Book: Continental Monthly, Vol. I, No. VI, June, 1862

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Such being the remarkable chain which unites the names of the author and
his love, we can not but consider her as a part of his character through
the best years of his life and amid all the splendid success of his
literary career. Indeed, through coming generations of readers, the
names of Irving and Matilda will be united in the loveliest and most
romantic of associations.

I have prolonged this reminiscence to an unexpected length, and yet can
not close without a few additional thoughts which grow out of the
perusal of the biography. Perhaps the chief of these is the nationality
of Irving's character, particularly while a resident of Europe. Neither
the pungent bitterness of the British press nor the patronage of the
aristocracy could abate the firmness with which he upheld the dignity of
his country. He was not less her representative when a struggling author
in Liverpool or London than when Secretary of Legation at the Court of
St. James, or Ambassador at Madrid. His first appearance abroad was at a
time of little foreign travel, and an American was an object of remark
and observation. His elegant simplicity reflected honor upon his native
land, and amid all classes, and in all places, love of country ruled
him. This high tone pervaded his views of public duty. A gross defaulter
having been mentioned in his presence, he replied, that 'next to robbing
one's father it is, to rob one's country.'

It is also worthy of note that while Irving lived to unusual fullness of
years, yet he never was considered an old man. We do not so much refer
to his erect and vigorous frame as to the freshness of his mind. It is
said that Goethe, on being asked the definition of a poet, replied: 'One
who preserves to old age the feelings of youth.' Such was a leading
feature in Mr. Irving's spirit, which, notwithstanding his shadowed
hours, was so buoyant and cheerful. His countenance was penseroso when
in repose, and allegro in action, and these graces clung to him even in
life's winter, like the flower at the base of the glacier.

Among the varied elements which constituted Irving's popularity, one of
them might have been the beauty of his name, whose secret is revealed by
the laws of prosody. Washington is a stately _dactyl_; Irving is a sweet
and mellow _spondee_, and thus we have a combination which poets in
ancient and modern days have sought with sedulous care, and which should
close every line of hexameter verse. Hence a measure such, as that found
in 'Washington Irving' terminates every line in _Evangeline_, or the
works of Virgil, thus:

'Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline _went from the mission_,
When, over green ways, by long and _perilous marches_,
She had attained at length the depth of the _Michigan forest_.'

or

'Supplicia hausorem ecopulis: et _nomine Dido_,
Et recidiva manu posuissem _Pergama vetis_.'

It will be readily perceived that the name of the American author can be
substituted for the feet italicized above, without injuring the measure,
while in some of Moore's finest stansas beautifully alternates the same
verse, thus:

'Oh! fair as the sea-flower, _close to thee growing_,
How light was thy heart till love's witchery came!
Like the wind of the South, o'er a _summer lute blowing_,
And hushed all its music, and withered its flame.'

At the close of his last great work, Mr. Irving sought for rest. He laid
aside his pen, even from correspondence, and felt that his work was
done. When in New-York, he was often to be found at the Astor Library,
of which he was a trustee; but his visits to the city became few, and he
seemed to realize that his time was come. To one who kindly remarked, 'I
hope you will soon be better,' He calmly replied, in an earnest tone: 'I
shall never be better.' The words came true too soon, and amid an
unequaled pomp of unaffected sorrow, they bore him to a place of rest,
by the side of his parents and all of his kin who had gone before him.




_BYRONIC MISANTHROPY._

He has a grief he can not speak;
He wears his hat awry;
He blacks his boots but once a week;
And says he wants to die!




_NEW-ENGLAND'S ADVANCE._

Hurrah! for our New-England,
When she rose up firm and grand,
In her calm, terrific beauty,
With the stout sword in her hand;
When she raised her arm undaunted,
In the sacred cause of Right,
Like a crowned queen of valor,
Strong in her faith and might.

Hurrah! for our New-England!
When the war-cry shook the breeze,
She wore the garb of glory,
And quaffed the cup of ease;
But I saw a look of daring
On her proud features rise,
And the fire of will was flashing
Through the calm light of her eyes.

From her brow serene, majestic,
The wreath of peace she took,
And war's red rose sprang blooming,
And its bloody petals shook
On her heaving, beating bosom;
And with forehead crowned with light,
Transfigured, she presented
Her proud form to the fight.

