FOOTNOTES:[13]Yet our author had already shown that Dennis, Cromwell's captain, 'contrived a stratagem which betrayed the country. He had got a considerable parcel of goods aboard, which belonged to two of the Council, and found a method of informing them of it. By this means they were reduced to the dilemma, either of submitting or losing their goods. This caused factions amongst them, so that at last'—we blush to add—'the colony surrendered—and saved the goods.'En dat Virginia quintam.The fifth crown had its price, even for a 'usurper.'[14]Virginia was the other of which he was writing.
[13]Yet our author had already shown that Dennis, Cromwell's captain, 'contrived a stratagem which betrayed the country. He had got a considerable parcel of goods aboard, which belonged to two of the Council, and found a method of informing them of it. By this means they were reduced to the dilemma, either of submitting or losing their goods. This caused factions amongst them, so that at last'—we blush to add—'the colony surrendered—and saved the goods.'En dat Virginia quintam.The fifth crown had its price, even for a 'usurper.'
[13]Yet our author had already shown that Dennis, Cromwell's captain, 'contrived a stratagem which betrayed the country. He had got a considerable parcel of goods aboard, which belonged to two of the Council, and found a method of informing them of it. By this means they were reduced to the dilemma, either of submitting or losing their goods. This caused factions amongst them, so that at last'—we blush to add—'the colony surrendered—and saved the goods.'En dat Virginia quintam.The fifth crown had its price, even for a 'usurper.'
[14]Virginia was the other of which he was writing.
[14]Virginia was the other of which he was writing.
Give me water, give air, give me light!Oh, as life in my heart ebbs away,I pine through the dim, chilly night,I long for the sun's kindly ray!Even I, a poor little Arbutus!I was plucked from my beautiful earth,And my soul it then quitted its form;What since has my life e'er been worth?Ah, would I had never been born!Thus I sigh, a poor little Arbutus!Now to man in my anguish I cry:Ah, but what for a sigh does he care?To heaven I now raise my eye,And mourn in my futile despair!Even I, a poor, dying Arbutus!Ah, a life for a life—it is just!But a life for a nothing, oh, cruel!Still low must I languish in dust?And is there for me no renewal?Ah, for me, poor, broken Arbutus!Into elements now I resolve,Yet to life I still cling with each breath;As slowly away I dissolve,Life's sweeter as closer to death!Unto me, but a little Arbutus!Too precocious the life which I bore,Which I drew sweetly in with each breath!The fulness of life did no moreThan ripen a fruitage for death,Within me, a too early Arbutus!
Few persons, at the beginning of this unhappy war, anticipated its prolongation to the present day. The projected rebellion was so daring and sudden in its appearance, so utterly causeless and reckless in its pretexts and objects, that an astounded people could scarcely believe it to be serious in its character and destined to give them any real and protracted trouble. The rebels themselves fed the credulity of their deluded victims with the promise of a peaceful separation, or, at the worst, of a short and triumphant contest, to be speedily followed by a career of boundless prosperity, expansion, greatness, and glory. And, on our part, when we came at length to understand that war was inevitable, we were scarcely less sanguine in our anticipation of easy victory and of the instant restoration of that noble Government, which the domestic enemy, with the most wicked ambition, sought to overthrow and utterly destroy. Confidently and even boastingly, we contrasted our strength with the weakness of the insurrection; we numbered our men in comparison with those of the rebellious States, proud of the favorable result; and we weighed the means of the adversary with our own, in such scales as our sanguine hopes and extravagant ideas served only too well to impose upon us.
The ultimate basis of our calculation was undoubtedly sound and solid, and the anticipated result must eventually come according to our original views, though not within the period then too hastily assigned for the duration of the bloody and disastrous contest. The stupendous force of our Government is amply sufficient to crush the rebellion in all its vast proportions, however slowly the great work may be carried on, and however wastefully and unskilfully the national means may be applied to that indispensable end. Though occasionally baffled in our projects, we are still advancing on the whole; and there is evidently no possible escape for the leaders of the rebellion. They must already begin to entertain fearful apprehensions of their certain ultimate doom. Our great fleet hovers upon their coast and penetrates their bays and rivers, cutting off most of their commerce with the outside world, and isolating them within the narrow limits of the territory actually occupied by them; while our immense armies are pressing them at all important points, with a deliberation and steadiness which evidently spring from the consciousness of superior strength and the certainty of ultimate triumph. The Mississippi river is virtually open to our commerce, or at least to the complete occupation of our gunboats and armies, and the suffering enemy is thus cut off from his communication with Texas, and from the only available resources on which he can securely rely to sustain him much longer in his wicked and desperate game of treason. His condition is in the last degree perilous; he seems to be in the very agony of dissolution, or at least in that stage which immediately precedes it. His extremities are already cold with the chill of mortal congestion; but the fever rages all the more fiercely about the vital parts, where the maddened energies of the whole system are concentrated in the last desperate struggle for life. Possibly there may be a little reaction here and there, or even a violent convulsive effort of tremendous energy; an incursion may be made into Kentucky, or some temporary success achieved in other quarters; but the revival will be deceptive and evanescent, and the fitful return of life to the limbswill only serve to complete the process of exhaustion and to hasten the final catastrophe.
