His attention was soon arrested by a rock in the centre of the mountain. It became the sole object to which he could direct the eye.
There imbedded were evil forms, on which he looked to feel new sorrow, and to torture himself with self-upbraiding.
These forms were his work. It was evident that they should have been created in exquisite beauty. The material of which they had been made,—so precious—was a witness that this could have been accomplished. The marks of the chisel were a proof that there had been capacity—skill—which could readily have been exercised in creating that which was beautiful, and which had been perverted and abused in the production of the shapes by which he was repelled. And it was also evident, that they had been fashioned in a light, which would have enabled him to judge truly of every new progress of his toil, and under a sky where true inspirations would be fostered. My work! my work! he said—but he added, there is hope for the future.
As his new-found tenderness subdued him, the power that transported him from scene to scene, bore him away.
Soon he found himself standing before another mountain, which was in the process of formation.
It was made of the clearest crystal, and the light was in all its height and breadth. Angels were there, and waiting with a placid but unutterable happiness for labors that were to occupy them.
He could not rest. He must put forth into action the aims, the aspirations to fashion forms of immortal glory. As he moved, in his great ambition from his place, he saw that his dwelling was near at hand—close beneath this great mound of crystal, and that its light was reflected upon it.
He entered the house. His gentleness was the happiness of all. He was now the unselfish and loving husband and parent. He marvelled that so many little acts of love could be done day by day. He marvelled to see how little acts of love made up such a vast sum of happiness, and what moulding influences, whose value could not be estimated, were united with his deeds.
He found that forms were ever taken by the angels and borne away. They reverently bore them—reverencing the beauty, and above all reverencing them as the work of One who had given him aid to think of their creation, and to embody them according to the pure conception. They carried them first to a fountain of waters that flowed from a smitten rock. A crown of thorns, and nails, and a spear, were sculptured there. Washed in this stream every particle was cleansed. Afterwards they held up the form in the most clear light, brighter than the light of any sun, and the beauty became far more perfect.
The angelic laborers then carried each to the mountainof crystal. There it was imbedded,—but in a radiance which was to shine forever, and forever.
And then to his great joy, he found that vast numbers of men came to a summit of an adjoining hill; caring not for the ascent by a narrow and arduous way. They looked into the mountain, and were entranced by the forms that they beheld. He had no thought that they would turn to him in admiration. All that he exulted in, was, that he loved them, and that they turned away to labor to make like forms, for the angelic hands,—for the waters of the cleansing fountain,—for the inexpressible light that purified,—for the place in the mountain, where they should shine eternally.
Just at this moment, a bird perched on the vines around the cell. It poured forth a rich melody of song close to the ear of the sleeper. It awoke him gently from the profound sleep. The first sound which he heard was that of the sweet bell of his village church. Its gushes of sound rolled along the valley, and up the side of the great hills.
He felt that the impressions of his dream were durable. So deeply was he affected, that he scarcely thought of the visions in which the truth had been represented. He descended his path another man. Another man he entered his home. The house was achanged house that day. No one more subdued in spirit than himself, knelt in the church. No one with more determined purpose, heard that day, of the One who "pleased not himself."
Though these sweet flowers are in their freshest bloom,They had a beauty as I gathered themWhich thine eye sees not. For with every oneNew lustre in the varied colors shone,A purer white melted beneath the eye,A sweeter fragrance came from dew-gemmed leaves,Advanced in beauty as I thought of thee.Thou seest that they grew wild in wood and fieldsTeachers of love and wisdom. Some I foundIn deep pine shades, where the sun's straggling beamsThrough bending boughs may reach them.Holier raysThrough deeper shades can reach the broken heart,Through deeper shades can foster heavenly growthOf beauty for the everlasting fields;Through more dense shades can reach the good unknownTo human fame, yet left to bless the world.These flowers and leaves that ripen unobservedBut for our eyes, had withered with the frost,And none had blessed God for their loveliness.They give their little power unto the windTo purify for men the air they breathe,—Air wafted far by every rising breeze.And so a myriad of the little deeds,Done by the men that walk in Christ's blest steps,Add health unto the living atmosphereWhere men breathe for the strength of highest life.Deeds go out on a sea of human life,And touch a myriad of the rolling waves,Send the great sea a portion of unrest,Which saves its surface from the mould of death.These flowers are memories that I had of theeDuring my wandering to the distant home,Where sickness was, and many an anxious care,Where there was need that Christ's work should be done.Oh! if these paths we tread with our soiled feet,On this world far from scenes where all is pure,Our feet not yet in laver cleansed from soil,In wave by angel stirred and all so bright,Where gleams are on the waves from his own sun,Are skirted with these fragrant beauteous forms,What shall surround our path in Paradise?Flowers have a language; so they choose to say.Each speaks a word of pure significance.Thus in the fields of nature we can print,Where flowers shall be the type, a beauteous book—With joyful eye can read the beauteous book.With all my love of flowers, here is a loreWhich is to me unknown. I have to turnOver the pages of that pictured bookTo spell each letter as a little child.But this I know, that none can e'er mean ill.Flowers are too pure, as angels sowed their seedOn earth in pity for a burdened race.And where their smiles have rested there came forthThese witnesses that men are not alone.And also this is lore from nature's school—That speak they as they may—whate'er they meanOf faith to be unshaken through our life,Of love that never wanes, true as the star,They cannot speak of faith or tender love,Which I—flower-bearer—do not speak to theeIn this my offering of far-gathered spoils.
Though these sweet flowers are in their freshest bloom,They had a beauty as I gathered themWhich thine eye sees not. For with every oneNew lustre in the varied colors shone,A purer white melted beneath the eye,A sweeter fragrance came from dew-gemmed leaves,Advanced in beauty as I thought of thee.
Thou seest that they grew wild in wood and fieldsTeachers of love and wisdom. Some I foundIn deep pine shades, where the sun's straggling beamsThrough bending boughs may reach them.
Holier raysThrough deeper shades can reach the broken heart,Through deeper shades can foster heavenly growthOf beauty for the everlasting fields;Through more dense shades can reach the good unknownTo human fame, yet left to bless the world.
