originates in a grand mistake, which cannot be
OFFICE. 85
rectified but by much suffering. It is obvious that
there must be mistake ; for it can never be an
arrangement of Providence that men cannot serve
each other in their political relations without being
corrupted,
The primary mistake is in supposing that men
cannot bear to hear the truth. It has become the
established method of seeking office, not only to
declare a coincidence of opinion with the supposed
majority, on the great topics on which the candi
date will have to speak and act while in office, but
to deny, or conceal, or assert anything else which
it is supposed will please the same majority. The
consequence is, that the best men are not in office.
The morally inferior who succeed, use- their power
for selfish purposes, to a sufficient extent to corrupt
their constituents, in their turn. I scarcely knew,
at first, how to understand the political conversa
tions which I heard in travelling. If a citizen told
another that A. had voted in a particular manner,
the other invariably began to account for the vote.
A. had voted thus to please I)., because B. s influ
ence was wanted for the benefit of C., who had
promised so and so to A. s brother, or son, or
nephew, or leading section of constituents. A
reason for a vote, or other public proceeding, must
always be found; and any reason seemed to be
taken up rather than the obvious one, that a man
votes according to the decision of his reason and
conscience. I often mentioned this to men in
office, or seeking to be so ; and they received it
with a smile or a laugh which wrung my heart.
Of all heart-withering things, political scepticism
in a republic is one of the most painful. I told
Mr. Clay my observations in both kinds. " Let
them laugh !" cried he, with an honourable
warmth: "and do you go on requiring honesty;
and you will find it." He is right : but those who
86 OFFICE.
\ would find the highest integrity had better not
^v begin their observations on office-holders, much
\less on office-seekers, as a class. The office-holder
finds, too often, that it may be easier to get into
office than to have power to discharge its duties
when there : and then the temptation to subservi
ence, to dishonest silence, is well nigh too strong
for mortal man. The office-seeker stands com
mitted as desiring something for which he is ready
to sacrifice his business or profession, his ease, his
leisure, arid the quietness of his reputation. He
stands forth as either an adventurer, a man of
ambition, or of self-sacrificing patriotism. Being
once thus committed, failure is mortifying, and the
allurement to compromise, in order to success, is
powerful. Once in public life, the politician is
committed for ever, whether he immediately per
ceives this, or not. Almost every public man of
my acquaintance owned to me the difficulty ot
retiring, in mind, if not in presence, after the
possession of a public trust. This painful hanker
ing is part of the price to be paid for the honours
of public service : and I am disposed to think that
it is almost universal ; that scarcely any man
knows quiet and content, from the moment of the
success of his first election. The most modest
men shrink from thus committing themselves. The
most learned men, generally speaking, devote
k themselves, in preference, to professions. The
\ most conscientious men, generally speaking, shun
the snares which fatally beset public life, at present,
in the United States.
\^ A gentleman of the latter class, whose talents
^ and character would procure him extensive and
hearty support, if he desired it, told me, that he
would never serve in office, because he believes it
to be the destruction of moral independence: he
pointed out to me three friends of his, men of
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remarkable talent, all in public life. " Look at
them," said he. "and see what they might have
been ! Yet A. is a slave, B. is a slave, and C. is a
worm in the dust." Too true.
Here is a grievous misfortune to the republic !
My friend ascribes it to the want of protection
from his neighbours, to which a man is exposed
from the want of caste. This will never do. A
crown and sceptre would be about as desirable in
a republic as caste. If men would only try the
effect of faith in one another, I believe they would
take rank, and yield protection> with more precision
and efficacy than by any manifestation of the
exclusive spirit that was ever witnessed. Of course,
this proposal will be called " Quixotic ;" that con
venient term which covers things the most serious
and the most absurd, the wisest and the wildest.
I am strengthened in my suggestion by a recur
rence to the first principles of society in the United
States, according to which I find that " rulers
derive their just powers from the consent of the
governed; 1 and that the theory is, that the best
men are chosen to serve. Both these pre-suppose
mutual faith. Let. the governed once - require
honesty as a condition of their consent ; let them
once choose the best men, according to their most
conscientious conviction, and there will be an end
of this insulting and disgusting political scepticism.
