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still more rejoiced to come upon the City itself, the rows of
quaint, bare houses, and such cool water-courses, and, over
all, near enough to rest both eyes and heart, the sunlit
mountains, 'the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.'

" I liked my new house well. It was too large for our
need, but pleasanter for its airiness, and the first thing I did
was to plant a little hop-vine, that I had brought all the way
with such great care, by the east porch. I wanted some-
thing like Plainfield in my home. I don't know why I lin-
ger so, I must write faster, for I grow weak all the time.

" I liked the City very well for awhile ; the neighbors
were kind, and John more than that; I could not be un-
happy with him 1 thought. We had a pretty garden,

for another man had owned the house before us, and we
had not to begin everything. Our next door neighbor, Mrs.
Colton, was good and kind to me, so was her daughter
Lizzy, a pretty girl, with fair hair, very fair. I wonder
John liked it after mine. The first great shock I had was
at a Mormon meeting. I cannot very well remember the
ceremony, because I grew so faint ; but I would not faint
away lest some one should see me. I only remember that it
was Mrs. Colton's husband with another wife being "sealed"
to him, as they say here. You don't know what that means,
Uncle Field ; it is one part of this religion of Satan, that
any man may have, if he will, three or four wives, perhaps
more. I only know that shameless man, with grown daugh-
ters, and the hair on his head snow-white, has taken two,
and his own wife, a firm believer in this faith ! looks on
calmly, and lives with them in peace. I know that, and my
soul sickened with disgust, but I did not fear ; not a thought,
not a dream, not a shadow of fear crossed me. I should
have despised myself forever if the idea had stained my
soul; my husband was my husband mine before God


and man ! and our child was in heaven ; how glad I was
she could never be a Mormon !

" I was sorry for Mrs. Colton, though she did not need it,
and when I saw John leaning over their gate, or smoking in
the porch with the old man, I thought he felt so, too, and I
was glad to see him more sociable than ever he was in the
States.- After awhile he did not smoke, but talked with
Elder Colton, and then would come home and expound out
of the book of Mormon to me. I was very glad to have
frim earnest in his religion, but I could not be. Then he
grew very thoughtful, and had a silent fit, but I took no
notice of it, though I think now he meant to leave me, but
I began to pine a little for home, and when I worked in the
garden, and trained the vines about our veranda, I used to
wish he would help me as he did Lizzy Colton, but I still
remembered how good he was to pity and help them.

" O fool ! yet, I had rather be a fool over again than
have imagined that I am glad of, even now I did not
once suspect.

" But one day I remember every little thing in that
day even the slow ticking of the clock, as I tied up my
hop-vine; and after that I went into the garden, and sat
down 'on a little bench under the grape-trellis, and looked at
the mountains. How beautiful they were ! all purple in the
shadow of sunset, and the sky golden green above them,
with one scarlet cloud floating slowly upward: I hope I
shall never see a red cloud again. Presently, John came
and sat by me, and I laid my head on his shoulder ; I was
so glad to have him there it cured my homesickness ;
once or twice he began to say something, and stopped, but I
did not mind it. I wanted him to see a low line of mist
creeping down a canon in the mountains, and I stood up to
point it out ; so he rose, too, and in a strange, hurried way,
began to say something about the Mormon faith, and the
duties of a believer, which I did not notice either very


much I was so full of admiring the scarlet cloud when,
like a sudden thunder-clap at my ear, I heard this quick,
resolute sentence : ' And so, according to the advice and best
judgment of the Saints, Elizabeth Colton will be sealed to
me, after two days, as my spiritual wife.'

"Then my soul fled out of my lips, in one cry I wv-
dead my heart turned to a stone, and nothing can melt it !
I did not speak, or sigh, but sat down on the bench, and
John talked a great deal ; I think he rubbed my hands and
kissed me, but I did not feel it. I went away, by and by,
when it was dark, into the house and into my room. I
locked the door and looked at the wall till morning, then I
went down and sat in a chair till night ; and I drank, drank,
drank, like a fever. All the time cold water, but it never
reached my thirst. John came home, but he did not dare
touch me ; I was a dead corpse, with another spirit in it
not his wife she was dead, and gone to heaven on a bright
cloud. I remember being glad of that.

