Recollections of a Lifetime, by Samuel Griswold Goodrich (New York & Auburn: Miller, Orton & Mulligan, 1856)

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curious arrangement of partners. Similar movements took place in other parts of the country--the result of which was, a new crystallization of parties, in which, the terras federalist and democrat lost their original signification. I have before adverted to this fact, and have stated that--in application to present parties--they are little more than names to discriminate between conservatives and radicals.

I have thus deemed it due to truth, in giving my recollections of the war, to give them frankly and fearlessly. Believing the old federalists--especially those of Connecticut, for with them my acquaintance was personal--to have been honest and patriotic, as I knew them to be virtuous and wise, so I have said, and given my reasons for the faith that is in me. While doing them this justice, I do not affirm that in all things their measures were right. I contend, however, that they were true men, and, on the whole, have left memories behind them which, every dictate of virtue and patriotism teaches us to cherish. By the side of their opponents--and the very best of them--they may claim at least equal respect. As time advances and the mists of party are cleared from the horizon, I doubt not their images will be seen and recognized by all, as rising higher and higher among the nobler monuments of our history. One truth will stand--they were of those who reared the glorious fabric of the Union, and under all circumstances taught the peo-

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ple to regard it as sacred. Before any man presumes to call them traitors, let him see that his own hands are equally pure, his own spirit equally exalted.

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LETTER XXXII.

The Count Value--Lessons in French, and a Translation of René--Severe Retribution for Imprudence--The End of the Pocket-book Factory--Napoleon returns to Paris and upsets my Affairs--Divers Experiences and Selections upon Danciny--Visit to New York--Oliver Wolcott and Archibald Gracie--Ballston and Saratoga--Dr. Payson and the three Rowdies--Illness and Death of my Uncle--Partnership with George Sheldon--His Illness and Death.

My Dear C******

I must now go back and take up a few dropped stitches in my narrative. I have told you that my apprenticeship terminated in the summer of 1814. Previous to that time, I had made some advances in the study of the French language under M. Value, or, to give him his title, the Count Value. This person had spent his early life in Paris, but he afterward migrated to St. Domingo, where he owned a large estate. In the insurrection of 1794, he escaped only with his life. With admirable cheerfulness and serenity, he devoted himself to teaching French and dancing, as means of support. He settled for a time at New Haven, where, at the age of seventy, he was captivated and captured by a tall, red-haired schoolmistress of twenty. She accounted to me, for

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her success, by stating that, at the time, she was called the "Rose of Sharon"--she being a native of a town in Litchfield county bearing the latter name.

The Count finally established himself at Hartford, and I became one of his pupils. I pursued my studies with considerable assiduity, and to practice myself in French, I translated Chateaubriand's René. One of my friends had just established a newspaper at Middletown, and my translation was published there. About this time my health was feeble, and my eyes became seriously affected in consequence of my night studies. Unaware of the danger, I persevered, and thus laid the foundation of a nervous weakness and irritability of my eyes, which has since been to me a rock ahead in the whole voyage of life. From that time, I have never been able to read or write, but with pain. As if by a kind of fatality, I seemed to be afterward drawn into a literary career, for which I was doubly disqualified--first, by an imperfect education, and next, by defective eyesight. Oh! what penalties have I paid for thus persisting in a course which seems to have been forbidden to me by Providence. After a long and laborious life, I feel, a profound consciousness that I have done nothing well; at the same time, days, months, nay years, have I struggled with the constant apprehension that I should terminate my career in blindness! How little do we know, especially in the outset of our existence, what is before us! It is indeed well that we

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do not know, for the prospect would often overwhelm us.

In the autumn of 1814, as already stated, I established, in company with a friend, a pocket-book factory at Hartford; but the peace put a speedy termination to that enterprise. We got out of it with a small loss, and my kind-hearted partner pocketed this, "for he had money, and I had none." He forgave me, and would have done the same, had the defalcation been more considerable--for he was a true friend.

Early in the following spring. I made an arrangement to go to Paris as a clerk in a branch of the importing house of Richards, Taylor & Wilder, of New York. About a month after, the news came that Bonaparte had suddenly returned from Elba, and as business was prostrated by that event, my engagement failed. For nearly a year, my health continued indifferent, and my eyes in such a state that I was incapable of undertaking any serious business. I spent my time partly at Berlin,* with my parents, and partly at Hart-

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ford. I read a little, and practiced my French, with Value and his scholars. I also felt the need of disciplining my hands and feet, which about these days seemed to me to have acquired a most absurd development--giving me an awful feeling of embarrassment when I entered into company. I therefore took lessons in dancing, and whether I profited by it or not, as to manners, I am persuaded that this portion of my education was highly beneficial to me in other points of view.

As many good people have a prejudice against dancing, I am disposed to write down my experience on the subject. In the winter, our good old teacher had weekly cotillion parties, for the purpose of practicing his scholars. The young men invited the young ladies, and took them to these gatherings, and after the exercises, conducted them home again. I know this will sound strange to those who only understand metropolitan manners at the present day; but let me tell you that I never knew an instance, in my own experience or observation, in which the strictest propriety was departed from. These parties took

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place in the evening: they began at eight o'clock, and continued till ten or eleven--sometimes till twelve. The company consisted entirely of young persons--from fifteen to twenty years of age: they included the children of the respectable inhabitants, with a number of young ladies from the boarding-schools. Some of these I have since seen the wives of bishops, senators, and governors of States--filling indeed the first stations to which the sex can aspire in this country.

