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our first paper currency was disastrously inflated from both sides of the house.
One cannot but wonder whether William the Fourth of England ever learned that a plot was laid for his abduction during his visit to New York in the spring of 1782. The Prince was a young and reckless midshipman, given to flirtation, and to the inebriation which found vent in wrenching off door-knobs; and it probably never occurred to him that in his person the "rebels" would find a hostage worth having. The project originated with Colonel Matthias Ogden of the Jersey line, and the intention was to surprise the Prince and his commissioned guardian, Admiral Digby, at their quarters in the city mansion of Gerardus Beekman on Hanover Square. Two officers and thirty-nine men were to aid Colonel Ogden in his enterprise. Embarking on a rainy night in whale-boats, they were to land in New York near the Beekman mansion, force the doors of the house, capture the Admiral and Prince, and convey them to their boats. The plan was approved by Washington, but it does not appear that any decided attempt was made to carry it out. In some manner, the apprehensions of the British leaders were excited for the safety of the Prince, and every precaution was taken against a surprise. Had it not been for this warning, the boldness of the plan appears likely to have insured its success.
At last there came a day when New York was to be rid of the presence of a foreign foe. On the 7th of August, 1783, Sir Guy Carleton (Lord Dorchester), who was in command of the British forces, received orders to evacuate the city. Delay was made subsequently, because of the large number of Tory refugees who desired to accompany the departing Britons. The Pennsylvania "Packet" of September 4th, 1783, says: "The most authentic accounts agree that there are yet between 12,000 and 15,000 refugees, men, women, and children, to be embarked at New York, Long Island, and Staten Island for Nova Scotia, St. John's and Abasco; among them are many passengers of fortune and landed estates, who leave nothing but terra firma behind them." These gentlemen with royal proclivities had become so unpopular that it was thought a sea voyage would benefit their health. The newspaper already quoted had said, as early as March 4th of the same year, that if any of the Tory printers of New York continued to "use the term Rebel in their papers, a number of determined Whigs had agreed,"
that the said printers should "have their ears cropt, if found in any of the thirteen United States of America after the war." Evidently the Pennsylvania patriots were in earnest, for they closed their proclamation by saying: "This public intimation is given them to prevent their further abuse of words, and to save their ears, should any of them presume to tarry in that country, and amongst those people who have been the objects of their repeated scurrility and abuse." This courage gradually inspired the long-repressed patriotism of the people of New York. A Barbara Frietchie was found to stand up for the flag of the young republic. When Captain Cunningham, on the morning of the day of British evacuation, ordered a citizen of Murray street to haul down the American flag which waved over the roof in sight of English bayonets, his wife came to the rescue with a stout broomstick, and soon put the infamous provost-marshal to flight, with the loss of his wig. The flag triumphantly waved its adieu to Carleton, and its welcome to Washington.
On the morning of November 25th, 1783, a bright, clear, frosty day, the American army marched from King's Bridge to the Bowery Lane, and halted at the British picket line, near the site of Cooper Institute. At one o'clock in the afternoon pickets were withdrawn, and the military and civil authorities made their formal entry into the city. General Washington and Governor Clinton, with their respective staffs, led the procession, escorted by a troop of Westchester cavalry. The military procession entered the city through Chatham street, and was composed of light dragoons, infantry, artillery, and a Massachusetts battalion, which, joined to the civic display, made an imposing demonstration. It was three o'clock when the column reached Whitehall, and General Knox took formal possession of Fort George. In the bay rode the British fleet, ready for departure, awaiting only the barges that were hurrying across the quiet waters, bringing back their defeated army. They heard the salvos of artillery and the cheers of the populace; they saw the brilliant display of bunting, when, as if by magic, the American flag waved simultaneously from a thousand windows; there was nothing to palliate their chagrin, and little heed was paid to their departure.
A young American lady, who for a year had been a resident of the city, wrote of the scenes of Evacuation Day: "The troops just leaving us were as if equipped for show,
and, with their scarlet uniforms and burnished arms, made a brilliant display; the troops that marched in, on the contrary, were ill-clad and weather-beaten, and made a forlorn appearance; but then they were our troops, and as I looked at them, and thought upon all they had done and suffered for us, my heart and my eyes were full, and I admired and gloried in them the more because they were weather-beaten and forlorn." The time was when New York religiously observed the memory of this event. Thirty years ago Evacuation Day was kept as a public holiday, and all the school-boys gathered exultingly about the military procession with which it was celebrated, and solemnly envied the veterans who had "smelt powder" in 1812, and to whom was accorded the privilege of raising the flag and firing the salute of thirteen guns on the Battery.
Feasting and rejoicing, in public and private, followed this memorable day. Yet the general joy was pervaded by a tone of sadness, which was none the less deep because it seldom found speech. New York was soon to lose the hero who was the central figure in the festivities, and the hearts of soldiers and civilians alike were loath to part with him. On the 4th of December, at noon, the principal officers of the army assembled at Fraunces's Tavern, which is yet standing in Broad street, at the corner of Pearl, to take a final leave of their old commander. As Washington entered the room and met the saddened gaze of those who had been his companions in so many scenes of danger and hardship, he lost his habitual self-control, and with difficulty regained command of his feelings. One moment he gave to nature and to tears, and then mastered himself. Turning to the heroes from whom peace had now separated him, he said: "With a heart full of love and gratitude, I now take leave of you, most devoutly wishing that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been glorious and honorable." Then he added, with emotion: "I cannot come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be obliged if each of you will come and take me by the hand."
That stout old soldier, General Henry Knox, who had risen from a bookseller's counter in Boston to the rank of MajorGeneral, was nearest to Washington, and was the first to advance and take his hand. He received a brother's embrace from his late chief, and both of them were affected to tears. Then each came slowly forward and received the same affectionate salutation.
In silence the company of officers followed their beloved chief as he passed on foot through a corps of light infantry to the ferry at Whitehall. There a barge received him, and as the oars fell into the water he turned and waved them a silent adieu. Silently they watched him pass out of sight, and then returned sadly to their homes.
One other scene may properly be added to this brief record of the struggles and triumphs of old New York. There came a sunshiny day in April, 1789, when George Washington, President-elect of the United States by the unanimous voice of the people, stood on a balcony in front of the Senate Chamber in the old Federal Hall on Wall street, to take the oath of office. An immense multitude filled the streets, and the windows and roofs of the adjoining houses. Clad in a suit of dark brown cloth of American manufacture, with hair powdered, and with white silk stockings, silver shoebuckles and steel-hilted dress sword, the hero who had led the colonies to their independence came modestly forward to take up the burdens that peace had brought. Profound silence fell upon the multitude as Washington responded solemnly to the reading of the oath of office, "I swear-so help me God." Then, amid cheers, the display of flags, and the ringing of all the bells in the city, our first President turned to face the duties his countrymen had imposed upon him. In sight of those who would have made an idol of him, Washington's first act was to seek the aid of other strength than his own. In the calm sunshine of that April afternoon, fragrant with the presence of seed-time and the promise of harvest, we leave him on his knees in Old St. Paul's, bowed with the simplicity of a child at the feet of the Supreme Ruler of the Universe.
THE bust of Milton, of which we here | by Samuel Leigh Sotheby- and photogive a wood-cut, has recently been attract- graphic copies of this photograph have ing the attention of admirers of the poet and been published by Mr. F. B. Patterson of the man in this country. A photograph 32 Cedar street, New York. From one of from the bust appeared as the frontispiece to a little-known work-" Ramblings in the Elucidation of the Autograph of Milton,"
London: Printed for the Author by Thomas Richards, and sold by all booksellers. 1861.
these photographs Mr. David Nichols has | made this spirited and faithful wood-cut.
It is not merely the fact that Mr. Sotheby's book was never published, in the technical sense of the word, that it is so little known to the general public; nor is the reason that it is a needlessly cumbersome and expensive book; it is much more because it belongs to a class of books which the English excel all other nations in producing, books to which Virgil's description of Polyphemus might be applied without alteration:
"Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum."
They are huge in bulk; they wallow about shapeless and unwieldy, and their intellectual and spiritual eyesight has been clean put out. Such books as Wornum's "Life of Holbein," W. B. Scott's "Life of Dürer" may be cited by one who has suffered from them as fit companions for Mr. Sotheby's "Ramblings." So far as the mere aggregation of facts is concerned, these books often perform a useful office, though even for this our gratitude is not seldom chilled by the twist that is given to the interpretation of those facts. Of this theorizing there is not much in Mr. Sotheby's book. The chief fault to be found with him is one that he has in common with all his tribe: the lugging in of irrelevant matter, and the giving it an equal place with the matter that really concerns his subject. If Mr. Sotheby's book could have been boiled down and confined within the limits necessary for the investigation of the authenticity of the autographs of Milton, it would have deserved a different fate from the neglect into which it has fallen.
The authenticity of the portraits of Milton, or even the enumeration of them, did not concern Mr. Sotheby when he was writing this book; but, perhaps, if he had insisted. on minding his proper business, we should have been to this day ignorant of the existence of the bust of Milton, of which he first published a veracious copy. We ought to be cordially thankful to him for this service, and to be sorry that we must speak as we are obliged to of the book in which it appears.
Portraits of Milton that can be depended on can scarcely be said to exist, and even those we have, that may be allowed some claim upon our notice as likenesses of the poet, were taken either when he was very young, or when he was very old. Aubrey, who perhaps knew Milton, speaking of a VOL. XI.-31.
portrait taken of him when a Cambridge scholar by an artist, whose name, if he knew, he did not record, says: "It ought to be engraved, for the pictures before his books are not at all like him." As Milton left Cambridge in 1632, and Aubrey was born in 1626, Aubrey must have derived his notion that this picture was a good likeness of Milton in his youth from some one else. Perhaps Milton's widow, whom Aubrey went to see, may have told him that her husband or his family had thought it like. But we must all of us have felt that his condemnation of the engraved portraits of Milton in his old age was deserved, as we have examined those doleful and depressing effigies of the man in his blind and despised old age, which are to be found prefixed to almost all the editions of his works. And that they were "not at all like him" was a statement Aubrey may perhaps have made of his own knowledge, since he outlived Milton twenty-three years.
The earliest known portrait of Milton is one painted by Cornelius Janssen when the poet was only ten years old. Janssen came from Leyden to England in 1618 (Milton was born in 1608), and this picture must have been one of the first that he painted after his arrival. It is the face of a solid, chubby, sweet, predestined-Puritan cherub. Janssen came over to paint the portraits of James I. and his family, and he made many pictures of the nobility and of people in the court circle. Milton's father, though a Puritan by birth and education, was a man of strong artistic leanings. "He was greatly distinguished," says Mitford, "for his musical talents; indeed, in science, he is said to have been equal to the first musicians of his age." This accomplishment, so much delighted in always in England, would naturally bring him much in the society of artists and of people fond of art. If the greater number of these were to be found in the Court party and among Roman Catholics, or the High Church party, it may be urged that Milton's grandfather was a Roman Catholic, and so bigoted that he disinherited Milton's father for deserting the ancient faith. Yet Milton's brother Christopher was a royalist, and, doubtless, either a Roman Catholic, or, what was the same thing to all intents and purposes, a High Churchman. And from this we may argue that Milton's father may have mingled in a society in whose religion he had no part, but with whose culture and accomplishment he had doubtless much sympathy, and which
probably welcomed him for his own power to contribute to its delight. Milton's artistic leanings are evident enough, and his own culture and accomplishment are well known. It was natural, on the whole, that his father should have met Janssen, and natural that Janssen should have desired to paint the intelligent, sweet-faced boy of ten years. The portrait he made was bought for twenty guineas of the executors of Milton's widow by C. Stanhope. At the sale of the effects of this Mr. Stanhope, it was bought by T. Hollis, Esq., for whose Memoirs Cipriani engraved it. The child is in a striped jacket with a lace collar.
