The Life of Charles Loring Brace Chiefly Told in His Own Letters -
Chapter 1

**************************************************************************
USGENWEB ARCHIVES NOTICE:  These electronic pages may NOT be
reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by any other
organization or persons. Persons or  organizations desiring to use
this material, must obtain the written consent of the contributor, or
the legal representative of the submitter, and contact the listed
USGenWeb archivist with proof of this consent. The submitter has given
permission to the USGenWeb Archives to store the file permanently for
free access.  http://www.usgwarchives.net/

Contributed by Tina Vickery tsvickery@adelphia.net
***************************************************************************


The Life of Charles Loring Brace
Chiefly Told in His Own Letters
Edited by His Daughter
With Portraits
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1894
Copyright, 1894, by Charles Scribner's Sons

To My Mother

CHAPTER 1

Birth and Parentage --- His Aunts --- Pursuits and Early Education ---
Boyish Journal --- College --- College Letters ---The Family Circle --
- His Sister Emma's Letters --- College and Vacation Letters ---
Discussions in College --- College Friendships


Charles Loring Brace was born in Litchfield, Connecticut, June 19,
1826. New England may the whole stock of his hereditary qualities as
her gift, for the family had lived in Hartford for almost two hundred
years, and his mother's blood connected him with the widespread
relationships of the Porter and Beecher families. She was Miss Lucy
Porter of Maine, a descendant the Hon. Rufus King. Charles was named
for Hon. Charles Loring, a lawyer of note in Boston, who married the
only sister of Charles's father.

Mr. Brace was of Puritan ancestry, a descendant of Stephen Brace
(sometimes written Bracy), a man of good standing and estate, (1)  who
came from England in 1660 and settled in Hartford, where the family
has resided for seven generations. The Braces were among the leaders
in the religious and political life of Connecticut, and members of the
family have served the State on the bench, in the pulpit, and in the
legislature. Capt. Abel Brace, the great-grandfather of Charles L.,
was an officer in the Revolutionary War and an oft-repeated
representative to the General Assembly.

Although he was but seven years of age when his father moved from
Litchfield to become principal of the Female Seminary in Hartford, the
ties were so strong that bound John Brace and his children to
Litchfield, that no account of the forces that moulded Charles is
complete which omits to mention the Pierce family and homestead there.

John Brace's aunts, the Misses Pierce, had towards the end of the last
century established a school which marked an epoch in the education of
girls of that period, being one of the first schools where anything
more than an elementary education could be acquired. These women,
trained in part in New York through the assistance of an older
brother, a man of position there, who had been paymaster under
Washington during the Revolutionary War, impress one privileged to
read their intimate family letters of those early days, as characters
of unusual force and intelligence. They superintended the education of
John Brace, and sent him to Williams College, where he studied with a
half-formed intention of entering the ministry. But it was early
evident that he was a born teacher, and be began the career which made
his name honored in many Connecticut homes, as head teacher in his
aunts' school in Litchfield. Mrs. Stowe, Mrs. Cyrus W. Field, the
first Mrs. Marshall O. Roberts were a few women who felt the
inspiration of his teaching, and Mrs. Stowe speaks of him in the life
of her father as one of the most stimulating and inspiring instructors
I ever knew. The interest of the historical recitations with a
professor so widely informed and so fascinating as Mr. Brace extended
than the class. Much of the training and inspiration of my early days
consisted not in the thing which I was supposed to be studying, but in
hearing, while seated at my desk, the conversation Brace with the
older classes." (2)


He married in 1820, and in 1833 moved to Hartford.  We know too little
of Charles's mother, and greatly to be regretted that there is in the
mass of correspondence no allusion anywhere to his relations with her.
We cannot find that he was ever separated from her long enough for
either of them to write. But in the family letters of this date we
have glimpses of a self-devoted, anxious mother, with hardly strength
enough for the many cares of her little home. Her cheerful courage was
an example which helped her daughters when their turn came to take up
the heavy responsibilities after her too early death. There is but one
story about Charles in his childhood. His curiosity on subjects of
history was insatiable, until his questions and his father's elaborate
replies became a torment to the young ladies of the school. When,
finally, the child selected the dinner hour to propound his queries,
and their teacher laid down his carving knife and fork, and the roast
grew cold, the pupils, after suffering thus, silent and hungry on
several occasions, rebelled. Charles was threatened. If he did not
stay away with his questions, he should be kissed. Dreading this
terror, after the manner of small boys, he desisted. The story tells
us a good deal of the nature of Charles's training.

