It was a beautiful morning, warmer than May mornings usually are in Boston. But the warm sunshine that came into the drawing-room where Katie Archdale was seated was unheeded. Katie was still at her uncle's and that morning, as she had been very many mornings of late, was much occupied with a visitor who sat on the sofa beside her with an assumption of privilege which his diffident air at times failed to carry out well.
"Are you quite sure, Lord Bulchester?" she asked. And her voice had a touch of tremulousness, so inspiring to lovers.
"Sure? Am I sure?" he asked, his little figure expanding in his earnestness, his face aglow with an emotion which gave dignity to his plain features. "Sure that I love you?" he repeated wonderingly. "How could anybody help it?"
"Then its not any especial discernment in you?" Her tones had the softness of a coquetry about to lose itself in a glad submission to a power higher than its own.
"No," he sighed. "And, yet, it is some special discernment. For, if not, why should I love you better than anyone else does?"
"Do you?" The arch glance softened to suit his mood, half bewildered him with ecstasy. To the music of them the drawing-room seemed to heighten and broaden before his eyes, and to lengthen out into vistas of the halls and parks of his own beautiful home, Lyburg Chase, and through them all, Katie moved, and gave them a new charm. And, then, he seemed to be in different places on the Continent, among the Swiss Mountains, beside the Italian lakes, in gay Paris, and every where Katie moved by his side, and gave new life to the familiar scenes.
"Give me my answer to-day," he cried; "for to-day my treasure, you are sure of yourself, to-day you know that you love me."
Katie's face changed, as the sky changes when a rift of blue that promised a smiling day is swallowed up again in the midst of uncertain weather; whatever softness lingered was veiled by doubt. "I don't know," she said hesitatingly, "I'm not sure yet. I can't tell. Must you have your answer to-day?" And she looked at him half defiantly. An expression of bitter disappointment swept over Bulchester's face and seemed actually to affect his whole personality, for he appeared to shrink into himself until there was less of him. "You see," Katie went on, "between you I am driven, I am tossed; I don't even know what I feel. How can I? Poor Stephen, you know, has loved me all my life, and onedoes not easily forget that, Lord Bulchester. He does have a claim, you know."
"Only your preference has any claim," he answered in a voice of entreaty.
"Yes," she said, and sighed. The assent and the sigh completely puzzled him. Were they for himself, or for Stephen Archdale? Had she already chosen without being willing to speak, or was she still hesitating? In either case, the decision was equally momentous, the only question was of lengthening or shortening the suspense of waiting for it.
"Then take your time," he answered drearily, "and I will leave you, I will go and hide my impatience. You must not be tortured."
"No," returned the girl with a low sigh. At that instant she turned her face away from him toward the window, a knock at the door being the ostensible reason. But if anyone had seen the smile with which she received the assurance that she was not to be tortured, he would have believed that there was no imminent danger of it. Had it been a question of torturing,—that was another thing. When she turned a grave face toward Lord Bulchester again he had risen. "No, No," she cried. "Don't go, sit down, I would rather have you here, for a time at least. It's Elizabeth,—Mistress Royal." Her tones threw the listener from dreariness into despair. A moment since he thought he had her assurance that his own claims were seriously considered. And, now, what could give her manner this nervousness, but the fact that her attachment to Archdale was still in force? For Bulchester had learned from her that since her arrested wedding Elizabeth had always been associated in her mind with Stephen. She was so in his own also, for this reason, and another. The young man sat down again. It was not consistent with his feelings, nor his knowledge of affairs, and, still less, with his character to perceive that Katie's conscience troubled her a little.
Elizabeth had always found likable things in Lord Bulchester: and although she had been indignant at his taking advantage of the position of affairs to try to win Katie, she had owned to herself that he was not responsible for such position, and ought not to have been expected to feel about as she did. And now that Katie and Stephen Archdale were once more united, Elizabeth felt a deep pity for Bulchester, and believed that he was behaving well in being manly enough to have won Katie's respect and friendship. No shadow of doubt of her friend's loyalty to Stephen crossed her mind. And nothing gave her warning that out of this morning visit in which there would be said and done no single thing that would seem at the time of any consequence, would come results that would influence her life.
The conversation, after ranging about a little turned upon the quiet that had settled down upon the city, now that the excitement of fitting out the expedition was over. Elizabeth said that it seemed to her the hush of anxiety and expectation, for it was felt that the fate of the country hung upon the issue. Whether New England were still English in government or became French provinces depended more upon the fate of Louisburg than anybody liked to confess.
"I don't believe there's any danger of our being French provinces," said Katie.
"I ought to have put it that we fight the battle there or in our own home,"said Elizabeth. Then as they went on to speak of the soldiers, she said suddenly to Bulchester: "What does your lordship do without Mr. Edmonson?" The latter shifted his foot on the floor uneasily.
