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 I 
 
 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 CATHARINE M. SEDGWICK. 
 
 EDITED MY 
 
 MARY K. 1) K W K Y. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 II A K 1* E K & II K O T II K K S, 1 U II I. 1 S 1 1 1C R S, 
 
 f M A N K I. IN KtjUAKK. 
 
o.flq* 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
 
 KATHARINE S. MINOT, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 
PS 
 
 b-f 
 
 EVER since Miss Sedgwick s death, now a little more 
 than three years ago, those who knew and loved her 
 best have been desirous that some printed memorial should 
 exist of a life so beautiful and delightful in itself, and so be 
 neficent in its influence on others. Many besides must join 
 in this wish ; for, although few remain of the generation in 
 which she was a shining light, yet they, and those who were 
 still young enough when her books appeared to feel their 
 characters distinctly moulded by her words of tender wis 
 dom, will rejoice, both for their own sakes and that of young 
 er people who " knew her not/ 1 that there should be placed 
 on record a fuller sketch of her life than any that has yet 
 appeared. The volume now offered to satisfy this desire is 
 chiefly made up of such extracts from her letters and jour 
 nals as can be given to the public, and are also enriched by 
 papers from the hands of Mrs. Fanny Kemble, Mrs. Abby 
 H. Gibbons, the Rev. Dr. Dewey, and William Cullen Bryant, 
 Esq. 
 
 The letters are used in chronological order, and inevi 
 tably lack connection, except such as is given by their ema 
 nation from one character. They are like photographs taken 
 from a hundred points of the same person, and, as in the 
 curious stereoscopic instrument which produces a rounded 
 and life-like image by the convergence of rays from a multi 
 tude of such likenesses, so in the mind of the sympathetic 
 reader will arise, it is hoped, from the perusal of these let- 
 
 A 2 
 
10 
 
 tors, a truer and more vivid portrait of their writer than could 
 be formed from any merely outside description. 
 
 The story of her life is a simple tale as regards outward 
 circumstances. No striking incidents, no remarkable oc 
 currences will be found in it, but the gradual unfolding and 
 ripening amid congenial surroundings of a true and beauti 
 ful soul, a clear and refined intellect, and a singularly sym 
 pathetic social nature. 
 
 She was born eighty years ago, when the atmosphere was 
 still electric with the storm in which we took our place 
 among the nations, and passing her childhood in the seclu 
 sion of a New England valley, while yet her family was 
 linked to the great world without by ties both political and 
 social, early and deep foundations were laid in her charac 
 ter of patriotism, religious feeling, love of nature, and strong 
 attachment to home, and to those who made it what it was. 
 And when, later in life, she took her place among the ac 
 knowledged leaders of literature and society, these remained 
 the central features of her character, and around them gath 
 ered all the graceful culture, the active philanthropy, the so 
 cial accomplishment which made her presence a joy wher 
 ever it came. 
 
 In the latter part of her life she was fortunately induced 
 to pen some recollections of her earlier years for the child 
 of the beloved niece who was to her as a daughter. They 
 are written with all her accustomed ease and grace of style, 
 and with a simplicity and freedom which show that the idea 
 of their being read beyond the family circle never entered 
 her mind, and, recorded as they were at long intervals, they 
 are without regular continuity ; but, apart from their chief 
 interest as an account of circumstances influencing the for 
 mation of her own character, they contain so much wise and 
 delicate reflection, such nice character-painting, and such 
 charming sketches of life and manners, that in reading them 
 
.J 
 
 II 
 
 we regret only that they close so soon, bringing their writer 
 but to her fourteenth year. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick s time was mostly spent between Stock- 
 bridge and L .nox (villages in Berkshire County, Massa 
 chusetts), and New York. She was born in Stockbridge ; 
 and when she died, her body* was laid among those of her 
 kindred in the burial-ground of her native valley. 
 
 ST. DAVID S, Junmuy 2&t//> 1871. 
 

LIFE AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 CATHARINE M. SEDGWICK. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 May 5th, 1853. 
 
 MY DKAR LITTLE ALICE, About two years since your 
 father wrote me an eloquent note persuading me to write 
 for you some memorial of my life, and what I knew of your 
 forbears and mine. If you live to be an old worqan, as I 
 now am, you may like to rake in the ashes of the past, and 
 if, perchance, you find some fire still smouldering there, you 
 may feel a glow from it. It is not till we get deep into age 
 that we feel by how slight a tenure we hold on to the mem 
 ories of those that come after us, and not till then that we 
 are conscious of an earnest desire to brighten the links of 
 the chain that binds us to those who have gone before, and 
 to keep it fast and strong. 
 
 The first of our Scdgwick ancestors of whom I have any 
 tradition was Robert Sedgwick, who was sent by Oliver 
 Cromwell a,s governor or commissioner (I am not sure by 
 which title) to the island of Jamaica. As I am a full be 
 liever in the transmission of qualities peculiar to a race, it 
 
14 Ltfe of Catharine Af. Set/gwick. 
 
 pleases me to recognize in "the governor," as we have al 
 ways called him, a Puritan and an Independent, for to none 
 other would Cromwell have given a trust so important. A 
 love of freedom, a habit of doing their own thinking, has 
 characterized our clan. Its men have not been trammeled 
 by old usages, but for the most part have stood on those el 
 evations that first catch the light and command a wide hori 
 zon. (There, my dear, I have not got over the second page 
 without betraying my point of family pride and family weak 
 ness 1) Truly I think it a great honor that the head of our 
 house took office from that great man who achieved his own 
 greatness, and not from the King Charleses who were born 
 to it, and lost it by their own unworlhiness. 
 
 Of my mother s progenitors I know only that, according 
 to the general New England foundation, three brothers En 
 glishmen came together to the New World ; that they were 
 men of Character and estate, and that from one of them my 
 mother descended. The riches went, not in our channel, 
 but to that branch from which your kind and dear friends, 
 Mrs. P. and cousin L. D., came. Riches and our name have 
 no affinities, my dear. The wise man s prayer has been 
 granted to us ; we have enjoyed fully the advantage and fe 
 licity of being neither rich nor poor. My maternal grand 
 father was a brigadier colonel in the war in the French 
 Provinces in 1745. The family tradition goes that he was 
 at the taking of Cape Breton, and that he served with honor. 
 You see his picture at your " Father Charles s," a handsome, 
 hale man, with ruddy cheeks and most delicately beautiful 
 hands, rather studiously displayed. I am afraid he had a 
 weakness on that point ; or perhaps he showed them to 
 prove to his descendants that he had kept " clean hands," 
 a commendable virtue, physically or morally speaking. He 
 
Recollections of Childhood. * \ 5 
 
 was one of the gentlemen par exteMeutt of his time, who 
 maintained the highest associations of the province. 1 have 
 heard an old Irish servant of his, who maintained a feudal 
 reverence for him, and who used to visit this portrait in the 
 best parlor of our old Stockbridge home, say often, as he 
 stood before it with the tears rolling off his cheeks, " Oh, if 
 you could have seen him with his rigimintals, he would have 
 sceared you !" 
 
 My grandmother was the widow of Mr. Sergeant, mission 
 ary from a Scotch society to the Indians, when my grand 
 father married her. Her maiden name was Williams. She 
 was the sister of the founder of Williams College, and a 
 woman much celebrated in her day for her intelligence and 
 character. I have not, like you, my dear Alice, ever enjoyed 
 the pleasure of this relation, which extends our- being by 
 one generation, and gives us the twilight as well as the 
 dawn. My father s mother died long before I was born ; 
 my mother s mother, I think, about eighteen months after. 
 I have always heard her spoken of as a remarkable woman 
 in her time, but my most vivid impression of her is from the 
 record of Mrs. Qttincy, who, when she was Susan Morton 
 and a young girl, had an enthusiastic love for her mother s 
 old friend, " Madam Dwight," and twice made a pilgrimage 
 to Stockbridge to see her. I shall copy her account for 
 your benefit. " Madam Dwight" spent her last years with a 
 son of her first marriage, Dr. Sergeant, who lived at the old 
 house still standing on Sergeant s Hill. In those days she 
 had four children established in Stockbridge : Mr. John Ser 
 geant, at that lonely point known as the " Wells House ;" 
 Mrs. Hopkins, a mile and a half from the village; and my 
 mother, mistress of the then new mansion where your Aunt 
 Susnn* now lives. The old lady said her first look-out in 
 
 * Mr*. Theodore Scilgwick, widow of Miss Setlg wick s eldest brother 
 Shu died in 1867. 
 
1 6 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 the morning was to see the smoke rise from her children s 
 chimneys, and with her "second sight" she saw them gath 
 ering their little flocks around their breakfast tables. The 
 parents have all long ago fulfilled their earthly mission and 
 gone. The children, most of them, have followed. A few 
 yet linger on, and " Father Charles" and " Aunt Catharine" 
 may perhaps live in your memory when you read this. 
 
 My maternal grandfather died in Barrington, and was 
 there buried. There is a monument to him in the old bury- 
 ing-ground there, and a lovely living monument in the old 
 elm-trees in the middle of the village, near the house, still 
 standing, in which he lived. My mother had but few recol 
 lections of him. He died when she was thirteen. 
 
 Here follows Mrs. Quincy s notice of his widow. A brown 
 tabular monument marks her burying-place in Stockbt iclge. 
 
 " Madam Dwight, of Stockbridge, came to visit us in 
 1786. The daughter of Colonel Williams, of Williamstown, 
 she married Mr. Sergeant, of Stockbridge, who died in early 
 life, leaving two sons ; and his widow became the wife of 
 Colonel Dwight, one of the leading men of Massachusetts in 
 his day. Their children were Henry Dwight, and Pamela, 
 afterward Mrs. Theodore Sedgwick. Madam Dwight was 
 again left a widow, and in 1786 was upward of sixty years 
 of age, tall and erect, dignified, precise in manner, yet benev 
 olent and pleasing. Her dress, of rich silk, a high-crowned 
 cap, with plaited border, and a watch, then so seldom worn 
 as to be a distinction, all marked the gentlewoman, and in 
 spired respect. She was a new study to me, and realized 
 my ideas of Mrs. Shirley in Sir Charles Grandison, and 
 other characters I had read of in works of fiction. When 
 she returned home she asked me to accompany her, and, to 
 my great joy, her request was complied with. We went up 
 the Hudson in a sloop, in which we were the only passen 
 gers. 
 
Recollections of Childhood. \ 7 
 
 44 We staid at Kinderhook till the wagon came for us from 
 Stockbridge. I was seated by Madam Dwight, and we were 
 driven by her grandson, a son of Dr. Sergeant. The dis 
 tance was thirty or forty miles a day s journey. It was 
 twilight when we reached Stockbridge. The first thing that 
 attracted my attention was a fish for a vane, on the steeple 
 of the church. I said to Madam Dwight, How could they 
 put up a poor fish, so much out of its own element ? It 
 ought at leas^t to have been a flying fish. 1 She seemed much 
 diverted at my remark, and repeated it to her friends, con 
 fessing that she had never thought of this absurdity her 
 self, or heard it observed by others. Dr. Sergeant, Madam 
 Dwight s son by her first marriage, resided in her mansion- 
 house, where she retained the best parlor and chamber for 
 her own use. He was an excellent man, and the most dis 
 tinguished physician in that part of the country. We were 
 joyfully received by him and his family. As I was fatigued, 
 Madam Dwight took me to her room, and again expressed 
 her pleasure at having me with her. I can never forget her 
 affection and kindness. Her precepts and example made 
 an indelible impression in favor of virtue and true piety. 
 Her temper and character formed a living mirror, which re 
 flected an image of such loveliness that my heart was truly 
 bound to her. She made me her companion, read to me, 
 and talked to me with the confidence of a friend. 
 
 " When, on the morning after our arrival, the window- 
 shutters were opened, the Valley of the Housatonic, softened 
 by wreaths of vapor rising over the mountains under the 
 beams of the rising sun, seemed to my enchanted vision like 
 fairy-land. I exclaimed, O, Madam Dwight 1 it looks like 
 the Happy Valley of Abyssinia. There is the river, and 
 there are the mountains on every side. Why did you never 
 tell me of this beautiful view ? My friend seemed surprised 
 at my enthusiasm. Long familiar with the scene, she hard- 
 
1 8 Life t*f Catharine M. Settgwicfc. 
 
 ly realized its beauty. I became attached to her grandchil 
 dren, and passed several months in otockbridge. Her 
 daughter, Mrs. Sedgwick, lived upon the Plain, as it was 
 called, in distinction to * the Hill, 1 where Dr. Sergeant re 
 sided. 
 
 ** When I was recalled home, I parted from Madam Dwight 
 with great reluctance, and she expressed equal sensibility. 
 She endeavored to comfort me by saying that she would 
 visit New York the next spring, and that J should return 
 with her. But she was prevented from executing this inten 
 tion ; and when I revisited Stockbridge in 1792, my friend 
 was no more." 
 
 My mother and Henry Dwight, who occupied the house 
 at the west end of " the Plain," were the only children of 
 I lie marriage of my grandmother with Colonel Dwight. 
 They had both been previously married. My grandmother 
 had three children by the first marriage Erastus, John, and 
 Electa. Erastus was our " Uncle Doctor," a distinguished 
 physician in Berkshire for nearly fifty years. He was a 
 mild, faithful man, and patient as the best of Christians are 
 with the severest domestic afflictions. John succeeded his 
 father as missionary to the Indians. I believe he worked 
 faithfully in the field, but I never could hear that the poor 
 man reaped any harvest. His Indians had lost the mascu 
 line savage quality, the wild flavor, and had imbibed the 
 dreg-vices of civilization, without in the least profiting by its 
 advantages. Electa became " Aunt Hopkins," and was the 
 ancestor of the present President and Professor of Williams 
 College. The President is one of our best moral writers. 
 
 There was a traditionary story of my mother s childhood 
 which used to affect my imagination, for in my youth, dear 
 Alice, the dark shadows of the Indians had hardly passed 
 off our valleys, and tales about them made the stock terrors 
 of our nurseries. The Indians of New England were at 
 
Recollections of Chiltt/wotl. 19 
 
 that lime about 1750 friendly lo the white people, but 
 the Mohawks were a terror to the whites, and to their red 
 friends. My mother was about two years old when my 
 grandmother was on a visit with her to her son Erastus (Dr. 
 Sergeant) in Stockbridge. The servant-men only were at 
 home a black man and Lynch, the Irish servant whom I 
 have already mentioned. There was an alarm the hideous 
 cry, "The Indians are coining I 1 There were no horses in 
 the stable, and the women decided at once to set off on foot. 
 My grandmother gave her little girl Pamela (my mother) to 
 the black servant, and dispatched him. Lynch followed 
 soon after, and, descending the hill, heard a, faint cry from 
 a thick copse by the road-side. The cry came from the 
 poor little girl, whom the terrified man had relieved himself 
 of as soon as out of sight. Lynch took her up and carried 
 her to a place of safety. The Indians did not come, but 
 Lynch ever after looked upon himself as a hero in our fam 
 ily annals, and, in truth, pretty much as its founder. Poor 
 old man I It was a proud day for him when " the Judge" 
 (my dear father) and all " the family" went in " the old 
 coachee" to dine with him. His tremulous voice and shak 
 ing hands were almost firm again as he stood at his door 
 in Larrywang to welcome us. His name was Lawrence, 
 and " wang" is Indian for a cluster of houses, so the little 
 hamlet at the west end of Stockbridge was named for him. 
 I do not know if it has yet lost the designation. 
 
 Through all my childhood, Larry Lynch was the only Irish 
 inhabitant of Stockbridge ! I do not w believe there were 
 then half a dozen in the county. I think their influx did 
 not begin before 1830 and now there are two thronged 
 churches in Berkshire, and occasional mass in all the vil 
 lages where they swnrm. What would clear old Dr. West 
 our sixty years Defender of the Puritan Faith (the Doric pil 
 lar of Hopkinsianism), what would he say to these multitu- 
 
20 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 dinous children of Antichrist 1 One of the oldest members 
 of his Church, Mrs. Ingersoll, the deacon s wife, after the de 
 parture of her meek helpmate (he was the weaker vessel), 
 rented the deacon s old hat-shop he was hat manufacturer 
 to the village to Billy Brogan. It was a little, unpainted, 
 one-story building, in the same inclosure with her house 
 none but an Irish family would have gathered there. When 
 the Irish became numerous enough, mass was to be cele 
 brated in the village, and Billy Brogan s habitation was se 
 lected as the largest domicil among them, and therefore 
 fittest for the purpose. Nothing could exceed the indigna 
 tion of the deacon s widow a Yankee Mause* nor t,he 
 energy of her invectives, necessarily restrained within the 
 decencies of Puritan objurgation. To have mass on her 
 premises a Catholic priest within her gates * mass in the 
 deacon s shop I the shop turned into a Cathatrall No, she 
 had rather burn it I" 
 
 The result of this new experiment in the world of a dis 
 tinct race, with marked characteristics and a religion of their 
 own, living among us with the full benefit of equal rights 
 and privileges, you, my dear Alice, may live to see. But, as 
 ignorance can not compete with knowledge, nor get the mns- 
 tery of it till there is an immense odds of brute force, as a 
 despotic religion has neither sanction nor security in the 
 midst of free institutions, I trust, my dear child, that the 
 Irish, by the infusion of an element of warmth and generos 
 ity into our national character, will have done us more good 
 than evil. I am inclined to think they have already done 
 this for us. I have so lively a recollection of the time when 
 we were in the transitive state when the old well-trained 
 slaves had disappeared when the few black servants to be 
 hired were shiftless, lazy, and unfaithful, and our own peo 
 ple scarcely to be obtained, or, if obtained, coming "to ac- 
 
 * Mauac llcadrigg, in "Old Mortality." 
 
Recollections of Chiltt/wod. 2 1 
 
 commodatc you/ and staying only till they could accommo 
 date themselves better, that I feel grateful for Irish servants, 
 with all their Celtic infirmities on their heads their half 
 savage ways their blunders their imaginativeness indef- 
 initeness and curve-lines every way. They desire employ 
 ment they are willing servants they are sympathetic and 
 progressive, and I have at this moment, June, 1853, a girl in 
 my service, Margaret Pollock, a pearl of great price. She 
 is a Protestant, to be sure, but she was born and bred in 
 Ireland, and I would not exchange her for all the service I 
 could distill in Yankeedom. 
 
 I have sore recollections of the time when I rode the 
 country round to get, for love and money, girls to do the 
 family work. Unwilling they were to come, and. incompe 
 tent when they came. My father s house was one of the 
 few where the domestics were restricted to the kitchen table. 
 " Oh," said a woman to me, whose daughter I was begging 
 for, " now Catha/-/>/<?, we are all made out of the same clay, 
 we have got one Maker and one Judge, and we ve got to 
 lay down in the grave side by side why can t you sit down 
 to the table together?" We were vexed and fretted, and 
 thought the people presuming, impertinent, and stupid j but 
 stupid they were not, and we were not philosophers. They 
 used their power; they had something better before them than 
 domestic subordination and household service. Their time 
 had come, their harness was thrown off, fresh pastures were 
 before them. They did not, perhaps, use their freedom 
 gracefully, but they enjoyed it, and it was theirs. The West 
 and the factories have absorbed all this population, and 
 Providence has sent the starving hewers of wood and draw 
 ers of water from other lands to us, to be taught in our 
 kitchens, and to be borne on by the mighty wave of progress 
 that is steadily tending onward and upward here. It is not 
 left to our choice Providence makes of our homes Irish 
 
2 2 Life of Catharine Af. 
 
 school-houses, of our mothers and (laughters involuntary 
 missionaries ! Thus, if you will but observe it, clear Alice, 
 you will see that God works more effectively than man, in a 
 wider field, and with greater means. He sets the sun in 
 the sky, and it lights the world ; we are proud of the gas 
 lights that dispel the darkness of a city, just enabling us to 
 know a friend from a stranger. God sends rain over our 
 vast tracts of land, refreshing harvest-fields, ripening the 
 fruits of the earth, nourishing our gardens, and filling rivers 
 as well as cisterns ; we take a watering-pot and save a few 
 plants from perishing. A few good men and women of the 
 land go forth to teach the heathen ; God, when the time 
 came to deliver the Irish people from their oppressors, sent 
 them forth to the plentiful land reserved for them here, where 
 they till and are tilled. Their children will melt into our 
 population, in which there must be an amalgamation of va 
 rious elements, the calculating, cold, intellectual Saxon, the 
 metaphysical, patient German, the vivacious, imaginative, in 
 definite, changeful, uncertain Celt, the superstitious North 
 man, the fervent children of the South. A strange com 
 pound must come out of this. There is support for all 
 living nature the " finest of the wheat" for the basis, and 
 sour and sweet, and spice and spirit a " De il s bro " it 
 will be or ambrosia for the gods, a perfecting and consum 
 mation of the species. 
 
 But I am far enough off from our family history, or rather 
 my own story, which I began with ; but fearing, clear Alice, 
 that you would never know how I came here, I have, and 
 shall transmit to you all that I know of my progenitors. My 
 father, Theodore Sedgwick, was educated at Yale College, 
 New Haven. He was supported there by the generous ef 
 forts and sacrifices of his older brother John. The family 
 fortunes seem to have run out pretty much after the death 
 of the commissioner or governor sent by Cromwell to the 
 
Jtccotlections of C/tUtthooti. *j 
 
 island of Jamaica, and after being fixed at West Hartford, 
 Connecticut, for two generations, my grandfather, one, I be 
 lieve, of a large family, removed to Cornwall, and purchased 
 a large farm on its bleak hills. He opened a " store" there, 
 and, just arrived in mezzo cammiHt), he died of apoplexy and 
 left three sons and three daughters. Uncle John was head 
 of the house, and at once resolving, with my grandmother s 
 earnest and ready co-operation, to maintain my father at col 
 lege, he opened a tavern to obtain money which could not 
 be worked out of the stony land of Cornwall. My father 
 pursued his studies to the last year, when, being a party in 
 some boyish gayeties quite outside of the Puritan tolerance 
 of the times, he was expelled by the president, of whom I 
 received the impression, I can not say with what accuracy, 
 that he was a compound of pedagogue and granny. My 
 father, sobered by this cloud, took to divinity, and went to 
 Dr. Bellamy s to study theology. The doctor, I rather think, 
 from the current anecdotes of the time, Tiad considerable 
 sympathy with the secular side of my father s character. At 
 any rate, with his entire sympathy and approbation, my fa 
 ther turned from divinity to law, and began and finished 
 his legal studies with Mark Hopkins, of Great Barrington, 
 Massachusetts, a distinguished lawyer of his time, and grand 
 father of the present President of Williams College.* 
 
 * My father used to tell with much guato of Dr. Bellamy that one of 
 his parishioners, who was a notorious scamp, came to him, saying, in the 
 parlance of the divinity that pervaded this part of New England at that 
 period, " I feel that I have obtained a hope !" The doctor looked sur 
 prised. " I realize that I am the chief of sinners," continued the hypo 
 critical canter. " Your neighbors have long been of that opinion/ re 
 joined the doctor. The man went on to say out the lesson " I feel 
 willing to be damned for the glory of God." Well, my friend, I don t 
 know any one who has the slightest objection I" 
 
 I heard yesterday, while on a visit to my dear friend, Dr. Dewey, at 
 Sheffield, another equally characteristic story of this old friend of my fa- 
 

 24 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 My father appreciated highly Mr. Hopkins s talents and 
 virtues, and always spoke of him as a man " commc il y en a 
 ptu." Like other patriotic civilians, Mr. Hopkins took up 
 arms during the Revolutionary War. An old man, a soldier 
 of that time a pensioner of ours told me the following an 
 ecdote : Mr. H. had a command at White Plains, or in that 
 vicinity, when the British were in great force near them. 
 News came that he was ill (I believe of the disease of which 
 he afterward prematurely died). My father went to him at 
 great personal risk, for the British were advancing, and our 
 people retreating. He procured a litter and soldiers my 
 informant was one of them and Mr. H. was placed on the 
 litter and hastily carried off. They heard firing ; Mr. H., 
 weakened by illness, was terrified, sure he should be taken 
 prisoner, or they should all be shot ; he implored my father 
 with tears to leave him to his fate, and save himself. My 
 father of course resisted, cheered and sustained him, and 
 conveyed him to* a place of safety. My father afterward 
 married the young half-sister of Mark Hopkins s wife, Pa 
 mela Dwight, my beloved and tenderly remembered mother. 
 
 My father first opened an office in Barrington (Bryant, 
 the poet, occupied it afterward), and I have heard him say 
 that for six weeks he sat looking up and down the street, 
 like poor Dennis Bulgruddery, for a client, but no client 
 came, and he took down his sign and moved off to Sheffield, 
 where he began his honorable legal career. He married, 
 before he was twenty-one, Eliza Mason, a relative of the late 
 
 thcr. One of his Church was up before thnt solemn tribunal for some 
 profane words spoken in wrath. Ho was a man liable to be provoked 
 to a sudden gust of passion by a scamp, but tender and cherishing as a 
 June dew to the widow and fatherless. After hearing the evidence of 
 his accusers, Dr. H. said, The poor man is a grievous sinner on one 
 Hide, hut, my friends, I think he has more of the milk of human kindness 
 in his heart than all the rest of my Church together !" 
 
Recollections of C/u M/ioott. 25 
 
 celebrated Jeremiah Mason. She died within the year of 
 their marriage, of small-pox, which she caught from my fa 
 ther. It was the practice of those times in our rural dis 
 tricts to shut patients ill with this hideous disease in a hos 
 pital (some little shanty set apart, out of the village, and 
 called the pock house) till they were pronounced beyond the 
 possibility of communicating it. My father, thus certified, 
 went home to his young wife. She was in a condition that 
 made it imprudent to take inoculation. It was believed that 
 she caught the disease from combing my father s hair, which 
 he wore long and tied in a cue, according to the fashion of 
 the times. 
 
 My father, through life, cherished the most tender recol 
 lections of this poor lady. Not long after her death, he was 
 lying upon the bed he had shared with her (a " field bed 
 stead," with a bar across the two foot-posts), and unable to 
 sleep ; he said to himself, " If I could but see her as she 
 was, in her every-day dress see her once more, I should be 
 comforted." (Oh, how many of us, Alice, would give the 
 world for that one sight more, one look, one word 1) Well, 
 he pondered on this thought till suddenly the room filled 
 with a light not like the light of lamp, not like a thousand, 
 the brightest not like the light of the sun, but a heavenly 
 radiance, and his wife his young wife, her face lit with love 
 and happiness, stood leaning over the bar at the foot of his 
 bed, looking on him. He raised himself on his elbow; he, 
 wondering, surveyed her from head to foot, and fantastically, 
 as we sometimes do in our strongest emotions observe trifles, 
 remarked the buckles in her shoes ; he sprang forward to 
 embrace her she was gone the light was gone it was a 
 dream. " If I had one particle of superstition," he would 
 say, " I should believe that my wife had appeared to me 1" 
 And yet I think my dear father had that particle of super 
 stition, for through his whole life he had once a year a dream 
 
 B 
 
26 Life of Catharine M. Setigwick. 
 
 that was like a visitation of this girl-wife. She always came 
 to restore to him those days of young romantic love the 
 passages of after life vanished. I can well remember the 
 sweet, tender expression of his face when he used to say, " I 
 have had my dream !" 
 
 I do not know precisely the period that elapsed between 
 my father s first marriage and his second one to my mother. 
 It was not long not much more, I think, than the canonized 
 "year and a day." In that time marriage was essential to 
 a man s life ; there were no arrangements independent of it, 
 no substitutions for it ; and, besides, my father was domestic 
 in his disposition, out-and-out social ; he could not endure 
 solitude unless he were intensely absorbed in business, and 
 he married. My mother was the only daughter of Brigadier 
 Colonel Dwight and my grandmother, who had been the 
 widow of the excellent missionary Sergeant. My mother s 
 family (of this I have rather an indefinite impression than 
 any knowledge) objected to my father on the score of fam 
 ily, they priding themselves on their gentle blood ; but as 
 he afterward rose far beyond their highest water-mark, the 
 objection was cast into oblivion by those who made it. 
 
 Their union was a very perfect one : reverence, devotion, 
 with infinite tenderness on her side ; respect, confidence, 
 and unswerving love on his. Their eldest child was called, 
 at my mother s request, Eliza Mason, after the first wife a 
 proof of how generous and unjealotts she was. 
 
 I have just (October 6th, 1853) come into possession of 
 some old letters which have carried me back deep into the 
 interests of my parents lives, and to give you, my dear child, 
 some notion of my mother s character, her wisdom, her con 
 jugal devotion, and self-negation, I copy a letter she wrote 
 to my father at a time when he was to decide whether to 
 continue in public life or retire from it. His continuance 
 
Recollections of Childhood, 27 
 
 involved his absence from her during the winter, when, with 
 very delicate health and a nervous temperament, she must 
 be left for many months in this cold northern country, with 
 young children, a large household, complicated concerns, 
 and the necessity of economy. A distance of two hundred 
 and eighty miles hence to Philadelphia was a very differ 
 ent affair from what it would be now. The winter journey, 
 if most prosperous, would occupy five or six days, and might 
 twice or thrice that time, so that it was nearly as grave a 
 question as it would be now whether a husband were to pass 
 his winters in London. N.B. There is in the style a def 
 erence not common in these days, and you will observe, 
 too, an old-fashioned form of expression. 
 
 " Pardon me, my dearest Mr. Sedgwick, if I beg you once 
 more to think over the matter before you embark in public 
 business. 
 
 "I grant that the call of our country, the voice of 
 Fame, 1 and the Hon w V right HoiV V are high-sounding 
 words. They play around the head, but come not near the 
 heart. A wish to serve the true interests of our country is 
 certainly a laudable ambition, but the intention brings many 
 cares with it. You best know what they are, as you have 
 had a large share of them already. 
 
 "The new government is yet untried. If I mistake not, 
 the success of it depends more on the virtue and economy 
 of the people than on the wisdom of those who govern, or 
 the uncommon excellency that is supposed to attend the 
 form. 
 
 " Should the people find they are not happy under it, the 
 fault will all be in their rulers. They will be subjected to 
 the envy of some, the reproach of others, and the remarks 
 of all. The interest of your family deserves some atten 
 tion. Men in public life are generally dependent in more 
 senses than one. Should you find your circumstances strait- 
 
28 jLtfe of Catharine AT. Sedgwick. 
 
 ened at a future day, I know, from the tender affection you 
 have for your children, it would give you great pain. A re 
 turn to Congress would then be painful, and would be thought 
 degrading. On my own account I will say nothing but that 
 I have not a distant wish that you should sacrifice your hap 
 piness to mine, or your inclination to my opinion. If, on the 
 whole, you think a public line of life will be most conducive 
 to your interest and happiness, I will pray that He who is 
 alone the author of all good will strew peace in all your 
 paths. Submission is my duty, and, however hard, I will try 
 to practice what reason teaches me I am under obligation 
 to do." 
 
 My father decided for public life, and I believe my mother 
 never again expressed one word of remonstrance or dissat 
 isfaction. She, no doubt, was gratified with his honorable 
 public career, inasmuch as it proved his worth, but I think 
 she had no sympathy with what is called honor and distinc 
 tion ; she was essentially modest and humble, and she looked 
 beyond, 
 
 She was oppressed with cares and responsibilities ; her 
 health failed ; she made no claims, she uttered no com 
 plaints ; she knew she was most tenderly beloved, and held 
 in the very highest respect by my father, but her physical 
 strength was not equal to the demands upon her, and her 
 reason gave way. She had two or three turns of insanity, 
 which lasted each, I believe, some months ; I know not how 
 long, for I was too young to remember any thing but being 
 told that my " mamma was sick, and sent away to a good 
 doctor." This physician, I have since learned, was a Dr. 
 Waldo, of Richmond, who took my mother to his house, and 
 was supposed to treat her judiciously and most kindly. But 
 oh 1 I can not bear to think it has been one of the saddest 
 sorrows of my life to think how much aggravated misery my 
 dear, gentle, patient mother must have suffered from the ig- 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 29 
 
 norance of the right mode of treating mental diseases which 
 then existed.* 
 
 My mother may have had a constitutional tendency to 
 insanity, but I believe the delicate construction of a sensi 
 tive and reserved temperament, a constitution originally 
 fragile, and roughly handled by the medical treatment of 
 the times, and the terrible weight of domestic cares, will suf 
 ficiently account for her mental illness without supposing a 
 cerebral tendency which her descendants may have inher 
 ited. But this fear may be wholesome to them, if it lead them 
 to a careful physical training, to guarding against nervous 
 susceptibilities and weakness, and to avoiding the stimulants 
 and excitements so unfavorable to nervous constitutions. I 
 firmly believe that people may be educated out of a heredita 
 ry tendency to insanity more surely than one can eradicate 
 a liability to consumption, or any other scrofulous poison. 
 
 I am sure my father felt throughout his public career a 
 harassing sense of the suffering it occasioned my mother. 
 In a letter to my sisters, then young girls, dated 1791, three 
 years after the letter I have quoted from, he says, " You can 
 imagine how much the conflict between a sense of public 
 duty and private inclination affected my spirits and temper 
 while I was at home. I most sincerely endeavored to weigh 
 all circumstances, and to discover what I ought to do. This 
 I believed I did, but the struggle was severe and painful. * 
 ****** 
 
 " The description you give of her patience and resignation 
 
 * Mumbct was the only person who could tranquillize my mother 
 when her mind was disordered the only one of her friends whom she 
 liked to have about her and why ? She treated her with the same re 
 spect she did when she was sane. As far as was possible, she obeyed 
 her commands and humored her caprices ; in short, her superior in 
 stincts hit upon the mode of treatment that science has since adopted. 
 
30 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 is precisely such as I should have expected, You know 
 not, my dear children, the blessing of having such a parent. 
 While she possesses all the softness and tenderness which 
 renders woman so amiable, she has a greatness and noble 
 ness of mind which I have hardly known equaled by her sex. 
 How dignified, how exemplary in all her sufferings 1" 
 
 In the same letter he says, "This life is a checkered 
 scene. I myself have been what is called a prosperous man. 
 I have reason to bless God I have been less unfortunate, 
 even in my own opinion, than many others. To the view 
 of the world, I have been, I doubt not, an object of envy. 
 Connected with one of the best of women, blessed with 
 many children,* all hopeful, and those who have become 
 more advanced of good characters and deserving them, in 
 easy circumstances, respectable fn my profession, honored in 
 my own country, and known and respected in others, yet I feel 
 that this life is far from affording felicity. How important 
 is it, then, that our hopes should not rest in these things I 
 
 " May, my dear children, that gracious Being, whose good 
 ness has done better for me than I deserved, be the kind 
 protector and guardian of my beloved offspring, most fer 
 vently prays your ever affectionate papa, 
 
 "THEODORE SEDOWICK." 
 
 I had in my hand yesterday another of my father s letters, 
 which may entertain you at the distance of time you live 
 from the dynasty of Washington, for it is " sixty years since." 
 
 " Philadelphia^ 1794. I dined yesterday at the President s, 
 where I was treated with a distinguished partiality very 
 grateful to my feelings. The President, you know, never 
 sits at the head of his table. That place he particularly re- 
 
 * J ut s c Scdgwick was at this time forty-six years old, and his chil 
 dren were seven in number; Eliza, Theodore, Frances, Harry, Hubert, 
 Catharine, and Charles. 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 3 1 
 
 quested me to take ; Mr. Dandridge, as usual, sat at the oth 
 er end. When Mrs. Washington retired, she stopped and 
 desired me not to go away until I had been entertained by 
 JVe//y s* playing. Accordingly, I went up stairs, and the 
 good lady requested me to take a seat on the sofa by "her. 
 She then asked if I had any particular tune which was a fa 
 vorite with me, and added, f jFbr Nelly can play any thing* 
 Submitting myself to her taste, to prevent discovering that I 
 had none, Nelly played several grave and solemn tunes, and 
 accompanied them inimitably with her voice. Mrs. Wash 
 ington, perceiving me unusually solemn, turned to Miss Cus- 
 tis and said, with her usual amiable simplicity, Nelly, play 
 for Mr. Sedgwick " Chase dull care away ;" don t you see 
 he wants to be enlivened ? f After spending with the good 
 family an hour, I accompanied them to a concert for the 
 benefit of a French family." 
 
 These were victims of the Revolution, and he goes on to 
 detail particulars of several then in Philadelphia, among 
 others the Due de Liancourt and the Bishop of Autun. But 
 we, in our day, are more familiar with the reception of ex 
 iles than my father was, and you and your contemporaries, 
 dear Alice, are like to have the opportunity of a similar 
 hospitality.! 
 
 * Miss Eleanor Custis, Mrs. Washington s daughter. 
 
 t Front Jti fttinistfiicts tlaU it July* 1812. 
 
 In the year 1782, just at the close of our Revolutionary War, my fa 
 ther dined with the officers of our army at Vcrplanck s Point. The 
 illustrious Washington was there. Just before the sun set, Gen. Wash 
 ington was called out. My father then rose to take his leave, but was 
 deterred by the general requesting him to stay, and telling him that he 
 would show him something which he was sure would be very gratifying 
 to him. The roll was then called, and all the troops paraded. Gen. 
 Washington then, pointing to two objects, told my father that all the 
 men between them were from Massachusetts, and made one hundred 
 and fifty more than one half of his whole army. 
 
32 Life of Cat/iari/it M. Scdgwick. 
 
 I copy for you a little letter written by my father to his 
 eldest child when she was a little girl of ten years. It is a 
 fair sample of the fond, tender letters he was in the habit of 
 writing periodically and punctually to his children while he 
 was immersed in the most important national affairs. 
 
 " Accept my thanks, my kind and good child, for your 
 
 When my father was first elected to Congress, which was not till after 
 a very sharp contest, he had a very slight acquaintance with Washing 
 ton. The first evening he arrived at the scat of government he went 
 with a friend to be presented at the President s levee. The President 
 immediately recognized him, stepped out of the drawing-room, gave his 
 hand to my father, and told him he was very glad that he was elected at 
 last. 
 
 This was a most gracious reception from a man characterized by a 
 deportment reserved almost to severity. To my father, who knew how 
 to appreciate even a look from the greatest man of any age or country, 
 it was a mark of distinction and kindness peculiarly grateful. 
 
 I have heard my father relate an instance of the repelling dignity of 
 Washington s manner on an occasion when it was proper for him to re 
 press familiarity. Gardoqui, the Spanish minister, at one of the gen 
 eral s levees, advanced from the crowd, and, with an air perfectly easy 
 and familiar, slipped his arm within the general s, and began to whisper 
 to him. lie only began, for Washington shook him off with a look that 
 would have awed temerity itself. Gardoqui shrunk back into the crowd, 
 and paid the penalty of his forwardness in silence and shame. 
 
 On the last day of Washington s administration, he invited my father, 
 with Mr. Ames and Mr. Goodhue, to take a family dinner with him. 
 When the gentlemen were retiring, he begged my father to remain, as 
 he said he had a great deal to say to him. * * * * The President spoke 
 of his successor as a man of science and integrity, but he said no man 
 would be the worse for wise counselors. He had heard that my father, 
 Mr. Ross, and some others purposed withdrawing from tho government, 
 and he had heard it, he said, with deep concern, as he wished that such 
 men should give all their talents and influence to aid this last experi 
 ment of a republic. For himself, he retired that he might be a specta 
 tor, as it was a common remark that a by-stander was a better judge of 
 a game than one of the parties could be. Thus he modestly expressed 
 his desire to see how our chariot of state would move when he who 
 had so long guided it in safety should have relinquished the reins. 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 33 
 
 kind and pretty letter by Mr. E . Believe me, my sweet 
 
 prattler, that you can not, more than I do, regret our separa 
 tion. Should it so happen that my duty will permit, I will 
 fly on the wings of Love to see and embrace my lovely, 
 sweet children. If you knew how happy I was made by the 
 information that you are a good child, you would not fail to 
 continue to be so. I do not believe you will. I should be 
 miserable if I did. Remember, my love, that our happiness 
 or our misery depends chiefly on our good conduct, and you 
 will not fail to endeavor to be good. Be kind to your mam 
 ma. She is good. She deserves all your attention. Re 
 member that you are the oldest child, and that you can re 
 ward your parents care by a good example. 
 
 " Farewell. I heartily pray God to make you virtuous 
 and happy. 1 
 
 In all his letters he expressed the most thoughtful love 
 for my mother, and the highest appreciation of her charac 
 ter. When fearing a recurrence of her mental malady, he 
 says, " Read to her, or persuade her to read diverting books. 
 Every other object must submit to an attention to her. Is 
 company diverting, she must be indulged with it. Does it 
 increase her gloom, it must be kept from her. She is the 
 best of human beings, and every circumstance of business 
 or of pleasure must be made to submit to her restoration." 
 
 I have been reading a mass of my father s letters from 
 1784 to 1789, addressed to my sister Eliza and to my moth 
 er. My sister Eliza resembled my mother much more than 
 Frances or myself. She had her modesty, her self-diffi 
 dence, her humility. This was a constitutional quality, but 
 so authorized and enforced by their religion that to them 
 both it took the potent form of a duty. 
 
 I rather think that my mother was intellectually superior 
 to my sister ; if not originally, by the long partnership with 
 
 B 2 
 
34 Life of Catharine JkT. Sedgwick. 
 
 a superior mind occupied in great affairs. Her long sepa 
 rations from my father seem to have been almost cruel to 
 her. He continually laments over them, and, but that his 
 compunction is tempered by the conviction of an overruling 
 duty to his country, he would have been miserable. Her 
 sufferings are past, and, I doubt not, prepared her to enjoy 
 more keenly the rest and felicities of heaven. The good 
 done by my father in trying to establish the government, 
 and to swell the amount of that political virtue which makes 
 the history of the Federal party the record of the purest 
 patriotism the world has known t/iat remains. 
 
 You do not seem now, my dear little Alice, like one who 
 will ever be curious to inquire into the shades of political 
 virtue ; but who knows but one of the boys may one day be 
 prying into his ancestors history, whose pulses will beat 
 quicker for the testimony I give to my father s earnest de 
 votion to his country. 
 
 I was a child at the period of the great ferment occasion 
 ed by the decline of the Federal party and the growth of 
 the Democratic party. My father had the habit of having 
 his children always about him, and we had so strong a sym 
 pathy with him that there was no part of his life which we 
 did not partake. I remember well looking upon a Demo 
 crat as an enemy to his country, and at the party as sure, if 
 it prevailed, to work its destruction. I heard my father s 
 conversation with his political friends, and in the spontane 
 ous expressions of domestic privacy, and I received the im 
 pression then (and, looking back with a riper judgment, I 
 feel assured of its correctness) that the Federal party loved 
 their country, and were devoted to it, as virtuous parents 
 are to their children. It was to my father what selfish 
 men s private affairs are to them, of deep and ever-present 
 interest. It was not the success of men, or the acquisition 
 of office, but the maintenance of principles on which, as it 
 
RecoMcctions of Childhood. 35 
 
 appeared to them, the sound health and true life of their 
 country depended. They dreaded French influence they 
 believed Jefferson to be false, the type of all evil they were 
 a good deal influenced by old prestiges they retained their 
 predilections for Great Britain. They hoped a republic 
 might exist and prosper, and be the happiest government in 
 the world, but not without a strong aristocratic element; 
 and that the constitutional monarchy of Britain was the 
 safest and happiest government on earth, I am sure they 
 believed. 
 
 But, firm to the experiment of the Republic, they had no 
 treasonable thought of introducing a monarchy here. Their 
 misfortune, and perhaps the inevitable consequence of hav 
 ing been educated loyal subjects of a monarchical govern 
 ment, was a thorough distrust of " the people." I remem 
 ber my father, one of the kindest-hearted of men, and most 
 observant of the rights of all beneath him, habitually spoke 
 politically of the people as "Jacobins," " sans-culottes," and 
 "miscreants." He and in this I speak of him as the type 
 of the Federal party dreaded every upward step they 
 made, regarding their elevation as a depression, in propor 
 tion to their ascension, of the intelligence and virtue of the 
 country. The upward tendencies from education, and im 
 provements in the arts of life, were unknown to them. They 
 judged of the "people 11 as they had been, as were the 
 " greasy, unwashen multitude" of Rome and of Shakspeare s 
 time as they are now for the most part in Europe, utterly 
 inexperienced in government, incapable of attaining to its 
 abstractions, or feeling its moralities. 
 
 My father felt it to be his duty to remain in public life at 
 every private sacrifice at the expense of his domestic hap 
 piness, his home-love, which was his ruling passion. I know 
 he must have felt the craving that all men conscious of pow 
 er feel for enlarging the bounds of their horizon. The Mil- 
 
36 Lift of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 tons are not content to be " inglorious," nor the Hampdens 
 to be mere " villagers." 
 
 Still I am sure that nothing short of a self-devotion to 
 his country s good would have induced him to leave my 
 mother, winter after winter, tottering under her burden of 
 care, and so far separate himself from his little children, 
 whose lisping voices seemed to follow him, and whose loved 
 images were ever about him. Nothing can exceed the un- 
 intermiuing tenderness of his letters to my mother. He 
 never failed, in any pressure of business, to write to her and 
 to his children. How well do I remember the arrival of 
 those packets I The mail came but once a week, and then 
 we all gathered about our mother, each expecting, and very 
 often each receiving, a letter " from papa !" I can see them 
 now the form of the letters the directions, as they looked 
 then. I <to see them now, time-worn and discolored, but 
 still imbued with the essence of my father s soul. No man 
 was in his affections a truer image of Him "who is love." 
 
 My mother, after years of decline from a life of ill health, 
 died in 1807, at the age of fifty-four. 
 
 The portrait I have of her was as faithful a likeness as so 
 wretched a painting could be. Bad as it is, it will give you 
 an impression of her personal dignity, and of the sweetness 
 and sensibility of her character, and of her temperament, 
 which, if not originally a sad one, became melancholy from 
 her tragic personal trials.* 
 
 I will copy here a character of her, written, I think, by my 
 brother Harry. It has a little of the stiffness of an unac 
 customed pen, and the formality of an obituary, but it was 
 true to the letter, which few obituaries are. 
 
 "Mrs, Pamela Sedgwick, In attempting to offer a tribute 
 
 * A good engraving from this picture is published in Griswold s " Re 
 publican Court," printed in 1855. 
 
Recollections of C/iild/ioott. 37 
 
 to her memory, the author feels the most trembling solici 
 tude. That eulogium, which ought to have been kept sa 
 cred to eminent merit, has been so prostituted to vulgar use 
 and on unworthy occasions, that there remain no terms by 
 which to distinguish such virtue as was that of this most ex 
 cellent woman. 
 
 "Through a whole lifetime she never once expressed a 
 feeling of impatience. Such was the strength of her sub 
 missive piety ; but, from the sensibility of her temper, she 
 was often afflicted with the severest anguish, from an appre 
 hension that her life was useless. 
 
 " She seemed sweetly to repose on the pillow of Faith, 
 and, when tortured by pain and debilitated by disease, she 
 not only sustained herself, but was the comfort, support, and 
 delight of her family. 
 
 " Her sufferings, in degree and duration, have been per 
 haps without a parallel, but they reached not the measure 
 of her faith and her patience. Had she endured less, she 
 would never have exhibited, and her friends could never 
 have estimated, the invincible meekness and the gentleness 
 of her heavenly temper. It may not be profane or irrever 
 ent to suppose that, with some distant resemblance to our 
 Redeemer, she did not suffer solely for herself that her 
 trials and her piety were in some measure designed for the 
 instruction of others ; and we may be permitted to hope 
 that her example and her memory, by their influence on the 
 heart and the conduct, will contribute to the eternal welfare 
 of those she most loved. Many whom she has instructed in 
 the spirit and practice of the holy religion she professed, 
 and many whose wants and pains have been relieved by her 
 bounty and soothed by her attention, will gratefully ac 
 knowledge that this is but a faint delineation of her virtue, 
 and their tears will confess that, though the sketch is imper 
 fect, it is not false. 
 
38 Lift: of Catharine JW. 
 
 " What her friends, and, above all, what her husband and 
 children have suffered, must be left to the conception of the 
 reader /*/ fan not bt told. But it is hoped that they will try 
 to dismiss all selfish regards, and to rejoice that she is now 
 where the righteous have their reward, and the weary are at 
 rest. 
 
 " Stockbridge, Sept., 1807." 
 
 Beloved mother ! Even at this distance of time, the 
 thought of what I suffered when you died thrills my soul ! 
 
 My father felt the solitariness of his home. He married, 
 a little more than a year after my mother s death, Penelope 
 Russell, a Boston woman, of a highly-respectable family, an 
 agreeable exterior, and an attractive vivacity. My father 
 was flattered into this marriage by some good-natured friends 
 who believed he would be the happier for it, and knew she 
 would. Like most second marriages where there are chil 
 dren, it was disastrous. The poor lady was put into a life 
 for which she was totally unfitted. She knew nothing of 
 the business of country domestic life, and her ambition to 
 shine in it was simply ludicrous to us, and onerous to her. 
 She fluttered gracefully enough through the inanities of town 
 drawing-rooms, but the reality and simplicity of our country 
 life was insupportable to her. We were all matured ; I was 
 eighteen, Charles sixteen, the rest all married or away from 
 home but I forget, dear Alice, that I began with telling you 
 the story of my own life, and that I shall come, in due time, 
 to this chapter of its experience.* 
 
 * As, unfortunately, this autobiography was never completed, and 
 breaks off with the close of its writer s childhood, this painful subject 
 may be closed here in a few words. 
 
 During the four years that passed between Judge Scdgwick s last 
 marriage and his death, his children, though bitterly grieved at seeing a 
 
Recollections of C/tiM/iooif. 39 
 
 I was born, then, in 1789, December 28th, in a bitter cold 
 night, as I have heard my Aunt Dwight say, who was pres 
 ent on the occasion. It was in the southwest room of the 
 dear old house, that which your Aunt Susan now occupies 
 as her parlor, and in which your " father Charles" was born 
 two years after, in December, 1791. I came into the world 
 two months before I was due. It was owing to this, proba 
 bly, that I had the delicacy of complexion which made my 
 good uncle, Dr. Sergeant, and " Mumbet" remember me as 
 " fair and handsome as a London doll." I know nothing 
 memorable of my infancy except that my sister Eliza, 
 through all that severe winter, slept in the room with my 
 mother, and got up in the cold watches of the night to feed 
 me, my mother being unable to nurse me. What such a 
 love-service was those only can estimate who remember our 
 houses before the winter atmosphere was tempered by stoves. 
 
 How faint and few are the recollections of a childhood 
 that flowed smoothly on the current of love ! I remember 
 my first attempt to say " Theodore" and " Philadelphia," 
 and I remember a trick I had of biting the glass from which 
 I was drinking, and, from a comparison of dates, this was 
 within the first two years of my life. Now, my darling, don t 
 think I am superannuated because I think it worth while to 
 record this. It is associated with my first impression of my 
 father. I remember that there was company at table Miss 
 Susan Morton, from New York. 1 * I remember where she 
 
 woman of so superficial a character in their mother s place, never failed 
 in deference and attention to the companion he had chosen, and so un 
 changed was their reverential love for him that he probably never sus 
 pected their unhappincss on this account. 
 
 Within a month after her husband s death, Mrs, Scdgwick returned 
 to her friends, and it is enough to say of her that she left a family all 
 possessing quick sensibility, and governed by sincere and practical re 
 ligious feeling, without having inspired either respect or affection. 
 
 * Afterward Mrs. Quincy, from whose Reminiscences a passage is 
 given above (aiitb, p. 1(5.) 
 
40 jLife of Catharine M. Stdgwick. 
 
 sat, where my father sat, and where I sat. I recall perfectly 
 the feeling with which I turned my eye to him, expecting to 
 see that brow (which all his life long marked to me the state 
 of his feelings as distinctly as the degrees on a thermome 
 ter do the state of the weather) cloud with displeasure, but 
 it was smooth as love could make it. That consciousness, 
 that glance, that assurance remained stamped indelibly 
 and I think I have never known a greater fear than to see a 
 cloud on that brow. 
 
 How trivial, too, are the recollections of childhood I The 
 next notch on my memory is of being sent over to Mrs. 
 Caroline Dwight, to borrow a boy s dress of Frank Dwight s, 
 which was to be the model of your " father Charles s" first 
 male attire. Then come thronging recollections of my 
 childhood, its joys and sorrows " Papa s going away," and 
 " Papa s coming home ;" the dreadful clouds that came over 
 our sunny home when mamma was sick my love of Mum- 
 bet, that noble woman, the main pillar of our household 
 distinctly the faces of the favorite servants, Grippy, Samp 
 son Derby, Sampson the cook, a runaway slave, " Lady 
 Prime," and various others who, to my mind s eye, are still 
 young, vigorous, and alert 1 Not Agrippa, for him I saw 
 through the various stages of manhood to decrepit old age. 
 Grippy is one of the few who will be immortal in our village 
 annals. He enlisted in the army of the Revolution, and, 
 being a very well-trained and adroit servant, he was taken 
 into the personal service of the noble Pole, Kosciusko. Un 
 like most heroes, he always remained a hero to his valet 
 Grippy, who many a time has charmed our childhood with 
 stories of his soldier-master. One I remember, of which the 
 catastrophe moved my childish indignation. Kosciusko was 
 absent from camp, and Agrippa, to amuse his fellow-servants, 
 dressed in his master s most showy uniform, and blacked 
 with shining black-ball his legs and feet to resemble boots. 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 41 
 
 Just as he was in full exhibition, his master returned, and, 
 resolved to have his own fun out of the joke, he bade " Grip" 
 follow him, and took him to the tents of several officers, in 
 troducing him as an African prince. Poor Grippy, who had 
 as mortal an aversion practically as our preachers of tem 
 perance have theoretically to every species of spirituous liq 
 uor, was received at each new introduction by a soldier s hos 
 pitality, and compelled, by a nod from his master, to taste 
 each abhorrent cup, brandy, or wine, or " Hollands," or 
 whatever (to Grippy poisonous) potion it might chance to 
 be, till, when his master was sated with the joke, he gave 
 him a kick, and sent him staggering away. I think Grippy 
 was fully compensated by the joke for the ignominy of its 
 termination. He had a fund of humor and mother-wit, and 
 was a sort of Sancho Panza in the village, always trimming 
 other men s follies with a keen perception, and the biting 
 wit of wisdom. Grippy was a capital subaltern, but a very 
 poor officer. As a servant he was faultless, but in his own 
 domain at home a tyrant. Mumbet (mamma Bet), on the 
 contrary, though absolutely perfect in service, was never 
 servile. Her judgment and will were never subordinated 
 by mere authority ; but when she went to her own little 
 home, like old Eli, she was the victim of her affections, and 
 was weakly indulgent to her riotous and ruinous descendants. 
 I believe, my clear Alice, that the people who surround us 
 in our childhood, whose atmosphere infolds us, as it were, 
 have more to do with the formation of our characters than 
 all our didactic and preceptive education. Mumbet had a 
 clear and nice perception of justice, and a stern love of it, 
 an uncompromising honesty in word and deed, and conduct 
 of high intelligence, that made her the unconscious moral 
 teacher of the children she tenderly nursed. She was a 
 remarkable exception to the general character of her race. 
 Injustice and oppression have confounded their moral sense ; 
 
4a JLife of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 cheated as they have been of their liberty, defrauded at whole 
 sale of time and strength, what wonder that they allow them 
 selves petty reprisals a sort of predatory warfare in the 
 households of their masters and employers for, though 
 they now among us be free, they retain the vices of a de 
 graded and subjected people. 
 
 I do not believe that any amount of temptation could have 
 induced Mumbet to swerve from truth. She knew nothing 
 of the compromises of timidity, or the overwrought consci 
 entiousness of bigotry. Truth was her nature the offspring 
 of courage and loyalty. In my childhood I clung to her 
 with instinctive love and faith, and the more I know and 
 observe of human nature, the higher does she rise above oth 
 ers, whatever may have been their instruction or accomplish 
 ment. In her the image of her Maker was cast in material 
 so hard and pure that circumstances could not alter its out 
 line or cloud its lustre. This may seem rhodomontade to 
 you, my child. " Why," you may exclaim, " my aunt could 
 say nothing more of Washington, and this woman was once 
 a slave, born a slave, and always a servant 1" Yes, so she 
 was, and yet I well remember that during her last sickness, 
 when I daily visited her in her little hut her then inde 
 pendent home I said then, and my sober after judgment 
 ratified it, that I felt awed as if I had entered the presence 
 of Washington. Even protracted suffering and mortal sick 
 ness, with old age, could not break down her spirit. When 
 Dr. F. said to her, with the proud assurance of his spiritual 
 office, " Are you not afraid to meet your God ?" " No, sir," 
 she replied, " I am not afeard. I have tried to do my duty, 
 and I am not afeard 1" This was truth, and she spoke it 
 with calm dignity. Creeds crumble before such a faith. 
 
 Speaking to me of the mortal nature of her disease, she 
 said, " It is the last stroke, and it is the best stroke." 
 
 Her expressions of feeling were simple and comprehcn- 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 43 
 
 sive. When she suddenly lost a beloved grandchild, the 
 only descendant of whom she had much hope she was a 
 young mother, and died without an instant s warning I re 
 member Mumbet walking up and down the room with her 
 hands knit together and great tears rolling down her cheeks, 
 repeating, as if to send back into her soul its swelling sor 
 row, " Don t say a word ; it s God s will I" And when I was 
 sobbing over my dead inothpr, she said, " We must be quiet. 
 Don t you think I am grieved ? Our hair has grown white 
 together." Even at this distance of time I remember the 
 effect on me of her still, solemn sadness. Elsewhere, my 
 dear, you will see notices of the memorable things in her 
 life, and I need not here repeat them.* Her virtues are re 
 corded, with a truth that few epitaphs can boast, on the 
 stone we placed over her grave. Your "father Charles" 
 wrote the inscription. 
 
 My dear Alice, I wish I could give you a true picture, and 
 a vivid one, of my fragmentary childhood how different 
 from the thoughtful, careful (whether judicious or injudi 
 cious) education of the present day. 
 
 Education in the common sense I had next to none, but 
 there was much chance seed dropped in the fresh furrow, 
 and some of it was good seed, and some of it, I may say, 
 fell on good ground. My father was absorbed in political 
 life, but his affections were at home. My mother s life was 
 eaten up with calamitous sicknesses. My sisters were just 
 at that period when girls eyes are dazzled with their own 
 glowing future. I had constantly before me examples of 
 goodness, and from all sides admonitions to virtue, but no 
 regular instruction. I went to the district schools, or, if any 
 other school a little more select or better chanced, I went to 
 
 * Miss S. refers to an article on Mumbet which she wrote for some 
 periodical, whose name I can not ascertain. 
 
44 Life of Catharine M. Stdgivick. 
 
 that. But no one dictated my studies or overlooked my 
 progress. I remember feeling an intense ambition to be at 
 the head of my class, and generally being there. Our minds 
 were not weakened by too much study ; reading, spelling, 
 and D wight s Geography were the only paths of knowledge 
 into which we were led. Yes, I did go in a slovenly way 
 through the first four rules of arithmetic, and learned the 
 names of the several parts of speech, and could parse glibly. 
 But my life in Stockbridge was a most happy one. I en 
 joyed unrestrained the pleasures of a rural childhood ; I 
 went with herds of school-girls nutting, and berrying, and 
 bathing by moonlight, and wading by daylight in the lovely 
 Housatonic that flows through my father s meadows. I saw 
 its beauty then ; I loved it as a playfellow ; I loved the hills 
 and mountains that I roved over. My father was an ob 
 server and lover of nature, my sister Frances a romantic, 
 passionate devotee to it, and if I had no natural perception 
 or relish of its loveliness, I caught it from them, so that my 
 heart was early knit to it, and I at least early studied and 
 early learned this picture language, so rich and universal. 
 
 From my earliest recollection to this day of our Lord, 
 i3th October, 1853, nature has been an ever fresh and grow 
 ing beauty and enjoyment to me ; and now, when so many of 
 my dearest friends are gone, when few, even of my contem 
 poraries, are left, when new social pleasures have lost their 
 excitement, the sun coming up over these hills and sinking 
 behind them the springing and the dying year all changes 
 and aspects of nature are more beautiful to me than ever. 
 They have more solemnity, perhaps, but it is because they 
 have more meaning. If they speak in a lower tone to my 
 dimmed eye-sight, it is a gentler and tenderer one. 
 
 What would the children now, who are steeped to the lips 
 in " ologies," think of a girl of eight spending a whole sum 
 mer working a wretched sampler which was not even a tol- 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 45 
 
 crable specimen of its species I But even as early as that, 
 my father, whenever he was at home, kept me up and at his 
 side till nine o clock in the evening, to listen to him while 
 he read aloud to the family Hume, or Shakspeare, or Don 
 Quixote, or Hudibras ! Certainly I did not understand them, 
 but some glances of celestial light reached my soul, and I 
 caught from his magnetic sympathy some elevation of feel 
 ing, and that love of reading which has been to me "edu 
 cation." 
 
 I remember a rcmak of Gibbon s which corresponds with 
 my own experience. He says that the love of reading with 
 which an aunt inspired him was worth all the rest of his ed 
 ucation, and what must that " rest" have been in the balance 
 against the pauperism of my instruction ! 
 
 I was not more than twelve years old I think but ten 
 when, during one winter, I read Roll in s Ancient History. 
 The walking to our school-house was often bad, and I took 
 my lunch (how well I remember the bread and butter, and 
 " nut-cakes," and cold sausage, and nuts, and apples, that 
 made the miscellaneous contents of that enchanting lunch- 
 basket !), and in the interim between the morning and after 
 noon school I crept under my desk (the desks were so made 
 as to afford little close recesses under them) and read, and 
 munched, and forgot myself in Cyrus s greatness I 
 
 It was in those pleasant winters that Crocker brought, at 
 the close of the afternoon school, " old Rover" to the school- 
 house door for me to ride home. The gallant, majestic old 
 veteran was then superannuated, and treated with all the re 
 spect that waits on age. I believe this was the hardest serv 
 ice he rendered, but this made his life not quite a sinecure, 
 for it was my custom and delight to take up my favorite 
 school friends, one after another, and "ride" them home, 
 putting old Rover to his utmost speed, and I think the poor 
 
46 Life of Catharine M. 
 
 old horse caught something of our youthful spirits, for he 
 galloped over the plain with us, distancing the boys, who 
 were fond of running at his heels, hurraing and throwing up 
 their hats. 
 
 I was a favorite with my school-mates, partly, I fear, be 
 cause I had what the phrenologists term an excessive love 
 of approbation, and partly that I had, more than the rest, 
 the means of gratifying them. On Saturday it was usual to 
 appoint two of the girls to sweep the school-house and set 
 it in order, and these two chose a third. I was usually dis 
 tinguished by the joint vote of my compatriots, and why ? 
 I had unlimited credit at the " store," where my father kept 
 an open account, and, while the girls swept, I provided a 
 lunch of Malaga wine and raisins, or whatever was to be had 
 that suited the "sweet tooth" of childhood. I well remem 
 ber my father s consternation when he looked over the semi 
 annual bill, and found it dotted with these charges, " per 
 daughter Catharine," in country fashion. He was much 
 more amazed than displeased, but I remember he cut me 
 off from thereafter being in that mode "glorious" by a "my 
 dear little girl, this must not be in future." What would our 
 Temperance zealots say to so slight a rebuke on such an 
 occasion 1 But it was effectual, and left no stinging sense 
 of wrong, which a harsher visitation of an unconscious error 
 would have done. 
 
 Oh, how different was my miscellaneous childhood from 
 the driving study and the elaborate accomplishments of 
 children of my class of the present day i I have all my life 
 felt the want of more systematic training, but there were pe 
 culiar circumstances in my condition that in some degree 
 supplied these great deficiencies, and these were blessings 
 ever to be remembered with gratitude. I was reared in 
 an atmosphere of high intelligence. My father had uncom 
 mon mental vigor. So had my brothers. Their daily hub- 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 47 
 
 its, and pursuits, and pleasures were intellectual, and I nat 
 urally imbibed from them a kindred taste.* Their " talk 
 was not of beeves," nor of making money ; that now univer 
 sal passion had not entered into men and possessed them 
 as it does now, or, if it had, it was not in the sanctuary of 
 our home there the money-changers did not come. My 
 father was richer than his neighbors. His income supplied 
 abundantly the wants of a very careless family and an un 
 measured hospitality, but nothing was ever given to mere 
 style, and nothing was wasted on vices. I know we were 
 all impressed with a law that no prodigalities were to be 
 permitted, and that we were all to spend conscientiously; 
 but our consciences were not very tender, I think, and when 
 I look back upon the freedom of our expenditures, I wonder 
 that the whole concern was not ruined. I don t remember 
 that I had a silk frock before I was fourteen years old. I 
 wore stuffs in winter (such fabrics as in the present advanced 
 condition of manufactures a factory-girl would scarcely wear ; 
 one villainous stuff I particularly recall for school wear, 
 called " bird s-eye"), and calicoes, and muslinets, and mus 
 lins for summer ; but, thus limited in quality and variety, I 
 was allowed any number ; and I remember one winter, when 
 
 * My brother Robert says in a letter to my father, written when he 
 was between twelve and thirteen, in a school vacation, " We have fol 
 lowed your directions, which were, that the leisure time we could have 
 wo should study Horace, which wo have read through, and expect to be 
 gin Cicero dc Oratore next term. Wo enjoyed ourselves at Williams- 
 town. I think myself quite happy when I am reviewing the sublime 
 works of Virgil. His works are incomparable, and the beauty of almost 
 nil his descriptions is inexpressible." 
 
 Then follows a rapturous exclamation at Cicero s eloquence, and a 
 long quotation from him. In the same letter there is a long philippic 
 against the " Jacobins 1 and their proceedings at Willinmstown. The 
 letter is written in a hand such as few sons of gentlemen, even of that 
 early age, would now write, hut (ho subject* intimate mental habits and 
 sympathies not common to boys of twelve. 
 
48 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 I was about nine or ten, being particularly unfortunate in 
 scorching my "bird s-eye," I bought, at my own discretion, 
 three or four new dresses in the course of the winter. And 
 in ihe article of shoes, the town-bought morocco slippers 
 were few and far between, but I was permitted to order a 
 pair of calf-skin shoes as often as I fancied I wanted them, 
 and our village shoemaker told me in after life that his books 
 showed fifteen pairs made for me in one year 1 No disre 
 spect either to his fabrication or his leather ; the shoes were 
 burnt, or v/ater-soaked, or run down at the heel sad habits 
 occasioned by the want of female supervision. My dear 
 mother, most neat and orderly, was often ill or absent, my 
 sisters were married, my father took no cognizance of such 
 matters, and I had a natural carelessness which a lifetime 
 of consciousness of its inconvenience and struggle against 
 it has not overcome. You, dear Alice, are brought up with 
 all the advantages of order in both your parents. But, miss 
 ing this, I look back with satisfaction to the perfect freedom 
 that set no limit to expansion. 
 
 No bickering or dissension was ever permitted. Love 
 was the habit, the life of the household rather than the law, 
 or rather it was the law of our nature. Neither the power 
 of despots nor the universal legislation of our republic can 
 touch this element, for as God is love, so love is God, is life, 
 is light. We were born with it it was our inheritance. But 
 the duty and the virtue of guarding all its manifestations, of 
 never failing in its demonstrations, of preserving its inter 
 changes and smaller duties, was most vigilantly watched, 
 most peremptorily insisted on. A querulous tone, a com 
 plaint, a slight word of dissension, was met by that awful 
 frown of my father s. Jove s thunder was to a pagan be 
 liever but as a summer day s drifting cloud to it. It was 
 not so dreadful because it portended punishment it was 
 punishment; it was a token of a suspension of the approba 
 tion and love that were our life. 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 49 
 
 Have I given you an idea of the circumstances and edu 
 cation that made a family of seven children all honorable 
 men and women all, I think I may say without exaggera 
 tion, having noble aspirations and strong affections, with the 
 fixed principle that these were holy and inviolable ? 
 
 I have always considered country life with outlets to the 
 great world as an essential advantage in education. Besides 
 all the teaching and inspiration of Nature, and the develop 
 ment of the faculties from the necessity of using them for 
 daily exigencies, one is brought into close social relations 
 with all conditions of people. There are no barriers be 
 tween you and your neighbors. There are grades and class 
 es in our democratic community seen and acknowledged. 
 These must be every where, as Scott truly says," except among 
 the Hottentots, 1 but with us one sees one s neighbor s private 
 life unveiled. The highest and the lowest meet in their joys 
 and sorrows, at weddings and funerals, in sicknesses and 
 distresses of all sorts. Not merely as alms-bearers, but the 
 richest and highest go to the poorest to " watch" with them 
 in sickness, and perform the most menial offices for them ; 
 and though your occupations, your mode of life may be very 
 different from the artisan s, your neighbor, you meet him on 
 an apparent equality, and talk with him as members of one 
 family. In my youth there was something more of the old 
 valuation than now. My mother s family was of the old es 
 tablished gentry of Western Massachusetts, connected by 
 blood and friendship with the families of the "River-gods," 
 as the Hawlcys, Worthingtons, and Dwights of Connecticut 
 River were then designated. My father had attained an el 
 evated position in political life, and his income was ample 
 and liberally expended. He was born too soon to relish the 
 freedoms of democracy, and I have seen his brow lower 
 when a free-and-easy mechanic came to \\\& front door, and 
 upon one occasion I remember his turning off the "cast 
 
 C 
 
50 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 steps 1 (I am Sl " not kicking, but the demonstration was 
 unequivocal) a grown-up lad who kept his hat on after being 
 told to take it off (would the President of the United States 
 dare do as much now !); but, with all this tenacious adherence 
 to the habits of the elder time, no man in life was kindlier 
 than my father. One of my contemporaries, now a venerable 
 missionary, told me last summer an anecdote, perhaps worth 
 preserving, as characterizing the times and individuals. He 
 was a gentle boy, the son of a shoemaker, and then clerk to 
 the clerk of the court. The boy had driven his master to 
 Lenox, and all the way this gentleman, conscious that his 
 dignity must be preserved by vigilance, had maintained si 
 lence. When they came to their destination, he ordered the 
 boy to take his trunk into the house. As he set it down in 
 the entry, my father, then judge of the Supreme Judicial 
 Court, was coming down stairs, bringing his trunk himself. 
 He set it down, accosted the boy most kindly, and gave him 
 his cordial hand. The lad s feelings, chilled by his master s 
 haughtiness, at once melted, and took an impression of my 
 father s kindness that was never effaced. 
 
 There were upon the Bench, at the time my father was 
 placed on it, some men of crusty, oppressive manners. The 
 Bar were not treated as gentfemcn, and were in a state of 
 antagonism, and some of them had even determined to 
 leave their profession. My father s kind, courteous, con 
 siderate manners were said by his contemporaries to have 
 produced an entire change in the relation of the Bench 
 and Bar. His children, from instinct, from the example of 
 their parents, and the principles of their home, had that 
 teaching whose value Scott so well expressed in the " For 
 tunes of Nigel." " For ourselves," he says (and what does 
 he not say better than another man not to say any other !), 
 " we can assure the reader and perhaps, if we have ever 
 been able to afford him amusement, it is owing in a great 
 
of Childhood* 5 1 
 
 degree to this cause that we never found ourselves in com 
 pany with the stupidest of all possible companions in a 
 post-chaise, or with the most arrant cumber-corner that ever 
 occupied a place in a mail-coach, without finding that, in 
 the course of our conversation with him, we had some ideas 
 suggested to us, either grave or gay, or some information 
 communicated in the course of our journey which we should 
 have regretted not to have learned, and which we should 
 have been sorry to have immediately forgotten." 
 
 It was the same principle by which Napoleon made him 
 self the focus of every man s light j and in our humble, ob 
 scure village life, we profited by this " free-trade" school of 
 ideas. There were no sacrifices made of personal dignity 
 or purity \ nor, if there was in condition or character a lit 
 tle elevation above the community we lived in, was it pre 
 served by arrogant vigilance or jealous proscription. 
 
 Three of my brothers were my seniors. I have no recol 
 lections of the eldest during my childhood ; he was away at 
 school and at college, but with Harry and Robert I had in 
 timate companionship, and I think as true and loving a 
 friendship as ever existed between brothers and sister. 
 Charles was the youngest of the family, and so held a pecul 
 iar relation to us all as junior, and in some sort dependent, 
 and the natural depositary of our petting affections. I 
 hardly know why, but I believe it was because my father 
 could not bear to send him away from him, that his means 
 of education were far inferior to his brothers 1 . He did not 
 go to college, and, except a year or two s residence at Dr. 
 Backus s, in Connecticut, I think he had no teaching beyond 
 that of our common schools. He had extreme modesty, 
 and a habit of self-sacrifice and self-negation that I fear we 
 all selfishly accepted. I do not think it ever occurred to 
 him that he was quite equal to his brothers in mental gifts, 
 
52 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 and it was not till we had all got fairly into life that we rec 
 ognized in him rare intellectual qualities. His /teartwas al 
 ways to us the image of God. 
 
 But all my brothers were beloved, and I can conceive of 
 no truer image of the purity and happiness of the equal 
 loves of Heaven than that which unites brothers and sisters. 
 It has been my chiefest blessing in life, and, but that I look 
 to its continuance hereafter, I should indeed be wretched. 
 
 My brother Harry was, I think, intellectually superior to 
 any of us. He had a wider horizon, more mental action, 
 and I think he was the only one of us that had the elements 
 of greatness. But he had great defects of mind, which, co 
 operating with the almost total loss of his eyesight, led to 
 the great calamity of his life.* He had that absence of 
 mind and fixidity of thought so dangerous where the ten 
 dencies are all to what the Germans call subjectivity. Nev 
 er was there a more loving, generous disposition than his, 
 nor tenderer domestic affections. 
 
 But my particular and paramount love in childhood was 
 for your uncle Robert. We were bound together from our 
 infancy, and I remember instances of tenderness while he 
 was yet a little boy that are still bright as diamonds when 
 so much has faded from my memory, or is dim to its eye. 
 
 Once, when ransacking the barn with my brothers for 
 eggs, I somehow slipped under a mass of hay, and was so 
 oppressed by it, and so scared, that I could scarcely make a 
 sound. Robert heard my faint cries, but could not find me, 
 and he ran to call my father, who, with some friends who 
 happened to be with him, soon extricated me. From their 
 caresses and conversation I inferred that my danger of suf 
 focation had been imminent, and I looked henceforward 
 upon my favorite brother as my preserver. How brightly 
 
 * Mr. Harry Scdgwick was insane during the last few years of his life. 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 53 
 
 are some points in our childhood s path illuminated, while 
 all along, before and behind, the track is dim or lost in utter 
 darkness ! We can not always recall the feeling that fixed 
 these bright passages in our memory. They are the shrines 
 for our hearts saints, and there the light never goes out. 
 
 Robert was, more than any other, my protector and com 
 panion. Charles was as near my own age, but he was 
 younger, and a feeling of dependence of most loving de 
 pendence on Robert began then, which las .ed through his 
 life. I remember once when 1 was ill, and not more than 
 five years old, his refusing to go out and play with " the 
 boys," and lying down by me to soothe and amuse me. 
 How early we are impressed by love and disinterestedness 1 
 These are small matters, my dear child, but they are the ce 
 ment of household loves. 
 
 Manners are now so changed, and education so pressed, 
 that you would be surprised by the various rustic duties then 
 performed by the sons of a man in my father s position. 
 In the progress of civilization, offices and exercises similar 
 to these will come to be considered a healthy part of a high 
 education. They do the mind and heart good the mind 
 by forming and developing observation, the first faculty Na 
 ture unfolds, and the heart by awakening and cultivating 
 sympathies with the laboring classes. 
 
 It was the duty of our boys to drive the cows to pasture 
 in the morning, and to fetch them at night, and our pastures 
 being a mile distant, this was rather onerous. Errands were 
 never-ending, and well do I remember being very early im 
 pressed with Robert s fidelity and good humor in discharg 
 ing these ever-recurring offices. He from the first mani 
 fested a keen perception of the ludicrous, and a most inno 
 cent love of it. A short time before my sister Frances s 
 confinement with her first child, and while I was staying 
 with her, my father came to New York in midwinter, then a 
 
54 *fe of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 formidable journey, to bring Mumbet to nurse her. Robert 
 came with them. My dear mother, before this, had the at 
 tack of paralysis which cut her off from the care of her 
 family. My father had employed as housekeeper and gen 
 eral family directress my aunt, the widow of my mother s 
 half-brother. She had the strictest integrity and the kind 
 est intentions, with strong sense, and a love of intellectual 
 pleasures. She had been bred in a large family, which 
 owed its preservation and advancement to habits of the 
 strictest economy. With principles and habits engendered 
 by education, and made firm as a rock by stern necessity, 
 she came into an affluent family, unaccustomed to restric 
 tion, with streams of expense flowing out on every side, 
 which she felt bound in conscience to stop. My father 
 honored her intentions en masse t and laughed at the details, 
 and his children caught the laugh without imbibing the rev 
 erence. She fitted Robert out for this first visit to New 
 York with a pair of pantaloons of home-made cloth, and 
 dyed with butternut-bark, which made a sort of motley 
 brown. For f3te occasions he had a pair remodeled from 
 his brother Theodore s, blue broadcloth worn to fragility, so 
 thin that Robert said he could not look at them without 
 making a rent, nor at the butternuts without the dye coming 
 off. Whether this absurd infliction of economy was relieved 
 by a resort to New York tailors I do not remember, but I 
 rather think not, as a recourse to so expensive a mode of 
 supply for a country boy of thirteen was scarcely to be 
 thought of in those days of severe simplicity. Certainly the 
 sixty pantaloons that one of the New York coxcombs is 
 said to have brought home from Paris never afforded half 
 the pleasure that these rustic garments did to us. 
 
 Robert always maintained that when, walking with him, I 
 saw in the distance a city acquaintance, I played the Levite, 
 darted across the street, and walked on the other side. 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 55 
 
 When at home, and dressed in his gossamers (he never ven 
 tured out in them), he scared a rigidly decorous maiden sis 
 ter of Mr. Watson half out of her wits by every now and then 
 exclaiming, " There they go 1" the poor lady s imagination 
 painting the catastrophe. 
 
 What changes in our domestic modes since then, when 
 vestiges of patriarchal life lingered among us 1 My father 
 had flocks of sheep, and after shearing-time women came 
 and took the fleeces, and spun and wove them at their 
 homes. All the servants clothing was of this home-made 
 cloth, as well as the overcoats of " the boys," and, I believe, 
 all their common winter clothes. Carpets perdurable and 
 well-looking were made in this way, and rugs, and woolen 
 sheets, essential when our houses had no stoves, and fires 
 out of the parlor, kitchen, and " mamma s room" were an 
 unknown luxury. 
 
 This, my first winter in New York, when I was eleven 
 years old, was an era to me, though I do not remember 
 much of it. I had the best teaching of an eminent profess 
 or of dancing, M. Lalliet,* and had a French master who 
 came three times a week, and who, to my brother Robert s 
 infinite amusement, complimented my " grancle apprehen 
 sion," but who, as far as I can recollect, taught me nothing, 
 because, as I imagine, I preferred reading pleasant books, 
 and being petted by pleasant people, to the task of learning 
 lessons. 
 
 It was at this early period of our lives that your Aunt Su 
 san and I first met. Could it have been foreseen by any 
 cast of our horoscopes how lovingly our destinies were to 
 mingle ? In that pleasant dancing-room in Droad Street we 
 
 * When I think that then there was but one accepted French dancing- 
 master in New York where now there are nearly a million inhabitants, 
 I feel as if I had been on the earth as long as the Wandering Jew I 
 
56 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgivick. ^ 
 
 two country-girls met. She had been sent to her uncle, 
 Brockholst Livingston, then an eminent judge in the United 
 States Court, to be perfected in the arts and graces of young 
 ladies. Her rare intelligence had been developed by rare 
 opportunities. She had led a romantic life for three or four 
 years on our frontier, living partly in a fort with Gen. Har 
 rison, afterward President of the United States. She had 
 that rare gift, refinement, cultivated by high breeding, and 
 she revolted from the rantipole manners of the undisciplined 
 crew of girls around her. Susan Ridley was my senior by 
 eighteen months. She remembered noticing a quiet little 
 girl, whose behavior was rather a contrast to that of the 
 rabble rout ; she was, she said, interested by her demeanor, 
 and her face, and her abundant curling hair ; she longed for 
 her companionship ; she did not even know her name till 
 one day she picked up a pocket-handkerchief the girl drop 
 ped, and found marked on it with hair no indelible ink in 
 those days ! C. M. Sedgivick, the name she was to bear, 
 and enrich, and transmit. But we were yet to remain stran 
 gers. My less fastidious sympathies soon bound me up 
 with the romping girls, and my future sister remained 
 apart. 
 
 About two years after, we met at Mrs. Bell s boarding- 
 school in Albany. She was just finishing a term of two 
 years when I entered as a day-scholar. This school had en 
 joyed great reputation, and was sustained by the first families 
 in the land. Mrs. Bell was a decayed gentlewoman, of Irish 
 descent (indeed, I rather think born in Ireland), who had 
 been much in the society of clever men, had a very cheerful 
 disposition, and various social talents. But alas 1 I had al 
 ready too much social taste and facility, and the bane of my 
 life a want of order and system found no antidote there. 
 Mrs. Bell was a serious invalid, and had become a regular 
 valetudinarian in all her habits. She rose late, was half the 
 
Recollections of Childhood, 57 
 
 time out of her school, and did very little when in it. But 
 she was always ready to throw out poetic riddles and co 
 nundrums that charmed us, and all the more that they gen 
 erally involved some little love-preference or romantic inci 
 dent of the school-girls life. She had decided leanings to 
 ward those pupils who were cleverest and socially most at 
 tractive, and connected with her friends out of school bounds. 
 She liked to have us with her in the evening, and to attract 
 to her circle the intelligent people within her reach. 
 
 Susan Ridley was about leaving the school, a full-grown, 
 very elegant, and, according to the standard of those times, 
 a very accomplished young woman. My brother Theodore 
 introduced me at the school. I was received by Miss Bax 
 ter, the niece and assistant of Mrs. Bell, with a practiced, 
 easy air, and a sweeping courtesy that daunted the poor lit 
 tle rustic. It was the peacock spreading 1m tail before a 
 poor little straggler from the coop j and when my brother aft 
 erward reproved my " little dot of a courtesy," I was ready 
 to sink into the ground. 
 
 I remained at the noon recess, and a beautiful girl, An 
 gelica Gilbert, afterward a belle in New York, with a sweet 
 and graceful courtesy that made a lasting impression on me, 
 offered to teach me (an unknown art to me then) rope- 
 jumping. When I was fairly inducted, and tying on my hat 
 to go home, one of the mannerless girls shouted out to me, 
 " Give Miss Ridley s love to your brother !" I turned, and 
 saw a delicate, fair, and elegant girl overpowered with con 
 fusion, and blushing up to^he roots of her soft brown hair, 
 who cried out to me, " Oh don t, don t 1" In fact, some 
 months before this time, a mutual interest between her and 
 my brother Theodore had begun, which continued through 
 their most happy marriage with a purity, strength, and mu 
 tual confidence and joint blessing to others that might au 
 thorize and confirm the belief that " marriages are made in 
 
 C 2 
 
58 Life of Catharine Af. 
 
 heaven." From that hour she was my dear friend, without 
 variableness or shadow of turning, I may say without irrev 
 erence, for she has intensely struggled to conform to the ad 
 monition, " Be ye perfect as your Father in heaven is per 
 fect," and has succeeded as far as human infirmity admits. 
 
 She was naturally drawn to me. I can take little credit 
 for this ; I loved her enthusiastically, and never, I am sure, 
 desired any good for myself more earnestly than her hand 
 for my brother. She remained but a short time at school, 
 but even then we began a correspondence that has contin 
 ued to this time. We had a mail-bag hanging in the school, 
 which was each day filled and discharged. Of course, as 
 you may suppose, dear Alice, I was a large contributor to 
 this daily literature. 
 
 There was another gifted girl at the school, Mary North. 
 She became a /over of mine, and was jealous of every school 
 girl that I liked. She had been much flattered by her elders, 
 she was conscious of superiority, and thought the first place 
 was her right. To me she was affectionate and true. She 
 was handsome too, which is not reckoned a secondary gift 
 to a woman. She disappointed expectation by her early 
 death I think she was not more than seventeen when she 
 died. I hav-2 retained to this day a grateful recollection of 
 her grateful, because she once honestly and kindly told me 
 of a besetting infirmity of mine, and made me earnestly de 
 sire to eradicate it. It is not her fault that I have not. You 
 will see, my dear Alice, that I had, if not the legitimate 
 means of instruction, at least some rare advantages in my 
 school-days the elevating society and friendship of a supe 
 rior woman, and cultivated companions and friends who en 
 riched my mind, though it was not laid out, planted, and 
 tilled quite in the right way. 
 
 ., 1854, Another year is gone, and I am ad- 
 
 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 59 
 
 monished that few can remain to me, and this day, at 12 M., 
 alone in my little parlor, your dear father and mother here 
 on their annual visit, having just finished telling a fairy tale 
 to you, and Will, and Lucy Pike, I have taken my pen to 
 note some changes in the condition of our village since I 
 was young. I remember the making of the turnpike through 
 Stockbridge I think it must have been about forty years 
 ago and that was a great event then, for it enabled us to 
 have a stage-coach three days in the week from Boston to 
 Albany, and three from Albany to Boston. In due time 
 came the daily coach, arriving, after driving the greater part 
 of the night, the middle of the second day from Boston. 
 
 It then seemed there could be nothing in advance of this. 
 Your uncle Theodore has the honor of being the first per 
 son who conceived the possibility of a railroad over the 
 mountains to Connecticut River. He proposed it in the 
 Legislature, and argued so earnestly for it, that it became a 
 very common reproach to him that he was crazy. Basil 
 Hall, when he was in Stockbridge, ridiculed the idea, and 
 said to your uncle, "If you had it, what would you carry 
 over it ? He did not live to be confuted, nor your uncle to 
 witness the triumph of his opinion, but I have lived this very 
 summer to travel to the Mississippi by rail 1 
 
 The daily coach was a great advance on my earliest ex 
 perience, when a mongrel vehicle, half wagon, half coach, 
 drawn by horses that seemed to me like Time to the Lover, 
 came once a week from New York, letting the light from the 
 outer world into our little valley, and bringing us letters from 
 " papa." Now, at 3 P.M., we read the paper issued the same 
 morning at New York. 
 
 We had one clergyman in Stockbridge, of sound New En 
 gland orthodoxy, a Hopkinsian Calvinist. Heaven forbid, 
 dear Alice, that you should ever inquire into the splitting of 
 these theological hairs ! Sixty years he preached to us, and 
 
60 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 in all that time, though there may have been at some ob 
 scure dwelling a Methodist or Baptist ranter, the " pious* 
 of the town all stood by the Doric faith. The law then re 
 quired each town to support a clergyman, and his salary 
 was paid by taxation. The conscience was left free ; he 
 who preferred to dissent from the prevailing religion could, 
 on assigning his reasons, " sign off;" but I believe he was 
 required to transfer his allegiance to some other ministry. 
 Now the clergy are supported by the voluntary system, and 
 a man may revert to heathenism (some do !), and no man 
 call him to account. I have elsewhere and repeatedly de 
 scribed our good pastor of sixty years stern as an old Isra 
 elite in his faith, gentle and kindly in his life as " my Uncle 
 Toby." I dreaded him, and certainly did not understand 
 him in my youth. He was then only the dry, sapless em 
 bodiment of polemical divinity. It was in my mature age 
 and his old age that I discovered his Christian features, and 
 found his unsophisticated nature as pure and gentle as a 
 good little child s. He stood up in the pulpit for sixty 
 years, and logically proved the whole moral creation of God 
 (for this he thought limited to earth, and the stars made to 
 adorn man s firmament) left by him to suffer eternally for 
 Adam s transgression, except a handful tlectdtl to salvation, 
 and yet no scape-grace, no desperate wretch within his ken 
 died without some hope for his eternal state springing up 
 in the litile doctor s merciful heart. Some contrite word, 
 some faint aspiration, a last slight expression of faith on the 
 death-bed, a look, was enough to save this kind heart from 
 despair of any fellow-creature. 
 
 Dr. West belonged to other times than ours. His three- 
 cornered beaver, and Henry Ward Beecher s Cavalier hat, 
 fitly denote the past and present clerical dynasties ; the 
 first formal, elaborate, fixed ; the last easy, comfortable, 
 flexible, and assuming nothing superior to the mass. 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 6 1 
 
 I will try to sketch the doctor s outward man for you. 
 He was not, I think, above five feet in height. His person 
 was remarkably well-made and erect, and 1 think the good 
 little polemic was slightly vain of it, for I remember his gar 
 ments fitted accurately, and nice hose (in summer always 
 of black silk) displayed a handsome calf and ankle, and his 
 shining black shoes and silver buckles impressed even my 
 careless eye. He had good teeth, then a rare beauty, even 
 to his greatest age, but all his features were graceless, and 
 there was nothing approaching comeliness of form or ex 
 pression, but an eye ever ready to flow with gentle pity and 
 tender sympathy. His hair was cut a la Cromwell, as if a 
 bowl had been inverted on his head, and his foretop cut by 
 its rim. His knock at the " east door" was as recognizable 
 as his voice ; that opened to him, he came in, and, taking 
 off his hat, saluted each member of the family, down to the 
 youngest, with the exact ceremony, and something of the 
 grace of a French courtier ; he then walked up to the table 
 between the two front windows, 4^P osllec ^ tne three-corner 
 ed beaver, put his gloves in his hat, and his silver-headed 
 cane in the corner, and then, taking a little comb from his 
 pocket, he smoothed down his thin locks, so that every num 
 bered hair on his head lay in its appointed place. Then 
 the dear little gentleman sat down, and compressed the ge 
 niality of his nature into the social hour that followed, be 
 ing, during that hour, uniformly served with the fitting type 
 of that geniality a good glass of wine. These visits oc 
 curred always once a week ; and, if any temporalities in the 
 Church required confidence or consultation, as much often- 
 er as he felt the want of my father s sympathy or advice, for 
 it was rather noticeable that, for these purposes, he prefer 
 red my father to any or all of the " elect. 11 
 
 Poor old gentleman ! his last days were not his best days. 
 He had a colleague who was a sneaking fellow, frequenting 
 
6 2 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 
 men and women gossips, and fabricating scandal against 
 the little doctor and his second help-meet, and endeavoring 
 thereby to monopolize to himself the favor of the parish and 
 the whole salary. The doctor s age had imposed seclusion ; 
 he was personally almost a stranger to the generation just 
 grown, and suddenly it was discovered that the greater part 
 of his people were alienated from him, and that many be 
 lieved that he and his wife lived in a drunken companion 
 ship. Those who knew the almost Judaical regularity and 
 strictness of his life and the truth of hers earnestly adhered 
 to them. Council after council was called, the town was 
 divided into factions. Mrs. W , a feeble, trembling, tim 
 id old lady, was barbarously put upon trial, as cruel as the 
 " putting to the question," and no satisfactory evidence ap 
 peared against her. Then the doctor s life and habits were 
 put to proof; after numerous hearsays were detailed, and 
 rags of gossip, that had been manufactured by the colleague, 
 
 S , and passed from hand to hand, were disposed of, 
 
 Parson Kinne was calleo^up. He was an old polemic, a 
 man of stanch honesty, whose truth no man believed could 
 
 be shaken. He had resided in Dr. W s family six 
 
 months at a time. He had been so scrupulously reserved 
 
 that no one knew what he would testify ; S believed il 
 
 would be full against the doctor, and we, his friends, shiv 
 ered lest the good old man might have been perverted from 
 a right judgment by the crafty communications and insinu* 
 
 ations of S , and might have misinterpreted the doctor s 
 
 habit of taking a single cheerful glass during the day. 
 Kinne was as grotesque in looks and manners as Dominic 
 Sampson, and to some of us it seemed that Scott must have 
 been gifted with second sight, and drawn " little Harry s" 
 tutor after the pattern of our Puritan. I shall never forget 
 when he was called on, and stood up within the semicircle 
 an awful halo of clergymen around him. He said that, 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 63 
 
 during a ride with Mr. S two or three years before, that 
 
 gentleman had told him that " Dr. W and lady" were 
 
 guilty of gross drinking that they consumed such an 
 amount of rum (specifying it) in a month that the doctor 
 set a mug of rum by his bedside at night, and rose repeat 
 edly to drink it etc., etc., etc. And all this while Mr. 
 Kinne was living in the family. 
 
 " Did you believe this, sir?" asked one of the council. 
 
 The old man shook his faded yellowish wig, smiled with 
 a most comical mixture of contempt, triumph, and simplic 
 ity, and replied," Not one word of it sir !" 
 
 A low murmur of shame and disappointment ran over the 
 assembly, while a sort Qtfeu de joic broke from the few de 
 voted friends and allies of the good old man. Mean, vul 
 gar, cruel as the persecution was, it never touched within 
 the holy circle of the doctor s charities, never invaded his 
 peace, nor clouded his serenity. He even, through the whole 
 
 of S s crawling through his slimy way, "hoped that now 
 
 Mr. S meant to do better," and not one bitter word or 
 
 shadow of resentment escaped him, so that after sixty years 
 of utterly useless polemical preaching, he closed his career 
 with " practical observations" on love, charity, forgiveness, 
 and self-negation, that sunk deep into some of our hearts. 
 
