Part 19

NOTES.--Rip Van Winkle, according to Irving's story in "The Sketch Book," was a great drunkard, and was driven from his home in the Catskill Mountains, one night, by his wife. Wandering among the mountains, he fell in with the ghosts of Hendrick Hudson and his crew, with whom he played a game of ninepins. Upon drinking the liquor which they offered him, however, he immediately fell into a deep sleep which lasted for twenty years. The above lesson recounts the events that befell him when he returned to his native village. In the meantime the Revolution of 1776 had taken place.

The Federals and the Democrats formed the two leading political parties of that time.

Stony Point is a promontory on the Hudson, at the entrance of the Highlands, forty-two miles from New York. It was a fortified post during the Revolution, captured by the British, and again retaken by the Americans under Wayne. Anthony's Nose is also a promontory on the Hudson, about fifteen miles above Stony Point.

LXIV. BILL AND JOE. (246)

Oliver Wendell Holmes, 1809-1894, was the son of Abiel Holmes, D.D. He was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and graduated at Harvard in 1829, having for classmates several men who have since become distinguished. After graduating, he studied law for about one year, and then turned his attention to medicine. He studied his profession in Paris, and elsewhere in Europe, and took his degree at Cambridge in 1836. In 1838 he was appointed Professor of Anatomy and Physiology in Dartmouth College. He remained here but a short time, and then returned to Boston and entered on the practice of medicine. In 1847 he was appointed professor at Harvard, filling a similar position to the one held at Dartmouth. He discharged the duties of his professorship for more than thirty years, with great success. Literature was never his profession; yet few American authors attained higher success, both as a poet and as a prose writer. His poems are lively and sparkling, abound in wit and humor, but are not wanting in genuine pathos. Many of them were composed for special occasions. His prose writings include works on medicine, essays, and novels; several appeared first as contributions to the "Atlantic Monthly." He gained reputation, also, as it popular lecturer. In person, Dr. Holmes was small and active, with a face expressive of thought and vivacity. ###

Come, dear old comrade, you and I Will steal an hour from days gone by-- The shining days when life was new, And all was bright as morning dew, The lusty days of long ago, When you were Bill and I was Joe.

Your name may flaunt a titled trail Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail, And mine as brief appendix wear As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare; To-day, old friend, remember still That I am Joe and you are Bill.

You've won the great world's envied prize, And grand you look in people's eyes, With HON. and LL. D., In big, brave letters fair to see,-- Your fist, old fellow! Off they go!-- How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe?

You've worn the judge's ermined robe; You've taught your name to half the globe; You've sung mankind a deathless strain; You've made the dead past live again: The world may call you what it will, But you and I are Joe and Bill.

The chaffing young folks stare and say, "See those old buffers, bent and gray; They talk like fellows in their teens; Mad, poor old boys! That's what it means" And shake their heads; they little know The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe--

How Bill forgets his hour of pride, While Joe sits smiling at his side; How Joe, in spite of time's disguise, Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes,-- Those calm, stern eyes, that melt and fill, As Joe looks fondly up to Bill.

Ah! pensive scholar, what is fame? A fitful tongue of leaping flame; A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust, That lifts a pinch of mortal dust; A few swift years, and who can show Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe.

The weary idol takes his stand, Holds out his bruised and aching hand, While gaping thousands come and go-- How vain it seems, this empty show!-- Till all at once his pulses thrill: 'T is poor old Joe's, "God bless you, Bill!"

And shall we breathe in happier spheres The names that pleased our mortal ears; In some sweet lull of heart and song For earth born spirits none too long, Just whispering of the world below When this was Bill, and that was Joe?

No matter; while our home is here, No sounding name is half so dear; When fades at length our lingering day, Who cares what pompous tombstones say? Read on the hearts that love us still, Hic jacet Joe. Hic jacet Bill.

NOTE.--Hic jacet (pro. hic ja'cet) is a Latin phrase, meaning here lies. It is frequently used in epitaphs.

LXV. SORROW FOR THE DEAD. (249)

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal; every other affliction, to forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open. This affliction we cherish, and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly forget the infant that has perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would willingly forget a tender parent, though to remember be but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns?

No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights: and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection; when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may, sometimes, throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom; yet, who would exchange it even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry? No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead, to which we turn even from the charms of the living.

Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error, covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies moldering before him? But the grave of those we loved--what a place for meditation! There it is that we call up, in long review, the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us, almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy; there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene; the bed of death, with all its stifled griefs, its noiseless attendance, its mute, watchful assiduities! the last testimonies of expiring love! the feeble, fluttering, thrilling,--oh! how thrilling!--pressure of the hand! the last fond look of the glazing eye turning upon us, even from the threshold of existence! the faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection!

Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate! There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited; every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being, who can never--never-- never return to be soothed by thy contrition! If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee; if thou hast given one unmerited pang to that true heart, which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet; then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul; then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear; more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing.

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about the grave; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet futile, tributes of regret: but take warning by the bitterness of this, thy contrite affliction over the dead, and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living. --Irving.

