The Best of the World's Classics, Restricted to Prose, Vol. IX (of X) - America - I
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Title: The Best of the World's Classics, Restricted to Prose, Vol. IX (of X) - America - I
Editor: Henry Cabot Lodge
Francis W. Halsey
Release date: May 1, 2009 [eBook #28653]
Language: English
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[Illustration: EMERSON, IRVING, COOPER, HAWTHORNE]
THE BEST
of the
WORLD'S CLASSICS
RESTRICTED TO PROSE
HENRY CABOT LODGE
Editor-in-Chief
FRANCIS W. HALSEY
Associate Editor
With an Introduction, Biographical and
Explanatory Notes, etc.
IN TEN VOLUMES
Vol. IX
AMERICA--I
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
* * * * *
The Best of the World's Classics
VOL. IX
AMERICA--I
1579-1891
* * * * *
CONTENTS
VOL. IX--AMERICA--I
_Page_
JOHN SMITH--(Born in 1579, died in 1631.)
His Story of Pocahontas.
(From the "General History of Virginia") 3
WILLIAM BRADFORD--(Born in 1590, died in 1657.)
The Pilgrims Land and Meet the Indians.
(From the "History of Plymouth") 11
SAMUEL SEWALL--(Born in 1652, died in 1730.)
How He Courted Madam Winthrop.
(From his "Diary") 19
COTTON MATHER--(Born in 1663, died in 1728.)
In Praise of John Eliot.
(From the "Magnalia Christi Americana") 33
WILLIAM BYRD--(Born in 1674, died in 1744.)
At the Home of Colonel Spotswood.
(From "A Visit to the Mines") 38
JONATHAN EDWARDS--(Born in 1703, died in 1758.)
Of Liberty and Moral Agencies.
(From the "Freedom of the Will") 44
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN--(Born in 1706, died in 1790.)
I His First Entry into Philadelphia.
(From the "Autobiography") 51
II Warnings Braddock Did Not Heed.
(From the "Autobiography") 55
III How to Draw Lightning from the Clouds.
(From a letter to Peter Collinson) 59
IV The Way to Wealth.
(From "Poor Richard's Almanac") 61
V Dialog with the Gout 68
VI A Proposal to Madame Helvetius.
(A letter to Madame Helvetius) 76
GEORGE WASHINGTON--(Born in 1732, died in 1799.)
I To His Wife on Taking Command of the Army.
(A letter written on June 18, 1775) 79
II Of His Army in Cambridge.
(A letter to Joseph Reed) 81
III To the Marquis Chastellux on His Marriage.
(A letter of April 25, 1788) 84
JOHN ADAMS--(Born in 1735, died in 1826.)
I On His Nomination of Washington to Be
Commander-in-Chief.
(From his "Diary") 87
II An Estimate of Franklin.
(From a letter to the Boston _Patriot_) 90
THOMAS PAINE--(Born in 1737, died in 1809.)
In Favor of the Separation of the Colonies
from Great Britain.
(From "Common Sense") 94
THOMAS JEFFERSON--(Born in 1743, died in 1826.)
I When the Bastile Fell.
(From his "Autobiography") 98
II The Futility of Disputes.
(From a letter to his nephew) 106
III Of Blacks and Whites in the South.
(From the "Notes on the State of Virginia") 108
IV His Account of Logan's Famous Speech.
(From the "Notes on Virginia") 114
GOUVERNEUR MORRIS--(Born in 1752, died in 1816.)
I The Opening of the French States-General.
(From a letter to Mrs. Morris) 117
II Of the Execution of Louis XVI.
(From a letter to Thomas Jefferson) 120
ALEXANDER HAMILTON--(Born in 1757, died in 1804.)
I Of the Failure of Confederation.
(From _The Federalist_) 123
II His Reasons for not Declining Burr's
Challenge.
(From a statement written before the
day of the duel) 129
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS--(Born in 1767, died in 1848.)
I Of His Mother.
(From the "Diary") 133
II The Moral Taint Inherent in Slavery.
(From the "Diary") 135
WILLIAM E. CHANNING--(Born in 1780, died in 1842.)
Of Greatness in Napoleon.
(From a review of Scott's "Life of Napoleon") 139
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON--(Born in 1780, died in 1857.)
Where the Mocking Bird Dwells.
(From the "Birds of America") 144
WASHINGTON IRVING--(Born in 1783, died in 1859.)
I The Last of the Dutch Governors of New York.
(From "Knickerbocker's History of New York") 147
II The Awakening of Rip Van Winkle.
(From the "Sketch Book") 151
III At Abbotsford with Scott.
(From the "Crayon Miscellany") 161
FENIMORE COOPER--(Born in 1789, died in 1851.)
I His Father's Arrival at Otsego Lake.
(From "The Pioneers") 170
II Running the Gantlet.
(From "The Last of the Mohicans") 178
III Leather-Stocking's Farewell.
(From "The Pioneers") 185
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT--(Born in 1794, died in 1878.)
An October Day in Florence.
(From a letter) 194
WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT--(Born in 1796, died in 1859.)
I The Fate of Egmont and Hoorne.
(From "Philip II") 198
II The Genesis of Don Quixote.
(From the "Miscellanies") 209
GEORGE BANCROFT--(Born in 1800, died in 1891.)
The Fate of Evangeline's Countrymen.
(From the "History of the United States") 217
RALPH WALDO EMERSON--(Born in 1803, died in 1882.)
I Thoreau's Broken Task.
(From the "Funeral Address") 223
II The Intellectual Honesty of Montaigne.
(From "Representative Men") 229
III His Visit to Carlyle at Craigen-puttock.
(From "English Traits") 231
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE--(Born in 1804, died in 1864.)
I Occupants of an Old Manse.
(From "Mosses from an Old Manse") 235
II Arthur Dimmesdale on the Scaffold.
(From "The Scarlet Letter") 242
III Of Life at Brook Farm.
(From "The Blithedale Romance") 248
IV The Death of Judge Pyncheon.
(From "The House of the Seven Gables") 252
* * * * *
AMERICA--I
1579-1891
JOHN SMITH
Born in England in 1579, died in 1631; served against the
Turks, captured, but escaped and returned to England in
1605; sailed for Virginia in 1606, and helped to found
Jamestown; captured by Indians and his life saved by
Pocahontas the same year; explored the Chesapeake to its
head; president of the Colony in 1608; returned to London in
1609; in 1614 explored the coast of New England; captured by
the French in 1615 and escaped the same year; received the
title of Admiral of New England in 1617; published his "True
Relation" in 1608, "Map of Virginia" in 1612, "A Description
of New England" in 1616, "New England's Trials" in 1620, and
his "General History" in 1624.
HIS STORY OF POCAHONTAS[1]
Here more than two hundred of those grim Courtiers stood wondering at
him [John Smith], as he had beene a monster; till Powhatan[2] and his
train had put themselves in their greatest braveries. Before a fire
upon a seat like a bedsted, he sat covered with a great robe, made of
Rarowcun skinnes, and all the tayles hanging by. On either hand did
sit a young wench of 16 or 18 years, and along on each side the house,
two rowes of men, and behind them as many women, with all their heads
and shoulders painted red; many of their heads bedecked with the
white downe of Birds; but every one with something: and a great chain
of white beads about their necks.
[Footnote 1: From Smith's "Generall Historie of Virginia."]
[Footnote 2: Powhatan was chief of a confederacy of Indians known as
the Powhatans, which he had raised from one comprizing only seven
tribes to one of thirty. The word Powhatan means "falls in a stream,"
and was originally applied to the falls in the James river at
Richmond.]
At his entrance before the King, all the people gave a great shout.
The Queene of Appamatuck was appointed to bring him water to wash his
hands, and another brought him a bunch of feathers, instead of a towel
to dry them. Having feasted him after their best barbarous manner they
could, a long consultation was held, but the conclusion was, two great
stones were brought before Powhatan: then as many as could laid hands
on him, dragged him to them, and thereon laid his head, and being
ready with their clubs, to beate out his braines, Pocahontas the
King's dearest daughter, when no intreaty could prevaile, got his head
in her armes, and laid her owne upon his to save him from death:
whereat the Emperour was contented he should live to make him
hatchets, and her bells, beads, and copper; for they thought him as
well of all occupations as themselves. For the King himselfe will make
his owne robes, shooes, bowes, arrowes, pots; plant, hunt, or doe any
thing so well as the rest....
To conclude our peace, thus it happened. Captaine Argall[3] having
entered into a great acquaintance with Japazaws, an old friend of
Captaine Smith's, and so to all our Nation, ever since hee discovered
the Countrie: hard by him there was Pocahontas, whom Captaine Smith's
Relations intituleth the Numparell of Virginia, and tho she had beene
many times a preserver of him and the whole Colonie, yet till this
accident shee was never seene at James towne since his departure,
being at Patawomeke, as it seemes, thinking her selfe unknown, was
easily by her friend Japazaws perswaded to goe abroad with him and his
wife to see the ship, for Captaine Argall had promised him a Copper
Kettle to bring her but to him, promising no way to hurt her, but
keepe her till they could conclude a peace with her father. The
Salvage for this Copper Kettle would have done any thing, it seemed by
the Relation; for tho she had seene and beene in many ships, yet he
caused his wife to faine how desirous she was to see one, and that he
offered to beat her for her importunitie, till she wept.
[Footnote 3: Argall, through intimidation or bribery, had made
Pocahontas a captive in 1612, when she was the wife of an Indian
attached to her father as a subordinate chief or leader.]
But at last he told her, if Pocahontas would goe with her, he was
content: and thus they betrayed the poore innocent Pocahontas aboord,
where they were all kindly feasted in the cabin. Japazaws treading oft
on the Captaine's foot, to remember he had done his part, the Captaine
when he saw his time, perswaded Pocahontas to the gun-roome, faining
to have some conference with Japazaws, which was only that she should
not perceive he was any way guiltie of her captivitie: so sending for
her againe, he told her before her friends, she must goe with him, and
compound peace betwixt her Countrie and us, before she ever should see
Powhatan, whereat the old Jew and his wife began to howle and crie as
fast as Pocahontas, that upon the Captaine's fair perswasions, by
degrees pacifying her selfe, and Japazaws and his wife, with the
Kettle and other toys, went merrily on shore, and she to James towne.
A messenger forthwith was sent to her father, that his daughter
Pocahontas he loved so dearly, he must ransome with our men, swords,
pieces, tooles, etc., he trecherously had stolne....
Long before this, Master John Rolfe, an honest Gentleman, and of good
behaviour, had beene in love with Pocahontas, and she with him, which
thing at that instant I made knowne to Sir Thomas Dale by a letter
from him, wherein hee intreated his advice, and she acquainted her
brother with it, which resolution Sir Thomas Dale[4] well approved.
The bruit of this mariage came soone to the knowledge of Powhatan, a
thing acceptable to him, as appeared by his sudden consent, for within
ten days he sent Opachisco, an old Uncle of hers, and two of his sons,
to see the manner of the mariage, and to doe in that behalfe what they
requested, for the confirmation thereof, as his deputie; which was
accordingly done about the first of Aprill. And ever since we have had
friendly trade and commerce, as well with Powhatan himself, as all his
subjects....
[Footnote 4: Dale was colonial governor of Virginia in 1611 and again
in 1614-16. In the latter year he returned to England, taking with him
Captain Rolfe and Pocahontas.]
The Lady Rebecca,[5] alias Pocahontas, daughter to Powhattan, by the
diligent care of Master John Rolfe her husband and his friends, as
taught to speake such English as might well bee understood, well
instructed in Christianitie, and was become very formal and civil
after our English manner; she had also by him a childe which she loved
most dearely and the Treasurer and Company tooke order both for the
maintenance of her and it, besides there were divers persons of great
ranke and qualitie had beene very kinde to her; and before she arrived
at London, Captaine Smith to deserve her former courtesies, made her
qualities knowne to the Queene's most excellent Majestie and her
Court, and writ a little booke to this effect to the Queene: An
abstract whereof followeth.
[Footnote 5: Under that name Pocahontas had been baptized in the
original Jamestown church. A legend has survived that an old font, now
preserved in the church at Williamsburg, is the one from which she was
baptized.]
"_To the most high and vertuous Princesse Queene Anne of Great
Brittanie._
"MOST ADMIRED QUEENE,
"The love I beare my God, my King, and Countrie hath so oft emboldened
me in the worst of extreme dangers, that now honestie doth constraine
mee presume thus far beyond my selfe, to present your Majestie this
short discourse: If ingratitude be a deadly poyson to all honest
vertues, I must bee guiltie of that crime if I should omit any meanes
to bee thankful. So it is, that some ten yeers agoe being in Virginia,
and taken prisoner by the power of Powhatan their chiefe King, I
received from this great Salvage exceeding great courtesie, especially
from his son Nantaquaus, the most manliest, comeliest, boldest spirit,
I ever saw in a Salvage, and his sister Pocahontas, the King's most
deare and well-beloved daughter, being but a childe of twelve or
thirteene yeers of age, whose compassionate pitiful heart, of
desperate estate, gave me much cause to respect her: I being the
first Christian this proud King and his grim attendants ever saw: and
thus inthralled in their barbarous power, I cannot say I felt the
least occasion of want that was in the power of those my mortal foes
to prevent, notwithstanding all their threats. After some six weeks
fatting among those Salvage Courtiers, at the minute of my execution,
she hazarded the beating out of her owne braines to save mine, and not
only that, but so prevaild with her father, that I was safely
conducted to James towne, where I found about eight and thirtie
miserable poore and sicke creatures, to keepe possession of all those
large territories of Virginia. Such was the weaknesse of this poore
Commonwealth, as had the Salvages not fed us, we directly had starved.
"And this reliefe, most gracious Queene, was commonly brought us by
this Lady Pocahontas, notwithstanding all these passages when
inconstant Fortune turned our peace to war, this tender Virgin would
still not spare to dare to visit us, and by her our jars have beene
oft appeased, and our wants still supplyed; were it the policie of her
father thus to imploy her, or the ordinance of God thus to make her
His instrument, or her extraordinary affection to our Nation, I know
not: but of this I am sure:--when her father with the utmost of his
policie and power, sought to surprize mee, having but eighteene with
mee, the darke night could not affright her from comming through the
irkesome woods, and with watered eyes gave me intelligence, with her
best advice to escape his furie; which had hee knowne, hee had surely
slaine her. James towne with her wild traine she as freely
frequented, as her father's habitation; and during the time of two or
three yeeres, she next under God, was still the Instrument to preserve
this Colonie from death, famine and utter confusion, which if in those
times had once beene dissolved, Virginia might have line as it was at
our first arrival to this day. Since then, this businesse having beene
turned and varied by many accidents from that I left it at: it is most
certaine, after a long and troublesome war after my departure, betwixt
her father and our Colonie, all which time shee was not heard of,
about two yeeres after she her selfe was taken prisoner, being so
detained neere two yeeres longer, the Colonie by that meanes was
relieved, peace concluded, and at last rejecting her barbarous
condition, was maried to an English Gentleman, with whom at this
present she is in England; the first Christian ever of that Nation,
the first Virginian ever spake English, or had a childe in mariage by
an Englishman, a matter surely, if my meaning bee truly considered and
well understood, worthy a Prince's understanding....
"The small time I staid in London, divers Courtiers and others, my
acquaintances, hath gone with mee to see her, that generally
concluded, they did thinke God had a great hand in her conversion, and
they have seen many English Ladies worse favored, proportioned and
behaviored, and as since I have heard, it pleased both the King and
Queene's Majestie honorably to esteeme her, accompanied with that
honorable Lady the Lady De la Warre, and that honorable Lord her
husband, and divers other persons of good qualities, both publikely
at the maskes and otherwise, to her great satisfaction and content,
which doubtlesse she would have deserved had she lived to arrive in
Virginia."[6]
[Footnote 6: Pocahontas in England gave birth to a son. She died at
Gravesend in the following year, in 1617. The parish records of
Gravesend describe her as "a Virginia lady borne, here was buried in
ye chauncell." In London a well-known street preserves a memorial of
her in its name--La Belle Sauvage. Her son, Thomas Rolfe, after living
many years in England, settled in Virginia. Several families in that
State have traced their descent from him. One of these was the famous
John Randolph of Roanoke.]
WILLIAM BRADFORD
Born in England in 1590, died at Plymouth, Mass., in 1657;
governor of Plymouth Colony from 1627, except for five
years, to 1657; wrote a "History of the Plymouth Plantation"
for the period 1602-47, the manuscript of which was lost in
England, but after the lapse of about seventy-five years it
was found in a library in 1855, and in the following year
published.
THE PILGRIMS LAND AND MEET THE INDIANS[7]
(1620)
Having the wind good, we sailed all that day along the coast about
fifteen leagues; but saw neither river nor creek to put into. After we
had sailed an hour or two, it began to snow and rain, and to be bad
weather. About the midst of the afternoon the wind increased, and the
seas began to be very rough; and the hinges of the rudder broke, so
that we could steer no longer with it, but two men, with much ado,
were fain to serve with a couple of oars. The seas were grown so great
that we were much troubled and in great danger; and night grew on.
Anon, Master Coppin bade us be of good cheer; he saw the harbor. As we
drew near, the gale being stiff, and we bearing great sail to get in,
split our mast in three pieces, and were like to have cast away our
shallop. Yet, by God's mercy, recovering ourselves, we had the flood
with us, and struck into the harbor.
[Footnote 7: From what was long known as "Mourt's Relation," published
in London in 1622, but more properly, and now generally, called the
"Journal," or diary, of Bradford and Edward Winslow. This important
historical document covers the first year of the Plymouth colony.]
Now he that thought that had been the place, was deceived, it being a
place where not any of us had been before; and coming into the harbor,
he that was our pilot, did bear up northward, which if he had
continued, we had been cast away. Yet still the Lord kept us and we
bare up for an island before us, and recovering of that island, being
compassed about with many rocks, and dark night growing upon us, it
pleased the Divine Providence that we fell upon a place of sandy
ground, where our shallop did ride safe and secure all that night; and
coming upon a strange island, kept our watch all night in the rain
upon that island. And in the morning we marched about it, and found no
inhabitants at all; and here we made our rendezvous all that day,
being Saturday, 10th of December. On the Sabbath day we rested; and on
Monday we sounded the harbor, and found it a very good harbor for our
shipping. We marched also into the land, and found divers cornfields,
and little running brooks, a place very good for situation. So we
returned to our ship again with good news to the rest of our people,
which did much comfort their hearts....
Some of us, having a good mind, for safety, to plant in the greater
isle, we crossed the bay, which is there five or six miles over, and
found the isle about a mile and half or two miles about, all wooded,
and no fresh water but two or three pits, that we doubted of fresh
water in summer, and so full of wood as we could hardly clear so much
as to serve us for corn. Besides, we judged it cold for our corn, and
some part very rocky; yet divers thought of it as a place defensible,
and of great security. That night we returned again a shipboard, with
resolution the next morning to settle on some of those places.
So in the morning, after we had called on God for direction, we came
to this resolution, to go presently ashore again, and to take a better
view of two places which we thought most fitting for us; for we could
not now take time for further search or consideration, our victuals
being much spent, especially our beer, and it being now the 19th of
December. After our landing and viewing of the places, so well as we
could, we came to a conclusion, by most voices, to set on the main
land, on the first place, on a high ground, where there is a great
deal of land cleared, and hath been planted with corn three or four
years ago; and there is a very sweet brook runs under the hill side,
and many delicate springs of as good water as can be drunk, and where
we may harbor our shallops and boats exceeding well; and in this brook
much good fish in their seasons; on the further side of the river also
much corn-ground cleared. In one field is a great hill, on which we
point to make a platform, and plant our ordnance, which will command
all round about. From thence we may see into the bay, and far into the
sea; and we may see thence Cape Cod. Our greatest labor will be
fetching of our wood, which is half a quarter of an English mile; but
there is enough so far off. What people inhabit here we yet know not,
for as yet we have seen none. So there we made our rendezvous, and a
place for some of our people, about twenty, resolving in the morning
to come all ashore and to build houses.
