Biographical Sketches / Nathaniel Hawthorne

MRS. HUTCHINSON.

The character of this female suggests a train of thought which will form

as natural an Introduction to her story, as most of the Prefaces to

Gay's Fables, or the tales of Prior; besides that, the general soundness

of the moral may excuse any want of present applicability. We will not

look for a living resemblance of Mrs. Hutchinson, though the search

might not be altogether fruitless. But there are portentous

indications, changes gradually taking place in the habits and feelings

of the gentle sex, which seem to threaten our posterity with many of

those public women, whereof one was a burden too grievous for our

fathers. The press, however, is now the medium through which feminine

ambition chiefly manifests itself; and we will not anticipate the period

(trusting to be gone hence ere it arrive) when fair orators shall be as

numerous as the fair authors of our own day. The hastiest glance may

show how much of the texture and body of cisatlantic literature is the

work of those slender fingers from which only a light and fanciful

embroidery has heretofore been required, that might sparkle upon the

garment without enfeebling the web. Woman's intellect should never give

the tone to that of man; and even her morality is not exactly the

material for masculine virtue. A false liberality, which mistakes the

strong division-lines of Nature for arbitrary distinctions, and a

courtesy, which might polish criticism, but should never soften it, have

done their best to add a girlish feebleness to the tottering infancy of

our literature. The evil is likely to be a growing one. As yet, the

great body of American women are a domestic race; but when a continuance

of ill-judged incitements shall have turned their hearts away from the

fireside, there are obvious circumstances which will render female pens

more numerous and more prolific than those of men, though but equally

encouraged; and (limited, of course, by the scanty support of the

public, but increasing indefinitely within those limits) the inkstained

Amazons will expel their rivals by actual pressure, and petticoats wave

triumphantly over all the field. But, allowing that such forebodings

are slightly exaggerated, is it good for woman's self that the path of

feverish hope, of tremulous success, of bitter and ignominious

disappointment, should be left wide open to her? Is the prize worth her

having, if she win it? Fame does not increase the peculiar respect

which men pay to female excellence, and there is a delicacy (even in

rude bosoms, where few would think to find it) that perceives, or

fancies, a sort of impropriety in the display of woman's natal mind to

the gaze of the world, with indications by which its inmost secrets may

be searched out. In fine, criticism should examine with a stricter,

instead of a more indulgent eye, the merits of females at its bar,

because they are to justify themselves for an irregularity which men do

not commit in appearing there; and woman, when she feels the impulse of

genius like a command of Heaven within her, should be aware that she is

relinquishing a part of the loveliness of her sex, and obey the inward

voice with sorrowing reluctance, like the Arabian maid who bewailed the

gift of prophecy. Hinting thus imperfectly at sentiments which may be

developed on a future occasion, we proceed to consider the celebrated

subject of this sketch.

Mrs. Hutchinson was a woman of extraordinary talent and strong

imagination, whom the latter quality, following the general direction

taken by the enthusiasm of the times, prompted to stand forth as a

reformer in religion. In her native country, she had shown symptoms of

irregular and daring thought, but, chiefly by the influence of a

favorite pastor, was restrained from open indiscretion. On the removal

of this clergyman, becoming dissatisfied with the ministry under which

she lived, she was drawn in by the great tide of Puritan emigration, and

visited Massachusetts within a few years after its first settlement.

But she bore trouble in her own bosom, and could find no peace in this

chosen land. She soon began to promulgate strange and dangerous

opinions, tending, in the peculiar situation of the colony, and from the

principles which were its basis, and indispensable for its temporary

support, to eat into its very existence. We shall endeavor to give a

more practical idea of this part of her course.

It is a summer evening. The dusk has settled heavily upon the woods,

the waves, and the Trimountain peninsula, increasing that dismal aspect

of the embryo town, which was said to have drawn tears of despondency

from Mrs. Hutchinson, though she believed that her mission thither was

divine. The houses, straw thatched and lowly roofed, stand irregularly

along streets that are yet roughened by the roots of the trees, as if

the forest, departing at the approach of man, had left its reluctant

footprints behind. Most of the dwellings are lonely and silent: from a

few we may hear the reading of some sacred text, or the quiet voice of

prayer; but nearly all the sombre life of the scene is collected near

the extremity of the village. A crowd of hooded women, and of men in

steeple-hats and close-cropped hair, are assembled at the door and open

windows of a house newly built. An earnest expression glows in every

face; and some press inward, as if the bread of life were to be dealt

forth, and they feared to lose their share; while others would fain hold

them back, but enter with them, since they may not be restrained. We,

also, will go in, edging through the thronged doorway to an apartment

which occupies the whole breadth of the house. At the upper end, behind

a table, on which are placed the Scriptures and two glimmering lamps, we

see a woman, plainly attired, as befits her ripened years: her hair,

complexion, and eyes are dark, the latter somewhat dull and heavy, but

kindling up with a gradual brightness. Let us look round upon the

hearers. At her right hand his countenance suiting well with the gloomy

light which discovers it, stands Vane, the youthful governor, preferred

by a hasty judgment of the people over all the wise and hoary heads that

had preceded him to New England. In his mysterious eyes we may read a

dark enthusiasm, akin to that of the woman whose cause he has espoused,

combined with a shrewd worldly foresight, which tells him that her

doctrines will be productive of change and tumult, the elements of his

power and delight. On her left, yet slightly drawn back, so as to

evince a less decided support, is Cotton, no young and hot enthusiast,

but a mild, grave man in the decline of life, deep in all the learning

of the age, and sanctified in heart, and made venerable in feature, by

the long exercise of his holy profession. He, also, is deceived by the

strange fire now laid upon the altar; and he alone among his brethren is

excepted in the denunciation of the new apostle, as sealed and set apart

by Heaven to the work of the ministry. Others of the priesthood stand

full in front of the woman, striving to beat her down with brows of

wrinkled iron, and whispering sternly and significantly among themselves

as she unfolds her seditious doctrines, and grows warm in their support.

Foremost is Hugh Peters, full of holy wrath, and scarce containing

himself from rushing forward to convict her of damnable heresies.

There, also, is Ward, meditating a reply of empty puns, and quaint

antitheses, and tinkling jests that puzzle us with nothing but a sound.

The audience are variously affected; but none are indifferent. On the

foreheads of the aged, the mature, and strong-minded, you may generally

read steadfast disapprobation, though here and there is one whose faith

seems shaken in those whom lie had trusted for years. The females, on

the other hand, are shuddering and weeping, and at times they cast a

desolate look of fear around them; while the young men lean forward,

fiery and impatient, fit instruments for whatever rash deed may be

suggested. And what is the eloquence that gives rise to all these

passions? The woman tells then (and cites texts from the Holy Book to

prove her words) that they have put their trust in unregenerated and

uncommissioned men, and have followed them into the wilderness for

nought. Therefore their hearts are turning from those whom they had

chosen to lead them to heaven; and they feel like children who have been

enticed far from home, and see the features of their guides change all

at once, assuming a fiendish shape in some frightful solitude.

These proceedings of Mrs. Hutchinson could not long be endured by the

provincial government. The present was a most remarkable case, in which

religious freedom was wholly inconsistent with public safety, and where

the principles of an illiberal age indicated the very course which must

have been pursued by worldly policy and enlightened wisdom. Unity of

faith was the star that had guided these people over the deep; and a

diversity of sects would either have scattered them from the land to

which they had as yet so few attachments, or, perhaps, have excited a

diminutive civil war among those who had come so far to worship

together. The opposition to what may be termed the Established Church

had now lost its chief support by the removal of Vane from office, and

his departure for England; and Mr. Cotton began to have that light in

regard to his errors, which will sometimes break in upon the wisest and

most pious men, when their opinions are unhappily discordant with those

of the powers that be. A synod, the first in New England, was speedily

assembled, and pronounced its condemnation of the obnoxious doctrines.

Mrs. Hutchinson was next summoned before the supreme civil tribunal, at

which, however, the most eminent of the clergy were present, and appear

to have taken a very active part as witnesses and advisers. We shall

here resume the more picturesque style of narration.

It is a place of humble aspect where the elders of the people are met,

sitting in judgment upon the disturber of Israel. The floor of the low

and narrow hall is laid with planks hewn by the axe; the beams of the

roof still wear the rugged bark with which they grew up in the forest;

and the hearth is formed of one broad, unhammered stone, heaped with

logs that roll their blaze and smoke up a chimney of wood and clay. A

sleety shower beats fitfully against the windows, driven by the November

blast, which comes howling onward from the northern desert, the

boisterous and unwelcome herald of a New England winter. Rude benches

are arranged across the apartment, and along its sides, occupied by men

whose piety and learning might have entitled them to seats in those high

councils of the ancient church, whence opinions were sent forth to

confirm or supersede the gospel in the belief of the whole world and of

posterity. Here are collected all those blessed fathers of the land,

who rank in our veneration next to the evangelists of Holy Writ; and

here, also, are many, unpurified from the fiercest errors of the age,

and ready to propagate the religion of peace by violence. In the

highest place sits Winthrop,--a man by whom the innocent and guilty

might alike desire to be judged; the first confiding in his integrity

and wisdom, the latter hoping in his mildness, Next is Endicott, who

would stand with his drawn sword at the gate of heaven, and resist to

the death all pilgrims thither, except they travelled his own path. The

infant eyes of one in this assembly beheld the fagots blazing round the

martyrs in Bloody Mary's time: in later life he dwelt long at Leyden,

with the first who went from England for conscience' sake; and now, in

his weary age, it matters little where he lies down to die. There are

others whose hearts were smitten in the high meridian of ambitious hope,

and whose dreams still tempt them with the pomp of the Old World and the

din of its crowded cities, gleaming and echoing over the deep. In the

midst, and in the centre of all eyes, we see the woman. She stands

loftily before her judges with a determined brow; and, unknown to

herself, there is a flash of carnal pride half hidden in her eye, as she

surveys the many learned and famous men whom her doctrines have put in

fear. They question her; and her answers are ready and acute: she

reasons with them shrewdly, and brings Scripture in support of every

argument. The deepest controversialists of that scholastic day find

here a woman, whom all their trained and sharpened intellects are

inadequate to foil. But, by the excitement of the contest, her heart is

made to rise and swell within her, and she bursts forth into eloquence.

