Some Reminiscences of a Long Life

PAGES 27 - 170

TAKEN BY PIRATES

I have mentioned the fact, in my introductory chapter, that I was compelled to abandon my college course, after pursuing it for about two years, mainly because of a very serious weak- ness of my eyes, brought on by excessive study, in the attempt to overtake my class after a long course of typhoid fever, and when not fully recovered from my illness. The state of my eyes not only disabled me in my studies, but seemed likely to defeat my plan for a professional life. It seemed to me that I must spend at least a year or two in outdoor life, and as I had from early boyhood almost a passion for sea life, I concluded to try a few months on the sea, with a possibility that I might spend my life on it. The town of Farmington, where I was born and brought, up, though an inland town, was almost like a seaport in its relation to sea life. A firm of five brothers, of great energy and ability, owned ships and became large importers of foreign goods, which they sold at wholesale, the retail merchants of Hartford going to Farmington to buy their goods of them. These goods were not brought to Farmington, or at least be- yond, what was needed to supply the wants of the vicinity, but were generally delivered to the purchasers in New York, and from there sent to Hartford. The five brothers made them- selves large fortunes for that time. Several of the Farmington boys went to sea in their ships. One of them named Mix be- came a sea captain, and I remember him well as he walked the street in his blue roundabout or pea-jacket. An uncle of mine, a wayward brother of my father, went before the mast for some time in one of their vessels, and often told of his adventures. My only brother is now a retired naval officer. He entered the navy when the war broke out in 1861, having before been a sea-

captain in the merchant service. With all my desire to try a sea life, and with a feeling that, as I might decide to follow it, it was indispensable that I begin at the bottom, I shipped before the mast on board a brig bound to Spain for wine and fruit, the entire voyage taking four months. Soon after my return, in 1836, I shipped as a foremast hand on board the bark Marble- head, owned in Boston, but sailing from New York, for China and other East India ports. I was gone on this voyage about fourteen months. I had many interesting adventures on both vessels, but will tell of only one of them.

On our way home from China, with a full cargo of tea, one morning when we were in mid-ocean and about opposite the most southern of the West India Islands, we were sailing with the wind on our starboard quarter, and with a heavy sea left by a hard blow of a day or two before. As my watch came on deck we saw the captain on the forecastle, watching very in- tently with his glass a vessel that lay off a few miles on our weather bow. After a while he gave an order to call all hands, and when we all appeared he said: " Men, that is a pirate." We could now see her distinctly. She was a schooner with raking masts and a heavy mainsail, and was lying with her sails flap- ping, and was evidently waiting for us. We kept 011 our course, watching her intently and anxiously. We were utterly unable to defend ourselves if she should attack us, as we had only two guns, which had not been fired since we left New York, and were too old and rusty for use, and had very few weapons of any sort, while the pirate's crew were probably five times the number of our own. When we got within about a mile of her, she filled her sails and bore down upon us. When near enough she hailed us and asked who we were and whither bound, and what we had on board. As we had nothing that the pirate could take, the captain answered the questions truly. She then said " Heave to, while we come up on the lee side." She was on our weather side, and with the heavy sea running, could come near us only on our lee side, which was then the larboard side. The captain ordered the man at the wheel to port the helm, which brought the sails shaking in the wind, and the ship, except for her headway, to a standstill. The pirate then dropped astern to come up on the other side. When

directly astern of us, and perhaps half a mile behind us, the captain ordered the man at the wheel to bring the ship before the wind again, and very soon we were surging ahead and leav- ing the pirate quite a distance behind us. But immediately she threw out more sail, and came sweeping down upon us like a hawk upon a bird. When she got near enough she fired a shot over us from a long-tom, which swung on a pivot in the center of her deck, and at the same time the pirate captain called out to us through a speaking trumpet: " Heave to, or we sink you." Our captain ordered the man at the wheel to put the helm down, and in a few minutes the sails were shaking in the wind again. There was too heavy a sea running for the pirate to come alongside, and she lowered a boat, and with an officer, either her captain or first mate, and a full boat's crew, she came up under our lee and called to have a rope ladder lowered. Our captain was in a frenzy of excitement, and told the men to seize handspikes and knock the men down as they attempted to come over the ship's side. But we had a first mate who had in his youth been a privateersman in South American waters, and who now seemed to be in his element. He called out to the captain: " Captain Christie, you are crazy. We can do nothing but let them come. If they choose to kill us we can't help our- selves, and they will surely do it if we make a fight. If we let them come, there is a chance that they may not hurt us." Right at this point a very grotesque incident occurred, and helped to relieve a little the strain we were under. Our cook, the only black man on board, had gone to his caboose, and was boo-hoo- ing like a frightened calf. The mate, hearing him, went to the caboose and broke in upon him with, " You d—d nigger, what are you blubbering about? You afraid they'll kill you? They may kill us white folks; but a nigger will sell. They'll never hurt you — they'll only take you to market. Now, stop your d—d blubbering." The men had lowered the rope ladder to the pirate boat, and the officer came on board, followed soon after by all the men. Our captain met the officer as he came on board in a. perfectly polite way, and the officer touched his hat to him as he stepped on deck. The officer was evidently a Por- tuguese. He was tall and very erect, and a perfect gentleman in his manners. The captain took him upon the quarterdeck,

and they walked back and forth for about ten minutes. The men, in the mean time, came over the ship's side and sat on the rail, having brought up the painter of the boat and fastened it to a belaying pin. The officer talked good English, and the men generally could understand enough of it for what talk we attempted. When It seemed probable that they were not to kill us, they became quite friendly and ready for a joke with us. Our men, now about three months out of Canton, had used up all their tobacco, as sailors always do on long voyages, and were crazy after more. So, as soon as they began to feel easy about the throat-cutting, they asked the pirate crew for to- bacco. The pirates, seeing that our men were out, gave them all they had, and some of them had their pockets full. The pirate officer and our captain at last got through their talk, and came forward together. We were all standing about amidships, waiting rather anxiously for the next development. Pretty soon the officer said that he had sprung one of his spars in the late gale, and asked what spare spars we had on board. We had a large number of rough pine trunks for repairing our spars that were lashed to ringbolts on each side of our long boat, that was itself lashed to ringbolts about amidships. To these spars were lashed all our water casks, probably ten on each side, and about half of them still full. The pirate officer told us to unlash the spars on the larboard side so that he could examine them. His men did not offer to help us, but we went at it, with him standing over us. The ship was rolling heavily, and as we cast the casks adrift it was all we could do to keep out of the way of the full ones, which could be held in place only by being blocked with billets of wood, and which seemed every in- stant to be ready to break away as the ship rolled. With the greatest difficulty we got them all unlashed and blocked up, and the spars open for his examination. He measured several of them and finally said that there was no one which satisfied him, and that he would look at those on the other side. So in utter exhaustion we had to go through the same struggle with the others. But at last we got them all unlashed and laid open for his examination. Luckily, he here found one that would do, and he made us get this over the ship's side, with a long rope fastened to it, by which his men were to tow it over to their vessel. The pirate then ordered his men to go down to their

boat, and, touching his hat most politely to our captain, he said " Good day, captain, I will settle with you for that spar the next time I see you."

Thus ended this adventure. I had some other very exciting ones, and some of much danger, in this East India voyage and on the one to the Mediterranean. But they are hardly worth spending time upon.

FLORA SLAVE CASE.

In 1845 I was living in the town of Farmington, Conn., having begun the practice of law there in 1841. At that time I received a letter from Rev. Mr. Hemingway of Suffield, in this state, requesting me to come up there and help him look up some evidence in an important slave case in Virginia. It appeared that a large number of slaves in and about Fincastle, in the western part of Virginia, had brought suits, claiming their freedom. They were the descendants of a negro woman named Flora, and of her two daughters, all then dead, who had always claimed to be free women and to have been kidnapped from Connecticut soon after the Revolutionary war. None of the present negroes had any idea about Connecticut, but the name of Suffield had come down by tradition as that of the place where Flora had lived. Under the settled rule of slave law, the child followed the condition of the mother, and if Flora and her daughters were free, all their descendants were entitled to freedom. Under a merciful provision of Virginia law, the slaves were allowed to sue as paupers, the state reliev- ing them of all the ordinary costs of a suit. There were four suits, the slaves being held by four different masters. The cases were, by agreement of counsel or by order of the court, tried together. On receiving Mr. Hemingway's letter I went to Suffield, and with him made inquiry among the very old peo- ple of the neghborhood, and found that they had a clear recol- lection of the following facts:

A man named Hanchett, who had been a captain in the Revolutionary army, kept a small country tavern just out of Suffield; within the town of Southwick, Mass., immediately after the war. He was a desperate character, and the terror of the region. There lived in Suffield a respectable black man named Exeter, with his wife Flora and two little daughters.

Hanchett had once tried to carry off Flora and the children, but Exeter had fought him off. Some time later, when Exeter came home from his day's work, he found them gone. He knew that Hanchett must have taken them, and implored him to bring them back, and on his refusing to do it, begged him to tell him where they were. Twice the poor fellow went off on long journeys, tramping and begging his way, only to find that Hanchett had fooled him, and at last he died without ever knowing what had become of them. A warrant was got out against Hanchett, but he kept over the Massachusetts line, and finally, in part from want of satisfactory evidence, the prosecu- tion was abandoned, and the whole matter was dropped from public attention. Flora and the children were never traced.

Hanchett had now long been dead, and very few people of the time survived, and only those who were then children. We got memoranda of the recollections of some twenty of these and sent them to the lawyers in Virginia, who had a commis- sion issued by the court for the taking of their depositions. Mr. Samuel S. Cowles of Farmington was appointed commis- sioner, and I attended as counsel, Mr. Hemingway assisting me. A Mr. Wisor, a Virginia lawyer, attended in behalf of the defendants. There being four suits, he required that separate depositions be taken for each case. The difficulties attending the taking of the evidence can hardly be exaggerated. The de- ponents were, of course, very old, several bed-ridden, many quite deaf, and some with failing memories, and all in a condi- tion to be embarrassed by cross-examination. Mr. Wisor, however, acted very fairly, and did not take any undue advan- tage of this state of things. We succeeded in getting a consid- erable body of substantial evidence, which we sent to the Vir- ginia lawyers. The cases had been tried before, mainly upon the fact that Flora and her children had been purchased in the city of New York and brought into Virginia in violation of some law of Virginia, and the jury had disagreed. I never understood fully this part of the case. The suits now came on to be tried again, and the lawyer had the Suffield depositions to use in them. This trial resulted in a verdict for the negroes.

Their counsel in Virginia were John T. and Francis T. Anderson, brothers, who were in practice at Fincastle, the county seat of Botetourt County. They at once wrote me of

the success of the suits, and that the negroes had at once been to them, proposing that they hire them all out for a year, and that their earnings should go to pay their lawyers and the Con- necticut expenses, and they requested me to send on a bill for my services and for all the money paid out by the friends of the negroes in getting the evidence. None of us had thought of getting any pay, not even for the considerable expenses tiiat we had incurred, but I made out a reasonable bill and sent it on. The next I heard was that the cases had been carried up to the Supreme Court of the state, on some exceptions taken on the trial, and finally they wrote me that the higher court had set aside the verdict and granted a new trial. Two or three further trials were had, in the earlier of which the jury dis- agreed, but, finally, on a later trial, brought in a verdict against the negroes. Their counsel carried this verdict to the Supreme Court on exceptions taken on the trial, but that court affirmed the judgment. This ended the case, and the poor negroes re- mained in slavery until set free by President Lincoln's procla- mation, some ten years later.

I felt a great admiration for John T. Andcrson and his brother Francis. Both are dead and buried at Fincastle. If I should ever go there, I should look up their graves with a tear- ful interest. They were leading lawyers in that part of Vir- ginia, and Francis was afterwards a member of the Supreme Court of the state, where he served twelve years before his death. Of the fate of the negroes in their new life of freedom I have no knowledge.

SUI GENERIS.

