book xxvi

. of the sudden and complete revolution, in the practice of the healing art, is curious and interesting.

Asclepiades, of Prusa, in Bythinia, came to Rome, in the time of Pompey the Great, about one hundred years before Christ, to teach rhetoric; and, like an impudent hussy, who came to this city, as a cook, from Vermont, some years ago, and, not succeeding, in that capacity, but hearing, that wet nurses obtained high wages here, prepared herself, for that lucrative occupation--so Asclepiades, not succeeding, as a rhetorician, prepared himself for a doctor. He was ignorant of the whole matter; but a man of genius; and, as he knew nothing of root and herb practice, he determined to cut up the whole system root and branch, and substitute one of his own--_torrenti ac meditata quotidie oratione blandiens omnia abdicavit: totamque medicinam ad causam revocando, conjecturæ fecit_. By the power of his forcible and preconcerted orations, pronounced from day to day, in a smooth and persuasive manner, he overthrew the whole; and, bringing back the science of medicine to cause and effect, he constructed a system of inference or conjecture. Pliny is not disposed to be altogether pleased with Asclepiades, though he recounts his merits fairly. He says of him--_Id solum possumus indignari, unum hominem, e levissima gente, sine ullis opibus orsum, vectigalis sua causa, repente leges salutis humano genere dedisse, quas tamen postea abrogavere multi_--at least, we may feel rather indignant, that one, born among a people, remarkable for their levity, born also in poverty, toiling for his daily support, should thus suddenly lay down, for the human race, the laws of health, which, nevertheless, many rejected afterwards.

Now it seems to me, that Asclepiades was a very clever fellow; and I think, upon Pliny's own showing, there was more reason, for indignation, against a people, who had so long tolerated the marvellous absurdities of the herb system, such as it then was, than against a man, who had the good sense to perceive, and the courage and perseverance to explode, them. What there was in the poverty of Asclepiades, or in the character of his countrymen, to rouse Pliny's indignation, I cannot conceive. Pliny says, lib. xxvi. cap. 9, after naming several things, which promoted this great change, in the practice of Physic--_Super omnia adjuvere eum magicæ vanitates, in tantum erectæ, ut abrogare herbis fidem cunctis possent_. He was especially assisted in his efforts, by the excesses, to which the magical absurdities had been carried, in respect to herbs, so that they alone were enough to destroy all confidence, in such things.

Pliny proceeds to narrate some of these magical absurdities--the plant Æthiops, thrown into lakes and rivers, would dry them up--the touch of it would open everything, that was shut. The Achæmenis, cast among the enemy, would cause immediate flight. The Latace would ensure plenty. Josephus also, De Bell, Ind. lib. vii. cap. 25--speaks of an excellent root for driving out devils.

Pliny says, Asclepiades laid down five important particulars--_abstinentiam cibi_, _alias vini_, _fricationem corporis_, _ambulationem_, _gestationes_--abstinence from meat, and, at other times, from wine, friction of the body, walking, and various kinds of gestation, on horseback, and otherwise. There were some things, in the old practice, _nimis anxia et rudia_, too troublesome and coarse, whose rejection favored the new doctor greatly, _obruendi agros veste sudoresque omni modo ciendi; nunc corpora ad ignes torrendi_, etc.--smothering the sick in blankets, and exciting perspiration, by all possible means--roasting them before fires, &c. Like every other ingenious physician, he had something pleasant, of his own contriving, to propose--_tum primum pensili balinearum usu ad infinitum blandientem_--then first came up the employment of hanging baths, to the infinite delight of the public. These hanging baths, which Pliny says, lib. ix. 79, were really the invention of Sergius Orata, were rather supported than suspended--fires were kindled below--there were different _ahena_, or caldrons, the _caldarium_, and _frigidarium_. The _corrivatio_ was simply the running together of the cold and hot water. Annexed was the _laconicum_, or sweating room. The curious reader may compare the Roman baths with those at Constantinople, described by Miss Pardoe.

_Alia quoque blandimenta_, says Pliny, _excogitabat, jam suspendendo lectulos, quorum jactatu aut morbos extenuaret, aut somnos alliceret_. He excogitated other delights, such as suspended beds, whose motion soothed the patient, or put him to sleep. The principle here seems pretty universal, lying at the bottom of all those simple contrivances, rocking-chairs, cribs, and cradles, swings, hammocks, &c. This is truly Indian practice--

Rock-a-bye baby upon the tree top, And, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.

_Præterea in quibusdam morbis medendi cruciatus detraxit, ut in anginis quas curabant in fauces organo demisso. Damnavit merito et vomitiones, tunc supra modum frequentes._ He also greatly diminished the severity of former practice, in certain diseases, in quinsies for example, which they used to cure, with an instrument, introduced into the fauces. He very properly condemned those vomitings, then frequent, beyond all account. This refers to the Roman usage, which is almost incomprehensible by us. Celsus, De Med. lib. i. 3, refers to it, as the practice _eorum, qui quotidie ejiciendo, vorandi facultatem moliuntur_--of those, who, by vomiting daily, acquired the faculty of gormandizing. Suetonius says of the imperial brute, Vitellius, sec. xiii. that he regularly dined, at three places daily, _facile omnibus sufficiens, vomitandi consuetudine_--easily enabled to do so, by his custom of vomiting.

Pliny's reflection, upon the success of the new doctor, is very natural--_quæ quum unusquisque semetipsum sibi præstare posse intelligeret, faventibus cunctis, ut essent vera quæ facillima erant, universum prope humanum genus circumegit in se, non alio modo quam si coelo emissus advenisset_. When every one saw, that he could apply the rules for himself, all agreeing that things, which were so very simple, must certainly be true, he gathered all mankind around him, precisely as though he had been one, sent from Heaven.

In the following passage, Pliny employs the word, _artificium_, in an oblique sense. _Trahebat præterea mentes artifcio mirabili, vinum promittendo ægris._ He attracted men's minds, by the remarkable _artifice_ of allowing wine to the sick.

During the temperance movement, some eminent physicians have asserted, that wine was unnecessary, in every case--others have extended their practice, and increased their popularity, by making their patients as comfortable, as possible--_while they continued in the flesh_. A German, who had been very intemperate, joined a total abstinence society, by the advice of a temperance physician. In a little time the _tormina_ of his stomach became unbearable. Instead of calling his temperance physician, who would, probably, have eased the irritation, with a little wormwood, or opium, he sent for the popular doctor, who told him, at once, that he wanted brandy--"How much may I take?" inquired the German. "An ounce, during the forenoon;" replied the doctor. After he had gone, the German said to his son, "Harman, go, get de measure pook, and zee how mooch be won ounz." The boy brought the book, and read aloud, eight drachms make one ounce--the patient sprang half out of bed; and, rubbing his hands, exclaimed--"dat ish de toctor vor me; I never took more nor voor trams in a morning, in all my porn days--dat ish de trouble--I zee it now."

No. CXV.

Miss Bungs is dead. It is well to state this fact, lest I should be suspected of some covert allusion to the living. She firmly believed in the XXXIX. articles, and in a fortieth--namely--that man is a fortune-hunter, from his cradle. She often declared, that, sooner than wed a fortune-hunter, she would die a cruel death--she would die a maid--she did so, in the full possession of her senses, to the last.

Her entire estate, consisting of sundry shares, in fancy stocks, two parrots, a monkey, a silver snuff-box, and her paraphernalia, she directed to be sold; and the avails employed, for the promotion of celibacy, among the heathen.

Yet it was the opinion of those, who knew her intimately, that Miss Bungs was, at heart, sufficiently disposed to enter into the holy state of matrimony, could she have found one pure, disinterested spirit; but, unfortunately, she was fully persuaded, that every man, who smiled upon her, and inquired after her health, was "_after her money_." Miss Bungs was not unwilling to encourage the impression, that she was an object of particular regard, in certain quarters; and, if a gentleman picked up her glove, or escorted her across a gutter, she was in the habit of instituting particular inquiries, among her acquaintances--in strict confidence of course--in regard to his moral character--ejaculating with a sigh, that men were so mercenary now-a-days, it was difficult to know who could be trusted.

Now, this was very wrong, in Miss Bungs. By the English law, if a man or a woman pretends, falsely, that he or she is married to any person, that person may libel, in the spiritual court, and obtain an injunction of silence; and this offence, in the language of the law, is called _jactitation of marriage_. I can see no reason why an injunction in cases of _jactitation of courtship_, should not be allowed; for serious evils may frequently arise, from such unauthorized pretences.

After grave reflection, I am of opinion, that Miss Bungs carried her opposition to fortune-hunters, beyond the bounds of reason. Let us define our terms. The party, who marries, only for money, intending, from the very commencement, to make use of it, for the selfish gratification of vain, or vicious, propensities--is a fortune-hunter of the very worst kind. But let us not forget, as we go along, that this field is occupied by huntresses, as well as by hunters; and that, upon such voyages of discovery, the cap may be set, as effectually, as the compass.

There is another class, with whom the degree of personal attachment, which really exists, is too feeble, to resist the combined influence of selfishness and pride. Such also, I suppose, may be placed in the category of fortune-hunters. We find an illustration of this, in the case of Mr. Mewins. After a liberal arrangement had been made, for the young lady, by her father; Mr. Mewins, having taken a particular fancy to a little, brown mare, demanded, that it should be thrown into the bargain; and, upon a positive refusal, the match was broken off. After a couple of years, the parties accidentally met, at a country ball--Mr. Mewins was quite willing to renew the engagement--the lady appeared not to have the slightest recollection of him. "Surely you have not forgotten me," said he--"What name, sir?" she inquired--"Mewins," he replied; "I had the honor of paying my addresses to you, about two years ago."--"I remember a person of that name," she rejoined, "who paid his addresses to my father's brown mare."

In matrimony, wealth is, of course, a very comforting accessory. It renders an agreeable partner still more so--and it often goes, not a little way, to balance an unequal bargain. Time and talent may as wisely be wasted, in pursuit of the philosopher's stone, as of an unmixed good or evil, on this side the grave. Temper may be mistaken, or it may change; beauty may fade; but £60,000, well managed, will enable the _happy man or woman_, to bear up, with tolerable complacency, under the severest trials of domestic life. What a blessed thing it is, to fall back upon, when one is compelled to mourn, over the infirmities of the living, or the absence, of the dead! What a solace!

It was therefore wrong, in Miss Bungs, to designate, as fortune-hunters, those, of either sex, who have come to the rational conclusion, that money is essential to the happiness of married life. No man or woman of common sense, who is poor, will, now-a-days, commit the indiscretion of _falling in love_, unless with some person of ample possessions.

What, then, is to become of the penniless, and the unpretty! We must adopt the custom of the ancient Babylonians, introduced about 1433 B. C., by Atossa, the daughter of Belochus. At a certain season of the year, the most lovely damsels were assembled, and put up, singly, at auction, to be purchased, by the _highest_ bidder. The wealthy swains of Babylon poured forth their wealth, like water; and rivals settled the question, not by the length of their rapiers, but of their purses. The money, thus obtained, became the dowry of those, whose personal attractions were not likely to obtain them husbands. They also were put up, and sold to the _lowest_ bidder, as the poor were formerly disposed of, in our villages. Every unattractive maiden, young, old, and of no particular age, was put up, at a _maximum_, and bestowed on him, who would take her, with the smallest amount of dowry. It is quite possible, that certain lots may have been withdrawn.

I rather prefer this practice to that of the Spartans, which prevailed, about 884 B. C. At an appointed time, the marriageable damsels were collected, in a hall, perfectly dark; and the young men were sent into the apartment; walking, evidently, neither by faith nor by sight, but, literally, feeling their way, and thus selected their helpmates. This is in perfect keeping with the principle, that love is blind.

The ancient Greeks lived, and multiplied, without marriage. Eusebius, in the preface to his Chronicon, states, that marriage ceremonies were first introduced among them, by Cecrops, about 1554 B. C. The Athenians provided by law, that no unmarried man should be entrusted with public affairs, and the Lacedemomans passed severe laws against those, who unreasonably deferred their marriage. It is not easy to reconcile the general policy of promoting marriages, with the statute, 8 William III., 1695, by which they were taxed; as they were again, in 1784.

The earliest celebration of marriages, in churches, was ordained by Pope Innocent III., A. D. 1199. Marriages were forbidden in Lent, A. D. 364, conforming, perhaps, to the rule of abstinence from flesh.

Fortune-hunting has not always been unaccompanied with violence. Stealing an heiress was made felony, by 3 Henry VII. 1487, and benefit of clergy denied, in such cases, by 39 Eliz. 1596. In the first year of George IV. 1820, this offence was made punishable by transportation. In the reign of William III., Captain Campbell forcibly married Miss Wharton, an heiress. The marriage was annulled, by act of Parliament, and Sir John Johnston was hanged, for abetting. In 1827, two brothers and a sister, Edward, William, and Frances Wakefield, were tried and convicted, for the felonious abduction of Miss Turner, an heiress, whose marriage with Edward Wakefield was annulled, by act of Parliament.

No species of fortune-hunter appears so entirely contemptible, as the wretch, who marries for money, intending to employ it, not for the joint comfort of the parties, but for the payment of his own arrearages; and who resorts to the expedient of marriage, not to obtain a wife, but to avoid a jail. And the exultation is pretty universal, when such a vagabond falls, himself, into the snare, which he had so deliberately prepared, for another.

In the fifth volume of the Diary of Samuel Pepys, pages 323, 329 and 330, Lord Braybrooke has recorded three letters to Pepys, from an extraordinary scoundrel of this description. The first letter from this man, Sir Samuel Morland, who seems to have had some employment in the navy, bears date "Saturday, 19 February, 1686-7." After communicating certain information, respecting naval affairs, he proceeds, as follows:--

"I would have wayted on you with this account myself, but I presume you have, ere this time, heard what an unfortunate and fatall accident has lately befallen me, of which I shall give you an abreviat."

"About three weeks or a month since, being in very great perplexities, and almost distracted for want of moneys, my private creditors tormenting me from morning to night, and some of them threatening me with a prison, and having no positive answer from his Majesty, about the £1300 which the late Lord Treasurer cutt off from my pension so severely, which left a debt upon me, which I was utterly unable to pay, there came a certain person to me, whom I had relieved in a starving condition, and for whom I had done a thousand kindnesses; who pretended, in gratitude to help me to a wife, who was a very vertuous, pious, and sweet disposition'd lady, and an heiress, who had £500 per ann. in land and inheritance, and £4000 in ready money, with the interest since nine years, besides a mortgage upon £300 per ann. more, with plate, jewels, &c. The devil himself could not contrive more probable circumstances than were layd before me; and when I had often a mind to enquire into the truth, I had no power, believing for certain reasons, that there were certain charms or witchcraft used upon me; and, withall, believing it utterly impossible that a person so obliged should ever be guilty of so black a deed as to betray me in so barbarous a manner. Besides that, I really believ'd it a blessing from Heaven for my charity to that person: and I was, about a fortnight since, led as a fool to the stocks, and married a coachman's daughter not worth a shilling, and one who, about nine months since, was brought to bed of a bastard; and thus I am both absolutely ruined, in my fortune and reputation, and must become a derision to all the world."

"My case is at present in the Spiritual Court, and I presume, that one word from his Majesty to his Proctor, and Advocate, and Judge, would procure me speedy justice; if either our old acquaintance or Christian pity move you, I beg you to put in a kind word for me, and to deliver the enclosed into the King's own hands, with all convenient speed; for a criminal bound and going to execution is not in greater agonies than has been my poor, active soul since this befell me: and I earnestly beg you to leave in three lines for me with your porter, what answer the King gives you, and my man shall call for it. A flood of tears blind my eyes, and I can write no more, but that I am your most humble and poor distressed servant,

S. MORLAND."

All that befell Sir Samuel and _Lady_ Morland, after his application to Pepys and the King, will be found fully set forth, by this prince of fortune-hunters, in the two remaining letters to which I have referred, and which I purpose to lay before the reader in the ensuing number.

No. CXVI.

The reader will remember, that we left Sir Samuel Morland, in deep distress, his eyes, to use his own words, in the letter to Pepys, _blinded by a flood of tears_. Of all fortune-hunters he was the most unfortunate, who have recorded, with their own hands, the history of their own most wretched adventures. Instead of marrying a "_vertuous, pious, and sweet disposition'd lady, with £500 per ann. in land, and £4000 in ready money, with plate, jewels, &c._," he found himself in silken bonds, with a coachman's daughter, "not worth a shilling," who, nine months before, had been introduced to a new code of sensations, by giving birth to a child, whose father was of that problematical species, which the law terms _putative_.

I have promised to lay before the reader two additional letters, from Sir Samuel Morland, to Pepys, on the subject of his difficulties with Lady Morland. Here they are: the first will be found, in Pepys' Diary, vol. v. page 329.

"17 May, 1688. Sir: Being of late unable to go abroad, by reason of my lame hip"--no wonder he was hipped--"which gives me great pain, besides that it would not be safe for me, at present, because of that strumpet's"--_Lady Morland's_--"debts, I take the boldness to entreat you, that, according to your wonted favors, of the same kind, you will be pleased, at the next opportunity, to give the King this following account."

"A little before Christmas last, being informed, that she was willing, for a sum of money, to confess in open court a precontract with Mr. Cheek, and being at the same time assured, both by hir and my own lawyers, that such a confession would be sufficient for a sentence of nullity, I did deposit the money, and accordingly a day of tryall was appoynted; but after the cause had been pleaded, I was privately assured, that the Judge was not at all satisfyd with such a confession of hers, as to be sufficient ground for him to null the marriage, and so that design came to nothing."

"Then I was advised to treat with her, and give her a present sum and a future maintenance, she giving me sufficient security never to trouble mee more; but her demands were so high, I could not consent to them."

"After this she sent me a very submissive letter, by her own advocate. I was advised, both by several private friends, and some eminent divines, to take her home, and a day of treaty was appoynted for an accommodation."

"In the interim, a certain gentleman came on purpose, to my house, to assure me that I was taking a snake into my bosome, forasmuch as she had for six months last past, to his certain knowledge, been kept by, and cohabited with Sir Gilb. Gerrard, as his wife, &c. Upon which making further enquiry, that gentleman furnishing me with some witnesses, and I having found out others, I am this term endeavoring to prove adultery against her, and so to obteyn a divorce, which is the present condition of your most humble and faithful servant,

SAMUEL MORLAND."

It was fortunate, that Sir Samuel, whose _naïveté_ and rascality are most amusingly mingled, did not take the "_snake into his bosome_," notwithstanding the advice of those "_eminent divines_," whose counsel is almost ever too celestial, for the practical occasions of the present world.

The issue of Sir Samuel's fatal plunge into the abyss of matrimony, in pursuit of "£500 per annum in land and £4000 in ready money," and of all that befell the Lady Morland, until she lost her title, is recorded, in the third and last letter to Pepys, in vol. v., page 330.

"19 July, 1688. Sir: I once more begg you to give yourself the trouble of acquainting His Majesty that upon Munday last, after many hott disputes between the Doctors of the Civil Law, the sentence of divorce was solemnly pronounced in open Court against that strumpet"--_Lady Morland_--"for living in adultery with Sir Gilbert Gerrard, for six months last past; so that now, unless shee appeal, for which the law allows her 15 days, I am freed from her for life, and all that I have to do, for the future, will bee to gett clear of her debts, which she has contracted from the day of marriage to the time of sentence, which is like to give me no small trouble, besides the charge, for severall months in the Chancery. And till I gett cleared of these debts, I shall bee little better than a prisoner in my own house. Sir, believing it my duty to give His Majesty this account of myselfe and of my proceedings, and having no other friend to do it for mee, I hope you will forgive the trouble thus given you, by, yours, &c.,

S. MORLAND."

This must have interested His Majesty, very deeply. Poor James had then enough of care. If he had possessed the hands of Briareus, they would have been full already. In less than four months, after the date of this letter, William of Orange had landed at Torbay, Nov. 5, 1688, and the last days of the last of the Stuarts were at hand.

If Miss Bungs were living, even that inexorable hater of all fortune-hunters would admit, that the punishment of Sir Samuel Morland was sufficient for his crimes. Few will pretend, that his sufferings were more than he deserved. A more exact retribution cannot well be imagined. It was his intention to apply "_£4000 ready money_," belonging to "_a very vertuous, pious, and sweet disposition'd lady_," to the payment of his pre-contracted debts. Instead of effecting this honorable purpose, he becomes the husband of a low-born strumpet, who is not worth a shilling, and for whose debts, contracted before, as well as after marriage, he is liable; for the law decrees, that a man takes his wife and her circumstances together.

There are few individuals, of either sex, however constitutionally grave, who have not a little merriment to spare, for such happy contingencies as these. Retributive justice seldom descends, more gracefully, or more deservedly, or more to universal acceptance, upon the crafty heads of unprincipled projectors. For all, that may befall him, the fortune-hunter has little to expect, from male or female sympathy. The scolding tongue--those bewitching tresses, nocturnally deposited on the bedpost--those teeth of pearly brilliancy, which Keep or Tucker could so readily identify--the perpetual look of distrust--the espionage of jealousy--these and all other _tormina domestica_ are the allotments of the fortune-hunter, by immemorial prescription, and without the slightest sympathy, from man or woman.

The case of Sir Samuel Morland is a valuable precedent, on account of his station in society, and the auto-biographical character of the narrative. But there are very few of us, who have not the record of some similar catastrophe, within the compass of our knowledge, though, probably, of a less aggravated type.

There is a pleasant legend, in the humbler relations of life, to which I have listened, in earlier days, and which illustrates the principle, involved in these remarks. Molly Moodey was an excellent cook, in the family of an avaricious old widower, whose god was mammon, and who had been deterred, by the expensiveness of the proceeding, from taking a second goddess.

The only sentiment, in any way resembling the tender passion, which had ever been awakened, in the bosom of Molly Moodey, was a passion for lotteries.

She gave such of her waking hours, as were not devoted to roasting and boiling, to the calculation of chances, and her sleeping hours to the dreaming of dreams, about £20,000: and by certain combinations, she had come to the conclusion, that No. 26,666 was the fortunate number, in the great scheme, then presented to the public.

Molly avowed her purpose, and demanded her wages, which, after severely berating her, for her folly, were handed over, and the identical ticket was bought. With the hope of being the first to inform her, after the drawing, that her ticket was a blank, her old master noted down the number, in his tablets.

In about seven weeks after this occurrence, the old gentleman, while reading the newspaper, in one of the public offices, came upon the following notice--"HIGHEST PRIZE! £20,000. No. 26,666 the fortunate number, sold at our fortunate office, in one entire ticket, SKINNER, KETCHUM, & CLUTCH, and will be paid to the lucky proprietor, after the 27th current."

The old gentleman took out his tablets; compared the numbers; wiped his spectacles; collated the numbers again; resorted to the lottery office; and, upon inquiry there, became satisfied, that Molly Moodey had actually drawn £20,000.

A new code of sensations came over the spirit of his dreams. He hastened home, oppressed by the heat and his emotions. He bade Molly lay aside her mop, and attend him in the parlor, as he had something of importance to communicate.--"Molly," said he, after closing the doors--"I find a partner absolutely necessary to my happiness. Let me be brief. I am not the man to make a fool of myself, by marrying a young flirt. I have known you, Molly, for many years. You have what I prize above all things in a wife, solid, substantial qualifications. Will you have me?"

Taken thus by surprise, she gave a striking evidence of her self-possession, by requesting leave of absence, for a moment, to remove a kettle of fat, which she was trying out, lest it should boil over. She soon came back, and turned her eye--she had but one--with great respect, upon her old master--said something of the difference of their stations--and consented.

The old gentleman's attachment for Molly appeared to be very extraordinary. Until the wedding-day, which was an unusually early one, he would not suffer her to be out of his sight. The day came--they were married. On their way from church--"Molly," said the bridegroom, "whereabouts is your ticket, with that fortunate number?"--"Oh," she replied, "when I came to think of it, I saw, that you were right. I thought, 'twas quite likely it would draw a blank. Crust, the baker, offered me what I gave for it, and a sheet of bunns, to boot, and I let him have it, three weeks ago."--"Good God," exclaimed the poor old gentleman--"£20,000 for a sheet of bunns!"

The shock was too much for his reason; and, in less than six weeks, Molly was a widow. She attended him, with great fidelity, to the last moment; and his dying words were engraven upon her heart--"_Twenty thousand pounds for a sheet of bunns!_"

How true to reality are the gay words of Tom Moore--

"In wedlock a species of lottery lies, Where in blanks and in prizes we deal."

No. CXVII.

The Archbishop of Cambray, the amiable Fenelon, has remarked, that God shows us the high value he sets upon time, by giving us, in absolute possession, one instant only, leaving us, in utter uncertainty, if we shall ever have another. And yet, so little are we disturbed, by this truly momentous consideration, that, long before the breath is fairly out of the old year's body, we are found busily occupied, in gathering chaplets, for the brows of the new one.