She tells them of the long unquietness which she had endured in England,

perceiving the corruption of the Church, and yearning for a purer and

more perfect light, and how, in a day of solitary prayer, that light was

given. She claims for herself the peculiar power of distinguishing

between the chosen of man, and the sealed of Heaven, and affirms that

her gifted eye can see the glory round the foreheads of saints,

sojourning in their mortal state. She declares herself commissioned to

separate the true shepherds from the false, and denounces present and

future judgments on the laud, if she be disturbed in her celestial

errand. Thus the accusations are proved from her own mouth. Her judges

hesitate; and some speak faintly in her defence; but, with a few

dissenting voices, sentence is pronounced, bidding her go out from among

them, and trouble the land no more.

Mrs. Hutchinson's adherents throughout the colony were now disarmed; and

she proceeded to Rhode Island, an accustomed refuge for the exiles of

Massachusetts in all seasons of persecution. Her enemies believed that

the anger of Heaven was following her, of which Governor Winthrop does

not disdain to record a notable instance, very interesting in a

scientific point of view, but fitter for his old and homely narrative

than for modern repetition. In a little time, also, she lost her

husband, who is mentioned in history only as attending her footsteps,

and whom we may conclude to have been (like most husbands of celebrated

women) a mere insignificant appendage of his mightier wife. She now

grew uneasy away frown the Rhode Island colonists, whose liberality

towards her, at an era when liberality was not esteemed a Christian

virtue, probably arose from a comparative insolicitude on religious

matters, more distasteful to Mrs. Hutchinson than even the

uncompromising narrowness of the Puritans. Her final movement was to

lead her family within the limits of the Dutch jurisdiction, where,

having felled the trees of a virgin soil, she became herself the virtual

head, civil and ecclesiastical, of a little colony.

Perhaps here she found the repose hitherto so vainly sought. Secluded

from all whose faith she could not govern, surrounded by the dependants

over whom she held an unlimited influence, agitated by none of the

tumultuous billows which were left swelling behind her, we may suppose

that, in the stillness of Nature, her heart was stilled. But her

impressive story was to have an awful close. Her last scene is as

difficult to be described as a shipwreck, where the shrieks of the

victims die unheard, along a desolate sea, and a shapeless mass of agony

is all that can be brought home to the imagination. The savage foe was

on the watch for blood. Sixteen persons assembled at the, evening

prayer: in the deep midnight their cry rang through the forest; and

daylight dawned upon the lifeless clay of all but one. It was a

circumstance not to be unnoticed by our stern ancestors, in considering

the fate of her who had so troubled their religion, that an infant

daughter, the sole survivor amid the terrible destruction of her

mother's household, was bred in a barbarous faith, and never learned the

way to the Christian's heaven. Yet we will hope that there the mother

and child have met.

***

SIR WILLIAM PHIPS.

Few of the personages of past times (except such as have gained renown

in fireside legends as well as in written history) are anything more

than mere names to their successors. They seldom stand up in our

imaginations like men. The knowledge communicated by the historian and

biographer is analogous to that which we acquire of a country by the

map,--minute, perhaps, and accurate, and available for all necessary

purposes, but cold and naked, and wholly destitute of the mimic charm

produced by landscape-painting. These defects are partly remediable,

and even without an absolute violation of literal truth, although by

methods rightfully interdicted to professors of biographical exactness.

A license must be assumed in brightening the materials which time has

rusted, and in tracing out half-obliterated inscriptions on the columns

of antiquity: Fancy must throw her reviving light on the faded incidents

that indicate character, whence a ray will be reflected, more or less

vividly, on the person to be described. The portrait of the ancient

governor whose name stands at the head of this article will owe any

interest it may possess, not to his internal self, but to certain

peculiarities of his fortune. These must be briefly noticed.

The birth and early life of Sir William Phips were rather an

extraordinary prelude to his subsequent distinction. He was one of

the twenty-six children of a gunsmith, who exercised his trade--where

hunting and war must have given it a full encouragement--in a small

frontier settlement near the mouth of the river Kennebec. Within the

boundaries of the Puritan provinces, and wherever those governments

extended an effectual sway, no depth nor solitude of the wilderness

could exclude youth from all the common opportunities of moral, and far

more than common ones of religious education. Each settlement of the

Pilgrims was a little piece of the Old World inserted into the New. It

was like Gideon's fleece, unwet with dew: the desert wind that breathed

over it left none of its wild influences there. But the first settlers

of Maine and New Hampshire were led thither entirely by carnal motives:

their governments were feeble, uncertain, sometimes nominally annexed to

their sister colonies, and sometimes asserting a troubled independence.

Their rulers might be deemed, in more than one instance, lawless

adventurers, who found that security in the forest which they had

forfeited in Europe. Their clergy (unlike that revered band who

acquired so singular a fame elsewhere in New England) were too often

destitute of the religious fervor which should have kept them in the

track of virtue, unaided by the restraints of human law and the dread of

worldly dishonor; and there are records of lamentable lapses on the part

of those holy men, which, if we may argue the disorder of the sheep from

the unfitness of the shepherd, tell a sad tale as to the morality of the

eastern provinces. In this state of society, the future governor grew

up; and many years after, sailing with a fleet and an army to make war

upon the French, he pointed out the very hills where be had reached the

age of manhood, unskilled even to read and write. The contrast between

the commencement and close of his life was the effect of casual

circumstances. During a considerable time, he was a mariner, at a

period when there was much license on the high-seas. After attaining to

some rank in the English navy, he heard of an ancient Spanish wreck off

the coast of Hispaniola, of such mighty value, that, according to the

stories of the day, the sunken gold might be seen to glisten, and the

diamonds to flash, as the triumphant billows tossed about their spoil.

These treasures of the deep (by the aid of certain noblemen, who claimed

the lion's share) Sir William Phips sought for, and recovered, and was

sufficiently enriched, even after an honest settlement with the partners

of his adventure. That the land might give him honor, as the sea had

given him wealth, he received knighthood from King James. Returning to

New England, he professed repentance of his sins (of which, from the

nature both of his early and more recent life, there could scarce fail

to be some slight accumulation), was baptized, and, on the accession of

the Prince of Orange to the throne, became the first governor under the

second charter. And now, having arranged these preliminaries, we shall

attempt to picture forth a day of Sir William's life, introducing no

very remarkable events, because history supplies us with none such

convertible to our purpose.

It is the forenoon of a day in summer, shortly after the governor's

arrival; and he stands upon his doorsteps, preparatory to a walk through

the metropolis. Sir William is a stout man, an inch or two below the

middle size, and rather beyond the middle point of life. His dress is

of velvet,--a dark purple, broadly embroidered; and his sword-hilt and

the lion's head of his cane display specimens of the gold from the

Spanish wreck. On his head, in the fashion of the court of Louis XIV.,

is a superb full-bottomed periwig, amid whose heap of ringlets his face

shows like a rough pebble in the setting that befits a diamond. Just

emerging from the door are two footmen,--one an African slave of shining

ebony, the other an English bond-servant, the property of the governor

for a term of years. As Sir William comes down the steps, he is met by

three elderly gentlemen in black, grave and solemn as three tombstones

on a ramble from the burying-ground. These are ministers of the town,

among whom we recognize Dr. Increase Mather, the late provincial agent

at the English court, the author of the present governor's appointment,

and the right arm of his administration. Here follow many bows and a

deal of angular politeness on both sides. Sir William professes his

anxiety to re-enter the house, and give audience to the reverend

gentlemen: they, on the other hand, cannot think of interrupting his

walk; and the courteous dispute is concluded by a junction of the

parties; Sir William and Dr. Mather setting forth side by side, the two

other clergymen forming the centre of the column, and the black and

white footmen bringing up the rear. The business in hand relates to the

dealings of Satan in the town of Salem. Upon this subject, the

principal ministers of the province have been consulted; and these three

eminent persons are their deputies, commissioned to express a doubtful

opinion, implying, upon the whole, an exhortation to speedy and vigorous

measures against the accused. To such councils, Sir William, bred in

the forest and on the ocean, and tinctured with the superstition of

both, is well inclined to listen.

As the dignitaries of Church and State make their way beneath the

overhanging houses, the lattices are thrust ajar, and you may discern,

just in the boundaries of light and shade, the prim faces of the little

Puritan damsels, eying the magnificent governor, and envious of the

bolder curiosity of the men. Another object of almost equal interest

now appears in the middle of the way. It is a man clad in a hunting-

shirt and Indian stockings, and armed with a long gun. His feet have

been wet with the waters of many an inland lake and stream; and the

leaves and twigs of the tangled wilderness are intertwined with his

garments: on his head he wears a trophy which we would not venture to

record without good evidence of the fact,--a wig made of the long and

straight black hair of his slain savage enemies. This grim old heathen

stands bewildered in the midst of King Street. The governor regards him

attentively, and, recognizing a playmate of his youth, accosts him with

a gracious smile, inquires as to the prosperity of their birthplace, and

the life or death of their ancient neighbors, and makes appropriate

remarks on the different stations allotted by fortune to two individuals

born and bred beside the same wild river. Finally he puts into his

hand, at parting, a shilling of the Massachusetts coinage, stamped with

the figure of a stubbed pine-tree, mistaken by King Charles for the

oak which saved his royal life. Then all the people praise the humility

and bountifulness of the good governor, who struts onward flourishing

his gold-headed cane; while the gentleman in the straight black wig is

left with a pretty accurate idea of the distance between himself and his

old companion. Meantime, Sir William steers his course towards the town

dock. A gallant figure is seen approaching on the opposite side of the

street, in a naval uniform profusely laced, and with a cutlass swinging

by his side. This is Captain Short, the commander of a frigate in the

service of the English king, now lying in the harbor. Sir William

bristles up at sight of him, and crosses the street with a lowering

front, unmindful of the hints of Dr. Mather, who is aware of an

unsettled dispute between the captain and the governor, relative to the

authority of the latter over a king's ship on the provincial station.

