(‡ decoration)LYDIA MARIA CHILD.AUTHOR OF “AN APPEAL IN BEHALF OF THAT CLASS OF AMERICANS CALLED AFRICANS.”NEXT to Harriet Beecher Stowe, no woman, perhaps, has contributed more to the liberation of the black man than has the subject of this sketch. It was Lydia Maria Child who wrote the famous reply to Governor Wise, of Virginia, after the hanging of John Brown, and it was to her that the wife of the Senator from Massachusetts, the author of the “Fugitive Slave Law,” wrote, threatening her with future damnation for her activity against the operation of that law.Mrs.Child’s reply to Governor Wise, of Virginia, andMrs.Mason was published with their letters in pamphlet form, and three hundred thousand copies were quickly distributed throughout the North. On the altars of how many thousand hearts they kindled the fires of universal liberty of person can never be known; but it is certain that after the appearance of this pamphlet, andMrs.Stowe’s immortal book, the fate of slavery in the United States was sealed, and the rising star of the black man’s liberty and the setting sun of the accursed institution simultaneously rose and fell.But Lydia M. Child was more than an abolitionist. She was one of the most prolific and varied writers of the second and third quarters of the nineteenth century, as subsequent reference to her books and letters will show.Lydia M. Francis was born in Medford, Massachusetts, February 11, 1802, and was the daughter of David Francis. Her early education was received at the hands of an odd, old woman and her brother, Converse Francis, afterwards Professor of Theology in Harvard College. After leaving private instruction, she studied in public schools, and subsequently spent a year in the seminary. From 1814 to 1820 she lived with her married sister in Maine. At the age of eighteen she returned to Watertown, Massachusetts, to live with her brother. He discovered her literary ability and encouraged her to study and write. In 1823 “Hobomok,” her first story, was published. This proved to be successful, and she issued another book, under the title of “Rebels,” which was also well received. She then brought out, in rapid succession, “The Mother’s Book,” “The Girl’s Book,” “The History of Women,” and “The Frugal Housewife.” The first passed through twelve English and one German editions, while the last reached thirty-five editions. In 1826 she began to write for children, and published her “Juvenile Miscellanies.” In 1828 she became the wife of David Lee Child, a lawyer, and removed to Boston, Massachusetts,where they settled. In 1831 both wife and husband became interested in the then new “Anti-Slavery Movement.”Mr.Child became the leader of the Anti-Slavery Party; and, in 1833,Mrs.Child published her famous book, entitled “An Appeal in Behalf of that Class of Americans Called Africans.” When this work appeared,Dr.Channing, it is said, was so delighted with it that he at once walked from Boston to Roxbury to see the author, though a stranger to him, and thank her for it. This was nearly twenty years before “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” appeared, and, so far as the writer is aware, was the first book ever published—in America at least—opposing the institution of slavery.There were at this time in the North very few people who were openly opposed to slavery, and the appearance of the book cutMrs.Child loose from the friends of her youth. Both social and literary circles, which had formerly welcomed her, now shut their doors against her entrance. She was at this time editing a magazine, which had a large subscription, and her books were selling well. Suddenly, the sale of her books fell off, subscriptions were withdrawn from her paper, and her life became one of ostracized isolation and a battle for existence. The effect of this, was, however, to stimulate rather than intimidate her zeal in the cause which she espoused. Through it all she bore her trouble with the patience and courage worthy of a heroine, and in the midst of her disappointment and labors found time to produce the “Life of Madame Roland” and “Baroness de Staël,” and also her Greek romance “Philothea.” At the same time, with her husband, she editorially supervised the “Anti-Slavery Standard,” in which was published those admirable “Letters from New York,” and, during the same troublous times, prepared her three-volumed work on “The Progress of Religious Ideas,” which evinces a depth of study and inquiry into the history of various religions from the most ancient Hindoo records to recent times that perhaps no woman in more modern times has approached. In 1840Mr.andMrs.Child removed to New York City, where they resided until 1844, when they removed to Wayland, Massachusetts, where she continued to reside for the next thirty-six years of her life, dying there October 20, 1880, in the seventy-eighth year of her age. She lived to see a reversal of the opinions that greeted her first plea for the personal liberty of all mankind, and became once more the honored centre of a wide circle of influential friends.The books ofMrs.Child are numerous. We mention beside those referred to above “Flowers for Children,” three volumes (1844–1846); “Fact and Fiction” (1846); “The Power of Kindness” (1851); “A True Life of Isaac P. Hopper” (1853); “Autumnal Leaves” (1856); “Looking Toward Sunset” (1864); “The Freedman’s Book” (1865); “Maria” (1867); and “Aspirations of the World” (1878), which was the last work of the long and busy life of the grand, old woman—issued just three years before her death. In 1882, two years after her demise, a volume of her letters was published with an introduction by the Anti-Slavery poet, Whittier, and an appendix by the Anti-Slavery orator, Wendell Phillips.A LITTLE WAIF.