These flowers and leaves that ripen unobservedBut for our eyes, had withered with the frost,And none had blessed God for their loveliness.They give their little power unto the windTo purify for men the air they breathe,—Air wafted far by every rising breeze.And so a myriad of the little deeds,Done by the men that walk in Christ's blest steps,Add health unto the living atmosphereWhere men breathe for the strength of highest life.Deeds go out on a sea of human life,And touch a myriad of the rolling waves,Send the great sea a portion of unrest,Which saves its surface from the mould of death.
These flowers are memories that I had of theeDuring my wandering to the distant home,Where sickness was, and many an anxious care,Where there was need that Christ's work should be done.
Oh! if these paths we tread with our soiled feet,On this world far from scenes where all is pure,Our feet not yet in laver cleansed from soil,In wave by angel stirred and all so bright,Where gleams are on the waves from his own sun,Are skirted with these fragrant beauteous forms,What shall surround our path in Paradise?
Flowers have a language; so they choose to say.Each speaks a word of pure significance.Thus in the fields of nature we can print,Where flowers shall be the type, a beauteous book—With joyful eye can read the beauteous book.
With all my love of flowers, here is a loreWhich is to me unknown. I have to turnOver the pages of that pictured bookTo spell each letter as a little child.But this I know, that none can e'er mean ill.Flowers are too pure, as angels sowed their seedOn earth in pity for a burdened race.And where their smiles have rested there came forthThese witnesses that men are not alone.
And also this is lore from nature's school—That speak they as they may—whate'er they meanOf faith to be unshaken through our life,Of love that never wanes, true as the star,They cannot speak of faith or tender love,Which I—flower-bearer—do not speak to theeIn this my offering of far-gathered spoils.
It was my good fortune to dwell for some years on the banks of the Delaware, with a sturdy old yeoman, who was quite a character in his day. Manly, honest, hospitable, of a dignified bearing as of one who respected himself, and who had no false pride, it was a treasure to have known him.
His nature had been moulded, as far as earthly influences gave their impress by a life spent chiefly on a farm, in days that are called "primitive;" that being one of the words which hold in unfixed solution, some true but very vague impressions. A few years which he spent in the naval service of his country, had no doubt added some lines to the mould that shaped him as he was.
I have said that his characteristics were very prominent. Therein he differed from the mass of the country people. They are like a knoll, where you see at once all the outlines. You must look attentively, to discover more than the eye has taken in at its first glance. He was like one of our rugged hills, having bold varieties of shape, records of time and of greatconvulsions, of the violence of storms, of changes wrought by other and varied influences.
He had thriven in the world far beyond all his expectations. His life had been one of untiring industry, decision, and ingenious energy. At the time of his marriage, almost every penny was exhausted by the humble fee. As days rolled on, the Creator added to his store, and he purchased the farm on which his father had resided. By a manly appeal to the sense of justice, he prevented a rich neighbor from competing with him at the sale of these broad acres.
In after days he also became the possessor of the farm, called Riversdale. There he spent his last years of life. He lived there in the affluence of a rich farmer. It was strange to see him and his faithful wife so utterly unchanged by prosperity, and by the alterations in the habits of society.
At Riversdale he had a spacious dwelling. There was here a degree of elegance within and without. It had been the country residence of a rich merchant. His furniture was plain, but abundant, and all for use.
Among the curiosities of our house was the old clock, on whose face the sun and moon differed from their prototypes in the heavens, inasmuch as they had a far more distinct representation of the ruddy human countenance, and as they did not rise or set,—for their mechanism had become distracted.
And then there was the famous old gun,—taken from a Hessian at the battle of Princeton, and which had done great service in the deer hunts in the Pocano Mountains, and amid the pines of New Jersey.
Those deer-hunts were great circumstances in the course of the year. He used to narrate with great pleasure, the events that occurred at such excursions in the forests.
Once as he told me, he was alone in the woods with a guide. The darkness was coming apace. He had wounded a deer. The cry of the dogs indicated that they were close upon it. It became evident that the man wished to lead the hunters out of the way; and to disappear in the darkness, that he might appropriate the prey to himself. But all his mean plans were soon baffled. "If you," said the old yeoman, "can run faster than the buck-shot in my gun, slip away in the dark." Never guide, I venture to say, adhered more closely to his party.
His education, like that of so many of the old Pennsylvania farmers, had been very limited. His sympathies were not broad; though a small degree of sentiment pervaded a vein of tenderness which wound its way through the rugged nature of his soul. Sometimes it appeared so attenuated, that few influences seemed to be willing to work for the precious ore.
I remember that we were once walking along the avenue which led to the house, and I quoted to him a line of poetry which he did heartily appreciate. The scene around had little power to prepare his mind for the impression. Two huge old cherry trees were near us. These were gradually withering away; as if to remind him, as he continually passed them, that the days of his full strength were gone, and that infirmities of old age were creeping upon him.
Had I perused all our volumes of poetry, I could not have selected a sentence, which he could relish more than the one which I repeated. It was the well-known line of Cowper, that God made the country, but man made the town.
It was really curious to observe how this arrested all his mind. It seemed as if his soul was deeply impressed with a sense of the goodness of God, in giving man this beautiful green world, on which he does not labor in vain. He appeared also to have respect for the poet who could utter such a truth. Had all the tribe of bards risen from their graves, been capable of participating in our earthly food, and come to us that day, Cowper would have been treated to Benjamin's portion.
His histories proved to me how his nature was the same in early life, and in age, as to fearlessness, andto a rough opposition to those by whom he was excited.
Once his step-mother, during the strife of the revolution, and while his father was absent from home in the service of his country, sent him with a claim to a British officer. He was to demand payment for some produce which the soldiers of the king had taken from the farm.
He found him seated at a table, at a place not far from Bustleton, and presenting himself made known the object of his visit.
"Where is your father?" said the officer.
The boy was shrewd enough to know that discretion was now the better part of valor. But mingled emotions overcame his wisdom. The British soldiers around him were the oppressors of his country.
Regardless of the wrath which he would assuredly awaken, and scattering, manifestly, all hope of success in his mission to the wind, he saucily replied, "Why, he is at the camp with General Washington; where he ought to be." Perhaps he also regarded this as a defence of his father. A grasp at a sword, an angry oath,—an assurance that he was a vile little rebel, and must quickly vanish, were the evidences that he had given his receipt in full for all that had been taken as spoils from the farm.