But the next morning, being Thursday, the 21st of December, it was
stormy and wet, that we could not go ashore; and those that remained
there all night could do nothing, but were wet, not having daylight
enough to make them a sufficient court of guard, to keep them dry. All
that night it blew and rained extremely. It was so tempestuous that
the shallop could not go on land so soon as was meet, for they had no
victuals on land. About eleven o'clock the shallop went off with much
ado with provision, but could not return, it blew so strong; and was
such foul weather that we were forced to let fall our anchor, and ride
with three anchors ahead.
Friday, the 22d, the storm still continued, that we could not get a
land, nor they come to us aboard....
Saturday, the 23d, so many of us as could went on shore, felled and
carried timber, to provide themselves stuff for building.
Sunday, the 24th, our people on shore heard a cry of some savages, as
they thought, which caused an alarm and to stand on their guard,
expecting an assault; but all was quiet.
Friday, the 16th, a fair warm day toward. This morning we determined
to conclude of the military orders, which we had begun to consider of
before, but were interrupted by the savages, as we mentioned formerly.
And while we were busied, hereabout, we were interrupted again; for
there presented himself a savage, which caused an alarm. He very
boldly came all alone, and along the houses, straight to the
rendezvous; where we intercepted him, not suffering him to go in, as
undoubtedly he would out of his boldness. He saluted us in English,
and bade us "Welcome!" for he had learned some broken English among
the Englishmen that came to fish at Monhiggon, and knew by name the
most of the captains, commanders and masters, that usually come. He
was a man free in speech, so far as he could express his mind, and of
a seemly carriage. We questioned him of many things; he was the first
savage we could meet withal. He said he was not of these parts, but of
Morattiggon, and one of the sagamores or lords thereof; and had been
eight months in these parts, it lying hence a day's sail with a great
wind, and five days by land. He discoursed of the whole country, and
of every province, and of their sagamores, and their number of men and
strength. The wind beginning to rise a little, we cast a horseman's
coat about him; for he was stark naked, only a leather about his
waist, with a fringe about a span long or little more. He had a bow
and two arrows, the one headed, and the other unheaded. He was a tall,
straight man, the hair of his head black, long behind, only short
before, none on his face at all. He asked some beer, but we gave him
strong water, and biscuit, and butter, and cheese, and pudding, and a
piece of mallard; all which he liked well, and had been acquainted
with such amongst the English. He told us the place where we now live
is called Patuxet, and that about four years ago all the inhabitants
died of an extraordinary plague, and there is neither man, woman, nor
child remaining, as indeed we have found none; so as there is none to
hinder our possession, or to lay claim unto it. All the afternoon we
spent in communication with him. We would gladly have been rid of him
at night, but he was not willing to go this night. Then we thought to
carry him on shipboard, wherewith he was well content, and went into
the shallop; but the wind was high and the water scant, that it could
not return back. We lodged him that night at Steven Hopkin's house,
and watched him.
The next day he went away back to the Masasoits, from whence he said
he came, who are our next bordering neighbors. They are sixty strong,
as he saith. The Nausites are as near, southeast of them, and are a
hundred strong; and those were they of whom our people were
encountered, as we before related. They are much incensed and provoked
against the English; and about eight months ago slew three Englishmen,
and two more hardly escaped by flight to Monhiggon. They were Sir
Ferdinando Gorge's[8] men, as this savage told us; as he did likewise
of the _huggery_, that is, fight, that our discoverers had with the
Nausites, and of our tools that were taken out of the woods, which we
willed him, should be brought again; otherwise we would right
ourselves. These people are ill affected toward the English by reason
of one Hunt, a master of a ship, who deceived the people and got them
under color of trucking with them, twenty out of this very place where
we inhabit, and seven men from the Nausites, and carried them away,
and sold them for slaves, like a wretched man (for twenty pound a man)
that cares not what mischief he doth for his profit.
[Footnote 8: Gorge was an English naval and military commander who
came of an ancient family in Somersetshire. He had undertaken several
schemes of discovery and settlement in America, but with small
success. His pioneer work, however, was of such importance that he has
sometimes been called "the father of English colonization in
America."]
Saturday, in the morning, we dismissed the savage, and gave him a
knife, a bracelet, and a ring. He promised within a night or two to
come again and to bring with him some of the Masasoits, our neighbors,
with such beavers' skins as they had to truck with us.
Saturday and Sunday reasonable fair days. On this day came again the
savage, and brought with him five other tall, proper men. They had
every man a deer's skin on him, and the principal of them had a wild
cat's skin, or such like, on the one arm. They had most of them long
hosen up to their groins, close made, and above their groins to their
waist another leather; they were altogether like the Irish trousers.
They are of complexion like our English gipseys; no hair or very
little on their faces; on their heads long hair to their shoulders,
only cut before; some trussed up before with a feather, broad-wise,
like a fan; another a fox-tail, hanging out. These left (according to
our charge given him before) their bows and arrows a quarter of a mile
from our town. We gave them entertainment as we thought was fitting
them. They did eat liberally of our English victuals. They made
semblance unto us of friendship and amity. They sang and danced after
their manner, like antics. They brought with them in a thing like a
bow-case (which the principal of them had about his waist) a little of
their corn pounded to powder, which, put to a little water, they eat.
He had a little tobacco in a bag; but none of them drank but when he
liked. Some of them had their faces painted black, from the forehead
to the chin, four or five fingers broad; others after other fashions,
as they liked. They brought three or four skins; but we would not
truck with them at all that day, but wished them to bring more, and we
would truck for all; which they promised within a night or two, and
would leave these behind them, tho we were not willing they should;
and they brought us all our tools again, which were taken in the
woods, in our men's absence. So, because of the day, we dismissed them
so soon as we could. But Samoset,[9] our first acquaintance, either
was sick or feigned himself so, and would not go with them, and stayed
with us till Wednesday morning. Then we sent him to them to know the
reason they came not according to their words; and we gave him a hat,
a pair of stockings and shoes, a shirt, and a piece of cloth to tie
about his waist.
[Footnote 9: Samoset is still famous as an Indian who remained firm in
his friendship with the Plymouth colonists.]
SAMUEL SEWALL
Born in England in 1652, died in Boston in 1730; served in
the Bay Colony as judge and in other public stations; one of
the judges at trials for witchcraft in 1692; chief justice
in 1718; a philanthropist, and in 1700 wrote a pamphlet
against slavery; his other works: "Queries Respecting
America," published in 1690; "The Kennebec Indians" in 1721,
and his "Diary" covering the period 1664-1729 in 1882.
HOW HE COURTED MADAM WINTHROP[10]
(1720)
September 5, 1720. Mary Hirst goes to Board with Madam Oliver and her
Mother Loyd. Going to Son Sewall's I there meet with Madam Winthrop,
told her I was glad to meet her there, had not seen her a great while;
gave her Mr. Homes's Sermon....
[Footnote 10: From Sewall's "Diary," as published by the Massachusetts
Historical Society in 1882.
Mrs. Winthrop was the widow of General Waite Still Winthrop, a son of
John Winthrop, Governor of Connecticut, who was a son of John
Winthrop, Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Her maiden name
was Katharine Brattle. She had first married John Eyre, with whom she
lived about twenty years, and by whom she had twelve children. She was
born in 1664, and at the time of Sewall's courtship of her was
fifty-six and he sixty-nine. General Winthrop and Mrs. Sewall had died
a few years before within a month of each other. Madam Winthrop did
not marry Judge Sewall, nor any one else. She died five years after
the date of this courtship.]
September 30. Mr. Colman's Lecture: Daughter Sewall acquaints Madam
Winthrop that if she pleas'd to be within at 3 P.M. I would wait on
her. She answer'd she would be at home.
October 1. Satterday, I dine at Mr. Stoddard's: from thence I went to
Madam Winthrop's just at 3. Spake to her, saying, my loving wife died
so soon and suddenly, 'twas hardly convenient for me to think of
marrying again; however I came to this Resolution, that I would not
make my Court to any person without first Consulting with her. Had a
pleasant discourse about 7 [seven] Single persons sitting in the
Fore-seat. She propounded one and another for me; but none would do,
said Mrs. Loyd was about her Age.
October 3. 2. Waited on Madam Winthrop again; 'twas a little while
before she came in. Her daughter Noyes being there alone with me, I
said, I hoped my Waiting on her Mother would not be disagreeable to
her. She answer'd she should not be against that that might be for her
Comfort. I Saluted her, and told her I perceived I must shortly wish
her a good Time; (her mother had told me, she was with Child, and
within a Moneth or two of her Time). By and by in came Mr. Airs,
Chaplain of the Castle, and hang'd up his Hat, which I was a little
startled at, it seeming as if he was to lodge there. At last Madam
Winthrop came too. After a considerable time, I went up to her and
said, if it might not be inconvenient I desired to speak with her. She
assented, and spake of going into another Room; but Mr. Airs and Mrs.
Noyes presently rose up, and went out, leaving us there alone. Then I
usher'd in Discourse from the names in the Fore-seat; at last I pray'd
that Katharine [Mrs. Winthrop] might be the person assign'd for me.
She instantly took it up in the way of Denyal, as if she had catch'd
at an Opportunity to do it, saying she could not do it before she was
asked. Said that was her mind unless she should Change it, which she
believed she should not; could not leave her Children. I express'd my
Sorrow that she should do it so Speedily, pray'd her Consideration,
and ask'd her when I should wait on her agen. She setting no time, I
mentioned that day Sennight. Gave her Mr. Willard's Fountain open'd
with the little print and verses; saying, I hop'd if we did well read
that book, we should meet together hereafter, if we did not now. She
took the Book, and put it in her Pocket. Took Leave.
October 5. Midweek, I din'ed with the Court; from thence went and
visited Cousin Jonathan's wife, Lying in with her little Betty. Gave
the Nurse 2s. Altho I had appointed to wait upon her, Madam Winthrop,
next Monday, yet I went from my Cousin Sewall's thither about 3 P.M.
The Nurse told me Madam dined abroad at her daughter Noyes's, they
were to go out together. I ask'd for the Maid, who was not within.
Gave Katee a penny and a Kiss, and came away. Accompanyed my Son and
daughter Cooper in their Remove to their New House.
October 6. A little after 6 P.M. I went to Madam Winthrop's. She was
not within. I gave Sarah Chickering the Maid 2s., Juno, who brought in
wood, 1s. Afterward the Nurse came in, I gave her 18d., having no
other small Bill. After awhile Dr. Noyes came in with his Mother; and
quickly after his wife came in: They sat talking, I think, till eight
a-clock. I said I fear'd I might be some Interruption to their
Business: Dr. Noyes reply'd pleasantly: He fear'd they might be an
Interruption to me, and went away. Madam seem'd to harp upon the same
string. Must take care of her Children; could not leave that House and
Neighborhood where she had dwelt so long. I told her she might doe her
children as much or more good by bestowing what she laid out in
Hous-keeping, upon them. Said her Son would be of age the 7th of
August. I said it might be inconvenient for her to dwell with her
Daughter-in-Law, who must be Mistress of the House. I gave her a piece
of Mr. Belcher's Cake and Ginger-Bread wrapped up in a clean sheet of
Paper; told her of her Father's kindness to me when Treasurer, and I
Constable. My Daughter Judith was gon from me and I was more
lonesom--might help to forward one another in our Journey to
Canaan.--Mr. Eyre[11] came within the door; I saluted him, ask'd how
Mr. Clark did, and he went away. I took leave about 9 a-clock. I told
[her] I came now to refresh her Memory as to Monday night; said she
had not forgot it. In discourse with her, I ask'd leave to speak with
her Sister; I meant to gain Madam Mico's favour to persuade her
Sister. She seem'd surpris'd and displeas'd, and said she was in the
same condition!...
[Footnote 11: A son of Madam Winthrop by her first marriage.]
October 10. In the Evening I visited Madam Winthrop, who treated me
with a great deal of Curtesy; Wine, Marmalade. I gave her a
News-Letter about the Thanksgiving; Proposals, for sake of the Verses
for David Jeffries. She tells me Dr. Increase Mather visited her this
day, in Mr. Hutchinson's Coach.
October 11. I writ a few Lines to Madam Winthrop to this purpose:
"Madam, These wait on you with Mr. Mayhew's Sermon, and Account of the
state of the Indians on Martha's Vinyard. I thank you for your
Unmerited Favors of yesterday; and hope to have the Happiness of
Waiting on you to-morrow before Eight a-clock after Noon. I pray GOD
to keep you, and give you a joyfull entrance upon the Two Hundred and
twenty-ninth year of Christopher Columbus his Discovery; and take
Leave, who am, Madam, your humble Servant. S. S."
Sent this by Deacon Green, who deliver'd it to Sarah Chickering, her
Mistress not being at home.
October 12. At Madam Winthrop's Steps I took leave of Capt Hill, &c.
Mrs. Anne Cotton came to door (twas before 8.) said Madam Winthrop was
within, directed me into the little Room, where she was full of work
behind a Stand Mrs. Cotton came in and stood. Madam Winthrop pointed
to her to set me a Chair. Madam Winthrop's Countenance was much
changed from what 'twas on Monday, look'd dark and lowering. At last,
the work, (black stuff or Silk) was taken away, I got my Chair in
place, had some Converse, but very Cold and indifferent to what 'twas
before. Ask'd her to acquit me of Rudeness if I drew off her Glove.
Enquiring the reason, I told her twas great odds between handling a
dead Goat, and a living Lady. Got it off. I told her I had one
Petition to ask of her, that was, that she would take off the Negative
she laid on me the third of October; She readily answer'd she could
not, and enlarg'd upon it; She told me of it so soon as she could;
could not leave her house, children, neighbours, business. I told her
she might do som Good to help and support me. Mentioning Mrs. Gookin,
Nath, the widow Weld was spoken of; said I had visited Mrs. Denison. I
told her Yes! Afterward I said, If after a first and second Vagary she
would Accept of me returning, Her Victorious Kindness and Good Will
would be very Obliging. She thank'd me for my Book, (Mr. Mayhew's
Sermon), But said not a word of the Letter. When she insisted on the
Negative, I pray'd there might be no more Thunder and Lightening, I
should not sleep all night. I gave her Dr. Preston, The Church's
Marriage and the Church's Carriage, which cost me 6s. at the Sale. The
door standing open, Mr. Airs came in, hung up His hat, and sat down.
After awhile, Madam Winthrop moving, he went out. Jno. Eyre look'd in,
I said How do ye, or your servant Mr. Eyre: but heard no word from
him. Sarah fill'd a Glass of Wine, she drank to me, I to her, She sent
Juno home with me with a good Lantern, I gave her 6d. and bid her
thank her Mistress. In some of our Discourse, I told her I had rather
go the Stone-House adjoining to her, than to come to her against her
mind. Told her the reason why I came every other night was lest I
should drink too deep draughts of Pleasure. She had talk'd of Canary,
her Kisses were to me better than the best Canary. Explain'd the
expression Concerning Columbus.
October 13. I tell my Son and daughter Sewall, that the Weather was
not so fair as I apprehended.
October 17. In the Evening I visited Madam Winthrop, who Treated me
Courteously, but not in Clean Linen as somtimes. She said, she did not
know whether I would come again, or no. I ask'd her how she could so
impute inconstancy to me. (I had not visited her since Wednesday night
being unable to get over the Indisposition received by the Treatment
received that night, and _I must_ in it seem'd to sound like a made
piece of Formality.) Gave her this day's Gazett. Heard David Jeffries
say the Lord's Prayer, and some other portions of the Scriptures. He
came to the door, and ask'd me to go into Chamber, where his
Grandmother was tending Little Katee, to whom she had given Physick;
but I chose to sit below. Dr. Noyes and his wife came in, and sat a
considerable time; had been visiting Son and daughter Cooper. Juno
came home with me.
October 18. Visited Madam Mico, who came to me in a splendid Dress. I
said, It may be you have heard of my Visiting Madam Winthrop, her
Sister. She answered, Her Sister had told her of it. I ask'd her good
Will in the Affair. She answer'd, If her Sister were for it, she
should not hinder it. I gave her Mr. Homes's Sermon. She gave me a
Glass of Canary, entertain'd me with good Discourse, and a Respectfull
Remembrance of my first Wife. I took Leave.
October 19. Midweek, Visited Madam Winthrop; Sarah told me she was at
Mr. Walley's, would not come home till late. I gave her Hannah 3
oranges with her Duty, not knowing whether I should find her or no.
Was ready to go home: but said if I knew she was there, I would go
thither. Sarah seem'd to speak with pretty good Courage, She would be
there. I went and found her there, with Mr. Walley and his wife in the
little Room below. At 7 a-clock I mentioned going home; at 8. I put on
my Coat, and quickly waited on her home. She found occasion to speak
loud to the servant, as if she had a mind to be known. Was Courteous
to me; but took occasion to speak pretty earnestly about my keeping a
Coach: I said 'twould cost £100. per annum: she said twould cost but
£40. Spake much against John Winthrop, his false-heartedness. Mr. Eyre
came in and sat awhile; I offer'd him Dr. Incr. Mather's Sermons,
whereof Mr. Appleton's Ordination Sermon was one; said he had them
already. I said I would give him another. Exit. Came away somewhat
late.
October 20. Promis'd to wait on the Governor about 7. Madam Winthrop
not being at Lecture, I went thither first; found her very Serene with
her daughter Noyes, Mrs. Dering, and the widow Shipreev sitting at a
little Table, she in her arm'd Chair. She drank to me, and I to Mrs.
Noyes. After awhile pray'd the favor to speak with her. She took one
of the Candles, and went into the best Room, clos'd the shutters, sat
down upon the Couch. She told me Madam Usher had been there, and said
the Coach must be set on Wheels, and not by Rusting. She spake
something of my needing a Wigg. Ask'd me what her Sister said to me. I
told her, She said, If her Sister were for it, She would not hinder
it. But I told her, she did not say she would be glad to have me for
her Brother. Said, I shall keep you in the Cold, and asked her if she
would be within to morrow night, for we had had but a running Feat.
She said she could not tell whether she should, or no. I took Leave.
As were drinking at the Governour's, he said: In England the Ladies
minded little more than that they might have Money, and Coaches to
ride in. I said, And New-England brooks its Name. At which Mr. Dudley
smiled. Governour said they were not quite so bad here.
October 21. Friday, My Son, the Minister, came to me P.M. by
appointment and we pray one for another in the Old Chamber; more
especially respecting my Courtship. About 6. a-clock I go to Madam
Winthrop's; Sarah told me her Mistress was gon out, but did not tell
me whither she went. She presently order'd me a Fire; so I went in,
having Dr. Sibb's Bowels with me to read. I read the two first
Sermons, still no body came in: at last about 9. a-clock Mr. Jno. Eyre
came in; I took the opportunity to say to him as I had done to Mrs.
Noyes before, that I hoped my Visiting his Mother would not be
disagreeable to him; He answered me with much Respect. When twas after
9. a-clock He of himself said he would go and call her, she was but at
one of his Brothers: A while after I heard Madam Winthrop's voice,
enquiring somthing about John. After a good while and Clapping the
Garden door twice or thrice, she came in. I mention'd somthing of the
lateness; she banter'd me, and said I was later. She receiv'd me
Courteously. I ask'd when our proceedings should be made publick: She
said They were like to be no more publick than they were already.
Offer'd me no Wine that I remember. I rose up at 11 a-clock to come
away, saying I would put on my Coat, She offer'd not to help me. I
pray'd her that Juno might light me home, she open'd the Shutter, and
said twas pretty light abroad; Juno was weary and gon to bed. So I
came home by Star-light as well as I could. At my first coming in, I
gave Sarah five Shillings. I writ Mr. Eyre his name in his book with
the date October 21, 1720. It cost me 8s. Jehovah jireh! Madam told me
she had visited M. Mico, Wendell, and Wm. Clark of the South [Church].
October 22. Daughter Cooper visited me before my going out of Town,
staid till about Sun set. I brought her going near as far as the
Orange Tree. Coming back, near Leg's Corner, Little David Jeffries saw
me, and looking upon me very lovingly, ask'd me if I was going to see
his Grandmother? I said, Not to-night. Gave him a peny, and bid him
present my Service to his Grandmother.
October 24. I went in the Hackny Coach through the Common, stop'd at
Madam Winthrop's (had told her I would take my departure from thence).