The only time that I ever kept school was in finishing out a term in the Farmington Academy which had been begun by a college friend, who, for some reason, was not able to finish it. It was, I think, in 1838. Among my pupils was a very stupid boy who was studying Latin, in the hope of finally going to college. This purpose he wisely abandoned soon after. He was one day reciting to me in Sallust. The passage was one where the author describes in much detail one of the leading conspirators who was with Catiline in his conspiracy. After mentioning many traits of his character, he closes by saying,

" in short, he was sui generis "— a man of his own kind, or a peculiar man. The boy went along" pretty well till he came to this passage, which he translated thus: "in short, he was sui generis — a kind of a hog."

' Every one familiar with the Latin language will see at once how the blundering- boy got that meaning out of the words.

The sarne boy, at another time, translated capaces feminae (meaning women of capacity), " capacious women."

THE OX THAT RETURNED FROM THE TICONDEROGA EXPEDITION.

The incident I am about to relate is not a reminiscence of my own, but was told me by my father, and is well worth pre- serving.

In 1758, during the old French war, a number of the Con- necticut young men, sons of farmers, went to Ticonderoga with yokes of oxen to assist in the transportation of war ma- terial and supplies. My grandfather, Noadiah Hooker, living in Farmington, and then twenty-one years old, went on with a yoke of his father's oxen.

The following extract from the journal of Augustus Hay- den, I think of Windsor, who seems to have gone on in the same way, appeared in the Hartford Courant of October 12, 1889:

" July the 28th our escorts were escorting the teams from Fort Edwards to Halfway Brook, and the enemy lay in ambush for them, and when the escort had got against them the enemy rose up and fired upon them and killed twenty-six men. There is about fifty in all that are missing. There was thirty-six teams. They was all killed but one, and they knocked off his horns. The loadin was all destroyed."

My grandfather's oxen were among the teams, and he was to have gone with them, but was ill that day, and another young man took his place. This young man was killed, and it was supposed that the oxen were killed. The enemy lying in ambush was, in large part, Indians, who were fighting on the French side. My grandfather, as his team was now gone, soon after came home to Farmington. On the following Thanks- giving Day, about four months after the slaughter at Ticon- deroga, as he was on his way to church he heard an ox lowing

from the bottom of the hill on which his house stood and com- ing up the hill. As he got nearer, he saw it was one of his Ticonderoga yoke, that had escaped the general butchery. The ox had been browsing his way along for the four months, and had had to swim across the Hudson. It was a marvelous piece of intelligence on his part, and a very pretty bit of senti- ment that had led him to time his arrival for Thanksgiving Day. He was a great favorite the rest of his life.

The horns of the ox were not broken, showing that Mr. Hayden's impression that all the cattle were killed but one, and that the Indians broke off his horns, was not correct.

MARVIN CAIRNS.

Martin had, in 1850, been for several years the messenger of the court room at Hartford. The Superior Court and the County Court were held in the same room, and he was mes- senger for both. He had been quite attentive to his duties, and the members of the bar thought it fitting that they should give him a testimonial of their regard. A committee appointed on the subject concluded to get something for his wife, and accordingly the money raised was placed in the hands of Mrs. Thomas C. Perkins and Mrs. D. F. Robinson, who bought with it two nice dresses and a shawl. The presentation was made in the court room one noon, during the session of the Superior Court. Judge Ellsworth, who was holding the court, took the noon recess a half-hour earlier than usual to accommodate us, and staid himself to witness the proceeding. The members of the bar, the officers of the court, and the law students of the city were generally present, as public notice had been given. I was appointed to perform the ceremony of presentation, and, in making it, read the following lines, which I had hastily pre- pared.

It should be stated in explanation of some points made in them that we had recently had our court room refitted with new carpet and new furniture, and that Martin, who took great pride in the improvement, was constantly on the alert to prevent tobacco-chewers from spitting on the carpet, and when-ever he saw this happen, or from the person's known habit likely to happen, was in the habit of placing one of the spittoons

before the tobacco-chewer. This led to many jokes on the subject. He had an interesting boy, about ten years of age, whom he occasionally brought to the court room with him, and who happened to be present at this time, giving a happy effect to the allusion to him. It is also to be stated that the court messenger was then appointed by the judge of the County Court, who, being annually elected by the legislature, changed with every change in the politics of the state, and as he changed the messenger was very likely to change. Martin, however, had given so good satisfaction that he was kept in through several changes of administration.

The Hartford lawyers, good friend Martin,
Whose favor specially thou art in,
Have deemed it just, and no less pleasant,
To give to thee a little present;
And knowing where dwells thy life of life,
Have made it, through thee, to thy wife.
For her thou lovest most of all
We bring two dresses and a shawl.
Take them, friend Martin, to thy home,
Where she is waiting till you come;
And as she meets you with caresses,
Hold up the shawl and both the dresses,
And ask her from the Bar to take
A present for her husband's sake;
And with them give our wishes true
For all that can bless her and you.
And may'st thou long, friend Martin Cairns,
Rejoice in her and many bairns,
Till, furrowed by no mournful tears,
Your face shall furrowed be by years;
And till your hair, at last grown gray,
Shall round your brow like snow-wreaths play.
Thou well hast borne thine office, Martin,
And distant be the day of parting.
May'st thou preserve thine honest station
Under each new administration;
For who but thee would look so sharp at
The man who spits upon the carpet?
And who but thee would wait so soon
On such offenders with spittoon?
Old Justice's halls who'd dust so neatly?
And who of errands run so fleetly?
And who could show such merry heart in
His duties as our Merry Martin?
Then may thy virtues, like a charm,
Long death and politics disarm;
And though the arm of each be bared,
By both be thou in mercy spared,

Till thou, an old man, may'st with pride
Perhaps see here thy son preside
A judge (such thing's do oft occur],
Or rule our State as Governor.
Then, with thy heart with God at peace,
And waiting patient thy release,
Old death, that messenger so grim,
Shall take our messenger to him.
Then thee to Heaven may he transport,
Humbly to wait in Heaven's court,
And those whom thou on earth hold'st dear,
May all, in new robes, there appear.

Martin made a genuine Irish speech in reply, closing with one of the best bulls that an Irishman ever got oft". Speaking of the great regard that he entertained for the members of the Hartford bar, and had always felt since he knew them, he said:

"Before the present was given me I. felt just as I do now, but now I feel fifty times more so."

The General Assembly at this time sat, every other year, in New Haven, and many of the books from the various state of- fices at Hartford had to be carried down. They were generally sent under Martin's care, who took them to the state house at New Haven and then went to the Tontine hotel to put himself at the service of the state officials, who generally staid there. He felt the importance of this duty greatly, and, in view of the necessity for occasionally signing his name, had early set out to learn to write his name, which, I believe, was to the last the limit of his education in penmanship. By taking time for it, and with considerable motion of his tongue, he was able to write his name quite readily. On one of these occasions at New Haven he walked up to the clerk's desk at the hotel with quite an important air, and spread out his name upon the register. A Hartford man who arrived with him and knew his limitations in the matter of chirography, said to him, just as he finished the entry of his own name: "Martin, won't you write my name, too?" Martin turned around to him and said: "Write your name, sir? You wouldn't have me commit forgery, would you?"

HOW I BECAME A DOCTOR OF DIVINITY.

The "Fugitive Slave Law," which was passed by Congress, in 1850, created great alarm among the colored people of the North. Many of them were runaway slaves, and of course they had great fear of being discovered and captured, but the

free negroes, as well, were alarmed lest they might be seized and carried off as slaves, the law giving the claimant a great advantage over the black man, by compelling the latter to prove his right to his freedom, which he might not be able to do If away from home, while the question was to be decided by a single magistrate of about the grade of a justice of the peace, and that finally and without appeal, the law providing that if the magistrate found for the claimant he was at once to issue an order, under which the claimant could immediately transport him out of the state. The law even appealed to the cupidity of this low grade of officials by allowing them a fee of but $5 in case of a decision for the negro, and of $10 in case of a decision for the claimant, the larger fee being put under the thin cover of compensation for his added trouble in having to make the order for the delivery of the negro to the claimant. This act was but the culmination of a growing aggressive- ness on the part of the slaveholders in the assertion of what they claimed as their constitutional rights, and of an obsequious concession to their demands on the part of Northern poli- ticians. This state of things kept the blacks who were in fact fugitive slaves in a constant fear, though until this act was passed the free negroes were in no great danger of being seized and carried off as slaves. For several years before the passage of the act Rev. James W. C. Pennington, a full-blooded negro, was the pastor of a congregational church of colored people at Hartford. He was a faithful pastor, and very much re- spected by the clergy of the city, as well as by the people gen- erally. No one knew or suspected that he was a fugitive slave. But a short time before the passage of the act he came to me for a most confidential consultation and advice. He told me that he was a fugitive slave, and that he had never divulged the fact to any of his people in Hartford, nor even to his wife, and that it was known to nobody but the Quaker friends in Penn- sylvania who had sheltered him at the time of his escape, and had afterwards aided him in getting an education. The fact was withheld from his wife, however, mainly to save her from disquieting fears. He told me that in his studies, in his do- mestic life, and in the discharge of his parochial duties, he was burdened with harrassing apprehensions of being seized and carried back to slavery. He disclosed the fact to me that I

might attempt to negotiate with his master for the purchase of his freedom.

He was born the slave of Frisbie Tilghman of Flagerstown, Maryland, and remained his slave until he ran away,"when he was eighteen years old, He was now about forty. The name which he now bore was an assumed one; his name as a slave was " Jim Pembroke.'' After his escape he found protection and assistance in a Quaker family in Pennsylvania, whose kind- ness he had ever since remembered with the greatest gratitude. Pie had already, in a stealthy way, learned to read a little, but here he began those studies which, ever since pursued with unremitting ardor and industry, had made him a man of intelli- gence and something of a scholar. After a while he entered the Christian ministry, and was licensed and ordained as a minister, and, as I have before stated, was now settled over a congregational church of colored people at Hartford.

That he could preach quite acceptably I knew, as I had often heard him, and at one time Rev. Dr. Porter of Farming- ton had exchanged with him, and the people of the quiet old town had been astonished, some of them shocked, by seeing one of the blackest of men in their pulpit.

After two or three consultations it was decided that it was best for him to go to Canada and remain while the negotiation was pending. After he had left the city I wrote to Mr. Tilgh- man, stating that I did so in behalf of his former slave, " Jim Pembroke," who was then out of the country and beyond bis reach, but was willing to pay a small sum for his legal freedom. I took care, of course, to give him no intimation of his adopted name, nor of his place of residence. Mr. Tilghman wrote me in reply that " Jim was a first-rate blacksmith, and well worth $1,000," and that as servants were then very high he could not take less than $500. He also stated that he had learned that Jim was making himself useful in the world, from which I in- ferred that he had some know-ledge of his being a preacher, and probably of the name he was bearing, and perhaps of his place of residence. The sum demanded was much beyond Mr. Pen- nington's ability to pay, and on my informing him of Mr. Tilgh- man's demand, we decided that it was not safe for him to re- turn to Hartford, but that it was best for him to go to England, where he would find many friends among the abolitionists

there. He did so, and was abroad about two years. He found warm friends wherever he went, and on visiting Heidelberg, in Germany, was made a doctor of divinity by the university there. This honor he accepted in a graceful speech (or possibly written communication), in which he declared his personal tin- worthiness of it, but accepted it as the representative of his race. When the Fugitive Slave Law was passed, in 1850, which, of course, made it out of the question for him to return to Amer- ica as a fugitive slave, he was in Scotland. At this time it was generally known that he was a fugitive from slavery, this fact creating a wide interest in his case and drawing to him great sympathy. He frequently wrote to me, and I kept him advised as to the state of things here. Soon after this some friends in Scotland determined to take the matter in hand and raise the necessary money to secure his freedom, whatever might be the amount required, and appointed a committee to attend to the matter and correspond with me on the subject. Upon hearing from the committee that they wished me to renew the corre- spondence with Mr. Tilghman, and to pay him whatever he should finally insist upon, I wrote him, stating that Jim was now in England, and would not return unless his freedom was secured, and asking what was the lowest price he would take for his freedom. A stranger replied, stating that Mr. Tilgh- man was dead and that he was his administrator, and that in the circumstances, as he desired to close up the settlement of the estate, he would take $150. He added that, as administrator, he had no power to manumit, but could only sell the slave, and the purchaser could manumit, and wished me to name the per- son to whom the bill of sale should be made. Mr. Joseph R. Hawley, since our senator at Washington, was then my junior law partner, and he at once went to Maryland, carrying the money (a larger sum than was necessary had been sent me by the Scotch friends), and, by my directions, took a bill of sale to me. I thus became a slaveholder, and the owner of a doctor of divinity. On receiving the bill of sale I held it for a day to see what the sensation would be, and then executed a deed of manumission, which I had recorded in the town records, where it may be found in Vol. 76, page 356, under date of June 5, 1851. It set free " my slave, Jim Pembroke, otherwise known as Rev. James W. C. Pennington, D.D." It stands on record there for the wonder of future generations.

