The heights recall Washington’s masterly retreat; and the hint is enough to remind the shame-faced English visitor that the American is not without cause for a certain coolness in the very genuine affection which he manifests for the mother country. ’Seventy-six and the six years that followed, with all their legacy1 of bitter thoughts, was succeeded by 1814 and the burning of the Capitol. In this later war it was Virginia, not New England, that took the initiative; Massachusetts and Connecticut even opposed it, and it may have been none too popular in adjacent Long Island.
It is doubtful whether Major van Velsor or his sons actually took the field against the British. But this second and last of the Anglo-American wars was still a bitter and vivid memory when in May, 1823,[29] towards Walt’s fourth birthday, his father, the old major’s son-in-law, left the farm, removing with his family to Front Street, Brooklyn, near the wharves2 and water-side.
Though but a country town with great elm-trees still shading its main thoroughfare,[30] Brooklyn was growing,[Pg 11] and its trade was brisk. It is likely that the carpenter, Whitman, framed more than one of the hundred and fifty houses which were added to it during the year.
In the meantime, Walt took advantage of his improved situation to study men and manners in a sea-port town. He watched the ferry-boats that for the last ninety years had plied3 to and fro, binding4 Brooklyn to its big neighbour opposite upon Manhattan Island. For another sixty years their decks provided the only roadway across the East River, and they still go back and forward loaded heavily, in spite of the two huge but graceful5 bridges which now span the grey waters. The boy gazed wondering at the patient horse in the round house on deck, which, turning like a mule6 at a wheel-pump, provided the propelling power for the ferry-boat till Fulton replaced him by steam.
The boy in frocks must have wondered, too, at the great shows and pageants7 of 1824 and 1825 which filled New York with holiday-making crowds. For in August of the former year, came the old hero of two Republics, General Lafayette, to be received with every demonstration8 of admiring gratitude9 by the people of America. Some scintilla10 of the glory of those days—pale reflection, as it was, of the far-away tragic11 radiance that lighted up the world at the awakening13 of Justice and of Liberty on both sides of the sea—fell upon the child. For when the old soldier visited Brooklyn to lay the corner-stone of a library there, he found the youngster in harm’s way and lifted him, with a hearty14 kiss, on to a coign of vantage.[31] Thus, at six years old, Walt felt himself already famous.
Again, a few months later, the city was all ablaze15 with lights and colour and congratulations on the opening of the Erie Canal, which connected New York with Ohio and promised to break the monopoly of Western commerce held hitherto by the queen city of the Mississippi.
By this time, the family counted four children; two brothers, Jesse and Walt, and two little girls, Mary and[Pg 12] Hannah, all born within six years. Of the children, Walt and Hannah appear to have been special friends, but we have little record of this period. As they grew old enough, they attended the Brooklyn public school and went duly to Sunday school as well.[32] In the summers they spent many a long holiday in the fields and lanes about West Hills.
A reminiscence of those times is enshrined in one of the best known of the Leaves of Grass,[33] written more than a quarter of a century later, a memory of the May days when the boy discovered a mocking-birds’ nest containing four pale green eggs, among the briars by the beach, and watched over them there from day to day till presently the mother-bird disappeared; and then of those September nights when, escaping from his bed, he ran barefoot down on to the shore through the windy moonlight, flung himself upon the sand, and listened to the desolate16 singing of the widowed he-bird close beside the surf. There, in the night, with the sea and the wind, he lay utterly17 absorbed in the sweet, sad singing of that passion, some mystic response awakening in his soul; till in an ecstasy18 of tears which flooded his young cheeks, he felt, rather than understood, the world-meaning hidden in the thought of death.[34]
This self-revealing reminiscence, even if it should prove to diverge19 from historic incident and to take some colour from later thought, illumines the obscurity which covers the inner life of his childhood. Elsewhere we can dimly see him as his mother’s favourite; towards her he was always affectionate. But with his father he showed himself wayward, idle, self-willed and independent, altogether a difficult lad for that kindly20 but taciturn[Pg 13] and determined21 man to manage. Walt retained these qualities, and they caused endless trouble to every ill-advised person who afterwards attempted the task in which worthy22 Walter Whitman failed.
