Moses Coit Tyler, 1835-1900; selections from his letters and diaries

Preface

The following material, which might in a very broad sense be called an autobiography, is made up, as is indicated on the title page, of selections from the letters and diaries of Moses Coit Tyler. When they were written, there was doubtless no thought of publication. There are long silences in the diaries and no attempt has been made to fill these. The only desire has been to let my father tell in his own language as continuous a story of his life as possible. The words in brackets are the editor's, all the rest are my father's. I wish to thank, in addition to the members of my own family for help and advice, Miss Lihan Whiting.

Ithaca, N. Y. J. T. A.

Contents

CHAPIXK

I. Parentage, Birth, and Early Life, 1 794-1854

3 7

Chapter I Parentage, Birth, And Early Lite

1794 — 1854

MOSES COIT TYLER was born August 2, 1835, at Griswold, Conn., and died December 28, 1900, at Ithaca, N. Y. His father, Elisha Tyler, captain in the War of 181 2, was bom at Griswold, Conn., November 2, 1794, and died at Detroit, Mich., February 5, 1857. His mother, Mary Greene, of Quaker stock, was born August 18, 1807, at Scituate, R. I., and died February 2, 1894. Elisha and Mary were married March 9, 1830, and had nine children, Moses being the fourth child.

"It is the voice of tradition," according to a statement of EUsha Tyler's, "that during the early settlement of New England three brothers, named Nathaniel, Abraham, and Job, coming from England, landed at Plymouth, and after a little delay seated themselves on a log, partook of their refreshments, arose, embraced and kissed each other; then each went his way, and it saith not that they ever again met."

This was about 1653. One settled in Virginia, to which stock John Tyler, President of the United States, is said to have belonged; one in the New Haven Colony, and one in Andover. From the latter stock was born James, son of Job and Hopestill, who afterward removed to and settled at Preston, near

Griswold. Moses Coit Tyler belonged to this latter branch, and was the eighth generation from Job.

Elisha Tyler was an only son with five younger sisters.

Moses Coit Tyler writes, upon reading some of his father's letters, that "they give an impression exceeding what I ever before had of the intellectual grasp and the literaTy ability of my father. It is tragic to think that in his early life he longed to go to college, to take a profession, and that his father and mother refused, apparently, on the ground that he was the only son and must stand by them on the farm. He would have made a name in the world and would have been a power for good. He was a high-minded man always."

It was not until after the death of his father that EUsha was able to extricate himself from home ties; and it was not until his thirty-sixth year that he married and migrated to the West. In a letter to his son Moses, he said: "I proposed this to my father. He said he was too old to remove; that I was the only son; that duty required me to remain during his life; that when he died I might go if I chose. I accordingly remained on the old homestead, always wishing to go to a more fertile region, but saw no way to do it and keep peace in the family and discharge what I beheved to be duty."

Late in life he writes pathetically of his failures: "In all my pecuniary transactions I have used my better judgments to secure a fortune, but now have to lament that at the age of sixty-two I find myself and family poor, and nothing very prosperous at hand for the future of any of us. From my present standpoint I can look back and see how some of my mistakes occurred which have proved so disastrous, and can as easily see how a different course would have given me possession of miUions. You will probably ask why I should thus mistake. I say I did as well as I knew how."

In 1837 the removal of the family to the West began. The

EIGHT YEARS OLD

PAID FOR WITH THE FIRST MONEY HE

EARNED DRIVING THE COWS TO PASTURE long journey was undertaken by easy stages and long halts, as it was a time of no railroads and the easiest mode of conveyance was by the Erie canal. They first went to Constantia, N. Y., which was reached after a journey, mostly by water, of two days.

Constantia is situated on the west shore of Oneida lake. Elisha Tyler's interest in that place was in a furnace company of which he became a member. They remained there only a short time, when he made known his intention of going still farther west, and of visiting Marshall, Mich. There was quite an opening at this time in Marshall and its vicinity for the erection and use of flour mills.

