovery was made in 1870, and the explorations 
 have been carried on from time to time, not yet being com 
 pleted. The director of the Museum, Dr. Kminek-Szedlo, 
 was exceedingly kind in bringing the curious phases of this 
 resurrection to my notice. He reads the hieroglyphic 
 inscriptions on the Egyptian coffins and papyrus, speaks so 
 many languages that he is worthy to be the successor of the 
 polyglot Mezzofanti, who was once Librarian here, and whose 
 bust and eulogy perpetuate his fame. It is well known that 
 he was able to speak fluently more than forty languages, and 
 was the greatest linguist of whom the world has knowledge. 
 
 Dr. Szedlo called my attention also to another revelation
 
 242 JRENJEUS LETTERS. 
 
 from the earth beneath Bologna, within the present year. 
 In February last a discovery was made of a smelting-house or 
 foundry far below the present surface of the ground. Out 
 of it have already been taken thousands of instruments of 
 iron. Some of them, hatchets, knives, spears, swords or 
 sabres, sickles, &c., are common now. Others are pre-historic, 
 and no one can say for what purpose they were made. If one 
 of them had been found alone in a cave or gravel pit, it would 
 perhaps have been regarded as pre-adamite. And these 
 relics of past ages, in the midst of a city and country where 
 art and learning have flourished without decay for successive 
 centuries, while the people have been all unconscious of their 
 existence under foot, furnish one of the most important chap 
 ters on the short-sightedness of the wisest of living men. In 
 the mtdst of civilization, one entire age of the human family 
 goes into the grave : the earth itself, with no convulsion, in 
 the gradual progress of time, folds itself around and covers 
 over its inhabitants : forests and vineyards, and new cities, 
 flourish afresh over the graves, and dust, and bones of former 
 peoples, and a University with ten thousand students has not 
 a thought that such populations are buried there. 
 
 Geology has scarcely scratched the surface of the earth it 
 professes to comprehend. There are mysteries ten feet 
 underground that our philosophy never dreamed of. The 
 wash from the hill-sides fills up valleys that once teemed 
 with life and power, and an earthquake in a night may bury a 
 city till the angel of the resurrection wakes it in its unknown 
 sepulchre. In these countries that we call old, I see so much 
 of the work and wreck of time, that it teaches me the folly 
 of making tables of chronology out of layers of rock cr the 
 deposit of mud. The men and women, crumbling skeletons 
 in the Museum of Bologna, were very silent in their new 
 coffins, but mighty eloquent their ghastly, grinning faces 
 were, in telling me that one generation goeth and another 
 cometh : that what is now, has been, and there is noth 
 ing new under the sun. Years ago I copied from an old 
 tombstone in the graveyard of Melrose Abbey, four lines 
 that had been often before repeated by Walter Scott and
 
 OUR WINDOWS IN FLORENCE. 243 
 
 others, but which are still to be studied for the profound 
 truth that is hid within them; 
 
 The Earth walks on the Earth glittering with gold ; 
 The Earth goeth to the Earth sooner than it would. 
 The Earth builds on the Earth temples and towers ; 
 The Earth says to the Earth, " All will be ours." 
 
 OUR WINDOWS IN FLORENCE. 
 
 Mrs. Browning made the house in which she resided in 
 Florence famous by her " Casa Guidi Windows." Mrs, Jame 
 son wrote m the same house. And, wonderful to relate, I 
 had Mrs. Browning's apartment and Mrs. Jameson's table 
 when I was here ten years ago ! But Casa Guidi is not so 
 well placed for sunlight as we wished, and we therefore sac 
 rificed the sentiment to the advantage of being at home " in 
 mine own inn." It was certainly a pleasant guidance that 
 led us to the Hotel de la Ville, where we have found delight 
 ful quarters. If the windows lack the romance of poetry 
 and art. they look out upon waters, bridges, towers, domes, 
 hills, villas, palaces, churches, and monuments, that together 
 make a panorama of unsurpassed historical interest. If the 
 story were not spoiled in the telling, a volume might easily 
 be made to thrill the reader, by the simplest record of the 
 memories suggested by the view from the windows at which 
 I am writing these lines. 
 
 The sun has just gone down. An Italian sunset in its 
 highest glory is now before us. Serried ranks of clouds are 
 on fire. They are reflected from the swollen bosom of the 
 Arno, which glows and burns with the last light of day. All 
 the west is filled with broken and dissolving rainbows: piles 
 of purple and orange, and brilliant red hues and violet rays, 
 are heaped up there in masses of rich coloring, a great 
 heaven of beauty and glory, in which the fading clouds float 
 like islands of the blest in an infinite sea.
 
 244 
 
 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 The house is on an open square, on which stands one of 
 the oldest churches in Florence. Within it are the ashes 
 and the tomb of the man whom Americans will never forget, 
 though they regret that they have such cause to remember 
 him. On a marble slab in the pavement of the chapel, on 
 the left of the high altar, is this inscription : 
 
 He was one of those few fortunate men who get more fame 
 than is their due. Americo Vespuci followed in the wake of 
 Columbus, and having stumbled upon the coast of the 
 Western Continent, left his name on the whole of it, and it 
 remains to this day, and will to the end of time. More fit 
 ting would it have been to have given the honor of the New 
 World's name to Columbus, as it certainly belongs to him. 
 And here in Florence they not only build a tomb to Ameri- 
 cus and treasure his bones, but they point to the celebrated 
 gnomon of the Duomo as the greatest astronomical instru 
 ment in the world. We are told that this fine meridian was 
 traced as early as 1468 by a physician of Florence, a great 
 philosopher and astronomer, Toscanelli, who corresponded 
 with Christopher Columbus, communicated to him the 
 results of his penetrating researches into astronomical science, 
 and persuaded the great navigator to try the western passage 
 to India ! Thus the Florentines would intimate that the 
 discovery of the Western World is due to the scientific 
 researches of their citizen, Dr. Toscanelli. Therefore, with
 
 OUR WINDOWS IN FLORENCE. 245 
 
 profound complacency, they garnish the sepulchre of Amer- 
 icus Vespuci and put the laurels of Columbus on the brows 
 of Toscanelli ! 
 
 Across the Arno, which flows beneath our windows, we 
 see many hills covered with villas, palaces, convents and 
 churches ; but a little tower in the distance, more than all 
 else, attracts my attention whenever I look out on this 
 splendid scene. From the stone on which Jacob slept, a 
 ladder seemed to reach from earth" to sky. And from that 
 lone tower the old astronomer, the prince of seers, by the 
 aid of his telescope, was wont to bring the heavens very 
 near. On it the old man stood to make those observations 
 which we study with no less wonder to-day than his unbe 
 lieving cotemporaries did in 1640. It is well to revise one's 
 recollection of facts when there is a new association by 
 which to fasten them. If you are familiar with Milton's 
 Paradise Lost, you will readily recur to the lines in which he 
 writes that Satan's shield 
 
 " Hung o'er his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
 Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
 At evening from the top of Fiesole, 
 Or in Val d'Arno, to descry new lands, 
 Rivers or mountains, in her spotty globe." 
 
 The Tuscan artist was Galileo, to whom Milton came when 
 the astronomer was old and blind, a prisoner here, under the 
 ban of the Inquisition, waiting for death to come and take 
 him above the stars. 
 
 Galileo was born at Pisa, only a few hours from Florence, 
 Feb. 15, 1564. Neither you nor I believe in the transmigra 
 tion of souls, but we are entertained by striking coincidences. 
 It is asserted that Galileo was born the same day and hour 
 when Michael Angelo died ; and when Galileo died, the year 
 was signalized by the birth of Isaac Newton ! The world 
 never knew three other men, in such a succession, of such 
 transcendent genius. Galileo was but a boy of eighteen 
 when, in his parish church, he saw the chandelier swinging 
 to and fro, and was led to think of a pendulum whose vibra-
 
 246 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 tions should be a measure of time. He was only twenty-five 
 when he took his seat as Professor of Mathematics in the 
 University of Pisa, his native place, and there made those 
 discoveries in physics which lie at the basis of his astronom 
 ical system. The leaning tower of Pisa is looked on by 
 travellers as a curious problem, and perhaps Galileo did not 
 know why it was so ; but it leaned just far enough for him 
 to try his experiments with falling bodies, and if the tower 
 never served any better purpose, it was enough that it leaned 
 for him. He knew too much for his own peace, for he 
 proved that an invention of a great man was a sham, and 
 the great man became his enemy and caused the removal of 
 the astronomer to Padua. Here he was Professor for eigh 
 teen years. When he had perfected his first telescope he 
 took it to Venice, and, from the top of the Cathedral of St. 
 Mark, looked into the heavens and discovered the moons of 
 Jupiter. This was in 1609. He was now 54 years old. The 
 fame of his discoveries, and the effect of them upon the 
 received opinions of the world, were abroad in the earth. 
 Science contended stoutly against him. Superstition came 
 to the aid of science and made the fight bitter. How sorely 
 the good man was tried, in the fifteen years that followed 
 these brilliant discoveries, his published letters reveal. And 
 when the Jesuits pretended that religion would be over 
 turned if it were proved that the earth revolves around the 
 sun, the old astronomer for he was now threescore and 
 ten was ordered to present himself at Rome and answer to 
 the charge of teaching doctrine opposed to the faith of the 
 Church. Into the hands of the Inquisition he now was 
 thrown. It is not certain that he was put to the torture, 
 though a sentence in one of his letters seems to strengthen 
 he idea that he was. Probably he was a man of such sensi 
 tive physical organization that he could not face the instru 
 ments of torture ; and without hesitation he admitted that 
 the earth stood still, rather than go upon a wheel himself. 
 That he did sign a written retraction of his opinions is quite 
 certain. But it is not so certain that he said "it does move, 
 nevertheless," when he rose from his knees, as he is reported
 
 OUR WINDOWS IN FLORENCE. 247 
 
 and generally believed to have said. Be that as it may be, 
 we know that his recantation was not believed to be sincere, 
 and he was condemned and consigned to imprisonment. 
 The intercession of friends procured his release, and he was 
 ordered to remain in duress, under the watch of the Inquisi 
 tion, at Arcetri, adjoining Florence, where the Inquisition 
 was flourishing, and abundantly able and willing to roast a 
 heretic at a moment's warning. The Galli family, to which 
 Galileo belonged, had property there, and the villa which he 
 rented, and where he passed the remaining ten sad years of 
 his life, still remains, and the tower that bears his illustrious 
 name. To his house men of learning and fame made pil 
 grimages, to see the man who had revolutionized the system 
 of worlds. He toiled on in his forced retirement, writing 
 out those works which could not then be published for fear 
 of Rome, but which have since become the property of man 
 kind. Milton, a young and ardent poet, quite as unconscious 
 of his future as Galileo was of his at the same age, came to 
 Arcetri, and looked upon the glorious old man, who could 
 not see him now, for at the age of 74 he lost the sight of 
 those eyes that had often looked into the mysteries of the 
 skies. He closed them here in death Jan. 8, 1642. The men 
 of Florence gave him, as he deserved, a royal burial, and his 
 sepulchre is among them, in the church of Santa Croce, with 
 an epitaph that justly celebrates the greatest astronomer of 
 any age. 
 
 Galileo's instruments are carefully preserved and kindly 
 exhibited in the great Museum of Natural Science in this 
 city. And when you have looked at, not through, his tele 
 scope, which is a very poor affair compared with what we 
 have in our modern observatories, and have seen the won 
 derful preparations in wax of anatomical subjects, giving 
 the minutest exhibitions of the internal and outer parts 
 of the human body, the most complete and perfect thing 
 of the kind in the world, you may go, as I have gone 
 to-day, to the hill of Arcetri, the tower of Galileo, to 
 the house and room in which he labored, suffered and died. 
 On no other height have I stood and been so profoundly
 
 248 I REN ^E US LETTERS. 
 
 impressed with sublime associations, as to-day and there. 
 Leaving the carriage at the foot of the last rise of the hill, 
 I walked a few rods up through a narrow alley, and came 
 suddenly upon an open space on the very summit. An 
 ancient, rustic, rambling stone building, a farmer's place 
 apparently, with a rude tower on one corner, crowned the 
 hill. I came to the door, and a smiling Italian peasant 
 woman asked if I would see the interior. Stepping into the 
 court of the house, I found on the walls marble tablets cov 
 ered with inscriptions recording the facts respecting the 
 great astronomer's residence : the care that had been taken 
 to preserve it as it was in his day. All around were memo 
 rials of him and the noble families with whom he and his 
 history are connected. I passed up a flight of stone steps 
 into the study of Galileo ! His microscope, his books, his 
 manuscripts, his portrait painted from life, his bust, letters 
 to him from illustrious men, the chair in which he sat, the 
 large table at which he wrought, paper covered with the 
 drawings that his own hands had made all just as if he had 
 stepped out of his study and ascended the tower. I went up 
 after him. The steps were of wood, and they and the rail 
 ing are rickety with age, but they had held great men, and 
 were not to break down with me. The tower was not lofty, 
 but, being on a hill-top, it commands the whole horizon : 
 and such a heaven above and such an earth beneath, sure in 
 no other clime and land may the eye rejoice in. Not fair 
 Florence only or chiefly is the glory of this scene: though 
 not a dome or tower or palace in its circle of splendor but 
 shines at my feet in this brightest of sunlight : but Tuscany, 
 covered with vineyards and olives, rich in corn and wine, 
 ten thousands of villas crowning and studding the hillsides 
 and plains : the Arno rushing among the walls of the city 
 and coursing through the fields beyond : and the whole cir 
 cuit of mountains on which the sky rests for support the 
 Apennines in the north shutting off the great world of 
 Europe and making, with their sister Alps, the bulwark of 
 Italy. Yet it was not this view that Galileo studied from 
 this old tower. He did not even look that way. Ad astro.
 
 SAN MINIATO AND VALLOMBROSA. 249 
 
 that. To the stars he went and walked among them, familiar 
 with their paths, nor losing once his way : he was at home 
 when farthest from the earth in quest of worlds till then 
 unknown. Wonderful old man he was ! How patiently he 
 bore the greatest of all afflictions to one who pursues the 
 stars ! How sad his fate to lose the light of those heavens 
 in which by sight he lived ! 
 
 Milton was young when he came to this blind old man. 
 Milton was blind before he was old. And Milton saw more 
 of heavenly things after he was blind than before. I hope 
 that both of them now, eye to eye, are beholding the invisi 
 ble. 
 
 SAN MINIATO AND VALLOMBROSA. 
 
 In full view from our windows is the famous height of San 
 Miniato. It is crowned with a lovely and remarkable church. 
 Its bell-tower or campanile has its history identified with the 
 defence of Florence and the genius of Michael Angelo. 
 When we had come down from the tower of Galileo to sub 
 lunary things, we rode among vineyards and olive groves, 
 villas and gardens, until we struck upon the magnificent 
 boulevard that now leads from the city to the summit of San 
 Miniato. 
 
 This boulevard reminds me of modern improvements in 
 and about New York City, and the story of it is worth a few 
 lines. When the seat of government, under Victor Emanuel, 
 was removed from Turin to Florence, it set people and rulers 
 crazy with the idea that Florence was to be the greatest city 
 in the world. New houses, new streets, new parks, new 
 everything, sprang into being as if a wand of enchantment 
 was the royal sceptre. To borrow money for all this was 
 easy, for the increase of business was to make everybody 
 rich, and to go in debt has no terrors when wealth to pay it 
 with is sure to come. Among other improvements, this 
 splendid highway, winding up and among these beautiful hills,
 
 250 1RMNMUS LETTERS. 
 
 was made, with solid stone footpaths on both sides of it, 
 rows of trees planted the entire distance, gardens of exquisite 
 beauty made at intervals, with fountains, walks and seats, 
 marble stairways with costly embellishments, and on the 
 wide esplanade at the summit statues and other adornments, 
 making the way from Florence to San Miniato to rival any 
 route in ancient Rome, and unsurpassed by any pathway in 
 modern times. In a few years the Court moved on to Rome, 
 and Victor Emanuel, pushing the Pope out of the chair of 
 State in which he had no right to sit, established himself in 
 the Quirinal Palace in the city profanely called "the eternal." 
 The King having departed, Florence stock went down. 
 Everything went down but the taxes and prices. All these 
 ''improvements" had to be paid for, or at least the interest 
 on the debts, and the taxes now on real estate amount often 
 to one half of a man's income. I have taken some pains 
 to inquire into the methods and amount of taxation, and 
 have ascertained that Florence and New York are the most 
 heavily burdened with taxation of any two cities within my 
 knowledge. And the parallel is more complete when we 
 know that this is the result of needless, wasteful and unjusti 
 fiable expenditures in the way of city "improvements." 
 Public, like private, extravagance tends only to poverty, and 
 there is very little pleasure in having a thing which costs 
 more than it comes to, and must be paid for. But let us get 
 on, and leave these people to pay for the road: it is a grand 
 one, any way, and we will make the most of it. 
 
 Years and years ago, five hundred, yes, more than a thou 
 sand years ago, this hill-top was crowned with a church and 
 monastery, and in all the intervening years, since the seventh 
 century at least, it has been a famous holy place to which 
 pilgrims of high and low degree resort. Once on a time the 
 special favor was granted of a full and gracious indulgence to 
 every one who came up here from Florence, on foot, on Fri 
 day, and said a little prayer. And that day became a great 
 day for San Miniato. Miniato was an Armenian Prince in the 
 army of the Roman Emperor Decius, and being accused of 
 being a Christian, he was thrown into the amphitheatre to be
 
 SAN MINI A TO AND VALLOMBROSA. 2 5 1 
 
 devoured by a panther. But the legend is that the panther 
 would not touch him. The Roman army was at that time 
 encamped on this hill near Florence. Miniato was then boiled 
 in a cauldron, but it didn't hurt him. Then he was hung, 
 then he was stoned, then he was shot with javelins. He sur 
 vived them all, and was all the more a Christian. Then he 
 was beheaded, and that killed him, A.D. 254. I have read of 
 many saints who could not be put to death in any other 
 way than by cutting off their heads. That almost always 
 was fatal. 
 
 At the time I am now writing of, Florence was as wicked a 
 city as the world knew. The rich and the noble spent most 
 of their time in voluptuous pleasures ; men and women were 
 alike licentious and fond of blood. On Friday they were 
 wont to go on foot, fair women and brave men, on a spree or 
 holiday, making a pilgrimage to San Miniato, where they got 
 the sins of the past week forgiven, and a new permit for the 
 next. All the way booths were set up for the sale of fancy 
 goods and drinks, and the poor made gains by selling to the 
 rich who flirted and revelled, courted and quarrelled, as they 
 came and went on this pious pilgrimage. 
 
 Charlemagne took great pains to endow and improve this 
 place. Hildebrand, a Florentine bishop, in the nth century 
 rebuilt the church, which is now, with all the riches and reli 
 gion of ten centuries since expended in and about it, one of 
 the most splendid monuments of sacred art and architecture. 
 Its pillars and many of its decorating marbles were brought 
 from ancient Roman edifices, the pagan temples paying 
 tribute to the Christian church; there is no other like this 
 in Italy, arches over the nave joining smaller arches, binding 
 the whole : the crypt being of more importance and splendor 
 than the church, and on the same level with the main floor, 
 the sanctuary being on the floor above, reached by a sump 
 tuous marble stairway. The mosaic over the high altar re 
 minds us of Oriental, barbaric gorgeousness. The whole 
 interior is divested of the sense of solemnity and awe inspired 
 by the simple grandeur of less costly shrines. 
 
 The nave is wholly given up to the burial of the wealthy
 
 252 tRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 dead, the entire floor being made of marble slabs, grave 
 stones on which epitaphs of affection and respect are 
 inscribed. Many of the slabs are continually decorated with 
 gaudy artificial flowers, which admirably represent the 
 mourning of friends for friends long since forgotten. And 
 all around the church are tombs, with some fine marble 
 monuments. The grave is built up with brick and cement, 
 and the coffin let in, on which the marble slab is then placed 
 and secured. 
 
 Michael Angelo ought to be the patron saint of Florence, 
 so fond are the Florentines of fastening his name to every 
 thing they can, in and about town. His lightest word and 
 even his look are kept on record for the honor of every 
 object that was so fortunate as to win his notice. One church 
 is called his " Bride." This he called " la bella Villanela." 
 To a statue he said " March," and the command is recorded, 
 though the statue has never moved a step. But the old bell- 
 tower of this church has a right to be called Michael Angelo's, 
 for it bore a conspicuous part in the siege of Florence, which 
 occurred when he was the leading man of science and art in 
 this city. It overlooks the city, and from it the movements 
 of the besiegers could be watched to great advantage. 
 Against it they directed their engines with which huge stone 
 balls were hurled: shaking the tower from summit to base. 
 Michael Angelo had charge of the defences of the city, and, 
 with the genius of Gen. Andrew Jackson, he had woollen 
 mattresses suspended on the sides of the tower, and these 
 protected it from the shock and saved it from destruction. 
 The like result followed the use of bales of cotton at New 
 Orleans, Jan. 8, 1815. 
 
 In the year of our Lord 1070, Giovanni Gualberto (perhaps 
 John Gilbert), son of one of the noble and wealthy families 
 of Florence, and who had given himself to wild and reckless 
 dissipation, was one of the many pilgrims, on Good Friday, 
 to the shrine of San Miniato. A trip on foot to the top of 
 the hill was a pleasure trip when, as I have said, the 
 beauty and fashion of this voluptuous city made a holiday of 
 it, and went in crowds to get the forgiveness of their sins,
 
 SAN MINIATO AND VALLOMBROSA. 253 
 
 and to lay in a good stock of indulgences for as many more. 
 It happened that Giovanni's brother Hugh had had a slight 
 unpleasantness with a friend, who ran him through the heart 
 with a dagger ; and, as a matter of course, Hugh died of the 
 wound in less than no time. The murder was no secret, but 
 the fight was fair, and unless Hugh's friends chose to avenge 
 it, the gentlemanly murderer would not be troubled about it. 
 On this road to San Miniato Giovanni Gualberto encountered 
 the murderer of his brother, and proceeded to serve him as 
 his brother had been served; that is, to run him through 
 with a dagger which he drew for that purpose. The un 
 happy man being unarmed, and therefore quite unable to pro 
 tect himself against the steel that was coming dangerously 
 near to his person, fell on his knees before his executioner, 
 and extending both his arms in the form of a cross, begged 
 his enemy to remember that Christ died on that sacred day, 
 and for His sake to have pity on him and spare his life. 
 This wild young man dropped his dagger, embraced his 
 brother's murderer, and together they went up to the church, 
 and kneeling before the crucifix, implored the pardon of 
 their sins. The testimony of tradition is that the wooden 
 image bowed its head in token of forgiveness. And so 
 deeply was the youth affected by the miracle, that he forsook 
 all his evil ways, and became forthwith a monk of the monks 
 in the Convent of San Miniato. These monks proving to be 
 not good enough for him to keep company with, he obtained 
 permission to found another monastery, and this he did in 
 the delicious solitude of Vallombrosa ! 
 
 What a train of pleasing associations starts with the men 
 tion of that sweet name. It is a valley about a score of miles 
 east of Florence, high among higher mountains, with a tor 
 rent rushing through it : the hillsides are clothed with forest 
 trees, and rich pastures covered with flocks stretch into the 
 valley, which is always green : forests of chestnut, oak and 
 beech are passed on entering: and the road in the autumn is 
 covered deep with the falling leaves. When Milton visited 
 Italy in his youth he was in this valley, as thousands of trav 
 ellers have been since, and from it he drew one of his illustra-
 
 254 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 tions, now familiar as a household word : he says the rebel 
 angels 
 
 "lay entranced, 
 
 Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks 
 
 In Vallombrosa." 
 
 In this secluded paradise, far from the world's vain strife, 
 the once gay and rollicking John Gilbert came, and drawing 
 to his company a few other like-minded brethren, they began 
 the life of another kind of folly quite as profitless and as 
 little pleasing to God as the one they had forsaken. And 
 by and by the monastery was married to a convent, the 
 abbess of which granted the lands on which the monastery 
 stands. But, as usual, the nuns of San Ilaro so sadly forgot 
 their vows, that they had to be removed, and the relation of 
 the two institutions was dissolved. The founder died long 
 before this divorce, and, to the best of our knowledge, con 
 tinued to lead a quiet and orderly life until his death, which 
 event occurred in 1073, when he was aged 74 years. 
 
 Two good things are credited to this monastery of Vallom 
 brosa. It is said that the monks were the first to introduce 
 potatoes into Tuscany. That certainly was a blessing. I 
 never read of monks doing a better thing. The other bene 
 faction was the invention of the sol, fa, la, in music. Guido 
 Aretino, a distinguished musical composer, was a member of 
 this order. He first used lines and spaces in writing music, 
 and made what we call " the stave." Deacon Paul, in the 8th 
 century, composed a Latin hymn, which was sung to a par 
 ticular tune, and as it was often repeated, Aretino observed 
 that the music rose on the first syllable of each half line, 
 regularly, so as to make a gradually ascending scale of six 
 notes : he took those syllables and used them as the sounds 
 for the notes : the lines were 
 
 Ut queant laxis /vsonare fibris 
 Jffra. gestorum jfomuli tuorum, 
 Sofve polluti /abu reatum, 
 
 Sancte Johannes I
 
 SANTA CROCE AND THE INQUISITION. 255 
 
 Do was afterwards substituted for the ut, and si was added, 
 so that the scale is read 
 
 DO, RE, MI, FA, SOL, LA, SI. 
 
 The beauty of this valley is celebrated, but the season of 
 the year when I have been in Italy has always been unfavor 
 able for a visit, and I have never been to Vallombrosa. But 
 I have been to San Miniato, and the golden hues of the set 
 ting sun are now resting on its gates, and flooding our win 
 dows. 
 
 SANTA CROCE AND THE INQUISITION. 
 
 Florence, the beautiful, had never been darkened in my 
 mind by associations with the Inquisition. If I had ever 
 heard or read of that infernal institution, the beloved off 
 spring and pet of the Church of Rome, having its seat in 
 one of the fairest churches in the fairest city in the world, 
 the memory of it had happily faded away. It came upon 
 me as a discovery when I found that in Santa Croce it flour 
 ished five hundred long and dreary years : five centuries of 
 dark and dreadful wickedness done in God's name, wicked 
 ness that frightens mankind to know that such things were, 
 and may be done again, and will be, just as soon as the same 
 unrepentant and unchanging Church gets the power to do 
 its will. 
 
 The church is the Westminster Abbey of Florence, only 
 so called because it has the monuments of a few great men ; 
 the tomb of any one of whom would make a church or city 
 famous. Here Michael Angelo was brought to be buried at 
 his own request. He died at Rome, 90 years old, and the 
 Romans wished to have him buried there, but the Floren 
 tines smuggled his remains to his native city. In this church 
 he lay in state, and was then laid in the tomb of his family, 
 the Buonarotti. Dante's tomb by Canova is magnificent:
 
 256 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 Alfieri's also by the same sculptor ; here lies Machiavelli, 
 the historian and politician, who taught deception and cun 
 ning as necessary to success in public life. More illustrious 
 and worthy of renown than any of them is GALILEO, whose 
 name is written among the stars. Here he was buried, the 
 most of him certainly, though Vincensio carried off the 
 thumb and forefinger of his right hand as the members with 
 which Galileo wrote. The antiquarian Gori stole another 
 finger, which is now to be seen in the Museum of Natural 
 History. The pavement of the church is covered with mon 
 umental tablets to the memory of men and women whose 
 names are quite unknown. 
 
 In a circle over the main door of entrance is the monogram 
 in stone I. H. S., the familiar letters being the initials of 
 JESUS HOMINUM SALVATOR, "Jesus Saviour of Men." There 
 is a tradition that these letters were first employed in this 
 connection by St. Bernadine of Sienna, after the plague in 
 1437. He remonstrated with a maker of gambling cards for 
 pursuing such a trade, when the man replied, as thousands 
 of others do who follow injurious catlings, " I must live, you 
 know." But the saint told him he could show him a more 
 excellent way of getting a living. He wrote the letters I. H. S 
 on a bit of paper, explained their meaning, and told the 
 card-maker to paint them in gold upon cards and sell them. 
 They took amazingly, and the man made money and sold no 
 more gambling cards. And this reminds me of a better 
 story still, in which no saint figures, but I had a word in it. 
 
 In the city of Newark, N. J., I was riding with two ladies 
 of a very devotional turn of mind, and strongly inclined to 
 the Romanized school of church-women. We had occasion 
 to pause for a moment in front of the largest wholesale 
 grocery store on Broad street. Said one of the ladies to the 
 other, " This is a good place ; I love to see such holy feeling 
 mingled with business." 
 
 " To what do you allude ?" said I, being quite at a loss to 
 comprehend the occasion of their religious emotion. 
 
 " Observe," she answered, "the sacred letters I. H. S. on 
 every box and barrel."
 
 SANTA CROCE AND THE INQUISITION. 257 
 
 I saw it was even so ; but, alas, her sentiment was spoiled 
 when I informed her that the man who kept the store re 
 joiced in the name of JOHN H. STEPHENS. 
 
 Cimabue's portrait of St. Francis, and Giotto's fresco of 
 the death of John the Baptist, are the greatest treasures of 
 art in the church. Among the very earliest works that com 
 mand the admiration of the ages, these have come down to 
 us through six hundred years, and as they were studied with 
 reverent regard by the masters of the I5th and i6th centu 
 ries, we may be sure as there were great warriors before 
 Agamemnon, so great painters wrought well before Rafael 
 or Michael Angelo. But it must be frankly admitted that it 
 requires some artistic genius to discover the marvellous 
 beauties that glorify the early schools of painting, and to 
 the unanointed eye their chief value appears to lie in show 
 ing us by what majestic strides the art advanced in those 
 two hundred years between Cimabue and "the Transfigura 
 tion." 
 
 The sun was shining brightly and filling the place with 
 warmth and light as we escaped from the cold, dark, damp 
 church into the square surrounded by the cloisters. It was 
 actually a pleasant spot, though the walls were lined with 
 epitaphs, and the rooms associated with the gloomiest 
 periods of human history. For here in this sunny spot was 
 set up the Inquisition, with all its terrors: here, during the 
 years that wore along from 1284 to 1782, the Holy Office, as 
 that most unholy tribunal was called, held its mysterious 
 seat, and in the name of religion enacted crimes that nothing 
 short of Infinite mercy can ever forgive. 
 
 The Inquisition was not a court existing in one city or 
 country only. It was conceived in Rome, where the Mystery 
 of Iniquity has its hiding place still, and then its cheerful 
 offices were extended to other countries where the civil 
 power, subordinated to the church, would obey when the 
 church demanded that its members should be disciplined in 
 dungeons or in fire. 
 
 In the gallery of the Marchese Caponi's palace in Florence, 
 many years ago, I saw a 'picture that has haunted me ever
 
 258 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 since. I do not intend to see it again. It often comes to 
 me in night watches, when visions of distant years and cities 
 stand up before the eyes of the soul, and say, "Here, look 
 on me once more." It is the picture of a woman, sitting on 
 the floor with her hands clasped about her knees, her head 
 sinking upon her breast : a small lamp dying out at her feet 
 gives light enough to disclose the truth that the fair sufferer 
 is in a dungeon, walled up and left to perish ! Who is she ? 
 Is it the horrible fancy of some artist to make a sensational 
 picture ? Is it fiction founded on some domestic tragedy ? 
 No, it is a veritable passage in the history of Santa Croce, 
 a chapter in the chronicles of this beautiful Florence, a 
 page in the annals of the gentle and Christ-like Church of 
 Rome ! ! ! Shall I tell you the story ? 
 
 THE STORY OF FAUSTINA. 
 
 She was young and beautiful, in a humble walk of life, 
 endowed with genius, and by diligent study she had fitted 
 herself to give instruction to the youth of her own sex. 
 
 In Florence, in the early part of the seventeenth century, 
 the morals of priests and people were alike corrupt, and 
 virtue was quite as rare as Solomon said it was among the 
 women of his day. More than four thousand nuns filled the 
 convents. The convents were governed by the monasteries 
 that were swarming with monks. The civil power sought 
 to separate the kindred institutions, so great was the scan 
 dal, but the Church was the superior authority, and monks 
 and nuns had it their own way. 
 
 Faustina was not a nun. It was no unusual circumstance 
 in those days for the daughters of the proudest families to 
 separate themselves, nominally, from the world by taking 
 upon them the vows of holy orders. Young men fled from 
 the conflicts of business, and wars, and society, to the ease, 
 the plenty and the pleasures of monastic life. The garb of 
 the devotee was merely a cloak for selfish indulgence, and 
 no class of persons had more comforts and luxuries and 
 entertainments than these religious, who merely assumed
 
 SANTA CROCE AND THE INQUISITION. 259 
 
 the life of seclusion that they might be idle and well fed 
 without labor or care. 
 
 Such was not the spirit or the purpose of Faustina Mai- 
 nardi. Her early reading had inspired her with a desire to 
 lead the young of her own sex to the higher enjoyments which 
 she herself had found in books and the pursuit of art, and 
 at a very early age she gathered a school in which she taught 
 v/ith the devotion and success of one who is under the influ 
 ence of a higher motive than the pursuit of gain. Young 
 women under her care, in successive years became infused 
 with her love of the beautiful and true ; they sought wisdom, 
 knowledge and skill for the good that was in them, and the 
 joy they give to expanding minds. 
 
 The priests had their hands upon every thing in those evil 
 times. The holiest places of home were not too secret to 
 escape their intrusion. Then as now the confessional made 
 the priest the ruler in every household. The master of all 
 the thoughts as well as the actions, it is the easiest thing in 
 the world for the priest to become the tryant of the family, 
 and to make the weak, the superstitious and religious, sub 
 missive to his will. Men are not as subject to the priests as 
 women are. In Italy to-day the men do not frequent the 
 confessional. Women are still its dupes and victims. The 
 serpent is creeping into the Church of England and silly 
 women are led captive by the Priest in Absolution, who 
 extorts the secrets of the heart by the awful lie that sin can 
 not be forgiven unless confessed to him. This has been the 
 real Inquisition of the Church of Rome in all the dreadful 
 ages through which her power has been oerpetuated among 
 the families of the earth. 
 
 Among the learned and accomplished divines who filled 
 the pulpits and ministered at the altars of Florence in 1645, 
 there was one who had won great reputation as a preacher 
 and a director of schools for the young. This fascinating, 
 saintly and distinguished priest, the Canon Pandolfo Rica- 
 soli, had no difficulty in adding to his other very agreeable 
 duties of the same nature, the spiritual oversight of the 
 school of which Faustina was the teacher. It was the sad
 
 260 IKENJEUS LETTERS. 
 
 but too natural result of this association that she who first 
 sought in the priest a guide and helper, pouring her heart 
 and soul into his ear, as her confessor, should gradually 
 come to make known to him those romantic feelings and 
 passions which would never have ripened into evil had they 
 not been inspired and stimulated by a crafty, designing and 
 unprincipled man. Under his despotic power, her conscience 
 was perverted and she became his tool and accomplice in 
 the corruption of the young and tender minds committed to 
 her care. As their spiritual director he received their " con 
 fessions," and as the innocence of their simple natures was 
 opened into his ears, he poisoned them, and so led them 
 into sin and misery. Alas ! for the depravity of human 
 nature. Shame it is that such a fact should be on record in 
 the annals of any church, in any age of the world. 
 
 This proud and wicked priest the confessor of these young 
 women, was, by the laws of his church, and in spite of his own 
 deep depravity, such was the power of superstition over him, 
 constrained to confess the secrets of his soul to a brother 
 priest ! How the plot thickens, and the policy and craft of 
 the Church are displayed as we trace the system in its suc 
 cessive steps. The Canon Ricasoli revealed in confession to 
 Father Marius the pleasures in which he was indulging in 
 the school which it was his duty to watch over with pious 
 solicitude : he knew it was very wicked for him to abuse his 
 sacred office, and the confidence reposed in him by the 
 parents of these precious youth. But he had led this bad 
 life with the knowledge that if he confessed his sins in secret 
 he would have absolution : to return to his sins and be again 
 forgiyen. In the weakness of his vanity, it had never 
 occurred to the learned and popular Ricasoli that his stand 
 ing in Florence had excited the envy and therefore the 
 hatred of his brethren, who would rejoice in his downfall. 
 The secrets of the confessional were regarded as sacred even 
 in those times of general corruption, but there was not a 
 priest then, as there is not a priest now, who would not use 
 the confessional for \hzgood of the Chitrch, though the ruin 
 of individuals and families might also be the result. When
 
 SANTA CROCE AND THE INQUISITION. 261 
 
 'Father Mariushad theeloqucnt Canon Ricasoli in his power, 
 he was not slow in betraying him to his -superiors. 
 
 At this period, the Inquisition was in full vigor. Father 
 Marius informed against Ricasoli, and he was brought before 
 the dreaded court. Faustina was arrested also and with 
 Ricasoli was accused of corrupting the minds of the young 
 women of her school. If the words of the blessed Master 
 had been addressed to the judges, not one of them could 
 have said a word against this erring woman ; " Let him that 
 is without sin cast the first stone." But the occasion was 
 too good for them to lose the opportunity of shov.-ing zeal 
 for morality, and in an age of general dissoluteness among 
 priests and people they resolved to make an example of the 
 priest and his victim. When we remember the power which 
 a priest now has, and then had, over the conscience of a 
 weak and gentle and confiding woman who looks up to him 
 as her teacher, her father in God and the guide of her soul, 
 it is right to say that the sin was largely his, and that he 
 should bear the punishment which human tribunals would 
 inflict. But the Inquisition never knew the attribute of 
 mercy. It lived only to destroy. 
 