I have said that he was a man of the most sterlinghonesty. His extreme care to ascertain that all his accounts were correct, was actually a trouble to the vestry of the church, while he was treasurer of the body. He was above the least meanness in all his dealings with men. As he was rather too suspicious of others, sometimes imagining that they had some evil design, where they had none, it was the more remarkable that he had no cunning in his own heart, was open in all his aims, and free from those arts which entangle weak consciences.
He had manners which were a study. Few men are not, in some degree affected by their dress. He was the same man in self-respect and courtesy, whether you met him in his soiled working-clothes, or in his best array. Summoned suddenly from the work in the field, or from the barn, with chaff and dust upon him, his calm courtesy in receiving any guest, whatever his station in life, the utter absence of all apology for his appearance, his entire devotion to the attentions due to his visitors, elicited your decided admiration. Not in his conduct, to his guests, but in some slight expression, when we were alone, could any of us detect that he felt any peculiar pleasure, when any of our most aristocratic inhabitants had called to see him and his household, manifesting their respect. I have never seen him more devoted and kind to any visitor,than to a poor friend,—one who had lagged far behind him, in the ascent of the hill of fortune.
It could not be expected that his wild portion of the country would be exempted from those rude scenes of violence, where men take the laws into their own hands. Nor can it be surprising, that with his physical strength, boldness, and wild life at sea and on land, he should sometimes be prominent in these wars on a little scale.
I remember how I heard one of his narratives with mingled interest and sorrow, when he told of a victory fought and won.
It was a contest with a party of butchers, who had come from a distance and taken possession of the tavern, maltreating some of the country people, who had, to say the least, a better right to the injurious comforts of the inn.
He was summoned from his sleep, and became the leader of the avenging party. When they reached the scene of noisy revelry, he proved that he did not rely on physical strength alone, but summoned a "moral effect" to his aid. A pretended roll was to be called. Many names of persons not present, perhaps not in existence, were, by his order, pronounced; and their "Here," was heard clearly uttered in the night air. The effect of this act of generalship soon became apparent. Silence, indicative of dismay reigned in theplace of the former noisy laughter. The rough fellows were sorely thrashed, and taught that there was a high law which the quiet dwellers in the field could put in force.
In after days my old friend would have deprecated the recurrence of such scenes. There is always a tendency to law and order, and to gentle virtues where a man has a great fondness for children—and this love for little ones he possessed in a great degree.
It would have been a good scene for a painter, when they gathered round the white-haired man and elicited his attention and his smile. The large form sinking into its most quiet repose, as if there was no need that it should be braced now as if prepared for any struggle of life, and the rough features softened to gentle sympathy, would have been worthy of lasting perpetuation on the canvass. I have no doubt that the passage of Scripture recording the benediction of the children by our Lord, touched his heart powerfully, and allured him the more to the One who bore our nature in the perfection of every excellence.
If an able painter, I would strive to represent our Redeemer, as I could fancy that He appeared in the scene to which I have referred. Who can attempt to satisfy even the least imaginative disciple, by any picture of the countenance of our Lord? How difficult even to unite the infinite tenderness with thedetermination of the perfect man, whom nothing could move from his true purpose, because holiness was the necessity of a heart without sin? One shrinks, in some degree, from a multitude of representations of Him, as if they, failing to meet the inspiration of the soul, were not reverent. Might we not more easily conceive of his blended love and dignity, if he was painted among those who could not trouble him, whom He would not have sent away, whom he took in his arms, and on whom he caused to rest a blessing, that ever waits now to descend on the children of those who diligently seek him.
Some of the quaint narratives of the old man have proved, as I have repeated them, a source of much amusement to the young.
For instance, he said that he was returning from a journey of some miles into the interior of the country. He had taken his heavy wagon, and aided a neighbor who was removing his goods to a new home.
The night had overtaken him as he returned. Just as he crossed a small stream, he heard a voice of one in great distress, calling for aid. "Oh! come here,—come here,"—were the piteous cries from an adjoining field.
Stopping his horses, and clambering a bank, he soon secured a "reconnoissance" of a field of strife.
By the dim light of the moon, he saw a scenesufficiently ludicrous, but demanding immediate activity. He had not come a moment too soon. A small man, a shoemaker, the one who cried for aid, and sadly in need of it had, it seems, been crossing a field, when an ugly-tempered bull rushed upon him, and would have gored him to death but for his presence of mind and dexterity. The poor fellow had skill enough to dodge the assault; and as the animal, missing his aim, rushed by him, he caught it by the tail. The vicious brute made every effort to reach his disagreeable parasite. In doing this he ran around in endless circles, very wearying to the little legs of the little man, and exhausting his strength.
As my old friend had come and seen, what had he to do but conquer? He hastened to the side of the living whirligig. The shoemaker was wearing out his shoe-soles more rapidly than any of his customers.
Seizing also the tail of the bull, he informed the exhausted man that he might now let go.
The animal continued the same tactics, but his foe-man was armed with his heavy whip, and this was wielded by a powerful right hand. A few blows, and the victory was won. The hero was left alone in his glory; for the rescued had vanished as soon as he could release his hold on the tail, and he did not return to see the result of the strife. Let us hope that he was grateful, although I doubt the gratitude of onewho could thus run away, and leave all the battle to his deliverer. A benefactor in things small and great, who has a noble mind, though wounded by insensibility to his kindness, may receive benefit from the unthankful; for he may learn more deeply the example of the Lord, and he may free his heart the more to do good, and look for no return—learn to do good to the unthankful and the evil.
I have represented the farmer at Riversdale as openness and honesty itself in all his dealings. Men will be men. In country life, as in the city you will find a sad abundance of mean and tricky persons.
It is not a little curious to see our city friends come into the country, and take for granted that the sojourners there are all simple-minded and honest men. That is a weakness which is soon dissipated. The wisdom is purchased with the loss of gold and silver. They find that they are charged by many, probably the obtrusive ones, the most extravagant prices for all things. The more free they are with their money, the more they are required to pay. The value fixed on the substance offered for sale, is all that can possibly be extorted from any one who is imprudent enough to buy, and make no inquiries. There comes a danger of reaction. They change the theory concerning men of the field, which they have learned from poets and novelists, and are tempted to imagine that they all arelike these thieves. I thank God, that I know well to the contrary.