The prospect of having some interest in one of these mills or of owning one was his chief inducement for taking this long and tedious journey. But he felt that his faithful Pompey, brought all the way from Connecticut, was equal to the occasion, and accordingly he performed this journey in his own conveyance. They lived consecutively in Burlington, Union City, and Detroit. To this latter place, which was the last move ever made by Elisha Tyler, in mid-winter of the year 1843 he drove in a sleigh, "taking with him all his family, excepting Charles, who went afoot to drive the cow, a distance of about one hundred and twenty-five miles. In that sleigh were placed very snugly the mother with her youngest child, John; then Edward and Olive and Moses and Susannah and Rowland. They had excellent sleighing the whole way, and were drawn by a single horse, the incomparable Pompey, who was lost and found not long after their arrival in what seemed to them the great and mighty city."

When Moses was fourteen years old his father wrote him: "You are aware that we can do but little, and that you will be imder the necessity to rely principally on your own efforts; therefore you will understand that indolence you cannot afford to tolerate in any degree; that digy digy dig is the order of the day for you. I should not urge you so if I did not love you and feel such a desire for your prosperity."

With this paternal injunction ringing in his ears, Moses Tyler set forth in 1849, ^ mere child, to make his way in the world. A cousin at this time wrote of him: "I think Moses has the most intellectual face in the family. He is determined to be a scholar at all events. We shall hear from him some time."

His struggles continued until his seventeenth year, when he was able to go to college. He went first to Michigan university, but remained there one year, going in the following year to Yale. His first letter, written a few days after his matriculation at the latter place, relates his experiences.

li

Chapter II 1854 — 1863

LETTER FROM MOSES COIT TYLER TO MRS. DORCAS GREENE

New Haven, Sept. 12, 1854 My DEAR Aunt:

I can hardly explain what twist or turn of the wheel of chance it was that the time I spent in Rhode Island passed away without my seeing you again after that flying call I made. I no more supposed that that should be my only visit with you than that I should fly from Cranston to New Haven in mid-air. But it did go by, and I left Rhode Island without taking a good look at you, for the little occasional squint I got of you that day was an aggravation rather than otherwise.

I have been here several days. Our term begins to-morrow and the students are pouring in at a numerous rate. It is probable that the coming class will be a very large one, and it is a singular fact that at no time since the foundation of old Yale itself have there been so many Southern students presented for admission. This is all the more remarkable in view of the fact that during the past few months many of the more influential journals of the South have denounced the college in the most unmeasured terms in consequence of the bold stand which was taken by the faculty in the Nebraska question. But the result of the outcry against the coUege seems not to correspond with the design. So it is that nothing is ever lost by taking a firm stand on all moral questions and by displaying moral courage and independence of character. . . . Your friend Thomas K. Beecher was in the city last Sabbath but did not preach. I saw him at a distance wallang rapidly across the Green, with that long dark shawl of his (which belonged to Mrs. B.) trailing behind him in the wind. I sincerely regret having never made his acquaintance.

Affectionately, Moses. 7

[During the first campaign of the Republican party in the summer of 1856, upon a visit home, Moses Tyler stumped the state, making political speeches for Fremont. These long journeys from New Haven to Michigan were not numerous, and the last one, made under painful circumstances in the winter of 1857, occurred during his senior year, after receiving a letter from his father which filled him with alarm.] Moses writes: "My father's letter written at Detroit was received by me at New Haven on Saturday evening, January 17; and, feeling assured that he was near the end of this earthly life, I instantly packed my travelling bag and started for Detroit via train to New York, in the midst of a tremendous snow storm. There I was snow-bound till the following Tuesday (20 Jan.), having for my fellow-prisoner my new friend, Andrew D. WTiite, then on his way to Syracuse, ostensibly to deliver his lecture on Russia, but more particularly to see his beloved, whom he afterward married. When, at last, the train started, its progress was so slow that we were thirty hours in reaching Albany. By that time the track had been cleared, and I was enabled to get to Detroit by Friday afternoon, January 23. As to myself, I repeat what I have before remarked, that my coming to Detroit at this time is a cause of much gratification. It seemed a great journey and a great expense; but twenty years from now the thought of having seen my father once more and of having contributed a little to make his downward slope more happy, compared with these other considerations, will seem too big for expression."