The early Christians were opposed to New Year's Gifts, as fixedly, as some of the latter Christians are opposed to the song and the dance. But I am inclined to believe the rising generation will take steps, very like their fathers--that light fantastic tongues and toes, will continue to wag, to all eternity--and that the unmusical and rheumatic will deplore over such heterodox and ungodly proceedings, till the world shall be no more.

The New Year's gifts of the Romans were, originally, exceedingly simple. Sprigs of vervain, gathered in a wood, consecrated to Strenia, the goddess of Strength, somehow or other, came into favor, and were accounted of good omen. A custom arose of sending these sprigs about the neighborhood, as tokens of friendship, on New Year's day; and these trifling remembrancers obtained the name of _Strenæ_. These sprigs of vervain, ere long, wore out their welcome; and were followed, in after years, by presents of dates, figs and honey. Clients thus complimented their patrons; and, before many anniversaries, the coin of Rome began to mingle with the donative, whatever it might be; and, very soon, the advantage of the receiver came less to be consulted, than the reputation of him, who gave.

When I contemplate those ample storehouses of all, that is gorgeous and glittering--those receptacles of useless finery, which nobody actually wants--and, at the same time, reflect upon all that I know, and much that I conjecture, of the necessities and distresses of mankind, I am not certain, that it may not be wise to resume the earlier custom of the Romans, and embody, in certain cases, our annual tokens of friendship and good will, in such useful materials, as _figs, dates and honey_.

Are there not individuals, who, upon the reception of some gaudy and expensive bagatelle, are ready to exclaim, with the cock in Æsop--"_I had rather have one grain of dear, delicious, barley, than all the jewels under the sun!_"

I am not so utopian, as to anticipate any immediate or very extensive reformation, in this practice, which, excellent as it is, when restrained within reasonable bounds, is, unquestionably, under certain circumstances, productive of evil. It is not to be expected, that expensive _bijoux_, for new year's gifts, will speedily give place to _sugar and molasses_. But there are cases, not a few, when, upon a new year's day, the wealthy giver, without paining the recipient, may convert the annual compliment, into something better than a worthless toy--a fantastical token of ostentatious remembrance.

The Christian world has settled down, at last, upon the first of January, as New Year's day. It was not always thus; and, even now, no little difficulty occurs, in our attempts to refer historical events to particular years. We can do no better, perhaps, than to devote this number to a brief exposition of this difficulty.

Every schoolboy knows, that Romulus divided the year into ten months. The first was March, and, from March to December, they have retained their original names, for some six and twenty centuries, excepting the fifth and sixth month, which, from _Quintilis_ and _Sextilis_, have been changed, in honor of _Julius_ and _Augustus_.

Numa added two months, _Januarius_ and _Februarius_. Numa's year consisted therefore of twelve months, according to the moon's course. But Numa's lunar year did not agree with the course of the sun, and he therefore introduced, every other year, an _intercalary_ month, between the 23d and 24th of February. The length of this month was decided by the priests, who lengthened or shortened the year, to suit their convenience. Cicero, in a letter to Atticus, x. 17, writes, in strong disfavor, of Numa's calendar.

Julius Cæsar, with the aid of Sosigenes of Alexandria, adjusted this astronomical account. To bring matters into order, Suetonius, in his life of Julius Cæsar, 40, says, they were constrained to make one final year of fifteen months, to close the confusion.

Hence arose the Julian or Solar year, the year of the Christian world. The "_alteration of the style_" is only an amendment of the Julian calendar, in one particular, by Pope Gregory, in 1582. In 325, A. D., the vernal equinox occurred March 21, and in 1582 it occurred March 10. He called the astronomers to council, and, by their advice, obliterated ten days from the current year, between October 4, and 15.

These ten days make the difference, from 1582 to February 29, 1700. From March 1, 1700, to February 29, 1800, eleven days were required, and from March 1, 1800, to February 29, 1900, twelve days. In all Roman Catholic countries, this alteration of the style was instantly adopted; but not in Great Britain, till 1752. The Greeks and Russians have never adopted the Gregorian alteration of the style.

The commencement of the year has been assigned to very different periods. In some of the Italian states, as recently as 1745, the year has been taken to commence, at the Annunciation, March 25. Writers of the sixth century have, occasionally, like the Romans, considered March 1 as New Year's day. Charles IX. by a special edict, in 1563, decreed, that the year should be considered to commence, on the first of January. In Germany, about the eleventh century, the year commenced at Christmas. Such was the practice, in modern Rome, and other Italian cities, as late as the fifteenth century.

Gervais of Canterbury, who lived early in the thirteenth century, states, that all writers of his country considered Christmas the true beginning of the year. In Great Britain, from the twelfth century, till the alteration of the style in 1752, the Annunciation, or March 25, was commonly considered the first day of the year. After this, the year was taken to commence, on the first of January.

The Chaldæan and Egyptian years commenced with the Autumnal equinox. The Japanese and the Chinese date their year from the new moon, nearest the Winter solstice.

As Diemschid, king of Persia, entered Persepolis, the sun happened to be entering into Aries. In commemoration of this coincidence, he decreed, that the year should change front, and commence, forever more, in the Vernal, instead of the Autumnal equinox. The Swedish year, of old, began, most happily, at the Winter solstice, or at the time of the sun's reäppearance in the horizon, after the usual _quarantine_, or absence of forty days. The Turks and Arabs date the advent of their year, upon the sixteenth of July.

In our own country, the year, in former times, commenced in March. In the Mass. Hist. Coll., vol. xvii. p. 136, may be found certain votes, passed in Boston, Nov. 30, 1635, among which is the following--"_that all such as have allotments for habitations allotted unto them, shall build thereon, before the first of the first month next, called March_." In Johnson's Wonder-working Providence, ch. 27, the writer says of the Boston pilgrims, in 1633: "Thus this poor people, having now tasted liberally of the salvation of the Lord, &c. &c., set apart the 16 day of October, which they call the _eighth Moneth_, not out of any pevish humor of singularity, as some are ready to censor them with, but of purpose to prevent the Heathenish and Popish observation of Dayes, Moneths, and Yeares, that they may be forgotten, among the people of the Lord." If October was their _eighth_ month, March was necessarily their _first_. Whatever the practice may have been, in this respect, it was by no means universal, in New England, during a considerable period, before the alteration of the style in 1752.

A reference to the record will show, that, until 1752, the old style was adhered to, by the courts, in this country, and the 25th of March was considered to be New Year's day. But it was not so with the public journals. Thus the Boston News Letter, the Boston Gazette, the New England Courant and other journals, existing here, before the adoption of the new style, in Great Britain, in 1752, considered the year, as commencing on the first of January.

Private individuals very frequently did the same thing. At this moment, a letter from Peter Faneuil is lying at my elbow, addressed to Messrs. Lane and Smethurst of London, bearing date January 1, 1739, at the close of which he wishes his correspondents _a happy new year_, showing, that the first of January, for ordinary purposes, and in common parlance, was accounted New Year's day.

The little people, of both sexes, would, doubtless, have voted for the adoption of the old style and of the new; in other words, for having two new year's days, in every year. They would have been as much delighted with the conceit, as was Rousseau, with the pleasant fancy of St. Pierre, who wrote, from the Isle of France, to a friend in Paris, that he had enjoyed two summers in one year; the perusal of which letter induced Rousseau, to seek the acquaintance of the author of Paul and Virginia.

No. CXVIII.

Dion remarks, while speaking of Trajan--_he that lies in a golden urn, eminently above the earth, is not likely to rest in peace_. The same thing may be affirmed of him, who has raised himself, eminently above his peers, wherever he may lie. During the Roman Catholic rage for relics, the graves were ransacked, and numberless sinners, to supply the demand, were dug up for saints. Sooner or later, the finger of curiosity, under some plausible pretext, will lift the coffin lid; or the foot of political sacrilege will trample upon the ashes of him, whom a former generation had delighted to honor; or the motiveless spirit of mischief will violate the sanctity of the tomb.

When Charles I. was buried, in the same vault with Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn, a soldier, as Wood relates, in his Athenæ Oxonienses, vol. iv. p. 39, Lond. 1820, attempted to steal a royal bone, which was afterwards found upon his person, and, which he said, upon examination, he had designed, for a handle to his knife.

John Milton died, according to the respective accounts of Mitford, Johnson, and Hayley, on the 8th--about the 10th--or on the 15th of November, 1674. He was buried, in the chancel of St. Giles, Cripplegate. In the London Monthly Magazine, for August, 1833, there appeared an extract from the diary of General Murray, giving a particular account of the desecration of Milton's remains. The account was given to General Murray, at a dinner party, Aug. 23, 1790, by Mr. Thornton, who received it, from an eye-witness of the transaction. The church of St. Giles requiring repairs, the occasion was thought a proper one, to place a monument, over the body of Milton. Messieurs Strong, Cole, and others, of that parish, sought for, and discovered, the leaden coffin, the outer coffin of wood having mouldered away. Having settled the question of identity, these persons replaced the coffin, and ordered the workmen to fill up the grave. The execution of this order was postponed, for several days. In the interim, some of the parish, whose names are given, by General Murray, having dined together, and become partially drunk, resolved to examine the body; and proceeded, with lights, to the church. With a mallet and chisel, they cut open the coffin, rolled back the lead, and gazed upon the bones of John Milton! General Murray's diary shall relate the residue of a proceeding, which might call the rouge to the cheeks of a Vandal:--

"The hair was in an astonishingly perfect state; its color a light brown, its length six inches and a half, and, although somewhat clotted, it appeared, after having been well washed, as strong as the hair of a living being. Fountain said he was determined to have two of his teeth; but as they resisted the pressure of his fingers, he struck the jaw, with a paving stone, and several teeth then fell out. There were only five in the upper jaw, and these were taken by Fountain; the four, that were in the lower jaw, were seized upon, by Taylor, Hawkesworth, and the sexton's man. The hair, which had been carefully combed, and tied together, before the interment, was forcibly pulled off the skull, by Taylor and another; but Ellis, the player, who had now joined the party, told the former, that being a good hair-worker, if he would let him have it, he would pay a guinea-bowl of punch. Ellis, therefore, became possessed of all the hair: he likewise took a part of the shroud, and a bit of the skin of the skull: indeed, he was only prevented from carrying off the head, by the sextons, Hoppy and Grant, who said, that they intended to exhibit the remains, which was afterwards done, each person paying sixpence to view the body. These fellows, I am told, gained near one hundred pounds, by the exhibition. Laming put one of the leg-bones in his pocket."

After reading this short, shameless record, one half inclines to cremation; even if, instead of being enshrined or inurned, our dust be given, in fee simple, to the winds. How forcibly the words of Sir Thomas ring in our ears--"_To be gnawed out of our graves, to have our skulls made drinking bowls, and our bones turned into pipes, to delight and sport our enemies, are tragical abominations, escaped in burning burials_." The account from General Murray's diary, and at greater length, may be found also, in the appendix to Mitford's life of Milton, in the octavo edition of his poetical works, Cambridge, Mass., 1839.

Great indignation has lately been excited, in England, against a vampyre of a fellow, named Blore, who is said to have destroyed one half of Dryden's monument, and defaced Ben Jonson's, and Cowley's, in Westminster Abbey. Inquiring after motive, in such cases, is much like raking the ashes, after a conflagration, to find the originating spark. There is a motive, doubtless, in some by-corner of the brain; whether a man burns the temple, at Ephesus; or spears the elephant of Judas Maccabæus, with certain death to himself; or destroys the Barberrini vase. The motive was avowed, on the trial, in a similar case, by a young man, who, some years ago, shot a menagerie elephant, while passing through a village, in the State of Maine, to be a wish "_to see how a fellow would feel, who killed an elephant_."

Dryden's, and Cowley's monuments are on the left of Ben Jonson's, and before you, as you approach the Poet's Corner. Dryden's monument is a lofty affair, with an arch and a bust, and is thus inscribed: "J. Dryden, born 1632, died May 1, 1700.--John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, erected this monument, 1720." It is not commonly known, that the original bust was changed, by the Duchess, for one of very superior workmanship, which, of course, is the one mutilated by Blore. The monument, erected by George, Duke of Buckingham, to Cowley, is a pedestal, bearing an urn, decorated with laurel, and with a pompous and unmeaning epitaph, in Latin hexameters. If Blore understood the language, perhaps he considered these words, upon the tablet, a challenge--

--------Quis temerarius ausit-- Sacrilega turbare manu venerabile bustum.

The monument of Ben Jonson is an elegant tablet, with a festoon of masks, and the inscription--_Oh rare Ben Jonson!_ It stands before you, when Dryden's and Cowley's are upon your left, and is next to that of Samuel Butler. In the north aisle of the nave, there is a stone, about eighteen inches square, bearing the same inscription. In the "History of Westminster Abbey," 4to ed Lond. 1812, vol. ii. p. 95, note, it is stated, that "Dart says one Young, afterwards a Knight in the time of Charles II., of Great Milton, in Oxfordshire, placed a stone over the grave of Ben Jonson, which cost eighteen pence, with the above inscription:" but it is not stated, that the stone, now there, is the same.

Dr. Johnson, in his Life of Dryden, recites what he terms "_a wild story, relating to some vexatious events, that happened, at his funeral_." Dryden's widow, and his son, Charles, had accepted the offer of Lord Halifax, to pay the expenses of the funeral, and five hundred pounds, for a monument. The company came--the corpse was placed in a velvet hearse--eighteen coaches were in attendance, filled with mourners.--As they were about to move, the young Lord Jeffries, son of the Chancellor, with a band of rakes, coming by, and learning that the funeral was Dryden's, said the ornament of the nation should not so be buried, and proceeded, accompanied by his associates, in a body, to wait upon the widow, and beg her to permit him to bear the expense of the interment, and to pay one thousand pounds, for a monument, in the Abbey.

The gentlemen in the coaches, being ignorant of the liberal offers of the Dean and Lord Halifax, readily descended from their carriages, and attended Lord Jeffries and his party to the bedside of the lady, who was sick, where he repeated his offers; and, upon her positive refusal, got upon his knees, as did the whole party; and he there swore that he would not rise, till his entreaty was granted. At length, affecting to understand some word of the lady's, as giving permission, he rushed out, followed by the rest, proclaiming her consent, and ordered the corpse to be left at Russell's, an undertaker's, in Cheapside, till he gave orders for its embalmment. During this proceeding, the Abbey having been lighted up, Lord Halifax and the Dean, who was also Bishop of Rochester, to use the tea-table phrase, waited and waited, and waited. The ground was opened, the choir attending, and an anthem set. When Mr. Dryden went, next day, to offer excuses, neither Lord Halifax, nor the Dean, would accept of any apology. After waiting three days for orders, the undertaker called on Lord Jeffries, who said he knew nothing about it, and that it was only a tipsy frolic, and that the undertaker might do what he pleased with the corpse. The undertaker threatened to set the corpse before the widow's door. She begged a day's respite. Mr. Charles Dryden wrote to Lord Jeffries, who replied, that he knew nothing about it. He then addressed the Dean and Lord Halifax, who refused to have anything to do with it. He then challenged Lord Jeffries, who refused to fight. He went himself, and was refused admittance. He then resolved to horsewhip his Lordship; upon notice of which design, the latter left town. In the midst of this misery, Dr. Garth sent for the body, to be brought to the college of physicians; proposed a subscription; and set a noble example. The body was finally buried, about three weeks after the decease, and Dr. Garth pronounced a fine Latin oration. At the close of the narrative, which, as repeated by Dr. Johnson, covers more than three octavo pages of Murphy's edition, the Doctor remarks, that he once intended to omit it entirely, and that he had met with no confirmation, but in a letter of Farquhar's.

The tale is simply alluded to, by Gorton, and told, at some length, by Chalmers. Both, however, consider it a fabrication, by Mrs. Thomas, the authoress, whom Dryden styled _Corinna_, and whom Pope lampooned, in his comatose and vicious performance, the Dunciad, probably because she provoked his wrath, by publishing his letters to H. Cromwell.

In the earlier editions of the Encyclopædia Britannica, the tale is told, as sober matter of fact: in the last, Napier's, of 1842, it is wholly omitted. Malone, in his Life of Dryden, page 347, ascribes the whole to Mrs. Thomas.

Dryden died, in 1700. The first four volumes of Johnson's Lives of the Poets, containing Dryden's, went to the press in 1779. Considering the nature of this outrage; the eminence, not only of the dead, but of some of the living, whose names are involved; its alleged publicity; and its occurrence in the very city, where all the parties flourished; it is remarkable, that this "_wild story_," as Johnson fitly calls it, should have obtained any credit, and survived for nine-and-seventy years.

No. CXIX.

Deeply to be commiserated are all those, who have not read, from beginning to end, the writings of the immortal Oliver--a repast, _ab ovo usque ad mala_, to be swallowed, and inwardly digested, while our intellectual stomachs are young and vigorous, and to be regurgitated, and chewed over, a thousand times, when the almond tree begins to flourish, and even the grasshopper becomes a burden. Who does not remember his story of the Chinese matron--the widow with the great fan!

The original of this pleasant tale is not generally known. The brief legend, related by Goldsmith, is an imperfect epitome of an interesting story, illustrating the power of magic, among the followers of Laou-keun, the founder of a religious sect, in China, resembling that of Epicurus.

The original tale was translated from the Chinese, by Père Dentrecolles, who was at the head of the French missionaries, in China, and died at Pekin, in 1741. The following liberal version, from the French, which may, perhaps, be better called a paraphrase, will not fail, I think, to interest the reader.

Wealth, and all the blessings it can procure, for man, are brief and visionary. Honors, glory, fame are gaudy clouds, that flit by, and are gone. The ties of blood are easily broken; affection is a dream. The most deadly hate may occupy the heart, which held the warmest love. A yoke is not worth wearing, though wrought of gold. Chains are burdensome, though adorned with jewels. Let us purge our minds; calm our passions; curb our wishes; and set not our hearts upon a vain world. Let our highest aim be liberty--pleasure.

Chuang-tsze took unto himself a wife, whose youth and beauty seduced him from the busy world. He retired, among the delightful scenery of Soong, his native province, and gave himself up, entirely, to the delights of philosophy and love. A sovereign, who had become acquainted with the fame of Chuang-tsze, for superior wisdom, invited him to become his wuzzeer, or prime minister. Chuang-tsze declined, in the language of parable--"A heifer," said he, "pampered for the sacrifice, and decked with ornaments, marched triumphantly along, looking, as she passed, with mingled pride and contempt, upon some humble oxen, that were yoked to the plough. She proudly entered the temple--but when she beheld the knife, and comprehended that she was a victim, how gladly would she have exchanged conditions with the humblest of those, upon whom she had so lately looked down with pity and contempt."

Chuang-tsze walked by the skirts of the mountain, absorbed in thought--he suddenly came among many tombs--the city of the dead. "Here then," he exclaimed, "all are upon a level--caste is unknown--the philosopher and the fool sleep, side by side. This is eternity! From the sepulchre there is no return!"

He strolled among the tombs; and, erelong, perceived a grave, that had been recently made. The mound of moistened clay was not yet thoroughly dry. By the side of that grave sat a young woman, clad in the deepest mourning. With a white fan, of large proportions, she was engaged, in fanning the earth, which covered this newly made grave. Chuang-tsze was amazed; and, drawing near, respectfully inquired, who was the occupant of that grave, and why this mourning lady was so strangely employed. Tears dropped from her eyes, as she uttered a few inaudible words, without rising, or ceasing to fan the grave. The curiosity of Chuang-tsze was greatly excited--he ascribed her manner, not to fear, but to some inward sense of shame--and earnestly besought her to explain her motives, for an act, so perfectly novel and mysterious.

After a little embarrassment, she replied, as follows: "Sir, you behold a lone woman--death has deprived me of my beloved husband--this grave contains his precious remains. Our love was very great for each other. In the hour of death, his agony, at the thought of parting from me, was immoderate. These were his dying words--'My beloved, should you ever think of a second marriage, it is my dying request, that you remain a widow, at least till my grave is thoroughly dry; then you have my permission to marry whomsoever you will.' And now, as the earth, which is quite damp still, will take a long time to dry, I thought I would fan it a little, to dissipate the moisture."

Chuang-tsze made great efforts, to suppress a strong disposition to laugh outright, in the woman's face. "She is in a feverish haste," thought he. "What a hypocrite, to talk of their mutual affection! If such be love, what a time there would have been, had they hated each other."

"Madam," said the philosopher, "you are desirous, that this grave should dry, as soon as possible; but, with your feeble strength, it will require a long time, to accomplish it; let me assist you." She expressed her deep sense of the obligation, and rising, with a profound courtesy, handed the philosopher a spare fan, which she had brought with her. Chuang-tsze, who possessed the power of magic, struck the ground with the fan repeatedly; and it soon became perfectly dry. The widow appeared greatly surprised, and delighted, and presented the philosopher with the fan, and a silver bodkin, which she drew from her tresses. He accepted the fan only; and the lady retired, highly gratified, with the speedy accomplishment of her object.

Chuang-tsze remained, for a brief space, absorbed in thought; and, at length, returned slowly homeward, meditating, by the way, upon this extraordinary adventure. He sat down in his apartment, and, for some time, gazed, in silence, upon the fan. At length, he exclaimed--"Who, after having witnessed this occurrence, can hesitate to draw the inference, that marriage is one of the modes, by which the doctrine of the metempsychosis is carried out. People, who have hated each other heartily, in some prior condition of being, are made man and wife, for the purpose of mutual vexation--that is it, undoubtedly."

The wife of the philosopher had approached him, unobserved; and, hearing his last words, and noticing the fan, which he was still earnestly gazing upon--"Pray, be so good, as to inform me," said she, "what is the meaning of all this; and where, I should like to know, did you obtain that fine fan, which appears to interest you so much?" Chuang-tsze, very faithfully, narrated to his wife the story of the young widow, and all the circumstances, which had taken place, at the tomb.

As soon as the philosopher had finished the narrative, his wife, her countenance inflamed with the severest indignation, broke forth, with a torrent of contemptuous expressions, and unmeasured abuse, against the abominable, young widow. She considered her a scandal to her sex. "Aye," she exclaimed, "this vile widow must be a perfect monster, devoid of every particle of feeling."

"Alas," said the philosopher, "while the husband is in the flesh, there is no wife, that is not ready to flatter and caress him--but no sooner is the breath out of his body, than she seizes her fan, and forthwith proceeds to dry up his grave."

This greatly excited the ire of his wife--"How dare you talk in this outrageous manner," said she, "of the whole sex? You confound the virtuous with such vile wretches, as this unprincipled widow, who deserves to be annihilated. Are you not ashamed of yourself, to talk in this cruel way? I should think you might be restrained, by the dread of future punishment."

"Why give way," said Chuang-tsze, "to all this passionate outcry? Be candid--you are young, and extremely beautiful--should I die, this day--do you pretend, that, with your attractions, you would suffer much time to be lost, before you accepted the services of another husband?"

"Good God," cried the lady, "how you talk! Who ever heard of a truly faithful wuzzeer, that, after the death of his master, served another prince? A widow _indeed_ never accepts a second partner. Did you ever know a case, in which such a wife as I have been--a woman of my qualities and station, after having lost her tenderly beloved, forsook his memory, and gave herself to the embraces of a second husband! Such an act, in my opinion, would be infamous. Should you be taken from me, today, be assured, that I should follow you, with my imperishable love, and die, at last, your disconsolate widow."

"It is easy to promise, but not always so easy to perform," replied the philosopher. At this speech, the lady was exasperated--"I would have you to know," said she, "that women are to be found, without much inquiry, quite as noble-hearted and constant, as _you_ have ever been. What a pattern of constancy you have been! Dear me! Only think of it! When your first wife died, you soon repaired your loss: and, becoming weary of your second, you obtained a divorce from her, and then married me! What a constant creature you have been! No wonder you think so lightly of women!" Saying this, she snatched the fan out of her husband's hand, and tore it into innumerable pieces; by which act she appeared to have obtained very considerable relief; and, in a somewhat gentler tone, she told her husband, that he was in excellent health, and likely to live, for very many years; and that she could not, for the soul of her, see what could induce him to torment her to death, by talking in this manner.

"Compose yourself, my dear," said Chuang-tsze, "I confess that your indignation delights me. I rejoice to see you exhibit so much feeling and fire, upon such a theme." The wife of the philosopher recovered her composure; and their conversation turned upon ordinary affairs.

Before many days, Chuang-tsze became suddenly and severely attacked, by some unaccountable disease. The symptoms

No. CXX.

Let us continue the story of Chuang-tsze, the great master of magic.

Before many days, as I have stated, Chuang-tsze became suddenly and severely attacked, by some unaccountable disease. The symptoms were full of evil. His devoted wife was ever near her sick husband, sobbing bitterly, and bathing him in tears. "It is but too plain," said the philosopher, "that I cannot survive--I am upon the bed of death--this very night, perhaps--at farthest, tomorrow--we shall part forever--what a pity, that you should have destroyed that fan--it would have answered so well, for the purpose of drying the earth upon my tomb!"