Among his young companions, though he was not exactly imperious, Walt seems to have played the part of a born leader; he was a clever boy; he always had ideas, and he always had a following. And as a rule he was delightful23 to be with, for he had an unflagging capacity for enjoyment24 and adventure.
But there must have been times when he was moody26 and reserved. The passionate27 element in his nature which the song of the mocking-bird aroused belongs rather to night solitudes28 than to perpetual society and sunshine. As he grew older, and, perhaps, somewhat overgrew his physical strength,[35] he was often unhappy in himself. There was something tempestuous29 in him which no one understood, he himself least of any. Probably his wise and very human mother came nearest to understanding; and her heart was with him as he fought out his lonely battles with that strange enemy of Youth’s peace, the soul.
Little brothers were added from time to time to the family group; Andrew, George and Jeff, and last of all poor under-witted Ted12, born when Walt was a lad of sixteen, to be the life-long object of his mother’s affectionate care. The names of Andrew and Jeff reflect their father’s political sentiments; the latter recalling the founder31 of the old Jeffersonian Republicanism; and the former being called after Andrew Jackson, the popular and successful candidate for the presidency32, in the year of the boy’s birth, who afterwards reorganised his party, creating the “Democratic” machine to take the place of what had hitherto been the “Republican” caucus33. Thus Republicanism changed its name, and the title did not reappear in party politics for a generation.
As Walter Whitman built, mortgaged and eventually[Pg 14] sold his frame-houses, the family would often move from one into another: we can trace at least five migrations[36] during the ten years that they remained in Brooklyn. He was a busy, but never a prosperous man; with his large family, the fluctuations34 of trade must have affected35 him seriously; and scattered36 through his son’s story, there are fast-days and seasons of privation. Walter Whitman was, in short, a working man upon the borders of the middle-class: thrifty37, shrewd, industrious38, but dependent upon his earnings39; mixing at times with people of good education, but of little himself; a master-workman, the son of a well-read and thoughtful mother, living in the free and natural social order which at that time prevailed in Brooklyn and New York.
He was not outwardly religious; he was never a church-goer; even his wife, who called herself a Baptist, only went irregularly,[37] and then, with an easy tolerance40, to various places of worship—the working mother of eight children has her hands full on Sundays. In the household there was no form of family prayers. But when old Elias Hicks[38] preached in the neighbourhood, they went to hear him, tending more towards a sort of liberal Quakerism than to anything else.
Picture of Walt's father, Walter Whitman, Senior.
WALTER WHITMAN, SENIOR
The Whitmans were not an irreligious family—Walt was, for instance, fairly well-grounded in the Scriptures—but they thought for themselves, they disliked anything that savoured of exclusion41, and their religion consisted principally in right living and in kindliness42. Their devotion to the old Quaker minister is interesting. Hicks was a remarkable43 man and a most powerful and moving preacher. He was large and liberal-minded; too liberal, it would seem, for some of his hearers. His utterances44 had however passed unchallenged till an evangelical movement, fostered by some English Friends among their American brethren, made further acquiescence46 seem impossible.
[Pg 15]
That which complacently47 calls itself orthodoxy is naturally intolerant, it can, indeed, hardly even admit tolerance to a place among the virtues48; and the evangelical propaganda must be very pure if it is to be unaccompanied by the spirit of exclusion. It may seem strange that such a spirit should enter into a Society which gathers its members under the name of “Friends,” a name which seems to indicate some basis broader than the creeds50, some spiritual unity51 which could dare to welcome the greatest diversity of view because it would cultivate mutual52 understanding. But the broader the basis and the more spiritual the bond of fellowship, the more disastrous53 is the advent25 of the spirit of schism54 masking itself under some title of expediency55, and here this spirit had forced an entrance.