His occupations and pursuits, although not unlike those of other boys,
were very much under his father's eye. This was only according to the
good and regular habit of authority familiar to that day, but owing to
his father's enjoyment of teaching and the boy's eager intelligence,
the relation was especially close. His mother, burdened with the
charge of a younger, delicate boy, left Charles entirely in his
father's care. She died in 1840, when Charles was fourteen.

For seven years, despite all the absorbing duties of a teacher's life,
his father read to him for two hours a day on historical subjects,
varying them with Scott and Shakespeare. The Greek and Roman histories
with which the course began were acted out in the boy's imagination by
the aid of acorns, with which he represented contending armies.

Among his favorite pursuits with his father, trout fishing became an
ingrained habit, and through all his life Charles was one of the most
ardent followers of that apostolic occupation. For the rest, in
addition  to boys' games and plays, he loved rambles in the country.
His home in Hartford was in a suburb, and within easy reach of streams
and country walks, his letters written from college glow with
memories, dwelt upon all through the winter, of his spring rambles and
fishing expeditions at home.

We must speak also of his formal education in schooling and reading.
Whatever limitations his training had, --- and we know that from the
point of view of modern schooling it was completely defective in a
scientific direction, --- it must have been, according to the light of
Litchfield  in 1830 at least, and exceedingly copious one.  In
consequence of his father's watchful attention to his development, he
was ready for college at fourteen, and lingered outside till sixteen,
studying French, German, and, it appears, Spanish, and reading
history. He was all his life a good linguist, and was able, in his
travels in Hungary, even to talk a little Latin at need, from his
college preparation.

In a journal kept during the year before be entered college we find,
among others, the following entries: ---

" Nov. 9, 1841. The sun rose clear, with the wind north-west; a few
clouds around, but on the whole a beautiful morning. I've just got my
Spanish lesson. Tooth don't ache at all. Voila une sentence Latine!
'Per tibicinem, qui coram Mose modulatus est' ---I think that could
hardly have been from Horace. 'Das ist schones Wetter.' 'C'est un beau
jour.' 'Hace bello tiempo.' Hier sie haben drei sprachen, Deutsche,
Franzosisehe und Spanische. --- N'est-ce pas grand?   I kicked
football from five till dark. Emma [his sister] went to the temperance
lecture this evening (like a goose!); also she made some calls."

"Nov. 30, 1841. The sun rose clear and bright. Wind N. W. and gave us
a beautiful day. I studied part of the morning, and went to the
Institute lecture in the evening, delivered by Elihu Burritt, or the
learned blacksmith. He isn't thirty yet, and knows fifty-three
languages. His lecture was on ‘Genius.'  That there was no such thing
as genius or native talent. He made use of one quotation that I must
remember, 'It is nature that makes the rolling billows sleep and the
sleeping billows roll."'


"Feb. 16, 1842. 1 will give my occupations now. First I get two pages
of Xenophon and then one page of Cicero, and then my German and write
in my journal. In the afternoon I get one hundred lines in the
‘AEneid,' and fifty-lines in the 'Georgics' (these are all reviews),
and then sometimes study German. The rest of the time I devote to
reading French and English works, or writing poetry!!! Evenings I give
to reading or playing chess or backgammon."


"Feb. 20. Bushnell preached in the morning on the text 'Then went in
also that other disciple.'   A strange text! His subject was the
'secret and involuntary influences ' of every one. . . . He then
illustrated it from the works of God. He said the earthquake's shock
seemed a fearful thing in Nature.  But the morning's light, whose dawn
would not, awake an infant, had more influence than a thousand
earthquakes. He then described the effect if that light were blotted
out. How the earth, with its sister planets, would soon be icy balls
floating in primeval darkness. How the earthquakes would be frozen
their fiery caverns. (For a fuller description see Byron's poem on
'Darkness.') He ended with a solemn appeal to his hearers not to
harden their hearts to his preaching."