I have had enough experience of the world to know that such things could not be in the great cities of Europe or America--perhaps nowhere out of New England. The division of society into castes in monarchical countries, no doubt involves the necessity of keeping young ladies jealously aloof from companionship with the other sex, because they might entangle themselves in engagements which would defeat the system of building up families and estates by politic marriages. In this state of society, it might be found dangerous for young persons of opposite sexes to be left even casually together, for a spirit of intrigue is always indigenous under a system of restraint and espionage. But however this may be, I am satisfied that these Hartford parties, under the auspices of our amiable and respectable old teacher, were every way refining and elevating: not only did they impart ease of manner, but, as I think, purity of sentiment. The earlier emotions of youth are delicate,

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modest, conservative; and if acquaintance with life be made at this period, these stamp their refinements upon the feelings, and form a safe, conservative basis of future habits of thought and conduct. I do not mean to favor latitudinarianism of manners; I do not, indeed, say that this system can be adopted in large cities, but I believe that dancing parties, consisting of young persons of both sexes, under proper guidance--as, for instance, under the eye of parents, either in a public hall, or by the domestic fireside--have a refining influence, beneficial alike to manners and morals. I believe that even public assemblies for dancing, regulated by the presence of good people, are eminently useful.

I have been in Catholic countries, where the system is to keep girls in cloisters, or schools resembling them, till they are taken out by their parents or guardians to be married; and it is precisely in these countries, where education is the most jealous, and discipline the most rigorous, that intrigue is the great game of life--especially with the upper classes--of both sexes. I have seen society where Puritan ideas prevailed, and where religious people held dancing to be a device of the devil; and here I have often found that practices, secret or open, quite as exceptionable as dancing, were current in society. If in the earlier ages of our New England history, a hard, self-denying system was profitable, it is not so in the present state of society. We are created with social

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feelings, which demand indulgence. No system of religion, no code or contrivance of state policy, has been able to get over this fact. We can not kill the voice of God and nature in the soul: we can only regulate it, and by using common sense and the lights of religion, give it a safe and beneficent development. Is it not time for society to cast off prejudice, and to be governed by truth and experience? It must be remembered that what is condemned by the good and wise, often thereby becomes evil, though in itself it may be beneficial. Has not this wrong been done among us? It seems to me that good people, pious people, may at least inquire whether it may not be well for them to take under their patronage, that branch of education which proposes at once to perfect the manners and refine the sentiments of youth. It is not to dictate, but to aid in this inquiry, that I give you with some minuteness my observations on this subject; hence I offer you my testimony to the fact that in the course of three winters, during which I attended these cotillion parties at Hartford, I never saw or heard of an instance of impropriety in word or deed.

Let me further suggest that there is a principle here which it is important to recognize and appreciate. These young people were brought together at a period when their emotions were still sheltered in the folds of that sensitive and shrinking modesty, designed to protect them at the period of their first adventure

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into mixed society. This modesty is to the heart of youth, like the envelope in which nature enshrines the choicest products of the vegetable kingdom, till they are ripened and prepared for the harvest. This shrinking delicacy of feeling is conservative; to this, license is offensive, and if suggested, is repelled. If young people associate together at this period--under the restraints which necessarily exist in an assembly such, as I am contemplating--habits of delicacy, in thought and manner, are likely to be established. A person who has been thus trained, seems to me armed, in some degree at least, against those coarse seductions which, degrade, and at last destroy, so many young persons of both, sexes. To young men, an early familiarity with the refined portion of the gentler sex, placing them at ease in their society and making this a sort of necessity to them, I conceive to be one of the greatest safeguards to their morals and manners in after life. And as a preparation for this--as an introduction, an inducement to this--I conceive that the art of dancing, practiced by young people of both, sexes, together, is to be commended.

I am aware that I am treading upon delicate ground. You may share the idea entertained by many good, pious people, that dancing is always degrading and vicious in its tendencies. This, however, I think, arises from considering it in its abuses. I am not contending for juvenile balls, as a pursuit fit to absorb the whole thought and attention. Remember,

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I am speaking of dancing as a part of education--to be conducted with propriety--in order to train young 'people of both sexes to habits of easy and delicate intercourse. As to the practice of dancing, afterward, this must be regulated by the judgment of parents. One custom may be proper in one place, and not in another. In this country, our habits are different from those of others: in Asia, where woman is designed for the harem, and in Europe, where she is trained to be the make-weight of a bargain, jealousy becomes the sentinel of society; in the United States, woman is comparatively free, and here confidence must be the guardian of society. I am inclined to think, in this respect, our system has the advantage, provided it be not abused by license on the one hand, nor bigotry on the other.

In respect to the case I am describing in my early experience, in which, the young gentlemen conducted the young ladies to and from the dancing hall--the confidence of parents, thus reposed in their children, fortified and recommended by the purer suggestions of the heart--appealed to motives of honor, and was usually responded to by scrupulous rectitude of demeanor. If you doubt the justice of this philosophy, I ask your attention to the fact that, at this day--forty years subsequent to the period to which I refer--in this very city of Hartford, with a population of twenty thousand people, women, young and old, of all classes, walk the streets till midnight, with as

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much sense of security and propriety, as at noonday! Where will you find higher evidence of a refined state of society than this?

In the spring of 1815 I paid a visit to New York, and having letters of introduction to Oliver Wolcott and Archibald Gracie, I called on these gentlemen. Mr. Wolcott lived in Pine-street, nearly opposite where the custom-house is now, and at a short distance was John Wells, an eminent lawyer of that day. But a considerable number of the higher aristocracy was gathered toward the lower part of the city, the Battery being pretty nearly the focus of fashion. Streets now desecrated by the odor of tar and turpentine, were then filled with the flush and the fair. Nath'l Prime lived at No. 1 Broadway; Mr. Gracie in the Octagon House, corner of Bridge and State streets. Near by was his son-in-law, Charles King, now president of Columbia College, and his son, Wm. Gracie, who had married the second daughter of Oliver Wolcott. In this quarter, also, were Wm. Bayard, Gen. Morton, Matthew Clarkson, J. B. Coles, Moses Rogers, &c., all eminent citizens.

