George Washington.

(Rev. Dr. Tuttle.)

The "Assembly Balls," a subscription entertainment, no doubt arranged to keep up the spirits of the army officers, were held that winter at the O'Hara Tavern, says Dr. Tuttle, a house facing the Green and on or adjoining the lot where now stands Washington Hall,—and probably also at the Arnold Tavern.

In the meadow, in front of the headquarters, Washington's body-guard was encamped, originally a select troop of about one hundred Virginians.

Painted by MISS EMMA H. VAN PELT. From Pen and Ink Sketch by MISS S. HOWELL. ORIGINAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 1738.Painted by MISS EMMA H. VAN PELT.From Pen and Ink Sketch by MISS S. HOWELL.ORIGINAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 1738.

Martha Washington was a fine horsewoman and the General a superb horseman, as are all Virginians of the present day. Many were the rides they took together over the country, one of the most frequent, being to a certain elevation on the Short Hills, from which the General with his glass could see every movement of the enemy. Here was stationed the giant alarm-gun, an eighteen-pounder, and here was the main centre of the system of beacon-lights on the hills around. From this point can be seen the entire sea-board in the vicinity of New York City, which was of great importance when it was not known whether Howe would move towards West Point or Philadelphia. There is also a view of the entire region west of the mountain, "to the crown of the hills which lie back of Morristown, and extending to Baskingridge, Pluckamin and the hills in the vicinity of Middlebrook on the South, and over to Whippany, Montville, Pompton, Ringwood, and, across the State-line among the mountains of Orange County, N. Y., on the north." On our road to Madison, we may call up in imagination, the vision, which in those days was no unusual sight, says Dr. Tuttle, of "Washington and his accomplished lady, mounted on bay horses and accompanied by their faithful mulatto, 'Bill,' and fifty or sixty mounted Life-guards, passing on their way to or from their quarters in Morristown." At these times "the 'star spangled banner' was sure to float from the village liberty-pole, while our ancestors congregated along the highway where he was to pass and around the village inn, to do honor to the man to whose fidelity and martialskill all eyes were turned for the salvation of our country."

Sometimes this cavalcade would pass along the Baskingridge Road, (now Mt. Kemble Avenue), perhaps stop at General Doughty's house, or, galloping on, stop at the Kemble mansion, (afterwards the Hoyt residence and now that of Mr. McAlpin), four miles from town, or turning the corner up Kemble Hill to the Wicke farm, and Fort Hill, to view the soldiers' encampment, they would clatter back again, down the precipitous Jockey Hollow road, past the Hospital-field, or burial place of the soldiers, stopping at the Headquarters of General Knox, off the Mendham road, about two miles from town, for Mrs. Knox and Mrs. Washington were close friends. Returning, they might slacken rein at the house of Pastor Johnes, (Mrs. Eugene Ayers') on Morris Street, where a ring still remains at the side of the piazza, to which Washington's horse was tied, under an elm tree's shade; or, they would stop at Quartermaster Lewis's (Mr. Wm. L. King's) where they would find Lafayette, after his return from France, if he happened to be in Morristown,—then at Dr. Jabez Campfield's house, on Morris Street, the east corner of Oliphant Lane,—the Headquarters of General Schuyler.

Again the General, with his Life-guards, would set out to attend some appointed meeting of the "Council of Safety" at the house of its president,Silas Condict. This was about a mile out on the Sussex Turnpike, where the house still stands, on the west side of the old cross-road leading from that turnpike to Brant's paper-mill. Here he would meet the high-minded and dauntless Governor Livingston and perhaps his son-in-law, Judge Symmes, who lived near by, and whom the Governor frequently visited; all were men whose lives were sought for, by the British. Nearly all these homes are standing now and representatives of these families remain with us. Stories and traditions also relating to these homes and people have come down to us.

Silas Condict, the bold, the brave, the honored patriot, member of the Provincial Legislature and of the Continental Congress besides filling other high places of trust, is represented by his great-grandson, Hon. Aug. W. Cutler, who now occupies the second house this ancestor built.

General John Doughty's interesting old house, with its curious interior, and many a secret closet, stands as of old, on Mt. Kemble Avenue, at the head of Colles Avenue. "He might be called," says Mr. Wm. L. King, "the most distinguished resident of Morristown, at whose house Washington was a frequent visitor and no doubt often dined." He is represented by a great-nephew, Mr. Thomas W. Ogden, who has written an important paper on General Doughty, for the Washington Association,which is published by them. General Doughty was the third in command of the American Army, and succeeded General Knox.

A descendant of General Knox is with us,—Mr. Reuben Knox, of Western Avenue.

General Schuyler's Headquarters has a romantic interest as the scene of the courtship between Miss Elizabeth Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton.