(FROM “LETTERS FROM NEW YORK.”)THE other day I went forth for exercise merely, without other hope of enjoyment than a farewell to the setting sun, on the now deserted Battery, and a fresh kiss from the breezes of the sea, ere they passed through the polluted city, bearing healing on their wings. I had not gone far, when I met a little ragged urchin, about four years old, with a heap of newspapers, “more big than he could carry,” under his little arm, and another clenched in his small red fist. The sweet voice of childhood was prematurely cracked into shrillness by screaming street cries, at the top of his lungs, and he looked blue, cold and disconsolate. May the angels guard him! How I wanted to warm him in my heart.I stood looking after him as he went shivering along. Imagination followed him to the miserable cellar where he probably slept on dirty straw. I saw him flogged after his day of cheerless toil, because he had failed to bring home pence enough for his parents’ grog; I saw wicked ones come muttering, and beckoning between his young soul and heaven; they tempted him to steal to avoid the dreaded beating. I saw him years after, bewildered and frightened, in the police-office surrounded by hard faces. Their law-jargon conveyed no meaning to his ear, awakened no slumbering moral sense, taught him no clear distinction between right and wrong; but from their cold, harsh tones, and heartless merriment, he drew the inference that they were enemies; and as such he hated them. At that moment, one tone like a mother’s voice might have wholly changed his earthly destiny; one kind word of friendly counsel might have saved him—as if an angel, standing in the genial sunlight, had thrown to him one end of a garland, and gently diminishing the distance between them, had drawn him safely out of the deep and tangled labyrinth, where false echoes and winding paths conspired to make him lose his way. But watchmen and constables were around him, and they have small fellowship with angels. The strong impulses that might have become overwhelming love for his race are perverted to the bitterest hatred. He tries the universal resort of weakness against force; if they are too strong forhim, he will be too cunning forthem.Theircunning is roused to detecthiscunning; and thus the gallows-game is played, with interludes of damnable merriment from police reports, whereat the heedless multitude laugh; while angels weep over the slow murder of a human soul. God grant the little shivering carrier-boy a brighter destiny than I have foreseen for him.TO WHITTIER ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.ITHANK thee, friend, for words of cheer,That made the path of duty clear,When thou and I were young and strongTo wrestle with a mighty wrong.And now, when lengthening shadows come,And this world’s work is nearly done,I thank thee for thy genial rayThat prophesies a brighter dayWhen we can work, with strength renewed,In clearer light, for surer good.God bless thee, friend, and give thee peace,Till thy fervent spirit finds release;And may we meet, in worlds afar,My Morning and my Evening Star!POLITENESS.IN politeness, as in many other things connected with the formation of character, people in general begin outside, when they should begin inside; instead of beginning with the heart, and trusting that to form the manners, they begin with the manners, and trust the heart to chance influences. Thegolden rulecontains the very life and soul of politeness. Children may be taught to make a graceful courtesy or a gentlemanly bow; but unless they have likewise been taught to abhor whatis selfish, and always prefer another’s comfort and pleasure to their own, their politeness will be entirely artificial, and used only when it is their interest to use it. On the other hand, a truly benevolent, kind-hearted person will always be distinguished for what is called native politeness, though entirely ignorant of the conventional forms of society.FLOWERS.HOW the universal heart of man blesses flowers! They are wreathed round the cradle, the marriage-altar, and the tomb. The Persian in the far East delights in their perfume, and writes his love in nosegays; while the Indian child of the far West clasps his hands with glee, as he gathers the abundant blossoms,—the illuminated scripture of the prairies. The Cupid of the ancient Hindoos tipped his arrows with flowers; and orange-buds are the bridal crown with us, a nation of yesterday. Flowers garlanded the Grecian altar, and they hang in votive wreaths before the Christian shrine.All these are appropriate uses. Flowers should deck the brow of the youthful bride; for they are in themselves a lovely type of marriage. They should twine round the tomb; for their perpetually renewed beauty is a symbol of the resurrection. They should festoon the altar; for their fragrance and their beauty ascend in perpetual worship before the Most High.UNSELFISHNESS.(From: “Letters from New York.”)IFOUND the Battery unoccupied, save by children, whom the weather made as merry as birds. Every thing seemed moving to the vernal tune of“Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair,And Greta woods are green.”—Scott’s Rokeby.To one who was chasing her hoop, I said, smiling, “You are a nice little girl.” She stopped, looked up in my face, so rosy and happy, and, laying her hand on her brother’s shoulder, exclaimed, earnestly, “Andheis a nice little boy, too!” It was a simple, childlike act, but it brought a warm gush into my heart. Blessings on all unselfishness! on all that leads us in love to prefer one another! Here lies the secret of universal harmony; this is the diapason which would bring us all into tune. Only by losing ourselves can we find ourselves. How clearly does the divine voice within us proclaim this, by the hymn of joy it sings, whenever we witness an unselfish deed or hear an unselfish thought. Blessings on that loving little one! She made the city seem a garden to me. I kissed my hand to her, as I turned off in quest of the Brooklyn ferry. The sparkling waters swarmed with boats, some of which had taken a big ship by the hand, and were leading her out to sea, as the prattle of childhood often guides wisdom into the deepest and broadest thought.
(‡ decoration)
AUTHOR OF “AN APPEAL IN BEHALF OF THAT CLASS OF AMERICANS CALLED AFRICANS.”
NEXT to Harriet Beecher Stowe, no woman, perhaps, has contributed more to the liberation of the black man than has the subject of this sketch. It was Lydia Maria Child who wrote the famous reply to Governor Wise, of Virginia, after the hanging of John Brown, and it was to her that the wife of the Senator from Massachusetts, the author of the “Fugitive Slave Law,” wrote, threatening her with future damnation for her activity against the operation of that law.Mrs.Child’s reply to Governor Wise, of Virginia, andMrs.Mason was published with their letters in pamphlet form, and three hundred thousand copies were quickly distributed throughout the North. On the altars of how many thousand hearts they kindled the fires of universal liberty of person can never be known; but it is certain that after the appearance of this pamphlet, andMrs.Stowe’s immortal book, the fate of slavery in the United States was sealed, and the rising star of the black man’s liberty and the setting sun of the accursed institution simultaneously rose and fell.
But Lydia M. Child was more than an abolitionist. She was one of the most prolific and varied writers of the second and third quarters of the nineteenth century, as subsequent reference to her books and letters will show.
