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LIFE AT NOOK FARM.

In 1853 I purchased, with Hon. Francis Gillette, who had married my sister, a farm of a little over one hundred acres, lying just outside of the limits of the city of Hartford, on the Farmington road. It had belonged to William H. Imlay, who had held it for thirty years or more, and was called " Nook Farm," this name having been given to it because the river, now called Park river, curved about the southern part of it in such a way as to leave some thirty or forty acres within the nook. At that time there was a comfortable farm house quite a distance in the interior, but no other dwelling house. The city limits were extended a few years later and the whole farm taken into the city. It has now five city streets, well filled with city houses, the southern part containing several factories.

I built a house for myself on a street which we opened and called Forest street, Mr. Gillette occupying for three or four years the farm house and later building a large and very pleas- ant house on the same street. The neighborhood where we lived still kept the old name of " Nook Farm," and that name remained a familiar one for many years, and has hardly yet dis- appeared. The early comers were generally family or personal friends, and we lived like a little society by ourselves — each

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of ns making free of the others' houses, and each keeping open house, and all of ns frequently gathering- for a social evening or to welcome some friendly visitor, often sonic person distin- guished in political, literary, or philanthropic life, who had come to some of our houses.

There was a curious thread of relationship running through our little neighborhood. As I have already stated, Mr. Gillette and I were the first settlers, and Mrs. Gillette was my sister, Soon after came Thomas G. Perkins, an eminent lawyer of the city, whose wife was sister of my wife. Then came Mrs. Stowe, another sister, who at first built a house on another part: of the farm, but subsequently came to live close by ns on Forest street. My widowed mother early built herself a cottage next my own house. Elizabeth, daughter of my sister Mrs. Gillette, married George H. Warner, and she and her husband settled close by us. Next came Charles Dudley Warner and his brilliant wife, he being the brother of George II. Warner just mentioned. Joseph R. Hawley, then my law partner, but since a general in the war and senator in Gongress, met at my house, and afterwards married, Harriet W. Foote, a cousin of my wife. They also settled in our immediate neighborhood. Rev. Dr. Nathaniel J. Burton and his wife were for two years members of my family, becoming family connections by the marriage of my daughter to Dr. Burton's brother. This daughter also settled close by us. Still later, Mark Twain (Samuel L. Clem- ens) built, and has ever since occupied, a residence near us, his wife being the daughter of a very intimate and much loved friend of my wife. I ought not to omit William Gillette, then a boy growing up among us, the son of my sister, who has since become distinguished as an actor and playwright.

A writer in the Hartford Post many years later wrote an article on the life at Nook Farm. The old life had then essen- tially passed away. Some who filled large places in it had died or moved away, while with the city's growth to the westward, new families had come in and we had well-filled city streets in the place of the strictly rural region of thirty years before. The article is written by a very friendly pen, I think by one of the editors of the paper, and speaks of my own family in so compli- mentary terms that I feel much doubt as to the good taste of

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availing- myself of it for my present purpose. But it is so accurate in its description of the neighborhood life there, and it is so pardonable that I should love to be well spoken, of, that I insert the article in full just as I find it in the paper:

In the social and intellectual life of this city Mr, Hooker lias borne no small part. Aided by his gifted wife, his home early became the center of a group of cultured people, who recognized in their host and hostess a charm of manner and grace of conver- sation beyond what is of ten permitted even the most cultivated to enjoy.

There are some persons in Hartford whose recollections of Nook Farm and of its simple, gracious, and delightful hospitality thirty years ago, are among the pleasantest of their social mem- ories. The place itself, sequestered and yet not remote, was beautiful for situation, and furnished for comfort with a rare tact and taste. Mr. and Mrs. Hooker were in their prime, — cheery, radiant, optimistic, and full of sympathy with every intellectual and. moral movement that betokened progress. The faces and figures and voices of their bright and beautiful little children gladdened the household, and gave it an atmosphere of holy domesticity.

To be admitted into that family circle was to be made free therein, for freedom was its striking characteristic. Dullness could not abide there ; whatever gift or talent one had was some- how elicited and magnified. The brightness, versatility, and ever-kindling intellectuality of the hosts were commingled with such gentleness, sweetness, and Christian kindness that the guests were ever stimulated, encouraged, and refreshed.

There was no gossip, but incessant discussion, keen but kindly controversy, and the flashing to and fro of wit and humor. If any person of promise came to Hartford then, he or she was likely to be somehow drawn into that abode of truest culture. Tbere Nathaniel J. Burton was at home, and there for long periods made his home, most loving and beloved. He was a radical then in politics and religion. The wiseacres could not quite understand that brilliant, audacious, eloquent genius. But at Nook Farm his great mind and great heart were understood, His glory shone there.

When Charles Dudley Warner and his wife came to Hart- ford, it was the most natural thing in the world that they should be " at home " with " the Hookers," and there they first disclosed

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their intellectual and social charms. There was heard the im- perial power of her musical gift, and there was felt the power of his keen, subtle, humorous intellect.

What evenings one remembers there in the society of such men and women! If Hartford has ever, before or since, had a brighter, sunnier, healthier, more hospitable or quickening spot than Nook Farm in those far-off days, it has been fortunate in- deed. Great clouds were gathering in the political sky, but the inmates of that home regarded them with a faith and hope and courage that were contagious. Great excitement and tumults were abroad, but there was the peace of a certain glorious confi- dence in God and humanity.

Many a heart looks back to that time and that home with profound gratitude for the privilege of freedom in such an enlightened, cultivated, quickening, and altogether beautiful household. The war, as it went on, drew all loyal hearts into its vortex, and made great social changes. Head and hand were busy, here or there, and, before they were aware, friends were scattered, homes broken, and the old order changed. The hosts went out into larger ways. The guests also. But they who knew Nook Farm then can never forget it, —never cease to bless it and its brilliant, noble hosts.

OUR GOLDEN WEDDING.

Our golden wedding, which occurred on the fifth day of August, 1801, was of course a day of great personal interest to us, but was also, through the large attendance of our friends and the very kindly and extended public notice taken of it by our city papers, made an occasion of public interest. I shall avail myself in the space which I shall devote to it, very largely and perhaps wholly of notices of it given by the papers and of letters from friends. My readers will, I trust, bear in mind that the affection of friends easily runs into extravagance of expres- sion at such a time, and that even editorial tributes take on something of the prevailing hue, while I am sure they will pardon me for finding in all this overpraise the evidence of a genuine and earnest love, and such love I value beyond all trib- utes to any intellectual ability. The Hartford Post, in an edi- torial notice of our golden wedding, after speaking of me pro- fessionally in a very friendly way, says:

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Add to these attributes his wide acquaintance and the per- sonal esteem in which he is held, and it is no wonder that it can be said of John Hooker that he is the best-loved member of his profession in the state today.

No office in the gift of the people could give me the satisfaction that I feel in enjoying in so large measure the affection of my professional brethren and the public. Another passage I cannot forbear to quote from an article in the Courant, which pays, I fear, a too generous tribute to those qualities which have brought to me the warm, personal regard of my fellowmen. I have never sought their votes for office, but I willingly accept their suffrages in this form:

John Hooker's sterling probity, legal ability, and refined in- tellectual tastes, his ready wit, his literary gift in both prose and verse, and his unstained and winsome personal character, have long made him widely known, respected, and loved, not only in Hartford, but throughout the state. In respect to his wit, he is famous for his stories and sayings, his tendency in this regard be- ing once happily hit off by his commensal, the late Charles Chap- man, who declared him "a puritanical wag." Few come to his years who are so universally valued and beloved of their fellow- men, whose influence has made so unswervingly for righteous- ness.

Numerous letters were received by us before the reception, a few of which I will insert. I am sure the following will inter- est my readers:

SOUTH ASHFIELD, MASS., July 16, 1891.

DEAR FRIENDS: —

I shall not be able to "call" on the clay of your golden wedding, but will send my love with congratulations and good wishes now, lest some mishap prevent me as the day draws near. I mind well how you were made known to me in the breaking of bread under your own roof-tree many years ago, and can truly say that the glow I brought away in my heart has not yet fallen away to white ashes. I can even tell you what we had for dinner, —men's stomachs have a large memory, — but, better still, I mind my warm and noble welcome. So I shall come again in the spirit as a guest, and shall know it is Bible-true that in all true weddings like yours, when the golden wedding day comes round by God's high grace, then the glory of the maiden of twenty, shall we say, cannot be seen by reason of the glory

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which excelleth in the good old wife of seventy, while husband and wife together are changed from glory to glory as by the spirit of the Lord.

Time will have done this for you. when the good day comes round, and I only wish I could be there to clasp your hands and say by that token what my pen cannot write.

Indeed, yours,
ROBERT COLLYER.

WOODMONT. CONN., July 21, 1891.

DEAR MRS. HOOKER:

—Of course I shall attend the golden wedding, August 5th. You may make me groomsman, usher, or helper of any sort.

It was forty-two years ago last May that I came to John Hooker's office in Farmington, Conn., to study law, and made acquaintance with his beautiful young wife, who, nevertheless, seemed to me a very mature lady. It was my intention to spend hut one summer, or, at the most, but one year in the East, and then go to Wisconsin with my beloved friend and classmate, Guy McMaster of Bath, Steuben county, N. Y. I stayed in Hartford and Guy stayed in Bath, dying there about four years ago, having been long an honored and able judge, following precisely in the footsteps of his father.

Thanks to the invaluable friendship of John and Isabella Hooker, I went to Hartford under the best possible auspices, and in due time, through them, met that very sweet and noble woman, Harriet Ward Foote. You and John have every year and every day since been the best and truest of friends, with loving words of commendation for every honorable ambition and brotherly and sisterly sympathy in every misfortune and afflic- tion. What a multitude of people thank God they have known you both! A great many of them are in heaven, but the others will surely be well represented, on the 5th.

Edith joins me in the heartiest congratulations and good wishes. Sincerely yours,

JOSEPH R. HAWLEY.

ON THE TRAIN GOING TO DUXBURY, MASS., July 28, 189.

BELOVED QUEEN ISABELLA: —

Alas! when you and the Apostle John stand up to receive the congratulations of your world of friends upon that golden day, I shall be in the national capital by previous engagement of long standing, and so must miss one of the rarest pleasures that ever beckoned to one, like a friend's

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hand from the mirage of Delectable Mountains. Once I delib- erately lost the happiness of meeting James Russell Lowell, one of my most beloved poets, because we temperancers were hold- ing a convention ; but it costs more to miss sharing in the joy of an ideal pair whose lives and work, whose purposes and achieve- ments, predict the perfectibility of home and church and state.

I go to Washington on a Beecherian errand, — a Protestant sis- ter seeking the Catholic Total Abstinence Society of the United States, in annual convention assembled, to ask in rny capacity of fraternal delegate from the National W. C. T. U., that these ear- nest men and women send fraternal delegates to our White Ribbon Convention of the World's Women Temperance Workers in Bos- ton in November next. So I shall be consoled, although obliged. to miss the nectar and ambrosia of your golden feast, where wit, wisdom, and great-hearted love for humanity will mingle, by the reflection that in my work-a-day years I am trying to help carry out the beautiful teachings of you and yours.

In common with all the intelligent and, to some degree, right- minded of the human race, let me send to our King John and our Queen Isabella the love, the gratitude, and the good-will of one who expects to be happier in heaven, as she has been on earth, because you are there. Health, peace, perfection be your own, here and beyond, prays.

FRANCES E. WILLARD.

The Hartford Courant of August 1, 1891, four days before the reception, contained the following cordial notice of it:

The social event of next week will occur on Wednesday afternoon and evening, when John and Isabella B. Hooker will receive their friends at the City Mission Rooms on Pearl street. The occasion will be the fiftieth anniversary of their wedding. In addition to the hundreds of invitations sent to people in this city, one thousand have been mailed to those living in other places in this country and Europe, and the response has been such as to assure the attendance of a large number outside Hart- ford. The invitations read as follows:

John and Isabella Beecher Hooker cordially invite their friends to call on them (without presents) at No. 234 Pearl St., Hartford, Conn., from 3 to 9 o'clock Wednesday, August 5th,— the fiftieth anniversary of their marriage. 1841 — 1891.