Of Pastor Johnes descendants, three generations are now with us to some of whom we have referred in the sketch of this distinguished man.

Out on the Wicke farm, stands the house as it was in those old days when Tempe Wicke took her famous ride ahead of the pursuing soldiers and saved her favorite horse by concealing him for three weeks in the guest chamber, until every man of the army had gone to fight his country's battles on the banks of the Hudson. This house is near Fort Hill from which is the magnificent view which embraces Schooley's Mountain to the westward and a line of broken highlands to the South, among which is the town of Baskingridge where General Lee was captured. On the northern slope of this hill, as late as 1854, 66 fireplaces of the encampment were counted in regular rows and in a small space were found 196 hut chimneys.

Going up a long, high street, not far from the Park, gradually ascending over rocks, and rough winding pathways, we come upon an open plateauon which is "Fort Nonsense," so named, on leaving it, by Washington, says tradition, because the soldiers had here been employed in constructing an octagonal earthwork, only to occupy them and to keep them from that idleness which was certain to breed discontent when added to their poverty, poor shelter, hopelessness, and homelessness. Here, on a bright afternoon of April, 1888, a monument to commemorate the site, was unveiled with appropriate ceremonies by the Washington Association. Long will be remembered the strange and startling effect upon those who sat waiting, as the procession drew near at a quickstep, up the hill, and led by the Fairchild Continental Drum Corps, in characteristic dress. Nearer and nearer came the tramp of many feet, to the sound of fife and drum playing Yankee Doodle, and, as they emerged from the trees upon the hill, it seemed as if Time's clock had been turned back more than a hundred years. Standing upon the stone, the orator of the occasion, Rev. Dr. Buckley, made a memorable address, in the course of which he mentioned that this monument, though small, is higher, measured from the level of the sea, than the great Washington Monument, which is declared to be the wonder of the world. The plan of the Fort, drawn by Major J. P. Farley, U. S. A., is now at the Headquarters and the illustration in this volume, is given from an engraving of the Messrs. Vogt, by their kind permission.

Probably no Author will again record the presence of the second "First Church", which has measured its hundred years and more, in its old familiar place upon the Park. Soon it will be replaced by a modern structure. In October, 1891, prolonged and interesting services were held to celebrate the centennial of its erection. Closely involved with all the history of Morristown, the influences of this old church are felt and shown all through this book. The picture we give of it and the Soldiers' Monument, is as we look upon both to-day. (For the use of the engraving, we are again indebted to the Messrs. Vogt). Sorrowfully, we note the passing of the old church building and number it among the things we would not lose, but which soon shall be no more. Behind it, is the old historic cemetery, where have been laid to rest the forms of many of the patriots and honored dead of the century gone by.

The "Old Academy" was an outcome of the First Church organization, and its early history is recorded in the "Trustees Book," of the church. Its centennial was observed on February 13th, 1891, on which occasion, among others, Hon. John Whitehead, of Morristown, and Judge William Paterson, of Perth Amboy, told its story, and the "Old Bell", placed upon the stage, was rung by Mr. Edward Pierson, who attended the Academy in 1820.

In 1825, Lafayette came again, from France, to revisit the scenes of the Revolution. It was on July 14th, about six o'clock in the evening, that coming from Paterson, he arrived at Morristown. The Morris Brigade under General Darcy was paraded on the Green and the firing of cannon and ringing of church bells announced his coming. General Doughty was Grand Marshal of the day and an eloquent address was made, in behalf of the town, by Hon. Lewis Condict. Lafayette dined at the Ogden House, the home of Jonathan Ogden, a large brick building corner of Market street and the Green (shown in the picture). He attended a ball given in his honor, at the Sansay House (now Mrs. Revere's, on DeHart street), and stayed over night with Mr. James Wood, in the white house, corner of South and Pine streets. Two of Morristown's citizens have given their reminiscences of this event to the author of this book, as follows:

Mr. Edward Pierson, January 10th, 1893, says: "I remember well each member of the Committee who received Lafayette, but two. I remember very well the visit of General Lafayette to Morristown, in the year 1825. There was a delegation went from Morristown, in carriages and on horseback, to meet him beyond Morristown and escort him here. They came in by the Morris street road, past the Washington Headquarters. At that time there was only one small house on the north side of thestreet, below the present Manse of the First Church to the foot of the hill. The ground sloped from the graveyard to the street and was filled with people to see the procession come in. A reception was given and Lafayette was taken to the James Wood house (white house on the east corner of Pine and South streets, opposite my residence), to spend the night. I well remember the next morning seeing them start off with the General and his party in a four-horse carriage."