Sarah came to the door with Katee in her Arms: but I did not think to
take notice of the Child. Call'd her Mistress. I told her, being
encourag'd by David Jeffries loving eyes, and sweet Words, I was come
to enquire whether she could find in her heart to leave that House and
Neighbourhood, and go and dwell with me at the South-end; I think she
said softly, Not yet. I told her It did not ly in my Lands to keep a
Coach. If I should, I should be in danger to be brought to keep
company with her Neighbour Brooker, (he was a little before sent to
prison for Debt). Told her I had an Antipathy against those who would
pretend to give themselves; but nothing of their Estate. I would a
proportion of my Estate with my self. And I supposed she would do so.
As to a Perriwig, My best and greatest Friend, I could not possibly
have a greater, began to find me with Hair before I was born, and had
continued to do so ever since; and I could not find in my heart to go
to another. She commended the book I gave her, Dr. Preston, the Church
Marriage; quoted him saying 'twas inconvenient keeping out of a
Fashion commonly used. I said the Time and Tide did circumscribe my
Visit. She gave me a Dram of Black-Cherry Brandy, and gave me a lump
of the Sugar that was in it. She wish'd me a good Journy. I pray'd God
to keep her, and came away. Had a very pleasant Journy to Salem.
November 1. I was so taken up that I could not go if I would.
November 2. Midweek, went again, and found Mrs. Alden there, who
quickly went out. Gave her about 1/2 pound of Sugar Almonds, cost 3s.
per £. Carried them on Monday. She seem'd pleas'd with them, ask'd
what they cost. Spake of giving her a Hundred pounds per annum if I
dy'd before her. Ask'd her what sum she would give me, if she should
dy first? Said I would give her time to Consider of it. She said she
heard as if I had given all to my Children by Deeds of Gift. I told
her 'twas a mistake, Point-Judith was mine &c. That in England I
own'd, my Father's desire was that it should go to my eldest Son;
'twas 20£ per annum; she thought 'twas forty. I think when I seem'd to
excuse pressing this, she seemed to think twas best to speak of it; a
long winter was coming on. Gave me a Glass or two of Canary.
November 4. Friday, Went again, about 7. a-clock; found there Mr. John
Walley and his wife: sat discoursing pleasantly. I shew'd them Isaac
Moses's [an Indian] Writing. Madam W. serv'd Comfeits to us. After
awhile a Table was spread, and Supper was set. I urg'd Mr. Walley to
Crave a Blessing; but he put it upon me. About 9. they went away. I
ask'd Madam what fashioned Neck-lace I should present her with, She
said, None at all. I ask'd her Whereabout we left off last time;
mention'd what I had offer'd to give her; Ask'd her what she would
give me; She said she could not Change her Condition: She had said so
from the beginning; could not be so far from her Children, the
Lecture. Quoted the Apostle Paul affirming that a single Life was
better than a Married. I answered That was for the present Distress.
Said she had not pleasure in things of that nature as formerly: I
said, you are the fitter to make me a Wife. If she held in that mind,
I must go home and bewail my Rashness in making more haste than good
Speed. However, considering the Supper, I desired her to be within
next Monday night, if we liv'd so long. Assented. She charg'd me with
saying, that she must put away Juno, if she came to me: I utterly
deny'd it, it never came in my heart; yet she insisted upon it;
saying it came in upon discourse about the Indian woman that obtained
her Freedom this Court. About 10. I said I would not disturb the good
orders of her House, and came away. She not seeming pleas'd with my
Coming away. Spake to her about David Jeffries, had not seen him.
Monday, November 7. My Son pray'd in the Old Chamber. Our time had
been taken up by Son and Daughter Cooper's Visit; so that I only read
the 130th and 143. Psalm. Twas on the Account of my Courtship. I went
to Mad. Winthrop; found her rocking her little Katee in the Cradle. I
excus'd my Coming so late (near Eight). She set me an arm'd Chair and
Cusheon; and so the Cradle was between her arm'd Chair and mine. Gave
her the remnant of my Almonds; She did not eat of them as before; but
laid them away; I said I came to enquire whether she had alter'd her
mind since Friday, or remained of the same mind still. She said,
Thereabouts. I told her I loved her, and was so fond as to think that
she loved me: she said had a great respect for me. I told her, I had
made her an offer, without asking any advice; she had so many to
advise with, that 'twas an hindrance. The Fire was come to one short
Brand besides the Block, which Brand was set up in end; at last it
fell to pieces, and no Recruit was made: She gave me a glass of Wine.
I think I repeated again that I would go home and bewail my Rashness
in making more haste than good Speed. I would endeavor to contain
myself, and not go on to sollicit her to do that which she could not
Consent to. Took leave of her. As came down the steps she bid me have
a care. Treated me Courteously. Told her she had enter'd the 4th year
of her Widowhood. I had given her the News-Letter before: I did not
bid her draw off her Glove as sometime I had done. Her Dress was not
so clean as somtime it had been. Jehovah Jireh.
Midweek, November 9th. Dine at Brother Stoddard's: were so kind as to
enquire of me if they should invite Madam Winthrop; I answer'd No.
Thank'd my Sister Stoddard for her Courtesie. Had a noble Treat. At
night our Meeting was at the Widow Belknap's. Gave each one of the
Meeting One of Mr. Holmes's Sermons, 12 in all; She sent her servant
home with me with a Lantern. Madam Winthrop's Shutters were open as I
pass'd by.
November 11th. Went not to Madam Winthrop's. This is the 2d
Withdraw....
About the middle of December Madam Winthrop made a Treat for her
Children; Mr. Sewall, Prince, Willoughby: I knew nothing of it; but
the same day abode in the Council Chamber for fear of the Rain, and
din'd alone upon Kilby's Pyes and good Beer.[12]
[Footnote 12: In the following summer Judge Sewall made his addresses
to an old friend of his, then a widow, Mrs. Ruggles, by whom he was
rejected. In March of the next year he married Mrs. Mary Gibbs.]
COTTON MATHER
Born in Boston in 1663, died in 1728; son of Increase
Mather; colleague of his father in the North Church of
Boston in 1684, remaining in that pulpit until his death;
active in the suppression of witchcraft; published his
"Magnalia" in 1702, his "Wonders of the Invisible World" in
1692.
IN PRAISE OF JOHN ELIOT[13]
He that will write of Eliot must write of charity, or say nothing. His
charity was a star of the first magnitude in the bright constellation
of his vertues, and the rays of it were wonderfully various and
extensive. His liberality to pious uses, whether publick or private,
went much beyond the proportions of his little estate in the world.
Many hundreds of pounds did he freely bestow upon the poor; and he
would, with a very forcible importunity, press his neighbors to join
with him in such beneficences. It was a marvelous alacrity with which
he imbraced all opportunities of relieving any that were miserable;
and the good people of Roxbury doubtless cannot remember (but the
righteous God will!) how often, and with what ardors, with what
arguments, he became a beggar to them for collections in their
assemblies, to support such needy objects as had fallen under his
observation. The poor counted him their father, and repaired still
unto him with a filial confidence in their necessities; and they were
more than seven or eight, or indeed than so many scores, who received
their portions of his bounty. Like that worthy and famous English
general, he could not perswade himself "that he had anything but what
he gave away," but he drove a mighty trade at such exercises as he
thought would furnish him with bills of exchange, which he hoped
"after many days" to find the comfort of; and yet, after all, he would
say, like one of the most charitable souls that ever lived in the
world, "that looking over his accounts he could nowhere find the God
of heaven charged a debtor there." He did not put off his charity to
be put in his last will, as many who therein shew that their charity
is against their will; but he was his own administrator; he made his
own hands his executors, and his own eyes his overseers. It has been
remarked that liberal men are often long-lived men; so do they after
many days find the bread with which they have been willing to keep
other men alive. The great age of our Eliot was but agreeable to this
remark; and when his age had unfitted him for almost all employments,
and bereaved him of those gifts and parts which once he had been
accomplished with, being asked, "How he did?" he would sometimes
answer, "Alas, I have lost everything; my understanding leaves me, my
memory fails me, my utterance fails me; but, I thank God, my charity
holds out still; I find that rather grows than fails!" And I make no
question, that at his death his happy soul was received and welcomed
into the "everlasting habitations," by many scores got thither before
him, of such as his charity had been liberal unto.
[Footnote 13: From the "Magnalia Christi Americana." This work
comprizes an ecclesiastical history of early New England, and has been
in much favor with collectors. John Eliot has commonly been called
"The Apostle of the Indians." He labored among them many years and
translated into their language the Bible. Copies of the "Eliot Bible"
are now among the most valuable of early American books.]
But besides these more substantial expressions of his charity, he made
the odors of that grace yet more fragrant unto all that were about
him, by that pitifulness and that peaceableness which rendered him yet
further amiable. If any of his neighborhood were in distress, he was
like a "brother born for their adversity," he would visit them, and
comfort them with a most fraternal sympathy; yea, 'tis not easy to
recount how many whole days of prayer and fasting he has got his
neighbors to keep with him, on the behalf of those whose calamities he
found himself touched withal. It was an extreme satisfaction to him
that his wife had attained unto a considerable skill in physick and
chirurgery, which enabled her to dispense many safe, good and useful
medicines unto the poor that had occasion for them; and some hundreds
of sick and weak and maimed people owed praises to God for the benefit
which therein they freely received of her. The good gentleman her
husband would still be casting oil into the flame of that charity,
wherein she was of her own accord abundantly forward thus to be doing
of good unto all; and he would urge her to be serviceable unto the
worst enemies that he had in the world. Never had any man fewer
enemies than he! but once having delivered something in his ministry
which displeased one of his hearers, the man did passionately abuse
him for it, and this both with speeches and with writings that
reviled him. Yet it happening not long after that this man gave
himself a very dangerous wound, Mr. Eliot immediately sends his wife
to cure him; who did accordingly. When the man was well, he came to
thank her, but she took no rewards; and this good man made him stay
and eat with him, taking no notice of all the calumnies with which he
had loaded him; but by this carriage he mollified and conquered the
stomach of his reviler.
He was also a great enemy to all contention, and would ring aloud
courfeu bell wherever he saw the fires of animosity. When he heard any
ministers complain that such and such in their flocks were too
difficult for them, the strain of his answer still was, "Brother,
compass them!" and "Brother, learn the meaning of those three little
words, bear, forbear, forgive." Yea, his inclinations for peace,
indeed, sometimes almost made him to sacrifice right itself. When
there was laid before an assembly of ministers a bundle of papers
which contained certain matters of difference and contention between
some people which our Eliot thought should rather unite, with an
amnesty upon all their former quarrels, he (with some imitation of
what Constantine did upon the like occasion) hastily threw the papers
into the fire before them all, and, with a zeal for peace as hot as
that fire, said immediately, "Brethren, wonder not at what I have
done; I did it on my knees this morning before I came among you." Such
an excess (if it were one) flowed from his charitable inclinations to
be found among those peace-makers which, by following the example of
that Man who is our peace, come to be called "the children of God."
Very worthily might he be called an Irenæus as being all for peace;
and the commendation which Epiphanius gives unto the ancient of that
name, did belong unto our Eliot; he was "a most blessed and a most
holy man." He disliked all sorts of bravery; but yet with an ingenious
note upon the Greek word in Col. iii. 15, he propounded, "that peace
might brave it among us." In short, wherever he came, it was like
another old John, with solemn and earnest persuasives to love; and
when he could say little else he would give that charge, "My children,
love one another!"
Finally, 'twas his charity which disposed him to continual
applications for, and benedictions on those that he met withal; he had
an heart full of good wishes and a mouth full of kind blessings for
them. And he often made his expressions very wittily agreeable to the
circumstances which he saw the persons in. Sometimes when he came into
a family, he would call for all the young people in it, that so he
might very distinctly lay his holy hands upon every one of them, and
bespeak the mercies of heaven for them all.
WILLIAM BYRD
Born in Virginia in 1674, died, in 1744; educated in England
and the Netherlands; visited the court of France; chosen a
Fellow of the Royal Society; receiver-general of the revenue
in Virginia and three times colonial agent for Virginia in
England; for thirty-seven years member, and finally
president, of the Council of Virginia; his home in Virginia
the famous ancestral seat called Westover.
AT THE HOME OF COLONEL SPOTSWOOD[14]
Sept., 1732. Colonel Spotswood's enchanted castle is on one side of
the street, and a baker's dozen of ruinous tenements on the other,
where so many German families had dwelt some years ago; but are now
removed ten miles higher, in the Fork of Rappahannock, to land of
their own. There had also been a chapel about a bow-shot from the
colonel's house, at the end of an avenue of cherry trees, but some
pious people had lately burned it down, with intent to get another
built nearer to their own homes. Here I arrived about three o'clock,
and found only Mrs. Spotswood at home, who received her old
acquaintance with many a gracious smile. I was carried into a room
elegantly set off with pier glasses, the largest of which came soon
after to an odd misfortune. Amongst other favorite animals that
cheered this lady's solitude, a brace of tame deer ran familiarly
about the house, and one of them came to stare at me as a stranger.
But unluckily spying his own figure in the glass, he made a spring
over the tea-table that stood under it, and shattered the glass to
pieces, and falling back upon the tea-table made a terrible fracas
among the china.
[Footnote 14: From "A Progress to the Mines," the date of the visit
being 1732, which was the year in which Washington was born. Byrd's
work is one of several admired writings by Byrd, now known
collectively as the "Westover Manuscripts." Colonel Spotswood, of whom
Byrd here writes, in early life had been a soldier under Marlborough,
and in 1710 Governor of Virginia. In 1714, on his appointment to
command a British expedition to the West Indies, he was made a
major-general, but he died before embarking. He maintained fine
establishments at Yorktown and on the Rapidan.]
This exploit was so sudden, and accompanied with such a noise, that it
surprized me, and perfectly frightened Mrs. Spotswood. But 'twas worth
all the damage to show the moderation and good humor with which she
bore this disaster. In the evening the noble colonel came home from
his mines, who saluted me very civilly, and Mrs. Spotswood's sister,
Miss Theky, who had been to meet him _en cavalier_, was so kind too as
to bid me welcome. We talked over a legend of old stories, supped
about 9, and then prattled with the ladies, till it was time for a
traveler to retire. In the mean time I observed my old friend to be
very uxorious, and exceedingly fond of his children. This was so
opposite to the maxims he used to preach up before he was married,
that I could not forbear rubbing up the memory of them. But he gave a
very good-natured turn to his change of sentiments by alleging that
whoever brings a poor gentlewoman into so solitary a place, from all
her friends and acquaintance, would be ungrateful not to use her and
all that belongs to her with all possible tenderness.
We all kept snug in our several apartments till nine, except Miss
Theky, who was the housewife of the family. At that hour we met over a
pot of coffee, which was not quite strong enough to give us the palsy.
After breakfast the colonel and I left the ladies to their domestic
affairs, and took a turn in the garden, which has nothing beautiful
but three terrace walks that fall in slopes one below another. I let
him understand that, besides the pleasure of paying him a visit, I
came to be instructed by so great a master in the mystery of making of
iron, wherein he had led the way, and was the Tubal Cain of Virginia.
He corrected me a little there, by assuring me he was not only the
first in this country, but the first in North America who had erected
a regular furnace. That they ran altogether upon bloomeries in New
England and Pennsylvania till his example had made them attempt
greater works. But in this last colony they have so few ships to carry
their iron to Great Britain that they must be content to make it only
for their own use, and must be obliged to manufacture it when they
have done. That he hoped he had done the country very great service by
setting so good an example....
Our conversation on this subject continued till dinner, which was both
elegant and plentiful. The afternoon was devoted to the ladies, who
showed me one of their most beautiful walks. They conducted me through
a shady lane to the landing, and by the way made me drink some very
fine water that issued from a marble fountain, and ran incessantly.
Just behind it was a covered bench, where Miss Theky often sat and
bewailed her virginity. Then we proceeded to the river, which is the
south branch of Rappahannock, about fifty yards wide, and so rapid
that the ferry boat is drawn over by a chain, and therefore called the
Rapidan. At night we drank prosperity to all the colonel's projects in
a bowl of rack punch, and then retired to our devotions.
Having employed about two hours in retirement, I sallied out at the
first summons to breakfast, where our conversation with the ladies,
like whip syllabub, was very pretty, but had nothing in it. This, it
seems, was Miss Theky's birthday, upon which I made her my
compliments, and wished she might live twice as long a married woman
as she had lived a maid. I did not presume to pry into the secret of
her age, nor was she forward to disclose it, for this humble reason,
lest I should think her wisdom fell short of her years....
We had a Michaelmas goose for dinner, of Miss Theky's own raising, who
was now good-natured enough to forget the jeopardy of her dog. In the
afternoon we walked in a meadow by the river side, which winds in the
form of a horseshoe about Germanna, making it a peninsula containing
about four hundred acres. Rappahannock forks about fourteen miles
below this place, the northern branch being the larger, and
consequently must be the river that bounds my Lord Fairfax's grant of
the northern neck.
The sun rose clear this morning, and so did I, and finished all my
little affairs by breakfast. It was then resolved to wait on the
ladies on horseback, since the bright sun, the fine air, and the
wholesome exercise, all invited us to it. We forded the river a little
above the ferry, and rode six miles up the neck to a fine level piece
of rich land, where we found about twenty plants of ginseng, with the
scarlet berries growing on the top of the middle stalk. The root of
this is of wonderful virtue in many cases, particularly to raise the
spirits and promote perspiration, which makes it a specific in colds
and coughs. The colonel complimented me with all we found, in return
for my telling him the virtues of it. We were all pleased to find so
much of this king of plants so near the colonel's habitation, and
growing, too, upon his own land; but were, however surprized to find
it upon level ground, after we had been told it grew only upon the
north side of Stony Mountains. I carried home this treasure with as
much joy as if every root had been a graft of the Tree of Life, and
washed and dried it carefully. This airing made us as hungry as so
many hawks, so that between appetite and a very good dinner, 'twas
difficult to eat like a philosopher. In the afternoon the ladies
walked me about amongst all their little animals, with which they
amuse themselves, and furnish the table; the worst of it is, they are
so tenderhearted they shed a silent tear every time any of them are
killed. At night the colonel and I quitted the threadbare subject of
iron, and changed the scene to politics. He told me the ministry had
receded from their demand upon New England, to raise a standing
salary for all succeeding governors, for fear some curious members of
the House of Commons should inquire how the money was disposed of that
had been raised in the other American colonies for the support of
their governors....
Our conversation was interrupted by a summons to supper, for the
ladies, to show their power, had by this time brought us tamely to go
to bed with our bellies full, tho we both at first declared positively
against it. So very pliable a thing is frail man, when women have the
bending of him.
JONATHAN EDWARDS
Born In Connecticut in 1703, died in Princeton in 1758;
pastor at Northampton, Mass., in 1727-50; missionary to the
Indians at Stockbridge in 1751-58; president of Princeton in
1758; his "Treatise Concerning the Religious Affections"
published in 1746; "Qualifications for Full Communion" in
1749; "The Freedom of the Will," his most famous book, in
1754; "Doctrine of Original Sin Defended" in 1758, and
"History of the Redemption" in 1772.
OF LIBERTY AND MORAL AGENCIES[15]
The plain and obvious meaning of the words freedom and liberty, in
common speech, is power, opportunity, or advantage, that any one has,
to do as he pleases. Or, in other words, his being free from hindrance
or impediment in the way of doing, or conducting in any respect, as he
wills. (I say not only doing, but conducting; because a voluntary
forbearing to do, sitting still, keeping silence, etc., are instances
of persons' conduct, about which liberty is exercised; tho they are
not so properly called doing.) And the contrary to Liberty, whatever
name we call that by, is a person's being hindered or unable to
conduct as he will, or being necessitated to do otherwise.
[Footnote 15: From "The Freedom of the Will." It is not alone as a
contribution to theology that this work has been much admired. It is
probably the most famous theological treatise yet produced in America;
one writer has called it "one of the most famous philosophical works
in the world." But as an intellectual achievement solely, and for the
perfection of its style, it has been quite as generally praised.]
