Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White

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Title: Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White — Volume 1

Author: Andrew Dickson White

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AUTOBIOGRAPHYOFANDREW DICKSON WHITE

WITH PORTRAITS

VOLUME I

NEW YORKTHE CENTURY CO.1905

THE DE VINNE PRESS

TOMY OLD STUDENTSTHIS RECORD OF MY LIFEIS INSCRIBEDWITH MOST KINDLY RECOLLECTIONSAND BEST WISHES

PART I—ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATIONCHAPTER I. BOYHOOD IN CENTRAL NEW YORK—1832-1850

The ``Military Tract'' of New York. A settlement on theheadwaters of the Susquehanna. Arrival of my grandfathers andgrandmothers. Growth of the new settlement. First recollectionsof it. General character of my environment. My father andmother. Cortland Academy. Its twofold effect upon me. Firstschooling. Methods in primary studies. Physical education.Removal to Syracuse. The Syracuse Academy. Joseph Allenand Professor Root; their influence; moral side of the educationthus obtained. General education outside the school. Removal toa ``classical school''; a catastrophe. James W. Hoyt and hisinfluence. My early love for classical studies. Discovery ofScott's novels. ``The Gallery of British Artists.'' Effect ofsundry conventions, public meetings, and lectures. Am sent toGeneva College; treatment of faculty by students. A ``SecondAdventist'' meeting; Howell and Clark; my first meeting withJudge Folger. Philosophy of student dissipation at that place andtime.

CHAPTER II. YALE AND EUROPE—1850-1857

My coup d'<e'>tat. Removal to Yale. New energy in study andreading. Influence of Emerson, Carlyle, and Ruskin. Yale in1850. My disappointment at the instruction; character ofpresident and professors; perfunctory methods in lower-classrooms; ``gerund-grinding'' vs. literature; James Hadley—hisabilities and influence, other professors; influence of PresidentWoolsey, Professors Porter, Silliman, and Dana; absence ofliterary instruction; character of that period from a literarypoint of view; influences from fellow-students. Importance ofpolitical questions at that time. Sundry successes in essaywriting. Physical education at Yale; boating. Life abroad aftergraduation; visit to Oxford; studies at the Sorbonne andColl<e!>ge de France; afternoons at the Invalides; tramps throughwestern and central France. Studies at St. Petersburg. Studiesat Berlin. Journey in Italy; meeting with James Russell Lowellat Venice. Frieze, Fishburne, and studies in Rome. Excursionsthrough the south of France. Return to America. Influence ofBuckle, Lecky, and Draper. The atmosphere of Darwin and Spencer.Educational environment at the University of Michigan.

PART II—POLITICAL LIFECHAPTER III. FROM JACKSON TO FILLMORE—1832-1851

Political division in my family; differences between my fatherand grandfather; election of Andrew Jackson. First recollectionsof American politics, Martin Van Buren. Campaign of 1840;campaign songs and follies. Efforts by the Democrats; GeneralCrary of Michigan; Corwin's speech. The Ogle gold-spoon speech.The Sub-Treasury Question. Election of General Harrison; hisdeath. Disappointment in President Tyler. Carelessness ofnominating conventions as to the second place upon the ticket.Campaign of 1844. Clay, Birney, and Polk. Growth ofanti-slavery feeling. Senator Hale's lecture. Henry Clay'sproposal, The campaign of 1848; General Taylor vs. General Cass.My recollections of them both. State Conventions at this period.Governor Bouck; his civility to Bishop Hughes. FernandoWood; his method of breaking up a State Convention. CharlesO'Conor and John Van Buren; boyish adhesion to Martin Van Burenagainst General Taylor; Taylor's election; his death. Myrecollections of Millard Fillmore. The Fugitive Slave Law.

CHAPTER IV. EARLY MANHOOD—1851-1857

``Jerry'', his sudden fame. Speeches of Daniel Webster and HenryClay at Syracuse on the Fugitive Slave Law ; their prophecies.The ``Jerry Rescue.'' Trials of the rescuers. My attendance atone of them. Bishop Loguen's prayer and Gerrit Smith's speech.Characteristics of Gerrit Smith. Effects of the rescue trials.Main difficulty of the anti-slavery party. ``Fool reformers.''Nominations of Scott and Pierce; their qualities.Senator Douglas. Abolition of the Missouri Compromise. Growthof ill feeling between North and South. Pro-slavery tendenciesat Yale. Stand against these taken by President Woolsey andLeonard Bacon. My candidacy or editorship of the ``Yale LiteraryMagazine.'' Opposition on account of my anti-Slavery ideas. Myelection. Temptations to palter with my conscience; victory overthem. Professor Hadley's view of duty to the Fugitive SlaveLaw. Lack of opportunity to present my ideas. My chance onCommencement Day. ``Modern Oracles.'' Effect of my speech onGovernor Seymour. Invitation to his legation at St. Petersburgafter my graduation. Effect upon me of Governor Seymour's ideasregarding Jefferson. Difficulties in discussing the slaveryquestion. My first discovery as to the value of politicalcriticism in newspapers. Return to America. Presidentialcampaign of 1856. Nomination of Fr<e'>mont. My acquaintancewith the Democratic nominee Mr Buchanan. My first vote.Argument made for the ``American Party.'' Election of Buchanan.My first visit to Washington. President Pierce at the WhiteHouse. Inauguration of the new President. Effect upon me of hisspeech and of a first sight of the United States Senate.Impression made by the Supreme Court. General impression made byWashington. My first public lecture—``Civilization in Russia'';its political bearing; attacks upon it and vindications of it.Its later history.

CHAPTER V. THE CIVIL WAR PERIOD—1857-1864.

My arrival at the University of Michigan. Political side ofprofessorial life. General purpose of my lectures in theuniversity and throughout the State. My articles in the``Atlantic Monthly.'' President Buchanan, John Brown Stephen A.Douglas, and others. The Chicago Convention. Nomination ofLincoln. Disappointment of my New York friends. Speeches byCarl Schurz. Election of Lincoln. Beginnings of Civil War. Myadvice to students. Reverses; Bull Run. George Sumner's view.Preparation for the conflict. Depth of feeling. Pouring out ofmy students into the army. Kirby Smith. Conduct of the BritishGovernment. Break in my health. Thurlow Weed's advice to me.My work in London. Discouragements there. My published answerto Dr. Russell. Experiences in Ireland and France. My horror ofthe French Emperor. Effort to influence opinion in Germany.William Walton Murphy; his interview with Baron Rothschild.Fourth of July celebration at Heidelberg in 1863. Turning of thecontest in favor of the United States. My election to the Senateof the State of New York.

CHAPTER VI. SENATORSHIP AT ALBANY—1864-1865

My arrival at Albany as State Senator. My unfitness. Efforts tobecome acquainted with State questions. New acquaintances.Governor Horatio Seymour, Charles James Folger, Ezra Cornell, andothers on the Republican side; Henry C. Murphy and Thomas C.Fields on the Democratic side. Daniel Manning. Positionassigned me on committees. My maiden speech. Relations withGovernor Seymour. My chairmanship of the Committee on Education.The Morrill Act of 1862. Mr. Cornell and myself at loggerheadsCodification of the Educational Laws. State Normal School Bill.Special Committee on the New York Health Department. Revelationsmade to the Committee. The Ward's Island matter. Last greateffort of the State in behalf of the Union. The Bounty Bill.Opposition of Horace Greeley to it. Embarrassment caused by himat that period. Senator Allaben's speech against the BountyBill. His reference to French Assignats; my answer; results;later development of this speech into a political pamphlet on``Paper Money Inflation in France.'' Baltimore Convention of1864; its curious characteristics; impression made upon me by it.Breckinridge, Curtis, and Raymond. Renomination of Lincoln; mymeeting him at the White House. Sundry peculiarities thenrevealed by him. His election.

CHAPTER VII. SENATORSHIP AT ALBANY—1865-1867

My second year in the State Senate. Struggle for the Charter ofCornell University. News of Lee's surrender. Assassination ofLincoln. Service over his remains at the Capitol in Albany. Myaddress. Question of my renomination. Elements against me; theTammany influence; sundry priests in New York, and clergymenthroughout the State. Senatorial convention; David J. Mitchell;my renomination and election. My third year of service, 1866.Speech on the Health Department in New York; monstrous iniquitiesin that Department; success in replacing it with a better system.My Phi Beta Kappa address at Yale; its purpose. My election to aProfessorship at Yale; reasons for declining it. State Senatesits as Court to try a judge; his offense; patheticcomplications; his removal from office. Arrival of PresidentJohnson, Secretary Seward, General Grant, and Admiral Farragut inAlbany; their reception by the Governor and Senate; impressionsmade on me thereby; part taken by Governor Fenton and SecretarySeward; Judge Folger's remark to me. Ingratitude of the Statethus far to its two greatest Governors, DeWitt Clinton andSeward.

CHAPTER VIII. ROSCOE CONKLING AND JUDGE FOLGER—1867-1868

Fourth year in the State Senate, 1867. Election of a UnitedStates Senator; feeling throughout the State regarding SenatorsMorgan and Harris; Mr. Cornell's expression of it. Thecandidates; characteristics of Senator Harris, of Judge Davis, ofRoscoe Conkling. Services and characteristics of the latterwhich led me to support him; hostility of Tammany henchmento us both. The legislative caucus. Presentation of candidates;my presentation of Mr. Conkling; reception by the audience of mymain argument; Mr. Conkling elected. Difficulties between JudgeFolger and myself; question as to testimony in criminal cases;Judge Folger's view of it; his vexation at my obtaining amajority against him. Calling of the Constitutional Convention,Judge Folger's candidacy for its Presidency; curious reason forHorace Greeley's opposition to him. Another cause of separationbetween Judge Folger and myself. Defeat of the Sodus Canal Bill.Constitutional Convention eminent men in it; Greeley's positionin it; his agency in bringing the Convention into disrepute; hislater regret at his success; the new Constitution voted down.Visit to Agassiz at Nahant. A day with Longfellow. Hisremark regarding Mr. Greeley. Meeting with Judge Rockwood Hoarat Harvard. Boylston prize competition; the successfulcontestant; Judge Hoar's remark regarding one of the speakers.My part in sundry political meetings. Visit to Senator Conkling.Rebuff at one of my meetings; its effect upon me.

CHAPTER IX. GENERAL GRANT AND SANTO DOMINGO—1868-1871

Distraction from politics by Cornell University work during twoor three years following my senatorial term. Visits toscientific and technical schools in Europe. The second politicalcampaign of General Grant. My visit to Auburn; Mr. Seward'sspeech; its unfortunate characteristics; Mr. Cornell's remark onmy proposal to call Mr. Seward as a commencement orator. Greatservices of Seward. State Judiciary Convention of 1870; my partin it; nomination of Judge Andrews and Judge Folger; my part inthe latter; its effect on my relations with Folger. Closeracquaintance with General Grant. Visit to Dr. Henry Field atStockbridge; Burton Harrison's account of the collapse of theConfederacy and the flight of Jefferson Davis. Story told me byWilliam Preston Johnston throwing light on the Confederacy in itslast hours. Delegacy to the State Republican Convention of 1870.Am named as Commissioner to Santo Domingo. First meeting withSenator Charles Sumner. My acquaintance with Senator McDougal.His strange characteristics. His famous plea for drunkenness.My absence in the West Indies.

CHAPTER X. THE GREELEY CAMPAIGN—1872

First meeting with John Hay. Speech of Horace Greeley on hisreturn from the South; his discussion of national affairs; hismanner and surroundings; last hours and death of Samuel J. May.The Prudence Crandall portrait. Addresses at the Yale alumnidinner. Dinner with Longfellow at Craigie House. The StateConvention of 1871; my chairmanship and presidency of it. Myspeech; appointment of committees; anti-administrationdemonstration; a stormy session; retirement of theanti-administration forces; attacks in consequence; rally of oldfriends to my support. Examples of the futility of suchattacks; Senator Carpenter, Governor Seward, Senator Conklin.My efforts to interest Conkling in a reform of the civil service.Republican National Convention at Philadelphia in 1872; abilityof sundry colored delegates; nomination of Grant and Wilson. Mr.Greeley's death. Characteristics of General Grant as President.Reflections on the campaign. Questions asked me by a leadingLondon journalist regarding the election. My first meeting withSamuel J. Tilden; low ebb of his fortunes at that period. Theculmination of Tweed. Thomas Nast. Meeting of the ElectoralCollege at Albany; the ``Winged Victory'' and General Grant'scredentials. My first experience of ``Reconstruction'' in theSouth; visit to the State Capitol of South Carolina; rulings ofthe colored Speaker of the House, fulfilment of ThomasJefferson's inspired prophecy.

CHAPTER XI. GRANT, HAYES, AND GARFIELD—1871-1881

Sundry visits to Washington during General Grant's presidency.Impression made by President Grant; visit to him in company withAgassiz; characteristics shown by him at Long Branch; his dealingwith one newspaper correspondent and story regarding another.His visit to me at Cornell; his remark regarding the annexationof Santo Domingo, far-sighted reason assigned for it; his feelingregarding a third presidential term. My journey with him uponthe Rhine. Walks and talks with him in Paris. Persons met atSenator Conkling's. Story told by Senator Carpenter. The``Greenback Craze''; its spirit; its strength. Wretchedcharacter of the old banking system. Ability and forceof Mr. Conkling's speech at Ithaca. Its effect. My previousrelations with Garfield. Character and effect of hisspeech at Ithaca; his final address to the students of theUniversity. Our midnight conversation. President Hayes;impressions regarding him; attacks upon him; favorable judgmentupon him by observant foreigners, excellent impression made byhim upon me at this time and at a later period. Theassassination of General Garfield. Difficulties which thickenedabout him toward the end of his career. Characteristics ofPresident Arthur. Ground taken in my public address at Ithaca atthe service in commemoration of Garfield.

CHAPTER XII. ARTHUR, CLEVELAND, AND BLAINE—1881-1884

President Arthur; course before his Presidency; qualitiesrevealed afterward; curious circ*mstances of his nomination.Reform of the Civil Service. My article in the ``North AmericanReview.'' Renewal of my acquaintance with Mr. Evarts; his wittystories. My efforts to interest Senator Platt in civil-servicereform; his slow progress in this respect. Wayne MacVeagh; JudgeBiddle's remark at his table on American feeling regardingcapital punishment. Great defeat of the Republican party in1882. Judge Folger's unfortunate campaign. Election of Mr.Cleveland. My address on ``The New Germany'' at New York.Meeting with General McDowell, the injustice of popular judgmentupon him. Revelation of Tammany frauds. Grover Cleveland, hisearly life; his visit to the University; impression made upon meby him. Senator Morrill's visit; tribute paid him by theUniversity authorities. My address at Yale on ``The Message ofthe Nineteenth Century to the Twentieth.'' Addresses by CarlSchurz and myself at the funeral of Edward Lasker. Election as adelegate at large to the National Republican Convention atChicago, 1884. Difficulties regarding Mr. Blaine; vain effortsto nominate another candidate; George William Curtis and hischaracteristics; tyranny over the Convention by the gallery mob;nomination of Blaine and Logan. Nomination of Mr. Cleveland bythe Democrats. Tyranny by the Chicago mob at that conventionalso. Open letter to Theodore Roosevelt in favor of Mr. Blaine.Private letter to Mr. Blaine in favor of a reform of the CivilService. His acceptance of its suggestions. Wretched characterof the campaign. Presidency of the Republican mass meeting atSyracuse; experience with a Kentucky orator. Election of Mr.Cleveland.

CHAPTER XIII. HENDRICKS, JOHN SHERMAN, BANCROFT,AND OTHERS—1884-1891

Renewal of my acquaintance with Mr. Cleveland at Washington.Meeting with Mr. Blaine; his fascinating qualities; hisself-control. William Walter Phelps; his arguments regarding thetreatment of Congressional speakers by the press. SenatorRandall Gibson; meeting at his house with Vice-PresidentHendricks; evident disappointment of the Vice-President; his viewof civil-service reform; defense of it by Senator Butler of SouthCarolina; reminiscences of odd senators by Senator Jones ofFlorida; Gibson's opinion of John Sherman. President Cleveland'smode of treating office-beggars and the like; Senator Sawyer'sstory; Secretary Fairchild's remark; Senators Sherman and Vance.Secretary Bayard's criticism of applicants for office. SenatorButler's remark on secession. Renewal of my acquaintance withGeorge Bancroft. Goldwin Smith in Washington; his favorableopinion of American crowds. Chief Justice Waite. GeneralSheridan; his account of the battle of Gravelotte; discussionbetween Sheridan and Goldwin Smith regarding sundry points inmilitary history. General Schenck; his reminiscences of CorwinEverett, and others. Resignation of my presidency at Cornell,1885. President Cleveland's tender of an Interstate Railwaycommissionership, my declination. Departure for Europe. Amtendered nomination for Congress; my discussion of the matter inLondon with President Porter of Yale and others; declination.Visit to Washington under the administration of General Harrison,January, 1891; presentation of proposals to him regardingcivil-service reform; his speech in reply.

CHAPTER XIV. MCKINLEY AND ROOSEVELT—1891-1904

Candidacy for the governorship of New York; Mr. Platt's relationto it; my reluctance and opposition; decision of the RochesterConvention in favor of Mr. Fassett; natural reasons for this.Lectures at Stanford University. Visit to Mexico and Californiawith Mr. Andrew Carnegie and his party. President Harrisontenders me the position of minister to Russia; my retention inoffice by Mr. Cleveland. My stay in Italy 1894-1895. PresidentCleveland appoints me upon the Venezuelan Boundary Commission,December, 1895. Presidential campaign of 1896. My unexpectedpart in it; nomination of Mr. Bryan by Democrats; publication ofmy open letter to sundry Democrats, republication of my ``PaperMoney Inflation in France,'' and its circulation as a campaigndocument; election of Mr. McKinley. My address before the StateUniversities of Wisconsin and Minnesota; strongly favorableimpression made upon me by them; meeting with Mr. IgnatiusDonnelly, his public address to me in the State House ofMinnesota. My addresses at Harvard, Yale, and elsewhere. Amappointed by President McKinley ambassador to Germany; questionof my asking sanction of Mr. Platt; how settled. Renomination ofMcKinley with Mr. Roosevelt as Vice-President. I revisitAmerica; day with Mr. Roosevelt, visits to Washington; myimpressions of President McKinley; his conversation; hiscoolness; tributes from his Cabinet; Secretary Hay's testimony,Mr. McKinley's refusal to make speeches during his secondcampaign; his reasons; his re<e:>lection; how received in Europe.His assassination; receipt of the news in Germany and GreatBritain. My second visit to America; sadness, mournfulreflections at White House; conversations with PresidentRoosevelt; message given me by him for the Emperor; its playfulending. The two rulers compared.

PART III—AS UNIVERSITY PROFESSORCHAPTER XV. LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN—1857-1864

Early ideals. Gradual changes in these. Attractions ofjournalism then and now. New views of life opened to me at Parisand Berlin. Dreams of aiding the beginnings of a better systemof university education in the United States. Shortcomings ofAmerican instruction, especially regarding history, politicalscience, and literature, at that period. My article on``German Instruction in General History'' in ``The NewEnglander.'' Influence of Stanley's ``Life of Arnold.'' Turningpoint in my life at the Yale Commencement of 1856; Dr. Wayland'sspeech. Election to the professorship of history and Englishliterature at the University of Michigan; my first work in it;sundry efforts toward reforms, text-books, social relations withstudents; use of the Abb<e'> Bautain's book. My courses oflectures; President Tappan's advice on extemporaneous speaking;publication of my syllabus; ensuing relations with CharlesSumner. Growth and use of my private historical library.Character of my students. Necessity for hard work.Student discussions.

CHAPTER XVI. UNIVERSITY LIFE IN THE WEST—1857-1864

Some difficulties; youthfulness; struggle against variouscombinations, my victory; an enemy made a friend. Lecturesthroughout Michigan; main purpose in these; a storm aroused;vigorous attack upon my politico-economical views; happy results;revenge upon my assailant; discussion in a County Court House.Breadth and strength then given to my ideas regarding universityeducation. President Tappan. Henry Simmons Frieze. Brunnow.Chief Justice Cooley. Judge Campbell. Distinguishing feature ofthe University of Michigan in those days. Dr. Tappan's goodsense in administration; one typical example. Unworthy treatmentof him by the Legislature; some causes of this. Opposition tothe State University by the small sectarian colleges. Dr.Tappan's prophecy to sundry demagogues; its fulfilment. Sundrydefects of his qualities; the ``Winchell War,'' ``ArmedNeutrality.'' Retirement of President Tappan; its painfulcirc*mstances; amends made later by the citizens of Michigan.The little city of Ann Arbor; origin of its name. Recreations,tree planting on the campus; results of this. Exodus of studentsinto the Civil War. Lectures continued after my resignation. Myaffectionate relations with the institution.

PART IV—AS UNIVERSITY PRESIDENTCHAPTER XVII. EVOLUTION OF ``THE CORNELL IDEA''—1850-1865

Development of my ideas on university organization at HobartCollege, at Yale, and abroad. Their further evolution at theUniversity of Michigan. President Tappan's influence. My planof a university at Syracuse. Discussions with George WilliamCurtis. Proposal to Gerrit Smith; its failure. A newopportunity opens.

CHAPTER XVIII. EZRA CORNELL—1864-1874

Ezra Cornell. My first impressions regarding him. His publiclibrary. Temporary estrangement between us; regarding the LandGrant Fund. Our conversation regarding his intended gift. TheState Agricultural College and the ``People's College''; hisfinal proposal. Drafting of the Cornell University Charter. Hisforesight. His views of university education. Struggle for thecharter in the Legislature; our efforts to overcome the coalitionagainst us; bitter attacks on him; final struggle in theAssembly, Senate, and before the Board of Regents. Mr. Cornell'slocation of the endowment lands. He nominates me to theUniversity Presidency. His constant liberality and labors. Hisprevious life; growth of his fortune; his noble use of it; sundryoriginal ways of his; his enjoyment of the university in itsearly days; his mixture of idealism and common sense. Firstcelebration of Founder's Day. His resistance to unreason.Bitter attacks upon him in sundry newspapers and in theLegislature; the investigation; his triumph. His minorcharacteristics; the motto ``True and Firm'' on his house. Hislast days and hours. His political ideas. His quaint sayings;intellectual and moral characteristics; equanimity; religiousconvictions.

CHAPTER XIX. ORGANIZATION OF CORNELL UNIVERSITY—1865-1868

Virtual Presidency of Cornell during two years before my actualelection. Division of labor between Mr. Cornell and myself. Mysuccess in thwarting efforts to scatter the Land Grant Fund, andin impressing three points on the Legislature. Support given byHorace Greeley to the third of these. Judge Folger's opposition.Sudden death of Dr. Willard and its effects. Our compromise withJudge Folger. The founding of Willard Asylum. Continuedopposition to us. Election to the Presidency of the University.Pressure of my own business. Presentation of my ``Plan ofOrganization.'' Selection of Professors; difficulty of suchselection in those days as compared with these; system suggested;system adopted. Resident and non- resident professorships.Erection of university buildings; difficulty arising from arequirement of our charter; general building plan adopted.My visit to European technical institutions; choice of foreignprofessors; purchases of books, apparatus, etc.

CHAPTER XX. THE FIRST YEARS OF CORNELL UNIVERSITY—1868-1870

Formal opening of the University October 7, 1868. Difficulties,mishaps, calamities, obstacles. Effect of these on Mr. Cornelland myself. Opening ceremonies of the morning; Mr. Cornell'sspeech and my own; effect of Mr. Cornell's broken health upon me.The first ringing of the chime; effect of George W. Curtis'soration; my realization of our difficulties; Mr. Cornell'sphysical condition; inadequacy of our resources; impossibility ofselling lands; our necessary unreadiness; haste compelled by ourcharter. Mr. Cornell's letter to the ``New York Tribune''regarding student labor. Dreamers and schemers. Efforts by``hack'' politicians. Attacks by the press, denominational andsecular. Friction in the University machinery. Difficulty ofthe students in choosing courses; improvement in these daysconsequent upon improvement of schools. My reprint of JohnFoster's ``Essay on Decision of Character''; its good effects.Compensations; character of the students; few infractions ofdiscipline; causes of this; effects of liberty of choice betweencourses of study. My success in preventing the use of thefaculty as policemen; the Campus Bridge case. Sundry trials ofstudents by the faculty; the Dundee Lecture case; the ``MockProgramme'' case; a suspension of class officers; revelation inall this of a spirit of justice among students. Athletics andtheir effects. Boating; General Grant's remark to me on theSpringfield regatta; Cornell's double success at Saratoga; letterfrom a Princeton graduate. General improvement in Americanuniversity students during the second half of the nineteenthcentury.

CHAPTER XXI. DIFFICULTIES AND DANGERS AT CORNELL—1868-1872

Questions regarding courses of instruction. Evils of the oldsystem of assigning them entirely to resident professors.Literary instruction at Yale; George William Curtis and JohnLord. Our general scheme. The Arts Course; clinching it intoour system; purchase of the Anthon Library; charges against us onthis score; our vindication. The courses in literature, scienceand philosophy; influence of one of Herbert Spencer's ideas uponthe formation of all these; influence of my own experience.Professor Wilder; his services against fustian and ``tall talk.''The course in literature; use made of it in promoting the generalculture of students. Technical departments; Civil Engineering;incidental question of creed in electing a professor to it.Department of Agriculture; its difficulties; three professors whotided it through. Department of Mechanic Arts; its peculiardifficulties and dangers; Mr. Cornell's view regarding collegeshop work for bread winning; necessity for practical work inconnection with theoretical; mode of bringing about thisconnection. Mr. Sibley's gift. Delay in recognition of oursuccess. Department of Architecture; origin of my ideas on thissubject; the Trustees accept my architectural library andestablish the Department.

CHAPTER XXII. FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF UNIVERSITYCOURSES-1870-1872

Establishment of Laboratories. Governor Cleveland's visit.Department of Electrical Engineering; its origin. Department ofPolitical Science and History. Influence of my legislativeexperience upon it; my report on the Paris Exposition, andaddress at Johns Hopkins; a beginning made; excellent work doneby Frank Sanborn. Provision for Political Economy; presentationof both sides of controverted questions. Instruction in History;my own part in it; its growth; George Lincoln Burr called intoit; lectures by Goldwin Smith, Freeman, Froude, and others.Instruction in American History; calling of George W. Greene andTheodore Dwight as Non-Resident, and finally of Moses Coit Tyleras Resident Professor. Difficulties in some of theseDepartments. Reaction, ``The Oscillatory Law of HumanProgress.'' ``Joe'' Sheldon's ``Professorship of Horse Sense''needed. First gift of a building—McGraw Hall. Curious passagein a speech at the laying of its corner-stone. MilitaryInstruction; peculiar clause regarding it in our Charter; ourbroad construction of it; my reasons for this. The Conferring ofDegrees; abuse at sundry American institutions in conferringhonorary degrees why Cornell University confers none. RegularDegrees; theory originally proposed; theory adopted; recentchange in practice.

CHAPTER XXIII. ``CO-EDUCATION'' AND AN UNSECTARIANPULPIT—1871-1904

Admission of women. The Cortland Free Scholarship; the Sagegift; difficulties and success. Establishment of Sage Chapel;condition named by me for its acceptance; character of thebuilding. Establishment of a preachership; my suggestionsregarding it accepted; Phillips Brooks preaches the first sermon,1875; results of this system. Establishment of Barnes Hall;its origin and development; services it has rendered.Development of sundry minor ideas in building up the University;efforts to develop a recognition of historical and commemorativefeatures; portraits, tablets, memorial windows, etc. Thebeautiful work of Robert Richardson. The Memorial Chapel.Efforts to preserve the beauty of the grounds and original planof buildings; constant necessity for such efforts; dangersthreatening the original plan.

CHAPTER XXIV. ROCKS, STORMS, AND PERIL—1868-1874

Difficulties and discouragements. Very serious character of someof these. Financial difficulties; our approach, at times, toruin. Splendid gifts; their continuance, the ``Ostrander Elms'';encouragement thus given. Difficulties arising from our Charter;short time allowed us for opening the University, general planslaid down for us. Advice, comments, etc., from friends andenemies; remark of the Johns Hopkins trustees as to their freedomfrom oppressive supervision and control; my envy of them. Largeexpenditure demanded. Mr. Cornell's burdens. Installation of a``Business Manager.'' My suspicion as to our finances. Mr.Cornell's optimism. Discovery of a large debt; Mr. Cornell'snoble proposal; the debt cleared in fifteen minutes by four men.Ultimate result of this subscription; worst calamities to Cornellits greatest blessings; example of this in the founding offellowships and scholarships. Successful financial managementever since. Financial difficulties arising from the burden ofthe University lands on Mr. Cornell, and from his promotion oflocal railways; his good reasons for undertaking these.Entanglement of the University affairs with those of the Stateand of Mr. Cornell. Narrow escape of the institution from afatal result. Judge Finch as an adviser; his extrication of theUniversity and of Mr. Cornell's family; interwoven interestsdisentangled. Death of Mr. Cornell, December, 1875. Mydepression at this period; refuge in historical work. Anothercalamity. Munificence of John McGraw; interest shown in theinstitution by his daughter; her relations to the University; herdeath; her bequest; my misgivings as to our Charter; personalcomplications between the McGraw heirs and some of our trustees;efforts to bring about a settlement thwarted; ill success of theUniversity in the ensuing litigation. Disappointment at thisprodigious loss. Compensations for it. Splendid gifts from Mr.Henry W. Sage, Messrs. Dean and Wm. H. Sage, and others.Continuance of sectarian attacks; virulent outbursts; we stand onthe defensive. I finally take the offensive in a lecture on``The Battle-fields of Science''; its purpose, its reception whenrepeated and when published; kindness of President Woolsey in thematter. Gradual expansion of the lecture into a history of ``TheWarfare of Science with Theology''; filtration of the ideas itrepresents into public opinion; effect of this in smoothing theway for the University.

CHAPTER XXV. CONCLUDING YEARS—1881-1885

Evolution of the University administration. The Trustees; newmethod of selecting them; Alumni trustees. The ExecutiveCommittee. The Faculty method of its selection; its harmony.The Students; system of taking them into our confidence. Alumniassociations. Engrossing nature of the administration.Collateral duties. Addresses to the Legislature, toassociations, to other institutions of learning. Duties asProfessor. Delegation of sundry administrative details.Inaccessibility of the University in those days; difficulties inwinter. Am appointed Commissioner to Santo Domingo in 1870;to a commissionership at the Paris Exposition in 1877, and asMinister to Germany in 1879-1881. Test of the Universityorganization during these absences; opportunity thus given theUniversity Faculty to take responsibility in Universitygovernment. Ill results, in sundry other institutions, ofholding the President alone responsible. General good results ofour system. Difficulties finally arising. My return. The fouryears of my presidency afterward. Resignation in 1885. Kindnessof trustees and students. Am requested to name my successor, andI nominate Charles Kendall Adams. Transfer of my historicallibrary to the University. Two visits to Europe; reasons forthem. Lectures at various universities after my return.Resumption of diplomatic duties. Continued relations to theUniversity. My feelings toward it on nearing the end of life.

PART V—IN THE DIPLOMATIC SERVICECHAPTER XXVI. AS ATTACH<E'> AT ST. PETERSBURG—1854-1855

My first studies in History and International Law. Am appointedattach<e'> at St. Petersburg. Stay in London. Mr. Buchanan'sreminiscences. Arrival in St. Petersburg. Duty of anattach<e'>. Effects of the Crimean War on the position of theAmerican Minister and his suite. Good feeling establishedbetween Russia and the United States. The Emperor Nicholas; hisdeath; his funeral. Reception of the Diplomatic Corps at theWinter Palace by Alexander II; his speech; feeling shown by himtoward Austria. Count Nesselrode; his kindness to me. Visits ofsundry Americans to St. Petersburg. Curious discovery at theWinter Palace among the machines left by Peter the Great.American sympathizers with Russia in the Crimean War.Difficulties thus caused for the Minister. Examples of veryoriginal Americans; the Kentucky Colonel; the New York ElectionManager; performance of the latter at a dinner party and displayat the Post House. Feeling of the Government toward the UnitedStates; example of this at the Kazan Cathedral. Householdtroubles of the Minister. Baird the Ironmaster; his yacht racewith the Grand Duke Alexander; interesting scenes at his table.The traveler Atkinson and Siberia.

CHAPTER XXVII. AS ATTACH<E'> AND BEARER OF DESPATCHESIN WAR-TIME—1855

Blockade of the Neva by the allied fleet. A great opportunitylost. Russian caricatures during the Crimean War. Visit toMoscow. Curious features in the Kremlin, the statue of Napoleon;the Crown, Sceptre, and Constitution of Poland. Evidences ofofficial stupidity. Journey from St. Petersburg to Warsaw.Contest with the officials at the frontier; my victory.Journey across the continent; scene in a railway carriage betweenStrasburg and Paris. Delivery of my despatches in Paris. BaronSeebach. The French Exposition of 1855. Arrival of HoraceGreeley; comical features in his Parisian life; his arrest andimprisonment; his efforts to learn French in prison and after hisrelease, especially at the Cr<e'>merie of Madame Busque.Scenes at the Exposition. Journey through Switzerland.Experience at the Hospice of the Great St. Bernard, Fanny KembleButler; kind treatment by the monks. My arrival in Berlin asstudent.

CHAPTER XXVIII. AS COMMISSIONER TO SANTO DOMINGO—1871

Propositions for the annexation of Santo Domingo to the UnitedStates. I am appointed one of three Commissioners to visit theisland. Position taken by Senator Sumner; my relations with him;my efforts to reconcile him with the Grant Administration; effortof Gerrit Smith. Speeches of Senator Schurz. Conversations withAdmiral Porter, Benjamin F. Butler, and others. Discussions withPresident Grant; his charge to me. Enlistment of scientificexperts. Direction of them. Our residence at Santo Domingocity. President Baez; his conversations. Condition of theRepublic; its denudation. Anxiety of the clergy for connectionwith the United States. My negotiation with the Papal Nuncio andVicar Apostolic; his earnest desire for annexation. Reasons forthis. My expedition across the island. Mishaps. Interview withguerrilla general in the mountains. His gift. Vain efforts atdiplomacy. Our official inquiries regarding earthquakes; piousview taken by the Vicar of Cotuy. Visit to Vega. Aid given meby the French Vicar. Arrival at Puerto Plata. My stay at theVice-President's house; a tropical catastrophe; public dinner andspeech under difficulties. Journey in the Nantasket toPort-au-Prince. Scenes in the Haitian capital; evidences ofrevolution; unlimited paper money; effect of these experiences onFrederick Douglass. Visit to Jamaica; interview with PresidentGeffrard. Experience of the Commission with a newspaper reporter.Landing at Charleston. Journey to Washington. Refusal of dinnerto Douglass on the Potomac steamer. Discovery regarding anassertion in Mr. Sumner's speech on Santo Domingo; his injustice.Difference of opinion in drawing up our report; we present norecommendation but simply a statement of facts. Reasons why theannexation was not accomplished.

CHAPTER XXIX. AS COMMISSIONER TO THE PARIS EXPOSITION—1878

Previous experience on the Educational Jury at the PhiladelphiaExposition. Emperor Dom Pedro of Brazil; curious revelation ofhis character at Booth's Theater; my after acquaintance with him.Don Juan Marin, his fine characteristics; his lesson to anAmerican crowd. Levasseur of the French Institute. Millet.Gardner Hubbard. My honorary commissionership to the ParisExposition. Previous troubles of our Commissioner-General at theVienna Exposition. Necessity of avoiding these at Paris.Membership of the upper jury. Meissonier. Tresca. Jules Simon.Wischniegradsky. Difficulty regarding the Edison exhibit. Mysocial life in Paris. The sculptor Story and Judge Daly. ASwiss-American juryman's efforts to secure the Legion of Honor.A Fourth of July jubilation; light thrown by it on the``Temperance Question.'' Henri Martin. Jules Simon pilots me inParis. Sainte-Clair Deville. Pasteur. Desjardins. Drouyn deLhuys. The reform school at Mettray. My visit to Thiers; hisrelations to France as historian and statesman. Duruy; hisremark on rapid changes in French Ministries. Convention oncopyright. Victor Hugo. Louis Blanc, his opinion of Thiers.Troubles of the American Minister; a socially ambitious Americanlady; vexatious plague thus revealed.

CHAPTER XXX. AS MINISTER TO GERMANY—1879-1881

Am appointed by President Hayes. Receiving instructions inWashington. Mr. Secretary Evarts. Interesting stay in London.The Lord Mayor at Guildhall. Speeches by Beaconsfield andothers. An animated automaton. An evening drive with Browning.Arrival in Berlin. Golden wedding festivities of the EmperorWilliam I. Audiences with various members of the imperialfamily. Wedding ceremonies of Prince William, now EmperorWilliam II. Usual topic of the American representative onpresenting his Letter of Credence from the President to thePrussian monarch. Prince Bismarck; his greeting; questionsregarding German-Americans. Other difficulties. Baron vonB<u:>low; his conciliatory character. Vexatious cases. Twocomplicated marriages. Imperial relations. Superintendenceof consuls. Transmission of important facts to the StateDepartment. Care for personal interests of Americans. Fugitivesfrom justice. The selling of sham American diplomas; effectivemeans taken to stop this. Presentations at court; troublesomeapplications; pleasure of aiding legitimate American efforts andambitions; discriminations. Curious letters demanding aid orinformation. Claims to inheritances. Sundry odd applications.The ``autograph bed-quilt.'' Associations with the diplomaticcorps. Count Delaunay. Lord Odo Russell. The Methuen episode.Count de St. Vallier, embarrassing mishap at Nice due to him.The Turkish and Russian ambassadors. DistressingRussian-American marriage case. Baron Nothomb, his reminiscencesof Talleyrand. The Saxon representative and the troubles ofAmerican lady students at Leipsic. Quaint discussions of generalpolitics by sundry diplomatists. The Japanese and Chineserepresentatives. Curious experience with a member of the ChineseLegation at a court reception. Sundry German public men.

CHAPTER XXXI. MEN OF NOTE IN BERLIN AND ELSEWHERE—1879-1881

My relations with professors at the Berlin University. Lepsius,Curtius, Gneist, Von Sybel, Droysen. Hermann Grimm and his wife.Treitschke. Statements of Du Bois-Reymond regarding theexpulsion of the Huguenots from France. Helmholtz and Hoffmann;a Scotch experience of the latter. Acquaintance with professorsat other universities. Literary men of Berlin. Auerbach. Hisstory of unveiling the Spinoza statue. Rodenberg. Berlinartists. Knaus; curious beginning of my acquaintance with him.Carl Becker. Anton von Werner; his statement regarding hispainting the ``Proclamation of the Empire at Versailles.'' AdolfMenzel; visit to his studio; his quaint discussions of his ownpictures. Pilgrimage to Oberammergau, impressions, myacquaintance with the ``Christus'' and the ``Judas''; popularprejudice against the latter. Excursion to France. Talks withPresident Gr<e'>vy and with the Minister of Foreign Affairs,Barth<e'>lemy-Saint-Hilaire. The better side of France.Talk with M. de Lesseps. The salon of Madame Edmond Adam.<E'>mile de Girardin. My recollections of Alexander Dumas.Sainte-Beuve. Visit to Nice. Young Leland Stanford. Visit toFlorence. Ubaldino Peruzzi. Professor Villari. A reproof froma Harvard professor. Minghetti. Emperor Frederick III; hisvisit to the American Fisheries Exposition; the Americans win theprize. Interest of the Prince in everything American. Kindnessand heartiness of the Emperor William I; his interest inBancroft; my final interview with him. Farewell dinner to me bymy Berlin friends.

CHAPTER XXXII. MY RECOLLECTIONS OF BISMARCK—1879-1881

My first sight of him. First interview with him. His feelingtoward German-Americans. His conversation on American questions.A family dinner at his house. His discussion of varioussubjects; his opinions of Thiers and others, conversation ontravel; his opinions of England and Englishmen; curiousreminiscences of his own life; kindly recollections of Bancroft,Bayard Taylor, and Motley. Visit to him with William D. Kelly;our walk and talk in the garden. Bismarck's view of financialquestions. Mr. Kelly's letter to the American papers; its effectin Germany. Bismarck's diplomatic dinners; part taken in them bythe Reichshunde. The Rudhardt episode. Scene in the PrussianHouse of Lords. Bismarck's treatment of Lasker; his rejection ofour Congressional Resolutions. Usual absence of Bismarck fromCourt. Reasons for it. Festivities at the marriage of thepresent Emperor William. A Fackeltanz. Bismarck's fits ofdespondency; remark by Gneist. Gneist's story illustratingBismarck's drinking habits. Difficulties in German-American``military cases'' after Baron von B<u:>low's death. A seriouscrisis. Bismarck's mingled severity and kindness. Hisunyielding attitude toward Russia. Question between us regardingGerman interference in South America. My citations fromWashington's Farewell Address and John Quincy Adams's despatches.Bismarck's appearance in Parliament. His mode of speaking.Contrast of his speeches with those of Moltke and Windthorst.Beauty of his family life. My last view of him.

LIST OF PORTRAITSOF THE AUTHOR

VOLUME I

ITHACA, 1905 Photograph by Robinson, Ithaca

SARATOGA, 1842 From a daguerreotype

CORNELL UNIVERSITY, 1878 Photograph by Sarony, New York

VOLUME II

THE HAGUE, 1899 Photograph by Zimmermans, The Hague

OXFORD, 1902 Photograph by Robinson, Ithaca

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OFANDREW DICKSON WHITE

PART IENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OFANDREW DICKSON WHITE

CHAPTER I

BOYHOOD IN CENTRAL NEW YORK—1832-1850

At the close of the Revolution which separated thecolonies from the mother country, the legislature ofNew York set apart nearly two million acres of land, in theheart of the State, as bounty to be divided among her soldierswho had taken part in the war; and this ``MilitaryTract,'' having been duly divided into townships, an ill-inspired official, in lack of names for so many divisions,sprinkled over the whole region the contents of his classicaldictionary. Thus it was that there fell to a beautifulvalley upon the headwaters of the Susquehanna thename of ``Homer.'' Fortunately the surveyor-generalleft to the mountains, lakes, and rivers the names theIndians had given them, and so there was still some poeticalelement remaining in the midst of that unfortunatenomenclature. The counties, too, as a rule, took Indiannames, so that the town of Homer, with its neighbors,Tully, Pompey, Fabius, Lysander, and the rest, were embeddedin the county of Onondaga, in the neighborhoodof lakes Otisco and Skaneateles, and of the rivers Tioughniogaand Susquehanna.

Hither came, toward the close of the eighteenth century,a body of sturdy New Englanders, and, among them, mygrandfathers and grandmothers. Those on my father'sside: Asa White and Clara Keep, from Munson, Massa-chusetts; those on my mother's side, Andrew Dickson,from Middlefield, Massachusetts, and Ruth Hall fromGuilford, Connecticut. They were all of ``good stock.''When I was ten years old I saw my great-grandfather atMiddlefield, eighty-two years of age, sturdy and vigorous;he had mowed a broad field the day before, and he walkedfour miles to church the day after. He had done his dutymanfully during the war, had been a member of the``Great and General Court'' of Massachusetts, and hadheld various other offices, which showed that he enjoyedthe confidence of his fellow-citizens. As to the other sideof the house, there was a tradition that we came fromPeregrine White of the Mayflower; but I have never hadtime to find whether my doubts on the subject were wellfounded or not. Enough for me to know that my yeomenancestors did their duty in war and peace, were honest,straightforward, God-fearing men and women, whoowned their own lands, and never knew what it was tocringe before any human being.

These New Englanders literally made the New Yorkwilderness to blossom as the rose; and Homer, at mybirth in 1832, about forty years after the first settlerscame, was, in its way, one of the prettiest villagesimaginable. In the heart of it was the ``Green,'' and alongthe middle of this a line of church edifices, and the academy.In front of the green, parallel to the river, ran,north and south, the broad main street, beautifully shadedwith maples, and on either side of this, in the middle ofthe village, were stores, shops, and the main taverns; whilenorth and south of these were large and pleasant dwellings,each in its own garden or grove or orchard, andseparated from the street by light palings,—all, withoutexception, neat, trim, and tidy.

My first recollections are of a big, comfortable houseof brick, in what is now called ``colonial style,'' with a``stoop,'' long and broad, on its southern side, which insummer was shaded with honeysuckles. Spreading outsouthward from this was a spacious garden filled withold-fashioned flowers, and in this I learned to walk. Tothis hour the perfume of a pink brings the whole scenebefore me, and proves the justice of Oliver WendellHolmes's saying that we remember past scenes more vividlyby the sense of smell than by the sense of sight.

I can claim no merit for clambering out of poverty.My childhood was happy; my surroundings wholesome;I was brought up neither in poverty nor riches; my parentswere what were called ``well-to-do-people''; everythingabout me was good and substantial; but our modeof life was frugal; waste or extravagance or pretense wasnot permitted for a moment. My paternal grandfatherhad been, in the early years of the century, the richestman in the township; but some time before my birth hehad become one of the poorest; for a fire had consumedhis mills, there was no insurance, and his health gave way.On my father, Horace White, had fallen, therefore, themain care of his father's family. It was to the youngman, apparently, a great calamity:—that which grievedhim most being that it took him—a boy not far in histeens—out of school. But he met the emergencymanfully, was soon known far and wide for his energy,ability, and integrity, and long before he had reachedmiddle age was considered one of the leading men of businessin the county.

My mother had a more serene career. In another partof these Reminiscences, saying something of my religiousand political development, I shall speak again of her andof her parents. Suffice it here that her father prosperedas a man of business, was known as ``Colonel,'' and alsoas ``Squire'' Dickson, and represented his county in theState legislature. He died when I was about three yearsold, and I vaguely remember being brought to him as helay upon his death-bed. On one account, above all others,I have long looked back to him with pride. For the firstpublic care of the early settlers had been a church, andthe second a school. This school had been speedilydeveloped into Cortland Academy, which soon became fa-mous throughout all that region, and, as a boy of five orsix years of age, I was very proud to read on the corner-stone of the Academy building my grandfather's nameamong those of the original founders.

Not unlikely there thus came into my blood the strainwhich has led me ever since to feel that the building up ofgoodly institutions is more honorable than any otherwork,—an idea which was at the bottom of my efforts indeveloping the University of Michigan, and in foundingCornell University.

To Cortland Academy students came from far andnear; and it soon began sending young men into the foremostplaces of State and Church. At an early day, too,it began receiving young women and sending them forthto become the best of matrons. As my family left theplace when I was seven years old I was never withinits walls as a student, but it acted powerfully on myeducation in two ways,—it gave my mother the best ofher education, and it gave to me a respect for scholarship.The library and collections, though small, suggestedpursuits better than the scramble for place or pelf; thepublic exercises, two or three times a year, led mythoughts, no matter how vaguely, into higher regions, andI shall never forget the awe which came over me whenas a child, I saw Principal Woolworth, with his beststudents around him on the green, making astronomicalobservations through a small telescope.

Thus began my education into that great truth, soimperfectly understood, as yet, in our country, that stores,shops, hotels, facilities for travel and traffic are not thehighest things in civilization.

This idea was strengthened in the family. Devoted asmy father was to business, he always showed the greatestrespect for men of thought. I have known him, evenwhen most absorbed in his pursuits, to watch occasionsfor walking homeward with a clergyman or teacher,whose conversation he especially prized. There was scantrespect in the family for the petty politicians of theregion; but there was great respect for the instructorsof the academy, and for any college professor who happenedto be traveling through the town. I am now in mysixty-eighth year, and I write these lines from the AmericanEmbassy in Berlin. It is my duty here, as it hasbeen at other European capitals, to meet various highofficials; but that old feeling, engendered in my childhood,continues, and I bow to the representatives ofthe universities,—to the leaders in science, literature, andart, with a feeling of awe and respect far greater thanto their so-called superiors,—princelings and high militaryor civil officials.

Influences of a more direct sort came from a primaryschool. To this I was taken, when about three years old,for a reason which may strike the present generationas curious. The colored servant who had charge of mewished to learn to read—so she slipped into the school andtook me with her. As a result, though my memory runsback distinctly to events near the beginning of my fourthyear, it holds not the faintest recollection of a time whenI could not read easily. The only studies which I recallwith distinctness, as carried on before my seventh year,are arithmetic and geography. As to the former, themultiplication-table was chanted in chorus by the wholebody of children, a rhythmical and varied movement ofthe arms being carried on at the same time. These exercisesgave us pleasure and fastened the tables in ourminds. As to geography, that gave pleasure in anotherway. The books contained pictures which stimulated myimagination and prompted me to read the adjacent text.There was no over-pressure. Mental recreation andinformation were obtained in a loose way from ``RolloBooks,'' ``Peter Parley Books,'' ``Sanford and Merton,''the ``Children's Magazine,'' and the like. I nowthink it a pity that I was not allowed to read, instead ofthese, the novels of Scott and Cooper, which I discoveredlater. I devoutly thank Heaven that no such thing asa sensation newspaper was ever brought into the house,—even if there were one at that time,—which I doubt. Asto physical recreation, there was plenty during the summerin the fields and woods, and during the winter incoasting, building huts in the deep snow, and in stormingor defending the snow forts on the village green. Oneof these childish sports had a historical connection witha period which now seems very far away. If any oldsettler happened to pass during our snow-balling orour shooting with bows and arrows, he was sure to lookon with interest, and, at some good shot, to cry out,—``SHOOT BURGOYNE!''—thus recalling his remembrancesof the sharpshooters who brought about the greatsurrender at Saratoga.

In my seventh year my father was called to take chargeof the new bank established at Syracuse, thirty milesdistant, and there the family soon joined him. I rememberthat coming through the Indian Reservation, on the roadbetween the two villages, I was greatly impressed by thebowers and other decorations which had been usedshortly before at the installation of a new Indian chief.It was the headquarters of the Onondagas,—formerly thegreat central tribe of the Iroquois,—the warlike confederacyof the Six Nations; and as, in a general way, thestory was told me on that beautiful day in September anew world of romance was opened to me, so that Indianstories, and especially Cooper's novels, when I wasallowed to read them, took on a new reality.

Syracuse, which is now a city of one hundred andtwenty thousand inhabitants, was then a stragglingvillage of about five thousand. After much time lost insundry poor ``select schools'' I was sent to one of thepublic schools which was very good, and thence, whenabout twelve years old, to the preparatory departmentof the Syracuse Academy.

There, by good luck, was Joseph A. Allen, the bestteacher of English branches I have ever known. He hadno rules and no system; or, rather, his rule was to haveno rules, and his system was to have no system. Togenius. He seemed to divine the character and enter intothe purpose of every boy. Work under him was a pleasure.His methods were very simple. Great attentionwas given to reading aloud from a book made up ofselections from the best authors, and to recitals from these.Thus I stored up not only some of the best things inthe older English writers, but inspiring poems of Bryant,Whittier, Longfellow, and other moderns. My only regretis that more of this was not given us. I recall, amongtreasures thus gained, which have been precious to meever since, in many a weary or sleepless hour on landand sea, extracts from Shakspere, parts of Milton's``Samson Agonistes,'' and of his sonnets; Gray's``Elegy,'' Byron's ``Ode to the Ocean,'' Campbell's``What's Hallowed Ground?'' Goldsmith's ``DesertedVillage,'' Longfellow's ``Psalm of Life,'' Irving's ``Voyageto Europe,'' and parts of Webster's ``Reply to Hayne.''

At this school the wretched bugbear of English spellingwas dealt with by a method which, so long as our presentmonstrous orthography continues, seems to me thebest possible. During the last half-hour of every day,each scholar was required to have before him a copy-book, of which each page was divided into two columns.At the head of the first column was the word ``Spelling'';at the head of the second column was the word ``Corrected.''The teacher then gave out to the school abouttwenty of the more important words in the reading-lesson of the day, and, as he thus dictated each word, eachscholar wrote it in the column headed ``Spelling.'' Whenall the words were thus written, the first scholar was askedto spell from his book the first word; if misspelled, itwas passed to the next, and so on until it was spelledcorrectly; whereupon all who had made a mistake in writingit made the proper correction on the opposite column.The result of this was that the greater part of us learnedorthography PRACTICALLY. For the practical use of spellingcomes in writing.

The only mistake in Mr. Allen's teaching was too muchattention to English grammar. The order ought to be,literature first, and grammar afterward. Perhaps thereis no more tiresome trifling in the world for boys andgirls than rote recitations and parsing from one of theusual grammatical text-books.

As to mathematics, arithmetic was, perhaps, pushedtoo far into puzzles; but geometry was made fascinatingby showing its real applications and the beauty of itsreasoning. It is the only mathematical study I ever loved.In natural science, though most of the apparatus ofschools nowadays was wanting, Mr. Allen's instructionwas far beyond his time. Never shall I forget my excitedinterest when, occasionally, the village surgeon camein, and the whole school was assembled to see him dissectthe eye or ear or heart of an ox. Physics, as thenunderstood, was studied in a text-book, but there wasillustration by simple apparatus, which fastened firmlyin my mind the main facts and principles.

The best impulse by this means came from the principalof the academy, Mr. Oren Root,—one of the pioneersof American science, whose modesty alone stood inthe way of his fame. I was too young to take directinstruction from him, but the experiments which I saw himperform led me, with one or two of my mates, to constructan excellent electrical machine and subsidiary apparatus;and with these, a small galvanic battery and an extemporizedorrery, I diluted Professor Root's lectures with theteachings of my little books on natural philosophy andastronomy to meet the capacities of the younger boys inour neighborhood.

Salient among my recollections of this period are thecries and wailing of a newly-born babe in the rooms atthe academy occupied by the principal, and adjacent toour big school-room. Several decades of years later I hadthe honor of speaking on the platform of Cooper Institutein company with this babe, who, as I write, is, I believe,the very energetic Secretary of War in the Cabinetof President McKinley.

Unfortunately for me, Mr. Root was soon afterwardcalled away to a professorship at Hamilton College, andso, though living in the best of all regions for geologicalstudy, I was never properly grounded in that science, andas to botany, I am to this hour utterly ignorant of itssimplest facts and principles. I count this as one of themistakes in my education,—resulting in the loss of muchvaluable knowledge and high pleasure.

As to physical development, every reasonable encouragementwas given to play. Mr. Allen himself came frequentlyto the play-grounds. He was an excellent musicianand a most helpful influence was exerted by singing,which was a daily exercise of the school. I then begantaking lessons regularly in music and became proficientenough to play the organ occasionally in church; the bestresult of this training being that it gave my life one of itsdeepest, purest, and most lasting pleasures.

On the moral side, Mr. Allen influenced many ofus by liberalizing and broadening our horizon. He wasa disciple of Channing and an abolitionist, and, though henever made the slightest attempt to proselyte any of hisscholars, the very atmosphere of the school made sectarianbigotry impossible.

As to my general education outside the school I browsedabout as best I could. My passion in those days was formachinery, and, above all, for steam machinery. Thestationary and locomotive engines upon the newly-established railways toward Albany on the east and Buffaloon the west especially aroused my attention, and I came toknow every locomotive, its history, character, and capabilities,as well as every stationary engine in the whole region.My holiday excursions, when not employed in boatingor skating on the Onondaga Creek, or upon the lake,were usually devoted to visiting workshops, where theengine drivers and stokers seemed glad to talk with ayoungster who took an interest in their business. Especiallyinterested was I in a rotary engine on ``Barker'scentrifugal principle,'' with which the inventor had prom-ised to propel locomotives at the rate of a hundred milesan hour, but which had been degraded to grinding bark ina tannery. I felt its disgrace keenly, as a piece of grossinjustice; but having obtained a small brass model, fittedto it a tin boiler and placed it on a little stern-wheel boat,I speedily discovered the secret of the indignity whichhad overtaken the machine, for no boat could carry aboiler large enough to supply steam for it.

So, too, I knew every water-wheel in that part of thecounty, whether overshot, undershot, breast, or turbine.Everything in the nature of a motor had an especialfascination for me, and for the men in control of such powerI entertained a respect which approached awe.

Among all these, my especial reverence was given to thelocomotive engineers; in my youthful mind they took ona heroic character. Often during the night watches Ithought of them as braving storm and peril, responsiblefor priceless freights of human lives. Their firm, keenfaces come back to me vividly through the mists of sixtyyears, and to this day I look up to their successors at thethrottle with respectful admiration.

After Professor Root's departure the Syracuse Academygreatly declined, Mr. Allen being the only strongman left among its teachers, and, as I was to goto college, I was removed to a ``classical school.'' Thisschool was not at first very successful. Its teacher wasa good scholar but careless. Under him I repeated thegrammatical forms and rules in Latin and Greek, glibly,term after term, without really understanding theirvalue. His great mistake, which seems to me a notinfrequent one, was taking it for granted that repeatingrules and forms means understanding them and theirapplication. But a catastrophe came. I had been promotedbeyond my deserts from a lower into an upper Latin class,and at a public examination the Rev. Samuel JosephMay, who was present, asked me a question, to which Imade an answer revealing utter ignorance of one of thesimplest principles of Latin grammar. He was discon-certed at the result, I still more so, and our preceptor mostof all. That evening my father very solemnly asked meabout it. I was mortified beyond expression, did notsleep at all that night, and of my own accord, beganreviewing my Andrews and Stoddard thoroughly andvigorously. But this did not save the preceptor. Asuccessor was called, a man who afterward became aneminent Presbyterian divine and professor in a Southernuniversity, James W. Hoyt, one of the best and truestof men, and his manly, moral influence over his scholarswas remarkable. Many of them have reached positions ofusefulness, and I think they will agree that his influenceupon their lives was most happy. The only drawbackwas that he was still very young, not yet through hissenior year in Union College, and his methods in classicalteaching were imperfect. He loved his classics and taughthis better students to love them, but he was neitherthorough in grammar, nor sure in translation, and this Iafterward found to my sorrow. My friend and schoolmateof that time, W. O. S., published a few years since,in the ``St. Nicholas Magazine,'' an account of this school.It was somewhat idealized, but we doubtless agree inthinking that the lack of grammatical drill was more thanmade up by the love of manliness, and the dislike ofmeanness, which was in those days our very atmosphere.Probably the best thing for my mental training was thatMr. Hoyt interested me in my Virgil, Horace, and Xenophon,and required me to write out my translations in thebest English at my command.

But to all his pupils he did not prove so helpful. Oneof them, though he has since become an energetic manof business on the Pacific Coast, was certainly not helpedinto his present position by his Latin; for of all thetranslations I have ever heard or read of, one of his was theworst. Being called to construe the first line of theAeneid, he proceeded as follows:

``Arma,—arms; virumque,—and a man; cano,—and adog.'' There was a roar, and Mr. Hoyt, though evidentlysaddened, kept his temper. He did not, like the greatand good Arnold of Rugby, under similar provocation,knock the offender down with the text-book.

Still another agency in my development was the debatingclub, so inevitable in an American village. Itsdiscussions were sometimes pretentious and always crude,but something was gained thereby. I remember that oneof the subjects was stated as follows: ``Which has donemost harm, intemperance or fanaticism.'' The debatewas without any striking feature until my schoolmate,W. O. S., brought up heavy artillery on the side of theanti-fanatics: namely, a statement of the ruin wroughtby Mohammedanism in the East, and, above all, thedestruction of the great Alexandrian library by CaliphOmar; and with such eloquence that all the argumentationwhich any of us had learned in the temperance meetingswas paralyzed.

On another occasion we debated the question: ``Wasthe British Government justified in its treatment ofNapoleon Bonaparte?'' Much historical lore had beenbrought to bear on the question, when an impassionedyoung orator wound up a bitter diatribe against the greatemperor as follows: ``The British Government WAS justified,and if for no other reason, by the Emperor Napoleon'smurder of the `Duck de Engine' '' (Duc d'Enghien).

As to education outside of the school very importantto me had been the discovery, when I was about ten yearsold, of `` `The Monastery,' by the author of `Waverley.' ''Who the ``author of `Waverley' '' was I neither knew norcared, but read the book three times, end over end, in asort of fascination. Unfortunately, novels and romanceswere kept under lock and key, as unfit reading for children,and it was some years before I reveled in Scott'sother novels. That they would have been thoroughlygood and wholesome reading for me I know, and aboutmy sixteenth year they opened a new world to me andgave healthful play to my imagination. I also read andre-read Bunyan's ``Pilgrim's Progress,'' and, with plea-sure even more intense, the earlier works of Dickens,which were then appearing.

My only regret, as regards that time, is that, between therather trashy ``boys' books'' on one side and the rathersevere books in the family library on the other, I readfar less of really good literature than I ought to havedone. My reading was absolutely without a guide, hencefitful and scrappy; parts of Rollin's ``Ancient History''and Lander's ``Travels in Africa'' being mixed up with``Robinson Crusoe'' and ``The Scottish Chiefs.'' Reflectionon my experience has convinced me that somekindly guidance in the reading of a fairly scholarly boyis of the utmost importance, and never more so than now,when books are so many and attractive. I should laymuch stress, also, on the hearing of good literature wellread, and the interspersing of such reading with someremarks by the reader, pointing out the main beautiesof the pieces thus presented.

About my tenth year occurred an event, apparentlytrivial, but really very important in my mentaldevelopment during many years afterward. My fatherbrought home one day, as a gift to my mother, ahandsome quarto called ``The Gallery of British Artists.''It contained engravings from pictures by Turner, Stanfield,Cattermole, and others, mainly representing scenesfrom Shakspere, Scott, Burns, picturesque architecture,and beautiful views in various parts of Europe. Of thisbook I never tired. It aroused in me an intense desireto know more of the subjects represented, and this desirehas led me since to visit and to study every cathedral,church, and town hall of any historical or architecturalsignificance in Europe, outside the Spanish peninsula.But, far more important, it gave an especial zest to nearlyall Scott's novels, and especially to the one which I havealways thought the most fascinating, ``Quentin Durward.''This novel led me later, not merely to visit Liege,and Orl<e'>ans, and Cl<e'>ry, and Tours, but to devour thechronicles and histories of that period, to become deeplyinterested in historical studies, and to learn how greatprinciples lie hidden beneath the surface of events. Thefirst of these principles I ever clearly discerned wasduring my reading of ``Quentin Durward'' and ``Anne ofGeierstein,'' when there was revealed to me the secretof the centralization of power in Europe, and of thetriumph of monarchy over feudalism.

In my sixteenth and seventeenth years another elemententered into my education. Syracuse, as the central cityof the State, was the scene of many conventions and publicmeetings. That was a time of very deep earnestness inpolitical matters. The last great efforts were making,by the more radical, peaceably to prevent the extensionof slavery, and, by the more conservative, peaceably topreserve the Union. The former of these efforts interestedme most. There were at Syracuse frequent public debatesbetween the various groups of the anti-slaveryparty represented by such men as Gerrit Smith, WendellPhillips, William Lloyd Garrison, John Parker Hale,Samuel Joseph May, and Frederick Douglass. They tookstrong hold upon me and gave me a higher idea of a man'sbest work in life. That was the bloom period of the oldpopular lecture. It was the time when lectures wereexpected to build character and increase knowledge; thesensation and buffoon business which destroyed the systemhad not yet come in. I feel to this hour the goodinfluence of lectures then heard, in the old City Hall atSyracuse, from such men as President Mark Hopkins,Bishop Alonzo Potter, Senator Hale of New Hampshire,Emerson, Ware, Whipple, and many others.

As to recreative reading at this period, the author whoexercised the strongest influence over me was CharlesKingsley. His novels ``Alton Locke'' and ``Yeast''interested me greatly in efforts for doing away with oldabuses in Europe, and his ``Two Years After'' increasedmy hatred for negro slavery in America. His ``WestwardHo!'' extended my knowledge of the Elizabethanperiod and increased my manliness. Of this period, too,was my reading of Lowell's Poems, many of which Igreatly enjoyed. His ``Biglow Papers'' were a perpetualdelight; the dialect was familiar to me since, in thelittle New England town transplanted into the heart ofcentral New York, in which I was born, the less educatedpeople used it, and the dry and droll Yankee expressionsof our ``help'' and ``hired man'' were a source ofconstant amusem*nt in the family.

In my seventeenth year came a trial. My father hadtaken a leading part in establishing a parish school forSt. Paul's church in Syracuse, in accordance with theHigh Church views of our rector, Dr. Gregory, and therewas finally called to the mastership a young candidatefor orders, a brilliant scholar and charming man, who hassince become an eminent bishop of the Protestant EpiscopalChurch. To him was intrusted my final preparationfor college. I had always intended to enter oneof the larger New England universities, but my teacherwas naturally in favor of his Alma Mater, and the influenceof our bishop, Dr. de Lancey, being also thrownpowerfully into the scale, my father insisted on placingme at a small Protestant Episcopal college in westernNew York. I went most reluctantly. There were in thefaculty several excellent men, one of whom afterwardbecame a colleague of my own in Cornell University, andproved of the greatest value to it. Unfortunately, we ofthe lower college classes could have very little instructionfrom him; still there was good instruction fromothers; the tutor in Greek, James Morrison Clarke, wasone of the best scholars I have ever known.

It was in the autumn of 1849 that I went into residenceat the little college and was assigned a very unprepossessingroom in a very ugly barrack. Entering my newquarters I soon discovered about me various cabalisticsigns, some of them evidently made by heating large ironkeys, and pressing them against the woodwork. Oninquiring I found that the room had been occupied someyears before by no less a personage than Philip Spencer,a member of the famous Spencer family of Albany, who,having passed some years at this little college, and neverhaving been able to get out of the freshman class, hadgone to another institution of about the same grade, hadthere founded a Greek letter fraternity which is nowwidely spread among American universities, and then,through the influence of his father, who was Secretaryof War, had been placed as a midshipman underCommodore McKenzie on the brig-of-war Somers. On thecoast of Africa a mutiny was discovered, and as, onexamination, young Spencer was found at the head of it,and papers discovered in his cabin revealed the plan ofseizing the ship and using it in a career of piracy, theyoung man, in spite of his connection with a member ofthe Cabinet, was hanged at the yard-arm with two of hisassociates.

The most curious relic of him at the college waspreserved in the library of the Hermean Society. It was acopy of ``The Pirates' Own Book'': a glorification of theexploits of ``Blackbeard'' and other great freebooters,profusely adorned with illustrations of their joys andtriumphs. This volume bore on the fly-leaf the words,``Presented to the Hermean Society by Philip Spencer,'' andwas in those days shown as a great curiosity.

The college was at its lowest ebb; of discipline therewas none; there were about forty students, the majorityof them, sons of wealthy churchmen, showing no inclinationto work and much tendency to dissipation. Theauthorities of the college could not afford to expel or evenoffend a student. for its endowment was so small that itmust have all the instruction fees possible, and must keepon good terms with the wealthy fathers of its scapegracestudents. The scapegraces soon found this out, and theresult was a little pandemonium. Only about a dozenof our number studied at all; the rest, by translations,promptings, and evasions escaped without labor. I havehad to do since, as student, professor, or lecturer, withsome half-dozen large universities at home and abroad,and in all of these together have not seen so muchcarousing and wild dissipation as I then saw in this little``Church college'' of which the especial boast was that,owing to the small number of its students, it was ``ableto exercise a direct Christian influence upon every youngman committed to its care.''

The evidences of this Christian influence were not clear.The president of the college, Dr. Benjamin Hale, was aclergyman of the highest character; a good scholar, anexcellent preacher, and a wise administrator; but hisstature was very small, his girth very large, and his hairvery yellow. When, then, on the thirteenth day of themonth, there was read at chapel from the Psalter thewords, ``And there was little Benjamin, their ruler,''very irreverent demonstrations were often made by thestudents, presumably engaged in worship; demonstrationsso mortifying, indeed, that at last the president frequentlysubstituted for the regular Psalms of the day one of thebeautiful ``Selections'' of Psalms which the AmericanEpiscopal Church has so wisely incorporated into itsprayer-book.

But this was by no means the worst indignity whichthese youth ``under direct Christian influence''perpetrated upon their reverend instructors. It was myprivilege to behold a professor, an excellent clergyman,seeking to quell hideous riot in a student's room, buried undera heap of carpets, mattresses, counterpanes, and blankets;to see another clerical professor forced to retire throughthe panel of a door under a shower of lexicons, boots, andbrushes, and to see even the president himself, on oneoccasion, obliged to leave his lecture-room by a ladder froma window, and, on another, kept at bay by a shower ofbeer-bottles.

One favorite occupation was rolling cannon-balls alongthe corridors at midnight, with frightful din and muchdamage: a tutor, having one night been successfulin catching and confiscating two of these, pounced fromhis door the next night upon a third; but this havingbeen heated nearly to redness and launched from a shovel,the result was that he wore bandages upon his hands formany days.

Most ingenious were the methods for ``training freshmen,''—one of the mildest being the administration ofsoot and water by a hose-pipe thrust through the brokenpanel of a door. Among general freaks I remember seeinga horse turned into the chapel, and a stuffed wolf,dressed in a surplice, placed upon the roof of that sacrededifice.

But the most elaborate thing of the kind I ever sawwas the breaking up of a ``Second Adventist'' meetingby a score of student roysterers. An itinerant fanatic hadtaken an old wooden meeting-house in the lower partof the town, had set up on either side of the pulpit largecanvas representations of the man of brass with feet ofclay, and other portentous characters of the prophecies,and then challenged the clergy to meet him in publicdebate. At the appointed time a body of college youthappeared, most sober in habit and demure in manner,having at their head ``Bill'' Howell of Black Rock and``Tom'' Clark of Manlius, the two wildest miscreants inthe sophom*ore class, each over six feet tall, the latterdressed as a respectable farmer, and the former as acountry clergyman, wearing a dress-coat, a white cravat,a tall black hat wrapped in crape, leaning on a heavy,ivory-knobbed cane, and carrying ostentatiously a GreekTestament. These disguised malefactors, having takentheir seats in the gallery directly facing the pulpit, thelecturer expressed his ``satisfaction at seeing clergymenpresent,'' and began his demonstrations. For about fiveminutes all went well; then ``Bill'' Howell solemnly aroseand, in a snuffling voice, asked permission to submit a fewtexts from scripture. Permission being granted, he puton a huge pair of goggles, solemnly opened his GreekTestament, read emphatically the first passage which attractedhis attention and impressively asked the lecturer whathe had to say to it. At this, the lecturer, greatly puzzled,asked what the reverend gentleman was reading. Uponthis Howell read in New Testament Greek another utterlyirrelevant passage. In reply the lecturer said, ratherroughly, ``If you will speak English I will answer you.''At this Howell said with the most humble suavity, ``DoI understand that the distinguished gentleman does notrecognize what I have been reading?'' The preacheranswered, ``I don't understand any such gibberish;speak English.'' Thereupon Howell threw back his longblack hair and launched forth into eloquent denunciationas follows: ``Sir, is it possible that you come here tointerpret to us the Holy Bible and do not recognize thelanguage in which that blessed book was written? Sir,do you dare to call the very words of the Almighty`gibberish?' '' At this all was let loose; some students putasafetida on the stove; others threw pigeon-shot againstthe ceiling and windows, making a most appalling din,and one wretch put in deadly work with a syringe thrustthrough the canvas representation of the man of brasswith feet of clay. But, alas, Constable John Dey hadrecognized Howell and Clark, even amid their disguises.He had dealt with them too often before. The nexttableau showed them, with their tall hats crushed over theirheads, belaboring John Dey and his myrmidons, and presently,with half a dozen other ingenuous youth, they werehaled to the office of justice. The young judge whoofficiated on this occasion was none other than a personagewho will be mentioned with great respect more thanonce in these reminiscences,—Charles James Folger,—afterward my colleague in the State Senate, Chief Justiceof the State and Secretary of the Treasury of the UnitedStates. He had met Howell often, for they were membersof the same Greek letter fraternity,—the thrice illustriousSigma Phi,—and, only a few days before, Howell hadpresented me to him; but there was no fraternal bondvisible now; justice was sternly implacable, and goodround fines were imposed upon all the culprits caught.

The philosophy of all this waywardness and dissipationwas very simple. There was no other outlet for the animalspirits of these youth. Athletics were unknown; therewas no gymnasium, no ball-playing, and, though the collegewas situated on the shore of one of the most beautifullakes in the world, no boating. As regards my own personalrelation to this condition of things I have pictured, itwas more that of a good-natured spectator than of an activeaccomplice. My nearest friends were in the thick ofit, but my tastes kept me out of most of it. I was fond ofbooks, and, in the little student's library in my collegebuilding I reveled. Moreover, I then began to accumulatefor myself the library which has since grown to such largeproportions. Still the whole life of the place became moreand more unsatisfactory to me, and I determined, at anycost, to escape from it and find some seat of learning wherethere was less frolic and more study.

CHAPTER II

YALE AND EUROPE—1850-1857

At the close of my year at the little Western New YorkCollege I felt that it was enough time wasted, and,anxious to try for something better, urged upon my fathermy desire to go to one of the larger New England universities.But to this he would not listen. He was assured bythe authorities of the little college that I had been doingwell, and his churchmanship, as well as his respect for thebishop, led him to do what was very unusual with him—torefuse my request. Up to this period he had allowed me totake my own course; but now he was determined that Ishould take his. He was one of the kindest of men, but hehad stern ideas as to proper subordination, and these hefelt it his duty to maintain. I was obliged to make a coupd'<e'>tat, and for a time it cost me dear. Braving thecensure of family and friends, in the early autumn of 1850 Ideliberately left the college, and took refuge with my oldinstructor P——, who had prepared me for college atSyracuse, and who was now principal of the academy atMoravia, near the head of Owasco Lake, some fifty milesdistant. To thus defy the wishes of those dearest to mewas a serious matter. My father at first took it deeply toheart. His letters were very severe. He thought mycareer wrecked, avowed that he had lost all interest in it,and declared that he would rather have received news ofmy death than of such a disgrace. But I knew that my dearmother was on my side. Her letters remained as affectionateas ever; and I determined to atone for my disobe-dience by severe and systematic work. I began to studymore earnestly than ever before, reviewed my mathematicsand classics vigorously, and began a course of readingwhich has had great influence on all my life since.Among my books was D'Aubigne's ``History of the Reformation.''Its deficiencies were not of a sort to harm me,its vigor and enthusiasm gave me a great impulse. I notonly read but studied it, and followed it with every otherbook on the subject that I could find. No reading ever dida man more good. It not only strengthened and deepenedmy better purposes, but it continued powerfully the impulsegiven me by the historical novels of Scott, and leddirectly to my devoting myself to the study and teachingof modern history. Of other books which influenced meabout this period, Emerson's ``Representative Men'' wasone; another was Carlyle's ``Past and Present,'' in whichthe old Abbot of Bury became one of my ideals; stillanother was Buskin's ``Seven Lamps of Architecture'';and to such a degree that this art has given to my life someof its greatest pleasures. Ruskin was then at his best.He had not yet been swept from his bearings by popularapplause, or intoxicated by his own verbosity. In lateryears he lost all influence over me, for, in spite of hiswonderful style, he became trivial, whimsical, peevish,goody-goody;—talking to grown men and women as adyspeptic Sunday-school teacher might lay down thelaw to classes of little girls. As regards this laterperiod, Max Nordau is undoubtedly right in speaking ofRuskin's mind as ``turbid and fallacious''; but the timeof which I speak was his best, and his influence uponme was good. I remember especially that his ``Lampof Power'' made a very deep impression upon me. Carlyle,too, was at his best. He was the simple, strongpreacher;—with nothing of the spoiled cynic he afterwardbecame.

The stay of three months with my friend—the futurebishop—in the little country town, was also good for mephysically. In our hours of recreation we roamed throughthe neighboring woods, shooting squirrels and pigeonswith excellent effect on my health. Meantime I kept upmy correspondence with all the members of the familysave my father;—from him there was no sign. But at lastcame a piece of good news. He was very fond of music,and on the arrival of Jenny Lind in the United States hewent to New York to attend her concerts. During one ofthese my mother turned suddenly toward him and said:``What a pity that the boy cannot hear this; how he wouldenjoy it!'' My father answered, ``Tell him to comehome and see us.'' My mother, of course, was not slow inwriting me, and a few days later my father cordiallygreeted my home-coming, and all difficulties seemed over.Shortly after Christmas he started with me for Yale; butthere soon appeared a lion in the path. Our route laythrough Hartford, the seat of Trinity College, and to myconsternation I found at the last moment that he hadletters from our rector and others to the president andprofessors of that institution. Still more alarming, wehad hardly entered the train when my father discovereda Trinity student on board. Of course, the youth spokein the highest terms of his college and of his faculty, andmore and more my father was pleased with the idea ofstaying a day or two at Hartford, taking a look at Trinity,and presenting our letters of introduction. During aconsiderably extended career in the diplomatic service I havehad various occasions to exercise tact, care, and discretion,but I do not think that my efforts on all these togetherequaled those which I then put forth to avoid stoppingat Hartford. At last my father asked me, rather severely,why I cared so much about going to New Haven, and Iframed an answer offhand to meet the case, saying thatYale had an infinitely finer library than Trinity. Thereuponhe said, ``My boy, if you will go to Trinity CollegeI will give you the best private library in the UnitedStates.'' I said, ``No, I am going to New Haven; I startedfor New Haven, and I will go there.'' I had never bravedhim before. He said not a word. We passed quietlythrough Hartford, and a day or two later I was enteredat Yale.

It was a happy change. I respected the institution, forits discipline, though at times harsh, was, on the whole,just, and thereby came a great gain to my own self-respect.But as to the education given, never was a man moredisappointed at first. The president and professors weremen of high character and attainments; but to the lowerclasses the instruction was given almost entirely by tutors,who took up teaching for bread-winning while goingthrough the divinity school. Naturally most of thework done under these was perfunctory. There was toomuch reciting by rote and too little real intercoursebetween teacher and taught. The instructor sat in a box,heard students' translations without indicating anythingbetter, and their answers to questions with very fewsuggestions or remarks. The first text-book in Greek wasXenophon's ``Memorabilia,'' and one of the first mencalled up was my classmate Delano Goddard. He made anexcellent translation,—clean, clear, in thoroughly goodEnglish; but he elicited no attention from the instructor,and was then put through sundry grammatical puzzles,among which he floundered until stopped by the word,``Sufficient.'' Soon afterward another was called up whorattled off glibly a translation without one particle ofliterary merit, and was then plied with the usual grammaticalquestions. Being asked to ``synopsize'' the Greek verb,he went through the various moods and tenses, in all sortsof ways and in all possible combinations, his tonguerattling like the clapper of a mill. When he sat down mynext neighbor said to me, ``that man will be ourvaledictorian.'' This disgusted me. If that was the style ofclassical scholarship at Yale, I knew that there was nothingin it for me. It turned out as my friend said. Thatglib reciter did become the valedictorian of the class, butstepped from the commencement stage into nothingness,and was never heard of more. Goddard became theeditor of one of the most important metropolitan news-papers of the United States, and, before his early death,distinguished himself as a writer on political and historicaltopics.

Nor was it any better in Latin. We were reading, duringthat term the ``De Senectute'' of Cicero,—a beautifulbook; but to our tutor it was neither more nor less thana series of pegs on which to hang Zumpt's rules for thesubjunctive mood. The translation was hurried through,as of little account. Then came questions regarding thesubjunctives;—questions to which very few members ofthe class gave any real attention. The best Latin scholarin the class, G. W. S——, since so distinguished as theLondon correspondent of the ``New York Tribune,'' and,at present, as the New York correspondent of the London``Times,'' having one day announced to some of us,—witha very round expletive,—that he would answer no moresuch foolish questions, the tutor soon discovered hisrecalcitrancy, and thenceforward plied him with suchquestions and nothing else. S—— always answered that hewas not prepared on them; with the result that at theJunior Exhibition he received no place on the programme.

In the junior year matters improved somewhat; but,though the professors were most of them really distinguishedmen, and one at least, James Hadley, a scholarwho, at Berlin or Leipsic, would have drawn throngs ofstudents from all Christendom, they were fettered by asystem which made everything of gerund-grinding andnothing of literature.

The worst feature of the junior year was the fact thatthrough two terms, during five hours each week, ``recitations''were heard by a tutor in ``Olmsted's Natural Philosophy.''The text-book was simply repeated by rote. Notone student in fifty took the least interest in it; andthe man who could give the words of the text most gliblysecured the best marks. One exceedingly unfortunateresult of this kind of instruction was that it so disgustedthe class with the whole subject, that the really excellentlectures of Professor Olmsted, illustrated by probablythe best apparatus then possessed by any Americanuniversity, were voted a bore. Almost as bad was thehistorical instruction given by Professor James Hadley. Itconsisted simply in hearing the student repeat from memorythe dates from ``P<u:>tz's Ancient History.'' How a manso gifted as Hadley could have allowed any part of hiswork to be so worthless, it is hard to understand. And,worse remained behind. He had charge of the class inThucydides; but with every gift for making it a meansof great good to us, he taught it in the perfunctory way ofthat period;—calling on each student to construe a fewlines, asking a few grammatical questions, and then, withhardly ever a note or comment, allowing him to sit down.Two or three times during a term something would occurto draw Hadley out, and then it delighted us all to hearhim. I recall, to this hour, with the utmost pleasure, someof his remarks which threw bright light into the generalsubject; but alas! they were few and far between.

The same thing must be said of Professor Thatcher'sinstruction in Tacitus. It was always the same mechanicalsort of thing, with, occasionally, a few remarks whichreally aroused interest.

In the senior year the influence of President Woolseyand Professor Porter was strong for good. Though the``Yale system'' fettered them somewhat, their personalityoften broke through it. Yet it amazes me to rememberthat during a considerable portion of our senior year noless a man than Woolsey gave instruction in history byhearing men recite the words of a text-book;—and thattext-book the Rev. John Lord's little, popular treatiseon the ``Modern History of Europe!'' Far better wasWoolsey's instruction in Guizot. That was stimulating.It not only gave some knowledge of history, but suggestedthought upon it. In this he was at his best. He had notat that time begun his new career as a professor ofInternational Law, and that subject was treated by a kindlyold governor of the State, in a brief course of instruction,which was, on the whole, rather inadequate. ProfessorPorter's instruction in philosophy opened our eyes andled us to do some thinking for ourselves. In politicaleconomy, during the senior year, President Woolsey heard thesenior class ``recite'' from Wayland's small treatise,which was simply an abridged presentation of the Manchesterview, the most valuable part of this instructionbeing the remarks by Woolsey himself, who discussedcontroverted questions briefly but well. He also delivered,during one term, a course of lectures upon the historicalrelations between the German States, which had someinterest, but, not being connected with our previousinstruction, took little hold upon us. As to natural science,we had in chemistry and geology, doubtless, the bestcourses then offered in the United States. The first wasgiven by Benjamin Silliman, the elder, an American pioneerin science, and a really great character; the second,by James Dwight Dana, and in his lecture-room one felthimself in the hands of a master. I cannot forgive myselffor having yielded to the general indifference of theclass toward all this instruction. It was listlessly heard,and grievously neglected. The fault was mainly our own;—but it was partly due to ``The System,'' which ledstudents to neglect all studies which did not tell upon``marks'' and ``standing.''

Strange to say, there was not, during my whole courseat Yale, a lecture upon any period, subject, or person inliterature, ancient or modern:—our only resource, in thisfield, being the popular lecture courses in the town eachwinter, which generally contained one or two presentationsof literary subjects. Of these, that which made thegreatest impression upon me was by Ralph Waldo Emerson.Sundry lectures in my junior year, by Whipple, andat a later period by George William Curtis, also influencedme. It was one of the golden periods of English literature,the climax of the Victorian epoch;—the period ofWordsworth, Tennyson, and the Brownings, of Thackerayand Dickens, of Macaulay and Carlyle on one sideof the Atlantic, and of Emerson, Irving, Hawthorne, Ban-croft, Prescott, Motley, Lowell, Longfellow, HoraceBushnell, and their compeers on the other. Hence came stronginfluences; but in dealing with them we were left to ourselves.

Very important in shaping my intellectual developmentat this time were my fellow-students. The class of 1853was a very large one for that day, and embraced far morethan the usual proportion of active-minded men. Walksand talks with these were of great value to me; thencecame some of my best impulses and suggestions to readingand thought.

Especially fortunate was I in my ``chum,'' the friendthat stood closest to me. He was the most conservativeyoung man I ever knew, and at the very opposite polefrom me on every conceivable subject. But his deeplyreligious character, his thorough scholarship, and his realdevotion to my welfare, were very precious to me. Ourvery differences were useful, since they obliged me torevise with especial care all my main convictions andtrains of thought. He is now, at this present writing, theBishop of Michigan, and a most noble and affectionatepastor of his flock.

The main subjects of interest to us all had a politicalbearing. Literature was considered as mainly subsidiaryto political discussion. The great themes, in the mindsof those who tried to do any thinking, were connected withthe tremendous political struggle then drawing towardits climax in civil war. Valuable to me was my membershipof sundry student fraternities. They were vealy,but there was some nourishment in them; by far the bestof all being a senior club which, though it had adopteda hideous emblem, was devoted to offhand discussions ofsocial and political questions;—on the whole, the best clubI have ever known.

The studies which interested me most were political andhistorical; from classical studies the gerund-grinding andreciting by rote had completely weaned me. One of ourLatin tutors, having said to me: ``If you would try youcould become a first-rate classical scholar,'' I answered:``Mr. B——, I have no ambition to become a classicalscholar, as scholarship is understood here.''

I devoted myself all the more assiduously to study onmy own lines, especially in connection with the subjectstaught by President Woolsey in the senior year, and theone thing which encouraged me was that, at the publicreading of essays, mine seemed to interest the class. Yetmy first trial of strength with my classmates in thisrespect did not apparently turn out very well. It was ata prize debate, in one of the large open societies, butwhile I had prepared my speech with care, I had givenno thought to its presentation, and, as a result, the judgespassed me by. Next day a tutor told me that ProfessorPorter wished to see me. He had been one of the judges,but it never occurred to me that he could have summonedme for anything save some transgression of college rules.But, on my arrival at his room, he began discussing myspeech, said some very kind things of its matter, alludedto some defects in its manner, and all with a kindnesswhich won my heart. Thus began a warm personal friendshipwhich lasted through his professorship and presidencyto the end of his life. His kindly criticism wasworth everything to me; it did far more for me than anyprize could have done. Few professors realize how mucha little friendly recognition may do for a student. Tothis hour I bless Dr. Porter's memory.

Nor did my second effort, a competition in essay-writing,turn out much better. My essay was too labored, toolong, too crabbedly written, and it brought me only halfa third prize.

This was in the sophom*ore year. But in the junior yearcame a far more important competition; that for the YaleLiterary Gold Medal, and without any notice of myintention to any person, I determined to try for it. Beingopen to the entire university, the universal expectationwas that it would be awarded to a senior, as had hithertobeen the case, and speculations were rife as to what mem-ber of the graduating class would take it. When the committeemade their award to the essay on ``The GreaterDistinctions in Statesmanship,'' opened the sealedenvelopes and assigned the prize to me, a junior, there wasgreat surprise. The encouragement came to me just atthe right time, and did me great good. Later, there wereawarded to me the first Clarke Prize for the discussionof a political subject, and the De Forest Gold Medal, thenthe most important premium awarded in the university,my subject being, ``The Diplomatic History of ModernTimes.'' Some details regarding this latter success mayserve to show certain ways in which influence can beexerted powerfully upon a young man. The subject hadbeen suggested to me by hearing Edwin Forrest in Bulwer'sdrama of ``Richelieu.'' The character of the greatcardinal, the greatest statesman that France has produced,made a deep impression upon me, and suggested thesubjects in both the Yale Literary and the De Forestcompetitions, giving me not only the initial impulse, butmaintaining that interest to which my success was largely due.Another spur to success was even more effective. Havingone day received a telegram from my father, asking meto meet him in New York, I did so, and passed an hourwith him, all the time at a loss to know why he had sentfor me. But, finally, just as I was leaving the hotel toreturn to New Haven, he said, ``By the way, there is stillanother prize to be competed for, the largest of all.''``Yes,'' I answered, ``the De Forest; but I have littlechance for that; for though I shall probably be one of thesix Townsend prize men admitted to the competition, thereare other speakers so much better, that I have little hopeof taking it.'' He gave me rather a contemptuous look,and said, somewhat scornfully: ``If I were one of the firstSIX competitors, in a class of over a hundred men, I wouldtry hard to be the first ONE.'' That was all. He saidnothing more, except good-bye. On my way to New HavenI thought much of this, and on arriving, went to a student,who had some reputation as an elocutionist, and engagedhim for a course in vocal gymnastics. When he wishedme to recite my oration before him, I declined, saying thatit must be spoken in my own way, not in his; that hisway might be better, but that mine was my own, and Iwould have no other. He confined himself, therefore, toa course of vocal gymnastics, and the result was asurprise to myself and all my friends. My voice, frombeing weak and hollow, became round, strong, and flexible.I then went to a student in the class above my own, anatural and forcible speaker, and made an arrangementwith him to hear me pronounce my oration, from time totime, and to criticize it in a common-sense way. This hedid. At passages where he thought my manner wrong,he raised his finger, gave me an imitation of my manner,then gave the passage in the way he thought best, andallowed me to choose between his and mine. The result wasthat, at the public competition, I was successful. Thisexperience taught me what I conceive to be the true theoryof elocutionary training in our universities—vocalgymnastics, on one side; common-sense criticism, on the other.

As to my physical education: with a constitution farfrom robust, there was need of special care. Fortunately,I took to boating. In an eight-oared boat, spinning downthe harbor or up the river, with G. W. S—— at the stroke—as earnest and determined in the Undine then as in theNew York office of the London ``Times'' now, every conditionwas satisfied for bodily exercise and mental recreation.I cannot refrain from mentioning that our club sentthe first challenge to row that ever passed between Yaleand Harvard, even though I am obliged to confess that wewere soundly beaten; but neither that defeat at LakeQuinsigamond, nor the many absurdities which have grown outof such competitions since, have prevented my remainingan apostle of college boating from that day to this. Ifguarded by common-sense rules enforced with firmnessby college faculties, it gives the maximum of healthfulexercise, with a minimum of danger. The most detestableproduct of college life is the sickly cynic; and a thor-ough course in boating, under a good stroke oar, does asmuch as anything to make him impossible.

At the close of my undergraduate life at Yale I wentabroad for nearly three years, and fortunately had, fora time, one of the best of companions, my college mate,Gilman, later president of Johns Hopkins University, andnow of the Carnegie Institution, who was then, as he hasbeen ever since, a source of good inspirations to me,—especially in the formation of my ideas regardingeducation. During the few weeks I then passed in England Isaw much which broadened my views in various ways.History was made alive to me by rapid studies of personsand places while traveling, and especially was this thecase during a short visit to Oxford, where I received somestrong impressions, which will be referred to in anotherchapter. Dining at Christ Church with Osborne Gordon,an eminent tutor of that period, I was especially interestedin his accounts of John Ruskin, who had been his pupil.Then, and afterward, while enjoying the hospitalities ofvarious colleges at Oxford and Cambridge, I saw theexcellencies of their tutorial system, but also had my eyesopened to some of their deficiencies.

Going thence to Paris I settled down in the family ofa very intelligent French professor, where I remainednearly a year. Not a word of English was spoken in thefamily; and, with the daily lesson in a French method,and lectures at the Sorbonne and Coll<e!>ge de France, thenew language soon became familiar. The lectures thenheard strengthened my conception of what a universityshould be. Among my professors were such men as St.Marc Girardin, Arnould, and, at a later period, Laboulaye.In connection with the lecture-room work, my studies inmodern history were continued, especially by reading Guizot,Thierry, Mignet, Thiers, Ch<a^>teaubriand, and others,besides hearing various masterpieces in French dramaticl*terature, as given at the Th<e'><a^>tre Fran<c,>ais, whereRachel was then in her glory, and at the Od<e'>on, where Mlle.Georges, who had begun her career under the first Napoleon,was ending it under Napoleon III.

My favorite subject of study was the French Revolution,and, in the intervals of reading and lectures, I soughtout not only the spots noted in its history, but the menwho had taken part in it. At the H<o^>tel des Invalides Italked with old soldiers, veterans of the Republic and ofthe Napoleonic period, discussing with them the eventsthrough which they had passed; and, at various otherplaces and times, with civilians who had heard orationsat the Jacobin and Cordelier clubs, and had seen theguillotine at work. The most interesting of my old soldiersat the Invalides wore upon his breast the cross of theLegion of Honor, which he had received from Napoleonat Austerlitz. Still another had made the frightfulmarches through the Spanish Peninsula under Soult, andevidently felt very humble in the presence of those whohad taken part in the more famous campaigns under Napoleonhimself. The history of another of my old soldierswas pathetic. He was led daily into the cabaret, where myguests were wont to fight their battles o'er again, his eyesabsolutely sightless, and his hair as white as snow. Gettinginto conversation with him I learned that he had goneto Egypt with Bonaparte, had fought at the Battle of thePyramids, had been blinded by the glaring sun on thesand of the desert, and had been an inmate at the Invalidesever since;—more than half a century. At a later periodI heard from another of my acquaintances how, as aschoolboy, he saw Napoleon beside his camp-fire atCannes, just after his landing from Elba.

There still remained at Paris, in those days, one mainconnecting link between the second empire and the first,and this was the most contemptible of all the Bonapartes,—the younger brother of the great Napoleon,—J<e'>rome, ex-king of Westphalia. I saw him, from time totime, and was much struck by his resemblance to the firstemperor. Though taller, he still had something of thatRoman imperial look, so remarkable in the founder of thefamily; but in J<e'>rome, it always recalled to me suchCaesars as Tiberius and Vitellius.

It was well known that the ex-king, as well as his son,Prince J<e'>rome Napoleon, were thorns in the side ofNapoleon III, and many stories illustrating this werecurrent during my stay in Paris, the best, perhaps, being ananswer made by Napoleon III to another representativeof his family. The question having been asked, ``Whatis the difference between an accident and a misfortune(un accident et un malheur)?'' the emperor answered.``If my cousin, Prince Napoleon, should fall into theSeine, it would be an ACCIDENT; if anybody were to pull himout, it would be a MISFORTUNE.'' Although this cousin hadsome oratorical ability, both he and his father were mostthoroughly despised. The son bore the nickname of``Plon-Plon,'' probably with some reference to his reputationfor cowardice; the father had won the appellationof ``Le Roi Loustic,'' and, indeed, had the credit ofintroducing into the French language the word ``loustic,''derived from the fact that, during his short reign at Cassel,King J<e'>rome was wont, after the nightly orgies at hispalace, to dismiss his courtiers with the words: ``Morgenwieder loustic, Messieurs.''

During the summer of 1854 I employed my vacation inlong walks and drives with a college classmate throughnorthern, western, and central France, including Picardy,Normandy, Brittany, and Touraine, visiting the spotsof most historical and architectural interest. There were,at that time, few railways in those regions, so we put onblouses and took to the road, sending our light baggageahead of us, and carrying only knapsacks. In every wayit proved a most valuable experience. Pleasantly comeback to me my walks and talks with the peasantry, andvividly dwell in my memory the cathedrals of Beauvais,Amiens, Rouen, Bayeux, Coutances, Le Mans, Tours,Chartres, and Orl<e'>ans, the fortress of Mont St. Michel,the Ch<a^>teaux of Chenonceaux, Chambord, Nantes, Am-boise, and Angers, the tombs of the Angevine kings atFontevrault, and the stone cottage of Louis XI at Cl<e'>ry.Visiting the grave of Ch<a^>teaubriand at St. Malo, we meta little old gentleman, bent with age, but very brisk andchatty. He was standing with a party of friends on oneside of the tomb, while we stood on the other. Presently,one of the gentlemen in his company came over and askedour names, saying that his aged companion was a greatadmirer of Ch<a^>teaubriand, and was anxious to know somethingof his fellow pilgrims. To this I made answer, whenmy interlocutor informed me that the old gentleman wasthe Prince de Rohan-Soubise. Shortly afterward the oldgentleman came round to us and began conversation, andon my making answer in a way which showed that I knewhis title, he turned rather sharply on me and said, ``Howdo you know that?'' To this I made answer that evenin America we had heard the verse:

``Roi, je ne puis,
Prince ne daigne,
Rohan je suis.''

At this he seemed greatly pleased, grasped my hand, andlaunched at once into extended conversation. His greatanxiety was to know who was to be the future king ofour Republic, and he asked especially whether Washingtonhad left any direct descendants. On my answering in thenegative, he insisted that we would have to find somedescendant in the collateral line, ``for,'' said he, ``you can'tescape it; no nation can get along for any considerabletime without a monarch.''

Returning to Paris I resumed my studies, and, at therequest of Mr. Randall, the biographer of Jefferson,made some search in the French archives for correspondencebetween Jefferson and Robespierre,—search maderather to put an end to calumny than for any otherpurpose.

At the close of this stay in France, by the kindness ofthe American minister to Russia, Governor Seymour, ofConnecticut, I was invited to St. Petersburg, as an attach<e'>of the American Legation, and resided for over six monthsin his household. It was a most interesting period. TheCrimean War was going on, and the death of the EmperorNicholas, during my stay, enabled me to see how a greatchange in autocratic administration is accomplished. Animportant part of my duty was to accompany the ministeras an interpreter, not only at court, but in his interviewswith Nesselrode, Gortschakoff, and others then in power.This gave me some chance also to make my historicalstudies more real by close observation of a certain sortof men who have had the making of far too much history;but books interested me none the less. An epoch in mydevelopment, intellectual and moral, was made at this timeby my reading large parts of Gibbon, and especially bya very careful study of Guizot's ``History of Civilizationin France,'' which greatly deepened and strengthened theimpression made by his ``History of Civilization inEurope,'' as read under President Woolsey at Yale. Duringthose seven months in St. Petersburg and Moscow, I readmuch in modern European history, paying considerableattention to the political development and condition ofRussia, and, for the first time, learned the pleasures ofinvestigating the history of our own country. GovernorSeymour was especially devoted to the ideas of ThomasJefferson, and late at night, as we sat before the fire, afterreturning from festivities or official interviews, wefrequently discussed the democratic system, as advocated byJefferson, and the autocratic system, as we saw it in thecapital of the Czar. The result was that my beginningof real study in American history was made by a veryclose examination of the life and writings of ThomasJefferson, including his letters, messages, and other papers,and of the diplomatic history revealed in the volumes ofcorrespondence preserved in the Legation. The generalresult was to strengthen and deepen my democratic creed,and a special result was the preparation of an article on``Jefferson and Slavery,'' which, having been at a laterperiod refused by the ``New Englander,'' at New Haven,on account of its too pronounced sympathy with democracyagainst federalism, was published by the ``AtlanticMonthly,'' and led to some acquaintances of value to meafterward.

Returning from St. Petersburg, I was matriculated atthe University of Berlin, and entered the family of avery scholarly gymnasial professor, where nothing butGerman was spoken. During this stay at the Prussiancapital, in the years 1855 and 1856, I heard the lectures ofLepsius, on Egyptology; August Boeckh, on the Historyof Greece; Friedrich von Raumer, on the History of Italy;Hirsch, on Modern History in general; and Carl Ritter,on Physical Geography. The lectures of Ranke, the mosteminent of German historians, I could not follow. He hada habit of becoming so absorbed in his subject, as to slidedown in his chair, hold his finger up toward the ceiling,and then, with his eye fastened on the tip of it, to gomumbling through a kind of rhapsody, which most of myGerman fellow-students confessed they could not understand.It was a comical sight: half a dozen studentscrowding around his desk, listening as priests might listento the sibyl on her tripod, the other students beingscattered through the room, in various stages ofdiscouragement. My studies at this period were mainly in thedirection of history, though with considerable reading onart and literature. Valuable and interesting to me at thistime were the representations of the best dramas of Goethe,Schiller, Lessing, and Gutzkow, at the Berlin theaters.Then, too, really began my education in Shakspere, andthe representations of his plays (in Schlegel and Tieck'sversion) were, on the whole, the most satisfactory I haveever known. I thus heard plays of Shakspere which, inEnglish-speaking countries, are never presented, and,even into those better known, wonderful light was at timesthrown from this new point of view.

As to music, the Berlin Opera was then at the heightof its reputation, the leading singer being the famousJoanna Wagner. But my greatest satisfaction was derivedfrom the ``Liebig Classical Concerts.'' These were,undoubtedly, the best instrumental music then given inEurope, and a small party of us were very assiduous inour attendance. Three afternoons a week we were, as arule, gathered about our table in the garden where theconcerts were given, and, in the midst of us, AlexanderThayer, the biographer of Beethoven, who discussed themusic with us during its intervals. Beethoven was, forhim, the one personage in human history, and Beethoven'smusic the only worthy object of human concern. He knewevery composition, every note, every variant, and hadwrestled for years with their profound meanings. Manyof his explanations were fantastic, but some weresuggestive and all were interesting. Even more inspiringwas another new-found friend, Henry Simmons Frieze; athorough musician, and a most lovely character. Hebroached no theories, uttered no comments, but sat raptby the melody and harmony—transfigured—``his face asit had been the face of an angel.'' In these Liebigconcerts we then heard, for the first time, the music of anew composer,—one Wagner,—and agreed that while itwas all very strange, there was really something in theoverture to ``Tannh<a:>user.''

At the close of this stay in Berlin, I went with a partyof fellow-students through Austria to Italy. The wholejourney was a delight, and the passage by steamer fromTrieste to Venice was made noteworthy by a newacquaintance,—James Russell Lowell. As he had alreadywritten the ``Vision of Sir Launfal,'' the ``Fable forCritics,'' and the ``Biglow Papers,'' I stood in great awe ofhim; but this feeling rapidly disappeared in his genialpresence. He was a student like the rest of us,—forhe had been passing the winter at Dresden, workingin German literature, as a preparation for succeedingLongfellow in the professorship at Harvard. Hecame to our rooms, and there linger delightfully inmy memory his humorous accounts of Italian life as hehad known it.

During the whole of the journey, it was my exceedinggood fortune to be thrown into very close relations withtwo of our party, both of whom became eminent Latinprofessors, and one of whom,—already referred to,—Frieze, from his lecture-room in the University ofMichigan, afterward did more than any other man within myknowledge to make classical scholarship a means of culturethroughout our Western States. My excursions inRome, under that guidance, I have always looked uponas among the fortunate things of life. The day was givento exploration, the evening to discussion, not merely ofarchaeological theories, but of the weightier matterspertaining to the history of Roman civilization and itsinfluence. Dear Frieze and Fishburne! How vividly comeback the days in the tower of the Croce di Malta, at Genoa,in our sky-parlor of the Piazza di Spagna at Rome, andin the old ``Capuchin Hotel'' at Amalfi, when we held highdebate on the analogies between the Roman Empire andthe British, and upon various kindred subjects.

An episode, of much importance to me at this time,was my meeting our American minister at Naples, RobertDale Owen. His talks on the political state of Italy, andhis pictures of the monstrous despotism of ``KingBomba'' took strong hold upon me. Not even the pagesof Colletta or of Settembrini have done so much to arousein me a sense of the moral value of political history.

Then, too, I made the first of my many excursionsthrough the historic towns of Italy. My reading ofSismondi's ``Italian Republics'' had deeply interested me intheir history, and had peopled them again with their oldturbulent population. I seemed to see going on before myeyes the old struggle between Guelphs and Ghibellines,and between the demagogues and the city tyrants. In themidst of such scenes my passion for historical readingwas strengthened, and the whole subject took on new anddeeper meanings.

On my way northward, excursions among the citiesof southern France, especially Nismes, Arles, and Orange,gave me a far better conception of Roman imperial powerthan could be obtained in Italy alone, and Avignon,Bourges, and Toulouse deepened my conceptions ofmediaeval history.

Having returned to America in the summer of 1856and met my class, assembled to take the master's degreein course at Yale, I was urged by my old Yale friends,especially by Porter and Gilman, to remain in New Haven.They virtually pledged me a position in the school of artabout to be established; but my belief was in the valueof historical studies, and I accepted an election to aprofessorship of history at the University of Michigan. Thework there was a joy to me from first to last, and myrelations with my students of that period, before I hadbecome distracted from them by the cares of an executiveposition, were among the most delightful of my life.Then, perhaps, began the most real part of my education.The historical works of Buckle, Lecky, and Draper, whichwere then appearing, gave me a new and fruitful impulse;but most stimulating of all was the atmosphere comingfrom the great thought of Darwin and Herbert Spencer,—an atmosphere in which history became less and less amatter of annals, and more and more a record of theunfolding of humanity. Then, too, was borne in uponme the meaning of the proverb docendo disces. I foundenergetic Western men in my classes ready to discusshistorical questions, and discovered that in order to keepup my part of the discussions, as well as to fit myself formy class-room duties, I must work as I had never workedbefore. The education I then received from my classes atthe University of Michigan was perhaps the most effectiveof all.

PART II

POLITICAL LIFE

CHAPTER III

FROM JACKSON TO FILLMORE—1832-1851

My arrival in this world took place at one of thestormy periods of American political history. Itwas on the third of the three election days which carriedAndrew Jackson a second time into the Presidency.Since that period, the election, with its paralysis ofbusiness, ghastly campaign lying, and monstrous vilificationof candidates, has been concentrated into one day; but atthat time all the evil passions of a presidential electionwere allowed to ferment and gather vitriolic strengthduring three days.

I was born into a politically divided family. Mygrandfather, on my mother's side, whose name I was destinedto bear, was an ardent Democrat; had, as such, representedhis district in the State legislature, and other publicbodies; took his political creed from Thomas Jefferson, andadored Andrew Jackson. My father, on the other hand,was in all his antecedents and his personal convictions, adevoted Whig, taking his creed from Alexander Hamilton,and worshiping Henry Clay.

This opposition between my father and grandfather didnot degenerate into personal bitterness; but it was veryearnest, and, in later years, my mother told me that whenHayne, of South Carolina, made his famous speech,charging the North with ill-treatment of the South, mygrandfather sent a copy of it to my father, as unanswerable;but that, shortly afterward, my father sent to mygrandfather the speech of Daniel Webster, in reply, andthat, when this was read, the family allowed that thelatter had the better of the argument. I cannot help thinkingthat my grandfather must have agreed with them, tacitly,if not openly. He loved the Hampshire Hills ofMassachusetts, from which he came. Year after year he tooklong journeys to visit them, and Webster's magnificentreference to the ``Old Bay State'' must have aroused hissympathy and pride.

Fortunately, at that election, as at so many others since,the good sense of the nation promptly accepted the result,and after its short carnival of political passion, dismissedthe whole subject; the minority simply leaving the responsibilityof public affairs to the majority, and all betakingthemselves again to their accustomed vocations.

I do not remember, during the first seven years of mylife, ever hearing any mention of political questions. Theonly thing I heard during that period which brings back achapter in American politics, was when, at the age of fiveyears, I attended an infant school and took part in a sortof catechism, all the children rising and replying to theteacher's questions. Among these were the following:

Q. Who is President of the United States?

A. Martin Van Buren.

Q. Who is governor of the State of New York?

A. William L. Marcy.

This is to me somewhat puzzling, for I was four yearsold when Martin Van Buren was elected, and my fatherwas his very earnest opponent, yet, though I recall easilyvarious things which occurred at that age and even earlier,I have no remembrance of any general election before1840, and my only recollection of the first New Yorkstatesman elected to the Presidency is this mention of hisname, in a child's catechism.

My recollections of American polities begin, then, withthe famous campaign of 1840, and of that they are vivid.Our family had, in 1839, removed to Syracuse, which,although now a city of about one hundred and twentythousand inhabitants, was then a village of fewer than sixthousand; but, as the central town of the State, it wasalready a noted gathering-place for political conventionsand meetings. The great Whig mass-meeting held there,in 1840, was long famous as the culmination of thecampaign between General Harrison and Martin Van Buren.

As a President, Mr. Van Buren had fallen on evil times.It was a period of political finance; of demagogicalmethods in public business; and the result was ``hardtimes,'' with an intense desire throughout the nation for achange. This desire was represented especially by theWhig party. General Harrison had been taken up as itscandidate, not merely because he had proved his worthas governor of the Northwestern Territory, and as asenator in Congress, but especially as the hero of sundryfights with the Indians, and, above all, of the plucky littlebattle at Tippecanoe. The most popular campaign song,which I soon learned to sing lustily, was ``Tippecanoe andTyler, Too,'' and sundry lines of it expressed, not onlymy own deepest political convictions and aspirations, butalso those cherished by myriads of children of far largergrowth. They ran as follows:

``Oh, have you heard the great commotion-motion-motion
Rolling the country through?
It is the ball a-rolling on
For Tippecanoe and Tyler, too,
For Tippecanoe and Tyler, too;
And with them we 'll beat little Van;
Van, Van is a used up man;
And with them we 'll beat little Van.''

The campaign was an apotheosis of tom-foolery.General Harrison had lived the life, mainly, of a Westernfarmer, and for a time, doubtless, exercised amid his rudesurroundings the primitive hospitality natural to sturdyWestern pioneers. On these facts the changes were rung.In every town and village a log cabin was erected wherethe Whigs held their meetings; and the bringing of logs,with singing and shouting, to build it, was a great event;its front door must have a wooden latch on the inside;but the latch-string must run through the door; for theclaim which the friends of General Harrison especiallyinsisted upon was that he not only lived in a log cabin, butthat his latch-string was always out, in token that all hisfellow-citizens were welcome at his fireside.

Another element in the campaign was hard cider.Every log cabin must have its barrel of this acrid fluid,as the antithesis of the alleged beverage of President VanBuren at the White House. He, it was asserted, drankchampagne, and on this point I remember that a versewas sung at log-cabin meetings which, after describing,in a prophetic way the arrival of the ``Farmer of NorthBend'' at the White House, ran as follows:

``They were all very merry, and drinking champagne
When the Farmer, impatient, knocked louder again;
Oh, Oh, said Prince John, I very much fear
We must quit this place the very next year.''

``Prince John'' was President Van Buren's brilliantson; famous for his wit and eloquence, who, in after years,rose to be attorney-general of the State of New York, andwho might have risen to far higher positions had hisprinciples equaled his talents.

Another feature at the log cabin, and in all politicalprocessions, was at least one raccoon; and if not a liveraccoon in a cage, at least a raccoon skin nailed upon theoutside of the cabin. This gave local color, but hencecame sundry jibes from the Democrats, for they werewont to refer to the Whigs as ``coons,'' and to their logcabins as ``coon pens.'' Against all these elements ofsuccess, added to promises of better times, the Democraticparty could make little headway. Martin Van Buren,though an admirable public servant in many ways, wasdiscredited. M. de Bacourt, the French Minister atWashington, during his administration, was, it is true, veryfond of him, and this cynical scion of French nobilitywrote in a private letter, which has been published in theselatter days, ``M. Van Buren is the most perfect imitationof a gentleman I ever saw.'' But this commendation hadnot then come to light, and the main reliance of the Democratsin capturing the popular good-will was their candidatefor the Vice-Presidency, Colonel Richard M. Johnson,of Kentucky. He, too, had fought in the Indian wars,and bravely. Therefore it was that one of the Whig songswhich especially rejoiced me, ran:

``They shout and sing, Oh humpsy dumpsy,
Colonel Johnson killed Tec*mseh.''

Among the features of that period which excited myimagination were the enormous mass meetings, withprocessions, coming in from all points of the compass, milesin length, and bearing every patriotic device and politicalemblem. Here the Whigs had infinitely the advantage.Their campaign was positive and aggressive. On platform-wagons were men working at every trade which expectedto be benefited by Whig success; log cabins of allsorts and sizes, hard-cider barrels, coon pens, greatcanvas balls, which were kept ``a-rolling on,'' canoes, suchas General Harrison had used in crossing Western rivers,eagles that screamed in defiance, and co*cks that crowedfor victory. The turning ball had reference to sundrylines in the foremost campaign song. For the Octoberelection in Maine having gone Whig by a large majority,clearly indicating what the general result was to be inNovember, the opening lines ran as follows:

``Oh, have you heard the news from Maine—Maine—Maine?
Rolling the country through?
It is the ball a-rolling on
For Tippecanoe and Tyler, too.''
&c., &c., &c.

Against all this the Democrats, with their negative anddefensive platform, found themselves more and more ata disadvantage; they fought with desperation, but in vain,and one of their most unlucky ventures to recover theirposition was an effort to undermine General Harrison'smilitary reputation. For this purpose they looked about,and finally found one of their younger congressionalrepresentatives, considered to be a rising man, who, havinggained some little experience in the Western militia, hadreceived the honorary title of ``General,'' Isaac M. Crary,of Michigan; him they selected to make a speech in Congressexhibiting and exploding General Harrison's militaryrecord. He was very reluctant to undertake it, butat last yielded, and, after elaborate preparation, made anargument loud and long, to show that General Harrisonwas a military ignoramus. The result was both comicand pathetic. There was then in Congress the most famousstump-speaker of his time, and perhaps of all times,a man of great physical, intellectual, and moral vigor;powerful in argument, sympathetic in manner, of infinitewit and humor, and, unfortunately for General Crary,a Whig,—Thomas Corwin, of Ohio. Mr. Crary's heavy,tedious, perfunctory arraignment of General Harrisonbeing ended, Corwin rose and began an offhand speechon ``The Military Services of General Isaac M. Crary.''In a few minutes he had as his audience, not only the Houseof Representatives, but as many members of the Senate,of the Supreme Court, and visitors to the city, as couldbe crowded into the congressional chamber, and, of allhumorous speeches ever delivered in Congress, this ofCorwin has come down to us as the most successful. Longafterward, parts of it lingered in our ``speakers' manuals''and were declaimed in the public schools as examplesof witty oratory. Many years later, when theHouse of Representatives left the old chamber and wentinto that which it now occupies, Thurlow Weed wrotean interesting article on scenes he had witnessed in the oldhall, and most vivid of all was his picture of this speechby Corwin. His delineations of Crary's brilliant exploits,his portrayal of the valiant charges made by Crary'stroops on muster days upon the watermelon patches ofMichigan, not only convulsed his audience, but wereechoed throughout the nation, Whigs and Democratslaughing alike; and when John Quincy Adams, in a speechshortly afterward, referred to the man who brought onthis tempest of fun as ``the late General Crary,'' therewas a feeling that the adjective indicated a fact. It reallywas so; Crary, although a man of merit, never returnedto Congress, but was thenceforth dropped from politicallife. More than twenty years afterward, as I was passingthrough Western Michigan, a friend pointed out to mehis tombstone, in a little village cemetery, with comments,half comic, half pathetic; and I also recall a mournfulfeeling when one day, in going over the roll of mystudents at the University of Michigan, I came upon one whobore the baptismal name of Isaac Crary. Evidently, theblighted young statesman had a daughter who, in all thisstorm of ridicule and contempt, stood by him, loved him,and proudly named her son after him.

Another feature in the campaign also impressed me.A blackguard orator, on the Whig side, one of thosewhom great audiences applaud for the moment and everafterward despise,—a man named Ogle,—made a speechwhich depicted the luxury prevailing at the White House,and among other evidences of it, dwelt upon the ``goldspoons'' used at the President's table, denouncing theiruse with such unction that, for the time, unthinkingpeople regarded Martin Van Buren as a sort of AmericanVitellius. As a matter of fact, the scanty silver-gilt tableutensils at the White House have been shown, in theselatter days, in some very pleasing articles written byGeneral Harrison's grandson, after this grandson hadhimself retired from the Presidency, to have been, for themost part, bought long before;—and by order of GeneralWashington.

The only matter of political importance which, as a boyeight years old, I seized upon, and which dwells in mymemory, was the creation of the ``Sub-Treasury.'' Thatthis was a wise measure seems now proven by the fact thatthrough all the vicissitudes of politics, from that day tothis, it has remained and rendered admirable service. Butat that time it was used as a weapon against theDemocratic party, and came to be considered by feather-brained partizans, young and old, as the culmination ofhuman wickedness. As to what the ``Sub-Treasury''really was I had not the remotest idea; but this I knew;—that it was the most wicked outrage ever committed by aremorseless tyrant upon a long-suffering people.

In November of 1840 General Harrison was elected. Inthe following spring he was inaugurated, and the Whigsbeing now for the first time in power, the rush for officewas fearful. It was undoubtedly this crushing pressureupon the kindly old man that caused his death. WhatBritish soldiers, and Indian warriors, and fire, flood, andswamp fevers could not accomplish in over sixty years,was achieved by the office-seeking hordes in just onemonth. He was inaugurated on the fourth of March anddied early in April.

I remember, as if it were yesterday, my dear mothercoming to my bedside, early in the morning, and sayingto me, ``President Harrison is dead.'' I wondered whatwas to become of us. He was the first President who haddied during his term of service, and a great feeling ofrelief came over me when I learned that his high officehad devolved upon the Vice-President.

But now came a new trouble, and my youthful mind wassoon sadly agitated. The Whig papers, especially the``New York Express'' and ``Albany Evening Journal,''began to bring depressing accounts of the new President,—tidings of extensive changes in the offices throughout thecountry, and especially in the post-offices. At first theWhig papers published these under the heading``Appointments by the President.'' But soon the headingchanged; it became ``Appointments by Judas Iscariot,''or ``Appointments by Benedict Arnold,'' and war wasdeclared against President Tyler by the party that electedhim. Certain it is that no party ever found itself in aworse position than did the Whigs, when their Vice-Presidentcame into the Chief Magistracy; and equally certainis it that this position was the richly earned punishmentof their own folly.