"For heaven's sake," exclaimed the weeping wife, "do not, weak and feeble as you are, harrass yourself, with these horrible fancies. You do me great wrong. Our books I have carefully perused. I know my duties well. You have received my troth--it shall never be another's. Can you doubt my sincerity! Let me prove it, by dying first. I am ready." "Enough," said the philosopher--"I now die in peace--I am satisfied of your constancy. But the world is fading away--the cold hand of death is upon me." The head of Chuang-tsze fell back--the breath had stopped--the pulse had ceased to beat--he was already with the dead.

If the piercing cries of a despairing, shrieking widow could have raised the dead, Chuang-tsze would have arisen, on the spot. She sprang upon the corpse, and held it long, in her fond embrace. She then arrayed her person in the deepest mourning, a robe of seamless white, and made the air resound with her cries of anguish and despair. She abjured food; abstained from slumber; and refused to be comforted.

Chuang-tsze had the wide-spread fame of an eminent sage--crowds gathered to his obsequies. After their performance, and when the vast assemblage had all, well nigh, departed--a youth of comely face, and elegantly arrayed, was observed, lingering near the spot. He proclaimed himself to be of most honorable descent, and that he had, long before, declared to Chuang-tsze his design of becoming the pupil of that great philosopher. "For that end," said he, "and that alone, I have come to this place--and behold Chuang-tsze is no more. Great is my misfortune!"

This splendid youth cast off his colored garments, and assumed the robes of lamentation--he bowed himself to the earth, before the coffin of the defunct--four times, he touched the ground with his forehead; and, with an utterance choked by sobs, he exclaimed--"Oh Chuang-tsze, learned and wise, your ill-fated disciple cannot receive wisdom and knowledge from your lips; but he will signify his reverence for your memory, by abiding here an hundred days, to mourn, for one he so truly revered." He then again bent his forehead, four times, to the earth, and moistened it with his tears.

The youthful disciple, after a few days, desired permission to offer his condolence to the widow, which she, at first declined: but, upon his reference to the ancient rites, which allow a widow to receive the visits of her late husband's friends, and especially of his disciples, she finally consented. She moved with slow and solemn steps to the hall of reception, where the young gentleman acquitted himself, with infinite grace and propriety, and tendered the usual expressions of consolation.

The elegant address and fine person of this young disciple were not lost upon the widow of Chuang-tsze. She was fascinated. A sentiment of tenderness began to rise in her bosom, whose presence she had scarcely the courage to recognize. She ventured, in a right melancholy way, to suggest a hope, that it was not his purpose immediately to leave the valley of Soong. "I have endured much in the loss of my great master," he replied. "Precious forever be his memory. It will be grateful to my heart to seek here a brief home, wherein I may pass those hundred days of mourning, which our rites prescribe, and then to take part in the obsequies, which will follow. I may also solace myself the while, by perusing the works of my great master, of whose living instructions I am so unhappily deprived."

"We shall feel ourselves highly honored, by your presence, under our roof," replied the lady; "it seems to me entirely proper, that you should take up your abode here, rather than elsewhere." She immediately directed some refreshments to be brought, and caused the works of Chuang-tsze to be exhibited, on a large table, together with a copy of the learned Taou-te-King, which had been a present to her late husband, from Laou-keun himself.

The coffin of Chuang-tsze was deposited, in a large hall; and, on one side, was a suite of apartments, opening into it, which was assigned to the visitor. This devoted widow came, very frequently, to weep over the remains of her honored husband; and failed not to say a civil word to the youth, who, notified of her presence, by her audible sobs, never omitted to come forth, and mingle his lamentations with hers. Mutual glances were exchanged, upon such occasions. In short, each, already, was effectually smitten with the other.

One day, the pretty, little widow sent privately for the old domestic, who attended upon the young man, in the capacity of body servant, and inquired, all in a seemingly casual way, if his master was married. "Not yet"--he replied.--"He is very fastidious, I suppose"--said the lady, with an inquiring look.--"It is even so, madam," replied the servant--"my master is, indeed, not easily suited, in such a matter. His standard is very high. I have heard him say, that he should, probably, never be married, as he despaired of ever finding a female resembling yourself, in every particular."--"Did he say so?" exclaimed the widow, as the warm blood rushed into her cheeks.--"He certainly did," replied the other, "and much more, which I do not feel at liberty to repeat."--"Dear me," said the widow, "what a bewitching young man he is! go to him, and if he really loves me, as you say, tell him he may open the subject, without fear, for his passion is amply returned, by one, who is willing, if he so wishes, to become his wife."

The young widow, from day to day, threw herself repeatedly, and as if by accident, into the old servant's way; and began, at last, to feel surprised, and somewhat nettled, that he brought her no message from his master. At length, she became exceedingly impatient, and asked him directly, if he had spoken to his master on the subject. "Yes, madam," the old man replied.--"And pray," asked the widow, eagerly, "what said he?"--"He said, madam, that such an union would place him upon the pinnacle of human happiness; but that there was one fatal objection."--"And do, for pity's sake, tell me," said she, hastily interrupting the old man, "what that objection can be."--"He said," rejoined the old domestic, "that, being a disciple of your late husband, such a marriage, he feared, would be considered scandalous."--"But," said she, briskly, "there is just nothing in that. He was never a disciple of Chuang-tsze--he only proposed to become one, which is an entirely different thing. If any other frivolous objections arise, I beg you to remove them; and you may count upon being handsomely rewarded."

Her anxiety caused her to become exceedingly restless. She made frequent visits to the hall, and, when she approached the coffin, her sobs became more audible than ever--but the young disciple came not forth, as usual. Upon one occasion, after dark, as she was standing near the coffin, she was startled, by an unusual noise. "Gracious Heaven!" she exclaimed, "can it be so! Is the old philosopher coming back to life!" The cold sweat came upon her lovely brow, as she started to procure a light. When she returned, the mystery was readily explained. In front of the coffin there was a table, designed as an altar, for the reception of such emblems and presents, as were placed there by visitors. The old servant, had become tipsy, and finding no more convenient place, in which to bestow himself, while waiting his master's bidding, he had thrown himself, at full length, upon this altar; and, in turning over, had occasioned the noise, which had so much alarmed the young widow. Under other circumstances, the act would have been accounted sacrilegious, and the fellow would have been subjected to the bastinado. But, as matters stood, the widow passed it by, and even suffered the sot to remain undisturbed.

On the morning of the following day, the widow encountered the old domestic, who was passing her, with as much apparent indifference, as though she had never entrusted him, with any important commission. Surprised by his behavior, she called him to her private apartment--"Well," said she, "have you executed the business, which I gave you in charge?"--"Oh," said he, with an air of provoking indifference, "that is all over, I believe."--"How so," inquired the widow--"did you deliver my message correctly?"--"In your own words," he replied--"my master would make any sacrifice to make you his wife; and is entirely persuaded, by your arguments, to give up the objection he stated, in regard to his being the disciple of Chuang-tsze; but there are three other objections, which it will be impossible to overcome; and which his sense of delicacy forbids him to exhibit before you."--"Poh, poh," said the widow, "let me hear what they are, and we shall then see, whether they are insurmountable or not."--"Well, madam," said the old man, "since you command me, I will state them, as nearly as I can, in the words of my young master. The first of these three objections is this----"

No. CXXI.

We were about to exhibit those three objections of the young disciple, to his marriage, with the widow of Chuang-tsze, when we were summoned away, by professional duties. Let us proceed--"The first of my master's objections," said the old domestic, "is this--the coffin of Chuang-tsze is still in the hall of ceremony. A sight, so sad and solemnizing, is absolutely inconsistent with the nuptial celebration. The world would cry out upon such inconsistency. In the second place, the fame of your late husband was so great--his love for you so devoted--yours for him so ardent and sincere, and founded, so obviously, upon his learning and wisdom--that my master fears it will be impossible for him, to supply the place of so good, and so great, a man; and that you will, ere long, despise him, for his inferiority; and that your affections will be entirely and unchangeably fixed, on the memory of the great defunct. The third and last objection, named by my master, whose passion for you knows no bounds, is serious indeed. Though of lofty pedigree, he is very poor. He has neither money nor lands; and has not the means of purchasing those marriage gifts, which custom requires him to offer."

"And are these the only objections?" said she. "There are no others," he replied; "if it were not for these insurmountable objections, the happiness of my master would be complete, and he would openly manifest that passion, by which he is now secretly consumed."

"They are, by no means, insurmountable," said the young widow, with animation. "As for the coffin, what is it? A mere shell, containing the remains of poor Chuang-tsze. It is not absolutely necessary, that it should remain in the hall, during these one hundred days. At the farther end of my garden is an ancient smoke-house. It is quite dilapidated, and no longer in use. Some of my people shall carry the coffin thither, without farther delay. So you may inform your sweet, young master, that his first objection will be instantly removed. And why should he distress himself so needlessly, in regard to the second? Chuang-tsze certainly passed, with the world, for a great philosopher, and a wonderful man. The world sees from a distance. A sort of haze or mist impedes its vision. Minute particulars escape its observation. That, which is smooth and fair, seen from afar, may appear full of inequalities to one, who is near at hand. God forbid, that I should undervalue the dead; but it is well known, that Chuang-tsze repudiated his second wife, because she did not precisely suit his humor, and then married me. His great reputation induced a certain sovereign, to appoint him his chief minister. But the philosopher was not deficient in shrewdness--he knew his incapacity, and resolved to hide himself, in that solitude, where we have vegetated, so long."

"About a month ago, he encountered a young widow, who, with a large fan, was endeavoring to dry up her husband's grave, because she could not marry again, under the condition her husband had imposed upon her, until this was done. Chuang-tsze, if you will believe it, made the acquaintance of this shameless woman; and actually assisted her, in drying up her husband's grave. She gave him a fan, as a keepsake; and he valued it highly. I got possession of it however, and tore it to tatters. You see how great my obligations are to this wonderful philosopher; and you may judge of the real affection, which I must feel, for the memory of such a man."

"The last objection," continued the widow, "is easily disposed of. I will furnish your master with all the means he can desire. Chuang-tsze, to do the man justice, has left me the absolute mistress of an ample fortune--here, present these twenty taels to your master, from me, with such expressions of devotion, as may befit the lips of one, whose heart is all his own; and say to him, unless he himself is desirous of a longer delay, that, as the whole of life is not too long for love, I shall be happy, if he desires it, to become his bride, this very day."

Thus far the course of true love, in despite of the proverb, certainly ran smooth.

"Here," said the young disciple, upon sight of the twenty taels, as he turned them over, "is something substantial--run back immediately to the widow, and tell her my passion will endure the curb no longer. I am entirely at her disposal." The widow was quite beside herself, upon receiving these tidings; and, casting off her garments of heaviness, she began to embellish her fine person. The coffin of Chuang-tsze, by her directions, was immediately transferred to the old smoke-house.

The hall was made ready, for the approaching nuptials. If murmurs occasionally arose, among the old, faithful domestics of Chuang-tsze, the widow's passion was more blind than moonless midnight, and deafer than the time-stricken adder. A gorgeous feast was made ready. The shades of evening drew on apace--the lanterns were lighted up, in all directions--the nuptial torch cast forth its bright beams from an elevated table.

At the appointed signal, the bridegroom entered, most skilfully and splendidly arrayed,--so that his fine, manly figure was exhibited, to the greatest advantage. The young widow soon appeared, her countenance the very tabernacle of pleasure, and her bewitching form, adorned in the most costly silks, and splendid embroidery. They placed themselves, side by side, in front of the hymeneal taper, arrayed in pearls, and diamonds, and tissue of gold. Those salutations, which custom demands, having been duly performed, and the bride and bridegroom having wished each other eternal felicity, in that manner, which the marriage rites prescribe, the bridegroom holding the hand of the bride, they proceeded to the festal hall; and having drunk from the goblet of mutual fidelity, they took their places, at the banqueting board.

The repast went joyously forward--the darkest cloud--how suddenly will it come over the smiling face of the bewitching moon! The festival had not yet passed, when the bridegroom fell to the floor, in horrible convulsions. With eyes turned upward, and mouth frightfully distorted, he became an object of horror. The bride, whose passion for the young disciple was ardent and sincere, screamed aloud. She threw herself, in all her bridal array, upon the floor, by his side; clasped him in her arms; covered him with kisses; and implored him, to say what she could do, to afford him relief. Miserable youth! He was unable to reply, and seemed about to expire.

The old domestic rushed into the apartment, upon hearing the noise, and taking his master from the floor, proceeded to shake him with violence. "My God," cried the lady, "has this ever happened before?" "Yes, Madam," he replied, "he has a return of it about once, in every year." "And, for Heaven's sake, tell me what remedies do you employ?" she eagerly inquired. "There is one sovereign remedy," the old man replied; "his physician considers it a specific." "And what is it? tell me, in the name of Confucius," she passionately exclaimed, for the convulsions were growing more violent. "Nothing will restore him, but the brains of a man, recently dead, taken in warm wine. His father, who was governor of a province, when his son was last attacked, in this way, caused a criminal to be executed, that his brains might be thus employed." "Good God!" exclaimed the agonizing bride, for the convulsions, after a short remission, were returning, with redoubled violence, and the bridegroom was foaming terribly, at the mouth. "Tell me instantly, will the brains of a man who died a natural death answer as well?" "Undoubtedly," the old servant replied. "Well then," said she, in a tone somewhat subdued--"there is Chuang-tsze in the smoke-house." "Ah, Madam," said the old domestic, "I am aware of it--it occurred to me--but I feared to suggest it." "And of what possible use," she exclaimed, "can the brains of old Chuang-tsze be to him now, I should like to know?"

At this moment, the convulsions became absolutely terrific. "These returns," said the old man, "will become more and more violent, till they destroy my poor master. There is no time to be lost." The wretched bride rushed from the apartment, and, seizing a hatchet, which happened to be lying in the outer passage, she hastily made her way to the old smoke-house. Elevating the hatchet above her head, she struck a violent blow, on the lid of the coffin.

If the whole force of the blow had descended upon a secret spring, the lid could not have risen more suddenly. It seemed like the power of magic. The bride turned her eyes upon the closed lids of the corpse--they gradually opened; and the balls were slowly turned, and steadily fixed, upon her. In an instant Chuang-tsze sat, bolt upright, in his coffin! She sent forth a shriek of terror--the hatchet fell from her paralyzed hand--the cold sweat of confusion gathered thickly upon her brow.

"My beloved wife," said the philosopher, with perfect calmness, "be so obliging as to lend me your hand, that I may get out.--I have had a charming nap," continued he, as he took the lamp from her hand, and advanced towards the hall. She followed, trembling at every step, and dreading the meeting, between the old philosopher and the young disciple.

Though the air of unwonted festivity, under the light of the waning tapers, still hung over the apartment, fortunately the youth and the old servant seemed to have departed. Upon this, her courage, in some measure, revived, and, turning a look of inexpressible tenderness upon Chuang-tsze--"Dearest husband," said she, "how I have cherished your memory! My day thoughts and dreams have been all of you. I have often heard, that the apparent dead were revived, especially if not confined within closed apartments. I therefore caused your precious coffin to be removed, where the cool, refreshing air could blow over it. How I have watched, and listened, for some evidence of returning life! And how my heart leaped into my mouth, when my vigilance was at last rewarded. I flew with a hatchet to open the coffin; and, when I saw your dear eyes turned upon me, I thought I should"--"I can never repay your devotion," said the philosopher, interrupting her, with an expression of ineffable tenderness, "but why are you thus gaily apparelled--why these robes--these jewels--my love?"

"It seemed to me, my dear husband," she readily replied, "that some invisible power assured me of your return to life. How, thought I, can I meet my beloved Chuang-tsze, in the garments of heaviness? No; it will be like a return of our wedding day; and thus, you see, I have resumed my bridal array, and the jewels you gave me, during our honeymoon."--"Ah," said the philosopher, "how considerate you are--you always had your thoughts about you." He then drew near the table. The wedding taper, which was then burning low in its socket, cast its equivocal rays upon the gorgeous bowls and dishes, which covered the festal board. Chuang-tsze surveyed them attentively, in silence; and, calling for warm wine, deliberately drained the goblet, while the lady stood near him, trembling with confusion and terror.

At length, setting down the goblet, and pointing his finger--"Look behind you!" he exclaimed. She turned her head, and beheld the young disciple, in his wedding finery, with his attendant--a second glance, and they were gone. Such was the power of this mighty master of magic. The wife slunk to her apartment; and, resolving not to survive her shame and disappointment, unloosened her wedding girdle, and ascending to the garret, hung herself therewith, to one of the cross-beams, until she was dead. Tidings were soon brought to Chuang-tsze, who, deliberately feeling her pulse, and ascertaining that she was certainly dead, cut her down, and placed her precious remains, in the coffin, in the old smoke-house.

He then proceeded to indulge his philosophical humor. He sat down, among the flickering lamps, at the solitary board, and struck up a dirge, accompanying his voice, by knocking with the chopsticks, and whatever else was convenient to his purpose, upon the porcelain bowls and dishes, which he finally broke into a thousand pieces, and setting fire to his mansion, he consumed it to ashes, together with the smoke-house, and all its valuable contents.

He then, abandoning all thoughts of taking another wife, travelled into the recesses of Latinguin, in pursuit of his old master, Laoukeun, whom, at length, he discovered. There he acquired the reputation of a profound philosopher; and lay down, at last, in the peaceful grave, where wicked widows cease from troubling, and weary widowers are at rest.

No. CXXII.

A grasshopper was not the crest of Peter Faneuil's arms. I formerly supposed it was; for a gilded grasshopper, as half the world knows, is the vane upon the cupola of Faneuil Hall; and a gilded grasshopper, as many of us well remember, whirled about, of yore, upon the little spire, that rose above the summer-house, appurtenant to the mansion, where Peter Faneuil lived, and died. That house was built, and occupied, by his uncle, Andrew; and he had some seven acres, for his garden thereabouts. It was upon the westerly side of old _Treamount_ Street, and became the residence of the late William Phillips, whose political relations to the people of Massachusetts, as their Lieutenant Governor, could not preserve him from the sobriquet of _Billy_.

I thought it not unlikely, that Peter's crest was a grasshopper, and that, on that account, he had become partial to this emblem. But I am duly certified, that it was not so. The selection of a grasshopper, for a vane, was made, in imitation of their example, who placed the very same thing, upon the pinnacle of the Royal Exchange, in London. The arms of the Faneuils I have seen, upon the silver castors, which once were Peter's own; and, upon his decease, became the property of his brother, Benjamin, from whom they descended to his only daughter, Mary Faneuil, who became, October 13, 1754, the wife of George Bethune, now deceased; and was the mother of George Bethune, Esquire, who will complete his eighty-second year, in April, 1851. From this gentleman, whose grand-uncle Peter Faneuil was, and from other descendants of old Benjamin Faneuil, of Rochelle, I have received some facts and documents--interesting to me--possibly to others.

In conversation with an antiquarian friend, not long ago, we agreed, that very much less was generally known of Peter Faneuil, than of almost any other great, public benefactor. His name, nevertheless, is inseparably associated, with the cradle of American liberty. Drs. Eliot and Allen, in their Biographical Dictionaries, have passed him over, very slightingly, the former finishing up this noble-hearted Huguenot, with fifteen lines; and the latter, with eight; while not a few of their pages have been devoted, to the very dullest doctors of the drowsiest theology, and to--

"Names ignoble, born to be forgot."

Mr. Farmer, in his Genealogical Register, does not seem to be aware, that the name of Faneuil existed, for he has not even found a niche for it there. His Register, I am aware, purports to be a register of the "_First Settlers_." But he has found room for the Baudouins (Bowdoins) and their descendants. They also were Huguenots; and came hither, with the Faneuils, after 1685. One of that family, as will be more fully shown, Claude Baudoin, presented Peter Faneuil in baptism. Yet, such was the public sense of Peter's favors, _when they were green_, that John Lovell--that same Master Lovell, who retired with the British army, in 1776--delivered, under an appointment of the town, an oration, to commemorate the virtues, and laud the munificence of Peter Faneuil. Such, in truth, was the very first occasion, upon which the citizens were summoned to listen to the voice of an orator, in Faneuil Hall; and then, in honor of him, who perfected the noble work, at his own proper cost, and whose death so speedily followed its completion--for a noble work assuredly it was, relatively to the times, in which it was wrought.

The Faneuils were Huguenots. The original pronunciation of this patronymic must have been somewhat different from the present: there was an excusable _naïveté_, in the inquiry of a rural visitant of the city--if a well known mechanical establishment, with a tall, tubular chimney, were not _Funnel_ Hall?

After the revocation of the edict of Nantes, by Louis XIV., in 1685, the Faneuils, in common with many other Huguenots of France,--the Baudouins, the Bernons, the Sigourneys, the Boudinots, the Pringles, the Hugers, the Boutineaus, the Jays, the Laurenses, the Manigaults, the Marions, the Prioleaus, and many others, came to these North American shores--as our pilgrim fathers came--to worship God, in security, and according to their consciences. Many of these persecuted men conferred, upon their adopted home, those blessings, which the exercise of their talents, and the influence of their characters, and of the talents and characters of their descendants have confirmed to our common country, for many generations.

They came, by instalments, and arrived at different points. Thirty families of these expatriated Protestants came hither, and settled upon a tract, eight miles square, in the "Nipmug country," where now stands the town of Oxford, in the County of Worcester. This settlement commenced, in Gov. Dudley's time, and under his particular auspices; but continued only till 1696, when it was broken up, by the inroads of the savages. In the overthrow of this settlement, rum was a material agent, and occasioned, though upon a very small scale, a second massacre of some of these Huguenots. There is a letter to Gov. Dudley, from M. Bondet, the Huguenot clergyman, dated July 6, 1691, complaining bitterly of the unrestricted sale, among the Indians, of this fatal fire water; and giving a graphic account of the uproar and outrage it produced.

After the failure of this attempt, many of the scattered planters collected, in Boston. For several years, they gathered, for devotional purposes, in one of the larger school-houses. Jan. 4, 1704, they purchased a piece of land, in South School Street, of John Mears, a hatter, for "£110 current silver money of New England;" but, for several years, the selectmen, for some cause, unknown to us, refused their consent, that these worthy French Protestants should build their church thereon. About twelve years after the purchase of the land, the little church--the visible temple--went up. It was of brick, and very small. Monsieur Pierre Daillé was their first pastor, André Le Mercier the second; and, if there be any truth, in tradition, these Huguenot shepherds were pure and holy men. Daillé died testate, May 20, 1715. His will bears date May 15, of that year. He directs his body to be interred, at the discretion of his executor, James Bowdoin, "_with this restriction, that there be no wine at my funeral, and that none of my wife's relations have mourning cloaths_." He empowers his executor to give them gloves; and scarfs and gloves to all the ministers of Boston. To his wife, Martha, he gives £350, Province bills, and his negro man, Kuffy. His Latin and French books he gives to the French Church, as _the nucleus of a library_. £100 to be put at interest for the use of the minister. £10 to be improved by the elders, for the use of the church, and should a meeting-house be built, then in aid of that object. To John Rawlins the French schoolmaster, £5. He then makes his brother Paul, of Armsfort, in Holland, residuary legatee. His "_books and arms_" were appraised at £2. 10. The whole estate at £274. 10. sterling.

Le Mercier dedicated his book, on Detraction, to his people. Therein he says, "You have not despised my youth, when I first came among you; you have since excused my infirmities; and, as I did the same, in respect to yours, it has pleased our Saviour, the head of his church, to favor us with an uninterrupted peace and union in our church, for the almost eighteen years that I have preached the word of salvation to you." His book was published in 1733. He therefore became their pastor between 1715, when Daillé died, and 1716. He died March 31, 1764, aged 71. He was therefore born in 1693, and ordained about the age of 22.

Le Mercier's will is dated, at Dorchester, Nov. 7, 1761. A codicil was added, at Boston, Feb. 3, 1764. He left his estate to his four children, "_Andrew, Margaret, Jane, and my son Bartholomew, if living_." He enjoins upon his heirs the payment of Bartholomew's debt to Thomas Hancock, for which he had become responsible, and which he had partly paid. By his will, he appointed Jane and Margaret to execute his will. In the codicil, he refers to the disordered state of Margaret's mind, and appoints Zachariah Johonnot, in her stead, requesting him to be her guardian. The whole estate was appraised at £232. 18. 6. sterling.

Years rolled on: juxtaposition and intermarriage were Americanising these Huguenots, from month to month; and, ere long, they felt, less and less, the necessity of any separate place of worship. On the 7th of May, 1748, "Stephen Boutineau, the only surviving elder," and others, among whom we recognize the Huguenot names of Johonnot, Packinett, Boudoin, and Sigourney, conveyed their church and land to Thomas Fillebrown, Thomas Handyside Peck, and others, trustees for the "new congregational church, whereof Mr. Andrew Croswell is pastor." After a while, this church became the property of the Roman Catholics; and mass was first celebrated there, Nov. 2, 1788. The Catholics, in 1803, having removed to Franklin Place, the old Huguenot church was taken down; and, upon the site of it, a temple was erected, by the Universalists; showing incontrovertibly, thank God, that the soil was most happily adapted to toleration.