 I remember one anecdote rather illustrative of his preach 
 ing. He held the Hopkinsian doctrine that Christ died to 
 manifest God s wrath against sin, repudiating the strictly 
 Calvinistic creed of Christ s vicarious atonement. Upon 
 one occasion, Dr. Mason, of New York, who then was the 
 most conspicuous pulpit orator in the country a man con 
 fident in his faith, and bold to audacity preached for Dr. 
 
 W . Mason was a tall, burly, fair man, in the heart and 
 
 vigor of lifff I can not forget the figures of the two men, 
 as they stood together, for our pastor was perfect in the cer 
 emonials of courtesy, which he would not violate by sitting 
 
64 JLjfe of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 down in his own pulpit. Dr. Mason thundered away in a 
 sermon of an hour and a half upon the doctrine of substitu 
 tion, every eye fixed on him in the deepest attention. The 
 next day the " little doctor" (so my father always styled him) 
 came as usual, and, in talking over the sermon, said, " The 
 people did not understand one word that he said ;" and 
 then added with a sigh, and oh I with what mournful truth, 
 "and I am afraid they have never understood me either." 
 
 One of the periods most marked in my childhood, and 
 best remembered, because it was out of the general current 
 of my life, was a summer when I was seven or eight years 
 old, passed under the care of my cousin Sabrina Parsons, in 
 Bennington, Vermont, at the house of the Rev. Mr. Swift, 
 the husband of my father s eldest sister. There were a 
 dozen children, more or less, some grown, some still young 
 the kindest and cheerfulest people in the world. I was 
 an object of general affection and indulgence. I remember 
 distinctly, and I see it now with my mind s eye, a cherry- 
 tree of fantastic shape that my cousin Persis, my contempo 
 rary, and I were in the habit of running up like kittens, to 
 the dismay of my tender, sickly aunt, who Id invariably 
 raise her bedroom window and call out," G , come down I 
 you ll break your necks 1" I am now the i crone, and, 
 alas ! I now should probably mar the spon idle, fearless 
 girls in the same way. No, dear Alice, i ion t honestly 
 think I should. I should be more like to try to climb the 
 cherry-tree with them. 
 
 When I lived at my uncle s was the period of the most 
 bitter hostility between the Federalists and Democrats. The 
 whole nation, from Maine to Georgia, was then divided into 
 these two great parties. The Federalists stood Bright, and 
 with their feet firmly planted on the rock of aristocracy, but 
 that rock itself was bedded in sands, or rather was a boulder 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 65 
 
 from the Old World, and the tide of democracy was surely 
 and swiftly undermining it. The Federalists believed that 
 nil sound principles, truth, justice, and patriotism, were iden 
 tified with the upper classes. They were sincere Republi 
 cans, but I think they began to fear a republic could only 
 continue to exist in Utopia. They were honest and noble 
 men. The Democrats had among them much native sa 
 gacity ; they believed in themselves, some from conceit, 
 some from just conviction ; they had less education, intel 
 lectual and moral, than their opponents little refinement, 
 intense desire to grasp the power and place that had been 
 denied to them, and a determination to work out the theo 
 ries of the government. All this, my dear Alice, as you may 
 suppose, is an after-thought with me. Then I entered fully, 
 and with the faith and ignorance of childhood, into the prej 
 udices of the time. I thought every Democrat was grasp 
 ing, dishonest, and vulgar, and would have in good faith 
 adopted the creed of a stanch old parson, who, in a Fast-day 
 sermon, said, " I don t sny that every Democrat is a horse- 
 thief, but I do say that every horse-thief is a Democrat 1" 
 
 While I was at Bennington, I know not to commemorate 
 what occasion, small gold eagles were struck, and presented 
 to the ladies of conspicuous Federal families. My grown 
 up cousins had them. They were sewn into the centre of 
 large bows they wore on their bonnets. I remember well 
 pining in my secret soul that one was not given to me, and 
 thinking that my father s position entitled me, though a child, 
 to the distinction. One memorable Sunday, while my uncle 
 was making the " long prayer," and I was standing on the 
 bench in the clergyman s great square pew, my cousin Sally s 
 bow got awry ; the eagle " stooped" under its folds ; and I, 
 to save her from the ignominy of not showing her colors, 
 walked around three sides of the pew, and disturbed not 
 only my pious cousin s devotions, but many others , by the 
 
. 
 
 66 Life of Cat/tarirte M. Sedgwick* 
 
 pother I made in rectifying the bow. I remember my good 
 uncle, on being told of the exploit, instead of reproving me 
 for my misdemeanor, heartily joined in the laugh. 
 
 After all, I believe there was a deal of good humor and 
 village fun mingled in with the animosities. The village 
 street, according to my recollection, extended a long way, 
 some mile and a half, from a hill at one end to a plain at 
 the other. There was a superannuated, parti-colored horse, 
 that had been turned out to find his own living by wayside 
 grazing, with now and then a chance handful of oats from 
 charity, who was used as a walking advertiser. He came 
 regularly from the hill, the Democratic quarter, placarded 
 over with jibes and jokes on the Federalists of the plain, 
 and returned with such missives as their wit could furnish. 
 
 My pleasant sojourn there was concluded by a bilious fe 
 ver, through which I was tenderly attended by one of my 
 cousins, a young physician. I suffered in my convalescence 
 from the pangs of hunger, and one Sunday morning, having 
 been left alone, and supposing all the family to be at church, 
 I crept (I could not even stand alone) out of my bed, and 
 down stairs to the buttery ; but, on opening its door, there 
 were two of my cousins regaling themselves with a lunch of 
 cold chicken 1 I burst into tears at my discomfiture. They 
 gave me a chicken-bone, and carried me back to my bed. 
 The intense delight with which I gnawed that bone to its 
 last fibre might enlighten the medical faculty. 
 
 I remember, while at Bennington, receiving from my fa 
 ther a morocco thread-case and pocket-book, with a silver 
 crown in it, and how enchanted I was. My father, generous 
 without limit to his children, never would associate his com 
 ings home with gifts he would have no craving but that of 
 the affections. On one occasion, when I was a lisping child, 
 some one asked me what papa brought me from Philadel 
 phia. " Nothing," I replied, " but he called me his dear lit- 
 
Recollections of Childhood, 67 
 
 tie lamb, and his sweet little bird." This charmed my fa 
 ther, and confirmed his theory. 
 
 My dear Alice, would you like to know what were the 
 books of my childhood ? You, of the present time, for whom 
 the press daily turns out its novelties, for whom Miss Edge- 
 worth has written her charming stories, and Scott has sim 
 plified history, will look upon my condition as absolute in 
 anition. 
 
 The books that I remember (there were, perhaps, besides, 
 a dozen little story-books) are Berquin s "Children s Friend, 1 
 translated from the French, I think, in four volumes I know 
 I can remember the form and shade of color of the book, 
 the green edges of the leaves, the look of my favorite pages. 
 Then there was the " Looking-glass," an eclectic, which con 
 tained that most pathetic story of " Little Jack." Then 
 there was a little thin book called " Economy of Human 
 Life," made up of some small pieces of Mrs. Barbauld s. 
 That was quite above my comprehension, and I thought it 
 very unmeaning and tedious. There was a volume of 
 Rowe s " Letters from the Dead to the Living," which had 
 a strange charm for me. I do not think that I believed them 
 to have been actually written by the departed, but there was 
 a little mystification about it that excited my imagination. 
 And last and most delightful were the fables, tales, and bal 
 lads in a large volume of " Elegant Extracts." I have some 
 times questioned whether the keen relish which this scarcity 
 of juvenile reading kept up, and the sound digestion it pro 
 moted, did not overbalance your advantage in the abund 
 ance and variety that certainly extinguishes some minds, 
 and debilitates others with over-excitement. 
 
 All books but such as had an infusion of religion were 
 proscribed on Sunday, and of course the literature for that 
 day was rather circumscribed. We were happily exempted 
 
68 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 from such confections as Mrs. Sherwood s sweetened slops 
 and water-gruels that impair the mental digestion. We 
 lived as people in a new country live on bread and meat 
 the Bible and good old sermons, reading these over and 
 over again. I remember, when very young, a device by 
 which I extended my Sunday horizon ; I would turn over 
 the leaves of a book, and if I found " God" or " Lord," no 
 matter in what connection, I considered the book sanctified 
 the taboo removed 1 
 
 Both my sisters were very religious. They were educated 
 when the demonstration of religion and its offices made 
 much more a part of life than now when almost all of 
 women s intellectual life took that tinge. They were both 
 born with tendencies to the elevated and unseen ; their re 
 ligion was their pursuit, their daily responsibility, their aim, 
 and end, and crowning affection. 
 
 They both began with the strict faith. Sister Eliza suf 
 fered from the horrors of Calvinism. She was so true, so 
 practical, that she could not evade its realities ; she believed 
 its monstrous doctrines, and they made her gloomy j but for 
 the last fifteen years of her life she was redeemed from this 
 incubus ; her faith softened into a true comprehension of 
 the filial relation to God, and I have often heard her say 
 that it was impossible for her to describe the happiness of 
 her redemption from the cruel doctrines of Geneva. 
 
 Sister Frances s imagination saved her from a like suffer 
 ing. However deep the slough into which she was cast, she 
 would spread her wings and rise up into a pure atmosphere, 
 bright with God s presence. She was one of those who be 
 lieve without believing ; her faith was governed by her 
 moods ; when she was bilious and unhappy very rarely - 
 she sank down again into the slough. 
 
 Thank God, their sweet spirits are now both expatiating 
 in truth which is light ! 
 
Recollections of CfiiMhood. 69 
 
 My sisters were both married when I was still a child. I 
 was but seven when my sister Eliza was married, and I re 
 member that wedding evening as the first tragedy of my life. 
 She was my mother-sister. I had always slept with her, and 
 been her assigned charge. The wedding was in our " west 
 room." I remember where the bride and groom stood, and 
 how he looked to me like some cruel usurper. I remember 
 my father s place, and the rest is a confused impression of 
 a room full of friends and servants I think Mumbet stood 
 by me. When the long consecrating prayer was half through, 
 I distinctly remember the consciousness that my sister was 
 going away from me struck me with the force of a blow, and 
 I burst into loud sobs and crying. After the service, my 
 father took me in his arms, and tried to quiet and soothe 
 me, but I could be neither comforted nor quieted, so I stole 
 out into the "east room," where Mumbet, Grippy, all the 
 servants did their best to suggest consolations. Then came 
 my new brother-in-law how well I remember recoiling from 
 him and hating him when he said, " I ll let your sister stay 
 with you this summer/ 1 He let her 1 I was undressed and 
 put into bed, and I cried myself to sleep and waked crying 
 the next morning, and so, from that time to this, weddings 
 in my family have been to me days of sadness, and yet, by 
 some of them, I have gained treasures that no earthly bal 
 ance or calculation can weigh or estimate ! 
 
 One of the finest passages in Fanny Kemble s " English 
 Tragedy" was, as she told me, suggested by this passage be 
 tween me and Dr. Pomeroy, which I had related to her. 
 
 Oh dear sister ! what a life of toil, of patient endurance, 
 of sweet hopes, heavenly affections, keen disappointments, 
 harsh trials, acute sorrows, and acute joys then opened upon 
 you ! What a life of truth, fidelity, faith, labor, and love you 
 lived 1 And just when you seemed to have come- to a station 
 of rest when the children to whom you had so long been 
 
yo Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick, 
 
 the mother-minister began to minister to you, you were 
 stricken clown ! God s will be done I You have been saved 
 many, many sorrows, and, I trust, see the purpose, unknown 
 to us, of many afflictions that have since fallen on your 
 house i 
 
 Through my sister Eliza s life, the tenderest union, the 
 most unwavering confidence subsisted between us. A few 
 days since, I saw a letter from her in which she calls me 
 her " sister mother child friend." 
 
 I have said nothing of the personal appearance of my sis 
 ters. Eliza was short, in her girlhood perfectly symmetrical 
 in her form, with pretty arms, and little hands and feet 
 very dark, with pretty, dark eyes and hair, and a very gen- 
 lie, modest, retiring manner, but with great decision in her 
 affections and opinions. She and Frances were as unlike 
 in appearance as in character. Frances was above the com 
 mon stature, with a fair skin, and blooming cheeks, that con 
 tinued blooming all her life ; hazel eyes one of them parti 
 colored beautiful bright chastnut hair, a Roman nose, and 
 a very handsome mouth. She was a great reader in her 
 youth of poetry and romances. Eliza was occupied with 
 household duties, first in her father s house, and then in her 
 own ; first nursing her mother, and supplying a mother s 
 place to the children, and in her married life having twelve 
 children of her own to care for. Frances was excitable, ir 
 ritable, enthusiastic, imaginative ; Eliza calm, patient, quiet, 
 reserved, and sternly, scrupulously true. Frances was sym 
 pathetic and diffusive beyond any one I have ever known ; 
 Eliza s affections were within the range of her duties, and 
 strictly governed by them. No sphere could bound or con 
 tain Frances s interests or affections ; Eliza was the steady 
 light of her home j dear sister Frances shone widely and ir 
 regularly, but, if ever a soul was kindled with holy fires, hers 
 
of Childhood* 7 \ 
 
 was. She loved her friends with the faith and enthusiasm 
 of devotees but she sometimes changed her faith. 
 
 Her marriage was not a congenial one. She endured 
 much and heroically, and through her sweet benevolence 
 and wide sympathies she enjoyed a great deal, though, to a 
 superficial eye, her life seemed an utter failure. Never was 
 any portion of it so complete a barren but she could find 
 some flower to cherish, some fruit for refreshment. She 
 never took a day s drive in a stage-coach, or a night s sail 
 on a steamer, but she found some wayfarer to whom she lis 
 tened with faith, whom she remembered with interest. She 
 loved my father with a passionate filial devotion, and all 
 her family with enthusiastic affection. 
 
 A permanent member of our household, who might have 
 had some influence in the formation of our characters, was 
 
 a cousin of my mother, Mr.W ; his familiar sobriquet, 
 
 by which he was known to all the children of the village as 
 well as to our household, was " Uncle Bob." 
 
 He was my father s partner in business for more than 
 twenty years, and was esteemed a sound lawyer a man, I 
 believe, of more acuteness than enlargement, of remark 
 able memory, and of incorruptible integrity. Something 
 of a Monkbarns in his scoffings at womankind, he covered, 
 under a privileged ridicule of the sex, a real liking for 
 them. I have heard hints of his strong attachment to my 
 sister Eliza, of his having been withheld by a proud fear of 
 refusal from declaring it, and of his vexed disappointment 
 at her engagement to another. He lived till he was fifty- 
 four in Benedict railings at the sex, and then married. His 
 attachments were strong, though he was utterly undemon 
 strative ; his prejudices inveterate and proclaimed. He 
 made no demands and gave no trouble. He had an unlim 
 ited respect for my mother, and regard for my father. He 
 
72 Lift of Catharine M. Setigwick. 
 
 loved the children, and laughed at us all. He was so unob 
 trusive of his society that he seemed unsocial. He preferred 
 the smallest room, into which no one ever intruded, and a 
 corner seat at table, where he had elbow-room without an 
 noying or being annoyed. He was abstemious in eating 
 and drinking, played an excellent hand at whist, and piquet 
 and backgammon better than any body else, but he never 
 could be slidden in to make up a wanted party to a game. 
 He was not one of those convenient single people who are 
 used as we use straw and cotton in packing to fill up va 
 cant places. His claims were always attended to and his 
 rights respected. Profanity was the habit of the times, and 
 he carried it to the most extravagant lengths \ his taste was 
 corrupted by the coarse and gross modes of Swift, and Smol 
 lett, and Sterne ; the stream of a sensual literature had not 
 yet run far enough to deposit its filth ; still his life was hon 
 est and pure ; the world would not have bribed him to take 
 God s name in vain in the sense of the Decalogue, and his 
 manners were so disinfected by the admonitions of my 
 mother and the example of my father, that my brothers, 
 though they held constant vivacious intercourse with him, 
 never caught his bad habits of speech. 
 
 He had jocular characteristic salutations for us all. How 
 often have I heard him say to Robert, 
 
 44 Master Bobby s married. 
 
 Pray what says St. Paul ? 
 If I m not mistaken, 
 Marry not at all J 1 " 
 
 And I was " Kate the curst," or " Kate of my consola 
 tion," etc., etc., as his humor was. 
 
 The family modes of hospitality have something to do 
 with the formation of character. That open-hearted, open- 
 doored hospitality which has characterized the disposition 
 
Recollections of Childhood, 73 
 
 of every member of our family was imbibed in our child 
 hood. 
 
 My father s public station and frequent residences in 
 town gave him a very extensive acquaintance, and his affec 
 tionate temper warmed acquaintance into friendship. There 
 were then no steamers, no railroads, and a stage-coach 
 through our valley but once a week. Gentlemen made their 
 journeys in their private carriages, and, as a matter of course, 
 put up at their friends 1 houses. My father s house was a 
 general d&jp6t y and when I remember how often the great 
 gate swung open for the entrance of traveling vehicles, the 
 old mansion seems to me to have resembled much more an 
 hostelrie of the olden time than the quiet house it now is. 
 My father s hospitality was unbounded. It extended from 
 ihe gentleman in his coach, chaise, or on horseback, accord 
 ing to his means and necessities, to the poor lame beggar 
 that would sit half the night roasting at the kitchen fire* 
 with the negro servants. It embraced within its wide girth 
 a multitude of relations. My father was in some sort the 
 chieftain of his family, and his home was their resort and 
 resting-place. Uncles and aunts always found a welcome 
 there ; cousins summered and wintered with us. Thus hos 
 pitality was an element in our education. It elicited our 
 faculties of doing and suffering. It smothered the love and 
 habit of minor comforts and petty physical indulgences that 
 
 * Oh lhat blazing fire J There may be such in Western homes, but 
 they will never again be seen on this side the AHeghanies. As the short 
 winter day closed in, a chain was attached to a log, and that drawn by a 
 horse to the door-step, and then rolled into the fireplace, shaking the 
 house at every turn. Then came the magnificent " fore-stick," then piles 
 on piles of wood and round the crackling fire what images appear I 
 Mumbet, queen of the domain ; Grippy, how loved in those days; Sam 
 son, the runaway slave, a faithful servant of many years ; Lady Prime, 
 Betty, "little Bet," rather impish, and old "Tip-Top," the Gaberluiuie, 
 the jest and the terror of my childhood 1 
 
 D 
 
74 Life of Catharine JW. Sedgwick. 
 
 belong to a higher state of civilization and generate selfish 
 ness, and it made regard for others, and small sacrifices to 
 them, a habit. Hospitality was not formally inculcated as 
 a virtue, but it was an inevitable circumstance a part of 
 our social condition. The table was as cheerfully spread 
 for others as for ourselves. We never heard that hospital 
 ity was a duty> nor did we ever see it extended grudgingly 
 or with stinted measure to any guest of any condition. This 
 gathering into our ark of divers kinds of human creatures 
 had a tendency to enlarge our horizon, and to save us from 
 the rusticity, the ignorance of the world, and the prejudice 
 incident to an isolated country residence. The evils of this 
 state of things were the increased burden to my mother, al 
 ready overladen with care, and latterly the complete fritter 
 ing of my time, for in our last years at /tome our old family 
 servants were dispersed it was the transition period be 
 tween black servants and Irish and the imperfect domestic 
 service had to be made out by the members of the family. 
 
 It was during the winter in New York I have already 
 mentioned that I first went to the theatre, an epoch in a 
 child s life. It was in the time of the Hodgkinsons, charm 
 ing performers, and in the beginning of Cooper s career. 
 He was the first of second-rate tragedians. My first play 
 was Macbeth. Hodgkin son played Macbeth, Cooper Mac- 
 duff. When they came to the final fight, I entreated my 
 brother to take me out of the house. He laughed at me. I 
 said, " I know it is not real, but they are really enraged 1" 
 How much delight I had from the few plays I saw that win 
 ter I What an exquisite portion of the pleasures of imagina 
 tion come, or have come, to the young through the drama I 
 To this day, the drying at the fire of a wet newspaper re 
 calls the eagerness with which I dried the daily paper to 
 read the play-bill, and truly it is now a sweet odor to me ! 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 75 
 
 I did not at that period form any girlish friendships, or 
 any acquaintance out of my dancing-school. There was an 
 old lacJy who lived opposite to my sister whom I was very 
 fond of visiting, and to this day I recall her kindly aspect, 
 her florid complexion, her pots of beautiful artemisias, and 
 her pleasant tales about the Revolution, in which I believe 
 her husband had played a conspicuous part as commissary. 
 How well I remember those flowers 1 Flowers I have al 
 ways loved next to dear living creatures, and I can recall 
 the look antf odor of the particular friends of my early child 
 hood, the damask and cinnamon roses under our front win 
 dows and in the garden, the large plant of old-fashioned, 
 honest peonies that stood near the little garden, the blue 
 bells, and, above all, the pinks, my mother s favorite, and till 
 now the memorial I wear through all the summer months 
 for her. 
 
 I remember little of that winter, but I went once to a 
 large family dinner at Jacob Morton s with my brother The 
 odore. Our host asked me, the only stranger guest, which 
 part of a huge turkey, in which he had put his carving-fork, 
 I would take. I knew only one point of manners for such 
 occasions, dear Alice that I must specify some part, and, 
 as ill luck would have it, the side-bone came first into my 
 head, and " Side-bone, sir," I said. Oh, what a lecture I 
 got when we went home 1 the wretched " little chit that 
 compelled a gentleman to cut up a whole turkey to serve 
 her 1" I cried myself to sleep that night. My brother, then 
 a student at law in Mr. Riggs s office, was very ambitious 
 that his sister should be an adept in the polite arts. From 
 that time till I was sixteen or seventeen I had an inexpressi 
 ble dread of his observation and criticism. My manners 
 were frank, confiding, and artless, but not conventional 
 and neither my brother nor my long social life has taught 
 me to be so. 
 
76 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 Afril 24///, 1860. I go on, dear Alice, with my narrative. 
 I was thirteen years old when I went to Albany. My 
 brother Theodore had just opened an office there, and form 
 ed his partnership with Harmanus BJeecker, a gentleman of 
 the pure old Holland stock a gentleman in his education, 
 association, and tastes. He had a ruling taste for mental 
 pursuits, and was loyal to them all his life. He was silent 
 and laconic, but delighted in a social atmosphere. He was 
 all his life compared to such old Romans as have illustrated 
 the sterner virtues. 
 
 The circumstance most exciting to me in this part of my 
 life was my father s coming to Albany and taking me to 
 Canandaigua, then a weekly journey, now scarcely eight 
 hours 1 But oh, the pleasant vicissitudes of that long travel 
 the disastrous chances of bad taverns, and the felicity of 
 good ones the unexpected meeting with old friends and 
 the making new ones, and the delightful novelty of the ev 
 ery day of a first journey I We traveled in a charming easy 
 carriage (probably English-built), a phaeton which my father 
 had already possessed many years. It was so high that, as 
 I recall it, it seems as if, like Homer s divinities, we had 
 made a halt in mid-air. We had excellent horses, and a 
 house-servant, Cato. (Poor fellow 1 he ended his life in our 
 state s prison.) We were the first half day toiling through 
 the sands between Albany and Schenectady. There an old 
 gentleman, Glen, my father s comrade in Congress, came to 
 the inn and dined with us, and my father and he sat over 
 their cigars and wine till the heat of the summer s day sub 
 sided, when we mounted into our phaeton and proceeded 
 to a little Dutch inn on the Mohawk, a few miles 1 drive. I 
 think it is not common for young persons at thirteen to re 
 ceive positive happiness and ineffaceable impressions from 
 Nature, but pictures were then daguerreotyped upon my 
 memory that have never faded. Our first evening, sitting 
 
Recollections of Childhood. 77 
 
 out on the back " stoop" of our inn, overlooking a meadow 
 sloping down to the Mohawk a new moon, and the leaves 
 just quivering in its light hundreds of fire-flies glancing 
 through the air and sparkling in the grass the firmament 
 clear and bright with stars, and my dear father sitting by 
 me with his cigar, in a serene obliviousness of all mortal 
 ill, and an effusion of affection that was his "magnetism" 
 this may be the heavenly state before we make acquaintance 
 with the faculties and conditions of a more expanded life. 
 
 In my fifteenth year I was sent to Mr. Payne s boarding- 
 school in Boston, and was there for six months. I was at 
 the most susceptible age. My father s numerous friends in 
 Boston opened their doors to me. I was attractive in my 
 appearance, and, from always associating on equal terms 
 with those much older than myself, I had a mental maturity 
 rather striking, and with an ignorance of the world, a ro 
 mantic enthusiasm, an aptitude at admiring and loving that 
 altogether made me an object of general interest. I was ad 
 mired and flattered. Harry and Robert were then resident 
 graduates at Cambridge. They were too inexperienced to 
 perceive the mistake I was making ; they were naturally 
 pleased with the attentions I was receiving. The winter 
 passed away in a series of bewildering gayeties. I had tal 
 ent enough to be liked by my teachers, and good nature to 
 secure their good will. I gave them very little trouble in 
 any way. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. T , old friends of both our parents, 
 
 made their house our home. Entire indulgence and open- 
 door hospitality were the law and habit of their house. 
 They had five daughters growing up in savage ignorance. 
 There I met my brothers, and there we were all petted and 
 flattered. ***** When 1 came home from Boston I felt 
 the deepest mortification at my waste of time and money, 
 
78 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwitk. 
 
 though my father never said one word to me on the subject 
 For the only time in my life I rose early to read French, 
 and in a few weeks learned by myself more than I had ac 
 quired all winter. But, alas I what irretrievable opportuni 
 ties gone I 
 
 Here all direct narrative ceases, although fragments be 
 longing to the same general plan of Recollections, and ad 
 dressed to the same person, will occasionally be met with in 
 a later part of this memoir. 
 
 A few childish letters have been preserved, which may be 
 presented here, as showing a characteristic warmth of feel 
 ing, and freedom, as well as carefulness in expression. The 
 first is written at the age of ten. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to far Father. 
 
 Stockbridge, Jan, 12, 1800. 
 
 " MY DEAR PAPA, Last week I received a letter from 
 you which gave me inexpressible pleasure. You said you 
 supposed that I had enjoyed the pleasure of sister Eliza s 
 and the children s company, but I had not when I received 
 your letter ; it was such very poor sleighing we did not ex 
 pect them ; but, my dear papa, can you conceive of the 
 pleasure we felt when hearing a sleigh drive up, and, going 
 out, we perceived that sister Eliza and her dear children 
 were in it ? We were almost too happy. Theodore had ar 
 rived two or three days before, Mr. Watson that afternoon. 
 Judge of our pleasure. I thought if you, Henry, and Rob 
 ert were here, and mamma was well, our happiness would be 
 complete. You said that we should derive more pleasure 
 from their company in two hours than you would this whole 
 winter. My dear papa, I can easily believe you. I should 
 
Eife and jLctters. 79 
 
 be willing to impart to you my happiness on this occasion, 
 but it is impossible. I see indeed I think I see in Mr. Wat 
 son every thing that is amiable. I am very much pleased 
 with him ; indeed we are all of us. Mamma sends her love 
 to you. She sleeps better than ever she did, I think. The 
 odore sends his love to you. Your affectionate, dutiful 
 daughter, CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK." 
 
 The next, a year later, illustrates the tenderness of her 
 relations with her father, and her early and enthusiastic 
 sympathy with him in his public career. 
 
 Jlfis s Stdgwick to fur Father. 
 
 " Stockbridgc, February i, 1801. 
 
 * * * * You say in one of your last letters that the 
 time will soon come when you shall take leave of Congress 
 forever. That day shall I, in my own mind, celebrate for 
 ever ; yes, as long as I live I shall reflect on that dear time 
 when my dear papa left a public life to live in a retired one 
 with his dear wife and children ; then you will have the 
 pleasure to think, when you quit the door of the House, that 
 you are going to join your family forever ; but, my dear 
 papa, I can not feel what you will when looking back on 
 your past life in Congress. You will remember how much 
 you have exerted yourself in order to save your country. 
 What a blessed reflection that will be 1 ****** YOU 
 say in old age, when almost all our friends leave us, and we 
 have little more in this world to enjoy, our friends ought to 
 be resigned to our leaving them. Do you think, my dear 
 papa, that I could leave my dear parents in their old age ? 
 No ; I should be happy in reflecting that I could in a meas 
 ure reward them for all their kind care to me when I was 
 young. I do not think that we can have any reasons for 
 leaving our friends when they grow old. I think the longer 
 
8o Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 we live with them on earth the more we are endeared to 
 them at least any body who has ever entertained any affec 
 tion for their parents," 
 
 In the following, the style of the girl of fourteen has be 
 come more ambitious, but even the formality then fashion 
 able can not quite overpower its native grace. 
 
 Miss Settgwick to her Father. 
 
 " Stockbridge, April i, 1804. 
 
 ****** \y e are a n looking for the time, and anticipa 
 ting the pleasure which your arrival will give us, and indeed 
 it is almost the only topic we have for conversation. Stock- 
 bridge is barren of incidents to call forth either wonder, ad 
 miration, or disgust. I sincerely believe there has nothing 
 happened since your departure that has affected us as much, 
 or appeared of half the importance, as some wounds which 
 old Bose has received ; and, though we feared they might 
 prove mortal, he is apparently in a state of convalescence ; 
 but I yet have my doubts whether the poor animal will sur 
 vive to see his dear master. 
 
 "April 2. The town-meeting is over j the Jacobins have 
 carried the dav ; they have a majority of seven for governor, 
 ten for lieutenant governor and senator. Mr. WiHiams says 
 there were at least thirty people there whose faces he never 
 saw before, and who, he verily believes, if they were turned 
 out of the house, and the doors had been shut upon them, 
 never would have found the way home, for they were led 
 there by our wise and great men. ***** But their most 
 diabolical act was endeavoring to lessen Dr. West s salary ; 
 fortunately they did not succeed. Thus you see, my dear 
 papa, I have become quite a politician ; but I have written 
 this merely for your information. Yours affectionately, 
 
 " C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
Life and Letters. 81 
 
 Miss Sedgwick s fame was, of course, a literary one, but 
 to those who had the happiness of knowing her, the charm 
 and interest of her personal character far outweighed her 
 merely intellectual gifts, and in the selections from her let 
 ters and journals, by which it is now attempted to give a 
 picture of her, incomplete indeed, but yet faithful, it will be 
 fouiid that the larger number have reference to her domes 
 tic life. Moreover, her existence was, from first to last, so 
 intertwined with that of a large and singularly interesting 
 family, that it would be impossible to present it as a single 
 thread, removed from the rich web of which it made a shin 
 ing part ; and this must be the excuse, if excuse is needed, 
 for the introduction of many passages from her own letters, 
 and fragments of those addressed to her, illustrating the 
 strong and peculiar tie which united her to her brothers and 
 sisters, and to their children and children s children. 
 
 The following letter, written to her niece, Mrs. Minot, the 
 eldest daughter of her brother Charles, concerning a collec 
 tion of his letters which was printed for private circulation, 
 bears so directly on this point, that I insert it here as pref 
 ace and key to all the subsequent family letters. It is true, 
 she is speaking only of the interest felt by his descendants 
 in the writings of an ancestor, but it has a much larger ap 
 plication in the great and blessed brotherhood of humanity, 
 which she, of all women, would have been the first to appre 
 ciate. 
 
 Miss Sedffwick to Mrs. JK. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, June 24, 1860. 
 
 * * * * " Before I proceed farther I will answer your in 
 quiry about your father s letters. As to personality, you 
 can judge in respect to your own letters better than I. But 
 I would caution you against suppressing expressions of ten 
 der love and favor from motives of delicacy. They, above 
 
 D 2 
 
82 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 all others, characterize him, and will be of inestimable use 
 and value to your children and children s children. Think, 
 my dear Kate, what it will be to them to have the freedom 
 of the sanctuary of such a heart I After that, I think every 
 little thing involving family life and local history should be 
 preserved. How we should like to have such records of 
 our parents our grandparents ! Now we live but in one 
 generation. In reading over your father s letters to your 
 uncle Robert, I am more than ever struck with the heaven- 
 liness of his character, the simplicity and modesty of his 
 boyhood, the confidingness, self-negation, and humility of 
 his youth, the delicacy, disinterestedness, and self-denial of 
 his eaj-ly manhood, and the wisdom, wit, nice discrimination, 
 dignity, independence of his manhood; and above all, di 
 recting, inspiring, controlling all, his angelic love. In look 
 ing back upon our family life from a position that is like 
 that of a retrospect from another life, and in comparing it 
 with any other that I have intimately observed, the love and 
 harmony, kept aglow by a constitutional enthusiasm, seems 
 to me unparalleled ; and I look upon my parents, the source 
 of it all, with an admiration and gratitude that I have no 
 words to express." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick spent the winter of 1805-6 in New York 
 with her sister, Mrs. Watson, whose increasing family gave 
 exceeding pleasure to their young aunt, and the children 
 were put under her care for the summer of the next year. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to her Mother. 
 
 " New York, Jan. 17, 1806. 
 
 "To me, my beloved mother, is allotted the delightful 
 task of informing you that our dear Frances has this morn 
 ing given us a lovely daughter. Teach us, mamma, to be 
 grateful to that bountiful Providence, who is continually 
 
Life and Letters. 83 
 
 pouring down upon us unmerited blessings. Mr. Watson 
 and Frances wish me to say every thing affectionate for them 
 to you and the family, but you can better conceive the feel 
 ings Frances has toward the best parents in the world, at 
 such a time, than I can describe them. Our dear little boys 
 are both well. They are taught every day to drink their 
 grandpapa s and grandmamma s health, looking at their pic 
 tures." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Watson. 
 
 Stockbridgc, July 15, 1807. 
 
 " I have just completed my daily task by lulling my little 
 Kate to sleep, and giving my good-nighty kiss to my stur 
 dy boys, who are just now fast locked in the arms of their 
 hugging friend Morpheus. To an absent and affectionate 
 father no picture of his children in any point of view can be 
 presented that is not interesting. Whether they are painted 
 climbing the trees, driving their hoops, or with shining 
 morning face, creeping like snails unwillingly to school 1 
 (the latter, we must all confess, would not be a very unfair 
 representation of your tardy sons), is a matter of indifference. 
 But to those who are blessed in their dear society, and con 
 sequently condemned all day to the clattering of their heels, 
 and the more intolerable clattering of their tongues, their 
 sleeping are their pre-eminently charming moments. How 
 ever, my dear Mr. Watson, to square my conduct by the 
 golden rule of * doing as I would be done by/ in justice to 
 my dear little charges, I should tell you that, in the absence 
 of their legal protector, they are the best children in the 
 world, obedient and quiet, which, by the way, are the two 
 first virtues I should inculcate. You charged me most par 
 ticularly with regard to the boys attending school \ they ap 
 parently have lost their truant disposition, although I must 
 confess they do not evince much ardor in literary pursuits. 
 
84 ife of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Catharine does not yet articulate any words. I hope she is 
 not to be denied the privilege of her sex." 
 
 The following autumn, the beloved mother, to whom the 
 first of these two letters was addressed, died, and the next 
 year Judge Sedgwick, to whose genial ancT affectionate na 
 ture widowhood was intolerable, married again. From this 
 time till his death in 1813, five years later, Miss Sedgwick 
 was either at home, or in Albany with her brother Theo 
 dore, now married to Miss Ridley, or with Mrs. Watson. 
 
 Mr. Harry Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 44 Stockbridgc, 4fh April, 1809. 
 
 " My friends in Boston received me with the utmost cor 
 diality, but I was much mortified (personally) in finding that 
 a very considerable part of my importance was derived from 
 a certain female relative, a little chit of a thing, about nine 
 teen years old. How derogatory to the dignity of a man ! 
 Acuteness in special pleading, skill in the languages, fourth 
 of July orations, all disregarded, and to be noticed for a lit 
 tle thing in petticoats, called a sister, merely because // hap 
 pens to be pretty, amiable, and accomplished ! I told the 
 people over and over again that I wished they would not 
 make so much of you, and take a little more cognizance of 
 me. But all woutd not do ; the conversation still fastened 
 on the principal and disregarded the adjunct. 1 
 
 Mr. Theodore Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 44 Albany, 1808, 
 
 ****< Robert is the delight of our society. His char 
 acter as a wit is established. His fun flies like grape-shot ; 
 nobody esqapes entirely unhurt. His absence will make a 
 chasm which nothing can fill up," 
 
Life and Letters. 
 
 Mr. Theodore Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 44 Albany, October, 1809. 
 
 * * * * oh, that I were rich ! All Stockbridge should 
 be transferred here, or all Albany there. You should all 
 and every one of you have a suite of apartments in my house. 
 * * * * As it is, I must be contented with my cob-house in 
 Steuben Street, and make myself as happy with one or two 
 of you at -a time as the absence of the remainder will permit 
 me to be." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 44 Stockbridge, December n, 1809. 
 
 * * * * \y e have looked and listened for papa, in vain, 
 for a week past. The roads are intolerably bad. You, 
 whose eyes are accustomed only to the variety of round 
 stones and Hags, can hardly conceive of the mud one day 
 and the elevation of the hubs the next. This is the first 
 day that the smiles of the sun have greeted us for a week. 
 I am sure Jaques s promise of no enemies but winter and 
 rough weather would never have tempted me to a country 
 life. However, I must do it the justice to say that I have 
 never passed three months more peacefully and happily than 
 the last. Our fireside, if not brilliant, has been uniformly 
 animated with good humor. Laura has quietly pursued the 
 devious windings of her needle ; Mary (who is emphatical 
 ly meek nature s child 1 ) and I have alternately sewed and 
 read, till Harry has joined us to enrich us with his flow of 
 intellect. You know our dear Charles has gone to Beth- 
 lem ; his situation is a very advantageous one ; this con 
 sideration alone could reconcile us to the deprivation of his 
 delightful society." 
 
86 Lift of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to her Father. 
 
 New York, February 22, 1810. 
 
 * * * # *f Mr. Watson, in a letter which we received yes 
 terday, mentions his determination of spending a night with 
 you before his return. We are rejoiced at it, for his sake, 
 for yours, and for ours. You will not, perhaps, think that 
 we can have any particular interest in any thing which can 
 protract his return. But if you will recollect for a moment 
 the worship of images and relics, you will not wonder that 
 we shall have no small addition of happiness from Mr. Wat 
 son s having seen you and heard you. * * * * Have you seen 
 Walsh s Review ? If you have, you no doubt think it an 
 honor to American literature. I hope you are a subscriber 
 for that or the Edinborough Review. The latter, I think, is 
 the most valuable as a literary journal, the former for the 
 high integrity of its political principles. 1 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 "Albany, March 23, 1810. 
 
 " I am sorry, my dearest sister, to repress your tenderness 
 by a confession, mortifying and humiliating to me, but nev 
 ertheless due to truth. On no subject would I voluntarily 
 be guilty of hypocrisy, and on that whicin involves all the 
 importance of our existence I should shrink from the slight 
 est insincerity. You misunderstood my last letter. I ex 
 posed to you a state of mind and feeling produced, not by 
 religious impressions, but by the convictions of reason. I 
 do, my dear Frances, feel my utter destitution of any claim 
 to reward/ my entire helplessness as it regards any merit 
 of my own, and entire dependence on mercy, mediation, and 
 atonement. I should be unworthy the tenderness that dic 
 tated your letter if I did not acknowledge that my heart is 
 not filled with that entire reverence and love for the Supreme 
 
Life and Letters. 87* 
 
 Being which he requires from his creatures. I am utterly 
 destitute of those holy affections which should be so com- 
 pletely incorporated with our being as to become a part of 
 it. I have not a fixed belief on some of the most material 
 points of our religion. There have been moments of my 
 life when I have had a lively, importunate, though, alasl 
 transient interest awakened in serious things, but the cares 
 and the pleasures of this world have operated on these sud 
 den impulses as the thorns * in the parable. Change of 
 scene or society has induced me to shake off these impres 
 sions as fetters that constrained my vivacity, and to venture 
 forward again, forgetful of the precious anchor I had so 
 lightly thrown away." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 " Albany, April 20, 1810. 
 
 ****** Harry will be here to-morrow, but not a word 
 of my darling boy, so I must relinquish the hope of seeing 
 him. I wonder, my dear Frances, if you love him more 
 than I do. Is it your habit and your delight to think of 
 him every night, to wish for him every day? You have 
 other children, I have but one ; do not be alarmed at my 
 claiming him. My power over him is that of affection ex 
 clusively, and it must yield to the deadening influence of 
 separation ; yours can not. 
 
 " Susan has heard that there is an India ship arrived, and 
 she wishes you to select from its cargo cambric of the qual 
 ity you sent me, enough for two coat-dresses, made to wrap, 
 with trimmings of the same. She does not care how cheap 
 you get it, provided it is as fine as mine. One yard and a 
 half of fine book-muslin, for handkerchiefs. In addition to 
 what she wants for the dresses, trimmings, etc., she wants a 
 yard for I don t know what. I wish there was some philos 
 ophy in vogue that would free us from the slavery of these 
 
r 88 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 petty wants. Nothing less than the genius of universal 
 emancipation 1 will effect it, and I am afraid that even this 
 wonder-working genius has no microscopic eye to discern 
 the pigmy chains that bind us in this debasing dependence. 
 These aspirations to heroic indifference are nothing more 
 nor less than the consequence of a provoking disappoint 
 ment of my mantua-maker ; so you see I am not free from, 
 but irritated by my chains. 11 
 
 Miss Sedgwifk to Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 "New York, December 17, 1810. 
 
 " I could not resist a certain impulsive motion toward my 
 pen when I heard that General W was going this even 
 ing, and I involuntarily began to address my dear Charles. 
 I can not say that I should not have done it with malice 
 prepense, but the fact is I did it without any prepense at 
 all. If I do not write more than ten lines, and those not 
 worth the reading, forgive me, dear Charles, in consideration 
 of an intolerable headache and stupidity. I am no philoso 
 pher; I deny the doctrine that pain is no evil, and hold 
 that an effect must follow a cause, and that if I have a head 
 ache I must have a heart-ache too. I presume our friend, 
 
 Mrs. F , has long before this dispelled the * dark clouds 
 
 that shrouded her purpose, and made you all stare and gape 
 with amazement. I think we shall soon get so accustomed 
 at Stockbridge to the most wonderful wonders that the 
 world ever wondered at, 1 that they will be no more strange 
 to us than the rising and setting of the sun. We will write 
 a new play, which shall annihilate the reputation of The 
 Rival Mothers and The Rival Queens, and call it The Rival 
 Strangers. And, if you please, dear Charles, we will have 
 an under-plot. There shall be a young man, in all the pride 
 of self-confidence, conquered at the very moment that he is 
 boasting his security against the whole artillery of a young 
 
Life and Letters. 89 
 
 lady s charms. You must supply me with the detail of inci 
 dents, and I will furnish the denouement. 
 
 " We often wish, my dear brother, that you were here to 
 partake in some of our pleasures, and to confer a great deal 
 of happiness. But, after all, there is no place like that home 
 that is adorned and blessed with the presence of our beloved 
 parent. 
 
 " I am extremely concerned to hear of Mrs. Sedgwick s 
 indisposition. Tell my dearest papa and tell her that I am 
 sure I could be of service and comfort to them, and that, if 
 they wish it, I will come home at any time. There are per 
 sons constantly going to Albany with whom I would will 
 ingly trust myself, and with whom I think I could go com 
 fortably. My dearest papa must not withhold the expres 
 sion of his wishes from any consideration of the difficulty of 
 traveling at this season, for I do not fear it at all ; and even 
 if I did, I hope I could conquer trifles for them." 
 
 Mr. Robert Sedgivick to Miss SeitgwicA. 
 
 " New York, October, i8u,just as he was ) 
 * about to be admitted to the bar. ) 
 
 * * * * Your letters lie open before me, and, as often 
 as I cast a look at them, I thank Heaven that I have such 
 a sister, and my heart swells with a pride which, I am sure, 
 would not bring a blush upon the cheek of the purest saint 
 above. I have often thought it almost a miracle that, in the 
 providence of God, I have such sisters and brothers that 
 we have still such a father, and that we have had such a 
 mother. Our mother is in heaven : God grant that we may 
 meet her, as a family, there. But, while we remain on earth, 
 let us never waste a particle of that invaluable treasure 
 which we have in each other s affect ions." 
 
90 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 "New York, Febryary 20, 1812. 
 
 " Your letters, dear Charley, are like angels visits in more 
 than this point of resemblance that they are few and far 
 between. I am afraid, if an angel was to vouchsafe me the 
 honor of a visit, she would not come with words so sweetly 
 soothing as those dictated by a brother s partial kindness. 
 I should hear a very different story when the words came 
 to be weighed in the balance of truth. Indeed, my dear 
 Charles, all the sermons I hear m a month, and all the writ 
 ers on human depravity, with Hopkins at their head, and all 
 the misanthropic sayings of all the old bachelors and cynics 
 that have ever lived can not counteract the sweet morsel 
 I can not call it, but the mass of flattery you have so ele 
 gantly served up in your letter. It has been said by some 
 great and wise man, and by a thousand that are neither wise 
 nor great, that habit is second nature ; now, by the aid of 
 this wonderful operator, I had just begun to be reconciled to 
 the sight of my own features in the mirror of truth (and a 
 picture more delightfully horrible no trafficker in human 
 woes could desire), when your letter arrived and turned me 
 as impulsively from the hateful reality to the sweet illusion 
 it presented, as I would shut my eyes upon a spectacle of 
 misery to dream of happiness. The next letter that you 
 write, by way of unraveling this web of mischief, I desire 
 may be filled with extracts from Hopkins s Diary, Edward s 
 Meditations, and Uncle West s Sermons." 
 
 Mr. Harry Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 44 Boston, Juno 22, 1812. 
 
 " In looking over my letters, I found a delightful scrap of 
 yours on the sacred character of a pastor. I believe that I 
 shall insert it in the Messenger, that you may enjoy the 
 
Life and Letters. 9 1 
 
 novel pleasure of seeing yourself in print. I have, my dear 
 sister and dearest muse, the pleasure to inform you that, by 
 the appointment of the superior powers, for one third portion 
 of the time I guide the public taste and direct the public 
 mind, viz., one week in three I superintend the Messenger 
 by request of proprietors. Now, unlike the Turk, I can bear 
 a sister near the throne, I proffer to you the fairest portion 
 of my dominions, nay, the royal palace the imperial seat 
 itself. You shall reign sole empress of the POET S CORNER." 
 
 Mis s Sedgwick to her Father. 
 
 "New York, March I, 1812. 
 
 " I am startled at the date of my letter. Except when I 
 think of you, my dear father, and of some others that my 
 heart aches to see, this winter seems to have flown like the 
 vision of sleep. Your observation that your life appeared 
 to you a long one, has often impressed me as the most strik 
 ing proof of the profitable employment of your time. I have 
 regarded your life to find some rules of action to apply to 
 my own, but I have relinquished the scrutiny with the same 
 feeling of disappointment that the humble architect of a cot 
 tage would have, turning from the survey of a lofty palace, 
 in which he had almost absurdly hoped to find a model for 
 his little dwelling. A life dignified by usefulness, in which 
 it has been the object and the delight to do good, and the 
 happiness to do it in an extended sphere, does, however, 
 furnish some points of imitation for the most limited routine 
 of domestic life. Wisdom and virtue are never at a loss for 
 occasions and time for their exercise, and the same light 
 that lightens the world is applied to individual use and grat 
 ification. You may benefit a nation, my dear papa, and I 
 may improve the condition of a fellow-being. I know I am 
 not ungrateful for the blessing of your example, and I trust 
 that I am not without some ardent desires to benefit by it. 
 
92 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 " The Doctor s letter was written in such a jesting mood, 
 that I thought the account of your attack of the gout was a 
 figure of speech, to decorate his epistle. Charles s letter, 
 however, informed us that you had in sober earnest a genu 
 ine attack. I am almost afraid that you will suspect me, as 
 you have formerly, of a malicious satisfaction in your pain. 
 I am certainly bound to speak the truth in so honorable a 
 presence, and therefore I must confess to you that I was not 
 sorry that the disorders which threatened your health had 
 found this termination. I hope, my dear papa, that you 
 have not been very persevering in your efforts to counteract 
 the kind purpose of nature. I know very well that it would 
 take more than all the sophistry of the Stoics to convince 
 you that pain is no evil ; but I hope it enters into your sys 
 tem of practice, if not of philosophy, to submit to a lesser 
 evil (though it be even as severe as the gout) to escape an 
 alarming danger. You will not think, my dear father, that 
 I am regardless of your suffering; so far from it, that, were 
 my prayers effectual, every moment of your life would be 
 filled with ease and enjoyment." 
 
 Judge Scdgwick was on a visit to Boston with his wife 
 and daughter when he was seized with his last illness, and 
 died January 24, 18x3. Miss Sedgwick s first acquaintance 
 with Dr. Charming was during his ministrations at the death 
 bed of her father, and his doctrines must have been strong 
 ly recommended to her mind by the acceptance they found 
 with the person she loved and revered most on earth. It 
 was years, indeed, before she was able to receive them fully, 
 but his lofty spirituality, and clear, calm intelligence, drew 
 her on, as she came to know him better, and the intimacy 
 which began within a short time between her and his sister, 
 Mrs. William Russel, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. Frank Chan- 
 ning, aided powerfully in freeing her from the dark and 
 
Life and Letters. 93 
 
 dreary dogmas of Geneva. It would be giving, however, a 
 false impression to say that she was ever heavily enthralled 
 by the Calvinistic theology. One of her sisters, Mrs. Pom- 
 eroy, was, and suffered all that a tender spirit can from such 
 cruel perversion of its best instincts ; but her own ortho 
 doxy, though sincere, had always a very liberal tendency, 
 and, as appears from a letter quoted previously (March 23, 
 1810), and expressing much of the morbid and unnatural 
 sense of helplessness, and alienation from divine things, in 
 culcated by that creed, she was unable to believe some of 
 its " most material points." When she joined Dr. Mason s 
 Church, at the age of twenty, it probably appeared to her, 
 from her previous observation and training, the only way of 
 expressing the deep sense of religious obligation which un 
 derlay her whole nature, yet she early revolted from the 
 harshness and irrationality of the belief. Dr. Mason s elo 
 quence charmed her, and his fervency interested her, but 
 the degrading nature of his views concerning God, and their 
 stern cruelty toward man, together with his fierce intoler 
 ance of opposite opinions, repelled her more and more. In 
 1820 the first Unitarian Society, was gathered in New York, 
 and in 1821 she formally separated herself from the Calvin 
 istic Church, and soon after, with her brother Henry and his 
 wife, joined the new communion. 
 
 But this belongs to a later period. The next letters refer 
 to her father s illness and death. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to A/rs. Watson. 
 
 " Boston, January 5, 1813. 
 
 " MY DEAR SISTER, Our fears have been calmed by the 
 favorable appearance that our father s disorder put on, but 
 for a few days past he has not gained, and for two days I 
 think he has lost ground. He has been uniformly silent as 
 to his feelings and apprehensions till yesterday. Yesterday 
 
94 *fe f Catharine Jlf. Sedgwick. 
 
 Mrs. Sedgwick walked out for the first time, and while she 
 was gone I was alone with him. He said to me (without my 
 introducing the subject) that he had for many years been 
 extremely desirous of making a public profession of religion 
 (here he was so much agitated as to be obliged to stop for 
 some time). He had been deterred from very unworthy 
 motives he had feared giving pain to Dr. West and many 
 good people in Stockbridge by joining any other than their 
 Churchy and he could not bring his feelings to joining that. 
 He was so much overcome that I made every effort to sus 
 tain and assure him. I told him that Mr. Channing had 
 been desirous to see him. He said that if he understood 
 Mr. Channing s belief, it agreed with his better than any 
 other clergyman s in Boston, and, should it please God to 
 restore him to sufficient health, it should be his first act to 
 devote himself to Him. I suggested that, should he wish it, 
 Mr. C. could administer the sacrament to htm here. * Not 
 at present, my love/ said he, for if it should please God, I 
 wish to do it in the face of the world/ My dear Frances, I 
 know you will be overwhelmed with gratitude that we have 
 so much to console us in any event. How shall we evince 
 our sense of the tender mercies of our God, and, above all, 
 this last surpassing kindness ?" 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to her Sister, Jlfrs. JPotneroy. 
 
 44 Boston, January 15, 1813. 
 
 "Saturday Mr. Channing visited papa. Fapa imparted 
 to him his earnest desire to unite himself to the visible 
 Church, and his reluctance to defer it. Mr. C., who indeed 
 is a minister of consolation from the throne of mercy, read 
 ily acquiesced in his wishes. He explained to htm his un 
 derstanding of this holy sacrament, which agreed entirely 
 with papa s. He then proceeded to administer it in the 
 most solemn and affecting manner. Papa expressed, in re- 
 
Life and Letters, 95 
 
 ceiving it, his desire to repose himself entirely on the merits 
 and atonement of our Savior. The performance of this 
 duty seemed to remove the bar of reserve that opposed the 
 flowing out of papa s heart, and he now shows that he feels 
 his tenure of life to be very slight, and that his affections 
 dwell on heavenly things ; the Word of God, that precious 
 gift to men, whose worth I believe is most felt in the sick- 
 chamber, he listens to with unremitting interest. Oh, may I 
 never be ungrateful for the blessed privilege of being allowed 
 to watch the varying looks, and hear the tender accents of 
 our beloved parent. Our excellent brothers are devoted, 
 and I sometimes feel, when we are all assembled around our 
 father, as if our sainted mother watched and approved us. 1 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 " Stockbridge, February 15, 1813. 
 
 " Every day s experience teaches me better what we have 
 lost, and enables me, I hope, in some degree, to improve this 
 rebuke of our heavenly Father. Still, when I review the 
 few last years, I forget the bitterness that has been infused 
 into our cup of joy, the corrosion of our cares, and we seem 
 to have closed a day of happiness, whose brightness was 
 never shaded by a single cloud, or sullied with a single spot." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mr. Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 " Albany, March 1 1, 1813. 
 
 " You need not fear to give me pain by recurring to the 
 scenes we have passed through this winter. No, my dear 
 brother, the recollection of them fills all my solitary mo 
 ments with cherished and elevating thoughts. I am most 
 solicitous that the impression they have made should never 
 be weakened that we may remember that we have seen 
 and felt the triumph of that mercy which rescues mortality 
 from the taint of sin and the curse of death. And may our 
 
96 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 experience of the loving kindness of our heavenly Father 
 strengthen our devotion to him, and make us to seek more 
 earnestly that salvation which is the free gift of Infinite 
 Mercy 1 
 
 " We have a treasury of sweet and consoling reflections in 
 the remembrance of the lives of both our parents, and all 
 rendered ineffably precious by the hope that they have pass 
 ed from earth to heaven ; that they are now reaping the full- 
 ness of that joy which can not be impaired, though it was 
 purchased by suffering." 
 
 Mis s Sedgwick to Mr, Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 " Stockbriclge, June 7, 1813. 
 
 " I have just finished, my dear brother, the second peruual 
 of your kind letter which I received to-day. I often think 
 that, if our hearts were elevated and tempered as they should 
 be, our prayers would be filled with gratitude and prai;>e. 
 The current of our affections to our friends is in a propor 
 tionate degree sweetened with those qualities. There is an 
 activity in the principle of love that, like the impetuous ele 
 ment of fire, brightens and purifies every object it touches. 
 A necessary humility, my dear brother, compels me to see, 
 in the operation of your own mind, some of the causes of 
 those expressions of partiality which have dilated my heart 
 with gratitude to Him who hath been pleased to give me 
 such value in the eyes of those whose favor I covet above 
 every earthly good. I do love my brothers with perfect de- 
 votedness, and they are such brothers as may put gladness 
 into a sister s spirit. I look to you as the representatives 
 of my father, and I bless my God that counsel, protection, 
 and love, parental in its disinterestedness and its tenderness, 
 blesseth my life. Never, my dear Robert, did brother and 
 sister have more ample experience of the purity of love, and 
 the sweet exchange of offices of kindness that binds hearts 
 
Life and Letters. 97 
 
 indissolubly together. Indissolubly I say, for that tie on 
 which the acceptance and the blessing of God rests can not 
 be sundered. There is a sacredness in the love of orphan 
 children that none can comprehend so well, or feel so in 
 tensely as we do, for to whose lot hath it fallen to possess 
 such parents as we have, or to feel suyh pangs in severance 
 from them ? * * * * Have I almost concluded my letter 
 and not thanked you for the Corsair? If you had seen my 
 pleasure in reading it, it would have been the best thank- 
 offering. Byron ought to be ashamed of wasting his noble 
 genius upon Giaours and Corsairs. He might as well hide 
 the ugliness of states-prison convicts with pearls and dia 
 monds as veil the deformity of his heroes. 11 
 
 After Judge Sedgwick s death, Mrs. Sedgwick returned 
 to her own family, and Catharine became housekeeper for 
 her brothers in the old home, endeared to them the more 
 through sorrow. The few letters that my limits permit me 
 to select from those of this period show the quiet happiness 
 of her life, varied by an occasional journey or visit, a win 
 ter in Albany with her brother Theodore, and the quarter 
 ing in Stockbridge of some French officers in the British 
 service, prisoners in the War of 1812. Among these were 
 some clever and accomplished men, whose society was a 
 delightful acquisition in the tranquil country winter, and 
 always looked back upon with keen interest and pleasure. 
 
 Miss Settgwick to Mr. ^Robert Scdgwick. 
 
 14 Stockbridge, July S, 1 813. 
 
 41 There -is hardly a joy or sorrow passes before me, dear 
 Robert, that I do not bear it on my mind to you, and yet 
 how seldom have you the record of it I I suppose that you 
 will think that affection, like the Frenchman s pity, should 
 have some visible effect, and would rather say love me a 
 
 E 
 
98 JLife of Catharine M. Sedgwicfc. 
 
 letter/ than that I should love you with * a love passing that 
 of woman. 1 I am not myself an admirer qf love in the ab 
 stract, or a believer in the passions agitating and swelling 
 the fountain of love, the heart, unless I can see the evidence 
 flowing from it in streams of benevolence and kindness. 
 
 "I rejoice, my belgved brother, that you feel the import 
 ance and efficacy of that religion which alone can give us 
 grace in this world and life in the next, and I long to see 
 you give your testimony of your acceptance of the forgiving 
 love of your Master. Our souls are his, and shall we not 
 freely sacrifice to him the best affections and services of our 
 hearts, showing forth our love, and proving by our confi 
 dence and obedience that we are no longer outcasts from 
 his family? God grant, in his infinite mercy, that we may 
 all touch the garment of our Savior s righteousness and be 
 made whole." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. JZobert Sedgivick. 
 
 " Stockbridgc, August 15, 1813. 
 
 *.*** j am satisfied, by long and delightful experi 
 ence, that I can never love any body better than my broth 
 ers. I have no expectation of ever finding their equal in 
 worth and attraction, therefore do not be alarmed ; I am 
 not on the verge of a vow of celibacy, nor have I the slight 
 est intentions of adding any rash resolutions to the ghosts of 
 those that have been frightened to death by the terrors of 
 maiden life ; but, therefore I shall never change my condi 
 tion until I change my mind. You will acknowledge, dear 
 Robert, that, notwithstanding the proverbial mutability of a 
 woman s inclination, the probability is in favor of my con* 
 tinuing to stamp all the coin of my kindness with a sister s 
 impress, particularly when you consider that every year de 
 preciates the coin in the market of matrimony." 
 
Life and Letters, 99 
 
 Mr. Robert Sedgwtik to Miss Sedgivick. 
 
 " New York, August, 1813. 
 
 "Mv VERY DEAR SISTER KATE, Your letter of Wednesday 
 has just reached me ; my very soul thanks you for it. * * * * 
 I can never be sufficiently grateful to my Maker for having 
 given me such a sister. If 1 had no other sin to answer for 
 than that of being so unworthy of her as I am, it would be 
 more than I could bear, and yet, when I read your letters, I 
 almost think I am what I should be. I know I feel a strong 
 aspiration to be such, and I am sure they make me better 
 as well as happier. Lamentable, indeed, would be the deg 
 radation of any being who would not make any effort to 
 merit such affection, who would not find fresh strength and 
 fresh spirit in wielding the armor of virtue from the consid 
 eration of its value and from the fear of its forfeiture." 
 
 Miss Sedgwifk to Mrs. JPomeroy. 
 
 "New York, March 12, 1814. 
 
 " My spirits were refreshed with your kind letter, dear 
 Eliza, soon after our return from Philadelphia. In conse 
 quence of the extreme fatigue of the journey, and a cold 
 which I caught, I have been confined to the house, and chief 
 ly to my bed, until yesterday. This will excuse to you my 
 apparent neglect in not before giving you an account of our 
 return. We were so continually in company while there 
 that we were fairly tired out before we left. Just on the eve 
 of our departure I took care to excite your sympathy by 
 communicating to you my horrid fears. I was several times 
 on the point of deciding to remain there until the traveling 
 should be better, but that there was so little reason to hope 
 for at this season of the year, that I thought I might as well 
 take my chance ; for, as Robert very sagely observed, the 
 worst that could happen was breaking our necks. How- 
 
ioo Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 ever, the roads were, in fact, more tedious than dangerous, 
 and, though my foolish heart was hardly out of my mouth 
 all the way, there was more cowardice than wisdom in it. 
 In our mountainous regions we have no idea of the capacity 
 of the earth for making mud in this flat and clayey country. 
 Robert often amused himself with imagining your misery in 
 the like situation. I am sure our fellow-travelers must have 
 often wondered who the little lady 1 was. However, dear 
 Eliza, your sweet and welcome image always soothed me 
 into silence and tranquillity. I never, in any situation, felt 
 more lively emotions of confidence in the protection of 
 Heaven, nor more animated sensations of gratitude for it. 
 I am convinced that if we lived more spiritually, more under 
 the impression of a particular providence, we should find in 
 calculable comfort resulting from it that simplicity of con 
 fidence that a little child feels in the presence of a parent 
 where he is assured nothing will harm him. I am very anx 
 ious to hear again from your little boy. I fear you have 
 suffered a great deal of fatigue and anxiety for him. He 
 was but a delicate little plant at best, but so lovely and in 
 teresting that I thought him worth great pains in the rear 
 ing. You always have some trouble among your children 
 when I am away from you. The absence of my maternal 
 cart, I suppose. The other day, when I was sick would you 
 believe it, dear Eliza ? I was so babyish as actually to cry 
 because I could not sec you. I thought my rheumatism 
 would have vanished if I could but have felt the healing 
 touch of your little hand." 
 
 Mrs. JPomcroy to Miss Scdgwick (1814). 
 
 " And have you been sick without affording me the com 
 fort of nursing you ? * * * * Oh, my dear sister, may God 
 in great mercy long spare your precious life. It is precious 
 to many, but I can tell no one how dear it is to me. Strange, 
 
Life and Letters. , 101 
 
 but most true, you are to me mother, child, friend, and sister, 
 and I have long known that you are held too closely." 
 
 Mist Sedgwick to Mr. Robert Sedgivick. 
 
 " Stock bridge, September 10, 1814. 
 
 " I think, my dear brother, we shall find, in the different 
 conditions of life, a more impartial distribution of blessings 
 than we are at first apt to believe. I mean to apply this to 
 the different advantages for religious improvement in the 
 city and country. The city is the theatre for great men. The 
 energy of one powerful mind is diffused through a great 
 number ; the magic touch of eloquence awakens them to 
 life and action ; the dry bones are shaken ; a living soul is 
 breathed into them, and they are thus quickened in the 
 paths of pleasantness and peace. The country is con 
 demned to the ministration of inferior men, but it presents 
 every facility for moral refinement and religious improve 
 ment. As you once said to me, dear Robert, the impress 
 of God s bounty is upon all his works. 1 Every object pro 
 claims a present Deity. Day unto day uttereth speech, 
 and night unto night showcth knowledge ; and the heart 
 must be insensible, or the spirit rebellious, if we do not with 
 fervency join in the exclamation of the Psalmist, Let every 
 thing that hath breath praise the Lord. " 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to R. S. Watson. 
 
 41 Stockbridgc, November 30, 1815. 
 
 " Only think of it, dear, but you have been gone several 
 weeks, and have not written one word to your aunt* who 
 loves you belter than all the boys of your size in Christen 
 dom. No doubt you have been attending to some great af 
 fairs, and have forgotten your poor old aunt. No, my dear 
 est boy, I don t believe a word of it. I dare to say you think 
 every day of Stockbridgc and of your friends, and never for- 
 
102 . Lift: of .Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 get there is nobody in the wide world that loves you better 
 than your own true aunty/ To-day is Thanksgiving. You 
 do not know what that is. Well, I will tell you. At the close 
 of the year, the governor of the state tells all the people that 
 they must go to church and give thanks to God for all his 
 goodness to us, particularly for making the sun to shine 
 upon the earth, and the showers to fall upon it, so that the 
 things that grow upon it are ripened. Last summer you 
 saw the apples on the trees. Now they are picked, and part 
 of them made into cider, and part of them laid into our cel 
 lars to eat. You saw the wheat, and the rye, and corn grow 
 ing. It is now all gathered, and prepared for us and for our 
 cattle to eat. Well, dear Bob, to make a long story short, 
 after church we have a noble dinner of fat turkeys, geese, 
 ducks, fowls, etc., besides mince-pies, and apple-pies, and the 
 Yankee s glory, pumpkin-pies, and are all as happy as pos 
 sible, remembering who it is that has given us all these good 
 things." 
 
 Miss Setlgiuick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 " Albany, March 25, 1816. 
 
 " I look forward to a very happy summer at S. Have 
 we not always been happy there ? I esteem it the greatest 
 privilege of my life that I have been enabled in some hum 
 ble measure to fill the place of our departed friends by con 
 tributing my efforts to preserve the attractions and enjoy 
 ments of that home. And now, dear Frances, more than 
 ever, I discern the wisdom and goodness of Providence in 
 so ordering my life that I shall have it in my power to add 
 to tl\e quiet and happiness of yours. The great disadvan 
 tage and the only reproach of a single life is, that we poor 
 spinsters are generally condemned to uselessness, and Sa 
 tan, availing himself of his prerogative, * finds mischief still 
 for idle hands to Jo/ It has always, and I pray it may ever 
 be my happy destiny to have employment enough to keep 
 
Life and Jitters. 103 
 
 me out of danger of falling into the folly of repining or the 
 meanness of envying." 
 
 Mr. Robert Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 New York, March 28, 1816. 
 
 * * * * Nevertheless, my dearest sister, I would not 
 have you love me any less than you do, because your affec 
 tion has an irresistible power to improve and to elevate, to 
 lift above low attachments, to separate from unworthy asso 
 ciations, to cheer me when I am sad, to rouse me when I am 
 inefficient, to rescue both me and the world from that sort 
 of morbid quarrel into which we are apt to get with each 
 other, when it seems as if there were nothing here worth 
 living for, and to pour a golden light on every object that 
 skirts the path of my pilgrimage." 
 
 Mr. Robert Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 "New York, September, 1816. 
 
 " Thanks, thanks how cold a word, my clearest Kate, in 
 return for your heart-cheering letter I It came to me in the 
 midst of my Nol Pros., special verdicts, depositions, protests, 
 business correspondence, etc., like a visitant from the skies. 
 Indeed, my dear Kate, you may laugh at me, if you will, for 
 saying so, either for my affectation or my romance ; there is 
 something about your influence over me which seems to 
 have shuffled off all mortal coil 1 of earthliness ; to be un 
 mixed with any thing that remains to be perfected ; to be 
 perfectly spiritualized, and yet to retain its power of contact 
 with every part of its subject j in short, to be that with re 
 gard to which I hardly know whether I have any distinct 
 conceptions, or whether I want language to express them. 
 Lest I should talk foolishly on this subject, I will dismiss it, 
 only begging you not to forget how your letters cheer, re 
 joice, elevate, renovate me." 
 
 
104 Life of Catharine M. Setlgwick. 
 
 In 1817 Harry Sedgwick married Miss Jane Minot, of 
 Boston, a union by which the happiness of the whole family 
 was increased as much, if possible, as his own, and which 
 gave to Miss Sedgwick, in particular, a sister whose rare 
 sweetness and strength of character, and piquant originality 
 of mind, excited her Admiration and love in a degree that 
 was only heightened by an unbroken intimacy of more than 
 forty years. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Harry Sedgwick at once established them 
 selves in New York, and their house, at first in Greenwich, 
 and afterward in Warren Street (places now unknown in so 
 cial life, and connected in the minds of the rising genera 
 tion only with bales of merchandise or lumbering drays, but 
 pleasant with friendly dwellings and cheerful firesides in the 
 memories of those who still see them in the quiet sunshine 
 of fifty years since), became a new centre of quickening life 
 and warmth, not only for the family, but for a large circle of 
 friends. 
 
 Afr. fiofart Seftgttiiffc to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 "New York, June 11, 1817. 
 
 **** \y e cou i ( i learn nothing of Harry and Jane at 
 New Haven, and the mystery was not solved till we found 
 that they had been the melancholy sport of the winds from 
 Wednesday last, when they embarked from Providence in a 
 packet, till Sunday evening."* 
 
 Mr, Jtobert S&fgwick to Afiss 
 
 "New York, July 7, 1817. 
 
 ****** I have just come from passing a very cosy even 
 
 ing with Harry and Jane ; * * * * one which may reasona 
 
 bly confirm our conviction that we have rational resources 
 
 for enjoyment even within ourselves. * * * * I love Jane 
 
 * This " voyage" is now made by steam in six or seven hours. 
 
Life and Letters. 105 
 
 more and more every day. Harry is indeed much blessed. 
 Such a wife as he has never can get out of fashion that ia 
 to say, grow old, to the humor of a sensible man s fancy. She 
 is not merely lovely, but ever active in goodness ; every day 
 exhibits, if not a new grace, at least some more favorable 
 and winning form of one you knew before." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mr, Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 "Albany, February n, 1818. 
 
 " Here I am at last, dear Robert. I returned with Susan 
 on Friday last. She passed a few days with us, and we went 
 together to visit our good old uncle John. The Genius of 
 the Cornwall Hills arrayed himself in all his fury to greet 
 the delicate nerves of his city visitors. Snows and wind 
 did greatly prevail against us, but we made our way safely 
 through the drifts, and returned with a renewed impression 
 of our excellent uncle s patriarchal wisdom and goodness. 
 It is delightful to perform a duty in relation to such a man 
 to throw it upon such a soil. I want very much to have 
 our dear Jane see uncle before the effacing hand of Time has 
 impaired the strong features of his character. Jane is so 
 perfectly inartificial herself that I am sure she would admire 
 such a noble chef d osuvre of Nature s canny hand as Uncle 
 John." 
 
 Miss Sedgunck to Mrs. IVatson. 
 
 11 Albany, March 30, 1818. 
 
 " I am glad you receive and impart so much pleasure to 
 * my friend Mr. Ashburner. 1 I am sure he has the claim 
 of a wayfaring man in a weary land. All the people here 
 lumped together are not so much society as he can furnish 
 from his unassisted powers." 
 
106 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Miss Setfgwick to Afr. Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 "Stockbridge, July 8, i8ia 
 
 " My clear Robert, I received your letter yesterday morn 
 ing just as my hands were immersed in a pan of cake, and 
 all my faculties employed in the various work of a prepara 
 tion of dinner for a brace of clergymen and their wives, who 
 had just come in upon us. You may imagine it produced 
 some confusion of ideas. The roar of the cataract of Niag 
 ara and the stirring of a custard ; the sweet image of fes 
 betfcs saurs and the heaven-forsaken visage of my chief 
 cook and bottle-washer ; the rush of thoughts occasioned by 
 the arrival of the fair foreigner, and the sedative of Cousin 
 Mary White s monotonous looks and voice ; the glowing im 
 age of Margaret ; the sweet, maternal tones of our clear Jen 
 ny s sweet voice ; Harry s * cooing noises, and the ringing 
 of plates, and the dire clash of pots and kettles all, alto 
 gether, almost unsettled my poor brains." 
 
 The next event of importance in the family record was 
 Charles s engagement, early in 1819, to Miss Elizabeth 
 Dwight, of Northampton, Massachusetts. It was probably 
 in anticipation of this that Miss Sedgwick wrote under 
 date of 
 
 41 January 7, 1819. 
 
 * * * * "Our dear Charles our youngest brother 
 claims a portion of our kindness, and deserves it. Our 
 hearts yearn toward him as did Joseph s to his younger 
 brother, and we can join in that emphatic benediction, * God 
 be gracious to thee, my son. Oh that we could also put 
 the money in the sack s mouth I " 
 
Life and Letters. 107 
 
 Mr. Robert Sedgwick to Miss Sedguticft. 
 
 * March, 1819. 
 
 * * * * " Charles I Charles ! I have hardly been able, 
 since his exchange of vows, to think of any thing else. It 
 does appear to me that there has hardly ever been any thing 
 so bright and soft in moral beauty as that which this union 
 presents. I received a "letter from Charles yesterday ex 
 pressing the overflowing of his heart toward us all. I do 
 not think that we shall any of us lose any of his love. Tell 
 me whether you feel your possessions there less because a 
 new dominion is established ? I should not be ashamed of 
 being still a bachelor if I thought that the acknowledgment 
 of a new allegiance would in the least degree impoverish the 
 revenues which are sacred to you." 
 
 Mrs. Jane Sedgwick to Miss 
 ****"! have never read so interesting and so beauti 
 ful a tale as Charles s love-story. His passion is too ten 
 der, too elevated, and too true for any silly expressions ; it 
 has in it all that is exquisite in poetry and all that is en 
 chanting in reality. There is a moral lesson conveyed by 
 their happiness, for, had they been less virtuous, they would 
 have been incapable of such affection." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Hobcrt Sedgwick. 
 
 " Albany, March 24, 1819. 
 
 * * * * n Charles has fixed his marriage for the ist of 
 September, I believe. I presume you have heard from him. 
 He seems determined to prove his faith by his works/ and 
 I am so old-fashioned as to believe that He who provided 
 the offering for Abraham will take care of these two beings 
 who have lived in conformity to His laws. This may not 
 be orthodox, but I am very much given to such heresies. 
 
io8 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Love certainly does cast out all fear, or we should not feel 
 willing to expose our infirmities to those we love best, when 
 we conceal tfiem from all the rest of the world. To you 
 alone, my dear Robert, would I confess that the thought of 
 resigning my place in Charles s heart has cost me some bit 
 ter tears. But I am conscious this is a selfish weakness. I 
 know it is ingratitude to my God ingratitude to my brother 
 whose heart is expansive enough for all our claims upon 
 its tenderness. The sorrow has been almost as transient as 
 it was unworthy. I shall be made happier by every event 
 that augments the happiness of my brothers, and I desire, 
 with all humility, to take the place they may appropriate to 
 me. ***** You may love another better, you must not 
 love me less." 
 
 The first paragraph of the next letter displays some of the 
 homely cares of a country housekeeper fifty years ago. 
 
 Miss Settgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 "Albany, March 28, 1819. 
 
 * * * # A S to the candles, I think, on the whole, Maria 
 had better make some. I believe there is some cotton-wick 
 in my closet. If not, you can get Tamor to spin some, 
 Candles are 22 cents per Ib. ; that, with the additional 
 charge of the box and the transportation, would make them 
 
 come a good deal higher than our domestic manufacture. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " I find that Mr. B * has written to you. He de 
 serves, my dear sister, and he needs, all the tenderness of 
 your friendship. I hope, if you have not already, you will 
 soon write to him. Say every thing you can to stimulate 
 his mind to exertion and activity. If you were not a miser^ 
 able agent for such a purpose, I would beg you to persuade 
 
 * A rojectetl lover of Misa Sed^iviuk. 
 
Life and Letters. 109 
 
 him that the object of his pursuit was not worth the regret 
 of such a noble mind as his. ***** My love to all the 
 dear children of both houses. Tell them I shall answer 
 their charming letters by the first private conveyance. Tell 
 Mr. Charles that I have just sent off a long letter to the 
 East, to convince Elizabeth that I have not forgotten her. 
 It behooves me not to provoke the wrath of a smart young 
 sister-in-law. Some kindlier feeling might have helped to 
 make me write. Good-night, my dear sister. My eyes are 
 almost out of my head, and my hand stiff. Tell dear little 
 Bob and Fan that I would fain have had a letter from them." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mr. Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 44 Albany, November 21, 1819. 
 
 **** wonder if you have entirely put away the 
 childish feeling of home-sickness. I fell into what, in your 
 college days, you used to call a reverie, just at sunset this 
 evening. I was awakened from it by the lowing of one of 
 Rockwell s cows under the window. For a moment I 
 thought I was at Stockbridge ; and, when I fairly opened 
 my eyes, and saw the beautiful new moon shining on these 
 brick houses, I could have cried because 1 could not see her 
 silver beams playing on our own little stream, and shining 
 through the naked branches of dear Charles s trees. I 
 sometimes think my love for that spot is, for these philo 
 sophic, enlightened times, too much like that of the savage, 
 who thinks his heaven is to be one great hunting-ground. 
 There I have located my heaven. I doubt not that if we 
 are, through the mercy of God, permitted to attain a state 
 of felicity, we shall look back with gratitude and delight to 
 that spot where immortal hopes first expanded our hearts, 
 where those frames of mind and habits of character were 
 formed which inspired the first desires for the love and 
 goodness that are finally to constitute our happiness. How 
 
no Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 shall we then look upon that sacred place which is now seal 
 ed with the sad signet of mortality, brightened by the res 
 urrection and the life I And shall we then, do you think, 
 my dear brother, be permitted to rejoice in the unbroken 
 union of our hearts in the growth of our immortal existence? 
 How grateful, how faithful should we be to our Redeemer I 
 He hath brought life and immortality to light. All the 
 hopes that sustain and cheer existence here are the fruits 
 of his love, his compassion, and his sufferings." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Watson, on the Death of her oldest Son. 
 
 " New York, March 15, 1820. 
 
 " My dear, dear sister, what shall I say to you ? What 
 can I say but that I mourn with you your heavy sorrow ! 
 Oh, my dear Frances, you know my heart, and you know 
 that it is wounded and grieved with yours. The Holy Spirit 
 is your comforter, and let us acknowledge the ineffable con 
 solation with which he has softened your calamity. Truly 
 our God is a God of tender mercies, a compassionate Fa 
 ther ; and his compassions were most manifest in his deal 
 ings with our dear Theodore. My dear Frances, his spirit 
 has been prepared for this great change, and who that knows 
 the tumult, the temptations, the miseries of this world, would 
 bring a spirit back from its rest, its glory ? Oh, my dear 
 sister, I know how many hopes have been cherished, what 
 strong affections wounded. But your child is not lost. He 
 has gone to a safe and happy place. Do not let your 
 thoughts dwell on the last scenes of suffering, on the tri 
 umphs of mortality, or, if still busy, busy thought will return 
 there, think of them as subjects of thankfulness and praise ; 
 for were not the peacefulness, the submission, the patience 
 of your dear child assurances that the good work was done 
 that he had prepared to meet his God that the world 
 had passed away, and a better life dawned in his soul ? 
 
Life and Letters. 1 1 1 
 
 " My first impulse was to go immediately to you, but our 
 brothers thought that you had all you could now derive from 
 human aid and comfort, and that the difficulty of the jour 
 ney would be such that I had better delay it for the present. 
 I hope to-morrow s mail will bring us particulars from you. 
 Do, my dear sister, if you can, write to me. My love to Mr. 
 Watson and the dear children." 
 
 Miss Settgwick to Mr. Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 * Stockbridgc, May 17, 1820. 
 
 " I was not disappointed yesterday in my expectations, 
 my dearest Robert. Charles came in, when the winds howl 
 ed and the rains beat violently, with your letter ; and its 
 sweet influences shut my senses, for a little while, on all 
 outward things. If any body wants to know the worth of a 
 letter, let them wait for one ten days in the country in an 
 easterly storm, with some sick and some sorrowful friends, 
 with the chain of their interest in those they have left un 
 broken, the influence of the habit of seeing them and of 
 hearing them every day unabated, and, above all, the habit 
 of loving them with a sort of dependence that makes you 
 careless of other sources of happiness and other means of 
 pleasure. * * * * I wish you would give my best regards 
 to Mr. Sewall, and tell him that I have had great success in 
 my agency. I sent for Mr. Bryant last week, and he called 
 to see me on his return from court. I told him Mr. Sewall 
 had commissioned me to request some contributions from 
 him to a collection of Hymns, and he said, without any hesi 
 tation, that he was obliged to Mr. Sewall, and would, with 
 great pleasure, comply with his request. He has a charm 
 ing countenance, and very modest, but not bashful manners. 
 I made him promise to come and see us shortly. He seem 
 ed gratified ; and, if Mr. Sewall has reason to be obliged to 
 me (which I certainly think he has), I am doubly obliged by 
 
ii2 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 an opportunity of securing the acquaintance of so interest 
 ing a man. I suppose Jenny will, as usual, amuse herself 
 with my enterprise, but * nothing venture, nothing have. I 
 mean my next letter shall be to Harry, for, though he is a 
 silent partner, it is no reason why he should not be spoken to. 
 " If there is any fresh tea arrived, do send and charge to 
 me 6 Ibs. That which I brought tastes just like Windsor 
 soap-suds." 
 
 Mr. Theodore Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 44 Albany, June 6, 1820. 
 
 ****** Having this moment perused your letter the 
 third time, I could not help giving you an answer to it, 
 though there be nothing in it interrogative. Nor was it 
 meant to be tender, or sentimental, or learned, but, like all 
 your letters, it is so sweet, so excellent, so natural, so much 
 without art, and yet so much beyond art, that, old, cold, self 
 ish, unthankful as I am, the tears are in my eyes, and I 
 thank my God that I have such a sister. 11 
 
 Mr. Robert Sedgivick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 44 New York, September 26, 1820, 
 * * * * j t j s we |j t | iat i t i s not j n t h e na ture of things 
 
 that those joys which seem to have taken up their most 
 blessed abode at Stockbridge should provoke envy. If it 
 were possible, I should be afraid of the contrast between my 
 rueful countenance at breakfast and its rueful respondent in 
 the looking-glass, and the group of faces which I can see 
 gathered round the goodly board in the east room, or draw 
 ing up to the evening fire. Oh, what is good, if it be not 
 to dwell upon all we have loved, and to cherish all we still 
 love, in that, to me, sacred mansion 1 I had, on Sunday, a 
 charming letter from dear Jenny* what a pearl she is 1" 
 
 * Mrs. Marry Seclgwick. 
 
Life and Letters. 113 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Frank Channing. 
 
 "Albany, August 10, 1820. 
 
 * * * * "Our letters have as few circumstances as lovers , 
 and therefore there is no need of a business-like, vulgar ref 
 erence to your last in order to reply to it. T/iat is at Stock- 
 bridge, but its record, as well as that of every other kindness 
 you have done me, is on my heart. You know enough of 
 my sister Susan to believe that I have not renounced, with 
 out a hope to be forgiven, the charms of the country at 
 this beautiful season for her society ; and if, as the best phi 
 losophy teaches, the happiness we derive from the beauty of 
 Nature is from its bearing the signs of intelligence, and thus 
 appealing to our moral and intellectual principles, why 
 should we place the pomp of groves and garniture of field 
 in competition with* the most perfect image of the Creator. 
 I certainly do not ; and, though I love our green meadows, 
 and morning melody, and setting sun, and the sacred even 
 ing stillness, and the holy peace of the broad expanse, and 
 all the sweetnesses and liberty of the country, I am willing to 
 leave them all for those I love. I can not wonder at your 
 regret at leaving the country. My happiest days have been 
 spent there, and I am still so spell-bound by its charms that 
 I often forget that the stream of time has carried me far be 
 yond the period of justifiable romance, as questionable a 
 term, probably, in the ears of the Rationalists as justifiable 
 homicide would be in those of a literal Quaker. This city 
 is perfectly thronged with travelers to and from the Springs. 
 Saratoga was never so full or so fashionable. The North 
 and the South have given up, and the East and the West 
 have not kept back. There are rival belles of all degrees, 
 kinds, and colors, from our fair Northern beauties to the 
 questionable hues of the West Indies. Wealth, you know, 
 is the grand leveling principle, and every body nowadays 
 
ii4 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 understands the philosophy of colors too well to give in to 
 a vulgar prejudice against a dark complexion. ***** 
 am catholic enough to be very much gratified to hear of the 
 growing prosperity of your mission in New York. I hope 
 this little Church may prove a burning and a shining light, 
 and live to have its claims acknowledged by those whose ig 
 norance I hope, more than their malice, leads them to opr 
 pose it." * * * * 
 
 Miss SafgwUk to Mrs. Charles Sedgwick, at Stockbridge. 
 
 " Albany, November 19, i8ao. 
 
 " I hoped before this, my dear Elizabeth, to have had a 
 letter to answer from you ; but, if I accuse you of negli 
 gence, you will interpose your baby for a shield, and then I 
 can not strike. She is a little usurper ; but it is always the 
 luck of usurpers to be treated with more deference than the 
 legitimates. The line I received from Charles on Friday 
 was a good deal better than nothing, though somewhat to 
 my hungry appetite like the mustard without beef that Pe- 
 truchio tendered to poor Kate. When you write, dear Eliz 
 abeth, do tell me how he is whether he is recovering his col 
 or, his flesh, and his hardiness. I shall not indulge the ab 
 surd hope of getting any information from him on these top 
 ics ; and let me know, my dear sister, every particular of all 
 your healths and happiness ; your smallest pleasures will in 
 terest me more than the gayest scenes I can mingle in, and 
 are, indeed, in comparison to them, what the household gods 
 were to the statues of the temple. * * * * J have been 
 almost incessantly occupied since I have been here, and I 
 can scarcely think of a thing I have done. Oh yes 1 I have 
 been to one very smart party at the Governor s, where I saw 
 nothing, my dear Elizabeth, half so enviable as a seat by 
 y 3ur stove, with your cheerful face on one side of me, and 
 y 3tir mother on the other, trotting her little pet nursling, and 
 
and JLettcrs. 115 
 
 Charles (for he must be in every happy grouping to me) 
 hovering somewhere about, I care not where, if he is not flat 
 on his back //// pauvre rhcumatiqitc and Kate* just com 
 ing in -from school, and the cradle, and the little horse, and 
 all appliances and means 1 appertaining to a nursery. How 
 ever, you may like ihe vision of my eyes better than that of 
 my imagination, and therefore I will present to you the JLady 
 Governess a lady of dignified, youthful presence (youthful 
 for forty), dressed in white poplin, receiving her guests gra 
 ciously, with a mouth the corners of which incline a little 
 upward, as if her sarcasms would where her courtesies must. 
 The Governor, looking somewhat as a lion does when his 
 keeper beats him into good nature poor man, quite as 
 thoroughly convinced that all is vanity as ever Solomon 
 was. If you fill up the picture with all the fashion and gay- 
 ety Albany can furnish several pretty girls, one or two old 
 and half a dozen young dandies, one figurante from New 
 York, dancing and music, very little good cheer, and plenty 
 of nothing but ice-cream, you will have all that I remember, 
 to which I had no thought of devoting two lines in this hasty 
 letter." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs, Channing^ in reference to the Unita- 
 ritw Church in JVtiv York. 
 
 " New York, February 19, iSss. 
 
 * * * G rea t events have occurred among your people 
 in this place of their captivity since our last communication. 
 
 Lucy R has no doubt given you the particulars. As 
 
 she has * sown in tears/ she is now one of the most joyful 
 of all the reapers in this portion of the vineyard. The 
 sparrow hath found a nest, 1 and sings as sweetly as if she 
 were perched on her native boughs. I am a little surprised 
 that your good people of Boston do not feel more interest in 
 * Miss Scclgwick s niece, Catharine Watson. 
 
1 1 6 Life of Catharine M. Scdgivick. 
 
 this scion from their stock, and you will not impute to me 
 prejudice or bigotry if I venture to say to you that their in 
 difference seems to me to indicate a want of that zeal which 
 should always be the fruit and aid of a good cause. De- 
 votedness to religion can not be abstracted from that mode 
 of it which we believe true and best. While those of the 
 orthodox faith are traversing sea and land, forsaking breth 
 ren and sisters, and houses and lands, and penetrating the 
 untrodden wilderness, those of a purer and more rational 
 faith* seem neither to lift their hands or breathe their pray 
 ers for its propagation. Now, my dear Mrs. Channing, I 
 confess this lukewarmness is a stumbling-block to me, and, 
 if you can remove it, you will (if my vision is not in fault) 
 remove a blot from your escutcheon. I go very often to 
 the chapel, but as Lucy says she shall cease to admire my 
 candor if I become a convert, I shall probably remain as I 
 am a borderer. * * * * 
 
 " I hope you have enjoyed the pleasure of seeing the un 
 rivaled Kean. Do not fail to see Lear. It is by far his 
 greatest character. I can not conceive that any dramatic 
 representation should excel it." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Channing. 
 
 New York, March 12, 1821. 
 
 " DEAR MRS. CHANNING, Never doubt that that is a 
 spirit from heaven which says to you, Write, 1 when I am 
 to be the subject benefited by the inspiration. I felt, when 
 I read your letter, as if it was still warm with the glow that 
 had sent you to your pen, and I read it with the same eager 
 ness with which I should have drank in your words if my 
 eye had met the eloquent beam of yours. My dear friend, 
 has any presumptuous creature of this doubting generation 
 ever suspected your zeal ? I should as soon suspect the 
 sun of counterfeiting light as to dream you were lukewarm 
 
Life atid Letters. 117 
 
 in any thing. No, my dear Mrs. Channing, it is not your 
 ardor, nor your brother s and Mr. Ware s devotion and fidel 
 ity that I doubt, but it is a general indifferency, which I hear 
 complained of by your own friends. I thank you for open 
 ing your fold to me, though I yet remain within the strait 
 ened inclosures of orthodoxy, or even should choose to wan 
 der in open pastures. However, as hopes are not the easi 
 est mode of conveying facts, I will say to you, in all plain 
 ness, that I have not yet made up my mind to adopt the new 
 faith. I think you are nearer the truth, by a very great deal, 
 than the orthodox, and yet there are some of your articles 
 of unbelief \\\o& I am not Protestant enough to subscribe to. 
 I have many dear friends, who never will change their opin 
 ions, who would be shocked and deeply wounded by what 
 they would consider my apostasy. My own family are all 
 joined with, or approximating to you, and they are all* suffi 
 ciently enlightened, rational, and liberal not to condemn 
 those views of religion which they know are directed and 
 controlled by a supreme reverence for God, and a sincere 
 and zealous love of that truth which He has revealed in the 
 Bible. If the new Church had such a pastor as your broth 
 er or Mr. Ware, I should not hesitate, for I should think the 
 benefit I might derive from them would outweigh every oth 
 er consideration. My dear Mrs. Channing, I could write a 
 letter full on this subject, for it interests me more than any 
 other at present, but I dislike to talk so much about myself 
 in a way to show that I think my own views and plans of 
 great importance. To you I have said more than to any 
 one else, and, if I have seemed egotistic, you must take some 
 of the blame for the confidence you inspire, and set the rest 
 down to the subject, which certainly transcends all others in 
 interest. I fear I shall not see Boston this spring, though I 
 know not how I shall have philosophy to resist Mary s kind 
 invitation, with the sweet enforcements that accompany it. 
 
n8 JLife of Catharine M. Setigwicfc. 
 
 Robert and I intend going to Niagara in July. My sister, 
 Mrs. Pomeroy, and Charles are to be here on a visit this 
 spring, so that my time will be all occupied. * * * * 
 
 " We have just laid our hands on Kenilworth. I sa 
 luted it with as much enthusiasm as a Catholic would a 
 holy relic. It is now lying beside me, looking so fresh and 
 tempting that I think I deserve some credit for having re 
 sisted it thus far." * * * * 
 
 Miss S&lgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 "New York, April, 1821. 
 
 " You hint, my dear sister, at some temptation to which 
 you think me particularly liable. I hope I am not so blinded 
 by self-love as to be incapable of discerning a fault when 
 pointed out to me, or so selfish and ungrateful as not to turn 
 from a precipice because I did not first see it. I know it is 
 much more agreeable to profess a general humility than to 
 own a particular fault. After all this, you may think it very 
 inconsistent for me to declare myself unconscious of the 
 danger to which you allude. I am, it is true, in a city where 
 Fashion maintains her empire, and has her willing and un 
 willing subjects, but if I was with you in your house, or with 
 Charles in his blessed retreat, I should not be more inde 
 pendent of fashion than I am now. We have nothing to do 
 with the fashionable gayeties of the city. Our visiting is all 
 of a familiar and domestic kind, and there is, of necessity, a 
 good deal of time run away with where you have a large cir 
 cle of acquaintance and must be accessible to all, yet I 
 think we lead, as far as can be under such circumstances, 
 rational and domestic lives. The situation of our family 
 this year has, of course, kept me at home, and, with two or 
 three exceptions, I have not been out of the circle of our in 
 timate friends. I have been a few times to see Kean not, 
 my dear sister, in conformity to fashion, for nothing is more 
 
Life and Letters. 119 
 
 unfashionable in New York than the theatre. I have not 
 had the satisfaction I should have had from his wonderful 
 exhibition if I had been sure that this was a right indul 
 gence. If I had been sure it was wrong, I think I should 
 not have been tempted to go. Perhaps I am fighting the 
 air, but, my dear sister, I think it is much better to speak 
 plain, to speak the truth in love, than to have any timidity 
 in relation to subjects of such importance. Our heaviest 
 burden is sin, and those who attempt to lighten it for us cer 
 tainly most efficiently obey that injunction which says, * Bear 
 ye one another s burdens. 
 