This extract from the journal has been given in because the sermon
referred to exercised so profound an influence on Mr. Brace. In a
letter to a young friend, in 1886, after speaking of Bushnell and his
influence on the young men of Hartford, be says, " That sermon on
'Unconscious Influence' affected my whole life."

The studious days were varied by whole days in the open air, trout-
fishing, or bathing, or "loafing," as he says.

On August 16, 1842, he says: ---

"This is quite an important day of my life, the day of my examination
for college. . . . My examination lasted only about three-quarters of
an hour. It was perfectly simple. . . . Finally they gave me my
commission, and I am a ---Freshman of Yale College. Hurray! I lazed
around, in a perfect agony for something to do all the afternoon. New
Haven is a most beautiful place."

In October, 1842, we find him in college, well equipped, mentally and
physically, to take his place among those to whom the college days
remain to the last so happy a memory. "Intense earnestness in whatever
he undertook was the characteristic and, one might say, the keynote of
his life," says one of his friends, and we may add, whether it were
boxing or football, classical studies or religious argument, the same
enthusiasm showed in all he did. In December he writes to his father
the following letter, which pictures to us his occupations and e days:
---thoughts in his early college days: ---

New Haven, December 11, 1842.

My dear Father:  If there is one thing I miss especially here which I
had at home, it is Mr. Bushnell's sermons.	This thought occurred to me
from looking over some old notices of Bushnell's sermons in my journal
to-day.  You must tell him how the Hartford boys (I am not the only
one) miss him, and how much the students here would love to hear him;
for his fame is pretty generally extended among  them. . . . I think
John's (3) father must be very rich, for John has a great deal of
money.  He treats fellows considerably to pies and that kind of thing,
and is very generous with it.  I have refused, except once or twice,
to be treated, because I could not afford it in return (not that I
ever said so), but he buys great quantities of confectionery, etc.,
and brings it into the room, where I must eat it.	That is all well
enough, for I furnish eatables, pies, etc., from home; but he has
bought fencing foils, dumb bells, etc., and is going to buy boxing
gloves, and bis father will probably get a good many of those kinds of
things, which I shall enjoy as much as he.  'Now I want to know
whether it will seem at all dependent in me to use these things.  If
the slightest expression that way should ever drop from him, I should
separate from him immediately, but as it is, don't hardly think he
considers it so at all.  This last is all private. . . . I don't know
but what you will find me somewhat rusty. I haven't been into society
much this winter, and need some virtuous females to reform me. Father,
I do envy you your youthful days in company as much as anything. I am
afraid 'your worthy son is destined for something else in that line.
However, never say die!

Last Sunday I joined the church, (4) and I humbly hope that with God's
aid, I shall keep up to my professions. I have to be much more careful
of myself than I would be at home, or than persons generally would,
for John notices very particularly, and is influenced in his own
conduct by what he sees in mine. Father, you talk a great deal about
being old and that kind of thing, but you are not, and I expect many a
pleasant fishing expedition yet with you. I hope you will not be so
much of a gardener next summer that you'll forget fishing. It's too
great a descent for a gentleman to take to digging after trout-
fishing, and he at least ought to make the descent gradual, by
dividing his time between them. . . . Bushnell gave the good people of
New Haven quite a curious and certainly a splendid lecture. It has set
the big-wigs in tremendous excitement. . . . Woolsey says the theory
is wrong. The young men like it to distraction, ---they praise his
originality, his liberality, and his independence.

His father replies: "You speak of my youthful days in company. Those
days were not, after all, the most profitable ones of my life. I was
led away by the ease with which I could 'set the table in a roar' to
become light, and trifling in character. From early childhood I was
surrounded by a changing variety of females that did not produce much
permanency of feeling in my character. Had I possessed less fondness
for female society, and less love of humor, my situation and destiny
in life would have probably been far different. . . . I am very
thankful that you have united with the Church, and I pray God to give
you strength to adorn the profession. You have a high, though not a
quick temper to control, much worldliness to contend with, and the
downward example of the young men around you. --- . . I think I have
great cause to be grateful for the character, conduct, and habits of
my children.