"I suppose you think that I ought to have gone too," he said half in apology, "but—," He looked at Katie and his face brightened: she was not a woman to blame him because his love for her had kept him at home. He did not linger upon the other part of the truth, that he was not fond of war in any event. "I have helped in my small way," he said. "Don't believe me quite without patriotism." Elizabeth looked surprised.
"I did not mean that at all," she answered. "I was not thinking of it, but only that you had been so much with Mr. Edmonson, that you must miss him."
"I don't know," answered Bulchester. After a moment's hesitation he added, "I see you look surprised: the intimacy between us seemed to you close?"
"Why, yes, it did," assented Elizabeth, "very close. But I don't see why I should say so, or how it should be any affair of mine."
Bulchester looked uncomfortable. "All the same," he answered, "you are judging me, and thinking me disloyal, and that it is a strange time to forget one's friendship when the friend has gone to peril life for his country."
"Perhaps something like that did come to me," confessed Elizabeth.
"You can't judge," pursued the other eagerly, speaking to Elizabeth, but thinking of the impression that this might be making upon Katie. "There are things I cannot explain, things that have made me draw away from Edmonson. It is not because he has gone to the war and I have found reason to stay at home. There are impressions that come sometimes like dreams, you can't put them into words. But without being able to do that, you are sure certain things are so. No, not sure." He stopped again. It was impossible to explain.
"Don't stop there," cried Katie. "How tantalizing. Either you should not have begun, or you ought to go on. You must," she insisted with a gesture of impatience, while her eyes met his with a smile that always conquered him.
"I've nothing to say,—that is, there is nothing I can say. One doesn't betray one's friends. But Edmonson—" He halted again.
"Yes, but Mr. Edmonson," she repeated, "is a delightful man when one is on a frolic. What else about him?"
"Oh—nothing."
The girl frowned. "Very well," she said. "Everybody trusts Mistress Royal. I understand it is I who am unworthy of your confidence. As you please."
"You!" he cried. "You unworthy of my confidence!" There was consternation in his tones. "You?" he repeated, looking at her helplessly. The idea was too much for him.
"Certainly. Or you would at least tell us what you mean about Mr. Edmonson, even if your former friendship for him—that is supposing it gone now—prevented you from going into details." She spoke earnestly and wondered as she did so why she had never felt any curiosity before as to the break of the intimacybetween Edmonson and his friend, for, evidently, there had been a coolness, something more than mere separation. As Elizabeth sat looking at his perturbed face, an old legend crossed her mind. "Mr. Edmonson has lost his shadow," she thought; and it seemed ominous to her.
"There are no details," answered the earl. "Nothing has happened. If you imagine I have quarrelled with him, you are mistaken. Nothing of the sort. There were reasons, as I have said, to keep me at home, and he had no claim upon me to accompany him. Besides, there's a something, that as I said, I can't put into words, and I may be entirely wrong. But Edmonson is a terrible fellow at times. One day he—." Then Bulchester stopped abruptly, and began a new sentence. "I know nothing," he said. "I have nothing to tell, only I fear, because if he wants anything, he must have it through every obstacle. When he takes the bits between his teeth, Heaven only knows where he will bring up, and Heaven hasn't much to do with the direction of his running, I imagine. Sometimes one would rather not ride behind him." As he finished, his eyes were on Elizabeth's face, and it seemed as if he were speaking especially for her. But in a moment as they met hers full of inquiry, he dropped them and looked disturbed.
"You are frightfully mysterious," cried Katie.
"Not at all," he entreated. "There is no mystery anywhere. I never said anything about mysteries. Please don't think I spoke of such a thing."
"Yes, you are very mysterious," she insisted. "Nobody can help seeing that you know evil of your friend, and don't want to tell it. I dare say it's to your credit. But, all the same, it's tantalizing."
Not even her commendation could keep a sharp anxiety from showing itself on Bulchester's face. "I have said nothing," he answered, "it all might happen and he have no concern in it—, I mean," he caught himself back with a startled look and then went on with an assumption of coolness, "I mean exactly what I say, Mistress Archdale, simply that Edmonson does not please me so much as he did before I saw better people. But I assure you that this has no connection with any special thing that he has done."
"Or may do?" asked Elizabeth.
"Or that I believe he will do," he answered resolutely. But it was after an instant's hesitation which was not lost upon one of his listeners who sat watching him gravely, and in a moment as if uttering her thought aloud, said,
"That is new; he used to please you entirely."
Bulchester fidgetted, and glanced at Katie who had turned toward the speaker. There was no need, he thought, of bringing out his past infatuation so plainly. In the light of a new one, it looked absurd enough to him not to want to have it paraded before one of his present companions at least. But Elizabeth had had no idea of parading his absurdities; for when he said apologetically that one learned in time to regulate his enthusiasms, she looked at him with surprise, as if roused, and answered that the ability to be a good friend was the last thing to need apology. Then she sat busy with her own thoughts.
