Book: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 6, Issue 35, September, 1860

V >> Various >> Atlantic Monthly, Volume 6, Issue 35, September, 1860




If all this evidence, and I might add much more equally conclusive, did
I think it necessary, does not, O skeptic, convince you of the humanity
of trees, why, let me say that you hold for true a hundred things not
based upon half so good testimony as this,--that I have seen juries
persuaded of facts, and bring in verdicts in accordance with them, not
nearly so well authenticated as these,--and that I have heard clergymen
preach sermons two hours long, constructed out of arguments which they
positively persisted you should regard as decisive, that were, to say
the least, no _better_ than those here advanced. And now, if these
things be so, in the words of the great Grecian, John P., _what are you
going to do about it_?

Trees, like animals, are righteously sacrificed only when required to
supply our wants. A man does not go out into the fields and mutilate or
destroy his horses and oxen: let him treat the oaks and the elms with
the same humanity. I would that enough of the old mythology to which I
have alluded, and which our fathers called religion, still lived among
us to awaken a virtuous indignation in our breasts when we witnessed the
wanton destruction of trees. I once remonstrated with a cruel wretch
whom I saw engaged in taking the life of some beautiful elms inhabiting
a piece of pasture-land. He replied, that in the hot days of summer the
cattle did nothing but lie under them and chew their cud, when they
should be at work feeding on the grass,--that his oxen did not get fat
fast enough, nor his cows give as much milk as they should give,--"and
so," said he, "I'm goin' to fix 'em,"--and down came every one of the
hospitable old trees. We are not half so humane in our conduct towards
the inferior races and tribes as the old Romans whom we calumniate with
the epithet of Pagans. The Roman Senate degraded one of its members for
putting to death a bird that had taken refuge in his bosom: would not
the Senate of the United States "look pretty," undertaking such a thing?
A complete Christian believes not only in the dogmas of the Bible, but
_also_ in the mythology, or religion of Nature, which teaches us, no
less than it taught our fathers, to regard wanton cruelty towards any
vegetable or animal creature which lives in the breath and smile of the
Creator, as a sin against Heaven.

Having in the above paragraph got into the parson's private preserve,
as I shall be liable anyhow to an action for trespass, I am tempted to
commit the additional transgression of poaching, and to give you a
few extracts from a _sermon_ a friend of mine once delivered. [It was
addressed to a small congregation of Monothelites in a village "out
West," just after the annual spring freshet, when half the inhabitants
of the place were down with the chills and fever. It was his maiden
effort,--he having just left the Seminary,--and did not "take" at
all, as he learned the next day, when Deacon Jenners (the pious
philanthropist of the place) called to tell him that his style of
preaching "would never do," that his thoughts were altogether of too
worldly a nature, and his language, decidedly unfit for the sacred
"desk." Besides,--though he would not assume the responsibility
of deciding that point before he had consulted with the Standing
Committee,--he did not think his sentiments exactly orthodox. My friend
was disgusted on the spot, and, being seized with a chill shortly
afterwards, concluded not to accept the "call," and, packing his
trunk, started in quest of a healthier locality and a more enlightened
congregation.]

"And here permit me to add a word or two for the purpose of correcting a
very prevalent error.

"Most men, I find, suppose that this earth belongs to them,--to the
human race alone. It does not,--no more than the United States belong to
Rhode Island. Human life is not a ten-thousand-millionth of the life on
the planet, nor the race of men more than an infinitesimal fraction of
the creatures which it nourishes. A swarm of summer flies on a field of
clover, or the grasshoppers in a patch of stubble, outnumber the men
that have lived since Adam. And yet we assume the dignity of lords and
masters of the globe! Is not this a flagrant delusion of self-conceit?
Let a pack of hungry wolves surround you here in the forest, and who is
master? Let a cloud of locusts descend upon a hundred square miles
of this territory, and what means do you possess to arrest their
ravages?...

"As a matter of _fact_, then, we do not own the world. And now let
me say, that, as a matter of _right_, we ought not: man was the last
created of creatures. When our race appeared on the earth, it had been
for millions of years in quiet, exclusive, undisputed possession of the
birds, beasts, fishes, and insects: it was _their_ world then, and we
were intruders and trespassers upon their domain....