After two years of civil war, maintained under great embarrassments and disadvantages—two memorable years, during which all the malignant powers of treason and hate have been arrayed against the Union with the determined purpose to destroy it—the condition of the Federal Government is wonderfully good, presenting a vivid contrast to the wretched poverty and prostration of the ambitious States which have so rashly assailed it. It would be vain to deny the vast injury suffered by the whole nation, from the inauguration and continuance of this most unnatural strife. It is chiefly this widespread mischief which constitutes the stupendous crime of the rebellion. Thousands upon thousands of valuable lives have been sacrificed; the maimed victims of the war appeal to our sympathies on every side; widows and orphans fill the whole land with lamentation. These are calamities that cannot be compensated by any material prosperity, however great and imposing. Besides, it is impossible to conceal from ourselves, upon mature reflection, that in the present marvellous activity of business and the great abundance of money, we are drawing largely on the future, and maintaining present prosperity at the cost of burdens which will weigh heavily both on ourselves and on coming generations. Nevertheless, the wonderful success of our financial measures and the evidently increasing strength of the Government, in spite of its immense efforts, and with all the alternations of triumph and defeat, of success and failure, of good fortune and disaster, cannot fail to inspire every friend of the Union with hope and confidence. That this great struggle for national existence can be conducted with so little disturbance to the prosperity of the loyal States, and, indeed, with actual increase of activity and immediate success in almost all departments of business, affords the best evidence of the solidity and greatness of our country, and of its ability finally to maintain itself against the vast and powerful conspiracy by which it has been so vigorously assailed. At this moment, the domestic foe, notwithstanding his defiant attitude, is actually writhing in the grasp of an outraged nation; and the foreign enemies of our cause, so recently rejoicing in our misfortunes and elated with the envious anticipation of our utter overthrow, are now looking on with silent apprehension and ill-concealed chagrin at the growing strength we exhibit with every day's experience in the mighty contest. They are disappointed that we are not overwhelmed by every slight check we suffer, and astounded that we are not at all discouraged even by serious disasters to our arms. We derive renewed energy and courage from our very reverses, which give us the inestimable advantage of experience, and enable us finally to turn misfortune into good. Our determination becomes more fixed and immovable with every demand upon our fortitude; and thus the power of the nation advances steadily through all the varying incidents of the struggle, so that now, after these two years of sanguinary civil war, with the gigantic rebellion still wrestling and warring in the bosom of the republic, we yet stand before the world an object of respect and fear to those who hate us and wish us evil, while the masses of men in all countries, who love liberty and desire to escape from despotism, still seek our shores as the very Canaan of promise and the asylum of freedom, even in the midst of our grand struggle for existence as a nation.
It is the people, in their national capacity, as distinguished from the mere agents of Government, who present this sublime spectacle to the view of mankind. The Government for the time being may commit blunders and follies innumerable; yet behind all these, there is the solid and enduring judgment ofthe nation, which will eventually correct all errors, and bring back the wandering statesman to the paths of common sense and ultimate safety. Two years have not sufficed to teach us what we require to know in order to bear ourselves altogether nobly and calmly in so grand an emergency. We have not yet been sufficiently schooled in war, and especially in the bitter experience of civil war, to be able to resist the pressure of great dangers and difficulties, and, at the same time, to maintain undisturbed all the ordinary operations of civil life, and to secure due respect for personal rights and liberties. The mighty and unexampled convulsion of the whole nation, consequent on the rebellion of a wealthy and powerful section, which constituted the bulk of one great political party in the country, and which necessarily had connections of interest and sympathy with large numbers in all the States, has tended to develop party political animosities to the highest pitch. This terrible excitement, continued without interruption for two years, has served at least to test the patriotism of the people, and to determine whether faction was destined so far to prevail as to paralyze the hand of Government and render secession triumphant through our own dissensions. These fearful contests of party have run their course up to the present time, without serious trouble; and it is now apparent that the mass of the people are settled in their devotion to the Union, and will sustain no man or party in factious opposition to the Government, or even in ill-timed exertions to obtain redress of acknowledged wrongs, when those exertions are calculated to embarrass the nation in its mortal struggle for safety and triumph. The existence of the nation, its unity and tranquillity, are paramount to all personal or party rights and interests; and though we may be justly indignant that many arbitrary and unnecessary things are done, yet must they be borne patiently for the sake of the country. The time for accountability will come at last. Under the pressure of vast responsibilities and difficulties, the agents of the people may plausibly, or even justly, excuse themselves for almost any irregularity; and the most honest and devoted patriot may, with apparent truth, be accused of sympathy with the adversary, if he take occasion, in the midst of great perils, to urge his personal sufferings, to the inconvenience and annoyance of the Government.
