Biographical Essay
[Introduction to Miscellaneous
Writings (Manchester, NH:
William H. Fisk, 2nd ed 1849)]
By Jno. Pierpont[i]
In presenting to the
public a volume of the miscellaneous writings of Nathaniel P. Rogers, his
family and friends feel that they are meeting a demand, often and earnestly
pressed upo them, and at the same time, contributing something to the cause for
which he made great sacrifices, and devoted his highest powers and the best
years of his life.
To all those who
interested in the writer's reputation, it is a matter of deep regret that his
own life was not spared either to make the selection himself, or at least to
let a selection, made by another, pass under his eye, and have the benefit of
his own judgment, as to the pieces upon which he would be most willing to rest
his claim upon the grateful regards of those who should commune with his spirit
when his body should be "Commingling slowly with his mother earth."
Yet, had he lived, it
doubtful whether he would ever have been induced to do for himself, what his
friends have attempted to do for him.. He was more mindful of the good of
others, than of his own fame. And it was more in accordance with his own nature
to produce and cast abroad the gems of thought, feeling and imagination, than
to gather them up in a cabinet for his own gratification, or the admiration
even of his friends. But the treasures that he scattered with a liberal, and,
for his health and life, quite too prodigal a hand, will be like a choice seed,
which, sown in a strong soil, not cultivated enough to be quite ready for it,
will yet strike its roots and live, and the fielf into which into which it is
cast will yet feel its virtue, and be subdued and fertilized by it. Rogers
wrote, as he did everything else, for humanity, and not for fame. He consulted
the good of the future, not the fashion of the present; and his claims to the
regard, even of the future, he chose to rest rather upon help given to those
who "could not help themselves," than upon the good opiniuon of
critics or literary connoisseurs.
Whoever reads this
book, will see that is writeen by an earnest, and therefore an honest man; a
man whose soul was alive to the work to which he put his hand; and who expected
not, and asked not, the applause of a sensual and servile age. he sought rather
to gratify the cravings of his own fervent spirit, that glowed with love and
pity for those who were "despised and rejected of men;" and he did
this, knowing that if "the world and they that are
therein," have a Creator, who careth for his work, he cannot be
indifferent to the welfare of the oppresssed and enslaved, and that he must approve - as ultimately he will prosper - the
labors of such as "preach deliverance to the captive, and set at liberty
them that are bruised."
Our friend might have worn, but he did not "wear soft
raiment, or dwell in kings' houses." Lazarus-like, here "he received
evil things." He might have received "good things," or whata in
the world pass for such, had he pleased.
With his hads full of talents that he might have readily caused to be
coined into golden eagles, for the sake of the slave "he became
poor." He might have died under a silken canopy, and been followed to the
grave far otherwise than he was. But, with eyes wide open,, he chose the course
of a confessor and martyr; and as a natural consequence, he drank a confessor's
- a martyr's cup. He drank of that cup, especially, for several of the last
years of his life. He drank it to
the very dregs, during its closing hours; - drank it like a martyr - like a man.
And ehy should he not? A
martyr's blood ran in his veins. He was a lineal descendant, from that
"John Rogers who was burnt at Smithfield, during the reign of Queen
Mary;"[ii]
nor had the blood that was shed, nor the spirit that was then tried in the
baptism of fire, degenerated by its transmission from the the old martyr's
stake at Smithfield, to the modern Abolitionist's death bed at Concord (NH).
([Pierpont's genealogical
note:] While Mr. Rogers was in London, in attendance upon the "World's
Anti-Slavery Convention," in 1840, he was careful to go upon the ground in
Smithfield - now a cattle market - that was sanctified, in his sight, and that
of all men who know where true greatness lies, by the martyrdom of his
illustrious ancestor.
It may be interesting to
some of Mr. Rogers's friends to trace the descent of the Smithfield blood and
spirit through the successive generations; to gratify this desire, we have
attempted to hunt up the genealogy of the family, which is here given as fully
and correctly as we have been able to ascertain it.
1. John Rogers, the
Martyr.
2. Nine or ten
children; which number appears uncertain.
