FOOTNOTES:[12]See account of the 'Prince's Ball,' given in New York, some time during the last century.
[12]See account of the 'Prince's Ball,' given in New York, some time during the last century.
[12]See account of the 'Prince's Ball,' given in New York, some time during the last century.
The following work is from the pen of Clementina Tauska, probably the most celebrated among the female writers of Poland. Her talents and judgment were so highly appreciated by her native country, that she was appointed to the superintendence of all the Polish schools for young ladies, as also to that of the large establishment at Warsaw devoted to the education of governesses.
The Diary of Frances Krasinska paints in the most lively manner the usages, manners, and customs of Poland during the eighteenth century, and possesses the charm of childlikenaiveté, united to acute observation and deep feeling. The authoress has seized upon all that is peculiar and picturesque surrounding the heroine, and has laid bare before us a woman's heart in all its strength and weakness, its love and ambition, its joys and sorrows.
Frances Krasinska, the daughter of a noble house, was allied in various ways during her life to many distinguished personages, whose names fill a considerable space in the contemporaneous annals of Poland. Remarkable for her beauty and intellect, she excited a passionate admiration in the bosom of Charles, duke of Courland, prince royal, and son of the king of Poland, Augustus III, elector of Saxony. This attachment, with its consequences, awakened a lively interest, not only among the Poles, but also in the various foreign courts.
The castle of Maleszow, where Frances was born, was situated in the ancient palatinate of Sandomir, now that of Cracow. It is said to have been a very splendid mansion, and may still be remembered by a few aged persons, the actual building being no longer in existence. The journal commences at Maleszow, and continues through the most eventful period of the heroine's life, principally in and near Warsaw.
Translator.
[We are happy to be able to offer to the readers ofThe Continental, an excellent translation of this characteristic work, especially noteworthy at the present time, when Poland is once more engaged in a struggle for independence, and occupies so important a position in the political adjustment of the civilized world.—Eds. Continental.]
Castle of Maleszow,Monday,January 1st, 1759.
Last Christmas day, only a week ago, my father commanded a large volume to be brought him, in which he inscribed with his own hand various public and private acts; the book is a medley of speeches, public documents, letters, poetry, bonmots, etc., all arranged in order according to their dates. This custom prevails among nearly all the Polish nobility. My father showed us these records, and even read some of them aloud to us. I can write quite well in both French and Polish, and as I am not at all averse to the use of my pen, I think I might keep a journal; I have been told that many of the women in France do so, and why should I not follow their example?
I have bound together quite a large volume of blank sheets, which I will fill with my thoughts as they arise, with minute accounts of all that concerns me or my family, without omitting public matters. My father, a grave and serious man, regards little else than the latter; but I, a very ignorant young girl, may be permitted to follow the dictates of my fancy, and the capricious guidance of my imagination; at least there shall be neither pretension nor affectation.
To-day brings a new year, and is truly an excellent time for commencing my journal. In this castle there will be no want of leisure. We have already said our morning prayers, and I will finish my spiritual reading during vespers. It has just struck ten, and I am dressed for the day, including the arrangement of my hair. I have consequently two spare hours before dinner. I will note down to-day my reflections upon myself: I will speak of my family, of our house, of the republic, and will in future detail all that may happen to any or all of us.
I was born in 1743, and am consequently sixteen years old; I received at my baptism the name of Frances. I am quite tall; I have often been told that I am handsome, and in truth my mirror reveals the fact that I am by no means ill looking. My mother says, however, that 'one must give thanks to God for such a gift, and beware of pride; for it is His goodness, and not our merit.' My eyes and hair are black, my complexion fair and well colored; but still I am not satisfied: I would like to be much taller. It is true that my figure is slight and well formed, but I have seen women of a loftier stature than myself, and I must envy them a little, as all tell me I have attained my full height.
I belong to a very noble and ancient family, the Corvini Krasinski. God grant that I may never sully so glorious a name by any unworthy action; my desire is to render it still more illustrious, and I am sometimes sorry that I am not a man, for I should then have been capable of performing great and brilliant deeds.
My father and mother are so fully persuaded of the excellence of their origin, that our neighbors, as well as ourselves, all know the genealogy of our ancestors by heart. I confess, to my shame, that I am much more conversant with it than with the succession of our kings.
But what will be the final fate of my journal? Will it live or die? Why should it not survive through many ages, as so many letters and memoirs written in France have done? Oh, I must pay great attention to my studies! What a pity I have not the talent of Madame de Sevigné, or of Madame de Motteville! Perhaps I could write my journal better in French ... But no—that would be unworthy of a Polish girl; a native of Poland, I must write in my national tongue. It is true that French is generally used amongall our nobility, but then that is a fashion, which, like all other fashions, may soon pass away, and I should not like to leave such a blot upon my memory.
If these pages should escape the rats and the rage for curl papers, and fall into the hands of any one willing to read them through, I hope the reader will pardon my ignorance, and kindly remember that I write without method, and am totally uninstructed in all the rules prescribed for the keeping of a journal. I am but just sixteen, and the great little matters now occupying so much of my attention, may in the future seem futile and unworthy of having excited so much interest. What will a sensible, sober-minded reader think of all the strange fancies passing through my brain, and the wild dreams of my imagination? But let us now return to the genealogy of my family.
[Here follows the chronological enumeration of the Krasinski family, which we omit, as its interest is purely local, and can hence be neither amusing nor instructive to readers not of Polish origin. The Diary thus continues:]
Stanislaus Krasinski, starost of Nowemiasto, of Prasnysz, and of Uyscié, is my father; and Angelica Humiecka, daughter of the celebrated palatine of Podolia, my mother: but this branch of the Krasinskis will be extinct at their death, for to my great sorrow I have no brother. We are four, and all girls, Barbara, myself, Sophia, and Mary. The members of our little court often tell me I am the prettiest, but that I do not believe. We have received the education befitting our position as young and noble ladies, in short, as starostines.
We are all well grown, and have been taught to hold ourselves as straight as reeds; we are in excellent health, fair, fresh, and rosy. We have a governess, who is charged with the care of us; we call her madame; and when she has laced us, our waists might be spanned, as the saying is, between one's four fingers.
Madame has taught us to courtesy easily and gracefully, and to behave ourselves properly in the saloon; we seat ourselves on the edge of our chairs, with our eyes fixed upon the ground, and our arms modestly crossed.
