Authors and Writers
ASSOCIATED WITH
MORRISTOWN
WITH A CHAPTER ON
HISTORIC MORRISTOWN

BY

JULIA KEESE COLLES

1893
VOGT BROS.
Morristown, N. J.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1893, by
JULIA KEESE COLLES
of Morristown, New Jersey, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress,
at Washington.

Painted by CHARLES WETMORE. 1815.
Owned by HON. AUG. W. CUTLER.
OLD MORRISTOWN. Pen and ink sketch by Miss S. Howell, from original painting.

DEDICATION.

TO THE MEN AND WOMEN, OF EARLY AND OF LATER
YEARS, WHO HAVE SCATTERED THEIR PEARLS OF
BEAUTY AND OF WISDOM ALONG THE DUSTY
PATHS OF OUR HISTORIC CITY, THESE
PAGES ARE INSCRIBED WITH AFFECTIONATE
ADMIRATION BY
The Author.

PREFACE.

This long-promised volume, the first of its kind, so far as known, ever given to the world, is now offered to the public. It is the result of a lecture given about three and a half years ago, which was repeated by request, and finally promised for publication, with the endorsement of one hundred and fifty subscribers.

No effort has been spared to have every statement in the book accurate; nor has any name been omitted which has presented a title to notice, in spite of the fact that the number of "Authors and Writers," has nearly doubled since the work of publication was undertaken. Any suggestion or criticism, however, will be gladly received by the author, as having a bearing on possible future work in this direction.

Morristown, New Jersey, February, 1893.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

PREFACE.
POEM—MORRISTOWN.
HISTORIC MORRISTOWN.
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
POETS— PAGE.
Wm. and Stephen V. R. Paterson [33]
Mrs. Elizabeth Clementine Kinney [40]
Alexander Nelson Easton [42]
Francis Bret Harte [45]
Mrs. M. Virginia Donaghe McClurg [48]
Charlton T. Lewis, LL. D. [54]
Miss Emma F. R. Campbell [58]
Mrs. Adelaide S. Buckley [63]
Rev. Oliver Crane, D. D., LL. D. [63]
Rev. J. Leonard Corning, D. D. [68]
Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest [69]
Hon. Anthony Q. Keasbey [72]
Major Lindley Hoffman Miller [76]
Miss Henrietta Howard Holdich [79]
William Tuckey Meredith [81]
Miss Hannah More Johnson [84]
Miss Margaret H. Garrard [87]
Miss Julia E. Dodge [89]
Charles D. Platt [90]
Mrs. Julia R. Cutler [96]
Miss Frances Bell Coursen [99]
Miss Isabel Stone [100]
Rev. G. Douglass Brewerton [102]
Mrs. Alice D. Abell [104]
George Wetmore Colles, Jr. [105]
HYMNODIST—
John R. Runyon [107]
NOVELISTS AND STORY WRITERS—
Francis Richard Stockton [109]
Francis Bret Harte [118]
Miss Henrietta Howard Holdich [131]
Mrs. Miriam Coles Harris [141]
Miss Maria Mcintosh [146]
Mrs. Maria Mcintosh Cox [149]
David Young [155]
Mrs. Nathaniel Conklin [165]
Mrs. Catharine L. Burnham [171]
Hon. John Whitehead [179]
Mrs. Georgeanna Huyler Duer [181]
Madame de Meissner [186]
Miss Isabel Stone [188]
Augustus Wood [193]
Charles P. Sherman [193]
Miss Helen M. Graham [193]
Other Novelists and Story Writers [195]
TRANSLATORS—
Mrs. Adelaide S. Buckley [197]
Miss Margaret H. Garrard [202]
Other Translators [203]
LEXICOGRAPHER—
Charlton T. Lewis, LL. D. [205]
HISTORIANS AND ESSAYISTS—
William Cherry, Ancient Chronicler [207]
Rev. Joseph F. Tuttle, D. D. [209]
Hon. Edmund D. Halsey [215]
Hon. John Whitehead [218]
Bayard Tuckerman [221]
Loyal Farragut [227]
Josiah Collins Pumpelly [229]
Miss Hannah More Johnson [233]
Mrs. Julia McNair Wright [237]
Mrs. Edwina L. Keasbey [239]
Mrs. Marian E. Stockton [243]
TRAVELS AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES—
Marquis de Chastellux [247]
Rev. John L. Stephens [254]
Hon. Charles S. Washburne [255]
General Joseph Warren Revere [257]
Henry Day [260]
THEOLOGIANS—
Rev. Timothy Johnes, D. D. [264]
Rev. James Richards, D. D. [270]
Rev. Albert Barnes [271]
Rev. Samuel Whelpley [275]
Stevens Jones Lewis [278]
Rev. Rufus Smith Green, D. D. [279]
Rev. Wm. Durant [282]
Rev. J. Macnaughtan, D. D. [286]
Rev. C. DeWitt Bridgman [291]
Rev. J. T. Crane, D. D. [293]
Rev. H. A. Buttz, D. D., LL. D. [296]
Rev. J. K. Burr, D. D. [297]
Rev. J. E. Adams [299]
Rev. James M. Buckley, D. D., LL. D. [300]
Rev. James M. Freeman, D. D. [308]
Rev. Kinsley Twining, D. D., LL. D. [310]
Rev. Theodore L. Cuyler, D. D. [314]
Rt. Rev. Wm. Ingraham Kip, D. D., LL. D. [319]
Rev. William Staunton, D. D. [323]
Rev. Arthur Mitchell, D. D. [327]
Rev. Charles E. Knox, D. D. [332]
Rev. Albert Erdman, D. D. [334]
Rev. Joseph M. Flynn, R. D. [337]
Rev. George H. Chadwell [338]
Rev. William M. Hughes, S. T. D. [345]
PUBLIC SPEAKERS AND LAWYERS—
Hon. Jacob W. Miller [351]
Hon. William Burnet Kinney [355]
Hon. Theodore F. Randolph [358]
Hon. Edward W. Whelpley [360]
Hon. Jacob Vanatta [362]
Hon. George T. Werts [364]
Joseph F. Randolph [365]
Edward Q. Keasbey [367]
SCIENTISTS—
Samuel F. B. Morse, LL. D. [368]
Alfred Vail [371]
William Graham Sumner, LL. D. [376]
Elwyn Waller, Ph. D. [380]
George W. Maynard, Ph. D. [382]
Emory McClintock, LL. D. [383]
Andrew F. West, LL. D. [384]
Señor José Gros [386]
MEDICAL AUTHORS AND WRITERS—
Condict W. Cutler, M. S., M. D. [388]
Phanet C. Barker, M. D. [390]
Horace A. Buttolph, M. D., LL. D. [392]
AUTHORS AND WRITERS ON ART—
Thomas Nast [395]
Rev. Jared Bradley Flagg, D. D. [398]
Rev. J. Leonard Corning, D. D. [400]
George Herbert McCord, A. N. A. [401]
DRAMATIST—
William G. Van Tassel Sutphen [403]

ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE.
FRONTISPIECE—OLD MORRISTOWN.
ORIGINAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 1738, [17]
OLD ARNOLD TAVERN, [25]
FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, [97]
WASHINGTON HEADQUARTERS, [209]
PLAN OF FORT NONSENSE, [305]
SPEEDWELL IRON WORKS, [369]
OLD FACTORY AT SPEEDWELL, [377]

POEM.

BY WILLIAM PATERSON.

MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY.

These are the winter quarters, this is where
The Patriot Chieftain with his army lay,
When frosty winds swept down and chilled the air,
And long, cold nights closed out the shorter day.

The bell still rings within the white church spire,
Rising toward heaven upon the village green,
Whose chimes then called the people, pastor, choir,
To praise and pray each Sabbath morn and e'en.

And there with them, the Christian soldier sealed
The common covenant which a dying Lord,
To those who broke bread with him last revealed,
And bade them ever thus His love record.

A country hamlet then, nor did it lose
Its rural charms and beauties for long years;
The stranger would its quiet glories choose,
Far from the toils and strifes of daily cares.

The people, too, were simple in their ways,
And dwelt contented in their humble sphere,
The morning and the evening of their days,
Passing the same with every closing year.

There were the Deacons, solemn, sober, staid,
Beneath the pulpit each Communion Sunday,
They never smiled, but sung there psalms and prayed;
And then made whiskey at the still on Monday.

Perhaps you smile just here, I only say,
Men did not deem it then a heinous crime;
Such was the common custom of the day,
As those can tell who recollect the time.

For further proof of this, look up the tract
Of Deacon Giles and his distillery,
Where you will find that for this very fact,
He was set up high in the pillory.

Young life for me began its early spring,
Here in the freshness of the Mountain air,
When nature seemed in fullest tune to sing,
And all the world was beautiful and fair.

And Death—Who stays to think of him, till age
Comes stealing on with sure and silent tread?
Nor even then can he the thoughts engage,
Till his cold fingers touch the dying bed.

He called one then in withered leaf and sere,
And sent a warning, so wiseacres said,
By causing apple blossoms to appear
In winter, and the old man soon was dead.

The Guinea Chieftain too, a century old,
Born a young Prince beneath his native sky,
Who with his banjo sang rare tales of gold—
I saw him strive and struggle, gasp and die.

A child was brought one evening, lived, and died,
Almost before its eyes beheld the day;
The infant and the old men, side by side,
Were in the quiet churchyard laid away.

I learned of Life and Death, but know no more
Of their mysterious secrets now than then;
No sesame can open wide the door,
That veils those mysteries from the light of men.

Upon the summit of the rock-bound hill
That looks down on the lowland plains afar,
Are seen the outlines of the earthworks still
Remaining there, rude vestiges of war.

That was a day to be remembered long,
When crowds were gathered on the village green,
To welcome with warm hearts and floral song,
Him who a friend in war's dark hour had been.

And not while nature's suns shall pour their light,
Will Freedom's sons that honored name forget,
Nor cease to, until worlds shall pass from sight,
Keep green the memory of Lafayette.

Hark, on the air tolls out the passing bell,
Fourscore and ten and yet again fourscore;
Tread lightly now, it is the parting knell
For two great spirits gone out evermore.

Together they had lived, together died
As Freedom's Bell rang in her natal day,
And what than this could be more mete beside
That twinned in death, their souls should pass away?

There comes a memory of the bugle horn,
Winding a blast, as with their daily load,
The prancing coach-steeds dashed out in the morn
To run the toll-gates of the turnpike road.