Some men of large means imagine that if they are very free in spending their money, and allow those whom they employ, to take advantage of them, to extort unfair prices, that they will thereby cultivate good feeling, a grateful regard. This is an entire mistake. The man who cheats you never will be grateful. He comes to you, in all his relations to you, with meanness of soul. That is no soil for good will. He also fears, that at any time, you may be conscious of the fraud. He expects therefore an hour when you will be angry, and despise him. He judges of your coming enmity, by his own lasting bitterness and revengeful mind, toward any one who has overreached him. He has also some contempt for you, because you have been less cunning than himself.
Pay fair generous prices. When a man gains from you more than the fair price, let it be a gift. Do not expect anything from the man, who does in two days the labor that should be accomplished in one. Alas, as we reflect on the want of truth and gratitude towards us, we have to remember that we can apply these lessons to ourselves, as we labor in the vineyard where we have been sent to toil!
I have spoken of the hospitality of the house at Riversdale. This never could have been exercised asit was, but for the admirable arrangements of the good wife and excellent daughters. I look back, and marvel how all could be done in that house and farm, and yet time be found for the entertainment of so many guests.
I am deeply grieved to look back to those bachelor days, and find that I had a senseless conviction, that a house pretty much took care of itself. It was a delusion which must often have caused me to be troublesome, when I had not any idea that I was in the way. I now honor the statemanship which adorns domestic affairs, and hope I no longer am found at any time, a wheel out of place in the machinery of any house. Never too late to mend. A good proverb, friends. But as we apply its hopefulness, let us take care to remember that when the present time shall have become the past, and we have done wrong in things small and great, it is too late to mend the sin and error. We cannot mend the evil of the past.
I see the good old mother of the household now. Always neat in her dress,—erect in form,—kind,—thoughtful, self-possessed. You could not know her long, and not perceive that she was a pre-eminent representative of the wife and parent. Her love for others had its true source, the love of God. Thence it flowed gently a stream of tenderness for her family, and then spread freely far and wide to all others. Her religionwas of a very grand character. She knew, in all the trials of life, what it was to have her Creator for her Rock,—to have His rod and His staff. Real to her indeed, the divine love which brought our Redeemer to our form from Heaven, and caused Him to expiate our sins on the cross.
Once we were speaking hopelessly, of some reprobate. The opinion was advanced, or implied, that he was never to be reformed. I never forgot the sorrow she manifested, and her heart-felt but gentle reproof, while she corrected us in the abiding spirit of the hope in Christ for any one who yet lives. While the lamp holds out to burn, she asked, could not he return?
She was one of the most unpretending Christians, and therefore her deep piety could not be concealed. When she was unconscious of the revelation, she taught us in a living subject of the Lord, the power that can be given for holiness in this scene, where all gold can be well tried in the fire.
She was ever busy. In hours of ease she had her knitting-needle. How pleasant it was to see her at her work, in the warm days of summer, as she sat in her high-backed chair on the piazza which overlooked the River. With the steamboats, then beginning their course, she was never satisfied. "The boats with sails," she said, "glided away so natural like: but with the steamboats it was all forced work." No doubtshe often regarded these different vessels, as emblematic of those who moved under gentle and approved agencies, and those who were out of harmony with nature around us,—the working of the hands that are infinite in power,—those who cared only for hire, and needed, in order to their activity, some of those goads which happily abound for the idle.
The aged woman came to us what she was, to remind us what endless influences are ever ready to mould us to increasing piety, and love for others. To the sick and sorrowing out of her household she had been an angel of charity. Her life had been a golden cord. He had strung it for her with jewels from the mine. Is that mine exhausted? The glories we know lie near at hand for all that will gather them.
Well can I realize after the lapse of years, the sorrow of the aged wife when it was manifest that my old friend must soon close his eyes on the world for ever. There he lay, his strong form promising hope, which the decision of the physician denied. Could he be dying, who was bound to the scene around him by so many ties? As he had gained these fields by such a life of labor, and held them so firmly in his grasp, as every tree seemed so surely his, as you felt the impress of his firm and undisputed will in all the arrangements of his broad farm, you might ask canall these bonds which bind him here be sundered? But God sunders all, as he will, in a moment.
And now he was on the verge of the world to come. In infancy his life had hung by the most attenuated thread. Was it better for him that he was to die an old man, one who had passed through life's trials, had received such endless mercies, had so many calls to so many duties? Or would it have been better for him that he had died in infancy, passing to the ineffable joy, but to less glory and honor than those who have borne the cross, endured in true manly toil, the burden and heat of the day in the vineyard of the Master?
It was in a quiet house, quiet as one so soon to be forsaken of its owner, that we assembled to receive with him the precious emblems of the great sacrifice made for us, in infinite love. If he received consolation, it was indeed given also to the aged wife. Her quiet sorrow, without a tear, was reverent, and full of submission. Its evenness,—not rising or falling with every hope or fear,—was a seal of its great depth. You read in her fixed countenance that she had the past with all its memories, and the future with all its solitude clearly before her. She was henceforth to be as the shattered vase, just waiting some small trial of its strength, to fall to pieces. But the lamp within was to burn on, and fed with ever increasing supplies of aliment for its flame, to glow withincreasing radiance. Such lights in the temple of God never go out.
My aged friends! your ashes lie where you hoped that your mortal remains would find their resting-place. Years have passed, and yet I recall you to remembrance more affectionately, than when I stood by your opened grave. One cause of this, is, I presume, that the more I become acquainted with men, the more I learn to value those who have risen in their integrity, above the low level of ordinary character.
Changed is your dwelling. A vast and costly pile occupies the place where once it stood. But could you, the former inhabitants, of that which has undergone such alteration, reappear among us, we should recognize what is eternal in its nature. What is of earth, alters and passes away. But love, and truth, and faith, all the nobleness given by the Redeemer,—these endure. These are extended and glorified in the world to come.
When I was at Princeton College, Dr. Samuel Stanhope Smith was its president. A learned and able man, and an eloquent preacher, blameless in his life, his influence was great, not only over his college, but far and wide over the surrounding country.