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it was at first intended to make the anniversary, in view of the generous size of the rooms, a formal reception, it is now hoped that it will take the shape of an old-fashioned tea- party, and one of the features will be the presence of the grand- children of the family friends. At five o'clock all the little ones will be served a supper in the lower hall of the building', and at six o'clock the older folk will sit down to supper in the upper hall. Mr. and Mrs. Hooker will receive, seated under a tastefully- arranged bower placed in the large hall, thus preventing the fatigue incidental on standing for so long a time. Above the plat- form will hang portraits of representatives of both branches of the house, among them likenesses of older members of the Hooker stock, of Mrs. Stowe and Henry Ward Beecher. a portrait of Mrs. Hooker as a bride at twenty, painted by the Rev. Jared Flagg, father of the Hartford artist. Charles Noel Flagg, another of John Hooker at the time of his silver wedding, the painter be- ing Matthew Wilson, and an oil painting of Mary Hooker Burton, who may be regarded as the patron saint of the City Mission, the picture being the work of Caroline G. Rogers of Troy.

General Hawley will act as master of ceremonies, and will no doubt make appropriate remarks at the supper. Music will be furnished by Messrs. Richard and William Wander. Inuring the evening the guests will be handed a card, upon which are printed the words of Dr. Bacon's fine hymn, beginning "Oh God, beneath Thy guiding hand," which will then be sung by the company.

Another interesting feature of the occasion will be the pres- entation of a bride's loaf to Mrs. Hooker by the Equal Rights Club of Hartford. This is in recognition of the fact that Mrs. Hooker has been president of the Connecticut Woman Suffrage Association since 1869. and Mr. Hooker its efficient and faithful treasurer. The presentation will be made by Mrs. Collins, the mother of Dr. Peltier.

In one of the two parlors will be gathered the representa- tives of the lady managers of the World's Columbian Commission, of which Mrs. Hooker is a member ; in the other the distinguished woman suffragists who will be present. Among those of the former who will come may be mentioned Mrs. Trautman of New York, first vice-president of the commission, Miss Buselle of New Jersey, Mrs. French of Massachusetts, and Miss Daily of Rhode Island. Of the suffragists, Susan B. Anthony, Rachel F. Avery, Caroline G. Rogers, and Mary S. Howell, all leading members of the National American Woman Suffrage Association, will be on

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hand to offer felicitations to their old-time and long-lived friends. The Rev. Edward Beecher and wife will also be in attendance.

This anniversary of an old and honored Hartford family, which on both sides of the house is so well represented and adorned in the persons of Mr. and Mrs. Hooker, after a half cen- tury of good works and gracious living, is an event of unusual interest, and doubtless a host of friends will give them a royal greeting and hearty congratulations next Wednesday.

Next Wednesday will be the golden wedding day of as rare a couple as Hartford knows and loves, that of Mr. and Mrs. John Hooker, who will on that day meet their friends for a brief hour of greeting and congratulation on having passed a half century in each other's company as husband and wife, and for purposes more far reaching than has fallen to the lot of the ordinary wedded couple. It would be difficult to imagine a pair more widely dis- similar in the line of intellectual activities, or more closely united in their earnest efforts for the betterment of the race, whether it was for the abolition of slavery or the urging forward of the reforms of the later clays. John Hooker is to-day, without ques- tion, the best loved man of his profession in the state. . . But if he is held in the highest esteem by the profession to which he belongs, in the higher walks of social and intellectual life of the city he has always had a place which few can hope to obtain. His activity in all good causes, his independence in thought, and his ready willingness to put forth that thought when needed, is recognized, and no man is better known by those who have benefited by his work.

The following - card which I sent to the Courant on the 2d of August, will perhaps make plain the thoroughly unceremonious and democratic character which we intended to give to the occasion:

To the Editor of The Courant:

To prevent misapprehension with regard to the golden wed- ding of Wednesday, please permit me to say to our friends that in view of the very large number who have informed its that they will attend, it is desirable that, if equally convenient, and es-

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pecially if they bring children with them (which we desire), they call in the afternoon between 3 and 6 leaving more room for the many who can come only in the evening. Also, that the family friends, the guests from out of town, and the ladies assisting in receiving and at the tables, will sit down to tea together from. 6 to 7, taking also that hour for rest. It is impossible, of course, to make the invitation to this simple entertainment general. Then from 7 to 9 we will receive evening visitors. Mrs. Hooker and I reach out with great interest and sympathy towards young women who, as teachers, as artists, as seamstresses, and clerks, and in other industries, are supporting themselves, and often others who are dependent upon them, and of these we have invited a large number. The old servants of the family will be there as guests, and the honest traders with whom we have long dealt, and their wives and children.

The evening will close at 9. by the singing of hymns and a prayer by the Rev. Dr. Edward Heecher. Any who call in the afternoon will be welcomed again at this time if they choose to come. The whole affair will be unceremonious, and there will be no ushers.

JOHN HOOKER.

The Courant of August 6th contained the following ex tended notice of the reception which took place the evening before:

The Hooker golden wedding reception, which took place yesterday afternoon and evening at the City Mission rooms on Pearl Street, was unique and one of the most noteworthy social gatherings which ever occurred in Hartford. Seldom has a more distinguished company of people been brought together in this city, and in addition to this the whole occasion was marked by a cordiality, spontaneous good-fellowship, and unconventionality which made it enjoyable and significant. The arrangements were noticeable for good taste and felicity of effect, and reflect great credit on the ladies of the City Mission, aided by Mrs. George Warner and Mr. and Mrs. William Lorenz. Down stairs, Wright Hall was used for a supper room, two long tables being spread with sandwiches, cake, fruit, ice cream, and coffee, and the entrance hall was prettily fitted up, as was the business office. Ascending the steps, the large reception hall was given up to the inflowing guests. At the farther end of this spacious room Mr. and Mrs. Hooker sat on a dais over which evergreens were tastefully draped,

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while the dates 1841-1891 were prettily worked below the green- ery in rustic lettering. Mrs. Hooker wore a dress of silver-gray silk, with point lace overlaid with gold, the gown having been made for her silver wedding, and her queenly and beautiful ap- pearance was subject of common remark throughout the recep- tion. Beside Mr. Hooker sat the venerable Dr. Edward Beecher. and his wife occupied a similar position with regard to Mrs, Hooker. The walls were gracefully hung with golden-rod, nas- turtiums and black-eyed susans and other blooms. The Lucy I. Church parlors, opposite the large hall, were devoted to a family picture gallery. Here hung portraits of John Hooker, of Isabella when a young wife, of Mr. and Mrs, Hooker, parents of John, the latter painting being retouched by the skillful hand of Mr. Charles Noel Flagg, so that the dear old lady's face looked benignant under silver hair, and of John Hooker's grandfather and grand- mother, these last being drawings. The west wall showed a. crayon of Mrs. Stowe, a painting of little Isabel Hooker, daugh- ter of Dr. E. B. Hooker, by a Japanese artist; on the south wall were two handsomely framed diplomas, certifying to the election of Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Hooker to a membership in the Columbian Commission; and in the east parlor was a large portrait of Henry Ward Beecher.

Shortly after 3 o'clock the invited guests began to arrive, and by 4 a large number of people were distributed among the various rooms and halls. The number steadily increased up to 6 o'clock, when there was quite a thinning out, the nearer family friends, how- ever, and the relatives remaining. About half-past 5 Mrs. Virginia T. Smith, in behalf of the Equal Rights Club of Hartford, made a speech, presenting a bride's loaf covered with fifty shining gold dollars. This cake was afterwards cut up into small pieces and placed in envelopes, which were for the asking for all who wished this souvenir of the occasion. Mrs. Hooker rose and responded. She stated that Mrs. Collins, who had intended to make the pre- sentation, was unable to do so, but had written her a note in which she said that it was better to give her old friends, the Hookers, a little taffy now than epitaphy hereafter. Mrs. Hooker referred to the warm response which made all her work and anxiety over the reception doubly repaid, and she was followed by Mr. Hooker, who made a characteristically witty speech, which was heartily ap- plauded. A cordial invitation was extended by the Hookers to all who could to remain through the supper hour and to listen to some quartette singing by Messrs. Wander, Maercklein, Wright, and Bur-

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dick. All these gentlemen rendered a number of songs with good effect, and Mr. Wright of the Center Church gave several base solos, his fine voice being much appreciated and applauded. A unique feature of the evening was the presence of John Hutchinson, of the famous old-time Hutchinson family of singers, who was intro- duced by General Hawley, and who gave, in a voice still clear and sweet, some favorites of long ago, among them the banner piece of the Hutchinsons, " The Old Granite State." After supper for an hour there was a lull in the atttendance, and an excellent opportunity was offered to circulate more freely, to meet and greet the many famous and tine-looking men and women who fell into groups, sat or stood or walked from room to room. Then the numbers began to swell, and from 8 to 9 the rooms were crowded with a brilliant assemblage composed of Hartford's lead- ing citizens, and of many from abroad known throughout the land. Shortly before 9 o'clock General liawley addressed the company, saying that the reception would close by the united singing of the hymns printed on cards which were handed to one and all, and. by remarks and a prayer by Dr. Edward Beecher. At the top of the card in gold letters was to be read: " Golden Wedding Hymns, 1841-1891, J. H. and I. R H." The hymns selected were Dr. Leonard Bacon's " Oh God, beneath Thy Guiding Hand," and. Fawcett's " Blest Be the Tie that Binds." The hundreds present took hold with a will, and the result was hearty and inspiring. Then the aged Dr. Beecher, who only a few years ago mirac- ulously recovered from a serious accident, spoke with beautiful simplicity. It was, he said, a time of the loving sympathetic com- munion of friend with friend, of family with family, of warm social intercourse. But the sunshine of God was needed over and above this sunshine of friendship, and he believed that the divine leading was to be seen in the coming of Thomas Hooker to Con- necticut, in his founding Hartford, and in the honorable and blameless lives of these his descendants who were there present. He followed his happy little address by a heartfelt prayer, and then gave the benediction, after which the gathering rapidly broke up.

Thus closed an evening which it is safe to say those present will long remember for its delightful informality and its atmos- phere of genuine brotherliness. It was just the kind of a recep- tion which draws people together in an uncritical spirit, and it was a testimonial of the respect and love in which the leading representatives of this old and honored Hartford family are held

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by their fellow citizens and the country which they have made better.

Among the numerous friends from out of town who attended may be mentioned the following : William M, Evarts and Miss Evarts, William. Lloyd Garrison, John Hutchinson, the Rev. Thomas K. Beecher, the Rev. Charles E. Stowe, Dr. Edward Beecher and Mrs. Beecher, Miss Grace King, Miss Helen Clark of Poet Lore, Mrs. Frank Osborne, regent of the Daughters of the Revolution of Illinois, the Hon. Lynde Harrison and Mrs. Har- risoti of New Haven, Judge V. B. Chamberlain of New Britain, Professor Brown of New Haven, J. L. Hunter of Willimantic, B. H, Bill of Rockville, Mrs. W. F. Rogers, president of the Equality Club of Meriden, the Hon. S. W. Kellogg and Mrs. Kellogg of Waterbury, Mrs. Julius Gay of Farmington, Dr. Bulkley of New York, and Colonel and Mrs. Frank Cheney of South Manchester.

The World's Columbian Commission at Chicago was repre- sented by Mrs. Ralph Trautman, first vice-president, Mrs. John Pope and Miss Ellen A. Ford of New York, Miss Mary E. Busselle of Newark, N. J., Mrs. Jonas H. French of Boston, Mass., Miss Charlotte Field Dudley of Providence, R. L, Miss Frances S. Ives of New Haven, and Miss Couzins of St. Louis, secretary of the board.

