University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
BOSTON.

On the eighth day of June, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and ten, Major Willoughby,
with his two children, entered the metropolis
of Massachusetts, after an absence of fourteen
years. I shall not attempt to detail the various
recollections which now crowded on his mind,
nor describe the sensations which they produced
in his bosom. He was silent and contemplative,
as the carriage rattled over the pavements of Cornhill,
while George and Amelia were animated
with present novelty, and anticipated enjoyment.
Their fatiguing journey was terminated, and all
its little perils forgotten, in the happy meeting of
long-parted friends.

Major Willoughby immediately commenced the
requisite arrangements respecting his children,
who were both placed under the care of their
uncle, and the necessary tutors provided for
finishing their education. The commencement,
at Harvard University, was to take place on the
twenty-ninth of August, and, on the nineteenth
of the following month, which would terminate
the vacation, George was to begin his collegiate
course of studies, provided his application, in

the mean time, should qualify him to pass the customary
examination. After arranging these plans,
and spending a few weeks in Boston, the major
took an affectionate leave of his children and
friends, and returned, in safety, to Mulberry-grove.

The family, to which the reader is now about
to be introduced, and with whom our hero and
his sister resided, was of the first class in the
town of Boston. Mr. Cushing was a merchant
of very extensive connexions, and the “golden
days of commercial prosperity” had blest him
with an ample fortune; his wife was the most
amiable of women, and their daughter, Ellen,
every thing the fond parent could wish. She
was an only child, had acquired every accomplishment
that a genteel education could bestow,
and, if she possessed a fault, it was the too free
indulgence of an uncommon vivacity.

George now applied to his studies with all his
former ardor, and so intense was his application,
that nothing else could divert his attention. The
entreaties of his uncle and aunt, the advice of
his sister, and the attractions of his volatile cousin,
all combined, could seldom entice him from
his books, or draw him into a party of pleasure.
The town amusements possessed no charms for
his studious and contemplative mind, for they
bore no similitude to his former recreations.
Whenever he did emerge from his closet, (or, as
Ellen chose to call it, his den) it was to fly far
from the ceaseless tumult that distracted his attention.
On the verdant banks of Charles-river,
hr could catch some traces of the paradise he had
left, pursue his meditations in quiet, and give
ample scope to his poetic fancy. Here he would

stroll for hours, watch the setting sun, sigh for
his harp, and think upon Catharine.

Amelia and Ellen were sometimes his companions
in these rural excursions; but he more
frequently enjoyed them in solitude, with Homer,
Horace, or Plutarch in his hand. Amelia
expressed her apprehensions for his health,
and his cousin was fearful for his brain; she called
him her hermit, her savage, and her Adonis, and
would gravely entreat him to become “civilized,
humanized, and christianized.” George answered
her raillery with a smile, but continued
his favorite pursuits, until they were interrupted
by his removal to Cambridge.

A regular correspondence had been settled
between major Willoughby and his children, and
scarcely a week elapsed without a letter from Mulberry-grove,
filled with the most affectionate advice
respecting their education and conduct in
life. From one of them I have been permitted
to make the following extract:

“I am happy, my dear boy, to learn from
your last, dated at Cambridge, that you have at
length formally entered the first literary institution
in the United States. In this new situation
you will doubtless feel and exhibit a little awkwardness
at first; but this will gradually wear
away, until you find yourself perfectly at home.
I feel no fears for you on this head, and but few
on any other. Continue to cherish those sentiments
of virtue and honor for which I have so
often commended you, and not only my hopes,
but my warmest wishes will be realized.

“One thing, however, I feel it my duty to observe,
viz. that though there is no situation in life
entirely exempt from temptations, (because, we

are all born with more or less propensities to
evil—the sad effects of man's dreadful fall) yet
those you have hitherto had to contend with are
trifling, compared with what you must encounter
in the world, on which you are now entering.
It behoves you, therefore, to be ever on your
guard, nor suffer the citadel of virtue to be taken
by surprise.

“In selecting your companions, and, above
all, in the choice of an intimate friend, too much
circumspection cannot be used. On this subject
I have already written much, but it is a matter of
such great importance, that it cannot be too often
nor too earnestly recommended. Reputation, fortune,
happiness, all depend upon it. A thoughtless
or an imprudent choice, is the fatal rock on
which too many split. Before you take any one
to your bosom or admit him to your confidence,
be certain that he is neither an infidel nor a libertine.
Study his motives, his propensities, and
his temper; the affections of his heart, and the
occupation of his intellect. Become perfectly
acquainted with his disposition, and sift his character
to the bottom. Should you find yourself
once deceived, let it double your circumspection,
and never parly with the devil after discovering
his cloven-foot.

“There is one subject on which I have said
but little, and that is, politics. Your secluded
situation, I presume, has hitherto preserved your
mind from any undue prejudices against either
of the two great political parties which exist in
our country. But you are now moving in a
sphere in which you will be frequently called
upon to express a decided opinion on the subject.
This you may do without belonging to either

side. Preserve your independence, and never forget
that there are good men in all classes, as well
as bad; that genuine patriotism exists in every
section of the Union, and is not the exclusive
virtue of any party, and that you may be a friend
and champion of Freedom, without wearing a
badge of political distinction. Possess opinions
of your own on all subjects, and express them,
when necessary, with moderation and firmness.
God has given you reason, and it will be an unpardonable
abuse of his bounty, to let another
control it. Beware of prejudice and bigotry—
they bespeak a weak mind; weigh with coolness
and deliberation the relative merits of every question
before you pass a final decision, and never
suffer yourself to become the slave or the tool of
a sect or a party.