Mr. A. H. Condict, well-known as a resident of Morristown, writes from Mansfield, Ohio, (January 12th, 1893): "My eldest sister has related to me that when I was about a year old, General Lafayette was given a public reception at Morristown, in an elegant brick building then standing on the corner of the Park and Market street; that suitable addresses were made on the occasion and that while he was being observed by the great crowd of people, she held me up and that I looked at him. This would fix the time in the Summer of 1825, which corresponds with my notes gathered from the various histories."

Morristown has always been a centre, not only geographically, but a centre of influence from the time when it received its name. We have seen how, midway between West Point and Philadelphia, with roads radiating in every direction and with high hills well fitted for beacon-lights and commanding far-reaching views, Washington soon discovered it was the point for him to select for watching the movements of Lord Howe in New York, who might at any moment start up the Hudson for West Point, or Southwards, for Philadelphia.

THE ORIGINAL ARNOLD TAVERN. FROM PEN AND INK SKETCH BY MISS S. HOWELL.THE ORIGINAL ARNOLD TAVERN.FROM PEN AND INK SKETCH BY MISS S. HOWELL.

In the early religious movements of the country, Morristown was conspicuous, having among its theologians some of the most brilliant thinkers of the period. Recently we find, in the published minutes of the Synod of New Jersey, Oct. 1892, the significant fact recorded that after the division of the Presbytery of New York, into that of New York and of New Jersey, the "Presbytery of Jersey at its first meeting in Morristown, April 24th, 1810, did appoint supplies for fourteen Sabbaths from May to September, to the pulpit of the vacant Brick Church in the City of New York".

One of the first Sunday Schools, if not the first,—in New Jersey was started here, by Mrs. Charlotte Ford Condict of Littleton, the grandmother of Henry Vail Condict, now a resident of Morristown, and this was said to be the beginning of the great revival under Albert Barnes.

In a scientific direction, Morristown was the cradle of perhaps the greatest invention of the age, the electric telegraph. Also at the Speedwell Iron Works were manufactured the first tires, axles and cranks of American locomotives and a part of the machinery of the "Savannah," the first steamship that crossed the ocean.

Morristown also reflected the superstitions of the period; the people largely believed in witchcraft in those early days, and here was enacted, for about a year, the most remarkable ghostly drama that was ever published to the world, or influenced the best citizens of a community. The story of the Morristown Ghost will go down to future ages.

For philanthropy, from Revolutionary times, Morristown has been famed, since Martha set the example of knitting the stockings for the needy soldiers and good Hannah Thompson voiced the hearts of her sisters round about, when she gave food to a starving company of them, saying: "Eat all you want; you are engaged in a good cause, and we are willing to share with you what we have as long as it lasts." This old centre of patriotism and Revolutionary enthusiasm has radiated philanthropic movements which influence not only the conditions of the whole State but the welfare of humanity. Here was commenced that voluntary work of the State Charities Aid Association, which considers, and practically carries out, through its counselors, measures for reform among the pauper and criminal classes in the State institutions, and out of them, and which will undoubtedly influence for good all future generations. This work is on much the same plan that was originally thought out and organized by Miss Louisa Lee Schuyler, of New York, the great-granddaughter of GeneralPhilip Schuyler whose noble devotion to his Commander-in-chief is memorable during those days in Morristown. So we see how the old life of the Revolutionary period connects itself with the new life of progression. The principles then so nobly maintained take new forms in new projects.

Everywhere, we find the old and the new combined, for even the streets bear the names, with those of Schuyler, Hamilton and Washington, of Farragut and McCullough. In the Park there stands a granite shaft surmounted by a full length figure of a Morris County Volunteer, commemorating the lives of the noble men who fell in those hard-won fields, fighting to preserve the nationality which had been secured by their forefathers. Everything is significant of either noble deeds in the past or of honored names of later day and of private citizens whose personal influence has added moral dignity to this City of many associations.

Among the first notable writings associated with Morristown are the letters of Washington written from the old Arnold Tavern, and from the Ford Mansion, during the two memorable wintersof 1777 and of 1779-'80. These noble letters are acknowledged on all sides to have been supremely efficient in promoting our national independence, filled as they are with the personality of Washington himself. They are very numerous. Many of them are published; some are in our "Headquarters", and many still are scattered over the Country, in the possession of individuals. All are interesting and none appear to reveal what we would wish had not been known, as in the case of so many other published letters.

Of the man himself, our authors speak, here and there, throughout this volume. It is certain that no name, no face or character is more familiar to us than that of Washington, and no name in history has received a greater tribute than to be called, as he was, by the nation, at the end of his very difficult career, the "Father of his Country."