"What, the mischief, is she after?" thought the young man watching her asKatie talked, and there must have been strong reason that could have diverted his mind in any degree from Katie. "Is it possible she has struck my uncanny suspicion? If she has, she's cool about it. No, it's impossible; I've buried it fathoms deep. Nobody could find it. It's too evil a suspicion, too satanical, ever to be brought to light. I wish to Heaven, though, I had never run across it, it makes me horribly uncomfortable." Then he turned to Katie, but soon his thoughts were running upon Elizabeth again. "She's one of those people," he mused, "that you think don't notice anything, and all at once she'll score a hit that the best players would be proud of. I can't make her out. But I hardly think Edmonson would have everything quite his own way. Pity he can't try it. I'd like to see it working. And perhaps some day—." So, he tried to put away from him a suggestion, which, dwelt upon, gave him a sense of personal guilt, because, only supposing this thing came that Edmonson had hinted at, it would be an advantage to himself. He shivered at the suggestion; there was no such purpose in reality, he was sure of it. Edmonson only talked wildly as he had a way of doing. The very thought seemed a crime to Bulchester. If he really believed, he ought to speak. But he did not believe, and he could hardly denounce his friend on a vagary. Still, he was troubled by Elizabeth's evident pondering, and was glad to have the conversation turned into any channel that would sweep out thoughts of Edmonson from their minds.
As this was done and he turned fully to Katie again, a new mood, the effect of her sudden indifference, came over him. A few moments ago she had been almost fond, now she was languidly polite. Hope faded away from all points of his horizon. An easterly mist of doubt was creeping over him. His egotism at its height was only a mild satisfaction in his social impregnability and was readily overpowered by the recollection of personal defects to which he was acutely alive. In the atmosphere of Katie's coolness, he forgot his earldom and thought disconsolately of his nose. He was disconcerted, and after a few embarrassed words took his leave. It never occurred to him as a consolation that his tones and glances were growing a little too loverlike to be safely on exhibition before Elizabeth who had not noticed them in the moments that Bulchester had forgotten his caution, but who, as Katie knew, might wake up to the fact at any glance. Elizabeth bade him farewell kindly, she pitied his disappointment, and thought that he bore it well. But as she watched his half-timorous movements, she believed that even had her own marriage ceremony turned out to be a reality. Lord Bulchester would have had no chance with a girl who had been loved by Stephen Archdale whose wooing was as full of intrepidity as his other acts.
"Well! What are you thinking of?" asked Katie meeting her earnest gaze.
"Do you want me to tell you?"
"Yes."
"I was wondering why you tortured him. Why don't you send him away at once, and forever?"
Katie laughed unaimiably. "He seems to like the torturing," she said. Then she looked at Elizabeth in a teasing way. "Some girls would prefer him to Stephen, you know," she added.
"You mean because he has a title? You can't think of any other reason."
"Oh, of course I don't, my Archdale champion. How strange that you trust me so little, Elizabeth!"
"Trust you so little, Katie? Why, if any other girl did as you are doing, I should say she was playing false with her betrothed, and meant to throw him over. I never imagine such a thing of you. I only feel that you are very cruel to Lord Bulchester."
Katie cast down her eyes for a moment. "Some things are beyond our control," she answered.
"Not things like these," said Elizabeth. "Since you have suffered yourself, I don't understand why you want to make other people suffer."
"Don't you?" returned the girl. "That's just the reason, I suppose. Why should I be alone? But I shall be done with playing by and by, Elizabeth."
"Yes, I know, Katie," the girl answered. "I trust you."
Again Katie looked down for a moment, looked up again, this time into the face of her friend, and sighed lightly. "Don't think me better than I am, Betsey," she implored, the dimples about her mouth effectually counteracting the pathos of her tones. And at the words she put up her lips with a childlike air to her companion. Elizabeth's arms folded impulsively about her, and held her for a moment in an embrace that seemed at once to guard, and caress, and brood over her. Then she drew away, and sat beside her with a quietness that seemed like a wish to make her sudden evidence of strong feeling forgotten.
"Betsey, my dear," said Katie softly, "you're so good. I have seemed different to you sometimes. You must not expect me to be like you."
"I should not have done half so well," said Elizabeth hastily.