Every one believes that we are quite ignorant, and cannot count beyond three; they fancy, too, that we do not know how to walk, and are always as quiet as mummies. What would they say could they see us running and jumping in the fine summer mornings? Ah! then we make up for all this tedious restraint; we are so joyful when our parents permit us to walk in the woods: then we leave our frizzed hair, stays, and our high-heeled shoes all behind us, and run about in our morning dresses like crazy girls; we climb the mountains, and poor madame, who thinks it her duty to follow us, soon loses her breath, halts with weary limbs, and can neither run after us, nor call us back.
My two younger sisters and myself have never been far from our own castle. Our longest journeys have been a visit to our aunt, the palatiness Malachowska, who lives at Konskié, and to the village of Piotrkowicé, which belongs to us.
When my father returned from Italy, he founded a pretty chapel in that village in imitation of the church of Our Lady of Loretto. He has also founded another chapel at Lissow, our parish, depending upon Maleszow. My knowledge of the world is hence very limited. But my elder sister has been more favored; she has journeyed to the ends of the earth; she has been twice to Opole, visiting an aunt, the princess Lubomirska, palatiness of Lublin; my father is most tenderly attached to his sister, and respects her as if she were his mother.
Barbara passed a year in Warsaw at the seminary of the ladies of the Holy Sacrament, and she is consequentlymuch more learned than we. She can courtesy to perfection, and holds herself so straight that it is a real pleasure to see her; her carriage is admirable. I know that my parents intend placing me at some seminary, and I expect every day to see the carriage which is to bear me to Warsaw or Cracow drive up to the door. I shall be sorry to leave the castle, I am so happy here; but my sister Barbara found her sojourn in the convent very pleasant, and so doubtless would I. Meanwhile I must perfect myself in French. It is indispensable for a lady of quality, and I must also complete my knowledge of the minuet and of music. I should at least see a great city, and have something to remember.
As I have never had an opportunity of judging by comparison, it is impossible for me to decide whether our castle of Maleszow be really handsome or not; I know that it pleases me very much, but many persons say it has a melancholy air. It is certainly large and commodious, being four stories high, and having four towers. A ditch filled with running water surrounds it, which ditch is crossed by a drawbridge. The neighboring country is mountainous and well wooded.
My parents complain that their dwelling is not large enough, but then our household is so very numerous. I said that our castle had four floors, and each floor is thus divided: first a hall, then six rooms, and four cabinets in the four towers. We do not all live upon the same floor; on the first we dine, on the second we play and amuse ourselves with the other young ladies belonging to our household, and on the third, we have our own apartments. My parents, being no longer young, find it irksome to go up and down stairs, but to me it is delightful, especially before I have my stays on. I mount the balustrades, begin to slide, and in a moment reach the bottom, without having touched a single step.
We always have a great many visitors, and I believe that if the castle of Maleszow were three times its present size, it would still be crowded; even now it is so gay, animated, and lively, that our neighbors call it the little Paris. During the winter our guests are still more numerous; our cavalry captain does not then think it worth the trouble to lift the drawbridge: the new arrivals pour in from morning until night—visitors are continually coming and going. The orchestra belonging to our castle chapel plays unceasingly, and we dance as much as we can; it is a real pleasure to see us.
In summer we have other pastimes; we take long walks, and play various games in the vestibule of the castle, which is very lofty, reaching to the roof of the house, and lighted from above. It is delightfully cool during the warmest days.
I do not believe there are many mansions in Poland surpassing ours in magnificence. Our little court is composed of courtiers (dworzanin) and of the household suite (platny); in other words, of many persons having various employments in the castle: the first (the courtiers) are the most esteemed, because they serve for the honor alone, while the others (the suite) receive salaries; but as they are all gentlemen, they all wear a sabre at their sides. Some few, however, are of very low extraction, but my father says that 'a noble on his own territory (and remember that this territory sometimes consists of but a very few square feet) is the equal of a palatine.'
No one objects to this, however, as the suites of the great lords are thus nobly augmented, and they can control so many additional votes in the dietines; a circumstance of no little importance. The chief duty of the courtiers consists in awaiting their lord's appearance in his public apartments, where, suitably attired, they stand ready to serve him and execute any orders he may choose to give them; but if the lord have no command for them, they are expectedto maintain the conversation as wittily and agreeably as they can, or to play cards. They must also accompany him in his walks, rides, drives, and visits, defend him on all difficult occasions, always give him their votes at the dietines, and finally, entertain him and all who belong to him whenever an opportunity may offer.
Our little Matthias performs this last duty to perfection; he is indeed a singular person! I have been told that all courts had formerly an attendant of this description, and that they could not do without one. Matthias is supposed to be stupid and devoid of reason, but he judges of everything with an accuracy and precision that is truly wonderful; his bonmots are inimitable. None of the courtiers have so many privileges as he has, for he alone may speak the truth without adornment or softening. The courtiers call him the fool, but we call him our little Matthias; he certainly does not deserve the nickname he has received.
We have, besides, six young ladies of noble families, who live in the castle, and are under madame's charge. Then there are two dwarfs; one is at least forty years old, and is about the size of a child of four: he is dressed in the Turkish fashion. The other is eighteen, and has a charming figure: he wears the costume of a Cossack. My father often permits him to mount upon the dining table during dinner, and he walks among the plates and dishes as if he were in a garden.
I think I mentioned that the courtiers had no salaries; nearly all of them belong to rich, or at least to independent families. They acquire fine manners at our court, and their training serves as a passport to all civil and military employments. They receive food for their horses, and two florins a week for their grooms. They have also a servant to wait upon them; this domestic is usually dressed in the Hungarian or Cossack costume. Nothing amuses me more than to watch their faces while they stand behind their masters' chairs; their eyes are fixed upon the plates during the whole of the dinner hour; surely not an unnatural proceeding, as their sole nourishment consists in what is left upon their masters' plates. Our little Matthias is never tired of ridiculing them, and makes us nearly die with laughter.
The major part of our household, however, receive salaries, and do not sit at the table with us, except the chaplain, the physician, and the secretary. The steward and butler are on their feet all the time we are dining; they walk about and watch if the table be properly served; they pour out the wine for the master of the castle and for the visitors. The courtiers are served with wine only on Sundays and festival days. The purveyor, the treasurer, the master of the horse, and the arm offerer (renkodajny), whose business it is to offer his arm to the master or mistress of the castle every time either one desires to go out, all dine at the steward's table. The courtiers who dine at our table certainly enjoy much honor, but little profit; they are served from the same dishes as we, but do not eat the same things. The cook arranges the roast meat in the form of a pyramid; at the top he places the game and the poultry, while below are the pork and the beef, the coarse food of the courtiers, to whom the dishes are not carried until after we have been served, and thus the end of the table where they sit is called the gray end.