I trust that it is one of the merits of our Republic, that truly great and good men will always have this influence and respect. Surely we have cast off those impediments to human progress which exist in other lands, where tributes due to real merit are paid to men for their accumulation of riches. Our offices in the states will almost always be bestowed on the deserving. The tricks of the politician will be generally unknown, because our people will hold them in abhorrence. In the old countries legislative bodies have felt the force of bribes. But I will boldly turn prophet here, and say, that no such practices will ever be known in such deliberative bodies in New Jersey. I can imagine the shame which the pure-minded people of this common-wealthmust be ready to visit on one proven guilty of such a detestable enormity. Indeed he would incur the risk of being burnt alive at the stake.
The influence which Dr. Smith attained by the purest means, he exercised for the public good. His mind was of a philosophic cast, and he abhorred all superstition. Hence he was always eager to dispel the errors of the ignorant, and to remove the fears excited by diseased imaginations.
One day I was plodding over a page of Sophocles. No doubt it contained beauties whose discovery would repay toil. I was, however, unable to say, as I pondered it, lexicon by my side, with the Frenchman, "hang these ancients, they are always anticipating our bright thoughts," for I was not yet able to compare the idea of the Greek with the scintillations of genius which had flashed through my mind, and which were laid up for the future edification of the world, because I could not determine what the old dramatist had intended to say to us.
While I was in this state of most unpleasant perplexity, there was a knock at my door. I knew it at once to be that of our tutor. He informed me that the great doctor wished to see me and the rest of my class at his study.
We were thus invited,—that is, we had as strict a summons as any soldiers could receive from theircommander,—to appear at his residence, the famous house under whose roof so many illustrious men have found shelter. Long may it stand!
It could not take much time to collect the designated young gentlemen together. Before we met, each individual brain was greatly exercised with speculations, concerning the cause of our being thus summoned to the study of our venerable head. When we were a collective body the various streams of conjecture being thrown in a torrent together, the effervescence exceeded all my powers of description.
It was a trying hour when any one of us had to come face to face with Dr. Smith.
We were not aware that any evil deed had been committed of late in the college. We all felt a bold conviction of individual innocence. Indeed, all college fellows are innocent always, until they are proved to be guilty.
One poor fellow, whose shaggy head could never be reduced to smooth order by comb or brush, more than the tossing waves are subdued to a placid mirror by the shadows of passing clouds, with a nose that always reminded you of a sun-dial, and an eye, which sometimes gave him the nickname of Planet, from its ceaseless twinkling,—had indeed some troubles of conscience concerning a duck which had been killed, cooked, and eaten in his room a few nights before, after he hadtaken a long rural ramble in the evening. He had some reasonable fear that he could not produce the bill of its sale for the scrutiny of the President, should it be demanded. Still, on the whole, we were calm. All felt the necessity of a general sunshine of countenances. It was our wisdom to look as if we expected some compliment from the head of the college. Indeed, one fellow, who had a manly, harmless wildness in him, whom all loved and confided in, who was a good and kind adviser of us all,—whose intense life was a good element for the formation of the noble minister which he afterwards became,—was audibly preparing a reply to the doubtfully anticipated commendation of the President. It contained the most ludicrous assertion of our great modesty, and sense of unworthiness,—in which he said, we all most cordially concurred,—while in the presence in which we stood. Curiosity was in every mind. No one had the slightest clue, which appeared to guide us satisfactorily one step in the darkness.
But we reached the door of the study. One of the most respectful knocks ever given proclaimed our presence,—or rather inquired if we could be admitted. The fine, manly voice which we so well knew, called on us to enter. We were received with that courteous dignity which characterized the doctor. All scanned the noble head, and no thunder-clouds were there. It is something to have seen Dr. Smith in the pulpit, inthe class-room, or in the study. He was somewhat taller than men in general, and had a frame of fine proportions. His countenance easily kindled with intelligence. A large blue eye seemed to search your secret thoughts—and yet in all manliness of inquiry—promising cordial sympathy with all that was elevated, and a just indignation at the contemplation of any moral evil. His brow was spacious. His whole face spoke of hard study—polish of mind—of patient thought—of one who walked among men as a king. His voice was full and harmonious. His address was dignified and urbane. The stranger must trust him, and his friends confided in him, not to discover that he ever could forsake them.
Before he spoke we were at our ease. Our surprise took a new channel as he entered on the business of the hour.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I have sent for you, that I might have your co-operation in a plan, which may greatly benefit a worthy farmer, and remove superstitious fears from some ignorant minds.
"Mr. Hollman, who has a farm about two miles from the college, cannot persuade any of the laboring families to reside in a lonely stone house on his property. It is a dwelling that should be a comfortable, happy home. The situation is rather picturesque; standing, as it does, near the shade of a thick wood, and on thebank of a small stream which empties into our classical run. The people say that the house is haunted. Family after family has forsaken it in dread. I have not had patience to listen to the various narratives told concerning it. One man who is quite intelligent, and evidently honest, declares that he will take his oath that he has heard terrible noises at midnight, and has smelt strange fumes.
"Now this short story must be put an end to. Such superstition must not exist under the shadow of an institution celebrated for its learning. I should regard it as a blot on our fair reputation.
"I have been engaged in devising a plan for the refutation of this folly. It is this. I propose that you, gentlemen of the senior class, shall spend a night in the house. This will soon be known over the neighborhood. There has been much expenditure of words, over the silly narratives of people alarmed at less than their own shadows. All who have talked of the ghost, will talk of your act as having cast shame on those who pretend to see supernatural sights. You will soon have the pleasure of finding that the deserted house has become the home of some worthy family. You will do much to put an end to the belief in ghosts—for the history of your act will be narrated far and wide. Mr. Hollman will be a debtor to you for securing him from loss, and from great inconvenience.You have no fear of ghosts. In all probability you will hear no sounds to disturb you, or call for investigation. If you hear any peculiar noise, you will be assured that it is caused by some designing person,—who avails himself of the credulity of the ignorant to gain his corrupt or foolish purpose. I leave this matter in your hands. I am confident that the trust that I repose in you will be attended with the result that I desire."
We, one and all, became the personification of delight. The president was informed that it was a most agreeable adventure which he thus proposed. One fellow, who was awfully alarmed, and who had late at night told stories of ghosts who appeared in Virginia, until some of his companions were afraid to separate, was the loudest in expressing his readiness to go with the rest. He became pale with fright, when one of his class-mates suggested that it would have more effect if one stayed all night in the house alone, and that he should be selected for that solitude.
