Wendell Phillips on the Puritan Principle,* December 18, 1859

I THANK GOD for John Calvin. To be sure, he burned Servetus; but the Puritans, or at least, their immediate descendants, hung the witches; George Washington held slaves; and wherever you go up and down history, you find men, not angels. Of course, you find imperfect men; but you find great men; men who have marked their own age, and moulded the succeeding; men to whose might, daring, and to whose disinterested suffering for those about them, the succeeding generations owe the larger share of their blessings; men whose lips and lives God has made the channel through which his choicest gifts come to their fellow-beings. John Calvin was one of these — perhaps the profoundest intellect of his day; certainly, one of the largest statesmen of his generation. His was the statesmanlike mind that organized Puritanism, that put ideas into the shape of institutions, and in that way organized victory, when, under Loyola, Catholicism, availing itself of the shrewdest and keenest machinery, made its reactive assault upon the new idea of the Protestant religion. If in that struggle Western Europe came out victorious, we owe it more to the statesmanship of Calvin than to the large German heart of Luther. We owe to Calvin — at least it is not unfair to claim, nor improbable in the sequence of events to suppose, that a large share of those most eminent and excellent characteristics of New England, which have made her what she is, and saved her for the future, came from the brain of John Calvin.

Luther's biography is to be read in books. The plodding patience of the German intellect has gathered up every trait and every trifle — the minutest — of his life, and you may read it spread out with loving admiration on a thousand pages of biography. Calvin's life is written, in Scotland and New England, in the triumphs of the people against priestcraft and power. To him, more than to any other man, the Puritans owed Republicanism — the Republicanism of the Church. The instinct of his own day recognized that clearly distinguishing this element of Calvinism. You see it in the wit of Charles the Second, when he said, "Calvinism is a religion unfit for a gentleman." It was unfit for a gentleman of that day; for it was a religion of the people. It recognized — first since the earliest centuries of Christianity — that the heart of God beats through every human heart, and that when you mass up the millions, with their instinctive, fair-play sense of right, and their devotional impulses, you get nearer God's heart than from the second-hand scholarship and conservative tendency of what are called the thoughtful and educated classes. We owe this element, good or bad, to Calvinism.

Then we owe to it a second element, marking the Puritans most largely, and that is — action. The Puritan was not a man of speculation. He originated nothing. His principles are to be found broadcast in the centuries behind him. His speculations were all old. You might find them in the lectures of Abelard; you meet with them in the radicalism of Wat Tyler; you find them all over the continent of Europe. The distinction between his case and that of others was, simply, that he practised what he believed. He believed God. He actually believed him, just as much as if he saw demonstrated before his eyes the truth of the principle. For it is a very easy thing to say; the difficulty is to do. If you tell a man the absolute truth, that if he will plunge into the ocean, and only keep his eyes fixed on heaven, he will never sink you can demonstrate it to him — you can prove it to him by weight and measure — each man of a thousand will believe you, as they say; and then they will plunge into the water, and nine hundred and ninety-nine will throw up their arms to clasp some straw or neighbor, and sink; the thousandth will keep his hands by his body, believing God, and float — and he is the Puritan. Every other man wants to get hold of something to stay himself; not on faith in God's eternal principle of natural or religious law, but on his neighbor; he wants to lean on somebody; he wants to catch hold of something. The Puritan puts his hands to his side and his eyes upon heaven, and floats down the centuries Faith personified.

These two elements of Puritanism are, it seems to me, those which have made New England what she is. You see them every where developing into institutions. For instance, if there is any thing that makes us, and that made Scotland, it is common schools. We got them from Geneva. Luther said, "A wicked tyrant is better than a wicked war." It was the essence of aristocracy: "Better submit to any evil from above than trust the masses." Calvin no sooner set his foot in Geneva than he organized the people into a constituent element of public affairs. He planted education at the root of the Republic. The Puritans borrowed it in Holland, and brought it to New England, and it is the sheet-anchor that has held us amid the storms and the temptations of two hundred years. We have a people that can think; a people that can read; and out of the millions of refuse lumber, God selects one in a generation, and he is enough to save a State. One man that thinks for himself is the salt of a generation poisoned with printing ink or cotton dust. The Puritans scattered broadcast the seeds of thought. They knew it was an error, in counting up the population, to speak of a million of souls because there were a million of bodies — as if every man carried a soul! — but they knew, trusting the mercy of God, that by educating all, the martyrs and the saints — that do not travel in battalions, nor ever come to us in regiments, but come alone, now and then one — would be reached and unfolded, and save their own times. Puritanism, therefore, is action; it is impersonating ideas; it is distrusting and being willing to shake off, at fitting times, what are called institutions. They were above words; they went out into the wilderness, outside of forms. The consequence was that, throughout their whole history, there is the most daring confidence in being substantially right. They asked not of safety; they never were frightened by appearances; they did the substantially right thing, and left the statesmen of a hundred years after, at a safe distance, to find out the reasons why they were right. The consequence is that, when conservatism comes together to-day, whether in the form of a "Union meeting" — dead men turning in their graves and pretending to be alive — whether it be in this form or any other, its occupation is to explain how, a hundred years ago, the course taken was right, and not to see the reflection of a hundred years ago staring them in the face to-day. Like the sitting figure on our coin, they are looking back-they have no eyes for the future. The souls that God touches have their brows gilded by the dawn of the future. A man present at the glorious martyrdom of the 2d of December, said of the hero-saint who marched out of the jail, "He seemed to come, his brow radiant with triumph." It was the dawn of a future day that gilded his brow. He was high enough, in the providence of God, to catch, earlier than the present generation, the dawn of the day that he was to inaugurate.

This is my idea of Puritan principles.

Nothing new in them. How are we to vindicate them? Eminent historians and patriots have told us that the pens of the Puritans are their best witnesses. It does not seem to me so. We are their witnesses. If they lived to any purpose, they produced a generation better than themselves. The true man always makes himself to be outdone by his child. The vindication of Puritanism is a New England bound to be better than Puritanism; bound to look back and see its faults and meet the exigencies of the present day, not with stupid imitation, but with that essential disinterestedness, that faith in right and God, with which they met the exigencies of their time. Take an illustration. When our fathers stood in London, under the corporation charter of Charles, the question was, "Have we a right to remove to Massachusetts?" The lawyers said, "No." The fathers said, "Yes; we will remove to Massachusetts, and let law find the reason fifty years hence." They knew that they had the substantial right. Their motto was not "Law and Order"; it was "God and Justice" — a much better motto. Unless you take "Law and Order" in the highest meaning of the words, it is a base motto — if it means only recognizing the majority. "Crime," says Victor Hugo, "comes to history gilded and crowned, and says, 'I am not crime; I am success." And history, written by a soul girded with parchments and stunned with half a dozen languages, says, "Yes, thou art success; we accept thee." But the faithful soul below cries out, "Thou art crime! Avaunt!" There is so much in words.

This is the lesson of Puritanism—how shall we meet it to-day? Every age stereotypes its ideas into forms. It is the natural tendency; and when it is done, every age grows old and dies. It is God's beneficent providence — death When ideas have shaped themselves and become fossil and still, God takes off the weight of the dead men from their age, and leaves room for the new bud. It is a blessed institution — death! But there are men running about who think that those forms, which the old and the experience of the past have left them, are necessarily right and indispensable. They are Conservatives. The men who hold their ears open for the message of the present hour, they are the Puritans.