Among the leading woman suffragists present were Susan B. Anthony of Rochester, N. Y.; Caroline Gilkey Rogers of Troy, N. Y.; Mary Seymour Howell of Albany, N. Y.; Rachel Foster Avery of Philadelphia, Pa.; Kate Trimble de Roode of Covington, Ky.; Mrs. Edward Beecher of Brooklyn, N. Y.; Sara Winthrop Smith of Cincinnati, O.; Charlotte Porter of Philadelphia.

Among the hundreds of Hartfordites who attended the after- noon and evening receptions were noted General and Mrs. Hawley,. Judge and Mrs. Shipman, Professors Hart and Pynchon of Trinity College, the Rev. Drs. Parker and Graham, the Rev. Frank L. Shipman, the Misses Stowe, the Misses Ely, Mrs. Samuel Colt,. the Hon. William Hamersley, Mrs. John Parsons, and Mrs. Webb, Dr. E. B. Hooker, Rodney Dennis, Atwood Collins, and W. E. Collins.

The Hartford Times of August 6th said:

A half century of happy wedded life; five decades of useful- ness; fifty golden years of love and labor side by side; these were fittingly celebrated Wednesday afternoon by the Hon. John

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Hooker and his wife, Isabella Beecher Hooker. It was such a golden wedding as is not often seen and seldom, indeed, falls to the happy fortune of husband and wife to celebrate. Some thou- sands of people were present, in the afternoon and evening; and a more mixed and curiously representative gathering than that of the evening, especially, is never seen. It was mostly a dress re- ception, and the general aspect of the great crowd was not merely respectable and becoming, but fashionable and stylish ; yet mingled with the great stream were sub-currents and little surface eddies of very plain, sensible, homespun folk, mostly of an elderly aspect, and not a few celebrities from near and far. The most striking and interesting person in the reception room (excepting, of course, the bride and groom) was the Rev. Dr. Edward Beecher of Brooklyn, author of The Conflict of Ages —an elder brother of Mrs. Hooker, born in 1804. Notwithstanding his age Dr. Beecher seems in good health and vigorous yet. Less than two years ago, in a rude and violent crowd at a railway train, he was thrown under the wheels and had one leg so badly crushed that it had to be amputated; a trial which he bore with singular cheerfulness and patience, and from which he rallied as quickly as would most men of far fewer years.

A. queer and quaint-looking elderly figure in the crowd was John Hutchinson, one of the survivors of the Hutchinson Family, of New Hampshire, vocalists, who with Judson, John, Asa, Abby, and Jesse, and all the rest, used to give popular con- certs, along in 1845, and later. His long hair, almost white now, fell down over his shoulders, parted behind in two divisions, and an immensely broad Shakesperian shirt collar lay wide over his shoulders. This quaint vocalist gratified the large company by singing some of the family's old and popular songs.

It was a notably pleasant gathering, commemorating a pleas- ant and unusual occasion. Mr. and Mrs. Hooker may well feel gratified at such a demonstration of the interest and respect felt for them by the people of Hartford."

The Hartford Post of the same date said:

John and Isabella Beecher Hooker ! These are the names which Hartford honored herself in honoring Wednesday. Fifty years have come and gone since their union was cemented. What changes have taken place since then! How different the Hartford of 1891 is from the Hartford of 1841! And no two people have

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given a greater impetus to the intellectual growth and broader thought in Hartford that these fifty years show than Mr. and Mrs. Hooker, Mr. Hooker comes of the best colonial stock, being the sixth lineal decendant of the Rev. Thomas Hooker, who founded Hartford. He is a native of Farmington, this state, where he was born April 19, 1816. His father, Edward Hooker, himself a grad- uate of Yale and a fine scholar, aided his son in his preparation for college. Mrs, Hooker may also with reason boast of her colonial ancestry, for on her mother's side she is a grandniece of Rttfus King, of revolutionary fame, She was born at Litchfield, Conn., February 22, 1822, arid was four years old when her father, Lyman Beecher, went to Boston. When she was in her 12th year her family moved to Cincinnati, Dr. Beecher having been elected president of the theological seminary. Four years later she came to Hartford, where her sister, Mrs. Perkins, lived; and here it was that she first met Mr. Hooker.

The C our ant of the same day contained the following" editorial on the subject:

The reception held by Mr. and Mrs. Hooker yesterday in commemoration of their golden wedding was an event which Hartford will long remember. In spite of its occurrence in the season when a large number of our citizens are absent from the city, the attendance was immense and must have been deeply gratifying to the noble and distinguished people thus honored. The causes for such a gathering are on the surface. The name of Hooker is an historic one in this community. Moreover, the present representatives of the family have lived long, useful, and unselfish lives here and have won distinction in different fields of activity. It was fitting and natural therefore that the completion of a half century of their married joys and sorrows should be signalized in a manner more public than is common on such occa- sions. It was also fitting that the country at large should furnish its quota of kindred spirits, men and women, who have been of benefit to their fellow creatures and have won a good name. But while the gathering was remarkable for the brilliancy and fine quality of the guests, it was also democratic in the best sense, All classes met with the one desire to give honor where honor was due. And the spontaneity and homeliness of some of the features of the occasion were at once a testimonial to the native dignity

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and simplicity of the hosts, and a recognition of their worth on the part of their cityftil of friends and well-wishers.

Such testimonials from our journalists, and the great one from the public in its larg-c attendance upon our reception, could not but be very gratifying to Airs. Hooker and myself.

SOME FURTHER INTRODUCTORY MATTER.

I wrote my introductory chapter, giving an account of my early life in Farmington, and had it put into type, before I pre- pared much of what follows it in the volume. I have since thought of sundry incidents of that period of my life that will, I think, interest my readers.

I will, first of all, correct an error in that chapter on page 13. In speaking of the old crown that had since pre-revolution- ary times kept its place at the top of the church spire, and which was taken down about 1826, I stated that it had not been preserved, but had disappeared and been lost. Mr. Chauncey Rowe, a lifelong resident of Farmington, and a year or two my senior, informs me that the crown was made of copper, and that when it was taken down it was melted and made over into a star, which was put in the place of the crown on the spire and remains to this day. Mr. Rowe also informs me that the shingles on the old church, which are still in service there after more than a hundred and twenty-five years, are of pine and not of cedar, and he gave me one recently taken from the roof in making some repairs, which I am preserving with much interest.

Among the incidents of my boyhood that greatly im- pressed me at the time, was a great Methodist revival. There had been no church of that denomination in the village, and I do not remember just how the interest was awakened, but I think it began with the labors of some earnest Methodist ex- horters, who held a series of meetings in a schoolhouse at the north end of the village. It took in very few of the regular Congregationalists, who were constant attendants on the ministrations of Rev. Dr. Porter, but seemed to get hold of almost all the laboring classes and poor people, the great ma- jority of whom rarely attended church, and it probably did

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much good among them. The Methodist denomination is now one of intelligence and respectability, with its institutions of learning and well-educated ministry, but at that time it had, at least in Connecticut, a low grade among religious denomina- tions as to the intelligence and social position of its members. Their evening meetings, which, during the revival, were held almost every evening, filled the schoolhouse to overflowing", and were often attended by me with a boyish interest in what seemed, and probably was, the extravagance of the perform- ances. Women spoke, in exhortation and prayer, as freely as the men, an. utter novelty to me then, but the beginning of a vast improvement in the conduct of our prayer meetings. Some very grotesque blunders were made by some of the speakers. There was one who was very prominent among them, and who came to be quite an authority in religious matters. His name was Warren. He was a shoemaker by trade, but had some time before taken up, as incidental, the practice of Thompsonian medicine. Through this practice he had come to be known as Dr. Warren. When the religious excitement came along he was one of the first to be reached by it, and he very soon became a vehement exhorter, after a little while going to other towns, and becoming recognized as one of the leading revivalists of the denomination. When he began to preach he easily got the title of Reverend, and as he had already that of doctor, he became Rev. Dr. Warren. I never heard a more impetuous exhorter. He spoke in a high key, and would draw long breaths between his sentences that could be heard over the room. I heard a plain Methodist say of him that his ideas came so fast that he could not find words for them; still he made out to find big words as he wanted them. On one occasion he was leading in prayer at a school- house meeting, and prayed that God would pour out His spirit on the town " as He poured out the water in the antediluvian flood." There was one of the brethren who used to pray " for the fatherless and the widowless." One young man was pray- ing to God in a most earnest way that they might all be pre- pared to die, and proceeded thus: " Oh, Lord, we don't know when we shall be called away. ' Xerxes the great did die, and so must you and I.' "

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The Methodists, with such help as they could get from their fellow townsmen of other denominations, built a very modest church on a corner of the village green, where I have often joined them in worship, which, within a few years, has been burned down. The Methodist clergy of the district used oc- casionally to hold their quarterly meetings there. One of these meetings was the occasion of a very amusing incident. The clergy were sent out for dinner among the Methodist brethren and sisters, who always got up a special dinner for them. One of the most devoted of the Methodist women was Mrs. Fredus Reed, who took home two of the brethren for dinner. Her husband was a hard drinking and exceedingly profane man. He had that morning been arrested by a con- stable for profane swearing, and had been taken before a justice of the peace to be tried, and the case had not been concluded when Sister Reed sat down with her reverend friends to her nice dinner. Soon after they began one of the clergymen said, " Where is Brother Reed?" " He had some important busi- ness to attend to," said Mrs. Reed, " and could not be here." " I am sorry," said the clergyman, " that Brother Reed should let any business keep him from attending our delightful meet- ing and taking dinner with us now/' " Well," said Mrs. Reed, '' it is some law business of importance, and he could not regu- late the time of it for himself." " What," said he, " does Brother Reed go to law? I am very sorry for that. I think our Christian people should not go to law." " Well," said Mrs. Reed, " if you must know, he's hauled up before a justice of the peace for profane swearing."

This Fredus Reed was swept in by the great Washingtonian temperance movement of about 1840, and signed the pledge, and became one of the temperance exhorters. I remember that at one time he was at my house in Farmington and was talking about the certainty that he should always keep his pledge. My wife said to him, " Mr. Reed, you must not trust to your own strength, you must rely on God's help." He re- plied, " I don't want God's help, nor that of anybody. I am strong enough myself." " Then," said she, " you will surely fall." " I have no fear of it," said he. It was not long before he fell, and became a sot again, and so remained until his death a few years later.

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When I was a boy there were several slaves left in Con- necticut, though I do not now remember seeing one in Farm- ington. The legislature, in 1784, passed an act making all slaves born in the state after March 1, 1784, free on becoming- twenty-five years of age, and in 1797 an act making all born after August I, 1797, free at the age of twenty-one. Slavery was not absolutely abolished until 1848, at which time there were only six slaves surviving. There must have been in my boyhood quite a number, as in 1830 one needed to be only fifty-six years old to be a slave. Probably many had been emancipated. But, though I do not remember to have seen any slaves, I used occasionally to hear some of the old slave- holders tell about their experiences under the system. Gad Cowles kept the principal store in Farmington. He must have been born about 1780, and lived to be about seventy-five years old. I remember his telling about his going after a slave to Hudson on the Hudson River, which was a great port for land- ing cargoes of slaves as they were brought in. He bought a stout, finely-built black man, about twenty years old, and, putting a rope around his neck, tied the end of it to his saddle, and, as he said, " trotted him all the way home." He described him as a man he could not trust. " Why," said he, " I was one day going to give the fellow a sound whipping with a cart whip, and made him stand off so that I could get a good sweep of the whip, when the rascal ran away, and it was two weeks before I caught him again."