But while the last two years have subjected us to great difficulties, which have been happily surmounted, if not with entire immunity from evil, at least with substantial safety and great preponderance of good, we have yet to undergo an ordeal such as every thoughtful man might well wish to avoid. The greatest of all trials is to come upon us in the course of another year, if, unhappily, the war should last so long. Nothing could be more unfortunate than one of our presidential elections, to be carried on in the midst of a horrible civil war. It is impossible to anticipate the troubles which may ensue—the sympathies which may be expressed for the rebellion—the intolerance which may seek to suppress freedom of speech under pretext of preventing the consequences of treason—and the fearful license of denunciation which may be assumed and permitted, under that natural delicacy which would hesitate to use even a necessary severity against a political enemy and a rival. Deplorable and dangerous excitement is almost certain to prevail in all quarters; and we may well congratulate ourselves and our country, if we should pass through such a contest without having numerous scenes of trouble and even bloodshed in the war of parties, as episodes and accompaniments to the grand war of the sections. In its effects on the national cause at home and abroad, the violence of that proceeding will be something like one of those lamentable occurrences whichsometimes take place in the army, when portions of our own forces, through misapprehension, turn their arms against each other in the face of the enemy. If we shall not actually take each other's lives, we shall weaken and distract the country by our dissensions and mutual denunciations. Ambition on both sides—on the part of those in power seeking to retain it and using their authority for that end, and on the part of their opponents resisting perhaps beyond the bounds of legitimate opposition—will shed its baleful influence through the land, and intensify the animosities naturally arising upon the recurrence of our great quadrennial struggle.
Yet would that grand emergency offer to a wise and patriotic Administration an inestimable opportunity for the noblest exhibition of unwavering firmness, justice, and self-denial. Should there be presented an example of perfect singleness of purpose, with no room for suspicion of sinister objects, or personal ambitions and enmities; should the Administration in all its departments, devote itself exclusively to the sacred work of preserving the nation, regardless of all consequences to individuals or parties, then would the approbation of a grateful people be its sure reward, and the patriotic masses would take care not only of the Government, but of those, also, who had thus nobly and fearlessly administered it in the critical hour of its mortal danger. A contrary course would only lead to disaster in the momentous operations of the war, and to distraction and weakness among the people, whose duty and disposition it is to sustain the Government in all honest efforts to conquer the rebellion. The temptation insensibly to depart from this pure and patriotic policy is great and almost irresistible. It is so easy and so natural for one in power to persuade himself that he ought to retain it, that himself or his party is the only safe depositary of public authority, and that the general interest requires him to be sustained by all the means at his command,per fas aut nefas, that few men in this country ever avoid the error of using official position and patronage to promote personal and party ends. This is the very bane and opprobrium of our institutions. It has already so perverted the democratic system, that men of the highest ability and character no longer seek political position, and seldom succeed if they do. Alas for our country, if this pernicious practice should prevail in conducting the tremendous operations of the present civil war!—if the coming presidential election should be permitted to cast the ominous influence of party intrigue and official mismanagement upon our struggling armies and our heavily taxed people! Let us fervently pray that our suffering country may escape this danger. It is in the power of the Administration in a great measure to control the whole subject; and upon it will rest the chief responsibility for any serious error that may be committed. It will be responsible not merely for its own conduct, but also for that which it necessitates or provokes on the part of opposing interests and parties. There must be forbearance, united with firmness and infinite discretion in the use of just authority. A more difficult position was never occupied by any party since the organization of the Government. But in proportion to the difficulty and responsibility will be the merit of a wise and successful administration in this most perilous crisis.