 " I presume you saw the letter I wrote Susan, in which I 
 said that I did not think I should go to Dr. Mason s Church 
 again. I have not been since. This has been a subject of 
 continual anxiety and pain to me. I have done nothing 
 rashly, nor without an anxious consideration of what was my 
 duty. You knt>w, my dear Frances, that I never adopted 
 some of the articles of the creed of that Church, and some 
 of those upon which the doctor is most fond of expatiating, 
 and which appear to me both unscriptural and very unprofit 
 able, and, I think, very demoralizing. On some important 
 points I think the doctor is all wrong. Still, it was so pain 
 ful to me to give up the privilege and happiness of church- 
 membership, that, until I thought it became an imperative 
 duty to leave it, I remained one of that congregation. My 
 example is hardly any thing in this city, but, as far as it 
 goes, I thought myself bound not to lend its sanction to 
 what seems to me a gross violation of the religion of the 
 Redeemer, and an insult to a large body of Christians enti 
 tled to respect and affection. I have not become a member 
 of the Unitarian Society, though I think I should if they had 
 such a clergyman as Mr. Channing or Henry Ware I mean 
 like them in their religious sentiments. I hope and believe, 
 my dear sister, that you will not disapprove my conduct ; if 
 
X2o Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 you do, tell me so frankly. I know I have risked much and 
 lost much, for I have many friends whose confidence and 
 affection constitute a large portion of my happiness, who 
 have not liberality enough to think there is any religion be 
 yond the pale of orthodoxy. I do not know but I shall be 
 debarred communion with the orthodox churches, but, if so, 
 I must try, and I shall, with the blessing of God, bear the 
 privation with meekness, trusting that He who is my hope 
 and my Savior will own me as His disciple. Any thing is 
 better than insincerity, than feeling ourselves obliged, from 
 prudence, to conceal our sentiments. Such a prudence bor 
 ders too closely on hypocrisy." 
 
 Miss Set/givick to her brother Robert. 
 
 " Stockbridge, June 2, 1821. 
 
 * * * * uj admire, dear Robert, the admirable adroitness 
 with which you insinuate your grief at my departure. I know 
 too well the theoiy and experience of an agreeable succes 
 sion of ideas to flatter myself that my memory (all that was 
 painful in it) did not pass away as rapidly as the shadow of 
 the clouds before the bright sun of that crowd and caravan 
 of Bostonians. Even Temps le Consolateur will not get a 
 monument this time. I am not so selfish as you may think. 
 I care not how much those who are as my own soul value 
 my presence, but I do not desire they should mourn my ab 
 sence. Life is quite too short for useless regrets. Our pres 
 ent duties need all the life they can get from the leaven of 
 cheerfulness. *****! have been trying for two days to 
 answer Mr. Channing s letter, but I can not make out any 
 thing that satisfies me at all. I know this is very foolish for 
 a grown-up woman, and one that has been grown up so long, 
 too, but I am quite incapable of the courage necessary for 
 such an undertaking. But I shall write, if I don t make out 
 better than poor Jeanie Deans did in her literary efforts. I 
 
Life and Letters, 121 
 
 had rather submit to any intellectual degradation, in Mr. 
 Channing s opinion, than^to have him think me insensible 
 to his great kindness. *****! went to the school the 
 other day to hear the boys speak off Demosthenes and Cic 
 ero, and I was quite amused, for I had almost forgotten to 
 what seeming torture the human body can be put without 
 stretching it on the rack. * * * * Charles is constantly at 
 Lenox, and seldom comes home at night. I have remon 
 strated with him, as Hall is retained on very high wages till 
 the Fall. But he says there is a great deal of business be 
 hindhand, which has been laid aside. Oh, my dear Robert, 
 this place is dreadfully changed without him. I have never 
 felt so oppressed by the changes in our family. The house 
 is so still and solitary. My imagination is continually filled 
 with those looks and voices that animated every part of tr^ 
 house that beamed with Jove and rung with joy. Elizabeth 
 is very pleasant and kind, and the baby a sweet little creat 
 ure, but those beloved ones whose hearts responded to mine 
 as face answcreth to face in the water* are all gone, or far 
 away. This is not right a single repining thought is base 
 ingratitude they arc unbidden and unwelcome guests, but 
 they will come. The country is perfectly beautiful. * Na 
 ture s universal robe was never more enchanting." 
 
 Miss Si dgwicfc to Afrs. Channing. 
 
 " Stockbriclgc, June 4, 182 1. 
 
 "My DEAR MRS. CHANNING, I left on my table at New 
 York an unfinished letter to you, which should, and would 
 have convinced you that I felt my debt to you. At Albany 
 I received the kind letter which destined me the pleasure 
 of an introduction to your cpusin, Miss Cabot. I knew she 
 was to be in New York with your brother, and, I assure 
 you, it required all the effort I am capable of in patience 
 to possess my soul* under such a host of disappointments. 
 
 L 
 
123 Life of Catharine JW. ScdgwUk. 
 
 The loss of Dr. Channing s society has been in some degree 
 compensated to me by a letter from him, as kind as unex 
 pected. I shall always preserve it among a few sacred doc 
 uments that I possess, which have power to refresh the 
 drooping spirit, and stimulate a languid piety. You would 
 have laughed at me if you had seen with what fear and trem 
 bling I accomplished a reply, with all the contortions of the 
 sibyl, 1 but, alas 1 without the inspiration. Ease is absolute 
 ly necessary to writing letters with any success. If there is 
 any thing that pervades my whole character, it is a love of 
 freedom that leaveneth the whole lump. When I had ac 
 complished the mighty labor, I could have cried over it a 
 stupid composition, very like the first awkward attempts of 
 a boarding-school girl of pretty talents. My mortification 
 did not all result from wounded pride, but I am afraid your 
 brother, if his goodness does not avert such an opinion, will 
 think me very impertinent to occupy his time with a long 
 letter, when a simple acknowledgment would have been 
 enough. But, my dear Mrs. Channing these troubles must 
 be quite uninteresting to you. I have had nobody to pour 
 out my heart to before. Those who inspire confidence must 
 sometimes feel the pain of sympathy. My letters from New 
 York do not in the least console me for my loss of Miss 
 Cabot s acquaintance. She has captivated all my friends 
 there. I try to feel a benevolent pleasure in the happiness 
 they have enjoyed, and to trust that I shall participate it, at 
 some period of my existence, in this world or a better. I 
 look forward to forming a great many agreeable acquaint 
 ances when there shall be no such material obstructions as 
 intervening mountains, and we shall no longer be closed in 
 by the limited operation of our present organs when there 
 shall be a perfect community of light, and joy, and feeling, 
 for nil of one heart and one mind. I was not aware, until I 
 received your letter, how strong my hope had been that you 
 
Life and Letters. 1 23 
 
 would join our Canada party. I do not doubt that you have 
 decided righteously, but I have been almost tempted to wish 
 that your conscience was not quite so enlightened. I can 
 not imagine any thing that could be so delightful as to have 
 you with us. I would not, even to accomplish so good an 
 end, taint your morals with Jesuitry, but, in the technics of 
 this region, I do wish you could see it to be your duty* to 
 confer so much pleasure, and to recruit, with new and chang 
 ing scenes, your own health and spirits. The country is as 
 beautiful as Eden could have been when all was pronounced 
 good. Youth is always beautiful, and Nature now is a per 
 fect emblem of the morning of life, so bright and unspotted, 
 so full of hope and promise. My dear brother Charles has 
 entered upon the duties of an office which, for the most part, 
 confines him at Lenox, six miles from us. This is a sad 
 privation to us. There is a sunny influence in his presence ; 
 like the light of heaven, he brightens every object around 
 him. He is felt in all. The emolument of his office, though 
 small, is very necessary to him, and I try to be thankful and 
 satisfied. My cousin, Henry Dwight, will carry this letter 
 to you, and, though I do not deserve it, I hope (it is not un 
 common for our hopes to outstrip our deserts) he will bring 
 me one in return." 
 
 JVf r. Charles Sedgwick brought his wife, on their marriage, 
 to the old Stockbridge home, where they lived for two years, 
 when his business relations with the neighboring town of 
 Lenox became so close that he found it necessary to make 
 it his residence. This was a bitter grief to his sister ; and 
 to explain, in some degree, a distress which, in the present 
 easy connection of the two villages, might appear unreason 
 able, it must be remembered that Lenox was then a bare 
 and ugly little village, perched upon a desolate hill, at the 
 end of six miles 1 rough and steep driving. It is true, the 
 
124 -Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 natural beauty which has since assisted in giving it celeb 
 rity existed then ; but we all know how much habit, associa 
 tion, and cultivation do in enhancing natural beauty, and 
 making it precious to us, and, to a native and lover of the 
 rich valley of Stockbridge, with its soft and graceful varia 
 tions of meadow and wood, its gentle river, and its shelter 
 ing mountains, and the appearance of refinement even then 
 given to its dwellings, Lenox must have seemed dismally 
 bleak and uncouth. Besides, Miss Sedgwick s affections 
 were so gathered about her paternal home, that life in any 
 other spot in the country would have seemed to her like 
 exile and banishment ; but she may have smiled in after 
 years, when her prediction was fulfilled, and Lenox /tad be 
 come, next to Stockbridge, " the dearest spot on all this 
 earth" to her, at the unmitigated repulsion with which she 
 at first contemplated it 
 
 Jlfiss Scdgivick to far brother Charles, on the occasion of his 
 
 proposing to remove permanently to Lenox. 
 " MY DEAREST CHARLES, I need not tell you, for you 
 know already, how I feel the contemplated change. Your 
 presence here has been to me like the spirits of our parents, 
 and it never seems home to me when you arc gone. I had 
 made up my mind with some composure to your residence 
 at Lenox for three years, but the thought of your living thoae 
 permanently is like dissolution to me. Still I know, my 
 clear Charles, all evils arc worse in the anticipation than the 
 reality, and ^"it is best that you should go, I will do what I 
 can to be resigned to be cheerful. Wherever you are I 
 must have a home, and Lenox must be to me, when you and 
 yours are there, the dearest spot on all this earth." 
 
 This removal involved other changes. Mr. Theodore 
 Sedgwick henceforth took possession of the family mansion, 
 
Life and Letters. 125 
 
 which has ever since been delightfully associated with his 
 name and that of his admirable and lovely wife. His sis 
 ter s summers were for many years passed with him under 
 the roof so dear to her, and her winters with one of her broth 
 ers in New York; for Robert s marriage in 1822 gave her a 
 second home in town. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the summer of 1821, she made an excur 
 sion to Niagara and Canada with her brother Robert, Mr. 
 
 and Mrs. Theodore and their son, and Mrs. B . The 
 
 following extracts are from the full journal she kept for the 
 sake of her friends at home, and are charmingly character 
 istic : 
 
 " Palatine, 52 miles from Albany, June 22, 1821. 
 
 "Mv DEAREST JEANIE, This day we have begun the 
 grand tour/ Is it not a singular coincidence, considering 
 the uncontrollable nature of human affairs, that we should 
 have commenced the undertaking on the very day Robert 
 appointed last year? We were drinking tea together last 
 August (1820) at Sister Susan s. A jaunt to Niagara was 
 discussed, and R. concluded the talk by saying, Well, Kitty, 
 at any rate, you and I will start the 2oth of next June. He 
 left New York on the 2oth. Many a man s reputation for 
 prophecy has been established upon a less striking verifica 
 tion than this. My conscience did not need * jogging, for 
 the intention of communicating my pleasures to you and 
 Harry as I went along has constantly been one of my most 
 delightful anticipations. I have been so long in the habit 
 of sharing all my booty with you, that now, when I expect 
 so rich a spoil, do you think I will deprive myself of his be 
 atitude who giveth ? It would be a shame to keep any so 
 cial pleasure from Harry, who never yet had a solitary en 
 joyment. We left Albany this morning all well and in fine 
 glee. We have engaged extra post-coaches to go as far as 
 Utica at the very moderate price of $30. A fairer day 
 
126 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 never invited to Nature s high festival. You must remem 
 ber the ride on the borders of the Mohawk. I do not care, 
 as our friend E. C. says, to harangue about scenery, but, 
 dear Jane, it would be treason against nature if the heart 
 did not dilate at the sight of this beautiful stream, as full, 
 from the late rains, as the brimful Clyde, reflecting the 
 verdant banks, the overhanging trees, the richly wooded 
 hills, and the clear heavens. * * * * 
 
 " While our breakfast was preparing at Schencctady, we 
 walked through its dirty streets to the high ground which 
 Dr. Nott has tastefully selected for his university. His pu 
 pils might learn some lessons in theology from the fair vol 
 ume of Nature open before them that should soften the in 
 fluence of some of the severest dogmas of the strictest sys 
 tems. We saw all along the opposite bank of the river a 
 multitude of men at work on the canal. We are told more 
 than one thousand are between this place and Albany. * * * 
 
 "Utica, 24/tf. Here we arrived last evening, after a day 
 of pleasure, mingled with a little vexation enough to se 
 cure us from the insipidity of a draught of uniform sweet 
 ness. In the morning, at Palatine, our driver, offended at 
 our having selected a house he did not patronize, and, like 
 his betters, choosing to use his little brief authority in tyr 
 anny, did not come for us till 6 o clock. This worried brother 
 T., who, you know, does not like to be imposed on, and he 
 gave the fellow quite an edifying lecture upon the natural 
 rights of man. We, at least, were touched with its justice, 
 and the man, if he did not repent of the wrong he had done 
 us, was mortified at it. * * * * 
 
 " The canal, when completed, must be one of the most 
 stupendous monuments of the enterprise, industry, resolu 
 tion, and art of man. The scenery was enchanting, and, in 
 spite of a melting sun, we all agreed to wipe out n* scores 1 
 with Fortune thus far. We went also to see the little canal, 
 
Life and Letters. 127 
 
 which was made here more than twenty years since. During 
 the operation of a boat s passage through the locks, which 
 happened just at the moment we arrived at them, a poor 
 blackey fell from the bank into the water; he was not hurt, 
 and his accident produced a burst of merriment from the 
 vulgar fellows about him. * You ain t white yet I 1 said they, 
 as the poor fellow shook the water from his woolly head. 
 How hard it is to belong to a degraded caste to be born to 
 the inheritance of jibes and jokes 1 My interest in this 
 place was doubled by the recollections associated with it. 
 At my first emancipation from childhood, I had visited it 
 with my beloved father. I recollected with gratitude the 
 patience and interest with which he explained to me the 
 construction and operation of the locks. * * * * 
 
 "(P.S. by R., preserved, not for its justice, but its char 
 acteristic humor.) *I crowed 1* said a scene-shifter, when 
 Garrick played Hamlet ; and I rung the bell ! said another 
 of the children of humble ambition, when Whitfieicl preach 
 ed ; and I, says I, put a P.S. to Kit s letter, and thus, as it 
 were, ride on a pillion, on her Pegasus, to immortality, etc. 
 
 * * # * 
 
 44 Brutus, on the Canal, 85 miles from Utica, Tuesday, 26th. 
 "The boat is drawn by two fine horses: the hindermost 
 has a rider. They go on a very fast walk, at the rate of four 
 miles an hour, including stops, which recur every eignt miles. 
 The canal is forty feet wide and four deep. We passed six 
 locks during the night, and we all joyfully left our hot little 
 cabin, where I had spent all my time in fanning away the 
 musquitoes, to enjoy the novelty of mechanical rising and 
 falling. Sue sat near the bow of the boat. She reminded 
 me of some of the heroines of song as we awaited, in these 
 walled inclosures, the opening of the immense gates, which, 
 without much aid from fancy, at i o clock in the morning, 
 by the feeble light of the lamps, looked like a portcullis to 
 
128 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 an ancient castle, or any thing else your- imagination might 
 choose to liken it to. Just at nightfall we met the Murray 
 family, and stopped long enough to go on board their boat, 
 where we saw an Indian chief of the Sac tribe thirty inches 
 long I a sort of a stump of a man ; like to the three wise 
 men of Gotham in the respect that his lower extremities 
 were placed in a bowl, to facilitate his traveling. The Mur- 
 rays told us he spoke five Indian languages and the French, 
 but we had no opportunity to try his * prodigious erudition/ 
 as the poor creature had more delicacy than we manifested, 
 and averted his head from us. I must confess myself tired 
 of the canal, though, asjw/ may guess, its safety commends 
 it to my coward heart. R. says we are much in the condi 
 tion of a tea-cup swimming about in a slop-bowl, * * * * 
 "Buffalo, June zqth. After we left Batavia the face of 
 the country changed. It has quite a new look here and 
 there log houses, and fields full of stumps, but every where 
 abundance and comfortable abodes. I find all the people 
 are our country people, and, true to my love of rinding out 
 folks/ for which you so often laugh at me, I have some clish- 
 maclaver with the landlady or some of her household wher 
 ever we stop. To-day I brightened the faded C3 r e of a with 
 ered octogenarian, who was breaking up the curds for her 
 granddaughter s cheese, by telling her that I came from the 
 land from whence she emigrated some forty or fifty years 
 ago. She said she set more store by one from New En 
 gland than by all the town of Clarence. She was struck 
 with admiration at T. s beautiful face, and said, Whoever he 
 belonged to, he was a perfect beauty. The modest blush 
 her remark spread upon his full cheek justified her expres 
 sion. Dear boy, he has been the delight of all our hearts. 
 I am not disposed to allow that * Life s enchanted cur/ hni- 
 sparkles at the brim/ yet his glad innocent face does indi 
 cate that to him it is a sweeter draught than to those that 
 
Life and Letters. 129 
 
 have tasted the bitter drops that sometimes mingle with its 
 waters. * * * * 
 
 "This beautiful country stimulates my patriotism. That 
 passion which is inspired by the peaceful triumphs of man 
 over Nature, if it is not as romantic, is certainly more inno 
 cent than that which is kindled by battle-grounds, and I 
 should even venture to put our cheerful dwellings, and fruit 
 ful fields, and blooming gardens againsfr the ivy-mantled 
 towers and blasted oaks of older regions, and busy hands 
 and active minds against the spectres that sit and sigh* 
 amid their ruins. You saw this place immediately after the 
 devastation of the last war, during which every habitation 
 save one was burnt. You would be surprised at its phoenix 
 resurrection. There are 1200 inhabitants, three congrega 
 tions, a beautiful Episcopal church, a bank, court-house, and 
 several fine brick houses, some of them quite as large as 
 any in Albany." * * * * 
 
 To L. t S. t and E. 
 
 " Afouth of the Niagara. There were two subjects of curi 
 osity in Oneida, and I was very sorry that the arrangement 
 we had made with the canal-boat did not allow us to stop 
 there at all. The one was the clergyman who presides over 
 the spiritual interests of the poor natives. He is a far-away 
 cousin of ours. Do not be startled, my dear girls, though 
 some Indian blood is mingled in his veins with a fairer cur 
 rent. He is descended from a daughter of a Parson Wil 
 liams, of Deerfield. She was taken by the savages during 
 one of their incursions into the newly-formed settlement of 
 our pious ancestors. She was so young that she soon lost 
 all recollection of her parents. Many years after, when 
 peace was established with our wild neighbors (but not till 
 after the bear s claws and teeth had been taken oi3t), her 
 friends made a fruitless effort to recover her. She had mar- 
 
 F 2 
 
130 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 ried an Indian, and chosen his country for her country, and 
 his God for her God ; and, like the tender and true-hearted 
 Ruth, she has been the mother of a servant of the Lord. 
 Mr. Williams (for he bears the name of his maternal ances 
 tors) is said to labor with greal zeal and some success among 
 the remnant of his tribe. 
 
 " Here, on the margin of the river, were encamped seven 
 families of Irisluemigrants, making in all fifty. They had 
 entered the country at Quebec, and expressed great satis- 
 factiou at having arrived within our territory. One poor 
 woman, with John Rogers s complement of children, and one 
 sick one in her arms, hoped to find her husband in Mercer, 
 in Ohio. In another tent was a poor man with ten chil 
 dren, whose wife had fallen a victim to the hardships of the 
 passage. He looked quite dispirited. I asked him how 
 they liked our country. * Och, ma am, and we could not 
 miss liking it, 1 said he, we find the people so free and hos 
 pitable. One sweet pretty girl, niece to the woman who 
 had died, had, like Abraham, come out from her country, 
 and kindred, and friends, and without, I believe, the incite 
 ment of a special call so to do. I asked her how she could 
 leave them all. * Sure it is, ma am, said she, if it thrive 
 well with me, they will all come after. The poor Irishers I 
 they do all come first or last. This pretty girl was a Prot 
 estant, so I thought I could not give a better God-speed 
 to her pilgrimage than by bestowing on her my Testament. 
 She received it as if she had some notion of its value."* * * * 
 
 "Niagara Falls, July ist. We arrived at the Falls yes 
 terday at i o clock, or, as they call the place here, at Stam 
 ford. We immediately obtained a guide, and all, with one 
 heart and one mind, with the most impatient curiosity, de 
 scended to take our first view of the Falls. I know it is 
 impossible to give an idea of the beauty and sublimity of 
 
Life and Letters. 131 
 
 the scene. If I fail to do it, I may impress my memory so 
 strongly as to be able at some future time to recall the im 
 ages that arc before me at this moment. From Forsyth s 
 the walk toward the Falls is for some distance through a 
 level and shaded road ; then you descend a deep pathway, 
 with steep banks on each side, covered with a verdure that 
 resembles the new-mown grass, fresh and sparkling from a 
 recent shower a beautiful peculiarity that it always pre 
 serves, and owes to the continual humidity of the atmos 
 phere. These banks are overhung with butternut and beech 
 trees, elms and lindens. Under a beautiful linden we first 
 caught the view of the American Fall, which is directly in 
 front of you as you approach the bank. "This is one straight 
 sheet of water, with a single interruption from a small inter 
 vening island, covered with evergreen. You see the rapids 
 beyond it, the bridge Judge Porter has thrown over them to 
 Goat Island, his fine house, almost hid by the majestic trees 
 around it, and two little islands on the brink of the fall. 
 They look, amidst the commotion, like the ships of some 
 woodland nymph gayly sailing onward, or you might imag 
 ine the wish of the Persian girl realized, * Oh, that this little 
 isle had wings 1 At the termination of this road, and near 
 the bank of the river (which is one halCmile fror%Forsyth s), 
 is an old stone house, inhabited by a Yorkshireman and his 
 wife. Sue and I called to see them while we were resting 
 our weary limbs (for with all this regale of the spirit there 
 is weariness of the flesh). The old man gave us a piteous 
 account of his trials : he said when he laid in his bed he 
 could never tell when it rained nor when it thundered, for 
 there was always a dripping from the dampness, and the 
 deafening roar of the fall ; and then his poor cattle, in win 
 ter, were always covered with icicles. It was a mighty fine 
 thing to come and see, but we should be sick enough of it if 
 we had as much of it as he had. II n y a rien dc beau que 
 
132 Life of Cat/i arine M. Sedgivick. 
 
 1 utile is a fair maxim for a poor laborer. We expressed 
 our sympathy, which was certainly more appropriate than 
 our contempt would have been. * * * * 
 
 " 3^/ July. On board t/ic steam-boat Ontario, Niagara JKivcr, 
 Youngstown. We left the Falls yesterday morning. The 
 morning was rainy (the first rain we have had since we left 
 home), but, notwithstanding, we all went through showers 
 above and mud below to take our farewell of the Falls. 
 Dear Robert, whose benevolence is indefatigable, was not 
 willing to have me come away without going under Table 
 Rock. We descended the steps once more together, and 
 scrambled over the rocks, which in some places are so soft 
 that you can break off pieces and crumble them to powder 
 in your hands. We walked under the tremendous projec- 
 , tion of rock, which here forms a considerable arc of a cir 
 cle, the summit, as you stand in the depths of the excava 
 tions, projecting many yards beyond you, with trees hang 
 ing over the extreme point. Every thing is so vast that you 
 seem introduced to a new state of being, and almost doubt 
 your identity. The heights and the depths, the moisture* of 
 the atmosphere, which gives to every leaf and spear of grass 
 in the crevices of the rocks a tender green ; the fishermen 
 below, who^seem dwindled to children, all combine to form 
 a scene as new as it is imposing. But it is not these banks 
 of rock ( qui scmblent en harmonic avec le torrent soli 
 taire, image du temps, qui les a fait ce qu elles split 1 ), it is 
 not that solitary and eternal torrent that produces the awe 
 you feel, inspiring devotion amidst these objects, but it is 
 the Spirit of God moving on the waters/ It is the vast- 
 ness of every object, expressing the infinity of the Creator, 
 and thus bringing you into his visible presence. * * * * 
 We took our leave of the Falls with a mixture of sadness 
 and gratitude. Glory had been at one entrance quite M 
 />/, new images of the power and the glory of the Creator 
 
Life and Letters. 133 
 
 had been conveyed to our minds through this avenue, and 
 our hearts united in a Te Deum for all that we had enjoyed 
 from this marvelous work. * * * * 
 
 " I forgot to mention to you a parly of Greenwich Street 
 shopkeepers we met at Niagara. They have come into this 
 picturesque world for what, unless * Peter Domer s Riddle 
 will help us to a solution, I can not tell. Well, here they 
 have come to spend all the profits of their patient labor in 
 measuring tape and dealing out pins and needles for the 
 last twenty years. Yesterday I he xrd them say they had 
 been dreadfully disappointed in their journey they had not 
 seen a broiled chicken nor a roast pig since they left New 
 York ! Remember the philosophic maxim, dear Charles, 
 4 de gustibus, etc. If we have the Falls, why should not 
 they have chickens? Is not it difficult sometimes to ab 
 stain from the pharisaic thanksgiving ? * * * * 
 
 " SS/* J"ly- On board the Ontario. We passed a delight 
 ful day with our kind friends at Rochester. It was a re 
 freshment that we needed, for jevcn our short privation of 
 faces and objects that were familiar to us had caused those 
 unpleasant sensations of travelers that Madame de Staiil has 
 so well described : * Voir des visages humains, sans relation 
 avec votre pass, ni avec votrc avenir, c est dc la solitude et 
 de 1 isolement, sans rcpos ct sans dlgnitc, car cet empresse- 
 ment, cette hate pour arrivcr lu on pcrsonne ne vous attend, 
 cctte agitation dont curiositu est la seule cause, vous in 
 spire peu d estime pour vous-mfime. 1 You may smile at my 
 attempting to apply language which belongs to the traveler 
 solitaire et isolu to our merry, happy party. I will not 
 contend for the aptness of the quotation, though I might for 
 its eloquence. * * * * 
 
 " Descending the steep bank to the river, Mr. 1. pointed 
 us to a railway made to facilitate the conveyance of freight 
 up and down the bank. Captain Vaughan has a. son on 
 
134 -Lift f Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 board, i sprightly boy of twelve, who last year was descend 
 ing this railway in the box (like a wagon-box fixed on roll 
 ers). The rope broke the moment they began their de 
 scent. Young Vaughan seized a child who was with him 
 a stranger and jumped over. The child was quite unin 
 jured; and the boy, whose instinctive benevolence and self- 
 possession you will admire as much as I do, sustained 
 very little injury. The box acquired immense velocity in 
 the descent, and, of the two other persons with them, one 
 was shockingly mangled and the other instantly killed. * * 
 <* * * When we had got ourselves quietly re-established in 
 the boat, I went to inquire after a poor woman a steerage 
 passenger who had been suffering from a paroxysm of 
 toothache, and for whom I had procured some laudanum 
 and camphor before I left the boat. In reply to my in 
 quiries, she said, I am quite easy ; but it was not your 
 trade, (sic) ma am, that cured me. The captain is a seventh 
 son of a seventh son, and he said he could cure me with 
 stroking my face. I know it is a simple thing to tell, but it 
 did cure me. Who will quarrel with a superstition that 
 cures the toothache ? 
 
 " We have been sitting on the roof of the ladies cabin, 
 and, by the light of this beautiful crescent, which now * seems 
 to shine just to pleasure us/ watching our winding path 
 through the Thousand Isles. 1 The heavens are yet bright 
 ened by the parting smiles of day. The verdant islands are 
 of every size and form some stretching for miles in length, 
 and some so small that they seem destined for a race of 
 fairies; some in clusters, like the solitary set in families, 
 and some like beautiful vestals in single loveliness. The 
 last streak of daylight has faded from the west, and the 
 blush on the waters is followed by the reflection of the far 
 blue arch and its starry host. The fishermen s lights are 
 kindling along the margin of the river ; our mate says we 
 
Life and Letters. \$$ 
 
 are having a * most righteous time. Captain Vaughan, whose 
 simplicity and unostentatious kindness have won their way to 
 all our hearts, has fired his signal-gun for us several times, 
 that we might hear the reverberations amidst these islands. 
 The mate says, * Don t they hollow well ? They do indeed, 
 as if we wakened the spirits of their deep solitudes to send 
 us back our greeting. The captain has just ordered the 
 signal to be given to his fisherman, who immediately an 
 swered it by kindling a bright light on the shore a pine 
 torch, I believe, for by its bright flame I perfectly discerned 
 a little hut on the brink of the water, the element on which 
 he lives, for there does not appear to have been a tree fell 
 ed from the deep woods that surround him. He put off in 
 his little canoe freighted with fish, and in a few minutes 
 completed his exchange with our steward, who, in return for 
 the fish, furnished him with gunpowder and whisky, which 
 our pleasant little mate gave him, saying, * Here is your tea, 
 fisherman. 1 He looked as wild as poor Effie s boy, Whist 
 ler. Robert (dear Robert, who has been my kind angel thus 
 far on my journey of life) said to me, as I sat snugged up in 
 his cloak, Kate, we shall remember this a great while. 
 Dear Jane, may not these beautiful scenes, that seem now 
 like glimpses of heaven, 1 be among our pleasures of mem 
 ory if ever we enter into the blessed inheritance of the 
 saints ?***** We are seated vis-u-vis in our little boat, 
 with one small sail. The boat has freight enough to keep 
 it steady, and, though this is very little, it occupies a great 
 portion of our room, so that we are obliged to sit on boards 
 without the amelioration of a cushion, almost as compactly 
 as we should in a stage-coach. The St. Lawrence presents 
 an appearance quite novel to us. It resembles one of our 
 rivers when brimful from a freshet. We have already pass 
 ed two of the Rapids. The river usually descends so much 
 as to give great velocity to the current before you come to 
 
136 JLife of Catharine JW. Scdgwick. 
 
 the Rapids. You find yourself suddenly impelled forward 
 as if by an unseen and invisible hand ; the banks seem fly 
 ing from you ; still your passage, though almost as fleet, is as 
 noiseless as that of the planets in tjieir orbits. Suddenly 
 you pass into the waters that are foaming over their hidden 
 bed of rocks. The boatmen throw themselves prostrate in 
 the bottom of the boat to avoid the dashing billows, their 
 oars being useless in these agitated waters. The skillful 
 steersman strains every nerve at the helm to guide the boat 
 in its difficult path. It seems very perilous to my cowardly 
 nerves, but it is not so, as is proved by the rare occurrence 
 of accidents. I am not so quiet as I could wish, but the 
 rest of the party are more reasonable, or have stouter hearts, 
 and are as merry as possible. We have just passed Crist- 
 laer s Town, another war-scene ; but these theatres for am 
 bition s honored fools are quite common in this country. 
 * * * # 
 
 " Montreal^ qth. We disembarked at Coteau before the 
 storm had arrived at the poetic height requisite for descrip 
 tion. Be thankful that you are spared that. We sought 
 refuge in the Boatman s Inn, which, upon inquiry, I found 
 
 was kept by a Mr. T , a man who had emigrated from 
 
 Barrington. His wife, too, was from the Bay State, but they 
 seemed not to have retained any of the thrifty habits and 
 gctting-tiloHg faculties of our home-land. The only Yankee 
 symptom I observed was the expression of regret from the 
 woman that her children had neither the privilege of schools 
 or meetings. She could get no spiritual refreshment but by 
 crossing the river and going thirty miles into the States. 
 She had Catholic churches in her neighborhood, but, accord 
 ing to her view of things, partaking from their board would 
 reverse the Scripture rule. It would be giving the dogs 
 meat to the children. AVe regretted that we had not brought 
 some tracts for distribution in this land of spiritual ignorance 
 
Life and Letters. 137 
 
 and famine. This wretched inn resembled nothing I have 
 ever seen or heard of so much as the * Clachan of Aberfoil, 
 and, bating the dirks and the Baillie, I think it was in no 
 whit superior to that. Besides Indians, emigrants, Canadi 
 ans, and boatmen who had taken shelter from the storm, 
 there were numbers of those people that we call tavern- 
 haunters, who not only find their * kindest, but their only 
 welcome at an inn. These were stupefied or noisy from 
 the revels of the preceding night, and were either lounging 
 on the beds, or swearing and drinking. The house was ta 
 pestried with spiders webs, and blackened with smoke and 
 all manner of defilement. The storm continued so long 
 that the captain of cur boat and the pilot decided that it 
 would not be prudent to proceed that night. We were de 
 termined to seek some better fortune than that of Mrs. 
 
 T s inn, and after dinner Robert and I sallied forth to 
 
 a French village a little distance Iroin the shore. To our 
 great joy, we saw a sign with Auberge et Laugcment on it. 
 The bad French was not our affair, but the neat tavern was ; 
 and, after having engaged three decent apartments, which 
 were then occupied by some milords, but were to be vacated 
 before night, we proceeded, in high spirits, to explore some 
 other habitations in the neighborhood, which on some pre 
 text we entered. We found no difficulty in gratifying our 
 curiosity. The Canadians are noted for their civility. This 
 quality is woven into the texture of French character. The 
 Canadians seem to have lost the enterprise, the activity, 
 gayety, and ingenuity of their ancestors, but politeness is 
 still as easy to them as if it were instinctive. We entered a 
 house where the family were occupied as in our farmers 
 houses. The mother was spinning, and the eldest daughter 
 weaving. We inquired why they did not teach English to 
 their children. They said they did not love the language 
 the English had done them too much wrong. They com- 
 
138 ife of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 plained of their oppression during the last war. The old 
 woman said the militia officers would take from them des 
 veaux, des moutons, des //ardoris, des poulets, tous, tous, 
 tous." We inquired if the children were taught to read, and 
 found that two of the younger ones had been sent to a board 
 ing-school some miles distant. A modest little girl was 
 called up to exhibit her acquirements. Her school-book 
 was a collection of morceaux from the Fathers. She read 
 a prayer of St. Augustine s, while the old people stared at 
 her with wonder and delight, as if they had seen a success 
 ful experiment in chemistry. I have acknowledged to you 
 that the Rapids terrified me. Le Galop 1 and Le long 
 Saut had quite satiated my curiosity, and I had no anxiety 
 to see Les Cedres, Les Cascades, and the Split Rock. 
 A fine post-coach, which was to return in the morning to 
 Montreal, offered me a tempting opportunity, and Robert, 
 ever kind, and perhaps too indulgent, was willing to accom 
 pany me. Mrs. B was as glad as I was to back out of 
 the boat. Brother Theodore looked upon me as quite dis 
 graced by my cowardice, and urged this as a fair occasion 
 to discipline my coward nature. He was right, I believe ; 
 but I have of late been so accustomed to delicacies that I 
 had not resolution to swallow so disagreeable a draught, 
 and without fear, but with reproach, I took most inglorious- 
 ly to my * land paddles S 
 
 41 River St. Lawrence, July n, 
 
 " MY DEAR JANE, You are not obliged to read, but I 
 must write, and write to you, for I have so accustomed my 
 self to the stimulant which the hope of giving you pleasure 
 affords me that I can not do without it. This has often 
 sent me to my pen when tired nature would have sent me 
 to my bed. * * * * 
 
 "We stopped at the wall which incloses La Maison des 
 Pr6tres. This is a beautiful place to which the priests of 
 
Life and Letters. 
 
 the Seminary of St. Sulpice resort once a week, with their 
 pupils, for recreation. We had no passport, and we were at 
 our wits end for the means of gratifying our curiosity; but 
 is a Yankee ever at his wit s end ? We determined to pass 
 the barrier, and trust to our own cleverness for the rest. 
 The house is an ancient fortress, erected by the French gov 
 ernment as a defense against the incursions of the savages. 
 It is inclosed by a stone wall twelve feet in height, and with 
 two round towers at the entrance of the court. Robert led 
 us up the court, and, as he entered the door, a round-faced, 
 jolly-looking priest, who sat sleeping by the open door of 
 another apartment (where the young priests were playing at 
 billiards !), advanced toward us. Robert told him we wish 
 ed to see their establishment. He replied that it would be 
 difficult to grant our request, as it was their day of recrea 
 tion, when, according to the rules o f the house, they admit 
 ted no visitors. However, he called an elder brother, whom 
 Robert addressed as Reverend P6re/ He told him we 
 were strangers from the United States with a courtesy of 
 manners that would have been quite ait fait at the court of 
 Versailles. The old man, a complete Abbot Boniface, 
 waived his scruples, bowed politely, and led us on. He said 
 to Robert, You must be from France, dear sir, as you speak 
 French like a Parisian. So much for his having had the 
 manners to call him Reverend Pore. He might have said, 
 with more propriety, * Your politeness is Parisian. He led 
 us through a beautiful flower-garden to a spacious inclosure, 
 partly below the hill and partly on its brow, through which is 
 a canal, with a fountain and a bark canoe, and on each side 
 of the canal fine butternut and linden trees. We met the 
 superior, a man of very elegant appearance, and, as we are 
 informed, of great accomplishments. He advanced toward 
 us, and said it was contrary to their rules to permit ladies 
 to enter the grounds when the priests were there. Robert 
 
140 Life of Catharine M. Settgwick. 
 
 pleaded our ignorance, which he with a benignant smile ad 
 mitted as an apology, saying, * You were not obliged to di 
 vine/ and begged us to proceed. One of the reverends was 
 reposing under the protecting shadow of a noble tree, with 
 a book in his hand. Others were sauntering on the bank 
 of the canal, and all presented a scene of contentment and 
 indulgence not strictly compatible with their self-denying 
 system. It is pleasant to see an open and fearless relaxa 
 tion of their slave service. It must be far easier to be good, 
 under this fair sky, where, though deep the silence, yet how 
 loud the praise, 1 than in the sullen gloom of a cloister. * * * * 
 
 " The evening before we had spent with a New England 
 party at our friend Mrs. Day s, Her pleasing family and 
 cordial kindness made us feel quite at home, and that is one 
 of the feelings to mortals given worth almost all the rest. 
 Last evening at 10 o clock, Robert and I, whose weirds seem 
 destined to be dree d together, took leave of our dear friends. 
 Few parties have ever been composed of more harmonious 
 materials. Much as I wished to sec Quebec, Robert and 
 I felt at the moment of parting as if we would rather share 
 the fortunes of the rest to the end of the jaunt. * * * * 
 
 " We arrived under the steep battle-heights of Quebec a 
 few minutes after nine, just as the twilight had faded away, 
 having accomplished our sail of 180 miles in a little more 
 than eighteen hours. * * * * 
 
 " After breakfast we hired the only carriage in Quebec 
 
 and a gig, and went with the F s to see the Falls of 
 
 Montmorenci. The road is intolerably bad, and though the 
 distance is not more than eight miles, we did not get back 
 until three. * * * * 
 
 " Montmorenci is not more than twenty yards in breadth, 
 and falls about 180 feet, some say 250, but it looked to me 
 but very little higher than Niagara. The fall is about fifty 
 rods from the mouth of the river, and has evidently re- 
 
Lift: and Letters. 141 
 
 ceded from the banks of the St. Lawrence to its present 
 tumbling-place. Thanks to my country bringing up, I de 
 scended the bank the nearest way without difficulty, while 
 our town-bred companions were obliged to go a circuitous 
 path. It was ebb tide, and Robert and I walked along the 
 margin, passed the projection of the rock a few feet from 
 the fall, and got near enough to the foot of it to have the 
 best view of it, and to get thoroughly drenched with the 
 spray. The water makes a single graceful leap from the 
 summit of the rocks to the foaming bed below. All water 
 falls are beautiful objects, and this is distinguished among 
 its species, but in my eyes diet not quite deserve its celeb 
 rity, which it may perhaps in part owe to the historic inter 
 est of the spot. You and I, dear Jane, should deem it a 
 profane presumption for the soldier to mingle the harsh dis 
 sonance of war with Nature s musical voice, as it steals upon 
 the sense in the murmuring of the stream, or swells to sub 
 limity in the roaring of the fall. * * * * 
 
 " After dinner we had the good fortune to obtain the 
 guidance of some of the officers of the 3 7 th -Regiment, who 
 first escorted us to the parade-ground, where we saw the 
 soldiers go through their evening exercise. They then con 
 ducted us around the fortifications and to Cape Diamond. 
 They were extremely polite and obliging, and did not scru 
 ple to show us every thing we wished to see. I shall not 
 undertake to describe these fortifications to you. They did 
 not look quite as formidable as I expected. I felt, like a 
 smart little Yankee boy of whom we had heard, that we 
 might take them. This child, a cadet ten years old, who, 
 Captain Hall told us, came with his father in his boat to 
 Quebec last summer, was accidentally separated from his 
 party while walking about the fortifications. He met a 
 common soldier, and requested him to show him the way to 
 the Plains of Abraham, whither the party was destined. He 
 
142 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 gave the soldier some money, intending it as a requital for 
 his guidance. As they walked along, he asked the man to 
 explain the design of any part of the fortifications he did 
 not understand, and the good-natured soldier was delighted 
 to gratify his intelligent curiosity. After a while the boy 
 paused, and said, * Well, it : s very strong, that s certain, but 
 I think we could take it. We! who are we ? said the man. 
 * Why, we Americans/ * You an American 1 said the man, 
 with a terrible oath, dashing away the money the boy had 
 given him ; " and have I been serving my king four-and- 
 twenty years, to be bribed by an American boy at last | f * * * * 
 
 " J had seen enough of Quebec. When we first approach 
 ed it, I felt some risings of envy that a place which seemed 
 to be one of the natural portals to our great country should 
 be in foreign hands. But the coverings of national pride 
 were soon cured by the conviction that the support of such 
 an expensive military position would make it a very dear 
 acquisition, and it can not be at all essential to our safety 
 or defense. The British are welcome to it. It must be an 
 odious place of residence, altogether inconvenient, as Dr. 
 F. said of the ill place. It is built, you know, on a precipi 
 tous hill, and the ascent from the lower town (which is a 
 narrow piece of ground rescued from the hill, and bound in 
 by the water) is almost perpendicular. The governor s res 
 idence (the Chateau) is in such a position as Edgar pictured 
 to the imagination of poor Gloucester. Lady Dalhousie s 
 back windows, from whence she looks into an abyss upon 
 the roofs of the houses of the lower town, would afford a 
 fine situation for le diable boiteux. We were treated with 
 kindness by every one from whom we had occasion for any 
 favor, English and Canadian. * * * * 
 
 "Saturday, itf/i. We sailed at xi last night. The cur 
 rent of this racing river runs at the rate of three, four, and 
 in some parts seven miles an hour. Of course the ascent is 
 
Life and Letters. 143 
 
 at best twelve hours longer than the descent. We stopped 
 at Three Rivers, and our polite captain allowed us time to 
 go ou shore, and went with us to the convent. The Sisters 
 would not admit us without a passport from the Grand Vi- 
 cairc. The captain, who did not fancy the delay, and did 
 not esteem the sisterhood a privileged order, called them, 
 with some emphatic expletive, a parcel of old cats. There 
 was no evading the rule, and some of the gentlemen went to 
 the house of the Grand Vicaire, who -was kind enough to 
 grant a permit, notwithstanding they had cut short his after 
 noon s nap. Among these nuns I found a young woman 
 who was born and bred in Hanover, New Hampshire a 
 Yankee nun ! Her countenance was bright and rather 
 pleasing. The coarse linen band they bind around their 
 foreheads, and the deep linen collar, make them at first look 
 old and ugly. We purchased some pretty bark-work here, 
 and bade adieu to convents, without a sigh of envy at their 
 seeming security from the storms of life. They, with Rob 
 Roy, belong to the great class that are ower bad for bless 
 ing, and ower good for banning. 1 * * * * 
 
 " Monday i i6///. Lake Champlain* Here we are, dear sis 
 ter, making the best of our way home. I begin to snuff my 
 native air, and feel its inspiration warming my heart with 
 the anticipated delight of home faces and home scenes. I 
 begin to suspect that I am quite too national for this philo 
 sophic age, but would not, if I could, be cured of my preju 
 dices in favor of my own people." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Channing. 
 
 " Stockbridgc, September 25, 1821. 
 
 44 Your prompt and kind letter, my dear friend, in some 
 small measure made up to me the severe disappointment of 
 not seeing you. Have you read Miss Wright s book, and 
 do you not think some of our vulgar editors have abused 
 
144 L fe of Catharine M. 
 
 her ? * She is not accurate, I know, as our friend Bleecker 
 gravely said of one of the most outrageous romancers in the 
 world. Alas 1 that it is so ; what woman is ? I have but just 
 looked into Miss W. s book, but she seems to me to have a 
 habit of thinking on subjects that most of her sex know 
 nothing about. At any rate, she is a stranger and a woman, 
 and, as such, entitled to our courtesy and our sympathy. I 
 fear our New York friends will be disappointed in H. No 
 prentice hand is capable of laboring in that vineyard. 
 jThey want just such a man as Henry Ware a man wiso 
 and skillful, with some experience, and full of every gracious 
 affection. I hope to hear that your brother William is going 
 to a kinder climate for the winter. We should need all our 
 confidence in the unfailing wisdom and goodness of Provi 
 dence to enable us to submit to his removal to the mansions 
 prepared for him. Ware seems to me more like your brother 
 in the spirit of his devotional writings than any other man. 
 The article on Love to God in the last Christian Disciple 
 breathes the spirit of your brother. My devout little sister, 
 Mrs. Pomeroy, who is as pious as the very best of Scripture 
 ladies, has read it twice with tears in her eyes. She relishes 
 such healthful and sweet food, though she is willing now 
 and then to take the medicine of controversy. Her mind 
 has entirely escaped from the thraldom of orthodox despot 
 ism, and she rejoices in her freedom. But I beg your par 
 don, my dear friend ; you do not know my sister, and you 
 live beyond the sound of our gloomy polemics, so that you 
 can not even imagine what liberty to such a captive is. 
 Robert is with us, and with his cheering influence, and the 
 charities of home, and the bright new robe Dame Nature 
 has lately arrayed herself in, we are happier than most of 
 our race, and quite as happy as is consistent, My dear 
 Mrs. Channing, I mean, if possible, to see you this winter, 
 and then I shall hope to have some help to this snail s 
 
JLife and Letters. 145 
 
 progress in your affections. Do write to me soon ; a letter 
 from you always makes a gala-clay, and leaves a long track 
 of light on my path. My love to your children, and believe 
 me, my dear friend, yours truly, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 Miss Scttgwifk to Mrs, C/tanning* 
 
 44 New York, December 5, 1821. 
 
 " Your letter, my dear friend, was accidentally delayed at 
 Stockbridge, and I did not receive it till it was five weeks 
 old, so that, if friendship was liable to the rapid decay of 
 matrimonial love, the honey-moon would have been over 
 with it. There are some things, thank Heaven, that do not 
 need the relish of novelty, and your letters are among them. 
 My life is a good deal like that of the Israelites that came 
 up out of Egypt, save that it is not passed in a wilderness. 
 I certainly am but a sojourner, and in that sense have an 
 existence in actual conformity to the apostolic injunction. 
 Your accounts of your brother are delightful ; his restored 
 health is a mercy to be acknowledged with devout and joy 
 ful thankfulness, as his removal would be a national calam 
 ity. I have felt a superstitious dread of his death. It seem 
 ed to me that it would be a frown of Providence upon the 
 cause he has so zealously adopted, and so materially ad 
 vanced. I should not venture to express such an opinion 
 to many, for some would deride it, but it does seem to me 
 there is a want of seriousness and of holy fervor in your 
 clergymen. I have sometimes felt this very painfully. There 
 is among them a great ardor for intellectual attainments and 
 superiority, but many of them want the holy devotedness 
 that seems to me essential to their high calling. They come, 
 in the name of their Master, to * heal the sick, and bind up 
 the broken-heffted ; to seek the lost, and reclaim the wan 
 derer. If the mission is delightful, it is most serious, and 
 requires all the energy of a human being, and that, too, kin- 
 
 G 
 
146 Lift of Catharine J\f. Sfdgwick. 
 
 died by a spark of heavenly flame. But, my dear Mrs. Chan- 
 ning, I did not mean to preach a sermon ; it is not my vo 
 cation, nor your duty to listen. You will not be surprised 
 that just now, as the little Church here is so busy, this sub 
 ject should be uppermost in my mind. If you think as I 
 do, you have so much influence, in the sphere you move in, 
 that a little occasional lay-preaching from you might pro 
 duce great effect. I heard Dr. Mason s farewell sermon to 
 his people on Sunday last. It was, on all accounts, a lam 
 entable performance, and, as I thought, indicated consider 
 able debility of mind, as well as almost incurable disease of 
 heart. As usual, he gave the * rational Christians an anath 
 ema. He said * they had fellowship with the devil : no, he 
 would not slander the devil, they were worse, etc. Will you 
 not say, as a pious Catholic once did after a furious attack 
 of the doctor s upon the true Church, * We must pray for Dr. 
 Mason ? ****! am quite sorry that your charming do 
 mestic circle has been invaded. Matrimony does certainly 
 seem very meddling and impertinent to those that have 
 nothing to do with it. It is very strange the apostle should 
 have deemed it necessary to admonish Christians to possess 
 not, since the mutability of life so constantly teaches and 
 impresses the lesson. To possess not* seems to me the 
 sure consequence of possessing. Your home has not at all 
 lost its attractions to me. The hope of passing a few weeks 
 in Boston this winter has been one of my summer dreams, 
 but, as the time approaches,! fear my courage will be frozen 
 up by the cold weather. Can not you, my dear friend, who 
 have so much more resolution than I, be tempted to come 
 here, and let your light shine upon our ordination ? You 
 may have scores of ministers to attend you, besides the gal 
 lant knight Edward, who, I understand, is fining to New 
 York, as Cogswell goes to Paris, to study. 1 Whether his 
 researches are to be confined to Greek, or to the more dif- 
 
Life and Letters. 147 
 
 ficult language of a lady s eye, he has not yet announced." 
 
 *.** 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Channing. 
 
 " New York, February si, 1822. 
 
 **#*! am grieved to hear that your brother William 
 is suffering, as you prophesied, from the climate of Boston. 
 I hope you will send him South with the opening of the 
 spring. I am quite pleased to hear of Mr. Dewey s success 
 among you. He is a neighbor of ours in the country, and, I 
 believe, deserves the favor he has found. William Ware is 
 growing in our hearts very fast. As far as preaching in the 
 pulpit and the preaching of example goes, he takes excel 
 lent care of our spiritual concerns. Do you ever hear Walk 
 er ? We think him a tremendous great gun destined to be 
 one of the first men in the country. He has the vigor of 
 Hossuet Bossuet converted to rational Christianity. * * * 
 
 " I hope you have read the Pirate with delight as we have. 
 It certainly is a highly poetical production. Who but Wai- 
 tor Scott could have created such a scene on a barren isle 
 of the Northern Ocean ! The world here is divided into 
 ihe followers of Minna and Brenda. They seem to me the 
 Aiir representatives of this world and a higher. * * * * I 
 have written amid female chatterers talking to me and at 
 me. You must forgive me for sending the letter ; but I am 
 afraid you will think as Dr. Johnson did about the dinner, 
 which did well enough, but was not a dinner to invite a man 
 to." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick fj her brother C/iarles. 
 
 " New York, Feb. 22, 1822. 
 
 " I was much obliged to you, my dear brother and sister, 
 for your letters, brief as they were. There are no days so 
 bright as those that bring me letters from home, and when 
 
148 Lift: of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 I think that not one this winter has conveyed any unpleas 
 ant intelligence, I rejoice with trembling. This unexampled 
 exemption from the certain evils of life, throughout a large 
 family circle, can not last ; the day of adversity must come, 
 and God grant that we may meet it with unwavering confi 
 dence in his goodness, with humble resignation to his will, 
 and with a grateful remembrance of past mercies. We have 
 had a great deal of pleasure from a glimpse of Bryant. I 
 never saw him so happy, nor half so agreeable. I think he 
 is very much animated with his prospects. Heaven grant 
 that they may be more than realized. I sometimes feel 
 some misgivings about it ; but I think it is impossible that, 
 in the increasing demand for native literature, a man of his 
 resources, who has justly thejfrst reputation, should not be 
 able to command a competency. He has good sense too, 
 good judgment and moderation, and never was a man bless 
 ed with a warmer friend than he has in Harry. This is one 
 sure anchor in all winds and weather ; and besides Harry, 
 there are many persons here who enter warmly into his 
 cause. He seems so modest that every one seems eager to 
 prove to him the merit of which he appears unconscious. I 
 wish you had seen him last evening. Mrs. Nicholas was 
 here, and half a dozen gentlemen. She was ambitious to 
 recite before Bryant. She was very becomingly dressed for 
 the grand ball to which she was going, and, wrought up to 
 her highest pitch of excitement, she recited her favorite 
 pieces better than I ever heard her, and concluded the 
 whole, without request or any note of preparation, by The 
 Water-fowl* and Thanatopsts. Bryant s face, brightened 
 all over/ was one gleam of light, and, I am certain, at the 
 moment he felt the ecstasy of a poet." 
 
 The engagement of her last unmarried brother, Robert, to 
 Miss Elizabeth Ellery, of Newport, Rhode Island, who was 
 
JLffe and Jl,etters. 149 
 
 at the time a stranger to all his family, was the occasion of 
 the following letter from Miss Sedgwick to her sister: 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Afrs. Watson. 
 
 " New York, February, 1822. 
 
 " Robert feels his happiness very incomplete till he has 
 the expression of his friends sympathy, and he was sadly 
 disappointed this morning not to get a letter from you or 
 from Susan on the subject. I trust they are on the way, for 
 you know any want of interest in others when our own feel 
 ings are strongly excited is very painful ; and no one knows 
 or feels more than you, my dear sister, the right of this dear 
 brother to all our hearts can feel or our tongues express. 
 Jane and I have made up our minds that you will take a 
 great fancy to Elizabeth. She is certainly a great provo 
 cative to the imagination. She is gaining on us all, and I 
 think, from all I can learn of her, she must have a high-prin 
 cipled character. She has a very bright, intelligent face, 
 without being handsome. Allston has selected her eye for 
 a picture of a prophetess, and it has the expression of a seer 
 into futurity. For my own part, my dear sister,! have tasked 
 myself to the duty of resignation with more fortitude than 
 you would expect. I am through the worst of it. Indeed, 
 I have so much cause for gratitude that a repining thought 
 brings the sting of guilt with it." 
 
 Mr. Robert Sedgtvick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 "February, 1822. 
 
 " You will never know, my beloved sister, so long as the 
 obstructions of sense stand between heart and heart, how 
 mine has been melted by your kind and generous conduct. 
 I know, my dear, that all you have suffered has proceeded 
 from a love of which I am unworthy. * * * * It is a very 
 common sentiment that a sister must give up her place in a 
 
150 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 brother s heart when his wife takes possession of it. If this 
 were so, I should be sorry to see you ever reconciled to my 
 marriage. But, if I know aught of true love, instead of con 
 tracting the heart, it gives new strength to all its best affec 
 tions. Upon what do all these affections depend for their 
 cultivation and growth, if not upon the objects of common 
 sympathy and interest? He who made the heart never 
 ordained that its empires should be like those which are 
 marked off on the surface of the earth. He has never ap 
 pointed that a sister s portion should be taken away to be 
 given to a wife." 
 
 Mr. JRobert Satgivick to Miss Sc<lgiuic& on f/te eve of /us 
 Marriage. 
 
 "IsTcw York, August 9, 1822. 
 
 * * * * " Though I am in the greatest possible confusion 
 and hurry, I can not leave town without telling you that my 
 heart never turned toward you or leaned upon you with 
 more pure, faithful, ardent, and confiding affection than at 
 this moment. God reward you, my beloved sistor, for all 
 you have been to me, and enable me to cherish a tender 
 and unalterable sense of all I owe you. I know nothing 
 that would alarm me so much for myself as a consciousness 
 that I was losing my love for you." 
 
 Up to this time Miss Sedgwick appears never to have 
 thought of writing for the public. She says, in a letter to 
 one of her friends, so late as February, 1821, "My dear 
 brother Theodore makes a most extravagant estimate of my 
 powers. It is one thing to write a spurt of a letter, and an 
 other to write a book ;" and if her first book had not been 
 almost as unpremeditated as a letter, it is possible that her 
 modesty might for some time longer have repressed a talent 
 as delicate as decided. But now, after her connection with 
 
JLife and jLcttcrs. 151 
 
 the Unitarian Society, her recovered intellectual freedom, 
 and the desire to help others to escape from the chains 
 which she had broken, led her to write a short story bearing 
 on these points, which she at first intended for a tract. On 
 showing it to her brother Harry, he advised her to give it 
 a larger form and scope, and print it as a tale, and in this 
 way the " New England Tale" appeared in 1822, and was at 
 once received with such interest and favor as to give its 
 author an immediate position in the world of American lit 
 erature. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick showed her sound judgment and artistic 
 intuition in this her first romance by planting it upon her 
 native soil, where people and incidents could be used with 
 the freedom given only by long familiarity. She struck 
 here the key-note of ail her after success. Her dramatic 
 power lay in her thorough knowledge of the strength and 
 weaknesses of the New England character. Though her 
 genuine love of romance sometimes betrayed her into scenes 
 and situations tinged by sentimental moonlight rather than 
 by the honest light of day, she is always natural and dis 
 criminative when her foot is on her " native heath ;" and 
 whether it is the country folk of to-day, with their quaint 
 peculiarities, whom she describes, or the same people under 
 Shaker rule, or roused by revolutionary feeling, or, still far 
 ther back, as settlers of the forest, Puritan fighters against 
 the wolves, the Indians, the world, and the devil, or whether 
 it is the same stock refined by culture and placed in the 
 midst of modern social elegance, her creations are real and 
 living persons, drawn with a truth and vigor which give 
 them a freehold right in the land of fiction, from the half 
 witted and whole- hearted Kisel of the " Lin woods" to the 
 lovely, impulsive, and fascinating Hope Leslie, and the ex 
 cellent and uncompromising Miss Debby in " Redwood." 
 
 The New England Tale was received with enthusiastic 
 
152 Life of Catharine Af. Sedg-tuick* 
 
 pride by her brothers. Mr. Theodore Sedgwick wrote as 
 follows : 
 
 " Stockbridge, May 6, 1822. 
 
 "DEAR KATE, I have read 130 pages of the book. It 
 exceeds all my expectations, fond and flattering as they 
 were. I can not express to you with what pride and pleas 
 ure my heart is filled. I had no doubt of the result, but 
 hope and anticipation are now converted by the happy real 
 ity to fact and knowledge. I shall not rest till I have seen 
 the whole, and beg that you will let me know when I shall 
 also greet the architect of this exquisitely beautiful fabric. 
 Dear Kate, we are in rather a moody state here for the want 
 of your society." 
 
 And her brother Harry, in a more business-like letter, ex 
 presses no less gratification. 
 
 " New York, May 25, 1822. 
 
 "Jane had a large packet of letters to-day from Boston, 
 all of them praising the tale. What is much better, Bliss 
 White has increased orders from the booksellers. Bliss told 
 me to-day that the public had just begun to find it out ; that 
 its sale was dull at first, but now it was going off very rapid 
 ly, and much beyond his expectations, and would soon be 
 entirely exhausted. In the course of a few days I will send 
 you a draft of the Preface for the second edition for your 
 approbation. Let Theodore also try his hand at it. He 
 has a good knack at such things. Bliss says that the only 
 difficulty with the book is the unfavorable representation of 
 the New England character, and that the writer must bring 
 out something of the same kind in which this mistake shall 
 be corrected. I think he is right. 
 
 " I think, dear Kate, that your destiny is now fixed. As 
 you are so much of a Bibleist, I only say, don t put your 
 light under a bushel. Your work came out under the most 
 
and Letters. 153 
 
 unfavorable circumstances. The title (though taking) is 
 certainly unlucky ; that s my fault. The orthodox do all 
 they can to put it clown ; Carter s notice casts a damp, and 
 the New-Englanders feel miffed. Still, it has decided suc 
 cess from its own merits ; so have done with these woman 
 ish fears. I don t know of any thing which now gives me 
 so much excitement as the certain prospect of your future 
 eminence. I wish you to keep me constantly informed of 
 your plans, and how far they get into execution. I think 
 you will find great advantage in writing in disconnected 
 masses, which you can afterward weave together. In this 
 way you may save your bright ideas when they are brightest 
 and most interesting. 
 
 Miss Scttgivick to Mrs. Frank Channing. 
 
 " New York, Sunday evening, 1822. 
 
 " I do not know, my dear Mrs. Channing, but I should 
 call any tolerably Christian, neighbor-like treatment from 
 you better than my deserts, but that which I receive is so 
 much better that I have not words to express my gratitude. 
 Your kind interest in my concerns is a part of your own 
 generous nature, and is so entirely independent of any mer 
 it in me, that I feel as humble as Calvinists profess to feel, 
 and as all should feel on this subject of merit. My book 1 
 If all poor authors feel as I have felt since obtruding my 
 self upon the notice of the world, I only wonder that the lu 
 natic asylum is not filled with them. I hardly know any 
 treasure I would not exchange to be where I was before my 
 crow-tracks passed into the hands of printer s devils. I be 
 gan that little story for a tract, and because I wanted some 
 pursuit, and felt spiritless and sad, and thought I might per 
 haps (at least I was persuaded that I might) lend a helping 
 hand to some of the humbler and unnoticed virtues. I had 
 no plans, and the story took a turn that seemed to render 
 
 G 2 
 
154 JLife of Cat ha ri ltd Jlf. Sedgwick. 
 
 it quite unsuitable for a tract, and after I had finished it I 
 was persuaded to publish it. I claim nothing for it on the 
 score of literary merit. I have some consolation in the con 
 viction that the moral is good, and that to the young and 
 simple in our country-towns, if into the hands of any such it 
 should fall, it may be of some service. I am more anxious 
 than I can express to you to remain unknown, but that, I 
 fear, is impossible now. One source of thankfulness and 
 rightful, honest, joyful pride I have in an eminent degree. 
 Criticism has been disarmed by affection, and from my dear 
 est and nearest friends I have received such expressions of 
 interest and sympathy as I shall never forget, and never 
 cease to be thankful for. * * * * 
 
 " I have at last had an opportunity of seeing and admir 
 ing your friend Greenwood.* I am sure he must have a de 
 lightful character. I mean I should be sure if you had not 
 told me so, though you may upbraid me with my slowness 
 in finding it out. The truth is, that when you hear so much 
 of any person as I had heard of Mr. Greenwood, you expect 
 to be astonished as with a sudden blaze of light, and man 
 ners so unostentatious, and conversation so unpretending 
 as his, seem quite commonplace. If you were not too good 
 to be envied, and if I did not try to be too good to envy, I 
 might be in danger of looking with an evil eye upon the 
 privilege you enjoy of his fine society." * * * * 
 
 Jlf/ss Sedgwick to Afrs. 
 
 Stockbriclge, June 15, 1822. 
 
 " I am sorry, my dear Mrs. Channing, that you should 
 ever, in regard to any instance of your interest in me, doubt 
 of my gratitude. I must be constituted strangely if I did 
 not acknowledge and feel your zeal for my happiness and 
 improvement, and if I have ever seemed to disregard it, it 
 * Rev. 13r. Greenwood, of Boston. 
 
Life and Letters. 155 
 
 must have been from reasons that you could not know, and 
 therefore could not discreetly weigh as I could. I am not 
 at all prepared for many of the advantages that might be 
 reaped from a voyage to Europe, and as to happiness, I have 
 had such an old-fashioned bringing up, that there is no 
 equivalent to me for the pleasures of home, the voices and 
 the smiles of brothers and sisters, and the caresses of chil 
 dren. I should be ashamed to confess to the learned and 
 the literary that there is nothing distant and foreign that has 
 such charms to my imagination as the haunts about my own 
 home, a chase along the banks of our little stream with the 
 children, breaking willow-sticks for the boys, and helping 
 the girls to get the flowers, and devising and leading their 
 sports. I am perfectly conscious that this is all very rustic 
 and antiquated, but it is my taste, and that word, you know, 
 silences dispute, as the shout of my merry troop of revelers 
 stops pursuit when they cry * Screw up. Forgive me \ you 
 can not understand the technics of our sports. It would 
 have given me pure delight to have seen you, my dear friend, 
 and Eliza Cabot at Stockbridge, and if it had not been for 
 a homely but wise adage of my old nurse, who used, on the 
 occurrence of an irremediable evil, to say, * Don t cry, child, 
 for spilt milk/ I might have bewailed your not coming in a 
 very unsuitable manner for a grown-up woman. I should 
 have delighted to have rambled over our hills, and along 
 the margin of our quiet, modest little river with you, now 
 when Nature has her beautiful garments on, unworn and 
 unsullied, the earth every where sending forth its promise, 
 and fragrance and melody finding their way to the imagina 
 tion through their appointed paths. Social and animated as 
 you both are, I would not have you think your intercourse 
 would be limited to trees and brooks. My brother and sis 
 ter are good cotnfany for any body. Our dear Charles, you 
 know, we look up to as one of Nature s chefs-d oeuvre; his 
 
156 Life of Catharine Af. Scdgwick. 
 
 wife is a very fine and charming woman, and their little girl 
 seems made to envelop and contain celestial spirits. 1 So 
 much for our family circle (and, from pure modesty, I have 
 omitted three other wonderful children, and an old lady, who 
 has the virtues of the patriarchs, and the improvements of 
 modern times), and beyond the enchanted precincts where 
 you may suspect the spell of egotism, we have Col. Dwight, 
 who is aufait in all the arts and graces of the beau-monde, 
 and an JSast Indian (not a Housatonic) philosopher, a man 
 of genius, of experience, of observation, highly gifted in the 
 powers of conversation, in short, quite a study. Besides all 
 this galaxy, we have just now a wandering luminary from 
 England, a gentleman of science, who travels with a fine tel 
 escope, and all manner of wonderful instruments, and with 
 whom the family are to sit up all night star-gazing as soon 
 as the planets mend their ways in so far as to rise a little 
 earlier. I should be delighted to visit Boston in the course 
 of the summer, but I should neither go nor stay with any 
 reference to my little tract. I protest against being sup 
 posed to make any pretension as an author ; my production 
 is a very small affair any way, and only intended for the 
 young and the humble, and not for you erudite pro-di-gi-ous 
 Boston folks. I should rejoice to see again my old friends 
 that I dearly love, and your friends, so worthy of being 
 loved ; and that I could add any thing to your happiness, my 
 dear Mrs. Charming, is temptation enough. Some of my 
 friends here have, as I learn, been a little troubled, but, aft 
 er the crime of confessed Unitarianism, nothing can sur 
 prise them ; these are only the most bigoted ; and, for the 
 most part, my friends are just as cordial as ever, some more 
 so, and I do not despair of convincing the most prejudiced 
 that I am not a Mohammedan, nor an atheist, nor even an 
 apostate. I love my own people and my own home too well 
 to resign or abandon either, and I have good hope of living 
 
Life and Letters. 157 
 
 to laugh with them over our present difference, and if we do 
 not in this world, I am pretty sure we shall in another.* 
 When you see my dear friend Mrs. Minot, do remember me 
 most affectionately to her. It does not seem to me possible 
 that your wing should ever tire, that you should ever need 
 any excitement to the perpetual spring within. Do you 
 know when our countryman Dewey is coming this way ? I 
 quite long to look upon a Christian minister who does not 
 regard me as a heathen and a publican. Do write to me 
 soon ; out of the fullness of your generous heart distill upon 
 us some drops. Farewell, my dear friend. 
 
 " Ever truly yours, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Channing. 
 
 Stockbridgc, August 17, 1822. 
 
 * # * * Now, while I am on controverted points with 
 you, I wish to set you right in relation to a mistake of yours 
 about the feeling which your letter on the subject of my lit 
 tle book excited. I was not hurt. I simply wished to con 
 vince you that I neither grounded fears nor claims on that 
 humble production. I could not endure the idea that I had 
 written myself out of the affections of my own people. Here 
 is the home of my heart, and though there is undoubtedly 
 some transient dissatisfaction, my friends here love me bet 
 ter than those who have not been bred up with me can. 
 They think, as they express themselves, that I am in a dread 
 ful error, but I believe they would for the most part concur 
 in an expression I heard reported from the good little wife 
 of our parson, * I hope you do not love her the less for it. 
 I do not say this boasungly; I believe it is right that we 
 
 * An excellent aunt of Miss Sedgwick, who was very fond of her, said 
 to her one day, as they were parting, alter Miss Sedgwick had become 
 an avowed Unitarian, " Come and see me as often as you can, dear, for 
 you know, after this world, we shall never meet again. 
 
158 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 should feel more pleasure in the affection of our inferiors 
 than in the praise of our superiors, and nothing could in 
 demnify me for the loss of the kind feeling of my humble 
 country neighbors." * * * * 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. Pomeroy. 
 
 " New York, January 10, 1823. 
 
 " Thank you, dear Eliza, for inquiring after our Church. 
 Mr. Ware, we think, improves constantly; his sermons have 
 a more serious, or what is called evangelical character. Re 
 ligious experience is, I think, the work of time, and you can 
 not expect a very young man to be as skillful in teaching as 
 one more mature, who knows from personal observation and 
 actual experience the wants of human oature and the power 
 of religion. Mr. Ware s character is an excellent one, and I 
 doubt not will abide severe scrutiny. He is so modest and 
 unpretending, his talents so respectable and his application 
 so steady, that he must command every one s respect ; and 
 then, you know, * when a man s ways please the Lord, he 
 maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him. We are 
 just now very busy about establishing a charity-school, and 
 we hope soon to get it in operation. Our plan is to have it 
 kept in one of the lower rooms of the church by a woman, 
 and superintended by the ladies. We mean to teach the 
 children the rudiments of learning, and how to mend and 
 make their clothes, darn their stockings, etc. Our society 
 is small, and far from rich, but we hope to accomplish it. 
 Egbert dined with us on Friday. He enters into our wishes 
 with considerable zeal, and promises to do every thing we 
 wish. Is it not good to interest young men in works of be 
 nevolence ?" 
 
Life and Letters. 159 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to her niece^ Miss Watson. 
 
 "New York, January 22, 1823. 
 
 " The last, my dear Catharine, has been a year of partic 
 ular interest to you. It has witnessed your entrance upon 
 a period of life when you begin to feel, more deeply than 
 light-hearted youth can feel, your own responsibility ; it has 
 witnessed the maturing of your principles, and the begin 
 ning of purposes of usefulness and generous devotion to the 
 good of others. And it has witnessed the public dedication 
 of yourself to the service of our Lord and Savior. This is 
 a most important and affecting event in your life. It does 
 not, perhaps, create any new duties, but it certainly suggests 
 new motives to exertion and fidelity, that the world, before 
 whom you have done this, may never call in question the 
 laws of the Master because the servant is faithless. What 
 manner of persons, my dear Kate, ought we to be, seeing 
 that the kingdom of our Master must be established in our 
 hearts ; seeing that it is not enough to hear, but we must 
 obey ; not only promise, but do the will of our Lord, who 
 has come, not to save us in our sins, but from our sins ? 
 Heaven must be begun here. We must be watchful not to 
 admit, certainly not to permit or to cherish, any passion or 
 affection which can not enter into those mansions that are 
 prepared for the followers of the Lamb that can not abide 
 the pure light of the Sun of Righteousness. God grant to 
 us the influences of his Spirit to strengthen every thing that 
 is good and resist every thing that is evil within and with 
 out us." 
 
 Mis s Sedgwick to Mr. Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 " Stockbridge, June 1 1, 1823. 
 
 " Thank you, dearest Robert, for your kind, very kind let 
 ter. It came unexpectedly, and made my heart dance, like 
 
160 JLtfe of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 a sunny ray darting through a cloud. No one knows how 
 I prize every tender expression from you, nor how necessary 
 they are to me, nor how much I try to make them less nec 
 essary. I am rejoiced to hear that Elizabeth is better. I 
 have thought of her constantly and with great anxiety since 
 I left you, and have longed to have her here, where every 
 thing breathes such a healthful and cheering influence. It 
 is not the habits of youth, it is not the prejudice of over 
 weening partiality that makes this spot so beautiful in our 
 eyes. It is a paradise one of Nature s temples, and oh, 
 how unlike those built by man, where the drowsy worshipers 
 reason themselves into a languid devotion ! Here love and 
 joy, and peace and praise are the spontaneous language of 
 the heart, and all in sweet accord with the voice that com- 
 eth from the mountains and the meadows, the waving branch 
 es and the frolic shadows. But I grow too romantic, and 
 you, immersed in Cedar Street, will laugh at my rusticity. 
 I am afraid of furnishing food for Lizzy s and Harriet s mer 
 riment. If it had not been for my dread of farewells, I 
 think I should have gone back with you from the steam-boat. 
 We were horribly crowded. Pamela and I were obliged 
 to sit up and snatch what sleep we could with our heads 
 leaning against a post, and a * most foul and pestilent con 
 gregation of vapors settling about us ; they were quite too 
 dense to float. Pamela contrived to find provocation to 
 laughter, while I was supported by the brevity of the trial. 
 I found David Ingersoll awaiting me with the colts that had 
 given his parents a somerset over the meeting-house hill. 
 They brought me safely home, however, and I found our 
 dear sistet and her family all well and cheery. I went the 
 next day to Lenox, and staid till Sunday, and I find of our 
 blessed Charles that wherever the Duchess of Gordon is, 
 there is the Duchess of Gordon. No matter where his body 
 is, it envelops and contains the same celestial spirit. Eliza- 
 
Life and Letters. 
 
 both, too, is as affectionate and charming as possible, and 
 the children, I think, as dear to me as if they were my own. 
 Charles is a princely child. Kitty has not changed in the 
 least, but Charles has improved incredibly, and, I think, is 
 the noblest, sweetest little dog I ever saw. He looks as if 
 he would grace the lion s skin that Richard wore, and is as 
 gentle as his father. Dear little Kit was so glad to see me 
 that she forsook all others and cleaved unto me." 
 
 Miss Settgwick to Mrs. IVatson. 
 
 " Stockbridge, October 14, 1823. 
 
 " I was rejoiced and grateful, my dear Frances, when you 
 were here, to see that you had the enjoyment of a peaceful, 
 and, as it seemed to me, of a beatified spirit ; for the light 
 of your face expressed that most emphatic language of re 
 ligious resignation and happiness which says it is well with 
 me. 1 Can we doubt that these jubilees of the spirit come 
 from a heavenly ministration ; that He who has provided all 
 his creatures a seventh day of rest, and who commanded 
 that the seventh year should be a year of freedom to the 
 servant, supplies to those who, like you, dear sister, have 
 given their hearts to Him, periods of repose, release, and 
 holy joy that the children of this world know not of? This 
 home, so precious to us all, seems to have been consecrated 
 by the spirit of love. In all the changes that have taken 
 place here, that affection which from our tenderest years 
 presided over us, has still softened and blessed every vicis 
 situde. 
 
 " I had like to have forgotten to tell you that I have re 
 ceived a very gratifying letter from Miss Edgeworth. This 
 is quite an epoch in my humble, quiet life. The letter is 
 entirely satisfactory to me, though some of my kind friends 
 would fain believe that she ought to have buttered me up 
 more," 
 
1 62 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Mr. Harry Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 * "New York, June, 1824. 
 
 " DEAR CATHARINE, I have no doubt that you will be 
 ready at once to forego all personal emolument in regard to 
 the New England Tale, and accede to Mr. H. s request to 
 print a cheap edition of 3000 for circulation. I think there 
 * are several objections to this plan. ist. It is desirable that 
 the new edition be printed under the supervision of a friend. 
 2d. If brought forward professedly as a controversial article 
 (as I think it would be under Mr. H. s auspices), it will not 
 be so useful as it would be if considered simply a literary 
 effort. 3d. I have some doubt whether Mr. H. s application 
 is any thing more than an individual impulse. 4th. You 
 would have the air of a champion for the liberal party. I 
 think that if a second edition is to come out, it should come 
 at once. If people can t get books when they want them, 
 they borrow, or the want goes over. The present edition is 
 more than two thirds disposed of." 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to Mr. Robtrt Scdgwiek. 
 
 " Lenox, November i, 1824. 
 
 " I have broken off, my dear Robert, from discoursing 
 with the Misses Piety, Prudence, and Charity, in the Pil 
 grim s Progress, to indite a scroll to you, the which it hath 
 long been in my heart to send you. Poor Charles and Liz 
 zy have trudged up the hill Difficulty to wait on the preach 
 ing of Parson S. One sermon a day is quite as much as I 
 have grace to listen to. I have pretty much settled myself 
 in the opinion that the advantages of public worship, the 
 edification of the example, etc., are more than counterbal 
 anced by the apparent sufferance of doctrines dishonorable 
 to Christianity, and by the certain growth of habits of list- 
 lessness and indifference, which are the least offensive states 
 
Life and Letters. 163 
 
 of mind induced by such preaching. However, as I am 
 aware that my inclinations are enlisted on one side of the 
 argument, I have some distrust of the result, and so I com 
 promise the matter by going half the day. * * * * I find 
 that, though I have never contemplated Charles s removal 
 here with any resignation, now that the evil has become in 
 evitable, and that he is really fixed here, I perceive many 
 beauties that I have before been quite blind to. And as I 
 stand at the window, and gaze on the hills that stretch be 
 fore me in every variety of height and position, the sun 
 sends his gleamy smiles along their summits almost as 
 pleasantly as on our own mountains ; and the little lake 
 that sparkles in the valley, now that its leafy veil has fallen, 
 is plainly seen from these windows, and is a faint consola 
 tion for the absence of our river. Still I fear I shall never 
 look upon Charles here without feeling that he is a stranger 
 and an exile ; and I am sure that in my musings I shall al 
 ways build castles in my native air, and people them with 
 all those, dear Robert, who were the companions of my 
 childhood. 1 
 
 Miss Stdgwick to Mr. Charles Sedgwifk. 
 
 "Steam-boat Kent, November 19, 1824. 
 
 " I wrote you a line to-day from the steam-boat office, 
 where we had arrived after hurrying poor little Charles, who 
 was never hurried before, till I believe he thought the world 
 would be turned upside down with the velocity of the wag 
 on-wheels, which moved at the rate of five miles an hour. 
 Well, there we staicl - /5>//r hours, which were, in spite of phi 
 losophy, both long and tedious, and diversified only by the 
 entrances and exits of half a dozen loiterers, who were en 
 gaged in the profitable business of looking out for the steam 
 boat, with occasional visits from two little idle boys, who, 
 like wharf-rats, infest the docks, and who amused them- 
 
1 64 -Life of Catharine M. Scdgwicft* 
 
 selves with playing push-pin. The steam-boat came at 
 last, and Theodore appeared at the wharf in a little boat, 
 and brought me a letter from Frances, in which she said 
 that there would be a Mrs. Folger on board, daughter of a 
 Mr. Sampson, who was a clergyman, and finally died a Uni 
 tarian ; this lady is (as F. said) a t eligieuse t who exhorts at 
 meetings, visits the sick, and devotes herself to all Christian 
 offices. Frances thinks her almost beatified, and begged 
 me to draw nigh to her without allowing her to suspect my 
 heresy. I did not know how to select her, but, in the acci 
 dental shuffling of the company, we soon fell together, and 
 into a conversation half sentimental and half religious. She 
 paused very soon, and asked, What Church do you attend ? 
 It is a test question, you know, and, though an unlucky one, 
 I answered it boldly, and cut the silver cord at once. 
 Oh I I am grieved for you, she said ; and thereon we pro 
 ceeded to a long talk, which has been dropped and resumed 
 at intervals ever since (now n o clock). She has the face 
 and voice of a saint, and is filled with all Christian grace 
 and experience but chanty for a heretic. She talks sweet 
 ly, and, if my reason did not rebel, I should listen to her 
 with awe. Besides her, we have no characters on board but 
 a fat, good-natured Canadian lady, with her family, on her 
 way /WM?, as all colonists affect to call the mother coun 
 try. Good-night. My fancy pictures you all locked in 
 sweet sleep ; and my dear Kitty ! would that she were as 
 near to me as she is to you ! 
 
 " Sunday evening^ zist. I took leave of you on board the 
 boat. My evangelical friend anxiously awaited the comple 
 tion of my writing, and then renewed her expostulations ; 
 all excepting ourselves and the chambermaid, a colored 
 woman and a Methodist, had retired to their berths, so that 
 we occupied the arena alone. The old blackey, on hear 
 ing me accused of denying the Lord that bought me, tramp- 
 
anil betters. 165 
 
 ling on the precious blood, accounting it an unholy thing/ 
 etc., lifted up her voice and besought me no longer to trust 
 to blind guides, but to read my Bible, and said I might at 
 tain to her light ! i i But, alas 1 I loved darkness rather than 
 that light, and crept into my berth, and, earnestly aspiring 
 to the zeal and dcvotedness of the interesting preacher, I 
 fell asleep." 
 
 Jlf/ss S&tgwick to Afr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, November at, 1824. 
 
 " Thanksgiving morning. Never was there a more beauti 
 ful morning to be thankful for. We can not make this festi 
 val like that in the land of our fathers, but, in humble imi 
 tation of it, we are going to have a supper-party, when all 
 our friends and kin are to be assembled, including our good 
 cousins Margaret and Roderick. One of my first thanks 
 giving thoughts takes me to the little cluster at Lenox, which 
 I can not dwell upon without such emotions of the heart as 
 arc appropriate to the day; and just now, while I was read 
 ing some of the fullest strains of David s praise, I could not 
 help just putting in a little parenthesis of my own. 
 
 " Wednesday. Dearest Charles, I have just received your 
 most beautiful letter, and it has sent its sweet savor into my 
 very heart of hearts. I know that I don t deserve such ex 
 pressions from you, but, though this consciousness dashes a 
 few drops of the bitter of humiliation into my cup, still I drain 
 it to the very dregs dregs it has not ; but to the last spark 
 ling drop. Never was a letter more welcome, for I had got 
 my head as full of nonsense as Kate ; and last night, after 
 our supper, I had a feeling like a warning to prepare for bad 
 news, and I could not sleep at least my sleep was broken 
 by those awful thoughts and shadowy appearances that in 
 trude on the imagination the saddest scenes of human ex 
 perience. But with the morning hath come joy, and I am 
 very, rery thankful. 
 
1 66 Life of Catharine Af. Scdgwick. 
 
 " I must relate to you an anecdote I heard to-day of a little 
 
 boy of Mrs. H. C s, who is a little more than four. His 
 
 mother had just put on him a new suit of clothes, and, for 
 some misdemeanor, had punished him and told him to stand 
 in the corner. Soon after she perceived that he had cut his 
 sleeve in several places from the elbow down. She called 
 him to her and asked him what he meant by such behavior. 
 Mother, said he, it was excessive grief; the Bible, you 
 know, says " they rent their garments. 11 The boy s clever 
 ness averted his punishment. What mother could be ex 
 pected to maintain her gravity in such circumstances ? I 
 dare say the Edgeworths, who are so fond of making great 
 trees from little acorns grow, would conclude that the most 
 mischievous associations had been introduced into the boy s 
 mind, who will henceforth think it safe to deviate from the 
 straight path of right, provided he has wit to lend him her 
 pinions to waft him over the pitfalls in his way." 
 
 The next two letters arc addressed to Mr. Charles Seclg- 
 wick s oldest child, the niece who from this time was the ob 
 ject of her aunt s peculiar care and affection, and who re 
 paid it to the last with the tender attention of a daughter. 
 It would be impossible to give a full idea of Miss Sedgwick s 
 life without constant allusion to this close and engrossing 
 tie, which made so large a part of its occupation and happi 
 ness, and as, notwithstanding, much of her time was passed 
 in separation from this chosen niece, her letters to her were 
 constant, and I have drawn largely from them, even from 
 those written while their recipient was yet too young to read 
 them for herself. These last are exceedingly sweet in their 
 exquisite and uplifting sympathy, and those in later life de 
 lightful as a journal sent to an intimate friend, but those ad 
 dressed to the girl of twelve and fourteen strike me as the 
 most remarkable of the series. Letters to young people oft- 
 
Life and Letters, 167 
 
 en fail, either in being written too evidently for their im 
 provement, or too much upon their own level. These are 
 written as to an equal in taste and feeling, from a friend with 
 larger opportunities of observation, and must have afford 
 ed a stimulus as subtle as powerful. 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to her nicce^ JK". Jlf. 
 
 "New York, November, 1824. 
 
 " MY DARLING LITTLE KITTY, Here I am in New York, 
 one hundred and fifty miles away from you. It is a great 
 distance. I can t see your pleasant face, nor hear your 
 sweet voice, nor your songs, nor take you in my arms, nor 
 look at the mountains with yo i, nor walk to the river. But 
 I can remember all the pleasure we have had together, and 
 thank our Father in heaven for it ; and I can hope that 
 when summer comes I shall see you again, and I pray God 
 to bless you and to love you. And every night I think of 
 you when you used to kneel down by me and say your pray 
 er, and I hope you will never forget to do that. Kiss dear 
 little brother for me, and tell him it made Aunt Kitty feel 
 very cryish to think he went off to Lenox without her bid- 
 cling him good-by. Little Jane is a very good girl ; she says 
 you must come to New York and stay with us. She has got 
 an old rag baby, and you would laugh to see what a fuss she 
 makes with it. To-day she screamed because Fanny prick 
 ed it, which she said would make it bleed. Was not that 
 laughable ? Jane went to church to-day, and sat up quite 
 like a lady. Good-night, darling. 
 
 "Yours, as ever, AUNT KITTY." 
 
 To t/ie same. 
 
 " New York, December 24, 1824. 
 
 " MY DARLING KITTY, When is that next week coming 
 when you are going to write me a letter ? I am looking out 
 
68 Lift: of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 for it every day. You know, my beloved Kitty, that noth 
 ing pleases me so much as to get a letter from you, and to 
 hear that you and dear Charley are well and good. You 
 can t think how pretty little Harry grows ; his little cheeks 
 are as red as a rose, and his deep blue eyes as bright as the 
 stars, and he laughs as heartily as a little man. To-morrow 
 will be Christmas here, and then we shall have merry music 
 with the ringing of the bells. I wish my beloved Kitty was 
 here. Good-by, darling. 
 
 " Your own aunt, C. M. S EDO WICK." 
 
 Now that Miss Sedgwick s literary powers had received 
 public and unquestioned acknowledgment, her own tastes 
 and the eager encouragement of her friends alike persuaded 
 her to pursue the fair opening before her, and give free rein 
 to her natural gifts, and in " Redwood," published in 1824, 
 we see the first result of her deliberate intention. The 
 same quick and enlivening sympathy followed her through 
 its composition. 
 
 Afrs. Susan Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwicft. 
 
 " Stoekbridgc, March, 1824. 
 
 ****< Ever since you have carried Itedivood out of 
 the house, I have been in a fidget about him. While you 
 were in my sight, and I knew that your progress was de 
 lightful and sure, though from unavoidable interruptions it 
 was slow, I was contented, but now I am very impatient of 
 any delays. Do tell me in your next when it will be out." 
 
 Mr. Harry Sedgwick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, August 24, 1824. 
 
 "Redwood sells very well; about noo are gone. The 
 sale is constantly increasing, and the booksellers say that it 
 is now better than Redgaunllet. The difference between 
 
Life and Lsiters. 169 
 
 the first and subsequent works of the same writer is im 
 mense. I have no doubt that your fourth work will go off 
 as well as any of Cooper s or Irving s I think better. Pro 
 fessor Everett wrote the article in Hale s paper concerning 
 Redwood." 
 
 From //id same. 
 
 44 New York, October 24, 1824. 
 
 The booksellers are all teasing me to know when anoth 
 er work will come from the author of* Redwood. They say 
 it will go as well or better than one from Cooper or Irving." 
 
 ".Redwood" had the honor, rare in those days for an 
 American book, of being immediately reprinted in England, 
 and it was also translated into French, and published on the 
 Continent. 
 
 A lady of Philadelphia, a correspondent of Miss Edge- 
 worth, sent Miss Scdgwick the following extract from one 
 of her letters : 
 
 44 May, 1825. 
 
 " * Redwood 1 has entertained us very much. I am so 
 much flattered by the manner in which my writings are al 
 luded to in this book, that I can hardly suppose I am an un 
 prejudiced judge, but it appears to me a work of superior 
 talent, far greater than even The New-England Tale 1 gave 
 m. e reason to expect. The character of Aunt Deborah is 
 first rate in Scott s best manner, yet not an imitation of 
 Scott. It is to America what Scott s characters are to Scot 
 land, valuable as original pictures, with enough of individual 
 peculiarity to be interesting, and to give the feeling of real 
 ity and life as portraits, with sufficient also of general char 
 acteristics to give them the philosophical merit of portray 
 ing a class." 
 
 II 
 
1 70 Lift: of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, January, 1825. 
 
 ****! spent last evening at Robert s, and we read 
 with delight the memoir of Lafayette in the last North Amer 
 ican. There is something sublime in the consistency of this 
 great man in all the extremes of fortune steadfast amidst 
 the temptations of unequaled prosperity and (oh, shame to 
 his persecutors!) unparalleled adversity; an enthusiasm gov 
 erned by reason and directed by benevolence. What a de 
 lightful example to our species, and still shining in its bright 
 ness where every eye may behold it. * * * * Yesterday 
 evening Harry told me he had sent a copy of Redwood to 
 Mrs. Barbauld, and that he had a letter for me from her. 
 No happiness that did not spring from my own family circle 
 ever produced an emotion of such pure delight and grati 
 tude. J would send the letter to you, that you might see the 
 lines traced by her own venerable hand, but I can not bear 
 to part with it, or expose it to any unnecessary risk. I 
 therefore copy it : 
 
 " * DEAR MADAM, The state of my eyes, which have been 
 weak and painful for some time, and are by no means well 
 now, must plead my excuse for not having yet thanked you 
 for the entertaining novel with which you favored me. You 
 Americans tread upon our heels in every path of literature, 
 but we will not be jealous of you, for you are our children, 
 and it is the natural wish of parents that children should 
 outstrip their parents in every thing good and lovely. In 
 religious matters particularly you are proving to us that 
 much true devotion, and at least a decent provision for its 
 public exercise, can subsist without an establishment. What 
 a field you have for description in wastes and woods so late 
 ly trodden by the foot of man, savage life giving way every 
 
JLift antl Letters. 171 
 
 where to the social blessings of civilization, and just enough 
 remaining to show how much has been gained by the ex 
 change. Should you ever come to England, dear madam, 
 or your brother (which, by the way, you ought to do, this be 
 ing your mother-country), I shall, if in the land of the living, 
 be happy to pay my respects to you. Excuse the hand 
 writing of this letter, for in truth I can hardly see to write, 
 and believe me, madam, your obliged and obedient servant, 
 
 "<A. L. BARDAULD. " 
 
 Miss Stdgwick to Mr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, January 20, 1825. 
 
 * * * * j wen t t Mr. Scwall s in one of those horrid 
 fits of depression when one would cut one s throat if (as Jane 
 said about killing the chicken) it would not hurt. But when 
 I got there I found the rooms full of agreeable people, and 
 before the evening was over I thought this quite a holiday 
 world. Halleck, alias Croaker, was there. I have never 
 seen him before. He has a reddish brown complexion, and 
 a heavy jaw, but an eye so full of the fire and sweetness of 
 poetry that you at once own him for one of the privileged 
 order. He docs not act as if he had spent his life in groves 
 and temples, but he has the courtesy of a man of society. 
 He dances with grace, and talks freely and without parade. 
 
 " Robert has just brought me a letter from E., received 
 by the Howard. He has sent Redwood ti /a l?ranyais by 
 the same ship ; we shall probably get it in the course of a 
 day or two. Poor Debby will make a more ridiculous figure, 
 I am afraid, than she did at Lebanon. 
 
 " MY DARLING KITTV, You are certainly coming to 
 New York, and I think of it every day and every night. Jane 
 says every day, " Why don t Kate come this day ?" We 
 shall have a great deal to do when you come ; many pleas- 
 
172 ifi of Cat/i ari/ie Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 ant walks and rides to take. I hear that Charley is the 
 sweetest boy that ever was, and my dear Kitty as good as 
 ever. It would make my heart ache and my eyes cry if you 
 were not good. Don t forget me, dear, nor forget to love 
 me. Your own AUNT KATE/ " 
 
 Jlf/ss Sedgwick to Afr. Charles Stdgwick. 
 
 "New York, 1825. 
 
 **** spent yesterday with little R., devoting my 
 self, to the exclusion of every thing else, to fixing over two 
 old frocks. In the evening we went to a party at Mrs. 
 Schuyler s, principally made up of our own congregation, 
 for, like all the proscribed, we are clannish. I had the 
 pleasure of sitting for five minutes next Mr, Webster,* and 
 talking with him for half that space of time, and this morn 
 ing I have paid the penalty of all my pleasures by a head 
 ache and sleepy eyes. * * * * By the way, I don t know 
 whether you have yet been told that there is a notice, a sort 
 of advertisement of Redwood, in the Constitutionncl, a Paris 
 newspaper. Harry was told last evening that there was a 
 dispute in the Paris newspapers whether it was or was not 
 written by Cooper. It is to be hoped that Mr. C. s self- 
 complacency will not be wounded by this mortifying news. 
 