My lodgings were at the City Hotel, situated on the western side of Broadway, between Thames and Cedar streets--the space being now occupied by warehouses. It was then the Astor House of New York, being kept by a model landlord, whose name was Jennings, with a model barkeeper by the name of Willard. The latter was said never to sleep--night or day--for at all hours he was at his post, and never

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forgot a customer, even after an absence of twenty years.

It was late in the spring, and Mr. Gracie called for me and took me to his country-seat, occupying a little promontory on the western side of Hurlgate--a charming spot, now cut up into some thirty city lots. Contiguous to it, toward the city, were the summer residences of J. J. Astor, Nathaniel Prime, and Wm. Rhinelander; on the other side were the seats of Commodore Chauncey, Joshua Jones, and others.

Here I spent a fortnight very agreeably. Mr. Gracie was at this period distinguished alike on account of his wealth, his intelligence, and his amiable and honorable character. Never have I witnessed any thing more charming--more affectionate, dignified, and graceful--than the intercourse of the family with one another. The sons and daughters, most of them happily connected in marriage--as they gathered here--seemed, to my unpracticed imagination, to constitute a sort of dynasty, something like the romance of the middle ages. Not many years after, Mr. Gracie lost his entire fortune by the vicissitudes of commerce, but his character was beyond the reach of accident. He is still remembered with affectionate respect by all those whose memories reach back to the times in which he flourished, and when it might be said, without disparagement to any other man, that he was the first merchant in New York.

I must not omit to mention two other celebrities

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whom. I saw during this visit to New York. You must recollect I was on my travels, and so, as in duty bound, I sought to see the lions. Of course 1 went to the court-house, and there I saw two remarkable men--Judge Kent, and Thomas Addis Emmet--the first, chancellor of the State of New York, and the latter one of the most eminent lawyers in the city, perhaps in the United States.

Judge Kent* I had seen before, at my uncle's house. He had been educated at Yale College, was my father's classmate, and formed an early acquaintance with our family, resulting in a friendly intercourse which was maintained throughout his whole life. It would be difficult now to point to a man so universally honored and esteemed. To the most extensive learning, he added a winning simplicity of manners and transparent truthfulness of character. All this was written in his countenance, at once irresistible by its beaming intelligence, and its not less impressive benevolence. The greatness and goodness of his character shone full in his face.

I remember perfectly well the scene, when I saw Emmet† and the judge together. The former was

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arguing a case, but there were only half a dozen persons present, and it was rather a conversation than a plea. Emmet was a somewhat short but very athletic man, with large, rosy cheeks, an enormous mouth, and full, expressive eyes. His Irish brogue, rich and sonorous, rolled from his lips like a cataract of music. Kent listened, but frequently changed position, and often broke into the argument with a question, which sometimes resulted in a dialogue. His whole manner was easy, familiar, and very different from the statue-like dignity of other judges I had seen. The whole spectacle left on my mind the impression that two great men were rather consulting together, than that one was attempting to win from the other an opinion to suit an interested client. I recollect to have seen, listening to this discussion, a large, florid, handsome man, with a dark, eloquent eye; I inquired his name, and was told that it was John Wells, the renowned lawyer, already mentioned.

As I thus saw the lions of the town, I also heard the thunderers of the pulpit. On one occasion I listened to a discourse from Dr. J. B. Romeyn*--a tall, thin, eloquent man--I think in Cedar-street. He was celebrated in his day; and, if I understood him cor-

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rectly, he maintained the doctrine of election in such rigor as to declare that if he knew who the elect were, he would preach only to them, inasmuch as it would be useless to preach to other persons!

In a new church in Murray-street, I heard Dr. Mason,* then regarded as the Boanerges of the city. Instead of a pulpit--which serves as a sort of shelter and defense for the preacher--he had only a little railing along the edge of the platform on which he stood, so as to show his large and handsome person, almost down to his shoe-buckles. He preached without notes, and moved freely about, sometimes speaking in a colloquial manner, and then suddenly pouring out sentence after sentence, glowing with lightning and echoing with thunder. The effect of these outbursts was sometimes very startling. The doctor was not only very imposing in his person, but his voice was of prodigious volume and compass. He was sometimes adventurous in his speech, occasionally passing off a joke, and not unfrequently

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verging on what might seem profane, but for the solemnity of his manner. When I heard him, in speaking of some recent Unitarian point of faith, he said, "This is damnable doctrine--I say it is damnable doctrine!"--the deep, guttural emphasis giving to the repetition a thrilling effect.

Early in the ensuing summer, my uncle, Chauncey Goodrich, being in bad health, paid a visit to Saratoga* and Ballston for the benefit of the waters, and I accompanied him. We soon returned, however, for

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it was now apparent that he had a disease of the heart, which was rapidly tending to a fatal result. Experiencing great suffering at intervals, he gradually yielded to the progress of his malady, and at last, on the 18th of August, 1815--while walking the room, and engaged in cheerful conversation--he faltered, sank into a chair, and instantly expired. "His death," says the historian, "was a shock to the whole community. Party distinctions were forgotten, under a sense of the general calamity; and in the simple but expressive language which was used at his funeral, 'all united in a tribute of respect to the man who had so long been dear to us, and done us so much good.'" To me, the loss was irreparable--leaving, however, in my heart a feeling of gratitude that I had witnessed an example of the highest intellectual power united with the greatest moral excellence--and that, too, in one whose relationship to me enforced and commended its teachings to my special observance. Alas, how little have I done in life that is worthy of such inspiration!