Into this thorny subject, Sir William plunges headlong. The captain

makes answer with less deference than the dignity of the potentate

requires: the affair grows hot; and the clergymen endeavor to interfere

in the blessed capacity of peacemakers. The governor lifts his cane;

and the captain lays his hand upon his sword, but is prevented from

drawing by the zealous exertions of Dr. Mather. There is a furious

stamping of feet, and a mighty uproar from every mouth, in the midst of

which his Excellency inflicts several very sufficient whacks on the head

of the unhappy Short. Having thus avenged himself by manual force, as

befits a woodman and a mariner, he vindicates the insulted majesty of

the governor by committing his antagonist to prison. This done, Sir

William removes his periwig, wipes away the sweat of the encounter, and

gradually composes himself, giving vent, to a few oaths, like the

subsiding ebullitions of a pot that has boiled over.

It being now near twelve o'clock, the three ministers are bidden to

dinner at the governor's table, where the party is completed by a few

Old Charter senators,--men reared at the feet of the Pilgrims, and who

remember the days when Cromwell was a nursing-father to New England.

Sir William presides with commendable decorum till grace is said, and

the cloth removed. Then, as the grape-juice glides warm into the

ventricles of his heart, it produces a change, like that of a running

stream upon enchanted shapes; and the rude man of the sea and wilderness

appears in the very chair where the stately governor sat down. He

overflows with jovial tales of the forecastle and of his father's hut,

and stares to see the gravity of his guests become more and more

portentous in exact proportion as his own merriment increases. A noise

of drum and fife fortunately breaks up the session.

The governor and his guests go forth, like men bound upon some grave

business, to inspect the trainbands of the town. A great crowd of

people is collected on the common, composed of whole families, from the

hoary grandsire to the child of three years. All ages and both sexes

look with interest on the array of their defenders; and here and there

stand a few dark Indians in their blankets, dull spectators of the

strength that has swept away their race. The soldiers wear a proud and

martial mien, conscious that beauty will reward them with her approving

glances; not to mention that there are a few less influential motives to

contribute to keep up an heroic spirit, such as the dread of being made

to "ride the wooden horse" (a very disagreeable mode of equestrian

exercise,--hard riding, in the strictest sense), or of being "laid neck

and heels," in a position of more compendiousness than comfort. Sir

William perceives some error in their tactics, and places himself with

drawn sword at their head. After a variety of weary evolutions, evening

begins to fall, like the veil of gray and misty years that have rolled

betwixt that warlike band and us. They are drawn into a hollow square,

the officers in the centre; and the governor (for John Dunton's

authority will bear us out in this particular) leans his hands upon his

sword-hilt, and closes the exercises of the day with a prayer.

***

SIR WILLIAM PEPPERELL.

The mighty man of Kittery has a double claim to remembrance. He was a

famous general, the most prominent military character in our ante-

Revolutionary annals; and he may be taken as the representative of a

class of warriors peculiar to their age and country,--true citizen-

soldiers, who diversified a life of commerce or agriculture by the

episode of a city sacked, or a battle won, and, having stamped their

names on the page of history, went back to the routine of peaceful

occupation. Sir William Pepperell's letters, written at the most

critical period of his career, and his conduct then and at other times,

indicate a man of plain good sense, with a large share of quiet

resolution, and but little of an enterprising spirit, unless aroused by

external circumstances. The Methodistic principles, with which he was

slightly tinctured, instead of impelling him to extravagance,

assimilated themselves to his orderly habits of thought and action. Thus

respectably endowed, we find him, when near the age of fifty, a merchant

of weight in foreign and domestic trade, a provincial counsellor, and

colonel of the York County militia, filling a large space in the eyes of

his generation, but likely to gain no other posthumous memorial than the

letters on his tombstone, because undistinguished from the many

worshipful gentlemen who had lived prosperously and died peacefully

before him. But in the year 1745, an expedition was projected against

Louisburg, a walled city of the French in the island of Cape Breton.

The idea of reducing this strong fortress was conceived by William

Vaughan, a bold, energetic, and imaginative adventurer, and adopted by

Governor Shirley, the most bustling, though not the wisest ruler, that

ever presided over Massachusetts. His influence at its utmost stretch

carried the measure by a majority of only one vote in the legislature:

the other New England provinces consented to lend their assistance; and

the next point was to select a commander from among the gentlemen of the

country, none of whom had the least particle of scientific soldiership,

although some were experienced in the irregular warfare of the

frontiers. In the absence of the usual qualifications for military

rank, the choice was guided by other motives, and fell upon Colonel

Pepperell, who, as a landed proprietor in three provinces, and popular

with all classes of people, might draw the greatest number of recruits

to his banner. When this doubtful speculation was proposed to the

prudent merchant, he sought advice from the celebrated Whitefield, then

an itinerant preacher in the country, and an object of vast antipathy to

many of the settled ministers. The response of the apostle of

Methodism, though dark as those of the Oracle of Delphos, intimating

that the blood of the slain would be laid to Colonel Pepperell's charge,

in case of failure, and that the envy of the living would persecute him,

if victorious, decided him to gird on his armor. That the French might

be taken unawares, the legislature had been laid under an oath of

secrecy while their deliberations should continue; this precaution,

however, was nullified by the pious perjury of a country member of the

lower house, who, in the performance of domestic worship at his

lodgings, broke into a fervent and involuntary petition for the success

of the enterprise against Louisburg. We of the present generation,

whose hearts have never been heated and amalgamated by one universal

passion, and who are, perhaps, less excitable in the mass than our

fathers, cannot easily conceive the enthusiasm with which the people

seized upon the project. A desire to prove in the eyes of England the

courage of her provinces; the real necessity for the destruction of this

Dunkirk of America; the hope of private advantage; a remnant of the old

Puritan detestation of Papist idolatry; a strong hereditary hatred of

the French, who, for half a hundred years, had shed the blood of the

English settlers in concert with the savages; the natural proneness of

the New-Englanders to engage in temporary undertakings, even though

doubtful and hazardous, such were some of the motives which soon drew

together a host, comprehending nearly all the effective force of the

country. The officers were grave deacons, justices of the peace, and

other similar dignitaries; and in the ranks were many warm householders,

sons of rich farmers, mechanics in thriving business, husbands weary of

their wives, and bachelors disconsolate for want of them. The disciples

of Whitefield also turned their excited imaginations in this direction,

and increased the resemblance borne by the provincial army to the motley

assemblages of the first crusaders. A part of the peculiarities of the

affair may be grouped in one picture, by selecting the moment of General

Pepperell's embarkation.

It is a bright and breezy day of March; and about twenty small white

clouds are scudding seaward before the wind, airy forerunners of the

fleet of privateers and transports that spread their sails to the

sunshine in the harbor. The tide is at its height; and the gunwale of a

barge alternately rises above the wharf, and then sinks from view, as it

lies rocking on the waves in readiness to convey the general and his

suite on board the Shirley galley. In the background, the dark wooden

dwellings of the town have poured forth their inhabitants; and this way

rolls an earnest throng, with the great man of the day walking in the

midst. Before him struts a guard of honor, selected from the yeomanry

of his own neighborhood, and stout young rustics in their Sunday

clothes; next appear six figures who demand our more minute attention.

He in the centre is the general, a well-proportioned man with a slight

hoar-frost of age just visible upon him; he views the fleet in which lie

is about to embark, with no stronger expression than a calm anxiety, as

if he were sending a freight of his own merchandise to Europe. A

scarlet British uniform, made of the best of broadcloth, because

imported by himself, adorns his person; and in the left pocket of a

large buff waistcoat, near the pommel of his sword, we see the square

protuberance of a small Bible, which certainly may benefit his pious

soul, and, perchance, may keep a bullet from his body. The middle-aged

gentleman at his right hand, to whom he pays such grave attention, in

silk, gold, and velvet, and with a pair of spectacles thrust above his

forehead, is Governor Shirley. The quick motion of his small eyes in

their puckered sockets, his grasp on one of the general's bright

military buttons, the gesticulation of his forefinger, keeping time with

the earnest rapidity of his words, have all something characteristic.