LXVI. THE EAGLE. (251)

James Gates Percival, 1795-1856, was born at Berlin, Connecticut, and graduated at Yale College in 1815, at the head of his class. He was admitted to the practice of medicine in 1820, and went to Charleston, South Carolina. In 1824 he was appointed Professor of Chemistry at West Point, a position which he held but a few months. In 1854 he was appointed State Geologist of Wisconsin, and died at Hazel Green, in that state. Dr. Percival was eminent as a geographer, geologist, and linguist. He began to write poetry at an early age, and his fame rests chiefly upon his writings in this department. In his private life, Percival was always shy, modest, and somewhat given to melancholy. Financially, his life was one of struggle, and he was often greatly straitened for money. ###

Bird of the broad and sweeping wing! Thy home is high in heaven, Where the wide storms their banners fling, And the tempest clouds are driven. Thy throne is on the mountain top; Thy fields, the boundless air; And hoary peaks, that proudly prop The skies, thy dwellings are.

Thou art perched aloft on the beetling crag, And the waves are white below, And on, with a haste that can not lag, They rush in an endless flow. Again thou hast plumed thy wing for flight To lands beyond the sea, And away, like a spirit wreathed in light, Thou hurriest, wild and free.

Lord of the boundless realm of air! In thy imperial name, The hearts of the bold and ardent dare The dangerous path of fame, Beneath the shade of thy golden wings, The Roman legions bore, From the river of Egypt's cloudy springs, Their pride, to the polar shore.

For thee they fought, for thee they fell, And their oath on thee was laid; To thee the clarions raised their swell, And the dying warrior prayed. Thou wert, through an age of death and fears, The image of pride and power, Till the gathered rage of a thousand years, Burst forth in one awful hour.

And then, a deluge of wrath, it came, And the nations shook with dread; And it swept the earth, till its fields were flame, And piled with the mingled dead. Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood, With the low and crouching slave; And together lay, in a shroud of blood, The coward and the brave.

NOTES.--Roman legions. The Roman standard was the image of an eagle. The soldiers swore by it, and the loss of it was considered a disgrace.

One awful hour. Alluding to the destruction of Rome by the northern barbarians.

LXVII. POLITICAL TOLERATION. (253)

Thomas Jefferson, 1743-1826, the third President of the United States, and the author of the Declaration of Independence, was born in Albemarle County, Virginia. He received most of his early education under private tutors, and at the age of seventeen entered William and Mary College, where he remained two years. At college, where he studied industriously, he formed the acquaintance of several distinguished men, among them was George Wythe, with whom he entered on the study of law. At the age of twenty-four he was admitted to the bar, and soon rose to high standing in his profession. In 1775 he entered the Colonial Congress, having previously served ably in the legislature of his native state. Although one of the youngest men in Congress, he soon took a foremost place in that body. He left Congress in the fall of 1776, and, as a member of the legislature, and later as Governor of Virginia, he was chiefly instrumental in effecting several important reforms in the laws of that state,--the most notable were the abolition of the law of primogeniture, and the passage of a law making all religious denominations equal. From 1785 to 1789 he was Minister to France. On his return to America he was made Secretary of State, in the first Cabinet. While in this office, he became the leader of the Republican or Anti-Federalist party, in opposition to the Federalist party led by Alexander Hamilton. From 1801 to 1809 he was President. On leaving his high office, he retired to his estate at "Monticello," where he passed the closing years of his life, and died on the 4th of July, just fifty years after the passage of his famous Declaration. His compatriot, and sometimes bitter political opponent, John Adams, died on the same day.

Mr. Jefferson, who was never a ready public speaker, was a remarkably clear and forcible writer; his works fill several large volumes. In personal character, he was pure and simple, cheerful, and disposed to look on the bright side. His knowledge of life rendered his conversation highly attractive. The chief enterprise of his later years was the founding of the University of Virginia, at Charlottesville. ###

During the contest of opinion through which we have passed, the animation of discussions and of exertions has sometimes worn an aspect which might impose on strangers, unused to think freely and to speak and to write what they think; but this being now decided by the voice of the nation, announced according to the rules of the constitution, all will, of course, arrange themselves under the will of the law, and unite in common efforts for the common good.

All, too, will bear in mind this sacred principle, that, though the will of the majority is, in all cases, to prevail, that will, to be rightful, must be reasonable; that the minority possess their equal rights, which equal laws must protect, and to violate which would be oppression. Let us then, fellow-citizens, unite with one heart and one mind.

Let us restore to social intercourse that harmony and affection, without which liberty, and even life itself, are but dreary things; and let us reflect, that, having banished from our land that religious intolerance under which mankind so long bled and suffered, we have gained little if we countenance a political intolerance as despotic, as wicked, and capable of as bitter and bloody persecutions.

During the throes and convulsions of the ancient world; during the agonizing spasms of infuriated man, seeking, through blood and slaughter, his long-lost liberty; it was not wonderful that the agitation of the billows should reach even this distant and peaceful shore; that this should be more felt and feared by some, and less by others, and should divide opinions as to measures of safety.