Between Hicks—who himself appears to have been somewhat intolerant of opposition56, a strong-willed man, frankly57 hostile to the evangelical dogmatics—and the narrower sort of evangelicals, relations became more and more strained, until, in 1828, the octogenarian minister was disowned by the official body of Quakers, after some painful scenes. He was however followed into his exile by a multitude of his hearers and others who foresaw and dreaded58 the crystallisation of Quakerism under some creed49.
Soon after the crisis, and only three months before his death, Elias Hicks preached in the ball-room of Morrison’s Hotel on Brooklyn Heights. Among the mixed company who listened on that November evening to the old man’s mystical and prophetic utterance45, was the ten-year old boy, accompanying his parents.
Hicks sprang from the peasant-farming class to which the Whitmans belonged; and, as a lad, had been intimate with Walt’s great-grandfather, and with his son after him. It was then, with a sort of hereditary59 reverence60, that the boy beheld61 that intense face, with its high-seamed forehead, the smooth hair parted in the middle and curling quaintly63 over the collar behind; the hawk64 nose, the high cheek bones, the repression65 of the mouth, and the curiously66 Indian aspect of the tall com[Pg 16]manding figure, clad in the high vest and coat of Quaker cut. The scene was one he never forgot. The finely-fitted and fashionable place of dancing, the officers and gay ladies in that mixed and crowded assembly, the lights, the colours and all the associations, both of the faces and of the place, presenting so singular a contrast with the plain, ancient Friends seated upon the platform, their broad-brims on their heads, their eyes closed; with the silence, long continued and becoming oppressive; and most of all, with the tall, prophetic figure that rose at length to break it.
With grave emphasis he pronounced his text: “What is the chief end of man?” and with fiery67 and eloquent68 eyes, in a strong, vibrating, and still musical voice, he commenced to deliver his soul-awakening message. The fire of his fervour kindled69 as he spoke70 of the purpose of human life; his broad-brim was dashed from his forehead on to one of the seats behind him. With the power of intense conviction his whole presence became an overwhelming persuasion71, melting those who sat before him into tears and into one heart of wonder and humility72 under his high and simple words.
The sermon itself has not come down to us. In his Journal,[39] Hicks has described the meeting as a “large and very favoured season.” It seems to have been devoid73 of those painful incidents of opposition which saddened so many similar occasions during these last years of his ministry74.
The old man had been accused of Deism, as though he were a second Tom Paine and devotee of “Reason”: in reality his message was somewhat conservative and essentially75 mystical. A hostile writer[40] asserts truly that the root of his heresy76—if heresy we should call it—lay in his setting up of the Light Within as the primary rule of faith and practice. He always viewed the Bible writings as a secondary standard of truth or guide to action; as a book, though the best among books. And as a book, it was the “letter” only: the “spirit that[Pg 17] giveth life” even to the letter, was in the hearts of men.
In his attitude toward the idea of Christ, he distinguished77, like many other mystics, between the figure of the historic Jesus of Nazareth and that indwelling Christ of universal mystical experience, wherewith according to his teaching, Jesus identified himself through the deepening of his human consciousness into that of Deity78. In the mystical view, this God-consciousness is in some measure the common inheritance of all the saints, and underlies80 the everyday life of men. And to it, as a submerged but present element in the life of their hearers, Fox and the characteristic Quaker preachers have always directed their appeal, seeking to bring it up into consciousness. Once evoked82 and recognised, this divine element must direct and control all the faculties83 of the individual. It is the new humanity coming into the world.