3. Rev. John Rogers,
of Dedham, England, a son of one of them died 18 October 1639, aged 67. His
son,
4. Rev. Nathaniel
Rogers, was born 1598, came to New England in 1636, and settled in Ipswich,
Mass., where he died 3 July, 1655, aged 57. His wife was Margaret, daughter of
Robert Crane, of Coggeshall, England; and she died 23 January, 1676. His
children were,
5. John, President of
Harvard College in 1682, died 2 July, 1684, aged 54; a daughter; Nathaniel, who
died in 1680, without issue; Samuel, who married Sarah Wade, 13 November 1661,
and died 21 December, 1693; Timothy; and Ezekiel, who had several children,
(Nathaniel, Ezekiel, Timorthy, and Samuel) and died in 1674.
The John Rogers who was
President of Harvard College, had a son John, who was pastor of the first
church in Ipswich, and died 28 Dec., 1745, in his 80th year. The latter had a
son Daniel, who was pastor of a church in Exeter, N.H., and died 9 December,
1785, aged 78, and a son Nathaniel, who was pastor of the first church in
Portsmouth, N.H.
6. Jeremiah Rogers,
of Salem, Mass., who died 1729-30, was the ancestor of N.P. Rogers, and was
probablya son of the Samuel or Timothy mentioned in 5, or else a grandson of Samuel, Timothy, or
Ezekiel; but at this time, and with the imperfect state of the records, it is
supposed impossible to make this certain. His wife was Dorcas. That Jeremiah
Rogers was a grandson of Rev. Nathaniel, of Ipswich, is attested on tradition.
His granddaughter, Susanna, was the wife of Dr. Jacob Peabody, and mother of
the late General Nathaniel Peabody, of Exter, N.H. Jeremiah's son,
7. Rev. John Rogers,
was born at Salem, 22 November, 1684, graduated at Harvard College in 1705, and
was ordained the minister of Boxford.. He died at Leominster, 17 August, 1755,
in his 71st year. His wife was Susanna, daughter of Capt. Manasseh Marston, of
Salem. She was born 29 April, 1687, and died at Salem, 22 October, 1757, aged
70. They were married 24 March, 1709. The children were Susanna, John,
Benjamin, Mehitabel, Nathaniel, Lydia, and Eunice. Their son,
8. Rev. John Rogers, was born at Boxford,
Mass., 24 September, 1712; was ordained the the first minister at Leominster,
14 September, 1744; was dismissed January, 1758, and died in October, 1789,
aged 777. His son,
9. Dr. John Rogers, was born at
Leominster, Mass., 27 March, 1755; graduated at Harvard College in 1776; settled
in Plymouth, N.H., as a physician, and was eminent in his profession, and well
known for his poetical talents. His wife was Betsy Mulliken, of Bradford, Mass.
He died 8 March, 1814, aged 59. Their fifth child was
Nathaniel
Peabody Rogers, who, it will
be seen, was one of the tenth generation of him who is so well known as the
"first in that blessed company of martyrs who suffered in the reign of the
bigoted Mary." Thye blood of
the Martyr flowed pure and in liberal measure in the son even thus distantly
removed. Not only did "heart answer to heart," but wonderfully did
"face answer to face." Those who have seen our deceased friend and a
well-preserved portrait of the Martyr, hanging in one of the halls of the
American Antiquarian Society at Worcester, cannot have failed to notice the
great resemblance in the shape of the face and head, in the eye, the
complexion, and the general expression of the two men.)
I loved too well, and have
lamented too deeply, this noble-spirited man, this sensitive child of genius,
this self-sacrificing philanthropist, to allow ,me to refuse the office, which,
I learn from his afflicted widow, his cherished friendship assigned to me
before my death. Speaking of the the contemplated volume of Extracts from his
writings, she says, in a note to me, "he began to prepare it, at the
request of a number of his friends, some months before his death; and he often
expressed his intention to request you to furnish an Introduction; - and I
cannot but believe it would be gratifying to you to do it, especially as it was
a favorite idea of the dear departed, whose attachment to yourself was both
fervent and sincere."
