Atlantic Monthly, Vol. XI., April, 1863, No. LXVI. by Various

V >> Various >> Atlantic Monthly, Vol. XI., April, 1863, No. LXVI.

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It is said that Rachel was wont to chant the "Marseillaise" in a manner
that made her seem, for the time, the very spirit and impersonation of
the gaunt, wild, hungry, avenging mob which rose against aristocratic
oppression; and in like manner, Sojourner, singing this hymn, seemed to
impersonate the fervor of Ethiopia, wild, savage, hunted of all nations,
but burning after God in her tropic heart, and stretching her scarred
hands towards the glory to be revealed.

"Well, den ye see, after a while I thought I'd go back an' see de folks
on de ole place. Well, you know, de law had passed dat de culled folks
was all free; an' my old missis, she had a daughter married about dis
time who went to live in Alabama,--an' what did she do but give her my
son, a boy about de age of dis yer, for her to take down to Alabama?
When I got back to de ole place, they told me about it, an' I went right
up to see ole missis, an' says I,--

"'Missis, have you been an' sent my son away down to Alabama?'

"'Yes, I have,' says she; 'he's gone to live with your young missis.'

"'Oh, Missis,' says I, 'how could you do it?'

"'Poh!' says she, 'what a fuss you make about a little nigger! Got more
of 'em now than you know what to do with.'

"I tell you, I stretched up. I felt as tall as the world!

"'Missis,' says I, '_I'll have my son back agin!_'

"She laughed.

"'_You_ will, you nigger? How you goin' to do it? You ha'n't got no
money.'

"'No, Missis,--but _God_ has,--an' you'll see He'll help me!'--an' I
turned round an' went out.

"Oh, but I _was_ angry to have her speak to me so haughty an' so
scornful, as ef my chile wasn't worth anything. I said to God, 'O Lord,
render unto her double!' It was a dreadful prayer, an' I didn't know how
true it would come.

"Well, I didn't rightly know which way to turn; but I went to the Lord,
an' I said to Him, 'O Lord, ef I was as rich as you be, an' you was as
poor as I be, I'd help you,--you _know_ I would; and, oh, do help me!'
An' I felt sure then that He would.

"Well, I talked with people, an' they said I must git the case before a
grand jury. So I went into the town when they was holdin' a court, to
see ef I could find any grand jury. An' I stood round the
court-house, an' when they was a-comin' out, I walked right up to the
grandest-lookin' one I could see, an' says I to him,--

"'Sir, be you a grand jury?'

"An' then he wanted to know why I asked, an' I told him all about it;
an' he asked me all sorts of questions, an' finally he says to me,--

"'I think, ef you pay me ten dollars, that I'd agree to git your son for
you.' An' says he, pointin' to a house over the way, 'You go 'long an'
tell your story to the folks in that house, an' I guess they'll give you
the money.'

"Well, I went, an' I told them, an' they gave me twenty dollars; an'
then I thought to myself, 'Ef ten dollars will git him, twenty dollars
will git him _sartin_.' So I carried it to the man all out, an' said,--

"'Take it all,--only be sure an' git him'

"Well, finally they got the boy brought back; an' then they tried to
frighten him, an' to make him say that I wasn't his mammy, an' that he
didn't know me; but they couldn't make it out. They gave him to me,
an' I took him an' carried him home; an' when I came to take off his
clothes, there was his poor little back all covered with scars an' hard
lumps, where they'd flogged him.

"Well, you see, honey, I told you how I prayed the Lord to render unto
her double. Well, it came true; for I was up at ole missis' house not
long after, an' I heerd 'em readin' a letter to her how her daughter's
husband had murdered her,--how he'd thrown her down an' stamped the life
out of her, when he was in liquor; an' my ole missis, she giv a screech,
an' fell flat on the floor. Then says I, 'O Lord, I didn't mean all
that! You took me up too quick.'

