Chapter XV (3)

This isolated family had innocence and contentment in full possession, and independence prospectively within reach. The disturber, known in the west by the name of 'long green' and 'blue ruin,' in Pennsylvania, 'old rye' and 'cider royal,' and by the Indians appropriately named 'fire-water,' and more emphatically 'fool-water,' was happily beyond their reach. The only race-path known in this new settlement was that on which the husband and wife contended for the prize of domestic comfort. In this, the fabrication of jeans by one party, and the dressing of buck-skins by the other, furnished profitable amusement. The only visit made by the daring woodsman to the settlements secured him the patriarch of a flock, and a few meek companions, from the fleeces of which 'the winter of his discontent' was made comfortable. In their retreat, the Joplin family were in a fair way to make their circumstances easy, by such skill as is usually acquired in frontier experience, when a hard winter, attended with much variable weather, set in earlier than was anticipated. The woodsman had exerted himself violently in the chase, to secure his supply of 'bear bacon,' while the Indian Summer lasted. To this cause he attributed the 'dumb ague,' that laid him up when the first snow-storm commenced. With this disease he lingered a few weeks. The only medicine within reach of the settlers was a small parcel of walnut pills. Whether the bark of which these were composed had been scraped up or down the tree, so as to fit it for an emetic or a cathartic, does not appear; but no relief was afforded by administering even 'a double dose,' and he grew weaker as much with the repetition as by discontinuance of the remedy. When he could no longer rise without assistance, or stand alone, the anxious and confiding wife inquired, for the first time, how far it might be to the residence of the nearest neighbor. When she was told it was one hundred and sixty miles, it is uncertain which predominated in her mind, hope or despair. She continued silently and thoughtfully to minister to his wants, to the extent of her circumscribed means, until, when, late at night, the wintry winds were rudely perforating the openings around the cabin-door, and the house-dogs growled a dignified response to the dismal howlings of the wolf, the hoarse death-rattle in the throat of the sufferer was perceived. This added consternation to alarm. To the earnest and almost unconscious inquiry now uttered by the trembling wife, 'Shall I send for a doctor?' no answer was given. Her husband had expired!

The embarrassing position now occupied by the widow had never been anticipated. If her strength could have overcome the resistance of the hard-frozen earth that would enable her to say to the Indian deity of the wilderness, 'With pious sacrilege a grave I stole,' her force, and that of her infant children united, was insufficient for the removal of the body. Widowed destitution was never more complete. There was her dead husband on one side, and her weeping and distracted babes on the other. A single night of bitter wakefulness and watching was the last that she ventured to linger out in her dreary abode; and it seemed to her an eternity of darkness. Early on the morning after the death of her husband, the lone widow packed up a supply of provision, and, with her children, mounted, left her cabin and unburied husband to search for a neighbor. She carried the rifle with her, in order to make fire at her encampments on the journey. On closing the door on the house of mourning, the distress of parting was made doubly agonizing by an inquiry of one of the children, made in these words: 'Are you going to leave daddy?'

The first day's route lay up through the valley, and along the bank of the creek on which her dwelling was situated; and she was therefore guided by it. After the first night's encampment, where she had been surrounded with wolves, and nervously agitated by their howlings, and occasionally the startling scream of a panther, she resumed her journey. The little family of wanderers had marched a short distance from their place of lodging, when all knowledge of their route failed. After wandering sometimes in one direction, and then retracing their steps and striking off at some other point of the compass, the bewildered mother encamped for the second night. The next morning the half-distracted traveller determined to retrace her steps. Two days brought her back to the dreary and desolate abode. The cabin was surrounded with a snarling pack of wolves, which were contending for the remains of her little flock of sheep. These were scared away by the faithful dogs that had followed the family. The interior presented the frightful evidence of mortality. A cat had made horrid inroads on the face of the deceased, and was still feeding on the mutilated corpse! The necessity of burial was in no manner diminished by this horrid spectacle. The afflicted woman scarcely knew why she had returned. She passed another long winter night in her house of mourning, hovering with her little brood around the cheerless hearth.