Here is Lafayette's first impression, as he attends a dinner in Philadelphia, given by Congress in honor of the Commander-in-Chief. He says: "Although surrounded by officers and citizens, Washington was to be recognized at once by the majesty of his countenance and his figure." And this is Lafayette's tribute to Washington, when the two men have parted: "As a private soldier, he would have been the bravest; as an obscure citizen, all his neighbors would have respected him. With a heart as just as his mind he always judged himself as he judged circumstances. In creatinghim expressly for this revolution, Nature did honor to herself; and to show the perfection of her work, she placed him in such a position that each quality must have failed, had it not been sustained by all the others."

(Quoted by Bayard Tuckerman in his "Life of Lafayette.")

In the portrait of Washington which Chastellux gives us, occur these words: "His strongest characteristic is the perfect union which reigns between the physical and moral qualities which compose the individual, one alone will enable you to judge of all the rest. If you are presented with medals of Cæsar, Trajan or Alexander, on examining their features, you will still be led to ask what was their stature and the form of their persons; but if you discover, in a heap of ruins, the head or the limb of an antique Apollo, be not anxious about the other parts, but rest assured that they all were conformable to those of a God. * * * This will be said of Washington, 'At the end of a long civil war, he had nothing with which he could reproach himself.'"

Thatcher, in his Military Journal, speaks of Washington as he appeared at a great entertainment given by General Knox, in celebration of the alliance with France: "His tall, noble stature and just proportions, his fine, cheerful countenance, simple and modest deportment, are all calculated to interest every beholder in his favor and to command veneration and respect. He is fearedeven when silent and beloved even while we are unconscious of the motive."

The first French minister, M. Gerard, tells us, referring to Washington: "It is impossible for me briefly to communicate the fund of intelligence which I have derived from him. I will now say only that I have formed as high an opinion of the powers of his mind, his moderation, patriotism and of his virtues, as I had before from common report conceived of his military talents, and of the incalculable services he had rendered to his country."

(Quoted by A. D. Mellick in his "Story of an Old Farm.")

We see the General in his evening dress of "black velvet, with knee and shoe buckles and a steel rapier; his hair thickly powdered, drawn back from his forehead and gathered in a black silk bag adorned with a rosette" walking gracefully and with dignity through the figures of a quadrille. We see him devoted to his wife and courteous to every woman, high and low. Greene writes from the Headquarters: "Mrs. Washington is extremely fond of the General and he of her; they are happy in each other." We see him, with his tender sympathy among the soldiers and so find the key to the wonderful devotion of the soldiers to their chief, and his influence over them. As an old soldier tells the story to the Rev. O. L. Kirtland: "There was a time when all our rations were but a singlegill of wheata day. Washington used to come round and look into our tents, and he looked sokind and he said so tenderly. 'Men, can you bear it?' 'Yes, General, yes we can,' was the reply; 'if you wish us to act give us the word and we are ready!'" Many were the letters he wrote in their behalf to Congress, who neglected them, and to Lord Howe in New York, because of his cruelty to the prisoners in his power.

Another key we have to his calm and self-reliant bearing, even in his darkest hours, so that, says Tuttle, "there seemed to be something about this man, which inspired his enemies, even when victorious, with dread." It is expressed in a letter of Washington when heartsick at the round of misfortunes at the outset of the Revolution, and after the capture of Fort Washington by the enemy. He writes: "It almost overcomes me to reflect that a brother's sword has been sheathed in a brother's breast and that the once happy and peaceful plains of America are either to be drenched in blood or inhabited with slaves. Sad alternative! But can a virtuous man hesitate in his choice?"

(Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Sparks.)

A touching letter is written on the 8th of January, 1780, from the Ford Mansion, to the Morris County authorities, about the hungry, destitute soldiers, to which he receives at once so warm and generous a response that he writes again: "The exertions of the magistrates and inhabitants of the State were great and cheerful for our relief."

(Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Sparks.)

Though a warm Episcopalian, his broad Christian feeling is shown when he says: "Being no bigot, myself, I am disposed to indulge the professors of Christianity in the Church with that road to heaven which to them shall seem the most direct, the plainest and easiest and least liable to objections."

(Dr. Tuttle, quoted from Sparks.)

And again, in reply to the Address of the Clergy of different denominations, in and about Philadelphia; "Believing as I do, thatReligionandMorality are the essentialpillars of society, I view with unspeakable pleasure, that harmony and brotherly love which characterize the clergy of different denominations, as well in this, as in other parts of the United States, exhibiting to the world a new and interesting spectacle, at once the pride of our Country and the surest basis of universal harmony."

(Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Dr. Green's Autobiography.)

What man, after arriving at such a height of power and influence over men, has been able to take up, with content again, his life of a country gentleman? Wonderfully appropriate were the last words that fell from his lips: "It is well."

Of Washington it may be said as of no other, in the words of Henry Lee, in his Eulogy of December 26th, 1799: "To the memory of the man, first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen."