"Well, I went in an' tended that poor critter all night. She was out of
her mind,--a-cryin', an' callin' for her daughter; an' I held her poor
ole head on my arm, an' watched for her as ef she 'd been my babby. An'
I watched by her, an' took care on her all through her sickness after
that, an' she died in my arms, poor thing!"

"Well, Sojourner, did you always go by this name?"

"No, 'deed! My name was Isabella; but when I left the house of bondage,
I left everything behind. I wa'n't goin' to keep nothin' of Egypt on me,
an' so I went to the Lord an' asked Him to give me a new name. And the
Lord gave me Sojourner, because I was to travel up an' down the land,
showin' the people their sins, an' bein' a sign unto them. Afterwards
I told the Lord I wanted another name, 'cause everybody else had two
names; and the Lord gave me Truth, because I was to declare the truth to
the people.

"Ye see some ladies have given me a white satin banner," she said,
pulling out of her pocket and unfolding a white banner, printed with
many texts, such as, "Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all
the inhabitants thereof," and others of like nature. "Well," she said,
"I journeys round to camp-meetins, an' wherever folks is, an' I sets up
my banner, an' then I sings, an' then folks always comes up round me,
an' then I preaches to 'em. I tells 'em about Jesus, an' I tells 'em
about the sins of this people. A great many always comes to hear me; an'
they 're right good to me, too, an' say they want to hear me agin."

We all thought it likely; and as the company left her, they shook hands
with her, and thanked her for her very original sermon; and one of the
ministers was overheard to say to another, "There's more of the gospel
in that story than in most sermons."

Sojourner stayed several days with us, a welcome guest. Her conversation
was so strong, simple, shrewd, and with such a droll flavoring of humor,
that the Professor was wont to say of an evening, "Come, I am dull,
can't you get Sojourner up here to talk a little?" She would come up
into the parlor, and sit among pictures and ornaments, in her simple
stuff gown, with her heavy travelling-shoes, the central object of
attention both to parents and children, always ready to talk or to sing,
and putting into the common flow of conversation the keen edge of some
shrewd remark.

"Sojourner, what do you think of Women's Rights?"

"Well, honey, I 's ben to der meetins, an' harked a good deal. Dey
wanted me fur to speak. So I got up. Says I,--'Sisters, I a'n't clear
what you'd be after. Ef women want any rights more 'n dey 's got, why
don't dey jes' _take 'em_, an' not be talkin' about it?' Some on 'em
came round me, an' asked why I didn't wear Bloomers. An' I told 'em I
had Bloomers enough when I was in bondage. You see," she said, "dey used
to weave what dey called nigger-cloth, an' each one of us got jes' sech
a strip, an' had to wear it width-wise. Them that was short got along
pretty well, but as for me"--She gave an indescribably droll glance at
her long limbs and then at us, and added,--"Tell _you_, I had enough of
Bloomers in them days."

Sojourner then proceeded to give her views of the relative capacity of
the sexes, in her own way.

"S'pose a man's mind holds a quart, an' a-woman's don't hold but a pint;
ef her pint is _full_, it's as good as his quart."

Sojourner was fond of singing an extraordinary lyric, commencing,--

"I'm on my way to Canada,
That cold, but happy land;
The dire effects of Slavery
I can no longer stand.
O righteous Father,
Do look down on me
And help me on to Canada,
Where colored folks are free!"

The lyric ran on to state, that, when the fugitive crosses the Canada
line,

"The Queen comes down unto the shore,
With arms extended wide,
To welcome the poor fugitive
Safe onto Freedom's side."

In the truth thus set forth she seemed to have the most simple faith.

But her chief delight was to talk of "glory," and to sing hymns whose
burden was,--

"O glory, glory, glory,
Won't you come along with me?"

and when left to herself, she would often hum these with great delight,
nodding her head.

On one occasion, I remember her sitting at a window singing and
fervently keeping time with her bead, the little black Puck of a
grandson meanwhile, amusing himself with ornamenting her red-and-yellow
turban with green dandelion-curls, which shook and trembled with her
emotions, causing him perfect convulsions of delight.