When morning at last arrived, the family again departed, having confined the cat under a tub, to prevent a repetition of her cannibal feast. After a journey of five days in a southwardly direction, and when the widow began to hope she was approaching a settlement, she was cheered with the view of smoke arising from a hunter's camp. He was out in search of game, but there was an abundance of venison hanging over the embers of his camp fire. This proved a seasonable supply, for the poor woman had that morning given the last morsel of her stock of food to her children, while she piously fasted herself. The hunter was as much gratified, on his return to his camp that evening, to find it so well peopled, as he had been in the successful hunt of the day. The hospitality of the camp was profusely urged upon the strangers, and bear-meat, venison, and turkey, and elk marrow-bones, were proffered with the frank and liberal manner of a woodsman.

This camp was sixty miles from the nearest settlement; and it was speedily arranged that the hunter should accompany the family back to the house, to inter the dead husband. As the party approached the cabin, the family halted, and the hunter advanced to look into the condition of the interior, before the mourners ventured to take another gaze of horror. Hunters, as well as sailors, have their superstitions, which deduct somewhat from their general fearless bearing. They believe in charms on their rifles, and sometimes employ a person skilled in magical incantations to 'take off the spell.' It is not, therefore, unaccountable, that this woodsman felt greater apprehension in approaching the cabin where a dead body lay, than he would in conflict with an Indian, or in a close hug with an 'old he bear,' provided his butcher-knife was stiff, of approved temper, and sharp at the point. He 'laid out' an old she wolf with his rifle, that was scratching at the door of the desolate habitation, and was on the point of raising the latch, when he heard issuing from within a low moaning sound. Venturing to peep through an opening where the chinking had fallen out, a single glance at the frightful and mutilated corpse satisfied his heated imagination that the sound proceeded from the dead husband. He ran off with wild affright, under a full conviction that the house was haunted. The earnest entreaties of the widow induced him, in company with herself, to approach the cabin once more. They looked in at the same moment, and beheld, as their superstitious imaginations severally painted the scene before them, in the conception of the hunter, a black, cloven-footed beast, sitting on the body of the deceased, while the widow insisted that something like a swan was hovering over the remains of her dead husband. The moaning was renewed; the confinement of the cat was not remembered, and the spectators of the horrors within ran away in despair. The hunter once more ventured near enough to the cabin to throw a torch upon its roof. When the flames had spread, and were rapidly reducing the house to a mass of vivid ruin, the funeral party mounted their horses, and turned their backs upon the ashes of the DEAD HUSBAND.

FOOTNOTE:

[13] THE writer of this very spirited sketch of western life, assures us that it is essentially true, having been narrated to him by a respectable citizen, only six miles from the closing scene of the tragic adventure. A fictitious name has been substituted, out of delicacy to the survivors of the family.

EDS. KNICKERBOCKER.

THE DYING BOY.

BY THE LATE J. HUNTINGTON BRIGHT, ESQ.

IT must be sweet in childhood to give back
The spirit to its Maker, ere the heart
Hath grown familiar with the paths of sin,
And soon to gather up its bitter fruits.
I knew a boy, whose infant feet had trod
Upon the blossoms of some seven springs,
And when the eighth came round, and called him out
To revel in its light, he turned away,
And sought his chamber to lie down and die.
'Twas night; he summoned his accustomed friends,
And on this wise bestowed his last request:

'Mother, I'm dying now!
There's a deep suffocation on my breast,
As if some heavy hand my bosom pressed,
And on my brows I feel the cold sweat stand.
Say, mother, is this death?
Mother, your hand!
Here, lay it on my wrist,
And place the other thus, beneath my head;
And say, sweet mother, say, when I am dead,
Shall I be missed?

'Never beside your knee
Shall I kneel down at night and pray,
Nor in the morning wake, and sing the lay
You taught to me.
Oh! at the time of prayer,
When you look round and see a vacant seat,
You will not wait then for my coming feet--
You'll miss me there!

'Father, I'm going home!
To that great home you spoke of, that blessed land,
Where there is one bright summer, always bland,
And tortures do not come;
From faintness and from pain,
From troubles, fears, you say I shall be free--
That sickness does not enter there, and we
Shall meet again!

'Brother, the little spot
I used to call my garden, where long hours
We've stay'd to watch the coming buds and flowers--
Forget it not!
Plant there some box or pine,
Something that lives in winter, and will be
A verdant offering to my memory,
And call it mine.