Hurrah! for our New-England!
What lightning courage ran
Through her brave heart, as she bounded
To the battle's fearful van;
O'er her head the starry banner;
While her loud, inspiring cry,
'Death or Freedom for our Nation,'
Rang against the clouded sky.

I saw our own New-England
Dealing blows for Truth and Right,
And the grandeur of her purpose
Gave her eyes a sacred light;
Ah! name her 'the Invincible,'
Through rebel rank and host;
For Justice evermore is done,
And Right comes uppermost.

Hurrah for our New-England!
Through the battle's fearful brunt,
Through the red sea of the carnage,
Still she struggles in the front;

And victory's war-eagle,
Hovering o'er the fiery blast,
On her floating, starry standard.
Is settling down at last.

There is glory for New-England,
When Oppression's strife is done,
When the tools of Wrong are vanquished,
And the cause of Freedom won;
She shall sit in garments spotless,
And shall breathe the odorous balm
Of the cool green of contentment,
In the bowers of peace and calm.




_WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?_

'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every one _lives_
it--to many it is _known_; and seize it where you will, it is
interesting.--_Goethe_.

'SUCCESSFUL.--Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or
intended.'--_Webster's Dictionary_.

CHAPTER I.

The little village of Burnsville, in Connecticut, was thrown into a
state of excitement by the report that Hiram Meeker was about to remove
to the city of New-York. Two or three elderly maiden ladies with whom
Hiram was an especial favorite, declared there was not a word of truth
in the ridiculous rumor. The girls of the village very generally
discredited it. The young men said Hiram was not such a fool; he knew on
which side his bread was buttered; he knew when to let well enough
alone, and so forth. Still the report was circulated. To be sure, nobody
believed it, yet it spread all the faster for being contradicted. I have
said that the young ladies of Burnsville put no faith in the story.
Possibly Sarah Burns was an exception, and Sarah, it was well
understood, was an interested party, and would be apt to know the truth.
She did not contradict the statement when made in her presence, and
once, when appealed to for her opinion, she looked very serious, and
said it might be so for all she knew. At length there were two parties
formed in Burnsville. One on whose banner was inscribed: 'Hiram Meeker
is going to New-York.' The other with flag bearing in large letters: 'No
such thing: Hiram is not going.'

It would have been easy, one would suppose, to settle the important
controversy by a direct appeal to Hiram Meeker himself. Strange to say,
this does not appear to have been done, both sides fearing, like
experienced generals, to risk the result on a single issue. But numerous
were the hints and innuendoes conveyed to him, to which he always gave
satisfactory replies--satisfactory to both parties--both contending he
had, by his answers, confirmed their own particular view of the case.

This state of things could not last forever. It was brought suddenly to
an end one Friday afternoon.

Hiram Meeker was a member, in regular standing, of the Congregational
Church in Burnsville. The Preparatory Lecture, as it is called, that is,
the lecture delivered prior to 'Communion-Sabbath,' in the church, was
always on the previous Friday, at three o'clock P.M. On a pleasant day
toward the end of April, Hiram Meeker and Sarah Burns went in company
to attend this lecture. The exercises were especially interesting.
Several young people, at the close of the services, who had previously
been propounded, were examined as to their 'experience,' and a vote was
separately taken on the admission of each. This over, the clergyman
spoke as follows: 'Brother Hiram Meeker being about to remove from among
us, desires to dissolve his connection with the Congregational church in
Burnsville, and requests the usual certificate of membership and good
standing. Is it your pleasure that he receive it? Those in favor will
please to signify it.' Several 'right hands' were held up, and the
matter was concluded. A young man who sat nearly opposite Sarah Burns,
observed that on the announcement, her face became very pale.

When the little company of church-members was dismissed, Hiram Meeker
and Sarah Burns walked away together as they came. No, not _as_ they
came, as the following conversation will show.

'Why did you not tell me, Hiram?'

'Because, Sarah, I did not fully decide till the mail came in this very
afternoon. I had only time to speak to Mr. Chase, and there was no
opportunity to see you, and I could not tell you about it while we were
walking along so happy together.'

Hiram Meeker lied.