"Sojourner," said the Professor to her, one day, when he heard her
singing, "you seem to be very sure about heaven."

"Well, I be," she answered, triumphantly.

"What makes you so sure there is any heaven?"

"Well, 'cause I got such a hankerin' arter it in here," she
said,--giving a thump on her breast with her usual energy.

There was at the time an invalid in the house, and Sojourner, on
learning it, felt a mission to go and comfort her. It was curious to see
the tall, gaunt, dusky figure stalk up to the bed with such an air of
conscious authority, and take on herself the office of consoler
with such a mixture of authority and tenderness. She talked as from
above,--and at the same time, if a pillow needed changing or any office
to be rendered, she did it with a strength and handiness that inspired
trust. One felt as if the dark, strange woman were quite able to take up
the invalid in her bosom, and bear her as a lamb, both physically and
spiritually. There was both power and sweetness in that great warm soul
and that vigorous frame.

At length, Sojourner, true to her name, departed. She had her mission
elsewhere. Where now she is I know not; but she left deep memories
behind her.

To these recollections of my own I will add one more anecdote, related
by Wendell Phillips.

Speaking of the power of Rachel to move and bear down a whole audience
by a few simple words, he said he never knew but one other human being
that had that power, and that other was Sojourner Truth. He related a
scene of which he was witness. It was at a crowded public meeting in
Faneuil Hall, where Frederick Douglas was one of the chief speakers.
Douglas had been describing the wrongs of the black race, and as he
proceeded, he grew more and more excited, and finally ended by saying
that they had no hope of justice from the whites, no possible hope
except in their own right arms. It must come to blood; they must fight
for themselves, and redeem themselves, or it would never be done.

Sojourner was sitting, tall and dark, on the very front seat, facing the
platform; and in the hush of deep feeling, after Douglas sat down, she
spoke out in her deep, peculiar voice, heard all over the house,--

"Frederick, is _God dead_?"

The effect was perfectly electrical, and thrilled through the whole
house, changing as by a flash the whole feeling of the audience. Not
another word she said or needed to say; it was enough.

It is with a sad feeling that one contemplates noble minds and bodies,
nobly and grandly formed human beings, that have come to us cramped,
scarred, maimed, out of the prison-house of bondage. One longs to know
what such beings might have become, if suffered to unfold and expand
under the kindly developing influences of education.

It is the theory of some writers, that to the African is reserved,
in the later and palmier days of the earth, the full and harmonious
development of the religious element in man. The African seems to seize
on the tropical fervor and luxuriance of Scripture imagery as something
native; he appears to feel himself to be of the same blood with those
old burning, simple souls, the patriarchs, prophets, and seers, whose
impassioned words seem only grafted as foreign plants on the cooler
stock of the Occidental mind.

I cannot but think that Sojourner with the same culture might have
spoken words as eloquent and undying as those of the African Saint
Augustine or Tertullian. How grand and queenly a woman she might have
been, with her wonderful physical vigor, her great heaving sea of
emotion, her power of spiritual conception, her quick penetration, and
her boundless energy! We might conceive an African type of woman so
largely made and moulded, so much fuller in all the elements of life,
physical and spiritual, that the dark hue of the skin should seem only
to add an appropriate charm,--as Milton says of his Penseroso, whom he
imagines

"Black, but such as in esteem
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above
The sea-nymph's."

But though Sojourner Truth has passed away from among us as a wave of
the sea, her memory still lives in one of the loftiest and most original
works of modern art, the Libyan Sibyl, by Mr. Story, which attracted
so much attention in the late World's Exhibition. Some years ago, when
visiting Rome, I related Sojourner's history to Mr. Story at a breakfast
at his house. Already had his mind begun to turn to Egypt in search of
a type of art which should represent a larger and more vigorous
development of nature than the cold elegance of Greek lines. His
glorious Cleopatra was then in process of evolution, and his mind was
working out the problem of her broadly developed nature, of all that
slumbering weight and fulness of passion with which this statue seems
charged, as a heavy thunder-cloud is charged with electricity.