The little family circle that Charles left on going to college
consisted of his father, an older sister Mary, a devoted daughter to
her lonely father and like a mother in the motherless home, a younger
brother James, and a sister Emma, just two years his junior, with whom
he had during her short life an intimacy of relation rare even in the
happiest homes.  She was so strong, so brave, so unmoved by anything
disturbing, so sunny and merry, that it is easy to understand his
close dependence upon her.  During his college life, her sweet and
merry letters came to him almost every week, in the "trunk" in
economical New England fashion, carried his linen and pies to him with
absolute regularity. One occasionally wonders whether the pies,
consumed by the small circle of friends regardless of the hour, on the
arrival of the trunk, did not cost more, at least in effects, than a
modest weekly washing of linen!

Out of the mass of letters from Emma, we insert the following: ---

[Undated. Presumably 1842.]

You seemed to doubt, dear Charley, if I could sympathize with you in
your feelings of ambition, but I can. I have felt it some, but I know
it was not to such an extent as yours is. If I was placed in such a
situation as you are, I should get so excited with ambition, for I
have it in me. . . . My heart is with you. I cannot but urge you to
place your standard high, and you'll get somewhere near it. I hope you
will be able to get what you desire. Though you have noble
antagonists, I should think you may attain, if not the first (which I
hardly dare to hope), at least one of the first. . . .  I suppose as a
prudent sister I ought to urge you not "to be rash, " and to preach
not to be imprudent in regard to your health, and above all, not to
let it get the advantage over your duties to God. . . . But I do not
see why you cannot be ambitious and at the same time have this feeling
in subservience to God's will; why cannot you perform your duties to
God at the same time, and ask his blessing upon your efforts. . . . I
do not know as I shall be able to write you next time, as it will be
just before examination and I shall be very busy.  In five weeks is
vacation. I anticipate it with a great deal of pleasure, for two weeks
of it come at the same time yours do, and it will be grand. I have
formed a nice plan. You know we shall want to go fishing, and so I
move we have a wagon with two seats, and you, Mr. Colt, Jim, and I go.
Mr. C. says he will! I think it will be capital. If you young
gentlemen (ahem!) are afraid I shall talk too much, and disturb your
deep meditations or logical reasoning, I will promise to be the best
little girl that ever was, and hold up my hand every time I want to
speak. But a truce to trifling; I say it must be carried into effect.
The aforesaid gentleman is initiating me into the mysteries of the
seventh book in "Virgil," so I quite enjoy his visits.

From the Same.

HARTFORD [1846].

My dear Charley: . . . And last, but not least in my opinion, is your
humble servant with a sage, dignified countenance, hair put up on her
head. Yes, Charley, your "youngest sister" has done all that externals
can do to make her a young lady, with long dresses, and those lovely,
fascinating, and exquisite sausages which hung down her neck, have at
last been turned up, and the " lovely Miss Emma has grown so
excessively dignified in consequence of such change that her friends
would hardly recognize her. . . . I graduate three weeks from to-day,
and no longer can I smile except, tell Henry, on some interesting
Sophomore, who chances to cross my path. . . . The other evening Mr.
Bushnell advised us to cultivate a devotional spirit as being the most
improving one. He told us to rise early, and before the business of
the day commenced and before the cares of this life distracted our
thoughts, to kneel in humble devotion to God and pray fervently to
him. I have tried it since then, and have risen quite early. I find
that my thoughts do get distracted, even before I get dressed, and I
do not enter into the spirit of the time enough, but I do hope it will
do me good and draw me nearer to God daily.

She studied hard at the Seminary with the intention of becoming a
teacher, and in 1846, even before Charles has begun life for himself,
we find her courageously starting alone for Kentucky, full of
eagerness to relieve her father of her support and to do her little
part of usefulness in the world. The journey was by stage-coach, and
might have daunted a less brave spirit. Her little school at
Garrettsburg was very successful, and she bore the separation from
those at home with cheerful courage, as the letters written soon after
her arrival, to her father, and later to Charles, clearly show.

Emma Brace to J. P. Brace.

GARRETTSBURG, Aug. 8, 1846.