" In two days more he had a wife, and I was not his any
longer. I staid up stairs when he was in the house, and
locked my door, till, after a great many days, I began to feel
sorry for him. Oh ! how sorry ! for I knew I know he
will see himself some day with my eyes, but not till I die.
Then I found my lips full of blood one morning, and that
pleased me, for I knew it was a promise of the life to come ;
now I should go to heaven, where there are n't any Mor-

" I believe, though, people were kind to me all the time ;
for I remember they came and said things to me, and one
shook me a little to see if I felt ; and one woman cried. I
was glad of that, for I could n't cry. However, after three
months, I was better: worse, John said one day, and he
brought a doctor, but the man knew as well as I did so he
said nothing at all, and gave me some herb tea ; tell Aunt
Martha that.


* Then I could walk out of doors, but I did not care to ;
only once I smelt the hop-blossoms, and that I could not
bear, so I went out and pulled up my hop-vine by the roots,
and laid it out, all straight, in the fierce sunshine : it died
directly. In the winter, John had another wife sealed to
him; I heard somebody say so; he did not tell me, and if
he had I could not help it. I found he had taken a little
adobe house for 'hose two, and I knew it was out of tender-
ness for my feelings he did so. Oh ! Uncle Field ! perhaps
he has loved me all this time ? I know better, though, than
that? Spring came, and I was very weak, and I grew not.
to care about anything; so I told John he could bring
those two women to this house if he wished ; I did not care,
only nobody must ever come into my room. He looked
ashamed, and pleased, too; but he brought them, and no-
body ever did come into my room. By and by Elizabeth
Colton brought a little baby down stairs, and its name was
Clara. Poor child ! poor little Mormon child ! I hope it
will die some time before it grows up ; only I should not
like it to come my side of heaven, for it had blue eyes like

" Then I grew more and more ill, and now I am really
dying, and no letter has come from you ! It takes so long
three whole months, and I have been more than a year in
the house with John Henderson and the two women. I
know I shall never see you, but I must speak, I must, even
out of the grave ; and I keep hearing that old fugue. ' The
Lord is just, is just, is just ; the Lord is just and good ! '
Is he ? I know He is ; but I forget sometimes. Uncle
Field ! you must pray for John ! you must ! I cannot die
and leave him in his sins, his delusion ; he does not think it
is sin, but I know it. Pray ! pray ! dear Uncle : don't be
discouraged do not fear he will be undeceived some
time ; he will repent, I know ! The Lord is just, and I will
pray in heaven, and I will tell Nelly to, but you must. It


says in the Bible, ' tne prayer of a righteous man ' ; and oh !
I am not righteous ! I should not have married him ; it
was an unequal yoke, and I have borne the burden ; but I
loved him so much ! Uncle Field, I did not keep myself
from idols. Pray ! I shall be dead, but he lives. Pray
for him, and, if you will, for the little child because I
am dying. Dear Nelly ! "

"Are you blotting my letter, young man?" said Parson
Field, at my elbow, as I deciphered the last broken, tremb-
ling line of Ada's story. " Here I have been five minutes,
and you did not hear me ! " I really had blotted the letter !



WHEN youthful faith hath fled,
Of loving take thy leave ;
Be constant to the dead,
The dead cannot deceive

Sweet modest flowers of spring,
How fleet your balmy day !

And man's brief year can bring
No secondary May,

No earthly burst again
Of gladness out of gloom ;

Fond hope and vision vain,
Ungrateful to the tomb.

But 'tis an old belief

That on some solemn shore

Beyond the sphere of grief,

Dear friends shall meet once more,-

Beyond the sphere of time,
And sin and fate's control,

Serene in endless prime
Of body and of soul.

That creed I fain would keep,
That hope I'll not forego;

Eternal be the sleep,
Unless to waken so.



