THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ,
 
 I 
 
 PEBBLEBROOK.
 
 * * 

 
 PEBBLEBROOK, 
 
 HARDING FAMILY 
 
 BOS TON: 
 
 BENJAMIN H. GREENE. 
 1839.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, 
 
 BY BENJAMIN H. GREENE, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 
 
 BOSTON. 
 PRINTED BY I. R. BUTTS.
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE PRESCRIPTION, &.c. . . . 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THE HARDING FAJIILY. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 PEBBLEBROOK. . . . . . 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 UNCLE JOHN 21 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 AUNT MART. . 31 
 
 - 
 
 1188745
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THREE GREAT MEN 42 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 COUSIN SIMEON. ........... 53 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 THE LITERARY MEMBER *'. . . . 63 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE 66 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SlJB-BlOGRAPHY OP PATRICK HENRY. .... 87 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 FOURTH OF JULY. . ...... ik ... 116 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 NEXT DAY . . 131 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 SUNDAY 137 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 COUSIN HARRY. 147
 
 CONTENTS. vii 
 
 m 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A VISIT TO NATOOK 158 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 BROTHER WILLIAM. , T 168 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 POOR KATE 174 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 UNCLE ROBERT 178 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 MISCELLANIES 187 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 HOMEWARD BOUND 195 
 
 . 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AT HOME. . ." 205
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 -* w 
 
 
 

 
 PEBBLEBROOK 
 
 AND THE 
 
 HARDING FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PRESCRIPTION, E T C. 
 
 I HAD fallen into a moping way, and had many ail 
 ments of that bad kind to which physicians can give no 
 name. The medical man who attended me, had given 
 tonics, and, for aught I know, bread pills. Life had be 
 come a burden to me and the world almost joyless. I 
 could do nothing, even the commonest thing, without an 
 effort : every-day conversation with intimate friends was 
 a weariness. In truth I had no object in life. 
 
 One day my patient and long suffering physician, after 
 the usual inquiries, took a slip of paper from his pocket, 
 wrote on it, handed it to my housekeeper and departed. 
 " I don't believe the apothecary keeps it," said she en 
 deavouring to read. "Get a horse" I took it from 
 her : it ran thus : '' Get a good horse, get upon his back, 
 
 1
 
 2 PEBBL EBROOK. 
 
 ride to Pebblebrook and visit your friends : see what is 
 before you, listen to whatever speaks, speak to every 
 thing that can hear : look not always downward ; look 
 upward toward the sky." I was angry ; rose hastily and 
 walked to the open window. The doctor was upon his 
 horse: he bowed, smiled benevolently, waved his hand, 
 and rode away. It was a beautiful spring morning : a 
 bird sang sweetly in a tree near the house. I looked at 
 the tree, then at the paved street and brick buildings : 1 
 listened to the song of the bird, and then to the rattling 
 of carriages and trucks. He may be right, I said thought 
 fully one may as well die on horseback as in an arm 
 chair. I gave directions to forward my trunk to Peb 
 blebrook by the stage coach, and rode that afternoon ten 
 miles on my way. In the parlor of the little inn, where 1 
 stopped to pass the night, a man of middle age was writ 
 ing at a small table. He looked up when I entered, re 
 marked that the evening was pleasant, and continued to 
 write. I was about to leave the room when he, looking 
 up again, said : " you don't disturb me at all, sir : indeed 
 1 have done." He folded his letter, superscribed it, and 
 calling the landlord asked him to send it to the post 
 office. " There," said he turning to me, " that will ' 
 make some half dozen human beings happy." I was 
 struck and pleased with the man's frank bearing, and 
 said, smiling: " How do you know that?" " How do I 
 know it?" returned he in yankee fashion, Why, I be 
 lieve it, and in belief there is much that makes itself 
 true. When my wife gets that letter there '11 be a noisy 
 time. Bob and Will and Kate will shout : a letter from 
 father ! a letter from father ! Then there '11 be a few min 
 utes silence while she reads aloud, and noise enough after
 
 THE PRESCRIPTION, ETC. 3 
 
 it: the rascals, the villains!" "Are they so bad?" I 
 asked. " Yes, they began to lie as soon as they could 
 talk and even before. They do not lie so much now, nor 
 do they tell so many truths : in fact I am afraid my old 
 est boy is in a bad way ; he is somewhat too circumspect ; 
 he is beginning to think too much about himself; the 
 commandment, ' Thou shalt not steal, ' begins to have a 
 state's prison meaning to him. Have you any children ? " 
 " Not yet," said I, laughing, " but I hope to have one 
 day." 
 
 " That 's right, that 's right, don't read Malthus on pop 
 ulation : many a rich man in old England, whose income 
 would support thousands, has read that book and almost 
 wept to think how many creatures are coming into a 
 world where there is no place for them. There are few 
 things more ridiculous than the theories of moralists and 
 politicians. One can fancy the awful feelings of some the 
 orizing man sitting by a cheerful wood-fire some centu 
 ries ago, and computing the millions of human beings 
 that must freeze to death when all the forests should be 
 cut down ; forgetting that earth has bowels as well as 
 hair on its skin : in short, as I said before, faith is a good 
 thing; it saves one a world of useless trouble and anxie 
 ty." There was a pause, until I, calling to mind my 
 medical friend's prescription, said, " you spoke just now of 
 your family : I have read much about married life and 
 the means of happiness in that state : you seem to have 
 had some experience ; what do you think are the best 
 means ? " 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity ; or, in one word Love. The 
 means in this case, as in many others, are in the end ; 
 but," said he, suddenly rising, " I must be off. I must 
 ride into the city to-night, and it is already quite dark ;
 
 4 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 good evening." He mounted his horse and rode away. 
 I inquired of the landlord, but could learn nothing of 
 this stranger. Soon I retired to bed, and had pleasanter 
 dreams than usual. 
 
 The next morning was rainy, and I remained at the 
 little inn almost regretting that I had left home. After 
 noon, however, the sun stepped forth and spread his bow 
 on the rain-drops of the eastward-sailing cloud. 1 rode 
 joyously on my way. One broad smile spread itself over 
 nature's newly washed face. Clouds, I said to myself, 
 are, as I can now plainly perceive, only unsubstantial, 
 transient, near things : they come never from the sun 
 above, but always from the earth below. In their begin 
 ning they are invisible ; we cannot see them till they are 
 formed and look black. Then comes the thunder and 
 lightning, awful to ear and eye of mortal man. But soon 
 the cloud has broken, it has altogether rained down, 
 and lo, earth is made glad and fruitful.- I had some 
 thoughts about the " origin and uses of Evil," which may 
 be omitted here. Toward night I stopped at the house 
 of an old friend of my mother's. She met me at the door 
 with a cheerful greeting, and expressed her pleasure at 
 seeing me abroad again. She introduced me to a young 
 lady, her niece, who was in the room, and we were chat 
 ting cheerfully together, when the husband of my hostess 
 entered. I had never seen him before, and thought that 
 his cold look indicated little warmth of heart. He 
 said, very solemnly, when his wife introduced me : " you 
 are the sick Mr. Harding of whom I have often heard." 
 He inquired so particularly about my ailments that I felt 
 embarrassed, and answered briefly as I could : a sly smile, 
 which I noticed on the young woman's face, had little of 
 encouragement for me. " Sometimes," said he, speaking
 
 THE P RE SCRI PT I O If, ETC. 5 
 
 as to himself in the way of recapitulation, " sometimes 
 you hare pains in your head, sometimes little appetite, and 
 often a sense of fatigue : you do not sleep well at night, 
 and find it difficult to rise in the morning : let me feel 
 your pulse." His wife looked out of the window. u Sa 
 rah," said he," " perhaps Mr. Harding would like to lie 
 down." I said hastily, that I felt better than usual and 
 had no present need of repose. To turn the conversation 
 another way, I asked the young woman what was going 
 on in the town. "Nothing specially interesting I believe, 
 O, yes, there is an exhibition of wax figures, this eve 
 ning, at the tavern : see " continued she pointing toward 
 a building, " the room is already lighted." I proposed 
 going there, and all assented. Elizabeth (the young 
 woman) walked with me, and on our arrival at the hall 
 we found it nearly filled with people. The wax figures 
 stood around against the walls, and a rope was drawn 
 across in front to keep the spectators at a proper distance. 
 There were Queen Caroline and the bewhiskered Ber- 
 garai, Commodores Hull and Decatur, some three or four 
 Indian chiefs, a sleeping infant, and other figures large 
 as life ; all, save the sleeping infant, with open staring 
 eyes. The proprietor or exhibitolf beginning at one end 
 of the row, walked round, stopping a minute before each 
 figure, and, in an automatic way, told its name and 
 deeds. The story of Queen Caroline and Bergami was 
 not of the kind called edifying. 
 
 u What " said I " can bring so many people to such an 
 exhibition as this? " " What," replied. my companion 
 " brings you and I hither ? " She stooped to pick up a 
 glove she had dropped : a young man, looking the while 
 very intently at Queen Caroline, stepped as she rose upon 
 the skirt of her robe : it tore across the back so that a 

 
 O PE BB L EBROOK. 
 
 part hung trailing on the floor. The young man stam 
 mered, looked confused, and uttered such apology as he 
 could at the moment frame. " It is no great matter," 
 said she, " it was, I know, a mere accident." Her aunt 
 pinned the tattered garment together, while the husband 
 inquired how the rent happened, if it could be repaired, 
 who was the perpetrator, and so forth. Elizabeth an 
 swered in few words to all his questions, except that she 
 would not designate the young man who had done the 
 deed. I noticed soon that my companion, though she 
 had spoken slightingly of the rent in her dress, seemed 
 not quite at ease ; and when I proposed leaving the room 
 she assented. I was glad to go, for, as the reader may 
 well believe, I found the living being at my side more in 
 teresting than any waxen image. " Now," said I, as we 
 stepped out into the open air, " your dress looks as well 
 by moonlight as though it were quite perfect." 
 
 " I hope so," she replied, " you men often ridicule us 
 for what you call our care for appearances : yet is there 
 any thing more abhorrent to you than a dirty, slovenly 
 woman." "Perhaps not; but surely one may be clean and 
 neat without being very thoughtful about the color and 
 form of dress : it is thift inward purity that is to be valued." 
 " How," replied she briskly, " how would you know of 
 what is within were it not by the outward act ? Who is 
 the brave man if not he of brave deeds ? Does not the 
 inward sickness, even, make an appearance?" "A 
 truce," cried I, " a truce, I believe you are partly right.'' 
 " You men," continued she, " go abroad with your great 
 projects for the good of society ; you are very noisy with 
 your general government and your universal laws : the 
 newspapers are full of your doings, or your attempts to 
 do, and what comes of it all ? Every true woman, on the 

 
 THE PRESCRIPTION, ETC. 7 
 
 contrary, keeps herself and hers neat, and her own house 
 in order ; and see what a world it is ! mainly from what 
 you call our care for appearances," She laughed as she 
 ended, and I, fearful of another allusion to my illness, of 
 which I began to be ashamed, did not wish to continue 
 the subject. After a short interval of silence, I asked 
 why she had not pointed out to her uncle the young man 
 who had torn her dress 1 " Because, " she replied, " the 
 young man needed no lecture on his carelessness, and 
 my uncle seizes on every opportunity to inculcate what 
 he calls a moral. The accidental breaking of a piece of 
 earthen ware is, to him, an opportunity to lecture on the 
 duty of carefulness : in short he will never let the action 
 itself, in its simplicity, speak ; but must ever give us 
 words, words." 
 
 I tarried here a week, and had only occasional returns 
 of my old lassitude. The uncle with his moralizing, was 
 sometimes tedious ; but the niece and her aunt were no 
 wise so : this one was a busy, somewhat too bustling 
 housewife, but that one was never hurried ; she found 
 time for all her duties and pleasures : she did much with 
 out proclamation ; every thing in my sleeping room was 
 in perfect order : not to make a" long story of a short 
 matter, I found in her, or fancied I found, all that should 
 be in woman ; even some interesting little caprices were 
 not wanting ; such as refusing to walk with me when the 
 weather was unexceptionable, and being more sociable 
 with the schoolmaster than I thought fair. When I was 
 quite alone, I thought of Elizabeth, and when she was 
 present, I slipped into a chair near her and talked in a 
 low tone : in one word there were symptoms of an ail 
 ment known to all the world. She did not flatter me 
 much ; but I was not without hope, for she now and then 
 
 f
 
 8 PEBBLE BRO OK . 
 
 showed her faith in my capability. " Were you a very 
 poor man," she said one day, " there would be more hope 
 of you : if you had to work for your daily bread you 
 would have better appetite for it. There is really some 
 thing in you ; if you could only in any way be set to 
 work ! Activity.it seems to me, is the one thing needful." 
 
 I would willingly have staid longer here, but I felt that 
 I had no right ; and my host, having learned that 1 felt 
 little interest in the many societies of which he was 
 member, began to consider me a 'cumberer of the ground 
 and to wish me away ; or, at any rate, such were my 
 suspicions ; and I departed. 
 
 While I travel on toward Pebblebrook, the reader 
 shall learn all that is needful (perhaps a little more) of 
 the origin of the Harding family. Be not alarmed, good 
 friend ; we will not go far on the way toward Adam; not 
 even so far as Noah and his sons. I will only show 
 its transition from the old world to the new, and note its 
 first appearance here.
 
 THE HARDING FAMILY. 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HARDING FAMILY. 
 
 OLD John Harding was an Englishman of the toughest 
 kind ; unyielding, impenetrably, he had few social, kindly 
 qualities, and therefore few friends in the little town on 
 the coast of Cornwall, where he dwelt. He was a fisher 
 man of indomitable courage and perseverance. Cold nor 
 storm kept him on shore ; when his little boat could live 
 on the rough sea, he could. Like a water dog, he shook 
 the salt spray from his shaggy coat, and to the threatening 
 frowns of a stormy sky he showed a front of hardy defi 
 ance. In sturdy endurance of outward storms he resem 
 bled the adamantine rocks of his own sea-shore ; in 
 warring with such, therefore, he did well enough j but 
 not so well when he dealt with his fellow-men. It avail 
 ed him little that he brought more fish to land than his 
 fellows, for his obstinacy in demanding what he called 
 the real value of the article he offered for sale, often left 
 his fish to spoil on his hands. In an overstocked market 
 he was the most unsuccessful of salesmen ; for he had 
 neither learned to play with circumstances, nor to yield 
 cheerfully to the inevitable. The life of him was a 
 gnarly scrub-tree rooted in rocky ground, wearing, in 
 sunshine and in storm, the same look of crabbed indiffer-
 
 10 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 ence. By his side stood one of the same species which 
 great Nature had transplanted there. His wife was a 
 hard-working woman, doing much unnecessarily, indeed 
 uselessly. Whatsoever her hands found to do, she did 
 with all her might ; but there was no skillful adaptation 
 of means to ends ; a matter as requisite in the business 
 of a household as in the government of a nation. 
 
 This hard-handed couple had one son, not unlike his 
 father, but of somewhat more genial nature. Through 
 many generations the Being of the father had come to him 
 under sternest pressures, and in him had reached the last 
 fortress of humanity, which is obstinate endurance of evil ; 
 further, in that direction, it could not go and still be hu 
 man. In the son, therefore, this Being moved slightly in 
 an opposite direction, and began to expand. He looked 
 out on the world from his narrow cave, and the soul of 
 him yearned for freedom. In that little town there was 
 talk of a land in the west, where the poorest man could 
 be free. Ignorance is ever prone to magnify the distant 
 good; and this America, in the minds of these rude peo 
 ple, hovered as a heaven on earth. The young man's 
 eyes of hope turned hitherward, and he told his wishes to 
 his parents. The old man pondered the matter long in 
 grimmest silence, and at last said, "Go, boy; I can give 
 you little more than liberty to follow your own will. If 
 there be, for the poor man, a better land than this, seek 
 it out ; a worse one you can hardly find. I have borne 
 much in this life, and I can bear more ; I can part with 
 you ; you may go." 
 
 There was little preparation for this long journey over 
 the sea, for the worldly goods of the young man were 
 mostly, like those of the beast of the field, on his back. 
 
 The hard rock, when smitten by Aaron's rod, yielded
 
 THE HARDING FAMILY. 11 
 
 water ; and beneath the stroke of affliction these hard 
 natures melted. There were tears and wailing in that 
 fisherman's hut when the son departed, for the parents 
 had little hope of meeting him again on earth. Their 
 life lay, as it were, behind them, a barren, rocky waste ; 
 but the young man's lay before him, and he promised to 
 visit them again. 
 
 The parting over, he sailed across the ocean in a little 
 vessel, the smallest of those which venture on a voyage 
 so long. There were storms and calms ; adverse winds 
 and fair ; wearisome days and nights, and a longing for 
 the pleasant land. The snow-covered shores of New 
 England at length appeared ; but they looked all too 
 desolate for a heaven on earth : and James Hardinor land- 
 
 * a 
 
 ed in the principal sea-port without the greeting of a 
 friend. In the streets busy men walked to and fro on 
 their many errands ; but no one regarded him. The 
 smoke of many a chimney proclaimed a cheerful fireside, 
 but for him there was no home. He found however an 
 humble dwelling-place suited tb his means of payment, 
 and looked around him, day after day, on prospects no 
 wise cheering ; for at this inclement season the day- 
 laborer found little employment. His little stock of 
 money was soon exhausted, and want, in its sternest shape, 
 stared him in the face ; but he was not one to die with 
 out an effort. He wandered away to a little settlement 
 on the sea-shore, and found work, the boon he asked for, 
 in a shipyard. In few years he learned to use skillfully 
 the carpenter's tools, and spent no hour idly ; not the day 
 only, but part of the night, was devoted to toil. Such 
 unceasing labor is seldom without returns; and James, 
 seeing that his earnings would pay the way of more than 
 himself, married. He built a rude man's nest, and at
 
 12 
 
 PEBBLEBKOOK. 
 
 stated intervals, say of two years or less, little Hardings, 
 one after another, came wondrously into being ; not weak 
 and puny things, but quite tough, knotty, gnarly, without 
 beauty or grace, but strong. James Harding and his 
 wife, in their old age, saw eight of their brood run 
 ning out of doors mainly intent on the gratification of 
 animal appetites ; always working, but, for the most part, 
 towards some selfish end. The three daughters changed 
 their family name, in a very common way, and we lose 
 sight of them here. They are little streamlets, these 
 daughters, always running off from one recognised, visible 
 life-stream into another ; thus giving to the whole of hu 
 man life a general character ; making it a human family. 
 In the attainment of worldly wealth it may be said that 
 three of these brothers prospered ; but with increasing 
 wealth much evil unfolded itself. The blessed man is 
 not he who can get possession of many outward things, 
 but he who can use well what he gets, be it little or much. 
 These Hardings were grasping in getting, selfish in using, 
 obstinate in keeping all kinds of victuals ; for, in truth, 
 all they got had value in their eyes only because it could 
 be converted into such. Call them not sinners to be con 
 demned without mercy ; consider, rather, how their life 
 had come to them through want of every kind, and pity 
 them. A stern, narrow moralist, looking only on the 
 then present, and seeing the hard grasping nature of those 
 men, might have said it had been better they had never 
 been born. I cannot think so ; for to me is given to see 
 another present. Did not the Hardings of this day all 
 come from those obstinate, hateful old men ? indeed from 
 the tough old man of the little town on the coast of Corn 
 wall, who caught fish in stormy weather, and had few 
 friends? How much lies wrapped up in the small-seem-
 
 THE HARDING FAMILY. 13 
 
 ing present thing provided it have life in it, especially 
 Human Life ! 
 
 I remember my paternal grandfather well ; a dark- 
 browed, hard-featured man, not given to smiles. His 
 talk was short, sharp, and to the purpose ; ever about 
 business. He had in youth acquired the faculty of read 
 ing, which, in his old age, he seldom used except to learn 
 somewhat of the ocean tides ; for he owned many fishing 
 boats and smacks. Of all the heavenly bodies he valued 
 only the moon, because she presides over the weather, 
 and the coming-in of the waters. The almanac-maker 
 was his Sir Oracle, and the Almanac itself his Bible, con 
 taining true knowledge. The possessions of one of his 
 brothers lay contiguous to his own, and I hardly need 
 say that they quarrelled often ; for the business of their 
 lives was getting, and each wanted all ; at last they be 
 came bitter enemies and were estranged from each other. 
 The other rich brother lived, fortunately, at greater dis 
 tance, and so came not often in collision with the others. 
 Of all these brothers the poor ones were, I believe, hap 
 piest. 
 
 Think not, reader, that these old men I speak of my 
 grandfather and his quarrelsome brother were alto 
 gether bad. They loved their own children, but not 
 wisely ; they were not unkind to any children ; nor yet 
 to the laborers they employed : plenty of work these last 
 had, but also plenty of food. My grandmother was truly 
 a cooking woman, and all who came into the house must 
 eat. I remember a large round table of pine wood cover 
 ed with oil-cloth, and great earthen platters, and enormous 
 pitchers ; these filled with home-brewed beer, and those 
 but there is no need of telling all my recollections. They 
 2
 
 14 PEEBLES ROOK. 
 
 are all gone, these old Hardings; they lived by hard work 
 and hard ways, in a time when men could get much by 
 such work and ways. They were nowise accomplished 
 in the art of legerdemain ; the evil of their lives was open 
 evil, which never yet corrupted the world, and never can. 
 Peace be with them.
 
 P E BBLEBROOK. 
 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 WITH what mingled sensations does one, after long ab 
 sence, revisit his native place. The spirit of our child 
 hood rises then, and in glad or sad tones speaks to us ; of- 
 tenest with a mixture of both. The promise of Life's 
 spring-time, has it been fulfilled ? Not yet : its fulfilment is 
 not in Time: its fulfilment lies hid in unknown Eternity. 
 Happy he whose life has led to Belief, for in that alone 
 can peace be found. 
 
 Before noon, of a pleasant sunny day, I ascended one of 
 the hills which encircle Pebblebrook. The forest road 
 wound round the hill about midway between base and 
 summit ; and at intervals, between the tree-tops, I saw 
 the church steeple, a section of the village here, another 
 there, and smoke rising which told of human life. Soon, 
 where the road ran along the brink of a precipice, the 
 whole village appeared, lying there peacefully below me 
 in the rich sunlight : a little farther on the dark forest 
 hid it again. It was as when in solitary hours one turns 
 towards the long hidden Past, which fitfully, in vision, 
 appears and disappears through the thick forest of the 
 Present. 
 
 The valley in which Pebblebrook lies, is about ten
 
 :-- - 
 : 
 
 e, 
 
 
 QtfD 
 
 -_. 
 
 it -Aeq? waite agaui.
 
 7. ,_-
 
 18 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 The meeting-house (for purposes sacred and profane) 
 is a large misshapen building, of a dirty yellow color, with 
 a clumsy steeple ; and is capable of containing double 
 the whole population of Pebblebrook. How distinctly is 
 the interior of that old church now present to my mind ! 
 its large square pews unpainted, except that one in the 
 broad aisle ; its huge posts supporting the galleries ; and 
 the naked crumbling beams of the unceiled roof. I see 
 the venerable Pastor in the high, rudely carved pulpit, on 
 a wintry sabbath, standing beneath the immense sound 
 ing-board, which, suspended by a small iron rod, seemed 
 threatening to fall and crush him. His long white 'hair, 
 parted on the top of his head, fell on each side of his thin 
 pale face ; and his mild blue eye beamed with good will 
 to men. His neat, but thread-bare, suit of black, was 
 covered by an old grey surtout,a bandanna handkerchief 
 was wrapped round his neck over his clean white cravat, 
 and his hands were clothed in striped woollen gloves. 
 Here his sweet, clear, but tremulous voice uttered the 
 fervent prayer to Him, the Father of all, and proclaimed 
 the great but simple truths of the gospel to his listening 
 flock. His prayers were such as prayers should be from 
 the finite to the Infinite, from the mortal to the Immor 
 tal ; simple, and devoid of that argument and course of 
 reasoning which make many of the public prayers of the 
 present day not unlike sermons from man to his fellows. 
 The Lord's Prayer, which he often used, seemed in his 
 mouth no foreign thing, but one which arose from his in 
 most being. His sermons contained no metaphysical 
 disquisitions, no hair-breadth distinctions no far-reaching 
 speculations ; but in simplicity of mind and heart he 
 seized on the highest truths of the Gospels, and in ear 
 nestness he enforced them. " My mission," he would
 
 19 
 
 sometimes say, " is to the heart of man, rather than to 
 his head." Much good as this single-hearted old man 
 did in the pulpit, he did more out of it ; by the way 
 side, in the harvest-field, and by the firesides of his pa 
 rishioners. He was often seen in the house of mourning, 
 and sometimes in the house of mirth. With the bereav 
 ed he wept ; and thus did he creep into the sufferer's 
 heart and soothe it by the presence of the spirit of Hu 
 manity, which in- its highest sense, is the Spirit of God. 
 In the house of mirth, though he sometimes checked 
 boisterous merriment, he always promoted cheerful glad 
 ness ; and the young felt their enjoyments hallowed by 
 his presence. The slab of stone on the little mound 
 called his grave, tells a truth : " He is not here ; he is 
 risen." To dwell on the appearance and demeanor of 
 the flock gathered within this shepherd's fold, might be 
 tedious : quiet they were, and, for the most part, atten 
 tive listeners. Of 'Squire Stout, however, the most im 
 portant personage, a few words may be pardoned. The 
 'squire came early to church for example's sake ; and 
 used to stand in his pew, before the services commenced, 
 bowing condescendingly to those of the congregation who 
 came up the broad-aisle. He bent forward reverently in 
 prayer -time, and significantly nodded his approbation of 
 particular passages in the sermon. He had a powerful, 
 not unmusical voice : but not a good, or rather not a 
 quick ear; and always seemed uncertain of the tune 
 when the choir commenced : he therefore seldom joined 
 in the first verse ; but of the second he would sing the 
 last line, and of the third he usually sang the conclud 
 ing half: thus he went on becoming more and more 
 master of the tune, till at the close of the hymn he would
 
 20 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 pour forth the whole stanza with a triumphant look and 
 manner. 
 
 But this good Pastor and 'Squire Stout, and the other 
 great men of that day have passed away as have also ma 
 ny little ones : but still the village stands there as I have 
 depicted it. The waters in the little stream, run spark 
 ling along sea-bound as of old, and ever in clouds they 
 come again performing their appointed circuit. The 
 elm tree, that looks calmly down on the talkers of this 
 day, looked even so upon their fathers : but this too shall 
 disappear. All things pass away from human sight and 
 come again unrecognised. The parts change, the whole 
 remains : and this village of Pebblebrook is an epitome 
 of the world. 
 
 I rode along the main street partially recognised now 
 and then by an inhabitant of about my own age ; though 
 to the greater part of the population I was a stranger. 
 Turning into one of the cross roads, I was soon seated 
 in the home of my childhood, in the very house where 
 I first came to the light of day and the consciousness of 
 this existence. My parents were not there : they have 
 long since disappeared and gone Who can say whither 7 
 But my uncle John and his widowed sister dwell there 
 and they gave me warm welcome. The evening passed 
 away in varied talk about old friends and family matters, 
 of which there is no need to speak here.
 
 UNCLE JOHN. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 UNCLE JOHN. 
 
 THE following day was a rainy one, and we staid with 
 in doors. 
 
 Uncle John, after breakfast, carried me to his room ; 
 and, saying he must give a few hours to the repairing 
 of some agricultural tools, added, pointing to his books, 
 " there are some companions of the kind that are never 
 intrusively tiresome. If one does not speak instructively, 
 you may, without the imputation of incivility, put him 
 aside and take another : you are hard to suit if none 
 please." Truly there was variety enough , good, bad, 
 and indifferent : but, unfortunately, almost all books 
 came to me under the latter class. I had read for amuse 
 ment and to pass away the time, all the modern literature 
 which came in my way, until my mind had lost its tone and 
 books had become wearisome. Men qualified to speak on 
 the subject of health, say that mind and body act recipro 
 cally each on the other. Agents of temperance societies 
 have shown, conclusively enough, the effects of ardent 
 spirits on the human body, and ultimately on the intel 
 lect : nothing, it is often said, can be more injurious 
 than an habitual daily use of stimulants. How much 
 of the mental drink which comes to us bottled up in
 
 22 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 books is of that same nature ? Modern literature, on one 
 side, runs parallel to the Distillery, and, on the other 
 side to the Graham system. What are your intensely in 
 teresting, modern novels, but a kind of Blue Ruin made of 
 treacle ? One who drinks of the same, morning, noon and 
 night shall be pale in the face, and tremble when called 
 to do a thing. When one, by persuasion of friends, or 
 an innate desire for health, turns to the bran-bread of ser 
 mons and moral essays, he fares little better, and goes 
 about with cadaverous aspect. Howsoever this may be, 
 books had, as I said, become wearisome to me ; and I 
 had no great appetite for the feast which Uncle John 
 set before me. I looked at the titles, opened some of 
 those which were unknown to me, read a sentence here 
 and y there, and returned them to their places. I drew a 
 chair to the window and looked out on the scene : there 
 was a thick drizzle approaching to rain. My old feel 
 ings crept over me with forebodings of suicide. As a 
 drowning man catches at straws I caught up a pamphlet 
 from the table : it was an old number of the Foreign Re 
 view : I opened it and read : 
 
 " As little can we prognosticate, with any certainty, the future 
 influences from the present aspects of an individual. How many 
 Demagogues, Croesuses, Conquerors, fill their own age with joy or 
 terror, with a tumult that promises to be perennial ; and in the 
 next age die away into insignificance and oblis'ion ! These are the 
 forests of gourds that overtop the infant cedars and aloe-trees, but 
 like the Prophet's gourd, wither on the third day. What was it to 
 the Pharaoh's of Egypt, in that old era, if Jethro the Midianitish 
 priest and grazier, accepted the Hebrew outlaw as his herdsman ? 
 Yet the Pharaoh's, with all their chariots of war, are buried deep 
 in the wrecks of time ; and that Moses still lives, not among his 
 own tribe only, but in the hearts and daily business of all civilized 
 nations. Or figure Mahomet, in his youthful years, ' travelling to 
 the horse-fairs of Syria! ' Nay, to take an infinitely higher in-
 
 TJNCLEJOHN. 23 
 
 stance, who has ever forgotten those lines of Tacitus, inserted as a 
 small, transitory, altogether trifling circumstance in the history of 
 such a potentate as Nero ? To us it is the most earnest, sad, sternly 
 significant passage that we know to exist in writing : ' So, for the 
 quieting of this rumor,* Nero judicially charged with the crime, 
 and punished with most studied severity, that class, hated for their 
 general wickedness, whom the vulgar call Christians. The orig 
 inator of that name was one Christ, who, in the reign of Tiberius, 
 suffered death by sentence of the Procurator, Pontius Pilate. The 
 baneful superstition, thereby repressed for the time, again broke 
 out, not only over Judea, the native soil of that mischief, but in the 
 city also, where from every side all atrocious and abominable things 
 collect and flourish.' t Tacitus was the wisest, most penetrating 
 man of his generation; and to such depth, and no deeper, has he 
 seen into this transaction, the most important that has occurred or 
 can occur in the annals of mankind. 
 
 " Nor is it only to those primitive ages, when religions took their 
 rise, and a man of pure and high mind appeared not merely as a 
 teacher and philosopher, but as a priest and prophet, that our obser 
 vation applies. The same uncertainty, in estimating present things 
 and men, holds more or less in all times; for in all times, even in, 
 those which seem most trivial and open to research, human society 
 rests on inscrutably deep foundations ; which he is of all others 
 the most mistaken, who fancies he has explored to the bottom. 
 Neither is that sequence, which we love to speak of as ' a chain of 
 causes,' properly to be figured as a ' chain,' or line, but rather as 
 a tissue, or superficies of innumerable lines, extending in breadth 
 as well as in length, and with a complexity, which will foil and 
 utterly bewilder the most assiduous computation. In fact, the 
 wisest of us must, for by far the most part, judge like the simplest; 
 estimate importance by mere magnitude, and expect that what 
 strongly affects our own generation, will strongly affect those that 
 are to follow. In this way it is that conquerors and political revo 
 lutionists come to figure as so mighty in their influences ; whereas, 
 truly there is no class of persons creating such an uproar in the 
 world, who in the long run produce so very slight an impression 
 on its affairs. When Tamerlane had finished huilding his pyramid 
 of seventy thousand human skulls, and was seen ' standing at the 
 
 * Of his having set fire to Rome. t Tacit. Annal. xv. 44.
 
 24 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 gate of Damascus, glittering in steel, with his battle-axe on his 
 shoulder' till his fierce hosts filed out to new victories and new 
 carnage, the pale on-looker might have fancied that nature was in 
 her death-throes ; for havoc and despair had taken possession of 
 the earth, the sun of manhood seemed setting in seas of blood. Yet, 
 it might be, on that very gala-day of Tamerlane, a little boy was 
 playing ninepins on the streets of Mentz, whose history was more 
 important to men than that of twenty Tarmerlanes. The Tartar 
 Khan, with his shaggy demons of the wilderness, 'passed away 
 like a whirlwind,' to be forgotten forever; and that German artisan 
 has wrought a benefit, which is yet immeasurably expanding itself, 
 and will continue to expand itself through all countries and through 
 all times. What are the conquests and expeditions of the whole 
 corporation of captains, from Walter the Pennyless to Napoleon 
 Bonaparte, compared with these ' moveable types ' of Johannas 
 Faust ? Truly, it is a mortifying thing for your conqueror to re 
 flect, how perishable is the metal which he hammers with such 
 violence ; how the kind earth will soon shroud up his bloody foot 
 prints ; and all that he achieved and skillfully piled together will 
 be but like his own < canvass city' of a camp ; this evening loud 
 with life, to-morrow all struck and vanished, ' a few earth-pits and 
 heaps of straw ! ' For here, as always, it continues true, that the 
 deepest force is the stillest ; that, as in the Fable, the mild shining 
 of the sun shall silently accomplish what the fierce blustering of 
 the tempest has in vain essayed. Above all, it is ever to be kept 
 in mind, that not by material but by moral power, are men and 
 their actions governed. How noiseless is thought ! No rolling of 
 drums, no tramp of squadrons, or immeasurable tumult of baggage 
 wagons, attends its movements ; in what obscure and sequestered 
 places may the head be meditating, which is one day to be crowned 
 with more than imperial authority ; for Kings and Emperors will 
 be among its ministering servants; it will rule not over, but in, all 
 heads, and with these its solitary combinations of ideas, as with 
 magic formulas, bend the world to its will ! The time may come, 
 when Napoleon himself will be better known for his laws than for 
 his battles ; and the victory of Waterloo prove less momentous than 
 the opening of the first Mechanic's Institute." 
 
 The page seemed to speak to me, and I read the arti 
 cle through. I was looking over different passages of it
 
 UNCLE J OHN. 25 
 
 again when Uncle John entered the room. " What is 
 this ? " I asked ; " who wrote it ? " " That ? " said he, 
 looking over ray shoulder, " that is something more than 
 mere words ; the writer is clearly a Believer ; he has 
 
 Faith founded on knowledge. His name is I 
 
 have heard it, but it has escaped me. It is my firm be 
 lief," he continued, " that the present general unbelief in 
 religious matters is, in a great measure, owing to theo- 
 logical schools ; a system has been formed of teaching 
 Religion by rote ; certain logical arguments and the 
 evidence of the miracles are continually used : While 
 the questions, Is the History true ? Is the evidence of the 
 performance of the miracles complete ? ever return to 
 the Doubter unanswered, indeed logically unanswerable. 
 There is, it seems to me, only one way for a man unac 
 quainted with ancient literature to read the Bible ; to 
 read it as he would another book, even as he would a 
 work of imagination, a creation of Genius ; then without 
 being troubled by questions of its matter-of-fact truth, let 
 him consider the character of Jesus of Nazareth. Its 
 all-surpassing beauty and majesty can hardly fail to dawn 
 upon him, revealing, more or less clearly as he is fitted 
 for the revelation, the Eternal. The internal evidence of 
 Christianity is the life of Christ. Did any man, without 
 actual prototype, conceive this Life, and thus word-paint 
 it to the hearts of millions ? That, surely, were a miracle 
 greater than any on record. The man who can believe 
 this is more credulous than I . " He ceased ; his lip 
 quivered, and tears filled his eyes. He rose, walked to 
 the window, and stood there some minutes in silence ; 
 then turning round he said, " One is now and then be 
 trayed into something like this ; but for the most part I 
 avoid all talk called religious ; little good comes of it." 
 3
 
 26 PEEBLES KOOK. 
 
 Our conversation turned to common matters ; we were 
 cheerful, even merry, and made fair weather within doors 
 though clouds made it dark without. 
 
 Biography is said to be the most interesting of all 
 studies. True enough it is so. One can hardly ride an 
 hour in a stage-coach without a desire to know somewhat 
 of his fellow-passengers, were it only their names. Does 
 any one of them say a word which has meaning in it, 
 straightway we are eager to know something more of him ; 
 where does he live ? is he married ? what business does 
 he drive ? and so forth to the end of that long category. 
 Seeing that this love of Biography is so universal I will 
 place here some particulars of Uncle John's life. Of his 
 childhood I shall say next to nothing. We have glanced 
 into his early home, and have seen, clearly enough, that 
 there was little there to suit the purpose of any modern 
 lecturer on education. One fact, however, in regard to 
 that home, it may be well to note j this, namely ; the life 
 of his parents was not a lie ; they did not pretend to be 
 what they were not. They gave no studied precepts, no 
 exhortations to virtue and piety ; but there was, perhaps, 
 in their open life, with all its defacements, a lesson which 
 imprinted itself on the open mind of the child. The all- 
 important lesson for a child is the unconscious, not the 
 conscious one ; therefore, every man who would do good 
 must be true. 
 
 The conscious, exterior education of this boy was such 
 as one might get in the common schools of that day ,* 
 and while yet a boy he found a place in the counting 
 room of a city merchant. When of age he commenced, 
 with borrowed capital, commercial business on his own 
 account. For some few years he was called prosperous, 
 and seemed to be on the road to wealth ; but the gain-
 
 UNCLE JOHN. 
 
 fever, so prevalent in this country, came upon him, and 
 he clutched more than he could hold together. The 
 fabric of his commercial greatness, ill-built on weakest 
 basis, fell one day with a fearful crash, and grumbling 
 claimants gathered up the fragments. He stood there, 
 short time, amid the ruins almost doubting that he had 
 survived the fall. Yesterday, he called much his own. To 
 day he had nothing. It was a time of deep and painful 
 thought : he was a Bankrupt : a thing (as he now says) 
 of deepest meaning to those who can understand it. What 
 should he now do ? His magic wand of credit was 
 broken ; should he get another and build again ? or 
 what should he do 1 He struggled long with himself: 
 at intervals he saw plainly enough, what he had often 
 painfully suspected, that there had never been a reality 
 in his possessions. He struggled long I say ; but 
 there is no need to say much about it ; many men have 
 struggled ; all men must more or less. 
 
