SECTION I.SECTION I.
I WAS told two things separately, last year, which, if puttogether, seem to yield an alarming result. I was told thatalmost every man holds office, some time during his life; andthat holding office is the ruin of moral independence. The caseis not, however, nearly so bad as this. There is a kind of publiclife which does seem to injure the morals of all who enter it;but very few are affected by this. Office in a man's ownneighbourhood, where his character and opinions are known, andwhere the honour and emolument are small, is not very seductive;and these are the offices filled by the greater number ofcitizens who serve society. The temptation to propitiate opinionbecomes powerful when a citizen desires to enter the legislature,or to be the chief magistrate of the State. The peril increaseswhen he becomes a candidate for Congress; and there seems to beno expectation whatever that a candidate for the presidentship,or his partizans, should retain any simplicity of speech, orregard to equity in the distribution of places and promises. Allthis is dreadfully wrong. It originates in a grand mistake, whichcannot be rectified but by much suffering. It is obvious thatthere must be mistake; for it can never be an arrangement ofProvidence that men cannot serve each other in their politicalrelations without being corrupted.
The primary mistake is in supposing that men cannot bear tohear the truth. It has become the established method ofseeking office, not only to declare a coincidence of opinion withthe supposed majority, on the great topics on which the candidatewill have to speak and act while in office, but to deny, orconceal, or assert anything else which it is supposed will pleasethe same majority. The conaequence is, that the best men are notin office. The morally inferior who succeed, use their power forselfish purposes, to a sufficient extent to corrupt theirconstituents, in their turn. I scarcely knew, at first, how tounderstand the political conversations which I heard intravelling. If a citizen told another that A. had voted in aparticular manner, the other invariably began to account for thevote. A. had voted thus to please B., because B.'s influence waswanted for the benefit of C., who had promised so and so to A.'sbrother, or son, or nephew, or leading section of constituents. Areason for a vote, or other public proceeding, must always befound; and any reason seemed to be taken up rather than theobvious one, that a man votes according to the decision of hisreason and conscience. I often mentioned this to men in office,or seeking to be so; and they received it with a smile or a laughwhich wrung my heart. Of all heart-withering things, politicalscepticism in a republic is one of the most painful. Itold Mr. Clay my observations in both kinds. "Let themlaugh!" cried he, with an honourable warmth: "and doyou go on requiring honesty; and you will find it."He is right: but those who would find the highest integrity hadbetter not begin their observations on office-holders, much lesson office-seekers, as a class. The office-holder finds, toooften, that it may be easier to get into office than to havepower to discharge its duties when there: and then the temptationto subservience, to dishonest silence, is well nigh too strongfor mortal man. The office-seeker stands committed as desiringsomething for which he is ready to sacrifice his business orprofession, his ease, his leisure, and the quietness of hisreputation. He stands forth as either an adventurer, a manof ambition, or of self-sacrificing patriotism. Being once thuscommitted, failure is mortifying, and the allurement tocompromise, in order to success, is powerful. Once in publiclife, the politician is committed for ever, whether heimmediately perceives this, or not. Almost every publie man of myacquaintance owned to me the difficulty of retiring--in mind, ifnot in presence,--after the possession of a public trust. Thispainful hankering is part of the price to be paid for the honoursof public service: aud I am disposed to think that it is almostuniversal: that scarcely any man knows quiet and content, fromthe moment of the success of his first election. The most modestmen shrink from thus committing themselves. The most learned men,generally speaking, devote themselves, in preference, toprofessions. The most conscientious men, generally speaking, shunthe snares which fatally beset public life, at present, in theUnited States.
A gentleman of the latter class, whose talents and characterwould procure him extensive and hearty support, if he desired it,told me, that he would never serve in office, because he believesit to be the destruction of moral independence: he pointed out tome three friends of his, men of remarkable talent, all in publiclife. "Look at them," said he, "and see what theymight have been! Yet A. is a slave, B. is a slave, and C. is aworm in the dust." Too true.
Here is a grievous misfortune to the republic! My friendascribes it to the want of protection from his neighbours, towhich a man is exposed from the want of caste. This will neverdo. A crown and sceptre would be about as desirable in a republicas caste. If men would only try the effect of faith in oneanother, I believe they would take rank, and yield protection,with more precision aud efficacy than by any manifestation of theexclusive spirit that was ever witnessed. Of course, thisproposal will be called "Quixotic;" that convenientterm which covers things the most serious and the most absurd,the wisest and the wildest. I am strengthened in my suggestion bya recurrence to the first principles of society in the UnitedStates, according to which I find that "rulers derive theirjust powers from the consent of the governed;" and that thetheory is, that the best men are chosen to serve. Both thesepre-suppose mutual faith. Let the governed once require honestyas a condition of their consent; let them once choose the bestmen, according to their most conscientious conviction, and therewill be an end of this insulting and disgusting politicalscepticism. Adventurers and ambitious men there will stil1 be;but they will not taint the character of the class. Better men,who will respect their constituents, without fearing orflattering them, will foster the generous mutual faith which isnow so grievously wanting; and the spirit of the constitution,now drooping in some of its most important departments, willrevive.