Behold the change? now brakes are whistled down,
And screaming engines wake the Mountain air;
There is no longer, as of old, a Town
Committee, but a Council and a Mayor.

Go where the lake sleeps in the summer night,
Kissed by the winds that on its bosom play,
When the round moon sends down her fullest light,
And evening glories in soft splendor lay.

And you can almost fancy then that over,
The moonlit mirror of the tranquil tide,
You see the water spirits rise and hover,
And on the sheen in laughing lightness glide.

And I have seen those waters as they flow,
Down on their course past bridge and wheel and mill,
Where we as boys would "in-a-swimming go;"
Do the boys swim in "Sunnygony" still?

Oh, fellow scholar who along with me
Learned the first rudiments of ball and book
Within the grounds of the Academy,
In vain for that old landmark now you look.

Gone with the Master, yet a memory lingers,
And will forever consecrate the spot,
Nor can the power of Time's effacing fingers,
While life shall last, the recollection blot.

Teacher and pupils, few remain, and they
Far on in years, lean on a slender staff;
The school-house, all you see of that to-day
Is shown you there upon its photograph.

Change is on all things, and I see it here;
Land that then grew the turnip and "potater,"
Now blooms in flowers and costs exceeding dear,
Bringing some thousand dollars by the acre!

And villas crown the rising hill-tops round,
And stately mansions stand adorned with art,
And liveried coaches roll with rumbling sound
Where once jogged on the wagon-wheel and cart.

Hail to the future, ages come and go,
And men are borne upon the sweeping tide;
Wave follows wave in ever ceaseless flow,
The present stays not by the dweller's side.

I stand to-day far down the farthest slope,
And up the lengthened pathway turn and look,
Where on the summit once stood Youth and Hope,
Now soon to turn the last leaf of the Book.

And I am glad that while there come to me
These fragrant memories of life's early scene,
That still in robes of purest white I see
The Church Spire rising on the village green.

HISTORIC MORRISTOWN.

Throughout our country, there is no spot more identified with the story of the Revolution, and the personality of Washington, than Morristown. Nestled among its five ranges of hills, its impregnable position no doubt first attracted the attention of the commander-in-chief and that of his trusted quartermaster, General Nathaniel Greene. Besides, the enthusiastic patriotism of the men and women of this part of New Jersey was noted far and wide, and the powder-mill of Col. Jacob Ford, Jr., on the Whippany river, where "good merchantable powder," was in course of manufacture,—some of which had probably already been tested at Trenton, Princeton and elsewhere,—was also among the attractions.

It was on December 20th, 1776, that Washington wrote to the President of Congress: "I have directed the three regiments from Ticonderoga, to halt at Morristown, in Jersey (where I understand about eight hundred Militia have collected) in order to inspirit the inhabitants and as far as possible to cover that part of the country."

(Quoted by Rev. Dr. Tuttle in his paper on "Washington in Morris County," in the Historical Magazine for June 1871.)

These were regiments from New England. The British, who were always trying to gain "the pass of the mountains," had made an attempt on the 14th of December, but had been repulsed by Col. Jacob Ford, Jr., with his militia, at Springfield.

At this time the village numbered about 250 inhabitants with a populous community of thriving farmers surrounding it. To the north of the town were the estates of the Hathaway and Johnes families; to the east, those of the Fords, who had just erected the building now known as the Headquarters; to the south, those of General John Doughty and to the west, those of Silas Condict and his brothers.

Morris county was settled "about 1710," by families of New England ancestry, who were attracted by the iron ore in the mountains round about and who came from Newark and Elizabethtown. The Indian name for the country round, seems to have been "Rockciticus" as late as the arrival of Pastor Johnes in 1742, according to the traditions in his family. The original name of the settlement of Morristown was West Hanover, and in court records this name is found as late as 1738. It was also called New Hanover. The present name was adopted when the county court held its first meeting here at the house of Col. Jacob Ford, on March 25th, 1740. The town was named for the county and the county was named for Governor Lewis Morris, who was Governor of New Jersey from 1738 to 1746. Evidently this was to be the county town of Morris County.

At the time of the Revolution the church, the "Court House and Jail" and the Arnold Tavern were the most important buildings. The Magazine also, a temporary structure, stood on South street, near the "Green". To it casks of powder were constantly taken and sometimes casks of sand to deceive the spies who were always hanging about. The "Court House and Jail" was famous as the common prison of Tories caught in Morris and the adjoining counties. It was built in 1755 and stood on the northwest corner of the village "Green" as shown in the picture of Old Morristown. It was a plain wooden structure with a cupola and bell. Its sides and roof were shingled.

One of the illustrations of this book is of the Arnold Tavern, as it appeared in Washington's time. The picture is from a pen-and-ink sketch by Miss S. Howell, made originally and recently for the Washington Association of N. J., under careful direction from study of the time, by one of its members. Taverns were dotted all about the country in those days and most of the public meetings were held in their spacious rooms. Whether it was this fact or because of certain qualities possessed by the early proprietors of taverns, we find that many of them eventually became the most eminent men of the community.

The erection of the First Church building was begun in 1738 and finished in 1740, although the organization had existed from 1733. The first pastor, Rev. Timothy Johnes found it ready for his reception on his arrival in 1742 and for his installation, the following year. We are indebted to our young artist, Miss Emma H. Van Pelt, for a painting of this early church, from the only outline that remains to us, and to Miss S. Howell, for the pen-and-ink sketch, from the painting, for this book. This outline was embroidered upon a sampler owned by Miss Martha Emmell, and, according to family history, is a faithful representation of the building and the only suggestion other than traditional of Morristown's first place of worship. Miss Van Pelt's picture of the old church also follows in all respects her own, and the study of others, from the ancient records of the time. The structure stood about a rod east of the present building, facing upon Morris street and was always known as the "Meetin' House." It was originally of a somewhat plain and barn-like exterior, nearly square, with shingled sides, and windows let into the sloping roof. It was twice altered. In 1764, it was enlarged and two other entrances, besides the main entrance, were provided. A steeple also was erected in which was hung the bell in use at the present time. This bell was a gift, according to traditional history from the King of Great Britain to the church at Morristown. It had upon it the impress of the British crown and the name of the makers, "Lister & Pack, of London fecit." It was re-cast about thirty years ago. This early church and the Baptist church, which stood on the site occupied by the one quite recently removed, (because of the fine new building in course of erection), have honorable record for unselfish devotion to the cause of the patriots. Both buildings were nobly given up for the use of the soldiers, suffering with small-pox, in the terrible winter of 1777.

Washington first came to Morristown, with his staff and army, three days after the battle of Princeton, on January 7th, 1777, and remained until May of that year. He made his Headquarters at the Arnold Tavern, then kept by Colonel Jacob Arnold, a famous officer of the "Light Horse Guards", whose grandsons are now residents of Morristown. This historic building stood on the west side of the Green, where now, a large brick building, "The Arnold", has been erected on its site. The old building with its many associations was about to be destroyed, when it was rescued, at the suggestion of the author of this book, and restored upon its present site on the Colles estate, on Mt. Kemble avenue, the old Baskingridge road of the Revolution. It has recently been purchased and occupied for a hospital by the All Souls' Hospital Association. Though extended and enlarged, it is still the same building and retains many of the distinctive features which characterized it when the residence of Washington. Here is still the bedroom which Washington occupied, the parlor, the dining-room and the ball-room where he received his generals, Greene, Knox, Schuyler, Gates, Lee, de Kalb, Steuben, Wayne, Winds, Putnam, Sullivan and others, besides distinguished visitors from abroad, all of whom met here continually during the winter of 1777. One of these visitors and one of our authors, the Marquis de Chastellux, gives an interesting account of his experience and impressions. In one of the bedrooms of this old house, has been seen within a few years, between the floor and the ceiling below, a long case for guns, above which was painted on the floor, in very large squares, covering the entire opening, a checkerboard about which, in an emergency, evidently the soldiers expected to sit and so conceal from the enemy the trap door of their arsenal. About this ancient building many traditions linger and from it have gone forth Washington's commands and some of his most important letters.

The road taken by Washington and his army, on coming first to Morristown, was, according to Dr. Tuttle, "through Pluckamin, Baskingridge, New Vernon, thence by a grist mill near Green Village, around the corner and thence along the road leading from Green Village to Morristown and over the ground which had been selected for an encampment in the valley bearing the beautiful Indian name of Lowantica, now called Spring Valley." It was here that the terrible scourge of small-pox broke out among the soldiers.

One cannot but wonder continually at Washington's courage and serenity in the midst of such overwhelming difficulties. He had hardly entered his winter home, in the Arnold Tavern, when the loss was announced to him of the brave and noble Col. Jacob Ford, Jr., his right-hand man, upon whom he had depended. He was buried, by Washington's orders, with the honors of war, and the description of that funeral cortege is one of the most picturesque pages out of traditional history. Then came the alarm about small-pox, the first death occurring on the same day as Col. Ford's funeral. Washington himself was taken ill, says tradition, with quinsy sore throat, and great fears were felt for his life. It is interesting to know that being asked who should succeed him in command of the army, should he not recover, he at once pointed to Gen. Nathaniel Greene. It was during this time of residence at the Arnold Tavern, that Washington joined Pastor Johnes and his people in their semi-annual communion after receiving the good pastor's assurance: "Ours is not the Presbyterian table, but the Lord's table, and we give the Lord's invitation to all his followers of whatever name." This is said to be the only occasion in his public career, when it is certainly known that Washington partook of the Sacrament. The hollow is still shown behind the house of Pastor Johnes, on Morris street, (purchased Feb. 3rd, 1893, of Mrs. Eugene Ayers, for the Morristown Memorial Hospital,) where a grove of trees then stood, when this historic event took place in the open air, while the church building was taken up with the soldiers sick of small-pox. Of this fact, in addition to the confirmation of Rev. Timothy Johnes's granddaughter, now living, Mrs. Kirtland, we have the following from Mr. Frederick G. Burnham, who says, (Oct 12th, 1892); "My Aunt, Huldah Lindsley, sister of Judge Silas Condict, and born in Morristown, gave me, in the most distinct and definite manner an account of General Washington's having communed with the Presbyterian Church on the occasion of the encampment in Morristown. My aunt told me that the congregation sat out of doors, even in the winter, but were shielded from the severe winds by surrounding high ground, that benches were placed in a circular position, that the pastor occupied a central point and that it was in this out-of-door place, muffled in their thickest clothing and many of them warmed by foot-stoves and other arrangements for keeping the feet warm, with nothing overhead but the wintry sky, that the congregation, among them General Washington, partook of the Lord's Supper."