[Moses Coit Tyler was graduated from Yale in 1857, and, having decided to become a minister, at once"entered the Yale theological school, studying there, and, in the following year, at Andover, Mass.]

LETTERS FROM MOSES TYLER TO HIS MOTHER

Yale Seminary, August 15, i8j8 My dearest Mother:

It is Sabbath morning and I am enjoying a leisure and a rest that are latterly very rare for me upon this sacred day. The rain, for which the parched earth and the dust-browned city have been begging all the week, is coming down in thin, fine drops, distilling itself silently and yet swiftly with an incessant flow. Oh, how it comes! It is a glorious old northeaster, a watery emblem of constancy and perseverance. And I can scarcely express to you the pleasure I feel in being permitted to spend a quiet hour talking with my dearly cherished mother. I know you feel disappointed in not seeing me this summer, and I need not tell you how much I should rejoice, did all circumstances favor, to spend the summer with you. Yet it does not seem possible. And so I suppose we must just take it as it comes, living in hope of that good time coming when we shall see each other more. I have had many pressing invitations from western ministers to go West when I get ready to settle. And who knows what may turn up? How nice it would be for the mother and all her children to be living near each other once more.

And, my dearest mother, you must not give yourself up to sadness. I know how lonely you must feel at times. The widow's heart is the very type of desolation. And there are doubtless many things occurring in the friction of daily life to disturb and perplex and sadden. But cheer up, mother dear! Your lot is vastly happier than most. Every year now will tend to reheve you. As your children get settled in Hfe they will find homes for you in so many spots, where each shall vie with the other in rendering your decUning years peaceful and happy. We all love you, and with six loving children upon earth, you must not feel that you are alone.

I mentioned in my former letter your writing to my dear Jennie. When you do so it had better be in the same envelope with a letter to me, as that would seem less formal.

In little over three weeks I go to Andover, to spend the coming year. You will give me a letter before then, I trust.

"Your affectionate son Moses.

lo MOSES COIT TYLER

Andover, October 24, 1858

My dearest Mother:

It happened that your good letter came while I was in the midst of the cares and toils of packing up my effects at New Haven and getting ready for moving. And I had put it down in my memorandum paper to reply immediately after I reached here, but as you see about six weeks have elapsed and I am only just getting about it.

I have not had any letters from the girls since my arrival here, and from Detroit nothing but a brief note of a few lines from CharUe. So I am even less posted than usual in regard to the recent movements of the beloved ones so far away.

I presume you have heard from my letters to others in the family how delightful a place Andover seems to me. My residence is most agreeable. So far as daily duties and natural scenery are concerned I have all that heart can desire. Everything is pleasant, genial, just to my fancy.

I often think of my dear mother and wish it were my privilege to see you oftener. It seems to me that the older I grow the more sacred become the names of home and dear kindred. I sometimes get to musing of past years, of the long, long ago, at Burlington and Union City and the Phillips House at Detroit, and the pottery, and copper stock, and of all those scenes, sad and happy, which filled up my childhood. And then the last six years appear to me like a dream, and I wake up and find all things changed, our home broken up, our beloved father and Eddy gone from us; and then ourselves so widely separated. I cannot realize that we are the same persons that lived and moved in that old familiar stage, ten and fifteen years ago, and I almost lose my old identity. But I know we are the same and I hope growing better and fitting ourselves for that blessed family gathering above. Though I have deferred writing so long, I yet hope that you will not imitate my example.

I want to hear from you very much. Tell me all about your health and your daily pursuits and feelings.

Give my love to Susy, Olive and Albert and John. Ah, when shall I be out of debt? Writing that last name brings with it i

MOSES COIT TYLER ii

a twinge of conscience, for I have owed that dear boy a long time for the best letter he ever wrote.