Sarah Burns could not disbelieve him; it was not possible Hiram would
deceive her, but her heart _felt_ the lie, nevertheless.

Hiram Meeker is the hero of this history. It is, therefore, necessary to
give some account of him previous to his introduction to the reader on
the afternoon of the preparatory lecture. At the date of the
commencement of the narrative, he was already twenty-two years old. He
was the youngest of several children. His father was a highly
respectable man, who resided in Hampton, about fifteen miles from
Burnsville, and cultivated one of the most valuable farms in the county.
Mr. and Mrs. Meeker both had the reputation of being excellent people.
They were exemplary members of the church, and brought up their children
with a great deal of care. They were in every respect dissimilar. He was
tall, thin, and dark-complexioned; she was almost short, very fair, and
portly in appearance. Mr. Meeker was a kind-hearted, generous,
unambitious man, who loved his home and his children, and rejoiced when
he could see every body happy around him. He was neither close nor
calculating. With a full share of natural ability, he did not turn his
talents to accumulation, quite content if he made the ends of the year
meet.

Mrs. Meeker was a woman who never took a step from impulse. She had a
motive for every act of her life. Exceedingly acute in her judgments of
people, she brought her shrewdness to bear on all occasions. She was a
capital housekeeper, a most excellent manager, a pattern wife and
mother. I say, 'pattern wife and mother,' for she was devoted to her
husband's interests, which, to be sure, were equally her own; she made
every thing very comfortable for him indoors, and she managed
expenditures with an economy and closeness which Mr. Meeker was quite
incapable of. She looked after her children with unremitting care. They
were sent to better schools, and their associations were of a better
description than those of her neighbors. She took personal pains with
their religious culture. Although they were sent to Sunday-school, she
herself taught them the Catechism, the Commandments, the Lord's Prayer,
and the Sermon on the Mount, beside a great variety of Gospel hymns and
Bible-stories. But along with these excellent teachings they were
taught--what is apt to be taught in almost every family, to almost every
child--to regard appearances, to make the best possible show to the
world, to _seem_ what they ought to _be_; apparently a sort of short-cut
to goodness, but really a turnpike erected by the devil, which leads any
where rather than to the desired point. Mrs. Meeker was a religious
woman, scrupulous and exact in every outward observance; in this
respect severe with herself and with all around her. Yet this never
prevented her having an eye to the 'main chance,' which was, to get on
in the world. Indeed, to attempt to do so, was with her a fundamental
duty. She loved to pray the Lord to bless 'our basket and our store.'
She dwelt much on the promise of 'a hundred-fold' in this world in
addition to the 'inheritance of everlasting life.' She could repeat all
the practical maxims which abound in the book of Proverbs, and she was
careful, when she feared her husband was about to give way to a generous
impulse in favor of a poor relation or neighbor, to put him in mind of
his own large and increasing household, solemnly cautioning him that he
who looked not well after it, was 'worse than an infidel.' In short,
being fully convinced by application of her natural shrewd sense that
religion was the safest thing for her here and hereafter, she became
religious. In her piety there was manifested but one idea--self.
Whatever she did, was from a sense of duty, and she did her duty because
it was the way to prosperity and heaven.

I have remarked how different were husband and wife. They lived
together, however, without discord, for Mr. Meeker yielded most points
of controversy when they arose, and for the rest his wife was neither
disagreeable nor unamiable. But the poor woman had experienced through
life one great drawback; she had half-a-dozen fine children. Alas! not
one of them resembled her in temper, character, or disposition. All
possessed their father's happy traits, which were developed more and
more as they grew older, despite their mother's incessant warnings and
teachings.

Frank, the first-born, exhibited fondness for books, and early
manifested an earnest desire for a liberal education with a view to the
study of medicine. His father resolved to gratify him. His mother was
opposed to it. She wanted her boy a merchant. 'Doctors,' she said, 'were
mostly a poor set, who were obliged to work very hard by day and by
night, and got little for it. If Frank would only be contented to go
into her cousin's store, in New-York, (he was one of the prominent
wholesale dry-goods jobbers,) why, there would be some hope of him, that
is, if he could cure himself of certain extravagant notions; but to go
through college, and then study medicine! Why couldn't he, at least, be
a lawyer, then there might be a chance for him.'

