Josiah Carter died, at the close of December, 1774. Never was there a happier occasion, for citing theQuis desiderio, &c., and I would cite that fine ode, were it not worn threadbare, like an old coverlet, by having been, immemorially, thrown over all manner of corpses, from the cobbler’s to the king’s.
If good old Dr. Charles Chauncy were within hearing, I would, indeed, apply to him a portion of its noble passages:
Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit,Nulli flebilior quam tibi——.For good Josiah many wept, I fancy;But none more fluently than Dr. Chauncy.
Josiah Carter was sexton of the Old Brick. He died, in the prime of life—fifty only—a martyr to his profession—conscientious to a fault—standing all alone in the cold vault, after the last mourner had retired, and knocking gently upon the coffin lid, seeking for some little sign of animation, and begging the corpse, for Heaven’s sake, if it were alive, to say so, in good English.
Carter was one of your realinteger vitæmen. It is said of him, that he never actually lost his self-government, but once, in his life.
He was finishing a grave, in the Granary yard, and had come out of the pit, and was looking at his work, when a young, surgical sprig came up, and, with something of a mysterious air, shadowed forth a proposition, the substance of which was, that Carter should sell him the corpse—cover it lightly—and aid in removing it, by night. In an instant, Carter jerked the little chirurgeon into the grave—it was a deep one—and began to fill up, with all his might. The screams of the little fellow drew quite a number to the spot, and he was speedily rescued. When interrogated, years afterwards, as to his real intentions, at the time, Carter always became solemnized; and said he considered the preservation of that young doctor—a particular Providence.
Carter had a strong aversion to unburying—so have I—especially a hatchet. I have a rooted hatred of slavery; and I hope our friends, on the sunny side of Mason’s and Dixon’s line, willnot censure me, for digging up the graves of the past, and exposing unsightly relics, while I solicit the world’s attention to the following literarybijoux.
To be sold, a young negro fellow, fit for country or other business.—Will be sold to the highest bidder, a very good gold watch, a negro boy, &c.—Cheap, for cash, a negro man, and woman, and two children.—A very likely negro wench, about 16 years of age.—A likely negro woman, about 30, cheap for cash.—A likely negro boy, about 13.—Sold only for want of employ, a healthy, tractable negro girl, about 18 years of age.—To be sold, for want of employ, a strong, hearty negro fellow, about 25 years of age.—Ran away, a negro, named Dick, a well-looking, well-shaped fellow, right negro, little on the yellow, &c.—A likely negro woman, about 33 years old, remarkable for honesty and good temper.—Grant Webster has for sale new and second hand chaises, rum, wines, and male and female negroes.—At auction, a negro woman that is used to most sorts of house business.—A likely, healthy negro man, a good cook, and can drive a carriage.—Ran away, a negro man, named Prince, a tall, straight fellow; he is about 33 years old, talks pretty good English; his design was to get off in some vessel, so as to go to England, under the notion, if he could get there, he should be free, &c.—Ten dollars reward: ran away, negro Primus, five feet ten inches high, long limbs, very long finger nails, &c.—To be sold, for no fault, a negro man, of good temper.—A valuable negro man.—Ran away, my negro, Cromarte, commonly called Crum, &c., &c.; whoever will return said runaway to me, or secure him in some public jail, &c.—The cash will be given for a negro boy of good temper.—A fine negro male child, to be given away.—To be sold, a Spanish Indian woman, about 21 years old, also a negro child, about two years old. To be sold, a strong, hearty negro girl, and her son, about a week old.—Ran away, my negro man, Samson; when he speaks has a leering look under his eyes; whoever will return him, or secure him in any of the jails, shall receive ten dollars reward. For sale, a likely negro man; has had the smallpox.—A likely negro boy, large for his age, about 13.—To be sold, very reasonably, a likely negro woman, about 33 or ’4 years of age.—To be sold or hired, for a number of years, a strong, healthy, honest, negro girl, about 16 years of age.
Ah, my dear, indignant reader, I marvel not, that you aregrieved and shocked, that man should dare, directly under the eye of God, to offer his fellow for sale, as he would offer a side of mutton, or a slaughtered hog—that he should offer to sell him, from head to heel, liver and lights, and lungs, and heart, and bone, and muscle, and presume to convey over, to the buyer, the very will of the poor black man, for years, and for aye; so that the miserable creature should never draw in one single breath of freedom, but breathe the breath of a slave forever and ever. This is very damnable indeed—very. You read the advertisements, which I have paraded before you, with a sentiment of disgust towards the men of the South—nimium ne crede colori. These are northern negroes! these are northern advertisements!
————Mutato nomine, de teFabula narratur————.
Every one of these slaves was owned in Boston: every one of these advertisements was published in the Boston Gazette, and the two last on December 10, 1781. They are taken from one only of the public journals, and are a very Flemish sample of the whole cloth, which may be examined by him, who has leisure to turn over the several papers, then published here.
There is one, however, so awfully ridiculous, when we consider the profession of the deceased owner, and the place of sale, and which, in these connections, presents such an example ofsacra, commixta profanis, that I must give the advertisement without defalcation. John Moorhead, the first minister of Bury, afterwards Berry Street Church, died Dec. 2, 1773. About a year after, his effects were sold, and the following advertisement appears, in the Boston Gazette, Jan. 2, 1775: “To be sold by Public Auction, on Thursday next, at ten o’clock in the Forenoon, all the Household Furniture, belonging to the Estate of the Rev. Mr. John Moorhead, deceased, consisting of Tables, Chairs, Looking Glasses, Feather Beds, Bedsteads and Bedding, Pewter, Brass, sundry Pieces of Plate, &c., &c. A valuable collection of Books—Also a likely Negro Lad—The sale to be at the House in Auchmuty’s Lane, South End, not far from Liberty Tree.”—Moses and the Prophets!A human being to be sold as aSLAVE,not far fromLiberty Tree, in 1775!
Let me be clearly comprehended. Two wrongs cannot, liketwo negatives, neutralize each other. It is true, there was slavery in Massachusetts, and probably more of it, than is supposed to have existed, by many of the present generation. Free negroes were not numerous, in Boston, in those years. In the Boston Gazette of Jan. 2, 1775, it is stated, that 547 whites and 52 blacks were buried in the town in 1774; and 533 whites and 62 blacks in 1773. Such was the proportion then.