A very grotesque incident occurred about this time at Gad Cowles's store. Farmington was not only the center of a large trade with all the surrounding towns, but Gad's store, as I have said, was the principal one in the village. It was in a large brick block of two stories and a high attic. Each story and the cellar were filled with his goods, the attic being de- voted to agricultural implements. One day in the early sum- mer a young man from Burlington came to the store to buy some farming tools, and Gad sent him up to the attic to pick them out for himself. There was a trap door in the floor of the attic, with another directly beneath it in the story below. These both opened upwards, but they were old and a good deal worn. The Burlington man, in walking about in his stumbling way, came upon the upper trapdoor, which gave

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way under him, and let him clown upon the next trapdoor, which, in its turn, gave way and let him headlong down into the store below. Gad "was at the time waiting on a lady customer, when the man came down upon them, striking a nest of brass kettles, and bending them out of shape, besides breaking" his own ribs, as well as seriously injuring himself internally. Gad, who was an irascible man, swore at him for his stupidity, and said he wished there had been another trapdoor that opened into-hell. However, he was a very kindly man, and when he saw how badly the man was hurt, he had him taken over to his own house, where he kept him for half a year be- fore he was well enough to be taken home. He had a long course of illness, and came very near to his death. At last, about midwinter, it was thought it would be safe to take him home, and his brother, who was stone deaf, came with an open farm sled and a pair of horses, a feather bed and blankets being laid upon the sleigh, that he might lie comfortably and be kept warm. There was a good deal of snow on the ground, but a warm rain had softened it all and filled the brooks and ditches with froth. On the way home the brother drove through one of these brooks to water his horses. On getting to the gate at home he called out to his two sisters to come and help get his brother in. They came rushing out, and when they got to the sleigh they said, " Where is he?'" The brother twisted around to get a back look, and saw at once that the sleigh was empty. All were horrified, and the brother drove back on the road as fast as he could. When he reached the brook where he had watered his horses, he found the invalid lying in the water, with his head just out of it, but wet through and almost frozen. He was taken home, where he had a course of fever, which it took him till the next summer to recover from. With the warm weather of summer the poor man was able to get out and walk about a little in the sunshine. Just after he began to venture out he went to a neighbor's, where they were about to hang a good-sized dog. Their barn was on a hillside, with the roof on the back side coming to the ground, and a high front on the other side. The dog had a rope around his neck, which was brought over the ridge of the roof and fastened to one of those frames that the joiners nail on such roofs when they are shingling. Our invalid wanted very much

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to see the whole proceeding, and climbed up to the ridge of the roof, where he could see the clog pushed off and hanging by the rope. But, alas, just as the dog was pushed off, and his weight pulled heavily on the rope, the wooden frame flew off and caught the poor man between the legs and carried him headlong over the high side of the roof. The dog escaped un- hurt, but our invalid had some of his bones broken and was laid up for another long spell of illness. I never learned any- thing of his later history.

The practice of private watching with sick people was in vogue when I was a boy. I think such a thing as a trained nurse was unknown in Farmington, if anywhere else. No matter how desperately ill a person might be, his own family took care of him during the day, and the neighbors came, one after another, to watch at night. The family, during the day, would engage the watcher for the night. I think the service was always a neighborly gratuity, to be repaid in kind if there should be need. I remember being requested when I was fourteen to watch with Edward L. Hart, a schoolmate of about my own age, and a nephew of Simeon Hart, who kept the village academy, and with whom Edward made his home. Edward was very sick with some kind of fever. I got to the house about nine o'clock, was instructed carefully as to the medicines to be given, and then was left alone for the night in the sick boy's room. There were two medicines to be given him alternately every half-hour, three drops of one and a tea- spoonful of the other. I had an awful struggle with an al- most overpowering drowsiness, but kept awake and faithful to my duties till about midnight. I was then administering the regular medicine, as I supposed, when Edward screamed out that I had given him the wrong medicine, and I found that I had given him a teaspoonful of that of which I should have given him three drops. I supposed I had killed him, and at once rushed up to Mr. Hart's room and burst in, exclaiming, " Oh, I have given Edward the wrong medicine." Mr. Hart sprang up and ran down stairs in his nightgown, and I ex- plained at once what I had done. The boy, in the meantime, was bent up with pain. In a moment Mr. Hart gave him a strong alkali (the medicine was a sharp acid), and the poor boy was at once in a state of wild explosion, enough to have

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strangled him, and. it was a wonder how, in his weakness, he lived through the strain. His condition was now so critical that the family staid up and took charge of him for the rest of the night, and I went home and to bed. The doctor was sent for, and he said the treatment had apparently helped him by clearing the foul matter out of his stomach, and from that time he began to get better, and before long was well.

In connection with this matter of private watching, a good story is told of Governor Roger S. Baldwin when a young man. My grandfather, who lived in New Haven, was quite old and feeble, and friends of the family came at night to watch with him. Mr. Baldwin, who was a near relative, took his turn. He got there about bedtime, and the family explained to him fully about the different medicines, and went to bed, leaving him to his solitary watch. There were four different kinds of medicine, one to be given every quarter of an hour. Mr. Baldwin gave the old gentleman the first dose and then seated himself comfortably in a rocking-chair, waiting for the next quarter-hour to come. As he sat waiting he suddenly opened his eyes and it was broad daylight. He sprang to the old gentleman's bedside, expecting to find him dead, but he was sound asleep. He woke him, and asked him how he felt. "'' Oh," said he, " what a refreshing sleep I have had." This was all the old gentleman needed, and he began to get better at once. Mr. Baldwin did not like to have his neglect of his patient known, and poured out into the slop-pail about as much as he would have used if all the medicine had been properly administered, and it was several years before the real facts became known. The family, who had no suspicion what had happened, were loud in their praise of Mr. Baldwin, as having benefited the old gentleman greatly by his faithful care of him.

There is a further incident that I. have always remembered with much interest, and which is well worth preserving. Horace Cowles, in my youth, was one of the immovably up- right men of the town. He had the public confidence in the highest degree as a man of probity. No man could settle an estate more intelligently or more honestly, and he was often employed in such services. But, with it all, he was not a popular man. He held very strong views as to the enforce- ment of laws against, crime, and was unyielding in his views

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on matters of political and moral reform. Among those who thoroughly disliked him was a very profane old gentleman, who lived near the center, who seemed thoroughly to hate him, and who could not refrain from sometimes assailing him with insulting language as he went by. It turned out that all this time this old gentleman, who had a large property, had made his will, and had made Horace Cowles his executor, Mr. Cowles dying before he did, he made a new will and appointed some other person executor, but during those years of his violent and insulting attacks upon Mr. Cowles he had not dared to trust anybody else to settle his large estate.

I gave an important incident of my sea life in a former chapter (ante, p. 27), and did not intend to speak of any other, but a few matters occur to me as worth relating. I sailed from New York for Canton in the barque Marblehead, about four o'clock in the afternoon in May, 1838, going out of the harbor side by side with the ship Brooklyn, bound, like us, to Canton. We lost sight of her when it became dark, and the next morn- ing could not recognize her among the many sails that we saw in the distance. We did not see her again until we made Java Head, and were entering the strait between Java and Sumatra. There we found the Brooklyn going with us, side by side, as we had left New York harbor. We found, on exchanging very cordial salutes, that she crossed the line the same day with us, was off the Cape of Good Hope the same day, and made the island of St. Paul in the Indian Ocean the same day, and now had made Java Head with us, and yet we had never seen her. This illustrates the difficulty of one ship pursuing another over the broad ocean. Our cruisers in our late war had a long pursuit after the Alabama, and for several weeks without any success.

When we passed the Cape of Good Hope it was in July, the very middle of the southern winter. We had snow storms and cold rains, and much of the time very severe gales, and all the while heavy weather. After leaving the neighborhood of the Cape Verde Islands we had run in a straight line towards Cape Horn, till we reached a point about half way between the capes and about three hundred miles south of the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope. Head winds compelled us to take this course. At last we got a fair and strong west wind, and,

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heading to the east, we ran for twenty-five days in a straight course. The captain would get an observation whenever a bit of blue sky showed itself, but had to depend largely on the casting of the log. We had now reached the middle of the Indian Ocean, and the captain came on deck at dark and told us that he thought we should make the island of St. Paul in the course of the night, and ordered us to keep a sharp lookout. About midnight we saw in the distance a blazing light, which we took to be that of a whaler trying out oil, and the captain gave orders to heave to and lie till morning. When the morn- ing broke there lay the island about three miles off. This was exceedingly good navigating over such a stretch of water and in such weather.

While on this part of our passage the gale became so severe that we could carry nothing but reefed topsails, and finally we had to lie to and leave the ship to take the brunt of the storm as she could. This "lying-to" is effected at sea by putting the fore and main topsails at a different angle, so that one is filled one way and the other the opposite, by reason of which the ship lies still. The helm is then lashed in a certain position, and all hands go below, often for a day, sometimes for two or three days.

When we reached Java Head an official of the Dutch gov- ernment, to which the island of Java belongs, came off in a boat, and with a good deal of pomp and ceremony, to examine our papers. He was a native Javanese, with a stove-pipe hat on, that some sea captain had given him, a long-skirted coat, the gift of some traveler, some very short duck pantaloons, and no vest, collar, or shoes. He apparently did his business very well, but he was one of the most comical sights that I ever saw, and all the more so for his utter unconsciousness that he was not exceedingly well got up.

We staid a week at Batavia, the city of Java, hoping to get some freight for Canton. We were nearly in ballast. We finally got a part of a cargo of sandal wood, which was to be used by the Chinese solely in burning incense to their god "Josh" — a rather curious business for a Christian ship. In going from Batavia to Singapore, where we went for more freight, we had to pass close through the strait between

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the islands of Borneo and Sumatra. This was at that time and had long been infested by native pirates, who used to go about in fleets of sailboats, called feluccas. Many stories were told of their attacks upon ships. We had a sailor on board who gave this story of one of his experiences. This ship was an English sailing from Bombay to Canton. When off Borneo a fleet of feluccas swarmed down upon them and very soon the deck was full of the pirates. The captain and crew fought them, but were overborne by their numbers, and were finally compelled to retreat to the poop deck, which was over the ship’s cabin and much above the main deck. The steward’s storeroom was directly below the cabin and accessible from it. The captain sent the steward down to bring up bottles of wine, of which he had a good supply, and threw them all over the deck. They, of course, broke, and the deck became covered in broken glass. The pirates being all barefooted, could not find a place to step, and very soon all fled over the ship’s side, abandoning all attempt to take the vessel. While we were in the vicinity our ship got aground and lay so for three or four hours. While we lay there a large fleet of feluccas came off and hovered about us for a half-hour, but finally went away. An incident of some interest, and, perhaps, worth telling of, occurred on my first voyage. This was in the brig Fortune, which went to Malaga on the south shore of Spain for a cargo of wine, raisins, and almonds. The wine was stowed at the bottom acting as ballast, and on top of it was a great quantity of raisins in boxes, of shelled almonds in boxes, and of almonds in the shell in large gunny bags. When we were in the neighborhood of the Azores a storm, which had been brewing for a couple of days, came down upon us with great violence. It was about the 20th of September, and the storm was the one we call on shore “the Equinoctial.” I think it is only a matter of superstition that leads us to so regard and name it. However that be, it deserved in our case all the severe terms we could apply to it. In the course of it our brig sprung a serious leak in her bows, and the captain finally decided we must lighten her forward. We broke through the bulkhead that separated the forecastle from the hold, and, forming 195

a line to the ship's rail, passed out bags of almonds and boxes of shelled almonds and raisins and threw them over the ship's side. We kept this up for two hours, and the bags and boxes floated behind us as far as we could see in the thick weather, looking, as they rose and fell, like an enormous sea serpent following us. The sailors who were stationed in the fore- castle, thoughtful of the interests of the rest as well as of themselves, opened all our chests, and, crowding our clothes together in the middle, emptied boxes of raisins into one end and boxes of shelled almonds into the other, till the chests were full; and we all had all the raisins and almonds we could eat for the rest of our voyage home.