Lydia M. Francis was born in Medford, Massachusetts, February 11, 1802, and was the daughter of David Francis. Her early education was received at the hands of an odd, old woman and her brother, Converse Francis, afterwards Professor of Theology in Harvard College. After leaving private instruction, she studied in public schools, and subsequently spent a year in the seminary. From 1814 to 1820 she lived with her married sister in Maine. At the age of eighteen she returned to Watertown, Massachusetts, to live with her brother. He discovered her literary ability and encouraged her to study and write. In 1823 “Hobomok,” her first story, was published. This proved to be successful, and she issued another book, under the title of “Rebels,” which was also well received. She then brought out, in rapid succession, “The Mother’s Book,” “The Girl’s Book,” “The History of Women,” and “The Frugal Housewife.” The first passed through twelve English and one German editions, while the last reached thirty-five editions. In 1826 she began to write for children, and published her “Juvenile Miscellanies.” In 1828 she became the wife of David Lee Child, a lawyer, and removed to Boston, Massachusetts,where they settled. In 1831 both wife and husband became interested in the then new “Anti-Slavery Movement.”Mr.Child became the leader of the Anti-Slavery Party; and, in 1833,Mrs.Child published her famous book, entitled “An Appeal in Behalf of that Class of Americans Called Africans.” When this work appeared,Dr.Channing, it is said, was so delighted with it that he at once walked from Boston to Roxbury to see the author, though a stranger to him, and thank her for it. This was nearly twenty years before “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” appeared, and, so far as the writer is aware, was the first book ever published—in America at least—opposing the institution of slavery.
There were at this time in the North very few people who were openly opposed to slavery, and the appearance of the book cutMrs.Child loose from the friends of her youth. Both social and literary circles, which had formerly welcomed her, now shut their doors against her entrance. She was at this time editing a magazine, which had a large subscription, and her books were selling well. Suddenly, the sale of her books fell off, subscriptions were withdrawn from her paper, and her life became one of ostracized isolation and a battle for existence. The effect of this, was, however, to stimulate rather than intimidate her zeal in the cause which she espoused. Through it all she bore her trouble with the patience and courage worthy of a heroine, and in the midst of her disappointment and labors found time to produce the “Life of Madame Roland” and “Baroness de Staël,” and also her Greek romance “Philothea.” At the same time, with her husband, she editorially supervised the “Anti-Slavery Standard,” in which was published those admirable “Letters from New York,” and, during the same troublous times, prepared her three-volumed work on “The Progress of Religious Ideas,” which evinces a depth of study and inquiry into the history of various religions from the most ancient Hindoo records to recent times that perhaps no woman in more modern times has approached. In 1840Mr.andMrs.Child removed to New York City, where they resided until 1844, when they removed to Wayland, Massachusetts, where she continued to reside for the next thirty-six years of her life, dying there October 20, 1880, in the seventy-eighth year of her age. She lived to see a reversal of the opinions that greeted her first plea for the personal liberty of all mankind, and became once more the honored centre of a wide circle of influential friends.
The books ofMrs.Child are numerous. We mention beside those referred to above “Flowers for Children,” three volumes (1844–1846); “Fact and Fiction” (1846); “The Power of Kindness” (1851); “A True Life of Isaac P. Hopper” (1853); “Autumnal Leaves” (1856); “Looking Toward Sunset” (1864); “The Freedman’s Book” (1865); “Maria” (1867); and “Aspirations of the World” (1878), which was the last work of the long and busy life of the grand, old woman—issued just three years before her death. In 1882, two years after her demise, a volume of her letters was published with an introduction by the Anti-Slavery poet, Whittier, and an appendix by the Anti-Slavery orator, Wendell Phillips.
A LITTLE WAIF.
(FROM “LETTERS FROM NEW YORK.”)
THE other day I went forth for exercise merely, without other hope of enjoyment than a farewell to the setting sun, on the now deserted Battery, and a fresh kiss from the breezes of the sea, ere they passed through the polluted city, bearing healing on their wings. I had not gone far, when I met a little ragged urchin, about four years old, with a heap of newspapers, “more big than he could carry,” under his little arm, and another clenched in his small red fist. The sweet voice of childhood was prematurely cracked into shrillness by screaming street cries, at the top of his lungs, and he looked blue, cold and disconsolate. May the angels guard him! How I wanted to warm him in my heart.I stood looking after him as he went shivering along. Imagination followed him to the miserable cellar where he probably slept on dirty straw. I saw him flogged after his day of cheerless toil, because he had failed to bring home pence enough for his parents’ grog; I saw wicked ones come muttering, and beckoning between his young soul and heaven; they tempted him to steal to avoid the dreaded beating. I saw him years after, bewildered and frightened, in the police-office surrounded by hard faces. Their law-jargon conveyed no meaning to his ear, awakened no slumbering moral sense, taught him no clear distinction between right and wrong; but from their cold, harsh tones, and heartless merriment, he drew the inference that they were enemies; and as such he hated them. At that moment, one tone like a mother’s voice might have wholly changed his earthly destiny; one kind word of friendly counsel might have saved him—as if an angel, standing in the genial sunlight, had thrown to him one end of a garland, and gently diminishing the distance between them, had drawn him safely out of the deep and tangled labyrinth, where false echoes and winding paths conspired to make him lose his way. But watchmen and constables were around him, and they have small fellowship with angels. The strong impulses that might have become overwhelming love for his race are perverted to the bitterest hatred. He tries the universal resort of weakness against force; if they are too strong forhim, he will be too cunning forthem.Theircunning is roused to detecthiscunning; and thus the gallows-game is played, with interludes of damnable merriment from police reports, whereat the heedless multitude laugh; while angels weep over the slow murder of a human soul. God grant the little shivering carrier-boy a brighter destiny than I have foreseen for him.
THE other day I went forth for exercise merely, without other hope of enjoyment than a farewell to the setting sun, on the now deserted Battery, and a fresh kiss from the breezes of the sea, ere they passed through the polluted city, bearing healing on their wings. I had not gone far, when I met a little ragged urchin, about four years old, with a heap of newspapers, “more big than he could carry,” under his little arm, and another clenched in his small red fist. The sweet voice of childhood was prematurely cracked into shrillness by screaming street cries, at the top of his lungs, and he looked blue, cold and disconsolate. May the angels guard him! How I wanted to warm him in my heart.