 Its proceedings were for the most part conducted in secresy 
 the most profound. Into their gloomy chambers Faustina 
 was taken for examination, and the rack would have stretched 
 her joints with torture had she denied the charge. But 
 what had the poor thing to do, except to admit, as she did 
 most freely, that she had been guilty of every thing of which 
 she was accused : she had obeyed the priest whom she hon 
 ored as one who had the Spirit of God, and she now bewailed 
 her sin and surrendered herself to the judges. 
 
 The Refectory of Santa Croce is the largest hall in the 
 convent. It is in the same state now in which it was in 
 November 1641, when it was the scene of Faustina's condem 
 nation and sentence. At the end of the long room is a paint 
 ing of the Last Supper, by Giotto, admired as one of his best 
 preserved and masterly works. Above it is another picture, 
 the Crucifixion, and at the sides are frescoes of Saint Bene 
 dict and Saint Francis. They have all been on these walls
 
 262 IRJZNEUS LETTERS. 
 
 more than four hundred years. In the centre of the great 
 hall was raised a platform or scaffold, hung with black dra 
 pery as for the exhibition of a corpse. The Inquisitors were 
 seated in elevated chairs around it. The Cardinal, the chiefs 
 of the Medici family, priests, nobles and dignitaries of the 
 city, filled the room. On the platform in the midst of this 
 assembly the guilty priest, Ricasoli, and the miserable Faus 
 tina were placed : they were dressed in robes painted all over 
 with hideous devils and flames. Then they were made to 
 kneel before the Grand Inquisitor, while a Monk, in a deep 
 sepulchral voice, read aloud the crimes which they had com 
 mitted and had confessed. The sentence was pronounced 
 and carried into immediate execution. 
 
 Underneath the chambers of the Inquisition, was a row 
 of dungeons where wretched victims were confined to await 
 their trial, and to which those were consigned whose fate 
 was to escape the penalty of death, and drag out a miserable 
 existence in these subterranean cells. No light penetrated 
 them. Air enough was allowed to protract their sufferings. 
 These dungeons are now to be seen in many old castles, and 
 palaces and prisons in Europe. It was not uncommon for a 
 feudal lord to have some of his enemies in dungeons under 
 neath the floor on which he and his family were feasting. I 
 have been in many of these cold, damp, dismal cells, and 
 have wondered how frail women or even strong men could 
 endure a month, not to speak of years, in such a horrid den, 
 with scant food, the stone floor the only bed. 
 
 Into such a dungeon Faustina was led. It was but six feet 
 long and four or five feet wide. The door was narrow, the 
 walls were stone. She was left with a lamp in her hand and 
 a crucifix on which she fastened her eyes in despair, no. hope. 
 Her pleas for mercy, her agonizing struggle, against her 
 awful doom were all in vain. The pikes of the rude officials 
 would have subdued her had she offered the least resistance 
 to the stern decree. In silence and woe unspeakable she 
 stood in the living tomb, while with swift and cruel hands 
 the opening by which she had entered, was walled up with 
 solid masonry, and she was left to suffocate or starve. The
 
 THE CHURCH AND CLOISTERS OF ST. MARK. 263 
 
 men who had doomed her to this horrid fate, ministers of 
 God, high priests of Him who died for sinners, sat in their 
 chairs of office, till the work was done, and then went to 
 dinner. 
 
 The Canon Ricasoli was condemned to the same fate, and 
 the sentence was carried into effect. 
 
 Scarcely more than two centuries have passed away since 
 these events occurred in this lovely city of Florence. Not a 
 century has yet sped its course since the Inquisition was 
 suppressed. Its infernal work was going on until the year 
 1782. God grant that it may never be restored ! 
 
 THE CHURCH AND CLOISTERS OF ST. MARK. 
 
 We met a fat and flourishing monk as we came out from 
 the pharmacy of St. Mark. He was going in, but surely had 
 no need of medicine; and as we made some remark upon his 
 personal appearance, our Italian cicerone said, with a laugh, 
 " they dine well." 
 
 When the present government of Italy set aside the tem 
 poral and wretched rule of the Pope, it suppressed the monas 
 teries and convents, applying their funds to religious purposes 
 for the good of the people. The monks and nuns were pen 
 sioned, and in some cases were allowed to occupy rooms in 
 the cloisters they had long inhabited. But their corporate 
 existence being destroyed, they are no longer able to hold 
 property as an order or society, and so will gradually die 
 out. 
 
 This monastery has a strange fascination. Its history is 
 rich, marvellous and romantic. We have just come from it, 
 full of it. Its walls are covered with the handiwork of artists 
 whose names are imperishable. Its cells are lighted up with 
 the halo of martyrs. 
 
 From these halls three great and holy men, one the prior of 
 the convent, were brought out, hanged and burnt, because 
 they denounced the foul corruptions of the Church of Rome.
 
 264 I RENAL US LETTERS. 
 
 And this, too, when Martin Luther was only fifteen years 
 old. 
 
 The church itself is not large, but it has works of art and 
 monuments that attract attention. The crucifix by Giotto 
 over the front door made him famous as greater than Cima- 
 bue, his patron and teacher. John of Bologna designed the 
 altars and wrought the statue of St. Antonio. Passignano 
 and Jacopo da Empoli, and the beloved Fra Bartolomeo, 
 have left their works upon the walls. These are the walls 
 that resounded with the fiery eloquence of Savonarola, on 
 whose lips the Florentines hung with rapture, or with sobs 
 and wails of repentant anguish ; or, roused to frenzy, they 
 rushed from the house to burn the books and paintings he 
 condemned. 
 
 The convent is preserved in its ancient state as a Museum 
 and a monument. Its rich library is a storehouse of manu 
 scripts and volumes of priceless value. But the frescoes are 
 the chief treasures. Fra Angelico was a monk of this house 
 and order. So was Fra Bartolomeo. Fra is the short for 
 frater, brother. Angelico's work is lovely even in its decay. 
 What angels he paints ! angelical they are, and he is there 
 fore named Angelico. We find great frescoes by these and 
 other artists of renown in the hall and refectory, and on the 
 walls of the cells. These are little chambers, some ten feet 
 square, with one small window in each, a cold brick floor, 
 and a recess in the wall where once stood a lamp and crucifix. 
 Into one of these cells the proud Medici were wont to retire 
 at times, for a retreat from the luxury of their artistic and 
 elegant life, to spend a few days and nights in meditation and 
 prayer. St. Antonino's cell is here, with portraits, manuscripts, 
 and other memorials. One, and another, and another monk, 
 illustrious in the history of the Romish Church, once lodged 
 in these cells. 
 
 At the end of the long hallway we enter a room in which 
 is placed a marble monument to Savonarola. It is more 
 than a monument to him. It testifies the decay of Romish 
 power : for the man commemorated in marble, whose portrait 
 and two busts are here cherished as sacred, was put to death 
 by the Church, after being stripped of his robes, and degraded
 
 THE CHURCH AND CLOISTERS OF ST. MARK. 265 
 
 publicly and officially from her ministry. The next room was 
 his study when he was Prior of St. Mark. Such change has 
 come over the face of things, and the heart of things, in Italy, 
 that monasteries are suppressed by law, and men who were 
 persecuted to death by the Church of Rome are honored, 
 and their execution exalted into martyrdom. Strangers from 
 a world that was discovered while Savonarola was pleading 
 for the Reformation of the Church, now make pilgrimages to 
 the cell hallowed by his prayers and tears; the cell from 
 which he was taken when, with the anathemas of the Church 
 on his head, he was put to death. I am so full of the story 
 that you must read it : I will make it as brief as possible. 
 
 THE MARTYR OF SAN MARCO. 
 
 Girolamo Savonarola began to preach in the year (1483) 
 when Martin Luther was born. He was a native of Ferrara, 
 Italy, was educated at Bologna, and preached his first ser 
 mon in the church of San Lorenzo in Florence. As he be 
 came one of the most eloquent men of ancient or modern 
 times, it will encourage the feeble beginner to learn that he 
 made a total failure at the start. His audiences dropped 
 away, displeased with his piping voice and awkward manner. 
 He said of himself afterwards : " I had neither voice, lungs, nor 
 style. My preaching disgusted every one. I could not have 
 moved so much as a chicken." Yet this man afterwards con 
 quered kings by his eloquence, and men sought the crown 
 of martyrdom under the wonderful power of his words. 
 
 He was the great Reformer preceding the advent of Luther. 
 He came to the front when the corruption of the Church of 
 Rome was so deep, wide and awful that no human tongue or 
 pen, without divine inspiration, is equal to its description. 
 And in this age of the world no decent page can receive the 
 record. 
 
 Savonarola had the material of a great orator and a great 
 reformer in him and he knew it. Overcoming by severe 
 train ing the obstacles that threatened his success, and filled 
 with the spirit of a saint, a hero, and a martyr, he put his 
 life into the work of reviving the Church and giving free-
 
 266 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 dom to the people. He believed in God and in himself. 
 More than this, he believed that God spoke by him as a pro 
 phet when he threatened judgments to come unless the 
 Church repented and despots gave freedom to the oppressed. 
 
 Apostates, and not apostles, sat in the chair of St. Peter. 
 While Savonarola was acquiring knowledge in the convent at 
 Bologna, and by fasting and prayer, and holy meditation, was 
 being trained for his great mission, the Church was governed 
 by Sixtus IV., profligate, avaricious, and wicked, whose 
 shameless vices filled the young and pious student with hor 
 ror, and stimulated his resolution to lead a crusade in the 
 Church to save the cross. That wretch of a Pope died the 
 year after Savonarola, preached his first sermon. Innocent 
 VIII. succeeded him. The only innocence in him was in his 
 name. Bribery and perjury were the price he paid for the 
 chair. He took an oath beforehand that he would not exer 
 cise the power of absolving himself : and when he was elected 
 he absolved himself from that oath and then gave himself up 
 to all manner of evil, forgiving his own sins and sinning the 
 more. In these mighty ministers of iniquity, sitting in the 
 seat of the high priests in the temple of the Most Holy, claim 
 ing to hold the keys of heaven in their unclean hands, the 
 young enthusiast saw the fulfilment of the visions of St. 
 John in Patmos. 
 
 Then rose to the throne of the Church a man, a monster, 
 whose name, after the lapse of three hundred and fifty years, 
 still reeks with infamy, as the vilest and most beastly of the 
 sons of men. The pagan emperors of Rome had produced 
 occasional specimens of human beings in whom varieties of 
 vice were developed, as avarice, cruelty, lust, and revenge. 
 But it remained for the Church to beget a son, and raise 
 him to be its high priest and king, in whom dwelt all con 
 ceivable sins and shame, a disgrace to the human family, and 
 an everlasting evidence of what infernal wickedness may be 
 in man abandoned of God to work all uncleanness with 
 greediness. Yet was the Church itself so rotten, hierarchy, 
 priests and people, they hailed as a god the advent of this 
 Titan of sin, when he bought his way to the Papal chair, and
 
 THE CHURCH AND CLOISTERS OF ST. MARK. 267 
 
 with the infamy of unmentionable vices on his name already, 
 Alexander VI., in the person of Roderigo Borgia, became the 
 head of the Church of Rome. There never was but one good 
 thing possible to be said of him. He was not a hypocrite. 
 Sitting in the temple of God, so called, he professed to be 
 nothing else than the incarnation of Satan, adding to all the 
 vices of which the devil would be guilty, those crimes of which 
 human beings alone are capable. Without disguise, restraint 
 or shame, his crimes were limited only as the ability of the 
 man was less than the will of the monster. He would have 
 plucked the Virgin from the choir of heaven and torn up its 
 streets of gold, to gratify his lust and greed. And this human 
 demon was the head of the Church on earth, and the Church 
 adored him. He was and the Church was then as truly 
 infallible as the Pope is now, or as the Church ever was. 
 Not an attribute of wisdom, truth, and righteousness vests in 
 that Church or its head to-day, that did not, by every right, 
 belong to it when Alexander VI. came to its throne in 1492, 
 and by his matchless wickedness defied God and astounded 
 the world. 
 
 Among the few, the very few, in the Church who sighed and 
 cried for the abominations that were done in the midst of 
 her was Savonarola, now a monk and preacher in Brescia. 
 The Medici family had reigned in Florence a hundred years, 
 swaying the sceptre in a nominal republic with regal power, 
 surrounding themselves with priceless luxuries, gathering the 
 arts and sciences to the embellishment of their palaces and 
 city, cultivating letters and philosophy, and transmitting their 
 wealth and power to successive generations. To overturn 
 them and restore the government to the people, was the 
 dream of many, and when all other means failed, the pecu 
 liarly Italian system of assassination was attempted. The 
 papal government was externally friendly to the Medici, but, 
 as always, its friendship was hollow and deceitful, Pope, car 
 dinals and bishops, conspired to hire a band of murderers to 
 assassinate the two brothers, Guilianoand Lorenzo de Medici, 
 in the midst of the celebration of the blessed sacrament, in 
 the temple of God. One of them was slain. Lorenzo was
 
 268 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 wounded, but not fatally. The conspirators were seized and 
 seventy of them were put to death the next day. The arch 
 bishop and two of his fellow murderers were hanged out of 
 one of the palace windows. The sympathies of Savonarola 
 were with the friends of popular liberty. Lorenzo, wishing 
 to glorify Florence with the most eloquent as well as the 
 most ingenious and learned men, invited Savonarola to be the 
 Prior of St. Mark, a convent which Lorenzo had founded. 
 He came. But the honor thus conferred did not silence or 
 weaken his denunciation of the sins of the times. No pro 
 phet in the days of Israel's degeneracy ever spoke with more 
 boldness and decision than he. Lorenzo sought to soothe 
 and to win him. Day after day the great man, called the 
 Magnificent, came to the garden of the convent to converse 
 with the Prior, who was accustomed there to teach his breth 
 ren and disciples. When Lorenzo came, Savonarola would 
 retire to his cell. Blandishments were lavished on him in 
 vain. He denounced the vices of the times, and in his fiery 
 zeal the ascetic enthusiast blazed into fanaticism, and he con 
 founded things innocent and beautiful with the sensual and 
 voluptuous. So fervid and irresistible were his appeals that 
 thousands of the Florentines brought their gems of art, splen 
 did paintings, the works of great masters, mosaics and jewels 
 of gold and silver and precious stones, as well as their 
 instruments of gaming, licentious books and pictures, what 
 ever ministered to the passions and aesthetic tastes, and made 
 one grand holocaust, in the public square, and burned them 
 before the Lord! In these funeral pyres, these burnt sacrifices 
 of ignorance and superstition, many books and paintings 
 were consumed that art and learning and genius have never 
 replaced. But these were the faults of excessive and unen 
 lightened zeal. Bartolomeo, one of the finest painters of that 
 or any other age, was so moved by the great reformer's words, 
 that he burned his own magnificent creations, and became a 
 monk in the cloisters of St. Mark. Four years he refused to 
 paint at all, lest he should minister to an unhallowed taste. 
 He was ordered by his superior to resume his art, or the gal 
 leries would now want some of their most glorious paintings.
 
 THE CHURCH AND CLOISTERS OF ST. MARK. 269 
 
 Savonarola thundered in the ears of the affrighted people 
 that the day of doom was at hand. He read in the Book of 
 the Revelation the plagues that were coming upon Rome and 
 Florence and the whole Church on account of their sins. 
 And then death came to the palace of Lorenzo de Medici, and 
 he sent for the Prior of St. Mark to confess him in his mortal 
 agony. Savonarola yielded to the request of him dying 
 whom he would not obey in the plenitude of his wealth and 
 power. 
 
 " Dost thou believe with all thine heart?" asked the monk 
 of the dying prince. And Lorenzo said he did. " Wilt thou 
 restore all thou hast taken from others unlawfully?" The 
 spoiler of cities remembered the treasures of art with which 
 Florence was enriched and adorned, but he groaned an 
 unwilling promise. "And wilt thou give back to Florence 
 her liberty and free government by the people?" Lorenzo 
 thought of heaven and hell, his proud spirit revolted at the 
 terms on which absolution was offered, and he refused to 
 answer. The stout-hearted monk went away: left his patron 
 to die unshriven. 
 
 The Pope heard again and again of the denunciations 
 heaped on his head by the eloquent monk. He warned him 
 to desist. Savonarola replied that he expected death to be 
 the reward of his faithfulness to duty, and it had no terrors. 
 The Pope sent a messenger to Florence with the offer to the 
 Prior of a cardinal's hat. The monk repelled the offer with 
 scorn. Two parties were formed in Florence fighting unto 
 blood, to resist and to defend the reform of the Church 
 which Savonarola preached. Charges of disobedience of 
 papal authority were brought against him. He was sum 
 moned to Rome, but refused to go. Crowds listened to his 
 sermons and with sobs and tears bewailed the sins of the 
 Church and their own sins that had incurred the wrath of 
 God. 
 
 With his progress as preacher and reformer, he became 
 more and more a fanatic. He had visions of angels and con 
 flicts with devils, and it was said of him, though he was care 
 ful not to say it of himself, that the Almighty condescended
 
 270 IRE N^. US LETTERS. 
 
 to speak with him face to face! The blessed Virgin was said 
 to have put a crown of martyrdom on his brow, and a dove 
 alighting on his shoulder whispered in his ear. His sermons 
 became rhapsodies. He led the people in public spiritual 
 dances, while they sang hymns and called with loud voices 
 for Christ to come. Signs in the heavens were seen in many 
 places, statues were bathed in sweat, women gave birth to 
 monsters, and the land trembled under the tread of invisible 
 armies with trumpets and drums. 
 
 The Pope threatened the flaming prophet with the terrors, 
 of the Church. The monk flung back his threats and declared, 
 with truth, and that was the worst of it, that the Pope and 
 his priests were worse than Turks and Moors. There is no 
 faith, he said, no love, no virtue, in Rome. It was true then, 
 it is true now. " If you would ruin your son, make him a 
 priest," exclaimed Savonarola, and the priests were so enraged 
 by his words that they resolved to get him out of the way by 
 fair means or foul. The Pope stirred up the people against 
 the monk whose testimony was terrible. Florence was threat 
 ened with the Papal curse, if it did not stop the preacher's 
 mouth. The magistrates were ordered to send him a prisoner 
 to Rome. They were his enemies and would gladly obey the 
 command. The priests of Florence refused to absolve or to 
 bury any who should listen to his preaching. But so much 
 the more did the multitudes throng the church of St. Mark. 
 The war was now openly declared, and Savonarola was an 
 acknowledged rebel against the Pope and the apostate 
 church. The result could not be doubtful. 
 
 It was on Palm Sunday, 1498, when the mob, set on fire by 
 the hostile priests, assailed the Convent of St. Mark. They 
 were met by a determined resistance, and some of them were 
 slain. The magistrates interfered and the riot was sup 
 pressed, but Savonarola and two of his brethren, Domenico 
 and Maruffi, were seized and thrust into prison. They were 
 brought to trial and subjected to the infernal tortures of the 
 inquisition to induce them to recant, and submit to the 
 authority of the Church. Savonarola's temperament was 
 unfitted to endure the rack, and as his joints were strained
 
 THE CHURCH AXD CLOISTERS OF ST. MARK. 271 
 
 and every nerve was wrung with agony his strength failed 
 and he was ready to recant, only to withdraw so soon as 
 he was released for a moment from the torture. One awful 
 night intervened, and the more fearful engines were applied 
 with the same result. "Lord!" he cried in his agony, "take 
 me to thyself." The three holy men were condemned to be 
 hanged and burned. 
 
 On the morning of May 22, 1498, they were led forth into 
 the grand square of the Signori to die. At daybreak they 
 had given to one another and received the Holy Communion, 
 and their faith was strengthened in the sacrament. The vast 
 crowd was not a mob only. Bishops, and priests and dele 
 gates from the Pope, in their robes of office, stood near the 
 sacrifice. The piazza, was then, as it is now, surrounded by 
 the palaces of the great and the wealthy. The noblest of them 
 all was the Palazzo Vecchio, in which the Gonfalonieri, or 
 superior magistrates, had their official residence. It was after 
 wards the royal house of the Medici. From the windows of 
 this palace the magistrates witnessed the awful scene. 
 
 As the hour drew nigh a solemn awe fell upon the people. 
 The friends of the martyrs gathered near to them, whispering 
 words of encouragement and mingling prayers with their 
 tears. Vasona, a bishop, once a pupil of Savonarola, stripped 
 them of their clerical garments and pronounced them 
 degraded from the sacred office. But when. the bishop said 
 to Savonarola, " I separate thee from the Church Militant and 
 the Church Triumphant," the martyr with a firm and loud 
 voice said, " from the Militant, but not from the Triumphant : 
 that thou canst not do." And when a friend asked him if he 
 went willingly to his death, he answered : " Should I not 
 willingly die for His sake who willingly died for me a sinful 
 man?" 
 
 In the midst of the square a scaffold was erected, and as if 
 in mockery of the death of our Blessed Lord, the places for 
 the three were so arranged that Savonarola should be exe 
 cuted in the midst and raised above the others, one on his 
 right hand, the other on his left. Silvestro ascended first and 
 exclaimed "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit." Do-
 
 272 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 menico took his place, and then Savonarola repeated the 
 Apostles' Creed, and as the words " the life everlasting" were 
 said, they were drawn up by the neck and strangled. Fag 
 gots heaped about the scaffold were now fired and the bodies 
 were consumed, dropping piece by piece into the flames. 
 When the awful scene was over, the ashes were gathered in a 
 cart and cast from the Old Bridge, into the Arno. 
 
 GOING TO ROME. 
 
 " All roads lead to Rome," is an old saying. It has a hid 
 den meaning that we will hope is not true. 
 
 Through many a long year when Europe was laced with 
 railways, the Pope would not suffer his petty States to be 
 disturbed with them, and the road to Rome was worse than 
 in the days of the Caesars. In the year 1853 the best route 
 to the capital was by sea to Civita Vecchia, and thence by 
 coach, forty miles, on a dreadful road. 
 
 But the march of time has left the .lumbering stages for 
 the mountains, and even the mountains are invaded now by 
 the railway. Over or under we go by rail through the Alps 
 and the Apennines ; the rocks on the seaboard are tunnelled, 
 and, instead of being tossed on the waves, we glide along the 
 caverns, cautioned only to keep heads and arms within, lest 
 they be left behind in the dark. 
 
 The rail connects Rome with Florence and the rest of the 
 world. It was a dull, dismal, winter morning, the last of 
 November, when we were called out of bed before daylight 
 to get breakfast and be off to the station. And by that per 
 versity of nature so common to his class, the porter who 
 called us mistook our rooms for some still more unfortunate 
 traveller's, and roused us an hour before the time. The 
 pleasures of travel and the delicious climate of Italy are 
 appreciated when one shivers over a cold breakfast by can 
 dle-light, crawls into the court-yard of his Albergo, mounts 
 the omnibus in a dripping rain, and is dragged, with an enor-
 
 GOING TO ROME. 273 
 
 mous load of trunks, to the station half an hour before the 
 time of starting. The waiting-room has frescoed walls and 
 mosaic floors, with interworked inscriptions, and is as cold 
 as an icy sepulchre. The half hour of waiting is spent in 
 registering luggage, weighing and marking and paying. At 
 last the doors are opened, and rush is made for the best 
 seats. Then you suppose you are off. The time is up, but 
 some important functionary has not arrived : the car-doors 
 are locked : no cord or bell connects you in any way with 
 help if you want it ; you may have a crazy woman or a bandit 
 in the apartment, but there you must stay until the con 
 ductor strangely called a guard is pleased to release you 
 at some distant station. It was twelve minutes by the sta 
 tion time when the gold-laced officials touched their caps to 
 somebody who bustled into the train, and we were off. 
 
 It is a beautiful journey by rail from Florence to Rome. 
 But we cannot stop for half an hour at every place of inter 
 est, as we did ten or twelve years ago when posting through 
 Italy. Then we explored the quaint and curious old city 
 Montevanchi, and its museum of remains discovered in its 
 vicinity ; the elephant, hippopotamus, and the mastodon once 
 roamed these plains, and found their graves in which they 
 have slept undisturbed certainly for two thousand years. 
 But we did rest at Arezzo a few minutes, where Petrarch was 
 born, when his parents were in exile from Florence ; and the 
 friend of Horace and Virgil, Mecaenas, was born here, and 
 Vasari, and Benvenuti, and Leonardo Aretino. 
 
 Cortona's walls of gigantic stones have resisted the assaults 
 of war and time, and are just as good as ever. It has a 
 famous grotto, quite as genuine an article as many others in 
 Italy or Judea. It is a curious Etruscan building of huge 
 stones joined without cement, and named the Grotto of 
 Pythagoras. This gentle philospher preached the virtue and 
 duty of toleration, and the ancient Ottomans burned him alive 
 for holding and teaching such a pestilent heresy. The C<?rton- 
 ians of Italy, for the honor of having the philosopher as one 
 of their citizens, took to themselves the shame of putting 
 him to death. Such is history.
 
 274 I RE N^. US LETTERS. 
 
 The Lake of Thrasymene is skirted by the road, and we 
 talked over the great battle which was fought on its banks 
 by the Carthaginians under Hannibal, and the Romans under 
 Flaminius, B.C. 217. The streams that flow into the lake 
 ran red with blood, and an earthquake was unheeded in the 
 greater shock of battle. I forget how many bushels of rings 
 the victorious Africans took from the fingers of the slain 
 Roman nobles after the fight was over. 
 
 The old cities and villages we pass seem, from the road, 
 deserted and dying. Decay, like ivy, hangs on the walls and 
 roofs, and the dead past rises to view ; for the time was when 
 every acre of this ground lived with stalwart men, who went 
 out from these dead cities to the conquest of the world. 
 
 We are approaching Rome. Herds of mottled cattle roam 
 the plains. Ruins, the names of which are buried beneath 
 them, lie in the distance. Miles of ancient aqueducts, on 
 successive arches, seem to be marching across the campagna, 
 over the graves of twenty centuries. 
 
 It is just possible that some travellers may not be excited 
 on approaching Rome. It is a point with many persons to 
 be never excited. These oxen and buffaloes are not in the 
 least affected by their nearness to Rome. To be insensible 
 here is to be like them. Dr. Arnold writes that the day of 
 his arrival was " the most solemn and interesting" of his life. 
 Niebubr describes his emotions as overpowering. Chateau 
 briand says that the very dust of the city has something of 
 human grandeur. When Luther came to Rome he cried, as 
 he entered her gate, " I salute thee, O holy Rome, sacred 
 through the blood and tombs of the martyrs." 
 
 None of these thoughtful men came to Rome by rail. But 
 we had this in common with them, that the rush and clatter 
 of the cars did not destroy the sentiment of the approach to 
 the ETERNAL City. We were in such a train of thought 
 when the train rushed into the city, and we were disgorged 
 in front of the Baths of Diocletian. 
 
 I never look at Italy on the map without an intense sense of 
 wonder. Judea gave law to the world, but Judea's son was 
 the Man Divine. The philosophy of Greece has ruled in the
 
 GOING TO ROME. 275 
 
 thought of the world, but that was the power of mind in the 
 realm of mind. But Italy, an insignificant peninsula in an 
 inland tideless sea, a tongue of land shaped like a boot, and 
 compared with Europe only, is less than the foot to a man, 
 could and did speak the word which the whole world heard 
 and obeyed ; her armed legions marched forth to the con 
 quest of the nations : her yoke was on the neck of Germany, 
 Helvetia, Gaul and Britain ; and the multitudinous East, 
 with its barbaric wealth and splendor, submitted to her impe 
 rial sway : Africa and Asia, and all the earth, sent streams of 
 gold and fabulous treasures to make rich the cities and citi 
 zens of this diminutive country ; kings and queens were led 
 as captives through the streets of this Imperial Rome, and a 
 hundred temples dedicated to pagan gods were perfumed 
 with sacrifices of triumphant gratitude : here learning and 
 letters, the arts, poetry, eloquence and philosophy flourished 
 in their glory for the admiration and instruction of mankind, 
 as their yet unrivalled remains attest at this day. And when 
 the Christian religion subdued the Empire and mounted the 
 throne, it became the ruling faith of the world, sending out 
 its ministers among the nations, overturning kings and lord 
 ing it over the consciences of hundreds of millions of human 
 beings through protracted centuries, and even now, in its 
 corruption and decrepitude and apostasy, loaded with the 
 sins of simony and uncleanness and murder, and whatsoever 
 worketh abomination or maketh a lie ; drunk with the blood 
 of uncounted armies of saints who in its persecutions it has 
 sent up to the thrones of martyrs : staggering to its doom 
 under the blasphemous assumption of infallibility by which it 
 has insulted and defied the Only Wise God ; even yet and now 
 it stands like the imperial ruins of old Rome, majestic and 
 mighty in its age and decay, destined to be like those ruins 
 longer in perishing than in rising to the summit of its power. 
 It is an event in one's life to come to Rome. Pagan or 
 Papal, Jew, Heathen or Christian, he must be more or less 
 than a man who can come to Rome without emotion. And 
 with these and the like emotions, I drove away from the sta 
 tion to the Hotel Quirinal in Rome.
 
 276 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 THE ETERNAL CITY! WHY? 
 
 Probably there are writers wise enough to tell us why 
 Rome is called the " Eternal " City. Not recalling the reason 
 at this moment, and having no books to help me, I must 
 doubt the fact. So far from being without beginning, it is 
 certain that many other towns antedate it, and its end is 
 nearer to our day than its beginning. The Venerable Bede 
 copies and so preserves, as a fly is kept in amber, a prophecy 
 of Anglo-Saxon Pilgrims, which is in Latin, but in English is 
 too familiar for quotation ; 
 
 " While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; 
 When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; 
 And when Rome falls, the world." 
 
 The Coliseum is certainly good for another couple of 
 thousand years, if the Romans restore it from year to year, 
 as they do now, but Rome had its fall long time ago, and 
 the Coliseum is a ruin, but the world rolls on, while the 
 Eternal City is no more to the world than the fly on the cart 
 wheel. 
 
 The city once had four millions of inhabitants. It now 
 has two hundred and fifty thousand ! That does not read much 
 like the life of an eternal city. Its growth seems to be down 
 wards. Once on a time the fortunes of war left it with only 
 a thousand inhabitants. That was in the year 546, when 
 Totila, King of the Goths, captured it, after a long siege, and 
 found the city a desert. When its people were counted by 
 millions, everything flowed into it ; now nothing comes but 
 travellers and Peter's Pence. The Pence will cease, but the 
 travellers will come as the ruins multiply. The visitors bring 
 and leave a great sum of money every year, and the more as 
 they are robbed the more. Prices have doubled in ten years, 
 and travel in Italy, which once was cheaper than in any other 
 part of Europe, is now more expensive. The hotel charges 
 are enormous in Rome, quite as bad in Florence, and need 
 lessly high in all the cities. This tends to the decrease of
 
 THE ETERNAL CITY! WHY? 277 
 
 travel. The hotels raise their prices as the company falls 
 off. 
 
 Rome is said to be very unwholesome. There is a positive 
 panic on the subject. If the half be true that is said of peo 
 ple dying here, the city, so far from being eternal, is on its 
 death-bed now. In all the other cities of Italy the traveller 
 is warned against Rome. " The malaria is dreadful in Rome 
 just now," is the constant remark, and those who are on 
 their way to the city are frightened. If they come they are 
 afraid to stay. Fear helps them to be ill. Then there is a 
 hateful saying, " None but dogs and Englishmen walk in the 
 sun in Rome." That saying has killed many men and 
 women, tempting them to avoid the very life of Italy, the 
 warm, glorious, genial sun. Out of the sun is in the way to 
 getting a chill. And a chill is the forerunner of disease. It 
 is not dangerous to visit Rome for a few days at any season 
 of the year. But malaria does prevail in regions round 
 about the city from early summer until frost comes, and 
 invades the walls, except in the most crowded, the filthiest 
 quarters. There no stranger would stay, and the natives are 
 acclimated. The mortality among the settled population of 
 Rome is not in excess of other cities. Mr. Hooker, the banker, 
 Mr. Terry, the artist, and others who have resided here 
 thirty or forty years, regard the city as wholesome as any 
 other. Why, then, do so many travellers sicken and die 
 here, or carry away with them the seeds that afterwards bear 
 deadly fruit. Chiefly, because they are impriident. They do 
 those things they ought not to do, and leave undone many 
 that ought to be done, and no wonder they soon come to say 
 " there is no health in us." The one peculiarity of the Italian 
 climate to be kept ever in mind is, that the contrast between 
 the warmth in sun and shade is far greater than in England 
 or the United States. The sun does not smite by day : the 
 sun is life and health. But the sudden change from sunshine 
 to shade is a rush trom heat to cold, and the check of per 
 spiration is dangerous anywhere. Warm by walking in the 
 sun, we enter a church or gallery : the floors are stone, and 
 stone cold : we are chilled through and through as we stand
 
 278 IREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 with upturned faces, and aching feet, before paintings that 
 are on the ceiling, or on the high walls above our heads, and 
 we pursue this study of art hour after hour and day after day, 
 till we are worn out, and are obliged to send for the doctor. 
 We are victims of the Roman fever ! So the obituary notice 
 says, and we are added to the long roll of martyrs to the love 
 of art, who could not stand the climate of Rome. This is 
 the short of nine-tenths of the cases of disease and death 
 among the travellers who come to Rome for the purpose of 
 visiting the city. Many come because they are invalids 
 already, and most of these go away better than they came. 
 Some die, and their fate adds to the bad reputation of Rome. 
 But each Italian city to which foreigners resort has its 
 Protestant cemetery, and its monuments are covered with 
 inscriptions that tell us how vain it was to seek for life and 
 health in this lovely clime, when death has marked his vic 
 tim for the tomb. The Florence cemetery is full : and when 
 I was there a few weeks ago, three or four persons were 
 waiting burial while a new cemetery was in preparation. 
 England and the United States have peopled that Campo 
 Santo, and one also in Naples, and this one in Rome, where 
 the pyramid of Cestus stands as it did when Paul was led by 
 it to his execution. Turn to Conybeare and Howson's book 
 on the travels of Paul, and read the tenderly eloquent pas 
 sage in which this monument and these graves are described. 
 
 But I have strangely wandered from the point. It was to 
 inquire why Rome is called the Eternal City, when it is evi 
 dently dying. 
 
 The Pope was said to be dying when we arrived. He had 
 been dying for some days, and from hour to hour the event 
 was expected. The first Roman citizen of whom I asked if 
 the Pope was still living, answered : 
 
 " Living ! if you think he is going to die, you will be con 
 vinced of your mistake : he is not to die this time, I assure 
 you." 
 
 Yet the doctors were at his bedside continually, and day 
 after day issued a statement of his condition. 
 
 The Pope and the King were at variance. The King had
 
 THE ETERNAL CITY! WHY? 279 
 
 taken the crown of all Italy for his own head, with the con 
 sent of the people, and against the will of the Pope. The 
 time was when the will of the Pope would have been LAW 
 alike to King and to people. That time has long gone 
 by and forever. The King was a good Romanist, but the 
 Pope read him out of the Church, and so the King and the 
 Pope were now at war. But the Pope was sick and likely to 
 die, and the King sent daily, and often two and three times 
 a day, to learn how the Pope was getting on. It was said in 
 Rome, and it is probably true, that the Pope and the King 
 were not enemies, except on paper and before the world. It 
 is certain that the King had the offices of the Church admin 
 istered to and for him as regularly as he desired, and, as an 
 excommunicated person, he could not have had this privi 
 lege had it been against the will of the Church. There was 
 some secret understanding between the Pope and the King, 
 and letters frequently passed between them. Perhaps they 
 had private interviews, in the palace of one or the other. 
 The King lived in the Quirinal and the Pope in the Vatican 
 Palace. 
 
 While the Pope was supposed to be dying, we met the 
 King riding in an open carriage on the Pincio promenade. 
 He was the incarnation of high living, his face was almost 
 purple. We met him again, and the third time, and every 
 time we saw him the more florid was the face of the King. 
 Within a month the King is smitten with mortal sickness. 
 Now the physicians are at his bedside, night and day. The 
 kings of all Europe send messages of inquiry. The Pope is 
 anxious and is among the inquirers. The last sacrament of 
 the Church is administered to the dying. The King is dead : 
 not yet sixty years old, the King is dead.
 
 280 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 A MORNING ADVENTURE IN ROME. 
 
 You have often heard of the SEPOLTE VIVE, the buried- 
 alive nuns of Rome. I have just returned from their convent. 
 It is a strange story that you are to read, scarcely credible in 
 this age of the world, but strangely true it is, and "pity 'tis 
 'tis true." 
 
 Leaving the church St. Maria in Monti, where repose in 
 full view the body of a canonized beggar, I walked up the 
 street, and in a moment reached a narrow alley which 
 seemed to lead only to a gloomy arch under which was a 
 painted crucifix, life-size, with two old monks kneeling in 
 front of it. I walked up to these hideous images, and on the 
 left hand, found a flight of stone steps. I went hastily up, for 
 I knew at once, from what I had heard, that these steps led 
 to the doors of the concealed convent of Farnesian nuns, the 
 Sepolte vive, or Buried Alive. 
 
 Perhaps it was the spirit of adventure, certainly of curiosity, 
 that prompted me to ascend the steps, for I could have had 
 no expectation of gaining admission to this house of living 
 death. Mr. Hare, in his " Walks in Rome," had told me 
 "that the only means of communicating with the nuns is by 
 rapping on a barrel which projects from a wall on the plat 
 form above the roofs of the houses, when a muffled voice is 
 heard from the interior, and if your references are satisfac 
 tory, the barrel turns round and eventually discloses a key by 
 which the initiated can admit themselves to a small chamber 
 in the interior of the convent." 
 