After Dr. Pennington's return to this country and settle- ment over a church in New York, he attended at Hartford a meeting of the colored people that had been regularly held for several years on the first day of August in commemoration of the emancipation of the slaves in the English West India Islands, which took effect August 1, 1834. I attended this meeting, as did a few other white persons, and about two hun- dred colored people of both sexes. It was held in a grove in the suburbs, a platform having been erected for the speakers. Dr. Pennington was welcomed as their old pastor, and was one of the earliest called out, the call passing around for " Rev. Dr. Pennington." After he had spoken they saw me in the crowd, and a clamorous call was made for " Mr. Hooker." I went upon the platform, and prefaced my short speech with a few words, as follows: " Before I make a speech, my friends, I want to set you right about an error you have just fallen into. You all know that Mr. Pennington was once my slave. Now it is one of the elemental principles of slavery that the slave can own nothing. Everything that he acquires, or thinks he ac- quires, passes through him to his master. Even the mule that he got with his own earnings belongs to his master. Now when I set Mr. Pennington free I merely took my hands off from him — merely let him go. I did not give him anything. Thus the doctorate of divinity, which, as his master, I owned, remained with me, and did not go by his manumission to him, and I hold it still. So, when you next call us out on an occasion like this, I want to have you call for ' Rev. Mr. Pennington' and ' Rev. Dr. Hooker. "

THE DOG-FIGHT SUIT OF RHODES vs. WELLS.

In February, 1857, the case of Henry E. Rhodes vs. Scott and Oliver Wells was tried in the Superior Court at Hartford before Chief Justice Church and a jury, and made a good deal of sport for the bar, a large number of the lawyers of the city attending. The Daily Times in its report of the case says:— " This action was the last scene of a dog-drama which was got up some two years since in the ancient town of Wethersfield. ' Strike my dog and you strike me,' is an old saw, and this affair proved its applicability in these latter days. By some means two

bull-dogs engaged in a fight; they fought as such dogs always do, and, as not infrequently occurs, the dog .fight was but the forerunner of a man fight. Rhodes, getting rather too severely beaten in his opinion, brought his action to recover damages. Much evidence and of a conflicting character was introduced, but the jury seemed to be of the opinion that but little blame could be attached to the defendants, and rendered a verdict in their favor."

During the first day of the trial my sense of humor found so much to enjoy that I could not resist the temptation to scribble some rhymes about the case, which I passed about the court room for the amusement of the lawyers, and, the case going over to the second day, I carried them home and in the evening completed them. The next day Mr. William W. Eaton (since our senator at Washington), who was then clerk of the court, begged the lines of me to insert in the Times, where they ap- peared that evening. There are various hits, or attempted hits, in them which will not be understood by lawyers who have come upon the stage since, and which, therefore, need explana- tion. Martin Welles, the leader for the plaintiff, was a man of great legal learning and ability, and of rare elegance of diction, but of bad temper, morose and sullen, and with little friendly regard for him on the part of the bar. Francis Parsons, who was with him, was a man who got into the law by some mis- chance, of the highest principles, yet disliking the practicing of law, and above all abhorring all fights of men or clogs. Mr. Hungerford was an old bachelor, immersed in the law, and hardly breathing anything else, living wholly out of society and very careless about his clothing or personal appearance. Mr. Toucey, who had been Attorney-General of the United States, was a man of great dignity of bearing, cold, impassive, and unbending, and quite out of place among the humorous in- cidents of the trial. Charles Chapman, the junior counsel for the defendants, was in his element in the case, keen, witty, en- joying its humor to the utmost, and making a great part of it. He had just been defeated as the Whig candidate for Congress by Loren P. Waldo, afterwards judge of the Superior Court. During the campaign he had made speeches in which he ridi- culed three Free Soil speakers who held meetings together about the state, John M. Niles, Gideon Welles, and Amos M..

Collins, describing them as "a Demarara team two mules and a jackass," Judge Church, who presided, was a short -man, whose face, as he watched the trial, was full of twinkles, show- ing his enjoyment of the humor, with a sense of his duty to preserve his judicial dignity. Mr. Waterman was the sheriff, and made proclamation of the opening and closing of the ses- sion. His voice was almost terrific in its strength and volume, and it was a common remark among the lawyers that it was no fiction that, he made proclamation to the whole county. With these explanations I come to the lines.

"Beware of Dogs." -- Phil. 3:2

To sing my epic muse essays;
Dogs and dog-fights, in doggerel lays
Be mine the labor, hers the praise.
Beneath October's mellow sun,
In Wethersfield a deed was done
oh, sight of sights
Oh, deed of deeds
One bull-dog with another fights!

As from the rape of Helen grew
The war which mighty Troy o'erthrew,
So here, a bull-dog shook a pup,
Another bull-dog straight took up
The quarrel; and the two dogs fought
As dogs on such occasion ought.
Meantime their masters swore and hollar'd;
Then each the other struck and collar'd;
One broken head, one bloody jaw,
The parties part, and go to law.

Like seed upon the waters cast,
Forgotten long, but found at last,
So after lapse of many days
Occasioned by the law's delays,
The famous suit is brought to trial.
The legal angel opes his vial;
(That is to say, friend Waterman Shouts to the world that court's begun;)
The judge with dignity assumes
That seat which no one more illumes;
Solemn and grave, except the twinkles
That now and then light up his wrinkles.
Within their seats twelve solemn triers
Sit listening to as many — liars.
(The counsel here I don't include,
This would of course be understood.)
Along the table, learnedly,
Five lawyers sit the case to try —
On one side two — on th' other three —
In numbers matched unequally,

Like, in the fight, the one dog who
Fought a bull-dog and puppy too.
There sits, severe and cold, the ex-
Attorney-general, whose specs
Alone can into mystery pry
Farther than many a lawyer's eye.
Then comes the jurisprudent sage
Adorned with learning as with age;
Who knows by heart each legal saw
And preaches you to death on law;
With coat unbrushed and hair awry,
Yet heart serene and humor dry;
Whose life and heart no wife e'er blest,
Yet never heaved a kinder breast.
To make a "Demarara team,"
Friend Oily Gammon's on the scheme;
A man who knows all legal wiles,
Yet wears the while such winning smiles,
He'll talk a jury's eye teeth out,
Nor they suspect what he's about.
Oh, happy that the public call
Could spare him from the nation's hall,
And leave him here to try this case, As well as try another race.

On th' other side, of gravest port,
Sits an ex-judge of County Court,
Who seems to view this strife of dogs,
Much as a Hebrew looked on hogs.
No one can doubt we godly are
When we have Parsons at our bar.
Beside him sits the plaintiff's leader,
Th' expert and wary special pleader,
Who proves that truth the adage tells
That says truth lies at bott'm of Wells;
Though some who claim to know have said
Truth sometimes gets up to his head.

Thus marshaled stood they — and they fought
As in such case such lawyers ought.
The parties watched, with gaze intense,
The fierce assault, the firm defense;
And as the battle this way swayed
The other party looked dismayed;
Then, as the scales turned, full of joy
He clapped his hands, and cried " stee-boy,"

And thus the drama found its close
In the same scene in which it rose;
The parties' bull-dogs 'gan th' affray.
Their lawyers' squabbles closed the day.
Thus ended in a fierce logomachy
What had begun a fierce dogomachy.

MORAL.

My tale has this impressive moral — Never back up your dog in quarrel.

GIDEON HALL.

The later generation of lawyers who did not know Gideon Hall of Winsted, in Litchfield County, will find it difficult to realize that such a man ever had a place at the bar. and, above all, that he should ever have been elected a judge of our Su- perior Court. His air was always an assuming one. and his language, especially in court, where he always seemed to wear a barrister's gown, was stilted and pedantic, and often ir- resistibly laughable in his efforts to be impressive. In ex- amining a witness he almost always prefaced his in- quiry by the remark, " I will now propound to you this inter- rogatory." Having inherited a moderate property, he was able, with such practice as he had, to keep a very respectable position in the village where he resided, and in which he lived from childhood to his death at near the age of seventy. At the time he was appointed to the bench our judges held once for terms of eight years, and were nominated by a caucus of the members of the General Assembly who were of the dominant political party. This mode of supplying our judges was hap- pily soon after abandoned for our present one of having the governor nominate them and the General Assembly confirm. Mr. Hall had a weak ambition for the place, and got it by a vote of the caucus. His term on the bench was an utter failure.

I know of nothing that better illustrates the intellectual idiosyncracies of the man than a report which he made while at the bar, in 1865, in a divorce case in which he had been ap- pointed by the Superior Court a committee to hear the evi- dence and find the facts. The report itself is worth preserving for the amusement of the bar. The case was that of Phoebe J. Tibbetts vs. Luther C. Tibbetts. I omit the first part of Mr. Hall's report. After stating some of the facts, it proceeds thus:

" I further find that, till his acquaintance with the said Mrs. Neal, in the fall of 1862 or thereabouts, the respondent's de- portment as a husband towards the petitioner was kind, but that from that time prospectively the respondent's former af- fection for the petitioner became gradually diminished; until now, largely attributable to the acts and intrigues of an un- scrupulous woman, the petitioner, wholly blameless for the result, has become the subject of his strong aversion; and that, before strangers and on public and other occasions, in a con-

temptuous and offensive manner, and without cause, he has repeatedly assailed the petitioner with language and epithets cruelly severe and opprobious. He refused to acknowledge her as his wife, and declared that he would never live with her more; that he would no longer furnish her with support or pro-- vide for her a home, and that she might go to her brother or to the Devil. He has accused her of robbery and burglary, and sneeringly called her ' that woman,' deceitful,' ' treacher- ous,' ' miserable creature,' 'wretch,' and ' liar.'

" I find also that since his acquaintance aforesaid with the said Mrs. Neal, protracted and often-recurring interviews be- tween her and the respondent were held, in evening and day- time, clandestinely and alone, in his and her private apart- ments, and with doors frequently locked; and their reciprocal caressings and kissings and street ambulations, and her per- sistently offensive intrusion, and improper advances and at- tention to the respondent in presence of his wife, and to her exclusion and grief, by him unrebuked, but tolerated and ap- proved, were, as between the said Mrs. Neal and the respond- ent, of common occurrence. And that, also, on two different occasions, the said Mrs. Neal, unattended by her husband (or friend save the respondent), and the respondent, in the absence and without the knowledge of the petitioner, traveled in com- pany, and at his expense, by land and water, and in their transit by the latter mode, taking passage by steamboat in adjoining rooms, with door intercommunication direct; and, when unknown in certain hotels in which they were guests, they registered their names as ' L. C. Tibbets and Lady. "

Judge Hall died several years ago, and left no children or other near relatives who would feel hurt at my account of him.

MARTIN WELLES.

Martin Welles was a striking figure, as well as personality, at our bar. He died in 1863, in his 75th year. In an obituary sketch of him in 30 Conn. Reports, p. 607, I thus described him:

" Mr. Welles had an intellect of great original force and vigor, disciplined by a thorough education, and well furnished by professional and general reading. He had at command an

elegant and classical diction, while a stately form and dignified manner gave an impressiveness to all he uttered in his forensic and public addresses. The great feature of his character, how- ever, was his will, which, for a firm and inflexible resoluteness, has rarely been surpassed. Strong" and clear as was his intel- lect, the decision of character for which he was remarkable was less the result of intellectual conclusions than of the de- terminations of his will. With him to resolve was to execute, and his resolution only gained strength from the difficulties which the attempt to execute it encountered. His inflexible adherence to his own determination almost necessarily brought him into conflict with others, and, as he had little tact in deal- ing with men, and never understood how to conciliate an enemy, he never became a popular man, even among his political friends, and in consequence failed to attain, in public life those high positions in the state or nation which, with so great abilities, he might otherwise easily have secured, and his failure to attain which was always a disappointment to him.

