He paused for a moment as he repeated the question, and then, in a slow, impressive manner, continued:
'It wus ole Cale—Cunnel Dawsey's Cale; an' dat good gemman dat take him in and pray ober him when he die—wusmymaster—yas, bless de Lord, he wusMYmaster!'
As Joe uttered these last words, Preston bowed his head, his wife sobbed aloud, and the black people gave out a low cry, as sad as the wail which their own mourners breathe over the dead. Fixing his eyes on a tall, stalwart negro in the audience, the preacher continued:
'An' he wusyou' fader, Jake! You fader, who, when he wus down yere, you 'bused, an' persecuted, an' treated like a dog, but who up dar am fought worthy to stand at de Saviour's right hand! Iknowsit wus him, fur I seed him, I talked wid him, an' he gabe me suffin' to tell you. Stand up now, an' yere what he hab to say.'
The black man's face assumed a dogged expression; he moved uneasily on his seat, but showed no inclination to rise. In a firm, imperious tone, Joe again called out to him:
'Stand up, I say! Folks like you' fader am now, don't talk to sech as you when dey'm sittin' down: stand up, or I'll gib you what Cunnel Dawsey neber gabe you in all you' life.'
The negro reluctantly rose. Every eye was fixed upon him as Joe continued:
'He ax me to say to you, Jake, dat he lubs you—lubs you bery much—dat he fully an' freely furgibs you fur all de wrong you eber done him; fur all de tears an' de sorrer you eber cause him. And he say to me: 'Tell Jake dat I'se been down dar an' seed him. I'se seed how he shirk his wuck; how he 'buse his wife an' chil'ren; how he hate his massa, an' mean to kill him—(dough his massa am hard on him, 'tain't no 'scuse fur dat). How he swar, an' lie, an' steal, an' teach all de oder brack folks to do de same. How he'm no fought ob his soul; no fought ob dyin'; no fought ob whar he'm gwine when de Lord's patience am clean worn out wid him. Tell him dat ef he gwo on dis way, he'll neber see his ole fader no more; neber see his ole mudder, an' his little brudders, who am up yere, too, no more; neber come to dis fine country, but be shet out inter outer darkness, whar am weepin' an' wailin' an' knashin' ob teeth. Oh! tell him dis, an 'treat him, by all his fader's keer fur him when he wus a chile; by all his lub fur him now; by all de goodness ob de Lord, who hab borne wid him fru all dese long years, to turn round—to turn round,NOW, an' sot his face towards dis blessed country, whar he kin hab joy foreber! Tell him, too, dat ef he'll do dis, dat his ole fader'll leab his happy home an' come down dar an' holp him; holp him at his wuck; holp him to bar ebery load; gib him strength when he'm weak; hole up his feet when he'm weary; watch ober him day and night, all de time, till he'm ready to come up yere, an' lib wid de Saviour foreber! Tell him—'
Joe paused, for a wild cry echoed through the building, and the negro fell in strong convulsions to the floor.
A scene of indescribable excitement and confusion followed, during which the black was carried out, and, more dead than alive, laid upon the ground. When quiet was somewhat restored, Preston made a short and feeling prayer, and then, after giving out a hymn, he dismissed the congregation with the usual benediction.
FOOTNOTES:[1]'Scrape' is the turpentine gathered from the face of the pine. On old trees, the yearly incision is made high above the boxes, and the sap, in flowing down, passes over and adheres to the previously scarified surface. It is thus exposed to the sun, which evaporates the more volatile and valuable portion, and leaves only the hard, which, when manufactured, is mostly rosin. 'Scrape' turpentine is only about half as valuable as 'dip.'[2]"Virgin" Turpentine is twice as valuable as "Dip."
[1]'Scrape' is the turpentine gathered from the face of the pine. On old trees, the yearly incision is made high above the boxes, and the sap, in flowing down, passes over and adheres to the previously scarified surface. It is thus exposed to the sun, which evaporates the more volatile and valuable portion, and leaves only the hard, which, when manufactured, is mostly rosin. 'Scrape' turpentine is only about half as valuable as 'dip.'
[1]'Scrape' is the turpentine gathered from the face of the pine. On old trees, the yearly incision is made high above the boxes, and the sap, in flowing down, passes over and adheres to the previously scarified surface. It is thus exposed to the sun, which evaporates the more volatile and valuable portion, and leaves only the hard, which, when manufactured, is mostly rosin. 'Scrape' turpentine is only about half as valuable as 'dip.'
[2]"Virgin" Turpentine is twice as valuable as "Dip."
[2]"Virgin" Turpentine is twice as valuable as "Dip."