 I looked in vain for any projecting barrel, but having 
 reached an open gallery above the roofs of houses around, 
 though the walls of the convent rose still higher, I entered 
 a recess, on the walls of which were inscriptions in Latin and 
 Italian, such as, "Who enters here leaves the world behind." 
 " Qui non diligit, manet in morte." In the wall was a copper 
 plate about one foot wide by two feet high, which I supposed 
 covered the opening through which communication was to 
 be had with the interior. On feeling of it, I found it was the
 
 A MORNING ADVENTURE IN ROME. 281 
 
 side of a hollow cylinder, and evidently made to revolve if 
 necessary. This must be " the barrel " through which the 
 muffled voice of the woman within would come to me, if the 
 oracle chose to reply to my call. I knocked. No answer 
 came, but the hollow chamber gave back a melancholy 
 sound. 
 
 My sensations at this moment were peculiar, and I began 
 to wish that I had not come, or at least that I had brought 
 with me some companion to share the excitement, if not the 
 perils of this adventure. For the secret of this convent is 
 that the nuns who once enter never come out of the door 
 again, dead or alive ! They never hear from the world out 
 side. No mother's voice or father's love intrudes upon this 
 living tomb in which their hopes and hearts are buried. 
 They sleep every night in a coffin in which they are to be 
 buried, here, when they finally stop breathing. They are 
 told, when one of their parents dies, that some loved one is 
 dead, so that each one is to be thrilled with the sorrow that 
 perhaps her mother or father is dead, but no one knows 
 which one has become an orphan. It is said that they become 
 so enamored of death, that they invade the vaults in which 
 their dead sisters are placed, and fondle the corpses as chil 
 dren play with dolls. They have a death's head on the dinner 
 table, and often lie down in graves prepared with their own 
 hands, that they may be as nearly dead themselves as they 
 can be while yet constrained to live. 
 
 Around me were the walls of this huge sepulchre, silent as 
 the tomb itself, cheerless, hopeless, the home of madness or 
 despair. It was Christmas day. The sun was shining 
 joyously on roofs below me, and all the glad morning the 
 bells of Rome had been ringing the carols of the Saviour's 
 natal morn. The city was jubilant with the songs of angels, 
 and the churches flung open all their doors to the people who 
 flocked to the choirs and the altars, their hearts the mean 
 while shouting, " Unto us a child is born." But no glad 
 sound of Merry Christmas enters these dead walls : this prL 
 son house of young souls, doomed in the spring time of life 
 to take up their abode in coffins, vaults and tombs.
 
 282 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 These gloomy thoughts of mine were destined to a speedy 
 interruption and a sudden conversion. 
 
 I knocked again, and with greater force; then waited 
 listening. Presently a woman's voice she must have been 
 close by me was heard from the other side of the copper 
 plating, and this is what passed between us : 
 
 The voice (in Italian). " What do you wish ?" 
 
 " I wish to visit the convent if it be allowed." 
 
 The voice. " It is not possible for you to come in." 
 
 '' I would see the convent, as I have come from a far coun 
 try and have heard much of this institution." 
 
 The voice. " You cannot come in ;" and then the woman 
 broke out into a ringing, hearty laugh, loud and long. 
 
 I was taken all aback. It had not occurred to me that they 
 ever laughed inside such walls as these. It was more in my 
 mind that " darkness, death and long despair reign in eternal 
 silence there." But she laughed cheerily at the idea of my 
 being such a fool as to think of coming in there, and we 
 chatted gaily, I laughing in sympathy on the outside, and she 
 within, a thin metallic loose plate between us. 
 
 The voice. " Do you speak the French ?" 
 
 " Better than I speak the Italian, but the English is my 
 own tongue." 
 
 She said she would send some one to converse with me, 
 and in a few moments another voice addressed me in French, 
 and asked if I would walk in and visit the chapel. I said 
 that I wanted to seethe convent, and the mode of life within. 
 She replied that it was impossible, and very soon began to 
 laugh as merrily as her sister had done. When, in her play 
 ful French banter, she asked me, "What do you want to 
 see ?" I said, with equal playfulness, " I want to see you," 
 her merriment broke out afresh, and I verily thought for a 
 moment I had won my way into the fortress by the irresisti 
 ble art. 
 
 The cylinder revolved, showing me that it was divided into 
 chambers ; it paused and I heard something fall upon the 
 metal bottom. It turned still more, and the open chamber 
 presented itself to me with two keys lying in it. The voice
 
 A MORNING ADVENTURE IN ROME. 283 
 
 within said, " The larger key will admit you to the chapel, 
 and the smaller will open a door inside of it." 
 
 The door of the chapel was near to me, the only door there ; 
 unlocking it, I stood upon its marble floor. It was a simple 
 chapel, the pictures and stools and images such as are seen 
 in thousands of Romish churches. But the marble floor was 
 largely made of sepulchral slabs on which were recorded the 
 names and virtues of the nuns who were buried underneath ! 
 How sad was this obituary ! What a mausoleum was here ! 
 How many weary, wretched, aching hearts had rested in this 
 cold bed ! I read the epitaphs, and some inscriptions on the 
 walls, and mused among the tombs on the wreck and ruin of 
 young lives, tortured and murdered and buried here, by the 
 terrible machinery of a Church that, through long centuries, 
 has perpetuated successive living sacrifices of blooming 
 Roman maidens on these altars of superstition, imposture 
 and crime. For what is martyrdom by fire, or the wheel, or 
 the axe, or by lions in the arena, compared with the long- 
 drawn-out agony of a young lady who eats with a skeleton at 
 her side, and sleeps in a coffin and plays with a corpse, and 
 this for years, till sweet death comes in person, and releases 
 her from torment by clasping her in his cold and chaste 
 embrace ! 
 
 The little key let me into a side chamber, the cell or clois 
 ter of a nun, fitted up as a show or specimen, and perhaps 
 quite unlike the real cells into which the "profanum vulgus," 
 or persons of the male persuasion, may never enter. It was a 
 room about ten feet square, with a chair and table in it : 
 beyond it a closet with a crucifix on the wall, and, still 
 farther, a cell just large enough to hold a person in a chair : 
 and in the wall was a perforated plate through which the 
 nun is reputed to whisper the story of her sins into the ear of 
 an invisible priest who sits in the outer court, and by a 
 pleasing fiction is supposed never to come within these walls. 
 
 When the Mother Superior gives an audience, it is an affair 
 of state more mysterious than the approach to the celestial 
 Emperor of China. She sits in the midst of her oratory 
 veiled in black from head to foot, and the visitor sees nothing
 
 284 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 but this statuesque drapery concealing the abbess. Pope 
 Gregory XVI. entered by his divine right to go where he 
 pleased among the faithful, and wishing to see the lady with 
 whom he conversed, he said : 
 
 " Sister, please to raise your veil." 
 
 " N<?, father," she answered, " it is against the rules." 
 
 The Pope asked very much the same question that I did, 
 and got about the same answer. 
 
 Having penetrated as far into the convent as the rules of 
 the order permit, I returned with the keys, and dropping 
 them into the cavity, the sound summoned the unseen sister 
 to the portal, and she asked me, 
 
 " Were you pleased with the church ?" 
 
 I told her that I had been very much interested in what I' 
 had seen, but would be pleased to see more. She laughed 
 again right merrily, and chatted on gaily as if it were a pleasure 
 to have some one to talk with, though he could not come in. 
 I was well assured from what I heard, her tones of voice, her 
 cheerful words, and her right merry laugh, that they have 
 good times inside in spite of death's heads, cross-bones and 
 coffins. I do not believe it is half so bad to be buried alive, 
 as they would have it to appear, and a lady, who was per 
 mitted by special favor to visit the nuns, testifies that they . 
 are ruddy and rosy-looking girls notwithstanding their 
 ghostly employments. Twenty-seven are there now, and I 
 left them with more satisfaction than when I knocked at their 
 inhospitable door. 
 
 THE STORY AND THE CHURCH OF ST. CECILIA. 
 
 " I have an angel which thus loveth me, 
 That with great love, whether I wake or sleep, 
 Is ready aye my body for to keep." 
 
 Chaucer, 
 
 In former visits in Rome I carried away no image of marble 
 loveliness that lingered so tenderly in the memory as that of
 
 TffE CffORClt OF ST. CECILIA. 285 
 
 the statue of th e martyr Saint Cecilia. And now, when for the 
 third time, I came to this city filled, above ground and below, 
 in its churches and palaces and piazzas, with the masterpieces 
 of the world's art, there was not a statue or a painting I so 
 much desired to see again' as this. It is across the Tiber, in 
 the church that bears her name. But let me tell you her 
 story. 
 
 Cecilia was a Roman girl of noble parentage, and lived in 
 the third century. She had great wealth and great beauty, and 
 at the early age of sixteen was married to Valerian. He was 
 a pagan, but was soon converted to Christianity by the pray 
 ers and conversation and holy living of his young wife, who 
 had been brought to Christ before she married. He was 
 baptized before he confessed to her that he had been con 
 verted. But she knew it, and when he returned from his 
 baptism he found her, with an angel, singing praises to God 
 for his salvation. She persuaded his brother, Tiburtius, also 
 to embrace the faith of the gospel, and both of them suffered 
 martyrdom, as they were publicly known as zealous advocates 
 of the new religion which was to overturn the idols and 
 temples of the heathen. 
 
 The governor of the city, under the Emperor Septimius Se- 
 verus, knew that Cecilia had come into the possession of great 
 riches by the death of her relatives, and he had her arrested 
 in her own house, and condemned to death. In the houses 
 of the wealthy Romans there was a room, adjoin ing the baths, 
 called a Sudartum, into which steam was admitted while the 
 person wishing to take a bath lay on a marble couch. In one 
 of these rooms she was shut up, and the heated steam driven 
 in upon her three days, by which time it would be expected 
 that she was boiled. But when the door was opened, she was 
 as safe as Daniel in the den, or the three children in the fur 
 nace. God had sent cooling showers to moderate the heat 
 of the steam, and Cecilia was the more radiant and lovely for 
 the terrible ordeal she had passed through. She was a singer 
 "of such ravishing sweetness and power that the angels came 
 down from heaven to listen and to join their voices with hers." 
 When the door of the bath was opened she was singing the
 
 286 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 praises of her Saviour, and the coarse men who were to carry 
 off her body were overcome by the melody of her voice. 
 
 Her deliverance from death was looked upon as a miracle, 
 and the governor was afraid to make another attempt in 
 public to put her to death. A man was sent to cut off her 
 head in the secret chambers of her own house. He struck 
 with the axe three times and did not succeed. The Roman 
 law forbade the victim to be stricken more than three times. 
 The records of her martyrdom say : " The Christians found 
 her bathed in her blood, and during three days she preached 
 and taught like a doctor of the Church, with such sweetness 
 and eloquence that four hundred pagans were converted. On 
 the third day she was visited by Pope Urban, to whose care 
 she tenderly committed the poor whom she nourished, and 
 to him she bequeathed the palace in which she had lived, that 
 it might be consecrated as a temple to the Saviour. Then, 
 thanking God that he considered her a humble woman, 
 worthy to share the glory of his heroes, and with her eyes 
 apparently fixed upon the heavens opening before her, she 
 departed to her heavenly bridegroom." 
 
 The Christians buried her in the Catacombs, and all trace 
 of the spot and of the remains was lost in the lapse of time. 
 Where her palace stood, the church that bears her name, and 
 in which we are now standing, was built immediately after her 
 death, A.D. 280. More than five hundred years roll on, and 
 the body of the saint was nowhere to be found. Then Pope 
 Paschal I. fell asleep one morning during the service in St. 
 Peter's just think of it, a Pope asleep during morning pray 
 ers while thinking of St. Cecilia, and longing to find her 
 burial place. In a vision she appeared to him and told him 
 where she was lying, by the side of her husband and his 
 brother in the catacomb of Calixtus. The next day why 
 not that day does not appear he was obedient to the vision, 
 and found the lovely saint robed in gold tissue, with linen 
 clothes steeped in blood at her feet. She was not lying on 
 her back, as a body in a tomb, but on her right side, as if in 
 bed, with her knees slightly drawn up, and having the appear 
 ance of one asleep. She was now removed to the Church,
 
 THE CHURCH OF ST. CECILIA. 287 
 
 which was rebuilt with more magnificence than the first, and 
 the body was laid under the altar. It slept there eight hun 
 dred years more, when the tomb was opened and the body 
 was lying in the same peaceful state, with all the robes of the 
 grave preserved in the freshness of the burial morn. The 
 Pope of the period and all the people hastened to the church 
 and gazed with edifying wonder on the sleeping form. The 
 greatest sculptor of the day made a copy of the figure, and 
 this is the beautiful marble statue which we are now seeing 
 as it lies on Cecilia's tomb, in which are her remains. 
 
 " It is the statue of a lady, perfect in form, and affecting 
 from resemblance to reality in the drapery of white marble, 
 and her gravitation of the limbs" is such as no living form 
 assumes, but is perfectly true to the attitudes of the dead. 
 The artist has placed this inscription on his work : " Behold 
 the body of the most holy virgin Cecilia, whom I myself saw 
 lying incorrupt in her tomb. I have in this marble expressed 
 for thee, the same saint in the very same posture of body." 
 
 There are in the church, scenes in the life of the saint, her 
 own picture by Cuido, tombs of illustrious men, and the altar 
 canopy with statuettes of the saint and her companions in 
 suffering for Christ ; but all the interest of the visit centred 
 in this remarkable statue and the room in which the saint 
 was first called to endure torture. The Sudarhtm is a few 
 steps below the floor of the church, a marble-floored apart 
 ment, with appliances for hot water and steam, and we are 
 assured that this is the very same chamber in the palace of 
 Cecilia in which she was three days and nights subjected to 
 the boiling heat, without experiencing any bodily harm. Such 
 is the story. The kindly priest who showed us the church 
 related these incidents with great simplicity, and perhaps 
 believed them all. 
 
 In the gallery of Bologna we saw the celebrated picture by 
 Raphael of St. Cecilia and her maiden choir. Copies have 
 made it familiar the world over. Cecilia is the muse of music 
 now. Her name mingles sweetly in song, and St. Cecilia's 
 day is more famous in the poem of Dryden than in the Romish 
 Calendar.
 
 283 IREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 THE BEGGAR'S CHURCH AND THE BEGGARS 
 OF ITALY. 
 
 A row of beggars stood in front of the church. The 
 church is on the corner of the Piazza Santa Maria in Monti, 
 and, like hundreds of others in Rome and over Italy, has 
 nothing in its front to attract attention. The beggars stood 
 on the steps, and did not beg as I approached and passed 
 through the line into the porch. It was something quite 
 unusual to meet a beggar and not be begged. And they 
 were very ragged, very dirty, very miserable-looking beggars, 
 but they did not beg. 
 
 I passed them and went into the church. Over the altar 
 is a painting, not of the Saviour, not of an Apostle, not even 
 of the Virgin Mary, of whom there are more pictures than of 
 all the saints in the world. The painting represents a beg 
 gar in the midst of the great Roman Coliseum, giving 
 money to a group of beggars around him, a beggar giving to 
 beggars ! 
 
 On the left of the altar is a tomb, and in it or in front of it 
 lies exposed at full length, in beggar raiment, in the gown of 
 a wandering pilgrim, with staff and scrip, the body of a man, 
 a mummied man indeed, disgusting with its skinny, dark, 
 dead visage, grinning as if in mockery. 
 
 His name is Joseph Labre. He was born in Boulogne, 
 France, in 1748, and his parents were not poor. But, at a 
 very early age, he took to a life of vagrant beggary in the 
 name of religion. The rules of two or three holy orders that 
 he entered did not agree with his health, and he heard a 
 voice ivithin calling him to a life of travel in penitence and 
 charity. Through seven years he wandered in Europe, visit 
 ing the most celebrated churches of the Holy Virgin, and in 
 those years it is said that he travelled on foot five thousand 
 leagues. In the year 1777 he went to Italy and took up his 
 abode in Rome, in the largest building in it, even in the Col 
 iseum itself. Sometimes he slept in the porch of the 
 churches, but as he became infirm, he made a hermit's cell in
 
 THE B2GGARS OF ITALY. 289 
 
 the Coliseum, from which he often sallied out to beg, return 
 ing there to pass the night. In this arena, where the games 
 and fights and martyrdoms in ages past entertained the 
 Romans, Labre held his levees of beggars, and distributed 
 among them the money and the bread he had received from 
 others. Thousands of visitors, coming here, would take an 
 interest in the hermit of the Coliseum, and the romance of 
 the place and the story of the religious tramp who had 
 scoured all Europe on foot, would naturally excite the curi 
 osity of those who found him there, and it was a pleasure to 
 give him something to keep body and soul together. His 
 receipts were large, and if he had been disposed to hoard as 
 a miser he might have made a heap of money. But he got 
 only to give, and at night was as poor as in the morning. 
 
 It was not far from the Coliseum to the Church of St. Mary 
 in the Mount, and there he resorted to say his prayers. One 
 day he fell on the steps and hurt himself so severely that he 
 did not long survive. Being carried into a house near the 
 church, he died there April 16, 1783. The bed on which he 
 died, and his crucifix, and the small earthly possessions a 
 wandering mendicant might possess, are preserved with pious 
 care in the room that was made holy by his death, and his 
 body, being suitably prepared for the purpose, is laid in his 
 favorite church in full view of the admiring people. 
 
 In the year 1860 the Pope canonized him, that is, made 
 him a saint, and appointed a day the day of his death^ April 
 16 to be observed in his honor. It is required of a saint 
 that he be able to stand a trial, which is conducted in due 
 form, though he may have been dead a thousand years. All 
 the forms are observed, and if the verdict is that the man 
 was all right, the Pope issues a decree of saintship. It was 
 attempted recently to make a saint of Christopher Columbus, 
 but he did not pass, though he was certainly a much better 
 man than many others who are invoked in the Church. 
 
 Columbus gave a new world to the Church and to man 
 kind, but he was no saint in the Pope's esteem. Labre gave 
 the alms he received to beggars like himself, and won the 
 palm of beatitude. By these honors to beggary the Church
 
 290 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 of Rome teaches that it is no disgrace to beg, and that it is a 
 virtue to give to beggars. The vast number of beggars in 
 Romish countries is not caused by the poverty of the people. 
 They are as able to provide things needful as the inhabitants 
 of Protestant countries are, and far better able than they are 
 in many Protestant lands. But it is held to be meritorious 
 to beg, and the tribe of beggars in the cities of Italy are 
 among the worst of the population. They gamble among 
 themselves, and the winner goes off to spend his money in 
 drink, and the loser fastens upon the first victim he meets to 
 beg for more. The native Italian people do not give to beg 
 gars, to any great extent. The money comes from travellers, 
 who find it easier to give a trifle than to refuse. Vallery tells 
 of one of the hospitals in Rome where there are fifty " Sisters" 
 who are nurses, who get drunk, make love, and carry-on gener 
 ally, and all this in the name of charity. In New York the 
 Romish people will fight fiercely to get all the children into 
 their reformatories if the State is to pay for their support, 
 but the same people will let their poor go by hundreds to the 
 Protestant hospitals and never give a cent for their care. 
 The charity of Romanism is a sham. Under the miserable 
 pretence that so much given will pay for so much pardon, 
 works will work out salvation, and heaven can be bought 
 with alms, the Romish Church neglects her own poor and 
 leaves them largely to the tender mercies of Protestants, or 
 to beg on the street from door to door. 
 
 Two women in the black habit and white cap of some sis 
 terhood have just been to my door with an appeal for alms. 
 As I ascended to my room in the hotel a man in priestly 
 attire was pacing the corridor. I had scarcely sat down 
 before he was in my room begging. We go to a church and 
 run the gauntlet of beggars before we enter, and are beset by 
 them when we come out. There are not half so many now 
 as there were twenty years ago, but there are so many as to 
 make beautiful Italy almost a nuisance. Beggary is the nat 
 ural outcome of Romanism. Beggary will be found to some 
 extent in all lands, but its home and source, its parentage, is 
 the doctrine of the Church of Rome. That Church will beg-
 
 JEWS' QUARTER IN ROME. 29! 
 
 gar any country which it converts. It does well for itself to 
 make a saint of the beggar Labre and worship him once a 
 year. 
 
 JEWS' QUARTER IN ROME. 
 
 "It is most absurd and unsuitable that the Jews, whose 
 one crime has plunged them into everlasting slavery, under 
 the plea that Christian magnanimity allows them, should 
 presume to dwell and mix with Christians, not bearing any 
 mark of distinction, and should have Christian servants, yea, 
 even buy houses." 
 
 The sentiment and morality of the statement whiqh I have 
 quoted are abhorrent to all the right feelings of humanity, 
 but I will prove it to be good doctrine according to the latest 
 decrees of the Church of Rome. It is an extract from a 
 manifesto put forth officially and solemnly by Pope Paul IV., 
 A.D. 1555-59. The Pope is infallible, said the last great Coun 
 cil. Therefore the sentiment I have quoted is all correct. 
 
 In other words, the Pope made a great mistake, and is not 
 infallible, or that is good doctrine. 
 
 I think the Pope denied Christ when he issued that awful 
 bull against the Jews. While they were committing that 
 crime, Christ prayed, " Father, forgive them, they know not 
 what they do." Yet the Pope, claiming to be the vicar of 
 Christ on the earth, would deny the children of those Jews, 
 1 500 years after the sin of their fathers, the common rights of 
 humanity. Christ forgave the fathers : the Pope would visit 
 the fathers' sin upon the children unto thousands of genera 
 tions. 
 
 And, on this diabolical principle, the Jews have suffered at 
 the hands of the apostasy such cruel wrongs as make one 
 blush for his common heritage of manhood with such a 
 Church. 
 
 I was wandering in the Jews' quarter in Rome, and came 
 upon a church with this inscription in Hebrew and in Latin :
 
 29 2 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 "All day long I have stretched out my hands to a disobedient 
 and gainsaying people." A painting represents the Crucifix 
 ion of Christ. And this church was erected by a Jew Con 
 verted to the religion of Rome, and, in the true spirit of his 
 new religion, he put up this sign and these words that they 
 might taunt and aggravate the people who could not but be 
 hold the picture and the text. Pope Gregory XIII. improved 
 upon this expedient, and compelled all the Jews in Rome to 
 hear a sermon every week, while his officers were sent into 
 the Jews' quarter " to drive men, women and children into the 
 church, with scourges, and to lash them while there if they 
 were inattentive." And one of the pious Popish writers says 
 "it was a moving sight to see these besotted, blind, restive 
 and perishing Hebrews, haled, as it were, by the head and 
 hair, and against their obstinate hearts, brought to taste the 
 heavenly grace." 
 
 This revolting mission work, more like the Mahometan 
 Propagation Society than a Christian Church, was prosecuted 
 relentlessly until the time of Pius IX. He began his reign 
 as a liberal, and its early years were signalized by removing 
 some of the atrocious restrictions imposed on the Jews; 
 Before his day they were confined by night to their section 
 of the town, gates being kept fastened across the streets to 
 keep them in. But their treatment from the time of the 
 Popes becoming the rulers of the city, has been a perpetual 
 stain upon the Church. Far worse have these so-called 
 Christians used them than the heathen did. They were 
 brought as slaves by Pompey, but they became citizens, and 
 rose to office, wealth and power. Some of the Roman Em 
 perors oppressed them severely, but it remained for a Pope 
 to "forbid Christians to trade, to eat, or to dwell with them ; 
 and to prohibit the Jews from walking in the streets, or from 
 occupying any public post, or to build any new synagogues." 
 During the long period of two centuries the Jews were com 
 pelled to furnish every year a number of their people to run 
 races in the Corso during Carnival, as horses do now, " amid 
 the hoots of the populace." The asses ran first, then the 
 Jews, naked, with only a band round their loins, then the
 
 JEWS" QUARTER IX ROME. 293 
 
 buffaloes, then the Barbary horses. Afterwards they were 
 allowed to commute by paying an annual fine instead of sub 
 mitting to this beastly association. 
 
 Pope Sixtus V. was kindly disposed toward the Jews, 
 pleading, as his apology for not being hard on them, that 
 they were "the family from whom Christ came." He en 
 couraged them to pursue trades, traffic with Christians, build 
 houses and synagogues ; but all his kindness was lost on his 
 infallible successors, who repealed his laws and made the 
 burdens of the Jews greater than ever before. Innocent 
 XIII. confined their business to trading in old clothes, rags, 
 and iron junk. It is quite probable that the pursuit of this 
 business has become hereditary among them, and hence it is 
 that in London, New York, Warsaw or Rome, the old-clo'- 
 man is a Jew, and the junk shop is kept by one of the same 
 persuasion. 
 
 All these restrictive laws are now done away, but the Jews 
 continue to dwell in one quarter, and to pursue the same sort 
 of trade, enlarged indeed, but substantially in the same line. 
 They are the scavengers of the markets of the world, the 
 hoarders of the odds and ends of everything: antiquaries in 
 raiment, and working by stealth to dispose of their wares. 
 They deal in diamonds, but they make no sign. They will 
 sell you the most elegant embroideries that the fingers of 
 Oriental women have made, but you will not see the goods 
 adorning shop windows. The seven-branched candlestick 
 may be on the outer wall as a symbol of the religion within, 
 but unless you have cut your wisdom-teeth, you will be as 
 thoroughly done as you would be in Chatham or Wall street, 
 New York. 
 
 This Jews' quarter in Rome is called the Ghetto, from a 
 Hebrew word, meaning broken, cast off, and is aptly applied 
 to the people and their pursuit. There was a weird fascina 
 tion about their vile streets and shops, and their hang-dog 
 looks, that led me often, and again, to wander in the midst 
 of them. In every city of Europe they have been a mystery 
 to me, and in Rome more than elsewhere. It may be super 
 stition, or it is a deep religious conviction, that these children
 
 294 I REN A? US LETTERS. 
 
 of Abraham are under a ban of some kind that makes them 
 and their refuge a Ghetto wherever they go. I was visiting 
 the Portico of Octavia, one of the most interesting of all the 
 Roman ruins, for the stories that linger about it make its 
 gorgeous architecture vocal with the music and song of old 
 Imperial Rome: but this splendid portico is in the filthiest 
 part of this Ghetto, and the daughters of Israel have the 
 square for a fish market. I \vrs at the palace of the Cenci, 
 whose gloomy halls and walls are frightful with memories 
 of crimes that years and oceans cannot wash away, and the 
 windows look out on the square where the schools and the 
 chief synagogue of the Jews proclaim the presence and the 
 worship of this peculiar race. David's harp and the timbrel 
 of Miriam and the brazen candlestick, are on the outside, 
 and within, the Urim and Thummim are in symbols and the 
 Holy of Holies, as though God still dwelt in tabernacles 
 made with men's hands, and had not cast off this, his once 
 covenant people. The Cenci palace looks out on this piazza, 
 and cencz, in Italian, is the word for rags or shreds that are 
 cast away. 
 
 Wherever I went among them, they were sitting in the 
 doors of their little dark and dirty shops, in the midst of 
 heaps of rubbish, woollen and silk, red, white, and blue, all 
 sorts and sizes ; while the women, sad-eyed and silent, were 
 sewing steadily and deftly, converting these ragged remnants 
 of the cast-off clothing of the rich and great into garments 
 more gorgeous, perhaps, than the original. We read in 
 works of fiction of the beauty of Jewish women : and of the 
 Italians, too. But hard work, and poverty and oppression, 
 and dark, damp dwellings, in a few generations, blight all 
 the bloom of beauty, and leave on the bronzed cheeks, 
 and matted hair and sullen brows, and tight-closed skinny 
 lips, nothing to make you believe that the love song of 
 Solomon could ever have been addressed to one of these : 
 "Thou art fair, my love, my dove, my undefiled." But I did 
 repeat, as I stood among these wretched-looking Hebrew 
 mothers and maids, the words of the prophet, for I had them 
 (the words and the women) before me :
 
 THE APOSTLE IN ROME. 295 
 
 " From the daughter of Zion, all her beauty is departed ; 
 she that was great among the nations, and princess among 
 the provinces, how is she become tributary ! She weepeth 
 sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks ; among 
 all her lovers she hath none to comfort her: all her friends 
 have dealt treacherously with her: they are become her ene 
 mies. Judah is gone into captivity, because of affliction, and 
 because of great servitude ; she dwelleth among the heathen, 
 she findeth no rest ; all her persecutors overtook her be 
 tween the straits. How hath the Lord covered the daughter 
 of Zion with a cloud in his anger !" 
 
 THE APOSTLE IN ROME. 
 
 I was in Naples when the New York Observer came to me 
 with the admirable paper in it, by Rev. Dr. Rogers, on the 
 journey of Paul to Rome from Puteoli. It was the exposi 
 tion of one of the Sunday School lessons. If any reader 
 overlooks those papers of Dr. Rogers because they are writ 
 ten for the Sunday School department, he misses some of 
 the most interesting and instructive columns of the Observer. 
 I find time, in the midst of travel, to read them, and always 
 with gratitude to the author. But as I was saying : 
 
 We had been riding out from Naples along the shores of 
 that bay of all bays what wondrous beauty it boasts it 
 was the joy of all Italy when Pliny and Cicero, and Virgil 
 and Horace, lived and wrote it is just as lovely now as it 
 was then and nothing lovelier in the wide earth or sea ha. 
 since been found we had just turned the shoulder of the 
 promontory of Posilipo, and were looking off upon the 
 islands, Capri, where Garibaldi is passing the evening of 
 his days, Ischia and Proscida, when I pointed to Pozzeoli 
 on the coast, and said " That is Puteoli where the Apostle 
 landed on his way to Rome : there began his journey by 
 land : at the Three Taverns and Appii Forum he was met
 
 296 1RENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 by the brethren, and with them went by the Appian Way to 
 the Imperial City." 
 
 As we were standing on this projecting point of view, I 
 said to my friends : " This is the site of one of the most lux 
 urious and celebrated residences of the Augustan age : here 
 Vadius Pollio, a Roman of vast wealth, had his villa, and 
 the Emperor himself was sometimes his guest. There was 
 his fish pond, and he fed his fish on his slaves, who were, at 
 his pleasure, chopped up and thrown into the water for his 
 carp to eat: one day when the Emperor Augustus was visit 
 ing him, a slave offended Pollio by breaking a glass, and the 
 master thought to show the Emperor his greatness by order 
 ing the slave to be cut up and thrown into the water for the 
 dinner of the fish. Augustus took the command into his own 
 hands, and ordered all the glass in the house to be pitched into 
 the water, thus giving to his friend a lesson in humanity which 
 he would not soon forget. The story is useful in showing 
 what was the Roman law and practice in regard to slavery 
 in the time of our Saviour and the Apostles. A master 
 could and did kill his slaves at his own pleasure. We must 
 bear these facts in mind when we study the teachings of the 
 New Testament on this much-litigated subject." 
 
 We were looking off at the bay where Paul landed on his 
 route to Rome. We have seen, in a former letter, that Peter 
 left no trace of his going to Rome, or his staying there, and 
 we cannot find in the writings of any of his correspondents 
 or companions, or in any of his letters of which we have 
 several the least allusion to his having been at any time in 
 that city. Mr. Augustus Hare speaks of " ultra Protestants" 
 doubting that Peter was in Rome. What an "ultra Protes 
 tant" is I do not know, but I do know that a man who be 
 lieves that Paul could live several years in Rome, and write 
 letters to the churches in the East mentioning by name 
 humble, obscure, but good Christian people, and never once 
 name the great Apostle Peter if he were there, or that Peter 
 could be in Rome and become the head of the Church, even 
 its Pontiff, and in his writings make no mention of the city 
 or his work, or of Paul, the prisoner and Apostle, must have
 
 THE APOSTLE IN ROME, 297 
 
 more credulity than any Protestant whom I ever met. The 
 improbability approaching very nearly to an absurdity. 
 
 Paul we know was in Rome ; we have his own word for 
 it ; and Paul's word is good authority for all except those 
 who find it in the way of their pet prejudices. Then they 
 say, " That's where Paul and I differ." The ease with which 
 such people dispose of Paul would be amusing, were it not 
 that Paul wrote as the Spirit bade him. To set Paul aside 
 is to reject the Spirit as well. However, all are agreed that 
 Paul came to Rome ; and when we come to Rome also, we 
 are fond of finding where he lived, and preached, and suf 
 fered. The Church of Rome has managed to have places 
 distinctly marked and duly honored which the Apostle made 
 memorable, and, with some little credulity, we may take the 
 most of them as well-enough established. The church of 
 Maria in Via Lata is built upon another church, *now sub 
 terranean, and this lower one is the very house in which 
 Paul was lodged when he was first brought into the city. 
 He lived two years in one house, and it was large enough 
 for the congregations that thronged him and disputed 
 among themselves as to the truth they heard. Chrysostom 
 wrote in his Homily on the Epistle to the Romans : " Though 
 I could celebrate the praises of Rome for her greatness, for 
 her beauty, power, wealth and warlike exploits, I pass these 
 things by, and glorify her most that Paul wrote to the 
 Romans, loved them, came to them, preached among them, 
 and died with them." 
 
 I have no faith in the Mamertine Prison legends, though I 
 did go down into the dungeon. A little church at the foot 
 of the Capitoline Hill is named "Peter in Prison," for he is 
 said to have shared the dungeon with Paul, and the first 
 chamber we enter below this church is Peter's prison. Dick 
 ens was much affected by the dread and gloom of this place, 
 and the votive offerings hung up in it, daggers, knives, pistols, 
 clubs, tools of murder, with the blood-rust on them : as if 
 murder were atoned for by devoting the dagger to the church. 
 I am so sick and tired of the whole drama of Romanism, 
 that these things excite in me only the sense of the ridicu-
 
 29 8 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 lous. But the classic history of these dungeons is intensely 
 thrilling. All the prisons in the world could not, together, 
 unfold such a story as these great tufa rocks could tell had 
 they tongues to speak. These dungeons were the city and 
 State prisons before and during the reign of the emperors ! 
 Catiline's conspirators were strangled here. Illustrious 
 Romans have killed themselves in these pits. Jugurtha was 
 starved to death in one of them. And, in the midst of such 
 history, the Church of Rome infuses the puerile fancy that 
 Peter rested his head against a stone which is now kissed 
 with reverence by the credulous. And the dungeon is next 
 disclosed where Paul and Peter were chained to a pillar 
 nine months ! A spring of water in this dungeon (the 
 church tells us) came in answer to Peter's prayers, but as 
 the spring was mentioned by historians before Peter was 
 born, it was a miracle of the imagination. 
 
 The Palace of the Csesars is identified by Paul himself as 
 the scene of his labors, his trial, his deliverance, and his 
 great success as a preacher of the gospel. We know where 
 the palace was, and the ruins are before us, vast, majestic, 
 suggestive. Even on this spot, the most distinctly marked, 
 we must guess very freely, and trust largely to the contradic 
 tory speculations of antiquarians; but the household of 
 Caesar we know was within the walls of the palaces that cov 
 ered these grounds, the substructions of which are disin 
 terred, so that the sunlight of the ipth century illumines the 
 chambers that were brilliant with imperial splendors in the 
 first. Paul might have had a large congregation had he 
 preached nowhere in Rome but in the palace of Nero. At 
 the present day, the palace of the Emperor of Russia is said 
 to have five thousand persons in it and in its service. The 
 Roman emperors had far greater numbers of servants, re 
 tainers and courtiers about them than any modern princes 
 have. We find the Basilica, or court room, in which the 
 emperor in person heard law cases that were appealed to 
 him. In this, or in one like it on the same ground, the 
 great Apostle of the Gentiles stood to be tried for his life, 
 the council of twenty judges being presided over by Nero
 
 THE APOSTLE Iff ROME. S$9 
 
 himself. The witnesses who were to testify to his treason 
 had been brought from the East, and the lawyers of the 
 Jewish Sanhedrim were on hand to demand the condemna 
 tion of the prisoner. But the hearts of all men are in the 
 hands of Him whom Paul served, and Nero gave the prisoner 
 his life and liberty, to the confusion of the Jews and the joy 
 of the Apostle's friends. 
 
 Beyond the facts we have in the New Testament Scriptures, 
 there is little to be received implicitly in regard to the life 
 and death of Peter or of Paul. Prudentius states that they 
 suffered death together on the banks of the Tiber. Others 
 insist, with equal confidence, that a year elapsed after the 
 death of Peter before Paul was slain. Eusebius, Epiphanius, 
 and others, say that both men were put to death on the 2pth 
 day of June. As I am quite conscious that this letter is far 
 from being worthy of its subject, I will follow it with a 
 graphic passage from Conybeare and Howson's Life of Paul : 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM OF PAUL. 
 