T710R although a poet, soaring in the high region of his
Jj fancies, with his garland and singing-robes about him,
might, without apology, speak more of himself than I mean
to do ; yet for me sitting here below in the cool element of
prose, a mortal thing among many readers, of no empyreal
conceit, to venture and divulge unusual things of myself, I
shall petition to the gentler sort, it may not be envy to me.
I must say, therefore, that after I had, for my first years, by
the ceaseless diligence and care of my father, whom God rec-
ompense, been exercised to the tongues, and some sciences, as
my age would suffer, by sundry masters and teachers, both
at home and at the schools, it was found that whether aught
was imposed on me by them that had the overlooking, or be-
taken to of mine own choice in English, or other tongue,
prosing or versing, but chiefly this latter, the style, by certain
vital signs it had, was likely to live. But much latelier, in
the private academies of Italy, whither I was favored to re-
sort, perceiving that some trifles which I had in memory,
composed at under twenty or thereabout (for the manner is
that every one must give some proof of his wit and reading
there), met with acceptance above what was looked for ;
and other things which I had shifted in scarcity of books
and conveniences, to patch up amongst them, were received
with written encomiums, which the Italian is not forward to
bestow on men of this side the Alps, I began thus far to


assent both to them and divers of my friends here at home,
and not less to an inward prompting, which now grew daily
upon me, that by labor and intent study, (which I take to be
my portion in this life,) joined with the strong propensity
of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written, to
after-times, as they should not willingly let it die. These
thoughts at once possessed me, and these other ; that if I
were certain to write as men buy leases, for three lives and
downward, there ought no regard be sooner had than to
God's glory, by the honor and instruction of my country.
For which cause, and not only for that I knew it would be
hard to arrive at the second rank among the Latins, I ap-
plied myself to that resolution which Ariosto followed against
the persuasions of Bembo, to fix all the industry and art I
could unite to the adorning of my native tongue; not to
make verbal curiosities the end, (that were a toilsome van-
ity,) but to be an interpreter and relater of the best and
sagest things among mine own citizens throughout this
island, in the mother dialect. That what the greatest and
choicest wits of Athens, Rome, or modern Italy, and those
Hebrews of old did for their country, I, in my proportion,
with this over and above, of being a Christian, might do for
mine ; not caring to be once named abroad, though perhaps I
could attain to that, but content with these British islands
as my world ; whose fortune hath hitherto been, that if the
Athenians, as some say, made their small deeds great and
renowned by their eloquent writers, England hath had her
noble achievements made small by the unskilful handling of
monks and mechanics.

Time serves not now, and perhaps I might seem too pro-
fuse, to give any certain account of what the mind at home,
in the spacious circuits of her musing, hath liberty to pro-
pose to herself, though of highest hope and hardest attempt-
ing. Whether that epic form, whereof the two poems of
Homer, and those other two of Virgil and Tasso are a diffuse,


and the book of Job a brief model ; or whether the rules of
Aristotle herein are strictly to be kept, or nature to be fol-
lowed, which in them that know art, and use judgment, is
no transgression, but an enriching of art. And lastly, what
king or knight before the conquest, might be chosen, in
whom to lay the pattern of a Christian hero. And as Tasso
gave to a prince of Italy his choice, whether he would com-
mand him to write of Godfrey's expedition against the infi-
dels, or Belisarius against the Goths, or Charlemagne against
the Lombards ; if to the instinct of nature and the embold-
ening of art aught may be trusted, and that there be noth-
ing adverse in our climate, or the fate of this age, it haply
would be no rashness, from an equal diligence and inclina-
tion, to present the like offer in our own ancient stories. Or
whether those dramatic constitutions, wherein Sophocles
and Euripides reign, shall be found more doctrinal and ex-
emplary to a nation. The Scripture also affords us a divine
pastoral drama in the Song of Solomon, consisting of two
persons, and a double chorus, as Origen rightly judges ; and
the Apocalypse of St. John is the majestic image of a high
and stately tragedy, shutting up and intermingling her sol-
emn scenes and acts with a seven-fold chorus of hallelujahs
and harping symphonies. And this my opinion, the grave
authority of Pareus, commenting that book, is sufficient
to confirm. Or if occasion should lead, to imitate those
magnific odes and hymns, wherein Pindarus and Callima-
chus are in most things worthy, some others in their frame
judicious, in their matter most an end faulty. But those
frequent songs throughout the laws and prophets, beyond all
these, not in their divine argument alone, but in the very
critical art of composition, may be easily made appear over
all the kinds of lyric poesy to be incomparable. These
abilities, wheresoever they be found, are the inspired gift of
God, rarely bestowed, but yet to some (though most abuse)
in every nation : and are of power, beside the office of a