A curious circumstance surrounds the poetic work of the two Paterson brothers—William and Stephen Van Rensselaer Paterson—and gives it a unique interest apart from its especial merits. The survivor of the two brothers says, in the short and highly interesting introduction to their poems, published in 1882 and called "Poems of Twin Graduates of the College of New Jersey":

"The title explains itself, and shows that the writers were born under the sign of the Gemini. They lived under that sign for rising fifty years, when one was taken and the other left. Two of us came into existence within the same hour of time, and passing through the early part of education together, entered the world-life as twin graduates of the collegiate institution bearing the nameof the State of which they were natives. This dual species of psychology was something of a curiosity because outside of common experience. Pleasure and pain seemed to flow like electric currents from the same battery. In a certain sense, we could feel at once, and think at once and act at once. It is problematical whether this proceeded from a real elective affinity, or was mechanical. It was most marked, however, at first, and particularly in the beginning or rudiments of learning. Both then went along exactly at the same rate, and one never was in advance of the other. Both always worked and played together, and whichever discovered something new, would communicate it in an untranslatable language to his companion.

"This dual character, to a greater or less extent, pervaded the joint lives of the writers of these pieces. Not that the similarity extended to the business or pursuits, the tastes or habits of life, for in many respects they were different and apart as those bearing a single relation. Still the influence of the mystic tie, whatever it was or may have been, remained till nature loosed, as it had woven, the bond."

Although Judge William Paterson was born in Perth Amboy and now resides there, his associations with Morristown, as related in a letter under his signature, are those of early boyhood passed on the farm, now occupied by Mrs. Howland. "Morristownwas then but a village hamlet," he says, and "the old Academy and the Meeting House on the village green were the only places in which services were held." Still, we gather, that at Morristown, the two poets received their "scholastic and agricultural training." Here, too, was laid the foundation of their "political and religious faith," the latter under the administration of Albert Barnes, and, what may be a noted event in their lives, they heard Mr. Barnes preach the sermon on the "Way of Salvation," which caused the division of the Presbyterian Church.

Judge Paterson is a graduate of Princeton, which is in a double sense his Alma Mater, inasmuch as members of his family were among the first graduates, soon after the removal of the College from Newark and "when that village, then a hamlet amid the primeval forests had become the permanent site for the Academy incorporated by royal charter."

Various positions of importance in the community have been held by Judge Paterson. In 1882, he was made Lay Judge of the Court of Errors and Appeals of the State; he was also Mayor of Newark for ten years, at different times from 1846 to 1878, filling important and non-important municipal and county offices. Thus his work has been mostly legal and political, save, when he has made dashes into the more purely literary fields,rather, perhaps, through inspiration and for recreation from the dry details of practical work.

More than once has Judge Paterson told to amused and interested audiences in Morristown his recollections of boyhood and youth spent here. Notably, many remember his recent graphic address on the occasion of the Centennial of the Morristown Academy.

In 1888, our author published a valuable "Biography of the Class of 1835 of Princeton College," the class in which he graduated. The "Poems" were published in 1882. Looking through the latter volume, which contains many treasures, we wonder how, many of the poems—written as they were under the influence of a higher inspiration than ordinary rhythmic influences—should not earlier have found their way, in book form, from the writer's secret drawers to the readers of the outside world. Many of these poems are connected with experiences and memories of Academic days in Princeton and, among them all we would mention "The Close of the Centennial;" "Living on a Farm," which refers to Mrs. Howland's farm, long the poet's home in boyhood; "14th February, 1877;" "The Hickory Tree," and "Polly," in which the writer has caught wonderfully the bright, playful spirit of the child. The poem "Morristown," a pictorial reminiscence, we have selected to open this book.

Quite recently, (in September, 1892) has been published and bound in true orange color,An Address, read before the New York Genealogical and Biographical Society, on February 12th, 1892, on the life and public services ofWilliam Paterson, his honored grandfather, who was "Attorney-General of New Jersey during the Revolution, a framer of the Federal Constitution, Senator of the United States from New Jersey, Governor of that State, and an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States at the time of his death, September 9th, 1806." "He was the first Alumnus of Princeton," says the writer, "who was tendered a place in the Cabinet or on the Federal Judiciary, the Attorney-General, the first one being William Bradford, also an Alumnus, a classmate of Madison, and Collegemate of Burr, then not constituting part of the Executive household." "He began the study of legal science and practice under the instruction of Richard Stockton, who was an Alumnus of the first Class that went forth from the College of New Jersey, then located in Newark, and who, though young, comparatively, was rising fast to the forefront of his profession, and, afterward, to become of renowned judicial and revolutionary fame."