Dear Father: Your blue little picture of our never all being at home
again, I just turned the back side foremost. Why gracious, pa, I
expect many a merry time yet with our interesting family, and if Mary
does get married, why, I'm looking forward to keeping house for you;
and though I could not make you as comfortable and happy, yet I should
enjoy it. If I cannot sing, I can be jolly; if I cannot cook, I can
make believe and then laugh; and if I cannot darn, can sew up and
botch, and, anyway, if the flesh don't show, what's the difference---
So here are my merits, and such as they are you're welcome to them.

From Emma to Charles. (5)

GARRETTSBURG, Dec. 29, 1846.

. .  . How little you understand me, Charley.  If you only knew the
perfect rush of happiness that comes across me when I think of home,
and that this time next year I may be there, you'd not dream of
accusing me of want of feeling. I'm not homesick, if I could get home
to-morrow;  I wouldn't do it; but when my time is out (and how long
that shall be I leave for father to determine), the way I shall allow
feelings full play! 'Tisn't worth while to be discontented while I
stay, is it?  That is the impression that I meant to convey in my
former letters, for really I have nothing to be displeased with here,
as much at home as in old "Yankee land." You know, anywhere you can
find subject enough to cavil at, if you have the disposition, but not
more anywhere. Now do you fully understand my feelings?  There are
more inducements to stay here, which can't operate at home. For
instance, I should have more inducements to do good, as the children
placed under my care here will perhaps never have another opportunity
to learn their duty, and to hear of God and his mercies; and isn't
that something in the scale--- The motive father attributes to me ---
that of making money --- is unworthy of a thought almost. My only
desire is not to be a burden to father any longer, and that I should
not be with the salary be offers me, and there I should have all the
pleasures and advantages of being at home, and perhaps might be some
assistance to Mary. So if father says so, I shall be home next summer,
and the way we'll spree it!

To return to Charles's correspondence with his father, he writes from
college in January, 1843: ---

" It is Sunday, and from some thoughts I have had, I thought I would
ask your advice. All today, at the most solemn times, I have thoughts
come over me which completely carry me away. These thoughts are
principally on ambition, my studies, and things connected with them,
and I want to know whether a person can be ambitious and still attend
to his Christian duties. It will not do, evidently, to neglect my
studies and everything of that kind, and yet it ought not to be, as it
is now, that my last thought going to sleep is on my lesson, and my
first in the morning on the worldly duties of the day. I think it is
rather a trait of my character that whenever a certain feeling comes
over it, either like that or different from it, it occupies all my
thoughts, excluding everything else. Now to-day I would try to. fix my
attention on the sermon, but in a moment I would be thinking of the
dire struggle going on between this and that fellow, and so it was all
the time. I can not prevent those thoughts from entering my mind, but
I can find out and perhaps prevent the causes of them. I wonder
whether I couldn't study the motives of doing good; for the reputation
of a good scholar here certainly does give a man more influence than
anything else. I should like to know whether you, when a young man,
had such feelings come over you, and exclude everything else. But
enough of myself for the present.


“ I presume you would like to know the state of  religion here. A
short time ago I thought there was a general revival commencing, but
it seems now to be at a standstill. Professor Goodrich told us  to-
night that we were the pioneers of religion in the  college, and that
our motto should be 'Aspera non terrent.’  We have a general church
meeting Monday night to consider and pray over the state of things in
college.

“Whatever Taylor's theology may be, he is certainly a most
interesting, yes, something more than that preacher. By the way, if
you ever have time to sketch a few of your most powerful arguments
against Taylor's system, I would like to see them.  Don’t be alarmed!
I am not going to turn Taylorite; in fact, I don't know the difference
yet between except that some Taylorite at our table said that  the
opposite (as I understood it) party believed in the damnation of
infants. Whereat, though I didn't care much, I thought it rather
improbable, to say the least, that they went to hell. Please not tell
Mr. Eliphalet Terry, Esq., etc., etc., that, as he would regard it as
the first symptoms of Taylorite principles working in me, and then
might not send his son here. Though it would be a perfect blessing if
that son of his ever meddled with theology at all. You never yet have
told me whether you thought it extravagant or not, going to that other
club. I think you should tell me the truth exactly. If you can find
time, please tell me a little about Shelley, if you can,--- his
reputation, writings, etc. . . . You have been pleased to compliment
me, several times, on my 'frugality and economy.' You needn't suppose
that they are virtues which I have, for I have as much inclination for
spending as any one, but I think I would be rascally indeed if I was
spending money here while you were working like a dog at home, and all
of you perhaps stinting yourselves for me. . . . Many thanks for the
pie."

