American Romanticism (or the American Renaissance)Ann Woodlief's Introduction

For many years, this period and these writers were known as the American Renaissance, a coin termed by F.O. Matthiessen in his book of that name in 1941. This book set the parameters of how to read and connect these writers until relatively recently, when its limitations, especially in terms of defining the "canon" of literary giants and what made them (all male) "giants" have been recognized and challenged. However, the term is still useful to some degree. It is a misnomer, if one thinks of the period as a time of rebirth of some earlier literary greatness, as the European Renaissance, because there was nothing to be "reborn." The great writers of this period, roughly 1840-1865 although more particularly 1850-1855, marked the first maturing of American letters. It was a Renaissance in the sense of a flowering, excitement over human possibilities, and a high regard for individual ego. It was definitely and even defiantly American, as these writers struggled to understand what "American" could possibly mean, especially in terms of a literature which was distinctively American and not British. Their inability to resolve this struggle--and it was even more a personal one than a nationalistic one, for it questioned their identity and place in society--did much to fire them creatively.

However, we will call this American romanticism, though it shares many characteristics with British romanticism. It flourished in the glow of Wordsworth's poetic encounter with nature and himself in The Prelude, Coleridge's literary theories about the reconciliation of opposites, the romantic posturings and irony of Byron, the lush imagery of Keats, and the transcendental lyricism of Shelley, even the Gothicism of Mary Shelley and the Bronte sisters. Growing from the rhetoric of salvation, guilt, and providential visions of Puritanism, the wilderness reaches of this continent, and the fiery rhetoric of freedom and equality, though, the American brand of romanticism developed its own character, especially as these writers tried self-consciously to be new and original. 

The glory years were 1850-1855. What was it in American culture and British influences that led to the incredible flowering of masterpieces in this era: Emerson's Representative Men, Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, The House of Seven Gables, Melville's Moby-Dick and Pierre, Thoreau's Walden, and Whitman's Leaves of Grass. After over 200 years on this continent, why was the time ripe? There is nothing comparable in so short a period in Europe. Is there any relationship between this literary outburst and the conflicts which would soon lead to war? 

As is so often true, there are no good answers, but lots of good speculation. Cultural there was time for literature and art; the practical matters such as the essential of making a living and establishing political independence had been squared. There were American publishers and even more important, copyright laws protected writers from having their works printed, without their permission or pay, in England. There were readers, often women eager to expand their minds. It was actually possible to make a kind of living as a writer, although it was difficult and limited, making these writers agonize over the problem of "vocation." There was also a strong national pride, self-conscious and anti-British.

Politically the time was ripe. The 18th century left a heritage of optimism about man's possibilities and perfectability. The lofty ideals of democracy asserted the value of individuals, regardless of class, and education. Of course, these values primarily applied

to white males. In fact, tensions were building which cried out for creative release. Inequality, not equality was the rule for many, especially women and slaves. The clash of these realities with the idealistic rhetoric led writers to take extremes, championing individualism yet also seeing the darker sides of a fragmenting society.

Economically America had never been wealthier. But the rising materialism and focus on business at the cost of the mind and the spirit was spawning reform movements all over America. Over 150 intentional communities--from the Shakers to Oneida to Brook Farm--were formed by people disillusioned by the materialistic values and inequities of American society. Yet there was enough affluence for people to develop and appreciate writing and reading, and a growing leisure class with cultural pretensions. There was one period of crisis--the Panic of 1837--but that only increased the drive toward material values.

Religion, always a basic concern for Americans, was also ready for romanticism and its kind of pantheistic religion. The stern dogmas of Calvinism had been replaced by rationalistic Unitarianism and Deism. However, they were so rational and so determined to avoid the emotional excesses of the Great Awakening that they seemed dry and cold, unable to satisfy deep spiritual yearnings. People, especially Emerson, were looking for new spiritual roots, personally involving and meaningful, but not traditional. 