The reader fancies, perhaps, that I have forgotten Peter Faneuil. Not so: but I must linger a little longer with these Huguenots, who attempted a settlement in the Nipmug country. In the southwesterly part of Oxford, there rises a lofty hill, whose summit affords an extensive and delightful prospect. Beneath, at the distance of a mile, or more, lies the village of Oxford; and the scenery, beyond, is exceedingly picturesque. Upon this eminence, which now bears the name of Mayo's Hill, are the well-defined remains of an ancient fort. Its construction is perfectly regular. The bastions are clearly marked; and the old well, constructed within the barrier, still remains. As recently, as 1819, says the Rev. Dr. Holmes, in his able and interesting account of the Huguenots, "grapevines were growing luxuriantly, along the line of this fort; and these, together with currant bushes, roses, and other shrubbery, nearly formed a hedge around it. There were some remains of an apple orchard. The currant and asparagus were still growing there."

Such were the vestiges of these thirty families, who, in 1696, fled from a foe, not more savage and relentless, though less enlightened, than the murderers of Coligny, in 1572.

The Faneuils formed no part of these thirty families; but, not many years after the little Oxford colony was broken up, and the fugitive survivors had found their way to Boston, the Faneuils, one after another, seem to have been attracted hither, from those points of our country, where they first arrived, after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, in 1685, or from other, intermediate stations, to which they had removed.

There are not elements enough, I fear, for a very interesting memoir of Peter Faneuil. The materials, even for a brief account, are marvellously few, and far between; and the very best result, to be anticipated, is a warp and woof of shreds and patches.

But, if I am not much mistaken, I know more of Peter Faneuil, than Master Lovell ever wot of, though he delivered the funeral oration; and, albeit the sum total is very small, it seems but meet and right, that it should be given to the world. I think it would so be decided, by the citizens, if the vote were taken, this very day--in _Faneuil Hall_.

Our _neighbors_, all over the United States have heard of _Faneuil Hall_; and, though, of late years, since we have had a race, or breed, of mayors, every one of whom has endeavored to be _worthier_ or more _conceding_ than his predecessor, Faneuil Hall has been converted into a sort of omnibus without wheels; yet the glory of its earlier, and of some, among its latter days, is made, thank God, of that unchangeable stuff, that will never shrink, and cannot fade.

No man has ever heard of Faneuil Hall, who will not be pleased to hear somewhat of that noble-minded, whole-souled descendant of the primitive Huguenots--and such indeed he was--who came, as a stranger and sojourner here, and built that hall, at his own proper cost and charge, and gave it--the gift of a cheerful giver--to those, among whom he had come to dwell--and all this, in the midst of his days, in the very prime of his life, not waiting for the almond tree to flourish, and for desire to fail, and for the infirmities of age to admonish the rich man, that he must set his house in order, and could carry nothing with him, to those regions beyond.

Faneuil Hall has been called the _Cradle of Liberty_, so long and so often, that it may seem to savor of political heresy, to quarrel with the name--but, for the soul of me, I cannot help it. If it be intended to say, that Faneuil Hall is the _birth place_ of Liberty, I am not aware of a single instance, on record, of a baby, _born in a cradle_. The proverbial use of the cradle has ever been to rock the baby to sleep; and Heaven knows our old fathers made no such use of Faneuil Hall, in their early management of the bantling; for it was an ever-wakeful child, from the very moment of its first, sharp, shrill, life cry.

No. CXXIII.

General Jackson has been reported--how justly I know not--upon some occasion, in a company of ladies, to have given a brief, but spirited, description of all his predecessors, in the Presidential chair, till he came down to the time of President Tyler, when, seizing his hat, he proceeded to bow himself out of the room. The ladies, however, insisted upon his completing the catalogue--_"Well, ladies," said he, "it is matter of history, and may therefore be spoken--President Tyler, ladies, was--pretty much nothing."_

A very felicitous description; and not of very limited application to men and things. I cannot find a better, for Master John Lovell's funeral oration, upon Peter Faneuil. This affair, which Dr. Snow, in his history of Boston, calls "_a precious relic_," is certainly a wonderfully flatulent performance. A time-stained copy of the original edition of 1743 lies under my eye. I hoped, not unreasonably, that it would be a lamp to my path, in searching after the historical assets of Peter Faneuil. But not one ray of light has it afforded me; and, with one or two exceptions, in relation to the _Hall_, and the general beneficence of its founder, it is, in no sense, more of a funeral oration, upon Peter Faneuil, than upon Peter Smink. In their vote of thanks to Master Lovell, passed on the day of its delivery, the committee speak of "_his oration_," very judiciously abstaining from all unwarrantable expletives. From this oration we can discover nothing of Faneuil's birth-place, nor parentage, nor when, nor whence, nor wherefore he came hither; nor of the day of his birth, nor of the day of his death, nor of the disease of which he died; nor of his habits of life, nor of the manner, in which he acquired his large estate; nor of his religious opinions, nor of his ancestors.

We collect, however, from these meagre pages, that Mr. Faneuil meditated other benefactions to the town--that his death was sudden--that votes of thanks had been passed, for his donation of the Hall, "a few months before"--that the meeting, at which the oration was pronounced, March 14, 1742, was the very first annual meeting, in Faneuil Hall--that Peter Faneuil was the owner of "a large and plentiful estate"--that "no man managed his affairs with greater prudence and industry"--that "he fed the hungry and clothed the naked; comforted the fatherless and the widows, in their affliction, and his bounty visited the prisoner."

Master Lovell, not inelegantly, observes of Faneuil's intended benefactions, which were prevented by his death--"_His intended charities, though they are lost to us, will not be lost to him. Designs of goodness and mercy, prevented as these were, will meet with the reward of actions_." This passage appears to have found favor, in the eyes of the late Dr. Boyle, who has, accordingly, on page 21, of his memoir of the Boston Episcopal Charitable Society, when speaking of Faneuil, made a very free and familiar appropriation of it, with a slight verbal variation.

Master Lovell's fervent aspirations, in regard to Faneuil Hall, one hundred and nine years ago, have not been fulfilled, to the letter. The gods have granted the orator's prayer--"_May Liberty always spread its joyful wings over this place_"--but not with Master Lovell's conditions annexed; for he adds--"_May_ LOYALTY _to a_ KING, _under whom we enjoy that Liberty, ever remain our character_."

In this particular, Master Lovell was not to be indulged. Yet he steadily adhered to his tory principles; and, like many other conscientious and honorable men, whom it is much less the fashion to abuse, at present, than it was, of yore, adhered to his royal master; and relinquished his own sceptre, as monarch of the South Grammar School, with all the honors and emoluments thereof, choosing rather to suffer affliction, with his thwarted and mortified master, than to enjoy the pleasures of rebellion, for a season. He retired to Halifax, with the British army, in 1776, and died there, in 1778.

Original copies of Master Lovell's oration are exceedingly rare; though the "_precious relic_" has been reprinted, by Dr. Snow, in his history of Boston. The title may be worth preserving--"A funeral oration, delivered at the opening of the annual meeting of the town, March 14th, 1742. In Faneuil Hall, in Boston. Occasioned by the death of the founder, Peter Faneuil Esq. By John Lovell, A. M., Master of the South Grammar School, in Boston. _Sui memores alios fecere merendo._ Boston, printed by Green, Bushell & Allen, for S. Kneeland & T. Green, in Queen Street, 1743."

As an eminent historian conceived it to be a matter of indifference, at which end he commenced his history, I shall not adhere to any chronological arrangement, in the presentation of the few facts, which I have collected, relating to Peter Faneuil and his family. On the contrary, I shall begin at the latter end, and, first, endeavor to clear up a little confusion, that has arisen, as to the time of his death. Allen, in his Biog. Dic., says, that Peter Faneuil died, March 3, 1743. I am sorry to say, that, in several instances, President Allen's _dates_ resemble Jeremiah's _figs_, in the second basket; though, upon the present occasion, he is right, on a certain hypothesis. In a note to the "Memoir of the French Protestants," also, M. H. C. vol. xxii. p. 55, Peter Faneuil is said to have died, March 3, 1743. Pemberton, in his "Description of Boston," Ibid. v. 3, p. 253, by stating that the funeral oration was delivered, March 14, 1742, makes 1742 the year of Faneuil's death. The title page of the oration itself, quoted above, fixes the death, in 1742. Dr. Eliot, in his Biog. Dic., says 1742. The Probate records of Suffolk show administration granted, on Peter Faneuil's estate, March 18, 1742. His _obiit_, on a mourning ring, that I have seen, is 1742.

Now, if all dealers in dates, of the olden time, would discriminate, between the old style and the new, we should be spared a vast deal of vexation; and the good people of Boston, notional as they proverbially are, would not appear, in their creditable zeal to do honor to a public benefactor, to have given him a funeral oration, a twelve month before he was dead. If the year be taken to begin, on the first of January, then Dr. Allen is right; and Peter Faneuil died March 3, 1743. But if it did not begin, till the twenty-fifth of March, and, legally, it certainly did not, before 1752, when the new style was adopted, in Great Britain, and the Provinces, then Eliot, and Pemberton, and the title page of the oration, and the records of the court, and the mourning ring are right, and Peter Faneuil died, in 1742.

An illustration of this principle may be found, on the title page of the oration itself. It is stated to have been delivered, March 14, 1742, and printed in 1743. Having been delivered near the close of the year 1742, it was printed, doubtless, soon after March 25, which was New Year's day for 1743.

The public journals, nevertheless, seem to have adopted, and adhered to the idea, that January 1, was the first day of the historical year, long before the style was altered; and thus, in the Weekly News Letter, published in Boston, Faneuil is stated to have died, in 1743. This journal contains an obituary notice. A few imperfect numbers of this paper are all that remain, and its extreme rarity leads me to copy the obituary here:--

"Thursday, March 10, 1743. On Thursday last, dyed at his seat in this Town, PETER FANEUIL, Esq., whose remains, we hear, are to be enterred this afternoon; a gentleman, possessed of a very ample fortune, and a most generous spirit, whose noble benefaction to this town, and constant employment of a great number of tradesmen, artificers and labourers, to whom he was a liberal paymaster; whose hospitality to all, and secret unbounded chirity to the poor--made his life a public blessing, and his death a general loss to, and universally regretted by, the inhabitants; who had been so sensible of their obligations to him, for the sumptuous edifice, which he raised at his private expence, for their Market house and Town Hall, that, at a general town meeting, as a testimony of their gratitude, they voted, that the place of their future consultations should be called by his name forever: in doing which they perpetuated their own honor as much as his memory; for, by this record posterity will know the most publick spirited man, in all regards, that ever yet appeared on the Northern continent of America, was a member of their community."

In the Boston Evening Post of March 7, 1743, in a brief notice of Peter Faneuil's death, the disease of which he died is said to have been "_dropsey_."

Now that we have established the period of Peter's death, it may be well, to establish the period of his birth; and this we can do, with certainty, even to an hour, from authentic documents. In addition to other means, for ascertaining dates, and various particulars, respecting Peter Faneuil, and the members of his family--through the kindness of the Genealogical Society, I have, before me, a folio volume of his commercial correspondence: mutilated, indeed it is, by some thoughtless hand, but furnishes some curious and interesting matter. Many of his letters are written in French; and those, which are in English, are well composed. I have found but a single instance, in which he writes our language, like a Frenchman. Upon that occasion, he was in a passion with a certain judge of the admiralty, complained of his ill usage, and charged him with "_capporice_."

No. CXXIV.

I am indebted to Mr. Charles Faneuil Jones, a grandson of Mary Ann Jones, Peter Faneuil's sister, for the use of some ancient papers, and family relics; and to George Bethune, Esquire, of Boston, the grandson of _Benjamin Faneuil_, Peter's brother, for the loan of a venerable document--time worn, torn, and sallow--the record of the birth of Peter Faneuil, and of his brothers and sisters. This document, from its manifest antiquity, the masculine character of the hand writing, and the constant use of the parental expressions--_notre fils_--_notre fille_--I, at first, supposed to be the original autograph of _Benjamin_, the father of Peter. This conjecture was, of course, demolished, by the last entry, on the record, which is of old _Benjamin's_ decease, but in the same peculiar hand.

The document is in French; and, after a careful comparison--_literatim_--with the volume of Peter's commercial correspondence, now in my possession--I have very little doubt, that this record was copied, by Peter, from the paternal original, with the additional entry, by himself, of the date of his father's death. At the bottom, and beneath a line of separation, and by another hand, with a fresher ink, is the following entry--"_Le 6 D'Aout 1725, M. Gillam Phillips de Boston a epousee ma Fille Marie Faneuil agée de dix sept et quatre mois_." The 6th of August, 1725, Mr. Gillam Phillips, of Boston, married my daughter, Marie, aged seventeen and four months. The expression _ma file_, shows this entry to have been made by Peter's mother, then the widow of _Benjamin_, who appears, by this record, to have died, at New York, March 31, 1718-9, aged 50 years and 8 months.

This unusual prænomen, _Gillam_, I, at first, supposed to be a corruption of _Guillaume_. But there was a merchant, of that day, in Boston, bearing the name of _Gillam Phillips_. In the Registry of Deeds, for Suffolk, lib. 43, fol. 13, there is recorded a deed, from "_Wentworth Paxton, and Faith, his wife, formerly Faith Gillam_," in which, reference is made to Faith's father, _Benjamin Gillam_. Mr. Gillam Phillips is thus named, in the will of his wife's uncle, Andrew Faneuil, to which I shall have occasion to refer. Jan 22, 1738, Peter, in a letter to Lane & Smethurst, of London, speaks of his brother-in-law, _Mr. Gillam Phillips_.

This gentleman was the elder brother of _Mr. Henry Phillips_, who was indicted, for killing Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, in a duel, fought with swords, and without seconds, on Boston Common, upon the evening of July 3, 1728. This extremely interesting affair cannot be introduced, as an episode here, on account of the space it must necessarily occupy. The original documents, relating to this encounter, which terminated in the immediate death of Mr. Woodbridge, have fallen into my possession; and, as Peter Faneuil personally assisted, in the escape of the survivor, who found a city of refuge, in Rochelle, and a friend and protector, in Peter's uncle, _Jean Faneuil_; it seems, in some degree, related to the history of Peter and his kinsfolk. I may, possibly, refer to it hereafter.

In 1685, the period of the revocation of the edict of Nantes, there were living, in or near Rochelle, in France, three brothers and two sisters of the Faneuil family. One of these, _Benjamin_, became the father of _our_ Peter Faneuil--the others, his uncles and aunts, when the persecution commenced, so ably and touchingly described, by James Saurin, fled for safety to foreign lands. Andrew, the elder brother, escaped into Holland, and took up his abode in Amsterdam; where he married that preëminently beautiful lady, whose portrait is now in the possession of Col. Benjamin Hunt, whose mother was Jane Bethune, a daughter of Mary Faneuil, the neice of Peter.

_Andrew Faneuil_, before many years, came to this country--precisely when, I cannot say. That he was here, as early as 1709, is evident, from the proposals of Oliver Noyes and others, to build a wharf from the bottom of King Street, to low-water mark, "of the width of King Street, between Mr. East Apthorp's and Mr. Andrew Faneuil's." These proposals are dated Feb. 20, 1709, and are inserted in Dr. Snow's History of Boston, p. 209.

In Holland, doubtless, Andrew acquired that passion, for flowers, which he gratified, in his seven-acre Eden, on the westerly side of Treamount Street, where he is said to have erected the first hothouse, that ever existed in New England. His warehouse, the same, by him devised, for the support of the minister of the French Church, was at the lower end of King Street, near Merchant's Row, from which Butler's Wharf then extended, as laid down, by John Bonner, in 1722. This warehouse, under the will of Andrew, reverted, to his heirs, upon the extinction of the French Church. It was then, just where we find it, in the New England Weekly Journal, of Jan. 13, 1729. "_Good New York Flower. To be sold, at Mr. Andrew Faneuil's Warehouse, at the lower end of King Street, at 35s per Hundred, as also good chocolate, just imported._" He was engaged in commerce; and, for those days of small things, acquired a large estate, which his forecast taught him to distribute, among the public funds of France, England, and Holland. His warehouse was purchased of one of his descendants, by the late John Parker.

_Jean Faneuil_, another of Peter's uncles, held fast to the faith of his fathers; and lived, and died, a Roman Catholic. He died in Rochelle, of apoplexy, June 24, 1737, about four months after the decease of his brother Andrew, as appears by Peter's letter of Sept. 8, 1737.

_Susannah Faneuil_ also continued, in the Roman Catholic faith, and remained in Rochelle; where she became the wife, and the widow, of Abraham de la Croix. She survived her brother Andrew, the date of whose decease is clearly shown to have been Feb. 13, 1737, by Peter's letter to S. & W. Baker, of London, giving them the inscription, "_for the handsomest mourning rings_."

_Jane Faneuil_ was a Huguenot. She became the wife of Pierre Cossart, and took refuge, with her husband, in Ireland, where she died.

_Benjamin Faneuil_, the father of _our_ Peter, was closely associated with that little band of Huguenots, who clustered about the town of Narragansett, otherwise called Kingstown, and the region round about, at the very close of the seventeenth century. In that village, in 1699, he married a French lady, whose name was Anne Bureau. The record, in Peter's transcript from his father's original, is now upon my table--"_Le 28 de Juillet 1699. Benjamin Faneuil et Anne Bureau ont eté marié a Narragansett, en nouvelle Angleterre, en la maison de Mons. Pierre Ayross, par Mons. Pierre Daillé ministre de L'Eglise francoise de Boston_." The 28th of July, 1699, Benjamin Faneuil and Ann Bureau were married at Narragansett, in New England, at the house of Mr. Peter Ayross, by Mr. Peter Daillé, minister of the French Church in Boston. Three years before, in 1696, Sept. 4, the name of this Benjamin Faneuil will be found, M. H. C., xxii. 60, attached to a certificate, in favor of Gabriel Bernon, referring to the massacre of John Johnson and his three children, at New Oxford. Johnson had married the sister of old _André Sigournay_.

This _Benjamin Faneuil_, the præpositus, or stirps, became the father of eleven children, by his wife, _Anne Bureau_, who were all born in New Rochelle, in the State of New York, and of whom _our_ Peter was the first born. Their names, in the order of birth, are these--_Peter_, _Benjamin_, _Francis_, _Anne_, _Anne_, _Marie_, _John_, _Anne_, _Susannah_, _Mary Anne_, and _Catherine_. The two first Annes, John, and Catherine, died in infancy.

The birth of our Peter is thus chronicled, in the family record--"_Le 20 de Juin, 1700, Estant Jeudy a 6 heures du soir est né nostre fils Pierre Faneuil, et a eté baptisé le 14 Juillet, par M. Peyret, ministre de l'Eglisse francoise de la Nouvelle York, presenté au Bâpteme par M. Claude Baudoin et par Sa Mere_." The 20th of June, 1700, being Thursday, at 6 o'clock in the evening, was born our son, Peter Faneuil, and he was baptized the 14th of July, by Mr. Peyret, minister of the French Church, in New York; presented in baptism, by Mr. Claude Bowdoin and its mother.

_Benjamin_, _our_ Peter's brother, was born Dec. 29, 1701. He was a merchant in Boston, about the time of his uncle Andrew's death, in 1737. Shortly after that event, he went to England, and France, and returned, about two years before the death of his brother Peter, in 1742-3, upon whose estate he administered. His nephew, Edward Jones, in a letter to his mother, June 23, 1783, informs her, that "_Uncle Faneuil seems to be growing very low; I think he will not continue long_." He was then in his eighty-second year. He died in October, 1785.

After Peter's death, Benjamin resided in Brighton, then Cambridge, in the street, which now bears the family name, where he erected an expensive mansion, successively occupied, after his decease, by Messieurs Bethune, English, Parkman, and Bigelow. By his wife, Mary Cutler, he had three children, Benjamin, Mary, and Peter.

_This_ Benjamin, nephew of _our_ Peter, is the "_Benjamin Faneuil, junior_," whose name appears, among the signers of the "_Loyall Address_" to Gov. Gage on his departure Oct. 6, 1775. He left Boston for Halifax, with the British army, in March, 1776. He is the person, referred to, by Ward, in his Memoirs of Curwen--"_the merchant of Boston, and with Joshua Winslow, consignee of one third of the East India Company's tea, destroyed in 1773, a refugee to Halifax, afterwards in England_." He married Jane, daughter of Addington Davenport, by his first wife, Jane, who was the daughter of Grove Hirst, and sister of the Lady Mary Pepperell; and, with his wife, lived many years, abroad, chiefly in Bristol, England, which became the favorite resort of many refugees, and where he died. I have, in my possession, several of his letters, written to his relatives, during his exile. These letters are spiritedly written; and, to the very last, in the most perfect assurance, that the colonies must submit.

_Mary_, _our_ Peter's niece, became the wife of George Bethune, Oct. 13, 1754, and died in 1797. A portrait, by Blackburn, of this beautiful woman, is in the possession of her son, George Bethune, Esquire, of Boston. After a very careful inspection of this portrait, not long ago, I went directly to the rooms of the Historical Society, to compare it with the portrait there of her uncle Peter, to which it seems to me to bear a strong family resemblance. This portrait of Peter was presented to the Society, by Miss Jones, the grand niece of _our_ Peter, now the wife of Dr. Cutter of Pepperell. It has been erroneously ascribed to Copley. If its manifest inferiority to the works of that eminent master were not sufficiently germaine to this question--Copley was born in 1738, and not quite five years old, when Peter Faneuil died.

_Peter_, the youngest child of Benjamin, and, of course, the nephew of _our_ Faneuil Hall Peter, who may be otherwise distinguished, as Peter the Great--was baptized, in Trinity Church, in Boston, in 1738, and entered the Latin School, in 1746. He entered into trade--went to Montreal--failed--resorted to the West Indies--and, after his father's death, returned to Boston.

No. CXXV.

Let us conclude our post mortem examination of the brothers and sisters of Peter Faneuil.

_Francis_, the third son of _Benjamin_, the old Rocheller, Peter's father, was born Aug. 21, 1703, of whom I know nothing, beyond the fact, that he was baptized, by M. Peyret, minister of the French church in New York, and presented "_par son grand pere, Francois Bureau, et Mad'selle Anne Delancey_."

_Mary_, the eldest sister of _our_ Peter, that came to maturity, was born April 16, 1708, and is the _Marie_, to whom I have already referred, as having married Mr. Gillam Phillips, Aug. 6, 1725. Their abode, before the revolution, was in the mansion, more recently occupied by Abiel Smith, at the corner of State and Devonshire Streets; or, as they are called, on Bonner's plan of 1722, King Street and Pudding Lane. Her husband was a refugee. After his death, she resided in Cambridge, Mass., where she died, in April, 1778.

_Anne_, the next, in order of time, was born Oct. 9, 1710, and married Addington Davenport. This fact is stated, by Peter, in a letter, of Sept. 26, 1738. This is the same gentleman, undoubtedly, to whom the ancient record of King's Chapel refers: "_Oct. 11, 1733. Voted, that the brass stand for the hourglass be lent to the church at Scituate, as also three Diaper napkins, provided the Rev. Mr. Addington Davenport, their minister, gives his note to return the same_," &c. He was, afterwards, promoted, to be assistant minister of King's Chapel, in 1737, and Rector of Trinity Church, in 1740, and was, probably, the son of Addington Davenport, who was the Register of Deeds, for Suffolk, in 1706.

_Susannah_, the third sister of _our_ Peter, in the order of birth, was born March 14, 1712, and became the wife of James Boutineau, the son of Stephen Boutineau, that "_only surviving elder_," who joined in the conveyance of the French Church, in 1748. James was a royalist; and, according to Ward's Curwen, died in exile. This marriage is also referred to, by Peter, in his letter of Sept. 26, 1738. Mr. James Boutineau was a lawyer, in Boston; and occupied the "_old Dorr house_," so called, in Milk Street.

Mr. Sabine, in his "American Loyalists," says _his fate is unknown, but he was in England, in 1777_. An original letter from his widow, "_Susanna Boutineau_," now before me, is dated _Bristol, Eng., Feb. 20, 1784_, and refers to the recent decease of her husband there.

_Mary Ann_ was the last of Peter's sisters, that survived her infancy. She was born April 6, 1715, and died October, 1790. She became the wife of John Jones, who died at Roxbury, in 1767, and whose son, Edward, died in Boston, in 1835, at the age of 83. _She_ was a refugee; and resided, for some time, in Windsor, Nova Scotia. She is omitted by Mr. Sabine, in his list of refugees; but named by Ward, page 444. A letter, from her son, Edward, dated at Boston, June 23, 1783, advises her, if desirous of returning, not to come directly to Boston, as the law was still in force; but first, to some other State, and thence to Boston.

