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which had, perhaps, been hidden from ever, did not seem to care to contest the acquaintances of years, seemed to the point, whatever it was, and soon reveal themselves at the first glance went away. On his departure Gurowof his single eye.

ski again began his mediæval arguHe was very fond of controversy, and ment; but I positively refused to stay would prolong a discussion from day to unless he put on his clothes. He reday with apparently unabated interest. luctantly complied, and went into his I remember once we had a discussion bedroom, while I took up a book. Evabout some point of mediæval history ery now and then, however, he would of which I knew little, but about which sally out to argue some fresh point I feigned to be very positive, in order which had suggested itself to him ; to draw out the stores of his knowl- and his toilet was not fairly completed edge, which was really immense in till, at the end of the third hour, the that direction. After a hot dispute of announcement of dinner put an end to several hours we parted, leaving the the discussion. question as unsettled as ever. The Disappointed in his hopes of getting next day I called at his lodgings employment as a lecturer or teacher, early in the afternoon. I knocked at on which he had relied for subsistence, the door of his room. He shouted, Gurowski felt himself growing poorer Come in ”; but as I opened the door and poorer as the little stock of money I heard him retreating into his adja- he had brought from Europe wasted cent bedroom. He thrust his head away. The discomforts of poverty did out, and, seeing who it was, came back not tend to sweeten his temper nor to into the parlor, absolutely in a state of abate his savage independence. He nature. He had not even his specta- grew prouder and fiercer as he grew cles on. In his hand he held a pair poorer. He was very economical, and of drawers, which he had apparently indulged in no luxuries except cigars, been about to assume when I arrived. of which, however, he was not a great Shaking this garment vehemently with consumer, seldom smoking more than one hand, while with the other he gave three or four a day. But with all his me a cigar, he broke out at once in a care, his money was at length. extorrent of argument on the topic of the hausted, his last dollar gone. He preceding day. I made no reply; but had expected remittances from Poland, at the first pause suggested that he had which did not come ; and he now better dress himself. To this he paid learned that, from some cause which no attention, but stamped round the I have forgotten, nothing would be room, continuing his argument with his sent him for that year at least. He usual vehemence and volubility. Half used to tell me from day to day of the an hour had elapsed, when 'some one progress of his “decline and fall,” as knocked. Gurowski roared, "1 Come

he called it, remarking occasionally in!” A maid-servant opened the door, that, when the worst came to the worst, and of course instantly retreated. I he could turn himself into an Irishman turned the key, and again entreated and work for his living. I paid little the Count to put on his clothes. He attention to this talk, for really the did not comply, but kept on with his idea of Gurowski and manual labor argument. Presently some one else was so ridiculously incongruous that rapped. “ It is Desor," said the I could not form any definite concepCount; “I know his knock ; let him tion of it. But he was more in earnest in.” Desor was a Swiss, a scientific than I supposed. man, who lodged in the adjacent house. Going one day at my usual hour to Gurowski apparently was involved in his lodgings, I found him absent. I a dispute with him also, which he im- called again in the course of the day, mediately took up, on some question but he was still not at home, and the of natural history. The Swiss, how- people of the house informed me that

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he had been absent since early morning. sophic cheerfulness, heartily sick of The next day it was the same. On the his labor with the spade, for which he third day I lay in wait for him at even- was totally unfitted. He resumed his ing at his lodgings, to which he came pen with alacrity, and wrote an article about dark, in a most forlorn condition, on the private life of the Russian court, with his hands blistered, his clothes which I copied, with the necessary redusty, and exhibiting himself every vision, and carried to the publisher of mark of extreme fatigue. He was the Museum, who was greatly pleased cheerful, however, and very cordial, with it, and readily paid the stipulated and gave me an animated account of price. his adventures in his “ Irish life,” as For several months Gurowski conhe called it. It seems he had formed tinued to write an article every week, an acquaintance with Mr. Hovey, the which he did very easily, and the pay proprietor of the large nurseries be- for them soon re-established his finantween Boston and the Colleges, and ces on what, with his simple habits, he on the morning of the day on which I considered a sound basis. In fact, he found him absent from his lodgings he soon grew rich enough, in his own estihad gone to Hovey and offered himselt mation, to spend the summer at Newas a laborer in his garden. Hovey was port, which he said he wanted to do, astounded at the proposition, but the because the Americans of the highest Count insisted, and finally a spade was social class evidently regarded a sumgiven to him, and he set to work “like mer visit to that place as the chief enan Irishman,” as he delighted to ex- joyment of their life and the crowning press it. It was dreadfully wearisome glory of their civilization. He went to his unaccustomed muscles, but any- thither in June, 1851, and after that I thing, he said, was better than getting only saw him at long intervals, and for in debt. He could earn a dollar a day, very brief periods. and that would pay for his board and His stay at Newport was short, and his cigars. He had clothes enough, he went from there to New York, where he thought, to last him the rest of his he soon became an editorial writer for life, especially, he added somewhat the Tribune. To a Cambridge friend dolefully, as he was not likely to live of mine, who met him in Broadway, he long under the Irish regimen.

