Dealings With The Dead Volume I Part 14

In 1823, and in the month of May, something, in my line, caused me to visit the first ex-President Adams, at the old mansion in Quincy. By some persons, he was accounted a cold man; and his son, John Quincy, even a colder man: yet neither was cold, unless in the sense, in which Mount Hecla is cold--belted in everlasting ice, though liable, occasionally, to violent eruptions of a fiery character.

As I was taking my leave, being about to remove into a distant State, my daughter, between five and six years old, stepped timidly towards Mr.

Adams, and placing her little hand upon his, and looking upon his venerable features, said to him--"_Sir, you are so old, and I am going away so far, that I do not think I shall ever see you again--will you let me kiss you before I go?_" His brow was suddenly overcast--the spirit became gently solemnized--"_Certainly, my child_" said he, "_if you desire to kiss a very old man, whom it is quite likely you will never see again_."--He bowed his aged form, and the child, rising on tiptoe, impressed a kiss upon his brow. I would give a great deal more than I can afford, for a fair sketch of that old man's face, as he resumed his position--I see it now, with the eye of a Swedenborgian. His features were slightly flushed, but not discomposed at all; tears filled his eyes; and, if one word must suffice to express all that I saw, that word is _benevolence_--that same benevolence, which taught him, on the day of his death, July 4, 1826, when asked if he knew what day it was, to exclaim--"_Yes, it is the glorious Fourth of July--G.o.d bless it--G.o.d bless you all_."

At the time of the little occurrence, which I have related, Mr. Adams was eighty-eight years old. I ventured to say, that I wished we could give him the years of Methuselah--to which he replied, with a faint smile,--"_My friend, you could not wish me a greater curse_."--As we wax older and grayer, this expression, which, in the common phrase, is _Greek_ to the young and uninitiated, becomes sufficiently translated into every man's vernacular. Mr. Adams was born October 19, 1735, and had therefore attained his ninety-first year, when he died.

Nothing like the highest ancient standard of longevity is attained, in modern times. Nine hundred, sixty, and nine years, is certainly a long life-time. When baby Lamech was born, his father was a young fellow of one hundred and eighty-seven. Weary work it must have been, waiting so long, for one's inheritance!

The records of modern longevity will appear, nevertheless, somewhat surprising, to those, who have given but little attention to the subject.

The celebrated Albert De Haller, and there can be no higher authority, enumerated eleven hundred and eleven cases of individuals, who had lived from 100 to 169. His cla.s.sification is as follows:--

1000 from 100 to 110 60 " 110 to 120 29 " 120 to 130 15 " 130 to 140 6 " 140 to 150 1 of 169.

The oldest was Henry Jenkins, of Yorkshire, who died in 1670. Thomas Parr, of Wilmington, in Shropshire, died in 1635, aged 152. He was a poor yeoman, and married his first wife, when he was in his 88th year, or, as some say, his 80th, and had two children. He was brought to Court, by the Earl of Arundel, in the reign of Charles I., and died, as it was supposed, in consequence of change of diet. His body was examined by Dr. Harvey, who thought he might have lived much longer, had he adhered to his simple habits. Being rudely asked, before the King, what more he had done, in his long life, than other old men, he replied--"_At the age of 105, I did penance in Alderbury Church, for an illegitimate child_." When he was 120, he married a second wife, by whom he had a child. Sharon Turner, in his Sacred History of the World, vol. iii. ch. 23, says, in a note, that Parr's son (by the second wife, the issue by the first died early) lived to the age of 113--his grandson to that of 109--his great-grandson to that of 124; and two other grandsons, who died in 1761 and 1763, to that of 127.

Parr's was a much longer life than Reuben's, Judah's, Issachar's, Abner's, Simeon's, Dan's, Zebulon's, Levi's, or Naphthali's. Dr. Harvey's account of the post mortem examination is extremely interesting. The quaint lines of Taylor, the water poet, as he was styled, I cannot omit:--

"Good wholesome labor was his exercise, Down with the lamb, and with the lark would rise; In mire and toiling sweat he spent the day, And to his team he whistled time away: The c.o.c.k his night-clock, and till day was done, His watch and chief sundial was the sun.

He was of old Pythagoras' opinion, That green cheese was most wholesome with an onion; Coa.r.s.e meslin bread, and for his daily swig, Milk, b.u.t.termilk, and water, whey and whig.

Sometimes metheglin, and by fortune happy, He sometimes sipp'd a cup of ale most nappy, Cider or perry, when he did repair T'a Whitsun ale, wake, wedding or a fair; Or, when in Christmas time he was a guest At his good landlord's house, among the rest.

Else he had very little time to waste, Or at the alehouse huff-cap ale to taste.

His physic was good b.u.t.ter, which the soil Of Salop yields, more sweet than candy oil.

And garlic he esteemed, above the rate Of Venice treacle or best Mithridate.

He entertained no gout, no ache he felt, The air was good and temperate, where he dwelt; While mavises and sweet-tongued nightingales Did sing him roundelays and madrigals.

Thus, living within bounds of nature's laws Of his long, lasting life may be some cause.