Such were Peter Faneuil's brothers and sisters; with whom, so far as I have been able to ascertain, from his correspondence, and from all other sources, he appears to have maintained an amiable and becoming relation, as the file leader of the flock--the elder brother of the house: and it speaks a folio volume, in favor of Benjamin's equanimity, that he continued to fraternize, as the correspondence abundantly proves, that he did, in the most cordial and affectionate manner, with his brother Peter, to whom uncle Andrew had, with the exception of a few legacies, willed the whole of his "_large and plentiful estate_," as Master Lovell calls it--while five vindictive shillings were all, that were found, after the death of this unforgiving, old gentleman, in the mouth of poor Benjamin's sack.

Uncle Andrew's testamentary phraseology, though not so anathematical, as that of some other obstinate, old uncles, is sufficiently uncivil, and even bitter, in relation to his "loving sister, Susannah," and his nephew, Benjamin.

But, of the will of Andrew Faneuil, and his motive--an exceedingly preposterous motive, to be sure, for cutting his adopted nephew off, with five shillings--in other words, of the cause, manner, and instrument, whereby Benjamin was put in the ablative, I shall treat, more fully, hereafter.

There were collaterals of the Boston Faneuils, residing in St. Domingo, in 1738. There was then, in that island, a Benjamin Faneuil, to whom Peter addressed a letter of mere friendship, in the French language, informing him, that Peter's brother Benjamin was then in Europe. It was probably a son of the St. Domingo Benjamin, the "_Monsieur Fanneuil_," of whom Washington writes to the President of Congress, Feb. 20, 1777, Sparks, iv. 327, as having memorialized, for leave to raise and command troops. The application failed, principally, on the ground of his entire ignorance of the English language.

We have seen, that Peter Faneuil died, at the early age of forty-two. His premature decease becomes the more remarkable, when contrasted with the longevity of all his brothers and sisters, who lived beyond the period of infancy. Marie attained the age of seventy--Susannah was living, in Bristol, at seventy-two--Mary Ann died at seventy-five--Benjamin died, in October, 1735, being two months less than eighty-four years old.

This veteran had been a generous liver, all his days. He was not a man, whose devotion was abdominal--whose God was his belly. He was no anchorite, but an advocate for social worship--he was preëminently hospitable. For more than forty years, from the period, when Peter's death afforded him the means, his hospitality had been a proverb--a by-word--but never a reproach. There was a refinement about it--it was precisely such hospitality, as Apicius would have practised, had Apicius been a bishop.

His appetite never forsook him. He died suddenly--ate a cheerful dinner, on the day of his death--and went not to his account, on an empty stomach. A post mortem examination, under the autopsy of that eminently shrewd, and most pleasant, gentleman, Dr. Marshall Spring of Watertown, exhibited the whole gastric apparatus, in admirable working order, for a much longer campaign. A nephritic malady occasioned his decease.

The death of Benjamin Faneuil, _the elder_, in 1718, and the previous adoption of his son Benjamin, Peter's brother, by Andrew, the wealthy Boston uncle, naturally turned the thoughts of the family, in this direction. Their interest in Boston was necessarily increased, by the marriage of sister Marie with Mr. Gillam Phillips, and her consequent removal hither. The entry of the marriage--"_ma fille_"--on the family record, shows, that her mother was then living. The time of her death I have not ascertained, but suppose it to have occurred within a year or two after, for all the daughters were wending hither, and I find no mention of the mother. Peter was here, as early, as 1728, in which year, his name is associated, with the duel, in which Woodbridge was killed. Anne had married Mr. Davenport, and Susannah Mr. Boutineau, before uncle Andrew's death, in 1737. His will was dated, in 1734. From that document, it is evident, that Mary Ann was here then.

The elder Benjamin having died, in 1718,--Andrew, his brother, in 1737,--and Peter, in 1742-3, there were living Peter's brother and sisters, Benjamin, Anne, Susannah, Marie, and Marianne. They were living, during the revolution. So were their husbands, excepting Mr. Addington Davenport, who died Sept. 8, 1746. Their children also were living. The object of this particular statement is to invite the reader's attention to the extraordinary fact, that, while a religious persecution, in 1685, drove the Huguenot ancestors of these very individuals hither, for security--in 1776, a political persecution here drove many of their descendants into exile, and confiscated their estates.

That very many of those refugees, during the phrensy of political excitement, were just as truly persecuted, for conscience' sake, as were the Huguenots, in 1685, is a simple truth, which the calm, impartial voice of an after-age has been willing to concede. Among those refugees, the Huguenot and the old Anglo-Saxon patronymics are blended together. The Boutineaus and the Bethunes, the Faneuils and the Johonnots are mingled with the Sewalls and the Hutchinsons, the Hollowells and the Paxtons.

While perusing the letters of Samuel Curwen--and a most kind-hearted, conscientious, old gentleman was he--the veriest saint in crape cannot restrain a smile, as he contemplates the conflict, in Curwen's mind, between the loyal and the patriotic--_his most gracious majesty, and his poor bleeding country_! Mr. Curwen met frequently with Mr. Benjamin Faneuil, Peter's nephew, at Bristol. Thus, on page 240, of the Journal, under date, April 28, 1780--"_Afternoon and evening at Judge Sewall's; company, Mrs. Long, of Ireland, Mr. and Mrs. Faneuil, Mr. Oxnard, with young Inman and his wife, a son of Ralph's, in the military line, and Miss Inman_."

The more intelligent of the refugees, who resorted to Bristol, hovered about the former Attorney General of Massachusetts, Jonathan Sewall, as their _Magnus Apollo_. Of all the New England tories he was the most illustrious. He was a man of eminent talents, and easy eloquence. His opinions were the opinions of the rest. As crowed the great tory cock, so crowed the bantams, the Faneuils, the Boutineaus, and the others, around the Attorney General's hospitable board, at Bristol. I mean not to intimate, that this worthy gentleman maintained, at this period, anything, beyond the most frugal hospitality. He and his associates were mainly dependent upon the British government, for their daily bread.

One or two extracts from the letters of "_Benjamin Faneuil junior_," Peter's nephew, while they establish this fact, may serve to exhibit the confidence, in the entire subjugation of the colonies, entertained--_cherished_, perhaps--by him and his companions.

March 9, 1777, he writes to his aunt, Mary Ann Jones, at Halifax, thus--"I cannot say I am very sorry, for your disappointment, in missing your passage for England, for unless you could bring a barrel of guineas, you are much better anywhere than here." * * * * "As soon as the Christmas holidays were over, we presented a petition to the Lords of the Treasury, setting forth our suffering, and praying for a support, till the affairs in America are settled. This method was taken, by the council, and indeed by all the refugees. Within these few days, the Lords of the Treasury have agreed to allow, for the present, Chief Justice Oliver £400 a year, Lieut. Governor Oliver and Mr. Flucker £300. The council (Mr. Boutineau among the rest) £200, the refugees in general £100, some only £50. Our affair is not yet absolutely determined, on account of Lord North's sickness; but we are told we shall be tuckt in, between the council and the refugees, and be allowed £150 a year. This is a very poor affair, and we can by no means live upon it: but there are such a confounded parcel of us, to be provided for, that I am told no more will be allowed." * * * * "Should there be any opportunity of writing to Boston, I should take it kind, if cousin Betsey would write to my father and let him know what I now write, and give our loves to Mr. Bethune's family, and my aunt Phillips. I do not mention my poor mother, as, from the accounts I have received, I doubt, whether she be alive at this time." She died in October, 1777.

"When we shall be able to return to Boston I cannot say; but hope and believe it will not exceed one year more; for, sooner or later, America will be conquered, and on that they may depend."

May 14, 1777. He writes from London thus--"We were promised, three months ago, that some provision should be made for us; and, about ten days since, we were assured, at the Treasury, that, in a very few days, something should be done for us. As soon as there is, we propose to set out for Bristol, and fix ourselves there, or, at least, in that part of the country, till the American affairs are settled, which, from the last advice from New York, we flatter ourselves will not be longer than this year; though I am not without my doubts, at least as to the time: but submit they must, sooner or later. Mr. Boutineau and my aunt were very well, at their lodging, at Bristol, a few days ago. Mr. Robinson has bought himself a new post chaise, horses, &c., and sets out for Wales, in five or six days; where, I suppose, they will remain, till the American affairs are brought to a conclusion."

This Mr. Robinson was James Boutineau's son-in-law, the officer of the customs, who inflicted that fatal blow, upon James Otis, which is said to have affected his brain, and compelled him to retire from public life. The issue of that affair is not generally known. Mr. Sabine, in his "American Loyalists," p. 169, says--"the jury assessed £2000 sterling, damages. Boutineau appeared, as attorney, for Robinson, and, in his name, signed a submission, asking the pardon of Otis, who, thereupon, executed a free release for the £2000." The same statement may be found in Allen, and elsewhere.

Mr. Benjamin Faneuil, junior, continues thus--"Mrs. Faneuil received a letter, a few days since, from Mrs. Erving (at Bristol). She sends her the prices of provisions, which are much the same they were in Boston, before the troubles came on. * * * * Miss Peggy Hutchinson has been at death's door. * * * * All the rest of us Yankees are well, but growl at each other most confoundedly, for want of money." * * * * "We hope to see you in Boston, in the course of another year." * * * * "Mrs. Faneuil is sitting by me, trying to transmography an old gown. No money to buy new."

No. CXXVI.

To some persons it has appeared a mystery, how Peter Faneuil, having had but a short lease of life, some two and forty years, should have acquired the "_large and plentiful estate_," that Master Lovell speaks of, in his funeral oration. This mystery is readily explained. He had, for several years, before the death of his uncle, Andrew, been engaged in commerce. As Master Lovell justly observes--"No man managed his affairs with greater prudence and industry." His commercial correspondence proves that his relations were extensive and diversified, though it must be admitted, that _rum, fish, sugar and molasses_, are the chorus, or burden, of the song. It will also appear, that the _large and plentiful estate_, was, probably overrated.

Though he had a high sense of commercial honor, no man had a sharper eye for the main chance, as it is called, by money getting men. Let me illustrate both these positions, by extracts--not from "_Peter's letters to his kinsfolks_," but from Peter's letters to his correspondents. He repeatedly scolds Signor Miguel Pacheco de Silva, and Monsieur Sigal, severely, for inattention to his drafts. To S. & W. Baker, of London, who, by reason of the informality of a power to transfer stock, were unsupplied with funds, to meet his drafts, yet paid them, for the honor of the drawer; he writes a letter of cordial thanks, Sept. 7, 1737, in which he says--"_I would not for £500 you had not accepted all those drafts; for, if you had not, it would have been a slur to my character, which I value more than all the money upon earth_."

January 22, 1738, he requests Mr. Peter Baynton to advise him, on several points--"_also what good French brandy is worth, and if it be possible to cloak it so, as to ship it for rum_." On the 13th of March, in the same year, he writes Mr. Peter Baynton, that he has sent him four hogsheads of brandy, and adds--"_Pray be as cautious as possible, in taking them on shore, by reason the man has signed bills of lading, for four hogsheads rum, not knowing the contents, which it is not convenient he should_."

What a goodly number will openly pronounce Peter a very bad fellow, who, if they have not done this identical thing, have done things, quite as exceptionable, or more so, and who are willing to--

"Compound for sins they are inclined to, By damning those they have no mind to."

Merchant princes, if I am rightly instructed, do not place the offence of cheating the Government, in the category of cardinal, or unpardonable, sins. And, notwithstanding all, that we so frequently hear, of commercial integrity, and the chivalry of trade; I rather doubt, upon the whole, if traffic is really the "_ne plus ultra strap_," upon which the very finest possible edge can be given to the moral sense. Exceptions there are, but they only establish, more fully, the general rule: and, in accordance with the spirit of the old, prudential legend, we are rather too much in the habit of postponing prayers, till we have sanded the sugar, and watered the molasses. I have long entertained the opinion, that a cheap _vade mecum_ edition of Dr. Chalmers' Commercial Discourses, for New Year's gifts, might be very beneficially distributed.

Exceptions certainly there are. I have one, within my own memory. The collector of a Southern port--a Huguenot withal--of whom my personal recollections are exceedingly agreeable, and whose integrity was a proverb, was surprised one day, upon his return, at the dinner hour, by the display of a costly service of plate, which his lady had procured from London. A few inquiries developed the fact, that, by the agency of a gentleman, a friend of the family, it had been gotten over, with _his_ baggage, duty free--in other words, _smuggled_. In an instant, the old gentleman ordered his wife's whole service of silver to the public stores; and seized it for the government. Such cases, I apprehend, are not of frequent occurrence.

If Peter Faneuil made not broad his phylactery, he made broad that mantle of charity, which covereth a multitude of sins. If such had not been the fact, and notoriously so, Master Lovell would not have ventured to proclaim, in Faneuil Hall, one hundred and eight years ago, and before a scanty population, as cognizant, as the population of a village, of all the shortcomings of their neighbors that--

"_Peter's acts of charity were so secret and unbounded, that none but they who were the objects of it could compute the sums, which he annually distributed_"--that "_his alms flowed, like a fruitful river_"--that "_he fed the hungry, clothed the naked, comforted the fatherless, and the widows in their affliction, and his bounty visited the prisoner. So that Almighty God, in giving riches to this man, seems to have scattered blessings all abroad among the people_"--that the building "_erected by him at an immense charge, for the convenience and ornament of the town, is incomparably the greatest benefaction ever yet known to our Western shoar_"--that this act of munificence, however great, "_is but the first fruits of his generosity, a pledge of what his heart, always devising liberal things, would have done for us, had his life been spared_." To all this good Master Lovell adds the assertion--"_I am well assured from those, who were acquainted with his purposes, that he had many more blessings in store for us, had Heaven prolonged his days_."

These statements, publicly pronounced, one hundred and eight years ago, have never been gainsayed, nor even qualified. They must therefore be viewed, in the light of an ancient deposition, read before the grand inquest of the whole people, before whom Peter Faneuil was tried, shortly after his decease, according to the fashion of the Egyptians, while dealing with their departed kings.

I, by no means, approve of Peter's conduct, in jostling the Government, out of the excise, on a few casks of brandy; but, in full view of all these public and private charities, there seems to be something about it, like the gallantry of Robin Hood, whose agrarian philosophy taught him to rob the rich, and feed the poor. And, when the trial comes on, in the Higher Court, about the duties upon these four hogsheads of brandy; and Peter Baynton is summoned to testify; and, upon his evidence, Peter Faneuil is convicted; most truly, do I believe, that some good natured angel, will slyly draw, over the record, a corner of that broad mantle of gold and tissue--that mantle of charity--whose warp and woof were formed of private alms and public benefactions, and which good Peter Faneuil spent so many of his hours, in weaving, in this lower world.

If Peter Faneuil was otherwise an offender, I am sorry for it; having a passion for rarities, I should like to behold the _tabula immaculata_--the unsullied sheet of one human being! I am not aware of anything, in the life of Peter Faneuil, which that mantle will not abundantly cover.

It may be otherwise. If the schoolmaster is not always abroad, the antiquarian is--the moral virtuoso--who delights, metaphorically speaking, to find spots on snow, and specks in amber. This species of antiquarian, male or female, may be found in every city and village. It is a curious creature, and, in the cabinet of a malicious memory, has stowed carefully away the weak points, and the peccadilloes of the living and the dead. In its contracted receptacle, there is no room for public or private charities, nor for merits of any kind: it is capable of holding nothing but delinquencies.

Nothing is more refreshing to this species of antiquarian, than any fair pretence, for opening his cabinet, and showing his precious collection. Nollikens, among his _terra cottas_, was not more adroit, in fitting the heads and members of Priapi to the trunks of fauns and satyrs, than is the ingenious character, of whom I speak, in adapting the legendary gossip, which has been told, till it is stale, of one individual, to the person of another. Such personages are, characteristically, selfish and ungenerous. It would not be a very notable miracle, if some person, of this description, pained and offended, by the trying contrast, between the munificent and charitable career of Peter Faneuil, and the extremely dry and unprofitable character of his own existence, should ransack the charnel-house of his memory, for some offensive offset, against Master Lovell's laudation of Peter.

For this I can truly vouch, excepting that affair of the brandy, the commercial correspondence of Peter Faneuil--and I have read the whole volume, that remains, French and English--is highly honorable to the head and the heart of the writer.

The charity of Peter Faneuil was not that clap-trap munificence, examples of which are frequently heralded, among us, in demi-stipendiary journals--it did not so truly _spring_--it _oozed_ from Peter's warm heart, continually, and constitutionally. He required no impressive hints, to be charitable--he _felt_ for the poor and needy, habitually. His letter of Sept. 19, 1738, is before me, to one of his commercial correspondents, to whom he has just then made a shipment, Mons. Thomas Bayeaux--"Inclosed you have Madame Guinneau's account, by which you are indebted to that poor widow £16, which you will do well to pay her, it being for money she advanced, for the board of you and your family. One would have thought you should have paid that, before you left the country, and not to have served the poor widow as you did."

However direct, and even severe, while addressing delinquents, his French politeness never forsakes him. Such letters always conclude--"_Sir, I salute you_," or "_I kiss your hand_."

April 24, 1740, he writes thus to Peter Baynton--"This accompanies Capt. Burgess Hall, who carries with him to your parts two unfortunate Palatine women, that were some time ago shipwrecked, in their voyage from Europe to your place, who, being objects of charity, which the providence of God has thrown in our way, I take leave to recommend to you, as such, not doubting you will so far commisserate their condition, as to direct them the nearest way, to get among their friends, with such other relief as you may think necessary."

Though Peter Faneuil had acquired property, before the death of his uncle Andrew; yet, as we shall presently see, by far the larger part of his "_large and plentiful estate_" came to him, by that uncle's will.

No. CXXVII.

Peter Faneuil was thirty and seven years old, when he began to reign--that is, when his uncle, Andrew, died, Feb. 13, 1737, according to Peter, in his letter to the Bakers, of London, or 1738, agreeably to the historical style, adopted by the public journals. In the News Letter of February "16, to 23," we have the following account of the funeral.--"Last Monday the Corpse of _Andrew Faneuil_ Esquire, whose death we mentioned in our last, was honorably interr'd here; above 1100 Persons, of all Ranks, besides the Mourners, following the Corpse, also a vast number of Spectators were gathered together on the Occasion, at which time the half-minute guns, from on board several vessels, were discharged. And 'tis suppos'd that as this Gentleman's Fortune was the greatest of any among us, so his funeral was as generous and expensive as any that has been known here."

Peter was appointed executor sole of Andrew's will, and residuary legatee. He appears to have proceeded with great propriety. He immediately announced his uncle's death to foreign correspondents; and furnished those, who had been custodiers of his property, with duly authenticated copies of the will; and took prompt measures, for the procurement of "_the handsomest mourning rings_."

John, Archbishop of Canterbury, as was usual then, sent his commission to Judge Willard, from the Prerogative Court, to swear Peter, to render a true inventory, &c.; and Peter responded to John, that, although he was not bound so to do, by the laws of the Province, yet, for his "_own satisfaction_," he should. Peter probably changed his mind, for no inventory of Andrew's estate appears, among the ancient records of the Probate Court, in Suffolk. It is not, therefore, possible, to estimate the value of that "_large and plentiful estate_," which came to Peter, from his uncle. That it was very considerable, for the times, there cannot be a doubt; but the times--one hundred and fourteen years ago--were the days of small things.

It has been observed, by an eminent man, that prayer and almsgiving are the pathways to Paradise. Andrew Faneuil commences his will, with a supplication, for the _perfecting of his charities_--"_I commit my soul to God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, humbly begging the pardon of my sins, the perfecting of my charities, and everlasting life above_." This will was made, Sept. 12, 1734, and witnessed, by John Read, William Price and Charles Morris; and a codicil was added, Jan. 23, 1737; and both were proved, Feb. 15, 1737, two days after the testator's death.

Wills have ever been accounted an interesting department of _belles lettres_; and I shall therefore furnish the reader with an abstract of Uncle Andrew's.

_First._ He gives his warehouse in Boston, in trust, to the minister of the French Church, in Boston, and his successors; two thirds of the income for the minister's support, and one third to the elders, to create a fund for repairing the warehouse; and after the creation of such fund, the whole income to the minister; and, should the French church cease to be, then said warehouse to revert to his heirs--"_excluding Benjamin Faneuil, of Boston, and the heirs of his body forever_."

_Secondly._ To said French Church, three pieces of plate, of the value of £36 sterling, "_a flaggon for the communion table, a plate for the bread, and a bason to christen the children, with the coat of arms and name of the donor, engraven upon each of them_." On the 27th of February, fourteen days after his uncle's death, Peter sent a copy of the will to Claude Fonnereau, in France, requesting him to purchase the plate, and added--"_of the best fashion, and get engraved, agreeably to his orders, for which end you have his coat of arms in wax herewith, and if it should cost some small matter more, be pleased to charge the same_."

_Thirdly._ £100, in Province Bills, to be paid to the elders, for the poor of the French Church.

_Fourthly._ £50, in Province bills, and "_a suit of mourning throughout_," to the French minister.

_Fifthly._ £100, in Province bills, to the overseers, for the poor of Boston.

_Sixthly._ To the Rev. Benjamin Colman, "_a suit of mourning throughout_."

_Seventhly._ "To my loving brother, John Faneuil, of Rochelle, £100, sterling."

_Eighthly._ "To my loving brother-in-law, Peter Cossart, of Cork, in Ireland, and his sister Susannah Cossart, of Amsterdam, £50 each to buy mourning."

_Ninthly._ "To Benjamin Faneuil of Boston, son of my brother, Benjamin Faneuil, deceased, _five shillings and no more_."

_Tenthly._ To his executor, in trust, 8000 ounces of silver, or pieces of eight, to purchase an estate of inheritance, at his discretion, within one year after the testator's death, for his loving niece, Mary, wife of Gillam Phillips, and the heirs of her body, remainder to her right heirs. Peter, in correspondence with S. & W. Baker, refers to this purchase, and directs them to sell stocks of his late uncles, to meet the drafts.

_Eleventhly_. To her son, Andrew, 500 ounces of silver, or pieces of eight, to be put at interest, till majority--to his mother, in case of his death before--and, in case of _her_ death and _his_ before--to her other children.

_Twelfthly, thirteenthly, and fourteenthly._ To his nieces, Anne, Susannah, and Marian, £2000 sterling, each; the two first to be paid six months, after his death, and the last, at majority, or marriage; four per cent. to be allowed her, per annum, ad interim, and she to be maintained by the executor, till she attained full age, or married. These legacies were paid from the funds of Uncle Andrew, in the hands of S. & W. Baker, of London.

_Fifteenthly._ To his loving sister, Susannah F., widow of Abraham de la Croix, of Rochelle, £1000 sterling.

_Sixteenthly._ To his servant maid, _Hendrine Boyltins_, who probably came, with the family, from Holland, "_a suit of mourning throughout_," and 500 ounces of silver, in pieces of eight, or the value, in Province bills, at her election.

_Seventeenthly._ To Henry Johnson, her son, who became the confidential clerk of Peter Faneuil, 150 ounces, in pieces of eight, to be paid, at majority.

_Eighteenthly._ "I give, bequeath, and devise all the rest of my estate, both real and personal, whatsoever and wheresoever 'tis, in New England, Great Britain, France, Holland, or any other part of the world, to my loving nephew, PETER FANEUIL, eldest son of my late brother, Benjamin Faneuil, to hold to him and his heirs forever."

He then appoints Peter, sole executor.

The codicil revokes the legacy to his _loving_ sister, the widow Susannah de la Croix, of Rochelle--"my mind and my will is, that my said sister, Susannah F., shall not have the said thousand pounds, _nor any part of it_."

The severity of these five last words--and the phrase, in relation to his nephew--"_excluding Benjamin Faneuil of Boston, and the heirs of his body forever_;" and those final words of the ninth clause, by which the testator cuts off poor Benjamin, with "_five shillings and no more_," are sufficiently piquant. Well may such an _avunculus Hector_ commence his last will, with a fervent supplication to "God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost," for _the perfecting of his charities_.

How the widow, Susannah, came to lose her thousand pounds I do not know. Something, that she said or did, or did not say or do, was wafted, all the way over the water, from Rochelle, no doubt, and came to the old gentleman's irritable ears, and roused his ire.

But I well comprehend the occasion, upon which he came to disinherit his nephew, Benjamin Faneuil. My female readers have already arrived at the conclusion, doubtless, that Benjamin so far forgot himself, and his duty to his opulent, old uncle, as to fall in love without asking his permission. Well: they are perfectly right--such was the fact. Benjamin fell in love. He was determined not to be found, like tinkling brass, even at the hazard of losing the good will, and the gold of his uncle Andrew--so he fell in love. And, if the girl of his heart resembled her daughter, _Mary Faneuil_, as she is represented by Blackburn, how the poor fellow could have helped it, God only knows.