Katie smiled. After this they sat and talked some time longer; it was the first free interview that they had had since their estrangement was over, and Elizabeth's voice had a happy ring in it. After a time, Katie began to give an account of some gathering at which she had been present. At the sound of Lord Bulchester's name, among the guests, Elizabeth's attention wandered. She began to think of the young's man's strange reticence respecting Edmonson, and evident uneasiness about something connected with him. Why were they not friends still? Was it on account of this unknown something? All at once the light of conviction flashed over her face. She perceived at least one cause of the separation. Bulchester's attentions to Katie were distasteful to Edmonson, for he wanted Katie to marry Stephen Archdale, because he feared lest Elizabeth should grow fond of him, lest Stephen should come to find a fortune convenient. Elizabeth's unaided perceptions would never have reached this point; but in Edmonson's anger at her second refusal of him he had dared to intimate such a thing, so darkly, to be sure, that she had not seen fit to understand him, but plainly enough to throw light upon the estrangement of the two men. "Distasteful," was a light word to use in speaking of anything that Edmonson did not like; his feelings were so strong that he seemed always ready to be vindictive. Her feeling toward him for this intimation had been anger which had cooled into contempt of a nature like his, ready to find baseness everywhere. The suggestionwas no reproach to her, for she had had no thoughts of disloyalty to Katie. As she sat there still seeming to listen, suddenly, it seemed to her, for she could not trace its coming, a picture rose before her with the vividness of reality. She saw Archdale and Edmonson standing together on the deck of the same vessel bound upon the same errand, always together; and she remembered Edmonson' muttered words, and his face dark with passion over all its fairness.
She went home full of secret trouble, trouble too vague for utterance. Besides what she knew and felt there had been something else that she had not got at, and that disturbed Lord Bulchester. The rest of the day she was more or less abstracted, and went to bed with her mind full of indistinct images brooded over by that vague trouble, the very stuff of which dreams are made. And more than this, out of which the brain in the unconscious cerebration of sleep, sometimes, drawing all the tangled threads into order, weaves from them a web on which is pictured the truth.
5(return)Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.
Growing old! The pulses' measureKeeps its even tenor still;Eye and hand nor fail nor falter,And the brain obeys the will;Only by the whitening tresses,And the deepening wrinkles told,Youth has passed away like vapor;Prime is gone, and I grow old.Laughter hushes at my presence,Gay young voices whisper lower,If I dare to linger by it,All the streams or life run slower.Though I love the mirth of children,Though I prize youth's virgin gold,What have I to do with either!Time is telling—I grow old.Not so dread the gloomy riverThat I shrank from so of yore;All my first of love and friendshipGather on the further shore.Were it not the best to join themEre I feel the blood run cold?Ere I hear it said too harshly,"Stand back from us—you are old!"—All the Year Round.
Growing old! The pulses' measureKeeps its even tenor still;Eye and hand nor fail nor falter,And the brain obeys the will;Only by the whitening tresses,And the deepening wrinkles told,Youth has passed away like vapor;Prime is gone, and I grow old.
Growing old! The pulses' measure
Keeps its even tenor still;
Eye and hand nor fail nor falter,
And the brain obeys the will;
Only by the whitening tresses,
And the deepening wrinkles told,
Youth has passed away like vapor;
Prime is gone, and I grow old.
Laughter hushes at my presence,Gay young voices whisper lower,If I dare to linger by it,All the streams or life run slower.Though I love the mirth of children,Though I prize youth's virgin gold,What have I to do with either!Time is telling—I grow old.
Laughter hushes at my presence,
Gay young voices whisper lower,
If I dare to linger by it,
All the streams or life run slower.
Though I love the mirth of children,
Though I prize youth's virgin gold,
What have I to do with either!
Time is telling—I grow old.
Not so dread the gloomy riverThat I shrank from so of yore;All my first of love and friendshipGather on the further shore.Were it not the best to join themEre I feel the blood run cold?Ere I hear it said too harshly,"Stand back from us—you are old!"
Not so dread the gloomy river
That I shrank from so of yore;
All my first of love and friendship
Gather on the further shore.
Were it not the best to join them
Ere I feel the blood run cold?
Ere I hear it said too harshly,
"Stand back from us—you are old!"
—All the Year Round.
—All the Year Round.
Many a valuable work has been produced in manuscript by students and other persons of experience in special fields of practice which have never yet been put into type, and perhaps never will, solely because of the poverty of their writers or of the disinclination of publishers in general to take hold of books which do not at the start promise a remuneration. The late Professor Sophocles of Harvard College, left in MS. aLexicon of Modern Greek and English, which if published would certainly prove a valuable contribution to literature as well as be greatly appreciated by scholars. We are aware of several instances of this sort.
While, in such instances, the authors are to be commiserated, it would be folly to blame the publishers, who, were they to accept for publication every unremunerative manuscript offered to them, would soon cease to be publishers and instead be forced into the alms-houses. It has been suggested that wealthy men can do themselves honor and assist creditably in building up literature by providing the means wherewith deserving, but poor, authors may print their books. Were the suggestion to be carefully weighed, and then, to be adopted, American literature would be made the richer. A great many rich men of the day seem to take great satisfaction in patronizing artists, athletes, actors, and colleges. Why is it not possible to derive as much pleasure in patronizing authors?