I write more in hope than in immediate expectation. I saw muchground for hope, but very much also for grief. Scarcelyanything that I observed in the United States caused me so muchsorrow as the contemptuous estimate of the people entertained bythose who were bowing the knee to be permitted to serve them.Nothing can be more disgusting than the contrast between thedrawing-room gentleman, at ease among friends, and the sameperson courting the people, on a public occasion. The onlycomfort was a strong internal persuasion that the people do notlike to be courted thus. They have been so long used to it, thatthey receive it as a matter of course; but, I believe, if acandidate should offer, who should make no professions but of hisopinions, and his honest intentions of carrying them out; if heshould respect the people as men, not as voters, and inform themtruly of his views of their condition and prospects, they wouldrecognise him at once as their best friend. He might,notwithstanding, lose his election; for the people must have timeto recover, or to attain simplicity; but he would serve thembetter by losing his election thus, than by the longest and mostfaithful service in public life.
I have often wondered whether a gentleman at Laporte, inIndiana, who advertised his desire to be sheriff, gained hiselection. He declared in his advertisement that he had not beenlargely solicited, but that it was his own desire that he shouldbe sheriff: he would not promise to do away with mosquitoes,ague, and fever, but only to do his duty. This candidate has hisown way of flattering his constituents.
A gentleman of considerable reputation offered, last year, todeliver a lecture, in a Lyceum, in Massachusetts. It was upon theFrench Revolution; and on various accounts curious. There was nomention of the causes of the Revolution, except in a parenthesisof one sentence, where he intimated that French society was notin harmony with the spirit of the age. He sketched almost everybody concerned, except the Queen. The most singular part,perhaps, was his estimate of the military talents of Napoleon. Heexalted them much, and declared him a greater general thanWellington, but not so great as Washington. The audience waslarge and respectable. I knew a great many of the personspresent, and found that none of them liked the lecture.
I attended another Lyceum lecture in Massachusetts. An agentof the Colonisation Society lectured; and, when hehad done, introduced a clergyman of colour, who had justreturned from Liberia, and could give an account of thecolony in its then present state. As soon as this gentleman cameforward, a party among the audience rose, and went out, with muchostentation of noise. Mr. Wilson broke off till he could be againheard, and then observed in a low voice, "that would nothave been done in Africa ;" upon which, there was an uproarof applause, prolonged and renewed. All the evidence on thesubject that I could collect, went to prove that the people canbear, and do prefer to hear, the truth. It is a crime to withholdit from them; and a double crime to substitute flattery.
The tone of the orations was the sole, but great drawback fromthe enjoyment of the popular festivals I witnessed. I missed thecelebration of the 4th of July,--both years; being, the firstyear, among the Virginia mountains, (where the only signs offestivity which I saw, were some slaves dressing up a marquee, inwhich their masters were to feast, after having read, from theDeclaration of Independence, that all men are created free audequal, and that rulers derive their just powers from thc consentof the governed;) and the second year on the lakes, arriving atMackinaw too late in the evening of the great day for anycelebration that might have taken place. But I was at tworemarkable festivals, and heard two very remarkable orations.They were represented to me as fair or favourable specimens ofthat kind of address; and, to judge by the general sum of thosewhich I read and heard, they were so.