'But the boy has no taste for mercantile life, nor for the law,' said
Mr. Meeker.

'Taste--fiddlesticks,' responded his wife, 'as if a boy has a right to
have any taste contrary to his parents' wish.'.

'But, Jane, it is not contrary to _my_ wish.'

Mrs. Meeker looked her husband steadily in the face. She saw there an
unusual expression of firmness; something which she knew it to be idle
to contend with, and with her usual good sense, she withdrew from the
contest.

'Have it your own way, Mr. Meeker. You know my opinion. It was my duty
to express it. Make of Frank what you like. I pray that he may be
prospered in whatever he undertakes.'

So Frank was sent to college, with the understanding that, after
graduating, he was to pursue his favorite study of medicine.

A few months after he entered, Mrs. Meeker gave birth to her seventh
child--the subject of the present narrative. Her disappointment at
Frank's destination was severe. Besides, she met with daily evidences
that pained her. None of her children were, to use her expression,
'after her own heart.' There were two other boys, George and William,
who she was accustomed to say, almost bitterly, were 'clear father.' The
three girls, Jane, Laura, and Mary, one would suppose might represent
the mother's side; but alas! they were 'clear father' too.

In her great distress, as Mrs. Meeker often afterward declared, she
resolved to 'call upon the Lord.' She prayed that the child she was
soon to give birth to might be a boy, and become a joy and consolation
to his mother. She read over solicitously all the passages, of Scripture
she could find, which she thought might be applicable to her case. As
the event approached, she exhibited still greater faith and enthusiasm.
She declared she had consecrated her child to God, and felt a holy
confidence that the offering was accepted. Do not suppose from this, she
intended to devote him to the ministry. _That_ required a special call,
and it did not appear such a call had been revealed to her. But she
prayed earnestly that he might be chosen and favored of the Most High;
that he might stand before kings; that he might not be slothful in
business; but fervent in spirit, serving the Lord. The happy frame of
mind Mrs. Meeker had attained, at length became the subject of
conversation in the neighborhood. The clergyman was greatly interested.
He even made allusion to it in the weekly prayer-meeting, which, by the
by, rather scandalized some of the unmarried ladies present.

Mr. Meeker took all this in good part. The truth is, he regarded it as a
very innocent whim, which required to be indulged in his wife's delicate
situation; so he always joined in her hopeful anticipations, and
endeavored to sympathize with them. It was under these auspicious
circumstances that Hiram Meeker first saw the light. All his mother's
prayers seemed to have been answered. The boy, from the earliest
manifestation of intelligence, exhibited traits which could belong only
to her. As he advanced into childhood, these became more and more
apparent. He had none of the openness of disposition which was possessed
by the other children. He gave much less trouble about the house than
they ever did, and was more easily managed than they had been at his
age. It must not be inferred that because he was his mother's favorite,
he received any special indulgence, or was not subject to every proper
discipline. Indeed, the discipline was more severe, the moral teachings
more unremitting, the practical lessons more frequent than with any of
the rest. But there could not exist a more tractable child than Hiram.
He was apparently made for special training, he took to it so readily,
as if appreciating results and anxious to arrive at them. When he was
six years old, it was astonishing what a number of Bible-verses and
Sunday-school hymns he had committed to memory, and how much the child
_knew_. He was especially familiar with the uses of money. He knew the
value of a dollar, and what could be purchased with it. So of half a
dollar, a quarter, ten cents, and five cents. He had already established
for himself a little savings bank, in which were placed the small sums
which were occasionally presented to him. He could tell the cost of each
of his playthings respectively, and, indeed, of every article about the
house; he learned the price of tea, sugar, coffee, and molasses. This
information, to be sure, formed a part of his mother's course of
instruction; but it was strange how he took to it. Systematically and
unceasingly, she pursued it. Oh! how she rejoiced in her youngest child.
How she thanked God for answering her prayers. I had forgotten to state
that there was considerable difficulty in deciding what name to give the
boy. Mrs. Meeker had an uncle, a worthy minister, by the name of
Nathaniel. Mr. Meeker suggested that the new-comer be called after him.
His wife did not like to object; but she thought Nathaniel a very
disagreeable name. Her cousin, the rich dry-goods merchant in New-York,
who had four daughters and no sons, was named Hiram. Hiram was a good
name, not too long and very expressive. It sounded firm and strong. It
was a Bible-name, too, as well as the other. In fact, she liked it, and
she thought her cousin would be gratified when he learned that she had
named a child for him. There were advantages which might flow from it,
it was not necessary to specify, Mr. Meeker could understand to what
she alluded Mr. Meeker did not understand; in fact, he did not trouble
his head to conjecture; but it was settled Hiram should be the name, and
our hero was baptized accordingly. He was a good boy; never in mischief,
never a truant, never disobedient, nor willful, nor irritable, nor
obstinate. 'Too good for this world;' that is what folks said. 'Such an
astonishing child--too wise to live long.' So it was prophesied; but
Hiram survived all these dismal forebodings, until the people gave up
and concluded to let him live.