His mind is calculated to fill up the wild conceptions of other men with

its own minute ingenuities; and he seeks, as it were, to climb up to the

moon by piling pebble-stones, one upon another. He is now impressing on

the general's recollection the voluminous details of a plan for

surprising Louisburg in the depth of midnight, and thus to finish the

campaign within twelve hours after the arrival of the troops. On the

left, forming a striking contrast with the unruffled deportment of

Pepperell, and the fidgety vehemence of Shirley, is the martial figure

of Vaughan: with one hand he has seized the general's arm; and he points

the other to the sails of the vessel fluttering in the breeze, while the

fire of his inward enthusiasm glows through his dark complexion, and

flashes in tips of flame from his eyes. Another pale and emaciated

person, in neglected and scarcely decent attire, and distinguished by

the abstracted fervor of his manner, presses through the crowd, and

attempts to lay hold of Pepperell's skirt. He has spent years in wild

and shadowy studies, and has searched the crucible of the alchemist for

gold, and wasted the life allotted him, in a weary effort to render it

immortal. The din of warlike preparation has broken in upon his

solitude; and he comes forth with a fancy of his half-maddened brain,--

the model of a flying bridge,--by which the army is to be transported

into the heart of the hostile fortress with the celerity of magic. But

who is this, of the mild and venerable countenance shaded by locks of a

hallowed whiteness, looking like Peace with its gentle thoughts in the

midst of uproar and stern designs? It is the minister of an inland

parish, who, after much prayer and fasting, advised by the elders of the

church and the wife of his bosom, has taken his staff, and journeyed

townward. The benevolent old man would fair solicit the general's

attention to a method of avoiding danger from the explosion of mines,

and of overcoming the city without bloodshed of friend or enemy. We

start as we turn from this picture of Christian love to the dark

enthusiast close beside him,--a preacher of the new sect, in every

wrinkled line of whose visage we can read the stormy passions that have

chosen religion for their outlet. Woe to the wretch that shall seek

mercy there! At his back is slung an axe, wherewith he goes to hew down

the carved altars and idolatrous images in the Popish churches; and over

his head he rears a banner, which, as the wind unfolds it, displays the

motto given by Whitefield,--Christo Duce,--in letters red as blood. But

the tide is now ebbing; and the general makes his adieus to the

governor, and enters the boat: it bounds swiftly over the waves, the

holy banner fluttering in the bows: a huzza from the fleet comes

riotously to the shore; and the people thunder hack their many-voiced

reply.

When the expedition sailed, the projectors could not reasonably rely on

assistance from the mother-country. At Canso, however, the fleet was

strengthened by a squadron of British ships-of-the-lice and frigates,

under Commodore Warren; and this circumstance undoubtedly prevented a

discomfiture, although the active business, and all the dangers of the

siege, fell to the share of the provincials. If we had any confidence

that it could be done with half so much pleasure to the reader as to

ourself, we would present, a whole gallery of pictures from these rich

and fresh historic scenes. Never, certainly, since man first indulged

his instinctive appetite for war, did a queerer and less manageable host

sit down before a hostile city. The officers, drawn from the same.

class of citizens with the rank and file, had neither the power to

institute an awful discipline, nor enough of the trained soldier's

spirit to attempt it. Of headlong valor, when occasion offered, there

was no lack, nor of a readiness to encounter severe fatigue; but, with

few intermissions, the provincial army made the siege one long day of

frolic and disorder. Conscious that no military virtues of their own

deserved the prosperous result which followed, they insisted that Heaven

had fought as manifestly on their side as ever on that of Israel in the

battles of the Old Testament. We, however, if we consider the events of

after-years, and confine our view to a period short of the Revolution,

might doubt whether the victory was granted to our fathers as a blessing

or as a judgment. Most of the young men who had left their paternal

firesides, sound in constitution, and pure in morals, if they returned

at all, returned with ruined health, and with minds so broken up by the

interval of riot, that they never after could resume the habits of good

citizenship. A lust for military glory was also awakened in the

country; and France and England gratified it with enough of slaughter;

the former seeking to recover what she had lost, the latter to complete

the conquest which the colonists had begun. There was a brief season of

repose, and then a fiercer contest, raging almost from end to end of

North America. Some went forth, and met the red men of the wilderness;

and when years had rolled, and the settler came in peace where they had

come in war, there he found their unburied bones among the fallen boughs

and withered leaves of many autumns. Others were foremost in the

battles of the Canadas, till, in the day that saw the downfall of the

French dominion, they poured their blood with Wolfe on the Heights of

Abraham. Through all this troubled time, the flower of the youth were

cut down by the sword, or died of physical diseases, or became

unprofitable citizens by moral ones contracted in the camp and field.

Dr. Douglass, a shrewd Scotch physician of the last century, who died

before war had gathered in half its harvest, computes that many thousand

blooming damsels, capable and well inclined to serve the state as wives

and mothers, were compelled to lead lives of barren celibacy by the

consequences of the successful siege of Louisburg. But we will not

sadden ourselves with these doleful thoughts, when we are to witness the

triumphal entry of the victors into the surrendered town.

The thundering of drums, irregularly beaten, grows more and more

distinct, and the shattered strength of the western wall of Louisburg

stretches out before the eye, forty feet in height, and far overtopped

by a rock built citadel. In yonder breach the broken timber, fractured

stones, and crumbling earth prove the effect of the provincial cannon.

The drawbridge is down over the wide moat; the gate is open; and the

general and British commodore are received by the French authorities

beneath the dark and lofty portal arch. Through the massive gloom of

this deep avenue there is a vista of the main street, bordered by high

peaked houses, in the fashion of old France; the view is terminated by

the centre square of the city, in the midst of which rises a stone

cross; and shaven monks, and women with their children, are kneeling at

its foot. A confused sobbing and half-stifled shrieks are heard, as the

tumultuous advance of the conquering army becomes audible to those

within the walls. By the light which falls through the archway, we

perceive that a few months have somewhat changed the general's mien,

giving it the freedom of one acquainted with peril, and accustomed to

command; nor, amid hopes of more solid reward, does he appear insensible

to the thought that posterity will remember his name among those

renowned in arms. Sir Peter Warren, who receives with him the enemy's

submission, is a rough and haughty English seaman, greedy of fame, but

despising those who have won it for him. Pressing forward to the

portal, sword in hand, comes a comical figure in a brown suit, and blue

yarn stockings, with a huge frill sticking forth from his bosom, to

which the whole man seems an appendage this is that famous worthy of

Plymouth County, who went to the war with two plain shirts and a ruffled

one, and is now about to solicit the post of governor in Louisburg. In

close vicinity stands Vaughan, worn down with toil and exposure, the

effect of which has fallen upon him at once in the moment of

accomplished hope. The group is filled up by several British officers,

who fold their arms, and look with scornful merriment at the provincial

army, as it stretches far behind in garments of every hue, resembling an

immense strip of patchwork carpeting thrown down over the uneven ground.

In the nearer ranks we may discern the variety of ingredients that

compose the mass. Here advance a row of stern, unmitigable-fanatics,

each of whom clinches his teeth, and grasps his weapon with a fist of

iron, at sight of the temples of the ancient faith, with the sunlight

glittering on their cross-crowned spires. Others examine the

surrounding country, and send scrutinizing glances through the gateway,

anxious to select a spot, whither the good woman and her little ones in

the Bay Province may be advantageously transported. Some, who drag

their diseased limbs forward in weariness and pain, have made the

wretched exchange of health or life for what share of fleeting glory may

fall to them among four thousand men. But these are all exceptions, and

the exulting feelings of the general host combine in an expression like

that of a broad laugh on an honest countenance. They roll onward

riotously, flourishing their muskets above their heads, shuffling their

heavy heels into an instinctive dance, and roaring out some holy verse

from the New England Psalmody, or those harsh old warlike stanzas which

tell the story of "Lovell's Fight." Thus they pour along, till the

battered town and the rabble of its conquerors, and the shouts, the

drums, the singing, and the laughter, grow dim, and die away from

Fancy's eye and ear.

The arms of Great Britain were not crowned by a more brilliant

achievement during that unprosperous war; and, in adjusting the terms of

a subsequent peace, Louisburg was an equivalent for many losses nearer

home. The English, with very pardonable vanity, attributed the conquest

chiefly to the valor of the naval force. On the continent of Europe,

our fathers met with greater justice, and Voltaire has ranked this

enterprise of the husbandmen of New England among the most remarkable

events in the reign of Louis XV. The ostensible leaders did not fail of

reward. Shirley, originally a lawyer, was commissioned in the regular

army, and rose to the supreme military command in America. Warren,

also, received honors and professional rank, and arrogated to himself,

without scruple, the whole crop of laurels gathered at Louisburg.

Pepperell was placed at the head of a royal regiment, and, first of his

countrymen, was distinguished by the title of baronet. Vaughan alone,

who had been soul of the deed from its adventurous conception till the

triumphant close, and in every danger and every hardship had exhibited a

rare union of ardor and perseverance,--Vaughan was entirely neglected,

and died in London, whither he had gone to make known his claims. After

the great era of his life, Sir William Pepperell did not distinguish

himself either as a warrior or a statesman. He spent the remainder of

his days in all the pomp of a colonial grandee, and laid down his

aristocratic head among the humbler ashes of his fathers, just before

the commencement of the earliest troubles between England and America.

***

THOMAS GREEN FESSENDEN.

Thomas Green Fessenden was the eldest of nine children of the Rev.

Thomas Fessenden. He was born on the 22d of April, 1771, at Walpole, in

New Hampshire, where his father, a man of learning and talent, was long

settled in the ministry. On the maternal side, likewise, he was of

clerical extraction; his mother, whose piety and amiable qualities are

remembered by her descendants, being the daughter of the Rev. Samuel

Kendal of New Salem. The early education of Thomas Green was chiefly at

the common school of his native place, under the tuition of students

from the college at Hanover; and such was his progress, that he became

himself the instructor of a school in New Salem at the age of sixteen.

He spent most of his youthful days, however, in bodily labor upon the

farm, thus contributing to the support of a numerous family; and the

practical knowledge of agriculture which he then obtained was long

afterwards applied to the service of the public. Opportunities for

cultivating his mind were afforded him, not only in his father's

library, but by the more miscellaneous contents of a large bookstore.

He had passed the age of twenty-one when his inclination for mental

pursuits determined him to become a student at Dartmouth College. His

father being able to give but little assistance, his chief resources at,

college consisted in his wages as teacher of a village school during the

vacations. At times, also, he gave instruction to an evening class in

psalmody.

From his childhood upward, Mr. Fessenden had shown symptoms of that

humorous turn which afterwards so strongly marked his writings; but his

first effort in verse, as he himself told me, was made during his

residence at college. The themes, or exercises, of his fellow students

in English composition, whether prose or rhyme, were well characterized

by the lack of native thought and feeling, the cold pedantry, the

mimicry of classic models, common to all such productions. Mr.