I know these things seem very trite; they are very trite. All truth is trite. The difficulty is not in truth. Truth never stirs up any trouble mere speculative truth. Plato taught— nobody cared what he taught; Socrates applied truth in the streets, and they poisoned him. It is when a man throws himself against society that society is startled to persecute and to think. The Puritan did not stop to think. He recognized God in his soul, and acted. If he acted wrong, our generation would load down his grave with curses. He took the risk. He took the curses of the present, but the blessings of the future swept them away, and God's sunlight rests upon his grave. That is what every brave man does. It is an easy thing to say. The old fable is of Sysiphus rolling up a stone, and the moment he gets it up to the mountain top, it rolls back again. So each generation, with much trouble, and great energy and disinterestedness, vindicates for a few of its sons the right to think; and the moment they have vindicated the right, the stone rolls back again — nobody else must think! The battle must be fought every day, because the body rebels against the soul. It is the insurrection of the soul against the body-free thought. The gods piled Ætna upon the insurgent Titans. It is the emblem of the world piling mountains—banks, gold, cotton, parties, Everetts, Cushings, Couriers — every thing dull and heavy—to keep down thought. And ever again, in each generation, the living soul, like the bursting bud, throws up the incumbent soil, and finds its way to the sunshine and to God; and is the oak of the future, leafing out, spreading its branches, and sheltering the race and time that is to come.

I hold in my hand the likeness of a child of seventeen summers, taken from the body of a boy, her husband, who lies buried on the banks of the Shenandoah. He flung himself against a State for an idea; the child of a father who lived for an idea; who said, "I know that Slavery is wrong; thou shalt do unto another as thou wouldst have another do to thee" — and flung himself against the law and order of his time. Nobody can dispute his principles. There are men who dispute his acts. It is exactly what he meant they should do. It is the collision of admitted principles with conduct which is the teaching of ethics; it is the Normal school of a generation. Puritanism went up and down England and fulfilled its mission. It revealed despotism. Charles the First and James, in order to rule, were obliged to persecute. Under the guise of what seemed government, they had hidden tyranny. Patriotism tore off the mask, and said to the enlightened conscience and sleeping intellect of England, "Behold! that is despotism!" It was the first lesson; it was the text of the English Revolution. Men still slumbered in submission to law. They tore off the semblance of law; they revealed despotism. John Brown has done the same for us to-day. The Slave system has lost its fascination. It had a certain picturesque charm for some. It called itself "chivalry," and "a state." One assault has broken the charm—it is Despotism! Look how barbarous it is! Take a single instance. A young girl throws herself upon the bosom of a Northern boy, who himself had shown mercy, and endeavors to save him from the Christian rifles of Virginia. They tore her off, and the pitiless bullet found its way to the brave young heart. She stands upon the streets of that very town, and dare not avow the motive—glorious, humane instinct—that led her to throw herself on the bosom of the hapless boy! She bows to the despotism of a brutal State, and makes excuses for her humanity! That is the Christian Virginia of 1859. In 1608, an Indian girl flung herself before her father's tomahawk on the bosom of an English gentleman, and the Indian refrained from touching the traveller whom his daughter's affection protected. Pocahontas lives to-day, the ideal beauty of Virginia, and her proudest names strive to trace their lin eage to the brave Indian girl. That was Pagan Virginia, two centuries and a half ago.

What has dragged her down from Pocahontas in 1608 to John Brown in 1859, when humanity is disgraceful, and despotism treads it out under its iron heel? — who revealed it? One brave act of an old Puritan soul, that did not stop to ask what the majority thought, or what forms were, but acted. The revelation of despotism is the great lesson which the Puritan of our month has taught us. He has flung himself, under the instinct of a great idea, against the institutions beneath which we sit; and he says, practically, to the world, as the Puritan did, "If I am a felon, bury me with curses. I will trust to a future age to judge betwixt you and me. Posterity will summon the State to judgment, and will admit my principle. I can wait." Men say it is anarchy; that this right of the individual to sit in judgment cannot be trusted. It is the lesson of Puritanism. If the individual, criticising law, cannot be trusted, then Puritanism is a mistake; for the sanctity of individual judgment is the lesson of Massachusetts history in 1620 and '30. We accepted anarchy as the safest. The Puritan said, "Human nature is sinful"; so the earth is accursed since the Fall; but I cannot find any thing better than this old earth to build on; I must put up my corner-stone upon it, cursed as it is; I cannot lay hold of the battlements of heaven." So Puritanism said, "Human nature is sinful; but it is the best basis we have got. We will build upon it, and we will trust the influences of God, the inherent gravitation of the race towards right, that it will end right."

I affirm that this is the lesson of our history: that the world is fluid; that we are on the ocean; that we cannot get rid of the people, and we do not want to; that the millions are our basis; and that God has set us this task: "If you want good institutions, do not try to bulwark out the ocean of popular thought—educate it. If you want good laws, earn them." Conservatism says, "I can make my own hearthstone safe: I can build a bulwark of gold and bayonets about it high as heaven and deep as hell, and nobody can touch me, and that is enough." Puritanism says, "It is a delusion; it is a refuge of lies; it is not safe. The waters of popular instinct will carry it away. If you want your own cradle safe, make the cradle of every other man safe and pure. Educate the people up to the law you want." How? They cannot stop for books—show them manhood—show them a brave act. What has John Brown done for us? The world doubted over the horrid word "insurrection," whether the victim had a right to arrest the course of his master, and, even at any expense of blood, to vindicate his rights; and Brown said to his neighbors in the old school-house at North Elba, sitting among the snows—where nothing grows but men—wheat freezes—"I can go South, and show the world that he has a right to rise and can rise." He went, girded about by his household, carrying his sons with him. Proof of a life devoted to an idea! Not a single spasmodic act of greatness, coming out with no background, but the flowering of sixty years. The proof of it, that every thing around him grouped itself harmoniously, like the planets around the central sun. He went down to Virginia, took possession of a town, and held it. He says, "You thought this was strength; I demonstrate it is weakness. You thought this was civil society; I show you it is a den of pirates." Then he turned around in his sublimity, with his Puritan devotional heart, and said to the millions, "Learn!" And God lifted a million hearts to his gibbet, as the Roman cross lifted a million of hearts to it, in that divine sacrifice of two thousand years ago. To-day, more than a statesman could have taught in seventy years, one act of a week has taught these eighteen millions of people.

What shall it teach us? "Go thou and do likewise." Do it, by a resolute life. Do it, by a fearless rebuke. Do it, by preaching the sermon of which this act is the text. Do it, by standing by the great example which God has given us. Do it, by tearing asunder the veil of respectability which covers brutality, calling itself law. We had a "Union meeting" in this city a while ago. For the first time for a quarter of a century, political brutality dared to enter the sacredness of the sick chamber, and visit with ridicule the broken intellect, sheltered from criticism under the cover of sickness. Never, since I knew Boston, has any lip, however embittered, dared to open the door which God's hand had closed, making the inmate sacred, as he rested in broken health. The four thousand men who sat beneath the speaker are said to have received it in silence. If so, it can only be that they were not surprised at the brutality from such lips. And those who sat at his side—they judge us by our associates—they criticise us, in general, for the loud word of any comrade—shall we take the scholar of New England, and drag him down to the level of the brutal Swiss of politics, and judge him indecent because his associates were indecent? Gladly do I seize the opportunity of protesting, in the name of Boston decency, against the brutal language of a man,—thank God, not born on our peninsula,—against the noble and benighted intellect of Gerrit Smith, whom God bless with new health.