When the dishes are first served, they are so enormous that one would think there must be a large portion for every one; but they disappear so rapidly that some poor courtiers have scarcely enough to give a flavor to their bread. There are some who eat in the most incredible fashion, and who devour all before the others have had a chance to help themselves. On ordinary occasions, our dinner consists of four dishes; but on Sundays and holidays, when we have visitors, from seven to twelvedishes are placed upon the table. The young ladies, our companions, dine with us.
The salaried courtiers are very well paid; they receive from three to four hundred florins every year; but then my father requires that they shall be well dressed, especially when there is a reception at the castle. He rewards them largely when he is pleased with their services. If one among them distinguishes himself by his zeal or his strict attention to his duties, my father recompenses him on his name day, either in money or in stuffs taken from his own wardrobe.
The salaried dependents are subject to the jurisdiction of the steward, who has the right of reprimanding and punishing them. The chamberlains are also under his command; they are gentlemen, and serve during three years. Their term of service begins between the ages of fifteen and twenty. When they have been guilty of any fault, the steward awards them so many lashes with a leathern strap. A carpet is first stretched over the floor, for the bare ground is only suitable for servants who are not noble, and the culprit is then chastised. The steward is very severe, and says that were he more lenient, it would be impossible to maintain discipline or pursue a proper and efficient method of education; severity being necessary to restrain youth within the bounds of reason. My father has told us that there is not a single room in the castle at Maleszow in which he has not received correction. This is doubtless the cause of his being so very good now....
We have a dozen chamberlains in our service; one of them, Michael Chronowski, will have finished his novitiate on Twelfth day, and the occasion will be celebrated by certain ceremonies. It is the chamberlains' duty to be always suitably dressed; they can enter our apartments; they accompany us on foot or on horseback when we ride out, and are always ready to carry our letters of invitation or our presents, whenever we have any to send.
As for the other servants in the castle, I cannot even enumerate them; I do not know the number of musicians, cooks, guards, Cossacks, and waiting men and women. I can only say that five tables are spread every day, and that two distributors (szafarz) are occupied from morning until night in giving out all that is necessary for the kitchen. My mother is often present at the distribution of the eatables; she carries with her the keys of the closets in which are the spices, cordials, and sweetmeats. Every morning the steward presents the bill of fare to my parents, who approve or change it as they find it well or ill.
Our every-day life is regulated as follows: We rise in summer at six o'clock, and in winter at seven. My three sisters and myself sleep in the third story, in a large room with madame. Each of us has an iron bed with curtains. Barbara, as the eldest, has two pillows and an eiderdown coverlet; the rest of us have only one pillow and a woollen counterpane. After having made a hurried toilet, we say our prayers in French, and then begin our lessons. Our tutor formerly taught us to read, write, and count in Polish, and the chaplain taught us our catechism; but Barbara and I are now entirely under madame's direction; our two younger sisters, however, still receive lessons from the tutor.
At eight we visit our parents, to wish them good morning, and take our breakfast. In winter we eat soup made with beer, and in summer we drink milk; on fast days we have a very good panada. After breakfast we all go and hear mass in the chapel. Our chapel is very pretty. When the service is ended, the chaplain says the morning prayers aloud in Latin; the whole court repeat them; but to tell the truth, I have as yet neglected to ask the meaning of them, and some day I must do it.
We then return to our apartment and recommence our studies. Madame makes us write, under her dictation, lines from Malherbe, the French poet.
We have a pianoforte, and a German, who directs our orchestra, gives us lessons; he receives three hundred florins every year. Barbara plays quite well. After the music lesson, the hair dresser comes to arrange our hair; he always begins with the eldest. When he has unfortunately heard of some new fashion, we rarely escape without shedding some blood. My hair is longer and thicker than that of my sisters, and when I sit on the stool it sweeps the floor; the barber consequently tries all his experiments upon my head. The present fashion pleases me exceedingly: it is a kind of very elegantnegligé, one portion of the hair is gathered upon the top of the head and falls down in rich curls; the rest is in plaits, which hang about the neck and over the shoulders. The barber uses a half pound of powder every time he dresses my hair.
We employ two hours in making our toilette; but in order that the time may not be entirely lost, we learn French proverbs by rote, or madame reads aloud a new work, which is very moral and quite amusing: 'The Child's Magazine,' by Madame de Beaumont. I cannot express how charming I find these tales, narrated by a governess to her pupils. At noon the Angelus is rung, and we go down to dinner, which usually lasts about two hours; then, the weather permitting, we take a walk. When we return, we employ ourselves with our needle, and are now engaged on a piece of embroidery for the church at Piotrowicé. When the daylight fails us, wax tapers are lighted, and our work is pursued without intermission. We sup at seven in all seasons, and after supper we have leisure to do as we please. We converse or play cards. Our little Matthias makes such comical faces when he fails in getting the card he wishes! He certainly has the gift of always making me laugh.
The chamberlain is sent to Warsaw once every week, and brings the letters and papers; the chaplain reads them aloud to us, and to certain news I pay the most particular attention. My father often reads to us out of the old chronicles, but I must confess I am much more entertained by the books written in French. Madame, who does not know a word of Polish, always reads to us in French, and we thus become accustomed to the sound of the language. My father only reads to us one evening in the week. When the carnival comes, farewell to all reading; all then think of nothing but of playing, dancing, and amusement. The festivals in Warsaw must be much more splendid than those at our castle. Oh! how I long to see the magnificent array of a great court!...
But I hear the midday bell, and must say my Angelus, smooth my hair, and go down to dinner. I will write to-morrow all that I had no time to say to-day.
Tuesday,January 2d.
I was too much occupied yesterday with merely private affairs, and now I must dilate a little upon public matters. I should be unworthy of the Polish name, if the interests of our dear country did not occupy my thoughts in preference to all other subjects. I hear much conversation upon politics, and I am very attentive to all that is said; since I have commenced to write my journal, I find my desire to follow closely the course of events much increased.