The energy of our northern constitution has exorcised the evil spirit of slavery. Common sense and the grace of God put it into the minds and hearts of our fathers, when the accursedBohun Upaswas a sapling, to pull it up, by the roots. It follows not, therefore, that the people of the South are entitled to be treated by us, their brethren, likeoutside barbarians, because they do not cast it out from their midst, as promptly, and as easily, now that it has stricken down its roots into the bowels of the earth, and become a colossus, and overshadowed the land. Slavery, being the abomination that it is, in the abstract, and in the relative, we may well regret, that it ever defiled our peninsula; especially that a slave market, for the sale of one slave only, ever existed, “not far from Liberty Tree.” In sober truth, we are not quite justified, for railing at the South, as we have done. The sins of our dear, old fathers are still so comparatively recent, in regard to slavery, that I am absolutely afraid to fire canister and grape, among the group of offenders, lest I should disturb the ashes of my ancestors. Neither may we forget, that we, of the North, consented, aided and abetted, constitutionally, in the confirmation of slavery. Some of the most furious of the abolitionists, in this fair city, aredescendants in the right line, from Boston slaveholders—their fathers did not recognize the sinfulness of holding slaves!
The people of the South are entitled to civility, from the people of the North, because they are citizens of one common country; and, if there is one village, town, or city of these United States, that, more than any and all others, is under solemn obligations to cherish a sentiment of grateful and affectionate respect for the South, it is the city of Boston. I propose to refresh the reader’s recollection, in my next.
Delenda est Carthago—abolendum est servitium.—No doubt of it; slavery must be buried—decently, however. I cannot endure rudeness and violence, at a funeral. John Cades, in Charter Street, lost his place, in 1789, for letting old Goody Smith go by the run. Thenaufragiumof Erasmus, was nothing at all, compared with that of the old lady’s coffin. Our Southern confederates are entitled tocivility, because they are men and brethren; and they are entitled tokindness and courtesy from us, of Boston, because we owe them a debt of gratitude, which it would be shameful to forget. Since we, of the North, have presumed to beundertakersupon this occasion, let us do the thing “decenter et ornate.” Besides, our friends of the South are notoriously testy and hot-headed: they are, geographically, children of the sun. John Smith’s description of the Massachusetts Indians, in 1614, Richmond ed., ii. 194, is truly applicable to the Southern people, “very kind, but, in their fury, no less valiant.”
I am no more inclined to uphold the South, in the continued practice of a moral wrong, because they gave us bread when we were hungry, as they certainly did, than was Sir Matthew Hale, to decide favorably for the suitor, who sent him the fat buck.Nullum simile quatuor pedibus currit—the South, when they bestowed their kindness upon us, during the operation of theBoston Port Bill, had no possible favor to ask, in return.
This famous Port Bill, which operated likeguanouponLiberty Tree, and caused it to send forth a multitude of new and vigorous shoots, was an act of revenge and coercion, passed March 31, 1774, by the British Parliament.
No government was ever sopenny wiseandpound foolish, as that of Great Britain, in 1773-’4. They actually sacrificed thirteen fine, flourishing colonies forthree pence! In 1773 the East India Company, suffering from the bad effects of the smuggling trade, in the colonies, all taxation having been withdrawn, by Great Britain, excepting on tea, proposed, for the purpose of quieting the strife, to sell their tea, free of all duties, in the Colonies, and that sixpence a pound should be retained by the Government, on exportation. But the Government insisted uponthree penceworth of dignity; in other words, for the honor ofthe Crown, they resolved, that the colonistsshould pay three pencea pound, import duty. This was a very poor bargain—acrownforthree pence! Well; I have no room for detail—the tea came; some of it went back again; and the balance was tossed into the sea. It was not suffered to be landed, at Philadelphia and New York. Seventeen chests, brought to New York, on private account, says Gordon, vol. i. page 333, were thrown overboard, Nov. 18, 1773, and combustibles were prepared to burn the ships, if they came up from the Hook. Dec. 16, 1773, three hundred and twenty-four chests of tea were broken open, on board the ships, in Boston, and their contents thrown into the salt water, by a “number of persons,” says Gordon, vol. i. page 341, “chiefly masters of vessels and shipbuilders from the north end of the town,” dressed as Indians.
In consequence of this, thePort Billwas passed. The object of this bill was to beggar—commercially to neutralize or nullify—the town of Boston, by shutting the port, and cutting off all import and export, by sea, until full compensation should be made, for the tea destroyed, and to the officers of the revenue, and others, who had suffered, by the riots, in the years 1773 and 1774. Such was thePort Bill, whose destructive operation was directed, upon the port of Boston alone, under a fatal misunderstanding of the British government, in relation to the real unanimity of the American people.
It is no easy matter, to describe the effect of this act of folly and injustice. The whole country seemed to be affected, with a sort of politicalneuralgia; and the attack upon Boston, like a wound upon some principal nerve, convulsed the whole fabric. The colonies resembled a band of brothers—“born for affliction:” a blow was no sooner aimed at one, than the remaining twelve rushed to the rescue, each one interposing an ægis. In no part of the country, were there more dignified, or more touching, or more substantial testimonies of sympathy manifested, for the people of Boston, than in the Southern States; and especially in Virginia, Maryland, and both the Carolinas.
ThePort Billcame into force, June 1, 1774. The Marylanders of Annapolis, on the 25th of May preceding, assembled, and resolved, that Boston was “suffering in the common cause of America.” On the 30th, the magistrates, and other inhabitants of Queen Anne’s County resolved, in full meeting, that they would “make known, as speedily as possible, theirsentiments to their distressed brethren of Boston, and that they looked upon the cause of Boston to be the common cause of America.” The House of Burgesses, in Virginia, appointed the day, when the Boston Port Bill came into operation, as a day of fasting and prayer, throughout the ancient dominion. A published letter, from Kent County, Maryland, dated June 7, 1774, says—“The people of Boston need not be afraid of being starved into compliance; if they will only give a short notice, they may make their town the granary of America.”
June 24, 1774.—Twenty-four days after the Port Bill went into operation, a public meeting was held at Charleston, S. C. The moving spirits were the Trapiers and the Elliots, the Horries and the Clarksons, the Gadsdens and the Pinkneys of that day; and resolutions were passed, full of brotherly love and sympathy, for the inhabitants of Boston.
“Baltimore, July 16th, 1774.—A vessel hath sailed from the Eastern Shore of this Province, with a cargo of provisions as a free gift to our besieged brethren of Boston. The inhabitants of all the counties of Virginia and Maryland are subscribing, with great liberality, for the relief of the distressed towns of Boston and Charlestown. The inhabitants of Alexandria, we hear, in a few hours, subscribed £350, for that noble purpose. Subscriptions are opened in this town, for the support and animation of Boston, under their present great conflict, for the common freedom of us all. A vessel is now loading with provisions, as a testimony of the affection of this people towards their persecuted brethren.”
“Salem, Aug. 23, 1774.—Yesterday arrived at Marblehead, Capt. Perkins, from Baltimore, with 3000 bushels of corn, 20 barrels of rye meal, and 21 barrels of bread, for the benefit of the poor of Boston, and with 1000 bushels of corn from Annapolis, for the same benevolent purpose.”
“New York, Aug. 15, 1774.—Saturday last, Capt. Dickerson arrived here, and brought 376 barrels of rye from South Carolina, to be sold, and proceeds remitted to Boston, a present to the sufferers; a still larger cargo is to be shipped for the like benevolent purpose.”