If this which I have mentioned be the meaning of the word liberty, in
the ordinary use of language; as I trust that none that has ever
learned to talk, and is unprejudiced, will deny: then it will follow
that in propriety of speech neither liberty, nor its contrary, can
properly be ascribed to any being or thing but that which has such a
faculty, power or property as is called will. For that which is
possest of no such thing as will, can not have any power or
opportunity of doing according to its will, nor be necessitated to act
contrary to its will, nor be restrained from acting agreeably to it.
And therefore to talk of liberty, or the contrary, as belonging to the
very will itself is not to speak good sense; if we judge of sense and
nonsense by the original and proper signification of words. For the
will itself is not an agent that has a will: the power of choosing
itself has not a power of choosing. That which has the power of
volition or choice is the man or the soul, and not the power of
volition itself. And he that has the liberty of doing according to his
will, is the agent or doer who is possest of the will; and not the
will which he is possest of. We say with propriety that a bird let
loose has power and liberty to fly; but not that the bird's power of
flying has a power and liberty of flying. To be free is the property
of an agent, who is possest of powers and faculties, as much as to be
cunning, valiant, bountiful, or zealous. But these qualities are the
properties of men or persons and not the properties of properties.
There are two things that are contrary to this which is called liberty
in common speech. One is constraint; the same is otherwise called
force, compulsion, and coaction; which is a person's being
necessitated to do a thing contrary to his will. The other is
restraint; which is his being hindered, and not having power to do
according to his will. But that which has no will, can not be the
subject of these things. I need say the less on this head, Mr. Locke
having set the same thing forth, with so great clearness, in his
"Essay on the Human Understanding."
But one thing more I would observe concerning what is vulgarly called
liberty; namely, that power and opportunity for one to do and conduct
as he will, or according to his choice, is all that is meant by it;
without taking into the meaning of the word anything of the cause or
original of that choice; or at all considering how the person came to
have such a volition; whether it was caused by some external motive or
internal habitual bias; whether it was determined by some internal
antecedent volition, or whether it happened without a cause; whether
it was necessarily connected with something foregoing, or not
connected. Let the person come by his volition or choice how he will,
yet, if he is able, and there is nothing in the way to hinder his
pursuing and executing his will, the man is fully and perfectly free,
according to the primary and common notion of freedom.
What has been said may be sufficient to show what is meant by liberty,
according to the common notions of mankind, and in the usual and
primary acceptation of the word: but the word, as used by Arminians,
Pelagians and others, who oppose the Calvinists, has an entirely
different signification. These several things belong to their notion
of liberty. 1. That it consists in a self-determining power in the
will, or a certain sovereignty the will has over itself, and its own
acts, whereby it determines its own volitions; so as not to be
dependent, in its determinations, on any cause without itself, nor
determined by anything prior to its own acts. 2. Indifference belongs
to liberty in their notion of it, or that the mind, previous to the
act of volition, be in equilibrio. 3. Contingence is another thing
that belongs and is essential to it; not in the common acceptation of
the word, as that has been already explained, but as opposed to all
necessity, or any fixt and certain connection with some previous
ground or reason of its existence. They suppose the essence of liberty
so much to consist in these things that unless the will of man be free
in this sense, he has no real freedom, how much soever he may be at
liberty to act according to his will.
A moral agent is a being that is capable of those actions that have a
moral quality, and which can properly be denominated good or evil in a
moral sense, virtuous or vicious, commendable or faulty. To moral
agency belongs a moral faculty, or sense of moral good and evil, or of
such a thing as desert or worthiness, of praise or blame, reward or
punishment; and a capacity which an agent has of being influenced in
his actions by moral inducements or motives, exhibited to the view of
understanding and reason, to engage to a conduct agreeable to the
moral faculty.
The sun is very excellent and beneficial in its action and influence
on the earth, in warming it, and causing it to bring forth its fruits;
but it is not a moral agent. Its action, tho good, is not virtuous or
meritorious. Fire that breaks out in a city, and consumes great part
of it, is very mischievous in its operation; but is not a moral agent.
What it does is not faulty or sinful, or deserving of any punishment.
The brute creatures are not moral agents. The actions of some of them
are very profitable and pleasant; others are very hurtful; yet, seeing
they have no moral faculty, or sense of desert, and do not act from
choice guided by understanding, or with a capacity of reasoning and
reflecting, but only from instinct, and are not capable of being
influenced by moral inducements, their actions are not properly sinful
or virtuous; nor are they properly the subjects of any such moral
treatment for what they do, as moral agents are for their faults or
good deeds.
Here it may be noted that there is a circumstantial difference between
the moral agency of a ruler and a subject. I call it circumstantial,
because it lies only in the difference of moral inducements they are
capable of being influenced by, arising from the difference of
circumstances. A ruler, acting in that capacity only, is not capable
of being influenced by a moral law, and its sanctions of threatenings
and promises, rewards and punishments as the subject is; tho both may
be influenced by a knowledge of moral good and evil. And therefore
the moral agency of the Supreme Being, who acts only in the capacity
of a ruler toward His creatures, and never as a subject, differs in
that respect from the moral agency of created intelligent beings.
God's actions, and particularly those which are to be attributed to
Him as moral governor, are morally good in the highest degree. They
are most perfectly holy and righteous; and we must conceive of Him as
influenced in the highest degree by that which, above all others, is
properly a moral inducement, viz., the moral good which He sees in
such and such things: and therefore He is, in the most proper sense, a
moral agent, the source of all moral ability and agency, the fountain
and rule of all virtue and moral good; tho by reason of His being
supreme over all, it is not possible He should be under the influence
of law or command, promises or threatenings, rewards or punishments,
counsels or warnings. The essential qualities of a moral agent are in
God, in the greatest possible perfection; such as understanding, to
perceive the difference between moral good and evil; a capacity of
discerning that moral worthiness and demerit, by which some things are
praiseworthy, others deserving of blame and punishment; and also a
capacity of choice, and choice guided by understanding, and a power of
acting according to his choice or pleasure, and being capable of doing
those things which are in the highest sense praiseworthy. And herein
does very much consist that image of God wherein He made man (which we
read of Gen. i. 26, 27, and chapter ix. 6), by which God distinguishes
man from the beasts, viz., in those faculties and principles of
nature, whereby he is capable of moral agency. Herein very much
consists the natural image of God; as His spiritual and moral image,
wherein man was made at first, consisted in that moral excellency,
that he was endowed with.
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
Born in Boston in 1706, died in 1790; settled in
Philadelphia in 1729; Postmaster of Philadelphia in 1737;
discovered the identity of lightning with electricity in
1753; proposed a "Plan of Union" at Albany in 1754; Colonial
Agent for Pennsylvania in England in 1757-62 and 1764-75;
Member of the Second Continental Congress in 1775; Member of
the Committee which drew up the Declaration of Independence
in 1776; Ambassador to France in 1776; helped to negotiate
the treaty of peace with England in 1783; President of
Pennsylvania in 1785-88; Member of the Constitutional
Convention in 1787.
I
HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO PHILADELPHIA[16]
(1729)
I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and
shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your
mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the figure I have since
made there. I was in my working dress, my best clothes being to come
round by sea. I was dirty from my journey; my pockets were stuffed out
with shirts and stockings, and I knew no soul nor where to look for
lodging. I was fatigued with traveling, rowing and want of rest, I was
very hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar,
and about a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of the
boat for my passage, who at first refused it, on account of my rowing;
but I insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes more generous
when he has but a little money than when he has plenty, perhaps
through fear of being thought to have but little.
[Footnote 16: From Chapters I and II of the "Autobiography."]
Then I walked up the street, gazing about till near the market-house I
met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal on bread, and, inquiring
where he got it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to,
in Second street, and asked for biscuit, intending such as we had in
Boston; but they, it seems, were not made in Philadelphia. Then I
asked for a three-penny loaf, and was told they had none such. So, not
considering or knowing the difference of money, and the greater
cheapness nor the names of his bread, I had him give me three
pennyworth of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy
rolls. I was surprized at the quantity, but took it, and, having no
room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and eating
the other. Thus I went up Market street as far as Fourth street,
passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father;[17] when
she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly
did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went
down Chestnut street and part of Walnut street, eating my roll all the
way, and, coming round, found myself again at Market street wharf,
near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draft of the river
water; and, being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a
woman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and
were waiting to go farther.
[Footnote 17: Deborah was Mr. Read's daughter's name. Her grave,
alongside Franklin's, in Philadelphia, has been a place of much
pilgrimage these many years. One of the letters of Mrs. Franklin that
has survived may be given here in illustration of her limited
education. It was addrest to Franklin while he was in England, being
dated "October ye 11, 1770":
"My dear Child:--the bairer of this is the Son of Dr. Phinis Bond his
only son and a worthey young man he is going to studey the Law he
desired a line to you I believe you have such a number of worthey
young Jentelmen as ever wonte to gather I hope to give you pleshner to
see such a number of fine youthes from your one country which will be
an Honour to thar parentes and Countrey.
"I am my dear Child your
ffeckshonot
Wife D. Franklin."]
Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this time had
many clean-drest people in it, who were all walking the same way. I
joined them, and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of the
Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and, after looking
round awhile and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through labor
and want of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and
continued so till the meeting broke up, when one was kind enough to
rouse me. This was, therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in,
in Philadelphia.
Walking down again toward the river, and, looking in the faces of
people, I met a young Quaker man, whose countenance I liked, and,
accosting him, requested he would tell me where a stranger could get
lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. "Here,"
says he, "is one place that entertains strangers, but it is not a
reputable house; if thee wilt walk with me, I'll show thee a better."
He brought me to the Crooked Billet in Water street. Here I got a
dinner; and, while I was eating it, several sly questions were asked
me, as it seemed to be suspected, from my youth and appearance, that I
might be some runaway.
After dinner, my host having shown me to a bed, I laid myself on
without undressing, and slept till six in the evening, when I was
called to supper. I went to bed again very early, and slept very
soundly till next morning. Then I drest myself as neat as I could, and
went to Andrew Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man
his father, whom I had seen at New York, and who, traveling on
horseback, had got to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his
son, who received me civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he did
not at present want a hand, being lately supplied with one; but there
was another printer in town, lately set up, one Keimer, who, perhaps,
might employ me; if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house,
and he would give me a little work to do now and then till fuller
business should offer.
II
WARNINGS BRADDOCK DID NOT HEED[18]
This general [Braddock] was, I think, a brave man, and might probably
have made a figure as a good officer in some European war. But he had
too much self-confidence, too high an opinion of the validity of
regular troops, and too mean a one of both Americans and Indians.
George Croghan,[19] our Indian interpreter, joined him on his march
with one hundred of those people, who might have been of great use to
his army as guides, scouts, etc., if he had treated them kindly; but
he slighted and neglected them, and they gradually left him.
[Footnote 18: From Chapter X of the "Autobiography."]
[Footnote 19: Croghan afterward became associated closely with Sir
William Johnson in the Mohawk and Upper Susquehanna Valleys. He
acquired title to a large tract of land at the foot of Otsego Lake,
but, while settling it, mortgaged the land heavily, and eventually
lost it through foreclosure. William Cooper, father of the novelist,
subsequently obtained title to these lands and went into the country
to settle them. In the course of his labors, he founded the village of
Cooperstown, and made it his home. It was this circumstance which led
to Fenimore Cooper's knowledge of Indian and frontier life as depicted
in his writings. The home of William Cooper had previously been in
Burlington, N. J.]
In conversation with him one day he was giving me some account of his
intended progress. "After taking Fort Duquesne,"[20] says he, "I am to
proceed to Niagara; and, having taken that, to Frontenac,[21] if the
season will allow time; and I suppose it will, for Duquesne can hardly
detain me above three or four days; and then I see nothing that can
obstruct my march to Niagara." Having before revolved in my mind the
long line his army must make in their march by a very narrow road, to
be cut for them through the woods and bushes, and also what I had read
of a former defeat of fifteen hundred French, who invaded the Iroquois
country, I had conceived some doubts and some fears for the event of
the campaign. But I ventured only to say, "To be sure, sir, if you
arrive well before Duquesne, with these fine troops, so well provided
with artillery, that place, not yet completely fortified and as we
hear with no very strong garrison, can probably make but a short
resistance. The only danger I apprehend of obstruction to your march
is from ambuscades of Indians, who, by constant practise, are dextrous
in laying and executing them; and the slender line, near four miles
long, which your army must make, may expose it to be attacked by
surprize in its flanks, and to be cut like a thread into several
pieces, which, from their distance, can not come up in time to support
each other."
[Footnote 20: Now Pittsburg.]
[Footnote 21: In early times commonly called Fort Frontenac, but now
Kingston, Ontario, Canada. The name was changed to Kingston by
Loyalists who settled at the fort after the American Revolution.]
He smiled at my ignorance, and replied, "These savages may, indeed, be
a formidable enemy to your raw American militia, but upon the King's
regular and disciplined troops, sir, it is impossible they should make
any impression." I was conscious of an impropriety in my disputing
with a military man in matters of his profession, and said no more.
The enemy, however, did not take advantage of his army which I
apprehended its long line of march exposed it to, but let it advance
without interruption till within nine miles of the place; and then,
when more in a body (for it had just passed a river, where the front
had halted till all were come over), and in a more open part of the
woods than any it had passed, attacked its advanced guard by a heavy
fire from behind trees and bushes, which was the first intelligence
the general had of an enemy's being near him. This guard being
disordered, the general hurried the troops up to their assistance,
which was done in great confusion, through wagons, baggage, and
cattle; and presently the fire came upon their flank: the officers,
being on horseback, were more easily distinguished, picked out as
marks, and fell very fast; and the soldiers were crowded together in a
huddle, having or hearing no orders, and standing to be shot at till
two-thirds of them were killed; and then, being seized with a panic,
the whole fled with precipitation.
The wagoners took each a horse out of his team and scampered; their
example was immediately followed by others; so that all the wagons,
provisions, artillery, and stores were left to the enemy. The general,
being wounded, was brought off with difficulty; his secretary, Mr.
Shirley, was killed by his side; and out of eighty-six officers,
sixty-three were killed or wounded, and seven hundred and fourteen men
killed out of eleven hundred. These eleven hundred had been picked
men from the whole army; the rest had been left behind with Colonel
Dunbar, who was to follow with the heavier part of the stores,
provisions, and baggage. The flyers, not being pursued, arrived at
Dunbar's camp, and the panic they brought with them instantly seized
him and all his people; and, tho he had now above one thousand men,
and the enemy who had beaten Braddock did not at most exceed four
hundred Indians and French together, instead of proceeding, and
endeavoring to recover some of the lost honor, he ordered all the
stores, ammunition, etc., to be destroyed, that he might have more
horses to assist his flight toward the settlements, and less lumber to
remove. He was there met with requests from the governors of Virginia,
Maryland and Pennsylvania that he would post his troops on the
frontiers, so as to afford some protection to the inhabitants; but he
continued his hasty march through all the country, not thinking
himself safe till he arrived at Philadelphia, where the inhabitants
could protect him. This whole transaction gave us Americans the first
suspicion that our exalted ideas of the prowess of British regulars
had not been well founded.
In their first march, too, from their landing till they got beyond the
settlements, they had plundered and stript the inhabitants, totally
ruining some poor families, besides insulting, abusing, and confining
the people if they remonstrated. This was enough to put us out of
conceit of such defenders, if we had really wanted any. How different
was the conduct of our French friends in 1781, who, during a march
through the most inhabited part of our country, from Rhode Island to
Virginia, near seven hundred miles, occasioned not the smallest
complaint for the loss of a pig, a chicken, or even an apple.
III
HOW TO DRAW LIGHTNING FROM THE CLOUDS[22]
As frequent mention is made in public papers from Europe of the
success of the Philadelphia experiment for drawing the electric fire
from clouds by means of pointed rods of iron erected on high
buildings, etc., it may be agreeable to the curious to be informed
that the same experiment has succeeded in Philadelphia, tho made in a
different and more easy manner, which is as follows.
[Footnote 22: From a letter to Peter Collinson, dated October 19,
1752, and read before the Royal Society of London in December of the
same year.]
Make a small cross of two light strips of cedar, the arms so long as
to reach to the four corners of a large thin silk handkerchief when
extended; tie the corners of the handkerchief to the extremities of
the cross, so you have the body of a kite; which, being properly
accommodated with a tail, loop, and string, will rise in the air, like
those made of paper; but this being of silk is fitter to bear the wet
and wind of a thunder-gust without tearing. To the top of the upright
stick of the cross is to be fixt a very sharp pointed wire, rising a
foot or more above the wood. To the end of the twine, next the hand,
is to be tied a silk ribbon, and where the silk and twine join, a key
may be fastened. This kite is to be raised when a thunder-gust appears
to be coming on, and the person who holds the string must stand within
a door or window, or under some cover, so that the silk ribbon may not
be wet; and care must be taken that the twine does not touch the frame
of the door or window. As soon as any of the thunder-clouds come over
the kite, the pointed wire will draw the electric fire from them, and
the kite, with all the twine, will be electrified, and the loose
filaments of the twine will stand out every way, and be attracted by
an approaching finger. And when the rain has wetted the kite and
twine, so that it can conduct the electric fire freely, you will find
it stream out plentifully from the key on the approach of your
knuckle. At this key the vial may be charged; and from electric fire
thus obtained, spirits may be kindled, and all the other electric
experiments be performed, which are usually done by the help of a
rubbed glass globe or tube, and thereby the sameness of the electric
matter with that of lightning completely demonstrated.
IV
THE WAY TO WEALTH[23]
COURTEOUS reader:
I have heard that nothing gives an author so great pleasure as to find
his works respectfully quoted by others. Judge, then, how much I must
have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. I
stopt my horse lately, where a great number of people were collected
at an auction of merchants' goods. The hour of the sale not being
come, they were conversing on the badness of the times; and one of the
company called to a plain, clean old man, with white locks, "Pray,
Father Abraham, what think you of the times? Will not these heavy
taxes quite ruin the country? How shall we ever be able to pay them?
What would you advise us to do?" Father Abraham stood up and replied,
"If you would have my advice, I will give it you in short; for 'A word
to the wise is enough,' as Poor Richard says." They joined in desiring
him to speak his mind, and gathering round him he proceeded as
follows.
[Footnote 23: From "Poor Richard's Almanac" for 1757, where it was
printed as a preface signed "Richard Saunders." Franklin began this
Almanac in 1732. John Bigelow, Franklin's biographer and editor, says
it "attained an astonishing popularity." For twenty-five years it had
an average circulation of 10,000 copies. Sometimes it was sent to
press as early as October in order to supply remote colonists in time
for the new year. Translations of it have been printed in nearly all
written languages.]
"Friends," said he, "the taxes are indeed very heavy, and, if those
laid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we might
more easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much more
grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our idleness,
three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly;
and from these taxes the commissioners can not ease or deliver us by
allowing an abatement. However, let us harken to good advice, and
something may be done for us; 'God helps them that help themselves,'
as Poor Richard says.
"I. It would be thought a hard government that should tax its people
one-tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service; but
idleness taxes many of us much more; sloth, by bringing on diseases,
absolutely shortens life. 'Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than
labor wears; while the used key is always bright,' as Poor Richard
says. 'But dost thou love life, then do not squander time, for that is
the stuff life is made of,' as Poor Richard says. How much more than
is necessary do we spend in sleep, forgetting that 'The sleeping fox
catches no poultry,' and that 'There will be sleeping enough in the
grave,' as Poor Richard says.
"'If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be,'
as Poor Richard says, 'the greatest prodigality'; since, as he
elsewhere tells us, 'Lost time is never found again; and what we call
time enough, always proves little enough.' Let us, then, up and be
doing, and doing to the purpose; so by diligence shall we do more with
less perplexity. 'Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all
easy'; and 'He that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce
overtake his business at night'; while 'Laziness travels so slowly
that Poverty soon overtakes him. Drive thy business, let not that
drive thee'; and 'Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man
healthy, wealthy, and wise,' as Poor Richard says....
"Methinks I hear some of you say, 'Must a man afford himself no
leisure?' I will tell thee, my friend, what Poor Richard says, 'Employ
thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure; and, since thou art
not sure of a minute, throw not away an hour.' Leisure is time for
doing something useful; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, but
the lazy man never; for 'A life of leisure and a life of laziness are
two things. Many, without labor, would live by their wits only, but
they break for want of stock'; whereas industry gives comfort, and
plenty, and respect. 'Fly pleasures, and they will follow you. The
diligent spinner has a large shift; and now I have a sheep and a cow,
everybody bids me good morrow.'