 One somewhat serious passage in Uncle John's life, the 
 Reader shall have as from himself. " In the midst of 
 my other troubles sickness of body came upon me while 
 I was journeying toward my father's house. One of my 
 fellow-passengers, who, during the day, had shown some 
 sympathy for my condition, invited me, when the coach 
 stopped at his dwelling-place, to alight and pass the night 
 beneath his roof: at first I declined his offer with thanks : 
 but when he urged me, said he was a physician, and that 
 my state of health was such that another night passed in 
 the stage coach might be fatal to me, I yielded. Soon I 
 was in a comfortable bed : but all the kind man's skill 
 and care availed not to extirpate the fever which had 
 seized me ; it would have its way. For many days I was 
 for the most part insensible to all around me ; my con-
 
 23 FEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 sciousness of existence was vague and dreamlike. My 
 being spread itself out and assumed horrid forms which 
 were unlike myself and yet I was in them. In the wild 
 visions of delirium Time and space were almost annihi 
 lated. Far regions and near lay alike before me. The 
 Past, the Present and the Future were there all mingled 
 wildly together. The mimic ship, which I launched on 
 the little brook which runs babbling by the home of my 
 childhood, changed, as it left my infant hand, into a 
 huge ark upon a roaring sea : Devils looked out of it 
 grinning and yelling at me, a decrepit old man. The 
 flower-covered arbor which enticed me from afar became, 
 as I entered it, a slimy pit filled with hissing serpents. 
 Nor was the counterpart entirely wanting : often in the 
 wild hurly-burly, amid the shouts of fiends, a voice of 
 angel sweetness was heard, calling me to follow ; and 
 when I fell into the yawning abyss an angel-hand caught 
 and upheld me. But why attempt to describe this ? 
 I can re-collect little and re-member less : it is all as a 
 dream, vague, shadowy, mist-covered, stretching itself out 
 on every side. 
 
 After this fearful revelation of the great deep which is 
 beneath every man's being, the actual, world, which 
 spread itself again before me, had new charms. The 
 physician's daughter hovered around my couch : when 
 she spoke I heard again the angel-voice. Day after day 
 this fair being flitted about my pillow and cheered me by 
 kind words and looks. She said nothing about piety and 
 religion and gratitude to God, but her every-day life was 
 a revelation of the Good and Merciful : I felt that a 
 Great Spirit dwells in Humanity and that the Eternal 
 One is no mere traditionary Being. My recovery, owing 
 to extreme weakness of body and an unquiet mind, was
 
 UNC LE J OHN . 29 
 
 long delayed. To my lovely nurse I grew, as I needs 
 must, confidential, and revealed to her my inmost sor 
 rows. She listened, pitied me, and said that life had 
 other things than those I had lost. One day, when I was 
 alone, the significant events of my whole life passed before 
 me, as in a Review the separate corps march from their 
 several quarters, take their proper places on the field and 
 form one whole. I saw with some clearness that this Ex 
 istence is not a mere series of disconnected events, fol 
 lowing each another in the order of Time, and each anni 
 hilated as it falls into the Past ; but that the substance of 
 all that has been, still is, and must ever be. Fanny 
 came in, asked me if I needed aught, seated herself near 
 me and was busy with her sewing work. My hand was 
 lying on the bedside : a small warm one fell upon it. 
 My blood, which had long moved slowly its wonted 
 course, now rushed through every channel with a ting 
 ling sensation. I pressed the hand which was within 
 mine : she rose, bent over me, touched my forehead with 
 her lips, and left the room. Blissful hours followed : I 
 felt that I was not alone, the consciousness that one so 
 pure loved me, gave hope and strength. Fanny did not 
 return till twilight crept over the summer day. ^ This is 
 a story that cannot be further told ; in truth it is told : 
 we loved. When my health was sufficiently established, 
 I went on my way again a happy man. The father had 
 given his consent with such prudential reservations as be 
 came a father. Some months I busied myself in settle 
 ment of my affairs, and was right glad when each credi 
 tor had taken his due, that a little yet remained for my 
 self. Visions of a home and a guardian angel hovered 
 around me ; which fled when a letter came to me from 
 Fanny's father. She was sick and there was little hope 
 3*
 
 30 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 of her recovery. I flew on such wings as 1 could get 
 but arrived too late ; she was dead. A simple message 
 which she left for me, a sad yet soothing one, I can never 
 forget." 
 
 To a careless observer Uncle John's life, since this 
 last bereavement, would seem little noteworthy ; neverthe 
 less could we see into it we should find much worth see 
 ing, as indeed there is in the life of every man even the 
 meanest. He lingered awhile near her grave and then 
 came hither to Pebblebrook, a subdued and sorrowing 
 man : dark days and nights passed over him : but at 
 times that simple message of his lost one " sad yet sooth 
 ing " had deep meaning ; deeper doubtless to him than it 
 could have to us who know not the soul that uttered it. 
 He got him a little farm, and grew busy, cheerful, even 
 joyful : some of his townsmen think him half crazed.
 
 AUNT MARY. 31 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AUNT MARY. 
 
 I HAD not been many days in Pebblebrook before a 
 note from Aunt Mary invited me to visit her. Few peo 
 ple can refuse Aunt Mary's invitations: one does not 
 feel inclined to plead a severe headache, previous en 
 gagement, or want of time as an excuse : certainly I felt 
 no such inclination, for one of the joyfullest recollec 
 tions of my childhood is of that sunny face and gladsome 
 voice. 
 
 At early morn I was in the saddle for a ride to Na- 
 took, which is not far from Pebblebrook. As 1 rode 
 along some particulars of my aunt's love story gathered 
 themselves together in my mind, 
 
 A better creature than my Aunt Mary never lived : 
 how it happened that she remained in singleness of life 
 till the age of thirty-eight I know not. Was it because 
 her kindness flowed forth so continually in all directions, 
 toward every living thing, that no man's vanity was min 
 istered to, and therefore no little Hop-o'-my-thumb could 
 say to himself; she thinks me greatest and best of man 
 kind ? or are men born fools ? Human affairs are, 
 however, mostly inexplicable on any known doctrine of 
 causality ; and I may say that Destiny, in this case very 
 kind, sent my Uncle Thomas to Natook.
 
 32 
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 The westerly side of the town of Natook forms a cres 
 cent, being skirted by meadows which join the upland 
 in that form. Now Aunt Mary lived at the southern ex 
 tremity of the town, and when Uncle Thomas came 
 to Natook he took lodgings at the other horn of the 
 crescent ; unfortunately it may seem, but quite otherwise 
 as will be shewn. A foot-path leads across the meadows 
 from one end of the town to the other, and about midway 
 it passes over a little spot of well-wooded upland, which 
 stands there, in the waving meadow, like a little island 
 in the ocean. . A large brook flows through the meadows, 
 and meeting this spot of upland in its course divides into 
 two smaller streams, which run along on either side of 
 the upland and unite again at its termination. The foot 
 path is carried over these two streams by bridges formed 
 of two logs only. This island is a beautiful spot: a grove 
 of oaks, and pines, intermingled covers it ; and in sum 
 mer wild flowers of many a form and hue grow there. I 
 have been thus particular in this description because this 
 path brought my Uncle and Aunt together, and this little 
 island, aided by the two bridges, helped them to marry. 
 Aunt Mary believed that morning walks preserved the 
 freshness of youth : therefore, in fair weather, she rose 
 with the sun and walked abroad. The path I have de 
 scribed commenced at the door of her own house ; and 
 her usual walk was across the meadow to the grove on 
 the island, where she gathered a few wild flowers and 
 then turned homeward. One spring morning in her 
 walk through the grove, she met, somewhat to her sur 
 prise, a stranger apparently about forty years of age ; 
 rather below the common height and a little inclined to 
 corpulence. He was dressed with scrupulous neatness in 
 drab pantaloons, buff vest and blue coat. His well pol-
 
 AUNT MARY. 33 
 
 ished boots were drawn over his pantaloons and reached 
 nearly to his knees : from their tops, in front, dangled 
 tassels of black silk. He carried a gold-headed cane, 
 walked rather briskly, and looked intently at Aunt Mary, 
 who threw her eyes to the ground as he passed her. 
 
 Here I must do what I should perhaps have done be 
 fore ; describe my aunt. She was about thirty -seven, but 
 appeared younger ; and being, as I said, one of the best 
 creatures in the world, she had a sweet, good humored 
 expression of face, which if it be not in itself beauty, is 
 certainly better than some kinds of beauty. Aunt Mary 
 was rather large ; a little inclined to enbonpoint ; and 
 perhaps why should I hesitate to say it? she was in 
 fact quite fat. She was dressed that morning in a green 
 silk walking dress, white stockings, and rather thick, 
 high shoes. She wore a small close-fitting cottage bonnet 
 with very neat trimmings, and a green veil. In her hand 
 she carried a parasol, for she was careful of her complex 
 ion which is fair. 
 
 Soon after the stranger passed Aunt Mary she turned 
 from her path into the grove to gather some of her favor 
 ite flowers. In a few minutes she saw him retracing his 
 steps at a rapid pace, and something within my Aunt 
 whispered that he was desirous of overtaking her ; but lit 
 tle did she then think that this stranger, with the gold- 
 headed cane, would ever be my uncle Thomas. 
 
 The next morning Aunt Mary was very glad to see the 
 sun rising in an unclouded sky ; and she walked forth 
 with more than her usual alacrity. Again she met the 
 stranger and returned to her home a little pensive ; a state 
 of mind very unusual with her. 
 
 The next Sunday my Aunt saw this gentleman at 
 church and learned his name : Mr. Thomas Harden :
 
 04 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 strange! she said to herself: my own name is not very 
 different : Harding and Harden are certainly very much 
 alike. 
 
 I thought to trace step by step, the progress of their 
 acquaintance and subsequent attachment : but so gradual 
 were their approaches, so almost imperceptible, that to do 
 so would impose a tedious task on both writer and reader. 
 Enough it will be to say, that they met often in their 
 walks and at last at the house of a friend, where a formal 
 introduction took place. Afterwards in their walks they 
 said : good morning : a pleasant day : and such like 
 things to each other. 
 
 One day, however, they made quite a stride toward in 
 timacy, and it happened thus : Aunt Mary left home a 
 little earlier than usual, or Uncle Thomas a little later 
 I know not which, and they met at the bridge 
 which being nearest his lodgings, may be named Uncle 
 Thomas's bridge. When he appeared my Aunt was just 
 turning homeward, and they walked along side by side. 
 After a rather embarrassing silence he said : " Miss Har 
 ding I have been so long in this town that I begin to 
 feel attached to it." My Aunt did not hear distinctly 
 what he said, and asked awkwardly ; " Did you speak 
 of an attachment, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, no Madam ; I said I began to feel attach 
 ed to this town." 
 
 They soon arrived at the bridge on Aunt Mary's side, 
 and she appeared to hesitate as though afraid to venture 
 across it. 
 
 " Madam: " said Uncle Thomas: " the logs are wet 
 and slippery, let me assist you." 
 
 " I believe it is a little unsafe : " she replied. May thnt 
 little lie be forgiven to my good Aunt ! it is surely of the
 
 AUNT MARY. 35 
 
 whitest kind; she had crossed that bridge a thousand 
 times and never once thought of danger ; but now she 
 took his proffered hand and somewhat timidly walked over. 
 She thanked Uncle Thomas in her sweetest voice and 
 manner. He had now crossed the brook which had been, 
 heretofore, the bound of his walk : it was the Rubicon of 
 his fate and he went home with my Aunt. On the way 
 he told her that he should leave the town on the morrow, 
 as some business required his attention in a far distant 
 place. My Aunt, with some degree of embarrassment, 
 said : " but you will return, Mr. Harden? " " I would could 
 I believe that any here wished me to do so." Aunt Mary 
 was silent. He spoke again : " I shall be detained abroad 
 till Spring, but then I would come here again if he 
 ceased awkwardly enough, and she almost involuntarily 
 said : " Certainly, Mr. Harden, I shall be glad to see 
 you." 
 
 " Then," he replied, " 1 shall come again : " and hav 
 ing now arrived at my Aunt's door, he hurriedly took 
 leave. That next winter was a long one to Aunt Mary : 
 when it was gone and Spring came, she grew impatient. 
 The month of April passed away, and my Aunt began to 
 pine. In May, however, on the tenth day of May I 
 can fix the day exactly, because I happened to find in an 
 old memorandum book of my Aunt's a record of the fact 
 On the l()th day of May, Uncle Thomas returned. 
 
 We will pass over, in silence, all that occurred from 
 the time of his arrival till July. Let not the Reader re 
 gret it, there was nothing worth telling, though the vil 
 lage gossips were busy with their half speeches and 
 knowing looks. 
 
 Aunt Mary was approaching the crisis of her fate, and 
 she had made abundant preparation for it. The terms
 
 30 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 of the capitulation were drawn up long before there was 
 a demand to surrender, yea, even before the siege com 
 menced. 
 
 Here, in justice to my Aunt, let me remark, that 
 though she may seem too forward in this affair, yet she 
 was so only in appearance. Uncle Thomas was deep in 
 love, and she, with the quickness of her sex in such cases, 
 saw it. She saw too, that he was fettered by bashfulness 
 and felt awkward, as all do whose first love-making hap 
 pens late in life : My Aunt, I say, saw his difficulties, 
 and, impelled by her double share of that kindness so 
 natural and becoming in woman, she encouraged him. 
 She saw his distress caused by the fetters of bashfulness, 
 and sought to strike them off. Was my Aunt wrong ? 
 A virtue in excess is said to be a fault : my Aunt's fault 
 is excessive kindness. 
 
 At the close of a hot day in July, Uncle Thomas walk 
 ed with my Aunt to the grove on the island. When they 
 arrived there she said : 
 
 " Oh, how warm it is. I declare I am almost dead." 
 " The heat is indeed oppressive, Miss Harding, but here 
 is a nice cool place beneath these trees on our right : 
 let us go there." 
 
 She consented, and was soon seated on the smooth 
 greensward, in a little natural arbor formed by vines 
 which ran up the trees and interlaced in the branches 
 overhead. Uncle Thomas rambled away to gather flow 
 ers. When he returned she had removed her bonnet 
 and was leaning back against an old oak tree ; one foot 
 drawn up beneath her robe ; about half the other being 
 visible. Uncle Thomas thought her beautiful. He sat 
 down near her and took off his hat. Gray was intermin 
 gled with his coal black hair about half and half : my
 
 ATJNTMARY. 37 
 
 Aunt thought the mixture becoming. She wore a white 
 cap fitted nicely to her head and covering the sides of her 
 face. It had a narrow frill in front and was tied beneath 
 her chin by a ribbon. 1 should be unwilling to affirm 
 that a single white hair was hidden by that cap, for on her 
 forehead, on either side, appeared a fold of glossy brown, 
 the end of which was carried back beneath her cap and 
 showed itself again on her neck just behind and below 
 her ear. 
 
 My Uncle and Aunt looked each into the other's eyes, 
 and then looked towards the ground and were silent, 
 Their hearts were full enough but they did'nt know how 
 to begin the outpouring; or rather Uncle Thomas was 
 at fault, for the beginning was his part. Aunt Mary, 
 who could not be still, busied herself destroying the flow 
 ers which the good man had gathered for her. 
 
 " Miss Harding, how long is it since we first met in 
 this grovel " It was not a bad beginning, though appa 
 rently far off, and she replied ? 
 
 " It is more than a year, sir, I think." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Harding, it is fourteen months to day I 
 recollect now 't was the 2nd day of May. Is it not 
 strange that we should be here again together on the 
 same day of the month ? " 
 
 "It is, " said my Aunt, though she could see nothing 
 very strange in it : but her heart was not in the negative 
 mood. Another long silence followed. A bird in the 
 tree above them sang cheeringly, and Uncle Thomas 
 took courage, 
 
 " Miss Harding." 
 
 " Sir," said my Aunt. 
 
 " Miss Harding did it never strike you as a remarka 
 ble circumstance, that our names are very much alike ? " 
 4
 
 38 PEBBLE BE OOK. 
 
 " Yes, it has, Mr. Harden, often, and I. remember it 
 occurred to me when I first heard " She stopped ; she 
 was confessing too much. 
 
 " My dear Miss Harding the change would indeed 
 be very slight from Harding to " 
 
 His voice faltered ; he looked up to my Aunt : their 
 eyes met and were instantly cast down again. They fell 
 on a rose-bush which stood before them. On that bush 
 were two full grown roses which decay had slightly 
 touched ; but just beneath grew three little fresh-looking 
 buds. 'T was better than a whole chapter on love. My 
 Aunt blushed, and on the end of my Uncle's nose ap 
 peared a small red spot, which grew till it covered his 
 whole face. This could not last. My Uncle Thomas 
 moved nearer to my Aunt and took her hand in his : a 
 large tear gathered in my Aunt's right eye, and fell on, 
 and trickled in between, their clasped hands. He drew 
 a long breath there was the symptom of a sigh, but he 
 manfully suppressed it. Their faces approached each 
 other pshaw ! 't would be folly to tell more : those who 
 are married know all about it, and those who are not, 
 should not have this knowledge till they get it experi 
 mentally. 
 
 The setting sun filled the whole grove with a golden 
 light; the leaves fluttered scarce audibly, and many birds 
 made music on the air. When my Uncle and Aunt 
 walked homeward, hand in hand, a Bobo' Link poured 
 forth his merry song. 
 
 I had not seen my Aunt since her wedding day, and 
 felt some curiosity to learn how she ruled her household. 
 I rode toward the house from the north : it seemed, from 
 this point of view, strangely altered ; and still more so, 
 when, following the road which wound around the hill in
 
 AUNT MARY. > 
 
 front, I came near it on the southerly side. The house, 
 when I last saw it, had form and comeliness ; but two addi 
 tions to the original structure, one on the southerly side of 
 the front and the other on the northerly side of the rear, now 
 made the ground plan of it not unlike the letter Z. Aunt 
 Mary appeared at the door as I dismounted followed by 
 her young ones, two healthy roguish looking boys and 
 a beautiful little girl of about four years. After the usual 
 friendly questions and replies, I looked out at the win 
 dow. " You have a fine prospect here, Aunt : this 
 slope in front, the level meadow broken only by that 
 clump of trees, threaded by that silver stream, and bound 
 ed by the forest on the opposite side, make as pretty a 
 view as one could desire." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " that clump of trees reminds me 
 often of former days : sometimes, by way of joke, I tell 
 your Uncle it should be named, Confession Grove." In 
 cheerful chat, which there is no need to record here, a 
 half hour passed away. The children, at first somewhat 
 restrained by my presence, grew noisy ; and my Aunt, 
 calling to the eldest, said, " Thomas do you want to go 
 out with Ludo and Mary ? " The boy gave affirmative 
 answer and they were soon away. 
 
 " I keep the children out of doors great part of the 
 day in fair weather : it makes them healthy and I think 
 they enjoy themselves better than when cooped up in the 
 house." 
 
 I laughed, and told her she had not changed much 
 since her marriage. 
 
 " No," she replied, " [ was too old for that. Husband 
 says that the children have their own way too often ; but 
 he is partly mistaken ; I rule them in an indirect way,
 
 40 PEEBLEBROOK. 
 
 more than he thinks. There he comes, good soul ; I am 
 afraid he has walked too far this hot day." 
 
 She drew an arm-chair from the corner and gave him a 
 thin coat, at the outer door, as he entered. Presently 
 one of the children came in crying followed by the 
 others. Tom had thrown sand in his eyes, he said. 
 
 " That boy is always in mischief:" said the father: 
 " Why do you do such things, Thomas 1 " 
 
 " I don't think the boy meant to do it;" said my 
 Aunt. "Come here, my son," she got a wet cloth and 
 washed his eyes, talking the while : 
 
 " How was it, Ludo, did you throw any thing at your 
 brother 1 don't cry."' 
 
 "No," said the sobbing boy, " we were playing and he 
 threw the dirt right into my face." Here Thomas broke 
 in with his story. The mother soon pacified them and 
 asked little Mary how it was. It appeared that both 
 were in the wrong. It was one of those childish affairs 
 begun in sport, ending in earnest ; of common occur 
 rence. Aunt Mary contrived a little errand for the old 
 est boy : when he returned the little quarrel was forgot 
 ten and the brothers were on good terms again. During 
 the boy's absence my Aunt had seated herself near her 
 husband, and they spoke together in an under tone. 
 Some hasty expressions escaped him from which I infer 
 red some matter in dispute between them. She rested 
 her arm on the back of his chair and gently moved her 
 fingers among his gray hairs. " Well, well," said he 
 smiling, u I suppose you must have your way as you al 
 ways do." 
 
 The day passed pleasantly over, and, toward night I 
 returned to Pebblebrook musing much, on the way, of
 
 AUNT MAR Y. 41 
 
 the worth of a good nature. I fell into a reverie, and 
 images of things in varied procession passed through my 
 mind. My cheerless home with its money paid house 
 keeper ; a lighted hall filled with wax-figures ; a young 
 woman with a torn dress, flitted along ; and at last a 
 schoolmaster, who annoyed me not a little,
 
 42 P EBBLEBR OK . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THREE GREAT MEN. 
 
 WHEN one, after long absence, returns to his natal 
 village, he finds it the same and yet not the same. Many 
 new life-threads have mysteriously run into the web of the 
 Visable, many old ones have broken and fallen out. The 
 wondrous fabric has widened, and, in some degree, 
 changed color ; yet one sees that the stuff is mostly the 
 same. In reflective mood one asks whence comes all 
 this, whither goes it 1 In such mood one turns to the 
 memorials of the Departed and questions the place of 
 skulls. The sphere of action for the living man is surely 
 in the midst of Life ; yet the grave-stones of the dead 
 have doubtless a stern lesson for him who will read it. 
 The gift of the living to the dead one is always a stone, 
 were it an urn for his ashes or a tablet to his memory. 
 What more can we give him ? The sum of his life is 
 reckoned up, and the account given in ; it is finished, it 
 is done. Truly the Present can do nothing for the Past ; 
 but for the Future, how much ! And yet perhaps it is 
 not well to consider this too closely. Thought makes 
 action difficult ; one gets troubled in consideration of 
 consequences, and the most persevering searcher after 
 causes must too often stand, Bruce-like, at the source of
 
 THREE GREAT MEN. 43 
 
 his Nile, weary and disappointed. Quite enough of these 
 somewhat serious thoughts ; they tend to gloom, and 
 gloom can profit neither man nor woman. 
 
 When one, as I said, after long absence returns to the 
 dwelling-place of his childhood, he finds it somewhat 
 changed; he turns then to the place of graves, where he 
 may find some record of what has been. Here, in Peb- 
 blebrook, the burial-place is on a hill near the meeting 
 house ; where one can stand, as it were, among the dead, 
 and look down on the living. How busy is all there be 
 low, and here how still ! Verily, Life is a great thing. 
 Go where you will, in whatsoever mood, Shakspeare, the 
 universal Man, shall speak to you ; and here, meditating 
 among the tombs, I was reminded of that saying, " Some 
 men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some 
 have greatness thrust upon them." The history of three 
 great men, whose bones lie here, is somewhat illustrative 
 of that same. 
 
 Magnanimous Stout was the son of Peter Stout ; and, 
 in order to show how the son inherited greatness, some 
 thing must be said of the father. Mr. Stout, whose time 
 and strength had been given to the attainment of wealth 
 in a small Atlantic sea-port, had at the age of forty ac 
 quired much ; and if no man there had been richer than 
 himself he had been, perhaps, content; but alas for him; 
 one grew higher, spread wider, and overshadowed him. 
 Caesar said, He would rather be the first man in a village 
 than the second in Rome. Mr. Stout, in this at least, 
 was like Caesar ; therefore he converted all his property 
 into ready money, and joined himself to a little band of 
 adventurers, who purposed forming a settlement in the 
 then wild interior. The little company, under his guid 
 ance, journeyed far and deliberated often. At last they
 
 44 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 pitched their tents in a sunny valley watered by a pebbly 
 brook, and abode there. In this little community Peter 
 Stout, being the only rich man, had no brother near his 
 throne. One secret source of sorrow, however, still re 
 mained ; he was childless ; but at last his wife, in this 
 sunny valley, became fruitful, and lo, one morning, an 
 other Stout came sprawling to the light of day. Great 
 was the rejoicing and great the son. Magnanimous, (so 
 was the child christened,) being suspended in a handker 
 chief tied to a steelyard, weighed, before he was twenty- 
 four hours old, fourteen pounds avoirdupois. This kind 
 of greatness continued ; for he grew up the biggest boy 
 in the village, and became a man of portly presence. 
 This, however, is only physical greatness ; the greatness 
 I purposed to trace is that founded on public opinion. 
 The mother of Magnanimous, a weak and indulgent 
 woman, supplied him liberally with apples and cake ; and 
 large as the boy was by nature, he appeared still larger 
 when he waddled forth to school, the immense pockets of 
 his jacket and trowsers stuffed with good things. Mag 
 nanimous gave to his school-fellows all that he could not 
 eat himself; and thus got a reputation for liberality, not 
 quite unmerited, as the world goes. Apples and cake 
 within the stomach, and his big fists applied without, were 
 irresistible. In justice to Magnanimous Stout I love 
 to repeat that name, there is a kind of greatness in the 
 very sound of it in justice to Magnanimous Stout, how 
 ever, it should be said that he seldom used his big fists ; 
 he was too fat, too lazy, and withal too good natured to 
 fight often. lie was wont to seat himself on the stump 
 of a tree in the centre of the play-ground, and while the 
 other boys were actively engaged in their rough sports, 
 he would laugh, clap his hands, and shout. Here too he
 
 THREE GREAT MEN. 45 
 
 dealt out his apples and cake, and this stump was named 
 the throne of Magnanimous. With the schoolmaster 
 this boy was a favorite for obvious reasons ; and in the 
 distribution of rewards and medals the brightest always 
 decorated the person of Magnanimous. After the son 
 attained to manhood he was called the young 'Squire in 
 contradistinction to his father, who was known as the old 
 'Squire. In good time the old man died, and his mantle 
 fell on his son ; then indeed the highest honors of the 
 town of Pebblebrook were his by right. Who could be 
 moderator of the town-meeting but he ? Was he not 
 Justice of the Peace, and chairman of the County Com 
 mittee ? Who was the foremost man on all great occa 
 sions 1 None other than Magnanimous Stout. Others, 
 by merit or accident, rose high ; but he was always " lord 
 of the ascendant." To question his merits had been high 
 treason ; for his greatness was such as few examine and 
 none dare gainsay within the sphere of its influence. He 
 had the largest, most costly house, and the richest lands. 
 He rode in his carriage while others walked ; and that 
 pew in the broad aisle of the church, lined with faded 
 crimson silk, and stuffed, was it not his, the " family 
 pew ?" Verily his was a greatness level to the compre 
 hension of the meanest capacity. Was it not seen in the 
 trappings hung about him 1 Was it not heard in the 
 sound of his name ? Was he not born great? 
 
 Albert Pike achieved greatness. He was the son of 
 the poorest man in Pebblebrook ; one whose business it 
 was to do all kinds of odd jobs ; to saw wood, carry corn 
 to the mill, help the women make soap, and the like. 
 Albert had much to contend with, and obstacles almost 
 insurmountable were before him ; but he early learned
 
 46 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 from his mother not to say, / can't ; words expressive of 
 the want of energy which characterised his father. He 
 was not a boy of splendid parts, but he was attentive, per 
 severing, energetic ; and though he seemed destined to 
 tread in his father's footsteps, who, almost as soon as the 
 boy could walk, transferred to him the lighter parts of his 
 own multifarious employments, yet did he go on his up 
 ward way with a silent and almost imperceptible progress. 
 Every leisure moment he employed usefully, in improving 
 his own mind by conversation, by study of books, and by 
 action. While waiting for his breakfast, his dinner, 01 for 
 the little bundle which some good woman of the village 
 was making up for him to carry, he read. His body was 
 bound for a time to the ignoble service of others, but he 
 felt that his mind was free to work for itself. His orreat- 
 
 o 
 
 ness had deep foundations ; it was based on a right use 
 of the hours he could call his own. The minister of the 
 village was Albert's early and constant friend. The boy's 
 quiet demeanor, his thirst for knowledge, his gratitude 
 for the books loaned, and the counsels given, won the 
 heart of the good old man. Albert at the age of fourteen 
 became the child of his adoption, and he determined to 
 give him what is called a liberal education. One who 
 had seen the boy on the day when this determination was 
 made known to him could not soon have forgotten his 
 beaming look. He stood before the reverend man with 
 an open book in his hand from which he had been read 
 ing aloud. The minister said, " Albert, I have known 
 you from your infancy, and I have rarely known you do a 
 willful wrong. Your little errors, inadvertently commit 
 ted, you have always been willing to atone for ; and you 
 have seldom neglected an opportunity of improvement ; 
 you have been a joy to me, and I purpose nay I feel it
 
 THREE GREAT MEN. 47 
 
 to be my duty to help you on your way to usefulness. 
 The bent of your mind is toward books, and you shall 
 have an opportunity to follow it ; I will fit you for col 
 lege." The boy stood motionless ; the book dropped 
 from his hand, he grew pale, and big drops gathered in 
 his eyes. He fell on his knees, bowed his head in the old 
 man's lap, and sobbed aloud. The minister placed his 
 hand on the boy's head and said, " 1 understand you, my 
 son ; we will say no more about it now." Who may tell 
 the joy of that young soul on this its birth-day to the full 
 ness of assured hope. All for which his subdued, yet 
 ardent spirit, had longed but had hardly dared to hope, 
 seemed within his grasp, and he went forth that day all 
 radiant with gladness. His slender yet well knit frame 
 seemed distended with emotion, his dark eye kindled into 
 more than its wonted brightness, and his usually pale face 
 glowed with excitement. Of his college life 1 will not 
 speak ; he was not idle there, and won such honors as 
 colleges can bestow. It was the desire of his friend that 
 he should study physic, and fill the soon-to-be-vacated 
 place of the village physician, whose years already num 
 bered more than three- score and ten ; and, though he 
 was ambitious of a wider sphere of action, he felt that his 
 friend who had given him much required but a small sac 
 rifice in return ; he therefore willingly, yea gladly, con 
 sented ; and throughout his long life he never, for more 
 than some few moments, appeared to regret that he had 
 done so. The little village of Pebblebrook seemed but a 
 bushel under which his light must be hid ; yet was it not 
 altogether obscured, for he was called to adjacent towns 
 to consultations on doubtful cases, and his written essays 
 enlightened many who knew not the source whence they 
 emanated. In Pebblebrook he was great ; in the eyes of
 
 48 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 the many, who think the clothes a part of the man, and 
 can in nowise separate them, he was not honored as was 
 Magnanimous Stout, Esq. ; yet even in their clouded 
 view he was second to him only, and some few there were 
 who fully knew the priceless worth of a clear-headed, 
 good-hearted man. 
 
 The man who had greatness thrust upon him ; who 
 was he ? None other than the loutish son of Poundwell 
 the blacksmith. Abiel Poundwell, a dunce in the school 
 room, and a lubber on the play-ground, attained to the 
 age of twenty-one without having attained to wisdom 
 enough to keep out of the fire. His eyes were of the 
 staring kind, his features large, and his hands almost 
 always in his pockets ; he was slovenly in dress, shuffling 
 in gait, and open-mouthed. He was easily pushed about 
 by any one who would trouble himself to do it, and Dame 
 Fortune, in one of her capricious moods, pushed him 
 first into matrimony, and then into the possession of 
 wealth. When Abiel became of age his father gave him 
 three hundred dollars, saying, " there, you good-for-noth 
 ing fellow, take that ; keep your hands in your pockets a 
 year longer, and then go to work or go into the poor- 
 house." But another destiny awaited Abiel. The 
 daughter of Abner Stetson had passed that corner in life 
 where unmarried womanhood tarry so long; she was 
 thirty-two. She was a smart, shrewish old maid, and 
 her beauty was of that kind which needs a thick veil. 
 Her step-mother, who was about the same age, determined 
 to remove her from the shelter of the paternal roof, and 
 to that end she sought a husband for the awaiting dam 
 sel. Mrs. Stetson fixed on Abiel Poundwell as a mar 
 riageable man, for it was well known that he would take
 
 THREE GREAT MEN. 
 
 49 
 
 almost anything that was thrust upon him. " Abiel," 
 said she, beckoning to him one day across the street, 
 " Abiel, I wonder you don't come to see us oftener ; our 
 Abigail would be glad to see you. Now that I think of 
 it, Abiel, why don't you get married ? " 
 
 " I don't know whom to take, and I don't know who 
 wants to take me," was the sapient reply. 
 
 " Well, well, said the Dame, " come in." Abiel went 
 in then ; often afterwards ; and the maneuvering step 
 mother had soon the satisfaction of making what is called 
 a match ; often inappropriately enough. Abigail herself 
 was nothing loth ; Abiel, said she to herself, has, as I 
 know, three hundred dollars ; I'll take care of it and 
 make him work ; I shall be happier than I am at present, 
 in this continual warfare with my step-mother. In less 
 time than such matters are usually arranged (for there 
 was no delay on either side,) Abigail Stetson became Mrs. 
 Poundwell. On the first consultation on household 
 affairs and ways and means, she learned with dismay that 
 the three hundred dollars had clean passed away. A few 
 days before the wedding one of those scheming adven 
 turers, who go about seeking whom they may devour, 
 appeared in Pebblebrook, and fastened on Abiel Poundwell, 
 having learned that he was master of some ready cash. 
 As this man had in an uncommon degree the faculty of 
 speech, and Abiel had believing faculties, the three hun 
 dred dollars changed hands, and Abiel received therefor 
 a deed of three hundred acres of land, situate he hardly 
 knew where. This Abiel believed to be a great specula 
 tion ; but his better half (the neighbors called her his 
 better three-quarters) told him he was a fool ; and, after 
 bitter upbraidings, urged him to pull his hands out of his 
 pockets, and go to work. She afterwards sewed up the 
 5
 
 50 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 pockets of his trowsers, and for years those nether gar 
 ments were made for him without that common conve 
 nience. This had a salutary effect, for, when thus de 
 prived of these warm resting places for his hands, Abiel 
 had less aversion to -labor ; and soon, under the energetic 
 government of Mrs. Poundwell, he became a more useful 
 member of society ; though he could not get money 
 enough to defray the expenses of a journey to his unknown 
 land. His wife, however, resolved to know if Abiel had 
 got anything for his money, and sent the deed of land to 
 the Register of the County mentioned therein ; who in 
 due time returned it marked " Recorded." Years passed 
 away, and Abiel Poundwell continued a poor and some 
 what despised man ; but events were in train far away, of 
 which the secluded inhabitants of Pebblebrook little 
 dreamed. 
 
 A stranger, who had the appearance of a business man, 
 came by the mail-wagon to the village, and remained 
 some days at the tavern apparently without an object. 
 One day, however, he quietly addressed Abiel, who was 
 at work in a potatoe field by the road-side, and, after 
 some common-place remarks, adroitly led the conversa 
 tion to speculations and wild lands ; but though Abiel 
 mentioned his <c unfortunate spec," as he had learned to 
 call it, the stranger dared not proceed further on his pur 
 pose at that time, and left him to his potatoes. Abiel in 
 formed his wife of this conversation, who, quick-witted 
 and suspicious, gave him directions how to proceed in 
 case the talk should be resumed. Her instructions were 
 followed to the letter ; and the stranger soon appeared in 
 Mrs. Poundwell's presence, whom he found fully his 
 equal in bargain-making. In short, Abiel Poundwell re 
 ceived ten thousand dollars for one half of his land, re-
 
 THREE GREAT MEN. 51 
 
 fusing to sell more. Thenceforth he was a great man in 
 Pebblebrook ; let not the reader think that he altogether 
 failed to act well the part thus thrust upon him. A yearly 
 journey, which he, accompanied by his wife, made to the 
 thriving town on his land above the tide waters of the 
 Hudson river, gave him some knowledge of things which 
 his rustic neighbors had never seen ; and the exercise of 
 his faculties raised them to mediocrity. He even came 
 to be considered a man of solid judgment by following 
 one simple rule given him by his wife. 
 
 " Mr. Poundwell, don't talk much ; and when your 
 opinion is asked on any important matter shake your 
 head, look wise as you can, and say you will think of it ; 
 then you know we can talk the matter over in the eve 
 ning." Mrs. Poundwell became discreet so should all 
 women be who are blest with obedient husbands and 
 kept her guiding hand out of sight ; few men suspected 
 that there was " a power behind the throne greater than 
 the throne itself." Mr. Poundwell built a large house ; 
 he dressed well and was sleek ; he talked little, and he 
 looked grave ; he was church deacon and selectman ; in 
 fullness of years he died. Whoso visits the town of Peb 
 blebrook may see in the grave-yard an imposing tomb 
 stone, on which is inscribed the name of Abiel Pound- 
 well, Esq. ; and below are recorded his many virtues, 
 and his sterling worth. This stone was placed there by 
 his " disconsolate widow." 
 
 Let not the great men of cities, who dwell in costly 
 mansions, loll in splendid carriages, and fair sumptuously 
 every day ; nor those enrolled among the many Honora- 
 bles of the land, who make almost interminable speeches 
 in our Halls of Legislation ; let not such smile in derision 
 of the greatness I have depicted. Why should they ?
 
 52 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 Are not the elements of popular greatness everywhere the 
 same, in the quiet village and in the many-voiced, life- 
 teeming city ? Truly, popular greatness here and there 
 differs but in degree ; the same wind that wakes only a 
 little ripple on the surface of the forest-hidden pond raises 
 in grandeur the roaring billow of the wide ocean. The 
 wind ceases to blow, and then where are they, the little 
 ripple and the roaring billow ?
 
 COUSIN SIMEON, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 COUSIN SIMEON. 
 