I stood looking after him as he went shivering along. Imagination followed him to the miserable cellar where he probably slept on dirty straw. I saw him flogged after his day of cheerless toil, because he had failed to bring home pence enough for his parents’ grog; I saw wicked ones come muttering, and beckoning between his young soul and heaven; they tempted him to steal to avoid the dreaded beating. I saw him years after, bewildered and frightened, in the police-office surrounded by hard faces. Their law-jargon conveyed no meaning to his ear, awakened no slumbering moral sense, taught him no clear distinction between right and wrong; but from their cold, harsh tones, and heartless merriment, he drew the inference that they were enemies; and as such he hated them. At that moment, one tone like a mother’s voice might have wholly changed his earthly destiny; one kind word of friendly counsel might have saved him—as if an angel, standing in the genial sunlight, had thrown to him one end of a garland, and gently diminishing the distance between them, had drawn him safely out of the deep and tangled labyrinth, where false echoes and winding paths conspired to make him lose his way. But watchmen and constables were around him, and they have small fellowship with angels. The strong impulses that might have become overwhelming love for his race are perverted to the bitterest hatred. He tries the universal resort of weakness against force; if they are too strong forhim, he will be too cunning forthem.Theircunning is roused to detecthiscunning; and thus the gallows-game is played, with interludes of damnable merriment from police reports, whereat the heedless multitude laugh; while angels weep over the slow murder of a human soul. God grant the little shivering carrier-boy a brighter destiny than I have foreseen for him.
TO WHITTIER ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.
ITHANK thee, friend, for words of cheer,That made the path of duty clear,When thou and I were young and strongTo wrestle with a mighty wrong.And now, when lengthening shadows come,And this world’s work is nearly done,I thank thee for thy genial rayThat prophesies a brighter dayWhen we can work, with strength renewed,In clearer light, for surer good.God bless thee, friend, and give thee peace,Till thy fervent spirit finds release;And may we meet, in worlds afar,My Morning and my Evening Star!
ITHANK thee, friend, for words of cheer,That made the path of duty clear,When thou and I were young and strongTo wrestle with a mighty wrong.And now, when lengthening shadows come,And this world’s work is nearly done,I thank thee for thy genial rayThat prophesies a brighter dayWhen we can work, with strength renewed,In clearer light, for surer good.God bless thee, friend, and give thee peace,Till thy fervent spirit finds release;And may we meet, in worlds afar,My Morning and my Evening Star!
THANK thee, friend, for words of cheer,
That made the path of duty clear,
When thou and I were young and strong
To wrestle with a mighty wrong.
And now, when lengthening shadows come,
And this world’s work is nearly done,
I thank thee for thy genial ray
That prophesies a brighter day
When we can work, with strength renewed,
In clearer light, for surer good.
God bless thee, friend, and give thee peace,
Till thy fervent spirit finds release;
And may we meet, in worlds afar,
My Morning and my Evening Star!
POLITENESS.
IN politeness, as in many other things connected with the formation of character, people in general begin outside, when they should begin inside; instead of beginning with the heart, and trusting that to form the manners, they begin with the manners, and trust the heart to chance influences. Thegolden rulecontains the very life and soul of politeness. Children may be taught to make a graceful courtesy or a gentlemanly bow; but unless they have likewise been taught to abhor whatis selfish, and always prefer another’s comfort and pleasure to their own, their politeness will be entirely artificial, and used only when it is their interest to use it. On the other hand, a truly benevolent, kind-hearted person will always be distinguished for what is called native politeness, though entirely ignorant of the conventional forms of society.
IN politeness, as in many other things connected with the formation of character, people in general begin outside, when they should begin inside; instead of beginning with the heart, and trusting that to form the manners, they begin with the manners, and trust the heart to chance influences. Thegolden rulecontains the very life and soul of politeness. Children may be taught to make a graceful courtesy or a gentlemanly bow; but unless they have likewise been taught to abhor whatis selfish, and always prefer another’s comfort and pleasure to their own, their politeness will be entirely artificial, and used only when it is their interest to use it. On the other hand, a truly benevolent, kind-hearted person will always be distinguished for what is called native politeness, though entirely ignorant of the conventional forms of society.
FLOWERS.
HOW the universal heart of man blesses flowers! They are wreathed round the cradle, the marriage-altar, and the tomb. The Persian in the far East delights in their perfume, and writes his love in nosegays; while the Indian child of the far West clasps his hands with glee, as he gathers the abundant blossoms,—the illuminated scripture of the prairies. The Cupid of the ancient Hindoos tipped his arrows with flowers; and orange-buds are the bridal crown with us, a nation of yesterday. Flowers garlanded the Grecian altar, and they hang in votive wreaths before the Christian shrine.All these are appropriate uses. Flowers should deck the brow of the youthful bride; for they are in themselves a lovely type of marriage. They should twine round the tomb; for their perpetually renewed beauty is a symbol of the resurrection. They should festoon the altar; for their fragrance and their beauty ascend in perpetual worship before the Most High.
HOW the universal heart of man blesses flowers! They are wreathed round the cradle, the marriage-altar, and the tomb. The Persian in the far East delights in their perfume, and writes his love in nosegays; while the Indian child of the far West clasps his hands with glee, as he gathers the abundant blossoms,—the illuminated scripture of the prairies. The Cupid of the ancient Hindoos tipped his arrows with flowers; and orange-buds are the bridal crown with us, a nation of yesterday. Flowers garlanded the Grecian altar, and they hang in votive wreaths before the Christian shrine.