The sturdy oak which is not prostrated by the storm that assails it is made thereby to take deeper hold, and to draw the sustenance for a larger growth from the torn and loosened soil into which it has opportunity to thrust new roots and tendrils. Reinvigorated by the resisted violence, its branches shoot upward to the skies and extend themselves laterally with majestic breadth. It gradually gains strength and becomes so firmly rooted in its place that it bids defiance to the repeated tempests vainly striving to overthrow it, and stands for centuries, sublime in its unconquerable might and proud endurance. Our noble Union, fiercely assailed in its early maturity, before its strength has been fully developed, now bends before the hurricane of civil war, swaying to and fro with fearful and threatening movements at every paroxysm of the tremendous blast. We look on with intense agony of suspense, to see whether it will stand the terrible ordeal, and outlive the unexampled convulsion of social elements in which its strength and endurance have been so sorely tested. Instinctively we know that if it survive the present momentous crisis, successfully resisting the attack of the enemy which assails it so furiously, its foundations will be immensely strengthened, and its power of resistance in future dangers will be indefinitely augmented. Prolonged and permanent existence, with assured security and repose, will be the best and most indisputable result of its triumph. Though shaken and torn by the deadly assault, and to a certain extent deprived of its usual resources, in the very effort of resistance it will have put forth new connections, which returning peace will multiply and strengthen. The immense demand on its energy and enterprise will have aroused all its slumbering capacities and stimulated them to the highest point of exertion. Under the necessity of self-preservation, the nation will have been fully awakened to a sense of its gigantic power, which, when employed in the benign pursuits of peace, will be sufficient speedily to restore its prosperity to even more than former splendor. The resources of our broad domain are so unbounded, and the courage and persistence of our people so indomitable, that even the sacrifices and losses of so great a war will make no serious impression on the destined career of this youthful and growing nation. So long as the vigor and elasticity of the popular force is not absolutely overpowered and suppressed, the reaction will only be so much the stronger for all the mighty pressure which has been placed upon it. Returning strength, so invigorated and redoubled by repose, will enable the people to bear the burden patiently, and within a comparatively brief period to throw it off entirely; and then they will bound forward with renewed energy in that race of unexampled progress which has been sadly interrupted, but not by any means wholly arrested.
If peace had continued, and especially if no civil war had occurred to desolate our country, the labors of the population would have been directed chiefly to the increase of wealth, and to the improvement which always accompanies material prosperity. It would be a monstrous error to say that the interruption of these occupations has not been a calamity of the most serious character. Yet is it not altogether unmixed with good. Indeed, it is by nomeans certain that, in the circumstances which gave rise to the war, there was not an actual necessity, of a moral nature, which made it on the whole advantageous to arouse the nation to this gigantic strife, and thus to exchange its ordinary struggle for wealth into a combat for a momentous principle. Is it questionable whether, in every case, the establishment of such a principle is not the most important of all objects, and whether every other pursuit and occupation ought not to be made secondary to it? In the sacrifices and sufferings which a nation undergoes for the sake of asserting an important moral or political truth, there is always a wholesome virtue that in some measure redeems the brutality and violence which are the inseparable accompaniments of all wars, and which peculiarly characterize the history of civil wars, in every age and country. It is not merely the elevated and unselfish sentiment of patriotism, as known in former ages, and expressed in the noble sentiment,dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, which, engenders lofty impulses and nourishes the rugged virtues of the soldier in the heart; but the still higher sentiment of love for humanity and universal freedom—a sentiment wholly unknown in what are called the heroic ages—sanctifies the labors, the wounds, and the glorious death of the martyrs who struggle and fall in such a contest. Men have often fought and willingly died in the cause of their country, regardless of the merits of the controversy between the opposing parties. There is a certain manliness and devotion to others in this species of patriotism, which commands respect and admiration; and this feeling of approbation rises still higher when the cause of the nation is undeniably just, and the self-sacrificing patriot is giving his life for the purchase of liberty to his country. But the highest and noblest of all exhibitions is that in which the sacrifice is made for the good of the race—for principles in which all men are alike interested, and in which the martyr can claim no peculiar advantage to himself or to his own branch of the human family. The nation which accepts war for such a cause, and wages it with all her means and energies, exhibits a moral grandeur which, in spite of misfortune, has a saving power, capable of overcoming and compensating all calamities, of whatever nature and extent. That nation cannot be overthrown—not unless the laws of the Most High himself can be subverted, and the right be made permanently to succumb to the wrong. Let it be understood, however, that this assertion is made only with reference to wars which are essentially defensive; for no nation has the right to propagate even the best and noblest principles by the power of the sword. In our case, it is true, other motives concur in moving the nation to this tremendous struggle. Not merely the rights and interests of an inferior, degraded, and suffering race appeal to our humanity; but the unity and greatness of our country, its influence abroad, and its success and prosperity at home, are all involved. It is one of many instances in which the best and highest impulses of our nature are reënforced by the dictates of the noblest and most elevated of human interests—the interests of a nation, of a continent, yea, of the world itself; for our gates are still open to the ingress of our brothers from abroad, and our immense and fertile domain, as well as our priceless institutions, are freely offered to their participation.