 ONE Saturday the mail-wagon brought us something 
 interesting a letter from Cousin Simeon : the whole 
 family, my Aunt, her two daughters, Uncle John and my 
 self, soon got together to hear it read. It ran thus : 
 
 Dear Mother, 
 
 First let me tell you, what you will be right 
 glad to hear, that my health is quite restored. I am so 
 fat and red- faced that when I look into the glass I say, 
 " Is this really I, Simeon Hartwell, whom all the Doctors 
 could'nt save? " What a blessing, Mother, it is to have 
 flesh ; I can now sit or lie without complaint of bones. 
 But my clothes, which were made for Simeon the lean, 
 are much too tight for Simeon the fat. I arrived here 
 only ten days ago ; having had a long passage of fifty 
 days. This country is so unlike the one I have been 
 accustomed too, that I seem almost to be in another 
 world, and I have much to say about it : but let me first 
 tell you somewhat of our voyage out. For some days 
 after I left my native land I was very sick, and kept in 
 my berth ; I thought I should die, and never see my dear 
 friends again. The Captain, a rough talking, but at heart, 
 5*
 
 54 PEBBLEB ROOK. 
 
 I believe, very kind man, did what he could for me, and 
 at last, after much persuasion and some threats, got me up 
 on deck. What a sight was there for a landsman ! noth 
 ing but water, water, far as the eye could see. I looked 
 in all directions for land, but could see none. I lay down 
 on the deck and felt alone, without a friend in the world. 
 I am almost ashamed to say that I shed tears ; but I was 
 so weak, so comfortless. I can even now hardly bear to 
 think of the state I was then in, and will say no more 
 about it. Soon I got appetite for food, and strength, and 
 began to feel an interest in the weather, which is a very 
 important thing at sea, where one is so left to the mercy 
 of the winds and waves. Indeed, Mother, I felt the truth 
 of what you have so often told me ; that we are always 
 dependent on a higher Being ; and 1 resolved, if health 
 was again given me, to devote more of my time and 
 thoughts to Him. We had many calm, hot days before 
 we got into the trade winds. Some days were dreadful ; 
 all around and over us hung white clouds quite motion 
 less ; the ground-swell of the sea hove lazily along, and 
 the sails flapped idly against the masts. The vessel could 
 not be steered, and swung round and round to all points 
 of the compass. Oh, these calm days at sea are hardly 
 endurable. We looked anxiously in every quarter for 
 wind, and felt our utter helplessness ; a little motion in 
 the clouds gave us hope ; and when I saw far off that 
 darkening and rippling of the waters which denote the 
 coming breeze ; when at last it came, cooling my cheek 
 and filling the sails, I felt the beauty of that passage in 
 Genesis, " The spirit of God moved upon the face of the 
 waters." We were, as my journal says for I have kept 
 a journal since I have been well enough to write, which 
 will, I hope, some day amuse you we were twenty-five
 
 COUSIN SIM EON. 55 
 
 days in what sailors call the " variables," before we got 
 into the trade winds, and sometimes, I thought we should 
 never get to our journey's end. We did, however, at last 
 get the " trades," and went merrily along before a steady 
 north-east breeze. 
 
 I have learnt enough of navigation on this voyage, 
 to know that every Captain should have a chronometer 
 to ascertain the longitude : but our Captain had none and 
 seemed quite uneasy ; not without reason 1 believe, if 
 there is any truth in these words printed on the cover of 
 his nautical almanac : " The seamen knows that his lat 
 itude is sure to know also, that his longitude is cor 
 rect, is the strongest feeling of his heart, except his love 
 for his wife and bairns." If you and sisters don't know 
 about longitude and the use of a chronometer, Uncle 
 John, who knows a little of everything, can explain the 
 matter to you. By the Captain's reckoning we were 
 west of the Cape de Verd Islands ; but he was mistaken, 
 for lo, one day, about sunset, land appeared right ahead. 
 It was covered with fog and we were very near it. What 
 a time there was then ! " Starboard the helm, pull in 
 the studding sails," hurra boys. The vessel was hauled 
 close by the wind, (ask Uncle John again,) and we 
 tacked about all night listening to the unpleasant sound 
 of breakers under our lee. The night seemed very long, 
 and 1, with the crew, watched till dawn of day. Truly 
 it was an exciting scene ; the wind increased in violence 
 and our situation was a dangerous one. About midnight 
 a light appeared at the mast head, and the sailors whis 
 pered anxiously together. Morning however came at 
 last, and by the blessed light of day we saw land again. 
 We ran down before the wind, through a passage among 
 the islands there are ten in all. We sailed nearest to
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 St. Nicholas, and it looked barren enough, being mostly a 
 mass of high rocks with little appearance of vegetation. 
 We saw no signs of inhabitants, though there are some 
 on the southerly part. St. Nicholas is, I suppose, the pat 
 ron saint of the island : if the inhabitants ever thank him, 
 I think they must say. " Thank you for nothing St. Nich 
 olas." Barren as this land looked, I rejoiced in the 
 sight of it ; for it had a firm, fixed appearance, unlike 
 the restless ocean, and 1 felt that I was still in the old 
 world I had known so long. We soon lost sight of it, 
 and in some fourteen days afterward we crossed the equa 
 tor, which, as the geography books say, is " an imagin 
 ary line." 
 
 Here we had abundance of rain, awful looking clouds 
 such as I never saw before, and thunder and lightning 
 with heavy squalls of wind. But I cannot describe these 
 things to you here ; you shall read of these and many 
 more in my Journal ; of the vessels we saw at sea, of 
 monstrous whales and sharks, and porpoises ; of beauti 
 ful dolphins and flying fishes, of tropic birds and Mother 
 Gary's Chickens. Perhaps, Mother, you will say, as the 
 Scotch woman did to her son who told stories of the 
 wonders he had seen. " Ye may hae seen mountains of 
 sugar and rivers of milk, but ye'll ne'er gar me believe 
 ye hae seen a fish that could flee." [ should have said 
 before, that after I got an appetite, I began to rummage 
 among my stores and made sad havoc : before we reached 
 south latitude I had devoured all : but it did'nt matter 
 much, for my appetite was so great that nothing came 
 amiss; beef, pork, or ship bread. The Captain used to 
 say, it did him good to see me eat. One morning at 
 dawn of day, I was called out of my berth to see land 
 once more j and I can assure you, I did not loiter. There
 
 COUSIN SIM EON. 57 
 
 it lay, a long, low line of coast ; a glad sight to me ; and 
 close alongside our vessel was a fishing boat of strange 
 construction, being formed of five or six round logs fast 
 ened together making a kind of raft, on which were three 
 negroes and a tub to contain fish. It had one large tri 
 angular sail, and is called, as the Captain says, a catam 
 aran. Every wave washed over it, and the men were in 
 water nearly to the knee half the time. Soon, as we 
 sailed toward the land, I saw the City of Pernambuco, 
 with ships lying in the harbor ; and a little way north of 
 it, on a hill, the City of Olinda. They looked very 
 pretty and neat, especially the latter, all the buildings 
 being white among dark green foliage. About 8 o'clock 
 a pilot, rowed by four half naked negroes, came off to 
 take us into port : how unlike was he to the one who, 
 fifty days before, brought us out. He wore pumps and 
 white stockings, yellow trousers, a blue nankin frock coat, 
 the skirts reaching to his heels, a white waistcoat, and a 
 white hat. Such as he was, however, he took us safely 
 into the inner harbor ; where about sixty vessels of many 
 nations, lay moored alongside of each other, for the har 
 bor is small. The scene was interesting enough to me. 
 Many different national flags fluttered in the wind, and 
 all around I heard shoutings in unknown tongues. About 
 musket-shot from us, lay the beehive of a city swarming 
 with negroes. I got on shore soon as possible, and was 
 quite disappointed in one respect for this City of Pernam 
 buco, which appeared so neat, seen at a distance, proved 
 very dirty on actual inspection. With some difficulty, 
 I found my way to the house of the American merchant, 
 to whom 1 had a letter : he received me very kindly, and 
 invited me to lodge in his house ; but I have slept every 
 night on board the vessel, for I feel quite at home there
 
 58 PEBBLEBKOOK. 
 
 now, and don't like the strange ways of the people on 
 shore. Three-fourths of the whole population are negro 
 slaves, who are very noisy as they march about, bearing 
 burdens on their heads. Every kind of merchandise is 
 borne about the streets on the heads or shoulders of these 
 slaves, who go in companies, of from four or five to 
 twenty, all singing a ditty, to which they keep step in a 
 kind of dog-trot. To-day, I saw sixteen negroes bearing 
 aloncr a pipe of wine. It was fastened with ropes to two 
 long stout poles, each pole being on the shoulders of 
 eight negroes. Here is no rattling of carts or drays, as 
 in our cities, but instead thereof this continual singing. 
 One thing astonishes me : there are, as I learn, about 
 twenty-five vessels engaged in the slave-trade to the coast 
 of Africa. They fit out openly in this port, but on their 
 return, land their cargoes of human beings on the coast 
 a little north or south of the city. They are then marched 
 to the plantations in the interior. 1 supposed that the 
 slave-trade had almost ceased ; but it is said here, that 
 there were never more vessels employed in it from Bra 
 zilian ports, than there are at present. The friends of the 
 black man have much to do, and I believe I shall join the 
 Abolition Society when I get home. Is'nt this slavery a 
 horrible business? Only think of five or six hundred of 
 these poor creatures, crowded together in the hold of one 
 little vessel at sea and chained : it is dreadful. I thought 
 it bad enough to be at sea at all, with all the comforts 
 possible. Let me try to give you some idea of the sit 
 uation of this city. It is divided into three parts, named 
 the Reciffe, St. Antonio and Boavista. The first takes 
 it name from the reef of rocks which forms the harbor ; 
 Reciffe being Portuguese for reef. Boavista, I am told, 
 means the " beautiful view." The Recifife is situated on
 
 COUSIN SIM EON. 59 
 
 the end of a peninsula, and is joined to the main land by 
 a narrow sandy beach, running northward to the City of 
 Olinda. Here are the shipping, the stores of the foreign 
 merchants, and the custom-house. It is the most busy 
 part, for here the merchandise is landed and shipped. St. 
 Antonio is an island southwesterly from the RecifFe. In 
 it are the most tasteful stores in Pernambuco, kept mostly 
 by Frenchmen and women : in fact, the greater part of 
 the trade is in the hands of foreigners, the Brazilians 
 being generally indolent. Here is also the palace of the 
 President of the province. The other part, Boavista, is 
 on the main land westerly of St. Antonio, and is largest 
 of the three. A bridge connects the Reciffe with St. 
 Antonio, and another the latter with Boavista : and a 
 street, pretty straight and of good width, runs across the 
 bridges through the whole city. Almost all the other 
 streets are narrow, many being not more than ten feet 
 wide. The buildings have an ancient appearance and 
 are very dissimilar; being of unequal heights, from one 
 to six stories, and of irregular forms with roofs of red tile. 
 The walls are of brick, covered with plaster and painted 
 white : the windows are mostly large, extending in the 
 second story from floor to ceiling, and open like doors 
 upon a balcony in front. The kitchen is in the attic 
 story, the basement is usually a store-house, and the 
 front entry is sometimes used as a stable for a horse 
 there are no back yards ; and on the whole, it is a 
 very strange place to me. The fruits, of which there is 
 a great variety, are very fine ; but the meats are not of 
 the best, indeed they are very poor. I think there can 
 hardly be anywhere a better climate than this : the ther 
 mometer through the year only varies about ten degrees, 
 between seventy and eighty, and there is in this place, an
 
 Ol) PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 almost continual sea-breeze : sometimes indeed, in the 
 morning there is an hour or two of calm. How would 
 you like such weather as this, sisters ? No trudging 
 through snow, wrapped up in cloaks and shawls and 
 muffs, but the whole year one beautiful summer with fruit 
 and flowers and green leaves. It would be very delight 
 ful you think : but there are better things than warm 
 weather and a continuous summer. The great thing in 
 every country is the society one finds, and you would cer 
 tainly be wretched here but of this more hereafter. 
 I could tell you a long story of a holiday procession, and 
 fireworks in the evening, which I saw the other day, but 
 I have not time now. It was a procession of all the 
 churches. There was a figure of St George on horseback, 
 armed cap-a-pie, followed by his Esquire ; then came the 
 priests and brotherhood ; the former in black robes, the 
 latter in red ; the bishop under a canopy of silk spangled 
 with gold and silver, and held aloft over his head by six 
 priests. There were the students of the Jesuit's College 
 aud the Franciscan monks : the officers of the army and 
 the national guard in uniform. Most noteworthy of all 
 were the angels, sprinkled all along the line of march ; 
 each church having manufactured some for the occasion. 
 I wish I could make you see one of these angels. The 
 substantial part of each, was a girl some eight or ten 
 years old : but that was the smallest part. They were 
 dressed in white robes, with a large hoop about twelve 
 inches above their feet : eight pieces of white gauze, 
 each four feet long and ten or twelve inches wide, having 
 elastic wires at the edges, were fastened a't one end to the 
 back just below the shoulders, and the other ends extend 
 ed in all directions forming a circle. In the centre of this 
 circle, where the ends of gauze met, was a pair of wings
 
 COUSIN SIMEON. 
 
 61 
 
 spreading about three feet, and made (as wings should be) 
 of feathers, red, black and white. On their heads were 
 wreaths of flowers and three long white feathers : there 
 were also, red flowers fastened to their white robes. 
 Their arms were naked to the shoulder, and in their hands 
 they had silver plates filled with rose leaves. Their feet 
 were covered by white shoes and stockings ; but as these 
 angels were walking through muddy streets, these lower 
 extremities bore marks of their contact with earth. They 
 tripped lightly along, among black looking priests, hold 
 ing themselves erect and seeming quite conscious of their 
 angelic appearance." The reading had several times been 
 interrupted by exclamations from the mother and her 
 daughters, and here the youngest one broke in : "I de 
 clare, I can almost see the little angels: how pretty they 
 must look in their white robes besprinkled with red flow 
 ers ; the gauze with elastic wires, as they stepped along, 
 fanning to an fro, and the white feathers growing out of 
 the flower wreaths on their heads 'tis pity the streets 
 were so muddy." Uncle John saying, there was little 
 more of it, continued his reading. " Now just imagine 
 this procession passing along through files of soldiers 
 kneeling on the side-walks; while women in the windows 
 above, (out of which hung red and yellow bed-coverlids 
 and damask curtains,) strewed flowers on the holy men 
 and angels below. When the procession was fairly under 
 way, a plentiful shower of rain fell suddenly, and then 
 what a scampering there was ! St. George galloped away 
 as for his life ; the Host fled ; the priests ran to save 
 their doublets, and the angels sought shelter in grocery 
 stores and grog-shops. I have no time to write more, 
 for the vessel by which I shall send this, sails to-day. How 
 glad I should be to know that you are all as well as I am.
 
 62 PEBBLEBEOOK. 
 
 Isn't it very strange that I got well so quick. I cannot 
 tell you now when I shall come home, but I will write 
 again soon." 
 
 " I am so thankful to know that Simeon is well and fat. 
 I am trying to think how he looks now. We ought to 
 have made his clothes larger, Amelia, we might have 
 thought he would grow fat," said the mother, and Amelia 
 (the eldest daughter,) replied, " I guess his clothes are 
 large enough ; that is only one of his stories ; he doesn't 
 always tell the exact truth." 
 
 " Isn't that a good long letter? " said Harriet. I wish 
 he had said more about the people ; how they dress and 
 how they live. He said he hadn't time to describe the 
 procession, and yet he did it." 
 
 " Yes," Uncle John replied, '' we usually find time for 
 doing what we really wish to do. The letter is a pretty 
 good one better than his letters from the city ; this 
 time he had something to say. and the main thing in 
 writing a letter or a book is that the writer have some 
 thing to write about. It is hard work to make some 
 thing out of nothing." there was much talk over this 
 letter and the writer, but all the talk in this world cannot, 
 as yet, be printed, and I will on this occasion give no 
 more.
 
 THE LITERARY MEMBER, 63 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LITERARY MEMBER. 
 
 IN this latter Time, which boasts itself enlightened, al 
 most every family has its literary man or men. Printed 
 sheets fly abroad like Autumn leaves, on which he who 
 runs may read decay. A timid man might be frightened, 
 and fear that all truth is about to be buried beneath the 
 whirling mass, did he not get relief from consideration of 
 its perishable nature. One thing is certainly desirable ; 
 that science should produce some plan for making books 
 without the somewhat tiresome manual labor now requi 
 site. The most expert ready writer cannot make a vol 
 ume of common size in less than a month ; surely a great 
 waste of time ! which is every day becoming more pre 
 cious ; for how can one spend so much time in writing 
 who is desirous of the reputation of being well read in 
 modern literature? Few things are more amusing than the 
 perplexed condition of a well-meaning young man in the 
 present literary world. He has heard that there are Suns 
 in the firmament and he would fain look at them : but, 
 day after day, he is engaged at some Pickwick Club, 
 and Nicholas Nicklebys meet him every where : he 
 would like to voyage with some able navigator, but lo, a 
 Phantom Ship and thousand phantom cockle-boats !
 
 64 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 which however shall be all of a size when they have sail 
 ed off beyond the present horizon. Be of good t cheer, 
 sorely afflicted brother ; your children, or your chil 
 dren's children, shall fare better than you. Cheer up, I 
 say, and write a book better or worse as you have ability : 
 it is at this present time clearly the duty of every man, 
 woman and child. When an evil becomes monstrous it 
 is always near its end ; make it monstrous then with all 
 convenient despatch and so get rid of it. 
 
 In this latter Time, I said, almost every family has its 
 literary man. The Harding family is not behind the age ; 
 in this respect it is not entirely wanting. One of us is 
 quite bookish : too much so, for he has neglected what is 
 called the main chance, and indeed more or less all other 
 chances ; he has given his time and faculties to the read 
 ing of books. His friends look doubtingly upon him ; 
 he lacks all immediately utilitarian talent; he has no en 
 terprise, no ambition, and unless by some god-send he 
 can never be rich. Reproachful looks and upbraiding 
 words are given him, and he has become somewhat shy 
 and reserved. He has, however, inherited a portion of 
 the old Harding obstinacy, and will go through the slough 
 of modern literature : indeed, he thinks he has got partly 
 through the mud and can see firm land beyond: Heaven 
 speed him ! Like every man who gets a glimpse of 
 something new and strange he would call his fellow-men 
 to see it too ; therefore he wrote the piece which stands 
 in the next chapter and sent it to one of our Reviews for 
 publication to the World. The Editors, in their wisdom, 
 thought " it would not comport with the general ob 
 jects and purposes of their journal," and sent it home 
 again. The Editors were doubtless right : nevertheless, 
 as I love the author and do not consider the World in
 
 THE LITERARY MEMBER. 65 
 
 any special degree under my care, it shall be published. 
 In truth one must tell truth now and then in truth, 
 it was while listening to the author's lamentations that I 
 first conceived the idea of making a book, almost for the 
 sole purpose of sending him abroad ; for he stays too 
 much at home and grows conceited. Indeed, there is no 
 folly so dangerous as that which one keeps locked up in 
 his own bosom. How can he know what it is so long as 
 it lies hidden there 1 kept too long it becomes a rotten 
 egg and taints his whole being : let him then, if he have 
 natural heat, hatch it ; when it gets wings and flies abroad 
 it shall be known for a Turkey Buzzard or a Tomtit, and 
 even boys may pelt it. 
 
 The sub-biography of Patrick Henry, which follows the 
 piece I have made such ado about, is the handiwork of the 
 same man ; but is not a rejected article having never been 
 a-begging. The conceitedness and self-sufficiency which 
 characterize the former piece are also visible enough in 
 this, and shall have the punishment such things deserve. 
 Thus much, by way of censure, I have thought it right to 
 say ; for I am an older, I trust also a wiser man than the 
 author, and he will take a word of reproof better from me 
 than from another.
 
 PE B BL EBRO O K. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 
 
 ( The Elements of Moral Science, by Francis Wayland, 
 D. D., President of Brown University and Profes 
 sor of Moral Philosophy. &th edition. Boston : 
 Gould, Kendall, Sf Lincoln.} 
 
 WE thought to make a collection of the titles of books, 
 treating logically of man's nature and man's duties, and 
 place it at the head of this article: but when we considered 
 the number of such, and the pamphlet size of this, * * * * 
 the absurdity of our thought stared us in the face and 
 drove us to a quite opposite course. We have, there 
 fore being by usage obliged to take something 
 taken only one : one of the latest : one which we suppose 
 to be among the best of its kind. So good indeed is 
 it that our general remarks, if they have force, will apply 
 more forcibly to others than to this. We do not remem 
 ber our earliest readings in these books, but we know 
 that when we attained to those years called years of dis 
 cretion, we found them very unsatisfactory ; and sought 
 no more in them for that which is not there ; Light. 
 
 This book of President Wayland's, however, having 
 taken it for a text (a pretext for speaking) we felt bound
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 07 
 
 to read ; and so, in part, have done. Having found in 
 it some things worthy of note we shew them here. 
 In the very candid preface we marked this. " When it 
 became my duty to instruct in Moral Philosophy, in 
 Brown's University, the text-book in use was the work of 
 Dr. Paley. From many of his principles, I found myself 
 compelled to dissent, and, at first, I contented myself with 
 stating to my classes my objections to the author, and of 
 fering my views in the form of familiar conversations 
 upon several of the topics vvhich he discusses. These 
 views, for my own convenience, I soon committed to pa 
 per and delivered in the form of lectures. In a few 
 years, these lectures had become so far extended, that 
 to my surprise they contained, by themselves, the ele 
 ments of a different system from that of the text-book 
 which I was teaching. To avoid the inconvenience of 
 teaching two different systems, I undertook to reduce 
 them to order, and to make such additions, as to render 
 the work in some measure complete within itself. I 
 thus relinquished the work of Dr. Paley, and for some 
 time, have been in the habit of instructing solely by 
 lecture. The success of the attempt exceeded my ex 
 pectations, and encouraged me to hope that the publica 
 tion of what I had delivered to my classes might, in some 
 small degree, facilitate the study of moral science." 
 
 We forbear all comment on this honest confession, 
 save this : that by and by some sagacious man, using 
 Dr. Wayland's book as he used Dr. Paley's will, in a 
 similar way, make another book containing other different 
 Elements of Moral Science. Should that man have Dr. 
 Wayland's degree of honesty he will probably also say 
 something like this. " When I commenced the under 
 taking, I attempted to read extensively, but soon found it
 
 I PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 so difficult to arrive at any definite results in this manner, 
 that the necessities of my situation obliged me to rely 
 upon my own reflection." Preface. 
 
 Very remarkable things these and quite unlocked for 
 by us. Here, too, is a remark which we think worthy 
 of remembrance. " There are few things which a child 
 ought to learn, from the study of which an adult will not 
 derive great advantage, especially if lie go through the 
 process of simplification and analysis, which are so ne 
 cessary in order to communicate knowledge to the mind 
 of the young." p. 319. 
 
 We are glad to learn from this book, as from others, 
 that the " greatest happiness," principle, is going out of 
 favor. 'Tis a thing truly that one might laugh at very 
 easily. Here we had paraded to our view a very simple 
 rule of action. Duty could be so easily ascertained ; 
 twas only the finding out how each action we felt in 
 clined to do would affect all men living, or to live, on 
 Earth! So simple! multiply what has been, by what 
 shall be, and divide by what is; the quotient will shew 
 what should be done. Thus would the greatest happi 
 ness of the sreatest number be promoted. How much 
 easier this than a consultation with conscience ! 
 
 Happiness is truly Virtue's hand-maid, but she does 
 not always appear in Virtue's train. Sometimes she hides 
 in the folds of Virtue's robe : sometimes loiters behind 
 ashamed of some of her pranks ; for she (what men call 
 happiness) is inclined to flirtation. Blessedness is Virtue's 
 wedded wife. 
 
 " Of the " Elements of Moral Science," we are un 
 willing to speak at large. The author is a man entitled 
 to much respect ; no common man ; and, considering the 
 place in which he stands, very liberal, almost a freeman. 
 We have seen other and better things from his pen, and
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 69 
 
 look for more, for when he labors in his true vocation he 
 does good work. One more quotation from this book, 
 and we will leave it. Surely this, which we find on page 
 59, is not, even in these days, called for. " I hope I need 
 not apologise for introducing into such a discussion so 
 many illustrations from poetry. They are allowed on all 
 hands to be accurate delineations of the workings of the 
 human mind, and to have been made by most accurate 
 observers. They were made, also, without the possibil 
 ity of bias from any theory ; and therefore are of great 
 value when they serve to confirm any theoretical views, 
 with which they chance to coincide. They shew, at 
 least, in what light poets, whose only object is to observe 
 the human heart, have considered conscience, and what 
 they have supposed to be its functions." The apology 
 for those who require it : not for us. Few, if any of his 
 readers, will turn hastily over the pages where these little 
 scraps of poetry are found : few will skip over, many will 
 skip towards these green spots (evergreen) in the over- 
 tilled field: So over-tilled, so worn out, that not even 
 this man can give to it any freshness. 
 
 A wonderfully complex thing these writers on Intellec 
 tual and Moral Philosophy would make of man's nature. 
 They treat largely of his animal faculties and functions; 
 of his intellectual faculties, making we know not how 
 many divisions, and subdivisions, and of his moral facul 
 ties quite as many more. Over and above all they place 
 his religious faculty or faculties : surely in a very perilous 
 situation on the top of such a crazy edifice. On this edifice 
 every Professor of Moral Architecture works ; suggesting, 
 and making alterations ; or, as each names them, improve 
 ments. One plucks down a pillar here ; another sets one 
 up there : very many work on the binders. The greater
 
 70 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 part, however, having little skill, patch the roof. In 
 numerable are the guides and showmen standing here, 
 and there, and every where, to point out the beauties and 
 excellencies of the thing. Of these men there is indeed 
 much need ; as else, all simple, uninitiated men would 
 see nothing but deformity. Now and then a very bold 
 man, a Spurzheim for instance, pronounces this world's 
 wonder to be naught ; and straightway begins to build 
 another. He works pretty well at first, being obliged to 
 make a beginning, and build on something. He and his 
 journeymen, however, keep at work, (as men must, being 
 very busy animals,) and soon the lookers-on begin to see 
 the work they are making, and to suspect that the new 
 thing will, in time, be as bad as the other, or even worse. 
 Any idle man in want of business may follow out our 
 figure until he tires of it ; but we, having just now other 
 work on hand, drop it ; only saying here, that, there are 
 men who think all buildings of this kind naught. Such 
 men are, by Moral Philosophers and Phrenologists, named 
 simpletons. This present writer, not being averse to this 
 name, avows himself one of these men. 
 
 Many seekers after truth there are, who long for some 
 simple, useful things ; things having in them the principle 
 of life. From all quarters the hungry cry out for bread ; 
 and instead thereof get stones. Such want simple truth ; 
 and not complex moral science.' What is this science of 
 morals, this overgrown, sprawling thing, of which the 
 elements fill three hundred and ninety-eight pages ? What 
 is this thing which no man understands, and which, 
 therefore, no man can use to any profit ? except, indeed, 
 that it may get him some world-wages as Professor of 
 Morality. Consider this thing well, this science of 
 morals ! How many men understand even its terms '?
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 71 
 
 One in a thousand, perhaps, has, in academies and col 
 leges, studying hard, learned its technicalities, and got 
 thereby sore eyes ; ever after he must grope about in 
 darkness, talking much about the way, and having much 
 need oflogic to demonstrate that which he cannot see. 
 Such are " blind leaders of the blind; " having proved 
 to their followers that as they, the leaders, cannot see, 
 therefore no one can see. This science of morals is an 
 attempt to shew that an individual man has no oneness. 
 That he is not only complex, but made up of many to 
 tally different and distinct things. Now we think rather 
 that there is simplicity in all things created by God. 
 The simple thing (not the silly) is always the true thing. 
 This, therefore, is the thing which all men need, and 
 could oftener get, if so many logicians were not at work 
 putting it out of sight. The reader here will not be sur 
 prised when we say that we are no lover of logic, no ad 
 mirer of logicians. Logic is pretty good in its place, but 
 its place is not the highest even among wordy things. 
 When man speaks to the Eternal, he must speak in sim 
 plicity, or he speaks in vain. The speech of God is ever 
 simple, whether it come in the still, small voice to the 
 good, or the awful thunder-peal to the wicked. Logic is > 
 no life-giving thing. The life of men in whom moral 
 logic has done its thorough work, is a moral nullity ; a 
 stagnant pool, in which no living thing is found. The 
 life of men of mere impulse is a better thing. The moun 
 tain torrent, as it dashes on its way, throws up to its sur 
 face many a foul thing ; and often the whole stream be 
 comes impure ; but the principle of life is in it, and on 
 its spirit-like spray the morning sun makes the bow of 
 promise. We would fain follow this mountain stream to 
 the ocean for to that it goes but we are fearful of
 
 TZ PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 saying fine things by the way, and, having already so 
 sinned, we forbear. Action is an indispensable thing. 
 Always the active thing is the vital, the purifying one ; 
 always the sluggish thing is the dying, the corrupting 
 one. 
 
 We are, as we said, no admirer of logicians. The best 
 of them are bad enough, and the worst are worse than 
 we will name. Instead of shewing things, so that other 
 men can see them, and thus know somewhat, they at 
 tempt to prove, by means of many words, that certain 
 things exist, can be used, ought to be used, but only so- 
 and-so : the consequences of using and abusing, &.C.&.C.; 
 all the while keeping the things out of sight. But per 
 haps we wrong them ; let us rather say that they have be 
 come blind in their logic work, and cannot themselves 
 see the things they talk about. Very wonderful work 
 these blind logicians make. Did our readers ever chance 
 to see a treatise on toes ? The logician, dividing his sub 
 ject into two divisions of five parts each, and taking it for 
 granted that there is a right little toe, he, secondly, proves 
 that there must be, and therefore is, another toe a little 
 larger, very near, and probably touching, the first. So 
 he goes on, thirdly, fourthly, and fifthly, in the regular 
 order of logic, up to the great toe of the first division. 
 Thence, by analogy, he goes over to the great toe of the 
 second division, and downward, reversing his arguments, 
 through all the parts of that division, to the left little toe; 
 proving and this is the great conclusion the two 
 little toes to be brothers; not brothers-in-law, nor half 
 brothers, but born brothers of the same mother ; twins. 
 At this conclusion, no doubt, the blind rejoiced ; and 
 others, with spectacles, looking downward, said, how pro 
 per to begin with the right little toe : how true the whole :
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 73 
 
 what wonderful logic ! Did our readers ever see this 
 piece of logic, or any piece like it 1 Work of this kind 
 is, however, the best for a thorough-bred logician. Work 
 ing on moral subjects, he seems very l.ke a man jumping 
 in soft mud ; each successive leap he calls taking a good 
 position, though he sink to the middle. See him now 
 extricating himself, drawing up one leg, and then the 
 other ; with much difficulty preparing for another leap. 
 Now he has cleared the mud from his eyes, and can 
 almost see the point he aims at. After much floundering 
 and preparatory work, he jumps again, and so on ; it be 
 ing, sometimes, evident to the lookers-on that the muddy 
 man has really made progress. Few men of business 
 ever wait to see him through ; and many of them wonder 
 that any man should take to the mud-pool while good 
 firm ground is near at hand. 
 
 The writers on moral culture treat of moral soil too 
 much as a thing every where the same ; we think rather, 
 that it is not so, but quite otherwise : in some places over- 
 tilled, worn-out, bearing nothing, or only sickly plants ; 
 in others, quite neglected, though covered with a wild, 
 luxuriant vegetation ; and in others again, a sandy desert, 
 in which nothing can grow, unless, indeed, the waters of 
 life were turned into it. It were well if these men would 
 go into the fields of agriculture, and take some lessons of 
 the husbandmen there. In those fields, men are really 
 cultivators of the soil, and not mere talkers about the 
 thing. Each man works on his own homestead, thus 
 shewing his neighbors what can be done. Are there not 
 there some fields lying f. How, and in all a rotation of 
 crops? Here again we say, that men prone to run things 
 to the death may follow out our figure ; we, having no de 
 light in a mere carcass, leave it on its legs. In this con- 
 7
 
 74 
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 nexion it should be said, that the able man who desires 
 to make a book on moral culture for his fellow-men to 
 read, and profit by, should make but one; the simple and 
 honest history of his own life, his own work ; to be pub 
 lished when the writer had departed. Of such books we 
 have none ; or very few ; of others, more than enough. 
 
 In our highest scripture it is written " work out your 
 own salvation with fear and trembling." True in the be 
 ginning, and true now. Salvation is not gained by mere 
 words ; it must be worked out by each man for himself. 
 Almost vain is even the recorded experience of others ; 
 quite vain the counsels of the learned ; these are, to each 
 man, lessons not written in his book of life ; and there 
 fore, by these he profits not much. On this book, his 
 Book of Life, each man must work ; must set his own 
 types, read and correct his own proof-sheets, work his own 
 press, and, as the sheets are finished, bind them together. 
 It must be mainly his own work or it were worthless. 
 Others may meddle in the beginn ng of th s book of life, 
 (alas ! too much) ; but its finis is the author's dying gasp. 
 This is to each, his Book of books, and in this he must 
 read : otherwise all else were dark to him. 
 
 " Words," it has been said, " are things : " and again, 
 it has been said, " Words are not things." Both sayings 
 are true in part. Words or names, are things to him who 
 knows by his own "experience the things named so com 
 pletely, that the utterance of the name (the right name,) 
 brings the thing before him, so that he can see it. 
 When words fail to do this they are not things, but 
 mere sounds, of not much significance. All the words 
 written in one's own book of life are things to him, but 
 to no other in the same kind or degree of meaning as to 
 him. By these words of knowledge each man must in-
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 75 
 
 terpret the words of other men, whether written or oral. 
 No wonder then, that there is so much difference of opin 
 ion ; so much logic ; so much complaint of unfairness ; 
 so much giving of useless advice. The man prone to 
 give advice to all around him, could not do better than 
 hold his tongue, and learn to 
 
 " walk with man from day to day, 
 
 As with a brother and a friend.'' 
 
 In regard to moral speech there is yet another difficulty, 
 arising from the multiplication of words. Our written 
 language is, by many, supposed to have reached its ut 
 most point of perfection. We think, rather, that it has 
 reached something else ; its utmost limit of expansion. 
 Once it embraced many things : now it covers and hides 
 all moral things, so that one may go through whole vol 
 umes, with spectacles, on nose even, and see nothing. 
 The number of moral truths with which we can deal is 
 surely limited ; increasing if at all very slowly : but of 
 words there is no end, and therefore to the making of 
 books no end. Every new word added to our vocabu 
 lary weakens some other word or words ; and this ad 
 dition has gone on so long, that our names have become 
 strangely debilitated : so weak indeed, that few of them 
 seem strong enough to stand alone, and each must be 
 propped up by many others : many words being nearly 
 synonymous with each other, few, if any, quite so. It is 
 not, however, the intention of this writer to treat critical 
 ly of language : which indeed many a Professor of Rhet 
 oric will say, he is poorly qualified to do : but this we 
 will say ; that, at this day, our whole literature looks like 
 a decayed, crumbling, ivy-covered city. Few buildings 
 there can stand alone, but, for the most part, each leans 
 on another ; and even that one, (our Bible,) the strong-
 
 76 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 est building there, is deemed an unfit dwelling -place for 
 any finely dressed soul. Literary fops and dandies abhor 
 it ; and only the poor and the needy go there for shelter 
 and rest. How busy are the workers in this old city. 
 Some of them, painting old buildings, call them new. 
 Others, from the materials of the fallen ones, raise an 
 edifice and boast of their work as original. Worse yet ; 
 some dishonest builders steal all their solid materials from 
 their neighbors, and using only mortar of their own (poor 
 cement it is) say : this is all our work. Very few of these 
 buildings are good : the greater part being for show and 
 not for use. Many lovers of this kind of architecture, 
 looking at the things hastily, say ; " quite pretty," " very 
 interesting," " pretty good thing," and go on their way 
 to others : paying such fees for the sight of each, that the 
 workmen get their living, and get also fame. Such fame ! 
 Their names being on the front doors of things which 
 must fall to-morrow. The ivy trainers too are at work 
 forming wreaths : so pretty ; so poisonous too ! Strange 
 enough this whole thing looks. Now and then, however, 
 an edifice is raised by some hard working, honest builder : 
 who, going out of the city into the native quarries, gets 
 materials not before used, and makes an original work. 
 Such buildings stand through many ages : and some, so 
 built, even strengthen with age. That one of which we 
 spoke, (our Bible) though not a place of resort for the 
 " higher classes," is the best building in this tumble 
 down city. Men, foolishly enou/rh, have been at work 
 propping it, and so led many to doubt its strength. But 
 it is strong, wondrous strong ; firmly based (on eternal 
 truth) s and must stand. 
 
 Nothwithstanding what we have said of modern lan 
 guage, we believe that there are words of moral meaning,
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 77 
 
 and moral precepts, having strength to stand alone. All 
 men would see and believe in their strength, if the men 
 of logic would let them alone. The sturdy oak, deep 
 rooted, is, as all can see, able to stand against the heav 
 iest whirlwind : but prop it up on every side and all will 
 say, it is rotten, decayed, weak : else, why so many 
 props ? One word, not much used in books of moral 
 science, we believe can stand alone if so set up ; and 
 quite fearlessly we shew it : Honesty. Rhetoricians, lo 
 gicians, and other men of many words may be fearful, 
 and doubt its ability to stand. Such may place their 
 little observatories around, though afar off, and, with the 
 instruments they have got, examine it. If seen aright, it 
 would appear an upright thing, leaning neither to this 
 side nor that ; to one class of men, nor to another. In 
 struments however, being defective, and the atmosphere 
 often refractive, we fear that such men will not see it 
 aright. Let them, therefore, rather go into the thing and 
 so know it. Many of them would then, doubtless, dwell 
 there. 
 
 At the bottom of all systems of morality, we are quite 
 sure there must be something : and that is what we want ; 
 that is the thing could we but get at it. This, however, 
 is difficult, and would be impossible, were it not that these 
 systems often fall down, or are pulled down, so that in 
 favorable moments the thing we look for can almost be 
 seen. Looking at this heap and the other heap, we are 
 almost certain, that the thing beneath is this one which we 
 have named ; honesty ; and no other. If any at this 
 word think only of paying one's money debts, such are 
 among the money changers in the temple. Those who 
 can think of it only as a part of man's duty are mere lo 
 gicians, or led captive of such, who never yet saw the 
 7*
 
 78 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 whole of anything ; and who, with much effort, strive to 
 convince themselves and others, that there must be a 
 whole. Perfect, man cannot be : Honest, man may be. 
 This, therefore, and not that, is his duty. Only through 
 honesty can he discover, and put forth the God-given force 
 that is in him ; and thus reach almost to perfection. 
 
 As to the difficulty of knowing our particular duties, 
 we have found in a book of moral science, this : " it is 
 not the duty of every member of society to do every 
 thing." At first thought, it would seem quite useless to 
 make such an utterance anywhere : but not so. At the 
 end of one of these moral systems it is a cheering thing ; 
 very useful, and, indeed, quite necessary. But we have 
 found elsewhere where we go often better things. 
 " Doubt of any kind cannot be removed except by 
 action. 1 ' " Do the duty which lies nearest thee ; which 
 thou knowest to be a duty / Thy second duty will al 
 ready have become clearer." Where this first appeared 
 we know not, but we are quite sure it is a God-planted 
 thing and must bear good fruit. " Do the duty which 
 lies nearest thee." Let any man act honestly on this pre 
 cept and he never can be idl \ but must ever work in 
 well-doing. By the side of that moral precept this relig 
 ious one, seeming to be akin to it, may stand. Worship 
 the good thou knowest to be such : so shall thy knowl 
 edge of good grow towards the All-Good. 
 