'Sister, the young rose-tree,
That all the spring has been my pleasant care,
Just putting forth its leaves so green and fair,
I give to thee;
And when its roses bloom,
I shall be gone away--my short course run--
And will you not bestow a single one
Upon my tomb?

'Now, mother, sing the tune
You sang last night; I'm weary, and must sleep:
_Who was it called my name?_ Nay, do not weep--
You'll all come soon!'

Morning spreads over earth her rosy wings,
And that meek sufferer, cold and ivory pale,
Lay on his couch asleep. The morning air
Came through the open window, freighted with
The fragrant odors of the lovely spring.
He breathed it not. The laugh of passer-by
Jarred like a discord in some mournful note,
But worried not his slumber. He was dead!

A FEW THOUGHTS ON PHRENOLOGY.

IN TWO PARTS.--PART ONE.

'Hear me for my cause, and be silent that you may hear.'

--'JULIUS CÆSAR.'

WHATEVER conflicts with the opinions or prejudices of mankind, must commend itself to public favor by something more than its simple truth, or according to the world's estimate of its danger or folly, persecution or ridicule will ever wait upon its progress to general belief.

The phrenologist has not been compelled to ascend the scaffold, nor has he been tortured with 'a slow fire of green wood,' for his heretical opinions; and for this mercy, he is indebted to the enlightenment of the age in which he first proclaimed his discoveries: but he has been preserved, in order to be 'roasted' by the burning satire of his contemporaries, and to be 'served up' for the gratification of those epicures in wit, who, with the aid of a good tailor, can do more for the cause of truth by a look and a laugh, than a Gall or a Spurzheim, by the labors of a life. To these laughing philosophers, your phrenologist is a very eccentric man indeed--very; to their humble apprehensions, his science appears quite stupid--quite; and all he converses about, appears to them to be nothing more nor less than 'bumpology,' positively. Moreover, they have heard some amusing anecdotes upon the subject. A travelling disciple of this wonderful science, who wrote out characters for eighteen pence per head, once departed from the scene of his labors without paying his bill, and his landlord was represented as so far becoming a convert to his guest's theory, as to believe in the organ of '_unpayativeness_!'

These philosophers ill conceal their mirth at the frequent occurrence of mistakes made by those gentlemen termed practical phrenologists, and have been known to violate every rule for the suppression of ungentlemanly laughter, when the fact has been related, that a manipulator of heads, supposing himself (being blindfolded,) to be in a prison, pronounced the wealthy mayor of a city to be a thief; a retired butcher to be a murderer; and a minister of the gospel to have been convicted of rape!

More important opponents have been found among the traders in the current literature of the day; as well your 'penny-a-liner,' as the man who has had the courage to write a book, and the good fortune to vend a copy-right, have been unmercifully witty at the expense of my brethren; and without waiting to inquire whether any important truth was concerned in phrenological investigation, they have only sought to know whether any thing ludicrous could be derived from it. These oracles Ignorance consulted, and the response was--a laugh.

One American author, whose writings denote the combined action of mirthfulness and destructiveness, very magnanimously allowed the phrenologist the distinction of being one of the 'Three Wise Men of Gotham.' He is portrayed as sallying forth with no less enthusiasm than La Mancha's renowned knight, nor with less 'rueful visage,' upon a forlorn pilgrimage to some Golgotha, in quest of specimens to illustrate the truths of his mighty discovery; while one of his high compeers sails in quest of the great central hole of the earth; and the other stands in a glow of intense rapture, viewing the sudden perfectability of human nature. But alas for such noble enthusiasm! If our grave author's relation of the facts be genuine, (and who doubts his historical accuracy?) the

'Three little boys that a-sliding went,
All on a summer's day,'

met with an enviable fate, compared with that of these children of wisdom. The captain's boat never entered the wished-for haven; the philanthropist failed to make the lion and the lamb lie down together in peace and safety; and the unhappy phrenologist, in his 'meditations among the tombs,' erred in pronouncing upon the traits of mind that once inhabited the poor fragments he had gathered up; and he found his science blown to atoms, because he mistook the cranium of a fool for that of a philosopher!--a mistake which the vanity of an author might possibly make in his own case, with far better opportunities of judging aright.