On that occasion, too, a noble island was calumniated. The New England scholar, bereft of every thing else on which to arraign the great movement in Virginia, takes up a lie about St. Domingo, and hurls it in the face of an ignorant audience—ignorant, because no man ever thought it worth while to do justice to the negro. Edward Everett would be the last to allow us to take an English version of Bunker Hill, to take an Englishman's account of Hamilton and Washington, when they ordered the scaffold of Andre, and read it to an American audience as a faithful description of the scene. But when he wants to malign a race, he digs up from the prejudice of an enemy they had conquered a forgotten lie—showing how weak was the cause he espoused, when the opposite must be assailed with falsehood, for it could not be assailed with any thing else. I said that they had gone to sleep, and only turned in their graves — those men in Faneuil Hall. It was not wholly true. The chairman came down from the heart of the Commonwealth, and spoke to Boston safe words in Faneuil Hall, for which he would have been lynched at Richmond, had he uttered them there that evening. I rejoice that a hunker cannot live in Massachusetts, without being wider awake than he imagines. He must imbibe fanaticism. Insurrection is epidemic in the State; treason is our inheritance. The Puritans planted it in the very structure of the State; and when their children try to curse a martyr, like the prophet of old, half the curse, at least, turns into a blessing. I thank God for that Massachusetts! Let us not blame our neighbors too much. There is something in the very atmosphere that stands above the ashes of the Puritans, that prevents the very most servile of hearts from holding a meeting which the despots of Virginia can relish. It is a hard task to be servile within forty miles of Plymouth. They have not learned the part; with all their wish, they play it awkwardly. It is the old, stiff Puritan trying to bend, and they do it with a marvellous lack of grace. I read encouragement in the very signs—the awkward attempts made to resist this very effort of the glorious martyr of the Northern hills of New York. Virginia herself looks into his face and melts; she has nothing but praises. She tries to scan his traits; they are too manly, and she bows. Her press can only speak of his manhood. One must get outside the influence of his personal presence before the slaves of Virginia can dig up a forgotten Kansas lie, and hurl it against the picture which Virginian admiration has painted. That does not come from Virginia. Northern men volunteer to do the work which Virginia, lifted for a moment by the sight of martyrdom, is unable to accomplish. A Newburyport man comes to Boston, and says that he knows John Brown was at the massacre of Pottawattomie. He was only twenty-five miles off! The Newburyport orator gets within thirty miles of the truth, and that is very near — for him! But Virginia was unable—mark you!—Virginia was unable to criticise. She could only bow. It is the most striking evidence of the majesty of the action.

There is one picture which stands out in bright relief in this event. On that mountain-side of the Adirondack, up among the snows, there is a plain cottage — "plain living, and high thinking," as Wordsworth says. Grouped there are a family of girls and boys, hardly over twenty; sitting supreme, the majestic spirit of a man just entering age—life one purpose. Other men breed their sons for ambition, avarice, trade; he breeds his for martyrdom, and they accept serenely their places. Hardly a book under its roof but the Bible. No sound so familiar as prayer. He takes them in his right hand and in his left, and goes down to the land of bondage. Like the old Puritans of two hundred years ago, the muskets are on one side and the pikes upon the other; but the morning prayer goes up from the domestic altar, as it did from the lips of Brewster and Carver, and no morsel is ever tasted without that same grace which was made at Plymouth and Salem; and at last he flings himself against the gigantic system, which trembles under his single arm. You measure the strength of a blow by the force of the rebound. Men thought Virginia a Commonwealth; he reveals it a worse than Austrian despotism. Neighbors dare not speak to each other; Courts cannot wait for the slow step of Saxon forms and safeguards; startled Judges have no time to take notes of testimony; no man can travel on the highway without a passport; the telegraph wires are sealed, except with a permit; the State shakes beneath the tramp of cannon and armed men. What does she fear? Conscience. The apostle has come to torment her, and he finds the weakest spot herself. She dares not trust the usual forms of justice. Arraigned in what she calls her court, is a wounded man, on a pallet, unable to stand. The civilized world stands aghast. She says, "It is necessary." Why? "I stand on a volcano. The Titans are heaving beneath the mountains. Thought—the earthquake of conscience—is below me." It is the acknowledgment of defeat. The Roman thought, when he looked upon the Cross, that it was the symbol of infamy — only the vilest felon hung there. One sacred sacrifice, and the cross nestles in our hearts, the emblem of every thing holy. Virginia erects her gibbet, repulsive in name and form. One man goes up from it to God, with two hundred thousand broken fetters in his hands, and henceforth it is sacred forever.

I said, that to vindicate Puritanism, the children must be better than the fathers. Lo, this event! Brewster, and Carver, and Bradford, and Winthrop faced a New England winter and defied law for themselves. For us, their children, they planted and sowed. They said, "Lo! our rights are trodden under foot; our cradles are not safe; our prayers may not ascend to God." They formed a State, and achieved that liberty. John Brown goes a stride beyond them. Under his own roof, he might pray at liberty; his own children wore no fetters. In the catalogue of Saxon heroes and martyrs, the Ridleys and the Latimers, he only saw men dying for themselves; in the brave souls of our own day, he saw men good as their fathers; but he leaped beyond them, and died for a race whose blood he did not share. This child of seventeen years gives her husband for a race into whose eyes she never looked. Braver than Carver or Winthrop, more disinterested than Bradford, broader than Hancock or Washington, pure as the brightest names on our catalogue — nearer God's heart, for, with a divine magnanimity he comprehended all races - Ridley and Latimer minister before him. He sits in that heaven of which he showed us the open door, with the great men of Saxon blood ministering below his feet. And yet they have a right to say, "We created him."

Lord Bacon, as he takes his march down the centuries, may put one hand on the telegraph and the other on the steam engine, and say, "These are mine, for I taught you to invent." So the Puritans may bless John Brown, and say, "You are ours, though you have gone beyond us, for we taught you to believe in God. We taught you to say, God is God, and trample wicked laws under your feet." And now, from that Virginia gibbet, he says to us, "The maxim I taught you, practise it! The principle I have shown you, apply it! If the crisis becomes sterner, meet it! If the battle is closer, be true to my memory! Men say my act was a failure. I showed what I promised, that the slave ought to resist, and could. Sixteen men I placed under the shelter of English law, and then I taught the millions. Prove that my enterprise was not a failure, by showing a North ready to stand behind it, I am willing, in God's service, to plunge with ready martyrdom into the chasm that opens in the forum, only show yourselves worthy to stand upon my grave!"

It seems to me that this is the lesson of Puritanism, as it is read to us to-day. "Law" and "order" are only names for the halting ignorance of the last generation. John Brown is the impersonation of God's order and God's law, moulding a better future, and setting for it an example.

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* A Discourse delivered before the Twenty-eighth Congregational Society, (Rev. Theodore Parker's,) in the Music Hall, Boston, on Sunday, December 18, 1859.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, pp. 105-18

Speech of Theodore Tilton, December 2, 1859—12 p.m.*

I HAVE listened to the striking of your city bell! Who knows but it marked the very hour and moment when the gate of Heaven was opened, and the spirit of a new martyr passed in! To-day the nation puts to death its noblest citizen! (Cheers and hisses.) What was his crime? Guilty of what? Guilty of loving his fellow-men too well! (Applause and hisses.) Guilty of a heart of too great human kindness! Guilty of too well "remembering them that are in bonds as bound with them!" Has the brave old man still a few moments more of life? Then, though he cannot hear our words, let us say, "God bless him, and farewell!" (Applause and hisses.) But if the last sad moment is already passed, what then remains? I know not what remains for you, but as for me, I feel like throwing roses upon that scaffold and that coffin! (Mingled applause and hisses, which continued for some moments, during which the speaker advanced to the edge of the platform, and folded his arms.) Honor! thrice honor to the good Christian who to-day dies in the faith! It is the hour not of his defeat, but of his triumph! Our hearts are large for him to-day!

But what can I say? This is a time for silence rather than for words. We are standing by the old man's open grave, waiting for his body to be buried. When friends gather together to speak of a good man who has departed, every one has some word to utter which is peculiar to himself; some word which best expresses what is each man's most grateful and endearing memory of him who has gone. My own tribute to John Brown, which I offer on this day of his death, is gratitude for the influence which his heroism, his fortitude, and his faith have exerted upon my religious life. I have been made a better Christian by that man's life and death. His own great faith has strengthened mine. His own great courage has quickened mine. His Christian example of unwavering heroism and patience—in prison, under his wounds, in prospect of the gallows—all this has inspired me to a higher religious life. It has kindled within my heart a greater love to God and to my fellow-men. This is a tribute to his memory which I cannot to-day withhold.