 "Monday morning. I was summoned from my letter to see 
 Mr. Webster, who made us a very agreeable call. He talked 
 of birds and beasts as well as La Fontaine^himsclf. His 
 face is the grandest I have ever seen. It has all the sublim 
 ity of intellect." 
 
 Miss Scdgivick to Afr. C/iar/cs 
 
 44 Now York, February, 1825. 
 
 " MY DEAR CHARLES, There is a gentleman here who is 
 compiling a biographical account of the distinguished men 
 
 * Daniel Webster. 
 
Life and Lttters. 173 
 
 of our country. He has repeatedly applied for some docu 
 ments in relation to our beloved father. I wish you to fur- 
 nish every thing you can. If you could give precisely the 
 dates of his efforts for the blacks and his interposition for 
 the Shakers, they would be valuable facts. Whatever is 
 done must be done immediately. I am afraid it is already 
 too late. You had better talk with Susan, who has clone 
 more than any of us to preserve the records to be transmit 
 ted. Such a document may be most valuable to your chil 
 dren to us, whose hearts arc written full of his virtues, these 
 public memorials must all seem cold and poor." 
 
 To t/tc same. 
 
 " New York, March 27, 1825. 
 
 "The long winter is past, and I begin to count the clays 
 and hours till your arrival. I could not but smile at your 
 request, Elizabeth, that I would get something between sum 
 mer and winter wear for Kate for the last of April. Jaue 
 and Fanny have had their calico frocks on for a month, and 
 I have seen ladies walking in the street in bareges, which 
 are mere gossamer, with thin muslin spencers. The blasts 
 of March are blowing furiously to-day, and none but the 
 gifted bard could hear the voice of promise in these rude 
 winds. I doubt not they pass over the Lenox hills with a 
 fell swoop ; but still I think by the last of April dear Kate 
 will not need a (knti-saisoti frock." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 " New York, June 5, 1825. 
 
 " We have had Kliza Cabot here for a few days, and have 
 enjoyed her sweet society as much as it is possible to enjoy 
 such a blessing in this hurly-burly city. I often wished, my 
 dear sister, that you, whose heart naturally unfolds to such 
 celestial influences, could have shared with us the happiness 
 
174 L f* f Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 that is diffused by a mind so elevated, so full of holy feeling 
 and benevolent purpose, so purified from the dross of the 
 world, so above the world. This is not a rhapsody. I feel 
 with Eliza the presence of a superior spirit, the reality of 
 what I long and sometimes resolve to be, but what I am far 
 from attaining." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 44 New York, May 25, 1825. 
 
 " It is one of the unsearchable secrets of Providence to 
 me that, with your capacity for enjoyment, and with the rich 
 resources of your generous nature, your own happiness 
 should be so limited, and your means of imparting to others 
 so circumscribed. It is a dark and impenetrable mystery ; 
 but through the thick clouds there are gleams of light, and I 
 can perceive, my dear sister, that you are making advances 
 in spiritual life which are not made by those who lag by the 
 way to enjoy the flowers and fruits that spring up in their 
 path, but that perish in the using. Oh, it is good we must 
 believe it is good, to be left alone with God ; to feel that all 
 happiness but that into which He breathes his own immor 
 tality is transient that all love but His is variable and im 
 perfect. It is good sometimes to anticipate the hour of 
 death, to know what manner of persons we shall be when 
 the flatteries of life and the illusions of the world vanish ; 
 when tjie vapors of the earth shall be dissipated; when light 
 shall no longer lend its magic coloring ; when the voice of 
 affection shall be still ; when the dim eye can not rest on 
 looks of kindness ; when the arms that sheltered us fall 
 away, and the strength that supported us is weakness ; when 
 our souls shall be alone with God. 
 
 * a # * Harry and Robert are engaged in a specula 
 tion in the Rhode Island coal-mine which is now very prom 
 ising. Harry is buried deep in it. He scarcely hears you 
 when you speak to him on any other subject. 
 
Life and Letters. 175 
 
 * * * * i have got a bagatelle which I shall publish 
 that I think is much better adapted to children than this.* 
 I meant it for a tract, but Harry thinks I had better print 
 it for profit, as he says people value a great deal more what 
 they pay for." 
 
 Miss SatgwicA to Mr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 " Boston, June 17, 1825. 
 
 " The great day has arrived, and is as beautiful as if heaven 
 smiled on our patriotic celebration. The city was never so 
 full half so full, the people say. There are hundreds vain 
 ly inquiring for a lodging. The Common is spread with 
 tents to shelter the militia of the adjacent towns. It is ex 
 pected that a hundred thousand people will be present. Mr. 
 Webster expects to make 15,000 people hear him. He and 
 hjs wife sent me an invitation to go in their party, so that I 
 think I shall be sure to be among the hearers the select 
 few. * * * * I was last evening at a party at Mrs. Quincy s 
 to meet the general ;t was twice introduced to him, and twice 
 shook his well-shaken hand. It is a pleasure certainly to 
 grasp a hand that has been the instrument of so noble a 
 heart, but the pleasure is scarcely individual, for the hand is 
 extended with as little personal feeling as the eyes of a pic 
 ture are directed. 
 
 "Saturday. I am one of the survivors who fought, bled, 
 and died on Bunker Hill. 1 I can only give you generals. 
 The oration was in Mr. Webster s best style of manly elo 
 quence. It was all fine, and there were some very fine 
 strokes of genius in it ; but you will sec it and judge for 
 yourselves. You will find from the papers that all the world 
 was there some say 75,000, some 100,000. We went at 
 nine, and did not get home till after four, so that, except for 
 
 * Kofurring to some extracts from a journal given to the children* 
 f Lafayette. 
 
176 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 the pleasure of the remembrance, the balance was rather on 
 the painful side ; but when I think of that magnificent man ; 
 of the cloud of witnesses ; of those old weather-beaten sur 
 vivors, with their palsied limbs and nerveless arms, once 
 strong and raised in their might for us ; of the good Lafay 
 ette looking with the benignity of a blessed spirit upon the 
 countless multitude ; of the old man s prayer ; of the union 
 of voices pouring out their praise when I think of all these 
 things, I am grateful that I was permitted to see and hear. 1 
 
 Miss Stttgwick to Mr. C/iar/cs 
 
 44 New York, December 28, 1825. 
 
 "Mv DEAR CHARLES, You write such beautiful letters 
 up in that Lenox office that I shall begin to think that much- 
 dreaded court-house hill is a sort of modern prose Parnas 
 sus, only that I know there is no mount like the inspica- 
 tion of the spirit, no Helicon like the pure fountain of love. 
 
 " We are leading very quiet lives ; no morning calls, dear 
 Lizzy, or next to none, and very few evening parties, and 
 those have been dull enough to save them from all suspicion 
 of gayety. I have now and then attended the Athenceum 
 lectures. We had one the other night from one of the lights 
 of the College on Roman literature. Of Rome he said 
 nothing but that he wished us all to awake from the dream 
 we had too long indulged that Romulus was really suckled 
 by a wolf. He informed us, also, that letters were brought 
 to Greece by the Pelasgii, and not the Phoenicians ; and then 
 he went on to a very pretty homily all about his private re 
 ligious feelings ; and then he proved to his own entire satis 
 faction that A and T were primeval letters that A was a 
 wonderful symbol of something, and that T prefigured the 
 doctrines of man s sin in Adam, the Incarnation, Atonement, 
 Trinity most especially, etc., etc. And this a lecture on Ro 
 man literature !" 
 
Life and Letters. 177 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 44 New York, February 24, 1826. 
 
 * * * * j fancied you sick on the road, sick in Boston. 
 I thought of all the mortal cases of influenza, etc., etc., but I 
 trust, my dear brother, that the same kind Providence that 
 has as yet preserved entire the silken bond with which he 
 bound us as a family together, will for some time to come 
 keep it from that severance which can not be avoided. 
 When I think of the possibility of living in the world with 
 out you, Charles, my soul loses all its courage, and I feel as 
 if the same blow must crush us both. If I die first, you have 
 others nearer to you left, and, though I know you would weep 
 bitterly for me, and never forget me, yet, thank God, you 
 would not feel that desolation you would make. Should you 
 be removed first, I promise you, my beloved brother, that 
 yours shall be mine. Elizabeth, and the children, and I 
 would cast our lot together, and my means and efforts should 
 be devoted to them ; this is not much, but it is an exemption 
 from want. Lizzy is dear to me, not only as your wife* but 
 as having been to me a most faithful and affectionate sister \ 
 and your children, Charles, you know I love as if they were 
 a part of my own body and soul. I do not say this from 
 any impulse or sudden feeling. Our own loss the past year,* 
 and the various sudden deaths and reverses in the circle of 
 our acquaintance, have led me to think a great deal of the 
 certain changes that await us, and to form resolutions in the 
 view of various contingencies. And I have thought of the 
 possibility of realizing some of my apprehensions, and that, 
 at any rate, it might relieve you of the anxiety every father 
 must feel to know my determination, though God grant that 
 determination may never be acted on. * * * * I have been 
 
 * This refers to the death of Egbert, a much-beloved son of Mrs. 
 Pomcroy. 
 
 H 2 
 
178 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 quite dissipated for the last fortnight at three large parties ; 
 at the last we had all the varieties of rival belles, who are 
 the most beautiful dancers in the country, and who played 
 on the harp and piano as if the world hung on Caesar s 
 
 fate. We had a Miss , who is a perfect natamy 1 (as 
 
 Mumbet says), with her sleeves half way down to her elbows, 
 so that her armpits were perfectly exposed ; her bones 
 looked as if she would rattle if you touched her. Jane said 
 she wondered if she ate. Anthony Bleecker said she d want 
 a great deal of dressing to be eaten." 
 
 The next letter is in amusing and (alas !) hopeless con 
 trast to the present state of things at Stockbridge and the 
 vicinity, where, last summer, a well-advised householder re 
 fused to take a boarder at less than #20 a week, and would 
 as soon have thought of throwing an elephant as a horse 
 into the bargain. 
 
 " Stockbridge, June 14, 1826. 
 
 " MY DEAR ROBERT, I received yesterday your letter 
 about Mrs. Rogers. I immediately applied to Mrs. W., and 
 she has agreed to take Mrs. Rogers and her woman for 5 
 a week. I shall write Mrs. R. by this mail all the particu 
 lars of the arrangement. The place, you know, is a most de 
 lightful one. The family are very good sort of people. The 
 board is very high for this region; I took care to insinuate that 
 the price was high, and that for such a consideration it would 
 be but a reasonable make-weight to throw in the occasional 
 use of the horse and chaise. To this Mrs. W. assented, 
 only stipulating that the horse could not be promised for 
 every day." 
 
 Mis s Sedgwick to JC. Hf. SedgivUk. 
 
 " New York, January 1 1, 1826. 
 "MY BELOVED KITTY, Good-morning to you. I have 
 
Life and Letters. 1 79 
 
 been dreaming of you all night, and I thought you and I 
 were walking in a beautiful grove, and the grove was of ap 
 ple, and pear, and peach trees all in blossom, and here and 
 there was an orange-tree, the boughs loaded with fruit, and 
 hanging so low that you could pick them as we walked 
 along, and some of the trees were nutmeg and cinnamon, 
 and they gave out a delicious perfume, and grape-vines hung 
 in beautiful festoons from tree to tree, and rich bunches of 
 grapes were dangling all about us, and through the grove 
 there winded a bright, clear stream of water, like our own 
 Housatonic, and all along the banks grew flowers of every 
 description, which gracefully bent toward the water, which 
 reflected their beautiful faces like a mirror, and the bottom 
 of the river was covered with pebbles as white and smooth 
 as polished marble, and the fish were frolicking about them, 
 and the birds were flying over our heads, and sometimes 
 they would alight at our feet, and sing their sweet songs to 
 us. They seemed like little friends, they were so tame and 
 gentle, and their nests were in plain sight, so that we could 
 sec what nice care they took of their young. And as we 
 walked along, we saw father and mother sitting under a tree, 
 and little Charley was kneeling by them, saying his prayers. 
 And then you looked up at me, and oh, how bright and 
 sweet you looked ! and you said, * Aunt Kitty, is not this 
 Heaven ? and I caught you in my arms, and then I waked." 
 
 Miss St!t/giuick to Mr. Charles Scdgwick. 
 
 44 Boston, October 27, 1826. 
 
 " MY DEAR CHARLES, I presume that my letter to Susan 
 has already informed you of our safe arrival. The journey 
 was without any fatigue, and the plcasantest I ever took in 
 a stage-coach. Robert was in fine spirits, and every cir 
 cumstance concurred to make me enjoy it. One old soldier 
 
180 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 I never shall forget. He was not like most of our old pen 
 sioners, a subject of pity on account of (perhaps) accidental 
 virtue, but every thing about him looked like the old age of 
 humble, frugal, industrious virtue. And then he was so pa 
 tient under the severest of all physical evils (and I have not 
 Eliza Cabot s magnanimous contempt of bodily pain), so 
 cheerful and bright, so confiding in kindness, and so trust 
 ful in his fellow-creatures. But you will think me extrava 
 gant, for I can t present before you the picture of the old 
 man, with his hands nicely clad in famous green mittens, 
 knit, as he said, with a tear in his eye, by his youngest dar- 
 terj leaning on his cane, the horrid cancer decently dressed 
 and sheltered, talking with a benign expression of his old 
 friends, his eye kindling, and his form straightening with a 
 momentary vigor as he spoke of the heroic deeds of his 
 youthful companions, and the serenity, and meekness, and 
 philosophy with which he spoke of his sufferings and the 
 progress of them." 
 
 JHfiss SeJgivu k to Mr. Charles Sedgivick. 
 
 UoHton, November 21, 1826. 
 
 "Mv DUAR CHARLES, Harry arrived here yesterday, aft 
 er being delayed at the mine till that time. Ho is in fine 
 spirits about the coal. I hope he has ground for his san 
 guine expectations, but I have no faith in any of our name 
 becoming rich. We always have something ahead that we 
 think reasonable to ask, and if I could sec you in the pos 
 session of a cottage (that is, a nice house) on Stockbridge 
 Plain, and $1500 a year, and Fanny snugly sheltered in the 
 valley, I would compound for the rest of the family to re 
 main as they are. We should not be anxious to be placed 
 in any condition of increased responsibility, and besides, 
 with money would come some balancing evil, and so, upon 
 the whole, let us pray for contentment and gratitude. 
 
Life and Letters. 181 
 
 " The gentlemen here are all expressing their regret that 
 Theodore is not to be here this winter, and I am glad to 
 find that it is a serious feeling of loss. Mr. Quincy said to 
 me the other day, We want him ; we don t know how to do 
 without him. By the way, has not Mr. Quincy come out 
 bright with his market ? I dined there last Saturday, and in 
 the evening he ordered the carriage and took us down there. 
 It was beautifully lighted, and we walked through it, and I 
 could not but compare his feelings with the vulgar senti 
 ment of a Roman conqueror passing under his triumphal 
 arch." 
 
 Miss Setigwifk to Mr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 41 Boston, November 4, 1826. 
 
 " One of the greatest pleasures I have had here, or could 
 have any where, has been seeing Mr. Channing.* I have 
 twice dined and spent the evening in his company, and sat 
 next to him all the time. There is a superior light in his 
 mind that sheds a pure, bright gleam on every thing that 
 comes from it. He talks freely upon common topics, but 
 they seem no longer to be common topics when he speaks 
 of them. There is the influence of the sanctuary, the holy 
 place about him. Such an influence can not be lost, and I 
 perceive a deep seriousness, an energy of religious feeling 
 in the conversation of some of my friends, that seems to me 
 more like what I have read of than any thing I have before 
 seen. Elsewhere I have seen the poor, the sick, and the af 
 flicted detached from the world and turning to communion 
 with the God of their spirits, but here I have met with some 
 who have every thing that the world can give, who feel that 
 it is all very good, and yet their minds are intent on heaven 
 ly things. It seems to me that it would be impossible to 
 live within the sphere of Mr. Channing s influence without 
 * Rev. Dr. Channing. 
 
1 82 Life of Cat/iarine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 being in some degree spiritualized by it. * * * * You would 
 all be pleased at the unanimous and strong sentiment that 
 prevails here in relation to the Greek business. Harry is 
 lauded as if he were a real Greek hero. I am afraid he will 
 sacrifice his eyes, if not his life, in their cause." 
 
 Mis s Scttgwick to K. Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 " Boston, November 12, 1826. 
 
 " MY DEAR KITTY, I am very glad that you are so happy. 
 When I read your little letter, I fancy I can see you and hear 
 you, and see your little frolicksome sister ; but then, when I 
 feel how far I am away from you, my heart is sad, and the 
 tears will come in my eyes, and I think over and over that 
 I never again will leave my Berkshire home for such a long 
 
 time. I dined the other day in company with Miss , 
 
 and we talked a great deal about you and Charley, and your 
 kind father and mother, and she said a great deal about 
 their goodness to her, and then I thought they minded what 
 our Savior says if we are kind to rich and great people 
 there is not much goodness in it, because we know they can 
 do as much for us as we can do for them, and so we shall 
 get it all paid back ; but if we are kind to those who have 
 nothing to do for us in return, why then we are really kind. 
 God is the father of us all. He loves all his children, and 
 he is certainly pleased when he sees those that are young, 
 and well, and happy doing something for the poor, and the 
 
 sick, and neglected. I went yesterday with Mr. to 
 
 see his mite of a baby, and it is a droll-looking little thing ; 
 its hands are not a bit bigger than your wax doll s, and its 
 fade is about as big as the top of one of your china-cups, 
 and when it cries it looks like a white mummy. I went to 
 a meeting a few nights ago where there were ladies and gen 
 tlemen learning to read that is, to read well, and I heard 
 so much said of tho importance of reading well, that I dc- 
 
Life and JLetters. 183 
 
 termined to beg you, my dear Kitty, never to read aloud with 
 out trying to read as well as you can, and to beg your moth 
 er to correct the only fault in her reading for your sake, for 
 mothers will do more for their children than they will for 
 themselves. My darling child, remember me, and do not 
 love me less because I am away from you, and kiss dear 
 Charley for me. 
 
 " Your own aunt and friend, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 " New York, December 3, 1826. 
 
 *#**! think I have never enjoyed five weeks of my 
 life so much as the last five, or that I can look back upon 
 any period with so much to awaken gratitude to God. I 
 never was sensible of receiving such an impulse to my. re 
 ligious purposes and hopes. I have been much with those 
 who dwell in light. I have seen and heard Mr. Channing a 
 great deal in public and private. I have received the ema 
 nations from his holy mind there should be a quickening 
 influence from them. I was continually with my sweet friend 
 Eliza, whose Christian course is brightening, and in the so 
 ciety of those whose intellectual natures are sanctified by 
 an enlightened religion. I should be insensible not to feel 
 these privileges, and if I do not make some improvement of 
 them I shall be indeed an unprofitable servant." 
 
 The uneasiness expressed at the close of one of the late 
 letters with regard to Mr. Harry Sedgwick s eyes had a 
 painfully real foundation. They became worse and worse, 
 and for a time he was perfectly blind. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, February 26, 1827. 
 " MY DEAR CHARLES AND ELIZABETH, I have been put- 
 
184 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 ting off writing for the last two days in the hope that the 
 second operation on Harry s eyes would be over. But these 
 good-for-nothing surgeons have kept us in hot water since 
 last Thursday, putting it off from day to day on some pre 
 text or other. I don t believe a butcher, jailer, or common 
 hangman gets his heart so hardened as a doctor as most 
 doctors. I am glad that I know such a man as Dr. Jones 
 or Watts. There are natures that fire melts, but will not 
 harden. Harry, as Jane says, is a pattern for Job himself, 
 but still he is severely tried ; and, though he makes very light 
 of the operation, it can t be pleasant to sit for a week think 
 ing of that crooked wire and knife going into your eyeball ! 
 " Wednesday evening, 28///. I purposely delayed my letter 
 till to-day. The operation was gone through this morning. 
 It was a little longer than before, as the doctors were anx 
 ious to cut away the substance more, and I think he felt it 
 more ; but it is really, for the object to be attained, a very 
 small affair. There seems to be no threatening of inflam 
 mation, and Stevens pronounces, with perfect confidence, on 
 perfect success. The anxious meeting is at this moment in 
 his room, though Jane and I have just been laying our heads 
 together to request them to adjourn down stairs, lest he 
 should get too much excited. The manifestation of kind 
 feelings, the thronging of friends to your house, and, above 
 all, the sentiment of entire dependence on God and grati 
 tude to him, are, in such events, merciful compensations 
 for the evil that attends them. I can not think that Harry 
 will recover his eyes so as with safety to pursue his profes 
 sion, but all must be left to time to determine." 
 
 The eyesight was restored, but a still heavier affliction fol 
 lowed. Miss Sedgwick says, in her " Recollections :" 
 
 " My brother Harry was strong, active, capable of any en- 
 
Life and Letters. 185 
 
 durance, and of a bold, sanguine, and cheerful temperament 
 an indomitable spirit, and a mental capacity that never 
 tired. 
 
 " In the delightful exercise of all his faculties he was sud 
 denly arrested by failing eyesight. He did not know how 
 to modify his plans or temper his expectations. He wanted 
 the wisdom of patience and resignation the docile submis 
 sion to the bit and rein that it had pleased Providence to put 
 upon him. Pie made the fatal mistake of struggling against 
 the inevitable instead of yielding to it. Just at this epoch 
 came the failure of a speculation that offered to his expec 
 tation boundless wealth, which, to his noble disposition, was 
 alluring but as the means of unlimited beneficence. And, 
 direst of all to him, then came on the famous * Greek cause, 1 
 in which the interests of Greece (then struggling for her 
 freedom) were to be supported against the imputed frauds 
 of some New York merchants. Many commercial and mer 
 cantile interests were complicated in this cause, and an im 
 mense labor was done by my brothers Harry and Robert. 
 Harry brought to it his indignation at violated justice, his 
 enthusiastic love of freedom, and all the ferment of his in 
 tense nature. He worked with his impaired eyes all day 
 and far into ;he night, and when the work was suspended he 
 was sleepless with anxiety as to its issue. The condition of 
 his eyesight deprived him of the diversion of external ob 
 jects, and increased his natural tendency to concentration. 
 The failure of his business enterprise co-operated to press 
 him on to the tragic end, and thus the clearest and most pow 
 erful intellect I have ever intimately known was wrecked I" 
 
 Mr. Sedgwick was insane, with lucid intervals, for three 
 or four years, when the prolonged nervous excitement wore 
 out a life which all who knew him agree to have been one 
 of rare nobility, strength, and beauty. 
 
1 86 Life of Catharine M, Scdgwick. 
 
 It was the summer after his first attack that Miss Seclg- 
 wick published her third novel, " Hope Leslie," the first 
 which had been printed without his devoted care and criti 
 cism. It was received with even more favor than its pred 
 ecessors, and was indeed, as her note-books show, the result 
 of still more careful study, while her style acquired addition 
 al freedom and grace with each fresh effort. 
 
 This was a happy season of her life, notwithstanding the 
 overshadowing cloud of her brother s illness, which, light 
 ened as it was by constant hope, did not preclude the en 
 joyment of her increasing reputation, enlarging circle of 
 friends, the proud attachment of her family, and the rich 
 pleasure of intellectual creation. 
 
 Miss Settgwick to A". M. Sulgwick. 
 
 "New York, March 9, 1827. 
 
 * * * * Mr. Miller dined with us yesterday. He is one 
 of our countrymen who has been fighting for the poor Greeks, 
 and he has come home to America, and told so many sad 
 stories of their sufferings that he has made many kind hearts 
 feel more for them than they did before. To-day he sails 
 again for Greece in a ship loaded with provisions for those 
 poor starving people. It must be very pleasant to give meat 
 and bread to good people that are ready to perish. He 
 told us of a good man, a Mr. Langdon, a rich American 
 merchant who lives in Smyrna. This gentleman bought a 
 beautiful little Grecian girl seven years old. You know the 
 Turks sometimes torture, sometimes sell, and sometimes kill 
 their Grecian prisoners, and death is thought the greatest 
 mercy by those who fall into their hands, so you may think 
 how happy this little girl felt to be bought by an American, 
 who did not make a slave of her, but treated her as his own 
 beloved child. But she was not quite happy ; her father 
 had been killed, and her mother and her old grandmother 
 
Life and Letters. 187 
 
 were in the hands of the Turks. One day some Turks 
 brought a captive to Mr. Langdon. It was the little girl s 
 mother, and the Turks asked a great price for her, because 
 they knew Mr. Langdon was so good that, for the sake of 
 both mother and child, he would certainly redeem the moth 
 er, and he did ; and last of all they brought the grandmother 
 to him, and, though she was old, and good for nothing to 
 them, they asked #470 for her, and Mr. Langdon paid it, and 
 now all three live in his house, and all love him dearly. 
 One day he had a very bad toothache in one of his front 
 teeth, and he said he must have it out, and mentioned that 
 in his own country they put in other teeth in the place of 
 decayed ones. Then, said the mother, you shall have 
 one of my teeth to supply yours ; with all my heart I would 
 give them all to you. She had a beautiful set of teeth. He 
 told us many other agreeable anecdotes, and represented 
 the Greeks as a very fine people, inquisitive, improving, very 
 graceful, and courteous." 
 
 Afiss Sedgwick to Aft: Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 44 Lenox, July 6, 1827. 
 
 ****! h ear from all quarters what honestly seems 
 to me very extravagant praise of Hope Leslie, I trust I 
 shall not be elated by it. At present I certainly am not, for 
 I feel too heavily oppressed, too firmly grappled to the earth 
 to mount in the balloon of vanity. It is fair that you should 
 share whatever of praise is bestowed you, the faithful usher 
 and godfather of my little Hope. Miss Francis* writes 
 me that she had nearly completed a tale, founded on the 
 fortunes of Captain Smith. Alas for my Pocahontas ! she 
 says ; and then, after adding that she shall give her up, she 
 says, However, I give her up with less reluctance than the 
 artist whose labors of fifteen years were destroyed by the 
 Afterward Mrs. L. M. Child. 
 
1 88 Lifo of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 French troops in their invasion of Italy, for I love my con 
 queror. Is not that beautiful ? Better to write and to feel 
 such a sentiment than to indite volumes. * * * * I was 
 very much gratified, the other day, by a formal note of thanks 
 from Robbins here, as one of the descendants of the Pil 
 grims/ for the manner in which I had treated them. I 
 wanted this assurance from one of the leal." 
 
 Miss Stdgwick to JK. M. Scdgwick. 
 
 "New York, December 5, 1827. 
 
 * * * * " You can not imagine what a surprise it was to 
 us to see your father. Aunt Lizzy has a new girl, who, I be 
 lieve, thinks that she keeps tavern, so many persons have 
 come here lately. Sunday morning your Aunt Watson ar 
 rived, and Monday, when your father came, the girl came 
 up stairs in the greatest consternation. * Ma am, says she, 
 * there has another person come, and brought in his bag 
 gage, and seated himself, and won t tell his name. I asked 
 if he were young or old. * Very young he may be a little 
 older than Mr. Theodore. So there, in the breakfast-room, 
 father seated himself, and it was amusing to witness the sur 
 prise and delight of the family, as they assembled one by 
 one. What a delightful thing it is, my Kitty, to possess 
 such a character as your father s ! Whenever ho appears he 
 is welcome, and every face is brightened with smiles ; he 
 produces an effect like the sun when it suddenly glances its 
 bright beams from behind a cloud, as we have seen it some 
 times, when it touched up the mountains, and streamed 
 athwart the valley. House and hole may be full, but still 
 there is always room for father." * * * * 
 
 On the occasion of a report that Miss Sedgwick was about 
 to engage herself to a gentleman to whom her brother Theo 
 dore thought there were serious objections, he wrote her a 
 
Life and Letters. 189 
 
 letter, in which, after affectionately but forcibly setting forth 
 his views, he goes on to say ; 
 
 " Stockbridgc, November, 1827. 
 
 " In regard to your present situation, it is certainly a sin 
 gularly happy one ; you must not, upon light grounds, change 
 it. The sincere, tried, devoted affection ^>f all the older 
 members of the family, the tender and filial reverence and 
 attachment of the younger, the admiration and respect of a 
 large circle of friends, serve to bind you to that spot and 
 confine you within that circle in which all these blessings 
 are enjoyed. * * * * To this I can not but add that I look 
 forward to the exertion of your literary talents as a great na 
 tional blessing, and that I can not willingly anticipate any 
 contingencies which may deprive us of it." 
 
 Afiss Sedgwick to J\frs, IVatson. 
 
 41 New York, December 23, 1827. 
 
 " Brother Theodore is here, on his way to Boston. He is 
 still riding his hobby, the railroad, and I trust his real devo 
 tion to the public good will be rewarded by seeing this great 
 state improvement. Men are so generally engrossed with 
 the eager pursuit of wealth or pleasure, some modification 
 of sensual, perishable enjoyment, that it is refreshing to see 
 a man living for more disinterested and generous purpo- 
 
 Aliss Scdgwick to Afr. C/ta/ /c-s Scdgwick. 
 
 "New /ork, February 5, 1828. 
 
 * * * * You know we have had a Mr. Ladd here deliv 
 ering peace lectures. He certainly is a man of extraordi 
 nary talents. He reminds me of Dr. Mason in his best days, 
 but he has a far more enlightened mind. The whole course 
 of his life has shown a strong tendency to enthusiasm in the 
 noblest of all causes, the cause of human happiness. You 
 
190 Lift: of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 will see a little notice of him in The Post 1 of to-morrow. I 
 don t know when I have been so much interested and de 
 lighted by any body. Enthusiasm fed by reason is sacred 
 fire on a holy altar. * * * * Figure to yourself a man of al 
 most Uncle John s stature, with a face expressive of acute- 
 ness and benevolence, and a voice that sounds like the spir 
 it of the north wind, with a Yankee pronunciation, and an 
 energy of manner that expresses the earnestness of the soul. 
 When he came here he met with every discouragement. 
 The clergy said, * Be ye warmed and be ye fed/ but did not 
 lift a finger. He w.as told he would have no audience, but 
 he replied, Give me one candle-snuffer and one auditor, and 
 I will lecture. " 
 
 In 1828 Mrs. Charles Sedgwick received into her house a 
 few children, to educate with her own, and this was the be 
 ginning of the family school, since so widely known and so 
 justly celebrated, which closed only with her life in 1864. 
 She wrote also several books for children, among them The 
 Beatitudes/ which many must recollect as among the liter 
 ary treasures of their childhood ; and she contributed, under 
 the signature of Mater, to the Juvenile Miscellany, a charm 
 ing little periodical edited for years by Mrs, Child. The 
 following letter shows the lively and practical interest taken 
 by Miss Sedgwick in even the smallest details that con 
 cerned her friends. 
 
 Miss S&lgwtek to Mrs, Charles Sedgwick, 
 
 "New York, February 15, 1828. 
 
 * * * * " The publishing committee have paid for tracts 
 perhaps not quite as much as the Miscellany, but decent 
 ly. I do not know whether they do now, but I dare say, if 
 they do not, Bowles and Dearborn would, and Harry, who 
 is, for his friends, literary broker, would make a bargain for 
 
Life and Letters. 191 
 
 you. I think you had best copy it again. Make each Beat 
 itude a complete piece in itself. Draw a deep black line at 
 the conclusion of each, and leave a space, and begin each a 
 little more formally ; have all the explanations and excur 
 sive conversation first, and finish each with a little anecdote 
 or story by way of illustration. You have abundant mat 
 ter, and all these little arts of arrangement help the effect. 
 These are suggestions, my dear sister, and not dictates, 
 though my curt manner of expression may give them the 
 Basil Hall aspect." 
 
 1 he " Basil Hall aspect" refers to a long letter addressed 
 by that gentleman (who had then recently been on a visit to 
 Stockbridge) to Miss Sedgwick, at the suggestion of a mu 
 tual friend, criticising the style of her writings in the habit 
 ual tone of an Englishman, holding himself entitled as an 
 Englishman to lay down the law on all matters of taste and 
 precedent. She replied to him with admirable candor and 
 good temper, and at the same time with a dignified asser 
 tion of her right to independence of judgment He apolo 
 gized for having displeased her, but they parted rather cold 
 ly. When, however, Miss Sedgwick went to England in 
 1839, Captain Hull was the most kind, cordial, and devoted 
 of friends, as she has recorded in her journal, and they main 
 tained ever after an occasional correspondence with mutual 
 pleasure. 
 
 Miss Scdgwick s acquaintance with the celebrated histo 
 rian Sismondi was begun the previous year, by her sending 
 him, through the persuasion of her brother Harry, a transla 
 tion which she made of one of his essays, accompanied by 
 a copy of Hope Leslie. She at once received a warm letter 
 of thanks, to which the following is the answer, and this was 
 the opening of a regular correspondence, continued with in- 
 
IQ2 Life of Catharine M. Scdgivick. 
 
 creasing interest on both sides till his death in 1842, and 
 afterward kept up by his wife. 
 
 Jlftss Sedgwick to Jlf. Sistnondi^ Geneva, Switzerland. 
 
 " New York, March 15, 1828. 
 
 "Mv DEAR SIR, Licensed by your permission, I venture 
 again to address you, and to attempt to tell you how much 
 pleasure your letter gave me, and diffused through a large 
 circle of your admirers and my friends. I would convey to 
 you a sense of the benefit done me, for, to a benevolent 
 spirit, it must be one of the dearest felicities of high exalta 
 tion that its light falls on the distant and the humble. But, 
 after all, you can not estimate* the benefit, for you are not 
 aware of the homage your writings have inspired ; and, more 
 than this, you can not know (no one can who is not person 
 ally a stranger to you) that you infuse into them a moral 
 life, that you breathe your own soul into them, impart to 
 them if I may thus express myself a portion of your own 
 identity. This seems to me to be one of their attractive 
 and attaching peculiarities. It is this that makes us feel 
 them to be the production of a being whose affections and 
 sympathies are kindred to our own ; his happiness becomes 
 a matter of personal interest to us, and his kind notice falls 
 on the heart like the familiar voice of a friend, touching the 
 mysterious springs of the affections. 
 
 "The notice you have bestowed on Hope Leslie has 
 made me anxious to redeem a fault I have unintentionally 
 committed in so delineating the Pilgrims as to degrade them 
 in your estimation. I meant to touch their characters with 
 filial reverence. Their bigotry, their superstition, and, above 
 all, their intolerance, were too apparent on the page of his 
 tory to be forgotten. But these were the vices of their age, 
 and they were only partially disengaged from the chains that 
 bound their contemporaries. They deserved, in a good de- 
 
Life and Letters. 193 
 
 gree, the opinion you have entertained of them. They had 
 a most generous and self-devoting zeal to the cause of lib- 
 erty, so far as they understood it, but they were still in the 
 thraldom of Judaic superstition, and adhered steadfastly, as 
 unhappily a majority of their descendants do, to Calvin s 
 gloomy interpretation of Scripture, even now the popular 
 dogmas in our enlightened country. It is but right that a 
 sweet fountain should be opened at Geneva, whence such 
 bitter streams have flowed. 
 
 " Our early history has, I believe, been more accurately and 
 minutely written than that of any other people. Our good 
 fathers maintained an unwavering faith that they were under 
 the special and even visible government of Providence, and 
 this strong conviction gave importance and religious sancti 
 ty to the most trifling circumstance. Theirs was, as you 
 say, a family history, and if a lamb strayed beyond its 
 bounds, or an untimely shower fell on the reapers, the mis 
 haps were a common concern, and were carefully recorded. 
 Mishaps ! I am but a degenerate child. The greatest as 
 well as the smallest events were shaped by Providence for 
 them ; the great agents of nature were made subsidiary to 
 their purposes; the storm that curled the monstrous waves 
 was raised to wreck some profane heretic who had presumed 
 to scoff at the orthodox faith, and the frost that congealed 
 a whole continent was sent to freeze a poor barber s fingers, 
 1 whose tongue was more nimble than his fingers, and who 
 jested withal about the ciders discipline. Your historical 
 pursuits may inspire you with some curiosity to see a speci 
 men of our early documents, and I have therefore selected 
 an authentic work which has the merit of being character 
 istic of the times it illustrates. I shall send also an oration 
 by one of our most eminent men, which, as it refers to the 
 same period, and is in itself an eloquent production, may not 
 be unacceptable to you. I shall venture also to inclose to 
 
 I 
 
194 {f e f Catharine JW. Sedgwick. 
 
 you an essay on the character of Napoleon (that prodigy of 
 our own times), written by Dr. Channing, of Boston, whose 
 name has probably reached you, and whose philosophic and 
 original mind is employed in illustrating topics of high mor 
 al interest. 
 
 " I need not assure you that I shall esteem it a favor at 
 any time to send you such literary productions as may be 
 worthy of your attention, and I should only be restrained by 
 my ignorance of what communication you may have with 
 us, and by the fear of being obtrusive. 
 
 " Once more M. de Sismoiidi must permit me to thank 
 him ; the sunbeams may fall unregarded on the palace, but 
 the rays that enter the cottage window are felt and enjoyed. 
 * * * * I was particularly gratified that Madame Sismondi 
 approved my translation, for I am certain it must be far 
 more difficult to satisfy the requisitions of her affections than 
 the demands of your self-esteem. I beg she will accept my 
 best wishes." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Rev. >r. Channhtg. 
 
 " New York, April 28, 1828. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, My brother Robert promised me 
 he would himself answer your inquiries relative to the suc 
 cess of the monitorial system of instruction in this city. I 
 find that the pressure of his office business has as yet pre 
 vented his writing, and, though I have nothing to communi 
 cate in reply to your request, I can not consent any longer 
 to appear guilty in your eyes of such gross negligence. The 
 result of all the observations my brother has been able to 
 make seems to be that the monitorial system is chiefly rec 
 ommended by its superior cheapness. I am myself so igno 
 rant on the subject that it would be presumptuous in me to 
 say any thing indeed you are so wise in Boston that per 
 haps uniform silence would be our best discretion. Mr. 
 
Life and Letters. 195 
 
 Ware gave me sad accounts of your high-school. Is it pos 
 sible that you have come to the conclusion that knowledge 
 will make your people less useful and less happy ? If the 
 servants become wiser than their mistresses, and the ladies 
 have their own labor to perform at last, it will but fall into 
 the hands of the inferior class. But this is horrible democ 
 racy -treason against my caste. Hojvever, I can not believe 
 that knowledge disqualifies for any thing. It would make 
 the girls more contented and more efficient. It would ena 
 ble them to perform their labors in half the usual time, and 
 give them grace to submit to all the allotments of Provi 
 dence. * * * * Are we not to see you here this spring? 
 When I think of all that has been done and suffered to 
 Christianize the earth \ how the ocean has been crossed, and 
 trackless deserts penetrated, to preach to the ends of the 
 world, I can not but wonder that there is not enough zeal to 
 prompt some of our apostles to come to this great mission 
 ary field, where there are more to whom the Word might be 
 addressed than could be found in traveling thousands of 
 miles. Here is the grand point for distribution over the 
 continent. There are one or two (and not more) who break 
 down all barriers when they are here ; the rest, as to pros 
 elyting, might as well stay at home and preach to their own 
 people. * * * * Mr. Walker gave us two stirring sermons 
 yesterday. He would do infinite good here, and, if the doc 
 trine is worth propagating, it is his paramount duty to come 
 here. It is the duty of your association to send him, and of 
 his friends to give him up, for a glorious cause. At least, to 
 speak more modestly, it is so borne in upon our minds. 
 Will you present me affectionately to Mrs. Charming ? For 
 give this bold and hasty letter, and believe me yours truly 
 and gratefully, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 There are people, and not altogether thoughtless people 
 
196 Life of Catharine JMT. Sedgwicfc. 
 
 either, who, looking upon so bright and cheerful, and, at the 
 same time, so rich and varied a life as these letters portray, 
 seeing the atmosphere of refinement, culture, and love in 
 which it was passed, and the sweet, thoughtful, and sympa 
 thetic temper with which its various events were met, would 
 say, how perfectly happy such a woman must have been ! 
 how complete her satisfaction in life 1 They forget that this 
 very vivacity and sympathy bring their corresponding pains, 
 and that a nature so finely strung, so delicately sensitive to 
 happiness, must have equal susceptibility to suffering. Her 
 niece, Mrs. Minot, speaking of a time somewhat later than 
 this, and when she was accustomed to pass her summers in 
 Lenox with her brother Charles, and to go for the winter to 
 a home scarcely less dear in New York, says : " One of the 
 most vivid recollections of my childhood is of her agony of 
 grief (this is not an exaggerated phrase) as the time of her 
 leaving us approached. Before the day of railroads she 
 went to Hudson by stage, and thence by boat to New York. 
 She always delayed going till the very last boat, and some 
 times staid too long, till the ice had blocked the river, and 
 she had to make a long, circuitous land journey. A deep 
 gloom hung over her spirits, and she used to take leave of 
 us as if she should never see us again. To be sure, separa 
 tion from your friends in the winter, in those days of slow 
 communication, was a very different thing from what it is 
 now." 
 
 But there are secret shadows on the spirit, gloomy pas 
 sages through which all tender and sensitive souls must 
 walk, or they would not be what they are griefs not be 
 trayed during life to the dearest friends, unspoken sufferings 
 from which few are exempt, and from which none who know 
 the rich experience they bring would desire to be free. 
 From the sacred and touching record of such feelings, un 
 veiled by death for reverent eyes, if the following passage be 
 
JLife and Letters. 197 
 
 presented to assist in producing a living portrait of its wri 
 ter, it is that she herself would seem, near the close, to au 
 thorize it, and to bequeath this shade of experience for use 
 to others. - 
 
 " New York, May 18, 1828. Again the spring is here, the 
 season of life and loveliness, the beautiful emblem of our 
 resurrection unto life eternal. I have seen the country 
 again arrayed in its green robe, with its budding honors 
 thick upon it, the brimful streams, all Nature steeped in 
 perfume, as if the gates of Paradise were thrown open, and 
 the air ringing with the wild notes of every bird upon the 
 wing. Even the poor little prisoners that are hanging be 
 side the walls in our pent-up yards open their throats to 
 pour out the hymn of the season, and Poll Parrot jabbers, 
 laughs, and screams a wild note of joy. I will not say, with 
 the ungracious poet, that I turn from what Spring brings to 
 what she can not bring, but alas 1 I find there is no longer 
 that capacity for swelling, springing, brightening joy that I 
 once felt. Memory has settled her shadowy curtain over 
 too much of the space of thought, and Hope, that once to 
 my imagination tempted me with her arch, and laughing, 
 and promising face, to snatch away the veil with which she 
 but half hid the future Hope now seems to turn from me ; 
 and if I now and then catch some glimpses of her averted 
 face, she looks so serious, so admonitory, that I almost be 
 lieve that her sister Experience, with an eye of apprehen 
 sion, and lips that never smile, has taken her place. All is 
 not right with me, I know. I still build on sandy founda 
 tions j J still hope for perfection, where perfection is not 
 given. The best sources of earthly happiness are not with 
 in my grasp those of contentment I have neglected. I 
 have suffered for the whole winter a sort of mental paraly- 
 
198 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 sis, and at times I have feared the disease extended to my 
 affections. It is difficult for one who began life as I did, 
 the primary object of affection to many, to come by degrees 
 to be first to none, and still to have my love remain in its 
 entire strength, and craving such returns as have no substi 
 tute. How absurd, how groundless your complaints I would 
 half a dozen voices exclaim, if I ever ventured to make this 
 complaint. I do not. Each one has his own point of sight. 
 Others are not conscious at least I believe they are not of 
 any diminution in their affections for me, but others have 
 taken my place, naturally and of right, I allow it. It is the 
 necessity of a solitary condition, an unnatural state. He 
 who gave us our nature has set the solitary in families, and 
 has, by an array of motives, secured this sweet social com 
 pact to his children. From my own experience I would not 
 advise any one to remain unmarried, for my experience has 
 been a singularly happy one. My feelings have never been 
 embittered by those slights and taunts that the repulsive 
 and neglected have to endure ; there has been no period 
 of my life to the present moment when I might not have al 
 lied myself respectably, and to those sincerely attached to 
 me, if I would. I have always felt myself to be an object 
 of attention, respect, and regard, and, though notyJ/j/ to any, 
 I am, like Themistocles, second to a great many. My for 
 tune is not adequate to an independent establishment, but 
 it is ample for ease to myself and liberality to others. In 
 the families of all my brothers I have an agreeable home. 
 My sisters are all kind and affectionate to me, my brothers 
 generous and invariably kind ; their children all love me. 
 My dear Kate, my adopted child, is, though far from perfect 
 even in my doting eyes, yet such as to perfectly satisfy me, 
 if I did not crave perfection for one I so tenderly love. I 
 have troops of friends, some devotedly attached to me, and 
 yet the result of all this very happy experience is that there 
 
Life and Letters. 199 
 
 is no equivalent for those blessings which Providence has 
 placed first, and ordained that they should be purchased at 
 the dearest sacrifice. I have not set this down in a spirit 
 of repining, but it is well, I think, honestly to expose our 
 own feelings they may serve for examples or beacons. 
 While I live I do not mean this shall be read, and after, my 
 individual experience may perhaps benefit some one of all 
 my tribe. I ought, I know, to be grateful and humble, and 
 I do hope, through the grace of God, to rise more above the 
 world, to attain a higher and happier state of feeling, to or 
 der my house for that better world where self may lose 
 something of its engrossing power." * * * * 
 
 Another extract from the same private journal, referring 
 to Mrs. Follen, may be admitted for its beauty of feeling and 
 description, now that the only person whose modesty could 
 be pained by its appearance has been called with her friend 
 to another, and, as they both believed, a larger and happier 
 sphere. 
 
 "Boston, September 15, 1828. Eliza Cabot s wedding-day. 
 I have been with her through the week preceding her mar 
 riage, and have seen her character come out like thrice-re 
 fined gold. Never have I witnessed such a sweet serenity, 
 like the mild and continual shining of the sun on a rugged 
 way, such celestial feeling devotion, benevolence, charity, 
 sisterly love, friendship, all receiving their dues, and love, 
 that selfish, engrossing passion, only serving to give in 
 creased vitality to all the rest." * * * * 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Afrs. Watson, 
 
 " Boston, September 20, 1828. 
 
 " I went on Thursday to the celebration of the two hun 
 dredth anniversary at Salem. It was a beautiful day. This 
 
200 Life of Catharine 1W. Sedgwick. 
 
 magnificent bay sprinkled with its islands, and floating on 
 its bosom the wondrous messengers of every land ; the 
 shores covered with cheerful dwellings, all manifesting pros 
 perity, activity, and enjoyment ; and then the rocky and ster 
 ile land, calling up affecting remembrances of those whose 
 virtues we were going to celebrate, all prepared us for the 
 day. The homogeneous population of this part of the coun 
 try shows off such a scene to great advantage. At New 
 York there can not be a common sentiment. Here the old 
 man and the little child, the high and the humble, feel the 
 same blood stirred by the same thoughts. Judge Story was 
 very sensible and animated, and did not tire us with a two- 
 hours 1 harangue. We dined at his house. Old Dr. Holioke, 
 a man past his hundredth birthday, walking firmly and erect, 
 and looking like the representative of far-gone ages, was 
 present, and gave great interest to the scene. At the din 
 ner Judge Story held up a large pewter platter, a relic which 
 belonged to the first settlers, filled with an indifferent pear, 
 called the Endicott pear, planted by the first Governor En- 
 dicott. Here/ he said, * is what the Pilgrims had ; and 
 then, elevating an elegant silver basket filled with necta 
 rines, peaches, and grapes, here/ he said, Ms what their 
 children have. " 
 
 journal. 
 
 " Lenox, December 31, 1828. My poor brother! Thanks 
 to thce, merciful God, that it is not crime, nor the suspicion 
 of crime, that we bewail. Beset with fear and dread, I have 
 been made at moments to feel thankful that I knew it was 
 a sickness of the mind, the greatest physical calamity, and 
 not a moral derangement. But to see a mind once so pow 
 erful, so effective, so luminous, darkened, disordered, a bro 
 ken instrument to see him stared at by the vulgar, the 
 laugh of children oh, it is too much I and yet his reason 
 
Life and Letters. 201 
 
 and his affections are struggling with this evil. His love 
 seems an inextinguishable light ; it shines through the dark 
 ness." 
 
 "January 25, 1829. My dear Charles returned the i4th 
 of January. The result of his journey was better than we 
 hoped. * * * * If we still retained the ancient and horri 
 ble belief in the possession of evil spirits, we might believe 
 that our poor brother s tormentors were rebuked by the 
 Spirit of God which dwelleth in Charles. Harry was yield 
 ing and docile as a submissive child in his hands. This 
 was not a supernatural agency, but that admirable sagacity 
 that discerns the most subtle operations of the mind that 
 tenderness of feeling that enables a person of such exquisite 
 sensibility as Charles to transfuse himself into another, to 
 guard every avenue of feeling, to touch the broken instru 
 ment with a master s hand, and bring forth music where 
 others only produce discord. There was always a confi 
 dence in his manner to Harry, respect, and tenderness. He 
 was sometimes sportive, and threw a light on the follies of 
 his insanity not the sudden flash that irritates, but a laugh 
 ing sunbeam." * * * * 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to Mr. Charles Scdgwick. 
 
 " New York, February 2, 1829. 
 
 " I have taken my pen (would it were a better one), not 
 so much to gratify you, my beloved Charles, as because I 
 feel the necessity of holding some communion with you a 
 hankering^ a hungering and thirsting to be near you. I usu 
 ally come to my room at this hour, the time when Elizabeth 
 sallies forth for her evening walk, and give it to those 
 thoughts and feelings that come unbidden, that press upon 
 us come ? they are what constitute our mind and its affec 
 tions. You know, my dear Charles, that you are with me 
 in these quiet and tender meditations ; my brother, more 
 
 I 2 
 
202 ife of Catharine M. Scdgwick, 
 
 than brother. I know nothing of love, of memory, of hope, 
 of which you are not an essential part. If ever I attain to 
 any adequate conception of the purity, and peace, and in 
 tensity of heavenly affections, it is from that I feel for you. 
 In all that I have been unfaithful to you, that I have disap 
 pointed and afflicted you, I feel that my own forgiveness is 
 far more difficult than yours to be obtained." 
 
 Af/ ss Sedgwick to Afr. JRobert Sedgwick. 
 
 " Stockbridgc, August, 1829, 
 
 * # # # Oh, I never shall forget this pleasant visit to 
 you I If I had gone the grand tour in search of pleasure, 
 I should not have found so much. You, my dear Robert, 
 are wiser and better than almost any body I ever knew in 
 seizing and improving those opportunities of happiness that 
 others pass by either churlishly, or ignorantly, or recklessly. 
 How much they lose, and how much you gain I The affec 
 tions are, like the elements of water, and air, and all the 
 common bounties of Providence, given to all, and in what 
 sad neglect they are permitted to lie J like waste and bar 
 ren sands that might be filled with exquisite flowers and 
 fruits. * * * * I had a singular compagnon du voyage in 
 the stage-coach one of the Geibs, a brother of him of whom 
 we purchased the piano. He, too, is an eminent musician, 
 and was traveling for his health, and to tune Kitty s piano 
 by the way. He has lived in all the quarters of the globe ; 
 is an observer and a philosopher; has a good deal of gen 
 ius, and a good deal of that proud sort of conceit that the 
 original thinkers of an inferior station are apt to get. He 
 and I were the only talkers in the stage, as graduates hold 
 a colloquy on the stage. Our companions dropped off by 
 the way, and we left Barrington tdte~&tGte. He was aware 
 that I belonged to the Sedgwick concern, and that was all. 
 Can you inform me, ma am, he said, * whether I shall- see 
 
Life and Letters. 203 
 
 the authoress of Redwood ? and when I pleaded guilty, he 
 complimented me by saying that he concluded by my con 
 versation that I was * a person of reading and reflection ! " 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 41 New York, January 18, 1830. 
 
 " MY DEAREST FRANCES, I found two letters here from 
 you when I returned from Philadelphia. I received civili 
 ties enough to turn a younger head than mine ; but age has 
 too many sad and heavy realities to permit us to be dazzled 
 by a little sunshine. Philadelphia is a delightful place. I 
 saw probably the very best aspect of its society the culti 
 vated, enlightened, and accomplished. They are like the 
 Bostonians in giving the honor due to intellectual merit in 
 their estimation and cultivation of the mind, but they have 
 more ease, facility, and grace. They do not seem to be 
 afraid to speak lest they should commit themselves for life. 
 The climate has a more genial influence \ they are more 
 mercurial, without being frivolous or flippant. In one re 
 spect they appeared to me to be inferior the judgment of 
 a stranger should be very modest there is much less relig 
 ious sentiment in the higher classes, more indifference to the 
 subject, as if it were only fit to interest the vulgar and the 
 weaker sex. 
 
 " On my return I passed a day at Burlington at Mrs. Brad 
 ford s, the daughter of Elias Boudinot, and once the com 
 panion of General Washington and all that coterie. She has 
 the freshness and vigor of middle life with the raciness of 
 the olden time. She had known and admired our dear fa 
 ther, and received me with warmth as the daughter of a 
 friend. She keeps up all the stateliness of the old style, 
 gracefully softened by the comfort and ease of modern times, 
 which is something like the influence of the sweet Southwest 
 in walks of regular and lofty trees." 
 
204 Life of Catharine M Scdgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to K. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 44 New York, January 24, 1830. 
 
 " MY DEAREST CHILD, Your sweet letter, so neatly writ 
 ten that it gave me great hopes that, even if your coming to 
 me depends on your carefulness, I shall not be disappointed, 
 arrived some days since. * * * * Letter-writing is one of the 
 accomplishments I hope you will excel in. Letters, if we 
 are social and affectionate as we should be, we must write, 
 and of course they are constantly-recurring opportunities of 
 giving pleasure. Now, dear Kate, it is best to begin life 
 with setting a right value on these small occasions of doing 
 good, for they make up a great sum. Letters should be af 
 fectionate, natural, and graceful almost every body can get 
 as far as that then make them as witty, or sensible, or in 
 any way agreeable as you can." * * * * 
 
 "Clarence" was brought out in 1830, the first, and, with 
 one exception, the only one of Miss Sedgwick s larger works 
 whose scene is New York in the modern time. It is the 
 most romantic, and, at the same time, the wittiest of her nov 
 els, and while it fascinated younger readers by its story, it 
 charmed elder minds by its high-bred intelligence, and its 
 sweet and noble humanity. 
 
 The letters in " Clarence" are particularly fine, and might 
 serve as models in the art, besides being characterized by 
 strong dramatic individuality. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, March 7, 1830. 
 
 * * * * Of all the labors that I ever have undertaken, 
 copying is the severest. I have now nearly come to the end 
 of my first volume, and hope to finish it on Tuesday, so that 
 that will be completely ready for the printer, and the rest I 
 
Life and Letters. 205 
 
 shall do without the painful sense of being hurried. I be 
 lieve I wrote to you, but I am not sure, that R. sold the copy 
 right of an edition of 2000, to be printed uniform with * Hope 
 Leslie/ for $1200. I am quite satisfied with this. It in 
 sures me that compensation and a good publisher. I be 
 lieve that is as much as they can afford to give. They say 
 in their letter that the cheap reprints of popular English 
 novels have reduced the value of copyright productions as 
 much as Hope Leslie has raised the reputation of mine. 
 I am not satisfied with Clarence, and never shall be with 
 any thing I write. That is the misfortune of a familiarity 
 with fine works, carrying your taste so far ahead of your ca 
 pacity ; but I do think (and perhaps that augurs ill for its 
 real merit it may be the old story of the mother and the 
 rickety child over again) but I do think, nevertheless, that 
 it has a great deal more in it than any thing else I have 
 written, and that it is better adapted to the general taste of 
 novel-readers I am sure, because it has romantic faults, and 
 because it has something to do with every-day and present 
 life. I miss excessively, more than words can tell, the light 
 and repose of dear Harry s criticisms. I felt a reliance on 
 him that I can never feel on another ; a confidence that I 
 should not expose myself to any severe criticism; and I miss 
 the sweet excitement of Jane s eager interest. To balance 
 these, I have more experience, and consequently far more 
 self-confidence, and I have vastly less fear or care about the 
 result. I have tasted the pleasure of reputation, and know 
 what it is worth, and I know it is not one of the ministers of 
 the inner sanctuary. Dearest Charles, I should make an 
 apology to almost any one else for all this about myself, but 
 I consider that whatever is my concern is just about as 
 much yours. 11 
 
206 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Dr. Pomeroy. 
 
 "New York, March 13, 1830. 
 
 " MY DEAR BROTHER, I can not bear that my whole win 
 ter s campaign should pass away without any communication 
 with you. I am not satisfied with contriving Fictitious hap 
 piness and fictitious misery. My heart reverts to the real 
 and bitter sorrows that cloud our life, and my thoughts to 
 the happy homes whose goodness, love, and intelligence 
 mock the brightest tints of my pencil. And then my char 
 acters ! What can my brain manufacture to compare with 
 the father who has the spirit of five-and-twenty, with the vir 
 tue of a. more advanced age, who, with the resolution of the 
 old Roman and the fire of Bunker Hill, is contentedly car 
 ing for his flocks and herds, giving the tenderness of his 
 heart to his little Benjamin, and is the stay and staff of his 
 children, when most men lean on them for support ? And 
 what to that excellent aunt and sister, who, truly loving the 
 praise of God more than the praise of men, and loving and 
 serving others more than herself, is still blessing all around 
 her with her kindness and her example, and diffusing a light, 
 full of gentleness and promise, like the serenest setting sun ? 
 I say nothing of the vines that, separated from the parent 
 stalk, and flourishing and fruitful, still turn their faces homo- 
 ward, as plants at a window always turn toward the light ; 
 or of that sweet image of her sainted mother s virtue and 
 loveliness, our blessed Sue ;* nor of the bright-eyed sis 
 ters, full of promise and hope; nor of our noisy, good-heart 
 ed, honest Charles ; nor even yet of our little Benjamin. 
 
 * Dr. Pomcroy s daughter, well deserving of her aunt s praise, and 
 who was, in after years, one of the victims of the terrible railroad catas 
 trophe at Norwalk, Conn., where she employed her last strength to save 
 the child who was in her charge, and died with the disinterestedness that 
 had been characteristic of her life. 
 
Life and Letters. 207 
 
 But they all shame my manufactures, and are as the Magnus 
 Apollo to the waxen image of a country show." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. C/ianning. 
 
 44 New York, March 14, 1830. 
 
 * * * # j have a book in the press, and, as there is still 
 a great deal to do to it, I am constantly employed. I am 
 now hardened enough to talk of my works (oh 1 how the 
 word and all its relations have made my blood tingle 1) with 
 perfect nonchalance. This treats of the present times, top 
 ics that concern every body, and the follies of the day. The 
 scene is chiefly in New York, hazardous ground I am aware, 
 but, at the same time, it seems to me of more popular inter 
 est than a tale of the olden time, which has more romantic 
 facilities." * * * * 
 
 To the same. 
 
 44 New York, June 23, 1830. 
 
 * * * * i am delighted with your suffrage for my book. 
 I shall never get the calm nerves of a regular-bred author, 
 and I quake and tremble on every fresh appearance." * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 44 Newport, Monday evening, Sept. 5, 1830. 
 
 * * * * \v c came on very pleasantly, szive a slight alarm 
 from a sloop running foul of us neither harming nor being 
 harmed, but causing that general agitation, that running 
 up and down, and to and fro, which indicates what a scene 
 we might have in case of a real panic. We had one phi 
 losopher in the shape of an old woman, who made the most 
 of the good and the least of the evil of life who was quite 
 willing to be laughed at by people who, she said, would 
 never see her again, and in her turn to laugh at the follies 
 of the laughers a species of simple wisdom that, if gener- 
 
2o8 Life of, .Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 ally adopted, would save many a heartache, for, as my old 
 woman observed, your people who are always jealous and 
 suspecting slights are the * tiresomest company* you can have. 
 L - received me most kindly, and was excessively disap 
 pointed that you were not with me. Your bed was made, 
 and the disappointment was general. For myself, I felt 
 pretty flat when I was depressed with the full sense of the 
 fact that I was here without you. Dear Charles, when some 
 of those hours of depression which, in spite of the old gen 
 eral s example, will come over you again, arrive, think of 
 what a blessing you have been, and are, and will be to me 
 of what power you have over me, and I am sure the con 
 sciousness of such angelic influence will exorcise any de 
 mon." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Channing. 
 
 44 Lenox, October 13, 1830. 
 
 "Mv DEAR FRIEND, I can not let my brothers go to 
 Boston without a line to you, if it is merely a bait to get a 
 letter in return. It is a long time since I have heard from 
 you, and you know that I set great store by your letters. I 
 am afraid that some of our friends may condemn our per 
 mitting Harry to go to Boston, but it is impossible for those 
 to judge who can not understand the opposing evils and va 
 riety of embarrassments that attend a case like his. It is 
 all-important to have his plans and wishes meet opposition, 
 or an impassable barrier from abroad rather than from his 
 friends, whose influence, while it is assuaging, may be sana 
 tive. I am particularly anxious that your brother Walter, 
 who has been throughout so very and so effectively kind, 
 and whose advice has been so useful to us, should not dis 
 approve us. I hope you will see Harry. He is very sus 
 ceptible of kindness from his old friends. Will this long 
 trial ever cease ? God grant us grace to endure it patient- 
 
Life and Letters. 209 
 
 ly. It has been attended with many circumstances to ex 
 cite our gratitude and strengthen our affection for our 
 friends. There is balm for every wound, and it is our own 
 fault if we lose its healing influence. * * * * 
 
 " My summer has glided away peacefully and uniformly, 
 with nothing very stirring of a private nature, so that my 
 heart is free for public sympathy, and can exult in a French 
 Revolution, and throb at the name of Lafayette. Your peo 
 ple of leisure are the true philanthropists." * * * * 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. Watson. 
 
 * Lenox, October 24, 1830. 
 
 " MY DEAR SISTER, I have thought of you since our 
 parting as so bright and happy as scarcely to need any aid 
 from us ; but I ought to have known better, for happiness is 
 so much the element for which we are made it so awakes 
 the drowsy powers of our nature and stimulates our capaci 
 ties, that we never, I think, more ardently extend our affec 
 tions to our friends than when we are happy. It is the rich 
 man and not the beggar who keeps his festival prepared and 
 his doors open. But I do not sec why I should go on to 
 aggravate the sin I meant to excuse. 
 
 " How God has set his seal on love in all its modifica 
 tions 1 It is the life and health of the soul. It can not be 
 violated without misery, and its restoration after loss or sus 
 pension is the return of the exile to his father s house. How 
 strange that the benevolence of the Deity should ever be 
 questioned, when we have its proofs in the operation of ev 
 ery faculty and every affection." 
 
 Mis s Stttgwick to K. M. Scdgwick* 
 
 "New York, Dec. 14, 1830. 
 
 ****** My sweet Kate, I thank you for your letter. It 
 is just such as I wish: you to write. I have a notion that a 
 
2io Life of Catharine JW. 
 
 letter that is to be copied can never be quite so fresh from 
 the heart, never quite so deeply imbued with its tenderness 
 and sweetness as that which is marked down as the words 
 bubble out from the fountain. * * * * I should not have 
 seen your little beau ideal* if I had arrived earlier, as he did 
 not dine here. He has left town. Poor boy, he pays a 
 heavy penalty for his enchanting gifts. After being kept on 
 the stage till 12 o clock, sustaining the most arduous parts, 
 his father takes him to Niblo s to a supper with bans vivants. 
 Oh, my sweet, bright-eyed Charles, how much more enviable 
 are you at that hour, in the arms of Nature s kindest nurse, 
 surrounded by the spirits of innocence and love 1 * * * * 
 
 " If I had space I would give you a diverting account of 
 my visit to the Savings Bank, whence I have fished out 
 M. s money ; how, when the man asked me my occupa 
 tion, I laughed, and confessed I had none, and felt inferior 
 to the meanest of the one hundred Irish about me." * * * * 
 
 Miss Satgwitk to A". AT. Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, December, 1830. 
 
 * * * * we all, including Grace, went to see Charles 
 Kean in Hamlet, and Clara Fisher in Ophelia, Monday 
 night. Kean played extremely well for a young man under 
 twenty, and continually recalled to me his unequaled father. 
 Clara Fisher, in the first scenes, appeared like a little plain, 
 affected, spoiled drawing-room girl ; but when she came to 
 the mad scene, which is one of the very finest scenes in the 
 whole drama for effect, she seemed inspired. She was, in 
 deed, the Ophelia of Shakspeare, a sweet bell jangled out 
 of tune ; her little snatches of songs, the exquisite music, 
 and the delicacy, the pathos, the transient gleams of bright 
 light, and the deep shades that were shrouding forever her 
 sweet spirit, all was manifest, and all nature. I did not 
 think myold eyes would ever have wept again at any stage 
 * Master Burke, 
 
Life and Letters, 211 
 
 sorrows, but it is the feeling that such sorrows are in life 
 that makes us weep. Head that beautiful play aloud to 
 your father, my dear Kate, as you read Shakspeare when he 
 was gone. It is the most exquisite production in the En 
 glish language. * * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to K. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, January 14, 1831. 
 
 " I have been twice, dear Kate, to see your beau ideal, 
 the miraculous boy I He is the only prodigy I ever saw. 
 He is endowed with faculties that would make him pre-em 
 inent at any age, that are prodigious at his. * * * * He 
 plays tragedy with great propriety, but he is too young for 
 the lover, and Romeo a beautiful Cupid wooing an over 
 grown Juliet of a certain age was rather ridiculous. He is 
 a true son of the comic muse, and either in Looney M Twol- 
 ter, a wild Irish boy, or in Sir Abel Handy, a simple, kind- 
 hearted, henpecked, wild projector of impracticable improve 
 ments, or in the Protean boy in the March of Intellect (a 
 farce written for him), he is incomparable. But what would 
 delight you are his musical attainments. He is said by 
 competent judges you know I am an ignoramus on the 
 subject to play a violin better than Segura. This would 
 be a wonderful acquisition, if he had no other ; and the best 
 of it is, that when he is commended for it, he says, with great 
 modesty, that any body might play as well who would prac 
 tice as much. To me it is very interesting to see the in 
 tense interest with which the orchestra listen to him, and to 
 hear their leader cry, with all his heart, Bravo I 1 Indeed, 
 the actors seem often to forget every thing but his presence 
 and powers. It was amusing to see Mercutio fondly pat 
 ting Romeo on the shoulder. My dear child, I would not 
 turn your head with this dramatic genius, but I think we 
 owe, and we can not help paying, a tribute of admiration to 
 such beautiful gifts of Heaven, and it may stimulate your 
 
212 Life of Catharine JW. Sfdgivick. 
 
 own efforts to know what acquisitions may be made by in 
 tense assiduity. His brief life must have been a continued 
 study. He fences well, and dances beautifully. But there 
 is a sad reverse to this picture ; and when I see him come 
 forward in his own character, in his jacket and trowsers, and 
 square collar and frill, his fair shining hair brushed smooth 
 ly down, and feel that his youth and innocence are in a 
 tainted atmosphere, that he is exposed to moral death, that 
 his fine powers are almost sure to be blasted by such un 
 natural excitement and overdoing, that the rich bud must 
 perish,* I could weep to tell the truth, I have wept over him, 
 and I have breathed a prayer of gratitude that those bright 
 and beloved children over whom my heart yearns are shel 
 
 tered and nurtured in the retreats of purity, virtue, and love." 
 
 * * # * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to 1C. M. 
 
 "New York, January 25, 1831. 
 
 * * * * There are few such persons as your father, my 
 dear child few whose only question is whether others want 
 what he can give. His humanities are like the rain that 
 falleth on the just and the unjust, and, like the rain too, I 
 believe they sometimes bring forth fruit from very sterile 
 ground. If half the world were like him, I believe the other 
 half would cast their slough, and be so too. There is such 
 a principle of life and health in the atmosphere of the good 
 and lovely. Hark, the supper-bell I If your father could see 
 with what eagerness I pick up all the little pearls dropped 
 in the corners and strung along the margins of his letters, 
 he would not doubt the value I set on the cross-readings. 
 Thank your dear mother for her very kind contribution to 
 
 * It is pleasant to say that this melancholy prophecy was never ful 
 filled, and that " Master Burke," passing the fiery ordeal of precocity and 
 publicity safe in simple honesty of nature, is now living in New York, 
 sincerely esteemed by all who know him, both as a man and a musician. 
 
Life and Letters. 213 
 
 my pleasure. Tell your Aunt Susan that I hear many of 
 her friends deploring her departure from the city. It is 
 colder to-night than ever, yet our parlor in every part has 
 been 74 ! Dear Kate, remember the poor in this season 
 of their extremity, and forget not to be grateful, and to ex- 
 press your gratitude to that Being who has sheltered you in 
 your sweet home." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sfdsu*ick to JK. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 " Baltimore, February 2, 1831. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, We have arrived thus far without 
 any disaster. * * * * We left New York at 7 Saturday 
 morning ; came as far as Amboy in the steam-boat ; then we 
 mounted into wagon-boxes set on sledges, and were seated 
 on our baggage dos d dos^ like an Irish jaunting-car, eleven in 
 our sleigh. Among the rest was an English woman, of their 
 fine sturdy breed, arrived from a ten-weeks voyage the day 
 before, with a little baby born at sea ! Some of our sleighs 
 had oversets, but we arrived safe in Philadelphia at n that 
 night. * * * * We traveled yesterday pretty much in Jo 
 nah s fashion, shut up in a stage-sleigh, but had excellent driv 
 ers, horses, and inns, excepting one team, who, as a woman 
 told me, were pretty considerable wild and fractious, but 
 did not run away much. 1 They brought us safely tto Para- 
 disc, though I am sure the way, to me, was through Purga 
 tory. We arrived at Lancaster, one of the largest interior 
 towns in the United States, just after dark. * * * * We 
 crossed the Susquehanna at Lancaster. I thought, if you 
 could have looked in a magical mirror at that moment, and 
 seen us, you would have been amused. Fancy a lumber 
 ing stage-sleigh on a covered bridge, hail and rain beating 
 against it, the passengers -with a lantern walking a mile and 
 a quarter (the length of the bridge). When we were mid 
 way, a little bird fluttered over and was caught by one of 
 
2i4 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 the passengers. Poor little thing 1 I thought she did not 
 feel much more out of place than I did. We rode 25 miles 
 to York, and then put into harbor for the night. York 
 was built by Germans, and has a very substantial, comfort 
 able aspect, as, indeed, every thing has in Pennsylvania. 
 The house in which the old Congress sat when they were 
 compelled by Sir William Howe s army to fly from Phila 
 delphia is still standing in the middle of their principal 
 street. Yesterday we rode 85 miles, to-day 48, without any 
 discomfort. The horses run a little/ but the leaders soon 
 cleared themselves from the sleigh, and we were safe. We 
 came the longest, which is called the upper road. Every 
 where we find civil landlords, good taverns (last night there 
 were warm baths in the establishment), sober drivers, and 
 every comfort. To-morrow we ride seven miles on the rail 
 road. It is uncertain whether we proceed on wheels or run 
 ners ; either way will be bad enough, as the road is a sea of 
 slush. We have been terribly incommoded with turning out 
 in the deep snow for the transportation wagons. We passed 
 more than 200 yesterday. They are awful concerns in a 
 deep snow. This (Barnum s) is a most excellent house. 
 We have a parlor, and bedrooms (each larger than your 
 parlor) on each side. We have just supped on canvas-back 
 
 ducks, and your uncle has sallied forth with Mr. B to 
 
 see the city." * * * * 
 
 Miss S&tgivick to K. J\f. Serfgwick. 
 
 " Washington, February 2, 1831. 
 
 * * * * \y e tnen went into the Supreme Court. Your 
 father will tell you that it is the most dignified body in the 
 United States. It is a small room, and looks like a hand 
 some cell in a monastery. The ceiling is like a scallop-shell : 
 all is marble. Chief Justice Marshall was presiding, and 
 reading an opinion. His voice is feeble. His face has a 
 
Lifts and Letters. 215 
 
 fine union of intellect and tranquillity, the seal of a well- 
 spent life upon it. Judge M Lean has a very fine face, an 
 eye that moves like lightning. He looks as if he were a 
 leader in the French Chamber of Deputies. Judge Story 
 came down to speak to us, and told me that he had prom 
 ised Judge Marshall to come with him to see me. If he does 
 so, it will be a great gratification to me to see face to face one 
 of the most venerable and honored men our country has pro 
 duced. * * * * When we entered the House there was a 
 debate going on relative to the reduction of the duty on salt. 
 Some Southern members spoke with great vehemence, but 
 nobody on the floor paid any attention to them. They spoke 
 of their oppression, of throwing themselves on the sovereign 
 ty of their States, of being goaded to rebellion, of the time 
 being near when vengeance should stalk about those halls/ 
 It was melancholy to see such feelings aroused among our 
 countrymen, and more painful to see them quite disregard- 
 cd." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to K. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 11 Washington, February 5, 1831. 
 
 "Monday P. M. Dearest, most tired to death. Began with 
 visitors the moment the breakfast was carried down. At 
 12, took a carriage and went to the House ; they were en 
 gaged in common business, and we hurried home before 
 Cambrelcng s reply to Burgess, to keep an engagement with 
 Mr. Van Buren, who had offered to call to take me and in 
 troduce me to the President. He came in his beautiful 
 coach, servants in livery, elegant horses, and two most beau 
 tiful dogs. We drove to the palace, entered a large, cold 
 saloon, and then a drawing-room, in which is a fine full- 
 length picture of General Washington. When the British 
 came here in the last war, the President was obliged to fly. 
 His wife, Mrs. Madison, cut the picture from the frame and 
 
2 1 6 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 took it with her the only article she took I The President 
 was not in the drawing-room when we entered. He came 
 immediately, apologized for not having been there to re 
 ceive us, as he had been that moment called out, was very 
 courteous, and quite plain and pleasing. He has a wooden 
 face, but honest and pretty good. * * * * It is still very cold 
 here. Mr. Ridge, the Cherokee, and our connection, is com 
 ing to see us at ten this morning. We are waiting break 
 fast what do you think for ? Till Mrs. Webster has done 
 
 with the tea-pot I Poor B is any thing but a landlord 
 
 an amateur in horses, a gentleman of elegant leisure, but he 
 has some excellent subalterns in his establishment, who will 
 probably own it in a year or two." * * * * 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Afrs, Watson, 
 
 44 New York, March 9, 1831. 
 
 " If I had a home (alas ! how many sweet visions are 
 comprised within that impossible if) t I should wish F. to 
 pass the next year with me. If I have any faculty (this is 
 the common mode of speech of the self-confident), it is that 
 of making young girls happy, and, in my opinion, half of all 
 our amiability, not to say virtue, proceeds from our happi 
 ness perhaps far more than half of that of the young. The 
 stream that runs clear must be clear at the fountain. My 
 dear sister, you quite over-estimated my writing you from 
 Washington. What is there in a passing tribute from the 
 world that weighs for one moment against that love which 
 began with life, and which is as indestructible as the soul ? 
 If you were not my sister, my dear Frances, your friendship, 
 the friendship of a heart so ardent and warm as yours, would 
 amount to more than all the world has ever offered to me ; 
 this is simple undemonstrable truth. I deserve no praise 
 for what is a part of the constitution of the mind a part of 
 that chain with which He, who is love, hath bound us to 
 gether." 
 
Life and Letters. 217 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to K. M. Scdgwick. 
 
 44 Newport, August 13, 1831. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, I have not written to you since I 
 arrived here 1 Marvelous, is it not ? Well, you will not dis 
 believe me when I say that you are almost always present 
 to my mind. At first when we arrived here, M. and I felt 
 pretty doleful. We have an apartment that has no view but 
 of potatoes and ragged seringas, and the walls, in conse 
 quence of the prevailing dampness here, smell like mouldy 
 plaster something of a contrast to our home privileges. 
 Then every thing is in such a rude and liomely style, com 
 pared with our other watering-places. But, on more experi 
 ence, we find pleasures and comforts developing. There is 
 no ceremony, no fussing about dress. The family are all 
 friendly, the walks and the rides are beautiful beyond de 
 scription, and the bathing ! Oh, dear Kate, I am sure the 
 breakers never swell over me that I do not think of you. 
 How you would scream with delight as you rose from the 
 passing wave ! * * * * We are, I assure you, droll figures 
 when we are rigged, and then the variety of groups that go 
 in, in black, white, and gray t portly old ladies, and slim young 
 girls, now and then a beautiful young creature whose head 
 
 looks like a mermaid M C , for instance when 
 
 her head rises from the water, and her beautiful hair wreathes 
 in its natural curls over her swan-like neck. Then the 
 groups arc varied with nurses and children, and strapping 
 black women bathing their over-delicate young mistresses. 1 
 * * 
 
 Afiss Scdgwick to Afrs. IVatson. 
 
 " Stockbridgc, November 25, 1831. 
 
 44 MY DEAREST SISTER, It is just one week to-day since 
 you left us. Had any marked change occurred in the ob- 
 
 K 
 
2i8 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 ject of all our present cares and watchings, I should have 
 apprized you of it. Jane and I both think there is a gradu 
 al, though scarcely perceptible diminution in the operation 
 of the functions of nature. For the last three days Harry 
 has articulated but once, and attempted it but twice. How 
 long his mind will remain in its silent prison we can not tell. 
 That he is spared a consciousness of the intense and throb 
 bing interest with which we watch him is a mercy. I some 
 times realize that this profound repose is given to his mind 
 the better to prepare it for the intense joy of release, for the 
 love, the rapture of heaven. But you know, my dear sister, 
 how bitter thoughts of the past will cloud our brightest 
 hopes, and how our kindred flesh shrinks as we advance to 
 the last struggles of mortality. But I hope that our trust in 
 God will enable us to sustain every trial with meekness and 
 thankfulness, and that we shall be able to say, as our suffer 
 ing brother said, as our earthly happiness is all vanishing 
 away, I love God better than I did in health. Though 
 he slay me, yet will I trust in him. " 
 
 On December 22, 1831, Miss Sedgwick wrote in her diary: 
 " Days of sorrow, wintry days, have followed the serene, lux 
 urious days of summer. My life is now passed under a 
 deep, desolate shadow. My brother he whose web of life 
 from my cradle has been interwoven with mine, so that it 
 seems to me they can not be parted without shattering the 
 whole texture my clear Harry is sinking away. Day after 
 day Jane and I watch over him, but we can convey no feel 
 ing of ours to his mind ; we can get no intimation from that 
 silent prison-house. We look on the features that have al 
 ways been the medium of kindness and ardent affection 
 they are the same ; intelligence, composure, and deep seri 
 ousness are expressed there no inanity, no approach to va 
 cancy nor weakness. The mind must still exist, and He 
 
Life an tt Letters. 219 
 
 who breathed into him that glowing, ever-active, ever-soar 
 ing spirit, will guard and keep it, though it has pleased Him 
 to close up all the avenues by which we approached it." 
 
 The next day the merciful gates of release were opened. 
 The sister s mourning was as if a portion of her life were 
 rent away, but without a shadow of repining, and the next 
 year she was able to write : " This is the anniversary of my 
 dear brother s death. How vividly has memory presented 
 to me that day of anguish ! 1 have lived it over again, but 
 softened by time, by a more grateful sense of the mercy that 
 closed his life without more physical suffering, and, I think, 
 with a more distinct anticipation of a reunion. I seem 
 sometimes to catch the glimmering light of another morn 
 ing. My dear Harry, my heart has been faithful to your 
 memory." 
 
 When time had softened the anguish of this blow, and 
 passionate grief had calmed into tender recollection, a sc 
 ries of happy and prosperous years opened to Miss Seclg- 
 wick. She drew fresh life from the charming groups of 
 nephews and nieces growing up around her, to whom she 
 was a radiant centre of entertainment and affection. She 
 loved them with a triple love, made up of her strong natu 
 ral interest in young people, her devotion to these as the 
 children of brothers and sisters who were dearer to her than 
 life, and the affection called forth by their individual charac 
 ters; and they, in return, made her their confidante, their ad 
 viser, the sharer of all their hopes, pleasures, and anxieties 
 their mutual rallying-point of inspiration and excitement. 
 No plan could be carried out without " Aunt Kitty s" coun 
 sel, no amusement complete without her participation. Her 
 coming was the signal of happiness and festivity, and her 
 departure never made her friends " twice glad." One of 
 her oldest nieces writes her in 1832 : 
 
 " I never went into your room in one of my saddest 
 
220 J^ifti of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 moods that I did not come out with a smile that you had 
 conjured up, and most mysteriously, for I am sure I could 
 never account for it; and when I have thought of the change 
 in my feelings in going to and returning from you, I have 
 been almost disposed to believe in fairy work. But, not to 
 derogate from you, I have accounted for it in the only ra 
 tional way the supremacy a superior mind must always 
 have over an inferior, so as to turn darkness into light, and 
 perplexity into peace, if not joy. All must be darkness and 
 perplexity now, for you are not here to turn them into light 
 and joy, and can you wonder that I miss you ?" 
 
 This expresses the common feeling of her family, and, to 
 the day of her death, her presence was always felt by each 
 as an honor as well as a comfort. 
 
 Her love for children was peculiarly tender. " She and 
 every child who came near her/ 1 says her niece, " were al 
 ways bound together by the strongest mutual attraction, and 
 her devotion to her particular pets was sometimes a source 
 of annoyance to older friends. Until I was quite a big girl, 
 she made it her practice always to lie down beside me when 
 I went to bed, and tell me a story no matter what friends 
 were impatiently waiting for her to reappear and she con 
 tinued the custom with my children. Her stories were in 
 vented at the moment, and often continued, like Schehera 
 zade s, for a number of nights, and in that case she was oc 
 casionally reproved for mistakes in the names of the char 
 acters, or in regard to the various incidents. At seventy- 
 five I have seen her sit on the floor and play Hunt the 
 Slipper with as much zest as any of the children. She en 
 couraged the most affectionate familiarity of manner. A 
 lovely little girl, one of her nieces, once exclaimed, on 
 hearing some one say how much she respected Miss Sedg- 
 wick, Rethpect Aunt Kitty 1 why, I couldn t rethpect Aunt 
 Kitty I 1 " 
 
Life and Letters, 221 
 
 Nothing could have delighted " Aunt Kitty" more than 
 such evidence of that love which " casteth out fear." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick was now at the height of her literary pop 
 ularity. The rapid sale of her books was proof positive of 
 their acceptance with the public, while from friends and 
 strangers came the most gratifying testimony not only to 
 their artistic merit, but also to their moral power and real 
 usefulness. It was at this time that she began to write es 
 pecially for the young, and for those who needed instruction 
 in some of the primary studies of the world s-great school, 
 and between 1834 and 1837, besides the " Linwoods," one 
 of the most beautiful and elaborate of her novels, appeared 
 " Home," " The Poor Rich Man/ the " Love Token," and 
 " Live and Let Live, 11 names fragrant in memory for the ex 
 quisite dramatic truth and beauty which carried straight to 
 the heart their lessons of human brotherhood, healthy living, 
 plain practical sense, and deep religious feeling. The fol 
 lowing extract from the letter of a country physician, a per 
 sonal stranger to Miss Sedgwick, is given, although of a 
 somewhat later date, as a specimen of the heartfelt tribute 
 constantly paid to her from this time a tribute making 
 thankful both the giver and the receiver. 
 
 . Cumurings to Jlftss Sedgwiek. 
 
 44 August, 1851. 
 
 ****** Were I not in a most difficult position to leave 
 (having wound myself into the affections of parents and 
 children), I would devote the remainder of my life to the 
 diffusion of your books among my fellow-mortals, which I 
 think would be doing God service, and one of the best mis 
 sions yet undertaken, and would do more to hasten forward 
 the millennium, that all are so anxious to see, than all the 
 sectarian preaching in the land. This may look a little like 
 enthusiasm perhaps it is but to me it is Gospel truth, and 
 
222 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 I have now put more than fifty volumes of the books in circu 
 lation in this region, and have got our Unitarian minister to 
 say he will give a copy of Home to every couple he marries." 
 
 Nor were letters of praise and gratitude the only ones 
 that poured in upon her from unknown correspondents, but 
 letters of inquiry, of suggestion, demands of sympathy, re 
 quests for advice on private or literary concerns, for assist 
 ance from purse or pen, crowded upon her, and all received 
 kindly attention. Compliments of every kind were offered to 
 her, some gratifying, some amusing. The Historical Socie 
 ty of Pennsylvania elected her an honorary member, and the 
 Nu Pi Kappa Literary Society of Kenyon College, Ohio, 
 did itself the honor to inscribe her name upon its list. 
 
 Meanwhile she kept up a constant and active correspond 
 ence not only with her brothers and sisters, but with nieces 
 and nephews, cousins and friends innumerable, both in this 
 country and in Europe. She exchanged letters with Sis- 
 moncli for more than twenty years, and with Miss Martinenu 
 for several years after her visit to Stockbriclge, of which an 
 interesting sketch will be given later in this volume. Her 
 interest in the concerns of her friends went into the most 
 minute particulars, and she was, in the words of her niece, 
 " The confidante and adviser of every body who came near 
 her. I have often," she says, " known her make some new 
 acquaintances at a watering-place, who, after two or three 
 days intercourse with her, would pour out to her the whole 
 secret history of their hearts." 
 
 Her long and affectionate friendship with Mrs. Jameson 
 dates from this period, and it was now also that she first 
 saw Mrs. Fanny Kemblc, and that her enthusiastic admira 
 tion for the inimitable actress warmed and deepened into a 
 love for the noble woman which proved a bond of life-long 
 strength and beauty. 
 
Life and Letters. 223 
 
 About this time, also, her warmest sympathies were aroused 
 by the arrival in New York of the noble band of Italian pa 
 triots released by the Austrian government from the dun 
 geons of Spielberg on condition of eternal exile from their 
 native land. She and her brothers were among the first to 
 welcome Confalonieri, Maroncelli, Foresti, and their fellow- 
 sufferers, and to give them, in fervent sympathy and admira 
 tion, cordial hospitality and generous assistance, all that a 
 foreign country could offer in compensation for their misfor 
 tunes. They came as strangers, but strangers they were not 
 long, for the noble personal qualities of most of these mar 
 tyrs for freedom soon changed mere respect and compas 
 sion into devoted friendship, and the Sedgwick family in 
 especial entered upon intimate relations with nearly all 
 of them.* No one can remember without strong interest 
 either the personal appearance of these gentlemen their 
 stately forms, bent and sometimes crippled from long im 
 prisonment j their faces, where the well-known beauty of 
 their race was marred by the deep lines cut by grief, anxie 
 ty, and privation ; their great earnestness of manner, which 
 seemed to spring from latent passion held in strong check, 
 
 * Miss Sedgwick herself says, speaking of the Italian exiles, "Several 
 of them became intimate in our family, and closely bound to it by rever 
 ence and affection on our side; they were men of superior intelligence 
 and education honorable gentlemen, true-hearted, loving men, ingots 
 of gold that had contracted no alloy in the subjection of their coun 
 try, Confalonieri, Forcsti, Albinola, and our Castillia became our dear 
 friends. Castillia came to pass a few months at my sister Jane s ; those 
 months extended to years. lie was as a brother to her an elected 
 brother to us all and most tenderly beloved by her children. He pos 
 sessed all the virtues that one can name, and in their most attractive 
 forms. He was a Catholic such a Catholic as Fonclon was, as St. 
 Paul was, clothed in the whole armor of God. Hut Castillia had 
 more of St. John than St. Paul, and as appropriately might that apostle, 
 who is to us the impersonation of all Gospel love and gentleness, have 
 been f/tni/M/ in a dungeon as Castillia.* 1 
 
224 JLife of Catharine Jlf. Sedgwick. 
 
 or the honorable resolution with which they supported them 
 selves by teaching their own language, and the accomplish 
 ments which had been the ornaments of their youth. Miss 
 Sedgwick was indefatigable in obtaining pupils for them. 
 Her love of liberty and hatred of oppression ; her reverence 
 for those who had risked and lost all for. freedom s sake, 
 and her regard for them as her friends, all kindled her zeal, 
 and for some time she was so engrossed by these interests 
 that her older acquaintances protested that all attempts to 
 gain her attention were bootless unless the subject were 
 stamped with the magic seal of Italy and patriotism. She 
 was now in the midst of a large and brilliant circle, con 
 stantly courted and flattered by the world, her presence ev 
 ery where sought, and her notice eagerly coveted, and she 
 used all her power and influence to benefit the exiles. She 
 had the full sympathy and co-operation of her family. The 
 younger members were all seized with an enthusiastic de 
 sire to study the Italian language and literature. They 
 spent much time on it even in the busy winters of New 
 York, and in summer, when the clan was usually gathered 
 in Berkshire, where Stockbridge and Lenox were becoming 
 more and more attractive each year to visitors in the warm 
 season, large classes were easily formed to provide employ 
 ment for the fascinating teachers, and delightful months 
 were passed by instructors and pupils among those beauti 
 ful hills and valleys months of refreshing out-of-door free 
 dom and enjoyment, enhanced by intercourse with refined 
 and cultivated people. Miss Sedgwick heartily enjoyed this 
 country life, and, though a busy woman, always found leisure 
 to encourage and share its wholesome and inspiring pleas 
 ures. Her summer home was now at Lenox, in her brother 
 Charles s house, to which, for her especial accommodation, 
 had been added a wing, gradually enlarged till it contained 
 four or five rooms, and gave her space and opportunity for 
 
JLife and Letters. 225 
 
 independent hospitality, in which she took great pleasure. 
 Her little guest-chamber was seldom empty during the sum 
 mer, and endless were the entertainments, pic-nics, tea- 
 drinkings, evening gatherings over which she presided, re 
 ceiving the distinguished and the insignificant with equal 
 grace and welcome. Yet hers was not a loose and undis- 
 criminating kindness. No one had a keener eye for pre 
 tension and folly ; she was too quick-witted not to be very 
 sensitive to the attacks of that ravager of society, the bore ; 
 and she was so alive to the ludicrous side of all things, that 
 if the natural sweetness of her disposition had not been re- 
 enforced by an intelligent and highly-cultivated humanity, it 
 might not have restrained her wit from scorching where it 
 touched, instead of brightening her social circle as it did 
 
 " With summer lightnings of a soul 
 
 So full of summer warmth, so glad, 
 
 So healthy, sound, and clear, and whole, 
 
 Her memory scarce makes us sad." 
 
 Afiss Sedgivick to JDr. JPomcroy.* 
 
 " New York, April 29, 1832. 
 
 " MY DEAR DOCTOR, I am seldom bold enough to doubt 
 the wisdom of your decisions, but it seems to me that your 
 better judgment has been led captive by your humanity to 
 ward a portion of the community who, from having been the 
 objects of desertion and despair, have suddenly become the 
 chief subjects of effort, hope, and Christian love. I am not 
 surprised at Louis s zeal, but that you and other judicious, 
 and thinking, and patriotic members of our village society 
 should have banded together to introduce into our still pas 
 tures and by our sweet water-courses, amid our flocks of de 
 fenseless sheep and lambs, these state-prison wolves, is, I 
 
 * Dr. Pomcroy was interested in the establishment of a Home for Dis 
 charged Convicts, which it was at this time proposed to place in the 
 neighborhood of Stockbridge. 
 
 K 2 
 
226 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 confess, a mystery to me. I entreat yjju to reconsider the 
 matter to think how great a portion of our peace and hap 
 piness results from the safe character of our people, from 
 the security with which we can go out and come in, and lay 
 our heads on our pillows at night. If the effort must be 
 made, there are places thinly inhabited, remote from vil 
 lages, that would be more suitable. Has a colony ever been 
 thought of in some part of our fine unoccupied territory ? 
 In the name of Heaven, let some other portion of this hab 
 itable globe be selected than our village. It seems to me 
 that the well-being of the virtuous and moral part of the 
 community, those who have done nothing to forfeit their 
 rights, ought to be considered. Think of the amount of 
 fear that will be inspired by these people ; and that, as soon 
 as experience (should experience teach us they are as harm 
 less as Louis* thinks them) has reconciled us to the pres 
 ence of a certain portion, another untried, unproved, arrives. 
 Think of the defenselessness of our community, composed 
 as it is chiefly of women. Think, my dear brother, of what 
 wilt touch you as nearly as any thing that it will probably 
 drive Jane to a removal from Stockbridge, and keep all who 
 have a choice of residence from going there. Brother The 
 odore was quite displeased with the view we all took of the 
 matter by all I mean Robert, Elizabeth, George, and my 
 self; but he has received a remonstrating letter from Susan, 
 and has written to Louis to suspend his subscription. What 
 does your son Theodore think of the matter? and what may 
 be the amount of the probability that the project will be car 
 ried into execution ? We are all rejoiced that you are com 
 ing to town. My best love to all, and, with the most earnest 
 prayers that you will not aid or abet the building up of this 
 charity, I am, as ever, yours truly, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 * Louis Dwight, a cousin of Miss Sedgwick, long connected with tho 
 Prison Discipline Society in Massachusetts. 
 
Life and letters. 227 
 
 Miss Scdgwifk to Mr. Robert Sedgwick. 
 
 " Stockbridge, September II, 1832. 
 
