Chapter 20

The Rutledges were of Irish descent. John Rutledge was a celebrated statesman and lawyer. He was appointed Chief Justice of the United States, but the Senate, for political reasons, refused to confirm his appointment.

Edward Rutledge, brother of the preceding, was Governor of South Carolina during the last two years of his life.

The Pinckneys were an old English family who emigrated to Charleston in 1687. Charles Cotesworth Pinckney and his brother Thomas were both active participants in the Revolution. The former was an unsuccessful candidate for the presidency of the United States, in 1800.

Thomas was elected governor of South Carolina in 1789. In the war of 1812 he served as major-general.

Charles Pinckney, a second cousin of the two already mentioned, was four times elected governor of his state.

LXXII. THE CHURCH SCENE FROM EVANGELINE. (262)

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807-1882, the son of Hon. Stephen Longfellow, an eminent lawyer of Portland, Maine, was born in that city. He graduated, at the age of eighteen, at Bowdoin College. He was soon appointed to the chair of Modern Languages and Literature in that institution, and, to fit himself further for his work, he went abroad and spent four years in Europe. He remained at Bowdoin till 1835, when he was appointed to the chair of Modern Languages and Belles-lettres in Harvard University. On receiving this appointment, he again went to Europe and remained two years. He resigned his professorship in 1854, and after that time resided in Cambridge, pursuing his literary labors and giving to the public, from time to time, the fruits of his pen. In 1868 he made a voyage to England, where he was received with extraordinary marks of honor and esteem. In addition to Mr. Longfellow's original works, both in poetry and in prose, he distinguished himself by several translations; the most famous is that of the works of Dante.

Mr. Longfellow's poetry is always elegant and chaste, showing in every line traces of his careful scholarship. Yet it is not above the popular taste or comprehension, as is shown by the numerous and varied editions of his poems. Many of his poems treat of historical themes; "Evangeline," from which the following selection is taken, is esteemed by many as the most beautiful of all his longer poems; it was first published in 1847. ###

So passed the morning away. And lo! with a summons sonorous Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drumbeat. Thronged erelong was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard, Awaited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest. Then came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly among them Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement,-- Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers.

Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. "You have convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's orders. Clement and kind has he been; but how you have answered his kindness, Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch; Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province Be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people! Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's pleasure!"

As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house roofs, Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their inclosure; So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the doorway.

Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the heads of the others Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he shouted,-- "Down with the tyrants of England! we never have sworn them allegiance! Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!" More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement.

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the alter. Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his people; Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured and mournful Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes.

"What is this that ye do, my children? what madness has seized you? Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? Have you so soon forgotten all the lessons of love and forgiveness? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred? Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you! See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion! Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, 'O Father, forgive them!' Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, forgive them.' "

Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, While they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, forgive them!"

NOTE.--Nova Scotia was first settled by the French, but, in 1713, was ceded to the English. The inhabitants refusing either to take the oath of allegiance or to bear arms against their fellow-countrymen in the French and Indian War, it was decided to remove the whole people, and distribute them among the other British provinces. This was accordingly done in 1755. The villages were burned to the ground, and the people hurried on board the ships in such a way that but a few families remained undivided.

Longfellow's poem of "Evangeline" is founded on this incident, and the above selection describes the scene where the male inhabitants of Grand-Pre' are assembled in the church, and the order for their banishment is first made known to them.

LXXIII. SONG OF THE SHIRT. (266)

Thomas Hood, 1798-1845, the son of a London bookseller, was born in that city. He undertook, after leaving school, to learn the art of an engraver, but soon gave up the business, and turned his attention to literature. His lighter pieces, exhibiting his skill as a wit and punster, soon became well known and popular. In 1821 he became subeditor of the "London Magazine," and formed the acquaintance of the literary men of the metropolis. The last years of his life were clouded by poverty and ill health. Some of his most humorous pieces were written on a sick bed. Hood is best known as a joker--a writer of "whims and oddities"--but he was no mere joker. Some of his pieces are filled with the tenderest pathos; and a gentle spirit, in love with justice and humanity, pervades even his lighter compositions. His "Song of the Shirt" first appeared in the "London Punch." ###

With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread: Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, She sang the "Song of the Shirt!"

"Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work! work! work! Till the stars shine through the roof! It is oh to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work!

"Work! work! work! Till the brain begins to swim; Work! work! work! Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream!

"O men, with sisters dear! O men, with mothers and wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt,-- Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt.

"But why do I talk of Death? That Phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own; It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep; O God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!

"Work! work! work! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread--and rags, That shattered roof--and this naked floor-- A table--a broken chair-- And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there.

"Work! work! work! From weary chime to chime! Work! work! work! As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band, Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, As well as the weary hand.

"Work! work! work! In the dull December light, And work! work! work! When the weather is warm and bright; While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit me with the spring.

"Oh but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet! With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want, And the walk that costs a meal!