“Newport, R. I.—Capt. Bull, from Wilmington, North Carolina, arrived here last Tuesday, with a load of provisions for the poor of Boston; to sail again for Salem.”
These testimonies of a kind and brotherly spirit, came from all quarters of the country. These illustrations might bemultiplied to any extent. I pass by the manifestations of the most cordial sympathy from other colonies, and the contributions from the towns and villages around us—my business lies, at present with the South—and my object is to remind some of the more rampant and furious of my abolition friends, who are of yesterday, that the people of the South, however hasty they may be, living under the sun’s fiercer rays, and however excited, when a Northern man, however respectable, comes to take up his quarters in their midst, and gather evidence against them, under their very noses—are not preciselyoutside barbarians.
Let the work of abolition go forward, in a dignified and decent spirit. Let us argue; and, so far as we rightfully may, let us legislate. Let us bring the whole world’s sympathy up to the work of emancipation. But, let us not revile and vituperate those, who are, to all intents and purposes, our brethren, as certainly as if they lived just over the Roxbury line, instead of Mason’s and Dixon’s. Such harsh and unmitigated scoffing and abuse, as we too often witness, are equally ungracious, ungentlemanly, and ungrateful.
There is something strangely grotesque, to be sure, in the idea of calling a state, in which there are more slaves than freemen, theland of liberty. Our Massachusetts ancestors had a very goodtheoreticalconception of its inconsistency and absurdity, as early as 1773; when the first glimmerings of independence began to come over the spirit of their dreams. In that year, the Massachusetts negroes caught the liberty fever, and presented a petition to have their fetters knocked off. May 17, 1773, the inhabitants of Pembroke addressed a respectfully suggestive letter to their representative in the General Court, John Turner; the last paragraph of which is well worthy of republication. The entire letter may be found in the Boston Gazette of June 14, 1773—“We think the negro petition reasonable—agreeable to natural justice and the precepts of the Gospel; and therefore advise that, in concurrence with the other worthy members of the assembly, you endeavor to find a way, in which they may be freed from slavery, without wrong to their present masters, or injury to themselves—and that a total abolition of slavery may in due time take place. Then we trust we may with humble confidence, look up to the Great Arbiter of Heaven and earth, expecting that he will in his own due time, look upon our affliction, and in the way of his Providence, deliver us from theinsults, the grievances, and impositions we so justly complain of.” This, as the reader will remember, had reference to slavery in Massachusetts.
In 1823, and in the month of May, something, in my line, caused me to visit the first ex-President Adams, at the old mansion in Quincy. By some persons, he was accounted a cold man; and his son, John Quincy, even a colder man: yet neither was cold, unless in the sense, in which Mount Hecla is cold—belted in everlasting ice, though liable, occasionally, to violent eruptions of a fiery character.
As I was taking my leave, being about to remove into a distant State, my daughter, between five and six years old, stepped timidly towards Mr. Adams, and placing her little hand upon his, and looking upon his venerable features, said to him—“Sir, you are so old, and I am going away so far, that I do not think I shall ever see you again—will you let me kiss you before I go?” His brow was suddenly overcast—the spirit became gently solemnized—“Certainly, my child” said he, “if you desire to kiss a very old man, whom it is quite likely you will never see again.”—He bowed his aged form, and the child, rising on tiptoe, impressed a kiss upon his brow. I would give a great deal more than I can afford, for a fair sketch of that old man’s face, as he resumed his position—I see it now, with the eye of a Swedenborgian. His features were slightly flushed, but not discomposed at all; tears filled his eyes; and, if one word must suffice to express all that I saw, that word isbenevolence—that same benevolence, which taught him, on the day of his death, July 4, 1826, when asked if he knew what day it was, to exclaim—“Yes, it is the glorious Fourth of July—God bless it—God bless you all.”
At the time of the little occurrence, which I have related, Mr. Adams was eighty-eight years old. I ventured to say, that I wished we could give him the years of Methuselah—to which he replied, with a faint smile,—“My friend, you could not wish me a greater curse.”—As we wax older and grayer, this expression, which, in the common phrase, isGreekto the young anduninitiated, becomes sufficiently translated into every man’s vernacular. Mr. Adams was born October 19, 1735, and had therefore attained his ninety-first year, when he died.
Nothing like the highest ancient standard of longevity is attained, in modern times. Nine hundred, sixty, and nine years, is certainly a long life-time. When baby Lamech was born, his father was a young fellow of one hundred and eighty-seven. Weary work it must have been, waiting so long, for one’s inheritance!
The records of modern longevity will appear, nevertheless, somewhat surprising, to those, who have given but little attention to the subject. The celebrated Albert De Haller, and there can be no higher authority, enumerated eleven hundred and eleven cases of individuals, who had lived from 100 to 169. His classification is as follows:—
The oldest was Henry Jenkins, of Yorkshire, who died in 1670. Thomas Parr, of Wilmington, in Shropshire, died in 1635, aged 152. He was a poor yeoman, and married his first wife, when he was in his 88th year, or, as some say, his 80th, and had two children. He was brought to Court, by the Earl of Arundel, in the reign of Charles I., and died, as it was supposed, in consequence of change of diet. His body was examined by Dr. Harvey, who thought he might have lived much longer, had he adhered to his simple habits. Being rudely asked, before the King, what more he had done, in his long life, than other old men, he replied—“At the age of 105, I did penance in Alderbury Church, for an illegitimate child.” When he was 120, he married a second wife, by whom he had a child. Sharon Turner, in his Sacred History of the World, vol. iii. ch. 23, says, in a note, that Parr’s son (by the second wife, the issue by the first died early) lived to the age of 113—his grandson to that of 109—his great-grandson to that of 124; and two other grandsons, who died in 1761 and 1763, to that of 127.
Parr’s was a much longer life than Reuben’s, Judah’s, Issachar’s, Abner’s, Simeon’s, Dan’s, Zebulon’s, Levi’s, or Naphthali’s. Dr. Harvey’s account of the post mortem examination is extremely interesting. The quaint lines of Taylor, the water poet, as he was styled, I cannot omit:—
“Good wholesome labor was his exercise,Down with the lamb, and with the lark would rise;In mire and toiling sweat he spent the day,And to his team he whistled time away:The cock his night-clock, and till day was done,His watch and chief sundial was the sun.He was of old Pythagoras’ opinion,That green cheese was most wholesome with an onion;Coarse meslin bread, and for his daily swig,Milk, buttermilk, and water, whey and whig.Sometimes metheglin, and by fortune happy,He sometimes sipp’d a cup of ale most nappy,Cider or perry, when he did repairT’a Whitsun ale, wake, wedding or a fair;Or, when in Christmas time he was a guestAt his good landlord’s house, among the rest.Else he had very little time to waste,Or at the alehouse huff-cap ale to taste.His physic was good butter, which the soilOf Salop yields, more sweet than candy oil.And garlic he esteemed, above the rateOf Venice treacle or best Mithridate.He entertained no gout, no ache he felt,The air was good and temperate, where he dwelt;While mavises and sweet-tongued nightingalesDid sing him roundelays and madrigals.Thus, living within bounds of nature’s lawsOf his long, lasting life may be some cause.From head to heel, his body had all overA quickset, thickset, nat’ral, hairy cover.”