While we were at Canton, on my second voyage, our ship lay at Wampoo Reach, a stretch of river a few miles below Canton, where all the foreign ships lie, occupying over a mile of the river. They remain at anchor here during the whole time, the masters being rowed up to the city by their boats' crews, and the cargo being brought down by lighters. The vessels lie so near together that the crews get somewhat ac- quainted, and each is asked, and is generally ready to tell, what sort of captain and officers he has, and whether he has a comfortable life on board. There was one Captain D. of the ship P., who had among us all a very hard reputation as almost _a monster of cruelty among his men, working them unmerci- fully and inflicting blows and cuffs as his pleasure or temper inclined him. We got all this from his men, who complained bitterly of him. He and his ship were still there when we left, and I heard nothing further of either. He was at this time about thirty years old. Over thirty years after I was attend- ing our Supreme Court at Litchfield, and at dinner at the hotel I found myself sitting by the side of stranger, who proved to be a man of intelligence, and had evidently seen a good deal of the world, and who had the manners of a gentleman. We soon got into conversation, and it came out that he had been a sea captain in his early life and had made numerous voyages to Canton in command of the ship P. Here, then, was the old terror of the sailors of my time, the redoubtable Captain D. of my early memory. I did not let on that I had once been a sailor, and had seen him and his ship at Canton, and had brought away and always retained a bad opinion of him. I let

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him treat me as a gentleman, which he did perfectly, and kept the grotesqueness of the incident all to myself. I have thought it best not to give his name or that of his ship in full, but the initials that I have given are the correct ones.

In looking back from time to time on the period which I spent upon the sea, especially that of my East India voyage, I have always felt thankful for that experience. To one brought up at ease in a refined family with no experience of the hardships of life, it was a school of manliness and self-reliance and courage. The labor was generally hard and often very severe, and sometimes involved great exposure and serious peril, to be met only by a resolute and unflinching determina- tion to do faithfully what was required to be done. It was a great place for discipline and no place for shirking or coward- ice. But we had much that was very enjoyable. The vast, restless, indomitable sea was always most impressive, and sometimes awful in its grandeur. One can never come away from a year's life in its constant presence the same man that he was before. Its varying moods make a perpetual study, while there is a thrill in the sudden meeting with other voyagers in the wide expanse where we had felt an oppressive sense of loneliness, and the brief exchange of salutations with them as they pass us, seeming to come out of the unknown and to go away into it. And there is something that fills the imagination in the vast outspread of sails that a ship carries, like the wings of a mighty bird. And it is with no small sense of more than human power that one at a ship's helm turns the vast mass this way and that at his will. I took my turn at the wheel, and was often thrilled by the quick obedience of the huge ship to every motion of my hand. Steamers have now very generally taken the place on these voyages of the old sailing- ships, and with them have gone the old grace of motion and beauty of swelling canvas. While the change is of vast benefit to the world, one who indulges in sentiment over it could al- most mourn as Burke did over the passing away of the age of chivalry. All these things get idealized as they recede into the remote past. But I remember with great satisfaction the real hardships and dangers of the life, and not the least that on the way home from the East Indies we were taken by a Portuguese pirate, and were in momentary expectation of being butchered.

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I have devoted a chapter to this incident (ante, p. 27). I have all my life long been a more manly man for these hardships. I would not have exchanged those two years for any two years at home, however wisely I might have spent them, both for the greatly-needed benefit to my health, and as a part of my educa- tion for my place in the world. There is one thing that would not often be considered in such a case, and that is the knowl- edge of naval matters that one gets, and could get in no other way, which might be of great advantage to him. The knowl- edge that I acquired of ships and navigation has repeatedly proved very useful to me in my profession of the law, and would have been much more so if I had lived in a seaport town. After all, I should hesitate about advising a young man, whose health or special circumstances did not require it, to take an East India voyage. It would be a life not only of hardship and danger, but of serious moral peril. There could not be a wider open door for vice. But the vice is of the lowest and least attractive kind to a young man of any delicacy or re- finement, to say nothing of moral principles. It had no at- traction for me. I was as safe from its contamination as if I had been sitting by my father's fireside. In view of all I gained, physical and moral, during my life at sea, it was a wise and kind Providence that led me to that signal experience in my life.

DAMON AND PYTHIAS.

Before their father's death the two boys had married and their father had built for each a comfortable dwelling-house on

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the farm, on the same highway with his own house and not more than eighty rods from it and from each other. Here they lived as if one family, working together on the farm and paying all their expenses from the common fund. After their father's death they continued for a while to live in the same way, but soon after concluded to divide the farm between them. They estimated the value of the houses and the different lots, and took the advice of judicious neighbors on the subject. At last they settled upon a division which they thought fair, and noth- ing remained but to execute the deeds. The night after this settlement Ezekiel, the elder, went to bed, but found that he could not sleep. His mind was filled with the thought of the transaction, and the more he reviewed it the more it seemed to him that he had received more than his share. This troubled him so that as soon as he was dressed in the morning he started for his brother William's to tell him how he felt about it. On his way he met his brother, who had gone through the same experience, and had come to the conclusion that he had received more than his share, and was on his way to Ezekiel's to tell him so. I believe that in the circumstances they finally decided to let the division stand as they had agreed upon it. However that may be, the incident stands as a most striking case of brotherly affection and unity, as well as of an unselfish and predominating spirit of justice. History has immortalized the names of Damon and Pythias as those of devoted and self- sacrificing friends, but the names of these brothers are well worthy of what little I can do in these Reminiscences for their preservation and honor.

A very similar case, perhaps only an Arabic legend, has been charmingly told of in verse by Clarence Cook, and I can- not forbear to place its heroes in pleasant association with mine. The poem is entitled Abrain and Zimri. It is as follows:

Abram and Zimri owned a field together —
A level field hid in a happy vale;
They ploughed it with one plough, and in the spring
Sowed, walking side by side, the fruitful seed.
In harvest, when the glad earth smiled with grain,
Each carried to his home one-half the sheaves,
And stored them with much labor in his barns.

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Now Abram had a wife and seven sons,
But Zimri dwelt alone within his house.
One night before the sheaves were gathered in.
As Zimri lay upon lais lonely bed
And counted in his mind his lonely gains,
He thought upon his brother Abram's lot,
And said, "I dwell alone within my house,
But Abram hath a wife and seven sons,
And yet we share the harvest sheaves alike.
He surely needeth more for life than I;
I will arise, and gird myself, and go
Down to the field, and add to his from mine."
So he arose, and girded up his loins,
And went out softly to the level field ;
The moon shone out from dusky bars of clouds,
The trees stood black against the cold blue sky,
The branches waved and whispered in the wind.
So Zimri, guided by the shifting light,
Went down the mountain path, and found the field,
Took from his store of sheaves a generous third,
And bore them gladly to his brother's heap,
And then went back to sleep and happy dreams.
Now, that same night, as Abram lay in bed,
Thinking upon his blissful state in life,
He thought upon his brother Zimri's lot,
And said, "He dwells within his house alone,
He goeth forth to toil with few to help,
He goeth home at night to a cold house,
And hath few other friends but me and mine"
(For these two tilled the happy vale alone);
"While I, whom Heaven hath very greatly blessed,
Dwell happy with my wife and seven sons,
Who aid me in my toil and make it light,
And yet we share the harvest sheaves alike.
This surely is not pleasing unto God;
I will arise and gird myself, and go
Out to the field, and borrow from my store,
And add unto my brother Zimri's pile." So he arose and girded up his loins, And went down softly to the level field;
The moon shone out from silver bars of clouds,
The trees stood black against the starry sky,

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The dark leaves waved and whispered in the breeze.
So Abram, guided by the doubtful light,
Passed down the mountain path and found the field,
Took from his store of sheaves a generous third,
And added them unto his brother's heap;
Then he went back to sleep and happy dreams,
So the next morning with the early sun
The brothers rose, and went out to their toil;
And when they came to see the heavy sheaves,
Each wondered in his heart to find his heap,
Though he had given a third, was still the same.
Now the next night went Zimri to the field,
Took from his store of sheaves a generous share
And placed them on his brother Abram's heap,
And then lay clown behind his pile to watch.
The moon looked out from bars of silvery cloud,
The cedars stood up black against the sky,
The olive-branches whispered in the wind;
Then Abram came down softly from his home,
And, looking to the right and left, went on,
Took from his ample store a generous third,
And laid it on his brother Zimri's pile.
Then Zimri rose and caught him in his arms,
And wept upon his neck, and kissed his cheek,
And Abram saw the whole, and could not speak,
Neither could Zimri. So they walked along
Back to their homes, and thanked their God in prayer
That he had bound them in such loving bands.

GROWTH IN UNSPIRITUALITY.

For many years I was a regular attendant on Rev. Dr. Bur- ton's Park Church prayer-meeting's, almost always taking a part in them. I was at the time a deacon in the church. I used occasionally to read some article which I had written dur- ing the week, working out some practical religious thought, though I more often presented the matter in a conversational way. I find some of these monographs among my accumu- lated papers, and decide to insert one here, partly that my friends may see my manner of dealing with such subjects, and partly because the subject is one of the greatest religious im-

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portance. I retain the title which I then gave it, " Growth in Unspirituality." This well expresses my subject, though I use in it a word which is hardly recognized by the dictionaries.

In my boyhood and early manhood I used to hear the doc- trine taught, from the pulpit, in the Sabbath-school, and in the religious papers, that the Holy Spirit, the voluntary and gratuitous interposition of which was considered essential to the soul's salvation, was a most sensitive thing, easily grieved away, and grieved away by the soul's mere indifference; and, when once withdrawing, departing forever, and leaving the soul, even in earthly life, in a moral death, from which it could never be rescued. Fifty years of study of God's word and of prayerful inquiry and reflection have brought me to believe that the Holy Spirit is patient beyond all our conceptions of patience, persistent, never discouraged, ever watching for an open door into the heart, and never leaving a human soul while life lasts. I fully believe that those lines so often sung express an absolute truth, and were inspired by this very Holy Spirit — that,

"While the lamp holds out to burn
The vilest sinner may return."

But in accepting this doctrine we are letting drop out a ground of most potent appeal to non-religious men, and one that has often been effectively used, and which addresses itself to the fears of men; and an address to men's fears has often been, at least apparently, the only one that could move them. They were told that they might, by shutting up their hearts against the entrance of the Holy Spirit, grieve it away, and be abandoned by it, and left stranded and hopeless; and that while they were wholly unconscious of it; doomed already without knowing it.

Now, while I far prefer to appeal to men's love rather than to their fears, I freely admit that an appeal to their fears is en- tirely legitimate, and that the terrors of the Lord should never be laid out of consideration, and in many cases should be pressed, in all their awful solemnity, upon the attention of the inattentive and indifferent and careless soul. And I admit, 14

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too, that my view of the patience and persistency of the Holy Spirit in its pursuit of us in our indifference and wanderings does take away a most weighty consideration that might often be very effectively used in our appeals to the non-religious.

But there is another principle at work, the potency of which should be considered, and which to my apprehension supplies all that we need as a ground of appeal to men's fears. And that principle is this: That while those who seek after a spiritual life grow in spirituality, those who are indifferent to it are all the while growing more and more unspiritual — more and more hardened. We do not stand still. Motion is life, and stagnation is death. The air above us is full of winds, and the sea beneath us is full of tides; and our bark, as we float on the sea of life, is never stationary — or never long so. All souls are moving, upward or downward. No man is quite what he was ten years ago. Now this growth in spirituality, or in unspirituality, is not wholly the result of the operation upon us, or withdrawal of operation, of a supernatural power. It is in a great measure an entirely natural operation. A faculty used and cultivated grows, and a faculty not used shrinks and perhaps disappears. Darwin, in his Origin of Species, shows clearly how in animals and plants, individuals of the same type, placed in new surroundings, under new necessities, develop into different species. While there is great dissent from his views as to the origin and development of man, yet all the world agrees to his general views as to the growth, through the special use of some organs and the entire disuse of others, of totally different organisms out of the same parent organism. But we see this abundantly illustrated in human beings. Everybody understands it. Now, by this same natural law the cultivation of our spiritual nature leads to a growth and strength of that nature; while the neglect of its cul- tivation, and especially a course of life that tends not merely not to promote our spirituality but to promote our non-spiritu- ality, as surely leads to- the growth and strength of an un- spiritual nature.* We see this illustrated strikingly by the fact, often remarked upon, that a great many more young

* Emerson says : "The force of character is cumulative ; all the foregone days of virtue work their health into us."