Early in December 1779, came Washington once more, with his army, to Morristown, and remained until the following June, the guest of Mrs. Theodosia Ford, widow of the gallant Col. Jacob Ford, Jr., at her home now known as the "Headquarters." The story of the purchase and preservation of this building for the state and country, by the Washington Association of New Jersey, is given farther on. "It is still," says the orator of Fort Nonsense (the Rev. Dr. Buckley), "the most charming residence which Morristown contains and historically inferior only in interest to Mount Vernon and far superior to it in beauty of location and surrounding scenery." Among the treasures of the Headquarters is the original Commission to Washington, as Commander-in-chief of the Army.

At the opening ceremonial of the Washington Headquarters on July 5th, 1875, Governor Theodore F. Randolph, in an eloquent address, said as follows:

"Under this roof have been gathered more characters known to the Military history of our Revolution than under any other roof in America. Here the eloquent and brilliant Alexander Hamilton lived during the long winter of 1779-'80 and here he met and courted the lady he afterwards married—the daughter of General Schuyler. Here too was Greene—splendid fighting Quaker as he was—and the great artillery officer, Knox, the stern Steuben, the polished Kosciusko, the brave Schuyler, gallant Light-horse Harry Lee, old Israel Putnam, "Mad Anthony" Wayne, and, last to be named of all, that brave soldier, but rank traitor—Benedict Arnold."

Many authenticated stories are extant of Washington, himself, and of the other distinguished inmates of the Headquarters during this memorable winter. Of the women of Morris County too, and the country round, many historic tales are told. If possible, they seem to have been even more patriotic than the men, whom, on several occasions, they upheld when wavering with doubt or fear. They had knitting and sewing circles for the soldiers in camp upon the Wicke Farm. These were presided over by Mrs. Ralph Smith, on Smith's Hummock, by Mrs. Anna Kitchell at Whippany, and by Mrs. Counselor Condict and Mrs. Parson Johnes, in Morristown.

In all this sympathetic work, Martha Washington led, and we hear of her that after coming through Trenton on December 28th, in a raging snow storm, to spend New Year's Day in the Ford Mansion, some of the grand ladies of the town came to call upon her, dressed in their most elegant silks and ruffles, and "so", says one of them, "we were introduced to her ladyship, and don't you think we found her with a speckled homespun apron on, and engaged in knitting a stocking? She received us very handsomely and then again resumed her knitting. In the course of the conversation, she said, very kindly to us, whilst she made her needles fly, that 'American ladies should be patterns of industry to their country-women * * * * we must become independent of England by doing without these articles which we can make ourselves. Whilst our husbands and brothers are examples of patriotism, we must be examples of industry'. 'I do declare,' said one of the ladies afterwards, 'I never felt so ashamed and rebuked in my life!'"

(Rev. Dr. Tuttle.)

The "Assembly Balls," a subscription entertainment, no doubt arranged to keep up the spirits of the army officers, were held that winter at the O'Hara Tavern, says Dr. Tuttle, a house facing the Green and on or adjoining the lot where now stands Washington Hall,—and probably also at the Arnold Tavern.

In the meadow, in front of the headquarters, Washington's body-guard was encamped, originally a select troop of about one hundred Virginians.

Painted by MISS EMMA H. VAN PELT.
From Pen and Ink Sketch by MISS S. HOWELL.
ORIGINAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 1738.

Martha Washington was a fine horsewoman and the General a superb horseman, as are all Virginians of the present day. Many were the rides they took together over the country, one of the most frequent, being to a certain elevation on the Short Hills, from which the General with his glass could see every movement of the enemy. Here was stationed the giant alarm-gun, an eighteen-pounder, and here was the main centre of the system of beacon-lights on the hills around. From this point can be seen the entire sea-board in the vicinity of New York City, which was of great importance when it was not known whether Howe would move towards West Point or Philadelphia. There is also a view of the entire region west of the mountain, "to the crown of the hills which lie back of Morristown, and extending to Baskingridge, Pluckamin and the hills in the vicinity of Middlebrook on the South, and over to Whippany, Montville, Pompton, Ringwood, and, across the State-line among the mountains of Orange County, N. Y., on the north." On our road to Madison, we may call up in imagination, the vision, which in those days was no unusual sight, says Dr. Tuttle, of "Washington and his accomplished lady, mounted on bay horses and accompanied by their faithful mulatto, 'Bill,' and fifty or sixty mounted Life-guards, passing on their way to or from their quarters in Morristown." At these times "the 'star spangled banner' was sure to float from the village liberty-pole, while our ancestors congregated along the highway where he was to pass and around the village inn, to do honor to the man to whose fidelity and martial skill all eyes were turned for the salvation of our country."

Sometimes this cavalcade would pass along the Baskingridge Road, (now Mt. Kemble Avenue), perhaps stop at General Doughty's house, or, galloping on, stop at the Kemble mansion, (afterwards the Hoyt residence and now that of Mr. McAlpin), four miles from town, or turning the corner up Kemble Hill to the Wicke farm, and Fort Hill, to view the soldiers' encampment, they would clatter back again, down the precipitous Jockey Hollow road, past the Hospital-field, or burial place of the soldiers, stopping at the Headquarters of General Knox, off the Mendham road, about two miles from town, for Mrs. Knox and Mrs. Washington were close friends. Returning, they might slacken rein at the house of Pastor Johnes, (Mrs. Eugene Ayers') on Morris Street, where a ring still remains at the side of the piazza, to which Washington's horse was tied, under an elm tree's shade; or, they would stop at Quartermaster Lewis's (Mr. Wm. L. King's) where they would find Lafayette, after his return from France, if he happened to be in Morristown,—then at Dr. Jabez Campfield's house, on Morris Street, the east corner of Oliphant Lane,—the Headquarters of General Schuyler.

Again the General, with his Life-guards, would set out to attend some appointed meeting of the "Council of Safety" at the house of its president, Silas Condict. This was about a mile out on the Sussex Turnpike, where the house still stands, on the west side of the old cross-road leading from that turnpike to Brant's paper-mill. Here he would meet the high-minded and dauntless Governor Livingston and perhaps his son-in-law, Judge Symmes, who lived near by, and whom the Governor frequently visited; all were men whose lives were sought for, by the British. Nearly all these homes are standing now and representatives of these families remain with us. Stories and traditions also relating to these homes and people have come down to us.

Silas Condict, the bold, the brave, the honored patriot, member of the Provincial Legislature and of the Continental Congress besides filling other high places of trust, is represented by his great-grandson, Hon. Aug. W. Cutler, who now occupies the second house this ancestor built.

General John Doughty's interesting old house, with its curious interior, and many a secret closet, stands as of old, on Mt. Kemble Avenue, at the head of Colles Avenue. "He might be called," says Mr. Wm. L. King, "the most distinguished resident of Morristown, at whose house Washington was a frequent visitor and no doubt often dined." He is represented by a great-nephew, Mr. Thomas W. Ogden, who has written an important paper on General Doughty, for the Washington Association, which is published by them. General Doughty was the third in command of the American Army, and succeeded General Knox.

A descendant of General Knox is with us,—Mr. Reuben Knox, of Western Avenue.

General Schuyler's Headquarters has a romantic interest as the scene of the courtship between Miss Elizabeth Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton.

Of Pastor Johnes descendants, three generations are now with us to some of whom we have referred in the sketch of this distinguished man.

Out on the Wicke farm, stands the house as it was in those old days when Tempe Wicke took her famous ride ahead of the pursuing soldiers and saved her favorite horse by concealing him for three weeks in the guest chamber, until every man of the army had gone to fight his country's battles on the banks of the Hudson. This house is near Fort Hill from which is the magnificent view which embraces Schooley's Mountain to the westward and a line of broken highlands to the South, among which is the town of Baskingridge where General Lee was captured. On the northern slope of this hill, as late as 1854, 66 fireplaces of the encampment were counted in regular rows and in a small space were found 196 hut chimneys.

Going up a long, high street, not far from the Park, gradually ascending over rocks, and rough winding pathways, we come upon an open plateau on which is "Fort Nonsense," so named, on leaving it, by Washington, says tradition, because the soldiers had here been employed in constructing an octagonal earthwork, only to occupy them and to keep them from that idleness which was certain to breed discontent when added to their poverty, poor shelter, hopelessness, and homelessness. Here, on a bright afternoon of April, 1888, a monument to commemorate the site, was unveiled with appropriate ceremonies by the Washington Association. Long will be remembered the strange and startling effect upon those who sat waiting, as the procession drew near at a quickstep, up the hill, and led by the Fairchild Continental Drum Corps, in characteristic dress. Nearer and nearer came the tramp of many feet, to the sound of fife and drum playing Yankee Doodle, and, as they emerged from the trees upon the hill, it seemed as if Time's clock had been turned back more than a hundred years. Standing upon the stone, the orator of the occasion, Rev. Dr. Buckley, made a memorable address, in the course of which he mentioned that this monument, though small, is higher, measured from the level of the sea, than the great Washington Monument, which is declared to be the wonder of the world. The plan of the Fort, drawn by Major J. P. Farley, U. S. A., is now at the Headquarters and the illustration in this volume, is given from an engraving of the Messrs. Vogt, by their kind permission.

Probably no Author will again record the presence of the second "First Church", which has measured its hundred years and more, in its old familiar place upon the Park. Soon it will be replaced by a modern structure. In October, 1891, prolonged and interesting services were held to celebrate the centennial of its erection. Closely involved with all the history of Morristown, the influences of this old church are felt and shown all through this book. The picture we give of it and the Soldiers' Monument, is as we look upon both to-day. (For the use of the engraving, we are again indebted to the Messrs. Vogt). Sorrowfully, we note the passing of the old church building and number it among the things we would not lose, but which soon shall be no more. Behind it, is the old historic cemetery, where have been laid to rest the forms of many of the patriots and honored dead of the century gone by.

The "Old Academy" was an outcome of the First Church organization, and its early history is recorded in the "Trustees Book," of the church. Its centennial was observed on February 13th, 1891, on which occasion, among others, Hon. John Whitehead, of Morristown, and Judge William Paterson, of Perth Amboy, told its story, and the "Old Bell", placed upon the stage, was rung by Mr. Edward Pierson, who attended the Academy in 1820.