He rarely gave up a case that was decided against him until he had pursued it to the extreme limit of the legal remedy, and submitted to a final adverse decision only as to an ac- cumulated wrong that he had no further power to resist."

Soon after the above was published, Judge Butler, in the Supreme Court (then an associate judge, afterwards Chief Justice), leaned over the bench and said to me that he had been reading my sketch of Mr. Welles, and that my picture of him was a perfect one, and that he had been greatly entertained by it.

Mr. Welles had so often had cases decided against him in the Supreme Court that he had come to feel a personal dislike for all the judges, and was in the habit of calling the court " a hospital of incurables."

He told me that he made it an invariable rule never to accept as a referee any person who had ever in any circum- stances decided a case as referee against him.

At one time he had a case in the Superior Court in which he claimed for the plaintiff a right to make or keep up a dam across a small stream. The court made a finding of the facts, and decided the case in his favor. The defendant, however, carried the case to the Supreme Court, and that court reversed

the judgment of the lower court, and denied the right of the plaintiff to maintain the dam. When the decision was an- nounced at the opening of the court one morning, Mr. Welles was present. He had expected a decision in favor of his client,, and was fairly livid with rage as he heard the adverse decision announced. Wisely he seized his hat and bolted out of the court room. Every one saw the state of mind he was in. After he had gone, I scribbled the following lines, and handed them up to the Chief Justice:

The court below, as it would seem,
Decreed that plaintiff dam the stream ;
But this 's reversed on last resort,
And now the plaintiff damns the court.

The Chief Justice was greatly amused, and handed the squib to the other judges, who laughed heartily over it, and thence it came to the lawyers who were sitting within the bar, and, finally, got into the next day's papers.

CHARLES CHAPMAN.

Charles Chapman was, in his time, the most brilliant advo- cate of the Connecticut bar. Only the older members of our profession can have any personal recollection of him, as he died in 1869. He was at that time seventy years old. In an obituary notice of him, prepared by me for the law reports and published in the 35th vol. of Conn. Reports, I characterized him as follows:

" Mr. Chapman seemed to be in his natural element in the trial of causes before a jury. The more desperate his "case the more he seemed to be inspired by it. His resources were inexhaustible. His power in addressing a jury was very re- markable. In the examination of witnesses and the sifting of evidence he had no superior; it seemed impossible for a false- hood to elude him. His sarcasm, when he thought the oc- casion demanded it, was terrible. He had command of a mas- terly English, which he compacted into sentences generally of finished eloquence, often of dramatic power. His wit was always keen and ever in hand; nobody approached him in readiness of retort. He did not move his hearers, as the greatest orators do, by being profoundly impressed himself

and carrying them along by sympathy. The process with him was wholly intellectual. Cool himself, and with a perfect com- prehension of the subtlest springs of human feeling and action, he played with his audience like a magician. Wit, pathos, humor, invective, fancy, logic — all seemed to combine and take their turn in sweeping everything before them. In his delivery he was entirely natural, and his manner unstudied. He was very social in his nature, a remarkably good talker, and incomparable and inexhaustible as a story-teller. Many of his felicities of speech and story will long survive among" the festive traditions of the bar."

His perpetual flow of humor was well characterized by a rough countryman who one day was listening outside the bar to his talk to the jury, and was shaking with laughter. I knew the man well, and as I passed by him on my way within the bar, he said to me, " What a tremendous wiggle that creetur has to his tail."

To a sanctimonious Baptist clergyman, whom he was cross-examining as a witness, and who had said in reply to a question as to his calling, that he " aimed to be a humble candle of the Lord," Mr. Chapman said, " A dipt candle, I suppose."

In the old days of the County Court there were two brothers named Watson, from East Windsor, who had for a long time been in a quarrel over the division of their father's property, and who each had a suit against the other in almost every term of the court. The case was much like the old feudal quarrels, in that each kept a band of retainers, who al- ways came to court with their chiefs, and were always their witnesses, no matter what the case was. At the trial of one of these cases the witnesses of one of the parties were sitting in a long row on a bench along the wall, just outside of the bar, the railing of the bar covering up from view all below their waists. Mr. Chapman, who was standing counsel for the other party, was addressing the jury. He commended the pa- tience of his client, who had so much to bear from his malicious and litigious brother, who brought a suit against him at every term of the court, " and (said he) what is very remarkable, he brings the same set of witnesses with him at every trial. No matter what the case is, there always comes the same set of

loose fellows to testify for him. Why, gentlemen, look at them; there they sit —familiar as a gallery of family por- traits." Mr. Chapman said nothing of the other party that the opposing counsel could not have said of his own client, but he was not embarrassed in his invective by this hazard.

He was one clay asking the court to allow him to amend a writ in which he had discovered a serious error. At that time it was not so easy as in later years to get the court to allow an amendment without paying costs to the other party. Mr, Chapman closed his address to the court upon the subject with this " amended " quotation:

"To err is human; to allow an amendment of an error without cost is divine."

He told me that once in his early experience he was trying a case before a justice of the peace, and had to cross-examine a young woman brought as a witness by the other side. She had sharp, black eyes, was full of quick temper, and was greatly irritated by his cross-questioning. At last she stood mute, and refused to answer. Mr. Chapman repeated his question, but she still stood defiantly mute. He finally appealed to the justice, who told her that she must answer. At this she let off an answer that was enough to take one's head off, and said, "Have you got it now, Mr. Nimblechops? "

One of the finest incidents that I ever saw in the court room was what occurred in the trial of the action of Case vs. Marks in the Superior Court, about the year 1850. Miss Case, the plaintiff, was a school teacher in one of our country schools, and had, in some way, incurred the hostility of Marks, who set out to ruin her reputation and compel her to leave the school. The slander was of the worst conceivable kind. After bearing it a while, she brought a suit against him for it, and Mr. Chap- man was her principal counsel. The court room, was crowded with people from the town. Miss Case was a very modest and sensible looking girl, whose mere appearance was enough to show the extreme improbability of Marks's charge being true. Marks was a very tall, lank man, not at all prepossessing in his appearance. He set up the truth of his charges, and brought a set of vile-looking men to testify for him. They were thor- oughly broken down by Mr. Chapman's cross-examination, and her innocence was made clear by other evidence. In Mr.

Chapman's address to the jury he gave Marks a terrible ex- coriation. I have never heard a more terrific invective. The whole audience, outside of Marks's friends, was with him. In the midst of it Marks, thinking a little bravado would help him, rose up, high above the heads of the crowd, and scowled at Mr. Chapman. He sat in the rear of his counsel, at the other end of the table, bringing him a little in Mr. Chapman's rear, and some ten feet from him. Mr. Chapman did not see him for a moment, but the excitement in the court room was no- ticed by him, and he turned a little and saw* the tall, ungainly figure of Marks. He was taken aback for an instant, but very quickly gathered himself up, and stretching out his right arm and pointing his finger at Marks, he turned to the jury and said in a slow, shrill voice: " Gentlemen of the jury, behold the brazen statue of a SLANDERER." He kept his arm out- stretched and his finger pointing, and would have stood so as long as Marks had kept his position, but the latter soon began to settle down slowly, and finally got into his seat. The jury, of course, gave the plaintiff their verdict, and it was a heavy one for that day. One of the jurymen told me that Marks's at- tempted bravado added five hundred dollars to the verdict against him.

About 1845, when I had been about four years at the bar, I brought a suit for a Mr. Deming of Farmington (I then lived in Farmington) against a horse jockey, whose name I forget, which was afterwards tried in the Superior Court. I was alone for the plaintiff, and Mr. Chapman was employed by the defendant. The case was a very clear one for my client. It appeared that the defendant, who was a regular horse-trader, called on Deming with a fine-looking pair of black horses which he wished to sell. Deming said that he wanted a pair of gentle family horses. The defendant told him that these were just the ones — that his daughter, but thirteen years old, had several times driven them, and that they were perfect family horses. The first time they were brought up for Dem- ing to take his family to ride, they started off before the people could get in; knocked down a gate-post, and ran a mile before they were stopped, having utterly demolished the carriage. We found evidence, and had it at the trial, that the only driving of the horses that his daughter had ever clone was to sit in the

carriage and hold the reins while he had walked backwards a few rods in front of the team. When Mr. Chapman came to address the jury there was not an honest word that he could say, and so he entertained them for an hour with horse stories that kept them shaking with laughter. Finally he took up the subject of my horse — a fine animal, but singularly marked, having a white face and breast, and a darkish red color over the rest of the body. " Gentlemen," said he, "did you ever see Brother Hooker's horse? You go into nis stable and see him in his stall, and you would swear that he kept a red horse; you see his man lead him out, and you'd swear that he kept a white one. You see him coming into the city in the morning, and you would swear that he drove in with a white horse; you see him driving home at night, and you'd swear he drove home a red one." At every available point he would bring in the refrain, " Red behind and white in front," at every repetition of which the jury would explode with laughter. With this amusing episode he concluded his address to the jury. When I came to reply, after alluding to his anecdotes as having left him no time for argument, I said: " My Brother Chapman has entertained you very greatly, gentlemen, with an amusing description of my horse, and especially with his frequent re- frain of " Red behind and white in front." All I will say in reply is, that if, when he was a boy, his father had more often made him look red behind and white in front, it would have been better for his morals."

The jurymen and all the audience burst out into a loud laugh, and Mr. Chapman's pyramid of stories was all toppled to the ground. We got a good verdict, after the jury had been out but a few minutes.

A few years after I was arguing a case before the Supreme Court, with Mr. Chapman against me. There were some horse-trade elements in the case, and something that I said in my argument brought to his mind this little passage between us. He interrupted me by saying, " Hooker, tell the court that story about ' red behind and white in front.' " "Oh," said I, " that has nothing to do with this case." " Well," said Chapman, " the Chief Justice is fond of a good horse, and of a good horse story." Chief Justice Butler spoke up, " If it's a good horse story, Mr. Hooker, give it to us." So I told the

whole story, and the Chief Justice laughed over it till it seemed as if he would fall out of his seat.

RICHARD D. HUBBARD.

The character of Governor Hubbard, both professional and personal, has been sketched by me in an obituary notice of him in Volume 50, Conn. Law Reports, p. 604. I shall here speak only of certain personal qualities that were but little ob- served by the public, and which it is specially proper that I should notice in these reminiscences, as they brought us into very friendly personal relations.

Governor Hubbard came to the bar about a year after I did, and we were thereafter fellow-members of the Hartford, bar. I observed his progress in the profession with most brotherly interest, and, though he soon outstripped me in the race, it never occurred to me to regard his greater success in- vidiously. I saw less of him for the first ten years, as I was then living in Farmington, but I often met him in the court room, and on my removal to Hartford we became warm and faithful friends. Among letters that I received from him, especially in the latter part of his life, I find several among my-papers that I am sure will be read by the profession with interest, as exhibiting the fine qualities of his nature that I have adverted to. I take them by their dates, and with no attempt (except in one case) to give my side of the correspondence. Indeed, my letters to him were probably not preserved by him. The letters often show the occasion that called them out, and where they do not I thought it not best to occupy space with stating* the but half-remembered occasion.

HARTFORD, April 20, 1874.

My Dear Hooker,

I write to tell you how glad I am you are going to Europe — almost as glad as if I were going myself. No good fortune can come to you that I will not rejoice in. God go with you, my friend—bring repose to weary nerves and cudgelled brain — bring you back in health and safety, and preserve in your memory a kindly recollection of him who now bids you a loving adieu. May the ocean, perfidious to others of late, be kindly to you.

Believe me, with the most friendly regards, very truly yours,

R. D. HUBBARD.

HARTFORD, Sept. 16, 1874.