 If we would know what this thing, Honesty, is, we 
 must look at the thing opposite, standing against it, Hy 
 pocrisy. None of us need go far to see this : 'tis around 
 us and within us all. Many men seem to be marked by 
 it ; yet somehow, have no more of it than just enough to 
 make them " respectable." Did the reader ever chance 
 to see in warehouses'or on piers, boxes marked " this side
 
 A REJEGTEP ARTJ'CkE.. 79 
 
 up with care ? " Very many men there are, on whom 
 this same inscription is visible. These are human pack 
 ages, not to be rolled over ; containing, like the other boxes, 
 glass ware, very brittle. Other men, like other boxes, 
 bear this mark; "not to be opened, except by the con 
 signee." Such probably, contain contraband articles, 
 consigned to the Devil. This thing, Hypocrisy, we be 
 lieve to be the deadly sin. Other sins, sensual sins, 
 spring from the body and end with that at death : through 
 honesty, they may receive immediate punishment and so 
 be forgiven. This sin, Hypocrisy, originates elsewhere, 
 perpetuates itself, and is the cloak under which all other 
 sins seek shelter. We name it again the deadly sin, grow 
 ing into the sin against the Holy Ghost. The Holy 
 Ghost ! What is it ? Is it not the in-dwelling God, the 
 Conscience, ever pointing to the known duty ? When 
 Hypocrisy has attained to its full stature and strength, it 
 says to conscience ; " Unreal mockery, hence." The 
 Good, the Holy Ghost, departs : and the man who com 
 mits this great sin is thenceforth among the brutes that 
 perish. Shall not his dwelling hereafter be with annihi 
 lation ? Heavier doom than this we know not : heavier 
 far than future punishment, the punishment of God, lead 
 ing to good. This, compared to that, were a blessing. 
 
 It were well to consider the cost of one essential lie : 
 how many must follow to cover and hide it ; and if it ap 
 pear, how many to excuse it. How much invention, to 
 say no more of it, is thus wasted. To appear good ia 
 the business of many men's lives. To this end they work, 
 and in this work are wasted ; so that they have neither 
 time, nor strength, to be good. In this way the whole 
 life grows up into a Lie ; hurtful to all around, useless to 
 all who come after : a fair seeming " green bay tree ; " out 
 wardly in appearance quite sound ; inwardly altogether
 
 80 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 rotten, so that when it falls, it is unfit even for fuel. The 
 dweller in Hypocrisy becomes at last like that Bastile 
 prisoner, who dwelt so long in the cells of darkness, that 
 when brought into the light of open day, he found it in- 
 supportably painful, and turned again to the darkness of 
 his prison-house. Hypocrisy is indeed the Devil's strong 
 hold and hiding-place, where he works unseen. In the 
 elsewhere of which we spoke, it is written j " truly a 
 thinking man is the greatest enemy the Prince of Dark 
 ness can have." Were this written honest man, we could 
 say, Amen. Thorough honesty is the whole duty of man : 
 in it lies all, wrapped up as is the mighty tree in the little 
 seed ; goodness, true greatness is in it. Faith, that won 
 der working thing, is in Honesty. Can the dishonest man 
 have faith in himself, in other men, or in God? Whom 
 he, being dishonest, knows not and cannot know. Let 
 no man, having the desire to be good, be afraid of hon 
 esty. Let him show what is in him ; even the evil, and 
 so shame it, and it will fly from him. Nay, if it leave 
 him not, how harmless is it when shewn and so known 
 by all men. Through the long voyage, amid darkness 
 and storm, the bold navigator on the trackless ocean goes 
 fearlessly onward, relying on a wrong and ever erring 
 thing : but the error and its rate too are known. Very 
 useful to him is his chronometer. Knowing its error, he 
 easily learns his progress in time, and so his departure 
 from a given point. But if he know not the error, how 
 great is the evit, how perilous the voyage ! Practically, 
 the known evil, known as such, is hardly an evil ; and 
 the unknown good is hardly a good. Thy watch, Read 
 er, is wrong : yet if thou know it fully how far it is wrong , 
 what evil is it ? Addition or subtraction will give thee 
 the true time of day. Thy watch is right ; yet if thou
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 81 
 
 do not know it to be so, what good is it ? The day wears 
 away, and the dark night comes before thy work is done. 
 
 An honest man ! thoroughly honest, where can such 
 be found? One Honest Man has been on Earth, Jesus 
 of Nazareth : tempted like as we are, yet without sin. 
 Ye.a, tempted of the Devil. It were well to consider this 
 thing ; the Temptation in the Wilderness. Jesus follow 
 ed the Devil for a time, listened to all the Evil Spirit said 
 to him, and replied, (among other things,) " get thee be 
 hind me, Satan." " And when the Devil had ended the 
 temptation, he departed from him for a time." Who told 
 this to the world 1 What use have many of the professed 
 followers of Jesus made of this invaluable lesson ? " Wo 
 unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites ! for ye are 
 as graves which appear not ; and the men that walk over 
 them, are not aware of them." 
 
 True greatness, we said is in Honesty : and strangely 
 enough, even false greatness seems to spring from a kind 
 of honesty. Look for instance at the temple of Mam 
 mon. Who is greatest among the worshippers there ? 
 He who is most honest to his god : though false to much, 
 sometimes to all beside. He, honest in dishonesty, 
 true to a falsehood gives his whole being to his false 
 god, and becomes famous. We have published lives 
 of such men ; telling us, among other wonderful things, 
 that when two such met together to talk about their wor 
 ship, one of them (the greatest.) said: " we can talk of 
 this matter just as well in the dark ; " and so saying, put 
 out the farthing candle he had lighted : his god forbidding 
 light. Verily, these men have a kind of greatness ; for 
 they shew other men to what that false worship leads. 
 
 A little honesty, which is really honesty, w 11 do more 
 for a man, even in this world, than all outward seeming.
 
 82 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 As an example, this is worthy of consideration. A man 
 born into the humblest class of society, uneducated in 
 " Seminaries," poor, intemperate, licentious in some 
 things : while in the body scorned by the rich and titled ; 
 shunned by the '' respectable," anathamatized, yet dread 
 ed by the Pharisees ; thit man has held, and still holds, 
 a wider and deeper influence than any of his cotempo- 
 rary countrymen. More than this we may say. Faulty as 
 he was, yea, vicious even, he exerts at this day a better 
 influence than any one of them. Strange, inscrutable, 
 this has seemed : but not so now. Read all the lives that 
 have been written of Robert Burns, down to that sum 
 ming up of Thomas Carlyle's ; that partial separating of 
 error from truth ; and it will be seen that Burns was partly 
 honest as the world goes, very honest : and thus very 
 great. Those who will, may scoff at this, and ask ; had 
 not Burns genius ? To such we say ; yes : and in our 
 turn ask; What is genius? By and by, perhaps, some 
 one will see and shew that genius is part of Honesty : 
 the lesser and not the greater. Here we say only this. 
 Consider what honesty must do for a man, when it comes 
 to him through many generations ; and so, in him, is 
 " bred in the bone." " The sins of the fathers are visit 
 ed on the children," and so verily are the virtues. Again 
 we say, Robert Burns was almost honest and therefore is 
 very great. 
 
 Of sensual sin we know not how to speak : 
 
 " One point must still be greatly dark, 
 The moving why we do it." 
 
 Just in proportion to the tide of life flowing through 
 the veins, is the strength of the unavoidable temptation : 
 and when we think of Burns in the body, we almost pity 
 him; though at this distance we can love him. Out of
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 83 
 
 '* 
 
 the body, we all honor him ; and even the writer of the 
 "Elements of Moral Science," who is of the " straightest 
 sect of our religion," quotes Robert Burns without re 
 probation. Let no reader here think we would point to 
 such men as Burns as to models : quite otherwise : we 
 hold him up as a lesson to other men ; a very useful les 
 son. His faults even, through his honest shewing of them, 
 have at this day increased its usefulness. Sin seen stand 
 ing side by side with its punishment, is, though not good, 
 very useful. One Honest Man, we said, has been on 
 Earth without sin : the Saviour of men. He is the model. 
 Could any one attain to the perfection of that model, 
 though the world might crucify his body, yet would he 
 ever live even on Earth ; and in Heaven ! 
 
 We cannot believe that this world is, as many assert, 
 full of evil. The tide of human life is a vast stream 
 flowing onward to Eternal Life. The main current is 
 a stream of good, pouring onward to the All-Good. 
 What is that which we name Evil but the eddy-current 
 near the shores of Time? Is it not in Time a part of 
 Good ? Were there no eddies would not the main current, 
 in its strength, wear away the shores of Time ? and then, 
 what were Time? That whirling and boiling which we 
 name awful is indeed so : but action is there, and that, 
 as we said, is the purifying thing, and all is working to 
 gether for good. Even the eddies (of evil) where do they 
 go? Are they not by every Headland turned outward 
 from the shores into the main stream? Whence came 
 this tide of life, this stream of good ? We see it flowing 
 onward to Eternity ; and know also that it came thence. 
 Invisibly, or but dimly seen, in exhalations from that 
 Ocean it arises, and (in clouds) by the upper influences, 
 is wafted Timeward. Bold swimmer in Time, fear not
 
 84 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 but strike out for thy life into the living tide of life. 
 Rest thou must on the shores of Time, and dream such 
 dreams as thou callest reflection : but go not near the 
 marshes where are the pools of stagnation. Rest not 
 long, and rest near the Headlands, where thou mayest 
 see the eddies of evil turning into the current of good. 
 Standing there, out-looking on the wide stream, thou 
 mayest see the rocks (of deadly sin) and seeing learn to 
 shun them : but think not to go onward unwounded. 
 There are dangers hidden (by Hypocrisy) how canst 
 thou escape such unhurt ? Bold swimmer, be honest, 
 else indeed how canst thou be bold ? Shew thy stains 
 and wounds to thy fellow-voyagers ; and shew also, if 
 thou can, what stained, what harmed thee. So shalt 
 thou do good to all men. How shadowy are these fig 
 ures ! but what could we do without them ? The things 
 seen are the Time-shadows of the unseen, the Eternal. 
 Dark atheist ! seeing the shadows even, how canst thou 
 say ; there is no Sun ? 
 
 This Earth is one of the schoolrooms of Eternity ; and 
 Change is the schoolmaster of all the children of Time. 
 Here then we learn the rudiments of that knowledge 
 which fits us for the business of Eternity. In a narrow 
 sense, it has been said, and echoed, and re-echoed, far and 
 wide ; " the schoolmaster is abroad " True in a far wider 
 sense. He is abroad now, and has been from the begin 
 ning, and will be to the end. Evermore he repeats his 
 lessons to the comers from the womb of Time ; and gives 
 his last great lesson to each scholar as each departs. 
 The full significance of that lesson the living know not, 
 but only the dead ; born into another life, become of age, 
 and free. Who profit by the lessons in the schoolroom 
 of Earth ? Not the hypocritical who walk in the crook-
 
 A REJECTED ARTICLE. 85 
 
 ft 
 
 ed and narrow ways of concealment, with the darkness 
 of falsehood around and within them ; what can such 
 see ? but the honest who walk over the open fields, in the 
 broad day-light of Truth ; what can such not see ? 
 Genius, we said, is part of Honesty : consider it well. The 
 Hypocrite shuts himself in, and so shuts truth out. The 
 Honest man opens himself and truth enters. Truth is 
 moral light and must enter every open place.- The soul 
 of man should ever be, and sometimes is, a naked mirror 
 reflecting faithful images of things presented to it. Hy 
 pocrisy hangs a veil over that mirror-like soul : thin, 
 gauze-like at first, the veil thickens by accumulation of 
 dirt, until moral light cannot pierce through it, and no 
 distinct images can be reflected. Genius is a-seeing and 
 a-shewing of the truth. Is it not in honesty ? Talent 
 may dwell in Hypocrisy, catching up the images which 
 Genius throws abroad and shewing them by candle-light. 
 Genius is quite another thing. 
 
 With this word, Honesty; let no logician meddle. 
 Bound with his cords, cut up by his knife into divisions, 
 and parts, packed in his barrel, no man can see it. 
 Avaunt ! thou butcher of moral things : the groans of 
 thy victims come painfully to every hearing ear ; their 
 dying struggles shock the seeing eye ; and thy whole 
 work wounds the feeling heart. Thy vocation is not to 
 these things. Seekers after highest truth ! go not to 
 " systems of morality," nor listen to men of logic. Go 
 elsewhere, and listen to other voices. Read what Paul 
 of Tarsus and his brethren wrote : what Jesus of Naza 
 reth uttered. Listen ever to the voice of God. So shall 
 ye learn to work out your own salvation. 
 
 Morality is the study and performance of duty, and its 
 rule is Honesty. Religion is the love and Worship of 
 8
 
 86 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 Good and has no rule. We cannot reason about Reli 
 gion : it is too simple. We cannot argue about it : it is 
 in the heart. The worship of any good, even the small 
 est, is the same in kind as the worship of All Good ; but 
 in degree how vast the difference ! Morality is not Re 
 ligion : yet how intimately connected are the two ; how 
 closely joined. On Earth they are wedded together, and 
 all the Virtues are their children. In Heaven, morality 
 is swallowed up in Religion. In the highest state of 
 being, religion, disappears in God : in God from whom 
 all goodness comes ; into whom all goodness flows.
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 87 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY.* 
 
 JOHN HENRY (father of our Patrick,) was a native of 
 Aberdeen in Scotland. He came, fortune-seeking, to 
 Virginia, sometime prior to the year 1730. Mr. Dinwid- 
 die, afterwards governor of this colony, patronizes and 
 befriends him ; introduces him to Colonel Syme of Han 
 over, in whose family he becomes domesticated. This 
 Colonel Syme dies ; Mr. Henry marries his widow and 
 resides on the family estate. Thus he gets the fortune 
 he sought. He is afterward Colonel of regiment, prin 
 cipal surveyor of the County, and for many years presid 
 ing magistrate of the County court. A plain, solid man, 
 this John Henry seems ; and withal, it is said, a man of 
 integrity. Some years after John comes his brother Pat 
 rick to Virginia. A clergyman of the Church of Eng 
 land, brother Patrick is, by John's influence, appointed 
 minister of St. Paul's parish in Hanover. Mrs. Henry, 
 late widow of Colonel Syme, soon to be mother of Pat 
 rick, is of the ancient family of Winstons ; and, so far 
 as we can learn, is a good enough woman. 
 
 Patrick Henry comes to this world on the 29th of May, 
 1736, the second son of John and Sarah. This young 
 
 * See" Sketches of the Life and Character of Patrick Henry, by 
 William Wirt," &c. 3d edition.
 
 88 PEBBLEEROOK. 
 
 Patrick grows and is sent to a school in the neighborhood, 
 where he learns to read, and write, and makes some pro 
 gress in arithmetic. When he is ten years old he enters 
 a grammar school, which his father opens in his own 
 house, and studies Latin and Greek ; but gets not much 
 of either. He is what is called idle, this boy, and makes 
 no proficiency in any study save mathematics ; which is 
 the only one he seems to like. He is remarkable for 
 nothing, if it be not for his hatred of study and work of 
 all kinds : set tasks he cannot endure. He loves to roam 
 through the forests in search of wild deer, or to lie on the 
 bank of some flowing brook, idly watching his fishing 
 buoy ; and when school hours arrive, Patrick is among the 
 missing. He will not go right, this idle boy : he will not 
 train to be one of the common soldiers of life. He shall go 
 wrong then, and hereafter be a ruler of men. His father, 
 good easy man, seeing his son will go this way of his 
 own, lets him. Two things, however, we note here : the 
 boy Patrick, who talks not much, is quiet and listens 
 when others talk ; and he loves to be alone in the forest. 
 Gossipping neighbors prophesy for this boy a life of me 
 diocrity, of insignificance : he shall not be money-getting, 
 not scientific, not even genteel : What in the World's 
 name then can he be ? We shall see. His father has 
 an increasing family; (increasing finally to nine children,) 
 and the boys must pay their own way in the World. He 
 places Patrick, now fifteen years old, behind the counter 
 of a country trader, to learn, if he can, the great value of 
 a brass farthing. The next year the father believes him 
 qualified to turn the penny on his own account ; and pur 
 chases a small adventure of goods for his two sons, Wil. 
 Ham and Patrick this one sixteen years old, and that his 
 senior some two years and they shall trade : with what
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 89 
 
 I 
 
 success one might safelypredict from the fact that William 
 is, if possible, still idler than his brother. It seems too 
 that the natural kindness of Patrick's temper unfits him 
 for trade. " He cannot find it in his heart " to refuse 
 credit to any one who asks it ; and an apology for non 
 payment is current with him. He hears every morning 
 the " view halloo " of the huntsmen, and sees hound and 
 horse sweep by him to the spirit-stirring chace, and turns, 
 with a sigh, to that place whose duties are higgling for 
 the odd ha'penny or stern denial of the wants of the poor. 
 As the best solace he can get, he learns to play on the 
 violin and flute ; and at length begins to read books. He 
 studies men too and scrutinizes every customer ; not with 
 a view to learn the state of his purse, but rather the struc 
 ture of his mind, the depth of his soul. On Saturdays, 
 when many of his customers (the poor) meet at his store, 
 and (the week's labor done) are cheerful and animated; 
 he delights to hear them talk and act as -Nature prompts : 
 or if they be dull and silent, he excites to remark, colli 
 sion and exclamation. The business of the store, as one 
 may suppose, rushes headlong to its catastrophe. " One 
 year puts an end to it : " and Patrick is employed two or 
 three years winding it up. William, being " if possible" 
 idler than his brother, is thrown loose upon society. And 
 now this young Patrick, lacking the world's cardinal vir 
 tue, Prudence, at the age of eighteen years, gets married 
 to a Miss Shelton ; the daughter of a neighboring farmer, 
 honest, and poor. The parents of this young couple, 
 however, jointly provide for them a small farm, on which 
 Mr. Henry delves with his own hands for subsistence. 
 Here, in the coarse garb of a laborer, toiling in the dust 
 beneath a burning sun, we see Patrick Henry unknown 
 and unheard. Hereafter we shall see him standing else- 
 8*
 
 90 PEEBLES ROOK. 
 
 where, and speaking with a Voice heard and felt in two 
 continents. Forget not, Reader, that standing here or 
 standing there, it is the same man we see ; and let us learn 
 to honor Man and not his garnitures. He stands here, how 
 ever, not long, but soon in a worse place : that trading one 
 again. Impelled by absolute despair he sells, after a trial of 
 two years, his little farm for cash ; and hoping that expe 
 rience has taught him gainful ways, he opens shop once 
 more. But he is wrong : he must go another road in 
 life, or not go at all. He has learnt no thrift. His vio 
 lin, flute, books ; his curious inspection of human nature 
 occupy him as before ; and sometimes he shuts up shop, 
 and, angling rod or gun in hand, wanders away to be 
 alone with Nature. We learn, however, without surprise, 
 that his reading begins to be of a more serious character. 
 He studies Geography, and reads the charter and history 
 of the Colony. He grows fond of historical works gen 
 erally : " the tenacity of his memory and the strength of 
 his judgment" the one not frittered away by trifling 
 things, the other not fastened on such make him per 
 fect master of their contents. And, so employed, this 
 idle man fails again. In a few years his second trading 
 experiment makes him a bankrupt . It has been well 
 said : the hardest problem for man is ever this ; to make 
 the outward endeavor suit the inward capability. On 
 this problem Patrick Henry is at work and works long : 
 at last with results. Property entirely gone, friends una 
 ble to assist him further ; he has tried that means, and 
 this, and that again, and cannot get money : he has got 
 only a wife and children whom he loves. Poverty, Debt, 
 and Want before him, Ruin is behind but shall not over 
 take him. With acuteness of feeling, the man has much 
 native firmness and can stand under heaviest pressures.
 
 STJ B-B I O GR APH Y O F P A T R I C K H E N R Y . 91 
 
 He can look cheerfully into the face of Night, believing 
 the Day will dawn. 
 
 Mr. Jefferson says, " his misfortunes were not to be 
 traced either in his countenance or conduct." The man 
 has self-reliance and is indeed a Man. His friends can't 
 help him : he must help himself then, and will : he de 
 termines to study law, and live by that if he can. But 
 can he attain to eminence by that? His "unfortunate 
 habits " are not suited to it, and, moreover, the state of 
 his affairs forbids an extensive course of law reading. So 
 this man, somewhat advanced in life, wanting bread for 
 himself and family, and as Wirt always says, " very idle," 
 commences " the study of a profession, said to require 
 the lucubrations of twenty years." What time does he 
 give to it ? Not more than six weeks : so says Mr. Wirt's 
 text, though his quoted authorities differ : one says, nine 
 months ; others six or eight months : Judge Tyler says, 
 one month, and adds, " this I had from his (Mr. Henry's) 
 own lips." On short preparation, be it one month or nine, 
 he obtains a license to practice law. One of his examin 
 ers, the courtly Randolph, King's attorney-general for the 
 Colony, is at first so much shocked by Mr. Henry's very 
 ungainly figure and address, that he refuses to examine 
 him. Being however induced to do so, by learning that 
 he has obtained two signatures, he finds something in this 
 unpolished being ; some knowledge of the " laws of Na 
 ture and of Nations," of the feudal system, and of gen 
 eral history ; though very little of the municipal law. 
 Indeed, this man has no appetite for husks and chaff ; 
 food which distends the stomach, but gives neither ac 
 tivity nor strength to the body. Patrick Henry then, (as 
 we follow him) is now twenty-four years old ; has got a 
 license in his pocket, into which he can get little else for
 
 * P EB B L E BROOK. 
 
 four long years, and his family suffers. Indeed the man 
 ought not to have law practice, for he is very ignorant of 
 written law, and continues so to the end : he knows 
 only unwritten law, or rather God- written on the soul 
 of man. During two or three of these years, Pat 
 rick Henry and his family live with his father-in-law who 
 keeps tavern ; and he assists to receive guests and provide 
 for their wants. But now this man's time has come : he 
 must emerge from his obscurity and shew what is in him. 
 For some years there has been a controversy, between the 
 clergy on the one hand, and the legislature of the people 
 on the other, touching the stipend claimed by the former. 
 The church of England is at this time the established 
 Church of Virginia, and an Act of the Assembly passed 
 in 1696, giving to each minister an annual stipend of 
 sixteen thousand pounds of tobacco, was re-enacted in 
 1748. 'Twere long to tell this story of clergymen and 
 Tobacco as Wirt tells it. Enough to say here, that the 
 price of tobacco had long been fixed at two pence per 
 pound, and the clergy, instead of the pernicious weed 
 itself, used to take the worth of sixteen thousand pounds 
 thereof in money. In the year 1755, in consequence of 
 a short crop, the legislature passed an act, to enable the 
 people to pay their tobacco debts in money for that year, 
 at the rate of two pence per pound, (sixteen shillings eight 
 pence, per one hundred pounds.) This act, to continue 
 in force ten months and no longer, did not contain the 
 usual clause of suspension, until it should receive the 
 royal assent, and applied to sheriffs, clerks, attorneys, and 
 all other tobacco creditors as well as to the clergy. The 
 latter regarding it as a temporary expedient, submit for 
 this once. In 1758, however, in expectation of another 
 short crop, the provisions of the act of 1755, are re-enact-.
 
 StTB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 93 
 
 ed, and this law, like the other, contains no suspending 
 clause. The crop does fall short, and tobacco rises from 
 sixteen shillings and eight pence to fifty shillings per one 
 hundred pounds. This time the clergy kick. Reverend 
 John Camm assails the act in a sarcastic and vigorous 
 pamphlet, entitled the " Two Penny Act." Colonel Bland 
 and Colonel Carter answer him, each in a pamphlet, and 
 give him as good as he sends. He replies in a yet severer 
 pamphlet, under the title of the " Colonels Dismounted," 
 and the said Colonels rejoin. The people look on amused, 
 with this rough-and-tumble wordy warfare ; but soon 
 get excited, as lookers-on often do. The popular current 
 runs against the clergy, though they have the best of the 
 argument : popular currents never running by force of 
 argument. The King in Council, however, declares the 
 act of 1758, a usurpation, and utterly null and void : 
 thereupon, the clergy bring suits in various County 
 Courts of the Colony, to recover their stipends of tobac 
 co. The first experiment is made in Hanover County, 
 in a suit brought by the Reverend James Maury, against 
 the Collector of that County and his sureties. Defend 
 ants plead the act of 1758: Plaintiff demurs. Case is 
 argued in November, 1763.; Lyons for plaintiff, Lewis for 
 defendants ; and the Court sustains the demurrer. Thus, 
 the act of 1758, being void on this judgment, that of 
 1748 V remains in full force, and is in law the only 
 standard for the jury. Mr. Lewis retires from the cause, 
 informing his clients, that in effect it has been decided 
 against them. Patrick Henry, however, undertakes (by 
 request,) to argue the case before the jury at the ensuing 
 term. On the first day of the following December, 
 therefore, he (having had little time for preparation,) ap 
 pears at the court-house, where he finds a great concourse
 
 94 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 of people : not of that County only ; men from other 
 Counties, far and near, are there. This great mass, called 
 the people, is in a state of fermentation, and will not be 
 still ; but must work to throw out its heterogenial parts. 
 The clergyman (these very parts,) are here in a large 
 body to enjoy their final triumph. Among others, comes 
 Reverend Patrick Henry (the uncle,) in his carriage : 
 the nephew walks up, expresses his regret at seeing him 
 here. I fear, 1 shall be too much overawed by your 
 presence, to do my duty to my clients : shall be obliged 
 to say some hard things of the clergy, and am unwilling 
 to give you pain. The old man reproves Patrick for en 
 gaging in this cause : looking at him through his specta 
 cles, he smiles in good humored contempt at the thought 
 of these hard things ; but like a good old man, does as 
 his nephew would have him, gets into his carriage again 
 and goes home. The case stands on a writ of enquiry 
 for damages, no plea having been entered by the defend 
 ants since the judgment on the demurrer. The case is 
 called ; the array is fearful. The court-house is rilled : 
 the floor, every bench, every window, every place on 
 which man can stand, is crowded. On the bench are 
 more than twenty clergymen, "the most learned men in 
 the Colony ; " and in the chair of the presiding magis 
 trate, sits Patrick Henry's own f.ither. Such is the scene 
 within doors : without, the yard is filled as with a flood 
 of men, hushed as ocean is before the storm. A timid man, 
 standing in Patrick Henry's place, had been dismayed. 
 The side he has taken is held to be a desperate one ; 
 around him are eager and anxious thousands, and before 
 him a large body of clergy looking contemptuous. He 
 is himself untried, for he has not yet spoken in public : 
 but he is not dismayed, for he is indeed a Man, and has
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 95 
 
 self-reliance. The time has come for him to speak : he 
 rises awkward, hesitating, slow ; and falters much in his 
 exordium. The people hang their heads, the clergy look 
 slily at each other and smile, the father looks downward 
 in confusion. Be of good cheer, ye anxious ones ! this 
 man is not all outside : he has something in him. He 
 has not been trained by dancing-masters, posture-masters, 
 Professors of Rhetoric. Now, he is only moving his 
 limbs and gathering himself together for the combat : 
 soon he shall be formed outwardly to suit you, for he is 
 informed. Hark ! that sentence comes in a firmer tone ; 
 and that gesture has a hopeful character. The man is 
 stepping upon his own ground, and is becoming miraculous 
 ly transformed in appearance His attitude grows more 
 and more erect and lofty ; his features begin to speak, and 
 his action to tell. He has long stood face to face with 
 Nature and Reality, and he images his thoughts by familiar 
 yet wonderful things : his peculiar phrases are the idioms 
 of his mother tongue, and have meaning. The scene is 
 changed : for a Man is speaking man-like to his fellow- 
 men : Deep is calling unto Deep. In that place so full 
 of life, there is silence as of death ; save only the voice 
 of one man : all others, statue-like, bend forward from 
 their stands with gleaming look ; and on the father's 
 cheek are tears of ecstasy. Without, seen through the open 
 windows, men stand on tiptoe, almost breathless, though 
 they hear little. This so lately mocking clergy, is now 
 like a herd of frightened deer ; and when he turns on 
 them, in overwhelming invective, they fly from his pres 
 ence terror-stricken. Patrick Henry speaks one hour : 
 long enough for any man to speak and the jury, forget 
 ting law, return a verdict of one penny damages. A mo 
 tion is made for a new trial, but the Court too, is forget-
 
 96 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 ful, and overrules the motion by unanimous vote. The 
 people seize on their champion, and, spite of cries of 
 " order," " order," bear him out of the court-house and 
 carry him about the yard in triumph. There is no writ 
 ten report of this speech ; for which fact let us be thank 
 ful. The reported fragments of such a speech were only 
 the dry bones of a once living thing ; forming, if well 
 arranged, a kind of skeleton, ghastly, devoid of life. Pat 
 rick Henry is no mere lawyer, pleading the letter and 
 technicalities of the law, quibbling about words, and 
 standing begirt with formulas. He is a transcendentalist : 
 he goes over the law and its harnessed draught-horses, 
 and seizes on first principles which lie deep in the hearts 
 of men. Howsoever that may be, we are glad to know 
 that this man, so long hidden, has got his head above 
 water, and can keep it so. He is retained in all the 
 cases within the range of his practice which depend on 
 the same question. But no other is brought to trial. 
 
 The common people name Mr. Henry the c< Orator of 
 Nature," and " consider him as bringing his credentials 
 direct from Heaven, and as owing no part of his great 
 ness to human institutions." The people are doubtless 
 right ; he does bring his credentials from Heaven, and he 
 is needed here on Earth. Let us look around and see if 
 there be not work for him. In Virginia, in these days, 
 society is arranged in distinctly marked classes. Top 
 most are the great land-holders ; luxurious, extravagant, 
 they leave their wealth under the law of entail. Next 
 stand the descendants of younger sons and daughters, 
 whose only inheritance is Pride and Poverty ; ill-sorted 
 pair. Then come the Pretenders, (so called) men, who 
 from vanity or the impulse of growing wealth, seek to 
 detach themselves from the plebeian ranks, and who imi-
 
 . SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 97 
 
 tate at some distance the manners and habits of the first 
 class. Next to these come the true strength of every 
 land ; a solid and independent body of yeomanry ; strong, 
 did they know their strength ; looking askance at the 
 lordlings, and with contempt on the Pretenders. Last 
 and lowest of all are the overseers ; the very lees of so 
 ciety: abject, servile, unprincipled, they feed the pride 
 and insolence of the dons. In this body of yeomanry 
 arises Patrick Henry, and continues there. He loves the 
 yeomanry, and retains their manners and customs through 
 life. He lives as they live, and fares as they fare. No 
 voice of Fame shall call him away from them : he is a 
 Man, and will not ground himself on coach leather and 
 prunella ; he stands on the basis of Nature, and there 
 will stand, shake him who can. See, too, the political 
 state of these colonies. They have grown, and will no 
 longer be held in leading strings by the mother country : 
 they do not need assistance, and will not be shackled. 
 There is a deep feeling that the British government is 
 legislating, not for their good, but for its own. There 
 are threatening looks, and muttering sounds ; the general 
 feeling needs a voice, and will find one. 
 
 Patrick Henry now has F.ime ; but he cannot be a 
 lawyer. He has an insuperable aversion to law books ; 
 their reasoning is artificial, cramped, and at variance 
 with his honest soul. ." Government he regards as in 
 stituted solely for the good of the People, and not for the 
 benefit of those who had contrived to make a job of it." 
 A mere lawyer, then, Patrick Henry shall not be, but 
 something better. Want still presses him ; for fame is 
 not always money ; and he must remove (1764) to the 
 county of Louisa, and reside at "Roundabout." Here, 
 instead of studying law, he hunts deer, sometimes for 
 9
 
 98 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 days together, carrying food in his pockets, and sleeping 
 in the woods. Thence, all accoutred as he is, coarse 
 coat, leather breeches, leggings, saddle-bags, he appears 
 in court and pleads, astonishing court and jury. When 
 he speaks judges can write no letters, draw no declara 
 tions, but must lay down the pen and listen ; for he 
 speaks from his own mind, and repeats not again the 
 thousand-times repeated. This same year Mr. Henry is 
 called to a new theatre ; there is a contested election ; 
 one of the candidates is a Mr. Littlepage, charged with 
 bribery and corruption ; the rival candidate is a Mr. 
 Dundridge, who employs Patrick Henry to plead for him 
 before the Committee of Privileges and Elections, at Wil- 
 liamsburg. This place is (in 1764) the seat of govern 
 ment, the residence of the Governor, who lives in some 
 what royal state. Here is fashion, and high-life, and 
 stately dons ; butterfly-citizens, male and female, in 
 gayest colors, flutter about in saloons, and out of doors, 
 and in streets. On this scene must appear our man from 
 the body of the people. He comes without outward pre 
 paration, in his old garb, and walks without admiration 
 in the midst of ephemeral bipeds, who look down (or 
 seem to look down) upon him. However, such as he is, 
 this man is ushered with great state and ceremony into 
 the room of the Committee. His person is unknown to 
 almost all present, and he is hardly treated with decent 
 respect ; but general contempt soon changes to general 
 admiration. He speaks upon the rights of suffrage ; 
 and such words, so uttered, have not been heard within 
 these walls as yet, but often shall be hereafter. 
 
 In March of this year (1764) the British parliament 
 passes resolutions preparatory to the stamp tax, and, in 
 January, 1765, the famous stamp tax itself, to take effect
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 99 
 
 in November following. The people throughout the col 
 onies are confounded, stunned, and can only faintly hope, 
 while legislatures humbly petition Britain's king. Sub 
 mission is considered by the many as unavoidable for the 
 present ; and sagacious Dr. Franklin tells his country 
 men " to get children as fast as they can." Others, 
 asomewhat noted for intrepidity and decision, hang back, 
 afraid to come forward and speak out : but Patrick Henry 
 is ready, if called to fitting place for speech. Mr. Wil 
 liam Johnson vacates his seat in the house of Burgesses 
 to make room for a stronger man, and Mr. Henry is 
 elected to fill it (May, 1705) ;" he is not found wanting, 
 though now weighed in the balance with many. There 
 are able men in this Virginia house of Burgesses. Rich 
 John Robinson is speaker, and has been for five-and- 
 twenty years ; courtly, dignified, he is the acknowledged 
 head of the landed aristocracy : he has a strong mind, 
 much experience, and stands pretty well in his place. 
 Peyton Randolph, King's attorney-general, is next in 
 rank ; a solid man of great weight, but rather dead 
 weight ; he is well acquainted with forms. Logical Rich 
 ard Bland is there, full of facts ; a man of "finished edu 
 cation." Dexterous Edmund Pendleton, with " that 
 silver voice," appears under the wing of the speaker. 
 Small and smooth, he is unrivalled as parliamentary man 
 ager ; no doubt a very useful man for certain purposes ; 
 but he cannot " shake the human soul ; " having proba 
 bly very little soul himself. Straight-forward George 
 Wythe, whose mother taught him the latin classics while 
 she nursed him, so that unfortunately he now lives too 
 much in Greece and Rome, stands here no-wise despica 
 ble ; strong, but destitute of art, buzzing Pendleton teases 
 him with quibbles, and vexes him with sophistries ; he
 
 100 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 hates crooked and indirect by-ways, acts above board, 
 and is deserving of praise Richard Henry Lee con 
 cludes Mr. Wirt's catalogue of great men, and on him he 
 bestows much rhetoric ; his ' face on the Roman model," 
 his " nose Caesarian ; " well stored with elegant literature, 
 ready, wordy, smooth, sweet, he swept over the surface 
 of the tide of Humanity, but stirred not its hidden depths. 
 Among these men, and others not much inferior, comes 
 the plebeian Henry, quietly, as is his wont, for he is no 
 frothy braggart, but strong and assured of his strength. 
 These men of the higher classes affect to ridicule his 
 somewhat incorrect pronunciation, his homespun lan 
 guage, and his ignorance in their learning ; but soon his 
 words shall startle and baffle them, for his homespun sen 
 tences clothe homeborn thoughts. 
 
 Robinson, the speaker, is also treasurer of the Colony, 
 and has loaned large sums of the public money to waste 
 ful friends, in the hope that they would repay, but is dis 
 appointed, and finds his deficit great. To prevent dis 
 covery, he, and his friends in the Assembly, propose a 
 public loan office, with the intent to transfer to it the 
 debts due to him, and thus cover his deficit. This state 
 of things, and this purpose is, however, not known except 
 by Robinson's friends : but Patrick Henry attacks the 
 scheme on general grounds, and defeats it. The advo 
 cates of this scheme assert " that men of substantial pro 
 perty have contracted debts, which, if exacted suddenly, 
 must ruin them and their families, but if a little indul 
 gence in time is given, they can pay with ease." " What, 
 Sir," exclaims Patrick Henry, " is it proposed then to re 
 claim the spendthrift from his dissipation and extrava 
 gance by filling his pockets with money ? " All the 
 house goes with Mr. Henry except the aristocrats. Next
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 101 
 
 year Robinson dies, and his deficit is brought to light. 
 Near the close of this session Mr. Henry, having waited 
 in vain for others to move in this business, brings for 
 ward his celebrated resolutions on the stamp act, which 
 he shows to only two members before he offers them to 
 the house. They are calm and manly ; but are opposed 
 by Randolph, Bland, Pendfeton, Wythe, and all the old 
 influential members. Mr. Henry's ardor, however, sup 
 ported by strong George Johnson of Fairfax, prevails ; 
 the last and strongest resolution is carried but by a single 
 vote. In this debate, descanting on the tyranny of the 
 obnoxious act, he exclaims, " Caesar had his Brutus ; 
 Charles the First his Cromwell ; and George the Third 
 (" Treason," cries the speaker, " treason, treason," 
 echoes from every part of the house,) may profit by their 
 example: if this be treason, make the most of it." Mr. 
 Henry continues a member of the Colonial legislature, 
 and, in 1774, is one of the deputies to the Continental 
 Congress, which meets at Philadelphia on the fourth of 
 September of that year. This meeting of men is a solemn 
 one ; and long and deep is the silence which follows its 
 organization as a public body. The members look anx 
 iously in each other's faces to read what may be in the 
 heart ; and prudent men will not begin a debate which 
 may have fearful consequences. But in this hour of trial 
 Patrick Henry falters not : he is not a prudent man ; he 
 is self-forgetful. Rising in the midst of this deep, death 
 like, embarrassing silence, he as usual hesitates in his ex 
 ordium, for the man has no flowers of speech conned 
 over in his leisure hours, and made to suit every occa 
 sion ; he is full of his subject, not full of words ; and by 
 and by he shall unfold himself. He does unfold himself, 
 9*
 
 102 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 and says no one now knows what : we can only learn 
 that " his speech seemed more than that of mortal man." 
 In this Congress, Mr. Henry (one of a Committee) draws 
 up a petition to the King, which (as we can well believe,) 
 does not suit, and is re-committed for amendment. Mr. 
 John Dickinson is added to this Committee, and a new 
 draught, made by him, is adgpted. Mr. Henry is also 
 member of a Convention of delegates, who meet at Rich 
 mond, 20th March, 1775. After thanking the " worthy 
 delegates," who had represented this Colony in General 
 Congress, this Convention listens to the reading of a pe 
 tition and memorial from the Assembly of Jamaica to 
 the King's most excellent Majesty : whereupon a resolu 
 tion passed, containing, " unfeigned thanks," " grateful 
 acknowledgements," to said Assembly, and assurances, 
 that the return of " Halcyon days," is the " most ardent 
 wish of this Colony," and indeed, of the whole continent 
 of North America. This namby-pamby, complimentary 
 business does not please Mr. Henry, and he moves reso 
 lutions in quite another tone : the substance of which is : 
 that this Colony be immediately put in a state of defence ; 
 in a state to take care of itself. These resolutions shock 
 the timid, and are opposed as " rash in policy, and harsh 
 in feeling." Bland, Harrison, Pendleton, Nicholas, resist 
 them with all their ability : We shall disgust our friends, 
 we are not in a situation to fight : Where are our stores? 
 Where our arms ? Where our soldiers ? Nowhere : 
 we are defenceless, naked ; and our opponent a nation 
 armed at all points, one of the most formidable in the 
 world, and so forth : all very true for men of logic who 
 have no insight ; not true to Patrick Henry, who has an 
 eye to see, and a soul to dare. He replies ; and let his
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 103 
 
 speech be placed here, for it seems more characteristic 
 of the speaker, than any other given by VVirt. 
 