Adventurers and ambitious men there will still be ;
but they will not taint the character of the class.
Better men, who will respect their constituents,
without fearing or flattering them, will foster the
generous mutual faith which is now so grievously
wanting; and the spirit of the constitution, now
drooping in some of its most important departments,
will revive.
I write more in hope than in immediate expec-
1 saw much ground for hope, but very
38 OFFICE.
much also for grief. Scarcely anything that I
observed in the United States caused me so much
sorrow as the contemptuous estimate of the people
entertained by those who were bowing the knee to
be permitted to serve them. Nothing can be more
disgusting than the contrast between the draw
ing-room gentleman, at ease among friends, and
the same person courting the people, on a public
occasion. The only comfort was a strong internal
persuasion that the people do not like to be courted
thus. They have been so long used to it, that
they receive it as a matter of course ; but, I believe,
if a candidate should offer, who should make no
professions but of his opinions, and his honest
intentions of carrying them out; if he should
respect the people as men, not as voters, and inform
them truly of his views of their condition and
prospects, they would recognise him at once as
their best friend. He might, notwithstanding,
lose his election; for the people must have time
to recover, or to attain simplicity; but he would
serve them better by losing his election thus, than
by the longest and most faithful service in public
life.
I have often wondered whether a gentleman at
Laporte, in Indiana, who advertised his desire to
be sheriff, gained his election. He declared hi his
advertisement that he had not been largely solicited,
but that it was his own desire that he should be
sheriff: he would not promise to do away with
mosquitoes, ague, and fever, but only to do his
duty. This candidate has his own way of flattering
his constituents.
A gentleman of considerable reputation offered,
last year, to deliver a lecture, in a Lyceum, in Mas
sachusetts. It was upon the French Revolution;
and on various accounts curious. There was no
mention of the causes of the Revolution, except
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in a parenthesis of one sentence, where he inti
mated that French society was not in harmony
with the spirit of the age. He sketched almost
every body concerned, except the Queen. The
most singular part, perhaps, was his estimate of
the military talents of Napoleon. He exalted
them much, and declared him a greater general
than Wellington, but not so great as Washington.
The audience was large and respectable. I knew
a great many of the persons present, and found
that none of them liked the lecture.
I attended another Lyceum lecture in Massachu
setts. An agent of the Colonisation Society lec
tured ; and, when he had done, introduced a cler
gyman of colour, who had just returned from
Liberia, and could give an account of the colony
in its then present state. As soon as this gentle
man came forward, a party among the audience
rose, and went out, with much ostentation of
noise. Mr. Wilson broke off till he could be again
heard, and then observed in a low voice, " that
would not have been done in Africa;" upon
which, there was an uproar of applause, prolonged
and renewed. All the evidence on the subject
that I could collect, went to prove that the people
can bear, and do prefer to hear, the truth. It is a
crime to withhold it from them; and a double
crime to substitute flattery.
The tone of the orations was the sole, but great
drawback from the enjoyment of the popular
festivals I witnessed. I missed the celebration of
She 4th of July, both years ; being, the first year,
among the Virginia mountains, (where the only
signs of festivity which I saw, were some slaves
dressing up a marquee, in which their masters
were to feast, after having read, from the Declara
tion of Independence, that all men are created
free and equal, and that rulers derive their just
90 OFFICE.
powers from the consent of the governed ;) and th
second year on the lakes, arriving at Mackinaw
too late in the evening of the great day for any
celebration that might have taken place. But I
was at two remarkable festivals, and heard two
very remarkable orations. They were represented
to me as fair or favourable specimens of that kind
of address ; and, to judge by the general sum of
those which I read and heard, they were so.