Hicks recognised in Jesus the most perfect of initiates84 into this new life; and as such, he accorded a special authority to the Gospel teachings, but demanded that they should be construed85 by the reader according to the Christ-spirit in his own heart. Properly understood, the doctrine86 of the Inner Light is not, as many have supposed it to be, the reductio ad absurdum of individual eccentricity87. On the contrary it tends to a transcendental unity; for the spirit whose irruption into the individual consciousness it seeks and supposes, is that spirit and light wherein all things are united and in harmony. In this sense, the Quaker preacher was appealing to the essence of all social consciousness—that realisation of an organic fellowship-in-communion which the sacraments of the churches are designed to cultivate.
However dark his great subject may appear to the trained gaze of philosophy, the old man’s words brought illumination to the little boy. The sense of human dignity was deepened in him; he breathed an air of solemnity and inspiration.
Hicks died early in the new year, and with him there[Pg 18] probably fell away the last strong link which held the Whitmans to Quakerism. But the seed of the ultimate Quaker faith—that faith by which alone a quaint62 little society rises out of a merely historic and sectarian interest to become a symbol of the eternal truths which underlie79 Society as a whole, a faith which declares of its own experience that Deity is immanent in the heart of Man—this seed of faith was sown in the lad’s mind to become the central principle around which all his after thought revolved88.
Although, as these incidents make evident, Walt’s nature was strongly emotional, he never went through the process known as conversion89. Religion came to him naturally. Responsive from his childhood to the emotional influence of that ultimate reality which we call “God” or “the spiritual,” he can never have had the overwhelming sense of inward disease and degradation90 which conversion seems to presuppose. Well-born and surrounded by wholesome91 influences, it is probable that the higher elements of his nature were always dominant92. The idea of abject93 unworthiness would hardly be suggested to his young mind. He was not ignorant of evil, insensible to temptation, or innocent of those struggles for self-mastery which increase with the years of youth. We have reason to believe that he was wilful94 and passionate; though he was too affectionate and too well-balanced to be ill-natured. Harmonious95 natures are not insensitive to their own discordant96 notes, and the harmony of Whitman held many discords98 in solution.
He had then in his own experience, even as a child, material sufficient for a genuine sense of sin. But this sense, never, so far as we know, became acute enough to cause a crisis in his life, never created in his mind any feeling of an irreparable disaster, or any discord97 which he despaired of ultimately resolving. He had not been taught to regard God as a severe judge, of incredible blindness to the complexity99 of human nature;[41] and[Pg 19] perhaps partly in consequence of this, he was ever a rebel against the Divine Justice.
There is, it may be said, another kind of conversion, a turning of the eyes of the soul to discover the actual presence and power of God at hand: the sequel may show whether Whitman felt himself to be ignorant of this change.
Honest, upright and self-respecting, his parents never took an ascetic100 view of morality. They did not share in that puritanical101 hostility102 to art and to amusements which too long distorted the image of truth in the mirror of Quakerism. Even as a lad, Walt discovered those provinces of the world of romance which lie across the footlights, and in the dazzling pages of the Arabian Nights;[42] and, as a youth, he followed the wizard of Waverley through all his stories and poems, becoming, soon after Sir Walter’s death, the happy possessor of Lockhart’s complete edition, in a solid octavo volume of 1,000 pages. From this time forward he was an insatiable novel-reader, especially devoted103 to Fenimore Cooper, who was then delighting the younger generation with stories of pioneer life.
It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that the boy’s life at this time was all amusement. At eleven years of age he was in a lawyer’s office,[43] proud in the possession of a desk and window-corner of his own. The master found him a bright boy and was kind to him, forwarding his limited education a step further. He also subscribed104 on his behalf to a circulating library which supplied the lad with a continuous series of tales. But for whatever reason—one fears it was not unconnected with those stories—Walt soon found himself running errands for another master.
In his thirteenth year he was put to the printing trade, and ceased, at least for a while, to live under his father’s roof.[44] The mother was out of health for a long[Pg 20] time, during the period of the youngest son’s birth and infancy105, and when in 1832 the town was visited by a severe epidemic106 of cholera107, the Whitman family removed into the country. But Walt stayed behind, boarding with the other apprentices108 of the Brooklyn postmaster and printer. Mr. Clements and his family were good to the lad while he was with them, and some effusions of his—for like other clever boys he was writing verses—appear to have found their way into the Long Island Patriot109.