Connected to this was the rise and professionalization of science, which seemed to many to conflict with religion. Many felt a psychic dislocation, that the bottom had dropped out of their world since traditional values and conventional reality were just not enough for them. They tried to impose meaning individually, for institutions and dogmas seemed to possess little truth. Philosophically, they reacted against the materialistic educational theories of Locke and rationalism. They found Truth more a matter of intuition and imagination than logic and reason. They rejected the mechanistic view of the universe so dear to Franklin and Deists and opted for a more organic view, seeing the world more as dynamic and living.

Aesthetically, the romantics were also in a state of revolt, primarily against the restraints of classicism and formalism. Form, particularly traditional literary forms, mattered much less than inspiration, enthusiasm, and emotion. Good literature should have heart, not rules, although it is never so simple as that.

There were specifically American components to the romanticism of our authors. They were particularly aware of nature, especially its wild aspects, and were beginning to comprehend that it was being lost as fast as they were appreciating it. The physical frontiers were being conquered in this time of "manifest destiny" and there was little wilderness to explore (and exploit). They turned to artistic, metaphysical, and intellectual frontiers to recapture the ecstasy of exploration and discovery.

Reaction was a major, but not the only, mode for these romantics. They confronted the distinctively American pressures for conformity and definitions of success in terms of money. They spoke out, to some degree, against slavery, promoting the ideals of Jacksonian democracy, that "any man can do anything" (if he's white and educated). They sought to creative a distinctive American literary voice; it was time for the cultural revolution to follow the political one. They felt compelled to declare cultural and individual independence from Europe, even though they had little idea of what form that could take.

Matthiessen set the canon of American Renaissance writers: Poe, Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, Melville, and Whitman. Indeed, for years any other works lived in their imposing shadows. Yet this was a fairly tight group. Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne, and Melville all knew each other well, were even friends and neighbors, as was Margaret Fuller. They knew well the works of Poe (who died in 1849); he in turn wrote about Emerson. Whitman claimed that Emerson brought his "simmering, simmering, simmering" to a creative boil. Dickinson was devoted to Emerson's works, though she rarely agreed. It is hard to understand any writer in this period without seeing numerous ties and influences, although they would each, except for Whitman, assert their own individual vision and art and deny the most obvious influences. They were, after all, romantic individualists!

Matthiessen had trouble going beyond his own white male perspective, and in recent years, the value of lesser-known writers has been recognized as well as the mass of popular writers (many were women) that they were responding and reacting to. David S. Reynolds tells that story well in Beneath the American Renaissance. However, we have only one semester to study this period. Our focus must necessarily be on those "masterworks," with glancing attention to other works. We cannot recreate the historical/social/economic/political context to which these writers responded and reacted as they explored the tensions and contradictions of their time and place, especially as they were enacted in themselves. But we must constantly be aware that they did not write in a vacuum, by any means. They especially wrote in response and reaction to each other, and that we can and will explore.

To make it easier to make connections between these writers, as we must do to understand any one of them and their works, the course is organized not according to author but according to certain romantic themes and ideas which each kept exploring. These are certainly not the only points of comparative contact, but they are useful and important ones. Perhaps we will risk some confusion here and certainly we will have to neglect some biographical context as we "mix and match" writers. But we will be able to focus on those ideas which united (and even divided) them that makes us able to call them all "romantics." After we have read a work, we will "revive" it in discussions of later topics, taking the different perspective, for there must a certain arbitrariness in "assigning" a work to only one theme. Great and complex works must not be limited like that! So rather than progressing through time and historical/biographical contexts, we will keep circling recursively (as Emerson says we must), seeing how the different works and writers explore the major aspects of romantic thought and art.

Our base is necessarily Emerson, the literary giant of his time in America, for better or worse. Though his writing is often difficult to read, it was, in fact, the match that lit all of the creative fires of his time. He put his pen on all of the sensitive spots in the American creative psyche; Whitman was not the only one to "boil." 