"Oh but for one short hour,-- A respite, however brief! No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief! A little weeping would ease my heart, But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread."

With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread: Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch-- Would that its tone could reach the rich! She sang this "Song of the Shirt."

LXXIV. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. (269)

Edouard Rene Lefebvre-Laboulaye, 1811-1883, was a French writer of note. Most of his works involve questions of law and politics, and are considered high authority on the questions discussed. A few works, such as "Abdallah," from which the following extract is adapted, were written as a mere recreation in the midst of law studies; they show great imaginative power. Laboulaye took great interest in the United States, her people, and her literature; and many of his works are devoted to American questions. He translated the works of Dr. William E. Channing into French. ###

Mansour, the Egyptian merchant, one day repaired to the cadi on account of a suit, the issue of which troubled him but little. A private conversation with the judge had given him hopes of the justice of his cause. The old man asked his son Omar to accompany him in order to accustom him early to deal with the law.

The cadi was seated in the courtyard of the mosque. He was a fat, good-looking man, who never thought, and talked little, which, added to his large turban and his air of perpetual astonishment, gave him a great reputation for justice and gravity.

The spectators were numerous; the principal merchants were seated on the ground on carpets, forming a semicircle around the magistrate. Mansour took his seat a little way from the sheik, and Omar placed himself between the two, his curiosity strongly excited to see how the law was obeyed, and how it was trifled with in case of need.

The first case called was that of a young Banian, as yellow as an orange, with loose flowing robes and an effeminate air, who had lately landed from India, and who complained of having been cheated by one of Mansour's rivals.

"Having found a casket of diamonds among the effects left by my father," said he, "I set out for Egypt, to live there on the proceeds of their sale. I was obliged by bad weather to put into Jidda, where I soon found myself in want of money. I went to the bazaar, and inquired for a dealer in precious stones. The richest, I was told, was Mansour; the most honest, Ali, the jeweler. I applied to Ali.

"He welcomed me as a son, as soon as he learned that I had diamonds to sell, and carried me home with him. He gained my confidence by every kind of attention, and advanced me all the money I needed. One day, after dinner, at which wine was not wanting, he examined the diamonds, one by one, and said, 'My child, these diamonds are of little value; my coffers are full of such stones. The rocks of the desert furnish them by thousands.'

"To prove the truth of what he said, he opened a box, and, taking therefrom a diamond thrice as large as any of mine, gave it to the slave that was with me. 'What will become of me?' I cried; 'I thought myself rich, and here I am, poor, and a stranger.'

"'My child,' replied Ali, 'Leave this casket with me, and I will give you a price for it such as no one else would offer. Choose whatever you wish in Jidda, and in two hours I will give you an equal weight of what you have chosen in exchange for your Indian stones.'

"On returning home, night brought reflection. I learned that Ali had been deceiving me. What he had given to the slave was nothing but a bit of crystal. I demanded my casket. Ali refused to restore it. Venerable magistrate, my sole hope is in your justice."

It was now Ali's turn to speak. "Illustrious cadi," said he, "It is true that we made a bargain, which I am ready to keep, The rest of the young man's story is false. What matters it what I gave the slave? Did I force the stranger to leave the casket in my hands? Why does he accuse me of treachery? Have I broken my word, and has he kept his?"

"Young man," said the cadi to the Banian, "have you witnesses to prove that Ali deceived you? If not, I shall put the accused on his oath, as the law decrees." A Koran was brought. Ali placed his hand on it, and swore three times that he had not deceived the stranger. "Wretch," said the Banian, "thou art among those whose feet go down to destruction. Thou hast thrown away thy soul."

Omar smiled, and while Ali was enjoying the success of his ruse, he approached the stranger, and asked, "Do you wish me to help you gain the suit?" "Yes," was the reply; "but you are only a child--you can do nothing."

"Have confidence in me a few moments," said Omar; "accept Ali's bargain; let me choose in your stead, and fear nothing."

The stranger bowed his head, and murmured, "What can I fear after having lost all?" Then, turning to the cadi, and bowing respectfully, "Let the bargain be consummated," said he, "since the law decrees it, and let this young man choose in my stead what I shall receive in payment."

A profound silence ensued. Omar rose, and, bowing to the cadi, "Ali," said he to the jeweler, "you have doubtless brought the casket, and can tell us the weight thereof."

"Here it is," said Ali; "it weighs twenty pounds. Choose what you will; if the thing asked for is in Jidda, you shall have it within two hours, otherwise the bargain is null and void."

"What we desire," said Omar, raising his voice, "is ants' wings, half male and half female. You have two hours in which to furnish the twenty pounds you have promised us." "This is absurd," cried the jeweler; "it is impossible. I should need half a score of persons and six months labor to satisfy so foolish a demand."

"Are there any winged ants in Jidda?" asked the cadi. "Of course," answered the merchants, laughing; "they are one of the plagues of Egypt. Our houses are full of them, and it would be doing us a great service to rid us of them."