The history of Sojourner Truth worked in his mind and led him into the
deeper recesses of the African nature,--those unexplored depths of being
and feeling, mighty and dark as the gigantic depths of tropical forests,
mysterious as the hidden rivers and mines of that burning continent
whose life-history is yet to be. A few days after, he told me that he
had conceived the idea of a statue which he should call the Libyan
Sibyl. Two years subsequently, I revisited Rome, and found the gorgeous
Cleopatra finished, a thing to marvel at, as the creation of a new style
of beauty, a new manner of art. Mr. Story requested me to come and
repeat to him the history of Sojourner Truth, saying that the conception
had never left him. I did so; and a day or two after, he showed me the
clay model of the Libyan Sibyl. I have never seen the marble statue; but
am told by those who have, that it was by far the most impressive work
of art at the Exhibition.

A notice of the two statues from the London "Athenaeum" must supply a
description which I cannot give.

"The Cleopatra and the Sibyl are seated, partly draped, with the
characteristic Egyptian gown, that gathers about the _torso_ and falls
freely around the limbs; the first is covered to the bosom, the second
bare to the hips. Queenly Cleopatra rests back against her chair in
meditative ease, leaning her cheek against one hand, whose elbow the
rail of the seat sustains; the other is outstretched upon her knee,
nipping its forefinger upon the thumb thoughtfully, as though some firm,
wilful purpose filled her brain, as it seems to set those luxurious
features to a smile as if the whole woman 'would.' Upon her head is
the coif, bearing in front the mystic _uraeus_, or twining basilisk of
sovereignty, while from its sides depend the wide Egyptian lappels, or
wings, that fall upon her shoulders. The _Sibilla Libica_ has crossed
her knees,--an action universally held amongst the ancients as
indicative of reticence or secrecy, and of power to bind. A
secret-keeping looking dame she is, in the full-bloom proportions of
ripe womanhood, wherein choosing to place his figure the sculptor has
deftly gone between the disputed point whether these women were blooming
and wise in youth, or deeply furrowed with age and burdened with the
knowledge of centuries, as Virgil, Livy, and Gellius say. Good artistic
example might be quoted on both sides. Her forward elbow is propped upon
one knee; and to keep her secrets closer, for this Libyan woman is the
closest of all the Sibyls, she rests her shut mouth upon one closed
palm, as if holding the African mystery deep in the brooding brain that
looks out through mournful, warning eyes, seen under the wide shade
of the strange horned (ammonite) crest, that bears the mystery of the
Tetragrammaton upon its upturned front. Over her full bosom, mother of
myriads as she was, hangs the same symbol. Her face has a Nubian cast,
her hair wavy and plaited, as is meet."

We hope to see the day when copies both of the Cleopatra and the Libyan
Sibyl shall adorn the Capitol at Washington.

AMERICAN HORTICULTURE.

Horticulture in the United States has, except in a commercial sense,
been subordinate to the pursuit of wealth. Before man can indulge in
objects of elegance and refinement, he must have secured the comforts of
life: the _utile_ must lead the _dulce_, a well-stocked kitchen-garden
precede the parterre. We have now, however, in the older sections of the
Union, at least, passed through the ordeal of a young nation: elegance
is following the plain and practical; the spacious mansion, with its
luxurious appurtenances, is succeeding the cottage, as this in turn
was the successor of the cabin. The perception of the picturesque is a
natural result of earlier steps in the path of refinement: man may build
from a vulgar ambition for distinction, but he seldom plants unless
prompted by love of Nature and elevated impulses. Lord Bacon, in his
essay "Of Gardens," says, "When ages grow to civility and elegancy, men
come to build stately sooner than to garden finely; as if gardening were
the greater perfection." A case which seems to confirm this position
occurs to us. The site of a noble building, erected for our Government,
was adorned by wide-spreading trees, the growth of generations, which,
after the building was completed, the architect cut down before his axe
could be arrested. On being reproached for his Vandalism, he retorted,--
"Trees may be seen everywhere, but such a Grecian portico as
that--where?"