The publication is full of interest, graphic description and notice of men and events of the period. Here is a letter to Aaron Burr, between whomwhile a student in the College at Princeton, and Mr. Paterson, then established in the practice of his profession, had sprung up a strong friendship which continued during life:

"Princeton, January 17th, 1772.Dear Burr:I am just ready to leave and therefore cannot wait for you. Be pleased to accept of the enclosed notes ondancing. If you pitch upon it as the subject of your next discourse, they may furnish you with a few hints, and enable you to compose with greater facility and despatch. To do you any little service in my power, will afford me great satisfaction, and I hope you will take the liberty—it is nothing more, my dear Burr, than the freedom of a friend—to call upon me whenever you may think I can. Bear with me when I say,that you cannot speak too slow. Every word should be pronounced distinctly; one should not be sounded so highly as to drown another. To see you shine as a speaker, would give great pleasure to your friends in general and to me in particular. You certainly are capable of making a good speaker.

"Dear Burr, adieu.Wm. Paterson."

The writer pays a beautiful tribute to Ireland, the land of his ancestors: "Irish Nationality," he says, "is no empty dream; it goes back more than two thousand years, is as old as Christianity, and is attested by the existence of towers and monuments, giving evidence of greater antiquity thanis to be found in the annals of any other country in all Europe. For centuries, Ireland sent missionaries of learning throughout the continent to herald the advent of civilization and stay the advance of barbarism, and her story is one running over with great deeds and glorious memories, with associations of poetry and art and bards, and a civilization, ante-dating that of almost any other Christian community. It cannot be claimed that the rude exploits of her early inhabitants are classic in story or in song. They acquired no territory; their island domain is but a speck of green verdure amid the waste of ocean waters, and the flash of an electric light, located on the hills where stood the ancient psaltery, could be sent throughout its length and breadth. They conquered no worlds. No manifest destiny led them to seek for wealth, applause or gain, beyond the limits of their narrow bounds. They did not so much as pass over the seas that wash their either shore. But yet in the absence of all the achievements that can gratify ambition, with no record of pomp or pageantry or power, her people bear a character more like a dream of fancy than a thing of real life, and to-day they stand as remnants of national greatness, though you may look in vain in their annals or traditions for any evidence of usurpation or of subjugation by sceptre or by sword."

Mrs. Kinney, the mother of the poet, Edmund Clarence Stedman, and daughter of David L. Dodge of New York city, was for several years a resident of Morristown, and will long be remembered with interest and affection by her many friends. Her husband, Mr. William Burnet Kinney, not only resided here in later years, but was born at Speedwell, then a suburb of Morristown, and passed a part of his early boyhood there. To him we shall refer, in the grouping ofEditors and Orators.

Mr. Kinney was a brilliant literary man and about this home in Morristown unusual talent and genius naturally grouped themselves. To it came and went the poet Stedman: in the group, we find two gifted women, daughters of Mrs. Kinney, and later on, the same genius developing itself in the son of one of these, the boy Easton, of the third generation.

Mrs. Kinney published in 1855, "Felicita, a Metrical Romance;" a volume of "Poems" in 1867; and, a few years later, a stirring drama, a tragedy in blank verse, entitled "Bianco Cappello." This tragedy is founded upon Italian history and was written during her residence abroad in 1873. While abroad, Mrs. Kinney's letters toThe Newark Daily Advertisergave her a wide reputation and werelargely re-copied in London and Edinburgh journals from copies in the New York papers.

Among the "Poems," the one "To an Italian Beggar Boy" is perhaps most highly spoken of and has been chosen by Mr. Stedman to represent his mother in the "Library of American Literature." A favorite also is the "Ode to the Sea." Both pieces are strong and dramatic. The poem on "The Flowers" has been translated into three languages. It opens:

"Where'er earth's soil is by the feetOf unseen angels trod,The joyous flowers spring up to greetThese messengers of God."

Mrs. Kinney's sonnets are peculiarly good. Her sonnet on "Moonlight in Italy," which we give to represent her, was written at ten o'clock at night in Italy by moonlight, and has been much praised. Mr. Kingston James, the English translator of Tasso, repeated it once at a dinner table, as a sample of "in what consisted a true sonnet."

There's not a breath the dewy leaves to stir;There's not a cloud to spot the sapphire sky;All nature seems a silent worshipper:While saintly Dian, with great, argent eye,Looks down as lucid from the depths on high,As she to earth were Heaven's interpreter:Each twinkling little star shrinks back, too shyIts lesser glory to obtrude by herWho fills the concave and the world with light;And ah! the human spirit must uniteIn such a harmony of silent lays,Or be the only discord in this night,Which seems to pause for vocal lips to raiseThe sense of worship into uttered praise.