There is nothing, in all Amboyna, more spicy, than this little incident, in the history of the Faneuils; and, having spoilt it, perhaps, by this _avant courier_, I will now venture to tell the story; premising, that it was far better told, by the lady, who related it to me, and who is a lineal descendant of Benjamin, himself.

To give proper effect to this little episode, I must take the reader to a pretty village, as it was just then beginning to be, one hundred and fifty years ago, on the banks of the Hudson, some twenty miles, only, from the city of New York. There, the persecuted Huguenots gathered together, and planted their new home, their _New Rochelle_. Almost immediately after his marriage with Anne Bureau, in 1699, at Narragansett, Benjamin Faneuil rejoined his Huguenot friends, and fellow-townsmen, in _New Rochelle_; and there his children were born. _New Rochelle_, as I have stated, was the birth-place of PETER FANEUIL.

Andrew, having arrived in Boston from Holland, very soon after the beginning of the eighteenth century; having buried his wife; and being childless, selected Benjamin, the second son of his brother, Benjamin Faneuil, as an object of particular regard. The boy, was, accordingly, transferred from New Rochelle to Boston. He was educated, and brought up, under his patron's eye; and was considered, by the world, as the heir apparent of his opulent uncle. As he grew up, towards man's estate, it would have been an unheard of circumstance, if the dowagers of Shawmut, with their marriageable daughters, had not fixed their hopeful eyes, upon young Benjamin, if it were only for the sake of whatever might be found, sooner or later, in the mouth of his sack. It would have been a miracle, if their exhibitions of regard, for the young man, had not visibly increased; and their fears had not been frequently and feelingly expressed, lest that excellent, old gentleman, Andrew Faneuil Esquire, had taken cold.

A patron is rather too prone to look upon a _protégé_, as a puppet. The idea, that Benjamin could be led astray, however tempting the provocation, to commit the crime of matrimony, however lawful and right, however accomplished, and virtuous, and lovely the object, without leave, first had and obtained, from him, at whose board he ate his daily bread, never occurred to Uncle Andrew, for an instant. He supposed, of course, that he had the key to Benjamin's soul. It never occurred to the old gentleman, whose courtship was carried on, in Holland, that falling in love was precisely as much of an accident, as falling into the fire, or into the water.

Well: Benjamin was an intelligent young man; and he was admirably posted up, upon the subject of his uncle's opinions, and prejudices. Nevertheless, he fell in love, very emphatically; and with a girl, as pretty, doubtless, as she was poor. He knew, that his uncle would never consent to such a marriage. But he knew, that he had plighted his troth; and he clearly saw, since he must run the hazard of breaking _one_ heart, or _two_, that it would be rather more equitable to risk the old gentleman's, instead of the girl's and his own.

Accordingly, Benjamin secretly took unto himself a lawful wife; and, for a while, though Benjamin was, doubtless, much the happier, Uncle Andrew was nothing the wiser. However strange it may appear, though there were no giants, there were mischievous women, in those days. One of this category, in an evil hour, like a toad, as she was, whispered the secret, into the ear of Uncle Andrew.

The old Huguenot was not of the melting mood. The conduct of his nephew produced not grief, but anger. It reached no tender spot, in the recesses of his heart, but chafed the old man's pericardium, till it drew a blister there. He bottled up his wrath, and corked it well; that the offender might have the full benefit of the fermentation, when the old gentleman came to pour the contents of the vial, on the devoted head of his unsuspecting nephew.

The following morning, they met, at the breakfast table. The meal passed, as usual. But with what feelings must that old man have contemplated the poor fellow, the boy of his adoption, whom he was about to prostrate, as he finished the last mouthful he was ever to partake at that board! The repast was finished.--A brief colloquy ensued--"_I hear you are married_"--"_Yes, uncle, I am_"--"_Then you will leave my house_." The young man instantly took his departure. They never met again, until years had passed away,--and then, in that place, where there is no work nor device. There they lie, in the Faneuil tomb, in the Granary Ground; the unforgiving uncle and the disinherited nephew, side by side. Benjamin Faneuil died, at his residence in Brighton, in October, 1785, and was buried, in the family vault.

No. CXXVIII.

Notwithstanding the "_large and plentiful estate_," which Peter Faneuil derived from his uncle's will, it is my opinion, that his munificence, his unbounded charities, his hospitalities, his social, genial temperament were such, that, had he lived a much longer life, he would have died a much poorer man. Almost immediately, upon the death of his uncle, it is manifest, from his letters, that certain magnificent fancies came over the spirit of his waking dreams. And it is equally certain, that, subsequently, he had occasional misgivings, as to the just relation between his means and his prospective arrangements, which, for the times, and upon our little peninsula, were sufficiently expanded.

Feb. 27, 1737, fourteen days after his uncle's death, he announced that event to his commercial friends, Messrs. S. & W. Baker of London; prescribed the arrangement of funds, for the payment of legacies; and instructed them to honor his draft, in favor of James Pope & Company, of Madeira, in payment for five pipes of wine.

Four days after, on the first of March, he writes Pope & Company thus--"Send me, by the very first opportunity, for this place, five pipes of your very best Madeira wine, of an amber color, of the same sort, which you sent to our good friend, De Lancey, of New York."

He directs them to draw on the Bakers of London, and adds--"As this wine is for the use of my house, I hope you will be careful, that I have the best. I am not over fond of the strongest. I am to inform you, that my uncle, Mr. Andrew Faneuil, departed this life, the 13 current, and was interred the 20, for which God prepare all his friends. I shall expect to hear from you, by the first opportunity."

Feb. 27, 1737, the same day, on which he writes the Bakers, he addresses Lane & Smethurst, of London, as follows--"Be so good as to send me a handsome chariot with two sets of harness, with the arms, as enclosed, on the same, in the handsomest manner, that you shall judge proper, but at the same time nothing gaudy: and send me also, well recommended, two sober men, the one, for a coachman the other a gardener; and agree with the same, to be paid either in London, quarterly, or here, allowing for the exchange of the money, which they shall choose. And, as most servants from Europe, when here, are too apt to be debauched with strong drink, rum, &c., being very plenty, I pray your particular care in this article."

On the 6th of March, he writes Gulian Verplanck, of New York--"Send me the pipe of wine, having none good to drink." Again, March 20--"By the first good opportunity the best pipe of wine you can purchase." On the 25th of April, he acknowledges the receipt of the wine from Verplanck--"The wine I hope will prove good--comes in very good time, there being none good in town."

On the 22d of May, he writes the Bakers, for a bountiful supply of glass and China, and for "enough of the best scarlet cloth to trim a cloak:" and, in September of that year, for silver spoons and "silver forks with three prongs, with my arms cut upon them: let them be made very neat and handsome." Shortly after, he writes for several pairs of silver candlesticks, "with my arms engraved thereon," and sends out a piece of wax candle, as a pattern of the size.

On the 1st of January, 1738, he writes Lane & Smethurst, to send him a pair of spectacles, "for a person of 50 years, as also, for the use of my kitchen, the latest, best book of the several sorts of cookery, which pray let be of the largest character, for the benefit of the maid's reading." As Peter then was not quite thirty-eight years of age, the spectacles were probably for "the maid," to enable her to master "the _best book_ of the several sorts of cookery."

Dec. 20, 1738, he writes for "four stone horses." On the 18th of September of that year, he writes Thomas Kilby--"Pray don't forget the larding pins, wine, and sweetmeats, which I have wrote you about before." He frequently writes to his friend Verplanck, for "Albany horses."

In a brief sketch of Brighton, published in 1850, it is stated that Peter's "_large and heavy silver punch bowl_" is in the possession of George Bethune, Esquire, of this city. This is an error. Peter's punch bowl came into the possession of James Lovell, who married a grand-daughter of Benjamin Faneuil, a sister of Mr. Bethune; and it is now in the possession of Mr. Lovell's descendants.

Oh, if that "_large and heavy silver punch bowl_" could speak out, in good French or English, what glorious tales it would tell of Peter, in all his glory, enjoying, as Master Lovell says, "_that divine satisfaction, which results from communicating happiness to others_"--around that preëminently hospitable board, where, in the language of the writer of the obituary, in the News Letter of March 10, 1743--

"Divites ac parvi gustârunt dulcia mensæ."

Peter's punch bowl was not at all like Oliver's "_broken teacups, wisely kept for show_." June 22, 1741, some twenty months before his death, he writes Lane & Smethurst, to send him "_six gross of the very best London King Henry's Cards, and six half chests of lemons, for my house winter supply_."

Let not the reader surmise, for all this, that Peter had denied his Lord, or was exclusively absorbed in his care for creature comforts. March 5, 1738, he writes the Bakers, to send him "four handsome, large, octavo, Common Prayer Books, of a good letter and well bound, with one of the same, in French, for my own use."

March 13, 1738, he writes John Depuister, to send him "six of the largest bearskins, and two large, fine, well painted beaver coats, to use in a slay."

It is, in no sense, discreditable to Peter Faneuil, that his correspondence shows him to have been exceedingly partial to sweetmeats and citron water. Nor does it lower him, in my humble esteem, that his letters clearly indicate his temperament to have been somewhat irritable and fiery. I have found such to be the case, almost ever, when generosity, frankheartedness, and a noble spirit are blended together, as closely as they were, in the character of Peter Faneuil. The converse of this position, to be sure, it is not easy to maintain.

It is quite amusing, to contemplate, now and then, in men, whose brains are brim full of magnificent purposes, and whose habitual dealings are with tens and hundreds of thousands--a remarkable concentration of thought and care, upon some one insignificant item of property, which is in jeopardy of falling into naught. It is, doubtless, the spirit of the woman, who lighted her candle and swept the house, and called her neighbors together, to rejoice with her, over the recovery of that one piece of silver.

A brief episode will exhibit this trait, in Peter's character, and show, at the same time, that his spirit was perfectly placable. Some time before his death, Uncle Andrew, being aware, that pulmonic affections were benefited, by the air of the tropics, consigned a broken-winded horse to Mr. Joseph Ward, of Barbadoes, for sale. No account having been rendered, the fate of the old horse appears to have become a subject of exciting interest, with the residuary legatee. Before he writes to Ward, he addresses three letters of inquiry, in other directions. He then opens upon Mr. Joseph Ward, Jan. 12, 1738. I give the entire letter, as illustrative of Peter's character--"I have been very much surprised, that, ever since the death of Captain Allen, you have not advised me of the sale of a horse, belonging to my deceased uncle, left in your hands by him, which I am informed you sold for a very good price, and I am now to request the favor you would send me the net proceeds, with a fair and just account for the same, in sweetmeats and citron water; your compliance with which will stop me from giving some of my friends the trouble of calling you to an account there. I shall be glad to know, if Captain Allen did not leave a silver watch and some fish, belonging to a servant of mine, with some person of your island, and with who. I expect your speedy answer."

Mr. Ward appears to have responded, more calmly, than tropical gentlemen commonly do, when accosted in this piquant style. He sent his account, and Peter was manifestly mollified, by a box of sweetmeats. Mr. Ward, however, complained of Peter's want of grace. March 24, 1738, Peter wrote to Mr. Ward--"Yours of 7 February, with the account sales of a horse, left by Captain Allen, accompanying a box sweetmeats I received, in which I observe you refer to my former, which you are pleased to look upon as in too unhandsome a stile. I must own it was not in so soft terms, as I sometimes make use of; but, at that time, I really thought the state of the case required it, not having heard anything to be depended upon, concerning the horse in dispute, either if he was dead, sold, or run away; upon either of which, I presumed the common complaisance, if not honor, among merchants, might have entitled either my uncle, in his lifetime, or myself, after his decease, to some advice at least. I had indeed transiently heard here you had kept him, for your own use, but had undervalued him, which, in some measure prest my writing you on that head, &c. I thank you for your speedy answer, and am, with return of your own compliment, as much as you are mine," &c.

March 6, 1737.--Peter informs M. Isaac Beauchamp, that, he, Peter, has been empowered, by his Excellency, M. Brouillan, Governor of Cape Breton, to call him to account and says--"I am now to let you know, that out of honor and of the regards I have ever had to that gentleman, I am obliged to see some honorable issue made to that affair, for which reason I shall be glad you will advise me, after what manner you propose to satisfye the gentleman or me, without forcing violente means." This affair was occasioned, by a dispute, about tobacco, and ended in smoke.

One brief illustration more. April 6, 1738, he complains to Captain Greenou of certain ill usage and says--"You may see what handsome parcell of protested bills I must pay. If this be the honor of you Ragon men, God deliver me from them, for the future. I would not take their word for a groat &c. These pretended gentlemen think I will tamely sit down by their unhandsome usage, but they will find themselves very much mistaken," &c.

Many years ago, while standing by the artist, as he was working up, from the old portrait, belonging to the Historical Society, the lineaments of Peter, as he is represented, in Faneuil Hall, we agreed, that his temperament must have been choleric. He had that conformation of body, which hints of apoplexy. John, his uncle, the Rocheller, died of that disease; and Peter, as Master Lovell inform us, died _suddenly_. He belonged not to any total abstinence society. And though there is no evidence, nor the slightest suspicion, that he fell below that standard of gentlemanly temperance, which was in vogue, among those, who were given to hospitality, in our peninsula, one hundred years ago--yet I have not any reasonable doubt, that Peter would have lived longer, had it been the pleasure of his uncle Andrew to have disinherited _him_, instead of _his brother Benjamin_.

No. CXXIX.

Peter Faneuil was an affectionate brother. I have it from the lips of Benjamin's lineal descendants, who have preserved the tradition, that, after he had sacrificed his hopes of the inheritance, not for a mess of pottage, but for a lovely wife; and Peter had been called from New Rochelle, to supply his place, as the heir apparent; uncle Andrew, probably, without exacting an absolute promise, enjoined it upon Peter, to abstain from assisting Benjamin; to which injunction Peter paid no practical regard whatever; but, like a Christian brother, remembered, that old Benjamin Faneuil and Anne Bureau had been the father and the mother of them both. The commercial correspondence shows, that Peter gave Benjamin his confidence and affection. The relation between them plainly demonstrates, that there was no deficiency of kind and generous offices.

The ease and intimacy of their friendship will be perceived, by the following note, which I copy literally from the original, in my possession. There was a difference of eighteen months only, in their ages. In this note, which was written, after Benjamin's return from Europe, Peter addresses him, by a cant name. "Boston the 18 August, 1741. Dear Cockey: The Occasion of my not Sending my Chase for you was on Account of Mr. Shirley's receiving of his Majties Commission Last Thursday appointing him Govr of this Province wh. was read the Next day, upon which Occasion he ask't me to Loane of my Charrot wh. I granted him till Last Night, so that I presume will plede my xcuse. I now Send you up the Chase, to bring you home, and have deliver'd ye Coachman Some Boild Beef, a dozen of brown biskett 6 bottles of Madera and 2 of Frontinan with a dozen of Lemmons. Your relations and friends are all well, and desire their Love and service may be made acceptable to you. Pray my Compliments to the Gentn and Ladys with you--and give me Leave to assure you that I am, Dear Cockey, Your Affectionate Brother, Peter Faneuil."

The superscription of this note is torn off, but to Benjamin alone can it apply. Mr. Jones was not married, till after Peter's death. His relation to Phillips was rather formal; and still more so with Boutineau; and he never would have thought of calling his brother Addington Davenport, the Rector of Trinity, his _dear cockey_. His letters also record the evidences of his kindness to his sisters, and his attention to their most trifling wishes. Nov. 24, 1736, he writes Lynch and Blake--"My youngest sister desires, that you wont forget to send her the Canary birds, which you promised her, when you was here." May 16, 1736, he writes Lane and Smethurst of London--"My sisters have received their things, in good order and to their liking, except the stockings: for the Hosier put up white worsted, instead of thread, although the patern was sent. I have sent them back to you to be changed, in the ship Union, John Homans, master. Be pleased to send them, by the first opportunity: viz, for Mrs. Anne Faneuil, 3 pairs thread hose, with worsted clogs, and a pair of Galoushoes. Mrs. Susannah Faneuil, 2 pairs thread ditto. Mrs. Mary Anne Faneuil, 4 pairs thread stockings, and 3 pairs clogs." It is of small moment, at this late day, whether these ladies wore thread or worsted stockings, one hundred and fourteen years ago; but this ancient example of brotherly regard may not be altogether lost, upon the race of brothers, that has sprung up, during the present century. It is remarkable, that Peter, though he applies the title, _Mrs._ to each of his sisters, gives them the maiden name. The two, first named, were then the wives of Addington Davenport and James Boutineau; the last, Mary Ann, afterwards the wife of John Jones, was then single.

At that early day, the moral sense of the people of the North appears to have been thoroughly asleep, on the subject of slavery. The reverend clergy were no exception from the general rule. After the decease of Parson Moorhead, in 1774, a slave was sold, among his effects, "at his late residence, near _Liberty Tree_." Jonny Moorhead was a cotemporary of Peter Faneuil, having assumed the charge of the Presbyterian Church, as it then was, in 1730. The reader will not be startled, therefore, when he comes to be informed, as, in good time he will be, at how many pounds, old tenor, each of Peter Faneuil's five slaves were appraised, after his decease. Slavery was not uncommon then, in the Province of Massachusetts Bay. Douglass, in his Summary, vol. i. page 351, states, that in 1735, about seven years before Peter's death, the whole number of whites, of 16 years and upwards, in the Province, was 35,427; and of negroes, 2600.

Feb. 3, 1738. Peter Faneuil writes thus, to Peter Buckley--"Herewith you have invoice of six hogsheads fish and eight barrells of alewives, amounting to £75.9.2, which, when you arrive at Antigua, be pleased to sell, for my best advantage, and, with the nett produce of the same, purchase, for me, for the use of my house, as likely a strait negro lad as possibly you can, about the age of from 12 to 15 years; and, if to be done, one that has had the small-pox, who being for my own service, I must request the favor, you would let him be one of as tractable a disposition as you can find, which I leave to your prudent care and management, desiring, after you have purchased him, you would send him to me, by the first good opportunity, recommending him to a particular care, from the captain." I have no doubt, that Peter was a kind, considerate master; and, though I have an unconquerable aversion to being the slave of anybody, I had rather have been Peter's _born thrall_ than his _uncle Andrew_. What a glorious kitchen Peter's must have been!

My female readers will scarcely find it in their eyelids to be weary, or in their hearts to blame me, for giving them one or two passages more, from Peter Faneuil's letters; when they are told, that those passages relate to a love affair, in which Peter, though not a principal, performed an important part.

The Faneuils and the Jekylls were intimate--so much so, at least, as to bring the Jekylls within the circle of those, who, upon Uncle Andrew's death, were accounted the legitimate recipients of mourning rings. In a letter to Mr. Joseph Jekyll, of Jan. 22, 1738, Peter alludes to Miss Jekyll's extraordinary conduct; and, most happily and truthfully, remarks, that "_there is no accounting for the sex, in affairs of love_." On the same day, he writes Mr. Richard Blacket Jekyll--"Doubtless, you'll be surprised to find, that, by this opportunity, only your sister, Mrs. Hannah, of the family, who I hope will arrive safe to you, has the pleasure of seeing you, and her other brothers, in England. I am sorry Mrs. Mary does not consult her own interest, so much, as I could wish, whose conduct I should say nothing of, were it not out of regard to the family in general. It is now only one month past, since she suffered herself to be published to one Mr. Linnington, of St. Christophers, formerly known here, by the name of My Lord Linnington, or My Lord, whose character, if you remember the man, I need not trouble you with a description of it; but, if you do not, I can only say, that he is a worthless pretender to a great deal of money and wit, without, according to the best account I can learn, any of either: with whom she would, inevitably have been married, had not some other friends joined forces with me, and interposed."

"Inclosed I send you my letter to her, on that head, and her answer, for your more private satisfaction. That affair being tolerably well over, and Captain Homan's state-room hired for the two young ladies, and their maid, I had supplied them, according to your desire, with what money they might have occasion for, to fit them out for the voyage, and paid the captain, for their laying in, and tomorrow being the appointed time to go aboard, I was, in the morning, advised Mrs. Mary had changed her mind, on account of some new proposals of matrimony, made her, by Col. Saltonstall of Haverhill, which sudden alteration I find to be, on examination, from a visit or two, within these two or three days last past, at farthest, but, however, concluded upon and determined, so that she does not come to you," &c., &c.

Peter proceeds to comment, with great discretion, upon the absence of any reasonable interval, for the heart of Miss Mary Jekyll to recover its due tone and tension, after its first expansion towards _My Lord Linnington_, and before the second spasm. But, truly, in the language of the anatomist, the heart is a "wonderful muscle."

I had surmised a relation of consanguinity between Peter Faneuil and the late Peter Chardon Brooks, from the fact, that, on the 29th of March, 1737, Peter Faneuil writes to the executors of Isaac Chardon, in South Carolina, whom he calls his cousin; and, in that letter, speaks of his cousin, _Peter Chardon_. But, from the best authority, I have learned, that the name of Peter Chardon was bestowed, by the Rev. Edward Brooks, formerly of North Yarmouth, and more recently of Medford, upon his son, _causa amicitiæ_; the Rev. Mr. Brooks and Peter Chardon, having been classmates, of the year 1757. It was, probably, the father of this Peter Chardon, whom Peter Faneuil calls his cousin, in 1737, and the same Peter Chardon, who is named, on the record, as one of the appraisers of Peter Faneuil's estate, in 1742-3. The name is rare; it occurs once only, on the Cambridge Catalogue; and, from its rarity, it may not be unreasonable, to look for the _stirps_, on the pages of Charlevoix, iii. 392, who speaks of _Peter Chardon_, the Jesuit, a missionary, among the Indians, bordering upon Lake Michigan, at the very close of the seventeenth century. _Our_ Peter Chardon, the cousin of Faneuil, resided in Bowdoin Square, near the street, that bears his name.

After the death of his uncle Andrew, Peter Faneuil, by the power of wealth, in addition to his other qualities, intelligence, industry, and courtesy, necessarily became an influential character; and the use, which he immediately began to make of his wealth, his public spirit, his private benevolence, all conspired to make him an object of very general interest. His hospitalities were unbounded. He associated himself with the Episcopal Church. He subscribed £2000 old tenor, £200 sterling for the rebuilding of King's Chapel, in 1740, and was chosen treasurer of the building fund. His death, in 1742-3, put a stop to the project. No money had ever been collected, for that object. In 1747, the project was revived. New subscriptions were solicited, and the old ones demanded, "_at the end of this year 1748_." Peter Faneuil died March 3, 1742-3, and had therefore been dead, between five and six years. "For the subscription of Peter Faneuil," says Mr. Greenwood, in his history of the Chapel, "they were unfortunately obliged to sue his brother, and executor, Benjamin Faneuil, from whom, after a disagreeable lawsuit, they at last recovered it." Mr. Greenwood erred, in the supposition, that Peter left a will. He died intestate, and administration was granted to Benjamin, March 18, 1742, old style. The estate, of course, had been settled, doubtless, some years before the demand on the administrator, "_at the end of 1748_." Having other heirs to consult, he very properly resisted this tardy and unexpected claim; and cast the responsibility upon the court.

For several years, Peter Faneuil worshipped in Trinity Church, of which his brother-in-law, Addington Davenport, became rector, in 1740. Peter's pew, in Old Trinity, was No. 40. He was an active and liberal member of the Episcopal Charitable Society. "Mr. Faneuil," says the late Dr. Boyle, "was one of the earliest members of the society. He was a liberal subscriber to its funds, and acted, as a trustee of the institution."

Peter Faneuil's heart was proverbially warm, and sensitive to the necessities and distresses of his _neighbor_; and he seems to have cherished the true scriptural construction of that _ubiquitary_ word. The accession of wealth, upon his uncle's death, hardened not his heart, but gave it a deeper, fuller, and stronger pulse, upon every call of charity. To him, as to other men, who admit their motives to be human, upon common occasions, the applause of the _wise_ and _good_ was exceedingly agreeable. Whatever the prominency of higher and holier considerations, he turned a willing and a grateful ear to the approbation of the judicious and upright. Not contented with the opportunities of doing good, on a small scale, which were, doubtless, frequently presented, before a man, whose wealth and warmheartedness were equally notorious; he coveted some fair occasion, for pouring forth of his abundance, in a more magnificent manner--pleased--naturally and justifiably pleased--with the thought, that his name and his memory would be associated with the deed, in after times.

No. CXXX.

One may, as successfully, search for that identical peck of pickled peppers, that Peter Piper picked, as for the original Hall, that Peter Faneuil built. Like Rachel's first born, _it is not_. After all the reparations, and changes, and hard hammerings she has undergone, we may as well search, within the walls of Old Ironsides, for those very ribs of live oak, which, some fifty years ago, were launched, in the body of the frigate Constitution.