It was agreed that we should say nothing about our plan in the college. Hence, on our return from the doctor's study, our mysterious conduct, and sundry vague hints caused some eyes to be opened so wide, that one might question how they would ever close again. In vain every attempt to discover what hadhappened in the study of the great divine and philosopher.
Late in the afternoon a deputation from our class waited on Mr. Hollman. I had the honor to be appointed on this committee. The estimable man, a well-educated farmer, and having that simple address which enables a benevolent heart to declare itself through its courtesy, expressed great pleasure on hearing of our proposition, and uttered his thanks to us, and to the venerable doctor.
He corroborated the remark of our president, that if we put an end to the ghost story connected with the house where we were to spend the night, we should also, simultaneously, succeed in preventing the growth of superstition elsewhere. "All true—very true," he said; "I always notice that the doctor's remarks on all subjects run on alike, each of value like the other, like links in a gold chain. There is danger that this fear of ghosts will spread. I have some symptoms of it already in my household. The woman who attends to the milk, begins to look round her, and hurry home from the milk-house in the dusk of the evening with a very rapid pace, and to the neglect of some of her duties. And I think that Pompey has a decided seriousness at times,—as of a man destined to see something terrible. Perhaps this will occur on his first lonely drive at night by the grave-yard at ourvillage beyond us. Tell me what I can do to make you comfortable to-night. I will see that the house is warmed at once, and provided with lights."
We walked with him over to the haunted dwelling. On our way he gave us some good practical advice, as we conversed on various subjects. It came from a practical spring of knowledge which he had acquired by reflection on all that he saw of men, and on the affairs that transpired. Indeed Saner, a lazy fellow, who smelt the instruction so amply spread for us at the literary table of Nassau Hall, but who never tasted or digested one crumb or other fragment, said to us, as we returned home afterwards—and that with a malicious sense of triumph over Latin, Greek, Philosophy, mental and moral,—Algebra, and like kindred venerable foes,—"You see a man can get sense of more real value out of the world than out of books."
"Saner," said I, "my dear fellow, is this worthy man possessed of the widely-extended sense of Dr. Smith? And do you think that any one to whom Providence has given the opportunity of collegiate education, and who will turn out an ignorant blockhead, will ever learn anything from observation? Besides our class,—or at least the deputation to the house of the ghost,—have their minds enlightened by our instruction. Now, I want to know whether this has not prepared us to glean instruction from thesensible remarks of Mr. Hollman? Do you think that the ignorant men who work for him, learn of him in a year what we do, or some of us do, in a day?"
But this is a digression.—To return to our survey of the dwelling. Unfortunately there was nothing very romantic in the structure. The frowning shadows of larch, and other forest trees; the massive walls were not there to call forth associations with some of the descriptions of castles which were the scenes of ghosts and of banditti—such as were common in the novels of the day.
The house looked desolate only because it was deserted, and had a dark history. There were two rooms on the first floor; one was a kitchen of considerable size. The other the sitting-room,—stove-room,—or parlor,—as it might happen to be called by the inmates. This was an apartment opened a few times in the year for company on great State occasions. Yet it gave all the year round,—a fact which weak critics often overlook when they talk about a useless room, and laugh in their dreaded but unproductive way,—gave all the year round a sense of ample accommodation and dignity to the mansion. From the kitchen a winding staircase ascended to the upper rooms. The small landing-place rested on the back wall of the house. Small garrets were over these rooms. The cellar was of the size of the dwelling, andafforded no hiding-place, nor any means of access to the interior from without, which we could not easily secure. A small shed rested against the back of the house, from the inside of which there was no door by which you could enter either room. It was obvious, from the pathway to this shed from the kitchen door, that the access of the family to it, was in the open air.
The most desolate thing to me was the well. It was one of those still seen in the little State—so elbowed by its big brothers of New York and Pennsylvania, and able to bear a great deal of such pressure. It was lorded over by that huge apparatus of the great long scale-beam, with a pole and bucket on one end, and a great weight on the other. A vine had crept up the pole, which must be torn away before water could be drawn. When had the matron called the good man to draw water from the deep and damp abode of truth? when had the children, returning from school, slaked their thirst from the bucket, covered in places by the green moss?
We could discover no manner by which any one disposed to disturb the inmates of the house, could secretly enter. It was amusing to notice how some of the students, had no conception of pranks to be played upon us in any other way than those known among collegians. However, we all agreed that our regulations for self-defence must be very simple. We hadto wait for the demonstrations of the enemy, before we could do more than draw up our forces in a simple line for attack or defence.
The night, of course, came on. The whole class entered the house. We had good fires in the two rooms below, and in one above. Mr. Hollman sent chairs and tables, and a good stock of solid provisions. Lights had been provided, and we had with us a number of lanterns—two of which were to be kept burning all night. Some excellent cider had been sent to us; and if any had desired it, we would not have permitted the introduction of stronger drink. Our honor was concerned; Dr. Smith having reposed such entire confidence in our proceedings. There was an implied contract between us, and there were men in the class who would see that it was complied with, not only in letter, but in spirit. It was also obvious that if we had any intoxicating beverage among us, and should report strange sights, men would account for it in their own way. Indeed, if the young gents had engaged in a noisy revel, and their intellects had become clouded, we should have tempted some mischievous creature to try and create an alarm.
We soon were a lively party. The house was cheerful with its blazing fires and lights. But as that noble-hearted K——k, who became in aftertime so eloquent a preacher in the Presbyterian church—and M——r,for so many years a representative of his district in Congress—and H——t, afterwards a distinguished Bishop, took their seats by the fire in the kitchen—they soon drew around them the whole of our little army. We became so joyous and free from care, that we regretted that there were not other haunted houses requiring our aid. We had no more thought that our talk would be exhausted before morning, than the bird that its song will cease before the season for its melody is over. It was put to the vote by the leanest fellow in the class that we should not have our supper until we had passed the midnight hour.
All remained quiet for a long time, when a dismal sound near one of the windows arrested us, and caused a strange silence. It was the common opinion, that it was the visit of an owl. Before midnight a scraping noise was heard, and as we moved about, R——k insisted that he heard a sound of moving boards, as if some one had climbed hastily over the garden fence.