God bless you, John Hooker, and welcome home. Your friendly- words are beyond price. I used to rub against and know something o you when you were in practice.* But you seem to me, since then, to have held yourself aloof from your professional associates, which I have often and much regretted. Nevertheless, I have never allowed my regard for you — which is greater than you know — to diminish one hair's breadth.

I cannot see and feel and lay hold of the life beyond as you do. I know not if it be those glorious things for the elect which glorious old John Bunyan saw in visions, and those dreadful things for the non-elec which John Calvin eviscerated from his infernal brain; or, on the other hand, that " infinite azure" of Prof. Tyndall's, if anybody knows what that means. But what I do know is, that in what remains of the little span of the life that now is, whilst I agree with you in few things, or, at least, in few theological dogmas, I love you in all things as a man whose heart and life are infinitely better than his theology.

Accept, my dear fellow, a thousand asstirances of friendly regard from the poor groundling whose eyes see not the things which you see, and whose ears hear not the things which you hear, but whose eyes are not blind and whose ears are not deaf to the least proof of affection from his friends, and least of all from you, John Hooker.

Ever and truly yours,
R. D. HUBBARD.

JANUARY 1, 1875.

God bless us both, my dear John. The year of grace, '75, has over- taken us. Eheu fugaces, etc. It seems like yesterday or the day before that you and I took a ride together from Farmington in. 'Twas some petty business that we had there. For the life of me I can remember nothing of it. Only I know that, whereas before you had seemed to me all polar, you then opened up all tropical. You have forgotten it. Well, no matter.

'Twere something if I were ambitious, as the great cardinal was, to have such an "Honest Griffith" as you for a "chronicler." But no more of that "an thou lovest me." The earth is all glorious to me still, and the heavens infinitely deep and blue. I would not willingly come to "a little earth for charity" as yet. Nor would I have you. But if I should out-tarry you, trust me for a kindly word, my good fellow, if heart and brain survive.

Sam. Bowles is a trump, and publishes the best paper in the United States. God save all such, and let Ben. Butler go to his own without de- lay or hindrance, and with him all such as he.

Your friend,
R. D. HUBBARD.

* Referring to my acceptance of the office of Reporter of the Supreme Court in 1858, and my final withdrawal from ordinary practice in court.

HARTFORD, NOV. 29, 1876.

My Dear John Hooker:

Health and benedictions ! Yours with enclosure this moment re- ceived. Enclosure reserved, as per your advice, to accompany my cigar this evening.

Meanwhile, the blessings of the heavens above and the deep that coucheth beneath, and all other blessings in store for the elect (among whom I doubt not you are numbered), rest upon your honest head and thinking brain.

Your friend,
R. D. HUBBARD.

SUNDAY EVENING, Dec. 3, 1876,

My Dear Hooker:

[The letter is mainly taken up with a discussion of some points suggested by the " enclosure " referred to in the last letter. It then proceeds as follows :] Meanwhile, the years fly like weavers' shuttles ; the almond tree blos- soms and the sun. westers, and eras ingens itcrabimus a'qnor. See all that remains of my scanty Horace, brought to mind by the little that re- mains of my poor self. But what little remains, my clear fellow, and while that little remains, believe me, with the sincerest assurances of re- gard for one whose heart and mind I believe to be as honest as the day, and whose faith, unlike mine, lays hold on the high heavens —

Most truly your friend,
R. D. HUBBARD.

Mr. Hubbard became Governor of the state at the begin- ning of 1877. The following' note is in reply to one I sent him, congratulating him on his accession to the office.

HARTFORD, Sunday, Jan. 7, 1877,

My Dear John Hooker:

Any kind word from you provokes me to a kind acknowledgment, and so I thank you, my good friend, for your too appreciative note.

I was never intended for public life, and, I begin to think, for little else of any account. But hold me always for your friend and admirer and believe me, my dear fellow,

Most sincerely yours,
R. D. HUBBARD.

I find that I preserved a copy of a letter which I wrote Governor Hubbard in April, 1878, and insert it here as neces- sary to the understanding of his reply:

HARTFORD, April 7, 1878, Sunday P. M.

My Dear Governor Hubbard:

I like your Fast Day proclamation. It is first-rate. Do you, suc- cessor (and more and more worthy one) of the sturdy Puritan governors of Connecticut, turn your thoughts inward and study yourself, so as to

observe that your governorship (which may the Lord continue for many years) is doing a certain fine moral work upon you ? I have seen and re- joiced over it for many months. You are feeling the responsibility that the office carries with it, and are meeting It nobly. Even to my most friendly observation you have seemed in time past not wholly unwilling to shirk a good, many responsibilities that, rested on you as a member of society, and especially as a foremost man.

You would have knocked down a knave if he had jostled you ; but you did not seem to feel as if you had any special call to go around with a lantern and hunt up dishonest men in their hiding-places, and especially to pull off your coat and tug at the world to turn it over right side up. Well, now has come to you a special opportunity, and you seem both to see it and to feel its responsibility. I thank God for it all, and am glad that my humble vote helped to make the majority that elected you. Made, puer, nova virtute.

May the Lord bless you, dear Governor, and bless you long as Governor, and thus bless the world, and with the rest your friend,

J. HOOKER.

SUNDAY, April 14, 1878.

I do introvert, my good friend, and much more than you think, and I find myself without any real length, breadth, or depth ; but when you praise me I grow for a moment in my own estimation. There does not live on the earth a creature I would have asked to vote for me, even by the remotest hint or indirection, but I wish you could know how much pleasure it gave me when I learned I had your vote.

I am a shirk. I know it. No one else knows it so well. I can't tell you with what a reluctance, what a drowning bark, I came to my office. Being obliged to enter on its duties I have discharged them with inde- pendence and honesty. So much I dare say—beyond that I dare not. I have been ambitious not to shame the friends who have supported me. I have no other ambition. I was not made for a great man, or for public position. I lack all the elements necessary for public life. In other words, I am a shirk. That's just the plain truth, and I cannot make myself other than I am.

Now, my good friend, ten thousand thanks for your too kind words. Coming from you, I prize them as if they were of gold. I know you see beyond the curtain what I cannot. You touch the heavens while I grope under them. Serus redeas, etc.

With a world of friendly regards and grateful acknowledgments,

Truly your friend,
R. D. HUBBARD.

Governor Hubbard, in his first message to the General As- sembly, stated in very strong terms the injustice done to mar-

lied women in respect to their property by the law as it stood, being the ancient English law with a few recent modifications; and soon after he sent for me and requested me to draft a bill for a public act securing equal rights to women with regard to their property with the rights of men with regard to theirs. This required a fundamental change in the law of husband and wife, and an abandonment of the old idea of the superior rights of the husband. I drew the bill with much care, and on its being" submitted to Governor Hubbard. he accepted it without change, except that a. section in which I had provided for direct conveyances and transfers of property between hus- band and wife, he thought, in spite of safeguards which I had thrown about it, presented an opportunity for defrauding cred- itors, and this section was stricken out. This was the act of 1877 with regard to the property rights of married women, an act which very soon received, and has ever since held, the full acquiescence of the legal profession and the public, and still holds its place on the statute book without material change.

After the bill was passed my wife sent a copy of it to my friend Samuel Bowles, editor of the Springfield Republican.. In his reply, dated March 28, 1877, he speaks very strongly in approbation of the act, calling it a great step forward, and says:

We owe its success, first, to the right of the matter; second, to the agitation of the whole question, which has disseminated, the perception of that right; third, to you and your husband in particular ; and, fourth, to the fact that you had in Connecticut this year a governor who was recognized as the leading lawyer of the state, a genuine natural conserv- ative, who yet said the measure was right and ought to go. It is this last element that has given Connecticut its chief leadership. It is a bigger thing than it seems at first, to have an eminent conservative law- yer on the side of such legislative reform. With such things going for- ward in national politics and such a sign in the heavens as this in Con- necticut, we ought to be very happy, and I believe I am — spite of debts, hard work and fatigue, and more or less chronic invalidism. At any rate, I salute you both with honor and with affection, and am very faith- fully yours,
SAM'L BOWLES.

Mrs. Hooker sent a copy of this letter to Governor Hub- bard, from whom she received the following reply:

EASTER, April 1, 1877.

My Good Friend:

'Twas a " Good Friday" indeed that brought your friendly message. And what a gracious and dainty epistle Sam. Bowles does know how to write ! He is a good fellow, upon my word; full of generous instincts and ideas. He ought to be at the head of the London Times, and master of all the wealth it brings. Add to this that the Good Physician should heal him of his " chronic invalidism," and then — well, what's the use of dreaming?

Thank yourself and such as you for what there is of progress in respect of women's rights amongst us, I do believe the bill is a " great step forward." "Alas," says our friend Mr. Robinson, "it has destroyed the divine conception of the unity of husband and wife." As divine, upon my soul, as the unity of the lamb and the devouring wolf. Half the abasement of woman has been and is due to theology. Out upon it! half of it, I mean; and live the better for the other half. Pardon me, my good friend, that I am skeptical, I believe in half as well as I know how. God help my unbelief, for I grope.

But enough of this, I salute you, my good friend, with a thousand salutations of respect and admiration. I do not agree with you in all things ; still less with St. Paul's Epistle to the Corinthians; but I cannot tell you how much I glorify you for your courage and devotion to woman- hood. I am a pretty poor stick for anything like good work in the world; but I am not without respect for it in others. And so I present myself to yourself and to your good and noble husband, whom I take to be one of the best, with my assurances of affection and esteem.

Do you think your husband would ever have written that Epistle to the Corinthians ? I trow not.

Thanking you for your kind letter, I remain, my dear madam,

Yours very truly,
R. D. HUBBARD.

Governor Hubbard, in one of his letters, speaks about his dissent from my theological dogmas. It is only justice to my- self to state that our occasional conversations on religious sub- jects were almost invariably practical and personal. I never held with any tenacity, certainly in my maturer life, to the Calvinistic dogmas, and certainly never pressed them upon him. Perhaps I cannot better present to the readers of this memorial of my friend the kind of talks we had together on re- ligious subjects than by giving an account of a conversation one evening at his house, about 1875. He had invited me to din- ner. Mrs. Hubbard was absent, and after dinner Governor Hubbard sat down with me by the parlor fire, and we spent

the whole evening in talk. Our conversation ran over a wide field, but when we got upon the subject of religion we spent a large part of an hour upon it. He told me of the impossibility of his seeing " beyond the veil," as I seemed to do, while at the same time fearing those dreadful realities that the orthodox theology had so long held and taught. I told him that we could never have our eyes opened to divine truth except by doing our full duty to God and man. The Scriptures told us that it was by doing the will of God that we came to know the truth of God. Now (said I) it is very plain to me how you ought to begin if you would get this knowledge. You are an Episcopalian. How simple a thing for you every morning to get your family together and read with them your form of morning prayer. It is a very different thing from what it would be to begin with making an extemporaneous prayer. Just think of it; your children never heard you pray. I would not have that true of myself and my children for all the wealth that could be showered upon me. You don't know what a saving influence it might have upon your children. He replied that he did not feel as if he could do it. We talked it over at a good deal of length, he receiving most kindly and in an inter- ested way what I had to say; but I came away with the feeling that he would never make the experiment, and I think he never did. A friend told me not long after that Governor Hubbard had told him of our conversation.

A few years before his death there came into Governor Hubbard's life a deep sorrow — too deep to admit of any direct allusion to it on the part of the friends who would gladly have comforted him. I wrote him the following note:

March 30th.

Dear Hubbard,

Remember that my wife and I love you dearly.

Affectionately, J. H.

There came this answer.

April 1 st.

My Dear Friend,

I wish I could thank you and your wife as you deserve. But words are beggarly, and I am perplexed beyond measure. God bless you, my dear Hooker.