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people, in proportion, become religions than middle-aged and old people. Reasoning on general principles we might ex- pect the fact to be otherwise. Young people are full of animal life; full, too, of golden expectations from mere earthly life. The world as it lies before them has a great charm for them. They have not reached the age of reflection and disillusion. The old people, on the other hand, have found how false is all that glitters; they have been sobered by seeing the sad reality of things, by the loss of those near to their hearts, by the deaths of companions around them. They have reached the age of reflection, and often have abundant leisure for it. Yet they do not often yield to the pressure of religious truth. They never entered upon a spiritual life, and so they have constantly moved away and away from such a life. They have moved further and further away from the point of impressible contact with spiritual influences.

Now undoubtedly there is a corresponding movement dur- ing all this time on the part of the Holy Spirit; so that, while this downward growth is in great measure a natural one, yet there are also supernatural influences at work. The life of the man who seeks for a high spiritual life is a perpetual prayer to God for his help in it; and that help will be given. The life of the man who has no desire for a spiritual life is a perpetual rejection of spiritual influences; and while those influences may still follow him, yet as the door of his heart becomes more and more closed against them, those spiritual forces are of less and less value to him, and may become less and less active in his behalf.

We have, then, a terrible truth here that we can press with great effect upon non-religious men; for is it not a terrible one? What misfortune can be greater than that of a constant reced- ing from the reach of divine influences, of a growing impene- trability of the heart. Yet we see it all about us. There is no mistaking the fact that this man and that whom we meet in the intercourse of life has no spiritual experience whatever — no conception of what spiritual life is. I remember when at Washington a few years ago that I went one Sunday morning into the large office of the hotel and took a seat for the very pur- pose of studying the characters of the throng that filled the wide room. Men were standing about in groups, talking

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earnestly, so that I often easily caught enough to know what it was about. There were probably some members of Congress. some lobbyists, many politicians. From almost every quarter came tip an occasional profane expression, and the talk was evidently all on secular matters, while most of the men them- selves looked hard and greedy and self-indulgent. I said to myself, among these hundred people I cannot see one that I think is a, religious man. It is true this was an exceptional gathering and place, and there may, after all, have been here and there a good man among them; but get together a hun- dred men on some secular occasion, and how much profanity will you hear? How much low ribaldry? How much that goes to show that in the vast majority God is not in all their thoughts ? And yet this spiritual life is all that there is of life that is really worth having. It is all that will survive death — all that will constitute our life in that world that is so near to all of us.

How we should struggle to preserve our natural faculties if we found ourselves in danger of losing them. And yet what would, the loss of them be by the side of the loss of our spiritual faculties ? To me the face of nature is full of wonderful beauty. It seems to me no enthusiastic lover of music ever enjoyed the finest musical performance more than I enjoy looking upon a beautiful landscape. Well, suppose I found my sight prema- turely failing, and all this panorama passing away from my saddened eyes forever. What would I not do for the restora- tion of my sight? What skilled oculist, however far away or expensive, would I not seek? Yet what would the loss of my earthly sight be to the loss of all spiritual vision! I have a near relative, of about my own age, who has been a clergyman all his life, who from early youth has been an enthusiastic lover of music and is a performer of rare excellence upon a violin. He hardly goes anywhere without taking his violin with him. Well, for nearly twenty years he has been gradually losing his hearing. But he could still hear the strains of his own violin, and while at the concerts he attended he lost some of the notes, he could yet hear enough, by sitting near, to get great enjoy- ment from the performance. But at last his hearing is utterly gone. The concert becomes only a pantomime, emitting no sound. His beloved violin makes no audible response to his

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familiar and appealing" touch. Now, what would he not have clone to save his hearing? What remedy, however costly or difficult to be procured, would he not have sought for and ap- plied? Yet what is this loss of hearing to the loss of all power to hear the whisper of God to the heart? And what is it to lose the spiritual sight and the spiritual hearing both? To feel that the whole heart is sealed against spiritual light and spiritual voices.

It is as the Evangelist says, " To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath."

"However sharp the thorns of poverty, The pangs of parting, failure's bitterness, The pain of filling loving eyes with tears, Thou shalt not fear them. Thou shalt dread but this : To know thyself as vile among the pure, With men of honor know thyself untrue ; To feel debased before the climbing hills, Abashed amid the still, aspiring wood, And unresponsive to the beckoning sky; To wish that God were not, and restlessly To seek remoteness from his influence, Until the spirit's garden grows awaste. — Embrace all ills but this, and find them sweet!"

DR. JOHN CHAPMAN.

One of the most interesting and one of the noblest men I ever knew was Dr. John Chapman of London. He was one of my best friends. I first met him in 1872, and when again abroad with my wife in 1874 and 1875 we were much at his house, which was indeed our home in London. He was then, and had been for many years, the principal editor of the West- minster Review, which was described by an English writer as " the mouthpiece of the most advanced and the most respected thinkers of the day, and, by reason of the breadth of thought, the enlightenment, the toleration, and the spirit of progressive inquiry in the cause of reason and truth which pervaded its scholarly pages, no less than by the attention directed to scien- tific subjects and the consideration given to art as an indis-

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pensable part of human education, as occupying the position of the leading organ of the liberal and philosophical school of the time." During our Civil War the Westminster Review stood firmly and unwaveringly on our side and did a great deal to turn the best public opinion of England in our favor. Since then Dr. Chapman's articles, especially on social and political subjects, have commanded public attention and had a wide and positive influence. I was told in London that an article in the review on the administration of affairs by the government in India had led to a serious modification of the political plans of the ministry. This article was at first attributed to John Stuart Mill, the first political philosopher in England, but Dr. Chap- man told me himself that he wrote it. He was all this while a physician in large practice. His habit was to get up at five o'clock all the year round, make himself a cup of coffee, and work with his pen till nine o'clock, when he ate his breakfast with his family, and for the rest of the day was a hard-working physician.

He was intensely interested in all the reform movements of the day — in the extension of the franchise among the com- mon people, in woman suffrage, in sanitary improvements, in methods of benefiting the poor, and in wider education. He set to work earnestly to rescue the many charitable foundations which had been perverted from their original purpose and be- come the prey of those who should have been their protectors. He gave great offense, and injured himself in his professional standing, by the conflict which he went into with some of the physicians who were getting the benefit of these perversions. It was a strange anomaly that in the midst of all this he was an utter disbeliever in the existence of a God and of a future life. It is surprising that, with the want of belief in all that I valued most, I should have been drawn to him or he to me. Yet he became my very warm friend, and told a friend of mine that if I lived in London he should want to have me for his most in- timate friend. I asked him at one time how he could care so much for making people happier and better if this short life was all. He replied that he desired it all the more for this reason, for if this life is all he wanted to have people get the most out of it. I was at dinner one day at his house, sitting on his right hand, while a colonel in our army sat on his left. My

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wife sat at the lower end of the table with Mrs. Chapman and two other ladies. By some means the subject of prayer was spoken of, and the colonel, who proved to be a Swedenborgian, spoke very strongly of its good effect on the suppliant, even if it did not bring the answer sought. Dr. Chapman, then turned to me, saying: " Let us hear what Mr. Hooker says." At this I entered on something of a discussion of the whole matter, all conversation at the table being dropped and all lis- tening to me. What I said was substantially this: " I cannot be at all sure that we shall get what we pray for. It may be the very best thing for us not to get it. But back of the whole question lies the great question whether there is a God to hear our prayer. It seems to me that I can say that I am sure there is. My whole life has been spent in dealing practically with questions of proof, and I have learned to have confidence in the movements of my own mind. I cannot go into processes here; I can give you only results. But I could not feel more sure that God exists and controls earthly affairs if I could see him with my eyes or feel his hand taking hold of mine. And, if God exists, I cannot doubt that he is omnipotent and all- wise as well as supremely benevolent; and such a being, send- ing us into this hard world as his children, would not fail to keep a fatherly interest in us and would love to have us pray to him." Dr. Chapman, restrained by delicacy from coming into serious conflict with his guests, yet told us of some of the ex- periments that had been made with regard to prayer, which seemed to show that it had signally failed in those instances. My wife told me after dinner that Mrs. Chapman, who listened attentively to our talk, told her that if she could believe as I did she should love to pray.

I never saw Dr. Chapman after 1875, though I occasionally had a letter from him. A few years later he removed to Paris, still keeping up his editorship of the Westminster Review. He soon got into a large practice there, which he continued till his death in November, 1894. I do not know his exact age at that time, but he must have been over seventy. He had con- ducted the review from 1851 — forty-three years. An interest- sketch of him is given in the Westminster Review for January, 1895.

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Dr. Chapman was a man of exceedingly fine presence — six feet tall, well filled out and erect, and with a countenance of the highest manly beauty. It was full of benignity and yet full of strength.

There was a brilliant circle of scientists and litterateurs who from time to time served under him as contributors to the review. Among them was George Eliot, who was for a time his assistant in the editorship. There were also Herbert Spencer, George Henry Lewes, James and Harriet Martineau, and others well known in the literary world. I met a parlor full of them at an evening entertainment at his house.

Dr. Chapman was buried at Highgate Cemetery, near Lon- don, in the midst of his contemporary workers, and close by the grave of George Eliot. The obituary sketch of him to which I have referred contains the following passage, which is well worthy of quotation here:

During the forty-three years of his editorship of the Review — a task phenomenal in one man's life, joined as it was to the oner- ous work of a large medical practice — Dr. Chapman used his in- comparable intellect, his remarkable powers and. his indomitable energy to maintain the reputation of the Review with the excel- lence of its earlier teaching, and his most fervent wish when he died was that it might continue to be so maintained, not alone for the sake of the glorious associations of the past, but for the sake of the liberalism of to-day and of generations to come — main- tained as a steadfast organ of the broader ideas, the wider views, of human interests of which he was so fearless a pioneer, and in whose cause he labored ceaselessly, at immense personal sacrifice, for so many years.

It is not possible here to do more than allude to the many rare and admirable qualities of his nature — singularly sweet qualities which endeared him to the friends whose unspeakable privilege it was to know and be associated with him. Neither can more than a passing reference now be made to his great services to medicine and his many valuable discoveries in that science.

Dr. Chapman may justly be characterized as an exceptional man of an exceptional age, and those who knew him intimately must revere his nobility of character and his staunch fearlessness of conscience, even as they admired the uncommon order of his physical presence and his great mental gifts. To those his name

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ter. After we returned, about 4 P.M., there was a boat came off from shore with a request, sent out by Capt. Semmes through the American consul, that if Capt. Winslow would stay out there twenty-four hours he would come out and fight him, and that he wouldn't detain him over forty-eight.

We waited from Tuesday afternoon till Friday afternoon, when the crew began to get discouraged, and wanted to get in and board her in the night. The captain had them all called aft again, and said: " Boys, don't get discouraged. I know Ralph Semmes. He sent word that he would come out and fight me, and he is coming. Something has detained him longer than he expected. And, boys, you've got to do the fighting. It isn't your captain that can do it, but your captain's boys." This caused the boys to give the old man three rousing cheers, and all went forrid, knowing that they'd got to fight.

On Sunday, June 19th, the captain was on the quarter deck with his Bible to hold service, which was customary on Sunday, when the man on the topsail yard hailed the deck, and said : "Out there she comes." The captain called his boy, and said: "Boy, take my Bible, and bring up my sword and revolvers. Officer of the deck, beat to quarters. Quartermaster, port your wheel. Officer of the deck, let her go fast. Quartermaster, steady." Our course then caused us to run right away from the Alabama off shore. We could not account for this, but we knew the captain was right in whatever he did.

After getting off shore about nine or ten miles, the captain ordered the quartermaster to starboard his helm. We now headed right in the direction of the Alabama, which we were anxiously watching, when, about nine hundred yards away, the first shot was fired from the Alabama, followed by thirteen others, some striking alongside, some going through the rigging clear of everything; but no damage was done as yet. " Quartermaster," called the captain, " starboard your helm a little. Steady."