pulpit, to inbreed and cherish in a great people the seeds
of virtue and public civility ; to allay the perturbations of
the mind, and set the affections in right tune ; to celebrate
in glorious and lofty hymns the throne and equipage of
God's almightiness, and what he suffers to be wrought with
high providence in his church ; to sing victorious agonies of
martyrs and saints, the deeds and triumphs of just and pious
nations, doing valiantly through faith against the enemios of
Christ; to deplore the general relapses of kingdoms and
states from justice and God's true worship. Lastly, whatso-
ever in religion is holy and sublime, in virtue amiable or
grave, whatsoever hath passion or admiration in all the
changes of that which is called fortune from without, or the
wily subtleties and refluxes of man's thoughts from within ;
all these things, with a solid and treatable smoothness, to
point out and describe. Teaching over the whole book of
sanctity and virtue, through all the instances of example,
with such delight to those especially of soft and delicious
temper, who will not so much as look upon truth her-
self, unless they see her elegantly dressed ; that whereas the
paths of honesty and good life appear now rugged and diffi-
cult, though they be indeed easy and pleasant, they will then
appear to all men both easy and pleasant, though they were
rugged and difficult indeed. And what a benefit this would
be to our youth and gentry, may be soon guessed by what
we know of the corruption and bane which they suck in
daily from the writings and interludes of libidinous and
ignorant poetasters, who having scarce ever heard of that
which is the main consistence of a true poem, the choice of
such persons as they ought to introduce, and what is moral
and decent to each one, do for the most part lay up vicious
principles in sweet pills, to be swallowed down, and make
the taste of virtuous documents harsh and sour. But be-
cause the spirit of man cannot demean itself lively in this
body, without some recreating intermission of labor and


serious things, it were happy for the commonwealth, if oui
magistrates, as in those famous governments of old, would
take into their care, not only the deciding of our conten-
tious law cases and brawls, but the managing of our public
sports and festival pastimes, that they might be, not s-uch as
were authorized awhile since, the provocations of drunken-
ness and lust, but such as may inure and harden our bodies,
by martial exercises, to all warlike skill and performance ;
and may civilize, adorn, and make discreet our minds, by
the learned and affable meeting of frequent academies, and
the procurement of wise and artful recitations, sweetened
with eloquent and graceful enticements to the love and
practice of justice, temperance, and fortitude, instructing
and bettering the nation at all opportunities, that the call of
wisdom and virtue may be heard everywhere, as Solomon
saith : " She crieth without, she uttereth her voice in the
streets, in the top of high places, in the chief con-
course, and in the openings of the gates." Whether this
may not be only in pulpits, but after another persuasive
method, at set and solemn paneguries, in theatres, porches,
or what other place or way may win most upon the people,
to receive at once both recreation and instruction ; let them
in authority consult. The thing which I had to say, and
those intentions which have lived within me, ever since I
could conceive myself anything worth to my country, I re-
turn to crave excuse, that urgent reason hath plucked from
me, by an abortive and foredated discovery. And the accom-
plishment of them lies not but in a power above man's to
promise ; but that none hath by more studious ways endeav-
ored, and with more unwearied spirit that none shall, that I
dare almost aver of myself, as far as life and free leisure will
extend ; and that the land had once enfranchised herself
from this impertinent yoke of prelacy, under whose inquisito-
rious and tyrannical duncery no free and splendid wit can
flourish. Neither do I think it shame to covenant with any