In the third generation in the line of Mrs. Kinney, appears a boy, now seventeen years of age, of unusual promise as a poet—Alexander Nelson Easton, grandson of William Burnet and Elizabeth C. Kinney. He has written and published several poems. He took the $50 prize offered by theMail and Expressfor the best poem on a Revolutionary incident, written by a child of about twelve years. It was entitled "Mad Anthony's Charge."

Young Easton was born in Morristown, and spent his early years in this place, in the house on the corner of Macculloch Avenue and Perry Street, belonging to Mrs. Brinley. He began to write at eight years when a little prose piece called "The Council of the Stars," found its way into print, out in California. His next was in verse, written atten years on "The Oak." That was also published and copied. A "Ballad" followed "A Scottish Battle Song," written in dialect, which was published also. Then came the prize poem, "Mad Anthony's Charge," above referred to. He has composed two stories since, one of which, "Ben's Christmas Present," has been accepted by the New YorkWorldand is to appear with a sketch of this young writer, in their Christmas number. At twelve years, he wrote a monody on "The Burial of Brian Boru," which is given below.

The literary efforts of Easton, so far, have been spontaneous and spasmodic, but contain certain promise for the future. After studying for some time at the Morristown Academy, Easton went as a student to the Bordentown Military Institute from which he has graduated and has now passed on to Princeton College. At Bordentown he won golden opinions, and gave the prize essay at the June Commencement. This was an oration of considerable importance on "The Value of Sacrifice," but withal his gifts are essentially poetic.

Slowly around the new-made graveGathers the mourner throng;Women and children, chieftains brave,Numb'ring their hundreds strong.Glitter beneath the sun's bright rayHelmet and axe and spear;Sadness and sorrow reign to-day,Dark is the land and drear!Yesterday leading his men to fight,Now lies he beneath their feet,Clad in his armor, strong and bright,'Tis his only winding sheet.Close to his grave stand his warriors grim,Bravest and best of his reign;They, who through danger have oft followed him,Mourn the wild "Scourge of the Dane."Look! from the throng with martial strideSteps an old chief of his clan,Pauses and halts at the deep grave's side,Halts as but warriors can.White is the hair beneath his cap,Withered the hand he holds on high;Standing, beside the open gap,Speaks he without a pause or sigh."Brian Boruthe brave!Brian Boruthe bold!Lay we thee in thy grave;Deep is it, dark and cold.Bravest of ev'ry chiefErin has ever known;Hurling the foes in grief,Fiercest of Danes o'erthrown.Youth and old age alikeFound thee in war array;Wielding the sword and pike,E'er in the thick o' the fray!Erin is freed and blest,Freed by thy mighty arm;Well hast thou earned thy rest,Take it! secure from harm.Friend of our hearts! Our king!Generous, kind and true!Out let our praises fling—Shout we forBrian Boru."Bursts the wild song from a thousand throats,Sounding through wood and plain,While the mountains echo the dying notes,Ringing them out again.

Slowly around the new-made graveGathers the mourner throng;Women and children, chieftains brave,Numb'ring their hundreds strong.

Glitter beneath the sun's bright rayHelmet and axe and spear;Sadness and sorrow reign to-day,Dark is the land and drear!

Yesterday leading his men to fight,Now lies he beneath their feet,Clad in his armor, strong and bright,'Tis his only winding sheet.

Close to his grave stand his warriors grim,Bravest and best of his reign;They, who through danger have oft followed him,Mourn the wild "Scourge of the Dane."

Look! from the throng with martial strideSteps an old chief of his clan,Pauses and halts at the deep grave's side,Halts as but warriors can.

White is the hair beneath his cap,Withered the hand he holds on high;Standing, beside the open gap,Speaks he without a pause or sigh.

"Brian Boruthe brave!Brian Boruthe bold!Lay we thee in thy grave;Deep is it, dark and cold.

Bravest of ev'ry chiefErin has ever known;Hurling the foes in grief,Fiercest of Danes o'erthrown.

Youth and old age alikeFound thee in war array;Wielding the sword and pike,E'er in the thick o' the fray!

Erin is freed and blest,Freed by thy mighty arm;Well hast thou earned thy rest,Take it! secure from harm.

Friend of our hearts! Our king!Generous, kind and true!Out let our praises fling—Shout we forBrian Boru."

Bursts the wild song from a thousand throats,Sounding through wood and plain,While the mountains echo the dying notes,Ringing them out again.

As a poet, we represent Bret Harte by his "Plain Language from Truthful James," better known as "The Heathen Chinee." The main reference to his writings follows, in the next classification ofNovelists and Story Writers.