We were now within about eight hundred yards of each other. The order was given to fire as soon as we got our guns to bear. Bang went the little rifle on the forecastle. We watched the course of the shell, and saw it strike. Then the forrid pivot, the after pivot, and two broadside 32-pounders, which failed of hitting the mark. The captain, coolly walking the deck, said : " Men, there's a ship to fire at. Don't fire your shells into the water, but see what you're aiming at. Aim before you fire." Which good advice the men accepted, and from that on they

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will be synonymous with all that is good, with all that tends to promote civilization, and with all that is best for humanity at large.

THE KEARSARGE.

One of the most romantic incidents of our late war, and of intense interest and great satisfaction and pride to us of the North, was the fight between the United States cruiser Kearsarge and the Confederate ship Alabama. It occurred off Cherbourg, France, on the 19th of June, 1864. After a fierce contest the Kearsarge sank the Alabama. The Kearsarge her- self in 1894 was wrecked upon a rock in the Caribbean Sea, where her bones have ever since lain bleaching. A most inter- esting visit which I paid to her in 1890, as she was undergoing" repairs at the navy yard at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, will, I think, make a very proper subject of notice in these Remin- iscences. It should, however, be preceded by an account of the fight, which so many are too young to remember and which has hardly yet taken its full place in history.

A writer in the Springfield Republican, early in February, 1894, gives the following graphic account of the fight, taken from the lips of a sailor who was in it and who was at the time a coxswain on the Kearsarge. It is given in the vernacular of the sea, and I preserve the language in which the old sailor told the story:

We were laying in Flushing, Holland, on a Sunday, when the consul had a dispatch from Cherbourg, saying that the Alabama was there. The coronet was listed and a gun fired to call the crew aboard. When all hands got aboard, the captain had all hands called aft and told us of the dispatch, and said : " Boys, I'm going down to fight the Alabama, and I expect every man of you to do your duty when we get there." This was received by the officers and men with three hearty cheers, and in less than an hour we were steaming down across the North Sea for Cherbourg, where we arrived on Tuesday afternoon about one o'clock.

We steamed up to the east entrance of Cherbourg harbor, which has a breakwater three miles long. We lowered our third cutter, and sent her ashore for information. We got a good view of our antagonist as we was pulling by. I was coxen of the cut-

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always let the smoke clear away from the enemy's ship before they fired, and then they could tell what they were firing at.

And now the ball was opened in good style. Shot was scream- ing over our heads. Shells were exploding uncomfortably near. One shell went through the .smokestack. We were struck but very few times, mostly in the rigging. One of the shells struck the sheathing that covered the chain, cut the chain, and dropped into the water. A few minutes after another struck us, went through the planking, struck an iron sheathing on one of the tim- bers, and dropped harmlessly overboard. I was first loader of a 11- inch forrid pivot. Charley Reed was first sponger. I should think they fired three hundred and fifty shot and shell at us, and we had fired about a hundred and seventy-five. One shell lodged in the stern post and one in the plank sheer. We were struck in all twenty-eight times, — thirteen in the hull and the remainder in the rigging. Some of the Alabama's shells would go screaming over our mast-heads, and some would strike short. When we had been fighting about forty minutes, one of our shells cut away the Alabama's mizzen halyards, which caused her flag to come part way down. A few minutes afterwards a 11-inch shell from the forrid pivot struck her mainmast. After the firing had been go- ing on about fifty-five minutes, the Alabama kept off to run for port, knowing that she was whipped. Finding that they couldn't get away from us, they hauled their colors down, and we received orders to cease firing. But in a few minutes another gun was fired from the Alabama, at which our captain said: " Give them another shot, boys. I guess they haven't got enough yet." This caused a broadside to be fired from the Kearsarge, with such deadly aim that they jumped on the mizzen boom and held up a white flag as a signal to cease firing, as the battle was evidently over for good.

They immediately lowered a boat, putting in twelve wounded men, and sent them to the Kearsarge, with a message by the officer in charge that they had surrendered, and asking for assist- ance, as they were sinking. The officer asked permission to go back and rescue the men, as he had his boat manned, which request being granted, they pulled towards the sinking ship, which sank before they reached it. They rescued a few of the officers in the water. We succeeded with our two boats that wern't stove in rescuing seventy-four. The English yacht Deer- hound came down among the men, and Capt. Semmes, swimming

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alongside, called out: "I'm Captain Semmes; for God's sake, save me!" He thus escaped on the Deer hound.

After the battle, and we got the men aboard our ship, each man picked out a man from the Alabama about his own size, and offered him the use of a suit of his clothes. I might say, gave him a suit, for I never see mine again. As soon as they got dry clothes on, the bo'sen's whistle was sounded, calling all hands to "splice the main brace." As soon as our crew had gone round, the Alabama's crew was called to " splice," and to see which could put in the neatest splice. Immediately after this the Alabama men were distributed round our different messes to take dinner, which was served in abundance, as the cook had been told that we were going to have company.

At four o'clock that afternoon the prisoners were all paroled, and, in their parting from our ship, the remark was frequently made : " Boys, if we'd knowed what kind of treatment we'd a received, you wouldn't a had to fight us as you did." That was their feelings after getting whipped.

I went on board the Kearsarge as an ordinary seaman, became an able seaman, then the coxen of the third cutter, and was made captain of the foretop and master's mate after the engagement.

This graphic account of the fight from one who was in the thick of it is well worth preservation, and I do what little I am able in my unpretending book to effect this. My own visit to the Kearsarge was, as I have stated, in the summer of 1890. After her loss at sea in 1894 this incident, very interesting to me at the time, came back to my mind with a special interest, and I sent the following communication on the subject to the Hartford Courant:

To the Editor of the Courant:

There are few of our people who were old enough to be thrilled by the incidents of our late war who did not feel a pang at the news of the wreck of the Kearsarge a few days ago. To the writer, who had had the privilege of walking upon her deck in tearful affection and reverence, it brought a great sorrow. The story of her desperate fight with the Alabama, the rebel cruiser which had become the terror of our merchant vessels, in which the Kearsarge sank her antagonist, is known to every one as a matter of remembrance or of history.

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In the summer of 1890 I spent several days at the Portsmouth navy-yard visiting a naval officer stationed there, who was an old friend. The Kearsarge was then in dry dock there undergoing repairs. She was high and dry above the water, supported by props of timber, I looked at her with great interest; but it was a painful sight to see her out of her native element and stuck up in the air so awkwardly and painfully. It seemed as if she must groan from the pain and the indignity.

The day before I was to leave, the repairs on her bottom had been completed, and she was to be hauled out of the dock into the stream. My friend took me on board and introduced me to Capt. Crowninshield, who was in command of her, and got permission, which was readily granted, for me to stay on board during the operation. The captain received me very graciously, and intro- duced me to several of his officers, who were a fine-looking set of men. When introduced to the captain as Mr. Hooker of Hart- ford, he asked me if I was of the family of the Rev. Thomas Hooker, who was the founder of the city. I told him I was the sixth in direct descent from him. He then told me that he was from Salem, of an old Puritan family. He seemed greatly to value New England blood and traditions. His wife soon after came on board, and he had chairs brought to the quarter deck for us. It was a curious incident that, on being introduced to her, she asked me if I was related to a certain lady, mentioning the name of my wife.

A dry dock, which probably few of your readers have seen, is a capacious structure built upon the land, and so placed as to receive the depth of water from the sea that will float the vessel that is to be repaired. It is provided with a huge double gate on the seaward side, which opens outward, and, when the dock is full of water, the vessel is hauled in through the open gateway. When she is in the gate is closed, and powerful pumps throw the water out, and, as the vessel settles down, supporting props are placed under her, so that, when the water has disappeared, she stands high and dry resting on her props, and with all below her water-line accessible for repairs. The hauling of a vessel out of the dry dock is merely the reversing of the process. The huge double gate, of course, could not be opened until the outside pressure of the water had ceased, which could only be when the dock was full of water again. The water was, therefore, let in through several small gates. It took nearly an hour to thus fill the dock. As the water rose about the props of the Kearsarge

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and began to relieve the pressure of the props, a conscious tremor seemed to run through her as if she felt its friendly touch and her returning buoyancy, and, when she fully floated and the props were removed, she seemed to feel that she was in her native ele- ment again, and to move about like a giant waking from sleep and stretching himself. When the dock was filled with water, the large gate was opened outward, and she was hauled out into the stream. Up to this point the engineer in charge of the dock had directed the whole operation ; but now the captain assumed command, and the ship was worked around to a place at a dock, where she was made fast. The whole operation took about three hours.

The officers took great pride in the fame of their ship. On a large brass plate in front of their quarters was the date of the fight with the Alabama. I asked the captain if the same planks were on the deck, and he said: "Yes, the very same." And I walked up and down the deck thrilled with the thought of what the ship had done for the country.

Capt. Crowninshield was expecting to be ordered at once to the coast of Honduras, and I saw by the papers a few days later that he was so in fact. It was now August, the time in that region for deadly heat, hurricanes, and yellow fever, and I could not help feeling anxious for him and the fine fellows who were officers under him. He returned safely, but how many of his officers I do not know. I felt the more anxious because I learned that not long before the ship had been ordered in midsummer to the coast of Africa, and while there had lost by yellow fever eight of her officers and fifty-three men, the surgeon, whose services were of the greatest importance, being one of the first victims.

SAMUEL MOSELEY.

When I entered college in the fall of 1832, the Farmington canal was in operation, a few years old, but nearing its final failure and abandonment. At this time it furnished, what seemed to the public of that time, a very convenient and pleas- ant mode of traveling, far in advance of the old stage coach. Most of the people who went to New Haven from any of the towns upon its line went by passenger boats. These were day boats altogether and had spacious saloons running nearly the

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length of the boats, with rooms at the ends for cooking and other domestic work and for the boatmen to sleep in. These saloons were very comfortably fitted tip for the passengers to sit about in, as well as take their meals in, and made the passage to New Haven, which was accomplished in a day from most points on the canal, a very agreeable opportunity for social en- joyment, as well as for reading if one preferred it.

When I went down at the beginning of the fall term and the college year I went by a canal boat, and four of my school- mates who were joining the class went with me, as well as a few others from other places on the line. My mother also went with me, to see to getting me settled in my room. Half of a spacious house which had belonged to my grandfather fell to her by his will, and my father had built an addition to it in the rear, and had a good-sized sitting-room and bedroom made for me in the second story of the addition. While we were on our way down my mother asked me if I had seen a young man among the passengers named Moseley, who was going down to join my class. She told me that she had had quite a talk with him and was much interested in him. She said he told her that he was 20 years old (I think) and had worked on his father's farm till a year or two before, when he decided to prepare for college and to study for the ministry. His father, he said, was not a religious man, and was very strongly opposed to his going to college, and, above all, to his being a clergyman; but that his mother, who was a very re- ligious woman, had set her heart on his studying for the minis- try, and he had been persuaded by her to prepare for college. My mother's account of the young man greatly interested me, and I sought him out among the numerous passengers. I found him a tall, gaunt, awkward man, who had seen very little of society, and was wholly without cultivation, yet evidently was full of kindliness and with a certain light of consecration on his plain face. I was at once drawn to the man in pity for his disadvantages and in sympathy with his earnest devotion to doing good. This warm sympathy went on through many years of college and later acquaintance.

When we came to our daily recitations in Latin, Greek, and mathematics, it was very obvious that he was very poorly fitted for college. His Latin and Greek greatly troubled him, and

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his very natural recourse was to me, whose very kindly dis- position towards him he had by this time thoroughly tested. Fortunately for me, my father, who was a rare Latin and Greek scholar, had drilled me in both those languages from an early age, so that when I entered college 1 was probably as thorough a scholar in both those languages as most young men are when they graduate. It was thus easy for rne to help Moseley in his Latin and Greek lessons, and it was a great pleasure to me to give him the help. I soon saw that he needed a warmer vest for the winter than the one he had on. I had a very warm one that was somewhat worn, but which my mother had thought enough for my daily wear for the approaching winter; but I got out a very nice one which she had intended for my Sunday wear and put it on. I then sent a line to Moseley, asking him to come to my room. On his doing so I got out the old vest, and said I, " Here, Moseley, is a very warm vest, but getting old, and I shall not wear it any more. Would you like it? " He put up "both hands, and exclaimed: " Wonderful! wonderful! I was just thinking what I should do for a warm winter vest, and now the Lord has sent me this." It was all we could both do to keep the tears from coming. Well, he put on the vest, and as I daily saw him wearing it I had a constant reminder of the slight kindness I had done him and of the spirit of gratitude and trust in which he had received it. I speak of trust, for he seemed to regard all good that fell to his needy lot as coming directly from the Lord.