 As the martyr and his executioners passed on (from the 
 Ostian gate), their way was crowded with a motley multitude 
 of goers and comers between the metropolis and its harbor 
 merchants hastening to superintend the unlading of their 
 cargoes, sailors eager to squander the profits of their last 
 voyage in the dissipations of the capital officials of the 
 government charged with the administration of the prov 
 inces, or the command of the legions on the Euphrates or 
 the Rhine ; Chaldean astrologers, Phrygian eunuchs, danc 
 ing girls from Syria, with their painted turbans, mendicant 
 priests from Egypt, howling for Osiris, Greek adventurers 
 eager to coin their national cunning into Roman gold, rep 
 resentatives of the avarice and ambition, the fraud and lust, 
 the superstition and intelligence of the Imperial world. 
 Through the dust and tumult of that busy throng, the small 
 troop of soldiers threaded their way silently, under the bright 
 sky of an Italian midsummer. They were marching, though 
 they knew it not, in a procession more really triumphant than
 
 306 iRENsEUS LZTT&KS. 
 
 any they had ever followed in the train of general or emperof 
 along the Sacred Way. Their prisoner, now at last and for 
 ever delivered from captivity, rejoiced to follow his Lord 
 " without the gate." The place of execution was not far dis 
 tant, and there the sword of the headsman ended his long 
 course of sufferings, and released that heroic soul from that 
 feeble body. Weeping friends took up his corpse, and car 
 ried it for burial to those subterranean labyrinths where, 
 through many ages of oppression, the persecuted Church 
 found refuge for the living and sepulchres for the dead. 
 
 Thus died the apostle, the prophet and the martyr, be 
 queathing to the Church, in her government and her discip 
 line, the legacy of his apostolic labors ; leaving his prophetic 
 words to be her living oracles; pouring forth his blood to 
 be the seed of a thousand martyrdoms. Thenceforth among 
 the glorious company of the apostles, among the goodly fel 
 lowship of the prophets, among the noble army of martyrs, 
 his name has stood pre-eminent. And wheresoever the 
 Holy Church throughout all the world doth acknowledge 
 God, there Paul of Tarsus is revered as the great teacher of 
 a universal redemption and a catholic religion the herald 
 of glad tidings to all mankind. 
 
 AGATHA AND HER DISH. 
 
 I hate to see a priest when I go to a convent of nuns. But 
 the church belonging to the Convent of Saint Agatha, in 
 Rome, is now the property of the Irish Seminary, and it is 
 quite likely that the directors have converted the convent into 
 a boarding school for young ladies. This may have brought 
 a couple of ladies to the convent before me, and I recognized 
 them as stopping at the same hotel, and now in animated con 
 versation with a priestly professor. It is not an unusual cir 
 cumstance for Protestant parents in England, as well as 
 America, to be so foolish and wicked as to place their daugh 
 ters in these institutions. The end thereof is that the daugh-
 
 AGATHA AND HER DISH. 301 
 
 ter goes into the Church of Rome, and perhaps into a con 
 vent. She is never to her parents what she was before. 
 
 A sleepy old janitor, who seemed to regard his duty as an 
 intolerable burden, roused himself a little when I rang, and 
 gave a groan of assent to my request to see the convent. As 
 usual, the sight amounted to nothing more than admission 
 to the church and a few rooms around it. 
 
 " Daniel O'Connell," were the words conspicuous in the 
 midst of an epitaph on a monument which stood in the side- 
 wall. The distinguished Irish Agitator died at Genoa on his 
 way to Rome, bequeathing his heart to the city he could not 
 reach. It was brought here and deposited beneath this 
 monument : which represents the orator in the British House 
 of Commons refusing to take the anti-Roman Catholic decla 
 ration. The vanity that consumed him while living shines in 
 his thought that his heart would be a treasure in a city so 
 full of great men's bones and names. 
 
 Cardinal Antonelli's family tomb is close at hand, elegantly 
 fitted up at his own expense not long before his death. His 
 palace is near the church. 
 
 But the church is Saint Agatha's, and, of course, we are to 
 find her, or her remains, or her statue, something to identify 
 her with the house over which she is supposed to preside. 
 On the right side of the high altar, and in a beautiful chapel, 
 stands a gilt statue of the lovely saint, as large as life : her 
 breasts exposed in full view, and she holds extended in one 
 hand a plate on which two balls, to represent female breasts, 
 are lying. One would not know what they were unless famil 
 iar with the tragical story of the Sainted Agatha. I give it 
 in the words of the legends of the Holy Virgins : 
 
 " Agatha was a maiden of Catania, in Sicily, whither Decius 
 sent Quintianus as governor, He, inflamed by the beauty of 
 Agatha, tempted her with rich gifts and promises, but she 
 repulsed him with disdain. Then he ordered her to be 
 bound and beaten with rods, and sent two of his slaves to 
 tear her bosom with iron shears, and, as her blood flowed 
 forth, she said to him : ' O thou cruel tyrant ! art thou not 
 ashamed to treat me thus ? Hast thou not thyself been fed
 
 302 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 at thy mother's breasts ? ' Thus only did she murmur. And 
 in the night a venerable man came to her, bearing a vase of 
 ointment, and before him walked a youth bearing a torch. 
 It was the holy Apostle Peter, and the youth was an angel, 
 but Agatha knew it not, though such a glorious light filled 
 the prison that the guards fled in terror. Then Peter made 
 himself known and ministered to her, restoring with heavenly 
 balm her wounded breasts. Quintianus, infuriated, demanded 
 who had healed her? She replied: ' He whom I confess and 
 adore with heart and lips ; he hath sent his apostle, who 
 has healed me.' Then Quintianus caused her to be thrown 
 upon a great fire, but instantl y an earthquake arose, and the 
 people, in terror, cried, ' This visitation is sent because of the 
 maiden Agatha.' So he caused her to be taken from the fire 
 and carried back to prison, where she prayed aloud that now, 
 having proved her faith, she might be freed from pain, and 
 see the glory of God ! And her prayer was answered, and 
 her spirit instantly departed into glory." 
 
 On the fifth of February her vespers are sung in this church 
 by the nuns, and the words of the anthem are exceedingly 
 touching and beautiful, as they celebrate the peculiar nature 
 of her sufferings, her wonderful support and final triumph. 
 It is a responsive song between the Apostle and the virgin 
 when he comes to her prison to heal her wounds. 
 
 In another church I have seen the picture of Agatha repre 
 senting her with her breasts actually cut off and lying at her 
 feet, while the streams of blood are flowing from the ghastly 
 wounds. Here, however, she holds them in the dish, while a 
 new pair present themselves as a miraculous restoration, or 
 rather a new creation, for they could not well be in two places 
 at the same time. But nothing is too much for the faith of 
 ignorance, and in these legends the absurdity only heightens 
 the interest with which they are received. Rome has a litera 
 ture made of it. The highest art has consecrated it with the 
 genius that renders these stories immortal. They are poetry. 
 Not true in fact, but telling to the imagination of all, and to 
 the belief of many, of the constancy with which the young and 
 lovely maidens endured all sufferings, rather than bring dis-
 
 AGATHA AND HER DISH. 303 
 
 honor upon the name of Christ. We do not believe the 
 legends. But we may well ask ourselves if we have the 
 martyr spirit in the hour of temptation ? - Is the name of the 
 Master so dear, his cause and honor so precious that we, 
 strong men, or brave women, would take joyfully the tortures 
 which delicate maids endured rather than put dishonor 
 upon the Cross of Christ. I frankly confess that, in the 
 midst of these monuments of martyrdom, I often fear that 
 with the age of persecution has also gone the martyr spirit. 
 We are in an age when religion costs no self-denial that tells. 
 We are going to glory on " flowery beds of ease." Yet if the 
 time does come, as it may, when the Master calls for witnesses 
 to the truth, I doubt not that the piety of the day we live in 
 would yield blood as freely as it gives money now. Our songs 
 boast of our willingness to give up all for Him who for us 
 was crucified ; perhaps we would take up the cross and go 
 with it to our Calvary at the Master's call. 
 
 It was quite dark when I was done with my meditations in 
 front of this strange statue. The grouty old janitor was very 
 impatient to shut up. He led me through long passages 
 where large boxes of plants were standing, beauty and gloom 
 strangely blended in this odd assemblage. Everything in 
 these Romish churches, convents and colleges is strange to 
 us outside. They have attractions for the sensuous and 
 superficial. The more I am in them the plainer is the path 
 from a form of Protestantism that worships the visible, to 
 the Romanism that worships nothing else. All that is here 
 addresses the senses. It is materialism in marble and paint, 
 and incense and music. It once had an elevation of soul 
 that rejoiced in the almost divine imitations by Raphael and 
 Michael Angel o. Now the descendants of those worshippers 
 of beauty adore a tinselled baby in the same church where 
 the genius of the old masters makes the very air luminous 
 with the majesty of art. Romanism, in its second childhood, 
 finds its inspiration in the sight of a gilded virgin holding 
 her breasts in a dish !
 
 304 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 THE SUNDAY EVENING SUPPER. 
 
 " Day of all the week the best, 
 Emblem of eternal rest." 
 
 My pleasantest recollections of childhood are of the Sab 
 bath. Brought up in the strictest school of family religion, 
 and never having a doubt that the first day of the week is 
 the Lord's day, it has always been to me for a wonder that 
 good people of this generation, or any other, should regard 
 the Sabbath as a day of gloom, or a bore. That it was in my 
 father's house a bright, glad, good day, is my recollection of 
 it, and it should be the present experience of all Christian 
 households. 
 
 I remember reading years ago a New England tale by Mrs. 
 Stowe or her sister, in which the way of keeping the Sab 
 bath in her father's house was ridiculed : the children were 
 described as sitting, up straight reading their Bibles, afraid 
 to smile, while the mirth of all was provoked by one of the 
 youngsters getting hold of a grasshopper and making fun 
 with it. To them the day was a weariness, the house was a 
 prison, and religion irksome. My experience was altogether 
 of another sort. We did indeed obey the old couplet 
 
 " I must not work, I must not play, 
 Upon God's holy Sabbath day," 
 
 but we were taught and shown that there are enjoyments 
 for children so much better than mere play, that we did not 
 want anything more entertaining than the occupations fur 
 nished for us, and in which the parents shared. 
 
 The mornings were short, and the duties were many, before 
 church. We had breakfast later on Sunday morning than on 
 any other, because we were taught that physical rest was one 
 of the duties of the day, and it was right, and perhaps a duty, 
 to lie in bed later. The interval between breakfast and 
 church was employed in pleasant reading and conversation, 
 and the two services of the sanctuary, with the Sabbath
 
 THE SUNDA Y E YEN ING SUPPER. 305 
 
 school, filled up the greater part of the day. The services 
 were separated by a short intermission only, as the people 
 were chiefly farmers, many of them coming several miles to 
 church, and it was important for them to get home in time 
 to do the chores before nightfall. This arrangement threw 
 the meals out of their usual seasons. We had to do as others 
 did ; we carried lunch to church and ate it between services; 
 and had a light repast on coming home in the early part of 
 the afternoon. This being over, we read and learned the 
 catechism and portions of Scripture, and hymns, which 
 lessons now remain as the most important religious treasures 
 that we ever earned. 
 
 As the shades of evening gathered, and the candles were 
 lighted, for we had no lamps, and gas was not known, we 
 met in the parlor, and there was what may well be called 
 " the church in the house." The father of the family was the 
 priest, the patriarch, the shepherd of the flock. We repeated 
 the Catechism, and hymns, and conversed with our parents 
 on "the subject of religion." Wonderful, is it not? But we 
 did, and thought it the most natural, proper, and pleasant 
 thing in the world to do. And in the midst of it the father, 
 with a majestic bass voice that could easily be heard half a 
 mile, and the mother, with a soft, celestial air, that now falls 
 on my ear from among the angels, and brings tears like drops 
 of morning dew as I write, and all the children, piping 
 according to the measure of song to each one given, the 
 whole filling the house with music, sang : 
 
 " My God, permit my tongue 
 This joy to call Thee mine, 
 And let my early cries prevail 
 To taste Thy love divine. 
 
 For life without Thy love 
 
 No relish can afford ; 
 No joy can be compared with this, 
 
 To serve and please the Lord." 
 
 Each one of us was conversed with, that his peculiar 
 tendencies, habits and wants might be touched with the hand
 
 306 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 of parental love ; the more impulsive checked, the weaker 
 strengthened, the wayward reclaimed, and all fortified with 
 godly counsel, and encouraged with Christian hope. There 
 was never a thought in that circle of boys and girls of con 
 finement, of restraint, of severity or fear. We knew what the 
 Sabbath was, and what it was for, and we enjoyed it as we 
 did every other privilege and pleasure in its time and place. 
 And when we had gone through with the lessons and songs, 
 and the holy converse of that twilight hour, the Sunday 
 Evening Supper came. 
 
 In those days it was the habit of Christian families and 
 the same good habit prevails now of putting as little labor 
 as possible on the man-servant and the maid-servant and the 
 horses, and there was no needless cooking done in the house. 
 But Sunday was not a fast-day. It should never be. It is a 
 feast-day, a holyday, a holiday, and while the feasting is to 
 be done more on spiritual than carnal things, it is also true 
 that it is well to worship God on that day in the enjoyment 
 of the best gifts of his Providence and his Grace. We always 
 had a good supper on Sunday night. The little children who 
 were wont to wait until the second table, now had their seats 
 with the older ones at the first. The table was lengthened 
 for the occasion. Cheerfulness gave a charm to the feast. 
 The fare was very simple, for six hundred dollars a year and 
 that paid partly in hay, wood and potatoes with no parson 
 age did not permit a family of ten to indulge in many luxu 
 ries. But away back into the first quarter of this century 
 my memory goes, and is greeted with the fragrance and the 
 flavor of that homely meal. Since those times I have supped 
 with Presidents and Prime Ministers, with Poets, Philoso 
 phers and men and women whose names the world will not 
 forget, but there is no evening entertainment which lives in 
 my recollection, a well-spring of pleasure, so joyously as that 
 Sunday night supper in my father's house. It lacked no 
 element of enjoyment. There was no levity, but there was 
 something better, intelligent cheerfulness ; the incidents of 
 the day, the curiosities of rural Christian life, the parish 
 gossip, always exchanged at church on Sunday, and over
 
 THE SUNDAY EVENING SUPPER. 307 
 
 which we chatted with good humor at night ; there was the 
 boundless store of religious anecdote that my father a 
 finished scholar and a man of the world also possessed, with 
 which he loved to entertain his company, and his children 
 most of all. 
 
 Thus the Sabbath was a delight. We grew up with the 
 idea as part of our mental experience, not to be questioned, 
 but accepted as the pleasantest truth in the history of a week, 
 that Sunday was the glad rest day from study and labor, 
 when something higher and sweeter than daily toil or sports, 
 was to be ours. As we were commanded to work six days, 
 so we were permitted to rest one day, and spend the whole 
 time in such pleasures as the spiritual part of our natures 
 craved. And when a day had thus been spent, there are no 
 words that more aptly expressed the genuine emotions of 
 child-life than these : 
 
 " My willing soul would stay 
 In such a frame as this ; 
 And sit and sing herself away 
 To everlasting bliss." 
 
 Do you ask me what was the effect of such training in 
 after life ? Well, it is not for me to say much about that. 
 But if any one of the large household had grown up with an 
 aversion to the Lord's day, and breaking away from the 
 restraints of religious instruction, had become an unbeliever 
 or a prodigal, I could not have written these lines. But now, 
 when the youngest of them has gray hairs, and part of the 
 group has crossed the flood, it is joy to feel sure that all, 
 parents and children, will sit down together at the Sunday 
 Evening Supper where Sabbaths have no end.
 
 308 IRMNEUS LETTERS. 
 
 MISERIES OF BEING REPORTED IN THE NEWS 
 PAPERS. 
 
 Thirty and forty years ago there was more verbatim report 
 ing done in the newspapers, than is done now. So many mat 
 ters crowd upon the press and the people, that there is little 
 room for long speeches, and no time to read them. Some men 
 won wide repute as reporters many years ago. Mr. Gales, of 
 the National Intelligencer, was a distinguished reporter, and a 
 very prominent public man. Arthur J. Stansbury made a 
 name and money by his perfect reports of speeches in Congress. 
 He reported, for the N. Y. Observer, the great ecclesiastical 
 trial, for heresy, of Dr. Lyman Beecher. Henry J. Raymond, 
 founder of the N. Y. Times, was an admirable reporter. He 
 frequently reported public meetings for the Observer ; he was 
 the hardest worker on the press whom I ever knew. Neither 
 Raymond nor Stansbury used shorthand. They wrote the 
 principal words of the speaker, and filled up the sentences 
 afterwards. Some reporters drop all vowels and silent letters, 
 and easily add them in writing out. They make sad blunders 
 sometimes : Dr. Bethune said " the devil sowed tares :" the 
 reporter made him say " sawed trees :" using the right con 
 sonants but adding the wrong vowels. No speaker suffers so 
 many things at the hands of reporters as ministers. The 
 reporter is usually one who is unfamiliar with " the language of 
 Canaan," and a man who could give a political speech with 
 accuracy, is all astray on a sermon. He does not understand 
 the subject, and makes of his pothooks nonsense, when he 
 writes out his notes. He was a very able reporter who was 
 coming down Broadway, and seeing a large sign, " Panorama 
 of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress," turned in to see it, but was 
 refused admission. He said, " I'm a member of the press, a 
 reporter on the Daily ." Being told that he was a stran 
 ger and could not be admitted ; " Well," said he, " let me see 
 Mr. BUNYAN, he'll let me in." This young man knew every 
 politician in the country, by name, but had never heard of
 
 MISERIES OF BEING REPORTED. 39 
 
 old John Bunyan, and supposed him to be the proprietor of 
 the Panorama. 
 
 There is also, at the present day, a propensity to fun, wag 
 gery, amusement, that has sadly interfered with accurate 
 reporting. My own sufferings in this way have prompted 
 this writing. I gave a lecture on the East last winter : and 
 the papers reported me as saying that, while I was in Con 
 stantinople, the Sultan invited me to visit his harem, and 
 that I did so. Some wag did the incident into rhyme. The 
 papers copied it, and now I get copies from distant parts 
 of the country, sent to me by astonished friends, who want 
 to know if it be true? I did not mention the word Con 
 stantinople, sultan, harem, or anything of the kind. I 
 said, when in Egypt, the Chamberlain of the Palace of the 
 Khedive gave me an entertainment in the banquet hall. 
 Out of that the reporter made the story of the Sultan and 
 the harem. 
 
 Much worse was my experience in speaking of "wit in the 
 pulpit :" the reporter put into my mouth a tissue of words 
 that had no sort of relation to what I said : words that mis 
 represented the purpose and sentiment of my discourse : and 
 now I am getting letters filled with abuse ; one calls me a 
 " liar " and a " mass of stupidity," and destitute of " brains 
 and religion too ," and all this because a well-meaning but 
 incompetent reporter made me say what I never thought of 
 saying, and would not have said if I had thought of it. 
 
 Monday morning we have a fearful deluge of reported 
 sermons. Some of them are made without even hearing the 
 discourse. A reporter takes two or three churches, and flies 
 from one to another : gets part of one and another sermon : 
 asks what was the text : writes out what he can glean : draws 
 on his fancy for the most of it, and that is the report ! Some 
 pastors in this city have told me that sermons have been 
 attributed to them of which they never said one word ! 
 Others have had the first part of their discourse reported, 
 and the conclusion invented. 
 
 But this is not the worst. A periodical is now issued, pro 
 fessing to give the sermons of the day : these reports in the
 
 310 IRE N^ US LETTERS. 
 
 newspapers, thus manufactured, are reprinted as the actual 
 discourses of the living preachers. I have known these reports 
 to be sent to the preacher for his correction ; and, on his 
 declining to perform the impossible task, the horrible jumble 
 of unmitigated nonsense was embalmed in the periodical and 
 sent out to the world. This is a fraud on the religious pub 
 lic, deserving exposure and punishment. Only last week I 
 received a newspaper from a distant city, containing a sharp 
 criticism of a sentiment imputed to Rev. Dr. Duryea : it had 
 been in one of these reports ; but any thoughtful writer would 
 hesitate before he condemned a man for error on the tes 
 timony of a newspaper sketch of his sermon. No public 
 speaking requires greater precision of statement than that of 
 religious doctrine. Yet any youth, of either sex, feels quite 
 competent to give an outline of the profoundest sermon. 
 There are some religious speeches easily enough reported, 
 thin, diffuse, repetitious, hortatory : years ago I was report 
 ing a public meeting in Boston : a distinguished divine was 
 on the platform, speaking ; but he was so slow with his ideas, 
 and fluent of words, that I could easily write out in full all 
 that he said worth reading. A man at my elbow suddenly 
 whispered to me, 
 
 " Why, he didn't say that !" 
 
 " No," said I, " but he will in a moment," and, sure enough, 
 he did. 
 
 The wretched reports of lectures, sermons, etc., that we 
 have, is not the fault of the reporters always or chiefly. They 
 rush from the place of meeting to the office and, writing out 
 their report, deliver it to the managing editor, perhaps at 
 midnight : he cuts it up and down : slashes out what little 
 sense and connection it had, and serves the miserable 
 remainder to the public, to the infinite disgust of the speaker 
 and with no sort of edification of the reader. I personally 
 know able and learned men who will not look at the reports 
 of their own speeches, so mortifying is the picture made of 
 them. Some men will not speak when they are exposed to 
 this fearful penalty. And very few men now think it worth 
 while to follow up an incorrect report with any attempt to
 
 THE FIFE AND THE VIOLIN. 311 
 
 get the wrong righted. Let it go, they say, it will be sooner 
 forgotten if let alone. 
 
 It is impossible to give a satisfactory condensed report of a 
 sermon or lecture. A speaker may do the work himself, but 
 any one else will omit what ought to be said, and say the 
 thing that might be left unsaid. And that is the reason why 
 sketches of sermons are so imperfect and often positively 
 bad. They do not give the pith and gist of the preacher's 
 work. They bestow more abundant honor on the parts that 
 lack. They are a failure. 
 
 You must not believe all you read in the newspapers, for, 
 with the best intentions and the greatest painstaking, mistakes 
 will happen. Especially is this true with regard to reports 
 of public speakers. You may be entertained, and perhaps 
 instructed by the report, but the sermon may never have been 
 heard in a pulpit, and the unhappy preacher would not know 
 it was supposed to be his, if it were not attributed to him in 
 print. 
 
 THE FIFE AND THE VIOLIN. 
 
 "The First Child of Rutgers Church," in this city, was the 
 head-line of a letter in the Observer a few weeks ago. The 
 writer, whose name was printed as Pennington, now writes 
 again and says : 
 
 " I wrote my name so carelessly that a very slight error 
 would make the change. It should have been Remington, 
 and I should have told you that my husband was the Rev. 
 David Remington, of Rye, N. Y., whom you may remember." 
 
 Remember him ? Indeed I do, with some sweetly solemn, 
 and some amusing associations. He was the palest man I 
 ever saw alive. Some failure in the circulation or nature of 
 the blood (and I think that he died suddenly of an affection 
 of the heart) had caused all the hue of health to fade away 
 from his face, and the pallor, not of death, but of the absence 
 of health, was upon him when I first met him.
 
 312 2REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 The circumstances were these : I went to a meeting of 
 Presbytery to be examined and taken under its care as a stu 
 dent for the ministry. Another young man presented him 
 self at the same time. Our examination was referred to a 
 committee of two members, Mr. R. was one, who retired 
 with us to a private house, it was in the country and there 
 heard from us a statement of our religious experience and 
 views in seeking the ministry. I was first examined ; and 
 the other candidate being called on, gave the reason that had 
 satisfied him of his duty to become a minister of the Word. 
 It was mainly this : and as he was just from the farm, with 
 no early education, it was given in very rude speech, but with 
 great sincerity and freedom. He said that he had long been 
 fond of fifing; he fifed the first thing when he got up, and 
 fifed at noon, when resting from work, and fifed until he 
 went to bed : he would often go without his meals to have 
 more time for fifing: but when he got religion he gave up 
 fifing, and now he could go all day without fifing at all. 
 This passion, subdued by religion, he dwelt on in a manner 
 to me so absurd that with difficulty I remained becomingly 
 sober. But the unruffled composure and solemn demeanor 
 of Mr. Remington rebuked my "inwardness." As I never 
 had such experience as my young friend, I could not com 
 prehend the apparent approval of it by Mr. Remington as 
 genuine evidence of piety, and was ready to believe that I 
 had made a mistake. We came out of the house to return to 
 the Church. I walked along the country road by the side of 
 Mr. R., and beginning very gently, so as not to get too deep 
 into the matter if he were not in sympathy, I said, " Our 
 young friend seems to have had a strong passion for fifing !" 
 The pent-up humor of the dear good man burst into a merry 
 explosion, very comforting to me : he left the road and took 
 to the crooked rail fence, on which he leaned, while for a 
 few minutes, he indulged in the free expression of the enjoy 
 ment which this singular but sincere experience had afforded. 
 Recovering himself, we resumed our walk, while with rich, 
 mellow and scriptural wisdom, he discoursed to me of the 
 folly of mistaking innocent recreations for sinful pleasures.
 
 THE FIFE AND THE V 10 LIN. 313 
 
 The young man went back in less than a year to the farm, 
 and I hope that he enjoyed his fife to the end of his days, 
 which were not very long in the land. 
 
 A few years afterward, I had the acquaintance of a Spanish 
 gentleman of culture, who, to many other accomplishments, 
 added that of being a master on the violin. He was a 
 Romanist in his religion, but being attracted by curiosity, he 
 attended a Protestant revival meeting, became deeply inter 
 ested and was soon converted. After a few weeks or months 
 of great religious enjoyment, he became despondent and 
 fearful that his new experience was delusive. In his despair 
 he sought counsel of a judicious divine, to whom he related 
 the honest attempts he had made to do his whole duty as a 
 Christian, how he had denied himself those things in which 
 he once took great delight, even his violin he had laid aside 
 entirely, not having once had it in his hand since he had re 
 nounced the world, the flesh and the devil. 
 
 The wise minister said to him: "Your idea of a religious 
 life is derived from your old Roman Church, where, by mor 
 tifying even innocent desires, you hoped to atone for sin and 
 make yourself holy. There is no sin in the enjoyment of 
 your violin. There is no merit in laying it aside. As the 
 man after God's own heart praised Him on an instrument 
 of ten strings, so do you go away and play before Him on a 
 fiddle with four. Whether you eat, or drink, or whatever 
 you do, do all to the glory of God. Rejoice in the Lord 
 always, and again I say rejoice." 
 
 The soul of the new convert was comforted by these words. 
 The veil was lifted from his heart. He resumed his favorite 
 recreation. He grew in the knowledge and love of God. 
 He walked before Him joyfully, a delightful Christian, 
 useful and beloved in the church. 
 
 You have recently asked me to tell you if this amusement, 
 or that, or the other, is suitable for a young Christian. And 
 you are surprised that I do not give you an answer. I can 
 not prescribe for you, without a divine prescription to me. 
 And as you have access to the same rule of practice which I 
 would consult, it is not needful that I should write more
 
 314 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 definitely. It is well to bear this in mind, that to be 
 spiritually-minded is life. I would not play on a fife or a 
 fiddle, if it made me less disposed to sing and pray and pant 
 after the living God. I would not go to a ball, or a play, or 
 a party where the amusements or the company, or the hours, 
 or the surroundings dissipated my religious thoughts and 
 filled me with the love of folly, frivolity, worldliness, and 
 something worse than any of these. I would not go to any 
 place out of the Week of Prayer, that I would be afraid to 
 attend in the midst of it. Ditto of Lent. The innocent 
 amusements of life are favorable to true Christian culture 
 and growth in the divine life. Whatever hinders religious 
 progress is of the devil, and is to be shunned as the plague. 
 
 It is on this principle that the true Church sets its face 
 against those entertainments which corrupt the tastes, 
 deprave and pervert the passions, excite impure imaginations 
 and desires, and are wholly incompatible with holy living. 
 The nearer the Church comes to conformity with the world, 
 the more popular of course she becomes, and the less is the 
 spiritual power she exerts upon the world. 
 
 Use the world as not abusing it. Religion heightens every 
 lawful pleasure, and destroys the taste for any other. A 
 merry heart doeth good like a medicine. Music hath 
 charms. And my young friend made a mistake when he 
 ceased to fife ; as the Spanish gentleman did also, when he 
 sacrificed his violin. With such sacrifice God is not pleased. 
 
 MY FIRST SIGHT OF NIAGARA. 
 
 It was just before sunset, of a rainy day. In the west, 
 huge masses of cloud were piled like mountains, and the 
 sinking sun bursting from among them, covered them with 
 lustrous glory, such as the full hand of God only can fling on 
 the canvas of the sky. 
 
 " O, look at the sky," said one of our party, as we emerged 
 from the woods and approached the verge of the precipice.
 
 .17 r FIRST SIGHT OF NIAGARA. 31$ 
 
 " O, look at the Falls," said I, and there they stood, that 
 western sky with its chariots of fire, its glowing sun, its 
 hanging thunder clouds, reflected on the descending torrent 
 sheet, which looked like many mighty pillars, of colors vari 
 ous as the rainbow shows, each pillar perfect in its shape 
 and hue, and ranged in order, a fitting front for heaven! 
 Sure never out of heaven was such a sight ; and never until 
 I see the " rainbow round about the throne," will these eyes 
 look upon the like again. All that my soul ever thirsted after 
 of magnificence and loveliness blended in rarest harmony, was 
 so far transcended in that scene of majesty beauty, that I 
 could have wept in silence, and returned home satisfied, had 
 that been my last, as it was my first sight of the Falls of 
 Niagara. 
 
 So sensible were we that the vision just now floating 
 before us, was what no pen had ever attempted to portray, 
 and so absorbed had each of us been in its wondrous charms, 
 that we cautiously gave utterance to our emotions, till we 
 found that it was no enchantment, but a scene that each eye 
 had seen, and on each soul had been engraved, to be remem 
 bered among the brightest and fairest of earth's pictures of 
 loveliness and glory. 
 
 But " glory built on tears" soon perishes. The sun went 
 down behind the heavy clouds, wrapping his golden drapery 
 around him ; the gorgeous tints, that gave such magic beauty 
 to the waters, faded ; and we were standing in breathless 
 stillness fixed, contemplating the solemn grandeur of this 
 great psalm of nature. Now the sober feeling of a felt real 
 ity began to creep slowly over me, and as we moved from 
 point to point to observe the varied features of the view, the 
 shades of evening were around us, and a starless night and 
 no guide soon convinced us that we were lost in the woods 
 of the island, on each side of which the river leaps into the 
 terrible abyss. Taking the island shore as our only guide, 
 we travelled around, and finally reached the bridge over 
 which we had to cross to our lodgings. 
 
 We had seen the Falls ; and well wearied with our walk 
 and well paid for our toil, we thanked God for bringing us
 
 3 1 6 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 safely here, for revealing so much of Himself to us in his 
 mighty works, and begging that we might ever love and 
 adore Him more for what we had just now seen, we lay down 
 in His arms, and were lulled to sleep by the cataract's never- 
 ceasing roar. 
 
 Refreshed by rest, we rose the next morning, and to our 
 joy the sun was rising in unclouded glory. It was but a few 
 minutes before I was again in the midst of the scene ; but 
 now, how changed. It was new, almost as if I had seen 
 nothing of it before. The bright light of heaven streaming 
 across the brow of the Falls, twining its front with rainbows, 
 and strewing it with diamonds that flashed continually be 
 fore me, gave new beauty to the view. Still, the deep feel 
 ing of sublimity and awe had not yet possessed me, nor did 
 it, till, a few hours after, we were rowed out into the stream 
 below the cataract, and there, in view of every descending 
 drop of that vast torrent, we looked up silent and solemn, 
 feeling (as we had never felt before) our own littleness in 
 the presence of the omnipotent and everlasting God ! 
 
 This was the scene that I had brought in my soul with me. 
 It had been there for years, and whenever I had thought of 
 the Falls of Niagara, it was from this shell of a boat tottling 
 among the foam and breakers at the base. It is enough, 
 said I to my swelling heart ; O what a God Thou art, from 
 the hollow of whose hand, these mighty torrents flow. 
 These are Thy works ; Thine eye hath counted every drop 
 that ever fell from those heights, and Thine ear hath listened 
 to the music of these Falls since they began their solemn 
 hymn. It is a fitting sight for Thine eye, and this roar 
 might well be the organ-bass to the song of the morning 
 stars. 
 
 To others it may, but to one who with devout heart has 
 ever knelt while in the midst of the stream and looked up 
 into the broad face of these torrents, it will not be strange 
 that the mind should rise with these clouds of spray, like 
 incense, to the throne of God : and that thoughts of worship 
 and praise should possess the whole soul. In this spirit it 
 was, that Coleridge's Hymn before sunrise in the Vale of
 
 MY FIRST SIGHT OF NIAGARA. 317 
 
 Chamouni came to me, and I thought how more sublimely 
 beautiful and eloquent the scene before him would have 
 been, had he in the sunlight looked on these live torrents, 
 leaping and dashing amid clouds and rainbows and thun 
 ders ; and breaking around him as if mad in their mighty 
 overthrow and fatal plunge. He looked up toward Mont 
 Blanc, where the torrents had frozen as they flowed " from 
 dark and icy caverns," 
 
 " Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
 Forever shattered and the same forever," 
 
 and as his soul was filled with the majestic grandeur even of 
 that scene, he cries 
 
 " Who gave you your invulnerable life, 
 Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, 
 Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 
 Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven, 
 Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 
 Clothe you with rainbows ? Who with living flowers 
 Of loveliest hue, spread garlands at your feet ? 
 God ! Let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
 Answer ! And let the ice plains echo GOD 1" 
 
 So did the praise of God go up from these torrents, and it 
 was good to let the heart flow with the rushing currents, 
 and, borne along by its own impulses, be swallowed up in the 
 boundless ocean of infinity. Looking up again from the 
 cataract to Him whose presence I felt and whose voice I 
 heard, I could say to Him 
 
 " Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea, 
 
 All this magnificence in thee is lost ; 
 What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee? 
 
 And what am I, then? Heaven's unnumber'd host, 
 Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 
 
 In all the glory of sublimest thought, 
 Is but an atom in the balance weighed 
 
 Against thy greatness is a cipher brought 
 
 Against infinity! What am I then ? Naught 1"
 
 318 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 It is no part of my object in this sketch to give a descrip 
 tion of the Falls of Niagara. This is to be had for a shilling 
 anywhere ; but it may be well enough to say that the first 
 views I obtained were of the American Fall from Iris (form 
 erly called, Goat) Island. And now we pass over in the boat 
 to the Canada side, where the view is more complete than is 
 to be obtained elsewhere except by those who prefer with me 
 to play in the boiling gulph below, and look up. The over 
 powering was more real, as I floated beneath the cataract than 
 from any other point of observation, and I think I "left few 
 of them untried. But the view from Table Rock leaves 
 nothing to be desired. There the panorama is entire. The 
 circuit of the Horse Shoe, the central, like a white ribbon 
 streaming in the air, the stately American, less picturesque 
 but more graceful than any other, all pour before you, and 
 words were never made by which to tell the power of this 
 majestic scene. Talk of disappointment with the Falls ! 
 The man must have had a fancy wilder than the winds that 
 roar under this cataract, who ever pictured to himself mag 
 nificence in nature more grand and beautiful than now lives 
 and leaps before him, like a new world springing from its 
 Maker, and rolling in the liquid light and gladness of a new 
 existence. " Is it not strange," said one of our party to me, 
 " that you could have lived in this world so many years, and 
 never have seen this before?" I made no reply, but felt 
 rebuked. I did not know, however, that there was such a 
 world, or I would have come from the ends of the earth to 
 gaze upon it. 
 
 Now stretch yourself out on the flat rock that projects over 
 the abyss, and close by the side of the rushing waters, look 
 over the brink. The sun lights the small globes of water, 
 myriads of which separate like so many jewels poured from 
 celestial caskets, and you follow them coursing each other, 
 down, down, down, until they and you are lost in the foam 
 ing gulph. You are now, if the wind is fair, behind the 
 spray ; and the sense of height and depth is appalling. Yet 
 the longer you look, the more infatuated you are with the 
 scene, and the less disposed to draw back from the precipice.
 
 MY FIRST SIGHT OF NIAGARA. 319 
 
 (It is ever thus !) Timid ladies, who screamed with terror 
 when I crept to the edge, and prayed me to come back, were 
 soon cautiously approaching, now side by side with me look 
 ing over, and now so fearless that it took a strong arm and a 
 stern voice to break them away from the awful edge. A 
 single flaw in the rock, from which many a portion has been 
 rent in years past, a single flaw in that rock, and * 
 
 There are other points from which to view the Falls, and 
 there are other features on which I would dwell, had I not 
 been sensible ever since I began this letter, that every attempt 
 to transfer my own impressions to the paper, has lamentably 
 failed. Often while wandering from cliff to cliff, some new 
 feature of peculiar beauty or grandeur would break upon me 
 and fix my eye, and sitting down on a stone, with pencil in 
 hand, I would try to find words to fasten the sensation in 
 my note-book, with certainly a benevolent desire, that others 
 less favored, might hear of what appeared to me so lovely or 
 so great. Thus, while we were on Prospect Tower, two lit 
 tle birds flew fearlessly into the spray in front of the fall, and 
 sporting in the watery vapor were lost from the sight ; and I 
 tried to get upon paper the thought that was suggested 
 of the soul that fearlessly and confidingly wings its way into 
 the dread abyss of eternity, and when the elements melt and 
 the wild roar of a wrecked world fills the universe with fear, 
 stretches its flight right onward into the bosom of God. 
 
 A day was thus spent ; then the Sabbath came ; and we 
 worshipped in the great temple not made with hands. Its 
 light was the sun, its music the majestic water-fall, its in 
 cense the gratitude and joy of subdued hearts, its eloquence 
 a "thousand voices," "the noise of many waters," praising 
 God. This was the morning service offered with the rising 
 sun, while a rainbow, a perfect arch, the most lustrous we had 
 seen, was resting upon the deep an emblem of God's prom 
 ise and our hope. 
 