The valley of the Connecticut is the most fertile valley inNew England; and it is scarcely possible that any should be morebeautiful. The river, full, broad, and tranquil as the summersky, winds through meadows, green with pasture, or golden withcorn. Clumps of forest trees afford retreat for the cattle in thesummer heats; and the magnificent New England elm, the mostgraceful of trees, is dropped singly, here and there, and castsits broad shade upon the meadow. Hills of various height anddeclivity bound the now widening, now contracting valley. Tothese hills, the forest has retired; the everlasting forest, fromwhich, in America, we cannot fly. I cannot remember that, exceptin some parts of the prairies, I was ever out of sight of theforest in the United States: and I am sure I never wished to beso. It was like the "verdurous wall of Paradise,"confining the mighty southern and western rivers to theirchannels. We were, as it appeared, imprisoned in it for many daystogether, as we traversed the southeastern States. We threaded itin Michigan; we skirted it in New Vork and Pennsylvania; andthroughout New England it bounded every landscape. It looked downupon us from the hill-tops; it advanced into notice from everygap and notch in the chain. To the native it must appear asindisposable in the picture-gallery of nature as the sky. To theEnglish traveller it is a special boon, an added charm, anewly-created grace, like the infant planet that wanders acrossthe telescope of the astronomer. The English traveller findshimself never weary by day of prying into the forest, frombeneath its canopy; or, from a distance drinking in its exquisitehues: and his dreams, for months or years, will be of the mossyroots, the black pine, and silvery birch stems, the translucentgreen shades of the beech, and the slender creeper, climbing likea ladder into the topmost boughs of the dark holly, a hundredfeet high. He will dream of the march of the hours through theforest; the deep blackness of night, broken by the dunforest-fires, and startled by the showers of sparks, sent abroadby the casual breeze from the burning stems. He will hear againthe shrill piping of the whip-poor-will, and the multitudinousdin from the occasional swamp. He will dream of the deep silencewhich precedes the dawn; of the gradual apparition of thehaunting trees, coming faintly out of the darkness; of the firstlevel rays, instantaneously piercing the woods to their veryheart, and lighting them up into boundless ruddy colonnades,garlanded with wavy verdure, and carpeted with glitteringwild-flowers. Or, he will dream of the clouds of gay butterflies,and gauzy dragon-flies, that hover above the noon-day paths ofthe forest, or cluster about some graceful shrub, making itappear to bear at once all the flowers of Eden. Or the goldenmoon will look down through his dream, making for him islands oflight in an ocean of darkness. He may not see the stars but byglimpses; but the winged stars of those regions,--the gleamingfire-flies, --radiate from every sleeping bough, and keep his eyein fancy busy in following their glancing, while his spiritsleeps in the deep charms of the summer night. Next to the solemnand various beauty of the sea and the sky, comes that of thewilderness. I doubt whether the sublimity of the vastestmountain-range can exceed that of the all-pervading forest, whenthe imagination becomes able to realise the conception ofwhat it is.
In the valley of the Connecticut, the forest merelypresides over the scene, giving gravity to its charm. On EastMountain, above Deerfield, in Massachusetts, it is mingledwith grey rocks, whose hue mingles exquisitely with its verdure.We looked down from thence on a long reach of the valley, justbefore sunset, and made ourselves acquainted with the geographyof the catastrophe which was to be commemorated in a day or two.Here and there, in the meadows, were sinkings of the soil,shallow basins of verdant pasturage, where there had probablyonce been small lakes, but where cattle were now grazing. Theunfenced fields, secure within landmarks, and open to the annualinundation which preserves their fertility, were rich withunharvested Indian corn; the cobs left 1ying in their sheaths,because no passer-by is tempted to steal them; every one havingenough of his oun. The silvery river lay among the meadows; andon its bank, far below us, stretched the avenue of noble trees,touched with the hues of autumn, which shaded the village ofDeerfield. Saddleback bounded our view opposite, and theNorthampton hills and Green Mountains on the left. Smoke arose,here and there, from the hills' sides, and the nearer eminenceswere dotted with white dwellings, of the same order with thehormesteads which were sprinkled over the valley. The time ispast when a man feared to sit down further off than a stone'sthrow from his neighbours, lest the Indians should come upon him.The villages of Hadley and Deerfield are a standingmemorial of those times, when the whites clustered togetheraround the village church, and their cattle were brought into thearea, every night, under penalty of their being driven offbefore morning. These villages consist of two rows of houses,forming a long, street, planted with trees; and the church standsin the middle. The houses, of wood, were built in those days withthe upper story projecting; that the inhabitants, in case ofsiege, might fire at advantage upon the Indians, forcing the dooruith tomahawks.
I saw an old house of this kind at Dcerfield,-- the only onewhich survived the burning of the village by the French andIndians, in 1704, when all the inhabitants, to the number of twohundred and eighty, being attacked in their sleep, were killed orcarried away captive by the Indians. The wood of the house wasold and black, and pierced in many parts with bullet-holes. Onehad given passage to a bullet which shot a woman in the neck, asske rose up in bed, on hearing the tomahawk strike upon the door.The battered door remains, to chill one's blood with the thoughtthat such were the blows dealt by the Indians upon the skulls oftheir victims, whether infants or soldiers.