From the Patriot he soon removed to the Star, another local weekly, whose proprietor110, Mr. Alden J. Spooner, was a principal figure in the Brooklyn of those days, and who long retained a vivid memory of a certain idle lad who worked in his shop. If he had been stricken with fever and ague, he used to say laughing, the boy would have been too lazy to shake.[45] At thirteen, Walt was too much interested in watching things to take kindly to work; most of his time was spent in learning what the world had to teach him; but in the end he learnt his trade as well.
No place could have been better chosen to awake his interest in the many-sided life around him than a printing office, the centre of all the local news. Here he developed fast in every way, shot up long and stalky, scribbled111 for the press as well as learning his proper business, and became a very young man about town. Already, he felt the attraction of the great island city of Mannahatta, where, according to its earliest name, for ever “gaily dash the coming, going, hurrying sea-waves.”[46]
New York had for a time been crippled by the collapse112 of American trade which followed the close of the Napoleonic wars in Europe,[47] but had recovered again, and was now growing rapidly—a city of perhaps 200,000 inhabitants, the English element predominating[Pg 21] in its curiously mixed population. Though it was prosperous, it had its share of misfortune. Serious riots—racial, religious and political—were not infrequent. Epidemics113 of cholera swept through it; and in December, 1835, thirteen acres of its buildings were burnt out in a three days’ conflagration114.
In spite of these disasters the town grew and extended, and means of locomotion115 multiplied. The stages were running on Broadway from Bowling116 Green to Bleecker Street, that is about half-way to Central Park, and the great thoroughfare was crowded with traffic, presenting a scene busier even and certainly more picturesque117 than that of to-day. Fashionable folk still lived “down town” below the present City Hall, in a district now given up as exclusively to offices and warehouses118 as is the City of London. Ladies took their children down to play upon the open space of the Battery, looking down the beautiful bay; and did their shopping at the various Broadway stores. Upon their door-steps, on either side of the street, citizens still sat out with their families through the summer evenings; they condescended119 to drink at the city pumps, and to buy hot-corn and ices from the wayside vendors120, while the height of diversion was to run with the engine to some fire. In a word, New York life was still natural and democratic; palaces and slums were as unknown to the democracy of the metropolis121 as the sky-scrapers which render the approach to-day, in spite of its wooded hills, its ships and islands, among the least beautiful of the great sea-ports of the world.
Of diversions the citizens had no lack, for the population was now sufficient to support a good native stage and to attract foreign artists. The year 1825 saw the advent of Italian opera at the Old Park theatre, which stood not far from the present Post Office; and Garcia and Malibran appeared in the “Barber of Seville”.[48] It was here that Edwin Forrest was first seen by a New York audience; while fashionable English actors like[Pg 22] Macready and the Kembles were among its visitors. But even more interest centred in the Bowery, the great popular theatre built to seat 3,000, where the elder Booth and Forrest played night after night before enthusiastic houses of young and middle-aged122 artisans and mechanics capable of thunderstorms of applause.
There were other theatres, too, such as Niblo’s and Richmond Hill, and to all of these young Whitman presently found his way armed with a pressman’s pass. He must have spent many an evening in the city while he was still working for Mr. Spooner, and one unforgettable night, when he was fifteen or so, he was present at a great benefit in the Bowery when Booth played “Richard III.”[49] Fifty years later, the scene of that evening remained as clear before his eyes as when he sat in the front of the pit, hanging on every word and gesture of that consummate123 actor. Inflated124 and stagy his manner might be; but he revealed to the lad, watching his studied abandonment to passion, a new world of expression. For the first time, he understood how far gestures, and a presence more powerful than words, can express the heights and depths of emotion.