His home was Westfield, in the state of Massachusetts, and Farmington was about half way between that place and New Haven. As a matter of economy he was in the habit of walk- ing the whole distance, stopping over night at my father's house in Farmington. Occasionally I walked down with him from my own home, my father sometimes carrying us half way and leaving us to walk the rest. On all these tramps his in- variable rule was to carry a package of tracts, and leave one at the door of nearly every country house that we passed. Wherever he was, or in whatever circumstances, he could never forget the duty that he owed to his fellow men and to the Lord.

Moseley kept on till the completion of his four years at college. I was compelled by a partial failure of my eyesight to leave college at the end of two years, spending those two

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years in voyages about the world, of which I have given sonic account in the preceding part of this volume (pp. 27, 192). I therefore saw little of him after his sophomore year. But I was told that he remained the same poor scholar, and had a low position in the class at graduation. He studied theology in the usual way and was licensed to preach.

After becoming a licensed preacher he began to preach wherever he could get the opportunity, hoping, like other young preachers, to get a call to some country pulpit. 1 before he left the seminary he had become engaged to a very worthy young woman, whom he had met at a New Haven commence- ment, but who resided in one of our country towns. Of course she was looking forward anxiously to the time when he should get a call and they could be married. Well, the poor fellow preached very dull sermons, that nobody seemed to care to hear, and not only month after month went by but year after year, and found him still at his quest. At last, however, he re- ceived a call to the church in Burlington, one of our smallest and poorest towns. He and the young lady were delighted at this final success, and immediately made their plans for their marriage, and for going to housekeeping after he had been or- dained. A council was called, according to the congrega- tional usage, for the purpose of examining him and approving his settlement and ordaining him. Among the neighboring churches called on to send their pastor and a delegate to the council, the church at Farmington, under Rev. Dr. Porter, was included, and I was chosen as the delegate to accompany our pastor. I attended the council with great interest, as I had known of my friend's long and anxious waiting for this oppor- tunity to begin the pastoral work for which he had for so many years been preparing himself, and which had so long been his dream. At the council Rev. Dr. Porter presided, and Mr. Moseley was thoroughly examined by it as to his theological soundness, which came within the most exacting standards. The church and society were then asked if there was any op- position on the part of the people to his settlement over them. Upon this some of the men of the church appeared and read a paper signed by a considerable minority of the members, stat- ing, in a kindly but very positive way, that they thought his

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preaching dull and uninteresting, and especially as not cal- culated to reach the younger portion of the people, that his sermons impressed the elderly women very favorably, that the society was very small and poor, I think considerably less than a hundred members in all, including the women, and that so large a minority as dissented would very seriously affect his usefulness and his comfort. The opposition did not seem to be factious, but very evidently was thoroughly in earnest and likely to continue so. After the hearing the council was left by itself to consider the matter. Each clerical and lay mem- ber was asked in his turn for his opinion. I gave mine in favor of his settlement. With all my doubts whether it was on. the whole best for the church and society, I could not but be af- fected by great sympathy for my friend and by my knowledge of his history and my confidence in his devotion to his work; besides which, as the church in its poverty could not hope to secure a man of more than the most ordinary ability, it seemed to me it might try to get along with him, and, perhaps, all his opponents would be won over by his saintliness of spirit and his faithfulness as a pastor. But a large majority of the coun- cil, including the wise and good Dr. Porter, voted against his installation. Poor Moseley was then called in to hear the conclusion. He came in, and Dr. Porter briefly reviewed the situation, and in the kindest and most sympathetic terms told him of the unfavorable decision.

Moseley was deeply affected. I think there were few dry eyes in the room. He said he had been for years preparing himself solely for preaching the gospel, and after long waiting had had this call. " But," said he, " it is manifestly God's will that I should not be settled here. I accept his will without com- plaint. I had feared, in view of the opposition as it disclosed itself, that you would think it best not to install me. I accept your conclusion as a wise one and as expressing the will of God in the matter." The council then made up its record and adjourned, and poor Moseley was left to inform the young lady whom he was to marry of the defeat of their hopes, and to begin another long tramp in quest of a settlement.

I saw but little of him after this. He got an opportunity to preach for a short time as an agent, I think, of the Bible Society, and two opportunities to supply for a few months a

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vacant pulpit. But neither of the latter opportunities brought him a call to a parish, and his marriage was necessarily deferred from year to year. At last, before he was forty, he lay down and died. I do not know the illness that caused his death, but he was a disappointed and broken man, and wearied with his hopeless quest. He was a man of lovely consecration of life, but lacking in vigor of intellect. It was a great mistake to take him from a life of industrial labor when so old, and to send him through college. As a farmer or carpenter he would have made one of the best of country deacons and have led a very useful life. His unbelieving father, who opposed his at- tempt to get a college education, was in the right, and his pious mother, whose heart was set on his preaching the gospel, was in the wrong. The young lady to whom he was engaged lived un- married for many years and finally died at the threshold of old age.

I never regretted my kindness to him. There are few things that I look back upon with more satisfaction. I shall soon meet him in the other world and shall look with more than the old kindness on the plain face that will then be lighted up by a new consecration and by a happiness that he never knew here.

GENERAL B.

I prefer not to give the full name of the person about whom I write. B. entered college with me at Yale and staid there till some time in sophomore year, when he went to the military academy at West Point. He had been promised an appoint- ment there, and was studying at Yale only to improve the in- terval and make his education more complete. His whole ambition was for an army life and military glory. He came from one of the Connecticut country towns, and his mother, who was a widow, was possessed of but small means, which she gladly expended for him, though, so far as I could learn, she had little sympathy with his love of military life. At West Point he was a faithful student, and graduated with honor, re- ceiving a lieutenancy in the army. In the Mexican war he did good service and rose to the rank of captain. In our civil war he became a general, and died a few years after the war.

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I was never much drawn to B., and yet while we were in college together there grew up between us quite a friendly re- lation. As a matter possibly of some honest thinking", but more, I think, as one of military spirit and bravado, he avowed from the first an utter disbelief in all religious creeds, and would, I think, have called himself an atheist. I. had occa- sional arguments with him on the subject. He occasionally wrote me after he got into the army, sometimes alluding to his Unchanged religious opinions, my reply presenting earnestly my own opposing convictions.

In the summer of 1841. I was a member of our House of Representatives, the legislature sitting that year at New Haven. To my surprise, one day B. called on me there. After a cordial meeting, he told me that some of his friends were going to bring before the legislature a resolution giving him a sword, in recognition of his gallantry in the Mexican war, and while he did not like to appear as a personal applicant for it, he desired to interest his friends in the matter and secure their friendly services, and that it was with great pleasure that he found that I was a member of the House. After hearing somewhat in detail his account of what he had done in the war, in which he made out a pretty good case, I said to him: "Now B." (I could call him only by his old and familiar name of B. without prefixing the " Captain "), "you know how I abhor war, and this Mexican war I have utterly disapproved of as iniquitous, though as an army officer you, of course, had to go into it, but I cannot vote for having the state give you a sword. If it were some other person than you I should not only vote but speak against it." He was, of course, greatly disappointed, but expressed the hope that I would not vote against the reso- lution. I finally told him. that I would not vote at all, but when the vote was taken would go out of the House. The whole thing failed, I think, by an abandonment of the effort on the part of the captain.

Many years later General B. (who had become a general in our civil war) was stationed at Boston, in charge of the erec- tion or reparation of some fortifications in Boston harbor. While he was there I met him in the street, and he at once told me of his being stationed there, and asked me to go

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with him down the harbor to the work of which he had charge. I went with him and spent a large part of the day with him there. He then told me much of his later life. He had mar- ried a few years before a lady whose acquaintance he made there (I think a Boston lady), and had a little boy about a year old, who was the delight of his life. Many other incidents of his life he mentioned that would not be of general interest. After my return home, perhaps a year after, I received an agonized letter from him, telling of the death of this child, his only child. I wrote him in reply what comforting suggestions I could make, and spoke of the greater consolation one would find who had a settled religious faith. He replied that he would tell me just what had happened, which he knew would interest me. He said that the child was taken very ill in the night with, f. think, membraneous croup, or something very quick and fatal, and that he at once sent for the doctor, but he thought the child was dying and remembered that it had never been baptized. In his horror at the thought of it, he sent a servant in great haste for the Unitarian clergyman at whose church he and his wife attended, and then, at once, came the thought that perhaps Unitarianism was not the true religion, and he sent another servant for a Congregational clergyman. (He had been brought up in a Congregational family.) Before either servant had returned, or the doctor had got there, he thought the child was surely dying, and he caught up a basin of water, and, dipping his hand in it, laid it on the forehead of the child, saying in solemn voice: " Henry, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The incident was almost a grotesque one, but it shows how deeply fixed, even in an estranged and denying and perhaps blaspheming heart, are the truths that one is taught by parental instruction and example to accept in his childhood. I never heard from General B. again and have no knowledge how far the revived faith of his childhood remained by him and affected his future belief and life. He died not long after. He had seen the wars for which he had in early life expressed to me a great desire, and had attained an honorable rank in the army, but not the great military distinction that had been the sole ambition of his life.

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WILLIAM H. IMLAY.

In the summer of 1852 the public heard with astonishment of the failure of William H. Imlay of Hartford. He had been regarded as the wealthiest man in Connecticut, and though he was known to be borrowing money rather largely at the banks, no one thought that he was seriously embarrassed. He had on his hands large operations that required the use of much money. He was rated as worth over half a million, which was then a very large estate.

He retained me as his counsel the year after I removed to Hartford, and thus I saw a great deal of him. He had ex- tensive real estate in the northern part of Michigan, and a year or two later took me with him there to examine the property and his titles, and on our way he told me many very interesting things with regard to his own history.

His father held an important public office at Washington, in which he had the handling of considerable public money. He was a generous liver, given to hospitality, and careless about money. He died when William was about fifteen, and upon his death it was found that he was short in his accounts about $10,000. This was a shocking occurrence for those early times. His bondsmen, who were some personal friends, had to make good the amount. William was the oldest of quite a family of children. Of course the family had nothing, and this boy of fifteen had the great burden of the support of his mother and the other children fall on him. With her help he got the place of a clerk in a store (a grocery, I think), and worked with the utmost faithfulness, turning in for the family support all he got. He had to work from daybreak till late in the evening, and he told me that often, when he got home for the night, he was so utterly tired out that he could not undress, but threw himself on top of the bed and slept in his clothes. In this way he struggled on till the other children were able to earn something and the family needs were less. In this severe school he had acquired habits of industry and economy and learned the ways of business. When he became of age he got into a profitable business (I forget what it was, or where), in which he accumulated over $10,000. Who could have blamed the poor boy for putting all this into his business, or

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investing it for the benefit of the family? But with a high sense of honor he took it all and paid his father's bondsmen for what they had had to pay out for him. He settled in Hart- ford early in life, and all the remainder of his life was spent there. After he became wealthy he was persuaded to invest $50,000 in the Atlantic Dock Company of Brooklyn, N. Y. He told me that the other owners, there were but some half dozen in all, assured him that $50,000 was all that he would be called on to furnish. The undertaking was a magnificent one, promising great returns, but requiring the use of a very large amount of money. A large amount was raised by the sale of bonds, a portion of which Mr. Imlay took as security for further advances, and was able to sell only by putting on them his personal guarantee. At last, tired out with the perpetual draft on his money and his credit, he told me that he offered the other members of the company $75,000 if they would take his