From head to heel, his body had all over A quickset, thickset, nat'ral, hairy cover."

Isaac lived to the age of 180, or five years longer than his father Abraham. I now propose to enter one or more well-known old stagers, of modern times, who will beat Isaac, by five lengths. Mr. Easton, of Salisbury, England, a respectable bookseller, and quoted, as good authority by Turner, prepared a more extensive list than Haller, of persons, who had died aged from 100 to 185. His work was ent.i.tled _Human Longevity_--1600 of his cases occurred, within the British Isles, and 1687 between the years 1706 and 1799. He sets down three between 170 and 185, giving their names and other particulars.

Mr. Whitehurst's tables contain several cases, not in Mr. Easton's work, from 134 years to 148. Some twenty other cases are stated, by Turner, from 130 to 150. I refer, historically, to the case of Jonathan Hartop, not because of the very great age he attained, but for other reasons of interest: "1791.--Died, Jonathan Hartop, aged one hundred and thirty-eight, of the village of Aldborough, Yorkshire. He could read to the last, without spectacles, and play at cribbage, with the most perfect recollection. He remembered Charles II., and once travelled to London, with the facetious Killegrew. He ate but little; his only beverage was milk. He had been married five times. Mr. Hartop lent Milton fifty pounds, which the bard returned, with honor, though not without much difficulty.

Mr. Hartop would have declined receiving it; but the pride of the poet was equal to his genius, and he sent the money with an angry letter, which was found, among the curious possessions of that venerable old man."

On the 4th of July, 1846, I visited Dr. Ezra Green, at his residence, in Dover, N. H. He showed me a couple of letters, which he had received, a short time before, from Daniel Webster and Thomas H. Benton, congratulating him, on having completed his one hundredth year, on the 17th of the preceding June, the anniversary of the battle of Bunker's Hill, and remarked, that those gentlemen had not regarded the difference, between the old style and the new. He told me, that in 1777, he had been a surgeon, in the Ranger, with John Paul Jones. Upon my taking out my gla.s.ses, to read a pa.s.sage in a pamphlet, to which he called my attention, he told me he had never used spectacles, nor felt the need of any such a.s.sistance, in reading. Dr. Green died, in 1847.

He graduated, at Harvard, in 1765. At the time of his death, every other member of his own cla.s.s, numbering fifty-four, was dead.

Previously to 1765, two thousand and seventy-five individuals are named, upon the catalogue. They were all dead at the time of his decease, though he died so recently, as 1847. Yet, from the year, when he graduated, to 1786, a period of twenty years, of seven hundred and seventy-three graduates, fifteen only appear, upon the catalogue of 1848, without the fatal star. One of the fifteen, Harrison Gray Otis, has recently died, leaving three survivors only, in his cla.s.s of 1783, Asa Andrews, J. S.

Boies, and Jonathan Ewins. Another of the fifteen has also recently died, being the oldest graduate, Judge Timothy Farrar, of the cla.s.s of 1767. The oldest living graduate of Harvard is James Lovell, of the cla.s.s of 1776.

I send my communication to the press, as speedily as possible, lest he also should be off, before I can publish.

No. XLVI.

A few days ago, I saw, in the hands of the artist, Mr. Alvan Clarke, a sketch, nearly completed, from Stuart's painting of John Adams, in his very old age. This sketch is to be engraved, as an accompaniment of the works of Mr. Adams, about to be published, by Little & Brown. I scarcely know what to say of this sketch of Mr. Adams. His fine old face, such as it was in the flesh, and at the very last of his long and ill.u.s.trious career, is fixed in my memory--rivetted there--as firmly as his name is bolted, upon the loftiest column of our national history. Never have I seen a more perfect fac simile of man, without the aid of relief--it is the resurrection and the life. If I am at a loss what to say of the sketch, I am still farther at fault, what to say of the artist. Like some of those heavenly bodies, whose contemplation occupies no little portion of his time, it is not always the easiest thing in the world, to know in what part of his...o...b..t he may be found; if I desire to obtain a portrait, or a miniature, or a sketch, he can scarcely devote his time to it, he is so very busy, in contriving some new improvement, for his already celebrated rifle; or if it is a patent muzzled rifle that I want, he is quite likely to be occupied, in the manufacture of a telescope. Be all these matters as they may, I can vouch for it, after years of experience, Alvan Clarke is a very clever fellow, _Anglice et Americanice_; and this sketch of Mr. Adams does him honor, as an artist.

It was in the year 1822, I believe, that a young lady sent me her alb.u.m, with a request, that I, of all people in the world, would occupy one of its pages. Well, I felt, that after all, it was quite in my line, for I had always looked upon a young lady's alb.u.m, as a kind of cemetery, for the burial of anybody's bantlings, and I began to read the inscriptions, upon such as reposed in this place, appointed for the still-born. I was a little startled, I confess, at my first glance, upon the autograph of the late Bishop Griswold, appended to some very respectable verses. My attention was next drawn to some lines, over the name of Daniel Webster, _manu propria_. I forget them now, but I remember, that the American Eagle was invoked for the occasion, and flapped its wings, through one or more of the stanzas. Next came an article in strong, sensible prose, from John Adams, written by an amanuensis, but signed with his own hand. Such a hand--the "_manu deficiente_" of Tibullus. The letters, formed by the failing, trembling fingers, resembled the forked lightning. A solemnizing and impressive autograph it was: and, under the impulse of the moment, I had the audacity to spoil three pages of this consecrated alb.u.m, by appending to this venerable name the following lines:--

High over Alps, in Dauphine, There lies a lonely spot, So wild, that ages rolled away, And man had claimed it not: For ages there, the tiger's yell Bay'd the hoa.r.s.e torrent as it fell.

Amid the dark, sequestered glade, No more the brute shall roam; For man, unsocial man, hath made That wilderness his home: And convent bell, with notes forlorn, Is heard, at midnight, eve, and morn.

For now, amid the Grand Chartreuse, Carthusian monks reside; Whose lives are pa.s.sed, from man recluse, In scourging human pride; In matins, vespers, aves, creeds, With crosses, ma.s.ses, prayers, and beads.

When hither men of curious mood, Or pilgrims, bend their way, To view this Alpine solitude, Or, heav'nward bent, to pray, Saint Bruno's monks their alb.u.m bring, Inscrib'd by poet, priest, and king.

Since pilgrim first, with holy tears, Inscrib'd the tablet fair, On time's dark flood, some thousand years, Have pa.s.s'd like billows there.

What countless names its pages blot, By country, kindred, long forgot!

Here chaste conceits and thoughts divine Unclaim'd, and nameless, stand; Which, like the Grecian's waving line, Betray some master's hand.

And here Saint Bruno's monks display, With pride, the cla.s.sic lines of Gray.

While pilgrim ponders o'er the name, He feels his bosom glow; And counts it nothing less than fame, To write his own below.

So, in this Alb.u.m, fain would I, Beneath a name, that cannot die.

Thrice happy book! no tablet bears A n.o.bler name than thine; Still followed by a nation's pray'rs, Through ling'ring life's decline.

The wav'ring stylus scarce obey'd The hand, that once an empire sway'd!

Not thus, among the patriot band, That name enroll'd we see-- No falt'ring tongue, no trembling hand Proclaim'd an empire free!-- Lady, retrace those lines, and tell, If, in thy heart, no sadness dwell?

And, in those fainting, struggling lines, Oh, see'st thou naught sublime!

No tott'ring pile, that half inclines!

No mighty wreck of time!

Sighs not thy gentle heart to save The sage, the patriot, from the grave!

If thus, oh then recall that sigh, Unholy 'tis, and vain; For saints and sages never die, But sleep, to rise again.

Life is a lengthened day, at best, And in the grave tir'd trav'llers rest;

Till, with his trump, to wake the dead, Th' appointed angel flies; Then Heav'n's bright alb.u.m shall be spread, And all who sleep, shall rise; The blest to Zion's Hill repair, And write their names immortal there.

I had as much pleasure, in composing these lines, as I ever had, in composing the limbs or the features of a corpse; and now that they are fairly laid out, the reader may bury them in oblivion, as soon as he pleases. The lines of Gray, referred to, in the sixth stanza, may be found in the collections of his works, and were written in the alb.u.m of the Chartreuse, in 1741.

My recollections of John Adams, are very perfect, and preeminently pleasant. I knew nothing of him personally, of course, in the days of his power. I had nothing to ask at his hands, but the permission to sit and listen. How vast and how various his learning!--"Qui sermo! quae praecepta!

quanta not.i.tia antiquitatis!... Omnia memoria tenebat, non domestica solum, sed etiam externa bella: cujus sermone ita tum cupide fruebar, quasi jam divinarem id, quod evenit, illo extincto, fore, unde discerem, neminem." Surpa.s.singly delightful were the outpourings, till some thoughtless wight, by an ill-timed allusion, opened the fountain of bitter waters--then, history, literature, the arts, all were buried _in gurgite vasto_, giving place to Jefferson's injustice, the Mazzei letters, and Callender's prospect before us--_quantum mutatus ab illo_!

How forcibly the dead are quickened, upon the retina of memory, by the exhibition of some well known and personally a.s.sociated article--the little hat of Napoleon--the mantle of Caesar--"_you all do know this mantle_!" I have just now drawn, from my treasury, an autograph of John Adams, bearing date, Jan. 31, 1824, and a lock of strong hair, cut from his venerable brow, the day before. In October of that year, he was eighty-nine years of age; and that lock of hair is a dark iron gray. I have also taken from its casket a silver pen, and small portable inkstand attached, which also were his. The contemplation of these things--I came honestly by them--seems almost to raise that venerable form before me. I can almost hear him repeat those memorable words--"THE UNION IS OUR ROCK OF SAFETY AS WELL AS OUR PLEDGE OF GRANDEUR."

No. XLVII.

I am rather surprised, to find how little is known, among the rising generation, about slavery, in the Old Bay State. One might delve for a twelve month, and not gather together the half of all, that is condensed, in Dr. Belknap's replies to Judge Tucker's inquiries, Ma.s.s. H. C., iv.

191.