In the olden time, the market men, like the mourners, went "about the streets." The inhabitants were served, at their doors. As early as 1634, Gov. Winthrop, in his journal, speaks of a market, which was kept in Boston, "on Thursday, the fifth day of the week." This weekly market on the fifth day is mentioned, by Douglass, as of 1639, vol. i. p. 434. This, I think, refers only to a gathering of sellers and buyers, at one spot, and not to any "visible temple," for storage and shelter. Citizens differed, as to the best method of getting their _provant_; some preferred the old mode, as it was supposed to save time; others were in favor of having a common point, with a covered building. Parties were formed; the citizens waxed wroth; and quarrelled about their meat, like angry dogs. Those, who were in favor of market-houses, prevailed. Three were erected; one, at the Old North Square--one, where Faneuil Hall now stands--and one, near Liberty Tree. People were no longer supplied, at their houses.

It seems very strange, that this sensible arrangement should have led to violent outrage. The malcontents assembled together, in the night, "disguised like clergymen"--the devil, sometimes assumes this exterior--and "totally demolished the centre market-house." This occurred, about the year 1736-7, or about the time of Andrew Faneuil's death. Such is the account of good old Thomas Pemberton. M. H. C. iii. 255.

The popular sentiment prevented the reconstruction of the centre market-house, till, in 1740, July 14, a town meeting was held to consider a petition, for this object, from Thomas Palmer and 340 others. At this meeting, it was stated, that Peter Faneuil had offered, at his own cost, to build a market-house, on the town's land, in Dock Square, for the use of the town, if the citizens, would legally empower him so to do; place the same under proper regulations; and maintain it, for that use.

An impression has, somewhat extensively, prevailed, that Mr. Faneuil's proposal was not courteously received, by his fellow-citizens, and that a majority of seven only were in favor of it.

On the contrary, Mr. Faneuil's proposal was received, with the most ample demonstrations of grateful respect. There were two questions before the meeting--first: shall a vote of thanks be passed to Peter Faneuil, for his liberal offer? Secondly: shall we give up the itinerant system, and have a market-house, on _any_ conditions? Upon the first question, there was but _one_ mind--on the second, there were _two_. A vote of thanks to Mr. Faneuil was instantly passed, without a dissentient. But the second question was the vexed question, revived, and excited the passions of the people. Of 727 persons present, 367 only voted in favor of granting the petition of Palmer and others, giving a majority of seven only.

Accordingly, the work was commenced; and it was completed, Sept. 10, 1742, "on which day," says Dr. Snow, "Mr. Samuel Ruggles, who was employed, in building the market house, waited on the selectmen, by order of P. Faneuil, Esq., and delivered them the key of said house."

Peter was a magnificent fellow. An antiquarian friend, to whom the fancy has lineally descended, through a line of highly respectable, antiquarian ancestors, informs me, that his father handed down to him a tradition, which is certainly plausible. It runs thus: while the market-house was in progress--probably on paper--it was suggested to Peter, that, with very little additional expense, a splendid town hall might be constructed over it. Peter's heart was quite as _roomy_ as the market-house, and town hall together, and he cheerfully embraced the suggestion. The tradition goes a little farther--when the cost was summed up, Peter scolded--a little. Very likely. Mr. Peter Faneuil was not an exception, I presume, to the common rule.

The keys, as I have stated, were presented to the town, Sept. 10, 1742, with all that courtesy, doubtless, for which he was remarkable. Peter's relatives and connections are somewhat numerous. The descendants of Benjamin his brother are scattered over the country. It will be equally grateful to them, and honorable to our forefathers, to exhibit a portion of the record.

Sept. 13, 1742, at a meeting, in the new hall, a vote of thanks was moved, by the Hon. John Jeffries, uncle of the late Dr. John Jeffries. In this vote, it is stated, that, whereas Peter Faneuil has, "at a very great expense, erected a noble structure, far exceeding his first proposal, inasmuch, as it contains, not only a large and sufficient accommodation for a market place, but a spacious and most beautiful town hall over it, and several other convenient rooms, which may prove very beneficial to the town, for offices or otherwise. And the said building being now finished, he has delivered possession thereof to the selectmen for the use of the town; it is therefore voted, that the town do, with the utmost gratitude, receive and accept this most generous and noble benefaction, for the use and intentions it is designed for; and do appoint the Hon. Thomas Cushing Esquire, the moderator of this meeting, the Hon. Adam Winthrop, Edward Hutchinson, Ezekiel Lewis, and Samuel Waldo, Esquires, Thomas Hutchinson, Esq. the selectmen and representatives of the town of Boston, the Hon. Jacob Wendell, James Bowdoin, Esq., Andrew Oliver, Esq., Captain Nathaniel Cunningham, Peter Chardon, Esq., and Mr. Charles Apthorp, to wait upon Peter Faneuil, Esq., and in the name of the town, to render him their most hearty thanks, for so bountiful a gift, with their prayers, that this and other expressions of his bounty and charity may be abundantly recompensed with the divine blessing."

In addition to this vote, the citizens passed another, that the hall should be called Faneuil Hall, forever; and that the portrait of Faneuil should be painted, at full length, and placed therein. On the 14th of March, 1744, a vote was passed "to purchase the Faneuil arms, carved and gilt, by Moses Deshon, to be fixed in the hall."

Pemberton says--"Previous to the Revolution, the portraits of Mr. Faneuil, General Conway, and Colonel Barré were procured by the town, and hung up in the hall. It is supposed they were carried off by the British." The portrait of Faneuil at present, in the hall, was painted by Henry Sargent, from the portrait, presented to the Massachusetts Historical Society, by Miss Jones, a grandchild of Peter's sister, Mary Ann.

The original building was but half the width of the present, and but two stories high. The hall could contain but 1000 persons. In the memorable fire of Tuesday, Jan. 13, 1761, Faneuil Hall was destroyed, and nothing left standing but the walls. On the 23d of the following March, the town voted to rebuild, and the State authorized a lottery, to meet the expense. There were several classes. A ticket, of the seventh class, lies before me, bearing date March, 1767, with the spacious autograph of John Hancock, at the bottom.

The building retained its primitive proportions, till 1806, when, the occasions of the public requiring its enlargement, its width was increased, from 40 to 80 feet, and a third story added. A very simple rule may be furnished, for those, who would compare the size of the present building, with that of the genuine Peter Faneuil Hall. Take a northeast view of the Hall--there are seven windows before you, in each story--run a perpendicular line, from the ground, through the centre of the middle window to the top of the belt, at the bottom of the third story--carry a straight line from that point nearly to the top of the second window, on the right, in the third story. That point is the apex of the old pediment. From that point, draw the corresponding roof line down to the belt, at the corner; and you have a profile of the ancient structure; all which is well exhibited by Dr. Snow, on the plan, in his History of Boston.

Small as the original structure may appear, when compared with the present, it was a magnificent donation, for the times. It may well be considered a munificent gift, from a single individual, in 1742, when we consider, that its repairs, in 1761, were accomplished, by the aid of the Commonwealth, and the creation of a lottery, which continued to curse the community, for several years.

Peter Faneuil was then in all his glory. How readily, by the power of Imagination, I raise him from the dead, bolt upright; with his over portly form, and features full of _bon homie_; speaking volumes, about those five pipes of amber-colored Madeira, such as his friend Delancey had; and that best book of all sorts of cookery, of a large character, for the maid's reading! There he is, at the door of his English chariot, "handsome, but nothing gaudy," with his arms thereon, and his English coachman, and his English horses, and that "strait negro lad" perched behind. I see him now, helping in Miss Mary Anne, his youngest maiden sister; and, as he ascends the steps, wrapping his cloak around him, trimmed with that identical "_scarlet cloth of the very best quality_."

The vanity of man's anticipations, the occasional suddenness of his summons away--seldom find a more graphic illustration, than in the case of this noble hearted, and most hospitable gentleman. When he received the grateful salutations of the magnates of the town, who came to thank him, for his munificence, what could have been so little in his thoughts, or in theirs, as the idea, that he was so soon to die!

In about five years--five, short, luxurious years--after the death of Andrew Faneuil, Peter, his favorite nephew, was committed to the ground, March 10, 1742, old style. The event, from its suddenness, and from the amiable and benevolent character of the individual, produced a deep sensation, in the _village_, for Boston was nothing but a seashore village then. In 1728, some fourteen years before, we learn from Douglass, i. 531, that there were but 3000 rateable polls, on the peninsula. This event was unexpected, by the living, and had been equally unexpected, by the dead. Death came to Peter, like a thief in the stilly night. He had not looked for this unwelcome visitor. He had made no will. By this event, Benjamin came into possession; and old Andrew is supposed to have turned over, indignantly, in his coffin.

No. CXXXI.

To such of my readers, as the Lord has abundantly blessed, in their basket and their store, and who have loaned him very little, on his simple promise, to be repaid, in Paradise; and who are, peradventure, at this very moment, excogitating revengeful wills; the issue of uncle Andrew's vindictive, posthumous arrangements may prove a profitable lesson, for their learning. Verily, God's ways are not as our ways, nor God's will as Uncle Andrew's.

It may be remembered, that, in the devise of his warehouse, in trust, for the benefit of the French Church, Andrew Faneuil provided, that, in the event of the extinction of that church, the estate should revert to his _right heirs--excluding Benjamin Faneuil, of Boston, and the heirs of his body forever_, whom he cuts off, as the popular phrase runs, with "_five shillings, and no more_." In passing along, it may not be amiss to notice this popular error. The law has, at no time, required the bequest of a farthing, to one, near of kin, whom the testator intends to cut off. It is enough, if it be manifest, that the testator has _not forgotten him_; and, to leave no possible doubt upon the subject, a churlish curmudgeon, as in the present case, will transmit, in this offensive manner, the record of his vindictiveness and folly, to future generations.

When Andrew Faneuil makes Peter his residuary legatee, there is no provision, for the exclusion of Benjamin, in the event of Peter's death, without heirs of his body. Prepared, as this amiable, old gentleman was, to believe, in the possible extinction of the French Church, he seems to have looked upon Peter, an inveterate old bachelor, as immortal. Yet, in regard to Peter, the issue hung, by a single hair. There was no child, with the cup in his hand, to catch the ball, and prevent it from lapsing directly into Benjamin's sack, who, with his sisters, stood close at hand, the next of kin to Peter, and heirs at law.

Well: as I have said, God's will was not as Uncle Andrew's. After a few flying years, during which Peter executed the intentions of the testator, with remarkable fidelity; and lived, as magnificently, as a nobleman, and as hospitably, as a bishop, and, as charitably, as an apostle--suddenly, the silver cord was loosed, and the golden bowl was broken, and Peter dropped into the grave. The title of Benjamin and his sisters to all Peter's estate, and to all Andrew's estate, that remained, as the heirs at law of Peter, passed into them, through the atmosphere, at once; and Andrew's will, by the act of God, was set aside, in the _upper_ Court.

Administration was granted to Benjamin, March 18, 1742, O. S., who returned an inventory, April 21, 1744. The appraisers of the estate were William Price, Joseph Dowse, and Peter Chardon; and the sum total of their valuation was £44,451.15.7. This, certainly, will incline the reader to Master Lovell's idea, of "_a large and plentiful estate_," until I add those words of withering import--_Old Tenor_. Sterling decimates old tenor with a vengeance--_ten_ pounds, old tenor, were but _one_ pound, sterling. The valuation, therefore, amounted to about £4,445 sterling, or, in dollars, at five to the pound, to $22,225. It may seem rather surprising, that the balance, which fell to Peter, from his uncle, under the will, and his own accumulations, should amount to no more. But a few reflections may tend to moderate our surprise.

The estate of his uncle had been seriously diminished, by the payment of legacies, £2,000 stg. to each of his three nieces, $30,000--more than $8,000 to his niece, Marie Phillips; and about $2,000, in smaller legacies, raising the amount of legacies to $40,000. He had also given his warehouse, in King Street, to the French Church. These legacies Peter had paid. He had also built and presented the Market-house and the Hall to the town. But there is another important consideration. Funds still remained, in other countries, part and parcel of Andrew's property. This is evident, from an original document before me, the marriage settlement of Peter's sister, Mary Anne with John Jones, bearing date March 15, 1742, the very month of Peter's death. This document recites, that one part of her estate, as one of the heirs of Peter Faneuil, "_is in Public Funds, such as the Bank of England_." As this does not figure in Benjamin's inventory here, it is impossible to say what was the amount of foreign funds, which Peter owned, at the time of his death. For some five years, while he had been living, in a style of unbounded hospitality, he had also enjoyed the luxury of doing good, and paid, most liberally, for that enjoyment. From his commercial correspondence, I infer, that his enterprise suffered no material abatement, after his uncle's decease.

I cannot doubt, that his free expenditure of money, for his personal enjoyment, the gratification of his pride, and the pleasure of ministering to the wants of the poor and needy, had lessened, and was lessening, from month to month, the amount of his estate. There is yet another consideration, which belongs to this account, the great disparity, between the value of money, then, and at the present day.

The items, or particular heads, of the inventory, are one hundred and fifty-eight; and cover near four folio pages of the record. Some of them may not be wholly uninteresting to the reader. The mansion-house, the same, as I have stated, in which Lieutenant Governor Billy Phillips lived and died, and Isaiah Doane before him, the extensive garden, outhouses and yard were appraised, one hundred and eight years ago, at £12,375, or £1,237 stg., about $6,185, at five dollars to the pound. Fourteen hundred ounces of plate, at £2,122 10. This plate was divided into five parts, for the brother, and four sisters of the deceased. A memorandum lies upon my table, labelled, in the original hand of Gillam Phillips--"An account of my proportion of plate, belonging to the estate of Peter Faneuil, Esq., deceased." This document contains a list of "_Gillam Phillips' Lot_," and side by side--"_a coffee pot_--_a large, handsome chamber pot_." They made a free use of the precious metals, in those days.

A parcel of jewels are appraised, at £1,490--1 white horse, £15--2 Albany horses, £100--2 English horses, £250--2 other English horses, £300--4 old and 4 new harnesses, £120--2 pairs runners, £15--1 four-wheel chaise, £150--1 two-wheel chaise, £50--a coach, £100--1 chariot, £400--5 negroes, £150--130--120--120--100. Then follows a variety of articles--fowling pieces--fishing tackle--silver-hilted sword--pistols--china, glass, hangings, carpets, and culinary articles, in profusion--lignum vitæ coffee cups, lined with silver--silver snuff-boxes--gold sleeve-buttons and rings--195 dozen of wine--arrack--beer--Cheshire and Gloucester cheeses. Indeed, Peter's establishment appears to have been a variorum edition of all manner of elegancies, luxuries, and creature comforts. The inventory comprehends eight tenements, in Cornhill, and King Street; a number of vessels, and parts of vessels; and various other items of property.

The remains of this noble-spirited descendant of the Huguenots of Rochelle were deposited, in the Faneuil tomb, in the westerly corner of the Granary Ground. This tomb is of dark freestone, with a freestone slab. Upon the easterly end of the tomb, there is a tablet of slate, upon which are sculptured, with manifest care and skill, the family arms; while, upon the freestone slab, are inscribed, at the top, M. M.--_memento mori_, of course,--and, at the bottom of the slab--a cruel apology for the old Huguenot patronymic--"PETER FUNEL. 1742," and nothing more.

The explanation, which arises, in my mind, of this striking inconsistency, is this: I believe this tomb, whose aspect is simple, solid, and antique, to have been built by Andrew Faneuil, who was a wealthy merchant here as early as 1709: and I think it is quite certain, that the lady, whom he married, in Holland, and whose beauty is traditional, among her descendants, made the great exchange--beauty for ashes--in this very sepulchre. In this tomb, Andrew was buried, by Peter, Feb. 20, 1737, and Peter, by his brother, Benjamin, March 10, 1742, old style, and here Benjamin himself, was laid, after an interval of two-and-forty years, where there is neither work, nor device, nor will, nor codicil.

The arms of Peter Faneuil--I have them before me, at this moment, on his massive, silver pepper-pot--he found a place for them, on many of his possessions, though I cannot say, if on all the articles which came into the possession of Gillam Phillips,--were a field argent--no chevron--a large heart, truly a suitable emblem, in the centre, gules--seven stars equidistant from each other, and from the margin of the escutcheon, extending from the sinister chief to the dexter base--in the sinister base a cross molin, within an annulet--no scroll--no supporters; crest, a martlet.

The arms upon the tomb, though generally like these, and like the arms, on other articles, once Peter's, and still extant, differ in some important particulars; and seem to have been quartered with those of another family, as the arms of Andrew, being a collateral, might have been. A helmet, beneath the martlet, especially, is wholly different from Peter's crest. Such precisely are the arms, on the seal of wax, upon Andrew's will, in the Registry. Hence I infer, that Uncle Andrew built this ancient sepulchre. Arms, in days of old, and still, where a titled nobility exists, are deemed, for the popular eye, sufficient evidence of ownership, without a name. So thought Uncle Andrew; and he left the freestone tablet, without any inscription.

Some five years after the testator's burial, the tomb was again opened, to let in the residuary legatee. Peter's was a grand funeral. The Evening Post, of March 3, 1742-3, foretold, that it would be such; but the papers, which, doubtless, gave an account of it, are lost--the files are imperfect, of all those primitive journals. At first, and for years, the resting place of Peter's remains was well enough known. But the rust of time began to gather upon men's memories. The Faneuil arms, ere long, became unintelligible, to such, as strolled among the tombs. That "_handsome chariot, but nothing gaudy_," with Peter's armorial bearings upon its panels, no longer rolled along Treamount, and Queen Streets, and Cornhill, and drew up, of a Sabbath morning, before Trinity Church, that brother Peter and the ladies might sit upon their cushions, in No. 40, while brother Addington Davenport gave them a sermon, upon the Apostolical succession. The good people had therefore forgotten all about the Faneuil arms; and, before a great many years had rolled away, the inquiry naturally arose, in popular phraseology--"_Whereabouts was it, that Peter Faneuil was buried?_"

Some worthy old citizen--God bless him--who knew rather more of this matter than his neighbors, and was well aware, that the arms would be but a dead letter to posterity, resolved to serve the public, and remedy the defect. Up he goes into the Granary Ground, in the very spirit of Old Mortality, and, with all his orthography in his ear, inscribes P. FUNEL upon the tablet!

No. CXXXII.

"_But Simon's wife's mother lay sick of a fever._" Mark i. 30. From this text, a clergyman--_of the old school_--had preached just as many, consecutive sermons, as I have already published articles, concerning Peter Faneuil and his family. A day or two after the last discourse, the bell of the village church was tolled, for a funeral; and a long-suffering parishioner, being asked, whose funeral it was, replied, that he had no doubt it was Simon's wife's mother's; for she had been sick of a fever, for nine weeks, to his certain knowledge. Let the reader possess himself in patience--our dealings with the Faneuils cannot last forever.

We have stated, that Peter's death was sudden, the very death, from which, as a churchman, he had prayed to be delivered. But let us not forget, that no death is sudden, in the sense of the good man's prayers, however instantaneously the golden bowl may be broken, to him, whose life has been well spent, and who is prepared to die.

In this connection, two interesting questions arise--how Peter Faneuil came to be a churchman--and if his life was a well-spent life, affording him reasonable assurance of admission into Paradise.

The old Huguenots styled themselves "THE REFORMERS," and embraced the doctrines of Calvin, in full. Oppression commonly teaches even intolerant men the value of toleration. Our Puritan fathers, it is true, who fled from Episcopal, as the Huguenots from Roman Catholic tyranny, profited very little, by the lesson they had learned; and turned upon the Catholics and Quakers, in the spirit of preposterous cruelty. The government of Massachusetts, according to Hazard, received a profitable lesson of moderation, from that of Rhode Island.

The Huguenots soon began to abate somewhat of that exorbitant severity and punctiliousness, in their religion, which, in no slight degree, had brought upon them that persecution, which was gathering, and impending over them, in 1684, a twelvemonth before the revocation of the edict of Nantes; compelling many of them, thus early, to fly from their homes, into other lands. The teachings of James Saurin, the great Huguenot preacher of the refugees, at the Hague, in 1705, and in subsequent years, were of a milder type. He was "_a moderate Calvinist_." Such, also, were Daillé and Le Mercier, the ministers of the French Church, in Boston.

Peter Faneuil, undoubtedly, worshipped in this church, during a certain period. We have seen the liberal arrangement of his uncle, in 1734, for the support of its minister, and the testator's provision for its poor. Even then, he evidently anticipated, that it might cease to be; and shaped his testamentary provisions accordingly. Natural causes were in operation; I have referred to them--intermarriage, with our English people--merging the language of the few, in that of the many--juxtaposition--all tending to diminish the necessity for maintaining a separate church.

There was no dissolution of the society, at first, by any formal vote. The attendance became irregular and scanty--the members went elsewhere--Le Mercier, "a worthy character," says the Rev. Dr. Holmes, ceased to officiate, and the church broke up. For years, there were no services, within the little temple; and, in 1748, it was sold, as I have stated, to the members of another denomination.

It became a question with these Huguenots, the Faneuils, the Boutineaus, the Johonnots, the Oliviers, the Sigourneys, and their associates, where they should worship God. In 1740-41, the preachers, in Boston, were Charles Chauncey, at the Old Brick--at the Old North, Increase Mather, supplying the place of his brother Samuel, who, though ordained, in 1732, preached but one winter, and parted--at the Old South, Joseph Sewall, and Thomas Prince--at the Baptist, in Back Street, Jeremy Condy--at King's Chapel, Stephen Roe--at Brattle Street, William Cooper--at the Quaker meeting-house, in Leverett's Lane, whoever was moved by the Spirit--at the New North, John Webb--at the New South, Samuel Checkley--at the New Brick, Ellis Gray--at Christ Church, Timothy Cutler--at Long Lane, Jonny Moorhead--at Hollis Street, Mather Byles--at Trinity, Addington Davenport--at Lynde Street, William Hooper.

Several of the descendants of the Huguenots, not at all deterred, by the resemblance, whatever that might be, between the forms of Episcopalian worship, and those of their religious persecutors, the Roman Catholics, mingled with the Episcopalians. Thus they clung to the common element, the doctrine of the Trinity; and escaped, like Saurin, from the super-sulphuretted vapors of primitive Calvinism.

It is not very surprising, that the Faneuils should have settled down, upon the new and fashionable temple--Trinity had been erected but a few years before; and the new rector was Peter's brother-in-law, Mr. Addington Davenport.

Peter therefore became, _pro tanto_, an Episcopalian--a liberal subscriber to the Charitable, Episcopal fund, and to the fund for the rebuilding of King's Chapel; and identified himself with the Episcopal interest.

The religious character of Peter Faneuil, and the present whereabouts of this public benefactor, will be determined, by different individuals, according to the respective indications of their spiritual thermometers.

I have already ventured an opinion, that the mantle of charity, which covereth a multitude of sins, should be extended, for Peter's behoof, over that little affair with Peter Baynton, touching the duties, on those four hogsheads of brandy. But there is another matter, over which, I am aware, that some very worthy people will doubt, if the mantle of charity, can be stretched, without serious danger of lesion--I refer to the importation, about the same time with the prayer books, of that enormous quantity--six gross--of "the very best King Henry's cards." I have often marvelled, how the name of the Defender of the Faith ever came to be connected, with such pestilent things.

I am well aware, how closely, in the opinions of some learned divines, cards are associated with the idea of eternal damnation. If it be so; and a single pack is enough to send the proprietor to the bottomless pit, it is truly grievous to reflect how much deeper Peter, our great public benefactor, has gone, with the oppressive weight of six gross of the very best, upon his soul. Now-a-days, there seem to be very few, the Romanists excepted, who believe in purgatory; and it is pretty generally agreed, that all, who attempt the bridge of _Al Sirat_, will surely arrive, either at Paradise, or Pandemonium.

How delightful it would be, to have the opinion of good old André Le Mercier, in a case like this. Though Peter no longer waited upon Le Mercier's ministrations; but, for several years, before the dissolution of the French Church, had settled down, under brother Addington Davenport, first, as the assistant at King's Chapel, and, afterwards, as the Rector of Trinity; yet Le Mercier could not forget the nephew of his benefactor, Andrew Faneuil. He was, doubtless, at Peter's funeral, who died one and twenty years, before the holy man was summoned to his account, in 1764. Yes, he was there.

I have heard of a man, who accounted, for the dryness of his eyes, when all around him wept, at a pathetic discourse, on the ground, that he belonged to another parish. I have known Christian ministers--_very_--not many, thank heaven--who were influenced, to such a degree, by that spirit, which may be supposed to govern the proprietors of opposition omnibuses, as to consider the chord of human sympathy cut, through and through, and forever, between themselves, and a parishioner, who, for any cause, elected to receive his spiritual treasures out of some other earthen vessel, albeit of the very same denomination of crockery ware.

Poverty, and disease, and death, and misery, in every type, might stalk in, and upon, and over that homestead, and hearth, where these Christian ministers had been warmed, and refreshed, and fostered--but it was no longer a concern of theirs. No visit of condolence--no kind inquiry--not one, cheap word of consolation had they, for such, as had ceased to receive their ideas of damnation from them--enough--these individuals had sold their pews--"_crimen difficile expiandum_"--they belonged to another parish!