If the progress of the war thus far, running through more than half of one Administration, has brought us under the ominous shadow of a coming presidential election, it has, on the other hand, effected a vast modification of opinion and feeling on some questions from which the greatest disturbances might well have been anticipated. From the beginning it was felt to be inevitable that the long continuance of the war would seriously affect the relation of master and slave directly in the rebellious States, and indirectly in all others wherever that relation existed. Far more rapidly than could well have been anticipated has this result been effected; but what is of much greater interest and importance, the violent prejudices of the people have melted away before the inevitable fact, and even the celebrated proclamation no longer excites the fierce animadversion with which it was at first greeted. From the escaped slaves of the rebellious States and the free colored men of the North, negro regiments have been organized and are still in process of formation. There is no outcry against the policy, but there seems to be a general acquiescence in the propriety of using the African race to assist in putting down the traitors who are ready to overthrow all free government in order to perpetuate the subjugation of that unfortunate people. Had the fortunes of war resulted in a speedy annihilation of the confederate authority, it would have been utterly impossible to have made any serious inroad upon the institution of slavery. Sympathy for the Southern people, and a natural indisposition to inaugurate fundamental changes, always attended with immense temporary disadvantages and inconveniences, would have prevented any thorough policy of emancipation from being adopted. But the day of moderation and compromise has now passed by, probably forever. The persistence of the rebels in their mad scheme, although their efforts were plainly destined to ultimate defeat, has secured for themselves the greatest boon which even the highest wisdom in the calmest times could have conferred. Their prodigious folly and wickedness have been overruled by a higher power, and mercifully directed to the complete regeneration of Southern society. The operation is severe, but in the end it will be salutary. In a state of continued peace, this could not have been done. Scores of years would have been required to prepare the Southern mind for it; but now, by one huge convulsive effort, made by themselves with far different views, all obstacles are swept away, and slavery is likely to come to a sudden and final end. A feeble insurrection, soon extinguished, would not have accomplished this work; and even now, if the war should speedily end, there would be serious embarrassment in disposing of the troublesome questions arising out of the subject. The continuance of the war, on its present basis, will soon settle the whole difficulty; and among the many tremendous evils and calamities attending the progress of the war, this inevitable result is one of the greatest compensations. Few men, perhaps, would have desired, or, by deliberate action, have promoted this violent destruction even of so pernicious a system as that which prevailed in the South; but, on the other hand, with the experience of the last two years, still fewer men, in the loyal States at least, can be found to deny that the judgment is righteous, and that, in the actual circumstances, it is destined to be in the end as beneficial to the Southern people themselves, as it is, in its immediate consequences, just in its retribution for their enormous crime. In the progress of so tremendous a war, in which, notwithstanding its origin and cause, the insurrectionary States have strangely been enabled to command foreign capital, together with the sympathy and even the indirect assistance of foreign powers, it would have been shortsighted in the extreme to have anticipated that slavery would escape attack. Though made the pretext for violence, and prominently put forward as the justification of rebellion, it was evidently the weakest point in the rebel cause, and was, therefore, alike from the choice of the rebels as from the necessity of the Government, destined to become the central object and pivotal point of the whole contest. Having once been placed in this position, andfixed in it by the inveterate enmities of prolonged war, it must from that time abide the arbitrament of arms. Two years of fierce and calamitous war seem to have brought the South to this alternative: either to restore the Union with immediate freedom to the slaves, or to accomplish its dissolution, with a doubtful and troubled continuance of the system for an uncertain period in the future.
If the continuance of the struggle thus far has done so much toward a final settlement of the most troublesome of all questions growing out of the contest between the North and the South; if it has probably prepared the way for disposing of slavery in all the States where it now exists, and even given the African astatusas a soldier of the republic; it has also had an equal effect in other important aspects. It has tended to develop and settle definitely the political objects and purposes of the contending parties. With the South, these, to some degree, have necessarily been changed. The original designs of the rebels, whatever they may have been in the beginning, have been modified according to the stringent exigencies of their condition. Their daring and ambitious plans have been restrained by the public opinion of the civilized world, and still more by the limitation of their own resources. So long as their strength was untried, imagination ran riot, and there was no bound to the magnificence of their bad schemes. But the experience of two years has taught them that, in their realization, all such wild dreams are destined to be curtailed within the inexorable limits of possibility. They have only begun to discover how narrow these limits are to them. Unexpected obstacles have arisen on every side, and the soaring purposes of the rebellion have vainly beaten their bruised and wearied wings against the solid walls which circumscribe them within the humble limits of their present uncertain hopes and expectations. The Federal Government, on the other hand, has not changed its purpose, as avowed in the beginning, to restore the national authority, in its unity and integrity, over the whole country. The prospect of accomplishing this end has grown brighter from the beginning. We have passed through almost all phases of party excitement; faction has tried its perilous experiments upon the national temper; divisions have been industriously fomented; and for a time discord has threatened seriously to weaken us. But the patriotism of the people has finally prevailed, and the question may now be considered settled. The people not less than the Government are fully committed to the grand purpose of putting down the rebellion and restoring the Union. Nor does this work, immense as it is, seem to be disproportioned to the national means and energies. The people believe themselves competent to the mighty task, and with this patriotic confidence, the undertaking is already more than half accomplished. The enemy has not the power to defeat our purpose. By our own unhappy divisions, we might possibly defeat ourselves; but with a united and determined people, there is not the slightest room for doubt.