I shall remember your goodness with love and gratitude to the end. Ever and faithfully yours,

R. D.

Governor Hubbard died, after a short but severe illness, on the 28th day of February, 1884. The General Assembly was then in session, and on the announcement of his death elo- quent addresses in eulogy of him were made in each house. At a meeting of the Hartford bar, called on the occasion and held on the 29th of February, and quite fully attended, after several addresses had been made by other members of the bar, I arose and made some extemporaneous remarks, saying that after so much had been said, and well said, about Governor Hubbard's transcendent abilities, it was hardly worth while for me to occupy their time with remarks upon that subject, but that I would speak of the affectionate side of his nature, of which the public knew but little, and of him as my personal friend, telling- them of the overflowing cordiality of his oc- casional letters, and of his rarely writing me on professional business without adding, by way of postscript, an affectionate word. I then passed to another subject, upon which I spent most of the time that I occupied, and in which I was listened to with very close attention. After the meeting was closed one and another of the older members of the bar came to thank me for what I had said, and one leading citizen, not of our profession (there were many citizens present outside of the bar), asked me to give him my speech, taking it for granted that I had it written. I told him that it was wholly extern- noraneous and that I had not a line of it in writing. He then asked me if I could not write it out. I told him that I thought I could without difficulty while it was fresh in my mind. He then begged me to do so, and to put in every word that I said with regard to Governor Hubbard's attitude toward religion and the future life. When I got home I at once wrote out my remarks, and found no difficulty in following both my line of thought and the language I had used. My remarks (not in- cluding the introductory part of my address) were as follows:

" I now come to a subject which I approach with much hes- itation, and which I think I should not have ventured to touch but for the way having been opened for me by an allusion made by our Brother Sill a few minutes ago, in the closing part of his address. He spoke of the " halting faith " of our friend. I have long and sadly known of Mr. Hubbard's want of re- ligious faith, and have endeavored to lift him up into a clearer

perception of spiritual truths. The spiritual part of his na- ture he had never cultivated. He had a reverential spirit, but it was towards objects worthy of his admiration and reverence that presented themselves to his sight or vividly to his imagina- tion. Always an anxious questioner of the infinite, he seemed to get no response that he could interpret. He was pre-emi- nently a truth-loving man; he hated shams and pretenses; and if he could speak to us to-day he would say, " Tell the truth about me if yon say anything." I am sure he would wish me to say just what I am saying.

" To him the future life was all uncertainty. With all his imagination he could not see beyond the veil and fill the seeming void with realities. And so he came to dread that life. He loved this life — this green and beautiful earth — its intellectual enjoyments, its social delights, not a little its mere animal life, and did not want to leave it for another world of which he knew and could conceive nothing. He has often told me this. A few summers ago he spent some time at New- port, taking with him his family and his equipage. On his return he said to me: '' Hooker, I have had one of the pleas- antest summers of my life, but over it all there hung a shadow. The question kept coming into my mind, How long will this last? and what then?' In commenting a few months ago upon a poem of mine which appeared in the papers, in which I had expressed a longing for the other life, he said: 'How can anybody, with this green earth around him, be wanting to go over into the unknown world? ' To me that world does not seem like an unknown one. I live in it, it seems to me, more than I do in this. It is as real to me as this.

" Now with that world so near and so real to me, my mind has been filled, ever since I heard of Mr. Hubbard's death, with the thought of his experiences over there. I could not dwell on his eloquence, or his legal ability, or any of the things which his eulogists are so eloquently saying of him. I have been able to think only of where he is in that spirit world that was so uninviting to him. What has he found there? What is his condition there? I have wished, with inexpressible de- sire, to be there with him. It seems to me that I could hold his hand and steady and guide and comfort him there; that he would not seem so much to be in a strange place if I were there with him.

" Well, I should not have thought of saying all this if I had not been prepared to follow it up with words of comfort and hope. I was brought up on a stern old theology that, in con- siderable part, I utterly repudiate. I believe profoundly, it seems to me that I know as if God himself had revealed it to me, that our probation does not end with this life. As a pro- gressive religious thinker has well said: 'We are placed in this world to be trained, not to be tested,' All bitter experi- ences in the other world I believe to be reformatory. They may be of long continuance, but I believe there will be sweet fruit in the end. It is a dreadful mistake to lay up a burden of sin in this world; its weight will be terrible upon the soul over there. But our friend had a great soul — reverential, truthful, just, generous, affectionate — and such a soul will soon find something' in that spiritual world to which it will be drawn and which it will draw to itself. His progress may be slow, but it will be constantly an ascent. He had the most important elements of a great character, and character there becomes everything. I do not believe in any doctrine of im- puted righteousness. The soul must work its slow way up into a high spiritual character of its own. And that such a soul as his will do this I feel sure. So I think of our friend with sad- ness, but with a calm trust and an expectation only of good, and if I shall tarry much longer upon the earth I shall expect to be welcomed over there by a bright spirit, which, if I do not recognize it in its new form, will say to me: " Why, I am your old friend, Dick Hubbard."

Governor Hubbard was buried on Monday, the 2d day of March. On the Sunday preceding I wrote and sent to the Courant of Monday morning, where they appeared, the fol- lowing verses, with which I close these reminiscences of my friend:

To R. D. H. —MARCH 1, 1884.

Silent them liest in death's solemn calm,
Shaming the tumult in our breasts;
For 'tis the shadow of the lofty palm,
Not cypress, on thee rests.

From earthly pain set free and earth's defilence,
Thou liest with thy dear hands folden;
Thy speech in life was silver, but thy silence
To-day is more than golden.

The halls which have so oft thy triumphs seen,
Mourn their great victor passed away;
Yet in triumphant life thou ne'er hast been
Such victor as to-day.

Oh, questioner! who found in earth's dim ways
No answer to thy mind's deep quest;
Art thoti not lighted now by the clear rays
That shine upon the blest?

Hast thou not found th' immortal stream that flows
To heal the earth-stained souls of men?
And Him, who for us went to death, and rose,
And loves all souls as then?

Mr. Hubbard Obituary Addresses.

Mr. Hubbard's addresses at the bar meetings called upon the occasion of the deaths of members of the bar were often exceedingly finished and elegant. He never offered any per- functory eulogy, and, indeed, rarely spoke on those occasions unless the decedent had passed a long and honored professional life among us, or had qualities which commanded his admira- tion and affection. At such times his remarks were of surpass- ing interest and his language gave one a new conception of the richness of our English tongue. Yet he never seemed to attempt to be an orator. He spoke in a low voice, without gestures, and with the utmost simplicity of manner. One who has listened to him at such times can appreciate what I lost in outliving him, and thus never getting that loving notice of me which he promised in one of the letters that I have given in my sketch of him, in case he should " out-tarry " me. His fine addresses are wholly out of sight of all but the lawyers, buried in the appendices of the Connecticut Law Reports. If any choose to look them up, and they will well repay the search, the most noteworthy among them are those of Charles Chap- man in vol. 35; of William Hungerford, in vol. 39; of Chief Justice Seymour, in vol. 48; and of Loren P. Waldo, in the same volume. The concluding part of his address upon Mr. Hungerford is one of such rare beauty and interest that I give it at some length. Mr. Hungerford died in 1873, at the age of 86. He was more like the traditional English lawyer than any other lawyer whom our state had known. He never mar- ried. He never mingled in politics or went into society, and

he never held or sought office. He was wedded to the common law and familiar with all its abstrusities. As Mr. Hubbard said of him in an earlier part of his address, " His weapons were a full equipment from the strange, heavy old armor of Littleton and the Year Books down to the most cunning and newly-contrived fences and foils of forensic warfare," He had not the slightest oratorical power, nor even a pleasing voice, yet few lawyers were listened to so attentively by the judges or made an equal impression upon them. He sat all day and all the evenings in his office. Among his much-read books no one was so well worn as his Bible. Mr. Hubbard, in his address, had been presenting in much detail the admirable points of his professional and private character, and had expressed his belief that he was " the most learned lawyer at the bar of this state." He then proceeded as follows:—

And now when I consider this long life closed — these many years ended of eminent labor in the highest ranks of the forum — and nothing left of it all but a tolling bell, a handful of earth, and a passing tradi- tion— a tradition already half past—I am reminded of the infelicity which attends the reputation of a great lawyer. To my thinking, the most vigorous brain work of the world is done in the ranks of our pro- fession. And then our work concerns the highest of all temporal in- terests, property, reputation, the peace of families, liberty, life even, the foundations of society, the jurisprudence of the world, and, as a recent event has shown, the arbitrations and peace of nations. The world accepts the work, but forgets the workers. The waste hours of Lord Bacon and Sergeant Talfourd were devoted to letters, and each is infi- nitely better remembered for his mere literary diversions than for his whole long and laborious professional life-work. The cheap caricatures of Dickens on the profession will outlive, I fear, in the popular memory, the judgments of Chief Justice Marshall, for the latter were not clownish burlesques, but only masterpieces of reason and jurisprudence. The vic- tory gained by the counsel of the seven bishops was worth infinitely more to the people of England than all the triumphs of the Crimean war. But one Lord Cardigan led a foolishly brilliant charge against a Russian battery at Balaklava, and became immortal. Who led the great charge of the seven great confessors of the English church against the English crown at Westminster Hall? You must go to your books to answer. They were not on horseback. They wore gowns instead of epaulettes. The truth is, we are like the little insects that in the unseen depths of the ocean lay the coral foundations of uprising islands. In the end come

the solid land, the olive and the vine, the habitations of man, the and industries of life, the havens of the sea and ships riding at anchor. But the busy toilers which laid the beams of a continent in a dreary waste, are entombed in their work and forgotten in their tombs.

Yet the infelicity to which 1 have alluded is not without its compensa- tions. For what, after all, is posthumous fame to him who brought nothing into this world and may carry nothing out? The dead leave behind their reputations alike with their estates. A man may be libeled. to-day as a fool, a fanatic, and a knave, and to-morrow his libelers sneak into his funeral procession, and the chief magistrate of forty millions of freemen begs the honor of two feet of space at his obsequies. It is the old story — the tax which posthumous fame so often pays for its title — a garret and a crust in life, a mausoleum and statue afterwards. What avails it all? We may justly console ourselves with the reflection, that we belong to a profession which above all others shapes and fashions the institutions in which we live, and which, in the language of a great statesman, " is as ancient as the magistracy, as noble as virtue, as neces- sary as justice," — a profession, I venture to add, which is generous and fraternal above all others, and in which living merit is appreciated, in its day, according to its deserts, and by none so quickly and so ungrudg- ingly as by those who are its professional contemporaries and its com- petitors in the same field. We have our rivalries — who else has more?

— but they seldom produce jealousies. We have our contentions — who else has so many? — but they seldom produce enmities. The old Saxons used to cover their fires on every hearth at the sound of the evening curfew. In like manner, but to a better purpose, we also cover at each nightfall the embers of each day's struggle and strife. We never defer our amnesties till after death, and have less occasion, therefore, than some others to deal in post mortem bronzes and marbles. So much we may say without arrogance of ourselves — so much of our noble profession.

No better proof and illustration can be found than in the life just closed — a life clear and clean in its aims — full of busy and useful labors — void, I. dare believe, of offense toward God and man, and crowned in its course with that three-fold scriptural blessing — length of days, and riches, and honor.

SAMUEL BOWLES.

Mr. Bowles, as editor of the Springfield Republican and as a great journalist, was too well known in his lifetime, and is too well remembered, to need any notice from me. It is only as a warm-hearted personal friend that I wish to speak of him. He was a good hater, but was one of the truest and best of friends, and it was my felicity and that of my wife to know this gracious side of his nature. We had, one or the other of us,

sometimes both together, letters from him, written often only to convey his good will, but sometimes to tell us, in an ex- asperated way, what he thought of some public men and meas- ures — these letters, however, often freighted with a large con- tingent of kindly feeling for us. Almost all were written at a moment of release from overburdening editorial care and work, or when, overburdened with such work, his mind sought relief in friendly correspondence or companionship. I shall omit all that do not bear directly on these personal relations. Those which I publish were, with one exception, written within the last four years of his life. The earlier ones, so far as they have been preserved, deal more with political and reformatory mat- ters in which he was in hearty sympathy with us. I give one of these earlier letters, addressed to Mrs. Hooker. The Governor Brown to whom he refers is Governor B. Gratz Brown of Mis- souri, to whom she had written an earnest letter on woman suffrage, which he had strongly advocated.