While writing on this theme, we are reminded that one of the most unsaleable books of the present day is a Town History: and, yet, however crude or dry it may seem to be, it is in reality an exceedingly valuable contribution to our national annals. Such books are as a rule declined by regular publishing houses, and, if published at all, the author is usually out of pocket by reason of his investment. There ought to be public spirit enough in every community to make the opposite of this the rule.
It remains to be seen whether the HartfordCourantand other newspapers of the same proclivities, will ever again wave the "bloody shirt" in the field of politics. This paper, viewing the events of the past month, has repeatedly thanked God (in print) that, "now we have neither North nor South, but one united country." Few events in ceremonial history, we confess, have been more significant than the presence of two Confederate generals as pall-bearers at the funeral ofGeneral Grant. This ought, if indeed it does not, to mark the close of the Civil War and of all the divisions and combinations which have had their roots and their justifications in it. The "bloody shirt" can be waved no more, except as an insult to the memory of the late first citizen of the Republic. On what basis, then, are political parties henceforth to rest? What, in the future, will give a meaning to the names Republican and Democrat, or make it national and patriotic for an American citizen to enlist in one of the two organizations and wage political war against the other?
We can detect only three great questions now before the American people. One is the Tariff, the other the reform of the Civil Service, and the last is the problem of labor. It is noticeable that the division of opinion regarding either of these questions does not correspond with the lines of the established parties. There are Protectionists, as also Free Traders, in both parties; both parties are equally puzzled by the labor question; and though the Democratic Party has hitherto been re-actionary on the subject of the Civil Service, a Democratic President is to-day the champion and the hope of Reform. On the whole, it begins to look as if each of the two great parties was in a state of incipient disintegration. On the one hand, the Independent Republicans, whose votes elected Grover Cleveland, although still professing allegiance to the Republican party, will never again ally themselves with those who supported Mr. Blaine. On the other side the Bourbon Democrats, who helped to elect Mr. Cleveland, are now in arms against him. The presidency of Cleveland is to say, the least the triumph of national over party government; and should he continue to go forward bravely in his present course, he may rest assured that the hearts of all good citizens will go with him, and that his triumph will be complete. Theday is here when thinking men will have to brush conventionalism aside, and confront with open minds the problem which the course of events has now distinctly set before them for solution.
The records of our own time are being gradually embalmed in a permanent form.Mr. Blainehas given us his first volume of what perhaps are better classed asimpressionsrather than asmemoirs pour servir; we are promised the Personal Memoirs ofGeneral Grant; and now at last, after many years' waiting, we have the completed works ofCharles Sumner, the incorruptible son of Massachusetts, from the press of Messrs. Lee and Shepard, who have spared no expense as publishers.
People who have not yet examined these volumes, or at least have not yet looked through the volume containing the Index, have but a faint idea of their invaluable worth and character. It would be impossible to write the history of the early life of this people under the constitution without borrowing material from the papers of Hamilton and of Madison. Equally impossible will it be for the future historian to narrate, in just and equable proportion, the events from 1845 to 1874, without consulting the fifteen volumes which Mr. Sumner has left behind him.
But the distinguished senator from Massachusetts was not himself an historian; he was a close and painstaking student of history, as well as a rigid and critical observer of current events. He kept himself thoroughly posted in the progress of his generation, and possessed the happy faculty of seeing things not alone as one within the circle of events but as one standing outside and afar off. Consequently, his orations, senatorial speeches, miscellaneous addresses, letters and papers on current themes are not fraught with the transitory or ephemeral character, so common to heated discussions in legislative halls, but are singularly and as a whole among the grandest contributions to national history and growth.
These volumes cover, as we have already remarked, the period extending from 1845 to 1874, and they furnish a compendium of all the great questions which occupied the attention of the nation during that time, and which were discussed by him with an ability equalled by few and excelled by none of the great statesmen who were his contemporaries. The high position which Mr. Sumner so long and so honorably held as one of the giant minds of the nation,—his intimate connection with and leadership in the great measure of the abolition of slavery, and all the great questions of the civil war and those involved in a just settlement of the same, rendered it a desideratum that these volumes should be published.
Aside from their value as contributions to political history, the works, particularly the orations, of Mr. Sumner belong to the literature of America. They are as far superior to the endless number of orations and speeches which are delivered throughout the country as the works of a polished, talented and accomplished author surpass the ephemeral productions of a day. In one respect these orations surpass almost all others, namely, in the elevation of sentiment, the high and lofty moral tone and grandeur of thought which they possess. The one on the "True Grandeur of Nations" stands forth of itself like a serene and majestic image, cut from the purest Parian marble. There has been no orator in our time, whose addresses approach nearer the models of antiquity, unless it be Webster, whom Sumner greatly surpasses in moral tone and dignity of thought.