Fessenden had the good taste to disapprove of these vapid and spiritless

performances, and resolved to strike out a new course for himself. On

one occasion, when his classmates had gone through with their customary

round of verbiage and threadbare sentiment, he electrified them and

their instructor, President Wheelock, by reading "_Jonathan's

Courtship_." There has never, to this day, been produced by any of our

countrymen a more original and truly Yankee effusion. He had caught the

rare art of sketching familiar manners, and of throwing into verse the

very spirit of society as it existed around him; and he had imbued each

line with a peculiar yet perfectly natural and homely humor. This

excellent ballad compels me to regret, that, instead of becoming a

satirist in politics and science, and wasting his strength on temporary

and evanescent topics, he had not continued to be a rural poet. A

volume of such sketches as "Jonathan's Courtship," describing various

aspects of life among the yeomanry of New England, could not have failed

to gain a permanent place in American literature. The effort in

question met with unexampled success: it ran through the newspapers of

the day, reappeared on the other side of the Atlantic, and was warmly

applauded by the English critics; nor has it yet lost its popularity.

New editions may be found every year at the ballad-stalls; and I saw

last summer, on the veteran author's table, a broadside copy of his

maiden poem, which he had himself bought in the street.

Mr. Fessenden passed through college with a fair reputation for

scholarship, and took his degree in 1796. It had been his father's wish

that he should imitate the example of sonic of his ancestors on both

sides, by devoting himself to the ministry. He, however, preferred the

law, and commenced the study of that profession at Rutland, in Vermont,

with Nathaniel Chipman, then the most eminent practitioner in the State.

After his admission to the bar, Mr. Chipman received him into

partnership. But Mr. Fessenden was ill qualified to succeed in the

profession of law, by his simplicity of character, and his utter

inability to acquire an ordinary share of shrewdness and worldly wisdom.

Moreover, the success of "_Jonathan's Courtship_," and other poetical

effusions, had turned his thoughts from law to literature, and had

procured him the acquaintance of several literary luminaries of those

days; none of whose names, probably, have survived to our own

generation, save that of Joseph Dennie, once esteemed the finest writer

in America. His intercourse with these people tempted Mr. Fessenden to

spend much time in writing for newspapers and periodicals. A taste for

scientific pursuits still further diverted him from his legal studies,

and soon engaged him in an affair which influenced the complexion of all

his after-life.

A Mr. Langdon had brought forward a newly invented hydraulic machine,

which was supposed to possess the power of raising water to a greater

height than had hitherto been considered possible. A company of

mechanics and others became interested in this machine, and appointed

Mr. Fessenden their agent for the purpose of obtaining a patent in

London. He was, likewise, a member of the company. Mr. Fessenden was

urged to hasten his departure, in consequence of a report that certain

persons had acquired the secret of the invention, and were determined to

anticipate the proprietors in securing a patent. Scarcely time was

allowed for testing the efficacy of the machine by a few hasty

experiments, which, however, appeared satisfactory. Taking passage

immediately, Mr. Fessenden arrived in London on the 4th of July, 1801,

and waited on Mr. King, then our minister, by whom he was introduced to

Mr. Nicholson, a gentleman of eminent scientific reputation. After

thoroughly examining the invention, Mr. Nicholson gave an opinion

unfavorable to its merits; and the question was soon settled by a letter

from one of the Vermont proprietors to Mr. Fessenden, informing him that

the apparent advantages of the machine had been found altogether

deceptive. In short, Mr. Fessenden had been lured from his profession

and country by as empty a bubble as that of the perpetual motion. Yet

it is creditable both to his ability and energy, that, laying hold of

what was really valuable in Langdon's contrivance; he constructed the

model of a machine for raising water from coal-mines, and other great

depths, by means of what he termed the "renovated pressure of the

atmosphere." On communicating this invention to Mr. Nicholson and other

eminent mechanicians, they acknowledged its originality and ingenuity,

and thought that, in some situations, it might be useful. But the

expenses of a patent in England, the difficulty of obtaining patronage

for such a project, and the uncertainty of the result, were obstacles

too weighty to be overcome. Mr. Fessenden threw aside the scheme, and,

after a two months' residence in London, was preparing to return home,

when a new and characteristic adventure arrested him.

He received a visit, at his lodging in the Strand, from a person whom he

had never before seen, but who introduced himself to his good-will as

being likewise an American. His business was of a nature well

calculated to excite Mr. Fessenden's interest. He produced the model of

an ingenious contrivance for grinding corn. A patent had already been

obtained; and a company, with the lord-mayor of London at its head, was

associated for the construction of mills upon this new principle. The

inventor, according to his own story, had disposed of one-fourth part of

his patent for five hundred pounds, and was willing to accommodate his

countryman with another fourth. After some inquiry into the stranger's

character and the accuracy of his statements, Mr. Fessenden became a

purchaser of the share that was offered him; on what terms is not

stated, but probably such as to involve his whole property in the

adventure. The result was disastrous. The lord-mayor soon withdrew his

countenance from the project. It ultimately appeared that Mr. Fessenden

was the only real purchaser of any part of the patent; and, as the

original patentee shortly afterwards quitted the concern, the former was

left to manage the business as he best could. With a perseverance not

less characteristic than his credulity, he associated himself with four

partners, and undertook to superintend the construction of one of these

patent-mills upon the Thanes. But his associates, who were men of no

respectability, thwarted his plans; and after much toil of body, as well

as distress of mind, he found himself utterly ruined, friendless and

penniless, in the midst of London. No other event could have been

anticipated, when a man so devoid of guile was thrown among a set of

crafty adventurers.

Being now in the situation in which many a literary man before him had

been, he remembered the success of his fugitive poems, and betook

himself to the pen as his most natural resource. A subject was offered

him, in which no other poet would have found a theme for the Muse.

It seemed to be his fatality to form connections with schemers of all

sorts; and he had become acquainted with Benjamin Douglas Perkins, the

patentee of the famous metallic tractors. These implements were then in

great vogue for the cure of inflammatory diseases, by removing the

superfluous electricity. Perkinism, as the doctrine of metallic

tractors was styled, had some converts among scientific men, and many

among the people but was violently opposed by the regular corps of

physicians and surgeons. Mr. Fessenden, as might be expected, was a

believer in the efficacy of the tractors, and, at the request of

Perkins, consented to make them the subject of a poem in Hudibrastic

verse, the satire of which was to be levelled against their opponents.

"Terrible Tractoration" was the result. It professes to be a poetical

petition from Dr. Christopher Caustic, a medical gentleman who has been

ruined by the success of the metallic tractors, and who applies to the

Royal College of Physicians for relief and redress. The wits of the

poor doctor have been somewhat shattered by his misfortunes; and, with

crazy ingenuity, he contrives to heap ridicule on his medical brethren,

under pretence of railing against Perkinism. The poem is in four

cantos, the first of which is the best, and the most characteristic of

the author. It is occupied with Dr. Caustic's description of his

mechanical and scientific contrivances, embracing all sorts of possible

and impossible projects; every one of which, however, has a ridiculous

plausibility. The inexhaustible variety in which they flow forth proves

the author's invention unrivalled in its way. It shows what had been

the nature of Mr. Fessenden's mental toil during his residence in

London, continually brooding over the miracles of mechanism and science,

his enthusiasm for which had cost him so dear. Long afterwards,

speaking of the first conception of this poem, the author told me that

he had shaped it out during a solitary day's ramble in the outskirts of

London; and the character of Dr. Caustic so strongly impressed itself on

his mind, that, as be walked homeward through the crowded streets, he

burst into frequent fits of laughter.

The truth is, that, in the sketch of this wild projector, Mr. Fessenden

had caricatured some of his own features; and, when he laughed so

heartily, it was at the perception of the resemblance.

"Terrible Tractoration" is a work of strange and grotesque ideas aptly

expressed: its rhymes are of a most singular character, yet fitting each

to each as accurately as echoes. As in all Mr. Fessenden's productions,

there is great exactness in the language; the author's thoughts being

thrown off as distinctly as impressions from a type. In regard to the

pleasure to be derived from reading this poem, there is room for

diversity of taste; but, that it is all original and remarkable work, no

person competent to pass judgment on a literary question will deny. It

was first published early in the year 1803, in an octavo pamphlet of

above fifty pages. Being highly applauded by the principal reviews, and

eagerly purchased by the public, a new edition appeared at the end of

two months, in a volume of nearly two hundred pages, illustrated with

engravings. It received the praise of Gifford, the severest of English

critics. Its continued success encouraged the author to publish a

volume of "Original Poems," consisting chiefly of his fugitive pieces

from the American newspapers. This, also, was favorably received. He

was now, what so few of his countrymen have ever been, a popular author

in London; and, in the midst of his triumphs, he bethought himself of

his native land.

Mr. Fessenden returned to America in 1804. He came back poorer than he

went, but with an honorable reputation, and with unstained integrity,

although his evil fortune had connected him with men far unlike himself.

His fame had preceded him across the Atlantic. Shortly before his

arrival, an edition of "Terrible Tractoration" had been published at

Philadelphia, with a prefatory memoir of the author, the tone of which

proves that the American people felt themselves honored in the literary

success of their countryman. Another edition appeared in New York, in

1806, considerably enlarged, with a new satire on the topics of the day.

It is symptomatic of the course which the author had now adopted, that

much of this new satire was directed against Democratic principles and

the prominent upholders of them. This was soon followed by "Democracy

Unveiled," a more elaborate attack on the same political party.

In "Democracy Unveiled," our friend Dr. Caustic appears as a citizen of

the United States, and pours out six cantos of vituperative verse, with

copious notes of the same tenor, on the heads of President Jefferson and

his supporters. Much of the satire is unpardonably coarse. The

literary merits of the work are inferior to those of "Terrible

Tractoration "; but it is no less original and peculiar. Even where the

matter is a mere versification of newspaper slander, Dr. Caustic's

manner gives it an individuality not to be mistaken. The book passed

through three editions in the course of a few months. Its most pungent

portions were copied into all the opposition prints; its strange, jog-

trot stanzas were familiar to every ear; and Mr. Fessenden may fairly be

allowed the credit of having given expression to the feelings of the

great Federal party.