Augustus III, elector of Saxony, reigns at the present time over Poland and Lithuania. He was crowned by the archbishop of Cracow on the seventeenth of this month, twenty-five years ago. The party opposed to his election wished to raise Stanislaus Leszczynski to the throne, but Augustus was so powerfully supported that he triumphed over his competitor. The virtuousLeszczynski, possessing neither money nor soldiers, was forced to return to his good people in Lorraine, who are very happy under his beneficent rule. It is said that the queen, who had so strongly encouraged the king in the struggles through which he won his throne, was truly worthy of being queen of the Poles, for she really loved them. Mary Josephine always hated intrigue; she was mild, charitable, and pious; she was indulgent toward her husband and children, but most severely stern toward herself in all matters of morals. She was in truth a model of all feminine virtues. She died in Dresden, about two years ago. She had had fourteen children, eleven of whom are still living, seven daughters, and four sons. I remember well the sorrow which her death caused the Poles. Funeral services were celebrated for her in every church in the kingdom. In our church at Piotrowicé there was a mass at which all the poor assisted, and they wept bitter tears while praying for their queen.
It is said that the king is of an easy temper, and leaves all to his minister Bruhl, the minister really ruling both Poland and Saxony. The last-mentioned country is at the present moment exposed to great miseries. Prussia, which is in fact but a new-born state, makes the whole of Europe tremble. A great man rules her fate. The elector of Brandenburg raised himself to the throne in 1701 by the power of his own will. Our republic has not yet recognized his new title as king, and now the elector's successor is able to confer crowns upon the heads of other states. He resists Austria, Saxony, Muscovy, and by means of forces raised within his little kingdom, daily extends his possessions. All say that his political capacity and knowledge of the military art are extraordinary; besides which, he is quite learned, a philosopher, and a great character. Many think that Poland should be ruled by a man of the stamp of Frederic the Great, but as we are not his subjects, and as his present position is contrary to our interests, strong fears are entertained that he may in the future become the cause of our ruin. God grant that Prussia, which is really but a fraction of Poland, do not one day swallow her up!...
The men occupied in public affairs scarcely venture to speak above their breath when they bewail the critical position of their beloved country. One circumstance especially seems to deprive us of all hope for the future, and that is, the apparent gradual extinction of those lofty virtues of the olden time which formerly contributed so much to the glory and prosperity of our country. Selfish interests seem now to have destroyed them nearly all; the wants of the common mother are entirely forgotten, no one thinks now except of his own personal benefit—the general cause is nothing. The diets assemble and disperse without having accomplished anything. The voice of Konarski and of his honorable friends is heard in vain; they preach in a desert; the vile passions of the wicked weigh heavily in the balance of our destinies. However, all means of safety are not yet lost: the throne of Poland is elective; the reigning monarch is aged; if his successor should be endowed with a great character, if his virtues accord with the elevation of his station, he may yet save the republic and restore it to its ancient preponderance among nations. Our frontiers are still unbroken, and I place all my hope in the mercy of God.
All good men and true patriots desire a king capable of commanding the Poles. Several candidates have already been proposed, but the two who seem to have the fairest prospects of success are Stanislaus Poniatowski, son of the castellan of Cracow, and Charles, prince royal, son of the reigning king. Poniatowski's father was the favorite of Charles XII, and was much beloved by the princess Czartoryska. I cannottell though why my heart leans so strongly toward prince Charles. Poniatowski is a Pole, but the other is said to possess many noble qualities. I will here add all that I have heard and thought upon the subject of these two candidates.
Stanislaus Poniatowski is young and very handsome, affable, and fascinating; he has travelled much, his manners have all the elegance of the French, and he is generally pleasing to women. He loves science and learned men; he was more than four years in St. Petersburg in the capacity of secretary to the embassy. Some time has elapsed since his recall, and he is in high favor at court; hence the probability of his future elevation.
Charles, the prince royal, is twenty-six years of age; he is the king's third son, and is beloved by all who approach him. His figure is said to be noble, and his face most pleasing in expression; his manners are mild, and he is very accessible; he wins all hearts to love him. He has lived in Poland since his infancy, and hence loves the people, and speaks their language wonderfully well. Educated at the court of our republic, he is neither proud nor humble, but maintains a happy medium with every one. The king, recognizing all these qualities in his son, sent him to many foreign courts, beginning with that of St. Petersburg. Relying upon the aid of Muscovy, he desired that his son should make his first essay in arms under that power; besides which, he had other ends in view. He hoped that Charles would be made duke of Courland, a duchy tributary to Poland. In 1737 the czarina Anna appointed the count de Biren governor of Courland, but some years later he fell into disgrace, and was sent to Siberia with his family. The dukedom was consequently vacant during several years.
Our king, who had the right so to do, conferred the dignity upon his son, but the sanction of the court of St. Petersburg was required, and no one could have been more likely to obtain what he desired than the prince royal himself, for the fascination of his manners had become proverbial. He accordingly went to St. Petersburg, remaining on his way some time at Mittau, the capital of Courland, where he succeeded in winning the esteem and affection of the inhabitants of the duchy. The czarina soon after confirmed the nomination of the prince royal. Her consent was formally announced to the king of Poland during the past year, at the time of the session of the diet. But according to the fatal custom which so often rends our councils, that assemblage was dissolved by a nuncio from Wolhynia named Podhorski, and the affair in which Courland was so deeply interested was not discussed.
It then became necessary to refer it to the senate, where it occasioned many fierce debates. The prince Czartoryski especially endeavored to embroil the question by maintaining that the king had no right to dispose of the duchy without the consent of the diet; that Biren could not be degraded from the dignity conferred upon him without having been properly tried, judged, and condemned; and finally, that the nomination of the prince royal could only be provisional, or valid during the lifetime of the czarina. These foolish clamors were rendered powerless by an imposing majority; one hundred and twenty-eight white balls, against five black ones, decided in favor of Prince Charles. The diploma has already been presented to him by the grand chancellor of the crown, and the ceremony of investiture takes place to-day. The rejoicings in Warsaw must be truly magnificent, and I am quite sure that all are delighted.
It is said that the king has grown ten years younger since the happy termination of this affair. I cannot judge of the importance of these events to the general welfare of the republic, butI am enchanted with the good fortune of Prince Charles. I ask myself continually why this matter interests me so deeply. The destiny of my country may soon depend upon the prince, and I believe him called to avert the storm which seems ready to burst upon Poland. I believe that he will give us better laws and a good government. The dukedom of Courland will serve him as a stepping stone to the throne. I am truly grieved from the bottom of my heart that I cannot now be in Warsaw, where I should see such brilliant fêtes, a splendid court, and Prince Charles. ... But since that is impossible, I must content myself with drinking his health to-day at our table.