expressed great satisfaction with his I thought the joke had been carried new avocation. “ It is the most defar enough, and that it was time to in- lightful position,” he said, “that you terfere. I accordingly went next day can possibly conceive of. I can abuse to Boston, and, calling on the publisher everybody in the world except Greeley, of a then somewhat flourishing weekly Ripley, and Dana." He inquired after newspaper, now extinct, called “ The

me, and, as my friend was leaving him, Boston Museum," I described to him sent me a characteristic message, the situation and the capacities of Gu- * Tell C- that he is an ass.” My rowski, and proposed that he should friend inquired the reason for this flatemploy the Count to write an article tering communication ; and Gurowski of reasonable length each week about replied, “ Because he does not write to European life, for which he was to be me.” Busy with many things which paid twelve dollars. I undertook to had fallen to me to do after his departrevise Gurowski's English sufficient- ure, I had neglected to keep up our ly to make it intelligible. The pub- correspondence, at which he was somelisher readily acceded to this proposi- times very wrathful, and wrote me tion; and the Count, when I communi- savagely affectionate notes of remoncated it to him, was as delighted as if strance. he had found a gold mine, or, in the Besides writing for the Tribune, Gulanguage of to-day, “had struck ile.” rowski was employed by Ripley and He was already, in spite of his philo- Dana on the first four volumes of the


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New American Cyclopædia, for which ling, returned to his book or his pahe wrote the articles on Alexander the

per. Great, the Alexanders of Russia, Aris- Shortly after this he took up his abode tocracy, Attila, the Borgias, Bunsen, in Washington, where he soon became and a few others. It was at this time one of the notables of the city, frequentalso that he wrote his books, " Russia ing some of the best houses, and almost as it is,” and “ America and Europe." certain to be seen of an evening at In preparing for publication his articles Willard's, the political exchange of the and his books, he had the invaluable capital, where his singular appearance assistance of Mr. Ripley, who gratui- and emphatic conversation seldom failed tously bestowed upon them an immense to attract a large share of attention. amount of labor, for which he was very The proceeds of the books he had pubill requited by the Count, who quar- lished, never very large, had by this relled both with him and Dana, and time been used up; and he was consefor a time wantonly and most unjustly quently very poor, for which, however, abused them both in his peculiar lavish he cared little. But some of the Senaway.

tors, who liked and pitied the roughFor two or three years longer I lost spoken, but warm-hearted and honest sight of him, during which period he old man, persuaded Mr. Seward to apled a somewhat wandering life, visiting point him to some post in the State the South, and residing alternately in Department created for the occasion. Washington, Newport, Geneseo, and His nominal duty was to explore the Brattleborough. The last time I saw Continental newspapers for matter inhim in New York was at the Athenæ- teresting to the American government, um Club one evening in December, and to furnish the Secretary of State, 1860, just after South Carolina had se- when called upon, with opinions upon ceded. A dispute was raging in the diplomatic questions. As he once stated smoking-room, between Unionists on it to me in his terse way, it was “to one side and Copperheads on the other read the German newspapers, and keep as to the comparative character of the Seward from making a fool of himself.” North and South. Gurowski, who was The first part of this duty, he said, was reading in an adjoining room, was at- easy enough, but the latter part rather tracted by the noise, and came in, but difficult. He kept the office longer than at first said nothing, standing in silence I expected, knowing his temper and on the outside of the circle. At last a habit of grumbling; but even Mr. SewSouth-Carolinian who was present ap- ard's patience was at length exhausted, pealed to him, saying, “Count, you and he was dismissed for long-continhave been in the South, let us have ued disrespectful remarks concerning your opinion ; you at least ought to be his official superior. impartial.” Gurowski thrust his head Some time in 1862 I met Gurowski forward, as he was accustomed to do in Washington, at the rooms of Senawhen about to say anything emphatic, tor Sumner, which he was in the habit and replied in his most energetic man- of visiting almost every evening. I ner: "I have been a great deal in the had not seen him for a long time, and South as well as in the North, and he greeted me very cordially; but I know both sections equally well, and I soon perceived that his habit of dogmatell you, gentlemen, that there is more tism had increased terribly, and that he intelligence, more refinement, more cul- was more impatient than ever of contivation, more virtue, and more good tradiction. He began to talk in a high manners in one New England village tone about McClellan, the Army of the than in all the South together.” This Potomac, and the probable duration of decision put an end to the discus- the Rebellion. His views for the most sion. The South - Carolinian retreat- part seemed sound enough, but were so ed in dudgeon, and Gurowski, chuck- offensively expressed that, partly in im

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patience and partly for amusement, I as I judge from his Diary, he undersoon began to contradict him roundly stood the President better, and did full on every point. He became furious, justice to his noble qualities. and for nearly an hour stormed and I was particularly curious to know stamped about the room, in the centre what he thought of Seward, whom he of which sat Mr. Sumner in his great had good opportunities of seeing at that chair, taking no part in the discus- time, as he was still in the service of sion, but making occasional ineffectual the State Department. He pronounced attempts to pacify Gurowski, who at him shallow and insincere, and ludilength rushed out of the room in a rage crously ignorant of European affairs. too deep for even his torrent of words The diplomatists of Europe, he said, to express.