 " MY DEAREST ROBERT, I received your letter last night 
 by T. S. P., who arrived here at 8 o clock, only thirteen hours 
 from New York. This is an annihilation of space of which 
 our forefathers never dreamed. And what would the Indian 
 of three centuries ago say, who probably considered it the 
 work of a lifetime to find his way through the various tribes 
 that intervened between him and the great waters ? * * * * 
 L. did not go till this morning. However, I do not think 
 she lost yesterday, as it was one of the most golden days 
 ever breathed upon this earth, and I devoted almost the 
 whole of it to rambling over the hills and by the river-side 
 with her and F. myself almost as much a child as either 
 of them. L. has what I consider one of the most fortunate 
 gifts an exquisite susceptibility to the beauties of nature. 
 She is the most delightful creature for a scramble." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Miss K. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 44 New York, December 9, 1832. 
 
 * * * * <( oh, my beloved child, how lonesome it is here 
 without you ! If you could have seen how I felt in filling 
 the drawers, and the various nooks and crannies that you had 
 occupied, you would have pitied me. * * * * You have 
 grown from being my pet to be my companion and friend, 
 and from rilling that little snug cabinet-corner in my heart 
 you have diffused yourself over my whole existence, and 
 what can I do without you ? But I am not without you ; 
 you are present to my thoughts always in my memory of 
 the past, and hopes of the future. ***** It strikes n. 
 Good-night, my beloved Kate. Good-night to all the dear 
 dwellers in Lenox. * * * * 
 
 " 7 o* clock A.M. What a glorious morning I It is strange, 
 
228 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 but true, that I never missed the country quasi-country (I 
 tremble at my temerity in using a crumb of the learned 
 tongues in such a presence) as I do this year. I long to 
 have my eye rest on those mountains. I had rather see the 
 muddy roads, even, than the pavements ; rather stumble 
 down to Debby s in the dark than go by lamplight ; and the 
 brick walls make my eyes sore. I meant to have written a 
 farewell note to your dear mother to thank her for hers, and 
 to tell her how sadly I was disappointed not to see her again. 
 My tenderest love to her and to father ; tell him I hated to 
 untie the cords that were the sign to me of his last labor of 
 love last of what a host I" * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Miss JK. M. Scdgwifk. 
 
 41 New York, January 31, 1833. 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, You will, I know, be disappointed 
 
 at receiving no intelligence from me this week. Mr. ! 
 
 the very mention of his name gives the explanation of all 
 delays. Our packets of various kinds, after awaiting him 
 for weeks, were put into his hands last Saturday bundles, 
 letters, notes, and all ; and when nothing else, could detain 
 him, his evil genius appeared in the shape of gout When 
 he will go time only can decide. I dare not venture to re 
 claim the things to go by the colonel, for I am sure he can 
 
 not take them ; and when Mr. does go, they will go 
 
 safely, and no man on earth is so generous in this way as he. 
 He is like the horse that had but one fault under heaven 
 he never would go. I have been all day sitting with Mars- 
 ton, getting a smart handkerchief made for a party, and no 
 old miser could have groaned more than I have over the 
 cost of satin, blonde, etc., outwardly and inwardly. I have 
 thought of at least the hundred and one good uses that I 
 might have made of the money. Your Aunt Lizzy, whose 
 energy worked me up to the extravagance, sits by and says, 
 
Life and Letters. 229 
 
 Nonsense ; you d think nothing of it if it were for Kate. 1 
 Ah I that alters the case. * For Kate ! ah I there I feel the 
 old-fashioned love that decked * in silks and jewels sheen. 
 Can not you see my room, the table, the old plaid cloth, the 
 writing-desk, the medley of portfolios, books, and manu 
 scripts, here a little bit of satin, there a bit of tulle, and poor 
 Marston deep in the mysteries of piping and folds ? I was 
 sorry you were not here for the fancy-ball at Berteau s. * * * 
 L. was very prettily dressed, but not in fancy. Her mother 
 told her she sent her as an American lady, a character Mrs. 
 Trollope would think the most fanciful of all." * * * * 
 
 Mis s Sedgwick to Miss K. M. Scdgwick. 
 
 " New York, February 8, 1833. 
 
 ****** I wish you would read Mercutio s description 
 of the fairy s car that causes dreams, and then could imag 
 ine the effect Kemble gave it by his recitation. It seemed, 
 as he delivered it, as if one brilliant conceit after another 
 flashed through his brain. 
 
 " We had a person to pass the evening a few nights since 
 who is a kindred spirit of Mr. Tuckerman.* He is a me 
 chanic, a jeweler Mr. Joseph Curtis. He has about thirty 
 boys, who all live with him. His object is to have them 
 well taught their trade, and well educated in other respects, 
 and to have vigilant moral education going on. They have 
 a republican self-government. They select juries from their 
 own body, and always submit to the verdict rendered. Dur 
 ing the cholera he determined it was best to keep up the es 
 tablishment. One of the boys had a dramatic turn, wrote 
 dialogues, then a little play. Some of them were fond of 
 music, and others had a taste for drawing, and made some 
 scenery. Among them they got up private theatricals, and 
 
 * Joseph Tuckerman, the well-known philanthropist and missionary 
 at large in Boston. 
 
230 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 when all the rest of the city were flying, or in consternation, 
 they were well and gay, did their day s work, and had their 
 regular evening-school, and their occasional theatre. Tell 
 your Uncle Major this. Some of the boys learn French and 
 Spanish. He has journeymen whom he credits $50 a week. 
 He is one of the most interesting philanthropists I ever met 
 with. Simple, apparently quite free from vanity, benignant, 
 and acute, but uneducated, which he deeply regrets. I have 
 enough to fill a folio about him. He is at present engaged 
 in a plan for instituting an efficient moral police for the 
 whole city." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Frank C/ianning. 
 
 "New York, February 12, 1833. 
 
 ****** We have had a droll time getting up a society 
 in our Church. I do not think it is within a woman s pre 
 scribed destiny to do any public duty. We are, some of us, 
 very ridiculous persons in full light. After claiming rights 
 and surrendering them, caballing and diplomatizing no, I 
 will not ; I am betraying the secrets of our order, and we 
 ought, for our own dignity, to be as secret as the Freema 
 sons. 
 
 "We are just now in the full flush of excitement about 
 Fanny Ke.mble. She is a most captivating creature, steeped 
 to the very lips in genius. You will not see her till the mid 
 dle of April. Do not, if you can bear unmixed tragedy, do 
 not fail to see her Belvidera. I have never seen any woman 
 on the stage to be compared with her, nor ever an actor that 
 delighted me so much. She is most effective in a true 
 woman s character, fearful, tender, and true. On the stage 
 she is beautiful, far more than beautiful ; her face is the 
 mirror of her soul. I have been to see her : she is a quiet 
 gentlewoman in her deportment." * * * * 
 
JLife and Letters. 231 
 
 Jlfiss Sedgwick to Afrs. Watson. 
 
 " New York, Feb. 20, 1833. 
 
 " We have been very gay of late, and excited by the en 
 chantress Fanny Kemble, I owe her some delightful hours, 
 when I have felt something approaching to the enraptured 
 feeling of youth. There is no sensation more delicious than 
 that you experience from the mastery of genius, that re 
 stores for a moment the flexibility of youth, and fires and 
 melts you at will. She is a most gifted and accomplished 
 creature, and very graceful and attractive in her manners. 
 Her father is a gentlemanly man and fine actor, but he has 
 not her moments of inspiration. She resembles E., and at 
 first you would not think her handsome, but her face has the 
 whole range of human expression." 
 
 Miss Stdgwick to Rev. Dr. Channing. 
 
 41 New York, May 20, 1833. 
 
 ****! h av e been particularly desirous to ask your 
 advice in relation to the publication of a MS. article sent 
 to me by Sismondi to translate. He is very anxious that it 
 should be disseminated and ra?s/here. It is a very interest 
 ing communication on the emancipation of slaves. We have 
 been at a loss whether it were best to make a pamphlet of 
 it, or to attempt to get it into the North American. I have 
 hoped that you might, if your health permitted, write a re 
 view of it, as it is a subject that transcends almost every 
 other in its importance to the interests of humanity that 
 great best cause to which it is your happiness to be de 
 voted." 
 
 In the summer of 1833 Miss Sedgwick made a journey to 
 the Virginia Springs in company with Mr. and Mrs. Robert 
 Sedgwick and a charming young friend. 
 
232 -Lift of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Miss K. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 " Richmond, Va., June 18, 1833. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, I have just finished a letter to 
 your father, and am beginning a journal to you, to be writ 
 ten more leisurely. The boat we were in yesterday from 
 Norfolk was delightful. Imagine how different from the 
 North River boats not more than fifty passengers, almost 
 every one of the respectable order ; a little cabin on deck 
 for the ladies, a sort of lounge or boudoir, furnished with 
 three delightful sofas, low chairs, a Boston rocking-chair, 
 and mirrors enough for a party of Circassian beauties, which 
 certainly we were not, bating F. C. 
 
 " Richmond is a pleasing-looking place as you approach, 
 and, from a distance, does not look unlike Albany. The 
 Capitol, an imposing edifice, is on the summit of the highest 
 of the three hills on which the city is built. There are some 
 very handsome houses, but, for the most part, the town has 
 a dilapidated aspect. Yesterday morning a nephew of our 
 friend Mr. Randolph Randolph of Wilton (this is their 
 feudal manner of designating the proprietors of their great 
 domains) called to see us, and invited us to take a drive 
 six miles to his estate of Wilton. His parents are dead, 
 and this young man a fine specimen of Virginian charac 
 ter, his face expressive of frankness and generosity, and his 
 person of the fearless, bold habits of a country gentleman 
 and sportsman has succeeded to the estate. We went in 
 a carriage, and he on a fine blood-horse, and his cousin 
 Harrison, on the best horse he could get, attended us. The 
 estate comprises 2196 acres of land on the James River, 
 and about one hundred and fifty slaves. The house is of 
 wood, and more than a hundred years old. The spacious 
 wainscoted rooms, the high ceilings, the broad staircase and 
 fine hall, give you a very magnificent idea of the grandeur 
 
Life and Letters. 233 
 
 of its former proprietors, who so long ago had an establish 
 ment that wants nothing but a fitting up to vie with modern 
 elegance. But such ruin ! broken-down fences, a falling 
 piazza, defaced paint, banisters tied up with ropes, etc. At 
 the gate we were met by two little slave urchins whose limbs 
 were scarcely covered with rags. The walls of one of the 
 apartments was covered with ancestral paintings. The Wil 
 ton Randolphs being the eldest branch, they have all the 
 pictures. The slaves fancy this room is haunted, and it is a 
 common punishment for the young offenders to shut them 
 up in this spectral apartment. There are some fine old 
 trees on the place, two superb catalpas, and I should think 
 many beautiful walks, but a pouring rain prevented our see 
 ing any thing except from the house. The family burial- 
 ground is on the estate. There are a few pieces of modern 
 furniture, but the general aspect of the house is that of a 
 forlorn ruin. The gallant young proprietor has, however, an 
 ample fortune, and is going to put it in complete order, and, 
 as it is, he gives dcjeftners and balls. He pressed us to stay 
 and take a snack 1 (a lunch), but we returned after wander 
 ing up and down the long arcades, and taking the Virginia 
 beverage, a bonafide mint julep/ * * * * 
 
 " There would be much, my dear Kate, to interest you 
 here. There is nothing, of course, offensive in slavery as 
 we see it in this hotel. The servants arc well dressed, civil, 
 and accomplished in their way. I have, as yet, seen noth 
 ing on the table different from ours except their varieties 
 of corn-bread and cakes. They have chickens, but they are 
 not bigger than pigeons. Their raspberries are nearly gone, 
 and apricots are ripe. The streets are not paved nor light 
 ed. No slaves are permitted to be out after nine. The 
 houses are not numbered, nor the streets known by their 
 names ; their only directions are this side or that side the 
 Bell or the Eagle. The slaves that I see about the streets 
 
234 ^i# of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 and in the country look to me downcast or surly, but this 
 may be fancy." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Miss J. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 "Warm Springs, Bath County, Va., June 26, 1833. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, Here we arrived this morning a 
 little past nine. It is the first in the line of springs in this 
 mountainous country a basin scooped out of the mountain^, 
 and guarded and fenced by them on every side. In coming 
 from Cloverdale this morning but stop 1 just fancy us at 
 Cloverdale, after a most fatiguing ride of sixty miles, fully 
 equal to a hundred in our country, over sands that, for the 
 most part, we should consider impracticable there called 
 before three on a rainy, dark morning, to resume our travel 
 ing over roads that we were told were worse than any thing 
 we had seen ! Twelve passengers were our complement, 
 and we broke our thorough brace three miles on our way, 
 just as a fresh shower set in I Half a dozen negroes were 
 summoned ; we all alighted except Aunt Lizzy, who never 
 leaves her seat ; the coach was pryed up, a chain, made for 
 the wheel-shoe, substituted, and we came on safely. The 
 coachmen and horses are most excellent throughout the 
 country. After jolting our lives out, we struck a very fine 
 turnpike which crosses the Warm Spring Mountain, a branch 
 of the Alleghany. We ascended for four miles, winding up 
 a road resembling the ascent of the CaUkill, but affording 
 glimpses of far more beautiful mountain scenery. When we 
 reached the summit, or, as they call it here, the 4 Notch/ the 
 grandest scene my eyes ever lit on, save Niagara, was un 
 der my eye. An amphitheatre of deep, deep glens below, 
 mountain rising over mountain, one stretching beyond an 
 other, some in conical peaks, others in soft, wavy lines, and 
 others broken into fantastic shapes, the sunbeams here and 
 there piercing the dark, flying clouds, and giving to the 
 
Life and Letters. 235 
 
 whole scene the effect of a painter s light ; and the most 
 beautiful point of all, a shower streaming from the clouds 
 over one of the peaks, like Niagara etherealized. If we 
 were heathens we should have imagined it the descent of a 
 god, but, being Christians, dear Kate, it appeared to us one 
 of those ineffable forms of beauty to which the Divinity had 
 said, * Let it be, 1 and it was. We forgot all our fatigues, 
 anxieties, joltings, and hair-breadth scapes, but it was such 
 a brief pleasure that I am going up the mountain again this 
 P.M. to enjoy one more view of it. * * * * 
 
 " We found a delightful breakfast awaiting us, and fine 
 venison steaks. Venison is the staple meat of this part of 
 the country, and is not like the dry, half-fattened, uncooked 
 meat that our Epicureans feast upon. The country taverns 
 of Virginia are the beau ideal of inns, shaded, quiet, and 
 clean, with the greatest abundance of the prime luxuries of 
 life, and, above all, attendants good and plentiful. This is 
 one good of this horrid blight of slavery, which seems to me 
 far worse since I have seen it. The Virginians resemble 
 strikingly our plain, country, New England people. They 
 are better-mannered, more frank and cheerful. Our land 
 lady here Mrs. Fry looks like a respectable farmer s wife 
 of Lee j her cap and gown must have been cut somewhere 
 about the paper factory. Their house the only one here 
 
 is as unpretending as Deacon s, but abounding in 
 
 comforts. They have a fashion here which is peculiar to 
 the Virginia Springs. We are lodged in cabins about forty 
 
 yards from the main building. F C and I occupy 
 
 one of two apartments. I am now sitting by a door that 
 opens upon a green field bordered by the mountain. This 
 may be inconvenient in bad weather, but the quiet retire 
 ment is delicious, and so is the separation from all the bustle 
 and slam-banging of a hotel like Lebanon. Below the main 
 building is the great bath. It is inclosed by a sort of rotun- 
 
236 JLifc of Cat/iarhie M. Sedgwtik. 
 
 da as much as thirty feet in diameter, and this filled from 
 four to six feet deep with the warm water, at a natural tem 
 perature of 96 degrees. No warm bath can be more deli 
 cious ; the water is bubbling about you, and, instead of the 
 beautiful Princess Zorahayda, you may imagine a thousand 
 water-spirits dancing and sporting about you." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwtik to Dr. jPomeroy. 
 
 White Sulphur Springs, July 3, 1833. 
 
 " Tell the girls that F. and I are in great hopes that one 
 of us has captivated an Orleans planter who has some dozen 
 sugar and cotton plantations. The favorable symptom on 
 my side is that he confides to me all his lamentations over 
 his dear first wife 1 (her miniature is actually under my pil 
 low at this moment) ; but then he is at a very suitable age for 
 me, which a widower is apt to think the most unsuitable in 
 the world, so I fear F. will get the plantations. This region 
 is an inestimable gift to the Southern people such a cool, 
 delicious, invigorating atmosphere. It makes these liver- 
 colored men at least think of youth and roses. Robert has 
 just been up to my cabin to say that we proceed up to the 
 Salt Springs to-morrow morning. He has ascertained that 
 the Lexington road can be traveled " with faith" bad as 
 the Purgatory hills arc but that the devil can t get through 
 the Valley of the Shenandoah ; so we shall probably go 
 from Staunton to Fredericksburg, City of Washington, and 
 home! Blessings on the word. Love to all. Yours as 
 ever, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Robert Serfgwick. 
 
 " Lenox, September 15, 1833, 
 
 * * * * " How happy must you be to hear nothing but 
 good of your children 1 L. is a charming creature. I have 
 hardly ever seen a child of such promise. This is not flat- 
 
Lift: and Letters. 237 
 
 tery or exaggeration. Should she live, I trust she will be a 
 creature of rare intellectual and moral superiority. Her af 
 fections are strong and tender. Truth (which seems to be 
 the foundation of moral power and dignity) is not only with 
 her a principle, but it is an original constituent of her char 
 acter ; and with this, which is rare, she is imaginative. She 
 has that spirit of poetry that gives a soul to nature and a 
 charm to feeling. Her aunt thinks she has remarkable ca 
 pacities for acquisition. She studies her Latin con amore. 
 It would delight you to see how she is beloved here, and the 
 intercourse she has with her uncle, who mingles with the 
 natural affection of his relation to her a sort of playful, lov 
 er-like fondness, inspired by her individual character. . 
 is an excellent boy, and, I think, deriving great advantages 
 from his residence here. Whatever the country may be to 
 girls, it certainly develops the character of boys much fast 
 er than town can. Other things equal, the boy who is part 
 ly educated in the country must be superior to the town 
 boy. This driving, riding, harnessing (E. can partly harness 
 the horse), taking care of the cow, feeding the pigs and the 
 chickens, are some of the best lessons in education. It 
 seems to me a great blessing in yours and Charles s condi 
 tion that this arrangement in relation to your children can 
 be made with such mutual advantage. It is delightful to 
 me, who stand in an equal relation to the children, to see 
 them growing up more like brothers and sisters than cous 
 ins. God grant that that affection, which was our most pre 
 cious inheritance which has been the sweetest blessing of 
 our lives, may continue long after we have ceased to watch 
 over it. Elizabeth is an admirable woman, and every day 
 improving in her qualifications for the task which she so he 
 roically performs. My dear Kate is this day thirteen yeara 
 old. I feel deeply thankful for the blessing she is and has 
 been to me. Few ever arrive at the threshold of woman- 
 
238 Life of Catharine AT. Sedgwick. 
 
 hood with brighter prospects. * * * * We have had the re 
 ligious agitators among us lately. They have produced some 
 effect on the factory girls, and such light and combustible 
 materials. One of the fanatics, being met by Blum, asked 
 to take a seat in his wagon. He began an exhortation by 
 asking him if he were a Christian. B., who had no other 
 idea of a Christian than as contradistinguished from a Jew, 
 took fire. He said it was very extrordinaire question 
 certainement, he was a Christian. 1 Do you read the Bible 
 every day ? I read it as often as is profitable. 1 And, re 
 peating the conversation to Ashburner, he said a man might 
 travel from one end of France to the other without such an 
 impertinence as being asked if he were a Christian. We 
 had an interesting religious address from Mark H. (who has 
 taken orders) a few evenings since. It was almost free from 
 sectarianism, and dwelt on topics that were familiar and af 
 fecting to the dwellers within the circle of our mountains. 
 How much our preachers might gain by touching those 
 strings within us which are attuned by an Almighty hand I" 
 
 >. Henry IVare to Miss Scdgwick* 
 
 * 4 Cambridge, January 31, 1834. 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss SEDGWICK, It was some time last year, 
 or last month, that I said I would write you a letter ; that I 
 do it now, and not a month hence, is to be considered by 
 you as more wonderful than that I did not do it three weeks 
 ago. My performance always marches in the rear of my 
 purpose. 
 
 " My first wish was to secure the use of your pen in the 
 composition of a volume for the Sunday Library, with a view 
 to which I wrote you a year since (nearly), but was prevent 
 ed from sending the letter by a new scheme which came 
 
 * This letter induced Miss Sedgwick to write " Home," the first in 
 the aeries of her minor works. 
 
Life and Letters. 239 
 
 into my head, and in which I should wish to have your aid. 
 That scheme I had at length given over, but have now, with 
 in a few days, returned to it again ; and when I have laid 
 it before you, I beg you will give me your advice about it, 
 and say whether you will give your aid to the first or the 
 last. It is a scheme for offering to the public an exhibition 
 of the practical character and influences of Christianity, il 
 lustrating its principles, its modes of operation on the heart 
 and character, and the manner in which men may avail 
 themselves of its power and peace. This may be done, it 
 seems to me, in a series of narratives, between a formal tale 
 and a common tract, so as to present to view an image, a 
 portrait of the Christian religion according to our under 
 standing of it, and at once enlighten readers by a familiar 
 exposition of principles, and improve them by a display of 
 their modes of operation. In a word, I fancy that a succes 
 sion of Illustrations of Christianity might be made to do as 
 much for religion as Illustrations of Political Economy for 
 that science ; or more, I fancy that the nature and efficacy 
 otftiit/i, the doctrine and duty of regeneration, the whole the 
 ory of the religious life in education, in the relations of lift , in 
 temptation, etc., etc., might be thus developed to great ad 
 vantage, and more efficiently than in many sermons. What 
 should you think of such an undertaking ? Will you take 
 part in it ? Will you tell me your mind respecting its feas 
 ibility, etc., etc. ? My idea is that several persons might be 
 found who would each write one or more numbers, and that 
 they should be published monthly. Another idea has been 
 that you should be persuaded to undertake the whole which 
 I hardly dared to propose, and therefore mention last, that 
 it may not come to you abruptly, and that it may hold the 
 place at the top of the climax, which always belongs to the 
 best suggestion. You could hardly be engaged, I think, in 
 a more useful service, or one of deeper interest. Will you 
 
2 4 o Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 think of it seriously, and relieve my impatience to learn the 
 result as soon as may be? For, though dilatory myself 
 while a subject is in my own keeping, I am apt to be in a 
 hurry when it is out of my hands. Very respectfully and 
 sincerely, your friend and servant, H. WARE, JR." 
 
 Journal. 
 
 "April 29, 1835. I have read Fanny Butler s book, most 
 of it with intense pleasure. It is like herself, and she is a 
 complex being, made up of glorious faculties, delightful ac 
 complishments, immeasurable sensibility, and half a hun 
 dred little faults. Let those find them and mark them who 
 have an appetite so to do. I have not. * * * * 
 
 "Saratoga Springs, July i, 1835. Here am I again at this 
 most vapid of all watering-places, but I have come, not for 
 pleasure so called, but for that in which to me is included 
 all pleasure, and happiness, and comfort, and joy, and what 
 ever has a pleasurable name my dear Charles s health. 
 
 * # # * A more leaden batch of women I never saw; noth 
 ing of the brilliancy of fashion, and nothing of the charm of 
 nature and individuality. They have gone just far enough 
 in civilization to obscure nature, and not far enough to pol 
 ish it. The varnish is on, the last touches not given. Well, 
 I care not for myself, though I would fain leave the drawing- 
 room and gossip with the laundresses under our windows. 
 
 * * * * Mrs. R. told a good story to-night of a down-Easter, 
 who, being charmed with her waltzing, begged her to repeat 
 it, and said he " would make it up to her," taking her for a 
 stage artist. The man was honest. * * * * 
 
 "Stockb ridge, August 9, 1835. Miss Martineau and her at 
 tendant have paid their last visit to our valley. I intended 
 to have been diligent in taking notes of our extraordinary 
 guest, but the time was so filled with quickly- succeeding 
 pleasures that it passed without any written record. She 
 
Life and Letters. 241 
 
 was here eight days. She has just returned from her South 
 ern and Western tour. She had been honored, praised, and 
 homaged, not to say worshiped, by the great as well as the 
 small. No woman has ever, perhaps, received so rich a 
 recompense of reward, and why ? I think, because her spir 
 it and influence have been in harmony with the spirit of the 
 age because she has gone with the current. She has de 
 voted God s good gifts to the use of his creatures. Other 
 women have shown as powerful a genius as hers, Mrs. Bar- 
 bauld, I think, superior ; Miss Edgeworth, more various tal 
 ents, and a fuller demonstration ; Mrs. Somerville, higher 
 attainments in science ; Mrs. Hemans, a more exquisite gift 
 in the loftiest department of imagination ; and Mrs. Jame 
 son, a more general cultivation, a richer imagination, and 
 the power of embodying her own rich thoughts in a more 
 poetic, more drawing-room, if not as vigorous a style. But 
 Miss Martineau, with a single eye to general good, has, with 
 the light of philosophy and religion on her path, devoted 
 herself, not to the intellectual amusement or advancement 
 of the gifted and educated, but to make bread more plentiful 
 in the husbandman s dwelling, and to still the cry of hunger 
 forever in the poor man s cottage, and with the bread that 
 perisheth to give him that which cometh down from heaven. 
 It is this that makes us all cry to her, Hail, thou favored 
 among women I * # * * Her dress is simple, unexpensive, 
 and appropriate. Her voice is too low-toned, but agreeable, 
 the suitable organ of a refined spirit. Her manners, with 
 out any elegance, are pleasing, natural, and kind. She sel 
 dom speaks unless addressed, but in reply to a single touch 
 she pours out a rich stream. She is never brilliant, never 
 says a thing that is engraven on, or cut />/, to your memory, 
 but she talks on a greater variety of topics than any one I 
 ever heard agreeably, most agreeably, and with sense and 
 information. She is womanly, strictly, with sympathies fresh 
 
 L 
 
242 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 from the heart, enthusiasms not always manifestly support 
 ed by reason, now and then bordering on the dogmatical, 
 but too thorough a lover of human rights ever, I think, to 
 overstep the boundary, and she is, I think, not conceited 
 no, not in the least, but quite aware of her own superiority, 
 and perhaps a little too frank on this point. But this may 
 be from a deficiency instead of excess of vanity. She is 
 a genuine lover of nature, a person quite superior to the 
 miserable little traveling vanities of her forerunners. She 
 never remarks on our conventional manners, and usually 
 adopts them ; for instance, she eats her egg out of a glass, 
 holds her fork in her left hand, and eats a hearty dinner 
 without grumbling, at one o clock. We had some delightful 
 drives together, when Nature, loo, seemed paying her its 
 beautiful tribute. She expressed herself as nauseated with 
 slavery; as having seen, or rather been let into, its demoral 
 izing tendencies by the communications of the Southern la 
 dies, who, she says, are bewildered with the perplexities of 
 their condition. She likes the Western people. But I per 
 ceive that, like all travelers, she is liable to false judgments 
 from one-sided views. * * * * The most interesting part of 
 her character is the sincerity and earnestness of her religion, 
 her lively, effective faith, her knowledge of the Scriptures, 
 and her delight in them as the records of her best friend. 
 How few of us read them even with the interest with which 
 we read a letter on common topics from one we love. I was 
 to have joined Miss M. at Boston, and accompanied her to 
 the White Hills, but Mrs. B. s visit intervenes, the season is 
 getting late, she can not put off, and I can not hasten, and so 
 I lose this delightful opportunity of going up to the high 
 places to worship with her.* 
 
 "Lenox, September 5, 1835. A little circumstance occurred 
 
 * Miss Sedgwick s views of Miss Martiucau s character were in aomc 
 respects painfully altered by subsequent developments. 
 
Life and Letters. 243 
 
 to-day, so characteristic of Charles, and so illustrative of the 
 happiness of the disinterested course, that * meet it is I set 
 it down. 1 As we were sitting at dinner expatiating on the 
 intense beauty of the day, Mr. Parker proposed a ride to 
 Stockbriclge, Charles eagerly accepted the proposition, and 
 was evidently anticipating as much pleasure as a ride in per 
 fect weather with an agreeable companion could give him. 
 Presently came a little urchin with a request from Mrs. W. 
 fur the horse and wagon. Charles made some inquiries as 
 to the when and where she wished to go, but could obtain no 
 satisfaction. I remonstrated against his lending the horse, 
 and said, petulantly, that if he would only be just to him 
 self, I did not care how generous he was to other people. 
 He went off to see, as he said, how the matter stood, and 
 end, as I was sure he would, in giving up the horse. In re 
 turning from our twilight walk we called at Mrs. W. s, and 
 such pleasure as she and the children had had, such grati 
 tude as she expressed 1 She had asked one of the little 
 children going down whom she loved. She replied (more 
 heedful of the source of her pleasure than most persons), 
 Mr. Seclgwick. Charles had his reward. He had made 
 five, great and small, rationally happy, and the best of it was, 
 he was the happiest of all. * * * * 
 
 "Monthly evening September 14, 1835. We have attended 
 the trial of poor young Benjamin Collins, a youth who, in a 
 moment of passion and intoxication, killed James Bevin, or, 
 as he was familiarly called, * Uncle Cobe Beaver, 1 who seems 
 to have been a sort of tame outlaw, one of those domestic 
 wild beasts that hover on the skirts of civilization. The 
 witnesses are the very lowest of our population, their lan 
 guage a dialect peculiar to themselves : for instance, I had 
 the temptation to go, for intention; I exposed^ for supposed; 
 made a /////, for halt ; sluiced and slung % for tipsy. * * * * 
 
 " Collins s case was terminated yesterday, and the verdict 
 
244 JLife of Catharine Af. S&fgivicfc. 
 
 of manslaughter rendered. Poor fellow ! and yet it was the 
 best we could hope for him, as the * law and the testimony 
 were against him the inflexible law. This innocent youth, 
 who, as his brothers say, never had murder in his heart, ex 
 cited much interest the victim, as we feared he would be, 
 of an accidental meeting with a gang of outlaws. His two 
 brothers, men of good reputation and habits, sat near him, 
 and must have been a most merciful support to him. Cobe 
 Beaver, as it was testified, was a most ferocious, tiger-like 
 wretch in his aspect ; * an untamed, two-handed man, said 
 one of the witnesses ; a hairy, swarthy savage, said an 
 other, that I should have thought myself justifiable in tak 
 ing an axe to defend myself against. 1 What a lesson I this 
 man, in the midst of his drunken comrades, was knocked in 
 the head like a bullock by an inoffensive, peaceable strip 
 ling of nineteen I Collins s brothers came to sec me this 
 morning. I like them good-hearted young men. A curi 
 ous instance of the remains of a spark of heavenly fire amid 
 the ruins of human nature came out in the course of the 
 examination. It appeared that when Beaver fell, Tone (An 
 thony), his son, stood near Case Brazee. Tone was so 
 drunk that, though he was not more than two rods from his 
 father, he fell in getting to him. When he got to the body, 
 he fell on his knees beside it, screaming, Jesus Christ! my 
 father is dead 1 and then, pulling over the body, kissed the 
 face I 
 
 "The attorney general mentioned an interesting case here, 
 recently tried. A man, whose moodiness and sulkiness (and 
 nothing else) had for some time indicated insanity, shot his 
 wife. The only witness on the trial was a most interesting 
 little girl, a child of twelve. She told her story on the stand 
 with considerable composure after being most kindly ques 
 tioned. When she came to that part where she said, I was 
 sitting by my mother ; my father came in with a pistol in his 
 
JLife and Letters. 245 
 
 hand, pointed it at my mother, and fired it/ she stopped. 
 * And what then ? asked the examiner. She hesitated, and, 
 clasping her hands, burst into tears, and replied, My mother 
 <//#/. " 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Charles 
 
 "Boston, October 21, 1835. 
 
 " I believe, dear Charles, I was waked by the inspiration 
 of Boston, for I was wide awake with the first ray of light, 
 and up and dressed betimes, and, in the interval before 
 breakfast, have time to relate to you our divers adventures, 
 beginning, however, by telling you that we arrived most com 
 fortably at 6 o clock last evening at the railroad dp6t in 
 Boston. Blessings, say I, on the inventors of railroads, which 
 shorten distances, lengthen life, and save wear and tear of 
 body and mind. The cars here are as large as a good-sized 
 parlor, and nice stuffed chairs, each holding two persons, 
 give them a most comfortable aspect. Every fresh experi 
 ence confirms my belief that K. and G. s stage arrangements 
 are the worst in the country. With no extraordinary reason 
 for delay, the coach did not arrive at Stockbridge till after 
 ii. We then proceeded toward Becket, stopping and lin 
 gering at every inn on the way, doing errands, etc., and 
 finally drove up to Chaffee s after 2. In turning up that 
 sidling approach to his step with a heavy loaded coach, the 
 driver gave one of the professional whirls round, and we had 
 just a flash-of-lightning gleam of our fate when we were 
 whacked over. Thank Heaven, no one was materially in 
 jured. Mrs. Minot got a severe bruise on her forehead, and 
 one eye is now nearly closed, and the blood so settled 
 around it as dreadfully to disfigure her, but there is, I be 
 lieve, no injury to the eye. Mr. Davis and I, and I believe 
 the rest of the- company, escaped without even a bruise, and 
 so the matter will pass, as the woman assured me at the inn 
 

 246 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 it was no uncommon thing, and no fault of the driver s, 
 which the driver loudly reiterated. Whose fault, then, is it? 
 Mrs. Minot suffered a good deal of pain during the day, and 
 excessive anxiety, in consequence of the jarring of her nerves. 
 We left B. just at sundown with twelve passengers, a fair 
 lot of customary baggage, a box of carpenter s tools, and a 
 box containing black walnut extending the whole length of 
 the coach ; the consequence was, that at the first ascent the 
 horses refused to draw. We were unloaded, and it was 
 some time before they started ; and, to finish the whole, 
 when near Springfield, the coach-wheel was run off a bank, 
 and, in consequence of its being top-heavy, we should have 
 inevitably been again overturned (as the driver said) if he 
 had not stopped at the precise instant, turned us all out 
 again, and righted his coach. All this, and plenty of time 
 during our evening s drive, gave me leisure to reflect on our 
 highwaymen, who, with sleeping consciences, rob you of rest 
 and peace of mind (who would not rather be robbed of his 
 purse ?), often break your bones, and not unfrequently take 
 your life ; and, in addition to these crimes, inflict hardship 
 on the poor defenseless horses, that, as there is no human 
 tribunal to take cognizance of them, will, I guess, make a 
 pretty heavy part of future settlement. But now to the 
 agreeable. I was pretty tired at Springfield, but, going sup- 
 perless to bed, I felt very well in the morning, and the coach 
 not starting till 6, and Mrs. Minot feeling travdabtt, we did 
 not hesitate to come on, and reached Worcester five min 
 utes before the cars started, making no pause for dinner, 
 which was greatly in my favor, as I seem to want nothing 
 but to be compelled to live without eating." 
 
 The last sentence refers to a severe attack of dyspepsia 
 with which Miss Sedgwick had just been afflicted. " She 
 had always, 11 says her niece, " a vigorous constitution and 
 
Life and Letters. 247 
 
 very hardy habits ; but, owing probably to her early igno 
 rance and disregard of the laws of health as we now under 
 stand them, she suffered all her life (till past fifty at least) 
 from very severe sick headaches. In her youth she was 
 treated for them in the heroic style then in vogue. Bleed 
 ing, blistering, and calomel were freely used, to her great 
 detriment, as she was afterward convinced." 
 
 Her hygienic knowledge, though late learned, was so well 
 seconded by these " hardy habits" the result of her early 
 country training and by her remarkable elasticity of body 
 as well as spirit, that her health, in the latter half of her life, 
 was generally good, and she gave the impression of uncom 
 mon bodily ease and activity. 
 
 Journal. 
 
 "Boston^ October 28, 1835. ^ ne funeral was at 12, attend 
 ed only by the relatives and nearest friends of the family. 
 This is as it should be. Dr. Channing made the prayer. 
 His filial sentiment to the Deity always impresses me; it is 
 not merely the confidence of a child to the father, but the ten 
 derness that is most commonly felt to the mother ; he is like 
 the child who throws himself on the mother s bosom, sure 
 there is repose there, and love enough for all his wants. 
 His voice is the most tranquillizing sound I ever heard. I 
 think, if my passions were in ever such a storm, it would 
 calm me as if it were the very organ of the Spirit of Jesus. 
 * * * * 
 
 "November 2, 1835. Went to hear Mr. Taylor at the Sea 
 men s Bethel, and there was something like what the minis 
 trations of the Christian religion should be the poor, the ig 
 norant, the neglected taught wisely and with a glowing zeal. 
 Such men should be the messengers of Christ ; they are 
 sent. His heart is full, and his lips touched ; he does not 
 scourge his brains by midnight lamps, but comes panting 
 
248 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 with good news from his Father s house to the wanderir.j 
 and wayfaring children. * * * * 
 
 "November u, 1835. Miss P gratified me very much 
 
 with the testimony of an intelligent, orthodox factory girl 
 about * Home/ She said, if they would spend their Sun 
 days in Lowell, as recommended in this book, much good 
 might be done. This is better than the opinion of half the 
 ministers in New England. She said a gentleman had said 
 to her, I must go home and read the Lin woods. It takes 
 me half an hour to read a page. I should as soon think of 
 galloping through Paradise. I like to save up these bon 
 bons when they are so very sweet. 
 
 "November 13, 1835. Expect my blessed brother to-day, 
 who, I fear, will scarcely give me a blessing for bringing him 
 in these November winds. How the heart clings to its 
 dearest loves ! how common surface pleasures fade before 
 such a happiness as seeing Charles ! Do not blow, ye 
 winds I Shine out, fair sun, on this betit being that walks 
 beneath thy beams ! * * * * 
 
 " Called at Commodore Downes s, a man with a face sealed 
 by Heaven, and a life that bears out the seal. *A good fa 
 ther, son, husband, said the severe-looking Captain Percival 
 to me. This Captain Percival spoke of the bewitching inter 
 est of a sea life, which he has pursued for forty-three years. 
 A man feels independent aboard his good ship, when he s 
 only to snap his ringers, and three hundred men stand be 
 fore him, ready to do his will. My sympathy was with the 
 three hundred men that had to obey, not the one that could 
 command. * * * * 
 
 " Had some very agreeable conversation with Judge Story, 
 in which he repeated to me an old message from Chief Jus 
 tice Marshall. Tell her I have read with great pleasure ev 
 ery thing she has written, and wish she would write more I* 
 Had some talk with Judge Story about death. He did not 
 
Lift: and Letters. 249 
 
 agree with me that Calvinists died with more animation than 
 Unitarians. He said his father (a physician) said young 
 people died most happily, middle-aged with most clinging 
 to life, and old people with most regret. 
 
 "November 20, 1835. Went to see Mr. Wells s school at 
 South Boston. The house is on a point of land that runs 
 out into the bay, and gives an extensive view of it and the 
 islands that stud it. Wells looks like a fine old Italian pic 
 ture, and has a voice that is a fit musical organ for an har 
 monious soul. From his childhood he has loved boys, and 
 for many years devoted himself to their moral advancement. 
 He has now the care of ninety-eight 1 and keeps them order 
 ly and happy. If they do not learn quite so much Latin, 
 Greek, etc., of him as at some noted schools, they learn in 
 finitely more of what is of more important and universal ap 
 plication. He said he had read all my books to them, * all 
 except the last, and in that were some bad words, some pro 
 fanity I* This is a criticism worth remembering, and in the 
 next edition I will correct, wherever I can, without sacrific 
 ing what is essentially characteristic, this fault. * * * * 
 
 "New York, December 17, 1835. More than a fortnight has 
 elapsed since I came to this city a fortnight of my short 
 remainder of life passed away without exertion and without 
 fruit. I have been met by every one with congratulations 
 about my book, which has, I think, proved more generally 
 acceptable than any thing I have before written. My author 
 existence has always seemed something accidental, extra 
 neous, and independent of my inner self. My books have 
 been a pleasant occupation and excitement in my life. The 
 notice, and friends, or acquaintance they have procured me, 
 have relieved me from the danger of ennui and blue devils, 
 that are most apt to infest a single person. But they con 
 stitute no portion of my happiness that is, of such as I de 
 rive from the dearest relations of life. When I feel that my 
 
 L 2 
 
350 Life of Catharine M. Settgwick. 
 
 writings have made any one happier or better, I feel an 
 emotion of gratitude to Him who has made me the medium 
 of any blessing to my fellow-creatures. And I do feel that 
 I am but the instrument. 
 
 "This is the i7/// December^ 1835, a day that will long be 
 memorable to our citizens, a day of the most sudden and 
 overwhelming calamity. Last night, a little before 10, broth 
 er Theodore came in, and said there was a great fire near 
 Robert s office, but, as the wind set the flames away from it, 
 neither apprehended any danger. When we went to bed at 
 half past n, the fire appeared to us going down, but it still 
 raged \ the extreme cold mercury at zero accelerated the 
 flames. The hose froze, the firemen were impotent, the 
 flames spread through the packed warehouses of the wealth 
 iest portion of the city. It was a scene of helplessness, be 
 wilderment, and dismay. The flames were only arrested by 
 blowing up houses they are not yet extinguished. It is a 
 scene of desolation, from the ruins of the noble exchange to 
 the water s edge. There is no calculating the extent of 
 loss the direct loss the loss from suspension of business, 
 and payments, and interruption of industry, and the fail 
 ure of moneyed institutions. All the fire-insurance compa 
 nies being bankrupt, the city is at this moment uninsured. 
 The town presents a curious spectacle ; churches and pri 
 vate houses turned into receptacles for merchandise ; carts, 
 coaches, going in every direction filled with boxes, cans, and 
 every species of commodity ; the sidewalks filled, guardians 
 stationed over them, companies of firemen, and companies 
 of militia and beggars, their shoulders covered with piles of 
 half-burned blankets, bits of shawls, and pieces of calico. 
 Some fine morals may rise the phoenixes of this fire. The 
 poor may learn that, though the individual rich man has no 
 humanities, his wealth Heaven-directed must wander to 
 the poor ; and this striking manifestation of the instability 
 
and Letter* \ 251 
 
 of human possessions must, in all our eyes, amazingly de 
 preciate their value. The millions of yesterday, the as/iesof 
 to-day. 
 
 " Take physic, Pomp : 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, 
 That them may st shake the supcrflux to them, 
 And show the heavens more just. 
 
 " This/ said a man, looking on the falling warehouses, 
 1 is a leveling system with a vengeance ! * * * * Two mis 
 erable nights since the fire ; my room is a watch-tower 
 whence I watch the brightening glare of the flames from the 
 ruins as they rise and fade away on the cold sky. The city 
 is virtually uninsured, the firemen disabled, the hose so 
 spoiled that very little of it is in a usable state, and the lights 
 now threatened with extinction from the injury to the gas- 
 pipes. No wonder that hearts beat when we are repeatedly 
 wakened by alarm-bells, and cries of fire from tremulous 
 voices. 
 
 "Sunday, 2o//r, Last night the Philadelphia firemen, who 
 had generously come to our assistance, kept watch, and I, 
 relieved from ditty^ slept quietly till daylight. Mr. Ware has 
 preached an excellent sermon to-day from that most appo 
 site text, Who hath done this unto this great city ? **** 
 It is beyond any desolation I ever witnessed, and in the 
 hazy, murky atmosphere of this day, where you do not see 
 the bounds, but only fragments of walls dimly defined in the 
 mist, it appears a world in ruins. Here and there are still 
 dense masses of smoke and flames issuing from cellars where 
 there must be at this moment piles of merchandise consum 
 ing. And is this mass of ruins all that remains of the exul 
 tation, projects, and hopes of the past week, the vulgar pride 
 of the mere merchant, the natural complacency from the 
 rich results of years of skill and toil, the plans of the young 
 husband and father, the hopes of the lover ?**** 
 
252 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 Afiss Sedgwick to Afr. C/iarfes Sedgwick* 
 
 "New York, February 4, 1836. 
 
 "With characteristic confidence in another s ability and 
 success, you put me up to making money out of my poor 
 brains. Depend upon it, this is a dream. I may go on as 
 I have, if my life and health continue, earning a few hun 
 dred dollars a year, and precious few too j but, while such a 
 novel as Rienzi can be sold here for fifty cents, as both edi 
 tions are, I can not hope, even if I could call to my aid the 
 cutest stock-jobbers of Wall Street, to continue, by any play 
 upon the gullible species, to make much out of my handi 
 craft. However, I am as eager to make money as you are 
 to make it for me. Harper promised, as soon as the 
 French question was settled, to make me an offer ; but, I 
 suppose, our President-king s offer to his brother sovereign 
 must first be known to have been accepted. I trust Harper 
 will choose to repurchase the copyrights that have been sold, 
 and then, for better or worse, we shall have it in our own 
 hands. I shall have a successor for Home out in the spring. 
 It will not be nearly as good as that, and it is far from be 
 ing as strong an illustration of my subject (poverty and rich 
 es) as I hoped to have made it, but then I think there are 
 good notions, suited to the American market, in it. To-day 
 I have begun my souvenir ing campaign. I hope to get 
 something from the English edition of the Linwoods. That 
 book has, I believe (but am not certain), been translated 
 into French. 
 
 "Friday morning. The weather continues as cold as ever 
 beautiful, bright winter clays. But for the thought of the 
 suffering around us, of which we are ignorant, I should en 
 joy them, for there is such stimulus in the air, and such a 
 consciousness of the warmth from the good fire that seems 
 to fold you around like a blanket. I asked my little Sun- 
 
Life and Letters. 253 
 
 day-scholars the other day to tell me what the rich had 
 that they had not and yet desired. One of them replied, 
 * A good warm fire all day ! Their luxuries are our neces- 
 
 To the same. 
 
 "July 4, 1836. 
 
 " MY DEAREST CHARLES, I can not return my child to 
 her parents without sending my blessing for the delight and 
 comfort she has been to me. I am glad she is to be re 
 leased from the unhappy condition of human existence in 
 midsummer life in town ; and pray take notice, all concern 
 ed, that I have not detained her for a moment. She has 
 made all her own arrangements without the slightest inter 
 ference on my part, and this, considering she is somewhat 
 like the breath of my nostrils, I wish to have credit for. I 
 do not feel so badly at being left as I thought I should. I 
 am very well, and have plenty to do, as I am going to begin 
 to-morrow on my second Home : Harper prints it. I sup 
 pose I shall just about get through with it when the time for 
 my departure comes. If all goes well, I do not see why I 
 may not be with you by the first week in August. A month 
 is not very long. This is a most odious day here. All our 
 liberty seems made into gunpowder, and noise to be the 
 only expression of rational beings. 1 
 
 To the same. 
 
 New York, July 22, 1836. 
 
 " DEAREST CHARLES, I thought I mentioned in my last 
 that I should leave here the first of August, which will be a 
 week from Monday next. Now, much as I delight in hav 
 ing you with me, I would not, on any account, have you 
 come down just to give me that indulgence. If you have 
 any pretext of business ; if you want to do Robert good, and 
 
254 JLjfe of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 see him look as Christian did after he threw off his burden, 
 and see L. tranquil and prospering in all respects ; and if 
 you want to get some family stores, or if you have any rea 
 son besides making a spoiled child of me, then pray do 
 come. * * * * 
 
 " I am daily sitting at Ingham s, and want you very much 
 to see the picture ; and I want you, too, to come to some 
 conclusion with Harper. I want you to speak or write to 
 them before the publication of The Poor Rich Man, 1 to 
 urge upon them the policy of letting it be known to their 
 correspondents in the New England country towns what sort 
 of a thing it is, intended for popular consumption, that it may 
 at once be for sale in the country towns. If I should con 
 tinue the series, this may be important. Ask Webster if he 
 will take fifty, or less, as you think proper, to sell on com 
 mission. 1 
 
 Journal. 
 
 "May 19, 1836. Sir James Mackintosh has an admirable 
 argument for fictitious writing which all who have dabbled 
 in it should cherish : Fictitious narrative, in all its forms, 
 epic, poem, tale, tragedy, romance, novel, is one of the great 
 instruments employed in the moral education of mankind, 
 because it is only delightful when it interests, and to inter 
 est is to excite sympathy for the heroes of fiction that is, in 
 other words, to teach men the habit of feeling for each other. 1 
 
 * * * * Sir James says, after reading Coleridge s *J?rienttf 
 
 * It is not without ideas of great value, but it is impossible 
 to give a stronger example of a man whose talents are be 
 neath his understanding, and who trusts to his ingenuity to 
 atone for his ignorance. Talents are, in my sense, habitual 
 powers of execution. * * * * 
 
 "May 27, 1836. What a portion, and valuable portion of 
 my life has passed without scarcely a record ! What Sir 
 
Life and Letters. 255 
 
 James Macintosh calls the incorruptible honesty of dates is 
 a witness against me. 
 
 "y////<? 6. The Farm near Philadelphia. Here am I again, 
 just where I began this book. I have since reeled off four 
 teen knots of my unproductive life alas ! alas ! Charles, 
 Kate, and myself, after having waited two days upon this 
 northeaster (which has now* blown, with rain, every day fif 
 teen days), came on Saturday, and found the weather, like 
 all other bulls taken by the horns, not very mischievous. 
 
 " I have just begun the printing of the * Poor Rich Man, 
 etc. May it go forth on its mission with God s blessing 1 
 My next task is to write the memoir of Lucretia Davidson, 
 which will be little more than reforming her mother s most 
 affecting record. This has brought me acquainted with her 
 mother, and her sister, a flower from Paradise, and soon to 
 bloom there. 
 
 "Newport>Sept. 12, 1836. After a railroad ride, and a slight 
 accident, which scared the life out of a poor woman who had 
 selected the safest car because the preceding night she had 
 been jostled off the track, and her unlucky husband s nose 
 broken, we arrived at Troy, where, after telling her woes, she 
 said, * I was in the spirit of prayer all the way. I am pious, 
 and my husband, and my daughter (a little sprout), and my 
 niece, this young woman, but my son is not, and for him I 
 was in prayer. The son was an unlickcd cub, who looked 
 as if he had still less notion of piety than his pious mamma. 
 Piety, in her acceptation, is a certain password which Is a 
 sure passport to heaven. She by no means meant she was 
 devout and beneficent. * * * * 
 
 "Stockbridge, Oct. 12, 1836. I heard a touching anecdote 
 last evening of J. F. She is just three ; her mother has been 
 dead nine months, her infant sister died one month after. 
 She was ill (J.), and awoke sobbing, and saying to Miss W., 
 I want to see my mother and Isabella. They are In 
 
256 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwitk. 
 
 heaven, J. What are they doing there, Miss Abby? 
 Singing praises, I believe. 1 Can t we sing too ? Yes, J. ; 
 what shall we sing ? * " How glorious is our heavenly 
 King I" and thereupon the little creature, in the darkness 
 and silence of the night, raised her voice, and fell asleep 
 singing 1 Did not her accents mingle with her mother s? 
 Was not her mother s spirit hovftring over her pillow ? Sure 
 ly where there is a tender and loving child there is heaven. 
 * * * * 
 
 "October 17, 1836. Came to Lenox to" enact housewife in 
 my sister s absence, and I find I can do little else. * * * * 
 Yesterday I illustrated the day by making a batch of pies 
 among other domestic offices, and then, in spite of the Puri 
 tanical clouds that hung over us, I had a delightful ride on 
 my Lady Blanche. To-day I have pottered an immensity, 
 read some of Ford s plays, and the review of Henningen s 
 War in Spain. Sad, sad is it that in a Christian country, so 
 called, at this era, there should be something worse than 
 savage barbarities, the cruelty of the wild man, with the cool 
 ness and premeditation of the civilized man. * * * * 
 
 "JFrMay, March 31, 1837, xi o clock. Just put the last word 
 to my first draught of Live and Let Live. I hope it will do 
 some good. I do not expect for it the popularity of the 
 Poor Rich Man. 1 It will offend some and shock many, but 
 I am satisfied that it is in the main right, and in the con 
 sciousness of having written in the hope of doing some little 
 good to the high and the humble, I commend it to God s 
 blessing. 
 
 "May 23, 1837. This has been an eventful and exciting 
 spring. When I came to New York in February, I found here 
 Foresti and Argenti, two of the Italian prisoners of state, who 
 had been in Spielberg Foresti eighteen years, Argenti six, 
 Tinelli at Milan and Gradisca six. Foresti is now forty-five. 
 He is a native of Ferrara, and before he was twenty-one he 
 
Life and Letters. 257 
 
 was praetor of his province. He is a man of a perfectly origi 
 nal character, an independent thinker. A strong love of jus 
 tice and an inflexibility of opinion seem to me to distinguish 
 him. He is not obstinate nor opinionated, but, having once 
 thought out for himself, examined, and weighed, he seems as 
 certain of the result as if he had come to it by mathematic 
 al rules. He is modest, and the tone of his voice indicates 
 a certain melancholy and gentleness that reminds you at 
 once of suffering and wounded affection. His face, too, 
 speaks of Spielberg. His spirit was never subdued by suf 
 fering, never calmed by the Christian faith which always has 
 a calm for the submissive sufferer. Of all the prisoners at 
 Spielberg, he was one of the three who did not there become 
 Christians. He has a strong religious sentiment, and a love 
 of his country that is almost religion. It is like the inex 
 tinguishable fond feeling of a child for its mother. This 
 man interests me deeply. In some points he strongly re 
 sembles my brother Harry, that dear brother who loved me 
 so much better than I deserved. There are moments when 
 the impression of this resemblance is so strong that I could 
 close my eyes and fancy my brother s spirit was with me. 
 Forest!, too, had a sister Catcrina % whose name he never 
 pronounces without emotion. He is so true, so unfaltering. 
 Argent! Is good-hearted, but a common material, and very 
 tiresome, poor fellow 1 Tinelli is a gifted man, with a bril 
 liant intellect, a quick perception, and the figure and face of 
 a handsome brigand. He is irritable and impetuous, resist 
 ing a destiny that no resistance can even modify. His pres 
 ent intention is to go to Texas. He married the daughter 
 of General Battaglta, a man who commanded the Italian 
 troops under Napoleon. She is now ill, and living with her 
 old and rich father. Every obstacle will, as Tinelli expects, 
 be thrown by the government in the way of the expatriation 
 of his two sons. Cast! Ilia is my interesting correspondent, 
 
258 JLt/t: of Catharine Af. Sedgiuick. 
 
 and, as I believe, the St. John among these apostles of lib 
 erty. Gonfalon ieri is the Jtstingttisfad man among them, 
 the man who sacrificed most to the cause, who endured with 
 most dignity and gentleness, and who now shows himself a 
 man that no circumstances can subdue, but whose spirit, like 
 angelic spirits, makes all circumstances subservient to his 
 progress. I have never seen any man who has so realized 
 to me my beau ideal, the dreams of my youth, and the sane 
 portraits of my maturity. I have always been fond of a sort 
 of character-drawing reverie. When others build casiles in 
 the air, I fill them with tenants. I have imagined, but never 
 before seen a man who seemed to me to have the tone of 
 high breeding which, in spite of our democratic theories and 
 principles, we associate with the old aristocracy, blended 
 with that humility, respect, and tenderness for his kind which 
 marks the Christian philosopher of the present day. He is 
 enlightened, cultivated, but never theoretical or pedantic. 
 Under the external of courtesy and deference in which most 
 foreign travelers invest themselves, a certain consciousness 
 of superiority, a certain contempt of us as parvenus, is be 
 trayed, but not so with the count. He seems perfectly earn 
 est and sincere, and inspires as unwavering a faith as if his 
 soul dwelt in the transparent body Dr. F. recommends. * * * 
 "May 23, 1837. I have just seen, in an album of Miss 
 Emily Ward s, two lines from Racine, written by Prince 
 Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, the young man whom 1 have re 
 cently seen, and who is unpretending, sensible, and inde 
 scribably ngly. The words arc happily selected by one of 
 the Bonaparte race, whose chief has so strikingly illustrated 
 them : 
 
 44 I.c premier qui fut roi fut un soldut hcurcux j 
 Qui sert bicn son pays n a pas bcsoin d uieux * 
 
ami Letters* 259 
 
 Dr. Tttcktrtnan to Jlfiss 
 
 " Boston, October, 1836. 
 
 " I will not attempt to conceal from you, my clear Miss 
 Sedgwick, the very great pleasure with which I read the 
 Inscription in your little volume, The Rich Poor Man 
 and the Poor Rich Man. This morning Dr. Channing 
 came into my chamber, where I have been since the close 
 of August as an invalid. I put the volume into his hand, 
 directing his attention to my name. * Well/ said he, * it is 
 mi honor to have a book inscribed to one by such a woman/ 
 And an honor I feel it to be, far higher than would be any 
 mere gratification of ambition or of vanity. I have read 
 this little book with increasing interest to its close. God 
 has given you, my dear friend, a great power over the hu 
 man heart, and most gratefully do I rejoice that this power 
 is consecrated by you to the highest and noblest ends. You 
 have entered upon u rich and boundless field as bound 
 less as the wants of our spiritual nature, and as rich as our 
 capacities of never- ending moral improvement; and the 
 sheaf you have gathered and sent to me is of the purest 
 wheat, which, I trust, will be for life-giving aliment to many 
 a soul." 
 
 Afiss SeJgioltk to JRw. Dr. Dcwty. 
 
 " Lenox, January 9, 1837. 
 
 " Nothing can be more simple than my days, which are 
 about as much alike one to the other, and reeled off about 
 as fast as the threads of a skein of yarn. I rise at dawn, 
 by a fire a roaring one, not imprisoned in a stove, but look 
 ing kindly on me, like an honest old friend. I take a fair 
 two-mile walk every day, not by Shrewsbury clock, 1 but by 
 an incorruptible mile-stone, with my Hebe at my side. Do 
 you know what it is to face a winter s storm to beat against 
 
260 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 % 
 
 the gusts that sweep over these hills to plow through the 
 unpathecl snows ? If you remember aught of all this, you 
 will give me credit for my resolution more than I deserve, 
 perhaps, for I have my reward in unexpected renovation of 
 health, and in an enjoyment that I had forgotten or never 
 have known of the sublimity of these hills in their winter 
 desolateness, and in the poetry of the skies that have each 
 
 day as new an aspect as if they were a new creation." 
 
 
 
 Miss Scdgwifk to Miss K. M. Sedgurick. 
 
 * New York, February 26, 1837. 
 
 * 4 * * < your uncle went yesterday to call on Frederigo 
 Count Confalonteri. He was very much interested by him, 
 and says he was completely overcome with seeing him. He 
 has had a horrible passage of three months. The Houstfi- 
 ans sent an Austrian captain along who did all he could to 
 embarrass and confound them, and, but for the American 
 captain, Confalonieri says they never should have reached 
 this shore. Castillia was with him, having come on at the 
 first news of his arrival. We are to have a supper-party for 
 the exiles this week." 
 
 M(ss Sedgwick to Miss A . M, Sedgwuk. 
 
 Nc\v York, March 8, 1837. 
 
 * * * M Mr. Joseph Curtis came to sec me last even 
 ing, and told me that, in all his experience, he had never 
 witnessed so much good fruit from the publication of any 
 book as from that of the Poor Rich Man. This pleased 
 me. I knew he would not flatter, and that, though he might 
 overestimate its merit, he did not grossly misjudge. I trust* 
 my vanity is not fed by the praise of this little thing. I 
 think I understand the secret of its success. It is, like bread 
 stuff, or like the satinets and negro-cloths, to be a little more 
 modest In my comparison, suited to the market, the thing 
 
Life and Letters. 261 
 
 wanted. I have finished and sent off an article for the 
 Token. I hope to have the religious article done to-mor 
 row ; after that comes the Magnolia. I gave up that spec 
 ulating affair ; it was too water-gruelly even for a souvenir, 
 which requires as thin potations as a hdpital des malades. I 
 received the other day a letter from England with a For 
 get-me-not of last year, and a request to write for the next 
 number." 
 
 Miss Settgivic& to Miss A". M. Sedgivick. 
 
 " New York, March 9, 1837. 
 
 * * * * " If I had fulfilled all my engagements this week, 
 I might have given a picture of the variety of New York 
 
 society. Monday evening, at Mrs. C s ; Tuesday, Mrs. 
 
 J B s ; Wednesday, Thatcher Payne s ; Thursday, 
 
 Mrs. L s ; this evening, Ferrero s ;* to-morrow evening, 
 
 Mrs. Follen s, to meet the Grimk6s and an abolition party 1 
 
 I did not go to Mrs. C s to see the last specimen of an 
 
 age gone by wit and sagacity without education and all 
 the pride of rank, now obsolete and forgotten here, neither 
 
 did I go to Mrs. L s, where there still survives a certain 
 
 elegance, and all the stiffness of a socictb choisic. I am not 
 strong enough to go out every evening, and, except when I 
 have some such motive as pleasing the children, my inclina 
 tion is as weak as my strength. 
 
 "Sunday evening. Immediately after church I walked up 
 to Smith Court to see poor Francis Brown. Do you remem 
 ber the black-eyed boy I used to call Daniel Webster ? The 
 poor fellow had his arm mangled in a paper factory in con 
 sequence of the drunkenness of the engineer. It was am 
 putated immediately. He says he neither felt the crush nor 
 the amputation. His poor mother said he got applause 
 for his bravery, but it was more than I could look on. They 
 
 * Ferrero was an Italian dancing-master giving a ball for his pupils. 
 
262 JLife of Catharine M. Sedgwicfc. 
 
 wanted to take him to the hospital, but I said no; a mother 
 has many a soothe that no one else has. 1 I just got home 
 in time for dinner. Foresti dined with us, and staid tilly?z/<r, 
 talking to Aunt Lizzy, and telling tales of the Spielberg he 
 roes that made me cry like a wretch. M 
 
 Miss Scdgivick to Miss K. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, March 17, 1837. 
 
 * * * * Well, dear, we have seen Confalonieri. Your 
 Aunt Lizzy let Argenti know that we had penetrated his in 
 cognito, and the poor man thought that courtesy required 
 his coining immediately to express his profound sentiments 
 to the * famiglia Sedgwick, or, as Argenti says, it was his 
 duty, and duty is a besom du cceur. Well, he came ; your 
 aunt was alone ; had just returned from her drive, complete 
 ly en dishabille, the room all upside down with preparations 
 for the party, when this elegant count, six feet high, rang. 
 Katy being out, Diana (the cook) came pattering up. * We 
 are all out, cried Aunt Lizzy ; * for your life don t let any 
 one in. She heard an altercation at the door ; thought it 
 was Foresti, who is her cavaliere servente, and did not care. 
 But presently Diana floated back, crying, I can t get him 
 out, I can t get him out ! Well, he staid half an hour, talk 
 ing French and bowing with his hand on his heart, she 
 speaking English, and when I came home I never saw her 
 so completely flustered. She says her house is no longer 
 her own ; that she never expects to command a moment 
 when an Italian may not rush upon her ; that her dreams 
 are haunted by Forestis, Ferreros, counts, etc. But she is 
 devoted to them, and more enthusiastic than even the ma 
 niacs of the valley. The next evening the count sent his 
 servant to know if he might be permitted to pay his respects 
 to the ladies. I was going out, and your aunt said no ; but 
 yesterday morning he came, and a very pleasing, high-bred 
 
JLift and Letters. 263 
 
 nobleman he is. He talks as if he had been in his grave 
 for the last eighteen years, and said that I could not con 
 ceive the feeling with which the events of that period strike 
 on a man, when the knowledge of them comes all at once 
 after his disinterment. His contemporaries are gone ; he 
 asks for one, and another, and another mortl mort 1 mortl 
 He is fifty-three looks sixty. He has very superior heart, 1 
 says Albinola ; * he has fortune, and he offers it unfortunate 
 ly to the companions of his misfortunes. " 
 
 Mis s Sc </gwif& to Miss A". M. Sedgwick. 
 
 44 New York, March 25, 1837. 
 ****"! received two singular epistles the last week : 
 
 the one from old Mrs. S I will inclose to you by Mr. 
 
 Sergeant^ who leaves here Tuesday evening, and I think you 
 will have some merry shouts over it. Various is the mind 
 of desultory man/ Another from one of Fanny Wright s 
 men: if I conclude not to take any notice of it, I will send 
 that too. He concludes a eulogium on infidelity by beg 
 ging me to put * more morals 2nd less religion into my 
 books. This morning I had a letter from Cincinnati, beg 
 ging two autographs one for a namesake, another contain 
 ing an application similar to Miss Stansbury s ; a letter from 
 Sparks, announcing the publication of Lucretia ; and after 
 best, though certainly least of all the most precious little 
 note from Confalonieri. * * * * Our company to-morrow is 
 the count, Albinola, Foresti bless him ! Panon, Anderson, 
 Bryant, Mr. Johnson, Dr. Follen, Theodore, and perhaps 
 Tinelli and Haggerty. Mr. Gallatin and Irving declined, 
 Irving going to the country." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Miss K. M. Scdgwick. 
 
 44 New York, April 16, 1837. 
 * * * * "Have I told you how I liked Ellen Tree? I 
 
264 Lift of Catharine M. Sedgwitk* 
 
 have seen her only once, and then in Ion. She is a very 
 charming actress, very perfect in all the delicate details and 
 by-play. Her readings are beautiful ; she is free from af 
 fectation of every sort ; in short, she is, after Fanny, incom 
 parably the first actress we have had, but so far after her 
 that you can not measure the distance. Ion is poor in dra 
 matic effect, but I can easily believe that in her range of 
 playing she is even better than Fanny in the quiet and pass 
 ive parts. We called on her, and were at home when she 
 returned the visit. She is very charming, perfectly frank 
 and natural, and courteous to every one, and has a face 
 beaming with expression. If it were not for her immense 
 handle of a nose, she would be very handsome. We had 
 tickets to the College celebration, and went ; and such a 
 jam I have seldom witnessed. You may fancy whet a col 
 lection an Alma Mater would assemble who called together 
 the progeny of fifty years, and all the collaterals of that 
 
 progeny. Oh, 1 whispered Mrs. C to me, the worst of 
 
 the American parties is that we must have the people ! 
 Foresti told me last evening that he did not like liberal in 
 stitutions, as he saw their effect here, for never, in any of the 
 absolute or royal kingdoms of Europe, had he seen such 
 aristocrats I that a lady had said to him yesterday morning, 
 she would that she were an empress, that she might say * I 
 will, and be obeyed. Now isn t it a pity that silly women 
 should give a stranger impressions ?" 
 
 Afiss Setigwick to Miss K. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, April 24, 1837. 
 
 " DEAREST KATE, All my spare time yesterday was spent 
 in concocting a report for a remodeling of our society, and I 
 found it more difficult than writing a novel booky. It is 
 easier to get a heroine into a dungeon, and not much more 
 difficult to get her out, than to decide how to impersonate 
 
and Letters. 265 
 
 persons and personify abstractions. We have come to the 
 sensible resolve to have a school to teach little girls to sew, 
 darn their stockings, etc., instead of a parcel of gossiping 
 women meeting together to corrupt the less favored or 
 ders by supplying them with ready-made garments. * * * * 
 You can have little idea, who are surrounded by those who 
 have been accustomed to live upon the fruits of their labor, 
 of the confusion and dismay produced here by the general 
 bursting of bubbles, and the consequent failure of the means 
 of actual support.* The people are, as E. says, not blue, 
 but ///<//*. The panic pervades the community. The dry- 
 goods shops are almost deserted, save Stewart s, and you 
 will see the line of counters, with clerks on one side walk 
 ing up and down like so many ghosts, and no buyers on the 
 other. Even Broadway, to use the slang phrase,^?/? />. 
 This is the season, you know, of spring butterflies: the gay 
 season of Broadway but now it is almost as dingy as it was 
 in the cholera season. Nothing is talked of but who has 
 failed to-day? and the buried carcasses of to-day arc cover 
 ed by the fresh ones of to-morrow." 
 
 Miss Sctlgwick to Miss K, M. S&lgivicfc. 
 
 " New York, May 8, 1837. 
 
 " DKAREST KATI-V So late, and my weakly weekly not 
 begun ! A dress-maker converting the bag-sleeves of last 
 year into the puffs of this ; my hat on to sally out to Stew 
 art s to make bargains and save a little rag-money by get 
 ting more necessaries than I want a common illusion of 
 economy ; your mother, Rie, and Molly gone to the Narrows 
 with Captain Delano; and the pleasant expectation of seeing 
 Ellen Tree to-night in Beatrice wild itos ajfaires / 
 
 " 9///. Ellen Tree is a charming Beatrice, but not the rich, 
 keen Beatrice of Shakspearc not the Beatrice of Fanny 
 * This was the winter of the great financial crash. 
 M 
 
Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Kemblc. I never observed till last night how truly, how 
 nicely Shakspeare has marked the distinction between man 
 and woman in the different emotions experienced by Bene 
 dict and Beatrice on the first mutual discovery of their love. 
 He is a little shamefaced conquered, but ashamed to yield 
 and yet has the manly feeling of generosity to the weaker 
 party. She at once is touched with love, and you see 
 through the sparkling the tender beam of a woman s eye. 
 This was well marked by Miss Tree." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Miss A". M. Scdgivick. 
 
 44 New York, May 19, 1837. 
 
 ****** I have been reading Mrs. Hemans s Life, and 
 am disappointed in her. She seems to me to have belonged 
 to another age of the world to have been a Sappho or a 
 Corinne a creature of those times when the elect few had 
 no sympathy with their race, when they were born for music 
 and song, forfas sails and /or tie ilcttx y and not to be linked 
 in with their kind, to lean on the strong and sustain the fee 
 ble. She shows how inadequate sentiment is, how feeble 
 the theory of beauty compared with that sense of duty, that 
 perception and love of the image of God, which gives an in 
 terest to the meanest of our fellow-creatures, and a dignity 
 to the commonest office of social life. In our practical, 
 working-day world we can scarcely conceive such an exist 
 ence as Mrs. H. s. * * * * What I like least of all is a lit 
 tleness of vanity that is betrayed in blowing off with a gate 
 of contempt the incense offered to her. She does not, like 
 an intoxicated mortal, snuff up the cloud of incense, nor, like 
 a propitious or good-natured divinity, permit it quietly to as 
 cend, but she betrays her wish for something more and bet 
 ter by her continual consciousness and contempt. Her 
 American admirers come off with most mortifying proofs of 
 ennuyant their idol. She evidently regarded them as I should 
 
Life and Letters. 267 
 
 so many Chatham Street admirers. A good lesson to our 
 travelers not to go lion-hunting. Toward the last her char 
 acter became more earnest and natural. * * * * I am go 
 ing off with JL. and E. to visit our -sewing-school children. 
 My office is no sinecure, I assure you, but I like this minis 
 try at large." 
 
 Afiss Si dgwick to Afr. Charles Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, May 24, 1 83 7. 
 
 ****** Our agitations here seem to be pretty much 
 over j at least there is less of it on the surface.* Men have 
 become accustomed to the new state of things, and, though 
 you see many an anxious and many a despondent counte 
 nance, yet they no longer look amazed and on the brink of 
 madness. How we are to get out of this hobble I know 
 not ; but if we arc true to ourselves, I am sure it will be, as 
 the old women say, a sanctified Providence. The exclusive 
 love of riches must abate when their uncertainty is so prov 
 en. Men must learn the worth of those acquisitions, those 
 fountains of respectability and happiness that are independ 
 ent of the fluctuations of the money-market that a man 
 need not look at the price of stocks to graduate his enjoy 
 ment of the caresses of his children, the pleasure of a good 
 new book, or the enjoyment of nature on one of these exqui 
 site spring days that he need not speculate to relish a sim- 
 plq dinner that Champagne and/rf/d defoiegras are not es 
 sential to his happiness, nor blonde nor Mechlin to his wife, 
 nor Italian and music to his daughters. I wrote a little ar 
 ticle for John O Sullivanf called Who and What has not 
 Failed/ which it seemed to me showed a great balance in 
 favor even of the real bankrupts. 1 
 
 * Alluding to tho financial crisia of 1837. 
 t Editor of the Democratic Review. 
 
268 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Miss St </gwif& to Miss A". M. Sedgwick. 
 
 " New York, May 30, 1837, 
 
 * * * * Oh, Kate, I witnessed such a scene to-day ! I 
 heard Mine. G6rard* was ill, and went there. As I went up 
 the steps, two gentlemen opened a window up stairs, and 
 beckoned to a hackman turning the corner. Ang61ique 
 came to the door, and said her mother was better ; she had 
 her bonnet on, and looked bright as usual. I asked her to 
 go up and ask her mother if I could do any thing for her. 
 She came back and beckoned me up. When I entered, 
 Mine. G. raised herself from the pillow in a paroxysm of 
 grief, and, stretching out her hand to me, said, * Oh, made 
 moiselle, j ai tant souffert I j ai taut souffcrt I bou Dieu ! bon 
 Dieu I bon Dieu ! I looked round for an explanation, and 
 poor Gerard was screwing up a little coffin, while the girls, 
 evidently excited with the novelty of the scene, and the pros 
 pect of a drive, though to a/////tf/vi/, were hovering round 
 him. Not death could suspend madame s observance of 
 politeness, so monsieur s office was interrupted for an intro 
 duction to me. It seemed madame had given birth yester 
 day to a still-born infant. She said that, through months of 
 anxiety and pain, the expectation of having a child had sus 
 tained her, and it was a boy a boy, so long desired by her 
 husband, and Ang^liquc, and Loo. A friend who sat by said, 
 But you will live to see it is all best. 1 Ah! mais je siiis 
 mire, et je 1 ai attendu avec une telle joic ! Oui, madame, 
 mais I homme propose et Dieu dispose. These obvious 
 truths fell as impotent as such consolations usually do. I 
 could not help crying with her, there was something so sim 
 ple and true in her grief, though it seemed to me an inesti 
 mable blessing that the child was taken. Angulique is her 
 nurse. They are obliged to move to-morrow, and Ang61ique 
 * An accomplished Polish lady whose husband was a political exile. 
 
Life and Letters. 269 
 
 has packed every thing. * Ah ! my dear Miss S., said Mme. 
 G., * there is nothing like necessity. Truly there is not. 
 Ang61ique is ten or eleven years old 1 There was a German 
 woman who looked like one of Scott s old women, and was 
 all the time haranguing madame on (as I supposed) the in- 
 utility of weeping, and finally came up to the bedside, the 
 little coffin tucked under one arm, and gesturing with the 
 other 1" 
 
 Mrs, Jfn/te Sedgwick to Miss Sedgtvick. 
 
 41 Stock bridge, June, 1837. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, Never did so precious a morsel 
 fall from your pen as your letter I I would not give it for 
 all Redwood, Clarence, Hope Leslie, and the rest of those 
 very precious books. It was just what I needed what I 
 longed for. Of all the abundant good gifts you have re 
 ceived with such liberality from God, there is not one for 
 which you ought to be so grateful as the power of your sym 
 pathy. What would your genius do without it for those 
 poor exiles, what for that host of children who are fed with 
 your smiles, for all that crowd of poor in spirit who are the 
 chief paupers in our community 1 What has it not done for 
 me, my sister ! I look to you with a certainty that every 
 thrill of pain or pleasure will find its echo in your heart, and 
 this sentiment often stands in place of society to me." 
 
 Mrs. June Stdgivick to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 Stockbridgc, March 4, 1837. 
 
 #*#* YOU, I know, will not be wearied with any de 
 tails of our hero.* As soon as he heard of the arrival of 
 Confalonieri, he came in, looking like a real seraph, or Ga 
 briel, or any other nature that existed before the fall. * Mad 
 am, said he, * my friend has arrived safe, and I come to re- 
 * One of the Italian exiles who was passing the winter r\ 3tockbridgc. 
 
270 Life of Catharine Af. SatgwicA. 
 
 lieve my heart to you. You may be sure it was all I could 
 do to keep from crying, there was something so touching in 
 the idea that this poor fellow could find nobody nearer than 
 myself to be interested in an event which filled his whole 
 soul with the deepest emotion." 
 
 JRev. Dr. C/ianning to C. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 August 19, 1837. 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss SEDGWICK, I can not, without violence 
 to my feelings, refrain from expressing to you the great grati 
 fication with which I have read your Live and Let Live. 
 Thousands will be the better and happier for it ; thousands, 
 as they read it, will feel their deficiencies, and resolve to do 
 better. No relation is so little understood among us as 
 that of head of family and domestic. The false notions of 
 it which prevail in England, even more false, I suspect, than 
 are to be found on the Continent, exist here, in defiance of 
 the spirit of our institutions and of Christianity. Thousands, 
 brought up under this pernicious system, are wholly uncon 
 scious of the inhumanity (I use this word in a large sense) 
 with which those living under their own roofs are treated, 
 and, as a general consequence, the domestics carry into their 
 service no generosity or affection. Instead of feeling the 
 dignity of their vocation, that they are contributing essen 
 tially to the happiness of the family, and may render serv 
 ices for which wages are a poor equivalent, they connect 
 ideas of degradation -with their work, and try to maintain 
 their dignity by jealousy of rights, resistance of imagined 
 encroachments, bad manners, and sometimes positive rude 
 ness. No relation needs reform so much. Domestic hap 
 piness is too often sacrificed to the unfaithfulness of both 
 parties in it. Your three last books, I trust, form an era in 
 our literature. May you be strengthened to go on, and ex 
 pose the errors in our social system." 
 
Life and Letters. 271 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Rev. Dr. Channing. 
 
 " Stock bridge, August 24, 1837. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, I can not tell you how much your 
 very kind letter has gratified and encouraged me. I thank 
 Heaven that I am not now working for the poor and perish 
 ing rewards of literary ambition. Unattainable they might 
 be to me, but, whether so or not, they are not my object ; and 
 I think the lime has gone by, or, perhaps, has not come to 
 our country, when they arc legitimate objects. With the 
 great physical world to be subdued here to the wants of the 
 human family, there is an immense moral field opening, de 
 manding laborers of every class, and of every kind and de 
 gree of talent. Neither pride nor humility should withhold 
 us from the work to which we are clearly sent. No one can 
 feel as I do the imperfection of the labor I achieve ; but I do 
 gratefully feel that it is something done in the good cause, 
 and such a Godspeed as yours, my dear friend, gives me heart 
 and courage to proceed. There is much sin from mere ig 
 norance, and I have been told by persons, in whom I could 
 not previously have believed such ignorance to exist, that 
 my view of the relation of employer and employed was en 
 tirely new to them. A gentleman asked an introduction to 
 me, a very clever man, who has been the commander of a 
 privateer on the South American coast, and who has rather 
 belter morals than could be expected from such a position. 
 He thanked me for the light I had given him, and said he 
 had always supposed the Irish were to be treated as you 
 would treat slaves ! That slaves are the subjects of Heav 
 en s equal laws he has probably yet to learn." 
 
 Mrs. Jameson to Miss S&fgwiek. 
 
 December 22, 1837. 
 " I can not allow your niece to go to New York without 
 
272 Life of Cat/tar i/ie M. Serfgwick* 
 
 a few lines from me, though the lines must be few, and not 
 worth much not worth postage at least, yet they will tell 
 you that I love you and think of you, and never do think of 
 you without feeling glad and grateful to have known you, to 
 have you to think of and talk of. * * * * Farewell, and God 
 bless you, and keep me a little wee corner in that good 
 heart. How full it must be I How crammed and crowded, 
 unless it has an India-rubber capacity of extension has it ? 
 Put me somewhere, stick me behind the door, any where, but 
 let me in." 
 
 
 
 In the spring of 1838 a sad reverse clouded this bright 
 season. Mr. Robert Sedgwick was stricken with paralysis, 
 and the following year was passed in anxious and devoted 
 nursing, and in watching his gradual recovery. In June he 
 was well enough to pass a short time at Rockaway, Long 
 Island, where the following letter is dated. 
 
 Miss Scdgivfck to Miss A". M. Satgivick. 
 
 June 23, 1838. 
 
 " MY DARLING KATE, Your aunt writes to your uncle 
 that you are to be in Warrun Street to-morrow, provided the 
 weather is good, which proviso indicates that you are com 
 ing with Mr. B. I hope so, and that when he has done the 
 good deed of getting you to Warren Street, he will fill up the 
 measure of his virtue by coming forthwith and bringing you 
 to Rockaway. If he can t come, drum up some excellent 
 person who will excellent, I mean, from the odor of sancti 
 ty which bringing you to me will steep them in. As to their 
 other qualities, I will not stand upon them. Your uncle will 
 probably, at any rate, remain here for a day or two next week. 
 * # * * My beloved child, I have set my heart on enjoying 
 with you your first sight of the sea-shore, the most sublime 
 of all the spectacles of this earth. I do not enjoy the cli- 
 
Life and Letters. 273 
 
 mate here ; it is too cold, and I miss the beautiful witnesses 
 of God s bounty and love that are on our sunny hill-sides 
 and in our fruitful valleys. But there is something here that 
 brings you more into his actual presence, and when you turn 
 from it you feel as if you were going down from the mount. 
 Your uncle has had a delicious day. I do not think he has 
 ever enjoyed his existence so much. His mind is in such a 
 tranquil, grateful, and loving state it seems to me so pre 
 cisely the condition of a saint at his departure, that I really 
 am at times awed as if I saw him standing on the threshold 
 of another world." * * * * 
 
 Mrs. Jameson to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 " Windsor, August 20, 1838. 
 
 " On the very clay I left London to take up my residence 
 here, Mr. Putnam brought me your letter. You are the 
 dearest, kindest creature in the world, that is certain, thus to 
 find time to write to me in the midst of your anxieties, dis 
 tresses, and avocations ; but believe that I am grateful. 
 And then your letters, no matter how short, how long, are 
 sure to contain some word or words which lie on my heart 
 like balm for hours and days afterward. You have this in 
 stinct of benevolence and affection in a degree that no oth 
 er possesses no other that I have ever known : how can I 
 but love you dearly ? * * * * Have you yet begun the tale 
 you mentioned to me ? Which is to be next in your series ? 
 Can I make any arrangement with my publisher for you, by 
 which you might have some share of the profits of the En 
 glish editions of your books? You are very popular here. 
 I sent you, or rather Kate, the third edition of one of them, 
 for I thought it would please her." 
 
 M2 
 
274 -Life f Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Frank Channing. 
 
 " Lenox, October 24, 1838. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, Your letter gave the truest pleasure 
 to one and all of us ; the storms and toils seemed passed, 
 and your minute account of your pleasant haven was delight 
 ful.* Some of us even began to feel an incipient emigrating 
 fever to feel the pressure of the burdens of our present so 
 cial existence very heavy upon us ; however, I rather think 
 we shall go on fretting in the old harness, and content our 
 selves with rejoicing in your joy, or, if that is a stronger term 
 than the case will warrant, in the cheerful resignation with 
 which you have given up, and the energy and hope with 
 which you are striking your roots into a new soil. How true 
 it is, and how constantly illustrated in all the various expe- 
 perience of life, that, as F6nelon says, when we cease to re 
 sist we cease to suffer/ 
 
 " $d November. My dear friend, I was but well started in 
 my letter to you when I was interrupted, and it has had the 
 fate of interrupted letters. For the last ten days we have 
 been quite absorbed in preparing to part and parting with 
 our dear and good friend Castillia. He and others of his 
 companions have returned on the faith of the amnesty grant 
 ed to political offenders, but already they have been annoyed 
 by the vexatious tyrannies that clog even the mercies of 
 the Austrian government. Castillia s affections had struck 
 such root among us that his recall seemed like a second 
 banishment a most hard case and I am sure he has left 
 behind a family that might be mistaken for weeping parents, 
 brothers, and sisters. Such is the effect of pure goodness. 
 It finds every where missionary ground." * * * * 
 
 * Mrs. Channing had removed with a married daughter to one of the 
 Western States. 
 
JLife and Letters. 275 
 
 Mr. Robert Sedgwick was so much better by the follow 
 ing spring that Miss Sedgwick, with his wife and eldest 
 daughter, and accompanied by two other nieces, went with 
 him to Europe, in the hope that rest and change of scene 
 would prolong his life. They were gone nearly two years, 
 and he was so far restored as to enjoy the journey himself, 
 and to contribute to the enjoyment of the others with much 
 of his former wit and geniality. 
 
 Another severe blow fell, however, during their absence, 
 upon the whole family in the loss of Mr. Theodore Sedg 
 wick, a man of great nobleness of character, who died, not 
 exactly in the melodramatic manner described by Miss Mit- 
 ford, but from an attack of apoplexy, with which he had been 
 for some time threatened. In several members of this rare 
 ly-gifted family the physical brain seems to have lacked the 
 toughness necessary in the agent of such brilliant, energetic, 
 and untiring spirits. 
 
 Miss Saigivick to Jtev. Z>/\ Channing. 
 
 "New York, April 17, 1839. 
 
 " Many, many thanks to you, my dear friend, for your kind 
 letter, which is truly a parting blessing to me ; and pray 
 accept all our thanks for your letters of introduction. Is it 
 not a privilege to have made a name which opens the doors 
 of strangers to your friends as well as to yourself? It is not 
 true that love always casts out fear probably because some 
 imperfection attaches to it. We erect barriers about our 
 selves, and then are all our lives complaining that we can 
 not overleap them. In my early intercourse with you I par 
 ticipated the vulgar feeling in relation to your superiority, 
 and was awed by it, not knowing that that was the very cir 
 cumstance that should have drawn me nearer to you, and 
 to a more frank intercourse. I hold your friendship as one 
 of God s best gifts, and imperishable." 
 
276 {/<: of Cat/iart/ttt Af. Sedgivick. 
 
 Afiss Stdgwick to JRtv, >r. JDewey. 
 
 " Kronthal, September, 1839. 
 
 * * * * What a lifetime I have lived since the night 
 clear M. gave me a shelter since that ominous shake of 
 your hand at the Astor House 1 What have I not seen ? It 
 would be more to the purpose to tell you what I have seen. 
 The great literary people in London thanks chiefly to F. B. 
 Hallam, Sydney Smith, Lockhart, Milman, and many oth 
 ers. I had a glimpse of the fashionable world too ; was 
 twice at the Marquis of Lansdowne s, and at a grand soiree 
 at the rich Miss Coutts s \ saw a great deal of Rogers, who, 
 by-the-by, is one of the most agreeable men I have seen, 
 living without fear of boring or being bored, the prevailing 
 terrors of London society. Oh, it is a horrible arena, where, 
 like trained gladiators, each awaits his turn to spring into 
 the place of action and display his strength, while others 
 are breathlessly waiting to succeed him. It is a state of so 
 ciety that belongs to a high degree of civilization but the 
 civilization of savages. I would rather die at once than to 
 struggle as they do there to maintain an existence in society. 
 But these are only reflections afterward ; for the time, it 
 was all delight, animation, and fatigue. My six weeks in 
 Kngland were six weeks of prolonged surprise and amaze 
 ment. What a magnificent country it is 1 What perfection 
 of physical cultivation, and beauty, and comfort 1 How es 
 sentially the people are like us 1 I never had a feeling there 
 that I was out of my land except when I was reminded by 
 some question indicating that we were about as dim and 
 distant to them as heaven or that other place, which I hope 
 few among them will ever make acquaintance with. I saw 
 a good deal of Joanna Baillie, and had very nice talks with 
 her about ypu and Dr. Charming. She is a most sweet lady, 
 with an intellectual freshness that is striking at her age, and 
 
JLifs and Letters. 277 
 
 a mental strength that would be striking at any age. Our 
 friend Mrs. Jameson I found much quieter and happier than 
 when she was in America as she should be, when, instead 
 of righting against the demons of ennui, she is quietly do 
 ing womanly domestic duties. What a safety-valve they 
 are 1" 
 
 On her return home, Miss Sedgwick published " Letters 
 from Abroad to Kinsfolk at Home," and tells the story of 
 her travels with so much grace and such graphic descrip 
 tion, that not much is left to say about them except what 
 her modesty prevented her from intimating the warmth of 
 respect with which she was received both by old friends, 
 known personally or by letter, and by those to whom she 
 carried introductions, many of them the people best worth 
 knowing in England and on the Continent. Thus the party 
 found active social interest in almost every place they visit 
 ed. The Sismonciis were affectionately devoted to them at 
 Geneva ; and foremost in Italy to welcome them with open 
 arms were the friends of the exiles to whom they had shown 
 such generous hospitality. " Wherever we went," says Mrs. 
 Minor, " Aunt Kitty, then fifty years old, was the most eager, 
 the most enthusiastic, the most untiring of the party, and 
 put us young girls to shame by the zeal with which she 
 would rush out before breakfast, at any place where we 
 passed a single night, to see the most of it before leaving it." 
 
 It is touching to see, in Miss Sedgwick s record of the 
 journey, how the sweet humanity of her character found ex 
 ercise every where, from the little girl on the Alpine pasture 
 11 who had got her arm about my neck," and Baptiste, the 
 honest Switzer boy who intrusted her with a letter for his 
 brother in Buenos Ayres, to her feeling on the play-ground 
 at Eton, and in the ship s cabin where Nelson died, and her 
 genuine sympathy with the newly-crowned Queen of En- 
 
2j& Lift: of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 gland ; and then, again, in her wise tenderness for Clotilde 
 Poggione, the young Italian girl of whom she gives so lovely 
 a sketch at Magione, and her compassion for the poor peas 
 ant of Foligno lamenting over his dead ox with grief both 
 deep and loud. 
 
 On their return, it was found that the relief to Mr. Sedg- 
 wick s health had been only temporary, and within a few 
 months he died, leaving a chasm in his sister s life to be 
 bridged only by religious faith now, and the hope of reunion 
 hereafter. 
 
 Afiss S&tgwlck to Rev. Z)r. Dauey. 
 
 " Lenox, September 7, 1841. 
 
 "Mv DEAR FRIEND, Your letter was a comfort to me 
 the greatest comfort, I think, that words from a friend could 
 give me. You understand the heart. You know I do not 
 want to be told how many reasons I have not to grieve. 
 This is cold selfish. I always feel it so ; but you make me 
 feel that I am not alone that I am not unreasonable in feel 
 ing my sorrow to be as much as I can bear. You speak to 
 me of my lost treasures as knowing their worth their worth 
 to me. God only knows how I have loved my brothers 
 the union of feeling, of taste, of principle, of affection I have 
 had with them. No closer tie has ever weakened that which 
 began with my being. I have no recollection beyond the 
 time when they made my happiness ; our lives have flowed 
 in one stream ; and with Robert so long, that now I feel as 
 if half my life were buried in his grave. To .others I know 
 he seemed a broken man, but not so to me. I saw through 
 the clouds that had gathered over his mind the mind was 
 there, and that which was the befit part of him, as it is of 
 all God s creatures, his affections, were more constant and 
 tender in their manifestations, and to me he often turned 
 with the enthusiasm of our younger and happier days ; he 
 
Life and Letters. 279 
 
 fell back upon the worn, accustomed channels that had been 
 somewhat clogged by newer ties and business cares. We 
 had a thousand points of pleasant memory and sympathy 
 we have been each the chosen friend of the other. From 
 the time of my father s death he added to every thing else a 
 father s care of me ; and, till his sickness, I never gave a 
 thought to my affairs, any more than if I still lived in my 
 father s house. But he is gone gone when I did not ex 
 pect to lose him ; prepared I never should have been, for I 
 should have clung to him while there was one gleam of in 
 tellectual life. 
 
 "The time will come, and soon, I trust, when I shall 
 think with a cheerful gratitude of his firm faith in immor 
 tality, of his calm waiting for death, of his preference to it 
 over diminished life, of the comfort of his last days, of his 
 pure unspotted life in the midst of the overburdening world, 
 of his unswerving fidelity, of his exquisite tenderness, of 
 our near reunion ; but now I can only feel as a child that 
 is torn from the arms of its mother my tears must .flow till 
 my sick .soul is relieved. I look upon my only brother with 
 a fear that he will vanish from me while I look at him. My 
 dear friend, I am pouring out my heart to you. Do not 
 no, you will not think any thing unkind of me. I dread 
 now your going away. Weakened as I am, the lights seem 
 all going out. I shall certainly come to see you at least I 
 think I shall, for I trust in one fortnight I shall rise from 
 this blow, and be able to see you without distress. I have 
 lived to feel a vivid memory, such as you express of Harry, 
 most precious to me. You do not know, I trust, what it is 
 to have those whose memory to you is as fresh as if they 
 had left you yesterday almost forgotten by the world. Your 
 friendship will last me while I live, will it not? I have had 
 praise and flattery, and I have not been insensible to them ; 
 but God knows they never weighed for one moment against 
 
180 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 affection, -and I would give all the world could offer to me 
 of them for one tone of Robert s voice. 
 
 " God bless you. Ever yours, truly and affectionately, 
 
 "C. M. SEDOWICK." 
 
 Miss StdgwU k to jRc v. >r. 
 
 New York, Feb. 26, 1842. 
 