All soon subsided into silence. Our animated conversations proceeded. I ought to say, that almost the whole evening had been spent in the discussion of metaphysical questions. In those days these were unfailing topics. We did wonderfully well, considering that the German school had not yet thrown open its gates, and let in its flood of waters, not muddy, but stained with all sorts of dyes, so that the eye is dazzledon the surface in place of penetrating the mass before you. The doctrine of the freedom of the will, as expounded by the great President Edwards, was a sure mountain of gold for every adventurer. I always observed that all who pretended to argue at all, could argue fluently on this subject. I also noticed that no student ever hinted that he did not understand what his opponent had said, and that none of us ever complained that those who replied to us, had misunderstood us,—a wonderful proof of the clear manner in which we all reasoned. And indeed there was so much genius among us for this branch of disputation, that it did not appear to matter whether a student had in any degree mastered the great treatise, of which a celebrated Scotchman, no profound judge to be sure, has said that it never had been refuted.
As we were thus arguing these great subjects, and saying things which Locke, Malebranche, Leibnitz, and Reid could never have said, K——k amused us by a story,—for the actual truth of which he gave us his word. He said that in a part of the country where he had spent many years, the people had a debating club. It was held in a school-house during the winter evenings, and drew large audiences. On one occasion the topic of debate was the free agency of man.
A stone-mason who had attended the meeting during the discussion gave an animated account of the scene.The teacher of the school was his particular hero. He acknowledged that the opponent had merit,—was, in country parlance, "a smart man." But little Charlie the teacher was too much for him,—he was still "smarter." It had been a long argument. The little teacher held that man was not a free agent. The evening was passing away. The friends of each champion were much perplexed. Would it be a drawn battle? Just at the happy time, the little teacher thought of a happy argument. "Man," he said, "could not be a free agent; for if he was, he would never die." "That settled it," was the comment. Man would never die, if he was a free agent. So we gave him the vote. He is an "uncommon smart man." We laughed,—and Thompson said that a story was not an argument, and was preparing for a new onset, when the lean student,—whom some called, improperly, Bean-pole,—interposed with the assurance, that it was time for our repast. Some said not yet,—but he who argued on the side of the lean one, had one vast advantage; that is to say, his statements, particularly his reference to the tender ham, and tempting bread and butter, created an appetite even in his opponents. So the night was carried,—and we soon arranged our viands. The metaphysical discussions ceased,—probably from the instinctive convictionthat such severe exercise of the mind was unfavorable to health, when one was making a hasty repast.
While we were engaged in this agreeable duty, one of our number, Shockford, a fellow of the kindest disposition, but always saying things in a grumbling way, declared that he had some scruples of conscience, as to the nature of our present occupation. What business had we to interfere with ghosts? They had never done any harm to us. He used to groan over the dull, unimaginative brains of the people of his neighborhood. One day a weight of lead was taken off from his mind. He sang his triumph in the best Latin and Greek which he could summon. He thought that his neighborhood was about to improve. Could it be credited, some of the people had seen a ghost. He knew a part of the country where the inhabitants were too mean ever to have seen a spirit. Lonely places, awful shadows by the woods, grave-yards, bridges in dark hollows, were all thrown away upon them.
And no man ever heard of a generous thought that originated there, or, being sent there, found a hospitable reception. They are as dry in their natures as the old posts in their fences. They never saw anything in the grand old woods, which are rapidly disappearing, those majestic trees with their deep shades, that elevated their souls higher than the furrows,which they turn over year by year. The trees are but so much fire-wood, so much material for lumber,—so many posts and rails. All the beauty of the harvest, is submerged in the expectation of the silver for which it could be sold. Is it any marvel that such clods are despised by the ghosts? If you were one, and had your own way, would you appear in such a dreary society? Would you go before the stupid eye, that never gleamed at the glorious unfolding of the stars, or rolled, in some little transport, as the autumnal clouds drifted towards the sunset, and were so radiant in the beams of the setting orb, that they were too grand a canopy, for a world on whose surface men do so many deeds contrary to the holy will of the Great Ruler of the universe?
Happy he was to say that he knew other parts of the country where the sojourners are a people of different characteristics. Many ghosts were seen in the favored spot. What was the consequence? The young ladies are, as it might naturally be expected, much more attractive in their personal appearance, of gentler voices, of more sympathizing manners, and form husbands on a much more elevated plan. Of course there is much variety in their descriptions of the ghosts which they have seen. One most commendable trait which I have observed among them, is that the sights which they have witnessed enhance their socialrespectability. There are slight grades in rank among the ghost-seers. Those who have seen a spirit at midnight, are superior to those who have beheld one early in the evening. Those who have seen one near the graves, rank above those who have met one only in the fields. But the crowned head of all is my old neighbor, who begins apparently to tell you an awful history,—his manner indicating that he can give strange circumstantial evidence of the truth of the event which he is about to narrate,—and all at once the blood, which began to cool, flows freely, as he cuts short his tantalizing narrative, with the information that he shall never inform any soul what he saw that night. No one of our neighbors dares to think that he has ever approached such a transcendent vision. The shake of the head with which the old man concludes his last sentence, is too impressive for the most presumptuous man, having a tendency to a doubt.
After our meal, and many a hearty laugh, a number composed themselves in the different rooms for a good sleep. It was determined that three of the class should sit up awake before the fire in case of emergency. I must say that there was an undefined doubt over our minds whether something very exciting would not happen before morning. I felt this even in the gayety of the room. The young men laughed and talked as if their minds were wrought up to an unnatural state.
The hours sped on,—rapidly for those who slumbered, and heavily for those who did duty as waking guards before the fire. Now and then some one would awaken, as if from a dream, and ask in bold speech whether the ghost had yet come.
I remember that it was my turn to be off guard, and to join the sleepers. The fires were kept up brightly, and gave a cheerful light to all the apartment. I was watching the flickering of the flames, and had forgotten almost entirely the place and position which we occupied, and was philosophizing on the nature of sleep, and recalling some observations I had read on the happy state of healthy little children who are sinking to their sleep. I recalled the evidence I had received of that kind arrangement of Providence, in the case of the little ones at home, smiling on you in such perfect benignity and peace, as you drew near them in their little beds. This, of course, recalled the home. As I was bringing loved faces and scenes before me, the whole house was throw into a sudden commotion,—just like that which you may imagine to occur when a whole ship's crew, having been devoid of fear, is suddenly startled with the report, communicated as by some mysterious power from man to man, that an iceberg is near at hand, or breakers, or that the good vessel has been subjected to some shock which endangers the common safety.