The war continues to be carried on solely in the disaffected region. Threats of transferring the seat of the contest to the loyal States have constantly been made, and are now renewed with an energy of assertion equal to the longing desires with which the straitened rebels look upon the fat fields and the groaning storehouses of the Northern States. Their futile threats do indeed express their wishes or their disordered imaginations, rather than their actual intentions or their possible achievements. If they could transfer the war to Pennsylvania and Ohio, or even to Kentucky and Maryland, a new aspect would be given to the controversy, and different results might well be anticipated. But the time for such enterprises on the part of the rebels, ifit ever existed, has evidently passed by, and is not likely to return. One of the strongest indications of the ultimate result of the war has been the rigid uniformity with which the military operations have been continually pushed back upon the soil of the seceded States, and maintained there in spite of all their efforts to the contrary. In all instances, their incursions into the States mentioned, though projected upon the grandest scale and with the most hopeful results, have eventually proved to be miserable failures; and if they have not always, or even in any instance, met with the severe punishment that ought to have followed them, it was only because the attempts were too preposterous to have been anticipated by a vigilant foe, and we were too confident in our strength to make the preparation necessary properly to repel them. With such experience on our part, after two years of constant efforts to invade our territories successfully met and more than merely repelled, it would be evidence of gross inefficiency and weakness in us, to permit the enemy to gain even a temporary foothold in any one of the loyal States, or even to attempt it, without the complete overthrow and destruction of the invading force. Our manifest policy is to attack them in their own country, and to hold them there, until we can annihilate their military power. We have successfully accomplished one half this programme; but so far we have failed in the other. However humiliating may be the admission, we are nevertheless compelled to make it. We have not yet overthrown their main armies in any decisive engagements; although we have achieved many important successes and made some fatal encroachments on the territory of the enemy, crippling his power and cutting off his resources. From the very inception of the rebellion, its field of operations has been gradually contracting. One after another the strongholds of the enemy have fallen into our hands, and whole regions of his territory have been over run and occupied by our forces, with every appearance of having been finally and forever lost to them. Our standards, advancing steadily, though slowly, have not receded anywhere, except temporarily, and then only, it would seem, to make still further advance into the very heart of the confederacy. With some few exceptions, such as the withdrawal of the army from the Peninsula, this has been the history of the last two years; and there is nothing in the present condition of affairs which would appear to forebode a departure from this uniform progress of our arms. We may complain, perhaps justly, of the slowness of this process. In the ardor and impatience of our patriotism, we may demand more rapid and energetic action, claiming that our immense resources shall be used with greater vigor and concentration, and our vast armies hurled like a thunderbolt upon the enemy, to crush him with one sudden and overwhelming blow. Truly this would be a grand result—a consummation most devoutly to be wished—making short work of the bloody war which has so terribly afflicted our country. This done, there could not be any serious difficulty in resuscitating the love of Union among the masses in the South, and of reëstablishing the Union on its old foundations.
It may or may not be reasonable to demand such energy and speedy success at the hands of the Government. At all events, it is natural that the country, having confided unlimited means to the constituted authorities, should become impatient under the delays and difficulties of the contest, and that inexperienced men should expect the unequal forces of the two sections to be brought into quick and decisive conflict, with a result accordant to the relative strength of the opposing parties. A true Napoleonic genius might well have accomplished this grand result within the two years that have already passed. But such a mighty spirit has not yet come forth at the call of our agonized country; or if, perchance, he has made his appearance, he has certainly not been recognized and received by the powers that be. We must, therefore, needs be contented with the slow and gradual approach we are evidently making toward a final solution of the bloody problem. And as, even in the greatest misfortunes, there is often some hidden compensation for the unhappiness they produce, so in this case, perhaps we may find, in the great changes destined to be wrought in the condition of the Southern people by their stubborn perseverance in the war, ground for consolation in the midst of the calamities and bereavements which every day continues to bring upon us. The Southern rulers and masters pride themselves on their inveterate animosity. They glory in their own shame, and imagine themselves successful, so long as they can protract the struggle and renew the slaughter of great battles in which they are not utterly overthrown, though thousands of innocent victims are sacrificed to their mad and wicked ambition. But in truth, with every day of continued war they are only the more effectually destroying themselves, especially in that particular in which they are most anxious and determined to succeed. For the security of their slave property and the peaceful continuance of the institutions which sustain it, it would have been far better for them had they been thoroughly beaten and effectually put down at the very beginning of the war. There might then have been a chance for slavery to escape, at least for a while. Now it must be admitted there is hardly the vestige of such a chance. It is almost alike certain that slavery has been shaken to its very foundations in every State, whether the rebellion shall now either succeed or fail. The rebels have been wrong in all their calculations. Exactly the reverse of their aims and expectations will be the reward of their treason. They sought to overthrow the Government in order to perpetuate slavery; they have only succeeded in overthrowing slavery, to the certain strengthening and probable perpetuation of the Government they hate.