The next picture of which we have any information is the one that Aubrey saw at the house of the poet's widow, and on which he "wrote his name in red letters with his widowe to preserve." As we have remarked, he does not appear to have known by whom it was painted, and no conjecture seems to have been made since his day. Milton was at that time twenty-one years old,-"a Cambridge schollar"-and the picture was purchased after his widow's death from her executor by Speaker Onslow. Both Janssen's portrait and this anonymous one have been engraved, the latter frequently. Good engravings of them on a small scale may be found in Professor Masson's "Milton and His Times."
There remain to be noticed two portraits in crayon, one by Faithorne, and one which was in the possession of Jonathan Richardson, the artist and critic, drawn by we know not whom. There is also mention of another crayon drawing, made by Robert White, and Mr. Sotheby says that Mr. John Fitchett Marsh, who made a hobby of the portraits of Milton, and who collected no less than one hundred and fifty engraved portraits of the poet, was of the opinion that from these three drawings the greater number of the engraved portraits have been copied or made up.
The portraits by Faithorne and White, with the one by an unknown hand in the possession of Richardson, were all taken when Milton was well advanced in years; Faithorne's, which is the best of the three, or at least the one the world has shown the greatest liking for apparently, as coming nearest to its notions of the man, was made about 1670, when Milton was sixty-two years old. The drawing, if we may judge by the engravings, should be a clear, strong piece of work, with decided human character, and the look of having been certainly
| taken from life. Faithorne was an artist of some repute. He was a royalist, and was banished from England on refusing to take the oath to Cromwell. He went to France, where he is said to have studied engraving under Nanteuil, and returned to England in 1660. How he came to take Milton's portrait does not appear. Milton belonged to the party that had persecuted and banished him, and that party was now defeated, and its greatest advocate and defender under a cloud, old, sick, and poor. Faithorne died in 1691, seventeen years after Milton. It was when Faithorne's crayon-drawing was shown to Deborah Milton, the poet's youngest daughter, by Vertue, the engraver, that she cried out, "O Lord! that is the picture of my father! How came you by it?" and, stroking down the hair of his forehead, "Just so my father wore his hair." *
Mr. Sotheby thinks best of the portrait that was in the possession of Richardson, but which he calls "the Baker portrait," because, when he knew it, it was in the possession of William Baker, Esq., of Hayfordbury, Herts. He gives a photograph from it in his book, facing the photograph from the bust. To our thinking, it is a very unsatisfactory picture. The drawing is weak and undecided; the face has no particular character, and the mouth, the most important feature, impossible to have been Milton's, or any man's mouth at fifty-eight. Indeed, it is not a mouth at all. It is the sort of thing young ladies used to be taught to make by the fashionable drawing-master. The whole picture looks as if it were painted by a novice.
Of course, there are other portraits of Milton, but we ourselves know little or nothing about them. Mr. Mitford, in his Life of Milton, prefixed to the beautiful Pickering edition of the Poems, says he remembers having seen at Lord Braybrooke's, Audley-End, a portrait of the poet with a beard. Also another of him, as a young man, at Lord Townshend's, at Rainhams. He records, also, that Charles Lamb had an original portrait of Milton, "left by his brother and accidentally bought in London."
These pictures may, or may not, have been valuable as portraits; but, as we have said, we know nothing more of them than that they existed. So far as the world is concerned, there existed for it until a late
Todd's "Milton." Deborah Milton lived 76 years, dying August, 1727.