But, aside from the principles involved in the war, there are results of an interesting character springing from it, which are well worthy the attention of the statesman and the patriot. Two very opposite effects are produced on the minds of the men engaged in such a contest as this, or, indeed, in any contest of arms whatever, when it assumes the proportions of a regular war. The volunteering of our young men of allclasses, in numbers so immense, is an extraordinary phenomenon. These soldiers by choice, many of them educated and intelligent, and impelled by deliberate considerations of principle, willingly undergo the hard labor of military training, of marches and campaigns, and the still more trying inactivity of life in camps and fortresses, in new and unfriendly regions and climates. They fearlessly face death in every ghastly form, on the battle field, by exposure in all seasons, by physical exhaustion, and by the most dreadful contagious diseases. They devote themselves unreservedly to the great cause, and in doing so exhibit the noblest spirit of self-sacrifice, and that on the grandest scale presented in history. Fortitude and courage, contempt of the most appalling dangers, disregard of suffering and privation, wounds, mutilation, and lingering death—these are the habits of soul which our citizen soldiers cultivate, and which tend to strengthen and harden the character, and to give it great moral force. The great qualities thus nurtured in the bosom of the multitudes destined soon to return to peaceful life will assuredly make a powerful impression on the whole society, which must be thoroughly pervaded with the manly virtues thence destined to be infused into it. Every man who has been conspicuous for his soldierly conduct and for the faithful performance of duty will be an object of general respect, though he may have passed unscathed through the fiery ordeal; while every maimed and wounded citizen will be regarded as bearing on his person, in his honorable scars and deficient limbs, the decorations which exalt and ennoble him in the eyes of his countrymen. Many a chivalrous deed will be recounted with pride and satisfaction, and handed down to immortality by the pen of history and poetry, and by the pencil and chisel of art. Even the undistinguished services of those who have fought in the war for the Union, and who have passed unchallenged through the fiery ordeal, will be cherished by their children, and transmitted to their remoter posterity with patriotic pride and pardonable self-satisfaction. Thus the glory of noble deeds in this memorable war will everywhere shed its lustre on the national character, and will tend to stimulate the loftiest virtues in the present and succeeding generations.
But, on the other hand, the unavoidable dissipation of military life, the vices of the camp, the brutality and want of moral sensibility engendered by the necessity of slaughter and the horrible ravages of war, will tend largely to counteract the good results already noted. Those who may be nobly disdainful of their own sufferings, will sometimes be even more regardless of the sufferings of others; and perhaps sometimes, with the natural perversion of human passion effected by civil war, will seek to avenge their own misfortunes by ungenerous rigor and cruelty toward all within their power, suspected of favoring the enemy only in thought or sentiment. Even this imperfect discrimination is too often altogether omitted, and innocent loyalty is made to suffer losses and severities which ought never to be visited on non-combatants, even though they be of the enemy. The fearful disregard of human life, and of the accumulations of human labor in the shape of property, which marks the movements of our armies in almost all quarters, and even distinguishes the conduct of some of our high officials, constitutes one of the most serious evils which attend the contest, and which will leave their natural consequences as a permanent injury to the nation. The record of these misdeeds, now disregarded in the hurry and excitement of the conflict, will hereafter confront us with terrible effect. The bad acts themselves will long continue to bear fruit after their kind, and to scatter the seeds of vice over the land. Such drawbacks, however, accompany more orless all great military operations, no matter how sacred the cause in which armies are engaged. Yet, we fear, no such example of generous and unselfish devotion to a holy cause can be found in our present experience as was exhibited by the French people in their violent and bloody revolution of 1789. The mercenary spirit has largely infected the military as well as the civil agencies of our Government. But a people struggling for great principles are compelled to use such instruments as may be at its command; and if the material of armies and their connections in civil life be often of a character to be degraded rather than elevated by the employments and experiences of war, it is nevertheless certain that these bad effects do not always, perhaps not generally, outweigh and overpower the good.
History does not present another example of large armies made up of such men as those who now constitute the defenders of the Union. For intelligence and moral worth, they are unsurpassed by the masses of any population in the civilized world, and certainly they are far superior in all respects to those usually constituting the armies of other nations. To our shame and regret, there are certainly some exceptions to this statement; but these are comparatively few, and mostly confined to those who have not enjoyed the full advantage of our noble system of universal education. In many instances, the best young men in the land have gone into the army as privates; while in the rural districts and from the Western States, the very bone and sinew of the population—the sober, steady, intelligent, industrious, and prosperous part of the people—have taken up arms in the cause of the Union, from a deliberate approval of the policy of the war on our part, and from the noblest and most unselfish motives of patriotism. The preponderance of such men in our armies evidently makes them, on the whole, susceptible to the good, rather than to the bad influences of war. Reflection, self-respect, rational views of the causes and objects of the war, and elevated motives of action, cannot fail to bring those who possess these qualities all the benefits of self-denial, of patriotic labor willingly expended, and of sacrifices made and sufferings endured in a good and noble cause. The mental cultivation and moral training of the American citizen constitute a shield, from whose solid and polished surface the missiles of temptation, which easily penetrate other defences, usually glance or rebound with harmless effect. The carnage of the battle field, the bombardment and capture of cities, and the ravages of armies, marching or in camp, which too often harden the hearts and blunt the sensibilities of the ordinary soldier, have no such effect, or, at least, a much less effect, in this particular, on the minds of humane and educated men. Hence we may fairly anticipate that the influence of this war on the men who compose the army, and who must sooner or later return to the occupations they have temporarily left, will be of a far better character than that of any war ever hitherto waged in any part of the world. No such conditions have ever heretofore existed in reference to any great national contest. Our immense volunteer army, so largely composed of intelligent and respectable men—men who are fully capable, and entitled by their votes, to influence the great measures of war or peace—presents a spectacle new and wholly unexampled in history; and the consequences of our contest to the moral and social condition of the people will be correspondingly unusual and important. We may safely assume from these considerations that the good will preponderate over the bad.