The works of a statesman, so variously endowed, and who has treated somanysubjects with such a masterly command of knowledge, reasoning, and eloquence, cannot fail to be widely circulated. These elegantly-printed volumes,—which in their typographical appearance seem to rival anything of similar character that have come to our notice,—carefully edited and fully rounded by a copious analytical index of subjects discussed, topics referred to, and facts adduced, will prove an invaluable treasury to the scholar, the historian and the general seeker after truth. The librarians of every city and town library in this country should insist upon having the works of Charles Sumner upon their shelves.
On the 12th of this month will be celebrated the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the incorporation of the town of Concord, Mass. Judge John S. Keyes, whose father performed the same service at the bi-centennial celebration half a century ago, will preside. On the 15th of last May the committee of twenty-five made a report, which merits the attention of committees to be appointed in other towns in NewEngland, on similar occasions. This report reads as follows:
"We have decided that it was not best to placard the town in an endeavor to make history; that with the sum at the disposal of the town, and those of the earliest dates, leaving to the future the memorials, if any, of recent events and more modern times."
For this purpose, the town appropriated one thousand dollars, and in connection with the celebration, it was suggested, and provided for, that a large fac-simile of the act of incorporation of the town, September 12th, 1635, should be procured and placed in the town hall in such a position that all persons might easily read it. The work of executing suitable memorials, to mark the most important spots in the history of the town, has already been done in a neat manner by a citizen of Concord, and we are informed that all the arrangements for the pleasant events are fully completed.
The following letter was laid on the Editor's Table the other day:—
"I am a farmer, and I own my farm free and clear. I also have two sons, both smart, capable and trustworthy. As I have been a sturdy and uncompromising Democrat all my life, I think the party ought to do something for at least one of my sons, who is fond of politics. Any appointment in one of the Government offices would suit them. Now, how shall Iapplyfor a position, such as they want?"
No reasonable answer to such an inquiry as this will suit "smart, capable and trustworthy" boys, one of whom "is fond of politics," and whose father is disposed rather to favor than to discourage their misguided ambition. We venture to hope, however, that their father has lived long enough to become convinced that nothing pays so well on a farm as common sense and hard work, and that the rule holds equally in force in other fields of industry. Our friend seems to have forgotten that although the Democratic party is a very grateful old party, yet it has so much to be grateful for that, it has hardly enough gratitude to go round. He and his two sons can best keep their reverence for the grand old Party undisturbed, by remaining on the farm, aloof from the few millions of others who confidently believe that patriotism will be sooner or later rewarded by a postmastership.
We promise him that if he neglects to follow our wholesome counsel, and instead shall go on, to Washington to seek political gifts, he will return home mad. If he then will look about him, he will understand how this kind of madness works. There is a great deal of it just now.
Farmer's boys should not seek political gifts. For them there is no occupation so demoralizing as office-seeking, except office-holding. At the best, as a rule, they could become only Government clerks, liable to be turned out after they had served long enough to be spoiled for any other occupation except of a routine character.
The Democratic Party shows its gratitude best when it faces the infuriated office-seeker in his mad career and tells him that there is not even the smallest post-office open for him. It chastens but to save. Even though of Bourbon mould it has profited by experience; it has noted the demoralizing effect of office-holding on the Republicans! If it now and then gratifies the unruly demand of a Mugwump, it is because it knows,—and secretly gloats in the knowledge—that the Mugwumps are liable to rush to destruction during the next four years, and it therefore chooses the lesser evil. The Mugwumps are the guests of the Democratic Party. What a world of consolation for the farmer, always "a sturdy and uncompromising Democrat!"
A final suggestion to our friend,—write to some of the clerks in the Washington departments for information, and learn wisdom from what they say in reply.
The statue of Commodore Perry will be unveiled at Newport, R.I., on September 10th. Colonel John H. Powell will be chief marshal, and Bishop Clark will officiate. All the local societies and military companies, as well as the military at Fort Adams, have been invited to be present. The Secretary of the Navy writes that all the vessels of the training squadron will be here before that time, and that their officers and crews will be in line upon that occasion. The monument will be presented on behalf of the State and city by ex-United States Senator Sheffield, who will make an elaborate address. Governor Wetmore, on behalf of the State, and Mayor Franklin, on behalf of the city, will accept the gift.
August 3.—Pemberton Square was chosen as the site for the new Suffolk County Court House.
On August 3 was celebrated at Middletown, Conn., the centenary of the first Episcopal ordination held in this country. "The clergy met their Bishop at Middletown on Aug. 2, 1785, and after a formal acknowledgment of their Bishop on the part of the clergy, he held an ordination of three candidates from Connecticut—Philo Shelton, Ashbel Baldwin and Henry Vandyck—and one from Maryland, Colin Fergusun." There was a large attendance of clergymen from various parts of New England.