On the 30th of August, 1806, Mr. Fessenden commenced the publication, at

New York, of "_The Weekly Inspector_," a paper at first of eight, and

afterwards of sixteen, octavo pages. It appeared every Saturday. The

character of this journal was mainly political; but there are also a few

flowers and sweet-scented twigs of literature intermixed among the

nettles and burs, which alone flourish in the arena of party strife.

Its columns are profusely enriched with scraps of satirical verse in

which Dr. Caustic, in his capacity of ballad-maker to the Federal

faction, spared not to celebrate every man or measure of government that

was anywise susceptible of ridicule. Many of his prose articles are

carefully and ably written, attacking not men so much as principles and

measures; and his deeply felt anxiety for the welfare of his country

sometimes gives an impressive dignity to his thoughts and style. The

dread of French domination seems to have haunted him like a nightmare.

But, in spite of the editor's satirical reputation, "_The Weekly

Inspector_" was too conscientious a paper, too sparingly spiced with the

red pepper of personal abuse, to succeed in those outrageous times. The

publication continued but for a single year, at the end of which we find

Mr. Fessenden's valedictory to his leaders. Its tone is despondent both

as to the prospects of the country and his own private fortunes. The

next token of his labors that has come under my notice is a small volume

of verse, published at Philadelphia in 1809, and alliteratively entitled

"Pills, Poetical, Political, and Philosophical; prescribed for the

Purpose of purging the Public of Piddling Philosophers, Penny

Poetasters, of Paltry Politicians, and Petty Partisans. By Peter

Pepper-Box, Poet and Physician." This satire had been written during

the embargo, but, not making its appearance till after the repeal of

that measure, met with less success than "Democracy Unveiled."

Everybody who has known Mr. Fessenden must have wondered how the kindest

hearted man in all the world could have likewise been the most noted

satirist of his day. For my part, I have tried in vain to form a

conception of my venerable and peaceful friend as a champion in the

stormy strife of party, flinging mud full in the faces of his foes, and

shouting forth the bitter laughter that rang from border to border of

the land; and I can hardly believe, though well assured of it, that his

antagonists should ever have meditated personal violence against the

gentlest of human creatures. I am sure, at least, that Nature never

meant him for a satirist. On careful examination of his works, I do not

find in any of them the ferocity of the true bloodhound of literature,--

such as Swift, or Churchill, or Cobbett,--which fastens upon the throat

of its victim, and would fain drink his lifeblood. In my opinion, Mr.

Fessenden never felt the slightest personal ill-will against the objects

of his satire, except, indeed, they had endeavored to detract from his

literary reputation,--an offence which he resented with a poet's

sensibility, and seldom failed to punish. With such exceptions, his

works are not properly satirical, but the offspring of a mind

inexhaustibly fertile in ludicrous ideas, which it appended to any topic

in hand. At times, doubtless, the all-pervading frenzy of the times

inspired him with a bitterness not his own. But, in the least

defensible of his writings, he was influenced by an honest zeal for

the public good. There was nothing mercenary in his connection with

politics. To an antagonist who had taunted him with being poor, he

calmly replied, that he "need not have been accused of the crime of

poverty, could he have prostituted his principles to party purposes, and

become the hireling assassin of the dominant faction." Nor can there be

a doubt that the administration would gladly have purchased the pen of

so popular a writer.

I have gained hardly any information of Mr. Fessenden's life between the

years 1807 and 1812; at which latter period, and probably some time

previous, he was settled at the village of Bellows Falls, on Connecticut

River, in the practice of the law. In May of that year, he had the good

fortune to become acquainted with Miss Lydia Tuttle, daughter of Mr.

John Tuttle, an independent and intelligent farmer at Littleton, Mass.

She was then on a visit in Vermont. After her return home, a

correspondence ensued between this lady and Mr. Fessenden, and was

continued till their marriage, in September, 1813. She was considerably

younger than himself, but endowed with the qualities most desirable in

the wife of such a man; and it would not be easy to overestimate how

much his prosperity and happiness were increased by this union. Mrs.

Fessenden could appreciate what was excellent in her husband, and supply

what was deficient. In her affectionate good sense he found a

substitute for the worldly sagacity which he did not possess, and

could not learn. To her he intrusted the pecuniary cares, always so

burdensome to a literary man. Her influence restrained him from such

imprudent enterprises as had caused the misfortunes of his earlier

years. She smoothed his path of life, and made it pleasant to him, and

lengthened it; for, as he once told me (I believe it was while advising

me to take, betimes, a similar treasure to myself), he would have been

in his grave long ago, but for her care.

Mr. Fessenden continued to practise law at Bellows Falls till 1815, when

he removed to Brattleborough, and assumed the editorship of "The

Brattleborough Reporter," a political newspaper. The following year, in

compliance with a pressing invitation from the inhabitants, he returned

to Bellows Falls, and edited, with much success, a literary and

political paper, called "_The Intelligencer_." He held this employment

till the year 1822, at the same time practising law, and composing a

volume of poetry, "_The Ladies' Monitor_," besides compiling several

works in law, the arts, and agriculture. During this part of his life,

he usually spent sixteen hours of the twenty-four in study. In 1822 he

came to Boston as editor of "_The New England Farmer_," a weekly

journal, the first established, and devoted principally to the diffusion

of agricultural knowledge.

His management of the Farmer met unreserved approbation. Having been

bred upon a farm, and passed much of his later life in the country, and

being thoroughly conversant with the writers on rural economy, he was

admirably qualified to conduct such a journal. It was extensively

circulated throughout New England, and may be said to have fertilized

the soil like rain from heaven. Numerous papers on the same plan sprung

up in various parts of the country; but none attained the standard of

their prototype. Besides his editorial labors, Mr. Fessenden published,

from time to time, various compilations on agricultural subjects, or

adaptations of English treatises to the use of the American husbandman.

Verse he no longer wrote, except, now and then, an ode or song for some

agricultural festivity. His poems, being connected with topics of

temporary interest, ceased to be read, now that the metallic tractors

were thrown aside, and that the blending and merging of parties had

created an entire change of political aspects, since the days of

"Democracy Unveiled." The poetic laurel withered among his gray hairs,

and dropped away, leaf by leaf. His name, once the most familiar, was

forgotten in the list of American bards. I know not that this oblivion

was to be regretted. Mr. Fessenden, if my observation of his

temperament be correct, was peculiarly sensitive and nervous in regard

to the trials of authorship: a little censure did him more harm than

much praise could do him good; and methinks the repose of total neglect

was better for him than a feverish notoriety. Were it worth while to

imagine any other course for the latter part of his life, which he made

so useful and so honorable, it might be wished that he could have

devoted himself entirely to scientific research. He had a strong taste

for studies of that kind, and sometimes used to lament that his daily

drudgery afforded him no leisure to compose a work on caloric, which

subject he had thoroughly investigated.

In January, 1836, I became, and continued for a few months, an inmate of

Mr. Fessenden's family. It was my first acquaintance with him. His

image is before my mind's eye at this moment; slowly approaching me with

a lamp in his hand, his hair gray, his face solemn and pale, his tall

and portly figure bent with heavier infirmity than befitted his years.

His dress, though he had improved in this particular since middle life,

was marked by a truly scholastic negligence. He greeted me kindly, and

with plain, old-fashioned courtesy; though I fancied that he somewhat

regretted the interruption of his evening studies. After a few moments'

talk, be invited me to accompany him to his study, and give my opinion

on some passages of satirical verse, which were to be inserted in a new

edition of "Terrible Tractoration." Years before, I had lighted on an

illustrated copy of this poem, bestrewn with venerable dust, in a corner

of a college library; and it seemed strange and whimsical that I should

find it still in progress of composition, and be consulted about it by

Dr. Caustic himself. While Mr. Fessenden read, I had leisure to glance

around at his study, which was very characteristic of the man and his

occupations. The table, and great part of the floor, were covered with

books and pamphlets on agricultural subjects, newspapers from all

quarters, manuscript articles for "_The New England Farmer_," and

manuscript stanzas for "Terrible Tractoration." There was such a litter

as always gathers around a literary man. It bespoke, at once, Mr.

Fessenden's amiable temper and his abstracted habits, that several

members of the family, old and young, were sitting in the room, and

engaged in conversation, apparently without giving him the least

disturbance. A specimen of Dr. Caustic's inventive genius was seen in

the "Patent Steam and Hot-Water Stove," which heated the apartment, and

kept up a pleasant singing sound, like that of a teakettle, thereby

making the fireside more cheerful. It appears to me, that, having no

children of flesh and blood, Mr. Fessenden had contracted a fatherly

fondness for this stove, as being his mental progeny; and it must be

owned that the stove well deserved his affection, and repaid it with

much warmth.

The new edition of "Tractoration" came out not long afterwards. It was

noticed with great kindness by the press, but was not warmly received by

the public. Mr. Fessenden imputed the failure, in part, to the

illiberality of the "trade," and avenged himself by a little poem, in

his best style, entitled "Wooden Booksellers"; so that the last blow of

his satirical scourge was given in the good old cause of authors against

publishers.

Notwithstanding a wide difference of age, and many more points of

dissimilarity than of resemblance, Mr. Fessenden and myself soon became

friends. His partiality seemed not to be the result of any nice

discrimination of my good and evil qualities (for he had no acuteness in

that way), but to be given instinctively, like the affection of a child.

On my part, I loved the old man because his heart was as transparent as

a fountain; and I could see nothing in it but integrity and purity, and

simple faith in his fellow-men, and good-will towards all the world.