Transcendentalism: AMERICAN MOVEMENTWRITTEN BY: The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica

Transcendentalism, 19th-century movement of writers and philosophers in New England were loosely bound together by adherence to an idealistic system of thought based on a belief in the essential unity of all creation, the innate goodness of humanity, and the supremacy of insight over logic and experience for the revelation of the deepest truths. German transcendentalism (especially as it was refracted by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Thomas Carlye), Platonism and Neoplatonism, the Indian and Chinese scriptures, and the writings of such mystics as Emanuel Swedenborg and Jakob Böhme were sources to which the New England Transcendentalists turned in their search for a liberating philosophy.

American literature: The TranscendentalistsConcord, Massachusetts, a village not far from Cambridge, was the home of leaders of another important New England group. The way for this group had been prepared by the rise of a theological system, Unitarianism, which early in the 19th century had replaced Calvinism…Eclectic and cosmopolitan in its sources and part of the Romantic movement, New England Transcendentalism originated in the area around Concord, Massachusetts, and from 1830 to 1855 represented a battle between the younger and older generations and the emergence of a new national culture based on native materials. It attracted such diverse and highly individualistic figures as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Margaret Fuller, Orestes Brownson, Elizabeth Palmer Peabody, and James Freeman Clarke, as well as George Ripley, Bronson Alcott, the younger W.E. Channing, and W.H. Channing. In 1840 Emerson and Margaret Fuller founded The Dial (1840–44), the prototypal “little magazine” wherein some of the best writings by minor Transcendentalists appeared. The writings of the Transcendentalists and those of contemporaries such as Walt Whitman, Herman Melville, and Nathaniel Hawthorne, for whom they prepared the ground, represent the first flowering of the American artistic genius and introduced the American Renaissance in literature (see also American literature: American Renaissance).In their religious quest, the Transcendentalists rejected the conventions of 18th-century thought, and what began in a dissatisfaction with Unitarianism developed into a repudiation of the whole established order. They were leaders in such contemporary reform movements as anarchistic, socialistic, and communistic schemes for living (Thoreau, Alcott at Fruitlands, Ripley at Brook Farm); woman suffrage; better conditions for workers; temperance for all; modifications of dress and diet; the rise of free religion; educational innovation; and other humanitarian causes.Heavily indebted to the Transcendentalists’ organic philosophy, aesthetics, and democratic aspirations were the pragmatism of William James and John Dewey, the environmental planning of Benton MacKaye and Lewis Mumford, the architecture (and writings) of Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright, and the American “modernism” in the arts promoted by Alfred Stieglitz.

Typical Elements of American Gothic Fiction

1.  Settings most often include large, drafty old houses that have "been in the family for years."  Since castles in the American landscape were practically unheard of, early Gothic fiction writers began substituting the family estate for the traditional castle.

2.  An atmosphere of mystery and suspense that is enhanced by a plot which seeks to discover the secrets lying within the supernaturally charged environment.

3.  A ghostly legend, an unexplainable occurrence, or a story about a horrible death or murder that took place at the family estate in question.

4.  Omens, foreshadowing, and dreams usually play a large role in the mysterious air that is created within the story.

5.  Tales include highly charged emotional states like:  terror, a feeling that one is on the brink of insanity, anger, agitation, an exaggerated feeling of some impending doom, and obsessive love.

6.  Supernatural events:  ghosts, doors that open themselves, unexplained sounds, etc.

7.  Damsels in distress are frequent.  Women who are frightened and confused, wandering around lost, or dying due to a slow and unexplainable ailment.

8.  Words designed to evoke images of gloom and doom: dark, foreboding, forbidding, ghostly, etc.

9.  Romantic themes often involve the death of a man or woman in the throes of some great passion, the obsessive nature of a man or woman in love, or excessive grief one feels upon the loss of a loved one.