The vacations were as busy and as happy to Charles as the college
days, with visits to the old Litchfield home and long days of fishing,
either with one of his college friends or alone. These experiences,
which filled each summer brimful of enjoyment, are described in the
following letters, which are inserted together, although written
during different vacations: ---

To his Father.

SHARON,  September, 1843.

Dear Father: . . . After a very hot walk of about four hours, I
arrived in Litchfield. . . . I was welcomed by all most cordially, and
we conversed till quite late. They got talking about your " hobbies,
"and Aunt Sarah said that gardening was your present one, and you
engaged in that as furiously as you once searched after bugs. . . .
Thursday there was very hot, even in their cool house. I suspect it
must have been a roaster in H. I started about a quarter of six next
morning for Sharon. It was cloudy and looked like rain. When I had got
on some eight or nine miles, it begin to rain briskly, and as I had
arrived at a trout brook, I fished, and had decent luck; then I went
to another flowing into the Housatonic. I should have had splendid
success, if it hadn't been for the rain, which came down in floods. As
it was, I caught some very fine ones; one must have weighed a pound or
more. I  took dinner on three-fourths of a pie and a cup of coffee,
which warmed me up well. Then on I went, through as hard a rain as I
ever saw,--- soon not a dry thread on me. I kept up my spirits while I
gulped down the workings of the apple pie in my stomach, for a long
while, by singing (ahem!) or composing, or pleasant imaginings. I
think it would have been rich to have seen me ---such a forlorn
looking object, trying to croak forth "Let us be joyful!” or “Thou
reignest,” etc.  The contemplative-looking geese and stolid-faced pigs
that I met seemed to look at me, as though they took a sort of
pleasure in my sufferings. One impudent little squirrel sat and
watched me a long while, as though he did think I was foolish in
coming out in that drizzle. However, on I went, and arrived at Sharon
in the beginning of the P.M. completely chilled through. . . . My
expedition here has cost me thirty-one and one-half cents (you paid
fifty cents) for the trunk, and twenty-two cents for eatables. To-
morrow I shall trout, and expect great luck.

To the Same.

LITCHFIELD, Sept. 3, 1844.

Dear Father : I arrived here last night about seven, pretty
considerably tired. How those hills do accumulate just before
Litchfield! --- it seems as if one would never reach the top of that
range. My first nine miles I accomplished in two hours, and reached
Farmington before seven o'clock --- pretty good walking that! Mr.
Whitman recognized me as your son principally from my fishing-basket.
Nothing particular happened except a countryman in the tavern told me
I should be unlucky, for "the sign was in my legs." What the deuce he
meant I don't know. His sign, I could have told him, was decidedly in
his nose, which looked ominously red.

Late in 1843 we find Charles's thoughts turning more and more strongly
to moral questions, and we begin at this time to discover the first
signs of awakening of the humanitarian side of his character, which
grew steadily throughout his college course, so that one of his
friends says be addressed him soon after leaving college as "My dear
philanthropist." The following series of letters give us slight
glimpses of this, mingled with pictures of the varied interests of the
young man's life.

To his Father.

COLLEGE, December, 1843.

Dear Father: I write in haste to tell you our subjects for Prize
Composition. The first was " The Influences of Poetry," next "The
Influences of History" and third, " Philosophy. " This last we can
take up either generally, or in each of its branches, as for example,
Intellectual, Moral, Political, etc.”  I have concluded to take “Moral
Philosophy” as my subject both because it is more difficult and more
beneficial for me to write upon, and because I like it.  I consider
“Moral Philosophy” to be the science of the principles of duty and of
the obligations of man.  I do not propose to consider it
theoretically, as to the grounds of moral obligation and freedom of
will, etc., etc., neither to give a history of its progress as a
science, but to view it practically.  Something in this way:  Moral
Philosophy as the studies or inquires or attempts that have for their
object the knowledge and necessities (i.e. arising from the relations
of man to society, to himself, and his God, and from many other things
which I haven’t thought of yet) of this science.  Secondly, The
influences of it. Thirdly, The objects of it; and a conclusion either
on its future influence co-operating with Christianity or on the
continued improvement it is destined to have, or its influence on the
evils now threatening our country. This, of course, is but a slight
skeleton of the manner I intend to treat it; interspersed with
objections, etc., etc. I wish you would either suggest some of your
own thoughts on this, or tell me of some good reading on it. There
will be a great struggle for the prizes, and I am anxious to do well.
Please not mention I am trying.