The valley of the Connecticut is the most fertile
valley in New England : and it is scarcely possible
that any should be more beautiful. The river,
full, broad, and tranquil as the summer sky, winds
through meadows, green with pasture, or golden
with corn. Clumps of forest trees afford retreat
for the cattle in the summer heats; and the mag
nificent New England elm, the most graceful of
trees, is dropped singly, here and there, and casts
its broad shade upon the meado\v. Hills of various
height and declivity bound the now widening, now
contracting valley. To these hills, the forest has
retired ; the everlasting forest, from which, in
America, we cannot fly. I cannot remember that,
except in some parts of the prairies, I was ever
out of sight of the forest in the United States ;
and I am sure I never wished to be so. It was
like the " verdurous wall of Paradise/ confining
the mighty . southern and western rivers to their
channels. We were, as it appeared, imprisoned in
it for many days together, as .we traversed the
south-eastern States. We threaded it in Michigan ;
we skirted it in New York and Pennsylvania ; and
throughout New England it bounded every land
scape. It looked down upon us from the hill-tops ;
it advanced into notice from every gap and notch
in the chain. To the native it must appear as
indispensable in the picture-gallery of nature as
the sky. To the English traveller it is a special
OFFICE. 91
boon, an added charm, a newly-created grace, like
the infant planet that wanders across the telescope
of the astronomer. The English traveller finds
himself never weary by day of prying into the
forest, from beneath its canopy : or, from a distance
drinking in its exquisite hues : and his dreams, for
months or years, will be of the mossy roots, the
black pine, and silvery birch stems, the translucent
green shades of the beech, and the slender creeper,
climbing like a ladder into the topmost boughs of
the dark holly, a hundred feet high. He will
dream of the march of the hours through the
forest ; the deep blackness of night, broken by the
dun forest-fires, and startled by the showers of
sparks, sent abroad by the casual breeze from the
burning stems. He will hear again the shrill
piping of the whip-poor-will, and the multitudinous
din from the occasional swamp. He will dream of
the deep silence which precedes the dawn ; of the
gradual apparition of the haunting trees, coming
faintly out of the darkness ; of the first level rays,
instantaneously piercing the woods to their very
heart, and lighting them up into boundless ruddy
colonnades, garlanded with wavy verdure, and
carpeted with glittering wild-flowers. Or, he will
dream of the clouds of gay butterflies, and gauzy
dragon-flies, that hover above the noon-day paths
of the forest, or cluster about some graceful shrub,
making it appear to bear at once all the flowers of
Eden. Or the golden moon will look down through
his dream, making for him islands of light in an
ocean of darkness. He may not see the stars but
by glimpses ; but the winged stars of those re
gions, the gleaming fire-flies, radiate from every
sleeping bough, and keep his eye in fancy busy in
following their glancing, while his spirit sleeps in
the deep charms of the summer night. Next to
the solemn and various beauty of the sea and
92 OFFICE.
the sky, comes that of the wilderness. I doubt
whether the sublimity of the vastest mountain-
range can exceed that of the all-pervading forest,
when the imagination becomes able to realise the
conception of what it is.
In the valley of the Connecticut, the forest
merely presides over the scene, giving gravity to
its charm. On East Mountain, above Deerfield,
in Massachusetts, it is mingled with grey rocks,
whose hue mingles exquisitely with its verdure.
We looked down from thevioe on a long reach of
the valley, just before sunset, and made ourselves
acquainted with the geography of the catastrophe
\vhich was to be commemorated in a day or two.
Here and there, in the meadows, were sinkings of
the soil, shallow basins of verdant pasturage,
where there had probably once been small lakes,
but where cattle were now grazing. The unfenced
fields, secure within landmarks, and open to the an
nual inundation which preserves their fertility, were
rich with unharvested Indian corn ; the cobs left
lying in their sheaths, because no passer-by is
tempted to steal them; every one havii"* enough of
his own. The silvery river lay among the mea
dows ; and on its bank, far below us, stretched the
avenue of noble trees, touched with the hues of
autumn, which shaded the village of Deerfield.
Saddleback bounded our view opposite, and the
Northampton hills and Green Mountains on the
left. Smoke arose, here and there, from the hills
sides, and the nearer eminences were dotted with
white dwellings, of the same order with the home
steads which were sprinkled over the valley. The
time is past when a man feared to sit down further
off than a stone s throw from his neighbours, lest
the Indians should come upon him. The villages
of Hadley and Deerfield are a standing memorial
of those times, when the whites clustered together
OFFICE. 93
around the village church, and their cattle were
brought into the area, every night, under penalty
of their being driven off before morning. These
villages consist of two rows of houses, forming a
long street, planted with trees; and the church
stands in the middle. The houses, of wood, were
built in those days with the upper story project
ing; that the inhabitants, in case of siege, might
fire at advantage upon the Indians, forcing the door
with tomahawks.