After his departure, Mr. were all making fun of his despatches, Sumner remarked that he reminded and looked upon him as only a clever him of the whale in Barnum's Museum, charlatan. which kept going round and round in This proved to be

last conversaits narrow tank, blowing with all its tion with Gurowski. I met him once might whenever it came to the surface, again, however, at Washington, in the which struck me at the time as a singu- spring of 1863. I was passing up Fiflarly apt comparison.

teenth Street, by the Treasury DepartI met Gurowski the next evening at ment, and reached one of the crossthe Tribune rooms, near Willard's, streets just as a large troop of cavalry and found him still irritated and dis- came along. The street was ankle-deep posed to “blow.” I checked him, how- with mud, only the narrow crossing beever, told him I had had enough of non- ing passable, and I hurried to get over sense, and wanted him to talk soberly; before the cavalry came up. Midway and, taking his arm, walked with him on the crossing I encountered Gurowto his lodgings, where, while he dressed ski, wrapped in a long black cloak and for a party, which he always did with a huge felt hat, rather the worse for great care, I made him tell me his opin

He threw open his arms to stop ion about men and affairs. He was un- me, and, without any preliminary phrase, usually moderate and rational, and de- launched into an invective on Horace scribed the “situation,” as the news- Greeley. In an instant the troop was papers call it, with force and penetra- upon us, and we were surrounded by tion. The army, he thought, was ev- trampling and rearing horses, and solerything that could be desired, if it diers shouting to us to get out of the only had an efficient commander and way. Gurowski, utterly heedless of all a competent staff. I asked what he around him, raised his voice above the thought of Lincoln. “He is a beast.' tumult, and roared that Horace Greeley This was all he would say of him. I an ass, a traitor, and a coward.” knew, of course, that he meant bête in It was no time to hold a parley on that the French sense, and not in the offen- question, and, breaking from him, I sive English sense of the word. The made for the opposite sidewalk, then, truth was, that Gurowski had little rel- turning, saw Gurowski for the last time, ish for humor, and the drollery which enveloped in a cloud of horsemen, formed so prominent a part of Lincoln's through which he was composedly external character was unintelligible making his way at his usual meditaand offensive to him. At a later period, tive pace.


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ANDREW JOHNSON has dealt they read the reports of their mas

the most cruel of all blows to the respectability of the faction which rejoices in his name. Hardly had the political Pecksniffs and Turveydrops contrived so to manage the Johnson Convention at Philadelphia that it violated few of the proprieties of intrigue and none of the decencies of dishonesty, than the commander-in-chief of the combination took the field in person, with the intention of carrying the country by assault. His objective point was the grave of Douglas, which became by the time he arrived the grave also of his own reputation and the hopes of his partisans. His speeches on the route were a volcanic outbreak of vulgarity, conceit, bombast, scurrility, ignorance, insolence, brutality, and balderdash. Screams of laughter, cries of disgust, flushings of shame, were the various responses of the nation he disgraced to the harangues of this leader of American 66 conservatism." Never before did the first office in the gift of the people appear so poor an object of human ambition, as when Andrew Johnson made it an eminence on which to exhibit inability to behave and incapacity to reason. His low cunning conspired with his devouring egotism to make him throw off all the restraints of official decorum, in the expectation that he would find duplicates of himself in the crowds he addressed, and that mob diffused would heartily sympathize with Mob impersonated. Never was blustering demagogue led by a distempered sense of self-importance into a more fatal error. Not only was the great body of the people mortified or indignant, but even his "satraps and dependents," even the shrewd politicians — accidents of an Accident and shadows of a shade who had labored so hard at Philadelphia to weave a cloak of plausibilities to cover his usurpations, shivered with apprehension or tingled with shame as

ter's impolitic and ignominious abandonment of dignity and decency in his addresses to the people he attempted alternately to bully and cajole. That a man thus self-exposed as unworthy of high trust should have had the face to expect that intelligent constituencies would send to Congress men pledged to support his policy and his measures, appeared for the time to be as pitiable a spectacle of human delusion as it was an exasperating example of human impudence.


Not the least extraordinary peculiarity of these addresses from the stump was the immense protuberance they exhibited of the personal pronoun. Mr. Johnson's speech, his “I” resembles the geometer's description of infinity, having "its centre everywhere and its circumference nowhere." Among the many kinds of egotism in which his eloquence is prolific, it may be difficult to fasten on the particular one which is most detestable or most laughable; but it seems to us that when his arrogance apes humility it is deserving perhaps of an intenser degree of scorn or derision than when it riots in bravado. The most offensive part which he plays in public is that of "the humble individual," bragging of the lowliness of his origin, hinting of the great merits which could alone have lifted him to his present exalted station, and representing himself as so satiated with the sweets of unsought power as to be indifferent to its honors. Ambition is not for him, for ambition aspires; and what object has he to aspire to? From his contented mediocrity as alderman of a village, the people have insisted on elevating him from one pinnacle of greatness to another, until they have at last made him President of the United States. He might have been Dictator had he pleased; but what, to a man wearied with authority and dignity, would dictatorship be worth?

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