March 22, 1844. . . . I should like to know, father, whether you have
any process of thinking ---I mean on some subject you are going to
write about. Now I never can think out a subject merely by thinking,
but I have, if it's at all of a metaphysical subject, to commence by
examining what its effects or results would be on me, what its causes
would be in my case; or, if it is a subject of a different kind, I
have to refer in mind to history for similar facts, and from these
draw my conclusion or see the influence of the topic I am treating of,
upon the nations of the world. I have to look much at analogies to
commence my reasoning --- now is this the right way--- Give me your
opinions, if you please, upon this. I send you up a composition,
hastily copied, so that you may have some trouble with it, and, I am
afraid, rather hastily written. It strikes me I have got into rather
too dry a way of writing --- great beads and little heads very
manifest ---too sermon like, numberless heads and horns.. . . I should
like to make a kind of plan of what --- Deo juvante --- I'll do in
vacation:

First for reading: ---Some of Byron. Some of Scott's poetry. Bancroft,
if I have time. Some of Swift (Tale of a Tub and Gulliver). Carlyle’s
Miscellanies. Copy off some of Macaulay and Irving. Attempt to write
some. Prescott, perhaps. Study German, if possible, with Emma. May
study a little ahead in Conic Sections (???). Stephen's Miscellanies.
Constitution of U. S. Tariff Question. Political characters I must
know. Trout-fish (in Windsor) If possible, etc., go up to Litchfield
to try the pickerel with you.

I have great expectations of a large revival of religion here even in
the few remaining weeks.  There have been some most remarkable
conversions,  --- showing the power of religion as I have never seen
it before, --- some of the most signal and especial answers to
prayer.. . . There are many other cases which I haven't time to
mention, and many symptoms of a great change. God only knows whether
it will take place. By the way, Mary C--- has become a Christian, and
in rather a singular manner, which I will tell you, but don't mention
it. It seems she has somehow become acquainted with several of our
very pious students. Well, as she was to leave for New York on
Saturday last, they concluded something must be done. On Friday
evening they induced her to go to a meeting, which, however, didn't
affect her much. On Saturday one of them had a long religious
conversation with her, but produced no effect except to induce her to
stay and go to a meeting, on Sunday night. That night her friends sat
up till one o'clock praying for her, and the next morning by ten
o'clock, as one of them expressed it to me, "She was rejoicing in
hope." I trust it will prove a true conversion.

SPRING! SPRING!

'Tis Spring, 'tis Spring, I know it is, For the little pigs are out,
etc."

May, 1844. . . . I do not think I should ever have cared one snap for
green fields and trees and Woods and all that kind of thing, if I had
never trout-fished. I hope you'll write me of all the fishing scrapes
that come off this summer.

How does your school come on --- any fuller--- I am very sorry I spent
the money I did in vacation ---it was very foolish and wrong. I might
have spent it, even if I could have afforded it, for much better
objects. However, regret will do no good. All I shall do will be not
to spend any this term. I am resolved neither to take or give a treat
this session, not even a glass of soda-water or beer. I want to know,
father, whether you can't afford Emma a French teacher. If you cannot,
situated as you now are, let me know immediately. I think I can
arrange it so as to save you some dollars or so. I can board very
cheap indeed if I choose. Emma ought to have an education certainly.