I saw an old house of this kind at Deerfield,
the only one which survived the burning of the
village by the French and Indians, in 1 704, when all
the inhabitants, to the number of two hundred and
eighty, being attacked in their sleep, were killed or
carried away captive by the Indians. The wood of
the house was old and black, and pierced in many
parts with bullet-holes. One had given passage to
a bullet which shot a woman in the neck, as she
rose up in bed, on hearing the tomahawk strike
upon the door. The battered door remains, to
chill one s blood with the thought that such were
the blows dealt by the Indians upon the skulls of
their victims, whether infants or soldiers.
This was not the event to commemorate which
we were assembled at Deerfield. A monument
was to be erected on the spot where another body
of people had been murdered, by savage foes of
the same race. Deerfield was first settled in 1671;
a few houses being then built on the present street,
and the settlers being on good terms with their
neighbours. King Philip s war broke out in 1675,
and the settlers were attacked more than once.
There was a large quantity of grain stored up at
Deerfield ; and it was thought advisable to remove
it for safety to Hadley, fifteen miles off. Captain
Lothrop. with eighty men, and some teams, march
ed from Hadley to remove the grain ; his men be-
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ing the youth and main hope of the settlements
around. On their return from Deerfield, on the
30th of September 1675, about four miles and a
half on the way to Hadley, the young men dis
persed to gather the wild grapes that were hanging
ripe in the thickets, and were, under this disad
vantage, attacked by a large body of Indians. It
was afterwards discovered that the only way^to en
counter the Indians is in phalanx. Captain Lo-
throp did not know this ; and he posted his men
behind trees, where they were, almost to a man,
wicked off by the enemy. About ninety-three, in
cluding the teamsters, fell. When all was over,
helio arrived. The Indians were beaten ; but they
appeared before the village, some days after, shak
ing the scalps and bloody garments of the slain
captain and his troop, before the eyes of the inhabi
tants. The place was afterwards abandoned by
the settlers, destroyed by the Indians, and not re
built for some years.
This was a piteous incident in the history of the
settlement ; but it is not easy to see why it should
be made an occasion of commemoration, by monu
ment and oratory, in preference to many others
which have a stronger moral interest attaching to
them. Some celebrations, like that of Forefather s
Day, are inexpressibly interesting and valuable,
from the glorious recollections by which they are
sanctified. But no virtue was here to be ^had
in remembrance ; nothing but mere misery. The
contemplation of mere misery is painful and hurt
ful; and the only salutary influence that I could
perceive to arise from this occasion was a far
fetched and dubious one, thankfulness that the
Indians are not now at hand to molest the white
inhabitants. Then occurs the question about the
Indians, "where are they?" and the answer
leaves one less sympathy than one would wish to
OFFICE. * 5
have with the present security of the settler. The
story of King Philip, who is supposed to have
headed, in person, the attack on Lothrop s troop,
is one of the most melancholy in the records of
humanity ; and sorrow for him must mingle with
congratulations to the descendants of his foes,
who, in his eyes, were robbers. With these
thoughts in my mind, I found it difficult to discover
the philosophy of this celebration. A stranger
might be pardoned for being so slow.
One of the then candidates for the highest office
in the State, is renowned for his oratory. He is
one of the most accomplished scholars and gentle
men that the country possesses. It was thought,
" by his friends," that his interest wanted strength
ening in the western part of the State. The peo
ple were pleased w r hen any occasion procured them
the eclat of bringing a celebrated orator over to
address them. The commemoration of an Indian
catastrophe was thought of as an occasion capable
of being turned to good electioneering purposes.