André Le Mercier, was not a man of this description. He was not a holy huckster of spiritual things, having not one crumb of comfort, for any, but his regular customers. André was a man, whose neighbor's ubiquity was a proverb.

But what he would say, about these six gross of King Henry's cards, I am by no means, certain. He was a man of a tolerant spirit; but on certain points, the most tolerant are, occasionally, found to be imbued, with unalterable prejudices. On page 85, of his Church History of Geneva, which I have read with pleasure, he quotes approvingly, the maxim of "a doctor of the church." "_In necessariis rebus sit unitas, in dubiis libertas, in omnibus charitas._" This breathes the spirit of toleration:--what are _dubia_, what _necessaria_ are not quite so readily settled, however.

On page 100, I find a passage, not quite so favorable for Peter, in this matter of the six gross. Referring to Calvin's return to Geneva, in 1536, after his banishment, Le Mercier says--"And then _Balls and Dances_ and profane songs were forbidden, by the magistrates. And that form of Discipline remains entire, to the present Time, notwithstanding the repeated Attempts, that have been made by wicked People to overset it. King Henry's cards, I fear, even of the very best quality, would, undoubtedly, fall into this category, of things Calvinized on earth, in the opinion of André Le Mercier."

The meaning of the words, "_profane songs_," may not be universally intelligible. It undoubtedly meant, as used by the Council, _all songs not sacred_. Calvin, undoubtedly, adopted the commendation of Scripture, to such, as were merry, to sing psalms. It appears, however, that certain persons entertained conservative notions, in those early days; even beyond the dictum of holy writ; for, on page 101, Le Mercier states, that Sebastian Castalio, a preacher, and professor, in the College of Geneva, "_condemned Solomon's Songs, as being profane and immodest_;" the very charge, as the reader is aware, which has been so often urged, against the songs of Tom Moore. Moore, at last, betook himself to sacred melodies. Solomon, had his life been spared, would, probably, have done the same thing, to the entire satisfaction of Sebastian Castalio.

I see wisdom, and mercy, and truth, in a part of the maxim, quoted by André Le Mercier--_in dubiis libertas_. I have long suspected there were some angels in Heaven, who were damned by Calvin, on earth. I verily believe, that Peter Faneuil is in Paradise.

No. CXXXIII.

Some of my readers, I doubt not, have involuntarily clenched their fists, and set their teeth hard, while conning over the details of that merciless and bloody duel, so long, and so deliberately projected, and furiously fought, at last, near Bergen op Zoom, by the Lord Bruce, and Sir Edward Sackville, with rapiers, and in their shirts. Gentle reader, if you have never met with this morceau, literally dripping with blood, and are born with a relish for such rare provant--for I fear the appetite is congenital--you will find an ample account of the affair, in numbers 129 and 133 of the Guardian.

This wrathful fight is of an early date, having taken place, in 1613. Who could measure the popular excitement, if tomorrow's dawn should bring the tidings of a duel, fought the night before, on Boston Common, by two young gentlemen, with rapiers, not, perhaps, quite so brutal, in its minute details, but quite as deliberately planned, and quite as fatal, in its result! What then must have been the effect of such an announcement, on the morning of the fourth of July, 1728, one hundred and twenty-three years ago, when Boston was a seaport village, just six years, after the "_perlustration_" of Mr. Salter had rated the population, at 10,670 souls.

It is matter of sober history, that such a duel was actually fought, then and there, on the evening of the third of July, 1728, near the powder-house, which is indicated, on Bonner's plan of 1722. This was a very different affair from the powder-house, erected at West Boston, in 1774, with walls of seven feet in thickness.

The parties, engaged, in this fatal affair were two young gentlemen, whose connections were highly respectable, whose lives had been amiable, whose characters were of good report, and whose friends were numerous and powerful. The names of Peter Faneuil and of his uncle, Jean Faneuil, of Rochelle, are associated with this transaction.

The parties were very young; the survivor twenty-two, and the victim but little more. The survivor, Henry Phillips, was the brother of Gillam Phillips, who, the reader of the preceding articles will remember, married Marie, the sister of Peter Faneuil. Peter was then just twenty-eight; and, doubtless, if there were dandies in those days, one of the foremost, on the peninsula. The natural interest he felt, in the brother of his sister's husband, engaged his efforts, to spirit the wretched survivor away. He was consigned to the uncle of Peter, beyond the sea--to whom Marie, his niece, very probably, wrote a few lines, bespeaking kind offices, for the unfortunate brother of her husband. It is not impossible, that old André added a prudential word or two, by way of postscript, confirming brother Jean, as to the safety of the operation. Be this as it may, Henry Phillips escaped from his pursuers, who were speedily put upon the scent, by Governor Dummer. Henry Phillips arrived safely in Rochelle. What befel him, in the strange land, is not the least interesting portion of the narrative.

Benjamin Woodbridge--such was the name of the individual, who was the victim, in this fatal encounter--was a young merchant, in partnership with Mr. Jonathan Sewall. Of his particular origin I am not entirely satisfied. The name, among us, is of the olden time. Benjamin Woodbridge was the very earliest alumnus of Harvard College: born in England in 1622, and graduated here in 1642.

The originating cause of this duel, like that, which produced the terrible conflict, between the Lord Bruce and Sir Edward Sackville, is unknown.

That the reader may walk along with me, confidingly, upon this occasion, it may be well to indicate the sources, from which I derive my knowledge of a transaction, so exciting at the time, so fatal in its results, and so almost universally unknown, to those, who daily pass over the very spot, on our Common, upon which these young gentlemen met, and where young Woodbridge fell.

I have alluded to the subsequent relation of Peter Faneuil, and of his uncle, Jean, of Rochelle, to this affair. In my investigation into the history of Peter and his relatives, I have been aided by Mr. Charles Faneuil Jones, the grandson of Peter's sister, Mary Ann. Among the documents, loaned me, by that gentleman, are sundry papers, which belonged to Gillam Phillips, the brother of Henry, the survivor in the duel.

Among these papers, are original documents, in Jean Faneuil's handwriting, relative to the fate of the miserable wanderer, after his arrival in Rochelle--accounts of disbursements--regularly authenticated copies of the testimony, relative to the duel, and to the finding of the dead body of Woodbridge, and to the coöperation of Peter Faneuil and others, in concealing the survivor, on board the Sheerness, British man of war, and of his indictment, the "_Billa Vera_," in August, 1728, by the grand jury of Suffolk, for murder. In addition to these documents, I have found a certified copy of a statement, highly favorable to the character of Henry Phillips, the survivor, and manifestly intended to have an influence upon the public mind. This statement is subscribed, by eighty-eight prominent citizens, several of them holding high official stations, and among the number, are four ministers of the Gospel, with the Rev. Timothy Cutler, of Christ Church, at their head. Appended is the certificate of Governor Burnett, who, in that very month, succeeded Governor Dummer, stating the official, professional and social position of the signers of this document, with which it was clearly intended to fortify an application to George II. for a pardon of the offender.

The discovery of these papers, affording, as they do, some account of a transaction, so very remarkable, for the time and place of its occurrence, and of which I had never heard nor read before, excited my curiosity, and led me to search for additional information.

If my reader is of the fancy, he will readily comprehend my chagrin, when, upon turning over the leaves of Green's "_Boston Weekly News Letter_"--the imperfect files--all that time has left us--preserved in the library of the Massachusetts Historical Society--the very paper, that next ensued, after July 3, 1728, the date of the duel, and which, doubtless, referred to an occurrence, so very extraordinary, was among the "_things lost upon earth_." I was not less unfortunate with the files of the old "Boston Gazette," of that early day. I then took up Kneeland's "New England Weekly Journal," but with very little confidence of success. The file, however, was there--No. 68--July 8, 1728, and my eyes soon fell, as the reader's fall at this moment, upon Governor Dummer's proclamation:--

"Whereas a barbarous murder was last night committed, on the body of Benjamin Woodbridge, a young gentleman, resident in the town of Boston; and Henry Phillips, of said town, is suspected to be the author of said murder, and is now fled from justice; I have therefore thought proper to issue this proclamation, hereby commanding all justices, sheriffs, constables, and all other officers, within this Province, and requiring all others, in his Majesty's name, to use their utmost endeavors, that the said Henry Phillips may be apprehended and brought to justice; and all persons, whosoever, are commanded, at their utmost peril, not to harbor nor conceal him. The said Henry Phillips is a fair young man, about the age of twenty-two years, well set, and well dressed; and has a wound in one of his hands. Given at Boston, the 4th of July, 1728, in the second year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord and King, George II." This proclamation bears the signature of his Excellency, William Dummer.

The editor of the journal, which contains the proclamation, expresses himself as follows--"On Thursday last, the 4th current, about 3 in the morning, after some hour's search, was found dead, near the Powder House, the body of Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, a young gentleman, merchant of this place. He had a small stab, under the right arm; but what proved fatal to him was a thrust he received, under his right breast, which came out, at the small of his back. The fore-finger of his left hand was almost cut off, at the uppermost joint, supposed to be done, by grasping a naked sword. The coroner's inquest immediately set upon the body; and, after the best information and evidence they could obtain, upon their oaths say, that 'the said Benjamin Woodbridge was killed, with a sword, run through his body, by the hands of Henry Phillips, of Boston, merchant, on the Common, in said Boston, on the third of this instant, as appears to us, by sundry evidences.' The body was carried to the house of Mr. Jonathan Sewall, (his partner,) and, on Saturday last, was decently and handsomely interred, his funeral being attended, by the Commander-in-Chief, several of the Council, and most of the merchants and gentlemen of the town. There are many and various reports respecting this tragic scene, which makes us cautious of relating any of them. But the above, being plain matters of fact, we thought it not improper to give the public an account thereof. The unhappy gentleman, who is supposed to have committed the act, is not as yet found. This new and almost unknown case has put almost the whole town into great surprise."

A sermon, upon this occasion, of uncommon length, was delivered July 18, 1728, by the Rev. Dr. Joseph Sewall, of the Old South, at the Public Lecture, and published, with a preface, by the "_United Ministers_" of Boston. To give dignity to this discourse, it is adorned with a Latin prefix--"_Duellum est damnandum, tam in acceptante quam in provocante; quamvis major sit culpa provocantis_." This discourse is singularly barren of all allusion to the cause and circumstances of this event; and appears, like our almanacs, adapted to any meridian.

At his Majesty's Court of Assize and General Gaol Delivery, on the second Tuesday of August, 1728, the grand jurors, under the Attorney General Hiller's instructions, found a "_Vera Billa_" against Henry Phillips, for the murder of Benjamin Woodbridge. Phillips was then far beyond the influence and effect of the _vera billa_--on the high sea--upon his voyage of expatriation. For some cause, which I am entirely unable to comprehend, and can barely conjecture, a sympathy existed, for this young man, extending far beyond the circle of his personal friends and relatives, and engaging, on his behalf, the disinterested efforts, not only of several persons in high official stations, but in holy orders, who cannot be supposed to have undervalued the crime, of which he was unquestionably guilty, before God and man. The reader, as we proceed, may possibly be more successful than I have been, in discovering the occasion of this extraordinary sympathy.

No. CXXXIV.

That strong sympathy, exhibited for Henry Phillips, by whose sword a fellow creature had so recently fallen, in a duel, must have sprung, if I am not greatly mistaken, from a knowledge of facts, connected with the origin of that duel, and of which the present generation is entirely ignorant.

Truth lies not, more proverbially, at the bottom of a well, than, in a great majority of instances, a woman lurks at the bottom of a duel. If Phillips, unless sorely provoked, had been the challenger, I cannot think the gentlemen, who signed the certificate, in his behalf, would have spoken of him thus:--

"These may certify to all whom it may concern, that we, the subscribers, well knew and esteemed Mr. Henry Phillips of Boston, in New England, to be a youth of a very affable, courteous, and peaceable behavior and disposition, and never heard he was addicted to quarrelling, he being soberly brought up, in the prosecution of his studies, and living chiefly an academical life; and verily believe him slow to anger, and with difficulty moved to resentment."

Among the eighty-eight signers of this certificate, the names of Peter and Benjamin Faneuil, and of their uncle, Andrew, occur, almost as a matter of course. They were family connections. Who the others were, appears, by the Governor's certificate, under the seal of the Province:--

"By his Excellency, William Burnet, &c. &c. These may certify whom it may concern, that John Wentworth Esquire is Lieut. Governor of the Province of New Hampshire; that William Tailor Esquire was formerly Lieut. Governor of the Province of the Massachusetts Bay, and is now a member of his Majesty's Council for said Province; that James Stevens is Surveyor General of the Customs, for the Northern district, in America; that Thomas Lechmere Esquire was late Surveyor General of the same; that John Jekyll Esquire is Collector of the Customs, for the port of Boston; that Thomas Steele is Justice of the Peace; that William Lambert Esquire is Controller of the Customs, at Boston; that J. Minzies Esquire was Judge of the Vice Admiralty; that Messieurs Timothy Cutler, Henry Harris, George Pigot, and Ebenezer Miller are ministers of the Gospel; and that the other subscribers to the certificate on the other side, are, some of them merchants and others gentlemen of the town of Boston." This certificate, bearing the signature of Gov. Burnet, is dated Oct. 21, 1728.

Of the origin of this affair, I have discovered nothing. Immediately after its consummation, Phillips manifested deep distress, at the result. About midnight, of July 3, 1728, with the assistance of his brother, Gillam, Peter Faneuil, and several other persons, Henry Phillips was removed to a place of safety. He was first conducted, by Peter Faneuil, to the house of Col. Estis Hatch, and there concealed. His brother, Gillam, in the meanwhile, applied to Captain John Winslow, of "_the Pink, Molly_," for a boat, to carry Henry, on board the British man of war, then lying between the Castle and Spectacle Island. Gillam and the Captain repaired to Hatch's, and had an interview with Peter and Henry, in the yard. It was then concluded, that Henry should go to Gibbs' Wharf, probably as the most retired wharf, for embarkation. The reader, who loves to localize--this word will do--will find this little wharf, on Bonner's plan, of 1722, at the southeastern margin of Fort Hill, about half way between Whitehorn's Wharf and South Battery. It lay directly northeast, and not far distant from the lower end of Gibbs' Lane, now Belmont Street.

Henry Phillips, with Peter Faneuil, accordingly proceeded, as quietly as possible, to Gibbs' Wharf. I see them now, stealing through Hatch's back gate, and looking stealthily behind them, as they take the darker side of Belcher's Lane. I trust there was no moon, that night. It was very foggy. The reader will soon be sure, that I am right, in that particular.

Gillam and Captain Winslow had gone to the Long Wharf, where the Molly's boat lay; and, as the distance was very considerable to the man-of-war, they went first to the Pink, Molly--named, doubtless, for the Captain's lady. There they took on board, four of the Pink's crew.

How heavily the moments passed that night! That "_fair young man_," as Governor Dummer calls him, in the _lettres de cachet_--too young, it may seem, at twenty-two, to commence a pilgrimage, like Cain's--how sublimated his misery must have been! What sacrifice would he not have made, to break the dead man's slumber! There he lay; as yet unfound, stark, and stiff, and with eyes unclosed--

"Cut off, ev'n in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, unanointed, unanneal'd."

Bootless sorrow! He had made his bloody bed--and therein must he lie o'nights, and in no other. There were no hops in that pillow, for his burning brain. The undying memory of a murdered victim--what an everlasting agrypnic it must be!

Time, to this wretched boy, seemed very like eternity, that night--but the sound of the splashing oar was audible at last--the boat touched the wharf--for the last time he shook the hand of his friend, Peter Faneuil, and left the land of his birth, which he was destined never to revisit.

The boat was turned from the shore, and the rowers gave way. But so intense was the fog, that night, that they got on shore, at Dorchester Neck; and, not until long after midnight, reached the Sheerness, man of war. They were received on board. Captain Conrad and Lieutenant Pritchard were very naturally disposed to sympathize with "_a fair young man_," in a predicament, like this--it was all in their line. Gillam, the elder brother, related the occurrence; and, before day, parted from Henry, whom he was destined to meet no more. Early, on the following morning, the events of the preceding night had been whispered, from man to man; for the pleasure of being among the earliest, to communicate the intelligence of a bloody murder, was precisely the same, in 1728, as it is, at the present day. Mrs. Winslow, the lady of the Captain of the Molly, had learned all the details, doubtless, before the morning watch. The surgeons, who dressed the wounds of Henry Phillips, for he also was wounded, felt themselves under no obligation to be silent. The sailors of the Molly, who had overheard the conversation of several of the party, were under no injunction of secrecy. Indeed, long before the dawn of the fourth of July--not then the glorious Fourth--the intelligence had spread, far and wide; and parties were scouring the Common, in quest of the murdered man. At an early hour, Governor Dummer's proclamation was in the hands of some trusty compositor, in the office of Samuel Kneeland, in Queen Street; and soon the handbills were upon all the town pumps, and chief corners, according to the usage of those days.

There is a pleasure, somewhat difficult of analysis, undoubtedly, in gazing for hours upon the stuffed skin of a beast, that, when in the flesh, has devoured a respectable citizen. When good Mr. Bowen--not the professor--kept his museum in the mansion, occupied, before the Revolution, by the Rev. Dr. Caner, and upon whose site the Savings Bank, and Historical Society have their apartments, at present, nothing in all his collection--not even the Salem Beauty--nor Marat and Charlotte Cordé--interested me so much, as a broken sword, with a label annexed, certifying, that, during the horrors of St. Domingo, seven and twenty of the white inhabitants had fallen, beneath that sword, in the hands of a gigantic negro! How long, one of the fancy will linger--"_patiens pulveris atque solis_" for the luxury of looking upon nothing more picturesque than the iron bars of a murderer's cell!

It had, most naturally, spread abroad, that young Philips was concealed, on board the man of war. Hundreds may be supposed to have gathered, in groups, straining their eyes, to get a glimpse of the Sheerness; and the officer, who, in obedience to the warrant, proceeded, on that foggy morning, to arrest the offender, found more difficulty, in discovering the man of war, than was encountered, on the preceding evening, by those, who had sought for the body of Woodbridge, upon the Common. At length, the fog fled before the sun--the vista was opened between the Castle and Spectacle Island--but the Sheerness was no longer there--literally, the places that had known her, knew her no more.

Some of our worthy fathers, more curious than the rest, betook themselves, I dare say, to the cupola of the _old_ townhouse--how few of us are aware, that the present is the third, that has occupied that spot. There, with their glasses, they swept the eastern horizon, to find the truant ship--and enjoyed the same measure of satisfaction, that Mr. Irving represents the lodger to have enjoyed, who was so solicitous to get a glimpse of the "Stout Gentleman."

Over the waters she went, heavily laden, with as much misery, as could be pent up, in the bosom of a single individual.

He was stricken with that malady, which knows no remedy from man--a mind diseased. In one brief hour, he had disfranchised himself for ever, and become a miserable exile.

Among the officers of the Sheerness, he must have been accounted a young lion. His _gallantry_, in the estimation of the gentlemen of the wardroom, must have furnished a ready passport to their hearts--_he had killed his man_!--with the _civilized_, not less than with the _savage_, this is the proudest mark of excellence! How little must he have relished the approbation of the thoughtless, for an act, which had made him the wretched young man, that he was! How paltry the compensation for the anguish he had inflicted upon others--the mourning relatives of him, whom he had, that night, destroyed--his own connections--_his mother_--he was too young, at twenty-two, to be insensible to the sufferings of that mother! God knows, she had not forgotten her poor, misguided boy; as we shall presently see she crossed the ocean, to hold the aching head, and bind up the broken heart of her expatriated son--and arrived, only in season, to weep upon his grave, while it was yet green.

No. CXXXV.

It is known, that _old_ Chief Justice Sewall, who died Jan. 1, 1730, kept a diary, which is in the possession of the Rev. Samuel Sewall, of Burlington, Mass., the son of the _late_ Chief Justice Sewall. As the death of the _old_ Chief Justice occurred, about eighteen months after the time, when the duel was fought, between Phillips and Woodbridge, it occurred to me, that some allusion to it, might be found, in the diary.

The Rev. Samuel Sewall has, very kindly, informed me, that the diary of the Chief Justice does not refer to the duel; but that the event was noticed by him, in his interleaved almanac, and by the Rev. Joseph Sewall, who preached the occasional sermon, to which I have referred--in _his_ diary: and the Rev. Mr. Sewall, of Burlington, has obligingly furnished me with such extracts, as seem to have a bearing on the subject, and with some suggestions, in relation to the parties.

On the 4th of July, 1728, Judge Sewall, in his interleaved almanac, writes thus--"_Poor Mr. Benjam. Woodbridge is found dead in the Comon this morning, below the Powder-house, with a Sword-thrust through him, and his own Sword undrawn. Henry Phillips is suspected. The town is amazed!_" This wears the aspect of what is commonly called foul play; and the impression might exist, that Phillips had run his antagonist through, _before he had drawn his sword_.

It is quite likely, that Judge Sewall himself had that impression, when he made his entry, on the fourth of July: the reader will observe, he does not say _sheathed_ but _undrawn_. If there existed no evidence to rebut this presumption, it would seem, not that there had been murder, in a duel, but a case of the _most atrocious_ murder; for nothing would be more unlikely to happen, than that a man, after having received his death wound, in this manner, should have sheathed his own sword. The wound was under the right pap; he was run through; the sword had come out, at the small of his back. How strongly, in this case, the presumptive evidence would bear against Phillips, not that he killed Woodbridge, for of this there is no doubt; but that he killed him, before he had drawn his own sword.

When the reader shall have read the authenticated testimony, which now lies before me, he will see, not only that the swords of both were drawn--but that both were wounded--that, after Woodbridge was wounded, he either dropped his sword, or was disarmed--and, that, when he had become helpless, and had walked some little distance from the spot, Phillips picked up the sword of his antagonist, and returned it to the scabbard. The proof of this, by an eye-witness, is clear, direct, and conclusive.

The next extract, in order of time, is from the diary of the Rev. Joseph Sewall, under date July, 1728--_"N. B. On ye 4th (wch was kept, as a Day of Prayr upon ye account of ye Drought) we were surpris'd wth ye sad Tidings yt Mr. Henry Phillips and Mr Woodbridge fought a duel in wch ye latter was slain. O Ld Preserve ye Tow. and Land from the guilt of Blood".----"In ye Eveng. I visited Mrs. Ph. O Ld Sanctify thine awful judgt to her. Give her Son a thorow Rcpentce."_

These extracts are of interest, not simply because they are historical, but as illustrative of the times.

"_1728, July 18. I preached ye Lecture from yese words, Ps. 119, 115, Depart from me ye evil Doers, &c. Endeavd to shew ye evill and danger of wicked Company.--Condemned Duelling as a bloody crime, &c. O Lord, Bless my poor labours._"

"_1728-9, January 22. Mr. Thacher, Mr. Prince, and I met at Mrs. Phillips, and Pray'd for her son. I hope G. graciously assisted. Ld Pardon the hainous Sins of yt young man, convert and Heal his soul._"

Writing to a London correspondent, June 2, 1729, Chief Justice Sewall says--"_Richard put the Letter on board Capt. Thomas Lithered, who saild this day; in who went Madam Hannah Phillips_." In his interleaved almanac is the following entry--"_1729, Sept. 27, Saturday Madam Phillips arrives; mane_." The explanation of these two last entries is at hand. Jean Faneuil of Rochelle had, doubtless, written, either to his brother André, in Boston, or to his nephew, by marriage, Gillam Phillips, giving an account of the wanderer, Gillam's brother. At length, the tidings came hither, that he was sick; and, probably, in May, 1729, intelligence arrived, that he was _dangerously ill_. The mother's heart was stirred within her. By the first vessel she embarked for London, on her way to Rochelle. The eyes of that unhappy young man were not destined to behold again the face of her, whose daylight he had turned into darkness, and whose heart he had broken.

He died about the twentieth of May, 1729, as I infer from the documents before me. The first of these is the account, rendered by Jean Faneuil, to Gillam Phillips, in Jean's own hand--"_Deboursement fait par Jean faneuil pour feu Monsieur heny Phillipe de Boston_," &c. He charges in this account, for amount paid the physician, "_pendant sa maladie_." The doctor's bill is sent as a voucher, and is also before me. Dr. "_Girard De Villars, Aggregé au College Royal des Medicins de la Rochelle_" acknowledges to have received payment in full _pour l'honoraire des consultes de mes confreres et moy a Monsieur Henry Phillipe Anglois_, from the fourth of April, to the twentieth of May.

The apothecary's bill of Monsieur Guinot, covering three folio pages, is an interesting document, for something of the nature of the malady may be inferred, from the _materia medica_ employed--_potion anodine_--_baume tranquille sant_--_cordial somnifere_. How effectually the visions, the graphic recollections of this miserable young man must have _murdered sleep_!

The Rev. Mr. Sewall of Burlington suggests, that Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, who fell in this duel, was, very probably, the grandson of the Rev. John Woodbridge of Andover, and he adds, that his partner, J