 " This is no time for ceremony : the question before the house 
 is one of awtul moment to this country : for my part, I consider it 
 as nothing less than a question of Freedom or Slavery : and in pro 
 portion to the greatness of the subject, ought to be the freedom of 
 debate. It is in this way only, that we can hope to arrive at truth, 
 and fulfil the great responsibility we owe to God and our country. 
 Should I keep back my opinions at such a time as this, through fear 
 of giving offence, 1 should consider myself guilty of treason to my 
 country, and of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I 
 revere above all earthly Kings. Mr. President, it is natural to man 
 to indulge in the illusions of Hope: we are apt to shut our eyes 
 against a painful truth, and listen to (he song of that Syren, till she 
 transform us into beasts. Is tins the part of wise men, engaged in 
 a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be 
 of the numberof those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, 
 hear not the things which so nearly concern their temporal salva 
 tion ? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am 
 willing to know the whole truth ; to know the worst and to provide 
 for it. 1 have but one lamp to guide my feet, and that is the lamp ot 
 experience. I know of no wny of judging of the future, but by the 
 past. Judging by the past then, I wi^h to know, what there has 
 been in the conduct of the Hritish ministiy for the last ten years, 
 to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to 
 solace themselves and thu house ? is it that insidious smile, with 
 which our petition has been lately received ? Trust not to that; it 
 will prove a snare to your feet : suffer not yourselves to be betrayed 
 with a kiss. Ask yourselves, how this gracious reception of our 
 petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our 
 waters, and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to 
 a work of peace and reconciliation ? Have we shown ourselves so 
 unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in, to win back 
 our love ? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir; these are the imple 
 ments of War and subjugation , the last arguments to which Kings 
 resort. I ask, gentlemen, what means this martial array, if its pur 
 pose be not to force us to submission ? Can gentlemen assign any 
 other possible motive for it ? Has Great Britain any enemy in this 
 quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and
 
 104 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 armies ? No Sir, she has none ; they are meant for us ; they can 
 be meant for no other. They are .sent over to bind and rivet upon 
 us, those chains which the British Ministry have been so long forg 
 ing. And what have we to oppose to them ? Shall we try argu 
 ment ? Sir, we have been trying (hat for the last ten years. Have 
 we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have 
 held up the subject in every light of which it is capable ; but all in 
 vain. Shall we resort to entreaiy and humble supplication? What 
 terms shall we find, that have not been already exhausted? Let us 
 not, I beseech you, Sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have 
 done every thing that can be done, to avert the storm which is now 
 coming on. We have petitioned ; we have remonstrated ; we have 
 supplicated ; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne ; and 
 have implored its interposition, to arrest the tyrannical hands of the 
 Ministry and Parliament ; our petitions have been slighted ; our 
 remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult ; our 
 supplications have been disregarded, and we have been spurned 
 with contempt from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these 
 things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. 
 There is no longer any room for hopa. If we wish to be free if 
 we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for 
 which we have been so long contending if we mean not basely 
 to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long en 
 gaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon, 
 until the g'orio is object of our contest shall be obtained We must 
 fight! I repeat it, Si;, we must fight! An appeal to arms and the 
 God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! They tell us, Sir, that we are 
 weak ; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary ; but when 
 shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? 
 Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard 
 shall be stationed in every house ? Shall we gather strength by 
 irresolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire the means of effectual 
 resistance, by lying supinely on our backs aod hugging the delu 
 sive phantoms of hope, until our enemies have bound us hand and 
 foot ? Sir, we are no: weak, if we make a proper use of those 
 means which the God of Nature hath placed in our power. Three 
 millions of people armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such 
 a country as this, are invincible by any force which our enemy can 
 send against us ; besides, Sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. 
 There is a just God who presides over the destinies of Nations, and
 
 SU B- B I O G R AP H Y OF PATRICK HENRY. 105 
 
 who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, Sir, 
 is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. 
 Besides Sir, we have no election ; were we base enough to desire 
 it, it is now to late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat 
 but in submission or slavery ! Our chains are forged ; their clank 
 ing may be heard on the plains of Koston ! The War is inevitable, 
 and let it come ! I repeat it. Sir, let it come ! It is in vain to ex 
 tenuate the matter; Gentlemen may cry peace, peace j but there 
 is no peace; the War is actually begun! The next gale that 
 sweep* from the North, wil! bring to our ears the clash of resound 
 ing arms ; our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we 
 here idle ? What is it gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? 
 Is life so dear or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of 
 chains or slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what 
 course others may take, but as for me, give me Liberty or give me 
 Death ! " 
 
 Richard Henry Lee now rises, and supports Mr. Henry 
 with his usual spirit and elegance, and the resolutions are 
 adopted : a Committee is appointed to arm the Colony. 
 This thing, called the American Revolution, is now fairly 
 under way in Virginia and Massachusetts, and cannot 
 stop. To Patrick Henry, belongs the praise of having 
 seen it from the beginning : he sees it as it is, and is fear 
 less This wide ocean called the People, is heaving in 
 ground-swells, and in deep under-tones speaks of the 
 coining storm. Men gather here and there under cover 
 of Night : Silence and Darkness are, as of old. the first 
 born of Creation. Soon from this dark cloud of Deliber 
 ation shall burst the thunder-peal and lightning fl.ish of ac 
 tion, and this thing shall be scathed, and that, and the strife 
 shall be fearful. About this time here, in Virginia, is 
 seizing of powder by the Governor, (Lord Dunrnore,) and 
 from the North come tidings of battle, bloodshed, and 
 death: the fountains of the great Deep are breaking up. 
 This idle man, Patrick Henry, is not idle now, but thinks
 
 106 PEBBLE BROOK. 
 
 it time to strike, and let worst come to worst. He sends 
 express riders to the members of the independent com 
 pany of Hanover, (who had met and dispersed again, 
 before he knew of the seizing of powder,) requesting 
 them to meet him in arms, at Newcastle, on the 2nd of 
 May : he also convokes the County Committee. He ad 
 dresses this Independent Military Company, and fires the 
 souls of men : they resolve that the powder shall be re 
 turned, or counterbalanced by a reprisal The Captain 
 of this Company, (Samuel Meridith,) resigns his commis 
 sion and accepts that of lieutenant : Mr. Henry is made 
 Commander, and marches his troops toward Williams- 
 burg. Companies of men start up on all sides and place 
 themselves under his banner : five thousand men, it is 
 computed, are in arms, crowding to his standard. Lady 
 Dunmore and family fly on board the Fowey Man-of-War, 
 off the town of Little York. Timid patriots in Williams 
 burg send messengers to Mr. Henry, request him to de 
 sist from his purpose and discharge his men ; but in vain ; 
 he will on. The Governor issues proclamation, denouric- 
 ing the movement ; fills the palace with arms and marines 
 from the Man-of-War, and thinks he will fight : he thinks 
 twice however, and sends the Receiver-General's bill of 
 exchange for <3;JO, value of the powder, to Mr. Henry at 
 Doncastle, who gives receipt for the same ; writes to the 
 Treasurer of the Colony, offering to escort the public 
 treasure from WiHiamsburg to a place of safety, and gets 
 answer, that it is considered safe where it is : then, (there 
 being at this time no further work to do,) he marches 
 homeward and the volunteers disperse. Thereupon, Lord 
 Dunmore thunders forth (without lightning,) a proclama 
 tion against a certain Patrick Henry, and his deluded 
 followers. Mr. Henry now sets off on his journey to
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 107 
 
 Congress, and is escorted by a large party as far as Hooe's 
 Ferry on the Potomac. He is met on his way by messen 
 gers from all quarters, bearing votes of thanks from as 
 semblies of his countrymen, and must halt, read and reply ; 
 so that a day's journey is prolonged to a triumph of many. 
 This man then, who was first to speak, has also shewn 
 himself first to act. At this session of Congress, Mr. 
 Henry is quiet and says nothing. He is no babbler who 
 cannot hold his tongue : he has set others to work and 
 will himself be idle, till there is fitting work for him 
 to do. 
 
 About this time, comes Lord North's Olive Branch 
 across the waters, borne by no Dove ; and the Governor 
 of Virginia calls a meeting of the House of Delegates, 
 and his lady returns from the Fovvey Man-of-War to the 
 palace, as though this quarrel were now ended. This 
 foolish Lord Dunmore, who is valiant only when the bat 
 tle is over, is now scheming for revenge. He sets spring- 
 guns in the magazine, loaded eight fingers deep with swan 
 shot, and two persons who go thither to get arms for 
 themselves are severely wounded. Foolish Lord : does 
 he not know, that such tricks will fire the train again and 
 blow him off, if not up. Early next morning, (sixth of 
 January, 1775,) he, conscience-stricken, must fly with 
 his family from the palace to return to it no more. He 
 goes on board the Fowey. Messingers are sent to and 
 fro between the Governor and Legislature, each inviting 
 the other to draw near ; without effect : for in these times 
 even the government is divided, one part being for the 
 People, and the other for the King; and the two parts 
 cannot come together except in strife. This Legislature, 
 therefore, being but half a government, adjourns ; and 
 Delegates are summoned to meet at Richmond, on the 
 
 o 
 
 17th of July. This Colonial Convention does meet there
 
 108 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 on the 24th of this month (1775,) and acts with decision 
 and vigor : dividing the Colony into sixteen military dis 
 tricts ; each to raise a regiment of militia. Two regi 
 ments of Regulars are also to be raised and paid by the 
 Colony. Committee of S ifety is appointed, having func 
 tions and powers analogous to those of the Governor, 
 and designed to fill his place. This Convention elects 
 Mr. Henry " Colonel of the first regiment of regulars, 
 and Commander-in-chief of all forces raised, or to be 
 raised, for the defence of the Colony." He, accordingly, 
 is at his post, the City of Williamsburg, on the 20th of 
 September, and takes command as recruits come in. 
 There is at this time, neither war nor peace, but only a 
 hovering between the two: soon, however, Lord Dunmore, 
 with a motley band of tories and negroes, begins " cut 
 ting such fantastic capers," in the country about Norfolk, 
 that he must be looked to. The Committee of Safety, 
 (which is the authorised director of all military move 
 ments,) detaches for this purpose eight hundred men. 
 Colonel Henry is desirous of the command of this expe 
 dition, and solicits it : this Committee of Safety will not 
 have it so, but gives it to Colonel Woodward, who soon 
 refuses to acknowledge Colonel Henry's superiority in com 
 mand, and is sustained by this Committee. Indeed, this 
 Committee (a most inefficient military head,) is (as we 
 read the matter in many pages.) somewhat jeilous of 
 Colonel Henry, and desirous to thwart him and lessen his 
 influence with the people. No opportunity is given him 
 to test his military ab lity : other men are placed over 
 him, and he resigns his commission. The soldiers of his 
 regiment become mutinous, and refuse to serve under 
 any other commander. He spends a night in visiting 
 the several barracks ; reasons with them, and finally per-
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 109 
 
 suades them to serve their country under other commanders, 
 since they may not under him. Ninety officers, including 
 many in Colonel Woodward's camp, address Mr. Henry 
 through the public papers ; express their resentment at 
 the indignity offered him, and their confidence in his abil 
 ity and rectitude. The hand of the managing Pendleton, 
 (one of the Committee of Safety,) is busy in this some 
 what shameful affair. Immediately on his resignation of 
 military command, Patrick Henry is elected a member of 
 the State Convention from the County of Hanover. This 
 Convention has work to do ; a regular government to 
 form ; and it is done. Patrick Henry is now (July 1776,) 
 elected Governor of Virginia, and, by desire of the Con 
 vention, dwells in Dunmore's palace. The history of the 
 next three years, is in Wirt's book, made up of public 
 documents, not noteworthy as characteristic of Patrick 
 Henry. Factious busy-bodies at one time, (1776,) ac 
 cuse him (covertly,) of wishing to make himself Dictator 
 of the State. Wirt finds no grounds for this accusation ; 
 nor did the legislature, which unanimously elects him 
 Governor again for the ensuing year. In 1777, occurs 
 that disgraceful plot to remove Washington and place 
 Gates, the fortunate captor of Burgoyne, in his place. 
 The Intriguers try Patrick Henry, who promptly trans 
 mits to Washington an anonymous letter, which had come 
 addressed to himself, and will have no hand in this bus 
 iness, believing Washington to be the man for the place 
 he stands in. Mr. Henry is now (1777,) a widower, (his 
 wife died in 1775,) the father of six children, and thinks 
 he must marry again. He takes Dorothea, daughter of 
 Nathaniel W. Dundridge. In 1779, he declines being 
 again a candidate for the gubernatorial office, believing, 
 that by the Constitution, he is ineligible ; and removes to 
 10
 
 110 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 his newly purchased estate called Leatherwood, in the 
 new county of Henry ; near to which starts up, afterward, 
 another county named Patrick. Here he attends to the 
 business of his profession, and is (in 1780) again a mem 
 ber of the State Assembly. 
 
 The spring and summer of the next year is, perhaps, 
 the darkest period of the Revolutionary War. The Trai 
 tor Arnold in January, is busy here in Virginia, and next 
 month comes the victorious Cornwallis sweeping along 
 from the south, and roaming whither he will. Lafay 
 ette, with his small body of Republicans flies before him, 
 unable to make effectual stand. Tarlton, with his swift 
 cavalry, dashes this way, and that, and pounces upon the 
 Assembly at Richmond, making however only seven of 
 the members prisoners; the others flying to Stanton. In 
 this period of darkness, the project of a Dictator is start 
 ed, and the people look to Patrick Henry as the man for 
 that. But there is no need: a brighter day is dawning, a 
 day long ago predicted by Mr. Henry ; and across the 
 Ocean comes aid from France. Soon the contest is 
 closed by the capture of Cornwallis at Little York, Octo 
 ber 19, 1781. Peace comes; the long desired; but 
 brings not every blessing in its arms : the Country is poor, 
 in debt, disordered, out of joint. Mr. Henry still repre 
 sents the county of his residence in the State legislature, 
 and has power there which it is difficult to resist : power 
 which he does not always throw into the popular scale. 
 He is no demagogue, and can go against the popular 
 current when that goes wrong. Now, immediately upon 
 the close of the War; he advocates the return of the 
 British Refugees. There is violent opposition : deep- 
 rooted prejudices exist ; of all names that of British Tory 
 is the most opprobrious. But these people, Mr. Henry
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATKICK HE-NBY. Ill 
 
 thinks, have been deluded and punished enough therefor : 
 in this country, where we have land enough and to spare, 
 we want men, and have nothing to fear from these Refu 
 gees now. "Afraid of them, " he says, " what, Sir, shall 
 we, who have laid the proud British Lion at our feet, now 
 be afraid of his whelps 1 " He also advocates the mea 
 sure of removing restraints on British commerce before 
 any treaty is concluded. The voice, which first launched 
 the War-Cry, is now (the War ended) most earnest for 
 thorough Peace. Patrick Henry is no half-way man, 
 ever-halting between two opinions : In the fall session of 
 1784, too, his course is noteworthy. These half-naked 
 Indians hang frowning, cloud-like on our frontier ; and 
 dark father tells to son the story of their wrongs : the 
 electrical chain of human feeling is highly charged : 
 often the lightning flashes upon us at dead of night, in 
 fearful death -strokes. Here, too, something must be 
 done ; and Patrick Henry proposes to encourage inter 
 marriages between copper color and white, and thus give 
 to this dark cloud a lighter cast. Metaphor apart, he 
 prepares, and earnestly advocates, a bill to give pecuniary 
 bounties to the parties to such marriages ; to be repeated 
 at the birth of each child the offspring of such union : 
 exemption from taxes also, and the free use of a semina 
 ry of learning. Said we not well ; this man is no half 
 way man ? This bill is read twice, and engrossed for its 
 final passage : but Patrick Henry is elected Governor 
 again and thus displaced from the floor ; three days after 
 the bill is rejected. In regard to religious creeds, he (in 
 this Assembly and elsewhere) is disposed to place all 
 sects on equal ground, and leave men free to choose their 
 own creed. In the fall of 1786, a year still remaining of 
 his gubernatorial term, Mr. Henry feels himself obliged to
 
 112 . FEBBLEBKOOK. 
 
 decline a re-election. His style of living is unostenta 
 tious, temperate, every way simple : yet his salary of 
 .1000 will not cover his expenses. He is in debt and 
 thinks he must sell part of his estate. In December of 
 this same year, he is appointed by the legislature one of 
 the seven deputies to a General Convention to be holden 
 at Philadelphia to revise the Federal Constitution ; which 
 appointment he must decline and work to pay his money 
 debts. He retires then to Prince Edward's County, and 
 casts about for the means of freeing himself; at last he 
 takes the advice of a neighbor given in this efficient way : 
 " Go back to the bar ; your tongue will soon pay your 
 debts : if you will promise to go, I will give you a retain 
 ing fee on the spot." So this man, now fifty years old, who 
 would gladly rest (being idle,) must go to work ; in that 
 old business of law too, which he hates : but he will not 
 attend to its technicalities, to its quibbles, and pribble- 
 prabbles; other counsel must be employed for that work; 
 men not idle, who have long been busy learning things 
 which no man should learn. Hence he has only impor 
 tant cases to plead, but enough of such in courts far and 
 near. The Federal Constitution, just hatched by the 
 Convention at Philadelphia, flies abroad on all the four 
 winds : and men everywhere are busy attacking it, defend 
 ing it. Every gathering of People, in Court-house or 
 Church, for military parade or barbacue, must discuss 
 this thing. Itinerant political preachers go from County 
 to County ; from State to State ; and challenge all men 
 to argument for or against. The newspapers are full of 
 it, and the Pulpit, and on all hands is loud din of words. 
 In these clacking times Patrick Henry is needed again 
 in the political field, and is made rnember of a convention 
 which is to decide the fate of this Federal Constitution
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 113 
 
 here in Virginia. The Convention meets at Richmond 
 (June 2, 1788,) and holds able men : Madison and Mun- 
 roe (afterwards Presidents,) Marshall ,( after wards Chief 
 Justice,) and others at this time held to be fully their equals. 
 
 Mr. Henry does not like this Federal Constitution : it is 
 
 J 
 
 not a confederation of different States, but a consolida 
 tion : it is not a grouping-together of Independent States 
 for general specific purposes ; it is a welding-together of 
 States into one too solid mass. Such is his main objec 
 tion, and the details are only a spreading-out of this : 
 quite necessary such spreading-out there and then ; quite 
 useless here and now ; which therefore we omit. In this 
 Virginia Convention, however, the greater part are 
 against Mr. Henry, and his objections (right or wrong) 
 are overruled. The question of ratification is carried by 
 a majority of ten, and the proposed amendments of the 
 minority are forwarded to Congress with the ratification. 
 In the very next session of the State Assembly, however, 
 resolutions, offered and advocated by Mr. Henry, request 
 ing the Congress of the United States to call a Conven 
 tion to amend this Federal Constitution, are carried by a 
 majority of more than two to one. This Federal Consti 
 tution is in Virginia, and elsewhere, accepted not be 
 cause' it is as good as it should be, but rather because it is 
 better than none ; and something of this kind we must have. 
 Patrick Henry continues in this State Assembly till 1791, 
 and then declines a re-election. The law business still 
 holds good, and he is counsel for defendants in the case of 
 the British debts. When he argues this case in 1791, and 
 again in 1793, people from all parts gather to hear him ; 
 members of the Assembly desert their seats, leave the speak 
 er without a quorum and throng the Court-house. The re 
 port of this case, and the speeches may be read in some fifty 
 10*
 
 114 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 pages of Wirt's book by those who will ; not again by me 
 except from a sense of duty. This idle man will now 
 work no more ; at any rate not in this law business. He 
 is (1794) fifty-eight years old; is free from debt, and has 
 money enough. In summer evenings he may be seen 
 sitting under a large Walnut tree before his own door, 
 surrounded by his family and neighbors. Here he talks to 
 willing listeners, and listens to willing talkers ; and is, we 
 may believe quite happy. In 1796, he is elected Governor 
 once more : but declines the office : he will not come in 
 to public life again : he chooses rather to sit there under 
 the old Walnut Tree. Political parties, however, still 
 consider him a prize worth contending for : the first ad 
 ministration offers him the Embassy to Spain, and the 
 second that to France ; but he says, no : he will stay at 
 home ; where visitors sometimes find him lying on the 
 floor, his children tumbling over him, or dancing around 
 him to the music of his violin, full of glee : a noisy party, 
 frolicksome and happy. About this time Rumor says 
 that he has changed sides in politics and is now a Fed 
 eralist : busy-bodies catch up his words and report them 
 abroad. He, however, denies that he has changed sides. 
 The truth seems to be that this man does not bind him 
 self to an expressed opinion as to an immutable thing 
 from which he can never free himself. He is a Free man ; 
 and therefore not what is called a consistent man, bound 
 down to a well beaten track : he is a Free man ; free 
 from passion and prejudice, and approves or condemns ac 
 cording to his honest conviction. He is a bold man, too, 
 and speaks out : therefore he shall be wronged, as in this 
 World all such men are for a time. The light of this 
 man's Life is now waning ; but shall flash out briefly once 
 again, and then his Night of Death shall come. The 
 clash of contending parties reaches him in his peaceful
 
 SUB-BIOGRAPHY OF PATRICK HENRY. 115 
 
 dwelling: the fierce contest of Democrat and Federalist 
 startles him from repose, and he will rise and rebuke those 
 who would (as he believes) overturn this now established 
 government. For this purpose he offers himself as a candi 
 date for the House of Delegates, and, as is the fashion here 
 in Virginia, he addresses the Electors at the polls ; and can 
 still speak manlike. " Where, " he asks, " is the Citizen 
 of America who dares lift his hand against the ' Father of 
 his Country 1 ' " A drunken man in the crowd throws 
 up his hand and says, " I dare c|o it." " No you dare 
 not do it : in such parricidal attempt, the steel would 
 drop from your nerveless grasp." Again, he says : " if 
 I am asked what is to be done when a people feel them 
 selves intolerably oppressed ? my answer is ready : over 
 turn the government." But such a time of intolerable 
 oppression he thinks the present is not. He is elected, 
 spite of all opposition, by a commanding majority : but 
 in this House of Delegates he shall not speak : never again 
 in any house of Earth. On the 6th day of June, 1799, 
 he dies. This Voice is dumb. 
 
 That this man had faults is probable enough, that little 
 men, envious of his fame, exaggerated them is certain. 
 He was a frank, fearless Man speaking out what he felt 
 to be True. Such men always fare worst at first, best at 
 last, and Patrick Henry needs no labored eulogium. The 
 curious inquirer would fain know the secret of this Man's 
 power. As shewn by Rhetorician Wirt, it is a wonder 
 ful something; one can hardly see what. Where did he 
 get this power over his fellow-men ? It was, say many, 
 the Gift of God. Be it so : the answer is a good one for 
 those who find meaning in it. But be it noted here that 
 Patrick Henry was not built up on this system, nor on 
 that other ; not on any system : he grew up, and so the 
 Gift of God unfolded itself.
 
 116 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 SOON after my arrival at Pebblebrook I heard much 
 talk of arrangements for the celebration of the anniversary 
 of our National Independence, and learned, with aston 
 ishment, that Uncle John had been appointed orator of 
 the day. It happened in this way. At the town-meeting, 
 after much talking and many ballotings, it appeared that 
 no choice could be made ; the minister and lawyer having 
 each a large party, some scattering votes defeated the 
 election. At last, the lawyer, who represented the town 
 in the state government, rose and addressed the meeting. 
 After professions of his love for his country ; of his desire 
 to serve his fellow-men, and some deprecatory remarks 
 about his own ability, he concluded by saying he no 
 longer desired to be considered a candidate for the ora- 
 torship. His fellow-townsmen (he said) had considered 
 him unworthy to address them on the national holiday ; 
 he should hereafter decline all public offices, and, in pri 
 vate life, content himself with the consciousness of hav 
 ing performed his duty. There was then another ballot 
 ing, and, to the surprise of all present, Uncle John, who 
 had had some eight or ten of the scattering votes, was 
 declared elected. It was proposed to appoint a commit-
 
 FOURTH OF JULY. 117 
 
 * 
 
 tee to notify him of his election : but he, being present, 
 rose and said, there was no need of that formality : he 
 had heard, and he would answer on the spot. He had 
 (he continued) lived long among them, he had talked to 
 them all individually, and he was quite willing to speak 
 to them collectively ; he would be the orator of the day. 
 There was an almost universal clapping of hands ; for, 
 though they had not heretofore thought of him as an 
 orator, the greater part loved him as a man. 
 
 The committee of arrangements, appointed at the same 
 meeting, were busy and careful about many things, and 
 when the day drew near a programma of the procession 
 appeared. At the head of the programma stood the 
 escort of militia ; the Selectmen had the next rank, and 
 the Town Clerk and Town Treasurer followed ; then the 
 Clergy had place, followed by the Regimental Officers 
 and a Standard Bearer. The Orator of the Day preced 
 ed the Distinguished Strangers, and the Committee of 
 Arrangements. The Common Towns-people brought up 
 the rear. There were some half-dozen Marshals on the 
 flanks, a Chief Marshal in front, and the whole thing, on 
 paper, had a fair appearance. 
 
 " What place," said I one day at dinner, " what place 
 shall I get in the procession ? " 
 
 " Why, cousin Frank," said Harriet, " you'll be one 
 of the distinguished strangers : I heard so to-day." 
 
 " Yes," said my Uncle, " the committee are fearful of 
 a want in that department ; for though they have sent invi 
 tations to Natook, and other towns, no answers have yet 
 come to hand. Frank, you shall, once in your life, be 
 distinguished : I hope you will bear the honor meekly." 
 
 I replied, " I shall do my best to fiJJ the place assigned 
 me. I need only put on my best dress, bear myself erect,
 
 118 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 
 
 and look straight before me as I march along. My part 
 is easy enough ; but how goes your oration, Uncle, has 
 it got shape yet ? " 
 
 " No, I can't say that it has got shape, but it has got 
 together. Truly, it will be a most promiscuous thing. 
 I began some time ago to build a regular Fourth of July 
 oration ; 1 put facts together, as masons put bricks, one 
 upon another, but the materials had been so often used 
 that the thing I worked on had a second-hand appearance, 
 and I quit it. I commenced anew with declamation 
 about the invaluable blessings of a republican govern 
 ment, the unprecedented progress of society in this land 
 of liberty, the universal diffusion of education, and the 
 march of science. It would'nt go, Frank; it was sick 
 ening, and I threw my papers into the fire ; they went off 
 in smoke, as so many such other things, in one way and 
 another, have gone. I then resolved to let my thoughts 
 run wild, and see what they would bring home. Such 
 things as have come to me in the field, or on the road, I 
 have written down, and now I am weaving them together 
 to form a kind of whole. The old spirit that is in me, be 
 it Devil or not, helps the thing along, and I believe it 
 will finish soon." 
 
 The long looked-for day came at last, and an old 
 swivel-gun, speaking from the village common, called me 
 early from my bed. I looked out and saw men and boys 
 streaming from all quarters toward the common, where 
 some half-hundred were already assembled in front of a 
 large tent ; over which, on a tall flag-staff rising from its 
 centre, floated the national banner. After the firing 
 ceased the multitude scattered again to its dwelling-pla 
 ces : for however patriotic men and boys may be, they 
 think of breakfast. This was the first scene of the
 
 FOURTH OF JULY. 119 
 
 drama ; or call it a little skirmishing preparatory to the 
 grand operations of the day. The next appearance was 
 that of a company of boys, who paraded and marched 
 through the streets, mimicking the town militia. Their 
 tin-kettle drum, wooden swords and guns, handkerchief 
 banner, and peacock and cockerel feathers, gave promise 
 of no very bloody work ; still one must think that Peace 
 Societies have work to do while village boys find pleasure 
 in bare imagination of a battle. The women were not 
 idle ; one could see them in little troops walking toward 
 the common, followed by men and boys bearing baskets; 
 they were furnishing the tables for the public dinner. 
 About ten o'clock I walked to the common to see what 
 had been done in way of preparation. The tent itself was 
 a pretty thing. A slender scaffolding, ten or twelve feet 
 high, inclosed an area of some three thousand square feet ; 
 being about one hundred feet long, and thirty wide. 
 Boughs of trees, with all their foliage, spread upon raft 
 ers, formed the roof; and young pine trees, with some 
 earth thrown on the roots, to keep them in an upright 
 position, stood all around at the sides, forming a kind of 
 walls. Within the tent two tables extended from end to 
 end : and at the head a short one, running across, united 
 the two. On the clean white table-cloths was placed, in 
 regular order, crockery and glass ware of many colors 
 and sizes : for every woman who loved her country had 
 brought out her best for the national holiday. I found 
 my way through the chattering, busy crowd, to my cou 
 sins Amelia and Harriet, who seemed a little vexed. I 
 soon learned the cause ; the Table Committee had placed 
 the ware of my cousins at the lower end of the tent, " be 
 cause," said Harriet, " it happens to be plain white, 
 though it is of the nicest here."
 
 120 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 " On such a day as this," I said, " private feeling 
 should be sacrificed to public good ; and on all great oc 
 casions, individual contributions are swallowed up in the 
 mighty whole. Men or women cannot work together in 
 harmony, unless under some kind of government. You, 
 in the exercise of the glorious right of suffrage, have 
 chosen five respectable matrons to rule you in the work of 
 this day. Having chosen rulers, your duty, very clearly, 
 is cheerful obedience. Much is said of the rights ol 
 women," " stop Frank, stop," cried Amelia, " this day, 
 it is true, is the Fourth of July, but the hour for an ora 
 tion has not come yet." Harriet said, " It is pity you 
 stopped him, sister : he was going on very well. Did you, 
 get near the end of your speech, Frank ? Is'nt this 
 beautiful? See how we have placed the flowers, red 
 white and blue, among the branches of these little pines. 
 It is a sweet place now but to-night, how it will look ! 
 I have seen the remains of a man-feast once, Frank : 
 you ought to be ashamed of such work : I am glad there 
 is to be nothing stronger than wine here to-day that is 
 strong enough." 
 
 The sound of martial music reminded me, that the 
 time for forming the procession drew near ; and after ex 
 pressing my admiration of the order and decorations of 
 the tent, which were indeed praiseworthy, I walked to 
 ward the tavern. There was a crowd of men and boys : 
 the marshals were busy, and had no little trouble in get 
 ting the procession into marching order. At last, how 
 ever, the swivel gun, speaking again, set the mass in mo 
 tion, and in truth, it drew itself out in pretty good form. 
 The number of distinguished strangers had increased be 
 yond expectation : Uncle Thomas and the chief men of 
 Natook were there, as were also many from other towns ;
 
 FOURTH OF JULY. 121 
 
 and, I, who had hoped to be quite prominent, as one of 
 the few men of distinction, was almost out of sight in the 
 crowd. Everything went on well except the boys, who 
 ran to and fro along the flanks, shouting and laughing, 
 annoying the marshals much ; who, in vain, strove to keep 
 them in order. When all other means had failed of effect, 
 the chief marshal, with a presence of mind deserving of 
 happy results, ordered a platoon of the escort, to wheel 
 out on either side and drive the boys to the rear. The 
 rogues, however, shouting aloud, jumped over fences into 
 the fields ; and, as soon as the platoons returned to their 
 place, re-appeared again on our flanks, noisier than 
 before. 
 
 " The boys have the best of it," said a man at my side. 
 I looked up and saw a face, through which an old friend 
 seemed to look out on me. 
 
 " In this world of grave formalities," he continued, 
 " where the seniors stalk solemnly along, these young 
 freshmen play an important part: they show us the other 
 side of things. This imposing procession of the chief 
 men of Pebblebrook, and many strangers of distinction, 
 each one with his best side out, is a kind of Procession 
 of Fools to many of these boys. See that fellow mimick 
 ing the swaggering gait of the man before us : as I 
 live, there is one making a miniature copy of yourself." 
 I looked where he pointed, and saw a little rascal holding 
 his body very erect, his arms close to his sides, and 
 stretching his neck to protrude his head in front. I be 
 lieve 1 she'wed some vexation, for the man added. " It is 
 rather a caricature than a likeness." 
 
 As we marched along through the principal streets, 
 enveloped in a cloud of dust, the stranger continued his 
 lively and somewhat instructive talk. I tried to recollect, 
 11
 
 122 
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 where and when I had seen him before ; and at last said, 
 " I wish you would assist me, Sir ; we have certainly met 
 before, but I cannot remember where." 
 
 " Perhaps," replied he, smiling, " you have dreamed 
 of such a being as I, there are times, when the things 
 present seem to be only copies of things which we have 
 known in another state of existence. This world of the 
 senses is in truth not the only one, perhaps not the real 
 one : we have an ideal World. In solitary hours, when 
 the bodily eye is closed on the diorama of the Present, and 
 the loud din of the Actual is not in our ears, the creative 
 spirit works as in Eternity. So in lonely hours, in the 
 depths of his own soul, the artist conceives the Beauty 
 and Truth, which he must toilsomely work out for other 
 men, and for himself in some actual form. In that form, 
 if the hand of Genius have indeed produced it, the spec 
 tator shall see so much as he has capacity for ; your com 
 mon man, only pretty colors on canvas, another man 
 something more." He laughing, added, " But this is no 
 very fit time to talk of the ideal world, while we inhale 
 with every breath the dust of earth. I intended to say, 
 that in some of your imagings, when you were partly 
 asleep to this world, you had perhaps, created some being 
 of which I remind you." 
 
 " I am not," I rejoined, "such a creator as you think : 
 this is, indeed, your second actual appearance to me, in 
 this world of the senses : I remember now, where we 
 first met." I recalled to his recollection our meeting at 
 the little tavern some thirty days before. We had now 
 arrived at the old Church: we entered it and took 
 seats, as the Committee of Arrangements had prescribed. 
 The galleries were already filled with women and chil 
 dren, who looked down on us, dust covered mortals, with 
 laughing faces.
 
 FOURTH OF JULY. 123 
 
 The clergyman, in a long prayer, did his part of the 
 day's work very well : no high and mighty thing in all 
 the land was forgotten. After an anthem had been sung, 
 the Orator of the Day arose. I own, I felt some degree 
 of anxiety : he was little used to public speaking : he 
 had certainly never attempted an oration before, and I 
 was fearful that he would not succeed. My fears soon 
 vanished. He spoke as in common conversation, except 
 that his voice was louder, and his utterance, for distinct 
 ness sake, somewhat slower. He had little action : a care 
 less on-looker might have said, he had none : there was, 
 however, as one who looked closer might see, an opening 
 and closing of the hands, sometimes a slight, yet earnest, 
 bending forward of the body ; a kind of action, in short, 
 quite indescribable : such as is taught in no school of ora 
 tory ; such only as his own inmost feelings impelled him 
 to. He commenced thus: " One of the best effects of 
 this national holiday is, that it brings men of different 
 sects in politics and religion, men of different trades and 
 professions, to unite in a common object ; one that ex 
 cludes, or should exclude, all sectional feeling. This is 
 our public Jubilee day of political freedom : surely a 
 great day in the history of mankind. It is, however, only 
 the anniversary of Freedom's Proclamation Day, and a 
 proclamation is ever intrinsically a little thing ; something 
 must precede it to bring it forth, much must follow to 
 make it good. It should never be forgotten, that without 
 higher freedom, political freedom cannot long exist among 
 any people. What, indeed, is true Freedom ? Does it 
 stand written in our Constitutions and statute books 1 
 The smallest part of it lies in these, which are only the 
 things Freedom has made. Written laws are for the most 
 part negative, with a penalty annexed, and the best say
 
 124 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 no more than this : you shall not injure your neighbor. 
 These are only the restraints which a free people imposes 
 on itself, to keep its vicious members in awe ; and the 
 multiplication of laws, indicating the increase of vice, and 
 the reliance on punishment for its suppression, is no very 
 favorable symptom in the body politic. But, I have no 
 wish to dwell on this negative side of things : we must 
 look for our salvation to the positive and affirmative, to 
 that which is above written law : in freedom of thought 
 and action ; in that freedom which arises from the soul 
 of man. I must, however, say here, that public govern 
 ment is a necessary thing ; and that in this country, 
 where we-the-people appoint our own Governors and 
 law-makers, our plain duty is cheerful obedience to all 
 that is good, and quiet removal of all that is bad." He 
 went on, speaking of other restraints on individual action ; 
 of societies for moral and religious purposes, and broke 
 out of bounds in the following utterance, " Society, as I 
 figure it, is one vast Whirlpool, made up of many other 
 Whirlpools : Whirlpools commercial, political, moral, 
 religious, (so called) : and these again, contain innumer 
 able smaller sectarian Whirlpools ; which, alas, too often 
 whirl in opposite directions. Into one or another of 
 these Whirlpools almost every individual man is drawn : 
 as he approaches the centre, (whirlpools being concave,) 
 he loses sight of everything beyond his circle, and, at last, 
 believes that there is nothing good or great elsewhere. 
 Look, for instance, into the abolition Whirlpool : see how 
 it foams and rushes, whirling its victims round and round, 
 till they become dizzy, crazy, and rave : the whole moral 
 world lies there they think, -and would all men come in 
 and whirl with them, the world were saved. Or, see 
 your religious sectarian enthusiast, how he whirls and
 
 FOURTH OF JULY. 125 
 
 shouts : Salvation in this circle, Damnation beyond it. 
 The miserable man who gets into the very centre of his 
 whirlpool is drawn down out of sight and drowned : 
 sometimes, however, such a one is thrown up again be 
 yond his circle half drowned, good for nothing. The most 
 ridiculous mortal of all, perhaps, is he, who lives as he 
 may, alternately, in some two or three of these vor 
 texes : so your shrewd man of trade shall whirl some 
 six days here, clutching much ; and on the seventh, lo, 
 he is there, bathing in some pool proclaimed of Siloam ; 
 from which he shall come forth on the morrow a Leper 
 still. See your violent abolition man, who is also mem 
 ber of the non-resistance society : or your eager politi 
 cian who, at the same time, is temperance man. Will not 
 this whirlpool swallow up that, and then where were his 
 office with all the loaves and fishes 1 But enough of this, 
 quite enough : miserable men are ye all who would serve 
 two masters ! Better is it to serve none save that One who 
 is in Heaven." While he spake thus, many faces shewed 
 symptoms of discontent, and I was glad when he got 
 through his whirlpools and sailed along on smoother seas. 
 It is not my intention to impose the whole of this 4th of 
 July Oration on the Reader, but only to quote some pass 
 ages here and there. The one which follows gave to 
 the Audience a more smiling aspect. 
 