I have several times since had occasion to note thecarelessness of National and State conventions in nominatinga candidate for the second place upon the ticket—whetherVice-President or Lieutenant-Governor. It would seemthat the question of questions—the nomination to thefirst office—having been settled, there comes a sort ofcollapse in these great popular assemblies, and that then,for the second office, it is very often anybody's race andmainly a matter of chance. In this way alone can beexplained several nominations which have been made tosecond offices, and above all, that of John Tyler. As amatter of fact, he was not commended to the Whig partyon any solid grounds. His whole political life had shownhim an opponent of their main ideas; he was, in fact, aSouthern doctrinaire, and frequently suffered from acuteattacks of that very troublesome political disease,Virginia metaphysics. As President he attempted to enforcehis doctrines, and when Whig leaders, and above allHenry Clay attempted, not only to resist, but to crush him,he asserted his dignity at the cost of his party, and finallytried that which other accidental Presidents have sincetried with no better success, namely, to build up a partyof his own by a new distribution of offices. Never was agreater failure. Mr. Tyler was dropped by both partiesand disappeared from American political life forever.I can now see that he was a man obedient to his convictionsof duty, such as they were, and in revolt againstattempts of Whig leaders to humiliate him; but then, tomy youthful mind, he appeared the very incarnation ofevil.

My next recollections are of the campaign of 1844.Again the Whig party took courage, and having, as a boyof twelve years, acquired more earnest ideas regardingthe questions at issue, I helped, with other Whig boys,to raise ash-poles, and to hurrah lustily for Clay at publicmeetings. On the other hand, the Democratic boys hurrahedas lustily around their hickory poles and, as wasfinally proved, to much better purpose. They sang doggerelwhich, to me, was blasphemous, and especially a songwith the following refrain:

``Alas poor Cooney Clay,
Alas poor Cooney Clay,
You never can be President,
For so the people say.''

The ash-poles had reference to Ashland, Clay's Kentuckyestate; and the hickory poles recalled General Jackson'ssobriquet, ``Old Hickory.'' For the Democratic candidatein 1844, James Knox Polk, was considered heir toJackson's political ideas. The campaign of 1844 was notmade so interesting by spectacular outbursts of tom-fooleryas the campaign of 1840 had been. The sober secondthought of the country had rather sickened people of thatsort of thing; still, there was quite enough of it, especiallyas shown in caricatures and songs. The poorest of thelatter was perhaps one on the Democratic side, for as theDemocratic candidates were Polk of Tennessee and Dallasof Pennsylvania, one line of the song embraced probablythe worst pun ever made, namely—

``PORK in the barrel, and DOLLARS in the pocket.''

It was at this period that the feeling against the extensionof slavery, especially as indicated in the proposedannexation of Texas, began to appear largely in politics,and though Clay at heart detested slavery and alwaysrefused to do the bidding of its supporters beyond what hethought absolutely necessary in preserving the Union, anunfortunate letter of his led great numbers of anti-slavery men to support a separate anti-slavery ticket, thecandidate being James G. Birney. The result was thatthe election of Clay became impossible. Mr. Polk waselected, and under him came the admission of Texas,which caused the Mexican War, and gave slavery a newlease of life. The main result, in my own environment,was that my father and his friends, thenceforward for aconsiderable time, though detesting slavery, held allabolitionists and anti-slavery men in contempt,—as unpatrioticbecause they had defeated Henry Clay, and as idioticbecause they had brought on the annexation of Texas andthereby the supremacy of the slave States.

But the flame of liberty could not be smothered byfriends or blown out by enemies; it was kept alive byvigorous counterblasts in the press, and especially fed bythe lecture system, which was then at the height of itsefficiency. Among the most powerful of lecturers wasJohn Parker Hale, senator of the United States fromNew Hampshire, his subject being, ``The Last GladiatorialCombat at Rome.'' Taking from Gibbon the story ofthe monk Telemachus, who ended the combats in the arenaby throwing himself into them and sacrificing his life, Halesuggested to his large audiences an argument that if menwished to get rid of slavery in our country they must beready to sacrifice themselves if need be. His words sankdeep into my mind, and I have sometimes thought thatthey may have had something to do in leading JohnBrown to make his desperate attempt on slavery atHarper's Ferry.

How blind we all were! Henry Clay, a Kentucky slave-holder, would have saved us. Infinitely better than theviolent solutions proposed to us was his large statesman-like plan of purchasing the slave children as they wereborn and setting them free. Without bloodshed, and atcost of the merest nothing as compared to the cost of theCivil War, he would thus have solved the problem; butit was not so to be. The guilt of the nation was not to beso cheaply atoned for. Fanatics, North and South,opposed him and, as a youth, I yielded to their arguments.

Four years later, in 1848, came a very different sort ofelection. General Zachary Taylor, who had shown ster-ling qualities in the Mexican War, was now the candidateof the Whigs, and against him was nominated Mr.Cass, a general of the War of 1812, afterward governorof the Northwestern Territory, and senator fromMichigan. As a youth of sixteen, who by that time had becomeearnestly interested in politics, I was especially struckby one event in this campaign. The Democrats of courserealized that General Taylor, with the prestige gained inthe Mexican War, was a very formidable opponent. Still,if they could keep their party together, they had hopes ofbeating him. But a very large element in their partyhad opposed the annexation of Texas and strongly dislikedthe extension of slavery;—this wing of the partyin New York being known as the ``Barn Burners,'' becauseit was asserted that they ``believed in burning thebarn to drive the rats out.'' The question was what theseradical gentlemen would do. That question was answeredwhen a convention, controlled largely by the anti-slaveryDemocrats of New York and other States, met at Buffaloand nominated Martin Van Buren to the Presidency.For a time it was doubtful whether he would accept thenomination. On one side it was argued that he could notafford to do so, since he had no chance of an election,and would thereby forever lose his hold upon the Democraticparty; but, on the other hand, it was said that hewas already an old man; that he realized perfectly theimpossibility of his re<e:>lection, and that he had a bittergrudge against the Democratic candidate, General Cass,who had voted against confirming him when he was sentas minister to Great Britain, thus obliging him to returnhome ingloriously. He accepted the nomination.

On the very day which brought the news of thisacceptance, General Cass arrived in Syracuse, on his wayto his home at Detroit. I saw him welcomed by a greatprocession of Democrats, and marched under a broilingsun, through dusty streets, to the City Hall, where he wasforced to listen and reply to fulsome speeches prophesyinghis election, which he and all present knew to be impos-sible. For Mr. Van Buren's acceptance of the ``free soil''nomination was sure to divide the Democratic vote of theState of New York, thus giving the State to the Whigs;and in those days the proverb held good, ``As New Yorkgoes, so goes the Union.''

For years afterward there dwelt vividly in my mindthe picture of this old, sad man marching through thestreets, listening gloomily to the speeches, forced toappear confident of victory, yet evidently disheartened anddisgusted.

Very vivid are my recollections of State conventionsat this period. Syracuse, as the ``Central City,'' was afavorite place for them, and, as they came during thesummer vacations, boys of my age and tastes were ableto admire the great men of the hour,—now, alas, utterlyforgotten. We saw and heard the leaders of all parties.Many impressed me; but one dwells in my memory, onaccount of a story which was told of him. This was avery solemn, elderly gentleman who always looked verywise but said nothing,—William Bouck of SchoharieCounty. He had white hair and whiskers, and havingbeen appointed canal commissioner of the State, haddischarged his duties by driving his old white family nagand buggy along the towing-path the whole length of thecanals, keeping careful watch of the contractors, and so,in his simple, honest way, had saved the State much money.The result was the nickname of the ``Old White Hoss ofSchoharie,'' and a reputation for simplicity and honestywhich made him for a short time governor of the State.

A story then told of him reveals something of hischaracter. Being informed that Bishop Hughes of New Yorkwas coming to Albany, and that it would be well to treathim with especial courtesy, the governor prepared himselfto be more than gracious, and, on the arrival of thebishop, greeted him most cordially with the words, ``Howdo you do, Bishop; I hope you are well. How did youleave Mrs. Hughes and your family?'' To this the bishopanswered, ``Governor, I am very well, but there is noMrs. Hughes; bishops in our church don't marry.''``Good gracious,'' answered the governor, ``you don'tsay so; how long has that been?'' The bishop must havethoroughly enjoyed this. His Irish wit made him quickboth at comprehension and repartee. During a debateon the school question a leading Presbyterian merchantof New York, Mr. Hiram Ketchum, made a very earnestspeech against separate schools for Roman Catholics, andpresently, turning to Bishop Hughes, said, ``Sir, werespect you, sir, but, sir, we can't go your purgatory, sir.''To this the bishop quietly replied, ``You might go furtherand fare worse.''

Another leading figure, but on the Whig side, was aState senator, commonly known as ``Bray'' Dickinson,to distinguish him from D. S. Dickinson who had been asenator of the United States, and a candidate for thePresidency. ``Bray'' Dickinson was a most earnestsupporter of Mr. Seward; staunch, prompt, vigorous, andreally devoted to the public good. One story regardinghim shows his rough-and-readiness.

During a political debate in the old Whig days, oneof his Democratic brother senators made a long haranguein favor of Martin Van Buren as a candidate for thePresidency, and in the course of his speech referred toMr. Van Buren as ``the Curtius of the Republic.'' Uponthis Dickinson jumped up, went to some member bettereducated in the classics than himself, and said, ``Who inthunder is this Curtis that this man is talking about?'' ``Itisn't Curtis, it 's Curtius, ``was the reply. ``Well, now, ``said Dickinson, ``what did Curtius do?'' ``Oh,'' said hisinformant, ``he threw himself into an abyss to savethe Roman Republic.'' Upon this Dickinson returned tohis seat, and as soon as the Democratic speaker hadfinished, arose and said: ``Mr. President, I deny the justiceof the gentleman's reference to Curtius and Martin VanBuren. What did Curtius do? He threw himself, sir,into an abyss to save his country. What, sir, did MartinVan Buren do? He threw his country into an abyss tosave himself.''

Rarely, if ever, has any scholar used a bit of classicalknowledge to better purpose.

Another leading figure, at a later period, was a Democrat,Fernando Wood, mayor of New York, a brilliantdesperado; and on one occasion I saw the henchmen whomhe had brought with him take possession of a Stateconvention and deliberately knock its president, one of themost respected men in the State, off the platform. It wasan unfortunate performance for Mayor Wood, since thedisgust and reaction thereby aroused led all factions ofthe Democratic party to unite against him.

Other leading men were such as Charles O'Conor andJohn Van Buren; the former learned and generous, butimpracticable; the latter brilliant beyond belief, but notconsidered as representing any permanent ideas or principles.

During the campaign of 1848, as a youth of sixteen,I took the liberty of breaking from the paternal party;my father voting for General Taylor, I hurrahing forMartin Van Buren. I remember well how one day myfather earnestly remonstrated against this. He said, ``Mydear boy, you cheer Martin Van Buren's name becauseyou believe that if he is elected he will do somethingagainst slavery: in the first place, he cannot be elected;and in the second place, if you knew him as we olderpeople do, you would not believe in his attachment to anygood cause whatever.''

The result of the campaign was that General Taylorwas elected, and I recall the feeling of awe and hope withwhich I gazed upon his war-worn face, for the first andlast time, as he stopped to receive the congratulations ofthe citizens of Syracuse;—hope, alas, soon brought tonaught, for he, too, soon succumbed to the pressure ofofficial care, and Millard Fillmore of New York, the Vice-President, reigned in his stead.

I remember Mr. Fillmore well. He was a tall, large,fine-looking man, with a face intelligent and kindly, andhe was noted both as an excellent public servant and aneffective public speaker. He had been comptroller ofthe State of New York,—then the most important of Stateoffices, had been defeated as Whig candidate for governor,and had been a representative in Congress. He was thesecond of the accidental Presidents, and soon felt it hisduty to array himself on the side of those who, bycompromise with the South on the slavery question, soughtto maintain and strengthen the Federal Union. Underhim came the compromise measures on which our greatstatesmen of the middle period of the nineteenth century,Clay, Webster, Calhoun, and Benton, made their lastspeeches. Mr. Fillmore was undoubtedly led mainly bypatriotic motives, in promoting the series of measureswhich were expected to end all trouble between the Northand South, but which, unfortunately, embraced the FugitiveSlave Law; yet this, as I then thought, rendered himaccursed. I remember feeling an abhorrence for his veryname, and this feeling was increased when there tookplace, in the city of Syracuse, the famous ``Jerry Rescue.''

CHAPTER IVEARLY MANHOOD—1851-1857

On the first day of October, 1851, there was shufflingabout the streets of Syracuse, in the quiet pursuitof his simple avocations, a colored person, as nearly ``ofno account'' as any ever seen. So far as was knownhe had no surname, and, indeed, no Christian name, savethe fragment and travesty,—``Jerry.''

Yet before that day was done he was famous; his name,such as it was, resounded through the land; and he hadbecome, in all seriousness, a weighty personage in Americanhistory.

Under the law recently passed, he was arrested, openlyand in broad daylight, as a fugitive slave, and was carriedbefore the United States commissioner, Mr. JosephSabine, a most kindly public officer, who in this matterwas sadly embarrassed by the antagonism between hissworn duty and his personal convictions.

Thereby, as was supposed, were fulfilled the Law and theProphets—the Law being the fugitive slave law recentlyenacted, and the Prophets being no less than Henry Clayand Daniel Webster.

For, as if to prepare the little city to sacrifice itscherished beliefs, Mr. Clay had some time before made aspeech from the piazza of the Syracuse House, urgingupon his fellow-citizens the compromises of theConstitution; and some months later Mr. Webster appeared,spoke from a balcony near the City Hall, and to the samepurpose; but more so. The latter statesman was prophetic,not only in the hortatory, but in the predictivesense; for he declared not only that the Fugitive SlaveLaw must be enforced, but that it WOULD be enforced, andhe added, in substance: ``it will be enforced throughoutthe North in spite of all opposition—even in this city—even in the midst of your abolition conventions.'' Thispiece of prophecy was accompanied by a gesture whichseemed to mean much; for the great man's hand waswaved toward the City Hall just across the square—theclassic seat and center of abolition conventions.

How true is the warning, ``Don't prophesy unless youknow!'' The arrest of Jerry took place within six monthsafter Mr. Webster's speech, and indeed while an abolitionconvention was in session at that same City Hall;but when the news came the convention immediatelydissolved, the fire-bells began to ring, a crowd moved uponthe commissioner's office, surged into it, and swept Jerryout of the hands of the officers. The authorities havingrallied, re-arrested the fugitive, and put him in confinementand in irons. But in the evening the assailants returnedto the assault, carried the jail by storm, rescuedJerry for good, and spirited him off safe and sound toCanada, thus bringing to nought the fugitive slave law,as well as the exhortations of Mr. Clay and the predictionsof Mr. Webster.

This rescue produced great excitement throughout thenation. Various persons were arrested for taking partin it, and their trials were adjourned from place to place,to the great hardship of all concerned. During a collegevacation I was present at one of these trials at Canandaigua,the United States Judge, before whom it was held,being the Hon. N. K. Hall, who had been Mr. Fillmore'slaw partner in Buffalo. The evening before the trial ananti-slavery meeting was held, which I attended. It wasopened with prayer by a bishop of the African MethodistEpiscopal Church, Loguen, and of all prayers I haveever heard, this dwells in my mind as perhaps the mostimpressive. The colored minister's petitions for his race,bond and free, for Jerry and for those who had soughtto rescue him, for the souls of the kidnappers, and forthe country which was to his people a land of bondage,were most pathetic. Then arose Gerrit Smith. Of allTribunes of the People I have ever known he dwells inmy memory as possessing the greatest variety of gifts.He had the prestige given by great wealth, by lavishgenerosity, by transparent honesty, by earnestness ofpurpose, by advocacy of every good cause, by a superbpresence, and by natural eloquence of a very high order. Hewas very tall and large, with a noble head, an earnest, yetkindly face, and of all human voices I have ever heardhis was the most remarkable for its richness, depth, andstrength. I remember seeing and hearing him once ata Republican State Convention in the City Hall at Syracuse,when, having come in for a few moments as a spectator,he was recognized by the crowd and greetedwith overwhelming calls for a speech. He was standingat the entrance door, towering above all about him, andthere was a general cry for him to come forward tothe platform. He declined to come forward; but finallyobserved to those near him, in his quiet, natural way,with the utmost simplicity, ``Oh, I shall be heard.'' Atthis a shout went up from the entire audience; for everyhuman being in that great hall had heard these wordsperfectly, though uttered in his usual conversationalvoice.

I also remember once entering the old Delavan Houseat Albany, with a college friend of mine, afterwardBishop of Maine, and seeing, at the other end of a longhall, Gerrit Smith in quiet conversation. In a momentwe heard his voice, and my friend was greatly impressedby it, declaring he had never imagined suchan utterance possible. It was indeed amazing; it waslike the deep, clear, rich tone from the pedal bassof a cathedral organ. During his career in Congress,it was noted that he was the only speaker withinremembrance who without effort made himself heard in everypart of the old chamber of the House of Representatives,which was acoustically one of the worst halls everdevised. And it was not a case of voice and nothing else;his strength of argument, his gift of fit expression, andhis wealth of illustration were no less extraordinary.

On this occasion at Canandaigua he rose to speak, andevery word went to the hearts of his audience. ``Why,''he began, ``do they conduct these harassing proceedingsagainst these men? If any one is guilty, I am guilty.With Samuel J. May I proposed the Jerry Rescue. Weare responsible for it; why do they not prosecute us?''And these words were followed by a train of cogentreasoning and stirring appeal.

The Jerry Rescue trials only made matters worse.Their injustice disgusted the North, and their futilityangered the South. They revealed one fact which especiallyvexed the Southern wing of the Democratic party, andthis was, that their Northern allies could not be dependedupon to execute the new compromise. In this Syracuserescue one of the most determined leaders was a roughburly butcher, who had been all his life one of the loudestof pro-slavery Democrats, and who, until he saw Jerrydragged in manacles through the streets, had been mostviolent in his support of the fugitive slave law. Thetrials also stimulated the anti-slavery leaders and oratorsto new vigor. Garrison, Phillips, Gerrit Smith, Sumner,and Seward aroused the anti-slavery forces as neverbefore, and the ``Biglow Papers'' of James Russell Lowell,which made Northern pro-slavery men ridiculous, wereread with more zest than ever.

But the abolition forces had the defects of theirqualities, and their main difficulty really arose from thestimulus given to a thin fanaticism. There followed, inthe train of the nobler thinkers and orators, the ``FoolReformers,''—sundry long-haired men and short-hairedwomen, who thought it their duty to stir good Christianpeople with blasphemy, to deluge the founders of theRepublic with blackguardism, and to invent ever moreand more ingenious ways for driving every sober-mindedman and woman out of the anti-slavery fold. More thanonce in those days I hung my head in disgust as I listenedto these people, and wondered, for the moment, whether,after all, even the supremacy of slaveholders might notbe more tolerable than the new heavens and the new earth,in which should dwell such bedraggled, screaming,denunciatory creatures.

At the next national election the Whigs nominatedGeneral Scott, a man of extraordinary merit and ofgrandiose appearance; but of both these qualities he washimself unfortunately too well aware; as a result theDemocrats gave him the name of ``Old Fuss and Feathers,'' anda few unfortunate speeches, in one of which he expressedhis joy at hearing that ``sweet Irish brogue,'' broughtthe laugh of the campaign upon him.

On the other hand the Democrats nominated FranklinPierce; a man greatly inferior to General Scott in militarymatters, but who had served well in the State politicsof New Hampshire and in Congress, was widely beloved,of especially attractive manners, and of high personalcharacter.

He also had been in the Mexican War, but though hehad risen to be brigadier-general, his military recordamounted to very little. There was in him, no doubt,some alloy of personal with public motives, but it wouldbe unjust to say that selfishness was the only source ofhis political ideas. He was greatly impressed by thenecessity of yielding to the South in order to save theUnion, and had shown this by his utterances and votes inCongress: the South, therefore, accepted him againstGeneral Scott, who was supposed to have moderate anti-slavery views.

General Pierce was elected; the policy of hisadministration became more and more deeply pro-slavery; andnow appeared upon the scene Stephen Arnold Douglas—senator from Illinois, a man of remarkable ability,—abrilliant thinker and most effective speaker, with anextraordinary power of swaying men. I heard him at vari-ous times; and even after he had committed what seemedto me the unpardonable sin, it was hard to resist hiseloquence. He it was who, doubtless from a mixture ofmotives, personal and public, had proposed the abolition ofthe Missouri Compromise, which since the year 1820 hadbeen the bulwark of the new territories against theencroachments of slavery. The whole anti-slavery sentimentof the North was thereby intensified, and as theestablishment of north polarity at one end of the magnetexcites south polarity at the other, so Southern feelingin favor of slavery was thereby increased. Up to a recentperiod Southern leaders had, as a rule, deprecatedslavery, and hoped for its abolition; now they as generallyadvocated it as good in itself;—the main foundation ofcivil liberty; the normal condition of the working classesof every nation; and some of them urged the revival ofthe African slave-trade. The struggle became more andmore bitter. I was during that time at Yale, and the generalsentiment of that university in those days favoredalmost any concession to save the Union. The venerableSilliman, and a great majority of the older professorsspoke at public meetings in favor of the pro-slaverycompromise measures which they fondly hoped would settlethe difficulty between North and South and re<e:>stablishthe Union on firm foundations. The new compromise wasindeed a bitter dose for them, since it contained thefugitive slave law in its most drastic form; and every oneof them, with the exception of a few theological doctrinaireswho found slavery in the Bible, abhorred the wholeslave system. The Yale faculty, as a rule, took groundagainst anti-slavery effort, and, among other ways ofpropagating what they considered right opinions, therewas freely distributed among the students a sermon bythe Rev. Dr. Boardman of Philadelphia, which went toextremes in advocating compromise with slavery and theslave power.

The great body of the students, also, from North andSouth, took the same side. It is a suggestive fact thatwhereas European students are generally inclined toradicalism, American students have been, since the war ofthe Revolution, eminently conservative.

To this pro-slavery tendency at Yale, in hope of savingthe Union, there were two remarkable exceptions, onebeing the beloved and respected president of the university,Dr. Theodore Dwight Woolsey, and the other hisclassmate and friend, the Rev. Dr. Leonard Bacon, pastorof the great Center Church of New Haven, and frequentlyspoken of as the ``Congregational Pope of NewEngland.'' They were indeed a remarkable pair; Woolsey,quiet and scholarly, at times irascible, but always kindand just; Bacon a rugged, leonine sort of man who, whenhe shook his mane in the pulpit and addressed the NewEngland conscience, was heard throughout the nation.These two, especially, braved public sentiment, as wellas the opinion of their colleagues, and were supposed,at the time, to endanger the interests of Yale by standingagainst the fugitive slave law and other concessions toslavery and its extension. As a result Yale fell intodisrepute in the South, which had, up to that time, sent largebodies of students to it, and I remember that a classmateof mine, a tall, harum-scarum, big-hearted, sandy-hairedGeorgian known as ``Jim'' Hamilton, left Yale in disgust,returned to his native heath, and was there welcomed withgreat jubilation. A poem was sent me, written by someardent admirer of his, beginning with the words:

``God bless thee, noble Hamilton,'' &c.

On the other hand I was one of the small minority ofstudents who remained uncompromisingly anti-slavery,and whenever I returned from Syracuse, my classmatesand friends used to greet me in a jolly way by asking me``How are you, Gerrit; how did you leave the Rev.Antoinette Brown and brother Fred Douglas?'' In consequenceI came very near being, in a small way, a martyrto my principles. Having had some success in winningessay prizes during my sophom*ore and junior years, myname was naturally mentioned in connection with the electionof editors for the ``Yale Literary Magazine.'' At thisa very considerable body of Southern students and theirNorthern adherents declared against me. I neither saidnor did anything in the premises, but two of my mostconservative friends wrought valiantly in my behalf.One was my dear old chum, Davies, the present Bishopof Michigan, at the very antipodes from myself on everypossible question; and the other my life-long friend,Randall Lee Gibson of Kentucky, himself a large slaveholder,afterward a general in the Confederate service, andfinally, at his lamented death a few years since, UnitedStates senator from Louisiana. Both these friendschampioned my cause, with the result that they saved me by asmall majority.

As editor of the ``Yale Literary Magazine,'' throughmy senior year, I could publish nothing in behalf of mycherished anti-slavery ideas, since a decided majorityof my fellow-editors would have certainly refusedadmission to any obnoxious article, and I therefore confinedmyself, in my editorial capacity, to literary and abstractmatters; but with my college exercises it was different.Professor Larned, who was charged with the criticismof our essays and speeches, though a very quiet man, wasat heart deeply anti-slavery, and therefore it was that insundry class-room essays, as well as in speeches at thejunior exhibition and at commencement, I was able topour forth my ideas against what was stigmatized as the``sum of human villainies.''

I was not free from temptation to an opposite course.My experience at the college election had more than oncesuggested to my mind the idea that possibly I might bewrong, after all; that perhaps the voice of the people wasreally the voice of God; that if one wishes to accomplishanything he must work in harmony with the popular will;and that perhaps the best way would be to conform tothe general opinion. To do so seemed, certainly, the onlyroad to preferment of any kind. Such were thetemptations which, in those days, beset every young man whodreamed of accomplishing something in life, and theybeset me in my turn; but there came a day when I dealtwith them decisively. I had come up across New HavenGreen thinking them over, and perhaps paltering rathercontemptibly with my conscience; but arriving at the doorof North College, I stopped a moment, ran through thewhole subject in an instant, and then and there, on thestairway leading to my room, silently vowed that, comewhat might, I would never be an apologist for slaveryor for its extension, and that what little I could do againstboth should be done.

I may add that my conscience was somewhat aided bya piece of casuistry from the most brilliant scholar inthe Yale faculty of that time, Professor James Hadley.I had been brought up with a strong conviction of thenecessity of obedience to law as the first requirement inany State, and especially in a Republic; but here was thefugitive slave law. What was our duty regarding it?This question having come up in one of our division-room debates, Professor Hadley, presiding, gave a decisionto the following effect: ``On the statute books of allcountries are many laws, obsolete and obsolescent; todisobey an obsolete law is frequently a necessity and nevera crime. As to disobedience to an obsolescent law, thequestion in every man's mind must be as to the degreeof its obsolescence. Laws are made obsolescent by changeof circ*mstances, by the growth of convictions which rendertheir execution impossible, and the like. Every man,therefore, must solemnly decide for himself at whatperiod a law is virtually obsolete.''

I must confess that the doctrine seems to me nowrather dangerous, but at that time I welcomed it as a veryserviceable piece of casuistry, and felt that there wasindeed, as Mr. Seward had declared, a ``higher law'' thanthe iniquitous enactment which allowed the taking of apeaceful citizen back into slavery, without any of thesafeguards which had been developed under Anglo-Saxonliberty.

Though my political feelings throughout the senioryear grew more and more intense, there was no chancefor their expression either in competition for the ClarkeEssay Prize or for the De Forest Oration Gold Medal,the subjects of both being assigned by the faculty; andthough I afterward had the satisfaction of taking boththese, my exultation was greatly alloyed by the thoughtthat the ideas I most cherished could find little, if any,expression in them.

But on Commencement Day my chance came. Then Ichose my own theme, and on the subject of ``ModernOracles'' poured forth my views to a church full of people;many evidently disgusted, but a few as evidentlypleased. I dwelt especially upon sundry utterances ofJohn Quincy Adams, who had died not long before, andwho had been, during all his later years, a most earnestopponent of slavery, and I argued that these, with thedeclarations of other statesmen of like tendencies, were theoracles to which the nation should listen.

Curiously enough this commencement speech securedfor me the friendship of a man who was opposed to myideas, but seemed to like my presenting them then andthere—the governor of the State, Colonel ThomasSeymour. He had served with distinction in the MexicanWar, had been elected and re<e:>lected, again and again,governor of Connecticut, was devotedly pro-slavery, inthe interest, as he thought, of preserving the Union; buthe remembered my speech, and afterward, when he wasmade minister to Russia, invited me to go with him,attached me to his Legation, and became one of the dearestfriends I have ever had.

Of the diplomatic phase of my life into which heinitiated me, I shall speak in another chapter; but, asregards my political life, he influenced me decidedly, forhis conversation and the reading he suggested led me tostudy closely the writings of Jefferson. The impulsethus given my mind was not spent until the Civil War,which, betraying the ultimate results of sundry Jeffersonianideas, led me to revise my opinions somewhat andto moderate my admiration for the founder of American``Democracy,'' though I have ever since retained a stronginterest in his teaching.

But deeply as both the governor and myself felt on theslavery question, we both avoided it in our conversation.Each knew how earnestly the other felt regarding it, andeach, as if by instinct, kept clear of a discussion whichcould not change our opinions, and might wreck ourfriendship. The result was, that, so far as I remember,we never even alluded to it during the whole year we weretogether. Every other subject we discussed freely butthis we never touched. The nearest approach to adiscussion was when one day in the Legation Chancery atSt. Petersburg, Mr. Erving, also a devoted Union pro-slavery Democrat, pointing to a map of the United Stateshanging on the wall, went into a rhapsody over theextension of the power and wealth of our country. I answered,``If our country could get rid of slavery in allthat beautiful region of the South, such a riddance wouldbe cheap at the cost of fifty thousand lives and a hundredmillions of dollars.'' At this Erving burst forthinto a torrent of brotherly anger. ``There was noconceivable cause,'' he said, ``worth the sacrifice of fiftythousand lives, and the loss of a hundred millions ofdollars would mean the blotting out of the whole prosperityof the nation.'' His deep earnestness showed methe impossibility of converting a man of his opinions,and the danger of wrecking our friendship by attemptingit. Little did either of us dream that within ten yearsfrom that day slavery was to be abolished in the UnitedStates, at the sacrifice not of fifty thousand, but of nearlya million lives, and at the cost not merely of a hundredmillions, but, when all is told, of at least ten thousandmillions of dollars!

I may mention here that it was in this companionship,at St. Petersburg, that I began to learn why newspapercriticism has, in our country, so little permanent effect onthe reputation of eminent men. During four years beforecoming abroad I had read, in leading Republican journalsof New York and New Haven, denunciations of GovernorThomas Hart Seymour as an ignoramus, a pretender,a blatant demagogue, a sot and companion of sots, anassociate, and fit associate, for the most worthless of thepopulace. I had now found him a man of real convictions,thoroughly a gentleman, quiet, conscientious, kindly,studious, thoughtful, modest, abstemious, hardly evertouching a glass of wine, a man esteemed and beloved by allwho really knew him. Thus was first revealed to mewhat, in my opinion, is the worst evil in American publiclife,—that facility for unlimited slander, of which the firstresult is to degrade our public men, and the second resultis to rob the press of that confidence among thinkingpeople, and that power for good and against evil which itreally ought to exercise. Since that time I have seenmany other examples strengthening the same conviction.

Leaving St. Petersburg, I followed historical and, tosome extent, political studies at the University of Berlin,having previously given attention to them in France; andfinally, traveling in Italy, became acquainted with a manwho made a strong impression upon me. This wasMr. Robert Dale Owen, then the American minister atNaples, whose pictures of Neapolitan despotism, as itthen existed, made me even a stronger Republican than Ihad been before.

Returning to America I found myself on the eve of thenew presidential election. The Republicans had nominatedJohn C. Fr<e'>mont, of whom all I knew was gatheredfrom his books of travel. The Democrats had nominatedJames Buchanan, whom I, as an attach<e'> of the legationat St. Petersburg, had met while he was minister of theUnited States at London. He was a most kindly andimpressive old gentleman, had welcomed me cordially athis legation, and at a large dinner given by Mr. GeorgePeabody, at that time the American Amphitryon in theBritish metropolis, discussed current questions in a waythat fascinated me. Of that I may speak in another chapter;suffice it here that he was one of the most attractivemen in conversation I have ever met, and that is sayingmuch.

I took but slight part in the campaign; in fact, a naturaldiffidence kept me aloof from active politics. Havinggiven up all hope or desire for political preferment, andchosen a university career, I merely published a few newspaperand magazine articles, in the general interest of anti-slavery ideas, but made no speeches, feeling myself, in fact,unfit to make them.

But I shared more and more the feelings of those whosupported Fr<e'>mont.

Mr. Buchanan, though personal acquaintance hadtaught me to like him as a man, and the reading of hisdespatches in the archives of our legation at St. Petersburghad forced me to respect him as a statesman, representedto me the encroachments and domination of Americanslavery, while Fr<e'>mont represented resistance to suchencroachments, and the perpetuity of freedom upon theAmerican Continent.

On election day, 1856, I went to the polls at the CityHall of Syracuse to cast my first vote. There I chancedto meet an old schoolmate who had become a brilliantyoung lawyer, Victor Gardner, with whom, in the olddays, I had often discussed political questions, he beinga Democrat and I a Republican. But he had now comeupon new ground, and, wishing me to do the same, hetendered me what was known as ``The American Ticket,''bearing at its head the name of Millard Fillmore. Heclaimed that it represented resistance to the encroachmentsand dangers which he saw in the enormous foreignimmigration of the period, and above all in theincreasing despotism of the Roman Catholic hierarchycontrolling the Irish vote. Most eloquently did my oldfriend discourse on the dangers from this source. Heinsisted that Roman Catholic bishops and priests hadwrecked every country in which they had ever gainedcontrol; that they had aided in turning the mediaevalrepublics into despotisms; that they had ruined Spain andthe South American republics; that they had renderedPoland and Ireland unable to resist oppression; that theyhad hopelessly enfeebled Austria and Italy; that by St.Bartholomew massacres and clearing out of Huguenotsthey had made, first, terrorism, and, finally, despotismnecessary in France; that they had rendered every peoplethey had controlled careless of truth and inclined todespotism,—either of monarchs or ``bosses'';—that ourprisons were filled with the youth whom they had trained inreligion and morals; that they were ready to ravage theworld with fire and sword to gain the slightest point forthe Papacy; that they were the sworn foes of our public-school system, without which no such thing as republicangovernment could exist among us; that, in fact, theirbishops and priests were the enemies of everything weAmericans should hold dear, and that their church wasnot so much a religious organization as a politicalconspiracy against the best that mankind had achieved.

``Look at the Italians, Spanish, French to-day, ``hesaid. ``The Church has had them under its complete controlfifteen hundred years, and you see the result. Lookat the Irish all about us;—always screaming for liberty,yet the most abject slaves of their passions and of theirpriesthood.''

He spoke with the deepest earnestness and eveneloquence; others gathered round, and some took his tickets.I refused them, saying, ``No. The question of all questionsto me is whether slavery or freedom is to rule thisRepublic,'' and, having taken a Republican ticket, I wentup-stairs to the polls. On my arrival at the ballot-boxcame a most exasperating thing. A drunken Irish Democratstanding there challenged my vote. He had, perhaps,not been in the country six months; I had livedin that very ward since my childhood, knew and wasknown by every other person present; and such was mydisgust that it is not at all unlikely that if one ofGardner's tickets had been in my pocket, it would have goneinto the ballot-box. But persons standing by,—Democratsas well as Republicans,—having quieted this perfervidpatriot, and saved me from the ignominy of swearingin my vote, I carried out my original intention, andcast my first vote for the Republican candidate.

Certainly Providence was kind to the United Statesin that contest. For Fr<e'>mont was not elected. Lookingback over the history of the United States I see, thus far,no instant when everything we hold dear was so much inperil as on that election day.

We of the Republican party were fearfully mistaken,and among many evidences in history that there is ``aPower in the universe, not ourselves, which makes forrighteousness,'' I think that the non-election of Fr<e'>montis one of the most convincing. His election would haveprecipitated the contest brought on four years later bythe election of Lincoln. But the Northern States had in1856 no such preponderance as they had four years later.No series of events had then occurred to arouse andconsolidate anti-slavery feeling like those between 1856 and1860. Moreover, of all candidates for the Presidency everformally nominated by either of the great parties up tothat time, Fr<e'>mont was probably the most unfit. He hadgained credit for his expedition across the plains toCalifornia, and deservedly; his popular name of ``Pathfinder''might have been of some little use in a political campaign,and some romantic interest attached to him on account ofhis marriage with Jessie Benton, daughter of the burly,doughty, honest-purposed, headstrong senator from Missouri.But his earlier career, when closely examined, and,even more than that, his later career, during the CivilWar, showed doubtful fitness for any duties demandingclear purpose, consecutive thought, adhesion to a broadpolicy, wisdom in counsel, or steadiness in action. Hadhe been elected in 1856 one of two things wouldundoubtedly have followed: either the Union would havebeen permanently dissolved, or it would have beenreestablished by anchoring slavery forever in theConstitution. Never was there a greater escape.

On March 1, 1857, I visited Washington for the firsttime. It was indeed the first time I had ever troddenthe soil of a slave State, and, going through Baltimore,a sense of this gave me a feeling of horror. The wholeatmosphere of that city seemed gloomy, and the city ofWashington no better. Our little company establisheditself at the National Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue, thena famous hostelry. Henry Clay had died there not longbefore, and various eminent statesmen had made it, andwere then making it, their headquarters.

On the evening of my arrival a curious occurrenceshowed me the difference between Northern and Southerncivilization. As I sat in the reading-room, there rattledupon my ear utterances betokening a vigorous dispute inthe adjoining bar-room, and, as they were loud and long,I rose and walked toward the disputants, as men are wontto do on such occasions in the North; when, to my surpriseI found that, though the voices were growing steadilylouder, people were very generally leaving the room;presently, the reason dawned upon me: it was a case inwhich revolvers might be drawn at any moment, and thebystanders evidently thought life and limb more valuablethan any information they were likely to obtain by remaining.

On the evening of the third of March I went with thecrowd to the White House. We were marshalled throughthe halls, President Pierce standing in the small chamberadjoining the East Room to receive the guests, aroundhim being members of the Cabinet, with others distinguishedin the civil, military, and naval service, and,among them, especially prominent, Senator Douglas, thenat the height of his career. Persons in the processionwere formally presented, receiving a kindly handshake,and then allowed to pass on. My abhorrence of the Presi-dent and of Douglas was so bitter that I did a thing forwhich the only excuse was my youth:—I held my righthand by my side, walked by and refused to be presented.

Next morning I was in the crowd at the east front of theCapitol, and, at the time appointed, Mr. Buchanan cameforth and took the oath administered to him by the ChiefJustice, Roger Brooke Taney of Maryland. ThoughTaney was very decrepit and feeble, I looked at him muchas a Spanish Protestant in the sixteenth century wouldhave looked at Torquemada; for, as Chief Justice, hewas understood to be in the forefront of those who wouldfasten African slavery on the whole country; and thisview of him seemed justified when, two days after theinauguration, he gave forth the Dred Scott decision,which interpreted the Constitution in accordance withthe ultra pro-slavery theory of Calhoun.

Having taken the oath, Mr. Buchanan delivered theinaugural address, and it made a deep impression upon me.I began to suspect then, and I fully believe now, thathe was sincere, as, indeed, were most of those whommen of my way of thinking in those days attacked aspro-slavery tools and ridiculed as ``doughfaces.'' Wewho had lived remote from the scene of action, and apartfrom pressing responsibility, had not realized the dangerof civil war and disunion. Mr. Buchanan, and menlike him, in Congress, constantly associating with Southernmen, realized both these dangers. They honestly andpatriotically shrank from this horrible prospect; and so,had we realized what was to come, would most of us havedone. I did not see this then, but looking back acrossthe abyss of years I distinctly see it now. The leaderson both sides were honest and patriotic, and, as I firmlybelieve, instruments of that ``Power in the universe, notourselves, which makes for righteousness.''

There was in Mr. Buchanan's inaugural address a toneof deep earnestness. He declared that all his effortsshould be given to restore the Union, and to re<e:>stablish*t upon permanent foundations; besought his fellow-citizensthroughout the Union to second him in this effort,and promised that under no circ*mstances would he bea candidate for re<e:>lection. My anti-slavery feelingsremained as deep as ever, but, hearing this speech, therecame into my mind an inkling of the truth: ``Hinter demBerge sind auch Leute.''

During my stay in Washington I several times visitedthe Senate and the House, in the old quarters which theyshortly afterward vacated in order to enter the morecommodious rooms of the Capitol, then nearly finished.The Senate was in the room at present occupied by theSupreme Court, and from the gallery I looked downupon it with mingled feelings of awe, distrust, andaversion. There, as its president, sat Mason of Virginia,author of the fugitive slave law; there, at the desk infront of him, sat Cass of Michigan, who, for years, hadbeen especially subservient to the slave power; Douglasof Illinois, who had brought about the destruction of theMissouri Compromise; Butler of South Carolina, whor*presented in perfection the slave-owning aristocracy;Slidell and Benjamin of Louisiana, destined soon to playleading parts in the disruption of the Union.

But there were others. There was Seward, of my ownState, whom I had been brought up to revere, and whoseemed to me, in the struggle then going on, theincarnation of righteousness; there was Charles Sumner ofMassachusetts, just recovering from the murderousblows given him by Preston Brooks of South Carolina,—a martyr, as I held, to his devotion to freedom; therewas John Parker Hale of New Hampshire, who hadbeen virtually threatened with murder, as a penalty forhis opposition to slavery; and there was bluff Ben Wadeof Ohio, whose courage strengthened the whole North.

The House of Representatives interested me less. Init there sat various men now mainly passed out ofhuman memory; and, unfortunately, the hall, thoughone of the finest, architecturally, in the world, was oneof the least suited to its purpose. To hear anythingeither in the galleries or on the floor was almost animpossibility.

The Supreme Court, though sitting in a wretchedroom in the basem*nt, made a far deeper impressionupon me. The judges, seated in a row, and wearingtheir simple, silken gowns, seemed to me, in their quietdignity, what the highest court of a great republic oughtto be; though I looked at Chief Justice Taney and hispro-slavery associates much as a Hindoo regards hisdestructive gods.

The general impression made upon me at Washingtonwas discouraging. It drove out from my mind the lastlingering desire to take any part in politics. The wholelife there was repulsive to me, and when I reflected thata stay of a few years in that forlorn, decaying, reekingcity was the goal of political ambition, the whole thingseemed to me utterly worthless. The whole life therebore the impress of the slipshod habits engendered byslavery, and it seemed a civilization rotting beforeripeness. The city was certainly, at that time, the mostwretched capital in Christendom. Pennsylvania Avenuewas a sort of Slough of Despond,—with ruts and mud-holes from the unfinished Capitol, at one end, to theunfinished Treasury building, at the other, and boundedon both sides with cheap brick tenements. The extensivenew residence quarter and better hotels of thesedays had not been dreamed of. The ``National,'' wherewe were living, was esteemed the best hotel, and it wasabominable. Just before we arrived, what was knownas the ``National Hotel Disease'' had broken out in it;—by some imputed to an attempt to poison the incomingPresident, in order to bring the Vice-President into hisplace. But that was the mere wild surmise of a politicalpessimist. The fact clearly was that the wretchedsewage of Washington, in those days, which was betrayedin all parts of the hotel by every kind of noisome odor,had at last begun to do its work. Curiously enough therewas an interregnum in the reign of sickness and death,probably owing to some temporary sanitary efforts, andthat interregnum, fortunately for us, was coincident withour stay there. But the disease set in again shortlyafterward, and a college friend of mine, who arrived on theday of our departure, was detained in the hotel for manyweeks with the fever then contracted. The number ofdeaths was considerable, but, in the interest of the hotel,the matter was hushed up, as far as possible.

The following autumn I returned to New Haven as aresident graduate, and, the popular lecture system beingthen at its height, was invited to become one of thelecturers in the course of that winter. I prepared mydiscourse with great care, basing it upon studies andobservations during my recent stay in the land of theCzar, and gave it the title of ``Civilization in Russia.''

I remember feeling greatly honored by the fact thatmy predecessor in the course was Theodore Parker, andmy successor Ralph Waldo Emerson. Both talked withme much about my subject, and Parker surprised me.He was the nearest approach to omniscience I had everseen. He was able to read, not only Russian, but theOld Slavonic. He discussed the most intimate details ofthings in Russia, until, at last, I said to him, ``Mr.Parker, I would much rather sit at your feet and listento your information regarding Russia, than endeavorto give you any of my own.'' He was especiallyinterested in the ethnology of the empire, and had animmense knowledge of the different peoples inhabitingit, and of their characteristics. Finally, he asked mewhat chance I thought there was for the growth ofanything like free institutions in Russia. To this Ianswered that the best thing they had was their systemof local peasant meetings for the repartition of theirlands, and for the discussion of subjects connected withthem, and that this seemed to me something like a germof what might, in future generations, become a sort oftown-meeting system, like that of New England. Thislet me out of the discussion very satisfactorily, forParker told me that he had arrived at the sameconclusion, after talking with Count Gurowski, who was, inthose days, an especial authority.

In due time came the evening for my lecture. As itwas the first occasion since leaving college that I hadappeared on any stage, a considerable number of my oldcollege associates and friends, including Professor(afterward President) Porter, Dr. Bacon, and Mr. (afterwardBishop) Littlejohn, were there among the foremost, andafter I had finished they said some kindly things, whichencouraged me.

In this lecture I made no mention of American slavery,but into an account of the events of my stay at St.Petersburg and Moscow during the Crimean War, andof the death and funeral of the Emperor Nicholas, withthe accession and first public address of Alexander II,I sketched, in broad strokes, the effects of the serfsystem,—effects not merely upon the serfs, but upon theserf owners, and upon the whole condition of the empire.I made it black indeed, as it deserved, and thoughnot a word was said regarding things in America, everythoughtful man present must have felt that it was thestrongest indictment against our own system of slaverywhich my powers enabled me to make.

Next day came a curious episode. A classmate of mine,never distinguished for logical acuteness, came out in aleading daily paper with a violent attack upon me andmy lecture. He lamented the fact that one who, as he said,had, while in college, shown much devotion to the anti-slavery cause, had now faced about, had no longer thecourage of his opinions, and had not dared say a wordagainst slavery in the United States. The article waslaughable. It would have been easy to attack slavery andthus at once shut the minds and hearts of a large majorityof the audience. But I felt then, as I have generally feltsince, that the first and best thing to do is to SET PEOPLE ATTHINKING, and to let them discover, or think that theydiscover, the truth for themselves. I made no reply, but aneminent clergyman of New Haven took up the cudgels inmy favor, covered my opponent with ridicule, and did methe honor to declare that my lecture was one of the mosteffective anti-slavery arguments ever made in that city.With this, I retired from the field well satisfied.

The lecture was asked for in various parts of the country,was delivered at various colleges and universities, andin many cities of western New York, Michigan, and Ohio;and finally, after the emancipation of the serfs, was re-cast and republished in the ``Atlantic Monthly'' under thetitle of ``The Rise and Decline of the Serf System inRussia.''

And now occurred a great change in my career which,as I fully believed, was to cut me off from all political lifethoroughly and permanently. This was my election tothe professorship of history and English literature in theUniversity of Michigan.

CHAPTER V

THE CIVIL WAR PERIOD—1857-1864

Arriving at the University of Michigan in October,1857, I threw myself into my new work most heartily.Though I felt deeply the importance of the questionsthen before the country, it seemed to me that the onlyway in which I could contribute anything to their solutionwas in aiding to train up a new race of young men whoshould understand our own time and its problems in thelight of history.

It was not difficult to point out many things in the pastthat had an important bearing upon the present, and mymain work in this line was done in my lecture-room. Imade no attempts to proselyte any of my hearers to eitherpolitical party, my main aim being then, as it has beenthrough my life, when dealing with students and the publicat large, to set my audience or my readers at thinking,and to give them fruitful historical subjects to thinkupon. Among these subjects especially brought out indealing with the middle ages, was the origin, growth, anddecline of feudalism, and especially of the serf system,and of municipal liberties as connected with it. This, ofcourse, had a general bearing upon the important problemwe had to solve in the United States during the second halfof that century.

In my lectures on modern history, and especially on theReformation period, and the events which led to theFrench Revolution, there were various things throwinglight upon our own problems, which served my purposeof arousing thought. My audiences were large and attentive,and I have never, in the whole course of my life,enjoyed any work so much as this, which brought me intohearty and close relations with a large body of active-minded students from all parts of our country, andespecially from the Northwest. More and more I realizedthe justice of President Wayland's remark, which had soimpressed me at the Yale Alumni meeting just after myreturn from Europe: that the nation was approachinga ``switching-off place''; that whether we were to turntoward evil or good in our politics would be decided by thegreat Northwest, and that it would be well for youngAmericans to cast in their lot with that part of the country.

In the intervals of my university work many invitationscame to me from associations in various parts of Michiganand neighboring States to lecture before them, and theseI was glad to accept. Such lectures were of a much moregeneral character than those given in the university, butby them I sought to bring the people at large into trainsof thought which would fit them to grapple with the greatquestion which was rising more and more portentouslybefore us.

Having accepted, in one of my vacations, an invitationto deliver the Phi Beta Kappa Commencement Addressat Yale, I laid down as my thesis, and argued it fromhistory, that in all republics, ancient or modern, the worstfoe of freedom had been a man-owning aristocracy—anaristocracy based upon slavery. The address was circulatedin printed form, was considerably discussed, and, Itrust, helped to set some few people thinking.

For the same purpose I also threw some of my lecturesinto the form of magazine articles for the ``AtlanticMonthly,'' and especially one entitled ``The Statesmanshipof Richelieu,'' my effort in this being to show that theone great error of that greatest of all French statesmenwas in stopping short of rooting out the serf system inFrance when he had completely subjugated the serf ownersand had them at his mercy.

As the year 1860 approached, the political strugglebecame more and more bitter. President Buchanan inredeeming his promise to maintain the Union had gone tolengths which startled and disappointed many of his mostdevoted supporters. Civil war had broken out in Kansasand Nebraska, with murder and massacre: desperateattempts were made to fasten the hold of the pro-slaveryparty permanently upon the State, and as desperately werethese efforts repelled. A certain John Brown, who requitedassassination of free-state men by the assassinationof slave-state men,—a very ominous appearance,—beganto be heard of; men like Professor Silliman, who, duringmy stay at Yale had spoken at Union meetings in favor ofthe new compromise measures, even including the fugitiveslave law, now spoke publicly in favor of sending rifles tothe free-state men in Kansas; and, most striking symptomof all, Stephen A. Douglas himself, who had led theDemocratic party in breaking the Missouri Compromise, nowrecoiled from the ultra pro-slavery propaganda of PresidentBuchanan. Then, too, came a new incitement tobitterness between North and South. John Brown, theman of Scotch-Covenanter type, who had imbibed histheories of political methods from the Old-Testamentannals of Jewish dealings with the heathen, and who had inKansas solemnly slaughtered in cold blood, as a sort ofsacrifice before the Lord, sundry Missouri marauders whohad assassinated free-state men, suddenly appeared inVirginia, and there, at Harper's Ferry, with a handful offanatics subject to his powerful will, raised the standardof revolution against the slave-power. Of course he waseasily beaten down, his forces scattered, those dearest tohim shot, and he himself hanged. But he was a characterof antique mold, and this desperate effort followed by hisdeath, while it exasperated the South, stirred the North toits depths.

Like all such efforts, it was really mistaken andunfortunate. It helped to obscure Henry Clay's proposal toextinguish slavery peaceably, and made the solution of theproblem by bloodshed more and more certain. And in theexecution of John Brown was lost a man who, had helived until the Civil War, might have rendered enormousservices as a partizan leader. Of course, his action arousedmuch thought among my students, and their ideas cameout in their public discussions. It was part of my duty,once or twice a week, to preside over these discussions, andto decide between the views presented. In these decisionson the political questions now arising I became deeplyinterested, and while I was careful not to give them a partizancharacter, they were, of course, opposed to the dominanceof slavery.

In the spring of 1860, the Republican National Conventionwas held at Chicago, and one fine morning I went tothe railway station to greet the New York delegation onits way thither. Among the delegates whom I especiallyrecall were William M. Evarts, under whose Secretaryshipof State I afterward served as minister at Berlin,and my old college friend, Stewart L. Woodford, withwhom I was later in close relations during his term aslieutenant-governor of New York and minister to Spain.The candidate of these New York delegates was of courseMr. Seward, and my most devout hopes were with him,but a few days later came news that the nomination hadbeen awarded to Mr. Lincoln. Him we had come to knowand admire during his debates with Douglas while thesenatorial contest was going on in the State of Illinois;still the defeat of Mr. Seward was a great disappointment,and hardly less so in Michigan than in New York. In thepolitical campaign which followed I took no direct part,though especially aroused by the speeches of a new manwho had just appeared above the horizon,—Carl Schurz.His arguments seemed to me by far the best of that wholecampaign—the broadest, the deepest, and the most convincing.

My dear and honored father, during the months of July,August, and the first days of September, was slowly fadingaway on his death-bed. Yet he was none the less interestedin the question at issue, and every day I sat byhis bedside and read to him the literature bearing uponthe contest; but of all the speeches he best liked those ofthis new orator—he preferred them, indeed, to those of hisidol Seward.

I have related in another place how, years afterward,Bismarck asked me, in Berlin, to what Carl Schurz's greatsuccess in America was due, and my answer to this question.

Mr. Lincoln having been elected, I went on with myduties as before, but the struggle was rapidly deepening.Soon came premonitions of real conflict, and, early in thefollowing spring, civil war was upon us. My teachingwent on, as of old, but it became more direct. In orderto show what the maintenance of a republic was worth,and what patriots had been willing to do for their countryin a struggle not unlike ours, I advised my students to readMotley's ``History of the Dutch Republic,'' and I stillthink it was good advice. Other works, of a similarcharacter, showing how free peoples have conducted long anddesperate wars for the maintenance of their national existenceand of liberty, I also recommended, and with good effect.

Reverses came. During part of my vacation, in the summerof 1861, I was at Syracuse, and had, as my guest, Mr.George Sumner, younger brother of the eminent senatorfrom Massachusetts, a man who had seen much of theworld, had written magazine articles and reviews whichhad done him credit, and whose popular lectures werewidely esteemed. One Sunday afternoon in June myuncle, Mr. Hamilton White, dropped in at my house tomake a friendly call. He had just returned from Washington,where he had seen his old friend Seward, Mr. Lincoln'sSecretary of State, and felt able to give us a forecastof the future. This uncle of mine was a thoughtfulman of affairs; successful in business, excellent in judgment,not at all prone to sanguine or flighty views, and onour asking him how matters looked in Washington hesaid, ``Depend upon it, it is all right: Seward says thatthey have decided to end the trouble at once, even if it isnecessary to raise an army of fifty thousand men;—thatthey will send troops immediately to Richmond and finishthe whole thing at once, so that the country can go onquietly about its business.''

There was, of course, something reassuring in sofavorable a statement made by a sensible man fresh fromthe most accredited sources, and yet I could not resistgrave doubts. Such historical knowledge as I possessedtaught me that a struggle like that just beginning betweentwo great principles, both of which had been gatheringforce for nearly a century, and each of which had drawnto its support millions of devoted men, was not to be endedso easily; but I held my peace.

Next day I took Mr. Sumner on an excursion up thebeautiful Onondaga Valley. As we drove through thestreets of Syracuse, noticing knots of men gathered hereand there in discussion, and especially at the doors of thenews offices, we secured an afternoon newspaper and droveon, engaged in earnest conversation. It was a charmingday, and as we came to the shade of some large trees abouttwo miles from the city we rested and I took out the paper.It struck me like death. There, displayed in all its horrors,was the first account of the Battle of Bull Run,—which had been fought the previous afternoon,—exactlyat the time when my uncle was assuring us that the UnitedStates Army was to march at once to Richmond and endthe war. The catastrophe seemed fatal. The plans ofGeneral McDowell had come utterly to nought; our armyhad been scattered to the four winds; large numbers ofpersons, including sundry members of Congress who hadairily gone out with the army to ``see the fun,'' amongthem one from our own neighborhood, Mr. Alfred Ely,of Rochester, had been captured and sent to Richmond,and the rebels were said to be in full march on the NationalCapital.

Sumner was jubilant. ``This,'' he said, ``will make theAmerican people understand what they have to do; thiswill stop talk such as your uncle gave us yesterdayafternoon.'' But to me it was a fearful moment. Sumner'sremarks grated horribly upon my ears; true as his viewwas, I could not yet accept it.

And now preparations for war, and, indeed, for repellinginvasion, began in earnest. My friends all about mewere volunteering, and I also volunteered, but was rejectedwith scorn; the examining physician saying to me,``You will be a burden upon the government in the firsthospital you reach; you have not the constitution to beof use in carrying a musket; your work must be of adifferent sort.''

My work, then, through the summer was with those whosought to raise troops and to provide equipments forthem. There was great need of this, and, in my opinion,the American people have never appeared to betteradvantage than at that time, when they began to realize theirduty, and to set themselves at doing it. In every city,village, and hamlet, men and women took hold of the work,feeling that the war was their own personal business. Noother country since the world began has ever seen a morenoble outburst of patriotism or more efficient aid byindividuals to their government. The National and Stateauthorities of course did everything in their power; butmen and women did not wait for them. With the exceptionof those whose bitter partizanship led them to opposethe war in all its phases, men, women, and childrenengaged heartily and efficiently in efforts to aid the Unionin its struggle.

Various things showed the depths of this feeling. Iremember meeting one day, at that period, a man who hadrisen by hard work from simple beginnings to the headof an immense business, and had made himself a multi-millionaire. He was a hard, determined, shrewd man ofaffairs, the last man in the world to show anything likesentimentalism, and as he said something advising aninvestment in the newly created National debt, I answered,``You are not, then, one of those who believe that ournew debt will be repudiated?'' He answered: ``Repudia-tion or no repudiation, I am putting everything I can rakeand scrape together into National bonds, to help thisgovernment maintain itself; for, by G—d, if I am notto have any country, I don't want any money.'' It isto be hoped that this oath, bursting forth from a patrioticheart, was, like Uncle Toby's, blotted out by the recordingangel. I have quoted it more than once to show howthe average American—though apparently a crude materialist—is, at heart, a thorough idealist.

Returning to the University of Michigan at the closeof the vacation, I found that many of my students hadenlisted, and that many more were preparing to do so. Withsome it was hard indeed. I remember two especially, whohad for years labored and saved to raise the money whichwould enable them to take their university course; theyhad hesitated, for a time, to enlist; but very early onemorning I was called out of bed by a message from them,and, meeting them, found them ready to leave for thearmy. They could resist their patriotic convictions nolonger, and they had come to say good-bye to me. Theywent into the war; they fought bravely through the thickestof it; and though one was badly wounded, both livedto return, and are to-day honored citizens. With manyothers it was different; many, very many of them, alas,were among the ``unreturning brave!'' and loveliest andnoblest of all, my dear friend and student, Frederick Arne,of Princeton, Illinois, killed in the battle of Shiloh, at thevery beginning of the war, when all was blackness anddiscouragement. Another of my dearest students at that timewas Albert Nye. Scholarly, eloquent, noble-hearted, withevery gift to ensure success in civil life, he went forthwith the others, rose to be captain of a company, and Ithink major of a regiment. He sent me most kindly messages,and at one time a bowie-knife captured from a rebelsoldier. But, alas! he was not to return.

I may remark, in passing, that while these young menfrom the universities, and a vast host of others fromdifferent walks of life, were going forth to lay down theirlives for their country, the English press, almost withoutexception, from the ``Times'' down, was insisting that wewere fighting our battles with ``mercenaries.''

One way in which those of us who remained at theuniversity helped the good cause was in promoting themilitary drill of those who had determined to become soldiers.It was very difficult to secure the proper military instruction,but in Detroit I found a West Point graduate, engagedhim to come out a certain number of times every week todrill the students, and he cheered us much by saying thathe had never in his life seen soldiers so much in earnest,and so rapid in making themselves masters of the drilland tactics.

One of my advisers at this period, and one of thenoblest men I have ever met, was Lieutenant Kirby Smith,a graduate of West Point, and a lieutenant in the army.His father, after whom he was named, had been killed atthe Battle of Molino del Rey, in the Mexican War. Hisuncle, also known as Kirby Smith, was a general in theConfederate service. His mother, one of the dearestfriends of my family, was a woman of extraordinary abilities,and of the noblest qualities. Never have I known ayoung officer of more promise. With him I discussedfrom time to time the probabilities of the war. He wasfull of devotion, quieted my fears, and strengthenedmy hopes. He, too, fought splendidly for his country, andlike his father, laid down his life for it.

The bitterest disappointment of that period, and I regretdeeply to chronicle it, was the conduct of the governmentand ruling classes in England. In view of the fact thatpopular sentiment in Great Britain, especially as voicedin its literature, in its press, and from its pulpit, had beenagainst slavery, I had never doubted that in this struggle,so evidently between slavery and freedom, Great Britainwould be unanimously on our side. To my amazementsigns soon began to point in another direction. More andmore it became evident that British feeling was againstus. To my students, who inquired how this could possiblybe, I said, ``Wait till Lord John Russell speaks.'' LordJohn Russell spoke, and my heart sank within me. He wasthe solemnly constituted impostor whose criminal carelessnesslet out the Alabama to prey upon our commerce,and who would have let out more cruisers had not Mr.Charles Francis Adams, the American minister, broughthim to reason.

Lord John Russell was noted for his coolness, but inthis respect Mr. Adams was more than his match. Inafter years I remember a joke based upon this characteristic.During a very hot summer in Kansas, when theState was suffering with drought, some newspaper proposed,and the press very generally acquiesced in the suggestion,that Mr. Charles Francis Adams should be askedto take a tour through the State, in order, by his presence,to reduce its temperature.

When, therefore, Lord John Russell showed no signsof interfering with the sending forth of English ships,—English built, English equipped, and largely Englishmanned,—against our commerce, Mr. Adams, havingsummed up to his Lordship the conduct of the BritishGovernment in the matter, closed in his most icy way withthe words: ``My lord, I need hardly remind you that thisis war.''

The result was, that tardily,—just in time to prevent warbetween the two nations,—orders were given which preventedthe passing out of more cruisers.

Goldwin Smith, who in the days of his professorship atOxford, saw much of Lord John Russell, once told me thathis lordship always made upon him the impression of``an eminent corn-doctor.''

During the following summer, that of 1863, being muchbroken down by overwork, and threatened, as I supposed,with heart disease, which turned out to be the beginningof a troublesome dyspepsia, I was strongly recommendedby my physician to take a rapid run to Europe, and thoughvery reluctant to leave home, was at last persuaded to goto New York to take my passage. Arrived there, bad newsstill coming from the seat of war, I could not bring myselfat the steamer office to sign the necessary papers, finallyrefused, and having returned home, took part for the firsttime in a political campaign as a speaker, going throughcentral New York, and supporting the Republican candidateagainst the Democratic. The election seemed ofvast importance. The Democrats had nominated for thegovernorship, Mr. Horatio Seymour, a man of the highestpersonal character, and, so far as the usual duties ofgovernor were concerned, admirable; but he had beenbitterly opposed to the war, and it seemed sure that hiselection would encourage the South and make disunioncertain; therefore it was that I threw myself into thecampaign with all my might, speaking night and day; butalas! the election went against us.

At the close of the campaign, my dyspepsia returningwith renewed violence, I was thinking what should be done,when I happened to meet my father's old friend, Mr.Thurlow Weed, a devoted adherent of Mr. Seward throughhis whole career, and, at that moment, one of the mainsupports of the Lincoln Administration. It was upon thedeck of a North River steamer, and on my mentioning mydilemma he said: ``You can just now do more for usabroad than at home. You can work in the same line withArchbishop Hughes, Bishop McIlvaine, and myself; everythingthat can be done, in the shape of contributions tonewspapers, or speeches, even to the most restrictedaudiences abroad, will help us: the great thing is to gaintime, increase the number of those who oppose Europeanintervention in our affairs, and procure takers for ournew National bonds.''

The result was that I made a short visit to Europe,stopping first in London. Political feeling there wasbitterly against us. A handful of true men, John Bright andGoldwin Smith at the head of them, were doing heroicwork in our behalf, but the forces against them seemedoverwhelming. Drawing money one morning in one ofthe large banks of London, I happened to exhibit a fewof the new National greenback notes which had beenrecently issued by our Government. The moment the clerksaw them he called out loudly, ``Don't offer us any ofthose things; we don't take them; they will never be goodfor anything.'' I was greatly vexed, of course, but therewas no help for it. At another time I went into a famousbook-shop near the Haymarket to purchase a rare bookwhich I had long coveted. It was just after the Battle ofFredericksburg. The book-seller was chatting with acustomer, and finally, with evident satisfaction, said to him:``I see the Yankees have been beaten again.'' ``Yes,'' saidthe customer, ``and the papers say that ten thousand ofthem have been killed.'' ``Good,'' said the shop-keeper,``I wish it had been twice as many.'' Of course it wasimpossible for me to make any purchase in that place.

In order to ascertain public sentiment I visited certain``discussion forums,'' as they are called, frequented bycontributors to the press and young lawyers from theTemple and Inns of Court. In those places there was, asa rule, a debate every night, and generally, in one formor another, upon the struggle then going on in theUnited States. There was, perhaps, in all this a trifletoo much of the Three Tailors of Tooley Street; still,excellent speeches were frequently made, and there was apleasure in doing my share in getting the company on theright side. On one occasion, after one of our worstreverses during the war, an orator, with an Irish brogue,thickened by hot whisky, said, ``I hope that Republic ofblackguards is gone forever.'' But, afterward, on learningthat an American was present, apologized to me in away effusive, laudatory, and even affectionate.

But my main work was given to preparing a pamphlet,in answer to the letters from America by Dr. Russell,correspondent of the London ``Times.'' Though nominallyon our side, he clearly wrote his letters to suit the demandsof the great journal which he served, and which was mostbitterly opposed to us. Nothing could exceed its virulenceagainst everything American. Every occurrence wasplaced in the worst light possible as regarded ourinterests, and even the telegraphic despatches were manipulatedso as to do our cause all the injury possible. I thereforeprepared, with especial care, an answer to these lettersof Dr. Russell, and published it in London. Its fatewas what might have been expected. Some papers discussedit fairly, but, on the whole, it was pooh-poohed, explainedaway, and finally buried under new masses of slander.I did, indeed, find a few friends of my country inGreat Britain. In Dublin I dined with Cairnes, thepolitical economist, who had earnestly written in behalf of theUnion against the Confederates; and in London, with ProfessorCarpenter, the eminent physiologist, who, beingdevoted to anti-slavery ideas, was mildly favorable to theUnion side. But I remember him less on account of anythinghe said relating to the struggle in America, than fora statement bearing upon the legitimacy of the sovereignthen ruling in France, who was at heart one of our mostdangerous enemies. Dr. Carpenter told me that some timepreviously he had been allowed by Nassau Senior, whosepublished conversations with various men of importancethroughout Europe had attracted much attention, to lookinto some of the records which Mr. Senior had not thoughtit best to publish, and that among them he had read thefollowing:

``—— showed me to-day an autograph letter written byLouis Bonaparte, King of Holland, not far from the timeof the birth of his putative son, now Napoleon III. Onepassage read as follows: `J'ai le malheur d'avoir pourfemme une Messalene. Elle a des amants partout, etpartout elle laise des enfants.' ''

I could not but think of this a few weeks later when Isaw the emperor, who derived his title to the throne ofFrance from his nominal father, poor King Louis, butwhose personal appearance, like that of his brother, theDuc de Morny, was evidently not derived from any Bonaparte.All the J<e'>rome Napoleons I have ever seen, includingold King J<e'>rome of Westphalia, and Prince Na-poleon J<e'>rome, otherwise known as ``Plon-Plon,'' whomI saw during my student life at Paris, and the eldest sonof the latter, the present Bonaparte pretender to theNapoleonic crown of France, whom I saw during my stayas minister at St. Petersburg, very strikingly resembledthe first Napoleon, though all were of much larger size.But the Louis Napoleons, that is, the emperor and hisbrother the Duc de Morny, had no single Napoleonicpoint in their features or bearing.

I think that the most startling inspiration during mylife was one morning when, on walking through the Gardenof the Tuileries, I saw, within twenty feet of me, ata window, in the old palace, which afterward disappearedunder the Commune, the emperor and his minister offinance, Achille Fould, seated together, evidently in earnestdiscussion. There was not at that time any humanbeing whom I so hated and abhorred as Napoleon III.He had broken his oath and trodden the French republicunder his feet, he was aiding to keep down the aspirationsof Italy, and he was doing his best to bring on anintervention of Europe, in behalf of the Confederate States, todissolve our Union. He was then the arbiter of Europe.The world had not then discovered him to be what Bismarckhad already found him—``a great unrecognized incapacity,''and, as I looked up and distinctly saw him sonear me, there flashed through my mind an understandingof some of the great crimes of political history, such as Ihave never had before or since.[1]

[1] Since writing this I find in the Autobiography of W. J.Stillman that a similar feeling once beset him on seeing thisimperial malefactor,

In France there was very little to be done for our cause.The great mass of Frenchmen were either indifferent oropposed to us. The only exception of importance wasLaboulaye, professor at the Coll<e!>ge de France, and hislecture-room was a center of good influences in favor ofthe American cause; in the midst of that frivolousNapoleonic France he seemed by far ``the noblest Roman ofthem all.''

The main effort in our behalf was made by Mr. JohnBigelow, at that time consul-general, but afterward ministerof the United States,—to supply with arguments thevery small number of Frenchmen who were inclined tofavor the Union cause, and this he did thoroughly well.

Somewhat later there came a piece of good fortune.Having been sent by a physician to the baths at Homburg,I found as our consul-general, at the neighboring city ofFrankfort-on-the-Main, William Walton Murphy of Michigan,a life-long supporter of Mr. Seward, a most devotedand active American patriot;—a rough diamond; one ofthe most uncouth mortals that ever lived; but big-hearted,shrewd, a general favorite, and prized even by those whosmiled at his oddities. He had labored hard to induce theFrankfort bankers to take our government bonds, and torecommend them to their customers, and had at last beensuccessful. In order to gain and maintain this success hehad established in Frankfort a paper called ``L'Europe,''for which he wrote and urged others to write. To thisjournal I became a contributor, and among my associates Iespecially remember the Rev. Dr. John McClintock, formerlypresident of Dickinson College, and Dr. E. H.Chapin, of New York, so eminent in those days as apreacher. Under the influence of Mr. Murphy, Frankfort-on-the-Main became, and has since remained, a center ofAmerican ideas. Its leading journal was the only influentialdaily paper in Germany which stood by us duringour Spanish War.

I recall a story told me by Mr. Murphy at that period.He had taken an American lady on a business errand tothe bank of Baron Rothschild, and, after their business wasover, presented her to the great banker. It happened thatthe Confederate loan had been floated in Europe by BaronErlanger, also a Frankfort financial magnate, and by birtha Hebrew. In the conversation that ensued between thislady and Baron Rothschild, the latter said: ``Madam, mysympathies are entirely with your country; but is it notdisheartening to think that there are men in Europe whoare lending their money and trying to induce others tolend it for the strengthening of human slavery? Madam,NONE BUT A CONVERTED JEW WOULD DO THAT.''

On the Fourth of July of that summer, Consul-GeneralMurphy—always devising new means of upholding theflag of his country—summoned Americans from everypart of Europe to celebrate the anniversary of ourNational Independence at Heidelberg, and at the dinner givenat the Hotel Schreider seventy-four guests assembled,including two or three professors from the university, asagainst six guests from the Confederate States, who hadheld a celebration in the morning at the castle. Mr. Murphypresided and made a speech which warmed the heartsof us all. It was a thorough-going, old-fashioned, WesternFourth of July oration. I had jeered at Fourth of Julyorations all my life, but there was something in this onewhich showed me that these discourses, so often ridiculed,are not without their uses. Certain it is that as the consul-general repeated the phrases which had more than oncerung through the Western clearings, in honor of thedefenders of our country, the divine inspiration of theConstitution, our invincibility in war and our superiority inpeace, all of us were encouraged and cheered most lustily.Pleasing was it to note various British tourists standingat the windows listening to the scream of the Americaneagle and evidently wondering what it all meant.

Others of us spoke, and especially Dr. McClintock, oneof the foremost thinkers, scholars, and patriots that theMethodist Episcopal church has ever produced. Hisspeech was in a very serious vein, and well it might be. Inthe course of it he said: ``According to the last accountsGeneral Lee and his forces are near the town where I live,and are marching directly toward it. It is absolutely certainthat, if they reach it, they will burn my house and allthat it contains, but I have no fear; I believe that the Almightyis with us in this struggle, and though we may suffermuch before its close, the Union is to endure and slaveryis to go down before the forces of freedom.'' Thesewords, coming from the heart of a strong man, made adeep impression upon us all.

About two weeks later I left Frankfort for America,and at my parting from Consul-General Murphy at thehotel, he said: ``Let me go in the carriage with you; thisis steamer-day and we shall probably meet the vice-consulcoming with the American mail.'' He got in, and wedrove along the Zeil together. It was at the busiest timeof the day, and we had just arrived at the point in thatmain street of Frankfort where business was most active,when the vice-consul met us and handed Mr. Murphy anewspaper. The latter tore it open, read a few lines,and then instantly jumped out into the middle of the street,waved his hat and began to shout. The public in generalevidently thought him mad; a crowd assembled; but assoon as he could get his breath he pointed out the headlinesof the newspaper. They indicated the victories of Gettysburgand Vicksburg, and the ending of the war. It was,indeed, a great moment for us all.

Arriving in America, I found that some friends hadrepublished from the English edition my letter to Dr.Russell, that it had been widely circulated, and that, at anyrate, it had done some good at home.

Shortly afterward, being on a visit to my old friend,James T. Fields of Boston, I received a telegram fromSyracuse as follows: ``You are nominated to the Statesenate: come home and see who your friends are.'' Ihave received, in the course of my life, many astonishingmessages, but this was the most unexpected of all. I hadnot merely not been a candidate for any such nomination,but had forgotten that any nomination was to be made; Ihad paid no attention to the matter whatever; all mythoughts had been given to other subjects; but on returningto Syracuse I found that a bitter contest having arisenbetween two of the regular candidates, each representing afaction, the delegates had suddenly turned away from bothand nominated me. My election followed and so beganthe most active phase of my political life.

CHAPTER VI

SENATORSHIP AT ALBANY—1864-1865

On the evening of New Year's Day, 1864, I arrived inAlbany to begin my duties in the State Senate, andcertainly, from a practical point of view, no member of thelegislature was more poorly equipped. I had, indeed,received a university education, such as it was, in thosedays, at home and abroad, and had perhaps read more thanmost college-bred men of my age, but all my education,study, and reading were remote from the duties now assignedme. To history, literature, and theoretical politics,I had given considerable attention, but as regarded theactual necessities of the State of New York, the relationsof the legislature to the boards of supervisors ofcounties, to the municipal councils of cities, to the boardsof education, charity, and the like, indeed, to the wholesystem throughout the Commonwealth, and to themodes of conducting public and private business, myignorance was deplorable. Many a time have I envied someplain farmer his term in a board of supervisors, or somecountry schoolmaster his relations to a board of education,or some alderman his experience in a common council, orsome pettifogger his acquaintance with justices' courts.My knowledge of law and the making of law was wretchedlydeficient, and my ignorance of the practical administrationof law was disgraceful. I had hardly ever beeninside a court-house, and my main experience of legalprocedure was when one day I happened to step into courtat Syracuse, and some old friends of mine thought it agood joke to put a university professor as a talesman upona jury in a horse case. Although pressed with businessI did not flinch, but accepted the position, discharged itsduties, and learned more of legal procedure and of humannature in six hours than I had ever before learned in sixmonths. Ever afterward I advised my students to getthemselves drawn upon a petit jury. I had read someBlackstone and some Kent and had heard a few lawlectures, but my knowledge was purely theoretical:in constitutional law it was derived from readingscattered essays in the ``Federalist,'' with extracts hereand there from Story. Of the State charitable andpenal institutions I knew nothing. Regarding collegesI was fairly well informed, but as to the practicalworking of our system of public instruction I hadonly the knowledge gained while a scholar in a publicschool.

There was also another disadvantage. I knew nothingof the public men of the State. Having lived outside ofthe Commonwealth, first, as a student at Yale, then duringnearly three years abroad, and then nearly six years as aprofessor in another State, I knew only one of mycolleagues, and of him I had only the knowledge that camefrom an introduction and five minutes' conversation tenyears before. It was no better as regarded my acquaintancewith the State officers; so far as I now remember, Ihad never seen one of them, except at a distance,—thegovernor, Mr. Horatio Seymour.

On the evening after our arrival the Republicanmajority of the Senate met in caucus, partly to becomeacquainted, partly to discuss appointments to committees,and partly to decide on a policy regarding State aid tothe prosecution of the war for the Union. I found myselfthe youngest member of this body, and, indeed, ofthe entire Senate, but soon made the acquaintance of mycolleagues and gained some friendships which have beenamong the best things life has brought me.

Foremost in the State Senate, at that period, wasCharles James Folger, its president. He had served inthe Senate several years, had been a county judge, andwas destined to become assistant treasurer of the UnitedStates at New York, chief justice of the highest Statecourt, and finally, to die as Secretary of the Treasury ofthe United States, after the most crushing defeat whichany candidate for the governorship of New York had everknown. He was an excellent lawyer, an impressivespeaker, earnestly devoted to the proper discharge of hisduties, and of extraordinarily fine personal appearance.His watch upon legislation sometimes amused me, but alwayswon my respect. Whenever a bill was read a thirdtime he watched it as a cat watches a mouse. His hatred ofdoubtful or bad phraseology was a passion. He wasgreatly beloved and admired, yet, with all his fine andattractive qualities, modest and even diffident to a fault.

Another man whom I then saw for the first timeinterested me much as soon as his name was called, and hewould have interested me far more had I known howclosely my after life was to be linked with his. He wasthen about sixty years of age, tall, spare, and austere,with a kindly eye, saying little, and that little dryly. Hedid not appear unamiable, but there seemed in him a sortof aloofness: this was Ezra Cornell.

Still another senator was George H. Andrews, fromthe Otsego district, the old Palatine country. He hadbeen editor of one of the leading papers in New York,and had been ranked among the foremost men in hisprofession, but he had retired into the country to lead thelife of a farmer. He was a man to be respected and evenbeloved. His work for the public was exceedingly valuable,and his speeches of a high order. Judge Folger,as chairman of the judiciary committee, was most usefulto the State at large in protecting it from evil legislation.Senator Andrews was not less valuable to the cities, andabove all to the city of New York, for his intelligentprotection of every good measure, and his unflinchingopposition to every one of the many doubtful projectsconstantly brought in by schemers and dreamers.

Still another senator was James M. Cook of Saratoga.He had been comptroller of the State and, at varioustimes, a member of the legislature. He was the faithful``watch-dog of the treasury,''—bitter against everyscheme for taking public money for any unworthy purpose,and, indeed, against any scheme whatever whichcould not assign for its existence a reason, clear, cogent,and honest.

Still another member, greatly respected, was JudgeBailey of Oneida County. His experience upon the benchmade him especially valuable upon the judiciary andother committees.

Yet another man of mark in the body was one of theyounger men, George G. Munger of Rochester. He hadpreceded me by a few years at Yale, had won respectas a county judge, and had a certain lucid way ofpresenting public matters which made him a valuable publicservant.

Another senator of great value was Henry R. Low.He, too, had been a county judge and brought not onlylegal but financial knowledge to the aid of his colleagues.He was what Thomas Carlyle called a ``swallower offormulas.'' That a thing was old and revered matteredlittle with him: his question was what is the best thingNOW.

From the city of New York came but one Republican,William Laimbeer, a man of high character and largebusiness experience; impulsive, but always for rightagainst wrong; kindly in his nature, but most bitteragainst Tammany and all its works.

From Essex County came Senator Palmer Havens, alsoof middle age, of large practical experience, with a clear,clean style of thinking and speaking, anxious to make agood record by serving well, and such a record he certainly made.

And, finally, among the Republican members of thatsession I may name the senator from Oswego, Mr. CheneyAmes. Perhaps no one in the body had so large a prac-tical knowledge of the commercial interests of the State,and especially of the traffic upon its lakes and inlandwaterways; on all questions relating to these his advicewas of the greatest value; he was in every respect agood public servant.

On the Democratic side the foremost man by far wasHenry C. Murphy of Brooklyn, evidently of Irish ancestry,though his immediate forefathers had been long inthe United States. He was a graduate of Columbia College,devoted to history and literature, had produced sundryinteresting books on the early annals of the State,had served with distinction in the diplomatic service asminister to The Hague, was eminent as a lawyer, andhad already considerable legislative experience.

From New York City came a long series of Democraticmembers, of whom the foremost was Thomas C. Fields.He had considerable experience as a lawyer in the citycourts, had served in the lower house of the legislature,and was preternaturally acute in detecting the interestsof Tammany which he served. He was a man of muchhumor, with occasional flashes of wit, his own worstenemy, evidently, and his career was fitly ended whenupon the fall of Tweed he left his country for his country'sgood and died in exile.

There were others on both sides whom I could mentionas good men and true, but those I have named took aleading part as heads of committees and in carrying onpublic business.

The lieutenant-governor of the State who presided overthe Senate was Mr. Floyd-Jones, a devoted Democrat ofthe old school who exemplified its best qualities; agentleman, honest, courteous, not intruding his own views,ready always to give the fullest weight to those of otherswithout regard to party.

Among the men who, from their constant attendance,might almost be considered as officers of the Senate weresundry representatives of leading newspapers. Severalof them were men of marked ability, and well knownthroughout the State, but they have long since beenforgotten with one exception: this was a quiet reporter whosat just in front of the clerk's chair, day after day, weekafter week, throughout the entire session; a man of veryfew words, and with whom I had but the smallestacquaintance. Greatly surprised was I in after years whenhe rose to be editor of the leading Democratic organin the State, and finally, under President Cleveland, avaluable Secretary of the Treasury of the United States:Daniel Manning.

In the distribution of committees there fell to me thechairmanship of the committee on education, or, as itwas then called, the committee on literature. I was alsomade a member of the committee on cities and villages,afterward known as the committee on municipal affairs,and of the committee on the library. For the first ofthese positions I was somewhat fitted by my knowledgeof the colleges and universities of the State, but in otherrespects was poorly fitted. For the second of thesepositions, that of the committee on cities and villages, I amfree to confess that no one could be more wretchedlyequipped; for the third, the committee on the library, myqualifications were those of a man who loved both to collectbooks and to read them.

But from the beginning I labored hard to fit myself,even at that late hour, for the duties pressing upon me,and gradually my practical knowledge was increased.Still there were sad gaps in it, and more than once I satin the committee-room, looking exceedingly wise, nodoubt, but with an entirely inadequate appreciation ofthe argument made before me.

During this first session my maiden speech was uponthe governor's message, and I did my best to show whatI thought His Excellency's shortcomings. Governor Seymourwas a patriotic man, after his fashion, but the oneagency which he regarded as divinely inspired was theDemocratic party; his hatred of the Lincoln Administrationwas evidently deep, and it was also clear that hedid not believe that the war for the Union could be broughtto a successful termination.

With others I did my best against him; but whilecondemning his political course as severely as was possibleto me, I never attacked his personal character or hismotives. The consequence was that, while politically wewere enemies, personally a sort of friendship remained,and I recall few things with more pleasure than myjourneyings from Albany up the Mohawk Valley, sitting athis side, he giving accounts to me of the regions throughwhich we passed, and the history connected with them,regarding which he was wonderfully well informed. Ifhe hated New England as the breeding bed of radicalism,he loved New York passionately.

The first important duty imposed upon me as chairmanof the committee on education was when there cameup a bill for disposing of the proceeds of public landsappropriated by the government of the United Statesto institutions for scientific and technical education, underwhat was then known as the Morrill Act of 1862. Ofthese lands the share which had come to New York wasclose upon a million acres—a fair-sized Europeanprincipality. Here, owing to circ*mstances which I shalldetail in another chapter, I found myself in a contest withMr. Cornell. I favored holding the fund together, lettingit remain with the so-called ``People's College,'' towhich it had been already voted, and insisted that thematter was one to be referred to the committee on education.Mr. Cornell, on the other hand, favored the divisionof the fund, and proposed a bill giving one half ofit to the ``State Agricultural College'' recentlyestablished at Ovid on Seneca Lake. The end was that thematter was referred to a joint committee composed ofthe committees on literature and agriculture, that is, toMr. Cornell's committee and my own, and as a result nomeeting to consider the bill was held during that session.

Gradually I accumulated a reasonable knowledge ofthe educational interests intrusted to us, but ere longthere came in from the superintendent of publicinstruction; Mr. Victor Rice, a plan for codifying theeducational laws of the State. This necessitated a world oflabor on my part. Section by section, paragraph byparagraph, phrase by phrase, I had to go through it, andnight after night was devoted to studying every partof it in the light of previous legislation, the laws of otherStates, and such information as could be obtained fromgeneral sources. At last, after much alteration and revision,I brought forward the bill, secured its passage,and I may say that it was not without a useful influenceupon the great educational interests of the State.

I now brought forward another educational bill. Variouspersons interested in the subject appeared urgingthe creation of additional State normal schools, in orderto strengthen and properly develop the whole Stateschool system. At that time there was but one; that one atAlbany; and thus our great Commonwealth was in thisrespect far behind many of her sister States. The wholesystem was evidently suffering from the want of teachersthoroughly and practically equipped. Out of the multitudeof projects presented, I combined what I thoughtthe best parts of three or four in a single bill, andalthough at first there were loud exclamations against solavish a use of public money, I induced the committeeto report my bill, argued it in the Senate, overcame muchopposition, and thus finally secured a law establishingfour State normal schools.

Still another duty imposed upon me necessitated muchwork for which almost any other man in the Senate wouldhave been better equipped by experience and knowledgeof State affairs. The condition of things in the city ofNew York had become unbearable; the sway of TammanyHall had gradually brought out elements of oppositionsuch as before that time had not existed. Tweedwas already making himself felt, though he had not yetassumed the complete control which he exercised afterward.The city system was bad throughout; but at thevery center of evil stood what was dignified by the nameof the ``Health Department.'' At the head of this was acertain Boole, who, having gained the title of ``cityinspector,'' had the virtual appointment of a whole armyof so-called ``health inspectors,'' ``health officers,'' andthe like, charged with the duty of protecting the publicfrom the inroads of disease; and never was there agreater outrage against a city than the existence of thisbody of men, absolutely unfit both as regarded characterand education for the duties they pretended to discharge.

Against this state of things there had been developeda ``citizens' committee,'' representing the better elementsof both parties,—its main representatives being JudgeWhiting and Mr. Dorman B. Eaton,—and the evidencethese gentlemen exhibited before the committee on municipalaffairs, at Albany, as to the wretched condition ofthe city health boards was damning. Whole districts inthe most crowded wards were in the worst possible sanitarycondition. There was probably at that time nothingto approach it in any city in Christendom save, possibly,Naples. Great blocks of tenement houses were owned bymen who kept low drinking bars in them, each of whom,having secured from Boole the position of ``healthofficer,'' steadily resisted all sanitary improvement oreven inspection. Many of these tenement houses wereknown as ``fever nests''; through many of them small-pox frequently raged, and from them it was constantlycommunicated to other parts of the city.

Therefore it was that one morning Mr. Laimbeer, theonly Republican member from the city, rose, made animpassioned speech on this condition of things, moved acommittee to examine and report, and named as its membersJudge Munger, myself, and the Democratic senatorfrom the Buffalo district, Mr. Humphrey.

As a result, a considerable part of my second winteras senator was devoted to the work of this special committeein the city of New York. We held a sort of court,had with us the sergeant-at-arms, were empowered to sendfor persons and papers, summoned large numbers ofwitnesses, and brought to view a state of things even worsethan anything any of us had suspected.

Against the citizens' committee, headed by Judge Whitingand Mr. Eaton, Boole, aided by a most successfulTammany lawyer of the old sort, John Graham, foughtwith desperation. In order to disarm his assailants asfar as possible, he brought before the committee a numberof his ``health officers'' and ``sanitary inspectors,''whom he evidently thought best qualified to pass muster;but as one after another was examined and cross-examined,neither the cunning of Boole nor the skill of Mr.Graham could prevent the revelation of their utter unfitness.In the testimony of one of them the whole monstrousabsurdity culminated. Judge Whiting examininghim before the commission with reference to a case ofsmall-pox which had occurred within his district, and towhich, as health officer it was his duty to give attention,and asking him if he remembered the case, witness answeredthat he did. The following dialogue then ensued:

Q. Did you visit this sick person?

A. No, sir.

Q. Why did you not?

A. For the same reason that you would not.

Q. What was that reason?

A. I did n't want to catch the disease myself.

Q. Did the family have any sort of medical aid?

A. Yes.

Q. From whom did they have it?

A. From themselves; they was ``highjinnicks'' (hygienics).

Q. What do you mean by ``highjinnicks''?

A. I mean persons who doctor themselves.

After other answers of a similar sort the witnessdeparted; but for some days afterward Judge Whitingedified the court, in his examination of Boole's healthofficers and inspectors, by finally asking each one whetherhe had any ``highjinnicks'' in his health district. Someanswered that they had them somewhat; some thoughtthat they had them ``pretty bad,'' others thought thatthere was ``not much of it,'' others claimed that theywere ``quite serious''; and, finally, in the examination ofa certain health officer who was very anxious to show thathe had done his best, there occurred the following dialoguewhich brought down the house:

Q. (By Judge Whiting.) Mr. Health Officer, have youhad any ``highjinnicks'' in your district?

A. Yes, sir.

Q. Much?

A. Yes, sir, quite a good deal.

Q. Have you done anything in regard to them?

A. Yes, sir; I have done all that I could.

Q. Witness, now, on your oath, do you know what theword ``highjinnicks'' means?

A. Yes, sir.

Q. What does it mean?

A. It means the bad smells that arise from standingwater.

At this the court was dissolved in laughter, but Mr.Graham made the best that he could of it by the followingquestions and answers:

Q. Witness, have you ever learned Greek?

A. No, sir.

Q. Can you speak Greek?

A. No, sir.

Q. Do you understand Greek?

A. No, sir.

``Then you may stand down.''

The examination was long and complicated, so thatwith various departments to be examined there was notime to make a report before the close of the session, andthe whole matter had to go over until the newly electedsenate came into office the following year.

Shortly after the legislature had adjourned I visitedthe city of New York, and on arriving took up the eveningpaper which, more than any other, has always been supposed torepresent the best sentiment of the city;—the``New York Evening Post.'' The first article on which myeye fell was entitled ``The New York Senate Trifling,''and the article went on to say that the Senate of theState had wasted its time, had practically done nothingfor the city, had neglected its interests, had paid noattention to its demands, and the like. That struck meas ungrateful, for during the whole session we hadworked early and late on questions relating to the city,had thwarted scores of evil schemes, and in some cases,I fear, had sacrificed the interests of the State at largeto those of the city. Thus there dawned on me a knowledgeof the reward which faithful legislators are likelyto obtain.

Another of these city questions also showed the sortof work to be done in this thankless protection of themetropolis. During one of the sessions there hadappeared in the lobby an excellent man, Dr. Levi SillimanIves, formerly Protestant Episcopal Bishop of NorthCarolina, who, having been converted to Roman Catholicism,had become a layman and head of a protectoryfor Catholic children. With him came a number ofothers of his way of thinking, and a most determinedeffort was made to pass a bill sanctioning a gift of onehalf of the great property known as Ward's Island,adjacent to the city of New York, to this Roman Catholicinstitution.

I had strong sympathy with the men who carried onthe protectory, and was quite willing to go as far aspossible in aiding them, but was opposed to voting sucha vast landed property belonging to the city into thehands of any church, and I fought the bill at all stages.In committee of the whole, and at first reading, priestlyinfluence led a majority to vote for it, but at last, despiteall the efforts of Tammany Hall, it was defeated.

It was during this first period of my service that thelast and most earnest effort of the State was made forthe war. Various circ*mstances had caused discourage-ment. It had become difficult to raise troops, yet it wasmost important to avoid a draft. In the city of NewYork, at the prospect of an enforced levy of troops,there had been serious uprisings which were onlysuppressed after a considerable loss of life. It wasnecessary to make one supreme effort, and the Republicanmembers of the legislature decided to raise a loan ofseveral millions for bounties to those who shouldvolunteer. This decision was not arrived at without muchopposition, and, strange to say, its most serious opponentwas Horace Greeley, who came to Albany in thehope of defeating it. Invaluable as his services had beenduring the struggle which preceded the war, it must beconfessed, even by his most devoted friends, that duringthe war he was not unfrequently a stumbling block. Hiscry ``on to Richmond'' during the first part of thestruggle, his fearful alarm when, like the heroes in the``Biglow Papers,'' he really discovered ``why baggonets ispeaked,'' his terror as the conflict deepened, his proposalsfor special peace negotiations later—all these thingswere among the serious obstacles which President Lincolnhad to encounter; and now, fearing burdens which,in his opinion, could not and would not be borne by theState, and conjuring up specters of trouble, he came toAlbany and earnestly advised members of the legislatureagainst the passage of the bounty bill. Fortunately,common sense triumphed, and the bill was passed.

Opposition came also from another and far differentsource. There was then in the State Senate a Democratof the oldest and strongest type; a man who believedmost devoutly in Jefferson and Jackson, and abhorredabove all things, abolitionists and protectionists,—Dr.Allaben of Schoharie. A more thoroughly honest mannever lived; he was steadily on the side of good legislation;but in the midst of the discussion regarding thisgreat loan for bounties he arose and began a speechwhich, as he spoke but rarely, received general attention.He was deeply in earnest. He said (in substance), ``Ishall vote for this loan; for of various fearful evils itseems the least. But I wish, here and now, and with thedeepest sorrow, to record a prediction: I ask you to noteit and to remember it, for it will be fulfilled, and speedily.This State debt which you are now incurring will neverbe paid. It cannot be paid. More than that, none of thevast debts incurred for military purposes, whether bythe Nation or by the States, will be paid; the people willsurely repudiate them. Nor is this all. Not one dollarof all the treasury notes issued by the United States willever be redeemed. Your paper currency has alreadydepreciated much and will depreciate more and more; allbonds and notes, State and National, issued to continuethis fratricidal war will be whirled into the commonvortex of repudiation. I say this with the deepest pain, forI love my country, but I cannot be blind to the teachingsof history.'' He then went on to cite the depreciationof our revolutionary currency, and, at great lengthpictured the repudiation of the assignats during the FrenchRevolution. He had evidently read Alison and Thierscarefully, and he spoke like an inspired prophet.

As Senator Allaben thus spoke, Senator Fields of NewYork quietly left his seat and came to me. He was amost devoted servant of Tammany, but was what wasknown in those days as a War Democrat. His nativepugnacity caused him to feel that the struggle must befought out, whereas Democrats of a more philosophicsort, like Allaben, known in those days as ``Copperheads,''sought peace at any price. Therefore it was that,while Senator Allaben was pouring out with the deepestearnestness these prophecies of repudiation, Mr. Fieldscame round to my desk and said to me: ``You have beena professor of history; you are supposed to know somethingabout the French Revolution; if your knowledgeis good for anything, why in h—l don't you use it now?''

This exhortation was hardly necessary, and at the closeof Senator Allaben's remarks I arose and presentedanother view of the case. It happened by a curious coin-cidence that, having made a few years before a very carefulstudy of the issues of paper money during the FrenchRevolution, I had a portion of my very large collectionof assignats, mandats, and other revolutionary currencyin Albany, having brought it there in order to showit to one or two of my friends who had expressed aninterest in the subject.

Holding this illustrative material in reserve I showedthe whole amount of our American paper currency incirculation to be about eight hundred million dollars, ofwhich only about one half was of the sort to which thesenator referred. I then pointed to the fact that, althoughthe purchasing power of the French franc at the time ofthe Revolution was fully equal to the purchasing powerof the American dollar of our own time, the Frenchrevolutionary government issued, in a few months, forty-five thousand millions of francs in paper money, and hadtwenty-five thousand millions of it in circulation at thetime when the great depression referred to by Dr. Allabenhad taken place.

I also pointed out the fact that our American notes werenow so thoroughly well engraved that counterfeiting wasvirtually impossible, so that one of the leading Europeangovernments had its notes engraved in New York, on thisaccount, whereas, the French assignats could be easilycounterfeited, and, as a matter of fact, were counterfeitedin vast numbers, the British government pouring theminto France through the agency of the French royalists,especially in Brittany, almost by shiploads, and to suchpurpose, that the French government officials themselveswere at last unable to discriminate between the genuinemoney and the counterfeit. I also pointed out theconnection of our national banking system with our issuesof bonds and paper, one of the happiest and most statesmanlikesystems ever devised, whereas, in France therewas practically no redemption for the notes, save as theycould be used for purchasing from the government thedoubtful titles to the confiscated houses and lands of theclergy and aristocracy.

The speech of Senator Allaben had exercised a realeffect, but these simple statements, which I supported byevidence, and especially by exhibiting specimens of theassignats bearing numbers showing that the issues hadrisen into the thousands of millions, and in a style ofengraving most easily counterfeited, sufficed to convince theSenate that no such inference as was drawn by the senatorwas warranted by the historical facts in the case.

A vote was taken, the bill was passed, the troops werefinally raised, and the debt was extinguished not manyyears afterward.

It is a pleasure for me to remember that at the closeof my remarks, which I took pains to make entirelycourteous to Dr. Allaben, he came to me, and stronglyopposed as we were in politics, he grasped me by the handmost heartily, expressed his amazement at seeing theseassignats, mandats, and other forms of French revolutionaryissues, of which he had never before seen one,and thanked me for refuting his arguments. It is one ofthe very few cases I have ever known, in which a speechconverted an opponent.

Perhaps a word more upon this subject may not bewithout interest. My attention had been drawn to theissues of paper money during the French Revolution, bymy studies of that period for my lectures on modernhistory at the University of Michigan, about five yearsbefore. In taking up this special subject I had supposedthat a few days would be sufficient for all the studyneeded; but I became more and more interested in it,obtained a large mass of documents from France, and thenand afterward accumulated by far the largest collection ofFrench paper money, of all the different issues, sorts,and amounts, as well as of collateral newspaper reportsand financial documents, ever brought into our country.The study of the subject for my class, which I had hopedto confine to a few days, thus came to absorb my leisurefor months, and I remember that, at last, when I hadgiven my lecture on the subject to my class at the university,a feeling of deep regret, almost of remorse, cameover me, as I thought how much valuable time I had givento a subject that, after all, had no bearing on any presentproblem, which would certainly be forgotten by themajority of my hearers, and probably by myself.

These studies were made mainly in 1859. Then thelectures were laid aside, and though, from time to time,when visiting France, I kept on collecting illustrativematerials, no further use was made of them until this debateduring the session of the State Senate of 1864.

Out of this offhand speech upon the assignats grew apaper which, some time afterward, I presented inWashington before a number of members of the Senate andHouse, at the request of General Garfield, who was thena representative, and of his colleague, Mr. Chittenden ofBrooklyn. In my audience were some of the foremostmen of both houses, and among them such as SenatorsBayard, Stevenson, Morrill, Conkling, Edmunds, Gibson,and others. This speech, which was the result ofmy earlier studies, improved by material acquired later,and most carefully restudied and verified, I repeatedbefore a large meeting of the Union League Club at NewYork, Senator Hamilton Fish presiding. The paper thuscontinued to grow and, having been published in NewYork by Messrs. Appleton, a cheap edition of it wascirculated some years afterward, largely under the auspicesof General Garfield, to act as an antidote to the ``GreenbackCraze'' then raging through Ohio and the WesternStates.

Finally, having been again restudied, in the light of myever-increasing material, it was again reprinted andcirculated as a campaign document during the struggleagainst Mr. Bryan and the devotees of the silver standardin the campaign of 1896, copies of it being spreadvery widely, especially through the West, and placed,above all, in nearly every public library, university,college, and normal school in the Union.

I allude to this as showing to any young student whomay happen to read these recollections, the value of a carefulstudy of any really worthy subject, even though, atfirst sight, it may seem to have little relation to presentaffairs.

In the spring of 1864, at the close of my first year inthe State Senate, came the national convention at Baltimorefor the nomination of President and Vice-President,and to that convention I went as a substitute delegate.Although I have attended several similar assemblages since,no other has ever seemed to me so interesting. It met inan old theater, on one of the noisiest corners in the city,and, as it was June, and the weather already very warm,it was necessary, in order to have as much air as possible,to remove curtains and scenery from the stage and throwthe back of the theater open to the street. The resultwas, indeed, a circulation of air, but, with this, a noisefrom without which confused everything within.

In selecting a president for the convention a newdeparture was made, for the man chosen was a clergyman;one of the most eminent divines in the Union,—the Rev.Dr. Robert Breckinridge of Kentucky, who, on thereligious side, had been distinguished as moderator of thePresbyterian General Assembly, and on the political sidewas revered for the reason that while very nearly all hisfamily, and especially his sons and nephews, includingthe recent Vice-President, had plunged into the Confederateservice, he still remained a staunch and sturdy adherentof the Union and took his stand with the Republicanparty. He was a grand old man, but hardly suitedto the presidency of a political assemblage.

The proceedings were opened with a prayer by adelegate, who had been a colonel in the Union army, and wasnow a Methodist clergyman. The heads of all werebowed, and the clergyman-soldier began with the words ofthe Lord's Prayer; but when he had recited about one halfof it he seemed to think that he could better it, and hetherefore substituted for the latter half a petition whichbegan with these words: ``Grant, O Lord, that the tickethere to be nominated may command a majority of thesuffrages of the American people.'' To those accustomedto the more usual ways of conducting service this wassomething of a shock; still there was this to be said infavor of the reverend colonel's amendment,—he had faithto ask for what he wanted.

This opening prayer being ended, there came a displayof parliamentary tactics by leaders from all parts of theUnion: one after another rose in this or that part of thegreat assemblage to move this or that resolution, and theconfusion which soon prevailed was fearful, the noise ofthe street being steadily mingled with the tumult of thehouse. But good Dr. Breckinridge did his best, andin each case put the motion he had happened to hear.Thereupon each little group, supposing that the resolutionwhich had been carried was the one it had happenedto hear, moved additional resolutions based upon it.These various resolutions were amended in all sorts ofways, in all parts of the house, the good doctor puttingthe resolutions and amendments which happened to reachhis ear, and declaring them ``carried'' or ``lost,'' as thecase might be. Thereupon ensued additional resolutionsand amendments based upon those which their moverssupposed to have been passed, with the result that, inabout twenty minutes no one in the convention, and leastof all its president, knew what we had done or what weought to do. Each part of the house firmly believed thatthe resolutions which it had heard were those which hadbeen carried, and the clash and confusion between them allseemed hopeless.

Various eminent parliamentarians from different partsof the Union arose to extricate the convention from thiswelter, but generally, when they resumed their seats, leftthe matter more muddled than when they arose.

A very near approach to success was made by my dearfriend George William Curtis of New York, who, inadmirable temper, and clear voice, unraveled the tangle,as he understood it, and seemed just about to start theconvention fairly on its way, when some marplot aroseto suggest that some minor point in Mr. Curtis's expositionwas not correct, thus calling out a tumult of conflictingstatements, the result of which was yet greaterconfusion, so that we seemed fated to adjourn pell-mellinto the street and be summoned a second time intothe hall, in order to begin the whole proceedings overagain.

But just at this moment arose Henry J. Raymond, editorof the ``New York Times.'' His parliamentary traininghad been derived not only from his service as lieutenant-governor of the State, but from attendance on along series of conventions, State and National. He hadwaited for his opportunity, and when there came a lullof despair, he arose and, in a clear, strong, pleasant voice,made an alleged explanation of the situation. As a pieceof parliamentary tactics, it was masterly though fromanother point of view it was comical. The fact was thathe developed a series of motions and amendments:—awhole line of proceedings,—mainly out of his own interiorconsciousness. He began somewhat on this wise: ``Mr.President: The eminent senator from Vermont moveda resolution to such an effect; this was amended as follows,by my distinguished friend from Ohio, and waspassed as amended. Thereupon the distinguished senatorfrom Iowa arose and made the following motion, which,with an amendment from the learned gentleman fromMassachusetts, was passed; thereupon a resolution wasmoved by the honorable gentleman from Pennsylvania,which was declared by the chair to be carried; and now,sir, I submit the following motion,'' and he immediatelyfollowed these words by moving a procedure to businessand the appointment of committees. Sundry marplots,such as afflict all public bodies did, indeed, start to theirfeet, but a universal cry of ``question'' drowned all theirefforts, and Mr. Raymond's motion was carried, to allappearance unanimously.

Never was anything of the kind more effectual.Though most, if not all, the proceedings thus stated byMr. Raymond were fictions of his own imagination,they served the purpose; his own resolution started thewhole machinery and set the convention prosperously onits way.

The general opinion of the delegates clearly favoredthe renomination of Mr. Lincoln. It was an exhibitionnot only of American common sense, but of sentiment.The American people and the public bodies which representthem are indeed practical and materialistic to thelast degree, but those gravely err who ignore a verydifferent side of their character. No people and no publicbodies are more capable of yielding to deep feeling. Soit was now proven. It was felt that not to renominateMr. Lincoln would be a sort of concession to the enemy.He had gained the confidence and indeed the love ofthe entire Republican party. There was a strongconviction that, having suffered so much during theterrible stress and strain of the war, he ought to be retainedas President after the glorious triumph of the Nationwhich was felt to be approaching.

But in regard to the second place there was a differentfeeling. The Vice-President who had served with Mr.Lincoln during his first term, Mr. Hamlin of Maine, wasa steadfast, staunch, and most worthy man, but it wasfelt that the loyal element in the border States oughtto be recognized, and, therefore it was that, for the Vice-Presidency was named a man who had begun life in thelowest station, who had hardly learned to read until hehad become of age, who had always shown in Congressthe most bitter hatred of the slave barons of the South,whom he considered as a caste above his own, but whohad distinguished himself, as a man, by high civic courage,and as a senator by his determined speeches in behalf ofthe Union. This was Andrew Johnson of Tennessee, aman honest, patriotic, but narrow and crabbed, whoturned out to be the most unfortunate choice ever made,with the possible exception of John Tyler, twenty-fouryears before.

The convention having adjourned, a large number ofdelegates visited Washington, to pay their respects to thePresident, and among them myself. The city seemedto me hardly less repulsive than at my first visit eightyears before; it was still unkempt and dirty,—made indeedall the more so by the soldiery encamped about it,and marching through it.

Shortly after our arrival our party, perhaps thirty innumber, went to the White House and were shown intothe great East Room. We had been there for about tenminutes when one of the doors nearest the street wasopened, and a young man entered who held the dooropen for the admission of a tall, ungainly man dressedin a rather dusty suit of black. My first impression wasthat this was some rural tourist who had blundered into theplace; for, really, he seemed less at home there than anyother person present, and looked about for an instant, asif in doubt where he should go; but presently he turnedtoward our group, which was near the southwestern cornerof the room, and then I saw that it was the President.As he came toward us in a sort of awkward, perfunctorymanner his face seemed to me one of the saddest I hadever seen, and when he had reached us he held out hishand to the first stranger, then to the second, and so on,all with the air of a melancholy automaton. But,suddenly, some one in the company said something whichamused him, and instantly there came in his face a mostmarvelous transformation. I have never seen anythinglike it in any other human being. His features werelighted, his eyes radiant, he responded to sundry remarkshumorously, though dryly, and thenceforward was cordialand hearty. Taking my hand in his he shook it in themost friendly way, with a kindly word, and so passedcheerily on to the others until the ceremony was finished.

Years afterward, noticing in the rooms of his son, Mr.Robert Lincoln, our minister at London, a portrait ofhis father, and seeing that it had the same melancholylook noticeable in all President Lincoln's portraits, Ialluded to this change in his father's features, and askedif any artist had ever caught the happier expression.Mr. Robert Lincoln answered that, so far as he knew, noportrait of his father in this better mood had ever beentaken; that when any attempt was made to photographhim or paint his portrait, he relapsed into his melancholymood, and that this is what has been transmitted to us byall who have ever attempted to give us his likeness.

In the campaign which followed this visit to WashingtonI tried to do my duty in speaking through my ownand adjacent districts, but there was little need ofspeeches; the American people had made up their minds,and they re<e:>lected Mr. Lincoln triumphantly.

CHAPTER VII

SENATORSHIP AT ALBANY—1865-1867

During my second year in the State Senate, 1865,came the struggle for the charter of CornellUniversity, the details of which will be given in anotherchapter.

Two things during this session are forever stamped intomy memory. The first was the news of Lee's surrenderon April 9, 1865: though it had been daily expected, itcame as a vast relief.

It was succeeded by a great sorrow. On the morningof April 15, 1865, coming down from my rooms in theDelavan House at Albany, I met on the stairway a verydear old friend, the late Charles Sedgwick, of Syracuse,one of the earliest and most devoted of Republicans, whohad served with distinction in the House of Representatives,and had more than once been widely spoken offor the United States Senate. Coming toward me withtears in his eyes and voice, hardly able to speak, hegrasped me by the hand and gasped the words, ``Lincolnis murdered.'' I could hardly believe myself awake: thething seemed impossible;—too wicked, too monstrous, toocruel to be true; but alas! confirmation of the news camespeedily and the Presidency was in the hands of AndrewJohnson.

Shortly afterward the body of the murdered President,borne homeward to Illinois, rested overnight in the StateCapitol, and preparations were made for its reception. Iwas one of the bearers chosen by the Senate and was alsoelected to pronounce one of the orations. Rarely have Ifelt an occasion so deeply: it has been my lot during mylife to be present at the funerals of various great rulersand magnates; but at none of these was so deep animpression made upon me as by the body of Lincoln lyingin the assembly chamber at Albany, quiet and peaceful atlast.

Of the speeches made in the Senate on the occasion,mine being the only one which was not read or given frommemory, attracted some attention, and I was askedespecially for the source of a quotation which occurred init, and which was afterward dwelt upon by some of myhearers. It was the result of a sudden remembrance of thelines in Milton's ``Samson Agonistes,'' beginning:

``Oh, how comely it is, and how reviving
To the spirits of just men long oppressed,
When God into the hands of their deliverer
Puts invincible might
To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,
The brute and boisterous force of violent men,'' etc.[2]

[2] Milton's ``Samson Agonistes,'' lines 1268-1280.

CHAPTER VIII

ROSCOE CONKLING AND JUDGE FOLGER—1867-1868

At the beginning of my fourth year at Albany, in1867, came an election to the Senate of the UnitedStates. Of the two senators then representing the State,one, Edwin D. Morgan, had been governor, and combinedthe qualities of a merchant prince and of a shrewd politician;the other, Ira Harris, had been a highly respectedjudge, and was, from every point of view, a most worthyman: but unfortunately neither of these gentlemen seemedto exercise any adequate influence in solving the mainquestions then before Congress.

No more important subjects have ever come before thatbody than those which arose during the early years ofthe Civil War, and it was deeply felt throughout the Statethat neither of the senators fitly uttered its voice orexercised its influence.

Mr. Cornell, with whom I had then become intimate, wasnever censorious; rarely did he say anything in disapprovalof any man; he was charitable in his judgments, andgenerally preferred to be silent rather than severe; but Iremember that on his return from a stay in Washington,he said to me indignantly: ``While at the CapitolI was ashamed of the State of New York: one great questionafter another came up; bills of the highest importancewere presented and discussed by senators from Ohio,Vermont, Missouri, Indiana, Iowa, and the rest; but fromNew York never a word!''

The question now was, who should succeed SenatorHarris? He naturally desired a second term, and it wouldhave given me pleasure to support him, for he was an oldand honored friend of my father and mother, they havingbeen, in their early life, his neighbors and schoolmates,and their friendship having descended to me; but likeothers I was disappointed that Senator Harris had nottaken a position more fitting. His main efforts seemed tobe in the line of friendly acts for his constituents. In sofar as these were done for soldiers in the army they werepraiseworthy; though it was generally felt that while arisingprimarily from a natural feeling of benevolence, theywere mainly devoted to securing a body of friendsthroughout the State, who would support him when thetime should come for his re<e:>lection. Apparently with thesame object, he was a most devoted supporter of NewYork office-seekers of all sorts. He had pleasing personalcharacteristics, but it was reported that Mr. Lincoln,referring to the senator's persistency in pressing candidatesfor office, once said: ``I never think of going to sleep nowwithout first looking under my bed to see if Judge Harrisis not there wanting something for somebody.''

Another candidate was Judge Noah Davis, then ofLockport, also a man of high character, of excellent legalabilities, a good speaker, and one who, had he been elected,would have done honor to the State. But on looking aboutI discovered, as I thought, a better candidate. JudgeBailey, of Oneida County, had called my attention to theclaims of Mr. Roscoe Conkling, then a member of Congressfrom the Oneida district, who had distinguishedhimself as an effective speaker, a successful lawyer, andan honest public servant. He had, to be sure, run foul ofMr. Blaine of Maine, and had received, in return for whatMr. Blaine considered a display of offensive manners, avery serious oratorical castigation; but he had just foughta good fight which had drawn the attention of the wholeState to him. A coalition having been formed between theanti-war Democrats and a number of disaffected Republicansin his district to defeat his re<e:>lection to Congress, ithad seemed likely to overwhelm him and drive him out ofpublic life, and one thing seemed for a time likely to provefatal to him:—the ``New York Tribune,'' the great organof the party, edited by Horace Greeley, gave him no effectivesupport. But the reason was apparent later when itbecame known that Mr. Greeley was to be a candidatefor the senatorship, and it was evidently felt that shouldMr. Conkling triumph in such a struggle, he would be avery serious competitor. The young statesman had shownhimself equal to the emergency. He had fought his battlewithout the aid of Mr. Greeley and the ``Tribune,'' andwon it, and, as a result, had begun to be thought of as apromising candidate for the United States senatorship. Ihad never spoken with him; had hardly seen him; butI had watched his course closely, and one thing especiallywrought powerfully with me in his favor. The men whohad opposed him were of the same sort with those who hadopposed me, and as I was proud of their opposition, Ifelt that he had a right to be so. The whole force ofTammany henchmen and canal contractors throughoutthe State honored us both with their enmity.

It was arranged among Mr. Conkling's supporters that,at the great caucus which was to decide the matter, Mr.Conkling's name should be presented by the member ofthe assembly representing his district, Ellis Roberts, aman of eminent character and ability, who, having begunby taking high rank as a scholar at Yale, had become oneof the foremost editors of the State, and had afterwarddistinguished himself not only in the State legislature, butin Congress, and as the head of the independent treasuryin the city of New York. The next question was as to thespeech seconding the nomination. It was proposed thatJudge Folger should make it, but as he showed a curiousdiffidence in the matter, and preferred to preside over thecaucus, the duty was tendered to me.

At the hour appointed the assembly hall of the old Capitolwas full; floor and galleries were crowded to suffocation.The candidates were duly presented, and, amongthem, Mr. Conkling by Mr. Roberts. I delayed my speechsomewhat. The general course of it had been thought outbeforehand, but the phraseology and sequence of argumentwere left to the occasion. I felt deeply the importanceof nominating Mr. Conkling, and when the moment camethrew my heart into it. I was in full health and vigor, andsoon felt that a very large part of the audience was withme. Presently I used the argument that the great Stateof New York, which had been so long silent in the highestcouncils of the Nation, demanded A VOICE. Instantly thevast majority of all present, in the galleries, in the lobbies,and on the floor, rose in quick response to the sentimentand cheered with all their might. There had been no suchoutburst in the whole course of the evening. Evidentlythis was the responsive chord, and having gone on withthe main line of my argument, I at last closed with thesame declaration in different form;—that our greatCommonwealth,—the most important in the whole sisterhoodof States,—which had been so long silent in the Senate,WISHED TO BE HEARD, and that, therefore, I seconded thenomination of Mr. Conkling. Immediately the wholehouse rose to this sentiment again and again, with evengreater evidence of approval than before; the voting beganand Mr. Conkling was finally nominated, if my memoryis correct, by a majority of three.

The moment the vote was declared the whole assemblybroke loose; the pressure being removed, there came ageneral effervescence of good feeling, and I suddenlyfound myself raised on the shoulders of stalwart men whostood near, and rapidly carried over the heads of thecrowd, through many passages and corridors, my mainanxiety being to protect my head so that my brains mightnot be knocked out against stairways and doorways;but presently, when fairly dazed and bewildered, I wasborne into a room in the old Congress Hall Hotel, anddeposited safely in the presence of a gentleman standingwith his back to the fire, who at once extended his handto me most cordially, and to whom I said, ``God blessyou, Senator Conkling. ``A most hearty responsefollowed, and so began my closer acquaintance with thenew senator.

Mr. Conkling's election followed as a thing of course,and throughout the State there was general approval.

During this session of 1867 I found myself involved intwo rather curious struggles, and with no less a personagethan my colleague, Judge Folger.

As to the first of these I had long felt, and still feel, thatof all the weaknesses in our institutions, one of the mostserious is our laxity in the administration of the criminallaw. No other civilized country, save possibly the lowerparts of Italy and Sicily, shows anything to approach thenumber of unpunished homicides, in proportion to thepopulation, which are committed in sundry parts of ourown country, and indeed in our country taken as a whole.In no country is the deterrent effect of punishment sovitiated by delay; in no country is so much facility givento chicanery, to futile appeals, and to every possible meansof clearing men from the due penalty of high crime, andespecially the crime of murder.

It was in view of this fact that, acting on the advice of anold and able judge whose experience in criminal practicehad been very large, I introduced into the Senate abill to improve the procedure in criminal cases. Thejudge just referred to had shown me the absurditiesarising from the fact that testimony in regard to character,even in the case of professional criminals, was notallowed save in rebuttal. It was notorious that professionalcriminals charged with high crimes, especially inour large cities, frequently went free because, while thetestimony to the particular crime was not absolutelyoverwhelming, testimony to their character as professionalcriminals, which, in connection with the facts established,would have been absolutely conclusive, could not be admitted.I therefore proposed that testimony as to characterin any criminal case might be introduced by theprosecution if, after having been privately submitted tothe judge, he should decide that the ends of justice wouldbe furthered thereby.