This was not the event to commemorate which we were assembledat Deerfield. A monument was to be erected on the spot whereanother body of people had been murdered, by savage foes of thesame race. Deerfield was first settled in 1671; a few housesbeing then built on the present street, and the settlers being ongood terms with their neighbours. King Philip's war broke out in1675, and the settlers were attacked more than once. There was alarge quantity of grain stored up at Deerfield; and it wasthought advisable to remove it for safety to Hadley, fifteenmiles off. Captain Lothrop, with eighty men, and some teams,marched from Hadley to remove the grain; his men being the youthand main hope of the settlements around. On their return fromDeerfield, on the 30th of September 1675, about four miles and ahalf on the way to Hadley, the young men dispersed to gather thewild grapes that were hanging ripe in the thickets, and were,under this disadvantage, attacked by a large body of Indians. Itvas afterwards discovered that the only way to encounter theIndians is in phalanx. Captain Lothrop did not know this; and heposted his men behind trees, where they were, almost to a man,picked off by the enemy. About ninety-three, including theteamsters, fell. When all was over, help arrived. The Indianswere beaten; but they appeared before the village, some daysafter, shaking the scalps and bloody garments of the slaincaptain and his troop, before the eyes of the inhabitants. Theplace was afterwards abandoned by the settlers, destroyed by theIndians, and not rebuilt for some years.
This was a piteous incident in the history of the settlement:but it is not easy to see why it should be made an occasion ofcommemoration, by monument and oratory, in preference to manyothers which have a stronger moral interest attaching to them.Some celebrations, like that of Forefathers' Day, areinexpressibly interesting and valuable, from the gloriousrecollections by which they are sanctified. But no virtue washere to be had in remembrance; nothing but mere misery. Thecontemplation of mere misery is painful and hurtful; and the onlysalutary influence that I could perceive to arise from tbisoccasion was a farfetched and dubious one,--thankfulness that theIndians are not now at hand to molest the white inhabitants. Thenoccurs the question about the Indians,--"where arethey?" and the answer leaves one less sympathy than onewould wish to have with the present security of the settler. Thestory of King Philip, who is supposed to have headed, in person,the attack on Lothrop's troop, is one of the most melancholy inthe records of humanity; and sorrow for him must mingle withcongratulations to the descendants of his foes, who, in his eyes,were robbers. With these thoughts in my mind, I found itdifficult to discover the philosophy of this celebration. Astranger might be pardoned for being so slow.
One of the then candidates for the highest office in theState, is renowned for his oratory. He is one of the mostaccomplished scholars and gentlemen that the country possesses.It was thought, "by his friends," that his interestwanted strengthening in the western part of the State. The peoplewere pleased when any occasion procured them the eclatof bringing a celebrated orator over to address them. Thecommemoration of an Indian catastrophe was thought of as anoccasion capable of being turned to good electioneeringpurposes.-- Mr. Webster was invited to be the orator, it beingknown that he would refuse. "Not I," said he. "Iwon't go and rake up old bloody Indian stories." Thecandidate was next invited, and, of course, took the opportunityof "strengthening his interest in the western part of theState." I was not aware of this till I sometime after heardit, on indisputable authority. I should have enjoyed it much lessthan I did, if I had known that the whole thing was got up, orits time and manner chosen, for electioneering objects; thatadvantage was taken of the best feelings of the people for thepolitical interest of one.
The afternoon of the 29th we went to Bloody Brook, thefearfully-named place of disaster. We climbed the Sugar-loaf; ahigh, steep hill, from whose precipitous sides is obtained a viewof the valley which pleases me more than the celebrated one fromMount Holyoke, a few miles off. Each, however, is perfect in itsway; and both so like heaven, when one looks down upon the valleyin the light of an autumn afternoon,--such a light as never yetburnished an English scene,--that no inclination is left to makecomparisons. The ox team was in the fields, the fishers on thebanks of the grey river,--banks and fishers reflected to thelife,--all as tranquil as if there was to be no stir the nextday.
On descending, we went to the Bloody Brook Inn, and saw thestrange and horrible picture of the slaughter of Lothrop's troop;a picture so bad as to be laughable; but too horrible to belaughed at. Every man of the eighty exactly alike, and alllooking scared at being about to be scalped. We saw, also, thelong tables spread for the feast of to-morrow. Lengths ofunbleached cotton for table cloths, plates and glasses, werealready provided. Some young men were bringing in long trails ofthe wild vine, clustered with purple grapes, to hang about theyoung maple trees which overshadowed the tables; others weretrying the cannon. We returned home in a state of highexpectation.
The morning of the 30th was bright, but rather cold. It wasdoubtful how far prudence would warrant our sitting in an orchardfor several hours, in such a breeze as was blowing. It wasevident, however, that persons at a distance had no scruples onthe subject, so thickly did they throng to the place of meeting.The wagon belonging to the band passed my windows, filled withyoung ladies from the High School at Greenfield. They looked asgay as if they had been going to a fair. By half-past eight, ourparty set off, accompanied by a few, and passing a great numberof strangers from distant villages.