As men led the way in the formation of a Loyal League throughout the country, many women, in view of an association of their sex under that name, seem to think themselves required to adopt ideas and regulations approaching as closely as may be to those already existing in the male League. But as, in private life, woman's duties, though equally important, are not identical with those of man, so whenever in a community there is call for united, and therefore public action on the part of its females, it is because something is necessary to be done which men by their methods cannot do; consequently, in performing it, our sex, by striving to merely imitate, without regard to uses, the machinery or measures of the other, would but defeat their own objects. This can be realized when we reflect on the fact that the public action of man has always a tendency to be directive of measures political or governmental, while that of woman is more legitimately humanitarian or social.
There is a class of thinking women who are very earnest and undoubtedly conscientious in their misapprehension of the existence of this fact. And so great is the restless tumult of their indignation at their supposed wrongs in not exercising direct influence, political and governmental, that they fail, either to perceive their own particular work—sufficient in itself to occupy all their faculties—or else they confound the sphere of society with the sphere of government, imagine they are not responsible for errors existing in the former, because they have no immediate control in the latter, and that in political matters at least, justice requires the direct action of both sexes; whereas, according to the natural laws of adaptation of means to ends, the special control of government on the one hand, and of society on the other, is distinctly divided between them; so that while the existing government is an organized expression of the manhood of the age that founded it, the existing society is a like expression of the womanhood of the time. Society and government, through the inevitable laws of sympathy and reaction between things closely connected, influence, modify, and constantly change each other. But any special interference on the part of one sex with the direct action of the other in its own province, not only impedes the other, but also argues a neglect of legitimate duties, which, it were well to remember, require for their just performance all the energy, intellect, and moral elevation, each for its own sphere, possessed by the respective manhood and womanhood of the community interested.
Although aware that the various circles of the Ladies' Loyal League, already established, entertain ideas which are in some respects, because of this existing confusion as to duties, political and social, dissimilar to each other, yet we believe the one grand moral aim, on the part of the several branches of the organization everywhere, will finally be the fostering a healthy, intelligent patriotism, in thesocial and domestic circlesof our land; and that, through the aggregate influence of a womanhood true to itself and its own work.
If this conviction be founded in fact, the best method by which such a patriotism can be cultivated becomes a topic of lively interest to every woman in America who loves her country. Therefore to all such the following brief consideration of a subject so intrinsically important, will not, we trust, seem untimely.
We proceed then to respectfully suggest to the ladies of the Loyal League some measures and ideas, which, it is hoped, will prove in their judgment not unworthy of general adoption, in the various branches of our association.
In enumerating methods whereby it is believed our sex has preëminent capacity to cultivate a genuine patriotism in our country, we will, as first in order, mention those easily recognized ones already generally understood.
As members of the Ladies' Loyal League, we can do good service, first, by cheering, honoring, and aiding in every fit way, and by every legitimate means, such men, privates no less than officers, as are our country's brave defenders, or as have been wounded in being such. Second, by encouraging new enlistments, and taking pride in seeing the dear members of our own households go forth to the help of our imperilled country. Third, by paying special honor to such women in our midst, as have sent son or husband or father or any near relative to camp life and battle field, in defence of our free institutions. In ordinary times, and in ordinary society, individuals take grade according to active intelligence, or the show of wealth, but in times like the present—and especially in an association whose awakening principle is patriotism, those persons who have made the greatest sacrifices for country should rank first. Indeed is it not advisable that the League confer honorary distinction on every woman who has given up such near relatives as son or husband to the dangers of this bloody war? So long as the United States is in her present condition, so long must we, as patriots, honor our soldiers, encourage enlistments, and pay our tribute of respectful admiration to those of our own sex whose beloved ones have already laid down their lives, or are now offering their lives in our national defence.
Another moral aim of our League, as explicitly stated in many of the pledges signed throughout the country, is to frown on all traitors and all such as we know to be sympathizers with them. We hope no one's displeasure, will be aroused by a word here. It is very true, no warmly patriotic woman can now, in the present hour of peril, cordially associate with such persons as offensively intrude their treasonable sentiments. But let the patriotic woman not go too far—let her not forget that when human beings give, as it were, a moral sanction to feelings of hatred or contempt, they unchain a demon in their breasts. We are all oftentimes shocked by anecdotes illustrative of the rancorous spite, and vulgar, unwomanly malignity, cherished by many Southern females against the Union and its defenders. Now were it not well for us, on the other side, to take warning, and, for the sake of our own peace of mind, our own dignity of character, our own Christian virtues, not fall into the fallacy of thinking it right to indulge infeelings and words of hate, even toward the criminally disloyal. This topic is one involving so much of social and personal happiness, we are tempted to enlarge upon it; but as all our remarks at this time are intended as mere hints and suggestions, and not as an elaborate discussion, we pass on to another method of fostering a healthy living patriotism—the fifth and last of those to which we now direct attention, but the one evidently the most difficult, and yet for final results the most important of all. It is the cultivation, in American women, of a true understanding and appreciation of the principles of our democratic institutions—with a view to their practical social bearing, and consequent obligations upon our sex.
Two years ago, a distinguished English philosopher and historian, lately deceased, expressed the fear that our American system of government was in advance of the culture of democratic ideas among our people. Doubtless this observation took the shape of a fear because its author was cognizant of the truth that when the spirit of a government fails to be continually nourished by a sympathetic spirit in the prevailing tone of society throughout the nation over which it presides, then the government has small assurance of perpetuity.
Being patriots, and having, as women, so much to do with matters social and educational, would it not be desirable to understand clearly wherein the foundation principles of our government differ from that of despotisms and monarchies, and to ascertain whether our practical life—our society—is in conformity with our own vaunted democracy or not?
Now the principles upon which our republic was founded teach that one person has no right to trample on the rights of another—that we can have no aristocratic order—that he who labors with head or hand is intrinsically more honorable than the mere idler and pleasure seeker, however wealthy—that legally neither birth nor riches confer any special privileges. And in all this the spirit of our American government is in direct opposition to the spirit of monarchical institutions. But how is it with American society, in the moulding and directing of which our sex has so much to do?
However opposed to each other democratic and republican partisans may feel, the titles of their parties are terms which imply principles synonymous—and alike in harmony with the genius our government. But examine society among these parties. Mix with the social circles of our capitals, during the meetings of our State Legislatures or sessions of Congress, when democratic ladies are in the ascendency: make another visit when the ladies of republicans are leading society in the same places—and do you not find in the practical life of both parties a lack of the simplicity and earnestness of real republicanism and democracy?
Yes, to our shame as daughters of a republic, we must admit that we take more pride in ostentation than in simplicity; and that our dominant social life and culture are a mere reflection, so far as the freedom of our government will permit them to be, of social life and culture amid the arrogant aristocracies of Europe!