All these are appropriate uses. Flowers should deck the brow of the youthful bride; for they are in themselves a lovely type of marriage. They should twine round the tomb; for their perpetually renewed beauty is a symbol of the resurrection. They should festoon the altar; for their fragrance and their beauty ascend in perpetual worship before the Most High.
UNSELFISHNESS.
(From: “Letters from New York.”)
IFOUND the Battery unoccupied, save by children, whom the weather made as merry as birds. Every thing seemed moving to the vernal tune of“Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair,And Greta woods are green.”—Scott’s Rokeby.To one who was chasing her hoop, I said, smiling, “You are a nice little girl.” She stopped, looked up in my face, so rosy and happy, and, laying her hand on her brother’s shoulder, exclaimed, earnestly, “Andheis a nice little boy, too!” It was a simple, childlike act, but it brought a warm gush into my heart. Blessings on all unselfishness! on all that leads us in love to prefer one another! Here lies the secret of universal harmony; this is the diapason which would bring us all into tune. Only by losing ourselves can we find ourselves. How clearly does the divine voice within us proclaim this, by the hymn of joy it sings, whenever we witness an unselfish deed or hear an unselfish thought. Blessings on that loving little one! She made the city seem a garden to me. I kissed my hand to her, as I turned off in quest of the Brooklyn ferry. The sparkling waters swarmed with boats, some of which had taken a big ship by the hand, and were leading her out to sea, as the prattle of childhood often guides wisdom into the deepest and broadest thought.
IFOUND the Battery unoccupied, save by children, whom the weather made as merry as birds. Every thing seemed moving to the vernal tune of
“Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair,And Greta woods are green.”—Scott’s Rokeby.
“Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair,And Greta woods are green.”—Scott’s Rokeby.
“Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green.”—Scott’s Rokeby.
To one who was chasing her hoop, I said, smiling, “You are a nice little girl.” She stopped, looked up in my face, so rosy and happy, and, laying her hand on her brother’s shoulder, exclaimed, earnestly, “Andheis a nice little boy, too!” It was a simple, childlike act, but it brought a warm gush into my heart. Blessings on all unselfishness! on all that leads us in love to prefer one another! Here lies the secret of universal harmony; this is the diapason which would bring us all into tune. Only by losing ourselves can we find ourselves. How clearly does the divine voice within us proclaim this, by the hymn of joy it sings, whenever we witness an unselfish deed or hear an unselfish thought. Blessings on that loving little one! She made the city seem a garden to me. I kissed my hand to her, as I turned off in quest of the Brooklyn ferry. The sparkling waters swarmed with boats, some of which had taken a big ship by the hand, and were leading her out to sea, as the prattle of childhood often guides wisdom into the deepest and broadest thought.
(‡ decoration)ANNA ELIZABETH DICKINSON.IN 1861, a young girl of nineteen years, sprang like a Minerva fully armed into the moral and political arena, and for a time stirred the hearts of those who fell under her influence, as few other speakers have done. From the day she first appeared before the public, she feared not to utter the boldest truths and most scathing rebukes of sin in high places. Whether the principle for which she strove is right or wrong the world of course will judge for itself, but that this woman was honest, logical, sincere, and eloquent in advocacy, no one who ever listened to her earnest appeals or read what she wrote could for one moment doubt.Anna E. Dickinson was born October 28, 1842, in the city of Philadelphia. When she was two years old her father died, leaving the family in straightened circumstances. Her parents belonged to the Society of Friends, and Anna was sent in her early years to the Friends’ Free School. At the same time she had little ways of her own in earning money, which she carefully husbanded and spent for books. When fourteen years old she made her appearance before the public by writing an article on slavery, which was published in “The Liberator,” and in 1857 made her debut as a public speaker by replying to a man who had delivered a tirade against women. From that time she spoke frequently on the subjects of slavery and temperance. In 1859 and 1860 she taught a country school, and in 1861 became an employee in the Philadelphia Mint, from which position she was soon dismissed, because in a speech in West Chester she declared the battle of Ball’s Bluff had been lost through the treason of General McClellan. Thus cast upon the world she entered immediately the lecture platform. William Lloyd Garrison heard one of her addresses and named her “The Girl Orator.” He invited her to speak in Boston, Massachusetts, where she delivered a famous address on the “National Crisis” in Music Hall. From there she entered upon a lecture tour, speaking in New Hampshire, Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania, and until the close of the war devoted her time to lecturing. In Washington,D. C., in 1864, the proceeds of one of her lectures, amounting to a thousand dollars, she devoted to the Freedmen’s Relief Society. She was frequently called to the hospitals and the camps, where she addressed the soldiers. After the war she took up the cudgel in favor of woman’s suffrage. She visited Utah to inquire into the condition of women there, and returning delivered her famous lecture on the “Whited Sepulchres.” Other prominent lectures were entitled “Demagogues and Workingmen,” “Joan of Arc,” “Between Us Be Truth,” “Platform and Stage.”Miss Dickinson made the mistake of her life when she deserted the platform for the stage in 1877. She wrote a play entitled “A Crown of Thorns,” in which she attempted to “star.” She next assayed Shakespearian tragic roles, including “Hamlet” and others, and afterwards gave dramatic readings. In all of these attempts she was out of her element, therefore, unsuccessful, and returned to the lecture platform, but continued to write plays. The only one of these, however, which was even moderately popular with the masses was entitled “The American Girl,” played by Fanny Davenport. The noted actor, John McCullough, was preparing to produce her “Aurelian,” when the failure of his powers came and it was never put upon the stage. Miss Dickinson also wrote a number of books. Among them we mention the novel “What Answer;” “A Paying Investment,” and “A Ragged Register of People, Places and Opinions,” the latter being a sort of diary, and perhaps the most valuable of the lot.The last ten years added other mistakes and misfortunes which have tended to detract from the well-earned fame of her earlier life. These difficulties began with a suit brought against the Republican managers in 1888 for services rendered in the Harrison