There is, however, another species of influence of a more questionable character, which is worthy of consideration in any attempt to anticipate the consequences of this extraordinary rebellion. The nature of our institutions renders them accessible to popular impulses at very brief intervals of time; and it may well be expected, that, after the conclusion of the war, especially if it be successful, a sentiment nearly universal will prevail in favor of the elevation of the men who have been conspicuous in the military service. There will be a disposition to reward the successful soldier with civic honors, and to place the conduct of the Government in the hands of men who have exhibited only a capacity to lead and handle armies. The power of the military men will in this way be prolonged. Doubtless, a great soldier may be expected to show large executive abilities, and with proper experience may well be intrusted with the management of the highest offices in our country. There are times and occasions, of which the present is a most memorable instance, when the peculiar capacities of a great military leader would be of infinite service to the cause of freedom and humanity, provided, at the same time, he should possess undoubted integrity and patriotism, without any mixture of bad ambition. A Washington, or a Jackson, in the Presidential chair at the commencement of this rebellion, would have been of inestimable value to our country, outweighing the importance of mighty armies and countless treasure; for the value both of men and money, in such emergencies, depends wholly on the skill and wisdom with which they are used and directed. If God had vouchsafed us one grand will to control the human tempest now raging around us, our noble country would have been saved from many calamities and much disgrace, such as will require hard labor and heavy sacrifices to overcome.
It is not, therefore, the probability that military men may frequently be elevated to high office that need give any apprehension to the lover of his country. But it is the almost certain prevalence of a blind and undistinguishing sentiment of caste, which will seek to control the elections in favor of the soldier under all circumstances, whether fit or unfit for the position sought. We are likely to have soldiers in all the executive offices, soldiers in the diplomatic service, in the legislative halls, and even on the bench. The danger is that the popular enthusiasm in favor of those who have served in the war will go to the extent of substituting gallantry and good conduct in the field for those very different qualifications demanded in responsible civil stations. A wound received, or a limb lost, will, in many instances, constitute a stronger recommendation for political preferment than long experience, coupled with ability and high character. This disposition to reward those who have faithfully served the country in time of war is an amiable characteristic of the American people, and proves that, in this particular at least, republics are not ungrateful. But it is clear, at the same time, that the public gratitude, thus turned into political channels, may be productive of great evil, by lowering the character of the men employed in performing public functions of importance. Already the results of our elective system have become the subject of intense anxiety in the minds of reflecting men. Notwithstanding the extensive provision made for the education of our people, of the universality and efficiency of which we justly boast, an almost equal extension of the elective franchise has not tended to improve the wisdom of the popular choice, or the character and qualifications of the men selected in latter times to fill high public offices. So seriously is this truth felt, that it is now a political problem of the first importance to devise some means by which the frequent elections in our country may be made to work more certainly and uniformly to the elevation of good and able men, who now too often shun rather than seek employment in the national service. If this indispensable improvement cannot be accomplished, our institutions are in danger of falling into contempt, as exhibiting no very great advance on the old modes of hereditary designation of political functionaries. The party machinery of the present day, adapted chiefly to the purpose of availability and the means of securing success at all hazards, is mostly responsible for the degeneracy which unquestionably characterizes the public men of this day, in comparison with those who in former times filled the same high stations. In view of these facts, it may be that the military regime about to be ushered in as a consequence of the great existing war, will of itself be an improvement, since it must be acknowledged there is some merit in the devotion and sacrifices of those who fight the battles of the Union, while it is notorious that corrupt political parties too frequently select and reward their leaders without regard to merit at all.
It may be said that there is inconsistency and contradiction in the views presented, inasmuch as the claim for remarkable intelligence and superiority in the rank and file of the army would imply too much patriotism and self-sacrifice to admit of the consequences suggested. But we must remember the immense numbers of our army, its large proportion to the whole population, theesprit de corpsso naturally engendered in such a body, and the powerful influence it may wield by turning the scale in our inveterate and often nicely balanced partisan contests. We must also take into consideration that well known principle of human nature, as old as government itself, which seems to impel all men possessing irresponsible power to abuse it, and employ it for their own selfish advantage. This is peculiarly the case withclasseswhich gain ascendency, as such, over the other parts of the community. Political parties in our country will surely not fail to seek alliance with the citizen soldiers at the close of the war, and to secure success by all the arts and devices which can be made available to that end. But let us hope the good sense and patriotism of our young men, their moderation and self-control, will be as conspicuous in future political campaigns, as in those more glorious ones which are yet destined to overthrow our enemies and restore our inestimable Union to its former greatness.