Isaac lived to the age of 180, or five years longer than his father Abraham. I now propose to enter one or more well-known old stagers, of modern times, who will beat Isaac, by five lengths. Mr. Easton, of Salisbury, England, a respectable bookseller, and quoted, as good authority by Turner, prepared a more extensive list than Haller, of persons, who had died aged from 100 to 185. His work was entitledHuman Longevity—1600 of his cases occurred, within the British Isles, and 1687 between the years 1706 and 1799. He sets down three between 170 and 185, giving their names and other particulars.
Mr. Whitehurst’s tables contain several cases, not in Mr. Easton’s work, from 134 years to 148. Some twenty other cases are stated, by Turner, from 130 to 150. I refer, historically, to the case of Jonathan Hartop, not because of the very great age he attained, but for other reasons of interest: “1791.—Died, Jonathan Hartop, aged one hundred and thirty-eight, of the village of Aldborough, Yorkshire. He could read to the last, without spectacles, and play at cribbage, with the most perfectrecollection. He remembered Charles II., and once travelled to London, with the facetious Killegrew. He ate but little; his only beverage was milk. He had been married five times. Mr. Hartop lent Milton fifty pounds, which the bard returned, with honor, though not without much difficulty. Mr. Hartop would have declined receiving it; but the pride of the poet was equal to his genius, and he sent the money with an angry letter, which was found, among the curious possessions of that venerable old man.”
On the 4th of July, 1846, I visited Dr. Ezra Green, at his residence, in Dover, N. H. He showed me a couple of letters, which he had received, a short time before, from Daniel Webster and Thomas H. Benton, congratulating him, on having completed his one hundredth year, on the 17th of the preceding June, the anniversary of the battle of Bunker’s Hill, and remarked, that those gentlemen had not regarded the difference, between the old style and the new. He told me, that in 1777, he had been a surgeon, in the Ranger, with John Paul Jones. Upon my taking out my glasses, to read a passage in a pamphlet, to which he called my attention, he told me he had never used spectacles, nor felt the need of any such assistance, in reading. Dr. Green died, in 1847.
He graduated, at Harvard, in 1765. At the time of his death, every other member of his own class, numbering fifty-four, was dead.
Previously to 1765, two thousand and seventy-five individuals are named, upon the catalogue. They were all dead at the time of his decease, though he died so recently, as 1847. Yet, from the year, when he graduated, to 1786, a period of twenty years, of seven hundred and seventy-three graduates, fifteen only appear, upon the catalogue of 1848, without the fatal star. One of the fifteen, Harrison Gray Otis, has recently died, leaving three survivors only, in his class of 1783, Asa Andrews, J. S. Boies, and Jonathan Ewins. Another of the fifteen has also recently died, being the oldest graduate, Judge Timothy Farrar, of the class of 1767. The oldest living graduate of Harvard is James Lovell, of the class of 1776.
I send my communication to the press, as speedily as possible, lest he also should be off, before I can publish.
A few days ago, I saw, in the hands of the artist, Mr. Alvan Clarke, a sketch, nearly completed, from Stuart’s painting of John Adams, in his very old age. This sketch is to be engraved, as an accompaniment of the works of Mr. Adams, about to be published, by Little & Brown. I scarcely know what to say of this sketch of Mr. Adams. His fine old face, such as it was in the flesh, and at the very last of his long and illustrious career, is fixed in my memory—rivetted there—as firmly as his name is bolted, upon the loftiest column of our national history. Never have I seen a more perfect fac simile of man, without the aid of relief—it is the resurrection and the life. If I am at a loss what to say of the sketch, I am still farther at fault, what to say of the artist. Like some of those heavenly bodies, whose contemplation occupies no little portion of his time, it is not always the easiest thing in the world, to know in what part of his orbit he may be found; if I desire to obtain a portrait, or a miniature, or a sketch, he can scarcely devote his time to it, he is so very busy, in contriving some new improvement, for his already celebrated rifle; or if it is a patent muzzled rifle that I want, he is quite likely to be occupied, in the manufacture of a telescope. Be all these matters as they may, I can vouch for it, after years of experience, Alvan Clarke is a very clever fellow,Anglice et Americanice; and this sketch of Mr. Adams does him honor, as an artist.
It was in the year 1822, I believe, that a young lady sent me her album, with a request, that I, of all people in the world, would occupy one of its pages. Well, I felt, that after all, it was quite in my line, for I had always looked upon a young lady’s album, as a kind of cemetery, for the burial of anybody’s bantlings, and I began to read the inscriptions, upon such as reposed in this place, appointed for the still-born. I was a little startled, I confess, at my first glance, upon the autograph of the late Bishop Griswold, appended to some very respectable verses. My attention was next drawn to some lines, over the name of Daniel Webster,manu propria. I forget them now, but I remember, that the American Eagle was invoked for the occasion, and flapped its wings, through one or more of the stanzas. Next came an article in strong, sensible prose, from John Adams,written by an amanuensis, but signed with his own hand. Such a hand—the “manu deficiente” of Tibullus. The letters, formed by the failing, trembling fingers, resembled the forked lightning. A solemnizing and impressive autograph it was: and, under the impulse of the moment, I had the audacity to spoil three pages of this consecrated album, by appending to this venerable name the following lines:—
High over Alps, in Dauphine,There lies a lonely spot,So wild, that ages rolled away,And man had claimed it not:For ages there, the tiger’s yellBay’d the hoarse torrent as it fell.Amid the dark, sequestered glade,No more the brute shall roam;For man, unsocial man, hath madeThat wilderness his home:And convent bell, with notes forlorn,Is heard, at midnight, eve, and morn.For now, amid the Grand Chartreuse,Carthusian monks reside;Whose lives are passed, from man recluse,In scourging human pride;In matins, vespers, aves, creeds,With crosses, masses, prayers, and beads.When hither men of curious mood,Or pilgrims, bend their way,To view this Alpine solitude,Or, heav’nward bent, to pray,Saint Bruno’s monks their album bring,Inscrib’d by poet, priest, and king.Since pilgrim first, with holy tears,Inscrib’d the tablet fair,On time’s dark flood, some thousand years,Have pass’d like billows there.What countless names its pages blot,By country, kindred, long forgot!Here chaste conceits and thoughts divineUnclaim’d, and nameless, stand;Which, like the Grecian’s waving line,Betray some master’s hand.And here Saint Bruno’s monks display,With pride, the classic lines of Gray.While pilgrim ponders o’er the name,He feels his bosom glow;And counts it nothing less than fame,To write his own below.So, in this Album, fain would I,Beneath a name, that cannot die.Thrice happy book! no tablet bearsA nobler name than thine;Still followed by a nation’s pray’rs,Through ling’ring life’s decline.The wav’ring stylus scarce obey’dThe hand, that once an empire sway’d!Not thus, among the patriot band,That name enroll’d we see—No falt’ring tongue, no trembling handProclaim’d an empire free!—Lady, retrace those lines, and tell,If, in thy heart, no sadness dwell?And, in those fainting, struggling lines,Oh, see’st thou naught sublime!No tott’ring pile, that half inclines!No mighty wreck of time!Sighs not thy gentle heart to saveThe sage, the patriot, from the grave!If thus, oh then recall that sigh,Unholy ’tis, and vain;For saints and sages never die,But sleep, to rise again.Life is a lengthened day, at best,And in the grave tir’d trav’llers rest;Till, with his trump, to wake the dead,Th’ appointed angel flies;Then Heav’n’s bright album shall be spread,And all who sleep, shall rise;The blest to Zion’s Hill repair,And write their names immortal there.