SPRINGFIELD, April 19, 1872.

My Dear Mrs, Hooker:

I thank you for sending me your note to Gov. Brown. I have taken a copy of it, and, unless you forbid me before, I shall publish it in the Republican next week. It is a good item in the general agitation, of which there has got to be a good deal more than you imagine before the end is achieved. You will get nothing from any party this year. Such a revolution as we propose is not won in a day or a year. It is a long road and through much prayer and labor. But your hope and courage are splendid, and I watch their demonstrations with much interest.

I am yours very cordially,
SAM'L BOWLES.

In the fall of 1874 I spent a Sunday with him. My wife was spending the winter in Paris, and I felt a great desire for a few hours of his companionship. We spent the whole day at his house together, intermingling rest and conversation. I arranged to go back Monday morning by a very early train, getting my breakfast after I got home. On going to my room I found some refreshments for the early morning on a stand by the head of my bed, with this note: " Dear J. H.—Break the egg into the tumbler, stir, and drink it. Come again, and we won't talk of anything serious. I am ashamed to have spoken of my light troubles. S. B."

Early in 1875 Mr. Bowles had on his hands a very serious libel suit, brought by one Phelps, upon whose transactions lie had commented very severely in his paper. He felt the burden of the suit greatly. At this time he wrote me this letter:

SPRINGFIELD, April 22, 1875.

My Dear Mr. Hooker:

Come up Saturday and spend this Sunday with me. 1 am very much absorbed in my great libel suit. But I want you now for two reasons — first, as a distraction and comfort, and second, to see if I can't squeeze a little help out of you. I want all the legal knowledge of my learned friends, and all their aid and comfort. It is a good suit and we have a good case. My chief anxiety now is to make the court let in our evidence. Anyway, come up.

Yours very cordially,
SAM'L BOWLES.

The suit came to trial soon after, and resulted in a victory for Mr. Bowles. I had left for Europe in. May, joining my wife in Paris, where she had spent the winter. While there, seeing in the Weekly Republican, which I had sent to me while abroad, that he had gained his suit, I wrote him a letter of congratulation. I had written him, before leaving home, of my intention to go abroad for the summer. In my letter from Paris I had commended his pluck in fighting the libel suit, and told him of my lack of the fighting spirit and my disposition to run away like a coward rather than stay and fight. He replied as follows:

SPRINGFIELD, June 18, 1875.

My Dear Mr. Hooker:

I am indebted to you for two very kind and sympathetic notes. They did good in the full measure of their intent. It was a great victory in the libel suit — a greater one every way even than appears on the surface. We should have had the letter of the law as well as the spirit, but the spirit was so sweeping that it killed the letter, and set up the Republican before our local public as no other incident in its history ever did.

I am ashamed not to have seen you before you went. I did not realize that your time had come, and the preparation for the suit which was very much in my own hands, absorbed all my spare time and thought during the spring.

I am struggling, as usual, with an adverse head. "You know how it is yourself." But I peg away after my incoherent fashion, and don't seem to have the slightest "encouragement of death."

I am glad both you and your wife are over there. It is the best place for me also. But I cannot well get away this summer, though there is a chance that I may repeat last year's run. By the way, is your wife to remain abroad next winter, and if so, where ? Tell me that when you speak next.

I hope Switzerland will restore your self respect. I never knew a man who pretended to be such a coward, however, that could fight so like the devil when the hour came. I would bet odds on you against the whole Beecher family now.

Mrs. Bowles joins me in heartiest remembrances to both Mrs. Hooker and yourself. If you come across any of our children or grandchildren in Europe, embrace them for us. Anyway, believe me always

Very cordially yours,
SAM'L BOWLES.

My wife and I returned from Europe in the fall of 1875. The next letter from him that I find is as follows:

SPRlNGFIELD, Dec. 21, 1875.

My Dear Hooker:

* * * I wish you and Mrs. Hooker would come up to see us, together or one at a time. You are pretty absorbing people, and if you come together I might have to set you to quarrelling with each other by way of relief to myself. Tell madame I think " the cause " is growing, but I don't believe we shall elect a woman president next time. Moody and Sankey don't seem to have helped Brooklyn very much.

Yours very cordially,
SAM'L BOWLES.

On the 7th of January, 1876, I received the following tele- gram from him:

You and Mrs. Hooker come up to-morrow and make us happy.

SAM'L BOWLES.

On the 31st day of July, 1876, I received the following note from him, in reply to an urgent invitation that I sent him to come down and see us:

SPRINGFIELD, July 31, 1876.

My Dear Hooker:

I could neither go to you nor answer promptly, being at Boston try- ing to make a president for Amherst College. My family are scattered about the country in various places, and between running these various detachments and a daily newspaper, and keeping myself in tolerable harmony, I find very little spare time on my hands. Nevertheless, I am very glad you want to see me. I certainly want to see you, and I will, somehow and somewhere, before the year gets on to ripeness.

I hope you are making up your mind to Tilden's election. It looks to me almost as certain as the fall frosts.

"With much regard to Mrs. Hooker, I am yours very heartily,

SAM'L BOWLES.

The next letter I find is the following:

SPRINGFIELD, March 26, 1877.

My Dear John Hooker :

Won't you send me a copy of the law which you and Gov. Hubbard have got through the legislature on the rights of married women ? What I see of it indicates a real and healthy advance, the greatest triumph of the new dispensation that has yet been achieved.

Yours very cordially,
SAM'L BOWLES.

My wife sent Mr. Bowles a copy of the law, and an inter- esting letter from him in reply and one from Governor Hub- bard to my wife on the subject, arc given in the chapter on Governor Hubbard, ante pages 57, 58.

A little later Mr. Bowles wrote me as follows in reply to an urgent invitation that he make us a visit:

SPRINGFIELD, Aug. 16, 1877.

My Dear Mr. Hooker:

It is hard to resist such an invitation, but it is impossible now to accept. Mrs. Bowles worried herself because of a sick grandbaby into her own bed, and hasn't left her room for three weeks, and I have be- come so miserably dyspeptic this summer that I cannot trust myself to another table and another bed. But if Saturday is a tolerable day and I am in a half- tolerable condition, I shall go down on the 12 o'clock train and spend the afternoon with you. I do want to see you and get new comfort by fresh contact with good people.

I am yours very cordially,
SAM'L BOWLES.

Mr. Bowles came down and spent the afternoon with us. I find no later note from him. A few weeks later he had a paralytic stroke and lived on, at times more comfortable, but in constant restlessness and discomfort, and often great pain, until January 7, 1878, when he died. He had given my name to his family among those of friends whom he wished specially invited to his funeral. A very interesting memorial service was afterwards held, to which my wife and I were invited, and which was largely attended by his friends.

A strong, earnest soul, that had had an intense hold on life and on public interests, and was ready for any contest that the assertion of the right made necessary, but with a constant, and sometimes pathetic, outreach for sympathy and com- panionship, passed to the greater life when he departed.

SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY.

Soon after I came to the bar (which was in 1841) I read with great interest in one of our American magazines a review of the life of Sir Samuel Romilly, an eminent English chancery lawyer. The memoir was in two volumes, edited by two of his sons; one of whom, Sir John Romilly, was afterwards Master of the Rolls. Sir Samuel was born in 1757, and died in 1818. Not being able to find the work in this country I sent to London for it, and after procuring it read and re-read it with great interest.

Sir Samuel was of Huguenot descent, of a family that fled from France to England at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685. His later ancestors were jewelers, who ac- quired considerable property, and he received a good educa- tion, though not a university one. He entered Gray's Inn as a student for the bar when twenty-one years old, and after ad- mission to the London bar pursued his profession with great success, attaining the foremost rank at the chancery bar, his professional gains at the height of his practice being said to have averaged £14,000 a year. He was a man of the highest professional and personal honor. In the course of his advance- ment he had reached the point where, at the next vacancy, he was regarded, and regarded himself, as entitled to the position of Lord High Chancellor. The memoir is made up largely of extracts from his journal, and it appears from frequent entries upon it that he was looking forward with an honorable ambi- tion and pride to the Lord Chancellorship. As is generally known, the Chancellor presides in the House of Lords, and has an important influence on legislation. When, at last, the ex- pected vacancy came, the king, George IV, sent for Sir Samuel, and told him that he was prepared to put the great seal into his hands, but that if he did so he should expect him to do what he could to secure the passage of an act that was pending be- fore the Lords, and which he desired to have passed. It was

some act extending or strengthening the king's prerogative, and was not approved by Sir Samuel. He said to the king: "' I know, your Majesty, what the act is. I have already considered it, and I cannot support it." The king replied that he could not have the great seal except on the condition of his support- ing it. " Then (said he), your Majesty, I decline it." And thus he let the great office pass to other hands — understand- ing clearly that his loss of it now was a final sacrifice of it. And he never had another offer of it.

He was in Parliament for several years before his death (1818), and while there introduced, and to a considerable ex- tent worked through, the series of enactments known to this day as " The Romilly Acts," the object of which was to miti- gate the severity of the criminal law of England. When he began the church and all society were against him. It was the nearly universal belief that the letting up on the punishment of crime would only increase crime. A few thinking men were with him, but he was substantially alone in his undertaking. He began with introducing a single measure, which was voted down overwhelmingly. At the next session he introduced the same bill again, and another for another amendment of the law. The latter would be voted down by an overwhelming majority, and the former by a reduced majority. After a while they began to fall in, and then at every session one meas- ure and another would be carried through. At his death a con- sirable part of the legislation that he sought had not yet reached success, but it was all so well on its way that the whole was soon after carried through.

I regarded Sir Samuel with so great admiration, and in- deed reverence, that I determined if I ever went to England to look up his sons, and especially Sir John, then a chancery judge, and to visit his rooms in Gray's Inn and his professional haunts. No Englishman has gone into my life as he has, un- less I place by his side Dr. Thomas Arnold, of whose memory I am equally a worshiper.

In 1857 the British government had some important litiga- tion in the Superior Court at Hartford. It grew out of a large contract with Robbins & Lawrence, of Hartford, for the manu- facture of breech-loading rifles for the English army. The case was heard at very great length before a committee, and

in one form and another went five times to our Supreme Court. A Mr. Whittaker, of Brooklyn, N, Y., a practitioner at the New York bar, was general counsel for the British govern- ment, while I was retained as local counsel. As the case grew more serious and difficult, Thomas C. Perkins, Esq., was em- ployed with me, and later, Franklin Chamberlin, Esq. Mr. Whittaker was an English lawyer who came to New York to practice his profession. During the pendency of this litiga- tion, which lasted several years, I spent a summer in Europe, On my informing Mr. Whittaker at one time when he was in Hartford of my intention to do so, he said that he could give me letters of introduction to friends in London, and that when he got home he would write some for me. Not long" after a package of letters came, and with them one to myself, in which he said that he had sent me, among others, a letter to his cousin, Sir John Romilly. The letter to Sir John I then read, and found it addressed him as " Cousin John." In it he spoke very kindly of me as a lawyer of Hartford, and as having been retained by the British government in an important case in the courts there. I can hardly express my surprise and pleas- ure at having the way thus opened for me to the Romilly fam- ily. Mr. Whittaker explained to me his relation to Sir Samuel when I next saw him. His mother was sister of the wife of Sir Samuel, and he himself had spent months in his family, and he and Sir John had been playmates in childhood, and later, schoolmates.