After having accomplished our drive of three or four miles, wewarmed ourselves in a friendly house, and repaired to the orchardto choose our seats, while the ceremony of laying the first stoneof the monument was proceeding at some distance. The platformfrom which the orator was to address the assemblage was erectedunder a rather shabby walnut-tree, which was rendered lesspicturesque by its lower branches being lopped off, for the sakeof convenience. Several men had perched themselves on the tree;and I was beginning to wonder how they would endure theiruncomfortable seat, in the cold wind, for three hours, when I sawthem called down, and dismissed to find places among the rest ofthe assemblage, as they sent down bark and dust upon the heads ofthose who sat on the platform. Long and deep ranges of bencheswere provided; and on these, with carriage cushions and warmcloaks, we found ourselves perfectly well accommodated. Nothingcould be better. It was a pretty sight. The wind rustled fitfullyin the old walnut-tree. The audience gathered around it weresober, quiet; some would have said dull. The girls appeared to meto be all pretty, after the fashion of American girls. Every bodywas well-dressed; and such a thing as ill-behaviour in anyvillage assemblage in New England, is, I believe, unheard of. Thesoldiers were my great amusement; as they were on the few otheroccasions when I had the good fortune to see any. Their chiefbusiness, on the present occasion, was to keep clear the seatswhich were reserved for the band, now absent with the procession.These seats were advantageously placed; and new-comers were everymoment taking possession of them, and had to be sent,disappointed, into the rear. It was moving to behold the lovingentreaties of the soldiers that these seats might be vacated. Isaw one, who had shrunk away from his uniform, (probably from theuse of tobacco, of which his mouth was full,) actually put hisarm round the neck of a gentleman, and smile imploringly in hisface. It was irresistible, and the gentleman moved away. It is aperfect treat to the philanthropist to observe the pacificappearance of the militia throughout the United States. It iswell known how they can fight, when the necessity arises: butthey assuredly look, at present, as if it was the last thing intheir intentions:--as I hope it may long be.
The band next arrived, leading the procession of gentlemen,and were soon called into action by the first hymn. They didtheir best; and, if no one of their instruments could reach thesecond note of the German Hymn, (the second note of three linesout of four,) it was not for want of trying.
The oration followed. I strove, as I always did, not to allowdifference of taste, whether in oratory, or in anything else, torender me insensible to the merit, in its kind, of what waspresented to me: but, upon this occasion, all my sympathies werebaffled, and I was deeply disgusted. It mattered little what theoration was in itself, if it had only belonged in character tothe speaker. If a Greenfield farmer or mechanic had spoken as hebelieved orators to speak, and if the failure had been complete,I might have been sorry or amused, or disappointed; but notdisgusted. But here was one of the most learned and accomplishedgentlemen in the country, a candidate for the highest office inthe State, grimacing like a mountebank before the assemblagewhose votes he desired to have, and delivering an address, whichhe supposed level to their taste and capacity. He spoke of the"stately tree," (the poor walnut,) and the "mightyassemblage," (a little flock in the middle of an orchard,)and offered them shreds of tawdry sentiment, without theintermixture of one sound thought, or simple and natural feeling,simply and naturally expressed. It was equally an under estimateof his hearers, and a degradation of himsef.
The effect was very plain. Many, I know, were not interested,but were unwilling to say so of so renowned an orator. All weredull; and it was easy to see that none of the proper results ofpublic speaking followed. These very people are highlyimaginative. Speak to them of what interests them, and they aremoved with a word. Speak to those whose children are at school,of the progress and diffusion of knowledge, and they will hangupon the lips of the speaker. Speak to the unsophisticated amongthem of the case of the slave, and they are ready to braveLynch-law on his behalf. Appeal to them on any religious orcharitable enterprise, and the good deed is done, almost. as soonas indicated. But they have been taught to consider the oratoryof set persons on set occasions as a matter of business or ofpastime. They listen to it, make their remarks upon it, vote,perhaps, that it shall be printed, and go home, without havingbeen so much moved as by a dozen casual remarks, overlheard uponthe road.
All this would be of little importance, if these orationsconsisted of narrative,--or of any mere matter of fact. Thegrievance lies in the prostitution of moral sentiment, theclap-trap of praise and pathos, which is thus criminallyadventured. This is one great evil. Another, as great, both toorators and listeners, is the mis-estimate of the people. Noinsolence and meanness can surpass those of the man of sense andtaste who talks beneath himself to the people, because he thinksit suits them. No good parent ventures to do so to his youngestchild; and a candidate for office who will do it, shows himselfignorant of that wbich it is most important he should know,--whatfidelity of deference every man owes to every other man. Is sucha one aware that he is perpetually saying in his heart,"God! I thank thee that I am not as other men are?"