But it is not our purpose to confine these remarks to the loyal States and the Union armies; nor is it at all paradoxical to extend them to the region and the population controlled by the rebel government. Every good citizen, having confidence in the supremacy of right and the destiny of our country, anticipates the reunion of the States at the conclusion of the war. The bulk of the Southern army must likewise return to society, and carry with it such influence as it may derive from the peculiar character of its cause, the motives by which it is animated, and the acts, good or bad, noble or mean, which it may perform. It cannot be denied that the soldiers of the rebel army have exhibited the highest personal qualities, of daring courage, skilful enterprise, patient endurance, and the most indomitable perseverance, under difficulties apparently insuperable. Their cause is bad. The impartial judgment of mankind will pronounce it so, when the passions of the hour shall have completely subsided. But the masses of the Southern people evidently do not take this view of the war they are waging against the Government which has so long protected them, and under which they have acquired all the strength they are now ungratefully using to overthrow it. They have been artfully misled into the belief that they are engaged in a war altogether defensive—that they are fightingpro aris et focis—in short, that they have given themselves up to the holiest work which any people can ever be called on to undertake. Doubtless, in frequent instances, and sometimes among considerable populations, different sentiments prevail and have been entertained from the beginning. A glimmering of the truth may occasionally dawn on the minds of those who went into the contest with entire confidence in the justice of their cause. But on the whole it is vain to deny the sincerity and the deep convictions of the Southern people. Nothing less than these could have sustained them in the appalling difficulties of their position. No people ever conducted a more brilliant and successful defensive war against the vast odds, on land and sea, with which they have had to contend. Let us be sufficiently magnanimous to confess the truth, unpleasant though it be, and acknowledge that they have hitherto outmanaged us in the general conduct of the war. They have exhibited an earnestness and determination, a gallantry and devotion, worthy of the highest purposes that ever call forth the energy of struggling nations. It is vain to say they are compelled by a military despotism; for, however strong and arbitrary their government may be, it evidently rests upon the support of the people, and it could never continue the present contest against popular disaffection at home joined with the mighty invading armies of the Union.
What then are to be the results of great efforts and sacrifices in a cause which, though we believe it to be bad, they consider holy? Are their chivalrous deeds to be less ennobling to the character of Southern men, than similar ones, springing from like motives, on the part of our armies? It is the motive which gives character to all actions, and mistake or error of the most perverse kind, when arising from honest conviction, cannot alter the merit of what is done or suffered. If it be said that the assumed convictions of the Southern people are incredible, it is only necessary to look back a few centuries, in order to see the whole Christian world entertaining sentiments equally abhorrent to the enlightened conscience of the present day. The universal participation in the slave trade, and the horrible persecutions for religious heresy, which everywhere prevailed, are sad evidences of the possibility of indulging the most disastrous errors with perfect sincerity. Besides, if we consider how great a diversity of opinion prevails among the people of the loyal States, on the subject of the rebellion and its causes, it will require no great degree of credulity to induce the belief that the Southern people are impelled by deep convictions in their present struggle.
Failure and defeat on their part will cast the usual discredit on the cause which is overthrown; and in this case we do not entertain a doubt that ultimately the right will prevail, and that the discomfiture and disgrace will fall where justice would require. Men will be deeply mortified to find themselves utterly overcome, and all their brave deeds and their magnanimous sacrifices and sufferings expended in a failing and a bad cause. It will be their great misfortune that serious reflection and conviction should come to them only after these great events, and when it is too late to recall them. But it is the peculiar characteristic of contests like this, that they do eventually make clear the subjects of dispute in which they originate. All the wranglings of politicians, and all the learning and logic of contending theologians in divided churches, could never accomplish the speedy and thorough decision of contested questions which will follow this tremendous war. Bold and extra-constitutional expedients necessarily grow out of the prevailing violence. They will soon test the possibility of measures which are too great for ordinary times, and will push the existing tendencies toward fundamental change into sudden and premature development.
Physical strength and success in war are by no means fair tests of truth andprinciple; but in the present contest, such is the condition of our country and the character of its relations with the civilized world that, if the Union shall be restored to its former integrity, the result will give strong evidence of the righteousness of our cause. Such are the temptations to foreign interference, and such the evident disposition of the ruling dynasties in some powerful nations to destroy the influence and example of this great republic, as well as to break down her rivalry in commerce and manufactures, that nothing but a holy cause, appealing to the moral sense of mankind, could prevent the natural alliance between despotism abroad and the kindred system in the South which seeks to establish its tyranny on the ruins of our Government. Besides, the diverging systems of policy in the two sections have carried on their struggle for more than a quarter of a century, under conditions which make it demonstrable that their present inequality of strength and means is the direct consequence of these divergencies. Their long-continued emulation, passing through all the stages of envy, hatred, and political contention, has finally culminated in bloody civil war; and from the peculiar circumstances of the case, the termination of the contest, if the parties be left to themselves, will fully and fairly test the physical strength and moral force of the contending principles. The better principle, by virtue of its superior growth, will overthrow the worse and weaker one, which has relatively declined in power throughout all the long contest between the two. Enlightened convictions will grow up as the mighty conflict subsides; and institutions will be modified in conformity with the truths which are destined to appear through the blaze and smoke of battle.
Heaven forbid that we should confound moral distinctions, and place treason and rebellion on the same footing with patriotic devotion to the cause of Union and liberty. Political and moral errors, however innocent in intention, stand on the same footing, as to their consequences, with all other violations of natural law. They bring retribution inevitable; nor can the blind and ignorant partisan of wrong entirely escape the shame of his misconduct, on the ground of erroneous judgment. But let us not arrogate to ourselves a superiority of virtue, which in reality we have no just right to claim. Are we sure that, even on our side, which we consider that of truth and humanity, all our individual motives are up to the level of the great principles involved? Are we not rather, to some extent, the blind instruments of social causes, stronger than our own will, and while seeming to follow the inclination of our own enlightened minds, are we not impelled by passion and ambition in the inevitable direction indicated, and even necessitated, by the circumstances surrounding us? Are not similar influences operating on the Southern mind, and forcing it, with a compulsion equally inexorable, into the fatal current of civil war? With the masses on both sides, this is undoubtedly true. Whole communities do not engage in such disastrous strife in mere wantonness and wicked advocacy of a bad cause. Either their judgment is distorted, or their passions aroused to such an extent as to render them utterly blind to the true nature of the principles involved, and to make them believe they are acting, under the strongest provocation, for the defence of their honor, their interests, and their acknowledged rights. Every liberal mind will readily concede the existence of these sentiments and motives.