The relation of an incident which came under our observation in a Northern city may not be considered out of place here, since it is illustrative of the workings of our anti-democratic social system, and how it may even be brought to swallow up practically all sense of the obligations of patriotism.
Last winter, a sick soldier, who had been suffering in hospital for many months, was finally discharged as incurable, found by his old widowed mother, and brought to his relatives, in the city mentioned, to die. As a soldier, so long as he could bear a musket—and when he was too weak to carry arms, so long as he could carry a cupof water to the wounded and dying on the bloody field of Corinth—since which exertion he had been himself helpless—so long did he serve his country faithfully and well. But when he came home to die, though some half a dozen Union families knew his condition, only one paid him the least attention and respect. It may be supposed this was because his relatives and their immediate friends were abundantly able to minister to his wants, so that any outside proffers would seem but officiousness. On the contrary, his relatives were poor, sickly, and, doubtless because of sickness, inefficient people. However strange, it is nevertheless true, that members from two of these Union families, some of them attendants on the aid society, and all loudly patriotic people, ridiculed the attention of the one Union family who did try to cheer the suffering soldier, expressing the sentiment that they would scorn to pay him any attention, 'his people were such a mean, low set.' That was the term applied to the relatives of the dying hero! and this—not because they failed in patriotism—not because they were guilty of any immoralities—but because they were burdened, beyond their strength, by poverty and ill fortune! And this neglect was persisted in till the end. The dying boy felt the cruelty of it—if he did not also feel the ingratitude of it—as may be inferred from the last words he uttered, wherein, after alluding to the family who did minister to him, he added, with parting breath, the melancholy comment: 'I am glad somebody noticed me.'
This instance of the pride of class in our country going so far as to destroy the impulses of ordinary charity, and to blot out of the conscience the claims of a suffering soldier upon the personal gratitude of every patriotic heart that can reach him, is, we do hope and believe, an extreme case. But being a fact, and one illustrative of the contradiction between the principles of our government and the principles that sway our social life, we relate it in order to vividly impress the mournful reality of that contradiction, and the consequent urgent duty of all women who are indeed patriotic, to make earnest efforts to bring the daily life of our people, in dress, manners, home surroundings, and motives of action in family and social circles nearer to the spirit of true democracy.
To do this requires so much of personal culture and denial of selfish, arrogant instincts in ourselves, so much of modification in our training of our children, so much uprooting on our part of cherished prejudices in society, that, as before stated, it is a most difficult work. But however difficult, it must be accomplished—and by American women, too, for men have no power to lead in such a matter as this: it must be accomplished, or the hope of the freedom and progress of humanity will be crushed, and democracy on earth die, even out of institutions of government.
The action of a government, if not modified by the differing social life of its people, is the practical realization of its theory: and social life among the people, if not too far restricted by the arbitrary interference of government, is also a practical realization of its controlling spirit; consequently, the freer the government the more plainly are evinced the prevailing principles of those who give the tone to society; and under our democratic system, women—those who give this tone to society—are with justice esteemed freer than elsewhere.
But of what value to the race is this greater freedom, if we employ it in imitating the spirit and customs that are the result of the impeded society of nations less beneficently governed; rather than in taking advantage of our wider opportunities to develop a true womanhood, such as would cause us to regard man neither as a natural foe nor as a model for servile imitation—such as would prompt us to influence man, notby any direct sharing in the performance of his peculiar work, but by doing our own so intelligently and beautifully, that it shall sympathize with, and elevate the spirit of his.
The society and government of a nation are two great institutions equally important, and requiring for their wise development equal mental capacity. And in the economy of Providence in regard to the distribution of responsibility between the sexes, while man has hitherto modified governments, woman, among Christian nations—and possibly among pagan also—has always moulded society. We glance back thus to repeat our leading idea, because we wish to add here, that to the minds of those who realize the truth of it, the often vexed question of the comparative intellectual ability of the sexes is put at rest. For where the imposed responsibilities, though differing, are equally great, we may justly infer that the Deity has bestowed on the differing sexes, upon whom these responsibilities are respectively distributed, equal capacity for wise performance in its own sphere, and equal power to intellectually comprehend the other's sphere. For although not so well fitted to perform the peculiar duties which belong to the other sex—yet each one, in order to intelligently perform its own labor, must of necessity understand and sympathize entirely with that of the other.
We cannot linger now upon how society and government always act and react upon each other—how, in our own particular case, the colonial matrons of the country lived democracy, before our forefathers instituted it—how, in times of after peace, the introduction of the leaven of the spirit of European manners and society caused the daughters, not having been sufficiently warned and instructed of their danger, to fall from the practised faith of their mothers, till to-day we read the alarming fact that American society has slid back, little by little, till now, alas, it is nearly in conformity with the moral barbarism of aristocratic institutions! In view of this retrograde state of things, as patriotic women of America, we can do nothing less than perform the work of our mothers over again. God grant we may do it—and do it more effectually than they—inasmuch as we, it is to be hoped, realize the necessity of so instructing our daughters, that after generations of women will never, like us, see society lagging behind the divine principles of true democracy.
The heart of many a patriotic female, throbbing with anguish for her torn and bleeding country, who has no husband, struggling on the side of the holy cause, at home or in the army, to be sustained by the inspiration of a loving woman's self-denying patriotism; who has no sons or brothers to send to the battle field, and to write brave, cheering, blessed letters to; whose means are so swallowed up by daily necessities that she has no money—has not even time to bestow on aid societies and loyal leagues—the heart of many such, in our land now, bends low in self-abasement, and groans daily with the thought that she is useless to her country in its hour of bitter need. Let all such females raise up their drooping heads, cheer up their hearts, and take courage. Neither God nor her country requires a woman to act in the face of circumstances which are inexorable. But this work of reforming the spirit and remodelling the customs of society on a simple democratic basis, is one in which every woman—no matter what her condition, nor how circumstanced—is capable of doing loyal service to country and humanity. For if she has the will, she can bring her own life, and that of those affected by her influence, gradually away from the sphere of principles which are antagonistic to our national institutions.
Let a controlling majority of our sex throughout the United States thus act—and were our threatened Government doomed now to be indeed overturned,the startled world has no cause to despair! For then the women of our land would prove its saviors—for, having recreated society according to the principle of democracy, they would, through the laws of reaction, restore that principle again to American institutions; restore—never again to be shaken thence, because upheld by the intelligent coöperation of woman.