"II. But with our industry we must likewise be steady, settled, and
careful, and oversee our own affairs with our own eye, and not trust
too much to others; for, as Poor Richard says,
'I never saw an oft-removed tree,
Nor yet an oft-removed family,
That throve so well as those that settled be.'
And again, 'Three removes are as bad as a fire'; and again, 'Keep thy
shop, and thy shop will keep thee'; and again, 'If you would have your
business done, go; if not, send.' And again,
'He that by the plough would thrive,
Himself must either hold or drive.'
And again, 'The eye of a master will do more work than both his
hands'; and again, 'Want of care does us more damage than want of
knowledge'; and again, 'Not to oversee workmen, is to leave them your
purse open.' Trusting too much to others' care is the ruin of many;
for 'In the affairs of this world men are saved not by faith, but by
the want of it'; but a man's own care is profitable; for 'If you would
have a faithful servant, and one that you like, serve yourself. A
little neglect may breed great mischief; for want of a nail the shoe
was lost; for want of a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a
horse the rider was lost, being overtaken and slain by the enemy; all
for want of a little care about a horseshoe nail.'
"III. So much for industry, my friends, and attention to one's own
business; but to these we must add frugality, if we would make our
industry more certainly successful. A man may, if he knows not how to
save as he gets, keep his nose all his life to the grindstone, and die
not worth a groat at last. 'A fat kitchen makes a lean will'; and
'Many estates are spent in the getting,
Since women for tea forsook spinning and knitting,
And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting.'
'If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting. The
Indies have not made Spain rich, because her outgoes are greater than
her incomes.'
"Away, then, with your expensive follies, and you will not then have
so much cause to complain of hard times, heavy taxes, and chargeable
families; for
'Women and wine, game and deceit,
Make the wealth small and the want great.'
"And further, 'What maintains one vice would bring up two children.'
You may think, perhaps, that a little tea, or a little punch now and
then, diet a little more costly, clothes a little finer, and a little
entertainment now and then can be no great matter; but remember, 'Many
a little makes a mickle.' Beware of little expenses; 'A small leak
will sink a great ship,' as Poor Richard says; and again, 'Who
dainties love, shall beggars prove'; and moreover, 'Fools makes
feasts, and wise men eat them.... If you would know the value of
money, go and try to borrow some; for he that goes a-borrowing goes
a-sorrowing,' as Poor Richard says; and, indeed, so does he that lends
to such people, when he goes to get it in again. Poor Dick further
advises, and says,
'Fond pride of dress is sure a very curse;
Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse.'
And again, 'Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, and a great deal more
saucy.' When you have bought one fine thing, you must buy ten more,
that your appearance may be all of a piece; but Poor Dick says, 'It is
easier to suppress the first desire than to satisfy all that follow
it.' And it is as truly folly for the poor to ape the rich as for the
frog to swell in order to equal the ox.
'Vessels large may venture more,
But little boats should keep near shore.
It is, however, a folly soon punished; for, as Poor Richard says,
'Pride that dines on vanity sups on contempt. Pride breakfasted with
Plenty, dined with Poverty, and supped with Infamy.' And, after all,
of what use is this pride of appearance, for which so much is risked,
so much is suffered? It can not promote health, nor ease pain; it
makes no increase of merit in the person; it creates envy; it hastens
misfortune.
"But what madness must it be to run in debt for these
superfluities.... When you have got your bargain, you may, perhaps,
think little of payment; but, as Poor Richard says, 'Creditors have
better memories than debtors; creditors are a superstitious sect,
great observers of set days and times.' The day comes round before you
are aware, and the demand is made before you are prepared to satisfy
it; or, if you bear your debt in mind, the term, which at first seemed
so long, will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. Time will seem
to have added wings to his heels as well as his shoulders. 'Those have
a short Lent who owe money to be paid at Easter.' At present, perhaps,
you may think yourselves in thriving circumstances, and that you can
bear a little extravagance without injury; but
'For age and want save while you may;
No morning sun lasts a whole day.'
Gain may be temporary and uncertain, but ever, while you live, expense
is constant and certain; and 'It is easier to build two chimneys than
to keep one in fuel,' as Poor Richard says; so, 'Rather go to bed
supperless than rise in debt.'
'Get what you can, and what you get hold;
'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold.'
And when you have got the philosopher's stone, sure you will no longer
complain of bad times, or the difficulty of paying taxes.
"IV. This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom; but, after all,
do not depend too much upon your own industry, and frugality, and
prudence, tho excellent things; for they may all be blasted without
the blessing of Heaven; and, therefore, ask that blessing humbly, and
be not uncharitable to those that at present seem to want it, but
comfort and help them. Remember, Job suffered, and was afterward
prosperous.
"And now, to conclude, 'Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will
learn in no other,' as Poor Richard says, and scarce in that; for, it
is true, 'We may give advice, but we can not give conduct.' However,
remember this, 'They that will not be counseled, can not be helped;'
and further, that 'If you will not hear Reason, she will surely rap
your knuckles' as Poor Richard says."
Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard it and
approved the doctrine; and immediately practised the contrary, just as
if it had been a common sermon; for the auction opened, and they began
to buy extravagantly. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my
Almanacs, and digested all I had dropt on these topics during the
course of twenty-five years. The frequent mention he made of me must
have tired any one else; but my vanity was wonderfully delighted with
it, tho I was conscious that not a tenth part of the wisdom was my
own, which he ascribed to me, but rather the gleanings that I had made
of the sense of all ages and nations. However, I resolved to be the
better for the echo of it; and tho I had at first determined to buy
stuff for a new coat, I went away resolved to wear my old one a little
longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy profit will be as great
as mine.
V
A DIALOG WITH THE GOUT
[_Dated at midnight, 22 October,1780._]
_Franklin._ Eh! Oh! Eh! What have I done to merit these cruel
sufferings?
_Gout._ Many things; you have ate and drank too freely, and too much
indulged those legs of yours in their indolence.
_Franklin._ Who is it that accuses me?
_Gout._ It is I, even I, the Gout.
_Franklin._ What! my enemy in person?
_Gout._ No, not your enemy.
_Franklin._ I repeat it; my enemy; for you would not only torment my
body to death, but ruin my good name; you reproach me as a glutton
and a tippler; now all the world that knows me will allow that I am
neither the one nor the other.
_Gout._ The world may think as it pleases; it is always very
complaisant to itself, and sometimes to its friends; but I very well
know that the quantity of meat and drink proper for a man who takes a
reasonable degree of exercise, would be too much for another, who
never takes any.
_Franklin._ I take--Eh! Oh!--as much exercise--Eh!--as I can, Madam
Gout. You know my sedentary state, and on that account, it would seem,
Madam Gout, as if you might spare me a little, seeing it is not
altogether my own fault.
_Gout._ Not a jot; your rhetoric and your politeness are thrown away;
your apology avails nothing. If your situation in life is a sedentary
one, your amusements, your recreations, at least, should be active.
You ought to walk or ride; or, if the weather prevents that, play at
billiards. But let us examine your course of life. While the mornings
are long, and you have leisure to go abroad, what do you do? Why,
instead of gaining an appetite for breakfast, by salutary exercise,
you amuse yourself with books, pamphlets, or newspapers, which
commonly are not worth the reading. Yet you eat an inordinate
breakfast, four dishes of tea, with cream, and one or two buttered
toasts, with slices of hung beef, which I fancy are not things the
most easily digested. Immediately afterward you sit down to write at
your desk, or converse with persons who apply to you on business. Thus
the time passes till one, without any kind of bodily exercise.
But all this I could pardon, in regard, as you say, to your sedentary
condition. But what is your practise after dinner? Walking in the
beautiful gardens of those friends with whom you have dined would be
the choice of men of sense; yours is to be fixt down to chess, where
you are found engaged for two or three hours! This is your perpetual
recreation, which is the least eligible of any for a sedentary man,
because, instead of accelerating the motion of the fluids, the rigid
attention it requires helps to retard the circulation and obstruct
internal secretions. Wrapt in the speculations of this wretched game,
you destroy your constitution. What can be expected from such a course
of living but a body replete with stagnant humors, ready to fall a
prey to all kinds of dangerous maladies, if I, the Gout, did not
occasionally bring you relief by agitating those humors, and so
purifying or dissipating them? If it was in some nook or alley in
Paris, deprived of walks, that you played awhile at chess after
dinner, this might be excusable; but the same taste prevails with you
in Passy, Auteuil, Montmartre, or Sanoy, places where there are the
finest gardens and walks, a pure air, beautiful women, and most
agreeable and instructive conversation; all which you might enjoy by
frequenting the walks. But these are rejected for this abominable game
of chess. Fie, then, Mr. Franklin! But amidst my instructions, I had
almost forgot to administer my wholesome corrections; so take that
twinge--and that.
_Franklin._ Oh! Eh! Oh! Ohhh! As much instruction as you please, Madam
Gout, and as many reproaches; but pray, Madam, a truce with your
corrections!
_Gout._ No, Sir, no--I will not abate a particle of what is so much
for your good--therefore--
_Franklin._ Oh! Ehhh!--It is not fair to say I take no exercise, when
I do very often, going out to dine and returning in my carriage.
_Gout._ That, of all imaginable exercises, is the most slight and
insignificant, if you allude to the motion of a carriage suspended on
springs. By observing the degree of heat obtained by different kinds
of motion we may form an estimate of the quantity of exercise given by
each. Thus, for example, if you turn out to walk in winter with cold
feet, in an hour's time you will be in a glow all over; ride on
horseback, the same effect will scarcely be perceived by four hours'
round trotting; but if you loll in a carriage, such as you have
mentioned, you may travel all day, and gladly enter the last inn to
warm your feet by a fire. Flatter yourself then no longer that half an
hour's airing in your carriage deserves the name of exercise.
Providence has appointed few to roll in carriages, while he has given
to all a pair of legs, which are machines infinitely more commodious
and serviceable. Be grateful, then, and make a proper use of yours.
Would you know how they forward the circulation of your fluids, in the
very action of transporting you from place to place; observe when you
walk that all your weight is alternately thrown from one leg to the
other; this occasions a great pressure on the vessels of the foot, and
repels their contents; when relieved, by the weight being thrown on
the other foot, the vessels of the first are allowed to replenish,
and, by a return of this weight, this repulsion again succeeds, thus
accelerating the circulation of the blood. The heat produced in any
given time depends on the degree of this acceleration; the fluids are
shaken, the humors attenuated, the secretions facilitated, and all
goes well; the cheeks are ruddy, and health is established. Behold
your fair friend at Auteuil;[24] a lady who received from bounteous
nature more really useful science than half a dozen of such pretenders
to philosophy as you have been able to extract from all your books.
When she honors you with a visit, it is on foot. She walks all hours
of the day, and leaves indolence, and its concomitant maladies, to be
endured by her horses. In this see at once the preservative of her
health and personal charms. But when you go to Auteuil, you must have
your carriage, tho it is no farther from Passy to Auteuil than from
Auteuil to Passy.
[Footnote 24: The reference is to Madame Helvetius, whom Franklin knew
as the widow of the writer Claude Adrien Helvetius. Her home was long
a center of literary society in France. The friendship with Franklin
was a notable incident in his career as American Ambassador to France.
See his letter to her printed here as the sixth of these selections
from Franklin.]
_Franklin._ Your reasonings grow very tiresome.
_Gout._ I stand corrected. I will be silent and continue my office;
take that, and that.
_Franklin._ Oh! Ohh! Talk on, I pray you.
_Gout._ No, no; I have a good number of twinges for you to-night, and
you may be sure of some more to-morrow.
_Franklin._ What, with such a fever! I shall go distracted. Oh! Eh!
Can no one bear it for me?
_Gout._ Ask that of your horses; they have served you faithfully.
_Franklin._ How can you so cruelly sport with my torments?
_Gout._ Sport! I am very serious. I have here a list of offenses
against your own health distinctly written, and can justify every
stroke inflicted on you.
_Franklin._ Read it then.
_Gout._ It is too long a detail; but I will briefly mention some
particulars.
_Franklin._ Proceed. I am all attention.
_Gout._ Do you remember how often you have promised yourself, the
following morning, a walk in the grove of Boulogne, in the garden de
la Muette, or in your own garden, and have violated your promise,
alleging at one time it was too cold, at another too warm, too windy,
too moist, or what else you pleased; when in truth it was too nothing
but your insuperable love of ease?
_Franklin._ That I confess may have happened occasionally, probably
ten times in a year.
_Gout._ Your confession is very far short of the truth; the gross
amount is one hundred and ninety-nine times.
_Franklin._ Is it possible?
_Gout._ So possible that it is fact; you may rely on the accuracy of
my statement. You know Mr. Brillon's gardens, and what fine walks they
contain; you know the handsome flight of a hundred steps, which lead
from the terrace above to the lawn below. You have been in the
practise of visiting this amiable family twice a week, after dinner,
and it is a maxim of your own, that "a man may take as much exercise
in walking a mile up and down-stairs as in ten on level ground." What
an opportunity was here for you to have had exercise in both these
ways! Did you embrace it, and how often?
_Franklin._ I can not immediately answer that question.
_Gout._ I will do it for you; not once.
_Franklin._ Not once?
_Gout._ Even so. During the summer you went there at six o'clock. You
found the charming lady, with her lovely children and friends, eager
to walk with you, and entertain you with their agreeable conversation;
and what has been your choice? Why, to sit on the terrace, satisfying
yourself with the fine prospect, and passing your eye over the
beauties of the garden below, without taking one step to descend and
walk about in them.
On the contrary, dear sir, you call for tea and the chess-board; and
lo! you are occupied in your seat till nine o'clock, and that besides
two hours' play after dinner; and then, instead of walking home, which
would have bestirred you a little, you step into your carriage. How
absurd to suppose that all this carelessness can be reconcilable with
health, without my interposition!
_Franklin._ I am convinced now of the justness of Poor Richard's
remark that "Our debts and our sins are always greater than we think
for."
_Gout._ So it is. You philosophers are sages in your maxims, and fools
in your conduct.
_Franklin._ But do you charge, among my crimes, that I return in a
carriage from Mr. Brillon's?
_Gout._ Certainly; for having been seated all the while, you can not
object the fatigue of the day, and can not want, therefore, the
relief of a carriage.
_Franklin._ What, then, would you have me do with my carriage?
_Gout._ Burn it, if you choose; you would at least get heat out of it
once in this way, or, if you dislike that proposal, here's another for
you; observe the poor peasants, who work in the vineyards and grounds
about the villages of Passy, Auteuil, Chaillot, etc.; you may find
every day, among these deserving creatures, four or five old men and
women, bent and perhaps crippled by weight of years and too long and
too great labor. After a most fatiguing day, these people have to
trudge a mile or two to their smoky huts. Order your coachman to set
them down. This is an act that will be good for your soul; and, at the
same time, after your visit to the Brillons, if you return on foot,
that will be good for your body.
_Franklin._ Ah! how tiresome you are!
_Gout._ Well, then, to my office; it should not be forgotten that I am
your physician. There.
_Franklin._ Ohhh! what a devil of a physician!
_Gout._ How ungrateful you are to say so! Is it not I who, in the
character of your physician, have saved you from the palsy, dropsy and
apoplexy? one or other of which would have done for you long ago but
for me.
_Franklin._ I submit, and thank you for the past, but entreat the
discontinuance of your visits for the future; for, in my mind, one had
better die than be cured so dolefully. Permit me just to hint that I
have also not been unfriendly to you. I never feed physician or quack
of any kind, to enter the list against you; if, then, you do not
leave me to my repose, it may be said you are ungrateful too.
_Gout._ I can scarcely acknowledge that as any objection. As to
quacks, I despise them; they may kill you, indeed, but can not injure
me. And as to regular physicians, they are at last convinced that the
gout, in such a subject as you are, is no disease, but a remedy; and
wherefore cure a remedy?--but to our business--there.
_Franklin._ Oh! Oh!--for Heaven's sake leave me; and I promise
faithfully never more to play at chess, but to take exercise daily,
and live temperately.
_Gout._ I know you too well. You promise fair; after a few months of
good health you will return to your old habits; your fine promises
will be forgotten like the forms of the last year's clouds. Let us
then finish the account, and I will go. But leave you with an
assurance of visiting you again at a proper time and place; for my
object is your good, and you are sensible now that I am your real
friend.
VI
A PROPOSAL TO MADAME HELVETIUS[25]
Mortified at the barbarous resolution pronounced by you so positively
yesterday evening, that you would remain single for the rest of your
life as a compliment due to the memory of your husband, I retired to
my chamber. Throwing myself upon my bed I dreamt that I was dead, and
was transported to the Elysian fields.
[Footnote 25: A letter now printed in Volume VI of the "Works of
Franklin," edited by John Bigelow.]
I was asked whether I wished to see any persons in particular; to
which I replied that I wished to see the philosophers. "There are two
who live here at hand in this garden; they are good neighbors and very
friendly toward one another." "Who are they?" "Socrates and
Helvetius." "I esteem them both highly; but let me see Helvetius
first, because I understand a little French but not a word of Greek."
I was conducted to him; he received me with much courtesy, having
known me, he said, by character some time past. He asked me a thousand
questions relative to the war, the present state of religion, of
liberty, of the government in France. "You do not inquire, then," said
I, "after your dear friend, Madame Helvetius; yet she loves you
exceedingly. I was in her company not more than an hour ago." "Ah,"
said he, "you make me recur to my past happiness, which ought to be
forgotten in order to be happy here. For many years I could think of
nothing but her, tho at length I am consoled. I have taken another
wife, the most like her that I could find; she is not, indeed,
altogether so handsome, but she has a great fund of wit and good
sense, and her whole study is to please me. She is at this moment gone
to fetch the nectar and ambrosia to regale me; stay here awhile and
you will see her." "I perceive," said I, "that your former friend is
more faithful to you than you are to her; she has had several good
offers, but has refused them all. I will confess to you that I love
her extremely, but she was cruel to me and rejected me peremptorily
for your sake." "I pity you sincerely," said he, "for she is an
excellent woman, handsome and amiable. But do not the Abbe de la R----
and the Abbe M---- visit her?" "Certainly they do; not one of your
friends has dropt her acquaintance." "If you had gained the Abbe M----
with a bribe of good coffee and cream perhaps you would have
succeeded; for he is as deep a reasoner as Dun Scotus or St. Thomas;
he arranges and methodizes his arguments in such a manner that they
are almost irresistible. Or if by a fine edition of some old classic
you had gained the Abbe de la R---- to speak against you, that would
have been still better, as I always observed that when he recommended
anything to her, she had a great inclination to do exactly the
contrary."
As he finished these words the new Madame Helvetius entered with the
nectar and I recognized her immediately as my former American friend,
Mrs. Franklin! I reclaimed her, but she answered me coldly, "I was a
good wife to you for forty-nine years and four months, nearly half a
century; let that content you. I have formed a new condition here,
which will last to eternity."
Indignant at this refusal of my Eurydice, I immediately resolved to
quit those ungraceful shades and return to this good world again, to
behold the sun and you. Here am I; let us _avenge ourselves_.
GEORGE WASHINGTON
Born in 1732, died in 1799; adjutant of Virginia troops in
1751; sent on a mission to the French beyond the Alleghany
River in 1753; defended Fort Necessity in 1754; with
Braddock at his defeat in 1755; led the advance guard to
Fort Duquesne in 1758; Member of the Continental Congress in
1774-75; made Commander-in-chief of the Continental Army in
1775; resigned his commission in 1783; President of the
Constitutional Convention in 1787; elected President of the
United States in 1789; reelected President in 1793;
Commander-in-chief of the Army in 1798.
I
TO HIS WIFE ON TAKING COMMAND OF THE ARMY[26]
My Dearest: I am now set down to write to you on a subject which fills
me with inexpressible concern, and this concern is greatly aggravated
and increased when I reflect upon the uneasiness I know it will give
you. It has been determined in Congress that the whole army raised for
the defense of the American cause shall be put under my care, and that
it is necessary for me to proceed immediately to Boston to take upon
me the command of it.