But suppose the war ended by the overthrow of the rebellion and the restoration of the Federal authority: what is to be the effect in those States which have been the theatre of the great conspiracy, whence have issued all the mighty armies which have assailed so fiercely the Constitution and Government of our fathers? Will the men who have shed their blood freely to destroy the Union ever again be brought to sustain it with sincerity and zeal? Can they be expected to acknowledge their profound error, and receive again heartily to their affections and willing obedience the authority which they have so haughtily spurned and sought to smite with utter destruction? This is a momentous question. It is the most important which can be presented to the country at the moment of its anticipated triumph, when the fearful clash of arms is about to subside and give place to the serious labor of conciliation and reconstruction. To conquer the rebellion will be, at least, to make all its aims utterly hopeless. Failure and disaster will be forever stamped upon the ideas on which the revolution has been founded, and they, with their inspiration, good or bad, will be permanently overthrown, together with the men who have used them so efficiently for the inauguration and continuance of this tremendous strife. There is wonderful power in the success of an idea, as there is a corresponding influence in the utter overthrow of its physical manifestations and efforts. A cause rendered hopeless by defeat ceases to sustain the passions which it has excited, under the influence of which it has made itself respectable and powerful. If it be founded in truth and right, it will have within itself the elements of resuscitation, and it can never become altogether hopeless. But if it have no such basis of substantial truth, its failure once is for all time. The hearts of men cannot long cling to such a cause. Its traditions even become odious, and the effort will be to ignore and forget its incidents, and to escape the discredit of having participated in its ambitious struggles.
But to conquer the rebellion is not to subjugate the South. This is a distinction of the utmost importance in attempting to estimate the consequences of the great struggle. So far from the subjugation of the Southern people resulting, in any contingency, the success of the Union arms must be their regeneration and redemption. To overthrow the confederate government will be only to relieve the people from its grasp, and to reinstate them in the rights and liberties which they have hitherto enjoyed. A combination of force, fraud, and self-delusion has sustained the power of the rebel dynasty, and enabled it to wield the influence and authority of the whole people of the seceding States, with some few remarkable exceptions. To break up this combination will do more than merely defeat a hostile power: it will, in effect, annihilate the whole vicious organization, and leave its elements free to engage in other combinations, more in accordance with right, and better calculated to secure success and prosperity. It is not unreasonable to anticipate that they will eventually resume their former relations with the Federal Government, as most conducive to these ends. There are some men, perhaps one whole class, who can never escape the responsibility of all the overwhelming evils and calamities which the war has brought upon the South. The cordial acquiescence of these can hardly be anticipated; but their power will be completely destroyed, and the people may well be expected to disregard their murmurs and complaints. Indeed, it is not altogether unlikely that an injured and exasperated people may turn on the authors of their ruin, and wreak upon them a fearful vengeance, so far, at least, as to ostracize and banish them forever from the land they have blighted and destroyed. The masses of the people, holding few or no slaves, though involved in the war by force of the general delusion into which they have been artfully inveigled, will not consider themselves responsible for its consequences; they will rather look on themselves as the victims of designingmen, who, for selfish purposes, have partly seduced and partly impelled them into the perils and disasters of a gigantic but fruitless rebellion. This state of feeling will leave the minds of the Southern people in a condition to estimate fairly their own relations to the rebellion, and their obligations to the Union, which again calls them, with paternal tenderness, to its generous confidence and magnanimous protection. They will have no cause for apprehension that their restoration to good fellowship and perfect equality will not be complete and free from all unfriendly reservations.
But this influence will not operate on those alone who have few or no slaves, comprehending the great mass of whites: it will exert itself more notably on the large body of slaves themselves. This is an element in the calculation which, humble though it be, cannot be overlooked without great error in the results. A fundamental change will take place in the condition of the blacks. They will be emancipated, either gradually and safely, or with violent precipitation, with all its evils and disasters. Yet, however the decree may come, whether by the sudden blow of military power, or by the free and cheerful coöperation of the States and their people, the measure itself will be plainly the result of the rebellion, as met by the firm and noble stand assumed by the Federal Government, and maintained at so great a cost of treasure and of precious lives. The Government which, out of civil war and chaotic strife, brings such advantages—out of calamity and danger educes such blessings of security and progress will be entitled to the unbounded gratitude of those who will be the chief gainers by its policy. But experience will soon teach the whites that they will be equal gainers in the end; and, in time, we may justly expect not only their cheerful acquiescence, but their renewed allegiance and ardent support to the Federal authorities.
When you contract for boots and shoes,Be not contracted in your views.When you agree to clothe the body,Expand your soul and flee from shoddy.No soul the difference can see'Twixt chico-rye and chicoree.'Tis wise to feed the soldier well:For reasonwhy—see Dante's 'Hell.'
When you contract for boots and shoes,Be not contracted in your views.
When you agree to clothe the body,Expand your soul and flee from shoddy.
No soul the difference can see'Twixt chico-rye and chicoree.
'Tis wise to feed the soldier well:For reasonwhy—see Dante's 'Hell.'