On that night in the Bowery, as upon those memorable125 nights on the Long Island Beach, and in Morrison’s Ballroom126, Walt came face to face with one of the supreme127 mysteries. On these occasions it had been the mystery of Death, which alone brings peace to the heart of passionate love, and the mystery of the Immanent Deity; now it was that other equal mystery, the mystery of Expression, the utterance of the soul in living words and acts and vivid presence. Love and Religion were already significant to him; he had now been shown the meaning of Art.
In the meantime he had begun, as boys will, to take an interest in politics. And before going further, we must glance at the outstanding events and tendencies of the period.
[Pg 23]
Those two famous documents, The Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States, are associated respectively with Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton,[50] and represent two currents of political theory which beat against one another through subsequent years. Jefferson was saturated128 with the political idealism of the school of Rousseau, which sums itself up in the demand for individual liberty and rights, the declaration of individual independence, and freedom from interference.
Hamilton on the other hand—who was by temper an aristocrat129, and once at a New York dinner described the people as “a great beast,”[51]—was possessed130 by the idea of the Nation; he dwelt upon the duty of each member to the whole, promulgating131 doctrines132 of solidarity133 and unity in the cause of a common freedom. The two views are, of course, complementary; their antagonism134, if it gave the victory to either, would be fatal to both; and their reconciliation135 is essential to the life of the Republic. But between their supporters, antagonism has naturally existed.
The ideal of the Jeffersonian Republicans became associated with popular or “Democratic” sentiment,[52] standing30 as it did in opposition to the more conservative and constitutional position of the Hamiltonian Federalists. For a time the two parties dwelt together in such amity136 that the Federalists were actually merged81 with the Republicans; but the uncontested election of Monroe was a signal for the outbreak of the old contest. At the next election,[53] an Adams of Massachusetts was returned to the White House; and Jackson of Tennessee, one of the defeated candidates, built up a Democratic party of opposition whose organising centre was New York. On the other side, the followers137 of Adams and his secretary, Henry Clay, came eventually to be known as Whigs, “Republican” ceasing for a quarter of a century to be a party label.
[Pg 24]
The titles of the parties serve approximately to indicate their different tendencies; though it must be remembered that the Whiggery of Adams was coloured by New England idealism, while the material interests of the South turned their energies to capture the naturally idealistic Democracy of Jackson. Eventually the division became almost a geographical138 one; though certain of her interests and perhaps her jealous antipathy139 to New England, gave New York’s sympathies to the South.
In 1832, when Walt was studying the world through the keen eyes of thirteen, and the windows of a Brooklyn printing shop, Democratic South Carolina was offering a stubborn resistance to the Federal tariff140. Theoretically, and one may add ethically141, any tariff was contrary to the Jeffersonian doctrine of universal freedom; and practically, it was disastrous to the special interests of the South. Carolina, under the poetic142 fire and genius of Calhoun, was the Southern champion against Northern, or, let us say, Federal aggression143. She stood out for the rights of a minority so far as to propose secession. The South was aggrieved144 by the tariff, for, roughly speaking, its States were cotton plantations145, whose interests lay in easy foreign exchange; they grew no corn, they made no machinery146, they neither fed nor clothed themselves. The North on the other hand was industrial, anxious to guard its infant manufactures against the competition of Great Britain. The West was agricultural, demanding roads and public works which required the funds provided by a tariff. Now even these public works, these high roads and canals, were calculated directly to benefit the Northern manufacturers rather than the planters of the South whose highway to the West was the great river which had formerly147 given them all the Western trade to handle, and whose cheapest market for machinery and manufactured goods lay over the high sea whither its own staple148 was continually going.
The tariff imposed for the benefit of the Northern section was, then, opposed by the South on grounds of industrial necessity as well as of political theory. And it may be noted149 the argument of the Southerner was equally[Pg 25] the argument of many an artisan in the metropolis, who saw in free trade the sole guarantee of cheap living.
