MINOR TOPICS

HOW PRESIDENT LINCOLN EARNED HIS FIRST DOLLAR

One evening when a few gentlemen, among whom was Mr. Seward, had met in the executive chamber without special business, and were talking of the past, Mr. Lincoln said," Seward, you never heard, did you, how I earned my first dollar?” "No," said Mr. Seward. "Well," replied he, "I was about eighteen years of age, and belonged, as you know, to what they call down South the 'scrubs;' people who do not own land and slaves are nobody there, but we had succeeded in raising, chiefly by my labor, sufficient produce as I thought to justify me in taking it down the river to sell. After much persuasion I had obtained the consent of my mother to go, and had constructed a flat-boat, large enough to take the few barrels of things we had gathered down to New Orleans. A steamer was going down the river. We have, you know, no wharves on the Western streams, and the custom was, if passengers were at any of the landings, they were to go out in a boat, the steamer stopping, and taking them on board. I was contemplating my new boat, and wondering whether I could make it stronger or improve it in any part, when two men, with trunks, came down to the shore in carriages, and looking at the different boats singled out mine, and asked, 'Who owns this?' I answered modestly, 'I do.' 'Will you,' said one of them, 'take us and our trunks out to the steamer?' 'Certainly,' said I. I was very glad to have the chance of earning something, and supposed that each of them would give me a couple of bits. The trunks were put on my boat, the passengers seated themselves on them, and I sculled them out to the steamer. They got on board, and I lifted their trunks and put them on the deck. The steamer was about to put on steam again, when I called out, 'You have forgotten to pay me.' Each of them took from his pocket a silver half-dollar and threw it on the bottom of my boat. I could scarcely believe my eyes as I picked up the money. You may think it was a very little thing, and in these days it seems to me like a trifle, but it was a most important incident in my life. I could scarcely credit that I, the poor boy, had earned a dollar in less than a day; that by honest work I had earned a dollar. The world seemed wider and fairer before me; I was a more hopeful and thoughtful boy from that time. William D Kelley in Rice's Reminiscences of Abraham Lincoln.

AMERICAN PROGRESS

[The following lines from the clever pen of Hon. Charles K. Tuckerman, one of our contribu tors, recently appeared in the little paper published by the American Exhibition in London.]

To thee, O Mother England, it is meet,

That we, who from thy womb inherited

The blood of nations, from thy tongue our tongue,

And from thy books the justice of our laws,
Should in maturer years our offerings bring,
And at thy feet our fruit of progress lay.

Progress, the motto of our infancy,
Taught by our sires of old in English homes;
Progress, the seed which, in our furrows sown,
Struck deeper for the richer virgin soil,
And grew the stronger in our Western air,
Till she, in turn, was fed by those she fed.
And it was well we parted and that lands
Still more remote sent seekers to our own,
Till race with race commingling, Briton, Celt,
Teuton and Gaul, hardened by toil's alloy,
And spurred by the compulsion of their needs,
Learned the self-poise of independent thought
Thence springs Invention, born Minerva-like,
From brains of God-like men; for they are Gods
Who o'er the thoughtless masses of mankind
Strike from the uncouth rock the precious ore
And shape it into beauty and employ;
Who wing our words with lightning, and defy
With timeless currents distance and degree;
Who ease the hands of labor, till a touch
Achieves what toil, with less perfection, wrought,
Saving the friction in the rush of life.

Therefore 'tis meet that to this capital,

Stirred by the breath of millions, whose deep hum

Is but the murmurous echo of the roar

Of her resounding commerce; where the tide
Of her great river is but glimpsed between
The floating bulwarks of her argosies;
Here, where historic names recall our own,
Caught and repeated by our States and towns;

Here, where yon reverend Abbey's walls enshrine
Our poets and scholars mingling with her own.
'Tis meet to bring the samples of our Art:
For where could welcome sound more honestly
Than where these English voices are upraised
To greet us in our own proud kindred tongue ?
If what we offer, then, merits applause,
Strike on the anvil with a ringing sound,

Welding the links of that unending chain
Which binds us in the bonds of brotherhood:
And where we move to criticism, strike
With equal force and spare not; give and take,
That each be spurred to wholesome rivalry.
Thus shall Invention from itself invent
New ways to save the nations and evolve,
From out the widening law of human needs—
Stronger than treaties, loftier than wars-
The pledge of hearts to universal Peace.

ENOCH CROSBY NOT A MYTH

Editor of Magazine of American History :-The article on Enoch Crosby, in your May number, by Mr. Guy Hatfield, contains, in the opinion of the writer, errors of statement and conclusion which call loudly for correction. In speaking of a recent article in the Atlantic, by Miss Susan Fenimore Cooper, he says: "But especially important is this article in an historical point of view, from its complete demolition of the myth that one Enoch Crosby was the original of Harvey Birchan idle tale that has been told and written over and over again, in so many forms and at so many times, that perhaps half the people one meets really believe it."