In love, your son Moses.

[Moses Coit Tyler's marriage to Miss Jeannette Hull Gilbert, of New Haven, took place on October 26, 1859, and of this event he writes, on October 10, to a bachelor imcle as follows:]

Dear Uncle Edward:

When I left you last May it was with the resolution good and strong that you should hear from me more frequently than in the past. But the harvest is past and the summer is ended and still I have not done it. And so now at last, in anticipation of an event which is to happen in New Haven on the 26th inst., I am driven, by all that is respectful and nephew-ly, to break the silence.

You know that an old writer saith something about its not being good for man to be alone. Of course, I do not quote this to you, under the supposition that you endorse the sentiment, but merely as an expression of my own condition. Sure am I, at least, it is not good for a parson to be alone, and that is at least one consoling evidence that parsons have one thing in common with human beings.

Now, Uncle Edward, if it is in your power and in your heart to shake off the confinement of home for a little airing in the outside world, come over to the Elm City and see us "do it."

Affectionately, Moses.

[The following letter, written after their marriage by his friend Washington Gladden, was characterized by Moses Tyler as the funniest letter ever written. It was addressed to Charles Tyler, of Detroit, and is as follows:]

Nov. iij 18 jQ, Owego, N. Y.

Dear Sir:

A man caUing himself Moses Tyler and professing to be a brother of yours, who has been preaching in the Congregational church of this village for some time past, left this place for

New Haven on or about the 24th of October for the avowed purpose of getting married. On the 28th of October he wrote from Albany, saying that he had been married, and should leave that place for Niagara on his way to Detroit in about an hour. Since that time we have not heard from him. He is about five feet six inches high — broad shouldered — has very light hair — walks fast, and has the appearance of being in a hurry when in the streets. He has a youthful appearance — could not be taken to be more than twenty-one years old — and a stranger would consider him remarkably honest and disingenuous. When he left he wore a suit of black clothes and a black silk hat. It is not certain whether he wore any undershirt or drawers or not; his washerwoman has not been consulted.

For some time before he left, it was noticed that his deportment had greatly changed. He was often observed gazing intently upon the calendar which lay upon his table, and making incoherent remarks about some event of which he was apprehensive. The last night he remained with us his conduct was singularly mild and mysterious; and we are in great fear that he may have been led by some hallucination into danger, if not destruction. He spoke, when he went away, of visiting Niagara, and we are afraid he has been led to attempt to rival Blondin by carrying his wife (if he has one) across the river on his back. At all events, something has happened to him or we should have heard from him before this, as he promised us many times before he left that he would write soon and often. If we do not hear from him shortly we shall proceed to expose the effects which he has left behind him for public sale. They are as follows: One blue horse, four years old, with one watch eye and a great proclivity to oats; saddle, bridle, and whip, currycomb and brush; one overalls and shirt; half a bushel of oats, more or less hay; an old pair of boots; a shovel, a lamp; an old straw hat; a few quires of sermon paper, an inkstand, and some matches in a safe; about a quarter of a cord of wood, and a large circle of mourning friends.

Doubts having been expressed by his landlady and others of his being any connection of yours, and great anxiety being felt in regard to his whereabouts, we have addressed you on the subject. If you know anything about him, please inform us instantly. We shall not advertise him until we hear from you. Washington Gladden.

[After the marriage they settled in Owego for one year, going in September of i860 to Poughkeepsie, where they spent the following two years, until overwork caused a breakdown. Aside from his own ill health, this was to him a time of special anxiety, as a brother, John, had enhsted in the army. This brother was among the first young men in Michigan to respond to President Lincoln's call for volunteers. He served through the war, attaining the honor of brevet major of volunteers. He was engaged in battle at Campbell's Station, East Tennessee, on November 16, 1863, where he was twice wounded, one musket ball penetrating through his left side, the other through his left forearm. After the news of the first battle of Bull Run, on July 22, 1861, Moses Tyler writes of these events:]