 In the evening, we selected a retired spot, in full view of 
 the Horse Shoe Fall, and spent a peaceful hour in singing 
 
 * It fell a few years afterwards.
 
 320 1REXJZUS LETTERS. 
 
 hyms of praise ; sweet to hear, though we were so near to the 
 waters that our party were obliged to cluster closely, or we 
 were beyond the reach of each other's voices. How full of 
 beauty was the " Star of Bethlehem," with the chorus of this 
 roaring fall 
 
 " Once on a raging sea I rode, 
 
 The storm was loud, the night was dark, 
 The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed 
 The winds that tossed my foundering bark." 
 
 And then the soul responded, with joyful emotions, to that 
 other hymn, 
 
 " Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood, 
 Stand dressed hi living green," etc. 
 
 Another day was spent in revisiting points which we had 
 learned to love, and in discovering new features of interest in 
 scenes with which we had supposed ourselves familiar. We 
 could not be satisfied, and the thought of leaving was pain 
 ful. It was good to be here. The presence of God we felt, 
 his power we saw, his glory shone around us ever, and we 
 thought it well to linger in the midst of such emotions, and 
 let them work deeply and indelibly into the soul. I trust 
 they did. Certainly we have conceptions of sublimity and 
 beauty, the handiwork of the Almighty, his floods, his pen- 
 cilings, his voice and his fear, such as we never could have 
 had without coming to Niagara. But we must go down from 
 these heights and enter our own world again, and having 
 once more with reverence and awe looked up at the Cataract 
 from the river below, that the last impression might be that 
 which we had felt to be the strongest, and having cooled my 
 head, for by this time it needed cooling, in the boiling waters 
 beneath the falls we went away. 
 
 Such was my first, but not my last visit to the Falls of 
 Niagara
 
 THE WHITE MOUNTAIN NOTCH, 32! 
 
 THE WHITE MOUNTAIN NOTCH. 
 
 A DISASTER IN 1826. 
 
 From the sea-coast of Maine to the heart of the White 
 Hills, through the Notch, was a ride of three hours only. 
 And such a ride ! The skill of the engineers and the daring 
 of the projectors of the railroad have been greatly exagger 
 ated, but it is one of the most remarkable and interesting 
 routes and roads in the world. No line of railway in Switzer 
 land, and no enterprise in the Alleghany Mountains, afford 
 so grand and picturesque and peculiar views as this. Imagine 
 the outline of a mighty basin, two or three miles across, and 
 a road winding along the side of it, half way from the bottom 
 to the top. Above and around the ledge, or terrace, or cor 
 nice, on which the iron way is made, rise mountains on 
 mountains, the names of which are familiar in American 
 biography. Far below, these hills stretch down into a valley, 
 through which the old carriage-road still takes its neglected 
 way. More than thirty-five years ago I rode through it, and 
 visited the Willey House, the scene in 1826 of a fearful disas 
 ter, familiar now in history. At that time the Crawfords 
 were the famous landlords of the mountains. 
 
 Many accounts of the destruction of the Willey family have 
 been published, defective in many particulars, and erroneous 
 in others. I learned that Ethan Allen Crawford had a written 
 journal*of his life and times among these hills, with the most 
 authentic and minute particulars respecting this event that 
 has been heard with intense emotion in all parts of the world. 
 I applied to Mr. Crawford for the manuscript, which he was 
 kind enough to lend me. It abounds in romantic incidents by 
 field and flood, and descriptions of remarkable occurrences, 
 such as a life of fifty years in such a region of country could 
 not fail to furnish in rich abundance. His wife is the histo 
 rian, and the delicate touches of her pen, though an untaught 
 pen, discover a heart alive to the wild grandeur of rugged 
 nature around her, and a nice appreciation of the beautiful
 
 322 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 and true in the world of feeling, which must have been terri 
 bly invaded when death, in such an awful car, came down 
 upon her neighbors in the Notch. From this narrative, 
 written at the time, and from free conversation with the peo 
 ple of that region, I derived the facts which I am about to 
 relate. 
 
 The passage through the White Mountains, called the 
 Notch, is about four miles in length, and near the middle 
 there is a spot where the sides of the mountains do not 
 approach so near each other as in the rest of the gorge, but 
 leave a level surface of a few acres, on which the family of 
 Mr. Calvin Willey had settled. The house rested on the foot 
 of one mountain, and in front of it, at the foot of the other, 
 the Saco wound its way. A solitary spot this was, and it 
 seems a wonder that human beings should find an object 
 worth the sacrifice of living in such a lonesome place. The 
 family consisted of Mr. Willey and his wife, a woman of more 
 refinement than would be looked for in this mountain home, 
 five children, the eldest a daughter of about thirteen, and 
 two hired men. 
 
 In the month of July, 1826, there had been a heavy fall of 
 rain, which had caused a partial slide of the surface of the 
 mountain, and had alarmed this family so that they felt the 
 necessity of making some provision against sudden destruc 
 tion. The sides of the hills are marked with deep furrows 
 down which the ploughshare of Almighty ruin has been 
 driven, when the storm has come so fearfully upon the sum 
 mits as to loosen the soil from the granite base ; and then 
 vast masses of earth, with trees the growth of centuries, and 
 huge rocks, in one awful river of devastation, rush headlong 
 into the gulfs below. Such occurrences, though not com 
 mon, are liable to take place at any time ; and no emblems of 
 death and destruction are equal to the scene that must en 
 sue, if the human race are in the way of this solid cataract. 
 
 The Willey family had been forwarned by a slight slide in 
 the vicinity, and supposing from the make of the mountain, 
 which rises very suddenly, immediately behind the house, 
 that they were peculiarly exposed in that situation, they pre
 
 THE WHITE MOUNTAIN NOTCH. 323 
 
 pared a shanty about one hundred rods south of their dwell 
 ing, to which they might retreat when they should perceive 
 signs of coming danger. 
 
 Near the close of the month of August, the rain came down 
 in torrents, so as to fill the inhabitants of the plains above 
 the Willey house with apprehensions. At this juncture, 
 there were no visitors at any of the taverns, and consequently 
 little passing from one part of the mountains to the 'other. 
 Toward night, a solitary foot traveller was wending his way 
 from the Crawfords' down through the Notch, the storm 
 having subsided. He found great difficulty in working his 
 passage, so fearfully had the road been broken up by the tor 
 rents ; but, thinking he should be able to reach Willey's be 
 fore dark, he pushed on. He succeeded in getting there 
 shortly after nightfall, and was surprised to see no light in 
 the window. A little dog stood in the open door, and re 
 sisted his entrance, but after some persuasion was pacified ; 
 when our traveller entered, and soon discovered evidence 
 that the family had fled from their beds in haste, and that 
 he was now the sole tenant of a deserted house. It was too 
 late for him to seek the family ; and, naturally concluding 
 that they had been alarmed by the storm, of whose frightful 
 fury he had already seen terrible effects, and had gone down 
 to the settlement at the southern extremity of the Notch, he 
 quietly possessed himself of a vacant bed, and slept till 
 morning. 
 
 What a scene presented itself to the eye of this lone tra 
 veller, when h<* rose the next day ! Thousands of acres of 
 the mountain .>ide, loosed from the moorings that for ages 
 had defied the storm, had come down in one fell avalanche, 
 and lay in wild confusion, like a world's wreck, at his feet. 
 The stream had been driven from its wonted channel, no signs 
 of a road were lefc to mark his way, but the bare mountains 
 on each side were his guide, and he went on over the broken 
 masses that were -oiled before him, expecting to find the 
 Willey family at t3^ house at the lower end of the Notch. 
 Arriving there, he'ikas alarmed, and so were the people of 
 the neighborhood, s a\;n it was known that the Willey family 
 
 \
 
 324 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 had fled from their house, but had not been heard of below. 
 The truth burst on the mind in an instant, that the deluge of 
 earth and stone had destroyed them all ! The alarm was 
 spread among the few inhabitants of that region, and they 
 set out without delay to learn the fate of their friends. On 
 reaching the spot where the catastrophe occurred, they sought 
 a long time without finding the least evidence that any of 
 them had perished, until at length the arm of one of the 
 children was seen protruding through a mass of earth, and the 
 dead body was speedily disinterred. Quite at a distance from 
 this spot, another of the children was found on the surface 
 without a wound, having evidently been swept away by the 
 waters and drowned. The sad search was continued, and one 
 after another of the lifeless bodies was dug out, until all but 
 three were found ; the mother and one of the daughters side 
 by side in death, and the rest some in one place and some in 
 another, where they were caught and crushed by the descend 
 ing current, or dashed along on its resistless wave. Three of 
 them were never found. They sleep in their mountain grave; 
 the wild winds sweep over their unmarked sepulchres, and 
 the stranger walks upon the earth that covers them, ten, 
 twenty, it may be, fifty feet below the surface. 
 
 This brief recital of facts will enable the reader to draw 
 his own picture of the scene of wild dismay that wrapt itself 
 around this household in their last night of life. There is no 
 doubt that they were roused by the sound of che descending 
 torrents, and thinking the shanty which they had constructed 
 the safest place, they fled thither; and the'cC, a miserable 
 group, they huddled in darkness and terror, surrounded with 
 more circumstances of horror than a wild fancy could well 
 conjure, an awful storm of rain, a swollen river roaring before 
 them, and then the awful cataract of roc'^s and trees and 
 earth, a more terrible engine of wrath and woe than the icy 
 avalanche of the Alps, comes pouring down upon them. 
 
 I climbed up the side of the mountain jyD trace the course 
 of this slide. It commenced, as the uf-^appy victims had 
 supposed it would, immediately above ' beir little dwelling, 
 and just before it reached the house ac sim rock parted the
 
 THE WHITE MOUNTAIN NOTCH, 325 
 
 avalanche, as may be represented by an inverted ^, one branch 
 of the stream passing to the north of the house and crushing 
 the stable with its dumb tenants, and the other, being the 
 great mass of the slide, pouring to the south, where the fugi 
 tives vainly sought their safety. Had they abode in the 
 house, not a hair of their heads would have been hurt. The 
 building was untouched. It was an ark to which they should 
 have clung, but which they deserted to perish. The house 
 still stands, though unfortunately for the melancholy associa 
 tions that one loves to cherish with such a spot, it has been 
 rebuilt, and is now kept as a small tavern. The family, whom 
 I found there, had but lately moved in, and the good woman 
 told me it was " dreadful lonesome," but she thought she 
 "could stand it." So could I, if there were no other houses 
 in the world to be let. 
 
 Three of those victims have slept undisturbed fifty-four 
 years. But for the art of printing, their burial would by this 
 time have become a vague tradition, and in a century or two 
 more would be forgotten. Then if the railroad had been run 
 on the line of the Saco river, instead of going up the side of 
 the basin, and the remains of this household and a few 
 kitchen utensils had been found in excavating the earth, over 
 which huge trees had grown, we should have been informed 
 by learned paleontologists that pre-historic man had been 
 found in the bottom of the White Mountain Pass, and the 
 evidence by his side that he was a worker in metals, proba 
 bly a contemporary of Tubal Cain. The printing-press has 
 changed all that. Facts, with their dates, now go on imper 
 ishable records, and theorists have to go behind printed 
 pages to stultify the age we live in. 
 
 When I was here in 1844 we travelled by stage, at the foot 
 of these mountains. Now I am half way up, and whirling 
 along the side, and looking down upon a vast waving sea of 
 green : many shades of green : making an exquisite picture, 
 and in the autumn, when the various colors come out as the 
 leaves prepare to die, the view is said to be brilliant and gor 
 geous beyond desciption. 
 
 Observation cars are provided platforms with no sides to
 
 326 JREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 obstruct the sight, and on these the passengers sit who choose 
 to take the prospect through whirling smoke and cinders, 
 supposing it to be more enjoyable than to sit inside. But, 
 anyway, in or out, the pass is grand, and has to be made 
 before its remarkable beauty and sublimity can be under 
 stood. 
 
 THE MAN WHO HAD TO WAIT FOR A SEAT IN 
 CHURCH. 
 
 He writes a grumble to one of the daily newspapers. He 
 says that he went to one of the large uptown, Fifth avenue 
 churches, got there half an hour before the time for service 
 to begin, had to stand by the door and wait, and wait, until 
 the people assembled, and the pewholders were in, and then 
 he was conducted to a vacant seat. He had to stand up so 
 long that he became impatient and cross, and now complains 
 of the practice which is not peculiar to the church he visited, 
 but is the same in all churches that are not free. And he is 
 not a stranger in the city, but had, this Sabbath morning, 
 wandered away from the neighborhood of many churches, to 
 hear a celebrated preacher. 
 
 Such complaints are rarely made by strangers. A person 
 from a hotel in the city, going to a popular church, expects 
 to depend on the hospitality of the people whose church he 
 visits, and he is thankful when, at the proper time, he is con 
 ducted to a seat. There is no want of hospitality in any of 
 our churches. In many of them the young gentlemen or 
 ganize themselves into a corps of ushers, and take their posi 
 tions in the several aisles, to show strangers to seats with the 
 least possible delay. They perform this gratuitous and 
 thankless service as a religious work, to promote the good of 
 the church and of strangers. In other churches the trustees 
 themselves, venerable men, assist in this office. But why is 
 it necessary ? The few strangers in town, scattered among 
 the several churches, would not require extra aid to find
 
 WAITING FOR A SEAT IN CHURCH. 327 
 
 seats. The doorkeeper of the house could easily attend to 
 their wants. But the trouble comes of the habit that thou 
 sands of people have, of going about to hear preaching with 
 no settled place of worship. Nine-tenths of all the people 
 standing at the door, waiting to be shown into pews, are resi 
 dents of the city, and ought to have pews of their own. This 
 grumbler, whose complaint has led to these remarks, ought 
 to have been in his own pew in the church where his residence 
 or his views made it convenient and profitable for him to 
 attend. But he is one of thousands in this city who sponge 
 on other people for the " means of grace." This is the way 
 it works. 
 
 We have tried various ways and means of " supporting the 
 gospel " as it is called. Free churches, open to all comers, 
 first come first served, have been tried, and some, on the same 
 plan, are in operation now. That is one way. The plan 
 has been a failure. Even the Roman Catholic churches, 
 which are supposed to be practically free, exact a rent from 
 the poorest working girls. The Methodists have pewed 
 churches, whereas they formerly repudiated the system. In 
 our Protestant churches the plan is to rent sittings, and from 
 these rents to pay the necessary expenses of the church. 
 And if a family or individual wishes to have a seat in any 
 one of them, and is unable to pay for it, the applicant will 
 be furnished with a good pew, free, or on such terms as 
 he prefers. This is the constant practice in all our Protes 
 tant congregations. No one, outside of those in charge, 
 knows whether you are paying $150 a year for your pew, or 
 only $1.50, or nothing. No family in this city lives so far 
 from church, or is so poor, as not to be able to have a good 
 seat in a Christian church. Thus the gospel is offered with 
 out money to all who wish to hear. And going out into the 
 highways, are visitors seeking those who neglect the sanc 
 tuary, and persuading them to come in, so that no one per 
 ishes, or lives, in want of an offer of the gospel. 
 
 That is the plan for supporting the church in such a city as 
 this. But we will now suppose that " the man who had to 
 wait for a seat " was to have his way : his idea seems to be,
 
 328 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 that, as soon as he arrives at the door of any church in town, 
 he may walk in, select such seat as best pleases him, plant 
 himself in it, and "enjoy the gospel." If he has that right, 
 others have it, and the church is at once given up to squat 
 ters. Who will "hire" a pew if it is thus to be at the mercy 
 of such interlopers as these who go from place to place to hear 
 something new. The plan of sustaining the church by pew 
 rents would break down in a year, if it were practically un 
 derstood that no pewholder can have his own when he 
 wants it. 
 
 There is no church in this, or any other American city, 
 where a stranger would not be instantly invited to a vacant seat 
 in any pew so soon as his presence was discovered. In Lon 
 don I have stood in the aisle, through the whole service, at the 
 door of a pew in which there was room for two or three more 
 persons, but the occupants would not invite me in, because I 
 was a stranger. Etiquette probably forbade the courtesy. 
 The French are said to be even more particular : at least, I 
 have read of a Frenchman who would not give his hand to a 
 drowning man because he had not been introduced to him. 
 Our pews are reserved until the regular attendants are in 
 them. Then the ushers fill up the vacant sittings with the 
 waiting strangers. If a better plan can be devised, let us 
 have it. Perhaps a convention of those who get their preach 
 ing for nothing every Sabbath, might be held, and a standing 
 committee appointed to suggest a plan to obtain their rights. 
 
 I can imagine them in session, being called together by my 
 grumbler, at the close of a service which they have attended 
 in other people's pews. The grumbler would take the chair 
 and open the meeting with prayer, thanking God that they 
 are not as other people, and especially as those who build 
 churches, pay for them, and worship in them : and praying that 
 the time may soon come when churches will grow on the 
 street corners and ministers will be fed with manna from 
 heaven, and men may have the means of grace without its 
 costing them a cent. Then he would draw from his pocket a 
 series of resolutions which, being read, would be unanimously 
 adopted ; to this effect :
 
 THE GAMBLERS AT MONACO. 329 
 
 Resolved, That it is unbecoming a Christian people to sit in their own 
 pews while we want the use of them. 
 
 Resolved, That the people who pay for the church and its support ought 
 to be satisfied with having had the privilege, and now it is no more than 
 fair that they should stand at the door and wait till we have taken their pews : 
 then, if there are any left, they can come in and be seated. 
 
 Resolved, That these resolutions be published in \b&New York Observer, 
 provided the editors will pay us for the privilege. 
 
 These resolutions express the views of that large class of 
 church-goers who have no pews of their own for which they 
 honestly pay. Instead of grumbling because they have to 
 wait for a seat, they should take a pew, or part of one, in a 
 church convenient to their residence: identify themselves 
 with the congregation : go to work as Christian people : and 
 then.only will they get the good of the gospel. 
 
 THE GAMBLERS AT MONACO. 
 
 From a sound sleep last night I was awakened by a sudden, 
 strangely startling noise. I thought something had fallen in 
 the room ; I struck a light, and finding everything in its place, 
 went to the front window, opened the shutter, and looked 
 out upon the street. All was silence and darkness. But in 
 the morning (it was now a quarter past one) the body of a 
 man was found upon the sidewalk. He had shot himself 
 through the heart. It made me sad to think that I had 
 heard, and perhaps was the only one who did hear, the sound 
 of that death-shot. The man had come back to Nice from 
 Monaco, ruined by gambling, and, in madness and despair, 
 had made one leap from the hells of Monaco to another from 
 which there is no escape. 
 
 "It's nothing strange," said my friend who explained the 
 suicide; "they often kill themselves, these gamblers ; and we 
 have the same, or worse, tragedies every year. You noticed 
 the sudden death of a young man last week : the papers said
 
 33 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 he committed suicide, but the facts were carefully concealed. 
 A mere boy, he got in the way of gambling, till his fresh 
 youth was blighted, and he murdered himself before he was 
 1 8 years of age. 
 
 " Two years ago a young married couple came here ; they 
 had apartments close by me : the wife had the money, and 
 the man could spend only what she let him have : when she 
 found that he was frequenting the tables at Monaco, she 
 refused to give him more : he was already in debt, and in his 
 desperation he killed her and then himself. The tragedy 
 was hushed up as well as it could be, but it was one of many 
 in the history of the infernal regions next door." 
 
 This vortex of ruin has had a depressing influence upon 
 Nice, as a winter resort. Thousands and tens of thousands 
 come and enjoy the season ; the numerous and spacious 
 hotels are crowded : and new ones are every year added to 
 the number : but it is said that the growth of the city has 
 been checked, and hundreds of families that formerly made 
 this their home in the winter now seek other climes where 
 such temptations are not presented. 
 
 A standing notice in the daily papers says that no inhabit 
 ants of Nice are permitted to enter the " saloons of play" at 
 Monaco unless they are members of a Club ! This curious 
 provision is very French. There are several fashionable 
 clubs in Nice, answering to those in London and New York, 
 and here, as there, it is understood that no gambling is 
 allowed. But it is equally well understood that the members 
 may gamble at their own sweet wills. And we have had our 
 own amusement lately, reading in the papers the incidents at 
 the clubs in New York, illustrating beautifully what the 
 world means by a gentleman and man of honor. " The Hea 
 then Chinee" has his pupils and friends in the highest circles 
 of club life at home and abroad. The members of clubs at 
 Nice are free to enter the " salles de jeu" of Monaco, where 
 there is no play but for money, and where the company 
 that run the machine make incredible sums out of the dupes 
 that are drawn into their saloons. So the fly walks into 
 the spider's parlor, and has his life-blood sucked out of
 
 THE GAMBLERS AT MONACO, 33* 
 
 him. This rule of exclusion is merely a pretence : cards of 
 admission can be obtained by any and every body who has 
 money to lose, and the nuisance is just as great now as it ever 
 was. 
 
 A few years ago these gambling tables were set up in 
 public at most of the great German and French watering- 
 places. Homburg and Baden Baden were the chief cities of 
 play. Public opinion has put them down, though they were 
 the source of much gain to the governments that licensed 
 them. Gambling is not now considered respectable except 
 by the members of our fashionable clubs. This establish 
 ment at Monaco is about the last that is left. I believe one 
 is still licensed in an obscure Canton in Switzerland. And 
 if you ask why it flourishes here in the midst of civilization 
 and Christianity, I will tell you. 
 
 Monaco is a kingdom, the smallest and most contemptible 
 in the world. It is also one of the oldest, and perhaps the 
 very oldest, in Europe. It dates from the tenth century. On 
 the coast of the Mediterranean sea, at the foot of the Mari 
 time Alps, three or four fishing and trading villages managed, 
 with infinite and foolish sacrifices, to make themselves into 
 a separate State, over which the Grimaldi family has held 
 precarious sway for a thousand years. In the chances and 
 changes that have modified the map of Europe, (in which 
 Nice has been at one time in France, and then in Italy, and 
 now in France again,) the insignificance of Monaco has been 
 its shield. Two of the towns that once belonged to it have 
 managed to get out, and Monaco now stands alone in its 
 glory, the least and the meanest of kingdoms. Its entire 
 population is less than 10,000. It consists of a small town on 
 a remarkable promontory, inaccessible from the seaside, but 
 making a snug harbor which separates the town from Monte 
 Carlo. On this hill a splendid hotel is built, and beautiful 
 villas are springing up. The Prince of this petty domain 
 has a royal palace with splendid gardens around it: he has 
 his castle, and guns and soldiers, and is the equal in position 
 with any of the crowned heads of Europe. To keep up this 
 style and state, he must have money : the taxes that his sub-
 
 33 2 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 jects had to pay were so heavy as to lead to the revolt and 
 secession of Mentone and Rocca Brun. There was every 
 reason to fear the Monacans would follow the lead of their 
 neighbors, and that some fine morning they might pitch the 
 Prince into the sea so invitingly near. In this crisis the 
 famous man Blanc, who was harvesting the gold of all the 
 fools at Homburg and Baden, obtained a license to set up his 
 tables at Monaco for the accommodation of the silly sheep 
 that would come to Nice, and Mentone and Monaco, to be 
 fleeced in winter. Mr. Blanc and his partners agreed, in con 
 sideration of their license, to pay the Prince an annual sum 
 of $75,000, and also to keep his city lighted with gas, streets 
 in order, drainage perfect, and to make the place more and 
 more attractive for the fashionable world. The climate is 
 delightful, the King lives in Paris the most of the time, and 
 a reign of peace and plenty is enjoyed under the general 
 auspices of a nest of gamblers who make vast sums of money 
 out of their contract with the King. I am told that their 
 expenditures in city improvements and taxes amount to a 
 thousand dollars a day ; and this will help you to some idea 
 of the money that must be lost by the visitors. There are 
 five or six large tables, with as many games of various kinds, 
 at which an indefinite number of people may play, and these 
 games go on steadily, day and night, and the stream flowing, 
 almost without a turn, into the bank, or the bag, of the com 
 pany. Women and men, young and old, English and Ameri 
 can, French, Italians, Germans and Russians, Orientals swar 
 thy and passionless in their looks, all play, all lose, all play 
 again, for it is the nature of this vice (of all vices) that indul 
 gence stimulates the passion, blunts the edge of reason, like 
 the horse-leech cries "more, more," and never says it is 
 enough. 
 
 Under the guise of Christian charity, many churches in 
 America, and many benevolent organizations, in the spirit of 
 this Monaco company, set up lotteries and raffles to tempt 
 the people to risk a little money in the hope of getting more. 
 So this Monaco company give large donations to religious 
 and charitable objects, hoping thereby to take the curse from
 
 MADE WITHOUT A MAKER. 333 
 
 their business and conciliate public favor. The principle of 
 their accursed trade, covered with blood and loaded with the 
 misery of ruined families and the souls of its victims blighted 
 in this world, damned in that to come, is just the same as 
 that by which money is won at a church fair. 
 
 MADE WITHOUT A MAKER. 
 
 Opening an encyclopedia, in pursuit of knowledge, my 
 attention was drawn to the word protoplasm. I read its defi 
 nition, and then a long and weary essay on the subject. 
 Perhaps you will say the same of this letter. It may be 
 weary, it shall not be very long. 
 
 The book said that protoplasm comes from two Greek 
 words meaning_/?r.y/ and form, a term applied to the supposed 
 original substance from which all living beings are devel 
 oped, and which is the universal concomitant of every phe 
 nomenon of life. All that is comprehended for brevity under 
 the term life, " the growth of plants, the flight of birds, or a 
 train of thought :" that is to say, vegetable life, brute life, 
 and human life, " is thus supposed to be caused by corporeal 
 organs which either themselves consist of protoplasm, or 
 have been developed out of it." The first living things are 
 called moners, which are made out of pure protoplasm: that 
 and nothing more. You must put a pin there. Not to prick 
 the moner, but to mark the place in the process of getting 
 something out of nothing. Who made the protoplasm is not 
 "supposed." It is supposed that moners are made of proto 
 plasm. When the colored preacher in Alabama spoke of the 
 first man being made of wet clay and set up against the fence 
 to dry, one of his doubting hearers asked out loud, " Who 
 made the fence?" The preacher bade him be silent, for 
 " such questions would upset any system of theology." 
 
 The author proceeds : moners are " the simplest living 
 beings we can conceive of as capable of existing," and " they
 
 334 IREN&US LETTERS, 
 
 perform all the functions which in their entirety constitute, 
 in the most highly organized animals and plants, what is 
 comprehended in the idea of life." You see it is becoming 
 interesting. In the simplest conceivable being, all the func 
 tions of the most fully developed man are found. You 
 thought that it required infinite power and wisdom to make 
 a being in whom resides a soul of boundless reach : but now 
 you are told that in a moner don't forget what a moner is 
 the most highly organized system of animal life and func 
 tions exists. Some of these wonderful fellows, the moners, 
 live "in fresh water," " others in the sea." As a general rule 
 " they are invisible to the naked eye," but " some are as large 
 as the head of a pin." Put another pin here so as to see its 
 head. Some " are smooth :" others have " numerous delicate 
 threads radiating in all directions." Sixteen varieties of 
 these curious first things are catalogued. Haeckel has done 
 it. He has also shown that although moners are the " sim 
 plest living beings we can conceive of as capable of existing" 
 and " consist solely of protoplasm," yet protoplasm is not a 
 "simple" substance, but consists of carbon 50 to 55 per cent, 
 hydrogen 6 to 8, nitrogen 15 to 17, oxygen 20 to 22, and only 
 i to 2 of sulphur. Thus it is proved that the simplest of all 
 conceivable beings is composed of a compound including five 
 other substances. You might put another pin there, for it 
 becomes more curiously entertaining as we proceed. We have 
 now seen that the origin of life was, first, pure protoplasm, 
 secondly, moners are made of it solely, and themselves per 
 fectly simple : and now protoplasm made of five totally dis 
 similar constituents rolled into one. 
 
 According to the plastid theory the great variety of vital 
 phenomena is the consequence of the infinitely delicate 
 chemical difference in the composition of protoplasm, and it 
 considers protoplasm to be the sole active life substance. 
 The author goes on to say that the protoplasm theory 
 received a wide and thorough illustration from the study of 
 rhizopods which Ernst Haeckel published in 1862, and its 
 complete application in a subsequent work " by the same na 
 turalist." " Haeckel," our author says, discovered the " sim-
 
 MADE WITHOUT A MAKER. 335 
 
 plest" of organisms in 1864, and Haeckel elaborated "the 
 extremest philosophical consequences of the protoplasm the 
 ory." And our author having quoted Haeckel seven times, 
 closes his essay by referring, among other authors, to five 
 several and distinct works by Haeckel. Being by this time 
 in the spirit of inquiry into the origin of things, I sought 
 the authorship of our author's treatise, and, in a list of 
 authors in the beginning of the book, it was assigned to 
 Haeckel ! 
 
 How like it is to the thing it treats ! Here is protoplasm 
 illustrated. Whenever our author would illustrate any point 
 of importance, he tells us what Haeckel says : and he and 
 Haeckel are one and the same ; just as protoplasm begets 
 moners which are solely protoplasm, and the simplest con 
 ceivable beings, yet solely composed of one substance itself 
 made up of five. And this is philosophy ! 
 
 A speaker in Congress began by saying grandiloquently : 
 "The generality of mankind in general are disposed to 
 oppress the generality of mankind in general." "You had 
 better stop," said one near to him, " you are coming out at the 
 same hole you went in at." The philosophers of the Haeckel 
 and Huxley school argue in a circle with the same result. 
 Dr. Lundy tells us of a Hindoo picture of a god with his 
 great toe in his mouth, thus having no beginning or end: and 
 the Doctor says that " the toe in his mouth represents his 
 incomprehensible spiritual nature." The circle out of which 
 is evolved the plastid theory of life has the same incompre 
 hensibility that represents its idea of self-existence by an old 
 man kissing his big toe. 
 
 But is there no point, no moral, no great truth to be devel 
 oped out of this mass of contradiction and absurdity ? What 
 is the necessary deduction from the moner theory of life ? 
 Logically and intentionally the inference is that, in the 
 human being, there is no life that has not the same origin 
 and substance and function with that of vegetables and 
 beasts. These teachers teach that " a train of thought" " is 
 composed of corporeal organs" and comes of protoplasm. 
 Thus man and beast and potatoes are put on the same level,
 
 33 6 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 having no functions except corporeal, and with no principle 
 of life that survives the dissolution of the corpus. This is 
 the opinion of many in our day. It is also as old a theory 
 as Epicurus who, in his garden-school at Athens 300 years 
 before Christ, denied the immortality of the soul and taught 
 the doctrine which Democritus had elaborated in his cos 
 mogony, and which was taught by Leucippus of Abdera, a 
 hundred years before Epicurus was born, and held by the wits 
 of Egypt a thousand years before. They called it the atomic 
 theory : that matter is self-existent and originally composed 
 of atoms, each atom having power of motion, and these 
 atoms went whirling about like the bits of glass in a ka^ido- 
 scope, till they stuck together in their present forms. This 
 is as rational and philosophical as protoplasm, and is cer 
 tainly its germ out of which moners and other monsters are 
 developed. 
 
 How beautiful in contrast is the faith of the Christian. It 
 is revealed to us in the Bible. The Lord God made man and 
 " breathed into his nostrils the breath of life ; and man 
 became a living soul." iNot so did he make a horse or a 
 bird. Materialists, Epicureans, Haeckelians and others of 
 that school, are consistent in putting equal value upon the 
 life of a beast and a woman, or even in esteeming the former 
 more highly if their tastes so lead them. But we who believe 
 that Christ died for human beings only, and that they who are 
 in Him become partakers of a divine nature also, see in man 
 a dignity, sanctity and glory excelled only by the angels and 
 Him " in whom we live and move and have our being." 
 
 ARGUING WITH A POKER AND A HAMMER. 
 
 A fearful tragedy commands my pen as I sit down to write 
 this letter. On the banks of the Hudson river, in the midst 
 of a Christian community, and just before Christmas last, 
 the herald of peace and good will, a bloody drama was per 
 formed.
 
 ARGUING WITH A POKER AND A HAMMER. 337 
 
 Above the village of Kingston and below Saugerties, on the 
 western bank of this goodly river, is a region of country 
 known as Flatbush. Two Christian churches, the one Re 
 formed Dutch, the other Methodist Episcopal, flourish in this 
 rural region. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Rittie were a married pair, in middle age ; he 
 the sexton of the Reformed Church, she an active member of 
 the Methodist. However well they may have agreed on 
 other matters, they were bound to differ on questions of faith 
 and practice that distinguish the two communities, one Cal- 
 vinistic, the other Arminian. How much either knew about 
 doctrine is not stated. Both were very much set in their 
 way. Arguments were frequent and earnest. Words how 
 ever made no very deep impression. The more they argued 
 the more thoroughly convinced they were of the soundness 
 and scripturalness of their respective opinions. Such a result 
 is not unusual. John Knox and John Wesley could not 
 have been more decided in their religious beliefs. It grew 
 worse and worse. Breath was spent in vain. It generally is 
 when disputants are warm, and this man and wife waxed 
 warm, even in winter, when they fought the fight of faiths. 
 It was not a good fight. And it is quite likely that the man 
 usually got the worst of the argument. Certainly he worried 
 the most over it, as would not have been the case had he 
 been the victor in the war of words. 
 
 Coming home from a hard day's work, he was invited by 
 his loving spouse to go in the evening to the prayer meeting 
 which her church people were holding, within half a mile of 
 their own dwelling. To this kind invitation he replied, "No, 
 Sarah, I am too tired to walk so far to-night : let's go to 
 Swart's," a near neighbor. To which she answered, " No, if 
 you can't go to prayer meeting with me, I am not going to 
 Swart's with you." This she said in a sharp tone. It is 
 affirmed of her that she had " a tongue in her head." People 
 generally have ; and so far as my knowledge of natural his 
 tory extends, husbands have tongues in their heads as well 
 as wives ; yet it is more frequently remarked of women than 
 of men, that they are gifted with this unruly member. They
 
 33 8 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 certainly do not enjoy a monopoly of it, though their skill in 
 its use may give them the advantage in linguistic discussion. 
 Being unable to convince the head of the house that it was 
 his duty to go to prayer meeting with her, she went without 
 him. We have no report of the part she took in the meeting, 
 but, being an active, energetic sister, who had walked half a 
 mile to the place, and was considerably excited when she 
 started, it is probable that she exercised her gift of tongue 
 according to her ability and opportunity. She returned 
 home, and Martin, her husband, was yet at the neighbor's, 
 visiting his friends. She might have called there and walked 
 home with him. But such was not her disposition. She 
 retired to their apartment, shut the door, locked it and 
 fastened him out. What business had he to go out visiting 
 while she was at prayer meeting : she would teach him a 
 thing or two. In due time he came home, but the door was 
 shut. He could get into the hall, but not into the room. 
 He knocked and called, but the devout woman was deaf and 
 dumb now. The Calvinist was discomfited. If she had 
 argued with him through the keyhole, it is quite likely he 
 would have given up a point or two of his tenets, for the 
 sake of an armistice. But she scorned to take advantage of 
 his embarrassment, and he made his way to the only refuge, 
 a miserable garret, where, without bed or fire, he passed a 
 bitterly cold night, in darkness, silence and solitude. He 
 nursed his wrath, and that may have helped to keep him 
 warm. Down stairs he came in the morning, and the scene 
 that ensued when this loving pair met at the fireside, is in 
 ferred from the lines and marks left upon their respective 
 heads. The heads of argument seem to have been these. She 
 went for him and began to argue with a poker, giving him a 
 blow over the left cheek bone ; and making so deep an impres 
 sion that the argument was found to fit exactly into the place 
 for which it was intended. He replied with a hammer. 
 Whether he studied up this subject in the midnight medita 
 tions of the garret and came down prepared for this new 
 mode of answering her, does not appear, but he was ready 
 with the hammer and smote her on the head therewith, until
 
 ARGUING WITH A POKER AiVD A HAMMER. 339 
 
 he supposed he had finished her. Then suddenly a great 
 horror came on him, as the neighbors rushed in and found 
 him standing over the body of his wife. He stepped into the 
 chamber from which she had barred him, and put an end to 
 his own life with a razor. 
 
 That is a little drama, in a rural village, in humble cottage 
 life, this winter. But it is, in miniature, what has filled cities, 
 and lands, and the world with violence, woe and blood. We 
 are but learning now the principles of toleration, the duty 
 and beauty of letting people have their own way of thinking 
 and believing, if they cannot be converted to a better way by 
 reason and love. I have compared notes on the subject with 
 friends of late, and we agree in this : that the older we 
 grow, the more clearly, intelligently and firmly we hold those 
 opinions we have had from youth upwards, and the more 
 cheerfully willing we are that others should hold opinions 
 opposed to ours. The importance of controversial theology 
 and of contending earnestly for the faith is not questioned; but 
 the folly of arguing with an opponent, disputing with men 
 or women about their religious belief, and emphatically 
 getting excited about it, is so clear to me now, that the tongue 
 seems almost as dangerous a weapon as a poker or a hammer. 
 Reason has far less to do with the guidance of human 
 opinions than we are apt to admit. Education, feeling, exam 
 ple, prejudice, self-interest, any one of these has more power 
 with many persons than logic. The parent who lives a godly 
 life and by the sweetness of his Christian spirit, his habitual 
 kindness to companion, children, servants and friends, illus 
 trates the power of the faith he professes, will more surely 
 convince his household of the truthfulness of his religious 
 opinions, than he will by hammering their heads, or arguing 
 at the table with every guest who does not believe as he does. 
 Train children in the doctrines and duties of the gospel, rising 
 up early and teaching them, show their power in a holy and 
 happy life, patience in trials, energy in useful work, and hope 
 in the worst of times, and children will not depart from the 
 faith of their fathers. 
 
