TAKING SIDES.
"I have been reading the Federalist," said Charlie one evening, as he entered Nat's study, "and I am a pretty good Federalist." He looked very pleasant as he spoke, and Nat replied in a similar tone and spirit, without the least hesitation,
"I have been reading the life and writings of Jefferson, and I am a thorough Democrat."
"A Democrat!" exclaimed Charlie, with a hearty laugh at the same time. "Do you know what a Democrat is?"
"Perhaps I don't; but if anybody is not satisfied with such principles as Jefferson advocated, he is not easily suited."
"But Jefferson was not a Democrat. The Federalist calls him a Republican."
"I know that," replied Nat. "The Jefferson party were called Republicans in their day; but they are called Democrats now. I don't like the name so well, but still the name is nothing in reality,—the principles are what we should look at."
"You don't like company very well, I should judge," said Charlie; "I should want to belong to a party that could say we."
"What do you mean by that?" inquired Nat.
"Father said there wasn't but four democratic votes cast in town at the last election; that is what I mean. I should think you would be lonesome in such a party."
"If I had been old enough," continued Nat, "there would have been five votes cast. I don't care whether the party is great or small, if it is only right."
"I glory in your independence," replied Charlie, "but I am sorry you have so poor a cause to advocate."
"I guess you don't know what the cause is, after all. Have you read the life of Jefferson?"
"About as much as you have read the Federalist," replied Charlie. "We are probably about even on that score."
This interview occurred some time after Nat and Charlie entered the factory, perhaps a year and a half or two years. Charlie really thought he was in advance of his fellow-student on this subject. He did not know that Nat had been reading at all upon political topics. Being himself the greatest reader of the two, he knew that he read upon some subjects to which Nat had given no attention. He was very much surprised to hear him announce himself a Democrat, and particularly for the reason named. It was about thirty years ago, when the followers of Jefferson were first called Democrats. Many of them were unwilling to be called thus, and for this reason they were slow to adopt the title. It was a fact that only four persons cast votes in Nat's native town, at the aforesaid election as avowed Democrats. But the incident shows that the hero of our tale was an independent thinker, voluntarily investigating some subjects really beyond his years, with sufficient discrimination to weigh important principles. In other words, he was a student, though a bobbin boy, loving knowledge more than play, and determined to make the most of his very limited opportunities. It is an additional proof of what we have said before, that he studied just as he skated or swam under water,—with all his soul,—the only way to be eminently successful in the smallest or greatest work.
"Let us see," said Nat, taking up the life of Jefferson, "perhaps you will be a Democrat too, when you know what Jefferson taught. He wrote the Declaration of Independence."
"He did!" exclaimed Charlie, with some surprise. "That is good writing certainly. It was read at the last Fourth of July celebration."
"And we will read some of it again," said Nat, opening the volume, "and then you may bring your objections."
"'We hold these truths to be self-evident,—that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.'"
"Have you any objections to that?" inquired Nat, after it was read.
"No," answered Charlie, "and I have never heard of any one who has. It is pretty good doctrine for such poor fellows as we are certainly."
"You are a Democrat so far, then," said Nat; "you want to have as good a chance as anybody, and so do I. I am for equal rights, and Jefferson would have the poor man have the same rights as a governor or president."
"So would the Federalists," replied Charlie. "John Adams wanted this as much as Jefferson."
"You mean that he said he did," answered Nat. "Jefferson thought that Mr. Adams's principles would lead to a limited monarchy, instead of a republic, where each man would enjoy his rights."
"I should like to know how that could be?" inquired Charlie. "What I have read in the Federalist shows that he was as much in favor of the Declaration of Independence as any one."
"But he wanted the president and his cabinet to have very great power, somewhat like monarchs, and Jefferson wanted the people to have the power. That was the reason that Jefferson's party called themselves Republicans."
"Yes; but do the Democrats now carry out the Declaration of Independence? Don't they uphold slavery at the present day?"
"Jefferson did not uphold it in the least, and a good many of his friends did not. If his life and writings tell the truth, some of the Federalists did uphold it, and some of them had slaves. So you can't make much out of that."
"All I want to make out of it," replied Charlie, "is just this—that the Democrats now do sustain slavery, and how is this believing the Declaration of Independence, that 'all men are created equal?'"
"I don't care for the Democrats now," responded Nat. "I know what Jefferson believed, and I want to believe as he did. I am such a Democrat as he was, and if he was a Republican, then I am."
"I suppose, then," added Charlie, with a sly look, "that you would like the Declaration of Independence a little better if it read, 'all men are created equal,' except niggers?"