knowing leader, that for some few years yet I may go on
trust with him toward the payment of what I am now in-
debted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of
youth, or the vapors of wine; like that which flows at
waste from the pen of some vulgar amorist, or the trencher-
fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invo-
cation of dame Memory and her syren daughters ; but by
devout prayer to that eternal Spirit, who can enrich with
all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim
with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify
the lips of whom he pleases. To this must be added indus-
trious and select reading, steady observation, insight into all
seemly and generous arts and affairs ; till which in some
measure be compassed, at mine own peril and cost, I refuse
not to sustain this expectation from as many as are not loth
to hazard so much credulity upon the best pledges that I
can give them. Although it nothing content me to have
disclosed thus much beforehand, but that I trust hereby to
make it manifest with what small willingness I endure to
interrupt the pursuit of no less hopes than these, and leave a
calm and pleasing solitariness, fed with cheerful and confi-
dent thoughts, to embark in a troubled sea of noises and
hoarse disputes ; from beholding the bright countenance of
truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies, to come
into the dim reflection of hollow antiquities sold by the
seeming bulk, and there be fain to club quotations with men
whose learning and belief lies in marginal stuffings; who
when they have, like good sumpters, laid you down their
horse-load of citations and fathers at your door, with a rhap-
sody of who and who were bishops here or there, you may
take off their pack-saddles, their day's work is done, and
episcopacy, as they think, stoutly vindicated. Let any gen-
tle apprehension that can distinguish learned pains from
unlearned drudgery, imagine what pleasure or profoundness
can be in this, or what honor to deal against such adversa-


ries. But were it the meanest under-service, if God, by his
secretary, conscience, enjoin it, it were sad for me if I should
draw back ; for me especially, now when all men offer their
aid to help, ease, and lighten the difficult labors of the
Church to whose service, by the intentions of my parents and
friends, I was destined of a child, and in mine own resolu-
tions, till coming to some maturity of years, and perceiving
what tyranny had invaded the Church, that he who would
take orders, must subscribe slave, and take an oath withal ;
which unless he took with a conscience that would retch, he
must either strait perjure, or split his faith ; I thought it
better to prefer a blameless silence, before the sacred office
of speaking, bought and begun with servitude and forswear-



A GOLDEN pen I mean to take,
A book of ivory white,
And in the mornings when I wake

The kind dream-thoughts to write,
Which come from heaven for love's support,

Like dews that fall at night.
For soon the delicate gifts decay,
As stirs the mired and smoky day.

u Sleep is like death," and after sleep

The world seems new begun ;
Its earnestness all clear and deep,

Its true solution won ;
White thoughts stand luminous and firm,

Like statues in the sun ;
Refreshed from super-sensuous founts,
The soul to purer vision mounts. -



THIS remarkable man, whose name can never be for-
gotten while military skill and prowess, and the most
loyal and active fidelity to an almost hopeless cause, shall
challenge recollection, was the eldest son of Sir William
Graham, of Claverhouse, in the County of Forfar, by Jane,
fourth daughter of John Carnegy, first Earl of Northesk.
His family was a scion which branched off from the ancient
stock of the great House of Montrose, early in the fifteenth
century, by the second marriage of William Lord Graham,
of Kincardine, to Mary, second daughter of Robert the
Third, King of Scotland, and had gradually acquired consid-
erable estates, chiefly by the bounty of the Crown. He re-
ceived his education in the University of St. Andrews, which
he left to seek on the Continent the more polished qualifica-
tions of a private gentleman of large fortune, the sphere to
which he seemed to have been destined. In France, how-
over, the latent fire of his character broke forth ; he entered
as a volunteer into the army of Louis the Fourteenth ; and
having presently determined to adopt the military profes-
sion, accepted in 1672 a commission of Cornet in the Horse
Guards of William the Third, Prince of Orange, by whom,
in the summer of 1 674, he was promoted to be Captain of a
troop, for his signal gallantry at the battle of Serieffe, in
which indeed he saved the life of that Prince by a personal


effort. lie asked soon after for the command of one of the
Scottish regiments in the Dutch service, and, strange to tell,
was refused, on which he threw up his commission, making
the cutting remark, that " the soldier who has not gratitude
cannot he brave," and returned to England, bringing with
him, however, the warmest recommendation* from William
to Charles the Second ; and Charles, who had been just then
misadvised to subdue the obstinacy of the Scottish Cove-
nanters by force of arms, appointed him to lead a body of
horse which had been raised in Scotland for that purpose,
and gave him full powers to act as he might think fit against
them, although under the nominal command of the Duke of

Online Libraryi00bostFavorite authors in prose and poetry → online text (page 51 of 66)