[Footnote 26: A letter written in Philadelphia on June 18, 1775, three
days after his appointment.]
You may believe me, my dear Patsy, when I assure you, in the most
solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment, I have used
every endeavor in my power to avoid it, not only from my
unwillingness to part with you and the family, but from a
consciousness of its being a trust too great for my capacity, and that
I should enjoy more real happiness in one month with you at home than
I have the most distant prospect of finding abroad, if my stay were to
be seven times seven years. But as it has been a kind of destiny that
has thrown me upon this service, I shall hope that my undertaking it
is designed to answer some good purpose.
You might, and I suppose did perceive, from the tenor of my letters,
that I was apprehensive I could not avoid this appointment, as I did
not pretend to intimate when I should return. That was the case. It
was utterly out of my power to refuse this appointment without
exposing my character to such censures as would have reflected
dishonor upon myself, and given pain to my friends. This, I am sure,
could not, and ought not, to be pleasing to you, and must have
lessened me considerably in my own esteem. I shall rely, therefore,
confidently on that Providence which has heretofore preserved and been
bountiful to me, not doubting but that I shall return safe to you in
the fall. I shall feel no pain from the toil or the danger of the
campaign; my unhappiness will flow from the uneasiness I know you will
feel from being left alone. I therefore beg that you will summon your
whole fortitude, and pass your time as agreeably as possible. Nothing
will give me so much sincere satisfaction as to hear this, and to hear
it from your own pen. My earnest and ardent desire is that you would
pursue any plan that is most likely to produce content, and a
tolerable degree of tranquillity; as it must add greatly to my uneasy
feelings to hear that you are dissatisfied or complaining at what I
really could not avoid.
As life is always uncertain, and common prudence dictates to every man
the necessity of settling his temporal concerns, while it is in his
power, and while the mind is calm and undisturbed, I have, since I
came to this place (for I had not time to do it before I left home)
got Colonel Pendleton to draft a will for me, by the directions I gave
him, which will I now enclose. The provision made for you in case of
my death will, I hope, be agreeable.
I shall add nothing more, as I have several letters to write, but to
desire that you will remember me to your friends, and to assure you
that I am with the most unfeigned regard, my dear Patsy, your
affectionate, etc.
II
OF HIS ARMY IN CAMBRIDGE[27]
Nothing would give me more real satisfaction than to know the
sentiments which are entertained of me by the public, whether they be
favorable or otherwise; and I urged as a reason that the man who
wished to steer clear of shelves and rocks must know where they lie. I
know the integrity of my own heart, but to declare it, unless to a
friend, may be an argument of vanity; I know the unhappy predicament I
stand in: I know that much is expected of me; I know that without men,
without arms, without ammunition, without anything fit for the
accommodation of a soldier, little is to be done; and, what is
mortifying, I know that I can not stand justified to the world without
exposing my own weakness, and injuring the cause by declaring my
wants, which I am determined not to do, further than unavoidable
necessity brings every man acquainted with them.
[Footnote 27: From the letter addrest to Joseph Reed, and dated
February 10, 1776. Washington had assumed command in Cambridge on July
3d of the previous year. Joseph Reed was President of the Pennsylvania
Provincial Congress in 1775, and afterward became Washington's
secretary and aide-de-camp. This letter was in reply to two letters
from Reed containing "early and regular communication of what is
passing in your quarter."]
If, under these disadvantages, I am able to keep above water, in the
esteem of mankind, I shall feel myself happy; but if, from the unknown
peculiarity of my circumstances, I suffer in the opinion of the world,
I shall not think you take the freedom of a friend, if you conceal the
reflections that may be cast upon my conduct. My own situation is so
irksome to me at times that, if I did not consult the public good more
than my own tranquillity, I should long ere this have put everything
on the cast of a die. So far from my having an army of twenty thousand
men well armed, I have been here with less than one-half of that
number, including sick, furloughed, and on command, and those neither
armed nor clothed, as they should be. In short, my situation has been
such, that I have been obliged to use art to conceal it from my own
officers.
The party sent to Bunker Hill had some good and some bad men engaged
in it. One or two courts have been held on the conduct of part of
them. To be plain, these people are not to be depended upon if
exposed; and any man will fight well if he thinks himself in no
danger. I do not apply this only to these people. I suppose it to be
the case with all raw and undisciplined troops. Yon may rely upon it
that transports left Boston six weeks ago with troops; where they are
gone, unless driven to the West Indies, I know not. You may also rely
upon General Clinton's sailing from Boston about three weeks ago, with
about four or five hundred men; his destination I am also a stranger
to. I am sorry to hear of the failures you speak of from France. But
why will not Congress forward part of the powder made in your
province? They seem to look upon this as the season for action, but
will not furnish the means. I will not blame them. I dare say the
demands upon them are greater than they can supply. The cause must be
starved till our resources are greater, or more certain within
ourselves.
With respect to myself, I have never entertained an idea of an
accommodation since I heard of the measures which were adopted in
consequence of the Bunker Hill fight. The King's speech has confirmed
the sentiments I entertained upon the news of that affair; and, if
every man was of my mind, the ministers of Great Britain should know,
in a few words, upon what issue the cause should be put. I would not
be deceived by artful declarations, nor specious pretenses; nor would
I be amused by unmeaning propositions; but in open, undisguised, and
manly terms proclaim our wrongs, and our resolution to be redressed.
I would tell them, that we had borne much, that we had long and
ardently sought for reconciliation upon honorable terms, that it had
been denied us, that all our attempts after peace had proved abortive,
and had been grossly misrepresented, that we had done everything which
could be expected from the best of subjects, that the spirit of
freedom rises too high in us to submit to slavery, and that, if
nothing else would satisfy a tyrant and his diabolical ministry, we
are determined to shake off all connections with a state so unjust and
unnatural. This I would tell them, not under covert, but in words as
clear as the sun in its meridian brightness.
III
TO THE MARQUIS DE CHASTELLUX ON HIS MARRIAGE[28]
My Dear Marquis: In reading your very friendly and acceptable letter,
which came to hand by the last mail, I was, as you may well suppose,
not less delighted than surprized to meet the plain American words,
"my wife." A wife! Well, my dear Marquis, I can hardly refrain from
smiling to find you are caught at last. I saw by the eulogium you
often made on the happiness of domestic life in America, that you had
swallowed the bait, and that you would as surely be taken, one day or
another, as that you were a philosopher and a soldier.
[Footnote 28: From a letter, written at Mount Vernon on April 25,
1788, and addrest to the Marquis de Chastellux, author of "Travels in
North America," and a major-general in the army of Rochambeau, who
served under Washington in the American Revolution.]
So your day has at length come. I am glad of it, with all my heart and
soul. It is quite good enough for you. Now you are well served for
coming to fight in favor of the American rebels, all the way across
the Atlantic Ocean, by catching that terrible contagion, domestic
felicity, which, like the smallpox or the plague, a man can have only
once in his life, because it commonly lasts him (at least with us in
America; I know not how you manage these matters in France), for his
whole lifetime. And yet, after all, the worst wish which I can find in
my heart to make against Madame de Chastellux and yourself is that you
may neither of you ever get the better of this same domestic felicity,
during the entire course of your mortal existence.
If so wonderful an event should have occasioned me, my dear Marquis,
to write in a strange style, you will understand me as clearly as if I
had said, what in plain English is the simple truth, "Do me the
justice to believe that I take a heartfelt interest in whatsoever
concerns your happiness." And, in this view, I sincerely congratulate
you on your auspicious matrimonial connection. I am happy to find that
Madame de Chastellux is so intimately connected with the Duchess of
Orleans; as I have always understood that this noble lady was an
illustrious example of connubial love, as well as an excellent pattern
of virtue in general.
While you have been making love under the banner of Hymen, the great
personages in the north have been making war under the inspiration,
or rather under the infatuation, of Mars. Now, for my part, I humbly
conceive that you have acted much the best and wisest part; for
certainly it is more consonant to all the principles of reason and
religion, natural and revealed, to replenish the earth with
inhabitants than to depopulate it by killing those already in
existence. Besides, it is time for the age of knight-errantry and mad
heroism to be at an end. Your young military men, who want to reap the
harvest of laurels, do not care, I suppose, how many seeds of war are
sown; but for the sake of humanity it is devoutly to be wished, that
the manly employment of agriculture, and the humanizing benefits of
commerce, would supersede the waste of war and the rage of conquest;
that the swords might be turned into plowshares, the spears into
pruning-hooks, and, as the Scriptures express it, the "nations learn
war no more."
Now I will give you a little news from this side of the water, and
then finish. As for us, we are plodding on in the dull road of peace
and politics. We, who live in these ends of the earth, only hear of
the rumors of war like the roar of distant thunder. It is to be hoped
that our remote local situation will prevent us from being swept into
its vortex.
JOHN ADAMS
Born in 1735, died in 1826; second President of the United
States; graduated from Harvard in 1755; active in opposing
the Stamp Act; elected to the Revolutionary Congress of
Massachusetts in 1774; delegate to the first and second
Continental Congresses; proposed Washington as
commander-in-chief; signed the Declaration of Independence;
commissioner to France in 1777; to the Netherlands in 1782,
to Great Britain in 1782-83, and to Prussia; minister to
England in 1785; vice-president in 1789; elected President
in 1796; unsuccessful candidate for President in 1800; his
"Life and Works" in ten volumes published in 1850-56.
I
ON HIS NOMINATION OF WASHINGTON TO BE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF[29]
When Congress had assembled, I rose in my place, and in as short a
speech as the subject would admit, represented the state of the
colonies, the uncertainty in the minds of the people, their great
expectation and anxiety, the distresses of the army, the danger of its
dissolution, the difficulty of collecting another, and the probability
that the British army would take advantage of our delays, march out
of Boston, and spread desolation as far as they could go. I concluded
with a motion, in form, that Congress would adopt the army at
Cambridge, and appoint a general; that tho this was not the proper
time to nominate a general, yet, as I had reason to believe, this was
a point of the greatest difficulty. I had no hesitation to declare
that I had but one gentleman in my mind for that important command,
and that was a gentleman from Virginia who was among us and very well
known to all of us, a gentleman whose skill and experience as an
officer, whose independent fortune, great talents, and excellent
universal character, would command the approbation of all America, and
unite the cordial exertions of all the colonies better than any other
person in the Union. Mr. Washington, who happened to sit near the
door, as soon as he heard me allude to him, from his usual modesty,
darted into the library-room. Mr. Hancock--who was our President,
which gave me an opportunity to observe his countenance while I was
speaking on the state of the colonies, the army at Cambridge, and the
enemy--heard me with visible pleasure; but when I came to describe
Washington for the commander, I never remarked a more sudden and
striking change of countenance. Mortification and resentment were
exprest as forcibly as his face could exhibit them. Mr. Samuel Adams
seconded the motion, and that did not soften the President's
physiognomy at all.
[Footnote 29: From the "Diary," printed in the "Works of John Adams,"
as edited by Charles Francis Adams. In his speech naming Washington,
Adams referred to him as "one who could unite the cordial exertions of
all the colonies better than any other person." Two days later he
wrote to his wife that Congress had chosen "the modest and virtuous,
the amiable, generous and brave George Washington, Esq., to be chief
of the American army."]
The subject came under debate, and several gentlemen declared
themselves against the appointment of Mr. Washington, not on account
of any personal objection against him, but because the army were all
from New England, had a general of their own, appeared to be satisfied
with him, and had proved themselves able to imprison the British army
in Boston, which was all they expected or desired at that time. Mr.
Pendleton, of Virginia, Mr. Sherman, of Connecticut, were very
explicit in declaring this opinion; Mr. Cushing and several others
more faintly exprest their opposition, and their fears of discontents
in the army and in New England. Mr. Paine exprest a great opinion of
General Ward and a strong friendship for him, having been his
classmate at college, or at least his contemporary; but gave no
opinion upon the question. The subject was postponed to a future day.
In the mean time, pains were taken out-of-doors to obtain a unanimity,
and the voices were generally so clearly in favor of Washington, that
the dissentient members were persuaded to withdraw their opposition,
and Mr. Washington was nominated, I believe by Mr. Thomas Johnson of
Maryland, unanimously elected, and the army adopted.
II
AN ESTIMATE OF FRANKLIN[30]
His reputation was more universal than that of Leibnitz or Newton,
Frederick or Voltaire, and his character more beloved and esteemed
than any or all of them. Newton had astonished perhaps forty or fifty
men in Europe, for not more than that number probably at any one time
had read him and understood him, by his discoveries and
demonstrations. And these being held in admiration in their respective
countries, as at the head of the philosophers, had spread among
scientific people a mysterious wonder at the genius of this, perhaps,
the greatest man that ever lived. But this fame was confined to men of
letters. The common people knew little and cared nothing about such a
recluse philosopher. Leibnitz's name was more confined still.
Frederick was hated by more than half of Europe as much as Louis XIV
was and Napoleon is. Voltaire, whose name was more universal than any
of these before mentioned, was considered as a vain, profligate wit,
and not much esteemed or beloved by anybody, tho admired by all who
knew his works. But Franklin's fame was universal. His name was
familiar to governments and people, to kings, courtiers, nobility,
clergy and philosophers, as well as plebeians, to such a degree that
there was scarcely a peasant or citizen, a valet de chambre, coachman,
or footman, a lady's maid, or a scullion in a kitchen, who was not
familiar with it, and who did not consider him a friend to human kind.
When they spoke of him they seemed to think he was to restore the
Golden Age....
[Footnote 30: From a letter to the Boston _Patriot_ of May 15, 1811,
now given as an appendix to the "Works of John Adams." The differences
of Adams and Franklin form a striking incident in the biographies of
the two men. Colaborers as they were in a common cause, they had
constant disagreements as to methods while serving their country in
Europe. That they never openly quarreled Adams's biographer, John T.
Morse, attributes to "their sense of propriety and dignity, and to the
age and position of Dr. Franklin." The radical cause lay in the fact
that "they were utterly incompatible, both mentally and morally."]
Nothing perhaps that ever occurred upon this earth was so well
calculated to give any man an extensive and universal celebrity as the
discovery of the efficacy of iron points and the invention of
lightning-rods. The idea was one of the most sublime that ever entered
a human imagination that a mortal should disarm the clouds of heaven
and almost "snatch from his hand the scepter and the rod." The
ancients would have enrolled him with Bacchus and Ceres, Hercules and
Minerva....
Franklin had a great genius, original, sagacious, and inventive,
capable of discoveries in science no less than of improvements in the
fine arts and the mechanic arts. He had a vast imagination, equal to
the comprehension of the greatest objects, and capable of a steady and
cool comprehension of them. He had wit at will. He had humor that,
when he pleased, was delicate and delightful. He had a satire that was
good-natured or caustic, Horace or Juvenal, Swift or Rabelais, at his
pleasure. He had talents for irony, allegory, and fable, that he
could adapt with great skill to the promotion of moral and political
truth. He was master of that infantine simplicity which the French
call _naïveté_, which never fails to charm, in Phædrus and La
Fontaine, from the cradle to the grave.
Had he been blest with the same advantages of scholastic education in
his early youth, and pursued a course of studies as unembarrassed with
occupations of public and private life, as Sir Isaac Newton, he might
have emulated the first philosopher. Altho I am not ignorant that most
of his positions and hypotheses have been controverted, I can not but
think he has added much to the mass of natural knowledge, and
contributed largely to the progress of the human mind, both by his own
writings and by the controversies and experiments he has excited in
all parts of Europe. He had abilities for investigating statistical
questions, and in some parts of his life has written pamphlets and
essays upon public topics with great ingenuity and success; but after
my acquaintance with him, which commenced in Congress in 1775, his
excellence as a legislator, a politician, or a negotiator most
certainly never appeared. No sentiments more weak and superficial were
ever avowed by the most absurd philosopher than some of his,
particularly one that he procured to be inserted in the first
constitution of Pennsylvania, and for which he had such a fondness as
to insert it in his will. I call it weak, for so it must have been, or
hypocritical; unless he meant by one satiric touch to ridicule his own
republic, or throw it into everlasting contempt.
I must acknowledge, after all, that nothing in life has mortified or
grieved me more than the necessity which compelled me to oppose him so
often as I have. He was a man with whom I always wished to live in
friendship, and for that purpose omitted no demonstration of respect,
esteem, and veneration in my power, until I had unequivocal proofs of
his hatred, for no other reason under the sun, but because I gave my
judgment in opposition to his, in many points which materially
affected the interests of our country, and in many more which
essentially concerned our happiness, safety, and well-being. I could
not and would not sacrifice the clearest dictates of my understanding
and the purest principles of morals and policy in compliance to Dr.
Franklin.
THOMAS PAINE
Born in England in 1737, died in New York in 1809; came to
America in 1774; took a prominent part in the Revolution as
a writer; his "Common Sense," advocating independence,
published in 1776; published a periodical, _The Crisis_, in
1776-83; went to Europe in 1787; in 1792 was outlawed from
England for publishing his "Rights of Man"; went to France
and elected to the National Convention in 1793; imprisoned
in France in 1794; published his "Age of Reason" in 1794;
returned to the United States in 1802.
IN FAVOR OF SEPARATION OF THE COLONIES FROM GREAT BRITAIN[31]
The blood of the slain, the weeping voice of nature cries, "'tis time
to part." Even the distance at which the Almighty hath placed England
and America, is a strong and natural proof that the authority of the
one over the other was never the design of heaven. The time, likewise,
at which the continent was discovered, adds weight to the argument,
and the manner in which it was peopled, increases the force of it. The
Reformation was preceded by the discovery of America, as if the
Almighty graciously meant to open a sanctuary to the persecuted in
future years, when home should afford neither friendship nor safety.
[Footnote 31: From "Common Sense," a pamphlet issued by Paine in
Philadelphia on January 1, 1776. In this work Paine advocated complete
separation from England. His arguments helped to consolidate and make
effective a sentiment which already was drifting in the same
direction. Washington said he effected "a powerful change in the minds
of many men."]
The authority of Great Britain over this continent is a form of
government which sooner or later must have an end: and a serious mind
can draw no true pleasure by looking forward, under the painful and
positive conviction that what he calls "the present constitution" is
merely temporary. As parents, we can have no joy knowing that this
government is not sufficiently lasting to insure anything which we may
bequeath to posterity; and by a plain method of argument, as we are
running the next generation into debt, we ought to do the work of it,
otherwise we use them meanly and pitifully. In order to discover the
line of our duty rightly, we should take our children in our hand, and
fix our station a few years farther into life; that eminence will
present a prospect which a few present fears and prejudices conceal
from our sight.
Tho I would carefully avoid giving unnecessary offense, yet I am
inclined to believe that all those who espouse the doctrine of
reconciliation may be included within the following descriptions:
Interested men, who are not to be trusted; weak men, who can not see;
prejudiced men, who will not see; and a certain set of moderate men,
who think better of the European world than it deserves: and this last
class, by an ill-judged deliberation, will be the cause of more
calamities to this continent than all the other three.
It is the good fortune of many to live distant from the scene of
sorrow; the evil is not sufficiently brought to their doors to make
them feel the precariousness with which all American property is
possest. But let our imaginations transport us a few moments to
Boston; that seat of wretchedness will teach us wisdom, and instruct
us forever to renounce a power in whom we can have no trust. The
inhabitants of that unfortunate city, who but a few months ago were in
ease and affluence, have now no other alternative than to stay and
starve, or turn out to beg. Endangered by the fire of their friends if
they continue within the city, and plundered by the soldiery if they
leave it. In their present situation they are prisoners without the
hope of redemption, and in a general attack for their relief they
would be exposed to the fury of both armies.