His character was so open, that I did not need to correct my original

conception of it. He never seemed to me like a new acquaintance, but as

one with whom I had been familiar from my infancy. Yet he was a rare

man, such as few meet with in the course of a lifetime. It is

remarkable, that, with such kindly affections, Mr. Fessenden was so

deeply absorbed in thought and study as scarcely to allow himself time

for domestic and social enjoyment. During the winter when I first knew

him, his mental drudgery was almost continual. Besides "_The New

England Farmer_," lie had the editorial charge of two other journals,--

"_The Horticultural Register_," and "_The Silk Manual_"; in addition to

which employment, he was a member of the State legislature, and took

some share in the debates. The new matter of "Terrible Tractoration"

likewise cost him intense thought. Sometimes I used to meet him in the

street, making his way onward apparently by a sort of instinct; while

his eyes took note of nothing, and would, perhaps, pass over my face

without sign of recognition. He confessed to me that he was apt to go

astray when intent on rhyme. With so much to abstract him from outward

life, he could hardly be said to live in the world that was bustling

around him. Almost the only relaxation that he allowed himself was an

occasional performance on a bass-viol which stood in the corner of his

study, and from which he loved to elicit some old-fashioned tune of

soothing potency. At meal-times, however, dragged down and harassed as

his spirits were, he brightened up, and generally gladdened the whole

table with a flash of Dr. Caustic's honor.

Had I anticipated being Mr. Fessenden's biographer, I might have drawn

from him many details that would have been well worth remembering. But

he had not the tendency of most men in advanced life, to be copious in

personal reminiscences; nor did he often speak of the noted writers and

politicians with whom the chances of earlier years had associated him.

Indeed, lacking a turn for observation of character, his former

companions had passed before him like images in a mirror, giving him

little knowledge of their inner nature. Moreover, till his latest day,

he was more inclined to form prospects for the future than to dwell upon

the past. I remember the last time, save one, that we ever met--I found

him on the bed, suffering with a dizziness of the brain. He roused

himself, however, and grew very cheerful; talking, with a youthful glow

of fancy, about emigrating to Illinois, where he possessed a farm, and

picturing a new life for both of us in that Western region. It has

since come to my memory, that, while he spoke, there was a purple flush

across his brow,--the harbinger of death.

I saw him but once more alive. On the thirteenth day of November last,

while on my way to Boston, expecting shortly to take him by the hand, a

letter met me with an invitation to his funeral--he had been struck with

apoplexy on Friday evening, three days before, and had lain insensible

till Saturday night, when he expired. The burial took place at Mount

Auburn on the ensuing Tuesday. It was a gloomy day; for the first

snowstorm of the season had been drifting through the air since morning;

and the "Garden of Graves" looked the dreariest spot on earth. The snow

came down so fast, that it covered the coffin in its passage from the

hearse to the sepulchre. The few male friends who had followed to the

cemetery descended into the tomb; and it was there that I took my last

glance at the features of a man who will hold a place in my remembrance

apart from other men. He was like no other. In his long pathway

through life, from his cradle to the place where we had now laid him, he

had come, a man indeed in intellect and achievement, but, in guileless

simplicity, a child. Dark would have been the hour, if, when we closed

the door of the tomb upon his perishing mortality, we had believed that

our friend was there.

It is contemplated to erect a monument, by subscription, to Mr.

Fessenden's memory. It is right that he should be thus honored. Mount

Auburn will long remain a desert, barren of consecrated marbles, if

worth like his be yielded to oblivion. Let his grave be marked out,

that the yeomen of New England may know where he sleeps; for he was

their familiar friend, and has visited them at all their firesides. He

has toiled for them at seed-time and harvest: he has scattered the good

grain in every field; and they have garnered the increase. Mark out his

grave as that of one worthy to be remembered both in the literary and

political annals of our country, and let the laurel be carved on his

memorial stone; for it will cover the ashes of a man of genius.

***

JONATHAN CILLEY.

The subject of this brief memorial had barely begun to be an actor in

the great scenes where his part could not have failed to be a prominent

one. The nation did not have time to recognize him. His death, aside

from the shock with which the manner of it has thrilled every bosom, is

looked upon merely as causing a vacancy in the delegation of his State,

which a new member may fill as creditably as the departed. It will,

perhaps, be deemed praise enough to say of Cilley, that he would have

proved himself an active and efficient partisan. But those who knew him

longest and most intimately, conscious of his high talents and rare

qualities, his energy of mind and force of character, must claim much

more than such a meed for their lost friend. They feel that not merely

a party nor a section, but our collective country, has lost a man who

had the heart and the ability to serve her well. It would be doing

injustice to the hopes which lie withered upon his untimely grave, if,

in paying a farewell tribute to his memory, we were to ask a narrower

sympathy than that of the people at large. May no bitterness of party

prejudices influence him who writes, nor those, of whatever political

opinions, who may read!

Jonathan Cilley was born at Nottingham, N. H., on the 2d of July, 1802.

His grandfather, Colonel Joseph Cilley, commanded a New Hampshire

regiment during the Revolutionary War, and established a character for

energy and intrepidity, of which more than one of his descendants have

proved themselves the inheritors. Greenleaf Cilley, son of the

preceding, died in 1808, leaving a family of four sons and three

daughters. The aged mother of this family, and the three daughters, are

still living. Of the sons, the only survivor is Joseph Cilley, who was

an officer in the late war, and served with great distinction on the

Canadian frontier. Jonathan, being desirous of a liberal education,

commenced his studies at Atkinson Academy, at about the age of

seventeen, and became a member of the freshman class of Bowdoin College,

Brunswick, Me., in 1821. Inheriting but little property from his

father, he adopted the usual expedient of a young New-Englander in

similar circumstances, and gained a small income by teaching a country

school during the winter months both before and, after his entrance at

college.

Cilley's character and standing at college afforded high promise of

usefulness and distinction in after-life. Though not the foremost

scholar of his class, he stood in the front rank, and probably derived

all the real benefit from the prescribed course of study that it could

bestow on so practical a mind. His true education consisted in the

exercise of those faculties which fitted him to be a popular leader.

His influence among his fellow-students was probably greater than that

of any other individual; and be had already made himself powerful in

that limited sphere, by a free and natural eloquence, a flow of

pertinent ideas in language of unstudied appropriateness, which seemed

always to accomplish precisely the result on which he had calculated.

This gift was sometimes displayed in class meetings, when measures

important to those concerned were under discussion; sometimes in mock

trials at law, when judge, jury, lawyers, prisoner, and witnesses were

personated by the students, and Cilley played the part of a fervid and

successful advocate; and, besides these exhibitions of power, he

regularly trained himself in the forensic debates of a literary society,

of which he afterwards became president. Nothing could be less

artificial than his style of oratory. After filling his mind with the

necessary information, he trusted everything else to his mental warmth

and the inspiration of the moment, and poured himself out with an

earnest and irresistible simplicity. There was a singular contrast

between the flow of thought from his lips, and the coldness and

restraint with which be wrote; and though, in maturer life, he acquired

a considerable facility in exercising the pen, he always felt the tongue

to be his peculiar instrument.

In private intercourse, Cilley possessed a remarkable fascination. It

was impossible not to regard him with the kindliest feelings, because

his companions were intuitively certain of a like kindliness on his

part. He had a power of sympathy which enabled him to understand every

character, and hold communion with human nature in all its varieties.

He never shrank from the intercourse of man with man; and it was to his

freedom in this particular that be owed much of his subsequent

popularity among a people who are accustomed to take a personal interest

in the men whom they elevate to office. In few words, let us

characterize him at the outset of life as a young man of quick and

powerful intellect, endowed with sagacity and tact, yet frank and free

in his mode of action, ambitious of good influence, earnest, active, and

persevering, with an elasticity and cheerful strength of mind which made

difficulties easy, and the struggle with them a pleasure. Mingled with

the amiable qualities that were like sunshine to his friends, there were

harsher and sterner traits, which fitted him to make head against an

adverse world; but it was only at the moment of need that the iron

framework of his character became perceptible.

Immediately on quitting college, Mr. Cilley took up his residence in

Thomaston, and began the study of law in the office of John Ruggles,

Esq., now a senator in Congress. Mr. Ruggles being then a prominent

member of the Democratic party, it was natural that the pupil should

lend his aid to promote the political views of his instructor,

especially as he would thus uphold the principles which he had cherished

from boyhood. From year to year, the election of Mr. Ruggles to the

State legislature was strongly opposed. Cilley's services in overcoming

this opposition were too valuable to be dispensed with; and thus, at a

period when most young men still stand aloof from the world, he had

already taken his post as a leading politician. He afterwards found

cause to regret that so much time had been abstracted from his

professional studies; nor did the absorbing and exciting nature of his

political career afford him any subsequent opportunity to supply the

defects of his legal education. He was admitted an attorney-at-law in

1829, and in April of the same year was married to Miss Deborah Prince,

daughter of Hon. Hezekiah Prince of Thomaston, where Mr. Cilley

continued to reside, and entered upon the practice of his profession.

In 1831, Mr. Ruggles having been appointed a judge of the court of

common pleas, it became necessary to send a new representative from

Thomaston to the legislature of the State. Mr. Cilley was brought

forward as the Democratic candidate, obtained his election, and took his

seat in January, 1832. But in the course of this year the friendly

relations between Judge Ruggles and Mr. Cilley were broken off. Time

former gentleman, it appears, had imbibed the idea that his political

aspirations (which were then directed towards a seat in the Senate of

the United States) did not receive all the aid which he was disposed to

claim from the influence of his late pupil. When, therefore, Mr. Cilley

was held up as a candidate for re-election to the legislature, the whole

strength of Judge Ruggles and his adherents was exerted against him.