“Remember the following:

“Love your God above all beings, your religion
above all things, your country above all nations,
your friends above all men, your family
next, and yourself last.

“Whoever strictly adheres to these rules, and
shapes his conduct accordingly, must be a good
politician, and a good man, whatever be his religious
or political creed; for

“The farewell address of our beloved Washington,
read next to your Bible. Make that your
political creed, and you cannot err in your political
conduct. `Frown indignantly on the first
dawning of an attempt to alienate any portion of
this country from the rest, or enfeeble the sacred
ties which now link its various parts.'

“This is the language of that god-like man,
the friend of your father, and the father of his
country. To me, there is a charm in the name
of Washington that I can neither account for nor
describe. In the deepest solitude I love to repeat
it and dwell upon the sound; it is more fascinating
to my ear than the sweetest music. An
elegant writer, in a work now before me, expresses
his own feelings on the same subject in
the following words: `The character of that wonderful
man, equally above the reach of detraction
and praise, is, literally, novum monumentum in
terris—a new and unheard of monument on earth.
With the beams of glory playing around it, its
basis is an empire, its top is in the heavens. It
throws its effulgence on the remotest nations, and
is a beacon-light for the direction of virtuous ambition.
In contemplating an object so stupendous
and dazzling, Panegyric becomes dumb,
Imagination abandons her search after imagery,
and Fancy throws aside her colors in despair.
The pen and the pencil were formed for common
purposes—for the portraying and decoration of
common subjects. But the character of Washington,
passing the widest boundaries of nature,
swells to a prodigy, and is all but miraculous.'[1]
`No monarch, on his throne,' says Inchiquin,
`was ever so great as Washington in his retirement.'

“A few words more on politics, and I have
done. Always bear in mind that the ruler of any
and every nation, represents, for the time being,
the Governor of the Universe, in his kingly capacity.
Never, therefore, be guilty of disrespect

to this his representative character, whatever may
be your opinion of the man. Shun that politician,
of either party, who thinks it no impiety to damn
the president: such a man is in grain a rebel, let
his external patriotism appear ever so conspicuous.
This remark applies to every government
under heaven, but in a peculiar manner to
this free republic, where our rulers are appointed
by a majority of the ruled. The president of
the United States, therefore, not only represents,
in common with kings, the Governor of the Universe,
but he represents him conjoined to his
church on earth; for those citizens whose free
suffrages elect a ruler, stand in the same relation
to that ruler that the christian church
does to its divine head; for, by their own free
suffrages do the regenerate choose Christ as their
king.

“But though you should be induced to give a
decided preference to one or the other of our political
parties, never enlist your passions in the
cause you espouse, for that would be like commencing
a military operation with an undisciplined
rabble of disorganizing outlaws and traitors:
your own defeat will be the certain consequence.
Harvard University is scarcely disrobed
of the habiliments of mourning, for the untimely
fate of a most promising youth—an amiable, but
rash victim to the demon of party. The story of
young Austin is fresh in the recollection of all,
and is a melancholy comment on the weakness of
human nature, when unsupported by a true sense
of religion.

“He was a student, like yourself, but in which
class I do not recollect; I only know that he
acquired great applause for his application and

proficiency. Some political newspaper squib,
of a personal nature, of which his father was
the avowed author, drew a challenge from the
offended party, (Selfridge, an attorney at law)
which being rejected by the elder Austin, the
latter was posted for a coward. Indignant at
this imaginary disgrace of his father, young
Austin flew to Boston, met the challenger on the
public exchange, and undertook to cane him on
the spot. Selfridge received a blow on the head,
and then shot his assailant through the heart, who
fell on the pavement, weltering in his blood, and
expired. Behold the effects of an intemperate
attachment to either party! Here was a young
man, cut off in the morning of life, with the most
flattering prospects around him, leaving a large
circle of relations and friends to lament the disastrous
event. You may learn the particulars of
this awful tragedy from almost any member of
the university, or of your friends in Boston.
Perhaps you have already read the trial of Selfridge,
who was arraigned for manslaughter, and
acquitted. I found a copy among some books I
purchased while in Boston.

“Malignant party spirit has been aptly compared
to the Bohon Upas, or poison tree of Java,
and its influence and effects to the polluted atmosphere
and sterile region which surrounds that
deadly tree. `It is not air, but the breath of
hell, teeming with desolation and horror. Its
soil produces nothing but noisome and poisonous
weeds, and is covered with the bleached bones
of its wretched victims. In the midst of this
garden of death stands the fatal tree, guarded by
the demon of destruction, whose touch deranges
heaven's noblest plan, perverts life's genial fluid

to corroding venom, and changes the healthful
form to a putrid mass of corrupted mortality.'

“Shun, as you hope to prosper, this fatal
spot; let neither fame, wealth, nor rank, allure
you within the sphere of its baneful influence;
preserve your integrity and independence, and be
charitable to all men. Thus will you experience
a rich reward in the consciousness of deserving
one.

“In my last, I forgot to communicate an interesting
fact. In returning from Boston, I travelled
by the way of Worcester, Albany, and
Buffalo; at the latter place, I embarked on board
a schooner, and came to Cleveland by water.
In passing through Auburn, a beautiful village
on the Owasco lake, I fell in company with a
gentleman, whose home is in the neighborhood
of judge Brown, the amiable quaker who dined
with us at Mulberry-grove (you may recollect)
about two years ago. The judge, as his neighbor
informed me, enjoyed good health, and,
when he left the village, was in full uniform, on
parade, at the head of his regiment! He is
colonel of militia! A happy triumph of reason
and patriotism over the prejudices of early education.
Adieu.”