Not long after this, my friend George Sheldon having established himself as a bookseller and publisher, he invited me to become his partner--and this I did, early in the year 1816. [note] We pursued the business for nearly two years, during which time we published, among other works, Scott's Family Bible, in five volumes quarto--a considerable enterprise for that period, in a place like Hartford. In the autumn of

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1817 I had gone to Berlin, for the purpose of making a short excursion for the benefit of my health, when a messenger came from Hartford, saying that my partner was very ill, and wished me to return. I immediately complied, and on entering the room of my friend, I found him in a high fever, his mind already wandering in painful dreams. As I came to his bedside he said--"Oh, take away these horrid knives; they cut me to the heart!" I stooped over him and said--

"There are no knives here; you are only dreaming."

"Oh, is it you?" said he. "I am glad you have come. Do stay with me, and speak to me, so as to keep off these dreadful fancies."

I did stay by him for four days and nights--but his doom was sealed. His mind continued in a state of wild delirium till a few minutes before his death. I stood gazing at his face, when a sudden change came over him: the agitated and disturbed look of insanity had passed--a quiet pallor had come over his countenance, leaving it calm and peaceful. He opened his eyes, and, as if waking from sleep, looked on me with an aspect of recognition. His lips moved, and he pronounced the name of his wife; she came, with all the feelings of youth and love--aye, and of hope, too, in her heart. She bent over him: he raised his feeble and emaciated arms and clasped her to his heart: he gave her one kiss, and passed to another life!

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LETTER XXXIII.

The Famine of 1816 and 1817--Panic in New England--Migrations to Ohio--T'other Side of Ohio--Toleration--Downfall of Federalism--Oliver Wolcott and the Democracy--Connecticut upset--The new Constitution--Gov. Smith and Gov. Wolcott--Litchfield--Uriah Tracy--Frederick Wolcott--Tapping Reeve--Col. Talmadge--James Gould--J. W. Huntington--The Litchfield Centennial Celebration.

My dear C******

I must now ask your attention to several topics haying no connection, except unity of time and place: the cold seasons of 1816 and 1817, and the consequent flood of emigration from New England to the West; the political revolution in Connecticut, which was wrought in the magic name of Toleration, and one or two items of my personal experience.

The summer of 1816 was probably the coldest that has been known here, in this century. In New England--from Connecticut to Maine--there were severe frosts in every month. The crop of Indian corn was almost entirely cut off: of potatoes, hay, oats, &c., there was not probably more than half the usual supply. The means of averting the effects of such a calamity--now afforded by railroads, steam navigation, canals, and other facilities of intercommunication--did not then exist. The following winter was severe, and the ensuing spring backward. At this time I made a journey into New Hampshire, pass-

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ing along the Connecticut river, in the region of Hanover. It was then June, and the hills were almost as barren as in November. I saw a man at Orford, who had been forty miles for a half bushel of Indian corn, and paid two dollars for it!

Along the seaboard it was not difficult to obtain a supply of food, save only that every article was dear. In the interior it was otherwise: the cattle died for want of fodder, and many of the inhabitants came near perishing from starvation. The desolating effects of the war still lingered over the country, and at last a kind of despair seized upon some of the people. In the pressure of adversity, many persons lost their judgment, and thousands feared or felt that New England was destined, henceforth, to become a part of the frigid zone. At the same time, Ohio--with its rich soil, its mild climate, its inviting prairies--was opened fully upon the alarmed and anxious vision. As was natural under the circumstances, a sort of stampede took place from cold, desolate, worn-out New England, to this land of promise.

I remember very well the tide of emigration through Connecticut, on its way to the West, during the summer of 1817. Some persons went in covered wagons--frequently a family consisting of father, mother, and nine small children, with one at the breast--some on foot and some crowded together under the cover, with kettles, gridirons, feather-beds, crockery, and the family Bible. Watts' Psalms and Hymns, and Webster's

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Spelling-book--the lares and penates of the household. Others started in ox-carts, and trudged on at the rate of ten miles a day. In several instances I saw families on foot--the father and boys taking turns in dragging along an improvised hand-wagon, loaded with the wreck of the household goods--occasionally giving the mother and baby a ride. Many of these persons were in a state of poverty, and begged their way as they went. Some died before they reached the expected Canaan; many perished after their arrival, from fatigue and privation; and others, from the fever and ague, which was then certain to attack the new settlers.

It was, I think, in 1818, that I published a small tract, entitled "T'other side of Ohio"--that is, the other view, in contrast to the popular notion that it was the paradise of the world. It was written by Dr. Hand--a talented young physician of Berlin--who had made a visit to the West about these days. It consisted mainly of vivid but painful pictures of the accidents and incidents attending this wholesale migration. The roads over the Alleghanies, between Philadelphia and Pittsburg, were then rude, steep, and dangerous, and some of the more precipitous slopes were consequently strewn with the carcases of wagons, carts, horses, oxen, which bad made shipwreck in their perilous descents. The scenes on the road--of families gathered at night in miserable sheds, called taverns--mothers frying, children cry-

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ing, fathers swearing--were a mingled comedy and tragedy of errors. Even when they arrived in their new homes--along the banks of the Muskingum or the Scioto--frequently the whole family--father, mother, children--speedily exchanged the fresh complexion and elastic step of their first abodes, for the sunken cheek and languid movement, which marks the victim of intermittent fever.

The instances of home-sickness, described by this vivid sketcher, were touching. Not even the captive Israelites, who hung their harps upon the willows along the banks of the Euphrates, wept more bitter tears, or looked back with more longing to their native homes, than did these exiles from New England--mourning the land they had left, with its roads, schools, meeting-houses--its hope, health, and happiness! Two incidents, related by the traveler, I must mention--though I do it from recollection, as I have not a copy of the work. He was one day riding in the woods, apart from the settlements, when he met a youth, some eighteen years of age, in a hunting-frock, and with a fowling-piece in his hand. The two fell into conversation.