I had as much pleasure, in composing these lines, as I ever had, in composing the limbs or the features of a corpse; and now that they are fairly laid out, the reader may bury them in oblivion, as soon as he pleases. The lines of Gray, referred to, in the sixth stanza, may be found in the collections of his works, and were written in the album of the Chartreuse, in 1741.
My recollections of John Adams, are very perfect, and preëminently pleasant. I knew nothing of him personally, of course, in the days of his power. I had nothing to ask at his hands, but the permission to sit and listen. How vast and how various his learning!—“Qui sermo! quæ præcepta! quanta notitia antiquitatis!... Omnia memoria tenebat, non domestica solum, sed etiam externa bella: cujus sermone ita tum cupide fruebar, quasi jam divinarem id, quod evenit, illo extincto, fore, unde discerem, neminem.” Surpassingly delightful were the outpourings, till some thoughtless wight, by an ill-timed allusion,opened the fountain of bitter waters—then, history, literature, the arts, all were buriedin gurgite vasto, giving place to Jefferson’s injustice, the Mazzei letters, and Callender’s prospect before us—quantum mutatus ab illo!
How forcibly the dead are quickened, upon the retina of memory, by the exhibition of some well known and personally associated article—the little hat of Napoleon—the mantle of Cæsar—“you all do know this mantle!” I have just now drawn, from my treasury, an autograph of John Adams, bearing date, Jan. 31, 1824, and a lock of strong hair, cut from his venerable brow, the day before. In October of that year, he was eighty-nine years of age; and that lock of hair is a dark iron gray. I have also taken from its casket a silver pen, and small portable inkstand attached, which also were his. The contemplation of these things—I came honestly by them—seems almost to raise that venerable form before me. I can almost hear him repeat those memorable words—“The Union is our Rock of Safety as well as our Pledge of Grandeur.”
I am rather surprised, to find how little is known, among the rising generation, about slavery, in the Old Bay State. One might delve for a twelve month, and not gather together the half of all, that is condensed, in Dr. Belknap’s replies to Judge Tucker’s inquiries, Mass. H. C., iv. 191.
I never was a sexton in the Berry Street Church, but I knew Dr. Jeremy Belknap well, in 1797, when he lived on the southeasterly side of Lincoln Street, near Essex. He died the following year. His garden was overrun with spiders. I had a great veneration for the doctor—he gave me a copy of his Foresters—and, to repay a small part of the debt, I was proceeding, one summer morning, with a strong arm, to demolish the spiders, when he pleasantly called to me to desist, saying, that he preferred them to the flies.
Slavery was here—negro slavery—at a very early day. Josselyn speaks of three slaves, in the family of Maverick, on Noddle’s Island, Oct. 2, 1639, M. H. C., xxiii. 231. These wereprobably brought directly from Africa. In 1645, the General Court of Massachusetts ordered Mr. Williams, at Pascataqua, over which Massachusetts exercised jurisdiction, to send the negro he had of Captain Smith, to them, that he might be sent home; as Smith had confessed, that the negroes he brought were stolen from Guinea. Ibid. iv. 195. In the same year, a law was passed, against the traffic in slaves, those excepted, who were taken in war, or cast into servitude, for crime. Ibid.
The slave trade was carried on, in Massachusetts, to a very small extent. “In 1703,” says Dr. Belknap, “a duty of £4 was laid on every negro imported.” He adds—“By the inquiries which I have made of our oldest merchants, now living, I cannot find that more than three ships in a year, belonging to this port, were ever employed in the African trade. The rum distilled here, was the mainspring of this traffic. Very few whole cargoes ever came to this port. One gentleman says he remembers two or three. I remember one, between thirty and forty years ago, which consisted almost wholly of children. At Rhode Island the rum distillery and the African trade were prosecuted to a greater extent than in Boston; and I believe no other seaport, in Massachusetts, had any concern in the slave business.” Ibid. 196. Dr. Belknap drew up his answers to Judge Tucker’s inquiries, April 21, 1795: “between thirty and forty years ago,” therefore, was between 1755 and 1765. Dr. Belknap remembered the arrival in Boston of a “whole cargo” of slaves, “almost wholly children,” between the years 1755 and 1765! If we have ever had an accurate and careful narrator of matters of fact, in New England, that man was Jeremy Belknap. The last of these years, 1765, was the memorable year of the Stamp Act, andLiberty Tree! Let us hope the arrival was nearer to 1755.
“About the time of the Stamp Act,” says Dr. Belknap, “this trade began to decline, and, in 1788, it was prohibited by law. This could not have been done previous to the Revolution, as the governors sent hither from England, it is said, were instructed not to consent to any acts made for that purpose.” Ibid. 197. In 1767, a bill was brought into the House of Representatives, “to prevent the unnatural and unwarrantable custom of enslaving mankind, and the importation of slaves into the Province:” but it came to nothing. “Had it passed both houses in any form whatever,” says Dr. B., ibid. page 202, “Gov. Bernardwould not have consented to it.” One scarcely knows which most to admire, the fury against the South, of gentlemen, whose ancestors imported cargoes of slaves, or bought and sold them, at retail, or the righteous indignation of Great Britain, who instructed her colonial governors, to veto every attempt of the Massachusetts Legislature, to abolish the traffic in human flesh. A disposition existed, at an earlier period, to abolish the brutal traffic. In a letter to the Rev. Dr. Freeman from Timothy Pickering, which may found in M. H. C., xviii. 183, he refers to the following transcript, from the records of the Selectmen of Boston: “1701, May 26. The Representatives are desired to promote the encouraging the bringing of white servants, and to put a period to negroes being slaves.”