Miss Cooper's article, instead of demolishing the claim of Crosby's friends, would tend, as I think, only to establish and confirm it in the mind of candid readers. She says "The leading idea" (of the Spy)" was suggested by a conversation with Governor Jay, who related a remarkable incident with which he had been himself connected. He was at that time chairman of a secret committee, appointed by Congress, to counteract the efforts of the English leaders to raise troops among the people of the country. Among other agents employed in connection with these duties was a man, poor, ignorant as far as instruction went, but cool, shrewd, and fearless. It was his office to learn in what part of the country the agents of the crown were making their secret efforts to embody men, to repair to the place, to enlist, to appear zealous in the royal cause, and to obtain as much information of the enemy's plans as possible. This man was repeatedly arrested by his country

men. On one occasion he was condemned to the gallows, and only saved by speedy and secret orders to his jailer. The name of the agent was never revealed, and the facts stated above were the sole foundation for the character of the Spy." It is clearly established that Crosby resided at that time in the locality where these acts were performed, that he was employed by that committee for just such duties, that he performed like services and met with similar experiences. As the committee employed more than one agent, it is possible that Mr. Jay may have alluded to some other man. Crosby, who was intelligent and conscientious, believed he was the person described, and so did the men of that generation who remembered the events and knew the circumstances. Mr. Jay was the only one who could say Crosby was not the man; and although he lived until after the publication of Barnum's book, and must have been informed of its claims, we have never heard that he disputed it. Mr. Cooper did not know the real name of his hero; Miss Cooper knows no more in regard to it than her illustrious father, and Mr. Hatfield is no wiser than they.

The following letter recently found by Mr. C. P. Carter, of Kingston, New York, among the papers of Major Van Gaasbeck, of the Revolution, written by Nathaniel Sackett, one of Mr. Jay's associates on that famous committee, confirms the truth of Crosby's story:

"DEAR SIR: I had almost forgot to give you Directions to Give our friend an opportunity of making his escape. Upon our plan you will take him prisoner with this partie you are now watching for. His name is Enoch Crosby, alias John Brown. I could wish that he may escape before you bring him Two miles on your way to the Committee. You will be pleased to advise with Messrs. Cornwell and Captain Clark on this subject, and form such plan of conduct as your wisdom may direct, but by no means neglect this friend of ours.

Fishkill, January 7th, 1777.

I am Sir, your humble serv't,

NATH'L SACKETT."

So much as to the conclusions. Furthermore, Mr. Hatfield says, "Unfortunately for Mr. Barnum, he added a 'conclusion' to the original edition of his book, in which, unhappily forgetting the lessons taught by the author of The Spy, he spoiled the whole thing by pathetically saying that for all his revolutionary services Crosby received only two hundred and fifty dollars. This 'conclusion,' it is perhaps unnecessary to state, has been omitted in later editions of this Enoch Crosby myth." In reply, permit me to say, that the last, and probably the only edition of this work printed within the past fifty years was issued by myself and contains every sentence, word, letter and I believe punctuation contained in the original, published by J. & J. Harper, in 1828. The circumstances attending its republication were as follows. The work had a peculiar local interest in this community, as it was the old Dutch Church in this village in which Crosby was confined and

from which he made his famous escape. The book was out of print and had become exceedingly rare. Many fathers and mothers desired that their children might read a story which they had enjoyed in their youthful years. With some difficulty I procured a copy, and obtaining the consent of the Messrs. Harper, printed it as a serial in the Fishkill Weekly Times. From the type set for our paper we printed sheets for a few hundred books, which we had neatly bound for those who wished the narrative in a more permanent form. To the original volume we added about one-third more matter regarding Crosby's subsequent life, an account of his descendants with anecdotes and sketches of local contemporary history.

Our book is printed more closely and with narrower margins, so that the matter which makes 206 pages in one, is contained in 118 of the other. This "cheap, thin duodecimo" has unfortunately drawn this fire of adverse criticism, and having been instrumental in its production I hope to be allowed to speak in its defense. JAMES E. DEANE

THE STUDY OF STATISTICS

Professor Herbert B. Adams writes to the New York Independent on the recent meeting of the American Historical Association : "Perhaps the strongest current of popular and contemporary interest was that introduced from the nation's capital by Colonel Carroll D. Wright, U. S. Commissioner of the Bureau of Labor Statistics, in his vigorous plea for 'The Study of Statistics in American Colleges.' Contrary to general expectation, Colonel Wright showed that statistics form one of the most interesting and profitable lines of inquiry that can occupy students of historical and political science. Statistics, if properly collected, are history in the most concrete, accurate and imperishable form. The results of the census of any given decade, when cast into Arabic numerals, or simple mathematical tables, will endure when word-tablets have been dashed in pieces by historical criticism. Colonel Wright's plea was not alone for the teaching of statistical science in our higher colleges and universities, but also for a vital connection between higher political education and practical civil service. He said: 'I would urge upon the Government of the United States and upon the Governments of the States, the necessity of providing by law for the admission of students that have taken scientific courses in statistics as honorary attachés of, or clerks to be employed in the practical work of statistical offices.' He also urged the Government-training of educated young men for the consular and diplomatic service, and for other branches of practical administration. This thought, which is now historical, will bear political fruit."