 * * * * " You see our papers, no doubt, and will won t 
 you ? rather partake than laugh at our entusymusy about 
 Dickens. No doubt there is some admixture of egotism, 
 and those poor vanities that always explode in noise and 
 nothingness ; but, for the most part, it is a genuine senti 
 ment, an involuntary effusion of gratitude, an instinctive 
 hero-worship. It marks the age and our country, for it per 
 vades all classes. After making a journey from Boston here 
 like a royal progress, being welcomed with shouts, visited by 
 thousands, sculptured and painted, serenaded, dined in pub 
 lic and private, and fOted in every mode, he has the discre 
 tion and good sense to decline any farther public demon 
 strations. It is a proof of his power that he has stood as 
 steadily in this focus of sunbeams as if he were in the cool 
 shade of private life. He has a beautiful faco, his full dark 
 eye (if your wife asks the color, tell her whether it be brown, 
 hazel, blue, or gray, is yet a mooted question) is, in truth, 
 the spirit s throne of light. Some of our exquisites say he 
 is not high-bred has not the manners of the haut ton ; and, 
 to tell you the truth, if I had met him coming out of the 
 Carlton, I might, at a hurried glance, have taken him for one 
 of the officials of the establishment, but I should certainly 
 have stopped to look at him, and should have thought, * My 
 friend, what gifts are lost on you ! But he does not want 
 good-breeding ; he is cordial, natural, and, thank Heaven, 
 unconventional. It was beautiful to see, at his dinner here 
 of which I, with about fifty other of womankind, had the 
 
Lift: and Letters, 281 
 
 good fortune to be a spectator the heartiness with which 
 he took the laurels from his own loaded brow and covered 
 Irving s, so that for the moment we all forgot, as he meant 
 we should, that it was somewhat faded and shorn of its ear 
 ly glory. But I have no more space for him." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to /iV? . Dr. Dcw<y y then in Europe. 
 
 " Lenox, June 12, 1842. 
 
 * * * * " You are near the Sismondis friends that I 
 love and honor with my whole heart and mind. I fear, from 
 their own accounts, that the shadows of age are gathering 
 about them, but surely the sun of love and benevolence, 
 that made their home the pleasantcst resting-place in all our 
 pilgrimage, must still give it a touching charm. Do, if you 
 see them, as you certainly will, tell me just how they are. 
 They seem to me like my own blood relations. I have late 
 ly got a notion that those persons toward whom we feel a 
 sudden and lasting sympathy have been dear to us in some 
 previous state of existence that they are to be in a future 
 one (if we are accounted worthy of the resurrection 1) I do 
 not doubt ; but that they have been can only satisfactorily 
 explain to me the sudden, unreserved, unquestioning min 
 gling of mind and heart, without the tedious process of get 
 ting acquainted. Thus it was with the Sismondis, and with 
 a few (very few) other pre-existing relationships. You will 
 laugh at my philosophy, but can you give me a better? 
 
 ****** I believe I have never sent you a letter without 
 some sad cloud over it, and now you will be sorry to hear 
 that my dear sister* long your true and earnest friend is 
 soon to be removed from us ; and yet, though I shrink sore 
 with wounds from the stroke, I would not hold back her 
 spirit from the joy that awaits it. She said to me a few 
 evenings since, * My heart is one echo to the infinite good 
 ness of my Father ! and so it has been through a life of 
 MM. Watson. 
 
282 Life of Catharine Af* Sedgwick. 
 
 vexing trials that would have cooled any love, exhausted any 
 enthusiasm but hers. Mr. Watson was turned out of office 
 by the reform/ and lost his little pittance of a clerkship, 
 and they came to Stockbridge to live on her slender means. 
 
 There, at my sister Susan s, F. was married to L y, and 
 
 thus my sister s heaviest care relieved. She had been un 
 well, and very ill at intervals all winter, and since the mar 
 riage she has steadily declined. She is now confined to her 
 bed, and suffers only the general distress which is involved 
 iii utter prostration. F. is tenderly devoted to her, and we 
 are all by turns her nurses, so that she has those allevia 
 tions which her affectionate nature most needs." 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to Mrs. Frank Channing, after the death of 
 Dr. Charming. 
 
 "Stockbridge, October 14, 1842. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, Your letter was a great comfort to 
 us. We are anxious to learn all that can be learned of the 
 closing scenes of a life so momentous, so cherished. You, 
 dear Susan, have lost the friend that filled a relation to you 
 that none else can. He has been always a bright point to 
 us all ; to you an object of unceasing hope, joy, and happi 
 ness, and so is he now. Few persons seem, even to our im 
 perfect vision, so completely to have fulfilled their mission. 
 His spirit lives, to teach, to elevate, to comfort. It pervades 
 his works, and they will go to thousands millions of this 
 and future generations. He was sent with a divine com 
 mission, of which he felt the power ; and now, though de 
 parted, he surely is not dead. This summer was a special 
 mercy to us, and most grateful am I for it and for all its cir 
 cumstances. What a prophetic close to his ministry was 
 that most eloquent invocation J* I should never have known 
 
 * At the close of an address which Dr. Channing delivered at Lenox, 
 on the ist of August, 1842, the anniversary of Emancipation in the Brit 
 ish West Indies, and which is included in his published works. 
 
Life and Letters. 283 
 
 the aflfectionateness, the divine simplicity, the gentle playful 
 ness of his character but for the intimate intercourse of this 
 summer. What a blessing that you were here, that you were 
 with him that last week, and that William, so dear to him, 
 should have received his last commission a holy ordination 
 it seems to me." 
 
 Miss Sctlgtuifk to A tv. Dr. 
 
 44 Stuck bridge, November 20, 1842. 
 
 * * * * " You have heard of Channing s death, and per 
 haps that he passed the summer at Lenox, and in a free and 
 happy condition of mind and healthy state of body, such as 
 he often said he did not remember to have enjoyed from his 
 childhood, and such as his friends had never before ob 
 served. He seemed to have thrown off every shackle, to be 
 rid of his precision, and he was so affectionate and playful 
 with the young people that those who had not before known 
 him wondered any one should fear Dr. Channing I He liked 
 our anti-conventionalism our froc ways of going on our 
 individual independence of thought and action; he enjoyed, 
 as if he had come home to his father s house, the forever- 
 changing beauty of our hills and valleys, and he went away 
 with more than half a promise to return to us next summer. 
 Before he reached Bennington he took the cold of which he 
 there died. Died 1 what a word, with its mortal associations, 
 to apply to the passage of such a spirit into the immortal 
 world !" 
 
 Besides the death of Mrs. Watson, other family afflictions 
 had saddened the last years. The loss of Mr. Charles Sedg- 
 wick s oldest son, a young man of uncommon promise, and 
 of a lovely daughter of Mrs, Jane Sedgwick, were deeply felt 
 by their aunt, and these were followed by an event which, 
 although happy and desirable, was at first to her, as it is to 
 
284 -Life of Catharine M. Setlgwick. 
 
 tender mothers, almost as great a shock the marriage of 
 her favorite niece, who in 1842 became the wife of William 
 Minot, Jr., of Boston, and from that time lived in Boston or at 
 Woodbourne, her beautiful country home in West Roxbury. 
 
 Miss SctfgwU k to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 "New York, April 16, 1843. 
 
 "DEAREST KATE, /^feel it to be an age since I have 
 written to you. I have been waiting for a private convey 
 ance. Postage with the three cents tacked on to the shil 
 ling is quite too severe. I can put nothing inside the cask 
 et to compensate for this heavy tariff upon it. Feeling the 
 cruelty of this heart-tax, I have been writing a little story il 
 lustrative of this evil of postage, when I would have been 
 writing to you, my darling. I think I feel more heavily ev 
 ery day my absence from you. I can not bear the rolling 
 away of month after month, the rising and setting of suns, 
 without one glimpse of that dear face that has so long been 
 my sunshine, my repose, my every thing. I do not com 
 plain. God knows that, stripped and solitary as I often feel, 
 I have still far more than I deserve ; but the companions of 
 my youth, the dearest friends of my happiest years, are gone 
 from the (fairest left I am separated but it is useless, 
 even to you, to breathe the oppression of my soul. * * * * I 
 went last evening, through a fog that made our streets al 
 most impenetrably dark, to hear Mr. Gal latin on the sub 
 ject of the red-line map. To hear him was impossible, for, 
 though his mind is unscathed by the wear and tear of more 
 than eighty years, his voice is too feeble to fill ft large chap 
 el (the chapel of the University) crowded with people. I 
 suppose his exposition of the case will appear in print. I 
 passed an hour at his house a few evenings since, and heard 
 him talk with great clearness and interest on the subject. 
 There has been discovered, among the papers of Mr. Fay, a 
 
JLift and Letters. 285 
 
 very interesting document a map used by the commission 
 ers when they made the treaty, more favorable to us even 
 than the late treaty, so that I trust one dark shadow, at 
 least, will pass from our escutcheon. It is enough to have 
 public officers defaulters, and our states and merchants 
 bankrupts, without having our statesmen as tricky as tin- 
 peddlers. Mr. G. reminded me of our clear Sismondi, and 
 a fervent kiss he gave me at meeting seemed for an instant 
 to blend his identity with our beloved friend." * * * * 
 
 Miss StrtteKHfA to Mrs. JC. S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, June C, 1843. 
 
 * * * * "Your mother went off yesterday P.M. in good 
 heart and health, and in a cab packed as one packs a trunk. 
 You could just see her face above a sea of things. I sent a 
 basket of plants, taking it for granted that those already 
 there that escaped sovcn months of steady freezing weather 
 were sealed up under June ice. 
 
 " Anne A. and I went a few evenings since to take a so 
 ciable dish of tea with Mrs. Banyer, and Fenimore Cooper 
 dropped in. I rather think the light by which we see the 
 world emanates from ourselves. He moves in a belligerent 
 spirit, waging war with classes and masses, boarding and 
 broadsiding his fellow-creatures. He maintained that his 
 own country was below France, Italy, and even England in 
 civilization, intellectual development, morals, and manners ; 
 that we were going in every thing backward; that in com 
 mon honesty we were below any other nation. Being in the 
 presence of Mrs. Banyer and Miss Jay, who sanctify the 
 very names of Christian and saint, he attacked the whole 
 class with man-of-thc-world slang, and wound up with prom 
 ising me a pamphlet of his, just coming out, which is to 
 grind M*Kenzie to powder. With all this, he was good- 
 humored, and talked strongly and amusingly. He is a per- 
 
286 Life of Catharine M. 
 
 feet John Bull in shape, dimensions, action, even to the 
 growl." * * * * 
 
 Miss Satffwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 * Lenox, October 22, 1843, 
 
 **** \y e S eem just to have got into a regular, profit 
 able mode of life as the breaking-up is coming. I get about 
 an hour to write in the morning, and have finished two 
 drafts 1 since you went away. Your mother is reading aloud 
 Alison in the afternoons, and B. has been reading some of 
 Smyth s best lectures to us in the evening. He is one of 
 those great spirits that stand on so high an elevation that he 
 has an almost unbounded horizon, and, seeing all around 
 him, measures exactly the proportion of things. With what 
 noble justice, philosophy, and truth he opens the field of his 
 tory to his pupils 1 What an antipodc is he to John-Bull- 
 ism ! We perhaps have not read enough of Alison to judge 
 him. He is evidently yet in the low and obstructed region 
 of Conservatism, and he reads, studies, and writes history to 
 confirm the judgment he inherited. Religion and govern 
 ment are cast in a certain mould in his mind a divine form 
 that admits no change or variation. He has an animated 
 relation of events, and when he is not misled by his biases, 
 he is a very agreeable writer. A familiarity with Sismondi 
 rather gives you a distaste to such a historian as Alison. 
 My criticisms are made between runnings into the kitchen 
 to look after a variety baking, so I do not choose to be re 
 sponsible for any absurdities I may chance to write. The 
 last mail brought me a delightful letter from Mad, Sismondi. 
 Delightful I Alas I it is all a requiem." * * * * 
 
 Afiss Sedgivick to Mrs. A". S. Afinot, 
 
 "New York, Sunday, December 31, 1843. 
 
 * * * * " Last evening was a Berkshire at the O Sulli- 
 
Life and Letters. 287 
 
 vans . Alexander Everett is staying with them. They are 
 living in one end of the University, the prettiest rooms in 
 New York, with pointed Gothic windows and paneled doors, 
 and the loveliest silver lamps lighted with gas. The pic 
 tures of five generations of the O S.s over the mantel-piece 
 in little, encircling a Madonna portrait of M. and A. in 
 short, every thing in keeping with these most picturesque of 
 all the moderns. Dr. F.,who was there, and whp harangued 
 to me all the evening, told me that he asked Ole Bull if Pa- 
 ganini had been his master. * No, he replied ; poverty, 
 wretchedness, and despair were my masters greater than 
 Pnganini. They truly are the great teachers and preach 
 ers, and yet he who is greatest among us has little affinity 
 with any of them Mr. Dewey. I heard him to-day preach 
 a very solemn discourse suggested by the closing year. Its 
 admonitory truths came home to my heart." * * * * 
 
 Jlf/ ss S&fgwitJi to Mrs. -AT. S. Afinot. 
 
 " Lenox, February, 1844. 
 
 * * * * j h avc nac i several letters from Fanny K.* I 
 am very much struck with the progress of her mind in the 
 last four years. It seems to me that the intimate inter 
 course with the brilliant accomplishment, the wit, and the 
 instruction of London has wrought her genius up to the 
 highest polish of which genius is susceptible, while her bit 
 ter experience, falling on religious principle, has matured 
 the best parts of her character. Her eloquence in conver 
 sation is marvelous ; we sat up sometimes till one, and to 
 the last the vigor of her expressions, and the flow of rich, 
 fresh thoughts delighted me." 
 
 * Mrs. Fanny Kcmblc Butler, with whom Miss Scdgwick had been 
 recently staying in Philadelphia. 
 
288 Life of Cat/iarittt M. Stdgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgivick to Mrs. K. S. Minof. 
 
 " Lenox, August 14, 1844, 
 
 * * * * i gave a picnic party ou the lake last week to 
 the little children, and we mustered, with those who came to 
 look after them and look at them, seventy-nine. It was very 
 successful. Who ever failed when children and summer, 
 freedom and green fields, were the elements of the festi 
 val ?**** 
 
 Miss Se<tgtvit& to Mrs, K. S. Minof. 
 
 " Stockbridgc, October 18, 1844. 
 
 ****< My arrival at Lenox was rather of the dismal- 
 est. The afternoon was lowering and dripping, and when 
 Chaflee dumped me down at the gate bag and baggage 
 instead of the multitudinous sea of happy human faces that 
 I left there, all was solitary, silent, and cheerless. I opened 
 the door to rooms un-soutcut, un-carpeted, and stacked with 
 chairs and tables in apparent mutiny ; no frolic, no Jessie. 
 " Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart" all gone. At last, hover 
 ing over the kitchen stove (not the wide-mouthed kitchen 
 fireplace, once the concentrated symbol of home-charities), 
 I found a poor pilgrim from Erin, Anstey, and, at the sound 
 of our voices, in rushed Mary Brown, and finally came Jes 
 sie, doing all that faithful little dog could do to speak wel 
 come and consolation. * * * I felt somewhat as the passen 
 gers on the Styx may on a strait between two worlds, the 
 bright one I had left, and that gathered in the happy valley. 
 But with the morning came the angel of our life, and with 
 him G., sweet and welcoming. Your father had a most sat 
 isfactory cousining progress. He found * Cousin Ben 1 wor 
 thily filling the patriarchal place of our dear Uncle John. 
 Their reunion, after years of needless separation, was most 
 touching, and the good man s prayer, in his evening dcvo- 
 
Lift: and Letters. 289 
 
 tion, with it3 thanksgiving and its supplication for the con 
 tinued friendship of their descendants, was such as Burns s 
 father would have tittered, or, rather, such as Burns, with his 
 exquisite conception of the holiest feelings of domestic life, 
 would have put into his mouth." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sxtgivick to Mrs, K. S. Minot, after the birth of her first 
 
 MM. 
 4) " Lenox, November n, 1844, 
 
 * * # * Since that, you, as well as our darling, have en 
 tered a new world a world of imperishable affection, of 
 hopes, and fears, and projects. You have received the best 
 gift that God gives to his creatures, the best treasure for 
 earth, and a treasure to be laid up in heaven forever and 
 ever. And this gift, I trust, my dear child, will find its due 
 return of gratitude and devotion to the Giver will find you 
 guarding against that mere extension of self-love with which 
 some parents love their children, but rather making this new 
 spring of love an, impulse of activity, of devotion to those to 
 whom you have or can make the opportunity of doing good. 
 Thus may our baby be the centre of concentric circles; thus 
 may the fountain she fills continually overflow and spread 
 in many life-refreshing channels ; thus may she be the vestal 
 that shall keep the fire ever burning in your holiest of 
 holies. Take care that it be so, my darling. With the best, 
 virtues do not spring up, or, rather, grow spontaneously ; 
 they need continual tending, and, alas! sometimes watering 
 with tears." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgivick to Mrs. A". S. Mi/tof. 
 
 " Lenox, November, 18^. 
 
 * * * * j am j US |; now ver y much taken up with watch 
 ing my poor little Jessie s* maternity. Ma ch&re m&re* 
 
 * Jessie, n delicate little black-and-tan terrier. 
 
 N 
 
290 jL/fi of Catharine AT. Sedgwick. 
 
 I call her, though I am sure from no likeness to that most 
 charming of all odious people, except in devoted love to her 
 unworthy whelp, the ugliest little tyke you ever saw, and 
 Jessie the prettiest mother imaginable of the canine spe 
 cies. It is almost Beauty and the Beast ; and such tender 
 and picturesque devotion ! What Infinite Love it must bo 
 that feeds all these multiform streams ! She has a couch 
 nicely prepared under my sofa, where she stays excepting 
 when her baby is so uproarious that I am obligcd^o cany 
 her into the next room." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to JRcv. JDr. Dcwty. 
 
 " SlockbridgO) December I, 1844. 
 
 "Mv DEAR FKIUND, That canon of the orthodox Church 
 which proscribes letter-writing on the Sabbath seems to me 
 to have .a more than common infusion of their character of 
 the mole which works underground and in darkness, and ut 
 terly without that divine light afforded to those who, though 
 their wings are still invisible, hope, one of these bright com 
 ing days, to unfold them in the empyrean. Is not letter- 
 writing (sometimes !) the exercise of that principle of love 
 by which we are partakers of the divine nature? Is it not 
 the utterance of our immortal spirits of that portion of our 
 being which alone will live through the eternal Sabbath? 
 Answering instinctively yes to these my own questions, I 
 hold it fitting to devote this Sunday afternoon to writing to 
 you, my dear friend, who are associated with my purest en 
 joyments on earth, and with the objects and substance of 
 my faith in things hoped for. 
 
 " I received your very kind note from West Stockbridge, 
 and thank you earnestly for writing it. It was one of those 
 impromptu expressions that, like the grasping of hands in 
 a passing crowd, indicates, more than a predetermined at 
 tention, that the current sets right, that the heart of affection 
 
JLife and JLcttcrs. 291 
 
 beats evenly and steadily. I wish you could have come to 
 us, if it were only for an hour or two. Summer visits are 
 somewhat like the notes of a favorite bird, so drowned in 
 the general song of multitudinous life that they lose half 
 their virtue ; and what is there on earth like the presence 
 of a friend ? Nothing. It is a fitting type of heaven. I 
 thought of you yesterday, and of your love and estimation 
 of winter scenery, which I know corresponds with my own. 
 After a pleasant Thanksgiving at Lenox, where we gathered 
 the few fragments of our family together, and for the mo 
 ment closed up the abyss between us and those departed 
 by fond memories and living hopes, I came down with my 
 sister to pass a few days at the old homestead my only 
 home the only place on earth where forms, common and 
 mute to others, have to me soul and speech ; where voices 
 linger in the walls of the rooms, and make their sweet and 
 by-gone cheerfulness and tenderness ring in my ears in the 
 dead of the night ; where the stems of the old trees arc still 
 warm with the hands that once pressed them ; where, in 
 short, the dead arc not dead. 
 
 " But it was not all this that I meant to write to you, but, 
 alone here at this moment, I can not help feeling it, and 
 what I feel when I am writing to you, that I must write. I 
 was about to tell you of the beauty of yesterday morning, 
 when Winter rose in her robes pontifical, ne er seen but 
 wondered at. 1 Summer is but a drawing-room scene com 
 pared to it. The sun of these days rises behind the highest 
 point, in our eastern horizon, and consequently his beams 
 shoot clown the sides of the mountains, and even into the 
 laps of the hills, before he is himself visible. A newly-fallen 
 snow covered the whole area between the hills from moun 
 tain top to mountain top, and every tree and shrub ; not a 
 breath of air had shaken the snow off the lightest twig. It 
 was intensely cold, and the smoke from our village homes 
 
292 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 the breath of their nostrils rose in a solid column white 
 and bright as molten silver. Here a rose -colored light 
 flushed the hills, and there the light dropped down into 
 their hollows like cloth of gold. The whole vault of heaven 
 was of the brightest blue ; not a cloud, not a paling hue over 
 any portion of it ; and far up in the clear atmosphere, and 
 relieved against this brilliant blue, stood the magnificent 
 trees, with their winter foliage of snowy wreaths. Then up 
 came the sun, and the trees that crested the summit all 
 along his horizon glittered as if they were shining in another 
 world. 
 
 " I should have feared boring most people with all these 
 scenic particulars, but to you they will be open-sesames to 
 the memory of Sheffield winter days. 
 
 " Shall I confess why I have not written to you for some 
 weeks past ? I will, to my own shame because I had not 
 read the sermon you sent me. It came while I was in Bos 
 ton. C. lent it to some wicked borrower, and it was not re- 
 turned." 
 
 Mis s Strfgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, March 2, 1845. 
 
 * * * * " There is a great stir here among the good peo 
 ple of various classes about an association in behalf of the 
 tenants of our prisons. I wonder if a Humane Society could 
 not be got up for the worst and most dangerous body of 
 criminals in our country our Congressmen. If Hope, Faith, 
 and Charity can stretch to their case, they must be infinite 
 in their capacity. This result of the Texas Question is most 
 disheartening. I see nothing for us but letting the South 
 fall off by its own dead weight. But to my own private 
 cases of villains, etc. I went to a meeting of the Ladies 
 Prison -Discipline Society, where a committee from the 
 men s society appeared to remind the women that they were 
 
Life and Letters. 293 
 
 but a department ; that a report they had printed, and which 
 was just ready for publication, would knock up all the mag 
 nificent plans of the House of Lords, etc., etc. The ladies 
 president meekly confessed a blunder. Some of her collab 
 orators were disposed to stand upon their reserved rights, 
 some modestly hinted they had privileges as well as respon 
 sibilities, and it finally ended in an agreement for a meeting 
 to settle these somewhat important preliminaries, till after 
 which I deferred my membership. * * * * The Texas Bill 1 
 Who can tell what is to be the fate of (he country. I do 
 not despair, but I give up the Democratic party. They have 
 covered themselves with everlasting and irredeemable dis 
 grace." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick soon after joined the Prison Association, 
 and was one of its most efficient members. A sketch of her 
 connection with it, and with the " Isaac T. Hopper Home" 
 for the reception and employment of women discharged from 
 prison, will be found in the latter part of this volume, from 
 the pen of her old and valued friend, Mrs. Abby Hopper 
 Gibbons. 
 
 Miss Scdgivii k to Airs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 44 New York, March u, 1845, 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, I received your letter after J. left 
 us on Saturday, and did not answer it on Sunday because I 
 used up my eyes writing to your father, and answering a 
 beautiful letter from our learned cousin of Kent, Prof. Adam 
 Sedgwick,* Then I put off writing till after our Monday 
 evening, because I was sure J. would want to know how it 
 came off. Yesterday morning was cloudy enough out doors 
 and in, raining and snowing by turns. Your Aunt Lizzy, 
 
 * A delightful correspondence with Professor Sedgwick was kept up 
 till Miss Scdgwick s death. 
 
294 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 after a Sunday of fever and suffering, got up very feeble. 
 S. was quite ill in bed, J. gone J., whom all declared es 
 sential to the * sweet security of a party. * If they are pleas 
 ant people, said L,, * J. enjoys them ; if they are stupid, she 
 entertains them. I was for omitting the evening, it was so 
 forlorn to have our gentle S. ill she who is not like the sun, 
 nor the serene moon, nor the beaming stars, for they are 
 often clouded, but like the blessed beacon-lights that shine 
 in all weathers. However, your aunt rose with good cour 
 age, S. put her veto on any intermission, and we concluded 
 to light the lamps, the old ones to put on their t other caps, 
 and the young ones their pretty dresses. * * * * Catharine 
 S., who looked, if possible, more lovely than ever, recited a 
 piece of Lander s, which certainly deserves the praise that 
 William Charming (who was here) gives to all Lander s po 
 etry, of being done with the perfection of an antique gem. 
 It is singular that this girl always selects poetry of the se 
 vere classic order, which seems so perfectly to accord with 
 the style of her beauty and the order of her character. I 
 have never seen any body like her. She has the serenity, 
 the power without restlessness, not without consciousness, 
 but content to bide its time, which is indicated in the con 
 centration and tranquillity of the beautiful antiques. When 
 she recited the Lady s part in Comus, she seemed perfectly 
 to embody the idea of the poet. * * * * A great (/it great 
 circumstance of the evening to me was the reception of an 
 answer to my letter to Cassius Clay a noble letter, breath 
 ing the consecration of his high mission. * * * * I hope 
 William will subscribe for the paper Mr. Clay is setting up 
 to forward the anti-slavery cause in Kentucky. It is a sub 
 lime enterprise, and he should have the answering sympathy 
 of all true men. Do talk with Mrs. D. and M. about it. 
 There is always fire in their furnace, on their altar I might 
 say, but that their fashion is to turn out work as well as to 
 let the flame go upward." * * * * 
 
Life and Letters. 295 
 
 Af/ ss Sa/gwicA to Mrs. JK. S. Minot. 
 
 11 Linwood, near Khincbcck, June 13, 1845. 
 
 * * * * j) y OU remember my once receiving a letter 
 from Miss G., with some verses, very pretty, from Maria T., 
 a servant of hers, thanking me for having done service to the 
 cause of domestics in * Live and Let Live, and do you re 
 member that I gave her volume of poems to that good old 
 Wcslcyan missionary of the St. James? Well, being in the 
 neighborhood of the G.s, I determined to go and see them, 
 and a few evenings since, when we were taking our drive, 
 the Dr. dropped me at their gate. I approached the house, 
 a modest, old-fashioned structure, by a gravel-walk through 
 an orchard covered with old trees, with their shadows sleep 
 ing on a bed of the richest clover. As I turned round the 
 house I came to the piazza, and there an erect old lady, 
 4 touched- (sanctified), not spoiled by age, was standing, ex 
 plaining to a little girl, such as our Posy will be five years 
 hence, a picture of Daniel and Belshazzar. It was a picture. 
 Roses of all hues in their June bloom were trained about the 
 piazza, a lawn with groups of noble old trees before it, and be 
 low it a magnificent stretch of the river studded with a little 
 fleet of sloops. I introduced myself to the old lady. Her 
 daughter soon made her appearance, a cheerful, intelligent, 
 excellent person, living a truly godly life here, as far as a glo 
 rious scenery can make it so, in the vestibule of heaven. My 
 friend Maria T. soon appeared, to my infinite embarrass 
 ment treating me with as much reverence as if her saints 
 had appeared to her. She blends a nun-like sanctity and 
 intellectual gloamings with the deferential manner of an En 
 glish serving-woman an odd mixture enough J I confess 
 to jw/, dear. Kate, that her expressions of gratitude and af 
 fection were very precious to me. She came afterward to 
 sec me, and when she took leave, * God bless you, Miss S./ 
 
Lifts of Catharine Af. 
 
 she said ; may you never want a servant, friend, or what you 
 may please to call her. I staid to tea at Mrs. G. s. She is 
 one of the two last of the old race of L.s, a sister of the cel 
 ebrated E. L., and of the chancellor. There were twelve of 
 them, who lived strong and joyous lives, all having lordly es 
 tates in the Manor, with iron physical and rich intellectual 
 constitutions. They ate and drank after the old fashion 
 turile soups, mince pies, and Madeira wine for dinner, hot 
 suppers at night, laughed together over their breakfast-ta 
 bles all lived to slip far beyond the prescribed boundary 
 of man s life, and here is Mrs. G. absolutely unimpaired at 
 92. Oh, in what blessed ignorance they have lived and died 
 of dyspepsia and nerves ! We had tea on the piazza ; it 
 was prepared when I arrived, and one refreshing relic there 
 was of the olden time. I heard Mrs. G. tell the maid to 
 change the tea-cups/ and the best china appeared. The 
 old lady presided with a sort of lofty grace, and drank green 
 tea, and ate strawberries and cream * sans peur et sans re- 
 prochc. She became a Methodist, to the great scandal of 
 her aristocratic family, who were as aristocratic in their re 
 ligion as in every thing else, and married, at 40, an honest, 
 good preacher after the old pattern of Methodism. 1 
 
 Madame Sismondi to Afiss Scdgwick. 
 
 "January, 1846. 
 
 " I received your precious letter yesterday, my most dear 
 friend, and I prepare my letter while my heart is warm with 
 gratitude to you, as well as love, for I have received from it 
 great benefit as well as consolation. I find in it an almost 
 inspired perception of the invisible world, and such an out 
 pouring of trust in God as, if it fails of permanently persuad 
 ing me to the same beloved trust, for the moment excites a 
 sympathetic feeling that is inexpressibly comforting. It 
 gives me such a longing desire to see you, to talk with you, 
 
Life and Letters. 297 
 
 to hear you, thai visionary plans of meeting you again in 
 this world have been continually rising to my imagination, 
 in spite of knowing it can never be. I read and re-read 
 it, and it must supply my want of you, though it can not 
 hinder that oft -repeated regret, Oh, if I had her near me, I 
 would take all my documents and fearlessly lay them open 
 to her, because I know he would not have objected to her 
 seeing the inmost of his soul." 
 
 Miss Sedgivuk to Mrs. JK. S. Minot. 
 
 "Stntcn Island, Tuesday, July 28, 1846. 
 
 * * * * u Went off to the * Home, 1 where 1 had a recep 
 tion that did me a great deal of good. One of our inmates, 
 wiio has bceny>Y///, saw me from the third story window, and 
 made but one step from the top to the bottom of the stairs ; 
 and the outstretched hands and brightened eyes of these 
 poor creatures spoke to me an assurance that they have that 
 in them which will finally be worked out of the dismal swamp 
 of circumstances, and carry them back to Him who is love." 
 * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, August 23, 1846. 
 
 * * * * A charming letter from our dear Madame Sis- 
 jnondi. The following are extracts she gives me from Sis- 
 mondi s journal : 
 
 " * JDittiaitfJit:, 6"" Octobre, 1839. Miss Scclgwick cst arriv6e 
 avec sa ni&ce Kate. Nous sommcs rest6s u, causer ensem 
 ble jusqu tt micli. Plus nous passons dc temps ensemble, 
 ct plus jc m affecUonne a eux tous. Un petit livre que 
 Madlle. it donn6 t\ ma fcmme m attache encore davantage tl 
 clle. II est charmant, et de morale et d art de conter si 
 facile, si bref, si pittoresquc. On 1 aiine et on 1 admire pour 
 u n si bcl usage de ses talents. 1 
 
 N 2 
 
298 Lift of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 i, 15"". C est le dernier jour cle nos Seclgwicks 
 ils sont arrives le 29 " Septembre. Nos coeurs se sont 
 tout i\ fait unis ils nous aiment tous, et nous les aimons 
 tous, et cle tant de separations qui se renouvellent pour 
 nous chaque jour, c est la seule qui me laisse une vraie 
 melancholic/ 
 
 "Dear Kate, does not the rich past flow its strong current 
 over your soul as you read this ? Do you not live over again 
 our long walks and pleasant drives to Chflne ? Does not the 
 gate of that pretty hedged fence open again for us ? and that 
 low house, which held such heavenly souls, again smile on 
 us ? He lives as she lives to us and the widest sea is be 
 tween her and us. * 
 
 M/ss Scdgwick to Mrs. A". S. Afinot. 
 
 Lenox, September 27, 1846. 
 
 * * * * <t Our good friend Von Man 1 * is drawing near his 
 departure with all that elevation of spirit that has charac 
 terized his life. I have never seen so heroic an endurance 
 
 * I Ccrr von Mandclslohc, referred to in this letter by the affectionate 
 diminutive constantly used by his friends, was a German (from Hanover) 
 of noble birth, but an enthusiast for political liberty and social equality. 
 Bred to military life, he abandoned his profession and his country, and 
 came, without resources, to Canada, and thence, very destitute, to New 
 York, where he became known to Mr. iJryant, and was by him intro 
 duced to Theodore Scdgwick, who sent him to Stockbridgc to earn a 
 support by teaching German. lie was a very eccentric person. With 
 a warm, generous heart, and wide benevolence, he was proud and sensi 
 tive, and would receive no favors from those whom he did not love. 
 He taught with unwearied zeal and enthusiasm those who learned with 
 zeal, but would rather starve than earn money by teaching indifferent 
 pupils. 
 
 He lived two or three summers at Stockbridgc and Lenox, receiving 
 the welcome which the stranger, the solitary, the poor, and the unfortu 
 nate always found there, and was tenderly nursed by Mr. Charles Scdg 
 wick during his last illness, 
 
Life and Letters. 299 
 
 of the miseries that heroism is rarely equal to resisting. 
 Pain, the infliction of remedies in which he had no faith, the 
 incompetence and annoyance of poor nurses and bad watch 
 ers, he has borne with unwavering fortitude and patience, 
 concentrating his soul in unbounded gratitude, and keeping 
 
 his whole spiritual nature sanctified with good affections." 
 
 # * * * 
 
 Miss S&lgwick to Airs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 44 Slockbriclgc, October 4, 1846. 
 
 * * * * "The last week has been a deeply shadowed 
 one. We laid our good friend Von Man among our graves 
 with a deep feeling of thankfulness that his spirit was un 
 shackled, and that honoring hands, and those whom he best 
 loved in this world, did the last offices for him. His feeling 
 toward your father was worthy both. He once said to me, 
 4 1 love, Miss Sedgwick, to see you come in, and I love to see 
 Mrs. Sedgwick ; but you must excuse me I love most of 
 all to sec your brother ; he is truly an angel to me. And 
 so he was, from first to last, from morning to night, provid 
 ing every possible comfort for him." * * * * 
 
 Miss Safgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, November, 1846. 
 
 ***#* L as t evening I was apologizing to Mr. Field 
 for playing cards in his presence, and said I hoped he was 
 not of the opinion of a certain gentleman in New York, who 
 had written to entreat I would change the game of marbles 
 (mentioned in my little tract as, of course, one of the boys 
 plays) to kite, because marbles were immoral, as by betting 
 they involved an appeal to God, as did cutting and dealing 
 cards, it being all regulated by the interposition of Provi 
 dence. So, said Mr. Watts, Is cutting wood, especially 
 Billy Brogan s ; for, when he lifts up his axe, Heaven only 
 knows where it will strike I " 
 
300 Life of Catharine M. 
 
 Miss Settgwick to Mrs. J. S. Minot. 
 
 44 Lenox, December 6, 1846. 
 
 * * * * j have b een very busy since I came from New 
 York making additions to my littk-est book,* and now they 
 are nearly completed, and I think they will be, in rustic 
 phrase, an aditition, being, in fact, once and a half more than 
 the original text, and more attractive than that, as illustra 
 tive of rules. I am much interested in the success of the 
 thing, because I think it will do some little good to our dis 
 trict-school children. The school committee in New York 
 have ordered ten or twelve hundred for distribution in the 
 families of the children." * * * * 
 
 Miss Stdgioifk to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 44 Spring Uank.t Koslyn, May 30, 1847. 
 
 41 MY DEAREST KATE, Do you wonder where I am ? In 
 the guest-chamber of a generous, old-fashioned house, be 
 hind one of the mossy pillars that support a piazza which 
 surrounds it, in front of * Great Neck Bay, a deep cut into 
 Long Island from the Sound, of which, and its ever-passing 
 home-fleets, there is a distant view, with a terraced garden 
 descending to the water on one side, and a pond on the 
 other, formed from the springs that descend from steep ac 
 clivities, with a little strip of land between it and a green 
 ravine, like that which separates the Salisbury Lakes, along 
 which there is a lovely shaded walk, and a rural bridge to 
 the cottage (orn6c) of the daughter of my host, well-grown 
 trees hugging the old house, and lovely branches of light 
 spring foliage floating round dark, solid pines. Little vil 
 lages in the distance, with all pleasant signs of habitancy. 
 But better than any outdoor life, nobler gifts of God than 
 hill-sides and their rich borderings of trees, clear streams, 
 
 * The Morals of Manners. f The residence of the poet Bryant, 
 
Lift and Letters. 301 
 
 and bays, we have within, and delightfully we have spent 
 the day, though it has been cloudy and dripping." * * * * 
 
 Miss Settgivicfc to Mrs. JK. S. Minot. 
 
 "Lenox, September 19, 1847. 
 
 ****"! have heard our present Methodist ghostly 
 father 1 to-day for the first time, and I regard it as a sign 
 that the true millennium is advancing that this is the fourth 
 pastor that we have had at this church who has so much 
 sound sense and so much of the simplicity of the Gospel 
 that a few doctrinal errors do not vitiate it. No one need 
 be very zealous about the promulgation of Unitarianism 
 when its salt is sprinkled throughout other creeds, and when, 
 as it appears to me, there is some radical defect in it, or in 
 its ministration, that prevents its general diffusion. As we 
 approach another world its horizon enlarges, and the bright 
 ness of the light (perhaps the nature of it) beyond its portal 
 makes that behind us dim, and distinctions and badges fade 
 away, and we only see the general movement toward* that 
 great portal and the earnest aim to ga ? n it. 
 
 " October 30/7*, 1847. Does AVilliam read to you the de 
 tails of our Mexican affairs, Kendall s letters, etc. ? Princi 
 pled as we are by education, and all the habits of our minds 
 against war, and disgusting as its savagcncss is, I feel it im 
 possible not to have my pulses beat quicker at the valor, in 
 domitable spirit, skill, and hardihood of our people. If there 
 were virtue in those Mexicans, if there were any hope in 
 their political existence, the rc might be sympathy for their 
 wrongs. * But as it is, it seems to me that it is the ordina 
 tion of Heaven that this stagnant, putrefying race should 
 give place to the fresh, strong current that is settling upon 
 them. The achievement of our men in planting the * stars 
 
 and stripes on the fortress of (I can t recall the name) 
 
 will advance our reputation in Europe more than all our 
 
302 JLife of Catharine M. Scdgivick. 
 
 vast progress in the civil arts. But it won t do for me just 
 now to condemn the vulgar judgment," 
 
 Afiss Sedgwicfc to Jtev. JDr. J)ewey^ after the death of Afrs. 
 Minof s tittle chiltt. 
 
 " Lenox, November 29, 1847. 
 
 " MY DEAR AND TRUE FRIEND, Never were you wanting 
 in sympathy with me in any moment of my trials, nor in the 
 expression of it which, coming from those we love, is com 
 forting, and that is saying a great deal when the whole being 
 seems dissolved in tears. Neither to you or Mrs. Dewey 
 will there seem to be any exaggeration in this. You know 
 what space a child may fill what gladness it casts over the 
 path of life what there is in the touch of its hand in the 
 beam of its eye in that little form in which such joys, and 
 hopes, and loves arc centred. My darling little 1 osy ! She 
 was the sweet flower whose sweetness I felt at every mo 
 ment a fresh fountain where so many springs had sunken 
 away*. I remember your Louise well. I remember the ex 
 pression of her soft speaking eye. Such lives never in one 
 sense never leave us. 
 
 " K. bears her grief so meekly, so unresistingly, so wisely 
 as to be an unspeakable consolation to us. She has, with 
 unqualified faith, resigned her precious gift to better teach 
 ing, better guidance than hers ; and while her eye is deprived 
 of the loveliest object on earth to her, she has opened her 
 spiritual eye upon an angel. The little child has been an 
 interpreter of God s Word to W. too revealed to him the 
 mysteries of life, and death, and immortality * opened, as 
 he says,* with her little hands the ponderous gates of Death. 
 Ah ! my friend, death is the solution death and its train of 
 infinite hopes. 11 
 
Lift and Letters. 303 
 
 Miss Sedgiuick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 14 Stockbridge, December 25, 1847. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, I can only think of you this Christ 
 inas morning, and my heart turns sick away from the joys 
 of the little people about me joys it never before refused 
 to enter into. I have been to Anne s, but I could not bear 
 it ; but one image was before me, and I have come to a sol 
 itary room where, by prayer and strong effort, I may see our 
 darling in her spiritual life, where she has nothing of child 
 hood but its innocence and its beauty. I can see her hov 
 ering over her parents, and calling upon you to look up to 
 look up from the dark, vacant space to that which can never 
 be darkened, to behold in the brighter but transient joys of 
 the little ones about you a faint type of that which knows no 
 shadow. Her nature was too intense to have borne patient 
 ly the frettings of the harness of this life, and God spoke 
 and burst the prison-gates. The Father took the child to 
 his own presence. The more I compare her with other 
 children, the more she seems to me like a fleet messenger, 
 sent to return quickly ; and while I can keep my mind to 
 this, I feel, my dear child, that you have enough to tranquil 
 lize you, and then the sight of a plaything brings the sense 
 of intolerable loss." 
 
 Miss S&/gwic& to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, January 2, 1848. 
 
 " Your letters, my darling, were never more welcome to 
 me, and yet how changed from the uniform sunny aspect of 
 so many years. I read them over and over again, and re 
 lieve my heart by many accumulated tears over them. As 
 I foresaw, they are sadder and sadder as every day brings 
 some fresh evidence and memorial of our loss ; for, with all 
 the mercies and hopes that have attended it, heavy, heart- 
 
304 Lift of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 sinking loss it is. I never wake in the morning now with,- 
 out first thinking how sweeter than the sweetest bird s song 
 was the sound of her morning tone to me ; and when I wake 
 in the night, her name and yours are on my lips. Associa 
 tions with her here have revived that I did not feel before. 
 I see her sitting on the door-step, running over to Cook s 
 shop, teasing and caressing Jessie, laughing on the foot-board 
 of my bedstead ; and I never now walk up the hill without 
 thinking of our parting there on the hill-side; and, indeed, the 
 old coach in which she once rode only speaks to me of her. 
 Dear, dear Posy 1 She can never be absent from your mind ; 
 she is inwrought with all your consciousness. She has taken 
 you to heaven with her, I sometimes think. Dear Kate and 
 William, I can, without faltering, wish you a Happy New* 
 year, for I believe, as you have entered the portals of this 
 new year, it has been with eyes lifted to God, with an assur 
 ance of a happiness not dreamed of by most of those who 
 exchange the frivolous wishes of the new year a happiness 
 more compact, more elevated as time flows away and tem 
 poral things dissolve. Do we not, in moments of great ex 
 citement, get gleams of truth that do not dawn upon us in 
 the common states of the mind? I do not know how much 
 we might win by faith from the spiritual world, but I do know 
 that there are moments when there seems to me to be but a 
 thin veil between me and the beloved who are there ; when 
 their eyes, with immortal life in them, are upon me; their 
 lips, with immortal love, speak to me ; and yet from this I 
 fall back to doubt and fear. * * * * Dear Kate, how fresh 
 ly every thing of last year has been brought to my mind as 
 the days have gone on in sad procession ; the delight I took 
 in making Posy s Own Book, more pure pleasure than in 
 all my other books ; how you came with her little letter ! 
 Ah I I should write of nothing else if I set down but the 
 thoughts of a single hour of her." 
 
JLife and Letters. 305 
 
 Miss Scttfftvick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, March 26, 1848. 
 
 * * * * " Oh, dear Kate, I fear I shall never carry out 
 my journaling plan, there - is such an infinity of things 
 happening here. I breakfasted at Mrs. F. s, then came home 
 lo Helen s lesson, which I do if I do nothing else ; then an 
 audience with one of my Home 1 people ; then a very nice 
 Protestant Irish woman, with a sad tale and a very handsome 
 starving husband she a godchild of Miss Edgeworth, with 
 a sort of circular from her both to be provided for ; action 
 taken thereupon. L. announced, and a sad talk about the 
 loss of two of his children. He told me the last words Von 
 Man said to him (and said them with a joyful laugh ), I 
 am sure I carry to heaven with me the memory of the good 
 1 have known here. Subscription for a monument for Von 
 M. had been made by his German friends, when two orphan 
 girls, daughters of a good minister, arrived. Some friends 
 of Von M. suggested that lie would prefer devoting the sub 
 scription for his monument to their wants, and a portion was 
 taken. Was not that a touching case of the spirit speaking 
 from the ashes ? The rest of the morning was occupied 
 with visits." 
 
 Miss Sctigioick to Mrs, A". ,5. Mittot, 
 
 " New York, April 7, 1848. 
 
 * * * * After breakfast this morning your Aunt .L. was 
 * running 1 your father about his present mania. She main 
 tained that all his affections were merged in the French 
 Revolution, and he declared that if he heard that you had a 
 pain in your left hand, he should rush to Woodbourne and 
 forget the French Revolution. This at least shows his esti 
 mate of his love for you, but don t put him to the test, my 
 dear. 
 
306 Life of Cat/taring M. 
 
 " Another king walked off"! I propose a new society to 
 institute a Home for Friendless Kings. Your father is quite 
 brilliant this morning. You know Alison wrote a eulogy on 
 Louis Philippe. Your father proposes for Punch that Louis 
 P. in his pea-jacket and fugitive costume should peddle Al 
 ison s History about London, and the motto should be, * His 
 tory teaching Philosophy by example/ * * * * 
 
 " I have read this morning Lamartine s very fine speech 
 to the Poles and to the Italians. I hope you see all these 
 things. It is something to live while such history is enact 
 ing. I don t know how young men keep themselves steady. 
 In their case I should sail by the first ship that would take 
 me to the scene of action. Have you heard that 2000 con 
 stables extra to be sworn in at Liverpool balked at the clause 
 * loyalty to the queen ? This looks stormy." 
 
 Miss St t/gwicA to Mrs, A". S. Minof. 
 
 "New York, May 21, 1848. 
 
 " I do not think, my dear Kate, that in your quiet, refined 
 home you can have any idea of the * incessant life of New 
 York, of the crowding and stuffing of every moment. It is 
 now just ten, and I have come up from the City Hall, in 
 whose dismal St. Giles precincts I have been to see a colored 
 ragged school. My companion stared at me when I told her 
 I should get into the cars and come home to write a letter 
 in the intervening twenty minutes I should save before 
 church. My Sundays are not days of rest. I wish you 
 would recommend to those enlightened Dostonians who arc 
 on the ultra pinnacle, and wish to abrogate the restrictive 
 institution of the Sabbath, to take a walk through Anthony 
 and Orange Streets, etc., in New York, and see it virtually 
 annulled, all the shops open, and apparently no recollection 
 of this old abuse of man s precious liberty. * * * * The 
 city is getting to be intolerable. I have yet a good deal of 
 
JLife and Letters, 307 
 
 duly to do in our Prison Society, and for the last month, with 
 the exception of a week at Lenox, it has occupied me for 
 three days in the week. If I could feel sure that there is 
 any service done in proportion to the trouble and time spent, 
 I should be perfectly satisfied. I think the favored class of 
 society owe an immense debt to Providence, which can only 
 be discharged by attempting to rescue the vicious and igno 
 rant from misery and degradation. But it seems to me they 
 must be saved, and can not be rescued, and we remain as if 
 there were a palsy on us. With the means of universal ed 
 ucation and sustenance, we see creatures with the powers 
 and faculties out of which heroes and martyrs have been 
 made, covered with bruises and putrefying sores. My whole 
 soul is sickened ; and to-day, when I went into our church 
 filled with people in their fine summer-clothes, and heard a 
 magnificent sermon from Mr. Dewcy, and thought of the 
 streets and dens through which I had just walked, I could 
 have cried out, * Why arc ye here ? Some good is achieved 
 I see that but the work is struggling and inefficient. If 
 the sea were to roll over the adults and leave the children, 
 we could devise a future, perhaps attain it for them." 
 
 Miss Sedgivick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 May 27, 1848. 
 
 * * * * i t rus t you have not, as we have, wasted your 
 time on * that little family in Hell/ living and dying at 
 Wuthering Heights. It is a most signal waste of talent. 
 There is a certain resemblance to Jane Eyre, like a family 
 look; the energy of. thought and style, the Northern mind 
 as well as air that breathes through it, the intimate and mas 
 terly acquaintance with a location and coterie, and exclu 
 sion from the world, the remarkable directness of style, arc 
 all qualities peculiar, and marvelously like Jane Eyre, so 
 that I think the author must be her brother, the masculine 
 of her masculine mind. 
 
308 Life of Catharine M. Setfgwick. 
 
 " I am exceedingly delighted with Dr. Channing s life. 
 His youth was the fitting prelude and precursor of his ma 
 turity. There was more of the prophetic fire than I should 
 have expected, more of the welding heat of enthusiasm, in 
 which the souls of prophets and seers are fused and recast 
 for their earthly mission. There is much precious leaven in 
 the book concentrated essence of spirituality which I ex 
 pect to do a vast deal of good in elevating and directing re 
 ligious minds. His life was a monastic one ; but in this in 
 cessant* age this period of all-doing, amidst this ocean-life 
 activity we want calm, deliberate thought a fixed star by 
 which to direct the course." 
 
 Miss Stntgwic& to Afrs. A". S. Afinot. 
 
 "New York, June u, 1848. 
 
 **! have been busy this week settling up con 
 cerns, and looking after some poor creatures who are poor 
 enough to turn to me for help. I have now on my heart 
 two lovely little boys, whom I hope to get provided with a 
 pleasant summer home with the children on Randall s Isl 
 and the place to which our pauper children have been re 
 moved, and where they have it all to themselves ; plenty of 
 grass and woodland, and large, ventilated dormitories, and 
 baths big enough to swim in, and good teachers, and plen 
 ty of healthful food. The tiny things have each a rocking- 
 chair nicely constructed, so that they do not tottle out. 
 This supplies pleasant means for their incessant natures 
 without their running under their nurses 1 feet, and thereby 
 provoking tempers not the best disciplined. A happier set 
 of little creatures I never saw. The eldest of my little boys 
 the girls think like our dear Posy. I do not see it ; but 
 perhaps it is this that draws me to him. 
 
 " Forcsti sailed in the " United States" yesterday. He has 
 left us, as he believes, forever. He hopes to assist with his 
 
Life and Letters. 309 
 
 counsels the Milanese government to bring to its service 
 his eleven years experience of the working of a republican 
 government. I trust the Italians will turn their enthusiasm 
 into the channel of reverence for this man, who suffered sev 
 enteen years of living martyrdom ; but it is so much the way 
 of the world to shove aside the old, and give to the young 
 and aspiring all the prominent and active places, that I 
 doubt if he is permitted to do all the good he hopes. Few 
 foreigners have been so much respected here. His bold, 
 upright, unflinching integrity has given a new impression of 
 Italian character. There have been very discriminating 
 and beautiful eulogies in the papers, which have pleased 
 him. He left the kindest messages for you." 
 
 Miss Sedgtvifk to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, June 18, 1848. 
 
 * * * * Dearest Kate, every hour here brings its press 
 ing duty, and baths and sweet sleep keep the machine refit 
 ted. I left my letter Sunday for my second farewell lecture 
 with my * Home people. These Sunday afternoons, in which 
 I endeavor to mingle some social pleasure with the elements 
 of moral teaching, really seem to be an enjoyment to these 
 poor creatures. I %vent yesterday up to Sing Sing as one 
 of a committee of the Prison Association, but, by the over 
 turn there, and the putting in by the present Whig govern 
 ment of a new set of officers, our visit was perfectly useless." 
 
 Miss Sfr/gwu k to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 Lenox, July 16, iS+S. 
 
 ****** This is rather an unpropitious scene for writ 
 ing for one so unconcentrativc as I am S. sitting in B. s 
 lap, J. on the floor playing with the kitten, and M. D. and 
 J. C. scattered about, and all talking ; but, if I live to my 
 climacteric, I think I shall learn to write in town-meeting 
 
3 1 o JLifc of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 or on i barricade. This last news from Paris is appalling. 
 There seems to be nothing for France between the wildest 
 anarchy and a military despotism. They have turned hope 
 into despair. To keep back the wave of popular madness 
 by moderation and reason is as hopeless as poor Dame 
 Fartington s exploit of sweeping out the sea. The French 
 are not a reasonable people, brave and impulsive as they are. 
 Theatrical in every thing, instead of making the theatre rep 
 resent life, they turn life into seeming, and deal with blood 
 and death as if they were dramatic pageants. The cool 
 heads of the Puritans, and their repressed, governed en 
 thusiasm, compared with Parisian outbursts, are like the 
 forces of nature directed by Providence compared to the 
 explosions of children. Washington and Franklin types of 
 the one race, Lamartinc and Louis Blanc of the other 1 F. 
 must feel intense interest in his French friends. I sec the. 
 young men of the Polytechnic were fighting in one of the 
 battalions, so I suppose poor Madame M. has had her cup 
 of horrors. We have had a man preaching here to collect 
 funds to send missionaries to France, and institute Sunday 
 schools in the streets of Paris! As sensible as sowing vio 
 let seeds under the torrent of Niagara. Kate says there 
 was 25 cents contributed. There is rporc sense in Lenox 
 than I imagined." 
 
 . Dr. JZcffows to Miss Sedgwick. 
 "Mv DEAR FRIEND, I have this moment risen from the 
 reading at one sitting a few pages last evening cxcepted 
 of the Boy of Mount Rhigi, and it is with wet eyes that I 
 hasten to thank you for this charming work, as full of wis 
 dom as of genius, of love as truth, of piety as pure and solid 
 morality. I feel it safer to have children who may not al 
 ways have even a father s care when such books are ex 
 tant, and waiting to throw their mantle of purity and pro- 
 
Life and Letters. 311 
 
 tection over them. How precious is this talent you possess 
 of bringing the highest and holiest truth within the compre 
 hension of the humblest and feeblest minds, and that, too, 
 without taking from it what is fitted to excite the admiration 
 of the most cultivated and enlarged understanding, the mo st 
 fastidious taste ! I can not doubt that at this moment you 
 are one of the most efficient missionaries of our Lord in his 
 great vineyard below a vineyard how choked, how calling 
 for diligent and competent laborers J You will never know 
 how much good you arc doing, and are yet to do, until the 
 great day, when the secrets of all hearts are revealed ; but I 
 know that you will not despise the testimony of any sincere 
 heart to your eminent usefulness. I feel stronger, happier, 
 more hopeful, wiser, this weary Monday morning for the 
 reading and taking into my heart this delightful and heav 
 enly story, and you will not be sorry for this." 
 
 Miss Sctlgtvick to Mrs. A". S. Mutot. 
 
 " New York, January 27, 1849. 
 
 ## W c j iac i t| 1G fi rs t high-school opened here yes 
 terday a very fine building, where the best scholars from 
 the public schools are to receive a course of instruction in 
 the highest branches of education. From this ceremony, 
 which was fully attended in the large hall of the institution, 
 and at which you may be sure there was nobody* present 
 (in the fashionable acceptation of the term), I plunged into 
 
 Vanity Fair, 1 and went to Mrs. s reception. She 
 
 requested on* of her friends to show me through her apart 
 ments, which are prettier than any thing I have seen since 
 we left Italy. The frescoes are done beautifully by an Ital 
 ian artist. There is not much furniture, but all there is is 
 of the order of Madam s town house one apart 
 ment in Louis Quatorze, another of another reign, and so 
 on. There was to be a dinner-party, and a circular table 
 
312 Life of Catharine At. Settgivick. 
 
 was set for 20 or 25. It was covered with the dessert, and 
 a profusion of decoration, epergnes, plateaux, girandoles, 
 and the most exquisite natural flowers springing up here 
 and there, as if a genie had touched every vacant place with 
 her wand. The ware was gold and silver plate ; the plates 
 of the most exquisite painted china. The mistress of this 
 Aladdin-palace, whom I knew a slattern at 17 (and a great 
 heiress then), had a dress on so defaced that you could not 
 tell whether it was silk, velvet, or tabby, and a gap behind 
 showed that she had not drawn on the magic lamp for a 
 dressing-maid." 
 
 Afiss Sc dgwick to Airs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 "New York, February 5, 1849. 
 
 * * * * M rs Farnham, the celebrated matron of the 
 Sing Sing prison, is going to Boston this week on an enter 
 prise which her circular will explain. She is, of all women 
 ever created (within my knowledge of God s works), the fit 
 test for the enterprise. She has nerves to explore alone the 
 seven circles of Dante s Hell. She has physical strength 
 and endurance, sound sense and philanthropy, earnestness, 
 and a coolness that would say * I know I if an angel were 
 sent to tell her the secrets of the upper world. Hers is an 
 unprecedented crusade certainly, but in this stirring of the 
 elements new combinations must be expected. She may 
 not succeed in getting her company ; if she does, she will 
 be a most able chieftainess ; and it seems to me nothing 
 better can be done for the chaotic mass at 9tin Francisco 
 than to infuse into it the leaven of 130 intelligent and virtu 
 ous women. No better missionaries could be sent there. 
 You will see Mrs. Farnham, and hear from herself her plan. 
 I have promised her a letter to Mrs. Minot, who I know will 
 be pleased to see so rare a specimen of womanhood, and 
 who, if any body can in Boston, will aid her by suggestions 
 
Lift: and JLetters. 313 
 
 as lo the best mode of action in that vicinity, and any light 
 as to her general plan Mrs. F. will gladly receive. At any 
 rate, Mrs. M. will rightly appreciate this singular woman, 
 and give her a patient and kind hearing." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. J. S. Minot on Mrs. Kembtes Shaks- 
 pcare Readings. 
 
 44 New York, March 8, 1849. 
 * * * * rpj le town t j le town t h a t i mingle with talks 
 
 of little else, and there seems to be a general voice of satis 
 faction and delight. I have never seen such assemblies in 
 New York the fashionable people, the old people, all the 
 known clever people, the pious folk, the mourners , the Quak 
 ers. People study Shakspeare that never studied him be 
 fore. In short, there seems to be a new soul in a lumpish 
 world. * * * * We begin now to talk of our rising star, 
 dear B. I feel a sort of warmth coming round my heart as 
 when the sky kindles after a cold, dark night ; not that my 
 winter has been cold or dark, for that which is my chief 
 happiness, my home, has been unusually pleasant L. so 
 bright, the girls all so loving to me, and your aunt so happy 
 and so kind, and dear E. growing in grace every hour of his 
 life." 
 
 Miss Sedgwitk to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 44 New York, March 18, 1849. 
 
 41 Mv DEAREST KATE, I expected to have had to an 
 nounce to you B. s safe arrival, but I can never regret a pro 
 longation of pleasure to you, though it costs me privation, 
 and I truly never do, which is what I think is called moth 
 er s love. * * * * There is a real, hearty, enlightened, en 
 thusiastic admiration of her* here. One old lady, sans eyes, 
 sans teeth, sans every thing but ears, rose after a morning, 
 * Mrs. Kcmblc. 
 O 
 
314 if e f Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 and said she wished she would read oftener in the morning, 
 for she could not come over from Jersey City at night 1 One 
 lady is waked by a bird in the night, and finds it is * Philo 
 mel in the atmosphere. A little boy who did not wish to 
 go (* he had heard Macready, and it was nothing to Uncle 
 John s reading ) heard her, and said that she did read 
 as well as Uncle John. A worthy friend of mine, a man 
 of business, who never goes to the theatre, and has not yet 
 heard her, has read Shakspeare in bed every night since she 
 has been here. People who meant to go to " The Mer 
 chant of Venice" because Desdemona is such an interesting 
 character/ have bought Shakspeare, and probably rectified 
 their notions." 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to Afrs. A". ,5". Afi/tof, 
 
 44 New York, March 24, 1849. 
 
 ***#! s ] ia n be grieved if you permit any small mat 
 ter to interfere with your going to M. s wedding. We strike 
 in one of the golden threads that make the history of hu 
 man life when we are present at this great circumstance. I 
 am not transcendental, as you know, but it seems to me that 
 where there is a true, a spiritual friendship, there is a spirit 
 ual body formed by a delicate distillation from the events of 
 mutual concernment, and that whatever we feel and act to 
 gether adds to the vigor and beauty of that body." 
 
 Afiss Setlgwick to Afrs. A". S. Afi/iot. 
 
 44 New York, April 8, 1849, 
 
 * * * * " Mrs. Ware* has gone from a ministry of gener 
 ous love and unwavering fidelity to imperishable riches 
 riches that no scale can weigh. An angel has gone from 
 among us an angel who taught us how to live and how to 
 die. It is seldom that my faith rises to what I desire to be- 
 * Mrs. Henry Ware. 
 
Life and Letters. 3 1 5 
 
 lieve, but I do believe there was, in the last scenes of her 
 life, a direct ministry to her spirit which enabled her, like 
 the martyrs, to look serenely out from the fires that con 
 sumed her body." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, May 12, 1849. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, I was about as much surprised to 
 got the news of the great event as if I had never expected 
 it. L. and I, on getting out of the omnibus on our return, 
 were met by K. and M. W., and, before we reached our own 
 door, were joined by half a dozen more of the i6th Street-. 
 ers, and incidentally, before we reached home, * Kate s boy* 
 was mentioned. I jumped like a man shot (the most natu 
 ral illustration just now*), and have ever since had a downy, 
 soft feeling at my heart, and something very like a continual 
 cloud of incense of joy and gratitude rising from it." 
 
 Miss St ttgwifA to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " Highland Gardens, October 13, 1849. 
 
 " MY DEAR KATE, I meant to have journalized my visit 
 here for you, but, as usual, I am behindhand. S. and I came 
 up in the heavy rain on Monday, and found Mr. Downing 
 awaiting us on the wharf, in defiance of the cats and dogs 
 it was raining about him. When we arrived, Miss Bremer 
 (who had already been to a morning wedding) was in her 
 room. She has wisely stipulated that her mornings arc to 
 be sacred, and will probably thereby save herself from being 
 sent to a mad-house by American hospitality. Lafayette s 
 heroic humanity and French blood saved him j but poor Miss 
 Bremer, of the nature of the sensitive plant, or a lily of the 
 valley, that would hide herself under a green leaf (and could, 
 she is so small), how could she resist a twelve-hours 1 siege 
 
 * This was the day following the Astor Place Riot, in New York. 
 
3 1 6 -Lift: of Catharine Af. Scdgwiffs. 
 
 from the incessant Yankee nation ? She came down at the 
 dinner-hour, a little lady about G. A. s height, slightly made, 
 with the most lovely little hands, a very florid complexion 
 (especially of the nose) florid, but very pure and fair, and 
 far from giving any idea of coarseness. Hes hair is some 
 what grayed, parted with that ugly square bit m the top of 
 the head, and her cap is of that fashion univ sal some ten 
 years ago, of the shape of a pocket-handkerchief turned 
 back. She wears a gray gown and a black watered silk 
 mantilla. So she comes to breakfast, so to dinner, and so 
 she appears in the evening. Her eye is a clear blue, I say ; 
 greenish, S. says. Her mouth is very like Longfellow s ; in 
 deed, she looks about equally like him and like Maroncelli, 
 and might be the sister of either. But neither of them have 
 the modesty, the delicate recognition of every shade of feel 
 ing, and the most sweet gentleness that characterizes her. 
 She uses our language with accuracy and even elegance, but 
 her accent is so strong and her intonation so curious that it 
 is not easy to understand her. Her voice is one of the 
 sweetest I have ever heard one of those soul instruments 
 that seem to be a true spiritual organ. She is simple and 
 sincere as a cWld in all her ways; much, tell Mrs. Minot, 
 such a person ui Miss Hannah Adams might have been if 
 she had been a writer of romances instead of Jewish geneal 
 ogies, and the familiar friend of royal ladies that is, very 
 slightly conventional, not at all rustic, but with all the heav 
 enly qualities that, under the type of childhood, mark those 
 who are of the kingdom of Heaven. The first evening she 
 played us Swedish airs and taught us Swedish jigs. She is 
 much inclined to < spiritualit6 (I wish I could give the word 
 with her prolonged accent) in literature, and I believe that 
 the people she will most affect here will be the Transcen- 
 dentals. But she is not like them, foggy, but has, au fonds/ 
 a sound, rocky foundation, and clear atmosphere of good 
 sense. 
 
Life and Letters. 317 
 
 " We had yesterday to dine with us Professor Bergfalk, a 
 Swedish gentleman, a most richc man, 1 Miss Bremer says, in 
 a higher sense of riches than any Yankee dreams of. He is 
 employed by the King of S\vedcn to digest a code of laws, 
 and has come here, I suppose, to observe the working of 
 ours. 
 
 "Tucst?ay,l\ Af. Dear Kate, we went on to the mountain in 
 four carriages, wagons, etc. Downing, Miss Bremer, and my 
 self in one. I, as usual, walked up and walked down. It is 
 a glorious view to see from the South Beacon ; but I have 
 no time now for descriptions of out-of-door things. We had 
 capon and Champagne, and all manner of merry things said 
 and done. In the evening arrived W. R. and B. to attend 
 S. home (I go in single majesty 1). And this morning cattle 
 charming C. K. and took me a long drive, during which we 
 talked from earth to heaven. And then I sat to Miss Bremer, 
 who makes capital water-colored sketches, and then we ate 
 dinner, and had not all truths and roots? but sound English 
 dishes, and such flowers and fruits as have rarely been seen 
 out of Paradise. And since, I have given Miss Bremer an 
 other sitting, and here it is twilight. I like her more and 
 more, and, as the soul comes out and overspreads the feat 
 ures with its beaming and beautiful light, I am ashamed to 
 have called her * plain. 1 She has tones of voice so full of hu 
 manity and of experienced suffering that they almost bring 
 tears to your eyes. 
 
 " I think she has some expectations that will be disap 
 pointed. She expects a more distinct individuality, a devel 
 opment of originality unmouldecl by precedents or imita 
 tions, or Old World conventionalities, that she will not find 
 in a country saturated with canals and penetrated by rail 
 roads. There is a dignified, calm good sense about her, 
 with a most lovely gentleness and spirituality. She occa 
 sionally tells us pleasant stories, as of a poor lady whose 
 
3 1 8 JLife of Catharine J\f. Sedgwick. 
 
 husband often beat her. She one day took up a horse-shoe 
 lying on the floor, and straightened it with her hands. Her 
 husband was amazed. She said, * This force is a gift in my 
 family. 1 And possessing it, said the husband, * you have 
 suffered me to beat you. Yes, it was my duty not to re 
 sist. He never beat her afterward." 
 
 Jlft ss Scdgwick to Afrs. Channing. 
 
 "Lenox, October 21, 1849. 
 
 ****** Your anxiety about my health is just now quite 
 .groundless. I was rather run down during the summer, 
 partly from the heat, and partly from a superannuatecf devo 
 tion to my little grand-niece. This I keep a profound se- 
 cffet, and let the world think it had a more dignified cause. 
 I sometimes get a little wearied in town, and often heart 
 sick, but I believe that the little charity work 1 do is con 
 servative in its tendency. It takes me out of doors, and is 
 solacing to the heart, after the heavy disappointments, and 
 amidst the wearing, small trials of life. Dear Susan, while 
 I fully realize the shortness of life, and do sometimes ar 
 dently desire to do two days work in one, I feel its value 
 more than 1 ever did, and take far more pains to nourish it 
 than when I was younger and happier, and it seemed fairer. 
 The transition from * beauty to cluty, if it takes from its 
 loveliness, gives it an infinite value. But again, my dear 
 Susan, thanks for your kind consideration, and believe me, 
 whenever I am inclined .to any imprudence, I will think of 
 your counsel. It is Sunday, and nothing can be more pro 
 found than the stillness that reigns here. It is our Sabbath 
 too vacation and the one fly that is buzzing about me in 
 the warm atmosphere of my little room is a type of the 
 change that has taken place, and of my solitude. The sum 
 mer visitors are all gone. * * * * The children are all gone 
 home, the family gone to church, and the stillness is start 
 ling." 
 
Life and Letters. 319 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. K t S. Minot. 
 
 "Stockbridgc, November 25, 1849. 
 
 # * * \y c j, ac i a clieerful evening at H s, where we 
 
 had a general family gathering. They have hung some very 
 pretty cotton curtains in their little parlor, have bright piano 
 and table covers, and every thing there, under H s re 
 gime, wears a cheerful aspect. H is one of the heroines 
 
 of cvery-day life, bearing multiplied and exasperating evils 
 without dejection or complaint, supporting mortifying cir 
 cumstances without humiliation, and the general cares of 
 labor and poverty with dignity and uniform cheerfulness. 
 Such people pass along almost unnoticed, unpraised, but 
 they have their reward as large a heaven here as their 
 spirits can travel over, and a certain heaven hereafter. The 
 great event of the past week has been the visit of the little 
 female apostle of Abolitionism Lucy Stone. Your mother, 
 doubtless, will give you all the particulars of the Lenox pro 
 tracted meeting, of the Burleigh of the true Balfour school 
 who lectured to us there. The female impersonation of re 
 form came here ; your Aunt Susan kindly invited her to her 
 house, and we had great pleasure from her. She dcss not 
 look older than you do three or four-and-twenty 1 -she is 
 thirty-one. She is a person of rare gifts, with a good New 
 England education for a ground-work, and a collegiate 
 course at the Oberlin Institution of four years, where the 
 clever girls good Grecians found out that Paul : as such 
 a generous, courteous spirit should be was a woman s 
 rights man ! where they ascertained that he only forbade 
 them to gabble, not to talk in the churches, etc. She has 
 one of the very sweetest voices I ever heard, a readiness of 
 speech and grace that furnish the external qualifications of 
 an orator (a lovely countenance, too), and the intensity, en 
 tire forgetful ness, and divine calmness that fit her to speak 
 
320 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 in the great cause she has undertaken. S{ie has some of 
 the slang words and slang phrases of her clique ; but if she 
 could have your Aunt Susan to travel with her, and be as do 
 cile to her wise hints as she was here, the ministry would be 
 quite perfect." 
 
 Mis s Sedgwick fo Mrs. A . ,S. Mi/iot. 
 
 " New York, January 23, 1850. 
 
 ****** I have just come from ; Cousin 
 
 opened the door for me with a smiling face that answered 
 all questions. Hope catches fire like a pine-knot, and burns 
 as briskly. The doctor says if nothing goes wrong she will 
 be out of danger in forty-eight hours. I called to see Miss 
 Robbins on my way home. She lamented her brother s 
 death with the eloquence of an old Hebrew. If your eyes 
 were shut, you might have fancied that it was a supplement 
 al chapter of Job. It was a holy rhapsody on life and death. 
 I thought I should have remembered some of it, but I might 
 as well have caught a pitcher of water from the Falls of Ni 
 agara its force carried it away. 
 
 "This is Tuesday, and, as it is a peerless day, I suppose 
 we shall have lots of visitors ; but, as my gown is ragged, I 
 shelter myself under the apology of a cold, and stay in my 
 room. 
 
 "4 before 4, You may laugh at my arrangements. At two 
 
 o clock sent for me to come down and see 
 
 , who was looking very sweet and bright ; then ap 
 peared Mrs. and . has turned her 
 
 back on the world since her engagement. Then Mrs. 
 , like a bed of brick -colored poppies or red holly 
 hocks ; then and , charming always ; then Mrs. 
 
 , and , and , all three in the luxe style, 
 
 as Fran9ois used to call it madame with the finest lace of 
 Parts, and the girls the finest velvet of Genoa. Then 
 
Life and Letters. 321 
 
 , all ermine, and Mrs. , all nature and 
 
 common sense, much more costly articles, if goods go by 
 
 rareness. Then the Misses , one almost a beauty, 
 
 and Mrs. , with sables half a yard deep. Excuse me, 
 
 my darling, for these sottises, I know they are so, that is 
 something ; but what can one do with clothes ? people but 
 inventory their clothes. was here too, look 
 ing good, but rather rustical. I don t know what it is with 
 our people they are too conventional for nature, and not 
 enough so for art. 11 
 
 Miss Setlgivick to Mrs, K. S. Minot. 
 
 "New York, February 18, 1850. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, I have just finished reading Wil 
 liam Jay s noble article on Clay s resolutions, and my hands 
 are as cold as ice. The blood has curdled in my heart. I 
 thank God for the clear intelligence, the pure heart that com 
 prehends clearly and states definitely the truth. I always 
 distrusted Clay s compromises. That word compromise has 
 a bad savor when truth and right are in question. Do get 
 William to read the article to you. The print is too bad for 
 your eyes. (I forgot mine while I was reading it.)" 
 
 Miss Sedgivick to Mrs. JK. S. Minot. 
 
 44 May 25, 1850. 
 
 " DEAREST KATE, What blessings letters arc ! This 
 wretched weather, the continuance of the east wind, that 
 house in the mud,* and your father, have filled my atmos 
 phere with blue devils, and I came up from breakfast beg 
 ging Margaret to kindle a fire in my grate and disperse 
 them, if possible. I had just settled myself at my table with 
 notes to write to the Governor of the Almshouse, petitions 
 to the public, notes of request and notes of thanks, when up 
 * See next page. 
 O 2 
 
322 JLjfe of Cathanne JkT. Scdgwick. 
 
 comes Nancy with a very nice note from a merchant, with 
 two $50 notes for the House of Industry and for * the Home. 
 This was rather charming ; and then dear Nancy again 
 with a most cheerful letter from your father, with your de 
 lightful letter, and a note from William announcing a rush 
 of population in the circle of our friends. I passed yester 
 day on Blackwell s Island, and had forgotten that there were 
 any but low-browed, ophthalmic, blotchy people in the world. 
 " Mercy, how it pours 1 I wonder now that I ever before 
 cared when it rained ; but the vision of that wretched house !* 
 If your father keeps up his spirits through this, I shall think 
 they are water-proof, trial-proof, proof against all sublunary 
 evils of heavenly temper, as I have always thought them." 
 
 Miss Sctigwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, June 3, 1850. 
 
 * Mv DEAREST KATE, I always feel as if it were a bad 
 omen when Sunday passes over without my writing to you. 
 But either I am getting shiftless, or I have each week more 
 and more to do. I have just come from the House of In 
 dustry, from the infinite complicity of paying committees, 
 purchasing committees, examining do., reference do., receiv 
 ing do., cutting do., etc., etc. I received about two hundred 
 registered names, etc., poor women eagerly seeking the boon 
 of fifty cents worth of work, upon which, by their account, a 
 sick husband and any number of orphan children arc to be 
 supported. The best of it all is to sec the ladies whose 
 splendid equipages stand at the door in close contact with 
 these exuberant daughters of Erin, earnestly devoting them 
 selves to the relief of their wants. It will be a noble insti 
 tution ; at present it is, of course, crude and defective. 
 
 " I passed last week most delightfully, making a country 
 
 * Mr. Charles Scdgwick s house, which was just moving from its orig 
 iiuil situation to a spot nearly a quarter of a mile distant. 
 
Life and Letters. 323 
 
 holiday of it from Monday till Saturday. Mrs. L. came for 
 me on Tuesday. Wednesday we passed the day driving to 
 the High Bridge, which, now that the Harlem River is brim 
 ming, the rubbish removed, the fresh woods and dark pines 
 lighted up with dogwood, whose soft blossoms are like con 
 densed moonlight, is most beautiful. I hope, before I die, to 
 show you how lovely this island is before I die, and before 
 all Ireland has rained shanties upon it. Much as you have 
 been in the city, I believe you are unacquainted with its sur 
 roundings ; the suburban neighborhood is ruined, but the 
 upper part of the island is not yet spoiled of the beauty its 
 Maker endowed it with when he set it amidst its waters a 
 young sovereign. The worst of it is, that just in proportion 
 to the increase of its power is the diminution of its beauty. 
 Mrs. L. has a very pleasant society in her neighborhood ; 
 people who are not philosophers or literati, but who have 
 immense wealth and rural tastes ; are naturally kind and 
 social ; live, some of them, in patrimonial houses, and some 
 of them in palaces of recent structure, with all the means 
 and appliances of modern art. I will tell you all about my 
 delightful visit when we meet, which, thank God, I hope will 
 be soon, for to me, Kate, the world and the glory thereof 
 are naught to sweet Woodbournc and its inmates. 1 
 
 M/ss Sct/gwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, January 6, 1851. 
 
 ****** j (Qok U p Diivy s Salmonia the clay of your fa 
 ther s illness ; if you and William have not read it, do. 
 There maybe a little too much description of the trout-fish 
 ing, as that is not William s particular hobby, but the acute 
 and delicate perception of natural beauty and life, charac 
 teristic of a refined sportsman, and the occasional exquisite 
 touches of philosophy and religion, make it an enchanting 
 book. Your father read us aloud last evening some of Boc- 
 
324 {fe f Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 caccio s tales from a translation G. brought home. The 
 translation is a paltry one, but when you consider that these 
 tales marked the age in which they were written, it seems to 
 me no species of manufacture has made greater progress 
 than story-writing. Compare these tales of love, intrigue, 
 cuckoldry, and death to the Scarlet Letter, composed of the 
 same raw material, for these are the elements of the social 
 compact !" 
 
 Miss SeJgwict: to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 "Lenox, March 2, 1851. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, Many thanks for your letter. Wil 
 liam goes to-morrow, and will take a basket for you, with a 
 few eggs (which I hope will remain hermetically sealed), and 
 a portion of the fresh marmalade I have just made from 
 some splendid Seville oranges, and I hope that you and Wil 
 liam will enjoy it. You had better take it out of the jar 
 and put it in small containers, it keeps so much better. 
 Your mother, I presume, has communicated the satisfactory 
 result of Dr. Parker s examination. It is a great comfort to 
 have the opinion of a man whose science, sagacity, and intel 
 ligence you feel confident of, especially when his opinion 
 concurs with all your own observation. I have, for a consid 
 erable time, felt sure that your father s chief trouble was his 
 stomach ; but a lay opinion is good for nothing, especially 
 lay-feminine, till sanctioned by a medical one. You must, as 
 your Aunt Jane says, pay five dollars for what you knew be 
 fore, and then the knowledge becomes effective. Dyspepsia 
 is bad enough, and you may think it no great matter of grat- 
 ulation to have found out that this is the trouble. But your 
 father has uncommon digestive powers, and a blessed tend 
 ency to a healthy reaction ; and, since he has given up the 
 idea that mince pies and buckwheat cakes must now be 
 harmless because they once were so, he has been gaining ; 
 
Life and Letters. 325 
 
 and since he has confined himself and he now does most 
 resolutely and patiently, and apparently without a disobe 
 dient desire to a strict regimen of meat and breadstuff, his 
 complexion has changed, and every thing has gone compara 
 tively well. He occasionally has a pink tinge, a healthy 
 hue, and the yellow has nearly gone. To-morrow will be 
 fifteen days since the last attack. He goes four or five 
 times, for fifteen or twenty minutes at a time, on to my piaz 
 za, and he now walks there with a cheerful, quick step. Oh, 
 dear Kate, you, who have not seen us through the long dis 
 couragements of this sad winter, can hardly imagine what a 
 difference a little light has made. I should think it wrong, 
 in almost any case, to cling with such tenacious desires to 
 a life protracted to its 6oth year ; but your father s life is 
 such a blessing 1 He is God s missionary to the poor and 
 desolate, and to those catted happy. 
 
 "March 8, 1851. The final decision is to send out a ship 
 for Kossuth. I do not know how an act so disinterested, so 
 suited to a model republic, has been carried by the same set 
 of men who last year enacted a law for hunting down fugi 
 tives for freedom. Do not the angels laugh as well as cry 
 over us ? Certainly the inconsistencies of human action 
 must make them either laugh or cry, and, as I believe healthy 
 natures are most disposed to the agreeable emotions, I be 
 lieve they laugh. 1 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Afrs. JC. S. Minot. 
 
 "Lenox, March 16, 1851. 
 
 ****** Last evening we were agreeably surprised by 
 a visit from R.* St. Patrick s Day occurring to-morrow, 
 the saint demands a general suspension of labor, and, like 
 a boy coming to his home in a holiday, he has come to us. 
 We certainly have had great happiness from exiles. R. is 
 * A Hungarian exile. 
 
326 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 a most charming fellow. * * * * The education of a gen 
 tleman and a soldier implants its own vices, I have no doubt ; 
 but it is refreshing now and then to see a man who has 
 grown up without the competitions, the selfishness, the base 
 money element of business life, in whom you see Nature s 
 material expanding without a thin and tarnishing plating. 
 R. has had, while his enthusiasm was fresh, full of hope, 
 and courage, and faith, an experience of a struggle in which 
 life was counted as nothing against national independence. 
 He has acted from and for thought ; seen for it, read for it, 
 and, having acted, seen, and read much and variously while 
 he is in the fervor of youth, he is rather a contrast to Squire 
 T., who is at this moment sitting i>ts-il-i>is to him. He is a 
 good, generous, affectionate fellow too, with eminent good 
 sense, and just as much socialism as belongs to a well-de 
 veloped Christian." 
 
 Afiss Sedgivick to Mrs, A . S. Afiuot. 
 
 Lenox, March 23, 1851. 
 
 * * * * \y c j mc i onc O f Betty s* Sunday visits yester 
 day, and, as she sat in the little parlor, amusing us with her 
 dramatic gossip, she fell upon an old nigger 1 (her own des 
 ignation), onc Frank Francis, who lives in the old halfway 
 house to S. You may remember observing his illustration 
 of domestic economy ; how, last winter, he enlarged his pig 
 pen into a dwelling-house, and used the former habitation 
 as a wood-pile. He lives alone apparently, but he says in 
 the best of company with his Lord. I repeated this to 
 Betty. Ha ! she says, it s he with the cloven foot, I guess, 
 and why the old Harry don t take him off nobody can tell ! 
 
 * The daughter of Mumhct, the admirable and devoted ncgrcss men 
 tioned in the " Recollections." Mumbct s only weakness was spoiling 
 her own children, and Hetty grew up a shiftless creature, a mere pen 
 sioner upon the family in which her mother had been a trusted friend. 
 
Life and Letters. 327 
 
 Why, Betty I 1 Why, Miss Catharine, did you never hear 
 that he has killed three wives and burnt up one Mary ? 
 
 Mary came over here and borrowed a rope of Mr. , 
 
 and he said, " Mary, I charge you to return that, 1 and she 
 said, " I will, sir, dead or alive/ 1 Well, the next news, folks 
 said Mary was burned to death, and buried in the Washing 
 ton Woods. Mr. was riding out one day, and he 
 
 saw a woman coming along with a rope over her arm, and he 
 up and says, " Why, that s Mary, as sure as life !" and so it 
 was ; and she stopped him, and, says she, " I told you, dead 
 or alive, I would return your rope, and here it is." And 
 he took it and put it in his shay-box, and then she show 
 ed him all down one side where she was burned, and told 
 him if he did not make the case known and get justice done, 
 he too would be burned to death I and so he was. There, 
 you may see her grave now open yet ; he tilled it, and fill 
 ed, and filled, and as fast as he filled it opened ; and Miss 
 Bradley will tell you that when he is working in her garden 
 he is a nice hand there she ll hear him say," Let me alone I 1 
 and he ll jump over the other side of the bed, and so he 
 keeps hopping. Old did die from a burn ; he be 
 came a sot, and was probably in Tarn O Shanter s sight 
 seeing condition when he met Mary with the rope. I have 
 told you this as a delightful proof that superstition has found 
 a retreat in our all-knowing land, though it be in the dark 
 est recesses of these lees of humanity. The open grave 
 and the pinching spirit in the garden would not be bad for 
 a German story. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 44 New York, March 30, 1851. 
 
 " You ask me what I have been doing all winter. Little, 
 my dear child, but watch your father s face, and do what I 
 could to minister to his comfort, and shift one heavy burden 
 
328 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 for another. I have written some small matters, and tried 
 my hand at a heavy one ; but heaviness is the prevailing 
 element." 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, May 4, 1851. 
 
 * * * * " Your mother, after reading Hawthorne s book,* 
 has most kindly and patiently gone straight through it again 
 in loud reading to your father and me. Your father is not 
 a model listener ; ten thousand thoughts of ten thousand 
 things to be done call him off, and would wear out any tem 
 per but your mother s. Have you read it? There is mar 
 velous beauty in the diction ; a richness and originality of 
 thought that give the stamp of unquestionable genius ; a 
 microscopic observation of the external world, and the keen 
 est analysis of character; an elegance and finish that is like 
 the work of a master sculptor perfect in its artistic details. 
 And yet, to my mind, it is a failure. It fails in the essen 
 tials of a work of art ; there is not essential dignity in the 
 characters to make them worth the labor spent on them. 
 A low-minded vulgar hypocrite, a weak-minded nervous old 
 maid, and her half-cracked brother, with nothing but beauty, 
 and a blind instinctive love of the beautiful, are the chief 
 characters of the drama. * Little Phoebe is the redemption, 
 as far as she goes, of the book a sweet and perfect flower 
 amidst corruption, barrenness, and decay. The book is an 
 affliction. It affects me like a passage through the wards 
 of an insane asylum, or a visit to specimens of morbid an 
 atomy. It has the unity and simple construction of a Greek 
 tragedy, but without the relief of divine qualities or great 
 events ; and the man takes such savage delight in repeat 
 ing and repeating the raw head and bloody bones of his im 
 agination. There is nothing genial, excepting always little 
 Phoebe, the ideal of a New England, sweet-tempered, ac- 
 
 * The House of the Seven Gables. 
 
Life and Letters. , 329 
 
 complishing village girl. I might have liked it better when 
 I was younger, but as we go through the tragedy of life we 
 need elixirs, cordials, and all the kindliest resources of the 
 art of fiction. There is too much force for the subject. It 
 is as if a railroad should be built and a locomotive started 
 to transport skeletons, specimens, and one bird of Paradise ! 
 
 In 1850, Mr. Charles Sedgwick s house was moved from 
 the somewhat cramped position it occupied in the village of 
 Lenox to a charming situation at a little distance, on the 
 brow of the hill, and commanding a vast and beautifully-va 
 ried prospect. Here Miss Sedgwick s " wing" received still 
 farther additions, notably that of a broad and well-inclosed 
 piazza, looking to the south over twenty miles of valley, 
 meadow, lake, and hill, to the blue Taghkonic range, in 
 southernmost Berkshire. The terrace in front of it was 
 bright with flowers, which the assiduous care of their mis 
 tress kept in bloom both early and late, even upon that 
 height, still so bleak in early spring and late autumn. She 
 was an enthusiastic gardener, and thought no pains too great 
 to save a favorite rose or geranium, or to coax a bed of vio 
 lets into early blossom. Nor did she confine her care to 
 flowers, but took a practical interest in the growing vegeta 
 bles, and had her own strawberry-bed, from which it was her 
 delight, in the early morning, to gather the fruit with her own 
 hands. When she gave her frequent breakfast-parties, which 
 all who had the good fortune to be her guests must remem 
 ber as among the most fascinating banquets in their memo 
 ry, alike for the place, with its summer-morning beauty fresh 
 upon it, the delicacy of the viands, the piquant or interesting 
 talk that was sure to arise, and the radiant cordiality of the 
 hostess, she would be in her garden by six o clock to gather 
 fruit and flowers for the table, and unconscious inspirations 
 of health and happiness for herself, of which she dispensed 
 the latter, at least, as liberally as the more tangible harvest 
 
330 Life of Catharine M. Sedgivick. 
 
 of her borders. Then, after arranging the table, and paying 
 a visit to her tiny kitchen, where the more delicate dishes 
 received the touch of her own skillful hand, she would make 
 a rapid toilette, and appear, untired as the day, to greet her 
 guests with that exquisite grace and sweetness, that genial 
 warmth of welcome which made old and young, grave and 
 gay, literary celebrities, distinguished foreigners, fashionable 
 people from town, and plain country friends all feel a de 
 lightful ease in her presence. Her vivacity, shrewdness, and 
 tact in conversation were never more charming than at these 
 Arcadian repasts. 
 
 She piqued herself upon her cookery, and with reason. 
 "Cooking is the only accomplishment of which I am vain," 
 she said. A New England life, especially in the country, 
 makes a strong draft upon all the executive faculties of man 
 or woman, and Miss Sedgwick fully and cheerfully accepted 
 all its obligations. She could make cake as well as books, 
 and provide for all household exigencies as ingeniously as 
 she could construct a story. Mme. Roland, speaking of her 
 youth, mentions it as a rare and noteworthy variety of occu 
 pation, that the same girl who read works of philosophy, and 
 could explain the circles of the celestial sphere, was often 
 called into the kitchen to make an omelet, skim the pot, or 
 dress a salad. To many Yankee women the apparent anom 
 aly is a piece of every-day experience. 
 
 After her return from Europe Miss Sedgwick had very 
 serious trouble with her eyes, and was for a year or more 
 under the care of Dr. Elliott, the distinguished oculist. His 
 treatment was of much service to her, but her eyes never 
 fully recovered their strength. 
 
 Aliss Setlgwick to Afrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 "Lenox, May 4, 1851. 
 **** Quiet indoors, but out, what a bustle I What 
 
Life and Letters. 33 1 
 
 uprooting and down-setting, digging holes and filling holes, 
 moving fences, sowing, planting, building ! When the sound 
 of the hammer shall cease, it will be^ a token of desolation 
 indeed of desolation or perfection. We have workmen 
 here of every description, from Goodrich (who, you know, is 
 employed as the ideal of amiability and honesty) down 
 through the gradations of Oliver, Saddler, Matthew, to four 
 * jail-birds who daily flutter their wings (and sing in heart, I 
 hope) over our diggings. I had two of them in rather re 
 moved and close companionship on the rockery yesterday, 
 and I could not help adjuring them not again to immure 
 their strong arms. Some day when I am gone, dear Kate, 
 you will take your children to this rockery, and tell them 
 how, for love of you and them, I toiled on it, and if there 
 should be visible tokens of my toil, you will tell them how 
 many loving thoughts made an atmosphere of enchantment 
 around me there. I every day feel more and more the hap 
 piness of our removal to this place the escape and the ben 
 ediction. Every day, every hour the earth has a fresh aspect 
 of beauty. I do not know when (not since my childhood) I 
 have been in the country at this season; and if I could climb 
 hills and fences as I did then, as far as my relations to na 
 ture go, I should be far more enjoying than then. Nature 
 is now a more familiar, an older, and a richer friend ; and, 
 besides what it is in itself, it is a medium of communication 
 with the distant and the departed." 
 
 Jlfiss Sedgwick to Afr. William Minot Jr. 
 
 " Lenox, May 15, 1851. 
 
 ** MY DEAR WILLIAM, It would, I know, please you if you 
 could look into my heart, and see how much this last proof 
 of your tender affection has increased my tranquillity and 
 my sense of riches in that which alone constitutes inappre 
 ciable and permanent wealth. My besetting sin is a crav- 
 
332 Life of Catharine M. Sedgivick. 
 
 ing for love, and a miserly fear, and dread, and belief of its 
 precariousness. This is partly nature, and partly the result 
 of the fact that in the ^beginning of my life, and through so 
 much of my existence that it gained the force of a constitu 
 tional habit, I was the most beloved of many hearts. Oth 
 ers came between me and these loves, and for the hardest 
 trial of single life I was unprepared. What little fame I may 
 have had, and general consideration, has not been the slight 
 est compensation to me for the loss of that instinctive ten 
 derness so like divine love, that which needs no suggestion 
 or prop of duty, but acts spontaneously with all the qualities 
 of fire but its destructiveness. If I have not moderated my 
 desires, I have come to consider more rationally the inevi 
 table in my condition, and, I trust, more gratefully what is 
 left to me." 
 
 Miss Sedgtvick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, September 28, 1851. 
 
 ****** It is good, as the burdens of age accumulate, 
 to shake them all off; to change old, tiresome ideas for new 
 ones ; to take a world of fresh impressions ; to fill the store 
 house of imagination with new and beautiful images ; to gain 
 assurance to uncertain opinions ; to verify old fancies; to 
 throw off some of your old social burdens while you extend 
 the social chain ; in short, to go to Italy and come home 
 again ! And I think it would be a good plan, Kate, to send 
 out one of the family every year to bring home * bread and 
 fruit for those that must stay at home. Plowshares and 
 reaping-hooks are grand things, but one would like some 
 of the delectations of life. It was a convenient way of wa 
 tering the earth in the old times of Adam and Eve by dews, 
 but the clouds and the rainbow are the fine arts of Nature." 
 
Life and Letters. 333 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, November 2, 1851. 
 
 "IMv DEAREST KATE, What weaver s shuttle in Job s 
 day went as the days, months, and years fly now 1 Novem 
 ber, the last month but that which goes to manners and 
 does us no good, has come and is*going, and the months 
 that make up that solemn creature called the year seem to 
 me to bear no record that will not pass with the leaves of 
 the flowers that have dropped. But this is nonsense 1 If 
 it is by continual dropping that the rock is worn, so it is by 
 minute accretions that the gem is formed, and our meetings 
 and partings, the minglings of our smiles and tears, the 
 voices and caresses of our children, the cheerful good-morn 
 ings and prayerful good-nights that have made up the 
 year s life, have nourished those affections that constitute 
 our immortality, that inspire the hope of it, that assure the 
 faith in it, that arc / /. 
 
 " The poor elephant is no more I* William s gay words 
 were hardly a fit accompaniment for his sublimely dreary 
 carcass. I saw him dying on Friday. He lay quiet, look 
 ing dreamily around, his proboscis curled up, without a strug 
 gle or movement, seeming to express the submission of the 
 mightiest thing on earth to a stern, inexorable, omnipotent 
 Fate. It is odd enough, but he reminded me of the * dying 
 gladiator. 1 Were his visions, in that wretched shed of But- 
 Jer s, where his captors had brought him to die, with the 
 leaden skies of our November over him, of his fellows tramp 
 ing over the bright Indian fields, and drinking (two barrels 
 
 * This elephant, Columbus, belonged to a traveling menagerie. In 
 crossing a bridge in the northern part of the county, he broke through, 
 and was so injured by the fall that he could go no farther than Lenox. 
 lie lived, however, for some days, and was, of course, an object of much 
 curiosity and interest. 
 
