The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 6, June, 1862

NEW-ENGLAND'S ADVANCE

Hurrah! for our New-England,
When she rose up firm and grand,
In her calm, terrific beauty,
With the stout sword in her hand;
When she raised her arm undaunted,
In the sacred cause of Right,
Like a crowned queen of valor,
Strong in her faith and might.

Hurrah! for our New-England!
When the war-cry shook the breeze,
She wore the garb of glory,
And quaffed the cup of ease;
But I saw a look of daring
On her proud features rise,
And the fire of will was flashing
Through the calm light of her eyes.

From her brow serene, majestic,
The wreath of peace she took,
And war's red rose sprang blooming,
And its bloody petals shook
On her heaving, beating bosom;
And with forehead crowned with light,
Transfigured, she presented
Her proud form to the fight.

Hurrah! for our New-England!
What lightning courage ran
Through her brave heart, as she bounded
To the battle's fearful van;
O'er her head the starry banner;
While her loud, inspiring cry,
'Death or Freedom for our Nation,'
Rang against the clouded sky.

I saw our own New-England
Dealing blows for Truth and Right,
And the grandeur of her purpose
Gave her eyes a sacred light;
Ah! name her 'the Invincible,'
Through rebel rank and host;
For Justice evermore is done,
And Right comes uppermost.

Hurrah for our New-England!
Through the battle's fearful brunt,
Through the red sea of the carnage,
Still she struggles in the front;
And victory's war-eagle,
Hovering o'er the fiery blast,
On her floating, starry standard.
Is settling down at last.

There is glory for New-England,
When Oppression's strife is done,
When the tools of Wrong are vanquished,
And the cause of Freedom won;
She shall sit in garments spotless,
And shall breathe the odorous balm
Of the cool green of contentment,
In the bowers of peace and calm.

WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?

'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every one lives it—to many it is known; and seize it where you will, it is interesting.—Goethe.

'SUCCESSFUL.—Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or intended.'—Webster's Dictionary.

CHAPTER I

The little village of Burnsville, in Connecticut, was thrown into a state of excitement by the report that Hiram Meeker was about to remove to the city of New-York. Two or three elderly maiden ladies with whom Hiram was an especial favorite, declared there was not a word of truth in the ridiculous rumor. The girls of the village very generally discredited it. The young men said Hiram was not such a fool; he knew on which side his bread was buttered; he knew when to let well enough alone, and so forth. Still the report was circulated. To be sure, nobody believed it, yet it spread all the faster for being contradicted. I have said that the young ladies of Burnsville put no faith in the story. Possibly Sarah Burns was an exception, and Sarah, it was well understood, was an interested party, and would be apt to know the truth. She did not contradict the statement when made in her presence, and once, when appealed to for her opinion, she looked very serious, and said it might be so for all she knew. At length there were two parties formed in Burnsville. One on whose banner was inscribed: 'Hiram Meeker is going to New-York.' The other with flag bearing in large letters: 'No such thing: Hiram is not going.'

It would have been easy, one would suppose, to settle the important controversy by a direct appeal to Hiram Meeker himself. Strange to say, this does not appear to have been done, both sides fearing, like experienced generals, to risk the result on a single issue. But numerous were the hints and innuendoes conveyed to him, to which he always gave satisfactory replies—satisfactory to both parties—both contending he had, by his answers, confirmed their own particular view of the case.

This state of things could not last forever. It was brought suddenly to an end one Friday afternoon.

Hiram Meeker was a member, in regular standing, of the Congregational Church in Burnsville. The Preparatory Lecture, as it is called, that is, the lecture delivered prior to 'Communion-Sabbath,' in the church, was always on the previous Friday, at three o'clock P.M. On a pleasant day toward the end of April, Hiram Meeker and Sarah Burns went in company to attend this lecture. The exercises were especially interesting. Several young people, at the close of the services, who had previously been propounded, were examined as to their 'experience,' and a vote was separately taken on the admission of each. This over, the clergyman spoke as follows: 'Brother Hiram Meeker being about to remove from among us, desires to dissolve his connection with the Congregational church in Burnsville, and requests the usual certificate of membership and good standing. Is it your pleasure that he receive it? Those in favor will please to signify it.' Several 'right hands' were held up, and the matter was concluded. A young man who sat nearly opposite Sarah Burns, observed that on the announcement, her face became very pale.

When the little company of church-members was dismissed, Hiram Meeker and Sarah Burns walked away together as they came. No, not as they came, as the following conversation will show.