"Where are you from?" said the youth, at last.

"From Connecticut," was the reply.

"That is near the old Bay State?"

"Yes."

"And have you been there?"

"To Massachusetts? Yes, many a time."

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"Let me take your hand, stranger. My mother was from the Bay State, and brought me here when I was an infant. I have heard her speak of it. Oh, it must be a lovely land! I wish I could see a meeting-house and a school-house, for she is always talking about them. And the sea--the sea--oh, if I could see that! Did you ever see it, stranger?"

"Yes, often."

"What, the real, salt sea--the ocean--with the ships upon it?"

"Yes."

"Well"--said the youth, scarcely able to suppress his emotion--"if I could see the old Bay State and the ocean, I should be willing then to die!"

In another instance the traveler met--somewhere in the valley of the Scioto--a man from Hartford, by the name of Bull. He was a severe democrat, and feeling sorely oppressed with the idea that he was no better off in Connecticut under federalism than the Hebrews in Egypt, joined the throng and migrated to Ohio. He was a man of substance, but his wealth was of little avail in a new country, where all the comforts and luxuries of civilization were unknown.

"When I left Connecticut," said he, "I was wretched from thinking of the sins of federalism. After I had got across Byram river, which divides that State from New York, I knelt down and thanked the Lord for that he had brought me and mine out of such a priest-ridden land. But I've been well punished,

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and I'm now preparing to return; when I again cross Byram river, I shall thank God that he has permitted me to get back again!"

Mr. Bull did return, and what he hardly anticipated had taken place in his absence: the federal dynasty had passed away, and democracy was reigning in its stead! This was effected by a union of all the dissenting sects--Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptists--co-operating with the democrats to overthrow the old and established order of things. Up to this period, Connecticut had no other constitution than the colonial charter granted by Charles II. This was a meager instrument, but long usage had supplied its deficiencies, and the State had, practically, all the functions of a complete political organization. It had begun in Puritanism, and even now, as I have elsewhere stated--notwithstanding gradual modifications--the old Congregational orthodoxy still held many privileges, some traditionary and some statutory. Yale College--an institution of the highest literary standing--had been from the beginning, in its influence, a religious seminary in the hands of the Congregational clergy. The State had not only chartered it, but had endowed and patronized it. And besides, the statute-book continued to give preference to this sect, compelling all persons to pay taxes to it, unless they should declare their adhesion to some other persuasion.

All this was incompatible with ideas and interests

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that had now sprung up in the community. The Episcopalians had become a large and powerful body, and though they were generally federalists, they now clamored--as an offset to the endowments of Yale College--for a sum of money to lay the foundation of a "Bishops' Fund." The Methodists and Baptists had discovered that the preference given to orthodoxy, was a union of Church and State, and that the whole administration was but the dark and damning machinery of privileged priestcraft. To all these sources of discontent, the democracy added the hostility which it had ever felt toward federalism--now intensely embittered by the aggravations of the war and the Hartford Convention.

It was clear that the doom of federalism was at hand, even in Connecticut. Many things had conspired to overthrow it in other parts of the country. Jefferson had saddled it, in the popular mind, with a tendency to monarchy and a partiality for England--a burden which it was hard to bear--especially near the revolutionary period, when the hearts of the people still beat with gratitude to France and aggravated hostility to Great Britain. John Adams, the candidate of the federalists, gave great strength to this charge by his conduct, and having thus nearly broken down his supporters, did what he could to complete their destruction, by at last going over to the enemy. John Quincy Adams followed in the footsteps of his father. Washington was early withdrawn from the scene of

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action: Hamilton was shot: Burr proved treacherous and infamous. The pillars of federalism were shaken and at the same time two mighty instruments were at work for its final overthrow. The great body of the people had got possession of suffrage, and insisted, with increasing vehemence, upon the removal of every impediment to its universality. The conservatives, in such a contest, were sure to be at last overwhelmed, and this issue was not long delayed. One thing more--the foreign element in our population, augmenting every year, was almost wholly democratic. Democracy in Europe is the watchword of popular liberty; the word is in all modern languages, the idea in all existing masses. This name was now assumed by the radical or republican party, and to its standard, as a matter of course, the great body of the European immigrants--little instructed in our history or our institutions--spontaneously flocked, by the force of instinct and prepossession. And still further--as I have before intimated, nearly all foreigners hate England, and in this respect they found a ready and active sympathy with the democratic party--the federalists being of course charged with the damning sin of love for that country and its institutions.

To these and other general influences, which had shattered the federal party in the Southern and Middle States, was now added, in Connecticut, the local difficulties founded in sectarian discontent. But it is probable that a revolution could not have been speed-

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ily consummated, but for an adventitious incident. Oliver Wolcott, who had been one of Washington's cabinet, and of the strictest sect of federalism, had resided some years in New York, where he had acquired a handsome fortune by commercial pursuits. For a number of years he had taken no part in politics, though I believe he had rather given support to the war. No doubt he disapproved of the course of the federalists, for I remember that shortly before the Hartford Convention he was at my uncle's house--the two being brothers-in-law--as I have before stated. In allusion to the coming assembly, I recollect to have heard him say, interrogatively--

"Well, brother Goodrich, I hope you are not about to breed any mischief?"

"Sir," said my uncle, somewhat rebukingly, "you know me too well to make it necessary to ask that question!"