The bill was referred to the Senate judiciary committee,of which Judge Folger was chairman. After it had lainthere some weeks and the judge had rather curtly answeredmy questions as to when it would be reported, itbecame clear to me that the committee had no intention ofreporting it at all, whereupon I introduced a resolutionrequesting them to report it, at the earliest day possible,for the consideration of the Senate, and this was passedin spite of the opposition of the committee. Many daysthen passed; no report was made, and I therefore introduceda resolution taking the bill out of the hands of thecommittee and bringing it directly before the committeeof the whole. This was most earnestly resisted by JudgeFolger and by his main associate on the committee, HenryMurphy of Brooklyn. On the other hand I had, to aid me,Judge Lowe, also a lawyer of high standing, and indeedall the lawyers in the body who were not upon the judiciarycommittee. The result was that my motion wassuccessful; the bill was taken from the committee andimmediately brought under discussion.

In reply to the adverse arguments of Judge Folger andMr. Murphy, which were to the effect that my bill was aninnovation upon the criminal law of the State, I pointedout the fact that evidence as to the character of the personcharged with crime is often all-important; that in ourdaily life we act upon that fact as the simplest dictate ofcommon sense; that if any senator present had his watchstolen from his room he would be very slow to charge thecrime against the servant who was last seen in the room,even under very suspicious circ*mstances; but if he foundthat the servant had been discharged for theft from variousplaces previously, this would be more important thanany other circ*mstance. I showed how safeguards whichhad been devised in the middle ages to protect citizensfrom the feudal lord were now used to aid criminals inevading the law, and I ended by rather unjustly compar-ing Judge Folger to the great Lord Chancellor Eldon, ofwhom it was said that, despite his profound knowledgeof the law, ``no man ever did so much good as heprevented.'' The result was that the bill was passed by theSenate in spite of the judiciary committee.

During the continuance of the discussion Judge Folgerhad remained in his usual seat, but immediately after thepassage of the bill he resumed his place as president of theSenate. He was evidently vexed, and in declaring theSenate adjourned he brought the gavel down with a sortof fling which caused it to fly out of his hand and fall infront of his desk on the floor. Fortunately it was aftermidnight and few saw it; but there was a general feelingof regret among us all that a man so highly respectedshould have so lost his temper. By common consent thewhole matter was hushed; no mention of it, so far as Icould learn, was made in the public press, and soon allseemed forgotten.

Unfortunately it was remembered, and in a quarterwhich brought upon Judge Folger one of the worstdisappointments of his life.

For, in the course of the following summer, the ConstitutionalConvention of the State was to hold its session andits presidency was justly considered a great honor. Twocandidates were named, one being Judge Folger and theother Mr. William A. Wheeler, then a member of Congressand afterward Vice-President of the United States. Theresult of the canvas by the friends of both these gentlemenseemed doubtful, when one morning there appeared in the``New York Tribune,'' the most powerful organ of theRepublican party, one of Horace Greeley's most trenchantarticles. It dwelt on the importance of the conventionin the history of the State, on the responsibility of itsmembers, on the characteristics which should mark itspresiding officer, and, as to this latter point, wound uppungently by saying that it would be best to have a presidentwho, when he disagreed with members, did not throwhis gavel at them. This shot took effect; it ran throughthe State; people asked the meaning of it; various exaggeratedlegends became current, one of them being that hehad thrown the gavel at me personally;—and Mr. Wheelerbecame president of the convention.

But before the close of the session another matter hadcome up which cooled still more the relations betweenJudge Folger and myself. For many sessions, year afteryear, there had been before the legislature a bill forestablishing a canal connecting the interior lake system of theState with Lake Ontario. This was known as the SodusCanal Bill, and its main champion was a public-spiritedman from Judge Folger's own district. In favor of thecanal various arguments were urged, one of them beingthat it would enable the United States, while keepingwithin its treaty obligations with Great Britain, to buildships on these smaller lakes, which, in case of need, couldbe passed through the canal into the great chain of lakesextending from Lake Ontario to Lake Superior. To thisit was replied that such an evasion of the treaty was notespecially creditable to those suggesting it, and that themain purpose of the bill really was to create a vast waterpower which should enure to the benefit of sundry gentlemenin Judge Folger's district.

Up to this time Judge Folger seemed never to caremuch for the bill, and I had never made any especial effortagainst it; but when, just at the close of the session,certain constituents of mine upon the Oswego River hadshown me that there was great danger in the proposedcanal to the water supply through the counties of Onondagaand Oswego, I opposed the measure. ThereuponJudge Folger became more and more earnest in its favor,and it soon became evident that all his power would beused to pass it during the few remaining days of thesession. By his influence it was pushed rapidly throughall its earlier stages, and at last came up before theSenate. It seemed sure to pass within ten minutes, when Imoved that the whole matter be referred to the approachingConstitutional Convention, which was to begin its sessionsimmediately after the adjournment of the legislature,and Judge Folger having spoken against this motion, Ispoke in its favor and did what I have never done beforein my life and probably shall never do again—spokeagainst time. There was no ``previous question'' in theSenate, no limitation as to the period during which amember could discuss any measure, and, as the youngestmember in the body, I was in the full flush of youthfulstrength. I therefore announced my intention to presentsome three hundred arguments in favor of referring thewhole matter to the State Constitutional Convention, thosearguments being based upon the especial fitness of itsthree hundred members to decide the question, as shownby the personal character and life history of each andevery one of them. I then went on with this series ofbiographies, beginning with that of Judge Folger himself,and paying him most heartily and cordially everytribute possible, including some of a humorous nature.Having given about half an hour to the judge, I then tookup sundry other members and kept on through the entiremorning. I had the floor and no one could dispossess me.The lieutenant-governor, in the chair, General StewartWoodford, was perfectly just and fair, and althoughJudge Folger and Mr. Murphy used all their legal acutenessin devising some means of evading the rules, theywere in every case declared by the lieutenant-governor tobe out of order, and the floor was in every case reassignedto me. Meantime, the whole Senate, though anxious toadjourn, entered into the spirit of the matter, variousmembers passing me up biographical notes on the membersof the convention, some of them very comical, andpresently the hall was crowded with members of theassembly as well as senators, all cheering me on. Thereason for this was very simple. There had come to bea general understanding of the case, namely, that JudgeFolger, by virtue of his great power and influence, wastrying in the last hours of the session to force through abill for the benefit of his district, and that I was simplydoing my best to prevent an injustice. The result wasthat I went on hour after hour with my series of biographies,until at last Judge Folger himself sent me wordthat if I would desist and allow the legislature to adjournhe would make no further effort to carry the bill at thatsession. To this I instantly agreed; the bill was droppedfor that session and for all sessions: so far as I can learnit has never reappeared.

Shortly after our final adjournment the ConstitutionalConvention came together. It was one of the best bodiesof the kind ever assembled in any State, as a list of itsmembers abundantly shows. There was much work forit, and most important of all was the reorganization ofthe highest judicial body in the State—the Court ofAppeals—which had become hopelessly inadequate.

The two principal members of the convention from thecity of New York were Horace Greeley, editor of the``Tribune,'' and William M. Evarts, afterward Attorney-General, United States senator, and Secretary of State ofthe United States. Mr. Greeley was at first all-powerful.As has already been seen, he had been able to preventJudge Folger taking the presidency of the convention,and for a few days he had everything his own way. Buthe soon proved so erratic a leader that his influence wascompletely lost, and after a few sessions there was hardlyany member with less real power to influence the judgmentsof his colleagues.

This was not for want of real ability in his speeches,for at various times I heard him make, for and againstmeasures, arguments admirably pungent, forcible, andfar-reaching, but there seemed to be a universal feelingthat he was an unsafe guide.

Soon came a feature in his course which made mattersworse. The members of the convention, many of them,were men in large business and very anxious to have aday or two each week for their own affairs. Moreover,during the first weeks of the session, while the mainmatters coming before the convention were still in the handsof committees, there was really not enough business readyfor the convention to occupy it through all the days of theweek, and consequently it adopted the plan, for the firstweeks at least, of adjourning from Friday night till Tuesdaymorning. This vexed Mr. Greeley sorely. He insistedthat the convention ought to keep at its businessand finish it without any such weekly adjournments, and,as his arguments to this effect did not prevail in theconvention, he began making them through the ``Tribune''before the people of the State. Soon his argumentsbecame acrid, and began undermining the convention atevery point.

As to Mr. Greeley's feeling regarding the weeklyadjournment, one curious thing was reported: There wasa member from New York of a literary turn for whom thegreat editor had done much in bringing his verses andother productions before the public—a certain Mr. Duganne;but it happened that, on one of the weekly motionsto adjourn, Mr. Duganne had voted in the affirmative, and,as a result, Mr. Greeley, meeting him just afterward,upbraided him in a manner which filled the rural bystanderswith consternation. It was well known to those bestacquainted with the editor of the ``Tribune'' that, whenexcited, he at times indulged in the most ingenious andpicturesque expletives, and some of Mr. Chauncey Depew'sbest stories of that period pointed to this fact. On thisoccasion Mr. Greeley really outdid himself, and theresult was that the country members, who up to thattime had regarded him with awe as the representative ofthe highest possible morality in public and private life,were greatly dismayed, and in various parts of the roomthey were heard expressing their amazement, and sayingto each other in awe-stricken tones: ``Why! Greeleyswears!''

Ere long Mr. Greeley was taking, almost daily in the``Tribune,'' steady ground against the doings of hiscolleagues. Lesser newspapers followed with no end ofcheap and easy denunciation, and the result was that theconvention became thoroughly, though unjustly, discreditedthroughout the State, and indeed throughout thecountry. A curious proof of this met me. Being atCambridge, Massachusetts, I passed an evening with GovernorWashburn, one of the most thoughtful and valuablepublic men of that period. In the course of our conversationhe said: ``Mr. White, it is really sad to hear of thedoings at your Albany convention. I can remember yourconstitutional convention of 1846, and when I comparethis convention with that, it grieves me.'' My answerwas: ``Governor Washburn, you are utterly mistaken:there has never been a constitutional convention in theState of New York, not even that you name, which hascontained so many men of the highest ability and characteras the one now in session, and none which has reallydone better work. I am not a member of the body andcan say this in its behalf.'' At this he expressed hisamazement, and pointed to the ``Tribune'' in confirmationof his own position. I then stated the case to him, and, Ithink, alleviated his distress.

But as the sessions of the convention drew to a close andthe value of its work began to be clearly understood,Greeley's nobler qualities, his real truthfulness and publicspirit began to assert themselves, and more than once heshowed practical shrewdness and insight. Going intoconvention one morning, I found the question underdiscussion to be the election of the secretary of state,attorney-general, and others of the governor's cabinet, whoseappointment under the older constitutions was wiselyleft to the governor, but who, for twenty years, hadbeen elected by the people. There was a wide-spread feelingthat the old system was wiser, and that the new hadby no means justified itself; in fact, that by fastening onthe governor the responsibility for his cabinet, the Stateis likely to secure better men than when their choice isleft to the hurly-burly of intrigue and prejudice in anominating convention.

The main argument made by those who opposed such areturn to the old, better order of things was that thepeople would not like it and would be inclined to votedown the new constitution on account of it.

In reply to this, Mr. Greeley arose and made a mostadmirable short speech ending with these words, given inhis rapid falsetto, with a sort of snap that made the wholeseem like one word: ``When-the-people-take-up-their-ballots-they-want-to-see-who-is-to-be-governor: that's-all-they-care-about: they-don't-want-to-read-a-whole-chapter-of-the-Bible-on-their-ballots.''

Unfortunately, the majority dared not risk the popularratification of the new constitution, and so this amendmentwas lost.

No doubt Mr. Greeley was mainly responsible for thiscondition of things; his impatience with the convention, asshown by his articles in the ``Tribune,'' had been caughtby the people of the State.

The long discussions were very irksome to him, and oneday I mildly expostulated with him on account of someof his utterances against the much speaking of his colleagues,and said: ``After all, Mr. Greeley, is n't it a prettygood thing to have a lot of the best men in the State cometogether every twenty years and thoroughly discuss thewhole constitution, to see what improvements can bemade; and is not the familiarity with the constitution andinterest in it thus aroused among the people at large worthall the fatigue arising from long speeches?'' ``Well,perhaps so,'' he said, but he immediately began to grumbleand finally to storm in a comical way against some of hiscolleagues who, it must be confessed, were tiresome. Stillhe became interested more and more in the work, and asthe new constitution emerged from the committees andpublic debates, he evidently saw that it was a great gainto the State, and now did his best through the ``Tribune''to undo what he had been doing. He wrote editorialspraising the work of the convention and urging that it beadopted. But all in vain: the unfavorable impression hadbeen too widely and deeply made, and the result was thatthe new constitution, when submitted to the people, wasignominiously voted down, and the whole summer's workof the convention went for nothing. Later, however, aportion of it was rescued and put into force through theagency of a ``Constitutional Commission,'' a small bodyof first-rate men who sat at Albany, and whose mainconclusions were finally adopted in the shape of amendmentsto the old constitution. There was, none the less, awretched loss to the State.

During the summer of 1867 I was completely immersedin the duties of my new position at Cornell University;going through various institutions in New England andthe Western States to note the workings of their technicaldepartments; visiting Ithaca to consult with Mr. Cornelland to look over plans for buildings, and credentials forprofessorships, or, shut up in my own study at Syracuse,or in the cabins of Cayuga Lake steamers, drawing upschemes of university organization, so that my politicallife soon seemed ages behind me.

While on a visit to Harvard, I was invited by Agassizto pass a day with him at Nahant in order to discussmethods and men. He entered into the matter veryearnestly, agreed to give us an extended course oflectures, which he afterward did, and aided us in manyways. One remark of his surprised me. I had asked himto name men, and he had taken much pains to do so, whensuddenly he turned to me abruptly and said: ``Who is tobe your professor of moral philosophy? That is by farthe most important matter in your whole organization.''It seemed strange that one who had been honored by thewhole world as probably the foremost man in naturalscience then living, and who had been denounced by manyexceedingly orthodox people as an enemy of religion,should take this view of the new faculty, but it showedhow deeply and sincerely religious he was. I soonreassured him on the point he had raised, and then went onwith the discussion of scientific men, methods, and equipments.

I was also asked by the poet Longfellow to pass a daywith him at his beautiful Nahant cottage in order to discusscertain candidates and methods in literature. Nothingcould be more delightful than his talk as we sattogether on the veranda looking out over the sea, with thegilded dome of the State House, which he pointed out tome as ``The Hub,'' in the dim distance. One question ofhis amused me much. We were discussing certain recentevents in which Mr. Horace Greeley had played animportant part, and after alluding to Mr. Greeley's courseduring the War, he turned his eyes fully but mildlyupon me and said slowly and solemnly: ``Mr. White, don'tyou think Mr. Greeley a very useless sort of man?'' Thequestion struck me at first as exceedingly comical; for, Ithought, ``Imagine Mr. Greeley, who thinks himself, andwith reason, a useful man if there ever was one, and whosewhole life has been devoted to what he has thought of thehighest and most direct use to his fellow-men, hearing thisquestion put in a dreamy way by a poet,—a writer ofverse,—probably the last man in America whom Mr.Greeley would consider `useful.' '' But my old admirationfor the great editor came back in a strong tide, and if Iwas ever eloquent it was in showing Mr. Longfellow howgreat, how real, how sincere, and in the highest degreehow useful Mr. Greeley had been.

Another man of note whom I met in those days wasJudge Rockwood Hoar, afterward named by GeneralGrant Attorney-General of the United States, noted as aprofound lawyer of pungent wit and charming humor, thedelight of his friends and the terror of his enemies. Isaw him first at Harvard during a competition for theBoylston prize at which we were fellow-judges. All thespeaking was good, some of it admirable; but the especiallyremarkable pieces were two. First of these was arecital of Washington Irving's ``Broken Heart,'' by anundergraduate from the British provinces, Robert AlderMcLeod. Nothing could be more simple and perfect in itsway; nothing more free from any effort at orating; allwas in the most quiet and natural manner possible. Thesecond piece was a rendering of Poe's ``Bells,'' and wasa most amazing declamation, the different sorts of bellsbeing indicated by changes of voice ranging from bassoprofondo to the highest falsetto, and the feelings arousedin the orator being indicated by modulations which musthave cost him months of practice.

The contest being ended, and the committee havingretired to make their award, various members expressed anopinion in favor of Mr. McLeod's quiet recital, whenJudge Hoar, who had seemed up to that moment immersedin thought, seemed suddenly to awake, and said: ``If Ihad a son who spoke that bell piece in that style I believeI'd choke him.'' The vote was unanimously in favor ofMr. McLeod, and then came out a curious fact. Havingnoticed that he bore an empty sleeve, I learned fromProfessor Peabody that he had lost his arm while fighting onthe Confederate side in our Civil War, and that he was aman of remarkably fine scholarship and noble character.He afterward became an instructor at Harvard, but diedearly.

During the following autumn, in spite of my absorptionin university interests, I was elected a delegate to the StateConvention, and in October made a few political speeches,the most important being at Clinton, the site of HamiltonCollege. This was done at the special request of SenatorConkling, and on my way I passed a day with him atUtica, taking a long drive through the adjacent country.Never was he more charming. The bitter and sarcasticmood seemed to have dropped off him; the overbearingmanner had left no traces; he was full of delightfulreminiscences and it was a day to be remembered.

I also spoke at various other places and, last of all, atClifton Springs, but received there a rebuff which was notwithout its uses.

I had thought my speeches successful; but at the latterplace, taking the cars next morning, I heard a dialoguebetween two railway employees, as follows:

``Bill, did you go to the meetin' last night?'' ``Yes.''``How was it?'' ``It wa'n't no meetin', leastwise no P'LITICALmeetin'; there wa'n't nothin' in it fur the boys; it wasonly one of them scientific college purfessors lecturin'.''And so I sped homeward, pondering on many things, butstrengthened, by this homely criticism, in my determinationto give my efforts henceforth to the new university.

CHAPTER IX

GENERAL GRANT AND SANTO DOMINGO—1868-1871

During the two or three years following my senatorialterm, work in the founding and building of CornellUniversity was so engrossing that there was littletime for any effort which could be called political. Inthe early spring of 1868 I went to Europe to examineinstitutions for scientific and technological instruction,and to secure professors and equipment, and during aboutsix months I visited a great number of such schools,especially those in agriculture, mechanical, civil, and miningengineering and the like in England, France, Germany,and Italy; bought largely of books and apparatus,discussed the problems at issue with Europeans who seemedlikely to know most about them, secured sundry professors,and returned in September just in time to takepart in the opening of Cornell University and be inauguratedas its first president. Of all this I shall speak morein detail hereafter.

There was no especial temptation to activity in thepolitical campaign of that year; for the election of GeneralGrant was sure, and my main memory of the period is avisit to Auburn to hear Mr. Seward.

It had been his wont for many years, when he camehome to cast his vote, to meet his neighbors on the eve ofthe election and give his views of the situation and of itsresultant duties. These occasions had come to be anticipatedwith the deepest interest by the whole region roundabout, and what had begun as a little gathering of neighorshad now become such an assembly that the largesthall in the place was crowded with voters of all parties.

But this year came a disappointment. Although thecontest was between General Grant,—who on various decisivebattle-fields had done everything to save the administrationof which Mr. Seward had been a leading member,—and on the other side, Governor Horatio Seymour, whohad done all in his power to wreck it, Mr. Seward devotedhis speech to optimistic generalities, hardly alluding tothe candidates, and leaving the general impression thatone side was just as worthy of support as the other.

The speech was an unfortunate ending of Mr. Seward'scareer. It was not surprising that some of his oldadmirers bitterly resented it, and a remark by Mr. Cornellsome time afterward indicated much. We were arrangingtogether a program for the approaching annualcommencement when I suggested for the main address Mr.Seward. Mr. Cornell had been one of Mr. Seward'slifelong supporters, but he received this proposal coldly,pondered it for a few moments silently, and then saiddryly, ``Perhaps you are right, but if you call him youwill show to our students the deadest man that ain't buriedin the State of New York.'' So, to my regret, was lost thelast chance to bring the old statesman to Cornell. I havealways regretted this loss; his presence would have givena true consecration to the new institution. A career likehis should not be judged by its little defects and lapses,and this I felt even more deeply on receiving, some timeafter his death, the fifth volume of his published works,which was largely made up of his despatches and otherpapers written during the war. When they were firstpublished in the newspapers, I often thought them longand was impatient at their optimism, but now, when I readthem all together, saw in them the efforts made by theheroic old man to keep the hands of European powersoff us while we were restoring the Union, and noted thedesperation with which he fought, the encouragementwhich he infused into our diplomatic representativesabroad, and his struggle, almost against fate, in the timeof our reverses, I was fascinated. The book had arrivedearly in the evening, and next morning found me stillseated in my library chair completely absorbed in it.

In the spring of the year 1870, while as usual in thethick of university work, I was again drawn for a momentinto the current of New York politics. The long wishedfor amendment of the State constitution, putting our highesttribunal, the Court of Appeals, on a better footingthan it had ever been before, making it more adequate, theterm longer, and the salaries higher, had been passed, andjudges were to be chosen at the next election. Each of thetwo great parties was entitled to an equal number ofjudges, and I was requested to go to the approachingnominating convention at Rochester in order to presentthe name of my old friend and neighbor, Charles Andrews.

It was a most honorable duty, no man could havedesired a better candidate, and I gladly accepted themandate. Although it was one of the most staid and dignifiedbodies of the sort which has ever met in the State, it hadas a preface a pleasant farce.

As usual, the seething cauldron of New York City politicshad thrown to the surface some troublesome delegates,and among them was one long famed as a ``Tammany Republican.''

Our first business was the choice of a president for theconvention, and, as it had been decided by the State committeeto present for that office the name of one of the mostrespected judges in the State, the Honorable Platt Potter,of Schenectady, it was naturally expected that some memberof the regular organization would present his namein a dignified speech. But hardly had the chairman ofthe State committee called the convention to order whenthe aforesaid Tammany Republican, having heard thatJudge Potter was to be elected, thought evidently thathe could gain recognition and applause by being thefirst to present his name. He therefore rushed for-ward, and almost before the chairman had declared theconvention opened, cried out: ``Mr. Chairman, I moveyou, sir, that the Honorable `Pot Platter' be madepresident of this convention.'' A scream of laughter wentup from all parts of the house, and in an instant a gentlemanrose and moved to amend by making the name ``PlattPotter.'' This was carried, and the proposer of theoriginal motion retired crestfallen to his seat.

I had the honor of presenting Mr. Andrews's name.He was nominated and elected triumphantly, and so beganthe career of one of the best judges that New Yorkhas ever had on its highest court, who has also for manyyears occupied, with the respect and esteem of the State,the position of chief justice.

The convention then went on to nominate other judges,—nomination being equivalent to election,—but when thelast name was reached there came a close contest. An oldfriend informed me that Judge Folger, my former colleaguein the Senate and since that assistant treasurer ofthe United States in the city of New York, was exceedinglyanxious to escape from this latter position, anddesired greatly the nomination to a judgeship on the Courtof Appeals.

I decided at once to do what was possible to secureJudge Folger's nomination, though our personal relationswere very unsatisfactory. Owing to our two conflicts atthe close of our senatorial term above referred to, andto another case where I thought he had treated meunjustly, we had never exchanged a word since I had leftthe State Senate; and though we met each other fromtime to time on the board of Cornell University trustees,we passed each other in silence. Our old friendship, whichhad been very dear to me, seemed forever broken, but Ifelt deeply that the fault was not mine. At the same timeI recognized the fact that Judge Folger was not especiallyadapted to the position of assistant treasurer of the UnitedStates, and was admirably fitted for the position of judgein the Court of Appeals. I therefore did everything possibleto induce one or two of the delegations with which Ihad some influence to vote for him, dwelling especiallyupon his former judgeship, his long acquaintance with thelegislation of the State, and his high character, and at lasthe was elected by a slight majority.

The convention having adjourned, I was on my way tothe train when I was met by Judge Folger, who had justarrived. He put out his hand and greeted me most heartily,showing very deep feeling as he expressed his regretover our estrangement. Of course I was glad that bygoneswere to be bygones, and that our old relations wererestored. He became a most excellent judge, and finallychief justice of the State, which position he left to becomeSecretary of the Treasury.

To the political cataclysm which ended his public activityand doubtless hastened his death, I refer elsewhere.As long as he lived our friendly relations continued, andthis has been to me ever since a great satisfaction.

In this same year, 1870, occurred my first extendedconversation with General Grant. At my earlier meeting withhim when he was with President Johnson in Albany, I hadmerely been stiffly presented to him, and we had exchangeda few commonplaces; but I was now invited to hiscottage at Long Branch and enjoyed a long and pleasanttalk with him. Its main subject was the Franco-GermanWar then going on, and his sympathies were evidentlywith Germany. His comments on the war were prophetic.There was nothing dogmatic in them; nothing could bemore simple and modest than his manner and utterance,but there was a clearness and quiet force in them whichimpressed me greatly. He was the first great general Ihad ever seen, and I was strongly reminded of his mingleddiffidence and mastery when, some years afterward, Italked with Moltke in Berlin.

Another experience of that summer dwells in my memory.I was staying, during the first week of September,with my dear old friend, Dr. Henry M. Field, at Stockbridge,in the Berkshire Mountains of Massachusetts, andhad the good fortune, at the house of his brother, theeminent jurist, David Dudley Field, to pass a rainy eveningin company with Mr. Burton Harrison, who, after adistinguished career at Yale, had been the private secretaryof Jefferson Davis, president of the Southern Confederacy.On that evening a storm had kept away all but afew of us, and Mr. Harrison yielded to our entreaties togive us an account of Mr. Davis's flight at the surrender ofRichmond, from the time when he quietly left his pew inSt. Paul's Church to that of his arrest by United Statessoldiers. The story was most vivid, and Mr. Harrison, asan eye witness, told it simply and admirably. There hadalready grown out of this flight of Mr. Davis a mostluxuriant tangle of myth and legend, and it had come tobe generally believed that the Confederate president hadat last endeavored to shield himself behind the women ofhis household; that when arrested he was trying to escapein the attire of his wife, including a hooped skirt and abonnet, and that he was betrayed by an incautious displayof his military boots beneath his wife's flounces. Thesimple fact was that, having separated from his familyparty, and seeking escape to the coast or mountains, hewas again and again led by his affection for his family toreturn to them, his fears for them overcoming all carefor himself; and that, as he was suffering from neuralgia,he wore over his clothing, to guard him from the incessantrain, Mrs. Davis' waterproof cloak. Out of this grew thelegend which found expression in jubilant newspaperarticles, songs, and caricatures.

This reminds me that some years later, my old collegefriend, Colonel William Preston Johnston, president ofTulane University, told me a story which throws lightupon that collapse of the Confederacy. Colonel Johnstonwas at that period the military secretary of PresidentDavis, and, as the catastrophe approached, was muchvexed at the interminable debates in the ConfederateCongress. Among the subjects of these discussions was thegreat seal of the Confederacy. It had been decided toadopt for this purpose a relief representing Crawford'sstatue of Washington at Richmond, with the Southernstatesmen and soldiers surrounding it; but though allagreed that Washington, in his Continental costume, andholding in his hand his co*cked hat, should retain thecentral position, there were many differences of opinion asto the surrounding portraits, the result being that motionswere made to strike out this or that revolutionary herofrom one State and to replace him by another from anotherState, thus giving rise to lengthy eulogies of thesevarious personages, so that the whole thing resembled thediscussions in metaphysical theology by the Byzantinesat the time when the Turks were forcing their waythrough the walls of Constantinople. One day, justbefore the final catastrophe, Mr. Judah Benjamin, formerlyUnited States senator, but at that time the Confederatesecretary of state, passed through Colonel Johnston'soffice, and the following dialogue took place.

Colonel Johnston: ``What are they doing in the Senateand House, Mr. Secretary?''

Mr. Benjamin: ``Oh, simply debating the Confederateseal, moving to strike out this man and to insert that.''

Colonel Johnston: ``Do you know what motion I wouldmake if I were a member?''

Mr. Benjamin: ``No, what would you move?''

Colonel Johnston: ``I would move to strike out fromthe seal everything except the co*cked hat.''

Colonel Johnston was right; the Confederacy was``knocked into a co*cked hat'' a few days afterward.

In the autumn of that year, September, 1870, I was sentas a delegate to the State Republican Convention, andpresented as a candidate for the lieutenant-governorship aman who had served the State admirably in the NationalCongress and in the State legislature as well as in greatbusiness operations, Mr. DeWitt Littlejohn of Oswego. Idid this on the part of sundry gentlemen who were anxiousto save the Republican ticket, which had at its head myold friend General Woodford, but though I was successfulin securing Mr. Littlejohn's nomination, he soonafterward declined, and defeat followed in November.

The only part which I continued to take in State politicswas in writing letters and in speaking, on sundry socialoccasions of a political character, in behalf of harmonybetween the two factions which were now becoming moreand more bitter. At first I seemed to have some success,but before long it became clear that the current was toostrong and that the bitterness of faction was to prevail. Iam so constituted that factious thought and effortdishearten and disgust me. At many periods of my lifeI have acted as a ``buffer'' between conflicting cliquesand factions, generally to some purpose; now it wasotherwise. But, as Kipling says, ``that is another story.''

The hard work and serious responsibilities broughtupon me by the new university had greatly increased.They had worn deeply upon me when, in the winter of1870-71, came an event which drew me out of my universitylife for a time and gave me a much needed change:—I was sent by the President as one of the threecommissioners to Santo Domingo to study questions relatingto the annexation of the Spanish part of that island whichwas then proposed, and to report thereupon to Congress.

While in Washington at this time I saw much of PresidentGrant, Mr. Sumner, and various other men who werethen leading in public affairs, but some account of themwill be given in my reminiscences of the Santo Domingoexpedition.

I trust that it may be allowed me here to recall anincident which ought to have been given in a precedingchapter. During one of my earlier visits to the NationalCapital, I made the acquaintance of Senator McDougal.His distorted genius had evidently so dazzled his fellow-citizens of California that, in spite of his defects, they hadsent him to the highest council of the Nation. He was amartyr to conviviality, and when more or less underthe sway of it, had strange ideas and quaint ways ofexpressing them. His talk recalled to me a time in my child-hood when, having found a knob of glass, twisted, striatedwith different colors, and filled with air bubbles, I enjoyedlooking at the landscape through it. Everything becamegrotesquely transfigured. A cabbage in the foregroundbecame opalescent, and an ear of corn a mass of jewels,but the whole atmosphere above and beyond was lurid, andthe chimneys and church spires were topsy-turvy.

The only other person whose talk ever produced animpression of this sort on me was Tolstoy, and he will bediscussed in another chapter.

McDougal's peculiarity made him at last unbearable;so much so that the Senate was obliged to take measuresagainst him. His speech in his own defense showed theworking of his mind, and one passage most of all. Itremains probably the best defense of drunkenness evermade, and it ran as follows:

``Mr. President,—I pity the man who has never viewedthe affairs of this world, save from the poor, low, miserableplane of ordinary sobriety.''

My absence in the West Indies covered the first threemonths of the year 1871, and then the commission returnedto Washington and made its report; but regardingthis I shall speak at length in the chapter of my diplomaticexperiences, devoted to the Santo Domingo question.

CHAPTER X

THE GREELEY CAMPAIGN—1872

Having finished my duties on the Santo DomingoCommission, I returned to the University in Mayof 1871, devoted myself again to my duties as presidentand professor, and, in the mass of arrears which hadaccumulated, found ample occupation. I also deliveredvarious addresses at universities, colleges, and elsewhere,keeping as remote from politics as possible.

In June, visiting New York in order to take part in adinner given by various journalists and others to myclassmate and old friend, George Washburne Smalley, atthat time the London correspondent of the ``New YorkTribune,'' I met, for the first time, Colonel John Hay,who was in the full tide of his brilliant literary career andwho is, as I write this, Secretary of State of the UnitedStates. His clear, thoughtful talk strongly impressed me,but the most curious circ*mstance connected with the affairwas that several of us on the way to Delmonico'sstopped for a time to observe the public reception given toMr. Horace Greeley on his return from a tour through theSouthern States. Mr. Greeley, undoubtedly from thepurest personal and patriotic motives, had, with othermen of high standing, including Gerrit Smith, attachedhis name to the bail bond of Jefferson Davis, whichreleased the ex-president of the Confederacy from prison,and, in fact, freed him entirely from anything likepunishment for treason. I have always admired Mr. Greeley'shonesty and courage in doing this. Doubtless, too, anequally patriotic and honest desire to aid in bringingNorth and South together after the war led him to takean extensive tour through sundry Southern States. Hehad just returned from this tour and this reception wasgiven him in consequence.

It had already been noised abroad that there was amovement on foot to make him a candidate for the Presidency,and many who knew the characteristics of the man,even those who, like myself, had been greatly influencedby him and regarded him as by far the foremost editorialwriter that our country had ever produced, looked uponthis idea with incredulity. For of all patriotic men inthe entire country who had touched public affairs HoraceGreeley seemed the most eminently unfit for executiveduties. He was notoriously, in business matters, theeasy prey of many who happened to get access to him;—the ``long-haired men and short-haired women'' of thecountry seemed at times to have him entirely under theirsway; his hard-earned money, greatly needed by himselfand his family, was lavished upon ne'er-do-weels and castinto all sorts of impracticable schemes. He made loansto the discarded son of the richest man whom the UnitedStates had at that time produced, and in every wayshowed himself an utterly incompetent judge of men. Itwas a curious fact that lofty as were his purposes, andnoble as were his main characteristics, the best men ofthe State—men like Seward, Weed, Judge Folger, SenatorAndrews, General Leavenworth, Elbridge Spaulding, andother really thoughtful, solid, substantial advisers ofthe Republican party—were disliked by him, and yet noother reason could be assigned than this:—that while theyall admired him as a writer, they could not be induced topretend that they considered him fit for high executiveoffice, either in the State or Nation. On the other hand,so far as politics were concerned, his affections seemed tobe lavished on politicians who flattered and coddled him.Of this the rise of Governor Fenton was a strikingexample. Doubtless there were exceptions to this rule, butit was the rule nevertheless. This was clearly and indeedcomically shown at the reception given him in UnionSquare on the evening referred to. Mr. Greeley appearedat a front window of a house on the Broadway side andcame out upon a temporary platform. His appearanceis deeply stamped upon my memory. He was in a ratherslouchy evening dress, his white hair thrown back off hissplendid forehead, and his broad, smooth, kindly featuresas serene as the face of a big, well-washed baby.

There was in his appearance something at the same timena<i:>ve and impressive, and the simplicity of it wasincreased by a bouquet, huge and gorgeous, which someadmirer had attached to his coat, and which forced uponthe mind of a reflective observer the idea of a victimadorned for sacrifice.

He gave scant attention to his audience in the way ofceremonial greeting, and plunged at once into his subject;—beginning in a high, piping, falsetto voice which, for afew moments, was almost painful. But the value of hismatter soon overcame the defects of his manner; thespeech was in his best vein; it struck me as the best, on thewhole, I had ever heard him make, and that is sayingmuch. Holding in his hands a little package ofcards on which notes were jotted down, he occasionallycast his eyes upon them, but he evidently trusted to theinspiration of the hour for his phrasing, and his trust wasnot misplaced. I never heard a more simple, strong,lucid use of the English language than was his on thatoccasion. The speech was a very noble plea for the restorationof good feeling between North and South, with aneffort to show that the distrust felt by the South towardthe North was natural. In the course of it he said insubstance:

``Fellow Citizens: The people of the South have muchreason to distrust us. We have sent among them duringthe war and since the war, to govern them, to hold officeamong them, and to eat out their substance, a number ofworthless adventurers whom they call ``carpet-baggers.''These emissaries of ours pretend to be patriotic and pious;they pull long faces and say `Let us pray'; but they spellit p-r-E-y. The people of the South hate them, and theyought to hate them.''

At this we in the audience looked at each other inamazement; for, standing close beside Mr. Greeley, atthat very moment, most obsequiously, was perhaps theworst ``carpet-bagger'' ever sent into the South; a manwho had literally been sloughed off by both parties;—who, having been become an unbearable nuisance in NewYork politics, had been ``unloaded'' by Mr. Lincoln, in anill-inspired moment, upon the hapless South, and who wasnow trying to find new pasture.

But this was not the most comical thing; for Mr.
Greeley in substance continued as follows:

``Fellow Citizens: You know how it is yourselves.There are men who go to your own State Capitol, nominallyas legislators or advisers, but really to plunder andsteal. These men in the Northern States correspond to the`carpet-baggers' in the Southern States, and you hatethem and you ought to hate them.'' Thus speaking, Mr.Greeley poured out the vials of his wrath against all thisclass of people; blissfully unconscious of the fact that onthe other side of him stood the most notorious and corruptlobbyist who had been known in Albany for years;—a man who had been chased out of that city by the sherifffor attempted bribery, had been obliged to remain for aconsiderable time in hiding to avoid criminal charges ofexerting corrupt influence on legislation, and whom bothpolitical parties naturally disowned. Comical as all thiswas, it was pathetic to see a man like Greeley in such acave of Adullam.

During this summer of 1871 occurred the death ofone of my dearest friends, a man who had exercised amost happy influence over my opinions and who hadcontributed much to the progress of anti-slavery ideas inNew England and New York. This was the Rev.Samuel Joseph May, pastor of the Unitarian Church inSyracuse, a friend and associate of Emerson, Garrison,Phillips, Gerrit Smith, and one of the noblest, truest, andmost beautiful characters I have ever known.

Having seen the end of slavery, and being about eightyyears of age, he felt deeply that his work was done, andthenceforward declared that he was happy in the ideathat his life on this planet was soon to end. I have neverseen, save in the case of the Hicksite Quaker at AnnArbor, referred to elsewhere, such a living faith in thereality of another world. Again and again Mr. May saidto me in the most cheerful way imaginable, ``I am as muchconvinced of the existence of a future state as of thesescenes about me, and, to tell you the truth, now that mywork here is ended, I am becoming very curious to knowwhat the next stage of existence is like.'' On the afternoonof the 1st of July I paid him a visit, found him muchwearied by a troublesome chronic complaint, but contented,cheerful, peaceful as ever.

Above him as he lay in his bed was a portrait which Ihad formerly seen in his parlor. Thereby hung a curioustale. Years before, at the very beginning of Mr. May'scareer, he had been a teacher in the town of Canterbury,Connecticut, when Miss Prudence Crandall was persecuted,arrested, and imprisoned for teaching colored children.Mr. May had taken up her case earnestly, and, with the aidof Mr. Lafayette Foster, afterward president of the UnitedStates Senate, had fought it out until the enemies of MissCrandall were beaten. As a memorial of this activity ofhis, Mr. May received this large, well painted portrait ofMiss Crandall, and it was one of his most valued possessions.

On the afternoon referred to, after talking aboutvarious other matters most cheerfully, and after I had toldhim that we could not spare him yet, that we needed him atleast ten years longer, he laughingly said, ``Can't youcompromise on one year?'' ``No,'' I said, ``nothing lessthan ten years. ``Thereupon he laughed pleasantly, calledhis daughter, Mrs. Wilkinson, and said, ``Remember;when I am gone this portrait of Prudence Crandall is togo to Andrew White for Cornell University, where myanti-slavery books already are.'' As I left him, both ofus were in the most cheerful mood, he appearing betterthan during some weeks previous. Next morning Ilearned that he had died during the night. The portraitof Miss Crandall now hangs in the Cornell University Library.

My summer was given up partly to recreation mingledwith duties of various sorts, including an address in honorof President Woolsey at the Alumni dinner at Yale andanother at the laying of the corner stone of SyracuseUniversity.

Noteworthy at this period was a dinner with Longfellowat Cambridge, and I recall vividly his showing mevarious places in the Craigie house connected with interestingpassages in the life of Washington when he occupied it.

Early in the autumn, while thus engrossed in everythingbut political matters, I received a letter from myfriend Mr. A. B. Cornell, a most energetic and efficientman in State and national politics, a devoted supporterof General Grant and Senator Conkling, and afterwardgovernor of the State of New York, asking me if I wouldgo to the approaching State convention and accept itspresidency. I wrote him in return expressing my reluctance,dwelling upon the duties pressing upon me in connectionwith the university, and asking to be excused. Inreturn came a very earnest letter insisting on theimportance of the convention in keeping the Republican partytogether, and in preventing its being split into factionsbefore the approaching presidential election. I had, onall occasions, and especially at various social gatheringsat which political leaders were present, in New York andelsewhere, urged the importance of throwing aside allfactious spirit and harmonizing the party in view of thecoming election, and to this Mr. Cornell referred veryearnestly. As a consequence I wrote him that if thedelegates from New York opposed to General Grant could beadmitted to the convention on equal terms with those whofavored him, and if he, Mr. Cornell, and the other managersof the Grant wing of the party would agree that theanti-Grant forces should receive full and fair representationon the various committees, I would accept the presidencyof the convention in the interest of peace betweenthe factions, and would do my best to harmonize the differinginterests in the party, but that otherwise I would notconsent to be a member of the convention. In his answerMr. Cornell fully agreed to this, and I have every reasonto believe, indeed to know, that his agreement was kept.The day of the convention having arrived (September 27,1871), Mr. Cornell, as chairman of the Republican Statecommittee, called the assemblage to order, and after asomewhat angry clash with the opponents of the administration,nominated me to the chairmanship of the convention.

By a freak of political fortune I was separated in thiscontest from my old friend Chauncey M. Depew; butthough on different sides of the question at issue, we sattogether chatting pleasantly as the vote went on, neitherof us, I think, very anxious regarding it, and when theelection was decided in my favor he was one of those who,under instructions from the temporary chairman, verycourteously conducted me to the chair. It was an immenseassemblage, and from the first it was evident that therewere very turbulent elements in it. Hardly, indeed, hadI taken my seat, when the chief of the Syracuse policeinformed me that there were gathered near the platforma large body of Tammany roughs who had come from NewYork expressly to interfere with the convention, just asa few years before they had interfered in the same placewith the convention of their own party, seriously woundingits regular chairman; but that I need have no alarmat any demonstration they might make; that the policewere fully warned and able to meet the adversary.

In my opening speech I made an earnest plea for peaceamong the various factions of the party, and especiallybetween those who favored and those who opposed theadministration; this plea was received with kindness, andshortly afterward came the appointment of committees.Of course, like every other president of such a body, Ihad to rely on the standing State committee. Hardly oneman in a thousand coming to the presidency of a Stateconvention knows enough of the individual leaders of politicsin all the various localities to distinguish between theirshades of opinion. It was certainly impossible for me toknow all those who, in the various counties of the State,favored General Grant and those who disliked him. Likeevery other president of a convention, probably withoutan exception, from the beginning to the present hour, Ireceived the list of the convention committees from theState committee which represented the party, and I receivedthis list, not only with implied, but express assurancesthat the agreement under which I had taken thechairmanship had been complied with;—namely, that thelist represented fairly the two wings of the party inconvention, and that both the Grant and the anti-Grantdelegations from New York city were to be admitted on equalterms.

I had no reason then, and have no reason now, to believethat the State committee abused my confidence. I feel surenow, as I felt sure then, that the committee named by mefairly represented the two wings of the party; but aftertheir appointment it was perfectly evident that this didnot propitiate the anti-administration wing. They weredeeply angered against the administration by the fact thatGeneral Grant had taken as his adviser in regard to NewYork patronage and politics Senator Conkling rather thanSenator Fenton. Doubtless Senator Conkling's mannerin dealing with those opposed to him had made manyenemies who, by milder methods, might have been broughtto the support of the administration. At any rate, it wassoon clear that the anti-administration forces, recognizingtheir inferiority in point of numbers, were determined tosecede. This, indeed, was soon formally announced by oneof their leaders; but as they still continued after thisdeclaration to take part in the discussions, the point of orderwas raised that, having formally declared their intentionof leaving the convention, they were no longer entitled totake part in its deliberations. This point I ruled out,declaring that I could not consider the anti-administrationwing as outside the convention until they had left it. Thedebates grew more and more bitter, Mr. Conkling making,late at night, a powerful speech which rallied the forces ofthe administration and brought them victory. The anti-administration delegates now left the convention, but beforethey did so one of them rose and eloquently tenderedto me as president the thanks of his associates for myimpartiality, saying that it contrasted most honorably withthe treatment they had received from certain other membersof the convention. But shortly after leaving theyheld a meeting in another place, and, having evidentlymade up their minds that they must declare war againsteverybody who remained in the convention, theydenounced us all alike, and the same gentleman who hadmade the speech thanking me for my fairness, and whowas very eminent among those who were known as ``TammanyRepublicans,'' now made a most violent haranguein which he declared that a man who conducted himselfas I had done, and who remained in such an infamousconvention, or had anything to do with it, was ``utterlyunfit to be an instructor of youth.''

Similar attacks continued to appear in the anti-administration papers for a considerable time afterward, and atfirst they were rather trying to me. I felt that nothingcould be more unjust, for I had strained to the last degreemy influence with my associates who supported GeneralGrant in securing concessions to those who differed fromus. Had these attacks been made by organs of the oppositepolitical party, I would not have minded them; butbeing made in sundry journals which had represented theRepublican party and were constantly read by my oldfriends, neighbors, and students, they naturally, for atime, disquieted me. One of the charges then made hasoften amused me as I have looked back upon it since, andis worth referring to as an example of the looseness ofstatement common among the best of American politicaljournals during exciting political contests. This chargewas that I had ``sought to bribe people to support theadministration by offering them consulates.'' This wasechoed in various parts of the State.

The facts were as follows: An individual who had madesome money as a sutler in connection with the army hadobtained control of a local paper at Syracuse, and, throughthe influence thus gained, an election to the lower house ofthe State legislature. During the winter which he passedat Albany he was one of three or four Republicans whovoted with the Democrats in behalf of the measuresproposed by Tweed, the municipal arch-robber afterwardconvicted and punished for his crimes against the city ofNew York. Just at this particular time Tweed was at theheight of his power, and at a previous session of thelegislature he had carried his measures through theAssembly by the votes of three or four Republicans who wereneeded in addition to the Democratic votes in order togive him the required majority. Many leading Republicanjournals had published the names of these three orfour men with black lines around them, charging them,apparently justly, with having sold themselves to Tweedfor money, and among them the person above referredto. Though he controlled a newspaper in Syracuse, hehad been unable to secure renomination to the legislature,and, shortly afterward, in order to secure rehabilitationas well as pelf, sought an appointment to the Syracusepostmastership. Senator Conkling, mindful of the man'srecord, having opposed the appointment, and the Presidenthaving declined to make it, the local paper undercontrol of this person turned most bitterly against theadministration, and day after day poured forth diatribesagainst the policy and the persons of all connected withthe actual government at Washington, and especiallyagainst President Grant and Senator Conkling.

The editor of the paper at that time was a very giftedyoung writer, an old schoolmate and friend of mine, who,acting under instructions from the managers of the paper,took a very bitter line against the administration and itssupporters.

About the time of the meeting of the convention thisold friend came to me, expressed his regret at the line hewas obliged to take, said that both he and his wife weresick of the whole thing and anxious to get out of it, andadded: ``The only way out, that I can see, is some appointmentthat will at once relieve me of all these duties, andin fact take me out of the country. Cannot you aid me byapplication to the senator or the President in obtaining aconsulate?'' I answered him laughingly, ``My dear ——,I will gladly do all I can for you, not only for friendship'ssake, but because I think you admirably fitted for the placeyou name; but don't you think that, for a few days atleast, while you are applying for such a position, youmight as well stop your outrageous attacks against thevery men from whom you hope to receive the appointment?''

Having said this, half in jest and half in earnest, Ithought no more on the subject, save as to the best way ofaiding my friend to secure the relief he desired.

So rose the charge that I was ``bribing persons to supportthe administration by offering them consulates.''

But strong friends rallied to my support. Mr. GeorgeWilliam Curtis in ``Harper's Weekly,'' Mr. Godkin in``The Nation,'' Mr. Charles Dudley Warner and othersin various other journals took up the cudgels in my behalf,and I soon discovered that the attacks rather helped thanhurt me. They did much, indeed, to disgust me for a timewith political life; but I soon found that my friends, mystudents, and the country at large understood the charges,and that they seemed to think more rather than less of meon account of them. In those days the air was full of thatsort of onslaught upon every one supposed to be friendlyto General Grant, and the effect in one case was revealedto me rather curiously. Matthew Carpenter, of Wisconsin,was then one of the most brilliant members of the UnitedStates Senate, a public servant of whom his State wasproud; but he had cordially supported the administrationand was consequently made the mark for bitter attack, dayafter day and week after week, by the opposing journals,and these attacks finally culminated in an attempt to basea very ugly scandal against him upon what was knownamong his friends to be a simple courtesy publiclyrendered to a very worthy lady. The attacks and the scandalresounded throughout the anti-administration papers,their evident purpose being to defeat his re<e:>lection to theUnited States Senate.

But just before the time for the senatorial election inWisconsin, meeting a very bright and active-minded studentof my senior class who came from that State, I askedhim, ``What is the feeling among your people regardingthe re<e:>lection of Senator Carpenter?'' My studentimmediately burst into a torrent of wrath and answered: ``Thepeople of Wisconsin will send Mr. Carpenter back to theSenate by an enormous majority. We will see if a gangof newspaper blackguards can slander one of our senatorsout of public life.'' The result was as my young friendhad foretold: Mr. Carpenter was triumphantly re<e:>lected.

While I am on this subject I may refer, as a comfort tothose who have found themselves unjustly attacked inpolitical matters, to two other notable cases within myremembrance.

Probably no such virulence has ever been known dayafter day, year after year, as was shown by sundry pressesof large circulation in their attacks on William H. Seward.They represented him as shady and tricky; as the lowestof demagogues; as utterly without conscience or ability;as pretending a hostility to slavery which was simplya craving for popularity; they refused to report hisspeeches, or, if they did report them, distorted them. Hehad also incurred the displeasure of very many leadersof his own party, and of some of its most powerful presses,yet he advanced steadily from high position to highposition, and won a lasting and most honorable place in thehistory of his country.

The same may be said of Senator Conkling. The attackson him in the press were bitter and almost universal;yet the only visible result was that he was re<e:>lected to thenational Senate by an increased majority. To the catastrophewhich some years later ended his political career,the onslaught by the newspapers contributed nothing; itresulted directly from the defects of his own greatqualities and not at all from attacks made upon him fromoutside.

Almost from the first moment of my acquaintance withMr. Conkling, I had endeavored to interest him in the reformof the civil service, and at least, if this was notpossible, to prevent his actively opposing it. In this senseI wrote him various letters. For a time they seemed successful;but at last, under these attacks, he broke all boundsand became the bitter opponent of the movement. In hispowerful manner and sonorous voice he from time to timeexpressed his contempt for it. The most striking of hisutterances on the subject was in one of the State conventions,which, being given in his deep, sonorous tones, ranmuch as follows: ``When Doctor-r-r Ja-a-awnson said thatpatr-r-riotism-m was the l-a-w-s-t r-r-refuge of a scoundr-r-rel,he ignor-r-red the enor-r-rmous possibilities ofthe word r-refa-awr-r-rm!''

The following spring (June 5, 1872) I attended theRepublican National Convention at Philadelphia as asubstitute delegate. It was very interesting and, unlike theenormous assemblages since of twelve or fifteen thousandpeople at Chicago and elsewhere, was a really deliberativebody. As it was held in the Academy of Music, there wasroom for a sufficient audience, while there was not roomfor a vast mob overpowering completely the members ofthe convention and preventing any real discussion at somemost important junctures, as has been the case in so manyconventions of both parties in these latter years.

The most noteworthy features of this convention werethe speeches of sundry colored delegates from the South.Very remarkable they were, and a great revelation as tothe ability of some, at least, of their race in the formerslave States.

General Grant was renominated for the Presidency,and for the Vice-Presidency Mr. Henry Wilson of Massachusettsin place of Schuyler Colfax, who had held the positionduring General Grant's first term.

The only speeches I made during the campaign wereone from the balcony of the Continental Hotel in Philadelphiaand one from the steps of the Delavan House atAlbany, but they were perfunctory and formal. Therewas really no need of speeches, and I was longing to go atmy proper university work. Mr. James Anthony Froude,the historian, had arrived from England to deliver hislectures before our students; and, besides this, the universityhad encountered various difficulties which engrossedall my thoughts.

General Grant's re<e:>lection was a great victory. Mr.Greeley had not one Northern electoral vote; worst of all,he had, during the contest, become utterly broken in bodyand mind, and shortly after the election he died.

His death was a sad ending of a career which, as awhole, had been so beneficent. As to General Grant, I believenow, as I believed then, that his election was a greatblessing, and that he was one of the noblest, purest, andmost capable men who have ever sat in the Presidency.The cheap, clap-trap antithesis which has at times beenmade between Grant the soldier and Grant the statesmanis, I am convinced, utterly without foundation. Thequalities which made him a great soldier made him aneffective statesman. This fact was clearly recognizedby the American people at various times during thewar, and especially when, at the surrender of Appomattox,he declined to deprive General Lee of his sword,and quietly took the responsibility of allowing thesoldiers of the Southern army to return with their horsesto their fields to resume peaceful industry. Thesestatesmanlike qualities were developed more and moreby the great duties and responsibilities of the Presidency.His triumph over financial demagogy in his vetoesof the Inflation Bill, and his triumph over political demagogyin securing the treaty of Washington and the Alabamaindemnity, prove him a statesman worthy to rankwith the best of his predecessors. In view of theseevidences of complete integrity and high capacity, andbearing in mind various conversations which I had with himduring his public life down to a period just before hisdeath, I feel sure that history will pronounce him not onlya general but a statesman in the best sense of the word.

The renomination of General Grant at the Philadelphiaconvention was the result of gratitude, respect, and convictionof his fitness. Although Mr. Greeley had the supportof the most influential presses of the United States, andwas widely beloved and respected as one who had bornethe burden and heat of the day, he was defeated in obedienceto a healthy national instinct.

Years afterward I was asked in London by one of themost eminent of English journalists how such a thingcould have taken place. Said he, ``The leading papers ofthe United States, almost without exception, were in favorof Mr. Greeley; how, then, did it happen that he was insuch a hopeless minority?'' I explained the matter asbest I could, whereupon he said, ``Whatever the explanationmay be, it proves that the American press, by its wildstatements in political campaigns, and especially by itsreckless attacks upon individuals, has lost that hold uponAmerican opinion which it ought to have; and, dependupon it, this is a great misfortune for your country.'' Idid not attempt to disprove this statement, for I knew buttoo well that there was great truth in it.

Of my political experiences at that period I recall two:the first of these was making the acquaintance at Saratogaof Mr. Samuel J. Tilden. His political fortunes werethen at their lowest point. With Mr. Dean Richmond ofBuffalo, he had been one of the managers of the Democraticparty in the State, but, Mr. Richmond having died,the Tweed wing of the party, supported by the canalcontractors, had declared war against Mr. Tilden, treatedhim with contempt, showed their aversion to him in everyway, and, it was fully understood, had made up theirminds to depose him. I remember walking and talkingagain and again with him under the colonnade at CongressHall, and, without referring to any person by name, hedwelt upon the necessity of more earnest work in redeemingAmerican politics from the management of men utterlyunfit for leadership. Little did he or I foresee thatsoon afterward his arch-enemy, Tweed, then in the samehotel and apparently all-powerful, was to be a fugitivefrom justice, and finally to die in prison, and that he, Mr.Tilden himself, was to be elected governor of the State ofNew York, and to come within a hair's-breadth of thepresidential chair at Washington.

The other circ*mstance of a political character was myattendance as an elector at the meeting of the ElectoralCollege at Albany, which cast the vote of New York forGeneral Grant. I had never before sat in such a body, andits proceedings interested me. As president we electedGeneral Stewart L. Woodford, and as the body, after theformal election of General Grant to the Presidency, wasobliged to send certificates to the governor of the State,properly signed and sealed, and as it had no seal of itsown, General Woodford asked if any member had a sealwhich he would lend to the secretary for that purpose.Thereupon a seal-ring which Goldwin Smith had broughtfrom Rome and given me was used for that purpose. Itwas an ancient intaglio. Very suitably, it bore the figureof a ``Winged Victory,'' and it was again publicly used,many years later, when it was affixed to the Americansignature of the international agreement made at thePeace Conference of The Hague.

The following winter I had my first experience of``Reconstruction'' in the South. Being somewhat worn withwork, I made a visit to Florida, passing leisurely throughthe southern seaboard States, and finding at Columbiaan old Yale friend, Governor Chamberlain, from whom Ilearned much. But the simple use of my eyes and earsduring the journey gave me more than all else. A visitto the State legislature of South Carolina revealed vividlythe new order of things. The State Capitol was a beautifulmarble building, but unfinished without and dirtywithin. Approaching the hall of the House of Representatives,I found the door guarded by a negro, squalid andfilthy. He evidently reveled in his new citizenship; hischair was tilted back against the wall, his feet were highin the air, and he was making everything nauseous abouthim with tobacco; but he soon became obsequious andadmitted us to one of the most singular deliberative bodiesever known—a body composed of former landed proprietorsand slave-owners mixed up pell-mell with theirformer slaves and with Northern adventurers then knownas ``carpet-baggers.'' The Southern gentlemen of theAssembly were gentlemen still, and one of them, Mr.Memminger, formerly Secretary of the Treasury of theConfederate States, was especially courteous to us. But soonall other things were lost in contemplation of ``Mr.Speaker.'' He was a bright, nimble, voluble mulatto who,as one of the Southern gentlemen informed me, was ``thesmartest nigg*r God ever made.'' Having been elevatedto the speakership, he magnified his office. While we wereobserving him, a gentleman of one of the most historicfamilies of South Carolina, a family which had given tothe State a long line of military commanders, governors,senators, and ambassadors, rose to make a motion. Thespeaker, a former slave, at once declared him out of order.On the member persisting in his effort, the speaker calledout, ``De genlemun frum Bufert has no right to de floh;de genlemun from Bufert will take his seat,'' and theformer aristocrat obeyed. To this it had come at last.In the presence of this assembly, in this hall where dis-union really had its birth, where secession first shone outin all its glory, a former slave ordered a former masterto sit down, and was obeyed.

In Charleston the same state of things was to be seen,and for the first time I began to feel sympathy forthe South. This feeling was deepened by what I saw inGeorgia and Florida; and yet, below it all I seemed to seethe hand of God in history, and in the midst of it all Iseemed to hear a deep voice from the dead. To me, seeingthese things, there came, reverberating out of the lastcentury, that prediction of Thomas Jefferson,—himself aslaveholder,—who, after depicting the offenses of slavery,ended with these words, worthy of Isaiah,—divinely inspiredif any ever were:—``I tremble when I rememberthat God is just.''

CHAPTER XI

GRANT, HAYES, AND GARFIELD—1871-1881

At various times after the death of Mr. Lincoln I visitedWashington, meeting many men especially influential,and, first of all, President Grant. Of all personages whomI then met he impressed me most strongly. At varioustimes I talked with him at the White House, dining withhim and seeing him occasionally in his lighter mood, butat no time was there the slightest diminution of hisunaffected dignity. Now and then he would make some dryremark which showed a strong sense of humor, but ineverything there was the same quiet, simple strength. Onone occasion, when going to the White House, I met ProfessorAgassiz of Cambridge, and took him with me: wewere received cordially, General Grant offering us cigars,as was his wont with visitors, and Agassiz geniallysmoking with him: when we had come away the greatnaturalist spoke with honest admiration of the President,evidently impressed by the same qualities which hadalways impressed me—his modesty, simplicity, and quietforce.

I also visited him at various times in his summercottage at Long Branch, and on one of these occasions hegave a bit of history which specially interested me. Aswe were taking coffee after dinner, a card was broughtin, and the President, having glanced at it, said, ``Tell himthat I cannot see him.'' The servant departed with themessage, but soon returned and said, ``The gentlemanwishes to know when he can see the President.'' ``Tellhim NEVER,'' said Grant.

It turned out that the person whose name the card borewas the correspondent of a newspaper especially notedfor sensation-mongering, and the conversation drifted tothe subject of newspapers and newspaper correspondents,when the President told the following story, which I giveas nearly as possible in his own words:

``During the hottest period of the final struggle inVirginia, we suffered very much from the reports of newspapercorrespondents who prowled about our camps andthen put on the wires the information they had gained,which of course went South as rapidly as it went North.It became really serious and embarrassed us greatly. Onthis account, one night, when I had decided to make animportant movement with a portion of the army earlynext day, I gave orders that a tent should be pitched in anout-of-the-way place, at the earliest possible moment in themorning, and notified the generals who were to take partin the movement to meet me there.

``It happened that on the previous day there had cometo the camp a newspaper correspondent named ——, and,as he bore a letter from Mr. Washburne, I treated him ascivilly as possible.

``At daylight next morning, while we were assembled inthe tent making final arrangements, one of my aides,Colonel ——, heard a noise just outside, and, going out,saw this correspondent lying down at full length, his earunder the edge of the tent, and a note-book in hishand. Thereupon Colonel took the correspondentby his other ear, lifted him to his feet, and swore to hima solemn oath that if he was visible in any part of thecamp more than five minutes longer, a detachment oftroops would be ordered out to shoot him and bury himthere in the swamp, so that no one would ever know hisname or burial-place.

``The correspondent left at once,'' said the President,``and he took his revenge by writing a history of the warfrom which he left me out.''

The same characteristic which I had found at othermeetings with Grant came out even more strongly when,just before the close of his term, he made me a visit atCornell, where one of his sons was a student. To meethim I invited several of our professors and others whowere especially prejudiced against him, and, withoutexception, they afterward expressed the very feeling whichhad come over me after my first conversation with him—surprise at the revelation of his quiet strength and hisknowledge of public questions then before the country.

During a walk on the university grounds he spoke to meof the Santo Domingo matter.[3] He said: ``The annexationquestion is doubtless laid aside for the present, but the timewill come when the country will have occasion to regretthat it was disposed of without adequate discussion. As Iam so soon to leave the presidency, I may say to you nowthat one of my main thoughts in regard to the annexationof the island has been that it might afford a refuge for thenegroes of the South in case anything like a war of racesshould ever arise in the old slave States.'' He then alludedto the bitter feeling between the two races which was thenshown in the South, and which was leading many of theblacks to take refuge in Kansas and other northwesternStates, and said, ``If such a refuge as Santo Domingowere open to them, their former masters would soon findthat they have not the colored population entirely at theirmercy, and would be obliged to compromise with them onfar more just terms than would otherwise be likely.''

[3] See my chapter on Santo Domingo experiences.

The President said this with evidently deep conviction,and it seemed to me a very thoughtful and far-sightedview of the possibilities and even probabilities involved.

During another walk, in speaking of the approachingclose of his second presidential term, he said that he foundhimself looking forward to it with the same longing whichhe had formerly had as a cadet at West Point when lookingforward to a furlough.

I have never believed that the earnest effort made byhis friends at Chicago to nominate him for a third termwas really prompted by him, or that he originally desiredit. It always seemed to me due to the devotion of friendswho admired his noble qualities, and thought that theUnited States ought not to be deprived of them in obedienceto a tradition, in this case, more honored in thebreach than in the observance.

I may add here that, having seen him on severalconvivial occasions, and under circ*mstances when, if ever,he would be likely to indulge in what was understood tohave been, in his early life, an unfortunate habit, I neversaw him betray the influence of alcohol in the slightestdegree.

Shortly after General Grant laid down his high office,he made his well-known journey to Europe and the East,and I had the pleasure of meeting him at Cologne andtraveling up the Rhine with him. We discussed Americanaffairs all day long. He had during the previous weekbeen welcomed most cordially to the hospitalities of twoleading sovereigns of Europe, and had received endlessattentions from the most distinguished men of Englandand Belgium, but in conversation he never, in the slightestdegree, referred to any of these experiences. He seemednot to think of them; his heart was in matters pertainingto his own country. He told me much regarding hisadministration, and especially spoke with the greatestrespect and affection of his Secretary of State, Mr.Hamilton Fish.

Somewhat later I again met him in Paris, had severalwalks and talks with him in which he discussed Americanaffairs, and I remember that he dwelt with especialadmiration, and even affection, upon his colleagues Shermanand Sheridan.

I trust that it may not be considered out of place if, inthis retrospect, which is intended, first of all, for mychildren and grandchildren, I state that a personal fact,which was known to many from other sources, was confirmedto me in one of these conversations: General Grantinforming me, as he had previously informed my wife, thathe had fully purposed to name me as Secretary of Statehad Mr. Fish carried out his intention of resigning. Whenhe told me this, my answer was that I considered it a veryfortunate escape for us both; that my training had notfitted me for such duties; that my experience in the diplomaticservice had then been slight; that I had no propertraining as a lawyer; that my knowledge of internationallaw was derived far more from the reading of books thanfrom its application; and that I doubted my physical abilityto bear the pressure for patronage which convergedupon the head of the President's cabinet.

In the Washington of those days my memory also recallsvividly a dinner with Senator Conkling at which Imet a number of interesting men, and among them GovernorSeymour, who had been the candidate opposed toGrant during his first presidential campaign; SenatorAnthony, Senator Edmunds, the former Vice-PresidentMr. Hamlin, Senator Carpenter, and others. Many goodstories were told, and one amused me especially, as it wasgiven with admirable mimicry by Senator Carpenter. Hedescribed an old friend of his, a lawyer, who, comingbefore one of the higher courts with a very doubtful case,began his plea as follows: ``May it please the court, thereis only one point in this case favorable to my client, butthat, may it please the court, is a chink in the common lawwhich has been worn smooth by the multitude of scoundrelswho have escaped through it.''

During the year 1878 I was sent as an honorarycommissioner from the State of New York to the ParisExposition, and shall give a more full account of this period inanother chapter. Suffice it that, having on my returnprepared my official report on the provision for politicaleducation made by the different governments of Europe,I became more absorbed than ever in university affairs,keeping aloof as much as possible from politics. But inthe political campaign of 1878 I could not but beinterested. It was different from any other that I had known,for the ``Greenback Craze'' bloomed out as never beforeand seemed likely to poison the whole country. Greathardships had arisen from the fact that debts which hadbeen made under a depreciated currency had to be paidin money of greater value. Men who, in what were knownas ``flush times,'' had bought farms, paid down halfthe price, and mortgaged them for the other half, foundnow, when their mortgages became due, that they couldnot sell the property for enough to cover the lien upon it.Besides this, the great army of speculators throughoutthe country found the constant depreciation of pricesbringing them to bankruptcy. In the cry for more greenbacks,—that is, for continued issues of paper money,—demagogism undoubtedly had a large part; but there weremany excellent men who were influenced by it, and amongthem Peter Cooper of New York, founder of the greatinstitution which bears his name, one of the purest andbest men I have ever known.

This cry for more currency was echoed from one endof the country to the other. In various States, andespecially in Ohio, it seemed to carry everything before it,nearly all the public men of note, including nearly all theleading Democrats and very many of the foremost Republicans,bowing down to it, the main exceptions being JohnSherman and Garfield.

In central New York the mania seemed, early in thesummer, to take strong hold. In Syracuse John Wieting, anamazingly fluent speaker with much popular humor, whohad never before shown any interest in politics, took thestump for an unlimited issue of government paper currency,received the nomination to Congress from theDemocrats and sundry independent organizations, andfor a time seemed to carry everything before him. Asimilar state of things prevailed at Ithaca and the regionround about Cayuga Lake. Two or three people muchrespected in the community came out for this doctrine,and, having a press under their control, their influenceseemed likely to be serious. Managers of the Republicanorganization in the State seemed at first apathetic; but atlast they became alarmed and sent two speakers throughthese disaffected districts—only two, but each, in his way,a master. The first of them, in order of time, was SenatorRoscoe Conkling, and he took as his subject the NationalBanking System. This had been for a considerable timeone of the objects of special attack by uneasy and unsuccessfulpeople throughout the entire country. As a matterof fact, the national banking system, created during theCivil War by Secretary Chase and his advisers, was one ofthe most admirable expedients ever devised in any country.Up to the time of its establishment the whole countryhad suffered enormously from the wretched currencysupplied from the State banks. Even in those States wherethe greatest precaution was taken to insure its redemptionall of it was, in time of crisis or panic, fluctuating and muchof it worthless. But in other States the case was evenworse. I can recall perfectly that through my boyhoodand young manhood every merchant and shopkeeper kepton his table what was called a ``bank-note detector,''which, when any money was tendered him, he was obligedto consult in order to know, first, whether the bill was acounterfeit, as it frequently was; secondly, whether it wason a solvent bank; and thirdly, if good, what discountshould be deducted from the face of it. Under this systembank-notes varied in value from week to week, and evenfrom day to day, with the result that all buying and sellingbecame a sort of gambling.

When, then, Mr. Chase established the new system ofnational banks so based that every bill-holder had securityfor the entire amount which his note represented, socontrolled that a bill issued from any little bank in theremotest State, or even in the remotest corner of a Territory,was equal to one issued by the richest bank in WallStreet, so engraved that counterfeiting was practicallyimpossible, there was an immense gain to every man, woman,and child in the country.

To appreciate this gain one must have had experienceof the older system. I remember well the panic of 1857,which arose while I was traveling in eastern and northernNew England, and that, arriving in the city of Salem,Massachusetts, having tendered, in payment of my hotelbill, notes issued by a leading New York city bank,guaranteed under what was known as the ``Safety FundSystem,'' they were refused. The result was that I had toleave my wife at the hotel, go to Boston, and there manageto get Massachusetts money.

But this was far short of the worst. Professor Robertsof Cornell University once told me that, having in thosedays collected a considerable debt in one of the WesternStates, he found the currency so worthless that heattempted to secure New York funds, but that the rate ofexchange was so enormous that, as the only way of savinganything, he bought a large quantity of cheap clothing,shipped it to the East, and sold it for what it would bring.

As to the way in which the older banking operationswere carried on in some of the Western States, GovernorFelch of Michigan once gave me some of his experiencesas a bank examiner, and one of them especiallyamused me. He said that he and a brother examiner madean excursion through the State in a sleigh with a pair ofgood horses in order to inspect the various banksestablished in remote villages and hamlets which had the powerof issuing currency based upon the specie contained intheir vaults. After visiting a few of these, and findingthat each had the amount of specie required by law, theexaminers began to note a curious similarity between thespecie packages in these different banks, and before longtheir attention was drawn to another curious fact, whichwas that wherever they went they were preceded by asleigh drawn by especially fleet horses. On making acareful examination, they found that this sleigh bore frombank to bank a number of kegs of specie sufficient to enableeach bank in its turn to show the examiners a temporarybasis in hard money for its output of paper.

Such was the state of things which the national banksremedied, and the system had the additional advantage ofbeing elastic, so that any little community which neededcurrency had only to combine its surplus capital andestablish a bank of issue.

But throughout the country there were, as there willdoubtless always be, a considerable number of men who, notbeing able to succeed themselves, distrusted and dislikedthe successful. There was also a plentiful supply ofdemagogues skilful in appealing to the prejudices of theignorant, envious, or perverse, and as a result came a cryagainst the national banks.

In Mr. Conkling's Ithaca speech (1878), he argued thequestion with great ability and force. He had a sledge-hammer way which broke down all opposition, and he exultedin it. One of his favorite tactics, which greatlyamused his auditors, was to lead some prominent gainsayerin his audience to interrupt him, whereupon, in the blandestway possible, he would invite him to come forward, urgehim to present his views, even help him to do so, and then,having gradually entangled him in his own sophistries andmade him ridiculous, the senator would come down uponhim with arguments—cogent, pithy, sarcastic—much likethe fist of a giant upon a mosquito.

In whatever town Mr. Conkling argued the question ofthe national banks, that subject ceased to be a factor inpolitics: it was settled; his attacks upon the anti-bankdemagogues annihilated their arguments among thinkingmen, and his sarcasm made them ridiculous amongunthinking men. This was the sort of thing which he didbest. While utterly deficient in constructive power, hisdestructive force was great indeed, and in this campaign itwas applied, as it was not always applied, for the advantageof the country.

The other great speaker in the campaign was GeneralJames A. Garfield, then a member of the House of Repre-sentatives. My acquaintance with him had begun severalyears before at Syracuse, when my old school friend, hiscollege mate, Charles Elliot Fitch, brought him into mylibrary. My collection of books was even at that date verylarge, and Garfield, being delighted with it, soon revealedhis scholarly qualities. It happened that not long beforethis I had bought in London several hundred volumes fromthe library left by the historian Buckle, very many of thembearing copious annotations in his own hand. Garfieldhad read Buckle's ``History of Civilization in England''with especial interest, and when I presented to him anddiscussed with him some of these annotated volumes, therebegan a friendly relation between us which ended onlywith his life.

I also met him under less favorable circ*mstances.Happening to be in Washington at the revelation of theCr<e'>dit Mobilier operations, I found him in the House ofRepresentatives, and evidently in the depths of suffering.An effort was making to connect him with the scandal, andwhile everything I know of him convinces me that he wasnot dishonest, he had certainly been imprudent. This hefelt, and he asked me, in an almost heart-broken tone, ifI really believed that this had forever destroyed hisinfluence in the country. I answered that I believed nothingof the kind; that if he came out in a straightforward,manly way, without any of the prevarication which had sogreatly harmed some others, he would not be injured, andthe result showed that this advice was good.

On our arrival at the great hall in Ithaca (October 28,1878), we found floor and stage packed in every part.Never had a speaker a better audience. There were presentvery many men of all parties anxious to hear the currencyquestion honestly discussed, and among them many of themore thoughtful sort misled by the idea that a wrong hadbeen done to the country in the restoration of the currencyto a sound basis; and there was an enormous attendanceof students from the university.

As Garfield began he showed the effects of fatigue fromthe many speeches he had been making for weeks,—morning,noon, and night; but soon he threw himself heartilyinto the subject, and of all the thousands of politicalspeeches I have heard it was the most effective. It waseloquent, but it was far more than that; it was HONESTLYargumentative; there was no sophistry of any sort; everysubject was taken up fairly and every point dealt withthoroughly. One could see the supports of the Greenbackparty vanishing as he went on. His manner was the veryopposite of Mr. Conkling's: it was kindly, hearty, as ofneighbor with neighbor,—indeed, every person present,even if greenbacker or demagogue, must have said withinhimself, ``This man is a friend arguing with friends; hemakes me his friend, and now speaks to me as such.''

The main line of his argument finished, there camesomething even finer; for, inspired by the presence of the greatmass of students, he ended his speech with an especialappeal to them. Taking as his test the noted passage inthe letter written by Macaulay to Henry Randall, the biographerof Jefferson,—the letter in which Macaulay prophesieddestruction to the American Republic when povertyshould pinch and discontent be wide-spread in the country,—he appealed to these young men to see to it that thisprophecy should not come true; he asked them to follow inthis, as in similar questions, their reason and not theirprejudices, and from this he went on with a statement ofthe motives which ought to govern them and the line theyought to pursue in the effort to redeem their country.

Never was speech more successful. It carried the entireaudience, and left in that region hardly a shred of thegreenback theory. When the election took place it wasobserved that in those districts where Conkling and Garfieldhad spoken, the greenback heresy was annihilated, whilein other districts which had been counted as absolutely surefor the Republican party, and to which, therefore, theseorators had not been sent, there was a great increase inthe vote for currency inflation.

I have often alluded to this result as an answer to thosewho say that speaking produces no real effect on theconvictions of men regarding party matters. Some speakingdoes not, but there is a kind of speaking which does, andof this were these two masterpieces, so different fromeach other in matter and manner, and yet convergingupon the same points, intellectual and moral.

Before I close regarding Garfield, it may be well to givea few more recollections of him. The meeting ended, wedrove to my house on the university grounds, and shortlybefore our arrival he asked me, ``How did you like myspeech?'' I answered: ``Garfield, I have known you toolong and think too highly of you to flatter you; but I willsimply say what I would say under oath: it was the bestspeech I ever heard. ``This utterance of mine was deliberate,expressing my conviction, and he was evidentlypleased with it.

Having settled down in front of the fire in my library,we began to discuss the political situation, and his talkremains to me among the most interesting things of mylife. He said much regarding the history of the currencyquestion and his relations to it, and from this ran rapidlyand suggestively through a multitude of other questionsand the relations of public men to them. One thing whichstruck me was his judicially fair and even kindly estimatesof men who differed from him. Very rarely did he speakharshly or sharply of any one, differing in this greatlyfrom Mr. Conkling, who, in all his conversations, andespecially in one at that same house not long before, seemedto consider men who differed from him as enemies of thehuman race.

Under Mr. Hayes, the successor of General Grant in thePresidency, I served first as a commissioner at the ParisExposition, and then as minister to Germany. Both theseservices will be discussed in the chapters relating to mydiplomatic life, but I may refer briefly to my acquaintancewith him at this period.

I had met him but once previously, and that was duringhis membership of Congress when he came to enter his sonat Cornell. I had then been most favorably impressed byhis large, sincere, manly way. On visiting Washington toreceive my instructions before going to Berlin, I saw himseveral times, and at each meeting my respect for him wasincreased. Driving to Arlington, walking among the soldiers'graves there, standing in the portico of General Lee'sformer residence, and viewing from the terrace the Capitolin the distance, he spoke very nobly of the history we hadboth personally known, of the sacrifices it had required,and of the duties which it now imposed. At his dinner-table I heard him discuss with his Secretary of State, Mr.Evarts, a very interesting question—the advisability ofgiving members of the cabinet seats in the Senate andHouse of Representatives, as had been arranged in theconstitution of the so-called Confederate States; but ofthis I shall speak in another chapter.

It should further be said regarding Mr. Hayes that, whilehardly any President was ever so systematically denouncedand depreciated, he was one of the truest and best menwho has ever held our Chief Magistracy. I remember,just at the close of his administration, dining with aneminent German statesman who said to me: ``I havewatched the course of your President with more andmore surprise. We have been seeing constantly in ourGerman newspapers extracts from American journalsholding up your President to contempt as an ignoramus,but more and more I have seen that he is one of the mostsubstantial, honest, and capable Presidents that you havehad.''

This opinion was amply justified by what I saw of Mr.Hayes after the close of his Presidency. Twice I met himduring conferences at Lake Mohonk, at which mattersrelating to the improvement of the freedmen and Indianswere discussed, and in each he took broad, strong, andstatesmanlike views based on thoughtful experience andpermeated by honesty.

I also met him at a great public meeting at Cleveland,where we addressed some four thousand people from thesame platform, and again I was impressed by his manly,far-seeing grasp of public questions.

As to my after relations with Garfield, I might speak ofvarious pleasant interviews, but will allude to just oneincident which has a pathetic side. During my first residencein Germany as minister of the United States, I one dayreceived a letter from him asking me to secure for him thebest editions of certain leading Greek and Latin classics,adding that it had long been his earnest desire to re-readthem, and that now, as he had been elected to the UnitedStates Senate, he should have leisure to carry out hispurpose. I had hardly sent him what he desired when thenews came that he had been nominated to the Presidency,and so all his dream of literary leisure vanished. A fewmonths later came the news of his assassination.

My term of service as minister in Berlin being ended, Iarrived in America in September, 1881, and, in accordancewith custom, went to present my respects to the new Presidentand his Secretary of State. They were both at LongBranch. Mr. Blaine I saw and had with him a very interestingconversation, but President Garfield I could not see.His life was fast ebbing out, and a week later, on Sundaymorning, I heard the bells tolling and knew that his laststruggle was over.

So closed a career which, in spite of some defects, wasbeautiful and noble. Great hopes had been formed regardinghis Presidency, and yet, on looking back over his life,I have a strong feeling that his assassination was a servicerendered to his reputation. I know from those who hadfull information that during his campaign for the Presidencyhe had been forced to make concessions and pledgeswhich would have brought great trouble upon him had helived through his official term. Gifted and good as hewas, advantage had been taken of his kindly qualities, andhe would have had to pay the penalty.

It costs me a pang to confess my opinion that theadministration of Mr. Arthur, a man infinitely his inferior innearly all the qualities which men most justly admire, wasfar better than the administration which Mr Garfieldwould have been allowed to give to the country.

Upon my return to the university I was asked by myfellow-citizens of Ithaca in general, as also by the universityfaculty and students, to give the public address at thecelebration of President Garfield's funeral. This I didand never with a deeper feeling of loss.

One thing in the various tributes to him had struck mepainfully: Throughout the whole country his career wasconstantly referred to in funeral addresses as showinghow a young American under all the disadvantages ofpoverty could rise to the highest possible position. I havealways thought that such statements, as they are usuallypresented, are injurious to the character and lowering tothe aspirations of young men. I took pains, therefore, toshow that while Garfield had risen under the mostdiscouraging circ*mstances from complete poverty, his risewas due to something other than mere talent and exertion—that it was the result of talent and exertion originatingin noble instincts and directed to worthy ends. Garfield'slife proves this abundantly, and whatever may have beenhis temporary weakness under the fearful pressurebrought upon him toward the end of his career, theseinstincts and purposes remained his main guiding influencesfrom first to last.

CHAPTER XII

ARTHUR, CLEVELAND, AND BLAINE—1881-1884

The successor of Garfield, President Arthur, I had metfrequently in my old days at Albany. He was able,and there never was the slightest spot upon his integrity;but in those early days nobody dreamed that he was toattain any high distinction. He was at that time chargedwith the main military duties under the governor; later hebecame collector of the port of New York, and in bothpositions showed himself honest and capable. He was lively,jocose, easy-going, with little appearance of devotion towork, dashing off whatever he had to do with ease andaccuracy. At various dinner-parties and social gatherings,and indeed at sundry State conventions, where I methim, he seemed, more than anything else, a bon vivant,facile and good-natured.

His nomination to the Vice-Presidency, which on thedeath of Garfield led him to the Presidency, was very curious,and an account of it given me by an old friend whohad previously been a member of the Garfield cabinet andlater an ambassador in Europe, was as follows:

After the defeat of the ``Stalwarts,'' who had foughtso desperately for the renomination of General Grant atthe Chicago Convention of 1880, the victorious side of theconvention determined to concede to them, as an olive-branch, the Vice-Presidency, and with this intent myinformant and a number of other delegates who had beenespecially active in preventing Grant's renomination wentto the room of the New York delegation, which hadtaken the leading part in his support, knocked at the door,and called for Mr. Levi P. Morton, previously a memberof Congress, and, several years later, Vice-President ofthe United States and Governor of New York. Mr. Mortoncame out into the corridor, and thereupon the visitors saidto him, ``We wish to give the Vice-Presidency to New Yorkas a token of good will, and you are the man who shouldtake it; don't fail to accept it.'' Mr. Morton answeredthat he had but a moment before, in this conferenceof his delegation, declined the nomination. At this thevisitors said, ``Go back instantly and tell them that youhave reconsidered and will accept; we will see that theconvention nominates you.'' Mr. Morton started to followthis advice, but was just too late: while he was outside thedoor he had been taken at his word, the place which hehad declined had been offered to General Arthur, he hadaccepted it, and so the latter and not Mr. Morton becamePresident of the United States.

Up to the time when the Presidency devolved upon him,General Arthur had shown no qualities which would havesuggested him for that high office, and I remember vividlythat when the news of Garfield's assassination arrivedin Berlin, where I was then living as minister, myfirst overwhelming feeling was not, as I should haveexpected, horror at the death of Garfield, but stupefactionat the elevation of Arthur. It was a common saying ofthat time among those who knew him best, `` `Chet' ArthurPresident of the United States! Good God!'' But thechange in him on taking the Presidency was amazing. Upto that time he had been known as one of Mr. Conkling'shenchmen, though of the better sort. As such he had heldthe collectorship of the port of New York, and as such,during his occupancy of the Vice-Presidency, he hadvisited Albany and done his best, though in vain, to secureMr. Conkling's renomination; but immediately on his elevationto the Presidency all this was changed, and there isexcellent authority for the statement that when Mr. Conklingwished him to continue, as President, in the subservientposition which he had taken as Vice-President, Mr.Arthur had refused, and when taxed with ingratitude hesaid: ``No. For the Vice-Presidency I was indebted toMr. Conkling, but for the Presidency of the United Statesmy debt is to the Almighty.''

The new President certainly showed this spirit in hisactions. Rarely has there been a better or more dignifiedadministration; the new Secretary of State, Mr. Frelinghuysen,was in every respect fitted for his office, and the other menwhom Mr. Arthur summoned about him were satisfactory.

Although I had met him frequently, and indeed was oncordial terms with him before his elevation to thePresidency, I never met him afterward. During his wholeadministration my duties in connection with CornellUniversity completely absorbed me. I was one of the lastuniversity presidents who endeavored to unite professorialwith executive duties, and the burden was heavy.The university had made at that period its first greatsale of lands, and this involved a large extension ofits activity; the famous Fiske lawsuit, involving nearlytwo millions of dollars, had come on; there was everysort of detail requiring attention at the universityitself, and addresses must be given in various parts ofthe country, more especially before alumni associations,to keep them in proper relations with the institution;so that I was kept completely out of politics, was hardlyever in Washington during this period, and never at theWhite House.

The only matter which connected me with politics at allwas my conviction, which deepened more and more, asto the necessity of reform in the civil service; and on thissubject I conferred with Mr. Dorman B. Eaton, Mr. JohnJay, and others at various times, and prepared an articlefor the ``North American Review'' in which I presentednot only the general advantages of civil service reform,but its claims upon men holding public office. My maineffort was to show, what I believed then and believe stillmore strongly now, that, evil as the whole spoils systemwas in its effects on the country, it was quite as vexatiousand fertile in miseries and disappointments to politicalleaders. In the natural order of things, where there is nospoils system, and where the bestowal of offices is not in thehands of senators, representatives, and the like, thesesenators and representatives, when once elected, have time todischarge their duties, and with very little pains canmaintain their hold upon their constituents as long as theyplease. The average man, when he has cast his vote for acandidate and sees that candidate elected, takes an interestin him; the voter, feeling that he has, in a certain sense,made an investment in the man thus elected, is naturallyinclined to regard him favorably and to continue him inoffice. But with the spoils system, no sooner is a candidateelected than, as has been well observed, for every officewhich he bestows he makes ``ninety-nine enemies and oneingrate.'' The result is that the unsuccessful candidatesfor appointment return home bent on taking revenge byelecting another person at the end of the present incumbent'sterm, and hence comes mainly the wretched systemof rapid rotation in office, which has been in so manyways injurious to our country.

This and other points I urged, but the evil was toodeeply seated. Time was required to remove all doubtswhich were raised. I found with regret that my articlehad especially incurred the bitter dislike of my old adviser,Thurlow Weed, the great friend of Mr. Seward and formerautocrat of Whig and Republican parties in the State ofNew York. Being entirely of the old school, he could notimagine the government carried on without the spoils system.

On one of my visits to New York in the interest of thisreform, I met at dinner Mr. William M. Evarts, then at thehead of the American bar, who had been Secretary ofState under Mr. Hayes, and who was afterward senatorfrom the State of New York. I had met him frequentlybefore and heard much of his brilliant talk, and especiallyhis admirable stories of all sorts.

But on this occasion Mr. Evarts surpassed himself. Irecall a series of witty repartees and charming illustrations,but will give merely one of the latter. Somethingwas said of people's hobbies, whereupon Mr. Evarts saidthat a gentleman visiting a lunatic asylum went into aroom where several patients were assembled, and saw oneof them astride a great dressing-trunk, holding fast to arope drawn through the handle, seesawing and urging itforward as if it were a horse at full speed. The visitor,to humor the patient, said, ``That 's a fine horse youare riding.'' ``Why, no,'' said the patient, ``this is nota horse.'' ``What is it, then?'' asked the visitor. Thepatient answered, ``It 's a hobby.'' ``But,'' said thevisitor, ``what 's the difference between a horse and ahobby?'' ``Why,'' said the patient, ``there 's an enormousdifference; a horse you can get off from, a hobbyyou can't.''

As to civil-service reform, my efforts to convert leadingRepublicans by personal appeals were continued, and insome cases with good results; but I found it very difficultto induce party leaders to give up the immediate and directexercise of power which the spoils system gave them.Especially was it difficult with sundry editors of leadingpapers and party managers; but time has wrought uponthem, and some of those who were most obdurate in thosedays are doing admirable work in these. The most seriouseffort I ever made was to convert my old friend and classmate,Thomas C. Platt, the main manager and, as hewas called, the ``boss'' of the Republican party in theState of New York, a man of great influence throughoutthe Union. He treated me civilly, but evidently consideredme a ``crank.'' He, like Mr. Thurlow Weed, wasunable to understand how a party could be conductedwithout the promise of spoils for the victors; but I havelived to see him take a better view. As I write these linesword comes that his influence is thrown in favor of the billfor reforming the civil service of the State of New York,championed by my nephew, Mr. Horace White, a memberof the present State Senate, and favored by Colonel Roosevelt,the governor.

It was upon a civil-service errand in Philadelphia thatI met, after a long separation, my old friend and classmateWayne MacVeagh. He had been minister to Constantinople,Attorney-General in the Garfield cabinet, and, at alater period, ambassador at Rome. At this period he hadreturned to practise his profession in Philadelphia, and athis hospitable table I met a number of interesting men,and on one occasion sat next an eminent member ofthe Philadelphia bar, Judge Biddle. A subject happenedto come up in which I had taken great interest, namely,American laxity in the punishment of crime, and especiallythe crime of murder, whereupon Judge Biddle dryly remarked:``The taking of life, after due process of law, asa penalty for murder, seems to be the only form of takinglife to which the average American has any objection.''

In the autumn of 1882 came a tremendous reverse forthe Republican party. There was very wide-spread disgustat the apparent carelessness of those in power regardingthe redemption of pledges for reforms. Judge Folger,who had been nominated to the governorship of NewYork, had every qualification for the place, but an opinionhad widely gained ground that President Arthur, who hadcalled Judge Folger into his cabinet as Secretary of theTreasury, was endeavoring to interfere with the politicsof the State, and to put Judge Folger into the governor'schair. There was a suspicion that ``the machine'' wasworking too easily and that some of its wheels were of avery bad sort. All this, coupled with slowness in redeemingplatform pledges, brought on the greatest disaster theRepublican party had ever experienced. In November,1882, Mr. Cleveland was elected governor by the mostenormous majority ever known, and the defeat extendednot only through the State of New York, but through anumber of other States. It was bitter medicine, but, as itafterward turned out, very salutary.

Just after this election, being in New York to deliver anaddress before the Geographical Society on the subject of``The New Germany'' (December 27, 1882), I met a numberof distinguished men in politics at the table of GeneralCullom, formerly the head of the West Point Academy.There was much interesting talk, and some significantpolitical facts were brought out; but the man who interestedme most was my next neighbor at table, General McDowell.

He was an old West Pointer, and had planned thefirst battle of Bull Run, when our troops were overwhelminglydefeated, the capital put in peril, and thenation humiliated at home and abroad. There is nodoubt now that McDowell's plans were excellent, butthe troops were raw volunteers, with little knowledge oftheir officers and less confidence in them; and, as aresult, when, like the men in the ``Biglow Papers,'' theyfound ``why bagonets is peaked,'' there was a panic, justas there was in the first battles of the French Revolution.Every man distrusted every other man; there was a generaloutcry, and all took flight. I remember doing whatI could in those days to encourage those who looked withdespair on the flight from the battle-field of Bull Run, bypointing out to them exactly similar panics and flightsin the first battles of the soldiers who afterward becamethe Grande Arm<e'>e and marched triumphantly over Europe.

But of one thing the American people felt certain inthose days, and that was that at Bull Run ``GeneralMcDowell was drunk.'' This assertion was loudly made,widely spread, never contradicted, and generally believed.I must confess now with shame that I was one of those whowere so simple-minded as to take this newspaper story astrue. On this occasion, sitting next General McDowell, Inoticed that he drank only water, taking no wine of anysort; and on my calling his attention to the wines of ourhost as famous, he answered, ``No doubt; but I never takeanything but water.'' I answered, ``General, how long hasthat been your rule?'' He replied, ``Always since my boy-hood. At that time I was sent to a military school atTroyes in France, and they gave us so much sour winethat I vowed that if I ever reached America again nodrink but water should ever pass my lips, and I have keptto that resolution.''

Of course this was an enormous surprise to me, butshortly afterward I asked various army officers regardingthe matter, and their general answer was: ``Why, ofcourse; all of us know that McDowell is the only officerin the army who never takes anything but water.''

And this was the man who was widely believed bythe American people to have lost the battle of Bull Runbecause he was drunk!

Another remembrance of this period is a dinner withMr. George Jones, of the ``New York Times,'' who gaveme a full account of the way in which his paper came intopossession of the documents revealing the Tammanyfrauds, and how, despite enormous bribes and bitterthreats, the ``Times'' persisted in publishing the papers,and so brought the Tweed r<e'>gime to destruction.

Of political men, the most noted whom I met in thosedays was Governor Cleveland. He was little known, butthose of us who had been observant of public affairs knewthat he had shown sturdy honesty and courage, first assheriff of the county of Erie, and next as mayor of Buffalo,and that, most wonderful of all, he had risen above partyties and had appointed to office the best men he could find,even when some of them were earnest Republicans.

In June of 1883 he visited the university as an ex-officiotrustee, laid the corner-stone of the chapel above theremains of Ezra Cornell, and gave a brief address. It wasshort, but surprised me by its lucidity and force. Thisbeing done, I conducted him to the opening of the newchemical laboratory. He was greatly interested in it, andit was almost pathetic to note his evident regret that hehad never had the advantage of such instruction. Ilearned afterward that he was classically prepared to entercollege, but that his father, a poor country clergyman,being unable to defray his expenses, the young mandetermined to strike out for himself, and so began one ofthe best careers known in the history of American politics.

At this same commencement of Cornell Universityappeared another statesman, Justin S. Morrill of Vermont,author of the Morrill Bill of 1862, which, by a grant ofpublic lands, established a college for scientific, technical,military, and general education in every State and Territoryin the Union. It was one of the most beneficentmeasures ever proposed in any country. Mr. Morrill hadmade a desperate struggle for his bill, first as representativeand afterward as senator. It was twice vetoed byPresident Buchanan, who had at his back all the pro-slaverydoctrinaires of his time. They distrusted, on variousaccounts, any system for promoting advanced education,and especially for its promotion by the government; buthe won the day, and on this occasion our trustees, at mysuggestion, invited him to be present at the unveiling ofhis portrait by Huntington, which had been painted byorder of the trustees for the library.

He was evidently gratified at the tribute, and all whomet him were pleased with him. The time will come, Itrust, when his statue will stand in the capital of the Unionas a memorial of one of the most useful and far-seeingstatesmen our country has known.

A week later I addressed my class at Yale on ``TheMessage of the Nineteenth Century to the Twentieth.'' Inthis address my endeavor was to indicate the lines on whichreforms of various sorts must be instituted, and alongwhich a better future for the country could be developed,and it proved a far greater success than I had expected.It was widely circulated in various forms, first in thenewspapers, then as a pamphlet, and finally as a kind ofcampaign document.

From July to September of that year (1883) I wasobliged to be in Europe looking after matters pertainingto the university lawsuit, and, on returning, was calledupon to address a large meeting of Germans at the funeralof a member of the German parliament who haddied suddenly while on a visit to our country—EdwardLasker. I had known him well in Berlin as a man ofgreat ability and high character, and felt it a duty toaccept the invitation to give one of the addresses athis funeral. The other address was given by my friendof many years, Carl Schurz; and these addresses, withsome others made at the time, did, I suppose, somethingto bring to me the favor of my German fellow-citizens inNew York.

Still, my main thoughts were given to Cornell University.This was so evident that on one occasion a newspaperof my own party, in an article hostile to those who spokeof nominating me for the governorship, declared: ``Mr.White's politics and religion are Cornell University.''But suddenly, in 1884, I was plunged into politics mostunexpectedly.

As has been usual with every party in the State of NewYork from the beginning of the government, the Republicanswere divided between two factions, one supportingMr. Arthur for the Presidency, the other hoping to nominateMr. Blaine. These two factions thus standing opposedto each other, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, with a fewothers in various parts of the State, started an independentmovement, with the result that the two main divisions ofthe party, detesting each other more than they detested theindependents, supported the latter and elected independentcandidates as delegates at large to the approachingRepublican Convention at Chicago. Without any previousnotice, I was made one of these delegates. My position wastherefore perfectly independent; I was at liberty to votefor whom I pleased. Although my acquaintance with Mr.Blaine was but slight, I had always felt strong admirationand deep attachment for him. As Secretary of State, duringa part of my residence in Berlin, he had stood byme in a contest regarding the double standard of valuein which I had feared that he might waver; and, far morethan all this, his general political course had caused me,as it had caused myriads of others, to feel grateful tohim.

But I had learned some things regarding his vulnerabilityin a presidential campaign which made me surethat it would be impossible to elect him. An impartialbut kindly judge had, some months before, whileexpressing great admiration for Mr. Blaine, informed me ofsome transactions which, while they showed no turpitude,revealed a carelessness in doing business which wouldcertainly be brought to bear upon him with great effect in aheated political campaign. It was clear to me that, ifnominated, he would be dragged through the mire, theRepublican party defeated, and the country at largebesmirched in the eyes of the whole world.

Arrived at Chicago June 2, 1884, I found the politicalcaldron seething and bubbling. Various candidateswere earnestly supported, and foremost of all, PresidentArthur and Mr. Blaine. The independent delegates,led by Theodore Roosevelt and George William Curtis,and the Massachusetts delegation, headed by GovernorLong, Senator Hoar, and Henry Cabot Lodge, decided tosupport Senator Edmunds of Vermont. No man stoodhigher than he for integrity as well as for statesmanlikequalities and legal abilities; no one had more thoroughlythe respect of thinking men from one end of the countryto the other.

The delegates having arrived in the great hall wherethe convention was sitting, a number of skirmishes tookplace, and a momentary victory was gained by theIndependents in electing, as temporary chairman, a coloreddelegate of great ability from one of the Southern States,over Mr. Powell Clayton of Arkansas, who, though hehad suffered bitterly and struggled bravely to maintainthe Union during the Civil War, was supposed to be identifiedwith doubtful methods in Southern politics.

But as it soon became evident that the main tide was forMr. Blaine, various efforts were made to concentrate theforces opposed to him upon some candidate who couldcommand more popular support than Mr. Edmunds. Anearnest effort was made in favor of John Shermanof Ohio, and his claims were presented most sympatheticallyto me by my old Cornell student, Governor Foraker.Of all the candidates before the convention I would havepreferred to vote for Mr. Sherman. He had borne thestress of the whole anti-slavery combat, and splendidly;he had rendered great services to the nation as a statesmanand financier, and was in every respect capable and worthy.Unfortunately there were too many old enmities againsthim, and it was clear that the anti-Blaine vote could notbe concentrated on him. My college classmate, Mr.Knevals of New York, then urged me to vote for PresidentArthur. This, too, would have been a fairly satisfactorysolution of the question, for President Arthur had surprisedevery one by the excellence of his administration.Still there was a difficulty in his case: the Massachusettsdelegates could not be brought to support him; it was saidthat he had given some of their leaders mortal offenseby his hostility to the River and Harbor Bill. A finaleffort was then made by the Independents to induce GeneralSherman to serve, but he utterly refused, and so the onlything left was to let matters take their course. All chanceof finding any one to maintain the desired standard ofAmerican political life against the supporters of Mr.Blaine had failed.

As we came into the convention on the morning of theday fixed for making the nominations, I noticed that thepainted portraits of Washington and Lincoln, previouslyon either side of the president's chair, had been removed.Owing to the tumultuous conduct of the crowd in thegalleries, it had been found best to remove things of anornamental nature from the walls, for some of theseornaments had been thrown down, to the injury of thosesitting below.

On my calling Curtis's attention to this removal of thetwo portraits, he said: ``Yes, I have noticed it, and I amglad of it. Those weary eyes of Lincoln have been uponus here during our whole stay, and I am glad that they arenot to see the work that is to be done here to-day.'' It wasa curious exhibition of sentiment, a revelation of the deeppoetic feeling which was so essential an element in Curtis'snoble character.

The various candidates were presented by prominentspeakers, and most of the speeches were thoroughly good;but unquestionably the best, from an oratorical point ofview, was made on the nomination of Mr. Edmunds byGovernor Long of Massachusetts. Both as to matter andmanner it was perfection; was felt to be so by the convention;and was sincerely applauded even by the majorityof those who intended to vote for Mr. Blaine.

There was one revelation here, as there had been atmany conventions previously, which could not fail toproduce a discouraging impression upon every thoughtfulAmerican. The number of delegates and substitutes sentto the convention amounted in all to a few hundreds, butthese were almost entirely lost in the immense crowd ofspectators, numbering, it was said, from twelve to fifteenthousand. In the only conventions which I had ever beforeseen, including those at Baltimore and Philadelphia andvarious State conventions of New York, the delegates hadformed the majority of those in the hall; but in this great``wigwam'' there were times in which the most importantpart was played by the spectators. At some moments thisoverwhelming mob, which encircled the seats of the delegateson the floor and rose above them on all sides in thegalleries, endeavored to sweep the convention in the directionof its own whims and fancies. From time to timethe convention ceased entirely to be a deliberative body.As the names of certain favorite candidates were called, oras certain popular allusions were made in speeches, thismob really took possession of the convention and becamealmost frantic. I saw many women jumping up and down,dishevelled and hysterical, and some men acting in muchthe same way. It was absolutely unworthy of a conventionof any party, a disgrace to decency, and a blot uponthe reputation of our country. I am not alone in thisopinion. More than once during my official life in Europe Ihave heard the whole thing lamented by leading liberalstatesmen as bringing discredit on all democratic government.

There were times indeed when the galleries sought tohowl down those who were taking part in the convention,and this was notably the case during a very courageousspeech by Mr. Roosevelt.

I may mention, in passing, that the country thenreceived the first revelation of that immense pluck and vigorwhich have since carried Mr. Roosevelt through so manypolitical conflicts, borne him through all the dangers ofthe Santiago campaign, placed him in the governor's chairof the State of New York and in the Vice-Presidency ofthe United States, leading to the Presidency, which heholds as I revise these lines. At the Chicago Convention,though he was in a small minority, nothing daunted him.As he stood upon a bench and addressed the president,there came from the galleries on all sides a howl andyell, ``Sit down! sit down!'' with whistling and cat-calls.All to no purpose; the mob might as well have tried towhistle down a bronze statue. Roosevelt, slight in buildas he then was, was greater than all that crowd combined.He stood quietly through it all, defied the mob, and finallyobliged them to listen to him.

Toward the end of the convention this mob showed itselfeven worse than before. It became evident that largeparts of the galleries were packed in the interest of thelocal candidate for the Vice-Presidency, General Logan,and this mass of onlookers did their best to put down alldelegates supporting any other.

No more undemocratic system was ever devised. Thetendency of this ``wigwam'' plan of holding great meetingsor conventions is to station a vast mob of sensation-seeking men and women in the galleries between the delegatesand the country at large. The inevitable consequenceis that the ``fog-horns'' of a convention play the most ef-fective part, and that they seek mainly the applause of thegalleries. The country at large is for the momentforgotten. The controlling influence is the mob, mainly fromthe city where the convention is held. The whole thing isa monstrous abuse. Attention has been called to it bythinking Democrats as well as by Republicans, who haveseen in it a sign of deterioration which has produced manyunfortunate consequences and will produce more. It isthe old story of the French Convention overawed by a gallerymob and mistaking the mob whimsies of a city for thesober judgment of the country. One result of it the wholenation saw when, in more recent years, a youthful memberof Congress, with no training to fit him for executiveduties, was suddenly, by the applause of such a mob,imposed upon the Democratic National Convention as acandidate for the Presidency. Those who recall the way inwhich ``the boy orator of the Platte'' became the Democraticcandidate for the Chief Magistracy over seventymillions of people, on account of a few half-mawkish, half-blasphemous phrases in a convention speech, can bearwitness to the necessity of a reform in this particular—areform which will forbid a sensation-seeking city mob tousurp the function of the whole people of our Republic.

In spite of these mob hysterics, the Independentspersisted to the last in supporting Mr. Edmunds for the firstplace, but in voting for the second place they separated.For the Vice-Presidency I cast the only vote which wasthrown for my old Cornell student, Mr. Foraker, previouslygovernor of Ohio, and since that time senatorfrom that State.

In spite of sundry ``defects of his qualities,'' whichI freely recognized, I regarded him as a fearless, upright,downright, straightforward man of the sort who mustalways play a great part in American politics.

It was at this convention that I saw for the first timeMr. McKinley of Ohio, and his quiet self-possession inthe midst of the various whirls and eddies and stormscaused me to admire him greatly. Calm, substantial, quickto see a good point, strong to maintain it, he was evidentlya born leader of men. His speeches were simple, clear,forcible, and aided at times in rescuing the self-respectof the body.

This Republican convention having adjourned, theNational Democratic Convention met soon afterward in thesame place and nominated Grover Cleveland of New York.He was a man whom I greatly respected. As alreadystated, his career as sheriff of Erie County, as mayor ofBuffalo, and as governor of the State of New York hadled me to admire him. He had seemed utterly incapableof making any bid for mob support; there hadappeared not the slightest germ of demagogism in him;he had refused to be a mere partizan tool and had steadilystood for the best ideals of government. As governorhe showed the same qualities which had won admirationduring his previous career as sheriff and mayor. Hemade as many appointments as he could without regardto political considerations, and it was remarked withwonder that when a number of leading Democratic ``workers''and ``wheel-horses'' came to the executive chamber inAlbany in order to dictate purely partizan appointments,he virtually turned them out of the room. Most amazingthing of all, he had vetoed a bill reducing the fare on theelevated railroads of New York, in the face of the earnestadvice of partizans who assured him that by doing so hewould surely array against him the working-classes ofthat city and virtually annihilate his political future.To this his answer was that whatever his sympathies forthe working-people might be, he could not, as an honestman, allow such a bill to pass, and, come what might, hewould not. He had also dared, quietly but firmly, to resistthe chief ``boss'' of his party in New York City, and hehad consequently to brave the vials of Celtic wrath. Thescenes at the convention which nominated him were stirring,and an eminent Western delegate struck a chord inthe hearts of thousands of Republicans as well asDemocrats when he said, ``We love him for the enemies he hasmade.'' Had it been a question simply between men, greatnumbers of us who voted for Mr. Blaine would have votedfor Mr. Cleveland; but whatever temptation I might besubjected to in the matter was overcome by one fact: Mr.Cleveland was too much like the Trojan horse, for he borewith him a number of men who, when once brought intopower, were sure to labor hard to undo everything thathe would endeavor to accomplish, and his predestinedsuccessor in the governorship of the State of New York wasone of those whom I looked upon as especially dangerous.

Therefore it was, that, after looking over the ground, Iwrote an open letter to Mr. Theodore Roosevelt and otherIndependents, giving the reasons why those of us who hadsupported Mr. Edmunds should now support Mr. Blaine,and in this view Mr. Roosevelt, with a large number of ourIndependent friends, agreed.

I had, however, small hopes. It was clear to me that Mr.Blaine had little chance of being elected; that, in fact, hewas too heavily weighted with the transactions which Mr.Pullman had revealed to me some months before thebeginning of the convention.

But I made an effort to commit him to the only policywhich could save him. For, having returned to the university,I wrote William Walter Phelps, an old friend, whohad been his chief representative at Chicago, an earnestletter stating that there seemed to me but one chance ofrallying to Mr. Blaine's support the very considerablebody of disaffected Republicans in the State of New York;that, almost without exception, they were ardent believersin a reform of the civil service; and that an out-and-outearnest declaration in favor of it by our presidentialcandidate might do much to propitiate them. I remindedMr. Phelps of the unquestioned evils of the ``spoilssystem,'' and said that Mr. Blaine must surely have oftenobserved them, suffered under pressure from them, andfelt that something should be done to remedy them; andthat if he would now express his conviction to this effect,taking strong ground in favor of the reform and basinghis utterances on his experiences as a statesman, it would,in my mind, do much to save the State of New York forthe Republicans.

After writing this letter, feeling that it might seem toMr. Phelps and to Mr. Blaine himself very presuming fora man who had steadily opposed them at Chicago thus tovolunteer advice, I laid it aside. But it happened that Ihad been chosen one of the committee of delegates to goto Maine to apprise Mr. Blaine formally of his nomination,and it also happened that my old student and friend,Judge Foraker, was another member of the committee. Itwas impossible for me to go to Maine, since the commencementof the university, at which I was bound to preside,came on the day appointed for Mr. Blaine's reception ofthe committee at Bangor; but Judge Foraker havingstopped over at the university to attend a meeting of thetrustees as an alumni member of that body, I mentionedthis letter to him. He asked to see it, and, having read it,asked to be allowed to take it with him. I consented, andheard nothing more from him on the subject; but thefollowing week, at the Yale commencement, while sitting withMr. Evarts and Judge Shipman to award prizes in thelaw department, I saw, looking toward me over theheads of the audience in the old Centre Church, myfriend Frederick William Holls of New York, and itwas evident from his steady gaze that he had somethingto say. The award of prizes having been made and theaudience dismissed, Mr. Holls met me and said: ``Mr.Blaine will adopt your suggestion in his letter ofacceptance.'' Both of us were overjoyed. It looked like apoint scored not only for the Republican party, but for thecause which we both had so deeply at heart.

But as the campaign went on it was more and moreevident that this concession, which I believe he would haveadhered to had he been elected, was to be in vain.

It was perhaps, on the whole, and on both sides, the vilestpolitical campaign ever waged. Accusations were madeagainst both candidates which should have forever broughtcontempt on the men who made them. Nothing could havebeen further from the wish of either candidate than thatsuch accusations should be made against his opponent, buteach was powerless: the vile flood of slander raged on.But I am glad here to recall the fact that when, at a laterperiod, one of the worst inventors of slander against Mr.Blaine sought reward in the shape of office from PresidentCleveland, he was indignantly spurned.

In politics I took very little part. During the summermy main thoughts were directed toward a controversy beforethe Board of Regents, in regard to the system ofhigher education in the State of New York, with myold friend President Anderson of Rochester, who hadvigorously attacked some ideas which seemed to me essentialto any proper development of university educationin America; and this was hardly finished when I was askedto take part in organizing the American Historical Associationat Saratoga, and to give the opening address. This,with other pursuits of an academic nature, left me littletime for the political campaign.

But there occurred one little incident to which I stilllook back with amusem*nt. My old friends and constituentsin Syracuse had sent me a general invitation tocome over from the university and preside at some oneof their Republican mass-meetings. My answer was thatas to the ``hack speakers'' of the campaign, with theirvenerable gags, stale jokes, and nauseating slanders, I had nodesire to hear them, and did not care to sit on the platformwith them; but that when they had a speaker to whom Icared to listen I would gladly come. The result was thatone day I received a letter inviting me to preside over amass-meeting at Syracuse, at which Mr. McKinley was tomake the speech. I accepted gladly and on the appointedevening arrived at the Syracuse railway station. ThereI found the mayor of the city ready to take me in hiscarriage to the hall where the meeting was to be held; but wehad hardly left the station when he said to me: ``Mr.White, I am very sorry, but Mr. McKinley has been de-layed and we have had to get another speaker.'' I wasgreatly disappointed, and expressed my feelings somewhatenergetically, when the mayor said: ``But this speaker isreally splendid; he carries all before him; he is a thoroughKentucky orator.'' My answer was that I knew the breedbut too well, and that if I had known that Mr. McKinleywas not to come I certainly would not have left my workat the university. By this time we had arrived at the doorof the Globe Hotel, whence the speaker entered the carriage.He was a tall, sturdy Kentuckian, and his appearanceand manner showed that he had passed a very convivialday with the younger members of the committeeappointed to receive him.

His first words on entering the carriage were not veryreassuring. No sooner had I been introduced to him thanhe asked where he could get a glass of brandy. ``For,''said he, ``without a good drink just before I go on theplatform I can't make a speech.'' I attempted to quiethim and to show him the difficulties in the case. I said:``Colonel ——, you have been with our young men hereall day, and no doubt have had a fairly good time; but inour meetings here there is just now need of especial care.You will have in your audience to-night a large number ofthe more sedate and conservative citizens of Syracuse,church members, men active in the various temperancesocieties, and the like. There never was a campaign whenmen were in greater doubt; great numbers of these peoplehave not yet made up their minds how they will vote, andthe slightest exhilaration on your part may cost ushundreds of votes.'' He answered: ``That's all very well, butthe simple fact is that I am here to make a speech, and Ican't make it unless I have a good drink beforehand.'' Isaid nothing more, but, as he still pressed the subject on themayor and the other member of the committee, I quietlysaid to them as I left the carriage: ``If that man drinksanything more before speaking, I will not go on the stagewith him, and the reason why I don't will speedily bemade known.'' The mayor reassured me, and we all wenttogether into the large room adjoining the stage, I keepingclose watch over the orator, taking pains to hold himsteadily in conversation, introducing as many leadingmen of the town to him as possible, thus preventing anyopportunity to carry out his purpose of taking morestrong drink, and to my great satisfaction he had noopportunity to do so before we were summoned into the hall.

Arrived there, I made my speech, and then the orator ofthe evening arose. But just before he began to speakhe filled from a water-pitcher a large glass, and drankit off. My thought at the moment was that this woulddilute some of the stronger fluids he had absorbed duringthe day and cool him down somewhat. He thenwent on in a perfectly self-possessed way, betrayed not theslightest effect of drinking, and made a most convincingand effective speech, replete with wit and humor; yet,embedded in his wit and humor and rollicking fun, werearguments appealing to the best sentiments of his hearers. Thespeech was in every way a success; at its close I congratulatedhim upon it, and was about to remind him that hehad done very well on his glass of cold water, when hesuddenly said to me: ``Mr. White, you see that it was justas I told you: if I had n't taken that big glass of gin fromthe pitcher just before I started, I could not have madeany speech.''

``All 's well that ends well,'' and, though the laugh wasat my expense, the result was not such as to make meespecially unhappy.

But this campaign of 1884 ended as I had expected. Mr.
Cleveland was elected to the Presidency.

CHAPTER XIII

HENDRICKS, JOHN SHERMAN, BANCROFT,AND OTHERS—1884-1891

The following spring, visiting Washington, I met
President Cleveland again.

Of the favorable impression made upon me by hiscareer as Governor of New York I have already spoken,and shall have occasion to speak presently of hisPresidency. The renewal of our acquaintance even increasedmy respect for him. He was evidently a strong, honestman, trying to do his duty under difficulties.

I also met again Mr. Cleveland's opponent in the previouscampaign—Mr. Blaine. Calling on Mr. WilliamWalter Phelps, then in Congress, whom I had known asminister of the United States at Vienna, and who wasafterward my successor at Berlin, I made some referenceto Mr. Blaine, when Mr. Phelps said: ``Why don'tyou go and call upon him?'' I answered that it mightbe embarrassing to both of us, to which he replied: ``Idon't think so. In spite of your opposition to himat Chicago, were I in your place I would certainly goto his house and call upon him.'' That afternoon Itook this advice, and when I returned to the hotel Mr.Blaine came with me, talking in a most interesting way.He spoke of my proposed journey to Virginia, and discussedJefferson and Hamilton, admiring both, but Jeffersonthe most. As to his own working habits, he saidthat he rose early, did his main work in the morning, andnever did any work in the evening; that, having beenbrought up in strongly Sabbatarian notions during hisboyhood in Pennsylvania, he had ever since, from theforce of habit, reserved Sunday as a day of complete rest.Speaking of the customs in Pennsylvania at that time, hesaid that not even a walk for exercise was allowed, andnothing was ever cooked on the sacred day.

I met him afterward on various occasions, and could notbut admire him. At a dinner-party he was vexatiouslybadgered by a very bumptious professor, who allowedhimself to speak in a rather offensive manner of ideaswhich Mr. Blaine represented; and the quiet but decisiveway in which the latter disposed of his pesteringinterlocutor was worthy of all praise.

Mr. Blaine was certainly the most fascinating man Ihave ever known in politics. No wonder that so manyRepublicans in all parts of the country seemed ready togive their lives to elect him. The only other public manin the United States whose personality had ever elicitedsuch sympathy and devotion was Henry Clay. Perhapshis nearest friend was Mr. Phelps, to whom I havereferred above,—one of the best, truest, and most winningmen I have ever known. He had been especiallydevoted to Mr. Blaine, with whom he had served inCongress, and it was understood that if the latter had beenelected Mr. Phelps would have been his Secretary of State.

Mr. Phelps complained to me, half seriously, halfjocosely, of what is really a crying abuse in the United States—namely, that there is no proper reporting of theproceedings of the Houses of Congress in the main journalsof the country which can enable the people at largeto form any just idea as to how their representatives areconducting the public business. He said: ``I may makea most careful speech on any important subject beforeCongress and it will not be mentioned in the New Yorkpapers, but let me make a joke and it will be published allover the United States. Yesterday, on a wager, I triedan experiment: I made two poor little jokes during a shorttalk in the House, and here they are in the New Yorkpapers of this morning.''

During this visit to Washington I met at the house ofmy classmate and dear friend, Randall Gibson, then asenator from Louisiana, a number of distinguished menamong them the Vice-President, Mr. Hendricks, and GeneralButler, senator from South Carolina.

Vice-President Hendricks seemed sick and sore. Hehad expected to be a candidate for the Presidency, witha strong probability of election, but had accepted the Vice-Presidency; and the subject which seemed to elicit hismost vitriolic ill will was reform in the civil service. As wesat one evening in the smoking-room at Senator Gibson'she was very bitter against the system, when, to my surprise,General Butler took up the cudgels against him andmade a most admirable argument. At that moment, forthe first time, I felt that the war between North and Southwas over; for all the old issues seemed virtually settled,and here, as regarded this new issue, on which I felt verydeeply, was one of the most ardent of Confederate soldiers,a most bitter pro-slavery man before the Civil War,one who, during the war, had lost a leg in battle, nearerme politically than were many of my friends and neighborsin the North.