Yet I know myself too
well not to know that I shall best discharge the duty assigned me by letting
others, who were more constantly in his society, and more closely allied to him
than myself, speak in my stead. Being more frequently in his presence, laboring
under his eye in the same cause, and partaking largely of his spirit - seeing
how manfully he bore his cross while he lived and suffered, and how calmly,
after all his labors and sufferings, he could die, - the language in which they
speak of our common friend, is much more touching, because much more true to
nature, than any that, without their aid, I could command. Much of what
follows, therefore, is compiled from an obituary notice of Mr. Rogers, from the
pen of John R. French, which appeared in the "Herald of Freedom" of
Oct. 23, 1846, and from an article by Richard Hildreth, inserted in the same paper,
from the Boston Chronotype, and a few other brief notices, transferred from
other journals into the same number of the Herald.[iii]
Mr. Rogers was a son of Dr. John
Rogers, of Plymout, N.H., where he was born, June 3, 1794; consequently, he was
fifty-two years of age at the time of his death. His father was a highly
respectable physician, a man of brilliant intellect and superior education - a
graduate of Harvard College of the class of 1777, aqnd a son of Rev. John
Rogers of Leominster, Mass., - a clergyman in his day somewhat celebrated for
his talents and independence in religious faith, and for his rebellion against
ecclesiastical domination.
Mr. Rogers's mother, an
intelligent and quite active old lady, still lives, at the advanced age of
eighty-six, to mourn the son of her strong affection. The only desire longer to
live, expressed by our friend during his sickness was, that he might minister
to the wants and comfort of his mother, in the decline of her life; and the
only request that he left to his family was, that they would do all in their
power to make her happy. The subject of this notice entered
Dartmouth College in 1811, but, after remaqining one year, was, through ill
health, obliged to leave. He afterwards returned, and, in 1816, took his degree
with the class below that which he entered. He immediately afterwards entered
upon the study of law; spending two years with Richard Fletcher, then of
Salisbury, N.H., now of Boston; and one year with Parker Noyes, also of
Salisbury. He then commenced the
practice of his profession in his native village, wehere he remained for twenty
years, a diligent and successful lawyer. With an instinctive delicacy, - which,
while it was ornament of his character, kept all but his intimate friend in
ignorance of his ability, - he shrank from the rude encounter of the forum, and
was seldom known as a pleader. But, so accurate was his knowledge of the law,
and so industrious and shrewd was he in business, that a client's success was
always calculated upon from the moment that his assistance was secured.
The mind of our
deceased friend was severely and beautifully disciplined. Enriched by a greedy
and enthusiastic reading of the book of Nature, and made to love its pages, not
only by his delicate and poetic organization, but by the beauty and sublimity
of some of the finest scenery on the earth's surface, in the midst of which he
had his birth, it had been cultivated by familiarity with the great writers of
both ancient and moder times. But for the last ten years of his life, Mr.
Rogers had almost entirely given up the reading of books, and turned his whole
attention to the condition of men, in their various circumstances of suffering
and oppression.
His susceptible heart
was among the first to be touched, especially, by the wrongs of the slave. He
entered into the Anti-Slavery controversy with great zeal, and presently
removed to Concord, for the purpose of more conveniently publishing the
"Herald of Freedom," which he edited for some years, with very
slight, if any compensation, devoting the whole of his available time to the
cause. This paper purported, during a portion of this period, to be under the
patronage of the New Hampshire Anti-Slavery Society. But it owed all its
interest, and, in fact, its very existence, to the brilliant contributions and
disinterested labors of Mr. Rogers.
To the readers of the
"Herald of Freedom" nothing need be said of his ability. As a
newspaper writer, we think him unequalled by any living man; and in general
strength, clearness, and quickness of his intellect, we think that all who knew
him well, will agree with us, that he was not excelled by any editor in the
country. His facility in writing was perfectly wonderful. His articles were
always written with a rapidity which few can ever attain. Never under the
necessity of waiting for the coming up of a thought, or for the arranging of a
sentence, his pen seemed to be driven forward by the impetuous current of his
thoughts, the fountains of which never seemed to be exhausted. When writing for
his paper, the limits of his columns were the only limits to his articles; and
during the time of his editing, probably as much as he wrote was omitted for
want of room, as was printed.