In 1825, Lafayette came again, from France, to revisit the scenes of the Revolution. It was on July 14th, about six o'clock in the evening, that coming from Paterson, he arrived at Morristown. The Morris Brigade under General Darcy was paraded on the Green and the firing of cannon and ringing of church bells announced his coming. General Doughty was Grand Marshal of the day and an eloquent address was made, in behalf of the town, by Hon. Lewis Condict. Lafayette dined at the Ogden House, the home of Jonathan Ogden, a large brick building corner of Market street and the Green (shown in the picture). He attended a ball given in his honor, at the Sansay House (now Mrs. Revere's, on DeHart street), and stayed over night with Mr. James Wood, in the white house, corner of South and Pine streets. Two of Morristown's citizens have given their reminiscences of this event to the author of this book, as follows:

Mr. Edward Pierson, January 10th, 1893, says: "I remember well each member of the Committee who received Lafayette, but two. I remember very well the visit of General Lafayette to Morristown, in the year 1825. There was a delegation went from Morristown, in carriages and on horseback, to meet him beyond Morristown and escort him here. They came in by the Morris street road, past the Washington Headquarters. At that time there was only one small house on the north side of the street, below the present Manse of the First Church to the foot of the hill. The ground sloped from the graveyard to the street and was filled with people to see the procession come in. A reception was given and Lafayette was taken to the James Wood house (white house on the east corner of Pine and South streets, opposite my residence), to spend the night. I well remember the next morning seeing them start off with the General and his party in a four-horse carriage."

Mr. A. H. Condict, well-known as a resident of Morristown, writes from Mansfield, Ohio, (January 12th, 1893): "My eldest sister has related to me that when I was about a year old, General Lafayette was given a public reception at Morristown, in an elegant brick building then standing on the corner of the Park and Market street; that suitable addresses were made on the occasion and that while he was being observed by the great crowd of people, she held me up and that I looked at him. This would fix the time in the Summer of 1825, which corresponds with my notes gathered from the various histories."

Morristown has always been a centre, not only geographically, but a centre of influence from the time when it received its name. We have seen how, midway between West Point and Philadelphia, with roads radiating in every direction and with high hills well fitted for beacon-lights and commanding far-reaching views, Washington soon discovered it was the point for him to select for watching the movements of Lord Howe in New York, who might at any moment start up the Hudson for West Point, or Southwards, for Philadelphia.

THE ORIGINAL ARNOLD TAVERN.
FROM PEN AND INK SKETCH BY MISS S. HOWELL.

In the early religious movements of the country, Morristown was conspicuous, having among its theologians some of the most brilliant thinkers of the period. Recently we find, in the published minutes of the Synod of New Jersey, Oct. 1892, the significant fact recorded that after the division of the Presbytery of New York, into that of New York and of New Jersey, the "Presbytery of Jersey at its first meeting in Morristown, April 24th, 1810, did appoint supplies for fourteen Sabbaths from May to September, to the pulpit of the vacant Brick Church in the City of New York".

One of the first Sunday Schools, if not the first,—in New Jersey was started here, by Mrs. Charlotte Ford Condict of Littleton, the grandmother of Henry Vail Condict, now a resident of Morristown, and this was said to be the beginning of the great revival under Albert Barnes.

In a scientific direction, Morristown was the cradle of perhaps the greatest invention of the age, the electric telegraph. Also at the Speedwell Iron Works were manufactured the first tires, axles and cranks of American locomotives and a part of the machinery of the "Savannah," the first steamship that crossed the ocean.

Morristown also reflected the superstitions of the period; the people largely believed in witchcraft in those early days, and here was enacted, for about a year, the most remarkable ghostly drama that was ever published to the world, or influenced the best citizens of a community. The story of the Morristown Ghost will go down to future ages.

For philanthropy, from Revolutionary times, Morristown has been famed, since Martha set the example of knitting the stockings for the needy soldiers and good Hannah Thompson voiced the hearts of her sisters round about, when she gave food to a starving company of them, saying: "Eat all you want; you are engaged in a good cause, and we are willing to share with you what we have as long as it lasts." This old centre of patriotism and Revolutionary enthusiasm has radiated philanthropic movements which influence not only the conditions of the whole State but the welfare of humanity. Here was commenced that voluntary work of the State Charities Aid Association, which considers, and practically carries out, through its counselors, measures for reform among the pauper and criminal classes in the State institutions, and out of them, and which will undoubtedly influence for good all future generations. This work is on much the same plan that was originally thought out and organized by Miss Louisa Lee Schuyler, of New York, the great-granddaughter of General Philip Schuyler whose noble devotion to his Commander-in-chief is memorable during those days in Morristown. So we see how the old life of the Revolutionary period connects itself with the new life of progression. The principles then so nobly maintained take new forms in new projects.

Everywhere, we find the old and the new combined, for even the streets bear the names, with those of Schuyler, Hamilton and Washington, of Farragut and McCullough. In the Park there stands a granite shaft surmounted by a full length figure of a Morris County Volunteer, commemorating the lives of the noble men who fell in those hard-won fields, fighting to preserve the nationality which had been secured by their forefathers. Everything is significant of either noble deeds in the past or of honored names of later day and of private citizens whose personal influence has added moral dignity to this City of many associations.

George Washington.

Among the first notable writings associated with Morristown are the letters of Washington written from the old Arnold Tavern, and from the Ford Mansion, during the two memorable winters of 1777 and of 1779-'80. These noble letters are acknowledged on all sides to have been supremely efficient in promoting our national independence, filled as they are with the personality of Washington himself. They are very numerous. Many of them are published; some are in our "Headquarters", and many still are scattered over the Country, in the possession of individuals. All are interesting and none appear to reveal what we would wish had not been known, as in the case of so many other published letters.

Of the man himself, our authors speak, here and there, throughout this volume. It is certain that no name, no face or character is more familiar to us than that of Washington, and no name in history has received a greater tribute than to be called, as he was, by the nation, at the end of his very difficult career, the "Father of his Country."

Here is Lafayette's first impression, as he attends a dinner in Philadelphia, given by Congress in honor of the Commander-in-Chief. He says: "Although surrounded by officers and citizens, Washington was to be recognized at once by the majesty of his countenance and his figure." And this is Lafayette's tribute to Washington, when the two men have parted: "As a private soldier, he would have been the bravest; as an obscure citizen, all his neighbors would have respected him. With a heart as just as his mind he always judged himself as he judged circumstances. In creating him expressly for this revolution, Nature did honor to herself; and to show the perfection of her work, she placed him in such a position that each quality must have failed, had it not been sustained by all the others."

(Quoted by Bayard Tuckerman in his "Life of Lafayette.")

In the portrait of Washington which Chastellux gives us, occur these words: "His strongest characteristic is the perfect union which reigns between the physical and moral qualities which compose the individual, one alone will enable you to judge of all the rest. If you are presented with medals of Cæsar, Trajan or Alexander, on examining their features, you will still be led to ask what was their stature and the form of their persons; but if you discover, in a heap of ruins, the head or the limb of an antique Apollo, be not anxious about the other parts, but rest assured that they all were conformable to those of a God. * * * This will be said of Washington, 'At the end of a long civil war, he had nothing with which he could reproach himself.'"

Thatcher, in his Military Journal, speaks of Washington as he appeared at a great entertainment given by General Knox, in celebration of the alliance with France: "His tall, noble stature and just proportions, his fine, cheerful countenance, simple and modest deportment, are all calculated to interest every beholder in his favor and to command veneration and respect. He is feared even when silent and beloved even while we are unconscious of the motive."

The first French minister, M. Gerard, tells us, referring to Washington: "It is impossible for me briefly to communicate the fund of intelligence which I have derived from him. I will now say only that I have formed as high an opinion of the powers of his mind, his moderation, patriotism and of his virtues, as I had before from common report conceived of his military talents, and of the incalculable services he had rendered to his country."

(Quoted by A. D. Mellick in his "Story of an Old Farm.")

We see the General in his evening dress of "black velvet, with knee and shoe buckles and a steel rapier; his hair thickly powdered, drawn back from his forehead and gathered in a black silk bag adorned with a rosette" walking gracefully and with dignity through the figures of a quadrille. We see him devoted to his wife and courteous to every woman, high and low. Greene writes from the Headquarters: "Mrs. Washington is extremely fond of the General and he of her; they are happy in each other." We see him, with his tender sympathy among the soldiers and so find the key to the wonderful devotion of the soldiers to their chief, and his influence over them. As an old soldier tells the story to the Rev. O. L. Kirtland: "There was a time when all our rations were but a single gill of wheat a day. Washington used to come round and look into our tents, and he looked so kind and he said so tenderly. 'Men, can you bear it?' 'Yes, General, yes we can,' was the reply; 'if you wish us to act give us the word and we are ready!'" Many were the letters he wrote in their behalf to Congress, who neglected them, and to Lord Howe in New York, because of his cruelty to the prisoners in his power.

Another key we have to his calm and self-reliant bearing, even in his darkest hours, so that, says Tuttle, "there seemed to be something about this man, which inspired his enemies, even when victorious, with dread." It is expressed in a letter of Washington when heartsick at the round of misfortunes at the outset of the Revolution, and after the capture of Fort Washington by the enemy. He writes: "It almost overcomes me to reflect that a brother's sword has been sheathed in a brother's breast and that the once happy and peaceful plains of America are either to be drenched in blood or inhabited with slaves. Sad alternative! But can a virtuous man hesitate in his choice?"

(Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Sparks.)

A touching letter is written on the 8th of January, 1780, from the Ford Mansion, to the Morris County authorities, about the hungry, destitute soldiers, to which he receives at once so warm and generous a response that he writes again: "The exertions of the magistrates and inhabitants of the State were great and cheerful for our relief."

(Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Sparks.)

Though a warm Episcopalian, his broad Christian feeling is shown when he says: "Being no bigot, myself, I am disposed to indulge the professors of Christianity in the Church with that road to heaven which to them shall seem the most direct, the plainest and easiest and least liable to objections."

(Dr. Tuttle, quoted from Sparks.)

And again, in reply to the Address of the Clergy of different denominations, in and about Philadelphia; "Believing as I do, that Religion and Morality are the essential pillars of society, I view with unspeakable pleasure, that harmony and brotherly love which characterize the clergy of different denominations, as well in this, as in other parts of the United States, exhibiting to the world a new and interesting spectacle, at once the pride of our Country and the surest basis of universal harmony."

(Quoted by Dr. Tuttle from Dr. Green's Autobiography.)

What man, after arriving at such a height of power and influence over men, has been able to take up, with content again, his life of a country gentleman? Wonderfully appropriate were the last words that fell from his lips: "It is well."