August 5.—The Washburn Library, erected by the surviving members of the Washburn family, was dedicated at Livermore, Maine. Among the guests present were ex-vice President Hannibal Hamlin, Senator Frye, Mr. E.B. Haskell of the BostonHerald, and Hon. E.B. Washburn, of Illinois who delivered the address. Over a thousand people attended the services.
August 6.—Death of the Hon. John Batchelder, a well known citizen of Lynn, Mass, at the age of eighty. He was a native of Topsfield, Mass., but went to Lynn when a young man. He taught school in Ward 5 for thirty years previous to 1855, and was elected to the Massachusetts senate that year. He was also in the same year elected city clerk and collector of taxes. He was re-elected to the senate in 1856 and 1857. He was the first treasurer of the Lynn Five Cents Savings Bank. He afterward taught the Ward 6 Grammar School, and held that position ten years, and then became a member of the school board. The last office held by him was that of postmaster, being appointed by President Grant in 1869.
At a meeting of the Battle Monument Association, held at Bennington, Vt., on the 12th of August, there were present Governor Pingree, who presided, Senators Evarts and Morrill, Professor Perry of Yale College, Lieutenant Governor Ormsbee of Brandon, and other gentlemen. The report of the special committee was read, and a resolution passed accepting the design ofJ.P. Rinn, of Boston for a Battle Monument. A committee was then appointed to report the details to the President of the United States and the governors of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, which action will entitle the Association to receive the appropriations made by Congress and the Legislatures of these states for the monument. The fund now amounts to $80,000.
On August 12th, GeneralHenry Kemble Oliverdied in Salem, Mass., at the advanced age of eighty-five years. He was born in Beverly, Mass., Nov. 24, 1800, a son of Rev. Daniel Oliver and Elizabeth Kemble; was educated in the Boston Latin School, and Harvard College (for two years) and was graduated from Dartmouth College. After his graduation, he settled in Salem, and as Principal of the High and Latin Schools, and also of a private school, he was virtually at the head of the educational interests of the town for a quarter of a century. In 1848, he moved to Lawrence, Mass., to become agent of the Atlantic Mills. While living in Lawrence, he was appointed superintendent of schools, and in recognition of his services the "Oliver Grammar School" was founded.
At an early day General Oliver became interested in military affairs as an officer of the Salem Light Infantry and in 1844 he was made Adjutant General of the Commonwealth, by Gov. Briggs, and held this office for four years. During the war he served with great satisfaction as Treasurer of the Commonwealth, and performed the most arduous duties in a very faithful and acceptable manner. From 1869 to 1873 he was chief of the Bureau of Labor Statistics, and ever after that became interested in reducing the hours of labor in factories and in the limitation of factory work by children. From 1876 to 1880 he was mayor of Salem, and displayed almost the same vivacity and energy in discharging the duties of this office, as an octogenarian, that he had shown in his youth. He was master of the theory and history of music, a good bass singer, a good organist, and the author of several popularcompositions. Of these "Federal Street" seems likely to become permanent in musical literature. In his youth he sang in the Park street church in Boston and for many years he led the choir of the North church in Salem. "Oliver's Collection of Church Music" is one of the results of his labors in this direction. In conjunction with Dr. Tuckerman he published the "National Lyre." He was a member of the old Handel and Hayden Society and the Salem Glee Club, both famous musical organizations of his early days. In 1825 General Oliver married Sally, daughter of Captain Samuel Cook, by whom he had two sons and five daughters, as follows: Colonel S.C. Oliver, Dr. H.K. Oliver, Jr., Sarah Elizabeth, who married Mr. Bartlett of Lawrence, and who died about four years ago, Emily Kemble, who is the wife of Colonel Andrews, U.S.A., Mary Evans Oliver, who has been the faithful attendant of the general in his declining years, and Ellen Wendell, who married Augustus Cheever of North Andover.
August 13.—Boxford, Mass. celebrated its bi-centennial. Among the addresses was one by Sidney Perley, author of the "History of Boxford from 1635 to 1880," who spoke particularly on the formative period of the history of Boxford, alluding to the fact that Boxford was a frontier in 1635 and was then a wilderness and the fighting ground of the Agawam and Tarantive Indians.
August 19.—Third annual meeting of the American Boynton Association held in Worcester, Mass. The Secretary said that he had been able to trace over three hundred families back to William and John Boynton, who settled in Rowley, Mass., in 1638. They came from Yorkshire, England, and the family there is traced back through thirty generations, to 1067, when their estate was confirmed to them by William, the Conqueror. It was reported that work is being pushed in the preparation of the family memorial to be published.