Senator Jones of Florida, who was present, gave ussome character sketches, and among others delineatedadmirably General Williams, known in the Mexican Waras ``Cerro Gordo Williams,'' who was for a time senatorfrom Kentucky. He said that Williams had a wonderfulgift of spread-eagle oratory, but that, finding nolisteners for it among his colleagues, he became utterlydisgusted and went about saying that the Senate was a``d——d frigid, respectable body that chilled his intellect.''This led my fellow-guests to discuss the characteristics ofthe Senate somewhat, and I was struck by one remark inwhich all agreed—namely, that ``there are no politics inexecutive session.''

Gibson remarked that the best speech he had everheard in the Senate was made by John Sherman.

As regards civil-service matters, I found on all sidesan opinion that Mr. Cleveland was, just as far as possible,basing his appointments upon merit. Gibson mentionedthe fact that a candidate for an important office in hisState, who had committed three murders, had securedvery strong backing, but that President Cleveland utterlyrefused to appoint him.

With President Cleveland I had a very interestinginterview. He referred to his visit to Cornell University,said that he would have liked nothing so well as to gomore thoroughly through its various departments, and, aswhen I formerly saw him, expressed his regret at the lossof such opportunities as an institution of that kind affords.

At this time I learned from him and from those nearhim something regarding his power for hard work. Itwas generally understood that he insisted on writing outall important papers and conducting his correspondencein his own hand, and the result was that during aconsiderable period of the congressional sessions he sat athis desk until three o'clock in the morning.

It was evident that his up-and-down, curt, independentway did not at all please some of the leading membersof his party; in fact, there were signs of a seriousestrangement caused by the President's refusals to yieldto senators and other leaders of the party in the matterof appointments to office. To illustrate this feeling, aplain, bluff Western senator, Mr. Sawyer of Wisconsin,told me a story.

Senator Sawyer had built up a fortune and gained agreat influence in his State by a very large and extensivebusiness in pine lumber, and he had a sort of rough,quaint woodman's wit which was at times very amusing.He told me that, some days before, two of his most eminentDemocratic colleagues in the Senate were just leaving theCapitol, and from something they said he saw that theywere going to call upon the President. He thereforeasked them, ``How do you like this new President ofyours?'' ``Oh,'' answered the senators in chorus, ``he isa very good man—a very good man indeed.'' ``Yes,''said Senator Sawyer, ``but how do you LIKE him?'' ``Oh,''answered the senators, ``we like him very much—verymuch indeed.'' ``Well,'' said Sawyer, ``I will tell you astory before you go to the White House if you will agreewhen you get back, to tell me—`honest Injun'—whether itsuits your case.'' Both laughingly agreed, and Mr. Sawyerthen told them the following story: When he was ayoung man with very small means, he and two or threeother young wood-choppers made up an expedition forlumber-cutting. As they were too poor to employ a cookfor their camp, they agreed to draw lots, and that theone on whom the lot fell should be cook, but only untilsome one of the company found fault; then the fault-finder should become cook in his turn. Lots beingdrawn, one of them, much to his disgust, was thus chosencook, and toward the close of the day he returned to camp,before the others, to get supper ready. Having takenfrom the camp stores a large quantity of beans, he putthem into a pot boiling over the fire, as he had seen hismother do in his boyhood, and then proceeded to pour insalt. Unfortunately the salt-box slipped in his hand, andhe poured in much more than he had intended—in fact, thewhole contents of the box. On the return of the woodmento the cabin, ravenously hungry, they proceeded to dishout the boiled beans, but the first one who put a spoonfulin his mouth instantly cried out with a loud objurgation,``Thunder and lightning! this dish is all salt''; but, in amoment, remembering that if he found fault he must himselfbecome cook, he said very gently, ``BUT I LIKE SALT.''Both senators laughed and agreed that they would givean honest report of their feelings to Senator Sawyerwhen they had seen the President. On their return, Sawyermet them and said, ``Well, honest Injun, how was it?''They both laughed and said, ``Well, we like salt.''

Among many interesting experiences I recall especiallya dinner at the house of Mr. Fairchild, Secretaryof the Treasury. He spoke of the civil service, and saidthat a short time previously President Cleveland hadsaid to him, regarding the crowd pressing for office: ``Asuggestion to these office-seekers as to the good of thecountry would make them faint.''

During this dinner I happened to be seated betweenSenators John Sherman of Ohio and Vance of Georgia,and presently Mr. Vance—one of the jolliest mortals Ihave ever met—turned toward his colleague, Senator Sherman,and said, very blandly: ``Senator, I am glad to seeyou back from Ohio; I hope you found your fences ingood condition.'' There was a general laugh, and whenit was finished Senator Sherman told me in a pleasantway how the well-known joke about his ``looking after hisfences'' arose. He said that he was the owner of a largefarm in Ohio, and that some years previously his tenantwrote urging him most earnestly to improve its fences,so that finally he went to Ohio to look into the matter.On arriving there, he found a great crowd awaitinghim and calling for a speech, when he excused himselfby saying that he had not come to Ohio on politicalbusiness, but had merely come ``to look after his fences.''The phrase caught the popular fancy, and ``to look afterone's fences'' became synonymous with minding one'spolitical safeguards.

I remember also an interesting talk with Mr. Bayard,who had been one of the most eminent senators in his time,who was then Secretary of State, and who became, at alater period, ambassador of the United States to GreatBritain. Speaking of office-seeking, he gave a comicalaccount of the developing claims of sundry applicantsfor foreign missions, who, he said, ``are at first willing togo, next anxious to go, and finally angry because theycannot go.''

On another social occasion, the possibility of anotherattempt at secession by States being discussed, GeneralButler of South Carolina said: ``No more secession forme.'' To this, Senator Gibson, who also had been a brigadier-general in the Confederate service, and had seenmuch hard fighting, said, ``And no more for me.'' Butlerrejoined, ``We may have to help in preventing others fromseceding one of these days.'' I was glad to note that bothButler and Gibson spoke thoroughly well of their formerarch-enemy, General Grant.

Very interesting was it to meet again Mr. GeorgeBancroft. He referred to his long service as minister atBerlin, expressed his surprise that Bismarck, whom heremembered as fat, had become bony, and was very severeagainst both clericals and liberals who had voted againstallowing aid to Bismarck in the time of his country'sgreatest necessity.

I also met my Cornell colleague Goldwin Smith, theformer Oxford professor and historian, who expressed hissurprise and delight at the perfect order and decorum ofthe crowd, numbering nearly five thousand persons, at thepresidential levee the night before. In order to understandwhat an American crowd was like, instead of goinginto the White House by the easier way, as he was entitledby his invitation to do, he had taken his place in the longprocession far outside the gate and gradually movedthrough the grounds into the presidential presence, takingabout an hour for the purpose. He said that there wasnever any pressing, crowding, or impatience, and hecompared the crowd most favorably with any similar body ina London street.

Chief Justice Waite I also found a very substantialinteresting man; but especially fascinating was GeneralSheridan, who, at a dinner given by my Berlin predecessor,Mr. Bancroft Davis, described the scene at the battleof Gravelotte when, owing to a rush by the French, theEmperor of Germany was for a time in real danger andwas reluctantly obliged to fall back. He said that duringthe panic and retreat toward Thionville he saw the Emperorhalt from time to time to scold soldiers who threwaway their muskets; that very many German soldiers,during this panic, cast aside everything except the clothesthey wore—not only their guns, but their helmets; thatafterward the highways and fields were strewn thicklywith these, and that wagons were sent out to collect them.He also said that Bismarck spoke highly to him regardingthe martial and civil qualities of the crown prince,afterward the Emperor Frederick, but that regardingthe Red Prince, Frederick Charles, he expressed a verydifferent opinion.

Speaking of a statement that some one had inventedarmor which would ward off a rifle-ball, Sheridan saidthat during the Civil War an officer who wore a steel vestbeneath his coat was driven out of decent society bygeneral contempt; and at this Goldwin Smith told a story ofthe Duke of Wellington, who, when troubled by an inventorof armor, nearly scared him to death by orderinghim to wear his own armor and allow a platoon of soldiersto fire at him.

During the course of the conversation Sheridan saidthat soldiers were braver now than ever before—braver,indeed, than the crusaders, as was proved by the factthat in these days they wear no armor. To this GoldwinSmith answered that he thought war in the middle ageswas more destructive than even in our time. Sheridansaid that breech-loading rifles kill more than all thecannon.

At a breakfast given by Goldwin Smith at Wormley's,Bancroft, speaking of Berlin matters, said that the EmperorWilliam did not know that Germany was the secondpower in the world so far as a mercantile navy wasconcerned until he himself told him; and on the ignoranceof monarchs regarding their own domains, GoldwinSmith said that Lord Malmesbury, when assured by NapoleonIII that in the plebiscite he would have the vote ofthe army, which was five hundred thousand, answered,``But, your majesty, your army numbers seven hundredthousand,'' whereupon the Emperor was silent. The in-ference was that his majesty knew a large part of hisarmy to be merely on paper.

At this Mr. John Field, of Philadelphia, said that onthe breaking out of the Franco-Prussian War he went toGeneral Grant at Long Branch, and asked him how thewar was likely to turn out, to which the general answered,``As I am President of the United States, I am unable toanswer.'' ``But,'' said Field, ``I am a citizen sovereignand ask an opinion.'' ``Well,'' said General Grant,``confidentially, the Germans will beat the French thoroughlyand march on Paris. The French army is a mere shell.''This reminded me that General Grant, on my own visitto him some weeks before, had foretold to me sundrydifficulties of Lord Wolseley in Egypt just as they afterwardoccurred.

At a dinner with Senator Morrill of Vermont I metGeneral Schenck, formerly a leading member of Congressand minister to Brazil and to England. He was veryinteresting in his sketches of English orators; thoughtBright the best, Gladstone admirable, and Sir StaffordNorthcote, with his everlasting hawing and humming,intolerable. He gave interesting reminiscences of TomCorwin, his old preceptor, and said that Corwin's powerover an audience was magical. He added that he onceattended a public dinner in Boston, and, sitting nearEverett, who was the chief speaker, noticed that when thewaiters sought to clear the table and were about to removea bouquet containing two small flags, Everett would notallow them to do it, and that later in the evening, duringhis speech, just at the proper point, he caught up theseflags, as if accidentally, and waved them. He said thateverything with Everett and Choate seemed to be cut anddried; that even the interruptions seemed prepared beforehand.

Senator Morrill then told a story regarding Everett'sgreat speech at the opening of the Dudley Observatoryat Albany, which I had heard at the time of its delivery.In this speech Everett said: ``Last night, crossing theConnecticut River, I saw mirrored in its waters Arcturus,then fully at the zenith, and I thought,'' etc., etc.; ``but,''said Morrill, ``some one looked into the matter and foundthat Everett, before leaving home, had evidently turnedthe globe in his study wrong side up, for at that timeArcturus was not at the zenith, but at the nadir.''

At the Cornell commencement of this year (1885) Iresigned my presidency of the university. It hadnominally lasted eighteen years, but really more than twenty,since I had taken the lead in the work of the universityeven before its charter was granted, twenty years previously,and from that day the main charge of its organizationand of everything except providing funds had beenintrusted to me. Regarding this part of my life I shallspeak more fully in another chapter.

Shortly after this resignation two opportunities wereoffered me which caused me considerable thought.

As to the first, President Cleveland was kind enoughto write me an autograph letter asking whether I wouldaccept one of the positions on the new Interstate RailwayCommission. I felt it a great honor to be asked to act ascolleague with such men as Chief Justice Cooley, Mr.Morrison, and others already upon that board, but Irecognized my own incompetence to discharge the duties ofsuch a position properly. Though I had been, some yearsbefore, a director in two of the largest railway corporationsin the United States, my heart was never in thatduty, and I never prepared myself to discharge it.Thinking the matter over fully, I felt obliged to declinethe place. My heart was set on finishing the book whichI had so long wished to publish,—my ``History of theWarfare of Science with Theology,''—and in order tocut myself off from other work and get some neededrest I sailed for Europe on October 3, 1885, but whileengaged most delightfully in visits to Oxford,Cambridge, and various places on the Continent, I receivedby cable an offer which had also a very tempting side.It was sent by my old friend Mr. Henry Sage of Ithaca,urged me to accept the nomination to Congress from thatdistrict, and assured me that the nomination was equivalentto an election. There were some reasons why such aposition was attractive to me, but the more I thought ofit the more it seemed to me that to discharge these dutiesproperly would take me from other work to which I waspledged. Before deciding the question, however, I determinedto consult two old friends who were then living inLondon hotels adjacent to my own. The first of these wasmy dear old instructor, with whom my relations had beenof the kindest ever since my first year at Yale—PresidentPorter.

On my laying the matter before him, he said, ``Acceptby all means''; but as I showed him the reasons on bothsides, he at last reluctantly agreed with me that probablyit was best to send a declination.

The other person consulted was Mr. James Belden ofSyracuse, afterward a member of Congress from theOnondaga district, a politician who had a most intimateknowledge of men and affairs in our State. We had beenduring a long period, political adversaries, but I hadcome to respect sundry qualities he had more latelyexhibited, and therefore went to him as a practical manand laid the case before him. He expressed his greatsurprise that I should advise with him, my old politicaladversary, but he said, ``Since you do come, I will giveyou the very best advice I can.''

We then went over the case together, and I feel surethat he advised me as well as the oldest of my friendscould have done, and with a shrewdness and foresightall his own.

One of his arguments ran somewhat as follows: ``Tobe successful in politics a man must really think ofnothing else; it must be his first thought in the morning andhis last at night; everything else must yield to it. Heretoforeyou have quietly gone on your way, sought nothing,and taken what has been freely tendered you in the interestof the party and of the public. I know the Elmiradistrict, and you can have the nomination and the electionwithout trouble; but the question is whether you couldever be happy in the sort of work which you must do inorder to take a proper place in the House of Representatives.First of all, you must give up everything else anddevote yourself to that alone; and even then, when youhave succeeded, you have only to look about you and seethe men who have achieved success in that way, and who,after all, have found in it nothing but disappointment.''In saying this he expressed the conclusion at which I hadalready arrived.

I cabled my absolute declination of the nomination, andwas reproved by my friends for not availing myself ofthis opportunity to take part in political affairs, but havenevertheless always felt that my decision was wise.

To tell the truth, I never had, and never desired tohave, any capacity for the rough-and-tumble of politics.I greatly respect many of the men who have gifts ofthat sort, but have recognized the fact that my influencein and on politics must be of a different kind. I haveindeed taken part in some stormy scenes in conventions,meetings, and legislatures, but always with regret. Mytrue r<o^>le has been a more quiet one. My ambition,whether I have succeeded in it or not, has been to setyoung men in trains of fruitful thought, to bring maturemen into the line of right reason, and to aid in devisingand urging needed reforms, in developing and supportingwise policies, and in building up institutions which shallstrengthen what is best in American life.

Early in 1891 I was asked by Mr. Sherman Rogersof Buffalo, one of the best and truest men in politicallife that I have ever known, to accompany him andcertain other gentlemen to Washington, in order topresent to Mr. Harrison, who had now become President ofthe United States, an argument for the extension of thecivil-service rules. Accompanied by Mr. TheodoreRoosevelt and Senator Cabot Lodge, our delegation reachedthe Executive Mansion at the time fixed by the President,and were received in a way which surprised me. Mr.Harrison seemed, to say the least, not in good humor. Hestood leaning on the corner of his desk, and he asked noneof us to sit. All of us had voted for him, and had cometo him in his own interest as well as in the interest of thecountry; but he seemed to like us none the better for allthat. The first speech was made by Mr. Rogers. Dwellingon the disappointment of thoughtful Republicansthroughout the country at the delay in redeeming pledgesmade by the Republican National Convention as to theextension of the civil service, and reiterated in thePresident's own speeches in the United States Senate, he in aplayful way referred to the conduct of certain officials inBuffalo, when the President interrupted him, as it seemedto me at the time very brusquely and even rudelysaying: ``Mr. Rogers, you have no right to impute evilmotives to any man. The motives of these gentlemen towhom you refer are presumably as good as your own. Anargument based upon such imputations cannot advance thecause you support in the slightest degree.'' Mr. Rogerswas somewhat disconcerted for a moment, but, havingresumed his speech, he presented, in a very dignified andconvincing way, the remainder of his argument. He wasfollowed by the other members from various States, givingdifferent sides of the case, each showing the importancewhich Republicans in his own part of the countryattributed to an extension of the civil-service rules.

My own turn came last. I said: ``Mr. President: I willmake no speech, but will simply state two facts.

``First: Down to a comparatively recent period everyhigh school, college, and university in the Northern Stateshas been a center of Republican ideas: no one will gainsaythis for a moment. But recently there has come a change.During nearly twenty years it has been my duty to nominateto the trustees of Cornell University candidates forvarious positions in its faculty; the fundamental charterof the institution absolutely forbids any consideration, insuch cases, of the party or sect to which any candidatebelongs, and I have always faithfully carried out thatinjunction, never, in any one of the multitude of nominationsthat I have made, allowing the question of politics toenter in the slightest degree. But still it has happened that,almost without exception, the candidates have proved to beRepublicans, and this to such an extent that at times I haveregretted it; for the university has been obliged frequentlyto ask for legislation from a Democratic legislature,and I have always feared that this large preponderanceof Republican professors would be brought upagainst us as an evidence that we were not true to theprinciples of our charter. As a matter of fact, down totwo or three years since, there were, as I casually learned,out of a faculty of about fifty members, not over eightor ten Democrats. But during these recent years all thishas been changed, and at the State election, when JudgeFolger was defeated for the governorship, I found to mysurprise that, almost without exception, my colleagues inthe faculty had voted the Democratic ticket; so far as Icould learn, but three besides myself had voted for theRepublican candidate.'' President Harrison immediatelysaid: ``Mr. White, was that not chiefly due to the free-trade tendencies of college-men?'' I answered: ``No, Mr.President; the great majority of these men who votedwith the Democrats were protectionists, and you willyourself see that they must have been so if they hadcontinued to vote for the Republican ticket down to thatelection. All that I hear leads me to the convictionthat the real cause is disappointment at the delay of theRepublican party in making good its promises to improvethe public service. In this question the faculties of ourcolleges and universities, especially in the Eastern, Middle,and Northern States, take a deep interest. In fact, itis with them the question of all questions; and I thinkthis is one of the things which, at that election in NewYork, caused the most overwhelming defeat that a candidatefor governor had ever experienced.'' To this thePresident listened attentively, and I then said: ``Mr.President, my second point is this: The State of NewYork is, of course, of immense importance to the Republicanparty, and it has been carried in recent years by amajority of a few hundred votes. There are more thanfourteen thousand school districts in the State, and innearly every one of these school districts there are acertain number of earnest men—anywhere from a handfulto a houseful—who believe that since the slavery questionis removed from national politics, the only burningquestion which remains is the `spoils system' and thereform of the civil service. Now, you have only to multiplythe fourteen thousand school districts by a verysmall figure, and you will see the importance of this questionas regards the vote of the State of New York. I knowwhereof I speak, for I have myself addressed meetingsin many of these districts in favor of a reform of the civilservice, have had correspondence with other districts inall parts of the State, and am sure that there is a deep-seated feeling on the subject in great numbers of them,—a feeling akin to what used to be called in the anti-slaverydays `fanaticism,'—that is, a deep-seated conviction thatthis is now the most important question before the Americanpeople, and that it must be settled in precedenceto all others.''

The President received what I had to say courteously,and then began a reply to us all. He took at first rathera bitter tone, saying that he had a right to find faultwith all of us; that the Civil Service League haddenounced his administration most unjustly for its relationto the spoils system; that he was moving as rapidly in thematter as circ*mstances permitted; that he was anxiousto redeem the promises made by the party and by himself;that he had already done something and purposed to domore; and that the glorifications of the progress made bythe previous administration in this respect, at the expenseof his own, had been grossly unjust.

To this we made a short rejoinder on one point, statingthat his complaint against us was without foundation;that not one of us was a member of the Civil ServiceLeague; that not one of us had taken any part in itsdeliberations; and that we could not, therefore, be maderesponsible in any way for its utterances. The Presidentnow became somewhat more genial, though he did notask us to be seated, alluding in a pungent but good-naturedway to the zeal for reform shown by Mr. Roosevelt,who was standing by, and closing in considerably betterhumor than he had begun. Although I cannot say that Iwas greatly pleased with his treatment of the committee,I remembered that, although courtesy was not generallyconsidered his strong point, he was known to possessmany sterling qualities, and I felt bound to allow that hisspeech revealed a man of strength and honest purpose.All of us, even Mr. Roosevelt and Senator Lodge, cameaway believing that good had been done, and that thePresident, before his term of office had expired, would dowhat he could in the right direction; and I am glad to saythat this expectation was fulfilled.

CHAPTER XIV

McKINLEY AND ROOSEVELT—1891-1904

During the summer of 1891 came a curious episode inmy life, to which, as it was considerably discussed inthe newspapers at the time, and as various sensationalnews-makers have dwelt upon it since, I may be permittedto refer. During several years before,—in fact, ever sincemy two terms in the State Senate,—various people, andespecially my old Cornell students throughout the State,had written to me and published articles in my behalfas a candidate for governor. I had never encouragedthese, and whenever I referred to them deprecatedthem, since I preferred a very different line of life,and felt that the grapple with spoilsmen which everygovernor must make would wear me out very rapidly.But the election which was that year approaching was feltto be very important, and old friends from variousparts of the State thought that, in the severe contestwhich was expected, I stood a better chance of electionthan any other who could be named at that particulartime, their theory being that the German vote of the Statewould come to me, and that it would probably come to noother Republican.

The reason for this theory was that I had received partof my education in Germany; had shown especial interestin German history and literature, lecturing upon them atthe University of Michigan and at Cornell; had resided inBerlin as minister; had, on my return, delivered in NewYork and elsewhere an address on the ``New Germany,''wherein were shown some points in German life whichAmericans might study to advantage; had also deliveredan address on the ``Contributions of Germany to AmericanCivilization''; and had, at various times, formed pleasantrelations with leading Germans of both parties. The factwas perfectly well known, also, that I was opposed to thesumptuary laws which had so largely driven Germans outof the Republican party, and had declared that these werenot only unjust to those immediately affected by them, butinjurious to the very interests of temperance, which theywere designed to promote.

I was passing the summer at Magnolia, on the eastcoast of Massachusetts, when an old friend, the son ofan eminent German-American, came from New York andasked me to become a candidate for the governorship.I was very reluctant, for special as well as generalreasons. My first wish was to devote myself wholly tocertain long-deferred historical work; my health was notstrong; I felt utterly unfitted for the duties of thecampaign, and the position of governor, highly honorable asit is, presented no especial attractions to me, my ambitionnot being in that line. Therefore it was that at first Iurged my friends to combine upon some other person;but as they came back and insisted that they couldagree on no one else, and that I could bring to thesupport of the party men who would otherwise oppose it,I reluctantly agreed to discuss the subject with some ofthe leading Republicans in New York, and among themMr. Thomas C. Platt, who was at the head of the organizedmanagement of the party.

In our two or three conversations Mr. Platt impressedme curiously. I had known him slightly for many years;indeed, we had belonged to the same class at Yale, but ashe had left it and I had entered it at the beginning of thesophom*ore year we did not know each other at that period.We had met occasionally when we were both supportingMr. Conkling, but had broken from each other at the timewhen he was supporting Mr. Blaine, and I, Mr. Edmunds,for the nomination at Chicago. Our discussion now tooka form which somewhat surprised me. The general beliefthroughout the State was, I think, that Mr. Platt'sfirst question, or, at any rate, his main question, in any suchdiscussion, would be, necessarily, as to the attitude of thecandidate toward Mr. Platt's own interests and aspirations.But I feel bound to say that in the discussions betweenus no such questions were ever asked, approached,or even hinted at. Mr. Platt never asked me a questionregarding my attitude toward him or toward his friends;he never even hinted at my making any pledge or promiseto do anything or not to do anything with reference tohis own interests or to those of any other person; hiswhole effort was directed to finding what strength mynomination would attract to the party and what it wouldrepel. He had been informed regarding one or twounpopular votes of mine when I was in the State Senate—asfor example, that I had opposed the efforts of a powerfulsectarian organization to secure the gift of certainvaluable landed property from the city of New York; he hadalso been informed regarding certain review and magazinearticles in which I had spoken my mind somewhatfreely against certain influences in the State which werestill powerful, and it had been hinted to him that my``Warfare of Science'' chapters might have alienated aconsiderable number of the more narrow-minded clergymenand their flocks.

I told Mr. Platt frankly that these fears seemed quitelikely to be well founded, and that there were some otherdifficulties which I could myself suggest to him: that I hadin the course of my life, made many opponents in supportingCornell University, and in expressing my mindon various questions, political and religious, and thatthese seemed to me likely to cost the party very manyvotes. I therefore suggested that he consult certainpersons in various parts of the State who were entitled tohave an opinion, and especially two men of the highestjudgment in such matters—Chief Justice Andrews ofSyracuse, and Carroll Earl Smith, editor of the leadingRepublican journal in central New York. The result wasthat telegrams and letters were exchanged, these gentlemendeclaring their decided opinion that the matters referredto were bygones, and could not be resuscitated inthe coming contest; that they would be lost sight of in thereal questions sure to arise; and that even in the electionimmediately following the vote which I had cast againstgiving a large tract of Ward's Island to a Roman Catholicinstitution, I had lost no votes, but had held my own withthe other candidates, and even gained upon some of them.

Mr. Platt also discussed my relations to the Germansand to the graduates of Cornell University who were scatteredall over the State; and as these, without exception,so far as could be learned, were my warm personalfriends, it was felt by those who had presented my name,and finally, I think, by Mr. Platt, that these two elementsin my support might prove valuable.

Still, in spite of this, I advised steadily against my ownnomination, and asked Mr. Platt: ``Why don't you supportyour friend Senator Fassett of Elmira? He is ayoung man; he has very decided abilities; he is popular;his course in the legislature has been admirable; you havemade him collector of the port of New York, and he isknown to be worthy of the place. Why don't you askhim?'' Mr. Platt's frankness in reply increased myrespect for him. He said: ``I need not confess to you that,personally, I would prefer Mr. Fassett to yourself; but ifhe were a candidate he would have to carry the entireweight of my unpopularity.''

Mr. Platt was from first to last perfectly straightforward.He owed me nothing, for I had steadily votedagainst him and his candidate in the National Conventionat Chicago. He had made no pledges to me, for I hadallowed him to make none—even if he had been disposedto do so; moreover, many of my ideas were opposed to hisown. I think the heaviest piece of work I ever undertookwas when, some months before, I had endeavored to converthim to the civil-service-reform forces; but while I hadsucceeded in converting a good many others, he remainedintractable, and on that subject we were at opposite poles.

It therefore seems to me altogether to his credit that,in spite of this personal and theoretical antagonismbetween us, and in spite of the fact that I had made, and heknew that I would make, no pledges or promises whateverto him in view of an election, he had favored mynomination solely as the best chance of obtaining aRepublican victory in the State; and I will again say that Ido not believe that his own personal advantage enteredinto his thoughts on this occasion. His pride and hisreally sincere devotion to the interests of the Republicanparty, as he understood them, led him to desire, above allthings, a triumph over the Democratic forces, and theonly question in his mind was, Who could best secure thevictory?

At the close of these conferences he was evidently in myfavor, but on leaving the city I said to him: ``Do notconsider yourself as in any way pledged to my support. Goto the convention at Rochester, and decide what is bestafter you get there. I have no desire for the nomination—in fact, would prefer that some one else bear the burdenand heat of the day. I have been long out of touch withthe party managers in the State. I don't feel that theywould support me as they would support some man likeMr. Fassett, whom they know and like personally, and Ishall not consider you as pledged to me in the slightestdegree. I don't ask it; I don't wish it; in fact, I preferthe contrary. Go to Rochester, be guided by circ*mstances,and decide as you see fit.''

In the meantime various things seemed to strengthenmy candidacy. Leading Germans who had been for sometime voting with the Democratic party pledged themselvesto my support if I were nominated, and one of them couldbring over to my side one of the most powerful Democraticjournals in the State; in fact, there were pledgedto my support two leading journals which, as mattersturned out afterward, opposed the Republican nomination.

At the convention which met shortly afterward atRochester (September, 1891), things went as I hadanticipated, and indeed as I had preferred. Mr. Platt foundthe elements supporting Mr. Fassett even stronger thanhe had expected. The undercurrent was too powerful forhim, and he was obliged to yield to it.

Of course sundry newspapers screamed that he haddeceived and defeated me. I again do him the justice to saythat this was utterly untrue. I am convinced that he wentto Rochester believing my candidacy best for the party;that he really did what he could in my favor, but that hefound, what I had foretold, that Mr. Fassett, young,energetic, known, and liked by the active political men invarious parts of the State, naturally wished to lead theforces and was naturally the choice of the convention—achoice which it was not within Mr. Platt's power to change.

Mr. Fassett was nominated, and I do not know that Ihave ever received a message which gave me a greatersense of relief than the telegram which announced this factto me.

As regards the inside history of the convention, ProfessorJenks of Cornell University, a very thoughtfulstudent of practical politics, who had gone to Rochesterto see the working of a New York State convention, toldme some time afterward that he had circulated very freelyamong the delegates from various rural districts; that theyhad no acquaintance with him, and therefore talked freelyin his presence regarding the best policy of the convention.As a rule, the prevailing feeling among them wasexpressed as follows: ``White don't know the boys; hedon't know the men who do the work of the party; hesupports civil-service reform, and that means that afterdoing the work of the campaign we shall have no betterchance for the offices than men who have done nothing—infact, not so good, perhaps, as those who have opposedus.'' No doubt this feeling entered into the minds of alarge number of delegates and conduced to the result.

A few weeks afterward Mr. Fassett came to Ithaca. Ihad the pleasure of presiding and speaking at the publicmeeting which he addressed, and of entertaining him atmy house. He was in every way worthy of the positionto which he had been nominated, but, unfortunately, wasnot elected.

Having made one or two speeches in this campaign, Iturned to more congenial work, and in the early springof the following year (February 12 to May 16, 1892)accepted an election as non-resident professor at StanfordUniversity in California, my duty being to deliver acourse of twenty lectures upon ``The Causes of the FrenchRevolution.'' Just as I was about to start, Mr. AndrewCarnegie very kindly invited me to go as his guest in hisown car and with a delightful party. There were eight ofus—four ladies and four gentlemen. We went by way ofWashington, Chattanooga, and New Orleans, stopping ateach place, and meeting many leading men; then to thecity of Mexico, where we were presented to Porfirio Diaz,the president of that republic, who seemed to be a man ofgreat shrewdness and strength. I recall here the fact thatthe room in which he received us was hung round withsatin coverings, on which, as the only ornament, were thecrown and cipher of Diaz' unfortunate predecessor, theEmperor Maximilian. Thence we went to California, andzigzag along the Pacific coast to Tacoma and Seattle;then through the Rocky Mountains to Salt Lake Citymeeting everywhere interesting men and things, until atDenver I left the party and went back to give my lecturesat Stanford.

Returning to Cornell University in the early summerI found myself in the midst of my books and happy inresuming my work. But now, July 21, 1892, came mynomination by President Harrison to the position of envoyextraordinary and minister plenipotentiary at St.Petersburg. On thinking the matter over, it seemed to methat it would be instructive and agreeable to have a seconddiplomatic experience in Russia after my absence ofnearly forty years. I therefore accepted, and in the autumnof 1892 left America for St. Petersburg.

While in Washington to receive my instructions beforeleaving, I again met Mr. Harrison, and must say that heshowed a much more kindly and genial side than thatwhich had formerly been revealed to me, when I haddiscussed shortcomings of his administration as regardedthe civil service.

My occupancy of this new position lasted until theautumn of 1894, and there was one thing in it which I havealways regarded as a great honor. Mr. Harrison hadappointed me at about the close of the third year of his termof office; I therefore naturally looked forward to a stay ofbut one year in Russia, and, when I left America, certainlydesired no more. A little of Russian life goes very far. It isbrilliant and attractive in many ways; but for a man whofeels that he has duties and interests in America it soonbecomes a sort of exile. At the close of Mr. Harrison'sadministration, therefore, I tendered my resignation, as iscustomary with ministers abroad at such times, so that itwould arrive in Washington on the fourth day of March,and then come under the hand of the new President, Mr.Cleveland. I had taken its acceptance as a matter ofcourse, and had made all my arrangements to leave Russiaon the arrival of my successor. But soon I heard thatPresident Cleveland preferred that I should remain, andthat so long as I would consent to remain no new appointmentwould be made. In view of the fact that I had steadilyvoted against him, and that he knew this, I felt hisconduct to be a mark of confidence for which I ought to begrateful, and the result was that I continued at the postanother year, toward the close of which I wrote a privateletter to him, stating that under no circ*mstances could Iremain longer than the 1st of October, 1894. The fact wasthat the book which I considered the main work of my lifewas very nearly finished. I was anxious to have leisure togive it thorough revision, and this leisure I could not havein a diplomatic position. Therefore it was that I insistedon terminating my career at St. Petersburg, and that thePresident finally accepted my declination in a letter whichI shall always prize.

During the following winter (1894-1895), at FlorenceSorrento, and Palermo, my time was steadily given to myhistorical work; and having returned home and seen itthrough the press, I turned to another historical treatisewhich had been long deferred, and never did a man morethoroughly enjoy his leisure. I was at last apparently myown master, and could work in the midst of my books andin the library of the university to my heart's content.

But this fair dream was soon brought to naught. InDecember, 1895, I was appointed by President Clevelanda member of the commission to decide upon the boundaryline between the British possessions in South America andVenezuela. The circ*mstances of the case, with the mannerin which he tendered me the position, forbade me todecline it, and I saw no more literary leisure during thefollowing year.

As the presidential campaign of 1896 approached I hadgiven up all thoughts of politics, and had again resumed thehistorical work to which I proposed to devote, mainly, therest of my life—the preparation of a biographical historyof modern Germany, for which I had brought together alarge amount of material and had prepared much manuscript.I also hoped to live long enough to put into shapefor publication a series of lectures, on which I hadobtained a mass of original material in France, upon ``TheCauses of the French Revolution''; and had the new campaignbeen like any of those during the previous twentyyears, it would not have interested me. But suddenly newscame of the nomination by the Democrats of Mr. Bryan.The circ*mstances attending this showed clearly that thecoming contest involved, distinctly, the question betweenthe forces of virtual repudiation, supporting a policy whichmeant not merely national disaster but generations ofdishonor on the one side, and, on the other, Mr. McKinley,supporting a policy of financial honesty. Having thenbeen called upon to preside over a Republican meeting atIthaca, I made a speech which was published and widelycirculated, giving the reasons why all thinking men of bothparties ought to rally in support of the Republican candidate,and this I followed with an open letter to many leadingDemocrats in the State. It was begun as a privateletter to a valued Democratic friend, Mr. Oscar S. Straus,who has twice proved himself a most useful and patrioticminister of the United States at Constantinople. But,as my pen was moving, another Democratic friend cameinto my mind, then another, and again another, untilfinally my views were given in an open letter to them all;and this having been submitted to a friend in New York,with permission to use it as he thought best, he publishedit. The result seemed fortunate. It was at once caughtup by the press and republished in all parts of the country.I cannot claim that the gentlemen to whom I wrote wereinfluenced by it, but certain it is that in spite of theirearnest differences from President McKinley on very importantquestions, their feeling that this campaign involvedissues superior to any of those which had hitherto existed,led all of them, either directly or indirectly, tosupport him.

At the suggestion of various friends, I also republishedin a more extended form my pamphlet on ``Paper MoneyInflation in France: How it Came, What it Brought, andHow it Ended,'' which had first been published at thesuggestion of General Garfield and others, as throwing lighton the results of a debased currency, and it was now widelycirculated in all parts of the country.

Mr. McKinley was elected, and thus, in my judgment,was averted the greatest peril which our Republic hasencountered since the beginning of the Civil War. Havingnow some time for myself, I accepted sundry invitationsto address the students of two of the greater State universitiesof the West. It gave me pleasure to visit them, onmany accounts, and above all for the purpose of realizingthe magnificent advance that has been made by them inbecoming universities worthy of our country.

My anticipations were far more than met. My old studentand successor at the University of Michigan as professorand at Cornell University as president, Dr. CharlesKendall Adams, welcomed me to the institution over whichhe so worthily presided—the State University of Wisconsin;and having visited it a quarter of a century before,I was now amazed at its progress. The subject ofmy address, in the presence of the whole body of studentswas ``Evolution versus Revolution in Politics,'' and neverhave I spoken with more faith and hope. Looking intothe faces of that immense assembly of students, in trainingfor the best work of their time, lifted me above all doubtsas the future of that commonwealth.

From Madison I went to Minneapolis under an invitationto address the students at the State University ofMinnesota, and again my faith and hope were renewed asI looked into the faces of those great audiences of youngmen and young women. They filled me with confidencein the future of the country. At Minneapolis I also metvarious notable men, among them Archbishop Ireland,who had interested me much at a former meeting inPhiladelphia. I became sure that whatever ecclesiastics of hischurch generally might feel toward the United States, hewas truly patriotic. Alas for both church and state thatsuch prelates as Gibbons, Ireland, Keane, Spalding, andthe like, should be in a minority!

But my most curious experience was due to anothercitizen of Minnesota. Having been taken to the StateHouse, I was introduced, in the lower branch of the legislature,to no less a personage than Mr. Ignatius Donnelly, sowidely known by his publications regarding the authorshipof Shakspere's writings; and on my asking him whetherhe was now engaged on any literary work, he informed methat he was about to publish a book which would leave noparticle of doubt, in the mind of any thinking man, thatthe writings attributed to Shakspere were really due toFrancis Bacon. During this conversation the house wasdroning on in committee of the whole, and the proceedingsfell upon my ear much like the steady rumble of a mill; butsuddenly the mill seemed to stop, my own name was called,and immediately afterward came the words: ``Mr. ——of —— and Mr. —— of —— will escort Mr. White tothe chair.'' It was a very sudden awakening from my talkwith Mr. Donnelly on literature, but there was no help forit. ``Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,'' and, in a long fur-lined coat much the worse for wear and bespattered withmud, was conducted to the speaker, who, after formalgreetings, turned me loose on the audience. Naturally myspeech revealed what was uppermost in my mind—wonderat the progress made by the State, admiration for itsinstitutions, confidence in its future, pride in its relation tothe Union. At the close of this brief talk a few membersset up a call for Mr. Donnelly to respond, whereupon hepromptly arose, and of all the speeches I have ever heardhis was certainly the most surprising. It had seemed tome that my own remarks had glorified Minnesota up to thehighest point; but they were tame indeed compared to his.Having first dosed me with blarney, he proceeded to delugethe legislature with balderdash. One part of his speechran substantially on this wise:

``Mr. Speaker, I ask the gentleman, when he returns tohis home, to tell his fellow-citizens of the East what he hasseen during his visit to this great State; and, sir, we alsowish him to tell them that Minnesota and the great Northwestwill no longer consent to be trodden under the feetof the East. The strength of the United States and thefuture center of American greatness is here in Minnesota.Mr. Speaker, not far from this place I own a farm.'' (HereI began to wonder what was coming next.) ``From thatfarm, on one side, the waters trickle down until they reachthe rivulets, and then the streams, and finally the greatrivers which empty into Hudson Bay. And from theother side of that farm, sir, the waters trickle down intothe rivulets, thence pass into the streams, and finally intothe great Father of Waters, until they reach the Gulf ofMexico. Mr. Speaker, on this plateau are now raised thegreat men of the Republic. Formerly Virginia was themother of statesmen; that is so no longer. The mother ofstatesmen in these days, and of the men who are to controlthe destinies of this Republic, is Minnesota.''

Never before had I any conception of the height to which``tall talk'' might attain. It was the apotheosis of blather;but as my eye wandered over the assemblage, I noticedthat many faces wore smiles, and it was clear to me thatthe members had merely wished to exhibit their mostamusing specimen.

I felt that if they could stand it I could, and so, havingbidden the Speaker and Mr. Donnelly good-bye, passed outand made the acquaintance of the neighboring city of St.Paul, which struck me as even more beautiful than Edinburghin the views from its principal streets over hills,valleys, and mountains.

At the University of Michigan, in view of my recentvisit, I did not again stop, but at Harvard and Yale Iaddressed the students, and returned home from the excursionwith new faith in the future of the country. JamesBryce is right when he declares that in our universities liethe best hopes of the United States.

Early in the year following the election I wasappointed by the President ambassador to Germany. I hadnot sought the position; indeed, I had distinctly declinedto speak of the matter to any of those who were supposedto have the management of political affairs in the State.It came to me, directly and unsought, from PresidentMcKinley; I therefore prized it, and shall ever prize theremembrance of it.

While it was announced as pending, I was urged byvarious friends to speak of the subject to Mr. Platt, whoas the only Republican senator from New York and thehead of the Republican organization, was supposed tohave large rights in the matter. It was hinted to me thatsome statement to Mr. Platt on the subject was requiredby political etiquette and would smooth the President'sway. My answer was that I felt respect and friendshipfor Mr. Platt; that I called at his rooms from time totime socially, and discussed various public matters withhim; but that I could never make a request to him in thepremises; that I could not put myself in the attitude of asuppliant, even in the slightest degree, to him or even tothe President.

The result was that the President himself spoke to Mr.Platt on the subject, and, as I was afterward informed, thesenator replied that he would make no objection, but thatthe appointment ought not to be charged against the claimsof the State of New York.

The presidential campaign of 1900, in which Mr. McKinleywas presented for re<e:>lection, touched me but slightly.There came various letters urging me to become a candidatefor the Vice-Presidency, and sundry newspapers presentedreasons for my nomination, the main argumentbeing the same which had been formerly used as regardedthe governorship of New York—that the German-Americanswere estranged from the Republican party by thehigh tariff, and that I was the only Republican who coulddraw them to the ticket. All this I deprecated, and refusedto take any part in the matter, meantime writing mynephew, who had become my successor in the State Senate,my friend Dr. Holls, and others, to urge the, name ofTheodore Roosevelt. I had known him for many yearsand greatly admired him. His integrity was proof againstall attack, his courage undoubted, and his vigor amazing.It was clear that he desired renomination for the place healready held—the governorship of New York—partlybecause he was devoted to certain reforms, which he couldcarry out only in that position, and partly because hepreferred activity as governor of a great State to the usuallypassive condition of a Vice-President of the United States.Moreover, he undoubtedly had aspirations to the Presidency.These were perfectly legitimate, and indeed hon-orable, in him, as they are in any man who feels that hehas the qualities needed in that high office. He and hisfriends clearly felt that the transition from the governorshipof New York to the Presidency four years later wouldbe more natural than that from the Vice-Presidency; butin my letters I insisted that his name would greatlystrengthen the national ticket, and that his road to thePresidency seemed to me more easy from the Vice-Presidencythan from the governorship; that, although duringrecent years Vice-Presidents had not been nominated tothe higher office, during former years they had been; andthat I could see no reason why he might not bring abouta return to the earlier custom. As to myself, at my age, Igreatly preferred the duties of ambassador to those ofVice-President. The Republican party was wise enoughto take this view, and at the National Convention he wasnominated by acclamation.

Early in August, having taken a leave of absence forsixty days, I arrived in New York, and on landing receivedan invitation from Mr. Roosevelt to pass the day with himat his house in the country. I found him the same earnest,energetic, straightforward man as of old. Though nominatedto the Vice-Presidency against his will, he hadthrown himself heartily into the campaign; and the discussionat his house turned mainly on the securing of a propercandidate for the governorship of the State of New York.I recommended Charles Andrews, who, although in thefullest vigor of mind and body, had been retired from thechief-justiceship of the State on his arrival at the age ofseventy years. This recommendation Mr. Roosevelt receivedfavorably; but later it was found impossible tocarry it out, the Republican organization in the Statehaving decided in favor of Mr. Odell.

During my entire stay in the United States I wasconstantly occupied with arrears of personal businesswhich had been too long neglected; but, at the request ofvarious friends, wrote sundry open letters and articles,which were widely circulated among German-Americans,showing the injustice of the charge so constantly madeagainst President McKinley, of hostility to Germany andGerman interests. Nothing could be more absurd thansuch an imputation. The very opposite was the case.

I also gave a farewell address to a great assemblage ofstudents at Cornell University, my topic being ``The TrueConduct of Student Life''; but in the course of my speech,having alluded to the importance of sobriety of judgment,I tested by it sundry political contentions which werestrongly made on both sides, alluding especially to GoldwinSmith's very earnest declaration that one of thegreatest dangers to our nation arises from plutocracy.I took pains to show that the whole spirit of our lawsis in favor of the rapid dispersion of great properties,and that, within the remembrance of many present, alarge number of the greatest fortunes in the United Stateshad been widely dispersed. As to other declarationsregarding dangers arising from the acquisition of foreignterritory and the like, I insisted that all these dangers wereas nothing compared to one of which we were then havinga striking illustration—namely, demagogism; and I urged,what I have long deeply felt, that the main source ofdanger to republican institutions is now, and always hasbeen, the demagogism which seeks to array labor againstcapital, employee against employer, profession againstprofession, class against class, section against section. Imentioned the name of no one; but it must have been clearto all present how deeply I felt regarding the issues whicheach party represented, and especially regarding the resortto the lowest form of demagogism which Mr. Bryan was thenmaking, in the desperate attempt to save his falling fortunes.

During this stay in America I made two visits to Washingtonto confer with the President and the State Department.The first of these was during the hottest weather Ihave ever known. There were few people at the capitalwho could leave it, and at the Arlington Hotel therewere not more than a dozen guests. All were distressedby the heat. Moreover, there was an amazing complicationof political matters at this time, calculated to prostratethe Washington officials, even if the heat had not doneso; and, among these, those relating to American control inthe Philippine Islands; the bitter struggle then going on inChina between the representatives of foreign powers,including our own, and the Chinese insurrectionists; thedifficulties arising out of the successful result of theSpanish War in Cuba; complications in the new administrationof Porto Rico; and the myriad of questions arising in aheated political campaign, which was then running fastand furious.

Arriving at the White House, I passed an hour with thePresident, and found him, of all men in Washington, theonly one who seemed not at all troubled by the heat, bythe complications in China, by the difficulties in Cuba andPorto Rico, or by the rush and whirl of the campaign. Hecalmly discussed with me the draft of a political notewhich was to be issued next day in answer to the Russiancommunications regarding the mode of procedure inChina, which had started some very trying questions; andthen showed me a letter from ex-President Clevelanddeclining a position on the International ArbitrationTribunal at the Hague, and accepted my suggestion not toconsider it a final answer, but to make another effort forMr. Cleveland's acceptance. During this first visit ofmine, the Secretary of State and the First AssistantSecretary were both absent, having been almost prostrated bythe extreme heat. At a second visit in October, I againsaw the President, found him in the same equable frame ofmind, not allowing anything to trouble him, quietlydischarging his duties in the calm faith that all would turnout well. Dining with Secretary Hay, I mentioned thisequanimity of the President, when he said: ``Yes; it is asource of perpetual amazement to us all. He allows noquestion, no matter how complicated or vexatious, to disturbhim. Some time since, at a meeting of the cabinet,one of its members burst out into a bitter speech againstsome government official who had been guilty of grossrudeness, and said, `Mr. President, he has insulted you,and he has insulted me'; thereupon the President saidcalmly, `Mr. Secretary, if he has insulted ME, I forgive him;if he has insulted you, I shall remove him from office.' ''

Newspapers were teeming with misrepresentations ofthe President's course, but they failed to ruffle him. Onhis asking if I was taking any part in the campaign, Ireferred to a speech that I had made on the Fourth of Julyin Leipsic, and another to the Cornell University studentsjust before my departure, with the remark that I felt thata foreign diplomatic representative coming home andthrowing himself eagerly into the campaign might possiblydo more harm than good. In this remark he acquiesced,and said: ``I shall not, myself, make any speecheswhatever; nor shall I give any public receptions. My recordis before the American people, and they must passjudgment upon it. In this respect I shall go back to whatseems to me the better practice of the early Presidents.''I was struck by the justice of this, and told him so,although I felt obliged to say that he would be under fearfultemptation to speak before the campaign had gone muchfarther. He smiled, but held to his determination, despitethe fact that his opponent invaded all parts of the Unionin an oratorical frenzy, in one case making a speech athalf-past two in the morning to a crowd assembled at arailway station, and making during one day thirty-onespeeches, teeming with every kind of campaign misrepresentation;but the President was faithful to his promise,uttered no word in reply, and was re<e:>lected.

Not only at home, but abroad, as I can amply testify, thenews of his re<e:>lection was received with general satisfaction,and most of all by those who wish well to our countryand cherish hopes that government by the people and forthe people may not be brought to naught by the wilddemagogism which has wrecked all great republics thusfar.

But alas! the triumph was short-lived. One morningin September, while I was slowly recovering from two ofthe greatest bereavements which have ever befallen me,came the frightful news of his assassination. Shortlyafterward, for family and business reasons, I went for afew weeks to the United States, and, in the course of myvisit, conferred with the new President three times—firstat the Yale bicentennial celebration, afterward in hisprivate office, and finally at his table in the White House.Hard indeed was it for me to realize what had taken place—that President McKinley, whom I had so recently seen inhis chair at the head of the cabinet table, was gone forever;that in those rooms, where I had, at four different times,chatted pleasantly with him, he was never to be seenmore; and that here, in that same seat, was sitting my oldfriend and co-laborer. Hard was it to realize that the lasttime I had met Mr. Roosevelt in that same room was whenwe besought President Harrison to extend the civil service.Interesting as the new President's conversation was,there was constantly in my mind, whether in his office orhis parlors or the dining-room at the White House, onedeep undertone. It was like the pedal bass of an organ,steadily giving the ground tone of a requiem—the vanityand evanescence of all things earthly. There had I seen,in the midst of their jubilant supporters, Pierce, Lincoln,Grant, Hayes, Garfield, Cleveland, Harrison, and, finally,so short a time before, McKinley. It seemed all a dream.In his conversations the new President showed the samequalities that I had before known in him—earnestness,vigor, integrity, fearlessness, and, at times, a sense ofhumor, blending playfully with his greater qualities. Themessage he gave me to the Emperor William was characteristic.I was naturally charged to assure the Emperor ofthe President's kind feeling; but to this was added, in atone of unmistakable truth: ``Tell him that when I saythis, I mean it. I have been brought up to admire andrespect Germany. My life in that country and my readingsince have steadily increased this respect and admiration.''I noticed on the table a German book which he had justbeen reading, its author being my old friend ProfessorHans Delbr<u:>ck of the Berlin University. At the close ofthe message, which referred to sundry matters of currentbusiness, came a playful postlude. ``Tell his Majesty,''said the President, ``that I am a hunter and, as such, envyhim one thing especially: he has done what I have neveryet been able to do—he has killed a whale. But say tohim that if he will come to the United States, I will takehim to the Rocky Mountains to hunt the mountain lions,which is no bad sport,—and that if he kills one, as hedoubtless will, he will be the first monarch who has killeda lion since Tiglath-Pileser.'' I need hardly add thatwhen, a few weeks later, I delivered the message tothe Emperor at Potsdam, it pleased him. Many peopleon both sides of the Atlantic have noted a similarity inqualities between these two rulers, and, from closeobservation, I must confess that this is better founded than aremost such attributed resemblances. The Emperor hasindeed several accomplishments, more especially in artisticmatters, which, so far as I can learn, the President hasnot; but both are ambitious in the noblest sense; both areyoung men of deep beliefs and high aims; earnest, vigorous,straightforward, clear-sighted; good speakers, yetsturdy workers, and anxious for the prosperity, but aboveall things jealous for the honor of the people whoseaffairs they are called to administer. The President'saccounts of difficulties in finding men for responsiblepositions in various branches of the service, and his clearstatements of the proper line to be observed in politicaldealings between the United States and Europe whereSouth American interests were concerned, showed him tobe a broad-minded statesman. During my stay with him,we also discussed one or two points in his forthcomingmessage to Congress, and in due time it was received atBerlin, attracting general respect and admiration in Germany,as throughout Europe generally.

PART III

AS UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR

CHAPTER XV

LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN—1857-1864

As I looked out upon the world during my childhood,there loomed up within my little horizon certainpersonages as ideals. Foremost of these was the surplicedclergyman of the parish. So strong was my admirationfor him that my dear mother, during her entire life, neverrelinquished the hope, and indeed the expectation, that Iwould adopt the clerical profession.

Another object of my admiration—to whose professionI aspired—was the village carpenter. He ``did things,''and from that day to this I have most admired the menwho ``do things.''

Yet another of these personages was the principal ofCortland Academy. As I saw him addressing his students,or sitting in the midst of them observing with a telescopethe satellites of Jupiter, I was overawed. A sense of mylittleness overcame me, and I hardly dared think of aspiringto duties so exalted.

But at the age of seven a new ideal appeared. Thefamily had removed from the little town where I was bornto Syracuse, then a rising village of about five thousandinhabitants. The railways, east and west, had just beencreated,—the beginnings of what is now the New YorkCentral Railroad,—and every day, so far as possible, Iwent down-town ``to see the cars go out.'' During a largepart of the year there was but one passenger-train in eachdirection, and this was made up of but three or four smallcompartment-cars drawn by a locomotive which wouldnow be considered ridiculously small, at the rate of twelveto fifteen miles an hour.

Yet I doubt whether the express trains on the New YorkCentral, drawn by hundred-ton locomotives at a speed ofsixty miles an hour, produce on the youth of the presentgeneration anything like the impression made by thosesimple beginnings. The new personage who now attractedmy homage was the locomotive-driver. To me his professiontranscended all others. As he mounted the locomotive,and especially as he pulled the starting-bar, all otherfunctions seemed insignificant. Every day I contemplatedhim; often I dreamed of him; saw him in my mind'seye dashing through the dark night, through the rain andhail, through drifting snow, through perils of ``wash-outs'' and ``snake-heads,'' and no child in the middle agesever thought with more awe of a crusading knight leadinghis troops to the Holy City than did I think of this herostanding at his post in all weathers, conducting his trainto its destination beyond the distant hills. It was indeedthe day of small things. The traveler passing from NewYork to Buffalo in those days changed from the steamerat Albany to the train for Schenectady, there changed tothe train for Utica, thence took the train for Syracuse,there stayed overnight, then took a train for Auburn,where he found the train for Rochester, and after two morechanges arrived in Buffalo after a journey of two daysand a night, which is now made in from eight to ten hours.

But the locomotive-driver was none the less a personage,and I must confess that my old feeling of respect for himclings to me still. To this hour I never see him controllinghis fiery steed without investing him with some of theattributes which I discerned in him during my childhood.It is evident to me that the next heroes whom poets willexploit will be the drivers of our railway trains and the pilotsof our ocean steamers. One poet has, indeed, made a beginningalready,—and this poet the Secretary of State of theUnited States under whom I am now serving, the Hon.John Hay. Still another poet, honored throughout theworld, has also found a hero in the engine-driver, andRudyard Kipling will no doubt be followed by others.

But my dream of becoming a locomotive-driver faded,and while in college I speculated not a little as to what,after all, should be my profession. The idea of becominga clergyman had long since left my mind. The medicalprofession had never attracted me. For the legal professionI sought to prepare myself somewhat, but as I saw itpractised by the vast majority of lawyers, it seemed awaste of all that was best in human life. Politics werefrom an early period repulsive to me, and, after my firstsight of Washington in its shabby, sleazy, dirty, unkemptcondition under the old slave oligarchy, political lifebecame absolutely repugnant to my tastes and desires. Attimes a longing came over me to settle down in the country,to make an honest living from a farm—a longingwhich took its origin in a visit which I had made as a childto the farm of an uncle who lived upon the shores ofSeneca Lake. He was a man of culture, who, by the aidof a practical farmer and an income from other sources,got along very well. His roomy, old-fashioned house, hispleasant library, his grounds sloping to the lake, hispeach-orchard, which at my visit was filled with deliciousfruit, and the pleasant paths through the neighboringwoods captivated me, and for several years the agriculturalprofession lingered in my visions as the most attractiveof all.

As I now look back to my early manhood, it seems thatmy natural inclination should have been toward journalism;but although such a career proves attractive to manyof our best university-bred men now, it was not so then.In those days men did not prepare for it; they driftedinto it. I do not think that at my graduation there wasone out of the one hundred and eight members of my classwho had the slightest expectation of permanently connectinghimself with a newspaper. This seems all the moresingular since that class has since produced a largenumber of prominent journalists, and among these GeorgeWashburne Smalley, the most eminent, by far, amongAmerican newspaper correspondents of our time; EvartsGreene, a leading editor of Worcester; Delano Goddard,late editor of the ``Boston Advertiser''; Kinsley Twining,for a considerable time an editor of the ``Independent'';Isaac Bromley, who for years delighted the Republicanparty with his contributions to the editorial page of the``Tribune''; Dr. James Morris Whiton, a leading writerfor the ``Outlook''; and others. Yet in those days probablynot one of these ever thought of turning to journalism asa career. There were indeed at that time eminent editors,like Weed, Croswell, Greeley, Raymond, and Webb, butfew college-bred men thought of journalism as a profession.Looking back upon all this, I feel certain that, wereI to begin life again with my present experience, thatwould be the career for which I would endeavor to fitmyself. It has in it at present many admirable men, but farmore who are manifestly unfit. Its capacities for good orevil are enormous, yet the majority of those at present init seem to me like savages who have found a watch. Ican think of no profession in which young men properlyfitted—gifted with ideas and inspired by a real wish to dosomething for their land and time—can more certainly dogood work and win distinction. To supplant the presentrace of journalistic prostitutes, who are making many ofour newspapers as foul in morals, as low in tone, and asvile in utterance as even the worst of the French press,might well be the ambition of leading thinkers in any ofour universities. There is nothing so greatly needed inour country as an uplifting of the daily press, and thereis no work promising better returns.

But during my student life in Paris and Berlin anothervista began to open before me. I had never lost thatrespect for the teaching profession which had been arousedin my childhood by the sight of Principal Woolworthenthroned among the students of Cortland Academy, andthis early impression was now greatly deepened by myexperience at the Sorbonne, the College of France, and theUniversity of Berlin. My favorite studies at Yale hadbeen history and kindred subjects, but these had beentaught mainly from text-books. Lectures were few anddry. Even those of President Woolsey were not inspiring;he seemed paralyzed by the system of which heformed a part. But men like Arnould, St. Marc Girardin,and Laboulaye in France, and Lepsius, Ritter, von Raumer,and Curtius in Germany, lecturing to large bodies ofattentive students on the most interesting and instructiveperiods of human history, aroused in me a new current ofideas. Gradually I began to ask myself the question: Whynot help the beginnings of this system in the United States?I had long felt deeply the shortcomings of our Americanuniversities, and had tried hard to devise something better;yet my ideas as to what could really be done to improvethem had been crude and vague. But now, in these greatforeign universities, one means of making a reform becameevident, and this was, first of all, the substitution oflectures for recitations, and the creation of an interestin history by treating it as a living subject having relationsto present questions. Upon this I reflected much,and day by day the idea grew upon me. So far as I canremember, there was not at that time a professor of historypure and simple in any American university. Therehad been courses of historical lectures at a few institutions,but they were, as a rule, spasmodic and perfunctory. Howhistory was taught at Yale is shown in another chapter ofthese reminiscences. The lectures of President Sparkshad evidently trained up no school of historical professorsat Harvard. There had been a noted professor at Williamand Mary College, Virginia,—doubtless, in his time, thebest historical lecturer in the United States,—Dr. WilliamDew, the notes of whose lectures, as afterward published,were admirable; but he had left no successor. FrancisLieber, at the University of South Carolina, had taughtpolitical philosophy with much depth of thought andwealth of historical illustration; but neither there norelsewhere did there exist anything like systematic courses inhistory such as have now been developed in so many ofour universities and colleges.

During my stay as resident graduate at Yale after myreturn from Europe in 1856, I often discussed the subjectwith my old friend and companion Gilman, now presidentof the Carnegie Institution, and with my beloved instructor,Professor Porter. Both were kind enough to urge meto remain at New Haven, assuring me that in time aprofessorship would be established. To promote this I wrote anarticle on ``German Instruction in General History,''which was well received when published in the ``NewEnglander,'' and prepared sundry lectures, which werereceived by the university people and by the New York pressmore favorably than I now think they deserved. But thereseemed, after all, no chance for a professorship devoted tothis line of study. More and more, too, I felt that even if Iwere called to a historical professorship at Yale, the old-fashioned orthodoxy which then prevailed must fetter me:I could not utter the shibboleths then demanded, and thefuture seemed dark indeed. Yet my belief in the valueof better historical instruction in our universities grewmore and more, and a most happy impulse was now givento my thinking by a book which I read and reread—Stanley's ``Life of Arnold.'' It showed me much, butespecially two things: first, how effective history mightbe made in bringing young men into fruitful trains ofthought regarding present politics; and, secondly, howreal an influence an earnest teacher might thus exerciseupon his country.

While in this state of mind I met my class assembled atthe Yale commencement of 1856 to take the master'sdegree in course, after the manner of those days. This wasthe turning-point with me. I had been for some time moreand more uneasy and unhappy because my way did notseem to clear; but at this commencement of 1856, whilelounging among my classmates in the college yard, I heardsome one say that President Wayland of Brown Universitywas addressing the graduates in the Hall of the Alumni.Going to the door, I looked in, and saw at the high table anold man, strong-featured, heavy-browed, with spectaclesresting on the top of his head, and just at that moment hespoke very impressively as follows: ``The best field ofwork for graduates is now in the WEST; our country isshortly to arrive at a switching-off place for good or evil;our Western States are to hold the balance of power inthe Union, and to determine whether the country shallbecome a blessing or a curse in human history.''

I had never seen him before; I never saw him afterward.His speech lasted less than ten minutes, but it settled agreat question for me. I went home and wrote to sundryfriends that I was a candidate for the professorship ofhistory in any Western college where there was a chanceto get at students, and as a result received two calls—oneto a Southern university, which I could not accept onaccount of my anti-slavery opinions; the other to theUniversity of Michigan, which I accepted. My old college friendswere kind enough to tender me later the professorship inthe new School of Art at Yale, but my belief was firm inthe value of historical studies. The words of Waylandrang in my ears, and I went gladly into the new field.

On arriving at the University of Michigan in October,1857, although I had much to do with other students, I tookespecial charge of the sophom*ore class. It included manyyoung men of ability and force, but had the reputation ofbeing the most unmanageable body which had been knownthere in years. Thus far it had been under the charge oftutors, and it had made life a burden to them. Its preparationfor the work I sought to do was wretchedly imperfect.Among my duties was the examination of entranceclasses in modern geography as a preliminary to theiradmission to my course in history, and I soon discovered aserious weakness in the public-school system. In herpreparatory schools the State of Michigan took especialpride, but certainly at that time they were far belowtheir reputation. If any subject was supposed to bethoroughly taught in them it was geography, but I soonfound that in the great majority of my students there wasnot a trace of real knowledge of physical geography andvery little of political. With this state of things I at oncegrappled, and immediately ``conditioned'' in these studiesabout nine tenths of the entering class. At first there weremany protests; but I said to my ingenuous youths that nopedantic study was needed, that all I required was a preparationsuch as would enable any one of them to read intelligentlyhis morning newspaper, and to this end I advisedeach one of them to accept his conditions, to abjure alllearning by rote from text-books, to take up simply anyconvenient atlas which came to hand, studying first themap of our own country, with its main divisions, physicaland political, its water communications, trend of coasts,spurring of mountains, positions of leading cities, etc., andthen to do the same thing with each of the leading countriesof Europe, and finally with the other main divisionsof the world. To stimulate their interest and show themwhat was meant, I gave a short course of lectures onphysical geography, showing some of its more strikingeffects on history; then another course on politicalgeography, with a similar purpose; and finally notified myyoung men that they were admitted to my classes in historyonly under condition that, six weeks later, they shouldpass an examination in geography, full, satisfactory, andfinal. The young fellows now took their conditions verykindly, for they clearly saw the justice of them. Oneyoung man said to me: ``Professor, you are entirely rightin conditioning me, but I was never so surprised in mylife; if there was anything which I supposed I knew wellit was geography; why, I have taught it, and very successfully,in a large public school.'' On my asking him how hetaught a subject in which he was so deficient, he answeredthat he had taught his pupils to ``sing'' it. I replied that ifhe would sing the answers to my questions, I would admithim at once; but this he declined, saying that he muchpreferred to accept the conditions. In about six weeks I heldthe final examinations, and their success amazed us all.Not a man failed, and some really distinguished themselves.They had all gone at the work cordially and heartily,arranging themselves in squads and clubs for mutualstudy and examination on each physical and political map;and it is certain that by this simple, common-sense methodthey learned more in six weeks than they had previouslylearned in years of plodding along by rote, day after daythrough text-books.

Nor was this mere ``cram.'' Their geographicalknowledge lasted and was increased, as was proved at myhistorical examinations afterward.

I soon became intensely interested in my work, andlooked forward to it every day with pleasure. The firstpart of it was instruction in modern history as a basis formy lectures which were to follow, and for this purpose Iused with the sophom*ores two text-books. The first ofthese was Robertson's ``Philosophical View of the MiddleAges,'' which forms the introduction to his ``Life ofCharles the Fifth.'' Although superseded in many ofits parts by modern investigation, very defective inseveral important matters, and in some things—as, forexample, in its appreciation of medieval literature—entirelymistaken, it was, when written one hundred years ago,recognized as a classic, and it remains so to this day. Itwas a work of genius. Supplemented by elucidations andextensions, it served an admirable purpose in introducingmy students to the things really worth knowing in modernhistory, without confusing them with masses of pedanticdetail.

The next text-book which I took up was Dr. John Lord's``Modern History,'' the same which President Woolseyhad used with my class during its senior year at Yale. Itwas imperfect in every respect, with no end of gaps anderrors, but it had one real merit—it interested its readers.It was, as every such work ought to be, largely biographic.There was enthusiasm, a sort of ``go,'' in Dr. Lord, andthis quality he had communicated to his book, so that, withall its faults, it formed the best basis then obtainable forfurther instruction. Its omissions and errors I sought torectify—as Woolsey, I am sorry to say, had never done toany extent—by offhand talks and by pointing out supplementaryreading, such as sundry chapters of Gibbon andHallam, essays by Macaulay, extracts from Lingard,Ranke, Prescott, Motley, and others. Once a fortnightthrough the winter, the class assembled at my housesocially, ``the more attractive young women of the little citybeing invited to meet them; but the social part was alwayspreceded by an hour and a half's reading of short passagesfrom eminent historians or travelers, bearing on our classroomwork during the previous fortnight. These passageswere read by students whom I selected for thepurpose, and they proved useful from the historical,literary, and social point of view.

For the class next above, the juniors, I took for textbookpreparation Guizot's ``History of Civilization inEurope''—a book tinged with the doctrinairism of itsauthor, but a work of genius; a GREAT work, stimulatingnew trains of thought, and opening new vistas ofknowledge. This, with sundry supplementary talks, and withshort readings from Gibbon, Thierry, Guizot's ``Historyof Civilization in France,'' and Sir James Stephen's``Lectures on French History,'' served an excellent purpose.

Nor was the use of Guizot's book entirely confined tohistorical purposes. Calling attention to the Abb<e'>Bautain's little book on extemporaneous speaking, as the besttreatise on the subject I had ever seen, I reminded mystudents that these famous lectures of Guizot, which hadopened a new epoch in modern historical investigation andinstruction, were given, as regards phrasing, extemporaneously,but that, as regards matter, they were carefullyprepared beforehand, having what Bautain calls a ``self-developing order''; and I stated that I would allow anymember of my class who might volunteer for the purposeto give, in his own phrasing, the substance of an entirelecture. For a young man thus to stand up and virtuallydeliver one of Guizot's lectures required great concentrationof thought and considerable facility in expression, butseveral students availed themselves of the permission, andacquitted themselves admirably. This seemed to me anexcellent training for effective public speaking, andseveral of my old students, who have since distinguishedthemselves in public life, have confessed to me that theyfound it so.

My next and highest duty was giving lectures to thesenior class and students from the law school. Into thisI threw myself heartily, and soon had the satisfaction ofseeing my large lecture-room constantly full. The firstof these courses was on the ``Development of Civilizationduring the Middle Ages''; and, as I followed the logicalrather than the chronological order,—taking up the subject,not by a recital of events, but by a discussion ofepochs and subjects,—I thought it best to lecture withoutmanuscript or even notes. This was, for me, a boldventure. I had never before attempted anything in the wayof extended extemporaneous speaking; and, as I enteredthe old chapel of the university for my first lecture, andsaw it full of students of all classes, I avowed my trepidationto President Tappan, who, having come to introduceme, was seated by my side. He was an admirableextemporaneous speaker in the best sense, and he then and theregave me a bit of advice which proved of real value. Hesaid: ``Let me, as an old hand, tell you one thing: neverstop dead; keep saying something.'' This course of lectureswas followed by others on modern history, one ofthese being on ``German History from the Revival ofLearning and the Reformation to Modern Times,''another on ``French History from the Consolidation of theMonarchy to the French Revolution,'' and still another onthe ``French Revolution.'' To this latter course I gavespecial attention, the foundation having been laid for itin France, where I had visited various interesting placesand talked with interesting men who recalled events andpeople of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic periods. Fora text-book foundation I read with my lower classesMignet's ``History of the Revolution,'' which stillremained what Carlyle pronounced it—the best short summaryof that great period.

To further the work of my students in the lecture-room,I published an interleaved syllabus of each course, andwas, I think, the first person in our country who ever didthis in connection with historical lectures. It is a matterof wonder to me that so few professors in these days resortto this simple means of strengthening their instruction.It ought to be required by university statutes. It seemsto me indispensable to anything like thorough work. Asyllabus, properly interleaved, furnishes to a student byfar the best means of taking notes on each lecture, as wellas of reviewing the whole course afterward, and to a professorthe best means of testing the faithfulness of hisstudents. As regards myself personally, there came tome from my syllabus an especial advantage; for, as I haveshown in my political experiences, it gained for me thefriendship of Charles Sumner.

I have stated elsewhere that my zeal in teaching historywas by no means the result of a mere liking for that fieldof thought. Great as was my love for historical studies,there was something I prized far more—and that was theopportunity to promote a better training in thoughtregarding our great national problems then rapidlyapproaching solution, the greatest of all being the questionbetween the supporters and opponents of slavery.

In order that my work might be fairly well based, I had,during my college days and my first stay abroad, beguncollecting the private library which has added certainlyto the pleasures, and probably to the usefulness, of mylife. Books which are now costly rarities could then bebought in the European capitals for petty sums. Thereis hardly any old European city which has not been, atsome time, one of my happy hunting-grounds in the chasefor rare books bearing upon history; even now, whenmy collection, of which the greater part has been trans-ferred to Cornell University, numbers not far short offorty thousand volumes, the old passion still flames up attimes; and during the inditing of this chapter I havesecured two series of manuscripts of very great value inillustrating the evolution of modern civilization. My reasonfor securing such original material was not the desireto possess rarities and curiosities. I found that passagesactually read from important originals during my lecturesgave a reality and vividness to my instruction which wereotherwise unattainable. A citation of the ipsissima verbaof Erasmus, or Luther, or Melanchthon, or Peter Canisius,or Louis XIV, or Robespierre, or Marat, interested mystudents far more than any quotation at second hand coulddo. No rhetoric could impress on a class the real spiritand strength of the middle ages as could one of myilluminated psalters or missals; no declamation upon theboldness of Luther could impress thinking young men asdid citations from his ``Erfurt Sermon,'' which, by weakeninghis safe-conduct, put him virtually at the mercy ofhis enemies at the Diet of Worms; no statements as to thefatuity of Robespierre could equal citations from an originalcopy of his ``Report on the Moral and ReligiousConsiderations which Ought to Govern the Republic''; allspecifications of the folly of Marat paled before theravings in the original copies of his newspaper, ``L'Amidu Peuple''; no statistics regarding the paper-moneycraze in France could so impress its actuality on studentsas did the seeing and handling of French revolutionaryassignats and mandats, many of them with registrationnumbers clearly showing the enormous quantities of thiscurrency then issued; no illustration, at second hand,of the methods of the French generals during theRevolutionary period could produce the impression givenby a simple exhibition of the broadsides issued by theproconsuls of that period; no description of the collapseof the triumvirate and the Reign of Terror couldequal a half-hour's reading from the ``Moniteur'';and all accounts of the Empire were dim comparedto grandiose statements read from the original bulletinsof Napoleon.

In this way alone can history be made real to students.Both at my lectures and in the social gatherings at myhouse, I laid out for my classes the most important originalsbearing upon their current work; and it was no smallpleasure to point out the relations of these to the eventswhich had formed the subject of our studies together. Isay ``our studies together,'' because no one of my studentsstudied more hours than myself. They stimulated megreatly. Most of them were very near my own age; severalwere older. As a rule, they were bright, inquiring,zealous, and among them were some of the best minds Ihave ever known. From among them have since comesenators, members of Congress, judges, professors,lawyers, heads of great business enterprises, and foreignministers. One of them became my successor in theprofessorship in the University of Michigan and thepresidency of Cornell, and, in one field, the leading Americanhistorian of his time. Another became my predecessor inthe embassy to Germany. Though I had what might befairly called ``a good start'' of these men, it was necessaryto work hard to maintain my position; but such labor wasthen pleasure.

Nor was my work confined to historical teaching. Afterthe fashion of that time, I was called upon to hear theessays and discussions of certain divisions of the upperclasses. This demanded two evenings a week through twoterms in each year, and on these evenings I joyfully wentto my lecture-room, not infrequently through drifts ofsnow, and, having myself kindled the fire and lighted thelamps, awaited the discussion. This subsidiary work,which in these degenerate days is done by janitors, ismentioned here as showing the simplicity of a bygoneperiod. The discussions thus held were of a higher rangethan any I had known at Yale, and some were decidedlyoriginal. One deserves especial mention. A controversyhaving arisen in Massachusetts and spread throughout thecountry regarding the erection of a statue of Daniel Websterin front of the State House at Boston, and bitter oppositionhaving been aroused by his seventh-of-Marchspeech, two groups of my student-disputants agreed totake up this subject and model their speeches upon thoseof Demosthenes and Aeschines on the crown, which theywere then reading in the original. It was a happy thought,and well carried out.

CHAPTER XVI

UNIVERSITY LIFE IN THE WEST—1857-1864

It must be confessed that all was not plain sailingin my new position. One difficulty arose from myvery youthful, not to say boyish, appearance. I was,indeed, the youngest member of the faculty; but attwenty-four years one has the right to be taken for aman, and it was vexatious to be taken for a youth ofseventeen. At my first arrival in the university townI noticed, as the train drew up to the station, a numberof students, evidently awaiting the coming of suchfreshmen as might be eligible to the various fraternities;and, on landing, I was at once approached by a sophom*ore,who asked if I was about to enter the university. For aninstant I was grievously abashed, but pulling myselftogether, answered in a sort of affirmative way; and at thishe became exceedingly courteous, taking pains to pilot meto a hotel, giving me much excellent advice, and eveninsisting on carrying a considerable amount of my baggage.Other members of fraternities joined us, all most courteousand kind, and the d<e'>nouement came only at theregistration of my name in the hotel book, when theyrecognized in me ``the new professor.'' I must say totheir credit that, although they were for a time laughedat throughout the university, they remained my warmpersonal friends.

But after I had discharged the duties of my professorshipfor a considerable period, this same difficulty existed.On a shooting excursion, an old friend and myself came,and, being very hungry, asked for bread and milk. Mycompanion being delayed outside, cleaning the guns, thefarmer's wife left me and went out to talk with him. Icontinued eating my bread and milk voraciously, andshortly afterward they entered, he laughing heartily andshe looking rather shamefaced. On my asking the causehe declined for a time to state it, but at length said thatshe had come out to warn him that if he did not come inpretty soon ``that boy would eat up all the bread and milkin the house.'' This story leaked out, and even appearedin a local paper, but never, I think, did me any harm.

Another occurrence, shortly afterward, seemed likelyfor a time to be more serious. The sophom*ore class,exuberant and inventive as ever, were evidently determinedto ``try it on'' their young professor—in fact, to treat meas they had treated their tutors. Any mistake made by astudent at a quiz elicited from sundry benches expressionsof regret much too plaintive, or ejacul*tions of contemptmuch too explosive; and from these and various similardemonstrations which grew every day among a certain setin my class-room, it was easy to see that a trial of strengthmust soon come, and it seemed to me best to force thefighting. Looking over these obstreperous youths I noticedone tall, black-bearded man with a keen twinkle in his eye,who was evidently the leader. There was nothing in himespecially demonstrative. He would occasionally nod inthis direction, or wink in that, or smile in the other; buthe was solemn when others were hilarious, unconcernedwhen others applauded. It was soon clear to me that inhim lay the key to the situation, and one day, at the closeof the examination, I asked him to remain. When we werealone I said to him, in an easy-going way, ``So, F——, Isee that either you or I must leave the university.'' Heat once bristled up, feigned indignation, and said that hecould not understand me. This I pooh-poohed, saying thatwe understood each other perfectly; that I had been onlyrecently a student myself; that, if the growing trouble inthe class continued, either he or I must give it up, andadded, ``I believe the trustees will prefer your departure tomine.'' At this he protested that he had made nodemonstrations, to which I answered that if I put him on hishonor he would not deny that he was the real center ofthe difficulty; that the others were, comparatively, men ofsmall account; and that, with him gone, the backbone ofthe whole difficulty would be broken. He seemedimpressed by this view—possibly he was not whollydispleased at the importance it gave him; and finally heacknowledged that perhaps he had been rather foolish, andsuggested that we try to live together a little longer. Ianswered cordially, we shook hands at parting, and therewas never any trouble afterward. I soon found what sortof questions interested him most, took especial pains toadapt points in my lectures to his needs, and soon had nostronger friend in the university.

But his activity finally found a less fortunate outcome.A year or two afterward came news of a terrible affair inthe university town. A student was lying dead at thecoroner's rooms, and on inquiry it was found that hisdeath was the result of a carousal in which my friend F——was a leading spirit. Eight men were concerned, ofwhom four were expelled—F—— being one—and four suspended.On leaving, he came to me and thanked me mostheartily for what I had done for him, said that the actionof the faculty was perfectly just, that no other course wasopen to us, but that he hoped yet to show us all that hecould make a man of himself. He succeeded. Five yearslater he fell as a general at the head of his brigade atGettysburg.

In addition to my regular work at the university, Ilectured frequently in various cities throughout Michiganand the neighboring States. It was the culminating periodof the popular-lecture system, and through the wintermonths my Friday and Saturday evenings were generallygiven to this sort of duty. It was, after its fashion, whatin these days is called ``university extension''; indeed, themain purpose of those members of the faculty thusinvited to lecture was to spread the influence of theuniversity. But I received from the system more than I gave toit; for it gave me not only many valuable acquaintancesthroughout the West, but it brought to Ann Arbor the bestmen then in the field, among them such as Emerson, Curtis,Whipple, Wendell Phillips, Carl Schurz, MoncureConway, Bayard Taylor, and others noted then, but, alas,how few of them remembered now! To have them by myfireside and at my table was one of the greatest pleasuresof a professorial life. It was at the beginning of myhousekeeping; and under my roof on the universitygrounds we felt it a privilege to welcome these wise menfrom the East, and to bring the faculty and students intocloser relations with them.

As regards the popular-lecture pulpit, my main wishwas to set people thinking on various subjects, andespecially regarding slavery and ``protection.'' Thispresently brought a storm upon me. Some years before therehad settled in the university town a thin, vociferous lawyer,past his prime, but not without ideas and force. Hehad for many years been a department subordinate atWashington; but, having accumulated some money, he haddonned what was then known as senatorial costume—namely, a blue swallow-tailed coat, and a buff vest, withbrass buttons—and coming to this little Michigan townhe had established a Whig paper, which afterward becameRepublican. He was generally credited, no doubt justly,with a determination to push himself into the UnitedStates Senate; but this determination was so obvious thatpeople made light of it, and he never received the honorof a nomination to that or any other position. The mainburden of his editorials was the greatness of Henry Clay,and the beauties of a protective tariff, his material beinglargely drawn from a book he had published some yearsbefore; and, on account of the usual form of his arguments,he was generally referred to, in the offhand Westernway, as ``Old Statistics.''

In a public lecture based upon my Russian experiences,I had incidentally attacked paternal government, andespecially such developments of it as tariffs for protection.The immediate result was a broadside from thisgentleman's paper, and this I answered in an article whichwas extensively copied throughout the State. At this heevidently determined to crush this intruder upon hisdomain. That an ``upstart''—a ``mere school-teacher''—should presume to reply to a man like himself, who hadsat at the feet of Henry Clay, and was old enough to bemy father, was monstrous presumption; but that a professorin the State university of a commonwealth largelyRepublican should avow free-trade opinions was akin totreason, and through twelve successive issues of hispaper he lashed me in all the moods and tenses. As theseattacks soon became scurrilous, I made no reply to anyafter the first; but his wrath was increased when he sawmy reply quoted by the press throughout the State and hisown diatribes neglected. Among his more serious chargesI remember but one, and this was that I had evidentlycome into the State as a secret emissary of Van Burenism.But I recalled the remark of my enemy's idol, HenryClay, to the effect that no one should ever reply to anattack by an editor, a priest, or a woman, since each ofthem is sure to have the last word. This feeling was soonsucceeded by indifference; for my lecture-rooms, both atthe university and throughout the State, were more andmore frequented, and it became clear that my opponent'sattacks simply advertised me. The following year I hadmy revenge. From time to time debates on current topicswere held at the city hall, the participants being generallyyoung professional men; but, the subject of a tariff forprotection having been announced, my old enemy declared,several weeks beforehand, his intention of taking part inthe discussion. Among my students that winter was oneof the most gifted young scholars and speakers I haveever known. Not long after his graduation he was sentto the United States Senate from one of the more importantWestern States, and nothing but his early deathprevented his attaining a national reputation. He was a manof convictions, strong and skilful in impressing them uponhis hearers, of fine personal appearance, with a pleasingvoice, and in every way fitted to captivate an audience.Him I selected as the David who was to punish theprotectionist Goliath. He had been himself a protectionist,having read Greeley's arguments in the ``New YorkTribune,'' but he had become a convert to my views, andday after day and week after week I kept him in trainingon the best expositions of free trade, and, above all, onBastiat's ``Sophisms of Protection.'' On the appointedevening the city hall was crowded, and my young Davidhaving modestly taken a back seat, the great Goliathappeared at the front in full senatorial costume, furbishedup for the occasion, with an enormous collection of booksand documents; and, the subject being announced, he arose,assumed his most imposing senatorial attitude, and begana dry, statistical oration. His manner was harsh, hismatter wearisome; but he plodded on through an hour—and then my David arose. He was at his best. Infive minutes he had the audience fully with him. Everypoint told. From time to time the house shook withapplause; and at the close of the debate, a vote of the meetingbeing taken after the usual fashion in such assemblies, myold enemy was left in a ridiculous minority. Not onlyfree-traders, but even protectionists voted against him.As he took himself very seriously, he was intenselymortified, and all the more so when he learned from one of mystudents that I now considered that we were ``even.''[4]

[4] The causes of my change of views on the question of``protection'' are given in my political reminiscences.

The more I threw myself into the work of the universitythe more I came to believe in the ideas on which it wasfounded, and to see that it was a reality embodying manythings of which I had previously only dreamed. Up tothat time the highest institutions of learning in the UnitedStates were almost entirely under sectarian control. Eventhe University of Virginia, which Thomas Jefferson hadfounded as a center of liberal thought, had fallen underthe direction of sectarians, and among the great majorityof the Northern colleges an unwritten law seemed torequire that a university president should be a clergyman.The instruction in the best of these institutions was, as Ihave shown elsewhere, narrow, their methods outworn,and the students, as a rule, confined to one simple, single,cast-iron course, in which the great majority of them tookno interest. The University of Michigan had made abeginning of something better. The president was Dr.Henry Philip Tappan, formerly a Presbyterian clergyman,a writer of repute on philosophical subjects, a strongthinker, an impressive orator, and a born leader of men,who, during a visit to Europe, had been greatly impressedby the large and liberal system of the German universities,and had devoted himself to urging a similar systemin our own country. On the Eastern institutions—save,possibly, Brown—he made no impression. Each of themwas as stagnant as a Spanish convent, and as self-satisfiedas a Bourbon duchy; but in the West he attractedsupporters, and soon his ideas began to show themselveseffective in the State university over which he had beencalled to preside.

The men he summoned about him were, in the main,admirably fitted to aid him. Dearest of all to me, thoughseveral years my senior, was Henry Simmons Frieze,professor of Latin. I had first met him at the University ofBerlin, had then traveled with him through Germany andItaly, and had found him one of the most charming menI had ever met—simple, modest, retiring to a fault, yet adelightful companion and a most inspiring teacher. Therewas in him a combination which at first seemed singular;but experience has since shown me that it is by no meansunnatural, for he was not only an ideal professor of Latin,but a gifted musician. The first revelation of this latterquality was made to me in a manner which showed hismodesty. One evening during our student days at Berlin,at a reception given by the American minister of thatperiod,—Governor Vroom of New Jersey,—I heard thesound of music coming from one of the more distantapartments. It was a sonata of Beethoven, wonderfullyinterpreted, showing not only skill but deep feeling. Onmy asking my neighbors who the performer might be,no one seemed to know, until, at last, some one suggestedthat it might be Professor Frieze. I made my way throughthe crowd toward the room from which the sounds came,but before arriving there the music had ended; and when Imet the professor shortly afterward, and asked him if hehad been the musician, his reply was so modest and evasivethat I thought the whole thing a mistake and said nothingmore about it. On our way to Italy some monthslater, I observed that, as we were passing through Bohemia,he jotted down in his note-book the quaint songs of thepeasants and soldiers, and a few weeks later still he gave anexhibition of his genius. Sitting down one evening at thepiano on the little coasting steamer between Genoa andCivit<a!> Vecchia, he began playing, and though it hasbeen my good fortune to hear all the leading pianistsof my time, I have never heard one who seemed to interpretthe masterpieces of music more worthily. At Ann ArborI now came to know him intimately. Once or twice aweek he came to my house, and, as mine was the only grandpiano in the town, he enjoyed playing upon it. Hisextemporizations were flights of genius. At these gatheringshe was inspired by two other admirable musicians, onebeing my dear wife, and the other Professor Brunnow, theastronomer. Nothing could be more delightful than theirinterpretations together of the main works of BeethovenHandel, Mozart, Haydn, Weber, and other masters. Onone of these evenings, when I happened to speak of theimpression made upon me at my first hearing of a choralin a German church, Frieze began playing Luther's hymn,``Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott,'' throwing it into allforms and keys, until we listened to his improvisationsin a sort of daze which continued until nearly midnight.Next day, at St. Andrew's Church, he, as usual, had chargeof the organ. Into his opening voluntary he wove themusic of the preceding evening, the ``Feste Burg''; itran through all the chants of the morning service; itpervaded the accompaniment to the hymns; it formed theundertone of all the interludes; it was not relinquisheduntil the close of the postlude. And the same was true ofthe afternoon service. I have always insisted that, had helived in Germany, he would have been a second Beethoven.This will seem a grossly exaggerated tribute, but I do nothesitate to maintain it. So passionately was he devotedto music that at times he sent his piano away from hishouse in order to shun temptation to abridge his professorialwork, and especially was this the case when he waspreparing his edition of Vergil. A more lovely spiritnever abode in mortal frame. No man was ever moregenerally beloved in a community; none, more lamented athis death. The splendid organ erected as a memorial tohim in the great auditorium of the university; the noblemonument which his students have placed over his grave;his portrait, which hangs in one of the principal rooms;the society which commemorates his name—all combineto show how deeply he was respected and beloved.

Entwined also with my happiest recollections is Brunnow,professor of astronomy and director of the observatory.His eminence in his department was widely recognized,as was shown when he was afterward madedirector of the Dudley Observatory at Albany, N. Y., and,finally, astronomer royal of Ireland. His musical abilities,in connection with those of Frieze, aided to give a delightfulside to this period of my life. There was in him a quietsimplicity which led those who knew him best to love himmost, but it occasionally provoked much fun among thestudents. On one occasion, President Tappan, beingsuddenly called out of town, requested Brunnow, who hadmarried his daughter and was an inmate of his family, tofind some member of the faculty to take his place atmorning prayers next day. Thereupon Brunnow visited sev-eral professors, his first question to each of them being,with his German use of the consonants, ``Professor, canyou BRAY?'' and henceforward this was added to the manystanding jokes upon him in the student world.

I also found at the university other admirable men, andamong those to whom I became specially attached wasThomas M. Cooley. When he had become chief justiceof the State, and the most eminent writer of his time on theConstitution of the United States, he was still the sameman, gentle, simple, and kindly. Besides these weresuch well-known professors as Fasquelle in modernliterature; Williams, Douglass, and Winchell in science;Boise in Greek; Palmer, Sager, and Gunn in medicineand surgery; Campbell and Walker in law. Of theseJudge Campbell was to me one of the main attractionsof the place—a profound lawyer, yet with a kindly humorwhich lighted up all about him. He was especially interestedin the early French history of the State, to which hehad been drawn by his study of the titles to landed propertyin Detroit and its neighborhood, and some of his discoverieswere curious. One of these had reference to anisland in the straits near Detroit known as ``Skillagalee,''which had puzzled him a long time. The name seemed to beIrish, and the question was how an Irish name could havebeen thus applied. Finally he found on an old map an earliername. It was <I^>le aus Galets, or Pebble Island, which, inthe mouths of Yankee sailors, had taken this apparentlyCeltic form. Another case was that of a river in Canadaemptying into the straits not far from Detroit. It wasknown as ``Yellow Dog River''; but, on rummagingthrough the older maps, he discovered that the earliername was River St. John. To account for the transformationwas at first difficult, but the mystery was finallyunraveled: the Rivi<e!>re St. Jean became, in the Canadianpatois, Rivi<e!>re Saan Jawne, and gradually Rivi<e!>re ChienJaune; recent geographers had simply translated it intoEnglish.

The features which mainly distinguished the Universityof Michigan from the leading institutions of the Eastwere that it was utterly unsectarian, that various coursesof instruction were established, and that options wereallowed between them. On these accounts that universityholds a most important place in the history of Americanhigher education; for it stands practically at the beginningof the transition from the old sectarian college to themodern university, and from the simple, single, cast-ironcourse to the form which we now know, in which variouscourses are presented, with free choice between them. Thenumber of students was about five hundred, and the facultycorresponded to these in numbers. Now that theuniversity includes over four thousand students, with afaculty in proportion, those seem the days of smallthings; but to me at that period it was all very grand. Itseemed marvelous that there were then very nearly asmany students at the University of Michigan as at Yale;and, as a rule, they were students worth teaching—hardy,vigorous, shrewd, broad, with faith in the greatness ofthe country and enthusiasm regarding the nation's future.It may be granted that there was, in many of them, alack of elegance, but there was neither languor norcynicism. One seemed, among them, to breathe a purer,stronger air. Over the whole institution Dr. Tappanpresided, and his influence, both upon faculty and students,was, in the main, excellent. He sympathized heartily withthe work of every professor, allowed to each great liberty,yet conducted the whole toward the one great end ofdeveloping a university more and more worthy of ourcountry. His main qualities were of the best. Nothingcould be better than his discussions of great questions ofpublic policy and of education. One of the noblestorations I have ever heard was an offhand speech of his onreceiving for the university museum a cast of the Laoco<o:>nfrom the senior class; yet this speech was made withoutpreparation, and in the midst of engrossing labor. Heoften showed, not only the higher qualities required in aposition like his, but a remarkable shrewdness and tact indealing with lesser questions. Typical was one example,which taught me much when, in after years, I was calledto similar duties at Cornell. The present tower and chimeof the University of Michigan did not then exist; betweenthe two main buildings on the university grounds therewas simply a wooden column, bearing a bell of moderatesize, which was rung at every lecture-hour by the principaljanitor. One cold winter night those of us living in theimmediate neighborhood heard the sound of axe-strokes.Presently there came a crash, and all was still. Nextmorning, at the hour for chapel, no bell was rung; itwas found that the column had been cut down and the bellcarried off. A president of less shrewdness would havedeclaimed to the students on the enormity of such aprocedure, and have accentuated his eloquence with threats.Not so Dr. Tappan. At the close of the morning prayershe addressed the students humorously. There was a greatattendance, for all wished to know how he would dealwith the affair. Nothing could be better than his matterand manner. He spoke somewhat on this wise: ``Gentlemen,there has doubtless been a mistake in the theory ofsome of you regarding the college bell. It would seemthat some have believed that if the bell were destroyed,time would cease, and university exercises would besuspended. But, my friends, time goes on as ever, withoutthe bell as with it; lectures and exercises of every sortcontinue, of course, as usual. The only thing which hasoccurred is that some of you have thought it best todispense with the aid in keeping time which the regents ofthe university have so kindly given you. Knowing thatlarge numbers of you were not yet provided with watches,the regents very thoughtfully provided the bell, and a manto ring it for you at the proper hours; and they will doubtlessbe pleased to learn that you at last feel able to dispensewith it, and save them the expense of maintainingit. You are trying an interesting experiment. In mostof the leading European universities, students get alongperfectly without a bell; why should we not? In the interestsof the finances of the university, I am glad to seeyou trying this experiment, and will only suggest that itbe tried thoroughly. Of course the rolls will be called in thelecture-rooms promptly, as usual, and you will, of course,be present. If the experiment succeeds, it will enable usto dispense with a university bell forever; but if, after asuitable time, you decide that it is better to have the bellback again to remind you of the hours, and if you will makea proper request to the regents through me, I trust thatthey will allow you to restore it to its former position.''

The students were greatly amused to see the mattertaken in this way. They laughingly acknowledged themselvesoutwitted, and greeted the doctor's speech with applause.All of the faculty entered into the spirit of thematter; rolls were called perhaps rather more promptlythan formerly, and students not present were markedrather more mercilessly than of old. There was evidentlymuch reluctance on their part to ask for excuses, in viewof the fact that they had themselves abolished the bellwhich had enabled them to keep the time; and one morning,about a month or six weeks later, after chapel, a bigjolly student rose and asked permission to make a motion.This motion was that the president of the university berequested to allow the students to restore the bell to itsformer position. The proposal was graciously received bythe doctor, put by him after the usual parliamentary manner,carried unanimously, and, a few mornings later, thebell was found in its old place on a new column, was rungas usual, and matters went on after the old fashion.

Every winter Dr. Tappan went before the legislatureto plead the cause of the university, and to ask forappropriations. He was always heard with pleasure, since hewas an excellent speaker; but certain things militatedagainst him. First of all, he had much to say of theexcellent models furnished by the great German universities,and especially by those of Prussia. This gave demagoguesin the legislature, anxious to make a reputation inbuncombe, a great chance. They orated to the effect thatwe wanted an American and not a Prussian system. Moreover,some unfortunate legends were developed. Mrs.Tappan, a noble and lovely woman belonging to theLivingston family, had been brought up in New York andNew England, and could hardly suppress her naturalpreference for her old home and friends. A story grewthat in an assembly of Michigan ladies she once remarkedthat the doctor and herself considered themselves as``missionaries to the West.'' This legend spread far andwide. It was resented, and undoubtedly cost the doctor dear.

The worst difficulty by far which he had to meet was thesteady opposition of the small sectarian colleges scatteredthroughout the State. Each, in its own petty interest,dreaded the growth of any institution better than itself;each stirred the members of the legislature from its localityto oppose all aid to the State university; each, in itsreligious assemblages, its synods, conferences, and thelike, sought to stir prejudice against the State institutionas ``godless.'' The result was that the doctor, in spite ofhis eloquent speeches, became the butt of various wretcheddemagogues in the legislature, and he very rarely securedanything in the way of effective appropriations. Theuniversity had been founded by a grant of public lands fromthe United States to Michigan; and one of his argumentswas based on the fact that an immensely valuable tract, onwhich a considerable part of the city of Toledo now stands,had been taken away from the university without anysuitable remuneration. But even this availed little, andit became quite a pastime among demagogues at theState Capitol to bait the doctor. On one of these occasionshe was inspired to make a prophecy. Disgusted at thepoor, cheap blackguardism, he shook the dust of the legislatureoff his feet, and said: ``The day will come when mystudents will take your places, and then something will bedone.'' That prophecy was fulfilled. In a decade theleading men in the legislature began to be the graduatesof the State university; and now these graduates arelargely in control, and they have dealt nobly with theiralma mater. The State has justly become proud of it, andhas wisely developed it.

Dr. Tappan's work was great, indeed. He stood notonly at the beginning of the institution at Ann Arbor, butreally at the beginning of the other universities of theWestern States, from which the country is gaining somuch at present, and is sure to gain vastly more in thefuture. The day will come when his statue will commemoratehis services.

But there was another feature in his administration towhich I refer with extreme reluctance. He had certain``defects of his qualities.'' Big, hearty, frank, andgenerous, he easily became the prey of those who wroughtupon his feelings; and, in an evil hour, he was drawn intoa quarrel not his own, between two scientific professors.This quarrel became exceedingly virulent; at times italmost paralyzed the university, and finally it convulsed theState. It became the main object of the doctor's thoughts.The men who had drawn him into it quietly retired undercover, and left him to fight their battle in the open. Hedid this powerfully, but his victories were no less calamitousthan his defeats; for one of the professors, whenovercome, fell back upon the church to which he belonged,and its conference was led to pass resolutions warningChristian people against the university. The forces ofthose hostile to the institution were marshaled to the soundof the sectarian drum. The quarrel at last became political;and when the doctor unwisely entered the politicalfield in hopes of defeating the candidates put forward byhis opponents, he was beaten at the polls, and his resignationfollowed. A small number of us, including JudgeCooley and Professors Frieze, Fasquelle, Boise, and myself,simply maintained an ``armed neutrality,'' standingby the university, and refusing to be drawn into thiswhirlpool of intrigue and objurgation. Personally, weloved the doctor. Every one of us besought him to give upthe quarrel, but in vain. He would not; he could not. Itwent on till the crash came. He was virtually driven fromthe State, retired to Europe, and never returned.

Years afterward, the citizens of Michigan in all parts ofthe State sought to make amends to him. The great bodyof the graduates, who loved and respected him, with leadingmen throughout the commonwealth, joined in a letterinviting him to return as a public guest; but he declined,and never again saw his native land. His first main placeof residence was Basel, where, at the university, hesuperintended the education of his grandson, who, at a laterperiod, became a professor at Heidelberg. Finally, heretired to a beautiful villa on the shores of Lake Lemanand there, with his family about him, peacefully followedhis chosen studies. At his death he was buried amid thevineyards and orchards of Vevey.

Though I absolutely refused to be drawn into any ofhis quarrels, my relations with the doctor remained kindlyand not a single feeling was left which marred my visitto him in after years at Basel, or my later pilgrimage tohis grave on the shores of Lake Leman. To no man is anysuccess I may have afterward had in the administrationof Cornell University so greatly due as to him.

In this summary I have hardly touched upon the mostimportant part of my duty,—namely, the purpose of mylecture-courses, with their relations to that period in thehistory of our country, and to the questions which thinkingmen, and especially thinking young men, were thenendeavoring to solve,—since all this has been given in mypolitical reminiscences.

So much for my main work at the University of Michigan.But I had one recreation which was not without itsuses. The little city of Ann Arbor is a beautiful place onthe Huron River, and from the outset interested me.Even its origin had a peculiar charm. About a quarterof a century before my arrival, three families came fromthe East to take up the land which they had boughtof the United States; and, as their three holdings touchedeach other at one corner, they brought boughs of treesto that spot and erected a sort of hut, or arbor, in whichto live until their log houses were finished. On comingtogether in this arbor they discovered that theChristian name of each of the three wives was Ann:hence the name of the place; and this fact gave apoetic coloring to it which was a permanent pleasure tome. It was an unending satisfaction to reflect that nomisguided patriot had been allowed to inflict upon thatcharming university town the name of ``Athens,'' or``Oxford,'' or ``Socratopolis,'' or ``Anacreonsburg,'' or``Platoville,'' or ``Emporium,'' or ``Eudaimonia.'' What, butfor those three good women, the name might have been,may be judged from the fact that one of the founders ofthe university did his best to have it called a``Katholo<e:>pistemiad''!

But there was one drawback. The ``campus,'' on whichstood the four buildings then devoted to instruction,greatly disappointed me. It was a flat, square inclosureof forty acres, unkempt and wretched. Throughoutit* whole space there were not more than a score oftrees outside the building sites allotted to professors;unsightly plank walks connected the buildings, and inevery direction were meandering paths, which in dry weatherwere dusty and in wet weather muddy. Coming, asI did, from the glorious elms of Yale, all this distressedme, and one of my first questions was why no trees hadbeen planted. The answer was that the soil was so hardand dry that none would grow. But on examiningthe territory in the neighborhood, especially the littleinclosures about the pretty cottages of the town, I foundfine large trees, and among them elms. At this, withoutpermission from any one, I began planting trees within theuniversity inclosure; established, on my own account,several avenues; and set out elms to overshadow them.Choosing my trees with care, carefully protecting andwatering them during the first two years, and graduallyadding to them a considerable number of evergreens, Ipreached practically the doctrine of adorning the campus.Gradually some of my students joined me; one class afteranother aided in securing trees and in planting them,others became interested, until, finally, the universityauthorities made me ``superintendent of the grounds,''and appropriated to my work the munificent sum ofseventy-five dollars a year. So began the splendid growthwhich now surrounds those buildings. These trees becameto me as my own children. Whenever I revisit Ann Arbormy first care is to go among them, to see how they prosper,and especially how certain peculiar examples are flourishing;and at my recent visit, forty-six years after theirplanting, I found one of the most beautiful academicgroves to be seen in any part of the world.

The most saddening thing during my connection withthe university I have touched upon in my politicalreminiscences. Three years after my arrival the Civil Warbroke out, and there came a great exodus of students intothe armies, the vast majority taking up arms for theUnion, and a few for the Confederate States. The verynoblest of them thus went forth—many of them, alas!never to return, and among them not a few whom I lovedas brothers and even as my own children. Of all theexperiences of my life, this was among the most saddening.

My immediate connection with the University of Michiganas resident professor of history lasted about six years;and then, on account partly of business interests whichresulted from the death of my father, partly of my electionto the New York State Senate, and partly of myelection to the presidency of Cornell University, I residedin central New York, but retained a lectureship at theWestern institution. I left the work and the friends whohad become so dear to me with the greatest reluctance, andas long as possible I continued to revisit the old scenes,and to give courses of lectures. But at last my duties atCornell absolutely forbade this, and so ended a connectionwhich was to me one of the most fruitful in usefulexperiences and pregnant thoughts that I have ever known.

PART IV

AS UNIVERSITY PRESIDENT

CHAPTER XVII

EVOLUTION OF ``THE CORNELL IDEA''—1850-1865

To Trinity Hall at Hobart College may be assignedwhatever honor that shadowy personage, the futurehistorian, shall think due the place where was conceivedand quickened the germ idea of Cornell University. Inthat little stone barrack on the shore of Seneca Lake, rudein its architecture but lovely in its surroundings, a roomwas assigned me during my first year at college; and ina neighboring apartment, with charming views over thelake and distant hills, was the library of the HermeanSociety. It was the largest collection of books I had everseen,—four thousand volumes,—embracing a mass ofliterature from ``The Pirate's Own Book'' to the works ofLord Bacon. In this paradise I reveled, browsing throughit at my will. This privilege was of questionable value,since it drew me somewhat from closer study; but it wasnot without its uses. One day I discovered in it Huber andNewman's book on the English universities. What a newworld it opened! My mind was sensitive to any impressionit might make, on two accounts: first, because, on theintellectual side, I was woefully disappointed at theinadequacy of the little college as regarded its teaching forceand equipment; and next, because, on the esthetic side, Ilamented the absence of everything like beauty or fitness inits architecture.

As I read in this new-found book of the colleges atOxford and Cambridge, and pored over the engravedviews of quadrangles, halls, libraries, chapels,—of all thenoble and dignified belongings of a great seat of learning,—my heart sank within me. Every feature of the littleAmerican college seemed all the more sordid. But graduallyI began consoling myself by building air-castles.These took the form of structures suited to a greatuniversity:—with distinguished professors in every field, withlibraries as rich as the Bodleian, halls as lordly as that ofChrist Church or of Trinity, chapels as inspiring as thatof King's, towers as dignified as those of Magdalen andMerton, quadrangles as beautiful as those of Jesus andSt. John's. In the midst of all other occupations I wasconstantly rearing these structures on that queenly siteabove the finest of the New York lakes, and dreaming ofa university worthy of the commonwealth and of the nation.This dream became a sort of obsession. It cameupon me during my working hours, in the class-rooms, inrambles along the lake shore, in the evenings, when I pacedup and down the walks in front of the college buildings,and saw rising in their place and extending to thepretty knoll behind them, the worthy home of a greatuniversity. But this university, though beautiful anddignified, like those at Oxford and Cambridge, was in twoimportant respects very unlike them. First, I madeprovision for other studies beside classics and mathematics.There should be professors in the great modernliteratures—above all, in our own; there should also be aprofessor of modern history and a lecturer on architecture.And next, my university should be under control ofno single religious organization; it should be free from allsectarian or party trammels; in electing its trustees andprofessors no questions should be asked as to their beliefor their attachment to this or that sect or party. So far, atleast, I went in those days along the road toward thefounding of Cornell.

The academic year of 1849-1850 having been passed atthis little college in western New York, I entered Yale.This was nearer my ideal; for its professors were moredistinguished, its equipment more adequate, its studentsmore numerous, its general scope more extended. But itwas still far below my dreams. Its single course in classicsand mathematics, through which all students wereforced alike, regardless of their tastes, powers, or aims;its substitution of gerund-grinding for ancient literature;its want of all instruction in modern literature; itssubstitution of recitals from text-books for instruction inhistory—all this was far short of my ideal. Moreover,Yale was then far more under denominational controlthan at present—its president, of necessity, as was thensupposed, a Congregational minister; its professors, as arule, members of the same sect; and its tutors, to whom*our instruction during the first two years was almostentirely confined, students in the Congregational Divinity.

Then, too, its outward representation was sordid andpoor. The long line of brick barracks, the cheapest whichcould be built for money, repelled me. What a contrastto Oxford and Cambridge, and, above all, to my air-castles! There were, indeed, two architectural consolations:one, the library building, which had been built justbefore my arrival; and the other, the Alumni Hall, begunshortly afterward. These were of stone, and I snatchedan especial joy from the grotesque Gothic heads in thecornices of the library towers and from the little latticedwindows at the rear of the Alumni Hall. Both seemed tome features worthy of ``colleges and halls of ancientdays.''

The redeeming feature of the whole was its setting,the ``green,'' with superb avenues overarched by elms;and a further charm was added by East and West Rock,and by the views over New Haven Harbor into LongIsland Sound. Among these scenes I erected new air-castles. First of all, a great quadrangle, not unlike thatwhich is now developing at Yale, and, as a leadingfeature, a gate-tower like that since erected in memoryof William Walter Phelps, but, unlike that, adornedwith statues in niches and on corbels, like those on theentrance tower of Trinity at Cambridge—statues of oldYalensian worthies, such as Elihu Yale in his costume ofthe Georgian period, Bishop Berkeley in his robes,President Dwight in his Geneva gown, and Nathan Hale infetters. There was also in my dream another specialfeature, which no one has as yet attempted to realize—a loftycampanile, which I placed sometimes at the intersection ofCollege and Church, and sometimes at the intersection ofCollege and Elm streets—a clock-tower looking proudlydown the slope, over the traffic of the town, and bearing adeep-toned peal of bells.

My general ideas on the subject were further developedby Charles Astor Bristed's book, ``Five Years in anEnglish University,'' and by sundry publications regardingstudent life in Germany. Still, my opinions regardingeducation were wretchedly imperfect, as may be judgedfrom one circ*mstance. The newly established SheffieldScientific School had just begun its career in the oldpresident's house in front of the former Divinity Hall onthe college green; and, one day in my senior year, lookingtoward it from my window in North College, I saw astudent examining a colored liquid in a test-tube. A feelingof wonder came over me! What could it all be about?Probably not a man of us in the whole senior class hadany idea of a chemical laboratory save as a sort of smallkitchen back of a lecture-desk, like that in which an assistantand a colored servant prepared oxygen, hydrogen, andcarbonic acid for the lectures of Professor Silliman. Iwas told that this new laboratory was intended for experiment,and my wonder was succeeded by disgust that anyhuman being should give his time to pursuits so futile.

The next period in the formation of my ideas regardinga university began, after my graduation at Yale, duringmy first visit to Oxford. Then and at later visits, both toOxford and Cambridge, I not only reveled in the architecturalglories of those great seats of learning, but learnedthe advantages of college life in common—of the ``halls,''and the general social life which they promote; ofthe ``commons'' and ``combination rooms,'' which give astill closer relation between those most directly concernedin university work; of the quadrangles, which give a senseof scholarly seclusion, even in the midst of crowded cities;and of all the surroundings which give a dignity befittingthese vast establishments. Still more marked progress inmy ideas was made during my attendance at the Sorbonneand the Coll<e!>ge de France. In those institutions, duringthe years 1853-1854, I became acquainted with the Frenchuniversity-lecture system, with its clearness, breadth,wealth of illustration, and its hold upon large audiencesof students; and I was seized with the desire to transfersomething like it to our own country. My castles in theair were now reared more loftily and broadly; for theybegan to include laboratories, museums, and even galleriesof art.

Even St. Petersburg, during my attach<e'>ship in 1854-1855, contributed to these airy structures. In my diaryfor that period, I find it jotted down that I observed andstudied at various times the Michael Palace in that city asa very suitable structure for a university. Twenty yearsafterward, when I visited, as minister of the UnitedStates, the Grand duch*ess Catherine, the aunt of theEmperor Alexander III, in that same palace, and mentionedto her my old admiration for it, she gave me a mostinteresting account of the building of it, and of the layingout of the beautiful park about it by her father, the oldGrand Duke Michael, and agreed with me that it wouldbe a noble home for an institution of learning.

My student life at Berlin, during the year following,further intensified my desire to do something for universityeducation in the United States. There I saw my idealof a university not only realized, but extended and glorified—with renowned professors, with ample lecture-halls,with everything possible in the way of illustrativematerials, with laboratories, museums, and a concourse ofyouth from all parts of the world.

I have already spoken, in the chapter on my professorshipat the University of Michigan, regarding the influenceon my ideas of its president, Henry Philip Tappan, andof the whole work in that institution. Though many goodthings may be justly said for the University of Virginia,the real beginning of a university in the United States, inthe modern sense, was made by Dr. Tappan and hiscolleagues at Ann Arbor. Its only defects seemed to me thatit included no technical side, and did not yet admitwomen. As to the first of these defects, the State hadseparated the agricultural college from the university,placing it in what, at that period, was a remote swampnear the State Capitol, and had as yet done nothing towardproviding for other technical branches. As to the second,though a few of us favored the admission of women, PresidentTappan opposed it; and, probably, in view of thecondition of the university and of public opinion at thattime, his opposition was wise.

Recalled to Syracuse after five years in Michigan, myold desire to see a university rising in the State of NewYork was stronger than ever. Michigan had shown mesome of my ideals made real; why might not our ownmuch greater commonwealth be similarly blessed?

The first thing was to devise a plan for a suitablefaculty. As I felt that this must not demand too large anoutlay, I drew up a scheme providing for a few residentteachers supported by endowments, and for a body of nonresidentprofessors or lecturers supported by fees. Theselecturers were to be chosen from the most eminent professorsin the existing colleges and from the best men thenin the public-lecture field; and my confidant in the matterwas George William Curtis, who entered into it heartily,and who afterward, in his speech at my inauguration aspresident of Cornell, referred to it in a way which touchedme deeply.[5]

[5] See Mr. Curtis's speech, September 8, 1868, publishedby the university.

The next thing was to decide upon a site. It mustnaturally be in the central part of the State; and, rathercuriously, that which I then most coveted, frequentlyvisited, walked about, and inspected was the rising groundsoutheast of Syracuse since selected by the Methodistsfor their institution which takes its name from that city.

My next effort was to make a beginning of an endowment,and for this purpose I sought to convert Gerrit Smith.He was, for those days, enormously wealthy. His property,which was estimated at from two to three millionsof dollars, he used munificently; and his dear friend andmine, Samuel Joseph May, had told me that it was not toomuch to hope that Mr. Smith might do something for theimprovement of higher instruction. To him, therefore, Iwrote, proposing that if he would contribute an equal sumto a university at Syracuse, I would give to it one half ofmy own property. In his answer he gave reasons why hecould not join in the plan, and my scheme seemed nonearer reality than my former air-castles. It seemed,indeed, to have faded away like

``The baseless fabric of a vision''

and to have left

``Not a wrack behind''—

when all its main features were made real in a way and bymeans utterly unexpected; for now began the train ofevents which led to my acquaintance, friendship, and closealliance with the man through whom my plans became areality, larger and better than any ever seen in my dreams—Ezra Cornell.

CHAPTER XVIII

EZRA CORNELL—1864-1874

On the first day of the year 1864, taking my seat forthe first time in the State Senate at Albany, I foundamong my associates a tall, spare man, apparently veryreserved and austere, and soon learned his name—EzraCornell.

Though his chair was near mine, there was at first littleintercourse between us, and there seemed small chance ofmore. He was steadily occupied, and seemed to have nodesire for new acquaintances. He was, perhaps, the oldestman in the Senate; I, the youngest: he was a man ofbusiness; I was fresh from a university professorship:and, upon the announcement of committees, our pathsseemed separated entirely; for he was made chairman ofthe committee on agriculture, while to me fell thechairmanship of the committee on education.

Yet it was this last difference which drew us together;for among the first things referred to my committee was abill to incorporate a public library which he proposed tofound in Ithaca.

On reading this bill I was struck, not merely by hisgift of one hundred thousand dollars to his townsmen,but even more by a certain breadth and largeness in hisway of making it. The most striking sign of this was hismode of forming a board of trustees; for, instead of theusual effort to tie up the organization forever in some sect,party, or clique, he had named the best men of his town—his political opponents as well as his friends; and hadadded to them the pastors of all the principal churches,Catholic and Protestant. This breadth of mind, evenmore than his munificence, drew me to him. We met severaltimes, discussed his bill, and finally I reported itsubstantially as introduced, and supported it until itbecame a law.

Our next relations were not, at first, so pleasant. Thegreat Land Grant of 1862, from the General Governmentto the State, for industrial and technical education, hadbeen turned over, at a previous session of the legislature,to an institution called the People's College, inSchuyler County; but the Agricultural College, twentymiles distant from it, was seeking to take away from ita portion of this endowment; and among the trustees ofthis Agricultural College was Mr. Cornell, who nowintroduced a bill to divide the fund between the twoinstitutions.

On this I at once took ground against him, declaringthat the fund ought to be kept together at some oneinstitution; that on no account should it be divided; that thepolicy for higher education in the State of New Yorkshould be concentration; that we had already sufferedsufficiently from scattering our resources; that there werealready over twenty colleges in the State, and not one ofthem doing anything which could justly be called universitywork.

Mr. Cornell's first effort was to have his bill referred,not to my committee, but to his; here I resisted him, and,as a solution of the difficulty, it was finally referred to ajoint committee made up of both. On this double-headedcommittee I deliberately thwarted his purpose throughoutthe entire session, delaying action and preventing anyreport upon his bill.

Most men would have been vexed by this; but he tookmy course calmly, and even kindly. He never expostulated,and always listened attentively to my argumentsagainst his view; meanwhile I omitted no opportunity tomake these arguments as strong as possible, and especiallyto impress upon him the importance of keeping the fundtogether.

After the close of the session, during the followingsummer, as it had become evident that the trustees of thePeople's College had no intention of raising the additionalendowment and providing the equipment required by theact which gave them the land grant, there was great dangerthat the whole fund might be lost to the State by thelapsing of the time allowed in the congressional act forits acceptance. Just at this period Mr. Cornell invited meto attend a meeting of the State Agricultural Society, ofwhich he was the president, at Rochester; and, when themeeting had assembled, he quietly proposed to remove thedifficulty I had raised, by drawing a new bill giving theState Agricultural College half of the fund, and by insertinga clause requiring the college to provide an additionalsum of three hundred thousand dollars. This sum hepledged himself to give, and, as the comptroller of theState had estimated the value of the land grant at sixhundred thousand dollars, Mr. Cornell supposed that thiswould obviate my objection, since the fund of the AgriculturalCollege would thus be made equal to the whole originalland-grant fund as estimated, which would be equivalentto keeping the whole fund together.

The entire audience applauded, as well they might: itwas a noble proposal. But, much to the disgust of themeeting, I persisted in my refusal to sanction any billdividing the fund, declared myself now more opposed tosuch a division than ever; but promised that if Mr. Cornelland his friends would ask for the WHOLE grant—keepingit together, and adding his three hundred thousand dollars,as proposed—I would support such a bill with all mymight.

I was led to make this proposal by a course ofcirc*mstances which might, perhaps, be called ``providential.''For some years I had been dreaming of a university; hadlooked into the questions involved, at home and abroad;had approached sundry wealthy and influential men on thesubject; but had obtained no encouragement, until thisstrange and unexpected combination of circ*mstances—agreat land grant, the use of which was to be determinedlargely by the committee of which I was chairman, andthis noble pledge by Mr. Cornell.

Yet for some months nothing seemed to come of ourconference. At the assembling of the legislature in thefollowing year, it was more evident than ever that thetrustees of the People's College intended to do nothing.During the previous session they had promised throughtheir agents to supply the endowment required by theircharter; but, though this charter obliged them, as a conditionof taking the grant, to have an estate of two hundredacres, buildings for the accommodation of two hundredstudents, and a faculty of not less than six professors, witha sufficient library and other apparatus, yet our committee,on again taking up the subject, found hardly the faintestpretense of complying with these conditions. Moreover,their charter required that their property should befree from all encumbrance; and yet the so-called donor ofit, Mr. Charles Cook, could not be induced to cancel asmall mortgage which he held upon it. Still worse, beforethe legislature had been in session many days, it was foundthat his agent had introduced a bill to relieve the People 'sCollege of all conditions, and to give it, without any pledgewhatever, the whole land grant, amounting to very nearlya million of acres.