[The Continental, drawing its very life from its desire of upholding, strengthening, and sustaining our sacred Union, welcomes the article from 'west of the Mississippi,' the object of which is to encourage, through a common literature, the fraternal relations between East and West, and cherish the great bond of national unity by proclaiming kindred ties.We of the East stretch forth loving hands to our brothers of the West, and, feeling true and loyal hearts beating through the dim spaces dividing us, bid them God speed, as bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh, whose prosperity is our life, whose ruin would be our own desolation.'As from the East the lovely exile goes,Fair on the West a young Aurora glows;And all the flowers Ionian shores could yieldBlush forth, reblooming in the Hesperian field.'Eds. Continental.]
[The Continental, drawing its very life from its desire of upholding, strengthening, and sustaining our sacred Union, welcomes the article from 'west of the Mississippi,' the object of which is to encourage, through a common literature, the fraternal relations between East and West, and cherish the great bond of national unity by proclaiming kindred ties.
We of the East stretch forth loving hands to our brothers of the West, and, feeling true and loyal hearts beating through the dim spaces dividing us, bid them God speed, as bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh, whose prosperity is our life, whose ruin would be our own desolation.
'As from the East the lovely exile goes,Fair on the West a young Aurora glows;And all the flowers Ionian shores could yieldBlush forth, reblooming in the Hesperian field.'Eds. Continental.]
From our quiet homes, on the western bank of the Mississippi, very nearly in Boston latitude, we send daily thoughts of business, friendly interest, and political sympathy unto you who dwell upon our Atlantic shore. Some of us look back unto you as the prodigal son is said to have regarded his father's house. All of us have intimate ties binding us unto you. From you, as the fountain head of literature and intelligence, through your magazines and journals, we are constantly supplied with the living current of thought and mental activity. Is it anything but fair that we should occasionally seek to respond and acknowledge the debt and the fellowship? For what shall more tend to strengthen the bonds of our broad Union than these common sympathies of a widespread and national fraternity of literary tastes and gratifications? Assimilation of mind, community of thought produced by free interchange of opinion, in the way of social intercourse, these will open our hearts to each other and strengthen the links of our national brotherhood. That we may love each other, let us know each other; that we may know each other, let us not fail to look each other fairly in the face.
West of the deep and gently flowing northern Mississippi, I know, is a long way off from the surging waters of your eastern coasts. When you have come this distance, you are, in so far as distance only is concerned, pretty well on your way toward the Rocky Mountains, and the new land of El Dorado, the young and golden Nevada. But yet we are in fact much nearer to your golden markets than to the hidden ore of our new Territories. Time and space, whose natural demands have been so rudely disregarded by the iron progress of science and skill between you and us, still to a great degree maintain their ancient rule over the lands west of us. That vast, thrifty vine of speedy transportation, which has wound itself about the trunk of our national tree, strikes here and there one of its tendrils out upon the branches beyond us, over the region of a few counties. In one instance, in the State immediately south of us, a single energetic scion has crept even to the banks of the rapid Missouri, and others are pushing steadily on in determined emulation. But in most cases, we must be content to ride to the westward, only on the back of the laggard and unambitious coach, that tortoise of travel, crawling on through prairie and swamp. And it is still within the recollection of almost the youngest inhabitant, how the daily trains, drawn by horse, mule, or ox, dragged themselves through our streets, proclaiming from their cotton coverings their distant destination, illustrating on their march the Western 'Excelsior'—
'The wheels in mud were sticking fast,As through a boundless prairie passedA youth, who drove a two-mule team,While on his wagon top was seen.Pike's Peak.'
Thus eastward we are within forty-eight hours of your press, while westward we are nearly as many days distant by private conveyance from the land of fabled wealth. But time and space must eventually give in. They are not equal to the task; and already the shadow of the great Pacific road makes them tremble for their natural tenure of the free West. It might have done for Æsop to talk about the tortoise and the hare, when they had not steam in those days to course their streams and stalk across their plains with giant tread, eclipsing the old seven-league boots of their fancy; but the tortoise is a used-up individual, is short of breath, and it is the passenger that sleeps, while the hare leaps onward to his covert.
Being thus brought near to you by the swift convoys of science, it will be evident that we are not so far away as we seem. We do not perpetrate an Irish bull when we say that the distancetoa place is often greater than the distance in returning. It is, on the contrary, a well authenticated natural fact—a phenomenon, if you please. And by way of illustration we may aver that it is a great deal farther from your metropolis to west of the Mississippi, than from west of the Mississippi to the metropolis.
You sit in your cosy parlors and offices and think of some friend or relative, perhaps a son or daughter, in the 'far West.' It seems as if a sea spread out between you, or at least the better part of a continent. You think of India and China, perchance, or of England or France, and you feel as if they were all nearly equidistant with the home of your beloved ones. It is so far away out to the Father of Waters, and you can never make up your mind, without great and frequent resolution, to undertake such a journey as this.
But, my friends, it is not half so far as that, from us to the Atlantic coast. It is not so far from us to you, as it is to some tardy customer, whose bills are yet to collect, a hundred miles down the country by a two-days' stage adventure. Not nearly so far. Why, when we want to go to New York or Boston, we don't pack our trunks and take a cargo of luggage on board for a two-months' voyage. We just tumble hurriedly a few things into a valise or carpet sack before we go to bed, and the next morning off we start, and after two days of sight-seeing and newspaper reading along the way, and two nights' comfortable sleeping-car rest, we wake up at the dawn of the third day to bid you good morning and inquire after the markets; and that is the end of it.
It isn't so very far, after all. We put off in the morning, bid good evening to Chicago, good morning to Toledo, a ten-o'clock good night to Buffalo, and we sit down to a late breakfast with you the following day.
But then if you have never been out here, it's a long, long distance, and we advise you not to try it all of a sudden, nor to come without a trunk.Quod erat demonstrandum.
Then, in the next place, being out here, what sort of a people are we? This is a very important query. In theeyes of many we are Western semi-barbarians, without an overplus of manners, means, comforts, knowledge, or many, if any, of the means of Eastern and refined enjoyment. We have come hither to make our fortunes, or to care for those who have, and we are the fit objects of spiritual and temporal commiseration and missionary operations. That is the idea somewhat candidly expressed, isn't it? Oh, no! you don't think so poorly of us as that; but then we are a great ways off, in fact, in a new country, among strangers for the most part, and of course we cannot expect to find everything at hand which we enjoyed in our former comfortable homes.