I do not judge him merely by his last great act. John Brown was a Christian long before the great eye of the world was set on him; for, from his sixteenth year to his fifty-ninth, he has been a true and honored member of the Church of Christ. The world has not watched all that long career, but it has seen enough in a few days in his prison to make it wonder and admire.

You remember how he received the Governor of Virginia. He stood in his presence as Paul stood before Agrippa, not wishing to exchange places, but only holding out his hand and saying, " I would that thou wert altogether as I am, save these bonds!" (Applause.) You remember how he received his sentence. When the Earl of Argyle who, with his own hands put upon the head of Charles II, the crown of England, was afterwards condemned to death by the same king, the stern old Presbyterian, on hearing his fate, arose in court, and said, "The king honors me with a speedy gratitude; for while I helped him only to a crown which must shortly perish, he hastens me to a crown that is incorruptible, and that fadeth not away." So that other stern old Presbyterian, who dies this day in Virginia, arose in court and uttered a speech of equal heroism and moral grandeur — a speech that will go down to the end of time with all the grand words of all the world's heroes. (Applause and hisses.)

I cannot look upon his steadfastness without first marvelling, and then thanking God. John Brown was a Puritan — the sixth in descent from the band of Pilgrims who stepped on Plymouth Rock. I think of him and go back to old Bishop Hooper of English history — the first Puritan, the father of the Pilgrim Fathers who, when he was condemned to death for conscience' sake, wrote in his cell at Newgate, "I have spoken the truth with my lips; I have written it with my pen; I am ready to confirm it, by God's grace, with my blood!" John Brown's letters, written in his cell at Charlestown, bear in every line the same heroic testimony to God's truth! (Applause, mingled with loud hisses.) It is this high and grand faith in God that has sustained him in the long hours of his imprisonment, from its beginning until to-day that now ends it.

I have no fear how he mounted that scaffold. I have heard no news, but I believe in my soul that when the telegraph shall flash the story, it will tell of no faltering, no tremulous step, no recantation — nothing but faith, constancy, cheerfulness, heroism! When the great Marquis of Montrose, who suffered in Scotland for the cause of Church and King, was led to execution, it was a day of dark skies and threatening storms, but as he approached the scaffold the sun for a moment broke through the clouds and shone full upon his head as if the Divine glory had come to crown the saint before the martyr! And he mounted the ladder, as if it had been the ladder which Jacob saw, and walked straightway up into Heaven. So to-day, amid the greater clouds and shadows that have fallen upon our sad hearts, I believe that a light brighter than the sun has shone upon the old man who has this day gone to the gallows, and that, as he looked up for the last time toward the heavens over his head, —

"God's glory smote him on the face!"

(Cheers and hisses.)

He died no dishonorable death. Did you notice, in his late letter, which Dr. Furness read, the little line to his wife, "Think not that any ignomy has fallen upon you or upon your children, because I have come to the scaffold!" Ah! the scaffold is sometimes a throne greater than a king's. They who suffer upon it rule the world more than emperors!

You heard Mr. Hale's lecture last night. He said, "The highest province of history is to vindicate a good man from obloquy and reproach." To that impartial history which vindicates the martyrs and turns their martyrdom into glory, we commend to-day the name and memory of the martyr, John Brown! (Applause and hisses.) The deed of this day will not die! It will live in history as long as there shall be a history for heroes! Said Latimer to Ridley, when the blaze of martyrdom was wrapping them both around like a garment, "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley; we have this day lighted a candle in England which, by God's grace, no man shall ever put out." To-day God looks down from heaven on a martyrdom whose light shall shine over the world brighter than any blazing fire that ever gilded fagot or stake! This scaffold in Virginia shall stand as long as the world shall stand! No man can ever strike it down, or put it away! It will abide forever, as the monument of a Christian man who lived a hero and died a martyr, and whose name, to-day bequeathed to history, shall go down through the world gathering increasing honor through all coming time! (Great clapping and hissing.) I recall at this hour of noon those beautiful words of the New Testament, in the story of Saul, the persecutor of the prophets, struck down on his way to Damascus — "At midday, O king, I saw in the way a light from Heaven above the brightness of the fun!" He fell to the ground, blinded and terrified! He rose to his feet, converted and transformed! I pray God that at this hour of midday, at this solemn and awful moment of death, this nation may be struck down upon its knees, by the sudden glory of God bursting out of Heaven — and that it may be humbled in the dust until it shall rise repentant, and the scales shall fall from its eyes, and the whole nation shall stand at last in the light and liberty of the sons of God! (Applause and hisses, during which Mr. Tilton took his seat.)

_______________

* Delivered at noon of the 2d of December, at a public meeting of the friends of John Brown's cause in Philadelphia. As the speaker rose to address the audience the clock struck twelve.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, pp. 93-7

Theodore Parker, December 24, 1859

ROME, December 24, 1839.

What a stormy time you are having in America! Your cradle was rocked in the Revolution, and now in your old age you see the storm of another Revolution beginning: none knows when and where it shall end. Yesterday, the telegraph brought us the expected intelligence that the Slaveholders had hung Captain John Brown! Of course I knew from the moment of his capture what his fate would be; the logic of Slavery is stronger than the intellect or personal will of any man, and it bears all Southern politicians along with it. No martyr whose tragic story is writ in the Christian books ever bore himself more heroically than Captain Brown; for he was not only a martyr, any bully can be that, but also a SAINT—which no bully can ever be. None ever fell in a more righteous cause:— it has a great future, too, which he has helped bring nearer and make more certain. I confess I am surprised to find love for the man, admiration for his conduct, and sympathy with his object, so wide-spread in the North, especially in New England, and more particularly in dear, good, old Boston! Think of the Old South on the same platform with Emerson and Phillips! Think of sermons like Wheelock's, Newhall's, Freeman Clarke's, and Cheever's Thanksgiving sermon at New York-an Orthodox minister of such bulk putting John Brown before Moses! The New York Herald had an extract from ———’s sermon. It was such as none but a mean soul could preach on such an occasion; but we must remember that it taxes a mean man as much to be mean and little, as it does a noble one to be grand and generous. Every minister must bear sermons after his kind; "for of a thorn men do not gather figs, nor of a bramble-bush gather they grapes." I rather think the Curtises did not fire a hundred cannon on Boston Common when they heard that John Brown was hung, as they did when the Fugitive Slave Bill passed. There has been a little change since 1850, and men not capable of repentance are yet liable to shame and if they cannot be converted, may yet be scared.

Well, things can never stand as they did three months ago. On the morning of the 19th of April, 1775, at day-break, Old England and New—Great Britain and the Thirteen Colonies were one nation. At sunrise, they were two. The fire of the grenadiers made reconciliation impossible, and there must be war and separation. It is so now. Great events tarn on small hinges, and let mankind march through. How different things happen from what we fancy! All good institutions are founded on some great truth of the mind or conscience; and, when such a truth is to be put over the world's highway, we think it must be borne forward on the shoulders of some mighty horse whom God has shod strong all round for that special purpose, and we wonder where the creature is, and when he will be road-ready; and look after his deep footprints, and listen for his step or his snorting. But it sometimes happens that the Divine Providence uses quite humble cattle to bear his most precious burdens, both fast and far. Some 3000 or 4000 years ago, a body of fugitives — slaves — poor, leprous, ill-clad, fled out of Egypt, under the guidance of a man who slew an Egyptian. He saw a man do a vile thing to one of his slaves, and lynched him on the spot then ran for it.

Those fugitive slaves had a great truth. The world, I think, had not known before "The Oneness of God;" at least, their leader had it, and for hundreds of years did this despised people keep the glorious treasure which Egypt did not know which Greece and Rome never understood. Who would have thought the ark of such salvation would have been trusted to such feeble hands!