"Then Ali must keep his promise or give back the casket," said the cadi. "This young man was mad to sell his diamonds weight for weight; he is mad to exact such payment. So much the better for Ali the first time: so much the worse for him the second. Justice has not two weights and measures. Every bargain holds good before the law. Either furnish twenty pounds of ants' wings, or restore the casket to the Banian." "A righteous judgment," shouted the spectators, wonder-struck at such equity.

The stranger, beside himself with joy, took from the casket three diamonds of the finest water; he forced them on Omar, who put them in his girdle, and seated himself by his father, his gravity unmoved by the gaze of the assembly. "Well done," said Mansour; "but it is my turn now; mark me well, and profit by the lesson I shall give you. Stop, young man!" he cried to the Banian, "we have an account to settle."

"The day before yesterday," continued he, "this young man entered my shop, and, bursting into tears, kissed my hand and entreated me to sell him a necklace which I had already sold to the Pasha of Egypt, saying that his life and that of a lady depended upon it. 'Ask of me what you will, my father,' said he, 'but I must have these gems or die.'

"I have a weakness for young men, and, though I knew the danger of disappointing my master the pasha, I was unable to resist his supplications. 'Take the necklace,' said I to him, 'but promise to give whatever I may ask in exchange.' 'My head itself, if you will,' he replied, 'for you have saved my life,' We were without witnesses, but," added Mansour, turning to the Banian, "is not my story true?"

"Yes," said the young man, "and I beg your pardon for not having satisfied you sooner: you know the cause. Ask of me what you desire."

"What I desire," said Mansour, "is the casket with all its contents. Illustrious magistrate, you have declared that all bargains hold good before the law; this young man has promised to give me what I please; now I declare that nothing pleases me but these diamonds."

The cadi raised his head and looked about the assembly, as if to interrogate the faces, then stroked his beard, and relapsed into his meditations.

"Ali is defeated," said the sheik to Omar, with a smile, "The fox is not yet born more cunning than the worthy Mansour."

"I am lost!" cried the Banian. "O Omar, have you saved me only to cast me down from the highest pinnacle of joy to the depths of despair? Persuade your father to spare me, that I may owe my life to you a second time."

"Well, my son," said Mansour, "doubtless you are shrewd, but this will teach you that your father knows rather more than you do. The cadi is about to decide: try whether you can dictate his decree."

"It is mere child's play," answered Omar, shrugging his shoulders; "but since you desire it, my father, you shall lose your suit." He rose, and taking a piaster from his girdle, put it into the hand of the Banian, who laid it before the judge.

"Illustrious cadi," said Omar, "this young man is ready to fulfill his engagement. This is what he offers Mansour--piaster. In itself this coin is of little value; but examine it closely, and you will see that it is stamped with the likeness of the sultan, our glorious master. May God destroy and confound all who disobey his highness!

"It is this precious likeness that we offer you," added he, turning to Mansour; "if it pleases you, you are paid; to say that it displeases you is an insult to the pasha, a crime punishable by death; and I am sure that our worthy cadi will not become your accomplice--he who has always been and always will be the faithful servant of an the sultans."

When Omar had finished speaking, all eyes turned toward the cadi, who, more impenetrable than ever, stroked his face and waited for the old man to come to his aid. Mansour was agitated and embarrassed. The silence of the cadi and the assembly terrified him, and he cast a supplicating glance toward his son.

"My father," said Omar, "permit this young man to thank you for the lesson of prudence which you have given him by frightening him a little. He knows well that it was you who sent me to his aid, and that all this is a farce. No one is deceived by hearing the son oppose the Father, and who has ever doubted Mansour's experience and generosity?"

"No one," interrupted the cadi, starting up like a man suddenly awakened from a dream, "and I least of all; and this is why I have permitted you to speak, my young Solomon. I wished to honor in you the wisdom of your father; but another time avoid meddling with his highness's name; it is not safe to sport with the lion's paws. The matter is settled. The necklace is worth a hundred thousand piasters, is it not, Mansour? This madcap, shall give you, therefore, a hundred thousand piasters, and all parties will be satisfied."

NOTES--A cadi in the Mohammedan countries corresponds to our magistrate.

A sheik among the Arabs and Moors, may mean simply an old man, or, as in this case, a man of eminence.

A Banian is a Hindoo merchant, particularly one who visits foreign countries on business.

Jidda is a city in Arabia, on the Red Sea

A pasha is the governor of a Turkish province.

The Turkish piaster was formerly worth twenty-five cents: it is now worth only about eight cents.

LXXV. THANATOPSIS. (275)

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language: for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty; and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last hitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;-- Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around-- Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-- Comes a still voice,--

Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements; To be a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.

Yet not to thine eternal resting place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world,--with kings, The powerful of the earth,--the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,-- All in one mighty sepulcher.