Thus there was a certain antagonism between the interests of the two geographical sections of the American nation; and this was emphasised by another cause for hostility. Every statesman knew that, although unacknowledged, it was really the question of slavery which was already dividing America into “North” and “South”. And recognising it as beyond his powers of solution, he sought by maintaining a compromise to conceal150 it from the public mind.
The “Sovereign States,” momentarily united for defence against a domineering king, had at the same hour been swept by Tom Paine’s and Jefferson’s versions of the French Republicanism, and North and South alike adhered to a doctrinaire151 equality. The negro, they were willing to agree, should be voluntarily and gradually emancipated152.
But the hold of this policy on the South was soon afterwards undermined by the economic development which followed the introduction of the cotton-gin. The new and rapidly growing prosperity of the planter depended on the permanence of the “institution”. And from this time forward the Southern policy becomes hard to distinguish from the vested interests of the slave-owner. The prosperity of the South seemed to depend upon the extension of the cotton industry: the cotton industry, again, upon slave-labour; thus it was argued, the institution of slavery was necessary to the prosperity of the South. The North, so the Southerner supposed, had its own interests to serve, and only regarded the South as a market. It was, he felt, jealous of the dominance of Southern statesmanship in the union; and its desire to destroy “the institution” was denounced as the sectional jealousy153 of small-minded, shop-keeping bigots, of inferior antecedents. By the brute154 force of increasing numbers, by a vulgar love of trade, and the accidents of climate and of mineral resources, the North was beginning to establish its hold[Pg 26] upon Congress, and arrogating155 to itself the Federal power.
Hitherto, with the exception of the Adamses and of Jackson, every President had been of Virginian birth, bred, the Southerner declared, in the broader views of statesmanship. But the North was now predominant in the House of Representatives, and a balance could only be preserved in the Senate, where each State appoints two members, by constant watchfulness156. Thus the rapid settling of the middle West by Northerners must be balanced by the annexation157 of new cotton-growing regions in the South-west. The famous Missouri Compromise of 1821 fixed158 the frontier between future free-soil and slave States at the line of the southern boundary of Missouri, while admitting that State itself into the union as a member of the latter class. Hence it was only in the South-west that slavery could develop, and extension by conquest of cotton territory became henceforward an object of Southern politicians.
While, then, it was the aggression of the South which finally drove the nation into civil war, the South for many years had viewed itself as an aggrieved partner in the inter-State compact, victimised in the interests of the majority. It felt, perhaps not unjustly, that it was being overridden159, and that the Federation160 was becoming what Jefferson described as “a foreign yoke”.[54] It became excessively sensitive to hostility: every rumour161 of the spread of Abolition162 sentiment in the North—a sentiment which favoured a new attitude towards the Federal power, and would give control to it over the domestic affairs of what hitherto had literally163 been “Sovereign States”—raised a storm of indignation and evoked new threats of secession.
But while slavery was already playing its part in American politics it had not yet become the main line of party cleavage. Although the party of free trade and of State rights was the party of the South, it was not yet[Pg 27] the party of slavery. It was still throughout America the “people’s party,” and the slave power was the last to desire that it should cease to hold that title, especially in the North. For many a year to come there would be stout164 Abolitionists who could call themselves Democrats165; while “dough-faces,” or politicians who served the party of slavery, were always to be found amongst the Whigs.
Even while party feeling ran high, the increase of the means of communication and the introduction of steam transport, both on land and water, favoured the larger Federal sentiment and quickened the national consciousness. Talk of secession had been heard in New England as well as in South Carolina; but actual secession became more difficult as the manufacturers of the East, the cotton-growers of the South, and the farmers of the Mississippi basin had tangible166 evidence of the many interests and privileges which were common to them, and beheld more and more clearly the future upon which America was entering. Year by year the idea of the union gained in vitality167; and in spite of party feeling, President Jackson had a nation behind him when he refused to yield to South Carolina’s threat of secession.