I recollect at a later period, when he was governor of Connecticut, to have heard him speak reproachfully of both political parties in New York. Said he--

"After living a dozen years in that State, I don't pretend to comprehend their politics. It is a labyrinth of wheels within wheels, and is understood only by the managers. Why, these leaders of the opposite parties, who--in the papers and before the world--seem ready to tear each other's eyes out, will meet some rainy night in a dark entry, and agree, whichever way the election goes, they will share the spoils together!"

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At all events, about this time Oliver Wolcott removed to Litchfield, his native place, and in 1817 was nominated for governor by the malcontents of all parties, rallying under the name of Toleration. To show the violent nature of the fusion which united such contradictory elements into one homogeneous mass, it may be well to quote here an extract from a Connecticut democratic organ--the American Mercury. This paper, with others, had charged Oliver Wolcott with burning down the War and Treasury Departments at Philadelphia, in order to cover up the iniquities he had committed while Secretary of War. The following was its language, Feb. 3, 1801:

A short time after this--February 26-- the same paper copies from the Philadelphia Aurora an article, of which the following are extracts:

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Such were the opinions--at least such were the representations--of the leading democratic organs, respecting Oliver Wolcott, the federalist, in 1801. In 1817, he was the champion of the democratic party in Connecticut, and the idol of the American Mercury! What transformations are equal to those which the history of political parties, for the short space of twenty years, brings to our view?

It is needless to tell you in detail what immediately followed. The struggle was one of the most violent that was ever witnessed in Connecticut. It was curious as well as violent--for we saw fighting side by side, shoulder to shoulder, democracy, Methodism,

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Episcopacy, Pedobaptism, Universalism, radicalism, infidelity--all united for the overthrow of federalism, and orthodoxy; and Oliver Wolcott was the leader in this onset! The election took place in April, 1817 and the federalists were routed, according to the established phrase, "horse, foot, and dragoons." John Cotton Smith,* the most popular man in the State,

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was defeated: federalism was in the dust, toleration was triumphant!

I remember that at that time, William L. Stone was editor of the Connecticut Mirror. Nearly the whole paper, immediately preceding the election, was filled with pungent matter. I think I filled a column or two myself. The feelings of the federalists were very much wrought up, but after it was all over, they took it good-naturedly. A new Constitution for the State--1818--and a very good one, was the first fruit of the revolution. Wolcott continued governor for ten years, and taking a moderate course, in the end, satisfied reasonable men of both parties. He was no radical, and inasmuch as a political change in Connecticut was inevitable, it is probable that no better man could have been found, to lead the people through the emergency.*

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During the period in which Oliver Wolcott was governor, I was several times at Litchfield, and often at his house. My sister, Mrs. Cooke, had married his brother, Frederick Wolcott, living in the old family

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mansion near by, and as I have intimated, my uncle, Chauncey Goodrich, had married his sister--thus making a double connection in the family. Uriah Tracy,* one of the most distinguished men in the

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history of Connecticut, had been dead for several years, but others of great eminence were still living--giving to Litchfield a remarkable prominence in the State. Among these were Tapping Reeve,* at one time chief-justice of Connecticut, and founder of the law school, which was long the first institution of the kind in the United States; Colonel Talmadge, distinguished as a gallant officer in the Revolution, and a manly, eloquent debater in Congress; James Gould, a learned judge, au elegant scholar, and successor of Reeve in the law school; Jabez W. Huntington--law lecturer, judge, senator--and distinguished in all these eminent stations; Lyman Beecher,† an able theolo-

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gian and eloquent preacher, and even now more widely known through his talented family, than his own genius. Litchfield Hill was in fact not only one of the most elevated features in the physical conforma[tion] of Connecticut, but one of the focal points of literature and civilization. You will readily suppose that my visits here were among the most interesting events of my early life.

In August, 1851, there was at Litchfield a gathering of distinguished natives of the county, convened to celebrate its organization, which had taken place a century before. Appropriate addresses were made by Judge Church, Dr. Bushnell, F. A. Tallmadge, D. S. Dickinson, George W. Holley, George Gould, Henry Dutton, and other persons of distinction. Among

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the performances was a poem by Rev. J. Pierpont,* alike illustrative of the local history of Litchfield and the manners and character of New England.

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I think it may be safely said that there are few counties in the United States, which could furnish either such a poet or such materials for poetry, as this.

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It has not only produced the eminent men already noticed, but it lias been the birthplace of thirteen United States senators, twenty-two representatives

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in Congress from the State of New York, alone, fifteen judges of the supreme courts of other States, nine presidents of colleges, and eighteen professors of colleges!

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LETTER XXXIV.

Stephen R. Bradley--My Pursuit of the Vocation of Bookseller and Publisher--Scott's Poems--General Enthusiasm--Byron's Poems--Their Reception--The Waverley Novels--Their amazing Popularity--I publish an Edition of them--Literary Club at Hartford--J. M. Wainwright, Isaac Toucey, William L. Stone, &c.--The Round Table--Original American Works--State of Opinion as to American Literature--Publication of Trumbull's Poems--Books for Education--Rev. C. A. Goodrich--Dr. Comstock--Woodbridge's Geography.

My dear C******

Early in the year 1818 I was married to the daughter of Stephen Rowe Bradley,* of Westminster, Vermont. Thus established in life, I pursued the business of bookseller and publisher at Hartford for

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four years. My vocation gave me the command of books, but I was able to read but little, my eyes continuing to be so weak that I could hardly do justice to my affairs. By snatches, however, I dipped into a good many books, and acquired a considerable knowledge of authors and their works.