Mr. Rogers, following the
lead of Mr. Garrison, became a non-Resistant. He also, along with Mr. Garrison,
loudly appealed to the Church for aid. Of this he had become and ardent and
devoted member; and educated in the idea that too the Church we must look for
the salvation of humanity, to whom, or to what, but the Church - it was natural
for him to ask - shall we look for the redemption of the enslaved millions of
our land? But the response that he met from that quarter - so unexpected and so
mortifying - led him, as it has led many others, to review his opinions, and to
inquire by what title, and by what authority, the Church claims to decide all
questionsw of right and wrong. He came to the conclusion that "the
Church" is a mere self-constituted association of individuals, whose claim
to particular election, special inspiration, or peculiar divine guidance, is
without any solid foundation.
Mr. Rogers had been
educated in the most profound reverence for the Bible. But having once entered
upon the path of free inquiry, he did not shrink nor give back. He concluded,
after much reflection, that all moral questions are to be decided by an appeal
to reason and conscience, not by texts from ancient writings in Hebrew and
Greek - texts, often quite as likely to perplex as to enlighten - however
tradition may ascribe to those writings a mysterious or sacred character. At
these conclusions our friend arrived, in company with many of his associates in
the Anti-Slavery movement; though not all of them, perhaps, were quite so free
and candid as himself in the avowal of them.
But upon another
point, Mr. Rogers had the fortune to differ from some of his former associates;
and a consequent coolness took place between them, which never wholly removed.
He refused to adopt the new war-cry lifted up by Mr. Garrison - "no union
with slaveholders." He could bring his lips only to say, "no union
with slave-holding." He looked upon Anti-Slavery as exclusively a moral
agitation, and felt that its high office was degraded by connecting it with
party politics, or with a political party. He was a thorough, and meant to be a
consistent, Non-resistant. As such, he warmly condemned the formation of the
"Liberty Party;" and having denounced the "Third Party," he
did not feel himself inclined to join and Fourth, and, with it, or in it, to
commence an agitation for the dissolution of the Union, even though that party
was headed by Mr. Garrison. He went farther. Having, in company with his
non-resistant friends, repudiated all all political organization, by following
the same principle, he became an advocate for for "free meetings,"
and opposed putting the Anti-Slavery movement under the guardianship and
control of Chairmen, Committees, and Boards. Disquieted by this inconvenient
consistency, and this thorough carrying out of his non-resistant principles,
his non-resistant friends in Massachusetts, consulting and cooperating with
some of those in New Hampshire, decided that the property of the "Herald
of Freedom" was not in him, but in the Board of the New Hampshire
Anti-Slavery Society.
It is not my purpose to enter into the question
of the right or wrong of this decision. "Non nostrum tantas componare
lites" ["This is no row for amateurs to
jump into": Virgil]. I have neither the means, nor the power, nor the
wish, to act as umpire in the case. I have friends whom I truly love and honor,
on each side of the question, and I have observations and experience enough of
human infirmity, and of the liability of the best men to err in their
judgments, when deciding questions that deeply interest the feelings, to allow
me to believe, as in this case I do believe, that both parties were honest in
forming and practically carrying out their judgments as to the right in this
trying and keenly contested case.
But Mr. Rogers felt that he
was wronged: - more yet - that he had been wounded in the house of his friends;
- that they, with whom, for years, he had taken sweet counsel, had lifted up
the heel against him. He had looked upon the "Herald of Freedom" as
his own child. He had watched over it early and late. He had rocked its cradle
alone during long night watches. He had dandled it upon his knee, when he was
himself worn and weary in laboring to feed it. And when he did lie down to
rest, it lay in his bosom - the object nearest his heart. He had given it its
life and his own; - had stamped upon it "the image of himself" - made
it glow with the fire of his own genius, and taught it to go forth into the
world and do battle for the right, with his own brave spirit. He thought that it was his own child.
But when his former friends decided it was not; that he was but the
foster-father of the young mountain genius; - though they told him that they
still wished him to act as such, - still to feed and clothe it, and let it bear
his name - he could not. The tie that had bound him to it was broken. It could never
again be to him what it had been, and he withdrew himself from all further care
of it, with a desolation of heart that, under no event of his life, had he ever
felt before. Thye same shaft that thus struck the heart of the brave Mountain
Eagle, broke also his wing. Though his spirit was unconquered and, to the last,
had the same high aim, the poor flesh was unequal to do its bidding. He never
soared, afterwards, as he had done; and though, in conjunction with the former
publisher of the "Herald of Freedom," he edited and published another
paper, devoted to the same cause to which he had already given and sacrificed
so much, yet he could never make the second paper what the first had been, and
even a stranger could see that its editor felt himself a wronged and
broken-hearted man.
It is unpleasant to me to
say these things; but, in the words of Mr. Hildreth, "they are essential
to a true understanding of the character or Mr. Rogers. Tender and gentle, he
was yet firm as a rock, neither to be cajoled, brow-beaten, nor driven. Ardent, keen, speaking out his whole
mind, there was nothing about him of savage selfishness, or sectarian malice.
Cant and humbug, of which so large a share enters into most newspaper
compositions, were to him totally unknown."
While suffering from
sickness and from abandonment by his former friends, Mr. Rogers had the
additional misfortune to find his young and numerous family, through the
failure or a relative, to whose hands a large part of his property was
entrusted, suddenly deprived of the provision that his industry had made for
their education and support. But amid all these sources of irritation, he
remained gentle, collected, firm and hopeful as ever. he wrote for the
"Herald of Freedom" even with increased diligence; with occasional
severity, indeed, yet his sharpest articles were but the brilliant
corruscations of indignant genius, and the bitterest were but the true
expressions of an honest and uncompromising hatred of wrong. Whatever else
there might be found in his columns, you would encounter no dull dribblings of
a heart hardened with selfishness, or festering with party spirit.
Evgen among the weakness and
sufferings of the summer immediately before his death,as a means, in part, of
procuring bread for his children, he wrote the series of "Letters from the
Old Man of the Mountain," published in the New York Tribune, which made
him known to many who never saw the "Herald of Freedom." A part of
the same summer he spent in Lynn, near Boston, whither he went, early in July,
to visit his friends there, and to meet "the Hutchinsons," who were
then daily expected from Europe.[iv]
In a few days after his arrival at Lynn, the disarrangement of his physical system, from which he had
been a sufferer for thirty-five years, began to assume a more obstinate and
fearful character. When about seventeen years of age, by too violent a
participation in the excercise of "foot-ball," during his college
life, he injured his side and stomach, which then occasioned a year's severe
illness, resulting in chronic dyspepsia, which, together with the derangement
of the other sympathetic organs, entailed upon him long years of suffering, and
now seemed about to finish the work that had been given it to do. he remained
at Lynn, and with his friend Rev. Mr. Sargent, of Somerville, some six weeks,
being unable during that time, to undertanke the journey home. Yet such was his
desire to be doing good, and to work while the day lasted, that notwithstanding
his weakness and pain, he every week furnished a large quota of the editorial
matter for the "Lynn Pioneer," which labor, during Mr. Clapp's
absence in Europe, he had taken upon his weak but willing shoulders, besides
attending and taking part in many Anti-Slavery, Temperance, and other
reformatory meetings, that were held in Lynn and its vicinity.
After returning home,
Mr. Rogers left his house but a few times. His pains soon became of the most
acute character, and continued, without intermission, until about two weeks of
his death. So intense was his suffering, that before the close of August his
family were in constant expectation of his death. How he was enabled to sustain
the conflict, through the long and painful hours of the last six weeks of his
life, was a wonder to all who were acquainted with his condition. More
wonderful still was it, that his mind, through all the distress of his body,
never, for an instant, faltered.
From the commencement of
his sickness, he was confident that death was to eb the result, and spoke of
his expeectation of the event as calmly and bravely as he ever spoke of any
incident of his life. A few days before his death, on observing one of the
family in tears at his bed-side, he remarked that he was happy, and wished his
family to be so, and to continue about their ordinary duties, just as if he
were with him. To the hour of his death he retained unabated interest in all
that was doing in the world for the good of man. His constant inquiries were
concerning the progress and state of the various philanthropic movements of the
day, and for the health and doings of the friends with whom he had been
associated in their common labors of benevolence. So strong was his desire
still to be in the conflict for the right, and for those who have no helper, that when his
hand had become too weak to hold his pen, he would dictate articles for the
press, and ask some friend, standing by his bed, to commit his thoughts to
paper; and it was only by the earnest remonstrances and entreaties of his
friends, who found these efforts greatly increased the nervous excitement, from
which he suffered through all his sickness, that he was, at last, prevailed
upon to quit the battle-field.
The friends of
Mr. Rogers had seen, five years before, the excitement and labors of the
Anti-Slavery reform were fast wearing him out; and that his great mental
activity was an overmatch for the delicacy and nervous sensitiveness of his
physical system. But his deep love for the friendless slave, as well as his
truly christian interest in the welfare of those who hold him in his chains,
together with his devotion to the general cause of freedom and right, left
little room in his heart - large as it was - for thought or care for himself.
The alienation of old friends, and the feeling that some who had once loved
him, and who, he felt, ought to love him then better than they had ever done,
were now finally and hopelessly estranged from him, cast a shade of sadness
over the evening of his life, and, doubtless, hastened the going down of his
sun. But from this, again, I turn, with something of the sadness and sorrow
which one cannot but feel on seeing good and loving hearts torn - and one or
both of them being torn- asunder.
On Friday, Oct. 16, with the
falling of the leaves, Nathaniel Peabody Rogers breathed his last. Without a
struggle, without any of "the pains of death" - without a fear or a
regret - in the full, unimpaired enjoyment of his intellect and all his senses
- with his family and a few dear friends around him, his life went out, gently
and quietly as fades the light of a summer's evening. At times, his bodily distress had been excruciating, causing
him to cry out; yet his mind, never at rest, wouild draw food for thought even
from his own physical sufferings. The Sunday before his death, - a friend
watching with him - in a paroxysm of his suffering he exclaimed, "O,
dear!" - then seeming to reflect upon his own exclamation, he repeated it,
and said, "That's the cry now. This is the closing of my terrible
labors." the friend replied that it must be a consolation to him to
consider that he had not sacrificed himself in vain - that many had been
blessed by his labors. Mr. Rogers said, "O yes, my dear N____; it sustains
me unspeakably, - the reflection that I have acted right."
A short time before his
death, he desired that some one would go and ask Judson Hutchinson, who was in
town, to come and sing to him. While waiting for his friend, he requested one
of his daughters to sing him Samuel Lover's beautiful song, "The Angel's
Whisper." In the singing, a word was accented wrong, and he immediately
indicated by whispering the word with the correct accent; thus giving evidence.
at once, of the calm and natural state of his mind, and his undying desire to
have every thing, that was done, done right.
At the
close of the song, he was asked whether Hutchinson, who had arrived during the
singing, should come into the room. He spoke not, but made a slight motion of
his hand, that was lying upon the pillow, which attracted attention, and, from
the peculiar manner in which his eyes were fixed upon a window, opposite to his
bed, it was seen that the event that had, for weeks, been expected, was about
to take place. His oldest brother, who is a physician, and who had been with
him several weeks during his sickness, was called in from an adjoining room. He spoke to his brother, and
asked if he knew him. The dying man turned his eyes to the speaker, and, with
emotion, calling him by name, replied, "cerainly," and then asked his
wife, who was standing by, whether he understood his brother right, and why he
had asked that question. In about ten minutes, with no other word, or a groan,
or the moving of a muscle, "he was not, for God had taken him."
"on Sunday afternoon," says Mr. French,
"a few neighbors and friends met at his late house, and, after an hour
spent in social conversation, in which we relieved each other's sorrow by a remebrance
of the virtuous life and calm death of our departed friend, we took his
lifeless body, and buried it in a retired corner of the village grave-yard,
beneath the sheltering shade of a kindly clump of oaks. In the same yard are
buried Kimball and Cady, the two noble men who were the Editors of the Herald,
previous to Mr. Rogers' connection with it. The paper has been published but
eleven years, yet the three men who have conducted its columns, have passed from life, - two
of them while in its service. An admonistion to us, who are left, to be
diligent in the work that is given to us to do.
"From the establishment of
the Herald, in 1835, Mr. Rogers had constantly furnished communications for its
columns. He assumed the editorial care of the paper, the last week of June,
1838, and furnished his last copy of the last week of June, the present year,
[1846]. The amount of labor and thought that he had given through the columns
of the Herald, its readers, for the eight years, well know. In addition to hbis
tireless labors upon the Herald, he had, one year, edited the 'National
Anti-Slavery Standard,' and , the past summer, had furnished the editorial for
the 'Lynn Pioneer;' and, for the eight years, had been in the habit of
furnishing articles for various other papers; and was always ready, when his
friends called, to attend Anti-Slavery meetings, in all parts of New England;
never consulting his own interessts, but always the desires of his friends and
the necessities of the cause."
Mr. French, to whom I
am indebted for most of the facts, and for much of the language of these pages,
says, in the same number of "The Herald of Freedom" that contains his
obituary notice of the subject of this sketch, "Weary of contact with a
world that gave him so little sympathy, Mr. Rogers, last spring, purchased himself
a small, but very beautiful farm, in a retired nook of his own native
Pemigewasset valley; whither he was intending to remove, with his family, at
about the time of his decease. The world gave him not only little sympathy, but
also little bread for his children. Upon his land he would be able -n that was
his hope - to procure the means of living; and, thus relieved from the
cankering care and perplexity that were preying upon his life, and removed from
the chilling intercourse of the world, which so little understood him, he hoped
that he might be able to think deeper and clearer, and to wield his pen with a stronger heart. During
the past summer, his thoughts were constantly upon his mountain retreat, where,
in the quiet enjoyment of his most deeply cherished family, and amid the
familiar scenes of his younger days, and in the healthful pursuits of
agriculture, he was promising himself happy rest from the storm that had been
tossing his shattered vessel for the last six years. But, alas! how uncertain
are all man's hopes!"
True, he found not that "happy rest," - but I doubt not, nor can I doubt, that
he has found a happier one than that - happier than even his affectionate
heart, that clung so lovingly to his happy home, ever painted: - I mean
,"the rest that remaineth to the people of God."
But do I not forget that he
was an "Infidel?" nay, that he was "an Excommunicated
person?" - O, no. If to be an unbeliever in religion - by whatever name
you baptize it - that expends itself upon catechisms and creeds, in church
organizations and observances, in prayer meetings, revivals, awakenings, and
the singing of psalms - to the neglect of Human Rights and Wrons - of the
sorrows and sufferings - the temptations, trials, and oppressions of man, is to be an Infideal, N.P. Rogers was an
Infidel indeed; yea, and he gloried i his infidelity. But let me add, had he
been a believer in such a religion, and lived according to his belief, he would
have been "worse than an infideal." But was he not an outcast from
the church - an excommunicate? Yes, the church excommunicated him; but, before
that, he had excummunicated the church. The church, as a body, he had found
unfaithful to what he
understood to be its "high calling," as the church of Him who came "to set at
liberty them that are bruised." He therefore "came out" from it,
as the only condition of fidelity to his own high calling, not merely as a
disciple of Jesus, but as a man
- a child of that God, whom all nature - his own nation, not less than the rest
of creation - revealed to him as the lover of right and humanity, and the
Almighty hater of all oppression and wrong.[v]
He wanted no printed book to teach him this. A revelation older than King
James' Translators' - older than the books that they brought over from Greek
and Hebrew into the English tongue had taught him - for he was a lover of music
- that slavery was a discord, that could never be brought into unison with the
harmonies of the universe. To him, - if one should argue that slavery was from
God, because it was approved in a book that came from Him; it would prove, not that alvery was from God, but that the book was not. To him, there was a Teacher above all books
a\nd all men: - the Being that had given him being - and it was in the spirit which that
Teacher - and "who teacheth like him? - had given, that when, on a certain
occasion, a religionist by Book
said to him, "Why do you go about as you do, agitating the community on
the subject of abolition? Jesus Christ never preached abolitionism:" he
replied, "Sir, I have two answers to your appeal to Jesus Chist. First, I
deny your proposition, that he never preached abolition. That single precept of
his - 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even unto them' -
reduced to practice, would
abolish slavery over the whole earth in twenty-four hours. That is my first
answer. I deny your proposition. Secondly, granting your proposition to be true
- and admitting - what I deny - that Jesus Christ did not preach the abolition
of slavery, then i say, he didn't do his duty."
It would not be very easy, I
admit, to stop such a man from doing his duty, by casting a Greek or a Hebrew text in his way as a stumbling-block! And so he
was an "Infidel;" and
so he was "excommunicated." When the church has attained somewhat more of "the wisdom
that is from above," she will take such men into her bosom, instead of
casting them out; and will show herself worthy of the communion of such men, by
encouraging them in their work, and in going along with them to do it!