"If, then, the other races have a right to exist on the planet as much
as we, what follows? Surely, that they have a right to their share and
proportion of the ground and its fruits, and the blessings of Heaven by
which life here is sustained: man has no right to expect a monopoly of
them. If we get a week of sunshine which supplies our wants, we have no
reason to complain of the succeeding week of rain which supplies the
wants of other races. If we raise a crop of wheat, and the insect
foragers take tithes of it, we have no right to find fault: a share of
it belongs to them. If you plant a field with corn, and the weeds spring
up also along with it, why do you complain? Have not the weeds as much
right there as the corn? If you encamp in one of the numberless swamps
which surround this settlement, and get assailed by countless millions
of robust mosquitoes, why do you rave and swear (as I know most of you
would do under such circumstances) and want to know 'what in the ----
mosquitoes were made for'? Why, to puncture the skin of blockheads and
blasphemers like you, and suck the last drop of blood from their veins.
Why, let me ask you, did you go out there? That place belonged to the
mosquitoes, not to you; and you knew you were trespassing upon their
land. The mosquitoes exist for themselves, and were created for the
enjoyment of their own mosquito-life. Why was _man_ created? The Bible
does not answer the question directly; the divines in the Catechism say,
'To glorify God.' Now I should like to know if a Westminster Catechism
of the mosquitoes would'nt make as good an answer for them?

"And here I am just in the act of annihilating with a logical stroke
a multitude of grumblers and croakers. If this world does not belong
exclusively to man, and the other races have as much right here as he,
and, consequently, a claim to their proportion of land, water, and sky,
and their share of food for the sustenance of life, what follows?

"A great many men, taking northeast storms, bleak winds,
thunder-showers, flies, mosquitoes, Canada thistles, hot sunshine, cold
snows, weeds, briers, thorns, wild beasts, snakes, alligators, and such
like things, which they don't happen to like, and putting them all
together, attempt to persuade you that this green earth is a complete
failure, a wreck and blasted ruin. Don't you believe that, for it's
wicked infidelity. I tell you the world is not all so bad as Indiana,
and especially that part of the State which you, unfortunately, inhabit.
I have seen, my friends, a large portion of the planet, and if there is
another spot anywhere quite so infernal as Wabashville, why, I solemnly
assure you I never found it.--And now for the point which shall prick
your conscience and penetrate your understanding! Do the bears and
wolves, the coons and foxes, the owls and wild-geese, find this region
unhealthy, and get the chills and fever, and go around grumbling and
cursing? Don't they find this climate especially salubrious and suited
exactly to their constitutions? Well, then, that's because they belong
here, _and you don't_. This region was never intended for the habitation
of man: it belongs exclusively to the wild beasts and the fowls of the
air, and you have no business here. [Manifest signs of disapprobation
on part of Deacon Taylor, an extensive owner of town-lots.] And if you
persist in remaining here, what moral right have you to complain of
God?...

"Remember, then, in conclusion, that, for millions of years before our
race existed, mosquitoes, weeds, briers, thorns, thistles, snow-storms,
and northeast winds prevailed upon this planet, and that during all this
time it was pronounced by the Deity himself to be '_very good_.' If,
then, the earth appears to be evil, is it not because 'thine eye is
evil'? We share this world, my friends, with other races, whose wants
are different from ours; and we are all of equal importance in the eyes
of our Maker, who distributes to each its share of blessings--man and
monster both alike--with impartial favor. Is not thus the fallacy of the
corruption of Nature exposed, and the lie against our Creator's wisdom,
love, and goodness dragged into noonday light?"

* * * * *

But it is time to recommence our rambles through the City of the Dead.

Right here I come across on a tombstone,--"All our children. Emma, aged
1 mo. 23 days. John, 3 years 5 days. Anna, aged 1 year 1 mo." As a
physiologist, I might make some very instructive comments upon this; but
I forbear.

And here, upon another, a few rods farther on, is an epitaph in verse:--

(FIRST VERSE.)

"Calm be her slumbers near kindred are sighing,
A husband deplores in deep anguish of heart,
Beneath the cold earth _unconsciously lying_,
No murmur can reach her, no tempest can start."

(SECOND VERSE.)

"Calm be her sleep as the silence of even
When hearts unto deep invocation give birth.
With a prayer she has _knelt at the portal of heaven_
And found the admission she hoped for on earth_."