A compromise was effected, and Carolina submitted to the collection of duties under a somewhat mitigated168 tariff: the relation of the constituent169 States to the Federal power remaining still undefined, waiting, for a generation to come, upon the growth of national sentiment on the one hand, and the accumulation of resentment170 upon the other.
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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pageants
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| n.盛装的游行( pageant的名词复数 )；穿古代服装的游行；再现历史场景的娱乐活动；盛会 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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scintilla
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| n.极少，微粒 | |
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11
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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12
ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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13
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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16
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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17
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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18
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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19
diverge
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| v.分叉，分歧，离题，使...岔开，使转向 | |
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20
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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21
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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22
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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23
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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24
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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25
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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26
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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27
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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28
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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29
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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30
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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31
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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32
presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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33
caucus
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| n.秘密会议；干部会议；v.（参加）干部开会议 | |
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34
fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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35
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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36
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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37
thrifty
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|
| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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38
industrious
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|
| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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39
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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40
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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41
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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42
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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43
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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44
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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45
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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46
acquiescence
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|
| n.默许；顺从 | |
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47
complacently
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|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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48
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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49
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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50
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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51
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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52
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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53
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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54
schism
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| n.分派，派系，分裂 | |
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55
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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56
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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57
frankly
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|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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58
dreaded
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|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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59
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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60
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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61
beheld
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|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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62
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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63
quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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64
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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65
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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66
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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67
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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68
eloquent
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|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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69
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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70
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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71
persuasion
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|
| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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72
humility
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|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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73
devoid
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|
| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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74
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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75
essentially
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|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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76
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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77
distinguished
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|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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78
deity
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|
| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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79
underlie
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| v.位于...之下，成为...的基础 | |
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80
underlies
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|
| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的第三人称单数 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起 | |
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81
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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82
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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83
faculties
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|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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84
initiates
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| v.开始( initiate的第三人称单数 )；传授；发起；接纳新成员 | |
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85
construed
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|
| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
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86
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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87
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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88
revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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89
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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90
degradation
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|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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91
wholesome
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|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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92
dominant
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|
| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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93
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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94
wilful
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|
| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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95
harmonious
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|
| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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96
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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97
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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98
discords
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| 不和（discord的复数形式） | |
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99
complexity
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| n.复杂(性)，复杂的事物 | |
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100
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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101
puritanical
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|
| adj.极端拘谨的；道德严格的 | |
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102
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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103
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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104
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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105
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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106
epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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107
cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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108
apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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109
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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110
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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111
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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112
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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113
epidemics
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| n．流行病 | |
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114
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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115
locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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116
bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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117
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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118
warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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119
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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120
vendors
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| n.摊贩( vendor的名词复数 )；小贩；（房屋等的）卖主；卖方 | |
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121
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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122
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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123
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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124
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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125
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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126
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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127
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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128
saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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129
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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130
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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131
promulgating
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| v.宣扬（某事物）( promulgate的现在分词 )；传播；公布；颁布（法令、新法律等） | |
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132
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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133
solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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134
antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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135
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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136
amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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137
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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138
geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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139
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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140
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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ethically
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| adv.在伦理上，道德上 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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145
plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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146
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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147
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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148
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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149
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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150
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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151
doctrinaire
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| adj.空论的 | |
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152
emancipated
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| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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154
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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155
arrogating
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| v.冒称，妄取( arrogate的现在分词 )；没来由地把…归属（于） | |
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156
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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157
annexation
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| n.吞并，合并 | |
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158
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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159
overridden
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| 越控( override的过去分词 )； （以权力）否决； 优先于； 比…更重要 | |
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160
federation
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| n.同盟，联邦，联合，联盟，联合会 | |
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161
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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162
abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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165
democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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166
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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167
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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168
mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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169
constituent
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| n.选民；成分，组分；adj.组成的，构成的 | |
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170
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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