 It is time to lay aside the poker and the hammer, the spear
 
 34 1R&NJ&U3 LETTERS. 
 
 and the sword : to hang the trumpet in the hall and study 
 war no more. The world's great conqueror is the Prince of 
 Peace. I cannot convince my neighbors that they are wrong, 
 but I will love them, if they love Him who loves us both. 
 Let us live and let live. And so much the more as we see 
 the day approaching when there shall be neither Greek nor 
 Jew, neither Barbarian nor Scvthian : for Christ is all in all. 
 
 ANNA DICKINSON ON THEATRES. 
 
 The theatre has a new champion in the field, Miss Anna 
 Dickinson, who won much fame on the platform as a lec 
 turer and made a dead failure as a player on the stage. But 
 she is not to be put down, and with a remarkably forgiving 
 spirit, she has returned to the platform to advocate the 
 stage. She is so stage-struck that in her delirium she de 
 clares the stage more a power in the world than the press or 
 the church. She takes up the old and long since exploded 
 doctrine, that the theatre is a school of morals, and upholds 
 it as one of- the great reforming agencies of the age, and all 
 ages. 
 
 Anna is behind the age. All the world knows better, and 
 talks better, and no sensible man of to-day pretends to 
 defend the theatre for such a silly reason as that. 
 
 Alexandra Dumas, McCready, Edwin Booth, and such as 
 they, know more about theatres than Miss Dickinson, and 
 they tell a very different story. Alexandre Dumas said it is 
 no place for our wives and daughters. He thought little of 
 morals for men, but as it is nice to have women's morals 
 kept as nearly right as may be, he would not have them 
 frequent the play. This was the ground maintained by the 
 great English actor, McCready, whose rivalry with Edwin 
 Forrest culminated in the Astor Place riot of 1849. He pre 
 ferred that the ladies of his family should not frequent the 
 theatre, though thereby he got his money and his fame.
 
 ANNA DICKINSON ON THEATRES. 34* 
 
 Edwin Booth, the greatest of living American actors, has 
 recently given his written testimony that he never permits 
 (Miss Dickinson never permits any man to say that of her) 
 his " wife or daughter to witness a play, without previously 
 ascertaining its character." 
 
 I never come so near losing patience with others, who 
 have the same right to their opinions that I have to mine, 
 as when they assume and assert that the theatre, as it is and 
 has been, is worthy of the encouragement and support of 
 good men and women. I know that honorable and good 
 men have said so. I have heard preachers plead for the 
 theatre, on the platform surrounded by players. So 1 have 
 read in the purest and best of the daily papers sneers at 
 " educated persons" who denounce the theatre. And, at last, 
 a woman comes to the footlights and declares theatres better 
 than churches ! ! 
 
 Now I am no bigot, nor purist, and wish to have as wide a 
 charity and as much liberality as any honest man should 
 have. I do not quarrel with a man for holding conscien 
 tious convictions, religious opinions, views of right and duty, 
 quite opposed to mine. To his own Master he stands or 
 falls. I will dine, as my Master did, with publicans and 
 sinners. And if good men will frequent theatres it is their 
 lookout : I do not criticise them for so doing. It may do 
 them no harm. If they frequent theatres, why may not 1 
 try to show that they are evil, only evil, and that continually? 
 If Anna Dickinson thinks theatres better than churches, and 
 longs to be a play actor, which she never can be, why may I 
 not quote the words of the greatest lady player of the Ameri 
 can stage, Fanny Kemble, who wrote these words : 
 
 " A business which is incessant excitement and fictitious emotion seems 
 to me unworthy of a man, a business unworthy of a woman. Neither have 
 I ever presented myself before an audience without a shrinking feeling of 
 reluctance, nor withdrawn from their presence without thinking the excite 
 ment 1 had undergone unhealthy and the personal exhibition odious" 
 
 When she declares it "a business unworthy of a woman," 
 Fanny Kemble utters the thought of the purest and best of
 
 342 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 her sex. When I was only ten years old I read in the Latin 
 of Tacitus that the women of Germany were preserved in 
 purity and kept from danger by being excluded from theatres. 
 The evils of theatres are to be learned quite as much from 
 Plato and Aristotle as from the Bible or any other book. 
 
 Plato says : " Plays raise the passions and pervert the use 
 of them, and of consequence are dangerous to morality." 
 
 Aristotle held that " the seeing of comedies ought to be 
 forbidden to young people, until age and discipline have 
 made them proof against debauchery." 
 
 Ovid, a poet so licentious that we had expurgated editions 
 of his works, advised Augustus to suppress theatres as a 
 great source of corruption. 
 
 But modern theatres are better than the ancient : and are 
 better now than they were twenty-five or fifty years ago. 
 Just so. But they are not pure, never were and never can 
 be. George Ticknor said of the Paris stage : 
 
 " The old French drama contained often gross and indelicate phrases and 
 allusions, but the tone of the pieces, as a whole, was generally respectable. 
 The recent theatre reverses all this. It contains hardly any indecorous 
 phrases or allusions, but its whole tone is highly immoral. I have not yet 
 seen one piece that is to be considered an exception to this remark. I know 
 nothing that more truly deserves the reproach of being immoral and demor 
 alizing than the theatres of Paris and the popular literature of the day." 
 
 And the theatres of Paris are to-day just as pure and 
 moral as those of New York. We have the French plays 
 translated regularly and put on our stage, and the nastier 
 they are the more popular, as the coffers prove. Even Anna 
 Dickinson, an unmarried woman, names Camille as a moral 
 play ! ! ! Mr. Palmer, the well known manager of the Union 
 Square Theatre of this city, said to the Tribune: "The 
 American turns his back on the Shakespearean drama in the 
 theatre, not because it possesses too much thought for him, 
 but because its thoughts are too nastily expressed to suit his 
 civilized taste." 
 
 But the drama of Shakespeare is called the legitimate, and
 
 ANNA DICKINSON ON THEATRES. 343 
 
 the stage on which his plays are acted is the model school 
 of virtue and manners ! 
 
 Miss Dickinson declares the stage more powerful to-day 
 in forming the morals of the age than the church ! So idle 
 a remark is scarcely to be reconciled with the possession of 
 one's senses. The stage cannot exist except in large cities. 
 And here, in the largest city on the Continent, it could not 
 survive a year but for the strangers within our gates. The 
 number of people attending theatres is a mere handful com 
 pared with those who go to church. She says she has been 
 fifteen times to see one play. Probably thousands have done 
 the same, and that shows how few people there are who go. 
 And if the opinions of Plato and Edwin Booth, of Aristotle 
 and McCready, of Tacitus and Palmer, of Fanny Kemble and 
 Ovid, are unitedly equal to the opinion of Miss Anna Dick 
 inson, I may be excused for believing, in my innocent igno 
 rance, that on the whole the Church is rather a better school 
 of morals than the play-house. 
 
 1 would not be very positive as to a fact that a woman 
 may deny. But having been a somewhat diligent student of 
 history, especially in that department of it which treats of 
 the progress of civilization, religion and morals, through the 
 brilliant periods of Grecian and Roman life and glory, and 
 in the rise of Western Empires and the development of 
 modern art, science and humanity, and along that track of 
 time which has seen the birth, growth, power, and benedic 
 tion of ten thousand institutions to make this world better, 
 purer and happier, to relieve human suffering, to save fallen 
 men and women from the deeper hell of their lost name and 
 their unspeakable shame ; having seen in Italy and in Rus 
 sia, in Spain and Egypt even, institutions of mercy from 
 which flow streams to make glad the desert of the world, I 
 have observed they all had their rise, nourishment, and life 
 in the Church. Not in my Church only, but in every Church 
 that teaches the immortal destiny of man : the life of God in 
 the human soul ! But never, never did I see or hear of one 
 memorial of virtue or benevolence intended to bless poor, 
 sick, dying humanity, that had its origin in that boasted
 
 344 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 school of virtue, called the theatre ! And I challenge all the 
 champions of the stage, without distinction of race, sex, 
 color, or previous condition, to point to any substantial 
 good thing ever wrought by its influence. I speak not of 
 actors, of whom many are good, benevolent men and women. 
 But of the stage as an institution. As long ago as in the 
 time of that poor King Charles I., a man named Prynne 
 made a book containing a list of authorities, almost every 
 name of eminence in the heathen and Christian world, bear 
 ing testimony against the stage: the Acts of 54 councils 
 and synods; 71 ancient fathers; 150 Papal and Protestant 
 authors, philosophers and poets, and the legislative enact 
 ments of Pagan and Christian States, nations, emperors and 
 kings. 
 
 But in spite of all these testimonies the stage lives. Just 
 as ali other vices live. It is a running sore in the bosom of 
 society. And sores are always running. So long as human 
 nature loves evil rather than good, vice rather than virtue, a 
 lascivious play like Camille, or a dirty opera like Travtata, 
 will have admirers among the sons and daughters of men. 
 But that only pro'ves that the play is carnal, sold under sm. 
 It always was a school of vice. The shores of time are peo 
 pled with the shades of its victims. To reform it is to break 
 it down. Purify the stage, and as it falls its dying cry will 
 be the words of the greatest master of the drama : " FARE 
 WELL ! OTHELLO'S OCCUPATION'S GONE." 
 
 OUR FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 
 
 So many of my friends have recently gone to heaven, it is 
 quite natural that thoughts of them and their surroundings 
 should be frequent. And certainly they are very pleasant. 
 If there was ever a time when religion and death and the life 
 beyond were subjects of sad reflection, to be indulged only 
 as a duty, such a time has passed away. It is now as cheer-
 
 OUR FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 345 
 
 ing and agreeable to think of friends (and the more loved in 
 life the more pleasant) enjoying the pleasures of the heavenly 
 state, as to hear from others travelling in foreign lands, 
 rejoicing in scenes and associations that satisfy their longing 
 desires. The wisest and best of Roman moralists and philoso 
 phers enjoyed such thoughts of their friends gone before 
 them into the unseen and eternal, and they anticipated with 
 fond emotions a blissful reunion and refreshment in the 
 society of the great and good. And with life and immortality 
 brought to light by Revelation, what was to those ancient 
 pagans a dreamy speculation scarcely worthy of being called 
 a faith, is to us reality. Our faith is the SUBSTANCE of things 
 hoped for, the EVIDENCE of things not seen. We have thus 
 entered already upon the inheritance, so that we have the good 
 of it and part of the glory, as the heir to a vast estate or a 
 throne enjoys, long before he comes into possession, the 
 reflected honors and pleasures awaiting. 
 
 Names and faces and forms of friends who have within the 
 past year preceded me into their rest, have been peopling the 
 cheerful chambers of memory this evening. It is a rough 
 night outside, and the day has been a weary one ; but now a 
 soft fire-light fills the room and the study lamp is shaded, so 
 that the silence and shadows invite converse with the spirit 
 ual and unseen. And the departed of the year have joined 
 themselves with the many who finished their course before 
 them, and are now in the midst of worship and feasts and 
 friendship in the mansions of the blest. How pleasant their 
 memories now ! How the heart gladdens with the remem 
 brance of the joys on earth and the hopes of higher in 
 heaven ! 
 
 Just about twelve years ago (it was Dec. 16, 1859) I had 
 some friends at dinner with me : a larger number than are 
 often gathered at my table ; but they were friends, valued 
 friends, some of them very dear. It was a feast of fat things, 
 and six hours flew away like so many moments, in that feast 
 of reason and flow of soul, making an evening never to be 
 forgotten here or hereafter. And of that dinner company, 
 EIGHTEEN men are now in another state than this, their bodies
 
 340 1R&NMUS LETTERS. 
 
 mouldering in the ground, their souls gone to God ! ! ! Eigh 
 teen of my companions, associates in business, in the Church, 
 in public and private life, personal friends, eating and drink 
 ing with me in one company, and now all gone ! 
 
 I stopped just here and went to a drawer and took out a 
 sheet of paper, on which is a diagram of the table and the 
 seat that each one occupied, with his name written in it. The 
 links of memory are brightened, so that their voices, their 
 pleasantries, their very words of wit and wisdom, sparkling 
 and bright, come flashing and shining, as on that glad and 
 genial evening. At my right was the stalwart Edgar of Bel 
 fast, and on my left the polished Dill of Derry ; and just be 
 yond was the elegant and eloquent Potts ; and next to him 
 the courtly and splendid Bethune ; S. E. and R. C. Morse, 
 three years sundered by death, but just now reunited to be 
 sundered never again ; and there was Krebs, himself a host, 
 my companion in foreign travel and a most delightful friend ; 
 and Murray, the " Kirwan " of the Observer, brightening the 
 brightest with the humor of his native isle ; and Cooke, who 
 was with me in Switzerland ; and that wonderful astronomer, 
 Mitchell, who now looks down to study the stars ; and my 
 friend Hoge, with love like that of woman ; and my brother, 
 P. E. Stevenson. [Since I first wrote these lines, my guests 
 have continued to go to heaven ; and I have now to add the 
 names of Prof. S. F. B. Morse, J. R. Damson, James Stuart, 
 Alexander Stuart, Joel Parker, D.D., G. D. Abbott, D.D., 
 John Laidlaiv, and Rev. William Adams, D.D., L.LD.] 
 A brilliant company ; an acquisition to the skies ; stars all of 
 them ; who finished their course with joy, and then entered 
 into the joy of their Lord. It would seem that the earth 
 could not spare all those men, and keep right on. But they 
 are in fitting company, with the Lamb in the midst of them. 
 
 " There is the throne of David, 
 And there from toil released, 
 The shout of them that triumph, 
 The song of them that feast." 
 
 And there is a younger company. All these were heroes
 
 OUR FRIENDS IN HEAVEN. 347 
 
 and prophets and kings, but the children who have gone up 
 there are children always. O blessed thought ! They were 
 with us long years ago, and they are in our hearts the same 
 playful little ones they were when the Father of us all asked 
 them to come to his house. And they are his children and 
 our children forever. That little one to whom David said 
 he should go, is still the child of David, not an infant of days, 
 for there are no days nor nights in heaven, but the saint-child 
 radiant in immortal beauty. 
 
 " O ! when a mother meets on high 
 The babe she lost in infancy, 
 Hath she not, then, for pains and fears, 
 
 The day of woe, the watchful night, 
 For all her sorrows, all her tears, 
 
 An overpayment of delight ?" 
 
 Heaven's floor is covered with them. Of such is its king 
 dom. They have been going there flying before they could 
 walk, carried there by the angels all these thousands of 
 years. Yours are there. There, did I say? We do not 
 know where the place is, nor what a place is for spirits to 
 dwell in. They may be near us, around us, ministering spirits 
 sent forth to do us good, to strengthen us. They, or thoughts 
 of them, have been so pleasantly with me to-night, that it is 
 good to be here. It would be good, doubtless better, to be 
 with them where they are, and with Him who has them near 
 His face. There is nothing sad, depressing, in such com 
 munion. But it is getting late. The fire is low on the 
 hearth. To-morrow will soon be here ; its duties require 
 fresh life : and as death brings life eternal, so sleep makes 
 new life for the day to come.
 
 34^ 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 WHEN NOT TO LAUGH, 
 
 Walter Scott, the great novelist and poet, the prince of 
 genial good fellows, as fond of humor and hearty laughter as 
 any man, on his dying bed, said to his son-in-law, 
 
 " Lockhart, read to me." 
 
 " What book shall I read ?" asked his son. 
 
 "There is but one book for a dying man," replied the poet ; 
 " read from the Bible." 
 
 Walter Scott was fond of fun, he enjoyed humor, was a 
 splendid story teller ; and he was a Christian believer, and 
 his inner sense was enlightened to know and feel the fitness of 
 things, the proprieties of time and place. To ask for a funny 
 story, for something to make him laugh when he was dying, 
 would have been as abhorrent to the tastes of Walter Scott, 
 as to hear a joke cracked at his mother's funeral. 
 
 Rev. Robert Collyer, in a recently published sermon on 
 " Faith and Fear," closes up with the following story : 
 
 Talking the other day about some grand, old saints that we had known, 
 we spoke of one now dead, and a brother said, 
 
 " Did you hear how he died ? He was a long time sick, you know, and 
 in great pain, and when he felt the* end had come, he sent for his two 
 sons. 
 
 " ' Boys,' he said, ' I am nearly through. I just wanted to see you and 
 say good-bye.' 
 
 " They sat down beside his bed, and then he said, ' One of you read to 
 me.' 
 
 "So one of them got the Bible. 'Nay, not that,' the old man said, 
 quietly, ' I don't need that now. I got it all into my heart years ago. 
 My feet are planted on the promises. Everything that Book teaches for me 
 has come clear. My trunk is packed, my ticket all right, and I am just 
 going to start ; but now will you not get something new, pleasant and 
 bright ? I have had a hard struggle with my pain, and would like to laugh 
 just another time. I know it will do me good. ' 
 
 " And so one of the boys got some bit of sweet humor and read that ; and 
 it was so, that while the light was shining in his eyes at the pleasant 
 thoughts, they changed and caught the light that flashes from the immanent 
 glory, and he was with the angels." 
 
 Grand old man ! I was glad to hear that story. Trunk packed, ticket
 
 WHEN NOT TO LAUGH. 349 
 
 made out, feet planted on the promises, just another ripple of laughter 
 after the hard pain, and then the rest that remains. 
 
 These two stories are in striking contrast. Scott wanted 
 nothing so much as the Bible when he came to die. Collyer's 
 saint wanted no more of the Bible, but something to make 
 him laugh. Collyer rejoices in his saint : we rejoice in the 
 prince of novelists. Scott's was the faith of a Christian : 
 Collyer's that of a pagan. 
 
 Humor is a good thing. Fun is healthful. We do not 
 play enough, do not laugh enough. There is a time for every 
 thing, and the wisest of men has told us, and God told him 
 to tells us, " There is a time to laugh." So there is a time to 
 dance, and a time to weep, and a time to die. Everything is 
 beautiful in its time. The Lord made it so. Humor and 
 pathos have their dwelling places very near each other, and 
 of them it may be said as Dryden said of wit and madness, 
 
 " Thin partitions do their bounds divide." 
 
 Or as Pope said, 
 
 " What thin partitions sense from thought divide." 
 
 And some men who are fullest of tears when sympathy with 
 suffering asks for tears, are also overflowing with fun and 
 frolic when laughter is in order. I have a broader sympathy 
 with laughter than Pope, who wrote those familiar lines: 
 
 " Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, 
 And catch the living manners as they rise : 
 Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, 
 But vindicate the ways of God to man." 
 
 "Alas, poor Yorick," saith Shakespeare in Hamlet. "I 
 knew him ; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy." 
 But I confess that when I read that sentence inscribed upon 
 a tombstone, as the best epitaph that admiring friends could 
 suggest and carve for posterity, I felt that it were better to 
 live for something higher than merely to laugh and make 
 others laugh. And as I read on the stone that memorial of
 
 35 1RENSEUS LETTERS. 
 
 a man of wit, I could not but recite from the same play and 
 the same scene, those other words of the greatest of poets : 
 
 "Where be your jibes now? Your gambols ? Your songs? Your 
 flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar ?" 
 
 George P. Morris was a poet and a wit and a genial table 
 companion, and he wrote of the Bible in one of his songs : 
 
 " In teaching me the way to live, 
 It taught me how to die." 
 
 And my old friend and the friend of everybody who loves 
 green fields and running brooks, and to sit all day in the 
 shade of great trees, fishing or reading or thinking my 
 friend of other days, Izaak Walton, said of the Bible : 
 
 " Every hour I read you kills a sin, 
 Or lets a virtue in to fight against it." 
 
 And I love old George Herbert more even than 1 do his 
 friend Izaak Walton ; and Herbert writes: 
 
 " Stars are poor books, and oftentimes do miss ; 
 The Book of stars lights to eternal bliss." 
 
 That's my idea, precisely. And when I come to die, much 
 as I have enjoyed Joe Miller and Percy, and those other 
 benefactors of the race who have made us laugh betimes in 
 spite of ourselves ; much as 1 am indebted for health and 
 spirit to do the hard work of life, to the great humorists of 
 this and other days, whose books are looking down upon me 
 from long rows of shelves while I write, and whose covers 
 make me smile when I think of the good things that are 
 within ; yet I say, when I come to die, 1 will not want my 
 friends to take a jest book or a comic paper for a joke to 
 make me laugh as I step into the river. Laughing is very 
 well when dining, not when dying. 
 
 " Jesus, the music of Thy name 
 Hath overpowering charms ; 
 Scarce shall I feel death's cold embrace, 
 If Christ be in my arms.
 
 WITH A PIRA TE IN HIS CELL. 35 I 
 
 " Then when ye hear my heart-strings break, 
 
 How sweet the minutes roll, 
 A mortal paleness on my cheeks, 
 And glory in my soul." 
 
 Read to me from the words of Him who saith, " He that 
 believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." 
 
 Collyer's saint would have something " pleasant and bright;" 
 Hot the Bible. If you would bring me something pleasant 
 and bright, lift the vail and show me a ''pure river of water 
 of life, clear as crystal," and let me hear the voice that says : 
 There shall be no night there the city hath no need of the 
 sun, nor of the moon to shine in it her light is like unto a 
 stone most precious. 
 
 It seems to me that is pleasant and bright. The best joke 
 I ever heard would not make me so happy in dying as to hear 
 my Master's words, " Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." 
 
 WITH A PIRATE IN HIS CELL. 
 
 Thirty-six years ago, in the City Prison, called the 
 Tombs, from the Egyptian style and the gloomy look, was 
 confined a man under sentence of death. He was a pirate, 
 bearing the singular name of Babe. It was doubtless a ficti 
 tious name, but the public knew him by no other. 
 
 I had heard much of this pirate: the papers of the day 
 had startling accounts of his career. His trial in this city 
 had resulted in his conviction under the United States laws, 
 and, after two reprieves, he was now waiting the day of his 
 execution. He insisted strongly that he could produce evi 
 dence to establish his innocence if he had time granted him. 
 
 Then it was also alleged that the odd name of Babe con 
 cealed the name of a distinguished family in New York, the 
 mention of which, even at this day, would startle the hearer, 
 so well is it known to the religious world. This fact inten 
 sified my interest in the man, and I went to the prison in the
 
 352 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 hope of being permitted to see him, and to try to do him 
 good. 
 
 The keeper led me to the tier of cells, and the murderers' 
 row, where such as he were confined. He was allowed to sit 
 outside of his cell, but was carefully watched ; and as I came 
 upon the stairs he rose, entered his cell and shut the door. 
 This was discouraging, but I asked the keeper to go to the 
 cell and say to him that "a young minister would like to pay 
 him a visit, if it would be agreeable." The keeper complied, 
 and soon returned with word that Babe would be glad to 
 see me. I stepped through the low portal. He swung the 
 iron door back to its place with a clang, and I was alone 
 with the pirate in his cell. The sensation was novel, and 
 not pleasant. I had often conversed with convicts through 
 the grating of the cell door. I had taught six convicts to 
 read by giving them lessons at the hole in their cell doors, 
 and they had recited to me whole chapters of the gospel, 
 not a letter of which did they know until they were thus 
 taught in prison. -But this was the first time I had been 
 shut in with a convict. He gave me the only chair, while he 
 sat on the bunk. As I took off my hat, he asked me to 
 keep it on, as the cell was cool. 
 
 Before me was a handsome young man, twenty-two years 
 old; tall, well formed, a model of strong muscular action, 
 with a bright eye and intelligent face, and his whole look and 
 bearing indicated genteel birth and manners. I said : 
 
 " My dear sir, I have not intruded upon you with any feel 
 ing of idle curiosity; I come as a friend, a Christian friend, 
 to speak with you of your precious soul." 
 
 " I am glad to see you," he replied, with a clear, pleasant 
 voice. I then asked him what views he had of the future, 
 when he thought of the possibility that he might, before a 
 great while, be called into another state of being. With 
 wonderful coolness, indicating total unconcern, he replied : 
 
 " My views, I suppose, are the same as yours or those of 
 any other man. My mind is just as much at ease as that of 
 any man in New York, but" and here he clenched both 
 fists and brandished his arms while he said:
 
 WITH A PIRA TE IN HIS CELL. 353 
 
 " I am just as innocent of the crime for which I am shut 
 up here, as you are, but I am pursued* by a set of blood 
 hounds who mean to get me hanged." He became furious, 
 and I began to fear he was dangerous. As soon as he 
 paused, I resumed : 
 
 "I did not come to make any inquiry about your guilt or 
 innocence of this particular crime, but to ask you if you have 
 not sins to repent of, and to be forgiven before you can be at 
 peace with God, and be prepared to die and meet Him in 
 judgment." 
 
 He admitted this general truth, and I preached Jesus 
 Christ the only and the sufficient Saviour. And in the 
 midst of the appeal I said to him, looking into his eye with 
 tenderness: "You have parents perhaps living, I hope pray 
 ing for you now," and he answered : " I have respectable 
 relatives" he did not say parents "living in this city, but 
 they do not know that I am here ; and if I were to die 
 to-morrow, they would not find me out." 
 
 It was in vain that I urged him to seek reconciliation 
 with those who ought to be his friends. And I had no 
 reason to suppose that he had the slightest inclination to 
 ward the Saviour, whom I offered with earnest words and 
 prayers. 
 
 It is quite probable that he was the unacknowledged son 
 of a distinguished family, whose influence with the President 
 of the United States procured his pardon. It is certain that 
 he produced no new evidence of his innocence, but he was 
 set at liberty. I never heard of him again. Perhaps, under 
 another name, he resumed his rover-life, and found his 
 death on the seas or on the scaffold. 
 
 It is very true that, in this gloomy prison, by far the most 
 who enter are from the degraded, ignorant and squalid 
 classes. The slums feed the prisons and the poorhouses. 
 But not all are the sons of the low and wretched. The hand 
 somest boy in college with me, the son of a magistrate of 
 wealth and influence, died in one of the cells in this same 
 prison. A friend of mine, a professor of languages and a 
 superior scholar, with associations as respectable as any,
 
 354 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 died in one of the cells of these living Tombs. There is not 
 a week in the year when there not some often there are 
 several who have fallen from the heights of good society 
 to the depths of sin, shame, misery and the dungeon, from 
 which the gate of deliverance is death. In a great city like 
 this there are tragedies of domestic and social anguish con 
 stantly in progress. Forty dead men lay one morning at 
 the Morgue last week, waiting to be claimed by friends. No 
 friends came. In most cases death was a comfort to survi 
 vors, and oblivion a cover of sorrow and shame. 
 
 All this is to say that the gospel ought to be always at 
 work in this prison. The Son of Man came to seek and save 
 the lost. Over the doors of Dante's Inferno was written: 
 " Who enter here, leave hope behind." But while there is 
 life there is hope. No other name but Jesus does these 
 lost men good. And that name can, and does. While in 
 this world we shall have constant war with sin and misery. 
 Especially with sin, which is the parent of misery. There 
 are many nostrums prescribed by quack doctors, who call 
 themselves reformers, but they do no good. A drunkard 
 may be saved whom God renews and holds in his right hand. 
 When the Ethiopian can change his skin or the leopard his 
 spots, then will he who has been accustomed to do evil learn 
 to do well. It is Christ who alone is able to save unto the 
 uttermost. 
 
 What is the use of saying this over and over again : the 
 same old story, Jesus and his blood : the sinner lost and the 
 sinner saved? Well, it is just this: life is wearing along 
 with each of us, and every day brings us so much nearer to 
 its end. To save ourselves and others, to deliver men from 
 the bondage of sin and misery, to get the lost out of the mire 
 of vice and their feet on the Rock of Ages this is the great 
 est of all the works that men or angels can do.
 
 A WOMAN'S VIEW OF CRIME, 355 
 
 A WOMAN'S VIEW OF CRIME. 
 
 The quantity of nonsense precipitated by the agitation of 
 questions of reform is something fearful. Happy they who 
 are not compelled to read the many prescriptions of quacks 
 and quidnuncs who discover new theories of vice and fresh 
 remedies for crime, and inflict them on an anxious and cred 
 ulous community. " The world is full of evil," said the 
 poets hundreds of years ago, and thousands of years ago the 
 pen of infinite wisdom and omniscient penetration wrote, 
 " the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately 
 wicked." Yet there are not a few men and women, in these 
 days of wonderful light and progress, who pretend to find 
 the source of all vice in bad drainage or the state of the 
 stomach. They would cure it like typhus or ague. 
 
 This quackery has resulted in miserable sympathy for 
 scoundrels as if they were the most unfortunate of the human 
 race. If they become so sick as to commit burglaries or 
 highway robberies they are pitied and petted, coddled and 
 comforted : and if they become murderers they are adopted 
 as children to be nursed by women and soft-hearted men, 
 with jellies and panada. 
 
 One of the most active of these foolish women has written 
 and published an essay on prison reform, beginning with 
 these words : 
 
 " All crime can be traced to ignorance, intemperance or 
 poverty." 
 
 The statement is absurd and false. Yet a vast amount of 
 writing and talking on prison and prisoners, crime and crim 
 inals, is equally shallow and mischievous. The three sources 
 of crime named are indeed prolific, but there are other and 
 fearful sources, including an evil heart, whence proceed evil 
 deeds, even murders, and into these sources or fountains of 
 crime, there does not enter a drop of ignorance, intemper 
 ance or poverty. Men and women of education, temperance 
 and wealth commit crimes. Neither they, nor their fathers 
 nor mothers were ignorant, intemperate or poor. Why
 
 35 6 IRENMUS LETTERS. 
 
 then does a writer on prison reform lay down a rule that is 
 instantly disproved when crimes are traced to avarice, lust, 
 revenge, ambition, jealousy and pure deviltry ? 
 
 At the very moment when this wisdom was being written 
 and published, there were in this city and Brooklyn hard by, 
 a number of men under sentence of death for murder : the 
 three causes of crime had nothing to do with any of them. 
 Take Fuchs who, in a fit of jealousy, chopped his friend into 
 pieces. Rubenstein, the Jew, was not ignorant, intemper 
 ate or poor. Neither was his father. Yet he enticed his 
 friend into a cornfield and murdered her deliberately. The 
 Boston murderers, Pomeroy and Piper, were not tempted 
 or driven to crime by any circumstances outside of their 
 own wicked selves. To say, as this prison reform woman 
 does, that ' all crime can be traced to ignorance, intemper 
 ance and poverty," is in the teeth of that precept which 
 reads : " When lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin ; 
 and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death." That is 
 the philosophy of the whole matter, and put into the quaint 
 words of the old English Bible, sounds professional, but 
 cannot be made more impressive or intelligible. A poor 
 man takes his choice to work or to steal. He chooses to 
 steal. The prison reformer says " the cause of this crime is 
 poverty." Nonsense. Poverty stimulates thousands to hon 
 est work. It is the cause of virtue far more than it is a 
 cause of vice. A good man under the pressure of poverty, 
 and the vast majority of the human family, depend upon 
 daily labor for daily bread, and are hungry when they do 
 not work. If poverty was the cause of crime, the world 
 would be depopulated by the crimes of its inhabitants. 
 Ignorance is not the cause of crime. Scarcely a sane man 
 living, in the darkest land under heaven, is so ignorant as to 
 commit crime in consequence of it, or from want of knowl 
 edge that it is wrong to steal and commit murder. And if 
 the entire population of the United States were taught the 
 whole circle of sciences and arts, so that uneducated men 
 were as rare as angels on earth, there would yet be crime. 
 The Binghamton murderer, Ruloff, wag a prodigy of learn-
 
 A WOMAN'S VIEW OF CRIME. 357 
 
 ing. Dr. Webster was a Professor in our oldest University. 
 Eugene Aram was a school teacher. And the ignoble army 
 of official rascals, whose thefts in this city, in the canal rings 
 of the State, in the Washington departments and the County 
 Treasuries, are not poor, ignorant or intemperate. The 
 whiskey villains now in prison, and the greater number out, 
 were not drunkards on their own poison, crooked or straight. 
 Intemperance deprives its victim of judgment and con 
 science, inflames his passions, until he is "set on fire of 
 hell." Hence more crimes are traced to this than to any 
 other source. But this is itself a crime. To say that intem 
 perance causes crime is merely saying, what is very true, 
 that one crime causes more. Therefore it is the veriest 
 quackery in reform to lay it down as a great principle that 
 " All crime can be traced to ignorance, intemperance and 
 poverty." It is simply nonsense. Another proposition 
 equally absurd is laid down by the same writer in the same 
 essay. She says : 
 
 "Prisoners should be sentenced until reformed ': not for ten or twenty 
 years with no regard to reform." 
 
 This folly has its origin in the common blunder of these 
 sapient reformers that the object of punishment is to reform 
 men. That it is earnestly to be sought for, is very true, but 
 law and penalty are not designed for the reformation of the 
 convict. His reformation is a very desirable object, and all 
 suitable means should be employed for that purpose. But 
 law and penalty are for the protection of society, the preven 
 tion of crime and the just punishment of criminals. If Win- 
 slow is brought back to Boston and convicted of his numer 
 ous forgeries and sent to prison, his reformation is no part 
 of the object in view. God grant that the fellow may be 
 reformed. But the object of the sentence is to punish for 
 gery, restrain pthers from doing the same, and so make it 
 safer for men to rely on the signatures of their neighbors. 
 It was no part of the intent of the law to reform Dolan when 
 it condemned him to the gallows. It was to make the pen 
 alty a terror to evil-doers. Yet the moment that saw him
 
 3S 8 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 justly doomed, these reformers went about with petitions to 
 get his neck out of the halter he so richly deserved. 
 
 And now for the height of folly. The magnitude of the 
 crime is not to be taken into account in imposing the pen 
 alty ! Ten years or twenty years are not to be a measure of 
 what is due to the law, but the prisoner is to be sentenced 
 
 TILL HE REFORMS ! ! 
 
 Pray tell us, Mrs. Reformer, who is to judge of the pris 
 oner's reformation? Will you have a committee of the 
 Prison Association to examine each convict and decide 
 when he is reformed sufficiently to be let out upon society 
 again ? 
 
 Just imagine Judge Daly on the bench, pronouncing sen 
 tence upon a thief or a murderer in these words : 
 
 " Patrick O'Halligan, you have been tried and justly convicted of a great 
 crime : under the old law you would have been sentenced to the gallows, or 
 to prison for life, but under the reformed system introduced by the good 
 women who now manage our criminal practice, it is my duty to sentence 
 you to stand committed until you reform. I will appoint one of these 
 excellent women to take charge of your reformation, and, under her direc 
 tion, I have no doubt that a few days will see you turned out a reformed 
 man, fully qualified to do your duty as a good citizen. Begging pardon for 
 having detained you so long, I now wish you good afternoon." 
 
 And this stuff is now the model talk of prison reform. It 
 is all cant, folly, falsehood, sham, and deserves to be hissed 
 out of philanthropic circles. Yet it is endorsed by religious 
 people in this city.
 
 MINISTERS' SONS. 359 
 
 MINISTERS' SONS. 
 
 My attention was recently turned to the fact that a few, 
 and but a few, of the sons of the clergy, in the city, had be 
 come ministers of the gospel. The means of making a pre 
 cisely accurate statement of the facts are not in my possession, 
 and the memory of others will doubtless retain the names of 
 some that I have forgotten. Within the last thirty-five years 
 I have known the sons of Potts, Bangs, Alexander, Skinner, 
 Tyng, Hutton, Chambers, Newell, Knox, Vermilye, who have 
 entered the ministry. But what are these, added to those 
 not mentioned, compared with the multitude of fathers in the 
 Church, whose sons have not entered into their labors, or the 
 service of God in the same calling ? 
 
 Then I wrote to Princeton and asked Dr. McGill to give 
 me the number of students in the Theological Seminary there, 
 whose fathers are or were ministers, and he wrote me : " As 
 nearly as I can ascertain, we have 24 sons of ministers among 
 the 1 20 on our roll at present, about one in five, a smaller 
 proportion than usual here." 
 
 A similar inquiry in the New York Union Theological 
 Seminary, brought to me about the same report. To some 
 it may appear that this is as large a number as might be rea 
 sonably expected. The proportion of ministers to the whole 
 population is so small, that a school of one hundred should 
 not perhaps be expected to contain more than one-fifth of 
 its members of the families of one profession. And it is not 
 impossible that we would find it equally true of the legal and 
 medical professions, that the sons do not generally follow the 
 calling of their fathers. But it is also worthy of note that 
 the work of the ministry has an element in it that does not 
 touch the call to any other profession. While it is very true 
 that the hand of God is to be acknowledged in every man's 
 destiny, and He appoints to one man his place, and to another 
 his ; still we, who believe in a divine and specific call as part 
 of the evidence that a man should go into the ministry, do
 
 360 I REN ;E US LETTERS. 
 
 not ask for such an indication to decide that a young man 
 shall go into trade or any other secular calling. 
 
 Nor is it true that every man whom God calls obeys. As 
 Jonah fled from his duty, so thousands now-a-days shirk 
 theirs. God does not send a whale to swallow and save 
 them, as he did in the case of Jonah; but we have known 
 many cases in which they who have run away from the work 
 to which they were called of God, have fallen into worse fates, 
 and have bitterly repented their disobedience. 
 
 If I were required to name two reasons for the few recruits 
 the ministry gets from its own children, I would venture 
 upon the facts that the sons of some are tempted by the 
 chances of worldly success, and the sons of others are dis 
 couraged by the trials they suffer with their fathers. 
 