Of course I set out, soon after reaching London, to avail myself of Mr. Whittaker's letter to Sir John. It was now in the early summer. The court over which Sir John presided was known as the Rolls Court, as his title was " Master of the Rolls." It was a chancery court of the higher order. I went to the court room a half hour before the time of opening court, and found his secretary in the parlor attached to the court room, to whom I made known the object of my call. He said the judge would not come in till a few minutes before the time for opening the court, and advised me to come in in the afternoon, just before the adjournment, after which the judge would be at leisure. I did so, and sat a half hour looking on with great interest as he dispensed justice. When the hour of adjourn- ment was reached the court was formally adjourned till the

next morning, and the judge disappeared through a private door near the bench, that led into the parlor. Another door opened into the same room from the public part of the court room, and, after waiting for a few minutes, I went to it and rang the bell. His secretary appeared and asked me to walk in and take a seat, I handed him the letter for the judge, which he carried to him in. an inner parlor, which seemed to be his private room. Very soon he came back and said the judge wished me to come right in, I did so, and he received me most cordially. He was glad to hear from me about his cousin Whittaker, and I told him of my great: admiration and rever- ence for his father. This greatly interested him, and we spent a half hour in talking about Sir Samuel. In this conversation he told me some of the facts which I have before stated, and particularly about his labors in Parliament for the improvement of the criminal law. With regard to these he mentioned this occurrence: Sir Samuel, after years of labor in the cause, had reckoned confidently on carrying through a certain very important measure, the passage of which was the more im- portant as he was expecting to leave Parliament. When the vote was taken it was defeated. He felt it keenly, and in a short speech upon some motion which he made in the matter, told the house how disappointed and depressed he felt. " But (said he), my labor has not been lost, for the effort that I have made and which has failed, will inspire some other man to make an effort that will succeed." This utterance has vibrated in my soul through nearly forty years, a perpetual inspiration. I shall be well paid for the trouble I have taken in writing out this story if I can pass on its inspiration to others.

DR. THOMAS ARNOLD.

In my early manhood I read the life of Dr. Arnold by Canon Stanley. It was made up largely of his letters. The volume was large and, with the little time I had for such reading, I had it on hand for nearly two months. As I neared the end of it I remember thinking how I should have liked to have it run on indefinitely, keeping me for years in the companionship of the noble man, and permitting me to drink constant, drafts of inspiration from his life and thoughts. No two Englishmen have gone into my life as Dr. Arnold and Sir Samuel Romilly have done. Of the latter I have just spoken.

In the summer of 1872 I was in England with my daughter, Mrs. Burton, her cousin, Miss Kate Foote, Rev. Dr. N. J ton, and Senator Joseph R. Hawley, We were at one time all together at Bowness, on Lake Windermere, and arranged lor a drive through the lake district to Keswick, about twenty miles. As we passed through Ambleside we learned, by inquiry of our driver, that by going a little out of our way we could pass by Fox Howe, the favorite residence of Dr. Arnold. His widow, the driver told us, was living there, with an unmarried daughter. We soon reined up before the gate, from which a carriage drive led to a tasteful stone mansion, which stood among wooded and picturesque grounds. After sentimental- izing a few minutes over the scene I asked them if any of them would go in with me. They all declined and thought it would hardly do for me. But I told them I was going to call, even if I had to do so alone. They agreed to wait for me, and I went in at the gate, and was soon at the door. Upon my ring- ing the bell a. servant came to the door, who told me that Mrs. Arnold was in, but was at breakfast. It was now about 9 o'clock. I took out my card and wrote on the back of it, " Will Mrs. Arnold see for a moment an American gentleman who worships the memory of Dr. Arnold?" I was shown into a parlor, and in a moment Miss Arnold, a lady of about fifty, came in, reaching out her hand most cordially to me, and say- ing that her mother was greatly pleased with my call, and would be in in a moment. And very soon the old lady came in, reach- ing out both her hands, and with the tears rolling down her cheeks. I have to confess that my cheeks were wet all through. our brief interview. She seemed delighted at my visit, and hardly willing to let me go. She showed me a portrait of Dr. Arnold, the best, she said, that was ever painted of him, and gave me a photograph of it; also the desk at which he wrote and the chair in which he used to sit at it. I had to hasten my departure, as my party would get impatient, but I had in the brief quarter of an hour that I spent there one of the most ten- der and inspiring experiences of my life.

I told my friends, when I got back to the carriage, what a delightful time I had had, and what they had lost, but I am strongly of the impression that if we had trooped in as a com- pany of tourist sight-seers it would have vulgarized and utterly spoiled the whole affair.

WILLIAM M. EVARTS.

Mr. Evarts was a classmate of mine at Yale, in. the class of 1.837. WE Were second cousins, and in. vacations he was occa- sionally at my father's house in Farmington, He and Colton of our class made, with me, a trio who were specially intimate, one or the other of them being my very frequent companion in my walks. There was at that time a great propensity among us all for pun-making — the more extravagant the pun the better, and there was very little scruple about appropriating each other's puns. One morning after breakfast Evarts and I were taking a walk together, and, in passing through Meadow street, I saw across the way a house with a very long stoop ex- tending" out from its rear end, Said I, pointing to it, Evarts, that is a stoop-endous house," "Good," said he; "good." We passed on, and soon got round to our rooms. The next morning Colton called at my room right after breakfast, and asked me to go for a walk. I started out with him, and asked him where we should go. " Let's go down this way," said he, pointing to- wards Meadow street. " Oh (said I), I went down there yes- terday morning and would rather go some other way." " No (said he), let's go down there." So I yielded, and we started in that direction. As we came to corners he elbowed me around them, and finally got me into Meadow street, opposite the house with the long stoop. " Look there," said Colton, " that is a stoop-endous house." " I know it is," said I. " But that is not your pun." " Well," said he, " I own up. It isn't my pun; it's Evarts's." " Evarts's pun?" said I. " No, it is not. It's mine, and I made it to Evarts only yesterday morning." " Good! " said he. " Why, Evarts came to my room yesterday evening just before dark, and asked me to go to walk. I told him I did not feel like it, but he pressed me, and I started out. 'Where shall we go?' saicl I. 'Down this way,' said he, pointing in this direction. ' No (said I); one of my last walks was down there. Let's go another way.' ' No (said he); I want to walk this way.' So we started off, and he navigated me around the corners, till we found ourselves here, when he pointed to that house and said, ' Colton, that's a stoop-endous house.' "

The Linonian Society at Yale celebrated in 1853 its cen- tennial anniversary. Mr. Evarts delivered the commencement

address before the alumni It was a fine address, full of elo- quent passages. At the commencement dinner he sat on the platform with the faculty and numerous invited guests. The name of William Wyckham, the founder of the Linonian So- ciety, was specially honored on the occasion, and was displayed in large letters on the front of a balcony over the platform, which was filled with ladies. Just as we got seated at dinner Professor (afterwards President) Porter came to where my class sat, and asked me to speak to the toast of Wyckham, which I, not very wisely, consented to do. He told me that I should not be reached till I had had ample time to think the matter up, and that I should follow John Van Buren, who was to respond to the toast to the " Linonian Society." I at once began to get together what little scraps of thought I could on the subject, and before the speaking had laid out a little speech which I thought would do. My anxiety over the matter, however, spoilt my dinner. One of my points, and really my best one, was to refer to the name of Wyck- ham where it was displayed on the front of the balcony as being placed " a little lower than the angels," and " crowned with glory and honor." But as the speaking went on, one and another of the speakers, reminded by the prominence of the name of Wyckham on the balcony, and with the general in- clination on the occasion to allude to him as the founder of the Linonian Society, used up one and another of my scanty points, until I had none left but the allusion to the angels, and I thought that I could, at least, call attention to him in that place of honor, and leave him there and sit down. What oc- curred to bring my embarrassment to an acute stage is very well told in an article on Hon. Henry Barnard as the " Nestor of American Education," in the New England Magazine for July, 1896. The article illustrates Mr. Barnard's readiness and ability as a speaker by an account of what he did on this occasion. It had mentioned the fact that he was an enthusi- astic member of the Linonian Society, and had been its presi- dent, and that John Van Buren was to respond to the toast to the " Linonian Society," as Rev. Dr. Bacon was to that to the " Brothers in Unity," the rival society. It then proceeds as fol- lows:

"Dr. Bacon eulogized the work of his own society and pointed with pardonable pride to the Brothers in Unity, whose distinguished services to their country had entitled them to the honor of a place in the portrait gallery of eminent graduates. Having lauded the work of the Brothers, he proceeded in a vein of light satire to speak of the ' trifling services of a few other gentlemen whose pictures he saw around him/ referring to the members of the Linonian Society, and closed by looking steadily at the portrait of the founder of the Linonians for some moments with a puzzled expression, and saying slowly: ' Wyckham! Wyckham! I fail to remember at this moment why he should have a place of honor on these walls. I have heard his name mentioned, however, as the founder of some literary society while a student.'

" For some reason Mr. Van Buren left the platform before the conclusion of Dr. Bacon's address, and failed to respond when called by the chairman. The Linonians. however, were not dismayed. Promptly the call for ' Barnard ' came from all parts of the hall; and the young orator brilliantly responded to the unexpected summons to duty. The great occasion, the splendid audience, and the unbounded enthusiasm of his com- panions, aroused his best powers, and for a generation his speech was the boast of his fellow Linonians. In a few choice sentences he emphasized the estimate of Dr. Bacon in regard to the Brothers in Unity, and manfully acknowledged the in- debtedness of posterity to such able and noble men. Then rising to the platform he had thus constructed, he painted in still more glowing colors the labors and triumphs of Linonians, naming Kent, Hillhouse, Calhoun and others, reserving the founder of the society for his closing. Wyckham's portrait hung just below the front of the ladies' gallery. Pointing to- wards it and looking reverently at it, he stood for some time unable to proceed on account of the tremendous cheering of the Linonians, joined by the entire audience. 'What shall I say of him whose memory is revered by all Linonians?' said he, when quiet was restored. ' If it be true, as has been lightly said to-day, that his only claim to glory is that he founded our society, even Linonians will be satisfied when they know that for that supreme work so full of beneficence to humanity he has been placed " but a little lower than the angels.'' "

Mr. Barnard sat down, and the audience renewed its ap- plause. When this was over the toast to " William Wyckham " was read, and it was announced that Mr. Hooker, of the class of 1837, would respond to it. I had to get up, but could not. think of a word to say about Wyckham that had not been said, and was delivered from my terrible strait only by the sudden thought of that story about Evarts. So I said that William Wyckham had been abundantly honored by the speakers who had preceded me, who, in fact, had utterly used up all the ma- terial that I had mentally gathered for use in my speech. " But (said I), as I see my classmate and friend, Mr. Evarts, on the platform, I will give you a little incident of our college life that I think will interest you." I then told the story, which, at its close, drew out a prolonged roar of laughter and applause. After the applause had subsided, I added: " We have all been listening with delight to the eloquent periods of the orator of the day. I should have enjoyed them with the rest, but for a painful thought that haunted me all through. It was the fear that some of the finest of those passages may have been — borrowed." This brought out a new response from the assem- bly, in the midst of which Mr. Evarts arose and walked to the front of the platform, the applause bursting out again as he did so. When the noise was over, he said very quietly: " I re- member very well the incident that Brother Hooker mentions. Indeed, the story is one of my favorite ones, only as I tell it I stand where he puts himself, and he stands where he puts me."

HENRY WARD BEBCHER AND REV. DR. PARKER.

A serious controversy arose in 1852 between Mr. Beecher and Rev. Dr. Parker of New York, growing out of something which Mrs. Stowe had published with regard to the latter. Dr. Parker had been for many years a Presbyterian clergyman in New Orleans, and had been regarded, though originally a northern man, as a defender of slavery. Mrs. Stowe, after writing " Uncle Tom's Cabin," published a book called " The Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin," in which she presented slavery by a vast number of quotations from southern orators and writ- ers and from newspaper advertisements. Among these quo- tations and comments upon them she had published something

which Dr. Parker regarded as libellous, and he put the matter into the hands of a New York lawyer to demand a retraction and to threaten a suit for a libel if it were not made. I am un- able after so long a time to find what precisely the matter claimed to be libellous was, and it .is not important to the part of the controversy of which I shall speak.

Dr. Parker before this had left New Orleans and was now residing in New York. Mr. Beecher undertook the negotiation with him for an amicable settlement of the matter, to which he seemed inclined. It was at first proposed that a joint card should be published, but this was given up and an exchange of letters was proposed. Mr. Beecher then drew up a form of both letters and submitted them to Dr. Parker, ex- pressing his confidence that Mrs. Stowe would be satisfied with the letter which he had drawn as Dr. Parker's to her. Mrs. Stowe had given Mr. Beecher an outline of such a