presidential campaign. Following this came family difficulties. Her health failed and she was placed by her relatives for a time in an insane asylum, from which she was eventually released, but was involved in further law-suits. Let it be said to her credit, however, that while she acquired an ample fortune from her lectures, she has given away the bulk of it to all kinds of charities, and it is from the money that she has made and her liberal disposition to dispose of it for the benefit of humanity, rather than to her relatives, which has involved her in much of the family trouble.As an orator Miss Dickinson was a woman of singular powers. Together with a most excellent judgment, and a keen, analytic mind, enabling her to dissect theories and motives, she was a mistress of sarcasm, pathos and wit, and possessed that rare eloquence and dramatic fervor which go to make the great orator, and which can be understood only by those who have heard her on the platform. In her work she was always unique, and while as a whole her books and plays were not popular successes they contain passages of undisputed marks of genius.WHY COLORED MEN SHOULD ENLIST IN THE ARMY.Extract from speech delivered at a mass meeting held in Philadelphia, July 6, 1863, for the promotion of enlistment of colored men in the Union Army. The efficiency of colored troops having been demonstrated by recent battles in the Southwest, several hundred gentlemen of Philadelphia addressed a memorial to the Secretary of War, asking authority to raise three regiments for three years of the war, from among the colored population of Pennsylvania. Permission to this effect was promptly given. Accordingly a mass meeting was called to arouse the colored people to prompt action. Judge Kelly and Frederick Douglass spoke at the same meeting, but Miss Dickinson’s appeal was the oratorical feature of the occasion. We quote the extract below as a specimen of her eloquence.TRUE, through the past we have advocated the use of the black man. For what end? To save ourselves. We wanted them as shields, as barriers, as walls of defence. We would not even say to them, fightbesideus. We would put them in thefront; their brains contracted, their souls dwarfed, their manhood stunted; mass them together; let them die! That will cover and protect us. Now we hear the voice of the people, solemn and sorrowful, saying, “We have wronged you enough; you have suffered enough; we ask no more at your hands; we stand aside, and let you fightfor your own manhood, your future, your race.” (Applause.) Anglo-Africans, we need you; yet it is not because of this need that I ask you to go into the ranks of the regiments forming to fight in this war. My cheeks would crimson with shame, while my lips put the request that could be answered, “Your soldiers? why don’t you give us the same bounty, and the same pay as the rest?” I have no reply tothat. (Sensation.)But for yourselves; because, after ages of watching and agony, your day is breaking; because your hour is come; because you hold the hammer which, upheld or falling, decides your destiny for woe or weal; because you have reached the point from which you must sink, generation after generation, century after century, into deeper depths, into more absolute degradation; or mount to the heights of glory and fame.The cause needs you. This is not our war, not a war for territory; not a war for martial power, for mere victory; it is a war of the races, of the ages; the stars and stripes is the people’s flag of the world; the world must be gathered under its folds, the black man beside the white. (Cheers and applause.)Thirteen dollars a month and bounty are good; liberty is better. Ten dollars a month and no bounty are bad; slavery is worse. The two alternatives are put before you; you make your own future. The to be will, in a little while, do you justice. Soldiers will be proud to welcome as comrades, as brothers, the black men of Port Hudson and Milliken’s Bend. Congress, next winter, will look out through the fog and mist of Washington, and will see how, when Pennsylvania was invaded and Philadelphia threatened, while white men haggled over bounty and double pay to defend their own city, their own homes, with the tread of armed rebels almost heard in their streets; black men, without bounty, without pay, without rights or the promise of any, rushed to the♦beleaguered capital, and were first in their offers of life or of death. (Cheers and applause.) Congress will say, “These men are soldiers; we will pay them as such; these men are marvels of loyalty, self-sacrifice, courage; we will give them a chance of promotion.” History will write, “Behold the unselfish heroes; theeagermartyrs of this war.” (Applause.) You hesitate because you have not all. Your brothers and sisters of the South cry out, “Come to help us, we have nothing.” Father! you hesitate to send your boy to death; the slave father turns his face of dumb entreaty to you, to save his boy from the death in life; the bondage that crushes soul and body together. Shall your son go to his aid? Mother! you look with pride at the young manly face and figure, growing and strengthening beside you! he is yours; your own. God gave him to you. From the lacerated hearts, the wrung souls of other mothers, comes the wail, “My child, my child; give me back my child!” The slave-master heeds not; the government is tardy; mother! the prayer comes toyou; will you falter?♦“beleagured” replaced with “beleaguered”Young man, rejoicing in the hope, the courage, the will, the thews and muscles of young manhood—the red glare of this war falls on the faces and figures of other young men, distorted with suffering, writhing in agony, wrenching their manacles and chains—shouting with despairing voices to you for help—shall it be withheld? (Cries of No! No!)The slave will be freed—with or without you. The conscience and heart of the people have decreed that. (Applause.) Xerxes scourging the Hellespont, Canute commanding the waves to roll back, are but types of that folly which stands up and says to this majestic wave of public opinion, “Thus far.” The black man will be a citizen, only by stamping his right to it in his blood. Now or never! You have not homes!—gain them. You have not liberty!—gain it. You have not a flag!—gain it. You have not a country!—be written down in history as the race who made one for themselves, and saved one for another. (Immense cheering.)
(‡ decoration)
IN 1861, a young girl of nineteen years, sprang like a Minerva fully armed into the moral and political arena, and for a time stirred the hearts of those who fell under her influence, as few other speakers have done. From the day she first appeared before the public, she feared not to utter the boldest truths and most scathing rebukes of sin in high places. Whether the principle for which she strove is right or wrong the world of course will judge for itself, but that this woman was honest, logical, sincere, and eloquent in advocacy, no one who ever listened to her earnest appeals or read what she wrote could for one moment doubt.