It is about six o'clock and I am plunged in gloom over the tidings from Washington. After a day of glory came a sundown of infinite and unmitigable shame. If we may credit the telegrams, our soldiers have been frightened like sheep, and ran away, ignominiously, from the phantom of a teamster's cowardly imagination. O horrors! horrors! horrors! I want to hide my head under the waves of the sea. But there's no use in boohooing. I should show equal cowardice and folly, if even this damnable transaction could take away my faith in this righteous cause. No, I will not despair. It is the attribute of a good cause that it must rise mightier even from disasters. And this infamy shall be wiped out. I have watched the position of Johnny's division throughout. We know not but the poor boy has been slain. I see it stated that Colonel Wilcox is killed. Probably John's regiment was in the thickest and deadhest of the fight.

God! how hard it is to think of his possible sufferings, and how hard not to think of them. Affectionately, Moses.

[Of his resignation from the pastorate, Moses Coit Tyler writes to an uncle, on November 14, 1862, from Boston, as follows:]

Dear Uncle:

I proceed to say that after my return to Poughkeepsie I was again taken sick; and my whole state seemed so weak, incapable of work, and perpetually shivering on the brink of good-fornothingness, that I was thoroughly disgusted and discouraged. Moreover, the doctors told me what my own consciousness confirmed, that this sort of business could not safely go on a great while longer. I had been working too hard for some years, and this more recent tendency to illness was only an alarm bell informing me of my danger of completely breaking down. I myself thought the hint was getting rather too broad for comfort, and concluded to take it forthwith. Jenny was anxious that I should give up the parish work and go away to recuperate. When I brought the matter before the church, they urged me not to resign, but take an indefinite leave of absence; they would continue my salary and send me to the Mediterranean, to China, to the West Indies, and I presume to the Devil, if they believed the old gentleman could have restored me. I appreciated their kindness and most respectfully decHned it. I did not wish the church to hold a mortgage on me to such an extent. The upshot of the whole business was I came to Boston to spend a few weeks with Dr. Dio Lewis. And accordingly here I am. Thus far the experiment works well. Freedom from the exhausting care of a parish, together with the healthful exercises of Doctor Lewis's gymnastic system, are working wonders upon me. Already am

1 beginning to feel myself a new man. I keep myself as cheerful as I can under the circumstances. What I shall do next spring when I get restored I do not exactly know. I have had a professorship informally offered me in Vassar college and may conclude to accept it. I have abundant openings for church settlements, but I think I shall bid good-bye to clerical life. I was not built for a parson. If I had a little cottage and a few acres of land, I would take my books thither and devote myself exclusively to literary pursuits. That is my passion and I think my mission; and I don't think I shall feel like home until I get into some such fix. Meanwhile I am going to work for that end.

Perhaps for a year or so I may devote myself to this new profession of physical culture. Doctor Lewis is anxious that I should, and assures me it will pay handsomely. But time will tell.

My article on Vassar College has had better success than I anticipated. The trustees have sent me an extremely complimentary letter expressive of their thanks and accompanied by a present of $50. This letter is all about myself, not from any trivial egotism, but because your kind letter indicates such an interest in me as renders a full exposition of my affairs due to you. So you have it and I know you will not misinterpret my spirit.

Affectionately, Moses.

[On December 14, 1862, from Boston, Moses Coit Tyler writes to his wife of the events at Fredericksburg:]

I wrote and mailed a letter for you this afternoon; and finding myself in the mood I will improve the moments before bedtime by spinning out a few more lines. My heart aches with anxiety to know how Bumside's splendid dash across the Rappahannock is likely to succeed, and all these general rays converge to a searching focus in the thought of Johnny's possible fate. The morning papers will doubtless contain vast news. . . .