Of Washington it may be said as of no other, in the words of Henry Lee, in his Eulogy of December 26th, 1799: "To the memory of the man, first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen."

POETS.

A curious circumstance surrounds the poetic work of the two Paterson brothers—William and Stephen Van Rensselaer Paterson—and gives it a unique interest apart from its especial merits. The survivor of the two brothers says, in the short and highly interesting introduction to their poems, published in 1882 and called "Poems of Twin Graduates of the College of New Jersey":

"The title explains itself, and shows that the writers were born under the sign of the Gemini. They lived under that sign for rising fifty years, when one was taken and the other left. Two of us came into existence within the same hour of time, and passing through the early part of education together, entered the world-life as twin graduates of the collegiate institution bearing the name of the State of which they were natives. This dual species of psychology was something of a curiosity because outside of common experience. Pleasure and pain seemed to flow like electric currents from the same battery. In a certain sense, we could feel at once, and think at once and act at once. It is problematical whether this proceeded from a real elective affinity, or was mechanical. It was most marked, however, at first, and particularly in the beginning or rudiments of learning. Both then went along exactly at the same rate, and one never was in advance of the other. Both always worked and played together, and whichever discovered something new, would communicate it in an untranslatable language to his companion.

"This dual character, to a greater or less extent, pervaded the joint lives of the writers of these pieces. Not that the similarity extended to the business or pursuits, the tastes or habits of life, for in many respects they were different and apart as those bearing a single relation. Still the influence of the mystic tie, whatever it was or may have been, remained till nature loosed, as it had woven, the bond."

Although Judge William Paterson was born in Perth Amboy and now resides there, his associations with Morristown, as related in a letter under his signature, are those of early boyhood passed on the farm, now occupied by Mrs. Howland. "Morristown was then but a village hamlet," he says, and "the old Academy and the Meeting House on the village green were the only places in which services were held." Still, we gather, that at Morristown, the two poets received their "scholastic and agricultural training." Here, too, was laid the foundation of their "political and religious faith," the latter under the administration of Albert Barnes, and, what may be a noted event in their lives, they heard Mr. Barnes preach the sermon on the "Way of Salvation," which caused the division of the Presbyterian Church.

Judge Paterson is a graduate of Princeton, which is in a double sense his Alma Mater, inasmuch as members of his family were among the first graduates, soon after the removal of the College from Newark and "when that village, then a hamlet amid the primeval forests had become the permanent site for the Academy incorporated by royal charter."

Various positions of importance in the community have been held by Judge Paterson. In 1882, he was made Lay Judge of the Court of Errors and Appeals of the State; he was also Mayor of Newark for ten years, at different times from 1846 to 1878, filling important and non-important municipal and county offices. Thus his work has been mostly legal and political, save, when he has made dashes into the more purely literary fields, rather, perhaps, through inspiration and for recreation from the dry details of practical work.

More than once has Judge Paterson told to amused and interested audiences in Morristown his recollections of boyhood and youth spent here. Notably, many remember his recent graphic address on the occasion of the Centennial of the Morristown Academy.

In 1888, our author published a valuable "Biography of the Class of 1835 of Princeton College," the class in which he graduated. The "Poems" were published in 1882. Looking through the latter volume, which contains many treasures, we wonder how, many of the poems—written as they were under the influence of a higher inspiration than ordinary rhythmic influences—should not earlier have found their way, in book form, from the writer's secret drawers to the readers of the outside world. Many of these poems are connected with experiences and memories of Academic days in Princeton and, among them all we would mention "The Close of the Centennial;" "Living on a Farm," which refers to Mrs. Howland's farm, long the poet's home in boyhood; "14th February, 1877;" "The Hickory Tree," and "Polly," in which the writer has caught wonderfully the bright, playful spirit of the child. The poem "Morristown," a pictorial reminiscence, we have selected to open this book.

Quite recently, (in September, 1892) has been published and bound in true orange color, An Address, read before the New York Genealogical and Biographical Society, on February 12th, 1892, on the life and public services of William Paterson, his honored grandfather, who was "Attorney-General of New Jersey during the Revolution, a framer of the Federal Constitution, Senator of the United States from New Jersey, Governor of that State, and an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States at the time of his death, September 9th, 1806." "He was the first Alumnus of Princeton," says the writer, "who was tendered a place in the Cabinet or on the Federal Judiciary, the Attorney-General, the first one being William Bradford, also an Alumnus, a classmate of Madison, and Collegemate of Burr, then not constituting part of the Executive household." "He began the study of legal science and practice under the instruction of Richard Stockton, who was an Alumnus of the first Class that went forth from the College of New Jersey, then located in Newark, and who, though young, comparatively, was rising fast to the forefront of his profession, and, afterward, to become of renowned judicial and revolutionary fame."

The publication is full of interest, graphic description and notice of men and events of the period. Here is a letter to Aaron Burr, between whom while a student in the College at Princeton, and Mr. Paterson, then established in the practice of his profession, had sprung up a strong friendship which continued during life:

"Princeton, January 17th, 1772. Dear Burr: I am just ready to leave and therefore cannot wait for you. Be pleased to accept of the enclosed notes on dancing. If you pitch upon it as the subject of your next discourse, they may furnish you with a few hints, and enable you to compose with greater facility and despatch. To do you any little service in my power, will afford me great satisfaction, and I hope you will take the liberty—it is nothing more, my dear Burr, than the freedom of a friend—to call upon me whenever you may think I can. Bear with me when I say, that you cannot speak too slow. Every word should be pronounced distinctly; one should not be sounded so highly as to drown another. To see you shine as a speaker, would give great pleasure to your friends in general and to me in particular. You certainly are capable of making a good speaker.

"Dear Burr, adieu. Wm. Paterson."

The writer pays a beautiful tribute to Ireland, the land of his ancestors: "Irish Nationality," he says, "is no empty dream; it goes back more than two thousand years, is as old as Christianity, and is attested by the existence of towers and monuments, giving evidence of greater antiquity than is to be found in the annals of any other country in all Europe. For centuries, Ireland sent missionaries of learning throughout the continent to herald the advent of civilization and stay the advance of barbarism, and her story is one running over with great deeds and glorious memories, with associations of poetry and art and bards, and a civilization, ante-dating that of almost any other Christian community. It cannot be claimed that the rude exploits of her early inhabitants are classic in story or in song. They acquired no territory; their island domain is but a speck of green verdure amid the waste of ocean waters, and the flash of an electric light, located on the hills where stood the ancient psaltery, could be sent throughout its length and breadth. They conquered no worlds. No manifest destiny led them to seek for wealth, applause or gain, beyond the limits of their narrow bounds. They did not so much as pass over the seas that wash their either shore. But yet in the absence of all the achievements that can gratify ambition, with no record of pomp or pageantry or power, her people bear a character more like a dream of fancy than a thing of real life, and to-day they stand as remnants of national greatness, though you may look in vain in their annals or traditions for any evidence of usurpation or of subjugation by sceptre or by sword."

Mrs. Elizabeth Clementine Kinney.

Mrs. Kinney, the mother of the poet, Edmund Clarence Stedman, and daughter of David L. Dodge of New York city, was for several years a resident of Morristown, and will long be remembered with interest and affection by her many friends. Her husband, Mr. William Burnet Kinney, not only resided here in later years, but was born at Speedwell, then a suburb of Morristown, and passed a part of his early boyhood there. To him we shall refer, in the grouping of Editors and Orators.

Mr. Kinney was a brilliant literary man and about this home in Morristown unusual talent and genius naturally grouped themselves. To it came and went the poet Stedman: in the group, we find two gifted women, daughters of Mrs. Kinney, and later on, the same genius developing itself in the son of one of these, the boy Easton, of the third generation.

Mrs. Kinney published in 1855, "Felicita, a Metrical Romance;" a volume of "Poems" in 1867; and, a few years later, a stirring drama, a tragedy in blank verse, entitled "Bianco Cappello." This tragedy is founded upon Italian history and was written during her residence abroad in 1873. While abroad, Mrs. Kinney's letters to The Newark Daily Advertiser gave her a wide reputation and were largely re-copied in London and Edinburgh journals from copies in the New York papers.

Among the "Poems," the one "To an Italian Beggar Boy" is perhaps most highly spoken of and has been chosen by Mr. Stedman to represent his mother in the "Library of American Literature." A favorite also is the "Ode to the Sea." Both pieces are strong and dramatic. The poem on "The Flowers" has been translated into three languages. It opens:

"Where'er earth's soil is by the feet
Of unseen angels trod,
The joyous flowers spring up to greet
These messengers of God."

Mrs. Kinney's sonnets are peculiarly good. Her sonnet on "Moonlight in Italy," which we give to represent her, was written at ten o'clock at night in Italy by moonlight, and has been much praised. Mr. Kingston James, the English translator of Tasso, repeated it once at a dinner table, as a sample of "in what consisted a true sonnet."

MOONLIGHT IN ITALY.

There's not a breath the dewy leaves to stir;
There's not a cloud to spot the sapphire sky;
All nature seems a silent worshipper:
While saintly Dian, with great, argent eye,
Looks down as lucid from the depths on high,
As she to earth were Heaven's interpreter:
Each twinkling little star shrinks back, too shy
Its lesser glory to obtrude by her
Who fills the concave and the world with light;
And ah! the human spirit must unite
In such a harmony of silent lays,
Or be the only discord in this night,
Which seems to pause for vocal lips to raise
The sense of worship into uttered praise.

Alexander Nelson Easton.

In the third generation in the line of Mrs. Kinney, appears a boy, now seventeen years of age, of unusual promise as a poet—Alexander Nelson Easton, grandson of William Burnet and Elizabeth C. Kinney. He has written and published several poems. He took the $50 prize offered by the Mail and Express for the best poem on a Revolutionary incident, written by a child of about twelve years. It was entitled "Mad Anthony's Charge."

Young Easton was born in Morristown, and spent his early years in this place, in the house on the corner of Macculloch Avenue and Perry Street, belonging to Mrs. Brinley. He began to write at eight years when a little prose piece called "The Council of the Stars," found its way into print, out in California. His next was in verse, written at ten years on "The Oak." That was also published and copied. A "Ballad" followed "A Scottish Battle Song," written in dialect, which was published also. Then came the prize poem, "Mad Anthony's Charge," above referred to. He has composed two stories since, one of which, "Ben's Christmas Present," has been accepted by the New York World and is to appear with a sketch of this young writer, in their Christmas number. At twelve years, he wrote a monody on "The Burial of Brian Boru," which is given below.