Which I wish to remark,—And my language is plain,—That for ways that are dark,And for tricks that are vain,The heathen Chinee is peculiar.Which the same I would rise to explain.Ah Sin was his name;And I shall not denyIn regard to the sameWhat that name might imply,But his smile it was pensive and child-like,As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.It was August the third;And quite soft was the skies;Which it might be inferredThat Ah Sin was likewise;Yet he played it that day upon WilliamAnd me in a way I despise.Which we had a small game,And Ah Sin took a hand:It was Euchre. The sameHe did not understand;But he smiled as he sat by the table,With the smile that was child-like and bland.Yet the cards they were stockedIn a way that I grieve,And my feelings were shockedAt the state of Nye's sleeve:Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,And the same with intent to deceive.But the hands that were playedBy that heathen Chinee,And the points that he made,Were quite frightful to see,—Till at last he put down a right bower,Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.Then I looked up at Nye,And he gazed upon me;And he rose with a sigh,And said, "Can this be?We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor,"—And he went for that heathen Chinee.In the scene that ensuedI did not take a hand,But the floor it was strewedLike the leaves on the strandWith the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,In the game "he did not understand."In his sleeves, which were long,He had twenty-four packs,—Which was coming it strong,Yet I state but the facts;And we found on his nails, which were taper,What is frequent in tapers—that's wax.Which is why I remark,And my language is plain,That for ways that are dark,And for tricks that are vain,The heathen Chinee is peculiar,—Which the same I am free to maintain.

Which I wish to remark,—And my language is plain,—That for ways that are dark,And for tricks that are vain,The heathen Chinee is peculiar.Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name;And I shall not denyIn regard to the sameWhat that name might imply,But his smile it was pensive and child-like,As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third;And quite soft was the skies;Which it might be inferredThat Ah Sin was likewise;Yet he played it that day upon WilliamAnd me in a way I despise.

Which we had a small game,And Ah Sin took a hand:It was Euchre. The sameHe did not understand;But he smiled as he sat by the table,With the smile that was child-like and bland.

Yet the cards they were stockedIn a way that I grieve,And my feelings were shockedAt the state of Nye's sleeve:Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,And the same with intent to deceive.

But the hands that were playedBy that heathen Chinee,And the points that he made,Were quite frightful to see,—Till at last he put down a right bower,Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

Then I looked up at Nye,And he gazed upon me;And he rose with a sigh,And said, "Can this be?We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor,"—And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensuedI did not take a hand,But the floor it was strewedLike the leaves on the strandWith the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long,He had twenty-four packs,—Which was coming it strong,Yet I state but the facts;And we found on his nails, which were taper,What is frequent in tapers—that's wax.

Which is why I remark,And my language is plain,That for ways that are dark,And for tricks that are vain,The heathen Chinee is peculiar,—Which the same I am free to maintain.

Mrs. McClurg, the niece of our honored townsman, Mr. Wm. L. King, is better known to us by her maiden name of M. Virginia Donaghe. Although endowed with varied gifts, having been editor, newspaper correspondent, story-writer, biographer and local historian, her talent is essentially poetic, therefore we place her among our poets.

A proud moment of Mrs. McClurg's life was, when a child, she received four dollars and a half fromHearth and Homefor a story called "How did it Happen," written in the garret, the author tells us, without the knowledge of any one. Next, were written occasional letters and verses and short stories for the New YorkGraphic, including some burlesque correspondence for a number of papers, one of which was theRichmond State. The writer then went to Colorado for her health and acceptedthe position of editor on theDaily Republicof Colorado Springs, for three years. She wrote a political leader for the paper every day. It happened that many distinguished men died during those years, and she did in consequence biographical work. She also wrote book reviews, dramatic and musical reviews, condensed the state news every day from all the papers of the state and edited the Associated Press dispatches. In addition, all proofs were brought to her for final reading. For the first year she had private pupils and broke down with brain fever.

In 1885, she went into the Indian country to explore the cliff-dwellings of Mancos Cañon, in the reservation of the Southern Utes. They were only known through meagre accounts in the official government reports, and Miss Donaghe was the first woman who ever visited them, so far as known. On this occasion, she had an escort of United States troops and spent a few days there. She however made a second visit, fully provided for a month's trip, the result of which was a series of archæological sketches contributed to a prominent paper, theGreat Divide, under the title of "Cliff-Climbing in Colorado." These ten papers gave to Miss Donaghe a reputation in the west as an archæologist.

The following year she published, in theCentury, one of the best of her sonnets, "The Questionerof the Sphinx," afterwards contained in her book, "Seven Sonnets of Sculpture."

The same year she published her first book, "Picturesque Colorado," also a popular sonnet called "The Mountain of the Holy Cross." The Colorado mountain of the Holy Cross has crevices filled with snow which represent always on its side a cross. The little sand lily of Colorado blossoms at the edges of the highways in the dust, in the Spring, and looks like our star of Bethlehem. Of these sand lilies an artist friend made a picture which harmonized with the sonnet referred to. These were published together as an Easter card and a large edition sold. The sonnet begins;

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