Among a young people like ourselves, the nursery and the market-garden
hold prominent places in horticultural pursuits; the latter yields a
prompt return for the investment of capital and labor, and just in
proportion as demand increases, so will be the exertion to meet it. Thus
we find the markets of the cities amply supplied with every luxury of
fruit and vegetable: the seasons are anticipated by artificial means,
glass is brought into requisition, and the tables of the wealthy are
furnished with a profusion unknown to royalty in an earlier age.

The capacity of Americans to mould circumstances to themselves rather
than adapt themselves to circumstances, to remove obstacles, to
accomplish by the aid of machinery much that other peoples reach through
toil alone, has passed into a proverb: hence it need hardly cause
surprise, if unexampled success attend efforts at market-gardening,
bringing to the very doors of the comparatively poor vegetables and
fruits which in Europe are enjoyed only by the higher classes. As an
illustration,--where but in America are peaches planted by a single
individual by tens of thousands, and carried to market on steamboats
chartered for the special purpose, in quantities of one or two thousand
bushels at a trip?

The earlier American nurseries were few in number, and, compared with
some now existing, of quite limited extent,--though equal, perhaps, in
proportion to population. The first of which there is any record, and
probably the earliest established, was that of John Bartram, near
Philadelphia, about the year 1730. Here were congregated many of the
prominent native plants and trees, preparatory to exportation to
Europe,--also the fruits and plants of the other hemisphere, obtained
in exchange for American productions. The specimen trees planted by the
elder Bartram and his descendants still adorn the grounds, classic
to the botanist and the lover of Nature: long may they stand, living
memorials of generations passed away, our earliest evidence of a taste
for horticulture!

The next nursery in the order of date is that of Prince, in Flushing,
New York, established, we believe, prior to the Revolution, and
continued by the family to the present day. Flushing has become a centre
in the nursery-trade, and many acres thereabout are covered with young
trees intended for transplantation. A stroll round the village would
lead one to suppose the chief interest of the inhabitants was bound up
in the nursery-business, as is that of Lynn in shoes, and of Lowell
in cotton goods. Prominent among the Flushing nurseries are those of
Parsons, which, though of comparatively recent origin, abound in rich
treasures.

The nurseries of the brothers David and Cuthbert Landreth appear to have
been the third in the order of succession. They were established at
Philadelphia shortly after the Revolution, and within the limits of the
city. The increase of population and their expanding trade caused a
removal to another and more ample field of culture, which, for nearly
half a century, was the resort of most people of taste who visited
Philadelphia.

Nurseries are now found everywhere. The Far West has some which count
the young trees by millions, and fruit-trees of single kinds by the
hundred thousand. The Hoveys, of Boston, have long been prominent, not
only as nurserymen, but as writers on horticulture. Elwanger and Barry,
of Rochester, New York, have a large breadth of land, we forbear to
state our impression of the number of acres, covered by nursery-stock.
Professional florists also have multiplied to an unlimited
extent, exhibiting the growth of refining taste. Plants suited
to window-culture, and bouquets of choice flowers, are sold on
street-corners, and carried from door to door. Cameilias, of which
we recollect single flowers having been sold at a dollar, can now be
purchased at fifty cents the plant.