The leading rebels, occupying the seats of usurped power in their ephemeral confederacy, have succeeded in arousing and sustaining a considerable feeling of nationality and independence among the masses of their population. Grasping the sceptre of ill-gotten authority with great boldness, they have wielded it with a corresponding energy. Their early successes and their protracted resistance, sustained for more than two years by means of large and formidable armies, organized, disciplined, and led with great skill, have sufficed to give them credit and support at home, and much consideration abroad. In the midst of stirring events, carried away by the first impulse of excitement, the Southern people have not been in a mood to calculate the consequences of a long struggle. They have been elated and blinded by their apparent triumphs; and they, whose crafty purpose all the time has been to make use of them for the furtherance of their own ambitious projects, have been careful to preoccupy the minds of the people, and to conceal from them, by the plausible pretences and superficial successes of the hour, the certainty of ultimate discomfiture which has awaited them from the beginning. Occasionally, it is true, there have been indications that light was beginning to dawn on the popular mind; and in spite of the complete system of terror and compression which the leaders have inaugurated and sustained with the utmost determination, and with the most relentless rigor, we have seen every now and then, in different parts of the confederacy, the vivid flashes of a still living sentiment of love for the Union. As the hopes of the conspiracy become gradually lessbright, this sentiment of affection for the old and honored Government of our fathers will grow stronger and more outspoken, and will not be confined to mere individual expressions. When the people begin to open their eyes and see the strength of the rebellion rapidly wasting away, with the repetition of its fruitless endeavors; when victories no longer compensate for the privations and horrible disasters which follow in their track; when, finally, they understand, as they soon must, that the whole movement is destined to end in utter failure, and that this failure is to be only the more overwhelming the longer the unhappy contest shall be continued, a complete revulsion of feeling may well be expected to take place. Many things in the course of the struggle have combined to delay the advent of this inevitable change. The progress of our arms has been extremely slow, with many checks and defeats in those campaigns and at those points which seemed to be the most important. If we have been successful in the West, it has not been without protracted efforts and immense expenditure of life and means—a long and bloody struggle, the uncertainty of which has not tended to strengthen us during its pendency. On the other hand, the brilliant successes of the rebels on the Rappahannock and at Charleston have not been fully counteracted by their actual and definitive discomfiture in other quarters. When Vicksburg and Port Hudson fall, as fall they must, the emptiness of all their triumphs will be felt and appreciated. Bull Run, twice famous, Fredericksburg, Charleston, Chancellorsville—all will then appear in their true light as magnificent phantoms of delusive success, alluring the proud victors to further fruitless efforts and barren victories, only to overwhelm them with more tremendous ruin, in the end which is slowly but certainly approaching.
Thus the continuance of the war, with its exhausting expenditures and its bloody sacrifices of life, is destined to be not altogether without its advantages in other respects besides its influence on the great question of slavery. It is preparing the public mind of the South for a most vehement reaction against all the false ideas which have been the animating spirit of the rebellion. In proportion to the greatness of the conflict, the immensity of its disasters, its delusive promises and barren victories, will be the thoroughness of the discomfiture, the completeness of the overthrow, the utter disgrace of the confederate cause, and of the men who have been its authors and leading representatives. It will be impossible for the Southern people to say, 'We have been engaged in a noble cause; we have failed for the time being; but there is a future for us in which we shall surely triumph.' On the contrary, every Southern man will feel that there is no resurrection for the bad designs which will thus have been forever prostrated. They have in them none of the elements of resuscitation. Failure in the present contest is annihilation forever. The very foundation and active power of the fatal movement will have been swept away, while at the same time the authors and the cause alike will be stamped with eternal infamy, as having aimed at the subversion of human liberty, and only succeeded in producing ruin and devastation to the beautiful region which they have misled and betrayed into a wicked war. The events of the mighty conflict will live in history, but only as an example of just punishment for a great crime, and as a solemn warning against the indulgence of selfish and unprincipled ambition in all future ages.
'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every onelivesit—to not many is itknown; and seize it where you will, it is interesting.'—Goethe.'Successful.—Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or intended.'—Webster'sDictionary.
'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every onelivesit—to not many is itknown; and seize it where you will, it is interesting.'—Goethe.
'Successful.—Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or intended.'—Webster'sDictionary.
Before evening Hiram had informed himself fully (through Hill) of the current rumors about the failure of Allwise, Tenant & Co. He was glad to find a universal sympathy prevailing in all business circles for this old and respectable house.