During the period in which Scott had been enchanting the world with his poetry--that is, from 1805 to 1815--I had shared in the general intoxication. The Lady of the Lake delighted me beyond expression, and even now, it seems to me the most pleasing and perfect of metrical romances. These productions seized powerfully upon the popular mind, partly on account of the romance of their revelations, and partly also because of the pellucidity of the style and the easy flow of the versification. Everybody could read and comprehend them. One of my younger sisters committed the whole of the Lady of the Lake to memory, and was accustomed of an evening to sit at her sewing, while she recited it to an admiring circle of listeners. All young poets were inoculated with the octa-syllabic verse, and news-

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papers, magazines, and even volumes, teemed with imitations and variations inspired by the "Wizard Harp of the North." Not only did Scott* himself continue to pour out volume after volume, but others produced set

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poems, in his style, some of them so close in their imitation, as to be supposed the works of Scott himself, trying the effect of a disguise. At last, however, the market was overstocked, and the general appetite began to pall with a surfeit, when one of those sudden changes took place in the public taste, which resemble the convulsions of nature--as a whirlwind or a tempest in the tropics--by which a monsoon, having blown steadily from one point in the compass, for six months, is made to turn about and blow as steadily in the opposite direction.

It was just at the point in which the octa-syllabic plethora began to revolt the public taste, that Byron produced his first canto of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. In London, the effect was sudden, and the youthful poet who went to bed a common man, woke up in the morning and found himself famous. This

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ready appreciation there, arose in a great degree from the fact that the author was a man of fashion and a lord. In this country, these adventitious attributes were less readily felt, and therefore the reception of the new poem was more hesitating and distrustful. For some time, only a few persons seemed to comprehend it, and many who read it, scarcely knew whether to be delighted or shocked. As it gradually made its way in the public mind, it was against a strong current both, of taste and principle.

The public eye and ear--imbued with the genius of Scott--had become adjusted to his sensuous painting of external objects, set in rhymes resonant as those of the nursery books. His poems were, in fact, lyrical romances, with something of epic dignity of thought and incident, presented in all the simplicity of ballad versification. A person with tastes and habits formed upon the reading of these productions, opening upon Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, was likely to feel himself--amid the long-drawn stanzas and the deep, mystic meditations--in somewhat of a labyrinth. Scott's poems were, moreover, elevating in their moral tone, and indeed the popular literature of the day--having generally purified itself from the poisons infused into it by the spirit of the French Revolution--was alike conservative in man--ners and morals. Campbell's Pleasures of Hope and Rogers' Pleasures of Memory, were favorite poems from 1800 to 1815; and during the same period,

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Thaddeus of Warsaw, the Scottish Chiefs, the Pastor's Fireside, by Jane Porter; Sandford and Merton, by Day; Belinda, Leonora, Patronage, by Miss Edgeworth; and Cœlebs in Search of a Wife, by Hannah More--were types of the popular taste in tales and romances. It was therefore a fearful plunge from this elevated moral tone in literature, into the daring if not blasphemous skepticisms of the new poet.

The power of his productions, however, could not be resisted: he had, in fact--in delineating his own moody and morbid emotions--seemed to open a new mine of poetry in the soul; at least, he was the first to disclose it to the popular mind. By degrees, the public eye--admitted to these gloomy, cavernous regions of thought--became adjusted to their dim and dusky atmosphere, and saw, or seemed to see, a majestic spirit beckoning them deeper and deeper into its labyrinths. Thus, what was at first revolting, came at last to be a fascination. Having yielded to the enchanter, the young and the old, the grave and the gay, gave themselves up to the sorceries of the poet-wizard. The struggle over, the new-born love was ardent and profound, in proportion as it had dallied or resisted at the beginning. The very magnitude of the change--in passing from Scott's romantic ballads to Byron's metaphysical trances--when at last it was sanctioned by fashion, seemed to confirm and sanctify the revolution. Thus in about

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five or six years after the appearance of the first canto of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage--the others having speedily followed--the whole poetic world had become Byronic. Aspiring young rhymers now affected the Spenserian stanza, misanthropy, and skepticism. As Byron advanced in his career of profligacy, and reflected his shameless debaucheries in Don Juan, Beppo, and other similar effusions, the public--seduced, bewildered, enchanted--still followed him, and condescended to bring down their morals and their manners to his degraded and degrading standard.

The secret of the power thus exercised lay in various elements. In England, the aristocratic rank of Byron added greatly to his influence over the public mind, and this was at last reflected in America. With little real feeling of nature, he had, however, an imagination of flame, and an amazing gift of poetic expression. The great fascination, however--that which, creates an agonizing interest in his principal poems--is the constant idea presented to the reader that, under the disguise of his fictitious heroes, he is unconsciously depicting his own sad, despairing emotions. We always feel--whether in perusing Childe Harold, or Manfred, or Cain, or any of his more elaborate works--as if we were listening to the moans of Prometheus struggling with the vultures, or of Ixion toiling at his wheel. We could not, if we would, refuse our pity for such suffering, even in a demon; how deep, then, must be our sympathy,

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when this is spoken to us in the thrilling tones of humanity, using as its vehicle all the music and melody of the highest lyrical art!

In vain, therefore, was it that the moralist resisted the diffusion of Byron's poems over the country. The pulpit opened its thunders against them--teachers warned their pupils, parents their children. I remember, even as late as 1820, that some booksellers refused to sell them, regarding them as infidel publications. About this time a publisher of Hartford, on this ground, declined being concerned in stereotyping an edition of them. It was all in vain. Byron could no more be kept at bay, than the cholera. His works have had their march over the world, and their victims have been probably not less numerous than those of that scourge of the nations. Byron may be, in fact, considered as having opened the gates to that tide of infidelity and licentiousness which sometimes came out boldly, as in the poems of Shelly, and more disguisedly in various other works, which converted Paul Clifford and Dick Turpin into popular heroes. He lowered the standard of public taste, and prepared a portion of the people of England and America to receive with favor the blunt sensualities of Paul de Kock, and the subtle infiltrations of deism by Madame George Sand. Happily, society has in its bosom the elements of conservatism, and at the present day the flood of license has subsided, or is subsiding. Byron is still read, but his immoralities, his atheism, have lost their relish, and

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are now deemed offenses and blemishes, and at the same time the public taste is directing itself in favor of a purer and more exalted moral tone in every species of literature. Longfellow, Bryant, and Tennyson are the exponents of the public taste in poetry, and Hawthorne, Dickens, Thackeray, in romance. All the varied forms of light reading are taking a corresponding tone of respect for morals and religion.