It is not to be
denied, too, that Rogers did not pretend to know so much concerning a future
life, as many others think that they know. But this he did know. "That if, as holiest men have deemed, there be/A land
of souls beyond that sable shore,/ To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee -
" the same Being that rules in this world must rule in that; - that there, as here, they
will have served Him best, who have served his children, by doing the most to
help them who have most needed help. In this faith N.P. Rogers lived; - in this
he labored, and in this he died. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my
last end be like his!"
His earthly labors
are at an end. "He sleeps his long sleep, he had fought his last
battle." He has no more sacrifices to offer here upon the altar of Truth,
Liberty, and Humanity; no more cherished friends to lose because he would not
sacrifice his convictions or his principles, to retain them. From his earthly
toils and trials he is at rest. I cannot but think that for him to die was
gain, because I verily believe that for him to live was Christ (Phil 1.21);
that is, that making little or no account of the name, he lived for the advancement of the cause of Christ; the cause for which Christ himself
lived, labored and died, namely the redemption of universal man from slavery, spiritual and carnal; the
emancipation of man from the power and fear of man; the liberation of man, as
man, from all dominion and all authority but that of reason, truth and right.
Of Mr. Rogers, as a writer,
I need say little. On this point "he being dead, yet speaketh;" and
he speaks for himself as no one else can speak for him. He wrote without any
thing of that "fear of man that bringeth a snare" to so many writers
in this age of criticism and Reviews - as though he was not aware that such an
animal as a critic had ever been created. He wrote because he had something to
say, and, true to nature - for to him nature was truth - he spoke "right
on," with the artlessness and simplicity of a child. He sets down things
just as he sees and feels them; using words not because others do, or do not
use them, but because they are just the medium - the atmosphere - through which
others can see what he is looking at, just as he sees it. In one word, his
style is his own, and nobody's else. Transparency, purity, simplicity,
earnestness and force will be seen to characterize whatever he writes; and when
the reader has finished one of his paragraphs, the last question that he will
ask himself will be, "Well, now, what does all that mean?" - Though
humor was by no means his forte,
whenever he chose, he could use it with great effect. In well-chosen words, Mr.
Hildreth has said, "Many of his pieces have all the genial humor of Lamb,
with a higher seasoning of sprightly wit than Lamb ever attained to. He had,
indeed, higher objects, and, of course, greater earnestness and spirit. He was
not, like Lamb, a mere writer for amusement, but one of those modern heroes
whose sword is their pen. A champion for spiritual freedom and the right of
private judgment, he will be long remembered and loved by many, to whom he
first showed the way out of bondage."
the true friend of
his race - especially the wronged of his race - this dear friend of mine is
gone. I know that all who knew him well, will say with Mr. French, when
remembering what he was, and thinking that he is with us no longer, - "Our
hearts are sad; but our departed friend left us a very pleasant memory. His
righteous life and triumphant death lift our thoughts from the grave. In our
sorrow let us not forget the slave. He still groans in his prison house, and
the religion of the land still sanctions the wrong. When death comes to us, may
it find us, as it did our dear friend, with the harness on, and in the midst of
the conflict."
Sunday, the 18th of
October, the remains of N.P. Rogers were borne to the grave by a few loving and
faithful friends. Having loved him, they loved him unto death. I well remeber
the day. It was a snowy day, - the first snow of our northern autumn. Winter
seemed to have come upon us before his time. Returning from the humble chapel
where I had led the worship of a small society, concerning whose faith "we
know, that every where, it is spoken against" (Acts xxviii. 22.), I could
not but feel saddened by the early desolation and dreariness of the scene.
Little did I think that the frost of death had already fallen, before its time,
upon my poor friend Rogers, and that his cold remains were, even then, on their
way, through falling snows, from his late home, to "the house appointed to
all the living." Yet so it was. And she, wjho had so bravely helped him
bear his cross, watched by the side of his bed, and communicated with his dear
but distant friends, informing them that there was no hope left that her husband's
life could long be spared to them and to her, with her children - one of whom,
two days before, had sung the father and husband to sleep with her sweet
"Angel's Whisper," -
sitting, a widow in affliction, in the house that was left to them, O how
desolate!
May I not hope that
that little family choir - for the children all sing sweetly, - when gathered
in their secluded mountain home, will sometimes sing these lines, as a memorial
not of their father only, but also of their father's friend and theirs?