Anna E. Dickinson was born October 28, 1842, in the city of Philadelphia. When she was two years old her father died, leaving the family in straightened circumstances. Her parents belonged to the Society of Friends, and Anna was sent in her early years to the Friends’ Free School. At the same time she had little ways of her own in earning money, which she carefully husbanded and spent for books. When fourteen years old she made her appearance before the public by writing an article on slavery, which was published in “The Liberator,” and in 1857 made her debut as a public speaker by replying to a man who had delivered a tirade against women. From that time she spoke frequently on the subjects of slavery and temperance. In 1859 and 1860 she taught a country school, and in 1861 became an employee in the Philadelphia Mint, from which position she was soon dismissed, because in a speech in West Chester she declared the battle of Ball’s Bluff had been lost through the treason of General McClellan. Thus cast upon the world she entered immediately the lecture platform. William Lloyd Garrison heard one of her addresses and named her “The Girl Orator.” He invited her to speak in Boston, Massachusetts, where she delivered a famous address on the “National Crisis” in Music Hall. From there she entered upon a lecture tour, speaking in New Hampshire, Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania, and until the close of the war devoted her time to lecturing. In Washington,D. C., in 1864, the proceeds of one of her lectures, amounting to a thousand dollars, she devoted to the Freedmen’s Relief Society. She was frequently called to the hospitals and the camps, where she addressed the soldiers. After the war she took up the cudgel in favor of woman’s suffrage. She visited Utah to inquire into the condition of women there, and returning delivered her famous lecture on the “Whited Sepulchres.” Other prominent lectures were entitled “Demagogues and Workingmen,” “Joan of Arc,” “Between Us Be Truth,” “Platform and Stage.”
Miss Dickinson made the mistake of her life when she deserted the platform for the stage in 1877. She wrote a play entitled “A Crown of Thorns,” in which she attempted to “star.” She next assayed Shakespearian tragic roles, including “Hamlet” and others, and afterwards gave dramatic readings. In all of these attempts she was out of her element, therefore, unsuccessful, and returned to the lecture platform, but continued to write plays. The only one of these, however, which was even moderately popular with the masses was entitled “The American Girl,” played by Fanny Davenport. The noted actor, John McCullough, was preparing to produce her “Aurelian,” when the failure of his powers came and it was never put upon the stage. Miss Dickinson also wrote a number of books. Among them we mention the novel “What Answer;” “A Paying Investment,” and “A Ragged Register of People, Places and Opinions,” the latter being a sort of diary, and perhaps the most valuable of the lot.
The last ten years added other mistakes and misfortunes which have tended to detract from the well-earned fame of her earlier life. These difficulties began with a suit brought against the Republican managers in 1888 for services rendered in the Harrison presidential campaign. Following this came family difficulties. Her health failed and she was placed by her relatives for a time in an insane asylum, from which she was eventually released, but was involved in further law-suits. Let it be said to her credit, however, that while she acquired an ample fortune from her lectures, she has given away the bulk of it to all kinds of charities, and it is from the money that she has made and her liberal disposition to dispose of it for the benefit of humanity, rather than to her relatives, which has involved her in much of the family trouble.
As an orator Miss Dickinson was a woman of singular powers. Together with a most excellent judgment, and a keen, analytic mind, enabling her to dissect theories and motives, she was a mistress of sarcasm, pathos and wit, and possessed that rare eloquence and dramatic fervor which go to make the great orator, and which can be understood only by those who have heard her on the platform. In her work she was always unique, and while as a whole her books and plays were not popular successes they contain passages of undisputed marks of genius.
WHY COLORED MEN SHOULD ENLIST IN THE ARMY.
Extract from speech delivered at a mass meeting held in Philadelphia, July 6, 1863, for the promotion of enlistment of colored men in the Union Army. The efficiency of colored troops having been demonstrated by recent battles in the Southwest, several hundred gentlemen of Philadelphia addressed a memorial to the Secretary of War, asking authority to raise three regiments for three years of the war, from among the colored population of Pennsylvania. Permission to this effect was promptly given. Accordingly a mass meeting was called to arouse the colored people to prompt action. Judge Kelly and Frederick Douglass spoke at the same meeting, but Miss Dickinson’s appeal was the oratorical feature of the occasion. We quote the extract below as a specimen of her eloquence.