Not to speak of the "poetry" just here, how charmingly consistent with
each other are the ideas contained in the passages I have italicized! In
the first verse, you observe, the inmate is sleeping unconscious beneath
the ground: in the second verse, she has ascended to heaven and
found admittance to mansions in the skies!--A similar confusion and
contradiction of ideas occur in most of the epitaphs I see. Does our
theology furnish us with no clear conception of the state of the soul
after death? The Catholic Church teaches that the spirit at death
descends into the interior of the earth to a place called Hades, where
it is detained until the day of judgment, when it is reunited with the
dust of the body, and ascends to a heaven in the sky. This doctrine
has the merit of being positive, clear, and comprehensible, and,
consequently, whenever expressed, it always means something exact and
well-defined. Has the Protestant Church equally definite notions on the
subject, or, in fact, any fixed opinions respecting it whatever? If not,
why, as a matter of good taste, for no weightier reason, in records
almost imperishable like these, leave the matter alone! Silence
is better than nonsense. Suppose a few thousand years hence our
civilization to have become extinct, and that some antiquary from the
antipodes should visit this desolate hill to excavate, like Layard at
Nineveh, for relics of the old Americans. Suppose, having collected a
ship-load of broken tombstones, he should forward them to the Polynesian
Museum, and set the _savans_ of the age at work deciphering their
inscriptions, what sense would be made out of these epitaphs? How would
they interpret our notions of a future state? Taking our own monuments,
cut with our own hands, inscribed with our own signs-manual, what would
they infer our system of religion to have been? If the Egyptians were as
vague and careless as we in this matter, our archaeologists must have
made some amusing blunders.

Here are two epitaphs which suggest something else:--

No. I.

"I loved him in his beauty,
A _mother_ boy while here,
I knew he was an angel bright
Formed for another sphere."

No. II.

"Farewell my wife and children dear
God calls you home to rest.
Still Angels _wisper_ in my ear
We'll meet in heavenly bliss."

I want to make two annotations upon these. In No. 1 you will notice that
a possessive _'s_ is wanting, and in No. 2 that the _h_ is omitted from
_whisper_. A marble-cutter told me once, that a Pennsylvania Dutchman
came to him one day to have an inscription cut upon a gravestone for his
daughter, whose name was Fanny. The father, upon learning that the price
of the inscription would be ten cents a letter, insisted that Fanny
should be spelt with one _n_, as he should thereby save a dime! The
marble-cutter, unable to overcome the obstinacy of the frugal Teuton,
and unwilling to set up such a monument of his ignorance of spelling,
compromised the matter by conforming to the current orthography, and
inserted the superfluous consonant for nothing. And my second annotation
shall consist of an inquiry: What is there in corrupt and diseased human
nature which makes persons prefer such execrable rhyme as that quoted
above, and that which I find upon two-thirds of the tombstones here, to
decent English prose, which one would suppose might have been produced
at a much less expenditure of intellectual effort? But since it is an
unquestionable fact that we are thus totally depraved in taste and
feeling, why don't some of our bards, to whom the Muse has not been
propitious in other departments of metrical composition, and who, to be
blunt, are good for nothing else, such as ----, or ----, and many
others you know, come out here among the marble-cutters and open an
_epitaph-shop_? Mournful stanzas might then be procured of every size
and pattern, composed with decent reverence for the rules of grammar,
respect for the feet and limbs of the linear members, and possibly some
regard for consistency in the ideas they might chance occasionally to
express. Genin the hatter, and Cockroach Lyon, each keeps a poet. Why
cannot the marble-cutters procure some of the Heliconian fraternity as
partners? Bards would thus serve the cause of education, benefit future
antiquaries, and earn more hard dimes ten times over than they do in
writing lines for the blank corners of newspapers and the waste spaces
between articles in magazines. I throw this hint out of the window of
the "Atlantic," in the fervent hope that it will be seen, picked up,
and pocketed by some reformer who is now out of business; and I would
earnestly urge such individual to agitate the question with all his
might, and wake up the community to the vital importance, by making use
of "poetic fire" and "inspired frenzy" now going to waste, or some other
instrumentality, of a reformation in epitaphic necrology.

Seriously, modern epitaphs are a burlesque upon religion, a caricature
of all things holy, divine, and beautiful, and an outrage upon the
common sense and culture of the community. A collection of comic
churchyard poetry might be made in this place which would eclipse the
productions of Mr. K.N. Pepper, and cause a greater "army of readers to
explode" than his "Noad to a Whealbarrer" or the "Grek Slaiv" has done.