Some 1800 or 1900 years ago, who would have looked to a Jewish carpenter of Galilee, and a Jewish tent-maker of Tarsus in Cilicia, with few adherents fishermen—obscure people—unlearned and ignorant men, who would have looked to such persons for a truth of religion which should overturn all the temples of the old world, and drive the gods of Olympus from their time-honored thrones of reverence and power? The Rome of the Popes is, no doubt, as Polytheistic as the Rome of the Cæsars-but the old gods are gone, and men worship the Fisherman and the Tent-maker.

It was the Augustinian Monk who broke the Roman Hierarchy to atoms. Tough in the brains, tough in the bones, mighty also by his love of the people and his trust in God, he did what it seemed only the great councils of the learned could accomplish-he routed the Popes, and wrested the German world from their rude and bloody gripe.

At a later day, when the new Continent which God had kept from the foundation of the world—a virgin hid away between the Atlantic and the Pacific seas— was to be joined to Humanity, in the hopes of founding such a Family of Men as the world had never seen, was there any one who would have thought that the Puritan, hated in his British home, and driven out thence with fire and sword, would be the Representative of Humanity, and claim and win that Bride, and wed her too, with nuptials now so auspicious? Yet so it turns out; and the greatest social and political achievement of the human race is wrought out by that Puritan, with his Bride— whose only dower was her broad lands. Really, it seems as if God chose the small things to confound the great. But when we look again, and study carefully the relation which these seemingly insignificant agents bear to the whole force of Humanity, then it appears they were the very agents most fit for the work they did. I think it will turn out so in the case of Captain Brown. What the masterly eloquence of Seward could not accomplish, even by his manly appeal to the Higher Law, nor the eloquence of Phillips and Sumner, addressed to the conscience and common sense of the people, seems likely to be brought to pass by John Brown—no statesman, no orator, but an upright and downright man, who took his life in his hand, and said, "Slavery shall go down even if it be put down with red swords!" I thanked God for John Brown years ago: he and I are no strangers, and still more now his sainthood is crowned with martyrdom. I am glad he came from that Mayflower company that his grandfather was a captain in the Revolutionary war:—the true aristocratic blood of America runs in such veins. All the grand institutions of America, which give such original power to the people, came from that Puritan stock, who trusted in God, and kept their powder dry—who stood up straight when they prayed, and also when they fought. Yes, all the grand original ideas, which are now on their way to found new institutions, and will make the future better than the past or present they come from the same source.

Virginia may be the mother of Presidents, (she yet keeps the ashes of two great ones, only their ashes, not their souls,) but it is New England that is mother of great ideas. God is their Father mother also of communities, rich with intelligence and democratic power.

John Brown came from a good lineage; his life proves it and his death. It is not for you or me to select the instruments wherewith the providence of mankind has the world's work done by human hands; it is only for us to do our little duty, and take the good and ill which come of it.

When the monster which hinders the progress of Humanity is to be got rid of, no matter if the battle-axe have rust on its hilt, and spots, here and there, upon its blade-mementoes of ancient work; if its edge have but the power to bite, the monster shall be cloven down, and mankind walk triumphantly on, to-morrow, to fresh work and triumphs new.

But I did not mean to write you such a letter as this it wrote itself, and I couldn’t help it. I cannot sleep nights, for thinking of these things. I am ashamed to be sick and good for nothing in times like these, but can't help it, and must be judged by what I can do, not can't and don't.

It is curious to find the slaves volunteering to go to shoot men (in buckram) who are coming "a thousand at a time, to rescue Captain Brown"! The African is as much superior to the Anglo-Saxon in cunning and arts of hypocrisy — except the ecclesiastical as he is inferior in general power of mind. Didn't a negro in Savannah tell a Northern minister, "I no want to be free! I only 'fraid to be slave of sin! dat's it, massa, I's fraid of de Debil, not of massa!" What a guffaw he gave when with his countrymen alone! and how he mimicked the gestures of the South-side, white-choked priest, who bore "his great commission in his work"!

But I end as I began — what a stormy time is before us! There are not many men of conscience like John Brown, but abundance of men of wrath; and the time for them-I know not when it is.

Farewell!

Theo. Parker

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 88-92

Diary of Lucy Larcom, December 27, 1860

To-night the telegraph reports the evacuation of Fort Moultrie by the Federal troops by order of the Executive, and the burning of the fort. There's something of the "spirit of '76" in the army, surely; South Carolina having declared herself a foe to the Union, how could those soldiers quietly give up one of the old strongholds to the enemy, even at the President's command?

But what will the end be? Is this secessionfarce to end with a tragedy? The South will suffer, by insurrection and famine; there is every prospect of it; the way of transgressors is hard, and we must expect it to be so. God grant that, whatever must be the separate or mutual sufferings of North and South, these convulsions may prove to be the dying struggles of slavery, and the birththroes of liberty.

It is just about a year since "Brown of Ossawatomie" was hung in the South, for unwise interference with slavery. He was not wholly a martyr; there were blood-stains on his hands, though no murder was in his heart. He was a brave man and a Christian, and his blood, unrighteously shed, still cries to heaven from the ground. Who knows but this is the beginning of the answer? But that judicial murder was not the only wrong for which the slaveholding South is now bringing herself before the bar of judgment, before earth and heaven. The secret things of darkness are coming to light, and the question will be decided rightly, I firmly believe. And the South is to be pitied, as all hardened and blinded wrong-doers should be! I believe the North will show herself a noble foe, if foe the South determines to make her.

SOURCE: Daniel Dulany Addison, “Lucy Larcom: Life, Letters, and Diary,” p. 81-2

Diary of George Templeton Strong: January 7, 1860

Walked uptown with George Anthon, who entertained me with the biography of his runaway cousin. Miss "Unadilla” Elmendorf, and incidents of the elopement, which is chronicled in newspaper paragraphs as a “marriage in high life.” The girl is illegitimate, and her Lochinvar a noted swindler of tailors and hotelkeepers and a parasite of opera troupes, but full of talent and impudence. He made his way into the barbarous State of Virginia to report John Brown's execution for Frank Leslie's or some other newspaper when almost—or quite—every other reporter was repulsed and excluded by the natives.

SOURCE: Allan Nevins and Milton Halset Thomas, Editors, Diary of George Templeton Strong, Vol. 3, p. 3

Services for John Brown at Concord, Massachusetts, December 2, 1859

The martyrdom of John Brown was most worthily celebrated at Concord, Massachusetts. The town which inaugurated the first American "Insurrection" was faithful to its traditions in doing honor to the first martyr of the second and the grander Revolution; and, unlike other towns, equally zealous for justice, and equally desirous of doing honor to the merits and memory of John Brown, it possessed more men by nature fit for the occasion, than any other community of the same population in the Union.

The meeting at Concord assembled in the Town Hall at two o'clock in the afternoon, Dec. 2d, and was called to order by the Hon. Simon Brown, who said that on this day Virginia had inflicted on herself a worse blow than all her enemies had ever done or could do; she had, under the forms of law, murdered her truest friend.

Rev. E. H. Sears, of Wayland, offered up the following

PRAYER.

Our Father who art in heaven, we desire at this hour to gather ourselves closer within thine omnipotence and mercy; for when a sense of this world's oppressions and wrongs hangs heavily upon us, to whom shall we go but unto thee? Thou dost unite us to thyself by ties of filial love, and to our fellow-men by the ties of a common brotherhood, for thou hast given us all one human heart. Look down at this hour from thy holy heavens, and extend thy protecting providence another by the hand of Away from the dismal around one who is passing from this world to violence, and from the midst of cruel men. surroundings, away from the scaffold, away from the scoffings and the strife of tongues, open, we beseech thee, a clear pathway to that world where there is no hatred and wrong; where the wicked cease from troubling, and the slave is free from his master. And remember, we pray thee, those whose hearts are now made to break and to bleed those who at this hour are called to widowhood and orphanage; fold them tenderly in the arms of thy providence, and lead them and preserve them. And remember the race who have been trodden down for ages under the heel of oppression and wrong, and let their redemption come. Let those who have passed on through fire and blood, plead for them with thee. Let the blood of all thy martyrs for liberty, from ancient times down to this hour, cry to thee from the ground till the slave rises from his thraldom into the full glory of manhood. And when that day shall come, let it not be through the chaos of revolutions, not by staining this fair earth with the blood of brothers, but let thy spirit descend in its gentleness, and change the heart of the master, and melt off the fetters of the slave. And O, at this dark hour, give us a new consecration of ourselves to the cause of humanity By Him who came from heaven and clothed himself in our nature, the nature of the humblest man that lives, that he might raise it up and glorify it; by him who took up into his experience all the wants and woes of our common humanity; by him who speaks from all thy lowly ones, "Inasmuch as ye did it to one of the least of these, ye did it unto me," — by all these motives may we take with fresh zeal the vow of self-devotion to the cause of God and man. And to thee, in Jesus Christ, be all the glory forever. Amen.

This hymn was then sung by a choir, accompanied by the music of an organ, which had been placed in the Hall for this occasion:

HYMN.

 

Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,

    In full activity of zeal and power;

A Christian cannot die before his time;

    The Lord's appointment is his servant's hour.

 

Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease;

    Best on thy sheaves; the harvest task is done;

Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,

    Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.

 

Go to the grave; for there thy Saviour lay

    In death's embrace, ere he arose on high;

And all the ransomed, by that narrow way

    Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.

 

Go to the grave; no, take thy seat above;

    Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord;

Where thou for faith and hope hast perfect love,

    And open vision for the written word.

 

MR. THOREAU'S REMARKS.

Henry D. Thoreau then rose and said: So universal and widely related is any transcendent moral greatness, and so nearly identical with greatness every where and in every age,—as a pyramid contracts the nearer you approach its apex,— that, when I now look over my commonplace book of poetry, I find that the best of it is oftenest applicable, in part or wholly, to the case of Captain Brown. Only what is true, and strong, and solemnly earnest, will recommend itself to our mood at this time. Almost any noble verse may be read, either as his elegy or eulogy, or be made the text of an oration on him. Indeed, such are now discovered to be the parts of a universal liturgy, applicable to those rare cases of heroes and martyrs for which the ritual of no church has provided. This is the formula established on high—their burial service to which every great genius has contributed its stanza or line. As Marvell wrote:

When the sword glitters o'er the judge's head,

And fear has coward churchmen silenced,

Then is the poet's time; 'tis then he draws,

And single fights forsaken virtue's cause;

He, when the wheel of empire whirleth back,

And though the world's disjointed axle crack,

Sings still of ancient rights and better times,

Seeks suffering good, arraigns successful crimes.

 

The sense of grand poetry, read by the light of this event, is brought out distinctly like an invisible writing held to the fire:

 

All heads must come

To the cold tomb, —

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

 

We have heard that the Boston lady¹ who recently visited our hero in prison, found him wearing still the clothes, all cut and torn by sabres and by bayonet thrusts, in which he had been taken prisoner; and thus he had gone to his trial; and without a hat. She spent her time in prison mending those clothes, and, for a memento, brought home a pin covered with blood.

What are the clothes that endure?

The garments lasting evermore

Are works of mercy to the poor;

And neither tetter, time, nor moth

Shall fray that silk or fret this cloth.

 

The well-known verses called "The Soul's Errand," supposed, by some, to have been written by Sir Walter Raleigh, when he was expecting to be executed the following day, are at least worthy of such an origin, and are equally applicable to the present case. Hear them: 

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

 

Go, soul, the body's guest,

    Upon a thankless arrant;

Fear not to touch the best;

    The truth shall be thy warrant:

        Go, since I needs must die,

        And give the world the lie.

 

Go, tell the Court it glows

    And shines like rotten wood;

Go, tell the Church it shows

    What's good, and doth no good;

        If church and court reply,

        Give church and court the lie.

 

Tell potentates they live

    Acting by other's actions;

Not loved unless they give,

    Not strong but by their factions:

        If potentates reply,

        Give potentates the lie.

 

Tell men of high condition,

    That rule affairs of state,

Their purpose is ambition,

    Their practice only hate;

        And if they once reply,

        Spare not to give the lie.

 

Tell Zeal it lacks devotion;

    Tell Love it is but lust;

Tell Time it is but motion;

    Tell Flesh it is but dust;

        And wish them not reply,

        For thou must give the lie.

 

Tell Age it daily wasteth;

    Tell Honor how it alters;

Tell Beauty how she blasteth;

    Tell Favor how she falters;

        And, as they shall reply,

        Give each of them the lie.

 

Tell Fortune of her blindness;

    Tell Nature of decay;

Tell Friendship of unkindness;

    Tell Justice of delay;

        And if they dare reply,

        Then give them all the lie.

 

And when thou hast, as I

    Commanded thee, done blabbing,

Although to give the lie

    Deserves no less than stabbing,

        Yet, stab at thee who will,

        No stab the soul can kill.

 

"When I am dead,

    Let not the day be writ,"

Nor bell be tolled;²

    "Love will remember it"

When hate is cold.

 

Mr. Thoreau also read these passages, selected for the occasion by another citizen of Concord:

 

COLLINS.

 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,

By all their country's wishes blest!

When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,

Returns to deck their hallowed mould,

She there shall dress a sweeter sod

Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

 

By Fairy hands their knell is rung,

By forms unseen their dirge is sung;

There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,

To bless the turf that wraps their clay,

And Freedom shall awhile repair,

To dwell a weeping hermit there.

 

SCHILLER.

 

He is gone, he is dust;

He the more fortunate; yea, he hath finished;

To him there is no longer any future;

His life is bright — bright without spot it was,

And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour

Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap.

Far off is he, above desire and fear;

No more submitted to the change and chance

Of the unsteady planets. O, 'tis well

With him; but who knows what the coming hour,

Veiled in thick darkness, brings for us?

 

WORDSWORTH.

May we not with sorrow say,

A few strong instincts, and a few plain rules,

Among the serdsmen of the hills, have wrought

More for mankind at this unhappy day,

Than all the pride of intellect and thought?

 

TENNYSON.

 

Ah, God! for a man with heart, head, hand,

Like some of the simple great ones gone

        Forever and ever by;

One still strong man in a blatant land,

Whatever they call him what care I,—

Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat,—one

Who can rule, and dare not lie.

 

GEORGE CHAPMAN.

 

There is no danger to a man who knows

Where life and death is; there's not any law

Exceeds his knowledge, neither is it needful

That he should stoop to any other law;

He goes before them, and commands them all.

That to himself is a law rational.

 

SHILLER.

 

                                      At the approach

Of Extreme peril, when a hollow image

Is found a hollow image, and no more,

Then falls the power into the mighty hands

Of nature, of the spirit giant-born

Who listens only to himself, knows nothing

Of stipulations, duties, reverences,

And, like the emancipated force of fire

Unmastered, scorches, ere it reaches them,

Their fine-spun webs.

 

WOTTON.

 

How happy is he born and taught

    Who serveth not another’s will,

Whose armor is his honest thought,

    And simple truth his utmost skill—!

Whose passions not his masters are,

    Whose soul is still prepared for death,

Not tied unto the world with care

    Of princes’ ear  or vulgar breath;—

Who hath his life from rumors freed,

    Whose conscience is his strong retreat,

Whose state can neither flatterers feed,

    Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who envies none whom chance doth raise,

    Or vice; who never understood

How deepest wounds are given with praise;

    Nor rules of state, but rules of good; —

This man is freed from servile bands

    Of hope to rise or fear to fall;

Lord of himself, though not of lands,

    And having nothing, yet hath all.

TACITUS.³

You, Agricola, are fortunate, not only because your life was glorious, but because your death was timely. As they tell us who heard your last words, unchanged and willing you accepted your fate; as if, as far as in your power, you would make the emperor appear innocent. But, besides the bitterness of having lost a parent, it adds to our grief, that it was not permitted us to minister to your health, . . . to gaze on your countenance, and receive your last embrace; surely, we might have caught some words and commands which we could have treasured in the inmost part of our souls. This is our pain, this our wound. . . . You were buried with the fewer tears, and in your last earthly light, your eyes looked around for something which they did not see.