 " Besides these restraints of the general government 
 which, for political purposes, are in great part necessary 
 and useful ; and those of societies, or associations, which 
 for moral purposes are for the most part quite unnecessa 
 ry and injurious ; there are others not less real though 
 not so tangible. Fashion and Etiquette! how do these 
 fetter us in our daily life ; how many sacrifices do we 
 make to these invisible potentates ! Few passages in his- 
 11*
 
 126 
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 tory are more instructive than that which records the 
 death of Philip II, King of Spain. His Majesty is sit 
 ting one day before an immense wood-fire, which burns 
 fiercer and fiercer ; but Majesty may not move : he is 
 chained to his chair by grandeur : domestics presume not 
 to enter the apartment, Etiquette forbidding. The Mar 
 quis de Portat enters, and Majesty orders him to damp 
 the fire : Marquis refuses on score of Etiquette ; that be 
 ing the Duke D'Usseda's function. The Duke, alas, is 
 abroad : the fire burns fiercer ; and King Philip, king- 
 like, endures it rather than move his chair like a common 
 man. King's blood is somewhat like other blood and 
 will heat ; so next day comes erysipelas followed by fever, 
 and Majesty dies twenty-four years old. Is this matter-of- 
 fact or fiction ? It matters not much which : there is some 
 thing heroic in the idea of Majesty roasting so ; kingly 
 knees crisping : the M artyr Hero, not twenty-four years 
 old ! Let each man here be thankful that he is not a king 
 of Spain. I said it matters not much whether this story 
 be matter-of-fact or fiction ; for Etiquette must have 
 done much before the idea of such a fiction could arise 
 in the mind of man." The use which the Orator made 
 of this story, each reader may imagine ; and consider 
 also how he himself is chained by Etiquette and Fashion. 
 The greater part of his speech about Morality and Re 
 ligion, might be misapprehended, and I will give only one 
 passage. u The cold moonbeans of Morality may indeed 
 throw a faint light on the field of Humanity, but the sun 
 beams of Religion alone can warm and vivify the soil, 
 and call forth in beauty the plants of God. In this lower 
 world, however, by God's appointment, Moonlight must 
 ever alternate with Sunlight : that is indeed no more than 
 the reflection of this." Two or three disconnected pass-
 
 FOURTH OF JULY. 
 
 ages more and the rest of this discourse may remain in 
 its unpublished state. 
 
 " The fatal error of many men is this ; that in their pur 
 suit of knowledge they get wedded to some one of the many 
 systems with which this earth abounds ; and then the 
 question is not what is True? but, what conforms to my 
 system ? All that conforms thereto is true ; all that does 
 not is false or obscure." " By and by perhaps men will 
 learn that Truth does prevail though the self-styled 
 Champions of Truth often fail to establish their dogmas. 
 Truth is seen when the battle of Errors has ceased. Er 
 rors stand against each other, on hill-tops, fighting osten 
 sibly for Truth, which is on neither side, but dwells in 
 the quiet valley between. Amid the roar of the conflict 
 her voice is unheard, and through the smoke her form is 
 unseen. At last, however, ammunition fails, and the 
 combatants, being weary, fall asleep. When the sleepers 
 wake cool and refreshed, lo, Truth is there among them, 
 an Angel of Mercy proclaiming peace ! " 
 
 " Women, it is said, have no political rights : why 
 should they have ? No power! it said, foolishly enough : 
 cannot they wheedle and coax 1 Is there then no power 
 but such as is proclaimed in the market-place and pub 
 lished in newspapers. Love is the stillest of all powers 
 and also the greatest : without it existence were in no 
 way possible. The high and mighty ones of Earth were 
 all once hidden in the bosoms of their mothers. Did not 
 woman nurse the puny things into strength and teach 
 them the wondrous art of speech? Have women no 
 power ? Alas, for an unbelieving age, when God has be 
 come a faint tradition and miracles have ceased. The 
 good, loving mother, who has left this visible world, has 
 yet more power here than the brawling demagogue who
 
 128 
 
 PEBBLEBROOK 
 
 can carry many votes in a political election. Poor woman, 
 with thy little ambition, who sittest disconsolate beside 
 thy sleeping Infant and canst not vote ! Did She whom 
 men have named Mother of God vote?" 
 
 The conclusion of the oration was in these words. 
 " Political freedom is a thing of Time and Earth : True 
 Freedom is of Eternity and Heaven. The words which 
 this Freedom speaks shall endure. Did Martin Luther 
 or Paul of Tarsus live in political freedom or even per 
 sonal ? Far from it : The latter bore visible chains : both 
 were compassed about by the powers of Church and 
 State, and threatened with dungeons and Death. Yet the 
 Free Soul that was in them spoke out the Truth ; and we, 
 the little men of this day profit by it." 
 
 The oration over, another anthem sung, and the bless 
 ing pronounced, the living mass poured itself out, in many 
 colored streams, through the three doors of the church 
 into the open air : the darker part gathered itself into 
 form again and marched to sound of drum and fife 
 along the broad highway ; while the lighter colored 
 spread in all directions through by-ways and over fields. 
 The old church stood there quite passive with a stupid 
 look of unconcern. 
 
 We, of the procession, marched straight toward the 
 common, and, as we approached the tent, could see men 
 and boys with smoking baskets enter it ; for the meats 
 had been cooked in many houses. We were obliged to 
 halt in front of the tent, and wait awhile, till all within 
 was in order : there were impatient looks and utterances ; 
 for it was now three o'clock, and the usual dinner hour of 
 the villagers is at high noon : they were eager for food. 
 
 I shall not attempt to describe this feast : my recollec 
 tion of the first hour passed at table is tolerably distinct.
 
 FOURTH OF JULY. 129 
 
 Soon as the clergyman had said grace, there was a great 
 clattering of knives and forks on plates ; followed by a 
 hum of many voices. When this great business of eating 
 ceased, the regular toasts were announced : speeches and 
 songs followed, and the company grew noisy: there was 
 clapping of hands and huzzas. I drank glass after glass 
 of wine, got into high glee, and said witty things, or 
 things that passed for such. I laughed, talked, smoked, 
 and drank much. The scene before me began to put on 
 a strange appearance. I saw many things, but nothing 
 distinctly. The men around seemed to rock in their 
 seats, and to be about to fall ; and; though they spoke 
 often, I could find no precise meaning in their words. 
 Are they all tipsy? I said to myself; or am I tipsy? I 
 began to feel the need of circumspection : I took myself 
 together as well as I could and was silent. I felt a half- 
 consciousness that I was in a dangerous state, and thought 
 of getting away from the place. A hand fell gently 
 on my shoulder and I heard a voice say: " Frank, it is 
 time to go." I rose with some difficulty and found my 
 arm within Uncle John's. We made our way through 
 the pine trees at the side of the tent, and walked across 
 the fields to our home. My Aunt and cousins were sit 
 ting in the doorway of their house, and I wished to speak 
 to them but dared not trust my tongue. They spoke to 
 me and I answered in the fewest possible words. Uncle 
 John said something about the fatigues of the day, and 
 invited me to go up stairs and rest with him. When I 
 was upon the bed every thing in the room seemed to be 
 in motion, and I soon lost all consciousness : How long 
 I slept I know not, but 1 had dreams, which were not 
 altogether dreams. I wandered over a sandy desert and 
 was dying of thirst. I searched long and eagerly for
 
 130 
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 water : a cool looking spring babbled up beneath my feet, 
 but when I stooped to drink, the water vanished ere my 
 lips could touch it. At last, however, after many dreams 
 of the same kind, I awoke. My mouth and throat were 
 dry and parched, and I could hardly move my tongue. 
 The moon threw a little light into the room, and I found 
 a pitcher of water on a table, of which I drank freely. I 
 returned to my bed and slept again. 
 
 -
 
 THE NEXT DAY. 131 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE NEXT DAY. 
 
 THE rising sun threw bright light on my eyelids, and I 
 awoke, thirsty and feverish. I bathed my face and head 
 in cold water, and walked out of doors. The blue Hea 
 ven was above me, and the green Earth around ; the wild 
 bee hummed as he flew from flower to flower, and merry 
 birds sang to each other in the trees ; but 1 joyed not in 
 these things. I sat down on a bank and had bitter 
 thoughts. The voice of one singing roused me from my 
 gloomy reflections ; I looked up and saw my Uncle com 
 ing across the fields. 
 
 " Good morning, Frank," he said ; " you are abroad 
 early ; but why sit moping here ? " 
 
 I told him my thoughts and feelings, my remorse for 
 the past, and my resolutions for the future. I know not 
 how it is, but of all men I can talk most freely to Uncle 
 John. He is not a saint ; he is a sinner ; but then a sin 
 ner of the right kind ; his sins are all on the outside : but 
 his goodness seems to be deep, so deep that he is uncon 
 scious of it. 
 
 " Don't be gloomy about the matter, Frank, you have 
 committed no unpardonable sin, whatever men may say 
 of it. True, it is a mortifying thing to get tipsy and act
 
 132 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 out the fool, but not quite so bad as acting the scoun 
 drel's part when sober." 
 
 " That may be very true," I replied ; " but I can 
 hardly bear to look my friends in the face after having 
 demeaned myself so." 
 
 ' Pshaw Frank, don't be foolish to-day too. Not too 
 much remorse for the past ; the thing lies there done, and 
 you cannot undo it : no resolutions for the time to come ; 
 the Future is not to be mortgaged for the redemption of 
 the Past. Pay for the Past to-day ; the quicker you pay 
 the better. The whole of morality lies in this : Do well 
 To-day. Come, go about among people, and submit 
 to the mortification your folly deserves ; perhaps it will 
 do you good, and take away a little of your self-righteous 
 ness. Come, let us go to breakfast." We entered the 
 house and took seats at table. My Aunt and cousins said 
 little, and seemed to avoid all reference to the festivities 
 of the preceding day. I felt ill at ease : but my Uncle 
 was sociable as usual, and led the conversation away to 
 safe ground. As we rose from table, he said, " I expect 
 a visitor to-day ; the Agent of an Agricultural Society : 
 I got acquainted with him yesterday at dinner, and in 
 vited him to look at my farm." 
 
 Soon after breakfast the Agent came in, and I saw my 
 old friend of the little inn, who had walked with me in 
 the procession. 
 
 " One of the pleasant things in a wandering life," he 
 said, " is the unexpected meeting with an old acquaint 
 ance : or, as in this case, with a half-acquaintance, of 
 whom one knows just enough to wish to know more : 
 I am glad to see you again." 
 
 I returned his greeting and said. ' Your frankness at 
 our first meeting has had consequences ; it has made this 
 meeting a pleasant one to me."
 
 THE NEXT BAY. 133 
 
 I told Uncle John of our previous meetings, and he, 
 with a glad look, exclaimed : " It is good ! We never 
 know what we do : cause and effect are not quite so cal 
 culable as our moralists suppose : Let them preach as 
 they may, brotherly sociability is as good as anything, 
 and Prudence is the Coward's virtue. The prudent, cau 
 tious man, dares not warm himself at the fire of Love, 
 because, forsooth, it may scorch his clothes." 
 
 The talk soon turned to agricultural matters. Uncle 
 John brought forth two folios in manuscript, saying, 
 " The first proprietor of my farm, Doctor Pike, kept an 
 agricultural journal, and enjoined on his successor to con 
 tinue it : his injunction has been pretty faithfully followed, 
 and we have here a history of this farm, and of matters 
 relating thereto, since it emerged from the wilderness. 
 I have made a summary of the whole, and this smaller 
 book contains, I ^believe, the substance of the matter." 
 They busied themselves some half-hour looking it over, 
 till the Agent said : 
 
 " Perhaps we are beginning at the wrong end of this 
 business : before we reason and draw conclusions, it were 
 well to see the thing we are reading about. Let us, if 
 you please, walk out and inspect your farm : afterward, 
 we can more profitably read and talk about its culture." 
 
 " Quite right," the other replied, " your remark, if I 
 mistake not, hits a large class of Talkers and Readers." 
 
 They went abroad, and I passed a somewhat listless fore 
 noon. I tried to read, but was out of tune and found 
 nothing interesting. My head ached, and I wished to 
 sleep but could not. 
 
 The Agent dined with us : the conversation was mostly 
 on agricultural matters, running off however at times to 
 other subjects. The diverse emyloyments of men were 
 12
 
 134 PEBBLES ROOK. 
 
 compared ; and that of cultivating our mother Earth 
 found to be most innocent, and most useful, of any whose 
 object is the support of life. 
 
 While the two men were thus extolling their own vo 
 cation, the women had chat of another kind. One of 
 my Aunt's daughters, lately married, had done the world 
 the favor to bring forth a little boy ; and thus made my 
 Aunt, grandmother, and my cousins, aunts. There was, 
 as is usual, much talk of the little one's looks, of his 
 health, and of that important thing, a name. 
 
 " What can we call him ? said Harriet, " there are 
 many pretty names, but they are all so common." 
 
 " Call him," said I, "Tom, Dick or Harry now, and 
 let him choose for himself when he gets older. It is an 
 imposition, to fasten a name on a human being without 
 his consent : he ought to be consulted about a matter so 
 important." 
 
 " Pooh! " exclaimed Amelia, " there are greater im 
 positions than that : these little things are brought into 
 existence without their consent : I think they ought to be 
 consulted about that matter too." 
 
 The Agent overheard this remark, which I believe was 
 not meant for his ear, arid laughing, said : " that is rather 
 too radical, Miss: you carry the doctrine of Free Will 
 somewhat farther than is practicable ; which, however, is 
 well enough by way of joke." 
 
 " Indeed," he continued, " there is much grave non 
 sense current on this matter of Free Will ; and grave 
 nonsense is, as I think, the worst kind. We are not 
 quite so free as some moralists assert. In one most im 
 portant event, that of coming into this world, we have no 
 will ; and in another, that of going out of it, we are by 
 no means free : in truth, the man who, in this last event
 
 THE NEXT DAY. loO 
 
 exerts free will, is said to be insane. Are the children of 
 Poverty and Ignorance as free to choose and take a re 
 spectable rank in society, as those are whose lot is cast in 
 pleasant places ? " 
 
 " Free Will and Necessity," said Uncle John, " can 
 not be explained ; and one must almost weep over the 
 condemnations, which the self-righteous utter against 
 their fellow-creatures. On the whole, I am glad that 
 there are things in this existence which cannot be under 
 stood and explained; for so only is Faith necessary; Faith 
 in Higher Powers. A neighbor came in to ask my 
 Uncle's assistance in planning a barn he was about to 
 build, and our little party broke up. Toward night, how 
 ever, we got together again, and some half dozen visitors 
 joined us : there were the minister and his wife, the law 
 yer, a zealous temperance man, and an old farmer. The 
 conversation, after running in one direction and another, 
 fixed at last, little to my satisfaction, on the Temperance 
 question. I got a seat near my cousins, and kept still. 
 
 As this question has been discussed of late, in all news 
 papers and public places, as well as in private circles, I 
 shall not detail the conversation here. The oration of 
 the preceding day was mentioned ; not kf terms of 
 commendation. After the visitors departed, the Agent 
 who was to pass the night with us, said : " The thoughts 
 of many men seem to run straight, as along a turnpike 
 road, toward some market-place ; one always knows 
 whither they are bound: the minister seemed to have 
 an over-load of morality." " Well," said my Aunt, 
 " he always does seem to be over-loaded with something ; 
 he has so much good to do, no wonder he is anxious : 
 and his wife, who used to be such a merry girl, goes
 
 136 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 round now, and talks seriously to all the women and 
 children : they have a great deal to do." 
 
 My Uncle said to the Agent. "You will wrong the 
 minister, if you judge him by this evening's talk : some 
 times, when the man breaks out through the priest, you 
 would like him." 
 
 I was right glad when this day was over, and I could 
 get into my bed out of sight.
 
 SUNDAY. 137 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SUNDAY. 
 
 ONE standing in the midst of a living mass cannot, 
 properly speaking, see it, but only some insignificant por 
 tion thereof: but when one gets above it he can not only 
 see but oversee it. What is this Transcendental Philo 
 sophy so much applauded on the one hand, so much de 
 cried on the other, so much talked of every where? 
 Simply this : getting above the World and looking down 
 on it. Poetry is perhaps something more ; a voice from 
 Heaven calling on the World to rise. 
 
 This Sunday morning, good Reader, let us, in our way, 
 be transcendental if we cannot be poetic : let us ascend 
 one of the hills which encompass our Pebblebrook and 
 look down on it. How quiet it lies there below us in the 
 morning light resting after its week-day life ! Even the 
 draught-cattle shall this day put on no harness, but may 
 roam abroad over pasture-lands gathering sweet morsels. 
 Beneath those humble roofs the blessed influences of 
 domestic affections are at work ; not with loud tumult of 
 proclamation but silently, doing much. Fathers and 
 Mothers sit there with their broods of little ones. Voices 
 come up to us from the plain below ; Nature's voices . 
 the lowing of cattle which is the voice of Desire or, if 
 12*
 
 138 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 you will, of Prayer ; the cackle of barn-door fowls which 
 is the voice of Content ; the songs of many birds which 
 are the voices of Joy and Love ; the shrill cry of the 
 cock which is the voice of Triumph. See how that sil 
 ver brook runs along with fantastic curvings through the 
 deep green meadows, where many trees shake their glit 
 tering leaves in the sunshine. But, lo, now, while the 
 church steeple, with metal tongue, speaks invitingly, hun 
 dreds of apparitions come forth from their hiding-places, 
 and move across fields, and along trodden pathways, 
 toward a common point. There are Spirits in Trowsers 
 and Spirits in Petticoats mutually attractive. How 
 kind Spirit in Trowsers is to Spirit in Petticoat, re 
 moving all barriers ! She stands there in many-colored 
 dress, under canopy of green silk, while he lets down all 
 bars to her progress. I guess there is love on Earth and 
 more Spirits shall be embodied as of old. Alas ! these 
 fair forms, one by one, are vanishing : and now the old 
 Meeting-house has swallowed them all. Weep not my 
 Friend of the Upper Region, these are Spirits and cannot 
 die : they have only disappeared for a little while : by 
 and by the old Meeting-house shall disgorge them. 
 
 Mankind is a wondrous thing, not to be understood ; 
 each one of these Dwellers in Pebblebrook has self-will 
 enough, and is bent on some life-way of his own ; but 
 each one also, by bonds for the most part invisible, is 
 bound to all. Since that day when discontented Peter 
 Stout led his little troop hither to squat and tame 
 the Wilderness, all the Dwellers in Pebblebrook have, 
 every Seventh Day, without visible communication with 
 each other, started forth at the same hour and congrega 
 ted in one place ; to listen there in deepest silence to the 
 Speech of One, the ordained Speaker of the flock.
 
 S T7 N P A Y , 139 
 
 Fault-finding men may say what they will of Sunday : 
 innumerable blessings, of one kind and another, wait on 
 it ; we will mention here only one ; this, namely, the 
 blessing of Silence. For one whole hour there is Silence 
 among the Wakeful. If Speech be only silvern while 
 Silence is golden it is surely a great hour this same. 
 Yonder Windmill, which on week-days gives out so many 
 grists, does not grind To-day : it stands there just north 
 of the village common, quite idle from Saturday night to 
 Monday morning ; but, meanwhile, corn grows and ripens. 
 I would bet (if 'twere not Sunday) that in each one of 
 the many heads within that old Meeting-house some kind 
 of corn is a-growing, and that some part thereof will have 
 time to ripen before it is ground : for in each head the 
 little windmill is still. Say not, my Friend, by way of ob 
 jection, that one windmill does go there : that is the very 
 condition on which all others are still : every thing in 
 this world takes place, and keeps place, on some condi 
 tion. The Preacher who stands in that Pulpit is there 
 on some one condition, or on many : let him look to that 
 matter : it is of some moment to himself and to others. 
 
 Now while we are up here, and the Spirits below have 
 hid their bodies from our sight, let us shut our eyes on all 
 that is immediately under our nose and look abroad. 
 We will leave this little day-light and go away, on such 
 wings as we can get, toward yonder great Lamp which is 
 the Source of Light, and get into something like Eternal 
 Day. Light of heart, joyous of spirit, we are off, up, and 
 away. Now we are here which is where ? Our present 
 point of view cannot be described : it is slate of Being, 
 not a. place. Let us, however, not knowing where we are, 
 look out with our Spiritual Eye keeping our eyes of the 
 Senses close shut the while : these last are well enough
 
 140 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 for certain every-day purposes, but one who has no other 
 means of seeing is, to say the least, no Swedenborgian. 
 How that little thing called Earth whirls round and 
 round ! not precisely once in twenty-four hours, but 
 quicker or slower as you will have it ; for Time here is 
 not the same as Time there : where is Day and Night ? 
 We are almost beyond Time but can see a little of it 
 down there on that Globe ; on one side of which is com 
 ing on what the inhabitants call Night. See ! as the 
 clothed Bipeds find themselves in the shadow of their 
 Earth how they kindle tiny tapers and strive to keep 
 awake and at work : it wont do : they yawn, their eye 
 lids are heavy ; they are beginning to strip themselves 
 and creep under coverlids. I declare it is a strange 
 sight ; some millions on that side are stretched out hori 
 zontally, and, to all appearance, are quite unconscious of 
 existence : they have fallen into a mimic Death. 
 
 On the opposite side, at the same instant, the counter 
 part, as we can see, is going on. Creatures of the same 
 kind are yawning, rubbing their eyes, and trying to get 
 awake again. Strange enough : we, looking through the 
 roofs of their dwelling-places, can see them all so busy 
 making themselves fit to be seen. It is quite wonderful : 
 I don't know what to make of it ; a little while ago these 
 creatures were, so far as I could see, pretty much alike ; 
 but now when they are all dressed what a difference ! 
 That one who has put on purple robes is King, and all 
 men bend the knee to him : that one in tattered jacket is 
 Beggar, and none so poor as do him reverence. There, 
 one, who has hung silk and satins about herself is Lady : 
 and here one who wears faded cheek is Washerwoman, 
 and cannot for the life of her be aught else. Oh Outside,
 
 SUNDAY 
 
 141 
 
 Outside! thou art Prince of To-day but must vanish To 
 night. 
 
 All this I say is wonderful enough : but how much 
 more wonderful, awful, is that other sleeping and waking ; 
 that coming into Life, that going out of it. From the un 
 known depths of hidden Being comes, mysteriously, the 
 puny Infant, and waxes into Manhood : then wanes to 
 Dotage, and sinks again to that unknown infinite Deep. 
 Verily the Appearance, called an Individual, has begin 
 ning and end ; but the Reality, which is not individual, 
 has neither. 
 
 But let us descend, softly as we can, to our Pebble- 
 brook hill again ; for our business, after all upper-region 
 views, is here in the midst of Human Life : and we 
 should go aloft only, as the Mariner does, to get above 
 the fog and see how the land lies, so that we may shape 
 our course accordingly. Lo, the old meeting-house, as I 
 prophesied, (for I have seen such events before now) is 
 disgorging ; and all fields and highways are alive again. 
 These creatures, who have been quite silent an hour or 
 more, are now all chattering and flitting homeward. It 
 is high noon of day, and ruminating animals lie in shady 
 places chewing the cud. I must go down to dinner : no 
 need to complain of that. Eating is absolutely necessary : 
 it is the condition on which soul and body are kept to 
 gether : let us all submit cheerfully to Necessity and be 
 thankful for Existence even with that condition, and 
 worse, annexed to it. I must go down to dinner. 
 
 At table, Harriet asked me why 1 had not been to 
 church : said that a stranger preached : a beautiful 
 preacher, and added that she hoped he would preach 
 again in the afternoon. 
 
 I answered, that I did not go to church because I had
 
 142 PEBBLEBEOOK. 
 
 preferred a walk on the hill-side ; and then asked Amelia 
 how she had liked the minister. 
 
 " Right well " she replied " though I can remember 
 little that he said : I mean that I cannot repeat any part 
 of his sermon : but I feel that I have got something 
 good. His text was ' God is a Spirit ; and they that wor 
 ship him must worship him in Spirit and in Truth.' " 
 
 Uncle John said, " I have that same feeling about the 
 sermon. 1 do not recollect any particular passages be 
 cause I listened so intently to every part of it : the 
 whole seems to be with me ; not in the words in which it 
 was uttered, but in substance. It was not a logical ser 
 mon, addressed to the understanding ; having effect only 
 because of its skillful arrangement of words. Its truths 
 were Eternal and Universal, nowise dependent on a 
 preceding if, nor yet on arguments of any kind." 
 
 " I had almost concluded," said Amelia, " that the im- 
 pressiveness of the sermon was owing to the preacher's 
 manner. If another person had spoken this sermon, it 
 had, perhaps, been a quite different thing in effect." 
 
 " You are partly right, Amelia : I think, however, it 
 was the Man who made the words impressive, and not his 
 manner. This whole sermon, and much more, was in 
 him : it came out of him ; not out of his mouth merely, 
 nor out of his head ; but out of his heart, out of his Life. 
 A joke from a true man is of more worth than the studied 
 sermon of a false one." 
 
 " I believe that is true : " she replied : '' sometimes I 
 meet persons in society who say or do little that is re 
 markable, and yet, somehow, virtue seems to go out of 
 them ; I feel better for their presence. At other times, 
 I meet those who utter words which every body says are 
 good, and still I feel as though an evil spirit was round 
 about me. I don't know how it is."
 
 SU N D A V. 143 
 
 " Perhaps," said 1, " it is just as you say ; in the one 
 case a bad spirit is before you, and in the other, a good 
 one." 
 
 " Yes," added my Uncle, " that is it : only I would say 
 True and False, instead of good and bad." 
 
 I went to church in the afternoon desirous of hearing 
 this preacher. I was however disappointed. The minis 
 ter of Natook was in the pulpit: a young man lately or 
 dained there as Spiritual Teacher. He had come from 
 the Theological school with high reputation ; which no 
 doubt he deserved ; for his memory seemed well stored 
 with the thoughts of his teachers. How many young 
 men come from these schools mere theological dupli 
 cates 1 His sermon contained an enumeration of the at 
 tributes of God ! some statements of the advantages of a 
 good life in this present world, and much declamation 
 and logic about the rewards of the righteous, and the 
 punishments of the wicked, in another future world : in 
 short, it was a kind of Trial Balance of man's life, show 
 ing how well the moral Profit-and-Loss account of this 
 world looks with a balance on the right side, and how 
 advisable it is to get a good Contingent Fund in store 
 against Hereafter. 
 
 As we walked homeward, my Uncle said: "Well 
 Amelia you have no difficulty in recollecting this sermon 
 I suppose." 
 
 " No, I can recollect all that I heard : my thoughts 
 strayed now and then and I lost some parts." 
 
 " The sermon was itself," said I, " recollection, noth 
 ing but recollection from beginning to end." 
 
 " A synopsis of this discourse," said my Uncle, " might 
 run thus : God has certain attributes ; perfect justice,
 
 144 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 Omnipresence, Omniscience : he knows all, he can do 
 all ; and, being perfectly just, he must punish vice, and 
 reward virtue. This is done to a certain extent here on 
 Earth, therefore it is, even here, for the advantage of 
 every human being to be virtuous. But somehow it hap 
 pens that the retribution in this world is not complete : 
 the Wicked do sometimes flourish : therefore there must 
 be future rewards and punishments ; and therefore it will 
 be ultimately for the advantage of every man and woman 
 to lead a good life here below. Such means of regene 
 rating the human race must move one to laughter or to 
 tears. Much of this visible evil, about which there is so 
 much talk, seems to me to be only the manure of the 
 spiritual field." 
 
 " Don't talk so, John," said my Aunt. " Let preachers 
 do all they can, there will be sin enough in the world ; 
 and I don't believe any good can come of speaking so 
 about sin before young people." 
 
 " Why, Sister, if young folks can believe that Evil is 
 manure, and yet desire to be altogether evil, let them: 
 they will not," he continued laughing, " be altogether 
 lovely. What has become of Harriet ? " 
 
 We looked back and saw her walking with a young 
 man. " Oh, I see ; he continued, " James Brinton is 
 with her. How is it that she always walks slowly when 
 with him, and speaks in a low voice? They have turned 
 into the other path : I'll bet she'll not be at home this 
 half-hour or more." 
 
 " Hillo, Uncle John," cried a voice from a field on 
 our right. We looked in that direction and saw a young 
 man in a sailor's dress, who, placing his left hand on the 
 topmost rail of a fence, threw himself lightly over and 
 hastened toward us.
 
 SUNDAY, 
 
 145 
 
 "I declare, 'tis cousin Harry," cried Amelia. He 
 came briskly up, and when Amelia offered him her hand 
 he attempted a kiss of her lips. 
 
 " Not quite so fast, Jack Tar," she said, " we were 
 close friends once, but you have become a stranger of late, 
 and forfeited your privileges." 
 
 "Just as you like, Coz: you girls will have your 
 way. Aunt, how do you 1 As you have arrived at years 
 of discretion I hope you'll not be so shy as Miss Prim." 
 He gave the old lady a hearty kiss, and then, swinging 
 himself round, offered one hand to Uncle John and the 
 other to me. There were many inquiries on both sides, 
 and answers more or less satisfactory, till he, with a half- 
 laugh, asked : 
 
 "How is Deacon Snow, now-a-days ? " 
 
 " His daughter is pretty well ; but she is 
 
 (t I'll be damned if I care if she is." 
 
 " I was about to say," resumed Uncle John, " that she 
 is not married yet." 
 
 " It is all one to me so long as old Longface is alive. 
 Getting round him to come at his daughter is some 
 thing worse than doubling the Cape to get at spicy 
 India." 
 
 The talk ran out in all directions as is usual when old 
 friends meet after long separation. We spoke of events 
 which had occurred in Pebblebrook, and in the Harding 
 family elsewhere, during Harry's absence ; and as sad 
 things, and glad ones, floated by on the stream of Talk, 
 gaiety and seriousness alternated in the little circle. 
 We had been seated within doors an hour or more before 
 Harriet appeared. After shaking of hands, and kind in 
 quiries, she said : 
 
 13
 
 n* 
 
 146 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 " Well, how do you like the forecastle now ? Better 
 than you did on your first voyage ? " 
 
 " I've got out of that Dogs-hole," he answered, " our 
 second mate died in India, and I was promoted to fill his 
 place. If a man will take the lowest station in this world, 
 and do his duty there, he is pretty sure to rise : in fact, if 
 he go any way he must go up ; he cannot go down. One 
 stands so firmly in these low places : no danger of falling 
 when one is on the bottom." 
 
 " Why, Harry," said I, " you have become quite a phi 
 losopher, I perceive." 
 
 " Yes, having been introduced to realities. I did not 
 get much from the philosophy books in College, you 
 know." 
 
 After tea, the sailor had a little conference with the 
 girls, and they walked out together.
 
 COUSIN HABRY. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 COUSIN HA RE Y . 
 
 MY Cousin Harry, who jumped over the fence in the 
 last Chapter, and wanted to kiss Amelia, has jumped over 
 many fences and actually kissed things not quite so pure 
 as Amelia : nevertheless he is alive, and joined us, this 
 next morning at the breakfast-table, in high spirits. 
 
 The preceding evening he had, by assistance of Amelia 
 and Harriet, a meeting with the Deacon's daughter, and 
 found her kind as ever, spite of all her father's hindran 
 ces and opposition : indeed, perhaps, all the kinder for 
 that ; for Love in young hearts is like running water, 
 which may be staid awhile by some hard rock, but at last 
 it rises, over-tops the obstacle, and then rushes on its way 
 more rapidly than before. Many restraints have been 
 imposed on these young people ; nevertheless, they will 
 probably have their own way at last. 
 
 Solomon the wise man of old, said, and by means of 
 that wondrous Book, keeps saying " Train up a child 
 in the way he should go, and when he is old, he shall not 
 depart from it." All Jewrydom and Christendom have 
 echoed the saying, for it touches a matter of universal in 
 terest. Solomon had a plurality of wives, indeed a mul 
 titude of one kind and another ; surely then, much ex-
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 perience in the art of training : his words should not be 
 despised. There is, however, this most important ques 
 tion connected with Solomon's saying : What is the way 
 a child should go 1 The answer to which, is as the sound 
 from the Tower of Babel. Through all the din of words, 
 how distinctly is this one thing heard : My way is the 
 right way, My way is the right way. 
 
 Somebody said, yesterday ; No man can be sure, that 
 he has actually seen the absurdest mortal living : and I, 
 Frank Harding, say, to-day : No man can know, that 
 himself is the greatest of Ninnies. Be sure of it ! He 
 cannot even surmise it, but must rather feel quite certain, 
 that there are very many greater fools than he : so each 
 one of us walks comfortably about, and holds his head up 
 in his ignorance, which, as Sancho said of Sleep, covers 
 one all over like a cloak. Blessed be Ignorance ! It 
 has brought forth many things ; it shall bring forth many 
 more : for, in the fact that we do not know, how much lies ; 
 our Hopes, our Fears, our B'aith : much comes from Ig 
 norance. I have thought it my duty, in this excessively 
 knowing age, to pronounce a blessing on Ignorance : but 
 a blessing on Error, no man can think it his duty to pro 
 nounce ; one would rather curse it. Error lies in sup 
 posing we know when we do not know, in believing that 
 we are not ignorant. 
 
 What is the way a child should go up to manhood ? 
 No man can know, for each child is by its nature origi 
 nal ; like, yet unlike every other. Perhaps the truest 
 wisdom were to assist each one to go wisely on his own 
 way. A thing which has the principle of growth, which 
 has Life in it, must unfold itself, under more or less 
 favorable influences, in its own way. A Shantee any 
 man may build, who has fitting tools ; but a Tree which
 
 COUSIN HARKY. 149 
 
 has life, though only of the vegetable kind, no man can 
 build were he ever so skillful : much less can a Living 
 Soul be built up by man's devices. 
 
 Now my Cousin Harry's father, (whose name is Abra 
 ham,) did not ( as I think,) go wisely to work with his son. Not 
 only would he not let him him run wild, in which he was 
 partly right ; but he would not let him run at all, in which 
 he was altogether wrong. The boy should walk in life, 
 just as he, the old man, walked: and even, figuratively 
 speaking, the child should use crutches of one kind and an 
 other as he did. The boy was active, bold, full of life ; and 
 one can think how he cried out against these fetters and 
 crutches. His mother died when he was six years old. 
 Had she lived longer, it had probably been well for him, 
 for the spirit of her life was a good influence around him, 
 and he lived in it, as a plant lives in pure air, imbibing 
 nourishment; unconsciously. But she could not live longer ; 
 she was called and must go, leaving this boy to fare as he 
 could. He did not fare very well, and the day on which 
 he left his home to enter College, was a joyful one. That 
 too-strict home was as a prison-house, from which he 
 bounded away all unused to freedom, and so all unfitted 
 for it. Harry led a wild life in College : he was censured 
 by his guardians there, and scolded by his father. He 
 broke out at last into open rebellion ; cast off all fetters, 
 leaped all fences, and like a young colt ran loose in the 
 wilderness of life. Soon, however, he found himself in 
 want of provender, and began to look about him, and 
 think (being a two-legged human colt,) of ways and 
 means. This wild young man could not steal ; he was, 
 though not very respectable, mainly honest, and would 
 earn his living : he entered a merchant ship as common 
 sailor. Here one may remark a curious fact, certainly an 
 13*
 
 PEBBLES ROOK. 
 
 instructive one ; this, namely ; that even the wildest man 
 will submit to restraints, provided they be of his own 
 choosing. Such restraints, of one's own choosing, are 
 ever beneficial, and such every man must have. So this 
 young man, whose whole life had been a struggle for 
 freedom, now, when freed from fetters which others im 
 pose, submitted cheerfully to the arbitrary powers which 
 rule a ship. Since that day, his way in life has been a 
 plainer one, and he is going onward to some end ; most 
 likely to the right one for him. 
 
 Before he left the breakfast table, my Aunt asked him, 
 if he had seen his father since he came on shore? "Yes," 
 he replied, " I staid a week with him : we are pretty good 
 friends now ; indeed, I believe father meant well enough 
 all along ; but I had a Devil in me, and in short, father 
 and I couldn't agree : our agreement now, is only to 
 disagree peaceably." 
 
 "But how did you get together?" I asked. "Oh 
 very much as two ships at sea meet in time of war. When 
 we came in sight of each other, there was some reco- 
 noitering on both sides ; for a long time no shewing of 
 colors ; at last each discovered that the other was not 
 armed for battle, and then we hove-to and exchanged a 
 kind of gruff civility." 
 
 " I have heard, Harry," said one of the girls, " that 
 when ships stop at sea in that way, one of the two is 
 usually in want of provisions was that your case? " 
 
 " Not at all, Miss Pert ; though I believe father thought 
 so, for before I left him, he offered assistance. I said, 
 ' No, I can victual my own ship at present.' But by 
 Heaven, it made my heart leap to him, when he shewed 
 such kindness. I shall not forget it soon."
 
 COUSIN HARRY. 151 
 
 " Why not," said I, " why not stay at home now ? 
 Your father is rich, and there is no need of wearing your 
 life out on the Ocean." 
 
 " I'll tell you why not, Frank ; there is something in 
 me call it pride if you will j but something that forces 
 me to keep on, and shew my father and others, that 1 
 can make my own way in the world, and go through with 
 out their assistance." 
 
 Uncle John laughed, and said, " So, you scape-grace, 
 you have a mind to be a preacher, I see : but you will 
 preach in deed, and on such sermons all others are found 
 ed ; or should be." 
 
 We rose from table, and the busy ones went their sev 
 eral ways. Harry and I had to devise means of spend 
 ing the day ; for, unfortunately, we had no work to per 
 form; I have often felt the misery of not knowing what 
 to do with myself, of having 1 no object before me, and am 
 certain that no men on earth are so wretched as men of 
 leisure. See one of these rise in the morning : it is a 
 pleasant day ; shall he walk, or ride? Shall he visit 
 this place of amusement or that ? How shall he squan 
 der this pleasant day ? With good powers of digesting 
 victuals, a man of leisure may endure much, if the 
 weather be pleasant ; but if it be not Oh, horrible \ 
 
 Fortunately, the sailor had not been long on shore, and 
 so had not become weary of doing nothing : he was, 
 moreover, not of the kind who eat into themselves 
 
 " for lack 
 
 Of something else to hew and hack," 
 
 and he proposed a ride. We were soon mounted and 
 rode away toward the hills. On the outskirts of the vil 
 lage we met a Pedlar, with a dirty looking one-horse 
 wagon. The Pedlar himself, rather shabbily dressed in
 
 152 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 second-hand clothes, with a yellow cravat, sat on the 
 front of his covered wagon. Over his head, supported 
 by a slender frame-work, was a well polished mahogany 
 sign-board, on which, in letters of gold, were these words : 
 " Splendid New Goods Received This Morning," and on 
 the back of his wagon, as we noticed afterwards, was 
 another inscription, " Auction Goods, Cheap For Cash." 
 