Well, we are, many of us, from the 'far' East, and most of us from eastward. But we have tried to bring whatever of refinement, manners, knowledge, proprieties, and comforts we before possessed, such as they were, with us, and we haven't lost many of them. We do not believe that contact with the Indians has very much barbarized us. We still read and write and live in houses which we have built, and conduct mercantile and other transactions on former equitable principles; and our communications and intercourse with each other may still be said to be civilized, at least in great measure. We eat and drink what we formerly did, not excepting occasional shad and frequent oysters; and you do not seem to be averse to trying our deer and grouse once in a while—while we even share with you our wheat, cattle, and pork. We don't wear moccasons as yet, nor buckskin with Indian trimmings, instead of doeskin with the latest cut. We try, for the sake of appearances, to wear cotton and woollen and silk; and beads and trinkets are in no extraordinary demand. Beavers and furs are seen upon our streets; and the sound of the piano heard in the land, is not a very unusual disturbance. Our boys, as of old, smoke cigars in secret, fearful of ancient birch, and gum drops still adhere to the pockets of our girls in school. We don't see a very remarkable difference between the children about us and those we knew at a somewhat early age. Brick and stone rise with us into comfortable and even aspiring buildings, and the price of board is not less than we have paid before, nor so very much more. We neither travel nor live on half fare. And men still drive the horse before the cart, and carry the wheat in both ends of the bag as they go to mill.
In fact, we don't see that civilization has lost much flesh in its arduous journey to the far West; nor that, being human before, we have become less human now, or discarded our manners when we shut the doors of our birthplace behind us. We know indeed that Colenso went to convert the heathen, and that the heathen succeeded in converting him, thus putting the boot on the other leg; but the Indians have not yet won us to their dusky faith, although we must confess that assimilation to their copper-colored principles seems to have made some Copperheads among us.
As to works of art, they are not very plentiful hereabouts, excepting in the way of monuments perhaps. We have a generous number of those, erected to the large-heartedness and wisdom of persons who engaged in great improvement schemes, in the line of speculation, when there was but a fictitious basis of wealth in this land, before the bubble burst. These monuments, however, are not generally esteemed ornamental, and the wealth so lavishly expended upon them came not from the bosom of our communities, neither was it imported from north of us, nor west of us, but from whence I will not say. Perhaps some one who reads can help to account for part of it. These monuments, however, such as they are, have, by the liberal contributions made for their erection, exceeded in cost that of Bunker Hill, or the half-finished shot tower in Washington. Our only statuesdo not represent either the Father of his Country, nor the late old public defunctionary who sat in his chair—but they are principally devoted to 'the poor Indian,' in native costume. These statues, frequently wooden, exhibit the wonted hospitality of this race, and maintain the attitude of proffering a cigar to the friendly passer by.
Of paintings there is not a superfluity; still we have a small collection, comprising several which have for some years been on public exhibition, illustrating 'The Good Samaritan;' 'Prodigious;' 'Washington's Blacksmith shoeing Washington's Horse,' and others of less note, while ——'s panorama of the war has lately departed from us.
Still we have our public and private schools, seminaries, and churches, as others have in fully civilized countries; our newspapers, white and bronze; our leading men, and officeholders; natives of all climes and kindreds, Jew and Gentile, German and French, Bohemian and Scotch, English and Irish; our generals and our corporals; our learned and our unlearned; debtors and creditors—comprising mostly all of us; but believe me, friend, not a solitary living Indian.
I think we are a generous, hospitable, liberal people, up to the full limit of our means and capabilities. Being all away from home, as it were, and all strangers together, we have learned the blessedness of sympathy, and how a little lift is often a great boost, and a friend in need a friend indeed. It was formerly said that when a stranger appeared, the inhabitants emulously set to work to take him in, not however in the flattering and hospitable sense of the words. But as almost without exception any man in a new place or position is a verdant man, so we honestly maintain that they took themselves in, and found it rather difficult to take themselves out again. I believe that we are as quiet, honest, genteel, and mind-your-own-business a set of folks as you may find in most other and more favored communities. With the constant and increasing accessions to our society from more enlightened regions, it would be a wonder did we not attain in time to a level with many other and older-settled countries, who are apt to look abroad with serene complacency gathering motes in open eyes, We have had our castles in the air, and some of them are now underground; but we have read of South Sea bubbles, rise and fall in stocks, 'On to Richmonds,' McClellans, and Congress; and we don't think the beams are all in our own eyes and the motes too.
In fact we are not heathen nor barbarian, Goth nor Vandal, Hottentot nor Fire Eater—but bone of your bone, flesh of your flesh—one with you in all the customs, proprieties, civilization, and hopes of the great American people; bound to save the republic of our fathers, if we go to the death in defence of our mutual rights, principles, and homes.
Do you ask then, 'What is the need of saying all this, since we know it all?' I reply, there is need of saying it, and of repeating it again. There may not be need of it for you, my friend; there is need of it for many others. Talk not of making us of one flesh twain. It cannot be. It is not a question of mereinterestthat shall bind us as a people inseparably in one. God will not solder a chain. It is a higher bond, a holier bond. We are essentially and intrinsically one; one by nature; one by mutual sympathies, by blood relations, by dearest ties; one in all that constitutes the unity of a family relation; one in heart, one in aim, one in mind, purpose, education, and will. None can make us two. Lines may be drawn by ambitious schemers, divisions discussed, but these do not constitute separation or alienation. The heart of the people beats in profound and resolute unison. What God hath joined together let not man put asunder.
Rise, then, as thou art already rising,great heart of the troubled nation, throb from one confine to the other, bid faction's agitation hush, crush down opposition, scorn the unholy threat, dash the traitorous scheme, and declare the resolute and solemn purpose of all the members to live and govern together, as parts of the same living unity, till the whole body politic becomes a prostrate, lifeless corpse. And from the western border of the States, even from among the youngest and least of the children of the Union of Seventy-six, the union of oaths and the union of hearts, the union of instincts and the union of hopes, do we, in the name of her daughters and sons, bid you, upon the eastern confines, and the States between, you the mothers, and you the elder daughters, all hail, and God speed you in the work of forging anew, even in the fierce fires, the links that bind us into one; 'so making peace.'
For we are of you and with you, and will be ever, while our setting sun is your rising sun—ever, until we become two distinct and divergent races—till you cease to be Joseph and we cease to be Benjamin—till you become Edom and we become Moab—till long centuries shall have erased all kindred ties and bonds of consanguinity, and all men, forgetful of history, shall sink together into vassalage and ancient barbarism. But until then we are one in heart, one in life, and must abide one in fact, or sink together to common shameful desolation.