The genial pen of Mr. Leland has found an attractive theme in the title of this curious and suggestive volume. Without the formality of an inexorable system, it is written from the impulses of a large and sympathetic nature, more accustomed to the acute observation of details than to exact and rigid generalizations, but sending free and penetrating glances beneath the surface of social life, and presenting a variety of sagacious hints and comments, often admirable for their quaint, original illustrations, and seldom destitute of an important ethical bearing and significance.
In the composition of this work, Mr. Leland has aimed at the defence of that view of life which combines a cheerful earnestness of purpose with manly energy of action, as opposed to the melancholic, whining, lachrymose spirit, which has been affected by certain popular modern poets, and, through their vicious example, has been cherished as one of the essential qualities of genius. Of this style of character Mr. Leland has not the slightest degree of tolerance. Its manifestations are all abominable in his eyes, and unsavory in his nostrils. He cannot endure its presence; he regards its exercise as a nuisance: its permission in the plan of a kindly Providence is a mystery.
The influence of a morbid melancholy, whether affected or genuine, in the literature of the United States, is justly a matter of surprise and lamentation with the author. The American mind, as he remarks, has doubtless a strong tendency to humor. It delights in the expression of a mischievous irony or good-natured sarcasm. The querulous wailings which are the stock in trade of a certain class of writers are unnatural and discordant sounds. We should expect rather a serene and cheerful melody from a young and brave-hearted race, which is in intimate relations with the external world. Instead of this, we have sucked in with the milk of our Puritan mothers a forlorn and sorrowful spirit. We celebrate our festivals with a sad countenance. We attempt to make merry by singing dismal psalms. We weave our woes into poetry, and expand our wretchedness in plaintive declamations.
This is a wide departure from the genius of Christianity, as well as from the healthy instincts of humanity. In the first ages after Christ, the newborn element of thought was a pure and beautiful spring, bubbling up from the moss-grown ruins of the temple of heathendom. A hopeful, joyous tone is indicated in the symbols of the early faith preserved in the Vatican. It contained the germ of republican freedom and of a benign and beneficent civilization. But it was driven by political convulsions toward the East, and returned in the melancholy robes of the dreamy and morbid oriental. It learned from Indian fakirs that laughter was a sin, that misery was meritorious, that the hatred of beauty and joy was a virtue in the sight of Heaven. The early Christians were imbued with the sentiment of moral grandeur and loveliness; they represented Christ our Lord as the fair ideal of humanity; but a darker age decreed that his form should be meagre and homely—misled by those pagan Syrian pictures, which still disfigure the churches in Russia, and whose original may be found in the avatars of violence, modified by old Persian influence. From the seventh to the twelfth century, the tendency toasceticism was rampant. Beauty was proscribed as a temptation of the devil; deformed and crooked limbs were ranked among the beatitudes; even dirt was apotheosized, and, as a consequence, millions of men were mowed down by unheard-of forms of disease. Humanity did not submit to this rule of austerity and torture without a struggle. There was often a brave, vigorous resistance. A lively protest was uttered in the joyous strains of the troubadours and minnesingers. The glad spirit of nature could not be wholly suppressed, and from amid the social oppressions of the times sweet voices fell upon the ear, celebrating the praises of woman, the love of beauty, and the joyousness of life.
But, according to our author, none of the great names in literature have ever proclaimed the evangel of cheerfulness in all its health and purity. The world as yet has never been fit to receive it. Years may pass before it will be fully unfolded. Society is still in its earliest March spring. The fresh winds which blow are still wild and chill; the nights are long and dreary; and during these gloomy hours, the ancient crone still relates horrible legends to believing ears. If the elder or wiser ones only half believe them, most of the listeners still shiver at their weird, grotesque poetry, and when they make new songs for themselves, the old demoniac strains still linger on the air, showing the origin of their earliest lays.
In order to illustrate the lack of true joyousness in the literature of the world, Mr. Leland takes a rapid survey of some of the most distinguished writers in ancient and modern times. Aristophanes, he maintains, did not possess the genuine element in question. Allowing the claims of the great satirist to genius, he had not reached the perennial springs of cheerfulness in the depths of the human soul. In his gayest arabesques, we trace the eternal line of life, but the deep, monotonous echo of death is always nigh. He still had the sorrows which grieve the strong humorist of every age. He could not escape the deep woe of seeing social right and human happiness trodden under foot by tyranny; and folly and ignorance, pain and sorrow were the great foundation stones on which the gay temple of Grecian beauty was built. For every free citizen who wandered through the groves of the Academy, holding high converse with Plato, and revelling in the enjoyment of the divinest beauty in nature and art, there was an untold multitude of slaves and barbarians, into whose lives was crowded every element of bitterness.
But surely, the great sage of humor, glorious Father Rabelais, of later days, was an exception to the prevailing rule of joyousness in literature? Not at all, contends our author. To the young mind which hungers for truth and joy, there is something irresistibly fascinating and persuasive in the jolly philosophy and reckless worldly wisdom of Rabelais. But after all, it will not do. It is anything but attainable by most of the world. It demands good cheer and jovial company. But it dies out in the desert, and is stifled among simple, vulgar associates. Rabelais believed that he sacrificed to freedom, when he only worshipped fortune. He went through the world, familiar with the ways of princes and peers, priests and peasants, travelling in many lands, exhausting the resources of art and learning, seeing through the sins and shams and sorrows of life, and laughing at everything, like a good-natured, large-hearted Mephistopheles. But he had never learned the true philosophy of joyousness in the sincere love of nature, the deep phases of humanity, and the affluence and purity of strong affection.