But even worse than this was another difficulty. Inaddition to the strong lobby sent by Mr. Cook to Albany inbehalf of the People's College, there came representativesof nearly all the smaller denominational colleges in theState, men eminent and influential, clamoring for a divisionof the fund among their various institutions, thoughthe fragment which would have fallen to each would nothave sufficed to endow even a single professorship.

While all this was uncertain, and the fund seemedlikely to be utterly frittered away, I was one day goingdown from the State Capitol, when Mr. Cornell joined meand began conversation. He was, as usual, austere andreserved in appearance; but I had already found thatbelow this appearance there was a warm heart and noblepurpose. No observant associate could fail to notice thatthe only measures in the legislature which he cared forwere those proposing some substantial good to the Stateor nation, and that he despised all political wrangling andpartizan jugglery.

On this occasion, after some little general talk, he quietlysaid, ``I have about half a million dollars more than myfamily will need: what is the best thing I can do with itfor the State?'' I answered: `` Mr. Cornell, the two thingsmost worthy of aid in any country are charity and education;but, in our country, the charities appeal to everybody.Any one can understand the importance of them,and the worthy poor or unfortunate are sure to be takencare of. As to education, the lower grades will always becared for in the public schools by the State; but theinstitutions of the highest grade, without which the lower cannever be thoroughly good, can be appreciated by only afew. The policy of our State is to leave this part of thesystem to individuals; it seems to me, then, that if youhave half a million to give, the best thing you can do withit is to establish or strengthen some institution for higherinstruction.'' I then went on to show him the need of alarger institution for such instruction than the State thenhad; that such a college or university worthy of the Statewould require far more in the way of faculty and equipmentthan most men supposed; that the time had comewhen scientific and technical education must be providedfor in such an institution; and that education in historyand literature should be the bloom of the whole growth.

He listened attentively, but said little. The matterseemed to end there; but not long afterward he came to meand said: ``I agree with you that the land-grant fundought to be kept together, and that there should be a newinstitution fitted to the present needs of the State and thecountry. I am ready to pledge to such an institution a siteand five hundred thousand dollars as an addition to theland-grant endowment, instead of three hundred thousand,as I proposed at Rochester.''

As may well be imagined, I hailed this proposaljoyfully, and soon sketched out a bill embodying his purposeso far as education was concerned. But here I wish to saythat, while Mr. Cornell urged Ithaca as the site of theproposed institution, he never showed any wish to give hisown name to it. The suggestion to that effect was mine.He at first doubted the policy of it; but, on my insistingthat it was in accordance with time-honored Americanusage, as shown by the names of Harvard, Yale, Dartmouth,Amherst, Bowdoin, Brown, Williams, and the like, he yielded.

We now held frequent conferences as to the leadingfeatures of the institution to be created. In these I wasmore and more impressed by his sagacity and largenessof view; and, when the sketch of the bill was fullydeveloped,—its financial features by him, and its educationalfeatures by me,—it was put into shape by Charles J. Folgerof Geneva, then chairman of the judiciary committee ofthe Senate, afterward chief judge of the Court of Appeals,and finally Secretary of the Treasury of the United States.The provision forbidding any sectarian or partizanpredominance in the board of trustees or faculty was proposedby me, heartily acquiesced in by Mr. Cornell, and put intoshape by Judge Folger. The State-scholarship featureand the system of alumni representation on the board oftrustees were also accepted by Mr. Cornell at my suggestion.

I refer to these things especially because they show onestriking characteristic of the man—namely, his readinessto be advised largely by others in matters which he feltto be outside his own province, and his willingness to givethe largest measure of confidence when he gave anyconfidence at all.

On the other hand, the whole provision for the endowment,the part relating to the land grant, and, above all,the supplementary legislation allowing him to make acontract with the State for ``locating'' the lands, werethought out entirely by himself; and in all these matters heshowed, not only a public spirit far beyond that displayedby any other benefactor of education in his time, but aforesight which seemed to me then, and seems to me now,almost miraculous. He alone, of all men in the UnitedStates, was able to foresee what might be done by anindividual to develop the land-grant fund, and he alonewas willing to make the great personal sacrifice therebyrequired.

But, while he thus left the general educational featuresto me, he uttered, during one of our conversations, wordswhich showed that he had arrived at the true conceptionof a university. He expressed the hope that in the proposedinstitution every student might find instruction inwhatever study interested him. Hence came the legendnow surrounding his medallion portrait upon the universityseal: ``I would found an institution where any personcan find instruction in any study.''

The introduction of this new bill into the legislaturewas a signal for war. Nearly all the denominationalcolleges girded themselves for the fray, and sent their agentsto fight us at Albany; they also stirred up the secularpress, without distinction of party, in the regions wherethey were situated, and the religious organs of their varioussects in the great cities.

At the center of the movement against us was thePeople's College; it had rallied in force and won over thechairman of the educational committee in the Assembly,so that under various pretexts he delayed considering thebill. Worst of all, there appeared against us, late in thesession, a professor from the Genesee College—a man ofhigh character and great ability; and he did his work mostvigorously. He brought the whole force of his sect tobear upon the legislature, and insisted that every othercollege in the State had received something from the publicfunds, while his had received none.

As a first result came a proposal from some of hisassociates that twenty-five thousand dollars of the land-grantfund be paid to Genesee College; but this the friends ofthe Cornell bill resisted, on the ground that, if the fundwere broken into in one case, it would be in others.

It was next proposed that Mr. Cornell should agree togive twenty-five thousand dollars to Genesee College onthe passage of the bill. This Mr. Cornell utterly refused,saying that not for the passage of any bill would he makeany private offer or have any private understanding; thatevery condition must be put into the bill, where all mencould see it; and that he would then accept or reject it ashe might think best. The result was that our opponentsforced into the bill a clause requiring him to give twenty-five thousand dollars to Genesee College, before he couldbe allowed to give five hundred thousand dollars to theproposed university; and the friends of the bill, not feelingstrong enough to resist this clause, and not beingwilling to see the enterprise wrecked for the want of it,allowed it to go unopposed. The whole matter was vexatiousto the last degree. A man of less firmness andearnestness, thus treated, would have thrown up hismunificent purpose in disgust; but Mr. Cornell quietlypersevered.

Yet the troubles of the proposed university had onlybegun. Mr. Charles Cook, who, during his senatorship,had secured the United States land grant of 1862 for thePeople's College, was a man of great force, a born leaderof men, anxious to build up his part of the State, andespecially the town from which he came, though he had nospecial desire to put any considerable part of his ownwealth into a public institution. He had seen the opportunitiesafforded by the land grant, had captured it, and wasnow determined to fight for it. The struggle becamebitter. His emissaries, including the members of the Senateand Assembly from his part of the State, made commoncause with the sectarian colleges, and with variouscorporations and persons who, having bills of their ownin the legislature, were ready to exchange services andvotes.

The coalition of all these forces against the CornellUniversity bill soon became very formidable, and thecommittee on education in the Assembly, to which the bill hadbeen referred, seemed more and more controlled by them.Our only hope now was to enlighten the great body of thesenators and assemblymen. To this end Mr. Cornell invitedthem by squads, sometimes to his rooms at CongressHall, sometimes to mine at the Delavan House. There helaid before them his general proposal and the financialside of the plan, while I dwelt upon the need of a universityin the true sense of the word; upon the opportunitynow offered by this great fund; upon the necessity ofkeeping it together; upon the need of large means to carryout any scheme of technical and general education suchas was contemplated by the congressional act of 1862;showed the proofs that the People's College would andcould do nothing to meet this want; that division of thefund among the existing colleges was simply the annihilationof it; and, in general, did my best to enlighten thereason and arouse the patriotism of the members on thesubject of a worthy university in our State. These pointsand others were finally embodied in my speech before theSenate, and this having been published in the ``AlbanyJournal,'' Mr. Cornell provided for its circulation broadcastover the State and thus aroused public opinion.

In this way we won to our support several strongfriends in both Houses, among them some men of greatnatural force of character who had never enjoyed theprivilege of much early education, but who were none theless anxious that those who came after them should havethe best opportunities. Of these I may name especiallySenators Cook of Saratoga and Ames of Oswego. Menof high education and culture also aided us, especiallyMr. Andrews, Mr. Havens, and, finally, Judge Folger inthe Senate, with Mr. Lord and Mr. Weaver in the Assembly.

While we were thus laboring with the legislature as awhole, serious work had to be done with the Assemblycommittee; and Mr. Cornell employed a very eminentlawyer to present his case, while Mr. Cook employed oneno less noted to take the opposite side. The session ofthe committee was held in the Assembly chamber, and therewas a large attendance of spectators; but, unfortunately,the lawyer employed by Mr. Cornell having taken littlepains with the case, his speech was cold, labored, perfunctory,and fell flat. The speech on the other side was muchmore effective; it was thin and demagogical, but thespeaker knew well the best tricks for catching the averageman. He indulged in eloquent tirades against the Cornellbill as a ``monopoly,'' a ``wild project,'' a ``selfishscheme,'' a ``job,'' a ``grab,'' and the like; denounced Mr.Cornell as ``seeking to erect a monument to himself'';hinted that he was ``planning to rob the State''; and,before he had finished, had pictured Mr. Cornell as aswindler and the rest of us as dupes or knaves.

I can never forget the quiet dignity with which Mr.Cornell took this abuse. Mrs. Cornell sat at his right, Iat his left. In one of the worst tirades against him, heturned to me and said quietly, and without the slightestanger or excitement: ``If I could think of any other wayin which half a million of dollars would do as much goodto the State, I would give the legislature no more trouble.''Shortly afterward, when the invective was again especiallybitter, he turned to me and said: ``I am not surebut that it would be a good thing for me to give the halfa million to old Harvard College in Massachusetts, toeducate the descendants of the men who hanged my forefathers.''

There was more than his usual quaint humor in this—there was that deep reverence which he always boretoward his Quaker ancestry, and which seemed to havebecome part of him. I admired Mr. Cornell on manyoccasions, but never more than during that hour when hesat, without the slightest anger, mildly taking the abuse ofthat prostituted pettifogger, the indifference of thecommittee, and the laughter of the audience. It was a scenefor a painter, and I trust that some day it will be fitlyperpetuated for the university.

This struggle being ended, the Assembly committeecould not be induced to report the bill. It was easy, aftersuch a speech, for its members to pose as protectors ofthe State against a swindler and a monopoly; the chairman,who, shortly after the close of the session, wasmysteriously given a position in the New York custom-house,made pretext after pretext without reporting, until it becameevident that we must have a struggle in the Assemblyand drag the bill out of the committee in spite of him.To do this required a two-thirds vote. All our friendswere set to work, and some pains taken to scare thecorporations which had allied themselves with the enemy, inregard to the fate of their own bills, by making themstand that, unless they stopped their interestedopposition to the university bill in the House, a feelingwould be created in the Senate very unfortunate for them.In this way their clutch upon sundry members of theAssembly was somewhat relaxed, and these were allowedto vote according to their consciences.

The Cornell bill was advocated most earnestly in theHouse by Mr. Henry B. Lord: in his unpretentious wayhe marshaled the university forces, and moved that the billbe taken from the committee and referred to the Committeeof the Whole. Now came a struggle. Most of thebest men in the Assembly stood by us; but the waverers—men who feared local pressure, sectarian hostility, orthe opposition of Mr. Cook to measures of their own—attempted, if not to oppose the Cornell bill, at least toevade a vote upon it. In order to give them a little toneand strength, Mr. Cornell went with me to various leadingeditors in the city of New York, and we explainedthe whole matter to them, securing editorial articlesfavorable to the university, the most prominent among thesegentlemen being Horace Greeley of the ``Tribune,'' Eras-tus Brooks of the ``Express,'' and Manton Marble of the``World.'' This did much for us, yet when the vote wastaken the old cowardice was again shown; but several ofus stood in the cloak-room and fairly shamed the waverersback into their places. As a result, to the surprise anddisgust of the chairman of the Assembly committee, thebill was taken out of his control, and referred to theCommittee of the Whole House.

Another long struggle now ensued, but the bill wasfinally passed in the Assembly and came back to theSenate. There the struggle was renewed, all kinds ofdelaying tactics were resorted to, but the bill was finallycarried, and received the signature of Governor Fenton.

Now came a new danger. During their struggle againstthe bill, our enemies had been strong enough to force intoit a clause enabling the People's College to retain the landfund, provided that institution should be shown, within sixmonths of the passage of the bill, to be in possession of asum such as the Board of Regents should declare wouldenable it to comply with the conditions on which it hadoriginally received the grant. The Board of Regentsnow reported that the possession of one hundred andfifty thousand dollars would be sufficient for such acompliance, and would insure the fund to the People'sCollege. Naturally we watched, in much uneasy suspense,during those six months, to see whether Mr. Cook andthe People's College authorities would raise this sumof money, so small in comparison with that which Mr.Cornell was willing to give, in order to secure the grant.But our fears were baseless; and on the fifth day ofSeptember, 1865, the trustees of Cornell University wereassembled for the first time at Ithaca.

Then came to them a revelation of a quality in Mr. Cornellunknown to most of them before. In one of the petitionsforwarded from Ithaca to the legislature by hisfellow-citizens it had been stated that ``he never did lessthan he promised, but generally more.'' So it was foundin this case. He turned over to the trustees, not only thesecurities for the five hundred thousand dollars requiredby the charter, but also gave two hundred acres of land asa site. Thus came into being Cornell University.

Yet the services of Mr. Cornell had only begun: he atonce submitted to us a plan for doing what no other citizenhad done for any other State. In the other commonwealthswhich had received the land grant, the authoritieshad taken the scrip representing the land, sold it at themarket price, and, as the market was thus glutted, hadrealized but a small sum; but Mr. Cornell, with thatforesight which was his most striking characteristic, sawclearly what could be done by using the scrip to take upland for the institution. To do this he sought aid in variousways; but no one dared join him, and at last he determinedto bear the whole burden himself. Scrip representingover seven hundred thousand acres still remainedin the hands of the comptroller. The trustees received Mr.Cornell's plan for dealing with the scrip somewhat doubtfully,but the enabling act was passed, by which he waspermitted to ``locate'' this land for the benefit of theuniversity. So earnest was he in this matter that he wasanxious to take up the entire amount, but here his nearfriends interposed: we saw too well what a crushing loadthe taxes and other expenses on such a vast tract of landwould become before it could be sold to advantage. Finallyhe yielded somewhat: it was agreed that he should take upfive hundred thousand acres, and he now gave himself dayand night to this great part of the enterprise, which wasto provide a proper financial basis for a university such aswe hoped to found.

Meanwhile, at Mr. Cornell's suggestion, I devoted myselfto a more careful plan of the new institution; and, atthe next meeting of the board, presented a ``plan oforganization,'' which sketched out the purpose andconstitution of such a university as seemed needed in a greatcommonwealth like ours. Mr. Cornell studied it carefully,gave it his approval, and a copy of it with marginal notesin his own hand is still preserved.

I had supposed that this was to end my relations withMr. Cornell, so far as the university was concerned. Amultitude of matters seemed to forbid my taking any furthercare for it, and a call to another position very attractiveto me drew me away from all thought of connectionwith it, save, perhaps, such as was involved in meeting thetrustees once or twice a year.

Mr. Cornell had asked me, from time to time, whetherI could suggest any person for the presidency of theuniversity. I mentioned various persons, and presented thearguments in their favor. One day he said to me quietlythat he also had a candidate; I asked him who it was, andhe said that he preferred to keep the matter to himselfuntil the next meeting of the trustees. Nothing more passedbetween us on that subject. I had no inkling of hispurpose, but thought it most likely that his candidate wasa Western gentleman whose claims had been stronglypressed upon him. When the trustees came together, andthe subject was brought up, I presented the merits of variousgentlemen, especially of one already at the head of animportant college in the State, who, I thought, would giveus success. Upon this, Mr. Cornell rose, and, in a verysimple but earnest speech, presented my name. It was entirelyunexpected by me, and I endeavored to show the trusteesthat it was impossible for me to take the place in view ofother duties; that it needed a man of more robust health,of greater age, and of wider reputation in the State. ButMr. Cornell quietly persisted, our colleagues declaredthemselves unanimously of his opinion, and, with manymisgivings, I gave a provisional acceptance.

The relation thus begun ended only with Mr. Cornell'slife, and from first to last it grew more and more interestingto me. We were thrown much together at Albany, atIthaca, and on various journeys undertaken for theuniversity; and, the more I saw of him, the deeper became myrespect for him. There were, indeed, toward the end ofhis life, some things trying to one of my temperament,and among these things I may mention his exceeding reticence,and his willingness not only to labor but to wait;but these stood not at all in the way of my respect andaffection for him.

His liberality was unstinted. While using his fortunein taking up the lands, he was constantly doing generousthings for the university and those connected with it. Oneof the first of these was his gift of the library in classicalliterature collected by Dr. Charles Anthon of ColumbiaCollege. Nothing could apparently be more outside hissympathy than the department needing these seven thousandvolumes; but he recognized its importance in the generalplan of the new institution, bought the library forover twelve thousand dollars, and gave it to the university.

Then came the Jewett collection in geology, which hegave at a cost of ten thousand dollars; the Ward collectionof casts, at a cost of three thousand; the Newcomb collectionin conchology, at a cost of sixteen thousand; an additionto the university grounds, valued at many thousandsmore; and it was only the claims of a multitude of minoruniversity matters upon his purse which prevented hiscarrying out a favorite plan of giving a great telescope, ata cost of fifty thousand dollars. At a later period, toextinguish the university debt, to increase the equipment, andeventually to provide free scholarships and fellowships,he made an additional gift of about eighty thousand dollars.

While doing these things, he was constantly advancinglarge sums in locating the university lands, and in payinguniversity salaries, for which our funds were not yetavailable; while from time to time he made many gifts which,though smaller, were no less striking evidences of thelargeness of his view. I may mention a few among theseas typical.

Having found, in the catalogue of a London book-seller, a set of Piranesi's great work on the ``Antiquitiesof Rome,''—a superb copy, the gift of a pope to a royalduke,—I showed it to him, when he at once ordered it forour library at a cost of about a thousand dollars. Atanother time, seeing the need of some costly works toillustrate agriculture, he gave them to us at a somewhatgreater cost; and, having heard Professor Tyndall'slectures in New York, he bought additional physical apparatusto enable our resident professor to repeat the lecturesat Ithaca, and this cost him fifteen hundred dollars.

Characteristic of him, too, was another piece of quietmunificence. When the clause forced into the universitycharter, requiring him to give twenty-five thousand dollarsto another institution before he could be allowed togive half a million to his own, was noised abroad throughthe State, there was a general feeling of disgust; and atthe next session of the legislature a bill was brought into refund the twenty-five thousand dollars to him. Uponthis, he remarked that what he once gave he never tookback, but that if the university trustees would accept it hehad no objection. The bill was modified to this effect, andthus the wrong was righted.

During my stay in Europe, through the summer of 1868,under instructions to study various institutions for technicaleducation, to make large purchases of books, and tosecure one or two men greatly needed in special departmentsnot then much cultivated in this country, his generositywas unfailing. Large as were the purchases whichI was authorized to make, the number of desirable thingsoutside this limit steadily grew larger; but my letters tohim invariably brought back the commission to securethis additional material.

During this occupation of mine in Europe, he was quiteas busy in the woods of the upper Mississippi and on theplains of Kansas, selecting university lands. No fatigueor expenditure deterred him.

At various periods I passed much time with Mr. Cornellon his home farm. He lived generously, in a kind ofpatriarchal simplicity, and many of his conversations interestedme intensely. His reticence gradually yielded, and he gaveme much information regarding his earlier years: they hadbeen full of toil and struggle, but through the whole therewas clear evidence of a noble purpose. Whatever worthywork his hand had found to do, he had done it with hismight: the steamers of Cayuga Lake; the tunnel whichcarries the waters of Fall Creek to the mills below; themills themselves; the dams against that turbulent stream,which he built after others had failed, and which standfirmly to this day; the calendar clocks for which Ithacahas become famous, and of which he furnished the originalhint—all these he touched upon, though so modestly thatI never found out his full agency in them until a laterperiod, when I had made the acquaintance of many of histownsmen.

Especially interesting were his references to thebeginnings of American telegraphic enterprise, with which hehad so much to do.

His connection with it began in a curious way. Travelingin northern New England to dispose of a plow whichhe had invented, he entered the office of a gentleman whohad taken the contract for laying the first telegraphic wiresunderground between Washington and Baltimore, andfound him in much doubt and trouble: the difficulty was tolay the leaden pipe containing the two insulated wires at acost within the terms of the contract. Hearing this, Mr.Cornell said: ``I will build you a machine which will digthe trench, lay the pipe and wires, and cover them withearth rapidly and cheaply.''

This proposal was at first derided; but, as Mr. Cornellinsisted upon it, he was at last allowed to show what hecould do. The machine having been constructed, heexhibited it to a committee; but when the long line ofhorses attached to it were started, it was so thrown aboutby the inequalities of the surface that the committeedeclared it a failure. Presently Mr. Cornell took them tothe ground over which the machine had just passed, and,showing them a line of newly turned earth, asked themto dig in it. Having done this, they found the pipe incasingthe wires, acknowledged his triumph, and immediatelygave him and his machine permanent employment.

But before long he became convinced that this was notthe best way. Having studied all the books on electricitythat he could find in the Congressional Library, he hadsatisfied himself that it would be far better and cheaperto string the wires through the open air between poles.This idea the men controlling the scheme for a timeresisted. Some of them regarded such interference in ascientific matter by one whom they considered a plainworking-man as altogether too presuming. But one dayProfessor Morse came out to decide the matter. FindingMr. Cornell at his machine, the professor explained thedifficulties in the case, especially the danger of shaking theconfidence of Congress, and so losing the necessaryappropriation, should any change in plan be adopted, andthen asked him if he could see any way out of the difficulty.Mr. Cornell answered that he could, whereupon ProfessorMorse expressed a wish that it might be taken. At thisMr. Cornell gave the word to his men, started up thelong line of horses dragging the ponderous machine,guided it with his own hands into a boulder lying near,and thus deranged the whole machinery.

As a natural result it was announced by various journalsat the national capital that the machinery for layingthe wires had been broken by the carelessness of anemployee, but that it would doubtless soon be repaired andthe work resumed. Thanks to this stratagem, the necessarytime was gained without shaking the confidence ofCongress, and Mr. Cornell at once began stringing thewires upon poles: the insulation was found far betterthan in the underground system, and there was no moretrouble.

The confidence of the promoters of the enterprise beingthus gained, Mr. Cornell was employed to do their workin all parts of the country; and his sturdy honesty, energy,and persistence justified their confidence and laid thefoundations of his fortune.

Very striking were the accounts of his troubles andtrials during the prosecution of this telegraphic work—troubles from men of pretended science, from selfish men,from stupid men—all chronicled by him without the slightestbitterness against any human being, yet with a quainthumor which made the story very enjoyable.

Through his personal history, as I then began to learnit, ran a thread, or rather a strong cord, of stoicism.He had clung with such desperate tenacity to his faith inthe future of the telegraphic system, that, sooner than partwith his interest in it, even when its stock was utterlydiscredited, he suffered from poverty, and almost from want.While pressing on his telegraphic construction, he had beenterribly wounded in a Western railroad accident, but hadextricated himself from the dead and dying, and, as Ilearned from others, had borne his sufferings without amurmur. At another time, overtaken by ship-fever atMontreal, and thought to be beyond help, he had quietlymade up his mind that, if he could reach a certain hydropathicestablishment in New York, he would recover; andhad dragged himself through that long journey, desperatelyill as he was, in railway cars, steamers, andstages, until he reached his desired haven; and there hefinally recovered, though nearly every other personattacked by the disease at his Montreal hotel had died.

Pursuing his telegraphic enterprise, he had been obligedat times to fight many strong men and great combinationsof capital; but this same stoicism carried him through:he used to say laughingly that his way was to ``tire themout.''

When, at last, fortune had begun to smile upon him, hispublic spirit began to show itself in more striking forms,though not in forms more real, than in his earlier days.Evidences of this met the eye of his visitors at once, andamong these were the fine cattle, sheep, fruit-trees, andthe like, which he had brought back from the LondonExposition of 1851. His observations of the agriculturalexperiments of Lawes and Gilbert at Rothamstead inEngland, and his visits to various agricultural exhibitions,led him to attempt similar work at home. Everythingthat could improve the community in which he livedwas matter of concern to him. He took the lead inestablishing ``Cascadilla Place,'' in order to give a verygifted woman an opportunity to show her abilities inadministering hydropathic treatment to disease; hispublic library, when I first visited Ithaca, was justcompleted.

He never showed the slightest approach to display orvanity regarding any of these things, and most of them Iheard of first, at a later period, from others.

Although his religious ideas were very far from thosegenerally considered orthodox, he had a deep sympathywith every good effort for religion and morality, no matterby whom made; and he contributed freely to churchesof every name and to good purposes of every sort. Hehad quaint ways at times in making such gifts, and fromthe many stories showing these I select one as characteristic.During the Civil War, the young women of the villageheld large sewing-circles, doing work for the soldiers.When Mr. Cornell was asked to contribute to their funds,he declined, to the great surprise of those who askedhim, and said dryly: ``Of course these women don't reallycome together to sew for the soldiers; they come togetherto gossip.'' This was said, no doubt, with that peculiartwinkle of the eye which his old friends can well remember;but, on the young ladies protesting that he did theminjustice, he answered: ``If you can prove that I am wrong,I will gladly contribute; if you will only sew together allone afternoon, and no one of you speak a word, I will giveyou a hundred dollars.'' The society met, and completesilence reigned. The young men of the community, hearingof this, and seeing an admirable chance to tease theirfair friends, came in large numbers to the sewing-circle,and tried to engage them in conversation. At first theirattempts were in vain; but, finally, to a question skilfullyput, one of the young ladies made a reply. This brokethe spell. Of course, the whole assembly were very unhappy;but, when all was told to Mr. Cornell, he said:``They shall have their hundred dollars, for they havedone better than any other women ever did.''

But I ought to say here that this little episode wouldbe grossly misunderstood were it supposed to indicate anytendency in his heart or mind toward a cynical view ofwomankind. Nothing could be more manly and noblethan his reference to her who had stood at his sidecourageously, hopefully, and cheerily during his yearsof struggle and want of appreciation. Well might hespeak of her, as he did once in my hearing, as ``the bestwoman that ever lived.'' And his gentle courtliness andthoughtful kindness were also deeply appreciated in otherhouseholds. His earnestness, too, in behalf of the highereducation of women, and of their fair treatment in variousprofessions and occupations, showed something far deeperthan conventional politeness.

From the time when I began to know him best, his mainthought was concentrated upon the university. His ownbusiness interests were freely sacrificed; his time, wealth,and effort were all yielded to his work in taking up itslands, to say nothing of supplementary work which becamein many ways a heavy burden to him.

During the summer preceding the opening of the university,this labor and care began to wear upon him, andhe was attacked by an old malady which gave him greatpain; yet his stoicism asserted itself. Through night afternight, as I lay in the room next his at his farm-house, Icould hear him groan, and to my natural sympathy wasadded a fear lest he might not live through this most criticalperiod in the history of the new institution; but,invariably, when I met him next morning and asked how hefelt, his answer was, ``All right,'' or ``Very well.'' Icannot remember ever hearing him make any complaintof his sufferings or even any reference to them.

Nor did pain diminish his steady serenity or generosity.I remember that on one hot afternoon of that summer,when he had come into the house thoroughly weary, ayoung man called upon him to ask for aid in securingschool-books. Mr. Cornell questioned him closely, andthen rose, walked with him down the hill into the town,and bought the books which were needed.

As the day approached for the formal opening of theuniversity, he was obliged to remain in bed. Care andtoil had prostrated me also; and both of us, a sorry coupleindeed, had to be taken from our beds to be carried to theopening exercises.

A great crowd had assembled from all parts of theState:—many enthusiastic, more doubtful, and somedecidedly inclined to scoff.

Some who were expected were not present. The Governorof the State, though he had been in Ithaca the daybefore, quietly left town on the eve of the openingexercises. His Excellency was a very wise man in hisgeneration, and evidently felt that it was not best for him tohave too much to do with an institution which the sectarianpress had so generally condemned. I shall not soon forgetthe way in which Mr. Cornell broke the news to me, andthe accent of calm contempt in his voice. Fortunatelythere remained with us the lieutenant-governor, GeneralStewart Lyndon Woodford. He came to the front nobly,and stood by us firmly and munificently ever afterward.

Mr. Cornell's speech on that occasion was very simpleand noble; his whole position, to one who knew what hehad gone through in the way of obloquy, hard work, andself-sacrifice, was touching. Worn down by illness, hewas unable to stand, and he therefore read his address ina low tone from his chair. It was very impressive, almostincapacitating me from speaking after him, and I sawtears in the eyes of many in the audience. Nothing couldbe more simple than this speech of his; it was mainlydevoted to a plain assertion of the true university theory inits most elementary form, and to a plea that women shouldhave equal privileges with men in advanced education. Inthe midst of it came a touch of his quaint shrewdness; for,in replying to a recent charge that everything at theuniversity was unfinished, he remarked in substance, ``Wehave not invited you to see a university finished, but to seeone begun.''

The opening day seemed a success, but this very successstirred up the enemy. A bitter letter from Ithacato a leading denominational organ in New York gave thesignal, and soon the whole sectarian press was in full cry,steadily pressing upon Mr. Cornell and those who stoodnear him. Very many of the secular presses also thoughtit wise to join in the attack, and it was quickly extendedfrom his ideas to his honor, and even to his honesty. Itseemed beyond the conception of many of these gentlementhat a Hicksite Quaker, who, if he gave any thought atall to this or that creed, or this or that ``plan of salvation,''passed it all by as utterly irrelevant and inadequate,could be a religious man; and a far greater number seemedto find it just as difficult to believe that a man couldsacrifice his comfort and risk his fortune in managing so greata landed property for the public interest without anyconcealed scheme of plunder.

But he bore all this with his usual stoicism. It seemedto increase his devotion to the institution, rather than todiminish it. When the receipts from the endowment fellshort or were delayed, he continued to advance moneyfreely to meet the salaries of the professors; and forapparatus, books, and equipment of every sort his pursewas constantly opened.

Yet, in those days of toil and care and obloquy, therewere some things which encouraged him much. At thatperiod all patriotic Americans felt deep gratitude to GoldwinSmith for his courage and eloquence in standing byour country during the Civil War, and great admiration forhis profound and brilliant historical lectures at Oxford.Naturally, on arriving in London, I sought to engage himfor the new university, and was authorized by Mr. Cornellto make him large pecuniary offers. Professor Smith enteredat once into our plans heartily; wrote to encourageus; came to us; lived with us amid what, to him, must havebeen great privations; lectured for us year after year asbrilliantly as he had ever lectured at Oxford; gave hislibrary to the university, with a large sum for its increase;lent his aid very quietly, but none the less effectually, toneedy and meritorious students; and steadily refusedthen, as he has ever since done, and now does, to accepta dollar of compensation. Nothing ever gave Mr. Cornellmore encouragement than this. For ``Goldwin,'' as hecalled him in his Quaker way, there was always a verywarm corner in his heart.

He also found especial pleasure in many of the lecture-courses established at the opening of the university. ForProfessor Agassiz he formed a warm friendship; andtheir discussions regarding geological questions were veryinteresting, eliciting from Agassiz a striking tribute toMr. Cornell's closeness of observation and sagacity inreasoning. The lectures on history by Goldwin Smith,and on literature by James Russell Lowell, George WilliamCurtis, and Bayard Taylor, he also enjoyed greatly.

The scientific collections and apparatus of various sortsgave him constant pleasure. I had sent from England,France, and Germany a large number of charts, models,and pieces of philosophical apparatus, and regardingsome of them had thought it best to make careful explanationsto him, in order to justify so large an expenditure;but I soon found this unnecessary. His shrewd mindenabled him to understand any piece of apparatus quickly,and to appreciate it fully. I have never had to deal withany man whose instinct in such matters was more true. Ifa book or scientific specimen or piece of apparatus wasnecessary to the proper work of a department, he couldeasily be made to see it; and then it MUST come to us, nomatter at what cost. Like the great prince of navigatorsin the fifteenth century, he was a man ``who had thetaste for great things''—``qui tenia gusto en cosasgrandes.'' He felt that the university was to be great,and he took his measures accordingly. His colleaguesgenerally thought him over-sanguine; and when he declaredthat the university should yet have an endow-ment of three millions, most of them regarded him as adreamer.

I have never known a man more entirely unselfish. Ihave seen him, when his wealth was counted in millions,devote it so generously to university objects that he feltit necessary to stint himself in some matters of personalcomfort. When urged to sell a portion of the universityland at a sacrifice, in order to better our foundations, heanswered in substance, ``Don't let us do that yet; I willwear my old hat and coat a little longer, and let you havea little more money from my own pocket.''

This feeling seemed never diminished, even under theworst opposition. He ``kept the faith,'' no matter whoopposed him.

An eminent and justly respected president of one of theoldest Eastern universities published a treatise, which waswidely circulated, to prove that the main ideas on whichthe new university was based were utterly impracticable;and especially that the presentation of various courses ofinstruction suited to young men of various aims andtastes, with liberty of choice between them, was preposterous.It is interesting to note that this same eminent gentlemanwas afterward led to adopt this same ``impracticable''policy at his own university. Others of almost equaleminence insisted that to give advanced scientific andtechnical instruction in the same institution with classicalinstruction was folly; and these gentlemen were probablynot converted until the plan was adopted at English Cambridge.Others still insisted that an institution not belongingto any one religious sect must be ``godless,'' wouldnot be patronized, and could not succeed. Their eyes wereopened later by the sight of men and women of differentChristian denominations pressing forward at CornellUniversity to contribute sums which, in the aggregate,amounted to much more than the original endowment.

He earned the blessing of those who, not having seen,have yet believed. Though he did not live long enoughto see the fundamental principles of the university thusforce their way to recognition and adoption by those whohad most strongly opposed them, his faith remainedundiminished to the end of his life.

But the opposition to his work developed into worseshapes; many leading journals in the State, when notopenly hostile to him, were cold and indifferent, and someof them were steadily abusive. This led to a rather wide-spread feeling that ``where there is smoke, there must befire''; and we who knew the purity of his purpose, hisunselfishness, his sturdy honesty, labored long against thisfeeling.

I regret to say that some eminent men connected withimportant universities in the country showed far too muchreadiness to acquiesce in this unfavorable view of ourfounder. From very few of our sister institutions cameany word of cheer; and from some of them came mostbitter attacks, not only upon the system adopted in thenew university, but upon Mr. Cornell himself. But hisfriends were more afflicted, by far, than he; all this oppositiononly served to strengthen his faith. As to this effectupon him, I recall one or two quaint examples. At thedarkest period in the history of the university, Imentioned to him that a fine collection of mathematicalbooks was offered us for five thousand dollars. Underordinary circ*mstances he would have bought it forus at once; but at that moment, when any additionto his burdens would not have been advised by any ofhis friends, he quietly said, ``Somewhere there is a manwalking about who wants to give us that five thousanddollars.'' I am glad to say that his faith was soonjustified; such a man appeared,—a man who was glad to givethe required sum as a testimony to his belief in Mr.Cornell's integrity: William Kelly of Rhinebeck.

Another example may be given as typical. Near theclose of the first celebration of Founder's Day at one ofthe college buildings, a pleasant social dance sprang upamong the younger people—students from the universityand young ladies from the village. This brought a verysevere protest from sundry clergymen of the place,declaring dancing to be ``destructive of vital godliness.''Though this was solemnly laid before the faculty, noanswer was ever made to it; but we noticed that, at everysocial gathering on Founder's Day afterward, as long asMr. Cornell lived, he had arrangements made for dancing.I never knew a man more open to right reason, and neverone less influenced by cant or dogmatism.

To most attacks upon him in the newspapers he neithermade nor suggested any reply; but one or two which wereespecially misleading he answered simply and conclusively.This had no effect, of course, in stopping the attacks;but it had one effect, at which the friends of theuniversity rejoiced: it bound his old associates to him all themore closely, and led them to support him all the morevigorously. When a paper in one of the largest cities inwestern New York had been especially abusive, one of Mr.Cornell's old friends living in that city wrote: ``I knowthat the charges recently published are utterly untrue; butI am not skilled in newspaper controversy, so I will simplyadd to what I have already given to the university a specialgift of thirty thousand dollars, which will testify tomy townsmen here, and perhaps to the public at large, myconfidence in Mr. Cornell.''

Such was the way of Hiram Sibley. Upon another attack,especially violent, from the organ of one of thedenominational colleges, another old friend of Mr. Cornellin the eastern part of the State, a prominent member ofthe religious body which this paper represented, sent hischeck for several thousand dollars, to be used for thepurchase of books for the library, and to show confidencein Mr. Cornell by deeds as well as words.

Vile as these attacks were, worse remained behind. Alocal politician, who had been sent to the legislature fromthe district where the ``People's College'' had lived itsshort life, prepared, with pettifogging ability, a long speechto show that the foundation of Cornell University, Mr.Cornell's endowment of it, and his contract to locate thelands for it were parts of a great cheat and swindle. Thisthesis, developed in all the moods and tenses of abusebefore the legislature, was next day published at length in theleading journals of the metropolis, and echoed throughoutthe Union. The time for these attacks was skilfullychosen; the Cr<e'>dit Mobilier and other schemes had beenrevealed at Washington, and everybody was only too readyto believe any charge against anybody. That Mr. Cornellhad been known for forty years as an honest man seemedto go for nothing.

The enemies of the university were prompt to supportthe charges, and they found some echoes even among thosewho were benefited by his generosity—even among thestudents themselves. At this I felt it my duty to call thewhole student body together, and, in a careful speech,to explain Mr. Cornell's transactions, answering thecharges fully. This speech, though spread through theState, could evidently do but little toward righting thewrong; but it brought to me what I shall always feel agreat honor—a share in the abuse showered mainly on him.

Very characteristic was Mr. Cornell's conduct underthis outrage. That same faith in justice, that samepatience under wrong, which he always showed, was moreevident than ever.

On the morning after the attack in the legislature hadbeen blazoned in all the leading newspapers—in the earlyhours, and after a sleepless night—I heard the rattle ofgravel against my window-panes. On rising, I found Mr.Cornell standing below. He was serene and cheerful, andhad evidently taken the long walk up the hill to quiet myirritation. His first words were a jocose prelude. Thebells of the university, which were then chimed at sixo'clock, were ringing merrily, and he called out, ``Comedown here and listen to the chimes; I have found a spotwhere you can hear them directly with one ear, and theirecho with the other.''

When I had come down, we first investigated the echoof the chime, which had really aroused his interest; thenhe said seriously: ``Don't make yourself unhappy overthis matter; it will turn out to be a good thing for theuniversity. I have long foreseen that this attack mustcome, but have feared that it would come after my death,when the facts would be forgotten, and the transactionslittle understood. I am glad that the charges are madenow, while I am here to answer them.'' We then discussedthe matter, and it was agreed that he should telegraph andwrite Governor Dix, asking him to appoint an investigatingcommittee, of which the majority should be fromthe political party opposed to his own. This was done.The committee was composed of Horatio Seymour,formerly governor of the State and Democratic candidatefor the Presidency of the United States; William A.Wheeler, Vice-President of the United States; and JohnD. Van Buren, all three men of the highest standing, andtwo of them politically opposed to Mr. Cornell.

During the long investigation which ensued in NewYork and at Ithaca, he never lost his patience, though attimes sorely tried. Various disappointed schemers, amongthese one person who had not been allowed to make anundue profit out of the university lands, and another whohad been allowed to depart from a professorship onaccount of hopeless incompetency, were the main witnesses.The onslaught was led by the person who made the attackin the legislature, and he had raked together a mass ofhalf-truths and surmises; but the evidence on Mr. Cornell'sside consisted of a complete exhibition of all thefacts and documents. The unanimous report of thecommittee was all that his warmest friends could desire; andits recommendations regarding the management of thefund were such as Mr. Cornell had long wished, but whichhe had hardly dared ask. The result was a complete triumphfor him.

Yet the attacks continued. The same paper which hadbeen so prominent in sounding them through the westernpart of the State continued them as before, and, almostto the very day of his death, assailed him periodically asa ``land jobber,'' ``land grabber,'' and ``land thief.'' Buthe took these foul attacks by tricky declaimers and hisvindication by three of his most eminent fellow-citizenswith the same serenity. That there was in him a profoundcontempt for the wretched creatures who assailed himand imputed to him motives as vile as their own canhardly be doubted; yet, though I was with him constantlyduring this period, I never heard him speak harshly ofthem; nor could I ever see that this injustice diminishedhis good will toward his fellow-men and his desire tobenefit them.

At the very time when these attacks were at their worst,he was giving especial thought to the problem of bringingeducation at the university within reach of young men ofgood ability and small means. I am quite within bounds insaying that he gave an hour to thought upon this forevery minute he gave to thought upon the attacks of hisenemies.

It was during this period that he began building hisbeautiful house near the university, and in this he showedsome of his peculiarities. He took much pains to secure atasteful plan, and some of the ideas embodied in itevidently resulted from his study of beautiful country-housesin England. Characteristic of him also was his way ofcarrying on the work. Having visited several quarries invarious parts of the State, in order to choose the bestpossible building-stone, he employed some German stone-carvers who had recently left work upon the Cathedral ofCologne, brought them to Ithaca, and allowed them to workon with no interference save from the architect. If theygave a month or more to the carving of a single capitalor corbel, he made no remonstrance. When he had thussecured the best stone-work, he selected the best seasonedoak and walnut and called skilful carpenters from England.

In thus going abroad for artisans there was no wantof loyalty to his countrymen, nor was there any alloyof vanity in his motives. His purpose evidently wasto erect a house which should be as perfect a specimenof the builder's art as he could make it, and thereforeuseful, as an example of thoroughly good work, to the localworkmen.

In connection with this, another incident throws lightupon his characteristics. Above the front entrance of thehouse was a scroll, or ribbon, in stone, evidently intendedfor a name or motto. The words carved there were, ``Trueand Firm.'' It is a curious evidence of the petty criticismwhich beset him in those days, that this motto was at timescited as a proof of his vainglory. It gives me pleasureto relieve any mind sensitive on this point, and to vindicatethe truth of history, by saying that it was I whoplaced the motto there. Calling his attention one day tothe scroll and to the need of an inscription, I suggesteda translation of the old German motto, ``Treu und Fest'';and, as he made no objection, I wrote it out for the stone-cutters, but told Mr. Cornell that there were people,perhaps, who might translate the last word ``obstinate.''

The point of this lay in the fact, which Mr. Cornell knewvery well, that he was frequently charged with obstinacy.Yet an obstinate man, in the evil sense of that word, hewas not. For several years it fell to my lot to discuss amultitude of questions with him, and reasonableness wasone of his most striking characteristics. He was one ofthose very rare strong men who recognize adequately theirown limitations. True, when he had finally made up hismind in a matter fully within his own province, heremained firm; but I have known very few men, wealthy,strong, successful, as he was, so free from the fault ofthinking that, because they are good judges of one class ofquestions, they are equally good in all others. One mark ofan obstinate man is the announcement of opinions uponsubjects regarding which his experience and previoustraining give him little or no means of judging. This wasnot at all the case with Mr. Cornell. When questions aroseregarding internal university management, or courses ofstudy, or the choice of professors, or plans for theiraccommodation, he was never quick in announcing ortenacious in holding an opinion. There was no purse prideabout him. He evidently did not believe that his successin building up a fortune had made him an expert or judgein questions to which he had never paid special attention.

During the last year or two of his life, I saw not somuch of him as during several previous years. He hadbecome greatly interested in various railway projectshaving as their purpose the connection of Ithaca, as auniversity town, with the State at large; and he threwhimself into these plans with great energy. His course inthis was prompted by a public spirit as large and pure asthat which had led him to found the university. When, atthe suggestion of sundry friends, I ventured to remonstratewith him against going so largely into these railwayenterprises at his time of life, he said: ``I shall live twentyyears longer, and make a million of dollars more for theuniversity endowment.'' Alas! within six months fromthat day he lay dead in the midst of many broken hopes.His plans, which, under other circ*mstances, would havebeen judged wise, seemed for a time wrecked by the financialcrisis which had just come upon the country.

In his last hours I visited him frequently. His mindremained clear, and he showed his old freedom from anyfault-finding spirit, though evidently oppressed by businesscares and bodily suffering. His serenity was especiallyevident as I sat with him the night before hisdeath, and I can never forget the placidity of hiscountenance, both then and on the next morning, when all wasended.

Something should be said regarding Mr. Cornell'spolitical ideas. In the legislature he was a firm Republican,but as free as possible from anything like partizanbigotry. Party ties in local matters sat lightly upon him.He spoke in public very little, and took far greaterinterest in public improvement than in party advantage.With many of his political opponents his relations weremost friendly. For such Democrats as Hiram Sibley,Erastus Brooks, and William Kelly he had the deepestrespect and admiration. He cared little for popularclamor on any subject, braving it more than once byhis votes in the legislature. He was evidently willing totake any risk involved in waiting for the sober secondthought of the people. He was as free from ordinaryambition as from selfishness: when there was a call fromseveral parts of the State for his nomination as governor,he said quietly, ``I prefer work for which I am betterfitted.''

There was in his ordinary bearing a certain austerityand in his conversation an abruptness which interferedsomewhat with his popularity. A student once said tome, ``If Mr. Cornell would simply stand upon his pedestalas our `Honored Founder,' and let us hurrah for him,that would please us mightily; but when he comes into thelaboratory and asks us gruffly, `What are you wastingyour time at now?' we don't like him so well.'' The facton which this remark was based was that Mr. Cornellliked greatly to walk quietly through the laboratories anddrafting-rooms, to note the work. Now and then, whenhe saw a student doing something which especiallyinterested him, he was evidently anxious, as he was wontto say, ``to see what the fellow is made of,'' and he wouldfrequently put some provoking question, liking nothingbetter than to receive a pithy answer. Of his kind feelingstoward students I could say much. He was not inclinedto coddle them, but was ever ready to help any whowere deserving.

Despite his apparent austerity, he was singularly freefrom harshness in his judgments. There were times whenhe would have been justified in outbursts of bitternessagainst those who attacked him in ways so foul andmaligned him in ways so vile; but I never heard anybitter reply from him. In his politics there was nevera drop of bitterness. Only once or twice did I hearhim allude to any conduct which displeased him, and thenhis comments were rather playful than otherwise. On oneoccasion, when he had written to a gentleman of greatwealth and deserved repute as a philanthropist, askinghim to join in carrying the burden of the land locations,and had received an unfavorable answer, he made a remarkwhich seemed to me rather harsh. To this I replied:``Mr. Cornell, Mr. —— is not at all in fault; he does notunderstand the question as you do; everybody knows thathe is a very liberal man.'' ``Oh,'' said Mr. Cornell, ``it'seasy enough to be liberal; the only hard part is drawingthe check.''

Of his intellectual characteristics, foresight was the mostremarkable. Of all men in the country who had to dowith the college land grant of 1862, he alone discerned thepossibilities involved and had courage to make them actual.

Clearness of thought on all matters to which he gave hisattention was another striking characteristic; hence, wheneverhe put anything on paper, it was lucid and cogent.There seems at times in his writings some of theclear, quaint shrewdness so well known in Abraham Lincoln.Very striking examples of this are to be found inhis legislative speeches, in his address at the opening ofthe university, and in his letters.

Among his moral characteristics, his truthfulness,persistence, courage, and fortitude were most stronglymarked. These qualities made him a man of peace. Heregarded life as too short to be wasted in quarrels; hissteady rule was never to begin a lawsuit or have anythingto do with one, if it could be avoided. The joy inlitigation and squabble, which has been the weakness ofso many men claiming to be strong, and the especialcurse of so many American churches, colleges, universities,and other public organizations, had no place in hisstrong, tolerant nature. He never sought to publish thesins of any one in the courts or to win the repute of anuncompromising fighter. In this peaceable disposition hewas prompted not only by his greatest moral quality:—his charity toward his fellow-men, but by his greatest intel-lectual quality:—his foresight; for he knew well ``theglorious uncertainty of the law.'' He was a builder, not agladiator.

There resulted from these qualities an equanimity whichI have never seen equaled. When his eldest son had beenelected to the highest office in the gift of the StateAssembly, and had been placed, evidently, on the way to thegovernor 's chair,—afterward attained,—though it musthave gratified such a father, he never made any referenceto it in my hearing; and when the body of his favoritegrandson, a most winning and promising boy, killedinstantly by a terrible accident, was brought into hispresence, though his heart must have bled, his calmness seemedalmost superhuman.

His religious ideas were such as many excellent peoplewould hardly approve. He had been born into the Societyof Friends; and their quietness, simplicity, freedom fromnoisy activity, and devotion to the public good attachedhim to them. But his was not a bigoted attachment; hewent freely to various churches, aiding them withoutdistinction of sect, though finally he settled into a steadyattendance at the Unitarian Church in Ithaca, for the pastorof which he conceived a great respect and liking. He wasnever inclined to say much about religion; but, in ourtalks, he was wont to quote with approval from Pope's``Universal Prayer''—and especially the lines:

``Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see;
The mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.''

On the mere letter of Scripture he dwelt little; and,while he never obtruded opinions that might shock anyperson, and was far removed from scoffing or irreverence,he did not hesitate to discriminate between parts of ourSacred Books which he considered as simply legendaryand parts which were to him pregnant with eternal truth.

His religion seemed to take shape in a deeply reverentfeeling toward his Creator, and in a constant desire toimprove the condition of his fellow-creatures. He wasnever surprised or troubled by anything which any otherhuman being believed or did not believe; of intolerancehe was utterly incapable. He sought no reputation as aphilanthropist, cared little for approval, and nothing forapplause; but I can say of him, without reserve, that,during all the years I knew him, ``he went about doinggood.''

CHAPTER XIX

ORGANIZATION OF CORNELL UNIVERSITY—1865-1868

Although my formal election to the university presidencydid not take place until 1867, the duties impliedby that office had already been discharged by meduring two years.

While Mr. Cornell devoted himself to the financialquestions arising from the new foundation, he intrusted allother questions to me. Indeed, my duties may be said tohave begun when, as chairman of the Committee on Educationin the State Senate, I resisted all efforts to dividethe land-grant fund between the People's College andthe State Agricultural College; to have been continuedwhen I opposed the frittering away of the entire grantamong more than twenty small sectarian colleges; andto have taken a more direct form when I drafted theeducational clauses of the university charter and advocatedit before the legislature and in the press. Thisadvocacy was by no means a light task. The influentialmen who flocked to Albany, seeking to divide the fundamong various sects and localities, used arguments oftenplausible and sometimes forcible. These I dealt withon various occasions, but especially in a speech before theState Senate in 1865, in which was shown the characterof the interested opposition, the farcical equipment ofthe People's College, the failure of the State AgriculturalCollege, the inadequacy of the sectarian colleges,even though they called themselves universities; and Idid all in my power to communicate to my colleaguessomething of my own enthusiasm for a university suitablyendowed, free from sectarian trammels, centrallysituated, and organized to meet fully the wants of theState as regarded advanced education, general andtechnical.

Three points I endeavored especially to impress uponthem in this speech. First, that while, as regards primaryeducation, the policy of the State should be diffusion ofresources, it should be, as regards university education,concentration of resources. Secondly, that sectariancolleges could not do the work required. Thirdly, that anyinstitution for higher education in the State must form anintegral part of the whole system of public instruction;that the university should not be isolated from the schoolsystem, as were the existing colleges, but that it shouldhave a living connection with the system, should push itsroots down into it and through it, drawing life from itand sending life back into it. Mr. Cornell accepted thisview at once. Mr. Horace Greeley, who, up to that time,had supported the People's College, was favorably impressedby it, and, more than anything else, it won for ushis support. To insure this vital connection of theproposed university with the school system, I provided inthe charter for four ``State scholarships'' in each of theone hundred and twenty-eight Assembly districts. Thesescholarships were to be awarded to the best scholars in thepublic schools of each district, after due examination, oneeach year; each scholarship entitling the holder to freeinstruction in the university for four years. Thus theuniversity and the schools were bound closely together bythe constant and living tie of five hundred and twelvestudents. As the number of Assembly districts under thenew constitution was made, some years later, one hundredand fifty, the number of these competitive free scholarshipsis now six hundred. They have served their purposewell. Thirty years of this connection have greatlyuplifted the whole school system of the State, andmade the university a life-giving power in it; while thisuplifting of the school system has enabled the universitysteadily to raise and improve its own standard of instruction.

But during the earlier period of our plans there wasone serious obstacle—Charles James Folger. He was themost powerful member of the Senate, its president, andchairman of the Judiciary Committee. He had already wonwide respect as a county judge, had been longer in theSenate than any other member, and had already given ampleevidence of the qualities which later in life raised him tosome of the highest positions, State and National. Hisinstincts would have brought him to our side; for he wasbroad-minded, enlightened, and earnestly in favor of allgood legislation. He was also my personal friend, andwhen I privately presented my views to him he acquiescedin them. But there were two difficulties. First, he had inhis own city a denominational college, his own almamater, which, though small, was influential. Still worsefor us, he had in his district the State Agricultural College,which the founding of Cornell University must necessarilywipe out of existence. He might rise above the firstof these difficulties, but the second seemed insurmountable.No matter how much in sympathy with our main aim, hecould not sacrifice a possession so dear to his constituencyas the State College of Agriculture. He felt that he hadno right to do so; he knew also that to do so would be tosacrifice his political future, and we felt, as he did, that hehad no right to do this.

But here came in to help us the culmination of a seriesof events as unexpected as that which had placed the land-grant fund at our disposal just at the time when Mr. Cornelland myself met in the State Senate. For years aconsiderable body of thoughtful men throughout the State,more especially of the medical profession, had sought toremedy a great evil in the treatment of the insane. As farback as the middle of the century, Senator Bradford ofCortland had taken the lead in an investigation of thesystem then existing, and his report was a frightful ex-posure. Throughout the State, lunatics whose familieswere unable to support them at the State or private asylumswere huddled together in the poorhouses of the variouscounties. Their condition was heartrending. Theywere constantly exposed to neglect, frequently to extremesof cold and hunger, and sometimes to brutality: thus mildlunacy often became raving madness. For some years beforemy election to the Senate the need of a reform hadbeen urged upon the legislative committees by a physician—Dr. Willard of Albany. He had taken this evil conditionof things much to heart, and year after year had comebefore the legislature urging the creation of a newinstitution, which he wished named after an eminent physicianof Albany who had in his day done what was possible toremedy the evil—Dr. Beck. But year after year Dr.Willard's efforts, like those of Dr. Beck before him, hadbeen in vain. Session after session the ``Bill to establishthe Beck Asylum for the Chronic Insane'' was rejected,—the legislature shrinking from the cost of it. But one day,as we were sitting in the Senate, appalling news came fromthe Assembly: Dr. Willard, while making one more passionateappeal for the asylum, had fallen dead in the presenceof the committee. The result was a deep and wide-spread feeling of compunction, and while we were underthe influence of this I sought Judge Folger and showed himhis opportunity to do two great things. I said: ``It restswith you to remedy this cruel evil which has now costDr. Willard his life, and at the same time to join us incarrying the Cornell University Bill. Let the legislaturecreate a new asylum for the chronic insane of the State.Now is the time of all times. Instead of calling it theBeck Asylum, give it the name of Willard—the man whodied in advocating it. Place it upon the AgriculturalCollege property on the shores of Seneca Lake in yourdistrict. Your constituents are sure to prefer a livingState asylum to a dying Agricultural College, and willthoroughly support you in both the proposed measures.''This suggestion Judge Folger received with favor. TheWillard Asylum was created, and he became one of ourstrongest supporters.

Both Mr. Cornell's financial plans and my educationalplans in the new university charter were wrought intofinal shape by him. As chairman of the Judiciary Committeehe reported our bill to the Senate, and at variouscritical periods gave us his earnest support. Quite likelydoctrinaires will stigmatize our conduct in this matter as``log-rolling''; the men who always criticize but neverconstruct may even call it a ``bargain.'' There wasno ``bargain'' and no ``log-rolling,'' but they may callit what they like; I believe that we were both of usthoroughly in the right. For our coming together in this waygave to the State the Willard Asylum and the CornellUniversity, and without our thus coming together neitherof these would have been created.

But in spite of this happy compromise, the struggle forour university charter, as has already been seen, was longand severe. The opposition of over twenty sectarian colleges,and of active politicians from every quarter of theState where these colleges had been established, made ourwork difficult; but at last it was accomplished. Preparationsfor the new institution were now earnestly pressedon, and for a year I gave up very much of my time to them,keeping in constant communication with Mr. Cornell,frequently visiting Ithaca, and corresponding with trusteesin various parts of the State and with all others at homeor abroad who seemed able to throw light on any of theproblems we had to solve.

The question now arose as to the presidency of theinstitution; and, as time passed on and duties increased, thisbecame more and more pressing. In the previous chapterI have given some account of the circ*mstances attendingmy election and of Mr. Cornell's relation to it; but this isperhaps the place for stating one of the difficulties whichstood in the way of my acceptance, and which, indeed,greatly increased my cares during all the first years of mypresidency. The death of my father and uncle, who hadfor many years carried on a large and wide-spread business,threw upon me new responsibilities. It was during theCivil War, when panic after panic ran through the Americanbusiness world, making the interests now devolvingupon me all the more burdensome. I had no educationfor business and no liking for it, but, under the pressureof necessity, decided to do the best I could, yet determiningthat just as soon as these business affairs could be turnedover to others it should be done. Several years elapsed,and those the busiest so far as the university was concerned,before such a release became possible. So it happenedthat during the first and most trying years of thenew institution of Ithaca, I was obliged to do duty assenator of the State of New York, president of CornellUniversity, lecturer at the University of Michigan,president of the National Bank of Syracuse and director intwo other banks,—one being at Oswego,—director in theNew York Central and Lake Shore railways, director inthe Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal,—to say nothingof positions on boards of various similar corporationsand the executorship of two widely extended estates.It was a trying time for me. There was, however, someadvantage; for this epoch in my life put me in relationswith some of the foremost business men in the UnitedStates, among them Cornelius Vanderbilt, William H.Vanderbilt, Dean Richmond, Daniel Drew, and variousother men accustomed to prompt and decisive dealing withlarge business affairs. I recognized the value of suchassociations and endeavored to learn something from them,but was determined, none the less, to end this sort ofgeneral activity as early as it could be done consistentlywith justice to my family. Several years were required,and those the very years in which university cares weremost pressing. But finally my intention was fully carriedout. The bank over which my father had presided somany years I was able to wind up in a way satisfactoryto all concerned, not only repaying the shareholders,but giving them a large surplus. From the other cor-porations also I gradually escaped, turning my dutiesover to those better fitted for them. Still many outsidecares remained, and in one way or another I was obligedto take part in affairs which I would have gladly shunned.Yet there was consolation in the idea that, as my maindanger was that of drifting into a hermit life amongprofessors and books, anything that took me out of this for alimited length of time was not without compensating advantages.

Just previously to my election to the university presidencyI had presented a ``plan of organization,'' which,having been accepted and printed by the trustees, formedthe mold for the main features of the new institution; andearly among my duties came the selection and nominationof professors. In these days one is able to choose from alarge body of young men holding fellowships in the variouslarger universities of the United States; but then, withthe possible exception of two or three at Harvard, therewas not a fellowship, so far as I can remember, in the wholecountry. The choosing of professors was immeasurablymore difficult than at present. With reference to this point,a very eminent graduate of Harvard then volunteered tome some advice, which at first sight looked sound, but whichI soon found to be inapplicable. He said: ``You must secureat any cost the foremost men in the United States inevery department. In this way alone can a real universitybe created.'' Trying the Socratic method upon him, Iasked, in reply, ``How are we to get such men? The foremostman in American science is undoubtedly Agassiz, buthe has refused all offers of high position at Paris made himby the French Emperor. The main objects of his life arethe creation of his great museum at Harvard and hisinvestigations and instruction in connection with it; he hasdeclared that he has `no time to waste in making money!'What sum or what inducement of any sort can transferhim from Harvard to a new institution on the distant hillsof central New York? So, too, with the most eminentmen at the other universities. What sum will draw themto us from Harvard, Yale, Columbia, the University ofVirginia, and the University of Michigan? An endowmenttwice as large as ours would be unavailing.'' Thereforeit was that I broached, as a practical measure, in my``plan of organization,'' the system which I had discussedtentatively with George William Curtis several years before,and to which he referred afterward in his speech atthe opening of the university at Ithaca. This was to takeinto our confidence the leading professors in the moreimportant institutions of learning, and to secure fromthem, not the ordinary, conventional paper testimonials,but confidential information as to their young men likelyto do the best work in various fields, to call these youngmen to our resident professorships, and then to call themost eminent men we could obtain for non-residentprofessorships or lectureships. This idea was carried out tothe letter. The most eminent men in various universitiesgave us confidential advice; and thus it was that I wasenabled to secure a number of bright, active, energeticyoung men as our resident professors, mingling with themtwo or three older men, whose experience and developedjudgment seemed necessary in the ordinary conduct of ouraffairs.

As to the other part of the plan, I secured Agassiz,Lowell, Curtis, Bayard Taylor, Goldwin Smith, TheodoreDwight, George W. Greene, John Stanton Gould, and at alater period Froude, Freeman, and others, as non-residentprofessors and lecturers. Of the final working of thissystem I shall speak later.

The question of buildings also arose; but, alas! I couldnot reproduce my air-castles. For our charter requiredus to have the university in operation in October, 1868,and there was no time for careful architectural preparation.Moreover, the means failed us. All that we couldthen do was to accept a fairly good plan for our mainstructures; to make them simple, substantial, and dignified;to build them of stone from our own quarries; andso to dispose them that future architects might so combineother buildings with them as to form an impressive quadrangleon the upper part of the university property. Tothis plan Mr. Cornell gave his hearty assent. It was thenarranged, with his full sanction, that the universitybuildings should ultimately consist of two great groups: thefirst or upper group to be a quadrangle of stone, and thesecond or lower group to be made up of buildings ofbrick more freely disposed, according to our future needsand means. Although this plan has unfortunately beendeparted from in some minor respects, it has in generalturned out well.

Having called a number of professors and seen foundationslaid for ``Morrill Hall,'' I sailed in April of 1868for Europe, in order to study technical institutions, topurchase needed equipment, and to secure certain professorssuch as could not then be found in our own country.Thus far my knowledge of higher education in Europehad been confined almost entirely to the universities;but now I went carefully through various technicalinstitutions, among them the English Agricultural Collegeat Cirencester, the Agricultural Experiment Stationat Rothamstead, the French Agricultural College atGrignon, the Conservatoire des Arts et M<e'>tiers at Paris,the Veterinary School at Alfort, the German AgriculturalCollege at Hohenheim, the Technical School andVeterinary College at Berlin, and others. As to equipment,wherever I found valuable material I bought it.Thus were brought together for our library a very largecollection of books in all the principal departments; physicaland chemical apparatus from London, Paris, Heidelberg,and Berlin; chemicals from Berlin and Erfurt; theonly duplicate of the royal collection of cereals and grassesand the great collection of British patent-office publicationsfrom the British imperial authorities; the Rau modelsof plows from Hohenheim; the Brendel plant modelsfrom Breslau; the models of machine movements fromLondon, Darmstadt, and Berlin; the plastic models ofAuzoux from Paris; and other apparatus and instrumentsfrom all parts of Europe, with diagrams and drawingsfrom every institution where I could find them. Duringthree months, from funds furnished by the university, byMr. Cornell personally, and, I may be allowed to add, frommy own personal resources, I expended for these purposesover sixty thousand dollars, a sum which in those daysrepresented much more than in these.

As to non-resident professors, I secured in LondonGoldwin Smith, who had recently distinguished himselfby his works as a historian and as regius professor ofhistory at Oxford; and I was successful in calling Dr.James Law, who, though a young man, had already madehimself a name in veterinary science. It seemed to manya comical juxtaposition, and various witticisms were madeat my expense over the statement that I had ``broughtback an Oxford professor and a Scotch horse-doctor.''But never were selections more fortunate. Goldwin Smith,by his high character, his broad and deep scholarship, hisdevotion not only to his professorship but to the generaluniversity work, his self-denial in behalf of the universityand its students, rendered priceless services. He bore allprivations cheerfully and braved all discouragementsmanfully. Never were there better historical lectures than his.They inspired us all, and the impulse then given is stillfelt. So, too, Dr. Law, in his field, was invaluable, and thiswas soon felt throughout the State. Of him I shall speaklater.

CHAPTER XX

THE FIRST YEARS OF CORNELL UNIVERSITY—1868-1870

On the 7th of October, 1868, came the formal openingof the university. The struggle for its charterhad attracted much attention in all parts of the State, anda large body of spectators, with about four hundredstudents, assembled at the Cornell Library Hall in Ithaca.Though the charter had required us to begin in October,there had seemed for some time very little chance ofit. Mr. Cornell had been absent in the woods of the upperMississippi and on the plains of Kansas, selecting universitylands; I had been absent for some months in Europe,securing plans and equipment; and as, during our absence,the contractor for the first main building, Morrill Hall, hadfailed, the work was wretchedly behindhand. The directroads to the university site were as yet impracticable, forthe Cascadilla ravine and the smaller one north of it werestill unbridged. The grounds were unkempt, with heapsof earth and piles of material in all directions. The greatquantities of furniture, apparatus, and books which I hadsent from Europe had been deposited wherever storagecould be found. Typical was the case of the large Holtzelectrical machine from Germany. It was in those days anovelty, and many were anxious to see it; but it could notbe found, and it was only discovered several weeks later,when the last pots and pans were pulled out of the kitchenstore-room in the cellar of the great stone barrack knownas Cascadilla House. All sorts of greatly needed materialhad been delayed in steamships and on railways, or wasstuck fast in custom-houses and warehouses from Berlinand Paris to Ithaca. Our friends had toiled heroicallyduring our absence, but the little town—then muchless energetic than now—had been unable to furnishthe work required in so short a time. The heatingapparatus and even the doors for the students' rooms werenot in place until weeks after winter weather had set in. Tocomplicate matters still more, students began to come ata period much earlier and in numbers far greater than wehad expected; and the first result of this was that, ingetting ready for the opening, Mr. Cornell and myself wereworn out. For two or three days before my inaugurationboth of us were in the hands of physicians and in bed, andon the morning of the day appointed we were taken incarriages to the hall where the ceremony was to take place.To Mr. Cornell's brief speech I have alluded elsewhere;my own presented my ideas more at length. They weregrouped in four divisions. The first of these related to``Foundation Ideas,'' which were announced as follows:First, the close union of liberal and practical instruction;second, unsectarian control; third, a living union betweenthe university and the whole school system of the State;fourth, concentration of revenues for advanced education.The second division was that of ``Formative Ideas''; andunder these—First, equality between different courses ofstudy. In this I especially developed ideas which hadoccurred to me as far back as my observations aftergraduation at Yale, where the classical students belongingto the ``college proper'' were given a sort of supremacy,and scientific students relegated to a separate institutionat considerable distance, and therefore deprived of muchgeneral, and even special, culture which would havegreatly benefited them. Indeed, they seemed not consideredas having any souls to be saved, since no provisionwas made for them at the college chapel. Second, increaseddevelopment of scientific studies. The third main divisionwas that of ``Governmental Ideas''; and under these—First, ``the regular and frequent infusion of new life intothe governing board.'' Here a system at that time entirelynew in the United States was proposed. Instead of theusual life tenure of trustees, their term was made five yearsand they were to be chosen by ballot. Secondly, it wasrequired that as soon as the graduates of the universitynumbered fifty they should select one trustee each year,thus giving the alumni one third of the whole numberelected. Third, there was to be a system of self-governmentadministered by the students themselves. As to thisthird point, I must frankly confess that my ideas werevague, unformed, and finally changed by the logic ofevents. As the fourth and final main division, I presented``Permeating Ideas''; and of these—First, the developmentof the individual man in all his nature, in all hispowers, as a being intellectual, moral, and religious.Secondly, bringing the powers of the man thus developedto bear usefully upon society.

In conclusion, I alluded to two groups of ``EliminatedIdeas,'' the first of these being the ``Ideas of the Pedants,''and the second the ``Ideas of the Philistines.'' As to theformer, I took pains to guard the institution from thosewho, in the higher education, substitute dates for history,gerund-grinding for literature, and formulas for science;as to the latter, I sought to guard it from the men to whom``Gain is God, and Gunnybags his Prophet.''

At the close, referring to Mr. Cornell, who had been tooweak to stand while delivering his speech, and who was atthat moment sitting near me, I alluded to his noble plansand to the opposition, misrepresentation, and obloquy hehad met thus far, and in doing so turned toward him. Thesight of him, as he thus sat, looking so weak, so weary, sobroken, for a few moments utterly incapacitated me. Iwas myself, at the time, in but little better condition thanhe; and as there rushed into my mind memories of the previousten days at his house, when I had heard him groaningin pain through almost every night, it flashed upon mehow utterly hopeless was the university without hissupport. My voice faltered; I could for a moment say no-thing; then came a revulsion. I asked myself, ``What willthis great audience think of us?'' How will our enemies,some of whom I see scattered about the audience, exultover this faltering at the outset! A feeling of shame cameover me; but just at that moment I saw two or three strongmen from different parts of the State, among them my oldfriend Mr. Sedgwick of Syracuse, in the audience, and Mr.Sage and Mr. McGraw among the trustees, evidentlyaffected by my allusion to the obloquy and injustice whichMr. Cornell had met thus far. This roused me. ButI could no longer read; I laid my manuscript aside andgave the ending in words which occurred to me as Istood then and there. They were faltering and inadequate;but I felt that the vast majority in that audience,representing all parts of our commonwealth, were withus, and I asked nothing more.

In the afternoon came exercises at the universitygrounds. The chime of nine bells which Miss JennyMcGraw had presented to us had been temporarily hungin a wooden tower placed very near the spot where nowstands the porch of the library; and, before the bells wererung for the first time, a presentation address was deliveredby Mr. Francis Miles Finch, since justice of the Courtof Appeals of the State and dean of the University LawSchool; and this was followed by addresses from thesuperintendent of public instruction, and from our non-resident professors Agassiz and George William Curtis.

Having again been taken out of bed and wrapped upcarefully, I was carried up the hill to hear them. All thespeeches were fine; but, just at the close, Curtis burst intoa peroration which, in my weak physical condition, utterlyunmanned me. He compared the new university to anewly launched ship—``all its sails set, its rigging full andcomplete from stem to stern, its crew embarked, itspassengers on board; and,'' he added, ``even while I speakto you, even while this autumn sun sets in the west, theship begins to glide over the waves, it goes forth rejoicing,every stitch of canvas spread, all its colors flying, itsbells ringing, its heart-strings beating with hope andjoy; and I say, God bless the ship, God bless the builder,God bless the chosen captain, God bless the crew, and,gentlemen undergraduates, may God bless all the passengers!''

The audience applauded; the chimes burst merrilyforth; but my heart sank within me. A feeling of ``goneness''came over me. Curtis's simile was so perfect thatI felt myself indeed on the deck of the ship, but not so muchin the character of its ``chosen captain'' as of a seasickpassenger. There was indeed reason for qualmish feelings.Had I drawn a picture of the ship at that moment,it would have been very different from that presented byCurtis. My mind was pervaded by our discouragements—by a realization of Mr. Cornell's condition and my own,the demands of our thoughtless friends, the attacks of ourfanatical enemies, the inadequacy of our resources. Thesense of all these things burst upon me, and the view aboutus was not reassuring. Not only were the university buildingsunready and the grounds unkempt, but all that partof our domain which is now devoted to the beautiful lawnsabout the university chapel, Barnes Hall, Sage College,and other stately edifices, was then a ragged corn-fieldsurrounded by rail fences. No one knew better than Ithe great difficulties which were sure to beset us.Probably no ship was ever launched in a condition so unfit tobrave the storms. Even our lesser difficulties, though theymay appear comical now, were by no means comical then.As a rule, Mr. Cornell had consulted me before makingcommunications to the public; but during my absence inEurope he had written a letter to the ``New York Tribune,''announcing that students could support themselves,while pursuing their studies one half of each day in theuniversity, by laboring the other half. In this he showedthat sympathy with needy and meritorious young menwhich was one of his marked qualities, but his proclamationcost us dear. He measured the earnestness and enduranceand self-sacrifice of others by his own; he did notrealize that not one man in a thousand was, in theserespects, his equal. As a result of this ``Tribune'' letter, amultitude of eager young men pressed forward at theopening of the university and insisted on receiving self-supporting work. Nearly all of those who could offerskilled labor of any sort we were able to employ; andmany graduates of whom Cornell University is now proudsupported themselves then by working as carpenters, masons,printers, accountants, and shorthand-writers. Butbesides these were many who had never done any manuallabor, and still more who had never done any laborrequiring skill. An attempt was made to employ these ingrading roads, laying out paths, helping on the farm,doing janitors' work, and the like. Some of them weresuccessful; most were not. It was found that it would becheaper to support many of the applicants at a hotel and toemploy day-laborers in their places. Much of their workhad to be done over again at a cost greater than the originaloutlay should have been. Typical was the husking ofIndian corn upon the university farm by student labor: itwas found to cost more than the resultant corn could besold for in the market. The expectations of these youthwere none the less exuberant. One of them, who had neverdone any sort of manual labor, asked whether, while learningto build machinery and supporting himself and hisfamily, he could not lay up something against contingencies.Another, a teamster from a Western State, came tooffer his services, and, on being asked what he wished tostudy, said that he wished to learn to read; on being toldthat the public school in his own district was the place forthat, he was very indignant, and quoted Mr. Cornell'swords, ``I would found an institution where any person canfind instruction in any study.'' Others, fairly good scholars,but of delicate build, having applied for self-supportingemployment, were assigned the lightest possible tasksupon the university grounds; but, finding even this worktoo severe, wrote bitterly to leading metropolitan journalsdenouncing Mr. Cornell's bad faith. One came all the wayfrom Russia, being able to make the last stages of hisjourney only by charity, and on arriving was found to beutterly incapable of sustained effort, physical or mental.The most definite part of his aims, as he announced them,was to convert the United States to the Russo-GreekChurch.

Added to these were dreamers and schemers of moremature age. The mails were burdened with their lettersand our offices with their presence. Some had plans forthe regeneration of humanity by inventing machines whichthey wished us to build, some by devising philosophieswhich they wished us to teach, some by writing bookswhich they wished us to print; most by taking professorshipswhich they wished us to endow. The inevitable politicianalso appeared; and at the first meeting of the trusteestwo notorious party hacks came all the way from NewYork to tell us ``what the people expected,''—which wasthe nomination of sundry friends of theirs to positions inthe new institution. A severe strain was brought uponMr. Cornell and myself in showing civility to these gentlemen;yet, as we were obliged to deny them, no suavityon our part could stay the inevitable result—theirhostility. The attacks of the denominational and local pressesin the interests of institutions which had failed to tear thefund in pieces and to secure scraps of it were thus largelyreinforced. Ever and anon came onslaughts upon uspersonally and upon every feature of the institution, whetheractual, probable, possible, or conceivable. One eminenteditorial personage, having vainly sought to ``unload'' amember of his staff into one of our professorships, howledin a long article at the turpitude of Mr. Cornell in landmatters, screamed for legislative investigation, and foryears afterward never neglected an opportunity to strikea blow at the new institution.

Some difficulties also showed themselves in the firstworking of our university machinery. In my ``plan oforganization,'' as well as in various addresses and reports,I had insisted that the university should present variouscourses of instruction, general and special, and thatstudents should be allowed much liberty of choice betweenthese. This at first caused serious friction. It hasdisappeared, now that the public schools of the State haveadjusted themselves to the proper preparation of studentsfor the various courses; but at that time thesedifficulties were in full force and vigor. One of the mosttroublesome signs of this was the changing and shiftingby students from course to course, which both injuredthem and embarrassed their instructors. To meet thistendency I not only addressed the students to showthat good, substantial, continuous work on any one coursewhich any one of them was likely to choose was farbetter than indecision and shifting about between variouscourses, but also reprinted for their use John Foster'sfamous ``Essay on Decision of Character.'' This tractatehad done me much good in my student days and at varioustimes since, when I had allowed myself to linger too longbetween different courses of action; and I now distributedit freely, the result being that students generally madetheir election between courses with increased care, andwhen they had made it stood by it.

Yet for these difficulties in getting the student bodyunder way there were compensations, and best of thesewas the character and bearing of the students. Therewere, of course, sundry exhibitions of boyishness, but thespirit of the whole body was better than that of anysimilar collection of young men I had ever seen. One reasonwas that we were happily spared any large proportion ofrich men's sons, but the main reason was clearly thepermission of choice between various courses of study inaccordance with individual aims and tastes. In this waya far larger number were interested than had ever beenunder the old system of forcing all alike through onesimple, single course, regardless of aims and tastes; andthus it came that, even from the first, the tone at Cornellwas given, not by men who affected to despise study, butby men who devoted themselves to study. It evidentlybecame disreputable for any student not to be really atwork in some one of the many courses presented. Therewere few cases really calling for discipline. I prized thisfact all the more because it justified a theory of mine. Ihad long felt that the greatest cause of student turbulenceand dissipation was the absence of interest in studyconsequent upon the fact that only one course was provided,and I had arrived at the conclusion that providing variouscourses, suited to various aims and tastes, would diminishthis evil.

As regards student discipline in the university, I haddwelt in my ``plan of organization'' upon the advisabilityof a departure from the system inherited from the Englishcolleges, which was still widely prevailing. It had beendeveloped in America probably beyond anything knownin Great Britain and Germany, and was far less satisfactorythan in these latter countries, for the simple reasonthat in them the university authorities have some legalpower to secure testimony and administer punishment,while in America they have virtually none. The result hadbeen most unfortunate, as I have shown in other parts ofthese chapters referring to various student escapades in theolder American universities, some of them having cost humanlife. I had therefore taken the ground that, so far aspossible, students should be treated as responsible citizens;that, as citizens, they should be left to be dealt with by theconstituted authorities; and that members of the facultyshould no longer be considered as policemen. I had, duringmy college life, known sundry college tutors seriouslyinjured while thus doing police duty; I have seen aprofessor driven out of a room, through the panel of a door,with books, boots, and bootjacks hurled at his head; andeven the respected president of a college, a doctor ofdivinity, while patrolling buildings with the janitors,subjected to outrageous indignity.

Fortunately the causes already named, to which may beadded athletic sports, especially boating, so greatlydiminished student mischief at Cornell, that cases of disciplinewere reduced to a minimum—so much so, in fact, that therewere hardly ever any of a serious character. I felt thatthen and there was the time to reiterate the doctrine laiddown in my ``plan of organization,'' that a professorshould not be called upon to be a policeman, and that if thegrounds were to be policed, proper men should be employedfor that purpose. This doctrine was reasonableand it prevailed. The Cornell grounds and buildings,under the care of a patrol appointed for that purpose,have been carefully guarded, and never has a member ofthe faculty been called upon to perform police duty.

There were indeed some cases requiring discipline bythe faculty, and one of these will provoke a smile on thepart of all who took part in it as long as they shall live.There had come to us a stalwart, sturdy New Englander,somewhat above the usual student age, and showingconsiderable aptitude for studies in engineering. Variouscomplaints were made against him; but finally he wassummoned before the faculty for a very singular breachof good taste, if not of honesty. The entire instructingbody of that day being gathered about the long table inthe faculty room, and I being at the head of the table, theculprit was summoned, entered, and stood solemnly beforeus. Various questions were asked him, which heparried with great ingenuity. At last one was askedof a very peculiar sort, as follows: ``Mr. ——, did you,last month, in the village of Dundee, Yates County, passyourself off as Professor —— of this university,announcing a lecture and delivering it in his name?'' Heanswered blandly, ``Sir, I did go to Dundee in Yates County;I did deliver a lecture there; I did NOT announce myself asProfessor —— of Cornell University; what others mayhave done I do not know; all I know is that at the closeof my lecture several leading men of the town cameforward and said that they had heard a good many lecturesgiven by college professors from all parts of the State,and that they had never had one as good as mine.'' Ithink, of all the strains upon my risible faculties duringmy life, this answer provoked the greatest, and theremainder of the faculty were clearly in the same condition.I dismissed the youth at once, and hardly was he outsidethe door when a burst of titanic laughter shook the courtand the youth was troubled no more.

Far more serious was another case. The usual good-natured bickering between classes had gone on, and as aconsequence certain sophom*ores determined to pay offsome old scores against members of the junior class, at ajunior exhibition. To do this they prepared a ``mockprogramme,'' which, had it been merely comic, as someothers had been, would have provoked no ill feeling.Unfortunately, some miscreant succeeded in introducing intoit allusions of a decidedly Rabelaisian character. Theevening arrived, a large audience of ladies and gentlemenwere assembled, and this programme was freely distributed.The proceeding was felt to be an outrage; and Iserved notice on the class that the real of offender oroffenders, if they wished to prevent serious consequences to allconcerned, must submit themselves to the faculty and takedue punishment. Unfortunately, they were not manlyenough to do this. Thereupon, to my own deep regret andin obedience to my sense of justice, I suspended indefinitelyfrom the university the four officers of the class,its president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer.They were among the very best men in the class, allof them friends of my own; and I knew to a certaintythat they had had nothing directly to do with the articlesconcerned, that the utmost which could be said againstthem was that they had been careless as to what appearedin the programme, for which they were responsible. Mostbitter feeling arose, and I summoned a meeting of theentire student body. As I entered the room hisses wereheard; the time had evidently come for a grapple withthe whole body. I stated the case as it was: that the fourofficers would be suspended and must leave the universitytown until their return was allowed by the faculty; thatsuch an offense against decency could not be condoned;that I had understood that the entire class proposed tomake common cause with their officers and leave theuniversity with them; that to this we interposed no objection;that it simply meant less work for the faculty during theremainder of the year; that it was far more importantfor the university to maintain a character for decency andgood discipline than to have a large body of students; andthat, if necessary to maintain such a character, we wouldcertainly allow the whole student body in all the classes togo home and would begin anew. I then drew a picture.I sketched a member of the class who had left the universityon account of this discipline entering the paternaldoor, encountering a question as to the cause of hisunexpected home-coming, and replying that the cause was theoutrageous tyranny of the president and faculty. Ipictured, then, the father and mother of the home-comingstudent asking what the cause or pretext of this ``tyranny''was, and I then said: ``I defy any one of you to show yourfather and mother the `mock programme' which hascaused the trouble. There is not one of you here who daresdo it; there is not one of you who would not be turned outof his father's door if he were thus to insult his mother.''At this there came a round of applause. I then expressedmy personal regret that the penalty must fall upon fourmen whom I greatly respected; but fall it must unlessthe offenders were manly enough to give themselvesup. The result was that at the close I was greeted with around of applause; and immediately afterward the fourofficers came to me, acknowledged the justice of thediscipline, and expressed the hope that their suspension mightnot go beyond that term. It did not: at the close of theterm they were allowed to return; and from that day``mock programmes'' of the sort concerned, which in manyAmerican colleges had been a chronic evil, neverreappeared at Cornell. The result of this action encouragedme greatly as to the reliance to be placed on the sense ofjustice in the great body of our students when directlyand properly appealed to.

Still another thing which I sought to promote was areasonable devotion to athletics. My own experience asa member of a boating-club at Yale had shown me whatcould be done, and I think one of the best investments Iever made was in giving a racing-boat to the Cornell crewon Cayuga Lake. The fact that there were so manystudents trained sturdily in rural homes in the bracingair of western New York, who on every working-day ofcollege life tramped up the University Hill, and on otherdays explored the neighboring hills and vales, gave us abody of men sure to do well as athletes. At their firstcontest with the other universities on the ConnecticutRiver at Springfield they were beaten, but they took theirdefeat manfully. Some time after this, General Grant,then President of the United States, on his visit to theuniversity, remarked to me that he saw the race at Springfield;that our young men ought to have won it; and that,in his opinion, they would have won it if they had notbeen unfortunately placed in shallow water, where therewere eddies making against them. This remark struckme forcibly, coming as it did from one who had so keen ajudgment in every sort of contest. I bore it in mind, andwas not surprised when, a year or two later (1875), theCornell crews, having met at Saratoga Lake the crewsfrom Harvard, Yale, and other leading universities, wonboth the freshman and university races. It was humorouslycharged against me that when the news of thisreached Ithaca I rang the university bells. This was notthe fact. The simple truth was that, being in the midstof a body of students when the news came, and seeing themrush toward the bell-tower, I went with them to preventinjury to the bells by careless ringing; the ringing wasdone by them. I will not deny that the victory pleased me,as many others since gained by the Cornell crews havedone; but far more to me than the victory itself was aletter written me by a prominent graduate of Princetonwho was at Saratoga during the contest. He wrote me, ashe said, not merely to congratulate me on the victory, buton the fine way in which our students took it, and the manlyqualities which they showed in the hour of triumph andduring their whole stay at Saratoga. This gave me courage.From that day I have never felt any fears as to thecharacter of the student body. One leading cause of thesuccess of Cornell University, in the midst of all its trialsand struggles, has been the character of its students:working as they do under a system which gives them aninterest in the studies they are pursuing, they have usedthe large liberty granted them in a way worthy of all praise.

Nor is this happy change seen at Cornell alone. Thesame causes,—mainly the increase in the range of studiesand freedom of choice between them, have produced similarresults in all the leading institutions. Recalling thestudent brawl at the Harvard commons which cost thehistorian Prescott his sight, and the riot at the Harvardcommencement which blocked the way of President Everettand the British minister; recalling the fatal woundingof Tutor Dwight, the maiming of Tutor Goodrich, andthe killing of two town rioters by students at Yale; andrecalling the monstrous indignities to the president andfaculty at Hobart of which I was myself witness, as wellas the state of things at various other colleges in my owncollege days, I can testify, as can so many others, to the vastimprovement in the conduct and aims of American studentsduring the latter half of the nineteenth century.

CHAPTER XXI

DIFFICULTIES AND DANGERS AT CORNELL—1868-1872

The first business after formally opening the universitywas to put in operation the various courses ofinstruction, and vitally connected with these were thelectures of our non-resident professors. From these I hadhoped much and was not disappointed. It had long seemedto me that a great lack in our American universities wasjust that sort of impulse which non-resident professorsor lecturers of a high order could give. At Yale there hadbeen, in my time, very few lectures of any sort toundergraduates; the work in the various classes was carried on,as a rule, without the slightest enthusiasm, and wasconsidered by the great body of students a bore to be abridgedor avoided as far as possible. Hence such pranks ascutting out the tongue of the college bell, of which two orthree tongues still preserved in university club-rooms arereminders; hence, also, the effort made by members of myown class to fill the college bell with cement, which wouldset in a short time, and make any call to morning prayersand recitations for a day or two impossible—a performancewhich caused a long suspension of several of the bestyoung fellows that ever lived, some of them good scholars,and all of them men who would have walked miles to attenda really inspiring lecture.

And yet, one or two experiences showed me what mightbe done by arousing an interest in regular class work.Professor Thacher, the head of the department of Latin,who conducted my class through the ``Germania'' and``Agricola'' of Tacitus, was an excellent professor; buthe yielded to the system then dominant at Yale, and thewhole thing was but weary plodding. Hardly ever wasthere anything in the shape of explanation or comment;but at the end of his work with us he laid down the book,and gave us admirably the reasons why the study ofTacitus was of value, and why we might well recur to itin after years. Then came painfully into my mind thethought, ``What a pity that he had not said this at thebeginning of his instruction rather than at the end!''

Still worse was it with some of the tutors, who took usthrough various classical works, but never with a particleof appreciation for them as literature or philosophy. Ihave told elsewhere how my classmate Smalley fought itout with one of these. No instruction from outsidelectures was provided; but in my senior year there came toNew Haven John Lord and George William Curtis, theformer giving a course on modern history, the latterone upon recent literature, and both arousing my earnestinterest in their subjects. It was in view of theseexperiences that in my ``plan of organization'' I dweltespecially upon the value of non-resident professors inbringing to us fresh life from the outside, and in thuspreventing a certain provincialism and woodenness whichcome when there are only resident professors, and theseselected mainly from graduates of the institution itself.

The result of the work done by our non-residentprofessors more than answered my expectations. The twentylectures of Agassiz drew large numbers of our brightestyoung men, gave them higher insight into various problemsof natural science, and stimulated among manya zeal for special investigation. Thus resulted anenthusiasm which developed out of our student body severalscholars in natural science who have since taken rankamong the foremost teachers and investigators in theUnited States. So, too, the lectures of Lowell on earlyliterature and of Curtis on later literature aroused greatinterest among students of a more literary turn; whilethose of Theodore Dwight on the Constitution of theUnited States and of Bayard Taylor upon German literatureawakened a large number of active minds to thebeauties of these fields. The coming of Goldwin Smithwas an especial help to us. He remained longer than theothers; in fact, he became for two or three years a residentprofessor, exercising, both in his lecture-room and out ofit, a great influence upon the whole life of the university.At a later period, the coming of George W. Greene aslecturer on American history, of Edward A. Freeman,regius professor at Oxford, as a lecturer on Europeanhistory, and of James Anthony Froude in the same field,aroused new interest. Some of our experiences with thetwo gentlemen last named were curious. Freeman was arough diamond—in his fits of gout very rough indeed. Atsome of his lectures he appeared clad in a shooting-jacketand spoke sitting, his foot swathed to mitigate hissufferings. From New Haven came a characteristic story ofhim. He had been invited to attend an evening gathering,after one of his lectures, at the house of one of theprofessors, perhaps the finest residence in the town. Withthe exception of himself, the gentlemen all arrived inevening dress; he appeared in a shooting-jacket. Presentlytwo professors arrived; and one of them, glancingthrough the rooms, and seeing Freeman thus attired, askedthe other, ``What sort of a costume do you call that?'' Theanswer came instantly, ``I don't know, unless it is thecostume of a Saxon swineherd before the Conquest.'' Inview of Freeman's studies on the Saxon and Normanperiods and the famous toast of the dean of Wells, ``Inhonor of Professor Freeman, who has done so much toreveal to us the rude manners of our ancestors,'' the Yaleprofessor's answer seemed much to the point.

The lectures of Froude were exceedingly interesting;but every day he began them with the words ``Ladies andgentlemen,'' in the most comical falsetto imaginable,—a sort of Lord Dundreary manner,—so that, sittingbeside him, I always noticed a ripple of laughter run-ning over the whole audience, which instantly disappearedas he settled into his work. He had a way ofgiving color to his lectures by citing bits of humoroushistory. Thus it was that he threw a vivid light on thehorrors of civil war in Ireland during the sixteenth andseventeenth centuries, when he gave the plea of an Irishchieftain on trial for high treason, one of the chargesagainst him being that he had burned the Cathedral ofCashel. His plea was: ``Me lords, I niver would haveburned the cathaydral but that I supposed that his gracethe lord archbishop was inside.''

Speaking of the strength of the clan spirit, he told me astory of the late Duke of Argyll, as follows: At a banquetof the great clan of which the duke was chief, a splendidsnuff-box belonging to one of the clansmen, havingattracted attention, was passed round the long table forinspection. By and by it was missing. All attempts to trace itwere in vain, and the party broke up in disgust and distressat the thought that one of their number must be a thief.Some days afterward, the duke, putting on his dress-coat,found the box in his pocket, and immediately sent for theowner and explained the matter. ``I knew ye had it,'' saidthe owner. ``How did ye know it?'' said the duke. ``Sawye tak' it.'' ``Then why did n't ye tell me?'' asked theduke. ``I thocht ye wanted it,'' was the answer.

Speaking of university life, Froude told the story of anOxford undergraduate who, on being examined in Paley,was asked to name any instance which he had himselfnoticed of the goodness and forethought of the Almighty asevidenced in his works: to which the young man answered,``The formation of the head of a bulldog. Its nose is sodrawn back that it can hang on the bull and yet breathefreely; but for this, the bulldog would soon have to letgo for want of breath.''

Walking one day with Froude, I spoke to him regardinghis ``Nemesis of Faith,'' which I had read during myattach<e'>ship at St. Petersburg, and which had been greatlyobjected to by various Oxford dons, one of whom is said tohave burned a copy of it publicly in one of the collegequadrangles. He seemed somewhat dismayed at my question,and said, in a nervous sort of way, ``That was ayoung man's book—a young man's folly,'' and passedrapidly to other subjects.

From the stimulus given by the non-resident professorsthe resident faculty reaped much advantage. It mightwell be said that the former shook the bush and the lattercaught the birds. What is most truthfully stated on thetablet to Professor Agassiz in the Cornell Memorial Chapelof the university might, in great part, be said of all theothers. It runs as follows:

``To the memory of Louis Agassiz, LL.D. In the midstof great labors for science, throughout the world, heaided in laying the foundations of instruction at CornellUniversity, and, by his teachings here, gave an impulse toscientific studies, which remains a precious heritage. Thetrustees, in gratitude for his counsels and teachings, erectthis memorial. 1884.''

An incidental benefit of the system was its happyinfluence upon the resident professors. Coming fromabroad, and of recognized high position, the non-residentsbrought a very happy element to our social life. Noveteran of our faculty is likely to forget the charm theydiffused among us. To meet Agassiz socially was a delight;nor was it less a pleasure to sit at table with Lowellor Curtis. Of the many good stories told us by Lowell, Iremember one especially. During a stay in Paris he dinedwith Sainte-Beuve, and took occasion to ask that mosteminent of French critics which he thought the greaterpoet, Lamartine or Victor Hugo. Sainte-Beuve, shrugginghis shoulders, replied: ``Eh bien, charlatan pourcharlatan, je pref<e!>re Lamartine.'' This provoked anotherstory, which was that, being asked by an Americanprofessor whether in his opinion the Empire of NapoleonIII was likely to endure, Sainte-Beuve, who was asalaried senator of the Empire, answered with a shrug,``Monsieur, je suis pay<e'> pour le croire.'' Agassiz alsointerested me by showing me the friendly, confidential, andfamiliar letters which he was then constantly receivingfrom the Emperor of Brazil, Dom Pedro—letters in whichnot only matters of science but of contemporary historywere discussed. Bayard Taylor also delighted us all.Nothing could exceed, as a provocative to mirth, hisrecitations of sundry poems whose inspiration was inferior totheir ambition. One especially brought down the house—``The Eonx of Ruby,'' by a poet who had read Poe andBrowning until he never hesitated to coin any word, nomatter how nonsensical, which seemed likely to help hisjingle. In many respects the most charming of all thenewcomers was Goldwin Smith, whose stories, observations,reflections, deeply suggestive, humorous, and witty, wereespecially grateful at the close of days full of work andcare. His fund of anecdotes was large. One of themillustrated the fact that even those who are best acquaintedwith a language not their own are in constant danger ofmaking themselves ridiculous in using it. The Ducd'Aumale, who had lived long in England, and was supposedto speak English like an Englishman, presiding at a dinnerof the British Association for the Advancement of Science,gave a toast as follows: ``De tree of science, may itshed down pease upon de nations.''

Another story related to Sir Allan MacNab, who, whilecommander of the forces in Canada, having received acard inscribed, ``The MacNab,'' immediately returned thecall, and left a card on which was inscribed, ``The otherMacNab.''

As I revise these lines, thirty-six years after his firstcoming, he is visiting me again to lay the corner-stone ofthe noble building which is to commemorate his servicesto Cornell. Though past his eightieth year, his memoryconstantly brings up new reminiscences. One of these Icannot forbear giving. He was at a party given by LadyAshburton when Thomas Carlyle was present. Duringthe evening, which was beautiful, the guests went out uponthe lawn, and gazed at the starry heavens. All seemedespecially impressed by the beauty of the moon, whichwas at the full, when Carlyle, fastening his eyes upon it,was heard to croak out, solemnly and bitterly, ``Puir auldcreetur!''

The instruction of the university was at that time dividedbetween sundry general courses and various technicaldepartments, the whole being somewhat tentative. Thesegeneral courses were mainly three: the arts course,which embraced both Latin and Greek; the course inliterature, which embraced Latin and modern languages;and the course in science, which embraced more especiallymodern languages in connection with a somewhat extendedrange of scientific studies. Of these general divisions theone most in danger of shipwreck seemed to be the first.It had been provided for in the congressional act of1862, evidently by an afterthought, and it was generallyfelt that if, in the storms besetting us, anything must bethrown overboard, it would be this; but an opportunitynow arose for clenching it into our system. There wasoffered for sale the library of Professor Charles Anthonof Columbia, probably the largest and best collectionin classical philology which had then been broughttogether in the United States. Discussing the situationwith Mr. Cornell, I showed him the danger of restrictingthe institution to purely scientific and technicalstudies, and of thus departing from the university ideal.He saw the point, and purchased the Anthon library forus. Thenceforth it was felt that, with such a means ofinstruction, from such a source, the classical departmentmust stand firm; that it must on no account be sacrificed;that, by accepting this gift, we had pledged ourselves tomaintain it.

Yet, curiously, one of the most bitter charges constantlyreiterated against us was that we were depreciatingthe study of ancient classical literature. Again andagain it was repeated, especially in a leading daily journalof the metropolis under the influence of a sectariancollege, that I was ``degrading classical studies.'' No-thing could be more unjust; I had greatly enjoyed suchstudies myself, had found pleasure in them since mygraduation, and had steadily urged them upon those whohad taste or capacity for them. But, as a student and as auniversity instructor, I had noticed two things in point,as many other observers had done: the first of these wasthat very many youths who go through their Latin andGreek Readers, and possibly one or two minor authorsbesides, exhaust the disciplinary value of such studies, andthenceforward pursue them listlessly and perfunctorily,merely droning over them. On their account it seemedcertainly far better to present some other courses of study inwhich they could take an interest. As a matter of fact, Iconstantly found that many young men who had been doinghalf-way mental labor, which is perhaps worse thannone, were at once brightened and strengthened by devotingthemselves to other studies more in accordance withtheir tastes and aims.

But a second and very important point was that, inthe two colleges of which I had been an undergraduate,classical studies were really hampered and discreditedby the fact that the minority of students who lovedthem were constantly held back by a majority who dislikedthem; and I came to the conclusion that the trueway to promote such studies in the United States wasto take off this drag as much as possible, by presentingother courses of studies which would attract those whohad no taste for Latin and Greek, thus leaving those whohad a taste for them free to carry them much farther thanhad been customary in American universities up to thattime. My expectations in this respect were fully met. Afew years after the opening of the university, contestswere arranged between several of the leading colleges anduniversities, the main subjects in the competition beingLatin, Greek, and mathematics; and to the confusion ofthe gainsayers, Cornell took more first prizes in thesesubjects than did all the older competing institutionstogether. Thenceforward the talk of our ``degrading clas-sical studies'' was less serious. The history of such studiesat Cornell since that time has fully justified the policythen pursued. Every competent observer will, I feel sure,say that at no other American institution have thesestudies been pursued with more earnestness or with betterresults. The Museum of Classical Archaeology, which hassince been founded by the generous gift of Mr. Sage, hasstimulated an increased interest in them; and graduatesof Cornell are now exercising a wide influence in classicalteaching: any one adequately acquainted with the historyof American education knows what the influence of Cornellhas been in bettering classical instruction throughoutthe State of New York. There has been another incidentalgain. Among the melancholy things of college life in theold days was the relation of students to classicalprofessors. The majority of the average class looked on sucha professor as generally a bore and, as examinationsapproached, an enemy; they usually sneered at him as apedant, and frequently made his peculiarities a subject forderision. Since that day far better relations have grown upbetween teachers and taught, especially in those institutionswhere much is left to the option of the students. The studentsin each subject, being those who are really interestedin it, as a rule admire and love their professor, and whateverlittle peculiarities he may have are to them but pleasingaccompaniments of his deeper qualities. This is a perfectlysimple and natural result, which will be understoodfully by any one who has observed human nature to muchpurpose.

Besides this course in arts, in which classical studieswere especially prominent, there were established coursesin science, in literature, and in philosophy, differing fromeach other mainly in the proportion observed betweenancient languages, modern languages, and studies in varioussciences and other departments of thought. Each ofthese courses was laid down with much exactness for thefirst two years, with large opportunity for choice betweensubjects in the last two years. The system worked well,and has, from time to time, been modified, as the improvementin the schools of the State, and other circ*mstanceshave required.

In proposing these courses I was much influenced byan idea broached in Herbert Spencer's ``Treatise onEducation.'' This idea was given in his discussion of thecomparative values of different studies, when he arrivedat the conclusion that a subject which ought to be amongthose taught at the beginning of every course is humanphysiology,—that is to say, an account of the structure,functions, and proper management of the human body, onwhich so much depends for every human being. It seemedto me that not only was there great force in Spencer'sargument, but that there was an additional reason forplacing physiology among the early studies of most ofthe courses; and this was that it formed a very goodbeginning for scientific study in general. An observationof my own strengthened me in this view. I rememberedthat, during my school life, while my tastes were in thedirection of classical and historical studies, the weeklyvisits to the school by the surgeon who lectured upon thehuman eye, ear, and sundry other organs, using modelsand preparations, interested me intensely, and were a realrelief from other studies. There was still another reason.For the professorship in this department Professor Agassizhad recommended to me Dr. Burt Wilder; and I soonfound him, as Agassiz had foretold, not only a thoroughinvestigator, but an admirable teacher. His lectures werenot read, but were, as regards phrasing, extemporaneous;and it seemed to me that, mingled with other studies, acourse of lectures given in so good a style, by so gifted aman, could not fail to be of great use in teaching ourstudents, incidentally, the best way of using the Englishlanguage in communicating their ideas to their fellowmen.I had long deplored the rhetorical fustian and oratoricaltall-talk which so greatly afflict our country, andwhich had been, to a considerable extent, cultivated in ourcolleges and universities; I determined to try, at least,to substitute for it clean, clear, straightforward statementand illustration; and it seemed to me that a course oflectures on a subject which admitted neither fustian nortall-talk, by a clear-headed, clear-voiced, earnest, andhonest man, was the best thing in the world for this purpose.So was adopted the plan of beginning most courses withan extended course of lectures upon human physiology, inwhich to real practice in investigation by the class is addedthe hearing of a first-rate lecturer.

As regards the course in literature, I determined thatuse should be made of this to promote the general cultureof students, as had been done up to that time by veryfew of our American universities. At Yale in my day,there was never even a single lecture on any subjectin literature, either ancient or modern: everything wasdone by means of ``recitations'' from text-books; andwhile young men read portions of masterpieces in Greekand Latin, their attention was hardly ever directed tothese as literature. As regards the great fields of modernliterature, nothing whatever was done. In the Englishliterature and language, every man was left entirely to hisown devices. One of the first professors I called to Cornellwas Hiram Corson, who took charge of the departmentof English literature; and from that day to this he hasbeen a center from which good culture has radiated amongour students. Professor H. B. Sprague was also called;and he also did excellent work, though in a different way.I also added non-resident professors. My original schemeI still think a good one. It was to call James Russell Lowellfor early English literature, Bishop Arthur ClevelandCoxe for the literature of the Elizabethan and Jacobeanperiods, Edwin Whipple for the literature of QueenAnne's time, and George William Curtis for recent andcontemporary literature. Each of these men was admirableas a scholar and lecturer in the particular field named;but the restricted means of the university obliged me tocut the scheme down, so that it included simply Lowellfor early and Curtis for recent literature. Other lecturesin connection with the instruction of the resident professorsmarked an epoch, and did much to remove anythinglike Philistinism from the student body. Bayard Taylor'slectures in German literature thus supplemented admirablythe excellent work of the resident professors Hewettand Horatio White. To remove still further any danger ofPhilistinism, I called an eminent graduate of Harvard,—Charles Chauncey Shackford,—whose general lectures invarious fields of literature were attractive and useful. Inall this I was mainly influenced by the desire to preventthe atmosphere of the university becoming simply andpurely that of a scientific and technical school. Highly asI prized the scientific spirit and technical training, Ifelt that the frame of mind engendered by them should bemodified by an acquaintance with the best literature asliterature. There were many evidences that my theorywas correct. Some of our best students in the technicaldepartments developed great love for literary studies.One of them attracted much attention by the literaryexcellence of his writings; and on my speaking to him aboutit, and saying that it seemed strange to me that a mandevoted to engineering should show such a taste forliterature, he said that there was no greater delight to himthan passing from one of the studies to the other—thateach was a recreation after the other.

The effort to promote that element in the general cultureof the student body which comes from literature, ancientand modern, gained especial strength from a sourceusually unpromising—the mathematical department.Two professors highly gifted in this field exercised a wideand ennobling influence outside it. First of these wasEvan William Evans, who had been known to me at Yaleas not only one of the best scholars in the class of 1851,but also one of its two foremost writers. Later, hedeveloped a passion for modern literature, and his influencewas strongly felt in behalf of the humanities. Hissuccessor was James Edward Oliver, a graduate of Harvard,a genius in his chosen field, but always exercising a largeinfluence by virtue of his broad, liberal, tolerant views oflife which were promoted by study of the best thoughts ofthe best thinkers of all times.

The work of organizing and developing the generalcourses was comparatively easy, and the stimulus given atthe outset by the non-resident professors rendered itall the more so. But with the technical departments andspecial courses there were grave difficulties. The departmentof civil engineering, of course, went easily enough;there were plenty of precedents for it, and the admirableprofessor first elected was, at his death, succeeded byanother who most vigorously and wisely developed it: EstevanFuertes, drawn from the most attractive surroundingsin the island of Porto Rico to the United States by a deeplove of science, and retained here during the rest of hislife by a love, no less sincere, for American liberty—a rarecombination of the virtues and capabilities of the Latinraces with the best results of an American environment. Imay mention, in passing, that this combination came outcuriously in his views of American citizenship. He waswont to marvel at the indifference of the average Americanto his privileges and duties, and especially at the lackof a proper estimate of his function at elections. I haveheard him say: ``When I vote, I put on my best clothesand my top hat, go to the polls, salute the officers, take offmy hat, and cast my ballot.''

It may be worth mentioning here that, at the election ofthe first professor in this department, a curious questionarose. Among the candidates was one from Harvard,whose testimonials showed him to be an admirableacquisition; and among these testimonials was one from aneminent bishop, who spoke in high terms of the scientificqualifications of the candidate, but added that he felt ithis duty to warn me that the young man was a Unitarian.At this I wrote the bishop, thanking him, and saying thatthe only question with me was as to the moral and intellectualqualifications of the candidate; and that if thesewere superior to those of other candidates, I would nominatehim to the trustees even if he were a Buddhist. Thegood bishop at first took some offense at this; and, in oneof the communications which ensued, expressed doubtswhether laymen had any right to teach at all, since thecommand to teach was given to the apostles and theirsuccessors, and seemed therefore confined to those who hadreceived holy orders; but he became most friendly later,and I look back to my meetings with him afterward asamong the delightful episodes of my life.

The technical department which caused me the mostanxiety was that of agriculture. It had been given themost prominent place in the Congressional act of 1862,and in our charter from the State in 1865. But howshould agriculture be taught; what proportion should weobserve between theory and practice; and what should thepractice be? These questions elicited all sorts of answers.Some eminent agriculturists insisted that the farm shouldbe conducted purely as a business operation; others thatit should be a ``model farm''—regardless of balancesheets; others still that it should be wholly experimental.Our decision was to combine what was best in all theseviews; and several men attempted this as resident professors,but with small success. One day, after a series ofsuch failures, when we were almost desperate, thereappeared a candidate from an agricultural college in Ireland.He bore a letter from an eminent clergyman in New York,was of pleasing appearance and manners, gave glowingaccounts of the courses he had followed, expatiated on themeans by which farming had been carried to a high pointin Scotland, and ventured suggestions as to what mightbe done in America. I had many misgivings. Hisexperience was very remote from ours, and he seemed tome altogether too elegant for the work in hand; but Mr.Cornell had visited English farms, was greatly impressedby their excellence, and urged a trial of the new-comer.He was duly called; and, that he might begin his coursesof instruction, an order was given for a considerablecollection of English agricultural implements and for theerection of new farm-buildings after English patterns,Mr. Cornell generously advancing the required money.

All this took time—much time. At first great thingswere expected by the farmers of the State, but graduallytheir confidence waned. As they saw the new professorwalking over the farm in a dilettantish way, superintendingoperations with gloved hands, and never touchingany implement, doubts arose which soon ripened intoskepticism. Typical were the utterances of our farmmanager. He was a plain, practical farmer, who had taken thefirst prize of the State Agricultural Society for theexcellence of his own farm; and, though he at first indulgedin high hopes regarding the new professor, he soon hadmisgivings, and felt it his duty to warn me. He said:``Yew kin depend on 't, he ain't a-goin' to do nothin'; hedon't know nothin' about corn, and he don't want toknow nothin' about corn; AND HE DON'T BELIEVE IN PUNKINS!Depend on 't, as soon as his new barn is finishedand all his new British tackle is brought together, he'llquit the job.'' I reasoned that, to a farmer brought upamong the glorious fields of Indian corn in western NewYork, and accustomed to rejoice in the sight of goldenpumpkins, diffusion of other cultures must seem like treason;but, alas! he was right. As soon as the new buildingsand arrangements were ready for our trial of Britishscientific agriculture, the young foreign professor notifiedme that he had accepted the headship of an agriculturalcollege in Canada. Still, he met with no greater successthere than with us; nor was his reputation increased when,after the foul attacks made upon Mr. Cornell in thelegislature, he volunteered to come to the investigation andtestify that Mr. Cornell was ``not a practical man.'' Inthis the career of the young agriculturist culminated.Having lost his professorship in Canada, he undertookthe management of a grocery in the oil-regions of westernPennsylvania; and scientific British agriculture stillawaits among us a special representative. Happily, sincethat day, men trained practically in the agriculture of theUnited States have studied the best British methods, andbrought us much that has been of real use.

Fortunately I had found three men who enabled us totide our agricultural department over those dark days, inwhich we seemed to be playing ``Hamlet'' with Hamletleft out. The first of these was the Hon. John StantonGould, whom I called as a lecturer upon agriculture. Hehad been president of the State Agricultural Society, andwas eminent, not only for his knowledge of his subject,but for his power of making it interesting. Men cameaway from Mr. Gould's lectures filled with intense desireto get hold of a spade or hoe and to begin turning the soil.

So, also, the steady work of Professor George C. Caldwell,whom I had called from the State College of Pennsylvaniato take charge of the department of agriculturalchemistry, won the respect of all leaders in agriculturethroughout the State, and, indeed, throughout the country.And with especial gratitude should be named Dr.James Law of the British Royal Veterinary College, whomI had found in London, and called to our veterinaryprofessorship. Never was there a more happy selection.From that day to this, thirty-six years, he has been atower of strength to the university, and has renderedincalculable services to the State and Nation. His quiet,thorough work impressed every one most favorably. Therudest of the surrounding farmers learned more and moreto regard him with respect and admiration, and the Statehas recently recognized his services by establishing inconnection with the university a State veterinary collegeunder his control.

The work of these three men saved us. Apart from it,the agricultural department long remained a sort of sloughof despond; but at last a brighter day dawned. From thefar-off State Agricultural College of Iowa came tidingsof a professor—Mr. J. I. P. Roberts—who united the practicaland theoretical qualities desired. I secured him, andthenceforward there was no more difficulty. For morethan twenty years, as professor and lecturer, he haslargely aided in developing agriculture throughout theState and country; and when others were added tohim, like Comstock and Bailey, the success of thedepartment became even more brilliant. Still, its oldreputation lasted for a time, even after a better era hadbeen fully ushered in. About a year after the tide hadthus turned a meeting of the State ``Grange'' was heldat the neighboring city of Elmira; and the leading speakersmade the university and its agricultural college anobject of scoffing which culminated in a resolutiondenouncing both, and urging the legislature to revoke ourcharter. At this a bright young graduate of Cornell, aninstructor in the agricultural department, who happenedto be present, stood up manfully, put a few pertinentquestions, found that none of the declaimers had visited theuniversity, declared that they were false to their duty innot doing so, protested against their condemning theinstitution unheard and unseen, and then and there invitedthem all to visit the institution and its agriculturaldepartment without delay. Next day this whole body of farmers,with their wives, sons, and daughters, were upon us.Everything was shown them. Knowing next to nothingabout modern appliances for instruction in science andthey were amazed at all they saw; the libraries,the laboratories, and, above all, the natural-sciencecollections and models greatly impressed them. They were takeneverywhere, and shown not only our successes but ourfailures; nothing was concealed from them, and, as a result,though they ``came to scoff,'' they ``remained topray.'' They called a new session of their body, pledgedto us their support, and passed resolutions commendingour work and condemning the State legislature for notdoing more in our behalf. That was the turning-point forthe agricultural department; and from that day to thisthe legislature has dealt generously with us, and theinfluence of the department for good throughout the Statehas been more and more widely acknowledged.

Of the two technical departments referred to in the origi-nal act of Congress, the second—specified under the vaguename of ``Mechanic Arts''—went better, though there wasat first much groping to find just what ought to be done.First of all, there was a danger which demanded delicatehandling. This danger lay in Mr. Cornell's wish to establish,in vital connection with the university, great factoriesfor the production of articles for sale, especially chairsand shoes, thus giving large bodies of students opportunitiesfor self-support. In discussing this matter with him,I pointed to the fact that, in becoming a manufacturingcorporation we were making a business venture nevercontemplated by our charter; that it was exceedingly doubtfulwhether such a corporation could be combined with aneducational institution without ruining both; that the menbest fitted to manage a great factory were hardly likelyto be the best managers of a great institution of learning;that under our charter we had duties, not merely to thosewho wished to support themselves by labor, but to others;and I finally pointed out to him many reasons for holdingthat such a scheme contravened the act of Congress andthe legislation of the State. I insisted that the object ofour charters from the State and Nation was not to enablea great number of young men to secure an elementaryeducation while making shoes and chairs; that for thesethe public schools were provided; that our main purposemust be to send out into all parts of the State and Nationthoroughly trained graduates, who should develop andimprove the main industries of the country, and, by theirknowledge and example, train up skilful artisans ofvarious sorts and in every locality. Mr. Cornell's conductin this matter was admirable. Tenacious as heusually was when his opinion was formed, and much as itmust have cost him to give up what had become a darlingproject, he yielded to this view.

New questions now opened as to this ``Department ofMechanic Arts.'' It was clear to me, from what I hadseen abroad, that not all the models I had sent fromEurope would be sufficient to give the practical characterwhich such a department needed; that its graduates musthave a direct, practical acquaintance with the constructionand use of machinery before they could become leaders ingreat mechanical enterprises; that they must be made, notonly mathematicians and draftsmen, but skilled workmen,practically trained in the best methods and processes.A very shrewd artisan said to me: ``When a youngmechanical engineer comes among us fresh from college, onlyable to make figures and pictures, we rarely have muchrespect for him: the trouble with the great majorityof those who come from technical institutions is thatthey don't know as much about practical methods andprocesses as we know.''

I felt that there was truth in this, but, as things were,hardly dared tell this to the trustees. It would have scaredthem, for it seemed to open the door to great expendituresdemanded by a mere theory; but I laid my views beforeMr. Cornell, and he agreed with me so far as to send tous from his agricultural works at Albany sundry largepieces of old machinery, which he thought might berebuilt for our purposes. But this turned out to be hardlypracticable. I dared not, at that stage of the proceedings,bring into the board of trustees a proposal to buy machineryand establish a machine-shop; the whole would have achimerical look, and was sure to repel them. Therefore itwas that, at my own expense, I bought a power-lathe andother pieces of machinery; and, through the active effortsof Professor John L. Morris, my steadfast supporter inthe whole matter, these were set up in our temporarywooden laboratory. A few students began using them, andto good purpose. Mr. Cornell was greatly pleased. Othertrustees of a practical turn visited the place, and the resultwas that opinion in the governing board soon favored alarge practical equipment for the department.

On this I prepared a report, taking up the whole subjectwith great care, and brought it before them, my mainsuggestion being that a practical beginning of the departmentshould be made by the erection and equipment of asmall building on the north side of the university grounds,near our main water-power. Then came a piece of greatgood fortune. Among the charter trustees of the universitywas Mr. Cornell's old friend and associate in telegraphicenterprise, Hiram Sibley of Rochester; and at theclose of the meeting Mr. Sibley asked me if I could givehim a little time on the university grounds after theadjournment of the meeting. I, of course, assented; andnext morning, on our visiting the grounds together, heasked me to point out the spot where the proposed collegeof mechanic arts might best be placed. On my doing so, helooked over the ground carefully, and then said that hewould himself erect and equip the building. So beganSibley College, which is to-day, probably, all thingsconsidered, the most successful department of this kind inour own country, and perhaps in any country. In thehands, first of Professors Morris and Sweet, and laterunder the direction of Dr. Thurston, it has become ofthe greatest value to every part of the United States, andindeed to other parts of the American continent.