 The temptation is presented by the facilities which business 
 offers to the well-educated sons of pastors. Every depart 
 ment of prosperous trade in the hands of a parishioner is an 
 opening for a promising young man who comes with the 
 prestige of his own and his father's good name, so that a 
 pastor is not under the necessity of seeking long and anx 
 iously for a place into which to introduce his son, but places 
 are always open and ready for him. 
 
 The trials that discourage the minister's son from walking 
 in the ways of his father, are common to the lot of the larger 
 part of the families whose head is a preacher of the gospel. 
 With the many, life is just a struggle to make the two ends 
 of the year meet : old things must not be done away, but all 
 things must be made as good as new, if possible : and to take 
 no thought for the morrow when a flock of children are to be 
 clothed and fed, requires an amount of grace greatly to be 
 prized, if it can be had. Human nature is very imperfect, 
 and it is not wonderful that a bright, observant and thought 
 ful boy should, even with the approbation of his father, turn 
 away from the service that seems so hard, when it ought to 
 be more abundantly alleviated by those who enjoy it. 
 
 It was never designed of Christ that his ministry should be 
 a life of ease, profit and worldly recompense : but that is no 
 apology for the meanness of those who keep their pastors on
 
 MINISTERS' SONS. 361 
 
 the shortest possible allowance. I have known the children 
 of ministers to put out, like birds unfledged from the nest, 
 and, before they were fit for it, to try to earn their own living, 
 because they saw their parents unable to provide for them 
 suitable food and clothing. I have had, as a guest in my 
 own house, a rural pastor seeking his runaway soji, who had 
 left home for no reason in the world but to cease being a tax 
 upon his overtaxed parents. We may say, with truth, there 
 is no calling that, on the whole, yields more peace and joy 
 than the service of God in the pastoral work : but it is also 
 true that its peace and joy come not from the reward that is 
 seen, but altogether from the unseen and eternal. The boys 
 cannot see it, and they seek another sort. 
 
 It is said and proved and felt that there are too many min 
 isters, but it is not shown that there are too many of the 
 stamp the Church needs and desires to have. Perhaps there 
 has been a back-set to the tide that once flowed in upon the 
 ministry, and just now there may be a reluctance to go into 
 the service. But there is not now, never was, never will be a 
 time when a youth of fine promise should be turned away 
 from this work by the glitter of any crown within the reach 
 of a human arm. It is the prize of the highest calling. The 
 rich and the noble of the earth may not be often called. But 
 the mother who dedicates her son to the ministry and gives 
 him to Christ, prays with and for him that he may be called, 
 and sees him pressing through hardships and suffering into 
 the pulpit as a minister of the gospel of the grace of God, 
 seeks for him and gains for him, a crown that fadeth not, and 
 will one day outshine the stars. 
 
 That is a miserable lie which says that ministers' sons are 
 the worst in the parish. One prodigal from the pastor's own 
 fold makes more talk than ninety and nine apostates from 
 the rest of the church. Because ministers' sons, as a rule, 
 are good, the badness of some is a wonder and the town's 
 talk. The promise is to the believing parent. After the 
 fathers shall be the children. The sons of David shall sit on 
 his throne. It is a kingly honor to be servant of the Most 
 High. And blessed is that minister whose sons are kings.
 
 362 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 A MINISTER WHO WAS HUNG. 
 
 William Dodd was an English clergyman, born in May, 
 1729, and educated at the University of Cambridge. He 
 married a woman of extravagant tastes, and in this respect, 
 as in many others, their tastes were alike. 
 
 After being ordained he was made rector of the parish of 
 West Ham, near London. There he proved to be so elo 
 quent that he was soon called into the city and became one 
 of its celebrities. With his popularity and prosperity he was 
 more and more extravagant and reckless in his style of 
 living. To meet his expenses he engaged in literary work 
 outside of his clerical duties ; he was made tutor of young 
 Philip Stanhope, afterwards Lord Chesterfield : and at 
 length was appointed chaplain to the King. Chesterfield 
 became his best friend : or worst : got him through many 
 troubles, helped him to money, and to his ruin, of course: 
 for, when he wanted more than his patron would give him, 
 he committed a forgery upon Lord Chesterfield for $20,000, 
 was tried, convicted and executed. Great efforts were made 
 to save him. The jury recommended him to mercy. 
 Noblemen, clergymen, and 23,000 citizens of London pe 
 titioned the King to interfere, but the government declined 
 to do so and the reverend criminal, under the law of the 
 times, was hanged at Tyburn, June 27, 1777. 
 
 Then, as now, commercial business, that exchange which 
 requires the constant use of paper and signatures, was the 
 life blood of social and national prosperity. To tamper 
 with public confidence in the bonds of individuals or cor 
 porations was to taint the blood of the community, poison 
 the springs of wealth, derange the circulation, and damage 
 irreparably the laws of healthful trade. A forger might 
 have personal friends to intercede for him, but government 
 and society looked upon him as a pirate, an outlaw, a thief 
 of the meanest kind, justly meriting the heaviest punish 
 ment the laws inflict. It was therefore held to be the duty 
 of the King to interpose no obstacle, but to let the law take
 
 A MINISTER WHO WAS HUNG. 363 
 
 its course. The condemned clergyman became very penitent. 
 His "Thoughts in Prison" and " Reflections on Death" are 
 still extant and indicate the sentiments of an educated cler 
 gyman in view of the scaffold. And so he died. 
 
 Even more emphatically now, than a hundred years ago, 
 the business of men is carried on by the means of paper, and 
 the confidence felt in the genuineness of signatures and the 
 honesty of transactions, is at the basis of daily and hourly 
 intercourse. We give and receive promises to pay, we make 
 our deposits in bank, we take certificates, bonds, mortgages, 
 relying on the honesty of somebody, for not in one case out 
 of a hundred, in the affairs of every-day life, is a man able to 
 go back to the original parties, and know that it is all right. 
 He takes it for granted, because of his confidence in human 
 nature generally, and certain men in particular. And this 
 confidence has become so large and business habits so loose 
 in consequence of it, and greed has grown with the ease of 
 getting, and money has cheapened by its adulteration, as 
 rags take the place of precious metals, until it has now 
 come to pass that crimes like that of Mr. Dodd and crimes 
 in the same line with his, are of daily occurrence to the 
 ruin of individuals and of that trust which society has a 
 right to feel in its representative men. I do not say that all 
 bankruptcies are criminal, though they are always failures 
 to pay obligations honestly due. They are oftentimes the 
 result of misfortunes, the crimes of others, and events that 
 no human foresight could anticipate. But, so far as they 
 come from imprudence, recklessness, greed, haste to be rich, 
 improvidence, inattention, extravagance, speculation, or an 
 over-sanguine temperament, they are criminal and merit 
 punishment by law. 
 
 All defalcations are crimes. All breaches of trust are 
 crimes. All uses of other people's money without their 
 consent, are crimes. 
 
 Yet it is not unusual, in our times, to look upon a de 
 faulter in a bank or counting room, as a generous fellow, 
 who intended to put back the money he stole, so soon as he 
 had made enough by gambling to warrant him in turning
 
 IREN^.US LETTERS. 
 
 himself into an honest man. It does not occur to me at this 
 moment that we have punished a defaulter in this city 
 during the last quarter of a century. I have no doubt there 
 have been more than five hundred detected in their crimes. 
 
 There is a law of the United States requiring the publica 
 tion annually of the names of defaulting officers, with the 
 amounts they severally stole. Since 1865 the law has not 
 been complied with. It is a good law, but it would be better 
 still to put the defaulters invariably into the penitentiary. 
 One year of righteous justice would save the country mil 
 lions of money in the future. 
 
 When treasurers or trustees are caught in their abuse of 
 trust, they should be sternly held in the hand of justice. 
 And there are men whose names have stood high in the 
 church and whose false pretences have beggared thousands, 
 yet these financiers are clothed in fine linen and fare sump 
 tuously every day, while their victims are hungry and cold. 
 These are serious matters, and big with future ills. 
 
 It is not desirable to revive capital punishment for crimes 
 against property. Let it be granted that the law condemn 
 ing Dr. Dodd to death was wrong, and was wisely modified. 
 But the crime, and all similar crimes, by which the money 
 of others is taken from them by forgery, or defalcation, or 
 breach of trust, or carelessness, or deception or fraud, ought 
 to be punished as crime, not compromised, covered up, ex 
 cused and so encouraged. 
 
 Here is the weakness of the public conscience in this dawn 
 of a new century of the Republic. This is the failing link in 
 the social chain at the present day. Men look upon money 
 crimes as venial sins. One hundred years ago, Tweed 
 and Connolly and Sweeny, and all the men who took the 
 people's money for work they never did, WOULD HAVE BEEN 
 HUNG ; Harry Genet and Tom Fields would have graced the 
 gallows (they never graced anything else). How is it now? 
 It is impossible to discover a public feeling that DEMANDS 
 the punishment of official thieves. A hundred years ago the 
 men who let Tweed escape would have been hung, by law or 
 without law.
 
 A MINISTER WHO WAS HUtfG. 365 
 
 To what is this tending ? Each advancing year increases 
 the desire for wealth, diminishes the security of property, 
 enhances the number, the pay and the opportunities of men 
 holding judicial places, weakens public conscience respect 
 ing stealing, blurs the eighth commandment in the deca 
 logue, magnifies the influence of riches, rewards success in 
 getting money without scruple as to the means, and puts 
 honor on men who should be dressed in striped woolens, 
 breaking stone instead of the laws, in the prisons of the 
 country. 
 
 Children in school and in the family should be taught "it 
 is a sin to steal a pin, much more a greater thing." I do not 
 wish to see the gallows made the punishment for stealing. 
 But, I would be rejoiced to see a revival of common honesty. 
 Things would then be called by their right names, and trea 
 surers, clerks and trustees, directors and traders, bankers, 
 and all who have the watch and care of other people's money, 
 would understand that the meanest thief in this world, 
 meaner than the sneak-thief who climbs into the window 
 while we are at dinner and steals, meaner than the man who 
 steals his neighbor's sheep in the night, is that professedly 
 honest Christian who has the custody of another's money 
 and puts it to his own use, or the man who abuses the con 
 fidence of his fellow men by forgery or fraud.
 
 366 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 TORTURING THE LITTLE ONES. 
 
 Two kinds of cruelty to children are so common, that to 
 speak of one and not the other, would leave the subject half 
 handled. You have children perhaps. If not, your neigh 
 bors have. And this matter of caring for children is becom 
 ing so much a matter of business, that we have a Society in 
 this city to prevent them from being cruelly treated. It is 
 an excellent Society. Good men, and all sorts of good men, 
 favor it. None but bad men, and very bad men, would 
 hinder its usefulness. 
 
 And the two kinds of cruelty to children will be brought 
 to your notice by the fact that there is a treatment of chil 
 dren never complained of by the Society, that makes more 
 misery to children and parents than beatings or hunger. 
 
 I know a prominent member of the Society for the Pre 
 vention of Cruelty to Children. He is the father of one 
 little girl now about four years old. He doubtless loves her 
 dearly. He thinks that loving her is shown by letting the 
 child have her own way. She has it. She is never restrained, 
 never governed, never crossed, always petted, indulged, and 
 obeyed. The child rules the house. Father, mother, ser 
 vants are all her slaves. What comes of it? Is the child 
 happy because she lords it over the whole family ? So far 
 from it, she cries with passion or pain a large part of the 
 time. She is never contented. She goes from one thing to 
 another in a constant series of searches for something to do 
 that she ought not to do. And when she wants what it is 
 impracticable to get, as the boy who cried for the moon, 
 then she goes into tantrums and screams loud enough to 
 split the ears of the neighbors. Thus the family are annoyed : 
 the neighbors are annoyed : the child is wretched, peevish, 
 fretful, impatient, passionate, dissatisfied with everything, 
 and generally miserable. 
 
 And she is very disagreeable. It was an ill-natured re 
 mark of Jerrold to a mother who apologized for her child 
 crying in the parlor: "O," said he, " I like to have children
 
 TORTURING THE LITTLE ONES. 367 
 
 Cry in company, for then they are taken right out of the 
 room." And whenever I visit my friend, and his child sets 
 up a roar, I think of Jerrold, and wish that his observation 
 were in accord with my experience, which it is not. 
 
 But it is a most mistaken idea that indulgence is kindness. 
 Often it is the greatest cruelty. To impress upon a child 
 the duty of obedience is the first of all lessons. It may be 
 taught before the child is a year old ; and without a blow, or 
 the infliction of any physical pain. It must be taught in 
 very early life, or it will never be learned. To neglect it, 
 and to put off government, until the child is old enough to 
 be reasoned with, is cruel, wicked and silly. This neglect 
 makes infancy and childhood a season of suffering, sows 
 seeds of misery in after life, and perhaps of ruin here and 
 hereafter. 
 
 Dr. Adams said that parental government is the corner 
 stone of civil government. And when I see the streets of a 
 great city thronged at night with wrecks of young men and 
 young women, whose steps already take hold on hell, I know 
 that most of them are the victims of parental indulgence. 
 They come from households where parents let them have 
 their own way, when they should have been governed. Read 
 the story of Eli and his sons, and tremble as you read. 
 
 If we must have a Society for every thing, and we have a 
 new one every year let it be an " Anti-letting-children- 
 always-have-their-own-way Society." It will be a mercy to 
 the children. Many will be saved from tears and groans 
 and cries, by being " made to mind," and some will be kept 
 from that place of torment where weeping and wailing have 
 no end. Indulgence in wrong is the gravest cruelty to a 
 child. I wish the new Society would go for its own mem 
 bers who ruin their children as Eli did. He fell over and 
 broke his neck when he heard that his boys were killed, for 
 he knew that their sad end was his fault. So it will be your 
 own fault, if your children perish through your neglect to 
 govern them when they ace in tender years. 
 
 That is one kind of cruelty. Now for the other. 
 
 A few days ago, a teacher in a public school, to punish a
 
 3^8 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 child, lifted him by the ears, dropped him, lifted him again 
 and again and dropped him, till the child was seriously, per 
 haps fatally, injured. I have seen a lady lifting a child by 
 the ears and carrying it out of a room to punish it for some 
 trifling offence. We are shocked and disgusted by the 
 recital of brutalities inflicted on children by their drunken 
 parents or infuriated teachers ; but it is quite probable that 
 the amount of cruelty by in judicious and respectable parents, 
 under a mistaken sense of duty, far exceeds the crimes of 
 the ignorant and intemperate. Many parents box the ears 
 of children, striking them a square blow on the side of the 
 head, a dangerous and wicked punishment. The sudden 
 compression of the air within the ear is very apt to be inju 
 rious, and the shock to the brain is perilous to the intellect. 
 The injury may not be perceived at the time, but the founda 
 tion of future and unspeakable suffering and sorrow may be 
 laid by one inconsiderate blow on the temple of a child. 
 More common than this, and equally cruel, is the practice 
 of pulling the ears of children, the most common mode, with 
 some parents, of punishing their own children. Teachers 
 sometimes hold a child's ear while he is reading, and pinch 
 or pull it at every blunder, thus hoping to keep the child's 
 attention fixed for fear of the pain. A worse mode could 
 not be adopted, for the child's mind is diverted to the dan 
 ger and from the lesson, and so he stumbles. Such parents 
 and teachers deserve corporal punishment themselves. The 
 delicate organism of the human ear requires the most gentle 
 handling, and to treat it as a mere cartilage to be pulled for 
 the purpose of punishing, is a piece of inhumanity that 
 reason forbids and religion condemns. Some parents send 
 their children into a dark closet where they are in terror of 
 imaginary goblins. Perhaps this is not as common as it was 
 fifty years ago, but it is not out of use. It is not unfre- 
 quently the cause of idiocy or insanity, and no judicious 
 parent will permit it to be practiced in his house. Nurses 
 often frighten children with tales of terror, threats of bears 
 and big men, to carry them off. A nurse detected in such
 
 TORTURING THE LITTLE OttES. 369 
 
 crimes should be discharged before night. She cannot be 
 cured. And she must not be endured. 
 
 Cruel and unusual punishments are forbidden by human 
 law. It is wonderful that parental instincts and human love 
 are not strong enough to restrain the hand of fathers and 
 mothers from hasty, passionate and intemperate violence on 
 their own flesh and blood. A father vents his impatience 
 on the son of his affections. A mother worn with care, 
 wanting to read her novel or go to sleep, beats her babe to 
 make it quiet. But a parent or teacher should never punish 
 a child, in heat or with sudden violence. Such punishment 
 has no moral force in it. The calm, judicial, righteous 
 judgment is as needful in the infliction of pain upon an err 
 ing child, as in the sentence of a prisoner at the bar. If you 
 cannot govern yourself, you are quite unfit to govern chil 
 dren, and if you strike a child in haste or under excitement, 
 you deserve to be whipped yourself. 
 
 Is the rod to be abolished, and would we condemn the 
 punishment of children when they do wrong at home or in 
 school ? So far from it, the wisdom of Solomon is wisdom 
 yet. To deny the right and duty of punishing disobedient 
 children, is logically to overturn the government of man and 
 of God. And as obedience in society is in order to the 
 highest happiness of the community, so in the family those 
 children are the happiest who are taught and required to 
 obey. Scolding will not make them obedient. Fretting 
 makes them worse. Harshness, severity, cruel pains, loud 
 words, and hasty blows are all wrong. But an even temper, 
 inflexible purpose, unyielding to the entreaties of the child 
 who wishes to do wrong ; these are virtues that dwell in 
 every right mind, and will regulate the government of every 
 well-ordered house.
 
 37 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 MILK AND WATER. 
 
 Our good people, in this unhappy city, are afflicted with all 
 sorts of impostors, swindlers, thieves, robbers, and even mur 
 derers. Among them, perhaps, the sellers of impure milk 
 are as bad as any. We think of milk as the natural food of 
 our little ones, and when they imbibe a cup of the whole 
 some fluid, we imagine it will do them good. So it would, 
 if what is called milk were milk. 
 
 It is an emblem of the best, even of heavenly food. The 
 "sincere milk of the Word," we are told, should be "de 
 sired," as if we were "new-born babes," that we " may grow 
 thereby." But it must be "sincere" milk; that is pure, 
 sine cera, without wax, as pure honey is sincere. If the 
 Word has a mixture of error in it, the hearer will not " grow 
 thereby:" it will do him no good, perhaps will be the death 
 of him. So the milk we buy at our doors and use for our 
 selves and families, must be sincere milk, pure, without 
 adulteration, or it will not answer the purpose. And this is 
 what we have had some lawsuits about lately. 
 
 Our Board of Health has been putting its fingers into the 
 milk cans with some good results. Having been provided 
 with a milk-tester, called a lactometer, they have an easy 
 method of finding out whether milk is mixed with water or 
 not. It is a better test than a great institution used in this 
 city thirty years ago. Premiums were offered for the best 
 quality of milk, and the farmers and dairymen from all the 
 country-side round about New York, came in with their milk 
 pans, and set their milk for the judges to test and taste. The 
 judges would not rely on their tasting faculties, preferring to 
 employ them on liquids whose qualities they were more 
 familiar with than milk. But they had a lactometer, an in 
 strument marked with degrees like a thermometer, and this 
 was to sink into the milk, more or less according to the rich 
 ness, thickness, creaminess of the milk. That is, as milk 
 yields cream, and cream is more solid than milk, these "wise 
 men of Gotham," whose fathers ''went to sea in a bowl,"
 
 MILK AND WATER. 371 
 
 supposed that the milk which had the most cream in it, is of 
 course the richest and best. The lactometer would there 
 fore sink only a little way int.o it, being buoyed up by the 
 thickness of the liquid ; while in the lighter quality it would 
 sink down freely to a deeper depth. On this principle the 
 premiums were awarded. After it was all over, and the 
 happy farmers and the disappointed ones had gone back to 
 their cows and corn, it was discovered by some intermed 
 dling philosopher that cream rises to the top because it is 
 lighter than the rest of the milk, and of course that the milk 
 with most cream in it is lighter than milk with less cream, 
 and the premiums had been given to the poorest milk, and 
 the best had been condemned as the worst! So much for 
 the decision of judges who knew nothing of what they 
 judge. Yet they were as wise as the New York lady who 
 dismissed her milkman ^because, as she told him, "when the 
 milk stood over night, a nasty yellow scum rose on the 
 surface." 
 
 But the tastes of city people have improved. The women 
 generally know that the " nasty yellow scum," on the sur 
 face of milk, is cream, and the cream is the very cream of 
 the milk. The progress of ideas, the march of knowledge 
 and the improvement in the modes of education, are illus 
 trated by the following fact. A little girl in this city, 
 received among her last Christmas toys, the present of a 
 baby churn, holding about half a pint. Getting this quan 
 tity of milk she churned away steadily until she " made the 
 butter come," and at tea the wonderful pat was displayed and 
 eaten in triumph by the admiring house. So you see that in 
 the city we are learning to do our own work, and if we can 
 not have good butter sent in, we will set the babes to make 
 it, and we will keep our own cows too. 
 
 Our Board of Health have been pursuing the milkmen 
 with some small degree of vigor. Eight of them were 
 arraigned under the law to prevent the adulteration of things 
 sold. These milkmen are not those who drive about the 
 streets in the morning, usually so early as to wake you up at 
 an untimely hour, or so late as to make you wait half an
 
 372 IREN^US LETTERS. 
 
 hour after time for breakfast. Whenever did a milkman or 
 a breadman come at the right time ? 
 
 The breadmen are the more irregular of the two, and this 
 reminds me of one in Philadelphia. He was, as usual, 
 dashing madly through the streets when the celebrated Dr. 
 Chapman was about to cross. The breadman saw the Doc 
 tor, halted his horse suddenly and let him pass. The Doc 
 tor bowed and said, " You are the best bred-man, in town." 
 
 Milk-dealers keep the article in shops for sale to customers 
 who call for it. They are supposed to have regular supplies 
 from the country. Some of them do, But the milky way is 
 a great mystery. It was proved upon a trial, not long since, 
 that after the milk cans are put upon the rail cars up in the 
 country, (how much water is put into the cans with the milk 
 before, was not shown) the men on the cars help themselves 
 to the milk at their pleasure, supplying the vacancy with 
 water. On its arrival at the city, the cans are conveyed by 
 wagon to the dealer, and on the way thither the driver takes 
 out what he wants and fills up with water, which he carries 
 in pails under the seat for the purpose, and finally the liquid 
 reaches the shop of the retailer, who again waters it to suit 
 his views of trade and duty to himself and customers. 
 
 These last are the gentlemen, eight of whom were brought to 
 trial on the charge of selling adulterated milk. One of them 
 was arraigned and his was made a test case. The lactometer 
 was the principal witness. Would it lie ? Could it be made 
 to tell the truth ? Its capacity and its credibility were 
 challenged. Experts were called in and put on the stand. 
 Now these experts are becoming a very important and dan 
 gerous set of men. Every man's life may be in the hands of 
 experts. Is this your handwriting ? You say No, and up 
 rises an expert and swears that he can tell to a dead certainty 
 whether the handwriting is yours or not : he is an expert. 
 Your testimony is of very little account, for though you may 
 know, yet as you are not an expert and the other man is, you 
 may find yourself in State prison for forgery because an 
 expert, knows more than you do. And men do not always 
 know their own signature. Some years ago an excellent
 
 MILK AND WATER. 373 
 
 Christian citizen was charged with forgery. The banker who 
 accused him of forging his name, was handed in the court 
 room, on the trial, a piece of paper with his own name on it, 
 and he was asked if that was his signature. He said it was : 
 examined it carefully and swore positively to it. Then three 
 men rose up and made oath that one of their number, in the 
 presence of the other two, wrote that signature on that table 
 a few moments before, and did it to confound the banker. 
 He acknowledged his error, was at once convinced that he 
 had wrongfully accused his neighbor, withdrew the charge, 
 paid the costs and sought to repair the injury he had done. 
 But, if my memory be correct, the good man died from the 
 effects of the injurious charge. 
 
 But we neglect these milkmen. Experts proved that the 
 lactometer was infallible as a test of the presence of water : 
 the more water the deeper it would sink. It is made to 
 stand at 100 degrees in ordinarily good milk : one Alderney 
 cow's milk registered 112 and another 120. That was rich 
 milk. Mr. Starr's cows, at Litchfield, gave milk so rich that, 
 in pails 1 5 inches deep, the cream stood four inches thick. If 
 the lactometer sinks below 100, it shows the presence of 
 water. The milkman's milk on trial registered 80: he was 
 convicted and fined $100; the others owned up and were 
 let off on paying $50 each. So the lactometer and the 
 experts were sustained, and the wicked milk-dealers came to 
 grief.
 
 374 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 MY VINE: MY POOR VINE! 
 
 The first house I ever owned was in Newark, N. J. With 
 the house was a garden, and in the midst of the garden 
 stood an arbor, and that arbor was covered by an Isabella 
 grape vine, and of that vine is this story. 
 
 As the vine was the crown of the garden, I employed an 
 experienced vine dresser, at the proper time of the year, to 
 prune it properly and put it in perfect order for the opening 
 spring. A few days afterward, an amateur gardening friend, 
 one who prided himself in knowing all about plants, from 
 the cedars of Lebanon to Isabella grape vines, came to see 
 me, and my new place. He was delighted ; but as he ap 
 proached the central beauty, he remarked with great wis 
 dom : " This is a very fine vine, but you ought to have had 
 it trimmed !" 
 
 This was discouraging indeed : but for the humor of the 
 thing, I said, "You know so much more of this than I, per 
 haps you would like to trim it ?" 
 
 He sprang to the work, as if it were play, whipped out his 
 jackknife, which he always carried to execute everything 
 he could, and at it he went, cutting off all the wood he could 
 find. 
 
 Sure that my precious vine was spoiled, I hailed without 
 further fear a visit from another friend and relative, who had 
 great contempt for my knowledge of worldly affairs : we 
 walked in the garden, and, entering the arbor, he said, ' You 
 should have had this vine trimmed you never did know 
 enough to " 
 
 I checked him with, " You always save me the trouble, 
 wouldn't you just go over it now; here's a knife." He took 
 it fondly and, with the aid of a step-ladder, the old gentle 
 man went through it, and left it as naked as Wolsey was 
 when the king deserted him. Now my poor vine was 
 certainly safe from further excision. But a week and an 
 other visitor came to my vineyard. He was from the north 
 ern part of New York, and did not realize the lateness of the
 
 MY VINE: MY POOR VINE! 375 
 
 season : it was April with us in New Jersey : he admired my 
 new home, and when we came to the vine, so trim and clean 
 and clear, I waited for his pleased expression; but, to my 
 dismay, he exclaimed : 
 
 "You have forgotten to have it trimmed: it's a splendid 
 vine : it's late to be sure, but not too late to trim it yet." 
 
 Having given up all hope of fruit from it, after its previous 
 mutilations, I was quite careless about its fate and remarked : 
 " Perhaps you would like to try your hand on it : here is an 
 excellent knife." 
 
 He seized it with evident pleasure, plunged in medias res 
 instanter, and, in the course of thirty minutes, managed to 
 amputate every bough of promise that had dared to make its 
 appearance on the vine of my affections. The work of ruin 
 was complete. The vine was barren that year. Next year 
 perhaps a little better, but it never recovered the shock of 
 those untimely wounds. My folly, in letting these quacks 
 doctor my darling, was punished by its destruction. Often, 
 when too late, I regretted that, for the sake of seeing to what 
 length ignorance and self-conceit would go, I permitted these 
 good friends to meddle with matters too high for them and, 
 like the little foxes in the song of songs, to spoil my vine. 
 
 Every man to his own business. Ne sutor ultra crepidam, 
 Let the cobbler stick to his last. " Study to be quiet and to 
 doyour own business" is a divine command, and, like all in 
 structions from the same source, is full of common sense. 
 
 The church and the world, religion and business, are dis 
 turbed and annoyed and sadly injured, like my garden, with 
 amateurs, pretenders, quacks: men who have new and im 
 proved methods of doing what was well enough done before, 
 but which they would do with patented processes peculiar 
 to themselves, and a vast improvement upon everything that 
 has gone before. My study is strewed with patent venti 
 lators. Every autumn a new man appears with a queer 
 shaped instrumentality, and, casting his eyes upwards at my 
 windows, he says : " I see you've got one of them old-fashi 
 ioned ventilators into there : it 'taint no good, is it ?" 
 
 " No, it's good for nothing : better out than in."
 
 37<5 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 "Wall, now you see here's the thing to do it : I put one of 
 these 'ere traps up to the top and tother into the bottom of 
 the winder : and the wind comes whizzin in to one and goes 
 out tother, and so keeps it fresh and kind o' breezy like all 
 the time : 'spose you try "em." 
 
 I consent, and he goes at it with a will. He pulls out the 
 old ones : puts in his : and the next fall, perhaps the next 
 month, another man comes along with a new patent venti 
 lator and wants to try it. He tries it. It is very trying to 
 me, but the pleasure of seeing the foolish experiments fail is 
 the compensation. They are all equally bad. 
 
 The same quackery succeeds in trade, in finance, in medi 
 cine, in the Church. We live in cycles, circles ; what things 
 have been shall be, and there is nothing new under the sun. 
 Yet the world moves. Progress is made because good begets 
 good and truth is fruitful. Conservatism holds fast that 
 which is good, and with it works onward to the overthrow 
 of evil. Radicalism is too impatient, rushes ahead, generally 
 knocks its head against the wall, and would dash its brains 
 out, if it had any. Even' the goose that laid golden eggs, one 
 a day, was less of a goose than the radical who killed her to 
 get all the eggs at once. 
 
 One of the best books might be made by writing the biog 
 raphy of defunct theories in science. Men have received as 
 settled truths, vast systems of astronomy, chemistry and ge 
 ology, that are now exploded. Yet while those sciences were 
 the faiths of the day, it was quite as much as a man's repu 
 tation was worth to teach otherwise. And to this day no 
 man lives who knows what electricity is, or how the thing 
 works. These facts ought to make men modest, self-dis 
 trusting, and backward about coming forward, when they 
 don't know what they are about. 
 
 " Fools rush in where angels fear to tread," 
 
 and many men are ready to try their hands at trimming 
 other people's grape vines, when the regular vine dresser has 
 already done his duty well. 
 
 So in the Church. With the fullest, simplest and most
 
 WHITE AND YELLOW MEETING HOUSES. 377 
 
 beautiful instructions, the Church goes on from age to age, 
 the comfort and salvation of all who will rest under the 
 shadow of her wings. And every now and then some new 
 light arises, with a patent right for explaining the rules, and 
 a new way of saving souls. I would let a man trim my vine 
 if he really wanted to, whether he knew anything about it 
 or not ; but to work in the vineyard which the Lord has 
 given me to keep, a man must be thoroughly furnished, 
 and have the proofs of his skill, or he can't come in. 
 
 THE WHITE AND THE YELLOW MEETING 
 HOUSES. 
 
 The Old White Meeting House, in Cambridge, N. Y., was 
 the church of the regular line Presbyterians, of whom my 
 father was the pastor. The Yellow Meeting House held the 
 Scotch Presbyterians, of the sub-division known as Anti- 
 Burghers, whose pastor was a noble son of Scotland, Alex 
 ander Bullions, D.D. He and my father were the warmest 
 of friends six days in the week, yes, and seven, but the Jews 
 and Samaritans had more dealings together than did these 
 two friends and their people on the first day of the week. 
 This bothered me when a boy, and it has not become a whit 
 more intelligible since. 
 
 Dr. Bullions and my father were splendid classical scholars, 
 and they would spend long winter evenings over Greek 
 verbs and Latin prosody, disputing each other with imper 
 turbable good nature, and making the low-roofed cottage 
 ring with their uproarious laughter when one got the other 
 fairly on the hip in a philological wrestle. They formed a 
 club of four or five rural pundits, meeting once a week to 
 read Latin and Greek and quarrel about it. Dr. Watts' 
 dogs did not more delight to bark and bite, than these men 
 did to get their teeth into one another on the pronunciation 
 of a vowel or the inflection of a doubtful syllable. Dr. Mat. 
 Stevenson was one of them : a physician and scholar. Also
 
 378 IRENSEUS LETTERS. 
 
 Scotch. Very much set in his way. They were discussing 
 the difference in meaning of gens and natio. Dr. S. stood 
 out boldly against all the rest ; till one of them bluntly said 
 to him, 
 
 " You are the most obstinate man I ever ^Vf see." 
 
 " I am not obstinate," replied Dr. S. " I always give up as 
 soon as I am convinced." 
 
 How many just such pliable people I have met since ! 
 Sometimes I think we all have a touch of the slme openness 
 to conviction. But I was speaking of these ministers and 
 their people. Into the mysteries of the diversities of the 
 numerous Presbyterian bodies and souls, my studies in the 
 refinements of ecclesiastical history were never carried so far 
 as to enable me to mention them without reference to book. 
 One of my associates in the office belonged to one of the 
 minor sub-divisions of the Scotch churches, and whenever I 
 have occasion to state the difference between Burgher and 
 Anti-Burgher, Seceder, Associate, Reformed, Covenanters, 
 Cameronians, etc., I ask him, he tells me, I write it, forget it, 
 and ask him again the next time. But this I know, that no 
 warmer friends ever lived than the pastors of those two 
 Presbyterian churches, in the White and the Yellow meeting 
 houses, albeit the views of the Scotch Doctor were such, or 
 rather the rules of his kirk were such, that he and his people 
 had no church fellowship with the pastor and people in the 
 old White church. 
 
 The Scotch minister was not half as set in the old way as 
 his people. He was intensely Scotch in his brogue, so much 
 so that it was hard for me to understand him when, at the 
 school examinations, he would call out, " Wull, mawster 
 Sawm, wot part o' verb is thot ?" But he was so full of 
 genial good humor, so social in his nature, liberal, learned, 
 large-hearted, loving, that he could not be kept in the strait 
 jacket of any school but that of the one Master. His people 
 quarrelled about the psalm singing : some claimed that only 
 one line should be given out at a time, and others demand 
 ing that two should be read and then sung. He pre 
 vailed with the Presbytery to tell them it was of no impor-
 
 WHITE AND YELLOW MEETING HOUSES. 379 
 
 tance either way. But more serious was the trouble when 
 he preached before the Bible Society immediately after one 
 of the hymns of the late Isaac Watts had been sung ! For 
 this he was accused, as of a crime, and brought before the 
 judges. He asked " how long a time should elapse, after a 
 hymn had been sung, before it would be fit for him to preach 
 in the same house." I forget what was the result of this dis 
 cussion. But one thing led to another and another, until 
 this righteous old man was for a season laid under an inter 
 dict, so that his lips were sealed that he might not preach 
 the gospel he loved. He was afterwards released, and he died 
 in the triumphs of faith. 
 
 It was in the year 1746, about 130 years ago, that the Anti- 
 Burghers, to whom Dr. Bullions belonged, had their quarrel 
 with the Burghers, and the one body became two with these 
 respective names. They split on a clause in the oath re 
 quired to be taken by the freemen of certain boroughs, and 
 the inhabitants being called burgesses, those who were willing 
 to take the oath were called Burghers, and those who 
 refused were called Anti-Burghers. The oath expressed 
 "their hearty allowance of the true religion at present pro 
 fessed within the realm, and authorized by the laws thereof." 
 
 It was contended that the words " true religion at present 
 professed" was an admission that the Established Church 
 was the true religion, and therefore the one party would not 
 take the oath. The contest was very fierce, and went into 
 churches, hamlets, and houses. Friendships, old and warm, 
 went out before the storm that swept over the country. 
 Many interesting stories of the times are handed down. 
 
 Johnny Morten, a keen Burgher, and Andrew Gebbie, a 
 decided Anti-Burgher, both lived in the same house, but at 
 opposite ends, and it was the bargain that each should keep 
 his own side of the house well thatched. When the dispute 
 about the principles of their kirks, and especially the offen 
 sive clause in the oath, grew hot, the two neighbors ceased to 
 speak to each other. But one day they happened to be on 
 the roof at the same time, each repairing the thatch in the 
 slope of the roof on his own side, and when they had worked
 
 380 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 up to the top, there they were face to face. They couldn't 
 flee, so at last Andrew took off his cap and, scratching his 
 head, said, "Johnnie, you and me, I think, hae been very 
 foolish to dispute, as we hae done, concerning Christ's will 
 about our kirks, until we hae clean forgot His will about 
 ourselves ; and we hae fought sae bitterly for what we ca' the 
 truth, that it has ended in spite. Whatever's wrang, it's per 
 fectly certain that it never can be right to be uncivil, 
 unneighborly, unkind, in fac, tae hate ane anither. Na, na, 
 that's the deevil's wark, and no God's. Noo, it strikes me 
 that maybe it's wi' the kirk as wi' this house ; ye're working 
 on ae side and me on the t'ither, but if we only do our wark 
 weel, we will meet at the tap at last. Gie's your han', auld 
 neighbor!" And so they shook han', and were the best 
 o* freens ever after. 
 
 It did not remain for Dr. Bullions and my father to " meet 
 at the top" before they were one in heart, soul and mind. 
 They loved at first sight, and so much the more so as they 
 saw the day approaching when they would sit down in the 
 same General Assembly and Church of the first-born, whose 
 names are written in heaven. Yet I have often thought of 
 the solid comfort those two pastors now take in the Church 
 on high, where the wicked, and the ignorant and bigoted and 
 unreasonable, cease from troubling, and the weary sons of 
 thunder are at rest. They sing together the song of Moses 
 and the Lamb, and whether David wrote it, or Watts made 
 a version of it, or Rouse metred it, or Sternhold and Hop 
 kins, or Tate and Brady, or whether they read two lines and 
 sing, or only one, I know not, or what " the players on instru 
 ments who shall be there" will have to play on, is all unre- 
 vealed unless the harps and the trumpets are to be for the 
 use of the saints ; but of this I am sure, that they two those 
 glorious old pastors of the White and the Yellow churches, 
 now enjoy 
 
 " The song of them that triumph, 
 
 The shout of them that feast, 
 
 And they who with their Leader
 
 THE MEANEST WOMAN IN NEW YORK. 381 
 
 Have conquered in the fight, 
 Forever, and forever 
 Are clad in robes of white. 
 
 O holy placid harp notes 
 Of that eternal hymn !" 
 
 Can you tell me what is the use of waiting till we meet at 
 the top before we, who are to be one up there, shall be one ? 
 Let us try it on among those who are of one name, who not 
 only have the same Bible, but have the same creeds and 
 catechisms. Surely there is no good reason why these 
 Presbyterians of many subordinate names, yet all one in the 
 belief of the truth, should not be so related or confederated 
 as to be in substance one, having members indeed, but really 
 and truly one for the edifying of the body of Christ. Some 
 thirty or forty of these limbs are now scattered over the 
 world, waiting for the manifestation of some power to draw 
 them to their several places, so that all, being fitly compacted 
 together, may form a stately temple to the glory of its Head 
 and King. There is no reason for their present dismember 
 ment that will have any force or value in the air of heaven. 
 The White and the Yellow meeting houses will be of the 
 same color in the shine of the Lamb who is the light of the 
 upper sky. 
 
 THE MEANEST WOMAN IN NEW YORK. 
 
 She lives in a fashionable quarter of the town. And this 
 is what she did and does. In the name of charity she gave 
 out some dress-making to the inmates of one of the institu 
 tions for reforming and saving women supposed to be lost. 
 When the work was done, and well done, the fashionable 
 and charitable lady was not ready to pay the bill, which 
 amounted to the enormous sum of $12. The same work, if 
 it had been done at a fashionable dress-maker's, would have 
 cost her $25, perhaps $50. She had no complaint to make
 
 382 IREN^EUS LETTERS. 
 
 of the manner in which the work was done ; but she haggled 
 about the price, and, as she gave out the work in charity, 
 she thought, probably, that the charity should be extended 
 to her and not to the poor sewing woman who had earned 
 the money. One month passed away, and another, and six 
 more, while this wealthy and charitable woman, with one 
 excuse and another, put off paying the poor girl who was 
 seeking to earn an honest living and turn from her evil ways. 
 But she could not get her hard-earned money from this lady 
 patroness. Finally, in despair, she had recourse to the law, 
 by the aid of an agency, and the prospect of exposure, in the 
 character of a fraud, brought the lady to terms and she paid 
 the full amount ! 
 
 And I have styled her the meanest woman in New York. 
 If any one knows of meaner men or women than they are 
 who defraud in the name of charity, who do wickedness 
 under the pretence of benevolence, let them mention the 
 facts and I will modify the opinion. Further : women, as a 
 general. thing, are so much better than men, more sympa 
 thetic, charitable and liberal, that a business like this is 
 meaner in a woman than it would be in those hard old 
 tyrants called men. When a pious woman of fashion, a 
 leader perhaps in the benevolent operations of the church, 
 first directress of this society, and manageress of that, and 
 treasurer of another ; who thinks nothing of paying $500 for 
 a dress for one evening's wear, and, to be very charitable, 
 employs a poor fallen woman struggling with poverty and 
 honesty, and then neglects to pay her wages, she deserves to 
 be labelled as among the meanest of her sex. Her standing 
 in the church and society only increases her meanness, and 
 draws upon her the aggravated contempt of all rightminded 
 ladies. 
 
 There is in our city a society, with whose works I have 
 been conversant for ten or a dozen years past, whose records 
 are dark with stories of such wrongs as this. It is a society 
 so humble in its sphere and so righteous in its purposes ; so 
 still and yet so strong, founded in the two great virtues that 
 illustrate the divine character, and therefore that of the best
 
 THE MEANEST WOMAN IN 'NEW YORK. 383 
 
 of human character, the virtues of justice and mercy, that 
 it commends itself to the hearty sympathy and support of 
 the wise and good. Its object is to " Protect Working 
 Women" in their rights to what they earn : finding employ 
 ment for them, and seeing that their wages are paid accord 
 ing to agreement. This " Protective Union" has its office at 
 No. 38 Bleecker street, just out of Broadway. If you will 
 bear with me, I will tell you a little more of the good it does 
 by revealing, punishing and preventing the oppression of the 
 poor by the rich and mean. Honest pay for honest work is 
 its motto. It tells us that the petty frauds imposed on igno 
 rant, helpless, industrious working women, are innumerable. 
 To expose such frauds and save the suffering from greater 
 suffering, the society hears their complaints, uses the gentle 
 argument of reason and compassion, and when these fail, 
 then the society puts forth the arm of the law, takes by the 
 throat the fashionable lady who defrauds the poor of her 
 wages, and says, in that persuasive language which law only 
 uses, " Pay her what thou owest." It is beautiful to observe 
 how quickly a mean rich women listens to the dulcet voice 
 of a legal summons. " Really, I declare now, do excuse me, 
 but I had forgotten all about it : O yes, that little bill ; yes, 
 yes : let me see, ten dollars, was it ? Certainly." 
 
 " And the costs, madam." 
 
 " Costs ? costs ? what costs ?" says the lady, " I thought it 
 cost $10." 
 
 " Yes, but the costs of the proceedings : the writ, the ser 
 vice, the fees, you see : $5.65 : and the interest on the bill, 
 what's been a running a year now and a little more : it 
 amounts to $16.40." 
 
 " Well, I will send it around in the course of a day or two." 
 
 " You had better pay it now and save further costs : an 
 execution will ' 
 
 " Execution ! you don't mean anybody's going to be 
 hung?" 
 
 "No, no: an execution is a writ to be served on your 
 goods and chattels, to sell 'em, and get the money to satisfy 
 this 'ere little bill : guess you'd better pay it now."
 
 384 IRENES US LETTERS. 
 
 And so the lady squirms a while longer and finally pays 
 the bill : the poor sewing woman gets her pay in full ; the 
 society gets its costs ; and the lady gets a lesson. If she 
 tells of it, so much the better, for the lesson is useful to all 
 who are in the habit of defrauding the hireling of his wages 
 or keeping back that which is due to such as have none to 
 help them. In one year, the last year, the society collected 
 unpaid lawful wages for poor women, amounting to $2,544.31, 
 in average sums of about $3.50. It has also, in the last seven 
 years, lent to poor women in small sums to the amount of 
 $2,145.45, and has been repaid by them every cent except 
 about $25 still due ! It has recovered for these women their 
 wages due and refused, $16,411.29, and this is but a fraction 
 of what it has secured for its helpless people in making em 
 ployers faithful to their agreements, for fear of being put 
 through a course of legal suasion. 
 
 The most common and severest form of swindling poor 
 women, is that pursued by the agents of inferior sewing 
 machines : the old and honorable companies never resort to 
 such measures : but a set of sharpers may trade even in the 
 best machines, hiring them out to women who are to pay 
 $5.00 a month for the use of them, and to own the machine 
 when its price, a very high price, has been paid in these 
 instalments. In case of default for a single month, the agent 
 seizes the machine, declares the payments forfeited, carries 
 it off, and the poor woman is helpless. The society has 
 largely broken up this iniquity, and the best companies now 
 make such liberal arrangements with their machines, that 
 swindlers stand a poor chance of making anything by their 
 operations. 
 
 The society sends its officers to reason with employers, in 
 behalf ol complaining women, and seeks out the truth, which 
 is not always on the side of the complaint. It often succeeds 
 without using pressure. But when soft words fail, it uses 
 force. Mary Thompson was employed to make a bridal 
 dress, and when the wedding day came, $30 were still due to 
 Mary for her hard work : but she couldn't get it. The bride 
 was married in the dress for the making of which the poor
 
 THE GOOD DR. MUHLENBERG. 3^5 
 
 sewing woman was not paid ; and the happy husband was 
 not so happy when the bill was soon afterwards presented 
 to him, with $14.50 costs added to it. His bride was dearer 
 to him than he had ever thought. It is pleasant also to 
 hear that a lawyer of our city had a taste of the excellence 
 of his own profession, by being sued for the wages of a gov 
 erness. Being himself a lawyer he managed to stave off the 
 payment of $17.75 until the costs carried up the bill to 
 $32.25, and then he had to pay it all. Verdict, served him 
 right. 
 
 In many ways besides these, this wise and kind society 
 wields its power for good to those who want it most. It 
 greatly needs pecuniary aid to make it more useful. And 
 they who give even a cup of cold water to those who are 
 laboring in such a blessed work, shall in no wise fail of their 
 reward. 
 
 THE GOOD DR. MUHLENBERG. 
 
 " I would not live ahvay." 
 
 A life-like portrait of the blessed old man, in the volume by 
 Sister Anne Ayres, brings him back as to me he looked, one 
 winter morning, when he came down early and climbed into 
 my fifth-story office. He was quite out of breath when he 
 reached the height, and I waited with some anxiety to know 
 why, for the first time, he had wound his way up the cork 
 screw stairway. Presently he spoke, with a soft, sweet voice, 
 his face beaming with human love and heavenly grace a 
 saint in every line : 
 
 "Good Friday is at hand, and as I was putting on my 
 clothes this morning I said to myself, ' What a happy thing 
 it would be if all the churches, of every Christian name, would 
 observe it as a day of fasting and prayer ; I will go down to 
 my friend at the Observer office and see if he will favor the 
 idea, and I will take his response as an indication of Provi 
 dence as to the expediency of making the suggestion public.'"
 
 386 IRENsEUS LETTERS. 
 
 When I assured him of my cordial concurrence in the" 
 thought and our willingness to second it publicly, and to 
 strive earnestly to make the proposal universally acceptable^ 
 the good man wept for joy, gave audible thanks to God, and 
 I thought he would embrace me, so great was his surprise 
 and delight. 
 
 " Yes," he added, " I confess it. I was afraid you would 
 not help me." 
 
 From that time onward he was free to speak with me in 
 regard to the good works to which his life was devoted, and 
 I learned to love and revere him more ind more while he 
 lived. 
 
 He is (not was, for such as he live long after they are 
 buried) a living illustration of the fact that a man may be in 
 the world and not of it; above it while he is in it.: a godly 
 man of action and business as well as of prayer and faith. In 
 him was no guile. He would suffer wrong sooner than do 
 wrong. He was not original ; he had a pattern, and that pat 
 tern was Christ. 
 
 The volume gives his early life, and shows the steps by which 
 he walked from the Lutheran Church, in which he was bap 
 tized, to the Episcopal, where he was confirmed ; after the 
 minister, Mr. Kemper, assured him that " regeneration does 
 not mean a change of heart." 
 
 Then he resolved to give up going to the theatre, of which 
 he was rather fond, considering it one of " the pomps and 
 vanities of the world ' that he had vowed to renounce. Of 
 his ministry in this city, his wonderful devotedness to the 
 sick and suffering, his fatherhood of St. Luke's Hospital, and 
 of the homes at St. Johnland on Long Island, the book 
 before me is a graphic, life-like story, every page the record 
 of some good deed done, the whole a record that angels 
 might read with wonder, love and praise. 
 
 Dr. Muhlenberg was not one of your softly, untempered, 
 half-baked men, afrs.id to speak out and say what he felt. 
 He went one day to the office of a rich friend to ask him, as 
 landlord, to release a poor woman from her rent, which was 
 due. Failing, he begged for a small donation for the widow,
 
 THE GOOD DR. MUHLENBERG. 3&7 
 
 which was also refused. Then he berated his friend in good 
 set terms, adding : " I would rather take my chance for hea 
 ven with the meanest beggar in New York than with you." 
 It gratifies one's depravity to know that the very best men do 
 and say things that we are chided for, when human nature 
 asserts itself in honest rebuke of wrong. 
 
 When the elegant church of St. Thomas was going up, 
 south of St. Luke's Hospital, Dr. Muhlenberg sought to have 
 the bells dispensed with, for fear they would disturb the 
 patients in their sufferings. But he failed, and the bells went 
 up, and made their chimes, to the good man's great annoyance. 
 Some years afterwards the Fifth avenue Presbyterian church 
 began to rise on the north side of the Hospital, and nearer to 
 it than St. Thomas. Again the Dr. was full of fears for his 
 suffering patients, and he went to Dr. John Hall, the pastor, to 
 pour out his feelings. He began very gently by congratulat 
 ing him on the progress of the new building, and then 
 remarked, as if incidentally : 
 
 " And I suppose you will be soon having a bell in the new 
 tower." 
 
 " No," said Dr. Hall, " we feared it might disturb the patients 
 in your Hospital, and we have concluded not to have a bell." 
 
 The good old man was completely taken aback, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, you are more considerate than my own people." 
 
 I would not make a private party, however pleasant, dis 
 tinguished and memorable, the subject of public remark, but 
 finding a reference to it here, I may. It was one of those 
 episodes in life that old men enjoy with a flavor which youth 
 does not know. For old age has its pleasures, as Cicero and 
 other wise and great men have found. Of this venerable 
 company I was made one, on account of my youth, as the 
 kind and clever note of invitation from the accomplished host 
 himself a host very neatly intimated. Mr. Charles H. 
 Russell sat by the side of Dr. Adams. Dr. Muhlenberg, Mr. 
 W. C. Bryant, Mr. James Brown, Mr. Peter Cooper, Dr. Cal- 
 houn, of goodly Lebanon, and one more, composed the com 
 pany.
 
 388 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 Dr. Adams requested Dr. Muhlenberg to ask the blessing. 
 The patriarch complied in these rhythmical words : 
 
 " Solemn thanks be our grace, for the years that are past, 
 With their blessings untold, and though this be our last, 
 Yet, joyful our trust that through Christ 'twill be given, 
 All here meet again, at his table in heaven." 
 
 It was very natural that we should pass from this brief 
 poem and prayer to others by the same author, and I asked 
 Dr. Muhlenberg for the correct reading of a line in his cele 
 brated hymn, 
 
 " I would not live alway." 
 
 It is sometimes printed "the few lund mornings," and again, 
 " the few lurid mornings." " Which of these, Dr., is the true 
 reading?" 
 
 " Either or neither," he replied with some spirit. " I do 
 not believe in the hymn : it does not express the better feel 
 ings of the saint, and I would not write it now." 
 
 This was a surprise to me, but I was glad to hear him say 
 so. 
 
 Mr. Bryant took a very cheerful view of old age, and dis 
 claimed any feelings of depression or infirmity with the 
 advance of life. When some pleasantry enlivened the table, 
 Mr. Brown, who sat next to me, and was somewhat hard of 
 hearing, looked up deploringly, and said : 
 
 " You don't know how much I lose by being deaf." 
 
 "Aye, Mr. Brown," I replied, "and you don't know how 
 much you gain !" 
 
 Of those six guests, four have put on immortality. Dr. 
 Calhoun died a few months afterwards. Mr. James Brown 
 followed, hand longo intervallo. Then Dr. Muhlenberg slept 
 with his beloved in St. Johnland. Mr. Bryant had his wish 
 fulfilled in being buried in June among his own flowers in 
 Roslyn. 
 
 Mr. Peter Cooper I met at the De Lesseps dinner the other 
 night, and his seat was next to mine. It must be wisdom, 
 not age, that puts me with these venerable men. He said to
 
 INTERCOURSE WITH DR. ADAMS. 389 
 
 me : " I am ninety years old, and do not feel the effects of 
 age." 
 
 Wonderful old man : useful and honored to the last : un 
 doubtedly the " first citizen" now. 
 
 Dr. Muhlenberg loved Dr. Adams tenderly, which is not re 
 markable ; but I find in this volume an observation by Dr. A. 
 that is characteristic of both him and his friend. Dr. Adams 
 says: 
 
 " More than once I have said to my family, when returning from some 
 interview with him, in which he had honored me with a kiss, that I felt as if 
 the Apostle John had embraced me and repeated in my ear some words 
 which had been whispered to him by the Master on whose bosom he had 
 leaned at the supper." 
 
 When Dr. Muhlenberg rested from his labors, and was not, 
 for God took him, we fondly trusted that some one, in his 
 spirit and power, would take up the work he left. Others do 
 perpetuate the useful charities he founded. But where is the 
 living presence of the model saint and pastor and friend? 
 Who among us now sanctifies the city by a life of supernal 
 beauty in its mephitic atmosphere ? 
 
 Dr. Muhlenberg left a hoarded heap of gold behind him ! 
 Two gold pieces $40, in all this was his savings to pay for 
 his burial ! All that he had, all that he received, all that he 
 was, he gave to Christ and his friends while living, and died 
 leaving not enough to pay the expenses of his funeral. 
 
 INTERCOURSE WITH DR. ADAMS. 
 
 Now that the first gush of public sorrow has subsided, and 
 others have said what was in their hearts of our departed 
 friend and elder brother the late Rev. Dr. Wm. Adams 
 it may not be presuming if another hand should bring a hum 
 ble tribute for his tomb. 
 
 When he contemplated the resignation of his pastoral 
 charge on Madison Square, to accept the Presidency of the
 
 1REN&US LETTERS. 
 
 Theological Seminary, he was doubtful as to the line of his 
 duty, and sent for friends to counsel on the great and difficult 
 question. It was not for me to advise such a man ; but when 
 he would have an opinion, I could only say : " It is quite 
 probable that you are called of God to be the President of 
 the Seminary, but it is not necessary that you retire from the 
 Madison Square pulpit. A colleague or assistant may supply 
 your lack of service, when you assume other labors : but such 
 a life as yours will be rounded and complete when you die in 
 the highest office on earth a Christian PASTOR." 
 
 He resigned from a sense of duty to the people, when he 
 decided to take the Chair, and it is to be presumed he did 
 not regret the decision. With the Apostle he could always 
 say, " This one thing I do ;" and he often spoke, in private, 
 to me in terms of high commendation of those men who spend 
 their strength and time in the work to which they are called, 
 declining to divert their minds or employ their powers in 
 extra labors, however useful and important they might be. 
 
 He was invited to take part in the Centennial Celebration 
 of the Battle of Lexington, where the first blow of the Ameri 
 can Revolution was struck, and the shot was fired that was 
 heard around the world. He invited me to go with him, to 
 be the guest of his brother-in-law, Mr. Magoon, in Medford, 
 near to Lexington. It so happened that I had at that time 
 the pistol from which that shot was fired : the pistol that 
 Major Pitcairn discharged when he gave the first order to 
 British soldiers to fire on the Americans. Armed with this 
 pistol and its twin, I joined Dr. Adams and went to the bat 
 tle-field. But there was no fighting now. Those three days 
 of social life with him and his friends were ideal days. He 
 loved to take me to houses and hills and churches in that 
 region where his youth and his young ministry were spent : 
 where he first loved and was married : he lived over the 
 scenes of early manhood, when life was all before him and 
 hopes of usefulness were high. He was young again. With 
 his children and theirs around him, and a thousand sweet 
 associations, every moment his loving nature awoke as in the 
 morning of spring, and he was fresh, buoyant and cheerful, as
 
 INTERCOURSE WITH DR. ADAMS. 391 
 
 if he were on the verge of thirty and not of three score and 
 ten. 
 
 We were very desirous to have him go to Edinburgh to the 
 General Council in 1877, and it was with the greatest reluct 
 ance that he yielded to the pressing solicitations of his breth 
 ren. He did not like to go away from home. And when 
 he reached London he was thoroughly homesick. He came 
 from the hotel where he was in the midst of friends, and 
 sought for rooms in the private lodgings I was enjoying. 
 Here he met my daughters, and when he gave them each a 
 paternal kiss, he said, " There, that's the first thing like home 
 I have had since I came away." He said he longed to go 
 back, and his eyes were full of tears as he spoke. It was 
 wonderful to see a stately, dignified, elegant old man, full of 
 honors and friends, whom every one was proud to welcome 
 and entertain, so child-like and simple, so full of affection for 
 those he had left behind, that his only care now was to get 
 back again as soon as he could. 
 
 In Edinburgh it was my lot to be attacked with illness at 
 the house of my kind friend, Dr. Blaikie. The anxiety of 
 Dr. Adams, his sympathy, his tenderness, his attentions, 
 were those of an elder brother or parent. He has told me 
 since that his fears were great that I would not recover. 
 This apprehension was the result of his own great depression 
 of spirits, for it was not shared by any one else. But it 
 brought out the exceeding love of his heart, his overflowing 
 sympathy, and'it endeared him to me more tenderly than 
 ever. How proud of him we all were at that great Council 
 of men from all lands ! If there was one in that assembly of 
 divines, of loftier and nobler mien than Dr. Adams, I did not 
 see him. 
 
 Some days after the Council dissolved, I was travelling 
 from London to Folkestone, on my way to Paris. Into the 
 same compartment of the rail-car came an English gentle 
 man, whose servant in livery stowed away his travel- impedi 
 ments and retired. The stranger, a fine-looking man, of 
 courtly manners and address, very soon began to converse 
 with me in the manner said to be peculiar to my countrymen.
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 He put questions to me. Having ascertained that I was an 
 American traveller, and from New York, he said to me : 
 
 " Are you acquainted with the Rev. Dr. Adams ?" 
 
 When he learned that Dr. A. was a valued friend of mine, 
 he went on to say : 
 
 " What a splendid specimen of the Christian gentleman he 
 is. I had the pleasure of meeting him in London but a few 
 days ago, and to present him to Mr. Gladstone, who was 
 charmed with him, and expressed to me privately his admira 
 tion of the American scholar and divine." 
 
 I did not learn my travelling companion's name, until I 
 related the incident to Dr. Adams, who recalled him at once. 
 
 When the appeal came to Christians in America to send 
 a deputation to the Emperor of Russia to ask liberty of wor 
 ship for dissenters in the Baltic provinces of his empire, we 
 held a meeting of the Evangelical Alliance, and it was easily 
 resolved that such a deputation was to be desired, but as the 
 men must go at their own charges, over the ocean and the 
 continent, where were the men to be found? In the silence 
 that ensued, Dr. Adams came across the room and whispered 
 in my ear, " I will go." I presume it was the only time he 
 ever nominated himself. But the service was not one to be 
 sought, and volunteers were not to be found. He was 
 appointed at once : others followed : the deputation was 
 filled : it went on its mission, and God gave it great success. 
 
 His benevolence was only equalled by his facility for lead 
 ing others to be generous. They relied so justly on his judg 
 ment that they gave with confidence and pleasure when he 
 endorsed the object. And the amounts of money given by 
 his friends to charitable objects at his indication, can never 
 now be added up ; but, if they could, the sum would be enor 
 mous and astonishing. A foreign missionary lost the sum 
 of $3,000, and Dr. Adams said to me : " Let us make it up to 
 him for the benefit of his children. You raise one thousand, 
 and I will raise two." He easily got his before I got mine, 
 but it was all obtained, and is now bearing fruit. 
 
 I am very sorry that I cannot lay my hand on his playful 
 note, in February, 1876, asking me to come and dine with
 
 INTERCOURSE WITH DR. ADAMS. 393 
 
 some young friends and help to keep them in order. Among 
 the guests at that memorable dinner, there was no one, ex 
 cept Dr. Calhoun, missionary from Mount Lebanon, and my 
 self, less than four score years of age. Four of them pre 
 ceded Dr. Adams to the Eternal state. With what graceful 
 dignity, charming simplicity and ease, he sat at the head of 
 his hospitable table on that occasion : drawing each one out 
 according to his measure and manner, and filling up every 
 pause with his own ready anecdote and reminiscence. 
 
 Only last May I received from Dr. Adams a letter answer 
 ing some inquiries in which he writes of Dr. Muhlenberg and 
 the dinner to which reference is made above. He says : 
 
 " I was expecting a visit at that time from a relative in Connecticut, more 
 than ninety years of age, who, at this very time, is more elastic than I am. 
 
 " It so happened that a few days before I had received a very pleasant let 
 ter from the late Richard H. Dana, then past 90, containing a very pleasant 
 message for Bryant, so that I played the part of hyphen between the two 
 great poets. 
 
 " I have been reading this evening the life of Dr. Muhlenberg, and have 
 been melted into tenderness by many of its incidents. He was a veritable 
 saint, with nothing of asceticism about him, he knew the greatness and the 
 blessedness of self -subjection for the good of others. He was truly catholic 
 in spirit, while cordially attached to his own church. His taste was grati 
 fied by its forms of worship and by the right observance of its Calendar. 
 He left his ' ideal of representative communion* as a legacy with me and 
 
 , to be carried into execution, and I am reproached when looking 
 
 upon his sweet and beautiful face, because I have been forgetful of the 
 trust ! More of this hereafter. 
 
 ' ' I hope I shall be made better by my renewed intercourse with Dr. Muh 
 lenberg in the pages of this work. " Cordially yours, 
 
 " W. ADAMS." 
 
 After Dr. Adams had retired from the pulpit, and his suc 
 cessor was settled, I made a sketch, beginning with this illus 
 tration : " If you would know what space you fill in the 
 world, thread a cambric needle, drop the needle into the sea, 
 draw it out again, and seethe hole that is left. That's you." 
 
 The next week after the notice was in print, he met me 
 with his bright and loving smile and said : " I get letters
 
 394 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 telling me ' I am only a cambric needle in the water, after 
 all.' " 
 
 Ah me! The simile now seems worse than a mockery. 
 The City, the Seminary, the Church at large, and Dr. Adams 
 not there. The vacancy is great. It will be years many 
 before it is filled. Israel has chariots and horsemen, but 
 where is the man like him who stood at the head of the host ? 
 
 THE LATE DR. S. H. COX. 
 
 One of the most brilliant intellects of the American pul 
 pit passed into another sky when Dr. Cox was glorified. 
 More learned men, with more logical, and far more nicely bal 
 anced minds, more useful ministers and leaders, have lived 
 in his day. But we have had no one with his blazing genius, 
 bold and dazzling eloquence, range of imagination, fertility 
 of illustration, astonishing memory, exuberant wit, rapid as 
 sociation of ideas, stores of facts and words from classic 
 authors, and the faculty of expression that combined the 
 sturdy, grotesque eccentricities of Carlyle with the flow and 
 beauty of Macaulay. 
 
 A meteor streams across the sky, and for a brief moment 
 we rejoice in its light; its beauty and brilliancy disappear, 
 and the stars shine on steadily in their orbits. It is sad to 
 know that so little of what Dr. Cox said remains on the 
 printed page or in the memories of those who survive him. 
 He did not write as he spoke. He would have failed as an 
 author. No reporting did justice to his rhetoric, which, 
 transcending all rules, was a law unto itself, blinding the 
 eyes and ravishing the ears of his hearers. 
 
 When he was told that Caleb Cotton had said, "Were it 
 not for his Coxisms, Dr. Cox would be a great man," Dr. 
 Cox answered, "Yes, he might have been Caleb Cotton." 
 He did have his Coxisms. They were marked peculiarities 
 of verbal utterances, by which he was distinguished from all
 
 MEMORIES OF DR. SAMUEL HANSON COX. 395 
 
 the preachers of his time. Having a slight impediment in 
 his speech, which made him hesitate on certain letters, he 
 selected instinctively words with such initials as he could 
 utter readily, and this brought to his lips words and phrases 
 that startled by their novelty, size, and immense fitness to 
 convey the idea ; words that no mortal man but Dr. Cox or 
 Thomas Carlyle would have invented for the place. 
 
 The Latin and Greek languages were so familiar that he 
 garnished his discourse with their words, to the astonish 
 ment of the people and the bewilderment of the unlearned. 
 
 A British peasant said to his new pastor ; " You don't give 
 us any Latin, as our old minister did." 
 
 ' No, I do not, for I did not suppose you understood 
 Latin." 
 
 "We don't, sir; but we pays for the oest, and we've a 
 right to the best." 
 
 Dr. Cox's people could make no complaint of him on that 
 score. Who ever heard him make a platform speech with 
 out the E Pluribus Unum ? 
 
 I was by his side on the platform when he was Moderator 
 of the New School Presbyterian General Assembly in Phil 
 adelphia. He was offering the prayer in the morning, and 
 in the midst of it he said : "O Lord Jesus Christ, thou art 
 the ne plus ultra of our desire, the sine qua non of our faith, 
 and the ultima thule of our hope." 
 
 Yet so natural to him was this form of expression, that he 
 had no recollection of it afterwards. His friend, Dr. E. F. 
 Hatfield, was by his side also, and remembers the remark 
 able words. 
 
 It was in this same Assembly that a member from Ohio 
 cast reflections, in debate, on Decorated Divines, when Dr. 
 Cox called him to order, remarking, with gentle humor : 
 " The brother should not speak disrespectfully of Doctors of 
 Divinity ; he does not know what he may come to himself." 
 
 When Williams College made Mr. Cox Dr. Cox, he decli 
 ned the Degree in a characteristic letter to The New 
 York Observer, ridiculing the title and condemning the dis 
 tinction. My predecessor, Sidney E. Morse, published the
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 letter, of two solid columns. That is the letter in which 
 occurs the phrase " semi-lunar fardels," meaning D.D., the 
 resemblance of the letter D to a half moon suggesting this 
 play. But by-and-by Dr. Cox thought better of it, and was 
 then heartily sorry that he ever wrote the foolish letter. 
 But, what is even more remarkable, he blamed Mr. Morse 
 for printing the letter, saying that he (Mr. M.) ought "to 
 have had sense enough to decline its publication." Mr. 
 Morse often laughed with me over the eccentricity of Dr, 
 Cox's mind in that matter. 
 
 His memory held whole pages and volumes of poetry and 
 prose, which he could recite with elegance and correctness, 
 astonishing and delighting the favored hearer. Cowper's 
 Task, Scott's Marmion, and Milton were favorites. His 
 memory of dates and names appeared conspicuously in his 
 lectures on Biblical Chronology, and the way in which he 
 handled " Tiglath Pilezer" and his contemporaries would 
 put the modern lecturer to confusion if he were to attempt 
 an imitation. I asked him to come over from Brooklyn to 
 lecture in a course I was conducting, but he refused point 
 blank, because when he had gone on a former occasion the 
 people did not attend ! I assured him there would be no 
 lack of hearers, and he finally yielded to my gentle blandish 
 ments. We walked together to the church where he was to 
 speak, going early to put up some maps for illustration. 
 Though it was half an hour before the time to begin, we met 
 thousands coming away, and the vestry and aisles were so 
 packed that we could scarcely get in. As we were strug 
 gling up, he said to me, " This lecture has been \\-&\\ primed." 
 To which I, " And it will go off well too." And it did. He 
 discoursed on BABYLON. Thirty-five years have passed since 
 that night, but the grandeur of the scene, those hanging gar 
 dens, the palaces, streets and battlements of Babylon the 
 Great rise now in lustrous glory on the memory. 
 
 How much I do regret that my dear friend, Dr. Adams, 
 whose grave is not yet grass-grown, did not comply with 
 my request to write out the introduction, which he often 
 related in company, to the speech of Dr. Cox in Exeter
 
 MEMORIES OF DR. SAMUEL HANSON COX. 397 
 
 Hall when he there represented the American Bible Soci 
 ety, before the British and Foreign. Dr. Adams knew it 
 word for word, and that it is in print I do not know. Dr. 
 Cox arrived in London and in Exeter Hall after the 
 meeting was begun, and a tirade against America greeted 
 him as he entered. As the speaker sat down, Dr. Cox was 
 announced as the delegate from the American Society. 
 The terrible denunciation just delivered had excited the in 
 dignation of the audience, and Dr. Cox was received with 
 respectful coldness. But his splendid figure, his gallant, 
 courteous, commanding presence, his irresistible smile, 
 lightened instantly the gloom of the hall, and conciliated 
 the audience. He said something like this : 
 
 " My Lord, twenty days ago I was taken by the tug Her 
 cules from the quay in New York to the good ship Samson, 
 lying in the stream thus, my lord, going from strength to 
 strength from mythology to Scripture by the good hand of 
 the Lord I was brought to your shores just in time to reach 
 this house, and to enter in the midst of the burning denuncia 
 tions of my beloved country that have fallen from the lips of 
 the gentleman who just sat down. He has reproached that 
 country for the existence of slavery, which I abhor as much 
 as he. But he did not tell you, my lord, that when we re 
 volted from your government, one of the reasons alleged 
 was the fact that your king had forced that odious institu 
 tion upon us in spite of our remonstrances, and that the 
 original sin rests with you and your fathers." [Having 
 adduced the well-known facts of history to prove this 
 position, he continued] : " And now, my lord, instead of 
 indulging in mutual reproaches, I propose that the gentle 
 man shall be Shem and I will be Japheth, and taking the 
 mantle of charity, we will walk backward and cover the 
 nakedness of our common father." 
 
 The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. The day 
 was won. And a more popular orator than Dr. Cox was 
 not heard during the anniversaries. 
 
 The great picture that was made to represent the for 
 mation of the Evangelical Alliance in London in 1846 has,
 
 39 8 IREN&US LETTERS. 
 
 as its central figure, the person of Dr. Cox addressing the 
 Assembly. His speech on that occasion is considered by 
 those who heard it as the greatest of his whole life. Much 
 opposition was made by the European delegates to the in 
 sertion of the doctrine of future punishment into the plat 
 form then forming. The Americans, insisted upon its intro 
 duction. Dr. Cox was selected by them to make the speech 
 in defence of their views. He spoke and conquered. Be 
 fore his exhibition of the revelation of God's will in his 
 word, his vindication of the faith of the saints, and his 
 vivid illustrations of the harmony and relations of the 
 several parts of the evangelical system, the fears and unbe 
 lief of good men went down out of sight, while the glory of 
 the Lord rose upon the minds and hearts of the Council. 
 It was a triumph of truth to be held in everlasting remem 
 brance. 
 
 But not in sacred eloquence only was Dr. Cox illustrious. 
 His reading was encyclical, his mind cyclopedic, his tongue 
 fluent, mellifluous and tireless. Tap him on any subject, 
 and the stream came bright, sparkling, refreshing, like a 
 mountain torrent, or a meadow rivulet, or a deep, broad, 
 majestic river, filling the listener with joy, often with amaze 
 ment, always with new impressions. These sudden corrus- 
 cations were the best things he did. His labored prepara 
 tions were actually sometimes dull. I heard him preach 
 two hours before the American Board at Pittsfield, Mass., 
 and the audience were tired to exhaustion. He himself was 
 so mortified by the failure that I pitied him. Just think of 
 that ! And yet the next day there sprang up a question in 
 regard to Popery in the Sandwich Islands, and he went off 
 with a philippic against the Man of Sin, and the woman 
 with a bad name in the Revelation, so full of argument, wit, 
 ridicule, fact, scripture, poetry, chronology, prophecy and 
 pathos, that a great congregation were roused, melted, and 
 convulsed. Such outbursts as these suggested the remark 
 when the November meteoric shower was first observed, that 
 Dr. Cox's head had prgbably exploded. 
 
 And something very like a meteoric shower it was when
 
 MEMORIES OF DR. SAMUEL HANSON' COX. 399 
 
 we were assembled in the Academy of Music to receive the 
 Astronomer, Prof. Mitchell, and listen to him on behalf of a 
 projected Observatory in Central Park. The house was 
 filled with the most brilliant, intelligent, scientific and cul 
 tivated audience. Word Was brought that sudden illness 
 prevented the eloquent Astronomer from leaving his bed. 
 This word was sent to me by the Professor, and in despair I 
 went to Dr. Cox on the stage, told him the distressing truth, 
 and implored him to come to the rescue, or the occasion 
 would be lost. The assembly joining in the request, he 
 complied, and when the applause, on his rising, had subsi 
 ded, he said : " To put me in the place of such a man as 
 Prof. Mitchell is like putting a rush-light in the place of 
 Ursa Major." And then he proceeded to deliver a strictly 
 astronomical discourse of three-quarters of an hour, that 
 electrified the assembly: every illustration and allusion of 
 which, including many scripture quotations, were drawn 
 from the science itself, as if it were the study of his life, his 
 only study. Not one man in ten thousand would have been 
 found equal to such an effort in such circumstances. In 
 
 fact, as Mr. has recently said there are not more than 
 
 thirty men in Boston who could have written the works of 
 Shakespeare, I will undertake to admit there is not one man 
 in New York who could have made that speech. 
 
 And thus might I run on into other pages of reminis 
 cence of this wonderful man, the most remarkable man of 
 the last generation in the pulpit of New York. If a merry 
 heart is good as a medicine, how many doctors' bills Doctor 
 Cox has saved me. What noctes ambrosianae I have had 
 with him in the fellowship of the saints whom he drew into 
 that circle of Christian Brothers known as X. A. in New 
 York ! He was its founder ! Its jubilee came this year, and 
 Dr. Adams was appointed to recite its history. But he pre 
 ceded the founder by a few brief weeks to a holier fellowship 
 on high. 
 
 I do thank God for such men, for their friendship, 
 for genial intercourse, nightly converse, and daily service 
 with such servants of Christ. Their names were long
 
 40 I RE N^. US LETTERS. 
 
 since written in heaven. The earth seems dim since their 
 light has gone out. And as I close this letter, the 
 thought comes to me with overpowering, but also with 
 exhilarating, almost rapturous effect, that this companion 
 ship will soon be renewed, and into the widened circle will 
 come the wise and the good of all ages and lands. That 
 company will never breakup; that feast and flow will be 
 everlasting.
 
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