 We drew rein, and the sailor called on him to " heave- 
 to." He obeyed, nothing loth, being ready for trade. 
 We rummaged among his store of showy, flimsy, tinsel 
 articles, and found some India Goods of the poorest kind. 
 Among the best, however, were some fans, and Harry 
 asked the price. The Pedlar named it, and asserted, that 
 it was less than the first cost in India. The other laughed 
 aloud, and the Pedlar said, " What I tell you is true ; my 
 goods were bought at auction. I would'nt tell a lie for 
 five hundred dollars." 
 
 " Oh, most exorbitant man," cried Harry, " five hun- 
 dred dollars for a lie ! I will tell scores of lies for two hun 
 dred and fifty dollars a-piece : I wish I could have that 
 price for all I have told how rich I would be! 
 Splendid new goods received this morning I Where, in 
 the Devil's name did you get goods this morning ? " 
 
 The Pedlar seemed somewhat crest-fallen, and mut 
 tered something about having put the sign up some days 
 ago. Harry took two or three articles, and when he paid 
 for them, said: "Ask what you please for your goods, 
 and say, if you will, the price is less than cost ; but don't 
 affirm that you will not tell a lie for five hundred dollars : 
 that is too tough : the world is wiser than it was when 
 you were a boy." 
 
 We rode on our way, talking of the many kinds of 
 cheating : the sailor said things about professions of mo-
 
 COUSIN HARRY. 153 
 
 rality and religion, which 1, in the present sickly state of 
 society, do not care to repeat. We ascended the hill by 
 a road winding round it, in what Harry called cork-screw 
 fashion : and, when near its summit, we turned off into a 
 foot-path, which led us to a pleasant little water-fall. We 
 dismounted and seated ourselves at its foot. The sound 
 of falling water, and of wind among trees, mingling har 
 moniously, is a great one ; solemn, yet cheerful and in- 
 spirating. How the vast forest heaves to and fro and seems 
 to be alive, every leaf trembling. Truly Nature is alive. 
 There is the wide-spread, unceasing circulation of waters, 
 and the breath of winds, and the ever-heaving Ocean. 
 Over head white-looking clouds chase each other across 
 the blue firmament, and from above the Eternal Sun looks 
 down, and the light of his countenance illumines the 
 Earth. When this near Sun, which is the light of this 
 little Day of Life, is withdrawn, lo, a thousand Suns ! 
 Verily there are more things in Heaven and Earth than ' 
 we dream of. This Earth, too, which we trample care 
 lessly under foot, buds and sprouts and makes itself green ; 
 it blossoms and yields fruit ; and then it withers, fades, 
 decays : and this we call Death ; but what is Death? 
 
 " This place," I said to my companion, " is well known 
 to me : it seems but yesterday that I was here before, so 
 little is it changed ; yet it is some twenty years since. One 
 summer-day I came hither with a little party, and while 
 my companions were bathing in the basin at the foot of 
 the fall, I clambered up on this side holding by the bushes, 
 but finding little foot-hold. When near the top, where 
 as you see there is no vegetation, a point of rock, on 
 which I had placed my foot, gave way ; but I held by my 
 hands to a little projection above. I thought of a fall and 
 looked downward : the view frightened me ; my hold re-
 
 154 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 laxed and I fell. I came rolling and plunging among 
 those bushes, catching by one hand and another, but as 
 often loosing hold. I reached the bottom insensible ; was 
 taken up by my companions who brought water, bathed 
 my face and head, and I partly recovered my conscious 
 ness. I was placed in a wagon and carried home, where 
 I remained many days in a dangerous state ; but, as you 
 see, I did not die. The boys bathing stood frightened at 
 my ascent, more so at my descent, and thought themselves 
 safe ; but they caught cold ; two had fevers, and one died. 
 We talk much about danger and safety, but know very 
 little. It was said that I came near losing my life 
 that day : it is however certain that I am nearer lossing 
 it now." Harry looked round, and then at me. " 1 
 mean that I am nearer death to-day by twenty-five years 
 than I was that day. I have however been less dis 
 posed to climb since." 
 
 " Every man," said Harry, " is afraid of something : I 
 am afraid to bathe m salt water. Some two years ago, 
 when on the coast of Africa, I was bathing one Sunday 
 with three of the ship's crew ; the mate, who had advised 
 us not to go into the water, stood in the main shrouds. 
 Two of the bathers had returned to the ship and were in 
 the boat alongside dressing, when the mate cried : ' look 
 out there ! a shark, a shark !' I struck out for the ship 
 which was some sixty yards distant : the other sailor was 
 about eight or ten feet on my right. My feelings were 
 horrible ; and though I knew my life depended on swim 
 ming vigorously forward, yet I felt an irresistible desire to 
 look behind me. I turned my head partly round, but 
 there was a cry from the ship, ' don't look, strike out, strike 
 out; swim away.' I did so, swimming with all my might. 
 Presently the mate cried out ' God ! he has got him.' At
 
 COUSIN HARRY. 155 
 
 that moment I felt as though severed in two, and my 
 lower limbs dropped powerless. In an instant, however, 
 strength came again, and I turned my head toward my 
 companion : he was striking convulsively with his hands 
 upon the water, and his face Good God, I shall never 
 forget that look. I turned shuddering away and kept on 
 my course. The two sailors in the boat had pushed off 
 from the ship and soon took me from the water. We 
 looked round for our shipmate : his blood colored the wa 
 ter but he had disappeared. Since that day I have seldom 
 bathed in the sea ; indeed, never except in places deemed 
 safe. One would be willing to be drowned, or even to be 
 shot, but to be bitten in two by a shark is dreadful." 
 
 I agreed with him that it is desirable to die in a common 
 decent way, and the talk rambled to various matters. 
 Two birds in some bushes near us hopped about and sang 
 sweet songs. I asked Harry if his walk the preceding 
 evening had been a pleasant one. He answered in the 
 affirmative ; and went on telling me how kind Amelia had 
 been in assisting him to an interview with the Deacon's 
 daughter. 
 
 " Yes," I said, " she is a good girl ; her wish is always 
 to gratify the wishes of others. The strange thing is that 
 she will help others forward on a way which is not her 
 Own. I have been sometimes astonished, often amused 
 by her doings. Such books as one wants she will get for 
 him even though they be not such as she likes : she came 
 home a few days since with a volume of Sermons, and a 
 work of Voltaire's ; the one for Uncle John and the other 
 for her mother ; and so is it with the pursuits and wishes 
 of all around her ; she will help each one on his way, pro 
 vided it be not a disgusting way : yet she has her own be 
 lief in regard to all things, and does not hesitate to ex-
 
 156 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 press it when called to do so. She has, however, some 
 faults " 
 
 " The Devil take her faults," cried Harry, " I don't 
 want to hear about them : You mean, I suppose, that 
 she does some things which you do not approve of, and I 
 am glad of it. I don't like people who are quite faultless ; 
 they are too often lifeless." 
 
 I looked at my watch and said, but I cannot believe 
 it to be my duty to print all the talk uttered by myself 
 and others during this visit to Pebblebrook. 
 
 Chief Justice Marshall, a much-enduring man, once 
 felt himself constrained to say to an advocate at the bar, 
 " Sir, there are some things which this Court may be sup 
 posed to know." Now did the Members of the Harding 
 family go about stark naked, or even button their coats 
 behind ; did they live without eating, or even eat by 
 proxy ; I should think it my duty to mention such facts : 
 but the family is meat-eating, liquor-drinking, clothes- 
 wearing like other families ; and, with a conscience void 
 of offence, I, for the most part, abstain from speaking of 
 many particulars included under these most prolific 
 heads. One fact, however a most remarkable one 
 I do think it my duty to publish ; this, namely : Uncle 
 John often walks the streets in broad daylight with a 
 patch on his coat over the elbow, apparently unconscious 
 of degradation. 
 
 When we rode toward home, we espied the Pedlar's 
 wagon in front of a neighbor's house and two women 
 looking at its contents. Harry dismounted, and spring 
 ing upon the front seat, wrote something with his pencil 
 on the signboard. " There," he said to the Pedlar, "now 
 you can swear that your sign-board tells truth, and no 
 body can contradict you ; see, there is a date : now it
 
 COUSIN HARRY. Io7 
 
 reads very well : " Splendid new goods received this morn 
 ing, July 5th." One of the women said she could not see 
 the date. " So much the better," said Harry, "I have put 
 it there not for your benefit, but for this honest man's, who 
 can now ride about the country with a clear conscience." 
 The Pedlar looked vexed, and seemed somewhat relieved 
 when Harry re-mounted, and we rode away. 
 
 14
 
 ? S 3 3 1 I 3 1 : : i 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 jarff 
 
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 IT. She 
 
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 ri* 
 sd. anife sni ID 
 
 
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 " :. ' - 
 
 I rf he wirii 
 *e Mfti*flto*i 
 
 We 
 
 1 "~fflt tD 
 
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 A TI1IT TO 
 
 ---
 
 160 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 ble with their guests, but the effort was evident, and there 
 was little free-flowing talk. We did not sit long at table ; 
 when we rose to depart, Uncle John took his sister's 
 hand and said ; " Mary, I hope to hear to-morrow that 
 your boy is better : " She could make no reply, and we 
 took leave. 
 
 On our way to the tavern we met the person with 
 whom Uncle John's business had been. This man is one 
 of those who can never get done with a business, but must 
 talk it over and over, even after it is concluded. Uncle 
 escaped from him soon as he could, but when we got to the 
 tavern the sun had set. Some half-dozen men were there 
 talking with much animation about an Itinerant Preach 
 er. One praised him beyond measure, and others abused 
 him. We had heard in Pebblebrook of this Preacher, 
 and of the wonderful impression his preaching had made 
 on many hearers. After some inquiry, we learned that 
 he had been in Natook ten days, had preached every eve 
 ning, and would preach again to-night: Harry and I 
 wished to hear him, and asked Uncle John to go with us. 
 He consented ; though he said we should not get home 
 till late in the night if we spent another hour here. We 
 walked toward the place of meeting, which was a dancing- 
 hall. The room, when we entered it, was dimly lighted, 
 and nearly filled with human beings of diverse ages, from 
 the roguish, thoughtless boy, to the tottering old man ; 
 from the lively, hopeful maiden to the careful matron ; all 
 seated on rude benches placed in rows across the long 
 hall. There was a confused sound of many whispering ; 
 and at times the light laughter of boys, whose mirthful- 
 ness could not be entirely suppressed, came on the ear in 
 clearer tones. When the Preacher entered, forcing his way 
 through the crowd at the door, there was a murmur ; " he
 
 A VISIT TO NATOOK. 161 
 
 is coming, he is coming ; " and all eyes turned toward a 
 dark-looking man in gray clothes, and followed him to 
 the upper end of the room ; where a Bible and hymn- 
 book lay on a small table. He quickly threw off his coat 
 and kneeling down said ; " let us pray." Many in the 
 congregation took the same posture ; some rose on their 
 feet, and a few kept their seats. These positions were, 
 perhaps, indicative of the various states of feeling. The 
 kneeling ones were prepared to go all lengths with their 
 leader ; those on their feet were those whom the preacher 
 afterwards designated as the World's people, and the 
 seated ones were fearful and undecided. No part of the 
 awful prayer which followed need be repeated here ; it 
 ought not; it was very effective there, but would, if 
 placed here, excite ridicule in many readers. There 
 were deep groans from many ; cries of " Amen," " Glo 
 ry to God," from others, and a diversity of feeling 
 and demeanor which rendered that dancing-hall an ex 
 citing place. A hymn, sung in a plaintive, mournful 
 tune by many voices, followed the prayer, and seemed to 
 soften and harmonize the feelings of the assembly. In 
 the melody of many human voices joined, is a uniting 
 power beyond that of any other sound. Then came the 
 sermon. The Preacher, a man of great physical powers, 
 had features which commanded attention : he had deep- 
 seated black eyes, long thick hair and pale dark complex 
 ion. His voice had great compass; now roaring like 
 the sea on its shores, and now soft as the whispering 
 of wind among trees. He turned rapidly from side to 
 side, his long hair streaming out as he turned ; and his 
 eyes were like balls of fire. The lofty poetry of the He 
 brews, as found in the Old Testament, flowed from him 
 mingled with the commonest of modern expressions ; but 
 14*
 
 lOV! fEBBLEBBOOK. 
 
 even to these last his wild earnestness gave a kind of ele 
 vation. Many of his utterances were awful though 
 vague ; more awful because of their vagueness : and ma 
 ny of his hearers shrunk, shuddering, back from the 
 frightful abyss which seemed yawning beneath them. 
 The effect was great but almost wholly sensual : The 
 Preacher stood there, like the inquisitors of old, pointing 
 the mind's eye, as they did the body's, to dark dungeons 
 of torture and torment ; and many, in the language of the 
 sect, were convicted and converted. A young woman, 
 seated beside Uncle John and known to him, began to 
 sob. He whispered her to go with him and she assented. 
 They rose and moved toward the door. The Preacher, 
 whose quick eye had detected the impression he had 
 made on the young woman, paused in his outpourings, 
 and cried out : " Stay, man of the World ! leave this 
 lamb which is about to be gathered to the fold of Jesus : 
 lead icer not again to the troop of the Devil." Uncle 
 Johr- turned round and said sternly, " Peace, man ; thy 
 words are lost on me." Then, turning again to the 
 trembling one at his side, he spake a word of encourage 
 ment and led her into the open air. Soon he returned 
 and s,ood near the door till the sermon ended. Another 
 hyroa followed ; the verses sung by few voices, but many 
 joining in the triumphant chorus ; and then the congre 
 gation poured itself out of doors and scattered itself 
 abroad. 
 
 On our way home the conversation ran on what we 
 bad seen and heard. I said that I had been somewhat 
 affected, and did not think it strange that so many yielded 
 themselves up to their feelings. 
 
 " Truly, " said Uncle John, it is not strange. That 
 Preacher is no common man, he has wonderful powers
 
 A VISIT TO 21ATOOK. 163 
 
 and is in earnest. Few years ago, as I. have heard, he 
 was a common sailor, a Man-of-war's man : a bold, brave 
 man no doubt, in that business as in this ; always fore 
 most in danger ; uttering in one way and another all that 
 is in him. When such a man speaks, he will be heard 
 for good or evil, and his hearers will not fall asleep." _ 
 
 " There is," I said, " something inexplicable in the 
 feelings which possess one, in such an assemblage as we 
 have been in to-night. The feeling of the audience is so 
 general, so powerful, that one seems about to lose his 
 individuality, about to melt, and mingle with the whole. 
 I confess I had to take myself together." 
 
 ** No wonder : " he replied, " the power which man has 
 over man is indeed wonderful, miraculous : it is exercised 
 however, oftener than we think. Enter a room where all 
 are sorrowful, weeping ; or all are joyous, laughing ; and 
 you shall partake of the general feeling, though you know 
 not its cause. So too, in the solemn hush of expectation, 
 when a multitude stands as one man, the new comer shall 
 be silent, waiting he knows not for what, and shall feel 
 awe-struck- The difficult part of these religious revivals, 
 as they are called, is the beginning, the producing this 
 state of feeling. After one conviction and conversion 
 others become easy ; for there is then an expectation of 
 more, a kind of faith ; and faith of every kind has results." 
 
 I made some hasty remarks on what I had seen and 
 heard this evening, which I would rather not record here. 
 
 Uncle John replied : 
 
 " DoiTt be harsh in your judgments, Frank : contempt 
 is for the most part contemptible. Seeing, that man 
 has miraculous power over bis fellow-men, I think each 
 one should look to himself, and see how it is, so far as he 
 can. Much is said on all hands of the miracles record-
 
 164 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 ed in our Bible : some believe, some disbelieve the rec 
 ord ; many doubt. Meanwhile, there is one incontestible 
 miracle, of more significance than any recorded there : 
 a man lived eighteen hundred years ago, a poor, despised 
 man, whom the great ones of that day scorned. Never 
 theless, he had power to live a Life; and by virtue of that 
 Life Christianity exists yet in the hearts and lives of men, 
 and must ever exist there." 
 
 One of Uncle John's peculiarities shewed itself here, 
 as I had often noticed it before : namely, that immediate 
 ly after a serious, solemn utterance, he soon as possible 
 changes the conversation to some indifferent matter. 
 Now he noticed the weather and said, we should have 
 rain soon. The night was indeed dark ; not a star visi 
 ble. Harry, (on the front seat of the wagon,) who had 
 undertaken to drive homeward, said he could not see the 
 road. Soon the way became so steep, that the horse 
 stopped, unable to move with his load. " Why, Harry," 
 cried my Uncle, " What a mistake you have made ! You 
 have taken the wrong road ; you should have turned to 
 the right, sometime ago." We got out of the wagon, 
 and, having ascertained that it would be difficult to turn 
 about here, concluded we had best keep on this way, 
 though as the road had not been used for many years, 
 we anticipated trouble. Harry led the horse ; Uncle and 
 I walked ahead, to find out the way. After a while we 
 got to the top of the hill ; but here we lost all trace of a 
 carriage-way : after much turning about, and many move 
 ments this way and that, the wagon stuck fast between 
 two trees : we could move it neither forwards nor back 
 wards. 
 
 " There is no very pleasant prospect before us, for this 
 night at least," said I.
 
 A VISIT TO NATOOK. 165 
 
 " Plensant prospect ! " cried Henry, " there is no pros 
 pect at all : I cannot see my hand before me." I know 
 not how it was, but the ludicrousness of our situation 
 so struck me, that I burst out into a fit of laughter : 
 Uncle John and Harry joined in, and, in the still night, 
 we made the woods vocal with strange sounds. 
 
 We unharnessed the horse, fastened him to a tree, and 
 seated, ourselves in the wagon to wait for dawn of day, 
 which might be looked for in some three hours ; it being 
 now, as we computed, past midnight. We chatted to 
 gether, cheerfully as we could, till thunder, far off, began 
 to rumble and mutter, threatening a tempest. Harry 
 jumped out of the wagon, said he would explore the re 
 gion round about, and, if possible, find shelter. Uncle 
 John strove to dissuade him, said it would prove a use 
 less attempt, and that he might lose himself, or break his 
 neck. But he, repeating that good old saying : " there 
 is nothing like trying," started off on his exploring ex 
 pedition. We called to him often : he answered, now 
 afar off, now nearer, now more distant again. The thun 
 der advanced, roaring louder and louder, as the clouds 
 came on ; and pale red light flashed through the forest* 
 lighting it up, as with the glare of a conflagration ; re 
 vealing, for an instant, frightful forms, and then all was 
 darker than before. Harry called out, " I've found it : 
 here it is, come, come here " I started off in the direc 
 tion of his voice, Uncle John saying, he would stay by 
 the wagon, so that we might not lose that. I called often 
 to Harry : he answered, and at last I joined him. " What 
 is it ? " I asked. 
 
 " So far as I can find it out, it is a hut or cabin : at any 
 rate it is wooden and has an inside." He struck his fist 
 upon it and it gave out a hollow sound. We moved our
 
 166 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 hands over its sides all around and found a door. There 
 was nothing within it except some straw on the floor : it 
 had probably been erected by wood-cutters. I called 
 Uncle John and he joined us. We were thankful for this 
 shelter, for rain now came down in no stinted measure, 
 and there was a fearful thundering overhead : it seemed, 
 indeed, on this hill-top, to be all around us. The light 
 ning-flashes shewed to each the faces of his companions, 
 which, in such light, had a death-like look not altogether 
 pleasing. 
 
 The tempest passed over, and stars peeped out through 
 the broken clouds : soon the gray dawn of day gladdened 
 us, and we went abroad. Harry was not a little startled 
 when he saw in open daylight, the region he had wan 
 dered over in darkness : few paces from the hut was an 
 awful precipice. He stood on its brink and looked 
 thoughtfully downward : then turning away, said : "You 
 were right last night, Uncle ; I did run some risk of 
 breaking my neck ; but then, if I had not run that risk 
 we should all have been well drenched, and perhaps got 
 colds. I think the Dutchman, De Witt, was half right 
 in his saying : ' We should be careful of health, but 
 careless of life.' " Uncle John replied, ' A wiser man 
 than De Witt, says, that ' Our reasons are always a sup 
 plement to our practice : ' and as we are quite satisfied 
 with the results of your last night's doings, you need 
 not trouble yourself to justify them." 
 
 " Harry," said I, " let us hear your reasons for taking 
 the wrong road." 
 
 " Well, there was such an interesting conversation 
 going on behind me, that my attention was drawn from 
 the business in hand."
 
 A VISIT TO NATOOK. 167 
 
 Soon we found the road ; disengaged with some diffi 
 culty our wagon from its sticking place ; got under way, 
 and descended the hill on the Pebblebrook side. The 
 road was bad enough, and we were obliged to walk be 
 side the wagon ; but by the blessed light of day we got 
 along pretty well. Pebblebrook lay there below us, out 
 of sight, veiled in a robe of mist : but as we descended, 
 the veil, by an unseen hand, was rolled in large folds on 
 the hill sides ; soon each little hamlet stood revealed in 
 the morning sunlight, and from each chimney, rose the 
 smoke of incense to the God of Day.
 
 168 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BROTHER WILLIAM. 
 
 WHILE in Pebblebrook, a letter came to me from my 
 Brother William ; which, after some consideration, I have 
 determined to place here. The beginning and end, being 
 unessential parts, I shall omit : the main body of it ran 
 as follows. 
 
 " My spiritual experience has, of late, been very re 
 markable ; and will, I doubt not, be interesting to you. 
 You know, that I have long been ill at ease, but, perhaps, 
 you are not aware of the extent of my sufferings. The 
 business I seemed destined to follow has long been, as 
 you partly know, quite repugnant to my feelings, and has 
 lately become altogether hateful to me : yet what could I 
 do ? I had studied years to fit myself for this end, and 
 I could look for wealth and fame in no other course with 
 so much certainty as in this. I well remember my feel 
 ings when admitted to the Bar. The long course of law 
 reading, so dry and barren in itself, I had endured be 
 cause of its results: it was finished ; and 1 looked for 
 ward to pleadings before judge and jury, to a crowded 
 audience and to splendid triumphs. Beyond that, I saw 
 halls of legislation, and the highest public offices in the
 
 BROTHER WILLIAM. 169 
 
 land ; and dreamed of much. With these hopes of wealth 
 and fame I commenced the practice ofl aw. How bitter 
 was my disappointment ! You probably recollect, what 
 I said to you some years ago, and also the counsel you 
 gave me. This last was all in vain ; it had been perhaps 
 useful to another, but it was not so to me : I could not 
 find heart for this law work. I slowly gave up my busi 
 ness ; or rather it left me, and went to other hands which 
 were ready for it. Last spring, when I took this small 
 house in the country, and brought my family hither, I be 
 gan to labor with my own hands on the soil around it, and 
 found some peace of mind ; for I could see that I was 
 doing innocent work. Still, at times, longings would arise 
 within me for a higher sphere of action : but these long 
 ings arose mostly in idle hours, and served only to disquiet 
 me. After a time passed in alternations of rest and un 
 rest, I thought I had conquered ; but I was wrong ; it 
 was only the absence of temptation that gave me peace. 
 One of my friends wrote to me, offering to form a part 
 nership ; and he invited me to visit him and arrange mat 
 ters. Desires, which I had thought dead, awoke within 
 me with renewed strength ; for they had only slept. I 
 consulted my wife : she knew my state of mind so far 
 as one human being can know that of another ; she 
 knew, in part, of my aversion to this law business. In 
 her nobleness of soul, she said, she would have me do 
 only what T thought right : she would rather be poor than 
 that I should be wretched. Her generosity moved me, for I 
 knew that she wanted many things, which my circumstan 
 ces could not afford. 
 
 " I rode to the city, and entered the office of my rich 
 friend. He made a statement of the profits of his busi 
 ness ; said, that he wished to have more leisure time, and 
 15
 
 170 PEBBLEBEOOK. 
 
 should probably, in few years, give up the whole to me. 
 I listened to all his details : there was an apparent cer 
 tainty of wealth for me, but I felt my old repugnance to 
 the means of returning. I hesitated, and told him I would 
 decide on the morrow. That night I could not sleep : 
 the strife in my bosom would not cease. After daylight, 
 however, I fell into a deep slumber ; and woke not till 
 the sun was high in the heavens. I looked out into the 
 busy streets and saw men walking to and fro, and said, 
 why cannot I too run to and fro and get much 1 I stood 
 some half hour there in a painful state of indecision, and 
 I know not what fixed my course ; but there came over 
 my mind, as it were, a great calm. I went to my friend's 
 office and told him that 1 could not accept his offer : if 
 I did so, it would result in no good to either of us. He 
 asked me what I intended to do ? And I replied, that 
 I did not know. I believe he thought me crazy, though he 
 did not say so. I returned home with no plan for the 
 future, but quite satisfied that I had done right for the 
 present. 
 
 " I should have told you before, that sometime ago a 
 book fell into my hands, which has had much effect on 
 me. It is a strange book : but I can give you no idea of 
 it within the limits of this letter, which is like to be full 
 enough of other matters : you shall read it for yourself if 
 you will. It led me to think much of Time and Eterni 
 ty : it did not explain to me the matters it treats of, but 
 rather opened my own soul, and thus made to me a reve 
 lation of the Infinite. I turned at last to the New Testa 
 ment, which I had long neglected. I read it now in a free 
 spirit, but with a deep desire to learn the truth. Such 
 parts, therefore, as seemed dark to me, or even untrue, 1 
 did not dwell upon. I read attentively, earnestly, all that
 
 B RO T HER W IL L IAM. 171 
 
 relates to the Saviour's character, and felt the Spirit of 
 his Life. I learned this truth : that were such a one as 
 He, that is, one filled with the same Spirit, in the body 
 now, he would not be recognised as the Highest. Some 
 of the denunciations of Jesus are terrible: but what did 
 he denounce, what did he utterly and always condemn 1 
 Much might be said on this matter ; but each one must 
 search for himself. 
 
 " I was all this time, as you may well believe, not quite 
 at ease in regard to other things beside these highest. I 
 had to provide for myself and family the necessaries of 
 life, and wished to get also something more, and must 
 consider how it could be done : this gave me many anx 
 ious hours. 
 
 One day I was clipping grass on the embankments 
 around my house, and thinking of this wondrous life of 
 ours and its meaning. I determined to strive no more 
 for any merely selfish end : in my inmost soul, in deepest 
 silence, I said : not my Will, but Thine be done : and felt 
 an entire willingness to submit my poor self to the Eter 
 nal and Universal One. Straightway the Spirit seemed 
 to fill me, and raise me above the Earth : I became buoy 
 ant as with Eternal Life. Words cannot describe this 
 Presence and its blessedness. I said to myself in the 
 language of the Methodists, " I've got Religion." Soon 
 I asked, (clipping grass the while,) what am I? And 
 answered, I am a barber, shaving Nature's face with 
 out lather. 
 
 " I have hesitated about telling you the whole of this 
 singular event, for it may seem to you ridiculous, if not 
 impious ; nevertheless, it was so as I have described it ; 
 and if any part should be told, why not the whole ? It is 
 now a fortnight since that day, and I never think of it
 
 172 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 without inward mirth. I am cheerful, joyous ; and hope 
 soon to see my way in this world made clear to me." 
 
 I read this letter to my Uncle, who listened attentive 
 ly, and kept silence some minutes after I had ended till 
 I asked what he thought of it ? 
 
 " That was a strange event ; " he said in reply, " that 
 one when he was clipping grass. Such union of things 
 serious and things humorous, is uncommon enough, but 
 it is perhaps a happy union : it will, in William's case, I 
 hope, prevent the growth of spiritual pride, which such 
 an hour might otherwise engender ; and spiritual pride 
 is no good thing. Many a man promising to become a 
 great and shining light, through spiritual pride raises the 
 wick of his lamp too high, so that smoke, mingling with 
 the flame, makes the light lurid, and surrounding at 
 mosphere offensive : such light, as we all know, is not 
 the best." 
 
 " You think, then, that William is on a good way. 
 I am glad he is cheerful once more, for he has long been 
 gloomy and dispirited. I shall be glad to see smiles on 
 his face again. How can I assist him ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you cannot help him so easily as you imagine. 
 Some kind of work he must have : he cannot long have 
 peace of mind without. Now, Frank, don't form any plan 
 for him : don't go to him prepared to give advice, be 
 cause you happen to be a few years older than he. Find 
 out in the first place what business he wants ; and then 
 quietly help him to get it if you can. I hope he is 
 not inclined to rely too much on what is called Provi 
 dence: in regard to the affairs of this world, he must 
 trust mainly to the providence that is in himself. This 
 life is called a battle and very properly. William's in 
 ternal strife, what may be named his civil war, has
 
 BROTHER WILLIAM. 173 
 
 ceased for a time : we may, indeed, hope that the better 
 part has conquered, and that there may be lasting peace 
 within. Nevertheless, he has work to do : all is not done 
 when one submits to the Higher Powers ; one must 
 work with them and in them." The conversation was 
 interrupted by the voice of one singing. We listened a 
 moment, and Uncle John said : " It is poor Kate." She 
 was but poor Kate shall have a short Chapter of 
 her own. 
 
 15*
 
 174 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 POOR KAT E. 
 
 SHE sang in a plaintive, longing tone the following 
 verses. 
 
 The Sparrow hovers round her nest 
 And gladly welcomes home her mate ; 
 In loving union they are blest : 
 Come Willy, corne again to Kate. 
 
 Oh, could I hear his gladsome voice, 
 And his sweet breath breathe in again, 
 And in his looks of love rejoice, 
 I'd be once more as^I have been. 
 
 It cannot be ; no voice of love 
 
 Echoes the feeling of my heart ; 
 
 Lone through Life's weary round I move, 
 
 And ceaseless ask, ; may I depart ? 
 
 The singer was near us but hid from view by a close 
 board fence. When she ceased to sing, Uncle John, say 
 ing he must speak to her, opened a narrow gate and we 
 stepped through it. She^yvas sitting on the ground, but 
 rose when we came in sight. Her whole appearance, at 
 a little distance, was nowise note-worthy, except that bows 
 of pink-colored ribbon were fastened in too great quan 
 tity to many parts of her otherwise neat dress. Her pale
 
 POOR KATE. 175 
 
 face had no remarkable feature save her blue eyes ; which, 
 when we came nearer, had a somewhat wild, uneasy 
 look. Uncle John saluted her kindly, and took her hand 
 in his own. A light red color tinged her cheek when she 
 asked, glancing at me, " did you hear my song 1" and 
 her cheek faded again when he answered ; that we had 
 heard only few words of it. He asked her to walk home 
 with him and take tea with his nieces : she replied : she 
 could not ; they told her she must always come home be 
 fore dark ; she did not know why : she used once to stay 
 out of doors evenings. " If William would come home," 
 she continued very earnestly, " I could stay out every 
 pleasant evening." She turned quickly to me and asked ; 
 " Do you think he will come Sir ]" I was trying to 
 frame an answer when she exclaimed : " Is'nt it like a 
 ship 1 see, all the sails are spread !" She pointed to a large 
 white cloud in which one not predisposed to see a ship 
 could trace nothing like one. She spoke again in a 
 mournful tone : " there, it is changing now : every thing 
 changes and he don't come yet : 'tis so long : my rib 
 bons grow old, and fade, and I get new ones, but he don't 
 come. He used to say I looked pretty in pink." She 
 busied herself putting in order some of the ribbons, which 
 her walk through bushes had disarranged, and Uncle 
 John enquired about her parents' health ; invited her to 
 visit at his house often, assuring her she would be always 
 welcome. She thanked him, but gave, apparently, little 
 heed to his words. " Hist!" she said, " 'tis that poor 
 bird again , I heard it last night." She walked quickly 
 away toward the quarter whence came the sad notes of a 
 bird that had lost its mate or its young. As she went 
 she sang :
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 All alone, alone, 
 No one to comfort me ; 
 To griefs ever prone 
 Till Death sets me free. 
 
 Far away, away, 
 Is rest for the weary ; 
 For that ever pray ; 
 This life is dreary. 
 
 She stopped under some fruit-trees a little way off, and 
 seemed to be looking for the bereaved bird. After 
 a-while she seated herself and sang again, a mournful ditty, 
 of which we could not distinguish the words. She rose, 
 looked some few minutes towards the western sky, where 
 the Sun was setting behind a mass of dark lead-colored 
 clouds, and then walked homeward. 
 
 " Poor girl," said Uncle John, " her only comfort is 
 the singing of her sorrow : it is the only way in which 
 she can disburthen her heart." 
 
 As we walked homeward I learned some part of Kate's 
 story. She is the only child of her parents, to whom 
 several others had been born, but all died in infancy save 
 this one. As too often happens in such cases, every wish 
 of this only child had been too much indulged. That 
 discipline, too, which arises where many children live to 
 gether and each one, alternately, must in some way yield 
 to another, was wanting here. 
 
 Some three years ago her lover left the village to seek 
 his fortune on the ocean. He sailed away on a long voy 
 age, and nearly a year after his departure a letter from 
 him reached her. It told her, among other things, that 
 himself would soon follow it : within a month he would 
 be with her again, and then they would marry. Kate 
 was a glad girl that day, and commenced preparation for
 
 POOR KATE. 177 
 
 her wedding ; but her lover came not at the appointed 
 time ; he came not ever ; nor did there come tidings of 
 the ship he sailed in : she had probably foundered at sea. 
 Kate looked out day after day, and month after month, in 
 vain. Hope deferred, it hath often been said, maketh the 
 heart sick ; and heart and head are intimately, mys 
 teriously connected. Poor Kate became possessed by 
 one feeling, one idea. This manifold existence, with its 
 cares and duties and joys, ceased to be manifold to her. 
 In her mind there is only one Image : all others are acci 
 dental, trivial ; they are not except as related to this one : 
 she is beside herself.
 
 ITS PEBBLE BROOK. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 U XCL E It O BE RT. 
 
 MANY laborers in the fields paused in their work, and 
 many women looked out of windows, speculating on the 
 appearance of an elegant carriage, drawn by two noble 
 black horses, which came rolling on four wheels along the 
 highways of Pebblebrook. In that carriage sat my Uncle 
 the Merchant, his wife, and daughter ; the latter a child 
 of eight years. They were on their homeward way from 
 the Springs, and purposed spending a day with their broth 
 er and sister. 
 
 When they, after much fuss, had got into the house 
 and retired to make some change in their dress, Harriet 
 said : 
 
 " What under Heaven sends them hither ? I suppose 
 they think it their duty to visit their poor relations, and 
 shed upon us the light of their countenance : I wish they 
 had seen fit to keep themselves away, and leave us in 
 peace. 
 
 " Let us not think about that," replied Amelia, " they 
 have come, and our part of the business is plain enough : 
 we have only to set before them the best we have got, and 
 make them comfortable while they stay : there will be no 
 great trouble in it."
 
 UNCLE ROBEBT. 179 
 
 " No,*' said the other, " if they would only be satisfied : 
 but Aunt will look all the while as though she were say 
 ing to herself: I hare not been used to such furniture and 
 food ; I wonder people can live so." 
 
 " Let her look as she will :" Amelia said, ' that is not 
 our business : I'll go to her room and see if she wants 
 any thing which is not to be found there." 
 
 Harriet continued giving utterence to her discontent ; 
 and 1 could not but think, that the want of kindly feeling 
 between the rich and the poor members of a family can 
 almost as often be traced to envy on the one part, as to 
 superciliousness on the other. Amelia soon returned 
 bringing two beautiful parasols, presents from her Aunt 
 to herself and sister. 
 
 " See, this is just what you were wishing for the other 
 day, Harriet : which do you like best !" 
 
 Harriet seemed to prefer the gayest one, though she did 
 not speak out her preference, and, as Amelia chose the 
 other, the matter was soon settled. Harriet was evidently 
 well pleased with this gift, though she said : " the Lady 
 might have waited one day before she began to make 
 presents." 
 
 Uncle John came in from the fields, and the visiters 
 appeared in the parlor. 1 was struck with the fact that 
 some likeness could be traced in the features of the two 
 brothers ; for a short time before I had said to Uncle John 
 that they were quite unlike. It were difficult to tell in 
 what this likeness consisted. The Merchant, seen at a 
 little distance, was as good-looking, you would say, as his 
 brother : but not so when you came very near the two 
 men. Nature had made them much alike, but the Spirit 
 which ruled their lives had given to each a peculiar look : 
 their looks did not express the same soul. When they
 
 180 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 shook hands Uncle John's open face seemed all radiant 
 with gladness. 
 
 At dinner the talk between the brothers turned on 
 business, and the Merchant said : 
 
 "The present state of commercial business is so unset 
 tled, uncertain, that one so extensively engaged in it 
 as I am, can feel no security in his possessions. I shall 
 be anxious till I get back to my counting-room : I cannot 
 enjoy a day away from it. The late accounts by the 
 steam-ship from England are quite alarming." 
 
 The conversation now ran for some time on the chan 
 ges which steam-power seemed destined to produce. The 
 Merchant, considering the matter from his point of view, 
 said : the probable effect of this rapid intercourse would 
 be to equalize prices of merchandize throughout the 
 world. " Whenever there is in any part a want of anyone 
 article, or even the probability of a want, straightway the 
 fact, by means of steam conveyance, is known in all parts 
 of the commercial world, and the want is forthwith sup 
 plied or anticipated. I fear that the profits of trade will 
 be lessened by such universal information in regard to 
 all matters relating thereto as is now spread abroad. The 
 nearer commercial marts are to each other the completer 
 is the equality of prices, and this steam conveyance does 
 in effect bring distant places near." 
 
 " It is curious," said Uncle John, " to consider how 
 long a power lies under our very nose before we can find 
 means to use it. How many millions of men saw the 
 generation of steam in kettles on the domestic hearth ; 
 saw its power in the lifting of kettle-covers; before one at 
 tempted to measure that power or shew its uses. This 
 steam-power, as applied to land and water conveyances, 
 is one of the great agents of Democracy. Your rich
 
 UNCLE ROBERT. 
 
 181 
 
 Speculator and Forestaller can now run no private ex 
 press for his own private advantage ; the public or Peo 
 ple's steamer goes too fast for him." 
 