'That's well, at any rate,' quoth Hiram to himself. 'No one will think of attacking the old gentleman, if he does secure a portion of his property, or, rather, nobody will suspect him of attempting it. He is bound in honor to me [oh, Hiram!honor!] to protect his daughter. Such was really the agreement, that is, by implication, when we became engaged. It won't be honest if he leaves me in the lurch. He need not think that he can do that, though. Twelve thousand dollars! Why, it will scarcely board the old folks in any decent place; and who does he think is going to marry his daughter at that rate?' * * *
Hiram was at the house at his usual hour. It was a lovely evening, about the first of June, and as he walked slowly along, he caught a glimpse of Emma through the blinds. She was seated at a window, evidently watching for his coming. He could perceive, before she knew it was he, that her countenance was troubled. Hiram turned away his head. Evidently something attracted him in another direction.
Mr. Tenant resided in a handsome house in one of the finest squares of the city. As Hiram mounted the steps, he paused a moment to survey the scene. The trees were in full leaf, and the odor of flowers filled with their fragrance the evening air.
'No, he must not give this up,' he muttered.
He turned and rang the bell sharply. It was a habit of Emma to open the door herself when she saw him coming, but this time the servant responded to the summons.
Hiram passed into the front parlor without speaking. As he approached Emma, she rose and threw herself into his arms, and burst into tears. She did not attempt to speak, but kept sobbing as if heart-broken.
Hiram stood still, and, in consequence of his undecided state of mind, a good deal embarrassed.
'Why, what is the matter, Emma?' he said at length. 'Has anything happened to your father or mother?'
'You know what has happened,' she finally articulated.
'Well, my dear child, is that anything to be so distressed about?'
'Don'tyoucare?' she exclaimed, looking up joyfully.
'To be sure I care, but only on your account, and'—
'Oh, never think of me. I shall be the most light-hearted creature in the world. I was only afraid—afraid'—
'Of what, pray?'
'I cannot tell. That—that—perhaps—perhaps—you would not—that—papa's losing everything might make a difference in your feelings. Now don't be angry. (Hiram was looking grave.) I did notreallythink it would; but—but the bare possibility has made me so very unhappy—so very, very unhappy!' and she began to cry again.
'Come, Emma, you must not be so foolish. Sit down now with me, and let me say a few words to you; for your father will want me in a few minutes,and I shall have to be with him all the evening.'
'Oh, I am so glad; you will be such a comfort to him. I know you will.'
Hiram made no reply; both took their seats, and then he spoke.
'Emma,' he said, in a tone so solemn and important that it struck terror to her soul, she knew not wherefore—'Emma, this is a momentous period of your life, and everything depends on the steps you take'—
'Why, Hiram, whatdoyou mean—whatcanyou mean?'
'Nothing to alarm you, but everything to impress you with the fact that no time is to be lost. Your father has made the foolish resolution to give up all his private property to his creditors'—
'So he told mamma and me. Is that not right?'
'No, it is not right. It is wrong,' replied Hiram, in a harsh tone. 'More than wrong—sinful—wicked, very wicked. Do you know who it is the Scripture says is worse than an infidel?'
'I do not,' she replied faintly.
Hiram intended to frighten her, and he had succeeded.
'You do not! Well, it is the man who fails to provide for his own household. Why, we had the text in our Sunday-school lesson only three weeks ago.'
Emma sat paralyzed.
'Now, Emma,' continued Hiram, 'I want you to see your mother, and tell her what I say. Tell her your father is determined to ruin the whole of you—going to give up this very house—just think of that.'
'Papa has already told us so,' said Emma in a low, timid tone; 'but he says it is the only honorable course.'
'Honorable!' exclaimed Hiram, pettishly. 'Stuff—nonsense. I tell you that you are all crazy. You don't think what you are about. Wait till you are turned out of doors, bag and baggage, then see how you will feel—but then it will be too late. Do you understand?'
Emma Tenant was not a brilliant girl, but she had good sense and an honest nature. By degrees she recovered from the stupor into which Hiram's onslaught threw her; she began to feel something of her lover's purpose, and appreciate something of the position he might soon assume. Loving and trustful, these faint glimmerings of the truth appalled her. She did not cry any more. She became pale. She breathed short and quick.
'Hiram,' she gasped, 'you mean something—I fear you mean something. Papa knows best what is honest, better than you—a young man. To lose our property would make me unhappy. And I thought—yes, I conceived—oh, Hiram—tell me—amI going to lose you?' she cried, interrupting herself. 'If it be so, say it—say it now. Do not keep me in suspense.'
'Why, Emma, how nervous you are! Ah, here comes your father. I see you are waiting for me. I am quite ready, sir.'
'Good. Emma, can you spare him for one evening? You will soon have him all to yourself—eh?' and, with a pleasant tap on her cheek, Mr. Tenant turned and left the room.
Hiram followed without saying a word.
Emma sat by herself an hour—at least an hour. The servant came in to light the gas, but she would not permit it. I won't attempt to describe her thoughts.