'Why did you not tell me, Hiram?'

'Because, Sarah, I did not fully decide till the mail came in this very afternoon. I had only time to speak to Mr. Chase, and there was no opportunity to see you, and I could not tell you about it while we were walking along so happy together.'

Hiram Meeker lied.

Sarah Burns could not disbelieve him; it was not possible Hiram would deceive her, but her heart felt the lie, nevertheless.

Hiram Meeker is the hero of this history. It is, therefore, necessary to give some account of him previous to his introduction to the reader on the afternoon of the preparatory lecture. At the date of the commencement of the narrative, he was already twenty-two years old. He was the youngest of several children. His father was a highly respectable man, who resided in Hampton, about fifteen miles from Burnsville, and cultivated one of the most valuable farms in the county. Mr. and Mrs. Meeker both had the reputation of being excellent people. They were exemplary members of the church, and brought up their children with a great deal of care. They were in every respect dissimilar. He was tall, thin, and dark-complexioned; she was almost short, very fair, and portly in appearance. Mr. Meeker was a kind-hearted, generous, unambitious man, who loved his home and his children, and rejoiced when he could see every body happy around him. He was neither close nor calculating. With a full share of natural ability, he did not turn his talents to accumulation, quite content if he made the ends of the year meet.

Mrs. Meeker was a woman who never took a step from impulse. She had a motive for every act of her life. Exceedingly acute in her judgments of people, she brought her shrewdness to bear on all occasions. She was a capital housekeeper, a most excellent manager, a pattern wife and mother. I say, 'pattern wife and mother,' for she was devoted to her husband's interests, which, to be sure, were equally her own; she made every thing very comfortable for him indoors, and she managed expenditures with an economy and closeness which Mr. Meeker was quite incapable of. She looked after her children with unremitting care. They were sent to better schools, and their associations were of a better description than those of her neighbors. She took personal pains with their religious culture. Although they were sent to Sunday-school, she herself taught them the Catechism, the Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, and the Sermon on the Mount, beside a great variety of Gospel hymns and Bible-stories. But along with these excellent teachings they were taught—what is apt to be taught in almost every family, to almost every child—to regard appearances, to make the best possible show to the world, to seem what they ought to be; apparently a sort of short-cut to goodness, but really a turnpike erected by the devil, which leads any where rather than to the desired point. Mrs. Meeker was a religious woman, scrupulous and exact in every outward observance; in this respect severe with herself and with all around her. Yet this never prevented her having an eye to the 'main chance,' which was, to get on in the world. Indeed, to attempt to do so, was with her a fundamental duty. She loved to pray the Lord to bless 'our basket and our store.' She dwelt much on the promise of 'a hundred-fold' in this world in addition to the 'inheritance of everlasting life.' She could repeat all the practical maxims which abound in the book of Proverbs, and she was careful, when she feared her husband was about to give way to a generous impulse in favor of a poor relation or neighbor, to put him in mind of his own large and increasing household, solemnly cautioning him that he who looked not well after it, was 'worse than an infidel.' In short, being fully convinced by application of her natural shrewd sense that religion was the safest thing for her here and hereafter, she became religious. In her piety there was manifested but one idea—self. Whatever she did, was from a sense of duty, and she did her duty because it was the way to prosperity and heaven.

I have remarked how different were husband and wife. They lived together, however, without discord, for Mr. Meeker yielded most points of controversy when they arose, and for the rest his wife was neither disagreeable nor unamiable. But the poor woman had experienced through life one great drawback; she had half-a-dozen fine children. Alas! not one of them resembled her in temper, character, or disposition. All possessed their father's happy traits, which were developed more and more as they grew older, despite their mother's incessant warnings and teachings.

Frank, the first-born, exhibited fondness for books, and early manifested an earnest desire for a liberal education with a view to the study of medicine. His father resolved to gratify him. His mother was opposed to it. She wanted her boy a merchant. 'Doctors,' she said, 'were mostly a poor set, who were obliged to work very hard by day and by night, and got little for it. If Frank would only be contented to go into her cousin's store, in New-York, (he was one of the prominent wholesale dry-goods jobbers,) why, there would be some hope of him, that is, if he could cure himself of certain extravagant notions; but to go through college, and then study medicine! Why couldn't he, at least, be a lawyer, then there might be a chance for him.'

'But the boy has no taste for mercantile life, nor for the law,' said Mr. Meeker.