August 19.—Centennial of Heath, Franklin County, Mass, incorporated February 14, 1785. The celebration had been postponed to August for the sake of convenience. About 2,500 people attended the exercises. The principal addresses were by John H. Thompson, Esq., of Chicago, and Rev. C.E. Dickinson of Marietta, Ohio.
In describing these the SpringfieldRepublicansaid of the town:—
"In 1832 the population was 1300, but by the census just taken the town shows but 568 inhabitants. This decadence is attributable to emigration and the railroads. Its wealth has consisted chiefly in the men and women who have here been reared and educated for lives of usefulness. Indeed few towns of equal population have sent out so many who have honored themselves and their native town as Heath. Its Puritan characteristics have lingered like a sweet fragrance, and their influences are still felt. From this little hamlet have gone out into other fields a member of Congress, two judges, ten lawyers, thirteen ministers, twenty-nine physicians and many teachers; twenty-three natives have been college graduates, and thirty-eight, not natives have also been collegians. If the women have not occupied as public position as the men, they have been no less useful. Forty-five have graduated from various seminaries and several have become well known missionaries and teachers. It was in this town, too, that Dr. Holland spent his early life."
August 19.—Twelfth annual gathering of the Needham family, descendants of John Needham, who built the Needham homestead at the cross-roads known as Needham's Corner on the Lynnfield road at South Peabody, Mass. John Needham was famous in his day and generation as the builder of the solid old stone jail in Salem in 1813, the same massive structure which has just been remodeled. Back of him in the time of the Puritans, there were George Needham and his three brothers and a sister, who came to Salem very early in its infancy, and whose lineal descendants scattered all over New England, John Needham died in 1831 at the age of seventy-three. At the family gathering six generations were represented, and a large number of the branches of the family as well—the Needhams, the Newhalls, the Browns, the Stones, the Nourses, the Galencias and others.
August 26.—Centennial celebration of Rowe, Franklin County, Mass. Like Heath, the town was incorporated in February, 1785. The historical address was by Hon. Silas Bullard of Menasha, Wis.
W.T. Spear has just finished a history of North Adams which he has spent a long time in compiling. He has written the history of the town from the time of its settlement in 1749 to the present time, and says he has gleaned many facts from old town records which have never been published. He will publish his work in small book form and sell it at fifty cents a copy.
F. Wally Perkins, a topographical engineer in the employ of the United States coast and geographical service, is making a geographical survey of the Connecticut river from South Deerfield to its mouth. Part of the expense of this survey is borne by the government and the rest by the state, the object being to locate certain topographical and geological features in the valley.
It has not been definitely stated where in Boston the proposed statue of William Loyd Garrison will be placed, but it will either be in West Chester Park or Commonwealth avenue, with a preference for the latter. The city engineer is now engaged in making plans for the pedestal, which is to be of hammered Quincy granite, about ten feet in height. In the statue Mr. Garrison is represented sitting in an easy chair apparently at peace with all the world, the great struggle in which he was a prominent figure having been brought to an end. Beneath the chair lies a file of the Liberator, which suggests the iron will of the man in his conflict with slavery, and the strength of his purpose is further shown in the following inscription on the side of the pedestal "I am in earnest; I will not equivocate; I will not excuse; I will not retire a single inch; I will be heard."
The General Court has a double survival in the State Legislature and the town meeting. And the most curious part of this survival is that the Legislature of this State still retains some judicial functions. It is, we believe, the only State where this is the case. The Legislature of Massachusetts retains the name of the General Court, but contents itself with purely legislative work while our own Legislature is still Supreme Court in equity. This has descended to it as an inheritance from the General Court of colonial times.—New Haven (Conn.)News.
From the annual report of Major C.W. Raymond on the improvement of rivers and harbors in Massachusetts it appears that the cost of the improvement of Newburyport harbor during the year was $31,560, and $9,868 remains available. The object of the improvement is to create, at the outer bar, a permanent channel one thousand feet in width, with a least depth of seventeen feet at low water. The amount required for the completion of the project is $205,000, provided the entire sum is appropriated for the next fiscal year. It is proposed to expend the money in the rapid completion of the jetties already under construction.
The proceedings of the Bostonian Society at its annual meeting in January, 1885, have just been published in pamphlet form. It embraces much valuable data. The illustrations consist of a fine heliotype view of the Old State House, from the east end, the home of the Society; and a copy of its well-devised seal, in the heraldic coloring. The experiment of a cheap pamphlet giving a summary historical sketch of the Old State House has been successful, and another similar publication is contemplated.
Rebecca Nourse, who was the first person hanged as a witch at Salem, in 1692, notwithstanding her repeated affirmation of her innocence, has just had a monument erected by her descendants. On one side of it is the legend concerning her, and on the other these lines of the poet Whittier:—