A loud sound was heard, evidently in the centre of the house, and all agreed that it was occasioned by the discharge of a large pistol. The dwelling was shaken by the report, and the windows rattled. In a moment all was activity. By a common impulse all above and below gathered at the staircase. We distinctly smelt the fumes of the powder, and holding up lights, were satisfied that we detected the lingering smoke.
Then commenced a new and perfect scrutiny of the building. Notwithstanding the evidence that earthly elements had entered into the cause of the shock, some were rather awed.
All our search was in vain. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. Yet, in this instance, we looked on the earth for that which we could not find.
Not the slightest trace could be discovered to throw us on the true path of investigation. We could form no possible conjecture as to the manner in which the pistol had been discharged. After daylight we re-examined the house. But all was in vain. The external and internal scrutiny gave us not a hint as to the manner in which the deed could have been accomplished.
I must confess that we returned to Princeton in no enviable mood. We all dreaded an interview with Dr. Smith. We sought him at once,—as nature inclinesus often to go through a painful duty as soon as we can, and to have it over.
But the President listened to our story in a manner which relieved us of our apprehensions. He did not seem greatly surprised; and his remarks satisfied us that we had not been made ridiculous, and we were prepared to face the world, or rather the worst part of it,—with reference to our present condition,—the college.
"Gentlemen," said he, "some effort to continue this imposition was to have been expected. I presumed that such a series of inmates would not have been driven from the house, had not some skill been shown in the manner of causing alarm. Now, the affair is more serious than ever. If you allow this to rest here, the fate of the house is sealed. Ghosts will be seen all around the land. Perhaps we shall even have one to disturb the college. Malicious and designing men will be able to torture their victims, and often render the property of those whom they hate, perfectly worthless. You must continue to sleep in this building until you unravel this mystery. For my own part, I would say to you, do not be discouraged. You have made an advance. It is now evident that the noises heard in the house, perhaps sudden flashes that have been seen, are not the work of imagination. A pistol fired there, gives you a clear indication that some manis to be detected. Go there again. Let a portion of the class go to the house, and take possession. Have your fires and lights. At a later hour let another body of these gentlemen go quietly in the dark, and secrete themselves outside of the dwelling, so that they can watch it during the night. Place yourselves so as not to intercept the most natural approaches to the house. Do not let any one know of your plans. I shall wait to hear from you again, and am sure that you will succeed."
Before the evening had arrived we had proof that Dr. Smith was correct in his judgment as to the necessity for the prosecution of this adventure. Night promised to become hideous to the surrounding country. It was already reported on the most indisputable evidence; nay, some of the narrators had heard it directly from the lips of the students themselves, that as we were assembled in the dwelling, the lights suddenly became dim, the fires ceased to blaze, and then an awful stately lady, with the famous red ring around her throat, indicating clearly that a murder had been committed on the premises, walked through the rooms and looked on us, and seemed to enjoin on us the duty of bringing the men who had stained their hands with her blood to justice, and then suddenly withdrew with a terrific noise. Another report was to the injury of an unpopular man, who had owned the property beforeit was purchased by Mr. Hollman. Its version of the affair was, that the ghost disclosed a secret place in the house where some papers were concealed,—proving that the property had in former times been acquired by the most wicked means. Great satisfaction was intimated that the man would be exposed, and attain his deserts,—a prison having long been supposed to be his appropriate destination.
In the evening we followed the injunctions of the president. The late party left the college one by one, issuing in the dark from the basement of the building, so that no one watching us could know of their departure. They crept along over fields, and by the skirt of the woods. They hid themselves under a thicket, through which no one would attempt to pass to the house.
The midnight came on. I was one of those in the interior of the building. About the same time of the night we heard the strange pistol again. I also thought I heard an additional sound, but could not imagine its cause. Our chief trust was in those without. And we were not disappointed. A moment after the discharge of the pistol, we heard a rush of feet, and many cries. Then there arose a noise of unmistakable triumph.
The noise, and a flash revealed to the watchers without, the direction they must pursue. They surroundedthe shed, back of the building. There they seized a form, a base—unspiritual—rough form. It was that of a young negro man, who was brought into the light in the house, and subjected to investigation.
He confessed that his design was to obtain vengeance of Mr. Hollman, who had given him some offence. It seems that above the shed on the back of the house, where he was secured, there was a small trap-door, opening into the interior. It was so cut out of the boards, and so often white-washed within and without, that we had never observed it. He had once lived in the house, and knowing of this small opening, had availed himself of it, for the success of his wicked design. Climbing up the shed, he lifted the door, held the large horse-pistol deeply loaded, as far as he could over the landing of the winding staircase, and then discharging it, dropped the door, slid from the shed, and was soon far off, and free from all suspicion.
He had heard from the people at Mr. Hollman's, that we were to attempt to satisfy the public mind, that the house was not haunted, and that any family might reside on the premises in peace. Hence he resolved to alarm us all, and drive us away.
Some of the class were for summary vengeance on the fellow. We determined to take him into Princeton, and hand him over to the magistrate. You mayimagine that we entered our town on the following morning, with an air of triumph,—which was quite a contrast to our looks on the preceding day. We went in figuratively speaking, with banners flying, and drums beating. And we had some literally blowing their trumpets.
The ghost attracted some curiosity, and some said that as we looked for something in white, we were disappointed.
Dr. Smith was as well pleased as we were, with our success. The house was soon reoccupied. I went there some time after our adventure, and found it the home of a respectable family, who treated me with special consideration, and a satisfactory portion of a large pie, when they heard that I was one of the celebrated party that caught the ghost. Ghosts in troops forsook Princeton. They found their occupation gone. Men and women, boys and girls, darkies of all ages, saw shadows in the evening, mists, indistinct lights, flickering candles, passed by graves, and grave-yards, and had no longer any special dread. And had any ghost in fact, dared to appear anywhere around, I have no doubt that our class would have been summoned to do, what daylight always does, send the wandering and terrible spirit to the regions where such dwell,—far from all human cognizance. May Nassau Hallever have such success in all her laudable enterprises! May all her classes, be as great victors over all that can cause dread to a student, as we were over the ghost at Hollman's.