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of what the trained leaders of the Rebellion themselves took not into account when they led their misguided followers into the fields of war; they will be reminded that this people, so given to peace, so devoted to trade, mechanics, agriculture, so occupied with schools and churches and a Government which does their will through the noiseless agency of the ballot-box, have yet when roused a power of resistance sufficient for any need however great; that this nationality, yet in youth's first freshness, is like a hive of human bees—stand by it quietly and you will be charmed by its proofs of industry, its faculty of appliance, its well-ordered labor; but touch it, shake it rudely, menace its population, or put them in fear, and they will pour from their cells an armed myriad whom there is no confronting —or rather that it is like the ocean, beautiful in calm, but irresistible in storm.

Fellow soldiers! Comrades: When we come visiting the old flags, and take out those more especially endeared to us because under them we each rendered our individual service, such as it was, we will not fail to be reminded of those other comrades—alas! too many to be named— who dropped one by one out of the ranks or the column to answer at roll-call nevermore; whose honorable discharges were given them by fever in the hospital or by a bullet in battle; whose bones lie in shallow graves in the cypress swamp, in the river's deepening bed, in the valley's Sabbath stillness, or on the mountain's breast, blackened now by tempests—human as well as elemental. For their sakes let us resolve to come here with every recurrence of this day, and bring the old colors to the sunlight, and carry them in procession, and salute them martially with roll of drums and thunder of guns. So will those other comrades of whom I speak know that they are remembered at least by us; and so will we be remembered by them.

In the armies of Persia there was a chosen band called the Immortals. They numbered ten thousand; their ranks were always full, and their place was near the person of the king. The old poets sing of this resplendent host as clad in richest armor, and bearing spears pointed with pomegranates of silver and gold. We, too, have our Immortals! Only ours wear uniforms of light, and they number more than ten times ten thousand, and instead of a king to serve, they have for leader and lover that man of God and the people, Lincoln, the martyr. On their rolls shine the heroic names without regard to such paltry distinctions as rank or state. Among them are no officers, no privates! In the bivouacs of Heaven they are all alike Immortals. Of such are Ellsworth, Baker, Wadsworth, Sedgwick and MacPherson. Of such, also, are our own Hackleman, Gerber, Tanner, Blinn, and Carroll, and that multitude of our soldiers who, victims of war, are now " at the front," while we are waiting " in reserve." CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER


[Address by Charles Dudley Warner, critic, novelist, man of letters (born in Plainfield, Mass., September 12, 1829; died in Hartford, Conn., October 20, 1900), delivered at a meeting of the Unitarian Club of New York, held in memory of George William Curtis, November 14, 1892.]

Mr. Chairman :—We all loved him. This is about what I would like to say and about the sum and substance of it all. I should not like to stand here for criticism, if that were necessary, with a knife in my hand even if it were a gilt-edged one. To-night I feel only a great emotion of gratitude that I knew him, and that I .had in some measure the privilege of his confidence in certain things. You have had a very complete setting forth of what Mr. Curtis was, and the estimation in which he was held, not only by his own religious body, to which he was such an honor, but by the country at large; and I have been asked to say something about him on his literary side.

Mr. Curtis was born with a literary gift. That is a very distinct gift. I do not think it is ever simulated by anybody; and if anybody does get, by advertisement, a little reputation of that kind, it does not last long after the advertisements have grown cold and been paid for. Mr. Curtis was born, as I judge from his early sketches, something of a dreamer. He liked to lounge about the Providence wharf and smell the molasses, rum, and other things that came from foreign coasts. He always saw the foreign coasts, and never lost sight of them. He saw them when he came into the large and practical affairs of life. There was that dreaminess in the boy, I judge, and I suppose that is what made him go to Brook Farm. There must have been something peculiar in a youth of that age which should lead him into such a purely roseate and humanitarian experiment as that idylic attempt to live by the work of one's own hands—milking and things of that kind—at Brook Farm. If the cows had been always liberal, and the soil had been a little better, I think the experiment might have succeeded. Mr. Curtis went from there, fortunately for him, with apparently a very inadequate school training, to Europe, for four years. Europe was his university; and to a poor man, with such high ideals as that boy had, it was probably the best university that he could have had; because he saw the best there; he evidently consorted with the best people, and he got out of history the best that was to be learned, both for warning and inspiration. The first that the world knew of him was after his return from Europe, when the first fruits of his culture were laid before the public in a little volume called "Nile Notes of Howadji." We did not then know—most of us—what a howadji was: but the Notes were so entirely delightful, and such a perfect continuation of the life which we all hope to lead somewhere in our "Arabian Nights," that we judged that a howadji must be a most agreeable and charming person. You will remember that he went by the name of Howadji Curtis for a long time; and we all recognized it. There grew up (I do not know how—of course it was in the man) in the public mind everywhere a certain notion of a very cultivated, dainty, chivalrous, and yet manly person, out of those "Nile Notes." Those Notes are not critical; they are not archaeological, but much what the "Arabian Nights" entertainers might themselves have spun about the things in Egypt which please the fancy, and do not appear even to satiate.

But after Mr. Curtis came back and began to live the life of this country, his attention was almost immediately attracted to a state of things here which received evidently more attention at that time than it would command now. I should say that it would take about forty persons at that time to produce the impression upon Mr. Curtis's mind which it needs four hundred now to produce. That was about the proportion of social impression which he had: and out of that impression came, in the first place, a very startling indictment, called "Our Best Society," which was followed by the delineation of one of the most charming women of antiquity, Mrs. Potiphar. There grew out of that "The Potiphar Papers." I was looking them over the other day (I had remembered them in my time as being on the whole rather a genial satire), and I was surprised, when I came to read them again, to find how much of a very decided sincerity and earnestness there was in them. There is no mincing matters at all in them. If you read them by the light of to-day you will find that in them things are called by their right names, and the bad is held up to retribution without any mincing at all.

About the same time, however, and almost contemporary with these papers, began to appear a series of as delightful sketches of a life that we all would like to lead, or at least ought to like to lead, as we have ever had in this country; these sketches conveyed a notion of the idylic life of "Prue and I." Now, the noticeable thing about them was not that the style was charming, but that here was the first evidence that he had the divine gift. The style, the charm, was there. It was the same that we saw afterwards when he entered the field as a lecturer. It was grace; it was witchery; it was the last thing that we want in the orator or the lecturer. It was not that alone in "Prue and I"; but here was a statement made under playful aspect, that after all there was something better than money, something better than fine equipage; that on the whole it was just as well to see Aurelia go out in her fine clothes and her beautiful attire, as it was to go yourself—provided you hadn't the money. There was a most exquisite and beautiful gospel of common life in those early sketches; and you will notice the characteristic of them—which was the characteristic of everything of that day—and I was surprised when I came to think about it—it was their democracy, their absolute democracy. Our good friends who did not like civil service reform (unless they had the arrangement of it entirely within themselves) used to sneer a good deal at Mr. Curtis as being non-American, and a dude, and I do not know what else—and it is not necessary to repeat the fine

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