Men of passive tempers look somewhat lightly over the offenses of
Britain, and, still hoping for the best, are apt to call out, "Come,
come, we shall be friends again for all this." But examine the
passions and feelings of mankind, bring the doctrine of reconciliation
to the touchstone of nature, and then tell me whether you can
hereafter love, honor, and faithfully serve the power that hath
carried fire and sword into your land? If you can not do all these,
then are you only deceiving yourselves, and by your delay bringing
ruin upon your posterity. Your future connection with Britain, whom
you can neither love nor honor, will be forced and unnatural, and
being formed only on the plan of present convenience, will in a little
time fall into a relapse more wretched than the first. But if you say
you can still pass the violations over, then I ask, hath your house
been burnt? Hath your property been destroyed before your face? Are
your wife and children destitute of a bed to lie on, or bread to live
on? Have you lost a parent or a child by their hands, and yourself the
ruined and wretched survivor? If you have not, then are you not a
judge of those who have. But if you have, and can still shake hands
with the murderers, then are you unworthy the name of husband, father,
friend, or lover, and, whatever may be your rank or title in life, you
have the heart of a coward and the spirit of a sycophant.
THOMAS JEFFERSON
Born In 1743, died in 1826; Member of the Virginia House of
Burgesses in 1769-75, and again in 1776-78; Member of the
Continental Congress in 1775; drafted the Declaration of
Independence in 1776; Governor of Virginia in 1779; Member
of Congress in 1783; Minister to France in 1785; Secretary
of State in 1790; Vice-President in 1797; elected President
in 1801 and reelected in 1805.
I
WHEN THE BASTILE FELL[32]
In the meantime these troops, to the number of twenty to thirty
thousand, had arrived and were posted in and between Paris and
Versailles. The bridges and passes were guarded. The King was now
completely in the hands of men the principal among whom had been
noted, through their lives, for the Turkish despotism of their
characters, and who were associated around the King as proper
instruments for what was to be executed. The news of this change began
to be known at Paris about one or two o'clock. In the afternoon a body
of about one hundred German cavalry were advanced, and drawn up in the
Place Louis XV, and about two hundred Swiss posted at a little
distance in their rear. This drew people to the spot, who thus
accidentally found themselves in front of the troops, merely at first
as spectators; but, as their numbers increased, their indignation
rose. They retired a few steps, and posted themselves on and behind
large piles of stones, large and small, collected in that place for a
bridge, which was to be built adjacent to it.
[Footnote 32: From the "Autobiography," now printed in Volume I of the
"Writings of Jefferson," edited by Paul Leicester Ford.]
In this position, happening to be in my carriage on a visit, I passed
through the lane they had formed without interruption. But the moment
after I had passed, the people attacked the cavalry with stones. They
charged, but the advantageous position of the people, and the showers
of stones, obliged the horse to retire, and quit the field altogether,
leaving one of their number on the ground, and the Swiss in the rear
not moving to their aid. This was the signal for universal
insurrection, and this body of cavalry, to avoid being massacred,
retired toward Versailles. The people now armed themselves with such
weapons as they could find in armorers' shops, and private houses, and
with bludgeons; and were roaming all night, through all parts of the
city, without any decided object.
The next day (the 13th) the Assembly prest on the King to send away
the troops, to permit the bourgeoisie of Paris to arm for the
preservation of order in the city, and offered to send a deputation
from their body to tranquillize them; but their propositions were
refused. A committee of magistrates and electors of the city were
appointed by those bodies, to take upon them its government. The
people, now openly joined by the French guards, forced the prison of
St. Lazare, released all the prisoners, and took a great store of
corn, which they carried to the corn-market. Here they got some arms,
and the French guards began to form and train them. The city committee
determined to raise forty-eight thousand bourgeoisie, or rather to
restrain their numbers to forty-eight thousand.
On the 14th, they sent one of their members (Monsieur de Corny) to the
Hotel des Invalides, to ask arms for their Garde Bourgeoisie. He was
followed by, and he found there, a great collection of people. The
Governor of the Invalids came out, and represented the impossibility
of his delivering arms without the orders of those from whom he
received them. De Corny advised the people then to retire, and retired
himself; but the people took possession of the arms. It was remarkable
that not only the Invalids themselves made no opposition, but that a
body of five thousand foreign troops, within four hundred yards, never
stirred. M. De Corny, and five others, were then sent to ask arms of
M. de Launay, Governor of the Bastile. They found a great collection
of people already before the place, and they immediately planted a
flag of truce, which was answered by a like flag hoisted on the
parapet. The deputation prevailed on the people to fall back a little,
advanced themselves to make their demand of the Governor, and in that
instant a discharge from the Bastile killed four persons of those
nearest to the deputies. The deputies retired. I happened to be at the
house of M. de Corny, when he returned to it, and received from him a
narrative of these transactions.
On the retirement of the deputies the people rushed forward, and almost in
an instant were in possession of a fortification of infinite strength,
defended by one hundred men, which in other times had stood several regular
sieges, and had never been taken. How they forced their entrance has never
been explained. They took all the arms, discharged the prisoners, and such
of the garrison as were not killed in the first moment of fury; carried the
Governor and Lieutenant-Governor to the Place de Grève (the place of public
execution), cut off their heads, and sent them through the city, in
triumph, to the Palais royal. About the same instant a treacherous
correspondence having been discovered in M. de Flesseles, Prevôt des
Marchands, they seized him in the Hotel de Ville, where he was in the
execution of his office, and cut off his head.
These events, carried imperfectly to Versailles, were the subject of
two successive deputations from the Assembly to the King, to both of
which he gave dry and hard answers; for nobody had as yet been
permitted to inform him, truly and fully, of what had passed at Paris.
But at night the Duke de Liancourt forced his way into the King's
bedchamber, and obliged him to hear a full and animated detail of the
disasters of the day in Paris. He went to bed fearfully imprest. The
decapitation of de Launay worked powerfully through the night on the
whole Aristocratic party; insomuch that in the morning those of the
greatest influence on the Count d'Artois represented to him the
absolute necessity that the King should give up everything to the
Assembly. This according with the dispositions of the King, he went
about eleven o'clock, accompanied only by his brothers, to the
Assembly, and there read to them a speech, in which he asked their
interposition to reestablish order. Altho couched in terms of some
caution, yet the manner in which it was delivered made it evident that
it was meant as a surrender at discretion. He returned to the Chateau
afoot, accompanied by the Assembly.
They sent off a deputation to quiet Paris, at the head of which was
the Marquis de La Fayette, who had, the same morning, been named
Commandant en chef of the Milice Bourgeoise; and Monsieur Bailly,
former President of the States General, was called for as Prevôt des
Marchands. The demolition of the Bastile was now ordered and begun. A
body of the Swiss guards, of the regiment of Ventimille, and the city
horse guards joined the people. The alarm at Versailles increased. The
foreign troops were ordered off instantly. Every minister resigned.
The King confirmed Bailly as Prevôt des Marchands, wrote to M. Necker,
to recall him, sent his letter open to the Assembly, to be forwarded
by them, and invited them to go with him to Paris the next day, to
satisfy the city of his dispositions; and that night, and the next
morning, the Count d'Artois, and M. de Montesson, a deputy connected
with him, Madame de Polignac, Madame de Guiche, and the Count de
Vaudreuil, favorites of the Queen, the Abbe de Vermont, her confessor,
the Prince of Conde, and the Duke of Bourbon fled.
The King came to Paris, leaving the Queen in consternation for his
return. Omitting the less important figures of the procession, the
King's carriage was in the center; on each side of it the Assembly, in
two ranks afoot; at their head the Marquis de La Fayette, as
Commander-in-chief, on horseback, and Bourgeois guards before and
behind. About sixty thousand citizens, of all forms and conditions,
armed with the conquests of the Bastile and Invalids, as far as they
would go, the rest with pistols, swords, pikes, pruning-hooks,
scythes, etc., lined all the streets through which the procession
passed, and with the crowds of people in the streets, doors, and
windows, saluted them everywhere with the cries of "vive la nation,"
but not a single "vive le roi" was heard. The King stopt at the Hotel
de Ville. There M. Bailly presented, and put into his hat the popular
cockade, and addrest him. The King being unprepared, and unable to
answer, Bailly went to him, gathered from him some scraps of
sentences, and made out an answer, which he delivered to the audience
as from the King. On their return, the popular cries were "vive le Roi
et la nation." He was conducted by a Garde Bourgeoise to his palace at
Versailles, and thus concluded an "amende honorable," as no sovereign
ever made, and no people ever received.
And here, again, was lost another precious occasion of sparing to
France the crimes and cruelties through which she has since passed,
and to Europe, and finally America, the evils which flowed on them
also from this mortal source. The King was now become a passive
machine in the hands of the National Assembly, and had he been left to
himself, he would have willingly acquiesced in whatever they should
devise as best for the nation. A wise constitution would have been
formed, hereditary in his line, himself placed at its head, with
powers so large as to enable him to do all the good of his station,
and so limited as to restrain him from its abuse. This he would have
faithfully administered, and more than this I do not believe he ever
wished. But he had a Queen of absolute sway over his weak mind and
timid virtue, and of a character the reverse of his in all points.
This angel, as gaudily painted in the rhapsodies of Burke,[33] with
some smartness of fancy, but no sound sense, was proud, disdainful of
restraint, indignant at all obstacles to her will, eager in the
pursuit of pleasure, and firm enough to hold to her desires, or perish
in their wreck. Her inordinate gambling and dissipations, with those
of the Count d'Artois, and others of her _clique_, had been a sensible
item in the exhaustion of the treasury, which called into action the
reforming hand of the nation; and her opposition to it, her inflexible
perverseness, and dauntless spirit, led herself to the guillotine,
drew the King on with her, and plunged the world into crimes and
calamities which will forever stain the pages of modern history.
[Footnote 33: See page 214 of Volume IV of this collection for this
tribute from Burke.]
I have ever believed that had there been no Queen there would have
been no revolution. No force would have been provoked, nor exercised.
The King would have gone hand in hand with the wisdom of his sounder
counselors, who, guided by the increased lights of the age, wished
only, with the same pace, to advance the principles of their social
constitution. The deed which closed the mortal course of these
sovereigns I shall neither approve nor condemn. I am not prepared to
say that the first magistrate of a nation can not commit treason
against his country, or is unamenable to its punishment; nor yet that
where there is no written law, no regulated tribunal, there is not a
law in our hearts, and a power in our hands, given for righteous
employment in maintaining right and redressing wrong. Of those who
judged the King many thought him wilfully criminal; many, that his
existence would keep the nation in perpetual conflict with the horde
of kings who would war against a generation which might come home to
themselves, and that it were better that one should die than all. I
should not have voted with this portion of the Legislature. I should
have shut up the Queen in a convent, putting harm out of her power,
and placed the King in his station, investing him with limited powers,
which, I verily believe, he would have honestly exercised, according
to the measure of his understanding. In this way no void would have
been created, courting the usurpation of a military adventurer, nor
occasion given for those enormities which demoralized the nations of
the world, and destroyed, and are yet to destroy millions and millions
of its inhabitants.
II
THE FUTILITY OF DISPUTES[34]
I have mentioned good humor as one of the preservatives of our peace
and tranquillity. It is among the most effectual, and its effect is so
well imitated and aided, artificially, by politeness that this also
becomes an acquisition of first-rate value. In truth, politeness is
artificial good humor; it covers the natural want of it, and ends by
rendering habitual a substitute nearly equivalent to the real virtue.
It is the practise of sacrificing to those whom we meet in society all
the little conveniences and preferences which will gratify them, and
deprive us of nothing worth a moment's consideration; it is the giving
a pleasing and flattering turn to our expressions, which will
conciliate others, and make them pleased with us as well as
themselves. How cheap a price for the good will of another! When this
is in return for a rude thing said by another, it brings him to his
senses, it mortifies and corrects him in the most salutary way, and
places him at the feet of your good nature in the eyes of the company.
[Footnote 34: From a letter to Thomas Jefferson Randolph, dated
Washington, Nov. 24, 1808.]
But in stating prudential rules for our government in society I must
not omit the important one of never entering into dispute or argument
with another. I never saw an instance of one of two disputants
convincing the other by argument. I have seen many, on their getting
warm, becoming rude, and shooting one another. Conviction is the
effect of our own dispassionate reasoning, either in solitude, or
weighing within ourselves, dispassionately, what we hear from others,
standing uncommitted in argument ourselves. It was one of the rules
which, above all others, made Doctor Franklin the most amiable of men
in society "never to contradict anybody." If he was urged to announce
an opinion, he did it rather by asking questions, as if for
information, or by suggesting doubts. When I hear another express an
opinion which is not mine, I say to myself he has a right to his
opinion, as I to mine; why should I question it? His error does me no
injury, and shall I become a Don Quixote, to bring all men by force of
argument to one opinion? If a fact be misstated, it is probable he is
gratified by a belief of it, and I have no right to deprive him of the
gratification. If he wants information, he will ask it, and then I
will give it in measured terms; but if he still believes his own
story, and shows a desire to dispute the fact with me, I hear him and
say nothing. It is his affair, not mine, if he prefers error.
There are two classes of disputants most frequently to be met with
among us. The first is of young students, just entered the threshold
of science, with a first view of its outlines, not yet filled up with
the details and modifications which a further progress would bring to
their knowledge. The other consists of the ill-tempered and rude men
in society, who have taken up a passion for politics. (Good humor and
politeness never introduce into mixt society a question on which they
foresee there will be a difference of opinion.) From both of those
classes of disputants, my dear Jefferson, keep aloof as you would from
the infected subjects of yellow fever or pestilence. Consider
yourself, when with them, as among the patients of Bedlam, needing
medical more than moral counsel. Be a listener only, keep within
yourself, and endeavor to establish with yourself the habit of
silence, especially on politics. In the fevered state of our country
no good can ever result from any attempt to set one of these fiery
zealots to rights, either in fact or principle. They are determined as
to the facts they will believe, and the opinions on which they will
act. Get by them, therefore, as you would by an angry bull; it is not
for a man of sense to dispute the road with such an animal.
III
OF BLACKS AND WHITES IN THE SOUTH[35]
It will probably be asked, Why not retain and incorporate the blacks
into the state, and thus save the expense of supplying by importation
of white settlers the vacancies they will leave? Deep-rooted
prejudices entertained by the whites; ten thousand recollections, by
the blacks, of the injuries they have sustained; new provocations; the
real distinctions which nature has made; and many other circumstances
will divide us into parties, and produce convulsions which will
probably never end but in the extermination of the one or the other
race. To these objections, which are political, may be added others,
which are physical and moral.
[Footnote 35: From Query No. 14 of the "Notes on the State of
Virginia," which, says Jefferson in an "advertisement," "were written
in Virginia in the year 1781 and somewhat corrected and enlarged in
the winter of 1782, in answer to queries proposed to the author by a
foreigner of distinction then residing among us."]
The first difference which strikes us is that of color. Whether the
black of the negro resides in the reticular membrane between the skin
and the scarf-skin, or in the scarf-skin itself; whether it proceeds
from the color of the blood, the color of the bile, or from that of
some other secretion, the difference is fixt in nature, and is as real
as if its seat and cause were better known to us. And is this
difference of no importance? Is it not the foundation of a greater or
less share of beauty in the two races? Are not the fine mixtures of
red and white, the expressions of every passion by greater or less
suffusions of color in the one, preferable to that eternal monotony
which reigns in the countenances, that immovable veil of black which
covers all the emotions of the other race?
Add to these flowing hair, a more elegant symmetry of form, their own
judgment in favor of the whites, declared by their preference of them,
as uniformly as is the preference of the orangutan for the black women
over those of his own species. The circumstance of superior beauty is
thought worthy attention in the propagation of our horses, dogs, and
other domestic animals; why not in that of man? Besides those of
color, figure, and hair, there are other physical distinctions
proving a difference of race. They have less hair on the face and
body. They secrete less by the kidneys, and more by the glands of the
skin, which gives them a very strong and disagreeable odor. This great
degree of transpiration renders them more tolerant of heat, and less
so of cold than the whites.
Perhaps, too, a difference of structure in the pulmonary apparatus,
which a late ingenious experimentalist has discovered to be the
principal regulator of animal heat, may have disabled them from
extricating, in the act of inspiration, so much of that fluid from the
outer air, or obliged them in expiration to part with more of it. They
seem to require less sleep. A black, after hard labor through the day,
will be induced by the slightest amusement to sit up till midnight, or
later, tho knowing he must be out with the first dawn of the morning.
They are at least as brave, and more adventuresome.
But this may perhaps proceed from a want of forethought, which
prevents their seeing a danger till it be present. When present, they
do not go through it with more coolness or steadiness than the whites.
They are more ardent after their female; but love seems with them to
be more an eager desire than a tender, delicate mixture of sentiment
and sensation. Their griefs are transient. Those numberless
afflictions, which render it doubtful whether heaven has given life to
us in mercy or in wrath, are less felt, and sooner forgotten with
them. In general, their existence appears to participate more of
sensation than reflection. To this must be ascribed their disposition
to sleep when abstracted from their diversions, and unemployed in
labor. An animal, whose body is at rest and who does not reflect, must
be disposed to sleep, of course. Comparing them by their faculties of
memory, reason, and imagination, it appears to me that in memory they
are equal to the whites; in reason much inferior, as I think one could
scarcely be found capable of tracing and comprehending the
investigations of Euclid; and that in imagination they are dull,
tasteless, and anomalous.
It would be unfair to follow them to Africa for this investigation. We
will consider them here, on the same stage with the whites, and where
the facts are not apocryphal on which a judgment is to be formed. It
will be right to make great allowances for the difference of
condition, of education, of conversation, of the sphere in which they
move. Many millions of them have been brought to, and born in America.
Most of them, indeed, have been confined to tillage, to their own
homes, and their own society; yet many have been so situated that they
might have availed themselves of the conversation of their masters;
many have been brought up to the handicraft arts, and from that
circumstance have always been associated with the white. Some have
been liberally educated, and all have lived in countries where the
arts and sciences are cultivated to a considerable degree, and have
had before their eyes samples of the best works from abroad.
The Indians, with no advantages of their kind, will often carve
figures on their pipes not destitute of design and merit. They will
crayon out an animal, a plant, or a country, so as to prove the
existence of a germ in their minds which only wants cultivation. They
astonish you with strokes of the most sublime oratory; such as prove
their reason and sentiment strong, their imagination glowing and
elevated. But never yet could I find that a black had uttered a
thought above the level of plain narration; never saw even an
elementary trait of painting or sculpture. In music they are more
generally gifted than the whites with accurate ears for tune and time,
and they have been found capable of imagining a small catch. Whether
they will be equal to the composition of a more extensive run of
melody, or of complicated harmony is yet to be proved. Misery is often
the parent of the most affecting touches in poetry. Among the blacks
is misery enough, God knows, but no poetry. Love is the peculiar
oestrum of the poet. Their love is ardent, but it kindles the senses
only, not the imagination.
There must doubtless be an unhappy influence on the manners of our
people produced by the existence of slavery among us. The whole
commerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the most
boisterous passions--the most unremitting despotism on the one part
and degrading submissions on the other. Our children see this, and
learn to imitate it; for man is an imitative animal. This quality is
the germ of all education in him. From his cradle to his grave he is
learning to do what he sees others do. If a parent could find no
motive either in his philanthropy or his self-love for restraining the
intemperance of passion toward his slave, it should always be a
sufficient one that his child is present.
But generally it is not sufficient. The parent storms; the child looks
on, catches the lineaments of wrath, puts on the same airs, in the
circle of smaller slaves gives a loose to the worst of passions, and
thus nursed, educated, and daily exercised in tyranny, can not but be
stamped by it with odious peculiarities. The man must be a prodigy who
can retain his manners and morals undepraved by such circumstances.
And with what execrations should the statesman be loaded who,
permitting one-half the citizens thus to trample on the rights of the
other, transforms those into despots and these into enemies, destroys
the morals of the one part and the _amor patriæ_ of the other! For if
a slave can have a country in this world, it must be any other in
preference to that in which he is born to live and labor for another;
in which he must lock up the faculties of his nature, contribute as
far as depends on his individual endeavors to the evanishment of the
human race, or entail his own miserable condition on the endless
generations proceeding from him. With the morals of the people, their
industry is destroyed. For in a warm climate no man will labor for
himself who can make another labor for him. This is so true that of
the proprietors of slaves a very small proportion indeed are ever seen
to labor.
IV
HIS ACCOUNT OF LOGAN'S FAMOUS SPEECH[36]
The principles of their society forbidding all compulsion, they are to
be led to duty and to enterprise by personal influence and persuasion.