I learned the other day some further facts about Miss Peabody. The latter has during her life, amid the activities of a very wide scholarship, given especial attention to two great branches, theology and history. She is a gifted Hnguist and has written considerably for the heavy quarterlies — like the North American. She was very intimate with Doctor Channing and imbibed profoundly his ideas upon theology and has studied deeply all systems of creed. She is said to be able in controversy. In history she is deeply versed and has for years had advanced classes of students in that department, whose reading she has guided, and to whom she has expounded her philosophy. I think she is not free from the necessity of earning her own Hving, which she has usually done by teaching, having been for many years distinguished in Boston by her enterprise in adopting all the latest improvements in teaching. I think she is a remarkable woman, although a sight of her bulky form and pulpy face and watery eyes and a few minutes spent in hearing her talk about kindergarten would not particularly impress a stranger. She seemed a Httle too fussy and kinky, but I doubt not, when at her ease and properly drawn out by stimulating questions, she would reveal both learning and original power.

I am daily more impressed with the right of Boston to the name of Athens. It is the brain of this continent, the great idea-breeder and thought-radiator. Great scholars, orators, poets, philosophers are sprinkled in the throng of the streets; while through the mass of the people are diffused an intense activity of mind, culture, thought. The very atmosphere seems charged with floating particles of intelligence and every breath you draw an inhalation of knowledge with the stimulus to enjoy and extend it. Dear me! Blessed old Poughkeepsie seems like a big Dutch village off on the planet Jupiter. . . . MosE.

LETTERS FROM MOSES COIT TYLER TO HIS WIFE

Boston, December 17, 1862 The news from Burnside is very discouraging. The retreat across the Potomac is so different from the glorious anticipations we had been indulging. I know it can be said he has acted prudently, doubtless, but the state of things which makes a retreat prudent is the very thing at which I mourn. I fear that we have neither statesmen nor warriors. I cannot but admire the magnificent conduct of the Southern chieftains both in council and in fight. They are vigilant, ingenious, unerring. Nothing but the wickedness of their cause can ever defeat them. But enough of pohtics. I have heard nothing of John since the recent battles, but presume he is safe. Had it been otherwise we should have heard.

Last Saturday evening I was sitting in the PubHc Library when a tall man entered and commenced looking at the papers.

I instantly thought, that must be Emerson. I had never seen anything but the engraving of his face. I was not mistaken, as I afterward learned. It is pleasant to live where such things are apt to heave in sight occasionally. I am getting to be Boston-cracked, as you perceive. . . . Moses.

Boston J 18 Dec, 1862 My own dearest Wiee:

PubHc affairs seem shrouded with gloom. The loss on our side from last Saturday's battle proves to be vastly greater than was anticipated. Fifteen thousand! Ugh! How dreadful I I spent last evening with Mr. . It was a brilliant assemblage. I had a long talk with Miss Peabody, who was there, and found her conversation very interesting. She is a scholar, and it is a rare treat to hear her. The first impression of not exactly liking her, which I before alluded to, wore off. She told me a great deal about Emerson, his personal and domestic life, his habits of study, writing, conversation, etc. She has had a long acquaintance with him, has even Hved in his family. He is possessed of a snug little property, leads the life of a philosopher, is the most faithful and accurate man in the discharge of all the duties of life. He always writes, instead of reads, when the spirit moves, believing that his chief function is as a producer of thought but he is besides an immense reader in old English, German, Orientahsm, and in the natural sciences. He has a singular mode of composing. He keeps a great blank book which he calls his diary; in this he writes all thoughts which come into his mind from day to day. It is the diary of his intellect. He lets his pen run on in this book at its own sweet will, and the book thus constitutes a kind of store house of all his best thoughts in their freshest expression as they rise in glory in his mind; and it is by picking out sentences from his book that all his essays, lectures, etc., are made up. He is a great walker; goes out every day in the woods, in which he delights to wander. His family is an absolutely happy one, consisting of a wife and one son and two daughters. I know that there are so many children, and perhaps there are more. He is very mirthful at home and on terms of beautiful familiarity with his children, by whom he is worshipped. It is indeed a happy family — well provided for, industrious, loving, and enjoying literature, music, and art. Mrs. Emerson is a noble woman, very domestic, but in poor health.