The other festival, to which I have alluded, was thecelebration of Forefathers' Day;--of the landing of the Pilgrimson Plymouth Rock. I trust that this anniversary will be hailedwith honour, as long as Massachusetts overlooks the sea. A moreremarkable, a nobler enterprise, was never kept in remembrance bya grateful posterity, than the emigration of the Pilgrim Fathers;and their posterity are, at least, so far worthy of them as thatthey all, down to the young children, seem to have a clearunderstanding of the nature of the act, and the character of themen. I never beheld the popular character in a more cheeringlight than on this occasion; and, if I happened to be acquaintedwith a misanthrope, I would send him to Plymouth, to keepForefathers' Day. Every fact that I review, every line that Iwrite, brings back delightful feelings towards some of theaffectionate and hospitable friends through whose kindness I sawand learned whatever I learned of their country; but to none am Imore thankful than to those who took me to Plymouth, and thosewho welcomed me there. It was an occasion when none could be onany other terms than pure brotherhood with all the rest. It wasthe great birth-day of the New England people; and none couldfail to wish the people joy.
My party and I reached Plymouth from Hingham the day beforethe celebration. As we drew near the coast, I anxiously watchedthe character of the scenery, trying to view it with the eyes ofthe first emigrants. It must have struck a chill to theirhearts;--so bare, so barren, so wintry. The firs grew more andmore stunted, as we approached the sea; till, as one of mycompanions observed, they were ashamed to show themselves anysmaller, and so turned into sand. Mrs. Hemans calls it, in herfine lyric, a rock-bound coast; naturally enough, as she was toldthat the pilgrims set their feet on a rock, on landing; but thatrock was the only one. The coast is low and sandy. The aspect ofthe bay was, this day, most dreary. We had travelled throughsnow, all the way behind; snovy fields, with here andthere a solitary crow stalking in the midst; and now,there was nothing but ice before us. Dirty, grey ice, somesheeted, some thrown up by the action of the sea into heaps, wasall that was to be seen, instead of the blue and glittering sea.A friend assured me, however, that all would be bright andcheering the next morning; informing me, with a smile, that inthe belief of the country people, it never did rain or snow, andnever would rain or snow, on Forefathers' Day. This is actually asuperstition firmly held in the neighbourhood. This friendpointed out to me, in the course of the afternoon, how the greengrass was appeared through the snow on Burial Hill, on whoseslope the descending sun, warm for December, was shining. Wemounted Burial Hill; and when I trod the turf, after some weeks'walking over crisp snow, I began to feel that I might growsuperstitious too, if I lived at Plymouth.
Upuards of half the pilgrim company died the first winter.Fifty-one dropped in succession; and the graves of most of themare on this hill. Burial Hill was probably chosen to be a mementomori to the pious pilgrims; its elevation, bristling withgrave-stones, being conspicuous from every part of the town. But,lest it should exhibit their tale of disaster to their foes, theIndians, the colonists sowed the place of their dead with corn;making it, for honest purposes, a whited sepulchre. From thiseminence, we saw the island in the harbour where the fatherslanded for service on the first Sunday after their arrival; also,the hill on which stood a wigwam, from whence issued an Indian tohold the first parley. A brook flowed between the two hills, onwhich stood the Indian and the chief of the intruders. GovernorWinslow descended to the brook; bridged it with stepping-stones,in sight of the Indian; laid down his arms, and advanced. Themeeting was friendly; but there was so little feeling ofsecurity, for long after, that when half the colonists hadperished, the rest were paraded round and round a hut on BurialHill, to conceal the smallness of their numbers from the vigilantIndians.
We went to the Registry Oflice, and saw the earliest recordsof the colony,--as far oack as 1623, --in the handwriting of thefathers. Among them is a record of the lots of land appointed tothose who came over in the Mayflower. (Little did the builders ofthat ship dream how they were working for immortality!) Sometimesa cow is appointed, with a lot, to six families. Sometimes ablack goat. The red cow is ordained to be kept for the poor, tocalve.
The rock on which the pilgrims first landed, has been split,and the top part, in order to its preservation, removed within aniron railing, in front of Pilgrim Hall. The memorable date of thelanding, 1620, is painted upon it; and the names of the fathers,in cast-iron, are inserted into the railing which surrounds therock.