But every difference of opinion is not a difference of principle. We have called by different names brethren of the same principle. We are all Republicans; we are all Federalists. If there be any among us who would wish to dissolve this Union, or to change its republican form, let them stand undisturbed as monuments of the safety with which error of opinion may be tolerated when reason is left free to combat it.

I know, indeed, that some honest men fear that a republican government can not be strong; that this government is not strong enough. But would the honest patriot, in the full tide of successful experiment, abandon a government which has so far kept us free and firm, on the theoretic and visionary fear that this government, the world's best hope, may, by possibility, want energy to preserve itself? I trust not; I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest government on earth.

I believe it to be the only one where every man, at the call of the law, would fly to the standard of the law, and would meet invasions of the public order as his own personal concern. Sometimes it is said that man can not be trusted with the government of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others, or have we found angels, in the form of kings, to govern him? Let history answer this question. Let us, then, with courage and confidence, pursue our own federal and republican principles; our attachment to union and representative government.

NOTE.--At the time of Jefferson's election, party spirit ran very high. He had been defeated by John Adams at the previous presidential election, but the Federal party, to which Adams belonged, became weakened by their management during difficulties with France; and now Jefferson had been elected president over his formerly successful rival. The above selection is from his inaugural address.

LXVIII. WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE? (255)

Sir William Jones, 1746-1794, was the son of an eminent mathematician; he early distinguished himself by his ability as a student. He graduated at Oxford, became well versed in Oriental literature, studied law, and wrote many able books. In 1783 he was appointed Judge of the Supreme Court of Judicature in Bengal. He was a man of astonishing learning, upright life, and Christian principles. ###

What constitutes a state? Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate; Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Not bays and broad-armed ports, Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; Not starred and spangled courts, Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.

No:--men, high-minded men, With powers as far above dull brutes endued In forest, brake, or den, As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude,-- Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain, Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain: These constitute a state; And sovereign Law, that state's collected will, O'er thrones and globes elate, Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill.

LXIX. THE BRAVE AT HOME. (256)

Thomas Buchanan Read, 1822-1872, an American poet and painter, was born in Chester County, Pennsylvania. At the age of seventeen he entered a sculptor's studio in Cincinnati. Here he gained reputation as a painter of portraits. From this city he went to New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, and soon after to Florence, Italy. In the later years of his life, he divided his time between Cincinnati, Philadelphia, and Rome. His complete poetical works fill three volumes. Several of his most stirring poems relate to the Revolutionary War, and to the late Civil War in America. Many of his poems are marked by vigor and a ringing power, while smoothness and delicacy distinguish others, no less. ###

The maid who binds her warrior's sash, And, smiling, all her pain dissembles, The while beneath the drooping lash, One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles; Though Heaven alone records the tear, And fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As ever dewed the field of glory!

The wife who girds her husband's sword, 'Mid little ones who weep and wonder, And bravely speaks the cheering word, What though her heart be rent asunder;-- Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of war around him rattle,-- Has shed as sacred blood as e'er Was poured upon the field of battle!

The mother who conceals her grief, While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses; With no one but her loving God, To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor!

NOTE.--The above selection is from the poem entitled "The Wagoner of the Alleghanies."

LXX. SOUTH CAROLINA. (257)

Robert Young Hayne, 1791-1840, was born in Colleton District, South Carolina, and studied and practiced law at Charleston. He was early elected to the State Legislature, and became Speaker of the House and Attorney-general of the state. He entered the Senate of the United States at the age of thirty-one. He was Governor of South Carolina during the "Nullification" troubles in 1832 and 1833. Mr. Hayne was a clear and able debater, and a stanch advocate of the extreme doctrine of "State Rights." In the Senate he opposed the Tariff Bill of 1828; and, out of this struggle, grew his famous debate with Daniel Webster in 1830. The following selection is an extract from Mr. Hayne's speech on that memorable occasion. ###

If there be one state in the Union, Mr. President, that may challenge comparison with any other, for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the Union, that state is South Carolina. Sir, from the very commencement of the Revolution, up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully made; no service she has ever hesitated to perform.

She has adhered to you in your prosperity; but in your adversity she has clung to you with more than filial affection. No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs; though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, the call of the country has been to her as the voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound; every man became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all seen, crowding to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar of their common country.

What, sir, was the conduct of the South, during the Revolution? Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal honor is due to the South. Never were there exhibited, in the history of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than by the whigs of Carolina, during the Revolution. The whole state, from the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe.

The plains of Carolina drank up the most precious blood of her citizens. Black, smoking ruins marked the places which had been the habitation of her children. Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumters and her Marions, proved, by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible.

NOTES.--Thomas Sumter (b. 1734, d. 1832) was by birth a Virginian, but during the Revolution commanded South Carolina troops. He was one of the most active and able of the Southern generals, and, after the war, was prominent in politics. He was the last surviving general of the Revolution.

Francis Marion (b. 1732, d. 1795), known as the "Swamp Fox," was a native South Carolinian, of French descent. Marion's brigade became noted during the Revolution for its daring and surprising attacks. See Lesson CXXXV.

LXXI. MASSACHUSETTS AND SOUTH CAROLINA. (259)