“A few only of our merchants,” says Dr. B., M. H. C., iv. 197, “were engaged in this traffic. It was never supported by popular opinion. A degree of infamy was attached to the characters of those, who were employed in it. Several of them, in their last hours, bitterly lamented their concern in it.” Chief Justice Samuel Sewall wrote a pamphlet against it. Many, says Dr. B., who were wholly opposed to the traffic, would yet buy a slave, when brought here, on the ground that it was better for him to be brought up in a Christian land! For this, Abraham and the patriarchs were vouched in, of course, as supporters.
Our winters were unfavorable to unacclimated negroes; white laborers were therefore preferred to black. “Negro children,” says Dr. B., ibid. 200, “were reckoned an incumbrance in a family; and, when weaned, were given away like puppies. They have been publicly advertised in the newspapers, to be given away.”
In answer to the question, how slavery had been abolished in Massachusetts? Dr. Belknap answered—“by public opinion.” He considers, that slavery came to an end, in our Commonwealth, in 1783. After 1781, there were, certainly, very few, who had the brass to offer negroes, for sale, openly, in the newspapers of Boston. Public opinion, as Dr. Belknap says, was accomplishing this work: and every calm, impartial person may opine for himself, how patiently we of the North should have endured, at that time, even a modicum of the galling abuse, of which such aprofluviumis daily administered, to the people of the South. It seems to me, that such rough treatment wouldhave been more likely to addle, than to hatch the ovum of public opinion in 1783.
Dr. Belknap’s account, ibid. 203, is very clear. He says—“The present constitution of Massachusetts was established in 1780. The first article of the declaration of rights asserts that ‘all men are born free and equal.’ This was inserted, not merely as a moral or political truth, but with a particular view to establish the liberation of the negroes, on a general principle; and so it was understood, by the people at large; but some doubted whether this were sufficient. Many of the blacks, taking advantage of thepublic opinion, and of this general assertion, in the bill of rights, asked their freedom and obtained it. Others took it without leave. Some of the aged and infirm thought it most prudent to continue in the families, where they had been well used, and experience has proved that they acted right. In 1781, at the court in Worcester County, an indictment was found against a white man for assaulting, beating, and imprisoning a black. He was tried at the Supreme Judicial Court, in 1783. His defence was that the black was his slave, and that the beating, &c., was the necessary restraint and correction of the master. This was answered by citing the aforesaid clause in the declaration of rights. The Judge and Jury were of opinion that he had no right to beat or imprison the negro. He was found guilty and fined forty shillings. This decision was a mortal wound to slavery in Massachusetts.”
The reader will perceive, that a distinction was maintained, between theslave trade, eo nomine, and theholding of slaves, inseparably connected as it was, with the incidents of sale and transfer from man to man, in towns and villages. He, who was engaged in thetrade, so called, was supposedper seorper aliumtostealthe slaves; but, contrary to the proverb, thereceiverwas, in this case, not accounted so bad as thethief! The prohibition of thetraffic, in 1788, grew out of public indignation, produced by the act of one Avery, from Connecticut, who decoyed three black men on board his vessel, under pretence of employing them; and while they were at work below, proceeded to sea, having previously cleared for Martinico. The knowledge of this outrage produced a great sensation. Gov. Hancock, and M. L’Etombe, the French Consul, wrote in favor of the kidnapped negroes, to all the West India Islands. A petition was presented to the Legislature, from the members of the associationof the Boston Clergy; another from the blacks; and one, at that very time, from the Quakers, was lying on the table, for an act against equipping and insuring vessels, engaged in the traffic, and against kidnappers. Such an act was passed March 26, 1788.
The poor negroes, carried off by that arch villain, Avery, were offered for sale, in the island of St. Bartholomew. They told their story publicly—magna est veritas—the Governor heard and believed it—the sale was forbidden. An inhabitant of the island—a Mr.Atherton, of blessed memory—became their protector, and gave bonds for their good behavior, for six months. Letters, confirming their story, arrived. They were sent on their way home rejoicing, and arrived in Boston, on the following 29th day of July.
In 1763, according to Dr. Belknap, ibid. 198, there was 1 black to every 45 whites in Massachusetts; in 1776, 1 to every 65; in 1784, 1 to every 80. The whole number, in the latter year, 4377 blacks, 354,133 whites.
It appears, by a census, taken by order of Government, in the last month of 1754, and the first month of 1755, that there were then in the Province of Massachusetts Bay 2717 negro slaves of and over 16 years of age. Of these, 989 belonged to Boston. This table may be found in M. H. C., xiii. 95.
Of all sorts of affectation the affectation of happiness is the most universal. How many, whose domestic relations are full of trouble, are, abroad, apparently, the happiest of mortals. How many, after laying down the severest sumptuary laws, for their domestics, on the subject ofsugarandbutter, go forth, in all their personal finery, to inquire the prices of articles, which they have no means to purchase, and return, comforted by the assurance, that they have the reputation of fashion and wealth, with those, at least, who have, so deferentially, displayed their diamonds and pearls!
Who would not be thought wealthy, and wise, and witty, if he could!
Happiness is every man’scynosure, when he embarks uponthe ocean of life. No man would willingly be thought so very unskilful, as that ill-starred Palinurus, who made the shores of Norway, on a voyage to the coast of Africa. Whether wealth, or fame, or fashion, or pleasure be the principal object of pursuit, no one is willing to be accounted a disappointed man, after the application of his best energies, for years. The man of wealth—the man of ambition, for example, are desirous of being accounted happy. It would certainly be exceedingly annoying to both, to be convinced, that they were believed, by mankind, to be otherwise. Their condition is rendered tolerable, only by the conviction, that thousands suppose them happy, and covet their condition accordingly. There is something particularly agreeable, in being envied, of course. Now, it is the common law of man’s nature—a law, that executes itself—thatpossession makes him pooras Horace says, Sat. i. 1, 1.
————“Nemo, quam sibi sortem,Seu ratio dederit, seu fors objecerit illi,Contentus vivat.”————
All experience has demonstrated, that happiness is not to be bought, and that what there is of it, in this present life, is a home-made article, which every one produces for himself, in the workshop of his own bosom. It no more consists, in the accumulation of wealth, than in snuffing up the east wind. The poor believe the rich to be happy—they become rich, and find they were mistaken. But they keep the secret, and affect to be happy, nevertheless.
Seneca looked upon the devotion of time and talent to the acquirement of money, beyond the measure of a man’s reasonable wants, with profound contempt. He called such, as gave themselves up to the unvarying pursuit of wealth,short lived; meaning that the hours and years, so employed, were carved out of the estate of a man’s life, and utterly thrown away. There is a fine passage, in ch. 17, of Seneca’s book,De Brevitate Vitæ.