The literary efforts of Easton, so far, have been spontaneous and spasmodic, but contain certain promise for the future. After studying for some time at the Morristown Academy, Easton went as a student to the Bordentown Military Institute from which he has graduated and has now passed on to Princeton College. At Bordentown he won golden opinions, and gave the prize essay at the June Commencement. This was an oration of considerable importance on "The Value of Sacrifice," but withal his gifts are essentially poetic.

THE BURIAL OF BRIAN BORU.

Slowly around the new-made grave
Gathers the mourner throng;
Women and children, chieftains brave,
Numb'ring their hundreds strong.

Glitter beneath the sun's bright ray
Helmet and axe and spear;
Sadness and sorrow reign to-day,
Dark is the land and drear!

Yesterday leading his men to fight,
Now lies he beneath their feet,
Clad in his armor, strong and bright,
'Tis his only winding sheet.

Close to his grave stand his warriors grim,
Bravest and best of his reign;
They, who through danger have oft followed him,
Mourn the wild "Scourge of the Dane."

Look! from the throng with martial stride
Steps an old chief of his clan,
Pauses and halts at the deep grave's side,
Halts as but warriors can.

White is the hair beneath his cap,
Withered the hand he holds on high;
Standing, beside the open gap,
Speaks he without a pause or sigh.

"Brian Boru the brave!
Brian Boru the bold!
Lay we thee in thy grave;
Deep is it, dark and cold.

Bravest of ev'ry chief
Erin has ever known;
Hurling the foes in grief,
Fiercest of Danes o'erthrown.

Youth and old age alike
Found thee in war array;
Wielding the sword and pike,
E'er in the thick o' the fray!

Erin is freed and blest,
Freed by thy mighty arm;
Well hast thou earned thy rest,
Take it! secure from harm.

Friend of our hearts! Our king!
Generous, kind and true!
Out let our praises fling—
Shout we for Brian Boru."

Bursts the wild song from a thousand throats,
Sounding through wood and plain,
While the mountains echo the dying notes,
Ringing them out again.

Francis Bret Harte.

As a poet, we represent Bret Harte by his "Plain Language from Truthful James," better known as "The Heathen Chinee." The main reference to his writings follows, in the next classification of Novelists and Story Writers.

PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES,

BETTER KNOWN AS "THE HEATHEN CHINEE."

TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870.

Which I wish to remark,—
And my language is plain,—
That for ways that are dark,
And for tricks that are vain,
The heathen Chinee is peculiar.
Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name;
And I shall not deny
In regard to the same
What that name might imply,
But his smile it was pensive and child-like,
As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third;
And quite soft was the skies;
Which it might be inferred
That Ah Sin was likewise;
Yet he played it that day upon William
And me in a way I despise.

Which we had a small game,
And Ah Sin took a hand:
It was Euchre. The same
He did not understand;
But he smiled as he sat by the table,
With the smile that was child-like and bland.

Yet the cards they were stocked
In a way that I grieve,
And my feelings were shocked
At the state of Nye's sleeve:
Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,
And the same with intent to deceive.

But the hands that were played
By that heathen Chinee,
And the points that he made,
Were quite frightful to see,—
Till at last he put down a right bower,
Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

Then I looked up at Nye,
And he gazed upon me;
And he rose with a sigh,
And said, "Can this be?
We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor,"—
And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued
I did not take a hand,
But the floor it was strewed
Like the leaves on the strand
With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,
In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long,
He had twenty-four packs,—
Which was coming it strong,
Yet I state but the facts;
And we found on his nails, which were taper,
What is frequent in tapers—that's wax.

Which is why I remark,
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark,
And for tricks that are vain,
The heathen Chinee is peculiar,—
Which the same I am free to maintain.

Mrs. M. Virginia Donaghe McClurg.

Mrs. McClurg, the niece of our honored townsman, Mr. Wm. L. King, is better known to us by her maiden name of M. Virginia Donaghe. Although endowed with varied gifts, having been editor, newspaper correspondent, story-writer, biographer and local historian, her talent is essentially poetic, therefore we place her among our poets.

A proud moment of Mrs. McClurg's life was, when a child, she received four dollars and a half from Hearth and Home for a story called "How did it Happen," written in the garret, the author tells us, without the knowledge of any one. Next, were written occasional letters and verses and short stories for the New York Graphic, including some burlesque correspondence for a number of papers, one of which was the Richmond State. The writer then went to Colorado for her health and accepted the position of editor on the Daily Republic of Colorado Springs, for three years. She wrote a political leader for the paper every day. It happened that many distinguished men died during those years, and she did in consequence biographical work. She also wrote book reviews, dramatic and musical reviews, condensed the state news every day from all the papers of the state and edited the Associated Press dispatches. In addition, all proofs were brought to her for final reading. For the first year she had private pupils and broke down with brain fever.

In 1885, she went into the Indian country to explore the cliff-dwellings of Mancos Cañon, in the reservation of the Southern Utes. They were only known through meagre accounts in the official government reports, and Miss Donaghe was the first woman who ever visited them, so far as known. On this occasion, she had an escort of United States troops and spent a few days there. She however made a second visit, fully provided for a month's trip, the result of which was a series of archæological sketches contributed to a prominent paper, the Great Divide, under the title of "Cliff-Climbing in Colorado." These ten papers gave to Miss Donaghe a reputation in the west as an archæologist.

The following year she published, in the Century, one of the best of her sonnets, "The Questioner of the Sphinx," afterwards contained in her book, "Seven Sonnets of Sculpture."

The same year she published her first book, "Picturesque Colorado," also a popular sonnet called "The Mountain of the Holy Cross." The Colorado mountain of the Holy Cross has crevices filled with snow which represent always on its side a cross. The little sand lily of Colorado blossoms at the edges of the highways in the dust, in the Spring, and looks like our star of Bethlehem. Of these sand lilies an artist friend made a picture which harmonized with the sonnet referred to. These were published together as an Easter card and a large edition sold. The sonnet begins;

"In long forgotten Springs, where He who taught
Amid the olive groves of Syrian hills,"—

And ends:

"The lilies bloom upon the prairie wide
A stainless cross is reared by nature's hand,
And plain and height alike keep Easter-tide."

In 1887, the Century published a "Sonnet on Helen Hunt's Grave," with a picture of the grave. About this time Miss Donaghe was writing a series of letters which were published in a Southern newspaper, The Valley Virginian, and were widely copied. These were on Utah, when the Mormon hierarchy was in its power. Then appeared a book on "Picturesque Utah," making one of a group with "Picturesque Colorado" and "Colorado Favorites." The last is made up of six poems on Colorado flowers, illustrated by water colors of the blossoms, by Alice Stewart, and was the first book published.

The author was married to Mr. Gilbert McClurg of Chicago, one of the family of the publishing house of that name, in Morristown, on June 13th, 1889. Since then Mrs. McClurg has been both editor and newspaper correspondent, and, within the last two years, a valuable assistant to her husband in the preparation of his department of the official history of Colorado, which included several county histories.

In the Cosmopolitan of June, 1891, a sonnet appeared, "The Life Mask," and was reprinted in the Review of Reviews. Two of Mrs. McClurg's songs were set to music by Albert C. Pierson in the summer of 1890; "Lithe Stands my Lady"; "Je Reste et Tu T'en Vas"; the latter with a French refrain, the rest in English.

The last poem of Mrs. McClurg was published in the Banner, of Morristown, Dec. 24th, 1891, written to Mr. William L. King on his 85th Thanksgiving Day, and based on the Oriental salutation, "O King! Live forever".

Among the writings of Mrs. McClurg are also two articles on the Washington Headquarters of Morristown; being "quotations, comments and descriptions on two Order Books of the Revolution, daily records of life in camp and at Headquarters, in the year 1780." A passage from this is given in the opening chapter of this book.

The "Seven Sonnets of Sculpture" came out in 1889 and 1890. This book was widely and favorably noticed by some of the largest and most important journals. Says the writer in the Chicago Daily News: "It was a happy inspiration that led Mrs. McClurg to the idea realized in the publication of her latest volume 'Seven Sonnets of Sculpture'. The work is artistic from cover to cover, but the conception of equipping each one of the stanzas it contains with a photograph of the piece of sculpture which suggested it, was unique. * * To translate a work of art from its original form to another, to find the hidden sense of a conception imbedded in stone and revive it in words, to endue marble with speech, is in its nature a delicate task and one that demands the keenest of perceptions and sensibilities." The author says, in her dedication that seven was a Hebrew symbol of perfection.

The sonnet we select from these, to represent Mrs. McClurg, is "The Questioner of the Sphinx". This sonnet was written from the impression received from Elihu Vedder's engraving of the Sphinx and the artist expressed in a letter to the author, his appreciation of the fidelity of the interpretation in verse of his picture. His criticism is perhaps the best that could be given.

"I think it," he wrote, "good and strong and shall treasure it among the few good things that have been suggested by my work. My idea in the Sphinx was the hopelessness of man before the cold immutable laws of nature. Could the Sphinx speak, I am sure its words would be, 'look within,' for to his working brain and beating heart man must look for the solution of the great problem."

THE QUESTIONER OF THE SPHINX.

(SUGGESTED BY ELIHU VEDDER'S PICTURE.)

Behold me! with swift foot across the land,
While desert winds are sleeping, I am come
To wrest a secret from thee; O thou, dumb,
And careless of my puny lip's command.
Cold orbs! mine eyes a weary world have scanned,
Slow ear! in mine rings ever a vexed hum
Of sobs and strife. Of joy mine earthly sum
Is buried as thy form in burning sand.
The wisdom of the nations thou has heard;
The circling courses of the stars hast known.
Awake! Thrill! By my feverish presence stirred,
Open thy lips to still my human moan,
Breathe forth one glorious and mysterious word,
Though I should stand, in turn, transfixed,—a stone!

Charlton T. Lewis, L.L. D.

A sketch of Dr. Lewis will be found under the grouping of Lexicographer.

The poem from which we select (reluctantly we take a part instead of the whole, for lack of space), is an embodiment of the story taken from Theodoret. The poet has found in the beautiful tradition, meagre though it is, a lovely theme for his divine song of spiritual love and Christian martyrdom.

The following is the translation of the Greek passage which heads the poem:

"A certain Telemachus embraced the self-sacrificing life of a monk, and, to carry out this plan, went to Rome, where he arrived during the abominable shows of gladiators. He went down into the arena, and strove to stop the conflicts of the armed combatants. But the spectators of the bloody games were indignant, and the gladiators themselves, full of the spirit of battle, slew the apostle of peace. When the great Emperor learned the facts he enrolled Telemachus in the noble army of martyrs, and put an end to the murderous shows."