"No, no; Jefferson believed it just as it was, and so do I. Whether men are white or black, rich or poor, high or low, they are equal; and that is what I like. He never defended slavery, I would have you know."
"I thought he did," added Charlie.
"I can show you that he did not," said Nat, taking up a volume from the table. "Now hear this;" and he proceeded to read the following, in which Jefferson is speaking of holding slaves:
"'What an incomprehensible machine is man! who can endure toil, famine, stripes, imprisonment, and death itself, in vindication of his own liberty, and the next moment be deaf to all those motives whose power supported him through the trial, and inflict on his fellow men a bondage, one hour of which is fraught with more misery than ages of that which he rose in rebellion to oppose. But we must wait with patience the workings of an overruling Providence, and hope that that is preparing the deliverance of these our suffering brethren. When the measure of their tears shall be full—when their tears shall have involved heaven itself in darkness—doubtless a God of justice will awaken to their distress, and by diffusing a light and liberality among their oppressors, or, at length by his exterminating thunder, manifest his attention to things of this world, and that they are not left to the guidance of blind fatality.'"
"That is strong against slavery, I declare," said Charlie. "I had always supposed that Jefferson was a defender of slavery."
"How plainly he says that there is more misery in 'one hour' of slavery, than there is in 'ages' of that which our fathers opposed in the Revolution," added Nat.
"And then he calls the slaves 'our suffering brethren,' and not 'niggers,'" said Charlie, with a genuine look of fun in his eye.
"I want to read you another passage still, you are beginning to be so good a Democrat," said Nat.
"Don't call me a Democrat," answered Charlie, "for I don't believe the Democrats generally carry out the principles of Jefferson."
"Republican, then," answered Nat quickly, "just what Jefferson called himself. You won't object to that, will you?"
"Read on," said Charlie, without answering the last inquiry.
Nat read as follows:
"'With what execration should the statesman be loaded, who, permitting one half the citizens thus to trample on the rights of the other, transforms those into despots, and these into enemies, destroys the morals of the one part, and the amor patriæ of the other. For if a slave can have a country in this world, it must be any other in preference to that in which he is born to live and labor for another, in which he must lock up the faculties of his nature, contribute as far as depends on his individual endeavors to the banishment of the human race, or entail his own miserable condition on the endless generations proceeding from him. With the morals of a people their industry also is destroyed. For in a warm climate no man will labor for himself who can make another labor for him. This is so true, that of the proprietors of slaves, a very small proportion indeed are ever seen to labor. And can the liberties of a nation be thought secure when we have removed their only firm basis, a conviction in the minds of the people that these liberties are the gift of God? That they are not to be violated but with his wrath? Indeed, I tremble for my country when I remember that God is just; that his justice cannot sleep forever; that considering numbers, nature, and natural means only, a revolution of the wheel of fortune, an exchange of situation is among possible events; that it may become probable by supernatural interference. The Almighty has no attribute that can take side with us in such a contest. But it is impossible to be temperate and pursue this subject.'"
"That is stronger yet!" exclaimed Charlie. "I tell you, Nat, there are no such Democrats now."
"Yes, there are; you see one sitting in this chair," replied Nat, "and I believe there are many such. A person must believe so if he believes the Declaration of Independence. Come, Charlie, you are as good a Democrat as I am, only you won't own it."
"I certainly think well of Jefferson's principles, so far as you have read them to me, but I am not quite ready to call myself a Democrat."
We can readily see that Nat's sympathies would lead him at once to embrace the views of Jefferson on reading his life and writings. We have seen enough of him in earlier scenes to know in what direction they would run. His pity for the poor and needy, the unfortunate and injured, even extending to abused dumb animals; his views and feelings respecting the different orders of society; and his naturally kind and generous heart, would prepare the way for his thus early taking sides in politics. The traits of character discoverable in the court scene, when he plead the case of the accused boys; his grief with Frank when he wept over dead Trip; his condemnation of Sam Drake in defence of Spot, and one or two other incidents, are also traceable in his interest in the character and principles of Jefferson. There seemed to him more equality in those doctrines, more regard for the rights of the people, more justice and humanity, than in any thing he had read. Indeed, he had read nothing strictly political before, except what came under his eye in the papers, and he was fully prepared to welcome such views.