At the outset a question arose, seemingly trivial, butreally serious. Mr. Sibley had gone far beyond his originalproposals; and when the lecture-rooms, drafting-rooms, modeling-rooms, foundries, shops for ironwork,woodwork, and the like, had been finished, the questioncame up: Shall our aim be to produce things having apecuniary value, or shall we produce simply samples ofthe most highly finished workmanship, having, generally,no value? Fortunately, Professors Morris and Sweet wereable to combine both these purposes, and to employ aconsiderable number of students in the very best of workwhich had a market value. The whole thing was therebymade a success, but it waited long for recognition. Aresult followed not unlike some which have occurred inother fields in our country. At the Centennial Exhibitionof 1876, an exhibit was made of the work done by studentsin Sibley College, including a steam-engine, power-lathes,face-plates, and various tools of precision, admirably fin-ished, each a model in its kind. But while many mechanicspraised them, they attracted no special attention fromNew England authorities. On the other hand, an exhibitof samples of work from the School of Technology ofMoscow, which had no merchantable value,—many of thepieces being of antiquated pattern, but of exquisite finishand showily arranged,—aroused great admiration amongsundry New England theorists; even the head of theMassachusetts Institute of Technology, in enthusiasticmagazine articles, called the attention of the whole country tothem, and urged the necessity of establishing machine-shops in connection with schools of science. The fact thatthis had already been done, and better done, at Cornell,was loftily ignored. Western New York seemed a Nazarethout of which no good could come. That same strainingof the mind's eye toward the East, that same tendencyto provincialism which had so often afflicted Massachusetts,evidently prevented her wise men in technologyfrom recognizing any new departure west of them.

At a later period I had occasion to make a finalcomment on all this. Both as commissioner at the ParisExhibition and as minister to Russia, I came to knowintimately Wischniegradsky, who had been the head of theMoscow School of Technology and afterward Russianminister of finance. He spoke to me in the highest termsof what original American methods had done for railways;and the climax was reached when the Moscowmethods, so highly praised by Boston critics, proved to beutterly inadequate in training mechanical engineers tofurnish the machinery needed in Russia, and men fromthe American schools, trained in the methods of Cornell,sent over locomotives and machinery of all sorts for thenew Trans-Siberian Railway, of which the eastern terminuswas that very city of Moscow which enjoyed theprivileges so lauded and magnified by the Boston critics!Time has reversed their judgment: the combination of thetwo systems, so ably and patiently developed by DirectorThurston, is the one which has happily prevailed.

Few days in the history of Cornell University havebeen so fraught with good as that on which Thurstonaccepted my call to the headship of Sibley College. At thevery outset he gained the confidence and gratitude of trustees,professors, students, and, indeed, of his professionthroughout the country, by his amazing success asprofessor, as author, and as organizer and administratorof that department, which he made not only one of thelargest, but one of the best of its kind in the world. Therapidity and wisdom of his decisions, the extent and excellenceof his work, his skill in attracting the best men, hisability in quieting rivalries and—animosities, and the kindlyfirmness of his whole policy were a source of wonder to allwho knew him. And, at his lamented death in 1903, it wasfound that he had rendered another service of a sort whichsuch strong men as he are often incapable of rendering—he had trained a body of assistants and students worthyto take up his work.

Another department which I had long wished to seeestablished in our country now began to take shape.From my boyhood I had a love for architecture. In myyoung manhood this had been developed by readings inRuskin, and later by architectural excursions in Europe;and the time had now arrived when it seemed possibleto do something for it. I had collected what, at thatperiod, was certainly one of the largest, if not the largest,of the architectural libraries in the United States, besidesseveral thousand large architectural photographs, drawings,casts, models, and other material from every countryin Europe. This had been, in fact, my pet extravagance;and a propitious time seeming now to arrive, I proposedto the trustees that if they would establish a departmentof architecture and call a professor to it, I would transferto it my special library and collections. This offer wasaccepted; and thus was founded this additional department,which began its good career under Professor CharlesBabco*ck, who, at this present writing, is enjoying, asprofessor emeritus, the respect and gratitude of a longseries of classes which have profited by his teachings, andthe cordial companionship of his colleagues, who rejoiceto profit by his humorous, but none the less profound,observations upon problems arising in the university and inthe world in general.

As regards this illustrative material, I recall onecurious experience. While on one of my architecturalexcursions through the great towns of eastern France, Iarrived at Troyes. On visiting the government agent forphotographing public monuments, I noticed in his roomssome admirably executed pieces of stone carving,—capitals,corbels, and the like,—and on my asking him whencethese came, he told me that they had been recently takenout of the cathedral by the architect who was ``restoring''it. After my purchases were made, he went with me tothis great edifice, one of the finest in Europe; and thereI found that, on each side of the high altar, the architecthad taken out several brackets, or corbels, of the bestmediaeval work, and substituted new ones designed byhimself. One of these corbels thus taken out the governmentphotographer had in his possession. It was very striking,representing the grotesque face of a monk in the midst ofa mass of foliage supporting the base of a statue, all beingcarved with great spirit. Apart from its architecturalvalue, it had a historical interest, since it must havewitnessed the famous betrothal of the son and daughter ofthe English and French kings mentioned in Shakspere,to say nothing of many other mediaeval pageants.

On my making known to the photographer the fact thatI was engaged in founding a school of architecture in theUnited States, and was especially anxious to secure a goodspecimen of French work, he sold me this example, whichis now in the museum of the Architectural Department atCornell. I allude to this, in passing, as showing whatmonstrous iniquities (and I could name many others) arecommitted in the great mediaeval buildings of Europeunder pretense of ``restoration.''

CHAPTER XXII

FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF UNIVERSITY COURSES—1870-1872

In close connection with the technical departments werevarious laboratories. For these, place was at firstmade here and there in cellars and sheds; but at last wewere able to erect for them buildings large and complete,and to the opening of the first of these came Mr. Cleveland,then Governor of New York, and later President ofthe United States. Having laid the corner-stone of theMemorial Chapel and made an excellent speech, whichencouraged us all, he accompanied me to the new buildingdevoted to chemistry and physics, which was then openedfor the first time. On entering it, he expressed his surpriseat its equipment, and showed that he had seen nothingof the kind before. I learned afterward that he hadreceived a thorough preparation in classics and mathematicsfor college, but that, on account of the insufficient meansof his father, he was obliged to give up his universitycourse; and it was evident, from his utterances at thistime, as well as when visiting other colleges and universities,that he lamented this.

Out of this laboratory thus opened was developed,later, a new technical department. Among my happiesthours were those spent in visiting the various buildings,collections, and lecture-rooms, after my morning's work,to see how all were going on; and, during various visitsto the new laboratory I noticed that the majority of thestudents were, in one way or another, giving attention tomatters connected with electricity. There had alreadybeen built in the machine-shops, under the direction ofProfessor Anthony, a dynamo which was used in lightingour grounds, this being one of the first examplesof electric lighting in the United States; and on oneof my visits I said to him, ``It looks much as if, withthe rapid extension throughout the country of the telegraph,telephone, electric lighting, and electric railways,we shall be called on, before long, to train men fora new profession in connection with them.'' As heassented to this, I asked him to sketch out a plan fora ``Department of Electrical Engineering,'' and in duetime he appeared with it before the executive committeeof the trustees. But it met much opposition from one ofour oldest members, who was constitutionally averse towhat he thought new-fangled education, partly fromconservatism, partly from considerations of expense; and thisopposition was so threatening that, in order to save theproposed department, I was obliged to pledge myself tobecome responsible for any extra expense caused by itduring the first year. Upon this pledge it was established.Thus was created, as I believe, the first department ofelectrical engineering ever known in the United States,and, so far as I can learn, the first ever known in anycountry.

But while we thus strove to be loyal to those parts ofour charter which established technical instruction, therewere other parts in which I personally felt even a deeperinterest. In my political reminiscences I have acknowledgedthe want of preparation in regard to practicalmatters of public concern which had hampered me as amember of the State Senate. Having revolved this subjectin my mind for a considerable time, I made, whilecommissioner to the Paris Exposition of 1878, a carefulexamination of the courses of study in political andeconomic science established in European universities, andon my return devoted to this subject my official report.Like such reports generally, it was delayed a long timein the Government Printing-office, was then damned withfaint praise, and nothing more came of it until the followingyear, when, being called to deliver the annual addressat the Johns Hopkins University, I wrought its mainpoints into a plea for education in relation to politics.This was widely circulated with some effect, and I nowbrought a modest proposal in the premises before ourtrustees. Its main feature was that Mr. Frank B. Sanborn,a graduate of Harvard, Secretary of the Board ofCharities of the State of Massachusetts and of the SocialScience Association of the United States, should be calledto give a course of practical lectures before the seniorclass during at least one term,—his subjects to be such aspauperism, crime (incipient and chronic), inebriety, lunacy,and the best dealing of modern states with these;also that his instructions should be given, not only bylectures, but by actual visits with his classes to the greatcharitable and penal institutions of the State, of whichthere were many within easy distance of the university.For several years, and until the department took a differentform, this plan was carried out with excellent results.Professor Sanborn and his students, beginning with thecounty almshouse and jail, visited the reformatories, theprisons, the penitentiaries, and the asylums of various sortsin the State; made careful examinations of them; drew upreports upon them, these reports forming the subject ofdiscussions in which professor and students took earnestpart; and a number of young men who have since takeninfluential places in the State legislature were thusinstructed as to the best actual and possible dealings with allthese subjects. I still think that more should be done inall our universities to train men by this method for thepublic service in this most important and interesting field,and also in matters pertaining generally to State, county,and city administration.

Closely connected with this instruction was that inpolitical economy and history. As to the first of these, Ihad, some years before, seen reason to believe that mystrong, and perhaps bigoted free-trade ideas were at leastnot so universal in their application as I had supposed.Down to the time of our Civil War I had been very intoleranton this subject, practically holding a protectionistto be either a Pharisee or an idiot. I had convincedmyself not only that the principles of free trade areaxiomatic, but that they afford the only means of bindingnations together in permanent peace; that Great Britainwas our best friend; that, in desiring us to adopt her ownsystem, she was moved by broad, philosophic, andphilanthropic considerations. But as the war drew on and Isaw the haughtiness and selfishness toward us shown byher ruling classes, there came in my mind a revulsionwhich led me to examine more closely the foundationsof my economical belief. I began to attribute moreimportance to John Stuart Mill's famous ``exception,''to the effect that the building up of certain industriesmay be necessary to the very existence of a nation, andthat perhaps the best way of building them up is toadopt an adequate system of protective duties. Downto this time I had been a disciple of Adam Smith andBastiat; but now appeared the published lectures ofRoscher of Leipsic, upon what he called ``The HistoricalSystem'' of political economy. Its fundamental idea wasthat political economy is indeed a science, to be wroughtout by scientific methods; but that the question how farits conclusions are adapted to the circ*mstances of anynation at any time is for statesmen to determine. Thisimpressed me much. Moreover, I was forced to acknowledgethat the Morrill protective tariff, adopted at theCivil War period, was a necessity for revenue; so thatmy old theory of a tariff for revenue easily developedinto a belief in a tariff for revenue with incidentalprotection. This idea has been developed in my mind as timehas gone on, until at present I am a believer in protectionas the only road to ultimate free trade. My process ofreasoning on the subject I have given in another chapter.

At the opening of the university there was but littleinstruction in political economy, that little being mainlygiven by our professor of moral philosophy, Dr. Wilson,a man broad in his views and strong in reasoning power,who had been greatly impressed by the ideas of FriedrichList, the German protectionist. But lectures were alsogiven by free-traders, and I adopted the plan of havingboth sides as well represented as possible. This was, atfirst, complained of; sundry good people said it was likecalling a professor of atheism into a theological seminary;but my answer was that our university was not, like atheological seminary, established to arrive at certainconclusions fixed beforehand, or to propagate an establishedcreed; that, political economy not being an exact science,our best course was to call eminent lecturers to presentboth sides of the main questions in dispute. The result wasgood. It stimulated much thought, and doubtless didsomething to promote that charity to opposing economicalopinions which in my own case had been, through myearly manhood, so conspicuously lacking.

The second of these departments—history—was theone for which I cared most. I believed then, and laterexperience has strengthened my conviction, that the bestof all methods in presenting every subject bearing onpolitical and social life is the historical. My own studieshad been mainly in this field, and I did what I couldto establish historical courses in the university. Thelectures which I had given at the University of Michiganwere now developed more fully and again presented; butto these I constantly added new lectures and, indeed, newcourses, though at a great disadvantage, since my administrativeduties stood constantly in the way of my professorialwork. At the same time I went on collecting myhistorical library until it became, in its way, probably thelargest and most complete of its kind in the possession ofany individual in the United States. Gradually strongmen were drawn into the department, and finally therecame one on whom I could lay a large portion of the work.

The story is somewhat curious. During the year 1877-1878, in Germany and France, I had prepared a shortcourse of lectures upon the historical development of criminallaw; and while giving it to my senior class after myreturn, I noticed a student, two or three years below theaverage age of the class, carefully taking notes andapparently much interested. One day, going toward myhouse after the lecture, I found him going in the samedirection, and, beginning conversation with him, learnedthat he was a member of the sophom*ore class; that he hadcorresponded with me, two or three years before, as to thebest means of working his way through the university;had followed out a suggestion of mine, then made, in thathe had learned the printer's trade; had supported himselfthrough the preparatory school by means of it, and wasthen carrying himself through college by setting type forthe university press. Making inquiries of professors andstudents, I found that the young man, both at school andat the university, was, as a rule, at the head of every classhe had entered; and therefore it was that, when theexamination papers came in at the close of the term, Ifirst took up his papers to see how he had stood the test.They proved to be masterly. There were excellent scholarsin the senior class, but not one had done so well as thisyoung sophom*ore; in fact, I doubt whether I could havepassed a better examination on my own lectures. Therewas in his answers a combination of accuracy with breadthwhich surprised me. Up to that time, passing judgmenton the examination papers had been one of the mosttedious of my burdens; for it involved wading throughseveral hundred pages of crabbed manuscript, every term,and weighing carefully the statements therein embodied.A sudden light now flashed upon me. I sent for the youngsophom*ore, cautioned him to secrecy, and then and theremade him my examiner in history. He, a member of thesophom*ore class, took the papers of the seniors and residentgraduates, and passed upon them carefully and admirably—better than I should have ever had the time andpatience to do. Of course this was kept entirely secret;for had the seniors known that I had intrusted their papersto the tender mercies of a sophom*ore, they would probablyhave mobbed me. This mode of examination continueduntil the young man's graduation, when he wasopenly appointed examiner in history, afterwardbecoming instructor in history, then assistant professor;and, finally, another university having called him to afull professorship, he was appointed full professor ofhistory at Cornell, and has greatly distinguished himselfboth by his ability in research and his power in teaching.To him have been added others as professors, assistantprofessors, and instructors, so that the department is nowon an excellent footing. In one respect its development hasbeen unexpectedly satisfactory. At the opening of theuniversity one of my strongest hopes had been to establish aprofessorship of American history. It seemed to me monstrousthat there was not, in any American university, acourse of lectures on the history of the United States; andthat an American student, in order to secure suchinstruction in the history of his own country, must go tothe lectures of Laboulaye at the Coll<e!>ge de France. ThitherI had gone some years before, and had been greatlyimpressed by Laboulaye's admirable presentation of hissubject, and awakened to the fact that American historyis not only more instructive, but more interesting, thanI had ever supposed it. My first venture was to callProfessor George W. Greene of Brown University for acourse of lectures on the history of our Revolutionaryperiod, and Professor Dwight of Columbia College fora course upon the constitutional history of the UnitedStates. But finally my hope was more fully realized: Iwas enabled to call as resident professor my old friendMoses Coit Tyler, whose book on the ``History of AmericanLiterature'' is a classic, and who, in his new field,exerted a powerful influence for good upon severalgenerations of students. More than once since, as I haveheard him, it has been borne in upon me that I was borntoo soon. Remembering the utter want of any suchinstruction in my own college days, I have especially enviedthose who have had the good fortune to be conducted byhim, and men like him, through the history of our owncountry.[6]

[6] To my great sorrow, he died in 1900.—A. D. W.

In some of these departments to which I have referredthere were occasionally difficulties requiring much tactin handling. During my professorial days at the Universityof Michigan I once heard an eminent divine deliveran admirable address on what he called ``The OscillatoryLaw of Human Progress''—that is, upon the tendencyof human society, when reacting from one evil, to swingto another almost as serious in the opposite direction. Inswinging away from the old cast-iron course of instruction,and from the text-book recitation of the mere drybones of literature, there may be seen at this hour sometendency to excessive reaction. When I note in sundryuniversity registers courses of instruction offered in someof the most evanescent and worthless developments ofcontemporary literature,—some of them, indeed, worsethan worthless,—I think of a remark made to me by acollege friend of mine who will be remembered by theYale men of the fifties for his keen and pithy judgmentsof men and things. Being one day in New Haven lookingfor assistant professors and instructors, I met him; and,on my answering his question as to what had brought me,he said, ``If at any time you want a professor of HORSESENSE, call ME.'' I have often thought of this proposalsince, and have at times regretted that some of our institutionsof learning had not availed themselves of his services.The fact is that, under the new system, ``horse sense'' isespecially called for to prevent a too extreme reaction fromthe evils which afflicted university instruction during mystudent days.

While it rejoices my heart to see the splendid coursesin modern literature now offered at our larger universities,some of them arouse misgivings. Reflecting uponthe shortness of human life and the vast mass of reallyGREAT literature, I see with regret courses offered dealingwith the bubbles floating on the surface of sundry literatures—bubbles soon to break, some of them with ill odor.

I would as soon think of endowing restaurants to enableyoung men to appreciate caviar, or old Gorgonzola, orgame of a peculiarly ``high'' character, as of establishingcourses dealing with Villon, Baudelaire, Swinburne, andthe like; and when I hear of second-rate critics summonedacross the ocean to present to universities whichhave heard Emerson, Longfellow, Henry Reed, Lowell,Whipple, and Curtis the coagulated nastiness of Verlaine,Mallarm<e'>, and their compeers, I expect next tohear of courses introducing young men to the beauties ofabsinthe, Turkish cigarettes, and stimulants unspeakable.Doubtless these things are all due to the ``oscillatorylaw of human progress,'' which professors of ``horsesense'' like my friend Joe Sheldon will gradually doaway with.

As time went on, buildings of various sorts rose aroundthe university grounds, and, almost without exception, asgifts from men attracted by the plan of the institution. Atthe annual commencement in 1869 was laid the cornerstoneof an edifice devoted especially to lecture-rooms andmuseums of natural science. It was a noble gift by Mr.John McGraw; and amid the cares and discouragementsof that period it gave us new heart, and strengthenedthe institution especially on the scientific side. In orderto do honor to this occasion, it was decided to invite leadingmen from all parts of the State, and, above all, torequest the governor, Mr. Fenton, to lay the corner-stone.But it was soon evident that his excellency's old fear ofoffending the sectarian schools still controlled him. Hemade excuse, and we then called on the Freemasons totake charge of the ceremony. They came in fullregalia, bringing their own orators; and, on the appointedday, a great body of spectators was grouped aboutthe foundations of the new building on the beautifulknoll in front of the upper quadrangle. It was an idealafternoon in June, and the panorama before and aroundus was superb. Immediately below us, in front, lay thebeautiful valley in which nestles the little city of Ithaca;beyond, on the left, was the vast amphitheater, nearlysurrounded by hills and distant mountains; and on theright, Cayuga Lake, stretching northward for forty miles.Few points in our country afford a nobler view of lake,mountain, hill, and valley. The speakers naturallyexpatiated in all the moods and tenses on the munificenceof Mr. Cornell and Mr. McGraw; and when all was endedthe great new bell, which had just been added to theuniversity chime in the name of one most dear to me,—thelargest bell then swinging in western New York, inscribedwith the verse written for it by Lowell,—boomed grandlyforth. As we came away I walked with Goldwin Smith,and noticed that he was convulsed with suppressed laughter.On my asking him the cause, he answered: ``Thereis nothing more to be said; no one need ever praise thework of Mr. Cornell again.'' On my asking the professorwhat he meant, he asked me if I had not heard the lastspeech. I answered in the negative—that my mind wasoccupied with other things. He then quoted it substantiallyas follows: ``Fellow-citizens, when Mr. Cornellfound himself rich beyond the dreams of avarice, did hegive himself up to a life of inglorious ease? No, fellow-citizens; he founded the beautiful public library inyonder valley. But did he then retire to a life of luxury?No, fellow-citizens; he came up to this height (andhere came a great wave of the hand over the vastamphitheater below and around us) and he established thisUNIVERSE!''

In reference to this occasion I may put on recordLowell's quatrain above referred to, which is cast upon thegreat clock-bell of the university. It runs as follows:

I call as fly the irrevocable hours
Futile as air, or strong as fate to make
Your lives of sand or granite. Awful powers,
Even as men choose, they either give or take.

There was also cast upon it the following, from the
Psalter version of Psalm xcii:

To tell of thy loving-kindness early in the morning: and of thytruth in the night season.

While various departments were thus developed, therewas going on a steady evolution in the general conceptionof the university. In the Congressional act of 1862 was avague provision for military instruction in the institutionswhich might be created under it. The cause of this wasevident. The bill was passed during one of the most criticalperiods in the history of the Civil War, and in myinaugural address I had alluded to this as most honorableto Senator Morrill and to the Congress which had adoptedhis proposals. It was at perhaps the darkest moment inthe history of the United States that this provision wasmade, in this Morrill Act, for a great system of classical,scientific, and technical instruction in every State andTerritory of the Union; and I compared this enactment, atso trying a period, to the conduct of the Romans in buyingand selling the lands on which the Carthaginians wereencamped after their victory at Cannae. The provisionfor military instruction had been inserted in this act of1862 because Senator Morrill and others saw clearly theadvantage which had accrued to the States then in rebellionfrom their military schools; but the act had leftmilitary instruction optional with the institutions securingthe national endowment, and, so far as I could learn, noneof those already created had taken the clause veryseriously. I proposed that we should accept it fully andfairly, not according to the letter of the act, but to thespirit of those who had passed it; indeed, that we shouldgo further than any other institution had dreamed ofgoing, so that every undergraduate not excused on theground of conscientious scruples, or for some otheradequate cause, should be required to take a thoroughcourse of military drill; and to this end I supported a plan,which was afterward carried out by law, that officers fromthe United States army should be detailed by the Secretaryof War to each of the principal institutions as militaryprofessors. My reasons for this were based on myrecollections of what took place at the University of Michiganduring the Civil War. I had then seen large numbers ofmy best students go forth insufficiently trained, and insome cases led to destruction by incompetent officers. Ata later period, I had heard the West Point officer whom Ihad secured from Detroit to train those Michigan studentsexpress his wonder at the rapidity with which they learnedwhat was necessary to make them soldiers and even officers.Being young men of disciplined minds, they learnedthe drill far more quickly and intelligently than theaverage recruits could do. There was still another reason fortaking the military clause in the Morrill Act seriously.I felt then, and feel now, that our Republic is not toescape serious internal troubles; that in these her reliancemust be largely upon her citizen soldiery; that it will be asource of calamity, possibly of catastrophe, if the powerof the sword in civil commotions shall fall into the handsof ignorant and brutal leaders, while the educated men ofthe country, not being versed in military matters, shallslink away from the scene of duty, cower in corners, andleave the conduct of military affairs to men intellectuallyand morally their inferiors. These views I embodied ina report to the trustees; and the result was the formationof a university battalion, which has been one of the bestthings at Cornell. A series of well-qualified officers, sentby the War Department, have developed the system admirably.Its good results to the university have been acknowledgedby all who have watched its progress. Farmers'boys,—slouchy, careless, not accustomed to obey any wordof command; city boys, sometimes pampered, often wayward,have thus been in a short time transformed: theystand erect; they look the world squarely in the face; theintensity of their American individualism is happilymodified; they can take the word of command and they cangive it. I doubt whether any feature of instruction atCornell University has produced more excellent resultsupon CHARACTER than the training thus given. And this isnot all. The effect on the State has been valuable. It hasalready been felt in the organization and maintenance ofthe State militia; and during the war with Spain,Cornellians, trained in the university battalion, renderednoble service.

Among the matters which our board of trustees andfaculty had to decide upon at an early day was theconferring of degrees. It had become, and indeed hasremained in many of our colleges down to the presentday, an abuse, and a comical abuse. Almost more thanany other thing, it tends to lower respect for many Americancolleges and universities among thinking men. Theolder and stronger universities are free from it; but manyof the newer ones, especially various little sectariancolleges, some of them calling themselves ``universities,''have abused and are abusing beyond measure their privilegeof conferring degrees. Every one knows individualsin the community whose degrees, so far from adorningthem, really render them ridiculous; and every one knowscolleges and ``universities'' made ridiculous by theconferring of such pretended honors.

At the outset I proposed to our trustees that CornellUniversity should confer no honorary degrees of anysort, and a law was passed to that effect. This wasobserved faithfully during my entire presidency; then thepolicy was temporarily changed, and two honorary doctorateswere conferred; but this was immediately followedby a renewal of the old law, and Cornell has conferred nohonorary degrees since.

But it is a question whether the time has not arrivedfor some relaxation of this policy. The argument I usedin proposing the law that no honorary degree should beconferred was that we had not yet built up an institutionwhose degrees could be justly considered as of any value.That argument is no longer valid, and possibly some departurefrom it would now be wise. Still, the policy ofconferring no honorary degrees is infinitely better thanthe policy of lavishing them.

As to regular and ordinary degrees, I had, in my planof organization, recommended that there should be but onedegree for all courses, whether in arts, science, orliterature. I argued that, as all our courses required an equalamount of intellectual exertion, one simple degree shouldbe granted alike to all who had passed the requiredexamination at the close of their chosen course. This viewthe faculty did not accept. They adopted the policyof establishing several degrees: as, for example, for thecourse in arts, the degree of A.B.; for the course in science,the degree of B.S.; for the course in literature, the degreeof B.L.; and so on. The reason given for this was thatit was important in each case to know what the trainingof the individual graduate had been; and that thetrue way to obviate invidious distinctions is so to perfectthe newer courses that all the degrees shall finally beconsidered as of equal value and honor. This argumentconverted me: it seemed to me just, and my experiencein calling men to professorships led me more and moreto see that I had been wrong and that the faculty wasright; for it was a matter of the greatest importance tome, in deciding on the qualifications of candidates forprofessorships, to know, not only their special fitness, butwhat their general education had been.

But, curiously enough, within the last few years theCornell faculty, under the lead of its present admirablepresident, has reverted to my old argument, accepted it,and established a single degree for all courses. I bowrespectfully to their judgment, but my conversion by thesame faculty from my own original ideas was so completethat I cannot now agree to the wisdom of the change. Itis a curious case of cross-conversion, I having been andremaining converted to the ideas of the faculty, and theyhaving been converted to my original idea. As to thewhole matter, I have the faith of an optimist that eventu-ally, with the experience derived from both systems, agood result will be reached.

Another question which at that time occupied me muchwas that of scholarships and fellowships awarded bycompetitive examinations versus general gratuitous instruction.During the formation of my plans for the university,a number of excellent men urged upon me that allour instruction should be thrown open to all mankind freeof charge; that there should be no payment of instructionfees of any kind; that the policy which prevails in thepublic schools of the State should be carried out in thenew institution at the summit of the system. This demandwas plausible, but the more I thought upon it the moreillogical, fallacious, and injurious it seemed; and, in spiteof some hard knocks in consequence, I have continued todissent from it, and feel that events have justified me.

Since this view of mine largely influenced the plan ofthe university, this is perhaps as good a place as any tosketch its development. In the first place, I soon saw thatthe analogy between free education in the public schoolsand in the university is delusive, the conditions of the twobeing entirely dissimilar. In a republic like ours primaryeducation of the voters is a practical necessity. No republicof real weight in the world, except Switzerland andthe United States, has proved permanent; and the onlydifference between the many republics which have failedand these two, which, we hope, have succeeded, is that inthe former the great body of the citizens were illiterate,while in the latter the great body of voters have had somegeneral education. Without this education, sufficient foran understanding of the main questions involved, no realrepublic or democracy can endure. With general primaryeducation up to a point necessary for the intelligentexercise of the suffrage, one may have hopes for the continuanceand development of a democratic republic. On thisaccount primary education should be made free: it ispart of our political system; it is the essential conditionof its existence.

The purpose of university education is totally different.The interest of the Republic is, indeed, that it shouldmaintain the very highest and best provision for advancedinstruction, general, scientific, and technical; and it is alsoin the highest interest of the Republic that its fittest youngmen and women should secure such instruction. No republic,no nation in fact, possesses any other treasurecomparable to its young citizens of active mind and earnestpurpose. This is felt at the present time by all thegreat nations of the world, and consequently provisionis made in almost all of them for the highest education ofsuch men and women. Next to the general primary educationof all voters, the most important duty of our Republicis to develop the best minds it possesses for the bestservice in all its fields of high intellectual activity. To dothis it must supply the best university education, andmust smooth the way for those to acquire it who are bestfitted for it, no matter how oppressive their poverty.

Now, my first objection to gratuitous university instructionto all students alike is that it stands in the way ofthis most important consummation; that it not only doesnot accomplish the end which is desirable, but that it doesaccomplish another which is exceedingly undesirable.For the real problem to be solved is this: How shall thehigher education in different fields be brought withinreach of the young men and women best fitted to acquireit, to profit by it, and to use it to best advantage? Anyone acquainted with American schools and universitiesknows that the vast majority of these young peoplebest fitted to profit by higher education come from thefamilies of small means. What does gratuitous instructionin the university offer them? Merely a remission ofinstruction fees, which, after all, are but a small part ofthe necessary expenses of a university course. With manyof these young persons—probably with most—a mereremission of instruction fees is utterly insufficient to enablethem to secure advanced education. I have alluded to thecase of President Cleveland, who, having been well fittedfor the university, could not enter. His father being acountry clergyman with a large family and small means,the future Chief Executive of the United States was obligedto turn aside to a teacher's place and a clerkship whichafforded him a bare support. At the Hamilton Collegecommencement a few years since, Mr. Cleveland, pointingto one of the professors, was reported as saying insubstance: ``My old school friend by my side is, of all men,the one I have most envied: he was able to buy a goodedition of Vergil; I was not.''

It would not have been at all difficult for him to securea remission of instruction fees at various American collegesand universities; but the great difficulty was that hecould not secure the means necessary for his board, forhis clothing, for his traveling expenses, for his books, forall the other things that go to make up the real cost of lifeat a university. I can think of but one way, and that is,as a rule, to charge instruction fees upon the great bodyof the students, but both to remit instruction fees and togive scholarships and fellowships to those who, incompetitive examinations and otherwise, show themselvesespecially worthy of such privileges. This is in conformityto the system of nature; it is the survival of thefittest. This was the main reason which led me to insertin the charter of Cornell University the provision bywhich at present six hundred students from the State ofNew York are selected by competitive examinations out ofthe mass of scholars in the public schools, and to providethat each of these best scholars shall have free instructionfor four years.

But this was only a part of the system. From the firstI have urged the fact above mentioned, namely, that whileremission of instruction fees is a step in the right direction,it is not sufficient; and I have always desired to seesome university recognize the true and sound principleof free instruction in universities by CONSECRATING ALLMONEYS RECEIVED FROM INSTRUCTION FEES TO THE CREATIONOF COMPETITIVE SCHOLARSHIPS AND FELLOWSHIPS, EACH OF WHICHSHALL AMOUNT TO A SUM SUFFICIENT TO MEET, WITH ECONOMY, THELIVING EXPENSES OF A STUDENT. This plan I was enabled, inconsiderable measure, to carry out by establishing thecompetitive scholarships in each Assembly district; andlater, as will be seen in another chapter, I was enabled, bya curious transformation of a calamity into a blessing, tocarry it still further by establishing endowed scholarshipsand fellowships. These latter scholarships, each, as ageneral rule, of two hundred and fifty dollars a year, wereawarded to those who passed the best examinations andmaintained the best standing in their classes; while thefellowships, each of the value of from four to five hundreddollars a year, were awarded to the seniors of our own orother universities who had been found most worthy ofthem. In the face of considerable opposition I set thissystem in motion at Cornell; and its success leads me tohope that it will be further developed, not only there, butelsewhere. Besides this, I favored arrangements forremitting instruction fees and giving aid to such students asreally showed promising talent, and who were at the timeneedy. To this end a loan fund was created which hasbeen carefully managed and has aided many excellentmen through the university courses.[7] Free instruction,carried out in accordance with the principle and planabove sketched, will, I feel sure, prove of great value toour country. Its effect is to give to the best and brightestyoung men, no matter how poor, just the chance theyneed; and not as a matter of charity, but as a matter ofwise policy. This is a system which I believe would befraught with blessings to our country, securing advancededucation to those who can profit by it, and strengtheningtheir country by means of it.

[7] It has since been greatly increased by the bequest of apublic-spirited New York merchant.

On the other hand, the system of gratuitous remissionof instruction fees to all students alike, whether rich orpoor, I believe to be injurious to the country, for thefollowing reasons: First, it generally cripples the insti-tution which gives it. Two or three large institutionswhich have thought themselves in possession of endowmentssufficient to warrant giving gratuitous instructionhave tried it, but as a rule have not been able to go onwith it, and have at last come to the principle of chargingmoderate fees. Secondly, it simply makes a present of asmall sum to a large number of young men, most of whomneither need nor appreciate it, and who would be betterfor regarding their university instruction as somethingworth paying for.

But my main objection to the system of indiscriminategratuitous instruction is that it does the country a positiveinjury in drawing away from the farms, workshops,and stores large numbers of young persons who wouldbetter have been allowed to remain there; that it tends tocrowd what have been called ``the learned professions''with men not really fitted for them; that it draws massesof men whose good right arms would be of great value inthe rural districts, and makes them parasites in the cities.The farmers and the artisans complain of the lack ofyoung men and women for their work; the professionalmen complain that the cities are overstocked with youngmen calling themselves lawyers, doctors, engineers, andthe like, but really unworthy to exercise either profession,who live on the body politic as parasites more or lesshurtful. This has certainly become an evil in othercountries: every enlightened traveler knows that the ranks ofthe anarchists in Russia are swollen by what are called``fruits secs''—that is, by young men and young womentempted away from manual labor and avocations for whichthey are fit into ``professions'' for which they are unfit.The more FIRST-RATE young men and young women ouruniversities and technical schools educate the better; but themore young men and women of mediocre minds and weakpurpose whom they push into the ranks of poor lawyers,poor doctors, poor engineers, and the like, the more injurythey do to the country.

As I now approach the end of life and look back overthe development of Cornell University, this at least seemsto me one piece of good fortune—namely, that I haveaided to establish there the principle of using our means,so far as possible, not for indiscriminate gratuitous highereducation of men unfit to receive it; not, as PresidentJordan has expressed it, in ``trying to put a five-thousand-dollar education into a fifty-cent boy''; but in establishinga system which draws out from the community, even fromits poorest and lowliest households, the best, brightest,strongest young men and women, and develops their bestpowers, thus adding to the greatest treasure which theircountry can possess.

CHAPTER XXIII

``COEDUCATION'' AND AN UNSECTARIAN PULPIT—1871-1904

Still another new departure was in some respectsbolder than any of those already mentioned. Forsome years before the organization of Cornell, I hadthought much upon the education of women, and hadgradually arrived at the conclusion that they might well beadmitted to some of the universities established for youngmen. Yet, at the same time, Herbert Spencer's argumentas to the importance of avoiding everything like ``mandarinism''—the attempt to force all educationalinstitutionsinto the same mold—prevented my urging this admissionof women upon all universities alike. I recognized obstaclesto it in the older institutions which did not exist in thenewer; but I had come to believe that where no specialdifficulties existed, women might well be admitted touniversity privileges. To this view I had been led by my ownobservation even in my boyhood. At Cortland AcademyI had seen young men and women assembled in the classroomswithout difficulty or embarrassment, and at Yale Ihad seen that the two or three lecture-rooms whichadmitted women were the most orderly and decent of all; butperhaps the strongest influence in this matter was exercisedupon me by my mother. She was one of the most conservativeof women, a High-church Episcopalian, and generallyaverse to modern reforms; but on my talking overwith her some of my plans for Cornell University, shesaid: ``I am not so sure about your other ideas, but as tothe admission of women you are right. My main educationwas derived partly from a boarding-school at Pittsfieldconsidered one of the best in New England, and partlyfrom Cortland Academy. In the boarding-school we hadonly young women, but in the academy we had both youngmen and young women; and I am sure that the results ofthe academy were much better than those of the boarding-school. The young men and young women learned to respecteach other, not merely for physical, but for intellectualand moral qualities; so there came a healthfulemulation in study, the men becoming more manly and thewomen more womanly; and never, so far as I have heard,did any of the evil consequences follow which some ofyour opponents are prophesying.''

A conference with Dr. Woolworth, a teacher of the verylargest experience, showed me that none of the evil resultswhich were prophesied had resulted. He solemnly assuredme that, during his long experiences as principal of two orthree large academies, and, as secretary of the Board ofRegents, in close contact with all the academies and highschools of the State, he had never known of a serious scandalarising between students of different sexes.

As I drafted the main features of the university charterthese statements were in my mind, but I knew well that itwould be premature to press the matter at the outset. Itwould certainly have cost us the support of the moreconservative men in the legislature. All that I could do atthat time I did; and this was to keep out of the charteranything which could embarrass us regarding the questionin the future, steadily avoiding in every clause relating tostudents the word ``man,'' and as steadily using the word``person.'' In conversations between Mr. Cornell andmyself on this subject, I found that we agreed; and in ouraddresses at the opening of the university we both alludedto it, he favoring it in general terms, and I developingsundry arguments calculated to prepare the way for futureaction upon it. At the close of the exercises Mr. JohnMcGraw, who was afterward so munificent toward us,came to me and said: ``My old business partner, HenrySage, who sat next me during the exercises this morning,turned to me during your allusion to Mr. Cornell withtears in his eyes, and said: `John, we are scoundrels tostand doing nothing while those men are killing themselvesto establish this university.' '' In the afternoon Mr. Sagehimself came to me and said: ``I believe you are right inregard to admitting women, but you are evidently carryingas many innovations just now as public opinion willbear; when you are ready to move in the matter, let meknow.''

The following year came the first application of a youngwoman for admission. Her case was strong, for she presenteda certificate showing that she had passed the bestexamination for the State scholarship in Cortland County;and on this I admitted her. Under the scholarship clausein the charter I could not do otherwise. On reportingthe case to the trustees, they supported me unanimously,though some of them reluctantly. The lady studentproved excellent from every point of view, and heradmission made a mere temporary ripple on the surfaceof our affairs; but soon came a peculiar difficulty. Theonly rooms for students in those days on the UniversityHill were in the barracks filled with young men; and thereforethe young woman took rooms in town, coming up tolectures two or three times a day. It was a hard struggle;for the paths and roads leading to the university grounds,four hundred feet above the valley, were not as in thesedays, and the electric trolley had not been invented. Shebore the fatigue patiently until winter set in; then shecame to me, expressing regret at her inability to toil up theicy steep, and left us. On my reporting this to the trustees,Mr. Sage made his proposal. I had expected from hima professorship or a fellowship; but to my amazementhe offered to erect and endow a separate college for youngwomen in the university, and for this purpose to give ustwo hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A committeeof trustees having been appointed to examine andreport upon this proposal, I was made its chairman; and,in company with Mr. Sage, visited various Westerninstitutions where experiments in the way of what wascalled ``coeducation'' had been tried. At Oberlin Collegein Ohio two serious doubts were removed from my mind.The first of these was regarding the health of the youngwomen. I had feared that in the hard work and vigorouscompetitions of the university they would lose their physicalstrength; but here we found that, with wise precautions,the health of the young women had been quite equalto that of the young men. My other fear was that theireducation with young men might cost some sacrifice of thebetter general characteristics of both sexes; but onstudying the facts I became satisfied that the men had beenmade more manly and the women more womanly. As tothe manliness there could be little doubt; for the bestof all tests had been applied only a few years before, whenOberlin College had poured forth large numbers of itsyoung men, as volunteers, into the Union army. As to thegood effect upon women, it was easy to satisfy myselfwhen I met them, not only at the college, but in variousbeautiful Western homes.

Very striking testimony was also given at the Universityof Michigan. Ten years earlier I had known that institutionwell, and my professorship there, which lasted sixyears, had made me well acquainted with the character andspirit of its students; but, since my day, women had beenadmitted, and some of the results of this change surprisedme much. Formerly a professor's lecture- or recitation-room had been decidedly a roughish place. The men hadoften been slouchy and unkempt. Now all was quiet andorderly, the dress of the students much neater; in fact, itwas the usual difference between assemblages of men aloneand of men and women together, or, as I afterward phrasedit, ``between the smoking-car and the car back of it.''Perhaps the most convincing piece of testimony came froman old janitor. As I met him I said: ``Well, J——, do thestudents still make life a burden to you?'' ``Oh, no,'' heanswered; ``that is all gone by. They can't rush eachother up and down the staircases or have boxing-matchesin the lobbies any longer, for the girls are there.''

My report went fully into the matter, favored the admissionof women, and was adopted by the trustees unanimously—a thing which surprised me somewhat, since twoof them, Judge Folger and Mr. Erastus Brooks, wereamong the most conservative men I have ever known. Thegeneral results were certainly fortunate; though one ortwo minor consequences were, for a year or two, somewhatdisappointing. Two or three of the faculty and aconsiderable number of the students were greatly opposed tothe admission of women, a main cause of this being thefear that it would discredit the institution in the eyes ofmembers of other universities, and the number of thewhole student body was consequently somewhat diminished;but that feeling died away, the numbers becamelarger than ever, and the system proved a blessing, notonly to the university, but to the State at large. None ofthe prophecies of evil so freely made by the opponents ofthe measure have ever been fulfilled. Every arrangementwas made in Mr. Sage's building to guard the health of theyoung women; and no one will say that the manliness ofmen or the womanliness of women has ever suffered inconsequence of the meeting of the two sexes in classrooms,laboratories, chapel, or elsewhere. From one evilwhich was freely prophesied the university has beensingularly free. It was declared that a great deal of``spooning'' would result. This has not been the case. Bothsexes seem to have been on their guard against it; and,although pleasant receptions have, as a rule, taken placeweekly at Sage College, and visits to its residents havebeen permitted at suitable times, no embarrassing attachmentshave resulted.

The main difficulties arose from a cause which provedvery short-lived. Several of the young women who firstapplied for admission held high ideas as to their rights.To them Sage College was an offense. Its beautiful parlors,conservatories, library, lecture-rooms, and lawns,with its lady warden who served as guide, philosopher, andfriend, were all the result of a deep conspiracy against therights of women. Again and again a committee of themcame to me, insisting that young women should be treatedexactly like young men; that there should be no lady warden;that every one of them should be free to go and comefrom Sage College at every hour in the twenty-four, asyoung men were free to go and come from their dormitories.My answer was that the cases were not the same;that when young women insisted on their right to come andgo at all times of the day and night, as they saw fit, withoutpermission, it was like their right to walk from the campusto the beautiful point opposite us on the lake: the right theyundoubtedly had, but insurmountable obstacles were in theway; and I showed them that a firm public opinion wasan invincible barrier to the liberties they claimed. Still,they were allowed advisory powers in the management ofthe college; the great majority made wise use of thisright, and all difficulty was gradually overcome.

Closely connected with the erection of Sage College wasthe establishment of Sage Chapel. From the first I haddesired to have every working-day begun with a simplereligious service at which attendance should be voluntary,and was glad to see that in the cheerless lecture-roomwhere this service was held there usually assembled agoodly number of professors and students, in spite of theearly hour and long walk from town. But for Sundaythere was no provision; and one day, on my discussing thematter with Mr. Sage, he said that he would be glad toestablish a chapel on the university grounds for the generaluse of professors and students, if I saw no objection. Thisproposal I heartily welcomed, but on two conditions: first,that the chapel should never be delivered over to any onesect; secondly, that students should be attracted, but notcoerced into it. To these conditions Mr. Sage agreed, andthe building was erected.

As it approached completion there came a proposalwhich opened a new era in our university life. Mr. DeanSage, the eldest son of him who had given us the women'scollege and the chapel, proposed to add an endowment fora chaplaincy, and suggested that a clergyman of the ProtestantEpiscopal Church be appointed to that office. Thiswould have been personally pleasing to me; for, thoughmy churchmanship was ``exceeding broad,'' I was stillattracted to the church in which I was brought up, and feltnowhere else so much at home. But it seemed to me thatwe had no right, under our charter, to give such prominenceto any single religious organization; and I thereforeproposed to the donor that the endowment be applied to apreachership to be filled by leading divines of alldenominations. In making this proposal I had in view, not onlythe unsectarian feature embodied in our charter, but myobservation of university chaplaincies generally. I hadnoticed that, at various institutions, excellent clergymen,good preachers, thorough scholars, charming men, whensettled as chaplains, had, as a rule, been unable to retaintheir hold upon the great body of the students. Thereason was not far to seek. The average parish clergyman,even though he be not a strong preacher or profoundscholar or brilliant talker, if he be at all fit for hisposition, gradually wins the hearts of his congregation. Hehas baptized their children, married their young men andmaidens, buried their dead, rejoiced with those who haverejoiced, and wept with those who have wept. A strongtie has thus grown up. But such a tie between a chaplainand bodies of students shifting from year to year, is, inthe vast majority of cases, impossible. Hence it is thateven the most brilliant preachers settled in universitieshave rapidly lost their prestige among the students. Iremembered well how, at Geneva and at Yale, my college-mates joked at the peculiarities of clergymen connectedwith the college, who, before I entered it, had been objectsof my veneration. I remembered that at Yale one of myclass was wont to arouse shouts of laughter by his drollimitations of the prayers of the leading professors—imitations in which their gestures, intonations, and bits ofrhetoric and oratory were most ludicrously caricatured. Iremembered, too, how a college pastor, a man greatlyrevered, was really driven out of the university pulpit bya squib in a students' paper, and how several of hissuccessors had finally retreated into professorships in theDivinity School; and I felt that leading men coming fromweek to week from the outside world would be taken atthe value which the outside world puts upon them, andthat they would bring in a fresh atmosphere. My expectationswere more than fulfilled. The preachership havingbeen established, I sent invitations to eminent clergymenalong the whole gamut of belief, from the Roman Catholicbishop of the diocese to the most advanced Protestants.The bishop answered me most courteously; but, to mysincere regret, declined. One or two bishops of theProtestant Episcopal Church also made some difficulties atfirst, but gradually they were glad to accept; for it wasfelt to be a privilege and a pleasure to preach to so largea body of open-minded young men, and the course of sermonshas for years deepened and strengthened what is bestin university life. The whole system was indeed at firstattacked; and while we had formerly been charged withgodlessness, we were now charged with ``indifferentism''—whatever that might mean. But I have had the pleasureof living to see this system adopted at other leadinguniversities of our country, and it is evidently on its way tobecome the prevailing system among all of them. I believethat no pulpit in the United States has exercised amore powerful influence for good. Strong men have beencalled to it from all the leading religious bodies; and they,knowing the character of their audience, have neveradvocated sectarianism, but have presented the greatfundamental truths upon which all religion must be based.

The first of these university preachers was PhillipsBrooks, and he made a very deep impression. An interestingmaterial result of his first sermon was that Mr.William Sage, the second son of our benefactor, cameforward at the close of the service, and authorized me tosecure a beautiful organ for the university chapel.[8] Inmy addresses to students I urged them to attend forvarious good reasons, and, if for none of these, because aman is but poorly educated who does not keep himselfabreast of the religious thought of his country. Curiouswas it to see Japanese students, some of them Buddhists,very conscientious in their attendance, their eyes steadilyfixed upon the preacher.

[8] Sunday, June 13, 1875.

My selections for the preachership during the years ofmy presidency were made with great care. So far as possible,I kept out all ``sensational preaching.'' I had nowish to make the chapel a place for amusem*nt or forground and lofty tumbling by clerical performers, and theresult was that its ennobling influence was steadily maintained.

Some other pulpits in the university town were not sowell guarded. A revivalist, having been admitted to oneof them, attempted to make a sensation in various ways—and one evening laid great stress on the declaration thatshe was herself a brand plucked from the burning, andthat her parents were undoubtedly lost. A few minutesafterward, one of the Cornell students present, thinkingdoubtless, that his time would be better employed upon hisstudies, arose and walked down the aisle to the door. Atthis the preacher called out, ``There goes a young manstraight down to hell.'' Thereupon the student turnedinstantly toward the preacher and asked quietly, ``Haveyou any message to send to your father and mother?''

Our list of university preachers, both from our own andother countries, as I look back upon it, is wonderful to me.Becoming acquainted with them, I have learned to lovevery many men whom I previously distrusted, and havecome to see more and more the force of the saying, ``Theman I don't like is the man I don't know.'' Many oftheir arguments have not appealed to me, but somefrom which I have entirely dissented, have suggestedtrains of profitable thought; in fact, no services have everdone more for me, and, judging from the numbers whohave thronged the chapel, there has been a constant goodinfluence upon the faculty and students.

In connection with the chapel may be mentioned thedevelopment of various religious associations, the first ofthese being the Young Men's Christian Association. Feelingthe importance of this, although never a member of it,I entered heartily into its plan, and fitted up a hall for itspurposes. As this hall had to serve also, during certainevenings in the week, for literary societies, I took painsto secure a series of large and fine historical engravingsfrom England, France, and Germany, among them someof a decidedly religious cast, brought together after adecidedly Broad-church fashion. Of these, two, adjoiningeach other, represented—the one, Luther discussing withhis associates his translation of the Bible, and the other,St. Vincent de Paul comforting the poor and the afflicted;and it was my hope that the juxtaposition of these twopictures might suggest ideas of toleration in its best senseto the young men and women who were to sit beneaththem. About the room, between these engravings, I placedsome bronze statuettes, obtained in Europe, representingmen who had done noble work in the world; so that itwas for some years one of the attractions of the university.

Some years later came a gift very advantageous to thisside of university life. A gentleman whom I had knownbut slightly—Mr. Alfred S. Barnes of Brooklyn, a trusteeof the university—dropped in at my house one morning,and seemed to have something on his mind. By and by hevery modestly asked what I thought of his putting up abuilding for the religious purposes of the students. Iwelcomed the idea joyfully; only expressing the hope thatit would not be tied up in any way, but open to all formsof religious effort. In this idea he heartily concurred, andthe beautiful building which bears his honored name wasthe result,—one of the most perfect for its purposes thatcan be imagined,—and as he asked me to write an inscriptionfor the corner-stone, I placed on it the words: ``Forthe Promotion of God's work among Men.'' This hasseemed, ever since, to be the key-note of the work donein that building.

It has been, and is, a great pleasure to me to see youngmen joining in religious effort; and I feel proud of thefact that from this association at Cornell many strong andearnest men have gone forth to good work as clergymenin our own country and in others.

In the erection of the new group of buildings south ofthe upper university quadrangle, as well as in buildingthe president's house hard by, an opportunity was offeredfor the development of some minor ideas regarding theevolution of university life at Cornell which I had deeplyat heart. During my life at Yale, as well as during visitsto various other American colleges, I had been painfullyimpressed by the lack of any development of that whichmay be called the commemorative or poetical element. Inthe long row of barracks at Yale one longed for somelittle bit of beauty, and hungered and thirsted for somethingwhich connected the present with the past; but, withthe exception of the portraits in the Alumni Hall, therewas little more to feed the sense of beauty or to meet one 'scraving for commemoration of the past than in a cotton-factory. One might frequent the buildings at Yale orHarvard or Brown, as they then were, for years, and seenothing of an architectural sort which had been put inits place for any other reason than bare utility.

Hence came an effort to promote at Cornell some developmentof a better kind. Among the first things I orderedwere portraits by competent artists of the leading non-resident professors, Agassiz, Lowell, Curtis, and GoldwinSmith. This example was, from time to time, followedby the faculty and trustees, the former commemoratingby portraits some of their more eminent members, and thelatter ordering portraits of some of those who had connectedtheir names with the university by benefactions orotherwise, such as Mr. Cornell, Senator Morrill, Mr. Sage,Mr. McGraw, and others. The alumni and undergradu-ates also added portraits of professors. This custom hasproved very satisfactory; and the line of portraits hangingin the library cannot fail to have an ennobling influenceon many of those who, day after day, sit beneath them.

But the erection of these new buildings—Sage College,Sage Chapel, Barnes Hall, and, finally, the universitylibrary—afforded an opportunity to do something of adifferent sort. There was a chance for some effort topromote beauty of detail in construction, and, fortunately,the forethought of Goldwin Smith helped us greatly inthis. On his arrival in Ithaca, just after the opening ofthe university, he had seen that we especially neededthoroughly trained artisans; and he had written to hisfriend Auberon Herbert, asking him to select and sendfrom England a number of the best he could find. Nearlyall proved of value, and one of them gave himself to thework in a way which won my heart. This was RobertRichardson, a stone-carver. I at first employed him tocarve sundry capitals, corbels, and spandrels for thepresident's house, which I was then building on the universitygrounds; and this work was so beautifully done that, inthe erection of Sage College, another opportunity wasgiven him. Any one who, to-day, studies the capitals ofthe various columns, especially those in the porch, in theloggia of the northern tower, and in some of the frontwindows, will feel that he put his heart into the work. Hewrought the flora of the region into these creations ofhis, and most beautifully. But best of all was his workin the chapel. The tracery of the windows, the capitalsof the columns, and the corbels supporting the beams ofthe roof were masterpieces; and, in my opinion, no investmentof equal amount has proved to be of more value tous, even for the moral and intellectual instruction of ourstudents, than these examples of a conscientious devotionof genius and talent which he thus gave us.

The death of Mr. Cornell afforded an opportunity fora further development in the same direction. It was feltthat his remains ought to rest on that beautiful site, in themidst of the institution he loved so well; and I proposedthat a memorial chapel be erected, beneath which hisremains and those of other benefactors of the universitymight rest, and that it should be made beautiful. This wasdone. The stone vaulting, the tracery, and other decorativework, planned by our professor of architecture, andcarried out as a labor of love by Richardson, were all thatI could desire. The trustees, entering heartily into theplan, authorized me to make an arrangement with Story,the American sculptor at Rome, to execute a recliningstatue of Mr. Cornell above the crypt where rest hisremains; and citizens of Ithaca also authorized me tosecure in London the memorial window beneath which thestatue is placed. Other memorials followed, in the shapeof statues, busts, and tablets, as others who had been lovedand lost were laid to rest in the chapel crypt, until thelittle building has become a place of pilgrimage. In thelarger chapel, also, tablets and windows were erected fromtime to time; and the mosaic and other decorations of thememorial apse, recently erected as a place of repose forthe remains of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Sage, are a beautifuldevelopment of the same idea.

So, too, upon the grounds, some effort was made toconnect the present with the past. Here, as elsewhere inour work, it seemed to me well to impress, upon the morethinking students at least, the idea that all they sawhad not ``happened so,'' without the earnest agency ofhuman beings; but that it had been the result of the earnestlife-work of men and women, and that no life-work towhich a student might aspire could be more worthy. Incarrying out this idea upon the ``campus'' Goldwin Smithtook the lead by erecting the stone seat which has nowstood there for over thirty years. Other memorialsfollowed, among them a drinking-fountain, the stone bridgeacross the Cascadilla, the memorial seat back of thelibrary, the entrance gateway, and the like; and, at thelamented death of Richardson, another English stonecarver put his heart into some of the details of the newlyerected library.

Meanwhile, the grounds themselves became more andmore beautiful. There was indeed one sad mistake; andI feel bound, in self-defense, to state that it was madeduring an absence of mine in Europe: this was theerection of the chemical laboratory upon the promontorynorthwest of the upper quadrangle. That site affordedone of the most beautiful views in our own or any othercountry. A very eminent American man of letters, whohad traveled much in other countries, said to me, as westood upon it, ``I have traveled hundreds of miles inEurope to obtain views not half so beautiful as this.'' Itwas the place to which Mr. Cornell took the trustees attheir first meeting in Ithaca, when their view from it ledthem to choose the upper site for the university buildingsrather than the lower. On this spot I remember onceseeing Phillips Brooks evidently overawed by the amazingbeauty of the scene spread out at his feet—the greatamphitheater to the south and southwest, the hills beyond,and Cayuga Lake stretching to the north and northwest.But though this part of the grounds has been covered bya laboratory which might better have been placed elsewhere,much is still left, and this has been treated so as toadd to the natural charm of the surroundings. With theexception of the grounds of the State University ofWisconsin and of the State University and StanfordUniversity in California, I know of none approaching in beautythose of Cornell. I feel bound to say, however, that thereis a danger. Thus far, though mistakes have been madehere and there, little harm has been done which is irremediable.But this may not always be the case. In my view,one of the most important things to be done by the trusteesis to have a general plan most carefully decided uponwhich shall be strictly conformed to in the erection of allfuture buildings, no matter what their size or charactermay be. This has been urged from time to time, butdeferred.[9] The experience of other universities in theUnited States is most instructive in this respect. Nearlyevery one of them has suffered greatly from the wantof some such general plan. One has but to visit almostany one of them to see buildings of different materials andstyles—classical, Renaissance, Gothic, and nondescript—thrown together in a way at times fairly ludicrous.Thomas Jefferson, in founding the University of Virginia,was wiser; and his beautiful plan was carried out so fully,under his own eyes, that it has never been seriouslydeparted from. At Stanford University, thanks to thewisdom of its founders, a most beautiful plan was adopted,to which the buildings have been so conformed thatnothing could be more satisfactory; and recently anothernoble Californian—Mrs. Hearst—has devoted a queenlygift to securing a plan worthy of the University ofCalifornia. At the opening of Cornell, as I have alreadysaid, a general plan was determined upon, with an upperquadrangle of stone, plain but dignified, to be at somefuture time architecturally enriched, and with a freertreatment of buildings on other parts of the grounds; butthere is always danger, and I trust that I may be allowedto remind my associates and successors in the board oftrustees, of the necessity, in the future development of theuniversity, for a satisfactory plan, suitable to the site, tobe steadily kept in mind.

[9] It has now—1904—been very intelligently developed.

CHAPTER XXIV

ROCKS, STORMS, AND PERIL—1868-1874

Thus far I have dwelt especially upon the steadydevelopment of the university in its general system ofinstruction, its faculty, its equipment, and its daily life;but it must not be supposed that all was plain sailing. Onthe contrary, there were many difficulties, somediscouragements, and at times we passed through very deepwaters. There were periods when ruin stared us in theface—when I feared that my next move must be to closeour doors and announce the suspension of instruction.The most serious of these difficulties were financial. Mr.Cornell had indeed endowed the institution munificently,and others followed his example: the number of menand women who came forward to do something for itwas astonishing. In addition to the great endowmentsmade by Mr. Cornell, Mr. Sage, Mr. McGraw, Mr. Sibley,and others, which aggregated millions, there were smallergifts no less encouraging: Goldwin Smith's gift of hisservices, of his library, and of various sums to increaseit, rejoiced us all; and many other evidences of confidence,in the shape of large collections of books and material,cheered us in that darkest period; and from that day tothis such gifts have continued.

Some of the minor gifts were especially inspiring,as showing the breadth of interest in our work. One ofthem warmed my heart when it was made, and for manyyears afterward cheered me amid many cares. As Mr. Sageand myself were one day looking over matters upon thegrounds, there came along, in his rough wagon, a plainfarmer from a distant part of the county, a hard-workingman of very small means, who had clearly somethingupon his mind. Presently he said: ``I would very muchlike to do something for the university if I could. I haveno money to give; but I have thought that possibly somegood elm-trees growing on my farm might be of use toyou, and if you wish them I will put them in the bestcondition and bring them to you.'' This offer we gladlyaccepted; the farmer brought the trees; they were carefullyplanted; they have now, for over twenty years, givenan increasing and ever more beautiful shade to one ofthe main university avenues; and in the line of them standsa stone on which are engraved the words, ``OstranderElms.''

But while all this encouraged us, there were things of avery different sort. Could the university have beendeveloped gradually, normally, and in obedience to a policydetermined solely by its president, trustees, and facultyall would have gone easily. But our charter made thisimpossible. Many departments must be put into operationspeedily, each one of them demanding large outlay forbuildings, equipment, and instruction. From all parts ofthe State came demands—some from friends, some fromenemies—urging us to do this, blaming us for not doingthat, and these utterances were echoed in various presses,and re<e:>choed from the State legislature. Every nerve hadto be strained to meet these demands. I remember wellthat when a committee of the Johns Hopkins trustees, justbefore the organization of that university, visited Cornelland looked over our work, one of them said to me: ``Weat least have this in our favor: we can follow out our ownconceptions and convictions of what is best; we have noneed of obeying the injunctions of any legislature, thebeliefs of any religious body, or the clamors of any press;we are free to do what we really believe best, as slowly,and in such manner, as we see fit.'' As this was said afeeling of deep envy came over me: our condition was thevery opposite of that. In getting ready for the openingof the university in October, 1868, as required by ourcharter, large sums had to be expended on the site now sobeautiful, but then so unpromising. Mr. Cornell's privateaffairs, as also the constant demands upon him in locatingthe university lands on the northern Mississippi, kept hima large part of the time far from the university; and myown university duties crowded every day. The presidentof a university in those days tilled a very broad field. Hemust give instruction, conduct examinations, preside overthe faculty, correspond with the trustees, address thealumni in various parts of the country, respond to callsfor popular lectures, address the legislature from timeto time with reference to matters between the universityand the State and write for reviews and magazines; andall this left little time for careful control of financialmatters.

In this condition of things Mr. Cornell had installed, as``business manager,'' a gentleman supposed to be of wideexperience, who, in everything relating to the ordinaryfinancial management of the institution, was all-powerful.But as months went on I became uneasy. Again andagain I urged that a careful examination be made ofour affairs, and that reports be laid before us whichwe could clearly understand; but Mr. Cornell, alwaysoptimistic, assured me that all was going well, and thematter was deferred. Finally, I succeeded in impressingupon my colleagues in the board the absolute necessityof an investigation. It was made, and a condition ofthings was revealed which at first seemed appalling. Thecharter of the university made the board of trusteespersonally liable for any debt over fifty thousand dollars, andwe now discovered that we were owing more than threetimes that amount. At this Mr. Cornell made a characteristicproposal. He said: ``I will pay half of this debt ifyou can raise the other half.'' It seemed impossible. Ourfriends had been called upon so constantly and for suchconsiderable sums that it seemed vain to ask them formore. But we brought together at Albany a few of themost devoted, and in fifteen minutes the whole amount wassubscribed: four members of the board of trustees agreedto give each twenty thousand dollars; and this, with Mr.Cornell's additional subscription; furnished the sum needed.

Then took place one of the things which led me later inlife, looking back over the history of the university, tosay that what had seemed to be our worst calamitieshad generally proved to be our greatest blessings. Amongthese I have been accustomed to name the monstrousMcGuire attack in the Assembly on Mr. Cornell, whichgreatly disheartened me for the moment, but which eventuallyled the investigation committee not only to showto the world Mr. Cornell's complete honesty and self-sacrifice, but to recommend the measures which finallytransferred the endowment fund from the State to thetrustees, thus strengthening the institution greatly. Sonow a piece of good luck came out of this unexpected debt.As soon as the subscription was made, Mr. George W.Schuyler, treasurer of the university, in drawing up thedeed of gift, ended it with words to the following effect:``And it is hereby agreed by the said Ezra Cornell, HenryW. Sage, Hiram Sibley, John McGraw, and Andrew D.White, that in case the said university shall ever be inposition to repay their said subscriptions, then and in thatcase the said entire sum of one hundred and sixty thousanddollars SHALL BE REPAID INTO A UNIVERSITY FUND FOR THECREATION OF FELLOWSHIPS AND SCHOLARSHIPS in the saiduniversity.'' A general laugh arose among the subscribers, Mr.McGraw remarking that this was rather offhand dealingwith us; but all took it in good part and signed the agreement.It is certain that not one of us then expected in hislifetime to see the university able to repay the money; but,within a few years, as our lands were sold at better pricesthan we expected, the university was in condition to makerestitution. At first some of the trustees demurred toinvesting so large a sum in fellowships and scholarships,and my first effort to carry through a plan to this effectfailed; but at the next meeting I was successful; and so, inthis apparently calamitous revelation of debt began thatsystem of university fellowships and scholarships whichhas done so much for the development of higher instructionat Cornell.

So far as the university treasury was concerned,matters thenceforth went on well. Never again did theuniversity incur any troublesome debt; from that day to thisits finances have been so managed as to excite theadmiration even of men connected with the most successful andbest managed corporations of our country. But financialdifficulties far more serious than the debt just referredto arose in a different quarter. In assuming theexpenses of locating and managing the university lands,protecting them, paying taxes upon them, and the like, Mr.Cornell had taken upon himself a fearful load, and itpressed upon him heavily. But this was not all. It was,indeed, far from the worst; for, in his anxiety to bringthe university town into easy connection with the railwaysystem of the State, he had invested very largely in localrailways leading into Ithaca. Under these circ*mstances,while he made heroic efforts and sacrifices, his relationsto the comptroller of the State, who still had in his chargethe land scrip of the university, became exceedinglydifficult. At the very crisis of this difficulty Mr. Cornell'shard work proved too much for him, and he lay down todie. The university affairs, so far as the land-grant fundwas concerned, seemed hopelessly entangled with his ownand with those of the State: it seemed altogether likelythat at his death the institution would be subjected toyears of litigation, to having its endowment tied up in thecourts, and to a suspension of its operations. Happily, wehad as our adviser Francis Miles Finch, since justice ofthe Court of Appeals of the State, and now dean of theLaw School—a man of noble character, of wonderfullyvaried gifts, an admirable legal adviser, devoted personallyto Mr. Cornell, and no less devoted to the university.

He set at work to disentangle the business relations ofMr. Cornell with the university, and of both with the State.Every member of the board, every member of Mr. Cornell'sfamily,—indeed, every member of the community,—knew him to be honest, faithful, and capable. He laboredto excellent purpose, and in due time the principal financialmembers of the board were brought together at Ithacato consider his solution of the problem. It was indeeda dark day; we were still under the shadow of ``BlackFriday,'' the worst financial calamity in the history ofthe nation. Mr. Finch showed us that the first thingneedful was to raise about two hundred and fifty thousanddollars, which could be tendered to the comptrollerof the State in cash, who, on receiving it, wouldimmediately turn over to the trustees the land scrip, whichit was all-important should be in our possession at thedeath of Mr. Cornell. He next pointed out the measuresto be taken in separating the interests of the universityfrom Mr. Cornell's estate, and these were providedfor. The sum required for obtaining control of the landscrip was immediately subscribed as a loan, virtuallywithout security, by members of the board then present;though at that depressing financial period of the countrystrong men went about with the best of securities, unableto borrow money upon them. In a few days Mr. Cornellwas dead; but the university was safe. Mr. Finch's planworked well in every particular; and this, which appearedlikely to be a great calamity, resulted in the board oftrustees obtaining control of the landed endowment ofthe institution, without which it must have failed. Butthe weeks while these negotiations were going on weregloomy indeed for me; rarely in my life have I been sounhappy. That crisis of our fate was the winter of 1874.The weather was cold and depressing, my family far off inSyracuse. My main refuge then, as at sundry other timesof deep personal distress, was in work. In the little southwestroom of the president's house, hardly yet finished andstill unfurnished, I made my headquarters. Every morn-ing a blazing fire was lighted on the hearth; every day Idevoted myself to university work and to study for mylectures. Happily, my subject interested me deeply. It was``The Age of Discovery''; and, surrounded with my books,I worked on, forgetful, for the time, of the Decemberstorms howling about the house, and of the still more fearfulstorms beating against the university. Three new lectureshaving been thus added to my course on the Renaissanceperiod, I delivered them to my class; and, just as Iwas finishing the last of them, a messenger came to tell methat Mr. Cornell was dying. Dismissing my students, Ihurried to his house, but was just too late; a few minutesbefore my arrival his eyes had closed in death. But hiswork was done—nobly done. As I gazed upon his deadface on that 9th of December, 1874, I remember wellthat my first feeling was that he was happily out of thestruggle; and that, wherever he might be, I could wish tobe still with him. But there was no time for unavailingregrets. We laid him reverently and affectionately torest, in the midst of the scenes so dear to him, within thesound of the university chimes he so loved to hear, andpressed on with the work.

A few years later came another calamity, not, like theothers, touching the foundations and threatening theexistence of the university, yet hardly less crushing at thetime; indeed, with two exceptions, it was the most depressingI have ever encountered. At the establishment of theuniversity in Ithaca, one of the charter trustees whoshowed himself especially munificent to the new enterprisewas Mr. John McGraw. One morning, while I was in themidst of the large collection of books sent by me fromEurope, endeavoring to bring them into some order beforethe opening day, his daughter, Miss Jenny McGraw,came in, and I had the pleasure of showing her some ofour more interesting treasures. She was a woman of kindand thoughtful nature, had traveled in her own countryand abroad to good purpose, and was evidently deeplyinterested. Next day her father met me and said: ``Well,you are pressing us all into the service. Jenny came homeyesterday, and said very earnestly, `I wish that I coulddo something to help on the university'; to which Ireplied, `Very well. Do anything you like; I shall be gladto see you join in the work.' '' The result was the giftfrom her of the chime of bells which was rung at theopening of the university, and which, with the additionsafterward made to it, have done beautiful service. On thebells she thus gave were inscribed the verses of the ninety-fifth chant of Tennyson's ``In Memoriam''; and someweeks afterward I had the pleasure of placing in herhands what she considered an ample return for her gift—a friendly letter from Tennyson himself, containing someof the stanzas written out in his own hand. So began herinterest in the university—an interest which never faltered.

A few years later she married one of our professors, anold friend of mine, and her marriage proved exceedinglyhappy; but, alas, its happiness was destined to be brief!Less than two years after her wedding day she wasbrought home from Europe to breathe her last in herhusband's cottage on the university grounds, and wasburied from the beautiful residence which she had builthard by, and had stored with works of art in every field.

At the opening of her will it was found that, while shehad made ample provision for all who were near and dearto her, and for a multitude of charities, she had left to theuniversity very nearly two millions of dollars, a portionof which was to be used for a student hospital, and thebulk of the remainder, amounting to more than a millionand a half, for the university library. Her husbandjoined most heartily in her purpose, and all seemed readyfor carrying it out in a way which would have madeCornell University, in that respect, unquestionably theforemost on the American continent. As soon as thismunificent bequest was announced, I asked our leadinglawyer, Judge Douglas Boardman, whether our charter allowedthe university to take it, calling his attention to thefact that, like most of its kind in the State of New York,it restricted the amount of property which the universitycould hold, and reminding him that we had already exceededthe limit thus allowed. To this he answered thatthe restriction was intended simply to prevent the endowmentof corporations beyond what the legislature mightthink best for the commonwealth; that if the attorney-general did not begin proceedings against us to preventour taking the property, no one else could; and that hewould certainly never trouble us.

In view of the fact that Judge Boardman had longexperience and was at the time judge of the Supreme Courtof the State, I banished all thought of difficulty; thoughI could not but regret that, as he drew Mrs. Fiske's will,and at the same time knew the restrictions of our charter,he had not given us a hint, so that we could have had ourpowers of holding property enlarged. It would have beenperfectly easy to have the restrictions removed, and, asa matter of fact, the legislature shortly afterward removedthem entirely, without the slightest objection; but thisaction was too late to enable us to take the McGraw-Fiskebequest.

About a fortnight after these assurances that we wereperfectly safe, Judge Boardman sent for me, and on meetinghim I found that he had discovered a decision of theCourt of Appeals—rendered a few years before—whichmight prevent our accepting the bequest.

But there was still much hope of inducing the main heirsto allow the purpose of Mrs. Fiske to be carried out. Withoutimputing any evil intentions to any person, I fullybelieve—indeed, I may say I KNOW—that, had the matterbeen placed in my hands, this vast endowment would havebeen saved to us; but it was not so to be. Personalcomplications had arisen between the main heir and two ofour trustees which increased the embarrassments of thesituation. It is needless to go into them now; let all thatbe buried; but it may at least be said that day and night Ilabored to make some sort of arrangement between theprincipal heir and the university, and finally took thesteamer for Europe in order to meet him and see if somearrangement could be made. But personal bitterness hadentered too largely into the contest, and my efforts werein vain. Though our legal advisers insisted that theuniversity was sure of winning the case, we lost it in everycourt—first in the Supreme Court of the State, then in theCourt of Appeals, and finally in the Supreme Court of theUnited States. To me all this was most distressing. Thecreation of such a library would have been theculmination of my work; I could then have sung my Nuncdimittis. But the calamity was not without itscompensations. When the worst was known, Mr. Henry W. Sage,a lifelong friend of Mr. McGraw and of Mrs. Fiske, cameto my house, evidently with the desire to console me. Hesaid: ``Don't allow this matter to prey upon you; Jennyshall have her library; it shall yet be built and wellendowed.'' He was true to his promise. On the finaldecision against us, he added to his previous large gifts to theuniversity a new donation of over six hundred thousanddollars, half of which went to the erection of the presentlibrary building, and the other half to an endowment fund.Professor Fiske also joined munificently in enlarging thelibrary, adding various gifts which his practised eyeshowed him were needed, and, among these, two collections,one upon Dante and one in Romance literature, eachthe best of its kind in the United States. Mr. WilliamSage also added the noted library in German literatureof Professor Zarncke of Leipsic; and various otherscontributed collections, larger or smaller, so that the libraryhas become, as a whole, one of the best in the country. AsI visit it, there often come back vividly to me remembrancesof my college days, when I was wont to enter theYale library and stand amazed in the midst of the sixtythousand volumes which had been brought together duringone hundred and fifty years. They filled me with awe.But Cornell University has now, within forty years fromits foundation, accumulated very nearly three hundredthousand volumes, many among them of far greater valuethan anything contained in the Yale library of my day;and as I revise these lines comes news that the will ofProfessor Fiske, who recently died at Frankfort-on-the-Main,gives to the library all of his splendid collections in Italianhistory and literature at Florence, with the addition ofnearly half a million of dollars.

Beside these financial and other troubles, another classof difficulties beset us, which were, at times, almost asvexatious. These were the continued attacks made by goodmen in various parts of the State and Nation, who thoughtthey saw in Cornell a stronghold-first, of ideas in religionantagonistic to their own; and secondly, of ideas ineducation likely to injure their sectarian colleges. Fromthe day when our charter was under consideration atAlbany they never relented, and at times they were violent.The reports of my inauguration speech were, in sundrydenominational newspapers, utterly distorted; far andwide was spread the story that Mr. Cornell and myselfwere attempting to establish an institution for thepropagation of ``atheism'' and ``infidelity.'' Certainly nothingcould have been further from the purpose of either of us.He had aided, and loved to aid, every form of Christianity;I was myself a member of a Christian church and a trusteeof a denominational college. Everything that we could doin the way of reasoning with our assailants was in vain.In talking with students from time to time, I learned that,in many cases, their pastors had earnestly besought themto go to any other institution rather than to Cornell;reports of hostile sermons reached us; bitter diatribesconstantly appeared in denominational newspapers, andespecially virulent were various addresses given on publicoccasions in the sectarian colleges which felt themselvesinjured by the creation of an unsectarian institution on solarge a scale. Typical was the attack made by an eminentdivine who, having been installed as president over oneof the smaller colleges of the State, thought it his dutyto denounce me as an ``atheist,'' and to do this especiallyin the city where I had formerly resided, and in the churchwhich some of my family attended. I took no notice of thecharge, and pursued the even tenor of my way; but thepress took it up, and it recoiled upon the man who made it.

Perhaps the most comical of these attacks was one madeby a clergyman of some repute before the PresbyterianSynod at Auburn in western New York. This gentleman,having attended one or two of the lectures by Agassizbefore our scientific students, immediately rushed off tothis meeting of his brethren, and insisted that the greatnaturalist was ``preaching atheism and Darwinism'' at theuniversity. He seemed about to make a decided impression,when there arose a very dear old friend of mine, theRev. Dr. Sherman Canfield, pastor of the First PresbyterianChurch in Syracuse, who, fortunately, was a scholarabreast of current questions. Dr. Canfield quietlyremarked that he was amazed to learn that Agassiz had, inso short a time, become an atheist, and not less astonishedto hear that he had been converted to Darwinism; thatup to that moment he had considered Agassiz a deeplyreligious man, and also the foremost—possibly, indeed,the last—great opponent of the Darwinian hypothesis. Hetherefore suggested that the resolution denouncing CornellUniversity brought in by his reverend brother belaid on the table to await further investigation. It wasthus disposed of, and, in that region at least, it was neverheard of more. Pleasing is it to me to chronicle the factthat, at Dr. Canfield's death, he left to the university avery important part of his library.

From another denominational college came an attackon Goldwin Smith. One of its professors published, inthe Protestant Episcopal ``Gospel Messenger,'' an attackupon the university for calling into its faculty a``Westminster Reviewer''; the fact being that Goldwin Smithwas at that time a member of the Church of England,and had never written for the ``Westminster Review''save in reply to one of its articles. So, too, when therewere sculptured on the stone seat which he had orderedcarved for the university grounds the words, ``Above allnations is humanity,'' there came an outburst. Sundrypastors, in their anxiety for the souls of the students, couldnot tell whether this inscription savored more of atheismor of pantheism. Its simple significance—that the claimsof humanity are above those of nationality—entirelyescaped them. Pulpit cushions were beaten in all parts ofthe State against us, and solemn warnings were renewedto students by their pastors to go anywhere for theireducation rather than to Cornell. Curiously, this fact becamenot only a gratuitous, but an effective, advertisem*nt:many of the brightest men who came to us in those daysconfessed to me that these attacks first directed theirattention to us.

We also owed some munificent gifts to this same cause.In two cases gentlemen came forward and made largeadditions to our endowment as their way of showingdisbelief in these attacks or contempt for them.

Still, the attacks were vexatious even when impotent.Ingenious was the scheme carried out by a zealous youngclergyman settled for a short time in Ithaca. Comingone day into my private library, he told me that he wasvery anxious to borrow some works showing the morerecent tendencies of liberal thought. I took him to oneof my book-cases, in which, by the side of the works ofBossuet and F<e'>nelon and Thomas Arnold and Robertsonof Brighton, he found those of Channing, Parker, Renan,Strauss, and the men who, in the middle years of the lastcentury, were held to represent advanced thought. Helooked them over for some time, made some excuse for notborrowing any of them just then, and I heard nothingmore from him until there came, in a denominationalnewspaper, his eloquent denunciation of me for possessingsuch books. Impressive, too, must have been the utterancesof an eminent ``revivalist'' who, in various Westerncities, loudly asserted that Mr. Cornell had diedlamenting his inability to base his university on atheism,and that I had fled to Europe declaring that in Americaan infidel university was, as yet, an impossibility.

For a long time I stood on the defensive, hoping thatthe provisions made for the growth of religious lifeamong the students might show that we were not sowicked as we were represented; but, as all this seemedonly to embitter our adversaries, I finally determined totake the offensive, and having been invited to deliver alecture in the great hall of the Cooper Institute at NewYork, took as my subject ``The Battle-fields of Science.''In this my effort was to show how, in the supposedinterest of religion, earnest and excellent men, for manyages and in many countries, had bitterly opposed variousadvances in science and in education, and that suchopposition had resulted in most evil results, not only to scienceand education, but to religion. This lecture was publishedin full, next day, in the ``New York Tribune''; extractsfrom it were widely copied; it was asked for by lectureassociations in many parts of the country; grew first intotwo magazine articles, then into a little book which waswidely circulated at home, reprinted in England with apreface by Tyndall, and circulated on the Continent intranslations, was then expanded into a series of articles inthe ``Popular Science Monthly,'' and finally wrought intomy book on ``The Warfare of Science with Theology.''In each of these forms my argument provoked attack; butall this eventually created a reaction in our favor, even inquarters where it was least expected. One evidence of thistouched me deeply. I had been invited to repeat thelecture at New Haven, and on arriving there found alarge audience of Yale professors and students; but, mostsurprising of all, in the chair for the evening, no less apersonage than my revered instructor, Dr. TheodoreDwight Woolsey, president of the university. He was ofa deeply religious nature; and certainly no man was everunder all circ*mstances, more true to his convictions ofduty. To be welcomed by him was encouragement indeed.He presented me cordially to the audience, and at theclose of my address made a brief speech, in which hethoroughly supported my positions and bade me Godspeed.Few things in my life have so encouraged me.

Attacks, of course, continued for a considerable time,some of them violent; but, to my surprise and satisfaction,when my articles were finally brought together inbook form, the opposition seemed to have exhausted itself.There were even indications of approval in some quarterswhere the articles composing it had previously beenattacked; and I received letters thoroughly in sympathywith the work from a number of eminent Christian men,including several doctors of divinity, and among thesetwo bishops, one of the Anglican and one of the AmericanEpiscopal Church.

The final result was that slander against the universityfor irreligion was confined almost entirely to very narrowcircles, of waning influence; and my hope is that,as its formative ideas have been thus welcomed by variousleaders of thought, and have filtered down through thepress among the people at large, they have done somethingto free the path of future laborers in the field ofscience and education from such attacks as those whichCornell was obliged to suffer.

CHAPTER XXV

CONCLUDING YEARS—1881-1885

To this work of pressing on the development of theleading departments in the university, establishingvarious courses of instruction, and warding off attacks asbest I could, was added the daily care of the regular andsteady administration of affairs, and in this my duty wasto co<o:>perate with the trustees, the faculty, and thestudents. The trustees formed a body differently composedfrom any organization for university government up tothat time. As a rule, such boards in the United Stateswere, in those days, self-perpetuating. A man once electedinto one of them was likely to remain a trustee duringhis natural life; and the result had been much dry-rot and,frequently, a very sleepy condition of things in Americancollegiate and university administration. In drawing theCornell charter, we provided for a governing body by firstnaming a certain number of high State officers—thegovernor, lieutenant-governor, speaker, president of the StateAgricultural Society, and others; next, a certain numberof men of special fitness, who were to be elected by theboard itself; and, finally, a certain proportion elected bythe alumni from their own number. Beside these, the eldestmale lineal descendant of Mr. Cornell, and the presidentof the university, were trustees ex officio. At the firstnomination of the charter trustees, Mr. Cornell proposedthat he should name half the number and I the other half.This was done, and pains were taken to select men accustomedto deal with large affairs. A very important provisionwas also made limiting their term of office to five years.

During the first nine years the chairmanship of theboard was held by Mr. Cornell, but at his death Mr.Henry W. Sage was elected to it, who, as long as he lived,discharged its duties with the greatest conscientiousnessand ability. To the finances of the university he gavethat shrewd care which had enabled him to build up hisown immense business. Freely and without compensation,he bestowed upon the institution labor for which anygreat business corporation would have gladly paid hima very large sum. For the immediate management, inthe intervals of the quarterly meetings of the board, anexecutive committee of the trustees was created, whichalso worked to excellent purpose.

The faculty, which was at first comparatively small,was elected by the trustees upon my nomination. Indeciding on candidates, I put no trust in mere papertestimonials, no matter from what source; but always sawthe candidates themselves, talked with them, and thensecured confidential communications regarding them fromthose who knew them best. The results were good, andto this hour I cherish toward the faculty, as toward thetrustees, a feeling of the deepest gratitude. Throughoutall the hard work of that period they supported me heartilyand devotedly; without their devotion and aid, mywhole administration would have been an utter failure.

To several of these I have alluded elsewhere; but oneshould be especially mentioned to whom every member ofthe faculty must feel a debt of gratitude—Professor HiramCorson. No one has done more to redress the balancebetween the technical side and the humanities. His writings,lectures, and readings have been a solace and aninspiration to many of us, both in the faculty andamong the students. It was my remembrance of the effectof his readings that caused me to urge, at a public addressat Yale in 1903, the establishment not only of professorshipsbut of readerships in English literature in all ourgreater institutions, urging especially that the readersthus called should every day present, with little if any noteor comment, the masterpieces of our literature. I canthink of no provision which would do more to humanizethe great body of students, especially in these days whenother branches are so largely supplanting classical studies,than such a continuous presentation of the treasures of ourlanguage by a thoroughly good reader. What is needed isnot more talk about literature, but the literature itself.And here let me recall an especial service of ProfessorCorson which may serve as a hint to men and women oflight and leading in the higher education of our country.On sundry celebrations of Founder's Day, and on variousother commemorative occasions, he gave in the universitychapel recitals from Milton, Wordsworth, Tennyson, andother poets of the larger inspiration, while organinterludes were given from the great masters of music.Literature and music were thus made to do beautiful service asyokefellows. It has been my lot to enjoy in various capitalsof the modern world many of the things which menwho have a deep feeling for art most rejoice in, but neverhave I known anything more uplifting and ennobling thanthese simple commemorations.

From one evil which has greatly injured many Americanuniversity faculties, especially in the middle and westernStates, we were virtually free. This evil was the prevalenceof feuds between professors. Throughout a largepart of the nineteenth century they were a great affliction.Twice the State University of Michigan was nearlywrecked by them; for several years they nearly paralyzedtwo or three of the New York colleges; and in one ofthese a squabble between sundry professors and thewidow of a former president was almost fatal. Anotherof the larger colleges in the same State lost a very eminentpresident from the same cause; and still another,which had done excellent work, was dragged down andfor years kept down by a feud between its two foremostprofessors. In my day, at Yale, whenever therewas a sudden influx of students, and it was asked whencethey came, the answer always was, ``Another Western collegehas burst up''; and the ``burst up'' had resulted,almost without exception, from faculty quarrels.

In another chapter I have referred to one of theseexplosions which, having blown out of a Western universitythe president, the entire board of trustees, and allthe assistant professors and instructors, convulsed theState for years. I have known gifted members of faculties,term after term, substitute for their legitimate workimpassioned appeals to their religious denominations,through synods or conferences, and to the public at largethrough the press,—their quarrels at last entangling otherprofessors and large numbers of students.

In my ``Plan of Organization'' I called attention to thisevil, and laid down the principle that ``the presence of noprofessor, however gifted, is so valuable as peace andharmony.'' The trustees acquiesced in this view, and fromthe first it was understood that, at any cost, quarrels mustbe prevented. The result was that we never had any whichwere serious, nor had we any in the board of trustees. Oneof the most satisfactory of all my reflections is that I neverhad any ill relations with any member of either body; thatthere was never one of them whom I did not look upon asa friend. My simple rule for the government of my ownconduct was that I had NO TIME for squabbling; that lifewas not long enough for quarrels; and this became, Ithink, the feeling among all of us who were engaged in thefounding and building of the university.

As regards the undergraduates, I initiated a systemwhich, so far as is known to me, was then new in Americaninstitutions of learning. At the beginning of every year,and also whenever any special occasion seemed to requireit, I summoned the whole body of students and addressedthem at length on the condition of the university, on theirrelations to it, and on their duties to it as well as tothemselves; and in all these addresses endeavored to bringhome to them the idea that under our system of giving tothe graduates votes in the election of trustees, and torepresentative alumni seats in the governing board, the wholestudent body had become, in a new sense, part of theinstitution, and were to be held, to a certain extent,responsible for it. I think that all conversant with the historyof the university will agree that the results of thus takingthe students into the confidence of the governingboard were happy. These results were shown largelyamong the undergraduates, and even more stronglyamong the alumni. In all parts of the country alumniassociations were organized, and here again I found asource of strength. These associations held reunions duringevery winter, and at least one banquet, at which thepresident of the university was invited to be present. Sofar as possible, I attended these meetings, and made useof them to strengthen the connection of the graduates withtheir alma mater.

The administrative care of the university was veryengrossing. With study of the various interests combinedwithin its organization; with the attendance on meetingsof trustees, executive committee, and faculty, anddiscussion of important questions in each of these bodies—with the general oversight of great numbers of studentsin many departments and courses; with the constantnecessity of keeping the legislature and the State informedas to the reasons of every movement, of meeting hostileforces pressing us on every side, of keeping in touch withour graduates throughout the country, there was muchto be done. Trying also, at times, to a man never inrobust health was the duty of addressing variousassemblies of most dissimilar purposes. Within the spaceof two or three years I find mention in my diaries of alarge number of addresses which, as president of theuniversity, I could not refuse to give; among these, thosebefore the legislature of the State, on Technical Education;before committees of Congress, on Agriculture andTechnical Instruction; before the Johns Hopkins University,on Education with Reference to Political Life; beforethe National Teachers' Association at Washington, on theRelation of the Universities to the State School Systems;before the American Social Science Association of NewYork, on Sundry Reforms in University Management; beforethe National Association of Teachers at Detroit, onthe Relations of Universities to Colleges; before fourthousand people at Cleveland, on the Education of theFreedmen; before the Adalbert College, on the Concentrationof Means for the Higher Education; before theState Teachers' Association at Saratoga, on Educationand Democracy; at the Centennial banquet at Philadelphia,on the American Universities; and before myclass at Yale University, on the Message of theNineteenth Century to the Twentieth; besides many publiclectures before colleges, schools, and special assemblies.There seemed more danger of wearing out than of rustingout, especially as some of these discourses provokedattacks which must be answered. Time also was requiredfor my duties as president of the American Social ScienceAssociation, which lasted several years, and of the AmericanHistorical Society, which, though less engrossing,imposed for a time much responsibility. Then, too, therewas another duty, constantly pressing, which I hadespecially at heart. The day had not yet arrived when thepresident of the university could be released from hisduties as a professor. I had, indeed, no wish for suchrelease; for, of all my duties, that of meeting my seniorstudents face to face in the lecture-room and interestingthem in the studies which most interested me, and whichseemed most likely to fit them to go forth and bring theinfluence of the university to bear for good upon the countryat large, was that which I liked best. The usual routineof administrative cares was almost hateful to me,and I delegated minor details, as far as possible, to thosebetter fitted to take charge of them—especially to the vice-president and registrar and secretary of the faculty. Butmy lecture-room I loved. Of all occupations, I know ofnone more satisfactory than that of a university professorwho feels that he is in right relations with hisstudents, that they welcome what he has to give them,and that their hearts and minds are developed, day byday, by the work which he most prizes. I may justly saythat this pleasure was mine at the University of Michiganand at Cornell University. It was at times hard tosatisfy myself; for next to the pleasure of directingyounger minds is the satisfaction of fitting one's self todo so. During my ordinary working-day there was littletime for keeping abreast with the latest and best in mydepartment; but there were odds and ends of time, dayand night, and especially during my frequent journeys byrail and steamer to meet engagements at distant points,when I always carried with me a collection of books whichseemed to me most fitted for my purpose; and as I hadtrained myself to be a rapid reader, these excursions gaveme many opportunities.

But some of these journeys were not well suited tostudy. During the first few years of the university,being obliged to live in the barracks on the University Hillunder many difficulties, I could not have my family withme, and from Saturday afternoon until Monday morningwas given to them at Syracuse. In summer the journeyby Cayuga Lake to the New York Central train gave meexcellent opportunity for reading and even for writing.But in winter it was different. None of the railways nowconnecting the university town with the outside worldhad then been constructed, save that to the southward;and, therefore, during those long winters there was atleast twice a week a dreary drive in wagon or sleighsometimes taking all the better hours of the day, in orderto reach the train from Binghamton to Syracuse. Comingout of my lecture-room Friday evening or Saturdaymorning, I was conveyed through nearly twenty-five milesof mud and slush or sleet and snow. On one journey mysleigh was upset three times in the drifts which made theroads almost impassable, and it required nearly ten hoursto make the entire journey. The worst of it was that,coming out of my heated lecture-room and taking an opensleigh at Ithaca, or coming out of the heated cars and takingit at Cortland, my throat became affected, and forsome years gave me serious trouble.

But my greater opportunities—those which kept mefrom becoming a mere administrative machine—wereafforded by various vacations, longer or shorter. During thesummer vacation, mainly passed at Saratoga and the seaside,there was time for consecutive studies with referenceto my work, my regular lectures, and occasional addresses.But this was not all. At three different times Iwas summoned from university work to public duties.The first of these occasions was when I was appointedby President Grant one of the commissioners to SantoDomingo. This appointment came when I was thoroughlyworn out with university work, and it gave me a chanceof great value physically and intellectually. During fourmonths I was in a world of thought as different fromanything that I had before known as that wonderful islandin the Caribbean Sea is different in its climate fromthe hills of central New York swept by the winds ofDecember. And I had to deal with men very differentfrom the trustees, faculty, and students of Cornell. Thisepisode certainly broadened my view as a professor, andstrengthened me for administrative duties.

The third of these long vacations was in 1879—80—81,when President Hayes appointed me minister plenipotentiaryin Berlin. My stay at that post, and especiallymy acquaintance with leaders in German thought and withprofessors at many of the Continental universities, didmuch for me in many ways.

It may be thought strange that I could thus absentmyself from the university, but these absences really enabledme to maintain my connection with the institution. Myconstitution, though elastic, was not robust; an uninterruptedstrain would have broken me, while variety ofoccupation strengthened me. Throughout my whole lifeI have found the best of all medicines to be travel andchange of scene. Another example of this was during mystay of a year abroad as commissioner at the ParisExposition. During that stay I prepared several additionsto my course of general lectures, and during my officialstay in Berlin added largely to my course on Germanhistory. But the change of work saved me: though minorexcursions were frequently given up to work with bookand pen, I returned from them refreshed and all the moreready for administrative duties.

As to the effect of such absences upon the university,I may say that it accorded with the theory which I heldtenaciously regarding the administration of the universityat that formative period. I had observed in variousAmerican colleges that a fundamental and most injuriouserror was made in relieving trustees and faculty fromresponsibility, and concentrating all in the president. Theresult, in many of these institutions, had been a sort ofatrophy,—the trustees and faculty being, whenever anemergency arose, badly informed as to the affairs of theirinstitutions, and really incapable of managing them. Thisstate of things was the most serious drawback to PresidentTappan's administration at the University of Michigan,and was the real cause of the catastrophe whichfinally led to his break with the regents of that university,and his departure to Europe, never to return. Worse stillwas the downfall of Union College, Schenectady, fromthe position which it had held before the death of PresidentNott. Under Drs. Nott and Tappan the tendency inthe institutions above named was to make the trusteesin all administrative matters mere ciphers, and to makethe faculty more and more incapable of administeringdiscipline or conducting current university business. Thatsystem concentrated all knowledge of university affairsand all power of every sort in the hands of the president,and relieved trustees and faculty from everything exceptnominal responsibility. From the very beginning Idetermined to prevent this state of things at Cornell. Greatpowers were indeed given me by the trustees, and I usedthem; but in the whole course of my administration Iconstantly sought to keep ample legislative powers in theboard of trustees and in the faculty. I felt that theuniversity, to be successful, should not depend on the life andconduct of any one man; that every one of those called togovern and to manage it, whether president or professor,should feel that he had powers and responsibilities in itsdaily administration. Therefore it was that I inserted inthe fundamental laws of the university a provision thatthe confirmation by the trustees of all nominations ofprofessors should be by ballot; so that it might never be inthe power of the president or any other trustee unduly toinfluence selections for such positions. I also exertedmyself to provide that in calling new professors they shouldbe nominated by the president, not of his own will, butwith the advice of the faculty and should be confirmed bythe trustees. I also provided that the elections of studentsto fellowships and scholarships and the administration ofdiscipline should be decided by the faculty, and by ballot.The especial importance of this latter point will notescape those conversant with university management. Iinsisted that the faculty should not be merely a committeeto register the decrees of the president, but that it shouldhave full legislative powers to discuss and to decideuniversity affairs. Nor did I allow it to become a bodymerely advisory: I not only insisted that it should havefull legislative powers, but that it should be steadilytrained in the use of them. On my nomination the trusteeselected from the faculty three gentlemen who had shownthemselves especially fitted for administrative work to thepositions of vice-president, registrar, and secretary; andthenceforth the institution was no longer dependent on anyone man. To the first of these positions was electedProfessor William Channing Russel; to the second, ProfessorWilliam Dexter Wilson; to the third, Professor George C.Caldwell; and each discharged his duties admirably.

Of the last two of these I have already spoken, and heresome record should be made of the services rendered byDr. Russel. He was among those chosen for the instructingbody at the very beginning. Into all of his work hebrought a perfect loyalty to truth, with the trainedfaculties of a lawyer in seeking it and the fearlessness of anapostle in announcing it. As to his success in this latterfield, there may be given, among other testimonies, that ofan unwilling witness—a young scholar of great strengthof mind, who, though he had taken deep offense at sundryacts of the professor and never forgiven them, yet, after ayear in the historical lecture-rooms of the University ofBerlin, said to me: ``I have attended here the lectures ofall the famous professors of history, and have heard fewwho equal Professor Russel and none who surpass him inascertaining the really significant facts and in clearlypresenting them.''

In the vice-presidency of the faculty he also renderedservices of the greatest value. No one was more devotedthan he to the university or more loyal to his associates.There was, indeed, some friction. His cousin, JamesRussell Lowell, once asked me regarding this, and my replywas that it reminded me of a character in the ``BiglowPapers'' who ``had a dre'dful winnin' way to make folkshate him.'' This was doubtless an overstatement, but itcontained truth; for at times there was perhaps lacking inhis handling of delicate questions something of the suaviterin modo. His honest frankness was worthy of allpraise; but I once found it necessary to write him: ``I amsorry that you have thought it best to send me so unsparinga letter, but no matter; write me as many as you like;they will never break our friendship; only do not writeothers in the same strain.'' This brought back from himone of the kindest epistles imaginable. Uncompromisingas his manner was, his services vastly outweighed all thedefects of his qualities; and among these services weresome of which the general public never dreamed. I couldtell of pathetic devotion and self-sacrifice on his part, notonly to the university, but to individual students. Noprofessor ever had a kindlier feeling toward any scholar inneed, sickness, or trouble. Those who knew him best lovedhim most; and, in the hard, early days of the university,he especially made good his title to the gratitude of everyCornellian, not only by his university work, but by hisunostentatious devotion to every deserving student.

As to my professorial work, I found in due timeeffective aid in various young men who had been members ofmy classes. Of these were Charles Kendall Adams, whoafterward became my successor in the presidency of Cornell,and George Lincoln Burr, who is now one of my successorsin the professorship of history.

Thus it was that from time to time I could be absentwith a feeling that all at the university was moving onsteadily and securely; with a feeling, indeed, that it wassomething to have aided in creating an institution whichcould move on steadily and securely, even when the handsof those who had set it in motion had been removed.

There was, however, one temporary exception to the rule.During my absence as minister at Berlin trouble arose inthe governing board so serious that I resigned my diplomaticpost before my term of service was ended, and hastenedback to my university duties. But no permanentinjury had been done; in fact, this experience, byrevealing weaknesses in sundry parts of our system, resultedin permanent good.

Returning thus from Berlin, I threw myself into universitywork more heartily than ever. It was still difficult,for our lands had not as yet been sold to any extent, andour income was sadly insufficient. The lands were steadilyincreasing in value, and it was felt that it would be a greaterror to dispose of them prematurely. The work of providingways and means to meet the constantly increasingdemands of the institution was therefore severe, and theloss of the great library bequest to the university alsotried me sorely; but I labored on, and at last, thanks tothe admirable service of Mr. Sage in the management ofthe lands, the university was enabled to realize, for thefirst time, a large capital from them. Up to the year 1885they had been a steady drain upon our resources; nowthe sale of a fraction of them yielded a good revenue.For the first time there was something like ease in theuniversity finances.

Twenty years had now elapsed since I had virtuallybegun my duties as president by drafting the universitycharter and by urging it upon the legislature. The fouryears of work since my return from Berlin had tried meseverely; and more than that, I had made a pledge someyears before to the one who, of all in the world, had theright to ask it, that at the close of twenty years of serviceI would give up all administrative duties. To this pledgeI was faithful, but with the feeling that it was at thesacrifice of much. The new endowment coming in from thesale of lands offered opportunities which I had longed forduring many weary years; but I felt that it was best toput the management into new hands. There were changesneeded which were far more difficult for me to make thanfor a new-comer—especially changes in the faculty, whichinvolved the severing of ties very dear to me.

At the annual commencement of 1885, the twenty yearsfrom the granting of our charter having arrived, Ipresented my resignation with the declaration that it mustbe accepted. It was accepted in such a way as to makeme very grateful to all connected with the institution:trustees, faculty, and students were most kind to me. Asregards the first of these bodies, I cannot resist thetemptation to mention two evidences of their feelingwhich touched me deeply. The first of these was theproposal that I should continue as honorary president ofthe university. This I declined. To hold such a positionwould have been an injury to my successor; I knew wellthat the time had come when he would be obliged tograpple with questions which I had left unsettled froma feeling that he would have a freer hand than I could have.But another tender made me I accepted: this was that Ishould nominate my successor. I did this, naming my oldstudent at the University of Michigan, who had succeededme there as professor of history—Charles Kendall Adams;and so began a second and most prosperous administration.

In thus leaving the presidency of the university, itseemed to me that the time had come for carrying out aplan formed long before—the transfer to the universityof my historical and general library, which had becomeone of the largest and, in its field, one of the bestprivate collections of books in the United States. Thetrustees accepted it, providing a most noble room for it inconnection with the main university library and with thehistorical lecture-rooms; setting apart, also, from theirresources, an ample sum, of which the income should beused in maintaining the library, in providing a librarian,in publishing a complete catalogue, and in making thecollection effective for historical instruction. My onlyconnection with the university thenceforward was that ofa trustee and member of its executive committee. In thisposition it has been one of the greatest pleasures andsatisfactions of my life to note the large and steadydevelopment of the institution during the two administrationswhich have succeeded my own. At the close of theadministration of President Adams, who had especiallydistinguished himself in developing the law department andvarious other important university interests, in strengtheningthe connection of the institution with the State, andin calling several most competent professors, he wassucceeded by a gentleman whose acquaintance I had madeduring my stay as minister to Germany, he being at thattime a student at the University of Berlin,—Dr. JacobGould Schurman, whose remarkable powers and gifts havemore than met the great expectations I then formedregarding him, and have developed the university to a yethigher point, so that its number of students is now, as Irevise these lines, over three thousand. He, too, has beencalled to important duties in the public service; and hehas just returned after a year of most valuable work aspresident of the Commission of the United States to thePhilippine Islands, the university progressing during hisabsence, and showing that it has a life of its own and isnot dependent even on the most gifted of presidents.

On laying down the duties of the university presidency,it did not seem best to me to remain in its neighborhoodduring the first year or two of the new administration.Any one who has ever been in a position similarto mine at that period will easily understand the reason.It is the same which has led thoughtful men in thechurches to say that it is not well to have the old pastortoo near when the new pastor is beginning his duties.Obedient to this idea of leaving my successor a free hand, mywife and myself took a leisurely journey through England,France, and Italy, renewing old acquaintances and makingnew friends. Returning after a year, I settled downagain in the university, hoping to complete the book forwhich I had been gathering materials and on which I hadbeen working steadily for some years, when there came thegreatest calamity of my life,—the loss of her who had beenmy main support during thirty years,—and work becamefor a time, an impossibility. Again I became a wanderer,going, in 1888, first to Scotland, and thence, being orderedby physicians to the East, went again through France andItaly, and extended the journey through Egypt, Greeceand Turkey. Of the men and things which seemed mostnoteworthy to me at that period I speak in other chapters.From the East I made my way leisurely to Paris, withconsiderable stops at Buda-Pesth, Vienna, Ulm, MunichFrankfort-on-the-Main, Paris, London, taking notes inlibraries, besides collecting books and manuscripts.

Returning to the United States in the autumn of 1889,and settling down again in my old house at Cornell, I wasinvited to give courses of historical lectures at variousAmerican universities, especially one upon the ``Causesof the French Revolution,'' at Johns Hopkins, ColumbianUniversity in Washington, the University of Pennsylvania,Tulane University in New Orleans, and StanfordUniversity in California. Excursions to these institutionsopened a new epoch in my life; but of this I shall speakelsewhere.

During this period of something over fifteen years, Ihave been frequently summoned from these duties, whichwere especially agreeable to me—first, in 1892, as ministerto Russia; next, in 1896, as a member of the VenezuelanCommission at Washington; and, in 1897, as ambassadorto Germany. I have found many men and things whichwould seem likely to draw me away from my interest inCornell; but, after all, that which has for nearly fortyyears held, and still holds, the deepest place in mythoughts is the university which I aided to found.

Since resigning its presidency I have, in many ways,kept in relations with it; and as I have, at various times,returned from abroad and walked over its grounds,visited its buildings, and lived among its faculty andstudents, an enjoyment has been mine rarely vouchsafedto mortals. It has been like revisiting the earth afterleaving it. The work to which I had devoted myself forso many years, and with more earnestness than any otherwhich I have ever undertaken, though at times almostwith the energy of despair, I have now seen successfulbeyond my dreams. Above all, as I have seen the crowdof students coming and going, I have felt assured that thework is good. It was with this feeling that, just before Ileft the university for the embassy at Berlin, I erected atthe entrance of the university grounds a gateway, onwhich I placed a paraphrase of a Latin inscription notedby me, many years before, over the main portal of theUniversity of Padua, as follows:

``So enter that daily thou mayest become more learned
and thoughtful;
So depart that daily thou mayest become more useful
to thy country and to mankind.''

I often recall the saying of St. Philip Neri, who, in thedays of the Elizabethan persecutions, was wont to gazeat the students passing out from the gates of the EnglishCollege at Rome, on their way to Great Britain,and to say: ``I am feasting my eyes on those martyrsyonder.'' My own feelings are like his, but happier: Ifeast my eyes on those youths going forth from CornellUniversity into this new twentieth century to see greatthings that I shall never see, and to make the new timebetter than the old.

During my life, which is now extending beyond theallotted span of threescore and ten, I have been engagedafter the manner of my countrymen, in many sorts ofwork, have become interested in many conditions of menhave joined in many efforts which I hope have been ofuse; but, most of all, I have been interested in the foundingand maintaining of Cornell University, and by the part Ihave taken in that, more than by any other work of my lifeI hope to be judged.

PART V

IN THE DIPLOMATIC SERVICE

CHAPTER XXVI

AS ATTACH<E'> AT ST. PETERSBURG—1854-1855

While yet an undergraduate at Yale, my favoritestudies in history and some little attention tointernational law led me to take special interest in thediplomatic relations between modern states; but it neveroccurred to me that I might have anything to do directlywith them.

Having returned to New Haven after my graduation,intending to give myself especially to modern languagesas a preparation for travel and historical study abroad,I saw one day, from my window in North College, myfriend Gilman, then of the class above mine, sincepresident of Johns Hopkins University and of the CarnegieInstitution, rushing along in great haste, and, on going outto greet him, learned that he had been invited by GovernorSeymour of Connecticut, the newly appointed ministerto Russia, to go with him as an attach<e'>, and that, at hissuggestion, a similar invitation would be extended to me.

While in doubt on the matter, I took the train for NewYork to consult my father, and, entering a car, by a happychance found the only vacant place at the side of thegovernor. I had never seen him, except on the platform at mygraduation, three months before; but on my introducingmyself, he spoke kindly of my argument on that occasion,which, as he was ``pro-slavery'' and I ``anti-slavery,'' Ihad supposed he would detest; then talked pleasantly onvarious subjects, and, on our separating at New York,invited me so cordially to go to Russia with him that I thenand there decided to do so, and, on meeting my father,announced my decision.

On the 10th of December, 1853, I sailed for England, withGilman, and in London awaited Governor Seymour, who,at the last moment, had decided not to leave Washingtonuntil the Senate had confirmed his nomination; but thisdelay proved to be fortunate, for thereby opportunity wasafforded me to see some interesting men, and especiallyMr. Buchanan, who had previously been minister to Russia,was afterward President of the United States, andwas at that time minister at the court of St. James. Hewas one of the two or three best talkers I have ever known,and my first knowledge of his qualities in this respect wasgained at a great dinner given in his honor by Mr. GeorgePeabody, the banker. A day or two before, our ministerin Spain, Mr. Soul<e'>, and his son had each fought a duel,one with the French ambassador, the Marquis de Turgot,and the other with the Duke of Alba, on account of asupposed want of courtesy to Mrs. Soul<e'>; and theconversation being directed somewhat by this event, I recallMr. Buchanan's reminiscences of duels which he hadknown during his long public life as among the mostinteresting I have ever heard on any subject.

Shortly after the arrival of Governor Seymour, we wenton to Paris, and there, placing myself in the family of aFrench professor, I remained, while the rest of the partywent on to St. Petersburg; my idea being to hear lectureson history and kindred subjects, thus to fit myself byfluency in French for service in the attach<e'>ship, and,by other knowledge, for later duties.

After staying in France for nearly a year, havingreceived an earnest request from Governor Seymour tocome on to Russia before the beginning of the winter, Ileft Paris about the middle of October and went by way ofBerlin. In those days there was no railroad beyond theeastern frontier of Prussia, and, as the Crimean War wasgoing on, there was a blockade in force which made itimpossible to enter Russia by sea; consequently I hadseven days and seven nights of steady traveling in a post-coach after entering the Russian Empire.

Arriving at the Russian capital on the last day ofOctober, 1854, I was most heartily welcomed by the minister,who insisted that I should enjoy all the privileges ofresidence with him. Among the things to which I nowlook back as of the greatest value to me, is this stay ofnearly a year under his roof. The attach<e'>ship, as it existedin those days, was in many ways a good thing and inno way evil; but it was afterward abolished by Congresson the ground that certain persons had abused its privileges.I am not alone in believing that it could again bemade of real service to the country: one of the bestsecretaries of state our country has ever had, Mr. HamiltonFish, once expressed to me his deep regret at its suppression.

Under the system which thus prevailed at that timeyoung men of sufficient means, generally from the leadinguniversities, were secured to aid the minister, without anycost to the government, their only remuneration being anopportunity to see the life and study the institutions ofthe country to which the minister was accredited.

The duty of an attach<e'> was to assist the minister insecuring information, in conducting correspondence, andin carrying on the legation generally; he was virtually anadditional secretary of legation, and it was a part of myduty to act as interpreter. As such I was constantly calledto accompany the minister in his conferences with hiscolleagues as well as with the ministers of the Russiangovernment, and also to be present at court and at ceremonialinterviews: this was of course very interesting to me. Inthe intervals of various duties my time was given largelyto studying such works upon Russia and especially uponRussian history as were accessible, and the recent historywas all the more interesting from the fact that some ofthe men who had taken a leading part in it were still uponthe stage. One occasion especially comes back to mewhen, finding myself at an official function near an oldgeneral who was allowed to sit while all the others stood,I learned that he was one of the few still surviving whohad taken a leading part in the operations against Napoleon,in 1812, at Moscow.

It was the period of the Crimean War, and at our legationthere were excellent opportunities for observing notonly society at large, but the struggle then going onbetween Russia on one side, and Great Britain, France,Italy, and Turkey on the other.

The main duties of the American representative were tokeep his own government well informed, to guard theinterests of his countrymen, and not only to maintain, butto develop, the friendly relations that had existed formany years between Russia and the United States. Asuccession of able American ministers had contributed toestablish these relations: among them two who afterwardbecame President of the United States—John QuincyAdams and James Buchanan, George Mifflin Dallas, whoafterward became Vice-President; John Randolph of Roanoke;and a number of others hardly less important inthe history of our country. Fortunately, the two nationswere naturally inclined to peaceful relations; neither hadany interest antagonistic to the other, and under thesecirc*mstances the course of the minister was plain: it wasto keep his government out of all entanglements, and atthe same time to draw the two countries more closelytogether. This our minister at that time was very successfulin doing: his relations with the leading Russians,from the Emperor down, were all that could be desired,and to the work of men like him is largely due the factthat afterward, in our great emergency during the CivilWar, Russia showed an inclination to us that probably hadsomething to do with holding back the powers of westernEurope from recognizing the Southern Confederacy.

To the feeling thus created is also due, in some measure,the transfer of Alaska, which has proved fortunate, inspite of our halting and unsatisfactory administration ofthat region thus far.

The Czar at that period, Nicholas I, was a mostimposing personage, and was generally considered the mostperfect specimen of a human being, physically speaking,in all Europe. At court, in the vast rooms filled withrepresentatives from all parts of the world, and at thegreat reviews of his troops, he loomed up majestically,and among the things most strongly impressed uponmy memory is his appearance as I saw him, just beforehis death, driving in his sledge and giving the militarysalute.

Nor was he less majestic in death. In the spring of 1855he yielded very suddenly to an attack of pneumonia,doubtless rendered fatal by the depression due to the illsuccess of the war into which he had rashly plunged;and a day or two afterward it was made my duty to attend,with our minister, at the Winter Palace, the firstpresentation of the diplomatic corps to the new Emperor,Alexander II. The scene was impressive. The foreignministers having been arranged in a semicircle, with theirsecretaries and attach<e'>s beside them, the great doors wereflung open, and the young Emperor, conducted by hisMinister of Foreign Affairs, Count Nesselrode, enteredthe room. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and hegave his address with deep feeling. He declared that ifthe Holy Alliance made in 1815 had been broken, it wasnot the fault of Russia; that though he longed for peace,if terms should be insisted upon by the Western powers, atthe approaching Paris conference, incompatible with Russianhonor, he would put himself at the head of his faithfulcountry,—would retreat into Siberia,—would die ratherthan yield.

Then occurred an incident especially striking. FromAustria, which only seven years before had been saved byRussia from destruction in the Austro-Hungarian revolution,Russia had expected, in ordinary gratitude, at leastsome show of neutrality. But it had become evident thatgratitude had not prevented Austria from secretly joiningthe hostile nations; therefore it was that, in the course ofthe address, the Emperor, turning to the Austrianrepresentative, Count Esterhazy, addressed him with thegreatest severity, hinted at the ingratitude of his government,and insisted on Russia's right to a different return.During all this part of the address the Emperor Alexanderfastened his eyes upon those of the Austrian minister andspoke in a manner much like that which the head of aschool would use toward a school-boy caught in misdoing.At the close of this speech came the most perfect exampleof deportment I had ever seen: the Austrian minister,having looked the Czar full in the face, from first to last,without the slightest trace of feeling, bowed solemnly,respectfully, with the utmost deliberation, and then stoodimpassive, as if words had not been spoken destined tochange the traditional relations between the two greatneighboring powers, and to produce a bitterness which,having lasted through the latter half of the nineteenthcentury, bids fair to continue far into the twentieth.

Knowing the importance of this speech as an indicationto our government of what was likely to be the course ofthe Emperor, I determined to retain it in my mind; and,although my verbal memory has never been retentive, Iwas able, on returning to our legation, to write the wholeof it, word for word. In the form thus given, it wastransmitted to our State Department, where, a few yearssince, when looking over sundry papers, I found it.

Immediately after this presentation the diplomaticcorps proceeded to the room in which the body of Nicholaslay in state. Heaped up about the coffin were the jeweledcrosses and orders which had been sent him by the variousmonarchs of the world, and, in the midst of them, thecrowns and scepters of all the countries he had ruled,among them those of Siberia, Astrakhan, Kazan, Poland,the Crimea, and, above all, the great crown and scepter ofthe empire. At his feet two monks were repeating prayersfor the dead; his face and form were still as noble andunconquerable as ever.

His funeral dwells in my memory as the most imposingpageant I had ever seen. When his body was carried fromthe palace to the Fortress Church, it was borne betweendouble lines of troops standing closely together on eachside of the avenues for a distance of five miles; marshalsof the empire carried the lesser crowns and imperialinsignia before his body; and finally were borne the greatimperial crown, orb, and scepter, the masses of jewels inthem, and especially the Orloff diamond swinging in thetop of the scepter, flashing forth vividly on that brightwinter morning, and casting their rays far along theavenues. Behind the body walked the Emperor Alexanderand the male members of the imperial family.

Later came the burial in the Fortress Church of St.Peter and St. Paul, on the island of the Neva, nearlyopposite the Winter Palace. That, too, was most imposing.Choirs had been assembled from the four great cathedralsof the empire, and their music was beyond dreams. Atthe proper point in the service, the Emperor and hisbrothers, having taken the body of their father from itscoffin and wrapped it in a shroud of gold cloth, carried itto the grave near that of Peter the Great, at the right ofthe high altar; and, as it was laid to rest, and beautifulmusic rose above us, the guns of the fortress on all sidesof the church sounded the battle-roll until the wholeedifice seemed to rock upon its foundations. Never had Iimagined a scene so impressive.

Among the persons with whom it was my duty to deal,in behalf of our representative, was the Prime Minister ofRussia,—the Minister of Foreign Affairs,—Count Nesselrode.He was at that period the most noted diplomatistin the world; for, having been associated with Talleyrand,Metternich, and their compeers at the Congress of Vienna,he was now the last of the great diplomatists of theNapoleonic period. He received me most kindly and said, ``Soyou are beginning a diplomatic career?'' My answer wasthat I could not begin it more fitly than by making theacquaintance of the Nestor of diplomacy, or words to thateffect, and these words seemed to please him. Wheneverhe met me afterward his manner was cordial, and heseemed always ready to do all in his power to favor thebest relations between the two countries.

The American colony in Russia at that period wassmall, and visitors were few; but some of these enlivenedus. Of the more interesting were Colonel Samuel Colt ofHartford, inventor of the revolver which bears his name,and his companion, Mr. Dickerson, eminent as an expertin mechanical matters and an authority on the law ofpatents. They had come into the empire in the hope ofmaking a contract to supply the Russians with improvedarms such as the allies were beginning to use against themin the Crimea; but the heavy conservatism of Russianofficials thwarted all their efforts. To all representationsas to the importance of improved arms the answer was,``Our soldiers are too ignorant to use anything but theold `brown Bess.' '' The result was that the Russiansoldiers were sacrificed by thousands; their inferiorityin arms being one main cause of their final defeat.

That something better than this might have beenexpected was made evident to us all one day when Iconducted these gentlemen through the Imperial Museum ofthe Hermitage, adjoining the Winter Palace. After lookingthrough the art collections we went into the roomwhere were preserved the relics of Peter the Great, andespecially the machines of various sorts made for him bythe mechanics whom he called to his aid from Holland andother Western countries. These machines were not thenshut up in cases, as they now are, but were placed aboutthe room and easy of access. Presently I heard Mr. Dickersonin a loud voice call out: ``Good God! Sam, comehere! Only look at this!'' On our going to him, hepointed out to us a lathe for turning irregular forms andanother for copying reliefs, with specimens of work stillin them. ``Look at that,'' he said. ``Here is Blanchard'sturning-lathe, which only recently has been reinvented,which our government uses in turning musket-stocks, andwhich is worth a fortune. Look at those reliefs in thisother machine; here is the very lathe for copying sculpturethat has just been reinvented, and is now attracting somuch attention at Paris.''

These machines had stood there in the gallery, open toeverybody, ever since the death of Peter, two hundredyears before, and no human being had apparently evertaken the trouble to find the value of them.

But there came Americans of a very different sort, andno inconsiderable part of our minister's duties was to keephis hot-headed fellow-citizens from embroiling our countrywith the militant powers.

A very considerable party in the United States leanedtoward Russia and sought to aid her secretly, if notopenly. This feeling was strongest in our Southern Statesand among the sympathizers with slavery in our NorthernStates, a main agent of it in St. Petersburg being Dr.Cottman of New Orleans, and its main causes being theold dislike of Great Britain, and the idea among pro-slaveryfanatics that there was a tie between their part ofour country and Russia arising from the fact that whilethe American Republic was blessed with slavery, theRussian Empire was enjoying the advantages of the serfsystem. This feeling might have been very different hadthese sympathizers with Russia been aware that at thisvery moment Alexander II was planning to abolish theserf system throughout his whole empire; but as it was,their admiration for Russia knew no bounds, and theyeven persuaded leading Russians that it would not be adifficult matter to commit America to the cause of Russia,even to aiding her with arms, men, and privateers.

This made the duty of the American minister at timesvery delicate; for, while showing friendliness to Russia,he had to thwart the efforts of her over-zealous Americanadvocates. Moreover, constant thought had to be exercisedfor the protection of American citizens then withinthe empire. Certain Russian agents had induced a numberof young American physicians and surgeons who hadbeen studying in Paris to enter the Russian army, andthese, having been given pay and rapid advancement, inthe hope that this would strengthen American feelingfavorable to the Russian cause, were naturally hated bythe Russian surgeons; hence many of these youngcompatriots of ours were badly treated,—some so severelythat they died,—and it became part of our minister's dutyto extricate the survivors from their unfortunate position.More than once, on returning with him from an interviewwith the Minister of War, I saw tears in GovernorSeymour's eyes as he dwelt upon the death of some of theseyoung fellows whom he had learned to love during theirstay in St. Petersburg.

The war brought out many American adventurers, someof them curiosities of civilization, and this was especiallythe case with several who had plans for securing victoryto Russia over the Western powers. All sorts of nostrumswere brought in by all sorts of charlatans, and the effortsof the minister and his subordinates to keep these gentlemenwithin the limits of propriety in their dealings withone another and with the Russian authorities were attimes very arduous. On one occasion, the main functionariesof the Russian army having been assembled withgreat difficulty to see the test of a new American inventionin artillery, it was found that the inventor's rival hadstolen some essential part of the gun, and the whole thingwas a vexatious failure.

One man who came out with superb plans brought amilitia colonel's commission from the governor of a WesternState and the full uniform of a major-general. Atfirst he hesitated to clothe himself in all his glory, andtherefore went through a process of evolution, beginningfirst with part of his uniform and then adding more ashis courage rose. During this process he became thestanding joke of St. Petersburg; but later, when he hademerged in full and final splendor, he became a man ofmark indeed, so much so that serious difficulties arose.Throughout the city are various corps de garde, and thesentinel on duty before each of these, while allowed merelyto present arms to an officer of lower rank, must, wheneverhe catches sight of a general officer, call out the entireguard to present arms with the beating of drums. Hereour American was a source of much difficulty, for wheneverany sentinel caught sight of his gorgeous epaulets inthe distance the guard was instantly called out, armspresented, and drums beaten, much to the delight of ourfriend, but even more to the disgust of the generals of theRussian army and to the troops, who thus rendered absurdhomage and found themselves taking part in somethinglike a bit of comic opera.

Another example was also interesting. A New Yorkward leader—big, rough, and rosy—had come out as anagent for an American breech-loading musket company,and had smuggled specimens of arms over the frontier.Arriving in St. Petersburg, he was presented to theEmperor, and after receiving handsome testimonials, was putin charge of two aides-de-camp, who took him and hiswife about, in court carriages, to see the sights of theRussian capital. At the close of his stay, wishing to makesome return for this courtesy, he gave these two officersa dinner at his hotel. Our minister declined his invitation,but allowed the secretary and me to accept it, andwe very gladly availed ourselves of this permission.Arriving at his rooms, we were soon seated at a tablesplendidly furnished. At the head of it was the wife of ourentertainer, and at her right one of the Russian officials,in gorgeous uniform; at the other end of our table wasour host, and at his right the other Russian official, splendidlyattired; beside the first official sat our secretary, andbeside the other was the place assigned to me. The dinnerwas successful: all spoke English, and all were happy;but toward the end of it our host, having perhaps takenmore wine than was his wont, grew communicative, and, asill luck would have it, the subject of the conversationbecame personal courage, whereupon he told a story. Recallinghis experience as a deputy sheriff of New York, hesaid:

``When those river pirates who murdered a sailor inNew York harbor had to be hanged, the sheriff of thecounty hadn't the courage to do it and ordered me tohang them. I rather hated the business, but I made everythingready, and when the time came I took an extra glassof brandy, cut the rope, and off they swung.''

The two Russians started back in consternation. Notall their politeness could conceal it: horror of horrors,they were dining with a hangman! Besides their senseof degradation in this companionship, superstitions hadbeen bred in them which doubled their distress. A deadsilence fell over all. I was the first to break it byremarking to my Russian neighbor:

``You may perhaps not know, sir, that in the State ofNew York the taking of life by due process of law isconsidered so solemn a matter that we intrust it to thechief executive officers of our counties,—to our sheriffs,—and not to hangmen or executioners.''

He looked at me very solemnly as I announced thistruth, and then, after a solemn pause, gasped out in adubious, awe-struck voice, ``Merci bien, monsieur.'' Butthis did not restore gaiety to the dinner. Henceforth itwas cold indeed, and at the earliest moment possible theRussian officials bowed themselves out, and no doubt, fora long time afterward, ascribed any ill luck which befellthem to this scene of ill omen.

Another case in which this irrepressible compatriotfigured was hardly less peculiar. Having decided toreturn to America, and the blockade being still in force, hesecured a place in the post-coach for the seven days andseven nights' journey to the frontier. The opportunitiesto secure such passages were few and far between, sincethis was virtually the only public conveyance out of theempire. As he was obliged to have his passport vis<e'>dat the Russian Foreign Office in order that he might leavethe country, it had been sent by the legation to the Russianauthorities a fortnight before his departure, butunder various pretexts it was retained, and at last did notarrive in time. When the hour of departure came he wasat the post-house waiting for his pass, and as he had beenassured that it would duly reach him, he exerted himselfin every way to delay the coach. He bribed one subordinateafter another; but at last the delay was so long andthe other passengers so impatient that one of the higherofficials appeared upon the scene and ordered the coach tostart. At this our American was wild with rage andbegan a speech in German and English—so that all theofficials might understand it—on Russian officials and onthe empire in general. A large audience having gatheredaround him, he was ordered to remove his hat. At thishe held it on all the more firmly, declared himself anAmerican, and defied the whole power of the empire toremove it. He then went on to denounce everything inRussia, from the Emperor down. He declared that theofficials were a pack of scoundrels; that the only reasonwhy he did not obtain his passport was that he had notbribed them as highly as they expected; that the empireought to be abolished; that he hoped the Western powersin the war then going on would finish it—indeed, that hethought they would.

There was probably some truth in his remark as to theinadequate bribing of officials; but the amazing thing wasthat his audience were so paralyzed by his utterances andso overawed by his attitude that they made no effort toarrest him. Then came a new scene. While they werestanding before him thus confounded, he suddenly turnedto the basket of provisions which he had laid in for hisseven days' journey, and began pelting his audience,including the official above named, with its contents,hurling sandwiches, oranges, and finally even roast chickens,pigeons, and partridges, at their devoted heads. Atlast, pressing his hat firmly over his brows, he strodeforth to the legation unmolested. There it took somelabor to cool his wrath; but his passport having finallybeen obtained, we secured for him permission to use post-horses, and so he departed from the empire.

To steer a proper course in the midst of such fellow-citizens was often difficult, and I recall multitudes of otherexamples hardly less troublesome; indeed, the career ofthis same deputy sheriff at St. Petersburg was full ofother passages requiring careful diplomatic interventionto prevent his arrest.

Luckily for these gentlemen, the Russian governmentfelt, just at that time, special need of maintaining friendlyrelations with the powers not at war with her, and thepublic functionaries of all sorts were evidently orderedto treat Americans with extreme courtesy and forbearance.

One experience of this was somewhat curious. Our firstsecretary of legation and I, having gone on Easter eve tothe midnight mass at the Kazan cathedral, we were shownat once into a place of honor in front of the great silvericonostase and stationed immediately before one of thedoors opening through it into the inner sanctuary. Atfirst the service went on in darkness, only mitigated bya few tapers at the high altar; but as the clock struck thehour of midnight there came suddenly the roaring of thefortress guns, the booming of great bells above andaround us, and a light, which appeared at the oppositeend of the cathedral, seemed to shoot in all directions,leaving trains of fire, until all was ablaze, every personpresent holding a lighted taper. Then came the mass,celebrated by a bishop and his acolytes gorgeouslyattired, with the swinging of censers, not only toward theecclesiastics, but toward the persons of importance present,among whom we were evidently included. Suddenlythere came a dead stop, stillness, and an evidentatmosphere of embarrassment. Then the ceremony began again,and again the censers were swung toward us, and againa dead stop. Everything seemed paralyzed. Presentlythere came softly to my side a gentleman who said in alow tone, ``You are of the American legation?'' Ianswered in the affirmative. He said, ``This is a veryinteresting ceremony.'' To this I also assented. He then said,``Is this the first time you have seen it?'' ``Yes,'' Ianswered; ``we have never been in Russia at Easter before.''He then took very formal leave, and again the ceremonywas revived, again the clouds of incense rose, and againcame the dead stop. Presently the same gentleman cameup again, gently repeated very much the same questionsas before, and receiving the same answers, finally said,with some embarrassment: ``Might I ask you to kindlymove aside a little? A procession has been waiting forsome time back of this door, and we are very anxious tohave it come out into the church.'' At this SecretaryErving and I started aside instantly, much chagrined tothink that we had caused such a stoppage in such a ceremony;the doors swung open, and out came a brilliantprocession of ecclesiastics with crosses, censers, lights, andbanners.

Not all of our troubles were due to our compatriots.Household matters sometimes gave serious annoyance.The minister had embraced a chance very rare in Russia,—one which, in fact, almost never occurs,—and hadsecured a large house fully furnished, with the servants,who, from the big chasseur who stood at the back of theminister's sledge to the boy who blew the organ on whichI practised, were serfs, and all, without exception, docile,gentle, and kindly. But there was one standing enemy—vodka. The feeling of the Russian peasant toward therough corn-brandy of his own country is characteristic.The Russian language is full of diminutives expressiveof affection. The peasant addresses his superior asBatushka, the affectionate diminutive of the word whichmeans father; he addresses the mistress of the house asMatushka, which is the affectionate diminutive of theRussian word for mother. To his favorite drink, brandy, hehas given the name which is the affectionate diminutiveof the word voda, water—namely, vodka, which reallymeans ``dear little water.'' Vodka was indeed our mostinsidious foe, and gave many evidences of its power; butone of them made an unwonted stir among us.

One day the minister, returning in his carriage frommaking sundry official visits, summoned the housekeeper,a Baltic-province woman who had been admirably broughtup in an English family, and said to her: `` Annette I insistthat you discharge Ivan, the coachman, at once; I can'tstand him any longer. This afternoon he raced, with me inthe carriage, up and down the Nevsky, from end to end, withthe carriages of grand dukes and ministers, and, do mybest, I could not stop him. He simply looked back at me,grinned like an idiot, and drove on with all his might.It is the third time he has done this. I have pardonedhim twice on his solemn pledge that he would do better;but now he must go.'' Annette assented, and in the eveningafter dinner came in to tell the minister that Ivan wasgoing, but wished to beg his pardon and say farewell.

The minister went out rather reluctantly, the rest of usfollowing; but he had hardly reached the anteroom whenIvan, a great burly creature with a long flowing beard andcaftan, rushed forward, groveled before him, embracedhis ankles, laid his head upon his feet, and there remainedmumbling and moaning. The minister was greatlyembarrassed and nervously ejacul*ted: ``Take him away!Take him away!'' But all to no purpose. Ivan couldnot be induced to relax his hold. At last the ministerrelented and told Annette to inform Ivan that he wouldreceive just one more trial, and that if he failed again hewould be sent away to his owner without having anyopportunity to apologize or to say good-bye.

Very interesting to me were the houses of some of theBritish residents, and especially that of Mr. Baird, thehead of the iron-works which bore his name, and which,at that time, were considered among the wonders of Russia.He was an interesting character. Noticing, amongthe three very large and handsome vases in his dining-room, the middle one made up of the bodies of threelarge eagles in oxidized silver with crowns of gold,I was told its history. When the Grand Duke Alexander—who afterward became the second emperor of thatname—announced his intention of joining the St. PetersburgYacht Club, a plan was immediately formed toprovide a magnificent trophy and allow him to win it,and to this plan all the members of the club agreed exceptBaird. He at once said: ``No; if the grand duke's yachtcan take it, let him have it; if not, let the best yacht win.If I can take it, I shall.'' It was hoped that he would thinkbetter of it, but when the day arrived, the other yachtshaving gradually fallen back, Mr. Baird continued therace with the grand duke and won. As a result he wasfor some years in disfavor with the high officialssurrounding the Emperor—a disfavor that no doubt costhim vast sums; but he always asserted that he was gladhe had insisted on his right.

On one occasion I was witness to a sad faux pas at hisdinner-table. It was in the early days of the CrimeanWar, and an American gentleman who was present wasso careless as to refer to Queen Victoria's proclamationagainst all who aided the enemy, which was clearly leveledat Mr. Baird and his iron-works. There was a scene atonce. The ladies almost went into hysterics in deprecationof the position in which the proclamation had placedthem. But Mr. Baird himself was quite equal to theoccasion: in a very up-and-down way he said that he ofcourse regretted being regarded as a traitor to his country,but that in the time of the alliance against the firstNapoleon his father had been induced by the Russiangovernment to establish works, and this not merely with theconsent, but with the warm approval, of the Britishgovernment; in consequence the establishment had takencontracts with the Russian government and now they must beexecuted; so far as he was concerned his conscience wasentirely clear; his duty was plain, and he was going todo it.

On another occasion at his table there was a very goodrepartee. The subject of spiritualism having been broughtup, some one told a story of a person who, having goneinto an unfrequented garret of an old family residence,found that all the old clothing which had been stored thereduring many generations had descended from the shelvesand hooks and had assumed kneeling postures about thefloor. All of us heard the story with much solemnity,when good old Dr. Law, chaplain of the British church,broke the silence with the words, ``That must have beena family of very PIOUS HABITS.'' This of course broke thespell.

I should be sorry to have it thought that all my stayin the Russian capital was given up to official routine andsocial futilities. Fortunately for me, the social demandswere not very heavy. The war in the Crimea, steadilygoing against Russia, threw a cloud over the court andcity and reduced the number of entertainments to aminimum. This secured me, during the long winter evenings,much time for reading, and in addition to all the valuabletreatises I could find on Russia, I went with care throughan extensive course in modern history.

As to Russian matters, it was my good fortune to becomeintimately acquainted with Atkinson, the Britishtraveler in Siberia. He had brought back many portfoliosof sketches, and his charming wife had treasured up agreat fund of anecdotes of people and adventure, so thatI seemed for a time to know Siberia as if I had lived there.Then it was that I learned of the beauties and capabilitiesof its southern provinces. The Atkinsons had alsobrought back their only child, a son born on the Siberiansteppe, a wonderfully bright youngster, whom they destinedfor the British navy. He bore a name which I fearmay at times have proved a burden to him, for his fatherand mother were so delighted with the place in which hewas born that they called him, after it, ``Alatow-TamChiboulak.''[10]

[10] Since writing the above, I have had the pleasure ofreceiving a letter from this gentleman, who has for some timeheld the responsible and interesting position of superintendentof public instruction in the Hawaiian Islands, his son, agraduate of the University of Michigan, having been Secretaryof the Territory.

The general Russian life, as I thus saw it, while intenselyinteresting in many respects, was certainly not cheerful.Despite the frivolity dominant among the upper class andthe fetishism controlling the lower classes, there was,especially in that period of calamity, a deep undertone ofmelancholy. Melancholy, indeed, is a marked characteristicof Russia, and, above all, of the peasantry. Theyseem sad even in their sports; their songs, almost withoutexception, are in the minor key; the whole atmosphere isapparently charged with vague dread of some calamity.Despite the suppression of most of the foreign journals,and the blotting out of page after page of the newspapersallowed to enter the empire, despite all that the secretpolice could do in repressing unfavorable comment, itbecame generally known that all was going wrong in theCrimea. News came of reverse after reverse: of thedefeats of the Alma and Inkerman, and, as a climax, the lossof Sebastopol and the destruction of the Russian fleet. Inthe midst of it all, as is ever the case in Russian wars,came utter collapse in the commissariat department;everywhere one heard hints and finally detailed storiesof scoundrelism in high places: of money which ought tohave been appropriated to army supplies, but which hadbeen expended at the gambling-tables of Homburg or inthe Breda quarter at Paris.

Then it was that there was borne in upon me the convictionthat Russia, powerful as she seems when viewed fromthe outside, is anything but strong when viewed from theinside. To say nothing of the thousand evident weaknessesresulting from autocracy,—the theory that one man, andhe, generally, not one of the most highly endowed, can dothe thinking for a hundred millions of people,—there wasnowhere the slightest sign of any uprising of a great nation,as, for instance, of the French against Europe in1792, of the Germans against France in 1813 and in 1870,of Italy against Austria in 1859 and afterward, and of theAmericans in the Civil War of 1861. There were certainlymany noble characters in Russia, and these musthave felt deeply the condition of things; but there beingno great middle class, and the lower class having beenlong kept in besotted ignorance, there seemed to be noforce on which patriotism could take hold.

CHAPTER XXVII

AS ATTACH<E'> AND BEARER OF DESPATCHES
IN WAR-TIME—1855

The spring of 1855 was made interesting by the arrivalof the blockading fleet before the mouth of theNeva, and shortly afterward I went down to look at it.It was a most imposing sight: long lines of mighty three-deckers of the old pattern, British and French,—onehundred in all,—stretched across the Gulf of Finland in frontof the fortresses of Cronstadt. Behind the fortresses laythe Russian fleet, helpless and abject; and yet, as eventsshowed during our own Civil War half a dozen yearslater, a very slight degree of inventive ability would haveenabled the Russians to annihilate the hostile fleet, and togain the most prodigious naval victory of modern times.Had they simply taken one or two of their own greatships to the Baird iron-works hard by, and plated themwith railway iron, of which there was plenty, they couldhave paralleled the destruction of our old wooden frigatesat Norfolk by the Merrimac, but on a vastly greaterscale. Yet this simple expedient occurred to no one; andthe allied fleet, under Sir Richard Dundas, bade defianceto the Russian power during the whole summer.

The Russians looked more philosophically upon theblockade than upon their reverses in the Crimea, but theyacted much like the small boy who takes revenge on thebig boy by making faces at him. Some of their caricatureson their enemies were very clever. Fortunately forsuch artistic efforts, the British had given them a fineopportunity during the previous year, when Sir CharlesNapier, the commander of the Baltic fleet, having madea boastful speech at a public dinner in London, andinvited his hearers to dine with him at St. Petersburg, hadreturned to England, after a summer before Cronstadt,without even a glimpse of the Russian capital.

I am the possessor of a very large collection ofhistorical caricatures of all nations, and among them allthere is hardly one more spirited and comical than thatwhich represents Sir Charles at the masthead of one ofhis frigates, seeking, through a spy-glass, to get a sight atthe domes and spires of St. Petersburg: not even the bestefforts of Gillray or ``H. B.,'' or Gavarni or Daumier, orthe brightest things in ``Punch'' or ``Kladderadatsch''surpass it.

Some other Russian efforts at keeping up publicspirit were less legitimate. Popular pictures of a rudesort were circulated in vast numbers among the peasants,representing British and French soldiers desecratingchurches, plundering monasteries, and murdering priests.

Near the close of my stay I made a visit, in companywith Mr. Erving, first secretary of the legation, toMoscow,—the journey, which now requires but twelve hours,then consuming twenty-four; and a trying journey it was,since there was no provision for sleeping.

The old Russian capital, and, above all, the Kremlin,interested me greatly; but, of all the vast collections inthe Kremlin, two things especially arrested my attention.The first was a statue,—the only statue in all those vasthalls,—and there seemed a wondrous poetic justice in thefact that it represented the first Napoleon. The otherthing was an evidence of the feeling of the EmperorNicholas toward Poland. In one of the large rooms wasa full-length portrait of Nicholas's elder brother andimmediate predecessor, Alexander I; flung on the floor athis feet was the constitution of Poland, which he hadgiven, and which Nicholas, after fearful bloodshed, hadtaken away; and lying near was the Polish scepter brokenin the middle.

A visit to the Sparrow Hills, from which Napoleonfirst saw Moscow and the Kremlin, was also interesting;but the city itself, though picturesque, disappointed me.Everywhere were filth, squalor, beggary, and fetishism.Evidences of official stupidity were many. In one of theKremlin towers a catastrophe had occurred on the occasionof the Emperor's funeral, a day or two before ourarrival: some thirty men had been ringing one of theenormous bells, when it broke loose from its rottenfastenings and crashed down into the midst of the ringers,killing several. Sad reminders of this slaughter wereshown us; it was clearly the result of gross neglect.

Another revelation of Russian officialism was therevouchsafed us. Wishing to send a very simple messageto our minister at St. Petersburg, we went to thetelegraph office and handed it to the clerk in charge.Putting on an air of great importance, he began a longinquisitorial process, insisting on knowing our full names,whence we had come, where we were going, how long wewere staying, why we were sending the message, etc., etc.;and when he had evidently asked all the questions hecould think of, he gravely informed us that our messagecould not be sent until the head of the office had given hisapproval. On our asking where the head of the officewas, he pointed out a stout gentleman in military uniformseated near the stove in the further corner of the room,reading a newspaper; and, on our requesting him to notifythis superior being, he answered that he could not thusinterrupt him; that we could see that he was busy. Atthis Erving lost his temper, caught up the paper, tore itin pieces, threw them into the face of the underling witha loud exclamation more vigorous than pious, and wemarched out defiantly. Looking back when driving offin our droshky, we saw that he had aroused the entireestablishment: at the door stood the whole personnel of theoffice,—the military commander at the head,—all gazingat us in a sort of stupefaction. We expected to hear fromthem afterward, but on reflection they evidently thoughtit best not to stir the matter.

In reviewing this first of my sojourns in Russia, mythoughts naturally dwell upon the two sovereigns NicholasI and Alexander II. The first of these was a greatman scared out of greatness by the ever recurring specterof the French Revolution. There had been much to makehim a stern reactionary. He could not but remember thattwo Czars—his father and grandfather—had both beenmurdered in obedience to family necessities. At hisproclamation as emperor he had been welcomed by a revoltwhich had forced him

``To wade through slaughter to a throne—''

a revolt which had deluged the great parade-ground ofSt. Petersburg with the blood of his best soldiers, whichhad sent many coffles of the nobility to Siberia, and whichhad obliged him to see the bodies of several men whomight have made his reign illustrious dangling from thefortress walls opposite the Winter Palace. He had beenobliged to grapple with a fearful insurrection in Poland,caused partly by the brutality of his satraps, but mainlyby religious hatreds; to suppress it with enormous carnage;and to substitute, for the moderate constitutionalliberty which his brother had granted, a cruel despotism.He had thus become the fanatical apostle of reactionthroughout Europe, and as such was everywhere theimplacable enemy of any evolution of constitutional liberty.The despots of Europe adored him. As symbols of hisideals, he had given to the King of Prussia and to theNeapolitan Bourbon copies of two of the statues whichadorned his Nevsky bridge—statues representing restivehorses restrained by strong men; and the Berlin populace,with an unerring instinct, had given to one of these thename ``Progress checked,'' and to the other the name``Retrogression encouraged.'' To this day one sees every-where in the palaces of Continental rulers, whether greator petty, his columns of Siberian porphyry, jasper bowls,or malachite vases—signs of his approval of reaction.

But, in justice to him, it should be said that there wasone crime he did not commit—a crime, indeed, which hedid not DARE commit: he did not violate his oath tomaintain the liberties of Finland. THAT was reserved for thesecond Nicholas, now on the Russian throne.

Whether at the great assemblages of the Winter Palace,or at the reviews, or simply driving in his sledge or walkingin the street, he overawed all men by his presence. WheneverI saw him, and never more cogently than during thatlast drive of his just before his death, there was forcedto my lips the thought: ``You are the most majestic beingever created.'' Colossal in stature; with a face such asone finds on a Greek coin, but overcast with a shadow ofMuscovite melancholy; with a bearing dignified, but witha manner not unkind, he bore himself like a god. Andyet no man could be more simple or affable, whether inhis palace or in the street. Those were the days when aRussian Czar could drive or walk alone in every part ofevery city in his empire. He frequently took exercise inwalking along the Neva quay, and enjoyed talking withany friends he met—especially with members of thediplomatic corps. The published letters of an Americanminister—Mr. Dallas—give accounts of many discussionsthus held with him.

There seemed a most characteristic mingling of his betterand worse qualities in the two promises which, accordingto tradition, he exacted on his death-bed from his son—namely, that he would free the serfs, and that he wouldnever give a constitution to Poland.

The accession of this son, Alexander II, brought achange at once: we all felt it. While he had the big Romanoffframe and beauty and dignity, he had less of themajesty and none of the implacable sternness of his father.At the reception of the diplomatic corps on his accessionhe showed this abundantly; for, despite the strongdeclarations in his speech, his tears betrayed him. Reformsbegan at once—halting, indeed, but all tending in the rightdirection. How they were developed, and how so largelybrought to naught, the world knows by heart. Of all theghastly miscalculations ever made, of all the crimes whichhave cost the earth most dear, his murder was the worst.The murders of William of Orange, of Lincoln, of Garfield,of Carnot, of Humbert I, did not stop the course ofa beneficent evolution; but the murder of Alexander IIthrew Russia back into the hands of a reaction worse thanany ever before known, which has now lasted nearly ageneration, and which bids fair to continue for manymore, unless the Russian reverses in the present warforce on a better order of things. For me, lookingback upon those days, it is hard to imagine even thecraziest of nihilists or anarchists wild enough to commitsuch a crime against so attractive a man fully embarkedon so blessed a career. He, too, in the days of my stay,was wont to mingle freely with his people; he even wentto their places of public amusem*nt, and he wasfrequently to be seen walking among them on the quays andelsewhere. In my reminiscences of the Hague Conference,I give from the lips of Prince Munster an account of aconversation under such circ*mstances: the Czar walkingon the quay or resting on a seat by the roadside, whileplanning to right a wrong done by a petty Russian officialto a German student. Therein appears not only a deepsense of justice and humanity, but that melancholy, sotruly Russian, which was deepest in him and in his uncle,the first Alexander. There dwell also in my memorycertain photographs of him in his last days, shown menot long before his death, during my first official stay atBerlin. His face was beautiful as of old, but the melancholyhad deepened, and the eyes made a fearful revelation;for they were the eyes of a man who for years hadknown himself to be hunted. As I looked at them therecame back to me the remembrance of the great, beautifulfrightened eyes of a deer, hunted down and finally at mymercy, in the midst of a lake in the Adirondacks—eyeswhich haunted me long afterward. And there comes backthe scene at the funeral ceremony in his honor at Berlin,coincident with that at St. Petersburg—his uncle, theEmperor William I, and all about him, in tears, and adepth of real feeling shown such as no monarch of acoarser fiber could have inspired. When one reflects thathe had given his countrymen, among a great mass ofminor reforms, trial by jury; the emancipation of twentymillions of serfs, with provision for homesteads; and hadat that moment—as his adviser, Loris Melikoff, confessedwhen dying—a constitution ready for his people, one feelsinclined to curse those who take the methods of revolutionrather than those of evolution.

My departure from Russia embraces one or two incidentswhich may throw some light upon the Russiancivilization of that period. On account of the blockade, Iwas obliged to take the post from St. Petersburg to Warsaw,giving to the journey seven days and seven nights ofsteady travel; and, as the pressure for places on the postwas very great, I was obliged to secure mine several weeksbeforehand, and then thought myself especially lucky inobtaining a sort of sentry-box on the roof of the secondcoach usually occupied by the guard. This good luck wasdue to the fact that, there being on that day two coaches,one guard served for both; and the place on the secondwas thus left vacant for me.

Day and night, then, during that whole week, werumbled on through the interminable forests of Poland, andthe distressingly dirty hamlets and towns scattered alongthe road. My first night out was trying, for it was verycold; but, having secured from a dealer in the firsttown where we stopped in the morning a large sheet offelt, I wrapped my legs in it, and thenceforward wascomfortable. My companions in the two post-coacheswere very lively, being mainly French actors and actresseswho had just finished their winter campaign in Russia;and, when we changed horses at the post-houses, the sceneswere of a sort which an American orator once characterizedas ``halcyon and vociferous.''

Bearing a despatch-bag to our legation at Paris, Icarried the pass, not only of an attach<e'>, but of a bearer ofdespatches, and on my departure our minister said to me:

``The Russian officials at the frontier have given muchtrouble to Americans of late; and I hope that if theytrouble you, you will simply stop and inform me. Youare traveling for pleasure and information, and a few daysmore or less will make little difference.'' On arriving atthe frontier, I gave up my papers to the passport officials,and was then approached by the officers of the custom-house. One of these, a tall personage in showy uniform,was very solemn, and presently asked: ``Are youcarrying out any specie?'' I answered: ``None to speakof; only about twenty or thirty German dollars.'' Said he:``That you must give up to me; the law of the empire doesnot permit you to take out coin.'' ``No,'' I said; ``youare mistaken. I have already had the money changed,and it is in German coin, not Russian.'' ``That makes nodifference,'' said he; ``you must give it up or stay here.''My answer was that I would not give it up, and on this hecommanded his subordinates to take my baggage off thecoach. My traveling companions now besought me tomake a quiet compromise with him, to give him half themoney, telling me that I might be detained there for weeksor months, or even be maltreated; but I steadily refused,and my baggage was removed. All were ready to startwhen the head of the police bureau came upon the sceneto return our papers. His first proceeding was to callout my name in a most obsequious tone, and, bowingreverently, to tender me my passport. I glanced at thecustom-house official, and saw that he turned pale. The honordone my little brief authority by the passport officialrevealed to him his mistake, and he immediately orderedhis subordinates to replace my baggage on the coach; butthis I instantly forbade. He then came up to me andinsisted that a misunderstanding had occurred. ``No,'' Isaid; ``there is no misunderstanding; you have onlytreated me as you have treated other Americans. TheAmerican minister has ordered me to wait here and informhim, and all that I have now to ask you is that you giveme the name of a hotel.'' At this be begged me to listento him, and presently was pleading most piteously; indeed,he would have readily knelt and kissed my feet to securemy forgiveness. He became utterly abject. All werewaiting, the coach stood open, the eyes of the whole partywere fastened upon us. My comrades besought me tolet the rascal go; and at last, after a most earnest warningto him, I gave my gracious permission to have the baggageplaced on the coach. He was certainly at that momentone of the happiest men I have ever seen; and, as wedrove off from the station, he lingered long, hat in hand,profuse with bows and good wishes.

One other occurrence during those seven days andnights of coaching may throw some light upon the feelingwhich has recently produced, in that same region, theKishineff massacres.

One pleasant Saturday evening, at a Polish village, ourcoach passed into the little green inclosure in front ofthe post-house, and there stopped for a change of horses.While waiting, I noticed, from my sentry-box on the topof the coach, several well-dressed people—by the cut oftheir beards and hair, Jews—standing at some distanceoutside the inclosure, and looking at us. Presently twoof them—clearly, by their bearing and dress, men ofmark—entered the inclosure, came near the coach, andstood quietly and respectfully. In a few moments myattention was attracted by a movement on the other sideof the coach: our coachman, a young serf, was skulkingrapidly toward the stables, and presently emerged withhis long horsewhip, skulked swiftly back again until hecame suddenly on these two grave and reverend men,—each of them doubtless wealthy enough to have boughta dozen like him,—began lashing them, and finally drovethem out of the inclosure like dogs, the assembled crowdjeering and hooting after them.

Few evenings linger more pleasantly in my memorythan that on which I arrived in Breslau. I was once moreoutside of the Russian Empire; and, as I settled for theevening before a kindly fire upon a cheerful hearth, thererose under my windows, from a rollicking band of universitystudents, the ``Gaudeamus igitur.'' I seemed to havearrived in another world—a world which held home andfriends. Then, as never before, I realized the feelingwhich the Marquis de Custine had revealed, to the amusem*ntof Europe and the disgust of the Emperor Nicholas,nearly twenty years before. The brilliant marquis, on hisway to St. Petersburg, had stopped at Stettin; and, onhis leaving the inn to take ship for Cronstadt next day, theinnkeeper said to him: ``Well, you are going into a verybad country.'' ``How so?'' said De Custine; ``whendid you travel there?'' ``Never,'' answered the inn-keeper; ``but I have kept this inn for many years. Allthe leading Russians, going and coming by sea, havestopped with me; and I have always noticed that thosecoming from Russia are very glad, and those returningvery sad.''

Throughout the remainder of my journey across theContinent, considerable attention was shown me at variousstopping-places, since travelers from within the Russianlines at that time were rare indeed; but there wasnothing worthy of note until my arrival at Strasburg.There, in the railway station, I was presented by a youngAustrian nobleman to an American lady who was goingon to Paris accompanied by her son; and, as she was veryagreeable, I was glad when we all found ourselves togetherin the same railway compartment.

Some time after leaving Strasburg she said to me: ``Idon't think you caught my name at the station.'' Tothis I frankly replied that I had not. She then repeated it;and I found her to be a distinguished leader in New Yorkand Parisian society, the wife of an American widelyknown. As we rolled on toward Paris, I became vaguelyaware that there was some trouble in our compartment;but, being occupied with a book, I paid little attention tothe matter. There were seven of us. Facing each other atone door were the American lady, whom I will call ``Mrs.X.,'' and myself; at her left was her maid, then a vacantseat, and then at the other door a German lady, richlyattired, evidently of high degree, and probably about fiftyyears of age. Facing this German lady sat an elegantlydressed young man of about thirty, also of aristocraticmanners, and a German. Between this gentleman and myselfsat the son of Mrs. X. and the Austrian gentlemanwho had presented me to her.

Presently Mrs. X. bent over toward me and asked, inan undertone, ``What do you think is the relationshipbetween those two people at the other door?'' I answeredthat quite likely they were brother and sister. ``No,'' saidshe; ``they are man and wife.'' I answered, ``That canhardly be; there is a difference of at least twenty yearsin the young man's favor.'' ``Depend upon it,'' shesaid, ``they are man and wife; it is a mariage de convenance;she is dressed to look as young as possible.'' Atthis I expressed new doubts, and the discussion dropped.

Presently the young German gentleman said somethingto the lady opposite him which indicated that hehad lived in Berlin; whereupon Mrs. X. asked him,diagonally across the car, if he had been at the BerlinUniversity. At this he turned in some surprise and answered,civilly but coldly, ``Yes, madam.'' Then he turned awayto converse with the lady who accompanied him. Mrs. X.,nothing daunted, persisted, and asked, ``Have you beenRECENTLY at the university?'' Before he could reply thelady opposite him turned to Mrs. X. and said mosthaughtily, ``Mon Dieu, madam, you must see that the gentlemandoes not desire any conversation with you. ``At thisMrs. X. became very humble, and rejoined mostpenitently, ``Madam, I beg your pardon; if I had known thatthe gentleman's mother did not wish him to talk with astranger, I would not have spoken to him.'' At this theGerman lady started as if stung, turned very red, andreplied, ``Pardon, madam, I am not the mother of thegentleman.'' At this the humble manner of Mrs. X. wasflung off in an instant, and turning fiercely upon theGerman lady, she said, ``Madam, since you are notthe mother of the gentleman, and, of course, cannot behis wife, by what right do you interfere to prevent hisanswering me?'' The lady thus addressed started againas if stabbed, turned pale, and gasped out, ``Pardon,madam; I AM the wife of the gentleman.'' Instantly Mrs.X. became again penitently apologetic, and answered,``Madam, I beg a thousand pardons; I will not speakagain to the gentleman''; and then, turning to me, saidvery solemnly, but loudly, so that all might hear,``Heavens! can it be possible!''

By this time we were all in distress, the German ladyalmost in a state of collapse, and her husband hardly lessso. At various times during the remainder of the journeyI heard them affecting to laugh the matter off, but it wasclear that the thrust from my fair compatriot had cut deepand would last long.

Arriving at our destination, I obtained the key to themystery. On taking leave of Mrs. X., I said, ``That wasrather severe treatment which you administered to theGerman lady.'' ``Yes,'' she answered; ``it will teach hernever again to go out of her way to insult an Americanwoman.'' She then told me that the lady had beenevidently vexed because Mrs. X. had brought her maid intothe compartment; and that this aristocratic dame hadshown her feeling by applying her handkerchief to hernose, by sniffing, and by various other signs of disgust.``And then,'' said Mrs. X., ``I determined to teach her alesson.''

I never saw Mrs. X. again. After a brilliant socialcareer of a few years she died; but her son, who was then aboy of twelve years, in a short jacket, has since becomevery prominent in Europe and America, and, in a way, influential.

In Paris I delivered my despatches to our minister, Mr.Mason; was introduced to Baron Seebach, the Saxon min-ister, Nesselrode's son-in-law, who was a leading personageat the conference of the great powers then insession; and saw various interesting men, among themsundry young officers of the United States army, whowere on their way to the Crimea in order to observe thewarlike operations going on there, and one of them,McClellan, also on his way to the head of our own armyin the Civil War which began a few years later.

It was the time of the first great French Exposition—that of 1855. The Emperor Napoleon III had opened itwith much pomp; and, though the whole affair was pettycompared with what we have known since, it attractedvisitors from the whole world, and among them cameHorace Greeley.

As he shuffled along the boulevards and streets of Paris,in his mooning way, he attracted much wonderingattention, but was himself very unhappy because hisignorance of the French language prevented his talking withthe people about him.

He had just gone through a singular experience, having,the day before my arrival, been released from Clichyprison, where he had been confined for debt. Nothingcould be more comical than the whole business from firstto last. A year or two previously there had taken placein New York, on what has been since known as ReservoirSquare, an international exposition which, for its day,was very creditable; but, this exposition having endedin bankruptcy, a new board of commissioners had beenchosen, who, it was hoped, would secure public confidence,and among these was Mr. Greeley.

Yet even under this new board the exposition had notbeen a success; and it had been finally wound up in a veryunsatisfactory way, many people complaining that theirexhibits had not been returned to them—among these aFrench sculptor of more ambition than repute, who hadsent a plaster cast of some sort of allegorical figure towhich he attributed an enormous value. Having soughtin vain for redress in America, he returned to Europe andthere awaited the coming of some one of the directors;and the first of these whom he caught was no less a personthan Greeley himself, who, soon after arriving in Paris,was arrested for the debt and taken to Clichy prison.

Much feeling was shown by the American community.Every one knew that Mr. Greeley's connection with theNew York exposition was merely of a good-natured,nominal sort. It therefore became the fashion amongtraveling Americans to visit him while thus in durance vile;and among those who thus called upon him were twoformer Presidents of the United States, both of whomhe had most bitterly opposed—Mr. Van Buren and Mr. Fillmore.

The American legation having made very earnestrepresentations, the prisoner was soon released; and the mosttangible result of the whole business was a letter, verypithy and characteristic, which Greeley wrote to the ``NewYork Tribune,'' giving this strange experience, and closingwith the words: ``So ended my last chance to learnFrench.''

A day or two after his release I met him at the studentrestaurant of Madame Busque. A large company ofAmericans were present; and shortly after taking his seatat table he tried to ask for some green string-beans,which were then in season. Addressing one of the serving-maids, he said, ``Flawronce, donney moy—donney moy—donney moy—''; and then, unable to remember the word,he impatiently screamed out in a high treble, thrusting outhis plate at the same time, ``BEANS!'' The crowd of usburst into laughter; whereupon Donn Piatt, then secretaryof the legation at Paris and afterward editor of the``Capital'' at Washington, said: ``Why, Greeley, youdon't improve a bit; you knew beans yesterday.''

This restaurant of Madame Busque's had been, forsome years, a place of resort for American students andtheir traveling friends. The few dishes served, thoughsimple, were good; all was plain; there were no table-cloths; but the place was made attractive by the portraitsof various American artists and students who had frequentedthe place in days gone by, and who had left theseadornments to the good old madame.

It was a simple cr<e'>merie in the Rue de la Michodi<e!>re,a little way out of the Boulevard des Italiens; and itssuccess was due to the fact that Madame Busque, the kindestold lady alive, had learned how to make sundry Americandishes, and had placed a sign in the window as follows:``Aux Am<e'>ricains. Sp<e'>cialit<e'> de Pumpkin Pie etde Buckwheat Cakes.'' Never was there a more jollyrestaurant. One met there, not only students and artists,but some of the most eminent men in American publiclife. The specialties as given on the sign-board were wellprepared; and many were the lamentations when the dearold madame died, and the restaurant, being transferredto another part of Paris, became pretentious and fell intooblivion.

Another occurrence at the exposition dwells vividly inmy memory. One day, in going through the annex in whichthere was a show of domestic animals, I stopped for a momentto look at a wonderful goat which was there tethered.He was very large, with a majestic head, spreading horns,and long, white, curly beard. Presently a party of Frenchgentlemen and ladies, evidently of the higher class, camealong and joined the crowd gazing at the animal. In afew moments one of the ladies, anxious to hurry on, saidto the large and dignified elderly gentleman at the head ofthe party, ``Mais viens donc ''; to which he answered,``Non, laisse moi le regarder; celui-l<a!> ressemble tant aubon Dieu.''

This remark, which in Great Britain or the United Stateswould have aroused horror as blasphemy, was simplyanswered by a peal of laughter, and the party passed on;yet I could not but reflect on the fact that this attitudetoward the Supreme Being was possible after a fifteenhundred years' monopoly of teaching by the church whichinsists that to it alone should be intrusted the religiousinstruction of the French people.

After staying a few weeks at the French capital, I leftfor a short tour in Switzerland. The only occurrence onthis journey possibly worthy of note was at the hospiceof the Great St. Bernard. On a day early in September Ihad walked over the T<e^>te Noire with two long-leggedEnglishmen, and had so tired myself that the next morningI was too late to catch the diligence from Martigny;so that, on awaking toward noon, there was nothing leftfor me but to walk, and I started on that rather toilsomejourney alone. After plodding upward some miles alongthe road toward the hospice, I was very weary indeed, butfelt that it would be dangerous to rest, since the banks ofsnow on both sides of the road would be sure to give mea deadly chill; and I therefore kept steadily on. PresentlyI overtook a small party, apparently English, alsogoing up the pass; and, at some distance in advance ofthem, alone, a large woman with a very striking and evenmasculine face. I had certainly seen the face before, butwhere I could not imagine. Arriving finally at the hospice,very tired, we were, after some waiting, invited outto a good dinner by the two fathers deputed for thepurpose; and there, among the guests, I again saw thelady, and was again puzzled to know where I hadpreviously seen her. As the dinner went on the two monksgave accounts of life at the hospice, rescues fromavalanches, and the like, and various questions were asked;but the unknown lady sat perfectly still, uttering not aword, until suddenly, just at the close of the dinner, sheput a question across the table to one of the fathers. Itcame almost like a peal of thunder-deep, strong, rollingthrough the room, startling all of us, and fairly taking thebreath away from the good monk to whom it was addressed;but he presently rallied, and in a rather falteringtone made answer. That was all. But on this I at oncerecognized her: it was Fanny Kemble Butler, whom, yearsbefore, I had heard interpreting Shakspere.

Whether this episode had anything to do with it or not,I soon found myself in rather a bad way. The fatigues ofthe two previous days had been too much for me. I feltvery wretched, and presently one of the brothers came upto me and asked whether I was ill. I answered that Iwas tired; whereupon he said kindly, ``Come with me.''I went. He took me to a neat, tidy little cell; put me intobed as carefully as my grandmother had ever done; tuckedme in; brought me some weak, hot tea; and left mewith various kind injunctions. Very early in the morningI was aroused by the singing of the monks in the chapel,but dozed on until eight or nine o'clock, when, feelingentirely rested, I rose and, after breakfast, left themonastery, with a party of newly made American friends, in asgood condition as ever, and with a very grateful feelingtoward my entertainers. Against monks generally I mustconfess to a prejudice; but the memory of these brothersof St. Bernard I still cherish with a real affection.

Stopping at various interesting historic places, andespecially at Eisenach, whence I made the first of my manyvisits to the Wartburg, I reached Berlin just before thebeginning of the university term, and there settled as astudent. So, as I then supposed, ended my diplomaticcareer forever.

CHAPTER XXVIII

AS COMMISSIONER TO SANTO DOMINGO—1871

Returning from Russia and Germany, I devotedmyself during thirteen years, first, to my professorialduties at the University of Michigan; next, to politicalduties in the State Senate at Albany; and, finally, toorganizing and administering Cornell University. But in theearly winter of 1870-71 came an event which drew me outof my university life for a time, and engaged me again indiplomatic work. While pursuing the even tenor of myway, there came a telegraphic despatch from Mr. WilliamOrton, president of the Western Union Telegraph Company,a devoted supporter of the administration, asking mewhether I had formed any definite opinion against theannexation of the island of Santo Domingo to the UnitedStates. This question surprised me. A proposal regardingsuch an annexation had been for some time talked about.The newly elected President, General Grant, having beenbesought by the authorities of that republic to proposemeasures looking to annexation, had made a briefexamination; and Congress had passed a law authorizing theappointment of three commissioners to visit the island, toexamine and report upon its desirability, from variouspoints of view, and to ascertain, as far as possible, thefeeling of its inhabitants; but I had given no attentionto the matter, and therefore answered Mr. Orton that Ihad no opinion, one way or the other, regarding it. Aday or two afterward came information that the Presidenthad named the commission, and in the following order:Ex-Senator Benjamin F. Wade of Ohio, Andrew D.White of New York, and Samuel G. Howe of Massachusetts.On receiving notice of my appointment, I went toWashington, was at once admitted to an interview with thePresident, and rarely have I been more happily disappointed.Instead of the taciturn man who, as his enemiesinsisted, said nothing because he knew nothing, hadnever cared for anything save military matters, and wasentirely absorbed in personal interests, I found a quiet,dignified public officer, who presented the history ofthe Santo Domingo question, and his view regarding it, ina manner large, thoughtful, and statesmanlike. Therewas no special pleading; no attempt at converting me:his whole effort seemed given to stating candidly thehistory of the case thus far.

There was much need of such statement. Mr. CharlesSumner, the eminent senator from Massachusetts, hadcompletely broken with the President on this and otherquestions; had attacked the policy of the administrationviolently; had hinted at the supremacy of unworthymotives; and had imputed rascality to men with whom thePresident had close relations. He appeared, also, as heclaimed, in the interest of the republic of Haiti, whichregarded with disfavor any acquisition by the UnitedStates of territory on the island of which that quasi-republic formed a part; and all his rhetoric and oratorywere brought to bear against the President's ideas. I hadlong been an admirer of Mr. Sumner, with the feelingwhich a young man would naturally cherish toward anolder man of such high character who had given himearly recognition; and I now approached him with especialgratitude and respect. But I soon saw that his view of thePresident was prejudiced, and his estimate of himselfabnormal. Though a senator of such high standing and solong in public affairs, he took himself almost tooseriously; and there had come a break between him, aschairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Affairs, andPresident Grant's Secretary of State, Mr. Fish, who hadproved himself, as State senator, as Governor of NewYork, as United States senator, and now as Secretary ofState, a man of the highest character and capacity.

The friends of the administration claimed that it hadbecome impossible for it to have any relations with SenatorSumner; that he delayed, and indeed suppressed, treatiesof the greatest importance; that his egotism had becomeso colossal that he practically assumed to himselfthe entire conduct of foreign affairs; and the whole matterreached a climax when, in a large social gathering, Mr.Fish meeting Senator Sumner and extending his hand tohim, the latter deliberately rejected the courtesy and coldlyturned away.

Greatly admiring all these men, and deeply regrettingtheir divisions, which seemed sure to prove most injuriousto the Republican party and to the country, I wrote toMr. Gerrit Smith, urging him to come at once to Washingtonand, as the lifelong friend of Senator Sumner and thedevoted supporter of General Grant, to use his great powersin bringing them together. He came and did his best;but a few days afterward he said to me: ``It is impossible;it is a breach which can never be healed.''

Mr. Sumner's speeches I had always greatly admired,and his plea for international peace, delivered before Iwas fairly out of my boyhood, had made a deepimpression upon me. Still greater was the effect of hisspeeches against the extension of slavery. It is truethat these speeches had little direct influence upon theSenate; but they certainly had an immense effect uponthe country, and this effect was increased by the assaultupon him by Preston Brooks of South Carolina, whichnearly cost him his life, and from which he sufferedphysically as long as he lived. His influence was exercisednot only in the Senate, but in his own house. In hislibrary he discussed, in a very interesting way, the mainquestions of the time; and at his dinner-table one metinteresting men from all parts of the world. At one of hisdinners I had an opportunity to observe one of thedifficulties from which our country suffers most—namely, thateasy-going facility in slander which is certain to bedeveloped in the absence of any effective legal responsibilityfor one's utterances. At the time referred to there waspresent an Englishman eminent in parliamentary andbusiness circles. I sat next him, and near us sat agentleman who had held a subordinate position in the UnitedStates navy, but who was out of employment, and apparentlyfor some reason which made him sore. On beingasked by the Englishman why the famous American CollinsLine of transatlantic steamers had not succeeded, thisAmerican burst into a tirade, declaring that it was all dueto the fact that the Collins company had been obliged towaste its entire capital in bribing members of Congressto obtain subsidies; that it had sunk all its funds in doingthis, and so had become bankrupt. This I could not bear,and indignantly interposed, stating the simple facts—namely, that the ships of the company were built in themost expensive manner, without any sufficient data as totheir chances of success; that the competition of theCunard company had been destructive to them; that, to capthe climax, two out of their fleet of five had been, at an earlyperiod in the history of the company, lost at sea; and Iexpressed my complete disbelief in any cause of failurelike that which had been named. As a matter of fact, theCollins company, in their pride at the beauty of theirfirst ship, had sent it up the Potomac to Washington andgiven a collation upon it to members of Congress; butbeyond this there was not the slightest evidence of anythingof the sort which the slanderer of his country hadbrought forward.

As regards the Santo Domingo question, I must confessthat Mr. Sumner's speeches did not give me much light;they seemed to me simply academic orations tinged by anger.

Far different was it with the speeches made on the sameside by Senator Carl Schurz. In them was a restrainedstrength of argument and a philosophic dealing with thequestion which appealed both to reason and to patriotism.His argument as to the danger of extending thedomain of American institutions and the privileges ofAmerican citizenship over regions like the West Indiescarried great weight with me; it was the calm, thoughtfulutterance of a man accustomed to look at large publicquestions in the light of human history, and, while reasoningupon them philosophically and eloquently, to observestrict rules of logic.

I also had talks with various leading men at Washingtonon the general subject. Very interesting was an eveningpassed with Admiral Porter of the navy, who had alreadyvisited Santo Domingo, and who gave me valuable pointsas to choosing routes and securing information. Anotherperson with whom I had some conversation was BenjaminFranklin Butler, previously a general in the Civil War,and afterward governor of Massachusetts—a man ofamazing abilities, but with a certain recklessness in the useof them which had brought him into nearly universaldiscredit. His ideas regarding the annexation of SantoDomingo seemed to resolve themselves, after all, into afeeling of utter indifference,—his main effort being tosecure positions for one or two of his friends as attach<e'>sof the commission.

At various times I talked with the President on this andother subjects, and was more and more impressed, not onlyby his patriotism, but by his ability; and as I took leaveof him, he gave me one charge for which I shall alwaysrevere his memory.

He said: `` Your duties are, of course, imposed upon youby Congress; I have no right as PRESIDENT to give youinstructions, but as a MAN I have a right in this matter. Youhave doubtless noticed hints in Congress, and charges invarious newspapers, that I am financially interested in theacquisition of Santo Domingo. Now, as a man, as yourfellow-citizen, I demand that on your arrival in the island,you examine thoroughly into all American intereststhere; that you study land titles and contracts with theutmost care; and that if you find anything whatever whichconnects me or any of my family with any of them, youexpose me to the American people.'' The President utteredthese words in a tone of deep earnestness. I left him,feeling that he was an honest man; and I may add that theclosest examination of men and documents relating totitles and concessions in the island failed to reveal anypersonal interest of his whatsoever.

Arriving next day in New York, I met the other commissioners,with the secretaries, interpreters, attach<e'>s, andvarious members of the press who were authorized toaccompany the expedition. Most interesting of all to mewere the scientific experts. It is a curious example of thehappy-go-lucky ways which prevail so frequently at Washington,that although the resolutions of Congress requiredthe commissioners to examine into the mining and agriculturalcapacities of the island, its meteorological characteristics,its harbors and the possibilities of fortifying them,its land tenures, and a multitude of other subjectsdemanding the aid of experts, no provision was made for anysuch aid, and the three commissioners and their secretaries,not one of whom could be considered as entitled to holda decisive opinion on any of these subjects, were the onlypersons expected to conduct the inquiry. Seeing this, Irepresented the matter to the President, and received hispermission to telegraph to presidents of several of ourleading universities asking them to secure for us activeyoung scientific men who would be willing to serve on theexpedition without salary. The effort was successful.Having secured at the Smithsonian Institution two orthree good specialists in sundry fields, I obtained fromHarvard, Yale, Columbia, Cornell, and other universitiesthe right sort of men for various other lines of investigation,and on the 17th of January, 1871, we all embarkedon the steam-frigate Tennessee, under the command ofCommodore Temple.

It fell to my lot to take a leading part in sending forthour scientific experts into all parts of the republic.Fourteen different expeditions were thus organized anddespatched, and these made careful examinations and reportswhich were wrought into the final report of thecommission. It is doubtful whether any country was ever sothoroughly examined in so short a time. One party visitedvarious harbors with reference to their value for naval ormilitary purposes; another took as its subject the necessaryfortifications; another, agriculture; another, the coalsupply; another, the precious metals; another, the prevailingepidemics and diseases of the country; while the commissionitself adjourned from place to place, taking testimonyon land tenures and on the general conditions anddisposition of the people.

I became much attached to my colleagues. The first ofthese, Senator Wade of Ohio, was bluff, direct, shrewd,and well preserved, though over seventy years of age.He was a rough diamond, kindly in his judgments unlesshis feeling of justice was injured; then he was implacable.Many sayings of his were current, among them a dry answerto a senator from Texas who, having dwelt in high-flown discourse on the superlative characteristics of theState he represented, wound up all by saying, ``All thatTexas needs to make it a paradise is water and good society,''to which Wade instantly replied, ``That 's all theyneed in hell.'' The nimbleness and shrewdness of somepublic men he failed to appreciate. On his sayingsomething to me rather unfavorable to a noted statesman ofNew England, I answered him, ``But, senator, he made anadmirable Speaker of the House of Representatives.'' Towhich he answered, ``So would a squirrel if he could talk.''

Dr. Howe was a very different sort of man—a man ofthe highest cultivation and of wide experience, who haddevoted his whole life to philanthropic efforts. He had beenimprisoned in Spandau for attempting to aid the Poles;had narrowly escaped with his life while struggling inGreece against Turkey; and had braved death again andagain while aiding the free-State men against the pro-slavery myrmidons of Kansas. He told me that of allthese three experiences, he considered the last as by farthe most dangerous. He had a high sense of personalhonor, and was devoted to what he considered the interestsof humanity.

Our main residence was at the city of Santo Domingo,and our relations with the leading officials of the republicwere exceedingly pleasant. The president, Baez, was aman of force and ability, and, though a light mulatto, hehad none of the characteristics generally attributed in theUnited States to men of mixed blood. He had rather theappearance of a swarthy Spaniard, and in all his conducthe showed quiet self-reliance, independence, and the tone ofa high-spirited gentleman. His family was noted in the historyof the island, and held large estates, near the capitalcity, in the province of Azua. He had gone through variousvicissitudes, at times conquering insurgents and at timesbeing driven out by them. During a portion of his life hehad lived in Spain, and had there been made a marshal ofthat kingdom. There was a quiet elegance in his mannersand conversation which would have done credit to anystatesman in any country, and he had gathered about himas his cabinet two or three really superior men whoappeared devoted to his fortunes. I have never doubted thathis overtures to General Grant were patriotic. As long ashe could remember, he had known nothing in his countrybut a succession of sterile revolutions which had destroyedall its prosperity and nearly all its population. He tookvery much to heart a passage in one of Mr. Sumner'sorations against the annexation project, in which the senatorhad spoken of him as a man who wished to sell his country.Referring to this, President Baez said to me: ``How couldI sell my country? My property is here; my family ishere; my friends are here; all my interests are here:how could I sell my country and run away and enjoy theproceeds as Mr. Sumner thinks I wish to do? Mr. Sumnergives himself out to be the friend of the colored race; butI also am a colored man,'' and with that Baez ran his handthrough his crisp hair and said, ``This leaves no doubt onthat point.''

We discussed at various times the condition of hiscountry and the relations which he desired to establish withthe United States, and I became more and more convincedthat his dominant motives were those of a patriot. As amatter of fact, the country under the prevailing systemwas a ruin. West of it was the republic of Haiti, morethan twice as populous, which from time to timeencroached upon its weaker sister. In Santo Domingo itselfunder one revolutionist after another, war had raged overthe entire territory of the republic year after year forgenerations. Traveling through the republic, it is a simplefact that I never, in its entire domain, saw a bridge, aplow, a spade, a shovel, or a hoe; the only implement wesaw was the machete—a heavy, rude instrument whichserved as a sword in war and a spade in peace. Everywhereamong the mountains I found magnificent squaredlogs of the beautiful mahogany of the country left justwhere the teams which had been drawing them had beenseized by revolutionists.

In one of the large interior towns there had been,indeed, one evidence of civilization to which the people ofthat region had pointed with pride—a steam-engine forsawing timber; but sometime before my arrival one ofthe innumerable petty revolutions had left it a mere massof rusty scraps.

Under the natural law of increase the population of therepublic should have been numbered in millions; but closeexamination, in all parts of its territory, showed us thatthere were not two hundred thousand inhabitants left, andthat of these about one half were mulattos, the other halfbeing about equally divided between blacks and whites.

Since my visit business men from the United Stateshave developed the country to some extent; but revolutionshave continued, each chieftain getting into place byorating loudly about liberty, and then holding power bymurdering not only his enemies, but those whom hethought likely to become his enemies.

The late president, Heureaux, was one of the most mon-strous of these creatures who have found their breeding-bed in Central American politics. He seems to havemurdered, as far as possible, not only all who opposed him,but all who, he thought, MIGHT oppose him, and evenmembers of their families.

It was not at all surprising that Baez, clear-sighted andexperienced as he was, saw an advantage to his countryin annexation to the United States. He probably expectedthat it would be, at first, a Territory of which he, asthe foremost man in the island, would become governor,and that later it would come into the Union as a Statewhich he would be quite likely to represent in the UnitedStates Senate. At a later period, when I saw him in NewYork, on his way to visit the President at Washington,my favorable opinion of him was confirmed. He wasquiet, dignified, manly, showing himself, in his conversationand conduct, a self-respecting man of the world, accustomedto manage large affairs and to deal with strongmen.

The same desire to annex the island to the United Stateswas evident among the clergy. This at first surprised me,for some of them were exceedingly fanatical, and oneof them, who was especially civil to us, had endeavored, afew months before our arrival, to prevent the properburial of a charming American lady, the wife of theAmerican geologist of the government, under the oldSpanish view that, not being a Catholic, she should beburied outside the cemetery upon the commons, like a dog.But the desire for peace and for a reasonable developmentof the country, even under a government consideredheretical, was everywhere evident.

It became my duty to discuss the question of churchproperty with the papal nuncio and vicar apostolic. Hewas an archbishop who had been sent over to take temporarycharge of ecclesiastical matters; of course a mostearnest Roman Catholic, but thoroughly devoted to theannexation of the island to the United States, and thereason for his opinion was soon evident. Throughout theentire island one constantly sees great buildings and otherchurch property which have been confiscated and sold forsecular purposes. In the city itself the opera-house wasa former church, which in its day had been very imposing,and everywhere one saw monastery estates in privatehands. The authorities in Santo Domingo had simplypursued the policy so well known in various Latin countries,and especially in France, Italy, and Spain, of allowingthe religious orders to absorb large masses of property,and then squeezing it out of them into the coffersof the state.

In view of this, I said to the papal nuncio that it wasvery important for the United States, in considering thequestion of annexing the island, to know what the churchclaimed; that if the church demanded the restoration ofall that had been taken from her, this would certainlygreatly diminish the value of the island in the eyes of ourpublic men. To this he answered that in case of annexationthe church would claim nothing whatever beyondwhat it was absolutely and actually occupying and usingfor its own purposes, and he offered to give me guaranteesto that effect which should be full and explicit.

It was perfectly clear that the church authoritiespreferred to be under a government which, even though theyregarded it as Protestant, could secure them their property,rather than to be subject to a Roman Catholic republicin which they were liable to constantly recurringspoliation. This I found to be the spirit of the clergy ofevery grade in all parts of the island: they had discoveredthat under the Constitution of the United States confiscationwithout compensation is impossible.

It also fell to my lot, as the youngest man in thecommission, to conduct an expedition across the mountainsfrom the city of Santo Domingo on the south coast toPuerto Plata on the north.

During this journey, on which I was about ten days inthe saddle, it was my duty to confer with the principalfunctionaries, and this gave me novel experiences. When-ever our cavalcade approached a town, we halted, amessenger was sent forward, and soon the alcalde, the priests,and other men of light and leading, with a long train offunctionaries, came dashing out on horseback to greet us;introductions then took place, and, finally, there was awild gallop into the town to the house of the alcalde,where speeches were made and compliments exchanged inthe high Spanish manner.

At the outset there was a mishap. As we were organizingour expedition, the gentlemen charged with purchasingsupplies assured me that if we wished to secure properconsideration of the annexation question by the principalmen of the various towns, we must exercise a large ifsimple hospitality, and that social gatherings without rumpunch would be offensive rather than propitiatory. Theorder to lay in a sufficient spirituous supply was reluctantlygiven, and in due time we started, one of our trainof pack-horses having on each side of the saddle largedemijohns of the fluid which was to be so potent fordiplomatic purposes. At the close of the first day's travel,just as our hammocks had been swung, I heard a screamand saw the people of our own and neighboring hutssnatching cups and glasses and running pell-mell towardthe point where our animals were tethered. On examinationI found that the horse intrusted with the preciousburden, having been relieved of part of his load, had feltwarranted in disporting himself, and had finally rolledover, crushing all the demijohns. It seemed a seriousmatter, but I cannot say that it afflicted me much; wepropitiated the local functionaries by other forms ofhospitality, and I never found that the absence of rum punchseriously injured our diplomacy.

Civil war had been recently raging throughout the republic,and in one of the interior towns I was one day notifiedthat a well-known guerrilla general, who had showngreat bravery in behalf of the Baez government, wisheda public interview. The meeting took place in the largeroom of the house which had been assigned me. Themountain chieftain entered, bearing a rifle, and, the firstsalutations having been exchanged, he struck an oratoricalattitude, and after expressing, in a loud harangue, hishigh consideration for the United States, for its representative,and for all present, he solemnly tendered the rifleto me, saying that he had taken it in battle from Luperon,the arch-enemy of his country, and could think of no otherbestowal so worthy of it. This gift somewhat disconcertedme. In the bitterness of party feeling at home regardingthe Santo Domingo question, how would it lookfor one of the commissioners to accept such a present?President Grant had been held up to obloquy throughoutthe whole length and breadth of the land for accepting adog; what, then, would happen to a diplomatic representativewho should accept a rifle? Connected with the expeditionwere some twenty or thirty representatives of thepress, and I could easily see how my acceptance of sucha gift would alarm the sensitive consciences of many ofthem and be enlarged and embroidered until the UnitedStates would resound with indignant outcry against acommission which accepted presents and was probably wonover by contracts for artillery. My first attempt was toevade the difficulty. Rifle in hand, I acknowledged myappreciation of the gift, but declared to the general that mykeeping such a trophy would certainly be a wrong to hisfamily; that I would therefore accept it and transmit itto his son, to be handed down from generation to generationof his descendants as an heirloom and a monumentof bravery and patriotism. I was just congratulatingmyself on this bit of extemporized diplomacy, when a cloudbegan to gather on the general's face, and presently hebroke forth, saying that he regretted to find his presentnot good enough to be accepted; that it was the best hehad; that if he had possessed anything better he wouldhave brought it. At this, two or three gentlemen in ourparty pressed around me, and, in undertones, advised meby all means to accept it. There was no alternative; Iaccepted the rifle in as sonorous words as I could muster—``IN BEHALF OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES'';had it placed immediately in a large box with the words``War Department'' upon it, in very staring letters; andso the matter ended. Fortunately the commission, thoughattacked for a multitude of sins, escaped censure in thismatter.

One part of our duty was somewhat peculiar. TheUnited States, a few years before, had been on the pointof concluding negotiations with Denmark for the purchaseof St. Thomas, when a volcanic disturbance threw anAmerican frigate in the harbor of that island upon theshore, utterly wrecking both the vessel and the treaty.This experience it was which led to the insertion of aclause in the Congressional instructions to the commissionrequiring them to make examinations regarding the frequencyand severity of earthquakes. This duty we dischargedfaithfully, and on one occasion with a resultinteresting both to students of history and of psychology.Arriving at the old town of Cotuy, among the mountains,and returning the vicar's call, after my public reception, Iasked him the stereotyped question regarding earthquakes,and was answered that about the year 1840 there hadbeen one of a very terrible sort; that it had shaken andbroken his great stone church very badly; that he hadrepaired the whole structure, except the gaping creviceabove the front entrance; ``and,'' said the good old padre,``THAT I left as a warning to my people, thinking that itmight have a good influence upon them.'' On visiting thechurch, we found the crevice as the padre had described it;but his reasoning was especially interesting, because itcorroborated the contention of Buckle, who, but a fewyears before, in his ``History of Civilization in England,''had stated that earthquakes and volcanoes had aided theclergy of southern countries in maintaining superstition,and who had afterward defended this view with greatwealth of learning when it was attacked by a writer in the``Edinburgh Review.'' Certainly this Santo Domingoexample was on the side of the historian.

Another day brought us to Vega, noted as the pointwhere Columbus reared his standard above the wonderfulinterior valley of the island; and there we were welcomed,as usual, by the officials, and, among them, by a tall, ascetic-looking priest who spoke French. Returning his call nextday, I was shown into his presence in a room utterly bareof all ornament save a large and beautiful photograph ofthe Cathedral of Tours. It had happened to me, just aftermy college days, to travel on foot through a large part ofnorthern, western, and middle France, especially interestingmyself in cathedral architecture; and as my eye caughtthis photograph I said, ``Father, what a beautiful pictureyou have of the Church of St. Gatien!'' The countenanceof the priest, who had at first received me very ceremoniouslyand coldly, was instantly changed; he looked at mefor a moment, and then threw his arms about me. It waspathetic: of all who had ever entered his door I wasprobably the only one who had recognized the picture ofthe cathedral where he had been ordained; and, above all,by a curious inspiration which I cannot to this houraccount for, I had recognized it by the name of the saint towhom it is dedicated. Why I did not speak of it simplyas the Cathedral of Tours I know not; how I came toremember that it was dedicated to St. Gatien I know not—but this fact evidently loosened the cords of the father'sheart, and during my stay at Vega he was devoted to me;giving me information of the greatest value regardingthe people, their habits, their diseases, and the like, muchof which, up to that moment, the commission and itssubordinates had vainly endeavored to secure.

And here I recall one thing which struck me assignificant. This ascetic French priest was very severe incondemnation of the old Spanish priesthood of the island.When I asked him regarding the morals of the people heanswered, ``How can you expect good morals in themwhen their pastors set such bad examples?'' It wasevident that the church authorities at Rome were of hisopinion; for in nearly every town I found not only ajolly, kindly, easy-going old Spanish padre, surroundedby ``nephews'' and ``nieces,'' but a more austere ecclesiasticrecently arrived from France or Italy.

In the impressions made upon me by this long andtedious journey across the island, pleasure and pain wereconstantly mingled. On one hand was the wonderfulbeauty of the scenery, the luxuriance of the vegetation,and the bracing warmth of the climate, while the UnitedStates were going through a winter more than usuallybitter.

But, on the other hand, the whole condition of thecountry seemed to indicate that the early Spanish rulers hadleft a curse upon it from which it had never recovered.Its inhabitants, in revolution after revolution, haddestroyed all industry and industrial appliances, and hadvirtually eaten up each other; generation after generationhad thus been almost entirely destroyed.

Finally, after nearly a fortnight of clambering overmountains, pushing through tropical thickets, fordingstreams, and negotiating in palm huts, we approached thesea; and suddenly, on the north side of the island, at thetop of the mountain back of Puerto Plata, we looked fardown upon its beautiful harbor, in the midst of which,like a fly upon a mirror, lay our trim little frigateNantasket.

The vice-president of the republic, surrounded by therepresentatives of the city, having welcomed us with theusual speeches, we pushed forward to the vice-presidentialvilla, where I was to be lodged.

Having no other dress with me than my traveler's outfit,of which the main features were a flaming red flannelshirt, a poncho, and a sombrero, and having been invitedto dine that evening at the house of my host, with thevarious consuls and other leaders of the place, I orderedtwo of my men to hurry down the mountain, and out tothe frigate, to bring in my leather trunk containing acostume more worthy of the expected ceremony; andhardly were we comfortably established under the roof ofthe vice-president, when two sailors came in, bringing theprecious burden.

Now came a catastrophe. Turning the key, I noticedthat the brass fittings of the lock were covered with verdigris,and, as the trunk opened, I shrank back in horror. Itwas filled, apparently, with a mass of mossy white-and-green mold from which co*ckroaches of enormous sizedarted in all directions.

Hastily pulling down the cover, I called a council ofwar; the main personages in it being my private secretary,Professor Crane, since acting president of CornellUniversity, and sundry of the more important men in theexpedition. To these I explained the situation. It seemedbad enough to lose all means of presenting a suitableappearance at the approaching festivity, but this wasnothing compared with the idea that I had requited thehospitality of my host by spreading through his house thishideous entomological collection.

But as I exposed this latter feature of the situation, Inoticed a smile coming over the faces of my Dominicanattendants, and presently one of them remarked that theco*ckroaches I had brought would find plenty of companions;that the house was doubtless already full of them.This was a great relief to my conscience. The trunk wasremoved, and presently the clothing, in which I was tobe arrayed for the evening, was brought in. It seemed ina fearful condition, but, curiously enough, while boots,shoes, and, above all, a package of white gloves carefullyreserved for grand ceremonies, had been nearly devoured,the garments of various sorts had escaped fairlywell.

The next thing in order being the preparation of myapparel for use, the men proceeded first to deluge it withcarbolic acid; and then, after drying it on the balconiesin front of the vice-president's house, to mitigate theinvincible carbolic odor by copious drenchings of Floridawater. All day long they were thus at work makingready for the evening ceremony. In due time it arrived;and, finally, after a sumptuous entertainment, Istood before the assembled consuls and other magnates.Probably no one of them remembers a word of mydiscourse; but doubtless every survivor will agree that nospeaker, before or since, ever made to him an appeal ofsuch pungency. I pervaded the whole atmosphere of theplace; indeed, the town itself seemed to me, as long as Iremained in it, to reek of that strange mixture of carbolicacid and Florida water; and as soon as possible afterreaching the ship, the contents of the trunk were thrownoverboard, and life became less a burden.

Having been duly escorted to the Nantasket, andreceived heartily by Commander McCook, I was assignedhis own cabin, but soon thought it expedient to get out ofit and sleep on deck. The fact was that the companionsof my co*ckroaches had possession of the ship, and, to allappearance, their headquarters were in the captain'sroom. I therefore ordered my bed on deck; and, thoughit was February, passed two delightful nights in thatbalmy atmosphere of the tropical seas while we skirtedthe north side of the island until, at Port-au-Prince, Irejoined the other commissioners, who had come in theTennessee along the southern coast.

At the Haitian capital our commission had interviewswith the president, his cabinet, and others, and afterwardwe had time to look about us. Few things could be moredispiriting. The city had been burned again and again, andthere had arisen a tangle of streets displaying every sortof cheap absurdity in architecture. The effects of therecent revolution—the latest in a long series of civicconvulsions, cruel and sterile—were evident on all sides. Onthe slope above the city had stood the former residence ofthe French governor: it had been a beautiful palace, and,being so far from the sea, had, until the recent revolution,escaped unharmed; but during that last effort a squadof miscreants, howling the praises of liberty, having gotpossession of a small armed vessel in the harbor and foundupon it a rifled cannon of long range, had exercised theirmonkeyish passion for destruction by wantonly firingupon this beautiful structure. It now lay in ruins. In itsmain staircase an iron ring was pointed out to us, and wewere given the following chronicle.

During the recent revolution the fugitive PresidentSalnave had been captured, a leathern thong had beenrudely drawn through a gash in his hand, and, attachedby this to a cavalryman, he had been dragged up the hillto the palace, through the crowd which had but recentlyhurrahed for him, but which now jeered and pelted him.Arriving upon the scene of his former glory, he wasattached by the thong to this iron ring and shot.

Opposite the palace was the ruin of a mausoleum, andin the street were scattered fragments of marblesarcophagi beautifully sculptured: these had contained thebodies of former rulers, but the revolutionists of Haiti,imitating those of 1793 in France, as apes imitate men,had torn the corpses out of them and had then scatteredthese, with the fragments of their monuments, through thestreets.

In the markets of the city we had ample experienceof the advantage arising from unlimited paper money.Successive governments had kept themselves afloat by newissues of currency, until its purchasing power was reducedalmost to nothing. Preposterous sums were demanded forthe simplest articles: hundreds of dollars for a basket offruit, and thousands of dollars for a straw hat.

With us as one of our secretaries was FrederickDouglass, the gifted son of an eminent Virginian and a slavewoman,—one of the two or three most talented men of color Ihave ever known. Up to this time he had cherished manyhopes that his race, if set free, would improve; but it wasevident that this experience in Santo Domingo discouragedand depressed him. He said to one of us, ``If this isthe outcome of self-government by my race, Heaven help us!''

Another curious example bearing on the same subjectwas furnished us in Jamaica, whither we went after leav-ing Haiti. Our wish was to consult, on our way home, theformer president of the Haitian republic, Geffrard,—who was then living in exile near Kingston. We foundhim in a beautiful apartment, elegantly furnished; and inevery way he seemed superior to the officials whom wehad met at Port-au-Prince. He was a light mulatto,intelligent, quiet, dignified, and able to state his viewswithout undue emphasis. His wife was very agreeable, andhis daughter, though clearly of a melancholic temperament,one of the most beautiful young women I have everseen. The reason for her melancholy was evident to anyone who knew her father's history. He had gone throughmany political storms before he had fled from Haiti, andin one of these his enemies had fired through the windowsof his house and killed his other daughter.

He calmly discussed with us the condition of the island,and evidently believed that the only way to save it fromutter barbarism was to put it under the control of somecivilized power.

Interesting as were his opinions, he and his family, aswe saw them in their daily life, were still more so. Itwas a revelation to us all of what the colored race mightbecome in a land where it is under no social ban. Forgenerations he and his had been the equals of the bestpeople they had met in France and in Haiti; they hadbeen guests at the dinners of ministers and at the soir<e'>esof savants in the French capital; there was nothing aboutthem of that deprecatory sort which one sees so constantlyin men and women with African blood in their veins inlands where their race has recently been held in servitude.

And here I may again cite the case of President Baez—a man to whom it probably never occurred that he was notthe equal socially of the best men he met, and who in anyEuropean country would be at once regarded as a manof mark, and welcomed at any gathering of notables.

Among our excursions, while in Jamaica, was one toSpanish Town, the residence of the British governor.In the drawing-room of His Excellency's wife there wasshown us one rather curious detail. Not long before ourvisit, the legislature had been abolished and the islandhad been made a crown colony ruled by a royal governorand council; therefore it was that, there being no furtheruse for it, the gorgeous chair of ``Mr. Speaker,'' a hugeconstruction apparently of carved oak, had been transferredto her ladyship's drawing-room, and we were informedthat in this she received her guests.

From Kingston we came to Key West, and from thatpoint to Charleston, where, as our frigate was too large tocross the bar, we were taken off, and thence reachedWashington by rail.

One detail regarding those latter days of ourcommission is perhaps worthy of record as throwing light on aseamy side of American life. From first to last we hadshown every possible civility to the representatives of thepress who had accompanied us on the frigate, constantlytaking them with us in Santo Domingo and elsewhere,and giving them every facility for collecting information.But from time to time things occurred which threw a newand somewhat unpleasant light on the way misinformationis liberally purveyed to the American public. One dayone of these gentlemen, the representative of a leadingNew York daily, talking with me of the sort of news hispaper required, said, ``The managers of our paper don'tcare for serious information, such as particulars regardingthe country we visit, its inhabitants, etc., etc.; what theywant, above all, is something of a personal nature, such asa quarrel or squabble, and when one occurs they expect usto make the most of it.''

I thought no more of this until I arrived at Port-au-Prince, where I found that this gentleman had suddenlytaken the mail-steamer for New York on the plea of urgentbusiness. The real cause of his departure was soonapparent. His letters to the paper he served now beganto come back to us, and it was found that he had exercisedhis imagination vigorously. He had presented amass of sensational inventions, but his genius had beenespecially exercised in trumping up quarrels which hadnever taken place; his masterpiece being an account of abitter struggle between Senator Wade and myself. Asa matter of fact, there had never been between us theslightest ill-feeling; the old senator had been like a fatherto me from first to last.

The same sort of thing was done by sundry other pressprostitutes, both during our stay in the West Indies andat Washington; but I am happy to say that several of thecorrespondents were men who took their duties seriously,and really rendered a service to the American public bygiving information worth having.

Our journey from Charleston to Washington had oneepisode perhaps worthy of recording, as showing a peculiarityof local feeling at that time. Through all the longday we had little or nothing to eat, and looked forwardravenously to the dinner on board the Potomac steamer.But on reaching it and entering the dining-room, we foundthat our secretary, Mr. Frederick Douglass, was absolutelyrefused admittance. He, a man who had dinedwith the foremost statesmen and scholars of our NorthernStates and of Europe,—a man who by his dignity, ability,and elegant manners was fit to honor any company,—was,on account of his light tinge of African blood, not thoughtfit to sit at meat with the motley crowd on a Potomacsteamer. This being the case, Dr. Howe and myselfdeclined to dine, and so reached Washington, aboutmidnight, almost starving, thus experiencing, at a low price,the pangs and glories of martyrdom.

One discovery made by the commission on its returnought to be mentioned here, for the truth of history. Mr.Sumner, in his speeches before the Senate, had made astrong point by contrasting the conduct of the UnitedStates with that of Spain toward Santo Domingo. Hehad insisted that the conduct of Spain had been far morehonorable than that of the United States; that Spain hadbrought no pressure to bear upon the Dominican republic;that when Santo Domingo had accepted Spanish rule,some years before, it had done so of its own free will; andthat ``not a single Spanish vessel was then in its waters,nor a single Spanish sailor upon its soil.'' On the otherhand, he insisted that the conduct of the United States hadbeen the very opposite of this; that it had brought pressureto bear upon the little island republic; and that whenthe decision was made in favor of our country, there wereAmerican ships off the coast and American soldiers uponthe island. To prove this statement, he read from a speechof the Spanish prime minister published in the officialpaper of the Spanish government at Madrid. To ourgreat surprise, we found, on arriving at the island, thatthis statement was not correct; that when the action infavor of annexation to Spain took place, Spanish shipswere upon the coast and Spanish soldiers upon theisland; and that there had been far more appearanceof pressure at that time than afterward, when the littlerepublic sought admission to the American Union. Oneof our first efforts, therefore, on returning, was tofind a copy of this official paper, for the purpose ofdiscovering how it was that the leader of the Spanishministry had uttered so grave an untruth. The Spanishnewspaper was missing from the library of Congress;but at last Dr. Howe, the third commissioner, a life-long and deeply attached friend of Mr. Sumner, found itin the library of the senator. The passage which Mr.Sumner had quoted was carefully marked; it was simplyto the effect that when the FIRST proceedings looking towardannexation to Spain were initiated, there were no Spanishships in those waters, nor Spanish soldiers on shore. Thiswas, however, equally true of the United States; for whenproceedings were begun in Santo Domingo looking toannexation, there was not an American ship off the coast, noran American soldier on the island.

But the painful thing in the matter was that, had MrSumner read the sentence immediately following thatwhich he quoted, it would have shown simply and distinctlythat his contention was unfounded; that, at the timewhen the annexation proceedings WERE formally initiatedand accomplished, there were Spanish ships off thoseshores and Spanish soldiers on the island.

I recall vividly the deep regret expressed at the time byDr. Howe that his friend Senator Sumner had been sobitter in his opposition to the administration that he hadquoted the first part of the Spanish minister's speech andsuppressed the second part. It was clear that if Mr. Sumnerhad read the whole passage to the Senate it would haveshown that the conduct of the United States had not beenless magnanimous than that of Spain in the matter, andthat no argument whatever against the administrationcould be founded upon its action in sending ships andtroops to the island.

In drawing up our report after our arrival, an amicabledifference of opinion showed itself. Senator Wade, beinga ``manifest-destiny'' man, wished it expressly to recommendannexation; Dr. Howe, in his anxiety to raise thestatus of the colored race, took a similar view; but Ipointed out to them the fact that Congress had asked, notfor a recommendation, but for facts; that to give themadvice under such circ*mstances was to expose ourselves to asnub, and could bring no good to any cause which any ofus might wish to serve; and I stated that if the generalreport contained recommendations, I must be allowed topresent one simply containing facts.

The result was that we united in the document presented,which is a simple statement of facts, and which, asI believe, remains to this day the best general account ofthe resources of Santo Domingo.

The result of our report was what I had expected. TheSpanish part of that island is of great value from anagricultural and probably from a mining point of view. Itsvalleys being swept by the trade-winds, its mountain slopesoffer to a white population summer retreats like thoseafforded by similar situations to the British occupants ofIndia. In winter it might also serve as a valuablesanatorium. I remember well the answer made to me by a manfrom Maine, who had brought his family to the neighborhoodof Samana Bay in order to escape the rigors of theNew England winter. On my asking him about the diseasesprevalent in his neighborhood, he said that his entirehousehold had gone through a light acclimating fever, buthe added: ``We have all got through it without harm; andon looking the whole matter over, I am persuaded that, ifyou were to divide the people of any New England Stateinto two halves, leaving one half at home and sending theother half here, there would in ten years be fewer deaths inthe half sent here, from all the diseases of this country,than in the half left in New England, from consumptionalone.''

A special element in the question of annexation was thevalue of the harbor of Samana in controlling one of thegreat passages from Europe to the Isthmus. It is largeenough to hold any fleet, is protected by a mountain-rangefrom the northern winds, is easily fortified, and is thenatural outlet of the largest and most fertile valley in theislands. More than this, if the experiment of annexing anoutlying possession was to be tried, that was, perhaps, thebest of opportunities, since the resident population to beassimilated was exceedingly small.

But the people of the United States, greatly as theyhonored General Grant, and much as they respected hisrecommendations, could not take his view. They evidentlyfelt that, with the new duties imposed upon themby the vast number of men recently set free and admittedto suffrage in the South, they had quite enough to dowithout assuming the responsibility of governing anddeveloping this new region peopled by blacks and mulattos;and as a result of this very natural feeling the wholeproposal was dropped, and will doubtless remain in abeyanceuntil the experiments in dealing with Porto Ricoand the Philippines shall have shown the people of theUnited States whether there is any place for suchdependencies under our system.

CHAPTER XXIX

AS COMMISSIONER TO THE PARIS EXPOSITION OF 1878

My next experience was of a quasi-diplomatic sort, inconnection with the Paris Exposition of 1878, andit needs some preface.

During the Centennial Exposition of 1876 at Philadelphia,I had been appointed upon the educational jury, and,as the main part of the work came during the universitylong vacation, had devoted myself to it, and had thus beenbrought into relations with some very interesting men.

Of these may be named, at the outset, the Emperor DomPedro of Brazil. I first saw him in a somewhat curiousway. He had landed at New York in the morning, andearly in the afternoon he appeared with the Empress andtheir gentlemen and ladies in waiting at Booth's Theater.The attraction was Shakspere's ``Henry V,'' and no soonerwas he seated in his box than he had his Shakspere openbefore him. Being in an orchestra stall, I naturallyobserved him from time to time, and at one passage lightwas thrown upon his idea of his duties as a monarch. Theplay was given finely, by the best American company ofrecent years, and he was deeply absorbed in it. Butpresently there came the words of King Henry—the notedpassage:

``And what have kings, that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?''

Whereupon the Emperor and Empress, evidently movedby the same impression, turned their heads from the stage,looked significantly at each other, and his majesty veryearnestly nodded to his wife several times, as ifthoroughly assenting.

The feeling thus betrayed was undoubtedly sincere. Hisreal love was for science, literature, and art; but aboveall for science. Some years before, at the founding ofCornell University, Agassiz had shown me private lettersfrom him revealing his knowledge of natural history, andthe same thirst for knowledge which he showed then wasevident now. From dawn till dusk he was hard at work,visiting places of interest and asking questions which,as various eminent authorities both in the United Statesand France have since assured me, showed that he kepthimself well abreast of the most recent scientificinvestigations.

On the following morning he invited me to call uponhim, and on my doing so, he saluted me with a multitudeof questions regarding our schools, colleges, and universities,which I answered as best I could, though many ofthem really merited more time than could be given duringa morning interview. His manner was both impressiveand winning. He had clearly thought much on educationalproblems, and no man engaged in educational work couldfail to be stimulated by his questions and comments. Inhis manner there was nothing domineering or assuming.I saw him at various times afterward, and rememberespecially his kindly and perfectly democratic manner ata supper given by the late Mr. Drexel of Philadelphia,when he came among us, moving from group to group,recognizing here one old friend and there another, anddiscussing with each some matter of value.

Republican as I am, it is clear to me that hisconstitutional sovereignty was a government far more free,liberal, and, indeed, republican, than the rule of thedemagogue despots who afterward drove him from his throneever has been or ever will be.

Another very interesting person was a Spanish officer,Don Juan Marin, who has since held high commands bothin his own country and in the West Indies. We were uponthe same jury, and I came to admire him much. One day,as we sat in our committee-room discussing various subjectsbrought before us, there appeared in the street leadingto the main entrance of the grounds a large bodyof soldiers with loud drumming and fifing. On his askingwhat troops these were, I answered that they werethe most noted of our American militia regiments—theNew York Seventh; and on his expressing a wish to seethem, we both walked out for that purpose. Presentlythe gates were thrown open, and in marched the regiment,trim and brisk, bearing aloft the flag of the UnitedStates and the standard of the State of New York.

At the moment when the standard and flag were abreastof us, Colonel Marin, who was in civil dress, drew himselfup, removed his hat, and bowed low with simple dignity.The great crowd, including myself, were impressed by thisaction. It had never occurred to any one of the rest of usto show such a tribute to the flag under which so manygood and true men had fought and died for us; and, as oneof the crowd very justly remarked afterward, ``The Spaniardcheapened the whole lot of us.'' With a single exception,it was the finest exhibition of manners I have everseen.[11]

[11] See the chapter on my attach<e'>ship in Russia.

Still another delegate was Professor Levasseur, of theCollege of France and the French Institute. His quicknessin ascertaining what was of value in a politico-economicalview, and his discussions of geographical matters,interested and instructed all who had to do with him.

With him was R<e'>n<e'> Millet, an example of the mostattractive qualities of a serious Frenchman—qualitieswhich have since been recognized in his appointments asminister and ambassador to Sweden and to Tunis. Boththese gentlemen afterward made me visits at Cornellwhich I greatly enjoyed.

At this time, too, I made a friendship which becameprecious to me—that of Gardner Hubbard, one of thebest, truest, and most capable men, in whatever he undertook,that I have ever seen. The matter which interestedhim then has since interested the world. His son-in-lawMr. Alexander Graham Bell, was exhibiting what appearedto be a toy,—a toy which on one occasion heshowed to Dom Pedro and to others of us, and whichenabled us to hear in one of the buildings of the exposition aviolin played in another building. It was regarded asan interesting plaything, and nothing more. A controllingright in its use might have been bought for a very moderatesum—yet it was the beginning of the telephone!

In connection with these and other interesting men, Ihad devoted myself to the educational exhibits of theexposition; and the result was that, during the followingyear, I was appointed by the Governor of the State ofNew York one of two honorary commissioners to the ParisExposition; the other being Mr. Morton, afterward Ministerto France, Vice-President of the United States, andGovernor of the State of New York.

I was not inclined, at first, to take my appointment veryseriously, but went to Paris simply to visit the exposition,hoping that my honorary function would give me goodopportunities. But on arriving I found the commissioner-general of the United States, Governor McCormick, hardpressed by his duties, and looking about for help. A largenumber of regular commissioners had been appointed, butvery few of them were of the slightest use. Hardly oneof them could speak French, and very few of them reallytook any interest in the duties assigned them. The mainexception, a very noble one, was my old friend PresidentBarnard of Columbia College, and he had not yet arrived.Under these circ*mstances, I yielded to the earnestrequest of Governor McCormick and threw myself heartilyinto the work of making our part of the exposition asuccess.

The American representation at the Vienna Expositiona few years before had resulted in a scandal which hadresounded through Europe, and this scandal had arisenfrom the fact that a subordinate, who had gained theconfidence of our excellent commissioner-general at that post,had been charged, and to all appearance justly, withreceiving money for assigning privileges to bar-keepersand caterers. The result was that the commissioner-generalwas cruelly wounded, and that finally he and hisassociates were ignominiously removed, and the Americanminister to Austria put in his place until a new commissioncould be formed. Of course every newspaper in Europehostile to republican ideas, and they were very many,made the most of this catastrophe. One of them in Viennawas especially virulent; it called attention to the modelof an American school-house in the exposition, and saidthat ``it should be carefully observed as part of themachinery which trains up such mercenary wretches as haverecently disgraced humanity at the exposition.''

To avoid scandals, to negotiate with the Frenchcommissioners on one side, and the crowd of exhibitors onthe other, and especially to see that in all particulars therepresentatives of American industry were fully recognized,was a matter of much difficulty; but happily allturned out well.

Among the duties of my position was membership of theupper jury—that which, in behalf of the French Republic,awarded the highest prizes. Each day, at about nine inthe morning, we met, and a remarkable body it was. Atmy right sat Meissonier, then the most eminent of Frenchpainters, and beyond him Quintana, the Spanish poet. Ofthe former of these two I possess a curious memento. Hewas very assiduous in attendance at our sessions, and themoment he took his seat he always began drawing, hismaterials being the block of letter-paper and the pencils,pens, and ink lying before him. No matter what wasunder discussion, he kept on with his drawing. Whilehe listened, and even while he talked, his pencil or pencontinued moving over the paper. He seemed to bringevery morning a mass of new impressions caught duringhis walk to the exposition, which he made haste to trans-fer to paper. Sometimes he used a pencil, sometimes, aquill pen, and not infrequently he would plunge thefeather end of the quill into his inkstand and rapidly putinto his work broader and blacker strokes. As soon ashe had finished a drawing he generally tore it into bitsand threw them upon the floor, but occasionally he wouldfold the sketches carefully and put them into his pocket.This being the case, no one dared ask him for one of them.

But one morning his paper gave out, and for lack of ithe took up a boxwood paper-knife lying near and beganwork on it. First he decorated the handle in a sort ofrococo way, and then dashed off on the blade, with his pen,a very spirited head—a bourgeois physiognomy somewhatin Gavarni's manner. But as he could not tear thepaper-knife into bits, and did not care to take it away, heleft it upon the table. This was my chance. Immediatelyafter the session I asked the director-general to allow meto carry it off as a souvenir; he assented heartily, and soI possess a picture which I saw begun, continued, andended by one of the greatest of French painters.

At my left was Tresca, director of the French NationalConservatory of Arts and Trades; and next him, thesphinx of the committee—the most silent man I ever sawthe rector of the Portuguese University of Coimbra. Duringthe three months of our session no one of us everheard him utter a word. Opposite was Jules Simon, eminentas an orator, philosopher, scholar, and man of letters;an academician who had held positions in various cabinets,and had even been prime minister of the republic.On one side of him was Tullo Massarani, a senator of theItalian kingdom, eminent as a writer on the philosophy ofart; on the other, Boussingault, one of the foremost chemistsof the century; and near him, Wischniegradsky, directorof the Imperial Technical Institute at Moscow, whom Iafterward came to know as minister of finance at St.Petersburg. Each afternoon we devoted to examining thegreater exhibits which were to come before us in competitionfor the grands prix on the following morning.

At one of our sessions a curious difficulty arose. Thecommittee on the award of these foremost prizes foradvanced work in electricity brought in their report, and, tomy amazement, made no award to my compatriot Edison,who was then at the height of his reputation. PresentlyTresca, who read the report, and who really lamented theomission, whispered to me the reason of it. Through thenegligence of persons representing Edison, no properexhibition of his inventions had been made to the committee.They had learned that his agent was employed in showingthe phonograph in a distant hall on the boulevards toan audience who paid an admission fee; but, although theyhad tried two or three times to have his apparatus shownthem, they had been unsuccessful, until at last, from afeeling of what was due their own self-respect, they passedthe matter over entirely. Of course my duty was to dowhat was possible in rectifying this omission, and in asgood French as I could muster I made a speech in Edison'sbehalf, describing his career, outlining his work,and saying that I should really be ashamed to return toAmerica without some recognition of him and of hisinventions. This was listened to most courteously, but mysuccess was insured by a remark of a less serious character,which was that if Edison had not yet made a sufficientnumber of inventions to entitle him to a grand prize,he would certainly, at the rate he was going on, have doneso before the close of the exposition. At this there was alaugh, and my amendment was unanimously carried.

Many features in my work interested me, but one hada melancholy tinge. One afternoon, having been summonedto pass upon certain competing works in sculpture,we finally stood before the great bronze entrance-doors of the Cathedral of Strasburg, which, having beendesigned before the Franco-Prussian War, had but justbeen finished. They were very beautiful; but I could seethat my French associates felt deeply the changed situationof affairs which this exhibit brought to their minds.

In order to promote the social relations which go forso much at such times, I had taken the large apartmenttemporarily relinquished by our American minister,Governor Noyes of Ohio, in the Avenue Josephine; and there,at my own table, brought together from time to time aconsiderable number of noted men from various parts ofEurope. Perhaps the most amusing occurrence duringthe series of dinners I then gave was the meeting betweenStory, the American sculptor at Rome, and Judge Bradyof New York. For years each had been taken for the other,in various parts of the world, but they had never met.In fact, so common was it for people to mistake one forthe other that both had, as a rule, ceased to explain themistake. I was myself present with Story on one occasionwhen a gentleman came up to him, saluted him as JudgeBrady, and asked him about their friends in New York:Story took no trouble to undeceive his interlocutor, butremarked that, so far as he knew, they were all well, andended the interview with commonplaces.

These two Dromios evidently enjoyed meeting, andnothing could be more amusing than their accounts ofvarious instances in which each had been mistaken for theother. Each had a rich vein of humor, and both presentedthe details of these occurrences with especial zest.

Another American, of foreign birth, was not quite socharming. He was a man of value in his profession; buthis desire for promotion outran his discretion. Havingserved as juror at the Vienna Exposition, he had nowbeen appointed to a similar place in Paris; and after oneof my dinners he came up to a group in which there weretwo or three members of the French cabinet, and said:``Mr. Vite, I vish you vould joost dell dese zhentlemen vatI am doing vor Vrance. I vas on de dasting gommitteefor vines und peers at Vien, and it 'most killed me; andnow I am here doing de same duty, and my stomach hasnearly gone pack on me. Tell dese zhentlemen dat deFrench Government zurely ought to gonfer ubon me deLegion of Honor.'' This was spoken with the utmostseriousness, and was embarrassing, since, of all subjects,that which a French minister least wishes to discusspublicly is the conferring of the red ribbon.

Embarrassing also was the jubilation of some of ourAmerican exhibitors at our celebration of the Fourth ofJuly in the Bois de Boulogne. Doubtless they wereexcellent citizens, but never was there a betterexemplification of Dr. Arnold's saying that ``a traveller is aself-constituted outlaw.'' A generous buffet had beenprovided, after the French fashion, with a sufficiency ofviands and whatever wine was needed. To my amazement,these men, who at home were most of them, probably,steady-going ``temperance men,'' were so overcome withthe idea that champagne was to be served ad libitum, thatthe whole thing came near degenerating into an orgy. AEuropean of the same rank, accustomed to drinking winemoderately with his dinner, would have simply taken aglass or two and thought no more of it; but these gentlemenseemed to see in it the occasion of their lives. Bottleswere seized and emptied, glass after glass, down thethroats of my impulsive fellow-citizens: in many casesa bottle and more to a man. Then came the worst of it.It had been arranged that speeches should be made undera neighboring tent by leading members of the Frenchcabinet who had accepted invitations to address us. Butwhen they proceeded to do this difficulties arose. A numberof our compatriots, unduly exhilarated, and understandinglittle that was said, first applauded on generalprinciples, but at the wrong places, and finally broke outinto apostrophes such as ``Speak English, old boy!''``Talk Yankee fashion!'' ``Remember the gloriousFourth!'' ``Give it to the British!'' ``Make the eaglescream!'' and the like. The result was that we wereobliged to make most earnest appeals to these gentlemen,begging them not to disgrace our country; and, finally, theproceedings were cut short.

Nor was this the end. As I came down the Champs<E'>lys<e'>es afterward, I met several groups of thesepatriots, who showed by their walk and conversation thatthey were decidedly the worse for their celebration of theday; and the whole thing led me to reflect seriously on thedrink problem, and to ask whether our American solutionof it is the best. I have been present at many largefestive assemblages, in various parts of Europe, where winewas offered freely as a matter of course; but never haveI seen anything to approach this performance of mycountrymen. I have been one of four thousand people atthe H<o^>tel de Ville in Paris on the occasion of a greatball, at other entertainments almost as large in otherContinental countries, and at dinner parties innumerablein every European country; but never, save in oneinstance, were the festivities disturbed by any man onaccount of drink.

The most eminent of American temperance advocatesduring my young manhood, Mr. Delavan, insisted that hefound Italy, where all people, men, women, and children,drink wine with their meals, if they can get it, the mosttemperate country he had ever seen; and, having mademore than twelve different sojourns in Italy, I can confirmthat opinion.

So, too, again and again, when traveling in the old dayson the top of a diligence through village after village inFrance, where the people were commemorating the patronsaint of their district, I have passed through crowds ofmen, women, and children seated by the roadside drinkingwine, cider, and beer, and, so far as one could see, therewas no drunkenness; certainly none of the squalid, brutal,swinish sort. It may indeed be said that, in spite of lightstimulants, drunkenness has of late years increased inFrance, especially among artisans and day laborers. Ifthis be so, it comes to strengthen my view. For the mainreason will doubtless be found in the increased prices oflight wines, due to vine diseases and the like, which havedriven the poorer classes to seek far more noxious beverages.

So, too, in Germany. Like every resident in thatcountry, I have seen great crowds drinking much beer,and, though I greatly dislike that sort of guzzling, I neversaw anything of the beastly, crazy, drunken exhibitionswhich are so common on Independence Day and county-fair day in many American towns where total abstinence isloudly preached and ostensibly practised. Least of all doI admire the beer-swilling propensities of the Germanstudents, and still I must confess that I have never seenanything so wild, wicked, outrageous, and destructive to souland body as the drinking of distilled liquors at barswhich, in my student days, I saw among American students.But I make haste to say that within the last twentyor thirty years American students have improved immenselyin this respect. Athletics and greater interest instudy, caused by the substitution of the students' ownaims and tastes for the old cast-iron curriculum, aredoubtless the main reasons for this improvement.[12]

[12] Further reasons for this improvement I have endeavored togive more in detail elsewhere.

Yet, in spite of this redeeming thing, the fact remainsthat one of the greatest curses of American life is thedram-drinking of distilled liquors at bars; and one key ofthe whole misery is the American habit of ``treating,''—ahabit unknown in other countries. For example, in America,if Tom, Dick, and Harry happen to meet at a hotel,or in the street, to discuss politics or business, Tominvites Dick and Harry to drink with him, which, inaccordance with the code existing among large classes ofour fellow-citizens, Dick and Harry feel bound to do.After a little more talk Dick invites Harry and Tom todrink; they feel obliged to accept; and finally Harryinvites Tom and Dick, with like result; so that these threemen have poured down their throats several glasses ofburning stimulants, perhaps in the morning, perhaps justbefore the midday meal, or at some other especiallyunsuitable time, with results more or less injurious to eachof them, physically and morally.

The European, more sensible, takes with his dinner,as a rule, a glass or two of wine or beer, and is little, ifat all, the worse for it. If he ever takes any distilledliquor, he sips a very small glass of it after his dinner,to aid digestion.

It is my earnest conviction, based upon wide observationin my own country as well as in many others duringabout half a century, that the American theory and practiceas regards the drink question are generally morepernicious than those of any other civilized nation. Iam not now speaking of TOTAL ABSTINENCE—of that, morepresently. But the best TEMPERANCE workers among usthat I know are the men who brew light, pure beer, andthe vine-growers in California who raise and sell at a verylow price wines pleasant and salutary, if any wines can be so.

As to those who have no self-restraint, beer and wine,like many other things, promote the ``survival of thefittest,'' and are, like many other things, ``fool-killers,''aiding to free the next generation from men of viciouspropensities and weak will.

I repeat it, the curse of American social life, among avery considerable class of our people, is ``perpendiculardrinking''—that is, the pouring down of glass after glassof distilled spirits, mostly adulterated, at all sorts ofinopportune times, and largely under the system of ``treating.''

The best cure for this, in my judgment, would be forStates to authorize and local authorities to adopt the``Swedish system,'' which I found doing excellent serviceat Gothenburg in Sweden a few years since, andwhich I am sorry to see the fanatics there have recentlywrecked. Under this plan the various towns allowed acompany to open a certain number of clean, tidy drinking-places; obliged them to purchase pure liquors; forbadethem, under penalties, to sell to any man who had alreadytaken too much; made it also obligatory to sell somethingto eat at the same time with something to drink; and, bestof all, restricted the profits of these establishments to amoderate percentage,—seven or eight per cent., if I re-member rightly,—all the surplus receipts going to publicpurposes, and especially to local charities. The main pointwas that the men appointed to dispense the drinks had nomotive to sell adulterated drinks, or any more liquor thanwas consistent with the sobriety of the customer.

I may add that, in my opinion, the worst enemies of realtemperance in America, as in other countries, have beenthe thoughtless screamers against intemperance, who havedriven vast numbers of their fellow-citizens to drink insecret or at bars. Of course I shall have the honor ofbeing railed at and denounced by every fanatic who readsthese lines, but from my heart I believe them true.

I remember that some of these people bitterly attackedGovernor Stanford of California for the endowment ofStanford University, in part, from the rent of his vineyards.People who had not a word to say against onetheological seminary for accepting the Daniel Drewendowment, or against another for accepting the Jay Gouldendowment, were horrified that the Stanford Universityshould receive revenue from a vineyard. The vineyardsof California, if their product were legally protected fromadulteration, could be made one of the most potent influencesagainst drunkenness that our country has seen. TheCalifornia wines are practically the only pure winesaccessible to Americans. They are so plentiful that there isno motive to adulterate them, and their use among thoseof us who are so unwise as to drink anything except waterought to be effectively advocated as supplanting thedrinking of beer poisoned with strychnine, whisky poisonedwith fusel-oil, and ``French claret'' poisoned withsalicylic acid and aniline.

The true way to supplant the ``saloon'' and the barroom,as regards working-men who obey their social instinctsby seeking something in the nature of a club, andtherefore resorting to places where stimulants are sold,is to take the course so ably advocated by Bishop Potter:namely, to furnish places of refreshment and amusem*ntwhich shall be free from all tendency to beastliness, andwhich, with cheerful open fireplaces, games of varioussorts, good coffee and tea, and, if necessary, light beerand wine, shall be more attractive than the ``saloons''and ``dives'' which are doing our country such vast harm.

My advice to all men is to drink nothing but water.That is certainly the wisest way for nine men out of ten—and probably for all ten. Indeed, one reason whythe great body of our people accomplish so much more ina given time than those of any other country, and why theaverage American working-man ``catches on'' and ``gitsthar'' more certainly and quickly than a man of the samesort in any other country (and careful comparison betweenvarious other countries and our own has shown thatthis is the case), is that a much larger proportion of ourpeople do not stupefy themselves with stimulants.

In what I have said above I have had in view theproblem as it really stands: namely, the existence of a verylarge number of people who WILL have stimulants ofsome kind. In such cases common sense would seem todictate that, in the case of those who persist in usingdistilled liquors, something ought to be done to substitutethose which are pure for those which are absolutelypoisonous and maddening; and, in the case of those whomerely seek a mild stimulant, to substitute for distilledliquors light fermented beverages; and, in the case ofthose who seek merely recreation after toil, to substitutefor beverages which contain alcohol, light beverages likecoffee, tea, and chocolate.

This is a long digression, but liberavi animam meam,and now I return to my main subject.

The American commissioners were treated with greatkindness by the French authorities. There were exceedinglyinteresting receptions by various ministers, and atthese one met the men best worth knowing in France:the men famous in science, literature, and art, who redeemFrance from the disgrace heaped upon her by the wretchedcreatures who most noisily represent her through sensationalnewspapers.

Of the men who impressed me most was Henri Martin,the eminent historian. He discussed with me the historyof France in a way which aroused many new trains ofthought. Jules Simon, eminent both as a scholar and astatesman, did much for me. On one occasion he tookme about Paris, showing me places of special interestconnected with the more striking scenes of the Revolutionaryperiod; on another, he went with me to the distribution ofprizes at the French Academy—a most striking scene;and on still another he piloted me through his beautifullibrary, pointing out various volumes in which wereembedded bullets which the communards had fired throughhis windows from the roof of the Madeleine just opposite.

Another interesting experience was a breakfast with theeminent chemist Sainte-Claire Deville, at which I metPasteur, who afterward took me through his laboratories,where he was then making some of his most importantexperiments. In one part of his domain there were cagescontaining dogs, and on my asking about them he saidthat he was beginning a course of experiments bearingon the causes and cure of hydrophobia. Nothing could bemore simple and modest than this announcement of oneof the most fruitful investigations ever made.

Visits to various institutions of learning interested memuch, among these a second visit to the AgriculturalCollege at Grignon and the wonderful Conservatoire des Artset M<e'>tiers, which gave me new ideas for the similardepartments at Cornell, and a morning at the <E'>cole Normale,where I saw altogether the best teaching of a Latin classicthat I have ever known. As I heard Professor Desjardinsdiscussing with his class one of Cicero's letters in thelight of modern monuments in the Louvre and of recentarchaeological discoveries, I longed to be a boy again.

Among the statesmen whom I met at that time in France,a strong impression was made upon me by one who hadplayed a leading part in the early days of Napoleon III,but who was at this time living in retirement, M. Drouynde Lhuys. He had won distinction as minister of foreignaffairs, but, having retired from politics, had givenhimself up in his old age to various good enterprises,among these, to the great Reform School at Mettray.This he urged me to visit, and, although it was at aconsiderable distance from Paris, I took his advice, and wasmuch interested in it. The school seemed to me welldeserving thorough study by all especially interested in theproblem of crime in our own country.

There is in France a system under which, when anyyoung man is evidently going all wrong,—squandering hispatrimony and bringing his family into disgrace,—a familycouncil can be called, with power to place the waywardyouth under restraint; and here, in one part of theMettray establishment, were rooms in which such youths weredetained in accordance with the requests of family councils.It appeared that some had derived benefit from thesedetentions, for there were shown me one or two lettersfrom them: one, indeed, written by a young man on thebottom of a drawer, and intended for the eye of his successorin the apartment, which was the most contrite yetmanly appeal I have ever read.

Another man of great eminence whom I met in thosedays was Thiers. I was taken by an old admirer ofhis to his famous house in the Place St. Georges, andthere found him, in the midst of his devotees, receivinghomage.

He said but little, and that little was commonplace; butI was not especially disappointed: my opinion of him wasmade up long before, and time has but confirmed it. Themore I have considered his doings as minister orparliamentarian, and the more I have read his works, whetherhis political pamphlet known as the ``History of theFrench Revolution,'' which did so much to arouse sterilecivil struggles, or his ``History of the Consulate and of theEmpire,'' which did so much to revive the Napoleoniclegend, or his speeches under the constitutional monarchyof Louis Philippe, under the Republic, and under the SecondEmpire, which did so much to promote confusion andanarchy, the less I admire him. He seems to me eminentlyan architect of ruin.

It is true that when France was wallowing in the miseryinto which he and men like him had done so much toplunge her, he exerted himself wonderfully to accomplishher rescue; but when the history of that country duringthe last century shall be fairly written, his career, brilliantas it once appeared, will be admired by no thinking patriot.

I came to have far more respect for another statesmanwhom I then met—Duruy, the eminent historian ofFrance and of Rome, who had labored so earnestly underthe Second Empire, both as a historian and a minister ofstate, to develop a basis for rational liberty.

Seated next me at dinner, he made a remark whichthrew much light on one of the most serious faults of theFrench Republic. Said he, ``Monsieur, I was minister ofpublic instruction under the Empire for seven years; sincemy leaving that post six years have elapsed, and in thattime I have had seven successors.''

On another occasion he discoursed with me about thespecial difficulties of France; and as I mentioned to himthat I remembered his controversy with Cardinal deBonnechose, in which the latter tried to drive him out ofoffice because he did not fetter scientific teaching in theUniversity of Paris, he spoke quite freely with me. Althoughnot at all a radical, and evidently willing to actin concert with the church as far as possible, he gaveme to understand that the demands made by ecclesiasticsupon every French ministry were absolutely unendurable;that France never could yield to these demands; and that,sooner or later, a great break must come between thechurch and modern society. His prophecy now seemsnearing fulfilment.

Among the various meetings which were held inconnection with the exposition was a convention of literarymen for the purpose of securing better internationalarrangements regarding copyright. Having been electeda member of this, I had the satisfaction of hearing mostinteresting speeches from Victor Hugo, Tourgueneff, andEdmond About. The latter made the best speech of all,and by his exquisite wit and pleasing humor fully showedhis right to the name which his enemies had given him—``the Voltaire of the nineteenth century.''

The proceedings of this convention closed with a banquetover which Victor Hugo presided; and of all the tryingthings in my life, perhaps the most so was the speechwhich I then attempted in French, with Victor Hugo lookingat me.

There were also various educational congresses at theSorbonne, in which the discussions interested me much;but sundry receptions at the French Academy were farmore attractive. Of all the exquisite literary performancesI have ever known, the speeches made on those occasionsby M. Charles Blanc, M. Gaston Boissier, and themembers who received them were the most entertaining.To see these witty Frenchmen attacking each other in themost pointed way, yet still observing all the forms ofpoliteness, and even covering their adversaries withcompliments, gives one new conceptions of human ingenuity.But whether it is calculated to increase respect for themain actors is another question.

The formal closing of the exposition was a brilliantpageant. Various inventors and exhibitors received giftsand decorations from the hand of the President of theRepublic, and, among them, Dr. Barnard, Story, and myselfwere given officers' crosses of the Legion of Honorwhich none of us has ever thought of wearing; but,alas! my Swiss-American friend who had pleaded sopathetically his heroic services in ``Dasting de vines undpeers'' for France did not receive even the chevalier'sribbon, and the expression of his disappointment was loudand long.

Nor was he the only disappointed visitor. It was myfortune one day at the American legation to observe onedifficulty which at the western capitals of Europe hasbecome very trying, and which may be mentioned to showthat an American representative has sometimes to meet.As I was sitting with our minister, Governor Noyes ofOhio, there was shown into the room a lady, very stately,and dressed in the height of fashion. It was soon evidentthat she was on the war-path. She said, ``Mr.Minister, I have come to ask you why it is that I do notreceive any invitations to balls and receptions given bythe cabinet ministers?'' Governor Noyes answered verypolitely, ``Mrs. ——, we have placed your name on the listof those whom we would especially like to have invited,and have every hope that it will receive attention.'' Sheanswered, ``Why is it that you can do so much less thanyour predecessor did at the last exposition? THEN Ireceived a large number of invitations; NOW I receive none.''The minister answered, ``I am very sorry indeed, madam;but there are perhaps twenty or thirty thousand Americansin Paris; the number of them invited on each occasioncannot exceed fifty or sixty; and the French authoritiesare just now giving preference to those who have comefrom the United States to take some special part in theexposition as commissioners or exhibitors.'' At this thelady was very indignant. She rose and said, ``I will giveyou no more trouble, Mr. Minister; but I am going backto America, and shall tell Senator Conkling, who gaveme my letter of introduction to you, that either he hasvery little influence with you, or you have very littleinfluence with the French Government. Good morning!''And she flounced out of the room.

This is simply an indication of what is perhaps themost vexatious plague which afflicts American representativesin the leading European capitals,—a multitude ofpeople, more or less worthy, pressing to be presented atcourt or to be invited to official functions. The wholematter has a ridiculous look, and has been used by sundrydemagogues as a text upon which to orate againstthe diplomatic service and to arouse popular prejudiceagainst it. But I think that a patriotic American maywell take the ground that while there is so much snobberyshown by a certain sort of Americans abroad, it isnot an unwise thing to have in each capital a man whoin the intervals of his more important duties, can keep thisstruggling mass of folly from becoming a scandal and abyword throughout Europe. No one can know, until hehas seen the inner workings of our diplomatic service,how much duty of this kind is quietly done by ourrepresentatives, and how many things are thus avoided whichwould tend to bring scorn upon our country and uponrepublican institutions.

CHAPTER XXX

AS MINISTER TO GERMANY—1879-1881

In the spring of 1879 I was a third time brought intothe diplomatic service, and in a way which surprised me.The President of the United States at that period was Mr.Hayes of Ohio. I had met him once at Cornell University,and had an interesting conversation with him, but neverany other communication, directly or indirectly. Great,then, was my astonishment when, upon the death of BayardTaylor just at the beginning of his career as ministerto Germany, there came to me an offer of the post thusmade vacant.

My first duty after accepting it was to visit Washingtonand receive instructions. Calling upon the Secretaryof State, Mr. Evarts, and finding his rooms filled withpeople, I said: ``Mr. Secretary, you are evidently verybusy; I can come at any other time you may name.''Thereupon he answered: ``Come in, come in; there arejust two rules at the State Department: one is that nobusiness is ever done out of office hours; and the other is, thatno business is ever done IN office hours.'' It was soonevident that this was a phrase to put me at ease, ratherthan an exact statement of fact; and, after my conferencewith him, several days were given to familiarizing myselfwith the correspondence of my immediate predecessors,and with the views of the department on questions thenpending between the two countries.

Dining at the White House next day, I heard Mr. Evartswithstand the President on a question which has alwaysinterested me—the admission of cabinet ministers totake part in the debates of Congress. Mr. Hayespresented the case in favor of their admission cogently; butthe Secretary of State overmatched his chief. Thisgreatly pleased me; for I had been long convinced thatnext to the power given the Supreme Court, the bestthing in the Constitution of the United States is thatcomplete separation of the executive from the legislativepower which prevents every Congressional session becominga perpetual gladiatorial combat or, say, rather,a permanent game of foot-ball. Again and again I haveheard European statesmen lament that their constitution-makers had adopted, in this respect, the British ratherthan the American system. What it is in France, withcabals organized to oust every new minister as soon as heis appointed, and to provide for a ``new deal'' from thefirst instant of an old one, with an average of one or twochanges of ministry every year as a result, we all know;and, with the exception of the German parliament, Continentallegislatures generally are just about as bad; indeed,in some respects the Italian parliament is worse.The British system would have certainly excluded suchadmirable Secretaries of State as Thomas Jefferson andHamilton Fish; possibly such as John Quincy Adams,Seward, and John Hay. In Great Britain, having beenevolved in conformity with its environment, it issuccessful; but it is successful nowhere else. I have alwayslooked back with great complacency upon such men asthose above named in the State Department, and such asHamilton, Gallatin, Chase, Stanton, and Gage in otherdepartments, sitting quietly in their offices, giving calmthought to government business, and allowing the heathento rage at their own sweet will in both houses ofCongress. Under the other system, our Republic mightperhaps have become almost as delectable as Venezuelawith its hundred and four revolutions in seventy years[13]

[13] See Lord Lansdowne's speech, December, 1902.

On the day following I dined with the Secretary ofState, and found him in his usual pleasant mood. Notingon his dinner-service the words, ``Facta non verba,'' Icalled his attention to them as a singular motto for aneminent lawyer and orator; whereupon he said that, twoold members of Congress dining with him recently, one ofthem asked the other what those words meant, to whichthe reply was given, ``They mean, `Victuals, not talk.' ''

On the way to my post, I stopped in London and wastaken to various interesting places. At the house of myold friend and Yale classmate, George Washburn Smalley,I met a number of very interesting people, and amongthese was especially impressed by Mr. Meredith Townshend,whose knowledge of American affairs seemed amazinglyextensive and preternaturally accurate. At thehouse of Sir William Harcourt I met Lord Ripon, aboutthat time Viceroy of India, whose views on dealings withOrientals interested me much. At the Royal Institutionan old acquaintance was renewed with Tyndall and Huxley;and during an evening with the eminent painter, Mr.Alma-Tadema, at his house in the suburbs, and especiallywhen returning from it, I made a very pleasant acquaintancewith the poet Browning. As his carriage did notarrive, I offered to take him home in mine; but hardly hadwe started when we found ourselves in a dense fog, andit shortly became evident that our driver had lost hisway. As he wandered about for perhaps an hour, hopingto find some indication of it, Browning's conversation wasvery agreeable. It ran at first on current questions, thenon travel, and finally on art,—all very simply and naturally,with not a trace of posing or paradox. Rememberingthe obscurity of his verse, I was surprised at thelucidity of his talk. But at last, both of us becomingsomewhat anxious, we called a halt and questioned thedriver, who confessed that he had no idea where he was.As good, or ill, luck would have it, there just then emergedfrom the fog an empty hansom-cab, and finding that itsdriver knew more than ours, I engaged him as pilot, firstto Browning's house, and then to my own.

One old friend to whom I was especially indebted wasSir Charles Reed, who had been my fellow-commissionerat the Paris and Philadelphia expositions. Thanks tohim, I was invited to the dinner of the lord mayor at theGuildhall. As we lingered in the library before goingto the table, opportunity was given to study various eminentguests. First came Cairns, the lord chancellor, inall the glory of official robes and wig; then Lord Derby;then Lord Salisbury, who, if I remember rightly, wasminister of foreign affairs; then, after several otherdistinguished personages, most interesting of all, LordBeaconsfield, the prime minister. He was the last to arrive,and immediately after his coming he presented his arm tothe lady mayoress, and the procession took its way towardthe great hall. From my seat, which was but a littleway from the high table, I had a good opportunity toobserve these men and to hear their speeches.

All was magnificent. Nothing of its kind could be moresplendid than the massive gold and silver plate piledupon the lord mayor's table and behind it, nothing moresumptuous than the dinner, nothing more quaint thanthe ceremonial. Near the lord mayor, who was arrayedin his robes, chain, and all the glories of his office, stoodthe toastmaster, who announced the toasts in a mannerfit to make an American think himself dreaming,—something,in fact, after this sort, in a queer singsong way,with comical cadences, brought up at the end with a sharpsnap: ``Me lawds, la-a-a-dies and gentleme-e-e-n, bycommawnd of the Right Honorable the Lawrd Marr, Icha-a-awrge you fill your glawse-e-e-s and drink to thehealth of the Right Honorable the Ur-r-rll of Beck'nsfield.''

A main feature of the ceremony was the loving-cup.Down each long table a large silver tankard containinga pleasing beverage, of which the foundation seemed tobe claret, was passed; and, as it came, each of us in turnarose, and, having received it solemnly from his neighbor,who had drunk to his health, drank in return, and then,turning to his next neighbor, drank to him; the latterthen received the cup, returned the compliment, and in thesame way passed it on.

During the whole entertainment I had frequently turnedmy eyes toward the prime minister, and had been muchimpressed by his apparent stolidity. When he presentedhis arm to the lady mayoress, when he walked with her, andduring all the time at table, he seemed much like a woodenimage galvanized into temporary life. When he rose tospeak, there was the same wooden stiffness and he wenton in a kind of mechanical way until, suddenly, he dartedout a brilliant statement regarding the policy of thegovernment that aroused the whole audience; then, after moreof the same wooden manner and mechanical procedure,another brilliant sentence; and so on to the end of thespeech.

All the speeches were good and to the point. Therewere none of those despairing efforts to pump up funwhich so frequently make American public dinnersdistressing. The speakers evidently bore in mind the factthat on the following day their statements would bepondered in the household of every well-to-do Englishman,would be telegraphed to foreign nations, and would beechoed back from friends and foes in all parts of the world.

After the regular speeches came a toast to the diplomaticcorps, and the person selected to respond was ourrepresentative, the Honorable Edwards Pierpont. Thishe did exceedingly well, and in less than five minutes.Sundry American papers had indulged in diatribesagainst fulsome speeches at English banquets by some ofMr. Pierpont's predecessors, and he had evidentlydetermined that no such charge should be established againsthim.

Much was added to my pleasure by my neighbors atthe table—on one side, Sir Frederick Pollock, the eminentfather of the present Sir Frederick; and on the other,Mr. Rolf, the ``remembrancer'' of the City of London.

This suggests the remark that, in my experience amongEnglishmen, I have found very little of the coldness andstiffness which are sometimes complained of. On thecontrary, whenever I have been thrown among them, whetherin Great Britain or on the Continent, they have generallyproved to be agreeable conversationists. One thing hasseemed to me at times curious and even comical: they willfrequently shut themselves up tightly from theircompatriots,—even from those of their own station,—and yetbe affable, and indeed expansive, to any American theychance to meet. The reason for this is, to an American,even more curious than the fact. I may discuss it later.

My arrival in Berlin took place just at the beginning ofthe golden-wedding festivities of the old EmperorWilliam I. There was a wonderful series of pageants: historiccostume balls, gala operas, and the like, at court;but most memorable to me was the kindly welcome extendedto us by all in authority, from the Emperor andEmpress down. The cordiality of the diplomatic corpswas also very pleasing, and during the presentations tothe ruling family of the empire I noticed one thing especially:the great care with which they all, from the monarchto the youngest prince, had prepared themselves tobegin a conversation agreeable to the new-comer. Oneof these high personages started a discussion with me uponAmerican shipping; another, on American art; another, onscenery in Colorado; another, on our railways and steamers;still another, on American dentists and dentistry;and, in case of a lack of other subjects, there was Niagara,which they could always fall back upon.

The duty of a prince of the house of Hohenzollern isby no means light; it involves toil. In my time, whenthe present emperor, then the young Prince William,brought his bride home, in addition to their other receptionsof public bodies, day after day and hour after hour,they received the diplomatic corps, who were arrangedat the palace in a great circle, the ladies forming one halfand the gentlemen the other. The young princess,accompanied by her train, beginning with the ladies, andthe young prince, with his train, beginning with the gentlemen,each walked slowly around the interior of the entirecircle, stopping at each foreign representative andspeaking to him, often in the language of his own country,regarding some subject which might be supposed tointerest him. It was really a surprising feat, for which, nodoubt, they had been carefully prepared, but which wouldbe found difficult even by many a well-trained scholar.

An American representative, in presenting his letter ofcredence from the President of the United States to theruler of the German Empire, has one advantage in the factthat he has an admirable topic ready to his hand, such asperhaps no other minister has. This boon was given usby Frederick the Great. He, among the first of Continentalrulers, recognized the American States as an independentpower; and therefore every American minister since,including myself, has found it convenient, on presenting thePresident's autograph letter to the King or Emperor, torecall this event and to build upon it such an oratoricaledifice as circ*mstances may warrant. The fact that thegreat Frederick recognized the new American Republic,not from love of it, but on account of his detestation ofEngland, provoked by her conduct during his desperatestruggle against his Continental enemies, is, of course,on such occasions diplomatically kept in the background.

The great power in Germany at that time was thechancellor, Prince Bismarck. Nothing could be morefriendly and simple than his greeting; and however statelyhis official entertainments to the diplomatic corps mightbe, simplicity reigned at his family dinners, when hisconversation was apparently frank and certainly delightful.

To him I shall devote another chapter.

In those days an American minister at Berlin waslikely to find his personal relations with the Germanminister of foreign affairs cordial, but his officialrelations continuous war. Hardly a day passed without someskirmish regarding the rights of ``German-Americans''in their Fatherland. The old story constantly recurredin new forms. Generally it was sprung by some man whohad left Germany just at the age for entering the army,had remained in America just long enough to securenaturalization, and then, without a thought of dischargingany of his American duties, had come back to claimexemption from his German duties, and to flaunt hisAmerican citizen papers in the face of the authorities of theprovince where he was born. This was very gallingto these authorities, from the fact that such Americanswere often inclined to glory over their old schoolmatesand associates who had not taken this means of escapingmilitary duty; and it was no wonder that these brand-new citizens, if their papers were not perfectly regular,were sometimes held for desertion until the Americanrepresentative could intervene.

Still other cases were those where fines had beenimposed upon men of this class for non-appearance whensummoned to military duty, and an American ministerwas expected to secure their remission.

In simple justice to Germany, it ought to be said thatthere is no foreign matter of such importance so littleunderstood in the United States as this. The averageAmerican, looking on the surface of things, cannot seewhy the young emigrant is not allowed to go and come ashe pleases. The fact is that German policy in thisrespect has been evolved in obedience to the instinct ofnational self-preservation. The German Empire, thegreatest Continental home of civilization, is an open camp,perpetually besieged. Speaking in a general way, it hasno natural frontiers of any sort—neither mountains norwide expanses of sea. Eastward are one hundred andthirty millions of people fanatically hostile as regardsrace, religion, and imaginary interests; westward isanother great nation of forty millions, with a hatred on allthese points intensified by desire for revenge; northwardis a vigorous race estranged by old quarrels; and southis a power which is largely hostile on racial, religious, andhistoric grounds, and at best a very uncertain reliance.Under such circ*mstances, universal military service inGermany is a condition of its existence, and evasion ofthis is naturally looked upon as a sort of treason. Thereal wonder is that Germany has been so moderate in herdealing with this question. The yearly ``budgets of militarycases'' in the archives of the American Embassy bearample testimony to her desire to be just and even lenient.

To understand the position of Germany, let us supposethat our Civil War had left our Union—as at one timeseemed likely—embracing merely a small number of MiddleStates and covering a space about as large as Texas,with a Confederacy on our southern boundary bitterlyhostile, another hostile nation extending from the westbank of the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains; a Pacificconfederation jealous and faultfinding; British dominionsto the northward vexed by commercial and personalgrievances; and New England a separate and doubtfulfactor in the whole situation. In that case we too wouldhave established a military system akin to that of Germany;but whether we would have administered it asreasonably as Germany has done is very doubtful.

Fortunately for the United States and for me, there wasin the ministry of foreign affairs, when I arrived, one ofthe most admirable men I have ever known in such aposition: Baron von B<u:>low. He came of an illustriousfamily, had great influence with the old Emperor William,with Parliament, and in society; was independent, largein his views, and sincerely devoted to maintaining thebest relations between his country and ours. In cases suchas those just referred to he was very broad-minded; andin one of the first which I had to present to him, whenI perhaps showed some nervousness, he said, ``Mr.Minister, don't allow cases of this kind to vex you; I hadrather give the United States two hundred doubtful casesevery year than have the slightest ill-feeling arise betweenus.'' This being the fact, it was comparatively easy todeal with him. Unfortunately, he died early during mystay, and some of the ministers who succeeded him hadneither his independence nor his breadth of view.

It sometimes seemed to me, while doing duty at theGerman capital in those days as minister, and at a morerecent period as ambassador, that I could not enter myoffice without meeting some vexatious case. One day itwas an American who, having thought that patriotismrequired him, in a crowded railway carriage, roundly todenounce Germany, the German people, and the imperialgovernment, had passed the night in a guard-house;another day, it was one who, feeling called upon, in arestaurant, to proclaim very loudly and grossly hisunfavorable opinion of the Emperor, had been arrested; on stillanother occasion it was one of our fellow-citizens who,having thought that he ought to be married in Berlin aseasily as in New York, had found himself entangled in anetwork of regulations, prescriptions, and prohibitions.

Of this latter sort there were in my time several curiouscases. One morning a man came rushing into thelegation in high excitement and exclaimed, ``Mr. Minister,I am in the worst fix that any decent man was everin; I want you to help me out of it.'' And he then wenton with a bitter tirade against everybody and everythingin the German Empire. When his wrath had effervescedsomewhat, he stated his case as follows: ``Last year, whiletraveling through Germany, I fell in love with a youngGerman lady, and after my return to America becameengaged to her. I have now come for my bride; the weddingis fixed for next Thursday; our steamer passages aretaken a day or two later; and I find that the authoritieswill not allow me to marry unless I present a multitudeof papers such as I never dreamed of; some of them itwill take months to get, and some I can never get. Myintended bride is in distress; her family evidently distrustme; the wedding is postponed indefinitely; and my businesspartner is cabling me to come back to America assoon as possible. I am asked for a baptismal certificate—a Taufschein. Now, so far as I know, I was neverbaptized. I am required to present a certificate showing theconsent of my parents to my marriage—I, a man thirtyyears old and in a large business of my own! I am askedto give bonds for the payment of my debts in Germany. Iowe no such debts; but I know no one who will givesuch a bond. I am notified that the banns must bepublished a certain number of times before the wedding.What kind of a country is this, anyhow?''

We did the best we could. In an interview with theminister of public worship I was able to secure adispensation from the publishing of the banns; then a bond wasdrawn up which I signed and thus settled the questionregarding possible debts in Germany. As to the baptismalcertificate, I ordered inscribed, on the largest possiblesheet of official paper, the gentleman's affidavit that, inthe State of Ohio, where he was born, no Taufschein, orbaptismal certificate, was required at the time of his birth,and to this was affixed the largest seal of the legation, withplenty of wax. The form of the affidavit may be judgedpeculiar; but it was thought best not to startle theauthorities with the admission that the man had not beenbaptized at all. They could easily believe that a State likeOhio, which some of them doubtless regarded as still inthe backwoods and mainly tenanted by the aborigines,might have omitted, in days gone by, to require a Taufschein;but that an unbaptized Christian should offer himselfto be married in Germany would perhaps have soparalyzed their powers of belief that permission for themarriage could never have been secured.

In this and various other ways we overcame thedifficulties, and, though the wedding did not take place uponthe appointed day, and the return to America had to bedeferred, the couple, at last, after marriage first beforethe public authorities, and then in church, were able todepart in peace.

Another case was typical. One morning a gentlemancame into the legation in the greatest distress; and I soonlearned that this, too, was a marriage case—but verydifferent from the other. This gentleman, a naturalizedGerman-American in excellent standing, had come overto claim his bride. He had gone through all theformalities perfectly, and, as his business permitted it, haddecided to reside a year abroad in order that he might takethe furniture of his apartment back to America free ofduty. This apartment, a large and beautiful suite ofrooms, he had already rented, had furnished it very fully,and then, for the few days intervening before his marriage,had put it under care of his married sister. But, alas! thissister's husband was a bankrupt, and hardly had she takencharge of the apartment when the furniture was seized byher husband's creditors, seals placed upon its doors bythe authorities, ``and,'' said the man, in his distress,``unless you do something it will take two years to reach thecase on the calendar; meantime I must pay the rent of theapartment and lose the entire use of it as well as of thefurniture.'' ``But,'' said I, ``what can be done?'' Heanswered, ``My lawyer says that if you will ask it as afavor from the judge, he will grant an order bringing thecase up immediately.'' To this I naturally replied thatI could hardly interfere with a judge in any case beforehim; but his answer was pithy. Said he, ``You are theAmerican minister, and if you are not here to get Americansout of scrapes, I should like to know what you AREhere for.'' This was unanswerable, and in the afternoonI drove in state to the judge, left an official card upon him,and then wrote, stating the case carefully, and saying that,while I could not think of interfering in any case beforehim, still, that as this matter appeared to me one of especialhardship, if it could be reached at once the ends of justicewould undoubtedly be furthered thereby. That myapplication was successful was shown by the fact that theman thus rescued never returned to thank his benefactor.

A more important part of a minister's duty is inconnection with the commercial relations between the twonations. Each country was attempting, by means of itstariffs, to get all the advantage possible, and there resultedvarious German regulations bearing heavily on someAmerican products. This started questions which had tobe met with especial care, requiring many interviews withthe foreign office and with various members of theimperial cabinet.

In looking after commercial relations, a generaloversight of the consuls throughout the empire was no smallpart of the minister's duty. The consular body was good—remarkably good when one considers the radicallyvicious policy which prevails in the selection and retentionof its members. But the more I saw of it, the strongerbecame my conviction that the first thing needed is that,when our government secures a thoroughly good man ina consular position, it should keep him there; and, moreover,that it should establish a full system of promotionsfor merit. Under the present system the rule is that, assoon as a man is fit for the duties, he is rotated out of officeand supplanted by a man who has all his duties to learn.I am glad to say that of late years there have been manyexcellent exceptions to this rule; and one of my mostearnest hopes, as a man loving my country and desirous of itshigh standing abroad, is that, more and more, the tendency,both as regards the consular and diplomatic service,may be in the direction of sending men carefully fitted forpositions, and of retaining them without regard to changesin the home administration.

Still another part of the minister's duty was the carefulcollection of facts regarding important subjects, and thetransmission of them to the State department. These wereembodied in despatches. Such subjects as railwaymanagement, the organization and administration of citygovernments, the growth of various industries, the creationof new schools of instruction, the development of publiclibraries, and the like, as well as a multitude of otherpractical matters, were thus dwelt upon.

It was also a duty of the minister to keep a generaloversight of the interests of Americans within hisjurisdiction. There are always a certain number of Americansin distress,—real, pretended, or imaginary,—and thesemust be looked after; then there are American statesmenseeking introductions or information, American scholarsin quest of similar things in a different field, Americanmerchants and manufacturers seeking access to men andestablishments which will enable them to build up theirown interests and those of their country, and, mostinteresting of all, American students at the university andother advanced schools in Berlin and throughoutGermany. To advise with these and note their progressformed a most pleasing relief from strictly official matters.

Least pleasing of all duties was looking after fugitivesfrom justice or birds of prey evidently seeking newvictims. On this latter point, I recall an experience whichmay throw some light on the German mode of watchingdoubtful persons. A young American had appeared invarious public places wearing a naval uniform to whichhe was not entitled, declaring himself a son of the Presidentof the United States, and apparently making readyfor a career of scoundrelism. Consulting the minister offoreign affairs one day, I mentioned this case, asking himto give me such information as came to him. Heanswered, ``Remind me at your next visit, and perhaps Ican show you something.'' On my calling some days later,the minister handed me a paper on which was inscribedapparently not only every place the young man hadvisited, but virtually everything he had done and said duringthe past week, his conversations in the restaurants beingnoted with especial care; and while the man was evidentlyworthless, he was clearly rather a fool than ascoundrel. On my expressing surprise at the fullness ofthis information, the minister seemed quite as muchsurprised at my supposing it possible for any goodgovernment to exist without such complete surveillance ofsuspected persons.

Another curious matter which then came up was theselling of sham diplomas by a pretended American university.This was brought to my notice in sundry letters, andfinally by calls from one or two young Germans who wereconsidering the advisability of buying a doctorate from aman named Buchanan, who claimed to be president of the``University of Philadelphia.'' Although I demonstratedto them the worthlessness of such sham degrees of a non-existent institution, they evidently thought that to obtainone would aid them in their professions, and were inclinedto make a purchase. From time to time there were slursin the German papers upon all American institutions oflearning, based upon advertisem*nts of such diplomas;and finally my patriotic wrath was brought to a climaxby a comedy at the Royal Theater, in which the rascal ofthe piece, having gone through a long career of scoundrelism,finally secures a diploma from the ``Universityof PENNSYLVANIA''!

In view of this, I wrote not only despatches to the Secretaryof State, but private letters to leading citizens ofPhiladelphia, calling their attention to the subject, andespecially to the injury that this kind of thing was doingto the University of Pennsylvania, an institution of whichevery Philadelphian, and indeed every American, has aright to be proud. As a result, the whole thing was brokenup, and, though it has been occasionally revived, it has notagain inflicted such a stigma upon American education.

But perhaps the most annoying business of all arosefrom presentations at court. The mania of many of ourfellow-citizens for mingling with birds of the finest featherhas passed into a European proverb which is unjust to thegreat body of Americans; but at present there seems tobe no help for it, the reputation of the many suffering forthe bad taste of the few. Nothing could exceed thepertinacity shown in some cases. Different rules prevail atdifferent courts, and at the imperial court of Germanythe rule for some years has been that persons eminentin those walks of life that are especially honored willalways be welcome, and that the proper authority, on beingnotified of their presence, will extend such invitationsas may seem warranted. Unfortunately, while some ofthe most worthy visitors did not make themselves known,some persons far less desirable took too much pains toattract notice. A satirist would find rich material in thearchives of our embassies and legations abroad. I havefound nowhere more elements of true comedy and evenbroad farce than in some of the correspondence on thissubject there embalmed.

But while this class of applicants is mainly made up ofwomen, fairness compels me to say that there is a similarclass of men. These are persons possessed of an insatiateand at times almost insane desire to be able, on theirreturn, to say that they have talked with a crowned head.

Should the sovereign see one in ten of the persons fromforeign nations who thus seek him, he would have no timefor anything else. He therefore insists, like any privateperson in any country, on his right not to give his time tothose who have no real claim upon him, and some verygood fellow-citizens of ours have seemed almost inclinedto make this feeling of his Majesty a casus belli.

On the other hand there are large numbers of Americansmaking demands, and often very serious demands, of timeand labor on their diplomatic representative which it isan honor and pleasure to render. Of these are such as,having gained a right to do so by excellent work in theirrespective fields at home, come abroad, as legislatorsor educators or scientific investigators or engineers orscholars or managers of worthy business enterprises, toextend their knowledge for the benefit of their country.No work has been more satisfactory to my conscience thanthe aid which I have been able to render to men and womenof this sort.

Still, one has to make discriminations. I rememberespecially a very charming young lady of, say, sixteensummers, who came to me saying that she had agreed to writesome letters for a Western newspaper, and that she wishedto visit all the leading prisons, reformatory institutions,and asylums of Germany. I looked into her pretty face,and soon showed her that the German Government wouldnever think of allowing a young lady like herself toinspect such places as those she had named, and that in myopinion they were quite right; but I suggested a seriesof letters on a multitude of things which would certainlyprove interesting and instructive, and which she mighteasily study in all parts of Germany. She took my advice,wrote many such letters, and the selection which shepublished proved to be delightful.

But at times zeal for improvements at home goesperilously far toward turning the activity of an ambassadoror minister from its proper channels. Scores of peoplewrite regarding schools for their children, instructors inmusic, cheap boarding-houses, and I have had an excellentfellow-citizen ask me to send him a peck of turnips.But if the applications are really from worthy persons,they can generally be dealt with in ways which require noespecial labor—many of them through our consuls, towhom they more properly belong.

Those who really ask too much, insisting that theembassy shall look after their private business, may bereminded that the rules of the diplomatic service forbidsuch investigations, in behalf of individuals, withoutprevious instructions from the State Department.

Of the lesser troublesome people may be named, first,those who are looking up their genealogies. A typicalletter made up from various epistles, as a ``composite''portrait is made out of different photographs, would runmuch as follows:

SIR: I have reason to suppose that I am descended from anold noble family in Germany. My grandfather's name was MaxSchulze. He came, I think, from some part of Austria or Bavariaor Schleswig-Holstein. Please trace back my ancestry and let meknow the result at your earliest convenience. Yours truly, MARY SMITH.

Another more troublesome class is that of people seekinginheritances. A typical letter, compounded as above,would run somewhat as follows:

SIR: I am assured that a fortune of several millions of marksleft by one John M<u:>ller, who died in some part of Germany twoor three centuries ago, is held at the imperial treasury awaitingheirs. My grandmother's name was Miller. Please look thematter up and inform me as to my rights. Yours truly, JOHN MYERS.

P.S. If you succeed in getting the money, I will be glad to payyou handsomely for your services.

Such letters as this are easily answered. During thisfirst sojourn of mine at Berlin as minister, I caused acircular, going over the whole ground, to be carefullyprepared and to be forwarded to applicants. In this occurthe following words: ``We have yearly, from various partsof the United States, a large number of applications forinformation or aid regarding great estates in Germanysupposed to be awaiting heirs. They are all more or lessindefinite, many sad, and some ludicrous. . . . There arein Germany no large estates, awaiting distribution tounknown heirs, in the hands of the government or of anybody,and all efforts to discover such estates that the legationhas ever made or heard of have proved fruitless.''

Among the many odd applications received at thatperiod, one revealed an American superstition by no meansunusual. The circ*mstances which led to it were as follows:

An ample fund, said to be forty or fifty thousanddollars, had been brought together in Philadelphia for theerection of an equestrian statue to Washington, and it hadbeen finally decided to intrust the commission to ProfessorSiemering, one of the most eminent of modern Germansculptors. One day there came to me a letter froman American gentleman whom I had met occasionallymany years before, asking me to furnish him with a fullstatement regarding Professor Siemering's works andreputation. As a result, I made inquiries among the leadingauthorities on modern art, and, everything being mostfavorable, I at last visited his studio, and found a largenumber of designs and models of works on which hewas then engaged,—two or three being of the highestimportance, among them the great war monument atLeipsic.

I also found that, although he had executed and wasexecuting important works for various other parts ofGermany, he had not yet put up any great permanentwork in Berlin, though the designs of the admirabletemporary statues and decorations on the return of the troopsfrom the Franco-Prussian War to the metropolis hadbeen intrusted largely to him.

These facts I stated to my correspondent in a letter, andin due time received an answer in substance as follows:

SIR: Your letter confirms me in the opinion I had formed.The intrusting of the great statue of Washington to a man likeSiemering is a job and an outrage. It is clear that he is a merepretender, since he has erected no statue as yet in Berlin. Thatstatue of the Father of our Country ought to have been intrustedto native talent. I have a son fourteen years old who hasalreadygreatly distinguished himself. He has modeled a number offigures in butter and putty which all my friends think are mostremarkable. I am satisfied that he could have produced a workwhich, by its originality and power, would have done honor toour country and to art. Yours very truly, —— ——.

Curious, too, was the following: One morning the mailbrought me a large packet filled with little squares ofcheap cotton cloth. I was greatly puzzled to know theirpurpose until, a few days later, there came a letter which,with changes of proper names, ran as follows:

PODUNK, ——, 1880.

SIR: We are going to have a fancy fair for the benefit of the—— Church in this town, and we are getting ready some autographbed-quilts. I have sent you a package of small squares ofcotton cloth, which please take to the Emperor William and hiswife, also to Prince Bismarck and the other princes and leadingpersons of Germany, asking them to write their names on themand send them to me as soon as possible. Yours truly, —— ——.

P.S. Tell them to be sure to write their names in the middleof the pieces, for fear that their autographs may get sewed in.

My associations with the diplomatic corps I foundespecially pleasing. The dean, as regarded seniority, wasthe Italian ambassador, Count Delaunay, a man of largeexperience and kindly manners. He gave me variousinteresting reminiscences of his relations with Cavour, andsaid that when he was associated with the great Italianstatesman, the latter was never able to get time for him,except at five o'clock in the morning, and that this wastheir usual hour of work.

Another very interesting person was the representativeof Great Britain—Lord Odo Russell. He was full ofinteresting reminiscences of his life at Washington, at Rome,and at Versailles with Bismarck. As to Rome, he gave meinteresting stories of Pope Pius IX, who, he said, wasinclined to be jocose, and even to speak in a sportive wayregarding exceedingly serious subjects.[14] As to Cavour,he thought him a greater man even than Bismarck; andthis from a man so intimate with the German chancellorwas a testimony of no small value.

[14] One of these reminiscences I have given elsewhere.

As to his recollections of Versailles, he was present atthe proclamation of the Empire in the Galerie des Glaces,and described the scene to me very vividly.

His relations with Bismarck were very close, and thelatter once paid him a compliment which sped far; sayingthat, as a rule, he distrusted an Englishman who spokeFrench very correctly, but that there was one exception—Lord Odo Russell.

At the risk of repeating a twice-told tale, I may referhere to his visit to Bismarck when the latter complainedthat he was bothered to death with bores who took hismost precious time, and asked Lord Odo how he got ridof them. After making some reply, the latter askedBismarck what plan he had adopted. To this the chancelloranswered that he and Johanna (the princess) had hitupon a plan, which was that when she thought her husbandhad been bored long enough, she came in with a bottleand said, ``Now, Otto, you know that it is time for youto take your medicine.'' Hardly were the words out ofhis mouth, when in came the princess with the bottle andrepeated the very words which her husband had justgiven. Both burst into titanic laughter, and parted onthe best of terms.

At court festivities, Lord Odo frequently became veryweary, and as I was often in the same case, we from timeto time went out of the main rooms together and satdown in some quiet nook for a talk. On one of theseoccasions, just after he had been made a peer with thetitle of Baron Ampthill, I said to him, ``You must allowme to use my Yankee privilege of asking questions.''On his assenting to this pleasantly, I asked, ``Why is itthat you are willing to give up the great historic nameof Russell and take a name which no one ever heard of?''He answered, ``I have noticed that when men who havebeen long in the diplomatic service return to England,they become in many cases listless and melancholy, andwander about with no friends and nothing to do. Theyhave been so long abroad that they are no longer in touchwith leading men at home, and are therefore shelved.Entrance into the House of Lords gives a man somethingto do, with new friends and pleasing relations. As to thename, I would gladly have retained my own, but had nochoice; in fact, when Lord John Russell was made anearl, his insisting on retaining his name was notespecially liked. Various places on the Russell estates weresubmitted to me for my choice, and I took Ampthill.''

Alas! his plans came to nothing. He died at his postbefore his retirement to England.

Among those then connected with the British Embassyat Berlin, one of the most interesting was Colonel (nowGeneral) Lord Methuen, who, a few years since, took sohonorable a part in the South African War. He was atthat time a tall, awkward man, kindly, genial, who alwaysreminded me of Thackeray's ``Major Sugarplums.''He had recently lost his wife, and was evidently in deepsorrow. One morning there came a curious bit of newsregarding him. A few days before, walking in someremote part of the Thiergarten, he saw a working-man throwhimself into the river, and instantly jumped into the icystream after him, grappled him, pulled him out, laid himon the bank, and rapidly walked off. When news ofit got out, he was taxed with it by various members ofthe diplomatic corps; but he awkwardly and blushinglypooh-poohed the whole matter.

One evening, not long afterward, I witnessed a verypleasant scene connected with this rescue. As we were allassembled at some minor festivity in the private palaceon the Linden, the old Emperor sent for the colonel, andon his coming up, his Majesty took from his own coata medal of honor for life-saving and attached it to thebreast of Methuen, who received it in a very awkwardyet manly fashion.

The French ambassador was the Count de St. Vallier,one of the most agreeable men I have ever met, whodeserved all the more credit for his amiable qualitiesbecause he constantly exercised them despite the mostwretched health. During his splendid dinners at theFrench Embassy, he simply toyed with a bit of bread, notdaring to eat anything.

We were first thrown especially together by arepresentation in favor of the double standard of value, which,under instructions from our governments, we jointlymade to the German Foreign Office, and after that ourrelations became very friendly. Whenever the Fourthof July or Washington's Birthday came round, he wassure to remember it and make a friendly call.

My liking for him once brought upon me one of themost embarrassing mishaps of my life. It was at Nice,and at the table d'h<o^>te of a great hotel on the Promenadedes Anglais, where I was seated next a French countesswho, though she had certainly passed her threescoreyears and ten, was still most agreeable. Day after daywe chatted together, and all went well; but one evening,on our meeting at table as usual, she said, ``I am told thatyou are the American minister at Berlin.'' I answered,``Yes, madam.'' She then said, ``When I was a youngwoman, I was well acquainted with the mother of thepresent French ambassador there.'' At this I launchedout into praises of Count St. Vallier, as well I might;speaking of the high regard felt for him at Berlin, thehonors he had received from the German Government,and the liking for him among his colleagues. The countesslistened in silence, and when I had finished turnedseverely upon me, saying, ``Monsieur, up to this momentI have believed you an honest man; but now I really don'tknow what to think of you.'' Of course I was dumfounded,but presently the reason for the remark occurredto me, and I said, ``Madam, M. de St. Vallier servesFrance. Whatever his private opinions may be, he nodoubt feels it his duty to continue in the service of hiscountry. It would certainly be a great pity if, at everychange of government in France, every officer who didnot agree with the new r<e'>gime should leave the diplomaticservice or the military service or the naval service, thusinjuring the interests of France perhaps most seriously.Suppose the Comte de Chambord should be called to thethrone of France, what would you think of Orleanistsand republicans who should immediately resign theirplaces in the army, navy, and diplomatic service, thusembarrassing, perhaps fatally, the monarchy and thecountry?'' At this, to my horror, the lady went intohysterics, and began screaming. She cried out, ``Oui,monsieur, il reviendra, Henri Cinq; il reviendra. Dieuest avec lui; il reviendra malgr<e'> tout,'' etc., etc., andfinally she jumped up and rushed out of the room. Theeyes of the whole table were turned upon us, and I fullyexpected that some gallant Frenchman would come upand challenge me for insulting a lady; but no one moved,and presently all went on with their dinners. The nextday the countess again appeared at my side, amiable asever, but during the remainder of my stay I kept farfrom every possible allusion to politics.

The Turkish ambassador, Sadoullah Bey, was a kindlygentleman who wandered about, as the French expressivelysay, ``like a damn<e'>d soul.'' Something seemed toweigh upon him heavily and steadily. A more melancholyhuman being I have never seen, and it did not surpriseme, a few years later, to be told that, after one of thepalace revolutions at Constantinople, he had been executedfor plotting the assassination of the Sultan.

The Russian ambassador, M. de Sabouroff, was a veryagreeable man, and his rooms were made attractive bythe wonderful collection of Tanagra statuettes which hehad brought from Greece, where he had formerly beenminister. In one matter he was especially helpful to me.One day I received from Washington a cipher despatchinstructing me to exert all my influence to secure therelease of Madame ——, who, though married to a formerRussian secretary of legation, was the daughter of anAmerican eminent in politics and diplomacy. The casewas very serious. The Russian who had married thisestimable lady had been concerned in various shadytransactions, and, having left his wife and little childrenin Paris, had gone to Munich in the hope of coveringup some doubtful matters which were coming to light.While on this errand he was seized and thrown into jailwhereupon he telegraphed his wife to come to him. Hisidea, evidently, was that when she arrived she also wouldbe imprisoned, and that her family would then feel forcedto intervene with the money necessary to get them bothout. The first part of the programme went as he hadexpected. His wife, on arriving in Munich, was at oncethrown into prison, and began thence sending to theSecretary of State and to me the most distressing lettersand telegrams. She had left her little children in Paris,and was in agony about them. With the aid of theRussian ambassador, who acknowledged that his compatriotwas one of the worst wretches in existence, I obtainedthe release of the lady from prison after long negotiations.Unfortunately, I was obliged to secure that of herhusband at the same time; but as he died not long afterward,he had no opportunity to do much more harm.

Of the ministers plenipotentiary, the chief was BaronNothomb of Belgium, noted as the ``Belgian father ofconstitutional liberty.'' He was a most interesting oldman, especially devoted to the memory of my predecessor,Bancroft, and therefore very kind to me. Amongthe reminiscences which he seemed to enjoy giving meat his dinner-table were many regarding Talleyrand,whom he had personally known.

Still another friend among the ministers was M. deRudhardt, who represented Bavaria. He and his wifewere charming, and they little dreamed of the catastropheawaiting them when he should cross Bismarck's path.The story of this I shall recount elsewhere.[15]

[15] See chapter on Bismarck.

Yet another good friend was Herr von Nostitz-Wallwitz,representative of Saxony, who was able, on oneoccasion, to render a real service to American education.Two or three young ladies, one of whom is now theadmired head of one of the foremost American colleges forwomen, were studying at the University of Leipsic. Ihad given them letters to sundry professors there, andnothing could be better than the reports which reachedme regarding their studies, conduct, and social standing.But one day came very distressing telegrams and letters,and, presently, the ladies themselves. A catastrophe hadcome. A decree had gone forth from the Saxon Governmentat Dresden expelling all women students from theuniversity, and these countrywomen of mine begged meto do what I could for them. Remembering that mySaxon colleague was the brother of the prime minister ofSaxony, I at once went to him. On my presenting thecase, he at first expressed amazement at the idea of womenbeing admitted to the lecture-rooms of a Germanuniversity; but as I showed him sundry letters,especially those from Professors Georg Curtius and Ebers,regarding these fair students, his conservatism meltedaway and he presently entered heartily into my view, theresult being that the decree was modified so that all ladystudents then in the university were allowed to remainuntil the close of their studies, but no new ones were tobe admitted afterward. Happily, all this has been changed,and to that, as to nearly all other German universities,women are now freely admitted.

Very amusing at times were exhibitions of gentle sarcasmon the part of sundry old diplomatists. They hadlived long, had seen the seamy side of public affairs, andhad lost their illusions. One evening, at a ball given bythe vice-chancellor of the empire which was extremelysplendid and no less tedious, my attention was drawn totwo of them. There had been some kind of absurddemonstration that day in one of the principal Europeanparliaments, and coming upon my two colleagues, Ialluded to it.

``Yes,'' said Baron Jauru of Brazil, ``that comes of thegreatest lie prevalent in our time—the theory that themajority of mankind are WISE; now it is an absolute factwhich all history teaches, and to-day even more than ever,that all mankind are FOOLS.'' ``What you say is true,''replied M. de Quade, the Danish minister, ``but it is notthe WHOLE truth: constitutional government also goeson the theory that all mankind are GOOD; now it is anabsolute fact that all mankind are bad, utterly BAD.'' ``Yes,''said Jauru, ``I accept your amendment; mankind arefools and knaves.'' To this I demurred somewhat, andquoted Mr. Lincoln's remark, ``You can fool some of thepeople all the time, and all of the people some of the time;but you can't fool all the people all the time.''

This restored their good humor, and I left them smilinglypondering over this nugget of Western wisdom.

Interesting to me was the contrast between my twocolleagues from the extreme Orient. Then and since atBerlin I have known the Japanese Minister Aoki. Like allother Japanese diplomatic representatives I have met,whether there or elsewhere, he was an exceedinglyaccomplished man: at the first dinner given me after myarrival in Berlin he made an admirable speech in German,and could have spoken just as fluently and accurately inFrench or English.

On the other hand, Li Fong Pao, the Chinese representative,was a mandarin who steadily wore his Chinese costume,pigtail and all, and who, though jolly, could speakonly through an interpreter who was almost as difficult tounderstand as the minister himself.

Thus far it seems the general rule that whereas theJapanese, like civilized nations in general, train mencarefully for foreign service in international law, modernlanguages, history, and the like, the Chinese, likeourselves, do little, if anything, of the kind. But I may addthat recently there have been some symptoms of changeon their part. One of the most admirable speeches duringthe Peace Conference at The Hague was made by ayoung and very attractive Chinese attach<e'>. It was inidiomatic French; nothing could be more admirable eitheras regarded matter or manner; and many of the oldermembers of the conference came afterward to congratulatehim upon it. The ability shown by the Chinese MinisterWu at Washington would also seem to indicate that Chinahas learned something as to the best way of maintainingher interests abroad.

This suggests another incident. In the year 1880 thenewspapers informed us that the wife of the Chinese ministerat Berlin had just sailed from China to join herhusband. The matter seemed to arouse general interest,and telegrams announced her arrival at Suez, then atMarseilles, then at Cologne, and finally at Berlin. Onthe evening of her arrival at court the diplomatic corpswere assembled, awaiting her appearance. Presently thegreat doors swung wide, and in came the Chinese ministerwith his wife: he a stalwart mandarin in the full attireof his rank; she a gentle creature in an exceedingly prettyChinese costume, tripping along on her little feet, andbehind her a long array of secretaries, interpreters, andthe like, many in Chinese attire, but some in Europeancourt costume. After all of us had been duly presentedto the lady by his Chinese excellency, he brought hersecretaries and presented them to his colleagues. Amongthese young diplomatists was a fine-looking man,evidently a European, in a superb court costume froggedand barred with gold lace. As my Chinese colleagueintroduced him to me in German, we continued in thatlanguage, when suddenly this secretary said to me inEnglish, ``Mr. White, I don't see why we should be talkingin German; I was educated at Rochester University underyour friend, President Anderson, and I come from Waterlooin Western New York.'' Had he dropped throughthe ceiling, I could hardly have been more surprised.Neither Waterloo, though a thriving little town upon the NewYork Central Railroad and not far from the city in whichI have myself lived, nor even Rochester with all the addedpower of its excellent university, seemed adequate todevelop a being so gorgeous. On questioning him, I foundthat, having been graduated in America, he had gone toChina with certain missionaries, and had then been takeninto the Chinese service. It gives me very great pleasureto say that at Berlin, St. Petersburg, and The Hague,where I have often met him since, he has proved to bea thoroughly intelligent and patriotic man. Faithful toChina while not unmindful of the interests of the UnitedStates, in one matter he rendered a very great serviceto both countries.

But a diplomatic representative who has a taste forpublic affairs makes acquaintances outside the diplomaticcorps, and is likely to find his relations with the ministersof the German crown and with members of the parliamentvery interesting. The character of German publicmen is deservedly high, and a diplomatist fit to representhis country should bring all his study and experienceto bear in eliciting information likely to be useful to hiscountry from these as well as from all other sorts andconditions of men. My own acquaintance among thesewas large. I find in my diaries accounts of conversationswith such men as Bismarck, Camphausen, Delbr<u:>ck, Windthorst,Bennigsen, George von Bunsen, Lasker, Treitschke,Gneist, and others; but to take them up one after theother would require far too much space, and I must becontent to jot down what I received from them wherever,in the course of these reminiscences, it may seempertinent.

CHAPTER XXXI

MEN OF NOTE IN BERLIN AND ELSEWHERE—1879-1881

My acquaintance at Berlin extended into regionswhich few of my diplomatic colleagues explored,especially among members of the university faculty andvarious other persons eminent in science, literature, andart.

Writing these lines, I look back with admiration andaffection upon three generations of Berlin professors:the first during my student days at the Prussian capitalin 1855-1856, the second during my service as minister,1879-1881, and the third during my term as ambassador1897-1902.

The second of these generations seems to me the mostremarkable of the three. It was a wonderful body of men.A few of them I had known during my stay in Berlin as astudent; and of these, first in the order of time, Lepsius,the foremost Egyptologist of that period, whose lectureshad greatly interested me, and whose kindly characteristicswere the delight of all who knew him.

Ernst Curtius, the eminent Greek scholar and historian,was also very friendly. He was then in the midst of hisstudies upon the famous Pergamon statues, which, byskilful diplomacy, the German Government had obtainedfrom the Turkish authorities in Asia Minor, and broughtto the Berlin Museum. He was also absorbed in theexcavations at Olympia, and above all in the sculptures foundthere. One night at court he was very melancholy, and onmy trying to cheer him, he told me, in a heartbroken tone,that Bismarck had stopped the appropriations for theOlympia researches; but toward the end of the evening heagain sought me, his face radiant, and with great glee toldme that all was now right, that he had seen the Emperor,and that the noble old monarch had promised to providefor the excavations from his own purse.

Still another friend was Rudolf von Gneist, the mosteminent authority of his time upon Roman law and the Englishconstitution. He had acted, in behalf of the EmperorWilliam, as umpire between the United States and GreatBritain, with reference to the northwestern boundary, andhad decided in our favor. In recognition of his labor, theAmerican Government sent over a large collection of valuablebooks on American history, including various collectionsof published state papers; and the first duty I everdischarged as minister was to make a formal presentationof this mass of books to him. So began one of my mostcherished connections.

Especially prized by me was a somewhat close acquaintancewith the two most eminent professors of modern historythen at the university—Von Sybel and Droysen.Each was a man of great ability. One day, after I hadbeen reading Lanfrey's ``Histoire de Napol<e'>on,'' whichI then thought, and still think, one of the most eloquent andinstructive books of the nineteenth century, Von Sybelhappened to drop in, and I asked his opinion of it. Heanswered: ``It does not deserve to be called a history; itis a rhapsody.'' Shortly after he had left, in cameDroysen, and to him I put the same question, when he held upboth hands and said: ``Yes, there is a history indeed!That is a work of genius; it is one of the books whichthrow a bright light into a dark time: that book will live.''

Professor Hermann Grimm was then at the climax ofhis fame, and the gods of his idolatry were Goethe andEmerson; but apparently he did not resemble them insoaring above the petty comforts and vexations of life.Any one inviting him to dine was likely to receive ananswer asking how the dining-room was lighted—whetherby gas, oil, or wax; also how the lights were placed—whether high or low; and what the principal dishes were to be:and on the answer depended his acceptance or declination.Dining with him one night, I was fascinated by his wife; itseemed to me that I had never seen a woman of suchwonderful and almost weird powers: there was somethingexquisitely beautiful in her manner and conversation; and,on my afterward speaking of this to another guest, heanswered: ``Why, of course; she is the daughter of Goethe'sBettina, to whom he wrote the `Letters to a Child.' ''

Another historian was Treitshke, eminent also as amember of parliament—a man who exercised great powerin various directions, and would have been delightful butfor his deafness. A pistol might have been fired besidehim, and he would never have known it. Wherever he was,he had with him a block of paper leaves and a pencil, bymeans of which he carried on conversation; in parliamenthe always had at his side a shorthand-writer who tookdown the debates for him.

Some of the most interesting information which Ireceived regarding historical and current matters in Berlinwas from the biologist Du Bois-Reymond. He was ofHuguenot descent, but was perhaps the most anti-Gallicman in Germany. Discussing the results of the expulsionof the Huguenots under Louis XIV, the details he gave mewere most instructive. Showing me the vast strengthwhich the Huguenots transferred from France toGermany, he mentioned such men as the eminent lawyerSavigny, the great merchant Raven<e'>, and a multitude ofother men of great distinction, who, like himself, hadretained their French names; and he added very manyprominent people of Huguenot descent who had changedtheir French names into German. He then referred to asimilar advantage given to various other countries, andmade a most powerful indictment against the intolerancefor which France has been paying such an enormous priceduring more than two hundred years.

Interesting in another way were two men eminent inphysical science—Helmholtz and Hoffmann. Meetingthem one evening at a court festivity, I was told byHoffmann of an experience of his in Scotland. He hadarrived in Glasgow late on Saturday night, and on Sundaymorning went to call on Professor Sir William Thomson,now Lord Kelvin. The door-bell was answered by a womanservant, of whom Hoffmann asked if Sir William wasat home. To this the servant answered, ``Sir, he mostcertainly is not.'' Hoffmann then asked, ``Could you tellme where I might find him?'' She answered, ``Sir, youwill find him at church, where YOU ought to be.''

My acquaintance with university men was not confinedto Berlin; at Leipsic, Halle, Giessen, Heidelberg, andelsewhere, I also found delightful professorial circles. In myfavorite field, I was especially struck with the historianOncken. As a lecturer he was perfect; and I have oftenadvised American historical students to pass a semester,if not more, at Giessen, in order to study his presentationof historical subjects. As to manner, he was the bestlecturer on history I heard in Germany; and, with theexception of Laboulaye at the Coll<e!>ge de France, Seelye atEnglish Cambridge, and Goldwin Smith at Cornell, thebest I ever heard anywhere.

Especially delightful were sundry men of letters. Ofthese I knew best Auerbach, whose delightful ``Dorfgeschichten''were then in full fame. He had been a warmpersonal friend of Bayard Taylor, and this friendship Iinherited. Many were the walks and talks we tooktogether in the Thiergarten, and he often lighted up myapartment with his sunny temper. But one day, as hecame in, returning from his long vacation, I said to him:``So you have been having a great joy at the unveiling ofthe Spinoza statue at The Hague.'' ``A great joy!'' hesaid. ``Bewahre! far from it; it was wretched—miserable.'' I asked, ``How could that be?'' He answered,``Renan, Kuno Fischer, and myself were invited to makeaddresses at the unveiling of the statue; but when wearrived at the spot, we found that the Dutch Calvinist domi-nies and the Jewish rabbis had each been preaching totheir flocks that the judgments of Heaven would fall uponthe city if the erection of a statue to such a monstrousatheist were permitted, and the authorities had to stationtroops to keep the mob from stoning us and pulling downthe statue. Think of such a charge against the`Gottbetrunkener Mensch,' who gave new proofs of God'sexistence, who saw God in everything!''

Another literary man whom I enjoyed meeting was
Julius Rodenberg; his ``Reminiscences of Berlin,'' which
I have read since, seem to me the best of their kind.

I also came to know various artists, one of them beingespecially genial. Our first meeting was shortly after myarrival, at a large dinner, where, as the various guests werebrought up to be introduced to the new American minister,there was finally presented a little, gentle, modest man as``Herr Knaus.'' I never dreamed of his being the foremostgenre-painter in Europe; and, as one must say something,I said, ``You are, perhaps, a relative of the famouspainter.'' At this he blushed deeply, seemed greatlyembarrassed, and said: ``A painter I am; famous, I don'tknow. (Maler bin ich; ber<u:>hmt, das weiss ich nicht.)''So began a friendship which has lasted from that day tothis. I saw the beginning, middle, and end of some of hismost beautiful pictures, and, above all, of the ``Hinterden Coulissen,'' which conveys a most remarkablephilosophical and psychological lesson, showing how near mirthlies to tears. It is the most comic and most pathetic ofpictures. I had hoped that it would go to America; but,after being exhibited to the delight of all parts ofGermany, it was bought for the royal gallery at Dresden.

Very friendly also was Carl Becker. His ``Coronationof Ulrich von Hutten,'' now at Cologne, of which he allowedme to have a copy taken, has always seemed to mean admirable piece of historical painting. In it there isa portrait of a surly cardinal-bishop; and once, during anevening at Becker's house, having noticed a study for thisbishop's head, I referred to it, when he said: ``Yes, thatbishop is simply the sacristan of an old church in Venice,and certainly the most dignified ecclesiastic I have everseen.'' The musical soir<e'>es at Becker's beautifulapartments were among the delights of my stay both then andduring my more recent embassy.

Very delightfully dwell in my memory, also, someevenings at the palace, when, after the main ceremonies wereover, Knaus, Becker, and Auerbach wandered with methrough the more distant apartments and galleries,pointing out the beauties and characteristics of various oldportraits and pictures. In one long gallery lined with theportraits of brides who, during the last three centuries,had been brought into the family of Hohenzollern, welingered long.

Then began also my friendship with Anton von Werner.He had been present at the proclamation of the EmperorWilliam I in the great ``Hall of Mirrors'' at Versailles, byexpress invitation, in order that he might prepare hisfamous painting of that historic scene. I asked him whetherthe inscription on the shield in the cornice of the Galeriedes Glaces, ``Passage du Rhin,'' which glorified one of theworst outrages committed by Louis XIV upon Germany,was really in the place where it is represented in hispicture. He said that it was. It seemed a divine prophecyof retribution.

The greatest genius in all modern German art—AdolfMenzel—I came to know under rather curious circ*mstances.He was a little man, not more than four feethigh, with an enormous head, as may be seen by his bustin the Berlin Museum. On being presented to him duringan evening at court, I said to him: ``Herr Professor, inAmerica I am a teacher of history; and of all works Ihave ever seen on the history of Frederick the Great, yourillustrations of Kugler's history have taught me most.''This was strictly true; for there are no more strikingworks of genius in their kind than those engravings whichthrow a flood of light into that wonderful period. At thishe invited me to visit his studio, which a few days later Idid, and then had a remarkable exhibition of some of hismost curious characteristics.

Entering the room, I saw, just at the right, a largepicture, finely painted, representing a group of Frederick'sgenerals, and in the midst of them Frederick himself,merely outlined in chalk. I said, ``There is a picturenearly finished.'' Menzel answered, ``No; it is not finishedand never will be.'' I asked, ``Why not?'' He said,``I don't deny that there is some good painting in it. Butit is on the eve of the battle of Leuthen; it is theconsultation of Frederick the Great with his generals justbefore that terrible battle; and men don't look like that justbefore a struggle in which the very existence of theircountry is at stake, and in which they know that most ofthem must lay down their lives.''

We then passed on to another. This represented thegreat Gens d'Armes Church at Berlin; at the side of it,piled on scaffoldings, were a number of coffins all deckedwith wreaths and flowers; and in the foreground a crowdof beholders wonderfully painted. All was finished exceptone little corner; and I said, ``Here is one which youwill finish.'' He said, ``No; never. That represents thefuneral of the Revolutionists killed here in the uprising of1848. Up to this point''—and he put his finger on theunfinished corner—``I believed in it; but when I arrived atthis point, I said to myself, `No; nothing good can comeout of that sort of thing; Germany is not to be made bystreet fights.' I shall never finish it.''

We passed on to another. This was finished. Itrepresented the well-known scene of the great Frederickblundering in upon the Austrian bivouac at the castle of Lissa,when he narrowly escaped capture. I said to him, ``Thereat least is a picture which is finished.'' ``Yes,'' he said;``but the man who ordered it will never get it.'' I sawthat there was a story involved, and asked, ``How isthat?'' He answered, ``That picture was painted on theorder of the Duke of Ratibor, who owns the castle. Whenit was finished he came to see it, but clearly thought ittoo quiet. What he wanted was evidently something inthe big, melodramatic style. I said nothing; but meetingme a few days afterward, he said, `Why don't you sendme my picture?' `No,' I said; `Serene Highness, thatpicture is mine.' `No, said he; `you painted it for me; it ismine.' `No,' said I; `I shall keep it.' His Highness shallnever have it.''

My principal recreation was in excursions to historicalplaces. Old studies of German history had stimulated ataste for them, and it was a delight to leave Berlin onSaturday and stay in one of these towns over Sunday.Frequently my guide was Frederick Kapp, a thoughtfulhistorian and one of the most charming of men.

A longer pilgrimage was made to the mystery-play atOberammergau. There was an immense crowd; and, asusual, those in the open, in front of our box, were drenchedwith rain, as indeed were many of the players on thestage. I had ``come to scoff, but remained to pray.''There was one scene where I had expected a laugh—namely, where Jonah walks up out of the whale's belly.But when it arrived we all remained solemn. It wasreally impressive. We sat there from nine in the morninguntil half-past twelve, and then from half-past oneuntil about half-past four, under a spell which banishedfatigue. The main point was that the actors BELIEVEDin what they represented; there was nothing in itlike that vague, wearisome exhibition of ``religiosity''which, in spite of its wonderful overture, gave me, someyears afterward, a painful disenchantment—the ``Parsifal''at Bayreuth.

At the close of the Passion Play, I sought out some ofthe principal actors, and found them kindly and interesting.To the Christus I gave a commission for a carvedpicture-frame, and this he afterward executed beautifully.With the Judas, who was by far the best actor in the wholeperformance, I became still better acquainted. Visitinghis workshop, after ordering of him two carved statuettes Isaid to him: ``You certainly ought to have a double salary,as the Judas had in the miracle-plays of the middle ages;this was thought due him on account of the injury doneto his character by his taking that part.'' At this theOberammergau Judas smiled pleasantly, and said: ``No;I am content to share equally with the others; but thesame feeling toward the Judas still exists''; and he thentold me the following story: A few weeks before, whilehe was working at his carving-bench, the door of hisworkshop opened, and a peasant woman from the mountainscame in, stood still, and gazed at him intently. On hisasking her what she wanted, she replied: ``I saw you in theplay yesterday; I wished to look at you again; you lookso like my husband. He is dead. HE, TOO, WAS A VERY BADMAN.''

Occasionally, under leave of absence from the StateDepartment, I was able to make more distant excursions,and first of all into France. The President during one ofthese visits was M. Gr<e'>vy. Some years before I had heardhim argue a case in court with much ability; but now, onmy presentation to him at the palace of the <E'>lys<e'>e, hedwelt less ably on the relations of the United States withFrance, and soon fell upon the question of trade, saying, inrather a reproachful way, ``Vous nous inondez de vos produits.''To this I could only answer that this inundation ofAmerican products would surely be of mutual benefit toboth nations, and he rather slowly assented.

Much more interesting to me was his minister of foreignaffairs, Barth<e'>lemy-Saint-Hilaire, a scholar, a statesman,and a man of noble character. We talked first of myintended journey to the south of France; and on my tellinghim that I had sent my eldest son to travel there, for thereason that at Orange, Arles, N<i^>mes, and the like, a betteridea of Roman power can be obtained than in Italy itself,he launched out on that theme most instructively.

The conversation having turned toward politics, hespoke much of Bismarck and Moltke, pronouncing thename of the latter in one syllable. He said that Bismarckwas very kind personally to Thiers during the terriblenegotiations; that if Bismarck could have had his way hewould have asked a larger indemnity,—say, sevenmilliards,—and would have left Alsace-Lorraine to France;that France would gladly have paid a much larger sumthan five milliards if she could have retained Alsace-Lorraine; that Bismarck would have made concessions; butthat ``Molkt'' would not. He added that Bismarck told``Molkt'' that he—the latter—had, by insisting on territory,made peace too difficult. Saint-Hilaire dwelt long onthe fearful legacy of standing armies left by the policywhich Germany finally adopted, and evidently considereda great international war as approaching.[16]

[16] December, 1880.

Dining afterward at the Foreign Office with my oldfriend Millet, who was second in command there, I metvarious interesting Frenchmen, but was most of allpleased with M. Ribot. Having distinguished himself byphilosophical studies and made a high reputation in theFrench parliament, he was naturally on his way to thecommanding post in the ministry which he afterwardobtained. His wife, an American, was especially attractive.

It is a thousand pities that a country possessing suchmen is so widely known to the world, not by these, but bynovelists and dramatists largely retailing filth, journalistslargely given to the invention of sensational lies, politicianslargely obeying either atheistic demagogues or clericalintriguers; and all together acting like a swarm ofobscene, tricky, mangy monkeys chattering, squealing,and tweaking one another's tails in a cage. Some of thesemonkeys I saw performing their antics in the NationalAssembly then sitting at Versailles; and it saddened meto see the nobler element in that assemblage thwarted bysuch featherbrained creatures.[16]

[16] December, 1880.

Another man of note, next whom I found myself at adinner-party, was M. de Lesseps. I still believe him tohave been a great and true man, despite the cloud offraud which the misdeeds of others drew over his latterdays. Among sundry comments on our country, he saidthat he had visited Salt Lake City, and thought a policyof force against the Mormons a mistake. In this I feelsure that he was right. Years ago I was convinced byBishop Tuttle of the Protestant Episcopal Church, whohad been stationed for some years at Salt Lake City, thata waiting policy, in which proper civilization can bebrought to bear upon the Mormons, is the true course.

On the following Sunday I heard P<e!>re Hyacinthepreach, as at several visits before; but the only thing atall memorable was a rather happy application of Voltaire'sremark on the Holy Roman Empire, ``Ni Saint, niEmpire, ni Romain.''

At the salon of Madame Edmond Adam, eminent as awriter of review articles and as a hater of everythingTeutonic, I was presented to a crowd of literary men who,though at that moment striking the stars with their loftyheads, have since dropped into oblivion. Among these Iespecially remember <E'>mile de Girardin, editor, spouter,intriguer—the ``Grand <E'>mile,'' who boasted that heinvented and presented to the French people a new ideaevery day. This futile activity of his always seemed to mebest expressed in the American simile: ``Busy as a bee ina tar-barrel.'' There was, indeed, one thing to his credit:he had somehow inspired his former wife, the gifted DelphineGay, with a belief in his greatness; and a prettystory was current illustrating this. During the revolutionof 1848, various men of note, calling on Madame Girardin,expressed alarm at the progress of that most foolish ofoverturns, when she said, with an air of great solemnity,and pointing upward, ``Gentlemen, there is one above whowatches over France. (Il y a un l<a!>-haut qui veille sur laFrance.)'' All were greatly impressed by this evidenceof sublime faith, until the context showed that it was notthe Almighty in whom she put her trust, but the great<E'>mile, whose study was just above her parlor.

This reminds me that, during my student days at Paris,I attended the funeral of this gifted lady, and in the crowdof well-known persons present noticed especially AlexandreDumas. He was very tall and large, with an Africanhead, thick lips, and bushy, crisp hair. He evidentlyintended to be seen. His good-natured vanity was asundisguised as when his famous son said of him in hispresence, ``My father is so vain that he is capable ofstanding in livery behind his own carriage to make peoplethink he sports a negro footman.''

Going southward, I stopped at Bourges, and wasfascinated by the amazing stonework of the crypt. How themediaeval cathedral-builders were able to accomplish suchintricate work with the means at their command is stillone of the great mysteries. There is to-day in the UnitedStates no group of workmen who could execute anythingapproaching this work, to say nothing of such pieces asthe vaulting of Henry VII's Chapel at Westminster or ofKing's College Chapel at Cambridge.

Thence we went to the Church of Brou, near Lyons—exquisitely beautiful, and filled with monuments evenmore inspiring than the church itself. But it was entirelyevident, from a look at the church and its surroundings,that Matthew Arnold had written his charming poem withoutever visiting the place. Going thence to Nice, westopped at Turin; and at the grave of Silvio Pellico therecame back to me vivid memories of his little book, whichhad seemed to make life better worth living.

At Genoa a decision had to be made. A mass of lettersof introduction to leading Italians had been given me, andI longed to make their acquaintance; but I was weary, andsuddenly decided to turn aside and go upon the Riviera,where we settled for our vacation at Nice. There wefound various interesting people, more especially thosebelonging to the American colony and to the ship-of-warTrenton, then lying at Villefranche, near by. Shortlyafter our arrival, Lieutenant Emery of the navy called,bearing an invitation to the ship from Admiral Howell,who was in command at that station; and, a day or twolater, on arriving in the harbor, though I saw a long-boatdressed out very finely, evidently awaiting somebody, andsuspected that it was intended for me, I quietly evadedthe whole business by joining a party of Americans in asteam-launch, so that I had been on board some little timebefore the admiral realized the omission in his programme.As a result, in order to quiet his conscientiousand patriotic feelings, I came again a day or twoafterward, was conveyed to the frigate with the regulationpomp, and received the salutes due an American minister.My stay on the ship was delightful; but, though the admiralmost kindly urged me to revisit him, I could never againgather courage to cause so much trouble and make so muchnoise.

Most interesting to me of all the persons in Nice at thattime was a young American about fourteen years of age,who seemed to me one of the brightest and noblest andmost promising youths I had ever seen. Alas! how manyhopes were disappointed in his death not long afterward!The boy was young Leland Stanford. The aspirations ofhis father and mother were bound up in him, and the greatuniversity at Palo Alto is perhaps the finest monumentever dedicated by parents to a child.

During another of these yearly absences in Italy, I metvarious interesting men, and, among these, at Florence thesyndic Ubaldino Peruzzi, a descendant of the great Peruzzisof the middle ages, and one of the last survivingassociates of Cavour. He was an admirable talker; but of allhe said I was most pleased with the tribute which he paidto the American minister at Rome, Judge Stallo of Cincinnati.He declared that at a recent conference of statesmenand diplomatists, Judge Stallo had carried off all the honors—speaking with ease, as might be necessary, in Italian,French, and English, and finally drawing up a protocolin Latin.

At Florence also I made an acquaintance which hasever since been a source of great pleasure to me—that ofProfessor Villari, senator of the kingdom, historian ofFlorence, and biographer of Savonarola. So began afriendship which has increased the delights of manyFlorentine visits since those days—a friendship not onlywith him, but with his gifted and charming wife.

This reminds me that at Rome the name of the eminentprofessor once brought upon me a curious reproof.

I had met at various times, in the Eternal City andelsewhere, a rising young professor and officer of HarvardUniversity; and, being one morning in Loescher's famousbook-shop on the Corso, with a large number of purchasesabout me, this gentleman came in and, looking them over,was pleased to approve several of them. Presently, onshowing him a volume just published and saying, ``Thereis the new volume of Villari's history,'' I pronounced thename of the author with the accent on the first syllable, asany one acquainted with him knows that it ought to bepronounced. At this the excellent professor took the book,but seemed to have something on his mind; and, havingglanced through it, he at last said, rather solemnly, ``Yes;VillAri''—accenting strongly the second syllable—``is anadmirable writer.'' I accepted his correction meekly andmade no reply. A thing so trivial would not be worthremembering were it not one of those evidences, whichprofessors from other institutions in our country have notinfrequently experienced, of a ``certain condescension''in sundry men who do honor to one or two of our oldestand greatest universities.

Of all people at Rome I was most impressed by MarcoMinghetti. A conversation with him I have given inanother chapter.

Reminiscences of that first official life of mine at Berlincenter, first of all, in Bismarck, and then in the two greatrulers who have since passed away—the old hero,Emperor William I, and that embodiment of all qualitieswhich any man could ask for in a monarch, the crownprince who afterward became the Emperor Frederick III.

Both were kindly, but the latter was especially winning.At different times I had the pleasure of meeting and talkingwith him on various subjects; but perhaps the mostinteresting of these interviews was one which took placewhen it became my duty to conduct him through theAmerican exhibit in the International Fisheries Exhibitionat Berlin.

He had taken great interest in developing the fisheriesalong the northern coast of Germany, and this exhibitionwas the result. One day he sent the vice-chancellor of theempire to ask me whether it was not possible to securean exhibit from the United States, and especially the loanof our wonderful collections from the Smithsonian Institutionand from the Fisheries Institution of Wood's Holl {sic}.To do this was difficult. Before my arrival an attempthad been made and failed. Word had come from personshigh in authority at Washington that Congress could notbe induced to make the large appropriation required, andthat sending over the collections was out of the question.I promised to do what I could; and, remembering thatFernando Wood of New York was chairman of the Committeeof Ways and Means in the House, and that GovernorSeymour, then living in retirement near Utica, washis old political associate, and especially interested in re-stocking the waters of New York State with fish, I sentthe ex-governor a statement of the whole case, and urgedhim to present it fully to Mr. Wood. Then I wrote in thesame vein to Senator Conkling, and, to my great satisfaction,carried the day. The appropriation was madeby Congress; and the collections were sent over under thecontrol of Mr. Brown Goode of the Smithsonian, perhapsthe most admirable man who could have been chosen outof the whole world for that purpose. The prince wasgreatly delighted with all he saw, showed remarkableintelligence in his questions, and, thanks to Mr. Goode'sassistance, he received satisfactory answers. The result wasthat the American exhibit took the great prize—the silver-gilt vase offered by the Emperor William, which is nowin the National Museum at Washington.

The prince showed a real interest in everything ofimportance in our country. I remember his asking meregarding the Brooklyn Bridge—how it could possibly besustained without guy-ropes. Of course it was easy toshow him that while in the first of our great suspension-bridges—that at Niagara—guy-ropes were admissible, atBrooklyn they were not: since ships of war as well asmerchant vessels of the largest size must pass beneath it; andI could only add that Roebling, who built it, was a man ofsuch skill and forethought that undoubtedly, with theweight he was putting into it and the system of trusseshe was placing upon it, no guy-ropes would be needed.

On many occasions the prince showed thoughtful kindnessto members of my family as well as to myself, andthe news of his death gave me real sorrow. It was a vastloss to his country; no modern monarch has shown sostriking a likeness to Marcus Aurelius.

Hardly less hearty and kindly was the Emperor thenreigning—William I. Naturally enough, he remembered,above all who had preceded me, Mr. Bancroft. Hisfirst question at court generally was, ``How goes itwith your predecessor? (Wie geht es mit IhremVorg<a:>nger?)'' and I always knew that by my ``predecessor''he meant Bancroft. When I once told him that Mr.Bancroft, who was not far from the old Kaiser's age, hadbought a new horse and was riding assiduously everyday, the old monarch laughed heartily and dwelt on hisrecollections of my predecessor, with his long white beard,riding through the Thiergarten.

Pleasant to me was the last interview, on the presentationof my letter of recall. It was at Babelsberg, theEmperor's country-seat at Potsdam; and he detained melong, talking over a multitude of subjects in a way whichshowed much kindly feeling. Among other things, heasked where my family had been staying through thesummer. My answer was that we had been at a hotel nearthe park or palace of Wilhelmsh<o:>he above Cassel; andthat we all agreed that he had been very magnanimous inassigning to the Emperor Napoleon III so splendid aprison and such beautiful surroundings. To this heanswered quite earnestly, ``Yes; and he was very gratefulfor it, and wrote me to say so; but, after all, that is byno means the finest palace in Germany.'' To this Ianswered, ``Your Majesty is entirely right; that I saw onvisiting the palace of W<u:>rzburg.'' At this he laughedheartily, and said, ``Yes, I see that you understand it;those old prince-bishops knew how to live.'' As a matterof fact, various prince-bishops in the eighteenth centuryimpoverished their realms in building just such imitationsof Versailles as that sumptuous W<u:>rzburg Palace.

He then asked me, ``On what ship do you go toAmerica?'' and I answered, ``On the finest ship in yourMajesty's merchant navy—the Elbe.'' He then asked mesomething about the ship; and when I had told him howbeautifully it was equipped,—it being the first of thelarger ships of the North German Lloyd,—he answered,``Yes; what is now doing in the way of shipbuilding iswonderful. I received a letter from my son, the crownprince, this morning, on that very subject. He is atOsborne, and has just visited a great English iron-cladman-of-war. It is wonderful; but it cost a million poundssterling.'' At this he raised his voice, and, throwing upboth hands, said very earnestly, ``We can't stand it; wecan't stand it.''

After this and much other pleasant chat, he put out hishand and said, ``Auf Wiedersehen''; and so we parted,each to take his own way into eternity.

The other farewells to me were also gratifying. TheGerman press was very kindly in its references to mydeparture; and just before I left Berlin a dinner wasgiven me in the great hall of the Kaiserhof by leading menin parliamentary, professional, literary, and artisticcircles. Kindly speeches were made by Gneist, Camphausen,Delbr<u:>ck, George von Bunsen, and others—all forming atreasure in my memory which, as long as life lasts, I cannever lose.

CHAPTER XXXII

MY RECOLLECTIONS OF BISMARCK—1879-1881

My first glimpse of Bismarck was obtained during oneof my journeys through middle Germany, about thetime, I think, of the Franco-Prussian War. Arriving atthe Kissingen junction, we found a crowd gathered outsidethe barriers, and all gazing at a railway-carriageabout to be attached to our train. Looking toward this, Irecognized the face and form of the great North-Germanstatesman. He was in the prime of life—sturdy, hearty,and happy in the presence of his wife and children. Thepeople at the station evidently knew what was needed; forhardly had he arrived when waiters appeared, bearingsalvers covered with huge mugs of foaming beer. ThereuponBismarck took two of the mugs in immediate succession;poured their contents down his throat, evidently withgreat gusto; and a burly peasant just back of me, unablelonger to restrain his admiration, soliloquized in a deep,slow, guttural, reverberating rumble: ``A-a-a-ber er siehtsehr-r-r gut aus.'' So it struck me also; the waters ofKissingen had evidently restored the great man, and helooked like a Titan ready for battle.

My personal intercourse with him began in 1879, when,as chancellor of the German Empire, he received meas minister of the United States. On my entering hisworkroom, he rose; and it seemed to me that I hadnever seen another man so towering save AbrahamLincoln. On either side of him were his two big, blackdogs, the Reichshunde; and, as he put out his handwith a pleasant smile, they seemed to join kindly in thewelcome.

His first remark was that I seemed a young man toundertake the duties of a minister, to which I made thetrite reply that time would speedily cure that defect. Theconversation then ran, for a time, upon commonplacesubjects, but finally struck matters of interest to both ourcountries.

There were then, as ever since, a great number oftroublesome questions between the two nations, and amongthem those relating to Germans who, having gone over tothe United States just at the military age, had lived theremerely long enough to acquire citizenship, and had thenhastened back to Germany to enjoy the privileges of bothcountries without discharging the duties of either. Thesepersons had done great harm to the interests of bona-fideGerman-Americans, and Bismarck evidently had an intensedislike for them. This he showed then and afterward;but his tendencies to severity toward them weretempted {sic} by the minister of foreign affairs, Von B<u:>low,one of the most reasonable men in public business withwhom I have ever had to do, and father of the presentchancellor, who greatly resembles him.

But Bismarck's feeling against the men who hadacquired American citizenship for the purpose of evadingtheir duties in both countries did not prevent his takinga great interest in Germans who had settled in the UnitedStates and, while becoming good Americans, had preservedan interest in the Fatherland. He spoke of these,with a large, kindly feeling, as constituting a bond betweenthe two nations. Among other things, he remarked thatGermans living in the United States become more tractablethan in the land of their birth; that revolutioniststhus become moderates, and radicals conservatives; thatthe word Einigkeit (union) had always a charm for them;that it had worked both ways upon them for good, theunion of States in America leading them to prize theunion of states in Germany, and the evils of disunion inGermany, which had been so long and painful, leadingthem to abhor disunion in America.

The conversation then fell into ordinary channels, and Itook leave after another hearty shake of the hand andvarious kind assurances. A few days later came an invitationto dinner with him; and I prized this all the more becauseit was not to be an official, but a family dinner, andwas to include a few of his most intimate friends in theministry and the parliament. On the invitation it wasstated that evening dress was not to be worn; and on myarrival, accompanied by Herr von Schl<o:>tzer, at that timethe German minister in Washington, I found all the guestsarrayed in simple afternoon costume. The table had apatriarchal character. At the head sat the prince; at hisside, in the next seat but one, his wife; while between themwas the seat assigned me, so that I enjoyed to the full theconversation of both. The other seats at the head of thetable were occupied by various guests; and then, scatteredalong down, were members of the family and some personagesin the chancery who stood nearest the chief. Theconversation was led by him, and soon took a turnespecially interesting. He asked me whether there had everbeen a serious effort to make New York the permanentcapital of the nation. I answered that there had not; thatboth New York and Philadelphia were, for a short periodat the beginning of our national history, provisionalcapitals; but that there was a deep-seated idea that thepermanent capital should not be a commercial metropolis, andthat unquestionably the placing of it at Washington wasdecided, not merely by the central position of that city, butalso by the fact that it was an artificial town, never likelyto be a great business center; and I cited Thomas Jefferson'ssaying, ``Great cities are great sores.'' He answeredthat in this our founders showed wisdom; that theFrench were making a bad mistake in bringing theirnational legislature back from Versailles to Paris; that theconstruction of the human body furnishes a good hint forarrangements in the body politic; that, as the human brainis held in a strong inclosure, and at a distance from theparts of the body which are most active physically, so thebrain of the nation should be protected with the greatestcare, and should not be placed in the midst of a great,turbulent metropolis. To this I assented, but said that duringmy attendance at sessions of the French legislative bodies,both in my old days at Paris and more recently at Versailles,it seemed to me that their main defects are thoseof their qualities; that one of the most frequent occupationsof their members is teasing one another, and thatwhen they tease one another they are wonderfully witty;that in the American Congress and in the British Parliamentmembers are more slow to catch a subtle comment orscathing witticism; that the members of American andBritish assemblies are more like large grains of cannon-powder, through which ignition extends slowly, so thatthere comes no sudden explosion; whereas in the FrenchAssembly the members are more like minute, brightgrains of rifle-powder, which all take fire at the samemoment, with instant detonation, and explosions sometimesdisastrous. He assented to this, but insisted that the curseof French assemblies had been the tyranny of city mobs,and especially of mobs in the galleries of their assemblies;that the worst fault possible in any deliberative body isspeaking to the galleries; that a gallery mob is sure to getbetween the members and the country, and virtuallyscreen off from the assembly the interests of the country.To this I most heartily assented.

I may say here that there had not then been fullydeveloped in our country that monstrous absurdity whichwe have seen in these last few years—national conventionsof the two parties trying to deliberate in the midst ofaudiences of twelve or fifteen thousand people; a vastmob in the galleries, often noisy, and sometimes hysterical,frequently seeking to throw the delegates off theirbearings, to outclamor them, and to force nominationsupon them.

A little later, as we discussed certain recent books, I re-ferred to Jules Simon's work on Thiers's administration.Bismarck said that Thiers, in the treaty negotiations atVersailles, impressed him strongly; that he was a patriot;that he seemed at that time like a Roman among Byzantines.

This statement astonished me. If ever there existed aman at the opposite pole from Bismarck, Thiers was certainlythat man. I had studied him as a historian, observedhim as a statesman, and conversed with him as asocial being; and he had always seemed, and still seems,to me the most noxious of all the greater architects ofruin that France produced during the latter half of thenineteenth century—and that is saying much. His policywas to discredit every government which he found existing,in order that its ruins might serve him as a pedestal;and, while he certainly showed great skill in mitigatingthe calamities which he did so much to cause, his wholecareer was damning.

By his ``History of the French Revolution'' he revivedthe worst of the Revolution legend, and especially thedeification of destructiveness; by his ``History of theConsulate and of the Empire,'' and his translation of the body ofNapoleon to France, he effectively revived the Napoleoniclegend. The Queen of the French, when escaping from theTuileries in 1848, was entirely right in reproaching himwith undermining the constitutional monarchy of 1830;and no man did more than he to arouse and maintain theanti-German spirit which led to the Franco-Prussian War.

By his writings, speeches, and intrigues he aided inupsetting, not only the rule of the Bourbons in 1830, butthe rule of Louis Philippe in 1848, the Second Republicin 1851, and the Second Empire in 1870; and, had helived, he would doubtless have done the same by the presentRepublic.

Louis Blanc, a revolutionist of another bad sort—socommon in France—who can ruin but NOT restore, oncesaid to me that Thiers's ``greatest power lay in his voicingaverage, unthinking, popular folly; so that after one of hisspeeches every fool in France would cry out with delight,``Mais, voil<a!> mon opinion!''

Doubtless Bismarck was impressed, for the time being,by Thiers's skill in negotiation; but it is perfectly evident,from the recollections of various officials since published,that his usual opinion of Thiers was not at all indicatedby his remark above cited.

Later the conversation fell upon travel; and, as he spokeof his experiences in various parts of Europe, I recommendedAmerica to him as a new field of observation—alludingplayfully to the city named after him, and suggestingthat he take his family with him upon a large steamer,and, after seeing the more interesting things in the UnitedStates, pass on around the world, calling at the SamoanIslands, on which I had recently heard him speak inparliament. After some humorous objections to this plan,he said that early in life he had a great passion for travel,but that upon his father's death he was obliged to devotehimself to getting his estate in order; that ever since thattime his political duties had prevented his traveling much;and that now he had lost the love of wandering, and inplace of it had gained a desire to settle down in the midstof his family.

He spoke English so perfectly that I asked him howmuch time he had spent in England. He said, ``Verylittle—in fact, only two or three days.'' He had made buttwo short visits, one of them many years ago,—I think hesaid in 1842,—the other during the exposition of 1862. Heseemed much struck with the beauty of England, and saidthat if his lot had been cast there he would have been veryhappy as an English country gentleman; that he could notunderstand how Englishmen are so prone to live outsideof their own country. He spoke of various Englishmen,and referred to Lord Dufferin, who had dined with himthe day before, as one of the most abstemious men he hadever seen, drinking only a little claret and water. Uponmy speaking of the great improvement which I had notedin England during the last quarter of a century, so thatthe whole country was becoming more and more like agarden, he said that such a statement was hardly likely toplease thinking Englishmen; that they could hardly beglad that England should become more and more like agarden; ``for,'' he said, ``feeding a great nation from agarden is like provisioning an army with plum cake.''

He then dwelt on the fact that Great Britain had becomemore and more dependent for her daily bread on othercountries, and especially on the United States.

The conversation next turned to the management ofestates, and he remarked, in a bluff, hearty way, that hisfather had desired him to become a clergyman; that therewas a pastor's living, worth, if I remember rightly, aboutfifteen hundred thalers a year, which his father thoughtshould be kept in the family. This led to some amusingconversation between him and the princess on what hislife would have been under such circ*mstances, ending byhis saying jocosely to her, ``You probably think that if Ihad become a pastor I would have been a better man.'' Towhich she answered that this she would not say; that itwould not be polite. ``But,'' she continued, ``I will saythis: that you would have been a happier man.''

He referred to some of my predecessors, speaking verykindly of Bayard Taylor and George Bancroft; but bothhe and the princess dwelt especially upon their relationswith Motley. The prince told me of their life together atG<o:>ttingen and at Berlin, and of Motley's visits since,when he always became Bismarck's guest. The princesssaid that there was one subject on which it was always adelight to tease Motley—his suppressed novel``Merrymount''; that Motley defended himself ingeniously invarious ways until, at his last visit, being pressed hard, hedeclared that the whole thing was a mere myth; that hehad never written any such novel.

The dinner being ended, our assembly was adjourned tothe terrace at the back of the chancellor's palace, lookingout upon the park in which he was wont to take his famousmidnight walks. Coffee and cigars were brought, but forBismarck a pipe with a long wooden stem and a largeporcelain bowl. It was a massive affair; and, in a jocose,apologetic way, he said that, although others might smokecigars and cigarettes, he clung to the pipe—and in spiteof the fact that, at the Philadelphia Exposition, as he hadheard, a great German pipe was hung among tomahawks,scalping-knives, and other relics of barbarism. From timeto time a servant refilled his pipe, while he discoursed uponvarious subjects—first upon the condition of America andof Germany; then upon South American matters, and ofthe struggle between Chile and other powers. He showedgreat respect for the Chileans, and thought that they manifestedreally sterling qualities.

He spoke of ship-building, and showed, as it seemed tome, rather a close knowledge of the main points involved.He referred to the superiority of Russian ships, the woodused being more suitable than that generally found elsewhere.As to American ships, he thought they were built,as a rule, of inferior woods, and that their reputation hadsuffered in consequence.

The conversation again falling upon public men, a referenceof mine to Gladstone did not elicit anything like ahearty response; but the mention of Disraeli seemed toarouse a cordial feeling.

Among the guests was Lothar Bucher, whom Bismarck,in earlier days, would have hanged if he had caught him,but who had now become the chancellor's most confidentialagent; and, as we came out together, Bucher said: ``Well,what do you think of him?'' My answer was: ``He seemseven a greater man than I had expected.'' ``Yes,'' saidBucher; ``and I am one of those who have suffered muchand long to make him possible.'' I said: ``The result isworth it, is it not?'' ``Yes,'' was the reply; ``infinitelymore than worth it.''

My next visit was of a very peculiar sort. One daythere arrived at the legation Mr. William D. Kelly ofPennsylvania, anxious, above all things, to have a talkwith Bismarck, especially upon the tariff and the doublemonetary standard, both of which were just then burningquestions. I told Mr. Kelly that it was much easier topresent him to the Emperor than to the chancellor, but thatwe would see what could be done. Thereupon I wrote anote telling Bismarck who Mr. Kelly was—the seniormember of the House of Representatives by term of service,the leading champion therein of protection and of thedouble standard of value; that he was very anxious todiscuss these subjects with leading German authorities;and that, knowing the prince's interest in them, it hadseemed to me that he might not be sorry to meet Mr.Kelly for a brief interview. To this I received a heartyresponse: ``By all means bring Mr. Kelly over at fouro'clock.'' At four o'clock, then, we appeared at the palace,and were received immediately and cordially. Whenwe were seated the prince said: ``I am very sorry; but thenew Prussian ministry is to meet here in twenty minutes,and I must preside over it.'' The meaning of this wasclear, and the conversation began at once, I effacingmyself in order to enjoy it more fully. In a few seconds theywere in the thick of the tariff question; and, as both werehigh protectionists, they got along admirably. Soon rosethe question of the double standard in coinage; andon this, too, they agreed. Notable was the denunciationby the chancellor of those who differed from him; heseemed to feel that, as captain of the political forces ofthe empire, he was entitled to the allegiance of all honestmembers of parliament, and on all questions. The discussionran through various interesting phases, when, noticingthat the members of the Prussian ministry were gatheringin the next room, I rose to go; whereupon theprince, who seemed greatly interested both in the presentationof his own views and those of Mr. Kelly, said: ``No,no; let them wait.'' The new ministers therefore waited,the argument on the tariff and the double standard beingmore vigorously prosecuted than ever. After fifteen ortwenty minutes more, I rose again; but Bismarck said:``No, no; there's no hurry; let's go and take a walk.''On this we rose and went into the garden. As we stoppedfor an instant to enable him to take down his military cap,I noticed two large photographs with autographs beneaththem,—one of Lord Beaconsfield, and the other of KingVictor Emmanuel,—and, as I glanced at the latter, Inoticed an inscription beneath it:

Al mio caro cugino Bismarck.
VITTORIO EMANUELE.

Bismarck, seeing me look at it, said: ``He calls me `cousin'because he has given me his Order of the Annunciata.''This remark for a moment surprised me. It was hard forme to conceive that the greatest man in Europe could carewhether he was entitled to wear the Annunciata ribbon ornot, or whether any king called him ``cousin'' or not. Heseemed, for a moment, to descend to a somewhat lowerplane than that upon which he had been standing; but, aswe came out into the open and walked up and down theavenues in the park, he resumed his discussion of greaterthings. During this, he went at considerable length intothe causes which led to the partial demonetization of silverin the empire; whereupon Mr. Kelly, interrupting him,said: ``But, prince, if you fully believed in using both theprecious metals, why did you allow the demonetization ofsilver?'' ``Well,'' said Bismarck, ``I had a great manythings to think of in those days, and as everybody said thatCamphausen and —— were great financiers, and thatthey understood all about these questions, I allowed themto go on; but I soon learned, as our peasants say of thosewho try to impose upon their neighbors, that they hadnothing but hot water in their dinner-pots, after all.'' Hethen went on discussing the mistakes of those and othergentlemen before he himself had put his hand to the workand reversed their policy. There were curious allusionsto various individuals whose ideas had not suited him,most of them humorous, but some sarcastic. At last, aftera walk of about twenty minutes, bearing in mind theministers who had been so long waiting for their chief, Iinsisted that we must go; whereupon the prince conductedus to the gate, and most cordially took leave of us.

As we left the place, I said to Mr. Kelly, knowing thathe sometimes wrote letters for publication: ``Of course, inwhatever you may write to America, you will be carefulnot to mention names of persons.'' ``Certainly,'' he said;``that, of course, I shall never think of doing.'' But alasfor his good resolutions! In his zeal for protection andthe double standard, all were forgotten. About a fortnightlater there came back by cable a full statement regardinghis interview, the names all given, and Bismarck's referencesto his colleagues brought out vividly. The resultwas that a large portion of the German press was indignantthat Bismarck should have spoken in such a mannerto a foreigner regarding Germans of such eminence,who had been his trusted colleagues, and who had renderedto the country very great services; so that, for somedays, the ``Affaire Kelly'' made large demands uponpublic attention. It had hardly subsided when there camenotice to me from the State Department at Washingtonthat a very eminent American financier was about to besent to Berlin; and I was instructed to secure for him anaudience with the chancellor, in order that some arrangementsmight be arrived at regarding the double standardof value. I must confess that, in view of the ``AffaireKelly,'' these instructions chilled me. Fortunately,Bismarck was just then taking his usual cure at Kissingen,during which he always refused to consider any matter ofbusiness; but, on his return to Berlin, I sent him a noterequesting an audience for this special Americanrepresentative. This brought a very kind answer expressingregret that the chancellor was so pressed with arrears ofbusiness that he desired to be excused; but that the ministerof finance and various other members of the cabinethad been instructed to receive the American agent and tocommunicate with him to the fullest extent. That was allvery well, but there were my instructions; and I feltobliged to write again, making a more earnest request.Thereupon came an answer that settled the question: thechancellor regretted that he was too much overwhelmedwith work to meet the gentleman; but said that he wouldgladly see the American minister at any time, and must,for the present, be excused from meeting any unaccreditedpersons.

Of course, after that there was nothing to be said; andthe special American agent was obliged to content himselfwith what he could obtain in interviews with variousministers.

Mr. Kelly urged, as his excuse for publishing personaldetails in his letters, that it was essential that the wholeworld should know just what the great chancellor had saidon so important a subject. As it turned out, Mr. Kelly'szeal defeated his purpose; for, had the special agent beenenabled to discuss the matter with the chancellor, there islittle doubt that Germany would have at least endeavoredto establish a permanent double standard of value.

Each year, during my stay, Bismarck gave a dinner tothe diplomatic corps on the Emperor's birthday. Thetable was set then, as now, in the great hall of thechancellor's palace—the hall in which the Conference ofBerlin was held after the Russo-Turkish War. The culminatingpoint of each dinner was near its close, when thechancellor rose, and, after a brief speech in French,proposed the health of the heads of all the states thererepresented. This was followed by a toast to the health ofthe Emperor, given by the senior member of the diplomaticcorps, and shortly after came an adjournment forcoffee and cigars. One thing was, at first sight, somewhatstartling; for, as Bismarck arose to propose the toast, thebig black head of a Danish dog appeared upon the tableon either side of him; but the bearing of the dogs was sosolemn that they really detracted nothing from the dignityof the occasion.

In the smoking-room the guests were wont to gather insquads, as many of them as possible in the immediateneighborhood of our host. During one of these assemblageshe asked me to explain the great success of CarlSchurz in America. My answer was that, before the Lincolnpresidential campaign, in which Schurz took so largea part, slavery was always discussed either from a constitutionalor a philanthropic point of view, orators seeking toshow either that it was at variance with the fundamentalprinciples of our government or an offense against humanity;but that Schurz discussed it in a new way, and mainlyfrom the philosophic point of view, showing, not merelyits hostility to American ideas of liberty and the wrongit did to the slaves, but, more especially, the injury itwrought upon the country at large, and, above all, uponthe slave States themselves; and that, in treating all publicquestions, he was philosophic, eloquent, and evidentlysincere. Bismarck heard what I had to say, and thenanswered: ``As a German, I am proud of Carl Schurz.''This was indeed a confession; for it is certain that, ifBismarck could have had his way with Carl Schurz in 1848or 1849, he would have hanged him.

The chancellor's discussions at such times werefrequently of a humorous sort. He seemed, most of all, todelight in lively reminiscences of various public men inEurope. Nothing could be more cordial and hearty thanhis bearing; but that he could take a different tone wasfound out by one of my colleagues shortly after myarrival. This colleague was Herr von Rudhardt, thediplomatic and parliamentary representative of Bavaria. Iremember him well as a large, genial man; and the beautyand cordial manner of his wife attracted general admiration.One day this gentleman made a speech or cast avote which displeased Bismarck, and shortly afterwardwent to one of the chancellor's parliamentary receptions.As he, with his wife leaning on his arm, approached hishost, the latter broke out into a storm of reproaches,denouncing the minister's conduct, and threatening tocomplain of it to his royal master. Thereupon the diplomatistsimply bowed, made no answer, returned home at once,and sent his resignation to his government. All the effortsof the Emperor William were unable to appeasehim, and he was shortly afterward sent to St. Petersburgas minister at that court. But the scene which separatedhim from Berlin seemed to give him a fatal shock; heshortly afterward lost his reason, and at last accounts wasliving in an insane asylum.

On another occasion I had an opportunity to see howthe chancellor, so kind in his general dealings with menwhom he liked, could act toward those who crossed hispath.

Being one evening at a reception given by the Duke ofRatibor, president of the Prussian House of Lords, hesaid to me: ``I saw you this afternoon in the diplomaticbox. Our proceedings must have seemed very stupid.'' Ianswered that they had interested me much. On this heput his lips to my ear and whispered: ``Come to-morrowat the same hour, and you will hear something of realinterest.'' Of course, when the time arrived, I was in myseat, wondering what the matter of interest could be.Soon I began to suspect that the duke had made some mistake,for business seemed following the ordinary routine;but presently a bill was brought in by one of the leadingPrussian ministers, a member of one of the most eminentfamilies in Germany, a man of the most attractive manners,and greatly in favor with the Emperor William andthe crown prince, afterward the Emperor Frederick. Thebill was understood to give a slight extension of suffragein the choice of certain leading elected officials. The questionbeing asked by some one on the floor whether the headof the ministry, Prince Bismarck, approved the bill, thisleading minister, who had introduced it, answered in theaffirmative, and said that, though Prince Bismarck hadbeen kept away by illness from the sessions in which it hadbeen discussed, he had again and again shown that he wasnot opposed to it, and there could be no question on thesubject. At this a member rose and solemnly denied thecorrectness of this statement; declared that he was inpossession of information to the very opposite effect; andthen read a paper, claiming to emanate directly from thechancellor himself, to the effect that he had nothing whateverto do with the bill and disapproved it. Upon Bismarck'scolleagues in the ministry, who thought that hissilence had given consent, this came like a thunderbolt;and those who had especially advocated the measure sawat once that they had fallen into a trap. The generalopinion was that the illness of the chancellor had been astratagem; that his sudden disclaimer, after his leadingcolleagues had thus committed themselves, was intended todrive them from the ministry; and that he was determinedto prevent the minister who had most stronglysupported the bill from securing popularity by it. Thisminister, then, and the other members of the cabinet atonce resigned, giving place to men whom the chancellordid not consider so likely to run counter to his ideas andinterests.

Indeed, it must be confessed that the great statesmannot infrequently showed the defects of his qualities. Asone out of many cases may be cited his treatment of EduardLasker. This statesman during several years renderedreally important services. Though an Israelite, heshowed none of the grasping propensities so often ascribedto his race. He seemed to care nothing for wealth orshow, lived very simply, and devoted himself to the publicgood as he understood it. Many capitalists, bankers, andpromoters involved in the financial scandals which followedthe Franco-Prussian War were of his race; but thismade no difference with him: in his great onslaught on thecolossal scoundrelism of that time, he attacked Jew andGentile alike; and he deserved well of his country foraiding to cleanse it of all that fraud and folly. On amultitude of other questions, too, he had been very serviceableto the nation and to Bismarck; but, toward the end of hiscareer, he had, from time to time, opposed some of thechancellor's measures, and this seemed to turn the lattercompletely against him.

At the opening of the Northern Pacific Railway, Laskerwas one of the invited guests, but soon showed himselfdesperately ill; and, one day, walking along a street inNew York, suddenly dropped dead.

A great funeral was given him; and, of all the ceremoniesI have ever seen, this was one of the most remarkablefor its simplicity and beauty. Mr. Carl Schurz and myselfwere appointed to make addresses on the occasion in thetemple of the Israelites on Fifth Avenue; and we agreedin thinking that we had never seen a ceremony of the kindmore appropriate to a great statesman.

At the next session of Congress, a resolution wasintroduced condoling with the government of Germany on theloss of so distinguished a public servant. This resolutionwas passed unanimously, and in perfect good faith, everyperson present—and, indeed, every citizen in the wholecountry who gave the matter any thought—supposing thatit would be welcomed by the German Government as afriendly act.

But the result was astounding. Bismarck took it uponhimself, when the resolution reached him, to treat it withthe utmost contempt, and to send it back without reallylaying it before his government, thus giving the Americanpeople to understand that they had interfered in a matterwhich did not concern them. For a time, this seemedlikely to provoke a bitter outbreak of American feeling;but, fortunately, the whole matter was allowed to drift by.

Among the striking characteristics of Bismarck was hisevident antipathy to ceremonial. He was never presentat any of the great court functions save the first receptiongiven at the golden wedding of the Emperor WilliamI, and at the gala opera a few evenings afterward.

The reason generally assigned for this abstention wasthat the chancellor, owing to his increasing weight andweakness, could not remain long on his feet, as people areexpected to do on such occasions. Nor do I rememberseeing him at any of the festivities attending the marriageof the present Emperor William, who was then merelythe son of the crown prince. One reason for his absence,perhaps, was his reluctance to take part in the Fackeltanz,a most curious survival. In this ceremony, the ministersof Prussia, in full gala dress, with flaring torches in theirhands, precede the bride or the groom, as the case may be,as he or she solemnly marches around the great white hallof the palace, again and again, to the sound of solemnmusic. The bride first goes to the foot of the throne, andis welcomed by the Emperor, who gravely leads her oncearound the hall, and then takes his seat. The groom thenapproaches the throne, and invites the Empress to marchsolemnly around the room with him in the same manner,and she complies with his request. Then the bride takesthe royal prince next in importance, who, in this particularcase, happened to be the Prince of Wales, at present KingEdward VII; the groom, the next princess; and so on, untileach of the special envoys from the various monarchs ofEurope has gone through this solemn function. So it isthat the ministers, some of them nearly eighty years ofa*ge, march around the room perhaps a score of times; andit is very easy to understand that Bismarck preferred toavoid such an ordeal.

From time to time, the town, and even the empire, wasaroused by news that he was in a fit of illness or illnature, and insisting on resigning. On such occasionsthe old Emperor generally drove to the chancellor's palacein the Wilhelmstrasse, and, in his large, kindly, heartyway, got the great man out of bed, put him in good humor,and set him going again. On one of these occasions,happening to meet Rudolf von Gneist, who had been, during apart of Bismarck's career, on very confidential terms withhim, I asked what the real trouble was. ``Oh,'' said Gneist,``he has eaten too many plover's eggs (Ach, er hat zu vielKibitzeier gegessen).'' This had reference to the factthat certain admirers of the chancellor in the neighborhoodof the North Sea were accustomed to send him, eachyear, a large basket of plovers' eggs, of which he was veryfond; and this diet has never been considered favorableto digestion.

This reminds me that Gneist on one occasion told meanother story, which throws some light on the chancellor'shabits. Gneist had especial claims on Americans. As themost important professor of Roman law at the universityhe had welcomed a long succession of American students;as a member of the imperial parliament, of the Prussianlegislature, and of the Berlin town council, he had shownmany kindnesses to American travelers; and as therepresentative of the Emperor William in the arbitrationbetween the United States and Great Britain on our north-western boundary, he had proved a just judge, deciding inour favor. Therefore it was that, on the occasion of one ofthe great Thanksgiving dinners celebrated by the Americancolony, he was present as one of the principal guests.Near him was placed a bottle of Hermitage, rather a heavy,heady wine. Shortly after taking his seat, he said to mewith a significant smile, ``That is some of the wine I sentto Bismarck, and it did not turn out well.'' ``How wasthat?'' I asked. ``Well,'' he said, ``one day I metBismarck and asked him about his health. He answered, `Itis wretched; I can neither eat nor sleep.' I replied, `Letme send you something that will help you. I have justreceived a lot of Hermitage, and will send you a dozenbottles. If you take a COUPLE OF GLASSES each day withyour dinner, it will be the best possible tonic, and willdo you great good.' Sometime afterward,'' continuedGneist, ``I met him again, and asked how the wine agreedwith him. `Oh,' said Bismarck, `not at all; it made meworse than ever.' `Why,' said I, `how did you take it?'`Just as you told me,' replied Bismarck, `A COUPLE OFBOTTLES each day with my dinner.' ''

Bismarck's constant struggle against the diseases whichbeset him became pathetic. He once asked me how I managedto sleep in Berlin; and on my answering him hesaid—``Well, I can never sleep in Berlin at night when itis quiet; but as soon as the noise begins, about four o'clockin the morning, I can sleep a little and get my rest forthe day.''

It was frequently made clear that the Emperor Williamand the German officials were not the only ones to experiencethe results of Bismarck's ill health: the diplomaticcorps, and among them myself, had sometimes to take itinto account.

Bismarck was especially kind to Americans, and, aboveall, to the American diplomatic representatives. To thisthere was but one exception, my immediate successor, andthat was a case in which no fault need be imputed toeither side. That Bismarck's feeling toward Americansgenerally was good is abundantly proven, and especiallyby such witnesses as Abeken, Sidney Whitman, and MoritzBusch, the last of whom has shown that, while the chancellorwas very bitter against sundry German princes wholingered about the army and lived in Versailles at thepublic expense, he seemed always to rejoice in the presenceof General Sheridan and other compatriots of ours whowere attached to the German headquarters by a tie ofmuch less strength.

But, as I have already hinted, there was one thing whichwas especially vexatious to him; and this was the evasion,as he considered it, of duty to the German Fatherlandby sundry German-Americans. One day I received a letterfrom a young man who stated his case as follows:He had left his native town in Alsace-Lorraine justbefore arriving at the military age; had gone to the UnitedStates; had remained there, not long enough to learnEnglish, but just long enough to obtain naturalization; andhad then lost no time in returning to his native town. Hehad been immediately thrown into prison; and thence hewrote me, expressing his devotion to the American flag,his pride in his American citizenship,—and his desire tolive in Germany. I immediately wrote to the minister offoreign affairs, stating the man's case, and showing thatit came under the Bancroft treaties, or at least under theconstruction of them which the German Government up tothat time had freely allowed. To this I received ananswer that the Bancroft treaties, having been made beforeAlsace-Lorraine was annexed to the empire, did not applyto these new provinces, and that the youth was detained asa deserter. To this I replied that, although the minister'sstatement was strictly true, the point had been waivedlong before in our favor; that in no less than eight casesthe German Government had extended the benefit of theBancroft treaties over Alsace-Lorraine; and that in oneof these cases the acting minister of foreign affairs haddeclared the intention of the government to make thisextension permanent.

But just at this period, after the death of Baron vonB<u:>low, who had been most kindly in all such matters, thechancellor had fallen into a curious way of summoningeminent German diplomatists from various capitals ofEurope into the ministry of foreign affairs for a limitedtime—trying them on, as it were. These gentlemen weregenerally very agreeable; but on this occasion I had todeal with one who had been summoned from service atone of the lesser German courts, and who was youngerthan most of his predecessors. To my surprise, he brushedaside all the precedents I had cited, and also the fact thata former acting minister of foreign affairs had distinctlystated that, as a matter of comity, the German Governmentproposed to consider the Bancroft treaties as applyingpermanently to Alsace-Lorraine. Neither notes nor verbalremonstrances moved him. He was perfectly civil, andanswered my arguments, in every case, as if he were aboutto yield, yet always closed with a ``but''—and did nothing.He seemed paralyzed. The cause of the difficulty was soonevident. It was natural that Bismarck should have a feelingthat a young man who had virtually deserted the Germanflag just before reaching the military age deserved theworst treatment which the law allowed. His own sons hadserved in the army, and had plunged into the thickest ofthe fight, one of them receiving a serious wound; and thatthis young Alsatian Israelite should thus escape serviceby a trick was evidently hateful to him. That the chancellorhimself gave the final decision in this matter was theonly explanation of the fact that this particular actingminister of foreign affairs never gave me an immediateanswer.

The matter became more and more serious. The letterof the law was indeed on Bismarck's side; but the youngman was an American citizen, and the idea of an Americancitizen being held in prison was anything but pleasant tome, and I knew that it would be anything but pleasantto my fellow-citizens across the water. I thought on theproud words, ``civis Romanus sum,'' and of the analogyinvolved in this case. My position was especially difficult,because I dared not communicate the case fully to theAmerican State Department of that period. Various privatedespatches had got out into the world and madetrouble for their authors, and even so eminent adiplomatist as Mr. George P. Marsh at Rome came very nearbeing upset by one. My predecessor, Bayard Taylor, wasvery nearly wrecked by another; and it was the escapeand publication of a private despatch which plunged myimmediate successor into his quarrel with Bismarck, andmade his further stay in Germany useless: I thereforestopped short with my first notification to the StateDepartment—to the effect that a naturalized American hadbeen imprisoned for desertion in Alsace-Lorraine, andthat the legation was doing its best to secure his release.To say more than this involved danger that the affairmight fall into the hands of sensation-mongers, and resultin howls and threats against the German Government andBismarck; and I knew well that, if such howls and threatswere made, Bismarck would never let this young Israeliteout of prison as long as he lived.

It seemed hardly the proper thing, serious as the casewas, to ask for my passports. It was certain that, if thiswere done, there would come a chorus of blame from bothsides of the Atlantic. Deciding, therefore, to imitate theexample of the old man in the school-book, who, beforethrowing stones at the boy in his fruit-tree, threw turfand grass, I secured from Washington by cable a leaveof absence, but, before starting, saw some of my diplomaticcolleagues, who were wont to circulate freely andtalk much, stated the main features of the case to them,and said that I was ``going off to enjoy myself''; thatthere seemed little use for an American minister in acountry where precedents and agreements were so easilydisregarded. Next day I started for the French Riviera.The journey was taken leisurely, with interesting haltsat Cologne and Aix-la-Chapelle; and, as I reached thehotel in Paris, a telegram was handed me—``Your manin Alsace-Lorraine is free.'' It was evident that thechancellor had felt better and had thought more lenientlyof the matter, and I had never another difficulty of the sortduring the remainder of my stay.

The whole weight of testimony as regards Bismarck'soccasional severity is to the effect that, stern andpersistent as he was, he had much tenderness of heart; butas to the impossibility of any nation, government, or pressscaring or driving him, I noticed curious evidences duringmy stay. It was well known that he was not unfriendlyto Russia; indeed, he more than once made declarationswhich led some of the Western powers to think him tooready to make concessions to Russian policy in the East;but his relations to Prince Gortchakoff, the former Russianchancellor, were not of the best; and after the BerlinConference the disappointment of Russia led to variousunfriendly actions by Russian authorities and individualsof all sorts, from the Czar down. There was a generalfeeling that it was dangerous for Germany to resentthis, and a statesman of another mold would have deprecatedthese attacks, or sought to mitigate them. Not soBismarck: he determined to give as good as was sent;and, for a very considerable time he lost no chance to showthat the day of truckling by Germany to her powerfulneighbor was past. This became at last so marked thatbitter, and even defiant, presentation of unpalatabletruths regarding Russia, in the press inspired from thechancery, seemed the usual form in which all Russianstatesmen, and especially members of the imperial house,were welcomed in Berlin. One morning, taking up mycopy of the paper most directly inspired by the chancellor,I found an article on the shortcomings of Russia,especially pungent—almost vitriolic. It at once occurredto me to look among the distinguished arrivals to seewhat Muscovite was in town; and my search was rewardedby the discovery that the heir to the imperial crown,afterward Alexander III, had just arrived and was stayinga day or two in the city.

When Bismarck uttered his famous saying, ``We Germansfear God and naught beside,'' he simply projectedinto the history of Germany his own character. Fearlessnesswas a main characteristic of his from boyhood,and it never left him in any of the emergencies of hislater life.

His activity through the press interested me much attimes. It was not difficult to discern his work in many ofthe ``inspired'' editorials and other articles. I have inmy possession sundry examples of the originals of these,—each page is divided into two columns,—the first thework of one of his chosen scribes, the second copiouslyamended in the chancellor's own hand, and always witha gain in lucidity and pungency.

Of the various matters which arose between us, one isperhaps worthy of mention, since it has recently givenrise to a controversy between a German-American journalistand Bismarck's principal biographer.

One morning, as I sat in dismay before my work-table,loaded with despatches, notes, and letters, besides futilitiesof every sort, there came in the card of LotharBucher. Everything else was, of course, thrown aside.Bucher never made social visits. He was the pilot-fish ofthe whale, and a visit from him ``meant business.''

Hardly had he entered the room when his business waspresented: the chancellor wished to know if the UnitedStates would join Germany and Great Britain in representationscalculated to stop the injuries to the commerceof all three nations caused by the war then going onbetween Chile and Peru.

My answer was that the United States could not joinother powers in any such effort; that our governmentmight think it best to take separate action; and that itwould not interfere with any proper efforts of otherpowers to secure simple redress for actual grievances; but thatit could not make common cause with other powers in anysuch efforts. To clinch this, I cited the famous passagein Washington's Farewell Address against ``entanglingalliances with foreign powers'' as American gospel, andadded that my government would also be unalterablyopposed to anything leading to permanent occupation ofSouth American territory by any European power, andfor this referred him to the despatches of John QuincyAdams and the declarations of President Monroe.

He seemed almost dumfounded at this, and to this dayI am unable to decide whether his surprise was real oraffected. He seemed to think it impossible that we couldtake any such ground, or that such a remote, sentimentalinterest could outweigh material interests so pressing asthose involved in the monkey-and-parrot sort of war goingon between the two South American republics. As he wasevidently inclined to dwell on what appeared to him thestrangeness of my answer, I said to him: ``What I stateto you is elementary in American foreign policy; and toprove this I will write, in your presence, a cable despatchto the Secretary of State at Washington, and you shall seeit and the answer it brings.''

I then took a cable blank, wrote the despatch, andshowed it to him. It was a simple statement of thechancellor's proposal, and on that he left me. In theevening came the answer. It was virtually my statement toBucher, and I sent it to him just as I had received it.That was the last of the matter. No further effort wasmade in the premises, so far as I ever heard, either byGermany or Great Britain. It has recently been stated,in an American magazine article, that Bismarck, towardthe end of his life, characterized the position taken byMr. Cleveland regarding European acquisition of SouthAmerican territory as something utterly new and unheardof. To this, Poschinger, the eminent Bismarck biographer,has replied in a way which increases my admirationfor the German Foreign Office; for it would appear thathe found in the archives of that department a most exactstatement of the conversation between Bucher and myself,and of the action which followed it. So precise was hisaccount that it even recalled phrases and other minutiaeof the conversation which I had forgotten, but which I atonce recognized as exact when thus reminded of them.The existence of such a record really revives one's child-like faith in the opening of the Great Book of human deedsand utterances at ``the last day.''

Perhaps the most interesting phase of Bismarck's lifewhich a stranger could observe was his activity in theimperial parliament.

That body sits in a large hall, the representatives of thepeople at large occupying seats in front of the president'sdesk, and the delegates from the various states—knownas the Imperial Council—being seated upon an elevatedplatform at the side of the room, right and left of thepresident's chair. At the right of the president, somedistance removed, sits the chancellor, and at his right handthe imperial ministry; while in front of the president'schair, on a lower stage of the platform, is the tribune fromwhich, as a rule, members of the lower house address thewhole body.

It was my good fortune to hear Bismarck publiclydiscuss many important questions, and his way of speakingwas not like that of any other man I have ever heard. Hewas always clothed in the undress uniform of a Prussiangeneral; and, as he rose, his bulk made him imposing.His first utterances were disappointing. He seemedwheezy, rambling, incoherent, with a sort of burdensomeself-consciousness checking his ideas and clogging hiswords. His manner was fidgety, his arms being thrownuneasily about, and his fingers fumbling his mustacheor his clothing or the papers on his desk. He puffed,snorted, and floundered; seemed to make assertions withoutproof and phrases without point; when suddenly hewould utter a statement so pregnant as to clear up a wholepolicy, or a sentence so audacious as to paralyze a wholeline of his opponents, or a phrase so vivid as to runthrough the nation and electrify it. Then, perhaps aftermore rumbling and rambling, came a clean, clear, historicalillustration carrying conviction; then, very likely, asimple and strong argument, not infrequently ended bysome heavy missile in the shape of an accusation or taunthurled into the faces of his adversaries; then, perhaps atconsiderable length, a mixture of caustic criticism andpersonal reminiscence, in which sparkled those wonderfulsayings which have gone through the empire and settleddeeply into the German heart. I have known many cleverspeakers and some very powerful orators; but I havenever known one capable, in the same degree, ofoverwhelming his enemies and carrying his whole country withhim. Nor was his eloquence in his oratory alone. Therewas something in his bearing, as he sat at his ministerialdesk and at times looked up from it to listen to a speaker,which was very impressive.

Twice I heard Moltke speak, and each time on the armyestimates. Nothing could be more simple and straight-forward than the great soldier's manner. As he rose, helooked like a tall, thin, kindly New England schoolmaster.His seat was among the representatives, very nearly infront of that which Bismarck occupied on the estrade. Onone of these occasions I heard him make his famousdeclaration that for the next fifty years Germany must be inconstant readiness for an attack from France. He spokevery rarely, was always brief and to the point, saying withcalm strength just what he thought it a duty to say—neithermore nor less. So Caesar might have spoken. Bismarck,I observed, always laid down his large pencil andlistened intently to every word.

The most curious example of the eloquence of silence inBismarck's case, which I noted, was when his strongestopponent, Windthorst, as the representative of thecombination of Roman Catholics and others generally inopposition, but who, at that particular time, seemed to havemade a sort of agreement to support some of Bismarck'smeasures, went to the tribune and began a long and veryearnest speech. Windthorst was a man of diminutivestature, smaller even than Thiers,—almost a dwarf,—andhis first words on this occasion had a comical effect. Hesaid, in substance, ``I am told that if we enter into acombination with the chancellor in this matter, we aresure to come out second best.'' At this Bismarck raisedhis head, turned and looked at the orator, the attention ofthe whole audience being fastened upon both. ``But,''continued Windthorst, ``the chancellor will have to getup very early in the morning to outwit us in this matter.''There was a general outburst of laughter as the twoleaders eyed each other. It reminded one of nothing somuch as a sturdy mastiff contemplating a snappish terrier.

As to his relations with his family, which, to some littleextent, I noticed when with them, nothing could be morehearty, simple, and kindly. He was beautifully devotedto his wife, and evidently gloried in his two stalwart sons,Prince Herbert and ``Count Bill,'' and in his daughter,Countess von Rantzau; and they, in return, showed adevotion to him not less touching. No matter how severethe conflicts which raged outside, within his family thestern chancellor of ``blood and iron'' seemed to disappear;and in his place came the kindly, genial husband, father,and host.

The last time I ever saw him was at the Sch<o:>nhausenstation on my way to Bremen. He walked slowly from thetrain to his carriage, leaning heavily on his stick. Heseemed not likely to last long; but Dr. Schweninger'streatment gave him a new lease of life, so that, on myreturn to Berlin eighteen years later, he was still living.In reply to a respectful message he sent me a kindlygreeting, and expressed the hope that he would, ere long,be well enough to receive me; but he was even then sinking,and soon passed away. So was lost to mortal sightthe greatest German since Luther.

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Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White — Volume 1 (2024)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White — Volume 1

AUTOBIOGRAPHYOFANDREW DICKSON WHITE

WITH PORTRAITS

VOLUME I

THE DE VINNE PRESS

TOMY OLD STUDENTSTHIS RECORD OF MY LIFEIS INSCRIBEDWITH MOST KINDLY RECOLLECTIONSAND BEST WISHES

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART I—ENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATIONCHAPTER I. BOYHOOD IN CENTRAL NEW YORK—1832-1850

CHAPTER II. YALE AND EUROPE—1850-1857

PART II—POLITICAL LIFECHAPTER III. FROM JACKSON TO FILLMORE—1832-1851

CHAPTER IV. EARLY MANHOOD—1851-1857

CHAPTER V. THE CIVIL WAR PERIOD—1857-1864.

CHAPTER VI. SENATORSHIP AT ALBANY—1864-1865

CHAPTER VII. SENATORSHIP AT ALBANY—1865-1867

CHAPTER VIII. ROSCOE CONKLING AND JUDGE FOLGER—1867-1868

CHAPTER IX. GENERAL GRANT AND SANTO DOMINGO—1868-1871

CHAPTER X. THE GREELEY CAMPAIGN—1872

CHAPTER XI. GRANT, HAYES, AND GARFIELD—1871-1881

CHAPTER XII. ARTHUR, CLEVELAND, AND BLAINE—1881-1884

CHAPTER XIII. HENDRICKS, JOHN SHERMAN, BANCROFT,AND OTHERS—1884-1891

CHAPTER XIV. MCKINLEY AND ROOSEVELT—1891-1904

PART III—AS UNIVERSITY PROFESSORCHAPTER XV. LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN—1857-1864

CHAPTER XVI. UNIVERSITY LIFE IN THE WEST—1857-1864

PART IV—AS UNIVERSITY PRESIDENTCHAPTER XVII. EVOLUTION OF ``THE CORNELL IDEA''—1850-1865

CHAPTER XVIII. EZRA CORNELL—1864-1874

CHAPTER XIX. ORGANIZATION OF CORNELL UNIVERSITY—1865-1868

CHAPTER XX. THE FIRST YEARS OF CORNELL UNIVERSITY—1868-1870

CHAPTER XXI. DIFFICULTIES AND DANGERS AT CORNELL—1868-1872

CHAPTER XXII. FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF UNIVERSITYCOURSES-1870-1872

CHAPTER XXIII. ``CO-EDUCATION'' AND AN UNSECTARIANPULPIT—1871-1904

CHAPTER XXIV. ROCKS, STORMS, AND PERIL—1868-1874

CHAPTER XXV. CONCLUDING YEARS—1881-1885

PART V—IN THE DIPLOMATIC SERVICECHAPTER XXVI. AS ATTACH<E'> AT ST. PETERSBURG—1854-1855

CHAPTER XXVII. AS ATTACH<E'> AND BEARER OF DESPATCHESIN WAR-TIME—1855

CHAPTER XXVIII. AS COMMISSIONER TO SANTO DOMINGO—1871

CHAPTER XXIX. AS COMMISSIONER TO THE PARIS EXPOSITION—1878

CHAPTER XXX. AS MINISTER TO GERMANY—1879-1881

CHAPTER XXXI. MEN OF NOTE IN BERLIN AND ELSEWHERE—1879-1881

CHAPTER XXXII. MY RECOLLECTIONS OF BISMARCK—1879-1881

LIST OF PORTRAITSOF THE AUTHOR

VOLUME I

VOLUME II

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OFANDREW DICKSON WHITE

PART IENVIRONMENT AND EDUCATION

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OFANDREW DICKSON WHITE

CHAPTER I

BOYHOOD IN CENTRAL NEW YORK—1832-1850

CHAPTER II

YALE AND EUROPE—1850-1857

PART II

POLITICAL LIFE

CHAPTER III

FROM JACKSON TO FILLMORE—1832-1851

CHAPTER IVEARLY MANHOOD—1851-1857

CHAPTER V

THE CIVIL WAR PERIOD—1857-1864

CHAPTER VI

SENATORSHIP AT ALBANY—1864-1865

CHAPTER VII

SENATORSHIP AT ALBANY—1865-1867

CHAPTER VIII

ROSCOE CONKLING AND JUDGE FOLGER—1867-1868

CHAPTER IX

GENERAL GRANT AND SANTO DOMINGO—1868-1871

CHAPTER X

THE GREELEY CAMPAIGN—1872

CHAPTER XI

GRANT, HAYES, AND GARFIELD—1871-1881

CHAPTER XII

ARTHUR, CLEVELAND, AND BLAINE—1881-1884

CHAPTER XIII

HENDRICKS, JOHN SHERMAN, BANCROFT,AND OTHERS—1884-1891

CHAPTER XIV

PART III

AS UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR

CHAPTER XV

LIFE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN—1857-1864

CHAPTER XVI

UNIVERSITY LIFE IN THE WEST—1857-1864