The Cask of AmontilladoEdgar Allan Poe 1846

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile NOW was at the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point -- this Fortunato -- although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have

the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian MILLIONAIRES. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him, that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.

I said to him -- "My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day! But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."

"How?" said he, "Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible ? And in the middle of the carnival?""I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price

without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."

"Amontillado!""I have my doubts.""Amontillado!""And I must satisfy them.""Amontillado!""As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi. If any one has a critical turn, it is he.

He will tell me" --"Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.""And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own.""Come let us go.""Whither?""To your vaults.""My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an

engagement Luchesi" --"I have no engagement; come.""My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you

are afflicted . The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre.""Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been

imposed upon; and as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado."Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask of black silk

and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the

time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance , one and all, as soon as my back was turned.

I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.

The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode."The pipe," said he."It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white webwork which gleams from these cavern

walls."He turned towards me and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the

rheum of intoxication ."Nitre?" he asked, at length"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough!""Ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh!My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes."It is nothing," he said, at last."Come," I said, with decision, we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich,

respected, admired, beloved; you are happy as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchesi" --

"Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."

"True -- true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily -- but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps."

Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.

"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells

jingled."I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us.""And I to your long life."He again took my arm and we proceeded."These vaults," he said, are extensive.""The Montresors," I replied, "were a great numerous family.""I forget your arms.""A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs

are imbedded in the heel.""And the motto?""Nemo me impune lacessit.""Good!" he said.The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the

Medoc. We had passed through walls of piled bones, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.

"The nitre!" I said: see it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough" --

"It is nothing" he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc."I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed

with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.

I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement -- a grotesque one."You do not comprehend?" he said."Not I," I replied."Then you are not of the brotherhood.""How?""You are not of the masons.""Yes, yes," I said "yes! yes.""You? Impossible! A mason?""A mason," I replied."A sign," he said.

"It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of my roquelaire."You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado.""Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak, and again offering him my arm. He

leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains piled to the vault overhead , in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use in itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depths of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.

"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi" --"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I

followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered . A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain. From the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess.

"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed it is VERY damp. Once more let me IMPLORE you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power."

"The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment."True," I replied; "the Amontillado."As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before

spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.

I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was NOT the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided , I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated -- I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs , and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I reechoed -- I aided -- I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a

single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said --

"Ha! ha! ha! -- he! he! -- a very good joke indeed -- an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo -- he! he! he! -- over our wine -- he! he! he!"

"The Amontillado!" I said."He! he! he! -- he! he! he! -- yes, the Amontillado . But is it not getting late? Will not

they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.""Yes," I said "let us be gone.""FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MONTRESOR!""Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud --"Fortunato!"No answer. I called again --"Fortunato!"No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within.

There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick -- on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I reerected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them.

In pace requiescat!

Nemo me impune lacessit: No one attacks me with impunity

In pace requiescat: rest in peace

Beat! Beat! Drums!Walt Whitman (1861)

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,Into the school where the scholar is studying,Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride,Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain,So fierce you whirr and pound you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets;Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those beds,No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—would they continue?Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!Make no parley—stop for no expostulation,Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer,Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties,Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses,So strong you thump O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.

“The Gettysburg Address” Abraham Lincoln 1863

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.

It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Second Inaugural Address of Abraham LincolnSATURDAY, MARCH 4, 1865

Fellow-Countrymen:At this second appearing to take the oath of the Presidential office there is less occasion for

an extended address than there was at the first. Then a statement somewhat in detail of a course to be pursued seemed fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself, and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured.

On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it, all sought to avert it. While the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war--seeking to dissolve the Union and divide effects by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish, and the war came.

One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union even by war, while the Government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offenses; for it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

Works Cited

Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. “Transcendentalism.” Encyclopædia

Britannica, 2018, www.britannica.com/event/Transcendentalism-American-

movement.

Lincoln, Abraham. "Gettysburg Address." The Columbia Encyclopedia, Columbia

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