 " Sometimes," replied the other, " I get frightened in 
 view of these astonishing changes, and almost resolve to 
 retire from business and keep what I have got. Corpora 
 tions for money-getting purposes, which were once con 
 sidered aristocratic, are now rather democratic than oth 
 erwise. Some twenty of my poor neighbors associate, 
 and their association enables them to compete with me : 
 in fact any one of them, by means of credit, can operate 
 on a scale equal to my own. A young man, whose place 
 of business is next door to mine, commenced business five 
 years ago : he had then a capital of only four thousand 
 dollars ; and now I can't say whether he have one hun 
 dred thousand dollars, or be unable to pay his debts : one 
 thing I do know ; he spends five or six thousand dollars 
 per annum, and talks as though he were worth half a 
 million. 3 ' 
 
 Uncle John smiled, and said : " I have had some little 
 experience in this commercial credit business. What is 
 called ' an enterprising young man/ who has a small 
 money-capital of his own, is like that woman who took a 
 little leaven and hid it in three measures of meal till the 
 whole was leavened. How cunningly he kneads that lit 
 tle leaven of his own into the meal he has borrowed on 
 long credit, till the whole mass is leavened, and he says ; 
 See my cakes ! I will eat my fill of these cakes, and, in 
 case I do not find means to pay for the meal, I shall be 
 ' unfortunate in business.' " 
 
 The Merchant's wife had, meanwhile, been talking of 
 the great people she had seen at the Springs ; of dinners, 
 and balls there ; of the trouble she had had with her ser- 
 16
 
 182 , PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 vants at home, and the Devil knows what else : she got at 
 last, by some crooked by-way, to a Foreign Missionary 
 Society of which she is member. She told how many Bi 
 bles the Society had distributed ; how many of the Hea 
 then its Missionaries had converted. Soon as she com 
 menced this last subject, she put on a serious look and 
 began to measure her words : when she got to the con- 
 verson of the Heathen her face wore a most sanctified 
 expression. 
 
 Aunt Sarah, who, in the simple goodness of her heart, 
 favors every thing which has even a pretension to good 
 ness, said what was true of the Christian Gospel and the 
 the duty of making it known throughout the world. A 
 remark of Amelia's struck me : " I have heard," she said, 
 "what my Uncles have been saying of the effects of 
 steam-power in quickening the intercourse of the different 
 nations of the Earth; and it seems to me that Missionary 
 Societies are now almost useless. When the different na 
 tions get well acquainted with each other, as they, by one 
 means and another, are like to be at no very distant day, 
 the whole World will get the benefit of Christianity, pro 
 vided we, who profess it in word, live it in deed." 
 
 The Lady looked blank, and made some common 
 place remark of the kind called religious. Amelia, 
 whose impromptu utterance had hit harder than she in 
 tended, asked her Aunt to take some strawberries and 
 cream which had just been brought in. 
 
 The Merchant, whose thoughts seemed to run continu 
 ally on his business, kept up a lively conversation with his 
 brother on matters in some way related thereto. He 
 was rather bitter in expression of his feeling toward our 
 late President and the present one. The administration 
 of Old Hickory had, he thought, produced the late com-
 
 UNCLE ROBERT. 183 
 
 mercial crisis and done incalculable evil. Uncle John, 
 on the contrary, thought Old Hickory had been quite 
 right in his intentions, and more than half right in his 
 measures : he had no doubt hastened that crisis, not pro 
 duced it ; and, perhaps, it is well that he did hasten it, 
 otherwise diseased matters might have come to a worse 
 head. 
 
 " Our present credit system," said the merchant, " is 
 attended with great evils ; yet this country has advanced 
 in wealth and general prosperity, much more rapidly than 
 it could have done without it ; and, on the whole, per 
 haps we should consider it a good : what do you think of 
 it?" 
 
 " I cannot consider that a good which is in itself a 
 Lie. Has not your late general Bankruptcy proved your 
 credit system a Falsehood 1 It was the tumbling in of a 
 fair surface spread over a frightful pit : the Pit is still 
 there beneath your whole business, though a thin film of 
 Fair Appearance has covered it again. Lies are of two 
 kinds, Lies of word, and Lies of deed ; and the last are 
 infinitely worst. What is the real worth of that man 
 whose whole outward look is that of great possession, 
 while, in his heart, he knows that were his debts paid, he 
 would stand naked as he came into the World? It is 
 pretty certain that while these people dance the Piper 
 waits for his pay." 
 
 " Who is the Piper, and who pays him ? " asked Har 
 riet. " The Piper," Uncle John replied, " is the Devil ; 
 that is pretty plain. Who shall pay him is not quite so 
 clear. Men now living shall pay part of the scot ; men 
 yet unborn shall pay the balance. Properly speaking, 
 however, the account which the Devil keeps with man 
 kind is of the kind called a running account ; of which
 
 184 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 the balance is carried forward, or settled by a draft on 
 time." 
 
 After a little more talk of a rambling kind, our party 
 broke up and scattered itself. 
 
 I walked abroad and spent an hour or two in the office 
 of the Lawyer, who is a man of leisure ; litigation not be 
 ing one of the prevailing sins in Pebblebrook. Some 
 half dozen of the neighbors were there and one stranger. 
 They were discussing the merits of the License law ; and 
 the remark of some one ; that we have too many laws ; 
 opened a wide field for argument. On one side it was 
 argued that written law is the creator of morality ; 
 that public sentiment cannot, for any considerable length 
 of time, be sustained above the level of the laws ; and that 
 many laws are needed for the good of society. 
 
 On the other hand some said, that the aim of every 
 government should be to make its laws few in number, 
 plain in tenor, and universal in application : such should 
 be the aim of every government, and especially of a 
 republican. This last rests on Public Opinion, and pro 
 fesses to preside over Freemen : it should therefore leave 
 to every individual as much freedom of action as is con 
 sistent with the safety of society. 
 
 There was much talk on both sides, and something 
 like ill feeling shewed itself : the breach grew wider, and 
 the two sides could not get together. The stranger, 
 taking advantage of a pause in the argument, rose and 
 said. " I have noticed that little good comes from strife 
 of this kind. One thing all history has made plain ; that 
 the Public Benefactor is not the man who enforces the 
 dead letter of the law, but he who, in the Spirit of Truth, 
 by word and deed, incites his fellow-men to a higher life 
 than written law can prescribe." This man had a deep,
 
 UNCLE ROBERT. 185 
 
 quiet look, was plain in his general appearance, and 
 spoke in a calm tone with remarkable distinctness. He 
 invited one of the company, whose dwelling-place lay on 
 the road he was going, to ride thither in his wagon, and 
 the two departed. I rambled about some time in lanes 
 and by-ways, and toward night turned homeward. When 
 I came near the house I saw all the family and visitors in 
 the garden. They stood in a group looking toward the 
 western sky, where large masses of broken clouds, above 
 and beyond the hills, lighted up by the setting sun, made 
 the Heaven-drapery of Earth. I wish the Reader could 
 have seen these members of the Harding Family stand 
 ing there, amid the green foliage of the garden, in the 
 evening sunlight. It was such a family picture as any 
 man would be proud of. They had a common object of 
 interest : each one stood unconscious of individual exist 
 ence, rapt in contemplation of the Beautiful. I loitered 
 in my walk toward them : it is pleasant to see one's 
 friends in such high, peaceful union. An Artist would 
 say that one figure was not in keeping with the whole. 
 The Merchant's lady, with her furbelows and flounces 
 and flaunting cap, lacked simplicity. I am thankful that 
 our Family cannot be called to account for her : she did 
 not grow up in it ; she came into it full-grown. 
 
 Next morning our visiters departed. The Lady was 
 very gracious in her invitations to each member of the 
 family ; and meant, doubtless, to be kind : but her con 
 descension was manifest. She had a patronizing air, and 
 seemed to stoop from a height, which, however, was a 
 height of circumstance, of place ; in nowise a height of 
 Being. 
 
 After they had gone away, Uncle John said: "Poor 
 Robert, he is full of care, and is troubled about many 
 16*
 
 186 PEBBLEBKOOK. 
 
 things ; which, however, at bottom, are all one. He is 
 afraid he shall lose half his wealth, and be almost ruined : 
 as though the loss of money could ruin a Man. There 
 is strange self-abasement in such elevation of outward 
 things." 
 
 " And yet," said Amelia, " every one would like to be 
 rich : I don't know how much money I would take, could 
 I get it for the asking." 
 
 Harriet said : " for her part she would be satisfied with 
 a thousand dollars per annum." 
 
 I repeated the saying of a man who had had much ex 
 perience in getting : " Whether one have little or much, 
 a little more than he has got is always enough. "
 
 MISCELLANIES. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 IN one of my evening walks, I saw an old man trans 
 planting young trees from a nursery into a field. He 
 looked up as I came near, and I saluted him, with the 
 reverence due to an old man so employed. He leaned on 
 his spade, and seemed disposed to talk. After some com 
 mon chat, I asked his age : he answered : "I am four 
 score and nine years old, and this is my birth-day." I 
 said ; he could not be planting for himself then. " No, 
 young man," he replied, " I know not for whom I plant : 
 yet it is right to plant. In my day, I have reaped what 
 other's sowed. Those who have gone before, have done 
 much for us, and we should do something for those who 
 are coming after : this is no more than common honesty 
 requires. Once I planted Poplars and other short-lived 
 trees : I have seen the folly of that ; they injure the soil, 
 and already I see them decay and die. Now, in my old 
 age, I plant Oaks and Elms." He took up a small oak, 
 which he was about to fix in the ground, and continued : 
 " Some years ago this thing was an acorn : I planted the 
 acorn in that nursery and this has come of it. Now, I 
 shall transplant this here, where it will have more room :
 
 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 its roots will spread wide under ground, and its branches 
 wide above. Who knows what may come of it? Perhaps 
 some two hundred years hence, after it has given out 
 thousands of acorns, it will be fashioned into timber and 
 make the keel of some great ship, which shall go richly 
 freighted to the uttermost parts of the earth." 
 
 I found the old man's talk instructive, and when he 
 paused, I said ; one who had lived so long as he must 
 have seen great changes. He left his spade and came to 
 the fence at the road-side, where I stood, " Changes ! " 
 he exclaimed, " I have seen some changes. When I was 
 a boy, great part of this place, where you now see houses 
 and barns and cultivated fields, was a wilderness : and 
 all this change has been brought about by work, hard 
 work. When I look back, and see what has been done 
 by work, of one kind and another, it seems to me, that 
 the unpardonable sin is not doing one thing or another 
 thing, but doing nothing. A man who eats all his days 
 and does nothing, dies a Bankrupt : he has not paid his 
 debt to the world he is a cumberer of the ground, and 
 shall be cast into the fire. Yes, there have been changes 
 enough : there, where my son's house stands now, stood 
 my father's log-hut. I was the oldest child : there were 
 nine of us children, four boys and five girls : now only 
 three are alive. 1 wish I could see my brother and sis 
 ter once more before I die." It seemed now, that there 
 would be no end to the old man's talk : he went on 
 telling the history of each member of the family. I was 
 waiting for a pause in his talk, to take leave to go, when 
 Amelia came along the road and stopped to speak to the 
 old man. This recalled him from the Past to the Pres 
 ent, and he said : he must go to his work. 
 
 Amelia said, she was going to Aunt Katy Mack's : I
 
 MISCELLANIES. 189 
 
 asked, and got, permission to accompany her. Katy 
 Mack (better known in Pebblebrook as Aunt Katy,) is, 
 I believe, of Scotch extraction. She has no family rela 
 tion in this place, and I have not heard how she came 
 hither. She lives by gathering and selling wild herbs ; 
 and thus, aided by small donations from many hands, she 
 gets the little she needs. With children she is a uni 
 versal favorite ; and when she goes abroad, groups of 
 little ones gather round her, asking her to make verses. 
 She rarely refuses : moving her head forward and back, 
 she pours forth, in sing-song tone, extempore rhymes al 
 ways in the same measure. The greater part of her verses 
 have, as one may think, little meaning ; serving only to 
 amuse children : but now and then one, partly by acci 
 dent perhaps, embodies a wise thought. 
 
 Amelia, when she knocked at the door of a little cabin, 
 told me to stand aside, or we should not get admittance ; 
 the old woman being always unwilling to admit any one, 
 especially a stranger, within her dwelling-place. After 
 repeated knockings, we heard her talking to herself and 
 approaching the door. She unfastened it, and opening it 
 only so far as to make her face visible to Amelia, asked : 
 " What d'ye want o' me ? " 
 
 " It is I : you must let me in, Aunt Katy ; I have 
 brought something for you." 
 
 Amelia pushed the door open so far as she could, and 
 slipped in : I followed her. The little cabin was divided 
 into two apartments, by a passage-way running from the 
 outer door between the two. This passage-way was near 
 ly filled with brush- wood for fuel, and household utensils ; 
 buckets, baskets, tin and iron vessels for cooking, and 
 what not ? so that we had difficulty in getting through 
 it. The old woman retreated before us, and we got into
 
 190 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 her sleeping-room. There was a tumbled bed on a crazy 
 frame, an old rocking-chair with a broken back, and 
 many boxes filled with herbs. Amelia seated herself on 
 one of the boxes, and I stood in the door-way. Aunt 
 Katy, now aware that a stranger had got into her sanc 
 tuary, seemed troubled in spirit, and muttered to herself 
 some unintelligible words. Amelia handed her a bundle 
 and said : " Aunt Katy, there is some clothing for you, 
 which we have made up in our leisure hours : I hope you 
 will find it comfortable." 
 
 The old women took the bundle, unrolled it, seated 
 'herself in the rocking-chair, spread the clothing over her 
 lap, and seemed pleased. Her head began to bob for 
 ward and back, and in her sing-song tone, she said : 
 
 " Thanks, gentle Lady, ever thanks, 
 
 A blessing on your Life, 
 Be blest in all you do on Earth 
 
 As Single One or Wife ; 
 She who giveth to iha Poor, 
 
 Is lending to the Lord, 
 And blessings follow all she does 
 
 Who looks for no reward." 
 
 I held out a piece of money to her, and said : " Aunt 
 Katy have you no blessing for me?" 
 
 She looked me full in the face, made a motion of the 
 hand, refusing the money, and began to mutter to her 
 self by way of prelude. Moving her head, indeed her 
 whole body, more violently than before, she, in a kind of 
 recitative, brought forth a verse : 
 
 " Curst be your Gold ; the Saviour died 
 
 Through him who bore the Scrip ; 
 Your Gold may buy from Sons of Earth 
 
 The service of the lip ;
 
 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 But in the Higher Things of Life 
 
 Your Gold can have no part, 
 ' T hath opened many a Door on Earth, 
 
 But never yet a Heart." 
 
 Somewhat abashed I put up my piece of money and we 
 departed. Aunt Katy followed us to the outer door, and 
 stood there a minute in the open light. She was above 
 the common height and seemed to be of large frame, 
 though her coarse clothing hung so loose about her that 
 we could not be certain of her size. The features of 
 her face were partly concealed by thick masses of grey 
 hair ; but a pair of grey eyes looked out through it, and 
 her sunken mouth gave to her nose and chin greater 
 prominence than they could have had in her younger 
 days. 
 
 On our homeward way, Amelia said : " Aunt Katy 
 will never take money : I should have told you that be 
 fore we entered. I conclude, from the tenor of many of 
 her verses, that she was in her youth, grievously wronged 
 by some rich man who offered her money as a reparation 
 of the wrong." 
 
 " Why," I asked, " is not a better dwelling-place pro 
 vided for her ? I noticed that last night's rain had come 
 through the roof in many places." 
 
 " Aunt Katy has had the offer of a better place, but she 
 will not leave that old hut, and is unwilling to have any 
 workmen repair it : indeed she will rarely let any one en 
 ter her domicile. It was long before she could forgive 
 some half-dozen of us who once took possession in her 
 absence, cleared out much rubbish, swept the rooms, and 
 put things in order. One old woman here" continued 
 Amelia, '' is quite unlike Aunt Katy in many respects ; 
 particularly in regard to money: she will take all she can
 
 192 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 get. She said to me one day : ' It is very strange that 
 rich people are so stingy : if I had three hundred dollars, 
 I am sure I would give half of it to the poor.' " 
 
 We had now got into the main street, and saw, at 
 some distance, several men coming toward us. Amelia 
 asked : " Do you know either of those men, Frank ? " I 
 looked out toward them a minute or two, and answered : 
 
 " Yes ; that one on the right of the road, with hat in 
 hand, is Uncle John." Amelia said : " I should know 
 him among a thousand : at this distance it is not his 
 dress, which is nowise remarkable, nor his stature, which 
 is little above the common height ; it is his walk which 
 distinguishes him ; so careless yet so firm ! " 
 
 The advancing party had now come to a drain, which 
 ran across the road, and was uncovered, being under re 
 pair. While his companions turned -to one side, and 
 passed the gully on a plank, Uncle John leaped vigor 
 ously over it. " See," cried Amelia, " that is so like 
 him, the gray-headed man so stout at heart ! " 
 
 "Where now?" he said: " O, this is Saturday, old 
 woman day : how do you find the ancient ones this eve 
 ning Miss Gad-about ? " Amelia said ; " they were all in 
 the land of the living :" stepping up to her Uncle she bade 
 him stoop : he obeyed ; and she put his cravat in order, 
 the tie of which had changed place from front to side : 
 he laughed, and went on his way. 
 
 We came near the post-office, and seeing the mail- 
 wagon at the door, I stopped to get the newspaper, while 
 Amelia walked on her way. Some thirty men women and 
 children were there getting letters and newspapers : I 
 could not but think how strangely, in these days, every 
 little village stands connected with the whole world. The 
 vast world-circulation goes, unceasing, on its wondrous
 
 MISCELLANIES. 1U3 
 
 way. Wind-ship and steam-vessel there on the ocean, 
 mail-coach and steam-car here on the land, are ever busy 
 carrying many things to and fro ; and lo, here in this mean- 
 looking, one-horse wagon comes much : among other 
 things all the public gossip of England ; and also, one 
 may hope, something better were it only by accident. 
 Poor Lady Flora, Maid of Honor to Queen Victoria, 
 has become world-famous for Day and hour. Every girl 
 in Pebblebrook, having any pretension to refinement, has 
 speculated on Lady Flora's case, and is probably not 
 much the wiser for it, unless it have led her to some 
 thoughts on the blessing of her own humble lot. Some 
 men, boasting of wisdom, have much to say in the way of 
 censure of the gossip of women over their tea : I declare 
 I believe the whole world is fast forming itself into one 
 great Tea Party; what will come of it no one can know. 
 Every thing under Heaven is published now-a-days : no 
 man can go into the country to see his friends, but 
 straightway he thinks the World ought to know all about 
 it, and, in the kindness of his heart, he publishes a book 
 telling how he, contemptible little fellow as he is, went 
 about and about, and what he saw and heard arid said. 
 Would that one could say : this is the worst of it : but 
 unfortunately one cannot say so. I would bet that one 
 little man (or more) is at this very moment sitting in a 
 fidgetty way at home and trying, with might and main, to 
 imagine that he is not at home, but travelling abroad in 
 very interesting situations : or else contriving how to get 
 some imaginary Tom and Dick, and Sally and Polly, with 
 in sight of each other ; how they, in a becoming way, 
 can be made to fall in love ; and finally, after innumerable 
 heart-rending trials and perplexities, be got comfortably 
 married, or uncomfortably married, or not married at all, 
 17
 
 194 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 all, just as he, contemptible little man, may imagine will 
 be most original. This business, however, is explicable 
 enough : the little man wants Fame and Money, and not 
 being able to do anything deserving of such high reward, 
 he must imagine that he can do something, or that he can 
 make it extremely probable that somebody has done some 
 thing. But another business, whereon this explicable 
 business rests, is beyond comprehension : this, name 
 ly ; that a portion of society, calling itself the Reading 
 Public, actually buys the imaginary adventures of im 
 aginary Tom and Dick, and Sally and Polly, pays real 
 money for the cobweb-stuff, and actually reads it. More 
 over, said enlightened Reading Public finds the stuff very 
 interesting ; and comes near weeping because the con' 
 temptible little man imagined that Sally had a heart al 
 most broken : Poor Sally ! I say all this is astonishing ; 
 for if you analyze that same Reading Public, you shall 
 find it made up of individuals, men women and children, 
 each having a flesh-and-blood body with four limbs and 
 five senses, perhaps more; and a mind, as is often said, 
 of boundless capabilities, and what is called an Immortal 
 Soul : listen well and you shall hear very many of them 
 speak out the word Eternity.
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 CHAPTE R XX. 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 I ROSE with the sun and had an early breakfast. I like 
 to kiss young women, and had, while at table, been con 
 sidering, whether it would be quite proper to make that 
 the last act with my cousins. My horse appeared at the 
 door, and all was ready for my departure. I rose from 
 table, took my Aunt's hand, and put my lips to hers. 
 I turned to Harriet who stood nearest : she took iny prof 
 fered hand and I hesitated. "Never fear man," cried 
 Uncle John, " 'tis only a short way of telling a long story ; 
 there are sins enough in this world ; don't add to the 
 number : kiss her and think no more of the matter." It 
 was done. Amelia came next, and I was glad that she 
 came last, for she is sweetest. I love Amelia with a cous 
 in's love, which is of an indescribable kind. I cannot 
 admire the old Puritan manners : the men to whom many 
 outward acts are sinful, have little of the innocence of 
 childhood. In the Garden of Eden only one Tree was 
 forbidden : it was, however, most prolific of all : else 
 how came this present Garden of Life to be accounted a 
 foul jungle? Some philosophers say, that each man's 
 outward world is only a reflex of his inward one : howso-
 
 196 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 ever that may be, I feel quite sure that the light of each 
 man's moral world is reflected from his own soul, and 
 by that colored. He who makes a dark lantern of this 
 last is probably one bound on no good errand, much 
 afraid of being himself seen. Let all such make haste to 
 the Devil or, turn short about. 
 
 " Frank," said Uncle John, " What a world this would 
 be, if all faces were bearded ! Here is my hand, it is I 
 suppose, all you want of me." 
 
 " That too is very good," I replied, " when the heart 
 goes with it." 
 
 I rode away on the same road by which I had entered 
 Pebblebrook. On the hill-side I turned about and looked 
 down on the scene. It was the same that I had looked on 
 some few months before; and yet not the same. The 
 young seed-field, sprouting then, had, in the interval, 
 changed itself to a yellow harvest-field ready for the sickle. 
 All around, autumn-decay began to peep through sum 
 mer-greenness, and forecast winter-desolation. No need 
 to weep in view of that. The vegetable year ends in a 
 sleep, as many other things do. It shall wake again 
 in new vesture Here : its " little life is rounded by a 
 sleep." 
 
 Over the hill on the other side, the lookout is a wide 
 one : far away, over forest and field, rose up the blue sky, 
 and arched itself overhead. Here and there quiet lakelets 
 received silver streams, and sent them out again to ram 
 ble fantastically along low places. A long line of road 
 lay stretched out before me ; a yellowish path-way dotted 
 on either side by farm-houses ; and I went joyous onward. 
 Ride who will, through a beautiful country in close-car 
 riage or steam-car ; give me health, strength, a good sad 
 dle horse, and an open eye.
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 197 
 
 Toward noon, my horse pricked up his ears, and neighed 
 at sight of a tavern-sign, for he knows where provender 
 can be got, and is no fool. Some baggage-wagons stood 
 around, and an old man with a harp by his side, and mug 
 of beer in his hand, sat on the door-step. He was plainly 
 a foreigner who had partly steered himself, partly drifted, 
 hither to this utilitarian land. I asked him ; could he 
 sing ? He put down his mug and took up his harp : after 
 a little preluding, he touched the strings with a strong 
 hand and sang, in mixed French, a ditty, of which I 
 could understand only few of the words, and got the sense 
 of it chiefly through tune and tone : it seemed to be the 
 Soothing of Sorrow. His voice, though rude and some 
 what broken, had yet a strange music in it, like that of 
 night-wind among leafless trees. I gave him a piece of 
 money : he drained his mug, and departed on his way, 
 which will lead him Heaven knows whither. 
 
 After some hours of rest 1 got under way again, and 
 rode about sunset into a manufacturing town ; the aspect 
 of which struck me unpleasantly. It had a raw, uncom 
 fortable look, and every living thing seemed to be hurry 
 ing on some life-errand. I had acquaintance here, and 
 determined to spend a day among them : being weary, 
 however, I went early to bed this night at a public house. 
 
 Next day, I made some calls on old friends, and dined 
 with a young clergyman who had lately settled here. His 
 wife, a pleasant, sociable woman, seems quite at home in 
 this world ; and her easy manners placed me at once on 
 the footing of an old acquaintance, though I had never 
 seen her before. The clergyman's brother, resident in 
 another town, who dined with us this day, did little to 
 promote a pleasant hour. The conversation turned on 
 trade ; and he, with some vehemence asserted, that all 
 17* 

 
 198 FEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 men who live and grow rich by buying and selling are an 
 abomination : " of what use, " said he, " are these mer 
 chants, as they style themselves, who assume airs of su 
 periority 1 What do they, except stop goods on their way 
 from the producer to the consumer, and raise the price, 
 so as to retain a considerable sum in their own hands ? 
 They neither invent, nor manufacture, nor improve any 
 thing : their whole business is, to shuffle over the works 
 of other men, and shuffle a large part thereof into their 
 own pockets. It is a well known fact, that three-fourths 
 of the merchants and traders in our cities become bank- 
 rupt, once or more in the course of their lives : yet, on 
 an average, they spend yearly, each of them, a sum suf 
 ficient to support the families of half a dozen honest me- 
 Phanics : it is abominable." 
 "Brother Seth," said the Lady, "do look sometimes 
 at the roses on the bush of life, not always at the thorns : 
 these last, perhaps, are only there as a hint, that we should 
 not clutch at the good things too greedily. How are 
 your children now 1 " He answered drily, that they were 
 pretty well, and resumed his talk. When he paused again, 
 our host said, " I think you are wrong, Seth, in stating 
 this so strongly. I believe that such a class of men is 
 quite necessary to facilitate the exchange of commodities. 
 By means of these men, the productive classes find a 
 ready market for all that they produce ; and the consumer 
 gets what he wants, without unnecessary loss of time. 
 These traders make it their business to watch the state 
 of the markets all over the country : when an article 
 rises in price at any one point, indicating that there is 
 a scarcity there, straightway, abundance of that article 
 is, by the agency of these men, transported to that point, 
 and thus prices are equalized, and the wants of all sup-
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. lU^ 
 
 plied. Consider on the other hand, how different would 
 be the state of things without these traders. The pro 
 ducer would be obliged to travel about, to find purchas 
 ers for his productions. Wearied in the search, he would 
 often sell for such price as he couli get ; and on his 
 return home, would, sometimes, have the mortification of 
 learning, that his neighbor, who had gone in another di 
 rection, had returned with twice as much as himself, 
 though he carried out no more. The buyers would have 
 equal difficulties. There is now* little danger of a fam 
 ine in any part of the civilized world : these traders and 
 merchants, men engaged in the home and foreign trade, 
 will prevent it." 
 
 The brother insisted he had right : he would rather all 
 men had to submit to these losses and inconveniences, 
 than that such a set of half-gentlemen should have exist 
 ence, and look down on the really useful part of the com 
 munity. " There are your lawyers too," he continued, 
 " who live on other people's earnings, and promote quar 
 rels among men for their own advantage ; I wish they 
 could be swept from the face of the Earth. What good 
 do they ? What are they here for ? " 
 
 The clergyman mildly replied, " So long as we live in 
 a country where there are laws, and trials by jury, we 
 must have men to study these laws and explain them. 
 There is not, that I have heard, any law obliging you to 
 employ a lawyer." 
 
 " You are all leagued together," said the brother, an 
 grily, " the merchants, lawyers, doctors and priests. To 
 tell the truth, I think the last are worst." The other 
 smiled and attempted to turn the conversation by asking 
 me : " is there any foreign news ? " I answered : " not 
 much : the last arrival from England brings accounts of 
 disturbances in the manufacturing districts."
 
 200 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 This, however, did not help us much ; for the brother 
 took occasion to commence a tirade against the im 
 migrants, who, he said, are taking the bread out of the 
 mouths of our native citizens. He soon got round to 
 aristocrats, who lived, he said, on the labors of other men 
 in one way and another, and did nothing themselves but 
 ride about the country. The man looked at me as he 
 ended his speech, and an angry reply rose to my lips ; 
 but recollecting that he was my host's brother, I swal 
 lowed a part, and only said, " The great evil is not 
 wealth itself, but the undue estimation in which wealth is 
 held. It is mainly the envy of the Poor which exalts the 
 Rich. When the many cease to look up to, and curse 
 the few because of their possessions, there will be such a 
 revolution as the world has not yet seen. Who would be 
 anxious to get, and to keep, that which no one envies 
 him the possession of?" 
 
 I was glad when this man said he must go ; for though 
 the Lady, by those little things which ladies know best 
 how to do, had made my situation/tolerable, yet there was 
 unavoidable discord in his presence. In every thing he 
 saw only Evil, and I was reminded of that fault-finding 
 old man, blind of one eye, who said to young Goethe, 
 *' in God, too, I can discover faults." 
 
 After his departure I passed a pleasant hour. A bright 
 boy, about three years old, was let into the room, and 
 came bounding toward me with a shout ; but stopped 
 short about midway from the door, and dropping his 
 arms by his sides, looked steadfastly into my face. 
 " Well, Austin, who is it ? " said the mother. " 'Tisn't 
 Uncle ; I thought 'twas Uncle Edward." I held out my 
 hand, and asked him to come to me, even though I could 
 not call myself his uncle. " Did you see Uncle Edward?" 

 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 201 
 
 he asked. I told him I had never seen his Uncle, and 
 asked, where is he ? " In a ship ; he said he'd come 
 again, and I look for him every day, and he don't come." 
 The father explained to me that his wife's brother, of 
 whom the boy was very fond, had sailed for Europe some 
 twenty days before, and the little fellow, who had no very 
 definite ideas of time and space, often looked out for him. 
 The boy's face, while the father spoke, had a perplexed 
 expression ; but, catching his mother's eye, his look 
 changed instantly : jumping from my knee he ran to her, 
 crying out, " Bird, mamma, my bird." She went with 
 him into an adjoining room, and the father, who seemed 
 delighted with his son, said, " How earnest that boy is ; 
 he does things with his whole heart; I have much hope 
 of him ; earnestness of character is an essential thing in 
 boy or man. A deep sadness comes over me sometimes 
 when I watch him at play, and think what lies before 
 him. Were it not for Hope and Faith, beyond what can 
 be grounded on any arguments, I could weep over him.'* 
 Pretty soon, he continued, thoughtfully, " I suppose we 
 must begin to give him religious instruction : yet I really 
 believe I learn more of God from him than he can learn 
 from me. My studies and my office, have led me to think 
 much of faith, theological faith ; but there must be, and is, 
 a Faith quite distinct from that : something, not depend 
 ent on it, but beyond it and above it. There is a Light 
 which lighteth every man who cometh into the world; it 
 is in clear recognition of this Light, in walking in it, that 
 the essence of Religion consists. The office of Christian 
 Teacher is, in these days, a perplexing one." We were 
 interrupted by a man who came in to consult the clergy 
 man on some parish business, and 1 took leave. 
 I walked toward the hotel, somewhat undecided
 
 202 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 whether to journey on or remain in town 'till the morrow. 
 I made some calculations in regard to the time in which 
 I could reach a certain village ; and found myself in that 
 foolish state of mind, indecision in regard to a trifle, 
 most provoking perhaps of all states. Such state is, 
 however, always incident to living without an object. 
 One who knows what he wants, who has some Life-end 
 before him, goes straight toward it without dissipation of 
 mind. Wealth and Fame are the generally recognised 
 Objects of Life ; and as that is considered the surest 
 basis for this, the great business of Life is the getting of 
 money. Now, when from any cause, say defect of organ 
 ization, want of appetite, or temptation of the Devil, these 
 things cease to be the objects of one's life, what under 
 Heaven can one do ? The great error of Parents and 
 Teachers at the present day lies perhaps in supposing 
 that they know precisely what course their pupil should 
 take in life. They do not know this, they cannot know 
 it ; every man is by nature original, and you cannot be 
 fool even the simplest into the exact likeness of any other 
 fool. Find, if you can, two human beings who are pre 
 cisely alike ; and then place them, if you can, in the 
 same environment of circumstances : all the Education 
 ists in this world cannot do it. Nature undertook this 
 task once for our instruction, and made a pair of Sia 
 mese Twins fastened together by a cord of flesh ; men 
 found them fit only for exhibition as a Wonder. Could 
 the strict, narrow man do what he would, and make all 
 men precisely alike, I would beg leave to get out of their 
 way. Good Heavens ! what a rush there would be, all 
 in one direction, and after Nothing, for no-thing is Infi 
 nite : or would all men then stand still ? 
 
 The easy part of preaching is this, to prove that too
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 203 
 
 much of certain things is too much, and too little of 
 other things is not enough ; the difficult part is to 
 show how much is too much, how little is too little ; that 
 part is accordingly often done to the entire satisfaction 
 of many a man, but not so this other part. The great 
 sermon for each man lies behind him in living characters ; 
 let him turn round and read that, by the God-given light 
 that is in him, and he shall know; otherwise he cannot 
 know, but must ever stand uncertain, weighing proba 
 bilities on the balance of his understanding. This last 
 is the way generally prescribed, but unfortunately human 
 life is too short for it ; one can never get done weighing. 
 
 I said just now that I walked toward the hotel, a mis 
 erable, contemptible man, not knowing what to do. I 
 was, as men say, lost in thought ; and probably had that 
 look which is accounted mark of wisdom ; but Gravity 
 brooding over Follies can hatch only Goslings. 
 
 Next day, after noon, I arrived at that village where 
 the wax figures were exhibited some time ago. I was 
 still in a state of indecision. When I came to the cross 
 street, which leads to the house of my mother's friend, 
 my horse turned into it, and 1 let him have his way. 
 While yet at some distance from the gate I saw two 
 figures issue from it ; a man in dark clothes, a woman in 
 white, and walk up the street in the direction I was going. 
 I thought I recognised them, and did not feel quite at 
 ease when I entered the house. The man of the house 
 was abroad : the lady greeted me kindly. After some 
 talk I asked, what news ? 
 
 " None," she replied, " O yes, I forgot ; it will be 
 news to you ; Elizabeth is engaged." 
 
 "Engaged?" 
 
 " Yes ; you can guess to whom, I suppose."
 
 204 PEBBLEBROOK. 
 
 I made some reply in such tone of indifference as I 
 could assume. In my heart I am afraid I cursed the 
 schoolmaster. 
 
 The lady offered to have my horse cared for ; but I 
 said I must be on my way. I thought I detected a smile 
 lurking about the lady's face when she urged me to stay ; 
 women are quick-sighted in affairs of the heart. I de 
 cidedly refused to stay, and departed soon as I could do 
 so with good grace. My horse was less willing to go 
 than I ; he was refractory, and thought he could have his 
 own way because I had been so undecided of late ; but 
 now I was decided enough. Decision often makes one 
 master, and the horse, this time, must go my way. 
 
 1 cannot say that my thoughts and feelings were alto 
 gether pleasant that night ; but they did not banish sleep ; 
 nor did sleep quite banish them. 1 had a dream or a 
 vision. There were Priest, Bridegroom, and Wedding 
 Guests ; but no Bride. A kind of smoke, or vapor rose, 
 and the scene changed itself. I saw one in white robes 
 whose features were known to me ; she pointed to a party 
 of young women in a Grove, who seemed to be in search 
 of something. 
 
 Next day, before I rode into the city, I had regained 
 my usual degree of equanimity. I am too old to die of 
 disappointed love. Your young Plant just out of the 
 nursery is easily blighted or crushed ; but the full grown 
 Tree, which, in sunshine and storm has rooted itself, will 
 live through much.
 
 AT HOME. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AT HOME. 
 
 MY housekeeper to avoid scandal I may say that she 
 is quite old and ugly expressed a kind of joy at sight 
 of me, and declared that I looked quite well. She is of 
 economical, thrifty turn of mind, and seemed to think I 
 had loitered and wasted time on this excursion: but she 
 is never satisfied. What had I done if I had staid at 
 home ? Nothing but look out of windows at brick walls 
 and painfully strive to keep myself alive. In one point 
 of view it may, with some show of truth, be said that this 
 journey has been unprofitable ; that I have returned to 
 my starting place empty as I went out. It is not exactly 
 so. Before judging of any man's acts as regards their 
 worth to himself, we should look into the man and con 
 sider what he specially is. The restless, whizzing, buz 
 zing man does a great thing when he keeps himself still 
 one whole day ; he shall be the better for it all the days 
 of his life. For your sedentary, reflective Donothing, on 
 the other hand, a journfcy, were it only to some Pebble- 
 brook and back, can hardly fail to be beneficial. 
 
 My good Physician came in r took my hand, and smiled. 
 I do not mean to say that he opened his mouth, and, with 
 18
 
 206 
 
 PEB BLEBB.OOK. 
 
 an effort, drew up the corners of it ; he smiled all over. 
 Speaking as though he had given the Prescription only a 
 week ago, he asked : 
 
 " How did it operate ? " 
 
 " Very well," I replied ; " it set me in motion and 
 
 cleared out much bad stuff." 
 
 A 
 " How is your appetite now ?" 
 
 " Right good ; I have great desire." 
 
 " Do you digest well?" 
 
 " So well that I have done thinking about digestion." 
 
 " How did you find your friends? " 
 
 " Quite well. I found intercourse with them pleasant 
 and quickening. I had almost forgotten that I had 
 friends." 
 
 " It is dangerous," he said, " for a man to neglect his 
 relations in this life ; he gets into a bad way. A com 
 pletely isolated Being is always in some sense sick. By 
 all means, then, a man should find out his relations and 
 learn to know them. When he has once taken this busi 
 ness in hand he need never be idle, for Man's relations 
 are wide as the Universe." 
 
 I suppose the Doctor saw in my looks an expression of 
 dismay at the width of the business ; for he, after a short 
 pause, added : 
 
 " You may have noticed, Mr. Harding, that a social 
 man, who has already got a circle of acquaintance, finds 
 no difficulty in enlarging it ; for each one of that circle 
 has also a circle of his own, and willingly introduces the 
 social man into it. This holds good not only of men, 
 but of all things ; each thing, besides its immediate fam 
 ily relations, has universal relations ; and the man who 
 really knoics one thing stands in the door-way to many. 
 There is, moreover, much truth in the saying of one of
 
 AT HOME. 207 
 
 my best friends : Let a man take a true position, and do 
 what he ought to do there, and the huge world will come 
 round to him." 
 
 The Doctor sings many little songs very prettily. He 
 is a man of much humor, and when he took his hat to go 
 he stood a minute whirling it about with an affectation 
 of embarrassment. Then looking steadily into the hat as 
 though he saw something curious there, he sang : 
 
 A loving heart, a loving Heart 
 
 Is Fount whence Wisdom flows ; 
 Take, thoughtful man, thy Brother's part ; 
 
 So know his Joys and Woes. 
 
 Be not afraid, be not afraid ; 
 
 No Good can come from Fear ; 
 Who fashioned thee all things hath made ; 
 
 Thy-working-place is Here. 
 


 
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