Within the Hall, a plain, spacious building, erected withinten years, to serve as the scene of the festivities ofForefathers' Day, and also as a Museum of Pilgrim curiosities, isa picture, by Sargent, of the Landing of the Pilgrims. Samosat,the Indian chief, is advancing, with English words ofgreeting,--"Welcome, Englishmen!" Elder Brewster, andthe other fathers, with their apprehensive wives and wonderingchildren, form an excellent group; and the Mayflower is seenmoored in the distance. The greatest defect in the picture is theintroduction of the blasted tree, which needlessly adds to thedesolation of the scene, and gives a false idea, as far as itgoes. I could not have anticipated the interest which thesememorials would inspire. I felt as if in a dream, the whole timethat I was wandering about with the rejoicing people, among thetraces of the heroic men and women who came over into theperilous wilderness, in search of freedom of worship.
Forefathers' Day rose bright and mild. I looked out towardsthe harbour. Every flake of ice was gone, and the deep blue searippled and sparkled in the sun. The superstition was fated toendure another year, at least. All Plymouth was in a joyousbustle, with lines of carriages, and groups of walkers. Afterbreakfast, we proceeded to the church, to await the orator of theday. We were detained on the steps for a few minutes, till thedoors should be opened; and I was glad of it, for the sun waswarm, and the coup d'oeil was charming. There was onelong descent from the church down to the glittering sea; and onthe slope were troops of gay ladies, and lines of children; withhere and there a company of little boys, playing soldiers to themusic of the band, which came faintly from afar. Of realsoldiers, I saw two during the day. There might be more; but nonewere needed. The strangest association of all was of a PilgrimOde sung to the tune of "God save the King!" an airwhich I should have supposed no more likely to be chosen for suchan occasion than as an epilogue to the Declaration ofIndependence. It did very well, however. It set us all singing soas to drown the harmony of the violins and horns which acted asinstigation.
The oration was by an ex-senator of the United States. Itconsisted wholly of an elaboration of the transcendent virtues ofthe people of New England. His manner was more quiet than that ofany other orator I heard; and I really believe that there wasless of art than of weakness and bad taste in his choice of hismode of address. Nothing could be imagined worse, --morediscordant with the fitting temper of the occasion,--moredangerous to the ignorant, if such there were, --more disgustingto the wise, (as I know, on the testimony of such,) --moreunworthy of one to whom the ear of the people was open. He toldhis hearers of the superiority of their physical, intellectual,and moral constitution to that of their brethren of the middleand southern States, to that of Europeans, and all other dwellersin the earth; a superiority which forbade their being everunderstood and appreciated by any but themselves. He spokeespecially of the intensity of the New England character, asbeing a hidden mystery from all but natives. He contrasted theworst circumstances of European society, (now in course ofcorrection,) with the best of New England arrangements, and drewthe obvious inferences. He excused the bigotry of the PilgrimFathers, their cruel persecution of the Quakers, and other suchdeeds, on the ground that they had come over to have the colonyto themselves, and did not want interlopers. He extenuated therecent mobbing practices in New England, on the ground of theirrarity and small consequences, and declared it impossible thatthe sons of the pilgrims should trust to violence for themaintenance of opinion. This last sentiment, the only sound onethat I perceived in the oration, was loudly cheered. The whole ofthe rest, I rejoice to say, fell dead.
The orator was unworthy of his hearers. He had been a senatorof the United States, and had, I was told, discharged his dutythere; but he was little fit for public life, if he did not knowthat it is treason to republicanism to give out lower morals inpublic than are held in private; to smile or sigh over the vanityof the people by the fireside, and pamper it from the rostrum; touse the power of oratory to injure the people, instead of tosave. In this case, the exaggeration was so excessive as to be, Itrust, harmless. No man of common sense could be made to believethat any community of mortal men has ever been what the oratordescribed the inhabitants of New England to have attained. I wasdeeply touched by the first remark I heard upon this oration. Alady, who had been prevented from attending, asked me, on myreturn home, how I liked the address. Before I could open my lipsto reply, her daughter spoke. "I am heart-sick of thisboasting. When I think of our forefathers, I want to cry, 'God bemerciful to us sinners!' " If the oration awakened inothers, as I believe it did, by force of contrast, feelings ashealthful, as faithful to the occasion as this, it was not lost,and our pity must rest upon the orator.
I am aware,--I had but too much occasion to observe,--how thispractice of flattering the people from the rostrum is accountedfor, and, as a matter of fact, smiled at by citizens of theUnited States. I know that it is considered as a mode,inseparable from the philosophy of politics there. I dissent fromthis view altogether. I see that the remedy lies, not whollywhere remedies for the oppression of severe natural laws lie,--ina new combination of outward circumstances,--but in theindividual human will. The people may have honest orators if theychoose to demand to hear the truth. The people will gladly hearthe truth, if the appointed orator will lay aside selfish fearsand desires, and use his high privilege of speaking from thebottom of his soul. If, in simplicity, he delivers to the peoplehis true and best self, he is certain to gain the convictions ofmany, and the sympathies of all; and his soul will be clear ofthe guilt of deepening the pit under the feet of the people,while trying to persuade them that they are treading on firmground. What is to be said of guides who dig pitfalls?
