A Biography of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. Scoville Samuel

marked a characteristic.

      Of what he did, read, and thought at this time we are fortunate in having another source of authentic information from his own pen. Upon the unruled blank leaf of a letter-book, as large as a commercial ledger and heavily bound in leather, is written in a large hand, large enough to cover the whole page:

      JOURNAL

      OF

      EVENTS, FEELINGS, THOUGHTS, PLANS, ETC.,

      JUST AS THEY HAVE MET ME, THUS GIVING IN PART

      A TRANSCRIPT OF MY INNER AND OUTER LIFE.

      BEGUN JUNE, 1835, AT LANE THEOL. SEMINARY.

      On the first page, “Begun three days after birthday,” June 27. “I have tried times without number to keep a diary or a journal of my religious feelings. I have never succeeded.” 1. “I am not enough contemplative to make a record of reflections and feelings very definite.” 2. “I never could be sincere. The only use which I distinctly know that I have derived from it is a knowledge of my being very averse to saying just what my feelings were. I could not help feeling: ‘This will, perhaps, be seen.’ And why should I not so feel? One object in keeping a journal is to look back upon your mind as it reflected itself at different periods past, and if you keep one no one can pretend to have enough of prospective wisdom to save it from the hands of others.”

      After half a page of reasons why this possibility—which has indeed been realized—may take place, he says: “Can I conceal it all from myself, and feign to myself that that which I am disclosing and giving form and permanence to, my most secret feelings, none will see? And when I feel secretly that they will be seen, is it possible to go through honestly a narration of those emotions from the disclosure of which I shrink in my inmost soul?”

      In view of this possibility, he decides upon a modification of his ideal:

      “In this journal I do not set before me as an object to tell all my feelings, but only such as for any reason I may choose to tell. I intend to record, too, my opinions and reflections on occurrences, on persons, on books, and to find a resting-place, if possible, for many of those daily thoughts which are too short and unconnected to be noted down separately, and yet of some small value, perhaps—at least to give variety to a journal. Then, too, being little tenacious of dates, I here mean to record and date all changes in my life, that afterwards, when business and multiplicity of other facts have crowded from my mind such facts, I may here recur as to a faithful chronicle and refresh my memory.

      “Here, then, I mean to be at ease, and not molest myself with any obligations to write so much, or so often, or so anything, but in mental dishabille I will stroll through my mind and do as I choose.”

      It can well be supposed that with such an introduction facing us we feel some delicacy, even with the quasi permission which his departure from the true ideal of a journal gives, in handling, and especially in giving to the public, the matters which are here written. While we find no word that a perfectly upright and honorable man need be ashamed of, we do find private matters which we have no right to make public. Out of the great amount of material which the journal affords we have selected such portions as illustrate the salient features of his life, character, work, and methods at this time.

      First of all, we find him still keeping up the old habit of reading, and after a very critical method.

      “July 1, 1835.—I finished Scott’s ‘Antiquary’ this morning, and I propose giving some little account of my impressions. To do it I shall be obliged to collect my general scattered feelings into a definite, tangible form; and if I always did it after reading I should have more numerous ideas of things and of their forms, and more correct ones.

      “I think it one of Scott’s best, although my personal taste gives his novels founded on warlike customs, as ‘Ivanhoe,’ more relish. But that does not alter the abstract merits of this, for there are grounds of judging a work altogether aside from our taste as to the subject judged. There are but two general considerations in estimating a novel. First, has the author been a faithful copyist of nature, even when his effort is of the imagination? And, second, has he made a judicious selection and skilful combination of his material.”

      After several pages of the large ledger have been devoted to this subject, there follows this entry:

      “July 4.—The difference between Scott and Shakspere is of two kinds: (1) the difference of dramatic and prosaic description, and (2) the native difference of the two men. The first involves a discussion and comparison of the two kinds of writing. The dramatic is narrower, more formal and measured, and consequently more stiff. No one ever heard one speak as Macbeth, as Hamlet, or as Iago, for no one ever spoke so. Passion, or indeed nature, never marches in heroic measure. In another respect it differs. There is a general sameness of language. The imitation of nature respects feelings and character, and not expression, if we except some comic characters. But prose imitates with perfect freedom, unshackled by verse, not only the passion, character, etc., but the expression and language.

      “In this respect Scott differs from himself as a poet and novelist as much as when a novelist he differs from Shakspere, etc. …”

      Similar and lengthy criticisms of Crabbe, Coleridge, Byron, Burns, and others follow, many of them crude, but all aiming to grasp and express the original thought of the poet, as he says after naming some rules by which to judge a book:

      “But such things are the externals of criticism. I admire the German way of going into the motive and spirit of a poem, and discussing the principles and source of feeling.”

      We find his habit of drawing from his own experiences some moral or spiritual lesson, and then teaching it to others, thus early formed:

      “June 27, 1835.— … Being unwell is by no means useless. It crowds one on to thoughts of death, and sweeps away all the mist of forgetfulness which the frivolity of events has accumulated. One must either wrap himself in designed forgetfulness—which is a stupid resource—or come to some conclusion in respect to his religious prospects. For my part, in sickness (what little I have had) I am not agitated, but rendered serious and calmly apprehensive, and I begin to think what God is, and Christ, and heavenly joy, and compare them with my tastes and disposition, and see if they accord or are repulsive. I’ve written enough for the present, so I’ll return to Scott’s ‘Legend of Montrose.’ ”

      We find very little, almost nothing, concerning the regulation work and studies of the theological course, possibly because some other book which has not come down to us contained these. He seems to have plenty to do, and carries into his work a very decided determination to succeed.

      “Aug. 2, 1835, Sunday.—I have for this time work enough: two courses of lectures—one, for my Bible-class, to begin next Sunday; the other a course of temperance lectures for Reading and elsewhere. I don’t know how I shall succeed, but I am never self-distrustful and often feel sure I shall do VERY well, and as often see that I may fall through entirely. Either course failing would mortify me. But here, as elsewhere, let me start with feeling, ‘I will persevere, and with every endeavor which interest and ingenuity can furnish.’ Such being one’s constant feeling and action, hardly anything is invincible. Perseverance without corresponding exercise of ALL ONE’S MIND is but a dogged spinning out of tedious and useless effort. Remember when most discouraged to labor as though you were in the full blossom of Hope, and shortly you will be.”

      At this time he was singing in, and sometimes leading, the choir in his father’s church, as he writes:

      “Nov. 14.—The medical authorities of the family, having ordered me up for inspection, have decided that I was not sea-worthy, but have, in view of past services, ordered me into dock to be a receiving-ship, and there to undergo thorough repairs. I am quietly riding in the dock without mast or rigging. They have sent aboard two sets of workmen this morning, under the care of Messrs. Calomel and Aloes; and these are to remove all my cargo, ballast, etc., after which I am to be new-rigged and furnished and sent out on a new