Theodoret. Eccl. Hist. v. 26.

The scene is Rome,—the place the Coliseum. It is the time of the games. There are the crowds of eager people; the Emperor Honorius; the horrible Stilicho. Lowly and beautiful in his great love for Christ, Telemachus follows onward to the Coliseum to meet his sorrowful fate; holding in his voice the power that "stilled the fire and dulled the sword and stopped the crushing wine-press." He followed, silently, consecrated and alone, to "do the will of God."

TELEMACHUS.

I mused on Claudian's tinseled eulogies,
And turned to seek in other dusty tomes,
Through the wild waste of those degenerate days,
Some living word, some utterance of the heart;
Till as when one lone peak of Jura flames
With sudden sunbeams breaking through the mist,
So from the dull page of Theodoret
A flash of splendor rends the clouds of life,
And bares to view the awful throne of love.

The bishop's tale is meagre, but as leaven,
It works in thoughts that rise and fill the soul.

*....*....*....*....*

He felt the soil, long drenched with martyr's blood,
Send healing through his feet to all his frame.
He drank the air that trembled with the joys
Of opening Paradise, and bared his soul
To spirits whispering, "Come with us to-day!"
The longings of his life were satisfied,
He stood at last in Rome, Christ's Capital,
The gate of heaven and not the mouth of hell.

Suddenly, rudely, comes disastrous change.
He starts and gazes, as the glory of the saints
Fades round him and the angel songs are stilled:
A world of hatred hides the throne of love;
Hell opens in the gleam of myriad eyes
Hungry for slaughter, in a hush that tells
How in each heart a tiger pants for blood.
Into the vast arena files a band
Of Goths, the prisoners of Pollentia,—
Freemen, the dread of Rome, but yesterday,
Now doomed as slaves to wield those terrible arms
In mutual murder, kill and die, amid
The exultation of their nation's foes.
Pausing before the throne, with well-taught lips
They utter words they know not; but Rome hears;
"Cæsar, we greet thee who are now to die!"
Then part and line the lists; the trumpet blares
For the onset, sword and javelin gleam, and all
Is clash of smitten shields and glitter of arms.

Without the tumult, one of mighty limb
And towering frame stands moveless; never yet
A nobler captive had made sport for Rome.
Throngs watch that eye of Mars, Apollo's grace,
The thews of Hercules, in cruel hope
That ten may fall before him ere he falls.
They bid him charge; he moves not; shield and sword
Sink to his feet; his eyes are filled with light
That is not of the battle. Three draw near
Whose valor or despair has cut a path
Through the thick mass of combat, and their swords,
Reeking with carnage, seek a victim new
The glory of whose death may win them grace
With that fierce multitude. Telemachus
Gazes, and half the horror turns to joy
As the fair Goth undaunted bares his breast
Before the butchers, and awaits the blow
With peaceful brow, a firm and tender lip
Quivering as with a breath of inward prayer,
And hands that move as mindful of the cross.
And with a mighty cry, "Christ! he is thine!
He is my brother! Help!" The monk leaps forth,
Gathers in hands unarmed the points of steel,
Throws back the startled warriors, and commands,
"In Christ's name, hold! Ye people of Rome give ear!
God will have mercy and not sacrifice.
He who was silent, scourged at Pilate's bar,
And smitten again in those he died to save,
Is silent now in his great oracles.
The throne of Constantine and Peter's chair,
Speaks thus through me:—'In Rome, my capital,
Let love be Lord, and close the mouth of hell.
I will have mercy and not sacrifice.'"

The slaughter paused, he ceased, and all was still,
But baffled myriads with their cruel thumbs
Point earthward, and the bloody three advance:
Their swords meet in his heart. Honorius
Cries "Save,"—too late, he is already safe,—
And turns, with tears like Peter's, to proclaim,
The festival dissolved: nor from that hour
Ever again did Rome, Christ's capital,
Make holiday with blood, but hand in hand
The throne of Constantine and Peter's chair
Honored the martyr—Saint Telemachus,
And love was Lord and closed the mouth of hell.

Miss Emma F. R. Campbell.

In our midst is a quiet, gentle woman who passes in and out among us without noise or ostentation. Yet upon her has fallen the great honor of being the author of an immortal hymn.

In the Canada Presbyterian of Feb. 9th, 1887, appeared an article entitled "A Great Modern Hymn." Also, it is said, that in a volume soon to be published on "The Great Hymns of the Church" will appear a paper on "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By." From the first named, we cannot do better than quote:

"Among all the hymns used in recent revivals of religion, none has been more honored and owned by God, than this—none so often called for, none so inspiring, none bearing so many seals of the divine approval. This is the testimony of the great evangelist of these days, Mr. Moody, and this testimony will surprise no one who has ever heard it sung by his companion in the ministry, Mr. Sankey, who, under God, has done so much to send forth light and truth into dark minds and break up the fountains of the great deep, amid the masses of godless men.

"As to the origin of the hymn—the circumstances of its birth—we have to invite the reader to go back some twenty-three years, to the Spring of 1864—to a great season of religious awakening in the city of Newark, N. J. The streets were crowded from day to day and the largest churches were too small to contain the growing numbers. Among those most deeply moved by the impressive scenes and services was a young girl, a Sabbath School teacher, one who for the first time realized the powers of the world to come, and the grandness of the great salvation. As descriptive of what was passing around her but with no desire for publicity, still, with the great desire of reaching some soul unsaved, especially among her youthful charge, she wrote the lines beginning with, 'What means this eager, anxious throng?'"

The hymn was first published under the signature "Eta", the author having sometimes appended to her writings the Greek letter, using that character instead of her English name. We quote again from the same source:

"Soon it rose into popularity and it is spreading still, not only in the English language, but in other languages—even the languages of India—(think of a recent account of an assembly of 500 Hindus enthusiastically using this hymn in the Mahrati and the Syrian children singing it in their own vernacular)—as the author thinks of all these things, she can only say with a thankful and an adoring heart: 'It is the Lord's doing and it is marvellous in mine eyes!'"

Miss Campbell has also written many other poems of beauty and articles in prose, which however, are all so eclipsed by this "Great Hymn" that perhaps they are not known or noticed as they otherwise would be. One in particular, we would mention, "A New Year Thought," published December, 1888.

Miss Campbell belongs also in the group of Novelists, Story-Writers, and Moralists. She has written a number of books for the young, among which are "Green Pastures for Christ's Little Ones"; "Paul Preston"; "Better than Rubies"; and "Toward the Mark".

Miss Campbell wrote by request, at the time of the Centennial Celebration of the First Presbyterian Church in October, 1891, a beautiful hymn for the occasion which was read by Mr. James Duryee Stevenson.

"JESUS OF NAZARETH PASSETH BY."

What means this eager, anxious throng,
Pressing our busy streets along,
These wondrous gatherings day by day,
What means this strange commotion, pray?
Voices in accents hushed reply
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by?"

E'en children feel the potent spell,
And haste their new-found joy to tell;
In crowds they to the place repair
Where Christians daily bow in prayer,
Hosannas mingle with the cry
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

Who is this Jesus? Why should He
The city move so mightily?
A passing stranger, has He skill
To charm the multitude at will?
Again the stirring tones reply
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

Jesus! 'tis He who once below
Man's pathway trod mid pain and woe:
And burdened hearts where'er He came
Brought out their sick and deaf and lame.
Blind men rejoiced to hear the cry
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

Again He comes, from place to place
His holy footprints we can trace.
He passes at our threshold—nay
He enters,—condescends to stay!
Shall we not gladly raise the cry—
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

Bring out your sick and blind and lame,
'Tis to restore them Jesus came.
Compassion infinite you'll find,
With boundless power in Him combined.
Come quickly while salvation's nigh,
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

Ye sin-sick souls who feel your need,
He comes to you, a friend indeed.
Rise from your weary, wakeful couch.
Haste to secure His healing touch;
No longer sadly wait and sigh.—
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!"

Ho all ye heavy-laden, come!
Here pardon, comfort, rest, a home
Lost wanderer from a Father's face,
Return, accept his proffered grace.
Ye tempted, there's a refuge nigh
Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!

Ye who are buried in the grave
Of sin, His power alone can save.
His voice can bid your dead souls live,
True spirit-life and freedom give.
Awake! arise! for strength apply,
Jesus of Nazareth passeth by!

But if this call you still refuse
And dare such wondrous love abuse,
Soon will He sadly from you turn
Your bitter prayer in justice spurn.
"Too late! too late!" will be your cry,
"Jesus of Nazareth has passed by!"

Mrs. Adelaide S. Buckley.

Mrs. Buckley will appear again among Translators. The following verses were inspired by a painting of Cornelia and the Gracchi:

Purest pearls from the sea,
Diamonds outshining the sun,
Sapphires which vie with heaven,
With pride to Cornelia are shown.

Clasping her dark-eyed boys,
Fairer could be no other,
"These my jewels are"
Said the noble Roman mother.

Rev. Oliver Crane, D. D., LL. D.

Before coming to Morristown, in 1871, Dr. Crane's life had been a very active one, including extensive traveling in Turkey, Europe, Egypt and Palestine. Twice he had been a missionary in Turkey acquiring the Turkish language and doing efficient work there, first for five years, then for three. In the seven years interval of his return he accepted two pastorates in this country.

On coming to Morristown, having resigned his ministerial charge at Carbondale, Pennsylvania, he devoted himself mainly to literary work, and with General H. B. Carrington wrote the "Battles of the Revolution" which has since become a standard work. Nine years later as secretary of his college class, he prepared an exhaustive biographical record of every member of the class. The book was a pioneer in this class of publications.

In 1888, he published his translation of Virgil's Æneid and the following year a small volume of poems entitled "Minto and Other Poems", in which the "Rock of the Passaic Falls" is conspicuous as relating to Washington and Lafayette "who," says the poet, "visited together these Falls while their troops were stationed at Totawa (as the spot was then called) in the Winter of 1780. The initials G. W. are still to be seen cut in the rock below the cataract."

The Translation of Virgil's Æneid, "literally, line by line into English Dactyllic Hexameter," is Dr. Crane's great work and has absorbed much of his time for years. It is a singular fact that, although for more than four hundred years the learned have been giving to the English reader, through the press, specimen translations of this old classic, this is the first complete version in the original measure.