“Misserrimam ergo necesse est, non tantum brevissimam, vitam eorum esse, qui magno parant labore, quod majore possideant: operose assequuntur quæ volunt, anxii tenent quæ assecuti sunt. Nulla interim nunquam amplius redituri temporis est ratio”—It is clear, therefore, that the life must be very miserable, and very brief, of those, who get their gains withgreat labor, and hold on to their gettings with greater—who obtain the object of their wishes, with much difficulty, and are everlastingly anxious for the safe keeping of their treasures. They seem to have no true estimate of those hours, thus wasted, which never can return.
In one of his admirable letters to Lucilius, the eightieth, on the subject of poverty, he says—“Si vis scire quam nihil in illa mali sit, compara inter se pauperum et divitum vultus. Sæpius pauper et fidelius ridet; nulla sollicitudo in alto est; etiamsi qua incidit cura, velut nubes levis transit Horum, qui felices vocantur, hilaritas ficta est, au gravis et suppurata tristitia; eo quidem gravior, quia interdum non licet palam esse miseros, sed inter ærumnas, cor ipsum exedentes, necesse est agere felicem”—If you wish to know, that there is no evil therein, compare the faces of the rich and the poor. The poor man laughs much oftener, and more heartily. There is no wearying solicitude pressing upon his inmost soul, and when care comes, it passes away, like a thin cloud. But the hilarity of these rich men, who are called happy, is affected, or a deep-seated and rankling anxiety, the more oppressive, because it never would answer for them to appear as miserable, as they are, being constrained to appear happy, in the midst of harassing cares, gnawing at their vitals.
If Seneca had been on ’Change, daily, during the last half year, and watched the countenances of our wealthy money-lenders, he could not have portrayed the picture with a more masterly pencil. The rate of usury has, of course, a relation to the hazard encountered, and that hazard is ever uppermost in the mind of the usurer: and it is extremely doubtful, if the hope, however sanguine, of realizing two per cent. a month, is always sufficient, to quiet those fears, which will occasionally arise, of losing the principal and interest together.
I never buried an old usurer, without a conviction, as I looked upon his hard, corrugated features, that, if he could carry nothing else with him, he certainly carried upon his checkered brow the very phylactery of his calling. We may talk about money, as an article of commerce, till we are tired—we may weary the legislature, by our importunity, into a repeal of the existing laws against usury—we may cudgel our brains, to stretch the mantle of the law over our operations, and make it appeara regular business transaction—it is a case, in which no refinement of the culinary art will ever be able to disguise, or neutralize, the odorof the opossum—there ever was—there is—there ever will be, I am afraid, a certain touch of moralnastinessabout it, which no casuistical chemistry will ever be able entirely to remove.
Doubtless, there are men, who take something more, during a period of scarcity, than legal interest, and who are very worthy men withal. There are others, who are descendants, in the right line, from the horse-leech of biblical history—who take all they can get. Now, there is but one category:they are all usurers; and those, who are respectable, impart of their respectability to such, as have little or none; and give a confidence to those, who would be treated with contempt, for their merciless gripings, were they not banded together, with men of character, in the same occupation, as usurers. Those, who take seven or eight per cent. per annum, and those who takeone per cent. a day, and such things have been, are not easily distinguished; but the question, who come within the category, as usurers, is a thing more readily comprehended. All are such, who exceed the law.
Usurer, originally, was not a term of reproach; forinterestandusurymeant one and the same thing. The earlier statutes against usury, in England, were directed chiefly against the Jews—whose lineal descendants are still in our midst. Usury was forbidden, by act of Parliament, in 1341. The rate then taken by the Jews, was enormous. In 1545, 37 Henry VIII., the rate established was ten per cent. This statute was confirmed by 13 Eliz. 1570. Reduced to eight per cent., 21 James I. 1623, when the wordinterestwas first employed, instead ofusury. Again reduced, by Cromwell, 1650, to six per cent. Confirmed by Charles II. 1660. Reduced to five per cent., 5 Anne, 1714.
There are not two words about it; extortion and usury harden the heart; soil the reputation; and diminish the quantum of happiness, by lowering the standard of self-respect. That unconscionable griper, whose god is Mammon, and who fattens upon misery, as surely as the vulture upon carrion, stalking up and down like a commercial buzzard, tearing away the substance of his miserable victim, by piecemeal—two per cent. a month—can he be happy! However much like a human being he may have looked, in his youth, the workings of his mercenary soul have told too truly upon his iron features, until that visage would form an appropriate figure-head for the portal of ’Change alley, or the Inquisition.
————“Is your name Shylock?Shylock is my name.”
To how many, in this age ofanxious inquirers, may we hold up this picture, and propound this interrogatory!
God is just, though Mahomet be not his prophet. Instead of exclaiming, that God’s ways are past finding out, let us go doggedly to work, and study them a little. Some of them, I humbly confess, appear sufficiently intelligible, with common sense for an expositor. Does not the All-wise contriver say, in language not to be mistaken, to such as worship, at the shrines of avarice and sensuality—you have chosen idols, and your punishment shall consist, in part, in the ridicule and contempt, which the worship of these idols brings upon your old age. You—the victim of intemperance—shall continue, with your bloated lips, to worship—not a stone image—but a stone jug; and grasping your idol with your trembling fingers, literally stagger into the grave! And you, though last, not least, of all vermicular things, whose whole time and intellectual powers are devoted to no higher object than making money—shall still crawl along, heaping up treasure, day after day—day after day—to die at last, not knowing who shall come after you, a wise man or a fool!
“Constant at Church and ’Change; his gains were sure,His givings rare, save farthings to the poor!The Dev’l was piq’d such saintship to behold,And long’d to tempt him, like good Job of old;But Satan now is wiser than of yore,And tempts, by making rich, not making poor.”
Self-conceit and vanity are very pardonable offences, till, stimulated by flattery, or aggravated by indulgence, they assume the offensive forms of arrogance and insolence. If we should drive, from the circle of our friends, all, who are occasionally guilty of such petty misdemeanors, we should restrict ourselves to the solitude of Selkirk. There are some worthy men, with whom this little infirmity is an intermittent, alternating, like fever and ague, between self-conceit and self-abasement. Like some estimable people, of both sexes, who, at one moment, proclaimthemselves the chief of sinners, and the next, are in admirable working condition, as the spiritual guides and instructors of all mankind; these persons, under the influence of the wind, or the weather, or the world’s smiles, or its frowns, or the state of their digestive organs, indicate, by their air and carriage, today, a feeling, far on the sunny side of self-complacency, and of deep humility, tomorrow.
William Boodle has been dead, some twenty years. He was my school-fellow. I would have undertaken anything, for Boodle, while living, but I could not undertake for him, when dead. The idea of burying Billy Boodle, my playmate from the cradle—we were put into breeches, the very same day—with whom I had passed, simultaneously, through all the epocha—rattles—drums—go-carts—kites—tops—bats—skates—the idea of shovelling the cold earth upon him, was too much. I would have buried the Governor and Council, with the greatest pleasure, but Billy Boodle—I couldn’t. So I changed works, that day, with one of our craft, who comprehended my feelings perfectly.