Nor do we find a better specimen in the renowned English humorists, Sterne and Swift. The former closely follows his French prototype in grotesque fancies: he abounds in tender and delicate pathos, though in the highest degree artificial and forced; but do we ever arise from reading him, like a giant refreshed by wine? Sterne, in fact, has even less of the true philosophy of life than Rabelais. He affords no stimulant to joyous, healthy action, awakens no impulse to gladden life, or to make sorrow less and hope greater. It may be all very touching, very comic, very ingenious, but it is not healthy or joyous. And Swift? An immense fund of laughter, doubtless, had the witty Irish dean; but as little claim to be a joyous writer as the prophet Jeremiah, or the author of 'Groans from the Bottomless Pit.' The men who have been spoken of dealt largely in satire and humor; but joyousness deals in infinitely more. Mirth and laughter are all very well, but they are not all in all. Cheerfulness requires something more than a well-balanced Rabelaisian nonchalance in adversity and a keen relish for all pleasure.
The relation of Christianity to the theme of the volume presents a delicate, and, it may be thought, a dangerous topic of discussion, for a so decidedly secular pen as Mr. Leland's; but he touches upon it with freedom and boldness, though with frankest sympathy and reverence for the great Spirit, whose religion is the most significant fact in the history of the world. 'I must confess,' says he, 'that even regarded from a material and historical point alone, that is a poor, cowardly soul, which does not feel the deepest earnestness of truth in acknowledging the Wonderful One, Jesus Christ, as the Lord and Saviour of the whole world.' His sublime soul, profound, universal, loving beyond all power of human conception, introduced a new era for humanity. Under his teaching, philosophy became indeed truly divine, for it became infinite, and was thrown open to all. He first of all opened the consolations of free thought, of freedom from old superstition, of love, and strength, and inward joy, to the whole race of mankind. No narrow limits of sect or caste or nationality cramped him, the first great Cosmopolite. We cannot sufficiently admire the infinite adaptability, the universal knowledge of humanity, the boundless sympathy with man, which are everywhere manifest in the original Christian philosophy of life. What a depth of meaning in the symbolic bread and wine, typical of the life which flows through eternity and all its changes, of human love and birth and death, of bounteous, beautiful nature, with its continually renewed strength—the whole given, not in funereal guise, not with sombre fasting, but as a joyous feast.
The New Testament abounds in symbols, parables, and proverbs, taken from ancient tradition, but beautifully woven into a purer faith, which taught that the healthy joys of life, and all knowledge of divine truth, should be given not to a few kings or priests, a few favored with initiation into divine mysteries, as of old, but to the whole world; for the spirit of Christianity was identical with the genius of republicanism. As taught by our Lord Jesus Christ, it was eminently healthy, brave-hearted, and joyous. It did not commend celibacy, nor excess of fasting, nor too long prayers, nor righteousness overmuch. It did not approve of a plethora of outward goods, while the culture of our highest faculties was neglected. It condemned all excess of care, even in our daily duties, at the expense of that 'better part' which distinguishes us from mere ants or bees. It gave no warrant for the dismal dirges and melancholy groans which are raised in its name, by men whom Jesus would have been the first to reprove. 'It was a religion of life and of beauty, of friendship and temperate mirth, of love, truth, and manliness; one which opposed neither feasting at weddings nor "going a fishing."'
The temptation to find a refuge from the evils of life in active exertion, instead of cultivating the sources of joy in our own nature, is the subject of aningenious and striking chapter. In a land, where enjoyment in many minds is connected with a sense of sin, it is doubtless better that the overflowing energy of character, which is a trait of the population, should seek vent in the excitements of labor, than in poisonous liquors, horse races, politics, and the gaming table. Where the natural support of life is wanting, partial methods of relief may be employed. He who can no longer swallow, may gain an imperfect nourishment by means of baths, or artificial transmission. So, the grim and hardened soul, which has lost the support of inward cheerfulness, may find strength in work, merely for the sake of work. But it is a fraud upon humanity to educate men solely as industrious animals. Hives are beautiful, honey is sweet, and wonderful is the cunning structure of the cell; but society is not a hive, nor the people bees. The day is dawning when it will be understood that cheerful songs are as essential to genuine manhood as work; that labor is not to be borne as a curse, with sighs and groans; but combined with mental culture, will become capable of self-support, and will supply its own enthusiasm.
The great problem of the age is the union of beauty with practical uses. In their highest forms, art and science blend and become identical, just as the Beautiful and the Good assimilate, as we trace them to their source in Truth. While art becomes more practical, it loses none of its beauty. In the infancy of science, it was mainly devoted to the illustration of the fanciful and ornamental. Even architecture, in the early ages, looked less to permanent comfort than to artistic effect. But everything now tends to realization. Poetry and art fall in with this influence of the age. Science is every day taking man away from the purely ideal, the morbid and visionary; from the fond fancies of old eras, and leading him to facts and to nature.
Mr. Leland never becomes formal or spiritless in the treatment of his favorite topics, and often rises to a high degree of enthusiastic eloquence. Witness the following noble appeal in behalf of a cheerful earnestness in the cultivation of literature and art: