Atlantic Monthly, Vol. VI.,October, 1860. No. XXXVI. - Various
It was towards the close of Mr. Jefferson's Presidency that Mr. Gales
had entered the office of the "Intelligencer"; and it was during Mr.
Madison's first year that he became joint-editor of that paper. Of
these Administrations it had been the supporter,--only following, in
that regard, the transmitted politics of its original, the
"Gazetteer," derived from the elder Mr. Gales. Bred in these, the son
had learnt them of his sire, just as he had adopted his religion or
his morals. Sprung from one who had been persecuted in England as a
Republican, it was natural that the son should love the faith for
which an honored parent had suffered.
The high qualities and the strong abilities of the young editor did
not fail to strike the discerning eye of President Madison, who
speedily gave him his affection and confidence. To that Administration
the "Intelligencer" stood in the most intimate and faithful
relations,--sustaining its policy as a necessity, where it might not
have been a choice. During the entire course of the war, the
"Intelligencer" sustained most vigorously all the measures needful for
carrying it on with efficiency; and it did equally good service in
reanimating, whenever it had slackened at any disaster, the drooping
spirit of our people. Nor did its editors, when there were two, stop
at these proofs of sincerity, nor slink, when danger drew near, from
that hazard of their own persons to which they had stirred up the
country. When invasion came, they at once took to arms, as volunteer
common-soldiers, went to meet the enemy, and remained in the field
until he had fallen back to the coast. And during the invasion of
Washington, moreover, their establishment was attacked and partially
destroyed, through an unmanly spirit of revenge on the part of the
British forces. In October, 1812, proposing to himself the change of
his paper into a daily one, as was accordingly brought about on the
first of January ensuing, Mr. Gales invited Mr. Seaton, who had by
this time become his brother-in-law, to come and join him. He did so;
and the early tie of youthful friendship, which had grown between them
at Raleigh, and which the new relation had drawn still closer,
gradually matured into that more than friendship or brotherhood, that
oneness and identity of all purposes, opinions, and interests which
has ever since existed between them, without a moment's interruption,
and has long been, to those who understood it, a rare spectacle of
that concord and affection so seldom witnessed, and could never have
come about except between men of singular virtues.
The same year that brought Gales and Seaton together as partners in
business witnessed an alliance of a more interesting character; for it
was in 1813 that Mr. Gales married the accomplished daughter of
Theodorick Lee, younger brother of that brilliant soldier of the
Revolution, the "Legionary Harry."
But, at this natural point, the writer must go back for a while, in
order to bring down the story of William Seaton to where, uniting with
his associate's, the two thus flow on in a single stream.
He was born January 11th, 1785, on the paternal estate in King William
County, Virginia, one of a family of four sons and three daughters. At
the good old mansion passed his childhood. There, too, according to
what was then the wont in Virginia, he trod the first steps of
learning, under the guidance of a domestic tutor, a decayed gentleman,
old and bedridden; for the only part left him of a genteel inheritance
was the gout. But when it became necessary to send his riper progeny
abroad, for more advanced studies, Mr. Seaton very justly bethought
him of going along with them; and so betook himself, with his whole
family, to Richmond, where he was the possessor of houses enough to
afford him a good habitation and a genteel income. Here, then, along
with his brothers and sisters, William was taught, through an
ascending series of schools, until, at last, he arrived at what was
the wonder of that day,--the academy of Ogilvie, the Scotchman. He, be
it noted, had an earldom, (that of Finlater,) which slept while its
heir was playing pedagogue in America: a strange mixture of the
ancient rhapsodist with the modern strolling actor, of the lord with
him who lives by his wits. Scot as he was, he was better fitted to
teach anything rather than common sense. The writer must not give the
idea, however, that there was in Lord Ogilvie anything but
eccentricity to derogate from the honors of either his lineage or his
learning. A very solid teacher he was not. A great enthusiast by
nature, and a master of the whole art of discoursing finely of even
those things which he knew not well, he dazzled much, pleased greatly,
and obtained a high reputation; so that, if he did not regularly
inform or discipline the minds of his pupils, he probably made them,
to an unusual degree, amends on another side: he infused into them, by
the glitter of his accomplishments, a high admiration for learning and
for letters. Certainly, the number of his scholars that arrived at
distinction was remarkable; and this is, of course, a fact conclusive
of great merit of some sort as a teacher, where, as in his case, the
pupils were not many. Without pausing to mention others of them who
arrived at honor, it may be well enough to refer to Winfield Scott,
William Campbell Preston, B. Watkins Leigh, William S. Archer, and
William C. Rives.
The writer does not know if it had ever been designed that young
Seaton should proceed from Ogilvie's classes to the more systematic
courses of a college. Possibly not. Even among the wealthy, at that
time, home-education was often employed. The children of both sexes
were committed to the care of private tutors, usually young Scotchmen,
the graduates of Glasgow, Edinburgh, or Aberdeen, sent over to the
planter, upon order, along with his yearly supply of goods, by his
merchant abroad. Or else the sons were sent to select private schools,
like that of Ogilvie, set up by men of such abilities and scholarship
as were supposed capable of performing the whole work of institutions.
At any rate, our youth, without further preparation, at about the age
of eighteen, entered earnestly upon the duties of life. He fell at
once into his vocation,--impelled to it, no doubt, by the ambition for
letters and public affairs which the lessons of Ogilvie usually
produced. Party ran high. Virginia politics, flushed with recent
success, had added to the usual passions of the contest those of
victory.
Into the novelties of the day our student accordingly plunged, in
common with nearly all others of a like age and condition. He became,
in short, a politician. Though talent of every other sort abounded,
that of writing promptly and pleasingly did not. Young Seaton was
found to possess this, and therefore soon obtained leave to exercise
it as assistant-editor of one of the Richmond journals. He had already
made himself acquainted with the art of printing, in an office where
he became the companion and friend of the late Thomas Ritchie, and it
is more than probable that many of his youthful "editorials" were "set
up" by his own hands. Attaining by degrees a youthful reputation, he
received an invitation to take the sole charge of a respectable paper
in Petersburg, "The Republican," the editor and proprietor of which,
Mr. Thomas Field, was about to leave the country for some months.
Acquitting himself here with great approval, he won an invitation to a
still better position,--that of the proprietary editorship of the
"North Carolina Journal," published at Halifax, the former capital of
that State, and the only newspaper there. He accepted the offer, and
became the master of his own independent journal. Of its being so he
proceeded at once to give his patrons a somewhat decisive token. They
were chiefly Federalists; it was a region strongly Federal; and the
gazette itself had always maintained the purest Federalism: but he
forthwith changed its politics to Republican.
There can be no doubt that he who made a change so manly conducted his
paper with spirit. Yet he must have done it also with that wise and
winning moderation and fairness which have since distinguished him and
his associate. William Seaton could never have fallen into anything of
the temper or the taste, the morals or the manners, which are now so
widely the shame of the American press; he could never have written in
the ill spirit of mere party, so as to wound or even offend the good
men of an opposite way of thinking. The inference is a sure one from
his character, and is confirmed by what we know to have happened
during his editorial career among the Federalists of Halifax. Instead
of his paper's losing ground under the circumstances just mentioned,
it really gained so largely and won so much the esteem of both sides,
that, when he desired to dispose of it, in order to seek a higher
theatre, he easily sold the property for double what it had cost him.
It was now that he made his way to Raleigh, the new State-capital, and
became connected with the "Register." Nor was it long before this
connection was drawn yet closer by his happy marriage with the lady
whose virtues and accomplishments have so long been the modest, yet
shining ornament and charm of his household and of the society of
Washington. After this union, he continued his previous relationship
with the "Register," until, as already mentioned, he came to the
metropolis to join all his fortunes with those of his brother-in-law.
From this point, of course, their stories, like their lives, become
united, and merge, with a rare concord, into one. They have had no
bickerings, no misunderstanding, no difference of view which a
consultation did not at once reconcile; they have never known a
division of interests; from their common coffer each has always drawn
whatever he chose; and, down to this day, there has never been a
settlement of accounts between them. What facts could better attest
not merely a singular harmony of character, but an admirable
conformity of virtues?
The history of the "Intelligencer" has, as to all its leading
particulars, been for fifty years spread before thousands of readers,
in its continuous diary. To re-chronicle any part of what is so well
known would be idle in the extreme. Of the editors personally, their
lives, since they became mature and settled, have presented few events
such as are not common to all men,--little of vicissitude, beyond that
of pockets now full and now empty,--nothing but a steady performance
of duty, an exertion, whenever necessary, of high ability, and the
gradual accumulation through these of a deeply felt esteem among all
the best and wisest of the land. Amidst the many popular passions with
which nearly all have, in our country, run wild, they have maintained
a perpetual and sage moderation; amidst incessant variations of
doctrine, they have preserved a memory and a conscience; in the
frequent fluctuations of power, they have steadily checked the
alternate excesses of both parties; and they have never given to
either a factious opposition or a merely partisan support. Of their
journal it may be said, that there has, in all our times, shone no
such continual light on public affairs, there has stood no such sure
defence of whatever was needful to be upheld. Tempering the heats of
both sides,--re-nationalizing all spirit of section,--combating our
propensity to lawlessness at home and aggression abroad,--spreading
constantly on each question of the day a mass of sound
information,--the venerable editors have been, all the while, a power
and a safety in the land, no matter who were the rulers. Neither party
could have spared an opposition so just or a support so well-measured.
Thus it cannot be deemed an American exaggeration to declare the
opinion as to the influence of the "Intelligencer" over our public
counsels, that its value is not easily to be overrated.
Never, meantime, was authority wielded with less assumption. The
"Intelligencer" could not, of course, help being aware of the weight
which its opinions always carried among the thinking; but it has never
betrayed any consciousness of its influence, unless in a ceaseless
care to deserve respect. Its modesty and candor, its fairness and
courtesy have been invariable; nor less so, its observance of that
decorum and those charities which constitute the very grace of all
public life.
From the time of their coming together, down to the year 1820, Gales
and Seaton were the exclusive reporters, as well as editors, of their
journal,--one of them devoting himself to the Senate, and the other to
the House of Representatives. Generally speaking, they published only
running reports,--on special occasions, however, giving the speeches
and proceedings entire. In those days they had seats of honor assigned
to them directly by the side of the presiding officers, and over the
snuff-box, in a quiet and familiar manner, the topics of the day were
often discussed. To the privileges they then enjoyed, but more
especially to their sagacity and industry, are we now indebted, as a
country, for their "Register of Debates," which, with the
"Intelligencer," has become a most important part of our national
history. As in their journal nearly all the most eminent of American
statesmen have discussed the affairs of the country, so have they been
the direct means of preserving many of the speeches which are now the
acknowledged ornaments of our political literature. Had it not been
for Mr. Gales, the great intellectual combat between Hayne and
Webster, for example, would have passed into a vague tradition,
perhaps. The original notes of Mr. Webster's speech, now in Mr.
Gales's library, form a volume of several hundred pages, and, having
been corrected and interlined by the statesman's own hand, present a
treasure that might be envied. At the period just alluded to, Mr.
Gales had given up the practice of reporting any speeches, and it was
a mere accident that led him to pay Mr. Webster the compliment in
question. That it was appreciated was proved by many reciprocal acts
of kindness and the long and happy intimacy that existed between the
two gentlemen, ending only with the life of the statesman. It was Mr.
Webster's opinion, that the abilities of Mr. Gales were of the highest
order; and yet the writer has heard of one instance in which even the
editor could not get along without a helping hand. Mr. Gales had for
some days been engaged upon the Grand Jury, and, with his head full of
technicalities, entered upon the duty of preparing a certain
editorial. In doing this, he unconsciously employed a number of legal
phrases; and when about half through, found it necessary to come to a
halt. At this juncture, he dropped a note to Mr. Webster, transmitting
the unfinished article and explaining his difficulty. Mr. Webster took
it in hand, finished it to the satisfaction of Mr. Gales, and it was
published as editorial.
But the writer is trespassing upon private ground, and it is with
great reluctance that he refrains from recording a long list of
incidents which have come to his knowledge, calculated to illustrate
the manifold virtues of his distinguished friends. That they are
universally respected and beloved by those who know them,--that their
opinions on public matters have been solicited by Secretaries of State
and even by Presidents opposed to them in politics,--that their
journal has done more than any other in the country to promote a
healthy tone in polite literature,--that their home-life has been made
happy by the influences of refinement and taste,--and that they have
given away to the poor money enough almost to build a city, and to the
unfortunate spoken kind words enough to fill a library, are all
assertions which none can truthfully deny. If, therefore, to look back
upon a long life not _uselessly spent_ is what will give us peace at
last, then will the evening of their days be all that they could
desire; and their "silver hairs," the most appropriate crown of true
patriotism,
"Will purchase them a good opinion,
And buy men's voices to commend their deeds."
* * * * *
SONNET.
WRITTEN AFTER A VIOLENT THUNDER-STORM IN THE COUNTRY.
An hour agone, and prostrate Nature lay,
Like some sore-smitten creature, nigh to death,
With feverish, pallid lips, with laboring breath,
And languid eyeballs darkening to the day;
A burning noontide ruled with merciless sway
Earth, wave, and air; the ghastly-stretching heath,
The sullen trees, the fainting flowers beneath,
Drooped hopeless, shrivelling in the torrid ray:
When, sudden, like a cheerful trumpet blown
Far off by rescuing spirits, rose the wind,
Urging great hosts of clouds; the thunder's tone
Swells into wrath, the rainy cataracts fall,--
But pausing soon, behold creation shrined
In a new birth, God's covenant clasping all!
* * * * *
THE PROFESSOR'S STORY.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE SPIDER ON HIS THREAD.
There was nobody, then, to counsel poor Elsie, except her father, who
had learned to let her have her own way so as not to disturb such
relations as they had together, and the old black woman, who had a
real, though limited influence over the girl. Perhaps she did not need
counsel. To look upon her, one might well suppose that she was
competent to defend herself against any enemy she was like to have.
That glittering, piercing eye was not to be softened by a few smooth
words spoken in low tones, charged with the common sentiments which
win their way to maidens' hearts. That round, lithe, sinuous figure
was as full of dangerous life as ever lay under the slender flanks and
clean-shaped limbs of a panther.
There were particular times when Elsie was in such a mood that it must
have been a bold person who would have intruded upon her with reproof
or counsel. "This is one of her days," old Sophy would say quietly to
her father, and he would, as far as possible, leave her to herself.
These days were more frequent, as old Sophy's keen, concentrated
watchfulness had taught her, at certain periods of the year. It was in
the heats of summer that they were most common and most strongly
characterized. In winter, on the other hand, she was less excitable,
and even at times heavy and as if chilled and dulled in her
sensibilities. It was a strange, paroxysmal kind of life that belonged
to her. It seemed to come and go with the sunlight. All winter long
she would be comparatively quiet, easy to manage, listless, slow in
her motions; her eye would lose something of its strange lustre; and
the old nurse would feel so little anxiety, that her whole expression
and aspect would show the change, and people would say to her, "Why,
Sophy, how young you're looking!"
As the spring came on, Elsie would leave the fireside, have her
tiger-skin spread in the empty southern chamber next the wall, and lie
there basking for whole hours in the sunshine. As the season warmed,
the light would kindle afresh in her eyes, and the old woman's sleep
would grow restless again,--for she knew, that, so long as the glitter
was fierce in the girl's eyes, there was no trusting her impulses or
movements.
At last, when the veins of the summer were hot and swollen, and the
juices of all the poison-plants and the blood of all the creatures
that feed upon them had grown thick and strong,--about the time when
the second mowing was in hand, and the brown, wet-faced men were
following up the scythes as they chased the falling waves of grass,
(falling as the waves fall on sickle-curved beaches; the foam-flowers
dropping as the grass-flowers drop,--with sharp semivowel consonantal
sounds,--_frsh_,--for that is the way the sea talks, and leaves all
pure vowel-sounds for the winds to breathe over it, and all mutes to
the unyielding earth,)--about this time of over-ripe midsummer, the
life of Elsie seemed fullest of its malign and restless instincts.
This was the period of the year when the Rockland people were most
cautious of wandering in the leafier coverts which skirted the base of
The Mountain, and the farmers liked to wear thick, long boots,
whenever they went into the bushes. But Elsie was never so much given
to roaming over The Mountain as at this season; and as she had grown
more absolute and uncontrollable, she was as like to take the night as
the day for her rambles.
At this season, too, all her peculiar tastes in dress and ornament
came out in a more striking way than at other times. She was never so
superb as then, and never so threatening in her scowling beauty. The
barred skirts she always fancied showed sharply beneath her diaphanous
muslins; the diamonds often glittered on her breast as if for her own
pleasure rather than to dazzle others; the asp-like bracelet hardly
left her arm. Without some necklace she was never seen,--either the
golden cord she wore at the great party, or a chain of mosaics, or
simply a ring of golden scales. Some said that Elsie always slept in a
necklace, and that when she died she was to be buried in one. It was a
fancy of hers,--but many thought there was a reason for it.
Nobody watched Elsie with a more searching eye than her cousin, Dick
Venner. He had kept more out of her way of late, it is true, but there
was not a movement she made which he did not carefully observe just so
far as he could without exciting her suspicion. It was plain enough to
him that the road to fortune was before him, and that the first thing
was to marry Elsie. What course he should take with her, or with
others interested, after marrying her, need not be decided in a hurry.
He had now done all he could expect to do at present in the way of
conciliating the other members of the household. The girl's father
tolerated him, if he did not even like him. Whether he suspected his
project or not Dick did not feel sure; but it was something to have
got a foot-hold in the house, and to have overcome any prepossession
against him which his uncle might have entertained. To be a good
listener and a bad billiard-player was not a very great sacrifice to
effect this object. Then old Sophy could hardly help feeling
well-disposed towards him, after the gifts he had bestowed on her and
the court he had paid her. These were the only persons on the place of
much importance to gain over. The people employed about the house and
farmlands had little to do with Elsie, except to obey her without
questioning her commands.
Mr. Richard began to think of reopening his second parallel. But he
had lost something of the coolness with which he had begun his system
of operations. The more he had reflected upon the matter, the more he
had convinced himself that this was his one great chance in life. If
he suffered this girl to escape him, such an opportunity could hardly,
in the nature of things, present itself a second time. Only one life
between Elsie and her fortune,--and lives are so uncertain! The girl
might not suit him as a wife. Possibly. Time enough to find out after
he had got her. In short, he must have the property, and Elsie Venner,
as she was to go with it,--and then, if he found it convenient and
agreeable to lead a virtuous life, he would settle down and raise
children and vegetables; but if he found it inconvenient and
disagreeable, so much the worse for those that made it so. Like many
other persons, he was not principled against virtue, provided virtue
were a better investment than its opposite; but he knew that there
might be contingencies in which the property would be better without
its incumbrances, and he contemplated this conceivable problem in the
light of all its possible solutions.
One thing Mr. Richard could not conceal from himself: Elsie had some
new cause of indifference, at least, if not of aversion to him. With
the acuteness which persons who make a sole business of their own
interest gain by practice, so that fortune-hunters are often shrewd
where real lovers are terribly simple, he fixed at once on the young
man up at the school where the girl had been going of late, as
probably at the bottom of it.
"Cousin Elsie in love!" so he communed with himself upon his lonely
pillow. "In love with a Yankee schoolmaster! What else can it be? Let
him look out for himself! He'll stand but a bad chance between us.
What makes you think she's in love with him? Met her walking with him.
Don't like her looks and ways;--she's thinking about _something_,
anyhow. Where does she get those books she is reading so often? Not
out of our library, that's certain. If I could have ten minutes' peep
into her chamber now, I would find out where she got them, and what
mischief she was up to."
At that instant, as if some tributary demon had heard his wish, a
shape which could be none but Elsie's flitted through a gleam of
moonlight into the shadow of the the trees. She was setting out on one
of her midnight rambles.
Dick felt his heart stir in its place, and presently his cheeks
flushed with the old longing for an adventure. It was not much to
invade a young girl's deserted chamber, but it would amuse a wakeful
hour, and tell him some little matters he wanted to know. The chamber
he slept in was over the room which Elsie chiefly occupied at this
season. There was no great risk of his being seen or heard, if he
ventured down-stairs to her apartment.