A science that could survive an attack like this, must have had _brains_ indeed to support it; and he who ventured to proclaim its truth, after a world's laugh had announced its folly, must have possessed more than an ordinary share of moral courage.

But the science of Human Nature survived this satire, and having outlived the sneers of learned prejudice, and the obstreperous mirth of vulgar ignorance, now commands much of the serious attention of mankind.

The world had long known the principal facts which suggested phrenological inquiry, but had omitted to pursue the investigation necessary to form a correct conclusion from them. Established theories in government, civil and moral, and in mental philosophy, presented great obstacles to such an inquiry as has finally been made. For many centuries, man had been regarded as a depraved moral being--instinctively inclined to do wrong--without a countervailing good sentiment; and the phrenologist has not yet been forgiven, in certain quarters, for his refutation of this slander. To him it was obvious, that no man could be found devoid of any good attribute. One is condemned for injustice; may he not be benevolent? Another professes to hate mankind, and yet loves his own offspring, and cherishes them with the most tender solicitude and care. One is a coward, but nevertheless benevolent and just; another is cruel, and yet he is enthusiastic and brave. Here is a prodigal; but he is kind and noble in his dispositions, and may yet return to paternal love, with forgiveness and blessings upon his head. There, again, is a thorough hater, and yet by the influence of the same temperament, a most ardent lover, whom no maiden would despise. Who had failed to observe as much as this?--and yet where was the apologist of his race--the defender of man's moral nature against the charge of total depravity?

Again: The intellects of men varied in activity and strength, and this difference was known to be early developed in persons born and nurtured under the same roof, and subjected to the same mental and moral discipline. The father who discovered that his son could not easily acquire a knowledge of words, but could nevertheless demonstrate with readiness the most difficult problem in mathematics, observed the fact in profitless silence. The phrenologist pointed the father to the conformation of his child's brain as the origin of his mental peculiarity; and demonstrated, that the effect which the parent had observed in silent wonder, had an adequate cause. For this he was ridiculed; while he who stupidly believed in the effect without the cause, was reverently regarded as both orthodox and wise.

The world knew that the genius of Fulton was not adapted to the writing of romance, while no one ever supposed that Sir Walter Scott was possessed of mechanical skill; yet it was regarded as mere accident, or great good fortune, that these distinguished men stumbled into a career of thought which demanded the world's admiration; and few dreamed that the causes of their varied excellence were as great and different, as the effects were dissimilar. Burns walked a poet behind his plough; and yet no other Scottish farmer seemed a poet 'ready made,' although he may have been as strong, as tall, and equally handsome. There _must_ have been some difference in the head of Scotia's own bard--something that elevated his nature, and lifted him above his walk in life. To adopt his own language, he must have been 'one of Nature's noblemen, who derived the patent for his honors directly from the Almighty;' and yet, by what _outward seal_ the patent was impressed which conferred the native title to distinction, the world knew not, and but for phrenology, never would have known. Pope

'Lisped in numbers, _for the numbers came_;'

and so did Zerah Colburn; and yet how different their _numbers_ were! So wonderful was this latter individual, when a mere child, that he was esteemed by his friends as an intellectual prodigy; and parental love, fondly doting on its gifted child, and admiring

----'such wisdom in an earthly shape,
Showed up a 'Colburn' as we show an ape.'

People had not ceased to wonder at the brilliancy of the boy, when his mediocrity as a man produced a second surprise. He excelled in nothing but numbers--and that was very mysterious indeed!

Woman has three characteristics, in great perfection and strength, to wit: fear, attachment, and veneration; so much so, that a wag might define woman to be 'a timid, affectionate, and religious animal.' Now the phrenologist has observed, that at certain points where he has located the organs of cautiousness, adhesiveness, and veneration, woman's head is much fuller than man's. The most ordinary observer will admit this to be the fact, upon inspection; but the answer he will be likely to make, will be, that this is so, because she is a woman; whereas she happens to be a woman, _because this is so_! Without the full manifestations of these organs of the mind, woman's nature would be radically changed; her gentle dependence upon man for safety and protection would cease; her meek reliance upon her Creator, and her distinguished reverence for sacred things, would fail; and the gentleness, grace, and piety of her sex would depart from her. Ambition would usurp the place of loveliness; the lord of the creation would have to bear a _sister_ 'near the throne;' and a rough contest for dominion would as much distinguish the sexes, as they are at present characterized by the fullest manifestation, of mutual courtesy and kindness.