334 -Life of Catharine M. 
 
 at a draught 1) the waters of the Tigris? Like the gladia* 
 tor, too, his captivity has made him immortal at least so 
 long as the napkin-ring and our memory of William s wit 
 lasts. Instead of dissecting him, as William anticipated, 
 they are going to bury him to-morrow entire, and claim dam 
 ages of the town of Adams, which town, your father thinks, 
 is very like to sue the* company for breaking clown their 
 bridge ! 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. K. S, Minot. 
 
 44 Stock bridge, December 21, 1851. 
 
 ****** I hope you see the papers, and all the curious, 
 exciting, odd, and great things daily occurring. Did you see 
 the Cincinnati address? Apart from the great interest of 
 Hungary and her apostle, it is a delight to me to sec the 
 currents of small party politics, of business competitions, of 
 money profits and losses, and all low materialities, over- 
 flowed by an inundation of generous sentiment the nation 
 for once, and (if it be so) for one moment, kindled with a 
 disinterested sentiment, the higher part of our nature in gen 
 eral action." 
 
 Miss Sctlgiuick to Mrs. K. S. Afinot. 
 
 44 Stockbrhlgc, December 27, 1851. 
 
 * * * * " This morning the mercury at 8 o clock was, by 
 your Aunt Susan s thermometer, 9 bctoiv, and that little in 
 strument, like every thing in her domain, is made as com 
 fortable as possible, snugged up in a little corner of her 
 south porch. Others in the town fell to 15 below. I am 
 thus particular for my own self-glorification, for I went to 
 breakfast with Judge Byington and his little girls, walking 
 the half mile on slow, slippery walking, and to-morrow, Kate, 
 I am sixty-two years old ! I never felt that I was old till 
 the fact of sixty years stared me in the face, the years that 
 
Lift: and Letters. 335 
 
 all hold old ; and even now, if there were any mode of evad 
 ing time, any charlatanerie of self-delusion that could gain 
 say the fact, I should give in to my general sensation that I 
 am yet in mid-life, a fit companion for you who are still in 
 your zenith, a fit playmate for Alice and Will 1 But that I 
 am I will maintain, for there is childhood at each end of the 
 road ; they have not taken up the threads, and I have pretty 
 much let them go ! * * * * The whole town, at least the 
 female portion of it, are up and doing.* Even the softly, 
 calculating, most arithmetical wives of our farmers are 
 co-operating with the Hungarian champions of the Plain. 
 Kossulh s speeches have produced a deep conviction of the 
 religious truth of his cause, and of the solemnity of the duty 
 of a practical protest in Its favor. An earnest soul creates 
 souls, vivifies the principle of life that sleeps throughout their 
 earthly pilgrimage in so many human beings." 
 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to Mrs. JK. S. Minot. 
 
 Lenox, January 1 1, 1852. 
 
 * * * * and seem to me to have the 
 
 true idea of a home a place guaranteed against all foreign 
 intervention ; a sanctuary of domestic rights and freedom ; 
 a temple with open doors, but never to be entered by the 
 profane ; a missionary station, whence light is to go forth to 
 the heathen around them ; a life-school ; an insurance office 
 for the next generation ; a fortress of religion and morality ; 
 a guarded passage to the holy land for them, tended by their 
 two little angels. Such securities for the permanence of our 
 institutions, carried wherever they go, will defend us against 
 swarms of Irish, and Irish priests and German radicals. 
 Would they not have preserved the French from the horror 
 of being drilled for freedom through centuries of alternate 
 revolution and despotism ? Is it not the utter moral un- 
 
 * Getting up a fair for the Hungarians. 
 
33 6 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 soundness and hoinelessness of the French that makes the 
 blood all tend to the centre and putrefy there ? Homes 
 where intelligence and affection have fair play scatter light 
 and life throughout the land, and make the surest defenses 
 against centralization. * * * * I suppose you have heard 
 from your mother every particular of the fair.* B. and Mrs. 
 N. worked like a whole army of beavers. * * * * We were 
 all charmed by Colonel Perczel. He is about forty-five a 
 fine person, with a complexion not exactly fair nor delicate, 
 but having a certain tone expressing purity, refinement, man 
 liness, health, and giving to beautiful and harmonious feat 
 ures just the ground they want. An expression naturally 
 cheerful, but saddened by circumstances, for you constantly 
 see the light beyond the eclipse. His manners, too, have a 
 high-bred quality, kindly and gentle, with a certain reserve 
 of delicacy, and not hauteur. Poor man ! poor people ! 
 what are they to do? Not Kossuth he is exceptional 
 the prophet will die or be translated. He who can say, If 
 I am disappointed, I shall go to prayer, to the Lord s Sup 
 per, to battle, and to death/ will be looked after reverently 
 and with longing eyes by those who sit at case, but far and 
 far below him. * * * * Whatever he does for the Magyars, 
 he is doing good to people that want this bread from heaven 
 as much as they want any thing he can give them." 
 
 Jlf/ss Sc i/jrzv/ t A to Rev. Dr. JDewey, on the death of the 
 William Ware. 
 
 " New York, March 22, 1852. 
 
 ****** But there are subjects of fixed interest, such as 
 the death of our dear friend, toward whom I have something 
 of the feeling his wife expresses, and which, I think, we al 
 ways have for those who have made an essential part of our 
 existence very life of our life as if he were not dead as 
 * For the Hungarians. 
 
Life and Letters. 337 
 
 if I should meet him again in those manifestations in which 
 I have met him see his serene brow, his calm eye hear 
 his voice 
 
 " Oh fur a touch of the vanished hand, 
 And .1 sound of the voice that is still ! 
 
 How many times for how many have I breathed this wish 
 in agony of soul ! But for the death of those we love, and 
 against the dread of death for ourselves, there are the om 
 nipotent words, * Whether we live or die, we are the Lord s, 
 for to this end Christ both died, and rose, and revived, that 
 he might be Lord both of the living and the dead/ Let 
 us be tranquil, my dear friend the nearer the end, the more 
 tranquil. 
 
 " I am very glad that you arc writing about our friend for 
 the Christian Examiner, You should put your testimony 
 on record. No one living better understood him. I have 
 not read Bellows s sermon, but I was exceedingly pleased 
 with it when he preached it. I thought he got at the secret 
 springs of William Ware s failures and success. I think 
 there was no one present who estimated William Ware more 
 highly than I do, or loved him so well, and yet most of his 
 old congregation thought Mr. B. did great injustice, or rather 
 that he was in great error in his account of the deficiencies 
 in his pulpit exercises. But it can not be denied that he 
 was a cold (not dull), and, to strangers, an uninteresting 
 speaker. No man felt this so painfully as himself. But, in 
 spite of this, I can testify that, as a pastor, and even preach 
 er, he was so beloved that I believe not one consented wil 
 lingly to his going. Robert again and again, when he had 
 resolved on the step he finally took, persuaded him from it, 
 and when he finally went, it was felt throughout that little 
 Chambers Street Church like the breaking up of a family. 
 He was all gold gold too pure to be worked up into the 
 world s common currency." 
 
33** -Lift f Catharine M. 
 
 Miss Settjpvick to Mrs. J. S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, April 1 1, 1852. 
 
 *#**< My indisposition is gone and nearly forgotten, 
 and ought to serve me merely to mark my great exemption 
 from the commonest affliction of humanity. And, besides, 
 it brings an overbalance of pleasure in the unusual mani 
 festations of love it draws out from those to whom we really 
 are dear ; and, when one grows old, my dear Kate, one gets 
 to be covetous of such manifestations, and to feel somewhat 
 likr an old miser I knew who carried his title-deeds about 
 with him, and thought that if he could not see them his es 
 tate was gone to rack and ruin." 
 
 Miss Sedgwifk to Mrs. A*. S. Mi/tot. 
 
 " New York, May 2, 1852. 
 
 * * * * j fa c \ f ni y c i car child, incompetent to sustaining 
 the part of a Protestant champion. I have been myself 
 content with the great principle achieved and fixed by the 
 Protestant battle the right of private judgment. I never 
 could and now less than ever feel the vital importance 
 of one mode of faith over another. The Protestant, in all 
 its modifications, seems to me to have an immense advan 
 tage in its political influence, and in its general development 
 and advancement of the species. But that God should look 
 with more favor on any individual because he is a Catholic 
 or a Protestant seems to me incredible. That the infinite 
 Father of all, looking over his universe, should respect the 
 fences and pens set up by his short-sighted creatures ! Some 
 of these, no doubt, are far better for us than others, but no 
 one nearer to His love than another. The great thing is to 
 choose that best adapted* to our spiritual wants, or rather, I 
 should think, to rise to an elevation above them all nearer 
 to God s universal charity, and farther from man s ignorant 
 restrictions. 
 
Life and Letters. 339 
 
 " 1 long lo know if you heard Kossuth. I trust so. No 
 such orator has been, or in all human probability will be 
 heard again. And, for his cause, it is the rock of eternal 
 justice. Among the tribes that have poured in upon us 
 this last week came a Dr. Rcclfield, a professor of the art of 
 reading physiognomy. He pretends that it is an exact sci 
 ence, and truly his readings here were wonderful. I have 
 never seen any thing in phrenology that bore any compari 
 son with his interpretations of the girls characters. 
 
 Miss St ttgwtcA to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 Lenox, May 23, 1852. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, At Lenox once more, in health 
 and comfort ; a good color on your father s cheeks, cheer 
 fulness abounding, and a lovely infusion of bursting blos 
 soms of violets, eyebrights, and tender green over nature. 
 In spite of the chill in the atmosphere, which we must have 
 whenever the wind blows from the snows still unmclted in 
 our Northern forests in spite of this, there is a pre-eminent 
 beauty in the spring ; the grace, freshness, and vigor of youth 
 a sentiment breathing through nature and the renewed 
 evidence that seeming death is not death. In this last there 
 is to me a silent, potent, solemn assurance that the precious 
 life hidden from us is not extinct that those we have laid 
 in the bosom of the earth in age and in childhood shall ap 
 pear before us in the infinite beauty of their immortality. 
 
 ****! saw Kossuth for the first time, and though 
 he did not make one of his brilliant speeches, I was not in 
 the least disappointed. It seems to me that our imagina 
 tions always fall short in conceiving the best things of their 
 class. The masterpieces of poetry, of nature, of art, all 
 surpass your expectations, and so does the exquisite blend 
 ing of nature and art in this divinely-inspired man. He 
 seems to me like melody perfected by the harmonies of art 
 
340 Hife of Catharine M. Scdgivick. 
 
 the whole man, intellectual, moral, and physical, all co 
 operating in one result. I never had so profound an im 
 pression from the presence of any human being, and I think 
 this is from the conviction that he has been called to a sa 
 cred duty, and with his whole soul has obeyed the call." 
 
 Miss Settgwifk to Mrs. A". 6". Minot. 
 
 " New York, Juuc 13, 1852. 
 
 " I came to Now York, as you know, with the intention of 
 staying a few days, and, having a few odd jobs to do up, I 
 was immediately involved in an address to Kossuth on the 
 subject of a lecture he had expressed a wish to give in or 
 der to raise funds for his family, but which he could not 
 thrust upon the public. This address, the obtaining signa 
 tures, and the work to obtain an audience involves an infin 
 ity of labor. Kossuth has bitter experience of the incon 
 stancy of popular favor. Five months ago this city was in 
 a fever about him ; the skies were rent with the general ac 
 clamations. Now, the last Convention and the next Con 
 vention, Meagher, the sale of a house-lot, the dry weather, 
 M. F. s wedding, any topic that comes up, has more interest 
 and takes precedence ! The ladies went on Friday morn 
 ing to present our request. Mrs. Kingsland, the mayoress, 
 presented it. Kossuth, of course, received us with his 
 graceful graciousness. He looked sad ; but, as he said, he 
 is inured to adversity." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. C /tanning (1852). 
 ****! ^d not answer your letter about Margaret 
 Fuller because I wanted time for that. I did not entirely 
 sympathize \yith you, and truly I distrust myself when I do 
 not. The book raised my estimation extremely of Miss Ful 
 ler, and the sadness of her life and the tragedy of her death 
 took from me all power to criticise her. From first to last 
 
Life and Letters. 341 
 
 she was a woman of noble aims, and, with all her egotism, 
 unselfish in action. The longer I live, the more presumptu 
 ous and futile it seems to me to attempt judgment of charac 
 ter, and Miss Fuller s was exceptional. Her self-esteem 
 was so inordinate as to be almost insane, but it appears (and 
 it is, I think, so stated) to have been a constitutional and in 
 herited defect, and certainly without moral taint. Her truth 
 was exemplary, and all her conduct after she left off theoriz 
 ing and began the action of life in the accustomed channels 
 was admirable, her Italian life beautiful. The close had the 
 solemnity of a fulfilled prophecy, and, with all its apparent 
 horrors, was it not merciful ? Had she come safely to our 
 shores, she must have encountered harassing struggles for 
 the mere means of existence, anxiety, and all the petty cares 
 that perplex and obstruct a noble nature, and, worse than all, 
 disappointment 1 If she were permitted to enter at once 
 with those dearest to her upon a higher state of existence, 
 added to the ecstasy of a new life there was the joy of an es 
 cape from this. The arms stretched toward her will soon 
 enfold her! * * * * I shake hands with you and your dear 
 family on Kossuth. I rejoice in the conviction of his pre 
 eminent virtue, and I have been deeply moved by his divine 
 genius. He seems to me to take rank with the noble army 
 of martyrs, for is not his life a continued martyrdom ? I saw 
 him twice in New York. He paid us one beautiful visit, and 
 once I went with a deputation of ladies to ask him to give 
 the lecture for his mother. Would you believe that we had 
 difficulty in getting names enough to publish to this call, and 
 infinite trouble and anxiety in getting up the meeting? 
 Dear William R. worked gallantly, and I worked hard, and 
 after discouragement and almost despair we had complete 
 success at last. It was one of the blissful moments of life 
 when we got to the Tabernacle that memorable night and 
 found it full and what a lecture it was I" 
 
342 Life of Catharine M. Sctlgwifk. 
 
 X 
 
 Miss Sedgiuick to Mrs. K. S. Minot, in answer to an invitation 
 to cotne to IVoodbourne. 
 
 "June 18, 1852. 
 
 ****** It was a lovely vision, that sweet place in all its 
 June loveliness, and an escape from this dreadful heat. But, 
 dear Kate, I probably feel very differently about the claims 
 of this cause* from what you can. It seems to me a patri 
 otic and womanly duty to give succor to these poor exiles, 
 and very strange if one can not feebly work for a few days 
 for him who, however mistaken his judgments may prove, has 
 toiled day and night for humanity for months and years, who 
 has been in prison and in perils oft, in sorrows always." 
 
 Miss Satgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, November 7, 1852. 
 
 * * * * Was not the fable of the ass and the lion aptly 
 quoted in a New York journal in relation to Theodore Par 
 ker s funeral sermon ? What sweet and bitter waters has 
 that great man s death caused to flow ! I do not envy him 
 who can draw the frailties of a man from * their dread 
 abode, 1 or who does not gratefully leave them * to repose on 
 the bosom of his Father and his God, 1 when death has just 
 mournfully closed the scene. * * * * They have had a 
 charming little excitement at S., quite novel in its kind. 
 Your Aunt Jane with a surplus) (wonders will never cease) 
 is at last building a wash-room and a drain, and in opening 
 the ground through her garden the skeleton of a * delicately- 
 formed female has been discovered. We have all jaur pet 
 solutions of the mystery. Schoolmaster Canning, learned 
 in skulls, pronounced it an Indian girl s. Some presume to 
 suggest it may have been a * subject of a doctor in the neigh 
 borhood. One intimates it maybe the solution of the mys- 
 * The cause of Kossulh and the Hungarians. 
 
Lift: and betters. 343 
 
 tery of your Aunt Jane s mammoth squash, and threatens to 
 institute an inquiry at the next Berkshire Horticultural meet 
 ing as to the nature of the manures she employs ! Those 
 of us most eager for romantic mysteries (the oldest inhabi 
 tant, too) remember a certain Dr. Tidmarsh, an Englishman, 
 who lived in . W. s house, who was implicated in some 
 dark concern, and left his abode to the traditionary horrors 
 of a haunted house. But the poor skull tells no tales." 
 
 Aliss Setlgwick to Rev. JDr. 
 
 " Lenox, November 27, 1852. 
 
 *** While in New York I heard Thackeray s first 
 lecture. It was an able one, written in classic English, and 
 given with a manly dignity and simplicity. He is a nice 
 discerncr and skillful delineator so skillful that, if there 
 were a detective police for the follies and infirmities of hu 
 man nature, he would be elected chief by acclamation. But 
 I have no affinities for this sagacity, and no great admiration 
 for his detective revelations. I prefer those nice analyses 
 that find sustenance instead of detecting poison ; the one 
 work is for our Channings, the other for Thackeray and the 
 wise in their generation. I apply all this, however, to the 
 impression received from Thackeray s novels ; his lectures, 
 I believe, will be in a good degree free from this character 
 istic fault much more humane and genial than his books, 
 and a valuable model for our lecturers, who, I trust, will learn 
 by him to strike their roots deeper, to cultivate a more 
 healthy atmospheric growth, and to prune off the spindling, 
 forced, transcendental shoots that betray a false, perverted, 
 and ignorant culture. 
 
 " You will not perceive but I do, and smile at it how 
 my present chief interests arc betrayed in my modes of ex 
 pression. How I shall best secure my precious roses out 
 side, and how give a healthy growth to my geraniums inside, 
 
344 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick. 
 
 employs all the energy I have left. Mine is at least an in 
 nocent vocation, and I shall succeed in it better than Louis 
 Napoleon with his empire. What strange tragedies are play 
 ing in our day, and we never see m coming to the last act ! 
 You have read Victor Hugo s wonderful pamphlet* can 
 the French nation fail to be kindled by such combustibles 
 thrown among them ? This does find its way there, as many 
 copies have been seized. Is France to go on in the process 
 of rottenness to general decay and death, or is there vital 
 ity enough for resuscitation ? Who can solve these fearful 
 questions ? Easy enough to ask 1" 
 
 Miss Sc ttgwick to Mrs. K. S. Afinot. 
 
 Lenox, November 28, 1852. 
 
 * * * The ra j n came most opportunely, softening the 
 earth so that we could stick clown our hemlock boughs. I 
 don t think you were ever better satisfied when you had put 
 Alice and Willie to sleep, and tucked them in their crib and 
 trundle-bed, than I am at looking out at the nice green hem 
 lock curtains that are to defend my roses from the stern ca 
 prices of the coming winter from that worst of all treat 
 ment, either in the moral or physical world, alternate cold 
 and heat. I have been getting from Long Island a variety 
 of the most beautiful flowering trees, and have set them all 
 along the path to Alice s rockery, meaning them to be typ 
 ical of my love for your children, and, if I live long enough, 
 that rockery shall be a beautiful spot." 
 
 Miss Stdgwick to Afrs. C/tt?u/it/tg. 
 
 " Woodbournc, January 4, 1853. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, I have nearly given up the hope 
 of hearing that you are in Boston, and of meeting you there, 
 and therefore I must use this poor substitute (Heaven for- 
 * NapoMon Ic Petit. 
 
JLife and Letters. 345 
 
 give my ingratitude, for that which bridges the abysses 
 of absence is not poor) for the seeing of the eye, and the 
 hearing of the car, and thus impart to you my earnest wish 
 es for a happy new year 1 to you and yours. And how dif 
 ferently does this phrase sound to us as time bears us on ! 
 These few words envelop our history, sparkle in our youth 
 with presumptions and insatiable hope, and then grow dull 
 and dim till they catch the ray from a better life ; and, bright 
 ened with this vitality, my dear friend of many years, I utter 
 them to you. * * * * I am growing to like more and more 
 this country residence. Besides the ever-fresh delights of 
 an expanse of heaven, and trees, and fields, and the actual 
 advantage of leisure, there is an escape from the infinite te- 
 diousness of city social life, an exemption from making and 
 receiving calls/ which are the froth of a stagnant pool. I do 
 not think much of it as teaching you your real value to the 
 five hundred, for that secret a person of tolerable perception 
 learns in various ways, but it is a wholesome rebuke to one s 
 vanity to learn how very few will pay twenty cents and walk 
 half a mile for the happiness of seeing you. You hear on 
 all sides, no doubt, of Thackeray s lectures. I wish you 
 could hear them. They are capital specimens of the best 
 London talk, with the perfecting of careful revision, and 
 given in a voice that indicates a perception of the sentiment 
 of life, and a thorough baptism in its sorrows. Thackeray, 
 with his great genius, has been no favorite of mine. He 
 seems to me a libeler of humanity the very antagonistic 
 spirit to your brother William s. His last book is better ; 
 the character of Esmond an amende* to one. half of the 
 race. But his Countess, after all his elaborate laudation, is 
 but an overswcet pretty woman, with the instincts and all 
 the weaknesses of the weakest maternity ; and Beatrix is 
 but his other phase of womankind, and neither have the 
 merit of being natural." * * * * 
 
 Pa 
 
346 Life of Catharine M. Setigivick. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 44 New York, March 20, 1853. 
 
 * # * * I perceive that neither you nor William like 
 Ruth quite as well as I did. I agree with you entirely as 
 to the enormity of visiting such an offense so vindictively, 
 but it does not seem to me that the Pharisees of - were 
 much more oppressively righteous than our own people. 
 * * * * The fault is in an undue estimate. The absolute 
 necessity of chastity in a woman, as far as the certain trans 
 mission of property goes, has given a legal sanction to this 
 blinding of the eyes and hardening of the heart. Women 
 who violate every duty, who are pests in temper, who tear 
 and rend their neighbors 1 characters, who are sensualists to 
 the utter degradation of the soul, ride in the world s chariots 
 (and no man or woman is so rich but they do them rever 
 ence), and in men the permitted grossness in thought, wqrcl, 
 and deed, can t be spoken of, but a poor girl, ignorant of 
 her own nature, with opportunity thrust upon her, and love 
 blinding her, is the victim through life of a single offense. 
 It is a perpetual punishment without hope of pardon, a rack 
 from which the death penalty is the only escape." 
 
 Safgwick to Afrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 * New York, March 28, 1853. 
 
 " I passed last Saturday evening in C. F. s ducal apart 
 ments, and met there Father Gavazzi, an Italian patriot 
 priest, converted to Protestantism, or, as he says, to Paul- 
 ism. He looks to me as if he had thrown off the priestly 
 harness as joyously as Retzsch s Pegasus did the farmer s, 
 but not from heavenly aspirations so much as carnal affec 
 tions. He has nothing of the trained simulation of a priest, 
 but looks strong and bold, as if he could lead or stay the 
 multitude. His eloquence is said to have produced im- 
 
JLifc and Letters. 347 
 
 mensc effect in England. Perhaps its effect was partly ow 
 ing to his striking the master-note in a full orchestra of 
 papist haters. I did not like his speech here, but he has a 
 rabble of orthodox mother of Babylon* haters crying * ho- 
 sanna 1 after him. One has but to get up a stylish menag 
 erie, and the lions are whistled into it like so many tame 
 pigeons I I was looking through Mrs. F. s vast arcades 
 when I saw our dear Mrs. F., looking lovely in black velvet 
 and lace, advancing with an Indian woman on her arm, ar 
 rayed in a theatrical costume composed of scarlet cloth, em 
 broidered muslin, and tinsel, which she called an Indian 
 dress. The moccasins were national, and the immense 
 Spanish fan might have been a gift from a Spanish king 
 of the sixteenth century to one of the majesties of the Mon- 
 
 M/ss Sedgwick to Mrs. A". S. Afittot. 
 
 11 New York, April 17, 1853. 
 
 # * * * VVe all went last Friday evening to hear Father 
 Gavazzi, and, if ever you have an opportunity in Boston, I 
 beg that you and William will go. It was in the brilliant 
 Metropolitan Hall, which holds 4000, and it was full to the 
 brim. He wears his priestly cassock, with the cross em 
 broidered on the breast and sleeve, and an Italian cloak of 
 sufficient amplitude to give any effect of drapery he chooses. 
 He has the strongest of Italian faces, with that blackest of 
 hair that gives expression like the shadow of a picture. His 
 voice is powerful and flexible. He is melodramatic, and 
 has some c/tar/atanerie^ but is as great an actor as a man can 
 be who has these extravagances and purposes of effect ; and 
 you are less disgusted with this class of faults in an Italian 
 their atmosphere is oxygenated. I have seen no such 
 actor since Kean s time. His lecture was on Italy. His 
 satire was keen, his contempt biting. He portrayed the 
 
348 Life of Catharine M. Sedgiuick. 
 
 whole Popish church in Italy as an organization of police, 
 the pope being chef; and he described the throbbing of the 
 Italian heart under the pressure of foreign domination in a 
 way to make one s blood curdle. As I listened I could not 
 help running a parallel between him and Kossuth, whom we 
 heard this time last year. His angelic calmness, his Ori 
 ental grace, his flexibility, versatility, and the poetic quality 
 of his language, the white, heavenly light which invested 
 him, made him as one of God s messengers who hearken 
 to his word and do his pleasure. Father Gavazzi was light 
 ed with prismatic colors ; he dealt with thunderbolts and 
 flashes of lightning, and seemed sent forth by the Furies to 
 cry * havoc, and lot loose the dogs of war. How many 
 spirits must there be in Italy seething under those priestly 
 robes I" 
 
 Miss Settgivick to Mrs. K. S. Afinot. 
 
 44 New York, March 31, 1853, 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, My heart turns to you as the only 
 one who can entirely feel, and will, in a good degree, share 
 my sorrow in the death of my our dear friend Madame Sis- 
 mondi. I have just received the news by a letter from 
 Mary Mackintosh. She says she died * peaceful and happy; 
 so she should, and so I am sure she would if she had her 
 senses. So, dear Kate, the dearest treasure of our journey 
 has passed away, and the sweet letters that came like the 
 holy dew of its twilight will be no more forever. To me it 
 will make no other difference. If I am worthy I bitterly 
 feel that I am not but, if God s mercy permits it, it can not 
 be long when, my weary journey, too, finished, I shall rejoin 
 her ; and even now she seems nearer to me than when she 
 lived. And you, dear Kate I trust you will cherish her 
 memory, and the memory of that beautiful union which 
 showed us what a happy marriage was, and demonstrated 
 
Life and Letters. 349 
 
 God s love in that institution which, I thank Him, you, my 
 beloved child, have realized more intimately." 
 
 Miss Sedgwuk to Rw. Dr. Dtwey. 
 
 "April, 1853. 
 
 " Have you all read * Villette ? and do you not admire the 
 book, and own it as one of the great books of the time ? I 
 confess that I have seldom been more impressed with the 
 genius of a writer, and seldom less drawn to her personally. 
 She has nerves of such delicate fineness of edge that the 
 least touch turns them, or she has had an exasperating ex 
 perience. Whether she calls herself Jane Eyre, or Lucy 
 Snowe, it does not matter it is Miss Bront6. She has the 
 intensity of Byron of our own Fanny Kemble. She uncon 
 sciously infuses herself into her heroine. It is an egotism 
 whose fires are fed by the inferior vitality of others; and how 
 well she conceives others! how she daguerreotypes them I 
 
 "You have read Jeffrey s life and letters? What a priv 
 ilege it is to read these best effusions of his spirit stran 
 gers and aliens from him, to be permitted to read letters that 
 have each been unsealed with expectation, reverence, and 
 love by those whose right they were 1 I have scarcely in 
 my lifetime enjoyed any thing more, or felt a more glowing 
 response (according to my poor measure) to the sentiments 
 of any nature. How susceptible he was to the beauty of 
 nature to the clouds, the sky, the birds, the flowers ; how 
 loving to children ; how warm and generous in his friend 
 ships ; how affectionate to women ; how every thing that a 
 man should be I I know you say amen to all I could say. 
 Do you remember that beautiful letter about Burns ?" 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, June 6, 1853. 
 * * o tt Your kind proposal, dearest child, I can not 
 
35 Life of Cat/taring M. SeJgwick. 
 
 take up with. I can not leave my garden for a month at 
 this season. I am booked for the White Hills in July, and 
 am half engaged to make a little captivating journey with 
 Charles of Syracuse. Besides, I have hired myself as dairy 
 maid to Belle, and Lizzy is coming on Thursday, relying on 
 being my guest." 
 
 Miss Sedgivick to Mrs. jK. S. Minot. 
 
 "Lenox, July 17, 1853. 
 
 "My DEAREST KATE, We arrived, having made a most 
 prosperous finish to our prosperous journey, at 3 o clock yes 
 terday. I feel deeply grateful for the immense and unlook 
 ed-for enjoyment I have had. It is still in my mind a love 
 ly picture, and the memory of my time (times) at Wood- 
 bourne as superior to the rest as Promctheus s state was 
 after he had brought fire from heaven to kindle it. The 
 White Hills were full of melody, but the bird loves to fold 
 its wings in its own nest, and free as any thing mortal can 
 be from all that clouds and frets life seems the dear nest in 
 the covert of Woodbourne. I found all very well here, and 
 the wheels rolling on smoothly. C. is nicely. Mr. W. and 
 Sixteenth Street breakfasted with me this morning ; Mr. H. 
 G. in addition, and W. B., who arrived last evening, and who 
 seems quite enchanted with Berkshire. I found my flowers 
 looking like children whose mother has been spending the 
 day out vines dangling, and long fresh spikes of rose-trees 
 running out in every direction, young plants disappeared, 
 etc., etc. I fell to work in the rain (for it began to rain aft 
 er we arrived) transplanting, etc., and to-morrow shall go 
 vigorously to work, and hope to get my wires up, * * * * 
 I believe I am losing, or have lost, my faculties, for I can 
 think of nothing else to say, a difficulty that never occurred 
 before in writing to you. Thanks, dear child, and dear Wil 
 liam, for your kindness to me ; kind you would have been 
 
JLifc *<ind Letters. 351 
 
 to any body, but I don t believe an own mother ever had tru 
 er happiness in visiting her child than I have in going to you." 
 
 * Miss Settgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 July 23, 1853. 
 
 " DEAREST KATE, There are miseries in human life that 
 Job, or Solomon, or Jeremiah have never described, because 
 probably prophecy never revealed to them the folly of those 
 fools who attempt to write after their eyes lie in a pair of 
 spectacles. For the last quart d heure (of infinite length) I 
 have been looking for my spectacles with the desperate con 
 viction that I have dropped them in my flower-beds, and 
 shall never find them I And I have looked up an old pair 
 with one glass (typically) looking heavenward and the oth 
 er earthward, and now I proceed to what I should have 
 begun my letter with but for this accident if that can be 
 called accident which is as regular as my pulses. 
 
 " Don t grow too grand for your Berkshire annual migra 
 tion while your three parents here survive. An old home is 
 like an old violin : the music of the past is wrought into it. 1 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, October 2, 1853. 
 
 ****< What a blessing it is to look out daily on a 
 scene that calls forth freshly and sincerely the song, O 
 Lord, my Lord, how excellent are thy works I* My increased 
 love and enjoyment of nature is far more than a compensa 
 tion to me for the dulled relish of society, and the loss of 
 anticipations and projects that age surely brings. But there 
 are losses that but grow heavier as we go on. The sense 
 of the loss of friends becomes even more acute as the inter 
 ests of life diminish. Time hushes, but does not console. 
 The manifestations are less and less, but the void is deeper 
 and more aching. 
 
352 Life of Catharine J^f. Sedgivick. 
 
 "Lenox, October 27, 1853. I have just come from my min 
 istrations to the poor jail-people. I do wonder if I do them 
 any good. I have faith that seed may germinate at any dis 
 tance of time or eternity." * 
 
 Miss SerfgwtcA to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 From a charming description of an agreeable evening at 
 Miss Lynch s, 23d March, 1854. 
 
 " There was a Mr. M. too, a marked young man. After 
 telling me in a very pleasant way which, as I know, it re 
 quires an immense savoir faire to know how to do how 
 much his sister and himself had liked my books, he said his 
 sister came in from walking one day, and said, I have seen 
 such a compliment paid Miss Sedgwick ! I saw a carman 
 reading in the crowded street, and apparently absorbed. 
 I crossed the , street, determined to see what book lie had, 
 and it was " Live and Let Live I" Now, dear, don t involve 
 my vanity by telling this to any one but W. It pleased me 
 so much that I could not keep it to myself. 11 
 
 In the spring of 1854 Miss Sedgwick and her brother 
 Charles were invited to join an excursion party of two or 
 three hundred people to visit the Falls of St. Anthony, the 
 cities of St. Paul and St. Louis, etc. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mr. Win. Minot ?r. 
 
 "Utica, May 30, 1854, 
 
 " MY DEAR WILLIAM, You and Kate will be glad to 
 know that we are this one step prosperously on our journey. 
 I had many misgivings as to the propriety of my brother s 
 undertaking it, and all opinions were against it except his 
 wife s and Dr. Bailey s. But so far it lias proved well. Ow 
 ing to a change in the running of the cars, we did not leave 
 Pittsfield till 3 P.M., and did not reach Utica till half past 
 
Lift and Letters. 353 
 
 ten ; but he had nice naps, an excellent dinner at Pittsfield, 
 a nice tea at the Delavan, and the news that the party was 
 to be conveyed from Chicago to the Falls of St. Anthony 
 and back free of all expense ! This, I think, set him up. A 
 bargain is the delight of man s as well as woman s heart, 
 and a man that does not care a straw for gold finds his 
 mercury amazingly affected by saving it. He has been in 
 fine spirits, and really seems quite well." 
 
 Miss Settgivick to Mrs. K. S. JMnot. 
 
 "Chicago, June 4, 1854. 
 
 ****** Your father has kept up wonderfully. He was 
 tired last night, but would not confess it, and I have not yet 
 heard the report this morning. He has certainly borne the 
 journey miraculously ; he was the charm of the boat young 
 men hanging about him to hear his jokes. 
 
 "FM. Your father came forth bright as the stars. Stars 1 
 There is a glory of the sun, 1 and (hat is his. We have 
 been dining out at the prettiest place in Chicago, and had a 
 charming service at the Unitarian Church, and a commu 
 nion, and your father staid, and it was truly a refreshing 
 and rest. I wish I could give you any notion of the scene 
 here. It is something new in the world the meeting at 
 the time of the gift of tongues was tame to it. There are 
 people from all parts of the country. Many people of note, 
 names long known and honored by some: President Fill- 
 more, Thurlow Weed, General Dix, Bancroft, Flagg, Judge 
 Oakley, our dear beaming Chancellor M Coun, painters, 
 writers, sculptors, traveling Englishmen, Scotchmen, Ital 
 ians, young ladies and old, old friends meeting in the door 
 ways, loud and glad greetings, all with their steam up* 
 for the Mississippi. Young belles dressed for conquest, 
 quiet interior matrons, young American lads, men of all 
 ages, and all on the alert, plumed. To-morrow we start for 
 
354 jf* f Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 Rock Island at eight with a band of music. Five steamers, 
 all chartered for the Falls. We are only to sail during wak 
 ing hours, to stop at the mouths of all the great rivers, and 
 if we /&// / blow up we shall have a grand time. I am now 
 well fired up ; you would not know me for the be-drooft* 
 woman that parted with you at Lenox. And your father 
 his mercury has got to the very top of the scale I The peo 
 ple stared at him to-day at dinner, and laughed, and got 
 more social vitality into them than they ever dreamed of 
 before." 
 
 Miss SalgiuU k to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 "Mississippi River, Juno 9, 1854. 
 
 " Going down this noblest of all rivers I have seen, dear 
 est Kate, like a bird of swiftest passage. We are now one 
 hundred and ninety miles above Rock Island, and expect to 
 arrive there to-morrow at 7 A.M. 1 The directors, our mag 
 nificent hosts, have extended their invitation to St. Louis. 
 
 " Your father has become quite fond of the people. Were 
 there ever affections so abounding so plastic ! His health 
 improves, and he has more spirits than any one in the boat. 
 
 " I can not begin to tell you what we have enjoyed in this 
 marvelous passage. I can not leave the deck long enough 
 to describe one point of interest and beauty. One rainy day 
 only gave variety to the scenery. Yesterday we drove over 
 the prairie from St. Paul s to the Falls of St. Anthony, to 
 Minnchaha Laughing Water a fall as beautiful as the Ve 
 nus de Meclicis and to Fort Snclling. It was a day better 
 than most lifetimes." 
 
 * A Dutch word Miss Sedgwick picked up in her early days in Al 
 bany, and was fund of using. The spelling is conjectural, hut the word 
 evidently corresponds to thu German bctrUbt, and has the aamc mean 
 ing. 
 
Life and Letters. 355 
 
 Miss Scttgwick to Mrs, A". S. Minot. 
 
 44 On the Mississippi, June u, 1854. 
 
 " We are running between Missouri and Wisconsin, and, 
 when we stop * to wood or take in freight, we run on shore 
 and hold a little talk with the lowans, Wisconsians, and now 
 the Missourians. There is proverbially no Sunday on the 
 river. At the bow-end of the cabin, on one side, is the 
 clerk s office, on the other is the bar. On this boat, owning 
 and serving the bar, is a personification of Dickens s * fat 
 boy. He claimed acquaintance with me on my first ap 
 pearance ; showed me the daguerreotypes of his wife and 
 two pretty children ; said my writings lay on his table with 
 these treasures, and how fond his * ma 1 was of them. He 
 begs me to go and sec her at St. Louis ; gives me * Musca- 
 tine Journals and * Iowa Gazettes to read, and as often as 
 I pass his bar, begs me to stop and partake his ever-flowing 
 hospitalities. The drinking of these people is inconceiva 
 ble ; still, your father and H. say they have not seen a 
 drunken person. 
 
 " At St. Louis we shall have come nine hundred and sev 
 enty miles from the Falls of St. Anthony 1 These broad 
 lands are the preserves of the Lord of earth s manor for his 
 children, * moulded by his forming hand into an excess and 
 perfection of beauty that is truly, Kate, inconceivable. It is 
 in vain to say, Recall the most beautiful park-grounds we 
 saw in England, the velvet lawns, the trees of centuries 
 growth, and then imagine them stretching to the utmost 
 limit of sight ; fancy precipitous hills, as steep as Monu 
 ment Mountain, of all shapes, soft and wavy, and then run 
 ning up into aiguilles, and all covered with this velvet car 
 pet trees planted in lines, in copses, in groups, in orchards, 
 and here and there belted with a wall of sand or limestone, 
 and surmounted with the most perfect mockeries of castle 
 
356 fo of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 foundations, and turrets, and towers like the Rhine ; for 
 here is * the cat/ and there the mouse ; here Stotzenfels, 
 there Rheinfels and Rheinstein ; and yet how unlike any 
 thing in the Old World 1 So fresh ! so young 1 such abound 
 ing* vigorous vitality I Not much historical embellishment ; 
 and yet here is * Mad-axe ; here, where Black Hawk leaped 
 on the bluff, showed his red flag to his people, and fled ; here, 
 the cross that La Salic, after traversing the country from 
 Quebec, planted ; and here, where Miss Bishop landed to 
 inquire, five years ago, for St. Paul s (four miles from it), and 
 was told there was no such place. The New England mis 
 sionary girl had faith in her instructions, hired two Indian 
 girls to paddle her in a canoe to the site of St. Paul s, found 
 two white families there, pitched her tent, opened her school, 
 had, to begin, eight white children, and now came on board 
 to tell us of her flourishing boarding-school, amid five thou 
 sand inhabitants ! 
 
 " Here we are at Hannibal. The Golden Era* coming 
 up ; the captain says we have half an hour ; will you go on 
 shore ? In half a minute we are patroling, like old citizens, 
 the streets of Hannibal, Missouri. I had put my bon-bons 
 at the table into my pocket instead of my stomach (a salu 
 tary substitution), and distributed them, Robin Hood fash 
 ion, among the black and white children, and bought gold 
 en kisses from bright young lips. We went up the hill, took 
 a wide survey of the beautiful surroundings, were overtaken 
 by a violent gust of rain, and came scudding in. I will not 
 afflict you by writing more. I can not write better in this 
 jarring, trembling boat, and you can not read. 
 
 "Niagara J*h/fs, Sunday \ June 18, 1854. Here we are 
 again, my dear child, in health and safety, thanks to the 
 providence of God, and going out of this Western world by 
 the glorious gates through which we entered. Yes, dear 
 k.ate, how I wish you were with me for this day s ramble ! 
 
Life and Letters. 357 
 
 We have continued to enjoy, your father gaining strength, 
 and by his infinite diffusiveness, and power of love almost 
 divine, giving out more than any one else on this jaunt, bind 
 ing people together, and spreading broad sunshine every 
 where. As to noise, and dust, and all discomforts, we do not 
 talk about them, or care much." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, June 24, 1854, 
 
 "Mv DEAREST KATE, My journey had its final crown 
 and rejoicing when our precious little Alice sprang out of 
 the (lining-parlor door into my arms as I alighted from the 
 last vehicle of our long travel. Twenty times that day it 
 had occurred to me what a delight it would be to find Alice 
 at Lenox ! but with no expectation of finding that vision, 
 that seemed to me to rise like an ignis fatuus from my heart, 
 realized. It was very, very kind of you and William to send 
 her. Our journey was prosperous to its end. Not the 
 slightest accident not even a detention of more than fifteen 
 minutes in a journey of 3740 miles ! Providence must think 
 better of rail-travel than William does. I would give a great 
 deal to transfer to you the pictures in my mind of Western 
 life, Western cities, illimitable prairies, and those beautiful, 
 untrodden shores of the Upper Mississippi. No American 
 can have an adequate notion of the future destiny of this 
 land, of its unbounded resources, of the unlimited provisions 
 awaiting the coming millions, without seeing for seeing is 
 believing the great Valley of the Mississippi, and measur 
 ing by that the West 1 beyond. I would not certainly give 
 up one of our hearthstones for it all, for my own life, but it 
 is the soil for the young to take root and spread in ; and if 
 they will but take with them the elements of moral as well 
 as of physical growth, there need be no failure in this new 
 world. The insane avarice of our people is worse than the 
 
358 *fi of Catharine M. ScttgwicA. 
 
 potato-rot, and how the real worth and work of money is to 
 be got into their heads and hearts is the problem to be 
 solved. But there are people who are aware of their mis 
 sion, and are * about their Father s business. 1 We saw Mr. 
 Eliot,* of St. Louis, who is said to have a wider religious and 
 moral influence than any man at the West of any sect ; and 
 one of the proofs is that he makes men of all sects tributary 
 to him, and co-operate with him. The day we were there, 
 Colonel - , their Croesus (a man of a different faith 
 from Eliot), gave him property to the amount of $30,000 for 
 an industrial school. He is a very attractive person, with 
 a spirituality and refinement that reminds you of Dr. Chan- 
 ning, but with the freedom, frankness, and facility that be 
 longs to a more practical, out-of-doors man." 
 
 Miss Sedgu*ick to Mrs. A". ,5". 
 
 41 Stockbridgc, August 13, 1854. 
 
 ****** The event, to me, of the past week was a very 
 charming visit to Sheffield. Mr. Dewey s domestic life is 
 beautiful ; it is to his fame what the rose-tints are to the 
 white rays of the S....T. His mother is eighty-two, with all 
 the highest attributes of ngc and none of its infirmities. 
 She listens to her son as to an oracle, and he treats her 
 with a filial tenderness and reverence that is as beautiful as 
 it is rare. When we were there he was encompassed by 
 fifteen womankind, and he sat among us, hour after hour, 
 without being (seeming?) weary or dull; talking wisely or 
 playfully, and always with an afiectionateness that would be 
 called womanly in a less manly man. The old house has 
 had various repairs and additions (he meditates more) ; the 
 old homestead is neatly kept, the old trees grow to vener- 
 ableness, and the simple menage is ordered with the utmost 
 skill and ability. I never saw a less ostentatious, or a more 
 cordial and effective hospitality." 
 
 * Rev. I)r. Eliot. 
 
L,ife ami Letters, 359 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to JRcv. Dr. Davcy. 
 
 44 October, 1854. 
 
 " I was reading Sydney Smith s life when I received your 
 letter, and felt as if in Mesmeric phrase put into commu 
 nication with you. He was not a speculative, perhaps not 
 a spiritual man. There are some men in whom you can 
 see wings germinating, but Sydney Smith seems to me like 
 our own Franklin, perfectly fitted for his sphere, and per 
 fectly performing his mission in that sphere, as eminent for 
 his good practical sense as for the universally-accepted and 
 unrivaled charm of his humor. What a blessed and bless 
 ing temper he carried into his restricted, humble life in York 
 shire ! What a lesson to us country-folk is his enjoyment 
 of * Calamity, 1 Peter the Cruel/ and Bunch, 1 and the cali 
 co shades at Foston 1 The narrowness of his income (shame 
 to the injustice and intolerance of the most civilized of civil 
 ized nations !) caused no wry look nor querulous word, and 
 yet no man ever set a truer value on gold guineas, 1 or bet 
 ter loved the generosities and comforts they brought. And 
 what a flood of sunshine he poured around him I how mer 
 rily he sent his shafts, so charmed by the holy oil of his 
 sweet temper that the healing went with the wound, so that 
 those oftencst pierced seemed to have felt only a pleasant 
 sensation I Would not you have liked to have been one of 
 those guests rescued from the Dumplin soirle? Would 
 you not have been Jeffrey on the jackass to have heard the 
 doggerel salutation ? even to have been Jeffrey without it, 
 heartily reveling with those rampaging children ? Oh, it is 
 a charming book ! I thank God for his lovely character, 
 and his daughter for her honest, earnest setting-forth of it. 
 There is much wisdom, too, in his theoretical v .ews of life, 
 as well as in his uses of it. And at this moment, while I 
 am shrinking from the future, I am rebuked by his aclmoni- 
 
360 Life of Catharine M. 
 
 lions, and try to make the most of the happy present, much 
 as the light is diminished. Charles is not well, and I look 
 on his pale face with a cowardly shrinking ; yet, my dear 
 friend, I think I have gained something of tranquillity in 
 looking forward, and that I can say honestly and peacefully 
 those words that should never be vainly spoken, as they im 
 ply the triumph of faith Thy will be done ! " 
 
 Jlfjss Settgwick to Jlfrs. A". S. AUnof. 
 
 44 JLenox, October 29, 1854. 
 
 * * * * Your father read aloud after breakfast Henry 
 Beecher s sermon on the loss of the * Arctic. 1 I seldom 
 have a pleasure that I do not wish to impart to you and 
 William, and if I can, I shall get this sermon for you. It is 
 adequate to the great tragedy that called it forth. Its sol 
 emn, exalted eloquence does not transcend your judgment. 
 It seems to me that language could scarcely express more 
 effectively the meanings of that fearful wreck, or more poet 
 ically describe its concomitants. He is wrong, I think, in 
 making the commercial calamities of the last four years a 
 visitation upon the Compromise of 1850. We have no au 
 thority for such direct applications and interpretations of 
 God s judgments ; but, with that exception, and leaving out 
 two or three phrases and words, it is unquestionably the pro 
 duction of a great head and great heart. It invests that 
 awful scene with a religious light, and sets in solemn order 
 the great truths to be learned from it. Beecher is a great 
 man for these times ; * bold, but not too bold ; outspoken, 
 and yet speaking advisedly, and with the power of genius 
 and scholarship ; having those sympathies with the masses, 
 and intimate fellowship with them, which he imbibed with 
 his mother s milk, in the plays of his childhood, and the 
 competitions of his youth." 
 
Life and Letters. 361 
 
 Miss S&fgwJcfc to Mrs. K. S. Mi/to /, after a long visit to Wood- 
 
 bourne. 
 
 44 Lenox, February 20, 1855. 
 
 ****! came t o b ec i as wretched as Lyttleton s night- 
 howler ; no softly-breathing child couched at my feet, no 
 dear close neighborhood of beloved ones, no unfailing 
 warmth, no loving green arms about the house with softly- 
 whispering music, no nibbling mice ! And in the morning 
 think of it, Kate I why, I felt like one pitched out of a 
 paradise home within four walls (a * far sight 1 pleasanter 
 than Adam and Eve s out-of-door paradise) into a snow 
 bank, with no stars, twilight, or dawn." 
 
 Miss Stntgutic& to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 "Lenox, June 24, 1855. 
 
 ****"! heard of dear Judge Wilde s death, and with 
 him has dropped the last link that bound me to my father s 
 times, and passed away a friend, the very sight of whom 
 made this life pleasanter, and strengthened the assurance 
 of another by making me vividly feel there was no possible 
 destruction of such qualities as made his life. Another sure 
 and pleasant light has gone out, and those of us who arc 
 near the end must feel the dimness that it makes. But God 
 surely has been merciful not longer to burden his weary old 
 faithful servant." 
 
 To Mr. IViilitiHi Mi not Jr. t who was passing the summer at 
 the sea-shore. 
 
 " Lenox, July 8, 1855. 
 
 * * # * "There is something to me solemn in the sea 
 shore without being sad ; it hallows all days into Lord s 
 days ; it makes worship spontaneous, and utters a full an 
 them response to the sublimest tones of David s psalms. I 
 
 Q 
 
362 JLifc of Catharine M. 
 
 have never been familiar enough with it to lose the awe it 
 first inspired. I do not think I should like to live near it. 
 Its grand symphonies would overpower the sweet, soft, play 
 ful, bird-like tones of happy social life. Prophets and seers 
 should dwell on the sea-shore, and apostles and martyrs 
 learn there to trample the earth under their feet. But for 
 * common doings, 1 give me our smiling hill-sides and secure 
 little valleys. 1 
 
 Miss StdgiMcJs to Afrs. A". S. Mi/tot. 
 
 "Lenox, July i, 1855. 
 
 " DEAREST KATE, Is it not a morning typifying the fur 
 nace-heat of this hot summer-nu>nth/tor A%vt //tv/iv, going like 
 a hot iron to the very marrow, fierce, destructive ? I am out 
 of humor ; the plants are all belated, and they don t gallop 
 on as they should with this heat. And I have a new and 
 most insidious enemy a little green worm in the very heart 
 of each and every prairie rose-bud, eating its roseate life and 
 beauty out of it a malignant little devil, corrupting the in 
 nocent life of all my little vestals. 1 
 
 Afiss Stft/gw/f& to Afrs. Charming* 
 
 . "Lenox, July 27, 1855. 
 
 ****"! have felt very near you in reading the pleas 
 ant report of William s* intercourse with our transatlantic 
 brethren. I think he is doing good there in many ways, 
 but most of all in breaking away from their old formulas, 
 and infusing 11 spirituality a spiritual fife into his ministra 
 tions which English preaching, so far as I know it, seems to 
 me very devoid of, or rather deficient in, for to be absolute 
 ly without it is to be dead. It is a proof of William s power 
 that they take instruction meekly from him, for omniscience, 
 you know, is the ordinary gift of an Englishman." * * * * 
 
 * Kcv. \Vm. II. dimming, then preaching in Liverpool, England. 
 
JLife and Letters. 363 
 
 In 1855 there was much sickness and anxiety in the fam 
 ily circle, and in the autumn of that year Miss Sedgwick 
 passed some weeks at a water-cure with an invalid niece. 
 Returning to Lenox, she found her brother Charles still suf 
 fering from the effects of an attack of illness the preceding 
 spring, and, as her anxious tenderness foreboded, he never 
 recovered his health. 
 
 Miss Satgwu-A to Mrs. A". S. Mittot. 
 
 "Lenox, August 26, 1855. 
 
 " Monday morning, and the last minute s grace. Oh, 
 Kate, what a morning I have had 1 company to breakfast ; 
 making pies and custards for Mr. M., your Aunt Jane, etc., 
 for dinner, while K. J., Here to spend the clay, sat by to read 
 me a MS. novel I Very beautiful ! 
 
 "22r. AfundJs ?f5f/v-/W, near Northampton , October 7, 
 1855. * * * * I have just come from reading Samson Ag- 
 onistcs to L. on the piazza, half frozen ; any thing out of 
 doors a regular water-patient can bear. They supcradd to 
 their human endurance that of birds and fishes. This es 
 tablishment would please you if it were but a reminiscence 
 of Germany. I can hardly believe myself in the heart of 
 Yankeeland. The doctor is completely German, quiet and 
 strong like their old Hartz giants. He looks like a victo 
 rious general. His wife, too, is a perfect German, uniting 
 the lady and the housekeeper ; the arrangements in detail, 
 and all the operations, arc German. It is an admirably or- 
 dered institution. The table is perfectly neat, bountifully 
 supplied with the permitted edibles, but neither love nor 
 money obtain favors. The provisions are uniformly excel 
 lent bread, delicious butter, cracked wheat ; farina, pre 
 pared better than ever I saw it ; rice, and a sort of German 
 toast cold, of course, but very nice. There are but two 
 women to wait on the table about forty present and I have 
 
364 .-# of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 never heard a word spoken to them. They seem both Argus 
 and Briareus. There is a dumb-waiter that does all they do 
 not do. We have a single sort of meat for dinner, always 
 good, prefaced by excellent soup, and followed by excellent 
 pudding, and accompanied by potatoes, tomatoes, and rice, 
 and stewed apples or prunes, and cabbage, which I believe 
 a German would eat on his death-bed. * And Satan came 
 also among them, 1 1 am ready to exclaim, when the maid 
 sets it down among its innocent compeers." 
 
 Miss S&igwjf/s to Mrs, A". S. Afinot. 
 
 Lenox, October 21, 1855. 
 
 # * * * "Your father will tell you how much he has 
 been relieved by the adjournment ofthc court till November. 
 * * * * -\y c can no t; conceal from ourselves that he is in a 
 very delicate state ; and sometimes, dear Kate, when I look 
 at him, I feel as if he were on the verge of a translation ; 
 less of a change, when it comes, will it be to him than to al 
 most any man who has passed through the earthly life, so 
 completely has he filled his with love and goodness. What 
 will the world be to me without him ? Our separation can 
 not be long for the rest God will provide." 
 
 Mr. Charles Sedgwick died on the third of August in the 
 following summer. The lovely record of his character is 
 written indelibly on the hearts of all who knew him. His 
 sister s love for him had been intensified by time and by the 
 loss of all her immediate family beside, but no one ever 
 thought her adoring affection unwarranted by its object. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. A". S. Mi/to /. 
 
 " Lenox, August 2, 1856, 
 
 " Mv BELOVED CHILD, I got William s letter last even 
 ing. God bless him for his most sweet words of comfort. 
 
Life and Letters. 365 
 
 Your father hncl quite a comfortable day, comparatively, all 
 through yesterday ; talked a good deal, and slept without 
 talking much in his sleep ; spoke often of his delicious, 
 splendid day. Three clays ago, when he was very low, your 
 mother said, * It is hard Kate can t be with us ; he said, I 
 think I shall see the little thing yet. 1 And yesterday both 
 13. and I had a hope he might ; but these are weak earthly 
 desires ; a higher love than ours awaits him, the brightness 
 and happiness of which his whole life and character are a 
 type. He shrinks from pain, he hates daftness, he recoils 
 from sorrow they are all earthly conditions and oh I God 
 grant us the faith and the love that goes beyond ; grant us 
 willingness to have this harassing struggle end, to suffer 
 that he may rejoice. He has had a poor night and a rest 
 less morning, but is now sleeping quietly. He looks very 
 sweetly, his face calm, and, for one so ill, not distressful. 
 Bless William for his letter. Tell him it folds around my 
 heart and staunches the bleeding. Dearest Kate, continue 
 calm and cheerful. You have been a stay to your father 
 all your life. For your own sake, for your husband s, for 
 the little one, whom God bless to you, cherish all sweet and 
 comforting thoughts. Don t make any unusual effort. Na 
 ture must have her dues. * * * * Each waits their turn 
 to do all that he or she can do. E. is now at his side. F. 
 is devoted. W. is sweet and most helpful. Dear little G. 
 all she can be, and your mother never leaves him except 
 for her meals and required sleep. She is a good deal let 
 down, but I think she will be enabled to go through unfal 
 teringly. The Stockbridge friends are here every day, and 
 all friends thronging to offer aid and express kindness. The 
 seed he has sown at broadcast springs up and yields the fit 
 ting harvest." 
 
366 JLife of Catharine Jlf, Sedgwick. 
 
 Afiss Scdgwick to Mrs. A". S. Afinot, 
 
 " Lenox, August 4, 1856. 
 
 " MY DEAREST CHILD, I want to put my arms around 
 you, and see you look up in faith and love ; but I could not 
 be more assured than I am that you thank God fervently 
 that the last pang is over, and that your blessed father has 
 gone from the heaven he made for us to the heaven that 
 awaited him. Yes, the good and faithful servant has en 
 tered into the j*y of his Lord. His mind was perfectly 
 clear up to the last hour. The last day was a day of con 
 tinual oppression, excepting for an hour or two at twilight, 
 when he slept. He took a part of a cup of tea from me at 
 the usual time. His hardest night was Friday. H. watched, 
 and even then his spirit rose above his mortal conflict, and 
 he talked with him about Kansas, and urged exertion to be 
 made to secure the Irish vote for Fremont. And now, re 
 lieved of the mortal pressure, how has his spirit expanded ! 
 I am sure you and William will always rejoice in Alice be 
 ing with us. She has been a consoling angel. Even on 
 Saturday, when it was labor to your father to speak, he asked 
 me where is Alice? She is a sweet little creature. His 
 last kiss was given to her ; take it from her lips, dear Kate, 
 and feel that a breath of love was in it for you. I hesitated, 
 after William s request to me, about taking her into the room, 
 but after going up, and seeing how sweet he looked how 
 far more like himself than in the last scenes, and asking B. 
 and all, I decided to take her up, and thought there could 
 never be less of shock in the sight of death. She went, and, 
 so far from recoiling, she stood by him of her own impulse, 
 stroked his hair and beard, as she used whenever she ap 
 proached him, kissed him, and continued to hold his hand 
 in hers. How could it be otherwise ? There lay that head 
 in its natural posture, a little on one side a head more ex- 
 
Lift: and Letters. 367 
 
 pressive of dignity and sweetness never was. Last night, 
 when she was undressing, she said, Is it not pleasant to 
 think grandpapa s spirit may be in the room with us? " 
 
 Just one week after Mr. Charles Sedgwick s death the 
 expected " little one" appeared at Woodbourne, and the 
 news brought the first throb of happiness to Miss Sedg 
 wick s heart in that dark hour of bereavement and desola 
 tion. She felt from that time as if the child were sent as a 
 special gift of consolation to her ; her affection was even 
 increased when he received the beloved name of Robert, 
 and she cherished for him always a peculiar tenderness and 
 devotion. 
 
 Miss Sctlgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, August 17, 1856. 
 
 *##<* You know you all know how my heart turns 
 to you ; how the light truly shines from the east upon my 
 darkened spirit. But, my dear Kate, I can not leave here 
 for the present ; here only the vacant places answer to the 
 cries of my spirit ; here the form has not departed. I see 
 my brother on the sofa on the piazza. I spread his table 
 for him. I start at the sound of his voice. I go down into 
 the garden, and look at the corn/ and the * Lima beans/ 
 and the tomatoes, and tell him how they arc growing. He 
 still sits at my chamber window ; his light, as well as his 
 shadow, is every where ; and while the summer lasts, the 
 season that bears his visible impress, I can not go away." 
 
 Miss Scdgunck to Rev. Dr. Dewcy. 
 
 44 Lenox, September, 1856. 
 
 *#** Here I cling, for here still lingers the twilight 
 of my day. Here every object is associated with my broth 
 er with sweet memories of pleasant or loving words, and 
 
368 Life of Catharine M. Serfgwick. 
 
 looks, and deeds. There is not one bitter thought no fail 
 ure. His life was one angel visit from beginning to end ; 
 and, saying this without exaggeration, can I dare I com 
 plain ? I know that gratitude for the past and faith for the 
 future are my duty. I am not brave, dear friend, but I 
 try to be unreserved in my submission, and to give myself 
 to all cheerful influences," 
 
 Miss St!<tgiw c k to Mrs, Russell. 
 
 44 Lenox, September 14, 1856. 
 
 * * * * "The loss of my brother has been the greatest 
 that could happen to me to me he comprehended all rela 
 tions. There was, while he lived, a sweet breath of life and 
 love through the great, aching, vacant space made by the 
 departure of all my other nearest kindred ; and now, my 
 dear friend, I have a sense of solitude that I find it very 
 hard to bear. What he lias been to me not even my ach 
 ing, longing spirit can tell. His unfailing tender care ; his 
 genial sympathy with every joy as well as sorrow ; the glad 
 ness he put into my life ; the sorrows he rooted out of it. 
 Oh, I am not ungrateful for all that remains for friends 
 kinder and more loving than I have a right to ask or ex 
 pect but he is gone who made me feel my wants to be 
 rights who never disappointed an expectation. But, my 
 dear friend, I do not often I will not now complain. I 
 have an immeasurable joy in thinking of the completeness 
 of his life ; of how many loved him, and remember him as 
 having taught them, through his beautiful life, what human 
 ity may be. All barriers fell before the power of his good 
 ness ; bigoted Calvinists gave up their creeds, saying he had 
 taught them they were nothing. The life was all ; and his 
 poor, ignorant Catholic friends, as they wailed over his sweet 
 form, forgot their Purgatory, and said, He is in heaven. 
 But think, my dear friend, when the light is withdrawn that 
 
JLife and Letters. 369 
 
 gave beauty to every thing here, what the home must be ! 
 But still there is a twilight upon it, and here I meet him and 
 here I see him in his cheerful days, when the step was light 
 and the voice strong." 
 
 The next letters refer to " Married or Single," the last lit 
 erary work of its author, which, after Mr. Charles Sedgwick s 
 death, it cost her a great effort to complete. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Jlev. Dr. Dewcy. 
 
 " New York, March, 1857. 
 
 "My DEAR FRIEND, You are coming here to stay two 
 or three weeks ! And you may imagine how much I am ex 
 pecting, for now we shall have no snow-storms, and no fall 
 ing of the mercury that freezes every thing but the heart. 
 I was glad you did not come to Woodbourne. Friendships 
 that need proofs are flimsy affairs ; I can not imagine any 
 thing that should weaken ours, and I look forward with a 
 joyful faith to its infinite growth. What must be the joys 
 that the heart can not conceive, when those that it can lift 
 us out of all this muddle ! 
 
 * * * * I am getting a book ready, and working as hard 
 as I dare, and therefore can not write letters. Is it not rath 
 er a folly (is it worse ?) at my time of life to perpetrate a 
 novel without any purpose or hope to slay giants, slavery, 
 or the like, but only to supply mediocre readers with small 
 moral hints on various subjects that come up in daily life?" 
 
 Miss Stdgwick to Mrs; K. S. Minot. 
 
 "New York, April 2, 1857. 
 
 * * * # My book gets on very well from eighteen to 
 twenty-one pages a day. * * * * I have the miserable feel 
 ing of incompetence for my task ; and sometimes, when my 
 feeble interest in the future of my offspring is overcome, and 
 
 Q 2 
 
370 Life of Catharine Jlf. Sedgwitk. 
 
 my old desire of success gets the better of me, I feel worried, 
 and anxious, and utterly discouraged. A great deal of the 
 whole needed copying, and much of it to be copied by my 
 self; so you may imagine that I have worked and am work 
 ing pretty hard up to my last ounce of strength. But I 
 am very well, and if there is no fatal mistake, omissions, or 
 transpositions of pages or chapters from my weak memory, 
 I shall be content. The book can t hurt any body, and it 
 may be to some like a sprinkle in a dry time lay the dust 
 for a little while. But oh, dear Kate, there are moments 
 when the full sense of my loneliness comes over me when 
 I think of all those whose hearts beat for me, and more than 
 mine, at the publication of my early books, all gone, and he 
 who shared and lightened every anxiety, and blessed all 
 happiness and then my strength all goes, and I stop. But 
 better thoughts come grateful thoughts for what remains 
 to me. 1 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to 2tev. Dr. 
 
 41 Lenox, July 19, 1857. 
 
 ****"! shall send you, in the course of the week, my 
 new book. I hate to ) I thought I cared very little about 
 it, but I have overrated both my philosophy and my religion, 
 and when I found a huge parcel of the things which I or 
 dered to give to some of my peculiar friends, I could have 
 burned them all if I could have burned the rest with them ( 
 We are told not to think of ourselves better than we ought 
 to think, but there is one thing more important and more 
 difficult to be satisfied that those we most love should not 
 think of us better than we deserve. All I now hope my 
 spirits are rather low is that my friends may not be morti 
 fied either by the silence of the critics or their comments. 
 The public, of course and the public is right takes no ac 
 count of the sad and wandering states of mind in which you 
 
Life and Letters. 371 
 
 have written. But don t feel bad for me, my dear friend, 
 and do not let your wife. * * * * My happiness is not at 
 the mercy of success or failure." 
 
 Miss Sedgwifk to Afrs. A . S. Minot. 
 
 " Stockbriclgc, July 20, 1857. 
 
 * * * * I -g 0t i| 0me about 10 o clock Saturday night, 
 pretty well fagged out, so that I did not bear well the shock 
 of seeing my book really out, and at every one s mercy. But 
 that was lost in the vexation of that horrid English copy. 
 That they should print it in that shabby style was mortify 
 ing enough. But that, I suppose, I could not object to ; they 
 had a right to make the commodity most marketable. But 
 do you know what else they have done ? omitted the pref 
 ace, which, being the greater part written by H., I was sure 
 was worth printing ; changed the motto, all the captions to 
 the chapters, inserted running-titles for the chapters, and 
 varied the text how much I do not know, but on two chance 
 openings I found two most mortifying alterations : one, when 
 Uncle Walter exclaims, " The devil take her I" (pardon him ; 
 he was an old-fashioned man), they have substituted * Out 
 upon her I 1 which, besides being an exclamation not fitting 
 my character, makes the plea for him ridiculous. Then for 
 suspect (in a letter of the heroine) they have put expect, 
 in the vulgar use of the word. Heaven knows how many 
 worse things I shall find. I shall write to Mr. Child, who I 
 know will lovingly do me a service, to inquire of Ticknor 
 Fields the best mode of righting myself. Oh ! they have 
 printed The Aullibr s Edition, which covers with my name 
 the whole thing." 
 
 Miss Stdgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " I.cnox, August 5, iSsa 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, After having heard of the severe 
 
372 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 attack* I had on Sunday evening, I know you will be glad 
 to be assured by my own hand that, except a little weakness 
 and slight dregs of cough, I am as well as when you left me. 
 My rheumatism is much the same less, I think, rather, than 
 it was. The illness, though rather frightful, lasted but a 
 short time, but long enough to make me feel keenly the re 
 sponsibility of a spared life, and deeply grateful for the love 
 and care manifested on all sides. 1 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Channiug. 
 
 " Lenox, August 7, 1858. 
 
 * * * * j received your last while I was in New York, 
 and not very pleasantly occupied, and I had an impression 
 that I answered it immediately ; but we are (I am) so apt 
 to confuse intentions with performances, that I now do not 
 doubt it was one of those easy letters which we write men 
 tally and seal up in our hearts, and forget that we have not 
 yet quite come to that spiritual state when we may dispense 
 with the intervention oPYnaterial signs. Your steady affec 
 tion and incorporation with my family ties has been, and is, 
 one of the great blessings of my life. As we near the end 
 we feel more and more acutely the value of those treasures 
 that are laid up in heaven, and have not a mortal destiny, 
 and I think we feel, too, that nothing else is of much worth. 
 The shadows are fast flying, the throngs of fellow-creatures 
 that have obstructed us through life fade away, and the real 
 people remain, and come out brighter and brighter, like the 
 stars ns the day recedes." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgtuick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 Stock bridge, January ir, 1859. 
 
 " DEAR KATE, I came down here yesterday after a very 
 good, or rather startling P.M. sermon from Mr. Pynchon, 
 
 * Spasmodic croup. 
 
Life and Letters. 373 
 
 which left me no reasonable expectation that I should not 
 be cut down this year, and considerable anxiety as to how 
 J should lie in that case. Anxiety? No, I can not say that ; 
 whether it be the dullness of age, or (as I hope) a strength 
 ening faith in the Fatherly goodness that has followed me 
 all the clays of my life, I am not easily frightened about the 
 obscure future. It is true, as the child said of darkness in 
 general, I do not know * what is in it/ but I am sure there is 
 nothing that Wisdom and Goodness does not appoint. 
 
 " It is a fearfully cold morning seventeen degrees be 
 low zero at 8 o clock ; and I, though I had lain uneasy as a 
 monarch with a crown all night, being stiff with old age and 
 growling rheumatism, went nearly to the bridge before break 
 fast, and saw the sun rising in a golden flood of light, the 
 rocky bluffs of * Monument/ as Solomon would say, * as a 
 bride at the coming of the bridegroom/ and the whole cir 
 cuit of mountains that guard this sacred valley lighting up 
 as the gates of heaven opened. The smokes from the vil 
 lage rose in solid white columns, and not a footstep outside 
 the dwellings save G., and his lips were too stiff to answer 
 to my salutation. I remembered William s repeated cau 
 tion to me, and felt, in my toes and fingers, that discretion 
 was much the better part of old age s valor." 
 
 Notwithstanding many sorrows, Miss Sedgwick s had been 
 a very happy as well as useful life ; but the point was now 
 reached after which all change must almost necessarily be 
 that of separation and loss. In her few remaining years, all 
 her sisters-in-law were called to go before her, and she was 
 left the sole survivor of four brothers and their wives, of two 
 sisters and their husbands. 
 
 Mrs. Harry Sedgwick was the first to go, dying in 1859. 
 With her Miss Sedgwick s ties had always been peculiarly 
 close and tender, and only a short time previous she had 
 
374 (fi of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 written of her, I am never with this precious sister, who has 
 been a cornucopia of blessing to us, without feeling, as old 
 Herbert has it in his quaint phraseology, that " hearts with 
 in have propagation," and that "she has a whole heart for 
 each one that she loves." And Mrs. Sedgwick s affection 
 never varied in return, from the time shortly after her mar 
 riage, when she wrote, " If you ever need a sweet solace in a 
 lonely hour, dearest Kate, think of what you have been to 
 me, and feel secure of God s blessing for your reward." 
 And again 
 
 "The time I have just passed with you is without a parallel 
 in the history of my pleasures. There never can be a spot 
 which shall form a centre so dear to our family as Stock- 
 bridge, so deserving the name of home to us all. My right 
 to call it so is only adopted ; I can not make the same 
 blood as yours run in my veins, but I trust I can imbibe 
 the same principles and feelings which have made that blood 
 sacred to you." 
 
 Miss Sctlgwitk to Mrs. Russell, after the death of Mrs. Jfarry 
 
 Sedgwicfc. 
 
 " Woodbournc, March 10, 1859. 
 
 "It was natural that I should turn to you, dear Lucy. 
 You have known Jane as long as I have, and have loved her 
 as long as you have known her. Our sympathies have run 
 along parallel. There is now no one to revert with us to 
 those glad days that were filled with social cheerfulness, 
 with hopes some fulfilled, and some so long ago disap 
 pointed that they are now but as dreams. What days they 
 were, dear Lucy, when the little church gathered in Broome 
 Street, and your brother ministered at its sacred altar ; when 
 Jane s swe*t voice rose above all others in that small com 
 pany ; when we used to meet at your house and at hers, in 
 life so simple and yet so rich ! When Harry and Robert 
 
Life and Letters. 375 
 
 were with us, and we had one heart, and dear Jane minis 
 tering to all. How many years have passed since 1 What 
 a train of joys and sorrows to each and all of us 1 And yet, 
 let us thank God, the love and trust are unbroken. We are 
 one company yet. A part have gone before us, but when I 
 can rise above the feeling of vacancy and chill, I feel they 
 have not left us, and whither they have gone we too shall 
 soon go." 
 
 The latter part of the next letter refers to the funeral of 
 an infant daughter of Mrs. Charles E. Butler, a niece pecul 
 iarly dear to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 Miss Sa/givit k to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, June 5, 1859. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, I have just come from the morn 
 ing service at our church, where I have been once more per 
 mitted to receive, through our dear pastor and friend s dis 
 pensation, the communion. H. and N. were there. But the 
 crowd of images around me, the sad and the blessed mem 
 ories, the real loneliness, and the clasped hands and living 
 eyes that I feel and see, are something strange even to me, 
 familiar as I should be with these strange contrarieties, that 
 follow upon my heart with the suddenness of chill and fever 
 to the body. There is a wonderful, an awful power in this 
 simple observance. To me it is like those moments when 
 persons are suddenly, in the strength of life, brought face to 
 face with death. The past life, its failures, its frivolities, its 
 sins, its supremest joys and keenest sorrows, are revived 
 with all the vitality of the actual and the present, and on 
 the tempest breaks the light of Goal s infinite mercy, the ten 
 derness of Christ s sympathy. The bread Is the body broken 
 for our sins ; the wine is the blood shed for them. 
 
 "Jlfonday morning. The service was performed by Mr. 
 
376 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick* 
 
 Bellows as he does all these domestic services, as if his lips 
 were touched with a coal from the altar of love, to which all 
 hearts in sorrow come. It was most affecting to see the lit 
 tle creature lying in her bed of flowers, and baptized, as it 
 were, into immortality, where she, so little while ago, received 
 the solemn rite for her earthly pilgrimage." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Airs. jRackemann. 
 
 " Woodbourne, December 31, 1859. 
 
 " The last time, dear Bessie, that I shall write this year. 
 It is now u, and beginning on the last solemn hour of the 
 year so solemn that I might be coward enough to slink to 
 my bed and forget it; but I do not feel cowardly thank 
 God I do not. The cords that bind me to life arc so firm 
 that death can not part them, so clastic that space in no 
 wise controls them. I feel such a sense, dear Bessie, of the 
 mercies that have followed me to this last station of human 
 life, that it would be the supremest folly, as well as ingrati 
 tude, not to trust for the future. Those that I began life 
 with in my dear and most blessed home have all reached 
 the other shore. There arc times when I am crushed with 
 this thought. Now, there is peace in it. I feel that the chain 
 is not broken, and that I am the connecting link between 
 them and their families on earth. And in these families 
 what love, and beauty, and blossoming for heaven there is J 
 This has been a year of the sorest trial, of loss to me, that 
 you, as well as any other than myself, can measure. Your 
 Aunt Jane was my dearest friend on earth, and yet how 
 many cheerful hours the year has given me ! I remember 
 them ; they have sustained me. And how many of them 
 we had together at Lenox ! You will think of them some 
 times when I am gone, and whon you feel low, my darling, 
 remember you have been a joy as well as a sweet consola 
 tion to me. You have fulfilled your father s will, realized 
 
Life and Letters. 377 
 
 his wish, and continued the influence of his love in his 
 home ; and so, truly, have all his children, and their mother. 
 Am I writing a sad letter to you ? I did not mean to. I 
 let William and Kate go off to bed, and sat down to write 
 cheerily. Never were children bound by prescribed duty, 
 and impelled by filial instinct, kinder than they are to me." 
 
 Miss Set/gntif& to Mrs. Channing. 
 
 Woodbournc, March 10, 1860. 
 
 " MY DEAR FuiiiND, I have not written to you since the 
 death of Eliza,* an event in which our hearts were blended. 
 Her affection has been a precious boon to both our lives, 
 her life full of rich memories, her character a light from 
 heaven an assurance of immortality, so much is there in it 
 of that vitality which death can not touch. I have not ex 
 perienced in her death any thing of that tremulousness, that 
 clouded perception, that failure of faith, that recoiling from 
 the extinguishing touch of death that I sometimes am haunt 
 ed with ; partly, perhaps, because I did not witness the pro 
 cess of mortality. I heard of her illness only the day before 
 I heard of her death, and I would not look at her after the 
 light of her glowing eye was veiled, so that to my perception 
 she passed over the gulf and into her inheritance. I did 
 not sec her after I came to Woodbourne. I was purposing 
 to go over to Brookline, but put it off with that reckless de 
 lay which, in spite of experience, clings to us to the last, as 
 if we had a secure grant of the future. She wrote to me an 
 earnest invitation to go with her to her annual festival.! I 
 declined it, assigning to her the true reason, that I shrunk 
 from being with her on an occasion to her of the most ele 
 vating excitement which I did not partake. My feelings 
 (perhaps I should say my judgment) would recoil when hers 
 
 * Mrs. Eliza Cabot Follcn. 
 
 t The meeting of the Ami-slavery Society. 
 
378 Lift: of Catharine Af. Setlgwick* 
 
 flowed on with the force of ocean waves to high-water mark. 
 The last time she ever put pen to paper the pen that has 
 done so much blessed work was with the intention of kind 
 ly convincing me I was wrong. Her frame was then shiv 
 ering with premonitory ague, her hand was weak, and after 
 writing one common note-paper page she could write no 
 farther, and stopped at our festival words fitly her last, 
 for her heart was in them. You will not misunderstand me, 
 my dear Susan, nor imagine that I do not feel heartily in 
 the great question of humanity that agitates our people. It 
 seemed to me that so much had been intemperately said, so 
 much rashly urged on the death of that noble martyr, John 
 Brown, by the Abolitionists, that it was not right to appear 
 among them as one of them. * * * * I wish I could know 
 that you were as well and strong as I am, we so much 
 need health in our old age. As the Irishman said of the 
 sun, * What is the use of it in the day ? So youth might 
 spare a little of what is so essential to age. But if we can 
 learn to resign contentedly, to live cheerfully in our narrow 
 ed quarters, and to await in tranquillity our Father s last 
 dealings on earth with us, we may still hear those blessed 
 words, * She hath clone what she could. You have doubt 
 less the two last great books, Hawthorne s and Florence 
 Nightingale s the last, one that will scatter blessings 
 through the land. Like light and air, it is for universal 
 good. It is rare for a person who has Miss Nightingale s 
 wonderful powers of execution to write with such force, di 
 rectness, and pithiness. I have but just begun the Marble 
 Faun. I am sure you will feel, as I do, that it pours a gold 
 en light into the dim chambers of memory, and revivifies 
 the scenes that we, too, once enjoyed." * * * * 
 
 Recollections. 
 " April T, 1860. I have been reading a portion of Kings- 
 
Life and Letters. 379 
 
 ley s late edition of the Fool of Quality/ a book I remem 
 ber as among my father s loves one of the few novels in our 
 old library at Stockbridge. How well do I remember the 
 five duodecimo volumes, in their dark leather bindings. The 
 favorite books of that time stand around the chambers of 
 memory, each a shrine. In this there is much wit and pa 
 thos, nature and wisdom (nature is wisdom when it is evolved 
 from the human heart and from life). The style seems to 
 me admirable something in the fashion of the quaint old 
 coats of our grandfathers, fashioned for ease and use, and of 
 the best broadcloth garnished with velvet. It seems to me 
 an admirable book might be made out of it for children, 
 and I have a great mind to try my hand at it. It might, 
 perhaps, flatter a little too much the dynasties of the pres 
 ent day, the young usurpers of their fathers thrones. * * * 
 " I learned, a few clays since, by an obituary written by 
 Bryant, the death of Mrs. Jameson. She was among the 
 few friends of my happiest years left to me. She came to 
 this country in 1837, v/iih the purpose of a reunion to her 
 husband, and at his invitation. She went to Toronto (in 
 Canada), but his reception of her was such as to make it 
 impossible for her to remain in his house with contentment 
 and satisfaction, and after a few weeks she returned to 
 New York and embarked for England, where her presence 
 was essential to the happiness of her family, and her exer 
 tions to their support. Mrs. Jameson came to Stockbridge 
 to see me before I had seen her. She repeatedly expressed 
 to me a feeling of gratitude. She would say, You do not 
 know how grateful I am to you, nor why. I did not feel at 
 liberty to ask her what she did not tell without asking. I 
 had done nothing toward her, and I could only infer that 
 some chance seed in my writings might have fallen on good 
 soil in her heart. I say chancc t but I believe, my dear Alice, 
 that whatever utterance of mine has done good, was not 
 
380 Lift: of Catharine Af. Sedgivick. 
 
 mine, but sonic good word that has passed through my mind 
 Heaven-directed. Now don t fancy that I fancy I have been 
 inspired! No ; but to us all come thoughts, we know not 
 whence nor whither they go, nor how commissioned. She 
 left here in January or February, 1838. She and your Uncle 
 Robert were mutually interested, and when she went she 
 left him at the most prosperous period of his life in the 
 very first class of New York lawyers, his profession pro 
 ductive of respect, and honor, and profit, holding a high so 
 cial position, and, as it seemed to me, essential to my hap 
 piness to my life. On the Qth of the following March he 
 was struck down by apoplexy and consequent paralysis, 
 and from that time his life declined. This was the first 
 news from us that reached our friend. In May, 1839, we 
 (your Uncle and Aunt R., Cousin Maria, Lizzie, your mother, 
 and I) went to Europe. Mrs. Jameson received me with the 
 warmth of a true friend. She was then living at St. John s 
 Wood, near London, with her father (and all her unmarried 
 family), a paralytic, but still a jovial Irishman. lie had 
 been an accomplished painter, and attached to the court of 
 George III. I remember well his cordial salutation, and 
 his saying (with a kind reference to my little book and to 
 his own consolations), Miss Sedgwick, I am the rich poor 
 man, and, saying so, he looked with overflowing eyes upon 
 his devoted wife, whom I always found sitting beside him, 
 and on Mrs. Jameson, who was truly his joy, and pride, and 
 support. She had two unmarried sisters, and finally one 
 widowed one, and for the support of them all she labored, 
 as Mrs. Kemble says, valiantly to the last. I have never 
 seen her since our parting, when we left England for the 
 Continent, though from that time till within a year or two 
 we have maintained our correspondence, she always writing 
 more promptly than I, simply from my conviction that I 
 could give her no adequate return. She sent me her beau- 
 
Life and Letters. 381 
 
 tiful books, and from to time love-tokens, which were taken 
 impulsively from her room or table as she was parting from 
 some friend coming here. The engraved name I use for 
 my books she made for me. She drew the vignette, and en 
 graved it while she was shut up with her father during his 
 last sickness. She worked a worsted cushion for me, sent 
 me a volume of poetry from Miss Baillie s library, and two 
 letter-presses that had long been in her own use. I men 
 tion this to you, Alice, to show the steadiness of her feeling 
 for me. I cherish this remembrance, for the impression she 
 made was of an impulsive person whose affections would be 
 rather showers than fountains. * * * * She had a pale, 
 clear, intellectual blue eye, that could flash anger, or jeal 
 ousy, or love ; her hair was red, and her complexion very 
 fair, and of the hue of an irate temper. Her arms, neck, 
 and hands were beautiful, but her whole person wanted dig 
 nity ; it was short, and of those dimensions that to ears po 
 lite are embonpoint to the vulgar, fat. Her genius and 
 accomplishments need no note of mine ; they live in her 
 books. I believe no woman has written more variously, 
 and few, men or women, so well. She impressed me as the 
 best talker I ever heard, and I have heard many gifted * un 
 known, and many known and celebrated. Mrs, Kemble, 
 who has had far more extended opportunities than mine, as 
 she has been familiar with men trained to talk in the Lon 
 don social arena, I Imve heard assign the first place to Mrs. 
 Jameson. Her gifts and accomplishments arc not now 
 mere laurels on her grave, but have passed on, as I trust, to 
 a higher sphere, and above them all the crown of her filial 
 piety." * * * * 
 
 Journal. 
 
 " Thursday > April 26, 1860. My last day at Woodbourne 1 
 Sydney Smith well says that it is one of the pains of old 
 
382 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 age that whatever we do carries with it the melancholy 
 thought of being * for the last time. 1 Surely my experience 
 of the infinite bounty and goodness of God should fill my 
 heart with gratitude for the past and trust for the future. 
 I came here on the 2jd of December. I have had since 
 uninterrupted health (save my habitual pains). I have had 
 the love and tender care of every member of this dear fam 
 ily, and troops of affectionate friends ; no serious illness or 
 overcasting sorrow among them. I have had the prime en 
 joyment of Mrs. Kemble s readings, and her society, and 
 many social pleasures." * * * * 
 
 Miss Sedgivick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 New York, May 12, 1860. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, It has struck 6 P.M. I have only 
 eaten a little fruit since breakfast, and feel rather like that 
 empty bag that can t stand up. But, as I have resolutely 
 shut up the Mill on the Floss, not being able to meet the 
 storm that I hear rumbling in the distance, and that I am 
 sure is to pour down on poor Maggie s devoted head, I have 
 taken up my pen to begin to thank you and Alice for your 
 last letter. I have no greater pleasure than to hear from 
 you, and to know that you are all well. This * Mill has de 
 lighted me. It has turned out such an amount of good 
 grist, it is so filled with heart-probings and knowledge of 
 human life, so earnestly free from any Attempt to dress up, 
 to express, or find a vent for the author s egotism I It deals 
 sturdily with the real stuff that life is made of, and, like life, 
 constantly makes you wish that the characters were a little 
 different that this and that would not turn out just so. 1 
 
 " Lenox, June 17, 1860. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, It is a divine day a day when 
 hope and faith spring forth from the glorified earth in har 
 mony with the soaring birds and the opening flowers. The 
 
JLtfe and Letters. 383 
 
 warm, gentle rain in June, such as fell yesterday (n^t quite 
 enough of it, as Charlie, with his temperate gratitude, might 
 say), falls on good ground, and, like spiritual grace, refresh 
 es and multiplies God s good gifts. The air this morning is 
 such as might come from Paradise when its guardian angel 
 opens its gates to happy mortals. There is a worship of 
 beauty, a sweet breath of praise from all this wide land 
 scape before my door. Men, women, and children make 
 the discords. Nature is the heavenly messenger whose 
 voice is melody and harmony. Is it not strange that I, of 
 all people in the world, should rejoice in the absence of hu 
 manity ? Perhaps it is the novelty that makes it, for half an 
 hour, agreeable to me. The family has dispersed to the 
 various churches. Little Charles is not here, and therefore 
 his flitting form does not pass in and out, and to and fro 
 with this mobile resemblance (the only one) to the evil 
 spirits. 
 
 " I have had far more than ordinary enjoyment in life, and 
 in the affection and character of those nearest to me a fore 
 taste of heaven ; and yet so painful are its uncertainties, so 
 frightful its hazards, so certain its changes and disappoint 
 ments, that 1 can not look upon its loss on its threshold as 
 to be lamented. Why should it be if the life here is jump 
 ed, if the capacities and affections arc saved from obstruc 
 tion and blight, and pass to a higher school and infallible 
 guardianship. Yet, dear Kate, the loss remains, the place 
 vacant. Death has always been, and always must be, a 
 tragedy." 
 
 Miss Setigwick to Jlfrs. JRusscll. 
 
 Lenox, July 17, 1860. 
 
 " MY DEAR LUCY, I sent to town by H. (and I am 
 ashamed not to have sent it earlier) the Life of Perthes. 
 He had an earnest intention to give it into W. s hands, 
 
384 -Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 as he shares the infirmity of some of his family, he may for 
 get it, find, to guard against that possibility, you had best 
 ask W. to remind him. I have often thought of you in your 
 new and pleasant home, and rejoice that I can locate you in 
 my imagination. Not to be able to do that leaves the pain 
 ful inclefinitcness that we feel in regard to the disembodied 
 spirits of our friends. There are only rare moments when 
 their present existence is realized to us. Is this want of 
 faith or defect of power ? 
 
 " We have had a great occasion in our own dear valley 
 the laying of the corner-stone of a Catholic church in a 
 beautiful spot just under the shadow of Laurel Hill. It was 
 a great day for J., and whatever makes her happier has my 
 fullest sympathy. She has been indefatigable in her exer 
 tions to effect this, and is half canonized by her Catholic 
 friends and followers. * Oh, see Miss J. s good, beautiful 
 face I 1 said one of them \ and, radiant with happiness as she 
 was, it was hardly an extravagant expression. Think, dear 
 Lucy, of my living to see a close procession of Irish Catho 
 lics from one end of the village to the other, when I remem 
 ber the time, forty years ago, when there was but one Irish 
 man in Stockbridge in the county probably and he a 
 Protestant. Ah 1 the good old times, when Mrs. de 
 clared the deacon s shop should not be turned into a ca 
 thedral, moved thereto by mass being held at the hatter s 
 little shop for half a dozen poor Irish I" 
 
 Miss Setlgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 4< Lenox, 1860. 
 
 * * * * "Our life here is full, not of events, but of shift 
 ing scenes. I called on Mrs. and her daughter after 
 
 our short service, which mainly consisted in a very pretty 
 school-boy detail of the eminent example of friendship in the 
 life of Damon and Pythias. Do you know Mrs. ? 
 
Life and Letters. 385 
 
 She is a very pleasing woman, with more of the father in her 
 than of the querulous worldly mother, who, through the man 
 tle of renunciation and mourning, has always the bad flavor 
 of low ambitions. Now, Kate, this is merely a philosophic 
 al observation of human character, and not a want of that 
 lovely charity that thinketh no evil. I was making up for 
 the clerical gruel I had taken by a little of Bishop Whately s 
 strong meat, when I was surprised by a doze, which I should 
 have stoutly denied but that I was roused in the heat of an 
 altercation between the bishop and your mother as to the 
 right mode of paving her garden-walk, and summoned to 
 see Professor R., and J. Professor R. I am always glad to 
 see. He is one of the peculiar people associated with 
 those now farthest from us, and yet always nearest. They 
 both staid to tea, and after they went I was rushing off to 
 make some calls that I had deferred two weeks, when enter 
 ed the whole race, whose voices are like tromboids 
 
 do you call them ? some instrument that is an imitation of 
 a fugue do you call it? by a donkey and a peacock. 
 * * * * Oh I tell my beloved Willie that I thank him for 
 his letter, and that I have tried very hard to find a market 
 for the pair of rabbits he offers. I have offered them to 
 clergy and laity, to men and women, to boys and girls. The 
 latter would be willing customers, but there is a restraining 
 parental influence in the background. I see nothing for it 
 but for me to buy them, and for him to kill and eat them 1 
 My love to dear Alice and to all. My darling Robbie, I am 
 pining for him. Yours ever, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 Miss Sc dgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " Lenox, August 25, 1860. 
 
 " DEAREST KATE, If any of the family have written you 
 this week, and informed you of my illness, you will be glad 
 to get a letter from me. I felt a cold coming on in the 
 
 R 
 
386 Life of Catharine Af.- Sedgwick. 
 
 night and increasing, and when I returned from depositing 
 my last letter to you in the post my voice was quite gone, 
 and in the course of a couple of hours I had a violent access 
 of croup. It was gradually relieved, so that before bedtime 
 the distress was over. I can not look back to any exposure 
 or imprudence. I ought only to be surprised that disease 
 comes so rarely to me, and to have renewed gratitude to 
 God for my continued health and sustained strength. The 
 end must come, my dear child, and before long the readi 
 ness is all. 1 " 
 
 Miss Sedgunck to Jlf/ s. A". S. Minot. 
 
 44 Lenox, October 7, 1860. 
 
 "MY DEAREST KATE, I have just dismissed my little 
 Irishers, and come to my always pleasant Sunday office ; 
 but I fear it will be brief and ill-performed to-day, as Grace 
 and I are going down to Uncle Stephen s funeral.* The 
 dear old man died peacefully on Friday, after having gath 
 ered in the last fruits of his faithful waiting on Mother Earth. 
 Since his strength has failed him to upheave the sods where 
 he has planted so much precious seed, he has tilled, to the 
 very last, his little garden-plot, opening the soil with his hoe, 
 the only instrument his weak hands could manage. Aunt 
 Visy sowed the seeds, his poor rheumatic fo.urscore body 
 refusing to bend beyond a certain angle. Visy says, * Why, 
 he set up his tune every morning, and kept on humming it 
 till he had done his work ; he enjoyed himself ! Talk of 
 gifts ! What gift that ever God gave excelled in worth to 
 the receiver this cheery spirit, springing out of peace of con 
 science and good-will to man ? He was not a professor, 
 but I believe he has entered the kingdom of heaven without 
 the diploma of the Congregational Church in Stockbridge, 
 Mass. 
 
 * Mr. Stephen Tucker, of Stockbridge, whose kindly nature made him 
 "Uncle Stephen" to half the village. 
 
Life and Letters. 387 
 
 " Our sweet Louisa* will arrive soon after my letter. Tell 
 her that Grace and I slept on guard last night as soundly as 
 the soldiers did at St. Peter s prison, and the angels, like 
 his, tended her children. Emilia, Annie says, waked often, 
 but did not cry once, and Grace waked once, and instead 
 of murmuring against Providence for taking away her par 
 ents, at the recognition of Annie s voice she merely said, 
 f love oo in my art. They are bright as new dollars this 
 morning. 
 
 " I trust, my dear Kate, there will be no contretemps to 
 mar your enjoyment this week, and that you will have a 
 
 * real good time. I count days now as I once counted 
 years, and feel far more eagerness to make the most of time 
 to use every ray of moral sunshine, and to escape the 
 
 * pestilent congregation of vapors from moral diseases that 
 
 overshadow and blight so much of life. 1 
 
 - 
 
 Miss Scttgwick to Mrs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 44 New York, December 7, 1860. 
 
 " Never, in my lifetime, have we been at so interesting a 
 point in our political history ; and if you and William did 
 not talk on the volcanic topic before breakfast and after 
 supper, I should think the blood of your fathers had lost all 
 moral vitality in your veins. Oh, for the spirit of Wisdom 
 and of Love 1 But alas ! what hope of it, or what desert of 
 it ! I suppose you will think it quite consonant to my cow 
 ardly character if I tell you that I feel most deeply interest 
 ed in the poor mothers and maidens that are trembling in 
 the midst of their servile enemies. As for that bullying 
 State of South Carolina, one would not much care. As C. 
 (cousin C.) says, * Let the damned little thing go 1 or as C. 
 B. (two of the most humane men I know) says, Plow them 
 under, plow them under ! It has been a little wasp from 
 the beginning ! " 
 
 * Mrs. William Sedgwick. 
 
388 Life of Catharine M. 
 
 Afiss Setlgwick to Jlfrs. Itussetl. 
 
 44 Wooclbourne, January 5, 1861. 
 
 " MY DEAR LUCY, Though I have received no answer to 
 my last letter, yet it does not accord with my notions to 
 stand on that very inconvenient footing a point of cere 
 mony with you ; and my heart moves me to send my 
 greeting to you at this season that sanctities the greetings 
 of old friends, and makes us feel how precious they are, and 
 calls forth our gratitude for the preserved lives of those who 
 are knit to us by the associations of a lifetime ; who have 
 lived in the same social compact with us ; who have had 
 the same friendships, the same joys and sorrows ; who have 
 worshiped with the same heart at one altar ; who have the 
 same treasures garnered in heaven, and who, in one hope, 
 one faith, one baptism, are awaiting the summons, near at 
 hand, to join the beloved who have gone before us to our 
 Master. * * * * 
 
 " I came to Kate s just before Christmas. I have come 
 to be considered by her children as a component part of the 
 institution a female manifestation of Santa Glaus. You, 
 dear Lucy, who knew me in my life of variety and excite 
 ment, will hardly credit the monotony and fair contentment 
 of my present life. As I look at the great pines around us 
 bending their branches to the ground, as they do now under 
 a load of snow, and looking like large tents made of broad 
 white plumes, with brilliant blue sky above and stainless 
 snow below, I feel the living ministry there is in Nature, and 
 should feel that 
 
 44 The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
 With prayer and praise agree. 1 
 
 ****! wonder how, and how much, you are exer 
 cised on the subject of secession. I am hopeful as to the 
 issue. I cling to the Union as an unweaned child does to 
 
and Letters. 389 
 
 its mother s breast. But it seems to me we should stand in 
 awe, and only pray that God s will may be done in this 
 great matter. It may be that he will permit the Southern 
 suicidal madness to rage and prevail to the great end of 
 blotting slavery from the land it poisons. Massachusetts is 
 condemned as the hot-bed of abolition fanaticism I hear 
 nothing but ultra concession and conservatism." 
 
 Miss Srtlgwick to Mrs. Channing. 
 
 " Wuodbournc, February 27, 1861. 
 
 ****"! have not yet come down to the level of the 
 despairing of our country. On the contrary, I have strong 
 hopes, perhaps confidence in the future. The Cotton States 
 may remain out, but that may be no harm to us (God bless 
 them!). The Border States may join them (I do not be 
 lieve they will), and much trouble may ensue therefrom. 
 But I have faith in the farther development, of the effect of 
 our institutions. They are seed sown by the righteous 
 sown in love and justice to the whole family. We are m.ak- 
 ing the first experiment of the greatest happiness to the 
 greatest number, and Providence will not permit it to fail 
 short of consummation. We have in our people the ele 
 ments of life and health. We arc in harmony with the great 
 natural laws." * * * * 
 
 Miss Se</gwt f& to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 "Stockbridgc, June 2, 1861. 
 
 * * * * It is very uncomfortable to be all the time con 
 scious of the working of your machine, and expecting that 
 at any moment the chord will snap. We cling to life ; it is 
 the law of our being ; and it is my continual prayer to trust ; 
 to be delivered from fear and anxiety ; to be thankful for 
 the continuance of my powers and faculties to this time ; to 
 be fortified by the love of Christ, and unfaltering faith in 
 
390 Lift of Catharine Jlf. Scdgwick. 
 
 him, and in God s mercy through him, to meet the summons 
 that must come soon. I am cowardly. 
 
 " I am glad to have done with the subject. I quite agree 
 with Emerson, who, in his chapter on Manners, says, If you 
 have a cold, or have had a fever, or a sun-stroke, or a thun 
 der-stroke, never speak of it. 1 
 
 " Perhaps you know that our warriors of the Valley went 
 on Friday to the Brook-farm camp. There were thirty-nine. 
 Your Aunt Susan and half the village were at the station at 
 6 o clock to take leave of them. Her blessing was the best 
 munition of war they took with them." 
 
 Miss Se<fgivif& to Airs. K. S. Afinot: 
 
 " Stockbritlgc, June 23, 1861. 
 
 " I never before, my dear Kate (at least I think so ; but 
 we go over our experiences again and again, and, when the 
 scene shifts, forget them), felt such an insane desire to seize 
 Time by the neck and hold him back to prolong this most 
 lovely month of June. Every day seems a new revelation 
 of the exquisite beauty of creation, an actual presence of 
 God, a triumphal procession of the forces of nature. Life 
 abounds, and grows stronger and richer from hour to hour, 
 and there is no withered grass, no fading leaf, no faint song 
 of the birds to foreshadow decay and death. It seems not 
 a prophecy of heaven, but heaven itself. And we may list 
 en to the great anthem without turning in upon discontents, 
 and sorrow, and vain longings for what has been and can be 
 no more, or looking out upon the raging of as disorderly 
 and fiery passions as ever disturbed the peace of nature. 
 
 " One can not long keep up to the symphonies of nature 
 in war-time ; and, with all my earnest feeling and love for 
 this divine month, I was even to-day crying out of the win 
 dow and breaking the Sunday stillness by an appeal for a 
 newspaper H. had in his hand, we your aunt and I hav- 
 
Life and Letters. 391 
 
 ing missed that daily food yesterday, and being at the starv 
 ation point. He took off the edge of our hunger by saying 
 a telegram had just been received announcing, from a reli 
 able source/ that there would be no battle this campaign. 
 Yesterday, you know, it was announced that a great battle 
 was impending. And so from day to day we go on. It is a 
 mere war of troops and rumors. A few days since, J. and 
 M. were riding j en passant, J. s war fervor is up to the boil 
 ing point. M. s horse stumbled, fell under J. s, and upset 
 him. Both were thrown women, not horses and when J. 
 saw her horse s heels in the air, and coming down, as she 
 thought, on her head, what one throb of anguish at parting 
 life think you she had ? Oh, I shall never hear about the 
 battle at Bethel ! It takes Berkshire to generate such en 
 thusiasm as that. 1 
 
 Miss Stdgwick to Afrs. Russell. 
 
 44 Slockbriclgc, November 16, 1861. 
 
 " MY DEAR LUCY, The year is fast waning, and our lives 
 are speeding away, and few the lights still burning in our 
 narrowed circle. Far as we are apart, and small as our vis 
 ible intercourse is, I feel your rays upon my heart, and shall 
 as long as we both live. I met W. when I was in town, and 
 had a cordial grasp of his hand, and as much information as 
 he could give me of you not very satisfactory, as he told 
 me you had been less strong than usual the past summer. 
 We shrink from these intimations of change that must come, 
 that is certainly near, and why do we, except from defect of 
 faith ? If we believe that to depart and be with Christ is 
 far better ; if we believe that we shall be with Him who has 
 brought us out of the darkness of the natural world into a 
 revelation of immortality, who has made known to us the 
 Father s love, the paternal character of God in all its bear 
 ings upon our destiny ; if we believe that death will deliver 
 
3Q2 Life of Catharine M. Scdgiuick, 
 
 us from temptation, from sin, from sorrows ; if we believe it 
 will reunite us to the beloved who have gone before us, who 
 were the life of our life then, dear friend, should we wel 
 come the twilight of our diminished day, and feel that to 
 morrow will be fair/ I must make an honest confession : 
 I have an intense desire to live to see the conclusion of our 
 present struggle ; how order is to be brought out of the pres 
 ent confusion ; how these advecse principles are ever to be 
 harmonized ; how peace and good neighborhood are ever to 
 follow upon this bitter hate. I am willing to see South Car 
 olina humbled in the dust to see riches and honor taken 
 from her, and a full expiation of the crimes she has com 
 mitted ; but beyond South Carolina I have no ill will. The 
 people are cursed and borne down by their slavery, and 
 maddened by their ambitious leaders ; made to believe, not 
 a lie, but bushels of them, and they can only be cured of 
 their frenzy by being made to feel their impotence ; this they 
 seem now in a fair way to realize. You and I, dear Lucy, 
 must find consolation for havoc and wide misery in the 
 many probable good results of this purgation. It is delight 
 ful to see the gallantry of some of our men, who are repeat 
 ing the heroic deeds that seemed fast receding to fabulous 
 times. In a small way there is nothing pleases me better 
 than the zeal among our young women (young and old) in 
 working for the hospitals. We hear no gossip, but the most 
 rational talk about hospital-gowns, comfortables, socks, and 
 mittens. Our whole community, from Mrs. Kemble down 
 to some of our Irish servants, are knitting. You may meet 
 E. any hour of the day going about to distribute yarn she 
 has purchased, to persuade some to knit for love, and to 
 hire blind women and old women to do the work. Small 
 things become great with such motives and such actions. 
 Far better is this than the turmoil of city life 1" 
 
Life and Letters. 393 
 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Airs. K. S. Minot. 
 
 44 Lenox, July 9, 1862. 
 
 " MY DEAREST KATE, I have written to you (ideally) 
 twenty letters since the mail came yesterday, and brought 
 to your mother the first dispatch from Will* since the week 
 of battles. It was written late at night, after his first sleep 
 after seventy-six hours of vigil with the exception of three 
 quarters of an hour, after marches and fastings to men and 
 horses too horrible to think of; and yet it is a connected 
 and admirable account, and concludes with * all right now ; 
 the men restored to hope, except the few vant-riens t and I 
 am ready to give the last drop of blood in my body to my 
 country. There is a pathetic description of the death of 
 Sam/ Gepcral Seclgwick s favorite horse, who was pierced 
 by three bullets when he was on him. But you will see the 
 letter, and I will not garble it by any anticipatory fragments. 
 You will be proud of your brother, dear Kate, and thankful, 
 most thankful are we all that he and dear Cousin Johnf 
 have passed through such dangers in safety. * * * * Your 
 mother is calm, active as ever, and apparently cheerful, but 
 I can sec that there is an under swell of anxiety that I much 
 fear will tell on her health. She is fit to be the mother of 
 heroes, and she has certainly transmitted to her son her 
 vigorous, hopeful spirit. 11 
 
 * William Dwight Scdgwick, son of Mr. Charles Scdgwick, one of the 
 noble young heroes, and, alas I one of the victims of the War of the Re 
 bellion. He felt his duty to his country paramount even to his love for 
 his wife and children, and, entering the army, had attained the rank of 
 major, when, after fighting gallantly in the early and disastrous battles 
 in Virginia, he was struck down on the terrible Held of An tic tain, iyth 
 September, 1862. 
 
 t General Scdgwick, who was a grandson of " Uncle John," Judge 
 Scdgwick s elder brother. 
 
 R 2 
 
394 *f e f Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Miss Sedgivick to Mrs. JC. S. Mi/tot. 
 
 44 Stockbridgc, August I, 1862. 
 
 * * * * " It is strange how cheerily the world goes on, 
 living as we do at this moment on a volcano. But, as I look 
 out of the window on a lawn of the richest clover my eye 
 ever fell on, and on one of the loveliest of sylvan scenes, 
 with the mowers turning yp the heavy, new-cut hay to the 
 hot sun, it is difficult to realize that there is any worse evil 
 afloat than the daily showers that discourage the husband 
 man, and yet a general dread pervades us all, not with 
 out terror, when the cheerful light of day is gone. 
 
 "JLenoXy September i7/#, 1862. * * * * I have plunged into 
 the mOlc e of Les Miserables. 1 I have just got to the story. 
 It is a book that must be read, and will not be limited to 
 the great congregation of novel readers. It deals with the 
 greatest topics of humanity, and in such a mode as is pos 
 sible only to a mind of the first order. The book is every 
 where ; the first time you lay your hand on it, read the 
 chapter headed L EvQquc en presence (Tune Ittm&rc inconnuc. 
 It is solemn, magnificent, and beautiful ; full of thoughts 
 that solve the mysteries of history. But you must read the 
 whole book, and no better time than this, when we need to 
 be diverted by other miseries than our own. The effect is 
 sometimes impaired by the extase^ the oxygenated atmos 
 phere of the French temperament." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. JRussett> after Mrs. Robert Sedgwick s 
 
 JDeatA. 
 
 44 Lenox, September 12, 1862. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, You will have heard, before my let 
 ter reaches you, that another dear member of my family has 
 left us ; your kindred too, and associated in your mind, as she 
 is in mine, with the dearest affections and tenderest memo- 
 
Life and Letters. 395 
 
 ries. I think she has been steadily declining, with a few 
 intervals of slight rallying, for the last two years ; and since 
 she returned to her home from New York in June, she has 
 borne the impress of a fast-approaching change. I will not 
 dwell on her sufferings ; there is no use to you and me, dear 
 Lucy, in their contemplation. She had all the mitigations 
 her state admitted, and immeasurable consolation in the 
 presence and love of her children. Her character was a 
 rare one strong in the marked qualities of her family ; a 
 more devoted and disinterested mother I have never known. 
 And now she seemed to have earned her rest to have laid 
 down her cares, and, surrounded by prosperity, honored and 
 beloved, to have a sunny afternoon before her. God willed 
 it otherwise transferred her, as we believe, to light and joy 
 that fadeth never. To me she has ever been a most kind 
 and faithful sister. She found herself adapted to country 
 life. She took an interest in all its details, and she was 
 much endeared to her country neighbors. She seemed to 
 set out with the specific purpose of making my sister Jane s 
 place good, and at first I thought she would be regarded 
 much as step-mothers are ; but it was not so. Her sympa 
 thy with the sick, her unstinted and watchful generosity, her 
 elegant hospitality, and her vein of humor, delighted our 
 rustic people, and she is lamented with real and bitter sor 
 row. She was buried on one of our loveliest September 
 days, just as the sun was setting and filling the valley with 
 golden light. The cold tomb-stones seemed warm and soft 
 in the flood of radiance. Her funeral room was filled with 
 flowers sent in by friends and neighbors ; crosses of white 
 lilies and roses at the head and foot of the coffin ; rings 
 types of immortality hanging at the door, and baskets and 
 bouquets elaborately and significantly arranged." 
 
396 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 Afiss Sedgwick to Mrs, Russell. 
 
 " Lenox. 
 
 " You perhaps have heard how manfully our dear Will be 
 haved how, when he lay on the hard, plowed ground (and 
 he was lying there seven and a half hours), fatally wounded, 
 he managed to get his little diary from his bosom and write, 
 with fond expressions and earnest prayer, the simple great 
 truth, * I have tried to do my duty* the truth that takes the 
 sting from death the victory from the grave. So I am 
 content that my beloved brother s son should die," 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Alice Minot. 
 
 " IAMIOX, October 23, 1862. 
 
 ****** My love to a//, and when I write this, I mean 
 it from your grandfather down, to each and all, as is due 
 from me, love and gratitude ; and mind you, kiss my darling 
 for me. Which is that ? your father or mother ? Willie or 
 Hal ? Charles or Rob ? It would puzzle me to tell. 
 " Yours, my very darling, 
 
 "CATHARINE M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. A". S. Minot. 
 
 " New York, December 4, 1862. 
 
 "MY DEAREST KATE, I received your long letter and 
 Alice s addenda yesterday morning, and, though my stom 
 ach heaved a little at my darling Cain I* yet I felt like a 
 man who, having been hungry, is well fed. Well, my dear 
 Kate, you and William have a task, the most difficult in life, 
 to work up these grand and diverse materials that God has 
 put into your hands, to fashion them into the beauty of God s 
 likeness. My hope is that you may be fellow-workers with 
 
 * One of Mrs. Minot s boys, who had thrown a stone at one of hid 
 cousins and cut his forehead. 
 
Life and Letters. 397 
 
 Him, and then, if you are faithful^ the result is certain. I 
 have unlimited confidence in William s wisdom and power, 
 but please give my compliments to him, and tell him that I 
 hold him responsible for the murderous propensities. The 
 Sedgwicks, if an imbecile, are a gentle race, and never till 
 now broke into the Decalogue. My darling boy 1 I am so 
 glad it happened before I came. I trust there were no last 
 ing nor very severe consequences to dear little F.* I can 
 see the mother and sisters when the bleeding victim was 
 borne in 1 * * * * I had a disappointment yesterday. Mrs. 
 F. sent for me while we were at breakfast (we breakfast be 
 fore eight 1) to breakfast with her and go with a party to see 
 an iron-clad ship. I did not feel in the humor, and declined. 
 At four she came here flushed with pleasure, the rose color 
 of fourteen, and with more excited enthusiasm than the 
 whole present race of girls in their teens would have felt. 
 She had been over the ship ; she had been shown all its 
 complicated resources by Warden, his face blind of one eye, 
 and * blackened by powder that made it beautiful ! f She 
 had passed an hour in company with Banks, etc., etc. ; and 
 I had been to a dress-maker s, and going to and fro, up and 
 down, in search of a fine platter ! ignoble I" 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Charles JE. Butter. 
 
 " Lenox, March 27, 1863. 
 
 * * * * " Oh Susy I it is so strange and lonesome here ! 
 Louisa and her children are lovely and dear, but theirs are 
 new faces and new voices ; and there are so many impor 
 tunate memories, sad and solemn, and, thank God, some so 
 happy, that to me it is inexpressibly melancholy and dreary 
 your aunt s condition most tragic of all. I go over the 
 house with some present purpose, but the past the past is 
 always before mo. My brother my beloved brother is 
 * The wounded boy. 
 
398 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 every where ; his children, the dead and the living, about 
 him. When I first came it was so affecting to me that it re 
 quired all my fortitude, all my regard for others, not quite 
 to give up. Your aunt s cheerful voice, and Louisa s gentle, 
 sweet submission, reproved me brought me to myself, and 
 now I hope to be able, in the few days left, to be of some 
 little comfort to Louisa." 
 
 This was Miss Sedgwick s last stay at Lenox. She had 
 passed the winter, as all her late winters, at Woodbourne, 
 and early in the spring went to visit her sister-in-law, already 
 attacked by the cruel disease which, after two years of most 
 courageous and sweet endurance, caused her death, and 
 Major Sedgwick s widow, who, with her little children, was 
 then living with his mother. She returned to Woodbourne 
 the first of April. The weather was snowy and inclement, 
 and made the journey more than usually fatiguing to her. 
 She suffered from severe headache all the next day, and to 
 ward evening was seized with an attack of epilepsy, which 
 kept her unconscious so long that it was not thought she 
 could survive twenty-four hours. But her strong constitu 
 tion, aided by judicious medical treatment, prevailed, and, 
 though this -was indeed * the beginning of the end/ there 
 were long intervals of comparative ease and comfort before 
 her life closed. During these she saw her friends freely, 
 spent much time in writing to them and in reading, and 
 even made two more journeys to her beloved Stockbridge. 
 In less than a fortnight after this first attack she was able 
 to write to Mrs. Butler : 
 
 " Woodbournc, April 12, 1863. 
 
 " MY DEAREST SUE, I feel pretty much like one issuing 
 from a tangled wood, with paths leading in many directions 
 whither I would go, and one whither I must go, and that is 
 to you, my dear child, for during the last three weeks I have 
 
JLife and Letters. 399 
 
 been cut off from all intercourse with the absent except by 
 those most subtle, imperceptible webs of thought that the 
 heart spins out of itself by some process more incompre 
 hensible than the spider s, and from secretions more myste 
 rious, more admirable, for not liable to change or decay/ 1 
 
 The rest of the letter, which is quite a long one, is chiefly 
 occupied with tender inquiries and advice concerning the 
 health of Mrs. Butler s husband. There are very few words 
 about her own illness. A few weeks later she writes, " I am 
 treated like a duchess by such friends as few duchesses 
 have, and, as a proof of my amendment, I am writing before 
 breakfast ;" and in the next letter to Mrs. Butler, dated in 
 May, she says : 
 
 * * * * "The country, at this moment, is Paradise re 
 stored. Since my early youth I have rarely seen the coun 
 try at this season, and each day is to me like opening a 
 book of divine revelations. My walks seldom extend be 
 yond the bounds of Woodbourne, but within them we have 
 a great variety of deciduous trees and blossoming shrubs. 
 The trees, in their infinite variety of shades of tender green, 
 opening their teaves amidst the dark pines, seem like the 
 freshness of childhood, and the flowers of every hue touch 
 the chords of your heart like its laugh. Sickness and old 
 age can not rob us of these pleasures, if God in mercy spares 
 us our sense of them. But, dear Sue, I began merely to tell 
 you that, though still weak, I find myself improving from 
 week to week, and quite free from disease. I drive out 
 daily, and walk moderately, eat with good appetite, and 
 sleep well. Mercies to be mindful of. * * * * 
 
 " I went, on Saturday, to Readville (the Freedmen s 
 camp), to call on A. S., and she and her husband drove over 
 in the evening and took tea with us. To-day the regiment 
 
400 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 is presented with a flag, and on Monday they move. Poor 
 young people ! The Freedmen look remarkably well. I 
 saw colored ladies walking about the camp attended by some 
 fine, soldier-like looking men, and dressed very handsomely, 
 and, for the most part (there were some brilliant glimmer 
 ings of color), in good taste." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Mrs. Charles . Butler. 
 
 Woodbourne, June, 1863. 
 
 * * * * "Since my illness I have in some respects be 
 haved with the humility that one would think should always 
 attend us, holding the gifts of Providence by the tenure we 
 do. I don t lay out my future, nor count upon it. I re 
 ceive gratefully my life from day to day, assigning its dis 
 posal to the good providence of God, and to those who are 
 my earthly providence. Whatever Kate tells me I may do, 
 I do, and none other. Is not that meekness ? and certain 
 ly, so far, I have experienced the beatitude of meekness, for 
 I have enjoyed with contentment the sweetest comforts of 
 earth." 
 
 Mis s Sedgwick to Rev. Dr. Dcwey. 
 
 44 Woodbourne, July i, 1863. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, Your letter was a great satisfaction 
 to me. I partook, in some sort, the parental joy and sister 
 ly pride that must have risen in an anthem of joy and praise, 
 almost lifting the roof from the dear old ancestral home, 
 when you heard that your son* had, with so good a will a 
 will so strong and victorious paid his debt for his country, 
 and that he was safe for the instinct of love can not be lost 
 in any secondary emotion. 
 
 * Dr. Dewey s only son had enlisted in Ihc 59th Massachusetts Regi 
 ment, and was one of the volunteers in the forlorn hope at Fort Hud 
 son, May 27, 1863. 
 
Life and Letters. 401 
 
 *#*#j expect to go to Berkshire to pass some 
 months. * * * * 
 
 * * * * " I try to throw off all sad presages, and to live 
 in strong, unfaltering faith in that sure Providence that has 
 blessed all our days. My love and blessing to all yours, 
 and in never-failing, never-ending affection believe me yours, 
 
 " C. M. SEDCWICK." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Robby Minot. 
 
 " Slockbridgc, July 14,1863. 
 
 " MY DARLING RoniiY, It will be one week to-morrow 
 since you and I walked round our flower-bed, and since then 
 the kind showers have fallen, and I trust they are holding 
 up their heads and smiling on you, and ready to send their 
 love to me. How is our " lame tame" crow ? and how is 
 dear little Romeo? I want to hear all you can write me 
 of Will, and Charlie, and clear little Benjy, and you, my be 
 loved boy. All the children here and at Lenox have been 
 delighted with the walking doll. They all think it was so 
 lucky that you drew the doll for so many of them to enjoy 
 it. There was a party of little girls on Saturday, keeping 
 F. W. s birthday, and they all came over to see the doll, and 
 they were delighted. 
 
 " It is very pleasant to let others enjoy our pleasures, and 
 you, dear Kobby, as you go along in life, will try to share 
 with others your good things. We should be selfish, miser 
 able creatures if we could do nothing for others. Twenty 
 little girls enjoying your doll is just as good as having twen 
 ty dolls. God gives his good gifts to all He sends the 
 rain on the flowers at Woodbourne, at Lenox, at Stockbrklge 
 every where. My dear child, continue in your resolve to 
 grow up a good man/ and you will try to do, as far as you 
 can, good to all. 
 
 " Give my love to mamma, and papa, and Willie, and 
 
Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 Charlie, and Hal, and all at Aunt H. s, and to Aunt J. and 
 Cousin L., and the flowers that bloom, and the birds that 
 sing for you, and come to me as soon as you can to me, 
 your loving AUNT KITTY." 
 
 Miss Sctigwick to Mrs. & S. Mi/tot. 
 
 " Stockbridge, August 13, 1863. 
 
 " Mv DEAREST KATE, I chanced the other day, in the 
 office of the President of the Senate and governor in futuro, 
 to see a box of quill pens. I was sorely tempted to steal 
 one the grand official being occupied, I could not beg it. 
 Since, through J., I have obtained three, which, as Solicitor 
 Davis, or his grandson W. M. would have said, are as dear 
 to me as if plucked from the wing of the Archangel. Oh, 
 how it glides over the paper 1 how my heart s love fuses 
 and flows at its touch I Thank Heaven, I had almost finish 
 ed my earthly career before I fell on the evil times of steel 
 pens, which turn my very heart s blood to hard steel. I 
 could as well write with the point of a javelin !" 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. Charles . Butter. 
 
 * Woodbourne, January 2, 1864. 
 
 " MY DEAR SUSY, I can not let the second of January 
 pass without sending my blessing to you, my own dear 
 child, and to all my New York children, whether by the gift 
 of God or the authority of the law, which, certainly in some 
 cases, is to me vox Dei. 1 I have not been well, as you 
 probably know through your Aunt S., but I must have lost 
 all body, soul, and estate not to feel, at this season of mem 
 ory and hope, the pressure of love and gratitude straining 
 across my heart for you all. * * * * It was a disappoint 
 ment almost tragical to me to be removed* on the very day 
 
 * One of the attacks to which Miss Scdgwick was liable occurred as 
 she was on her way to church on Christinas Day. 
 
Life and Letters. 403 
 
 of Christinas, and just as I was on my way to partake of its 
 most solemn and dear consecration the communion ; but 
 I look buck gratefully to the many returns I have been per 
 mitted to enjoy since we used to go in procession to the lit 
 tle tables in Warren Street. But from looking back, let us 
 look forward, when all the shadows shall have passed away." 
 
 Miss Se<fgitr/?& to Mrs. Charles E. Butler. 
 
 44 Woodbournc, January 27, 1864. 
 
 " DEAREST SUE, I am deeply indebted to my New York 
 children ; but, as I am under strict surveillance, I must 
 limit myself to conveying to you a hint that may be of use 
 in the regulation of your *fair. * * * * But, for mercy s 
 sake, don t suggest that the oracular people of Boston claim 
 superior sagacity. I merely suggest the result of experi 
 ence, and a possible mode of avoiding the greatest bother 
 here. 
 
 "I have a letter begun to B., asking her if F. can not set 
 that grand heroic poetry of Bryant s to some patriotic Ger 
 man air Not yet. I am so ignorant that I do not even 
 know if it can be sung, but it struck me that the refrain 
 Afc, if shouted by a multitude of voices at the opening of 
 the fair, might be grand in .effect. Do talk this over with 
 B. and F. Thank dearest H. for a most delicious letter. 
 Tell him the first Unitarian meeting was, I think, in Mrs. 
 Russell s parlor. We met first as a society in a medical 
 room, I think, nt the corner of Reade Street and Broadway, 
 and there, I think, we counted in all three female voices, and 
 never shall I forget the thrilling sweetness of your Aunt 
 Jane s. 
 
 " Oh, Sue, how has my heart been thrilled with the due 
 
 * Mrs. Butler was one of the managers of the New York Fair for the 
 benefit of the Sanitary Commission, and had charge of the daily paper, 
 44 The Spirit of the Fair," Issued during its continuance. 
 
404 JLife of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 honor to be recorded to my brothers on the walls into which 
 their very hearts were built I* Tell B. her letters have been 
 nectar to me. I am much better. Love to dear C. and 
 your children ; love and blessing. Don t exhaust yourself. 
 " Yours as ever, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to JRw. Dr. Dewey. 
 
 " Woodbournc, February 24, 1864. 
 
 "My DEAR FRIEND, Many thanks for your letter re 
 ceived yesterday. I must respond to its affectionate con 
 cern, if it be but by a * bulletin ; I hate to write by another s 
 hand to those I love. * * * * 
 
 * * * * " I am better, though, from the nature of my ill 
 nesses, always in dread. But, thank God, I enjoy much 
 the sweet vicissitudes of day and night my many and kind 
 friends W. s ./?//>?/ care, and K. s unfailing sweetness the 
 angel ministry of the children this exquisite winter. I 
 walk out dajly, and every day, in spite of the cold and tem 
 pestuous wind of last week, I sat for hours on the lounge in 
 the piazza, looking at the green trees, and thus healing my 
 eyes, and basking in the sunshine. 
 
 ****"! too dread, but not fear, for I never so felt the 
 goodness and love of God, andjfrom the memory of his mer 
 cies springs trust. I hate to shut my eyes on the pleasant 
 light ; but how came we, ignorant and helpless, into this 
 world, and found every needful help, and a world of love I" 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Mrs. C/tas. E. flutter. 
 
 " Woodbournc, March 12, 1864, 
 
 " MY DEAREST SUE, It is a great white since we have 
 
 * This refers to a proposition (never carried into effect) to place a 
 tablet in Dr. Bcllows a church commemorating Miss Scdgwick s broth 
 ers I Tarry and Robert as among the earliest and most zealous founders 
 of the first Unitarian Church in New York. 
 
JLifc and Letters, 405 
 
 had any communication except that mysterious one when 
 spirit goes out to spirit. I have just come in from the pi 
 azza, where I have distorted on my lounge, breathing in the 
 elixir of life the pure air, gazing at the pines and the clear, 
 intervening blue sky. My beloved little boys are playing 
 in the sunshine, and coming to me ever and anon with a 
 shower of kisses, and bits of moss and green buds that are 
 prematurely venturing forth on this wonderful spring weath 
 er. 5 P.M. While I was writing, dear Sue, your letter, a 
 missive on wings angel wings was on its way to me. It 
 stood me well in place of all other company at my solitary 
 dinner to-day the sweetest of condiments. Glad am I to 
 hear that you are getting well through your literary cares. 
 And what a laurel wreath your letter from Gasparin is I I 
 am not surprised by E. s poetry. He has the divine ele 
 ments of poetry in him. Make R. write for you. Send me 
 your paper the moment it is out. 11 
 
 Miss Settgwick to Mrs. C/tas. . Butler. 
 
 "June i, 1864. 
 
 " Mv DEAR SUE, I wonder if Eve could write letters iu 
 Paradise I But, poor Eve, she had no one to write to no 
 one to whom to tell what Eden was, no beloved child to 
 whom her love traveled through any or all space. Poor 
 Eve I" 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to JKev. Dr. JDewey. 
 
 Woodbournc, July 22, 1864. 
 
 " * You had better lay aside your writing materials, Miss 
 Sedgwick, and take a nap. So speaks my maid, Martha. 
 ;^ no, indeed not till I have told you that at last, my 
 dearest friend, your book* is in my possession not till I 
 have thanked you for it. You know that I breakfast in bed, 
 * The Problem of Human Destiny. 
 
406 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 and here write my letters. My eyes will not permit me to 
 read much at any time, and nothing, save a few verses in the 
 Bible, before breakfast. But I could not help opening your 
 book, and opened, I read the preface, and the contents of 
 the first chapter, and then felt an emotion akin in keenness 
 (in nothing else) to that of a miser who, from an untold 
 store, should have a guinea dropped into his lap ! 
 
 " We are, indeed, all enriched if God has given you the 
 key to these high mysteries ; perhaps I should rather say, 
 imitating your own modesty, permits you to throw a light on 
 them ; for has He not, in the mission and teaching of Christ, 
 given the key to all who, in faith, obedience, and patience, 
 use it? 
 
 " I am not now in condition to read such a book, but with 
 caution, chapter by chapter, paragraph by paragraph, I may 
 read it, and be instructed, encouraged, consoled lifted out 
 of myself by it ; and I may hold it in my hand, and thank 
 God that the writer is my friend. 
 
 ****** I have come to my greatest trial of self-denial 
 from the contraction of my little income by the war. I must 
 give up the daily * Evening Post, which has been a great 
 consolation to me ever since my exile from my New York 
 friends. It has been a sort of daily intercourse with the 
 Bryants. It is an old familiar friend, endeared by the recol 
 lections of my childhood. From its first establishment 
 now sixty-three years I have seen it. Colman, the first 
 eclitor, was my father s friend. Since Bryant s editorship, I 
 have looked upon it as my political text-book. * * * * 
 
 # * * * Even my maid, witnessing my daily enjoyment 
 of it, pleads with me to continue it ; but alas 1 necessity, that 
 knows no law, knows no indulgence, and this must go." 
 
 It can not be an infringement upon propriety to say that 
 Mr. Bryant, on being made aware of the reason for Miss 
 
and Letters. 407 
 
 Sedgwick s discontinuance of the paper, sent it to her, with 
 equal delicacy and kindness, during the rest of her life. 
 
 Miss Scdgwick to Afrs. Charles JS. Butler. 
 
 11 Woodbourne, September 4, 1864. 
 
 "What a grand book is this * Problem of Human Destiny I* 
 At first I rather recoiled from the title, and feared to find it 
 metaphysical, and dealing in subjects that neither he or we 
 could understand. You will read it, dear Sue, and, reading, 
 you will study it, and, studying it, you will distill from it in-* 
 stniction of infinite worth for your children. It is enriched 
 by great thoughts truths of immense magnitude, and beau 
 tiful illustrations, and is often even pathetic in the views it 
 presents of the beneficence of the Deity, and is consoling to 
 troubled, fermenting ignorance." 
 
 Miss SedgwU-k to Rev. JDr. Deivey. 
 
 " Boston, December 10, 1864. 
 
 ****! have been here for the last three weeks, and 
 had much enjoyment from seeing old friends, and have had 
 the honor and pleasure of a call from Whittier. He has a 
 face and manner fitting his high gifts and mission. I have 
 walked daily, and sat for two hours in the Public Garden. 
 Am I not a brave old woman ? 
 
 " Since I wrote to you, my heroic sister* has passed on 
 a blessed release in all senses most blessed to her, if we 
 can believe, as Jeremy Taylor says, that Death gives more 
 than it takes away. 
 
 * * * * A S bade me farewell Friday evening. 
 
 She has returned to her hospital work at Beverly, New Jer 
 sey, where my Cousin E and S E are good 
 
 soldiers in a holy warfare. What a different consecration 
 
 from that of nuns ! How blessed are the single women of 
 
 * Mrs. Charles Scdgwick. 
 
408 Life of Catharine Af. Sedgwick, 
 
 our country, who have found such new and blessed channels 
 for those affections which- crave and will have a channel ! 
 Surely more acceptable to God is the tending and solacing 
 of sick soldiers than protracted prayers kneeling upon stone 
 floors. 
 
 " Mr. M has had and enjoyed much a visit from his 
 
 classmate, Governor Lincoln, aged eighty-two, and as vigor 
 ous and more nimble than most men of thirty I He says he 
 has been a very temperate consumer of animal food, drank 
 wine, tea, and coffee every day, and never lay down in the 
 daytime during his life 1 Should not all the vigilant saints 
 and nymphs guard his pillow? And we have had a visit 
 
 from T , a charming man, resembling in face and mind 
 
 my brother Charles. I loved him peremptorily, and should 
 without other cause. Does not Choate deserve a crown for 
 that saying, Thank heaven, there are not many that we hate 
 peremptorily ? 
 
 " In advance, dear friends all, father, mother, and chil 
 dren, let me wish you a Happy New Year fervently do I 
 pray it may run a blessed course for you !" 
 
 The handwriting of this letter is very tremulous, and the 
 few that followed it were for the greater part dictated. The 
 invalid would, however, frequently send one or two lines 
 only, written by her own hand, to a friend, as a greeting and 
 remembrance from "a heart that yearned to give" to the 
 last, and which no sickness could make forgetful. Her 
 bodily powers were more affected than those of her mind. 
 The disease made very gradual inroads upon the brain, and 
 when these became manifest, her loss of judgment took the 
 very characteristic form of increased and less discriminating 
 admiration of every thing around her. And so, in the beau 
 tiful retirement she loved, surrounded by the tenderest min 
 istrations, and without much acute suffering, her life wore 
 gently away to its close. 
 
JLtfe and Letters. 409 
 
 Rev. Dr. Bellows to Miss Sedgwick. 
 
 New York, October 7, 1866. 
 
 " MY DEAR FRIEND, Thank you for thinking of me, and 
 sending me one more written token of your continued affec 
 tion 1 To-day has been our communion service, a day that 
 has always brought me flocking thoughts of all those long- 
 absent but once familiar guests at our love-feast. I miss 
 you and your brothers and sisters there, but feel as if in 
 spirit all of you were with us. I continually pray for all 
 those whom sickness or age oppresses, and shall not forget 
 how tenderly entitled to my best prayers you, who have been 
 so much for all of us, are, in your seclusion and decline. 
 You, who have * loved much 1 all your life, are in the heart 
 and in the prayers of hundreds of grateful, affectionate 
 friends. I meet very often with fond, respectful inquiries 
 about you, and I never hear your name coupled with any 
 thing but reverence and love. Those retired from the world, 
 who have served it well, seem to those still in it already 
 above them, and in a -sort of outer-court of heaven, and your 
 words come to me almpst as if the door of the celestial city 
 were ajar, and I had overheard some of the angels talking. 11 
 
 2tcv. Dr. Bellows, to Miss Settgiuick. 
 
 New York, May 16, 1867. 
 
 "My DEAR FRIEND, I write only to say good-by, for 
 before another Sunday we shall be on the ocean. I have a 
 delightful recollection of my short visit to you, and shall 
 think of you very often, and pray for you as often as I think 
 of you. God bless you, my dear friend. You have been 
 trying all your precious life to make others happy and good, 
 and the gracious Father, whose chosen name is love, knows 
 your loving heart, and will say at the last, as he takes you 
 into his everlasting acceptance, For she loved much ! Don t 
 
 S 
 
410 Life of Catharine M". Segdwicfc. 
 
 let that pale slave we call Death who is the mere porter at 
 the gate of Life affright your heart. He is the most harm 
 less creature, spite of his grim looks. Oh, if the brothers 
 and sisters who have gone before could only show you the 
 expression of their triumphant faces, how brave you would 
 feel to meet the change that will give you back health and 
 youth, and the past and the future, all in one !" 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to jRev. Dr. )ewey. 
 
 Woodbournc, June 24, 1867. 
 
 " Since yesterday morning I have not expected to outlive 
 the longest days, but I must use this prolonged time to bless 
 my dear friend for the lifelong blessing of his friendship. 
 
 " I have suffered these last days from the cowardice of 
 my cowardly nature, from the imperfection of my faith and 
 love ; but I have enjoyed much from the tenderness of my 
 friends, from the transcendent beauty of nature, from its 
 revelations of love.* I have longed to hear your voice in 
 prayer for me, sure it would have strengthened me ; but, 
 though I have not heard it, our gracious Father has. I have 
 more mercies than I can remember. * * * * 
 
 "Yours to the last, C. M. SEDGWICK." 
 
 Miss Sedgwick to Afrs. Charles JS. Butler. 
 
 * Woodbournc, July 19, 1867. 
 
 "Mv DEAR SUSY, I was in a wretched state when I rc- 
 
 * And these she continued to enjoy tilt the last moment of conscious* 
 ness. She had the habit, in her days of health, of spending at least half 
 an hour every day before breakfast in out-of-door exercise, and, when 
 her increasing infirmities cut her off from this pleasure, she still wel 
 comed the fresh morninair by throwing open all her windows. Bcsido 
 one of them she daily knelt to offer her morning devotion ; then, going 
 to the chamber of her darling Robert, she knelt again by his deserted 
 bedside, to breathe prayers for him which may follow him with blessing 
 all the day>i of his life. 
 
Life and Letters* 4 1 1 
 
 ceived your last letter. I was hypochondriacal \ but it dis 
 armed hypochondria, and threw the blue devils on the other 
 side. I have been very poorly of late, and have driven out 
 to-day for the first time in several days, and feel much bet 
 ter for it. I had quite a long visit from Dr. Hedge, the 
 prince of divines. He tells me, to my great cheer, of dear 
 Dr. Bellows s success in his tour. * * * * 
 
 " I have a balcony out of Kate s window in the pine wood, 
 where I lie all day, and where the mercies and love of God 
 are continually pressing upon my senses. But His hard 
 work, Susy, to be sick, and helpless, and useless I 1 
 
 That mortal weariness was now to end. Before this let 
 ter reached its destination, the tired body was at rest and 
 the spirit freed. Mercifully unconscious of the final parting, 
 Miss Sedgwick crossed that narrow sea 1 which had former 
 ly seemed so terrible to her timid, shrinking physical nature. 
 She had, indeed, attained that trust in God which is truly 
 willing to take all things from his hand, but she was too 
 much like Bunyan s tender-spirited Mercy not to have rath 
 er a trembling hope than confidence, and it is sweet to think 
 that she was spared all fear or suffering at the last. 
 
 She died, and left our world sadly the poorer for the lack 
 of that gracious presence. Many a one, even of those by 
 whom it was seldom seen, felt that 
 
 " A light had pass cl from the revolving year, 
 And man, and woman/ 
 
 now that it could be seen no more. In many a humble 
 room tears were shed for her who brought better than food, 
 or clothes, or even work and she was liberal of these in 
 the kindly sympathy, wise advice, and cheerful interest that 
 lightened the hearts of the poor ;* and many, in the midst of 
 
 * The day after her death, a young woman came hoping to see her and 
 carry from her some token of remembrance to the daughter of a woman 
 
4 1 2 Life of Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 wealth) wept that they could never again receive the finer 
 luxuries of wit, appreciation, and tenderness nt her dear 
 hands. But in the large and loving circle gathered to meet 
 her there must have been deep gladness as she came, and 
 in the thought of her release from the body which had be 
 come a burden, and of the unchecked activity of her most 
 loving nature, those who miss her most must find a true and 
 tender consolation. 
 
 who, when a young orphan, had been taken into Miss Scdgvvick s cm* 
 ploymcnt, and lived with her as a maid, though treated almost as a com 
 panion, and tenderly cared for, till she married. S/u- had long been dead, 
 l>ut the daughter had inherited her lovo and reverence for Miss Scdg- 
 \vick, and the daughter s friend looked upon the lifeless form, and carried 
 away as relics some leaves from the plants growing in the room, with 
 almost the feeling of u devout Catholic to a canonized saint. 
 
APPENDICES, 
 
 I. LETTER FROM MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE TO 
 MRS. WILLIAM MINOT, JR. 
 
 II. SKETCH OF MISS SEDGWICK S CONNECTION WITH 
 THE WOMEN S PRISON ASSOCIATION OF NEW 
 YORK, BY MRS. JAMES S. GIBBONS. 
 
 III. LETTER FROM THE REV. DR. DEWEY TO MRS. WIL 
 
 LIAM MINOT, JR. 
 
 IV. REMINISCENCES OF MISS SEDGWICK, BY WILLIAM 
 
 CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
LETTER TO MRS. WILLIAM MI NOT, JR. 
 
 FROM MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 
 
 Philadelphia, April 25, 1869. 
 
 You ask me, my dear K., for some sketch of my personal 
 recollections of your aunt, and no one, beloved of her as you 
 were, could ask me any thing that I would not endeavor to 
 do ; but my recollections of your aunt stretch over a period 
 of so many years, during which she was to me the tenderest 
 of friends years of such varied fortunes, of so much joy and 
 so much sorrow, in all of which she participated with the 
 whole sympathy of her most sympathizing nature, that her 
 image calls up that of my whole life and all its vicissitudes, 
 since first I came to your country in 1832, and fills me with 
 emotions little favorable to any deliberate mental process. 
 The d^fys of enjoyment whose pleasures were enhanced by 
 her companionship, the hours of misery whose burden was 
 lightened by her compassion, the vivid intellectual pleasure 
 of her conversation, the delightful fellowship of our walks 
 and drives through the lovely hill country of Lenox, the life 
 of intimate and almost daily communion with that bright 
 spirit and tender heart, all come thronging back upon my 
 memory, and I sit with my pen in my hand, remembering, 
 indeed, but hardly able to write. 
 
 Your aunt did me the honor to call on me soon after my 
 arrival in New York, and was among my first American ac 
 quaintances, and was my first American friend. She was 
 
416 Life of Catharine Af. Scdgiuick. 
 
 then, I suppose, between thirty and forty years old, of a 
 slight and graceful figure, the movements of which were re 
 markably light and elastic, and with a countenance in which 
 bright intelligence, a keen sense of humor, and an almost 
 pathetic tenderness of expression were charmingly com 
 bined. None of these winning attributes had departed from 
 my dear friend s form and face up to the last time of my 
 seeing her, and it is some consolation to me for my separa 
 tion from her during the last years of her life that my latest 
 vision of her was (considering the interval between them) 
 but little different from the earliest ; the graceful figure had 
 not grown heavy, nor the tender countenance harsh, nor had 
 the liberal mind become narrowed, nor the warm heart 
 chilled under the touch of Time. 
 
 Perhaps the quality which most peculiarly distinguished 
 your aunt from other remarkable persons I have known was 
 her great simplicity and transparency of character a charm 
 seldom combined with as much intellectual keenness as she 
 possessed, and very seldom retained by persons living as 
 much as she did in the world, and receiving from society 
 a tribute of general admiration. She was all through her 
 life singularly childlike, and loved with a perfect sympathy 
 of spirit those of whom it is said, " of such is the kfhgdom 
 of heaven." Nothing could be more affecting and striking 
 than the close affinity between her pure and tender nature 
 and that of the " little children" who were irresistibly drawn 
 to her ; alike those who lived within the circle of her love, 
 and those on whom only the kindly influence of her tran 
 sient notice fell. I think, in her intercourse with the more 
 " sophisticate" elder members of society, Miss Sedgwick s 
 acute sense of the ludicrous, in all its aggressive forms of 
 assumption, presumption, pretension, and affectation, was so 
 keen that in a less amiable person it might have degener 
 ated into a tendency to sarcasm, and made a satirist of one 
 
Letter from Mrs. Frances Anne Kcmbk. 417 
 
 who was pre-eminently a sympathizer with her fellow-creat 
 ures. As a writer, I feel less inclined to speak of her very 
 considerable merit, because the verdict of the public ap 
 proval was deservedly awarded to her books as they ap 
 peared, and because, when thinking of //<.v, I seldom think 
 of them, feeling like the daughter of the admirable Pasta, 
 who said to a friend, " You think my mother s singing be 
 yond praise, and so it is, and yet, to us who know //<?/-, it is the 
 thing we prize least about her." The pre-eminent charac 
 teristic of her intellect, as well as of her whole character, 
 was its perfect womanliness, and assuredly, if she claimed a 
 place in the honorable sisterhood of " Blue Stockings," it 
 was among those most honorable members of it to whom 
 the arch critic Jeffrey said he had no objection, for their pet 
 ticoats " hid the hose." Of the society which gathered sum 
 mer after summer to the pleasant hill region, the seat of her 
 family home, attracted thither even more by the delightful 
 intercourse of its various gifted members than by the pure 
 air and fine scenery of Berkshire, Miss Sedgwick was the 
 centre and soul, dispensing the most graceful hospitality, 
 and doing the honors of her beautiful hills and valleys to 
 her visitors with an unwearied kindliness and courtesy that 
 must forever have combined in their memories the most de 
 lightful social intercourse with the most charming natural 
 scenery. 
 
 To the poor, who were rich in having her for a neighbor, 
 she was the most devoted and faithful of friends, sympathiz 
 ing with all their interests, soothing their sorrows, supplying 
 their wants, solacing their sufferings with an exquisite tact, 
 which her knowledge of and skill in the homeliest, as well 
 as highest feminine accomplishments, rendered as efficient 
 as it was tender and unwearied. To be poor, sick, or sor 
 rowful seemed scarcely hardships within the sphere of her 
 gentle ministry of comfort. There is not one of the lowly 
 
 S 2 
 
418 Life of Catharine M. 
 
 dwellings within miles round Lenox and Slockbridge that 
 her feet ever entered where her name is not synonymous 
 with goodness, and her memory hallowed with grateful bless 
 ings. 
 
 Of what she was in that circle of good, gifted human 
 beings to which by family ties she belonged, I may not 
 speak while so many still remain who rejoiced in her daily 
 influence, and whose hearts would find all words worse than 
 inadequate to express how sweet and noble that influence 
 was. 
 
 Early in my acquaintance with Miss Sedgwick, my admi 
 ration for her became affection, and the love and respect 
 with which I soon learned to regard her increased and 
 deepened till the end of our intercourse. Her memory now 
 remains to me as that of one of the most charming, most 
 amiable, and most excellent persons I have ever known. 
 
SKETCH OF MISS SEDGWICK S CONNECTION 
 WITH THE WOMEN S PRISON ASSOCIATION 
 OF NEW YORK. 
 
 BY MRS. JAMES S. CIOOONS. 
 
 IT was in the early clays of the Women s Prison Associa 
 tion of New York that Miss Catharine M. Seclgwick ap 
 peared at one of its stated meetings as a visitor, on which 
 occasion her grace of manner and pleasant voice so attract 
 ed me, and I was so much impressed by her presence, that 
 I was about to inquire who she was, when she took me cor 
 dially by the hand, saying, " I understand you are the daugh 
 ter of Isaac T. Hopper, and I must know you." 
 
 This was the beginning of an intimate acquaintance, and 
 at once I besought her to become a member of the society. 
 
 To this request she readily assented, and the next year 
 she was chosen our president, which office she held, beloved 
 and reverenced by all, until her death. 
 
 We were soon brought into close companionship by vis 
 its to the prisons and kindred institutions, especially the 
 Tombs, BlackwelPs, and Randall s Island. The hospital 
 claimed much of her interest, perhaps because there her ten- 
 dcrest sympathies were enlisted. In her visitations she 
 was called upon to kneel by the bedside of the sick and 
 dying. The sweetness of her spirit, and the delicacy of her 
 nature, felt by all who came within her atmosphere, seemed 
 to move the unfortunate to ask this office from her, and it 
 
420 Life of Catharine Jkf. Sedgwick. 
 
 was never asked in vain. So tenderly shrinking was she 
 that she sought opportunities for such ministrations when 
 no ear heard, no eye beheld her, and many an erring sister 
 was soothed and comforted as she passed through the dark 
 valley by the heavenly voice of this angel of mercy. 
 
 At the Isaac T. Hopper Home she labored faithfully for 
 this class of humanity, and for many successive years dur 
 ing her sojourn in this city, attended by her niece Helen, 
 with her favorite dog, she devoted Sunday afternoons to a 
 Bible-class, and sometimes to the reading of such books as 
 met the needs of the inmates. Sometimes the hours were 
 passed in conversation, one and another relating their sor 
 rows and misfortunes, and receiving in their turn the balm 
 which flowed from a heart touched with a sense of their in 
 firmities, and accepting the lesson that " to cease to do evil 
 and learn to do well" was the way to a new and better life. 
 
 Miss Sedgwick was a woman by herself so genial and 
 loving, so easily wrought upon, and so readily moved to 
 compassion for the sad and untoward experiences of her 
 unhappy sisters, that her very presence was peace. 
 
 Those with whom she was associated in prison-visiting 
 can testify to her wonderful power of winning the confi 
 dence of a class whose need was kindness, and such coun 
 sel as furnished food for reflection ; consequently, her vis 
 its were attended with the happiest results. 
 
 Many of the prisoners were mothers of children who were 
 in the nurseries assigned to the city s poor, and there be 
 gan a work of never-failing interest and humanity. Seated 
 on long benches, erect as their frail, emaciated bodies per 
 mitted, were rows of motherless and deserted children, 
 lonely, spirit-broken to the last degree, suffering, without a 
 ray of sunlight. It was not strange that she witnessed the 
 scene in tears, and in these darkest of all days, sought some 
 means by which to light up the existence, and strew flov jrs 
 
Letter from Mrs. James S. Gibbons. 421 
 
 in the pathway of these little wanderers. And so she ini 
 tiated the Fourth of July Festival. Listen to her call : 
 
 "We invite all who, like the good vicar, Move happy hu 
 man faces, to go to Randall s Island on the Fourth. Go 
 there to see that lovely island in its rich natural beauty. 
 Go to see the wise and generous provisons the city has made 
 for its young pensioners, by which they are to become a 
 crown instead of a curse to us. Go there to make the bond 
 that binds the children to their benefactors recognized and 
 felt. Let all who contribute to the festival go there and 
 see the good to be done by addressing the sense and love 
 of beauty ; how surely it exalts the angelic portion of our 
 nature, and depresses the sensual and brutish. 11 
 
 These fOtes were seasons of great rejoicing to the chil 
 dren, and most liberal were the supplies of flowers and good 
 things. But the extreme heat made it a hard day s duty, 
 and Christmas Day was fixed upon for bestowing dolls, toys, 
 and books, and the custom has continued to the present time. 
 
 Christmas is alike regarded by rich and poor, and to 
 come together for mutual enjoyment on this happiest day 
 of all the year has become an institution which those inter- 
 estc.% are not likely to abandon. 
 
 It was on one of these occasions that a gentleman of the 
 party placed a doll on the arm of a dying child. Recov 
 ering consciousness for a moment, she pressed it to her lips, 
 while a smile lit up her death-like face. " Good doll 1" she 
 exclaimed, and again kissed it. "These are among the last 
 words she will speak," observed the doctor, and the next 
 day the child died. 
 
 Innumerable cases might be added showing the effect of 
 this charity, which may be recorded as among the sweet 
 memories of our beloved friend ; but this will suffice to 
 keep alive and active the spirit which prompted her to alle 
 viate the sufferings of lonely and destitute children. 
 
422 Lift: of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 To return to "The Home," to which her labors were 
 chiefly directed, we find her practical in this work of refor 
 mation. She employed the inmates in her own home, and 
 recommended them to friends, believing that favorable cir 
 cumstances and kindness were the means best adapted to 
 save them from an evil life. 
 
 When she withdrew from active co-operation with us, the 
 loss was unspeakable, although it inspired others with the 
 necessity of greater diligence and activity. We were soon 
 after apprised of her increasing infirmities, and in a private 
 letter, accompanied by her resignation, we find the following 
 words : 
 
 " I felt humbled in reading, and a confession of my un- 
 worthiness burned in my heart and trembled on my lips ; 
 but the little that I could honestly take fell like precious 
 balsam on my spirit, consoling and invigorating. My tear 
 ful thanks to you, dear friend, and my love and manifold 
 thanks to our dear associates who authorized you thus to 
 write. May God s blessing rest on them, and God s mer 
 cies, through their instrumentality, fall on many forsaken 
 and helpless creatures. 11 
 
 To the " Ladies of the Home" she sent the following : 
 
 To the Executive Committee of the Women s Prison Association 
 of New York. 
 
 Woodbourne, October 9th, 1863. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIENDS, I rejoice in an opportunity of con 
 gratulating you, and the society of whose charities we have 
 been the medium, on the great and unexpected accession 
 to our means, from the munificent bequest of Charles Bur- 
 rail, Esq. Of the generous donor we can say nothing but 
 that we are profoundly grateful to him. He has passed be 
 yond our praise and thanks to His presence who uttered 
 those words of encouragement and immeasurable blessing 
 
Letter from Mrs. Barnes S. Gibbons. 423 
 
 to the Benefactor of the Poor -" Inasmuch as ye have done 
 it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me." 
 
 It is, my friends, with a feeling blending pain and pleas 
 ure that I resign the position among you with which you 
 have so long honored me pain at the disruption of a tie 
 that, so far as I know, has never been jarred by a discord or 
 dissatisfaction, and pleasure that your present affluence ren 
 ders my co-operation of no importance to you. And, more 
 over, much as I may desire to linger with you, the infirmities 
 of age, and my absence from the city, take from me even 
 the pretext for such self-indulgence. 
 
 Your increased means enlarge your field of action, your 
 blessed opportunities of doing good, and your responsibili 
 ties. May God give you the holy zeal, the wisdom, and the 
 energy you need I Arcl may He grant you that essential to 
 the success of all gres,t and good enterprises the right offi 
 cers to do the right thing in the right time and the right 
 place. 
 
 Believe me, my dear friends, respectfully, gratefully, and 
 affectionately yours, C. M. SEDGWICK. 
 
 To this letter the following reply was sent : 
 
 Miss C. AL Scdgwick: 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, At a special meeting of the Women s 
 Prison Association, held at the " Isaac T. Hopper Home," 
 October i3th, 1863, thy letter of October Qth, resigning thy 
 position as First Directress, was presented. The reading 
 made a deep impression upon all present, and, after a time of 
 silence, succeeded by many demonstrations of loving kind 
 ness toward thee, our dear friend and counselor, the privi - 
 lege was given me to answer thy communication, and to 
 assure thee that, while we patiently abide the temporary 
 separation from one whom we have held to be our strength in 
 adversity, with one voice we call thee to share in our pros- 
 
424 *fe of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 perity. When our days were darkest, thy presence and the 
 might of thy influence sustained us. We remember, with 
 feelings of gratitude, thy tender sympathy and substantial 
 aid ; and now let the remembrance of thy goodness, and of 
 all thou hast been to us, animate us to renewed exertion in 
 behalf of our dependent family, and guide us in every act 
 of the society of which thou hast ever been the pride and 
 ornament. 
 
 We reverently acknowledge thee as our head. Grant us 
 thy loved and honored name, and believe us, now and in all 
 time, faithfully and affectionately thy grateful friends. 
 
 In behalf of the committee, A. H. GIDUONS. 
 
 New York, October joth, 1863. 
 
 The Annual Report of the Women s Prison Association 
 and Isaac T. Hopper Home for the year 1867 concludes 
 with this notice : 
 
 "We can not close this report without some notice of the 
 loss we have sustained this year in the death of our First 
 Directress, our dear friend and fellow-laborer, Miss Catha 
 rine M. Sedgwick. Although it is several years since ab- 
 s*cnce from the city and increasing infirmities have prevent 
 ed her from being bodily present with us, we feel it as a fresh 
 bereavement to lose her dear and honored name from the 
 list of our officers. For more than twenty years Miss Sedg 
 wick was an active member of our society since 1848 its 
 First Directress and when, in 1863, she tendered her res 
 ignation of this office to the society, finding active participa 
 tion in its labor no longer possible for her, it was received 
 with an earnest and unanimous entreaty that she would still 
 suffer her name to head the list of our officers, which was 
 granted. And now that death must sever this last visible 
 link, we feel more sensibly how strong and tender are the 
 bonds which no separation can loosen, and how the memory 
 
Letter from Afrs. James S. Gibbons. 425 
 
 of her gentle presence, and loving counsel, and efficient help 
 will ever remain with us an abiding treasure. The touch 
 ing modesty which formed so striking a portion of her char 
 acter made it always impossible for her to realize the value 
 of her own work ; but we, who can remember the spirit of 
 love and tenderness which surrounded her like an atmos 
 phere, know that it fell like balsam on thousands of wound 
 ed and weary hearts, encouraging the hopeless and comfort 
 ing the forsaken, so that her memory is a perpetual inspira 
 tion and encouragement to us in the labor which she shared 
 with us during her life." 
 

 
LETTER TO MRS. WILLIAM MINOT, JR. 
 
 FROM THE REV. DR. DEWEY. 
 
 Mv DEAR MRS. MINOT, You have asked me to give you 
 my thoughts of Miss Seclgwick, and also such of her letters 
 to me, or passages from them, as were proper for publica 
 tion. I am sorry that I can find only extracts of this char 
 acter ; for I think the special interest of letters, as such, 
 consists in the whole of them being given ; and these let 
 ters, though very precious to me and of rare beauty, are so 
 full of the personality and the personal relations of the 
 writer, that their very charm forbids their appearing in print 
 I send you such extracts from them as I think proper for 
 your purpose, and I wish I could give you the biographical 
 sketch that you desire that is, any thing satisfactory to 
 myself. But I have always felt it difficult, I hardly know 
 why, to portray the character of my best friends ; it refuses 
 to yield to analysis like music, which one feels but can not 
 describe. But I will do what I can. 
 
 And with this view I should like to insert, if you think it 
 proper, what I said the Sunday after Miss Sedgwick s fu 
 neral, in a sermon which I delivered in Stockbridge. 
 
 My friends, I have been led thus to speak to you of what 
 we are, and may hope to be, by the solemn event and sad 
 obsequies of the past week. I have been drawn to do so, 
 invited by the considerate courtesy of your pastor, because 
 
428 Life of Catharine M. Serfgwick. 
 
 I could not bear that this occasion should pass without 
 some word spoken of that with which my mind and many 
 minds here are burdened and overburdened. That precious 
 and beautiful life which has lately come to its end ought 
 not to pass from us without some grateful and admiring 
 comment. I was once in the French Institute, at the fu 
 neral of a member, when his fellow-members rose, one after 
 another, and uttered their thoughts of him. I thought it a 
 fit and excellent custom ; and if those who shared in liter 
 ary labors and honors with our friend had been here with 
 us at her funeral, well might they have spoken of her, and 
 more justly and fully than I can undertake now to do ; but 
 they could not with more affection and admiration. 
 
 But comment there will be, not only through public chan 
 nels, but in many private words spoken in tones of respect, 
 affection, and tenderness. Long will be pronounced among 
 us the name of our friend as few names are pronounced. 
 To-day it is uttered with tears, but in days to come it will 
 be uttered with reverence and thanksgiving. 
 
 And let us be thankful now. Let not the only homage 
 we pay to departed worth be grief and mourning. Let us 
 not mourn as having no hope. We have a hope that enters 
 within the veil. Were it not so, this hour, this place, this as 
 sembly would be covered with impenetrable darkness and 
 gloom. But if we look forward we believe that all is bright 
 that the light of immortality is shining upon her path. 
 " The souls of the righteous," says an ancient writing, " arc 
 in the hand of God ; and there shall no torment touch them. 
 In the sight of the unwise they seem to die, and their depart 
 ure is taken for misery, and their going from us to be utter 
 destruction \ but they are in peace." Peace I after the toil 
 and weakness of life are over peace ! after life s fitful fever, 
 after pain and trouble, after weary days and restless nights 
 it is God s peace, and we believe it is given to her. 
 
Letter from the Jttrzt. Dr. JDtwey. 4219 
 
 And when we look backward and commemorate the past, 
 as we should, hers has been a favored life a good and 
 happy life. We have no need nor desire to speak of her 
 life or lot in terms of ordinary eulogy. Life is no light 
 thing to any. It is a hard strain upon every soul that passes 
 through it. It is hard to live wisely and well. Doubtless 
 she knew it and felt it all, sensitive and delicate as her na 
 ture was, though singularly controlled and balanced. Doubt 
 less she had her faults, though I confess I could never see 
 them. But there arc inward records where are written trial, 
 temptation, weakness, erring, regret, repentance ; and the 
 greatest burden and sorrow of all the highest and best 
 minds, I suppose, is that they live so poorly. 
 
 But hers was a good and happy life. Trained from her 
 childhood in yonder mansion, though she early lost a moth 
 er s watch and care, by a father of singular dignity of char 
 acter, of equally strong sense and affection ; with elder sis 
 ters, most affectionate guides and companions ; with four 
 brothers such as are rare to be found in any family, all de 
 voted to her ; with a younger generation of relations grow 
 ing up around her, all drawn to her as a common centre of 
 attraction ; and a home with one of them in her declining 
 days, made sweet and loving as any home could be ; with a 
 larger circle of constant and enthusiastic admirers ; with a 
 still wider circle composed of all reading persons among us, 
 whose hearts she touched with the wisdom of her thoughts 
 and the. grace of her pen hers has been a life to rejoice 
 over, and for which to be thankful and glad. 
 
 Her character was moulded, I always thought, of all good 
 elements, with as few discordant ones, if there were any, as 
 I ever knew in any human being sense and feeling, reason 
 and imagination, seriousness and cheerfulness, yet you could 
 not tell which of them predominated, so blended were they 
 all in her character ; and piety, deep and reverent, was hers. 
 
430 -Life f Catharine M. Sedgwick. 
 
 I touch upon the theme with awe. Who knows the thoughts, 
 the aspirations, the prayers that are breathed in such souls ? 
 Who knows what doubts and sorrowings over themselves 
 are passing in them ? But this world was pleasant to her ; 
 and how much she did to make it pleasant to others i did 
 it in ways of philanthropy and charity, but did it yet more, 
 unconsciously. Ah ! one is tempted to hope that he does, 
 possibly, something in that way, so little purposed and posi 
 tive good are we sensible of doing. But certainly she did. 
 Her life was a benediction, and a charm, and a blessing 
 wherever she moved. Who that has seen her here, in for 
 mer days, in her home walks, does not remember her very 
 step, so self-poised, elastic, and free ; her manner and bear 
 ing, so kindly and cheering, so full of fresh heart-warmth 
 and inspiration ; her word, ready for every one, so fit and 
 apt for every occasion of greeting or sympathy ; the neigh 
 borly love in which she lived with her people ? Hers was a 
 large humanity, stirred by every claim of sorrow or wrong, 
 and yet a penetrating insight and tenderness that never mis 
 took or missed the individual claim or call. She had as 
 keen a glance into the faults and foibles of society as any 
 one had, but her judgment always leaned to forbearance and 
 charity. I might proceed, but who shall tell all the charm 
 of her intercourse with her kindred and friends ? 
 
 And all this character was expressed in her writings. She 
 was not one whose private life was one thing, and whose 
 authorship another whose pen drew pictures of virtue and 
 goodness that were all imaginings and dreams, and not re 
 alities. Her sweet and graceful nature welled up and flowed 
 out in clear streams, that told of the fountain from which 
 they came. Her style was one of remarkable clearness, 
 simplicity, and beauty. She never wrote a letter, even the 
 shortest, without some felicitous turns of expression, which 
 seemed as natural to her as to breathe. She has written 
 
Letter from the Rev. Dr. Dewcy. 43 1 
 
 works which hold an honored place in our literature ; and 
 her smaller and simpler tales, which occupied her pen most 
 ly in the latter part of her literary career, are to-day running 
 their rounds, bearing gracious wisdom and loving counsels 
 to the homes of our people. 
 
 Her closing years, though with some painful and some 
 halting steps, were a fit and beautiful ending to such a life. 
 It seemed as if her setting sun suffused her spirit and all 
 things around her with a golden radiance. Never did she 
 seem so touched with the sense of all things beautiful. 
 Never did the books she read appear so excellent, never 
 her friends so admirable, never the scenes of nature so 
 lovely. She saw God in all things ; for nothing hath its 
 true beauty without that vision. She leaned upon an al 
 mighty arm, humble, indeed, and trembling, but held up by 
 the great Christian reliance upon the Infinite mercy. And 
 when at last a deep slumber fell upon her, and so she passed 
 away, that seems to me a friendly veil, cast by the All-loving 
 care over the tremblings and sorrows of parting. And when, 
 for hours after, her features took on the form of the loveli 
 est repose, and resumed all the beauty of earlier clays, that 
 seems to me an emblem of the soul s deep repose. 
 
 In speaking of Catharine Sedgwick, I would not use one 
 word that was conventional or customary, yet neither would 
 I restrain the natural language of friendship. Homage to 
 whom homage is due, for it is well and dearly earned ; and 
 it is, indeed, a notable thing to me, when I hear so much 
 about this bad world, to sec, rising amidst the general dark 
 ness rising every where, this* halo of admiration to the gift 
 ed and good. They are stars in this earthly sky ; and when 
 men say " all is shadow and night in this world/ 1 it is meet 
 that these stars should be seen and signalized ; and not 
 remarkable persons not authors nor artists alone, are such, 
 
432 Life of Catharine M. Scdgwick. 
 
 but many another many, indeed, from whose lives authors 
 and artists obtain their best ideals. 
 
 Catharine Sedgwick was an author of no mean fame, and 
 yet she was an original fine enough to draw from ; but she 
 never seemed to know that she was an author unless it was 
 forced upon her attention. The freedom, the ease, the sim 
 plicity, the abandon of her manners, never betrayed, in any 
 form, the slightest consciousness of success. Abandon, I 
 say ; and yet there was never any thing that touched the 
 dignity and delicacy of her deportment. A certain freedom 
 of genius there was in her mind and way a strain of senti 
 ment in her conversation, that was not amenable to ordi 
 nary conventionalism ; but her good sense always came out, 
 clear and fair, upon every question. Her opinions were 
 her own, but not eccentric nor singular ; formed by herself, 
 but not for herself -for the sake of justice and the reason 
 of things rather. Her judgment was her own, and not an 
 other s not a reverberation of the common talk. The min 
 gled frankness and fearlessness of her bearing told you that. 
 Fearlessness, I repeat ; and yet for qualifications must 
 come in, like many-colored threads in a woven fabric yet 
 there was a constitutional timidity in her nature. But for a 
 certain force, and even passion, in her whole constitution, 
 physical and mental, it would have been weakness. As it 
 was, a blending of opposite qualities made a singular beau 
 ty. There was a turn of the eye, I often thought, like a wild 
 animal s, if I may venture upon the phrase, expressive nei 
 ther of timidity nor fearlessness, but something finer than 
 either, and typical of what we call a natural grace. There 
 was something of a Southern flexibility in her temperament 
 and manners, a free swaying in her motions, and the very 
 expressions of her countenance to the mood within, not 
 often seen in a New England woman. Her gait in walking 
 showed this. No one could see her in the streets of her 
 
Letter from the JRev. )r. JDewey. 433 
 
 native village without being struck with it an unconven 
 tional freedom, a bearing independent of all constraint, and 
 yet so generous and kind-hearted to all around her, as made 
 one happier after meeting with her. 
 
 I am tempted to put into this too meager record a few 
 words that I have received from the hand of another : 
 
 " Dearly as I loved Miss Sedgwick, I never had such inti 
 mate personal relations with her as would enable me to make 
 a complete analysis of her character, while I stood too near 
 her in affection and reverence to make it easy to draw a 
 mere sketch. What I most loved in her, I think, was the 
 exquisite, unfailing, abounding sympathy which was always 
 ready for the need of great and small, and which, like the 
 fairy tent of Prince Ahmed, could include a nation, or shel 
 ter one poor trembling head. And it was not a sympathy 
 only with suffering, but a true taking into her generous heart 
 all the feelings of people far less gifted than herself their 
 little joys, their half-formed desires, their crude aspirations ; 
 every thing in them that was true and natural found a re 
 sponse in her, while her quick wit and delicate perceptions 
 made her easily see through any thing like affectation or 
 pretension. And I think I admired most her perfect wom 
 anliness, which, adorned with beautiful refinement of man 
 ner, infused into every thing she said and did a peculiar 
 feminine charm, gave an exquisite grace to the activity of 
 her intellect, and pervaded the rich cultivation of her mind 
 with a subtle sense of fitness and beauty. 
 
 " Her writings seem to me, in a remarkable degree, a reflex 
 of her nature. Her books arc not like reservoirs, into which 
 thought is laboriously and painfully pumped up, or brought 
 by elaborately -constructed conduits from afar, but rather 
 like mountain lakes, which gather their sweet waters from 
 the natural slopes around them, and reflect, in their lovely 
 mirrors, the sources from which they are drawn. Her cx- 
 
 T 
 
434 Life f Catharine M. Sedgivick. 
 
 cellent sense, her genial feeling, her high-bred case and 
 grace, delicate sarcasm, and pure and tender tone of senti 
 ment, are felt in each, and felt as a personal charm. I re 
 member particularly the letters scattered through her nov 
 els for their fine ease of expression, and careless, graceful 
 wealth of allusion and fancy. Some of those in * Redwood 
 and * The Linwoods* are especially admirable." 
 
 I have spoken already of Miss Seclgwick s family and her 
 position in it. It was her great happiness to find it, from 
 youth to age, the home of all protecting and cherishing af 
 fections. She had two sisters, one of whom only I knew 
 Mrs. Watson and knew only to admire the elevated tone of 
 all her thoughts and aims, the fervor of her sensibility, both 
 religious and social, and her fine enthusiasm, almost con 
 flicting with her natural good sense. 
 
 The four brothers of Miss Sedgwick were educated for 
 the law: they naturally followed the profession in which 
 their father, Judge Sedgwick, had been eminent, yet no one 
 of them followed him in the political career in which he had 
 been equally distinguished. The eldest, Theodore, prac 
 ticed law in Albany ; Harry and Robert, in New York ; 
 Charles, the youngest, at home. But he forsook the prac 
 tice, which did not suit the sweetness and delicacy of one 
 of the loveliest natures it was ever my fortune to be ac 
 quainted with. His name is fragrant in the memory of all 
 who knew him. When he died, the Irish laborers who lived 
 in his neighborhood nsked leave, and were permitted, to 
 bear his remains to the grave. His three elder brothers 
 were all men of marked ability and equal integrity. Harry 
 died earliest. The intellectual stamp upon him was per 
 haps strongest among the brothers a man with a singular 
 mixture of enthusiasm and penetration. He occupied the 
 place of counselor in the office in New York, while Robert 
 took charge of the active business of the firm, and had the 
 
Letter from the Rev. Dr. Dcwey. 435 
 
 confidence of those around him for sound judgment and 
 high-toned principle. Theodore died of apoplexy. For 
 some years he had looked to this as the end, and spoke of 
 it so cheerfully that a friend one day by his side expressed 
 surprise at it. " Yes," he said ; " why not ? It is the touch 
 Ithuriel." All the brothers married women of marked sense 
 and culture. Two of them, Mrs. Theodore and Mrs. Charles, 
 were known by excellent writings ; but the stately grace 
 and sweetness of the one, and the practical intelligence and 
 the full heart-life of the other, were finer than any books. 
 Mrs. Robert many must remember for her beauty, and a 
 cast of character in correspondence with it \ for both were 
 singularly high and high-bred, and rather exacting not of 
 homage, but of sincerity and sense from those around her. 
 And Mrs. Harry who can ever forgei her womanly dignity, 
 her strong sense, her larrc heart, and the Hashing eyes? 
 
 And when all were assembled in Stockbridge, as they 
 often were in summer days and often with distinguished 
 visitors from home and abroad it would be difficult to find 
 a family circle in which there was more good sense and 
 good culture, more case and freedom, or more gayety and 
 affection. Catharine was, perhaps, the central figure of the 
 group, at least to strangers ; but >t was a circle in which 
 every one had attractions, and it was emphatically a family 
 of love. The only contention about her, or with her, was 
 who of them should have the most of her society in their 
 homes. Hers was a position which, with its many and ten 
 der claims upon her, and her many philanthropic offices, 
 and her large correspondence at home and abroad, added 
 to her great literary labors, involved her in a life of cares. 
 She once wrote to us, " My normal condition is one of fa 
 tigue. * She is at rest. The busy day s life is over ; and 
 these families have passed like shadows over the earth. 
 Peace to her memory ! blessings so long as her memory 
 shall endure 1 
 

REMINISCENCES OF MISS SEDGWICK. 
 
 IIY WILLIAM CULLEN IWYANT, ESQ. 
 
 AT the desire of the friends of the late Catharine Maria 
 Sedgwick, I have put together some notices of her early lit 
 erary life, as it came under my observation, regretting that 
 I am not able to speak of it more at large. 
 
 I became acquainted with Miss Sedgwick some time after 
 the year 1816, precisely in what year I can not state. I had 
 attempted the practice of law in a neighborhood where there 
 was little employment for one of my profession, and, after a 
 twelvemonth s trial, I transferred my icsidcnce to Great 
 Harrington, near the birthplace and summer residence of 
 Miss Sedgwick, in the pleasant county of Berkshire. It 
 was on the third of October, in the year I have mentioned, 
 that I made the journey thither from Cummington. The 
 woods were in all the glory of autumn, and I well remember, 
 as I passed through Stockbridge, how much I was struck 
 by the beauty of the smooth, green meadows, on the banks 
 of that lovely river, which winds near the Sedgwick family 
 mansion, the Housatonic, and whose gently-flowing waters 
 seemed tinged with the gold and crimson of the trees that 
 overhung them. I admired no less the contrast between 
 this soft scene and the steep, craggy hills that overlooked 
 it, clothed with their many-colored forests. I had never be 
 fore seen the southern part of Berkshire, and congratulated 
 myself on becoming an inhabitant of so picturesque a region. 
 
438 {fe of Catharine M. Stdgwick. 
 
 At that time I had no acquaintance with the Seclgwick 
 family ; but the youngest of them, Charles Seclgwick, a man 
 of most genial and engaging manners and agreeable con 
 versation, as well as of great benevolence and worth, was a 
 member of the Berkshire bar, and by him, two or three years 
 afterward, I was introduced to the others, who, from the 
 first, seemed to take a pleasure in being kind to me. I re 
 member very well the appearance of Miss Seclgwick at that 
 period of her life. She was well formed, slightly inclining 
 to plumpness, with regular features^ eyes beaming with be 
 nevolence, a pleasing smile, a soft voice, and gentle and 
 captivating manners. The portrait of her by Ingham, 
 painted about that time, or a little later, although not re 
 garded, I think, by the family as a perfect likeness, yet brings 
 to my mind her image as I saw her then, with that mingled 
 expression of thoughtfulncss and benignity with which her 
 features were informed. 
 
 It was shortly after I became acquainted with her that, 
 at her request, I wrote several hymns for a collection which 
 one of her friends in New York was making. Two of these 
 are included in the collection of my poems, one beginning 
 with the line 
 
 " Deem not thai they nrc blest alone," 
 
 and the other with the line 
 
 Whoa ho who from the scourge of wrong." 
 
 They were kindly received, and I was encouraged by her in 
 my hopes of literary success. This was in the year 1820. 
 At that time Miss Seclgwick had not appeared as an author, 
 but her habits were understood to be literary, and in 1822 
 her " New England Tale" was published by Bliss White, 
 of New York, with a Preface written in March of that year. 
 I have a copy of the first edition of that work, the pages 
 much thumbed, worn, and soiled, and with loose leaves, 
 
Reminiscences of Miss Sedgwick. 439 
 
 ready to drop out when the book is opened, attesting the 
 number of times it has been borrowed, and the great num 
 ber of times it has been read. The New England Tale be 
 came popular immediately ; every body was eager to see it, 
 and it passed into the hands of thousands who were by no 
 means habitual readers of novels, and who found themselves 
 none the worse for having read it. It was the first time 
 that the beautiful valleys of our county had been made the 
 scene of the well-devised adventures of imaginary person 
 ages, and we all felt that, by being invested with new asso 
 ciations, they had gained a new interest. In the Preface 
 to the work Miss Scdgwick had thought it necessary to say 
 that " no personal allusions, however remote, were intended 
 to be made to any individual," with the exception of the 
 real personage whom she had introduced under tlv. name 
 of Crazy Bet. The experience of Mrs. Kirklancl, after the 
 publication of her sprightly and amusing sketches of west 
 ern life, entitled "A New Home : Who ll Follow?" has since 
 shown that this precaution was a prudent one. Mrs. Kirk- 
 land of course made her personal observation the basis of 
 her sketches of life in the new settlements of Michigan, and, 
 from the moment the work appeared, her neighbors in that 
 region began so zealously and with such universal consent 
 to appropriate to themselves the characters described in it, 
 and were so little pleased with them, although they were not 
 drawn with an unkindly hand, that the author soon became 
 very willing to exchange her Western residence for one in 
 New York, her native city. With regard to Crazy Bet, the 
 sketch from real life which Miss Sedgwick, in the New En 
 gland Talc, had wrought up with a fine poetic effect, I re 
 member an incident to which I was witness while I lived in 
 Great Barrington, and which I have always, whether rightly 
 or not, associated with Crazy Bet. The village, unlike what 
 it now is, was then a quiet little place two rows of scattered 
 
440 -Lift of Catharine M. 
 
 dwellings under the shadow of the great elms which almost 
 met over the road. An abundant shower had fallen on a 
 warm summer day ; the clouds suddenly dispersed ; the sun 
 broke forth in a flood of amber light ; the birds resumed 
 their song ; the air was cooled and the verdure brightened, 
 when suddenly I heard a loud, clear, and not unmelodious 
 female voice singing, and saw a middle-aged woman march 
 ing along the street, in which was no other passenger. The 
 notes were joyous and exultant, and seemed like an hosanna 
 called forth by that glorious return of sunshine. 
 
 In 1824 appeared Miss Sedgwick s second work, Red 
 wood, which by some is regarded as her best. I ventured 
 to make it the subject of a somewhat elaborate criticism in 
 the North American Review of April, 1825. This was my 
 most ambitious attempt in prose up to that time. I took it 
 up the other day with some misgivings, not having looked 
 at it for many years, and was a little amused to see that I 
 had dispensed both praise and blame with as magisterial 
 an air as if I had been the most experienced of critics. 
 Redwood was warmly received by the public, and such was 
 its fame that it was translated into several languages of the 
 European continent. Its success was fully deserved, were 
 it only for the character of Debby Lenox, the clear-headed, 
 conscientious, resolute Yankee spinster, a combination of 
 noble and homely qualities so peculiar, yet so probable, and 
 made so interesting by the part she takes in the plot, that 
 as we read we always welcome her reappearance, and she 
 takes her place in our memory with the remarkable person 
 ages we have met with in real life. 
 
 In 1825, by the advice of Miss Sedgwick s brother, Hen 
 ry D. Sedgwick, I came to live in New York a fortunate 
 transplantation for me, for which I owe the Sedgwick family 
 many thanks. I was kindly received by them all, and my 
 interests were promoted by them as far as was in their pow- 
 
of Miss Scdgwick. 441 
 
 er. I now saw more of Miss Sedgwick than I had previ 
 ously done. The houses of her two brothers the one whom 
 I have already mentioned, and Robert Sedgwick both men 
 of high standing at the bar, were ihe resort of the best com 
 pany in New York, cultivated men and women, literati, art 
 ists, and, occasionally, foreigners of distinction. Here I 
 often found Verplanck, who had shortly before published his 
 work on the Evidences of the Christian Religion, and was 
 then occupied in getting through the press his able Essay 
 on the Doctrine of Contracts. Here I met the novelist, J. 
 Fenimore Cooper, who, however, soon after had a difference 
 with Robert Sedgwick, which put an end to his intimacy 
 with the family. At these houses I met Robert C. Sands, 
 the wit and poet, whose Yamoyden, written by him in con 
 junction with James Wallis Eastburn, had just before ap 
 peared ; and Hillhouse, author of Percy s Masque, and the 
 finer drama of Hadad, which he was then writing. Halleck, 
 then in the height of his poetical reputation, was among the 
 visitors, abd Anthony Bleeker, who read every thing that 
 came out, and sometimes wrote for the magazines, an amus 
 ing companion, always ready with his puns, of whom Miss 
 Eliza Fenno, before her marriage to Verplanck in 1811, 
 wrote that she had gone into the country to take refuge from 
 Anthony Bleeker s puns. Here was frequently seen Morse, 
 then an artist, unconscious of the renown which was yet to 
 crown him as the author of the most wonderful invention 
 of the age ; and Cole, the landscape pa-inter, then in the 
 early promise of his genius. Here, too, the clear, magnetic 
 voice of Mrs. Nicholas was sometimes heard reciting Hal- 
 leek s Marco Bozzaris, or one of Lockhart s ballads from 
 the Spanish, to a spell-bound and breathless audience. 
 
 Henry D. Sedgwick was a philanthropist and reformer, 
 without the faults which too often make that class of per 
 sons disagreeable. He was foremost in all worthy enter- 
 
 T 2 
 
442 Life of Catharine M, Sedgwick. 
 
 prises, but did not fatigue people with them. He took a 
 deep interest in the project of reducing our statutes to a reg 
 ular and intelligible code, and wrote an able pamphlet in its 
 favor. I remember vividly the personal interest he took in 
 one of the authors of that code- -Benjamin F. Butler, then 
 of Albany, and afterward, under the administration of Jack 
 son, Attorney General of the United States how much he 
 was impressed with the purity of his character and the sin 
 gleness of his mind, and how much we all admired him, on 
 a visit which he made to New York, then a young man, with 
 finely-chiseled features, made a little pale by study, and ani 
 mated by an expression both of the greatest intelligence and 
 ingenuousness. Mr. Sedgwick was warmly in favor of that 
 change which has since been made in our laws giving the 
 wife the absolute disposal of her own property the advan 
 tages of which he was fond of illustrating by the marital law 
 of Louisiana. He was a zealous friend of universal free 
 dom, and allowed no escaped slave from the South to be 
 sent back if he could prevent it. I remember going with 
 him on board a vessel just arrived from a Southern port, ly 
 ing at a wharf in New York, in which it was said that a col 
 ored man was detained in order to bo sent back into slavery. 
 We found no indications of the presence of -any such per 
 son, but if we had, he would have been immediately liber 
 ated by a writ of habeas corpus. 
 
 Meantime Miss Sedgwick was engaged in a work of some 
 what humbler aim than Redwood* and in 1825 u as publish 
 ed The Travelers, a work professing to give the narrative of 
 a journey made by two very young persons, a brother and 
 sister, with their parents, to Niagara and the great chain of 
 our northern lakes. On their way these travelers meet every 
 where some incident or some sight, which is made the source 
 of entertainment and instruction. This was the first of Miss 
 Sedgwick s books intended for young persons ; the public 
 
Reminiscences of Miss Sectgivick, 443 
 
 gave it a ready welcome, and its success, I suppose, encour 
 aged her in after years to write the scries of works intended 
 for young readers which became so deservedly popular. I 
 was at that time one of the editors of a short-lived monthly 
 periodical the New York Review in which I noticed the 
 work, and gave one of the charming little narratives with 
 which it is> interspersed. 
 
 In 1827 appeared Hope Leslie, in which Miss Sedgwick 
 gave a picture of domestic life among the early settlers of 
 New England. Very distinct traces of that life, and of the 
 peculiar ideas andc haracter of the original Puritan colonists, 
 were then to be observed in many New England neighbor 
 hoods, though they have since, in this age of rapid changes, 
 almost disappeared. With the aid of these, and the early 
 literature of our colonies, Miss Sedgwick accomplished her 
 task, as a skillful limner, by the help of a mask taken from 
 the face of the dead and hints given by surviving friends, 
 produces what is admitted to be a characteristic likeness of 
 one who is no more. The old Puritan spirit, tempered 
 somewhat by the gentler medium through which it has pass 
 ed, informs every page of the book. It was now commonly 
 remarked that Miss Sedgwick s literary reputation was en 
 tirely of home -growth, and that her works were admired, 
 and added to our household libraries without asking, as had 
 too often been the case in regard to other American authors, 
 permission from the critics of Great Britain. Hope Leslie 
 passed through several editions, and was, I think, more 
 widely read than any of Miss Sedgwick s previous works. 
 
 Three years afterward, her fourth novel, Clarence : a 
 Tale of our own Times, was published in Philadelphia in 
 two volumes, and soon nfter it was brought out in London 
 in three. I think this has been the least read of any of her 
 larger works. 
 
 A little later the Brothers Harper conceived the idea of 
 
444 *f e f Catharine M. Setigwick. 
 
 publishing a collection of tales by several well-known au 
 thors, and applied to Miss Sedgwick to become one of the 
 contributors. She complied, and two volumes were pub 
 lished in 1832, to which Robert C. Sands furnished an 
 amusing introduction, and gave the collection the odd and 
 not very well-sounding title of Tales of the Glauber Spa. 
 The contribution of Miss Sedgwick was a tale of the times 
 of Charlemagne, entitled Le Bossu, in which she skillfully 
 availed herself of the elements of the picturesque to be found 
 in the customs of that warlike age, and the semi-barbarous 
 magnificence of the court of that mighty monarch. The 
 other tales in the collection were .written by Sands, James 
 K. Paulding, William Leggett, and myself. 
 
 In 1834 I went abroad, and remained for about two years, 
 during which I could only observe Miss Sedgwick s literary 
 career from a distance. During my absence, in 1835, she 
 published The Linwoods, or Sixty Years Since in America, 
 a charming tale of home life, with the incidents of which are 
 in part interwoven those of our revolutionary history. This 
 is thought by many to be the best of her novels properly so 
 called, as it was the last.* There was no lack of warmth in 
 the welcome which the public gave it ; edition after edition 
 was called for, and the author had every assurance that oth 
 er works of the same kind from her hand would meet with 
 equal favor, yet she adventured no farther in this work. 
 Whether it was that she feared that it might not be in her 
 power to excel what she had already written in this way, or, 
 as is more probable, that she determined to devote her tal 
 ents to purposes which more directly regarded the good of 
 
 * This is a mistake, but, aa it has been put in type, I prefer to correct 
 it in a note. In 1857, twenty-two years after the appearance of the Lin- 
 woods, Miss Sedgwick gave the reading world another novel, entitled 
 Married or Single, which by some is preferred to any of her previous 
 ones. Not* fy> IV. C. Bryant. 
 
Reminiscences of Miss Sedgivick. 445 
 
 society, from that time she composed only works of a less 
 ambitious and elaborate character ; all of them designed to 
 illustrate some Ir.json in human life, to enforce some duty, 
 or warn from some error of conduct, and all most happily 
 adapted to this purpose. I recollect a singular attestation 
 to the power of these writings over the feelings of the read 
 er. Mr. Wesley Harper, one of the brothers who establish 
 ed the great publishing house which bears their name, and 
 which published several of these minor works of Miss Sedg- 
 wick, was in the practice of revising the proof-sheets before 
 they were sent to the press. In performing that office, he 
 once remarked to me that he was fairly carried away by his 
 emotions, and could not restrain himself from weeping pro 
 fusely. I can assure the reader that it is no easy feat to 
 draw tears from the eyes of a veteran proof-reader. 
 
 About the year 1840 Miss Sedgwick visited Europe. A 
 pleasant series of letters relating to this visit, addressed to 
 her kinsfolk at home, appeared in 1841. I remember an 
 anecdote related by her of her sojourn in England, which 
 does not appear in her book. A lady asked her, " Have you 
 any large old trees in America?" And then, checking her 
 self before she could be answered, she said, " Oh, I beg your 
 pardon ; your country has not been settled long enough for 
 that I" I have since heard this anecdote matched by anoth 
 er, which is anonymous, and I fear not so authentic, of a 
 lady in England who wrote to her friend in Massachusetts 
 that a fair was to be held in her neighborhood for some 
 charitable purpose, to which she would be glad to send 
 something curious from America, and that if, in some of his 
 drives or rambles, he could, without much trouble, get for 
 her a vial of water from the cataract of Niagara, and chop 
 off a small piece of the Natural Bridge, and bring home for 
 her some little matter from the Mammoth Cave, she would 
 be infinitely obliged. 
 
446 -Life of Catharine AT. 
 
 After this time I saw comparatively little of Miss Sedg- 
 wick. Both the brothers who resided in New York were 
 dead ; her time was divided between her friends in the 
 neighborhood of Boston and those in her native Berkshire, 
 and I was obliged to content myself with reading her works 
 as they came from the press. One of these, which gave me 
 particular pleasure, was her Life of Joseph Curtis, of New 
 York, who passed a long life in works of charity and mercy, 
 in labors for the relief of the wretched and the instruction 
 of the ignorant, and whose example she has admirably held 
 up to imitation. I often thought of her record of this good 
 man s most useful, unostentatious labors when the Old 
 World and the New vied with each other in paying honors 
 to George Peabody, the opulent banker, whose whole life 
 was occupied in heaping up millions to be bestowed at last 
 in showy charities, whose funeral procession was a fleet fur 
 nished by two mighty empires, crossing the wide ocean that 
 separate the two great continents of Christendom, from a 
 harbor darkened with the ensigns of mourning in Europe to 
 another jn America, while the departure of Joseph Curtis 
 called forth no general manifestation of sorrow. But the 
 memoir of Miss Sedgwick is his monument, and it is a noble 
 and worthy memorial of his virtues and services. 
 
 I am sorry that my materials for that part of Miss Sedg- 
 wick s literary life of which I have undertaken to speak are 
 so scanty, and that I can recollect no more of it. Admi 
 rable as it was, her home life was more so ; and beautiful as 
 were the examples set forth in her writings, her own exam 
 ple was, if possible, still more beautiful. Her unerring sense 
 of rectitude, her love of truth, her ready sympathy, her active 
 and cheerful beneficence, her winning and gracious manners, 
 the perfection of high breeding, make up a character, the 
 idea of which, as it rests on my mind, 1 would not exchange 
 for any thing in her own interesting works of fiction. 
 
Miss Sedgwick s Works. 
 
 MUs Sedgwick has marked individuality ; he \\ritca with a higher 
 aim titan merely .-. amuac. Indeed, (he rare endowments of her mind 
 depend in an unusual degree upon the moral qualities with which they 
 .ire united fur their value. Animated by a cheerful philosophy, and 
 anxious to pour its sunshine into every place where there is lurking 
 care or suffering, she selects for illustration the scenes of everyday cx- 
 periuncu, paints them with exact fidelity, and seeks to diffuse over the 
 mind a delicious serenity, and in the heart kind feelings and sympathies, 
 and wise ambition and steady hope. Her style is colloquial, picturesque, 
 ami marked by a facile grace which is evidently a gift of nature. Her 
 characters are nicely drawn and delicately contrasted ; her delineation 
 of manners decidedly the best that has appeared. Prose li ri/trs oj" 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF CATHARINE 
 M. SEDGIVICX. Edited by MARY K. 
 DiiWiiY. Portrait on Steel and Frontispiece. 
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 LOVE TOKEN FOX CHILDREN. De 
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