The day closed delightfully. Almost everybody went to payrespect to an aged lady, then eighty-eight, a regular descendantof one of the pilgrims. She was confined to the sofa, butretained much beauty, and abundant cheerfulness. She wasdelighted to receive us, and to sympathise in those pleasures ofthe day which she could not share. I had the honour of sitting inthe chair which her ancestor brought over from England, and offeeling the staple by which it was fastened in the Mayflower.
The dinner being over, the gentlemen returned to their severalabodes, to escort the ladies to the ball in Pilgrim Hall. I went,with a party of seven others, in a stage coach; every carriage,native and exotic, being in requisition to fill the ball room,from which no one was excluded. It was the only in-door festival,except the President's levee, where I witnessed an absolutelygeneral admission; and its aspect and conduct were, in thehighest degree, creditable to the intelligence and manners of thecommunity. There were families from the islands in the bay, andother country residences, whence the inhabitants seldom emerge,except for this festival. The dress of some of the young ladieswas peculiar, and their glee was very visible; but I sawabsolutely no vulgarity. There was much beauty, and much eleganceamong the young ladies, and the manners of their parents wereunexceptionable. There was evidence in the dancing, of the"intensity" of which we had heard so much in themorning. The lads and lasses looked as if they meant never totire; but this enjoyment of the exercise pleased me much morethan the affectation of dancing, which is now fashionable in thelarge cities. I never expect to see a more joyous andunexceptionable piece of festivity than the Pilgrim ball of 1835.
The next day, the harbour was all frozen over; and the memoryof the blue, rippling sea of Plymouth, is therefore, with me,sacred to Forefathers' Day.
I was frequently reminded by friends of what is undoubtedlyvery true, the great perils of office in the United States, as anexcuse for the want of honesty in officials. It is perfectly truethat it is ruin to a professional man without fortune, to enterpublic life for a time, and then be driven back into privatelife. I knew a senator of the United States who had served fornearly his twice six years, and who then had to begin life again,as regarded his profession. I knew a representative of the UnitedStates, a wealthy man, with a large family, who is doubtingstill, as he has been for a few years past, whether he shall giveup commerce or public life, or go on trying to hold them both. Heis rich enough to devote himself to public life; but at the verynext election after he has relinquished his commercial affiairs,he may be thrown out of politics. I see what temptations arise insuch cases, to strain a few points, in order to remain in thepublic eye; and I am willing to allow for the strength of thetemptation.
But the part for honest men to take is to expose the peril, tothe end that the majority may find a remedy; and not to sanctionit by yielding to it. Let the attention of the people be drawntowards the salaries of office, that they may discover whetherthey are too low; which is best, that adventurers of badcharacter should now and then get into office, because they havenot reputation enough to obtain a living by other means, or thathonest and intelligent men should be kept out, because the prizesof office are engrossed by more highly educated men; and whetherthe rewards of office are kept low by the democratic party, forthe sake of putting in what their opponents cal1 'adventurers,'or by the aristocratic, with the hope of offices being engrossedby the men of private fortune. Let the true state of the case,according to each official's view of it, be presented to thepeople, rather than any countenance be given to the presentdreadful practice of wheedling and flattery; and the perils ofoffice will be, by some means, lessened.
The popular scandal against the people of the United States,that they boast intolerably of their national institutions andcharacter, appears to me untrue: but I see how it has arisen.Foreigners, especially the English, are partly to blame for this.They enter the United States with an idea that a republic is avulgar thing: and some take no pains to conceal their thought. Toan American, nothing is more venerable than a republic. Thenative and the stranger set out on a misunderstanding. TheEnglish attacks, the American defends, and, perhaps, boasts. Butthe vain-glorious flattery of their public orators is the moreabundant source of this reproach; and it rests with the people toredeem themselves from it. For my own part, I remember no singleinstance of patriotic boasting, from man, woman, or child, exceptfrom the rostrum; but from thence there was poured enough tospoil the auditory for life, if they had been simple enough tobelieve what they were told. But they were not.
From Harriet Martineau, Society in America, VolumeI, Part I, Chapter III, Section I - "Office." London:Saunders and Otley, 1837, pp. 113-146.
Forward to Society in America, Ch.III, Section II, - "Newspapers."
Back to Society in America, Chapter III,- "Morals of Politics."
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