Before phrenological investigation and discovery, man's moral and intellectual nature seemed destined to perpetual mal-treatment. The passion of fear was appealed to alike, to quicken the intellectual faculties and moral sentiments of youth. If one failed to acquire a lesson in a particular study with the same facility as another, it was set down to his indolence; if one betrayed an unruly propensity, which another did not manifest, it was charged to the general corruption of human nature; and the lash, in either case, was regarded as the blessed quickener of mental and moral dulness. The lesson was no better acquired, nor was the dangerous propensity diminished in activity, after the application of this remedy; and yet the rod and the delinquent urchin remained inseparable companions.

The youth who, under the influence of angry excitement, had taken vengeance on his fellow, was never found to have had his destructiveness attempered with benevolence through the influence of scourging; nor has he who neglected mathematics, for the love of poetry, ever been flogged into an admiration of the exact sciences. The world was wondering at the reason of the failure, when the phrenologist stepped forth and informed them; but they laughed at him, and whipped the children still!

Again: The man who was never forbidden to steal, may never have stolen; while another, to whom has been repeated every day of his life the command, 'Thou shalt not kill,' may nevertheless commit murder; and yet both have been treated as though they possessed the same sentiments and passions in an equal degree; and so of course they have received the same moral discipline. In him who knows no fear, how vain the attempt to inspire terror as the preventor of crime! And yet how readily would a noble sentiment respond to your appeal, and come to the rescue, when his virtue was at its greatest need, had it been trained to do so? Pride often concedes what cannot be obtained from a love of justice, while love of approbation will bestow in charity such sums as put benevolence to the blush for her scanty gifts. Cautiousness often gives to vice the fair aspect of virtue; while ingenuousness and courage often expose the purest man to accusation and censure. The love of glory may stimulate to deeds of heroism, which the dauntless patriot cannot excel; and people may worship the hero for braving danger in their behalf, when it was only his vanity he designed most particularly to serve.

The courtier approaches the minister of state with flattery, and obtains power and place; the robber awaits his sojourn through a lonely wood, and by putting in bodily fear, obtains his gold; while the thief secretly creeps into his mansion, and carries off his choicest plate and richest jewelry. Would the minister, the courtier, the robber, and the thief, profit by the same moral lecture, and the like mental discipline? Men often possess great religious reverence, who are as often detected at cheating in trade. Is the world right in denouncing such as hypocrites? May not great veneration and acquisitiveness, with moderate conscientiousness, produce this result? What correction has been applied to defects like these? Not the right one, surely. The patient wants no more religion than he has got, but a little more integrity. Quicken his conscientiousness, and he is cured.

Whose benevolence is heightened by fear? Who refrains from theft for the hope of reward? The just man tells you he has no _desire_ to steal. Will the fear of punishment inspire devotion? The devout man '_feels_ to adore' his Creator. Will fear convince the atheist of his error?--or the hope of reward convert him to a reasonable faith? Both of these have been lavishly dealt out to him, with very little effect. There are those who love contention better than truth. Will argument convince such? They avoid nothing so much as conviction, which puts an end to contention, and of course to all the pleasure derived from it. Such interpose combativeness between your argument and their reason, and your blows fall thick upon the shield only, and arouse it to more and more resistance. Why spin out the night in fruitless argument? Let them alone, and they will be convinced as soon as the spirit of strife slumbers, and reason assumes her throne.

The phrenologist observed all this, and much more; and he could not fail to conclude, that men's intellectual and moral natures varied almost indefinitely. Here was one distinguished for passion, there another for philosophy; one was celebrated for the brilliancy of his fancy, another for the solidity of his judgment. Here was a mathematician, there a poet; here a mechanic, and there a musician; and those who resembled each other in mental dispositions, still varied in activity and strength; so that there was as much difference in their intellectual as in their physical power. Again, as we have seen, their sentiments were unlike. Benevolence was contrasted with meanness in every condition of human life, and conscientiousness warred with injustice, wherever man was found; so that the moral aspects of men, differed no less than their countenances.

A PRACTITIONER, HIS PILGRIMAGE