It might be curious, in reference to this subject of horticulture, to
institute an inquiry as to cause and effect. Have the increased means of
gratifying taste expanded it, or has taste rapidly developed created the
means of supply? Doubtless there has been reaction from both directions,
each operating on the other. One striking exhibition of pure taste
among us is the formation of picturesque arboretums, especially of
terebinthinate trees, and others allied to the Coniferae. This taste, so
diligently cultivated in England, has found zealous worshippers among
us, and some admirable collections have been formed. The cemetery of
Laurel Hill, at Philadelphia, under the critical eye and taste of the
proprietor, Mr. John Jay Smith, that of Mount Auburn, in Cambridge, of
Greenwood, New York, and the cemetery in Cincinnati, have afforded fine
specimens of rare trees, though, from the nature of their purposes,
picturesque effect could not be reached, except so far as aided by
irregularity of surface. And here we would remark, in connection with
this subject, that one regulation of the Cincinnati cemetery is worthy
of imitation. No arbitrary railings or ill-kept hedges bound the
individual lots; all is open, and the visitor, as he drives through the
grounds, is charmed by the effect,--a park studded with monuments: the
social distinctions, which, perhaps, necessarily separated in life, have
disappeared in death.

In connection with landscape-gardening, one American name stands
conspicuous,--the name of one who, if not, in point of time, the first
teacher of the art in this country, has at least done more than
any other to direct attention to it,--to exhibit defects, suggest
improvements, create beauties, and invest his subject with such a charm
and interest as to captivate many minds which might otherwise have been
long insensible to the dormant beauty within their reach, or that which
they themselves had the power to produce: we refer, of course, to the
late Andrew J. Downing. With naturally fine artistic perceptions, his
original occupation of a nurseryman gave direction to his subsequent
pursuits. Under different circumstances, his taste might, perhaps, have
been turned to painting, sculpture, or architecture: indeed, to the last
he paid no inconsiderable attention; and as the result, many a rural
homestead, which might otherwise have been a bleak house, is conspicuous
as the abode of taste and elegance.

Among the prominent private arboretums in our country may be mentioned
that of Mr. Sargent at Wodeneshe. Mr. Sargent, as may be seen by his
supplement to Downing's "Landscape-Gardening," is an enthusiast in the
culture of conifers; he is reputed to have made liberal importations,
and the results of his attempts at acclimation, given to the public,
have aided others in like endeavors. Judge Field, of Princeton, New
Jersey, has a pinetum of much value; some of his specimens are of rare
excellence. He, also, has been a diligent importer.

* * * * *

Though our sketch of the present state of horticulture among us is quite
imperfect, affording but an indistinct glimpse of the ample field which
invites our view, it would scarcely be pardonable, were we to overlook a
branch of rural industry in which horticultural success is interested,
and without which the practical pleasures and family-comfort of rural
homes would be greatly abridged. We refer to garden-seed culture. It may
be that the purchaser of a paper of seed for the kitchen-garden seldom
stops to consider the minute care which has been required to secure its
purity; most probably, in many cases, he makes the purchase as though it
were the mere product of mechanical skill, which, after the machinery is
perfected, and the steam-engine has been set in motion, turns out the
finished article, of use or ornament, with scarcely an effort of mind to
direct its movements. Not so in the production of seeds: many are the
hours of watchful care to be bestowed upon it, and stern and unyielding
are its demands on the skilled eye and the untiring hand. It is because
in some cases the eye is not skilled, and the hand often tires, that
so many seeds of more than doubtful worth are imposed upon the
market, filling the village and cross-road shops with the germs of
disappointment. The history of the seed-culture in the United States is
not without interest to those who, like many readers of the "Atlantic,"
reside in the quiet country; to every family thus situated the certainty
of obtaining seeds of trustworthy quality--certain to vegetate, and sure
to prove true to name--is of more importance than can be appreciated by
those who rely upon the city-market, and have at all times and seasons
ample supplies of vegetables within easy reach. On looking round for
some individual establishment which we may use as the representative of
this branch of industry, we naturally turn to Bloomsdale, as the most
prominent and widest-known of seed-farms; and if the reader will join us
in a trip thither, we shall be pleased with his company, and perchance
he may not wholly regret the time occupied in the excursion. The period
we shall choose for the visit is the close of the month of June.

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