We pass over his earlier days at school. At twelve, he was sent to the
academy in the village, about a mile distant. He was to receive a
first-rate English education, 'no Latin, no Greek, no nonsense,' to use
his mother's language; but the real substantials. Hiram proved to be an
excellent scholar. He was especially good in figures. When he came to
study bookkeeping, he seemed as happy as if he were reading a romance.
He mastered with ease the science of single and double entry. He soon
became fascinated with the beauties of his imaginary business. For his
instructor had prepared for him a regular set of books, and gave him
problems, from day to day, in mercantile dealings, which opened up to
the youth all the mysteries of 'Dr.' and 'Cr.' Out of these various
problems, he constructed quite a little library of account-books, which
he numbered, and which were representations of various descriptions of
trade, and marked with the name of some supposed company, and labeled
'Business Successful,' or 'Business Unsuccessful,' as the case might be.

We must now turn from Hiram, engaged in diligently pursuing his studies,
and enter on another topic.


CHAPTER II.

Mrs. Meeker had been a church-member from the time she was fourteen
years old. There was an extensive revival throughout the country at that
period, and she, with a large number of young people of both sexes,
were, or thought they were, converted. She used to speak of this
circumstance very often to her children, especially when any one of them
approached the age which witnessed, to use her own language, 'her
resignation of the pomps and vanities of life, and her dedication to the
service of her Saviour.' Still, notwithstanding her prayers and
painstaking, not one of them had ever been under 'conviction of sin;' at
least, none had ever manifested that agony and mental suffering which
she considered necessary to a genuine change of heart. She mourned much
over such a state of things in her household. What a scandal that not
one of _her_ children should give any evidences of saving grace! What a
subject for reproach in the mouths of the ungodly! But it was not her
fault; no, she often felt that Mr. Meeker was too lax in discipline,
(she had had fears of _him_, sometimes, lest he might become a
castaway,) and did not set that Christian example, at all times, which
she could desire. For instance, after church on Sunday afternoon, it was
his custom, when the season was favorable, frequently with a child
holding each hand, to walk leisurely over his fields, humming a cheerful
hymn and taking note of whatever was pleasant in the scene, perhaps the
fresh vegetation just bursting into life, or the opening flowers, or it
might be the maturing fruit, or the ripening yellow grain. On these
occasions, he would endeavor to impress on his children how good God
was; how seed-time and harvest always came; how the sun shone on the
evil as well as on the good, and the rain descended both on the just and
on the unjust. He, too, would inculcate lessons of diligence and
industry, agreeable lessons, after quite a different model from those of
his wife. He would repeat, for example, not in an austere fashion, but
in a way which interested and even amused them, the dramatic description
of the sluggard, from the hook of Proverbs, commencing:

_'I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man,
void of understanding;

'And lo! it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the
face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down.'_

It is a memorable fact that Hiram was never in the habit of accompanying
his father on these Sunday-excursions. Not that his mother positively
interdicted him. She was too judicious a person to hold up to censure
any habitual act of her husband, whatever might have been her own
opinion, or however she might have remonstrated with him in private. She
had no difficulty in keeping Hiram by her side on Sunday afternoons, and
the little fellow seemed instinctively to appreciate why. Indeed, I
doubt if the green fields and pleasant meadow, with the pretty brook
running through it, had any charms for him even then. At any rate, he
was satisfied with his mother's reason, that it was not good for him; he
had better stay at home with her.

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