* * * * *

During our rambles among the tombstones the sun has long since passed
the meridian, and the streets and avenues of the cemetery are crowded
with carriages and thronged with pedestrians, the tramping of horses'
feet, the rumbling of wheels, and the voices of men fill the air, and
the place which was so silent and deserted this morning is now as noisy
and bustling as the metropolis yonder. And soon begin to arrive thick
and fast the funeral trains. Many of the black-plumed hearses are
followed by only a single hired coach or omnibus, others by long trails
of splendid equipages. Upon the broad slope of a hill, whither the
greater number of the processions move, entirely destitute of trees
and flooded with sunshine, many thousand graves, mostly unmarked by
headstones, lie close together, resembling in appearance a corn-field
which has been permitted to run to grass unploughed. Standing upon an
elevated point near the summit, and looking down those acres of hillocks
to where the busy laborers are engaged in putting bodies into the
ground, covering them with earth, and rounding the soil over them, one
is perhaps struck for the first time with the full force, meaning,
and beauty of the language of Paul in his first letter to the
Corinthians:--"That which thou sowest is not that body which shall be,
but bare grain. It [the human body] is sown in corruption, is sown in
dishonor, is sown in weakness. It is sown a natural body; it is raised
[or springs up, to complete the figure] a spiritual body. Flesh
and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of heaven."--I once heard a
distinguished botanist dispute the accuracy of this simile, inasmuch, he
said, as the seed, when it is sown in the ground, does not _die_, but in
fact then first begins to _live_ and to display the vital force which
was previously asleep in it; while the human body decays and is resolved
into its primitive gaseous, mineral, and vegetable elements, the
particles of which, disseminated everywhere, and transferred through
chemical affinities into other and new organisms, lose all traces of
their former connection.--In answer to such a finical criticism as this,
intended to invalidate the authority of the great Apostolic Theologian,
I replied, that Paul was not an inspired _botanist_,--in fact, that
he probably knew nothing whatever about botany as a science,--but an
inspired religious teacher, who employed the language of his people and
the measure of knowledge to which his age had attained, to expound to
his contemporaries the principles of his Master's religion. I am not
familiar with the nicer points of strict theological orthodoxy, but,
from modern sermons and commentaries, I should infer that few doctors
of even the most straitest school of divinity hold to the doctrine of
verbal inspiration. That the Prophets and Apostles were acquainted with
botany, chemistry, geology, or any other modern science, is a notion
as unfounded in truth as it is hostile and foreign to the object and
purpose of Revelation, which is strictly confined to religion and
ethics. Those persons, therefore, (and they are a numerous class,) who
resort to the Bible, assuming that it professes to be an inspired manual
of universal knowledge, and then, because they find in its figurative
Oriental phraseology, or in its metaphors and illustrations, some
inaccuracies of expression or misstatements of scientific facts, would
throw discredit upon the essential religious dogmas and doctrines which
it is its object to state and unfold, are, to say the least, extremely
disingenuous, if not deficient in understanding.

But a much more prolific source of injury to the character of the Bible
than that just mentioned is the injudicious and impertinent labors of
many who volunteer in its defence. "Oh, save me from my friends!" might
the Prophets and Apostles, each and all, too often exclaim of their
supporters.--It is said that all men are insane upon some point: so are
classes and communities. The popular monomania which at present prevails
among a class of persons whose zeal surpasses their prudence and
knowledge is a foolish fear and trembling lest the tendencies of science
should result in the overthrow of the Bible. They seem, somehow, to be
fully persuaded that the inspired word of God has no inherent power to
stand alone,--that it has fallen among thieves and robbers,--is being
pelted with fossil coprolites, suffocated with fire-mist and primitive
gases, or beaten over the head with the shank-bones of Silurian
monsters, and is bawling aloud for assistance. Therefore, not stopping
to dress, they dash out into the public notice without hat or coat, in
such unclothed intellectual condition as they happen to be in,--in their
shirt, or stark naked often,--and rush frantically to its aid.

The most melancholy case of this intellectual _delirium tremens_
that probably ever came under the notice of any reader is found in a
professed apology for the Scriptures, recently published, under
the pompous and bombastic title of "COSMOGONY, OR THE MYSTERIES OF
CREATION."--A volume of such puerile trash, such rubbish, twaddle,
balderdash, and crazy drivelling[A] as this, was never before vomited
from the press of any land, and beside it the "REVELATIONS" of Andrew
Jackson Davis, the "Poughkeepsie Seer," rises to the lofty grandeur of
the "Novum Organon,"--a sight that makes one who really respects the
Bible hang his head for shame.

[Footnote A: As the reader may never have seen this unique volume, and
will be amused by a specimen of its grammar, rhetoric, wisdom, and
learning, let him take a _morceau_ or two from the commencement of
a chapter entitled, "_Naturalists.--Their Classification of Man and
Beasts_."--"We look upon the animal in no different light from that of
a vegetable, a plant, or a rock-crystal, which forms under the Creative
hand, performs its part for the use of man, dissolves and reproduces by
its parts another comfort for him. The animal bears _no resemblance_ to
man, not even in his brain."--"One tree may bear apples, and another
acorns, but they are not to be compared, the one as bearing a relation
to the other, because they have each a body and limbs. They are distinct
trees, and one will always produce apples and the other acorns, as long
as they produce anything." (Indeed!)--"The usual classification of
animals, is that of Vertebrata, Articulata, Mollusca, and Radiata.
This is not only offensive to man,--_but is impiety towards God_."
(Why?)--"We are told by these naturalists that man belongs to the class
called 'Vertebrata.' So does the snake, the monkey, the lizard and
crocodile, and many other low and mean animals.--Have these creatures
the reasoning faculties of man? Do they walk erect like man? Have they
feet, hands, legs, arms, _hair upon their heads, or beards upon their
faces_? Do they speak languages and _congregate and worship at the
altar_?" (!!)--"Those who are ambitious of such relations, may plant
their heraldic coat-of-arms in the serpent, the lizard, the crocodile,
or the monkey, but we disclaim such relationship--we do not think it
_good taste or good morals_ to place the fair daughters of Eve on
a level with horrid and hideous animals, simply from some apparent
similarity, which we are certain never existed."]

The belligerent pundit who has flung in the face of peaceful geologists
this octavo _camouflet_ of his scientific lucubrations professes to
have scoured the surface and ravaged the bottom (in a suit of patent
sub-marine Scriptural armor) of a no less abysmal subject than the
cryptology of Genesis,--to have undermined with his sapping intellect
and blown up with his explosive wisdom the walled secrets of time and
eternity, carrying away with him in the shape of plunder a whole cargo
of the plans and purposes of the Omnipotent in the Creation. I have not
the least doubt, if he were respectfully approached and interrogated
upon the subject, he would answer with the greatest ease and accuracy
the famous question with which Dean Swift posed the theological tailor.
The man who can tell us all about the institution of the law of gravity,
how the inspired prophet thought and felt while writing his history, and
who knows everything respecting "affinity and attraction when they
were in Creation's womb," could not hesitate a moment to measure an
arch-angel for a pair of breeches.--But I was talking of _funerals_.

* * * * *

A friend once assured me that the heartiest laugh of which he was ever
guilty on a solemn occasion occurred at a funeral. A trusty Irish
servant, who had lived with him for many years, and for whom he had
great affection, died suddenly at his house. As he was attending the
funeral in the Catholic burial-place, and stood with his wife and
children listening to the service which the priest was reading, his
heart filled with grief and his eyes moist with tears, the inscription
on a gravestone just before him happened to attract his attention. It
was this_:--"Gloria in Excelsis Deo!_ Patrick Donahoe died July 12.
18--." Now the exclamation-point after _"Deo"_ and the statement of
the fact of Mr. D.'s demise following immediately thereafter made the
epitaph to read, "Glory to God in the highest! Patrick is dead." This,
which at another time would perhaps have caused no more than a smile,
struck him as irresistibly funny, and drove in a moment every trace
of sadness from his face and sorrow from his heart,--to give place to
violent emotions of another nature, which his utmost exertions could not
conceal.

["I beg your pardon! I've been afloat," was the graceful parenthetical
apology which a distinguished naval officer used to make, when by
mistake he let drop one of "those big words which lie at the bottom of
the best man's vocabulary," in conversation with sensitive persons whose
ears he feared it might offend. I ought possibly, at the end of the
following anecdote, to make some such excuse to the scrupulous reader,
whose notions of propriety it will perhaps slightly infringe: "I beg
your pardon! I couldn't help telling it."]

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