Spring, 1844. As for myself, I am getting along as usual, except that
I have had one toothache sickness. However, I have never enjoyed such
good health in my life as this summer, and have never exercised more.
I have read some little, particularly in Carlyle. I do think he has
some thoughts which we rarely meet elsewhere ---a real philosophical
poet's mind. But I do not like his religious sentiments. Not that he's
infidel at all, but I do not believe he knows any of the consolations
of religion. He analyzes a character splendidly, showing remedies for
defects, and evidently knows more than most of the sources of poetic
feeling, yet there are some feelings he knows not of.  Do you
recollect the part here he speaks of Scott when bankrupt--- How he
girded himself to meet his misfortunes like a proud, strong man of the
world? --- " It was a hard trial. He met it proudly, bravely, with a
noble cheerfulness, while his life strings were cracking; he grappled
his task and wrestled with it years long, in death grips, strength to
strength, --- and it proved the stronger, and his life and heart did
crack and  break; cordage of a most strong heart!"   He then tells us
of Scott's refuge, instead of struggling --- the refuge of
"acknowledging himself wrong." But who  would or could choose such a
refuge --- it would give no satisfaction. The only refuge for such a
man as Scott in misfortune was in religion, to come humbly to his
Father in Heaven, to confess he had laid up his treasure elsewhere
than in heaven, to thank God for this his paternal chastisement, and
to resolve to place his happiness where he should find no
disappointment. If Scott had been a religious man, with his noble
heart he would have done this, and found that "peace which the world
cannot take away." If Carlyle had been a religious man, he would have
spoken of that best refuge. But don't you admire Scott's character, --
- that warm-hearted enthusiasm and that strength too--- . . . You feel
too much about your children suffering from poverty. Bless me! what
poverty have we suffered--- I have had many more luxuries than were
good for me, and more advantages than some of the richest fellows. I
believe even our little self-denial has been the very best thing for
us. I am conscious if I had had wealth I should have been even much
worse than now. Besides, if I am going to do any good in life, I must
begin by denying myself now. I am afraid, father, you are not as happy
nowadays as I could wish. I know you have many troubles, but do not
let thoughts of your children distress you. I need not tell you, for
you know it well, how deep is my love for you --- how much do I owe to
you! It used to make me very sad when you spoke of dying so soon, but
now I have somewhat of a hope we shall all meet in Heaven. So cheer
up, do, father.

His life during the last year in college, the winter of '45---'46,
grew more filled with content in his friendships and his work. Besides
following the studies required, a small set of friends worked in
Professor Silliman's laboratory, " to the profit of some, and to the
solid satisfaction of all. We read and studied and talked and
experimented beyond anything required by the regular courses. College
students always get a large and valuable part of their education from
each other, and perhaps this set to which he belonged did this more
than most. We discussed things endlessly." So writes Mr. Kingsbury, a
classmate and life-long intimate, and he goes on to say,

Brace's mind was wonderfully receptive and unprejudiced. He was never
opinionated nor dogmatic. How does it strike you?' and 'What do you
think of it?’ and 'What should you say to this?' indicate his mental
attitude on almost every subject that came up, and there were very few
subjects that did not come up, at one time or another, in our
discussions. . . . Of course, religion, theoretical and practical,
general and personal, entered largely into these discussions." Another
friend says, in 1848, this small coterie: "You speak in your letter of
old college friends. They were a glorious set, Charley; we shall never
meet their like again. We cannot expect to find again such sympathy of
spirit and such congeniality of taste and feeling, as we met with in
those whose objects, interests, and hopes were for the time identical
with ours." And Charles writes in 1846 to F. J. Kingsbury: ---

"Yes, your remark is correct. We are a most uncommon set of common
friends. I find myself falling into the conviction occasionally that '
we are the saints' and no mistake' I believe I am more thankful for
friends than almost anything in this world. Do you remember Carlyle's
remark about wealth--- 'A man's wealth is in the number of things he
loves and blesses, which he is--- loved and blessed by.' Good, isn't
it--- The last two years have been very, very pleasant. The first part
I was green, no mistake. There hasn't been anything like this last
winter though. Oh, how different it has made me I Don't you find
yourself, Fred, enjoying your religion more now than you used to--- I
do. I never had quite such feelings before. I never felt so much
before what a good God was over me. I never believed so before in the
reality of an eternal life."

1.  "'Early Puritan Settlers," R. R. Hinman.  Hartford, 1852.

2.  Mrs. Stowe, in "Old Town Folks,” has pictured some of his methods
himself in the character of Rossiter.

3.  John H. Olmsted, one of the Hartford boys, a friend of Charles's
before they entered college.

4.  The Congregational.

5.  Unfortunately, scarcely any letters from Charles to his sister
have been found.