At length she rose, and took her way to her mother's room. She told her just what had passed. Mrs. Tenant was a superior woman. Her experience taught her, despite her good opinion of Hiram, for he had spared no pains to present himself favorably, that he might prove to be merely mercenary. Yet, after all, she did not think it probable. She said all she consistently could say to soothe her child, without absolutely declaring that she believedher fears to be groundless.Thatshe dared not utter. She finished by a very common and rational argument, which, by the way, has very little comfort in it:
'I know, my darling, that you love him, but you cannot love a mean, low-spirited creature; and if he prove to be such, let us be thankful for your escape.'
She kissed and caressed her child—her only child. But her words were poor consolation to Emma, whose heart was devoted to this man—very meagre consolation. Mrs. Tenant knew it; but what could she say or do more, just then? She could only watch and stand ready to protect her daughter's happiness, when events should decide what course she was to take.
Hiram spent the entire evening looking over accounts and papers with Mr. Tenant. His manner was quiet but assiduous. Very useful he made himself. Frequently in the course of the evening he drew from that gentleman well-merited encomiums on his clear head and methodical ideas.
As he was about leaving—it was fully twelve o'clock, and Mr. Tenant had just thanked him for the twentieth time—Hiram ventured to speak again about his property.
'Dear sir, I feel impelled to speak once more to you. Do listen to me. Do not beggar yourself, and then turn yourself out of doors. Permit me to tell you that you can save this house very easily.'
'I know it, Hiram. I know it. Don't think I have forgotten Emma and you. I have thought it all over. Recollect, I don't blame you. I know it is Emma you are thinking about. But, my dear boy, I can't do it—it would not behonest. I can't do it. Never mind, we shall be all the happier for doing right—all the happier, all the happier. I will see you to-morrow. Good night. God bless you.'
They had gradually got to the door, and Hiram, echoing the good night, stepped into the street.
''God bless you,' indeed,' he muttered. 'Soft words butter no parsnips. 'God bless you!' What idle profanity!'
He walked slowly down the street, unconscious that a young face from a window of the second story watched his retreating steps—that a young heart beat painfully as he passed out of sight.
A few moments later Emma's mother entered her room, and found her still at the window.
'Not yet in bed?' she said tenderly. 'I thought you left me because you were too much fatigued to sit up.' She came and put her arms about her daughter's neck and kissed her.
'My dear, I have joyful news for you. Your papa says Hiram takes just the right view of everything—that nothing can be more satisfactory than his whole conversation. He explained all to Hiram, and he declares he never passed a happier evening in his life. Is not that worth coming to tell you of?'
'Indeed, it is, dear mamma.'
'Now you can sleep?'
'Oh yes.'
But she did not sleep, though. It is not so easy to recover from a heart shock such as she had just experienced. No, she did not sleep a moment during the night. Hiram's harsh, repulsive tone and manner haunted her. Oh,howthey haunted her! Never before had he exhibited such traits. Whatever the future had in store for her, here was a revelation, sudden, unexpected,true.
Honest, simple-minded Mr. Tenant! How he is chattering away to his wife, repeating again and again his encomiums on Hiram, till she is really convinced. Why should she not be?
Meanwhile Hiram has reached his lodgings. He goes through with his usual devotions, and is soon sound asleep. From his composed manner it may reasonably be inferred that he hasmade up his mind just what course to take.
'Mr. Meeker!'
There was no answer.
'Mr. Meeker!'
The accent was one of sudden distress and alarm. There was a short pause, when the call was renewed.
'Mr. Meeker!'
'What is it? What is the matter? Is anything the matter?'
A slight groan.
Mr. Meeker sprang from his bed as if he were a young man, and made haste to light a candle.
'My dear, are you ill?'
'I don't know. It's something strange.'
Mrs. Meeker's voice sounded so unnatural that her husband hurried to the other side of the bed. He found his wife helpless, unable to change her position. Her articulation was very difficult, and her countenance presented a ghastly appearance, for one half of her appeared to be completely paralyzed.
It was the work of a few moments to alarm the house and despatch a messenger for the doctor. But what could a physician avail when nature refused longer to perform her office? The doctor could investigate, and the result of his examination was most alarming. Voluntary action over one half the frame quite suspended; what was worse, there was little or no sensation. The poor woman essayed to speak from time to time, but with repulsive contortions, so that her words sounded like idiotic babble. As her husband bent over her, she seized his arm with the hand stilllive, and with distinctness said:
'Send for Hiram.'
This was in time for the mail which closed in twenty minutes.
Hiram rose the morning after the long session at Mr. Tenant's house, cool and refreshed by his undisturbed slumber. Arriving at his counting room, he received, among his other correspondence, a letter, which read as follows: