Continental Monthly, Vol. I., No. IV., April, 1862 by Various

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Among the giants of Scotland at that time, Thomas Chalmers ranked chief,
and the death of Sir Walter Scott had left him without a peer. I used to
meet him as he took his early walks, and in his loving way of greeting
youth he often bade me a cheerful good-morning. He was then living at
Kinghorn, about eight miles from Edinburgh. Dr. Chalmers' robust stature
was in keeping with the power of his intellect. He was of massive frame,
and displayed a breadth of shoulder which seemed borrowed from the
Farnese Hercules. Though so distinguished as a divine, there was nothing
clerical in his appearance--nothing of that air of 'the cloth' which at
once proclaims the preacher. His noble features were generally
overspread with a benevolent smile, which seemed to shed an illumination
as though from the ignition of the soul; while at other times he was
possessed with a spirit of abstraction as if walking in a dream.

As a theologian, Chalmers was great beyond any of his contemporaries;
and yet, strictly speaking, his genius was mathematical, rather than
theological. In this respect he resembled that famed American of whom he
professed himself a disciple--Jonathan Edwards. Of the latter it is
stated by no less a critic than the author of the _Eclipse of Faith_
(Henry Rogers), that he was born a mathematician. Chalmers, however, was
a master of all science, and it would have been difficult for even a
specialist to have taken him at an advantage. As greatness is always set
off by simplicity, the latter feature was one of the chief beauties in
what we may call the Chalmerian Colossus. I have often seen him leaning
upon the half open door of a smithy, conversing with the intelligent
workmen, as they rested from the use of the sledge. Having referred to
his love of children, I may add, in respect to myself, that when I, in
my childhood, spoke to him in the street, I was generally favored with
an apple. He was indeed an ardent lover of the young, and his genius
seemed to gather freshness from his intercourse with childhood.

Edinburgh will not soon forget his interest in the welfare of the poor,
in which he has been so ably seconded by the present Dr. Guthrie. I well
remember beholding the two Christian reformers, standing above the slums
of the city, contemplating the fields which the latter had assumed.
Suddenly Chalmers clapped his friend upon the back, and exclaimed, in
rude pleasantry, 'Wow, Tummus Guthrie, but ye ha a bonnie parish.'
Chalmers' pronunciation was singularly broad, and not easily understood
by many. Stopping once, during a tour in England, at a place where there
was a seminary, a gentleman inquired of him how many Scotch boys were in
attendance. 'Saxtain or savantain,' was the reply. 'Enough,' says the
gentleman, _sotto voce_, to corrupt a whole school.' As regards
calligraphy, Chalmers wrote the most illegible hand in Scotland. He
could not even read it himself, and was frequently obliged to call his
wife and daughters to his aid. Many of his discourses, when intended for
the press, were copied by them. His manuscript, when fresh from his
hand, looked as though a fly had fallen into the ink-stand, and then
crawled over the page. When his letters were received at his paternal
home, the language of the father was, 'A letter from Tummus, eh; weel,
when he comes hame, he maun read it himsel.' There was something
Homeric in Chalmers' mind; and Hugh Miller always considered him the
bard of the Free Church, as well as its great theologian and still
greater benefactor; and this, too, notwithstanding the fact that he
never wrote a line of verse in his life. The simplest truths, when
announced by him, took a poetic shape, and moved along with all the
majesty of his towering genius. Speaking of Hugh Miller brings him
before us at the time that he was writing for the _Caledonia Mercury_.
He was then editor of _The Witness_, but gave to the former paper such
moments as he could abstract from his more serious duties. His
department in the _Mercury_ was the reviewing new publications. Besides
his engagement with these two journals, he was pursuing those studies
which made him the prince of British geologists. Geology was his
passion. Indeed, while writing leaders for the _Witness_, or turning
over the leaves of hot-pressed volumes, his mind was wandering among
such scenes as the 'Lake of Stromness,' and the 'Old Red Sandstone' of
his native Cromarty. His geological sketches in the _Witness_ were a new
feature in journalism, and formed the basis of that work which so
admirably refuted the 'Vestiges of Creation.' I met Miller daily for
several years. He was tall, and of a well-built and massive frame, and
evidently capable of great endurance, both of mind and body. Considered
as one of the distinguished instances of self-made men, Hugh Miller
finds his only parallel in Horace Greeley, although the path to
greatness was in the first instance even more laborious than in the
latter. Let any one read Miller's experiences and adventures, as
described in 'My Schools and my Schoolmasters,' and he will find a
renewed suggestion of the thought which Johnson so pathetically breathes
in his 'London:'--

'The mournful truth is everywhere confessed,
Slow rises worth by poverty depressed.'

Miller's appearance, when in trim attire, was that of the Scottish
'Dominie,' or parish schoolmaster; but, like the great American editor,
he was exceedingly slovenly, both by nature and by long habits of
carelessness. When in the street, he always wore the plaid, although
that garment was quite out of use, and indicated at once something
quaint or rustic in the wearer. At this time Miller was living in one of
the suburbs of Edinburgh, called Porto Bello. When we exchanged
greetings in the street, his countenance, usually overcast with the pale
hue of thought, would light up with a bright and open smile, which
continued as long as he was speaking, but soon yielded to returning
abstraction. One of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen was the
groups of youth whom Miller used to invite as companions of an afternoon
walk. None were forbidden on the score of childhood, and many a 'wee
bairn' trotted after the larger lads who accompanied 'the gude
stane-cracker,' and 'the bonnie mon what gaes amang the rocks.' He might
well be called the 'stane-cracker,' since I have seen him on Calton
Hill, or Arthur's Seat, or among the crags, lecturing, in a calm, quiet
tone, on the mysteries which his hammer had brought to light. These were
the only recreations of one whose days and nights were, with the
exception of a brief and often wakeful season of rest, given to
laborious study. Had he indulged more freely in them, he might have
escaped the terrible fate which overtook him. But he never could
emancipate himself from the labor to which he was chained. His
'Impressions of England,' which is one of the most delightful of his
books, was the product of a subsequent tour for health. If such were his
recreations, what must have been his labors? Miller's domestic life did
much to cheer an over-worked system. He gives, in the 'Schools and
Schoolmasters,' a pleasing allusion to the fascination of his courtship;
and his subsequent life was graced by one whoso appearance, as I
remember her, was singularly lovely and interesting. In his home circle,
Miller was truly a happy man. I may remark, in passing, that this is a
feature in Scottish genius. While Shelley, Byron, Bulwer, Dickens, and
other English authors, have been wrecked by home difficulties, Scott,
Chalmers, Miller, Wilson, and the whole line of Scottish authors, drank
deep of domestic felicity. Perhaps this may be explained by the contrast
between the warmth of Scottish character, and the saturnine and unsocial
disposition of the English. Edinburgh could at that time boast of two
distinguished men of the name of Miller; and the great geologist had
almost his fellow in the professor of surgery. The two were very
intimate, and the one found in the other not only a friend, but a
faithful medical adviser. Professor Miller was then printing his leading
work, and I had frequent occasion to visit him with reference to its
publication. One morning, as I rang, the professor came to the door with
a hurried and nervous step. As it opened, I noted that his tall form was
peculiarly agitated, and his countenance was deadly pale. In a calm,
subdued voice, he informed me that Hugh Miller had just committed
suicide with a pistol. The terrible news overcame me with a shudder, and
I almost sank to the floor. The fact was not yet generally known; and
oh, when it should be made public, what a blow would be felt by the
moral and scientific world! The professor knew that the affair might
possibly be ascribed by some to accident, but he at once referred it to
insanity. The over-worked brain of the geologist had been for some time
threatened with a collapse. He had, in addition to the management of the
_Witness_, been elaborating a work of deep and exhausting character, and
the mental excitement which accompanied its completion was like
devouring fire. I have frequently gone to his room at a late hour of the
night, and found him sitting before the smouldering grate, so absorbed
in thought that, as he balanced the probabilities of contending
theories, he unwittingly accompanied the mental effort by balancing the
poker on the bar. I have seen, on such an occasion, a greasy stream
oozing from the pocket of his fustian coat, and supplied by the roll of
butter which at morning market he had purchased for home use. On the
table lay his MSS., so marred with interlinings and corrections, that,
notwithstanding his neat and delicate hand, it was almost a complete
blot. These habits could not but terminate in utter wreck, and I have
ever coincided with the professor's opinion as to the cause of his
death. This gentleman stated to me a fact not generally known, that a
few days before the awful catastrophe, the unfortunate man called on him
in great distress, and sought his advice. He complained of a pain in his
head, and then added an expression of fears with regard to that which
was to him of untold value. This was his mineral and geological
collection in Shrub Place, which was, no doubt, the most valuable
private one in the kingdom. He was haunted by apprehension of its
robbery by a gang of thieves, and asked what measures of safety would be
advisable. The professor endeavored to expel the absurd idea by playful
remark, and supposed himself somewhat successful. The next thing he
heard was the intelligence of his death. It is quite evident that the
fatal revolver was purchased for the defense of his treasures. What a
lesson is this of the danger of excessive application, of unreasonable
toil, of late hours, and mental tension. A continued exhaustion of his
energies had brought upon the geologist a state of mental horror from
which death seemed the only relief. The reaction of the nervous system
was, no doubt, similar to that arising from delirium tremens; and thus
extremes met, and the _savant_ perished like the inebriate.

The tragedy did not seem complete until another victim should be added.
The professor took the revolver to Thompson's, on Leith Walk, in order
to learn by examination how many shots had been fired by the unfortunate
suicide. The gunsmith took the weapon, but handled it so carelessly,
that it went off in his hands, and the ball caused his death.

Speaking of excessive labor, we may observe that this is the general
rule among men of science or letters. They are, as a class, crushed by
engagements and duties, as well as by problems and questions of which
the world can not even dream.

The Edinburgh literati know but little of rest or recreation; from the
editor's chair up to the pulpit, they are under a lash as relentless as
that of the taskmaster of Egypt. For instance, we might refer to
Buchanan, of the _Mercury_. He has sat at his desk until he has become
an old man, with the smallest imaginable subtraction of time for food
and sleep, writing night and day, and carrying, in his comprehensive
brain, the whole details of an influential journal. This feature,
however, is not confined to the Old World, and may easily be paralleled
in the journalism of America. Both Raymond, of the _Times_, and Bennett,
of the _Herald_, almost live in the editorial function; and the former
of these, though now Speaker of the Assembly, will either pen his
leaders in his desk, during the utterance of prosy speeches, or in hours
stolen from sleep after adjournment. In addition to these, we might
quote the caustic language of Mr. Greeley, in reference to some
mechanics who had 'struck,' in order to reduce their day's labor (we
think to nine hours). 'He was in favor of short days of work, and having
labored eighteen hours per diem for nearly twenty years, he was now
going to "strike" for fifteen during the rest of his life.' But I doubt
the success of Mr. Greeley's 'strike,' and apprehend that his early
application has continued with but little abatement.

Before leaving Edinburgh for the New World, it was my good fortune to
become acquainted with Jeffrey. He was at this time not so much
distinguished as the reviewer, as he was by his new title of Lord
Jeffrey, Judge of Court Session, with a salary of L3000 per annum. Lord
Jeffrey was a small man, of light but elegant make, and peculiarly
symmetrical. His head was quite small, but his countenance was of an
imposing character; and his eye, brilliant but not fierce, often melted
into a pensive tenderness. Such was Jeffrey's appearance on the bench in
his latter days. I should have little judged from it that he was the
relentless critic, whoso withering sarcasm was felt from the garrets of
Grub Street to the highest walk of science or university life. My
intimacy with Ballantyne, who published the _Edinburgh Review_, often
brought the different MSS. before me, and I could contrast the exquisite
neatness of Wardlaw with the slanting school-boy hand of Jeffrey. The
tone and style of review literature have changed greatly since its
inception, when each quarterly gloried in the character of a literary
ogre, and dead men's bones lay round its doors, as erst about the castle
of Giant Despair. Authors are not now thrown to the wild beasts for the
entertainment of the multitude, as in former days; and had John Keats,
or even poor Henry Kirke White, written and published fifty years later,
they would never have perished by the critic's pen. Yet the same
malignant assault which crushed their tender muse was the only thing
which could amuse the latent powers of a far greater genius; and had not
Byron been as cruelly attacked by the _Edinburgh_, he would never have
given 'Childe Harold' to the world. The authorship of that most unjust
and malignant _critique_, which, however brief, was sufficient to make
the author of 'the Hours of Idleness,' foe the time, contemptible, was
long a secret; but it is now admitted that it was by Jeffrey. Little did
the murderous critic think that his challenge would bring out an
adversary who would soon unhorse him, and then dash victoriously over
the field under the especial patronage of fame.

* * * * *

THE HUGUENOT FAMILIES IN AMERICA.

III.

THE HUGUENOTS OF ULSTER.

It is said that the lands of the early Huguenot settlers in Ulster
County were so arranged in small lots, and within sight of each other,
as to prevent surprise from the Indians whilst their owners were
cultivating them. Louis Bevier, one of the most honored patentees, was
the ancestor of the highly-respectable family bearing his name in that
region. When he was about to leave France, his father became so
exasperated, that he refused to bestow upon him the commonest
civilities. Nor would he condescend to return the kind salutations of
another son in the public streets, affectionately offered by the pious
emigrant, and for the last time.

Another of the patentees, Deyo, visited France to claim his confiscated
estates, but, failing of success, returned. Kingston, at this early
period, was the only trading post or village for the French Protestants,
and sixteen miles distant from their settlement, although in a straight
line. Paltz was not more than eight miles west of the Hudson River; this
route, M. Deyo undertook, alone, to explore--but never returned. It was
thought that the adventurous Huguenot died suddenly, or was devoured by
the wild beasts. A truss and buckle which he owned were found about
thirty years afterwards, at the side of a large hollow tree. His life
seems to have been one full of toils and dangers, having endured severe
sufferings for conscience' sake, before he reached Holland from France.
For days he concealed himself in hiding places from his persecutors, and
without food, finally escaping alone in a fishing boat, during a
terrific storm.

The descendants of the Ulster Dubois are very influential and numerous
in our day, but there is a tradition that this family at one time was in
great danger of becoming extinct. For a long while it was the custom of
parents to visit Kingston, for the purpose of having their children
baptized. M. Dubois and wife were returning from such a pious visit, and
while crossing the Roundout, on the ice, it gave way, plunging the
horses, sleigh and party in the rapid stream. With great presence of
mind, the mother threw her infant, an only son, upon a floating frozen
cake, which, like the ark of Moses, floated him safely down the stream,
until he was providentially rescued. For some time this child was the
only male Dubois among the Paltz Huguenots, and had he perished on that
perilous occasion, his family name would also have perished with him;
still there were seven females of the same house, called the _seven
zuisters_, all of whom married among the most respectable French
Protestant families. To no stock do more families in Ulster County trace
their origin than that of Dubois. Some antiquarians deny this tradition
of the seven sisters, but contend that they were _Lefevres_.

There were two Le Fevres among the Ulster patentees. Their progenitors
it is said were among those early Protestants of France who
distinguished themselves for intellectual powers, prominence in the
Reformed Church, with enduring patience under the severest trials, and
death itself. Le Fevre, a doctor of theology, adorned the French
metropolis when Paris caught the first means of salvation in the
fifteenth century. He preached the pure gospel within its walls; and
this early teacher declared '_our religion has only one foundation, one
object, one head, Jesus Christ, blessed forever. Let us then not take
the name of Paul, of Apostles, or of Peter. The Cross of Christ alone
opens heaven and shuts the gates of hell_.' In 1524, he published a
translation of the New Testament, and the next year a version of the
Psalms. Many received the Holy Scriptures from his hands, and read them
in their families, producing the happiest results. Margaret, the
beautiful and talented Princess of Valois, celebrated by all the wits
and scholars of the time, embraced the true Christianity, uniting her
fortune and influence with the Huguenots, and the Reformation thus had a
witness in the king's court. She was sister to Francis the First, the
reigning monarch. By the hands of this noble lady, the Bishop of Meuse
sent to the king a translation of St. Paul's Epistles, richly
illuminated, he adding, in his quaint and beautiful language, 'They will
make a truly royal dish of fatness, that never corrupts, and having the
power to restore from all manner of sickness. The more we taste them,
the more we hunger after them, with desires that are ever fed and never
cloyed.'

Abraham Hasbroucq, which is the original orthography of the name among
the patentees, was a native of Calais, and the first emigrant of that
family to America, in 1675, with a party of Huguenot friends; they
resided for a while in the Palatinate on the banks of the Rhine. To
commemorate their kindness, when they reached our shores the new
settlement was called '_De Paltz_,' now '_New Paltz_,' as the Palatinate
was always styled by the Dutch. Here, also, the beautiful stream flowing
through New Paltz was known by the name of _Walkill_, after the river
Wael, a branch of the Rhine, running into Holland.

The first twelve patentees, or the '_Duzine_,' managed the affairs of
the infant settlement as long as they lived, and after their death it
was a custom to elect a court officer from among the descendants of
each, at the annual town meetings. For a long period they kept in one
chest all the important papers of their property and land titles. The
pastor or the oldest man had charge of the key, and reference was made
to this depository for the settlement of all difficulties about
boundaries. Hence they were free from legal suits as to their lands; and
to this judicious, simple plan may be traced the well-known harmony of
the numerous descendants in this region,--the fidelity of their
landmarks, with the absence of litigation.

We know of no region in our land where property has remained so long in
the same families, as it has at New Paltz; since its first settlement,
there has been a constant succession of intermarriages among the French
descendants, and many continue to reside upon the venerable homesteads
of their early and honored forefathers.

Devoted as the Huguenots ever had been to the worship of the Almighty,
one of their first objects at New Paltz was the erection of a church. It
was built of logs, and afterwards gave place to a substantial edifice of
brick, brought from Holland, the place answering the double purpose of
church and fort. Their third house of worship was an excellent stone
building, which served the Huguenots for eighty years, when it was
demolished in 1839, and the present splendid edifice placed on the
venerable spot and dedicated to the service of Almighty God. It is
related that a clergyman of eccentric dress and manners, at an early
period, would occasionally make a visit to New Paltz, and, for the
purpose of meditation, would cross the Walkill in a canoe, to some large
elms growing upon a bank opposite the church; on one occasion the stream
was low, and while pushing across with a pole, it broke, and the
Dominie, losing his balance, pitched overboard. He succeeded, however,
in reaching the shore, and proceeded to the nearest house, for the
purpose of drying his clothes. This partly accomplished, he entered the
pulpit and informed his congregation that he had intended to have
preached a sermon on baptism; but, eyeing his garments, he observed that
_circumstances_ prevented, as he could now sympathize with Peter, and
take the text, 'Lord, save, or I perish.'

To serve God according to the dictates of their own conscience, had ever
been a supreme duty with the French Protestants, and paramount to
everything else. For this they had endured the severest persecutions in
France, and had sacrificed houses, lands, kindred and their native
homes; they had crossed a trackless ocean, and penetrated the howling
wilderness, inhabited by savage tribes--and for what?--To serve their
MAKER, and the RIGHTS OF CONSCIENCE. They had been the salt of France,
and brought over with them their pious principles, with their
Bibles,--the most precious things. Some of these faded volumes are still
to be found among the children of the American Huguenots, and we have
often seen and examined one of the most venerable copies. It is
Diodati's French Bible, with this title:--

LA SAINTE
BIBLE,
INTERPRETEE PAR JEAN DIODATI,
MDCXLIII.
IMPRIMEE A GENEVE.

The sacred book is 219 years old, in excellent condition, and well
covered with white dressed deerskin, its ties of the same material. It
was brought to America by Louis Bevier, a French Protestant of Ulster,
and has been preserved as a precious family relic through nine
generations. It was carried from France to Holland, and thence to New
Paltz. 'Blessed Book! the hands of holy martyrs have unfolded thy sacred
pages, and their hearts been cheered by thy holy truths and promises!'
There is also a family record written in the volume, faintly legible, of
the immediate descendants of Louis Bevier and his wife, Maria Lablau,
from the year 1674 to 1684.

Above anything else did the Huguenots of France love their BIBLES.
Various edicts, renewed in 1729, had commanded the seizure and
destruction of _all_ books used by the Protestants, and for this
purpose, any consul of a commune, or any priest, might enter the houses
to make the necessary search. We may therefore compute by millions the
volumes destroyed in obedience to these royal edicts. On the 17th of
April, 1758, about 40,000 books were burned at one time in Bordeaux; and
it is also well known that at Beaucaire, in 1735, there was an
auto-da-fe almost equal to that of Bordeaux. It was a truly sad day, in
France, when the old family BIBLE must be given up; the book doubly
revered and most sacred, because it was the WORD of GOD, and sacred too
from the recollections connected with it! Grandparents, parents, and
children, all, from their earliest infancy, had daily seen, read and
touched it. Like the household deities of the ancients, it had been
always present at all the joys and sorrows of the family. A touching
custom inscribed on the first or last pages, and at times even upon its
margins, the principal events in all those beloved lives. Here were the
Births, Baptisms, Marriages, and the Deaths. Now all these tender, pious
records must perish at once in the flames.

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