If there is any abode for the spirits of the pious; if, as wise men suppose, great souls are not extinguished with the body, may you rest placidly, and call your family from weak regrets, and womanly laments, to the contemplation of your virtues, which must not be lamented, either silently or aloud. Let us honor you by our admiration, rather than by short-lived praises, and, if nature aid us, by our emulation of you. That is true honor, that the piety of whoever is most akin to you. This also I would teach your family, so to venerate your memory, as to call to mind all your actions and words, and embrace your character and the form of your soul, rather than of your body; not because I think that statues which are made of marble or brass are to be condemned, but as the features of men, so images of the features, are frail and perishable. The form of the soul is eternal; and this we can retain and express, not by a foreign material and art, but by our own lives. Whatever of Agricola we have loved, whatever we have admired, remains, and will remain, in the minds of men, and the records of history, through the eternity of ages. For oblivion will overtake many of the ancients, as if they were inglorious and ignoble : Agricola, described and transmitted to posterity, will survive.

MR. CHARLES BOWERS followed Mr. Thoreau, and read the celebrated protest of Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence, third President of the United States, a Virginian, a historian of Virginia, and the predecessor of Governor Wise in the gubernatorial chair of that State; in which, it will be seen, he seems to have anticipated something like what has lately occurred:

PROTEST OF JEFFERSON.

The whole commerce between master and slave is a perpetual exercise of the most boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism on the one part, and degrading submission on the other. . . . The man must be a prodigy who can retain his manners and morals undepraved by such circumstances. And with what execration should the statesman be loaded, who, permitting one half the citizens thus to trample on the rights of the other, transforms those into despots and these into enemies—destroys the morals of the one part, and the amor patriæ of the other! And can the liberties of a nation be deemed secure, when we have removed their only firm basis—a conviction in the minds of the people that these liberties are the gift of God? that they are not to be violated but with his wrath? Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just that his justice cannot sleep forever; that, considering numbers, nature and natural means only, a revolution of the wheel of fortune, an exchange of situation, is among possible events; that it may become probable by supernatural interference! The Almighty has no attribute that can take side with us in such a contest.

HON. John S. Keyes said: In order to give this assembly a picture of the event now taking place in Virginia, I propose to read to you an account of a scene in some respects similar, which occurred in Edinburgh some two hundred years ago:

 

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.⁴

 

They brought him to the Watergate,

    Hard bound with hempen span,

As though they held a lion there,

    And not a venceless man.

They set him high upon a cart—

    The hangman rode below—

They drew his hands behind his back,

    And bared his noble brow.

Then as a hound is slipped from leash,

    They cheered the common throng,

And blew the note with yell and shout,

    And bade him pass along.

 

It would have made a brave man's heart

    Grow sad and sick, that day,

To watch the keen, malignant eyes

    Bent down on that array.

Then stood the Whig south country lords

    In balcony and bow;

There sat their gaunt and withered domes,

    And their daughters all a-row;

And every open window

    Was full as full might be

With black-robed Covenanting carles,

    That goodly sport to see!

 

But when he came, though pale and wan.

    He looked so great and high,

So noble was his manly front,

    So calm his steadfast eye,

The rabble rout forbore to shout,

    And each man held his breath,

For well they knew the hero's soul

    Was face to face with death.

And then a mournful shudder

    Through all the people crept,

And some that came to scoff at him

    Now turned aside and wept.

 

But onward — always onward

    In silence and in gloom,

The dreary pageant labored,

    Till it reached the place of doom.

 And then uprose the great Montrose

    In the middle of the room-

"I have not sought in battle-field

    A wreath of such renown,

Nor dared I hope, on my dying day,

    To win the martyr's crown.

 

"There is a chamber far away

    Where sleep the good and brave,

But a better place ye have named for me

    Than by my father's grave.

For truth and right, 'gainst tyrants' might

    This hand hath always striven,

And ye raise it up for a witness still

    In the eye of earth and heaven.

Then nail my head on yonder tower

    Give every town a limb-

And God, who made, shall gather them;

    I go from you to Him!"

 

The morning dawned full darkly,

    The rain came flashing down,

And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt

    Lit up the gloomy town:

The thunder crashed across the heaven,

    The fatal hour was come;

Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat.

    The 'larum of the drum.

There was madness on the earth below,

    And anger in the sky;

And young and old, and rich and poor,

    Came forth to see him die.

 

Ah, God! that ghastly gibbet!

    How dismal 'tis to see

The great, tall, spectral skeleton,

    The ladder and the tree!

Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms

    The bells begin to toll — 

"He is coming! He is coming!"

    "God's mercy on his soul!"

One last, long peal of thunder —

    The clouds are cleared away,

And the glorious sun once more looks down

    Amidst the dazzling day.

"He is coming! he is coming!"

    Like a bridegroom from his room,

Came the hero from his prison

    To the scaffold and the doom.

There was glory on his forehead,

    There was lustre in his eye,

And he never walked to battle

    More proudly than to die;

There was color in his visage,

    Though the checks of all were wan,

And they marvelled as they saw him pass,

    That great and goodly man!

 

He mounted up the scaffold,

    And he turned him to the crowd;

But they dared not trust the people,

    So he might not speak aloud.

But he looked upon the heavens,

    And they were clear and blue,

And in the liquid ether

    The eye of God shone through;

Yet a black and murky battlement

    Lay resting on the hill,

As though the thunder slept within

    All else was calm and still.

The grim Geneva ministers

     With anxious scowl drew near,

As you have seen the ravens flock

    Around the dying deer.

He would not deign them word nor sign,

    But alone he bent his knee,

And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace,

    Beneath the gallows tree.

Then radiant and serene he rose,

    And cast his cloak away;

For he had ta'en his latest look

    Of earth, and sun, and day.

 

A beam of light fell o'er him

    Like a glory round the shriven,

And he climbed the lofty ladder

    As it were the path to heaven.

Then came a flash from out the cloud,

    And a stunning thunder-roll;

And no man dared to look aloft;

    Fear was on every soul.

There was another heavy sound,

    A hush, and then a groan;

And darkness swept across the sky —

    The work of death was done!

A. Bronson Alcott then offered these sentences from

PLATO.

An upright man is a perpetual magistrate.

Jupiter, fearing for our race, lest it should entirely perish, by reason of injuring one another from not possessing the political art, but only the military, sent Hermes to carry Shame and Justice to men, that they might be ornaments of cities and bonds to cement friend,hip. Hermes, therefore, asked Jupiter in what manner he was to give Shame and Justice to men. "Whether, as the arts have been distributed, so shall I distribute these, also? For they have been distributed thus: one man who possesses the medicinal art is sufficient for many not skilled in it. And so with other craftsmen. Shall I thus dispense Shame and Justice among men, or distribute them to all?" "To all," said Jupiter, "and let all partake of them; for there would be no cities if a few only were to partake of them, as of other arts. Moreover, enact a law in my name, that whoever is unable to partake of Shame and Justice, shall be put to death as a pest of a city."

The next exercise was the recital of the following original

ODE.

 

O Brother, brave, and just, and wise!

    Whose death unjust we mourn to-day,

Thy name shall live till Freedom dies;

    No tyrant can thy spirit slay!

 

The Hero's page, the Martyr's scroll,

    Since men for truth and virtue bled,

Bears record of no manlier soul

    Than thine that even now has fled.

 

Unworthy land that knew thee not!

    That bade her best and bravest die!

Be hers the shame thy glorious lot

    Admits thy soul to God's free sky.

 

His constant voice inspired thy deed.

    His clear command thy heart obeyed,

His hand shall give thy deathless meed

    When thou and we in dust are laid.

 

The prattling child shall lisp thy praise,

    The aged sire thy cause approve;

Forbidden to prolong thy days,

    Our love shall yet thy shame remove.

 

Ralph Waldo Emerson said that the part assigned to him in the services of the day, was to read portions of the conversations, speeches, and letters of John Brown—an obscure Connecticut farmer, who, taking the Gospel in earnest, and devoting himself to the uplifting of a despised race, had suddenly become the most prominent person in the country. He then read extracts from the conversation between Senator Mason and John Brown, and from Captain Cook's Confession; the last speech of John Brown in Court; his letter to Rev. Mr. Vaill, of Litchfield, Connecticut; his "letter to a Christian Conservative," and a passage from his reply to Mrs. Child.⁵

Mr. Alcott then read the

SERVICE FOR THE DEATH OF A MARTYR.

In introducing this new and worthy liturgy, he said that on occasions like the present, when the heart and the conscience are so deeply moved, silence seems better than speech. Yet some voice must be found for the sentiment so universal today; and accordingly I now read to you these leaves of wisdom from

 

JESUS CHRIST.

 

    Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.

    Whether it is lawful to obey God or man, judge ye.

SOLOMON.⁶

The ungodly said, reasoning with themselves, but not aright, Our life is short and tedious, and in the death of a man there is no remedy; neither was there any man known to have returned from the grave.

Let us oppress the poor righteous man; let us not spare the widow, nor reverence the ancient gray hairs of the aged.

Let our strength be the law; for that which is feeble is found to be nothing worth.

Therefore let us lie in wait for the righteous; because he is not for our turn, and he is clean contrary to our doings: he upbraideth us with our offending the law.

He professeth to have the knowledge of God; and he calleth himself the child of the Lord. He was made to reprove our thoughts.

He is grievous unto us even to behold: for his life is not like other men's, his ways are of another fashion.

We are esteemed of him as counterfeits; he abstaineth from our ways as from filthiness; he pronounceth the end of the just to be blessed, and maketh his boast that God is his father.

Let us see if his words be true, and let us prove what shall happen in the end of him.

For, if the just man be the Son of God, He will help him, and deliver him from the hand of his enemies.

Let us examine him with despitefulness and torture, that we may know his meekness and prove his patience.

Let us condemn him with a shameful death; for by his own saying he shall be respected.

Such things they did imagine and were deceived; for their own wickedness had blinded them.

They, the people, stood up, and the rulers took counsel together against the Lord and against his Anointed.

They cast their heads together with one consent, and were confederate against him.

He heard the blasphemy of the multitude, and fear was on every side, while they conspired together against him to take away his life.

They spake against him with false tongues, and compassed him about with words of hatred.

They rewarded him evil for good.

They took their counsel together, saying, God hath forsaken him: persecute him and take him, for there is none to deliver.

Let the sentence of guiltiness proceed against him, and now that he lieth, let him rise up no more.

False witnesses, also, did rise up against him; they laid to his charge things that he knew not.⁷

Then shall the righteous man stand in great boldness before the face of such as have afflicted him and made no account of his labors.

"For the sins of the people and the iniquities of the rulers they shed the blood of the just. In their anger they slew a man; the man whom Thou hadst made so strongly for Thine Own Self." — Lamentations.

He, being made perfect, in a short time fulfilled a long time.

For his soul pleased the Lord; therefore, hasted He to take him away from among the Wicked.

This the People saw and understood it not, neither laid they up this in their minds that His grace and mercy is with His saints, and that He hath respect unto His Chosen.

When they see it they shall be troubled with terrible fear, and shall be amazed at the strangeness of his salvation, so far beyond all that they looked for.

And they, repenting and groaning for anguish of spirit, shall say within themselves, This was he whom we had sometime in derision and a proverb of reproach.

We, fools, accounted his life madness and his end to be without honor. How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among the saints!

What hath pride profited us? or what good hath riches with our vaunting brought us?

All those things are passed away like a shadow, and as a post that hasteth by ;

And as a ship that passeth over the waves of the water;

Or as when a bird hath flown through the air;

Or, like as when an arrow is shot at a mark, it parteth the air, which immediately cometh together again, so that a man cannot know where it went through;

Even so we, in like manner, as soon as we were born, began to draw to our end, and had no sign of virtue to show; but were consumed in our own wickedness.

But the righteous live forevermore; their reward, also, is with the Lord; and the care of them is with the Most High.

Therefore shall they receive a glorious kingdom and a beautiful crown from the Lord's hand; for with his right hand shall he cover them, and with his arm shall he protect them.

Great are Thy Judgments, and cannot be expressed; therefore unnurtured souls have erred.

For, when unrighteous men thought to oppress the righteous one, they, being shut up in their houses, the prisoners of darkness, and fettered with the bonds of a long night, lay there exiled from the Eternal Providence.

For while they supposed to lie hid in their secret sins, they were scattered under a dark veil of forgetfulness, being horribly astonished and troubled with strange apparitions.

For neither might the corner that held them keep them from fear; but noises, as of waters falling down, sounded about them; and sad visions appeared unto them with heavy countenances.

No power of the fire might give them light; neither could the bright flames of the stars endure to lighten that horrible night.

Only there appeared unto them a fire kindled of itself, very dreadful; for, being much terrified, they thought the things which they saw to be worse than the sight they saw not.

Yea, the tasting of death touched the righteous also.

For then the blameless man made haste, and stood forth to defend them, and bringing the shield of his proper ministry, even prayer and the propitiation of incense, set himself against the wrath, and so brought the calamity to an end, declaring that he was Thy Servant.

So he overcame the destroyer, not with the strength of body or force of arms, but with a word subdued he him that punished, alleging the oaths and covenants made with the Fathers.

For, in all things, O Lord, Thou didst magnify Thy Servant and glorify him; neither didst Thou lightly regard him, but didst assist him in every time and place.

The souls of the righteous are in the hands of God, and there shall no torment touch them.

In the sight of the unwise he seemed to die: and his departure is taken for misery, and his going from us to be utter destruction; but he is in peace.

For though he be punished in the sight of men, yet is his hope full of Immortality.

And, having been a little chastised, he shall be greatly rewarded; for God proved him and found him worthy for himself.

He shall judge the nations and have dominion over the people, and his Lord shall reign forever.

The following original verses, by a gentleman of Concord, were then read by Mr. Brown, and sung by the congregation standing:

DIRGE.

To-day beside Potomac's wave,

    Beneath Virginia's sky,
They slay the man who loved the slave,
    And dared for him to die.

The Pilgrim Fathers' earnest creed,
    Virginia's ancient faith,
Inspired this hero's noblest deed,
    And his reward is — Death!

Great Washington's indignant shade
    Forever urged him on —
He heard from Monticello's glade
    The voice of Jefferson.

But chiefly on the Hebrew page
    He read Jehovah's law,
And this, from youth to hoary age,
    Obeyed with love and awe.

No selfish purpose armed his hand,
    No passion aimed his blow;
How loyally he loved his land
    Impartial Time shall show.

But now the faithful martyr dies;
    His brave heart beats no more;
His soul ascends the equal skies;
    His earthly course is o'er.

For this we mourn, but not for him:
    Like him, in God we trust;
And though our eyes with tears are dim,
    We know that God is just.

_______________

¹ The wife of Judge Russell.

² The selectmen of the town, not knowing but they had authority, refused to allow the bell to be tolled on this occasion.

³ Translated by Mr. Thoreau.

⁴ From Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers."

⁵ I do not wish to repeat the same quotations in any of my books; and, as all the passages read by Mr. Emerson appear in my Life of John Brown, in the chapters entitled "The Political Inquisitors," "Condemned to die," "Lying in Wait," and "The Conquering Pen," I omit them here.

⁶ Chiefly from the "Wisdom of Solomon."

⁷ The last eight verses are from the Psalter.

SOURCE: James Redpath, Editor, Echoes of Harper’s Ferry, p. 437-54