In the very interesting preface, Dr. Crane gives a careful review of the translations of Virgil, noticing the singular and severe prejudice that has always debarred any desire to render this classic in the metre of the original, and discussing the advantage of translating in the style of verse chosen by the author himself. In fact, he tells us, Longfellow had, from his own admirable translations, become thoroughly convinced of its utility, if not of its indispensability in giving the classic epics a fitting setting in English.

The following is an extract taken from Book X., lines 814 to 842 of Dr. Crane's literal English translation of Virgil's Æneid, which describes the hand to hand contest of Æneas with the youth Lausus, who insists upon fighting Æneas in opposition to his father's wishes and in the face of every effort made by Æneas to avoid the conflict:

TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL'S ÆNEID.

BOOK X, LINES 814 TO 842.

The destinies now are for Lausus the last threads
Gathering in; for Æneas his powerful scimitar ruthless815
Drives through the midst of the youth, and buries it wholly within him,
Right through the menacer's targe, and his delicate armor, the keen blade
Passed through the tunic his mother had woven in tissue of gold thread
For him, and blood filled all of his bosom; then life on the breezes
Mournful withdrew to the shades, and abandoned his body untimely.820
But as the son of Anchises in truth on the visage and features
Gazed of the dying—the features, becoming amazingly pallid—
Pitying deeply he sighed and instinctively tendered his right hand,
Fresh as the image recurred to his mind of regard for a father:
"What to thee now, O pitiable boy, for these laudable efforts,825
What shall the pious Æneas, befitting such nobleness render?
Keep it—thine armor, in which thou rejoicest, and I to thy parents'
Shades and their ashes, if this could be any requital, remit thee;
Yet thou in this, though unlucky, canst solace thy sorrowful exit,
That by the hand of the mighty Æneas thou fallest." Abruptly830
Chides he his faltering comrades, as gently from earth he uplifts him,
Soiling his ringlets with blood, that were combed in the comeliest fashion.
Meanwhile, his father was down by the wave of the stream of the Tiber
Staunching his wound with its waters, and resting his body, reclining
Close by the trunk of a tree. At a distance his coppery helmet825
Hangs on its boughs, and at rest on the sod is his cumbersome armor:
Standing around are his warriors chosen; he sickly and panting
Eases his neck, as his out-combed beard streamed down on his bosom;
Often he asks after Lausus, and many a messenger sends he
Back to recall him, and bear him his sorrowful parent's injunctions:840
But on his armor his comrades were weepingly bearing the lifeless
Lausus away—a hero o'ercome by the wound of a hero.

Rev. J. Leonard Corning, D. D.

Dr. Corning, who, with his family, was for some years a resident of Morristown and is now abroad, is represented later in the volume, among the writers on Art. We give here his beautiful poem, "The Ideal".

THE IDEAL.

Awake, asleep, in dreams, amid the din of mortal striving,
I feel thee ever near, vision of fancy's sweet contriving:
The setting sun and twilight glow
Thou art the music sweet and low.

When on the sands, at dead of night,
Dark waves are breaking in their might,
While, through the billowy crests, the wild winds roar,
Thou art the gull who over all dost soar.

Amid the storm and lightning flash,
The pelting rain and thunder crash,
When faces blanch, and none can will,
Thou, heavenly bow, art faithful still.

'Tis not the kiss, the touch, the sigh,
That bringeth love from earth to sky;
For motions strange about the heart
Reveal the inner nature of thy part.

Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest.

Mrs. Augustus W. Cutler has kindly given us the following monograph:

"In a Memorial of the late Mrs. Mary Lee Demarest occurs the following passage: 'For two hundred and fifty years, the English readers of the Bible were obliged to content themselves with the phrase, 'They seek a country'. It was not the whole thought. It was reserved for a corps of learned revisers to light upon the happy phrase, 'They are seeking a country of their own'.' But a score of years before the wise grammarians reached this line, a youthful poetess, seeing and greeting the Heavenly promise from afar, wrote simply and sweetly:

"'I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see The shining gates o' Heaven, an' my ain countree'.

"This youthful poetess was Mary Lee, afterwards Mrs. T. F. C. Demarest.

"Before her marriage, in 1870, she spent several years in Morristown and became identified with the place and its interests; and there are many persons living here who remember her sweet face and gentle ways.

"A taste for the Scotch dialect is said to have been acquired from an old Scotch nurse who lived a long time in the family, when the children were young. The girl caught it so completely, that when deeply moved, she was wont to drop into it, for the more vigorous expression of her feelings. 'Somehow', said she, 'the Scotch is more homely, less formal to me'. Thus, in the poem alluded to, could the thoughts contained in it, have been expressed as beautifully and tenderly in the mother tongue?

"Again, there is a little poem in the same dialect, entitled 'My Mither', which appeals to every heart.

"Though many of her poems and prose writings are of a devotional character, yet she had a keen sense also of the humorous side of life as the verses entitled 'Allen Graeme', will testify.

"Mrs. Demarest traveled extensively throughout our own country, and also abroad. Two volumes of her writings have been published—one entitled 'Gathered Writings', a collection of short stories, fragments of foreign travel and reflections".

MY AIN COUNTREE.

I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary afterwhiles,
For the langed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome smiles;
I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see,
The shining gates o' heaven an' my ain countree.
The earth is fleck'd wi' flowers, mony tinted fresh and gay,
The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae;
But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me,
When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree.

I've His gude word o' promise that some gladsome day, the King
To his ain royal palace His banished hame will bring;
Wi' een an' wi' hearts running owre, we shall see
The King in His beauty, in our ain countree;
My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair,
But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair;
His bluid has made me white—His hand shall dry mine e'e,
When he brings me hame at last, to mine ain countree.

Sae little noo I ken, o' yon blessed, bonnie place,
I ainly ken its Hame, whaur we shall see His face;
It wud surely be eneuch forever mair to be
In the glory o' His presence in our ain countree.
Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest,
I wad fain be ganging noo, unto my Saviour's breast,
For he gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
An' carries them Himsel', to His ain countree.

He's faithfu' that has promised, He'll surely come again,
He'll keep his tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken;
But he bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be
To gang at ony moment to my ain countree.
So I'm watching aye, and singing o' my hame as I wait,
For the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden gate,
God gie His grace to ilk ane wha' listens noo to me,
That we a' may gang in gladness to our ain countree.

Hon. Anthony Q. Keasbey.

We cannot do better than quote the words of Dr. Thomas Dunn English, the well-known author of "Ben Bolt", now living in Newark, N. J.,—with regard to Mr. Keasbey.

"Here, in Newark", says he, "we have a lawyer of distinction, Anthony Q. Keasbey, who occasionally throws off some polished verses, as he excuses them, by way of 'safety plugs for high mental pressure,' and these are always smooth and scholarly. They are mostly privately printed for the amusement of the poet and a few chosen friends. One of these, however, has such a vein of tenderness and so much heart music that it deserves to become public property and to remain as much the favorite with others as it is with me." The poem referred to is, "My Wife's Crutches."

"Unquestionably", continues Dr. English, "Mr. Keasbey stands well in his profession, and for years, under several Federal administrations, filled the office of United States District Attorney with credit to himself and advantage to the public; but this little tender poem does more honor to his intellect than his legal acquirements, however eminent they may be, and gives him a still stronger claim to the regard of his many friends."

Among Mr. Keasbey's published collected poems are "Palm Sunday", of which Mr. Stedman once said he had put it away among some fine hymns; also "May", published in England and set to music by Faustina Hodges. These verses were inspired by the falling of the cherry blossoms on the grave of little May, and are most sweet and touching. One of the best is "The Dirge for Old St. Stephen's", written while they were demolishing the church built on Mr. Keasbey's ground, where now a "mart and home" have taken its place as was anticipated by the poet.

Mr. Keasbey has published numberless papers in prominent journals and magazines. Some of these are to be collected and published in book form. His address on "The Sun: How Man has Regarded it in Different Ages", is well worthy of preservation in more permanent form than that in which it appears at present; also "The Sale of East New Jersey at Auction", an address delivered February 1st, 1862, before the New Jersey Historical Society at Trenton, on the Bi-Centennial of the Sale. This is full of interesting information, told in a charming way and is valuable for reference.

The paper on "The Sun", was inspired by Mr. Keasbey's reading with great interest, the papers of Professor Norman Lockyer, the great astronomer, describing his researches into the constitution of the sun, through the medium of the spectroscope and the photograph. Mr. Keasbey had been interested in observing the extent to which modern science had reached with respect to the actual condition of the sun and the materials of which it is composed. This led him to the thoughts of how very recent had been any such attempts to understand its true nature and, from that reflection, he was led to consider, as a subject of a paper, how human eyes in all ages have looked upon the sun and in what manner they have regarded it. This published address was delivered before the Brooklyn Historical Society, a brilliant audience present, and Rev. Dr. Storrs, presiding.

A book on Florida, "From the Hudson to the St. John's", describing a month's journey to Florida and the St. John's River was published in 1875; also, more recently, a small book on "Isthmus Transit by Chiriqui and Golfo Dulce", with a view of describing the Chiriqui mountain rib or back bone of Darien and all the executive and legislative action, with respect to the region between Panama and Nicaragua, with reference to railroad communication across the isthmus from the harbor of Chiriqui on the coast to the Pacific.

In the Hospital Review, of July, 1882, is a very striking and powerful paper on the "Tragedy of the Lena Delta", where De Long and his companions so heroically met their fate in the Arctic snows.

Below is the favorite of Dr. English among the Poems:

MY WIFE'S CRUTCHES.

Ye solemn, gaunt, ungainly crutches,
That serve her frame such slippery tricks,
Were you within my lawful clutches,
I'd fling you back in River Styx.

Ye grew beside the Boat of Charon,
In murky fens of Stygian gloom,
Nor ever, like the rod of Aaron,
Shall your grim spindles burst in bloom.

Your reeds were tuned for groans rheumatic,
And croaking sighs from gouty man;
Nor e'er shall thrill with tones ecstatic,
As did the pipes of ancient Pan.

Avaunt you, then, ye helpers dismal!
Offend my eyes and ears no more;
Go stalking back to realms abysmal
And guide the ghosts on Lethe's shore.

But see! while yet my words upbraid them,
Her crutches bud with blossoms fair,
And Patience, Love and Faith have made them
Than Aaron's rod, more rich and rare.

And hark! from out their hollows slender,
No dismal groans or sighs proceed,—
But tones of joy more sweet and tender
Than swelled from Pan's enchanted reed.