This was the first act and declaration of a political hostility, which

was too warm and earnest not to become, in some degree, personal, and

which rendered Mr. Cilley's subsequent career a continual struggle with

those to whom he might naturally have looked for friendship and support.

It sets his abilities and force of character in the strongest light, to

view him, at the very outset of public life, without the aid of powerful

connections, an isolated young man, forced into a position of hostility,

not merely with the enemies of his party, but likewise with a large body

of its adherents, even accused of treachery to its principles, yet

gaining triumph after triumph, and making his way steadily onward.

Surely his was a mental and moral energy which death alone could have

laid prostrate.

We have the testimony of those who knew Mr. Cilley well, that his own

feelings were never so embittered by those conflicts as to prevent him

from interchanging the courtesies of society with his most violent

opponents. While their resentments rendered his very presence

intolerable to them, he could address them with as much ease and

composure as if their mutual relations had been those of perfect

harmony. There was no affectation in this: it was the good-natured

consciousness of his own strength that enabled him to keep his temper:

it was the same chivalrous sentiment which impels hostile warriors to

shake hands in the intervals of battle. Mr. Cilley was slow to withdraw

his confidence from any man whom he deemed a friend; and it has been

mentioned as almost his only weak point, that he was too apt to suffer

himself to be betrayed before he would condescend to suspect. His

prejudices, however, when once adopted, partook of the depth and

strength of his character, and could not be readily overcome. He loved

to subdue his foes; but no man could use a triumph more generously than

he.

Let us resume our narrative. In spite of the opposition of Judge

Ruggles and his friends, combined with that of the Whigs, Mr. Cilley was

re-elected to the legislature of 1833, and was equally successful in

each of the succeeding years, until his election to Congress. He was

five successive years the representative of Thomaston. In 1834, when

Mr. Dunlap was nominated as the Democratic candidate for governor, Mr.

Cilley gave his support to Governor Smith, in the belief that the

substitution of a new candidate had been unfairly effected. He

considered it a stratagem intended to promote the election of Judge

Ruggles to the Senate of the United States. Early in the legislative

session of the same year, the Ruggles party obtained a temporary triumph

over Mr. Cilley, effected his expulsion from the Democratic caucuses,

and attempted to stigmatize him as a traitor to his political friends.

But Mr. Cilley's high and honorable course was erelong understood and

appreciated by his party and the people. He told them, openly and

boldly, that they might undertake to expel him from their caucuses; but

they could not expel him from the Democratic party: they might

stigmatize him with any appellation they might choose; but they could

not reach the height on which he stood, nor shake his position with the

people. But a few weeks had elapsed, and Mr. Cilley was the

acknowledged head and leader of that party in the legislature. During

the same session, Mr. Speaker Clifford (one of the friends of Judge

Ruggles) being appointed attorney-general, the Ruggles party were

desirous of securing the election of another of their adherents to the

chair; but, as it was obvious that Mr. Cilley's popularity would gain

him the place, the incumbent was induced to delay his resignation till

the end of the term. At the session of 1835, Messrs. Cilley, Davee, and

McCrote being candidates for the chair, Mr. Cilley withdrew in favor of

Mr. Davee. That gentleman was accordingly elected; but, being soon

afterwards appointed sheriff of Somerset County, Mr. Cilley succeeded

him as speaker, and filled the same office during the session of 1836.

All parties awarded him the praise of being the best presiding officer

that the house ever had.

In 1836, he was nominated by a large portion of the Democratic electors

of the Lincoln Congressional District as their candidate for Congress.

That district has recently shown itself to possess a decided Whig

majority; and this would have been equally the case in 1836, had any

other man than Mr. Cilley appeared on the Democratic side. He had

likewise to contend, as in all the former scenes of his political life,

with that portion of his own party which adhered to Mr. Ruggles. There

was still another formidable obstacle, in the high character of Judge

Bailey, who then represented the district, and was a candidate for

re-election. All these difficulties, however, served only to protract

the contest, but could not snatch the victory from Mr. Cilley, who

obtained a majority of votes at the third trial. It was a fatal

triumph.

In the summer of 1837, a few months after his election to Congress, I

met Mr. Cilley for the first time since early youth, when he had been to

me almost as an elder brother. The two or three days which I spent in

his neighborhood enabled us to renew our former intimacy. In his person

there was very little change, and that little was for the better. He

had an impending brow, deep-set eyes, and a thin and thoughtful

countenance, which, in his abstracted moments, seemed almost stern; but,

in the intercourse of society, it was brightened with a kindly smile,

that will live in the recollection of all who knew him. His manners had

not a fastidious polish, but were characterized by the simplicity of one

who had dwelt remote from cities, holding free companionship with the

yeomen of the land. I thought him as true a representative of the

people as ever theory could portray. His earlier and later habits of

life, his feelings, partialities, and prejudices, were those of the

people: the strong and shrewd sense which constituted so marked a

feature of his mind was but a higher degree of the popular intellect.

He loved the people and respected them, and was prouder of nothing than

of his brotherhood with those who had intrusted their public interests

to his care. His continual struggles in the political arena had

strengthened his bones and sinews: opposition had kept him ardent;

while success had cherished the generous warmth of his nature, and

assisted the growth both of his powers and sympathies. Disappointment

might have soured and contracted him; but it appeared to me that his

triumphant warfare had been no less beneficial to his heart than to his

mind. I was aware, indeed, that his harsher traits had grown apace with

his milder ones; that he possessed iron resolution, indomitable

perseverance, and an almost terrible energy; but these features had

imparted no hardness to his character in private intercourse. In the

hour of public need, these strong qualities would have shown themselves

the most prominent ones, and would have encouraged his countrymen to

rally round him as one of their natural leaders.

In his private and domestic relations, Mr. Cilley was most exemplary;

and he enjoyed no less happiness than he conferred. He had been the

father of four children, two of whom were in the grave, leaving, I

thought, a more abiding impression of tenderness and regret than the

death of infants usually makes on the masculine mind. Two boys--the

elder, seven or eight years of age; and the younger, two--still remained

to him; and the fondness of these children for their father, their

evident enjoyment of his society, was proof enough of his gentle and

amiable character within the precincts of his family. In that bereaved

household, there is now another child, whom the father never saw. Mr.

Cilley's domestic habits were simple and primitive to a degree unusual,

in most parts of our country, among men of so eminent a station as he

had attained. It made me smile, though with anything but scorn, in

contrast to the aristocratic stateliness which I have witnessed

elsewhere, to see him driving home his own cow after a long search for

her through the village. That trait alone would have marked him as a

man whose greatness lay within himself. He appeared to take much

interest in the cultivation of his garden, and was very fond of flowers.

He kept bees, and told me that he loved to sit for whole hours by the

hives, watching the labors of the insects, and soothed by the hum with

which they filled the air. I glance at these minute particulars of his

daily life, because they form so strange a contrast with the

circumstances of his death. Who could have believed, that, with his

thoroughly New England character, in so short a time after I had seen

him in that peaceful and happy home, among those simple occupations and

pure enjoyments, he would be stretched in his own blood, slain for an

almost impalpable punctilio!

It is not my purpose to dwell upon Mr. Cilley's brief career in

Congress. Brief as it was, his character and talents had more than

begun to be felt, and would soon have linked his name with the history

of every important measure, and have borne it onward with the progress

of the principles which he supported. He was not eager to seize

opportunities of thrusting himself into notice; but, when time and the

occasion summoned him, he came forward, and poured forth his ready and

natural eloquence with as much effect in the councils of the nation as

he had done in those of his own State. With every effort that he made,

the hopes of his party rested more decidedly upon him, as one who would

hereafter be found in the vanguard of many a Democratic victory. Let me

spare myself the details of the awful catastrophe by which all those

proud hopes perished; for I write with a blunted pen and a head

benumbed, and am the less able to express my feelings as they lie deep

at heart, and inexhaustible.

On the 23d of February last, Mr. Cilley received a challenge from Mr.

Graves of Kentucky, through the hands of Mr. Wise of Virginia. This

measure, as is declared in the challenge itself, was grounded on Mr.

Cilley's refusal to receive a message, of which Mr. Graves had been the

bearer, from a person of disputed respectability; although no exception

to that person's character had been expressed by Mr. Cilley; nor need

such inference have been drawn, unless Mr. Graves were conscious that

public opinion held his friend in a doubtful light. The challenge was

accepted, and the parties met on the following day. They exchanged two

shots with rifles. After each shot, a conference was held between the

friends of both parties, and the most generous avowals of respect and

kindly feeling were made on the part of Cilley towards his antagonist,

but without avail. A third shot was exchanged; and Mr. Cilley fell dead

into the arms of one of his friends. While I write, a Committee of

Investigation is sitting upon this affair: but the public has not waited

for its award; and the writer, in accordance with the public, has formed

his opinion on the official statement of Messrs. Wise and Jones. A

challenge was never given on a more shadowy pretext; a duel was never

pressed to a fatal close in the face of such open kindness as was

expressed by Mr. Cilley: and the conclusion is inevitable, that Mr.

Graves and his principal second, Mr. Wise, have gone further than their

own dreadful code will warrant them, and overstepped the imaginary

distinction, which, on their own principles, separates manslaughter from

murder.

Alas that over the grave of a dear friend, my sorrow for the bereavement

must be mingled with another grief,--that he threw away such a life in

so miserable a cause! Why, as he was true to the Northern character in

all things else, did be swerve from his Northern principles in this

final scene? But his error was a generous one, since he fought for what

he deemed the honor of New England; and, now that death has paid the

forfeit, the most rigid may forgive him. If that dark pitfall--that

bloody grave--had not lain in the midst of his path, whither, whither

might it not have led him! It has ended there: yet so strong was my

conception of his energies, so like destiny did it appear that he should

achieve everything at which he aimed, that even now my fancy will not

dwell upon his grave, but pictures him still amid the struggles and

triumphs of the present and the future.