I never shall forget my sensations, the first time he called meMr. Wycherly. We had ever been on terms of the greatest intimacy, and had never known any other words of designation, than Abner and Bill. I was very much amazed; and he seemed a little confused, himself, when I laughed in his face, and asked him what the devil he meant by it. But he grew daily more formal in his manners, and more particular in his dress. His voice became changed—he began to use longer words—assumed an unusual wave of the hand, and a particular movement of the head, when speaking—and, while talking, on the most common-place topics, he had a way, quite new with him, of bringing down the fore-finger of his right hand, frequently and forcibly, upon the ball of the uplifted thumb of the left. He was a leather-breeches maker; and I caught him, upon two or three occasions, spouting in his shop, all by himself, before a small looking-glass. He once made a pair of buckskins, for old General Heath—they did not fit—the General returned them, and Boodle said he would have themtaken into a new draft—I thought he was a little deranged: “taken where?” said the old General. Boodle colored, and corrected himself, saying he would have themlet out. He had two turns of this strange behavior, in one year, during which, he was rather neglectful of his business, pompous in his family, and talked to his wife, whowas a plain, notable woman, of nothing but first principles, and political economy. In the intervals between these attacks, he was perfectly himself again, and it was Abner and Bill, as in former days.
I have often smiled, at my own dullness, in not sooner apprehending the solution of this little enigma. Boodle was a member of the Legislature; and the fits were upon him, during the sessions. No man, probably, was ever more thoroughly confounded, than my old friend, when, it having been deemed expedient to compliment the leather-breeches interest, the committee requested him to permit his name to be put upon the list of candidates, as one of the representatives of the city of Boston, in the General Court. He could not think of it—the committee averred the utter impossibility of doing without him—he was ignorant of the duties—they could be learned in half a day—he was without education—the very thing, a self-taught man! He consented.
How much more easily we are persuaded to be great men, than to be Christians! There is but a step from conscious insignificancy to the loftiest pretension. Boodle was elected, and awoke the next morning, less surprised by the event, than at the extraordinary fact, that his talents had been overlooked, so long. He spoiled three good skins that day, from sheer absence of mind.
However disposed we may be to laugh at the airs of men, who so entirely misapprehend themselves and their constituents, our laughter should be tempered with charity. They are not honestly told, that they are wanted, only as makeweights—to keep in file—to follow,en suite—to register an edict: and their vanity is pardonable, in the ratio of that ignorance of themselves, which leads them to rely, so implicitly, upon the testimony of others.
Comparative mensuration is a very popular process, and a very comforting process, for all, who have made small progress in self-knowledge; and this category comprehends all, but a very small minority. There are a few, I doubt not, who think humbly of themselves; but there are very few, indeed, who cannot perceive, in themselves, or their possessions, some one or more points of imaginary superiority, over their fellows. This is an inexpensive mode of enjoying one’s self, and I cannot see the wisdom, or the wit, of disturbing the self-complacency of any one, upon such an occasion, unless the delusion is of vitalimportance to somebody. What, if your neighbor prefers his Dutch domicil, with its overhanging gable, to your classic chateau—or sees more to admire, in his broad-faced squab of a wife, than in your faultless Helen—or vaunts the superiority of his short-legged cob, over your famous blood horse! Let him. Such things should be passed, with great forbearance, were it only for the innocent amusement they afford us. So far, however, is this from the ordinary mode of treating them, that I am compelled to believe vanity is often more apt, than criminality, to excite our irritable principle, and stimulate the spirit of resentment.
I have known some worthy men, generous and humane, whose very gait has rendered them exceedingly unpopular. I once heard a pious and reverend clergyman say, of one of his very best parishioners, but whose unfortunate air of hauteur was rather remarkable, that, with all his excellent qualities, “it would do the flesh good to give him a kick.”
From a thousand illustrations, which are all around us, I will select one only. The anecdote, which I am about to relate, may be told without any apprehension of giving offence; as the parties have been dead, some thirty years. A worthy clergyman, residing in a neighboring state, grew old; and the parish, who entertained the most cordial respect and affection, for this venerable soldier of the cross, resolved to give him a colleague. After due inquiry, and aquantum sufficitof preaching on probation, they decided on giving a call to Parson Brocklebank. He was a little, red, round man, with a spherical head, a Brougham nose, and a gait, the like of which had never been seen, in that parish, before. It had not attracted particular notice, until after he was settled. To be sure, an aged single lady, of the parish, was heard to say, that she saw something of it, at the ordination, when Parson Brocklebank stepped forward, to receive the right hand of fellowship. Suffice it to say, for the reader’s particular edification, that it was indescribable. It became the village talk, and is thought to have had an injurious influence, in retarding a revival, which seemed to be commencing, just before the period of the ordination. However lowly in spirit, the new minister may have been, all who ever beheld him move, were satisfied, at a glance, that he had a most exalted opinion of himself. And yet he was an excellent man.
This unfortunate trick of jerking out the hips, and those rotundities of flesh connected therewith, however it might haveoriginated in “curs’d pride, that busy sin,” had become, with Parson Brocklebank, an unchangeable habit. We often see it in a slight degree, but, as it existed in his particular case, it was a thing not known among men. I think I have seen it among women. Dr. Johnson would have called it a fundamental undulation, elaborated by the ostentatious workings of a pompous spirit. Whatever it was, it was fatal to the peace and prosperity of that parish. Every one talked of it. The young laughed at it; the old mourned over it; the middle aged were vexed by it; boys and girls were whipped, for imitating it; children were forbidden to look at it, for fear of their catching it; the very dogs were said to have barked at it.
The parish began to dissolve,sine die. The deacons waited upon their old clergyman, Father Paybody, and the following colloquy ensued:
“We’re in a bad way, Father Paybody; and, if folks keep going off so, we don’t see how we shall be able to pay the salaries.—Dismiss me: I am of little use now.—No, no, Father Paybody, while there’s a potato in this parish, we’ll share it together. We call’d for advice. Ever since Parson Brocklebank was settled, the parish has been going to pieces: what is the cause of it?—The shrewd old man shook his head, and smiled.—Parson Brocklebank is a good man, Father Paybody.—Excellent.—Sound doctrine.—Very.—Amazing ready at short notice.—Very.—Great at clearing a knotty passage.—Very.—We think him a very pious Christian.—Very.—In the parochial relation he is very acceptable.—Very.—I hear he has a winning way, and always has candy or gingerbread in his pockets, for the children, which helps the word greatly, with the little ones.—Well, nearly half our people are dissatisfied, and have left, or will leave soon. What is the cause of it, Father Paybody?—I will tell you: it’s owing to no other cause under the sun, than that wriggle of Brother Brocklebank’s behind.”