Scott speedily appreciated the eclipse to which his poetical career was doomed by the rising genius of Byron. He now turned his attention to prose fiction, and in July, 1814, completed and published Waverley, which had been begun some eight or ten years before. It produced no sudden emotion in the literary world. It was considered a clever performance--nothing more. I recollect to have heard it criticised by some veteran novel-readers of that day, because its leading character, Waverley, was only a respectable, commonplace person, and not a perfect hero, according to the old standards of romance. Guy Mannering came out the next year, and was received with a certain degree of eagerness. The Antiquary, Black Dwarf, Old Mortality, Rob Roy, and the Heart of Mid-Lothian, followed in quick succession. I suspect that never, in any age, have the productions of any author created in the world so wide and deep an enthusiasm. This emotion reached its height upon the appearance of Ivanhoe in 1819, which, I think, proved the most popular of these marvelous productions.

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At this period, although there was a good deal of mystery as to their authorship, the public generally referred them to Scott.* He was called the "Great Unknown"--a title which served to create even an adventitious interest in his career. The appearance of a new tale from his pen, caused a greater sensation in the United States than did some of the battles of Napoleon, which decided the fate of thrones and empires. Everybody read these works; everybody--the refined and the simple--shared in the delightful trances which seemed to transport them to remote ages and distant climes, and made them live and breathe in the presence of the stern Covenanters of Scotland, the gallant bowmen of Sherwood Forest, or even the Crusaders in Palestine, where Cœur de Lion and Saladin were seen struggling for the mastery! I can testify to my own share in this intoxication. I was not able, on account of my eyes, to read these works myself, but I found friends to read

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them to me. To one good old maid--Heaven bless her!--I was indebted for the perusal of no less than seven of these tales.

Of course, there were many editions of these works in the United States, and among others, I published an edition, I think in eight volumes, octavo--including those which had appeared at that time. About this period--that is, in 1819--I was one of a literary club, of which J. M. Wainwright,* Isaac Toucey, William L. Stone, Jonathan Law, S. H. Huntington, and others, were members. The first meeting was at my house, and I composed a poem for the occasion,

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entitled "A Vision"--afterward published, with other poems, in 1836. I also published three or four numbers of a small work entitled the "Round Table," the articles of which were written by different members of the club.

About this time I began to think of trying to bring out original American works. It must be remembered that I am speaking of a period prior to 1820. At that date, Bryant, Irving, and Cooper--the founders of our modern literature--a trinity of genius in poetry, essay, and romance--had but just commenced their literary career. Neither of them had acquired a positive reputation. Halleck, Percival, Brainard, Longfellow, Willis, were at school--at least, all were unknown. The general impression was that we had not, and could not have, a literature. It was the precise point at which Sidney Smith had uttered that bitter taunt in the Edinburgh Review--"Who reads an American book?" It proved to be that "darkest hour just before the dawn." The successful booksellers of the country--Carey, Small, Thomas, Warner, of Philadelphia; Campbell, Duyckinck, Reed, Kirk & Mercein, Whiting & Watson, of New York; Beers & Howe, of New Haven; O. D.

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Cooke, of Hartford; West & Richardson, Cummings & Hilliard, R. P. & C. Williams, S. T. Armstrong, of Boston--were for the most part the mere reproducers and sellers of English books. It was positively injurious to the commercial credit of a bookseller to undertake American works, unless they might be Morse's Geographies, classical books, school-books, Watts' Psalms and Hymns, or something of that class.

Nevertheless, about this time I published an edition of Trumbull's poems, in two volumes, octavo, and paid him a thousand dollars, and a hundred copies of the work, for the copyright. I was seriously counseled against this by several booksellers--and, in fact, Trumbull had sought a publisher, in vain, for several years previous. There was an association of designers and engravers at Hartford, called the "Graphic Company,"* and as I desired to patronize the liberal arts there, I employed them to execute the embellishments. For so considerable an enterprise, I took the precaution to get a subscription, in which I was tolerably successful. The work was at last produced, but it did not come up to the public expectation, or the patriotic zeal had cooled, and more than half the subscribers declined taking the work.

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I did not press it, but putting a good face upon the affair, I let it pass, and--while the public supposed I had made money by my enterprise, and even the author looked askance at me in the jealous apprehension that I had made too good a bargain out of him--I quietly pocketed a loss of about a thousand dollars. This was my first serious adventure in patronizing American literature.

About the same period I turned my attention to books for education and books for children, being strongly impressed with the idea that there was here a large field for improvement. I wrote, myself, a small arithmetic, and half a dozen toy-books, and published them, though I have never before confessed their authorship, I also employed several persons to write school histories, and educational manuals of chemistry, natural philosophy, &c., upon plans which I prescribed--all of which I published; but none of these were very successful at that time. Some of them, passing into other hands, are now among the most popular and profitable school-books in the country.*

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William C. Woodbridge, one of the teachers of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, at this time projected a school geography, in which I assisted him--mostly in preparing the details of the work for the press, and in the mechanical department. When an edition of it was finally ready--after long and anxious labor, both on his part and mine--the state of my health compelled me to relinquish it. This work acquired great popularity, and became the starting-point of a new era in school geographies, both in this country and in England.