Jefferson's life and writings certainly made a lasting impression upon Nat's mind. It was one of the works that contributed to his success. Like the lives of Patrick Henry and of Dr. Franklin, and the address upon the character of Count Rumford, it contained much that appealed directly to his early aspirations. It is said that when Guido stood gazing upon the inimitable works of Michael Angelo, he was first roused to behold the field of effort for which he was evidently made, and he exclaimed, "I, too, am a painter." So, it would seem, that direction was given to the natural powers of Nat, and his thirst for knowledge developed into invincible resolution and high purpose by this and kindred volumes. It is often the case, that the reading of a single volume determines the character for life, and starts off the young aspirant upon a career of undying fame. Thus Franklin tells us that when he was a boy, a volume fell into his hands, to which he was greatly indebted for his position in manhood. It was "Cotton Mather's Essays to do Good," an old copy that was much worn and torn. Some of the leaves were gone, "but the remainder," he said, "gave me such a turn of thinking as to have an influence on my conduct through life; for I have always set a greater value on the character of a doer of good than any other kind of reputation; and if I have been a useful citizen, the public owes all the advantage of it to the little book." Jeremy Bentham said that the current of his thoughts and studies was decided for life by a single sentence that he read near the close of a pamphlet in which he was interested. The sentence was, "The greatest good of the greatest number." There was a great charm in it to one of his "turn of mind," and it decided his life-purpose. The passion of Alfieri for knowledge was begotten by the reading of "Plutarch's Lives." Loyola, the founder of the sect of Jesuits, was wounded in the battle of Pampeluna, and while he was laid up with the wound, he read the "Lives of the Saints," which impressed him so deeply that he determined from that moment to found a new sect.
There is no end to such examples from the page of history. It may seem an unimportant matter for a boy to read the life of Jefferson, or Franklin, or any other person; but these facts show us that it may be no trivial thing, though its importance will be determined by the decision, discrimination, and purpose with which the book is read. Very small causes are sometimes followed by the greatest results. Less than a book often settles a person's destiny. A picture created that life of purity and usefulness which we find in Dr. Guthrie, the renowned English champion of the Ragged School enterprise. His case is so interesting, that we close this chapter by letting him speak for himself. He says,
"The interest I have been led to take in this cause is an example of how, in Providence, a man's destiny,—his course of life, like that of a river, may be determined and affected by very trivial circumstances. It is rather curious,—at least it is interesting to me to remember,—that it was by a picture I was first led to take an interest in ragged schools,—by a picture in an old, obscure, decaying burgh that stands on the shores of the Firth of Forth, the birth-place of Thomas Chalmers. I went to see this place many years ago, and, going into an inn for refreshment, I found the room covered with pictures of shepherdesses with their crooks, and sailors in holiday attire, not particularly interesting. But above the chimney-piece there stood a large print, more respectable than its neighbors, which represented a cobbler's room. The cobbler was there himself, spectacles on nose, an old shoe between his knees,—the massive forehead and firm mouth, indicating great determination of character, and, beneath his bushy eyebrows, benevolence gleamed out on a number of poor ragged boys and girls, who stood at their lessons round the busy cobbler. My curiosity was awakened; and in the inscription I read how this man, John Pounds, a cobbler in Portsmouth, taking pity on the multitude of poor ragged children left by ministers and magistrates, and ladies and gentlemen, to go to ruin on the streets,—how, like a good shepherd, he gathered in these wretched outcasts,—how he had trained them to God and to the world,—and how, while earning his daily bread by the sweat of his brow, he had rescued from misery and saved to society not less than five hundred of these children. I felt ashamed of myself. I felt reproved for the little I had done. My feelings were touched. I was astonished at this man's achievement; and I well remember, in the enthusiasm of the moment, saying to my companion (and I have seen in my cooler and calmer moments no reason for unsaying the saying),—'That man is an honor to humanity, and deserves the tallest monument ever raised within the shores of Britain.' I took up that man's history, and I found it animated by the spirit of Him who had 'compassion on the multitude.' John Pounds was a clever man besides; and, like Paul, if he could not win a poor boy any other way, he won him by art. He would be seen chasing a ragged boy along the quays, and compelling him to come to school, not by the power of a policeman, but by the power of a hot potato. He knew the love an Irishman had for a potato; and John Pounds might be seen running holding under the boy's nose a potato, like an Irishman, very hot, and with a coat as ragged as himself. When the day comes when honor will be done to whom honor is due, I can fancy the crowd of those whose fame poets have sung, and to whose memory monuments have been raised, dividing like the wave, and passing the great, and the noble, and the mighty of the land, this poor, obscure old man stepping forward and receiving the especial notice of Him who said, 'Inasmuch as ye did it to one of the least of these, ye did it also to me.'"