Hence eloquence in council, bravery and success in war become the
foundations of all consequence with them. To these acquirements all
their faculties are directed. Of their bravery and address in war we
have multiplied proofs, because we have been the subjects on which
they were exercised. Of their eminence in oratory we have fewer
examples, because it is displayed chiefly in their own councils. Some,
however, we have of very superior luster. I may challenge the whole
orations of Demosthenes and Cicero, and of any more eminent orator, if
Europe has furnished any more eminent, to produce a single passage
superior to the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, to Lord Dunmore, when
governor of this State. And, as a testimony of their talents in this
line, I beg leave to introduce it, first stating the incidents
necessary for understanding it.
[Footnote 36: From Query VI of the "Notes on Virginia."]
In the spring of the year 1774 a robbery was committed by some Indians
on certain land adventurers on the river Ohio. The whites in that
quarter, according to their custom, undertook to punish this outrage
in a summary way. Captain Michael Cresap, and a certain Daniel
Greathouse leading on these parties, surprized, at different times,
traveling and hunting parties of the Indians, having their women and
children with them, and murdered many. Among these were unfortunately
the family of Logan, a chief celebrated in peace and war, and long
distinguished as the friend of the whites. This unworthy return
provoked his vengeance. He accordingly signalized himself in the war
which ensued. In the autumn of the same year a decisive battle was
fought at the mouth of the Great Kanawha, between the collected forces
of the Shawanese, Mingoes and Delawares, and a detachment of the
Virginia militia. The Indians were defeated and sued for peace. Logan,
however, disdained to be seen among the suppliants. But lest the
sincerity of a treaty should be disturbed, from which so distinguished
a chief absented himself, he sent, by a messenger, the speech, to be
delivered to Lord Dunmore.[37]...
[Footnote 37: For the text of Logan's speech see Volume VIII of "The
World's Famous Orations," William J. Bryan, editor-in-chief; Francis
W. Halsey, associate editor; Funk and Wagnalls Company, publishers.]
The story of Logan is repeated precisely as it had been current for
more than a dozen years before it was published. When Lord Dunmore
returned from the expedition against the Indians, in 1774, he and his
officers brought the speech of Logan, and related the circumstances
connected with it. These were so affecting, and the speech itself so
fine a morsel of eloquence, that it became the theme of every
conversation, in Williamsburg particularly, and generally, indeed,
wheresoever any of the officers resided or resorted. I learned it in
Williamsburgh; I believe at Lord Dunmore's; and I find in my
pocket-book of that year (1774) an entry of the narrative, as taken
from the mouth of some person, whose name, however, is not noted, nor
recollected, precisely in the words stated in the "Notes on Virginia."
The speech was published in the _Virginia Gazette_ of that time (I
have it myself in the volume of gazettes of that year), and tho in a
style by no means elegant, yet it was so admired that it flew through
all the public papers of the continent, and through the magazines and
other periodical publications of Great Britain; and those who were
boys at that day will now attest that the speech of Logan used to be
given them as a school exercise for repetition. It was not till about
thirteen or fourteen years after the newspaper publications that the
"Notes on Virginia" were published in America. Combating in these the
contumelious theory of certain European writers, whose celebrity have
currency and weight to their opinions, that our country, from the
combined effects of soil and climate, degenerated animal nature, in
the general, and particularly the moral faculties of man, I considered
the speech of Logan as an apt proof of the contrary, and used it as
such; and I copied, verbatim, the narrative I had taken down in 1774
and the speech as it had been given us in a better translation by Lord
Dunmore.[38]
[Footnote 38: The above final paragraph is from the appendix to the
second edition of the "Notes on Virginia," and was called forth by
public criticism of the statements made in the text.]
GOUVERNEUR MORRIS
Born in 1752, died in 1816; member of the First and Second
Continental Congresses; chairman of the committee which
conferred with the British peace commissioners in 1778;
drafted a scheme for a system of coinage which is the basis
of our present system; member of the Convention which
drafted the Constitution, taking a leading part in all the
debates; went to France in 1789 on private business, and
witnessed the outbreak of the Revolution; kept a diary and
wrote important letters; minister to France in 1792; United
States Senator from New York in 1800; active in promoting
the Erie Canal project until his death; his biography
written by Theodore Roosevelt; his "Diary and Letters"
published in 1888.
I
THE OPENING OF THE FRENCH STATES-GENERAL[39]
I had the honor to be present on the fifth of this month at the
opening of the States-General; a spectacle more solemn to the mind
than gaudy to the eye. And yet, there was displayed everything of
noble and of royal in this titled country. A great number of fine
women, and a very great number of fine dresses, ranged round the hall.
On a kind of stage the throne; on the left of the King and a little
below him the Queen; a little behind him to the right, and on chairs,
the princes of the blood; on the right and left, at some distance
from the throne, the various princesses, with the gentlemen and ladies
of their retinue. Advanced on the stage, to the left of the throne,
the Keeper of the Seals. Several officers of the household, richly
caparisoned, strewed about in different places. Behind the throne a
cluster of guards, of the largest size, drest in ancient costumes,
taken from the times of chivalry. In front of the throne on the right,
below the stage, the ministers of state, with a long table before
them. On the opposite side of the hall some benches, on which sat the
maréchals of France, and other great officers. In front of the
ministers, on benches facing the opposite side of the hall, sat the
representatives of the clergy, being priests of all colors, scarlet,
crimson, black, white, and gray, to the number of three hundred. In
front of the maréchals of France, on benches facing the clergy, sat an
equal number of representatives of the nobility, drest in a robe of
black, waistcoats of cloth of gold, and over their shoulders, so as to
hang forward to their waists, a kind of lapels about a quarter of a
yard wide at top, and wider at bottom, made of cloth of gold. On
benches, which reached quite across the hall, and facing the stage,
sat the representatives of the people clothed in black. In the space
between the clergy and nobles, directly in front of the
representatives of the people, and facing the throne, stood the
heralds-at-arms, with their staves and in very rich dresses.
[Footnote 39: From a letter written in 1789 and addrest to Mrs. Morris
of Philadelphia. Copyright, 1888, by Charles Scribner's Sons.]
When the King entered, he was saluted with a shout of applause. Some
time after he had taken his seat, he put on a round beaver,
ornamented with white plumes, the part in front turned up, with a
large diamond button in the center. He read his speech well, and was
interrupted at a part which affected his audience by a loud shout of
_Vive le Roi_. After this had subsided, he finished his speech, and
received again an animated acclamation of applause. He then took off
his hat, and after a while put it on again, at which the nobles also
put on their hats, which resembled the King's, excepting the button.
The effect of this display of plumage was fine.
The Keeper of the Seals then performed his genuflexions to the throne,
and mumbled out, in a very ungraceful manner, a speech of considerable
length, which nobody pretends to judge of, because nobody heard it. He
was succeeded by M. Necker,[40] who soon handed his speech to his
clerk, being unable to go through with it. The clerk delivered it much
better than the minister, and that is no great praise. It was three
hours long, contained many excellent things, but too much of
compliment, too much of repetition, and indeed too much of everything,
for it was too long by two hours, and yet fell short in some capital
points of great expectation. He received, however, very repeated
plaudits from the audience, some of which were merited, but more were
certainly paid to his character than to his composition. M. Necker's
long speech now comes to a close, and the King rises to depart. The
hall resounds with a long loud _Vive le Roi_. He passes the Queen, who
rises to follow him. At this moment some one, imbued with the milk of
human kindness, originates a faint _Vive la Reine_. She makes a humble
courtesy and presents the sinking of the high Austrian spirit; a
livelier acclamation in return, and to this her lowlier bending, which
is succeeded by a shout of loud applause. Here drops the curtain on
the first great act of this great drama, in which Bourbon gives
freedom. His courtiers seem to feel what he seems to be insensible of,
the pang of greatness going off.
[Footnote 40: Jacques Necker, director of the Treasury in 1776;
resigned in 1781; recalled in 1788; convened the States-General in
1789; dismissed in the same year and again recalled, but finally
resigned in 1790. Married Mlle. Suzanne Curchod, Gibbon's early love,
and became the father of Madame de Staël.]
II
OF THE EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI[41]
The late King of this country has been publicly executed. He died in a
manner becoming his dignity. Mounting the scaffold, he exprest anew
his forgiveness of those who persecuted him, and a prayer that his
deluded people might be benefited by his death. On the scaffold he
attempted to speak, but the commanding officer, Santerre, ordered the
drums to beat. The King made two unavailing efforts, but with the same
bad success. The executioners threw him down, and were in such haste
as to let fall the ax before his neck was properly placed, so that he
was mangled.
[Footnote 41: From a letter to Thomas Jefferson, dated Paris, January
25, 1793, printed in Volume II, Chapter 28, of Morris's "Diary and
Letters." Copyright, 1888, by Charles Scribner's Sons.]
It would be needless to give you an affecting narrative of
particulars. I proceed to what is more important, having but a few
minutes to write in by the present good opportunity. The greatest care
was taken to prevent a concourse of people. This proves a conviction
that the majority was not favorable to that severe measure. In fact,
the great mass of the people mourned the fate of their unhappy prince.
I have seen grief, such as for the untimely death of a beloved parent.
Everything wears an appearance of solemnity which is awfully
distressing. I have been told by a gentleman from the spot that
putting the King to death would be a signal for disbanding the army in
Flanders. I do not believe this, but incline to think it will have
some effect on the army, already perishing by want and moldering fast
away. The people of that country, if the French army retreats, will, I
am persuaded, take a severe vengeance for the injuries they have felt
and the insults they have been exposed to. Both are great. The war
against France is become popular in Austria, and is becoming so in
Germany. If my judgment be good, the testament of Louis the Sixteenth
will be more powerful against the present rulers of this country than
any army of a hundred thousand men. You will learn the effect it has
in England. I believe that the English will be wound up to a pitch of
enthusiastic horror against France, which their cool and steady temper
seems to be scarcely susceptible of.
I enclose you a translation of a letter from Sweden, which I have
received from Denmark. You will see thereby that the Jacobin
principles are propagated with zeal in every quarter. Whether the
Regent of Sweden intends to make himself king is a moot point. All the
world knows that the young prince is not legitimate, altho born under
circumstances which render it, legally speaking, impossible to
question his legitimacy. I consider a war between Britain and France
is inevitable. I have not proof, but some very leading circumstances.
Britain will, I think, suspend her blow until she can strike very
hard, unless, indeed, they should think it advisable to seize the
moment of indignation against late events for a declaration of war.
This is not improbable, because it may be coupled with those general
declarations against all kings, under the name of tyrants, which
contain a determination to destroy them, and the threat that if the
ministers of England presume to declare war, an appeal shall be made
to the people at the head of an invading army. Of course, a design may
be exhibited of entering into the heart of Great Britain, to overrun
the Constitution, destroy the rights of property, and finally to
dethrone and murder the King--all which are things the English will
neither approve of nor submit to.
ALEXANDER HAMILTON
Born in 1757, died in 1804; a pamphleteer in the agitation
preceding the Revolution; a captain of artillery in 1776; on
Washington's staff in 1777-81: won distinction at Yorktown
in 1781; member of the Continental Congress in 1782; member
of the Constitutional Convention of 1787; Secretary of the
Treasury in 1789; Commander-in-chief of the army in 1799;
killed in a duel by Aaron Burr in 1804.
I
OF THE FAILURE OF CONFEDERATION[42]
In the course of the preceding papers, I have endeavored, my fellow
citizens, to place before you, in a clear and convincing light, the
importance of union to your political safety and happiness. I have
unfolded to you a complication of dangers to which you would be
exposed, should you permit that sacred knot, which binds the people of
America together, to be severed or dissolved by ambition or by
avarice, by jealousy or by misrepresentation. In the sequel of the
inquiry through which I propose to accompany you the truths intended
to be inculcated will receive further confirmation from facts and
arguments hitherto unnoticed. If the road over which you will still
have to pass should in some places appear to you tedious or irksome,
you will recollect that you are in quest of information on a subject
the most momentous which can engage the attention of a free people;
that the field through which you have to travel is in itself spacious,
and that the difficulties of the journey have been unnecessarily
increased by the mazes with which sophistry has beset the way. It will
be my aim to remove the obstacles to your progress in as compendious a
manner as it can be done without sacrificing utility to dispatch.
[Footnote 42: From No. 15 of the "Federalist" Papers, now printed in
Volume IX of the "Works of Hamilton," edited by Henry Cabot Lodge.]
In pursuance of the plan which I have laid down for the discussion of
the subject, the point next in order to be examined is the
"insufficiency of the present confederation to the preservation of the
Union."
It may perhaps be asked what need there is of reasoning or proof to
illustrate a position which is neither controverted nor doubted; to
which the understandings and feelings of all classes of men assent;
and which in substance is admitted by the opponents as well as by the
friends of the new constitution? It must in truth be acknowledged
that, however these may differ in other respects, they in general
appear to harmonize in the opinion that there are material
imperfections in our national system, and that something is necessary
to be done to rescue us from impending anarchy. The facts that support
this opinion are no longer objects of speculation. They have forced
themselves upon the sensibility of the people at large, and have at
length extorted from those whose mistaken policy has had the principal
share in precipitating the extremity at which we are arrived, a
reluctant confession of the reality of many of those defects in the
scheme of our federal government which have been long pointed out and
regretted by the intelligent friends of the Union.
We may, indeed, with propriety be said to have reached almost the last
stage of national humiliation. There is scarcely anything that can
wound the pride, or degrade the character of an independent people
which we do not experience. Are there engagements, to the performance
of which we are held by every tie respectable among men? These are the
subjects of constant and unblushing violation. Do we owe debts to
foreigners, and to our own citizens, contracted in a time of imminent
peril, for the preservation of our political existence? These remain
without any proper or satisfactory provision for their discharge. Have
we valuable territories and important posts in the possession of a
foreign power, which, by express stipulations, ought long since to
have been surrendered? These are still retained, to the prejudice of
our interests not less than of our rights. Are we in a condition to
resent or to repel the aggression? We have neither troops, nor
treasury, nor government. Are we even in a condition to remonstrate
with dignity? The just imputations on our own faith, in respect to the
same treaty, ought first to be removed. Are we entitled, by nature and
compact, to a free participation in the navigation of the Mississippi?
Spain excludes us from it. Is public credit an indispensable resource
in time of public danger? We seem to have abandoned its cause as
desperate and irretrievable. Is commerce of importance to national
wealth? Ours is at the lowest point of declension. Is respectability
in the eyes of foreign powers a safeguard against foreign
encroachments? The imbecility of our government even forbids them to
treat with us: our ambassadors abroad are the mere pageants of mimic
sovereignty.
Is a violent and unnatural decrease in the value of land a symptom of
national distress? The price of improved land, in most parts of the
country, is much lower than can be accounted for by the quantity of
waste land at market, and can only be fully explained by that want of
private and public confidence which are so alarmingly prevalent among
all ranks, and which have a direct tendency to depreciate property of
every kind. Is private credit the friend and patron of industry? That
most useful kind which relates to borrowing and lending is reduced
within the narrowest limits, and this still more from an opinion of
insecurity than from a scarcity of money. To shorten an enumeration of
particulars which can afford neither pleasure nor instruction, it may
in general be demanded what indication is there of national disorder,
poverty, and insignificance that could befall a community so
peculiarly blest with natural advantages as we are, which does not
form a part of the dark catalog of our public misfortunes?
This is the melancholy situation to which we have been brought by
those very maxims and counsels which would now deter us from adopting
the proposed constitution; and which, not content with having
conducted us to the brink of a precipice, seem resolved to plunge us
into the abyss that awaits us below. Here, my countrymen, impelled by
every motive that ought to influence an enlightened people, let us
make a firm stand for our safety, our tranquillity, our dignity, our
reputation. Let us at last break the fatal charm which has too long
seduced us from the paths of felicity and prosperity.
It is true, as has been before observed, that facts too stubborn to be
resisted have produced a species of general assent to the abstract
proposition that there exist material defects in our national system;
but the usefulness of the concession, on the part of the old
adversaries of federal measures, is destroyed by a strenuous
opposition to a remedy, upon the only principles that can give it a
chance of success. While they admit that the government of the United
States is destitute of energy, they contend against conferring upon it
those powers which are requisite to supply that energy. They seem
still to aim at things repugnant and irreconcilable; at an
augmentation of federal authority, without a diminution of State
authority; at sovereignty in the Union, and complete independence in
the members. They still, in fine, seem to cherish with blind devotion
the political monster of an _imperium in imperio_. This renders a full
display of the principal defects of the confederation necessary in
order to show that the evils we experience do not proceed from minute
or partial imperfections, but from fundamental errors in the structure
of the building, which can not be amended otherwise than by an
alteration in the very elements and main pillars of the fabric.
The great and radical vice in the construction of the existing
confederation is in the principle of legislation for states or
governments in their corporate or collective capacities, and as
contra-distinguished from the individuals of whom they consist. Tho
this principle does not run through all the powers delegated to the
Union; yet it pervades and governs those on which the efficacy of the
rest depends: except as to the rule of apportionment, the United
States have an indefinite discretion to make requisitions for men and
money; but they have no authority to raise either by regulations
extending to the individual citizens of America. The consequence of
this is that, tho in theory their resolutions concerning those objects
are laws constitutionally binding on the members of the Union, yet in
practise they are mere recommendations, which the States observe or
disregard at their option.
It is a singular instance of the capriciousness of the human mind that
after all the admonitions we have had from experience on this head,
there should still be found men who object to the new constitution for
deviating from a principle which has been found the bane of the old;
and which is, in itself, evidently incompatible with the idea of a
government; a principle, in short, which, if it is to be executed at
all, must substitute the violent and sanguinary agency of the sword to
the mild influence of the magistracy.
II
HIS REASONS FOR NOT DECLINING BURR'S CHALLENGE[43]
On my expected interview with Col. Burr, I think it proper to make
some remarks explanatory of my conduct, motives, and views. I was
certainly desirous of avoiding this interview for the most urgent
reasons:
[Footnote 43: Written the day before the duel, which took place in
Weehawken, N. J., on July 11, 1804. Hamilton, wounded, was taken to
his house in the upper part of Manhattan Island and there died on the
following day. This statement is now printed in Volume VIII of the
"Works of Hamilton."]
1. My religious and moral principles are strongly opposed to the
practise of duelling, and it would ever give me pain to be obliged to
shed the blood of a fellow creature in a private combat forbidden by
the law.
2. My wife and children are extremely dear to me, and my life is of
the utmost importance to them in various views.
3. I feel a sense of obligation toward my creditors, who, in case of
accident to me, by the forced sale of my property, may be in some
degree sufferers. I did not think myself at liberty, as a man of
probity, lightly to expose them to this hazard.
4. I am conscious of no ill-will toward Col. Burr, distinct from
political opposition, which, as I trust, has proceeded from pure and
upright motives.
Lastly, I shall hazard much and can probably gain nothing by the issue
of this interview.
But it was, as I conceive, impossible to avoid it. There were
intrinsic difficulties in the thing, an artificial embarrassment from
the manner of proceeding on the part of Col. Burr.
Intrinsic, because it is not to be denied that my animadversion on the
political principles, character and views of Col. Burr have been
extremely severe; and on different occasions I, in common with many
others, have made very unfavorable criticisms on particular instances
of the private conduct of this gentleman. In proportion as these
impressions were entertained with sincerity and uttered with motives
and for purposes which might appear to me commendable would be the
difficulty (until they could be removed by evidence of their being
erroneous) of explanation or apology. The disavowal required of me by
Col. Burr in a general and indefinite form was out of my power, if it
had really been proper for me to submit to be questioned, but I was
sincerely of the opinion that this could not be, and in this opinion I
was confirmed by a very moderate and judicious friend whom I
consulted. Besides that, Col. Burr appeared to me to assume, in the
first instance, a tone unnecessarily peremptory and menacing, and, in
the second, positively offensive. Yet I wished as far as might be
practicable to leave a door open to accommodation. This, I think, will
be inferred from the written communication made by me and by my
directions, and would be confirmed by the conversation between Mr. Van
Ness and myself which arose out of the subject. I am not sure whether,
under all the circumstances, I did not go further in the attempt to
accom
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