Mr. Webster was invited to be the orator, it
being known that he would refuse. "Not I,"
said he. " I won t go and rake up old bloody In
dian stories." The candidate was next invited, and,
of course, took the opportunity of " strengthening
his interest in the western part of the State." I
was not aware of this till I sometime after heard it,
on indisputable authority. I should have enjoyed
it much less than I did, if I had known that the
whole thing was got up, or its time and manner
chosen, for electioneering objects ; that advantage
was taken of the best feelings of the people for the
political interest of one.
The afternoon of the 29th we went to Bloody
Brook, the fearfully-named place of disaster. We
climbed the Sugar-loaf; a high, steep hill, from
whose precipitous sides is obtained a view of the
96 OFFICE.
valley which pleases me more than the celebrated
one from Mount Holyoke, a few miles off. Each,
however, is perfect in its way; and both so like
heaven, when one looks down upon the valley in
the light of an autumn afternoon, such a light as
never yet burnished an English scene, that no in
clination is left to make comparisons. The ox
team was in the fields, the fishers on the banks of
the grey river, banks and fishers reflected to the
life, all as tranquil as if there was to be no stif
the next day.
On descending, we went to the Bloody Brook
Inn, and saw the strange and horrible picture of
the slaughter of Lothrop s troop ; a picture so bad
as to be laughable ; but too horrible to be laughed
at. Every man of the eighty exactly alike, and all
looking scared at being about to be scalped. We
saw, also, the long tables spread for the feast of
to-morrow. Lengths of unbleached cotton for
table cloths, plates and glasses, were already pro
vided. Some young men were bringing in long
trails of the wild vine, clustered with purple
grapes, to hang about the young maple trees which
overshadowed the tables ; others were trying the
cannon. We returned home in a state of high
expectation.
The morning of the 30th was bright, but rather
cold. It was doubtful how far prudence would
warrant our sitting in an orchard for several hours,
in such a breeze as was blowing. It was evident,
however, that persons at a distance had no scru
ples on the subject, so thickly did they throng to
the place of meeting. The wagon belonging to
the band passed my windows, filled with young la
dies from the High School at Greenfield. They
looked as gay as if they had been going to a fair.
By half-past eight, our party set off, accompanied
by a few, and passing a great number of strangers
from distant villages.
OFFICE. 97
After having accomplished our drive of three or
four miles, we warmed ourselves in a friendly house,
and repaired to the orchard to choose our seats,
while the ceremony of laying the first stone of the
monument was proceeding at some distance. The
platform from which the orator was to address the
assemblage was erected under a rather shabby wal
nut-tree, which was rendered less picturesque
by its lower branches being lopped off, for the sake
of convenience. Several men had perched them
selves on the tree ; and I was beginning to wonder
how they would endure their uncomfortable seat,
in the cold wind, for three hours, when I saw them
called down, and dismissed to ftnd places among
the rest of the assemblage, as they sent down
bark and dust upon the heads of those who sat on
the platform. Long and deep ranges of benches
were provided; and on these, with carriage
cushions and warm cloaks, we found ourselves per
fectly well accommodated. Nothing could be bet
ter. It was a pretty sight. The wind rustled fit
fully in the old walnut-tree. The audience gather
ed arouncL it were sober, quiet ; some would have
said dull, f The girls appeared to me to be all
pretty, aftW the fashion of American girls. Every
body was well-dressed ; and such a thing as ill-
behaviour in any village assemblage in New Eng
land, is, I believe, unheard of. YThe soldiers were
my great amusement; as they were on the few
other occasions when I had the good fortune to see
any. Their chief business, on the present occasion,
was to keep clear the seats which were reserved
for the band, now absent with the procession.
These seats were advantageously placed ; and new
comers were every moment taking possession of
them, and had to be sent, disappointed, into the
rear. It was moving to behold the loving entrea- *
ties of the soldiers that these seats might be va-
VOL. I. F
98 OFFICE.
cated. I saw one, who had shrunk away from his
uniform, (probably from the use of tobacco, of
which his mouth was full,) actually put his arm
round the neck of a gentleman, and smile implor
ingly in his face. It was irresistible, and the gen
tleman moved away. It is a perfect treat to the
philanthropist to observe the pacific appearance of
the militia throughout the United States. It is
well known how they can fight, when the necessity