TRUE, through the past we have advocated the use of the black man. For what end? To save ourselves. We wanted them as shields, as barriers, as walls of defence. We would not even say to them, fightbesideus. We would put them in thefront; their brains contracted, their souls dwarfed, their manhood stunted; mass them together; let them die! That will cover and protect us. Now we hear the voice of the people, solemn and sorrowful, saying, “We have wronged you enough; you have suffered enough; we ask no more at your hands; we stand aside, and let you fightfor your own manhood, your future, your race.” (Applause.) Anglo-Africans, we need you; yet it is not because of this need that I ask you to go into the ranks of the regiments forming to fight in this war. My cheeks would crimson with shame, while my lips put the request that could be answered, “Your soldiers? why don’t you give us the same bounty, and the same pay as the rest?” I have no reply tothat. (Sensation.)But for yourselves; because, after ages of watching and agony, your day is breaking; because your hour is come; because you hold the hammer which, upheld or falling, decides your destiny for woe or weal; because you have reached the point from which you must sink, generation after generation, century after century, into deeper depths, into more absolute degradation; or mount to the heights of glory and fame.The cause needs you. This is not our war, not a war for territory; not a war for martial power, for mere victory; it is a war of the races, of the ages; the stars and stripes is the people’s flag of the world; the world must be gathered under its folds, the black man beside the white. (Cheers and applause.)Thirteen dollars a month and bounty are good; liberty is better. Ten dollars a month and no bounty are bad; slavery is worse. The two alternatives are put before you; you make your own future. The to be will, in a little while, do you justice. Soldiers will be proud to welcome as comrades, as brothers, the black men of Port Hudson and Milliken’s Bend. Congress, next winter, will look out through the fog and mist of Washington, and will see how, when Pennsylvania was invaded and Philadelphia threatened, while white men haggled over bounty and double pay to defend their own city, their own homes, with the tread of armed rebels almost heard in their streets; black men, without bounty, without pay, without rights or the promise of any, rushed to the♦beleaguered capital, and were first in their offers of life or of death. (Cheers and applause.) Congress will say, “These men are soldiers; we will pay them as such; these men are marvels of loyalty, self-sacrifice, courage; we will give them a chance of promotion.” History will write, “Behold the unselfish heroes; theeagermartyrs of this war.” (Applause.) You hesitate because you have not all. Your brothers and sisters of the South cry out, “Come to help us, we have nothing.” Father! you hesitate to send your boy to death; the slave father turns his face of dumb entreaty to you, to save his boy from the death in life; the bondage that crushes soul and body together. Shall your son go to his aid? Mother! you look with pride at the young manly face and figure, growing and strengthening beside you! he is yours; your own. God gave him to you. From the lacerated hearts, the wrung souls of other mothers, comes the wail, “My child, my child; give me back my child!” The slave-master heeds not; the government is tardy; mother! the prayer comes toyou; will you falter?♦“beleagured” replaced with “beleaguered”Young man, rejoicing in the hope, the courage, the will, the thews and muscles of young manhood—the red glare of this war falls on the faces and figures of other young men, distorted with suffering, writhing in agony, wrenching their manacles and chains—shouting with despairing voices to you for help—shall it be withheld? (Cries of No! No!)The slave will be freed—with or without you. The conscience and heart of the people have decreed that. (Applause.) Xerxes scourging the Hellespont, Canute commanding the waves to roll back, are but types of that folly which stands up and says to this majestic wave of public opinion, “Thus far.” The black man will be a citizen, only by stamping his right to it in his blood. Now or never! You have not homes!—gain them. You have not liberty!—gain it. You have not a flag!—gain it. You have not a country!—be written down in history as the race who made one for themselves, and saved one for another. (Immense cheering.)
TRUE, through the past we have advocated the use of the black man. For what end? To save ourselves. We wanted them as shields, as barriers, as walls of defence. We would not even say to them, fightbesideus. We would put them in thefront; their brains contracted, their souls dwarfed, their manhood stunted; mass them together; let them die! That will cover and protect us. Now we hear the voice of the people, solemn and sorrowful, saying, “We have wronged you enough; you have suffered enough; we ask no more at your hands; we stand aside, and let you fightfor your own manhood, your future, your race.” (Applause.) Anglo-Africans, we need you; yet it is not because of this need that I ask you to go into the ranks of the regiments forming to fight in this war. My cheeks would crimson with shame, while my lips put the request that could be answered, “Your soldiers? why don’t you give us the same bounty, and the same pay as the rest?” I have no reply tothat. (Sensation.)
But for yourselves; because, after ages of watching and agony, your day is breaking; because your hour is come; because you hold the hammer which, upheld or falling, decides your destiny for woe or weal; because you have reached the point from which you must sink, generation after generation, century after century, into deeper depths, into more absolute degradation; or mount to the heights of glory and fame.
The cause needs you. This is not our war, not a war for territory; not a war for martial power, for mere victory; it is a war of the races, of the ages; the stars and stripes is the people’s flag of the world; the world must be gathered under its folds, the black man beside the white. (Cheers and applause.)
Thirteen dollars a month and bounty are good; liberty is better. Ten dollars a month and no bounty are bad; slavery is worse. The two alternatives are put before you; you make your own future. The to be will, in a little while, do you justice. Soldiers will be proud to welcome as comrades, as brothers, the black men of Port Hudson and Milliken’s Bend. Congress, next winter, will look out through the fog and mist of Washington, and will see how, when Pennsylvania was invaded and Philadelphia threatened, while white men haggled over bounty and double pay to defend their own city, their own homes, with the tread of armed rebels almost heard in their streets; black men, without bounty, without pay, without rights or the promise of any, rushed to the♦beleaguered capital, and were first in their offers of life or of death. (Cheers and applause.) Congress will say, “These men are soldiers; we will pay them as such; these men are marvels of loyalty, self-sacrifice, courage; we will give them a chance of promotion.” History will write, “Behold the unselfish heroes; theeagermartyrs of this war.” (Applause.) You hesitate because you have not all. Your brothers and sisters of the South cry out, “Come to help us, we have nothing.” Father! you hesitate to send your boy to death; the slave father turns his face of dumb entreaty to you, to save his boy from the death in life; the bondage that crushes soul and body together. Shall your son go to his aid? Mother! you look with pride at the young manly face and figure, growing and strengthening beside you! he is yours; your own. God gave him to you. From the lacerated hearts, the wrung souls of other mothers, comes the wail, “My child, my child; give me back my child!” The slave-master heeds not; the government is tardy; mother! the prayer comes toyou; will you falter?
♦“beleagured” replaced with “beleaguered”
Young man, rejoicing in the hope, the courage, the will, the thews and muscles of young manhood—the red glare of this war falls on the faces and figures of other young men, distorted with suffering, writhing in agony, wrenching their manacles and chains—shouting with despairing voices to you for help—shall it be withheld? (Cries of No! No!)
The slave will be freed—with or without you. The conscience and heart of the people have decreed that. (Applause.) Xerxes scourging the Hellespont, Canute commanding the waves to roll back, are but types of that folly which stands up and says to this majestic wave of public opinion, “Thus far.” The black man will be a citizen, only by stamping his right to it in his blood. Now or never! You have not homes!—gain them. You have not liberty!—gain it. You have not a flag!—gain it. You have not a country!—be written down in history as the race who made one for themselves, and saved one for another. (Immense cheering.)